COSTCO - SANS SPOD AND WAITING FOR GODOT

I got a call this morning from the real estate guy handling the Nanaimo house sale.  The people buying it wants an extension.  I hate extensions.  It turns out his lawyer needs more time to get the paperwork together, seriously.  Stupid lawyers.  My notary, who had the same amount of time, not only had to get the papers together, but had to change the title from Bill and I to just me, an extra step.  And they managed to be ready.

I said yes, but it means that papers for this change have to be signed and initialled so how the hell is that supposed to happen?  I figure its the sellers problem, not mine.  So poor Dale, real estate guy, had to come all the way down here to get them to me and signed.  

I got the house all cleaned up.  But I didn't get my hair done.  Again.  (shovel list).  After Dale left I decided that seeing as how I was dressed and my chores done I should make my first solo trip to Costco.  I have gone back with the kids but not by myself without Spod.  He so loved going there and sharing a poutine.  So off I went and I have to admit it wasn't easy.  Its funny the goofy things that trigger such sadness.

Yesterday, or the day before, I was picking up stuff and emptying bags in my purple room.  Suddenly I found Spod's black sweater.  I instantly burst into tears.  I am tearing up right now just writing about that sweater.  He wore that sweater almost every day, even in Maui.  One time I told him it was getting all pilly and ratty and he spent the next three hours picking little balls off of it and sticky thingy rolling it.  He wore that sweater until after he died. 

 It brought to mind the time we went to visit Brad and Dana at their cabin.  We were up in her Grampa and Gramma's big cabin and in the kitchen there was a woman's sweater hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.  Dana told me that that was her Gramma's sweater, just where she always hung it when she wasn't wearing it.  Her gramma had been gone for sometime.  I loved that.  The significance of that sweater to that family was amazing.  And clearly thats how I feel about Spod's sweater.

But I won't be crying anytime soon again.  The very moment Parker heard me he did the same thing Sadie did when Aryn was here.  He came flying into purple room, bashed and bashed his head on me, licked and licked and then he actually put both front feet up on my lap and tried to climb onto me.  Holy Hannah…total distraction!!!  Such a funny dog and so sensitive.

Myles's mommy Helen (her name is Helen too!) phoned me tonight and we had such a lovely long chin wag.  I think she and I are very much alike!  We aren't too worried about how many filters we do or do not have in place!  During the conversation we discovered that we own native masks, some with horse hair!  So I took a picture of a couple of them and I am posting them here so she can see.  Helen, there is one that has visible shorter pieces of hair, that mask lost some of his hair in our house fire years ago.  So here they are…oh and I added a couple of pics of my 'hobos'.  I love my hobos.  I have set them up to look like they are sitting under a tree at a very isolated crossroads, "Waiting For Godot!" But first my next stellar poem.  TTYL  (my apologies to anyone who has ever given me flowers….this is just a poem, not reality!)

WE ASKED THE FIRST NATIONS CARVER WHAT KIND OF HAIR THAT WAS.  HE TOLD US IT WAS HORSE HAIR.  SHORTLY AFTER HIM TELLING US THIS WE HEARD ON THE NEWS THAT SOMEONE HAD SNUCK INTO THE STANLEY PARK HORSE STABLES AND HAD CUT THE HORSES TAILS AND MANES!!  JUST SAYING!

FLOWERS

Flowers frigging annoy me

whether they are in the house or outside

no matter how pretty

when you aren’t looking…you will find them dead

when we go out for a long walk

and I am enjoying how my arms swing free

someone inevitably picks a flower

and hands it over to me

now I can’t swing them

I can’t even hang my hands loose

I have to pinch my fingers tight

until those little buds turn to pink juice

theres a knock at my front  door

why theres a sparkly green van

and a whole whack of flowers

held out to me by a man

one week later, sitting on my bar

wilting and drooping, dropping petals to the floor

All those stupid dead flowers,

garbage bound they are

Flowers annoy me, 

any time any where

do not pick them

I prefer them stay there