Reasonably Intelligent Female

2012 here we come... OR a knitting update

2012-01-18T06:41:00.003-07:00

How's the new year treating you all?

I read somewhere that the second Monday of January is called BLUE Monday, anyone else have a day of the 'blues'?

I've been recovering from surgery and am now at that point where I 'want' to be doing stuff but still can't be doing what I want to do.

This energy bubbling has morphed into a pretty bad case of startitis. Over the past weekend I've cast on for 3 scarves, knitted the ribbing for a 2nd sock, and added 2" inches to the 2nd of a pair of wristwarmers. I've also finished two WIP (yay me!) and planned a number of Christmas gifts for next Christmas. I need to get one of those counter widgets and keep track of what I do get knit :)

About those wristwarmers... I'm working the Nereid Gloves from Sutherland Studios. A nice textured, ribby wave pattern that is working up right nice in Chroma Fingering in the Regency colorway. The subtle greys are nice and long and the purples are just enough color accent at the base of my hand and thumb with just at dusting of it creeping in on the fingers edge. I usually don't bother with finding the repeats when working with variegates but this time I did although not perfectly accurately.

I'll post a picture as soon as I get one uploaded to Ravelry.

I'm having a little bit of trouble with the yo holes being loose, due in part I believe to using two circs. I really need to get stocked up on dpns. I 'like' the idea of 2 circs, but somehow my tension and gauge goes on holiday when I use them with any sort of patterning beyond simple ribbing.

Another thing I've noticed, is that I don't seem to be following the graph and yet, the pattern is turning out correctly. I can't see that the change I'm making is a correction on the graph and pattern, since it's a really big obvious switch of the ribbing in the middle section.

Anyone else do this sort of thing? Just decide that the pattern should be another way and knit blissfully on til you need to check for a measurement or increase or decrease number and find yourself in a WTH moment? I can't really be alone in that can I?

I hope to be back on track with the posting this year. Not exactly a resolution (more a kick myself in the pants moment) but I guess like with every good intention, we will see.

Happy New Year.

I need this on a loop...

2011-09-10T02:24:00.000-06:00

Obviously I've felt this way before, as seen here: http://reasonablefemale.blogspot.com/2006/08/turning-other-cheek.html

Obviously I've gotten that stunning slap in the face from someone I truly trusted and liked.

obviously I haven't been listening to myself...

equally obviously... I will probably need to repost this again at some point...

because I just... do not want to be the person I describe in the last paragraph. That would take far too much energy and anger and I'm far too lazy for that.

But, maybe, just maybe this time? I can make it partway there and get past the cheap and easy respect, so easy you don't need to bother and find my way to 'someone worth the effort'.

I guess we'll see.

11.5 hour wedding shawl

2011-09-09T12:07:00.000-06:00

Some years ago I posted this to the KNITTALK list and thought to retell the story here.

circa 2002

K. my eldest daugther (bless her picky heart :) ) decided on a May wedding, with very short notice and a small ceremony with just family in attendance and a come and go reception at their home.

She was very practical (and frugal ... bless her cheap heart :P) in her planning and since our weather (looking outside today and seeing snow you'll understand what I mean) has been known to be very unpredictable she made alternative plans for the ceremony; because as badly as she wanted an outside ceremony she was pretty sure it'd snow or rain or something.

Sure enough, night before the wedding, we're all crammed in her tiny little galley style kitchen, me and her sis-in-law to be bumping rear ends as we worked on our family *specialties* and K and her younger sis A (my kindred soulchild who also inherited my sense of sarcasm and wit) bustled about, K wringing her hands at the details and A quietly fixing what needed fixing and sending me telling glances that had us having to look away lest we break out in the giggles.

Now don't get me wrong, we love K but she's a pain at times and details are her forte. A and I tend to go with the flow while K is determined that things WILL be a certain way. Even K however, has yet to figure out a way to convince the weather to do her bidding. (with her sense of accomplishment and determination I'm betting on K)

So, at 9 pm she looks out the window at the gathering greyness hovering over the city and says resignedly, "guess it's an indoor ceremony." Commiserating with her disappointment we all agreed.

"Mom..." she gasped at me, "what will I wear from the car to the house?" She had chosen an off the shoulder dress, lovely in a silvery white but yes, her shoulders would decidedly be exposed to the forces of nature.

Backtracking a moment, I'd asked this kid repeatedly, "do you want a wedding shawl? I'll make one however you want it." over the past 5 or 6 years previous. The reply was always no thanks mom. (which read, knitted shawls are for old ladies and while I'll oo and aw over your socks and shawls for you I wouldn't be caught dead wearing one).

"I need a shawl." She proclaimed and I glanced at the clock. 9 pm. Wedding is at 12:30 pm the next day. 15.5 hours... oy...

We left for home (an hour's drive) at 10 pm. Arriving home at 11 pm, bundling everyone off to bed I'd been mentally assessing stash rejecting cotton immediately as I knew I wanted something lofty and halo'd but having little in my stash of the right weight or colour to match the silvery white of her dress.

As we drove into our yard it hit me. The colour wasn't totally right but if I did it very airy it wouldn't matter TOO much. Right? Right. I had some baby alpaca in raw white. Doubled up on 10 mm needles it might just do it.

By 11:15 PM everyone was in bed and I had 3 movies programmed on the satellite. Casting on I started a basic dishcloth pattern in garter, hoping that the large needles and halo would compensate for the simplicity of the design.

(for those who need to know: Cast on 4, knit 1 row, *k2 yo, knit to end of row)

The fabric looked fine and was growing quickly enough so I kept knitting. But as anyone who's used this pattern knows, it's designed to produce a square or a rather deep triangle if you don't use the decrease half. I wanted it wider quicker so I started increasing on both ends of each row. ACK, now it's widening too quickly, back to the one increase per. Better ... and so it went for 2 or 3 hours. Switching back and forth (and sorry to say randomly when it just looked right) was giving me a somewhat scalloped edge... hey it's a design feature right? Right.

Along about 4 or 5 am I woke with the blunt end of a needle pressing into the crook of my elbow but a darned good start on a shawl. I appear to have knitted in my sleep. I can't swear to it and no one was awake to see me do it, but that shawl had grown.

After a shower, and shove out the door to the rest of the family (knitting all the while during breakfast, arguing with children about what they COULD NOT wear to a wedding and hubby's doubting thomas questions we set out to drive the hour's trip.

I'd count furiously then decide it wasn't wide enough so I'd knit knit knit. Hubby asked if I was having any mother of the bride nervousness, "shssshh," I snapped, "I'm counting." Being the quietly sarcastic sort he tossed back, "obviously..." "No time to be nervous." I answered after yet another stitch count.

Now I was close enough to start obsessing about the cast off. Gotta be seriously stretchy for this to work as the shorty triangle stole I was seeing on the needles. My hands were aching, wrists swollen. Finally the brain kicked in and I went for a sl k1, psso *YO, k1, pass previous stitch over both the YO and second stitch, leaving YO on the needle ) Yep, stretchy.

A came out to the van to see how I was doing and her reaction startled me "Holy batcrap mom...When did you start this?" I told her and she started to do the math as I finished the last of the cast off and suprisingly the last of the yarn. Two balls, ending evenly with only a 2 in tail ? ... can we say Meant To Be? Approximately 11.5 hours from cast on to shoulders.

K was upstairs so I quickly stretched this out on her couch, spritzed it lightly and tugged it into a semiblocked state. She came down and again with the gasp.

I stood there, rubbing my hands trying to get the ache to quiet as she gazed at it. "Oh mom...." she looked at me, tears welling in those about to be a bride's eyes and my aches went away.

She wore the shawl all through the day, even after she changed out of her wedding dress. Sometimes she wore it upside down, the ends spiraling (I can only guess from the scalloping of the shaping and the extra stretchy cast off) off her arms, the tip of the triangle folded down at the nape of her neck like a little collar.

A doesn't want a wedding shawl either. I have the Forest Path entrelac lace phenomenon 1/3 done... SHHHHH, don't tell her.

(sadly, that Forest Path went in the fire we had. However, I'm seeking the pattern and a similar yarn to start it again)

When? Why?

2011-03-18T12:13:00.000-06:00

I believe in vaccinating my children. To keep them safe and because there hasn't been a reported case of said disease in X years is not a valid reason not to vaccinate. If anything It's even more of a reason because as we have less and less exposure to these germs our ability to fend them off when confronted with them is limited.

If we are going to make something mandatory but then say Oh but you can choose not to, why bother?

If the lady down the street doesn't vaccinate her children and they become ill, they potentially endanger my children; even though my children have been vaccinated. Even though I've taken every reasonable, educated precaution I'm comfortable with doing, my children are still at risk because of someone else's decision. Note: Where I live that is how it is, it's suggested but it's not 100% mandatory.

IF you, I and everyone else who seems to be thinking along the right minded way of thinking I'm reading about teach our children about their bodies and masturbation and they understand about private and public touch and 'strangers' and the like but 'Mz I dun wanna be talking to my babies about sex and nobody else should be either' over across the way doesn't... and her little Johnny or Jenny comes along and starts touching my kids or yours ... all she has to do is say at the moment "I didn't believe in teaching a young child about sex." and she's off the hook. Unless it's a rather major event where the police are immediately called; or you, I or another parent wants to make a big deal of it and potentially undo the right-minded thinking we've started to instill in our children then whoever little J / J touched inappropriately is left without a solution. Afterall, they have still been touched.

There are other situations and laws out there where this somewhat skewed logic applies. Just because 3 out of 10 people I know, can drive at 140 mph and do so in a safe and courteous manner (and yes, there are people who can and do so on a regular basis) doesn't mean that I am going to be out there lobbying that the speed limit should be upped to 140. Speeding limits are set up to enable the most amount of people to drive the most amount of miles in the safest possible way. Sometimes there are just plain stupid zones though, just saying...

When your child reaches a certain age, either the one determined by the law of your land or if you're like most people I know, in a field long before they would be allowed on the road because you know yourself that exposure to something in a controlled and supervised manner is a good way to learn; you teach your children to drive safely. At a younger age (hopefully though given some of the pedestrians I've encountered maybe not so much) you also teach them how to cross the street safely. You teach them how to work the stove, use a knife, light a fire, you know, how to do any number of mundane tasks. You do this because at some point in their lives they are going to cross a road without you there to tell them how, turn on a stove or even drive to work complaining about pedestrians who don't know how to cross a road safely. Ahem.

If your child takes up sports, you're going to buy them the right equipment for it aren't you? To protect them from bumps, bruises, perhaps even serious or life threatening injuries considered connected to that particular sport. Before strenuous physical activity you're going to either teach them how to prepare their bodies and minds, or get right upset with a coach who doesn't promote preparation when your little darling pulls a muscle because they went into the game cold.

You're going to do this and other preparatory things because you want to protect your children, being a right-minded parent. As a result, most of the kids participating in said activity are going to do so in safe manner, with everyone enjoying themselves. They'll even learn to relax (because they are protected, knowing that a particular piece of safety equipment will do its job when needed) and by doing so will probably enjoy the activity even more.

Sex has never been nor never will be 'safe' to some, because there have always been inherent risks to either the self esteem or psyche by indulging or denying without even getting into the STD's, moral and/or legal issues of then and now. And yes, I'm glossing over these but not because I believe they are not crucial, but because most of them are based on beliefs, traditions and moral views that I may or may not adhere to, or hold personally.

But let's face it, people, at some point in their lives, your child is going to indulge, partake, or even *gasp* enjoy sex.

Why would you not want to prepare them? Why wouldn't you want them to be aware of and even feel comfortable using safety equipment (hint: condoms do more than just provide a barrier to conception).

I just can't ignore the age-old question... do you really want your child out there getting an inpromptu and probably very confused and inaccurate information session on sex from their friends?

I just don't get why we have to turn into blithering idiots instead of right-minded parents who work hard to protect and nurture their children the very second SEX is mentioned.

Merry Christmas, despite being a little late...

2011-01-08T15:44:00.003-07:00

So this past year hasn’t been one of my favourites. To hit the high(?) lights, we’ve had a house fire that destroyed our house, two deaths in the family, money issues (who hasn’t) and I’ve finally quit a job that was sucking out my very soul.
There’ve been some up moments, (see the part about quitting that job?) and all the helpful, compassionate people who came to our assistance after the fire. People coming out of nowhere and being kind to us. Balanced as always by the (so - called) neighbour who informed me in front of the still smoking ashes of our home, that if we lived in an old house like that, what could we expect? I’ve always said it takes all kinds, so nice to be proven right O.o

Anyhoo, given all these rollercoaster moments I’ve been looking forward to December 31st with more anticipation than usual. Today is December 24th and I had planned all along to go shopping at Costco for the last minute gifts. I’d gotten into this habit a few years ago when certain children had reached the age of snooping and paying off the younger ones to do it for them.

Over the past few years I’ve become more than a little bit jaded with Christmas and the holidays in general. It’s been harder and harder to get excited about it and hold onto that wonderment. I suppose that’s a symptom of growing older but I was letting things slide for the kids, and that has been bothering me. Sure, they had presents and a nice turkey spread. We put up lights and went to the town hall for the school concert. We even do the family game night Christmas eve, unplugged if you will, a marathon evening of board games, most often Monopoly or Life and lately Scrabble and Risk have been making an appearance. Little traditions have been kept but there’s been something missing…something of the anticipation and joy of the season.

I was giving myself a talking to while driving to Costco. About how, this coming year I’d start my stocking-stuffer buying in January like I used to do, little odds and tidbits some to be wrapped some to be just discovered; and make some gifts, another habit that has gone by the wayside as the pressure of putting on Christmas became less and less interesting. I’ve long ago given up on knitted gifts for all but most Christmas mornings had someone exclaiming over something hand made by mom. An afghan, a sweater, a pair of much wanted wristees or even just a plain old scarf in just the right color had been unwrapped with anticipation on my part to see how the recipient would respond. That hasn’t happened in more than few years if I’m honest.

I spent a rather pleasant couple of hours at Costco as the crowds weren’t overly so and there were plenty of items I’d been looking forward to checking out without tipping my hand to the nosy children that usually accompanied me on shopping trips. I’d found everything I had planned on getting, a few things besides and reluctantly put back others with the hopes that on another trip with more extra available they’d still be there for purchase. DD#3’s new camera was in there, the navigational GPS thingie for hubby, more than couple blu-ray disks and books, always books for Christmas at our house as well as new pyjamas to wear Christmas Eve and most if not all of Christmas Day. Noting to myself that not all of our Christmas traditions had died I wandered to the checkout line.

I noticed a lady letting people go in front of her in line. She had one of those trolley platforms and while it was full it was mostly larger boxes. She’d waved at least two others through as I got up to her and was telling me to go on ahead too. I responded that she should go ahead as it was Christmas Eve and everyone wanted to be home. At her question about why I wasn’t in a hurry I told her that since hubby is a truck driver subject to the whim of a dispatcher and road conditions, Christmas at our house didn’t start till he got home anyway and that I had all day as he wasn’t expected till later than evening.

She smiled and got in line. As we waited our turns at the register we chatted. I often strike up conversations in line-ups and have passed an otherwise tedious time exchanging opinions on politics, current events and the weather with equal vigour. Hey, I am Canadian after all, and weather is an important topic of discussion. Especially interesting to me when I find someone who ‘remembers the big one of 19…aught something. *grin*.

During this chat we exchanged sentiments about how seeing the backside of 2010 would not be a bad thing. As I’ve mentioned we’ve had enough. She told me of a 50 year marriage ending in divorce and we both commiserated with the other that 2011 didn’t have to do much to be better. She paid for her purchases and was fiddling with her purse as the cashier started running mine through.

I turned to her and smiled, about to wish her a Merry Christmas when felt I needed to say something more. “You know, your ex probably just needed to get out of your life to make room for someone who really loves you. Or maybe you’re just one of those lucky people who loves themselves enough they don’t need that affirmation from someone.” She clasped my hand and holding it asked my name. I told her and she said, “Well my name is ******** and guess what, I’m your secret Santa and I’m going to pay for your order today.”

“You can’t,” was my immediate response, my mental tally had rang up near 750 or so and the thought of a stranger giving me nearly a thousand dollars shocked me. She was adamant and firm, telling me she’d said she was doing it and that was that. As she headed over to the ATM to get out cash the cashier remarked about how nice it was that my friend was doing that for me. When I told him and his packer person that I’d never laid eyes on this woman before in my life they both welled up with tears. I, too, was crying by now.

I did insist that we exchange information so we could talk again. Turns out she lives in a town I used to, and her dad had spent his last years in the town I now live in. When I asked her why she’d done this, she said that a little voice had told her she should when we’d been speaking in the line-up. She figured it was her Dad telling her to do a good deed.

When I got out to my vehicle I just sat there for a few minutes, somewhat overwhelmed. That’s the first time in a very long time that I’ve really felt the Christmas Spirit filling me so fully. I called my eldest daughter when I got home and told her about this. We have some ‘extra’ money coming in January with one thing or another. We’ve decided we’re going to go stake out a grocery store and have some fun. I think we’ll know the right person to pay this forward to when we see them.

P.S. I started writing this when I got home that evening, but for some reason it didn’t seem right to post it till now. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas season and that the best of 2011 finds its way to your home.

P.P.S I’ve been behind in my blog reading and just got to the Yarn Harlot's recent entries today. I wish I’d read her post about the traditions for New Year’s Eve in time, I’d have done them all.

Why?

2010-10-19T00:23:00.003-06:00

I see on *insert social site here* that my son's ex girlfriend/shackup/love/ whatever it was/is posted a picture of my grandson, her son. The son she and my son, her ex/shackup/love/whatever it was/is had together. The son she and my son no longer have.

I see that with that posting she's speaking of how much she misses them both. Her family, my son, my grandson, my son's son, her son and her man.

And all I can think to say to her is Why? Why then, did you not follow through with the treatment? Why did you do things that could hurt him while you were pregnant with him? Why did you when given all sorts of chances and offers of help both officially and from family and friends did you lie to us all, yourself included? Why were you both so damned smart you could put 'something' over on us. Why be such smart asses that you think you are cleverer, better, different. Why not admit you had a problem? Sure you both give it lip service. You both say all the 'right' things, but you didn't/wouldn't/couldn't do them.

I want to blame her, I want to blame my son, I want to blame them both. I want to blame me and his dad, I want to blame her mother and father, I want to blame everyone. I want to blame the system that let them lie, let them cheat on the tests and I believe set them up so that they both could do nothing at that point but fail... but really who lost in the end... that little boy.

Both of them will point fingers at me and say how horrible I am for posting this if they see it. They'll both find some horrible secret of mine to throw out there. And you know what... that little boy will still be gone. No matter how they and I toss aside the blame, how no one wants to think about it...

why why why didn't you think about it before... if you couldn't bring yourself to worry about losing him why did you have him... why damnit WHY...

Thinking about writing...

2010-10-01T14:53:00.002-06:00

"He started for the kitchen to get a drink, and checked himself. Take a drink because you pity yourself, and then the drink pities you and has a drink, and then two good drinks get together and that calls for drinks all around." - Little Fuzzy 1962, by H. Beam Piper.

Today while wandering through blogland I was reminded of the above quote from Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper. When I first read this book some 25 years ago, I enjoyed the story for what it was but was also excited about the way it had come to my attention. The book store I frequented (read haunted) was run by a wonderful repository of background information and he'd suggested the story to me both for the great story as well as the background of the author. I'd recently taken an interest in some old Ace Doubles and Piper's space opera type of writing had an appeal all of its own. The author had not published the third book and the manuscript, long believed either destroyed or otherwise lost had recently been discovered in an old desk. A third book had been written by another author from Piper's notes, with the approval of his estate but here after more than one ending was Piper's.

