Macho, macho, whoa..... man!

Blogging note:  A majority of this post was written during the last day of 2015.  I put it "away" to proof-read later and then time and life happened and I didn't get to it.  Better late than never.

It is the final days of the 365 challenge.  I sit here listening to the soundtrack I created for my life and reminisce.  What has been the most defining moment of my life?   Was there a moment, that if it did not happen, would have resulted in a totally different outcome?   A moment that would have resulted in my writing this post in a different locale or in a different house or maybe my not writing something at all?

This challenge took a lot of reflection, comparing and contrasting.  I have finally made a decision as to what I am going to write about......

The defining moment in my life was a comment my parents made when I was 2 or 3 years old.  It was a simple statement of fact, it was not something that was intended to dwell upon, but for me it ended up being life altering.

What could they have said to a toddler that could be so profound?

"You were supposed to be a boy."  (I am sure that is not how they phrased it, but it the version my brain retained.)

See my parents had a plan.  Their first child was a girl. The next one should be a boy.  They would then have had a complete child set and could retire from the baby making game.  But I wasn't a boy... I was a girl, so it was back to the bump and grind of trying to secure a male heir.

My parents never held my lack of maleness against me.... but I did.  Such a simple statement of fact ended up getting warped and was eventually transformed into things that my parents never meant to imply-

• I disappointed them.  
• I could not get anything right.
• Boys are better than girls... why else would they want a boy when they already had two perfectly great children.  

These faulty thought patterns seemed to take on a life of their own.  I wanted to fix it.   After much deliberation I hit upon the perfect solution-  if I was more "boy like" my parents would be happier (keep in mind I was three years old when I came up with this solution so be gentle with your judgment)

That was it!!!!

That would make everything better!!!!!!

Decision made; I threw myself into my new role of "boy".  

• I cultivated my HATRED of the colour pink..... blue was my colour.  

• Kittens were for girls... kittens were now on the hate list.... I was all about the dogs.

• Girls sat and played quietly.  That was not for me... I  developed my climbing skills.  No tree, fence or wall were too high or safe from my clambering form.  I remember getting into trouble for climbing the chair "tree" I had constructed for the sole purpose of exiting via the basement window.  

• Girls were demure.  I awakened  my inner daredevil-  experimenting with electricity, using straight razors like the adults, doing flips off the top bunk, trees, monkey bars.... really anything that one could flip off of... I flipped off of.   

• I rebelled against anything indicative of feminine attire.  My poor mother liked to dress my sister and me in homemade matchy, matchy dresses.  I started refusing to wear dresses.    When I was forced to wear one, I would come up with some excuse to wear jeans underneath-  "My legs are cold!"  "It's going to cramp my monkey bar escapades!  How can I hang upside down?"  It took a few years but my mother eventually gave up forcing dresses on me.

• Girls liked playing with dolls..... bring on the trucks!

By the time I was 5 years old I had fully transformed into a "tom" boy.  Unfortunately all my efforts to reinvent myself were all for nought.

My brother arrived.

I remember feeling like I had failed.  If I had been better at being a "boy" my parents wouldn't have had to have my brother.

It was all over!!!!!!!!

The parents finally got what they wanted... a boy.   They now have a girl and a boy.... that made me what???????   Spare parts?????

The birth of my brother brought a new resolve-  I would prove to my parents that girls were just as good as boys....  Yah right!!!!  I was 4 years old and even then I had perfectionist tendencies so I wasn't aiming for 50/50  I was aiming for 110%.

Over the years I have dropped the competition factor and am a champion for equality for all.   But, it was this need to prove that I was better than any boy that influence the path a travelled to get to this point in my life.

