Leg Up

We spent the last week in the merry U.S. of A because our 3 year old, Lanes, had three days off from school and my parents were visiting my sister in Seattle. Monday was a holiday in Canada for Victoria Day, so my long suffering spouse, P, dropped us off last weekend and came back to Canada for his temp job. Lanes and I stayed on until Sunday.

You know your child is a handful when you have to cross borders to keep her entertained: ) Jokes aside, it was good for Lanes to have some quality time with my parents and her antics were an endless source of entertainment for my father in particular.

He had gone for his check up and the nurse was intrigued to meet me—so far I was the phantom daughter everyone kept mentioning. When she walked into the room my sister and I were bickering over where we should put my father’s walking stick and the nurse lamented, ‘oh my, you really are sisters!’.

My father, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of anything that was going on, having brilliantly left his hearing aid at home. Between the staggering costs of cancer treatment and the devastating side effects of his medications, I think he was feeling rather deflated and not in the mood to hear anything at all.

That day, a really good resident was there and he explained everything in terms we understand and I think that helped a lot. It’s easy to deal with the enemy (cancer) when you know more about it. Despite the ‘unpleasant’ start to the week, we were too busy to wallow in self pity since we were swept up in a flurry of activities at my nieces’ school.

On Thursday evening they had their talent show. We had to get there by 6.30pm for the girls to get ready and then the show would last till about 9pm. I was not sure if Lanes should attend seeing as that’s her dinner/bed time and I didn’t want her to whine or have hissy fit in the middle of the show.

My mom and sister insisted we take her and after much ado, I grudgingly agreed (or rather I had no choice), on the condition that my sister has to deal with any unscheduled drama that may take place. I really didn’t want Lanes to star in a show of her own in the sidelines!

Well, we got there and I saw Lanes’ eyes glaze over with boredom while we were waiting for the show to begin. That glaze is always a prelude to a tantrum. As luck would have it, there was a shortage of seats, and my only consolation was having my brother-in-law (aka ‘Big Daddy’) agree with my thought process involving bringing Lanes to the show.

When the music started, Lanes was intrigued and shrugged off her bad mood, and when her cousins came on, she was delighted. However, she was strongly under the opinion that the girls be in every single number. She sauntered off with my sister and ‘Big Daddy’ and apparently had shouted out to one of her cousins, which luckily people around her found endearing. My niece, on the verge of being a teenager, was fortunately not embarrassed by her one person cheer squad.

Suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lanes trudging up to me with her pant legs pulled up so high, she was practically giving herself a wedgie! She was stomping along, with her cheeks drooping and a mischievous glint in her eyes, which she had managed to make even larger than normal.

I was mortified! My mother was next to me and she whispered that I should ignore Lanes and make no comments about her attempts to flash the audience. I just wanted to crawl up hide under my chair. Lanes nudged me a little and looked down at her exposed legs, willing me to have a cow about it. When Lanes got no reaction from me, she scowled, smiled and then stomped off again.

My sister smiled benevolently and sashayed behind Lanes. I don’t know what she was smoking. I mean, Lanes doesn’t even go to this school and I was so embarrassed, my cheeks were burning. Next thing we know, Lanes determinedly hiked up her pant legs even more and stalked down the aisle, in full view of everyone!!

Her antics were probably even captured on film since there was a cameraperson strategically positioned right there. I had gone from exasperation to hysteria. My mom and I were stifling our laughs so much we were crying! The three people in the auditorium that were unaware of what Lanes was doing would have thought my mom and I were moved to tears by the performance onstage.

My sister was last seen grinning like she laid a golden egg or something and I believe she eventually caught her before Lanes got on stage. They disappeared for the next 15 numbers, and when the show was over, Lanes was still giving everyone a free show of her legs. She couldn’t look more uncivilized if she tried!

One of the moms near me thought Lanes was hilarious and she came up to talk to me. For a long time, I was trying my best to pretend Lanes was not mine, but alas I found no other brown people to pin her on. Some other moms thought my nutty sister had somehow managed to produce another child.

