My weird man

My hubby had his birthday today.  He is now officially one year away from being old.  At 59, he has gone through a variety of ailments, such as a sebaceous cyst the size of a golf ball, bladder cancer, and just recently, a torn or damaged Achilles tendon.  Sigh.

He's a bit strange.  Let me list a few things that back up my opinion.

He has a lot of trouble changing seasons.  He wears shorts and sandals well into the fall, putting on a sweater when necessary, but denying the dropping temperature.  In the spring, he has trouble giving up his warm sweaters and hats and gloves.

He insisted on installing central air conditioning, yet makes sure there's a fan running in the bedroom.  At the same time, he likes to have a comforter on the bed year round, no matter how warm he is.

He thinks Black Forest Cake is health food.

He must have ice cream on a fairly regular basis, even though he has trouble with dairy.

He needs crackers.  With salt.  It doesn't matter that there is zero nutrition associated with soda crackers.

He likes his toys, and expects his family to like them as much as he does.  He has boats and tanks and a helicopter.  He has a Jack Bauer figure, and an old pink Teddy Bear from his childhood.  He's got a Smurf and some pez figures, a Gandalf and a Toy Story Dinosaur.  Some day, he'll leave them all to his grandchildren.

He's a bit weird - but he has some great qualities, too.  He's the most loyal guy I know.  He is steadfast and immovable when it comes to friends and family, and you've got to really treat him badly before he'll write you off.  He considers his friends from 40 years ago to still be his friends, even though he hasn't seen them in four decades.  He's always been here... he'll always be here.  He's a rock.

He is a builder.  He gets an idea in his head, and follows it through, no matter what.  Even if his family doesn't catch the vision, he can see what he wants to accomplish, and he plows on through.  I look around this old house and  I have evidences in every corner that he's a builder - the Great Room, the garage, the barn, the shed, the deck... he gets an idea, and he does it.  His family benefits.  His children have learned to wield a hammer, to design and plan projects, to use tools.  We all have enjoyed the fruits of his labour.

He is a dreamer.  He's always wanted a boat.  He wants to take his kids and grandkids out on a huge boat, so that they can enjoy the water as he did when he went out with his dad, many years ago.  Maybe some day he'll get his boat.  For now, the kids and grandkids will have to enjoy the pool instead.  Enjoy it, they do!

Today is his birthday - he's 59.  I close my eyes and see him as a shy 17 year old.  I remember the look of love when he first told me he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.  The years have flown by.

Today also marks the 21st anniversary of our possession of this old house.  It's been 21 years since we moved in and celebrated Daddy's birthday on the kitchen floor, because we still didn't have our furniture out of storage.  Twenty-one years; many joys; many tears.

Twenty-one years before our move, I met this man who was destined to be my life's partner.  I've known him 42 years now, and shared everything with him - the birth of 12 children; the loss of one... the sorrows of rebellious teens, the joys of grandparenting.

I wonder what the next 21 years will bring.

Happy Birthday, Rick.  I love you.

Aryanah Grace

This morning dawned bright and beautiful. I knew it was going to be a great day when the phone rang. It was Matt, who told me that his wife had given birth to their fourth child, a daughter, Aryanah - 8 lbs 3.5 oz.

Joanna's water broke around 3 am, but there were no contractions, so she told Matt to go back to sleep. Around 4 the contractions started, but they weren't terrible. Matt timed them at about 10 minutes apart. He kept asking Joanna to call the midwife. Finally, she did.

No problem. Midwife's assistant said to go to the clinic so they could check. She then hung up and called Charlotte, midwife extraordinaire, who has delivered many of our grandbabies. As soon as Charlotte heard it was Joanna, she said, "Tell them to go straight to the hospital." The midwife's assistant called back and relayed the message.

Joanna took her time getting ready, because the contractions weren't much to speak of. She didn't want to go to the hospital and be sent home again. So, she moseyed about and got ready. Matt was hot to trot, and helped Joanna into the van, then ran around to the driver's seat.

The very second Joanna sat in the van, she went into hard labour. Matt could tell by her breathing, so he headed off towards Stratford, speeding a bit, maneuvering the curves through the hamlet of Lisbon. Joanna laboured on, sounding more intense. The more she panted, the faster Matt drove. When she let out an expletive, Matt knew she was in transition. She said she had to push. Matt pushed on the gas pedal.

They made it to Stratford in less than 15 minutes.

Matt jumped out and got a wheelchair for Joanna, leaving the van running, because he intended to move it after he got her into the hospital.

"I have to push," Joanna hollered, and the nurses waved them through the now unlocked doors.

"Can I get some help?" Matt asked. "My van's still running."

A nurse grabbed the wheelchair and trotted off, while Matt ran so fast back to the van that he broke through the doors. (They are designed to give way in an emergency.) He parked the van, grabbed Joanna's bag, and tore back into Emerg. They waved him through. He got to the 2nd floor and they buzzed him into Maternity.

"She's down there," said one nurse, pointing down the hall. "She's in here," said another.

Matt arrived just in time to see his baby's head crowning. Two or three pushes, and Aryanah Grace entered the world!

