Gruncled Again

My brother calls himself a 'Gruncle', which is an affectionate term, not to be confused with a more derogative term for his disposition.

It's a combo word, great and uncle. A term his nephew's daughter calls him, short for Great Uncle. And that term has double meaning, great, as in...great, and great as in one generation removed, or whatever.

Now he's a Gruncle for the second time, as a new baby has joined the family, a boy this time. Congrats to the parents, and to a too cute little girl who is now a big sister.

Big sister, now that brings back many memories. I remember my 'little' brother, as a toddler with a head full of dark curly hair. That hair is now a blend of silver to be envied, and still curly. Why is it the boys always get the better hair?

Oops, not for my kids. I think my daughter is quite happy with what she has to deal with, considering the alternative. My son blames me for his...lack of hair. Though I like the shaved head, I would be hard pressed to remember him with a full head of hair.

Apparently, the tendency to male baldness is a direct genetic link to the maternal father. My father was gray and bald by the time he was thirty. An unfortunate trait passed down from my father to my son. Sorry Kid.

Now my maternal grandfather had a full head of hair well into his nineties. So I guess my brother will keep his silver tresses for some years to come.

All the best to the happy family.

Velma's Hit Menopause

I was out of town on Friday, and was treated to a great lunch with a friend. The drive up was okay, still too early for the heat to be a problem. I took the highway and drove with the windows closed, and the fan set on its coldest setting. I hate air conditioning, and never even considered turning it on.

For the drive home, I avoid the highway. I hate rush hour and I'd be heading out of the city like all those people who are finished work and are...rushing home. I don't like all that merging, the changing lanes etc, so I stick to the city streets.

The nice thing is, my route home takes me by the Michael's Craft Store, Pier 1, Bed Bath and Beyond (I had a 20% off coupon) and Fabricland. I don't hit all of them, the odd time, none of them, but most often I stop at the craft store.

By the time I reach the east side of the city my route is more like a country road, until it dead ends in another town and I change to the two lane highway. I continue east, driving through town, smaller town and then villages until I reach my destination.

I drove with the windows open, but the heat was getting unbearable, so I gave in and closed the windows and turned on the air conditioning. Hot air, and more hot air, not a breath of relief. Well, damn, my air conditioning doesn't work. Velma, you old beast, you have reached that car age where your systems are failing, You're having hot flashes.

I drove home with the windows open, my arm out hoping to catch some of the breeze up my sleeve, to cool me off. Even with the wind blowing in and around, I was over heated by the time I reached home. I made it in the door, changed into cooler clothes and dropped down on the bed, a cool cloth on my head.

Velma, Velma, Velma. I wanted us to be more friendly, but I never anticipated that you would  play copycat. Just because I don't like air conditioning, and don't do well in the hot weather doesn't mean you have to do the same.

Note. Velma is my car, and a frequent topic of conversation in my posts. We're a pair of old ladies, aging too fast, and too soon we're going to reach the end of our driving experience.)

Cliffhanger

I was running, through a maze of a house, could heat the noises behind me and knew he wasn't far behind. I could almost feel his hot breath against my neck, knew if he caught me...I was done.

Keep going, keep going. I could hear the mantra going through my head, when, with heart pounding , I made a desperate grasp for the door.

And woke up.

Wow, I thought as I looked at the clock. Two A.M., I'd only been asleep for a couple of hours. The dream had a lot more action but, as usual, the details fade when I awaken. Too bad, it might have been the basis for a good story.

The dream was most likely inspired by the story I'd been reading before I settled to sleep. There was a chase in that story too, but the demon there was fire.

I had been reading Chasing Fire by Nora Roberts, a mystery story that takes place in Montana. The location is a camp where firefighters stay during wildfire season and are air lifted out to parachute into the fire zone. Scary business.

I have a friend who lived in Fort McMurray and was evacuated, and  have watched the news about the fires with great interest. And by reading their comments on Facebook, I've seen the more personal side of those affected. So much loss, and yet such overwhelming support, from friends, from the other members of their community, the province and the Canadian public.

