~ Pause ~

(By way of explaining my recent absence.....)

My Auntie Muriel had eyebrows like two caterpillars on the south side of a tin roof in July. It was amazing how much she could say without speaking a word, how with facial expressions and body language, she could convey exactly what she was thinking.

I stood before my shattered family two days ago and delivered her eulogy.

God keep us all.

Peace ~

~ Remembrance Day ~

They shall not grow old
As we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them nor
The years condemn.
At the going down of the sun
And in the morning,
We will remember them.

We seem to think of veterans as old men, old women, with lined faces and silver hair. It is true that most of the veterans we know are seniors, but it is also true that when they served, these old men and women were the ages my own children are now. Many of them were little more than children themselves. They gave whatever was left of childhood for what they believed was The Greater Good.

They amaze me. They humble me. They make me weep in grateful wonder.

Please, if you are not already familiar with it, you must see Terry Kelly's tribute, A Pittance of Time.

The story: http://www.terry-kelly.com/pittance/pittance_en.htm

The video may be accessed by clicking 'video'.

To see a larger-screen version of the video: http://www.army.gc.ca/chief_land_staff/remembrance/English/video.asp

(image: Ottawa Legions)

~ Snow ~

At last, it is snowing. We have waited so long for snow this year. That is to say, I have waited. Others have not been nearly so anxious for the weather to turn.

That is their tragedy.

Fat, lazy, clusters of flakes are falling carelessly through the darkness to the ground. By morning, there will be enough for making snow-stomps, perhaps even snow enough for balling, or even…or even for a snowman.

Or two.

The tub has been filled with scalding, sudsy water, the candles have been lit, the house has been darkened, the blinds have been lifted. I am going to take myself off to sink under the blanket of steaming foam, and lie watching magical snow fall against the pink glow of the streetlamp.

Peace ~

~ It's....Michael....actually ~

My brother's name is Michael. It has been for most of his life. Not all of his life, but that's not the point at this moment. The point at this moment is that his name is, as I said, Michael.

Not Mike. NOT Mike.

Michael.

Michael suits him. Michael lies across his shoulders like a meticulously tailored silk dinner jacket.

In a fabulous shade of merlot.

With velvet lapels.

Ü

Though Mike does seem to be a logical nickname for someone by the name of Michael, Mike is the name of someone else entirely, someone who is not Michael-Who-Is-My-Brother or even My-Brother-Who-Is-Michael.

Urgh.

I have heard my brother say, politely, of course, "It's…Michael…actually," more times than I can count. Prolly pretty close to eleventy-billion times...but not quite, 'cause sometimes it's just not worth the breath.

Y'know how it is when someone lumbers you with a nickname you dislike and then insists on calling you by that nickname, despite the nearly eleventy-billion times you have corrected them....politely, of course? Yeah. It's kinda like that for me as The Big Sister. I get all urgh-y when someone refers to my brother as Mike.

Who he clearly is not.

Not when he was smaller than me, not when he grew to be a foot taller than me…not even today when it happened again! (scowl)

With apologies to all the Mikes in the world, I say, once again, and with feeling, urgh!

.:sigh:.