This is not good news for ‘Big Daddy’ considering Lanes couldn’t look less like him if she tried. She does have a resemblance to my sister though. I could just hear the gossip brewing.

From time to time I could hear my sister boasting ‘this is my baby niece, isn’t she so cute?’. She was parading Lanes and her bare legs around the auditorium, and extracting compliments by force. I wonder why she didn’t show me off too? Hmm.

All in all, my nieces did a fabulous job singing and playing on the piano, completely oblivious to Lanes’ antics (except for the cheering). So in all three girls had a good performance! My sister was so delighted (again, I don’t know what she is on, but I’d like to order some) she said that was the most fun talent show she has been to.

I’m just thankful that we live in Canada and will never have to apply to my nieces’ school. Imagine at the interview—‘yes, wasn’t your child the one who was flashing all the parents and grandparents? We have it on tape!’ And that would be the end of the interview and we would be unceremoniously shown the door—unless there was a vacancy for class clown, I doubt we would have any shot of getting in.

In hindsight, it was really funny and everyone had a good time. We had to go to ‘grandparents and special friends’ day at my nieces’ school the next day, but after the previous night’s entertainment, Lanes and I missed it since we were fast asleep. Lanes had her foot near my ear, and I was dangling off the bed. We were so out of it, we were snoring in sync.

We also got to hang out with Anna, my nieces’ aunt/nanny. She remains convinced that the world is ending, but this time she didn’t corner me about it. She just mysteriously muttered something about the unusual weather patterns being a sign of things to come. Since debating is not allowed, I just nodded in assent. The scary thing is that she is always right anyway.

Each day she brought lilacs and insisted we smell them. I politely sniffed a little and then I told her it was enough since the pollen was bugging us, but she literally stuffed them up my nose. Each nostril was so nicely stuffed with the flowers, I think my nose was cleaned out. Lanes, on the other hand, was delighted and went on sniffing them nonstop.

The next day we picked Anna up and I was trying to get Lanes a snack in the car, but when she got in, she did the shoving of the lilacs up my nose, and thrust them (and a wet tissue so the flowers stay fresh) on my lap for me to hold, ‘delicately’. As P jokes nonstop, I have never done anything ‘delicately’ in my life, so this was to be a challenge.

I had to unzip my bag, find food, open the packaging and hand it all over to Lanes with one hand, while holding onto a bunch of soppy lilacs with the other. I should have tried that trick in the talent show!

It’s now back to the grind. Lanes is off in school today and I have caught a cold—I hope I’m even typing this blog in English. I’m so out of it. I have my second driving lesson tomorrow and it’s too late to change the date. I hope I’m feeling up to it. Maybe when I start sneezing up a storm, the instructor will change the date himself, thereby making me exempt from paying a cancellation fee.

I am grateful now that he has a steering wheel! They way I cling onto the wheel so tightly, I’d probably unwittingly turn it each time I sneeze. I must go get some medicine. More next week…

Driving Me Insane

I finally had my first driving ‘lesson’. My instructor was a very matter of fact poker faced fellow, who had his own accelerator, brake and steering wheel--like something out of James Bond--if James Bond drove a tin can. It was very unassumingly fancy and all that, but at one point I didn’t know if he was doing the driving or if I was. That was rather frustrating. Having a control freak (him) and a freak (me) together resulted in a bumpy ride.

I did learn several things though: 1.) one must not gaze adoringly at dogs on sidewalks while driving, 2.) never drive on lanes that have bicycle markings, even if the lane is wide enough to fit a Mac truck, two camels, a stage coach and possibly half my backside 3.) the red light does not mean stop and reflect on the last 30 years of your life 4.)scoping out neighborhoods for new places to live is not appropriate—all eyes must be on the road (and apparently on the side and rear view mirrors as well).

There was a fancy side mirror attached to the car, and the instructor looked at that to see where my eyes were darting. This same type of car is used for the road test, I was warned. I was wondering how he knew I was not looking left, right and then left again. I just get so distracted! I mean there are Labradors on the right, store sale signs on the left, notices on condos for rent in between. What’s a girl to do?

