Creampuff Revolution

Claimed by the Sea

I'm back from my uncle's funeral and it was everything I thought it would be: tremendously sad, unspeakably hilarious and ultimately uplifting.

It was so great to hear everyone's funny, touching stories about him and to meet so many of the people who loved him and we all of us laughed like crazy and wept like little girls and drank a little and got a little loud and talked about how great the memorial service was and planned all of our own funerals.

I'm going to have to take some notes later to remember what specific kind of sausage one of my aunts would like at her wake and which of my 16 cousins would like an open casket and a large fake mustache.

All in all, it was pretty sweet and I'm so glad I got to be there with my family.

Also, no one else has died in the interim so...SCORE!

After all the festivities and a long journey there and back, it was also pretty sweet to remember that hey! We're on vacation! At the end of it all, I got rejoin Katr and our pooch at the beach cabin we'd rented for 10 days!

I'd say we had four main expectations when we booked the cabin:

1. That the house would be modern and comfortable.

2. That we'd be close to town so that we could go exploring.

3. That I could let the dog run free on the beach for hours at a time, like doggy BayWatch.

4. We could swim.

For 99% of humans, all of these expectations would be met by this cabin. For fatties with a fussy dog, however...

Well, the cabin is beautiful - it looks like it's out of a magazine and it's right on the water. There's a big kitchen that's a delight to cook in, a well-appointed bathroom, a comfortable living room area, a TV & DVD and wifi. Basically, it's exactly as advertised and looks just like the pictures.

What the pictures don't show you is that:

1. Our dog is a princess whose tender city-dog paws can barely handle the rocky shore, to the point where she refuses to leave the yard around the house.

2. The beach is rocky - the closer you get to the water, the bigger the rocks. These rocks shift under your feet and make it difficult to walk. But when the tide is low, you can brave a few meters of rocks and then walk along the sand! Except I can't, because if you are a heavy person, you will sink into the sand up to your mid-thighs and get stuck there, bleating for help as your useless dog scampers up towards some neighbour's lawn. If you can free yourself by falling forward and clawing your way to the safety of the rocks, you may survive. If you can't, you will be claimed by the inexorable advance of the sea.

3. There were a lot of steep, oddly slanted stairs to get down from the car to the cabin. We didn't know this ahead of time and we packed like we were headed to the Yukon. We were both sure we were having heart attacks by the time we'd brought all of our stuff down to the cabin. And then the idea of going up the stairs again to LEAVE the house to drive around or go grocery shopping seemed like an insurmountable task. I KNOW THAT THIS IS JUST US. And that we are pussies. So zip it.

So as it turns out, it's awesome that the cabin itself is so lovely, because we're spending all of our time essentially trapped in here. Eschewing pants. "Relaxing". If you know what I mean. And I think that you do.

Unexpected

Things I expected to FINALLY have time to blog about when I got back from my cousin's wedding this past weekend:

1. That Katr and I met Jen and Sara from We (are having) So Much Fun and they were hilarious and adorable and we would lend them money and let them whiz anywhere they want! Anytime! And we can't wait to visit them in Seattle!

2. WE GOT IPHONES!! And they have CHANGED MY LIFE!!

Things I did not expect to blog about when I got back from my cousin's wedding this weekend:

1. DEATH.

The morning after my cousin's very lovely wedding, we were enjoying a little coffee party at my grandparents' place when we got the call that the bride's father - my mom's brother, my uncle - had died of a massive heart attack on his morning hike.

The good:

1. He'd spend the night before at his daughter's wonderful wedding to a fantastic guy, being surrounded by joy and love and by almost everyone in his family - and it's a HUGE family - daughters, siblings, nieces, nephews and his parents. He gave this really beautiful, poetic speech about his daughter and her new husband and brought a tear to everyone's eye. He partied like it was 1999. He couldn't stop smiling. He looked really sharp in his suit.

2. It was probably really quick.

The bad:

1. You know...everything else.

He was only 53 - 5th of 7 siblings - and it was completely unexpected and he was deeply beloved by all and so getting the news was devastating for the whole clan.

Plans for the funeral are underway and knowing my uncle to have been a joyful and ebullient man and knowing my family to be Irish, I expect the event to be epic and unforgettable and a true celebration of him and the time we got to spend with him. And that will be really cool.

Naturally, I've been in constant contact with various family members since it happened, ironing out travel plans for the funeral and such. Everyone is dealing with the news differently, but two things seem to be constant in everyone's emotional response. In addition to the waves of grief that crash into each of us every now and then, we're all totally sure we've having heart attacks. ALL THE TIME.

Anyway - I know most of you have already experienced this kind of loss and need no prompting from me to "appreciate your time with loved ones because you never know when they'll be gone." Because my response to that kind of condescending cliché is generally "Fuck you, fuckwad! You don't know my life!" But I do want to say, to Katr and to my awesome immediate family and fantastic extended family, and to all of you out there and also my dog: OH MY GOD, STAY THE FUCK ALIVE, YOU BASTARDS! And also, I love you. A lot.

Cougar in Our Midst

We took Emmy Lou to the vet last week for what seems to be her yearly "minor paw issue". As in "either she has a paw issue or she's being a douche." 

I explained the issues to the vet while Emmy hid behind me, hoping, I suppose, that my goddess-like physique would save her from the anal probe. Which it didn't.

The vet and I discussed the paw/douche situation and then the vet opened Emmy's file and said "So she's...eight."

"No, no," I said, assuming she was looking at the wrong chart, "she's about five and a half."

The vet shook her head "Says here her date of birth is 2001."

"What? No! They told us she was three and a half two years ago. Three and a half!"

"Huh," said the vet, peering at the intake form, "says here they assessed her at around six years old two years ago. I do see a little note from the other vet, who says she might be closer to four, but...Huh."

I nearly burst into tears right there in the vet's office. Because the expiry date on these wrinkly little dogs is generally between 8 and 10.

I grabbed Emmy Lou by the face and said to her "Is this true? Are you an EIGHT YEAR OLD DOG?"

Emmy stared back at me with her big, crossed brown eyes, as if to say "Don't let 'em touch my paws, man! Don't let 'em touch my paws!"

After mistakenly assuming I wanted to be there while they riled my dog up by touching her paws, the vet and her tech sent me out to the waiting room, where I informed Katr that our pooch might be mutton dressed as ornery lamb. She was as shocked as I was. We barely kept it together.

"It's not like this is Logan's Run," Katr said reasonably, as we sat on the comfy reception area bench, trying not to be crying fatties in the lobby, "she's fine and frisky and she'll probably live longer anyway, because she doesn't have the bad skin and allergy problems most shar peis have."

"She is healthy as a whore", I agreed.

"You mean...'as a horse'...right?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"Why would it be healthy as a whore? That doesn't make any sense."

"I just...thought it was ironic."

In the end, it cost me $150 to find out that the dog is just being a douche. A geriatric douche. That our spring chicken might, in fact, be a cougar.

While it's distressing to think that we may not have as much time with her as we thought, the idea that Emmy is on the verge of the seniors discount does clear up a few things. Such as:

• Why she hates puppies ("You kids get off my lawn!")
• The weird vet bills we keep getting for the collagen injections to keep her wrinkles plump
• How she likes to pull her panties up real high
• Why she always waits 'til we're in the car to put on her fragrant hand lotion

Since we'll never really know how old she is, we can't really know when to start expecting her to get a walker and show up for dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon. We'll just have to wait and see. And in the meantime, a certain dog might be getting some extra rubbins. Won't she? Won't she? Yes, she will! Yes she will!

Good dog.