Spinning my wheels

In my job, I rely on other people to provide pretty much all the information that I need to do my work. No info, no forward motion on my part.

I'm having one of those weeks where I just. can't. get. the answers. No responses to requests, or when they come they are either totally enigmatic or of the "I don't know the answer and I don't know who does" variety. Head, meet wall.

It makes for a very. long. workweek.

So, to cheer us all up, a picture to brighten up an otherwise grey blog:

These are pygmy marmosets. Aren't they cute? We saw a thing on them the ONtv nature show with David Attenborough, and decided that they were second only to the sea otter as our fave cutie-pie animal. Then, Constance came home a couple of days ago with drawing of what was clearly a pygmy marmoset. Because, in our house? We are on the same page.

And onward into a new season

After spending a summer enjoying sports as our main leisure activity, we looking forward to diversifying as the weather turns colder.

We're jump-starting this with a culture buzz: I picked up tickets for The Penelopiad at the NAC next week! I quite enjoyed the book (the Atwood version, of course!), and I'm looking forward to seeing it done "out loud". I'm not sure I'll be able to convince McPie to study up ahead of time, but I doubt that'll be necessary to enjoy the show. I'll try to find time to post a review.

I've also been eyeing the incredibly enticing lineup in the upcoming ballet series at the NAC. It's all fantastic companies doing totally interesting ballets. I don't know if we can (or should) afford to see them all, but it will be hard to choose. I knew I should've gotten a subscription!

Speaking of subscriptions, we were lost for a few weeks when our Globe and Mail subscription expired and we had failed to renew it. We only get the Saturday paper, and we're lucky if we get through reading 3 articles in it, but collecting the paper from the porch on Saturday morning's as we prepare our coffee gives us a keen sense of leisure. Like we are embracing the slow. Which we actually do in many ways - just, it rarely feels like it as we go go go.

Once ultimate is really over in the middle of November, we'll have lots of time for reading. McPie and I finished Crow Lake (really enjoyed the read; the jury is still out on whether the ending was satisfying, but the contentiousness of it has resulted in some interesting discussions.) Anyone have any suggestions for a book that would be good to read aloud? We're looking for our next candidate. (Fiction, please! The real world is a drag.)

And, speaking of culture (I'm about to show that I define that very loosely), I gave McPie his first piano lesson last week. It was fun! He's a quick study of course, though is perhaps over-eager to put both hands together before he's ready. As he put it - as a drummer he's great with his limbs, but that talent doesn't necessarily extend to "limblets". I guess between piano lessons, we'll look forward to more rock 'n' roll shows this winter.

In other news: we are driving down to Hamilton this weekend to visit Baba, and are looking forward to spending time with the family. My cousin Scott will be home from Australia! Haven't seen that kid in years. I planned on posting an update on last weekend's jaunt down there, but got mired in sentimentality. Will strive to complete. But the summary is, to borrow a phrase from the kids these days, it's all good.

(Ass)ymetry

We have the most incredible perk here at my work: an on-site massage therapist.

True, she's only on-site for one day every other week, and we do have to pay for it (but benefits covers it). But, handy! I rarely had massages before, because it was so complicated to fit into my beyond-work schedule. Now, I'm a regular. (Okay, I've gone twice, but I'm booking ahead through Christmas.)

So, I had massage this morning, and it worked out all the kinks that had knotted up in my back and shoulders from the long drives and much sitting I've been doing recently. Aaaahhhh! Relief.

In addition to the shoulder kinks, the massage therapist and I somewhat accidentally discovered something rather shocking about my current anatomy: my left ass cheek is noticeably smaller than my right ass cheek.

Now, I say "current anatomy" because (presumably) I wasn't born like this. My larger ass cheek is the side of my body that I use for lunging in frisbee.

I've been playing for seven years. Say I've averaged game a week. Maybe I lunge - always on the same leg, the non-pivot foot leg - a half dozen times a game (I'm rolling in throwing practice here, which generally contains a higher lunge-per-throws ratio). Not counting non-frisbee-related lunging (which typically balances out each side), by my calculations, I've done 2184 lunges with my right leg, and 0 with my left leg.

