I never put much stock in the old "deaths come in threes" adage. Nevertheless, we will soon be celebrating the life of someone close to us for the third time this year.
Kenneth Stanley McCarty was a long-standing and involved member of his church, community, and family, but I just knew him as "Grandpa." Whenever I lose a grandparent, I always feel the keenest loss at feeling like I didn't really know much about them or their life, and that is true now, also, to a degree. However, I was fortunate enough to know him some, and I was glad of the time we spent together.
When I was a little girl, I used to love biking around Lacombe with Grandpa. He taught me how to use hand signals for safety, and the rules of the road when biking. He didn't take me as often as I wanted to go (something to do with him actually wanting to get some exercise, I'm sure), but those were still treasured memories.
Around the time I was born (his first grandchild), he went into semi-retirement and drove school bus for income. In between, he also picked up running as a hobby. By the time I was a teenager, he had a wall full of medals and trophies of all sizes, colours, and shapes. I remember watching him carry the Olympic Torch for a mile on its trip across Canada when the 1986 Olympics were in Calgary. It never occurred to me how special and unique that was until I would tell my friends that my Grandpa still ran marathons, and see the look of amazement on their faces.
Grandpa was extremely musical. When we were kids, he would serenade us with old songs from the 40s and 50s, or hymns, or gospel songs, and accompany himself on the guitar or the accordion. One of my favourite photos of us together is when I was still a baby, lying on their couch, Grandpa with his poofy red-brown sideburns and accordion, singing something or other to me.
When I was a teenager, he recorded a cassette tape of two songs for me--"The Bull Song", an oldie by Wilf Carter, and "The Teddy Bear's Picnic", another one he often sang by popular demand. He had a steady voice with good pitch. Unfortunately, that tape was in the vehicle that was stolen from me when I was in college, and was among the items never recovered.
A couple of years ago, some of my uncles, my mom, and I were encouraging Grandpa to sing us a few songs. By that point, his memory had declined to the point that some of the words never did come to him. Between us, though, we did manage to remember most of "The Bull Song", a humourous tale of a cowboy who finds a rogue bull on the range and determines to bring him home at any cost. It's proper name is "The Riding of the Maverick", but everyone who knew Grandpa always just called it "The Bull Song".
When I reached adulthood, Grandpa seemed much more meek and timid than I remembered him. Really, he was always just kind of quiet, and that reserved nature sometimes made me unsure around him as an adult. I have one very vivid memory of him and Grandma at our kitchen table, though. They had come to visit us when Jason and I still lived in Sylvan Lake. Grandma made some remark, like she tends to do, that hinted that "Ken" wasn't living up to her expectations. For the first time (in my memory), I heard him make a rather witty comment back. She did not catch it, but I did. It was the first time I had seen him stand up to her bullying a bit, and after that, I had more respect for the man. I suddenly saw a man who maybe didn't show it most of the time, but who had loved this woman, despite her flaws, for so many years that little comments like she makes didn't concern him. They were her problem, not his. He just lived his life, anyway, doing the best he could with the cards he was dealt.
Seeing his mental and physical decline over the last few years has been hard, made worse because it seems so sudden. For a man winning gold marathon medals into his seventies to go downhill so quickly was quite shocking to me, and it was emphasized by difference between visits with my sporadic contact with him. I think he always remembered me when he saw me, but I saw the haze of confusion in his eyes for a few minutes when he saw my boys, until he put the pieces together again.
Grandpa always had a hug, and a smile, and a helping hand for those that needed it. He lived his faith, and was generous to a fault.
I'll miss you, Grandpa, but I look forward to catching up with you when we're both on the other side of the Pearly Gates. Scout out the best scenic routes--I bet biking around the Holy City will be the best memory yet.
Kenneth Stanley McCarty was a long-standing and involved member of his church, community, and family, but I just knew him as "Grandpa." Whenever I lose a grandparent, I always feel the keenest loss at feeling like I didn't really know much about them or their life, and that is true now, also, to a degree. However, I was fortunate enough to know him some, and I was glad of the time we spent together.
