Best. Flavor. Ever.

Irish Cream Liqueur Ice Cream, with Chocolate Chip Cookies & a Coffee Fudge Swirl

The Simpsons

Love. Them. This was in last night's episode:

Marge: [to Bart] "Now we have to find another school for you."

Homer: "And if you get kicked out of that one, you're going straight in the army, where you'll be sent straight to America's latest military quagmire. Where will it be? North Korea? Iran? Anything's possible with Commander Cuckoo-Bananas in charge."

Well, I went to Canada and am now back home. Papa died about an hour before my plane landed. I was given the option to go to the hospital to say goodbye, but I chose not to. I stayed with my mom at his now empty house, and spent the week making funeral arrangements, settling bank stuff, visiting lawyers and cleaning out his belongings. It was really sad, his entire life being boxed up for the Salvation Army to disperse to the "dirty, stinking Indians" as he would have put it. (FYI, that is why he didn't want Nana's clothes given there when she died, he didn't think he could have handled seeing a dirty stinking Indian wearing them. In that part of Canada, the Cree population have much the same stigma as America attaches to Mexicans.)

His funeral was on Monday morning, August 9th. His ashes were buried in Brookside Cemetary with Nana's. Mom and Nola placed the urn in the grave together. What was supposed to be an immediate family attendance at the burial turned into an extended family one; which was fine with me. It was Nola who wanted everything private. She didn't even want to have a funeral at all. Mom talked her into it, saying it was more for the living, and we should have a chance to say goodbye. She also talked her into having hymns played at the funeral. She and I picked them out, because as my mother told the reverend later that week, her sister doesn't know a hymn from the back door. Hee hee.

My plane left for Salt Lake Tuesday morning. I've never had to go through customs alone before. Going into Winnipeg wasn't bad, but coming out, the woman shot what few nerves I had all to hell. Then at the gate, they wouldn't let us carry on our carry ons, as the overhead bins were too small. We were supposed to get a claim check tag, but somehow, I didn't get one. When I got to Denver, I waited for my bag, but they wouldn't let me have it, as it didn't have a tag. They said they would make sure that I got it in Salt Lake, but I couldn't figure out how that would work, with no tag of any sort saying where I was going on it. When I got to Salt Lake, it wasn't there. I eventually found it at the bag claim. Then I had to take a cab home because my ride left me a voicemail saying she had OD'd on her medication and was spending the day in bed. She told me to call someone else. Nice. She should have found someone and told me that although she couldn't be there, so and so would. That day so totally sucked!!

These things happen in threes

First Kristy's grandpa, now mine. He fell Friday sometime, was found Saturday, and is now in the hospital with pnemonia, a perforated bowel, which is causing a huge infection, and something is wrong with his kidneys. They called and said we need to get there right away. Mom left this morning at 6 am, and I'll be going tomorrow afternoon. I've never gone through customs alone; I hope it's easy enough. I'll be back a week from tomorrow. I don't know how that's going to go. I'll never forgive myself if I leave, then he dies. Or if he dies, and I have to leave before the funeral. Or even if I want to be there when he does...