This quest fostered the development of my:

Persistence- One of the surest ways to get me to dig in my heels is to tell me I can't do something.   That type of rhetoric fuels me.  I remember one year purchased a huge 8 foot scotch pine for my Christmas tree.  It took up a 1/4 of a very large room-  at room that became know as the tree room as nothing else would fit in it.  I cut the tree down. I loaded and unloaded it on the truck.  Bound it so it would get through the door and once it was inside I started to put it up.  There was one problem-  It would not stay up.  It kept falling.  I could not centre it, hold it and screw in the bolts of the tree stand.  I was on the phone lamenting to my mother when she said-  "Ask one of your guy friends to come and help.  You need a man to help you!"

NOOOOOOooooooooooo!

Picture it.  I am under the tree bracing the trunk with one foot, the other hooked around the tree stand to stabilize it.  I am hold the tree upright with my left arm while I contort my body so that I could sink the bolts of the base into the tree trunk.  Then I proceeded to anchor the tree to the wall using as system of ropes and nails.  No man needed!
Victory!

Fight-A-Tude
I do not hold stock that women should let others protect them.  Why rely on others when you can do it yourself.  I can pack a punch and scrap with the best of them, especially when others are being unjust to those who cannot defend themselves.    I am smart enough to use my verbal skills first but if it is "Go time", I will do my best to take the other person down.

I remember the Christmas my cousin got a set of red leather boxing gloves.  He challenged me to a match.   I don't think he was expecting the pounding that I laid on him.  I'm sure he was thinking it was going to be a friendly little spar.  He didn't realize that I had a lot riding on the outcome.  This "match" was being witnessed by all the adult males in my life and what a better time to prove that girls can do anything boys can do.   I remember looking around the room at the end and seeing the look of disbelief and dare I say it pride on the faces of my dad and Grandpa.

When I entered University I was always irritated by the well intentioned advice being offered by the boys-  "You went where, at night by yourself!!!!!  You should take one of us with you next time.  It is dangerous for a lone female to walk on campus at 2 am."  I think I proved that I could take care of myself the night the guys decided to tub the girls..... tubbing by the way is where a tub is filled with water and you get unceremoniously dumped in.

A friend had been targeted as the next tubbing victim.  She didn't want to be tubbed so I tackled the guy who was trying to move her, which allowed her to escape.  Now I was the target for a tubbing.  Dude grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my side.  He tried to carry me through the door of the lounge, down the hall, but I stopped his progress by bracing my feet on either side of the doorframe.  He tried again and again, I blocked progress every time.  It dawned on him that this approach was not going to work so he turned around to back out the doorway.   He wasn't prepared for me using my legs to push off on the door frame on the other side (who says watching wrestling doesn't provide useful life skills).  He toppled over backward and cushioned my fall.  Sadly, tubbing me switched from being a challenge for one to a challenge for many-  four more guys swooped in, all focused making sure I was dunked in that frickin' tub.    I did not make it easy for them, kicking and clawing all the way down the hall.   I even  managed to get away once.   In the end I got tubbed but the dudes were rewarded for their effort with numerous bruises and muscle strains.   There was no mention of my need for a male escort after that incident.  I guess the guys decided I could protect myself.

A Short Term Farmer-
I think my Dad was excited by my brother's arrival as he finally had someone to pass the legacy of farming down to.  As soon as my brother was tall enough to touch the clutch and see over the steering wheel he was expected to go out to the farm with my dad.  My brother hated it!  He liked to sleep in and play video games.  Sitting in a tractor covered with grease and grime was neither of these things.  I asked to learn how to drive the tractor and was told in no uncertain terms " No."   My dad was perfectly okay with me tagging along to shovel grain..... it saved him having to get into the grain bin and from climbing on top of the grain truck to roll out the tarp but that was the extent he was willing to allow me to participate in the process.

For years, weekend mornings would look like this-  My brother sitting at the kitchen table gloomy staring into his bowl of Cheerios' and me glaring at him irritated that he got to go and I didn't.  I was well into my university years when I took matters into my own hands.  I asked my brother to teach me how to drive the tractor and use the cultivator.  He gladly agreed, as he realized this might be his ticket out of having to go to the farm.  Once my dad realized I could do ground work he gave me lessons in seeding.  The timing could not be better as the family was farming both set of grandparents land, so help was needed.  I farmed with my dad and brother for two years before moving.  It was a great two years.