When I was a little girl, I used to love biking around Lacombe with Grandpa. He taught me how to use hand signals for safety, and the rules of the road when biking. He didn't take me as often as I wanted to go (something to do with him actually wanting to get some exercise, I'm sure), but those were still treasured memories.
Around the time I was born (his first grandchild), he went into semi-retirement and drove school bus for income. In between, he also picked up running as a hobby. By the time I was a teenager, he had a wall full of medals and trophies of all sizes, colours, and shapes. I remember watching him carry the Olympic Torch for a mile on its trip across Canada when the 1986 Olympics were in Calgary. It never occurred to me how special and unique that was until I would tell my friends that my Grandpa still ran marathons, and see the look of amazement on their faces.
Grandpa was extremely musical. When we were kids, he would serenade us with old songs from the 40s and 50s, or hymns, or gospel songs, and accompany himself on the guitar or the accordion. One of my favourite photos of us together is when I was still a baby, lying on their couch, Grandpa with his poofy red-brown sideburns and accordion, singing something or other to me.
When I was a teenager, he recorded a cassette tape of two songs for me--"The Bull Song", an oldie by Wilf Carter, and "The Teddy Bear's Picnic", another one he often sang by popular demand. He had a steady voice with good pitch. Unfortunately, that tape was in the vehicle that was stolen from me when I was in college, and was among the items never recovered.
A couple of years ago, some of my uncles, my mom, and I were encouraging Grandpa to sing us a few songs. By that point, his memory had declined to the point that some of the words never did come to him. Between us, though, we did manage to remember most of "The Bull Song", a humourous tale of a cowboy who finds a rogue bull on the range and determines to bring him home at any cost. It's proper name is "The Riding of the Maverick", but everyone who knew Grandpa always just called it "The Bull Song".
When I reached adulthood, Grandpa seemed much more meek and timid than I remembered him. Really, he was always just kind of quiet, and that reserved nature sometimes made me unsure around him as an adult. I have one very vivid memory of him and Grandma at our kitchen table, though. They had come to visit us when Jason and I still lived in Sylvan Lake. Grandma made some remark, like she tends to do, that hinted that "Ken" wasn't living up to her expectations. For the first time (in my memory), I heard him make a rather witty comment back. She did not catch it, but I did. It was the first time I had seen him stand up to her bullying a bit, and after that, I had more respect for the man. I suddenly saw a man who maybe didn't show it most of the time, but who had loved this woman, despite her flaws, for so many years that little comments like she makes didn't concern him. They were her problem, not his. He just lived his life, anyway, doing the best he could with the cards he was dealt.
Seeing his mental and physical decline over the last few years has been hard, made worse because it seems so sudden. For a man winning gold marathon medals into his seventies to go downhill so quickly was quite shocking to me, and it was emphasized by difference between visits with my sporadic contact with him. I think he always remembered me when he saw me, but I saw the haze of confusion in his eyes for a few minutes when he saw my boys, until he put the pieces together again.
Grandpa always had a hug, and a smile, and a helping hand for those that needed it. He lived his faith, and was generous to a fault.
I'll miss you, Grandpa, but I look forward to catching up with you when we're both on the other side of the Pearly Gates. Scout out the best scenic routes--I bet biking around the Holy City will be the best memory yet.
"If you had to choose, would you marry Ginger or Mary Ann?"
My jaw dropped in surprise, then laughter, as I realized my seven-year-old had asked the question.
This summer has seen a resurgence in the popularity of "Gilligan's Island" in our house, and the boys are about halfway through the third and final season of the show. I never watched this show as a kid, so most of the episodes are new to me, too... well, kind of. It didn't take me long to realize that the show used the same two or three plot lines on a heavy rotation and none of the characters ever changed. And it was less than a week before I was beyond done with the ever-loving theme song. Andstereotyped, one-dimensional quaint and charming characters.
At any rate, the boys have been loving it, and as long as they stick to their max limit of two episodes a day, I can handle it.
But I never did expect any of them to come up with the hypothetical "Ginger or Mary Ann" question... at least, not yet.
