You Can Make a Big Difference…

A long time ago I was walking in a grocery store wearing my favourite skirt.

It was a boldly coloured skirt with many fun layers that swished when I walked and made me feel great whenever I wore it.

Out of the blue a woman rounded the corner, looked down and with a big grin and full voice said to me,
“GREAT skirt! YOU look fabulous!”.

Just like that.

I couldn’t stop smiling. What a great gift she gave me.

Since then I have passed compliments to unsuspecting women again and again.

Women affirming women. It’s simple and it’s generous and every single one of us should do it.

The other day a woman in my neighborhood was out walking her dog, I’d heard she was going through a rough time and my heart ached when I saw her tear-stained face.

As I was approaching her in the car, I slowed down, unrolled the window and boldy said,
“You are beautiful. You’re a wonderful, kind person and even though you’re sad, you need to know that you’re going to get through this”.

She was, of course taken completely off-guard and she looked shocked for a few seconds.

“Do you know that THAT is the most amazing thing you could have said? Do you know how much I needed to hear that right this second?” She asked incredulous.

“You deserve to hear good things and to be told that you are an incredible woman”.

She smiled and I drove away.

It made my day too.

If you mean it. Say it.

Do this once and you will never stop.

Then I Choked…

The cold that has invaded my sinuses, throat and chest was difficult to disguise when I sat down for an important interview with the two Honchos, the Potential Employers.

As one of the P.E.’s explained an important part of the show I felt my throat getting dry, itchy, I tried to swallow as I nodded and smiled. Every movement made it worse. Suddenly I was barely able to respond and I knew I was in trouble when I stopped being able to breathe.

“C-c-could I get some water, please?” I tried to say.

What came out was ______.

Nothing.

But with wild gesticulating and panto-miming, they understood and yelled to someone to get some water.

“I know first aid” one P.E. said seriously. It made me laugh which made me cough and choke some more.

“No, really I know first aid. Stop laughing and don’t talk”, he dead panned.

The water appeared with the water server who possibly thought I was a visiting executive and not a choking interviewee because he brought out a lovely glass with ice and a large bottle of expensive water. He then proceeded to pour it for me… slowly. My eyes were locked on the filling glass, my hand ready to grab it.

I couldn’t believe this could seriously happen.

“Now that was funny. I wish I had a camera”, said one P.E. as I chugged back the cool water, feeling my throat loosen up.

“I can’t believe this could seriously happen during an interview” I finally said.

“Yah, how did she do at the interview? She choked!” joked one of the P.E.’s.

Exactly how I want to be remembered.

Not for my track record, not for my sense of humour, not for my discerning direction…

‘She was the one who choked’.

But they hired me anyway.

‘Hey, is that a Tiger in your Mac?…

or are you just happy to see me?

Mac is releasing a new animal today.

All of MacGeekdom is celebrating like it’s freaking Christmas.

Could somebody ‘splain why the husband went skipping out the door today singing tra-la-la?

Me and my basic G3 laptop don’t understand.

The Five Year Old…

pulled his stretchy pajama pants way up to his chest and struck a pose.

“Do I look fat to you? Do I look different to you? From the side?” He mimicked Robin Williams’ Genie in Aladin.

I had to hold on to the wall I was laughing so hard.

The husband cracked an eyelid to see what hilarity was doing ensuing so close to him while he tried to sleep.

I couldn’t speak I was laughing so hard.

The five year old was smirking and delighting in the fact he made his mummy fall apart laughing.

I made him do it again for the husband.

He did it again, then again, then-

“Once. It’s only funny once. If you do it twice or you have to explain it the moment is gone.”

Child #2 now entering mommy’s school o’ comedy.

Consider yourself warned.

Continental Drift….

I blame the west coast.

They work to play there.

Here we work to work and we seem to like it that way.

But a strong, gale force of undue influence is pushing in from the west, trying to bring the husband to his crippled knees yelling, “Uncle”!

West coast gale force of undue influence?
Knock it off. He’s busy.

The husband has been very busy working day and night and in between he plays hockey and visits us.
Worse yet he’s covered in ugly bruises from some butcher hacker hockey bugger who took his overabundance of testosterone out on MY the husband! Imagine the horror. There were broken hockey sticks and bad words traded, in the end, the husband’s team lost.

So now he has more time…for work.

But this strong gale force of undue influence is challenging the husband to ditch work, play photographer and drink wine.

He can’t right now.

However, I seem to be free to stroll about slugging back ‘heavens to mergatroid’ wine.
Why isn’t anybody asking me to come out and play photographer.

I could totally dig that whole Bohemian, artsy picture-making waiting for that perfect moment while sitting in the sun outside the cafe with my glass of imported wine scene. People would slow down and look at me as they walked by admiring my skill at sitting and waiting for a picture to happen. Ah, the affected look is an art in and of itself.

But I’m surprisingly off topic.

You best call soon, because it looks like I may be WORKING ON A SHOW soon!
Confirmation pending so ask me anyway.

And leave the husband alone, he’s easily influenced by thoughts of the finer things in life- wine, photography, just don’t mention Cuban cigars or he’s gone!

That Window Keeps Opening …

Wow.

I had a great meeting yesterday. It translated into some work for me. Some meaningful work which translates into me being humbled and blessed. It’s an opportunity to work at something that fills my heart with joy.

Today I have another meeting about more work. Not so meaningful but it would translate into gainful employment, but not the kind I would feel compromised working on- I’ll just say it’s another makeover show. Yes, there is no end to this genre, which for me is fine, I like renovating/ decorating shows.

So I know I’m asking for more good thoughts and prayers- but I promise I’ll return each and every one.

Soft-shoe at 3:30pm.

Diversions 101…

Four words.

Hot + Wheels + dot + com

(ten minutes without questions).

Seventeen Today…

She speaks as one who has witnessed the ages
traveled the world
wise beyond her years
solving everyone’s problems but her own

Independent and saucy
always a handy retort
perfecting the art of clever repartee
Gilmour Girls dialogue in motion

She is facing her future making life decisions
none that will include me
She’s closing the door on the childhood
she will soon leave behind

But all I see is her first smile
her first steps
her first day of school

all I hear is her first cries
her first words
her first belly laugh

all I feel is my little girl
climbing
up for a hug
resting her head on my shoulder

She’s seventeen today
excited about the future and whatever lies ahead
but I need to steal these moments
to remember where she’s been

He Looked Right At Me…

and in that split second wound up, extended his arm and released it the full weight of him behind the thrust.

It connected and splattered on my car window as I passed him.

In the next split second I stopped the car and without hesitating turned it around and followed him as he ran away down the street.

He ducked between a couple of houses.

“Good. Now I know where you live!” I yelled to him.

As I turned the car around he ran out and back up the street to his waiting friend. A mistake. He had to know at that moment he was in the headlights. He had to know he had nowhere to run.