A Champion of Equality
There was one thing that irked me when I was younger and that was the assumption that because I was a girl my purpose was to cook and clean.   My dad's friends would make comments about when I got older I would get married and have children and be a stay at home mom. I looked at them and boldly said-  "If I ever have children, I will continue to work, my husband can stay at home with the kids."  They got a hoot out of that one.

I remember my Grandpa J commenting- "You'll never get a husband if you can't cook."  My response-  "If all that a guy wants is my cooking... I don't want him!"  I abstained from using cooking skills for a long time... because I am ornery like that!

As I mentioned I farmed with my dad and brother.  My dad was of a similar opinion as my grandfather.  A man does not cook if there was a woman around who could do it.  In fact he drove from the farm house out to the far field to tell me that it was lunch time and that he would take over seeding so I could go in and make us all some lunch.

I was furious.....

He had just been mere steps from the house and could have easily gone in and made lunch for everyone.  He could have drove over to my brother who was closer and told him to go in to make lunch.... but no... I was the best person to make lunch.

I fumed all the way back to the house.  I fumed while I made their stinking sandwiches.... I was too mad to eat.   I was ready to punch something or someone by the time I was done......  a Tornado of fury and indignation.  As I was leaving the house the damn bagels fell out of the bag and landed in the dirt.

I went into Rumpelstiltskin mode, ranting and raving.... there was even some frenetic jumping up and down.  Now I would have to make more FUCKIN' sandwiches!

Or would I....

I experienced a moment of calm and clarity.  I through out the bagel top that could not be salvaged and decided it was time for a little Russian Roulette-  bagel style.  I washed the cold cuts as best as I could under the stream of water from the water jug.... did I mention there was no running water in the house.  I scraped off the mustard that was black with dirt and if less then a 1/4 of the bagel was affected i.e. dingy grey I reused it.  Hmmmm...... nothing more mustard can't cover.  I placed the bagels back in the bag with the clean ones not he bottom and the two "5 second rule" bagels on the top.  When I reached the field my brother and my dad were waiting.

"What took you so long?" they asked

"I had a hard time washing the grease off my hands."  I said.

On the drive over I had decided that I would let fate decide who got the affected bagels.  If they both said- "You pick first... you made them."  I would eat the top bagel.  You can probably guess but there was no chivalry there.   The pecking order they decided to go with was....  Dad-  he won the grittiest bagel; My brother- Mr. Hint o' Grit and then me.

Spectacular!!!  Anger was immediately replaced with euphoria.

My dad made a face and commented on the earthiness of his bagel.  I countered with " Have you seen the inside of the Nissan; of course the bagels got dirty during transport." and that was the end of it.  My brother never noticed or if he did he was wise enough to keep it to himself.

While we were eating I told my brother and dad that I had no intention of being their cook and maid all weekend.  The only fair solution was we each took turns making meals.  They agreed.  Of course, their turns consisted of calling for take-out from town, but the meal preparation duties were equally divided so I did not care.... much.

(If you hear a loud noise after reading this section, don't panic.   It's just my Dad yelling "I KNEW IT!!!".   Until this point I have denied, denied, denied.  Daddy please consider this confession part of your early birthday present)

Resilience
Growing up I often felt like I was not enough.  Overshadowed by my siblings.  I was the "Jan" of the bunch, the middle of the middle,  and it was not such a "Brady" feeling.  There was no happy resolution after 30 minutes of time.  I collected examples of how my siblings mattered more to my parents and used these examples as proof that my assumptions were correct.  How my brother got to have "adventures" with dad;  how my parents had vastly different reactions to my and my older sisters performance in school,  etc, etc, etc.