(All the estimates are WAGs*, as I don't generally perform math. But I'd venture my estimates are conservative.)

2184 lunges apparently add up. To a single, enlarged ass cheek. (Or, I supposed you could say, 0 lunges add up to one under-sized, neglected ass cheek.)

And McPie married me anyway.

This news of this "defect" should not be a revelation to me. Last week we did curtsey squats in a weights class I took, which are essentially one legged squats. The next day my left (small, weak. pathetic and girly) ass cheek was really hurting. But my right side didn't hurt at all. But why haven't I heard of this issue before? I hang out with frisbee players all the time! Does everyone have this problem? Are frisbee players secretly - or unbeknownst to me - doing extra lunges with their pivot-legs in the off season? Or have I discovered a niche market for customized jeans for frisbee players, with one butt out-sized for the lunge-side?

Now, the one consolation is that when I say "noticeably smaller", I mean "noticeable to the professional and well-trained hands of an RMT who is specifically feeling around on my ass for this particular discrepancy." Of course, when she moved from my right side to my left, she may have exclaimed "Wow!" in alarm.

But still, if you're staring at my ass as I run down the field, you probably won't be able to see this asymetry.

This does explain why I occasionally find myself running in circles. And I'd always blamed this on "lack of field sense"! Ha!


*Wild-assed guess. This is a technical term in my industry.

He finally admits it

McPie, on the daily drag of rushing:

"In my world, the sundial would be the height of time-keeping technology."

Hammer time

Thank you thank you for your comments on my last post.

I guess times like these let you see how flexible, spontaneous, stoic, and/or understanding people are. I guess I mean "we" - the family. We're facing an enormous change, and there is much preparation to be done. Now that the doctor's visits and the move to the palliative care home have been completed, the preparation that remains is emotional, interpersonal, relational.

The funny thing is, I'm pretty sure it's not Baba who has the work to do. She really seems to be on top of it. For example, my sister was packing up Baba's belongings, and Mom was on the phone with Baba at the same time, and Julie and Mom are both crying. Baba, laughing "Why are you girls crying?!?!"

It's the rest of us. We have work to do for ourselves and for each other. I can only speak for myself: my work is going to involve spending as much time as I can with Baba, and figuring out how to let her go. And doing my part to help everyone through. Personally, I believe (though perhaps naively, as I have little experience with this) that this situation can be approached with optimism and joy. The challenge, of course, is figuring out how and where to find those elements, and figuring out how (in god's name) to incorporate them into the pain of loss.

My little sister spent the past week in Hamilton, doing the final stages of the doctor appointments, keeping Baba company, and at the end of her stay, she moved Baba to Emmanual House, a palliative care home. Having spent a mere two days in a similar way, I know how exhausting this is. Not that hanging with Baba is arduous at all, but there's an underlying stress that comes with seeing someone you love in a state of constant discomfort and trying to act "normal" about it. Also, did I mention the suckage factor of institutional food? (Happily, Emmanual House has awesome homemade food that Baba's been gorging on.) Anyway, I don't know how my sister did it for a whole week. She is unbelievably stoic.

Also, it sounds like Baba insisted that Julie's fella (who was also in town for part of the week) take her engagement ring-shopping. She may have also forced the couple to set a wedding date. Scott could hardly deny a lady her dying wish, now could he? Yah Baba!

My mother flew to Hamilton yesterday to stay indefinitely. (Well, to stay until there's nothing left to stay for.) She's leaving the Inn in the capable hands of my sister. But my sister won't be alone. My DAD is going out to Canning to help Julie with the Inn. And more importantly, to keep her company while she is by herself, away from the action. So far, he's planning to stay for three weeks. I hope hope hope hope that they'll be able to visit Baba again.