I'm glad you and the family are safe, Sara. Keep your spirit strong.

And for those who want to better understand what the firefighters are going through, read this book. It puts you behind the lines, into the heart of the dragon. These guys deserve our respect for their dedication, and our thanks for their unfailing commitment. These men and women are true heroes.

Nail Fashion

I was in the store the other day and the woman at the cash had the longest nails, polished to a bright coral color. It reminded me of the one time I had long nails.

As a craft person, my hands are constantly covered in paint and glue, and subsequently have to be in and out of water. This is not a good scenario if you want long and healthy nails. But one time I really wanted to have pretty nails.

My husband bought me a gift certificate to have acrylic nails applied. This was a few years (okay, many moons) ago and I'm not sure if it's done the same today. Then they had to rough up your nails, glue on the fake, and then do the manicure to give them shape.

As the nail grew, there would be a space between the cuticle and the fake nail. I would go back and have this space filled, and have a manicure. I think the idea was to do the filler a couple of times before you took off the first acrylic nail, and applied new.

I loved how my hands looked with my new nails. I'd hold my hand flat on the desk when writing a check, or signing my name, just to show them off. But they did present with some complications.

Like I couldn't scratch my eye without worrying about scratching my cornea, couldn't do my crafts with ease, and I couldn't get hold of that little thingie on the zipper to do up my pants.

After a couple of fillers, I lost a couple of nails and pulled the rest off, I'd had enough. The nail left behind, my real nail, was not particularly healthy looking, and I was glad when they finally returned to normal.

Every once in a while, my nails will get long and I'll file them, and give them a coat of polish. They'll lokk nice for about a week before they start breaking and I take the polish off and cut them down. That seems to satisfy my desire for pretty hands.

The younger generation are really into this nail stuff, and one color doesn't seem to suffice. They want their nails painted to a theme, complete with designs and little works of art.

I should get into painting nails, but that surface is awfully small...but it might e fun.

Sudden Death

A man died last night. I don't know his name, or anything about him except he was at a banquet, didn't feel well and left the table, only to collapse in the foyer.

The death of this man, while devastating for his family, also had a profound effect on my family.

My granddaughter was working this banquet, and had just served the man his dinner before he left the room. She was witness to the paramedics make a valiant effort to save his life, and for the first time in her life, was struck by how quickly life can change as she watched him die.

The night was long, much more so than if the EMS had been able to save him and rush him to hospital. A death, unexpected like that, is an automatic coroner's case and requires a different procedure.

Needless to say, after a late night, My granddaughter was not ready to embrace life this morning, was not ready to sit in a class when her thoughts were elsewhere.

I called her, told her she had 15 minutes and I would be there to pick her up. That is nowhere near enough time for her to be ready, but as I wasn't taking the time to shower, she didn't need to fuss.

We went out for breakfast and I let her tell me about the previous evening's events, and we were able to talk it out. I gave her a challenge, handed her my camera, and told her I was her driver and she was to take 100 pictures of things that were fun, colorful, and positive.

I wanted her to have those pictures in her mind, not the replay of the horrible events of the night before.

We went to the beach, all three sections that are accessible, and the river. We hit the fish ladder and saw the trout. We stopped to smell the magnolias in bloom, and looked at the trees and bushes in full flower.

At one point I found myself going the wrong way on a one way street (don't know how that happened) and when we turned around, we were at a store, so we shopped and found her a sweatshirt she liked.

We hit the 100 mark as we were driving home. Her Nana was out on the porch of her house with her mother, and we stopped and she took a picture as we had a visit.

All in all, it was a good day. We laughed, and we saw a great deal of the town she calls home, and she was in a better mood, with a new appreciation for what is good in her life.

She wants to have days like this more often, and I agreed. We plan to have a few more adventures through the summer, inspired by the love we feel and the enjoyment of being together. Hopefully that will stay the same, and she (at 14) will not have to go through what she went through last night, ever again.

I know that is Pollyanna thinking, but it never hurts to think positive.

PS Wish I had photos to share, maybe later as I left the camera with her so she could share them with her family.