It was an enjoyable experience, discovering his work and collecting it and now I get to do it all over again. Regardless...

That line had jumped out at me at the first reading and has been something I've thought about many times through the years, often quoting it to people during discussions of various topics.

I'd heard that Piper had not viewed himself as successful and certainly in terms of the genre there were more prolific and well-known writers; Asimov and the like. Writing isn't really about being successful. There's a lot said about the anguish of writing. Of putting that part of yourself out there laid bare for others to read that terrifies many a person into never letting their "scribbles" see the light of day.

I've likened the idea of submitting something to giving birth that once it was out of your hands it acquired a life of its own just like your children and would forever reflect back on you its success or failure.

Somehow, though, in all the talks I've had with fellow writers that doesn't stop one from needing to write. I've chucked everything, more than once sad to say, and scrambled to retrieve it once that passion of the moment had passed. I mourn the loss of ideas that I have been unable to write down because they've come to me while driving, or in those moments between awake and aware. I marvel at the idea that some books see the light of day, too but that's another post :).

But to get back to the quote...

To me, there's something so incredibly truthful and psychologically defining in it. Fanciful as it may seem I can imagine that being a nothing line that Piper wrote that he himself perhaps came back to, to reread and ponder over. I wonder if he suffered from depression, or perhaps even alcoholism when I read that and usually set down the book at that point to muse over the implications there, of how one justifies drinking, of being alone and seeking solace in a bottle, or turning to it rather than addressing the issues at hand lest they unsettle the tiny island of comfort such as it might not really be one that someone could have carved for themselves.

I think writers have to be, by nature, somewhat arrogant or at the least impressed with themselves, if only within their own minds. There are times when something one writes is so ... perfect and profound that you can get lost in it, reading it over and over. I think that the good writers get over that, or learn to cope with it, cause there's a real danger spot there. Not accepting that it could be bettered by a change of word, rewriting of a phrase and the flipside of that, where you edit till your eyes bleed and it's still not perfect... those are the barriers to writing successfully as many would define writing.

That justification of one drink needing the company of another holds true for so many things and not just terrible life destroying vices but good things as well. Joy is never so wonderful as when truly shared with another. A laugh that takes you to your knees, sets your eyes to streaming and steals your breath is only ever better by another joining in on the same level.

Sharing... that's what writing is about. Sharing your ideas, making them larger than they are by giving them to others and having them reflected back to you. People say that writing is a lonely process and good writing only comes from anguish and much gnashing of teeth. I beg to differ. I don't believe that one has to wring every word from their psyche to make it good. I believe that writing can be joyful and happy and exciting and love the idea a published author I once knew put in my head when asked for a synopsis. She'd replied "Well how the hell do I know what happens in the story? I write them to find out the ending..."

Now seeking a writing partner...any takers?

Refound

2010-09-18T00:21:00.002-06:00

Fascinated, you bet...
Friday 10.29.04 [4:51 pm]

Well to most that know me this won't come as too much of a shock. I'm facintated by men. Now that doesn't mean that I have a Chippendale's calendar hanging in my bedroom (my crafts room actually) or that I oogle guys as they walk down the street.

It does mean that that other species that masquerades as the other half of my own fascinates me.

I offer these Rules of Manhood as an example of why...(note at a guess given the language involved these came from a British or perhaps a European site...a tip: MATE = friend I was given no reference for where this comes from, so if you know, I'd appreciate the info to give a nod to the author (not to miss mentioning copyright details as well).

(Italics mine)

Rules of Manhood

01: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella. Okay, this one I'll let go... not to sure how I feel about two women sharing one either, unless they are lifelong friends or family.

02: It is ok for a man to cry under the following circumstances:

a. When a heroic dog dies to save its master. I'd like to see someone NOT cry then. (said somewhat indignantly)

b. The moment Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry (or both) starts unbuttoning her blouse. Ahem

c. After wrecking your boss' car. Girls get to do this when they wreck anyone's car, see how fair we are?

d. One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into "The Crying Game". I've never actually seen this movie, so can't comment.

e. When she is using her teeth meh, and just lets it go.

03: Any Man who brings a camera to boys night out may be legally killed and eaten by his mates.

04: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

05: If you've known another man for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever, unless you actually marry her. Seems to me that defeats the purpose of having brothers with friends.

06: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a friends fridge is forbidden. Complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

07: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your mate's birthday is strictly optional. Alright fine, but does it have to bleed over to forgetting your girl's birthday too?

08: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest. Men have also invented cars that go too damn far on one tank of gas as well...I'm sensing a conspiracy here...

09: When stumbling upon other blokes watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.

10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend. Just... ICKS

11: It is permissible to quaff a fruity alcopop drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach...and it's delivered by a topless supermodel...and it's free.

12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another bloke in the nuts.

13: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked. And yet, invite a guy to watch an all girls mud wrestling match...

14: Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.

16: Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game (can explain offside or the double switch) and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers. Yeah, like we -want- to sit in front of the tv hollering and slapping each other's asses every holiday ... There's shopping to be done, thank you very much. *SNORT* I also sounded convincing there didn't I? it was the shopping part right?

17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight. You know, I can't really argue with this one, call me oldfashioned... well sort of, I guess it depends how suggestively dressed she is, and for what purpose...

18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both thats just mean.

19: If you compliment a man on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer. GIGGLES

20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a mate of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.

21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:

a. Yeah, Baby, Push it!

b. C'mon, give me one more! Harder!

c. Another set and we can hit the showers!

22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e. both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need. *EYE ROLL* What the hell do they do if they need extra tissue?

23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary. Is that why they're so damned concerned with how long they were going for...

24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason not to nail her again before the discussion about what a big mistake it was. No comment, okay just one... PIG

25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours. EVIL EYE

26: Thou shalt not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue. Orange, snicker...

27: The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story. Here's a tip, boys, think diamonds and gold and ring fingers...cause that's what we bloody well mean you dorks.

28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Mens Gymnastics. Ever. Heh, well for the most part I tend to agree with that, who wants them around then anyways...

Now, first of all, why do they need a written set of rules? Don't they realize that under any given set of circumstances there are any number of responses to all of these situations? I mean really... women just make things up and given some of the creativity I've seen from a guy or two, at squirming, I'd think they'd be just as capable of just making it up as they go along.

Second, are there truly MEN police out there, checking to see if one guy talks to another in the john? Who gets -that- job? Who -wants- that job?

And that whole set of beer rules... only men would have rules about BEER.

So men will continue to fascinate me with their sport rituals and silly bathroom rules of behaviour. They also make me want to pick them apart to figure out what makes 'em tick... but then they get all broken and metrosexual when you get too deep into the whole feelings thing.

So guys, despite more than one joke about you, and your various types of behaviour... that makes me nearly pee my pants with laughter and glee; here's one gal who's pretty happy you guys are guys and she's a gal.

..and then?

2010-05-24T11:26:00.002-06:00

Life has a way of making things...interesting.

I've been writing this post in my head for over a month now, starting it over and over, wondering just how to say it.

There really isn't much option, as no matter what, once said it's out there and that's that. Life has made a 90 degree turn on me and mine and that's all there is to it, and all this does is acknowledge it to the general public.

On April 7th, 2010 our house, with very nearly every material possession that I and my family owned, burned to the ground.

My two youngest daughters were home on spring break, I was at work and hubby was on the highway. An RCMP officer came to my work to inform me.

She started out by asking me to sit down, never a good sign. Reaching, she patted my arm and said "now everything is okay..." correcting herself to say, "well what I mean is, your daughters are okay but your house is gone, it's completely burned..."

I was pretty glad to be sitting down at that point.

I called hubby and demanded that he pull over; as he pointed out later, also never a good sign.

Old electrical wiring in a wall we discussed the Sunday before about removing in ongoing renovations of our older home were found to be the cause. Both girls were unhurt (physically) and most of our pets escaped the fire.

Our 14 yo had the presence of mind to shove her sister out the door and after a moment's pause thinking about trying to rescue her cat and kittens she followed her out the door, feeling like she abandoned a part of her family to the fire.

We lost everything. Years of photos (all dutifully backedup electronically onto cds but stored on site, and not in a fire proof safe... I wonder if anyone does think to store them offsite... probably, but I didn't...) boxes of momentos of family members past and activities and achievements, much electronic equipment, including computers, game consoles and video and sound; 30plus years of crafting stash, about 300 movies both vhs and dvd and the list goes on and on and on.

Anyone who has cleared out a house after a loved one lost knows what I'm talking about. The odd dishes from sets long broken or discarded, that holds the memories of birthday parties and smudgy little kid finger prints. All those memories that we still have but no longer have the tangible, tactile ability to access.

Oh yes, we're lucky. There is no question about that whatsoever. Lucky that over the years my own fear of fire has tormented me to drill the kids on getting out, leaving everything behind and just getting out. We're lucky they were awake and moving around as people lying down in the type of fire this was, seldom get up. The fire inspector told me that on average a fire in a home such as ours is inescapable past the 28 second mark. They moved fast, they saw and assessed and reacted positively in that time frame. HELL yes, we're lucky we were prepared.

Family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, local and national service clubs and complete strangers have been generous and kind and helpful. We're a small town community and the rallying around us was most heartening in a time where people often turn away from those in need.

Members of knitting lists I belong to have swamped me in wonderful gifts to assist me in refilling my stash. They get it that you don't have just one set of knitting needles or just one type of yarn at hand if you're the kind of knitter I am.

People have been fantastic about offering (and some have already done so) to purchase my daughters sets of the books they are mourning. Clothing has been coming by the bagful and our temporary rental house is almost completely furnished.

We are lucky.

And if everything around us has a sense of someone else's essense, well that's just the way it'll have to be for the time being. If nothing we reach for is familiar just yet and there is no comfort in the sensation of climbing between blankets that have molded to your contours for years we still have beds and bedding to sleep in.

We *are* lucky... it's hard sometimes to remember that, when we're mourning our losses.

So if I can give just one little piece of advice... if you're helping someone out after a catastrophic loss, either by fire or flood or the unexpected (or expected for that matter) loss of a loved one... please, don't tell them they are lucky... they know that... they get that... what they know and how they feel are likely really different things. So please, don't mention luck, okay?

... and even if you don't understand that a pet is an integral part of a family, don't tell someone that the loss of one isn't to be grieved as much as the loss of a human... they know that too... just try remembering that to them, family is family and feeling 'lucky' to be alive when a family member (of any sort) is not, isn't very comforting.

Next post... not so much whining, much more happiness as we move towards better days...

A Difference of Opinon

2010-02-20T14:56:00.001-07:00

With all due respect to the designer of my current knitting project; I acknowledge her ability, her writing skills, the time and effort she put into conception, planning and presenting this pattern. Which by the way, I'm really enjoying seeing how it's coming out and all ....

But...

WHY?

Why do it ASSDFF all in pieces and fuss about sewing stuff together?

Why would you change the build concept halfway through the pattern. More to the point.

You had me knit the fronts and back all in one, with mock seams. Pretty awesome. Sleeves being separate I totally agree with as they are raglan and that's an annoying thing to try and figure out how to pick up and knit down to the wrists to be sure. For that matter I also find that the sleeves that are knitted down from the shoulder tend to stretch on me... so like I said, all for those separate sleeves.

I won't quibble with you over the hems and how you chose to present them. We did agree on the provisional cast on though I personally find it easier to reverse stockinette on smaller needles, one row of purl or picots even for a turning row then switching up to the body size and catching up the caston stitches for what I would have been satisfied as a satisfactory hem (if not exactly as yours was). Whoops, guess I did quibble a teensy bit there. However, I still did them your way and lived so it wasn't too bad after all. :)

So now I've got two sleeves, and one piece that is fronts and backs. Cool you say? All done but the making up, right?

Yeah, not so much. Now we get into the part where I am going to quibble. There's this really cool wavy ribbing edging on the pockets that works up to a nice shawl collar. A shawl collar and deep pockets were the two design features I was looking for when I chose this pattern.

My bad for not reading the whole thing all through. To be sure.

But it's my blog and I'm still going to quibble.

So we've got this body piece, and we've picked up the conditional cast on stitches and made our pocket fronts with our mock seams and hem. Now we get to adding the edging...

And herein lies the heart of my bitching.

Why are we knitting it separate? Why after so carefully having me knit two fronts and a back and pocket fronts for both sides all in once piece are we switching horses to make it, sew it mode?

Why aren't we attaching the edging like one would for a shawl by knitting it on? The pattern for the edging isn't that tough and you've been so great about incorporating in the selvedge stitches for sewing...why not just use them for attaching so that once done either side one could just reverse seam the back of the two collar sides and voila instantly done sweater.

This is minor for most, me included to be honest. And in no way am I questioning your ability or design, nor am I finding errata in the numbers. I just don't get the whole sewing it together annoyance.

Granted I'm the first to admit I'd rather 3 needle bind off shoulder seams than sew them (for strength and stability of course but also cause I can't abide sewing :) ) so the whole idea of sewing an entire facing and collar when it would be just as easily done to knit it on is bugging the heck outta me.

Is it fitting the shaping to the curved edges of the pocket? Don't think so, cause you are so line by line careful to address that shaping in the instructions for the edging and collar. Did you just want to pad the pattern to make it fit the space allocated for your pattern in the magazine? Did the editors of said magazine make this change for you? Always a possibility I realize, that what one submits for publication can be quite changed when finally publshed...

I'm still just left wondering why.

I suppose it might be unnecessary to say but I will be knitting the edging and collar on even though I'd promised myself that I would slavishly follow this one...this time.

Appears my best intentions are built upon sand.

Stay tuned... I'll let you know.

Regarding Michael Vick

2009-09-16T15:41:00.002-06:00

Dr Phil said today, (paraphrase) that children pick their heroes by who we put in front of them.

His show was about the football player, Michael Vick, who is back in the public eye after serving his sentence and is now... hired? I think, to play professional football again.

I know very little of this situation and don't really care if HE gets his job back or not. He's got to prove to the people who pay his salary that he's able and capable (and in his case publicly acceptable) to do that job. Public outcry will likely make it so he can't do that easily and that's between him and his bosses, sadly. Sadly, because it's about dogs and we have people who do shit to kids and other humans every day who will never be as hated or vilified for their actions and who will affect the lives of others to horrible and terrifying points and no one will ever give a shit, because they aren't animals being mistreated. Go PETA *shitheads*

Ahem,

In general... heroes are not who we put in front of our children. They are the people who exemplify the values, moral conscience and personal choices that we have taught our children are valuable. We don't just control who they look at, but how they look at them. Or, at least, as parents, we should be doing that.

Heroes are not just people who get it right spot on, first shot out of the gate. Heroes are also people who face adversity, who make changes in their lives and how they live them. People who bear their scars and refuse to hide them or in truth, apologize for them. They just get on with becoming better or more than they were.

I have far more respect for someone who has trod on the wrong side, realized it and made it over to the right side than I do for someone who has never screwed up. Being good when that's all you know is easy. Being good when you've experienced the thrill and enticement of being bad... choosing to BE Good when you know what being bad is about, that's hard. That's a hero.

People who go up the stairs when the building is burning, are heroes. Anyone who puts their own personal comfort or safety at risk to help another is a hero. We make much of people who do that and so we should but they aren't the only kind of hero out there.

People who walk past the drugdealer on the corner that they used to stop at every day ...they are heroes. They win in their own life and by example show others that that type of victory is possible.

This isn't a racial issue. yet we're going to have people claim that were he white, we wouldn't be having this argument. On this I call bullshit. It's about the dogs, not the color of his skin. And please, I'm all about animals. I enjoy them and have pets and treat them as part of the family but when all is said and done, they are animals not humans.

It's about his ability to play foot ball. He's a human being. We as society make sports figures, celebrities into 'heroes' but they aren't really. There was a basketball player that suggested to the press some time ago that he was just that, a basketball player and not responsible for how children chose to view him. And you know what? He's not. HE is not responsible for what my child thinks or values. I AM.

I'd like to keep it that way.

Vick's ability to 'fix' himself is sadly, being debated in the public eye. I doubt he'll ever be able to walk out onto a field without someone booing him. But.... why is that person there? To watch football? Or to comment on this guy's personal life? From what I hear this guy was a pretty spectacular football player. Worth a 130 million dollar contract (again from what I hear) ... that's a ridiculous amount of money but you know what, if someone is willing to pay him that much money then why shouldn't he take it?

Do his bad personal choices make him a bad football player? I don't recall ever seeing a dog involved in a real NFL game, do you? We have a hockey player on our NHL team who did something royally rotten.. Yet.. we hired him. Because of the current players out there, he fit the coach's and the team owner's requirements for a player on their team.

Will he ever be accepted by the fans? Who knows? The team owners et al, must think it's possible because when all is said and done they are running a business to make money not give sad saps a second chance.

See, there you go, it's about business and money. It's not about values, but we can hoot and holler and cry out in anguish about the plight and look like heroes ourselves. Go figure.

Vick has his own journey. I don't know anything about him but the little bits here and there. Am I outraged that he fought dogs for money? Sure I am. Would it stop me seeing him play football ... well since I don't much care for NFL (GO CFL) I rather doubt it would matter one way or the other.

Maybe some of these people who are upset by the suggestion that he can return to his job and make money doing what he was doing before ought to examine their own value systems. Aren't they putting something a little bit ahead of their own outrage? Righteous though it may well be.

See, I never understood why they stripped OJ of his football awards. Especially considering that despite his being convicted in the court of public opinion (and rest assured I'm not defending him for one second, just point this out) he wasn't found guilty in a criminal court, and found 'responsible' in a civil action (you know. the one about money... how do you value a human life in terms of dollars anyway?)

His football career and ever other action in the public eye (IE his roles in bad movies etc) have nothing to do with those deaths. Is he a cretinous person, well based on the press I've seen of him, I'd answer yes, like most would. In terms of whether that matters to his ability to play football, I don't think so.

Nor do I think that Michael Vick's stupid and illegal acts preclude him from the ability to play at a level worth 130 million (excepting the idea that since he's been off the field for this amount of time). IF people want to pay him, and other people want to pay to watch him, then chances are he's going to play.

I don't believe there's a law that has any control over someone's working at a job in society once they have met the conditions of their punishment and subsequent parole. The time for this debate would have better been when he was being sentenced. Then the people who think he shouldn't be allowed to play now would have had a valid say (though since football doesn't include dogs... I still doubt that this type of restriction would have been allowed legally).

Not everything is a cause, people.

2009-09-05T12:41:00.002-06:00

Arrgh.

This happens too often for my liking.

I must have some innate genius for picking blogs to follow at a certain point in their evolution. I'll find a blog, usually by a quick scanning of someone's blogroll and sample it for a time or two or twenty before adding it to my list of regulars. There's a difference between my regular reads and the blogs listed on my blogroll and I also don't use RSS feed although I have done in the past. I like going to each blog's page and seeing the post 'in the wild' as it were.

Now and again I find a blog that strikes my funny bone or sets me thinking and I'll start poking through their archives. When I find myself starting at the beginning then I know I'm hooked. I can't give a better recommendation to a blog than "Start at the beginning and READ" when I suggest them to friends. Those are the ones that make it to my blogroll. I've read as many posts I could find of those bloggers and while I may not have enjoyed or raved about every single one the highest regard I can give them is to add them to my blogroll.

So typically, some evening when all my mail lists are read and there's nothing I want to put the laptop down and watch on TV, I'll start click-surfing through my old favourites and taking a walk through their blogroll. Most of the time it's the title of the blog that hits me and more than a few times I've forgotten I've gone there before and done a characteristic "Feh" when I find that I don't care for the blog anymore this time, than I did the first time that seductive title has called me on over.