We had some initial hiccups. Out of habit, a couple of times I set off the windshield wipers (as my luck would have it, on the one sunny day we had in Vancouver) instead of the turn signals, which for some reason unnerved the instructor. I really thought at one point I was going to get a time out. When he warmed up to me he admitted (all straight faced) that when he first moved from Hong Kong he made the same mistake.

He also complalined that I was gripping the steering wheel too hard. Well, I was clinging onto that thing for dear life. I was so nervous—the man made me go on the highway right off the bat—which he soon regretted and he is not going to make that mistake next time. I was holding onto it firmly also because I found his steering too distracting as it was affecting where my wheel was going. I was hoping that by grabbing my one, he would be unable to move his!! This devious plan failed spectacularly.

All in all, it was over soon enough and the instructor and I were both nervous wrecks. I think the instructor must be wishing he was charging me more. I felt liberated to be on the road, so much so that I was a little lead footed, something he pointed out in his assessment. I hope the other lessons go well!! Maybe I’ll pick up some extra strength Tylenol for the instructor so he can use it after our next lesson.

As karma would have it, since I drove the instructor insane, pun intended, I was pushed to the brink of madness the next day. The sun broke out again and in a rare moment of motivation, I decided to go for a walk. 

I conveniently waited until it was close to time to get Lanes before making this decision, as then I would have no choice but to ensure the walk was very brief. As I stepped outside, I was flagged down by the prematurely grey haired enthusiastic Mandarin-speaking lady.

Again, she insisted on having a long drawn out conversation with me. She gestured towards the poor relative’s version of the I-pod I had in my hand, my hat and shorts and mimicked power walking. I nodded yes and she beamed and happily reached forward and rubbed my belly enthusiastically, much to my horror. I needed no translators to gather that she meant that I could use the exercise. Great.

Humiliated and infuriated, I pointed in a random direction and waved to indicate I was leaving. As I tried to set off, she pulled me back in towards the building. Who is this lady? Why am I being manhandled? I was a tad annoyed, because I find this woman so exasperating, I would rather exercise than hang out with her. I pointed helplessly at the door, but she didn’t bat an eyelid. She counter pointed instead.

She nodded her dandelion styled head at the mail boxes and stabbed at her watch. I assumed she was asking when the mail arrives, so I lied at held two fingers up. I had no idea when the mail came, I just assumed it was around 2pm. I also knew if I didn’t ‘say’ anything, I’d be stuck there and I’d never be able to get Lanes. I said a silent prayer for the poor employee of Canada Post that this woman was waiting for.

I then made a mad dash out of there and sighed because she was blocking the only entrance to the building. For once I was hoping Lanes would have a tantrum on the way back from school so that I could avoid being trapped in a bizarre conversation with this lady on my way in. I envisioned dashing into the elevator with a flailing Lanes—the perfect excuse not to have a one sided chit chat.

I found myself at the back of the building in my attempt to get Lanes, and I was glad to see a neighbor on the ground floor—a 90 year old sweetheart to whom I had happily shown a shortcut to the supermarket the day before, only to be told by another neighbor that he didn’t know how to get back—I barely slept at night worrying about him. I love dogs and old people and spare no patience for anything in between.

I was having a nice conversation with him, when the Dandelion lady came round the building and started gesturing towards me. I was so glad she didn’t speak English (and that my geriatric friend’s hearing was not so good) because I said ‘oh crap’ as a reflex. I waved and ignored her a little and she went away and proceeded toward the front of the building.

But there she was again!! She quickly came up to me and pointed at some strawberries on the Safeway flyer and was trying to say something about it, which I think meant she was asking me where the nearest Safeway was (or perhaps if I like strawberries?). It was all pointless because she wouldn’t understand a word that was coming out of my mouth.

I mean she is a nice lady and all, but my walk was sabotaged, I might have been late to get Lanes, and I had no idea why she keeps trying to talk to me when I just look flabbergasted most of the time. Strangely though, we do manage to communicate—I don’t understand how, but it just enables the madness.  

