Dear Grandma

Dear Grandma, 

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written you a proper letter. I've spent most of my life somewhere far away, and you always wrote to me-- long letters in your beautiful teacher's handwriting. And usually I'd write back, and then we'd have to talk on the phone so you could ask me what it said because no one could ever read my handwriting. Anyway, this letter might be a long one, because I'm sharing it with a lot of people who love you and I want to make sure I get it right.

I remember you first in Anola. There were two grandparents and a big white farmhouse, fields and woods, chickens and cows, 500 cats and a big black dog named Spike. And there were three little kids who came on weekends. Mike, Josh, and Carol, in order of age, or Mike, Carol and Josh in order of size. Mike came up with all the ideas; Carol got in trouble for the ideas; and a white rooster sometimes tried to kill Josh. 

You grew a huge garden, with peas and corn and a big raspberry patch that we sometimes got lost in. In the spring the garden was a mud pit. Once I went in with my rubbers and lost first one, then the other, and then I started to cry and you had to lay out boards so you could rescue me. Then later I played on the boards and then you had to rescue me again. 

In the morning you would give us raspberries in milk with a little bit of sugar, and at night old dutch chips with a dip you made from sour cream and onion soup mix. Everything we did made you laugh, even when we used the satellite dish for a slide and all Grandpa's shows were scrambled, or when we used Grandpa's water bed as a trampoline and Grandpa went to bed on a piece of wet plywood. Nothing we did made Grandpa laugh.

You spoiled us rotten; we never wanted to leave. You let us take pictures with your camera and burn things in the barrel and use the axe; you let us name all the kittens that were born in the barn and hold all the kittens at once and walk around with kittens on our heads. You let me keep a dead gopher under a flagstone and check on it again and again to watch how rotten it was getting. You're a legend to me, even now. When I'm a Grandparent I'm going to be exactly like you.

I'm sorry I moved so far away when I was ten. It wasn't my idea, but unlike you my mom didn't do whatever I said. Not long after you and Grandpa moved to Rennie St. in South Transcona and it was kind of the end of an era. But you wrote me long letters and you walked every day to the mailbox to see if you had got one back and once in a while you did and it was unreadable.  But in the summers I came to stay with you and when I was still little enough we shared a bed and talked before I fell asleep. 

I guess it was some time around then I started to notice that time is a thing that passes. Maybe you have to be over ten before you can learn that, or maybe a cat or a dog dies or you move far away and then suddenly your life has chapters. And for there to be chapters there must be some that are over.

You were in your 60s by then and you would have already known that for a long time. You had lost a little sister, a mother and father. Other losses that I will never know.  Still you dressed year after year in bright pink or green and spoiled us at Christmas, and bought me CDs and let me play them loud in your house, and Grandpa began to wish for deafness. There are pictures of you standing beside a spruce tree you planted, small at first, then every year taller and taller. 

Kids grow up. They shouldn't. They should stay small and beautiful and always lost in raspberry patches. But they grow up and go away and keep going away, and write fewer letters and talk too fast on the phone. Dogs and cats get old and stiff, and fart and then ask to be let out, or in and out and in and out until one day they don't. It's a stupid world, in many ways. Winter is always too long. The train takes too long to get to Winnipeg. I feel like I'm still a little boy and now my train will never get there. 

I wanted to be able to speak to you for everyone, Grandma, but I can't. You were my Grandma, but I have trouble understanding the other people you were, the mother, the wife, the schoolteacher and friend at the Free Press. The little Ochre River girl. In life you only get to know people from the sides facing you. I wish I knew how to honour all of you, even the sides no one saw. 

I don't remember all the different things I must have told you in those letters from Manitoulin, from Toronto, from Victoria, but I know that they were all really saying the same thing. You must have been born to be a grandma, because you were the greatest. You spoiled us completely rotten--all the way rotten--and held us so tight that we are still warm from your love. 

Love Josh, Mike, Carol, and all of us. 

