Thanks for Asking! (literally)

I guess we're in The Back Nine of NaBloPoMo, and winter has arrived here in Ontario, so the fact that my blog vigour is flagging somewhat is not terribly surprising. I do have a few posts that I worked on ahead of time, but for today I'm going to answer questions about the names posts, because it's an easy post and also because I see that it's a little weird that I just dropped that fact about my dad's last name and didn't elaborate.

Not that there's a whole lot more to tell, but I do agree that it's unusual, except that it was 1940 and my grandparents lived in Stony Rapids, Saskatchewan, which is identified as a 'hamlet', is less than a 100 km south of the Northwest Territories with a sub-arctic climate, and in the 2021 census had a recorded population of 219. They were absolutely literate - my grandfather was a voracious reader, as is my father - but I just don't think anyone had the energy to get exercised about this clerical error. As far as I know it never caused any issues (definitely fewer than having to give Angus "Robert" as a first name, not that I'm bitter and bring this up every chance I get). One of my husband's favourite stories about my dad is that when he moved to the city for high school he thought it was weird seeing people on bicycles in the streets in the summer - the only time they could ride bikes in Stony was in winter when the river froze.

San's question about whether Angus liked his name also made me stop and think - Eve has stated on more than one occasion that she likes her name, which makes me so happy, and I knew that Angus had talked about people liking his name in baseball, but I don't think I had ever actually asked him. So I texted him, and this is how that went.

I'm really happy San asked! Two for two how cool is that? I don't have strong feelings about my own name, particularly since family lore is that I was named after, not a cherished relative or literary reference, but Lady Allison who was .... a horse. 

We would get talking about baby names, unsurprisingly, in playgroup. Collette named her first boy Jacob and the second one Ben, and both turned out to be number one name choices in that year - if I remember correctly she had had the name Jacob as a favourite forever, and caved to her husband on Ben, so she was less than thrilled in both cases. I guess I was kind of shooting for names that would be recognizable but wouldn't have four in every class, although who cares, really. I love the name Emma and in Angus's grade two class there were only six girls and half were named Emma - I still love it. I didn't find out the gender for either kid, but I was pretty set on Angus for a boy. Rachel or Isabel were strong contenders for a girl, but when Eve was born suddenly I thought she was an Eve. I think she's only ever met one of two other Eves (there were a few more Evas). Obviously if Angus was on the east coast or in Scotland he'd be one among many. As it is, it's just him and Jody's bunny. 

Come See Me In the Good Light

 Yesterday I watched the documentary about Andrea Gibson, the non-binary poet who was the Poet Laureate of Colorado in 2023 and who died of ovarian cancer in July of this year. The documentary was directed by Ryan White, who I don't know, and produced by Tig Notaro, who I love. Notaro's tv show One Mississippi was about her mother dying while Notaro was still recovering from severe health issues, and yet it is still billed as a comedy.

I did not love Joan Didion's book The Year of Magical Thinking. I'm almost unwilling to admit that, so many people thought it was a masterpiece (I see I was too chicken to even rate it on Goodreads). I didn't think it was bad, but it didn't get under my skin the way When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi or The Bright Hour by Nina Riggs did. I don't think it's any secret that I tend to treat every subject, even very serious ones, with some kind of humour, which is true of my wider family as well. I realize that humour can be a deflection technique, but I don't think that's all it is. I have trouble remembering quotes, but one by Martin Amis sticks in my head: "A writer is someone who is harassed to the point of insanity by first principles." I don't even think this just applies to writers, but to anyone who stops now and then and thinks about things. Everything in the world, everything about human life, is so strange if you think about it all the way down. And from the time we're very young, we all know that at some point we're going to die. And, like Eleanor Shellstrop says in The Good Place, because of this, "we're all a little bit sad, all the time". But also there is snow, and sky, and your kid saying smushmallow instead of marshmallow, and the fact that you look really dumb in hats, and people falling into shopping mall fountains, and it's impossible to maintain that sadness.