I could see him shaking and breathing heavily as I pulled up closer, slowing the car, he walked to the passenger’s window as I stopped.

“What’s your name?” I asked calmly.

“J-Joe”, he answered, shaking.

“Why did you do it?” I looked him in the eye.

“He dared me!”, he said too quickly pointing to his friend.

“You know that’s not a good reason. You make your own decisions. Don’t blame him.” I said, matter-of-factly.

“I’m s-s-sorry. I really am”, he pleaded.

“I can see that, I know you are, but” I continued, “What if it was a rock (I paused) and what if it connected and hit me in the head while I was driving? The car could have gone out of control and hit you, or your friend.” I made sure the weight of my words were having an impact.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” He repeated.

“I know that , Joe and I know where you go to school and I know your parents and I want you to tell me you’re never going to throw anything at anyone every again.” With every new thought, he nodded.

“I’ll never will again”, he said, still shaking.

“Good, I believe you”. I said and left him at the curb.

Robertson Davies wrote a book called, ‘Fifth Business’. In it a lifetime of guilt was created from one puposefully thrown snowball with a rock in the center.

Who knows if he really learned anything today.

But he sure smelled like fear when I drove away.

Thanks…

That window just opened and it let a new hope come whispering in.

Thanks, Big Guy.

I’ll know more tomorrow afternoon but in the mean time let me just tell you…

Good things are happening.

By ‘letting go and letting God’ prayers are being answered.

If I weren’t so stubborn this may have happened sooner.

We are never too old to learn from our mistakes.

Learn something today, people.
…and bless you all.

Can We Get A Litttle Air in Here?…

Just crack that window open a little, please?

I understand that when a door is closed, a window opens?

Now, would be good.

Rabbit Proof Fence…

was our selection for the girl’s movie night.

Interesting because we could have watched Troy, the Brad Pitt, Troy?
The half-naked, fully buffed Brad Pitt? With a side order of Orlando Bloom?

Of course I’ve seen it before but I would have watched it again, except…

Rabbit Proof Fence is a disturbing, utterly stark, and deeply moving true story.
It depicts the inhumane treatment of Australia’s aboriginal people in the early 1930’s, because darn it, they needed protecting. Half caste children were taken from their mothers to internment camps and raised away from civilization by white nuns. The lighter skinned children were given ‘white’ priviledges with the reasoning that the aboriginal could have a better chance of being bred out of the lineage.
You can’t imagine how heartsick I felt watching this film.

This story focuses on three young girls who are wrenched away from their mothers, taken 1200 miles away (part of the journey in a cage) only to end up in an isolated, prisoner of war-like camp to train as domestic servants. The completely midguided Mr. Neville/Mr. Devil is nastily played by Kenneth Branagh. It was such a hateful role, I can only imagine he took it because it was so against type.

The three girls run away from the camp, and are followed by an Aborginal tracker who is ‘hired’ to fetch runaways along with the militant (white) authorities. The story takes us on their journey across the outback to get home. The one link they have to help get them home is the 1500 miles of fence the government erected, the rabbit proof fence.

I won’t give away anymore of the story, because it’s one you need to see.

The sounds of nature fill the soundtrack and it is the most haunting I’ve ever heard. You will not forget the sound of the mother’s mourning or their chanting to the skies to guide the girls home.

This may be the most hauntingly-told true story of triumph you will experience in film.

A Bedtime Story…

Satchmo The Dog:
(I’m laying on the bed! I’m laying on the bed! I’m on my back, spread out in full dogginess, I’m laying on the bed!)

Ella The Cat: (Oh, there’s that bed, I know that bed, I’ll jump up on that bed. My bed! My bed! My bed!)

The Mountainous Divide:
Snorrrrrre!

Ella The Cat: (I’ll just jump up beside the mountainous divide! I…am…up! Steppy steppy steppy, lick!)

Satchmo The Dog: (Wha…t! Who? What? BARK BARK BARK ! Alien attack! I’ll save us!)

At that moment Satchmo leaped toward the cat planting his paw -which holds up his twenty pounds- directly (square) onto the Husband’s sac.

Mountainous Divide, bolting upright: AHHHHHHHH!!!!

Satchmo The Dog in retreat position: (Wha…t? Who? Mountainous Divide rises! BARK BARK BARK! I’ll save us! Sort of.)

Mountainous divide: Owww, Satchmo, get off! OFF!

Satchmo leaps off bed.

Ella leaps off bed.

(Bark! Bark! BARK!) (Hisssssssssssssss, mrow! Groan)

ME: (snicker snicker)

“I Think I’ll Go To University”…

said the almost 17 year old, at dinner.

Once the laughter died down, the baiting began.

“I thought you wanted to go to college?
You do realize you’ll have to have better marks?
Why do you want to go away to school?” asked the Husband.

“Why the sudden interest in my sudden interest”, the 17 year old asked.

“Did you wash your hands?” I asked the five year old, then switching channels I asked, “You want to go to the second most popular University in the province? Why there?”

“I don’t know”, she answered, evasively.

“Yes. I DID wash my hands, ooh can I have the cucumber?” interrupted the five year old.

“You could go to University here.” Suggested the Husband.

There’s no way you washed, your hands are FILTHY!”, I snapped at the five year old.

“If I go away to school can I have a car?”, the 17 year old batting her eyelashes.

More laughing, the ROF kind!

The five year old, thinking we were laughing at him got goofier, “I’m a ninja! I can kick…”

“That’s ENOUGH! Eat your dinner!” I exploded cutting him off.

“What are you going to study?” the Husband asked through, gasps, wiping away a single tear.

” Eat. Your. Dinner!” I repeated trying to remain calm.

“Psychology, sociology, you know, stuff”, she shrugged.

“Do I still like chicken?” the five year old asked, eyeing the chicken on his plate.

“OK so what is #18 (her current and 18th boyfriend) going to do?” threw out the Husband.

“I remember that boy with the hat, I didn’t like it when he called me little dude” interrupted the five year old.

“He’s not my boyfriend, that’s my old boyfriend” She snarked back to her brother.

“Which one had the hat?” asked the Husband, “Was that Lenny?”

“I can tell you about the planets. I learned all about them today”. The five year old interrupted, again, loudly.

“DON’T BE RUDE! Wait your turn before speaking”, I scolded.

He put his hand up in the air and waited.

“No, that was Lou, this one is the viola-playing bowler with the beard” she casually threw out, without a hint of irony.

“Describe this boyfriend, what’s his name again”, the other curve ball flew out.

“Describe your first girlfriend?” the almost 17 year old hit back, arms crossed.

“Honestly I should start taking bets on how long we can sit down for dinner as a family before the conversation completely degenerates into insults and baiting.

“Mummy, can I talk, now?” said the five year old, exasperated, still waving his hand.

“There’s never been anyone other than your mother” the Husband answered.