Sweetie McPie is taking over at home with the kids this weekend so I can join my mother for a couple of days. He's looking forward to hanging out with my Dad, who will be staying at our place the night before heading to NS. (I wasn't sure I'd be home for this visit. When I asked McPie if he'd considered looking after Dad in my absence, he was like "Of course! He's my Dad!") He's onboard (without reservations) on making the trip to the Hammer as much as we need to (together as often as we can) in the coming days.

The kids' moms have assured us that they'll swoop in and take the kids if we need to be away, even though they are up to their necks in new house renos, new jobs, and a new longer commute to school.

I'm so proud: my family is amazing. When this kind of love and support comes to readily and unconditionally, it's impossible not to be joyful.

Consolation of philosophy

I spent Monday and Tuesday of this past week in Hamilton, with my Baba. I flew down early Monday morning, and back on Tuesday evening. The purpose was, ostensibly, to go with her to a couple of doctor appointments - partly for transportation, mostly for helping to get the information from the doctor, and understand what was going on. Practically, it was a fantastic opportunity to spend time together.

Recap: Several weeks ago, Baba was really sick in a stomachy sort of way, and she underwent some tests including an ultrasound. The results led her cancer doctor (she's had breast cancer in the past several years and is under the care of an oncologist) to suspect a metastasized cancer in the liver and/or pancreas. The ultrasound raised suspicions, but was not conclusive - a CT scan and further tests were required.

This sort of cancer, of course, in an 83 year old, is not really treatable. So we've been sort off assuming the worst, waiting for the details.

Monday, I took Baba to get the results of the CT scan, and to have some bloodwork done. The doc told us the CT scan did not show any cancer. It did show she had gall stones.

Skip to: I loved spending the two days with Baba. She's in a nursing home, because she's too weak to be as independent as she needed to to be in the seniors home. She's herself (unlike many of her fellow inmates), just really tired. I just sat in the comfy chair by her bed from morning until night both days, chatting with her, napping, occasionally reading. We ate meals together (Institutional food sucks! no wonder everyone's sick!), and she even summoned the energy to go out to a restaurant for lunch. I tucked her in like I do the kids, and that made her giggle.

By the time I left on Tuesday night, I had been enlightened: although no tumours showed on scans, the subsequent blood tests determined she has aggressive cancer in her liver and pancreas.

I got more details from my mother when I was home on Wednesday (after my sister had flown to Hamilton to take up my post next to Baba's bed for the next week): Baba will likely only be with us for a few more weeks.

While I was on the phone with my mother, I may have shed a few tears (see Mom, not coldhearted!) I was on solo duty with the kidlets, and Constance was keeping a close eye on me. When I hung up, she came over to hug me, and ask if I was ok.

I told her I was sad about Baba. (We had already told the kids -- before we took them to visit her, actually -- that Baba is sick and that she will probably die soon.) Constance lamented that she’d only just met her ("it's not fair!"), and she began to cry.

So, she and I had a really good talk about how we (the living, loving ones left behind) console ourselves by trying to understand what happens to our loved ones after they die. Constance isn't Christian (and, I guess it's safe to say, neither am I), so we tossed around lots of ideas. I told her that Baba believes she's going to Heaven, where she will be reunited with her husband and parents and brothers and sisters. I postulated the possibility of the soul (which I tried to define that "the part that makes you you, without your body") being released into the world, where it is free and omniscient. Constance brought up the possibility of returning as another creature. I pointed out that this is a very widely held belief - maybe even more common than Heaven.

Eventually, Constance had the idea that memory could be the equivalent of the soul being released into the world. As in, our memories keep someone "alive" in the afterlife - they live in our hearts.

I know this is not an uncommon notion. But I still think Constance is brilliant and insightful. And I think this concept is true. I described to her how, when my grandparents died, I wasn't sad, because they were very old, and they died relatively suddenly at a time when they were still enjoying life. (As in, they seemed ready.) I would miss them, but I wasn't sad.

Years later however, at certain times - proud moments and stuff - I felt them (or their absence) acutely. I was never really sure if this was "missing" them, because I didn't miss them in daily life - I'd moved on far in life and time. So it seemed to me that these feelings were them, with me in spirit - really, truly living in my heart. Constance thought that made sense.