Personal blogs are a little vignette into a person's mind or thoughts for me and feeds into my life long love of (auto)biographies. A lot of people say they'd write a blog, but what would they write about, their boring life? Just that, folks. I'm not the only person who lives (a little or a lot) vicariously through the blogs of others. I really don't even care if they are real happenings in the person's lives or those they wish had happened, or worry that they will, I just want to read the mundanity. If you are blessed with the reasoning power and vocabulary to take a rather awkward or horrid situation, lay it out with all the attending emotions and make me laugh out loud, smile or perhaps even wipe away a tear at the end of it.... then I'm there, daily for my voyeuristic peek into your life.

And many of these blogs go on for years, doing just that. The author gets their feelings/thoughts/opinions out on a semi regular basis and their readers get to try on emotions, situations and results vicariously... a symbiotic relationship if ever I tried to describe one.

Sometimes the opinions get heated responses and the comment section gets all interesting (though often it fades to a general noise with each new one taking a shot at a previous one rather than continuing what could well have been an insightful discussion and a general agreement to disagree while still being able to express one's views) (yeah I wish too much for lots of things, I know... annie optimist)

Opinions are great, being involved in something is wonderful and being enthusiastic and encouraging others to join up on your bandwagon is perfectly acceptable. Especially on your own bandwidth.

That's not what I'm grousing about here.

Just wanted to get that out there. Lots of the blogs I read have a donate here button for either the author's tip jar, or to donate through to whatever worthwhile cause they've chosen and I respect that in a huge way. It's their little corner of the internet and they can promote whatever they like. I've got the option of going there and either donating, not donating, ignoring their causes etc. I'm not there for that anyways... I'm there to read those scintillating vignettes that hooked me in the first place.

I'm the first person to admit that I'm shitty at keeping up my blog. I should write a lot more and stop badgering my friends trying to drag them into discussions where I can indulge in my favourite position of 'devil's advocate'. I also realize that life changes and things that were taking up huge portions of someone's reasoning power, to the point where they felt they must write it out or they'd explode become less imperative as those things change; that's not the problem I'm talking about.

It's the feeling that someone has hoodwinked me that I'm objecting too. Although, rationally (see title) I'm sure that people aren't actively doing this in a conscious or calculating manner; I have to wonder a little at times.

Do they really write all those great posts to get me so hooked on reading them that they can slip in their cause du jour without me noticing?

I'm reading along, happily chuckling to myself or wiping away that tear I mentioned and blam!

The topic has suddenly changed. I don't mean veered off into an opinionated rant I mean we are now soapboxing for a particular cause. Now and again that cause is the author themselves.

Now see earlier, where I mentioned that causes were great and the business of the person whose blog it was? And how I could ignore said cause or back it, or even take up an opposing viewpoint as my own cause? I'm still good with that. Just want to be clear on that.

When a blog has been chugging along sharing stories about daily commuting and the topic shifts to traffic laws, that's pretty natural and expected. Particularly if the blogger was involved in an accident or witnessed one or one that will result in a change of law has happened and opinions get shared about the ramifications of said new law. When someone leading the single life become a partner in a relationship, the topics are going to shift. Cool, got that. It's tough to write about the night on the town with the girls when really you made a casserole, curled up bare-naked on the couch with the new squeeze and coo'd like a pair of pigeons all night.

The writing style shouldn't change though.

It shouldn't become forced as though someone is feeling obligated to do a public service announcement. That is what makes me stop reading a blog.

That "Miss America Syndrome" where everyone thinks they can only be considered worthwhile, contributing members of society if they want 'world peace' or 'to end world hunger' or 'save the world by inflicting your views, ways and mores on a country no where near you'. I've got my fifteen minutes of fame and I don't want to waste it on me. Uh.. that's why I was coming to your blog in the first place. Because YOU are interesting. Not your ability to raise x dollars a week to feed the homeless. YOU.

For all the self centered people I encounter on a regular basis, many of whom have no idea of what goes on beyond their own little 'whirl around in a circle with your arms outstretched' worlds I can't figure how I always find bloggers who instead of keeping on doing what made them successful readable bloggers in the first place have to shift over to 'cause seekers'.

*sigh*.

Another one bit the dust today.

I don't walk away after someone expresses an opinion I don't like. Nor even after someone peppers their blog with linkies here and linkies there to this or that agency to support their opinion or cause.

I do though after repeated postings that make it clear that they aren't going back to writing what I want to read about.

So.... read any good blogs lately?

Commenting elsewhere got away on me...

2009-08-17T11:33:00.002-06:00

This post and in particular some of the comments got me going...

I found once I got into the discussion I couldn't stop and started posting such as the following in response to various comments.

Uh... we do see those jokes about men all around us. And if you are going to 'cry' about how you are inundated by the reverse then maybe you ought to accept that despite their not saying as MUCH as women do (and please keep in mind that women stayed silent about their role in the world for a very long time before the dam broke and they started to speak up and out against the injustice) they are just as harmed by such stereotyping as women are. In fact, they are under the onus of "men don't bitch, men don't cry and men don't care about feelings etc" so anything they might say or do is immediately written off as just a 'man thing'. Hmmm... just as derisive a statement as the 'little woman' in my view of the world.

There are a myriad of commercials, ad campaigns, television programs, books and radio programs where there is an all knowing woman nodding her head in silent amusement and superiority at the inability of the 'man' not being able to complete the easiest of tasks. Laugh at them when they try to change the baby and don't get the diaper on straight. Send Dr. Phil out to get the groceries and have Robin (HIS WIFE AND LIFE PARTNER) mock him for getting the apples not in a bag (as he rightly pointed out, they were in a bag, just not the nice little extra produce bag). Big Bang Theory, a (IMO) very funny sitcom has the obligatory 'superior' woman, who doesn't have the book smarts of the boys next door but certainly provides the clever 'street smart superiority' of "I am woman, hear me roar." Not to mention keeping the equality of representation issue at bay... we have a strong female role on the show, look at us... we do see? There she is right there, adding to the hyperbole of the guys being so smart they are dumb. Even Lucy at her ditziest got her way in the end and Desi was her long suffering protector but since she won was she the dumb one after all?

Power is a balance. You can't give power to someone without taking it away from someone else. Since women have (historically) been downtrodden, put upon, treated as less than chattel and seen as not even smart enough to vote; it's now okay to take that sense of empowerment and use it to do the same to men? Sorry I don't think so, at least not in my world. So when does the pendulum stop? When does the swing go back the other way and MEN take the world back, get their empowerment back? Get their self esteem and their innate abilities to be just as good as woman? Puleasse... Stop using your 'so called' superiority and 'equality' (women and men aren't equal and I for one, appreciate that fact)

I LIKE being a woman. That doesn't mean I have to be better than a man. Sometimes, in somethings, I don't even have to be even as good as a man, so long as I still like being a woman.

(taking this rant to my own blog, sorry for grabbing on it AAG but thank you for giving me a reason to actually get uptight enough to write again :)

Bree

To continue... Some of the posters pointed out that in their opinion (cause that's all we really got here, folks, is opinions after all) jokes such as this were just one more 'nail in the coffin' and every time someone laughed at one such or didn't speak out against they were giving their approval, silent or otherwise.

I disagree.

I think every time we overreact to something like this we put a nail in a whole other 'coffin'. I think it serves only to reinforce the stereotype. Actually, a case can be made for Paul being the butt of this whole thing much more than Heather. She got her 'dues' and if it happens to be put forth in the guise of sex as a service so freaking what? She did alright out of the whole thing, didn't she? She got the nice place to live, she got the money to spend on her personal hobby horses. If she did or didn't love him isn't really the issue, is it? So long as she was 'compensated' for her time, then all is right and well with the world. Frankly I think it was probably worth it to Paul (and no he's not my favorite beatle either but I can't say that I'd want him shot for it *eyerolls*) to pay that to rid of her from his life.

Divorce settlements are as ridiculous as every other thing done to 'result in a fair and equitable treatment of women'. You want equal babe? Try paying the settlement instead of receiving it. Try convincing a judge (predisposed to being a 'fair and reasonable person seen to represent the public opinion at hand and uphold the current laws of the land') that you did your level best to support your partner in what has now become a failed marriage. That while you may have brought home the larger share of the finances due to an agreement between yourself and your partner that now that the marriage CONTRACT is over, you shouldn't have to continue doing so, most likely at the expense of having a reasonable ability to live your own self. Try that on for size. Try paying to see your kids (been there done that and still pissed at it, since the ex did his very best to alienate me and present me as a 'bad mom' and had his whole act bought by a female judge...yay Sisterhood, way to stick it to your own), try having every time you fight against the 'pay for this or else I'll take you to court' be a losing battle. Then you can suck it up and claim equality.

Getting divorced isn't about sticking it to the other person, but what do women do? They cry, they ply their feminine wiles and claim weakness and inability to support themselves. Shouldn't they want to stand on their own feet? Not accept a free ride till they get married again and start living off someone else's labours? (before you get all twisted, OBVIOUSLY I'm taking about divorces such as Paul and Heather and not one where the woman is left raising x kids on her own with any source of income whatsoever, that's different and if you don't know it, you ought to)

Every time WE as women, demand our fair treatment, our fair share, our DUE we set ourselves back. Being equal means accepting the ups with the downs, not getting the downs smoothed over because we are women and history has treated us badly. So what? suck it up. Get a grip. Stop wanting it both ways. Stop being like Oprah who when told by an audience member that he didn't see a black woman before him but a successful business person whose opinion he respected, remarked to the effect of but you have to see that I'm black and a woman or else you aren't acknowledging me. It doesn't work that way... not if you want fair and equal treatment for all. Making an employer accept a female employee because 'it's fair' doesn't make it fair. Not unless she was the only applicant for the job that met all the criteria to the highest level of requirement. THEN it's fair and only then. Taking our shot along with everyone else, and with no regard what so ever given to our gender (or for that matter race or any other 'special' aspect of ourselves we go around demanding be acknowledged) and having the person best suited to the position chosen. That will be fair. That will also, the way the world is going, likely be a very long cold day in hell; but I hope I'm wrong and people will stop asking for special treatment as their fair treatment and get on with things.

Revisited

2009-08-08T23:19:00.002-06:00

Or, I suppose, proof that nothing ever really goes away on the 'net. The other night I had to wait up till a rather late hour to be an alarm clock for hubby.

I'd exhausted all my regular reads and played enough mindless games to satisfy that urge for quite some time. I was puttering around the house trying to stay awake so I started poking around my hard drive(s) trying to see if I could find 'any' of my past posts on other blogs I've had. Some of them were quite innocuous but there are a few I truly wish I had copies of.

Then I recalled The Way Back Machine. This awesome and somewhat frightening :) archive has been around for a long time.

You type in the url of the site you can no longer find and voila.. there is it, archived for ever more. Or at least the foreseeable future.

I didn't find all the posts I wanted to. This 'machine' takes snapshots of the pages but I did find some. I was much more interested in putting my opinions and ideas out there 'way back when' so over the next little while I'm going to post the old posts here to see if that gets my gotta say it motor running again.

It was a touch startling to find that I'm still annoyed by things I was in 2004 ;) but ... hope you enjoy regardless.

I hate colds...
Sunday 05.23.04 [10:18 pm]

There now I feel better. Well, really I don't but I'm not gonna whine about my summer cold.

I figured I'd moan about Dr. Laura. Gaaah, I hate it when that woman is right . Now to be honest, she's often *right*... it's her way of delivering the message I have issues with. (for the people that expect some sense to my posts (gives you a look), she was right about the message to not hide from our children what is going on in the world...it's better that they know the truth... and you can agree or disagree as you see fit, I know what I think.)

Now, on to my moaning about her... does she have to be such a *EH*... what's an appropriate word?

Oh, wait, I know... bitch about the advice she's giving?

Sure, she's heard the same question asked ad nauseum... but let's consider for a moment. This is a (to hear it told, I haven't checked out her credentials nor do I have any wish to) respected Dr. She's got enough of a following from her books and other things to have a radio show, that a whole heck of a lot of people listen to and try to live their lives by, via the advice she sends out each time she's in front of the mike. So okay, it's a custom or ritual or what have you to thank her for taking your call...

(to be brutally truthful, she didn't, the lady who mans the phones (and no PC crap ok, you all know what I mean by that) took your call, and thought a few things, i.e. your voice is ok for radio, you have a topical or interesting question that will likely segue nicely into a canned message by the DR. and so into the que you go.)

So anyway... The Dr. answers and you thank her for taking your call usually adding in how you've listened for a while, respect her opinion and generally kiss her ass, wasting, I might add, valuable

air time, but ok, you wanna, so you do... she acknowledges it, sometimes with an edge already to her voice, 'cause she already knows what your question is or what it is in regards to at the very least. Sure she's got the foreknowledge of whatever notes/signals, how ever she's getting the message about your call...but you don't know that, so off you start, giving all the details that you feel are pertinent. After all, this is your big chance to ask THE DOCTOR, the person you listen to, daily maybe, whose opinion you respect, even revere, how to fix YOUR life. And she cuts you off. She basically tells you off for not hearing the answer in the last 10 or 20 or *how many calls have I had on this subject, she asks her staff*. No matter to her, that your life is yours, and thereby different to anyone else's so of course you believe your circumstances are pertinent to the situation. No matter that you might well be on the brink of a breakthrough, if only you can talk to the DR. and hear her address YOUR problems. Nope, you get cut off, told off for being too wishywashy or selfish, or oh my gosh, too ambitious in your life to even be ALLOWED to have children. She tears you apart, telling the entire world what's wrong with you, in 10 words or less (or so some of her some time listeners might wish) and then expects you to go out and *do the right thing*.

Sure, I mean why not... go ahead and talk to your children like someone you respected enough to phone, sit on hold for how ever long to wait to talk to, someone who just took about 35 seconds to tear you apart. That'll help you be an effective parent and fix your life, as well as your troubled teen's life too. Oh and while you're at it, be damned sure to be a doormat to your children and teach them that they are the ONLY force in this world important... forget that you are too... forget that as a real live human being you are entitled to feelings and respect and oh.. my ... gosh... love.

I wonder if it ever even occurs to her that she's a rolemodel to these people. A role model often sending a not so great message... one where it's okay to be impatient and condescending to folks because YOU ARE RIGHT. These people actually hang on her every word and might think that's the way to deal with others. And who knows, it might even be the way to deal with the S*O*B who's messing up their lives. But, she can tell from a 20 second conversation? I uh, don't think so... I don't like radio pscychology at the best of times, there's far too many ways to mess with someone's head given that medium... my point is, these people think it's then ok to go out and speak to others the way they've just been spoken to. Oh, I'm sure that some people give the phone a look and go *what the hell was that?* and reevaluate why they'd ask such a condescendingly rude person their opinion anyways...and those are likely the calls that get *cut short*. Listen to her show, you'll know what I mean. ;). Some calls just end. Rather abruptly.

Like this rant *GRIN*.

G'head, make it again, we'll wait.

2009-07-21T00:30:00.003-06:00

On saturday past, the kids, hubby and I trundled off to the city. Anticipation was at hand; we were about to see the new Harry Potter film, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Hubby had no idea what to expect as he hasn't read the book; DD#3 and I have both read them all, over and over. DD#4 is currently reading Philosopher's Stone but has listened to the first 6 books on tape. The unabridged versions, so knows the story pretty nearly as well as DD#3 and I do. This is usually the case. Hubby prefers to see the movie first, then listen to the books on tape. Us, not so much.

Movie nights are big in our family. Over the past 20 years hubby and I have seen a lot of them. We always sit through the credits because we're both big on it's not just the actors or directors that make the film. It's the writers, the AD, the cinematographer, the craft services, the continuity department, the cgi department and even the guy who drives the honey wagon that make the film worthwhile. It's a labour you gotta love, cause it's long tedious work, no matter how excited you get about doing it; so to honor those folks we sit through the credits. It's our little thing.

The HP movies (among other 'series' we enjoy) are an occasion for us, we do it up :) you see. Go out for dinner at a favourite restaurant, anticipate...oh there's that word again... get excited. We look forward to these times. We see a lot of movies as a family, but most often it's on dvd or ppv. Going to the theatre for one is saved for the big family faves, like Harry Potter and well Ice Age for another.

Anyway, we're anticipating, you all got that right? We're excited. We know the story. We're not really expecting any plot twists but we like to see how what we imagine when we read (or listen) to the stories comes out on film. So we nod to each other (that's dd#3 and I) when the movie begins. The nods quickly change to confused expressions. Hers starts to frown, mine to shrug, not much I can do to change the movie. See, that's already been done.

So Mr Yates and Ms Rowling, I would just like to know.. WTF?

When did Dumbledore become the slightest bit concerned about Harry's love life? When did Harry's life revolve around anything muggle? And when the hell did he go from slightly uncomfortable around girls to mr schmooze?

Oh and the whole 'ink in the water effect' ... little over used don't you think? I mean for starters, that whole three columns of black illwill disguised as ... hmm... ink in water but morphing a little? That was cheesy when the bad guys did that zoom around threesome deal in one of the Superman movies back when.

On what page in the book does The Burrow burn down? Cause I've read my copy cover to cover at least 5 times and I can' find that scene anywhere. And for that matter, how did the time leap happen so that Tonks and Remus are dating already? I'm surprised you didn't have her already preggers.

Why does Luna find Harry in the train, not Tonks, oh wait I know, cause she's off snogging Remus? *bleah*

Course, you can make it alright by turning the camera angles all wonky. First time I've felt vertigo watching a movie, btw. Yates? You wanna make *art films* please go do so without messing with an already awesome story and established and easily recognized backstory. Turning it on it's side and whipping the camera around won't make it anymore interesting to me.

Ms. Rowling??? Please... please tell me what you were thinking? IS THIS why there's to be two Deathly Hallows movies? To put right the utter ridiculousness of the mangled plot in this one? Did you have to negotiate and insist on certain things to get that done? I want to believe that's the reason.... I really do.

Oh there were bright spots, Lavender was a hoot, even though the actress might have been discouraged from that whole predatory crouch deal she had going on. The twins in their suits, the joke shop and I can even understand leaving out the poster though it would have been funny :). Seemed like the movie would get going off on a tangent, then suddenly it was *really important* to hit a plot point so it would veer back to the book almost word for word, then off it would go on some cockeyed vertiginous journey again. Why mess with it? Why make it damn near unrecognizable?

I'm not a director, I've not gone to school to learn this and my movie experience is about thatmuch. But speaking as a consumer of movies for a lot more years than I care to admit to here, what the freaking hell?

I understand about leaving things out that flesh out the book for lack of time or real importance to the movement of the film or plot. You can't dress every desk the way it's written in the book. Nor can you hit every little byplay between the characters, that's why we read the books, I get that, we enjoy that part but it's tedious to put on film and one scene well done is enough to establish the dislike between the characters, or the friendship or attraction. So yes, you have to edit... I get that...But making stuff up? Don't get that at all.

You wanted to show the horror of Voldemort and how he was impacting the muggle world too, how about a newspaper shot.... one page muggle news, the page turns, the other side is the wizard world report. And lose the idiotic black smoke of death crap. You want sinister? How about a cloaked man sweeping up a family and then showing the abandoned half eaten meal still warm on the table? Too mundane? Too done? It's a movie based on a successful series FOR CHILDREN. Trust me they haven't seen it before and even if they did, as a director you should be able to tell a story without the fuss and bull of inky deathsmoke.

Yes, that stuff really bugged me.

This was the conversation as for the first time in 20 years I watched my hubby walk out on the credits of a film. I think had it just been he and I, we'd have left before the movie ended to be honest....another first.