So I ugly cried through a lot of the Andrea Gibson documentary, predictably. And, a little less predictably but not totally, I also snort-laughed and cry-laughed. It is physically painful to watch the point where the scan results are positive, and it looks like they might live, because we know she didn't. It's equally painful to see the point when they realize the cancer is everywhere. And then there is beauty and hilarity and profanity, and the quote I mentioned on Jenny's post yesterday, that "happiness became easier to find when I realized I didn't have forever to find it." 

By Any Other Name (Game?)

 I'm tired and my knee is really sore and I'm just going to phone this in by riffing on my comment on Julie's latest post. She asked if we had anybody famous in our family line.

We are supposedly related to the MacAskill giant, who was born in Scotland and moved to the east coast of Canada. The last name is spelled differently from ours, but, fun fact, my father's surname was misspelled on his birth certificate and is different from his parents'. I'm actually kind of glad, because I like the look of McC more. When I was little we had a can opener with him on it. I didn't name Angus after him, but my dad had said he would have named a boy Angus if they had had one. Then he was born and he was this big red squalling thing and seemed to really fit the name.

Matt's family has a tradition where the first male grandchild is named Robert. He himself is the first male grandchild, so his name is Robert Matthew. In university he lived across the hall from a guy named Mark with his same last name, and HIS real first name was Robert too, which I found hilarious. I didn't love the tradition (and it has been confusing as shit and ended up in big screw-ups in travel and at the pharmacy so I have been soundly vindicated), but 1) it was important to my husband and 2) it meant I got to pick Angus as the ACTUAL name.

People often commented positively on Angus's name (when we were at the doctor's office once and he was called in, this man said "Angus! I LOVE that name!" then glanced at his pregnant wife's expression and said "....but we're not going to use it" kind of glumly, which was hilarious. But I had no idea that apparently Angus Adams was an amazing baseball name. When he was in the Little League World Series and ended up on TSN, one newscaster said "Double A - I'm calling him Double A!" and someone reading the list of names said "Angus Adams - sick name!" So, they're welcome I guess? The Canadian finals were in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia, near Cape Breton, so they day-tripped to see the statue. 

The whole concept of choosing your child's name is so crazy, when you think about it. You give birth to this whole new person and just randomly choose something to call it? And there's, like, an approved list, or you can choose to freestyle and open yourself up to a world of judgement (rightfully so, in many cases). I understand why it can be difficult for parents when a child wants to change their name for whatever reason, but it also makes complete sense that they should be able to choose a name that suits them better. Why should they have to keep this collection of sounds we applied to them when they were barely a person? 

Now I'm just rambling. Going to ice my knee and cry my way through the rest of the Andrea Gibson documentary.

Five For Friday: The Multi-Media Edition

 1. Apparently a Terminator movie happened in 2019 and I MISSED IT? I loved Terminator. I loved Terminator 2 even more. After that I think it's definitely diminishing returns but I hung in there. I didn't even hate Genisys (sorry). I watched half of Dark Fate last night and finished it tonight. Linda Hamilton reprised her Absolute Baddest Bitch and it was glorious. 

2. I had picked up a library hold and then been baffled about why I had reserved it - British political satire? That does not sound remotely like me. These books either make me feel too dumb to get it or the satire is too broad and it's just cringey. This was not that. It was thoughtful, natural, frightening and propulsive. Each section was so different from the previous one, but before I had time to notice I would be completely swept up again. It was about trying to find your way at different stages of your life, deciding how far you would go to defend your beliefs, developing relationships and shifting realities and mysteries of various descriptions. I loved it. 

3. My brother-in-law's book launch! Not much will get me out on a rainy and cold November evening after working in two libraries and facing myriad grade one-to-sixers with plenty of attitude (even to the gorgeous Library and Archives building), but my husband - the author's actual brother -  is in Singapore, so I had no choice but to represent. My BIL is a law professor and constitutional law scholar whose big giant head shows up on CBC quite often, and he and his History Prof bestie wrote a big important book about the internment of Japanese Canadians during the years surrounding World War II, and how the law was used shamefully to perpetrate this injustice. It was a great discussion and both authors were very well-spoken, although the history prof had arguably the better socks. 