When we finished talking and started getting ready for bed, we did feel consoled. Probably as much by sharing the sadness with each other, as by our philosophizing.

I recounted the evening and this conversation (as well as the one with my mother) to McPie when he returned from band practice. He told me that when we were visiting on the long weekend, Baba told him not to worry about her being sick and dying, because she was "going straight up there" -- she pointed to the sky, smiling.

When in doubt, blame the kids

Tidying up the kitchen this morning, I came across a particularly cluttered corner of countertop:

"How is it that our entire liquor cupboard has migrated to the counter?"

McPie, as he scoots up the stairs, handily out of reach of the snap of my dishtowel:

"Why is it that I wake up with a headache every day?"

On the latest read

I started responding to Trixie's comment as a comment, but found I had enough to say to warrant a real post. Me? Opinion on a book? Surprising.

I loved Divisadero, though was at first confounded by the split stories (that is, the California vs France stories). Well, not confounded completely. After digesting the ending, I spent half an hour describing the issues to McPie and explaining (ie: working through) the thematic reasons it makes sense. But I read the book really quickly (in two and a half sittings, really), and at the time, I was like WTF?

However, it's beautifully written in traditional Ondaatje style, and both stories were completely compelling (that's why I burned through the book so fast -- I couldn't tear myself away), so I can't complain. The definition he gives for "divisadero" is obviously key, same with one of Anna's final comments about seeing the story of her "siblings" in everything/everywhere, but I'm not sure that gets Ondaatje completely off the hook for the enormous divide in the storylines. Artsy and experimental, fine, but not totally clean IMO. But, a joy to simply read, even if the digestion is not as smooth as the consumption. (Similar to The View from Castle Rock - a pleasure to immerse myself in the sentences at the time, but the overall takeaway was perhaps less than the sum of the parts, possibly for structural reasons...)

I think Trixie may have also said this about Divisadero too: I want to go back and peruse the text more slowly, to absorb some of the images again. (I loved how Rafael carried herbs in his pockets and made meals from almost nothing. I want to be that guy!)

In the Skin of a Lion continues to be my fave. That one stands up to (and improves with) many reads.

We WILL want to line up The Other Side of the Bridge once we're finished Crow Lake. I think McPie and I will do that one together too, since I've heard it's also as suspenseful (which works really well for read-alouds). Maybe I can borrow it when I return Crow Lake and the Alice Munro? ;-)

Back to school blues

A little more than a week ago, Ben was impatiently excited about finally going to school, where he'd be starting grade one.

What was he most looking forward to? "I'm going to learn how to write things."

School started on Thursday, so he had a few days to settle in.

[snip tale of long weekend trip to the Golden Horsheshoe, which involved astham attacks, copious vomit, floods of snot and nursing home shenanigans. Another story completely.]

On Tuesday night, McPie and I were driving Ben home from his mom's place -- they have just moved to a new (old) house, and the requisite unpacking and cleaning were wreaking hovoc with Ben's allergies, so we were going to keep at our place a few extra days.

In the car, we asked Ben if he's enjoying grade one, if he's having fun.

"NO! It's boring. [In Ben's lexicon, "boring" can mean anything from the tradition definition to silly, bad, or unpleasant. Just as "smart" can mean either intelligent or "small". Kid has a dynamic approach to English.] We only do baby things."

Baby things?

"Every day we just draw. The first day and then the next day, just more drawing."

So, you're really eager to do the real stuff, like reading?

"Yes! I want to do REAL school."

McPie and I giggle to ourselves. He tells Ben that when we get home, we can work on some words. Ben is enthusiastic.

"Oh-kay! Let's do some DEVOIRS!"

I really wish I could convey the emphasis with which he exclaimed this. The mix of languages in this context was just priceless. McPie and I were beside ourselves.

Every day this week, he's been pestering to do his devoirs. I don't think he actually has homework to do, but boy is he keen to get going with this reading and writing business. We're doing our best, and I have a feeling that he's coming close upon the a-ha! moment.