In loving memory ~ Noreen Rioux 1930 - 2015 

A Year In Review: Part Four

As the dog days wound down, we wrapped up the summer with a multi-family camping trip at Goldstream Park. While there were arguably as many adults as kids, the balance toppled when a few parents (who shall remain nameless and notorious) started a water fight. There was no dry zone. Perhaps the most memorable moment was the stealth attack on the Js. It's not entirely clear who the target(s) or organizers were, but the event played out as follows. J was supporting her better half in a headstand, and just at the moment when she was prepared to step back, they were both doused from all sides. What can one do but breathe and be wet?

 Since his mom is an erstwhile actress and his dad enjoys stealing scenes, it was inevitable that E would take to the stage. He made his debut as "Frankie the Frog Detective" in a retelling of The Golden Ball as part of his summer acting camp. Upon request, and with a small measure of encouragement from his music-loving family, E began taking violin lessons. His little brother liked the look of the instrument so much, he took it up himself; from the looks of things, it won't be long before these brothers are duelling strings. Can you picture this little blondie in his black best, seated somewhere in an orchestra?

Most of the remaining days of summer were spent bumming around the yard, watching the unplanned garden express itself. 

 

On weekends, we took family trips out to the Sooke Potholes. E built a snake out of skipping stones, and all three boys were brave enough to wade into the glacial water.

 Other days we stayed closer to home, building elaborate sand castles on the shore of Beaver Lake. 

E had so much practice working with his hands that by the time school started up again (halfway through September) he was dextrous enough to tie his own shoes. 

Our first boy is now in first grade. Time continues to baffle us. Little M is growing into a mischievous elf, an inevitability in this family, but it will be the better part of two more years before he follows his big brother to school.

Stay tuned, lovely readers, for les aventures à l'automne!

A Year In Review: Part Three

Well hello there, gentle reader. Ready to pick up where we left off?

 By June, it was already feeling like summer. A big part of that was due to the teacher strike, of which J was very much a part. Thankfully, most days the weather was balmy. Often E came with her to walk the lines. He caught bees in mason jars, and learned how to set them free without getting stung. He rode his runbike and waved at passersby whether they honked or not. He asked good questions about why the government and the teachers were fighting, and learned that the personal is inevitably political. He taught a trio of teachers how to play Jacks and gave them a run for their money, if only they'd been making any.

As June dragged into July, M grew blonder and yet somehow remained adorably bald. His dimple deepened. Ever eager to fill his daddy's shoes, he still napped reliably on afternoon walks with his Grandpa. Not yet three, he was still (and maybe always will be) the baby of the family.

 E's interest in animals grew with the length of each day. He befriended the geese of Roberts Bay, the bird sanctuary at the end of our street, by tossing them handfuls of kelp. He collected snails on his morning walks. He became fascinated by penguins, the mascot of his school. He could explain the difference in size and eating habits of resident and transient orcas.

He told his parents he would be a marine biologist and study whales when he grew up. J had the feeling he didn't seem far from either.

It felt like the last summer they would be little. The last summer they would still sit in the grass and be dwarfed by its height. By September, M would begin preschool, and before long (if the government saw fit) E would begin first grade. J wanted to find a secret pocket in time where she could tuck her babies just as they were, keep them hidden and safe from the world.

 Change has folds of sweetness beneath its salty flavours, and that summer they lingered long and slow. E's bangs grew passed his eyebrows and his beauty became brighter. Winter's child kissed by midsummer's light.

And M. Little lamb-child. All wide-eyes and watching.

They are always perfect, these boys, every moment they're in.  

A Year in Review: Part Two

Welcome back! We are pleased to present part two of our Rioux year in review. Now where did we leave you?

May was a bright and busy month. It started with E learning about bike safety at school. Note the odd pairing of an adult helmet and a toddler's bike, complete with training wheels. Something about this picture doesn't add up. Perhaps E should ask Santa for a proper bike, or a growth spurt.

We wore ourselves out this month. J was in a play -- Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad -- in which she narrated a retelling of The Odyssey from beyond the grave. It was a ghostly good time, and the critics thought so too.