4. I just got home from seeing a little theatre version of The Spitfire Grill with some friends - one of the cast members was a colleague of my friend Janet. Since apparently the biochemistry grad department is not going to stage a musical for my daughter to start in this year (rude), it was nice to get a small musical fix. 

5. Geez what do you people want, I practically have culture dripping off my fingertips right now. 

Surly-ish Thursday

I have nothing locked and loaded today, but it is the thirteenth day of NaBloPoMo and it's the first time I'm kind of blanking, which is kind of awesome, really.

Last Thursday I said I had deleted my Surly Thursday post because it was too petty and dumb and Sarah and Suzanne said to text them the pettiness, which I would have if it was some kind of delicious gossip or witty takedown, but it was just boring whinging about my sore knee and my stupid hair. 

I buy the same brand of running shoes (Asics) every year and a half to two years, because I know how they fit me and I can order them online and they fit my orthotics. This is a great system, except sometimes I lose track of how long I've had the most recent pair, and when they fail they fail fast and hard. So my knee was much recovered, and then in the course of two walks it was suddenly horrible, along with my lower back. I went to physio and he poked and prodded and massaged and shockwaved my leg, but I walked a lot on the weekend and it was pretty bad. My new shoes are here, and the walk today was much better, so hopefully that will be on the upswing.

My hair is so weird. My hairline is strange, it's half straight and half bumpy, it's either straight and flat or big enough to take out a bookcase if I turn too fast. If there was one thing I could magically change about my appearance I know most people would guess it would be my weight, and it probably WOULD be, but I would have to think long and hard about not picking the hair. I mean, theoretically I could lose weight, but I'm stuck with this stupid hair forever or until it all falls out. Who came up with the concept of hair anyway? What deranged sadistic mother-effer put us together with two arms and two legs and variable junk and this weird noodly stuff coming out the tops of our heads? 

Do you delete bad pictures of yourself, or keep them? Back in the olden days we had to get the pictures printed and THEN look at them and see how bad we look. Now we can see immediately, which is a mixed blessing. I have recently realized that I was forcing myself to keep all the pictures of me even if they were terrible and made me feel bad. And I don't mean group photos where everybody except me looks fine. I mean just selfies where I was trying to see if I got my lipstick on right or whatever. I was suddenly aware that I didn't actually HAVE to keep every picture of myself, and realized that I kind of had this refrain in the back of my head saying 'the good pictures are lying, this is what you really look like so deal with it.' But I don't actually have to? I think I feel a weird sort of low-grade shame that I only think I look good when my hair is done and I've filled in my hairline a little and I have a bit of makeup on. And if I were, say, shipwrecked and didn't have access to my hair and skincare stuff I would be much less attractive.

How silly is that? Like, if we were shipwrecked we would in all likelihood be more preoccupied with finding food and water and building a raft or a signal fire, or plunging deep into the forest to resurrect some elder goddess that would unleash a curse on mankind or something. It's fairly unlikely that we would be looking around at each other thinking wow, did she ever need that mascara, her lashes are practically invisible. (Okay, I do feel bound to confess that even if we were starving and dehydrated I would probably be bitterly envious of the women whose hair still looked good after it got wet, even as I was going into convulsions. I can only be who I am).

So I am going to stop forcing myself to keep and look at bad pictures of myself because ain't nobody got time for that. 

Here is a two-year-old family pic where I actually liked my hair. I also liked those very expensive glasses, which I lost while camping that summer. I keep saying I'm going to replace them but I keep wearing my older much less flattering ones because procrastination forever, right? 

A Critical Mass of Jody-ness

I appreciate that the comments yesterday were helpful and supportive, rather than pointing and laughing, which, let's be clear, would have been totally justified.

It was fine. I felt a little hopped up for a couple of hours but I was able to read and write. My eyes and mouth were dry, but I'm not sure they were that much drier than usual - I did drink a lot of water. My sister (also Jody, how fun is that) assured me that this was a pretty good medication to make this mistake with, especially if it was only once. On the up side, my allergy symptoms were nonexistent for the first time in weeks = I asked my sister if I should just take six times the normal dose every day since it was so effective. She said no.