As it turns out, all the men-folk of the house, except Noah, voted for Mary Ann. (Well, also except Levi, who abstained from the vote.) I am glad. Noah gave his reason as "she's pretty."
Yes, she is, but I was relieved to hear that the votes for Mary Ann had a few more supporting reasons. Among them:
I am a strong admirer of the practical, as well as the beautiful. And every time she tries to manipulate a man into doing things her way by tickling his cheeks with her false eyelashes, I want to smack her.
(Aside: Also, I want to know how Mary Ann and Gilligan (the designated laundry-doers most of the time) managed to keep everyone's clothes so immaculate for three years on an island with no power or detergent. Seriously, I want their secret. No one ever gets so much as a worn cuff! Ahem. End aside.)
So, I guess I cast my vote with the majority: Mary Ann. Except I don't want to marry her. I bet she and I could have been friends, though. :-)
My jaw dropped in surprise, then laughter, as I realized my seven-year-old had asked the question.
This summer has seen a resurgence in the popularity of "Gilligan's Island" in our house, and the boys are about halfway through the third and final season of the show. I never watched this show as a kid, so most of the episodes are new to me, too... well, kind of. It didn't take me long to realize that the show used the same two or three plot lines on a heavy rotation and none of the characters ever changed. And it was less than a week before I was beyond done with the ever-loving theme song. And
At any rate, the boys have been loving it, and as long as they stick to their max limit of two episodes a day, I can handle it.
But I never did expect any of them to come up with the hypothetical "Ginger or Mary Ann" question... at least, not yet.
As it turns out, all the men-folk of the house, except Noah, voted for Mary Ann. (Well, also except Levi, who abstained from the vote.) I am glad. Noah gave his reason as "she's pretty."
Yes, she is, but I was relieved to hear that the votes for Mary Ann had a few more supporting reasons. Among them:
- She's pretty, too.
- She's nice.
- She can do more than bat her eyelashes.
- She can cook, and sew, and clean, and do stuff outside.
I am a strong admirer of the practical, as well as the beautiful. And every time she tries to manipulate a man into doing things her way by tickling his cheeks with her false eyelashes, I want to smack her.
(Aside: Also, I want to know how Mary Ann and Gilligan (the designated laundry-doers most of the time) managed to keep everyone's clothes so immaculate for three years on an island with no power or detergent. Seriously, I want their secret. No one ever gets so much as a worn cuff! Ahem. End aside.)
So, I guess I cast my vote with the majority: Mary Ann. Except I don't want to marry her. I bet she and I could have been friends, though. :-)
Laundry basket rides.
Can't beat the classics. :-)
No, I did not keep up on my books in 2012 the way I had had the best of intentions to do.
However, in March, I was well on my way to being caught up and on schedule to submit my taxes on time.
Then, we adopted our sweet Levi, and suddenly my best-laid plans were blown out of the water by sleepless nights and days with a lot less time in them for office work. So progress, although it was being made, was a slow ordeal, and I was lucky to be able to devote two evenings a week to the project. Tax Day came and went, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. Summer came, but I knew I wouldn't really feel like I was on holidays until those cursed taxes were filed.
So I soldiered on.
And yesterday, finally, they were filed.
Which meant I could finally have my reward: a book holiday with a title that's been calling from my shelf for over five months, now. This morning, I got to start.
See you next week. :-)
However, in March, I was well on my way to being caught up and on schedule to submit my taxes on time.
Then, we adopted our sweet Levi, and suddenly my best-laid plans were blown out of the water by sleepless nights and days with a lot less time in them for office work. So progress, although it was being made, was a slow ordeal, and I was lucky to be able to devote two evenings a week to the project. Tax Day came and went, and I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. Summer came, but I knew I wouldn't really feel like I was on holidays until those cursed taxes were filed.
So I soldiered on.
And yesterday, finally, they were filed.
Which meant I could finally have my reward: a book holiday with a title that's been calling from my shelf for over five months, now. This morning, I got to start.
See you next week. :-)
