When I shared some of the ridiculousness of this week with my manager, she suggested that with such a story to tell, I should submit it to the back page of the Globe and Mail, where they feature personal essays and such in the Facts and Arguments section . In my mind, I’m like “but I have a blog – I can share my stories – I have a place for this” but I don’t say it out loud. Because the separation of work life and online life is more important to me than church and state. Ok, that might be an exaggeration. That’s what I can do here, though – exaggerate. I have poetic license. Or blog license. Or something.
This is not an exeraggation – this week was trying to break me in half. A combination of a surge in interest in people coming to see our house (like SO MUCH all of a sudden, culminating with yet another open house tomorrow), two barfing children, a dog who likes to urinate on the carpet mere hours before said house viewings, a heightened level of stress at work has just left me feeling …well… UGH.
However, it’s a long! weekend! as of tonight, and boy do I need it. Not that it’s going to be entirely relaxing, with that open house, and other plans. But the idea of not having to commute or chuck people out the door in a rush for 3 days? Bliss.
When life is like this, I find the idea of writing a blog post to be yet another obligation that I don’t want to face. And honestly, it’s one I can let go, as I’m only really accountable to myself in this space at this time. However, if I actually stopped and thought about the processing I’d be able to do as I wrote it out, I might stop and do it more often. Except, apparently, no! time! to! stop! Gah.
We’re going on a beach vacation in a few weeks. Although I winced when I paid the credit card bill to cover it this week, greatly reducing any savings I had amassed to pay for it, it seems like the bestidea in the world right now. Swimming in the pool, sipping some mojitos, reading some books, chilling out. Bliss.
Waiter! A rum punch with a side order of no bodily fluids on the floor, please!
Thankfully the days and hours are passing quickly. It’ll be time to pack in no time at all. Bring on the bliss.
Apparently I’m someone who steals song titles for post titles now. This title is from Adele‘s newest single. I’m anxiously awaiting her new album, which I have pre-ordered on iTunes; it arrives on Tuesday. Buy it! She’s amazing.
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For something completely different, I reviewed a kids’ show on the Aboriginal People’s Television Network here in Canada on the review blog.
Other reviews and giveaways coming up shortly…
I haven’t told Oliver and Callum that my paternal grandmother, their great-grandmother, died last week. I’m going the avoidance route again because, well — they see her once or twice a year – do I need to make them concerned about family death? I can just imagine how this conversation would go – and it’s wouldn’t be fun. Oliver would really worry. Also, I’m sort of counting on talking about it when we see my dad again, if he wants to talk to them about it. Also, I’m a wimp.
I know how lucky I am to be losing the first grandparent I’ve grown up with at age 33. And her passing is not entirely unexpected after a year of health troubles – with an abrupt onset of dementia, in particular. It’s still a sad time for my family, however. Her funeral is next week. My parents are headed to England this weekend to attend. My brother and I are sending our best wishes through some words we’re currently trying to assemble that may be said at the funeral and some flowers. This post is to help collect my thoughts.
And if the boys do ask me about her when they are older, here are some of the things I might tell them:
This was not the grandmother of our childhoods – of warm laps and baked goods and story books. I mean, she may have been. But circumstance dictated otherwise, and we spent most of our younger years many, many kilometres away from her.
She was, however, a grandmother of our adulthood. Of conversations over cups of tea, of pub lunches, of sharing old photos. She was quick to smile, and had many kind words for us.
I was lucky enough to get to know her much better when I lived in the UK. It was a comfort knowing that she was a train or a car ride away if I wanted a friendly face in a strange country.
Her sons, half jokingly, called her the Duchess. She really was an elegant matriarch. She had survived the loss of her husband, a son, her only daughter and a grandson long before her own passing. I’m sure this heavy grief greatly affected her. She wouldn’t show her sadness, however – she was strong and steadfast. But, she also had opinions about many things and wasn’t afraid to share them.
She had style. She was fastidious in her self-care, wardrobe and housekeeping. It was when these things began to fall away that we really knew she was ill. The last time I saw her, in July, she was not herself. This photo below was a moment of mental coherence that I will appreciate forever.
She oversaw a family scattered over 3 continents. They reunite next week to celebrate her life.
Her middle name was Grace. Grace, as defined in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary can mean (amongst other things) approval, favour; mercy, pardon; privilege; disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy or clemency; a charming or attractive trait or characteristic; a pleasing appearance or effect, charm; ease and suppleness of movement or bearing; used as a title of address or reference for a duchess; a short prayer at a meal asking a blessing or giving thanks; plural capitalized : three sister goddesses in Greek mythology who are the givers of charm and beauty; the quality or state of being considerate or thoughtful. All of these things are Grandma. She had grace. She was grace.
We’ve all lost someone important, but going forward we’ll always have the memory of an extraordinary woman who’s changed our lives for the better. We miss you.
*with thanks to the Hip for the post title. Rest well, Eileen Grace.