The thing is, there are no shortage of examples to prove a point, especially when you are specifically looking for them.  I was looking for ways to prove that I was not as loved and guess what?  I found them.  I could have just as easily looked for examples of how I was loved, which there were many, but that was not what I chose to do.

I could have wallowed and spent my life focusing on what I perceived as unfair, but I didn't.   I worked and worked and worked-  on improving my abilities and my knowledge.    I reflected on what went well and what I could have done differently and I adapted......I grew and  I matured.


What if my parents had not told me they were expecting me to be a boy?

What if I had not interpreted their simple statement the way I did or as I grew older I had asked them if my interpretation was correct?

Would I be who I am today???

I don't know.

All I can do is pay homage to my past and move forward knowing that I am enough,  that I have the skills I need and I will thrive no matter what.

Thanks Mom and Dad for your unintended slip of the tongue!  It brought a whole bunch of interesting life lessons my way and helped develop some kick ass foundational skills.  

Give Me an A........

Grandma A was the grand dame of grandmothers..... she was perfection.  The right combination of nurturing and hard-nosed realism.

She amazed me.

One of her talents was her ability to guess the perfect gift for each and every grandchild, even ones that lived an extreme distance from her.  It never failed- whether Christmas day, your birthday or Easter you would open your present and look at it and think.... "How?  How did she know that was what I wanted... I didn't tell anyone that was what I wanted."  She just had a psychic connection in the inner workings of a young child's head.  There was one year she gave us all sheets..... mine were Dumbo.  I loved those sheets which is probably why many, many years later I still have the top sheet.  The sheets became known as  "Grandma A sheets" and whenever the choice was given as to what would grace the bed... that was mine.  It was like sleeping in a great big Grandma hug.

She also had great taste in outfits.  Each spring brought with it a "Easter" outfit would arrive via the postman just in time for the Winter fair.  The room would hum with anticipation while my mother unwrapped the box.  My siblings and I crowding around her, clambering over each other trying to get the first peek at what we would be proudly wearing to the fair.   Getting new clothes, store bought clothes, was not something that happened often in our house when I was young.  In fact there seemed to be a cycle-  start of summer wardrobe shopping, back to school shopping, Christmas and the prized Easter outfit.  So when you received clothes, you were excited to have something new.

There was one particular outfit that I remember fondly.  It was a blue and white dress.  It had a eyelet lace feel to it.  Why does this particular outfit stick out more than the rest?  Because it was a..... DRESS!  I did not wear dresses, but this one I loved.   It had capped sleeves with an elastic neckline which allowed it to be worn off the shoulder or scoop necked.

I loved that dress.  I begged and pleaded with my mother to let me wear it to the fair.  She said no!  My parents are firm believers in dressing for function vs fashion.  A dress of lightweight material and minimal arm coverage, just would not have cut the mustard in their book; especially at a time of year when the weather lulls you into thinking winter is over, only to turn around and lambaste the unsuspecting with a blizzard and -40 degree Celsius windchill.  I could not be deterred.  Everyday I asked.  Every day I was turned down.  Eventually my mother conceded as long as I promised to wear leotards and ski pants under the dress.

UGGGGGHHH!

Leotards, I was sure, were invented by a masochist;  staticky, clingy and susceptible to the effects of gravity; the crotch forever meandering down to your knees and needing hiking-up.  I also hated wearing bulky constricting ski pants.   But I did both so I could wear "the dress".

How did Grandma A know that I would love this particular dress so much??????  It will forever remain a mystery.

Making others happy by finding what they wanted was something that provided my Grandmother with joy.  She often would go without if it meant she could give someone something to cherish.  That was her..... generous to a fault.

