Jealous of the Rain

TV wasn't a huge part of our marriage, but we did watch the music competition reality shows. It was our thing.  And if there were no shows currently running, we watched (and re-watched and watched again) endless youtube videos of various past performances. I will let you guess who operated the remote control.

I think he liked to imagine himself in the the contestant's position and think about what his life might be like had he made some different, more musically inspired, choices in life. (And I thank God daily that he didn't.) He certainly didn't regret his life choices, and probably would have done things much the same if given the chance for a do-over. But sometimes its fun to just imagine...

While Albert would understand the technicalities of these shows and could hear every mistake, key change and pitchy-ness, I just knew if I liked it or didn't like it. And really didn't have an explanation of why something fit into the like or dislike category.

And I learned to not overly rave about someone I loved until AFTER he expressed his good/bad opinion, cuz it got a little embarrassing to hoot and holler with enthusiasm over a "great song" only to learn that it was totally pitchy and out of sync with the band.  :)

One of his most loved performances to watch and re-watch was Josh Daniel's audition performance of "Jealous of the Rain" on the X-factor. He cried his way through it every.single.time.

I don't even pretend to know anything about stereos and decent sound. I'm totally fine with listening to music through my iPhone speaker and have been known to not even power on the stereo in my vehicle for months at a time.

But today I listened to Josh Daniel sing "Jealous of the Rain" while I was driving with Francesca, my new ride.  I think Albert would be pretty impressed with her Bose stereo that I think could possibly make your ears bleed with volume and still sound decent.

And for the first time, I cried my way through this song, as it pounded through those Bose speakers with entirely new meaning for me.

Oh Baby, I'm jealous of the rain.

Oh How I Miss You on this Random Thursday.

"I don't need a calendar to tell me when and how to love my wife."

There may or may not have been a expletive or two included that first February just weeks after we had gotten married.

I do admit to a few initial pangs of disappointment as I responded, "I'm okay with that  ... as long as you prove you don't need a calendar."

Special Days like Valentines were never a huge deal in our home as I was growing up neither, so I wasn't completely dashed.

And prove it, he did.

Now, I can't say that our lives were filled with romance and ritual or gush and glamour. But we were solid.

Sometimes I'd get "a pretty rock" he found at work, or he'd make up a 'ditty' or write an entire song for me, or he'd bend my name out of a piece of copper wire. (Now, that right there is worth more than a 50-dollar bouquet of roses.)  Although I did indeed get flowers fairly consistently through our 37 years together. For random reasons, or no reason at all. Our anniversary was about the only official designated calendar day he acknowledged consistently. And my birthday. Usually.

An 'eclectic' bouquet he had the florist build for me last year. He specifically chose each seemingly unco-ordinating flower for a reason. 

But in the early years we were pretty broke-ass poor and we didn't buy gifts, or even cards, for each other on our anniversary. Instead we would stop in the greeting card aisle of the grocery store sometime in the week or so before our anniversary and each choose a card or three (usually a funny one and a more romantic one) and give them to each other and say, "If I was going to spend 3 dollars on a card  this is the one I would buy for you." (Yeah, I know. A three-dollar card. Things were cheaper 37 years ago) And then drive through McDonalds and call it a day.

Now, to an outsider, it might have looked like our casual approach to 'special days' was an indicator of a dull and suffering relationship. However, anyone who knew us well knew that I did indeed get random flowers more often in a year than there are 'special days.' And even the occasional diamonds or gold, even though I'm not really a big jewelry person.

And it worked for us. I know there are lots of people for whom special days are significant and acknowledging that is important, but it just wasn't our gig.

And now, walking through this grief, I am finding myself grateful that Albert chose to honour, bless and love me more on random nondescript days than he did on the calendar days which our culture indicates are special. It makes it easier for me to wake up on those days and make it through.

Truly, I am so grateful for all we shared. Especially for the non-conventional stuff that even now is coming back to bless me in ways I really didn't understand at the time that it could.

Francesca.

Life is always such a glass-half-empty, glass-half-full scenario. And this past week was sort of like that for me. 

I'm pretty super stoked with my new vehicle. She is a 2019 Nissan Rogue and her name is Francesca. It took me a couple of days to settle on a name. Ellie and Tess were the first names in the running. I even briefly considered "The Black Widow" but not too seriously. 

Ellie came from the term Rogue Elephant - one who removes itself from the herd and lives an independent and somewhat unpredictable life. 

Tess refers to one of the first movies Albert and I ever watched together (and I slept through much of it.)  He could just say the word, "Tess" in a number of different situations and I'd know exactly what he was talking about.   However, the movie is full of death, rape, and other not-so-happy things and it even ends with Tess being arrested and hanged for murder.  So not exactly what I want my new car to represent. 

Then I remembered how much I love the name Francesca. And how, when I suggested Brandi use that name for her unborn daughter, she said yes she liked the name and if the child came out Italian with black hair she would consider it. But it didn't really suit someone who, coming from the palest parents ever, was sure to end up being super blond and fair.  

