ROBBLOG #498

It’s been a week now since Kiki- our beautiful 17 year old lab, passed.

 

It’s been a tough time.

 

Many tears.

Many memories.

Telling the story of her life and her passing many, many times over.

 

The hole in our hearts is still there. We know it will fill up one day soon but until then, we still grieve. We have a small memorial set up for her on one of our mantles. Pictures of Kiki with her Dads. Flowers, cards, mementos- even a sketch from a neighbour’s daughter- a bright yellow rendering of Kiki smiling broadly.

 

A bright yellow stone with a butterfly in the centre- which we have dubbed “The Kiki Stone”, lies embedded in the grass in a favourite spot where she laid to keep watch over her yard. The stone comes from good friends who loved her too. The week before she passed we took her for a final romp at “We’re in the Hayfield Now”- a lily farm owned by friends. We purchased a lily called “Lemon-Lime”. We since have renamed the yellow beauty- Miss Kiki.

 

Everyone seemed to know and love our girl. 17 years is a vast amount of time in puppy years to come in contact with many, many people.

 

I look at old photos.

I stare deep into her beautiful brown eyes.

Today, she holds a prominent spot on our computer screen- the wallpaper.

I stroke her head every night.

Silly, I know- but I can almost feel her warmth.

In our hearts we believe she is frolicking in the green grass of another place- not far from here, accompanied by the family that passed on before her.

She’s young again with no pain or discomfort.

She’s waiting for her Dads.

I told her we’d be along- soon.

That will be a wonderful day. We have to believe what we believe and I believe so terribly deeply that we’ll see our Kiki Girl again one day.

 

 

 

Missy our mini-schnauzer is in a funk. The past few days her eyes are filled with sadness-unusual for a schnauzer. Oh there are bright spots when her eyes sparkle and she barks with happiness. Those times over this past week are the times when we took a van ride or a had walk around the block. She clings and snoozes on the pillow where Kiki last laid. Dickens and Doyle- our orange tabbies, look for Kiki too. A glance at bedtime to the bottom of the bed says it all. Doyle would lay next to Kiki, his head on the nape of her yellow neck

…and they call them dumb animals.

 

Kiki left us with much. She taught us many things.

Things like-

 

Love.

Compassion.

Joy.

Happiness.

Hope.

Loyalty.

Trust.

Friendship.

Understanding.

Fight.

Calm.

Peace.

Contentment.

Companionship.

Togetherness.

Warmth.

Letting go…

 

She taught us to do the right thing.

To be sad and yet to remember.

 

We know the sadness will pass.

We have wonderful memories.

We’ll think of the hugs and the Kiki kisses.

 

Her loving Dad Tom, taking her out each evening just before bed. Patiently waiting on the verandah bench for her to have a sniff around the yard and finish her business. In recent weeks there were times he had to carry her up the steps. You could see the love on her face.

What a good Dad.

 

I’ll remember the songs I sang to her.

Each evening at bedtime, I sang:

You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy-

When skies are grey…

 

Then, the ditty I always sang to her at any time of the day. I sang it to her a week ago for the last time…

 

I love you Miss Kiki-

Miss Kiki I love you.

I love you Miss Kiki-

I honestly do.

 

 

Now I have added this verse.

 

I miss you Miss Kiki,

Miss Kiki I miss you.

I miss you Miss Kiki-

I honestly do…

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #497

Our Darling Kiki passed Saturday afternoon August 3rd at 2:30.

 

Her health had not been good this past week and at 6am Saturday she

had a terrible stroke that affected her walking and standing.

It was time for her to cross the bridge...

 

Dr. Choles, who has been caring for Kiki these past 9 years came right to the house.

 

It was very peaceful and loving.

Many tears and many, many memories.

 

She gave us 17 years!

We couldn’t have asked for anything more from Kiki- except more time but

that option had run out.

Kiki had a  beautiful life indeed.

All our pet family members whose lives we have shared over the years have been

very special to us.

Very, very special.

Each in their own unique way.

Kiki was special with a capital “S”.

 

 

 

It all began one August morning 17 years ago, We went to the Farmer’s Market to buy tomatoes

and came home with tomatoes- and Kiki.