DD#3, "We don't have to buy it, do we?"
Hubby grunts.
DD#3 "But then we won't have the set, okay we can buy but we never have to watch it again, right?"
DD#2 "Right!"

These kids will watch the first 5 movies over a weekend and the very next weekend will ask to do it again.

So... please, MAKE IT AGAIN... please? We'll wait, we promise....

I'll take that answer :)

2009-06-25T14:43:00.001-06:00

Your result for The Classic Dames Test...

Katharine Hepburn

You scored 10% grit, 38% wit, 48% flair, and 14% class!

You are the fabulously quirky and independent woman of character. You go your own way, follow your own drummer, take your own lead. You stand head and shoulders next to your partner, but you are perfectly willing and able to stand alone. Others might be more classically beautiful or conventionally woman-like, but you possess a more fundamental common sense and off-kilter charm, making interesting men fall at your feet. You can pick them up or leave them there as you see fit. You share the screen with the likes of Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant, thinking men who like strong women.

Find out what kind of classic leading man you'd make by taking the
Classic Leading Man Test.

Take The Classic Dames Test at HelloQuizzy

Blank canvas

2009-06-23T23:07:00.000-06:00

Evening after evening my mind wanders a little as I drive home from picking up the girls. For the record, I'm not a careless driver and have avoided a number of near misses with others more so over the years. But with those years comes some autopilot ability and hence I tend to do a lot of plot planning and character designing while driving. Because in the immortal words of the procrastinator; "One day when I have time I will write a novel."

I've mentioned before how if I could hook up to my brain with a word processor that this blog would be full of wonderment and insightful musings that would lead you all down such paths of self discovery it would be amazing.

Sadly (you in the back, I hear you laughing) that wondrous connection between consciousness and the written word is yet in our future. So you're stuck with what lingers after I get home, argue with the kids about whether or not it's the week they switch chores and how if they weren't done the week before it wouldn't really be fair to switch them, so quit trying to get out of it by not doingittillit'snotyourturn... ahem.

So this is what you're left with.

A blank screen, well, technically a blank composition area on blogger backend. Still and all, there's something compelling about a blank page, a canvas for one's words if you will. Shall I paint a picture of my day? How about one of a cherished memory? Oh, I know, I'll trace for you an emotion. Sketch the lines of it perfectly with words. Shade it with synonyms and just the right touch of hyperbole. Add in a touch of humor to lighten and a smidge of sarcasm for realism. Yes, that's it, that's perfect. I'll just dab this little bit of sadness in the corner and voila, a masterpiece for the ages.

So, okay, a master painter with words I am not. At least, not yet. Will I ever stir someone's heart to an emotion long forgotten? It's possible, it just might be. But I won't get there without practice and tossing aside my fears and getting around to that some day when.

'Cause honey? I got time. No time like the present. I got ideas, out the whaaazoo. That's part of the problem, how do I wed myself to one set of the characters in my head. Their stories are always evolving and sometimes when I set them aside for a time and then come back to them I find they kept on doing so and I no longer recognize them.

Is that the chance all writers take? That the story they set out to tell is not the one told at the end of it all? Is that okay? For me? For them? Does it matter? Isn't it just about getting the words down, the story out, finding out the ending, how the heroine (or hero for the sake of being totally PC) survived or didn't; what sacrifices (s)he might have had to make to get there...

Maybe I'd be better as an essayist, after all. The stories amuse me, but would they amuse others? The odd few I've let read my story words tell me they want more of them. I've been swatted with pages of my manuscript and admonished with remarks to the effect of get writing already and it gladdens my heart.

But what if, when all is said and done, no one wants to read my words after all? What then?

So much better to sit here with the lovely anticipation of a blank canvas and the imaginations of every wonderful story I know I could write if I'd just put pen to page, pencil to paper, cursor to screen.

And there you have it, the procrastination of a wanna be writer. Terror and anticipation, fear and ego, excitement and procrastination at its very finest.

Interesting :)

2009-05-14T11:35:00.004-06:00

A friend sent me the following email:

Subject: Answer me first, then forward

If you saw ME in the back of a police car, what would you think I'd been arrested for?

Reply to me alone, then forward to your friends

Well the idea tickled me, so I sent this off to online friends and family and friends who have access.

Here are the responses I received:

"Hmmmm.....I have no idea. Assault with a dangerous knitting needle?" - this from a recent gamer friend.

"Mouthing off the policeman." - from a younger buddy who knows me through a club of sorts who has become a family friend

"That your car had broken down and the police just were giving you a ride to the nearest station." - aww :) this is from my best friend.

"Slapping the shit out of somebody for terminal stupidity." - another online friend to whom I've ranted about said terminal stupidity :).

"Er... no idea." - well that's reassuring ;).

"For streaking. LOL." - a coworker. (A smart ass one at that :P)

"Defending your kids." - another coworker. She's on the money there, and I'd say the same thing about her.

These are the only ones I've received so far. I'll add more if they come in.

Makes a mother proud... Take 2

2009-04-01T14:49:00.002-06:00

A little bit better than a couple of weeks ago, my 12 yo came home from school really excited about a fundraiser at her school. I wrote about it last entry.

Some details I got wrong. There are 281 students in the school, not the 360 or so I thought. This all started with one girl asking the school if she could raise $250 if she could have her head shaved in assembly to heighten awareness.

The idea caught on and the 'offer' was made to the students. 25 kids signed up. Some teachers offered to participate if certain milestones were reached.

The Canadian school record was $16,500. Smoked by that in the first 4 days. Some kids reached their goal of $250 very early on and asked if they could allocate some of their funds towards other kids getting their heads shaved and so the number of participants grew. On Wednesdays the hat was passed at school and kids anted up $600 in loose change. Two and one half more heads could be shaved by the way they were keeping score.

New milestones were set in place by the faculty and an awareness of something big began to permeate the school. The principal said he'd do it if $27,500 was raised. Two people had acquired a part time job counting funds, recording amounts and lists for donation receipts. The excitement among those with children at the school grew even more.

On Monday the 30th, the grade 7 band were off on a field trip and upon arriving back at the school, they went to check the totals and found the 'thermometer' gone. the speculation that they had passed $30,000 was rife. By now over 40 students were slated to be buzzed.

Today at the assembly the results were announced:
281 students donated. That is, every single student in the school made a donation.
There were over 1000 other individual and corporate donations. That's in addition to the 281 individual donations by the students.
10 staff, 42 students and 5 family/friends were set to shave their heads. That's 57 in total.
13 hairstylists/barbers signed up to donate their time to shave heads. Pony tails were collected to send off for wigs.
Prizes for the students were donated by the Calgary Stampeders, The Calgary Hitmen, The Calgary Flames, Shakers Leisure Center, The Town of High River.

And... oh yeah the total.

$51,578. 81

That's over 3 times the Canadian record for a school donation for leukemia AND.... is also the largest ever donation for leukemia research in North America by a school EVER.

DD#3? More concerned with the kotc of a friend in a pic than the fact that she has a shaved head and participated in something so monumental it could change the world for many people.

There were some incredible heroes there today. Every single one of those kids accomplished something fantastic and amazing, but a select few of them stood out for me as I've known them outside of the school and away from being DD#3's classmates and friends. They are all members of the Foothills Youth Foundation and I've watched them stand around in the hot sun and cold rain to make sure every single child who wanted their face painted, got done. I've seen them show up early, and leave late to make sure that events have run smoothly. I've been witness to the way they present themselves, proud, strong and creative. Unwilling to take no for an answer no matter how many times they've heard it. I've watched them grieve the passing of a beloved founder of the foundation and I've watched them walk for hours at RelayforLife in her honour. I've watched them participate in the 30 hour famine cheerfully and happily. They're onto something at an age where it can only become a habit and what better habit could a child acquire than putting forth effort on the behalf of others?

I"m not just proud of my daughter. I'm proud of every single one of these kids that I know, and even those I don't.

They reminded me today, and I believe they also reminded a lot of other people, that from a little acorn a mighty oak tree may grow. They know what they did. They are proud of it, but they are also not ready to relax on their laurels here.

I can't wait to see what these guys do next.

I'm sure I'll be proud.

Makes a mother proud..

2009-03-19T17:26:00.002-06:00

In general, I'm very proud of my kids. All five of them are unique, capable in their abilities and generally pretty smart kids/adults.

Sometimes they go a bit beyond that, each in their own way.

That's where DD#3 is at just at this moment. Well often :) but as I said, particularly so.

Last summer she got her ponytail cut off and donated it to a place where they make wigs for cancer patients and others who have lost their hair due to illness, or treatment. Pretty proud moment.

She's walked with a team in the Relay for Life fundraiser in the past, and wants to again this year.

Now...she's one of 37 students in her combination junior/senior high school, who are raising a minimum of $250 each for the privilege of having their heads shaved in front of the whole school on April 1, 2009. There are ~360 students in this school. 25% of the teachers (all male) are also having their heads shaved if the kids reach certain goals. Many of them are already accomplished.

This is not a call for donations, however if anyone does want to, please feel free to make a donation to your local charity/fundraiser of choice.

I'm just damned proud of her and wanted to tell as many folks as I can.

My cat is really an evil scientist....

2009-01-30T22:08:00.003-07:00

At least that's the theory I came up with driving to work this morning. In my sleep deprived state. I think he's experimenting on me to see how long I can actually go without sleep. Or rather, what happens if I keep getting woken out of sound sleep.

Last night DH was driving home from Saskatchewan and called me a time or two through the night for one thing or another. Thud thought this was delightful and sat upon my chest through each phone call, patting his paw at my lips as though to tell me to shush. Gee, do you think I was disturbing his sleep with my chatting?

After each phone call, I curled up and he flopped on the bed beside me. Waiting just that precise amount of time to when I was a breath or two away from blissful sleep he'd get to his paws and MEOW in my face, tickling his whiskers against my nose and cheek.

AWAKE!

"well, *purr*, since you're awake anyways, *nudge*, wouldn't you like to pet me?" *cold nose under my hand, body arching to make me pet over him, *repeat as needed...

Flop. Curling on his side, paws patting at my hand as I actively pet him, if only to shush his loud meowing.

His prrrs would grow louder, my hand would slow and he and I would both fall asleep.

RING.

Repeat as required apparently.

Not sure if I'm ready for this...

2009-01-25T19:02:00.002-07:00

Yesterday, after a day running errands and the kids being relatively (no blood) well behaved and working (no bruises) on getting along I decided a reward (accentuate the positive) was in order.

We decided (I pulled into a parking spot 3 spaces from the door to the theatre) that a movie was in order and expected a joyous chorus of happy when I announced that I was taking them to see Inkheart. Well I got half of the expected response.

Hmmm... turns out that dd#3 aka the 12yo had other plans. SHE wanted to see this movie Twilight . Ahem ... we have read the Inkheart books together. Discussed them, eagerly awaiting the transition to film. Lamented the delays, watched the trailers with dismay as it didn't look like it was going to make the leap well... and what? YOU don't want to see this movie with ME?

Wait a minute here. She wanted to go to the Twilight movie instead of Inkheart. What the hell?

"You guys," that's me and the 7 yo... "You guys can go see Inkheart and I'l go to Twilight alone." Gulp. A dozen thoughts ran through my head, most of them beginning with the word "NO". We're at a fairly large mall on a Saturday evening. In the city. She's 12. Albeit a pretty mature and sensible 12. One who has proven she has a level head and one I've always allowed certain decisions. So it wasn't really that big of a stretch for her to go to a movie on her own. In fact, she has done so before.

THAT wasn't the point.

The point was, I wanted her to go to Inkheart with me. I wanted the whispers and hand squeezes that we've shared through so many film adaptations of books we'd both read. I was losing my reading buddy, my genre pal. Gack.

My older girls read but neither of them are into the books that I like. #3 is...or was.. or well fine she still is. She just wanted to see Twilight more than Inkheart.

So, I went to inkheart with the 7 yo and the 12 yo went off to Twilight (the best movie ever) on her own. The 7 yo and I enjoyed the movie, but since she didn't know the story it didn't involve the anticipation for particular scenes that I'd anticipated. It did include some whispers and the shared smiles that I had been though.

The movies let out within 7 minutes of each other so that whole worry about the big bad city part was negligible.

She didn't tell me about the movie she saw, we didn't tell her about the movie we watched either. We had the last tape of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince to listen to on the drive home.

At least somethings are still normal.

Grudges and why I hold them

2008-10-08T19:51:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I'm not a very nice person. When I say I'm not a nice person I don't mean I'm rude to strangers or pushy in lineups or beat my children behind closed doors, not that sort of not nice. I mean that when I don't like someone or feel hard done by by the actions of someone I don't automatically do the above, absolve them of their *crimes* against me just because of their present circumstances.I really don't buy into the whole 'the minute someone is terminally or critically ill, they are absolved of all the nastiness they've created or spewed out into the world thing'.

People are who they are. Getting sick is about getting sick. It is not a free pass for being a prick.

I do however believe in Karma. In fact, I've learnt not to tempt Karma as SHE has a very distinct and incisive sense of humour.

So perhaps, this might be not a good idea but here goes anyway.

I believe 'THAT' is karma. Not meaning to say that she's my personal revenge sidekick because THAT would be TEMPTING KARMA and that I do not do. Ever. Besides, chances are, they aren't just unnice to me. I'm talking about the people about whom it is said, "oh that's just *insert name*, they're just that way." The ones whose cutting remarks leave you curled and bleeding with their careless or sometimes purposeful slashes and jabs.

Um... no.

If someone goes around being a dink to people, they will get theirs. I believe it was Oprah Winfrey (yeah yeah I USED to like her) who said that she believes that people will get theirs, she just wants to be there to watch it happen.

:)I'm with her.

So what, exactly, am I babbling about? I'm talking about coworkers and others in my past who have been inconsiderate and at times out and out nasty to me. For no good reason other than some misguided sense that feeling better than me made them better over all.

There are a couple of women in the southwest Calgary area who followed me around a grocery store once, making remarks one wouldn't expect from teenaged girls about someone who 'looked' at the boy they pretend is their boyfriend. Nasty, mean spirited outright hurtful things to say to anyone let alone a complete stranger. Bet those two were real popular in high school. I'm talking about them.

There's an ex coworker of mine from... gee... nearly 26 years ago now, who actually sabotaged the work that left her desk to make my job harder, simply because she didn't like me. Despite repeated reminders that she was shooting herself in the foot by our manager she continued these actions till we were both fired. You can bet I'm talking about her.

There's a couple of grade school teachers who by their every day actions contributed to my junior high days being a wedge of time I'd rather not think about. Thanks for the help in growing up there, ladies, and there is no consolation in knowing that you messed up your own daughters the same way (blessed are those who grow up in a small town :) for they know all, even after they leave, courtesy of those who do not.). It really doesn't make what you did to me and others in your classes any less painful, even some 30 plus years later.

So, yeah, I'm talking about them, too.

These are all people to whom I was nothing more than peripheral. In fact, in the case of the two *ladies* who followed me around a grocery store for upwards of 15 minutes taunting me like kindergarteners, I was a complete stranger.

I'm no where near perfect. I've snipped at people and had others chastise me for my tone in talking to people and such. I've been the nasty customer who'd better get some satisfaction, but, you know, I've also been the one who calls up to make sure that the boss knows the extra efforts someone has gone to on my behalf. I try to balance my actions, rather than walk the tight rope of being understanding and considerate 100% of the time.

That way has gotten me walked on by people in my life.

So the pendulum swings.

People to whom I've been nothing more than a blip, here's notice that when something bad happens to you, you won't have to worry about whether I still think you're a creep. if you were before you still are, most likely and for the very few who actually take the wake up call and do something about it, good for you...but I'll believe it...when I see it.

You know who you are:

You've passed me on the highway, shaking your fist at me because I was driving slower than you and you had to shake yourself out of the stupor you usually drive in to pass me. To you, it's just an extra $10 at the gas station, to me that's two meals for my family so pardon me while I drive a little slower to get more out of my car.

You've gotten impatient behind me in line because I actually took the time to know the prices of the items I was buying. To you it's a buck, to me it's a loaf of bread. 'Scuse me for feeding my family, yet again.

You've brushed by me at the grocery store, without so much as a kindly smile or a murmured ''scuse me'. You've nearly run over my children because you had to get out of the parking lot that fast. You've snarled at me over the phone because the product the company I work for produces did pretty much exactly what it's supposed to, never once realizing that the problem was you.

When, just when did the world become about you?

So it has been, so it always will be.

2008-07-10T20:57:00.000-06:00

You know that movie, Days of Thunder? With Tom Cruise? How when the two drivers are injured they race in the hospital corridor, and then later on in the rental cars, destroying them completely in their attempt to best each other? And in the end, how the driver and the crew boss (pit boss) race for the sheer enjoyment of racing, of competing.

This movie and others like it, many with other themes but the same underlying message go on to show how that type of rivalry, the competition, the respect, grudgingly given though it might be, that comes for and from a worthy opponent and how it can turn a dislike or disdain into a lasting friendship.

That need to best your peers seems to be at its height around me at the moment. All the sports I love to spectate are currently active to one degree or another and I'm revelling in it.

Can you guess what sports I'm avid about? I'll give you a hint, the first is considered 'big business' and much money is spent on advertising at one particular game in the US every year. It's a team game and has as many sets of rules as there are continents. There's nothing universal about it.

Not hockey (although it has its place) and certainly not baseball, because while it's an enjoyable afternoon to sit in the stands and watch a game, or lounge on the grass and cheer for family and friends it's just not...exhilarating to watch like the other sports I love.

FOOTBALL. CFL football to be exact. NFL may have the glitz and the dollars and the hype but CFL has the action. We're gearing up for the season. The pigskin is tossed, thrown for yardage; sometimes spiked hard into the limed grass in the endzone and I watch, happy, excited and somewhat smug in my knowledge of the plays and game strategy. Did you know that among spectator sports football is considered one of the hardest to understand? I simply do not get that. Football is like war. Organized, civiled war. Each team takes their turn at capturing the territory, marching the ball in concerted spurts of effort. If they succeed they get another go. If they don't they switch to the defensive and the other team marches onward, regaining the territory lost.

Sweet battle. The gridiron. Power and strength. Hulking shoulders, lithe hips, strong thighs and sadly no more huddles. Ah the huddles... can we hear an 'oh yeah' to the huddles?

Ahem... yes.. Football. One of my favourite spectator sports.

Yet, still not my favouritest. It's my blog, I'll invent words on it iffen I want to.

Next on the list show jumping. Yes, elitism at its finest. I ride. I ride Western. The closest I've ever come to jumping was pointing a hunter trained horse at a jump once by mistake and barely staying in the saddle as she sailed over it. I fancy that I understand the connection between horse and rider. It's there, between any rider and any horse but between some of the 'stars' of the equestrian ring that connection is very nearly visible to the naked eye. An adjunct to showjumping would have to be dressage. Yes, I know that some believe that watching dressage is akin to watch paint dry but I'll be plunked down in front of my tv set through the Olympics sucking up the chance to watch televised dressage and showjumping. And three day eventing for good measure. Yet, still not my most favourite of all sport.

That I reserve for *drumroll and trumpet fanfare please...*

My most favourite of sports of all.

Chuckwagon racing.

WPCA, CPCA. Kelly Sutherland, The Glass family, Ron, Tom and Jason. The checkerboard wagon. The Irish Shamrocks of Doyle Mullaney. The Bashaw Flash. The Cosgroves and their tragedy, everyone's tragedy. The sons of sons of drivers as the tradition lives on. The wry remarks of some, "I was born in a wagon, what else do I do but become an outrider?"The cries of the crowd. The way grandstands rock and tremble as hundreds of fans stomp their feet to bring the wagons home. The gravelly tones of Joe Carbury and Les McIntyre.

...more to come...