I was smiling politely on the outside, but inside, the inner me in cartoon form was pumping my fists in the air screaming ‘why me?’ and was hitting myself in the head with an imaginary saucepan. I wanted to stomp my feet and have a tantrum and run away from her faster than the Road Runner.

The sad thing is that if I had paid attention in my Mandarin class in Sri Lanka, instead of mapping out elaborate lunch plans and arranging my Mentos in order of color, I might have actually made a friend!! I also brilliantly didn’t pack any of my old study guides. But in my defense, the movers came right after I had oral surgery, which wound up being a bigger deal than I anticipated, and I just was on another planet when they came and did their thing.

To my horror, not only did I not send off important items, I had shipped things that didn’t belong to me!! I had put my dresser in the shipment, completely forgetting that my mom’s keys were in them. While she was in Colombo frantically looking for them, they were happily in the middle of the ocean. I realized this mistake when I came out of my post op drug induced stupor, but decided to wait till our plane took off for Canada to call my mom and tell her where her keys were. Needless to say, I heard her scream all the way across the world!!

I have no idea why these things happen to me or how I wind up doing these things to myself. I always trip over my own feet, literally and metaphorically speaking. On that note, I must sign off to get my rest—there are more people waiting to be traumatized by me tomorrow. Will catch up next week…

Party Hearty

My parents were visiting us all through this week. I successfully concealed all information about how one of our neighbor’s sprang out his balcony to his death just the week before. They spent most of their time inside the apartment, recovering from their long trip, so there was no danger of them overhearing anything. 


They also had not read this blog due to much denied technical issues getting onto the internet, so our secret was safe. One whiff of the news about the suicide (not to mention the shooting and other domestic abuse issues in this building), and my mom would insist our ghetto fab apartment is haunted and we have to move out. As it is, she is feverishly praying that we will find a better place to live. As are we. 

Any old how, they heard from their friends about my whimsical vignettes on my new life here in Canada, and insisted on reading a few episodes. I skillfully clicked on the one from about two weeks ago that compared my poor sister to a menopausal seal and asked my mom to scroll down from there. She just assumed it was my newest entry. Whew.

My mom adamantly insisted that she knows how to use the computer, after all she has watched every single episode of ‘Bones’ online. She just kept scrolling down, never suspecting I was trying to mastermind a major cover up of the horrific entries right above what she was reading.

Lanes, our three year old, was so happy to have my parents visiting. She was not pleased with their sleeping and bathroom habits though. Almost every morning she pounced onto their bed with her drums, attempting to hammer them out of bed. When that failed she just put her bony elbows into my unsuspecting mother’s stomach and bladder while attempting to cuddle with them (if you can't beat them, join them) and that got her up and about real fast.

On the first day they were here, it was not such a good idea since we had one of our numerous water cuts. My father refused to drink anything until the water was restored, and my mom was using the bathroom with a vengeance.

Meanwhile, on that day of all days, my sister e-mails me a picture of a new commode she has installed in her house. Yes, of a commode. I mean it’s not like she bought a boat or grill or something. Who takes a picture of the throne—a plain boring old white one at that? She even called and insisted that I pass along the picture and hand out some compliments to her on it.

Considering my father and I were holding our bladders all day and we were both a lighter shade of blue from our efforts, it was the absolute last thing we wanted to see. Thankfully, the water was restored two hours sooner than scheduled, and they had water for the rest of their visit. Lanes was free to press on bladders to her hearts content.

She was more gentle on my father, with whom she is on a first name basis—no calling him ‘grandpa’ here. I think she instinctively knows that he is not well. One day she stroked his hair, which had fallen due to chemo and stroked his blackened fingers and asked him about them. He has also been fed various concoctions of ‘medicine’ from her tea and food sets.

If he stays in the bathroom more than five minutes she would come tell my mom that he has been there too long. Lanes would hover menacingly over her until my mom went to check on him, because she is under the impression that my father needs to be taken care of by my mother.

This is really true. He would wake up before my mom but would refuse to eat breakfast until she came out. That’s normally ok, but he needed to eat to take his medicine. Then one day she took an extra long shower and he went into the bathroom on the pretense of really having to go, but sat there talking to her the entire time.