We fell in love on the spot!

Now, Kiki just passed her 17th year with her birthday on July 25.

 

When the time comes to say goodbye for now, it doesn’t matter how much you hug and kiss

and whisper sweet nothings, the reality is here today...

Our beautiful Kiki- we named her after the colour of the sand in Waikiki, is gone, however,

her spirit is still here- warm and loving as it has always been and her puppy hair!

Kiki’s infamous hair is still tucked here and there- from one end of the house to the other and we’re

sure we’ll be finding it for months. Little Kiki-hair “dust bunnies” are under and around the legs of

the dining room table. They were there this morning, clearly visible as the August sunshine flowed through the

dining room window.

 

It’ll be a change for us- all of us.

Kiki will not be watching you walk by the house anymore or welcoming you at the back gate expecting

a treat the moment you step into the house.

We’re glad she got to see her new street and sidewalk come to completion. She even had a

chance to stroll and sniff along the new pavement a few days ago.

 

We’ll miss her beautiful face.

 

She’ll not be tagging along with us on walks.

 

Her familiar bark at the back door when she needed to get in will no longer be heard.

We’ll miss her impatient tone when we kept her waiting.

 

There’ll be no more van rides- which she loved.

We are so thankful we were able to take Kiki to “the Lily Farm”- in Orono last Sunday where

she and Missy could run free for a few hours. It had become a yearly event.

Last week, when she knew the van was being readied for a ride, she placed herself at the garage door

waiting for us to load her in- just in case we forgot her.

How could we?

What a sweetheart our Kiki was to us!

 

So, Dear Friends, it’s the end of an era at Pine Tree House.

Things will be different now that the “Blond One” our “Kikmeister” our

“Kikidoodle” has passed on.

 

Today, we imagine her playing in a field of green with her brothers and sisters- Luma, Samantha- both I and II, Lucky and Max.

As time passes we’ll heal and find our way but for now one thing is certain- we’ll never ever, ever find another Kiki.

 

Rest for now our Darling Kiki and we’ll see you again... soon.

ROBBLOG #496

Have you ever had to replace someone? 

 

By replace, I mean “fire”. Such a heavy word.

Well, I had to do just that the other day and it’s not a pleasant experience.

I remember having to do the deed a few years ago but it was nothing compared to this time. 

 

I had hired someone to do a job for me.

I had great hope.

I was thrilled to work with this person. 

 

Initially things were just fine.

Then, about a month ago in an e-mail, I had to remind this person that there was a job to do and if it seemed overwhelming now, just wait a few weeks- it would get more involved.

I had suggested the person in question could opt out of the job at hand.

The e-mail was misunderstood and I was blasted by return mail.

Never a good idea to send this type of message in an e-mail but this is how I correspond with this particular band of employees. I swiftly counter-acted by saying the message was misconstrued. It was simply an option- an open window, to opt out of the situation but we continued along with the job at hand. 

 

Now, a few days ago I found my back up against the wall. This hiree was unavailable for work one evening. It was disappointing to the rest of the employees that they could not move fully forward and they all knew and understood the commitment required.

Ah.

The key word- commitment.

It was beginning to be an albatross around my neck. 

 

So, the following morning with the sun shining brightly and the birds tweeting lightly, I had a conversation with an associate who advised me to end it with this person and the sooner the better. Seconds later the phone was ringing and a happy-go-lucky voice answered. 

 

Fuck! 

 

It was like I was firing Snow White! The voice on the other end of the line was bright, sweet, innocent and cheery.

 

God Damn it!

 

What I needed to hear coarse with an aggressive undertone of  non-benevolence.

I was screwed.

Nevertheless, I proceeded right to the point.

I am removing you…blah, blah, blah.

I am sorry.

I may have misjudged you.

Maybe it’s a lack of experience.

I know how you feel.

Maybe the workload is too much.

On and on I went till I had exhausted the points I wanted to make. 

 

In return some aggression.

Fully expected and probably warranted. How can one make this seem like a delightful Afternoon Tea?

One cannot.

Pass the cucumber sandwiches anyway. 

 

 

I suggested this was not the moment to burn bridges.

The person on the other end of the line wasn’t listening.

