Back before I left for Scotland, I devised a Bloggie Giveaway. All you had to do was fit a caption to this photo (I know, you love me for posting it again, don’t you?) and Bob’s your uncle.

The winner receives: A British childrens’ book, 2 (British) chocolate bars and a Scotland/tartan notebook.

The winner?

It was a close call! Melisa with, “He thought the Coach said “EAT their defense, not BEAT their defense.”

Congrats :o)

It may be of interest to know that I have not forgotten about the competition I devised. I’ve been busy lazy putting it off. I have everything on my possession and plan on announcing the winner tomorrow.

I don’t have much else to say other than Ian put a massive damper on the day when he lunged his tractor wheel axle at my one of my large, dark brown storage cubes in the living room (after a stern warning) and punctured it. I’ve only had them 4 months. *heaving sigh*

Able to see her
Through an ‘06 letter
She wrote a copy

A headstrong lady
Took things lying down? Not her
She let them have it

Ian had found it
Was in her magazine rack
What a real treasure

Told her I’d found it
Gran smiled and backed up her words
“Yes, all by myself”*

Gran had to have some work done in her flat in 2004. She had asbestos in one of her kitchen and bathroom walls, respectively, and it needed to be removed. She was displaced to another home for three days and the workmen came over and fixed the walls, then, in turn, left her bathroom floor damaged beyond repair.

Since she paid for housing insurance religiously, she first sought relief from them, only to be turned down in writing because her claim didn’t meet guidelines for section such-and-such under clause bah-de-blah of her policy. She/he, ended the letter by stating:

“We must advise, we are not in a position to recommend any payment to you on this occasion. We hope that the above is self-explanatory and would confirm that we are now closing our file.”

My Gran, headstrong and forthright, went about to put right what she thought was an injustice (and quite rightly so) and sent them a letter in response, voicing her opinion and disgust. I am more than happy to share this, highlighting her personality in one easy swoop.

Dear L.D. Smith,

To tell you I am disgusted with your letter is putting it mildly. Why do you not think it is an insured event? I was under the impression that when I took out house insurance that I was covered for things like this, or why would our Council encourage us to deal with a firm as useless as yours? And when I make a claim I’m told I’m not covered; you take the money from an 84-year-old pensioner and do nothing. Are you not ashamed to be conning people in this way? I think I’d be better going to a reputable company that will help people when it’s needed. I guess the shareholders are the people you take care of, not folk like me who made the country safe during the last war*, and then are treated like this.

Not to worry, you might live to be 84 yourself one day and need help. You won’t get it from your firm, that’s for sure.

Sincerely,

Mrs. B. R.

Now you can close your file.

She later got compensation from elsewhere…

I haven’t been able to bring myself to the computer, I just couldn’t face it. I took care of the boys and just got on with my business. Yesterday was especially tough, and with no rationale. If the truth be told, I thought I would be fine; that I would return to Montana and somehow slide slowly back into life. I knew the transition might be a bit rough and I’d probably experience some homesickness, but I had no idea how awful I would feel or just how long it would persist.

I was expecting some culture shock, in fact, I knew it would be inevitable. There really are no similarities between Scotland and Montana — even the grass is bright green this time of year over there. Then again, I’d never seen dead dormant grass before I came to the States.

But it’s not just the feeling of not being somewhere that I know and am drawn to, I now feel disconnected and, if I’m truthful, isolated and maybe even abandoned. Apart from a gaggle of friends, it’s just Bryan, me and the boys here, and there’s nothing like no family around to solidify the reality that you’re in the middle of nowhere. I grew accustomed to seeing my family everyday, especially my Mum, and never really realised how the full impact of not having that connection would affect me.

My Mum had exhausted herself. Ever since Gran was admitted on 30th October last year, she went and visited her every day, relentlessly for five-and-a-half months. She’d buy a weekly bus pass and ride two buses just to get there every day by 3 p.m. A nurse, Paul, later related that they held her in high regard for her dedicated visits. No other patient, I presume, was as fortunate.