I guess it must run in the family because Lanes does that type of thing. Whenever my mom or dad went to the toilet, after awhile she would open the door and say she needs to use the potty. They would get all excited and scramble out of the loo in a hurry, only to be captured by an enthusiastic Lanes who has decided its play time.

I think they had a lot of fun together, even after my mom sat on the ‘rocket’ Lanes had made in school from an old toilet paper roll. She announced to everyone she met how grandma broke her rocket, much to my mom’s horror.

On Wednesday we invited my mom’s friend of 60+ years and her husband to lunch. Lanes was going limp and fighting going to school, trying to stay home and play with her grandparents, and after I wrestled her out and made a stop at the grocery store, I only had 1 ½ hours to cook, set the table, clean up, and take a shower. I managed to pull it off by some miracle.

Luckily, the appetizer and meal turned out well and everyone had a good time—so much so that the party went on till 8:30pm at night. Lanes was so delighted to find my mom’s friends (who P and I think of as our friends now) in our apartment when she came home. She flirts unabashedly with my mom’s friend’s husband.

On Friday and Saturday we had dinner parties to go to. The first friends we met in Canada had invited us over. So after all the sleeping that went on in the first half of their visit, the second half turned out to be really busy—but in a good way.

My parents left on Sunday afternoon and I was left to deal with the carnage that is a preschooler’s angst. Lanes was really sad that they left, she tried to bargain with me to keep some relatives when my sister and her brood came up to pick my parents up. Then she tried to wrangle a deal to go to Seattle with them, but that fell through for her as well.

Luckily, my nutty sister came brought along a mini-science kit when she came up. When everyone left, my anal nature (92%) took over and I did a quick cleaning of the apartment and put a load of laundry in. Then, I sat and did an experiment with Lanes in a valiant attempt to distract her. We did one that involved putting a penny in water and a penny in lemon juice to see which one comes out shinier.

Supposedly the one in the juice is supposed to outshine the other, but in our experiment, the penny immersed in water outshone the penny in the lemon juice. It figures. It brought back bad memories of lab experiments in high school. I did a quick switcharoo and Lanes was none the wiser. It helped that at that time she was trying to pick her toes out with the tweezers that came with the set.

She wants to do more experiments when she comes home from school today, but they require things foreign to me, like celery and food coloring, none of which I have handy. I was thinking of using her paints instead of the food coloring. Will see how that goes!

Tomorrow I am supposed to go to Lanes’ school play and after P gets home I am to be let loose on the streets. I will take my first driving ‘lesson’ and I’m on pins about it. It’s raining and I’m going out during rush hour. If you live in the area, stay home!! I hope I stay on the right(no pun intended)side of the road. At least it all makes for a crazy episode next week…

Up and Out

The entire building is abuzz about the recent suicide. Word is the jumper was a nice guy with girlfriend troubles. Lived alone, but very friendly and chatty with neighbors—no one saw it coming. About three units have vacated and I am not sure if it has anything to do with this particular event or not--tenants have such a colorful selection of reasons to leave. 

We certainly are keen to join the mass exodus and find some other place to live. I mean it’s nice and all that I have material for my blog without ever leaving the house, but there is only so much crazy a person can take.

I have enough drama to install cameras in my living room and the peep hole of my front door to have a reality show. It’s like ‘Fawlty Towers’ meets ‘90210’ meets ‘CSI’ up in here. I might have to go and invest in some heavy duty make up, flat irons, and tight shirts just in case some producer randomly finds news articles on this joint and wants to make yet another unscripted show--it might be called 'The Desperate Tenants of Leaky Towers'.

Any old how, I was concerned that the man who died was the sweet Italian ‘elderly’ man who seems to be under the impression that my first name is ‘Sweetie’. He is always in a jean shirt with matching jeans and whenever he spots me, which is nearly always in the laundry room, he never fails to give me a hearty hello.

I was very relieved to see him today just as I was leaving with my third load of the day. 