This was one of the problems I had been having from the beginning.

A lack of listening and taking direction as required. Not always but...

So, the conversation ended.

I knew this wasn’t the end.

There would be repercussions…and there were. 

 

A few hours later, a letter had been drafted and sent to not only me but all those “employees” involved. It was from a person who felt hurt and betrayed and led down the garden path.

All valid points but the main point was missing.

I was accused of  having no faith in this employee. 

 

Incorrect!

 

It wasn’t a question of “faith” in the person it was a question of “commitment”.

That was the problem. The employee was in deep water and although others were circling to keep the employee “alive”- they failed. 

 

So, it was a difficult thing I had to do.

It was difficult for the employee to hear.

Question is, would I hire this person in the future? Before would have before the letter.

However, the letter stirred the pot. The contents- of which I have still not read although it was hinted at by others, involved not only me but other employees. I had said all I needed to say and could say earlier in the day. 

 

So it’s done and that’s that. I hope you never had to do it. 

 

I can still smell the smoke from the smoldering bridges.

 

 

ROBBLOG #495

Sorry I haven’t written lately…

 

I sound like the old Auntie who only calls or sends a short note (does anyone send a short note anymore?) once or twice a year. No real excuse except for that old chestnut- I’ve been busy.

I have been.

Outdoor things like Gardening, bike-riding and just plain loafing.

 

Getting Sadie Flynn in order for the premier on the Gravenhurst Opera House stage at the end of August has been a trial at times. If you think that Attila the Hun was just a figment of historical imagination, let me tell you Attila lives! I’m not going into detail now- but YOW!

At a later date, I’ll tell you the entire story- like in late September…or maybe never. Some folks just shouldn’t get up in the morning and be around people- ever!

 

No, the reason for this blog is none of the above. You see, Auntie Rob was reading in the paper about a local lady who was involved in a car accident a few weeks ago. After recuperating at a Toronto Hospital- Sunnybrook, she is home and lucky to still be on this earth. The paper had interviewed her spouse. He tells the reporter that “as a Christian Man” he would be remiss not to thank God that his wife is on the mend. Sounds a little “Baptist-like” to me.

 

Now, this story hits home because it just so happens that Tom- my husband- and I have been going through a similar experience at this same Toronto Hospital- Sunnybrook, down there on Bayview Avenue in Toronto. Tom’s Dad- my Father-in-law, was admitted early Tuesday morning after falling in his apartment and lying on his bathroom floor for 13 hours until help arrived. “Dad” doesn’t really accept that title even though as next of kin I had to be there at the hospital earlier this week to meet doctors and specialists regarding his care. A “do not resuscitate” paper had to be signed- it was very emotional moment.

I am not sure why I got a little emotional, since this man has regarded me as a “gold digger” for most of the 28 years I have been partnered with his son- my legal husband. I told him he was legally my Father-in-law as he lay there in his hospital bed. My goodness, “the look” I got from him as a specialist stood next to his bed wondering if I was the “son”.

Nope the husband, I told her and have been for 28 years!

 

Anyhoo…

 

This hospital was fantastic! I spent a morning, afternoon and evening there this week and saw what these amazing people do and that included every staff member from custodial folks to the most experienced of nurses, doctors and specialists. It’s such a positive place- even with all the illness about. It is a hospital after all and one would expect to see people who are unwell for a variety of reasons.

 

So reading this newspaper story and thanking God irked me.

No mention of the Doctors and Nurses who looked after his wife.

No acknowledgment.

No thanks.

God did it all.

Thank you Jesus!

 

 

 

I got to thinking what if they had plopped this lady down on the front steps of Sunnybrook and let God take over. You know, swoop her up into his/her/its omnipresent bosom and make the bones mend and the bleeding stop. To read his account that is what happened.

 

Poppycock and balderdash!

Hocus-pocus!

 

Although, apparently no surgery was required, there had to be some input from the medial team at Sunnybrook or he might just as well have thrown her on a park bench down at Couchiching Beach Park and waited for a miracle.

 

I thought it unforgiveable that there was no mention of the help she really received in human form- not from some supernatural bit of jabberwocky from an all knowing, love-ya-to-bits being who resides up there in Heaven or as the Mormons believe at the very least- on his/her/its very own planet.

