SMARTIE MEMORIES IN NOVEMBER

Smartie getting a driving lesson from his grandson.
TAKEN: AUGUST 27th, 2021

I am sitting at my home office desk and a wave of varying emotion just hit. 

It is 3:52pm and gloomier than usual outside.

I can hear the wind howling and my phone is buzzing with severe weather warnings and the radio's been boasting cancelations all afternoon. All of it reminding me what the next few weeks will offer, which is absolutely nothing special.

As my hump day workday ends, my mind began to wonder. Tomorrow is Thursday. And as I have each week since that terrible day last April, I realized that I won’t be getting my weekly call from Smartie tomorrow; or ever again.

I remember the day we met. It was in April of 2004 and we hit it out of the park from the get-go. Both working in manufacturing, we stayed on straight evenings so that we could save big dollars on daycare. An eighteen year friendship, that ended with his death on almost the same day in April that it started.

That said, as I type, it’s like I am stuck. Whenever I mention him to others in passing, I instantly tear up. Which is immediately followed by an apology disclosing, “I just can’t seem to get over his death.”

I feel a true emptiness, and all these months later his absence is still raw. Each time I get try to process why, I wonder if it could be because I wasn’t offered proper closure. 

Because, for obvious reasons, I wasn’t invited to his intimate private service. 

I could make excuses, but the truth of the matter is that I disliked his wife in high school and absolutely detested her by the time their marriage ended. Not looking to expand on why, other than to say he was my friend, and she was not. Either way, he’s gone and I truly miss him.

As I stop typing and glance out the window, I see the snow is now blowing on a 45 degree angle. 

I guess I should get my ass into the kitchen, get some grub going, and feed the pups while we still have hydro.

Once again, thanks for listening to me blather.

A SERIOUS DRY SPELL

No matter what they look like, or where they are found, they're all truly appreciated.
(On the left, never used. The right, death by dishwasher.)
Left TAKEN: NOVEMBER 15th, 2021
Right TAKEN: NOVEMBER 19th, 2022

As you know, the term 'dry spell' usually references a type of drought (weather wise or even sexually). You know, a drawn out period of sorts.  So it is with great angst that I post that I am still recovering from my very own dry spell. 

Neither of which I just referenced, yet one ten times more serious, personally. I'm not joking. Can you believe that I just went a span of three hundred and seventy days (that's 3-7-0) without finding any of my beloved Petro Canada glasses? 

So, now that I am somewhat rehydrated and on the road to recovery, I am alerting the freaking electronic journal masses!

As I began to write today, I tried to remember when it was, after my dad died, that my husband found my very first glass. I know it was a loner, and it was from a Habitat Restore in an adjacent town. I would bet money that is was the spring of 2007.

I'm not exaggerating when I share that I remember how excited I was when he text me a photo with the caption 'look what I just found'. Also, that it was in that moment I realized if there was one, there had to be more; and my great journey began.

I could say I am embarrassed, yet I am in fact quite proud to admit that I have acquired glasses as far south as Toronto and as far north as North Bay. I am also proud to disclose that I have accumulated more than two hundred of these gems. All specifically the water goblet as shown above.

I need to go back and label all the post I have written so they appear when I am reflecting like I am today and go searching. That said, one of the most painful posts that reads light hearted, was posted Boxing Day 2014. 

Though not specifically shared in the post, our immediate family was estranged from our daughter. All because her mentally abusive and controlling boyfriend made her pick between him and her family, and we drew the short straw. 

A truly terrible time all around, I wrote 'Had A Drink With My Dad' about how I envision my day would have been spent, had my dad still been alive to spend the holidays with us. 

On that note, I guess you could say if it takes a village to raise a child, it also takes... A really strong readership and killer group of kickass Facebook friends, who've helped this cat collect some silly and outdated glasses for the purpose of being stored in bubble wrap.

So, thank you. All of you are a part of my ongoing journey.

ELEVEN YEARS YOUNG

Happy Eleventh Anniversary to US!
TAKEN: 1976

 

Allow me to share a photo my mother took of me outside our home in Muskoka when I was eleven years old. Oh to be able to celebrate being eleven years old again. 

Wait... We can. Because today is the eleventh anniversary of my wee electronic journal Ya Gotta Laugh About It. 

If you are reading this, I am both pleased and grateful to report that you are helping me celebrate my nine hundredth and seventy fourth effort since I began this ride on this day back in 2011.

Can you believe it? Eleven. Freakin'. Years!

All these years later, I am honest when I admit that the offerings I have posted are truly a part of me. Yet, I'm not quite sure what made me realize my anniversary was looming. Very in tune with my seasonal affective disorder, I'd probably put gobs of cash on the time change. 

As you know, the darkness of the month of November and into December have always had me crawling into the closet, throwing a blanket over my head, with a bowl of warm gravy and a spoon; specifically, so the dogs would join me. 

Some of the funniest items written had tears steaming down my face. Not of joy, but because in most cases I was processing a deep hurt and moving forward. For those that know me personally  (rather than just words from a keyboard that you're reading) you know that humour has always been my go to attitude in deflecting hurt.

That said, these eleven years have produced so much great dialogue, not to mention life changing friendships. 

I am grateful for all of you that have inboxed me with your comments, opinions, as well as your unconditional support and feedback over the years. It's truly been a cathartic experience arriving at today

To each and every one of you peeps... A very heartfelt THANKS!

Happy 11th anniversary to us!!

TWO YEARS NEXT WEEK

Discovering the beautiful resort beach on our first night in Mazatlán Sinaloa
TAKEN: NOVEMBER 2019

It’s that time of year again, where the clocks fall back, and I fall into a six week struggle to stay awake during the day and get a good sleep at night. As a result, my day in my home office starts a half hour early, so I can tour around the Trip Central website; dreaming I will find a February deal.

It is hard to believe it has been exactly two years next week since I snapped the pic I am sharing. 

Less than three months after this photo was taken, we were both so ill it was mind blowing, with nothing but speculation as to why. Then, in March of 2020 lockdown began. 

Well, for the second time in less than two years, we both spent the last three weeks getting over what we suspected we had nineteen months previously. Except this time around we could test ourselves to confirm what in January 2020 we could not. 

On the mend with days getting shorter, once again we rally to finish out the cottage season and close it down. The final five boards will be attached to the new deck Saturday morning and Sunday morning we will shut water off and head up the hill.

Every year I hope we will get to hike and haul everything in for a couple of nights over Christmas, but that hasn't happened since the extremely mild December of 2014 - so the expectation it will happen is low - yet my fingers are crossed.

The upcoming 2023 presents a big milestone wedding anniversary in June for us which we began discussing on our drive to and from the Outer Banks. But prices are just too extreme at this juncture to make any decisions. 

Though we've always set a certain amount of money aside every week to travel, with uncertainty in the economy and costs where there are now, I can't see us crossing the pond nor taking an Alaskan cruise (which has my husbands' vote).

Instead, I imagine I will keep dreaming of finding a great travel deal, then hire an excavator to put a new driveway in at the cottage... and together he and I will properly rebuild those shitty fifty-five stairs and associated landings.

Happy Anniversary to us!