I sent her stuff like this all day. It is super fun being my sister. 

Continuing on with the subject of how awesome Jody is, I fear I have to tell you all something distressing. We went to the One World Bazaar a few weeks ago, like we always do, and I drove us. We did our usual wander, our usual finding of animal figurines that resemble Jody because they are angry (once Eve and I were dropping off a birthday present to Jody; we were going to a scary movie later that night, and she was explaining why she couldn't come. She asked us "when you think of me, what is the first emotion that springs to mind?" We both said "Anger?" and she was inordinately pleased (the subtext was that being scared makes her angry).

I was wearing a dress I had bought quite a while ago and couldn't decide how I felt about. It was a maxi dress, which I always like the look of, but since my boobs have started their downward slide I feel like my legs are my best feature, plus I'm not sure I'm tall enough to carry them off. I wore it thinking I would ask Jody's opinion, because I was confident she would tell me the truth, much like Collette always does (we were once in Toronto staying with a friend of a friend to go to Wicked, and I walked in the room and said "does this necklace go with this dress?" Collette looked up from magazine, said "yep" and looked back down. The friend's husband said "that was kind of perfunctory" and I said "yeah, but if it was bad, she would have looked up and said "nope" and looked back down." So anyway, Jody said she liked it, and then a random woman at the bazaar also said she liked it and that it looked good on me, which probably means she overheard me saying  I knew it was a nice dress but couldn't decide if it was good on me. So that was kind of her. 

After the bazaar (we have to use 'bizarre' when we text each other about it because we are infantile, and I live in fear that I will type the wrong one on here by accident) we went down the street to the tiny little Burgers and Shakes that has been there forever. We usually go grab milkshakes on our way home (chocolate for her, cherry for me). The parking lot is also tiny, and there are sports fields in the same location, so there was no place to park except between two big trucks on a grassy hill that slanted downwards. I backed in and asked her if I needed to straighten out and she said "no, you're fine." When we got back to the car, this is what I saw.

Now HOW am I ever going to trust her again?

 

 

Well Played, Brain Fog

 I'm off today, so I woke up naturally after a really good sleep. I got up and washed my face and put the pieces of my CPAP other than the hose in the sink with soap and let them soak. On the way past the armoire I took two Aerius because my allergies were so bad a couple of weeks ago I literally had snot running down my face if I didn't constantly mop it (sorry). My sister the pharmacist said to try a different allergy med - I usually take prescription cetirizine, which is Reactine. It worked really well so I have the Aerius sitting on the top of the armoire. But I didn't put the pills in my pill counter. Can you see where this is going? You probably do, if you have an ounce of sense, which I am apparently lacking.

So the CPAP parts are in the sink and I go back to take the meds in my pill counter. Just as the small handful of pills is sliding down my throat I remember that I also have not removed the Cetirizine from the pill counter. And that is already a double dose (ever since we moved to Ottawa and I had the kids I have year-round allergies. Blame the city, or the children?). 

Then I have another frightening thought and check the pill counter to find that I have just taken Wednesday's pills, because apparently I took Tuesday's minutes before although I have zero memory of doing it. 

So now I've taken a triple - sextuple? - dose of allergy meds, and I was already experiencing confusion, which is one of the symptoms of antihistamine overdose. I will be fine. I consulted my pharmacist sister again and she said people do this all the time, this shit is confusing. She said my eyes and mouth might be very dry which they SUPER ALREADY ARE so I'm going to maybe chill on the couch with water and eye drops within reach. 

I told Jody I would call someone else if I needed help with this since she's already more than fulfilled her Friend Good Deeds Quota for the week. She still gave me some helpful tips:

So apparently in order for a pill organizer to work you actually have to LOOK AT THE DAY. Ugh, so many rules. 

Hope you all have a good day without any dizziness, rapid heart beat or agitation.