 

It’s all smoke and mirrors kids but if it turns your religious crank, who am I to argue? I don’t believe there’s a personal saviour who sits on some throne up there in the clouds just waiting to welcome me home after my last breath on earth.

 

Thus ended the lesson for today…

 

Hugs and a cheek tweak from your old “Auntie”.

 

ROBBLOG #494

 

Another Day on Bleeker Street

 

 

Blanche: So Jane Dear, did you have a good time down in the Village?

 

Jane: ~puff, puff~ Oh just hoppin’ Sister Dear! All those Fags with their big muscles!

 

Blanche: Yes Jane, there is a preponderance of muscle down there! ~laughs~ Jane…

 

Jane: ~drag, puff~ What d’ya want?

 

Blanche: Are you sure Jane Dear that it’s correct for you to use the word “Fag”?

 

Jane: Sure. Why not? It’s calling a spade a spade.

 

Blanche: I know Dear but maybe it’s fine for them to call each other by that…

 

Jane: What’chu getting at Blanche.

 

Blanche: Well, maybe having someone not of that “ilk” use that word is not correct.

 

Jane: Oh! ~puff, drag,puff~ I see what you’re meaning Blanche. I should be one to call one.

 

Blanche: That’s right Dear.

 

Jane: Well ~puff, puff~ meybe I am kinda “fag-like”.

 

Blanche: ~laughs gently~ Oh Jane Dear no. Now I know that is incorrect!

 

Jane: What?

 

Blanche: What I mean is you’d be a Dyke not a Fag. It’s a question of gender.

 

Jane: Really?

 

Doorbell rings. Jane answers. From the hall we hear voices and Jane enters with a handsome, hunk of a man, dressed only in shorts and a pair of white flip-flops.

 

 

Jane: C’mon in Randy- ya big Fag. Meet my sister Blanche! She’s not a fag- so she says…

 

Randy: Hey Blanche. Nice to meet ya. The old “Fag Hag” here and I are going out for a Beer.

 

Blanche: You are?

 

Jane: Yah! ~puff, puff~  Wanna come?

 

Blanche: Oh…I dunno..
 

Randy: C’mon Blanche. I’ll let you feel my left bicep. It’s really big!

 

Blanche: Yes, Dear. I can see that.

 

Jane: C’mon Blanche. You can be a “Hag” too. It’ll be fun. ~puff, puff~

 

Blanche: Oh I suppose…but I am in this chair you know.

 

Randy: No problem Blanche. Just hop onto my back and I’ll piggy you!

 

Blanche: Grab my purse Jane. I don’t want to keep this young Adonis waiting!

 

Jane: ~puff, drag, puff~ Now you’re talking!

 

They all giggle like a gaggle of schoolgirls as they leave through the front door and out onto Bleeker Street.

 

ROBBLOG #493

 

Dear Readers,

If you are a Heterosexual Male or Female and live say- in Orillia, you live each day in a “straight” world where you know who you are and what you can do- and to whom.

Legally of course.

You can do things that “straight” people expect you to do since you are a heterosexual.

Simple stuff like:
Hold hands in public.
Kiss in public.
Throw your arms around your heterosexual partner no matter where you may be and
call him or her “Hunnie”.

You see, you can do these things because you live a “straight” life 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Year after year. Decade after decade.

 

Now Dear Readers take the case of my husband Tom and me.

We also live in your “straight” world here in Orillia, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year etc. Yet here in the Sunshine City, we can’t hold hands while we walk down Mississaga Street. We can’t kiss, show affection or walk with our arms around each other.

Well, lawfully we could.

I know that. We wouldn’t be breaking any laws.

It’s just that we would set ourselves up for public ridicule.

Some people- assholes mostly, would shout “faggot” from car windows as we walked along the street.

People would stare.

Smirk. Giggle.

Maybe- laugh.

Do a “double-take”.

Perhaps some religious types with the Bible shoved up their most reverend asses would shake their heads in disgust. They might turn around and look back at us hoping we could see the “straight” life. 

Not in a fucking month of Sundays!