I also bumped into the prematurely white haired lady who insists on speaking to me in rapid fire Mandarin and as usual she got me to break all language barriers and help her with the dryer. She was not at all bothered that I was lumbering with a load of laundry that was ¾ my height and body mass. That speaks volumes, no pun intended. She remains unconcerned that I’m a confused looking brown person and continues to be convinced I’ll speak back in fluent Chinese. Somehow we manage to figure things out.

The reason for the huge load was that my parental units have come for a six day visit. They were greeted with the news that we will be having yet another water cut from 9am-5pm tomorrow and with their leaky bladders, this information has caused much panic between them. My parents came with three days worth of dirty clothes because they came via Bangkok where they broke journey and met up with friends. 

My husband, P, and I wanted to keep their visit as a surprise for our three year old, Lanes, but she had eavesdropped on a phone conversation and she was so excited she barely slept waiting for them. They came on Mother’s Day, so we took flowers to the airport to give my mom a thrill. We had a card for her somewhere, it must be in a practical place like under the spare tire in the car.

Lanes faithfully held on to the bouquet with both fists, like a flag holder in a marching band. She sat and waited with such silent determination to hand the bouquet over and wish my mom a happy mom’s day that the lady sitting next to me couldn’t stifle her curiosity and leaned over and asked Lanes who the flowers were for.

Lanes was so happy when they finally came out and they were very delighted to see her. My mom went home with P and Lanes and my dad and I went in a taxi with the luggage. I was swearing that P didn’t take some of the pieces (there were only four), because last time they came, he sauntered into the apartment after I had lugged all four bags inside on my own (my father is not only exempt from helping with luggage but forbidden, on account of having cancer).

P faithfully promised to arrive before we would, but he and I both knew it wouldn’t play out that way.  Before we knew it, one old man, four heavy suitcases and a very agitated yours truly were deposited in front of our crazy building. P was not in sight. I was rushing to get the pieces in before my dad did any lifting, which of course he proceeded to attempt.

He was approaching the elevators, unaware that the elevators have twisted minds. No matter what number you press, you will go all the way up and come whooshing back down to your floor so fast your knees buckle. There is no time for day dreaming when the doors open because the doors will slam shut in 0-2 seconds, mercilessly squeezing anything trapped in between. It’s like a rickety metal Venus Flytrap.

For the first few days after that man jumped, the elevator kept going to his floor and opening and no one would get in and I used to be petrified until the elevator decided to come down to my floor (I am terrified of two things—ghosts and roaches—get me a ghost roach and I’ll probably get a heart attack). When I am with Lanes, I am on high alert and yank her in and out since I am always scared the doors will close with one of us in the elevator and one of us out.

I also didn’t want this to happen with my father. I tried to pull one suitcase in and come back for the rest. I instructed my father to wait with the ones that were left downstairs. With good intentions he put in another suitcase in the lift with me and when I got to my floor (after a scenic detour to the ninth and fifth floors), I pushed one out and before I got to yank the other one, the door slammed shut. I was in a flap trying to get the elevator to come back.

Some folks were moving out at the same time and I was scared we’d never see it again and I’d have to hear about it for an eternity. Luckily, the doors opened and a confused looking couple was looking at it suspiciously and they were most relieved when I dashed in and claimed it.

Eventually everyone got home. If something went missing in the elevator, it must not be that important since my parents have not complained—then again they have been sleeping all this time. I fed them a shrimp cocktail and after having a little love fest with Lanes, which included her stamping them with stickers, like a rancher branding his cattle, my parents were engaged in synchronized snoozing on the sofa.

Lanes was sad they fell asleep and decided that she ‘must make noise’. She marched out with her drums, grinned, and got ready to bang on them with great gusto when P swooped in and diverted her. Undaunted, she came back in with her maracas which she was swinging so precariously she was channeling BamBam from the ‘Flintstones’. Again, she was ushered away.

P and I were pooped and went about cleaning up and getting ready for the next day when we found Lanes sitting next to my father with her little organ. She just set the stool and was about to slam her hands down on the keyboard like a scary character from an '80s cartoon, when P scooped her up and took her away.

She woke up again this morning on a mission to get them up and about and by 7.30am she was in the middle of their bed with all her drums. I think they were blessing whoever invented preschool when she was packed off to go play with her pint size friends.

