Category: Uncategorized

Happy Birthday, Olivia!

This is 4: We went to the movies on Friday afternoon, Olivia and I — it was her first time. An hour into the movie she stood up and in her quietest most thoughtful little voice she whispered: “I like it, but I don’t like it. Let’s go.” I was fine with the thought of abandoning the movie a bit early, I had some dry cleaning to pick up anyway and Olivia likes ringing the bell that summons the woman from her sewing chair in the back to the front of the store to greet us. When we got outside of the theatre I asked her what she didn’t like about the movie. She explained, “that boy [in the Ugly Dolls movie] is mean to people because they are different, and that makes me angry and sad because that is wrong, mom.” Bless her heart, that heart that bleeds for the underdog, that loves unconditionally, that shows shades of sympathy from time to time (not always for her little brother, but sometimes for her little brother) and that powers her little body to run with reckless abandon. There is hope in this world, folks. A hope that generation after generation will continue to be better than the previous one. A hope that someday, maybe, just maybe, people will care a little more about each other and a lot less about their differences.

Stay great!

Kate

Getting out Alive

I met his eyes and he quickly looked away. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, his was the dark web – not the layer where your grandmother’s social insurance number is sold, much deeper and darker. His interest in me was surprising, albeit a bit flattering. He tracked me around the dimly lit store, never moving from his perch near the door. He was sizing me up, wondering if I’d fit in his freezer.

I spotted a 1992 Buick Regal through the window, it was still running, efficient, from a getaway perspective, I suppose. The car had rust marks on the exterior, the colour matching the once white hoodie that peaked out from beneath the man’s black Carhartt jacket. I pictured his mother, strapped in the passenger seat, waiting for him, in her urn – she likely died of natural causes, but I can’t be certain. He had brought the small car with him tonight, not his windowless van, an oversight.

I was there to pick up two cream eggs, both for myself. In hindsight, I probably could have foregone the trip given Heath, asked me to stop at the Dairy Queen on my way home, the one we used to go to every week on our way home from our Birth and Babies class if I behaved myself. I use the term ‘behaved’ on account of an incident one Tuesday night when I questioned the validity of the nurse’s assertion that a hot shower is the same as an epidural. I ignited something in that room of petrified first time parents – they wanted hard facts and what she had was soft at best, purely anecdotal. On the walk to the car after class Heath said, “you know you started an epidural riot tonight, right?” Of course I knew, and I would do it again. He continued, “going forward, if you behave during class I’ll take you to Dairy Queen on the way home. What do you think?” He framed it as a question, but I had no choice in the matter – if Dairy Queen was on the table, he could expect my full compliance with whatever conditions he put in place and he knew that. By the way, having had two epidurals and about a million showers in my lifetime, I can confirm that an epidural is the gold standard from a pain management perspective.

With my cream eggs in tow, I approached the counter. The man hurried to present his item to the second cashier, a blue wool toque, he was deceptively quick, I took a mental note of his speed. I skipped the typical pleasantries I exchange with cashiers, tonight’s visit was purely transactional and the slow moving cashier stood between me and my life saving sprint back to my car – I train at the gym for these moments. I tapped my debit card on the point of sale machine, the payment was accepted and I exited the store. I suddenly abandoned the idea of sprinting to my car when I noticed the unsalted ice – they don’t salt walkways in Alberta like they do in Ontario.

I could hear the man behind me. That’s when I noticed a woman standing about ten feet away, she was smoking and reading something on her phone – I’m always amazed at the commitment of smokers, especially in the winter. I was relieved, I didn’t have to outrun the man, I just had to be faster than the digitally distracted smoking woman – rest in peace, lady.

This wasn’t the first time I narrowly escaped my own murder. A colleague once suggested that I think too much about these things, not in a paranoid or unhealthy way, but more than the average person should. That is perhaps true, but based on experience, watching Dateline with Heath every week, it is the average person with the seemingly perfect life who is most likely to be murdered. Basically, if your spouse takes out additional life insurance on you and may or may not be having an affair, run, you are going to be murdered, it is just a matter of time.

Before Heath and I had kids we used to go to the gym together. We went to this small local establishment that was likely a drug front, selling protein powder, supplements and cocaine at the front desk. Before we left the gym one morning I turned to Heath and said: “Ok, I figured out our safety plan while I was on the treadmill.” [note: cocaine is used here as a placeholder for whatever drugs they were likely selling].

Heath looked at me, “Our what?”

As my father in-law always says, “if you fail to plan you plan to fail.”  While the assailant would not be there for us, per se, Heath and I could very quickly become collateral damage. “You can exit here and here,” I motioned with my hands like a flight attendant, pointing to the exit behind the leg press machine and another exit that was tucked around the corner from the free-weights. Heath shook his head as we walked to the Jeep.

I’ve grown accustomed to Heath shaking his head in disbelief at something I’ve said. I am so advanced in its detection I can almost hear it over the phone. I was driving home one night when my brakes gave out, they just stopped working without warning. I called Heath. When he picked up the phone, without even saying hello, I said, “I’m worth more to you alive than I am dead, you know? My life insurance policy will pay for the house and maybe a couple of pizzas, but no one can live off of that.” I was half-joking; he could probably only get one pizza after the house was paid off.

Heath replied, “what are you talking about?”

“Well, the brakes on my car just gave out.” There was silence on the other end of the phone as he realized what I was insinuating. “I could have died,” I added.