 But her boys were happy to have her home nights and weekends once again. So happy that they "volunteered" to help her strike the set when the run was over. What a lovely gesture for mother's day, and a great way to spend J's birthday. She must remember to thank them, again. Other notable events this month included the onset of the teacher's strike, which saw rotating job action across the province and a nasty wage cut from the oh-so-supportive BC Liberals. If you suspect a dash of sarcasm behind that statement, you are correct. The personal is political, after all.

M and E didn't let it get them down. They kept their regular routine of running their parents ragged, then crashing like kittens themselves (as seen below).

This year E experienced firsthand the truth in the saying, "All I really need to know I learned in Kindergarten." E learned...

• When you go out in the world, hold hands and stick together. 
• It's best to leave your toys at home.
• Share classroom supplies, including toys, with all the other children. 
• It's not okay to take things that don't belong to you, even if you REALLY like them. 
• When you do something wrong, you have to make it right. 
• When you make things right with another person, you will be forgiven.
• Pushing your hand in another kid's face will not make you friends -- you'll just end up getting bitten. 
• Some kids learn faster than others.

• Rocks are sharp, but barnacles are sharper. 
• Sculpins are slippery little devils. 
• Catching fish is great fun, but they need to be set free. 
• There are 2 vowels in the name: E-T-H-A-N
• There are 3 vowels in the name: R-I-O-U-X
• Reading gets easier with practice. 
• Practice gets easier when you're having fun. 
• Sharing what you've learned with others brings you closer together.
• When you hurt somebody, say you're sorry. 
• When you say you're sorry, MEAN it. 
• We were all babies once. 
• We all need lots and lots of love.
• We all have lots and lots of love to give. 
• Little brothers look up to their big brothers, especially when big brothers read to little brothers while they're sitting on the pot. 

And the Js learned a few things too. They learned that being a family is a complicated business. They learned that being married is more complicated still. But even through the complications of family, marriage, and life as they know it, the Js made time to celebrate the years they've spent together. Traditionally, the eighth wedding anniversary is celebrated with a gift of pottery. The Js toasted their health and happiness with handcrafted goblets on loan from a generous friend. Salut!

A Year In Review: Part One

Let's stroll back a ways, shall we? All the way back to the beginning of the year. 2014 was newly unwrapped, still shiny and clean. Resolutions were still intact. All was well with the world.

The Rioux boys were still 5 and 2, M was still blondish-bald, and recess was still E's favourite part of kindergarten. Some things never change. Dan's Market, for instance, is still our go-to for farm-fresh groceries; the boys never tire of feeding the goats while we shop.

In February, E turned 6 and we celebrated with an indoor climbing  party. Six raucous boys and girls harnessed-up and scaled the walls, slid down tunnels and scarfed birthday cake. It was one for the memory books.   

By March, E had only grew cuter, and while M's hair had yet to grow any longer, his appetite had  grown impressive.  His appetite for noodles was and remains surpassed only by his love of reading. We are all thankful his Grandpa has such patience for rereading books, particularly those, such as Hug featured below, which have fewer than five words.  

April is by no means too soon for ice cream and building castles in the sand. 

 

The Riouxs believe in making the most of any season.  

And what did the remainder of the year have in store for them? Well, here's a sneak preview of A Year in Review: Part Two!

Late Nights, Low Lights

No one sleeps well when there's a sick kid in the house. Certainly not the brother who's bothered by the tossing and turning, the discomfort beneath the shared covers. But he's soon spared his sleeplessness when the blanket-wrangler hops his bunk to climb in with his parents.

No mother can sleep when her baby is coughing or crying, feverishly hot but no fever according to the thermometer. Throat so raw she wonders how he can continue to protest. We're up for water, we're down for the count. Low rumbling snores like toy trucks rolling over gravel.

And even when his little sleeping body has finally fallen still, when all seems quiet once more, she is awake. Mistrustful, perhaps, of the early morning calm, or merely wired from the last hour's unrest. Morning will come before she is ready, and with it the day's demands. Sleep is an errant knave.

Would The Real Mr.Rioux Please Stand Up?

 

Proof that it wasn't the mailman. When E saw this picture of his daddy at age 6, he thought he was looking at himself. It's a good thing cuteness runs in the family.