P and I have decided to conceal the true extent of the madness in this demented carnival that is our apartment from our parents due to their ill health. So we have to hide leaping tenants, bursting pipes, non-flushing toilets, and roller coaster tempera‘mental’ elevators.

We are really trying to find a new place to live but are extra cautious since we don’t want to jump from one hot mess into another. We also have to look at schools since the school Lanes will go to will depend on her neighborhood. The thought of packing while dealing with a frisky Lanes gives me a headache. 

Just thinking of it, I feel a tightening in my temples.

I must sign off as I have to wake up my parents. I am very tired—I was so out of it I tried to put the dryer on with my house keys instead of using the laundry card and I was trying to find a place to add a plug on the Brita water filter instead of the electric kettle.

To add to the madness, my crazy sister has just called me and won’t get off the phone—she thinks Lanes needs ballet lessons because she just found her daughters’ old ballet outfits. She is making my brain feel like it's doing plies and piques. More adventures next week…

Are You Kidding Me?

This blog episode contains material that may not be suitable for the very young, the very elderly, those prone to fainting fits, and anyone wishing to visit me within the next few weeks. Viewer discretion is advised. Due to the serious nature of this entry, the usual standards of humor have been curtailed. Sniff.

Loyal readers, you might have noted that for the last two or three weeks I have refrained from commenting on this crazy ghetto-fabulous, dilapidated, how in the world this building get approved, apartment we call home. Rest assured, during this time pipes were bursting all over the place like fireworks on Canada Day and the sweethearts at the Fire Department have been making their routine visits.

My long-suffering spouse, P, my three year old, Lanes, and I don’t even bother to figure out what’s going on when they show up because they come here so often. P is eternally exasperatingly nonchalant anyway, and Lanes just wants to be one because she loves the trucks. P and I are grateful because they usually come and boss around the management here to make sure that everything is ok for the tenants.

So on Wednesday, P rushed off to his temp job and as soon as I packed Lanes off to preschool I set about getting the apartment cleaned. I tried to procrastinate since I hate vacuuming in particular—the chord always gets in the way and the machine itself weighs as much as half a camel and whenever I try to move the blasted thing, it puts up as much resistance as a hippie going limp during an arrest. It's also as loud as the engine of a 777.

I wrestled with it and was vacuuming ferociously when I heard a huge thud--even over the noise of the machine. The sound was so loud, I really couldn’t imagine what it was, and I figured in this apartment, the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ policy is best. If it was important, eventually someone would knock on my door. I didn’t have to worry about the safety of Lanes and P, so I just ignored it as there was a toilet to be scrubbed.

I cleaned the bathroom from top to bottom and felt rather pleased with myself for a few seconds because it would be only fleetingly clean before my spouse and child destroyed all my hard work. When I came into the living room, I noticed the fine folks at the Fire Department were back in the courtyard/parking lot, along with an ambulance.  It’s sad when you come to find these things mundane.

I was about to walk away from the window when I noticed three cop cars had also come and a policeman was cordoning off the entrance with yellow tape. Now I’ve watched enough TV shows (a great wealth of information) to know that that means bad news. I was dying of curiosity to know what was going on.

It was coming close to time for me to go and get Lanes and I was wondering how I was supposed to get out if they were sealing off the entrance. More importantly, I wanted to know if I should call the school and ask them to keep her if something major was going down. If there was a lunatic on the loose or something (self not included), I really did not want her out and about in the midst of the madness.

When it came close to the time to get her, I sauntered towards the entrance to the building and I was about to ask the policeman outside if I could leave. The words never came out of my mouth because I walked smack dab into a dead body on the sidewalk. The upper torso was covered by a white sheet, but the feet were sticking out.

All my years of watching CSI could not prepare me for seeing something like this in real life. The policeman tried to smile and tell me that I should take another exit if there was one and that I wouldn’t want a child to come and see that. I was stammering so much, he probably figured I was a non-English speaking immigrant.