“Can you describe her in five words or less?”, inquired the almost 17 year old.

“Can YOU?” he batted back.

“Yah, I’ve lived with her my entire life!” she replied with unnecessary sarcasm.

“Um, passionate, bright, lively, fun, um, um …” he answered reaching for the words.

I yawned in mock boredom and sneered at them all.

The five year old finally put his hand down, forgetting the comments he planned to make. The sixteen, almost 17 year old left the table for the computer screen and the Husband retreated for a rest before the big game.

Finally, there is silence.

In a Highly Embittered State…

actually I’ve always thought it would be fun to start a post with those words.

Technically?
I’m not there, but Gary’s pushing my buttons, his comment on my last post suggested I ‘pull the plug’ on this site. See, Gary thinks that’s a humourous response to my post.

Chuckle chuckle.

Gary is someone you would introduce as a ‘friend’ and then duck down to avoid the onslaught of sarcastic bullets flying at your head! If he weren’t the holder of the NASCAR tickets, I bet I’d be allowed to hurt him with my new found strength and lightning speed!

(No Jendo, no NASCAR tickets will be harmed in the event of an attack)

Speaking of highly embittered… I have to turn down a job today, which means I’m turning down work.
There is no ‘fit’ with this one and although I might as well point the gun at my foot (or hang out with Gary) my gut instinct is it would be wrong to take on this project.

We sometimes have to compromise our belief system for work, but this would be like a big honking nose thumbing at my values. The way I’ve been feeling lately? That would be bad.

I’ve been hesitant to make the call and put myself back out there, and I keep having these strange nightmares. Coincidence? Is it my conscience?

Or is it just Gary?

State of the Onion…

Blogs are like paring knives, with each cut into the surface you get a little closer to the core.

So riddle me this fellow onions- why do we do it?

Fame, fortune, revenge?

It’s a writer’s medium, the weapon of choice for those who prefer the written word to express inner thoughts and feelings.

Expressing is only part of the communication equation, somebody must read the words and respond to complete it.

So why do we do it?

Writer, Ayelet Waldman was on Oprah yesterday. She called her blog ‘bad mother’. She stopped blogging because after a lot of publicity and some strongly expressed opinions her site became too consuming. She wrote in an article for a newspaper, how she simply loves her husband more than her children and her blog became a venting wall for women everywhere. SAHM’s couldn’t deal with her public perspective on the private issue, and even those who agreed with her stance told her so.

So, why did she blog? Who knows. To sell books, get feedback? It always starts off innocently enough, a place to vent, purge, practice observational humour, keep yourself amused and hope others find you funny, too. The reasons are as indiviualistic as the writers. In Ayelet’s case, her blog got bigger than her, and the issue became too big and distorted to defend (except on Oprah).

In it’s true form, a blog is an on-line diary. Something offered publicly with a caveat- if you don’t like what you’re reading go away. It’s meant to be one way. If a kindred spirit comments and a conversation in words begins- well, why not? It’s public and the chances of meeting like-minded people gets exponentially greater when you put yourself out there. But it’s still meant to be one way- even if there is an expectation that a comment will be attached to a post. People like to ‘talk back’.

Aye, there’s the rub. The response, like a good blues tune answers the call. Sometimes the person reading is an aquaintance, family member or friend most often it is a stranger. This is where ‘blog logic’ splinters. Are you acknowledging that you are writing publicly and that your words are fair game? Do you compromise and write an online newsletter keeping emotions in check? How far do you go with those private words in a public forum? If you’re writing for the ‘talk back’ and you’re popular on line, you can expect many comments, the most popular blog gets hundreds of comments every day.
Is popularity your goal? Or do you simply want to express.

We know that public blogs have a cost attached- the media clings to the job loss stories like a childish finger pointing exercise re-proving it’s not really a writer’s millieu, it’s too grand a scale to ‘work’, too accessible to the public to be manageable. But popular media doesn’t want creative, gifted people to have an outlet that works, especially if it threatens their income.

Surprisingly I’m off the point.

Splinters splinter. Blog logic (blogic?) now dictates there is common sense in the two blogs approach. One public, one private. Splintering is taking place more often now since what began as the innocent-‘I need to express’ now reads ‘I need to selectively express in order to not offend…’.

Our regular sites will become portals to our real sites or we’ll re-nest and take a few commenters with us. Some bloggers have started email newsletters so their truth can still be expressed without causing them grief. It’s a sad state when we have to censor a readership list but it’s becoming progressively necessary as we begin to cut away the layers that protect us and those close to us.

It’s also sad when someone whose writing you admire, leaves her blog behind because of public exposure. Shutting down her site is like cutting off a piece of her heart. Her words never wavered from the truth that came from her soul and she felt safe until she found someone in her workplace on her site at WORK.

Her two worlds collided and her safe place was blasted open, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

Now she needs to shut down and for those of us who have loved and cherished her words, we’re left with broken hearts, and the shaken sense that the flourescents have been snapped on and we’re being sent home.

To all my blogging friends: stay safe and remember your words mean everything.

The Purple Beast…

with the filed teeth has left the screen and my life and the sweet two-footer is back with mummy and I’m comfortably alone again with the five year old, who prefers Beethoven or Lindsay Lohan to anything large and purple that sings. He could recognize Beethoven’s ninth when he as two years old and has never been a fan of the deranged dinosaur’s.

Today I re-watched Garden State, my secret obsession for two reasons.

1) The soundtrack makes me feel like I’m NOT too old to appreciate good music, in spite of my over 40 status.
I realize that statement would make a twenty year old vomitous but really, I like the tracks.

2) Zak: cute in that Jewish /Jersey kind of way. He played the part in an understated, lovely, quirky way that endears him to all wimmin.

There is so much to this flick it’s worth double exposure. With and without meds, it’s loverly.

See it. Or grow old.

Why I’m a Great Friend…

My very good friend is feeling very sick this morning so I walked her children to school.

No that’s not why I’m a great friend.

I’m still hanging out with her two year old, Emma.

No, that’s not why.

We’re sitting here watching freaking Barney and she’s loving it.

That’s why.

April 19th…

Was the first day at my first real tv job in a tiny town in the country, over 20 years ago.

My friend Sandy who lived in a nearby (but somewhat bigger) town suggested I apply for a job near her so we could see more of each other. This small town had one tv station and two radio stations in it. Population: 3000.

To get to the town you travel on progresssively smaller roads. The last stretch of highway is in Mennonite country. Kin of the Amish of Pennsylvania. Horse drawn buggies carry people in drab or black coloured pioneer clothing. Weather-beaten faces peer out from under bonnets or wide brimmed hats, but do not connect with the eyes of drivers passing by. I used to look at the houses as I drove along that stretch, old order mennonites do not use electrical power. In some more progressive farms, power lines only reach back to the barn or drive shed for income-earning endevours but the houses remain dark.