And so, although she is not an Italian car, she is dark and beautiful. And her name is Francesca.  She's pretty fancy-schmancy and it will likely take me quite some time to get all the buttons, gadgets and electronics figured out. And her steering wheel is heated. This option seems a bit frivolous, but my hands are always freezing, so I find this to be beyond fantastic. 

While I am excited about Francesca (she's the glass half full) the glass half empty side of it was that it was a little bit hard to hand over the keys to Bruce, Albert's F350 truck that he felt pretty honoured to own.  I had received some inheritance money after my Dad passed and we had used that money for Bruce (which is my Dad's middle name.) 

So saying goodbye to Bruce was like leaving behind yet another piece of both Dad and Albert. But I know they would both be pleased with her. And I believe they'd be kinda impressed with me putting on my big-girl panties and researching, comparing, shopping and dealing all on my own and driving away with what I think was a pretty fair deal.  

Francesca. While she is not Italian, she is dark and beautiful. 

Jed felt pretty important being the first to ride shotgun in my new ride. 

But I Do Wonder...

Sometimes weird things happen. Sometimes you can shrug it off and never think of it again. Sometimes they can just stay with you for no apparent reason.

I had a dream on January 31st that wasn't scary, wasn't bizarre, and wasn't particularly out of the ordinary, except that I actually remembered it when I awoke. And it has just stayed with me. And I don't know why. Perhaps there is no 'why' and it's just magnified in my mind because our pastor at church is currently going through the book of Daniel which includes many dreams and their interpretations.

But before I go into the dream let me drone on with the pre-amble.

The first year we moved to PG I went to Shady Valley School in 6th grade in the original 3-classroom school.  Kindergarten and grade seven students went to Hart Highway School. My classroom was home to grades five and six.  Mr Bell was our teacher/principal although he took sick part way through the year and Mrs Lorenz took over the position.

I kinda felt disappointed that I wasn't a couple of years younger so I could be in the grade 3-4 class with Mrs Mary-Anne Poetsch. She was amazing. She was sarcastically hilarious. And she loved Coralie and me. Sometimes, especially on cold days, she would sneak us into her class at lunchtime so we could visit with her instead of going outside with all the others. If she heard the principal coming near she would hide us behind the giant map box until he left. We felt so privileged and special. And we loved her.

A couple of years later Coralie moved "into town" and it turned out she was just a couple of blocks from Mary-Anne and her husband Sepp's house. And she became their babysitter.

And often when she was babysitting, I would just happen to be with her.

The most memorable thing about their house was that they had a giant bottle of vodka, with a hand pump on the top of it. Seriously it was GIANT. I'm not sure how big in litres, but I recall it being about waist height for us. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but I don't think so.

This isn't exactly it, but it's similar to the giant  vodka with a pump.  

Of course we imbibed.

And whenever we did, we'd replace the stolen vodka with water to ensure the level stayed the same.

This was around 1978-80. And I also remember being so impressed as they were the first people I ever knew that had a video camera and vcr.

(Both the vodka and VCR are irrelevant to the story but interesting tidbits none-the-less)

Fast forward 25 years when I worked in the hot tub store. Sepp and Mary-Anne had a hot tub so I occasionally saw them in the store.

But that was about it for my interaction with them.

At one point I heard that Mary-Anne died. I wasn't sure of the cause.

Okay, that's it for the pre-amble.

In my dream last week, I dreamt that I was on Vancouver Island - I think just outside of Victoria. I was wandering the aisles of a rural corner store and at the far end of an aisle I saw a man whom I recognized as Sepp Poetsch. I didn't talk to him or interact in any way but I just knew it was him.

Also in the store was my sister-in-law Cindy.  I pointed out to her that Sepp was in the store, and explained where I knew him from. It was all kind of uneventful.

When I awoke, I clearly remembered the dream, but wasn't particularly moved by it.

But the morning was February 1st. The first day of the annual Opus Art Daily Practice Challenge. I eagerly jumped out of bed to check my computer to see what the first challenge of the year was. It was "Tiny."

Not to bore you with facts, but this year the challenge invited people to offer suggestions for the daily prompt. Winners receive a $100 GC to Opus Art Supplies for their entry. (And as a side note I will be getting a GC on Feb 24 :) )

Blah blah blah ...

I dreamt of Sepp Poetsch, and awoke to find the Opus prompt "Tiny" was submitted by a K. Poetsch. This is not a common surname, I don't think.

I'm not normally weirded out by co-incidences and such, but for some reason this really stood out to me.

I went to make an FB status update about it but I wasn't completely sure how to spell Poetsch. So, in typical Liana fashion, I Googled it.

The first Google entry was Mary-Anne's obituary.  And I decided an FB status wouldn't cut it, I would have to blog.

Such joy in her eyes. She was the best. 

She died of cancer on November 28, 2009. Ten years to the day before Albert.

For some reason I cannot shake this. I'm not Nebuchadnezzar not Belshazzar and I don't offer purple robes, gold chains, promotions or any other such rewards, but I do wonder....