My mind had stopped working because instead of turning right and going to the other exit, I went to the bowels of the building and tried to get out through the underground parking lot. The gates out of that place don’t open unless a car puts weight on a pipe on the ground.

I went by the gate and was stomping on that blasted pipe with a vengeance. I think I was trying to shake off my shock and distress that we really are living in some sort of crazy pitiful excuse of a building. I was yelling at myself for raising a child in this joint. A car came and I eventually got out with enough time to grab Lanes.

I clung onto her for dear life and I didn’t even notice that it was raining and that I was carrying her half way home, stunned because I just couldn’t believe what I had just seen. Lanes was excited about a picture she drew in school and she was all smiles about something or the other. When she started singing a four letter word starting with s that is a synonym of poop, I realized that I was saying the word nonstop. That shut me up. Apparently swearing is the way I deal with shock.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. I called P and told him what happened and instructed him that on no uncertain terms was he to step on the part of the sidewalk I saw the body. He was so blasé about the entire thing. Anyone would have thought I called to give him the grocery list or something.

Annoyed that P didn’t get all rattled up, I hung up and tried to think of what to do. I kept hearing the voices of my aunt and my mom in my head—if you get a huge shock, take glucose. But then again, those sisters used any excuse to take in a shot of sugar. It seemed like a good idea at the time, because although I really don’t like the taste of liquor, I finally understood why people say ‘I really need a drink right now’.

Lanes had some popsicles and she was delighted and bouncing with joy when I took them out and gave one to her and finished one myself within 2 seconds. Normally the popsicles are given to her under so many conditions—wash your hands, eat your food, not before bedtime.

Oblivious to the post traumatic stress that her mom was incurring, Lanes was rather enjoying herself because I didn’t get her to wash her hands, didn’t bug her about what food she did or most likely didn’t eat in school, didn’t control her TV time. She had a free run of the apartment and got away with eating way too many cheese slices.

At that point I was glad she was blanketed in the innocence of childhood and I prayed she could stay that way as long as she needed to. I was really upset about not only the sight of the dead body, but not knowing how that poor soul came to that end. I spotted a neighbor on the way in from the garage and she told me the deceased jumped from the 11^th floor on his own volition. I was relieved it was not murder at least.

I was thankful for my laziness. Once in a blue moon, I take a walk around the building before getting Lanes. If I had felt so motivated, I might have been right out there when it all happened. I figured using the title ‘It’s Raining Men’ for this blog entry would be very very tacky, and so I refrained from it, especially since many neighbors said they didn’t know him personally, but he was a really friendly guy.

We live in such a lovely neighborhood. The tenants are all families with school going children, elderly folk, and college students. When we first moved to Canada, we were so excited about moving into this place. Looks are so deceiving. When we move from here, as I am certain we must, I’m going to google every single thing about the new place we are going to. I never thought to do that before, but clearly, it’s a good thing to do!!

The days after this incident, I scrubbed the apartment clean. I found dusting and cleaning caused me to lasso my wondering thoughts and I was able to while away the time until Lanes got home. I have not been crazy about staying home alone these past few days.

The end of the week was much better for us. On Friday we went to the house of a really nice couple we met through friends and had a good time. They have two girls (three if you include their absolutely adorable puppy) and a cat. Lanes was delighted by the company (although her screeching at the puppy might have driven the poor lil thing insane).

On Saturday I went to my first every bridal shower in Canada and on Sunday P and I had people over for dinner for the first time since we got here. That was an invitation that was six months overdue.

We had over the very first friends we met over here. I managed to feed everyone without getting them sick (to the best of my knowledge), so I was rather pleased with myself since I cleaned, decorated, cooked and put stuff away all by myself. Well I got P to vacuum and keep Lanes out of my hair while I cooked on Sunday.

Ever ready for a good time and a party, Lanes picked out a dress, put sunglasses on her head and obediently didn't rearrange my decorations. She was disappointed it was nobody’s birthday (because she wanted ‘happy birthday cake’), so she decided the party must be for her since she is just so fabulous. We went with it. So the end of the week, at least had a happy tone. Hopefully we will back to having more ‘funny’ adventures next week, so until next time…