So, I told you awhile ago that my grandma died while I was out at sea. Well, luckily I was able to be home for her memorial thingy, which was held at my parents’ beautiful house on the ocean this weekend. It turned out really well, despite the fact that it was kind of haphazardly organized and all. Anyways, the weather turned out to be perfect — gorgeous sunshine, lots of people… we had a nice little songy thing and put flowers in a vase and some mini-speeches and so on, and then people started ploughing the sandwiches and squares and coffee, like any good family gathering.
So, as I said, it was a super nice day, the first really nice day of spring, and everyone was standing outside, munching, chatting, exchanging that awkward look like, “Ok, is it alright to start laughing and talking now?” and I am itching for a smoke but have been trapped in conversation with a cousin I haven’t seen for ten years and probably won’t see for ten more. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye (another cliche! Wow I’m good) I see this streak of yellow and suddenly there is this bright yellow CANARY sitting on my shoulder. For real. A canary. A completely tame one. I don’t think I need to mention here that canaries are not exactly endemic species to the west coast of Canada. People are stopping and pointing and looking now, and the bird CHEEPS in my ear while I am standing there trying not to move. Then it picks up merrily and flops down on someone else’s shoulder, skipping from plate to windowsill to chair to shoulder for the next minute or so, and then flaps on down to the dock where my dad is talking to one of my second-cousins, just a kid, and I am frantically pointing and trying to get him to look at it. From there it took off, in a big loop through the carport, and I haven’t seen it since.
Did I mention that, as a young woman, my grandma was a flaming blonde, 100-lb Scandinavian bombshell?
It was too perfect to be true. I wouldn’t believe it myself, but my mom won’t stop talking about it.