More Riches

2008-05-17T23:46:00.000-06:00

A couple of years back I worked here. I gave walking tours to grade 4 and 5 schoolchildren primarily from Calgary. High River has 3 elementary schools, and the year I did the tours there, only one class from High River came out. The lakebed was dry enough for a few years at the end of WW2 that it was used as a landing strip for pilots in training to practice take offs and landings. Now it's a carefully husbanded series of basins that serve as a natural water filtration system. (isn't it amazing what nature will do if we just let her?)

Over the years it's had a varied and sometimes tragic history. It was fun taking the kids along the shore, pointing out various birds and talking about their habits and how all the animals, birds, reptiles and insects lived together in a food chain. My favourite part though, was at the end of the walk, within site of the buses waiting to take them back to school. We'd stop at a rock, like many of the rocks surrounding the lake. We'd talk about the way the glaciers had left behind the rocks like discarded running shoes and socks as it melted back to the mountains. I'd ask them to sit quietly (not that huge a hardship, we'd just hiked 1.5 km) and close their eyes to listen to the symphony of sound. Often enough that it seemed prearranged the various birds would oblige me with a background sound of the Franklin Gulls, the occasional lone cry of the Arctic Tern and for effect, the screendoor creaking cry of the Yellow Headed Blackbird, all birds we'd spoken of on our hike. I'd ask them to listen for the sound of the wind through the grass and it was amazing to watch their faces as they picked out sound after sound.

I'd ask them to imagine the lake 50 years ago, 100 years, 300 years ago. We'd talk about the buffalo and how the last one seen in the area was seen in the mist of an early morning some time in 1952. I'm not a treehugger in the sense of living without to save the planet but I do think it's important for children (and some adults to be honest) to learn about what we're giving up for all our mod cons.

Riches on my doorstep.

2008-05-14T22:05:00.000-06:00

I pass by this place every workday on my commute. Twice technically, but the highway is divided through town so it's only on my way home that I'm greeted by the two period planes on their stands, forever lifting from the ground, forever grounded. I've driven by it approximately 170 times, just commuting. It's a way point on our drive. It means we're nearly home, safe and sound with only the last stretch of 20 or so kms ahead of us. Often we stop for gas or at the grocery store for something for supper. The planes off to the right and to the left above the model train place an over sized flag with a Union Jack on a light blue background. I'm not sure if it's flown by the Legion, or Friends of the Air Museum or the town or a combination of the whole lot. Recently, it flew at half mast in honour as a local family mourned and celebrated the sacrifice of their son.

I'm a 'newcomer' though, so I don't know the family nor the soldier, but it made me remember every time I drove through town. Unlike many of the 'memorials' (and frankly I'm using the word very loosely there) at intersections and along various roads to mark where someone has died in a car accident, it didn't make me angry or annoyed to be reminded. It made me proud.

But enough of that.

A week or two ago, after much nagging and a chorus of "please can we go..." with an encore or twelve I reluctantly set out to drive to the city for some watersliding swimmin'ing time. For one reason and another I wended my way through town instead of following the north bound leg of the highway and so found myself just down the street from the museum.

The bomber was out for a cleaning. I stopped, much to the chagrin of the 'chorus' in the backseat (and front for that matter) and grabbed my camera to snap a few shots.

I've never gone through the museum. I've stopped in once and had a quick peek in the foyer as I asked about upcoming events but I never went back.

Here is history, carefully and lovingly preserved, right on my doorstep and I never even stop to look. Shame on me.

Adler Online

2008-04-26T11:03:00.002-06:00

Good morning, Charles. I commented on your show with regard to this letter (You might need to search for it, couldn't find a trackback). I'm not particularly articulate commenting on the radio, apparently :), but I was trying to say that ignorance isn't always in the eyes of those beheld. Sometimes it's just as much or more in the eyes of those doing the beholding. Your friend sees all this going on around him, and he passes judgement. That, in and of itself, I find interesting. Just how much does he know about small towns and the dynamics within which they run? Did he leave a small town because of these very reasons to go off to the big city and become more enlightened or did he grow up in said city to seek out the 'idyllic life of small town Canada'?

Assuming that people are uninformed or uncaring of world events because they choose to focus on their surroundings and their portion of the world is as narrowminded as he seems to feel that those around him in the small town are. Sure, small towns are cliquey, you work with the people you grew up with. Bonds and biases formed in grade school colour your actions every day. Does that make you bigoted? I suppose it might. It also might make you comfortable and content to live the life you do. People leave small towns for the cities to seek out the 'world' and often return to refind the simpler things in life and then complain because their version of that simpler life isn't what they idealized. Dogs still crap on the grass. Cats still dig in the flower bed. Idiots still throw beer cans at your mailbox. Do you really think you left all that wonderful stuff behind when you moved to country life? It's the same sort of stupidity only flavoured with country.

Didn't you see that Chevy Chase movie? Funny Farm. Nasty people abound. Regardless of where. When you're dealing with a pool of 300 people instead of 3000 the concentrations are going to be higher because Like Attracts Like after all. If a person is happy in a small town it's because that's the way they want to live. Leave your city enlightenment where it belongs, thank you very much.

I don't live in the country or a small town because I want to have a neighbour that comes over with brownies when I move in. Or because I don't want the world events intruding on my idyllic sunrise watching with a cup of steaming coffee, leaning over the railing of my deck. I live in the country because when all is said and done I don't much like people and it's easier to avoid them in a small town. And if I want intelligent converation beyond that I already have, I'll join one of the many grass root clubs that still run in small towns. Like the Rebekahs, or the Women's Institute. Or maybe the Lions/Lionettes

You wave and smile and keep driving and you fit in, in a small town. Believe it or not. No one really wants to know all your business. I've found more prying people, more do gooder types, more people who are gonna save me no what what I want, in the city than I have ever in the country. I've had people intrude upon my life in the country, but every single one of them was some city folk type who moved out to 'seek a simpler life'.

I've met 'farmers' who live their lives on the dirt of the land, who could articulate in 3 sentences what it takes some philsophers volumes to impart. Life is as simple or as complicated as you make it. But because they really don't give a good shake of their head about world events, they are labelled as ignorant and bigoted men who are nothing more than rednecks. Give me a good rednecked man any day, frankly. At least I'll know that he knows how to work for a living.

Sometimes it's not about whether it will kill a seal, or a tree some continent away, it's about keeping the neighbour's dog out of your sheep pen. And when it's about that, it's simple. It's your sheep pen. Livestock law. Dog runs livestock, dog dies. End of story.

Oh, we're past that, that's barbaric, that's inhumane, that's *quick get the paint and make a sign to wave*.

Bullpucky.

That's the reality of life.

Life doesn't leave time for nitpicking the actions of others, if you're actively living it.

Found Treasures

2008-04-20T19:43:00.002-06:00

Today I found a back up disk from 'waaaayyyyyy baaackkkk' when. I think this is from a computer that primarily ran Windows ME (millenium edition) ... badly at that. Although,I think I eventually upgraded it to 2000. In fact, now that I think about it, we still have it and it still 'works' after a fashion but it's many a reformat ago that this disk is a back up of.

On it were a number of files I'm glad I found. Some patterns I'd saved from here and there on various websites that are long gone. Some notes for stories I was writing at the time (and still to be honest lol) and a few other saved emails and such.

The following was among these files, and since at the end of it, it says to repost freely I'm doing so. If anyone knows where this is from or who wrote it, please let us all know in the comments as it deserves credit.

Enjoy...

I went out last night, just after midnight, to make sure all the heat lamps
were working in the goat, chicken and turkey houses. The temperature was
supposed to go to zero or below. All the dogs had long gone to bed and the
night was silent. Stepping on the porch I was greeted with the sight of a
crystal clear sky and multitudes of stars. Turning on the flashlight (we
refuse to have one of those blasted dusk to dawn monstrosities that keep the
stars from shining) I made my way to the barn.

Earlier in the evening I had taken some straw to freshen the farm animal's
bedding, and had dropped a flake outside the gate that I failed to retrieve.
Walking down the drive, I saw a set of bloody paw prints pressed into the
snow, that came out of the woods and ended at the pile of straw by the gate.

Curled on the pile of straw was a dog. Medium sized. Could have been any
kind of dog. It was hard to tell in the darkness. The only thing for sure
was that it was a dark color. I put my hand on the back and felt cold ribs.

I took my gloves off and felt behind the front leg. A heart beat. Then I
heard a faint thump. The end of the tail was going up and down making a
slight impression in the snow, but the head didn't move. I saw the deep
brown eyes that seemed to say, "please don't run me off. I can't take
another step." The feet
were cracked and bleeding. I checked to make sure the heat lamps were
working and gently scooped up the frozen dog. No resistance, just the thump
of the tail. Not much weight for the size of the bundle. I made my way to
the front door.

Coming inside I laid the dog down inside the door. It never moved. Checking
to make sure everyone was still asleep, I began the search for a blanket. I
was pretty sure we had used the last dog blanket for our latest rescue.
Nothing in the closet, nothing in the dryer, nothing on the couch. I went to
the bedroom
and gently retrieved the one off the bed. Even it, was old and beginning to
fray around the edges, but it was the last one available. I folded it and
set it by the heat register closest to the furnace. Then I picked up the dog
and laid it down on top.

After midnight, on New Year's Eve, in a very rural area of Southwest
Missouri no way I could get a Vet to see this one tonight. We would have to
try tomorrow. I went to the kitchen and took a container of chicken broth
out of the fridge and popped in the microwave. I went back to the living
room and set the bowl down next to the blanket, within easy reach of the
cold nose. Another thump of the tail, was the only movement.

I reached down and put my hand under the chin, gently lifting the head. Now
inside I could see that the dog was black, at least on the parts that had
not turned gray. Almost the entire face showed the white signs of time past,
and the pupils surrounded by those dark brown eyes were blue. The ears were
that of a Lab and so was the tail which thumped every time I came near. The
body was skin and bone. There were no front teeth. The canines were worn or
broken down to nubs, and I was able to see three teeth in the back. I didn't
want to pry to see if the old dog was a male or female. It really didn't
matter anyway. I told the old dog I was going to go to bed and patted it's
head which was met by another thump of the tail.

On my way to the bedroom, I wondered how in the world the dog had gotten to
our farm. It came through the woods which were large and uninhabited. I also
wondered why here. The answer was simple. The hand of God had brought the
old dog to the right place.

It's morning now and I've been up for a few hours. The bowl of broth was
empty and the blanket was much as I had left it. No bloody paw prints on the
carpet, only on the old blanket. Sometime after I went to bed, the old dog
lapped up the chicken broth and licked the bowl clean. The blanket had been
fluffed a little and the old dog had curled into a tight ball with the nose
tucked inside the tail. When I bent down to say good morning, there was no
thump of the tail. I knew then that the old dog had crossed the Rainbow
Bridge in the night. Kneeling there in front of the old dog, I thanked God
for the one old blanket I had left and for the hand that gently guided the
old dog to Rainbow Farms. It was then
that I thought of the poem that Walt had written for us:

"Listen to the kindness, spoken softly,
Often lost behind the tears.
Place your hand upon my shoulder,
Let it take away my fears."

- --Walt Zientek

May the New Year bring you closer to the hand of God, and all the old
blankets you may need.

Permission is given to repost anywhere - maybe it'll catch a few who don't
appreciate the gift they have.

Dear Protestor:

2008-04-13T10:21:00.002-06:00

Dear Protestor:

I'm well aware of your views on [the Olympics/animal cruelty/Kyoto/globalwarming/insert current media darling cause de jour]. I'm not illiterate nor stupid so please don't assume that when I don't agree with you that it's because I don't understand the issue at hand. Or do not care enough.

I see you waving your signs, screaming like some maddened two year old throwing a tantrum and otherwise displaying your brutish behaviour; exemplifying your ignorance of the realities and true facts in so many different ways that any sympathy I may hold is quickly subsumed by the pure disgust for your disregard for the views of anyone else but you and your rabid cohorts.

Too harsh you say? Let's examine harsh. Dousing people with blood? To ruin the fur coat they are wearing. Why? So they'll go out and get another one, thereby requiring the (supposedly) inhumane slaughter of more helpless cute little minks? Ever met a mink? Talk to a farmer who's had to clean up dead fowl time after time and see how cute and helpless he finds them. Ask them how many of those chickens were destined for his own family's consumption. And releasing them to 'run free'. Yeah, there's a good idea. Turning helpless animals accustomed to the safety of cages out into the wild to die of hunger or horrendously at the paws and teeth of non-domesticated animals. Ever think about the consequences of your actions? Ever think rationally at all? Because about now, it doesn't appear that way to me.

And the lecturing me about how I could be a better resident of earth? Pullleeeassee...

Stop eating meat. Stop slaughtering animals bred purposefully for just that purpose and become vegan. Stop eating food I enjoy and thrive on? Put my children in danger of disease and illnesses that could be counteracted by eating a balanced diet?

Uh...,no. How about you just go ahead and live your life your way and stop telling me how to live mine?

Stop animal testing. Sure okay, you going to step up? Are you going to offer up your children to save the lives of thousands of others? Thought not. No, animals are not expendable but are humans? Although to see how you all wail about the cruelty to animals and turn a blind eye to the plight of people all around you living in less safety and comfort than most animals in a zoo or on a farm or heaven forbid running in a chuckwagon team. Not to mention with adequate and reliable healthcare. Given all that, I have to believe you do care more about animals than you do people.

Oh wait, you protest that too. From your home here in N. America. You protest about the actions of a country across the globe from you. Decrying the actions of people you have absolutely no clue about. But some celeb spokesperson you admired in a role in a movie or heard on the radio or wears the clothing you want to said they were bad, so here you go, jump on the bandwagon quick before it runs over your toes.

Oh, you say you're protesting for the world. You're not one of those 'crazed' protestors. You know about what you're protesting about. You have researched it and made your own decisions and you protest in an orderly fashion.

You hand out pamphlets and do your part. You recycle and you drive a responsible vehicle. Probably a hybrid. And you teach your children to not be cruel to animals.

Let's examine all of that.

Pamphlets. By popular definition, printed paper products filled with information about your cause.

Paper. Made from lumber. Lumber comes from trees. Trees work to maintain the earth. They provide wind breaks and shade for other flora. They provide shelter and food for fauna. They contribute in a large way to doing exactly what you're telling others how to do by cutting them down, running them through a pulpmill (adding all sorts of polution to the area but also creating innumerable jobs and in some instances revitalizing a community) printing them and oh yeah, handing them out. Yep... definitely doing your part with the pamphlets.

Recycling. You mean reusing things that are old and useless and making them new and usable again? Wow. Who knew? I mean that's such a novel and brilliant idea I bet no one ever thought of that before. I wonder if my grandmother knew she was doing such worldy good when she'd turn the seams on a dress. (by the way for those of you who don't know that means take it apart, resew it together again so it would show less wear not send it off to good will so you can feel good about yourself and also make room in your closets for more clothing you won't wear more than a dozen or so times before the season changes and I'm being generous here, before you send it off to good will again assauging your conscience because you're recycling AND doing a good deed) spend hours darning socks after working in her garden that she used compost on. Compost...wow now there's another wonderful idea. Rotting waste and using it as fertilizer. Good thing you lot came along. The earth had NO idea how to feed itself until then.

Not enough, you decry? Why not? Aren't we here to live? Some of us choose to live large and leave a footprint the size of small state on the surface of the world. Some others, do not.

While you are protesting the loss of freedom in the third world countries maybe you ought to take a good hard look at your own tyrannical attitudes towards your very neighbours. Who are you to decide what I eat, how I get to work, what I wear. Isn't that why I choose to live in a free country and not go somewhere else where my every movement will be monitored?

Didn't the US win their freedom from oppression? Didn't Canada finally squiggle away from most of it? Don't we owe it to other countries and people to have that self esteem?

Give someone something, without any strings. Something precious and particularly difficult to define; something you cherish beyond all thought, with every action you take in life. Will they cherish and husband it the way you do if it's not as hard won as your own? Somehow, I find it difficult to believe that they will. We won't even get into the people that don't want to be saved by you or anyone else.

So, dear protestor, not that I think any of you will change your ways, perhaps, you'll find an iota of truth among my sarcasm and examine your own actions and govern yourself differently. Because were I to forcefeed you this as you choose to do your causes to me I'd be exactly what I'm pointing out you are. So there shall I leave it. Whether you take anything away from reading this or not, is up to you. I've said my piece. I'll probably say it again somewhere along the way.

But one thing I guarantee you, I won't ever be caught waving a big sign and screaming about it on TV.

signed,

a reasonable female

And furthermore...

2008-04-13T10:08:00.002-06:00

Geez Heather :) I could have just used your last paragraph (see comments for previous post) and saved myself a whole bunch of words.

EXACTLY.

Thank you for saying so succiently what I attempted to articulate.

And, thank you also for seeing through to the heart of what makes me crazy about this. It's not really about Robert Latimer and his daughter for me. Which the minute I say that, seems to mean that I'm condoning his actions and I am not. It's about the way the whole case is indicative of the mess that we call our judicial system. Full of inequities, special interest groups and the like.

So let me reiterate:

1. I don't agree with Mr. Latimer's actions. That's not my judgement to make. I can empathize about how I would feel in a similar situation and extrapolate on how I would feel and react and deal with such. Just because I don't want to immedately condemn someone to hanging doesn't mean I agree with his actions.
2. Personal decisions of this nature carry their own burdens. I know, I've made decisions in my own life for which I pay consequence on every day of my life. To my knowledge, none of those decisions have broken the law, but many of them have affected the lives of others and will continue to well beyond my time on this earth.
3. Oh how about judge not lest ye be judged?
... and the list goes on.

Sometimes the news makes me nuts.

2008-03-21T11:50:00.000-06:00

I realize that some news that I get crazed about old news that I'm just now revisiting. (or having the time to think about and research)

This for instance. Robert Latimer isn't exactly a household name to many. But to some he's become a rallying point for two very extreme sides of an issue that by it's very nature is one that most people don't even want to think about, let alone define in terms of legality, moral right and wrong and last but not least religion. Forget about compassion or intelligent, logical thought; they aren't on the table with this issue.

The short version is, Mr. Latimer was convicted of 2nd degree murder for putting his severely disabled daughter in a truck and connecting a hose from the exhaust, thereby exposing her to carbon monoxide which caused her death.

I've had several conversations about this case over the years, dating from when he was originally convicted and on through the years (12) when he's been denied parole, over and over. Disregarding the reccommendations of the jury and the ruling of the judge in his case, I might add.

Recently, I had an online conversation, and saved a few of my comments.

First of all, let me point out that my mother was a polio survivor, whose body was stunted on one side, leaving her a hunchback from age 7. Second of all, you don't know me so don't bother with the hate mail. I have my opinions, you're welcome to yours. I have a blog to air mine, get your own, if all you plan on doing is bitching at me for thinking and believing as I do. That said, if you've got an opinion that doesn't smack of raw hate for me because I have an opinion and are willing to keep the name calling and other silliness to nil, then by all means, feel free to comment. I freely admit that my beliefs about certain aspects of this are rather broad and based solely on news media reporting; but they are no less my own despite that.

I really am not sure what my biggest confusion with all of this is. I understand that Mr. Latimer broke the law, and that he was convicted of it in a court of law and must serve time as a result. Fine, yes. I believe in the law and that when a law is unjust or unfair that there are ways, legal ways, to change the law and that breaking it just because it is unfair or unjust is still an illegal act.

However.

We're past all that. He's been convicted. He did what he did for his own reasons and has refused to admit remorse. There in, appears, to lie the rub. The parole board has repeatedly refused this man parole. Citing his lack of remorse. It is my understanding (and I could well be wrong) that the parole board here in Canada is not allowed by its mandate to require admission of guilt. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't requiring someone to admit to remorse regarding an act they are imprisioned for, an admission of guilt?

The crux of all this, is the special interest group that has taken it upon themselves to make sure this 'monster' stays incarcerated. They want to make sure that all special needs / severely disabled people are safe, you see.

Not really pertinent if you ask me. This wasn't a random act of murder. This wasn't a hate crime against a race, creed, religion or anything else. This was, and I really believe this, an act of compassion.

So yes, of course, Mr. Latimer is going to rush out the very moment he's free on parole and murder the very next handicapped person he sees. Sure.. right... He's probably sitting in his cell jonesing for his next *thrill kill*

Give me a freakin' break.

How incredibly rude of these people with their special interest groups to intrude upon his very personal decision and journey.

We vilify people daily who 'mistreat' an animal they have lived with and loved in their home for years and years and who find it difficult to do the 'right thing' and let this animal go with dignity. It's RIGHT to kill off an animal that is experiencing pain and has outlived its usefulness. It's WRONG to let them continue to suffer and how horrible these people are to put their own selfish feelings above the wellbeing of their animals.

And yet, every day, these very same people INSIST that maintaining a human being in similar circumstances is THE RIGHT THING TO DO. Even when they can't speak and their eyes are pleading with you to let them go, we have to do it. It's right and it's the law.

I'm not stupid enough to think that we should just have a carte blanche on euthenasia. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Don't like your Aunt Edna and the way she smells? Off to the "doctor" she goes. Yea, not gonna happen and shouldn't happen.

I'm also not proposing that we need a law that allows for euthenasia. I'm simply saying that Robert Latimer has served his time. Let him be. He was convicted and has and is serving his time. More time by the way than most do for the same level of crime. It'll be interesting to see how much time the First Nations woman (and I mention that she's First Nations because eventually someone will so I thought I'd get there first) who shoved a young man under the C-train will serve. I'm betting maybe 5 years? I'm sure the special interest groups are already aligning.

I believe we need to stop letting special interest groups with no real connection to the situation use such very personal things as spring boards for their own agendas.

These days it seems that if you haven't got a special interest or belong to a particular minority of some sort or another, you don't really stand much of a chance.

If everyone wants so very desperately to be treated equally, perhaps the solution isn't lobbying for the right 'to be who are but still considered equal'. That by it's very definition isn't. Maybe it's time to really look at what being equal means and stop being so determined to be treated 'special'.

My Personal Blog History.

2008-02-20T23:19:00.000-07:00

Since I discovered blogging as a verb ;) I've had 4 actual blogs and 4 misfires. But even before that I was intrigued by a neat little feature called News Flash on my cool HTML editor program (On a side note, I still use Coffeecup for webpages that I've thrown together for friends here and there along the way but I'm so behind in the bells and whistles of HTML that I consider myself an non entry. I do keep my CC uptodate and pull it out to play around with now and again, though) The whole idea was a remote entry posting system for your site. Everything around it was static but you could update this one area everyday if you so chose. All without rewriting the whole site.

I never did get it to work properly and probably drove my friends crazy with 'test this for me' messages but it still intrigued me.

Once I decided that I did, indeed, have something to say, I set up shop on CrimsonBlog (I'm not going to link to it because I'm annoyed that they tore down my archives) (heh, update, can't seem to find their main site even..guess everyone's archives are gone). I've always had opinions and type pretty fast :) so it wasn't tough to put down my thoughts.

Organizing them was something entirely different. My posts ranged from rants about Starbucks vs Haidabucks to nothing blips about my mood at the moment. Back to knitting, and Spiritwars. Hmm...pretty much what I do now.

But I wasn't satisfied with CrimsonBlog's interface (la don't I sound like I know what I'm talking about) so off I went to TBlog. Somehow the same thing happened there. The interface was annoying, and my archives have disappeared. That'll teach me to be cheap.

My next attempt was at LiveJournal and I've kept that one. It's separate from here for a few reasons. The main one being a subculture I consider myself a part of that I don't want to mix into here. Some will call me a coward for that, and a hypocrite and I probably am but that's me.

In between these, there were a couple of failed attempts on Wordpress. I love wordpress. The blog theme/feel/ideology was just -wrong-.

I see a lot of blogs where the posts are categorized and I've attempted to do that here. I'm not succeeding very well. I hate that I have to compartmentalize my life so. Everything I'm interested in or write about, is all of me. I'm not totally out there for everyone to see like so many others...many others that I enjoy reading by the way. I wish I could just say what I think at times but I do as I've mentioned before, self censor.

I've thought about blogging anonymously, and for the most part I do. But then, I can't claim my patterns that I post on Ravelry on my blog. I can't identify with my email posts on KnitTalk. Because I'm breaking the anonymity myself. I do know folks who blog anonymously. An online persona that has nothing to do with who they are in real life. But they've revealed themselves to friends or family themselves. And sooner or later, someone talks to the wrong person and the *secret* is out.

What's this all leading up to you, you ask? Absolutely nothing :) this would be some of the frivolity that I warned you about as I *force* myself to write, something...anything.

***** Mini RANT MOMENT ******

Today on the talk radio station they were asking 'what bugs you' and this woman called in (not me :)) and went off on a rant about the memorial sites where fatality accidents have occurred. I happen to agree with this woman but not for the same reasons she cited about them not being a good thing. She was offended that when she went for a drive she had to see where people had died. That the grief of the people maintaining (and often not maintaining) the memorials were forcing others to bear their pain.

Me, not so much, but somewhat. More to the point for me, is that they are a distraction, often at a place where due to traffic congestion, poor signage or chronically bad road conditions, one should be.. oh, PAYING ATTENTION TO THEIR DRIVING? Not gawking at some teddy bear or flower covered white cross. I mean, wow someone died here, because of inattention or bad weather or whatever... doesn't it behoove me to pay attention and drive? Not be wondering or woolgathering about the accident?

What do you think?

2nd best boss ever

2008-02-13T23:14:00.002-07:00

I generally make it a rule to keep my work life very much away from here. There’s really no reason for anyone to know where I work, who I work with or what I happen to think about my coworkers or employer on any given day.

This isn’t any given day. Although there still isn’t any real reason (and lots of good ones why not) so we’ll just keep it pretty much general.

I’ve had a lot of bosses over the years. I’ve worked with a goodly number of people. On the people side, some I’ve liked; some I’ve not and many left no real impression whatsoever. I don’t go to work to make friends. There is exactly one person in my life that I count as a friend with whom I worked.

It’s certainly nice and comfortable to work with people who aren’t my mortal enemies but I’ve survived situations like that before. I’ve even had a couple of coworkers who took their dislike of me to the point of sabotage…shrug. At the time I thought it the height of stupidity and immaturity but now, looking back it’s more of ‘shake my head and forget about trying to understand the reasoning involved and move on’. Ah…maturity… I welcome you… I think ;).

On to the reason for my sharing moment. The ‘best boss ever’ knows who she is and why I consider her so. However, I currently work for (sadly not for too much longer…stupid company rewarding great people with promotions and all that) the ‘second best boss ever’. And only by a wee tiny little margin too… cause she is awesome and the following is only a teensy bit of why.

Last night I joined my coworkers for dinner in the city. Ah, I bet you’re saying, so what, her boss took the staff out for dinner, big whoop. Well no, actually she didn’t. In fact we paid for her dinner.

After dinner we made our way to a lovely auditorium where we were treated to a performance of Riverdance. On her $$$. Seventeen of us took up most of a row and enjoyed the show to our utmost. Still not that extraordinary you say? Well no, perhaps not. But afterwards, when we crowded around her for one last group photo it was patently obvious that she isn't just a boss to many of us. There is, looking at that picture, a loyalty, a sense of belonging to something that is ever so etheral that most don't even see it or know of its existence. But to those of us, there, in that moment...it's very real and as close to perfect that working with someone can be.

Personally she's much much more. She and I have the beginnings of what I believe is a great friendship. One that I hope will last beyond the constraints of working together and being the one for sure person either of us could tag for a chinese lunch on any given day; even if we both had it for lunch yesterday.

I'd like to make it clear that this is not a paid for spot :) She could have never taken us out to this event and I'd still feel the same. Her last day with us is approaching and the sadness is palpable.

This woman -knows- that the true definition of manager is one who manages... not bosses. One who gives others the freedom to fly, while holding the tether that keeps you on course lightly in her hand. She gives and gives of herself, her knowledge and her presence and asks only that you trust yourself, be confident in yourself as she already is and that you do your best...not for her, but for yourself. She does this so well, so seamlessly that it appears she's just a really friendly, outgoing and pleasant person when really...she's manipulating you for all she's worth. MANipulating, MANaging... hmmm.... go figure?

Truly, if I thought I could get away with naming her, I'd blaze her name across this blog in flaming letters that would leap at you from your monitor. Me knowing her and assuring you that someone like her exists is going to have to suffice for you.

I've said goodbye and whispered good riddance under my breath to more than one boss along the way. This is the first time I've dreaded someone's last day so.

Oh, and the 'best boss ever'? I'm keeping her all to myself. But isn't it cool that there's two of them and I was so very lucky to have both of them touch my life?

So much to say, so little enthusiasm to type it in...

2008-01-27T10:22:00.001-07:00

DISCLAIMER: *****NOTE: THIS IS NOT A WHINE NOR A PLEA FOR COMMENTS*****

If there were some way I could link up my brain to a word processor while driving/working you all would have so many interesting and varied things to read about here.

I listen to talk radio while at work QR77 to be exact. Rutherford is ...okay... Sometimes I even agree with him. Now and then. Not that our views are so diametrically opposite...just that I'm all about the method of delivering the message as much as the message.

I particularly enjoy Charles Adler and he even has a blog :) AdlerOnline. Again, I don't agree totally and 100% with all of Adler's views, but he's an entertaining host, who takes a moment to insert a lightness to topics that sometimes would become very bogged down by the 'importance (or lack thereof)of the moment'.

The point is, despite all this stimulation, I've been feeling pretty dull lately. Like I have no opinion worth discussing or even hearing by others. A touch of depression or winter blues, perhaps... who knows. However it's hard to write here when I think that no one wants to know what I say.

I'm just trying to come to terms with my lack of verbal/text opinions when my brain has any number of them flying through it at any given moment.

I think it's because I'm censoring myself. I'm reluctant to say what I 'really' think lately. Lest it offend, upset, annoy or otherwise unsettle people I know, careabout, work for (not stupid enough to air my work related issues here...no worries on that one) or with.

Here hoping that I get out of this funk...writing has always taken me from it before...let's see if making myself write works.

Look forward to a fair bit of inanity while I refind my voice.

Ravelry... YAH

2008-01-15T14:30:00.000-07:00

It's official. I am now a member of RAVELRY It's a cool feeling. :) Sort of like hanging with the cool kids in school and not feeling like they're going to set you up for a laugh at your expense.

Ravelry is cool. It's a place to set up shop, almost like an ongoing trade show online. And if I ever get my Flickr account working over there.. a place to show off. There's wool, and knitters, there's designers, and knitters. There's instructors, and knitters. There's pictures of yarn, and knitters. There's pictures of FO's, WIP's, PIGs and the like. A world of our own, right here on the little old 'net. A place to belong.

Lest I sound like a complete dork :) I'm a knitter...and I've never had any problem knitting anywhere in public. I really don't care if it's 'uncool to knit in public', or that it's 'an old lady's hobby', although I do give a little inward snarl at the 'oh, how quaint' remarks. I've teased my teens into utter silent quivering in the backseat (ducking low so no one will see me with them) on more than one occasion by threatening to knit at their school function. And you know what? When they were onstage, or playing I was there, in the audience, sometimes knitting, sometimes not and they 'always' waved or used our version of the 'I love you' sign language from the old Sharon, Lois and Bram show... dang, with the elephant??? *googles*

I've knitted in court (in the audience mind you and only with the nodded approval of the judge), on planes, waiting in airports, waiting in line, waiting at the dr's office and even in traffic jams. I knit in front of the tv, during my lunch hour and even walking the dog. To the annoyance of my partner, I also knit in the dark at movie theatres. But only with plastic needles on socks.

Knitting has never been something I've hid or felt askance about admitting to. I'm surprised at the knitters I've found, simply by pulling out my needles in public. I've done the same thing with tatting and crochet over the years, but knitting seems to be ever so much more universal.

Like this one for instance... How to Knit a Life

I sure hope she'll pardon me for jumping onto her train but here goes:

Bust: 49.5"
Waist: 46"
Hips: 51.75"
Thigh: 30"
Upper Arm: 16"
Calf: 18.5"

Bathroom scale: 255 lbs.

It's funny how things work sometimes...

2007-12-30T10:26:00.000-07:00

I received an email in my inbox today when I signed on. The subject line read: FWD: Christmas Virus (verified by snopes). Hmm, I said to myself, being the suspicious sort, that's just what I'd put into the subject line if I wanted to lull unsuspecting people into a false sense of safety so they'd open my little time bomb...were I one of those hacker types that think making little email bombs is amusing or fun or whatever (still don't understand the reasoning behind that, but that's another post).

So, being suspicious as I said and also in self defense of the few buddies that still think I actually know something about the net who are likely to get tagged by this very virus (should it actually exist) off I went to Snopes aka Urban Legends to find out if there was a Christmas virus that was indeed verified by Snopes.

The page isn't terribly userfriendly in my humble opinion, but hey they've been around for a very long time so who am I to judge. Regardless, in I went, thinking that the "what's new" link was a likely place to start. Scrolling down I found this.

Way back in the 'olden days' when I watched music videos for other than country music I recall seeing the video for Pipes of Peace. (Yay! for Wikipedia)

I'm not much of a PAUL fan. Ringo is and always has been my favourite Beatle. Paul's stuff has always been a bit too preachy for me :) and this video is a case in point really, :) but it still struck a chord deep within me somewhere.

Even back then, I believed that some wars are necessary. So while it's a lovely thing to know that there was a time in the history of war where men put aside their differences of right and wrong and simply met each other across a field of battle to see the similarities; I still believe that wars need to be fought, for any number of reasons, too many to enumerate here.

I have every respect for the soldiers who fight my battles for me and mine and all I can offer to their families who miss them at times like this is Thank You for giving me the gift of freedom and family on this day and every other day of the year.

Oh, and the 'Christmas Virus' thing? Go here, to see for yourself.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I'll trade ya?

2007-12-18T22:10:00.000-07:00

Along about this time of year, I start to become aware of the whole 'Happy Holidays' vs 'Merry Christmas' vs 'I don't celebrate this time of year and can't you RESPECT that? Have you no compassion? Do you not care that you are being POLITICALLY INCORRECT? How dare you make me, this child or that man uncomfortable by pushing your CHRISTIANITY DOWN MY THROAT?'

I am not politically correct, suck it up and get over it already. IF I INTEND to offend you it won't be in some innocuous way like oh... you know, celebrating my favorite time of year and my own religious beliefs. If for some reason that frankly is bad enough behaviour that I feel compelled to give you my opinion of you in public I'm going to tell you exactly what I think of you and none of it will be about the colour of your skin, your religious practices, how your culture treats women or where you were originally born. I might, however, ask you why you came here in the first place if where you're from, or what you believe and live there is so much better than how I live here, where I was born and enjoy my right to celebrate and live my religion and lifestyle.

Years ago, I used to be a door to door salesman (yes, salesman, that's what it's called, I wasn't a salesperson, saleswoman or representative). One of my customers had traveled to Europe to trace the trail of her great grandparents who fled Germany in the face of WW2 and all the atrocities that accompanied that time. She shared some of the story with me, and it came to light that our ancestors were from the same region. We never found out if they knew each other but in the kinship of the situation she presented me with a gift. A Star of David. A symbol of the Jewish religion. I am Greek Orthodox by baptism. I didn't care. That she would share that with me honored me. I wore the necklace. I treasured what it represented, not the divisiveness of the item, you see. Not the 'I am a Jew and you are a Christian and we must hate each other', not 'don't force me to look at your symbols'. I treasured that it meant that a world away two men may have passed each other in the street and lifted their hand in greeting to one another and that here, 50 years later, she and I could care about that fact.

So, to all those folks who insist on their way? I'll trade ya. I'll leave it be when you insist on changing the uniform of my national police force to suit your religious beliefs or ethnic customs. I'll turn away and shrug when you refuse to learn the languages (or at least like most of us born here, one of our languages) and make it difficult to not appear condescending as I try to make myself understood when I have to deal with you across a counter of some sort. I'll smile and encourage it when my children study your ways in school, because when it's all said and done, we're all in this together, even if your child can carry what no matter how you slice it (pun intended) is a concealed weapon and mine can't have a $2 pocket knife their grandfather gave them.

And you? All you have to do is one of the following. When I pay my bill, or talk to you on the phone or pass you in the street, and in the course of it, wish you Merry Christmas. Wish it back to me. And if you really, truly, no matter how you slice it, can not; just say nothing at all.

That'll be a fair trade to me.

Warning! Grumpy times ahead

2007-12-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

Superficial people piss me off.

Check that, superficial people don't even sketch on my radar. Oh so cool people, particularly those with the proven ability of not being superficial; who strike a pose of superficiality to appear cool, in or cool by reason of a holier than thou I'm smarter than you are or better than you are because attitude PISS ME OFF.

I wish that tv shows that show these guys as the 'cool kids' would get the fuck over it already. Because I'm tired of telling my kids that they aren't really cool for being snotty to others. Because I'm sick of people who *get the fashionistas* ...frankly, how dumb are you all that because some pink haired androgynous type tells you that you aren't in anymore you run off and buy what they say is?

So for all you "challenged" types out there, here's a quick check list.

It's COOL to be compassionate.

It's IN to be helpful, courteous and pleasant.

It is COOL to understand that others have fears to face, insecurities to overcome, and little moments of triumph pertinent only to themselves. They don't need you to come round and tell them how lame they are. Frankly, the lame person in that situation is you.

It might not be cool but it certainly shows character to get a little teary eyed (or some semblance there of) when faced with an 'awwww' moment involving human spirit and said compassion.

It is NOT COOL to look down your nose at others for not being exactly like you. (note: don't you all want to be unique instead of ubiquitous?)

It is NOT COOL to be rude, pushy, snotty or impatient.

And it is particularly NOT COOL to hold others up for ridicule to make yourself look all that more cool.

It sums up into an old gem with a few added facets.

IF you do not want it said to, done to or felt by you, don't say it, do it or make anyone else feel it.

GROW UP already.

The Cutest line...ever...

2007-11-11T18:19:00.000-07:00

And so it begins. DD#3 aka B is 11. She rides with a 4H club and can’t wait to start sorting cows with the riding club we belong to. She plays Call of Duty 2 with her buddies at the Youth Centre, her nickname is Sgt Slaughter. Most of her buds in that game are boys. She got the nickname for picking them all off one by one before they asked her to join their clan. She is quite adept at Age of Mythology, and is teaching me some cool tricks. She reads more than I do these days (I think maybe even more than I did as a kid) and has a vocabulary that blows many adults out of the water.

She attends the Catholic school in the town we used to live in. She and her little sister commute with me, getting off at the bus stop 3 mornings out of five. It’s a good time for catching up, talking about our day on the way home and what’s going on, on the way in.

She complains about how all the boys want to talk about is hockey at school and hangs with the girls, only to complain about how boring the girls are and how she wishes hockey season was over already and what was wrong with boys anyway, mom?

My friend has two boys who live in another province; they join her for the summer holidays and Christmas. Her oldest, R is a great kid, not that O isn’t but R and I became fast friends when he found out that D & I had worked on a Japanese war film and been dressed as samurai. I have great drawings he did for me on my fridge and he drives his mom crazy asking when we’ll get together when he comes out to visit. It’s awfully cool to have that sort of connection with him and I hope it continues into his teen years.