As I mentioned Grandmother A lived far away so I did not get to see her very often.  This was pre Skype and long distance plans, so our main form of contact was letters.  As soon as I could print I started writing to her.   She was a good sport about it....  see all my early letters were addressed to Grandma Add.  I thought that was how her first name was spelled.  Not once did she correct me.  It was my older sister who pointed out my faux pas.   Last year I realized that not only did I have her first name wrong was also spelled her last name wrong for all her life..... seriously where did that extra "e" come from?  I still have a large bundle of letters from my Grandma.  The letters are stashed all around the house and whenever I come across one I smile.    How I miss opening the mailbox to find her familiar script staring back at me.

Given the physical distance between us, I was grateful when an opportunity arose that allowed me live with my Grandma for two summers during my late teen years.  What I remember about that time was the stories.  My Grandmother was a quintessential story teller.   One story would lead to the next and before you know it hours had passed... I sat enthralled. Eventually Grandma would comment that we were wasting the day away and she would get up from the table to do something productive.  I would follow, but inside I was anxiously waiting for the next round of story time.

My Grandma's stories are what I miss the most.  Even though I made her tell them to me over and over, time has made the details fuzzy and I question if I am remembering them correctly.  I would love, love, love to have a moment to sit with her to hear them one more time.  This time I will pay attention.  This time I would write them down.  I would not take for granted the time we had together.

How I marvelled at the life she led, her bravery and the beauty of her soul.   She experienced hard times but had the type of spirit that didn't dwell on what didn't go right.... she cherished her blessings as they came and chose to focus on what went right vs wrong.

Grandma A was a young widow.  My Grandfather was killed in a train accident when she was pregnant with her third child.  There she was, two little toddlers, one on the way and now a widow and homeless; as my grandparents were renting a farm house and without help she could not run the farm and pay the rent.  Grandma moved into a small one room house in town with the children.   One of her older sisters was also widowed with children around the same time. Together they formed an alliance  and helped each other through the difficult days that were a head.

Grandma often talked about the toothaches she had when she was pregnant with Uncle W.  She could do nothing about it while pregnant.  She resolved that once she had the baby, she would have any tooth that dared to ache yanked out.  Sure enough a day or two after giving birth her teeth started hurting.  She went to the dentist and had them pulled.  She did not mention that she had just given birth.  She lost so much blood between the birth and the tooth pulling that she passed out cold for at least two days.  Luckily her sister had come to visit her and discovered the children crying in the living room.  She looked after them until my Grandma woke up.  That was Grandma A.... stubborn.  She was going to get rid of the pain no matter what the cost!

On a lark Grandma A and her widowed sister went to a tea leaf reader... looking for some mystical hope to help them cope with the daily struggles they faced.  The reader told one sister she would meet and marry someone with the initial "R" and Grandma A that she would marry and move to a land of fruit and sea air.  They laughed it off..... "I don't know anyone with a R in his name!"..... "Yes, I will move to the ocean.... bah ha, ha."  Well the predictions for both came true within the year.  

Grandma A remarried and moved to a land of fruit and ocean air.  She had two more children. The family moved to where the work was.  My Grandma would list of all the placed they lived over the years and talk about who they met when.  These are the details that are the fuzziest.  One thing that I do know is the family had animals wherever they were.   Grandma A loved animals and always had cats and dogs around her house.  The one animal that was hers and only hers was a chihuahua named Rena.  I remember Rena as ornery.  She did not love children but she did love my Grandma.  She went everywhere with Grandma, often tucked up under Grandma's arm.  I used to think that Rena was so ornery she would live forever, but she didn't.

What I admired about Grandma A was her ability to be a calming presence for animals until they passed over the Rainbow Bridge.... a trait that I wished I inherited.  She was the go-to person for many, when it came to keeping an animal company until the euthanasia process was complete.   My uncle would always ask my Grandma to stand in for him when there was a cow that was past the point of hope and had to be euthanized.  He recognized she give the cow what he couldn't, a peaceful passing.

Although she was able to calmly confront death and the after affects, as an outsider, it appeared she had difficulty confronting others.   I recall witnessing times when she looked frustrated by a situation or the actions of others.  But to the best of my knowledge she didn't express that frustration.  She would step back and let the situation play itself out..... it would end how it was meant to end.  My opinionated self could not fathom not speaking up.....  voicing what I felt or thought..... but her technique seemed to work for her and probably saved many a heated argument and hurt feelings.