 

Premier Wynne and Tom before the Pride March

So, Dear Readers, for 8 hours on Sunday June 30^th my Husband and I went to Pride in Toronto. We had lunch and then we walked in the Pride Parade in the Liberal contingent lead by Ontario Premier Kathleen Wynne, her wife Jane and Justin Trudeau- yes that Trudeau, leader of the federal Liberals.

We have pictures and memories of passing some time with both of them before we marched along Bloor and Yonge Streets. 

There was never a Conservative in sight- including Rob Ford (not that we care) except for one man on the sidelines who yelled “Down with Liberals”- or something like that.

 

So, that’s why we go to Pride each year.

We cherish the 8 hours we get to “live” in a Gay World before the balloon bursts and we head home to live our Gay/Straight lives once more.

ROBBLOG #492

Another Pride Parade- and Pride week, in Toronto.

 

Once again my Husband Tom and I will be tearing down 11 to 400 and onto the 407 to the Finch Subway Station to head into the heat and frivolity that is Toronto Pride.

 

There’s no Orillia Pride.

There was…once.

See the picture below…

 

 

 

There hasn’t been a celebration of any kind for years and I don’t expect to see Orillia Fags organize one anytime soon. Well, really, who the fuck cares to be “loud and proud” in Orillia with the Presbyterians out and about and the Baptists lurking behind trees and park benches.

No, most of us Queers just head down the road to Trawna where we can hold a husband’s hand in public and maybe even sneak a kiss

At the very least a nuzzle under a hot July sun.

 

However, this year there will be a gargantuan change for the Hubbie and I. We usually watch the parading from a nice vantage point on a Yonge Street sidewalk- preferably where the boys aren’t afraid to take their shirts off and flex their “bits” in the brilliant heat of a Toronto Summer.

What’s this big change I elude to?

This year we will be in the Pride Parade!

Tah-Dah!!!!

I am pumped!

I’m not eating all week so I’ll look 50- not 62! Biking my ass off too.

Premier Kathleen Wynne- herself a member of our club, has said “c’mon down” so we’re meeting her in a park- how Gay, with a bunch of other Liberals and then we’ll proudly march off down Yonge Street to Yonge/Dundas Square.

 

I know it’s going to be a long, sweaty march.

If it’s really hot, it’ll be like crossing the Gobi Desert. Only the buff guys on the Absolut Float and the Trojan and TD Bank men will keep me going.

If they can do it- I can do it.

‘Course they’ll be riding on a float not walking on soft asphalt- the bunch of pussies!

I’ll think of it as a mirage. Hot, half-naked men dangling their “swanstuckers” in front of my face for blocks and blocks- all the way south towards Lake Ontario.

~sigh~

 

 

 

There are worse things than walking in 30 degree temps but I won’t drudge them up now when thoughts of handsome, tanned, hunky men are drifting ‘cross the windmills of my mind.

 

I really am happy that Premier Wynne said she’d love to have us join her in the Pride Parade. Media info from the Premier’s Webpage tells me that her wife Jane and her “Premiership” have been together for 25 years- married too.

Tom and I beat them.

28 years.

7 legally.

I’ll have to ask her what’s the “official” date.

 

I am excited at the prospect of meeting her in person. Maybe at some point we’ll sashay arm and arm for a block or two. We’ll giggle like a pair of schoolgirls when the Naked TNT Toronto men

stroll down Yonge Street.

Nothing to get excited about there.

All the TNT Men I’ve seen over the years are ancient and should keep their Depends on-

but it is Pride after all and most anything goes- or hangs at least.

 

There’ll be lots for Kathleen and Jane to see too. Many gals- mostly the big-busted variety let their “jugs” jiggle from parade start to finish.

Gee, I hope they apply ample sun protection.

That goes for the TNT Boys too.

Can’t imagine what a sunburned tit or dick would feel like.

Not pleasant, I am sure.

 

I’ll be sure to take lots of photos.

Well, just enough that you’ll feel a little jealous knowing that Kathleen and I had the time of our lives cruising all the crowds lined along the parade route.

 

So look for us in the Toronto Pride Parade on Sunday.

Tom and I.

Yes, Kathleen and Jane plus a bunch of Liberals too.

 

Happy Pride!