To his credit, in that moment he opted to play the role of concerned husband, “I’m glad you are safe, Hun.” And in that moment I almost believed him as he followed up with, ”We will get your brakes checked out at the dealership tomorrow, OK?”

My car guy would later confirm for me that my brake-line had been cut – I knew it! He may have actually framed it as an issue stemming from some gravel that eroded the brake-line over time – potato / potato (po-TAY-to / po-TAH-to). And just like that my husband had been exonerated by the expertise of the mechanic at the Volkswagen dealership, now that’s not something you see on Dateline very often, if ever.

My fears are not specific to being murdered, they revolve around the general theme of death. For example, I have a fear of dying in a plane crash. Last year Heath surprised me with a trip to Las Vegas – our first night away without the kids. He planned an itinerary and booked our flights. All I had to do was pack an overnight bag. The morning of our flight I realized we had not planned for the worst case scenarios. I hadn’t had the soak time I needed to run through each scenario and evaluate the outcomes. If our plane goes down, our kids are on their own, we hadn’t thought this through. I remember pulling a piece of paper out of the junk drawer and frantically scribing a letter that contemplated a future for our children in the event of both of our deaths:

Dear sister-in-law,

Thank you for agreeing to look after the kids. They are pretty fickle when it comes to most things, after all, they are children. They sometimes eat yogurt, bananas, toast with peanut butter, chicken and pizza and sometimes they don’t – a bit of trial and error at play here. Bath time is 5:30 (we are anti-splashers) and they go to bed at 7:30. Oh, by the way if we don’t make it back alive, they are all yours (yes, both of them), sorry we didn’t discuss this with you first.

May the odds be in your favour.

Love,
Kate

Heath continued to wipe down the kitchen counter, unfazed by my concerns.

During our flight we had hit a few bouts of turbulence and immediately my gut told me that something didn’t feel right. I glanced at Heath out of the corner of my eye to see if he too thought our time was up. He was reading his book and his demeanor hadn’t changed. What is this sorcery? Had he not felt those bumps? He appeared calm, a feeling that is so foreign to me. Heath wouldn’t be able to recall those bumps today, but I tend to recall all of the bumps. I have a long memory for the bumps, an internal inventory I can reference anytime I need to evaluate a situation. In that moment I realized that my gut spits out raw data and Heath is the real-time calibration system – it is the cross he must bear. In these circumstances he tends to ask me, “Can you control it?” If the answer is no, he adds, “Then you shouldn’t worry about it.” Wouldn’t it be nice if it were that simple?

When you’ve planned to avoid death for as long as I have it is only natural that somewhere along the way you reflect upon your life as well. I’ve often thought fondly of the image of Heath and I sitting on our porch in our late eighties, my tattoo-free, wrinkled skin shielded from the sun’s rays beneath a white linen shirt, shaking our arthritic fists at the flying cars that are driving way too fast for a residential zone and spitting out curse words because we are in the winter of our lives and we don’t care what other people think. I think about our annual proof of life photos we will take with our family, four generations of Hills all lined-up like un-packed Russian nesting dolls, wearing matching blue Adidas track suits, naturally. I want to live long enough to see what our children make of their lives and the lives of others. Some parents hope their kids will be doctors or accountants, or that they will marry doctors or accountants, I honestly do not have a perspective on what they do professionally so long as they are kind and of course, hilarious.

I’ve known for some time that we are not getting out of this alive and while we are still too close to this puzzle to see what picture will form, the vibrant colours of each piece make it easier, over time, to be directionally supportive of the possibility that it will be ok.

Stay great!

Kate

New York Minute: The first rule…

If you go down in the woods today

You’re sure of a big surprise.

If you go down in the woods today

You’d better go in disguise!

For every bear that ever there was

Will gather there for certain

Because today’s the day the

Teddy Bears have their… FIGHT CLUB!

No picnics here, folks. These bears mean business. They will cut you.

I went to the Perrotin Gallery in NYC to see this exhibit by artist Paola Pivi. An important detail is that I was there by myself. In the room with the bears stood two, serious-looking curators wearing black – the men in black. Selfies aren’t my favourite way to capture moments, there’s more to me than just a face, there’s also my long, monkey-like arms, too long for someone my height. I was supposed to be 5’11ish (that’s how tall my sisters are) but a crooked spine capped me at 5’7 (and a half!). I set up my phone on my coat on the floor, as I had done at a number of other NYC spots, and got ready to take a photo.

“Excuse me, you are not permitted to place things on the floor.” The man in black who was closest to me advised.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“That’s ok” he smiled, “would you like me to take a picture?”

“Yes, actually, that would be great. Full disclosure, it’ll likely be weird. If you can take a few I’ll find one that works.”

This one worked.

Stay great!

Kate

Victimless Crime

The bandits struck again (petty theft is rampant in our neighbourhood) – what is happening SW Calgary? They ransacked our Jeep on Sunday night (faulty driver’s side door) — and on a holiday no less (like them or not, the work ethic is strong with these ones). They might also have a bad case of irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) and no way to alleviate it. They opted not to take a pair of $200.00 sunglasses or our winning $60 million dollar lottery ticket, instead they took $3 in change. They also left behind a pencil case full of Pepto Bismol chewable tablets which would retail for roughly $8.49 – net, we are up about $5.00!

Stay great!

Kate