And that how I remember my Grandma A..... a soft place to land.... generous.... resilient... realistic..... stubborn to a fault.... a natural troubadour

Thank-you for being you Grandma Add.... you added heaping piles of love and mystery to my life and are missed everyday.

Hugga Mugga... Maxwell House

Note this post was written last year as part of one of the Challenges that I made out for myself in 2015.  I am reposting as I was able to snag some photo's when I was last home.

This seemed like an appropriate title for a tribute post about my Grandpa Max, given all the Maxwell House memorabilia that was purchased for him in the 80's.  I have been racking my brain trying to think of my earliest memory of my grandfather and the one that keeps coming to the forefront is of lambs.

The memory of lambs is entwined with my memory of Grandpa, like strands of wool binding together to form a strong yarn.  My Grandpa was a second generation farmer and one of his specialties was sheep.  The sheep had their own pen and a hut to take shelter from the freezing winter winds and the sweltering summer sun.  Grandpa loved his sheep, especially the lambs.  You could always tell when a new one arrived as he would meet us out in the yard,  his eyes sparkling and snapping with excitement.  He could not wait to show us the new arrivals on the farm.  I remember the soft texture and warmth of the lamb wool on my hand and the feel of the Geri-rigged heat lamp on my cheek. Such a stark contrast to the cold the enveloped us in the hut.  I loved watching the lambs as much as he did.  The wobbliness of their bodies as they took their first tentative steps, listening to their soft bleat and tracking the waggle of their tails as they ran after their mom.

Grandpa Max showed his love of the lambs the same way he showed his love of his grandchildren.... with his eyes.  One might surmise that he was allergic  to the words "I love you" as he rarely spoke them.  In fact I don't think I ever heard him say it...... but I guess he didn't have to, it was something that all the grandchildren just knew.

How?

The title on the back of this picture is Max with a wig- 1971

By his smile and laughter as he corralled us into figure 4 leg locks and handed out whisker rubs;  something that all of us dreaded but secretly hoped would happen.  By his impromptu visits at which time he said the hallowed words-  "Does anyone want to go see wrastling?".  By his patience when we made judgment errors with our choices in life.  And by being a rock for us as we grew and matured.  I lived for our weekend visits and a chance to run free range on the farm.

There was a cool factor about Grandpa.  There is one story that my dad tells which sums up Grandpa's cool factor.  My dad had just started University and was hanging in the dorms with his new friends.  They were enjoying some brown bottle "pop" which was risque as none were old enough to drink.  In walks my Grandfather.

BUSTED!!!!!!!

The room got quiet and the occupants were all looking at the floor, the ceiling,  the wall...  trying to avoid eye contact with the adult in the room.  My Grandfather stalked into the room, sat down in an empty spot and said-  "Is there one for me?"  Who cares what the government had to say about it.  In his mind if you were old enough to leave home, you were old enough to drink!

Should you think his cool factor diminished with age, think again.  In his 60's my Grandfather purchased a mini-monster truck.  It was a Ford and it had a raised carriage and no running boards.  It was utterly and completely awesome.  That truck, jump started my Ford love affair.  I remember Grandpa Max offering to give me a ride to a band performance... hell ya!  The only problem-  I could not step up into the truck with my band skirt on.  I tried running and launching myself through the open door, but only my torso made it in.   I slid down the seat to the ground.  I tried pulling myself in, but my wimpy arms could not do it.  Finally my Grandpa reached across the bench seat gave me his hand and yanked me in.  I was the envy of all the other band geeks.... "Wow, who's truck is that?"..... "My Grandpa's!"