He’s 12 and she’s 11. She’s a tomboy who cries while reading Chicken Soup for the Soul stories and he’s a sensitive soul who emulates samurai warriors and plays electric guitar. An articulate young man, one that were they 17 and 16 I’d have no problem trusting my daughter with. He’s a dreamer, full of the sense of ‘moments in time’. His brother is the flashy sort, the cute kid, with a touch of the devil in his eyes. I’ve told their mom that R will be the one with the girl friends, reading them poetry, taking them on picnics and O will roar up on his flashy bike and steal them away on his brother. 

R took quite a shine to B and very much wanted to ‘make an arrangement’ as it were. She came to me and told me that he wanted her to say she was his girlfriend, even though he was leaving for home and they wouldn’t see each other till next summer at the earliest. They were expecting to maintain contact through emails and letters and instant messaging online.

No. Sorry, but no one on one boyfriend/girlfriend dating till you’re 16. This was echoed somewhat vehemently by her eldest sister and brother. Dad just gave her ‘the look’, ‘nuff said there. She wasn’t really too bothered, maybe even a little relieved. You can be friends, I told her, there’s nothing wrong with that. But no way on the boy/girl friend thing, what was the point anyway? Keep in touch, a pen-pal friend is always great and since they are both fairly academic in nature, I thought maybe there’d even be a bit of cultural exchange as it were.

He said he understood but he kept trying, sending her emails about how much he liked her and how long they’d have to wait. A whole 5 years… oh my… 

He had read in a book or magazine (I’m not sure which) about how the world would be ending 2012. Coincidentally this is the same year B will turn 16, in July. The world, according to his reading, will be ending in Dec of that year. He told her that if they couldn’t date till she was 16, then they’d only have 5 months together as boyfriend/girlfriend.

Is that the cutest line ever, or what?

(thanks kiddo, for giving me permission to embarrass you this way.)

As I was saying...

2007-10-29T15:09:00.000-06:00

It was bound to happen.

I had it in my head, given all the good signs we'd had recently that I would be able to get up on Mikey. He'd shown no aggression or even antsiness the last while and seemed eager to have me do things with him.

Even on Sunday, when we arrived and the boys came up to the gate for pets and cuddles, when I whispered to him that I was going to ride him, he took himself off to where we usually saddle up. I laughed and pointed it out to D. "I think he really understood me." D agreed and we unloaded the saddles and other tack and the girls and I ran off to do an errand before riding.

Darling Son and his g/f had come out to do some riding. She claims a lot of riding experience and since MY experience with horses makes me wary of anyone that goes around claiming they are 'an experienced rider', I limited her to Jack to avoid any drastic proof to the contrary. Son got up on Mel and it was comical as Mel put on his 'I'm stubborn I can't hear you' ears and stood around a lot.

Son hadn't seen the horses yet, and thought Mikey was the nicest looking of the bunch. :) His tastes (in horses and MOST other things (with a couple of notable exceptions) usually jibes with mine so I wasn't too surprised. DD#1 has it bad for palaminos, and DD#2 isn't into horses anymore after getting dumped rather soundly by Cricket. B and L are into the sorrels and chestnuts, although L has shown interest in a lovely blood bay filly that Carol has bred. A full sister to Jack, by the way, so maybe her taste will change. B's interest in sorrels might well be because Jack is such a sweetheart of a horse.

L was all cute on the phone, talking to her big brother. "You can use my horse," she intoned in that matter of fact, yes I do own the world voice of a 6 year old, "but you can't be rough with him. He's a good boy and if you ride him right he'll behave." Mel's take though, is the harder you work at making him GO, the less likely he will be to do so.

Anyhow, back to the Mikey incident. I got Jack and Mel saddled and Son and G/F up. Turns out she's not too bad on a horse. A little rusty and no idea of schooling or how to train, but would make a decent miler. Son had fun with Mel, although eventually he did get a trot out of him.

Mikey seemed a bit on edge when I saddled him, but I put that down to the green grass they'd been turned out on. (Nice, that it was done, but I do wish they'd ask us first. We sort of wanted to keep him on the low side of energetic :P and he's an easy keeper so really wasn't in need of the greenery.) Still, I was visualizing and all confident as I saddled and bridled him. He took the bit with his usual gentleman attitude and although he twitched a bit with the pad I really didn't think too much of it. Till later of course. Hindsight, thy name is truth.

I led him around and he seemed okay. I shifted the saddle back, making sure nothing was pinching and yet there was a tenseness about him. Still, nothing I can't deal with I thought. Off we went to the small corral. You know, the one with the slab fence. The slab fence just like the ones they use at feedlots. You know, where he'd been injured, and had that whole 'we'll ride him till we buck him out' episode where he went through one of those slab fences? However, that's where I'd tried to mount him before and he'd seemed ready to take me, so it didn't cross my mind. Until later. See above note regarding hindsight.

I discouraged son from leaning on the gate and watching me. Mikey had been bucked out and 'watched' a few times so I was trying to avoid any of the 'tells' that he'd dealt with before. I guess I forgot about the slab fences at feedlots. Sigh.

I placed my stool and he stood, as always, but as I put my foot in the stirrup and started to shift my weight to his back he trembled and bunched. I stepped off, but the stool wasn't solid in the ground and I overbalanced, falling back on my ass.

I had him facing into a chute and that's probably what spooked him as well as the slab fence. He hunched and popped, reared up and pivoted and there I was sprawled out on the ground pretty much under him. It's an awesome sight, let me tell you. But one I'll gladly not repeat. He pivoted as far as he could, I could see the muscles in his hind legs straining and the twist of his fetlocks. I'm not sure that he looked down at me, but I know he knew I was there.

I rolled, it probably all happened in an instant, he came down, despite seeming to have hung suspended in mid air till I could get around to moving, and his front hoof caught my thigh as he came down. Pinching it rather than slamming down on it, which probably saved me from a broken femur, but leaving a very good simulation of the old charlie horse, not to mention the flower bloom of a bruise that is just now starting to green and yellow at the edges. He bucked away past me. I think I felt the wind of his hooves on my cheek as I continued to roll up against the fence, but that could be the drama quee... er storyteller in me.

By the time I scrambled to my feet he'd bucked across the corral, reared and hung again, trembling then bucked again. D was on the other side of the gate, hands up, calling out to him to Whoa! Even though he respects that I need to do this myself he's always watchful and he was soothing him by voice already as I got to my feet. I threw up my arm, as I really had no wish to be trampled by him darting across the corral after that narrow escape and he came to a halt, head down, blowing, then off he went again. He bucked past me, banging up against the fence and finally stood blowing and snorting, trembling from hoof to ears. Slowly we approached him and managed to get the reins over his ears.

He stood there, trembling and all I could think was 'he thinks he's going to be beaten and he's going to hurt anyone who tries.' That is probably the saddest thing I've ever seen a horse doing. Even a cast horse, or one down with colic isn't quite so shorn of its dignity as one trembling with the anticipation of a beating. *sigh*

My heart cried for him. I stroked his poll softly, slow, easy strokes till his snorting softened and the tenseness eased ever so little. I leaned down and blew in his nostrils and he almost ducked his head, but then sniffed at my scent and the trembling eased a little more. "I still trust you," I told him, stroking the outline of his blaze with my fingers and his ears twitched, head lowering into the caress.

He was still quite spooked, and never really calmed down the rest of the time we were there. D was going to try to mount him but he was still too nervous, trembling and shifting his weight when he tugged on the saddle. He did rest his knee in the stirrup and lean his weight and although that went alright, we're still back to word go, again.

More ponying, more lounging, maybe some driving from the ground, and hopefully a deep snowfall at some point where I can wear him out enough to ride the buck out of him. He's still an eloquent equine, I'm just having a little trouble with the dialect but I'm confident we'll find a common language soon enough.

Eeek! Two for One. A Mikey update.

2007-10-19T11:50:00.000-06:00

Just in case the previous post is a little too weird for some :) I'll update you on Mikey and Me.

The other evening after work we ditched the kids and took off for a ride. We've been saddling Mikey here and there over the last while. Although sometimes we don't do anything with him to get him wanting to be saddled. The last time, D got up on him and rode (read nudged him gently into following the rest of us on Jack and Mel (the girls took turns on Jack bareback) till Mikey stopped, waited till I came and led him back and got off) him a bit.

Note, at this point in our assessing of him and reconditioning him back into a usable trustworthy horse any ride that ends with D's feet hitting the ground of his own accord is considered a success.

To be fair to ole Mikey though, he's not offering any indication of being MR.BIG BAD BRONCO HORSE , but his reputation precedes him and we're not inclined to take any chances. He is a big, strong boy and should he decide to launch anyone off his back they're gonna go, so better safe than sorry even though it's unfair to the sweetheart I see in his eyes.

Anyway, back to the other evening. I was up on Mel and D got on Jack. I'd saddled Mikey with an older Eamor we've been lent and put on a bridle over his halter. I'd left the shank lightly looped over the rail while I saddled Mel. Without thinking I mounted Mel, rode up to the rail where Mikey's shank was looped and pulled it off. Really, for all the precautions and carefulness, I instinctively trust him to be a good boy. He came along with no problem (no surprise to me, of course, but D made mention of it) and off down the road we went for a ride. Jack was getting a lesson in how that long grass was tasty and so long as he didn't stop to graze he could snatch a mouthful here and there. Mikey came up on my left side, easy as you please. Mel was a little put out that he had to walk on the road instead of the grass but there you go, Mikey's heftier and sort of shoved him over. This trapped my leg between the two of them.

Never one to waste an opportunity to take a chance :) I rubbed and tickled, nudged and poked my boot into Mikey's side. He didn't even flick an ear. He was just glad to get out of that paddock and go with us for a change I think. The ride down to the next road went without a hitch and we even trotted a bit.

As an aside, I find this a little bit funny as Mel is the boy that pulled me out of the saddle while being ponied off Blaze. Ironic even? But he was good, and Mikey was excellent, staying right in place and giving no indication of MR.BBB at all.

Turning Mel out I saddled Jack and rode him (for the first time... another strange realization as we've had Jack for a while now, and even before that became official we treated him as though he were ours. I guess in all of it, I just left him for the girls to ride. He's a great little horse, a type of which I'm fond and could ride his jog for hours. B was a little annoyed that he'd jogged for me, as she gets trot and trot faster mostly :)) while leading D on Mikey.

Honestly it all went so smoothly that I do sometimes wonder what all the fuss is about. I really think that were I not being such a weiner about mounting horses (still left over anxiety from a while ago... if you ever fall off, get back ON NOW...) I could just throw a leg over and away we'd ride, Mikey and Me, without a problem. He nudges me and gets between me and the horse I'm trying to mount and gives me such looks that say it all. "Quit being such a chicken and let's go, let's go ride for hours like we both want to, find our quiet places within ourselves and let my back be the salve for your soul." (what can I say, he's an eloquent horse at times :))

Stay tuned, he's bound to buck me off eventually :P

Strange....

2007-10-19T11:27:00.000-06:00

how there's so many of 'us' and so very few of 'them' and yet, they rule the worlds we walk in, talk in and live in.

I didn't move around as a child. Actually had I not skipped a grade (cruel, unusual punishment that I hope the teachers involved spin in hell for)in elementary school I would have graduated with 7 of the 11 children I began kindergarten with. Not that I fit in terribly well before that happened but that was pretty much the kiss of death as far as my ability to find any peer group acceptance for the next 3-5 years. You know, jr and much of sr high? Definitions were drawn early on. I am a social pariah. People meet me and pretty much ignore me immediately. It's not something I'm seeking sympathy for, or whining about either, for the record, just stating a fact I've come to believe.

I've gone to any number of work related banquets, get togethers, birthday parties, even family reunions, weddings and funerals, pretty much any place where people congregate and sat alone. Time after time. Oh there's usually some kind soul who will attempt to engage me in conversation, but when I notice the tightening around their eyes and body language that screams 'let me go now' I make some excuse and allow them to have done with their good deed.

The odd part is, I believe I'm a gregarious person. I strike up conversations in elevators and standing in line at the store all the time. Pleasant, leave 'em chuckling or smiling conversations, that pass the time but do little more. Fact is, I'm not shy. The other fact is, I don't much like people, in general. Guess it's only fair they don't like me back, much. :)

This doesn't mean I don't have friends. I do. Very good ones, now that I've grown up enough to realize what really makes a friend a good one. Most of them are online. The odd few that aren't, worry about me for all the time I do spend on here.

I'm not whining. I am who I am. Online, when I don't have to 'look' a certain way, 'act' a certain way, 'dress' a certain way I fit in. I shine in fact :). I am a cerebral person. Like many of my ~~online~~ REAL friends, I don't care what people look like (mostly :)) how they eat, or what they wear. I care about what they think and how they articulate that...essence of themselves.

Sure, sometimes I crave human contact, but I don't live alone. I'm not an "untouchable" or afraid of being touched. I did have a touch of agoraphobia at one point but the meds are good (KIDDING!) (well mostly anyways). I work with the public, albeit mostly on the telephone, and I'm not bad at my job. I handle their issues, leave them smiling when I can and hopefully with a good impression of the business I work for. But it's all very superficial.

Maybe that's my problem. I dislike superficial people. I want to know what you REALLY think, not what's considered socially acceptable. When I get to liking someone I probe. I ask questions that socially one does not ask. I make assumptions but not based on just little whims of mine, assumptions based on body language, and syntax and expression. I catch little things like a hesitation before a word or a turning of the body and I interpret them into my assumptions, constantly processing and tossing out malformed assumptions to replace them with new ones. That probably makes people uncomfortable.

Me and Mandy Patinkin are through.*

2007-10-08T17:28:00.000-06:00

He's done it again, damnit. Got me all hooked and excited about his characterization of Jason Gideon on CBS' Criminal Minds.

And now, this wonderful character is gone from the show. His every emotion, nuance, expression conveys more than most actors do during an entire movie. And it's over.

SIGH.

I first 'discovered' his career after seeing The Princess Bride (1987)and doing some research into the cast. That's when I realized that I'd already discovered and overlooked this treasure in Alien Nation (1988) and yes, I know that Princess was filmed and released first, but I saw them in reverse order. I was intrigued by this talent. This ability of his to pour everything out without it becoming maudlin. So rare. The only thing that gets to me more than his deadpan monotone repeat of "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father prepare to die." is to hear him discuss his preparation for the scene, in which he tells of how he decided that instead of the 6 fingered man he would be killing the cancer that killed his father. Of course, the other actor (Guest?) was rather convinced that Mandy was going to kill HIM. ;P

Oh my.

I was hooked. I was greedy and I wanted more. My joy was loud when I found him on Chicago Hope, another incredible character, Dr. Jeffery Geiger. The talented, eccentric, slightly crazy neurosurgeon with the sad, sad fate he carried with him every day.

And then he was gone.

Just like Gideon on Criminal Minds. I settle down to watch the season opener and a disturbing truth begins to percolate. He's leaving the show. I've learned not to read anything about the shows I like, (what is it with these idiot writers who have to OUT everything...how incredibly annoying) so I had no idea that he was leaving the show.

I listened to the 'letter' narration and watched the last scene with the gun in his hand. The sadness in his voice so achingly accurate as he wrote to whoever he expected to arrive at the cabin to find the letter and I knew it had to be Reid. Who else would it be? The others don't have the dependency on Gideon the way Reid does.

I swear off him during the week between the first and second shows of the season. I'm disturbed and annoyed that he will allow his character to commit suicide. I feel he's got more 'credit' than that. I'm all but petulant as I watch and becoming ever more intense as I lean towards the screen. "I knew it," I yell, disturbing my family more than you might expect :) when Reid reads the letter and the show brightens, cutting to the diner scene.

How will you know indeed, Mr. Patinkin?

You'll be back. An actor/performer such as yourself can't just walk away. Or so I believe.

*And so will I.

As for the other 9%... it's anyone's guess...

2007-09-20T21:40:00.000-06:00

91%

Alive and Well and living in exile

2007-09-08T19:22:00.000-06:00

That’s what dialup feels like after a steady diet of ADSL for 4 years. I’ve always prided myself (yeah yeah, pride goeth before a fall etc) on being quite able to survive in the wild aka the country. Funny tasting water, septic fields and tanks (even … outhouses), limited channels on the TV, towns that roll up their sidewalks at 5 pm on a Saturday leaving only the local beer parlour open. Bugs, dirt roads, no air conditioning and a fireplace that you lit because there was a chill in the air, not because it was aesthetically pleasing; a fireplace that burns real wood from real trees (suck it up treehuggers, it’s a renewable resource and my family has been consuming and conserving for years before you came along) not some plastic monstrosity of an approximation of glowing logs that you plug in.

That was me, the country mouse. These were my norm and when I got my first (windows) computer and dial up came along all I could get was 33.6 while my city friends were getting ADSL and cable and raving about the lightning speed. I just grinned and patted my old P1 with its 512 mb of ram and was happy. I could play all the games (Spiritwars)I enjoyed. I talked to folks all over the world, often 4 or 5 of them at once with ICQ, I read my email including the MELFans list and I surfed the net. I didn’t care that it took 3 – 8 minutes for certain pages to come up. I had time. I was from the country. I was used to waiting for clouds to pass or the rain to stop, or start or for someone to come in from the fields to drive to town. Everything was worth waiting for and therefore waiting wasn’t a hardship.

Only now? I’m spoiled rotten. I’ve gasp turned into a city mouse. I like my quick as lightning webpages showing up, pictures and all as quickly as I can turn on the tabs on my firefox browser. I like it when my email downloads the 359 spam messages and the 30 real ones for me in 50 seconds or less. I like it …damnit… and I miss it

What do you remember?

2007-08-19T11:55:00.000-06:00

Hockeyman asks this question on his blog.

Like him, although more like age 2 than 4, I recall JFK being shot. For years I've wondered about this memory, was it a real one? Or one that I'd 'acquired' through the repeated rehashes of this assassination by the press and media through the years. It's taken me a while to be certain, but I believe I really remember watching JohnJohn saluting the coffin as it passed. We had a black and white tv of the old circle in a square variety up till 1965 and that's what I recall seeing it on. I vividly remember my mom crying and believe that's why the incident is so set in my mind. At 2 your world is you. Your mom provides for your needs and makes you feel safe; seeing her cry so has stuck in my mind all these years. I don't honestly recall her crying at anything else, although I'm sure she did at some point or another.

I do not recall Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination at all but I have a vague memory of RFK's. Neither evoked the emotion that JFK's did in my home.

I do, however, remember where I was when I heard about Elvis' death. I was traveling through the mountains of eastern BC with my then fiance and my mom and dad. I recall staring at the Three Sisters for as long as the twisting #1 highway through there allowed, listening to song after song of his. A certain quiet had entered the car and when the radio reception failed no one urged for another station. I am an Elvis fan. Have always been. Of his music, of his movies (laugh all you want, read some of the accounts by respected actors who worked with him, of his abilities and how they were under utilized. There was a lot of lost potential there, sadly) and later as I grew up and read many many versions of his life, of the man. One's life is what one makes of it, or allows to be made of it. (I think maybe that's a topic for another post.)

Another 'moment' in time that I recall is John Lennon's death. The poignancy of his re-entry into the mainstream music scene (so to speak) with Double Fantasy, made even more so by "(Just like)Starting Over" and ended so abruptly is not lost on me, even though I've never been more than a casual fan of the Beatles and a very uninformed one about John Lennon in particular. In fact, my favourite Beatle has always and remains, Ringo Starr. I was working as a security guard on the midnight shift, and recall sitting at the desk, greeting the workers as they arrived for work. Many of them wore sad expressions, nodding to the small radio I was listening to his songs on.