Tomorrow is Another Day...

Splosh, glup, glup glup...

I actually googled how to verbally describe the sound of pouring wine. Apparently that's it.

I'm pretending someone is here with me, because I said I'd try not drink wine alone. But tonight is a two or three glass night. I can just tell already after only two or three sips.

I haven't been sleeping very good the past few nights. I tried an OTC sleeping pill two nights ago and it was probably the worst night of sleep I've had in a while. So last night I pulled out Albert's stash of drugs and took one of the sleeping pills they prescribed for him, but he didn't actually use because he liked laying awake with Jesus all night.

Sleep was marginally better but I still didn't feel very rested in the morning. And yes, that's even while wearing my CPAP machine.

So tonight I pull out the big guns: Cabernet Sauvignon.  We'll see how that goes.

But all-in-all today was a pretty shitty day.

It was a beautiful sunny day and we reached a high of minus 20 or so. Which actually almost felt balmy after that past few days.

The power steering went in Jade's car the other day so I gave her the Grannymobile for the week because I have Bruce, my sexy F350, who has just been sitting in the driveway for three months.

During this cold spell, I have stood in my warm kitchen and pressed the remote start button for the truck each day and he fires right up and I let him run for 10 minutes, or whatever the length of time is that the remote start leaves him running.

Even though he is sitting out there (and I haven't even bothered to plug him in) he fires right up every time.  Until today. When I actually needed to use him. AND it is 15 degrees warmer than it has been.

I had a few things to do this afternoon, so in the morning I thought I'd fire him up and get him ready for the day. I pressed the button. He honked at me. I said, "What the.." I pressed the button again. He honked again.

So, I got bundled up and went outside to physically insert the key and start him. Click. He was dead. D.E.D. dead.  (A phrase which A & I referenced regularly and I think originated in the movie "The Warriors," one of the first movies we saw together somewhere around 1980. We also often repeated "Warriors... come out to play-ee-ay" while envisioning hearing beer bottles clinking together, from the same movie - I guess it impacted us, though I really don't remember the script or plot, which isn't surprising.)

So, I did what any grieving spouse does when they can't just yell, "Albert! I need you." I cried. Dropped an f-bomb. And called JimE.  Oh my goodness. I am grateful for JimE.  Then I cried again.

So now that I've acknowledged gratefulness, let's get back to bitching shall we..

I was supposed to be at my art class (not a paint party, but a class where I actually learn things) at the Artist's Co-op at 1 pm. JimE could have had the truck going by then, but I was pretty much a basket case so I texted my friend and art buddy, Michelle, and bailed for today. And I cried again.

Then I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the living room window napping in the sun, working on my artwork for tomorrow (it's February, so it's the Opus Art Prompt-of-the-Day daily practice challenge where you are given a prompt each day and challenged to churn out a piece of art) and crying.

I really did fall asleep in the window and didn't see/hear JimE drive up until he walked in the back door. 

So in short, today sucked.

But tomorrow is another day...

Kinda Makes You Say, "Hmmm."

I headed off to do my grocery shopping as a beautiful sunrise arched over Superstore. I didn't take a photo because I was driving. Well actually, because I had my super fuzzy warm mittens on and I wasn't taking them off to dig in my purse for my phone. My dash display confirms it is minus 25 this morning. 

Westwood and Ferry Avenues are bumpy and jarring with compact ruts, the residual of 48 hours of snow we got that finally ended sometime in the night while the temperature plummeted. 

Even at this early hour I contemplated a number of things that just made me say, "Hmmm?"  

First I had to wonder what the heck was going through my mind to make me think it was a good idea to venture out at 7am on a Saturday when it is -25 degrees.  

Next, I contemplated something that has always baffled me, and if you have insight I'll gladly listen to it.  All summer long Superstore stores the carts in nice little rows in the foyer of the store. As soon as the weather starts to turn cold... outside they go. Covered in snow. And the -25 degree handle gives you frostbite on your fingers by the time you reach the produce department, and all you can think about is getting the heck outta the store so you can ditch the cart. Seriously. This has baffled me for years. 

And third, as I was driving home, I had to wonder about snow clearing procedures. You see people on social media bitching and whining all the time about it, but to be honest, I think the city does a pretty decent job of keeping up. 

I'm not sure how they determine which streets are "priority one, priority two" etc, but Westwood is a pretty main thoroughfare and is a bus route for a number of bus runs. And Ferry is a major road that intersects with lights at Highway 16. Neither of these streets had been plowed yet. Yet coming home, I turn onto Range, a much lesser street, and it looks like a superhighway with the snow banks pushed right back. 

Then I hang a left onto Wiebe, a short street behind Costco that doesn't take you anywhere but behind Costco. Again, this wee side road is neatly plowed right back and ready for the weekend. The only explanation for this is that somehow the big-box giant retail store is more of a priority than bus routes and safe access onto the main highways.  Kinda makes you say, "Hmmm...."   

Frozen snowy cart for my fresh veggies. 

Wiebe Rd, plowed and ready for the weekend.