Strength is the other thing that sticks out in my memory.  My Grandpa was an extremely strong man. At Christmas,  my Grandparents always had a bowl of mixed nuts in the living room.  Grandpa Max could crush the nuts with his hand.... who needed a nut cracker.... not him!  In my mind he could rival Baron Von Raske and his signature "Claw" move.

His strength was not limited to his hands.  The man had thighs of steel.   Many a time, a grandchild would be innocently walking by his recliner chair only to have his leg snake out and draw them into a leg lock.  Squirming was pointless.  The only hope was that a sibling or cousin could assist in prying his vice grip legs open enough, just enough for you to slide to freedom.  If you weren't lucky enough to break free, it was guaranteed your face would be welted and red from the "dreaded" whisker rub.

Now the whisker rub could not have been that dreaded or we would not have spent hours plotting and planning how we could "steal" his Copenhagen snuff box from his shirt pocket.  We all knew the risks going in, but it didn't matter.  The surge of power and invincibility that came from obtaining that elusive snuff box as worth the risk.  Besides, with all the grandchildren working toward this common goal; odds were someone would get the box... the sacrifice of an occasional cheek was something the team was willing make.  Sometimes the reward for our efforts was a trip into town to get an ice sandwich or go to the blacksmith shop.  There was always an adventure when you were with Grandpa Max.

Mid-birthday whacks....

Grandpa Max was a man who liked his traditions.  Every year on my birthday it was guaranteed three things would happen.  I would get a birthday spanking, followed by the bumps.  The number of bumps and spanks corresponded with my age.  A quick enterprise when you are say- 4 yrs old not so quick when you are 16.  One would think the attack on the derriere would be finished after all that.... nope.  It was not a complete birthday celebration without the pinch to grow and inch.

The man must have known what he was doing as I ended up surpassing both my parents in height.  Might not have happened if I had forgone a pinch or two.

The other staple tradition was the picture with "the boys".  My brother and two of my cousins were all born within a week of each other.  That first Christmas after the birth of the trio,  a photo was taken of my Grandpa sitting in his recliner holding all three boys.   That picture was recreated almost every year, with the last picture being taken the Christmas before his death.

How I loved my childhood.  A time when Grandpa Max was my moon, my stars and my sun.

Time and knowledge put chinks in his armour.  It turned out Grandpa Max was not the God I idolized, but a regular man.  It was difficult coming to grips with this realization, but it was something that needed to happen.   At the time I felt betrayed that he was not perfect. That he said mean things to those that I loved when he was drinking.  His meanness was never directed at me, but the sorrow and frustration in others was hard to bare witness to.    It created a picture in my mind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  How could this man who was so loving and caring to me and the rest of his grandchildren be so arbitrary with the rest of his family?

I give him credit.  If it wasn't for this dramatic difference in how he was perceived, I would probably not have the close relationship that I have with my Dad now.  I recall my Dad talking with a sibling on the phone during one of Grandpa’s illnesses.  They were rehashing the difficult times that they had as a child and were focusing on all Grandpa's faults.

I was furious!  How dare they rag on my God, my idol!  I was so mad I threw caution to the wind and started yelling at my dad after he hung up the phone.  Up until that time I would not have even dared raise my voice to my dad, let alone express an opinion, but fury made me reckless. It was a break through for both my dad and I, our A HA moment.  It was a day where the seeds of our current relationship were sowed.  Without my Grandpa, I don't think that would have ever happened.

These are the things that I wanted to say at his funeral but would not have able to get out without ugly crying in front the crowd.... there was still ugly crying but only the choir and minister got to see it.... everyone got to hear it though!

I love you Grandpa Max.  Thank-you for making my life magical, for ensuring the height gods would smile down upon me and for the life lessons that I carry with me to this day.   You are still the coolest of the cool!

Smiling On The Inside- The Outside Is Too Weepy To Participate.

So the challenge for today was to smile.  Last night when I drew it out of the jar I thought "Easy peasy!"  Having the Seahawks win their game against the Panthers, making it through to the NFC Championship game next weekend, seemed to solidify that a perma-grin would be plastered on my face today.  