Today, on this my drive to the past, market gardens were being planted by women while children played in the dirt. The unseasonably warm winds blew their long skirts about them making the scene captured look like a long shot from Little House on the Prairie. After ten years of seeing these scenes, I didn’t understand why I was suddenly missing and romanticizing this lifestyle I took for granted back in the day,

I left a phone message for my ex who still lives in the area… feeling at once nostalgic and silly. He won’t understand, he remembers me saying our town looked particularly nice… from the rear view mirror.
But the weather, the date, the long drive made me think about what I had left behind.

From downtown city girl to downtown smalltown, I stood out all those years ago. I walked too fast, I talked too fast and I was loathe to say hello to strangers. When I registered at the post office (no home delivery) they already knew where I worked, where I lived and where I came from. Small town gossip central.

I learned about bull semen and how valuable it is, the difference between stocker and dairy cattle and the value of good drainage tile. You know, important stuff for farm living. I even bought my first pick up truck, a practical ride in farm country: A Chevy S10 extended cab Durango with jumper seats in the back and silver running boards on the sides. This shiny red vee-hickle with silver pin striping was my pride and joy and it also signfied my total immersion into small town culture.

I learned and eventually embraced this life then ten years later rejected and left the small town lifestyle.

With time as a healer I’ve sort of grown up and sort of accepted the things that drove me out of Dodge like the small-mindedness of small town people, their judgemental way of pegging you whether you deserve it or not.

This all came back to me progressively as each mile approached bringing me closer to what was once home.

To my surprise, each mile brought me closer to fine.

To Everything There Is A Season…

(turn turn turn)

I was explaining to a friend how this time of year always means change.

There are dozens of examples of how April 19 is a significant date and this month in general signifies… something for me or those I know.

Today is my good friend’s mom’s funeral.

Mrs. Scott had the best laugh, a great smile and a lovely freckled face. She was born to Danish parents and raised in a town where she fell in love at a young age to one of the infamous Scott boys. They married young and had three children (a fourth died in infancy) and moved to the big city in search of opportunity. They met many struggles and challenges in their marriage but were together to celebrate more than 40 wedding anniversaries. In the last 20 years they opened their hearts and home to many foster children, sharing the love they have with others.

Mrs. Scott became gravely ill just two weeks ago with what started out as pneumonia. She was transferred to larger hospitals where tests showed that she had suffered two heart attacks and had a progressive form of cancer, in her weakened state the doctors had her on life support. The prognosis was bad and the family had to make the difficult decision to let her go.

These are Sandy’s words in an email to me…

“On Thurs. night my dad said to me he wished he could talk to mom one more time … my mom had not had her eye’s open in several days. On Fri. morning we all went … including all my dad’s brothers & sisters and some nieces. I asked our minister to come for support.

Amazingly my mom’s eyes were open a little … the minister prayed with mom … and family started saying “good bye”.

When I went to sit with my mom and I started talking her eyes opened wide! My mom did not have the gaze that I had seen before … she was truly looking into my eyes … my dad was on her otherside and I told him his wish had been granted … I was able to say the things I needed … she knew me and I know she understood every word said.

My dad then went to her and I left them alone …

What a true blessing from God and Mom!”

Amen.

Show Time…

You know that feeling when you’re with someone and you feel like you can just be yourself, your true self but with maybe just a soupcon more politeness than the regular yourself?

Well that’s what happened today.

This was a toned down, soft-shoed, direct but non-confrontational eye contacting version of the tap-dancing sell your soul pitch.

No big *TA DA*!

No standing ovation.

No false promises.
But some positive news.

It was a real, genuine meeting of the minds and it was good.

I just may get that documentary out the door this year yet.

Thanks for the prayers, well wishes and tacit nods, I felt your positive thoughts all over me today.

The Tap Dance continues…

I take one step forward
nervously checking the metal plates at the bottom of my shoes
their connectivity will create that delicious tapping sound when I step

My posture is strong, upright, I slowly roll my shoulders back , chin up
new found abs are tucked in and held, I take one last look at the overall effect

I smile, bracing for the moment until

I stop, disarmed

two
steps
back.

(Be yourself take risks smile when you mean it make eye contact engage)

In the wings, I side step peering out at the lights shining like a beam past me
flooding the space I must fill, back lit faces anticipate
waiting for me to step in and take center stage.

I turn myself about.

Oh….

that kind of hurts.

It must be the late hours we kept last night or the unfortunate early awakening of the five year old.
Or the dog.

Or, all that lime.

We ran into a good friend’s dad and his wife who insisted on showing off their baby yacht. BABY YACHT! They are in the process of selling their rather large houseboat because they bought a BABY YACHT! (Must be said loud with exclamation points-can you smell nouveau riche?)

We were in the dock yard gaping up at this land -locked behemoth, admiring it in the chilly night. As they listed the features of this massive whaler I calculated (with my finely-honed, advanced math knowledge and a bunch of other skill) that this cabin cruiser is probably the exact same size as my house, but this one floats, moves and screams BABY YACHT!

My cute cottage of a house whispers, “low maintenance”.

I dreamed all night of living in a floating home (there are several down in this marina) and what glory there must be in living with, in and around water.

The other early awakening? Was a skip to the loo, (my darlings), but I’m sure that isn’t the cause of the throbbing temples.

Maybe it was the new girlie shoes? Or the mini skirt…? Yah, must have been the pressure on trying to do the whole girl thing….

The Other Dance…

Tonight, we’re going to a social.

I love saying that because it sounds so gosh darn like a post war ‘50’s thing to do. We’re heading down the bluffs (by road, not jumping) to the Marina. It’s a community event with neighbours and parents of the students in our little school. To be specific: Parents and neighbours drinking and dancing.

These are the events where legends begin.

It’s something of a sporting event for the likes of me who prefers to people watch. This is one of the better stops on the semi-pro circuit.

The pre-social warm up took place ALL evening yesterday,

It started innocently.
I walked across the street to pick up the five year old from our neighbor/sitter’s. She offered me a glass (of her magnum) of wine. I hestitated, I had just worked out but I calculated that the residual carb burning effect after a cardio session would -in my math world- allow me to drink most of the magnum, alone, if necessary and) so said. ‘yes’. Another mom showed up shortly after and was offered her own portion of the magnum and we were verbally off to the races.

We were sitting in front of the house, the evening sun keeping us warm. Soon my neighbor/sitter was dressing her outdoor table a la Martha, a beautifully crafted selection of red and blue jello shooters here, an artfully arranged platter of Chinese dumplings, mini quiches, sushi and spinach dip there——wait!

Jello shooters?

Yes, this the most social of all the social neighbors and she had spent part of her afternoon making vodka and jello shooters in one ounce cups. Forty of them, just for fun. I personally don’t drink anything but wine or Corona so I declined but it instantly turned her front lawn into party central! Many of the surrounding neighbors joined in the fun. The children and dads continued to play road hockey while eating pizza and appetizers, there was excitment and fun in the air.

