Kiss Me Goodnight, Sargeant Major

This past week has been a rough one.

My beloved Nanna died on Wednesday night. She was sick for a while, and I have never experienced anyone dying like she did. In my previous experience with death, my other grandparents, they simply died. Granny died in her sleep, and Papa passed in his orchard. Both deaths were shocking and both were sudden. But Nanna was 93, had a stroke several years before, and had been faltering for the past few weeks. We have spent the past week waiting for that call saying she'd passed. It came Wednesday night.

I take some solace in her death. She is now free of all turmoil on earth. She is safely in God's hands, where she always wanted to be. She will be surrounded by love at all times, and not just those few times she spent at our house when we were growing up. She will be surrounded by joy and peace all the time now. I take comfort in that.

What has made her death harder for me, though, is the fact she is not getting a funeral. My aunt and uncle don't see the need for one, and have not planned one. There hasn't even been a viewing at the funeral home, even though Nanna was a well-known and well-loved woman in St. John's. How scandalous that a woman's life is reduced to ten lines in an obit. There is no celebration for her life and love of her. There are no hymns sung in her memory, which, as anyone who knew her can tell you, she would have loved and wanted. She deserves more, and it is a shame her own family could not see that. Shame on them. I only hope when their time comes, someone treats them with more dignity than they showed their own mother.

A few short years ago, Nanna asked me to read "Crossing the Bar" by Lord Tennyson at her funeral. Since her inconsiderate and heartless son and daughter did not see the need to honour their mother, I will read that poem to her myself. I will light a candle, say a prayer to her, and read her the poem she wanted.

Nanna meant the world to me. She was always singing and laughing, and quick with a tale to tell. I felt unconditional love from her at all times. In April, she told me it was time to "settle down and take a man's name". I met Byron a couple weeks later. She was magical, lyrical, and bright. I will carry her in my heart always, and make sure my children and grandchildren know what a wonderful woman she was. I will pass on her stories, and her joie de vivre. Nanna's memory will live on in my life forever.

Kiss me goodnight, Sargeant Major. Tuck me in my little wooden bed.
Adoringly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Quietly Sad

UPDATE: My Nanna passed away late last night. Let me collect my thoughts and dry my tears. I'll post later.

Sorry for the lack of blogging lately. I have nothing of worth to say.

It's kind of sad these days in my world. My Nanna is dying. She's in St. John's and there is no way for me to see her before she leaves. But it's okay, though. She visited me the other night in my dreams and we said goodbye.

So all my musings about jerks at Starbucks, celebrity trainwrecks, and rants on airlines seem a bit useless right now.

Give me some time. I'll be back soon.

Silently Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Can you stand it?!

This picture of George is so cute, I can hardly stand it!

Those eyes! That hair! The quasi-knitted brow of concentration! Those fingers! Those cheeks! He's so cute you want to gobble him up!

Now I miss George.

Longingly Yours,
xoxoAuntie Sallyt

Introducing George

Meet George. He's my new nephew.


Don't you love his eyebrows? Those bright eyes melt me everytime! And he has this velvet-like reddish hair. His cheeks are so chubby and kissable and he has the tiniest ears!

He's a lucky little ducky. He has a dad who dotes on him like no other man I've seen. And Jane is stunningly beautiful when she coos "hello my boy" to George. He's a strong little man. He was born on December 21st, and by New Year's Eve, he could hold his head up. When he wraps his hand around your finger, I call it the "George Salter Death Grip".

Meet the Salter Family Trio... hours after George was born on December 21st.



It's amazing to see a new life, knowing it was created out of pure love. Knowing this new life has a world of opportunity laying at his tiny feet is awe-inspiring.

I love George. And despite all my previous protests, you can call me Auntie.

Lovingly Yours,
xoxoAuntie Sally

You read it here first, folks

I called it AGES ago.

After spending many years watching idiot celebrities, I can see these things a mile away.

With all the drame of late, what with the late night hospital runs, stand-offs with police, and cries for help from none other than Dr. Phil, I predict Britney will not see 2009. And that, my friends, is being generous. Very generous.

Psychically Yours,
xoxoSallyt

I still hate you

So yes, we did get our backs bags this morning. And yes, nothing was broken. Sure, sure, we're all unpacked and life is back to normal.

But I still HATE Air Canada.

Why in sweet hell does it take five days for bags to get back to their owners? Huh? Riddle me THAT Air Canada. You stink!