They left Wellesley at 5:45. The baby was born at 6:05. That was cutting it close.

Linda and I went to see Aryanah and her parents this afternoon. The baby is lovely. I think she's blonde; she is certainly fair and pink. Joanna looks great. Matt is exhausted. Isn't that always the way?

We are enjoying the three older kids. Levi keeps singing; Kaleb is playing happily; Kaitlyn entertains us with her imagination.

Aryanah was born on my dad's birthday. May 31st has always been a special day for me. Now it's even better.

What a day!

Heather, Linda and I (the official crazy horse-nuts of the family - although there are others in the wings) set out early this morning to go and get a couple of *free* rescued horses. Apparently there was a choice between a 13 year old gelding, a 10 year old mare, a 3 year old Friesian, a young Arab cross, and a young Thoroughbred. We thought, great! We'll have a look, and maybe bring home a horse that Elena and Tiana could ride.

As we drove through St. Agatha, we went over a big bump. All of a sudden, there was drag on the trailer. It just didn't FEEL right. Heather jumped out and checked... nothing looked wrong. So we headed to the Canadian Tire gas bar, which just happened to be right beside a Starbucks.

Heather jumped out to pump gas, and a nice-looking gentleman came up to my window. "Do you realize that your back right trailer tire isn't turning? You're dragging it."

Sigh. I knew something was wrong. Nice mechanic at Canadian Tire confirmed it. They couldn't fix it, either... it would have to go to someone who specializes in trailer brakes.

We went into Starbucks to get our "Bold Pick of the Day" and have a bathroom break. Discussed our options. Towed the trailer to R.J.'s. Nice mechanic Mike had a look. He can fix it on Monday. Not only that, but he can weld a piece on to make the door hinge safer. All good!

Decided to go and have a look at the horses anyway. After all, it was Heather's birthday, and she loves horses (have I mentioned that?) and any chance to go to a farm and hang out with horses is good for her.

We didn't have any trouble finding the place. It was four hundred acres of rolling hills with a creek running through. There was a dilapidated old barn and plenty of electric fencing. No bathroom available, and you don't want to know how bad the outhouse was that Linda righted. Apparently it had been full when someone decided to knock it over. 'nuff said.

The woman that wanted us to take a couple of horses and give them a good home was off in the back field, looking for the thoroughbred. We wandered around, looking at the horses, wondering which ones were available. Some of them were in pretty bad shape. Split hooves, ribs protruding. Sunken eyes. Swollen ears and bellies.

Some of them weren't half bad. There was a lovely chestnut (almost orange) mare that came and stood by us, allowing all of us to pet her and coo over her and pick up her feet and do whatever we wanted to do. I would have taken her home in a heartbeat.

Others were lame. One dapple grey pony had a locked stifle, so he limped badly. Many of them had scars, either from fights with other horses or from catching skin on nails or branches. The place was a dump... boards with nails sticking up... plastic or bailer twine all over the place, bones from dead animals (horses?cows??) on the field.

Finally Jacqueline got back to the top of the hill where we were waiting. She pointed out the mare, Grace. She was a pleasant little mare, short enough to be a pony, but not healthy at all. She had a swollen belly, swollen ears, and a great bump on the spine of her back. She was almost lame when she walked... she'd never make a good horse for me or the girls.

Young Buck was supposed to be Friesian, but we couldn't figure out why she thought that. He had a narrow rear and white hair in the ears. He had very small eyes, and wasn't at all ready to be haltered or worked with.

The one we were most interested in was the older gelding, but he'd already been loaded onto the trailer (if you could call it that - it was the most unsafe trailer I'd ever seen) of the other guy. Even though the lady promised us first dibs on the horses, this fellow who was obviously going to sell the horses for meat got the best two of the bunch.

When we expressed our misgivings about taking a broken-down mare and an untrained, unco-operative 3 year old, Meat Guy said, "I'll take 'em." There was no doubt in our minds why he wanted them. It was sad, sad, sad.

All was not lost. We got to visit with Heather's friend Donna, who lives just past Pickering, where the horses were.

The trailer will be fixed properly, so we can haul our horses over to Hullett Marsh and ride on the trails.

We got to spend an entire day thinking about horses, petting and talking to horses, being sorry for some sad and decrepit horses, and loving on some beautiful horses at Donna's place. Any day that includes time spent with horses is a banner day for me. And Heather. And Linda.

The best thing about today is that 32 years ago God gave me a little brown-haired, blue-eyed horse-crazy-from-the-womb baby girl.

For that, I am very thankful.

Happy Birthday, Heather! Love ya, bunches.

November 11

The best thing about November 11 is that it is my dear son-in-law's birthday. Of course, I think it's good to remember our fallen soldiers on a day set apart for that purpose. My own uncle (Ray Matthews) died as the Second World War was coming to an end. Rick's grandfather (Edward Stewart) died in the First World War. I have always taught my children that it is good to remember that many died so that we might have freedom.

But still, the best thing about November 11 is that it's Jeff's birthday! Here he is with his youngest:

Quite the pair!

Happy Birthday, Jeff.