After sunset a chill set in so a wood fire was built in the portable out door fireplace and it was instantly summer. Cedar and dried eucalyptus were burned to add an extra aromatic touch and then, reluctantly at nine pm I took the five year old home. It felt like camping leaving the warm circle of friends and fire to climb into a cold sleeping bag, the smell of smoke still lingering in our hair and on our clothes.

It was another transition, a shift in the seasons, a re-connecting with some of the best neighbours one could imagine. During the cold winter months friendships can also hibernate, waiting until the true signs of spring abound, like the longer warmer days, the smell of an outdoor fireplace, the children playing ball hockey on the street or a call in the open air, “Who wants another shooter?”

My Life in Dance Steps…

One step forward.
(move tentatively toward the undefined)

Two steps back.
(fear, doubt, )

Side step
(avoid, question, avoid question)

Turn yourself about.
(until you’re ready to take…)

One step forward.

repeat

Hard Wood…?

Hard head!

Laying there, suggestively, he said almost mockingly, “You don’t have the nerve to dump me”.

“Oh, no? You’re toast” she said with a smile.

“You’ll never do it, you can’t manage without me, face it, you love me”, came the answer.

” You’re old, you’re worn, no woman would want you, you’re fraying at the edges and you just don’t fit anymore, I may have loved you once but you’re nothing to me anymore. Look! You let me walk all over you.” she said.

“Ha! Those insults mean nothing, I have no feelings, and don’t forget you’re used to me, you love the feel of me, you’ve, how do you say, ‘connected’ with me.” His words were lost on her she was already on her knees, ready to rip him from her life.

“Say a prayer, you old lay about”, she said through gritted teeth.

And then with Linda Hamilton’s Terminator strength (and perceived good looks), she firmly grasped the edge and began to slowly tear away at the clinging seams, then as her confidence grew, she began ripping away the threads of the relationship that had once served her so well. But there was no time to look back, she had made her decision and she was determined to fulfill her desire to move forward.

‘Pass the putty knife’, Lisa looked at me.

“Oh, sure”. I said handing her one of the tools in my hand.

“I can’t believe we’re ripping up this old carpet!! I’m so excited!!” she said, with double exclamation points.

We worked away until the main floor living and dining room wall to wall carpet had been ripped, rolled and relocated to the basement. We removed the underpad, pryed off the tackless and removed endless staples for 5 solid hours. We had to move all the main floor furniture at least TWICE to accomplish our task which included moving a piano. A grown man would have wept trying to keep up with us at the speed and dexterity we went about accomplishing our task especially since that included tending to the needs of three chidren under five years.

In the end I left her with my tools smoking from the work out and walked myself home. I walked like Clint Eastwood in full strut (because my knees refused to carry me like the lady I aspire to be). That carpet put up a good fight and the tackless was tackled and I’m scratched all over my hands to prove a battle was waged with those insipid staples, my muscles throbbed from the lifting and relifting.

But I feel like I won, and these days feeling like a winner helps get me closer to fine.

Then I watched Vera Drake…

and I’m feeling a wee bit numb.

My binge-viewing is temporary. I go into this state when I’m not working so I can see the pros at work at a craft I aspire to be part of.

Whenever I’m going through a ‘transition’ or shift in my life I find movie/film watching is my weapon of distraction. I positively binge to fill my head with other stuff and junk rather than dwell in my own mental soup.

There’s a bit of comfort in hunkering down on the couch and having a theatre experience alone in your own basement, although admittedly it’s downright…decadent.

Today I watched the movie in the header (David). I was moved by the experience of being absorbed into a working class British experience, but this is one heavy movie- I’m glad I work out. There is much heaving and gnashing in this unflinchingly bare look at post war recovery and life in London. Brrrrrr, this one left me cold on so many levels, yet the experience managed to penetrate a few levels I had cordoned off from close inspection. So Brrrr.

Yah that tilting shifting universe thingy is happening- the husband -flat out busy. Me? Binging on movies/films. Look at the hair on my arm it’s standing up! Look Goose bumps! Scary.

My Architect…

Do you trust me?

C’mon.
Aside from that genius/insane person thing, you DO trust my judgement, right?
Thanks guy in the back, thanks.

I saw this amazing documentary in three interludes yesterday. (Don’t ask)

It is a ‘stick to your ribs’ film that makes you think about it long after you’ve seen it.

As docs go it was very thorough and the research/media gathering is extensive, but who cares, if it doesn’t reach your heart, it doesn’t mean anything.

A boy grows up only seeing his dad once a week. He knows his dad has another family he can’t leave but this is still his dad, his famous dad, American architect Louis Kahn, and as a boy all grown up he goes on the journey to discover who his dad was. (He died in Penn Station, NYC in 1974).

We all think we know our dad. For some he’s still a fixture in our life, for others he’s a faint memory. Sometimes the memory is more like a nightmare. But how many have examined that man’s life?

How many can go to different parts of the world and see permanent structures that represent the body of our father’s work, solid proof of a working life that took precedence over every living person? He had one wife and two mistresses, each had one child- they all met at his funeral. But Nathaniel his son by the second mistress was only eleven years old when he died. Louis was 65 when he was born. It is his youngest child, Nathaniel who sets out to explore every facet he can of his father’s life.

He takes us seamlessly to all the dark corners of his father’s reality. And what a trip it is. We meet Frank Gehry I.M. Pei, Moshe Safde, and other contemporary architects who comment on his late father’s work. We travel to Jerusalem, Pakistan, and across the US charting a life lived on philosphy and art.

Not everyone appreciates documentaries, but this one is accessible and compelling.
A life examined- flaws and all.
A favourite theme, a favourite film.

Could someone check …

Manhattan?

Is it still there? Is there a trail of debauchery leading back to Canada?

There didn’t seem to be anything reported on the news of NYC suddenly collapsing from exhaustion, or mental anguish. All indications here pretty much point to a quiet, lovely visit with the city that never sleeps.

I’m not buying it.

Quiet and lovely?

I’ve been trying to get a good look at the sixteen year old for signs of abduction, asking trick questions and analysing her speech patterns and eye movement for truisms. So far the cloning will have to be deemed successful because I can’t tell the difference.

This one seems to have decided she wants to go on to post secondary education.
This one wants to pull up her marks and be a better student.
(I guess I didn’t mention she’ll be repeating math this summer-yah, that apple doesn’t fall far….yes, she still has her hearing).
This one seems to want to get serious about learning.

I’m praying it’s not a phase.

One day when she’s a mom and keeps a blog, I’m going to get to learn all about the real stuff that happened on her trip. Until then, or if I hear otherwise I’ll just have to accept that the trip was quiet and lovely.