I feel better now having our bags back and unpacked. It also felt really good to yell at the woman on the Air Canada "help" desk last night. I know, I know. It is mean and petty and rude to yell at a stranger who wasn't the one who last your bags. But yell "this is incompetent!!!" felt amazing.

Happy New Year!

Restfully Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Where are thou, my bags?

I assume that most, if not all Canadians know that when they fly with Air Canada, they'll be getting sub-par service. No matter how friendly you are when you check-in, or how closely you follow their suggested guidelines (check-in online... be at the airport at least an hour in advance), the flyer will no doubt walk away with a bitter taste.

I have the most bitter taste right now.

Byron and I flew from Halifax to Victoria on Wednesday. The weather was nasty, and we were delayed leaving Halifax. That left us with maybe 30 minutes to connect. As the time melted off the clock, I said to Byron that our bags aren't making it. That was in Halifax. I hadn't even stepped on a plane yet! Sure as shooting, when we arrive in Toronto, we had 15 minutes to make our next flight. As we settled in for the flight to Vancouver, I said to Byron again that our bags are as good as gone. We laughed it off and said we'd see our four bags waving on MuchMusic. When we arrived in Victoria many hours later, we stood in vain around the luggage carousel. Then we gave up the ghost and made a claim with Air Canada.

Now, a few years ago, I worked for more than a year at an airline, then I was a travel agent. I know Air Canada's secrets. I know why they bump bags (to take on more fuel so they can fly longer). I know the system and how to manoeuvre it when your bags are lost. So we made our claim for our four lost bags, using the Air Canada jargon. Our black suitcase on wheels was now called a "BK22". See? Don't play me, Air Canada. I am on to you!

They gave us a number to call and sent us on our way. I called that number several times yesterday, only to get a busy signal. Then when I spoke to someone, not only did I have a hard time deciphering the thick accent (a post for another day), he told me that our bags are not in the system anywhere. In other words, Air Canada has NO IDEA where our luggage is. For all we know, they could, indeed, be waving on MuchMusic! I called again last night, 12 hours after I first got through, and still the same response.

Do you know how hard it is to wash your hair with body wash, and no conditioner? I had to do that yesterday morning, since my shampoo was in my luggage. And my shampoo was in my luggage because we can't carry liquids in our carry-ons anymore. My work shoes are in my luggage, so I wore sneakers at work yesterday. All our clothes and gifts and cameras and shoes and toiletries are missing!

Last night in bed, while Byron was trying to sleep, I kept rolling over in my mind the worst case scenarios. What if our luggage broke open and all our belongings were flung across the tarmac and ruined? What will have happened to the lovely cream-coloured dinner jacket my mom gave me for Christmas? What if we never get our bags back? What will happen to the camera with Baby George's pictures on it? What if the bags were opened and we were robbed? What about the books and video games Byron and I exchanged at Christmas? I'm freaking out.

Since I like to think I know the system, I've been trying to be cool about it all. But now the panic is setting in. What if? What if? What if? I have no hope for our bags today. Maybe tomorrow?

By the way, I broke down and bought new shampoo and conditioner, so I won't have to look like Don King. A gal needs her conditioner.

Panicingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt

Whew!

We are back in Victoria. After 2 1/2 weeks in Dartmouth, Byron and I finally made it home yesterday evening. It's been a gruelling, emotional time, but a great one. Here's what went down...

I became an aunt. Jane gave birth to George David Salter on December 21st. He's a doll! He has reddish hair, bright eyes, chubby cheeks and can hold his head up. I love him.

My family met Byron and he is a smash hit! He quietly suggested my parents get a new computer soon, and they scurried to Future Shop the next day with him in tow and bought a brand new one right there and then. And then Byron spent the next several days setting it up and giving tutorials. My family LOVES him!

Byron also met some friends, namely Becky and Spook and Steve. He really likes them all. It was a lovely meet-and-greet this trip.

I met my brother's girlfriend, Nicole and I like her a lot. She's wonderful for Dave.

There's more, and a million stories to tell. I am back at work now, and completely exhausted. We flew home yesterday, and it was a long haul. We left home early, in case there was some weather woes. They were predicting not one but two storms to blow through Halifax yesterday. We missed them all. Our luggage did not make it to Victoria, but we did, and being in our own bed last night was heaven.

Give me a couple days to digest it all, sleep some, and get life in order back here, and I promise to blog again. And Spook, I promise to blog more.

Obligingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt