Abstract Random

I was having lunch with my mum yesterday when she asked what our plans were for last night. I told her our new bed was being delivered and she asked, "What's wrong with your old bed?"

Instead of explaining that, despite the amount of money we paid for it eight years ago, it was poorly designed/constructed and had just gotten to the point where it felt like it was about to fall apart, I simply said, "It's broken."

To which my mum matter-of-factly replied, "Your father and I broke a bed once. On our honeymoon."

This was, of course, followed by an awkward silence.

Finally, I said, "So... how's your sandwich?"

I'm an aunt to a gorgeous baby boy. We went to the hospital to meet him last night and he is lovely.

Look at his sweet little face:

And his wrinkly little hands:

And feet:

I'm looking forward to Arun and I being his cool (and favourite) uncle and aunt.

My cousin Ted was a big influence on me growing up. He was a lot older than me and lived in Toronto so I didn't see a lot of him in my childhood but when I was a teenager he got cancer and moved back to Ottawa to be with the family. Despite what he was going through, he was always very generous and understanding and encouraging with me and he helped shape who I am today in some pretty significant ways.

When I was 14 he started giving me mixed tapes with bands like Violent Femmes and The Pixies and Sonic Youth and The Smiths on them.

When I was 15 he lent me with his camera so I could take a photography class because my parents didn't want to buy one if I wasn't going to "stick with it."

When I was 16 he encouraged me to volunteer at CKCU.

Ted died when I was 17. As I've been framing the photos for my exhibit at The Manx I've been thinking about how much of it (and so much else) is due to him. So thanks, Ted. For everything.

It was a fairly lazy long weekend chez nous, with all our family obligations crammed into one day (Saturday) and lots of napping, cooking, and soccer-watching every other day. All the good of all that relaxing went by the wayside late Monday afternoon when I got a call from my brother telling me my mum had been in a car accident. She was a passenger in a car that got hit by an SUV running a red light. Thankfully she's not seriously hurt but she is pretty banged up and had to spend a few hours at the hospital to make sure nothing was broken.

It was a really close call and I've been pretty freaked out by it. I had a good talk with my mum this morning and she's in good spirits but is definitely in pain. I'm going to take the day off tomorrow to spend with her and help around the house.

All this led me to care even less about a birthday I was already feeling underwhelmed about. Though Arun, being the wonderful husband that he is, still insisted on doing especially nice things for me*, including dinner at Fratelli last night.

I'm 33 now. Three has always been my favourite number** so I'm convinced it is going to be a good year, despite the slightly rocky start. A coworker emailed me the "if today is your birthday" horoscope and, while I'm not really into horoscopes it included a line that said, "Some important issues are going to turn out in the best possible way." I'll take it.

*Arun does especially nice things all the time, which is one of the many reasons why I married him.

**It is the magic number, after all.

My brother and I are very different people. When we were teenagers, if one of us liked something, the other usually hated it. For example, he worked in the fish department of the grocery store by my parents' house where he would kill and gut fresh fish, loved Friends, and drank a lot of coffee. I was a vegetarian, have never seen an episode of Friends, and the smell of coffee makes me feel ill.

My brother's a big Tim Horton's guy. I refuse to step foot in one. I hold my breath when I walk by the Tim Horton's at Bank and Nepean because the smell coming out of that place literally turns my stomach.

And now I'll be holding my breath a lot more often because they're putting a Tim's at the corner of my street where the pub used to be. I had heard that's what was going in there a few months ago but was in denial about it since nothing was happening in the space. But now they're doing some serious renos and last week I walked by and saw some blueprints on the floor by the window so I stopped to take a peek and, sure enough, there was a Tim Horton's logo on them. Fuck.

I am not impressed. Though I'm sure my brother would be thrilled.

My dad, who is an amazing writer and editor, is working on a book that will compile the past several years of his work. Which is great. Except that the title he's chosen for it includes the word "strokes". Which is problematic for obvious reasons. You know. Strokes.

I can't let my 81 year-old father publish a book with strokes in the title but I can't bring myself to point out the problem to him. He's totally oblivious to that sort of thing and I'm not going to be the one to tell him that pen strokes aren't the first thing that comes to mind when people hear the word.

I tried suggesting alternate titles to him yesterday but he shot them down. So I've had to resort to enlisting my mum to talk to him about it, though even she was reluctant. "Are you sure there's no one else who can do it?" she asked. Yes mum, I'm quite sure.