Well the universe had other plans in store.  Is being able to smile a challenge?????

HELL NO!!!!

Anyone can smile!  Try smiling when your insides are breaking into a bazillion little pieces.  Not so easy.  

When I moved out on my own, I decided to move to a city where I knew no one.  I was young and wanted an exciting change.  It did not take long to discover that I do better with a support network.  Unfortunately my network was miles and miles away.  New job, new town, no friends, shyness= loneliness.  I wanted to adopt a dog, but my landlord informed me dogs were forboden.   However, I could have a cat if I wanted.  Problem solved- cat adopted.

Gidge and Syd- The Early Years

Gidget provided the companionship that I sought and also gave me a reason to leave work at work and head home each night.  Things were going great until she decided to show her "love" via fangs and claws.  I had to wear long sleeves, even in the heat of the summer, as my arms looked like I kanoodled with Freddie Krugger every night.

Three months later, I could no longer take Gidget's loving affection.... I needed to do something and something fast.  I was desperate, but I had a plan.....  I would adopt another cat.  That is when Syd entered the picture.  Syd was Gidge's polar opposite... dainty, loving and more interested in fetching toys- than ripping my arms to shreds.

The plan worked.... Gidge transferred all her aggressive tendencies to Syd and I found myself with two cats to love.  Even better, Syd did not like people and would hide whenever anyone came over, so for all others knew I only had one cat.

Over the last 18 years Syd has taught me many things....

Sage Syd... The Purveyor of Life Lessons

• How to speak cat-  "Mrrrow?"- means "Where are you?  OR I'm not happy." and Meemrrow means "Hey there you are!!!!  It has been too long.... let's catch-up.  Everything is going to be alright.".  
• Effective evasive measures to use when scared-  hide under the covers... or in the drop ceiling or on the top shelf of the closet.... no one will look for, nor find you there.  
• That a cat's life can be stressful and can result in multiple stomach ulcers and irritable bowel syndrome.  It has to be taxing on the system trying to decide which sun beam to sleep in and to handle the antics of other furry herd members.  
• It is possible to "loosen-up" with age-  over the last four years she has started visiting vs hiding when others enter the house.
• One can hold onto their hopes and dreams until their dying days, even if they don't come true.  I am positive that Syd's main goal in life is to be an only pet.  Unfortunately I keep adding to the furry herd as members cross the Rainbow Bridge.  
• Sunbeams can make everything that is wrong in the world, right again!
• She taught me patience.... patience when nursing her thorough her many illnesses and patience when dealing with her "talking times".  She also demonstrated extreme patience when Gidge, in a fit of "eye whisker envy" would throw Syd in a head lock and proceed to rip out her upper whiskers from the root.  Through it all Syd was patient... demonstrating that even in unpleasant times, if one is patient, good times and upper whiskers will return. 

There have been countless other lessons over the years, but to list them all would bore you and tax your patience so I will end my tribute here.

As you have probably deduced, Syd has given me her sign.  Her sign that she is ready to tap out of life.  This morning she started having difficulty walking and standing.  She has taken up residence in front of the hot air register and can not move more that a couple inches in either direction.  She can not even manage to stand to eat or drink.

Tomorrow I will be saying my final farewell.  Tomorrow will mark the end of a friendship that has spanned close to half my life.  This is the part about having pets that really blows dead bears..... saying good-bye.

I hold on to the fact that she gave me 18 amazing years of love and acceptance... more than any of other furry herd members.  Maybe she held on so long

because she has as hard of a time saying goodbye as I do, or maybe she just plain stubborn... wanting to be the last pet standing.  Either way my heart is breaking and my gratefulness cup runneth over and is currently cascading down my face and out of my nose.  Off to pull myself together and to spend our last treasured moments together.

Farewell Syd!

Syd-  July 1996- Jan 12, 2015   To be determined at a later date!