The Andy Post…

Welcome to the Andy Post.

You don’t know Andy (or maybe you do and don’t want to admit it).

Andy is the man who named the husband Flippy Bom Bippy, and named me Lissa Bom Biss (but we shortened it to da bom- no, of course we didn’t, we’re talking about me the person who has to make being female a project, as if?! But back to Andy…)

Andy’s kind of lyrical, he makes up songs that have no meaning but sings them with his whole heart and that special part of his brain that convinces him he is of Jamaican descent like the husband. (Um he’s the ”Eat white bread!” poster child, no offense to white bread eaters).

He also imitates old men who try to act like they’re the fun old guy when they meet children.
He makes a noise like, “Shibbedee, shibbadooooo” whilst he shuffles his feet and swings his arms.

Andy also plays games for a living. Really cool computer games designed by that the company he works for (but whose name I dare not speak ).

What’s that? Project mangler? Yah, right, FIFA playah’.

Andy lives in a Western city and is married to a Lisa so of course, I love her. She likes fine interior design and my favourite, shabby chic furniture. She is a true western girl so she’s natural and unpretentious unlike us easterners. Oh, wait, this is the ANDY post …

So one time? When Andy was younger? No…I won’t go there.
See Andy? When you complain (and not even on MY site! Where are your comments, Mr.?) about day old offerings, you are putting yourself in a bad place. Didn’t you read my last post about bitterness towards narcissists?

Just kidding, no really, kid-ding.

I’m only writing an Andy post because he complained about a lack of fresh material today.
He seems to be under the impression I write for other people as a form of entertainment! Pshaw.
I write for whoever wants to walk into my little place and I entitle them to my opinion. You’re all welcome.
But don’t complain or you will be skewered.
And I’m strong enough to do that so go ahead try me, take a shot, I dare you.

(I went easy on you this time Andy Boy vegetables!)

You Know The One That Broke Your Heart?

The one that you were willing to do almost anything for? So blind were you to any flaws you were convinced none existed! Remember when your judgement of character was so watered down, swimming in obscurity caused by those heady, high feelings? Yah, it can happen to the wisest, smartest people and it even happened to me.

Sometimes they are ‘the one that got away’.

Sometimes they are the one that tried to take everything away.

We can all get taken. Why? Because there are people out there who are cunning, manipulative, opportunists who feed off others. I call them Clingons without the K.

Is there a statute of limitations on when it’s safe to talk about those people?
Perhaps when the healing is completed and for me that was years ago, yet sometimes there’s a little reminder that they’re still out there, preying on another victim. Memories try to scratch at the scar hoping for a new infection but they only cause a minor irritation.

Please allow me to share what I learned from this life-sucking narcissist.
(Oh, I am over him, but not the name calling- we need to take what little joy we can? No?)

What I learned…
Children make snap judgements about people they meet. Want to know if the person you’re with is kind and good? Run them past a child. You’ll know immediately what they think.

My daughter hated this man.

He was very arrogant and cocky.
He cost me a fortune, (I was a single mom).
He had nothing and liked to live well.

It became evident when he let me go that he had taken what he needed to better his circumstances and would no longer require my services as his girlfriend.

I was stunned. How did I allow this to happen? I crashed and burned.

What I really learned…
We all want to believe the best in people. They know that. These narcissists are everywhere and they will continue to suck the life out of those around them as they better their station- no matter what the cost to their victim(s).

It was the one time I let my guard down and didn’t listen to my guts. Heads and hearts are easily swayed but guts never lie.

Want to know if you’re in a relationship with a good person. Bring in the kids and listen to your gut.

And to all those life-sucking narcissists out there? One day? The person you use? May not be a garden variety victim. They may want to expose you as the creep you are, and worse? They may have a blog.
A very public one.

Boy is that life-sucking narcissist lucky I’m not bitter.

So Spanglish?…

Never mind it’s disjointed scenes, it’s fleeting attempts at humour, it’s broken characters, it’s very few flashes of brilliant acting.

What do I remember?

Tea Leone’s role, as a wife and mom.
Some would look at her character and judge her immediately, superficially, and say she’s a monster, horrible control freak, viscious beast, pathetic loser.

I saw someone familiar.

I saw someone clinging to the sides of the sanity boat.

Clearly the veneer is worn down, exposing shards of flimsy particleboard barely able to hold in the murky, leaking interior.

I saw someone falling into the depths of fear, despair and self-loathing. Someone so broken and hurt they’d become desperate, selective, self-absorbed, unable to cope with everyday tasks, unable to respond sincerely to kindness.

Someone slipping from the clutches of a tentative reality so quickly, falling into every trap life offers the falling.

But the particle board, though ragged, still stuck to the veneer in enough places to present a solid boat, albeit superficially.

Tea played so perfectly the break down of a Type A. Her character fell apart…perfectly. All up front. She didn’t dig herself into a hole to hide, we weren’t spared every sick attempt she took to feel better and sane, which only worked to further alienate her from her family. We get to see the train wreck, we’re even expected to cheer it on.

But I ached for her character. We can end up there all too easily.

I’m not Lisa…

my name is Lissa. Like Melissa. Without the ‘me’. I’ve explained my name this way for years. Usually it takes a few tries before people ‘get it’, but it’s something you get used to. As a child I answered to many names, some were even nice ones.

Somehow I was blessed with knowing many similarly named girls, and even today my favourite people are Lisa’s.

Lee-sa. (’s)

My closest friend is a Lisa, my best friend in kindergarten and sixth grade was a Lisa, my friend/roomate out of college was a Lisa and my favourite boss was a Lisa.

Some of my husband’s friends seemed to find a Lisa to marry or Lisa is their middle name.

But I’m not Lisa.

My Lisa friends have been in out and out of my life (all my lives). They know me best and remember the foundation I was forced to grow on (albeit reluctantly, and they know that too), so when I meet up with a Lisa it’s usually a profound experience. For me.

Today I had a three hour brunch with a favourite Lisa. She has walked a different path since we last lived together but somehow when come together not a beat is missed, we easily match our steps, our pace and we can read each other and speak openly like two old roommates mumble mumble years later.

She is a beautiful soul with this captivating ability to reach in and grab my heart and pull me along her journey through words. I rode her roller coaster words as she described her life and filled in the soundtrack with my own laughter and tears, I relived her frustrations with her and shuddered at the scary parts. This Lisa lives a full life, examined at every turn.

And I came away emotionally weary and exhilarated at the same time. I had a great sense of being alive.

Being with Lisa today was like reminding myself to breathe-something I haven’t been doing at a balanced pace lately. She reminded me to seek balance and rid myself of the extraneous things that take away my ability to feel balanced and whole.

I love this Lisa, as I love all my Lisa’s.

Today I’m reminded that I am blessed with Lisa’s in my life.
Count your blessings before you sleep tonight.

