Funerals

T's grandfather passed away a couple weeks ago. This week was the funeral.

I had not yet met T's extended family. I was quite concerned about being introduced to a highly religious bunch as T's live-in (in sin) 'special friend' in those sorts of circumstances.

After a whirlwind round of introductions at the funeral home, I decided to sneak out for a smoke. I say sneak because T has been hiding my habit from his family since I met them. I creep around like I am a teenager again, making excuses to be outdoors and out of sight. T's parents must believe by now that my dog is completely incontinent, and wonder why I take her everywhere...

So I was standing outside, smoke palmed, checking for parents before each drag. One of T's cousins, J, caught me. He asked if he could bum one. I handed it over, and told J he had to cover for me if any parents came out suddenly. He laughed and commented that at least we weren't smoking dope, then went on to say that if I was interested, he had some good BC bud in the car. I laughed like I thought he was joking, and he let the subject drop, but I felt a little better knowing that I wouldn't be the blackest sheep at the party.

After the burial, we were sitting in the holding pen at the church, where they make the family wait while they seat everyone else. Another of T's cousins came over, introducing himself to me, and saying he had a funny question to ask. He wanted to know if it would be okay if he used T's last name to refer to me in the eulogy, 'to make it easier for everyone to understand'. I started to get nervous again at that point.

I am terrible with names. Sitting in the holding pen, I was trying to use some fancy memory tricks to help me remember the names and relationships of the forty-six people in the room. I asked T to help me sort out who belonged with who. I asked him to tell me something memorable about each of his relatives. T is not very good at this game, in general, as he is not close with his family. However, T surprised me.

He started out pointing at a cousin. 'That guy's father is the one in the green shirt over there. But he's not really the father. The woman in the blue shoes, over there, was cheating on him, so neither of the kids looks like their 'dad'.

'The man over there is my sort-of uncle. Mom's sister was married to him for awhile, but he didn't make enough money, so she divorced him and married the British guy in the grey suit. He's a millionnaire'

'The gal with the little baby in the carrier over here...well, we just found out she was pregnant. Last week. The baby is about six days old. She likes to party, and we're not sure who the father is.'

I don't know why I try so hard to impress these people...

...And I don't know why I think 'religious' people would look down on me...

So anyways, the funeral went much as funerals do, and T and I came home and did some passionate affirming of life on the couch when we got home. Something about funerals does that to me every time...

...And I have to say, the family's less intimidating, somehow...

Kittens

I am now the not-so-proud owner of two kittens. They were accidental. I do not like kittens. At all. The combination of sick helpless things, terrible weather, and T being a bigger softie than me did me in, though.

T said he would deal with the litterbox.

T found the litterbox too dusty, and in a place where he never remembered to scoop it.

Your faithful author moved said litterbox, drove an hour to get no-dust litter, reminded T twice a day, then gave up and did it herself.

The next fight we had was about me being sick of being everybody's mother. I have chosen not to have kids (so far), so I don't understand how I get stuck in the role of coddling and/or supervising the people around me. I told him I was sick of having to do everything, or make sure he was doing it. I am sick of having to remind people to do things that they should just up and do for themselves. I am sick of having all the responsibility. I used the litterbox for an example.

"But I've been scooping it twice a day" he said.

I started yelling at that point.

Roles

I think I have mentioned before that I am not a girly girl. I am an indifferent housekeeper, and I am only a good cook because I like eating. I tried sewing, once, when I was fourteen. After stitching my hand to the shirt I was trying to make, I gave up and took woodworking in school.

I don't think I've ever really even had a girly job. I was a waitress, once, for about a week. A customer decided to grab my ass. That customer wore his very hot coffee home. I got fired, but it was worth it.

My current job includes un-girly aspects such as playing with guns and yelling at people. I don't really like it, but it pays better than waitressing.

My car needed an oil change last week. I had the filter and a case of oil sitting in the trunk, but I was being lazy about it, mostly because it is starting to get cold out, and the weather had been windy and rainy. It got to be pretty critical, though, as I was well over the recommended 5,000 kilometers, and T and I were planning a trip home, which adds another 1,000.

I spoke to a girlfriend at work and arranged to use her garage on Thursday. I mentioned it to T when I got home from work. T cocked his head.

"Shouldn't I be doing that?"

"Do you know how?" I replied

I guess that wasn't the most political thing to say, but T just isn't that type. I'm sure he could do mechanics, but he doesn't seem to want to. It turned out that he does know how to change oil, though he doesn't enjoy it. I told him it was fine, I was happy to do it myself.

"But what will your friends think of me?"

"I'm sure they will think you are a progressive, open-minded gentleman."

Supper was waiting for me when I got home.

Perceptive.

They say that travelling with someone is a good way to learn about them. They're right.

We were on our way home, taking the 'scenic' route, which added about 6 hours to the trip. It was already suppertime. We came to the town where my granny used to live, and I got unexpectedly choked up, realising I hadn't been there since the funeral. That's the first time T has seen me cry.

I explained. Granny and I were close.

T looked at me, head cocked, and said "do you need to visit the grave?"

I would never have asked, as we were running so late, but I really, really did.

What a sweetie.

Days before, we had gone to introduce T to my father. Neither of us were looking forward to that. Calling my relationship with Dad 'strained' would be equivalent to calling the Rockies 'a few hills'. Outright combative would be a little more accurate.

We went for dinner, and Dad picked up the tab, then tucked a wad of bills into my pocket. Driving away from the restaraunt, I shook my head.

"I hate that," I told T.

"Does he show he cares by giving people money?" T asked

Perceptive.

"Yeah," I admitted, "and he shows he's pissed off by writing us out of the will."

"Well," T mused, "if that's the only way he knows how to say he cares, why not just accept it?"

Touche...

Packing.

T met my mom a few weeks ago. And Mom's girlfriend. For a guy raised in an uber-religious family, he was pretty blase about it.

"I like your mom," he said, "Actually, I felt pretty comfortable around them both."

Good thing, that - we're packing up and going there for the rest of the week, as we are on holidays.

I managed to carry everything I needed for a year-long trip covering four seasons on three continents in one backpack...once. I have since discovered that I pack exactly the same amount of crap whether I am going for two days or a year.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I pack more for a weekend.

Problem is, I knew I wouldn't want to be dressing up and wearing makeup in the middle of the Sahara desert. When I'm travelling, looking good is not on the priority list, and high heels just aren't necessary. However, going home and visiting friends is another story entirely.

First off, you never know whether it is going to rain, snow, or shine - temperatures in the Prairies at this time of year range from thirty above to twenty below (celcius SWF, celcius) and the weather dudes really can't predict what's going to happen in the next hour, let alone the rest of the week.

Secondly, chances are good I'll run into people I haven't seen in a few years. You want to be looking good when you run into those stuck-up bitches from highschool - there is something gratifying to say "oh, no, I haven't gotten around to having kids yet, I got a degree and traveled Africa instead" while you watch them wiping the snotty nose on their third or fourth little brat. Well, that and I weigh exactly the same as I did in grade 11.

T has already figured out my packing style. I was finishing the laundry this morning, and he was setting out the stuff he intended to take. He'd dug out quite a large bag - we both usually just stuff a few things in our laptop knapsacks, but this one was a duffel bag.

I started packing my own things, in my laptop bag, of course. Then I realised I needed to bring a nice pair of shoes, and a fall jacket. And another pair of slacks, in case I go out bar hopping with my cousin. T had two pair of jeans and three shirts in that great big bag...so much space left over...so I asked him - "hey, can I tuck a few things in there?"

"That's what I'm bringing this bag for," he said smugly.

Who says they don't pay attention?