The day after I first saw Gran, they moved her into her own room; something I soon realised was not a good sign. They told Mum it was because she had a “little bug” (read: C. difficile), and she did, but I knew better than that. I accepted a while ago that she was dying and I came to terms with it before I even set foot in the hospital. (She didn’t want to move to a hospice, and quite frankly, who can blame her? I wouldn’t have either. When Mum told me that, I said, “think about it though, you’re admitting that you’re done. It’s the last port and call.”] I was even composed during the funeral, which I was not expecting. I felt at peace though, I knew she was around and that she could see us all. It was raining quite heavily that day and the ground was especially sodden. I think Gran had the last laugh though.

Unlike American funerals (which I actually prefer, if you forgive the expression), the pall bearers are the ones to lower the coffin into the ground, it doesn’t sit on a low platform on top of artificial grass, closed from unimagining eyes and the stark reality of the situation.

The cemetery is on a hill overlooking the entire town, with a great view of the coastline and across the (mile-wide) river. It’s beautiful, and I’m sure even a lot more pleasant on a clear day too. Gran’s plot, therefore, is on an upward slant too, which I thought was rather cool, that was, until seven pall bearers had to stand at various locations around the grave site on planks of wood (I know…) in the sopping rain and attempt to lower her coffin into the ground on the slope. As they were steadily lowering it, I’d hazard a guess that about half of them lost their footing on the wet planks and slid a good half a foot, accompanied by a resounding gasp from the women, myself included. Bryan mentioned if it hadn’t have been for the leather strap he was holding that he used to counter-support his weight as he slipped, his grip may have slackened, and well…  Minutes later uncle Billy joked about it saying Gran “was just trying to pull Denis (my step-dad) in there along with her.” We all laughed pretty hard knowing how true that statement could have been.

My Gran’s death isn’t the first for me to experience in the family, but it has impacted me the deepest. It’ll be four weeks tomorrow since she died, and although I’m OK with it, I wasn’t really prepared for realising the entire ramifications of it all.

Days after we arrived home and while we were slowly still unpacking our things (seven suitcases, the majority being baby things, like the playpen, the fold up highchair, the back of Ian’s carseat…), I came across an old letter from her. My Gran has been writing to me since I was eleven (yes, OK twenty-two years), ever since she moved to Australia when she married a native and remained there for the ensuing fifteen years. We used to correspond frequently all throughout my adolescent and not-so-teenagery years too.

I looked at the date and it hit me: it was the last letter she ever wrote to me.

22nd Sept. 2007

She didn’t mention that she was now mostly house-bound and unable to go for her daily brisk walks. She didn’t talk about how she was in remission from the throat cancer after her recent bout of radiation. And she didn’t mention that she now had stomach cancer, if in fact she even knew at that point. As I read through her pages, it hit me: I’d never get another letter from Gran again. Ever. And that, was completely devastating. What a mind-numbing thought.

I was lucky enough to have my Mum and uncle say I was free to take any keepsakes I wished. There weren’t many things left over from when she had her home in Scotland in the 80’s, but a few select trinkets that made many great memories come rushing back. I’d go sleep over at my Gran’s every Saturday night, so I grew up being really close to her; pair that with seeing her usually two to three times a week and being her only grand-daughter and it may give a glimpse into the kind of relationship I had with her.

I am amazed at how grief affects us, me. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sad that she’s passed, but that the physical connection — even just a letter, has gone and won’t be returning. I suppose you could say it has made me view quite a few things differently now, and that’s why I’ve been so absent, at least from here. I just needed time to sort out everything and work through it. I can’t say I won’t have more bad days - especially like yesterday - but I feel better prepared now to tackle them on head first, just like I know she would have.

knock back:

To knock something back is to turn it down or reject it:
“The management upped the offer to three percent but the union knocked it back”

This rejection can happen to people as well as things:
“Ah said Ah’d gie her a lift hame but she gave us a knock back.”

An instance of either if these is a knockback:
“Ah hear she applied for that job an got a knockback.”
“Cheer up son, never had a knockback aff a lassie before?”

Hear it.

What was that she said?
Eh? Her ancestors were what?
I think she said “Scotch”

Old librarian
Told her the circumstances
“Sorry books are late…”

“Extended online
Had to stay one week longer”
“$1.25, please”

Ha! Work that one out!
UA* forgives 800
Library: tight wads

UA=United Airlines

There’s nothing like sitting in a dentist’s chair for three solid hours to turn your mind to food (or anything other than the procedure for that matter). I think it’s no secret that I love to cook, specifically from scratch. I don’t indulge every night, I’m not that crazy, but over the years I’ve garnered some favourite things to make, all from different sources. If you are interested in any of the recipes, let me know and I’ll definitely oblige. Maybe you could even return the favour…?

