I’m going to start with “Not About Ben.”
First of all, I’m on summer holidays. Yay. Not to return to work until after Labour Day. An entire summer to devote to myself and my kidlets. That has not happened since I was 17, so I’m pretty excited about it. I’m hoping for some relaxation, some healing and a lot of hiking. Nothing like being in nature to help one’s self heal. I may have to buy new shoes … is there such a thing as fashionable hiking boots? Apparently there is.
I may have to give those a bit of thought. They could be a bit hard to walk in. And speaking of walking, which involves the ground, which also could involve flooring (see how I segued smoothly into a conversation about my floors?) …. after ELEVEN WEEKS and three days…. wait for it … wait for it … my floors are NOT finished. DA DA daaa! Sorry for the letdown there. However, trying to look on the bright side, they are almost done. All the flooring is in and the baseboards mostly went back on today. The railings are finished but not yet installed, and the fireplace mantle still needs to be stained. Despite all that, they look fantastic. Here’s a taste:
Gorgeous, right? I know. They actually look way better in person than they do in the pictures.
Besides being busy trying to live life around a strange man who has pretty much moved into my home while he does his work, I have also been starting to read up on what to do in Hawaii. (Now here is the segue into “About Ben.”) I do wish very much that Ben was here to enjoy the trip with us, but I am still looking forward to being in his favourite place with the kids and Lisa. I have been toying with the idea of taking some of his ashes with us to spread some place pretty and peaceful, but at the same time I haven’t yet gotten off my butt to make the inquiry with the airline. Or to actually get some of his ashes separated.
I’ll bet you didn’t know that you weren’t just allowed to bring ashes in your carry on luggage, did you? I was tempted to try, but I don’t relish the thought of the airline seizing them and then having part of Ben living eternally at YVR. (Although, if he lived there long enough he may eventually get a discount on flights. But I digress…) I’m not even positive that I want to separate any of his ashes at all and I don’t want to rush into making that decision. If we find ourselves flying out without his ashes, I’ll wait until the next trip.
The kids and I visited two cemeteries this week and we made the final decision about where to have Ben’s ashes interred. Turns out that there is quite a competition for burial plots. Who knew? The cemetery we decided to go with only has three remaining plots available right now. Yes, you read that correctly. Three.
Technically they have eight remaining plots, but five of them are already spoken for. I missed four of them by one day. Apparently you can “hold” a spot for 30 days while you try decide if that is the perfect spot for your loved one to spend eternity. Of those five spots that are currently held, the holder of one of them has a mere four more days to make their final decision or come up with the money, or figure out whatever it is that is holding them back from committing. (Maybe they haven’t died yet? That would put a wrench in their plans.) Anyway, that happens to be the specific plot that we actually want, so we in turn put a hold on our second favourite plot while we wait to see what happens with the first one. Will the holder pay, or won’t they? It feels a bit like a game of poker which I’m not very good at, as my friends can attest to. Hopefully I play this hand better than I did last Friday night.
Cross your fingers for us that we get what we want. Not that Ben would actually care – he wouldn’t. He would say “give the bag a shake and let my ashes blow away in the wind, because it’s cheaper.” He would actually say that. But he would also say that everything that takes place after death is for the survivors, so I’m going to do what’s best for the four of us. Therefore, cross your fingers for us that we get what we want, because it is important to us.
I would cross my own fingers but I can’t because my stupid finger is still broken. Here’s how part of that little chat with my doctor went today, after he received my xray results:
Hmmm … well, good thing it’s in a good position I suppose, but where exactly does that leave me? So I tried again …
That’s right, I took it off against the doctor’s advice because I was sick of it and I thought it might be healed, even though he had told me it wouldn’t be. What does he really know? He answered with this:
WHAAAAT???? I don’t want to wear that stupid splint anymore. So that answer made me mad and I thought I would really show him who’s boss by letting him know just how mad I was:
That’s right. I sent an angry emoticon. I wasn’t fooling around. All he sent back was this:
Damn him and his answers that are not what I want to hear. Who does he think he is anyway? What makes him so smart? So what that he went to med school. Pfffft…. big deal. He texted all tough, but I have a pretty good feeling that he was crying and shaking in fear over that angry emoticon I sent him. Anyway, I sure showed him because I took the stupid splint off to type this post. So there.
While I happily type away without my splint, Raegan has left with her friend Jenn on a lovely overnighter in the good ol’ U.S of A. Raegan was thrilled to leave the Vancouver drizzle behind for a night. Here’s the picture of them that Jenn’s mom sent me tonight as they were headed out on a hike.
Hahahahahaha! Apparently it’s pouring there. Raegan doesn’t look thrilled that she is wearing a plastic bag. Seeing that picture actually made me laugh out loud. I was reminded of the time that my grade 2 teacher insisted we all bring one of our Dad’s old shirts to school to use as a paint smock the next day. When I asked for an old shirt, my mom said that dad didn’t have any shirts to spare that they could afford to have ruined by paint. Instead, she made me wear a big black garbage bag with holes cut for my head and arms. All day the other kids called me the “Big Black Banana.” I was traumatized for life, so now I’m happy to pass that same trauma onto my own kid.
Sometimes I just love parenthood. 🙂