Month: March 2015

Some days are so long and I feel like I am not accomplishing my mission in life.  I flop on the couch and think, think, think.  The world should know by now that although I am a creative genius,  with a glittery collar attached to a lead, I am kept in captivity like a Seal at Marine land, catching, fetching, flapping, all to gain attention .  Like a criminal, I do not get out the door with out an escort.

I know, (I SHOULD know) I have done some questionable things in the past and safeguards are in place to save my body and soul.  But the Indoor / Outdoor Cats, they smirk at me, behind their two-faced paws.  I am sure they feel superior because they are trusted to take care of themselves, to come back on time, while on the other hand, I went out of my way (in my youth, I tell you) to take the whole family on wild goose chases, down streets, over fields, through traffic, causing mayhem and refusing to stop on command.  I am no longer that puppy.  But Momma can not bear to lose me, so we spend a lot of time together and I am spoon fed stories to feed my sense of adventure and keep me happy while I am anchored.

One day, when I was moping around, Momma tried to paint me a picture of her esoteric father, felled by a crippling stroke and yet still a strong life force, arranging, planning, executing with his last heart beats.

It was just another frantic weekend when Momma thought she would slip in to see her father in the Long Term Facility where he had been sent once medical intervention was no longer an option. The stroke had brought on abilities (to invent dramas….in his head) and real-time disabilities, (one of which was being paralyzed on his left side). Daddy and Wonder Boy also visited faithfully, but today they would get a break from the extra duty imposed by a sick family member, through no fault of his own.

Momma got off the elevator on his floor and weaved her way between elderly patients in wheelchairs, charging at her with a vengeance and reckless abandon, since they could not control their walkers or wheelchairs or should they still be walking, their drunk-like gait.

When Momma reached my father’s room, he asked me, ‘Did you see Oliver Over-the-Hill on the elevator today?’ Now her father, with his confused brain, often told his family some fantastic tales.  It seemed John Major, the Prime Minister of England at that time, was using him as his political adviser.  He would explain the political decisions Mr. Major made, based on Momma’s father’s sound advice.  Also, Bob Barker from ‘The Price is Right’ was his cousin and my youngest sister was going to get a call from him, any day now, to replace Vanna as hostess on the game show.  Itty Bitty would smile, point out prizes, and clap when it was appropriate. She could handle that, one hand tied behind her back.

Oliver Over-the-Hill, Oliver Over-the-Hill, where had Momma heard that name, she thought frantically.  Then it came to her.  He was an old-timer from their neck of the woods, that died even before she was born. Even so, his legend lived on.  He had been a much respected, take charge business man who would step up and take control without invitation.

‘No Dad, I did not see him.  What ever is Oliver Over-the-Hill doing on the elevator?’, Momma asked, quite innocently. He leaned over to whisper in her ear so the other patients in the room would not hear and be frightened, ‘He is taking lost souls back to Heaven.’

‘Aaah,’ Momma said,  ‘I am just as glad I did not see him then or I might be  Heaven bound.’  Momma’s father’s expression read, mock you if you must, as he said, ‘Oh ye of little faith and less understanding.’

This says it all – the description and image of a Fairy Ring,where angels and fairies rest until the moon comes out again and they can leap and dance…..

I just wish I had met Momma’s father.  A man so connected, an advisor to John Major, a cousin to Bob Barker, a man who met up with Peter Cottontail, saw the fairies leap and dance around the Fairy Circle on a Moon Lit Night and actually saw Oliver Over-the-Hill’s ghost on the elevator.

They don’t make ’em like my Grandpapa any more.

At night we drift off to sleep without any control over the dreams or nightmares we may encounter.  When we awaken, next morning, it takes a minute or two to figure out the reality. Sometimes we open our eyes, feel peace surrounding us and out of the blue it hits us, like a ton of bricks.  We did something yesterday, that is going to ruin today….. Or we or someone in our family is leaving or sick or dying.  A sense of panic and inertia strikes us. We breathe deep and say like Scarlett O’Hara, ‘Tomorrow’s another day.’

But all dreams are not born equal. Buddy’s mother,  Momma’s Aunt, (although 100% Scottish born and bred) was a Spanish Marilyn Munroe look-alike, tall and curvaceous, with black hair, streaked with glowing hints of red and blue in the sun.

In Momma’s dream, a sister of Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe dropped by her home in Ontario to let Momma know she and Daddy just had to go to Ruis’ Funeral Home, back home in Quebec that very night because it was the twenty-five year anniversary of Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe’s death and her husband, Uncle WW2 Sergeant was planning an anniversary that would amaze everyone.

Well, it was a fair distance from Ontario, maybe astro travel would work, but we would try, because we all adored Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe (besides Momma’s Mother-God-Rest Her-Soul,  would be observing and recording non-attendance.  Momma would never be forgiven if she was a no-show).

When Momma and Daddy arrived at the Funeral Parlor (don’t ask how, Momma was vague about the devil in the details), there was a long line up outside consisting of family and friends that they had not seen in years. They caught up with all the gossip, laughing at the absurdities of life,  commiserating about Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe and Uncle WW2 Sergeant’s son, Cousin Buddy, being AWOL since the mother he had adored, had been taken from him. Then again, there was the promise he made his Father. Well, Uncle WW2 Sergeant didn’t listen to him and married that ‘other’ woman, but Buddy kept his promise. Not only that, Buddy was right. Right or wrong, no one had seen him since.   Over the years Buddy had few supporters (except his club members who thought of him often), but the old folks seemed to have mellowed in their opinions in this setting. Also, they just wished he could be with them, in honor of the strong bond he and his mother shared, since it was them against the world on many occasions.

Finally the line snaked in to the Funeral Parlor.  They were in the room with the coffin.  Momma saw Uncle  WW2 Sergeant, looking smart in his best Legion Bib and Tucker, ready to go fight WW3, if needs be, standing by his late wife’s casket.

As Momma approached, Uncle WW2 Sergeant excitedly told her that Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe had a special message for her.  At that, Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe dressed in a white sleeveless dress, to best show her shiny black hair and perfect tan, sat up silently, in her coffin.  With out saying a word, she opened her big, sparkly brown eyes, rolled them to the left, then to the right, closed them and lay back down.

It was a miracle, Uncle WW2 Sergeant proclaimed, Momma had been the only person sent a message, but no one knew what it all meant exactly.

Momma’s Aunt had  died within six months of being diagnosed with cancer. And so it was, exactly six months after the dream, Momma was diagnosed with cancer. She successfully lived through Surgery, Chemotherapy and Radiation.  Is it not fitting, through a dream, Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe was warning Momma to “look at and listen to” her body?

What do you think  Gen, Tigger and my Incredibly Wise Wide Eyed Stuffed Monkey Ruby?  Anything like that ever happen to you? I hate those dreams where some hungry mutt is chasing me because I look like a yummy snack.  I whimper, Momma sits up, pats me and says, ‘It’s okay, Jakita.  It is just a dream. Go back to sleep.’ I am still waiting for a dream with a message.  I am just saying, I am open to it, okay?

Thank you,  Aunt Spanish Marilyn Munroe.  You were always so strong and brave.  Thirty-nine years old was too young to die.

Momma says she learned a lot from you, both here on earth and of course, when you materialized mysteriously in a dream.  You saw first hand what your death did to your young family and wanted to make sure  history did not repeat itself.

They don’t make them like our Auntie anymore!!!!