1. Macaroni Cheese - Mum’s recipe (from somewhere)
Made with sautéed onion, sharp cheddar, bacon and Coleman’s English mustard.

2. Meatloaf - an adaptation of my Mum’s recipe
Made with green pepper, beef bouillon (stock cube) and tomato paste (in the mixture).

3. Mexican Style Rice - Rachael Ray
Love this, it’s filling and oh, so addictive. Plus, you can use this recipe to stuff peppers. Very versatile.

4. Barbecue Cups - from a friend
Minced beef in a rich barbecue sauce, nestled in a biscuit base, and topped with grated cheese and baked to yummy goodness. Quick, easy and delicious.

5. Beef-a-roni - Friend’s Mom’s recipe
One of the few casseroles I actually make. My Mum has her own version too.

6. Spaghetti Bolognese - Mum’s recipe from an Italian cookbook
Another old favourite, it never gets old.

7. French Bread Pizzas - Got the idea from a friend
Buy the French loaves from the wheeled metal rack at Wal-Mart that they display near the entrance. Start with a pizza sauce and top how you like. Finish it off in the toaster oven.

8. Chicken, Broccoli and Rice Casserole - Mother-in-law’s recipe
Creamy, tangy and very filling. I love this.

9. Cranberry, Apple and Sage Stuffing - Robert Irvine
Okay, so technically not a main dish, but I’d make it one if you’d let me. It feeds twelve comfortably, but I’m not afraid of leftovers.

10a.  Hot Crab Meat & Artichoke Dip - Got this from a SIL who got it from her boss
Rich, spicy and very addicting. (And since this is a dip, here’s another great one
10b.  Baked Artichoke-Spinach Dip - Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook
Total crowd pleaser. Served with crusty bread or crackers.

11.  Beef/Chicken Enchiladas - Old Internet Friend
Although the prep time is a little longer than usual, it’s worth it. So good. I also make my own chili verde enchiladas with a different recipe.

12.  One-Pan Sage and Onion Chicken and Sausage - Nigella Lawson
This dish makes you look like a domestic goddess with very little time spent in the kitchen. It’s very tasty and so easy and hassle-free to make. All the prep is done 24-48 hours before, and all you have to do is bang it in the oven. No one will ever know you didn’t spend hours in there.

13.  Thai Chicken Curry - Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook
Oh my, the first time I made this, I almost creamed it all off in the pan. I love, love this–and, you can control how hot you want it too. Excellent dish.

* * * * * * * *

Speaking of eating–get this: I got an e-mail from Bryan at work two days ago. He occasionally sends me work e-mails that I might find of interest: a colleague is pregnant, the Summer or Hallowe’en party plans, movie day…

This one mentioned that their new cafeteria was almost completed (they completed HUGE facility construction and remodelling changes about 6 months ago) and it needed a name. I read through it, mostly with half-eyed indifference. I am sure you could have heard me heave “blah, blah, blah” from your place. That was, until I got to this part:

“…As part of the preparation for opening, we are going to be holding a fun competition: Name Your Cafe! Please place your ideas in the suggestion box on the first floor of building 14 by 12 o’clock noon on April 18th! Grand prize will be the iPod Touch pictured below and 10 free meals at our new Cafe! In addition…”

Wah-wah-wah-WHAT?!  iPod Touch-whosey-who??  I read it again.  Holy cow, I love this company!  It’s a huge, multi-national company, but due to the 200+ employees at the site, it has a small company, intimate feeling.

I have made it my mission to get my creative juices flowing and I think I have some really good ideas. That iTouch is mine ours.  There.  Is.  No.  Competition!

P.S.  I promise I’ll get to that WOTW.

It’s interesting that last week’s PhotoHunt theme was ‘glass’. I don’t participate in it but watch others who do, or rather, look at their selections. It’s always interesting to see how three or more people interpret the same subject matter so differently. I thought about posting this on Saturday along with everyone else, but lacked the gumption, desire–something. Well, that and I’d just gotten my first real full night’s sleep after coming off the transatlantic flight a dozen or so hours before, so you’ll excuse me for my tardiness.