Hear That?…

That’s the sound of…
nothing!

No five year old repeating that infernal name he keeps calling me.

No sixteen year old hybernating in the basement, not even phone calls from the NYPD saying please make her stop.

No the husband - what?- he actually doesn’t make noise, but he’s not here either.

I have the whole house to myself! Except for the loud pesky neurotic dog and his side kick (literally) the cat.

Other than those mini-monsters I AM ALONE!!!

So after sushi (because that Fearfully humanoid, David and his shizalicious wife were having sushi on the other side of the country yesterday and I got all craving-y), it’s girls night in the home thee-ater. No not that predictable weepfest the Notebook again- we’re upping the ante with Spanglish! Don’t you wish you were here? No? Well, I’ve got a stash of other movies if Spanglish gets lost in translation. Translation? Spanglish? Get it? HAHAHA!

What do you mean am I drunk? Naaaaaaah. It’s a Corona and Lime night. Mexican beer to celebrate my first sunburn of the year.

And tomorrow after I sleep in because the house will still be empty? I’m meeting my favourite college roomate and second part of our singing trio , after mumble mumble years and we’re doing brunch! Like grown ups! Without children and significant others! Cool, huh?

(Cool, eh? in Canadish: reeeeeaaaad it sloooooooowwlly)

So, project: girl continues, except I was in a sweatshirt and jeans all over the lakeshore with the five year old and his new scooter (which is a lot of fun if you only want glutes in one cheek!)
I’m giddy with anticipation! Happy to be a girl this weekend!

Hope you’re having fun, too!

Project: Girl

It’s come down to this, a tiny conspiracy , so tiny it’s hard to tell who is leading it, but conspiracy nonetheless.

It’s time to start looking like a girl, instead of a 14 year old boy.

Not that I could look like a 14 year old, but my working wardrobe could pass for it.

Now that the show I finished working on is moving ahead (without me, hey they did me a favour, really) I can reclaim my wardrobe. Every pair of jeans, every shirt, hoodie, jacket everything has a paint mark on it somewhere. It was hard to work in such close quarters and NOT get paint on you. And as ashamed as I am to admit it- I still wear the stuff, I mean c’mon, where do I ever go? Besides Paris.

In honour of moving forward I went out with my friend and bought girl clothes. Even the kitten heeled shoes are pink. The new jean jacket doesn’t sport the kajillion rips of my vintage, but it’s tres cool. In fact, I scream girl in it. (Literally I walk down the streets screaming, “I’m a girl!”- no but really…)

It’s a shock to the system after months of looking like a ‘crew person”, and it will take some getting used to, especially with the bulging muscles (just kidding, Michael). It’s also hard to live without my sweatshirts!
So project girl should be on-going, but in the event there’s a break in the action, a lull as it were, please stand by, with a pair of well-worn jeans and a ripped jean jacket.

I Thank You….

veddy much.

And a thank you to Autumn (who I won’t link right now because this one time? I linked?
My heart stopped? And that scared me? But it was just anxiety? And I lived to write this?) who wrote it out ‘linking for dummies’ and it worked after only TWO TRIES!

Not feeling so old now, with my new linky love!

Photo Op!

Paris pics.

(Oh, the agony if this doesn’t work.No, there aren’t any of me, just pretty Paris pics.)

I have no love for the link so if it doesn’t work: code word: bombippy.com

the husband’s site

Dear Manhattan,

Sorry for the short notice, but in approximately 12 hours, a busload of teenagers is going to descend upon your streets and wreak havoc for the next 48 hours.

Sure they’re in the arts program but they won’t be in a dance formation singing, “Fame!” down Broadway or anything.

They will be sucking the life out of everything they lay their eyes on. They will be absorbing and storing as much NY ‘culture’ as possible and bringing it home. The good the bad and certainly the ugly.

But if I’m lucky, there will be a small L. Vuitton knock off coming home to mama!

In 48 hours they will experience two broadway shows, the MOMA, The Guggenheim, the Empire State building, Central Park, and shopping. 48 hours. Then they will sleep on the 12 hour ride back.

So, next week when the city looks like a tornado blew through, it did, and um, sorry.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Mom

The energy was electric this morning as the kids boarded the bus and even the three teachers (babies!) were trying to contain their excitement.

I was talking to a couple seeing their son off. They were practically giddy, and jealous.
We are all completely jealous.

Typical Torontonians, although our city is considered an international one (we have big airport) we ain’t no NooYawk. Sure we have a modicum of galleries, museums, and theatre, but it doesn’t stand up to what NYC has to offer. Our town looks sleepy compared to Manhattan.

It was very difficult not to jump on that bus and join the journey of discovering Manhattan for the first time. But that would have embarassed the sixteen year old, and the other 37-sixteen year olds, and how would I explain myself. At this stage you’re supposed to have some control over our impulses.

I came home feeling old.

Dental Floss…

is the new toy.

Forget Spiderman, colouring, bike riding.

Flossing for toothbrushes is by far the toy of choice.

We had our first visit to see Dr. Jeffries. Dr. Jeffries ROCKS!

(Riddle me this: You have a choice: Tuscany or bridge work.
Dentist: I can wait.
Me: LOVE YOU!!!)

So now the magic dental spell has sprinkled it’s enchantment on the five year old and now he can’t shove enough floss in his mouth to get every morsel of his last meal out fast enough.

How could I discourage?

Well there is that point when it starts to cut the circulation off in stripey patterns across his face.
But the faces make me laugh (but not out loud), and I want to make the moment last forever

Do I Sense Some Resistance…

to my determination to wallow in the depths?

You people need to get some training, you need to be a studio audience on the Jerry Springer Show.

Learn the cues: ‘She’s falling apart’.
Response: positive reinforcement, encouragement, praise…

Beeeep!

WRONG!

Response for ratings: giggle, sneer, taunt.
Watch her spiral down!

I have kind readers, lurkers and friends who have prayed, cajoled, encouraged and forced me to laugh my way out of my malaise. Thank you, guys.

Your emails and comments haven’t changed my circumstances but they have changed my perspective,
and for that I am truly thankful.

Freelance vs fulltime…

Every once in a while this professional debate rears it’s head in a very personal way.

Freelance work is like a new adventure with every contract. It may take you to places you’ve never been before, it may teach you where you need to grow or what you can’t handle. The cool part is you know it’s short term so if the ‘fit’ isn’t there, you can move on. It’s usually an intense fun ride that can easily become addicting, especially if you’re ADD.

Full time work, to me is like derailing the journey. Being given a time out. But not in a negative way, necessarily. It can actually be a positive thing, catching up with your own thoughts, getting back in touch with you intrinsic value system, the one you’ve carried with you since childhood. But it also means continuity, stability, predictability and for those who like the thrill of the ride- boring.

