26 May, 2011

Funerals suck.

Immature choice of words, accurate sentiment.

Norma died. I know those of you Brit-side have no idea who I'm on about, but Norma was... well, she was awesome. She was officially a cousin several times removed, but I grew up thinking of her as sort of an honorary grandmother/aunt/person who spoiled me rotten. She kept me while I was a baby, and taught me to swear (when I was two, I said "well hell, I thought we were going to the damn store" to my mother... NOT AMUSED) and to play king-in-the-corner and solitaire while my great grandmother thought we were sleeping. She sang like an angel and whistled like a bird, baked the most sinful cakes (chocolate cake with white between layers and fudge icing, anyone?) and laughed like a loon. She's also the reason I can't eat fudge... *lol* When I was wee, she handed me a plate and let me go to town, which led to several days of sugar induced yuk. Haven't been able to touch the stuff since, which to my way of thinking was a pretty big favour she did me. And she didn't let me die from choking on a french fry at Wendy's when I was a baby, even though she'd given me the fries in the first place and the guy at the next table had to give me the Heimlich. Twice. Because I liked the fries, why would she take them from me?

Anyway, the funeral was today. I hate funerals. I'm not pretty when I cry. And Norma's plot is right next to Granddaddy's, and I've managed thus far not to visit his grave. I had to pretend it wasn't there. However, I managed. Plus, there was a load of family there that I probably haven't seen (and thus haven't seen me, old and pregnant or otherwise) in about fifteen years. So it was really more of a mini family reunion, if a slightly subdued one. And I got two fab presents... My great uncle does a lot of carving, and brought me a hand carved wooden cross with the most gorgeous natural grain to it. The Mimi has one, and I sit and stim on it while we watch TV, it feels so good, so it's great to get one of my own to take home with me. Then my great aunt and I were chatting, and in the course of the conversation she asked me if I ever wear scarves. I said of course I do, to which she took off the most fantastic (and obviously vintage, I'd scoped it while we were chatting) number from around her neck and said it was her mother's (my great grandmother's) and that she'd brought it to give to me, but that she'd wanted to find out if I'd wear it before she handed it over. *grin* Result! It's red with a cream wicker pattern and greyish blue roses, doesn't get much better than that. I put it straight on and just managed not to do the happy dance in the graveyard. See how mature I'm getting?

Himself gets here on Friday. In the past, I will not tell a lie, my visits to Texas sans-hubby have been a bit of an escape from an occasionally turbulent relationship. Plus, I don't think a little time apart can hurt any relationship, it makes you appreciate each other more (or realise you had more fun without them and break it off, but that obviously didn't happen here... *lol*). Anyway, I realised today that this trip is probably the first that I've wished he was here just about every day. Just for silly things, like seeing my mother's cat asleep in the fruit basket or to watch Monster Brother completely misbehave at Sister Four's orchestra concert. I think we might be hitting our stride, people, you might want to watch out. God knows what would happen if we truly aligned our wills against an obstacle... shrapnel comes to mind. I just hope he's not COMPLETELY put off by the huge lump of baby I'm currently hauling at waist level. It's one thing to see it on skype... it's another to try to hug me.

Speaking of huge lump of baby, I should get some sleep. JB has taken it upon himself to become my tiny human alarm clock and has begun waking me at unholy hours of the morning by turning flips in my abdominal bastille. Or maybe he's doing yoga? Bloody hippie baby... must be part of the veganism thing. So, to bed with me. G'night.

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