When I first heard of the theme, I thought instantly of a candid shot I’d captured of Ian in Scotland. It was the 19th March and his first ever train ride, something I had been anticipating for a very long time. And, I was quite easily as excited as he was, despite the slight feeling of reluctance I was feeling, knowing I would be travelling thirty miles away from my Gran’s bedside. She had asked me the day before if we had any plans while we were here, and it was hard for me to actually want to make any plans, and really seldom did. I usually aimed to be at the hospital around 3 p.m. to visit for an hour every day and that was about as far as my plans would take me. That day, I told her that we were headed to Glasgow by train the next day so that the boys could experience it. I told her I was excited to see Ian’s reaction to it all and she smiled and simply said “good”.

After staying for a few hours in Glasgow shopping and sight-seeing with Bryan, Ian, Cameron and my brother Ciaran (Key-ron), we headed back west to the waiting car at the train station, and then on to the hospital.

Years ago, my Gran had admitted to herself and others (probably reluctantly) that she really needed hearing aids. This of course, gave her very selective hearing. After being admitted to the hospital on 30th October, she could no longer use them with the feeding tube wrapped around each ear. There were days during my visits to her that she could hear me perfectly when I talked in my normal level. That night after Ciaran and I walked quietly into her dimly lit room around 7 o’clock and briefly watched her sleep before I leaned over and touched her hand so as not to alarm her was not one of those times. She couldn’t make out anything he was saying and I had to repeat everything as she looked blankly and almost helplessly at me to help her out. Admittedly, it was only thanks to being in the States that I could project my voice at her at an audible level without feeling as though I was shouting (angrily).

My Mum had told me how Gran’s long-term memory was sharp as ever, but her short-term was basically shot. One of the first things she surprisingly asked after I apologised for waking her was, “how was Glasgow?” Short of telling her “a little wet and very windy”, I told her we had had a good time and that Ian had loved the train and the huge terminus (with thirteen platforms). It was hard not to feel some sort of regret going and doing things, knowing that she had been very active her entire life: travelling all over the world and keeping her daily routine of waking at 5 o’clock, exercising, leaving (sometimes with the dog of whomever she was visiting) for a 6-mile round trip walk and then returning home for a cold bath and breakfast, and was now reduced to sitting upright in a bed or occasionally on a wing-backed chair.

Despite her outward appearance and how much weight she had lost due to the cancer and the feeding tube, she was still in there, she was still my feisty Gran that I knew and loved.  She still had her rampant sense of humour and quick wit, and most importantly, she still had that fight in her that she always had.

Of all the things I actually craved about being back in the UK, it had to be stuffing my face with nonsense: Auld’s (legendary) Fudge Doughnuts, sausage rolls, curry, and of course, most things deep fried. You’d be forgiven for thinking I’ve come back a “Lardass”, and by rights I really should have. There weren’t many meals (and non-meals) I ate that were hitting every nutritional requirement, if, indeed at all.

It was great.

It’s amazing how tasting something we haven’t been able to enjoy in a while gives us comfort. Imagine my horror as I chewed my way through a Pot Noodle, only to discover
they’d taken all the bad crap out of it–it was almost healthy!  It was horrible!  And, as I drowned it with a tall, cold glass of Tizer, I almost sprayed that all over the adjacent wall. “No artificial colours or preservatives??!!” What are they trying to do to me? Prolong my life?” It was reduced to red-coloured Sprite, instead of the fruit-flavoured, bright red drink full of hallucinogenic E numbers we’d all grown to love and become accustomed to.

To make matters worse, organic food was the same price as non. Keep things up like this and the UK’ll be getting a good name for itself.

Pause: stop at the store
Need milk, bread and some basics
Zombie walked the aisles

It all seems cheap here
Don’t miss eight bucks/gallon for gas
Or double for things

Got home 2 a.m.
Bed was cold but didn’t care
Fell right on and slept

Swirling, random thoughts
Can’t believe we’re all back here
Culture shock plagues me

I mourn my Gran’s death
But also lost my dear Mum
Three long weeks of bliss

Transitions are hard
Used to seeing her daily
Now I blame M.T.

Stories all in head
Questions welcomed while I group
My thoughts, fix my head

Glad to be back?  Yes.
I think it’ll take time though
I need (to learn) more patience