Work can become too much of a focus (why is this an entirely new concept to me!?)
Because you become so intensely busy, it prevents you from dealing with your reality. Although it provides for life’s external necessities, it can be killing that very life inside. I guess that’s true of any job, full time or freelance depending on how big of a distraction you make it in your life.

So, for maybe a few weeks or maybe a few months I’m going to have to go inside and figure a whole lot of my life out. I’m not doing it alone, I have the full support of my family and friends and the Big Guy who has been nudging, yanking, and darn near bitch-slapping me out of this roller coaster reverie and I’ve managed to hold him of so far.

So this is kind of a heads up- I’m not sure of how this blog fits in to all that.
Just know I’ve given you fair warning.

Grrrr….

Move along citizens.
Nothing to see here.
Ignore the post below that refers to the post(s) below.
Just don’t go there.

HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT! HOT!

Yah, sorry for the mess below,
the mess that obviates
my messy head
and it’s messy ability to grasp even the simplest computer mess.

Some server in California is mocking me and my mess!
Damn you, can’t L.A. and Disneyland be enough to keep you amused?

Back away from the girl, turn, walk away and QUIT SMIRKING!

“You’re Hot!”

“Your tail’s on fire!” he yelled.

That could have been a really amazing compliment coming from oh, let’s say, A MAN.
But it came from the five year old and he wasn’t talking about my glutes!

“Where’s THAT from?” I asked head down, low key, continuing to read the paper.

“Looney Tunes” he stated frankly.
“First I say, ‘It’s duck season!’ and then you say ‘rabbit season’!’” he said excitedly trying to engage me.

“Um, no” I answered um, firmly, wondering where this was going to go.

“Duck season”, he said, testing.

“Rabbit season”, I answered, unenthusiastically.

“Duck season”, he continued.

“Um how does this end?” I answered

“We say it again and again and then I yell, ‘FIRE’ and shoot the gun”, he sang out.

“OK, really, no. Guns and shooting? We don’t go there in this house.” I said looking directly into his little face.

“It’s just a cartoon”, he muttered, turned away sheeshing me under his breath.
“The only thing that happens is the ducks eyes go way out and then snap back in”

“You know that’s not real, right, guns can kill you.” I stated pointedly.

He rolled his eyes, “yesssssss”.

A little gun lecture with you breakfast cereal, anyone?

I will be under the gun later (enjoy that segue) when we meet to talk about the next 13 episodes.
Stay tuned…

“To Your Doom”…

he muttered.

Pretty strong words for a mutter.

“What did you just say?” I asked in a mommy tone.

“To your doom”, he stated clearly. “It’s from Ice Age”.

“That sounds pretty unkind, I don’t like hearing you say those words.” still with the mommy tone.

“Ok” he shrugged, happily and went on role playing with his ‘men’ (a plastic Garfield and a Play Mobile knight).

I turned away but continued to listen.

“You can’t say ‘to your doom’, it’s not very nice, you know’” he muttered very quietly to Garfield.
“OK, I’ll just tell you to get lost, you freaky cat”, he answered for the knight.

I quickly left the room, grabbed a dish towel and shoved it in my mouth to stop from laughing out loud.

I Was Tearing Myself a New One This Morning…

(Muscle, people, muscle)
and started to notice something completely oblique.

Yah, an oblique muscle.
And an ab.
And a tricep.
Day-am that Taha knows what he’s doing.

I became the official poster girl for The Laws of Physics: Defying and Defining Physics Through Movement when I ran today. There was an equal and opposite reaction to every move. Not pretty but better than two weeks ago!

Yah, really not pretty.

I like to read running commentary by Pamalamadingdong* and i’ve been blown away at her progress as a runner. She’s an inspiration for sure, and now that I’ve started, I find its getting addicting. I’m a mountain biker and since I live in the ‘Nord’, the season is limited so running may just become another option.

Right now it is snowing with a vengence. It’s like every last fat flake is being squeezed out of the sky in a mock-the-snows-of-spring-will-you? I’ll-give-you-a-snow-job-you’ll-never-forget attitude. Yah, Canadian snow has an attitude. (Will her personifications ever end? Um, no.)

So do something today. Something. Just move and enjoy.
Seize the carpet and give it a good beating (after the snow stops, fellow Canadians) because rumour has it spring IS coming. Anytime.

*runningcommentary.com/pamalamadingdong
if I can find an ab I can figure out code. I WILL. I promise internets. REal soon.

Hockey Night in Canada…

for the little guys is over!

The five year olds held their last championship game and yes, it was painful to watch.

Our team, (the red team) lost by a goal but it was an exciting game. I know this because there was much screaming and cheering by the mothers around me whose collective voices rose to a high pitched crescendo a nanosecond before the whistle blew. Every time. These mamas are serious. They know the rules. They correct the refs.

The five year olds skated their little hearts out and the coaches instructed passionately from the player’s bench, the fans were on top of all the plays and even the Zamboni prior to the game caught every corner and patterned the ice just right. (I like the Zamboni part the best). I guess you could call it a well orchestrated sporting event. Right down to the stale hotdogs at the subsequent banquet.

Can I tell you what 60 -five year olds in sweaty damp hockey jerseys smell like?
No?
OK think rotting apples but don’t think about 60 fiveyear olds in sweaty hockey jerseys. P.U.

I couldn’t help smiling.

It’s all over.

Living On The Lake…

There’s something about living close to water.

Yesterday I was walking through the halls of the five year old’s school. From the inside looking out at the soccer field, it seems the school is perched right over the water. In fact it does sit on the bluffs, a mere walk away from eroding banks of sand which sit high above the water. My first thought is the school should blast open the concrete walls and replace them with a solid wall of windows to let in the gorgeous southern light and the view of the open waters of Lake Ontario. My second more sobering thought is that its close enough for a child to walk to during recess. Logic tells me the field is too open to miss a wandering child, and I know the school yard is always supervised.

On the shiniest of winter mornings I stomp through the untracked snow and explore the bluffs, anticipating the thrill that standing at the cliff’s edge brings. On the stormiest days of spring, the blackened waters heave to the shore then push their weightiness back out. I watch perched at the top of the cliff looking over the sandy beach and the marina with it’s shrink-wrapped boats, and I am alone.

There’s an ownership I claim to this view, this edge that only usually sees fair-weather friends. It’s a place for contemplation and introspection. If waters heal, this view would be the balm. It helps to clarify and simplify the noise in my head and calm my over-taxed emotions. It lifts my spirits and makes me feel closer to fine.

Mommy, I’m Not Myself…

Huh?

The five year old said, “See I’m not myself, watch”.

He made like he was pulling a zipper up his back, over his head, down the front and then pretended to pull a ‘layer’ open.

“Wha—-“?

“See, like Looney tunes ‘Back In Action’. They’re fake people.”

“Fake people?”

“Yah, they pull the zipper and their real self is undeneath”.

I will be thinking about that all day.