There are other, more...well, personal... incidences in time that I recall. Moments that a picture or a sound, sometimes even a smell can take me back to the emotions thereof in a heartbeat.

We have, in the past forty or so years, as the Chinese? curse is said to say, "...lived in interesting times" I'm sure many will never view the world the same after some of the more momentous moments of our time. I know I certainly don't. I don't really know if I regret that as much as I'd like to wish that I did. I'm not sure that having an eyeopening moment in your life is as bad a thing as one would normally assume. I know a lot of parents try very hard to shield their children from such moments as do I, myself. But there also comes a time when letting them see and feel and understand said feelings is more important that preserving their innocence.

Stolen quotes

2007-08-12T10:45:00.000-06:00

"Knitting socks is like sex - if I love you I will knit socks for you, and if I don't love you, you CANNOT pay me enough for a pair of hand-knit socks!"

"Been there, done that, worn out the souvenir tee shirt."

"A true friend is someone who not only knows the song in your heart, but can sing it back to you when you've forgotten the words."

I hate Passwords

2007-08-02T10:19:00.000-06:00

The chip card is coming! The chip card is coming!

Okay, sure, after my first reaction, it's not a bad idea. Probably will slow down the phishers and whatnot idiots that abound in this world for a time or a while, but they'll find a way around it. I'm sure.

But passwords in general, just offend me. One, I really dislike remembering important stuff. I'd much rather use my brain space remembering trivia about trivial things that no one else seems to give a shit about. I dun wanna have to think of a novel and unique way of spelling out easy to remember (for me) words and phrases. And L33Tspeak? Bah, that shit gives me hives. Mutter.

I hate the concept of passwords even when being used to protect crucial data. I realize thanks, that my personal data is crucial to me, but there's still a part of my reasoning that just doesn't see what I have that anyone else might want badly enough to spend the time cracking (about 30 secs I'm told by friends who despair of me ever using a password that doesn't suck) the ones I do use. To protect my very mundane information. (I'm still struggling with the idea that someone once actually actively worked on stealing my life by cultivating my friends, adopting my hobbies and personality, even my appearance, but that's another post.)

I'm not talking about banking info or insurance/life policies or other such. For one, I don't keep that stuff online. Nor for that matter, even on my computer.

I'm talking about why I have to have a *strong* password for my gmail account, or hotmail or for that matter even here. What really, do such people get out of this? What is the point of doing stuff like cracking into a blogger account just to piss someone off? Just messing with someone because they can? Frankly, my defenses are so minuscule that it's no big whoop to get through them, so I don't see the point as being the challenge of accomplishing it.

This goes further than mischief like tp'ing the crotchety neighbour's yard. It's malicious and rude. I see little value in being considered rude. Maybe that's just me but even among the teens I work with, rude only goes so far. They trade quips and smart mouth remarks with ease but there's a line they seldom cross, and quickly acknowledge and retreat to the other side of as well. Sure, there's the odd one that doesn't care but they are often and quickly ostracized until they get that glitch under control.

There's so many other things one could spend that sort of brain ability or time on. I do understand 'reverse engineering' and 'hacking' when done for the sheer fact of just 'knowing' how something works. I've taken more than one knitted or crocheted item and examined it, poked and prodded it, even unravelled parts of it just to figure out the pattern, so I could reproduce it. That's how many people, myself included, learn. (note to anyone reading who's ever tried to help me learn coding, just...shush...)

Time to put away the easter bunny...

2007-07-30T08:02:00.000-06:00

Remember how when I was ranting about how JKR shouldn't be vilified for writing her story the way she wanted to? Damn straight, and she did too. Good for her. Anyways, I promised more on belief in that post and this would be it.

I have always believed that the act of believing in something was far more important than the something actually being true. The ability to believe is a beautiful thing.

Watch any group of 3-8 year olds and if they're lucky and their parents get *it*, even older than that. They'll meet at a playground and play with abandon. For hours they'll whoop and run and tag each other, slide down the slide in more and more intricacy. Ask the the name of their new best friend however, and they'll stare at you blankly. They're busy believing that's their new best friend. It doesn't actually have to be. In fact, in large cities perhaps they won't even see that person again but for that brief moment, their belief makes it real.

Oh sure, I get the whole self delusional thing and how dangerous that can be. I'm not talking about believing you can walk off a roof and live because you have superpowers.

I mean the so called little things like looking for the good in people. Things like 'smile and people will smile back', or 'always do your best' or 'winning isn't everything'. Homilies like those and dozens others have coloured my life.

I've always believed that just around the corner... No matter what's happening now, that something good is going to happen.

I always want to believe that the people I love are really who I see them to be, not who they tell me they are or who they act like they are at times.

And I hang on to that belief with all my heart, even when faced with incontrovertible truth to the contrary.

There comes a time, however, when one must face the truth, hear the reality and start accepting people as to who or what you want or wish or need them to be. It's difficult and unfair and frankly sucks but it's still something that has to be done.

Hang on to your dreams as long as you can. Letting them go before their time is wrong ... so is holding onto them past their expiry date. Learning when to stop believing is as important as believing, probably. But damn it, I sure wish I was wrong.

Will she kill off the One Who Lived?

2007-07-12T10:26:00.000-06:00

There's a lot of speculation and a bit of nasty teasing :) about whether JK Rowling will kill off Harry in the 7th book. We'll all know within two weeks, because even those who haven't read the book will stumble across some bullshit teeshirt or website or news item that gives away the ending. Not that I'm bitter, or annoyed at that very thing happening to me twice now.

That's why my 11 year old and I will stand in line at midnight and have the damn thing read by the end of the weekend.

But that's just me.

If you read the comments on the above noted post you'll find some rather opinionated remarks about what a "bitch" JK will be for doing so. (I refuse to use the other word so deal).

This gave me pause.

I mean I get that people get attached to a character. No matter how many times I read Little Women I still cry when Beth dies. I could insert many examples of favourite books where something happens to a character that I didn't want to happen but gee, I learned a long time ago that if I want the story to go exactly how I want it to, I better write it myself. 'Cause, that was the author's choice in the story THEY WERE TELLING.

Where does it say, "write a book, make your characters breath and live beyond your story, endear them to an entire generation and thereby give up all right to their destiny in your story?" I totally and wholeheartedly understand what Ms. Rowling meant when she said she didn't want Harry to live on to be written about by other authors. The fact is, she created him. It's her story and just because so many people have embraced him and taken them into their hearts it's still not anyone's place to call her down or bitch her out or hate her or call her greedy for telling the story she's been writing, (living eating breathing) for what is it? about 10 years now? Maybe more. (Note: However with the prevalence of fanfiction, I kinda think that's happened already)

Not to mention the fact that she's repeatedly said that the ending of the book was written long before the phenomenon that is HP came about. I was somewhat saddened to hear about the reprieve she's given one of the characters. I certainly hope that was a necessary reprieve as per the dictates of how the story evolved and not as a salve to the cranky people (who, by the way, were not forced to plunk down their money or their library cards to read her books. And most of you, be honest now, most of you bought your copies at the larger book stores where they discounted it so much you couldn't pass it up, didn't you, now?) who somehow think she bloody well owes them a happy ending.

I've speculated here and there about whether the books we're now reading in their published form would have been the books she'd have written had the movies not come about.

Note...speculated, not bitched, whined or threw temper tantrums.

Do I, like so many, hope that Harry gets to live out his days in happiness, in a world without evil? Sure. I also like to believe that Elvis faked his death and went off to live on an island, probably somewhere near Hawaii instead of being hounded and pulled apart by all the people who owned pieces of him and his fans. Note, like to not do. (more on belief another day)

This article raises an interesting point. Is Harry too big to live? Could he ever live a normal life? Or is it as someone comments there, that he really will only be happy when he joins the people who loved him enough to die for him? His father and mother, Sirius and Dumbledore.

I guess we'll see.

I'm hoping that the first chapter's title is foretelling at its finest.

My hat is off to Ms Rowling for her creativity, her diligence and her willingness to share so much with those of us who could not get enough.

a question

2007-06-25T21:15:00.000-06:00

why do you think that North Americans view a man who is besotted and willing to do anything for a woman as Pussy whipped while in other parts of the world that same man would be admired for his gallantry?

Does anyone else have a problem with this?

2007-06-19T19:24:00.000-06:00

A while checking my email at Yahoo I came across a e-bite for a new *designer* cat. A toyger. Yes, that's right, the cutesy idiot people who came up with labradoodle and cockapoo oh and let's not forget shichons(purposeful???? cross breeding with an 'oh so cute' name *GAG*)have struck again with, can you figure it out? TOY TIGERS.

Being a tiger fan and suitably in awe of tigers... Real tigers, with orange and black stripes on their skin and fascinating eyes and powerful jaws and massive paws and oh yeah, weighing upwards of 500 lbs. I had to have a look at least. Because I'm also suitably in awe of the abject stupidity of some people.

I REPEAT TIGERS NOT BROWN TABBY CATS.

Are people truly so gullible that they will actually buy these? Short answer... yes :(.

Not only will they line up to buy these, there will likely eventually be a micro version, suitable for popping into your purse ala paridiot and chihuahuas. Eventually there will even be a micro lion complete with his own little pride of micro lionesses. Pursesized savannahs will abound.

Why why why do people see the need to do this? Microsizing perfectly respectable animals. Animals that can and should remain able to rip off your ridiculous head and do horrid things to your body. WILD animals. IN THE WILD.

MEH.

I am not against zoos. I see them as a necessary evil in a world that while becoming incredibly tiny and accessible to many still remains a huge mystery to most. Not petting zoos (although I do confess to a burning desire to go to Tiger Island in Australia some time in my life) but real as close to natural as possible habitats, where the animals can be observed. Safari type zoos, more than caged enclosure types. I'm all for being the one in the cage for my own protection, rather than walking free while the animal is caged.

But back to my point.

Reading further through the website I see a plan of purposeful breeding with photoshopped possibilities of eventual changes to the breed. I don't really disagree with breeding for a purpose. One of my favourite breeds is essentially man made (actually most of them are if nothing else but by a group of interested owners/breeders breeding for a particular type) however I don't and will never see the point in microsizing animals for cuteness factor.

And what the hell is wrong with a society that thinks it's okay to put a dog in a purse as a fashion accessory anyways. Sorry, I know I'm behind the times on that rant but it's been bugging me for a very long time. Not only do I object to Paris Hilton on principle and not out of jealousy...I'd be embarrassed to be as morally bankrupt as she appears to be... but it's scary for me as the mom of two young daughters that people such as she might be a role model *MEEP*

Mikey and me.

2007-06-04T22:43:00.000-06:00

It's no secret that I'm a sucker for a sob story. It's also no secret that I enjoy working with horses and love the feeling of triumph and success when I turn around a cantankerous type or so called bad horse. How cool when it all comes together.

A couple of years ago, shortly after we started training for C. she brought me a couple of older boys that hadn't yet found homes. They're nice horses, one a very light palamino/grey and the other a copper sorrel. Bullet (the pal) is racy and elegant, would look great under english tack and has attitude out the yinyang. He's able to leap tall fences in a single bound and has a way of tossing his head that would make him ideal for film if he were black.

And then there's Mikey. They called him Big Mike, to differentiate between him and Yellow Mike. He's a rather ordinary sorrel coloring. Attractive head, nice blaze down from his forehead to his nose. No snip and only the hint of a star. Solid. Strong. Not overdone and sleek when he slips into his extended trot.

Willing too. "Try him in a lunge," C. told me. I did. He moved out immediately. Willing and able to understand even my hamhanded signals. I asked him for a lope and the transition was smooth, 2 strides and he was in full gait. Same thing coming back down, no jerking or hesitation... if he were a car he might well be well, maybe not a ferrari maybe a viper. Raw power but controlled. No finesse to it, but only because it's not yet applied.

Yeah, I'm a fan.

C. then told me his story. Yard pet foal to easy break horse, sold as a working horse to a pen checker at a local feed lot who used him well and trained him up right. Then he had the chance to go south and rather than take his horses he boarded them at the lot, for use. Someone either put a wet cinch on him or had a wet wet day and didn't check it. He galled (cinch burn scar of white hair on his belly 4" wide by about 15" long side to side :( ) poor guy was likely mad with pain. And they rode him still. He turned mean, or so they said. Tried to kill off a cowboy or two who were intent on 'fixin' that sombitch' They rode him and rode him and he bucked them off. C. took him back. Rescued him more like. Took him to a local trainer who did well with him. Until the day there was a blow up (seems someone decided they needed past the buggy and honked and honked till there was a wreck) Mikey took a broken stay in the gut. C. again took him back and put him out to pasture. But now... I was his chance, she said.

I looked into his eye. You never really know but I fancy that I can tell when there's meanness there, and I didn't see one tiny bit of it. I fiddled with him and he let me do a lot. I didn't push but I did put my foot in the stirrup and let him feel my weight. He shifted his front legs to square up and stood stock still.

Over time I did little bits with him here and there. Not enough, but each time was successful. No wrecks, no blowups. D. was up on him the 3rd day we started seriously working with him. I blew into his nostrils and he snuffled me back. I told him in a quiet whisper that he had to behave because I couldn't ride him till he was proved safe. I swear he nodded at me. Could be he just liked the jingle of bit too, but I'm sticking with nodding. D. climbed up, both of us watching Mikey's head, me ready to hang off the bridle like an ornament, D. ready to bail out at the slightest sign of trouble. Mikey's a big boy, muscular, heavy but agile. You wouldn't want to take the chance of being tossed by him. I sure wouldn't. Mikey shifted his balance. Squared up his front legs and uncocked his hind leg. He stared at me and I back at him. Slowly I passed up the reins to D. letting Mikey see me do it. "Let him ride you," I murmured and stepped back. Mikey stood still. Up till now when I'd stepped back he'd squared to me and moved with me. A dance of sort, training he received from someone else. A matter of distance and parameters. Stay x distance from me and all will be good. If I move back, move forward till x distance is maintained. I play with it, sometimes and we dance. Stepping back and forth and side to side facing each other. But this time, I had handed off control and Mikey's ears flicked, once, twice then again and he turned his head, feet still firmly planted and snuffled me again. Then D. rode him. A few steps forward and a turn to the left, then another few and a turn to the right. The idea is to keep the horse turning thereby making it harder for them to buck if they are so inclined. It's also a great opportunity to teach or reinforce leg aids and reining.

Here's a short video of Mikey and D after this session. Mikey's wearing no bridle or halter and simply going for a wander around the corral. Mean horse...yeah... dun think so. (NOTE: link is fizzed, I'll fix it soon)

My time being not so easily arranged I didn't get to do much more with him. An opportunity came up for him to be trained as a bulldoggin' horse. C. talked to me, asked me what I thought and I thought it was best for Mikey. A chance to re establish himself as a good horse. I cried after I hung up the phone but knew it was for the best.

Now he's back. The bulldoggin' training didn't happen, so he had a nice holiday on pasture and he's full of green grass. On sunday we were out to the ranch. I wanted a crack at him, and C. had promised me that rather than meating him if the bulldoggin' didn't work out (life is like that here, horses are a commodity and not just pretty animals in the field, they cost money to feed and shoe and vet and must make money one way or the other) she'd give me one more crack at him.

Sometimes when karma is knocking I get a little hard of hearing but this time I heard loud and clear. Mikey was back, grab him my little voice said. I proposed a deal to C. and she agreed. The fix was in. If I could get on him and ride him he was mine. So sunday was the day. He acted up in the slab fence corral. Reminiscent of the feedlot I'm sure. And again when people hung over the fence in the other corral, again, memories of when he was to be 'fixed', I'm betting.

I lunged him and he got it together. The intelligence was back, evident in every motion of his head as he missed nothing. Tacked and looking good, a little hunched looking cause of the extra weight he's packing, we led him out. D. fiddled with him a bit then gave me that look. I stepped to Mikey's head and talked to him, snuffling and chatting, stroking his nose and focusing him on me. Slowly D. got into the saddle, settling in to an ear flick and the familiar shift of balance, squaring up his front end. I breathed again and relaxed. D. sat still and I stepped back, asking Mikey to step up. 1 stride 2...whoa I said and he did. D. still silent and still in the saddle, only providing the weight while I 'rode' Mikey from the ground using only my voice.

D. climbed off and I'm sure C. breathed a sigh of relief. While we stood around and spoke D. climbed up again and off and all was okay. After a time C. headed up to the house and D. took Mikey (I thought) to the barn to untack. "Hurry up or we'll get caught," his voice came around the corner of the barn. "Say what now?" I asked walking around the corner. D. had walked Mikey into what we use as a mounting block and grinned at me. I stepped up onto the cement platform and slowly put my foot in the stirrup. Letting my weight lean on the saddle I stepped down again. Then into the stirrup again and swung my leg on his rump, sliding it, and still he stood, stock still, patient and uncomplaining. Many horses fidget in that spot. It's tight and they are impatient, ready to go, eager to be off. Not Mikey, he was willing to wait. Finally I was sure, I'd watched his ears and was willing to bet the farm. I swung up, settling into the saddle without even the teeniest of flutters in my stomach at mounting a horse known to be unpredictable. I was so focused on not scaring him I forgot all about my own fear of mounting a strange horse. I sat there for a triumphant moment then remembered to breath. Slowly I dismounted and once I was back on the cement I let out a whoop and hugged Mikey around the neck. "He's really my horse," I breathed and grinned.

More on Mikey as his and my journey continues. Stay tuned.

I guess I'm just selfish ...

2007-06-02T17:29:00.000-06:00

Special K (scroll down she's been posting and I haven't) has a valid and very astutely written point about how we in the First World live in a bubble of comfort not enjoyed or hardly even dreamed about by the resoundingly large number of people that comprise the rest of the world. (I've never gotten that whole first third world thing by the way, I mean what happened to the second world?)

As I said, and do say with all due respect to K's incredible grasp of the English language and her extensive vocabulary that I admire and covet every time I read her posts, she makes a very valid point.

However?

I don't care.

Say what you will, I'm *T*I*R*E*D* of people telling me how I should be more charitable, more considerate of those who live without the amenities and conveniences that I do. I have what I have because my grandparents settled in Canada. They worked hard to get here, and did so to benefit not only themselves but to give their children a better life. I have the opportunity to have so much more than they ever dreamed of giving to their offspring and it's up to me what I do with it. (yes, I'm aware that some in other places in the world do not have the right or ability to do as my grandparents did, that really isn't the point in what I'm saying.)

I don't =owe= anyone anywhere else for anything, especially not as an apology for having more than they do. I can have a cold and feel sorry for myself without having to think of those dealing with worse illnesses than I have. I can be hungry without feeling guilty about having the ability and opportunity to buy food to fix feeling hungry. And I can knit a hat because I want to, and save it for myself or for someone special to me without feeling guilty that someone somewhere doesn't have a hat.

I knit. I like to knit. I like to crochet and tat and use thread and needles to create other fabrics/bits/extras whathaveyou. I do not HAVE TO KNIT FOR CHARITY to have the right to knit. I knit for myself, because I enjoy knitting. Not because I owe someone a hat because they are cold.

Let's not misunderstand me here. I give to charity. I work for a charitable organization that's non profit and goes well out of its way to make sure that all have the same. And I see the inequalities right here on the streets of my own little home town every day. I do what I do about it, in my way, in my own time and without need of fanfare or accolade. And you know what really sucks? Even as I take this stand about not having to, I feel the need to defend myself by telling you that I do things for charity that don't involve knitting. bah...

What really offends me is this damned holier than thou attitude that so many of my fellow crafters adopt. "I'm a *good person* because I knit 734 hats for the homeless this weekend..." I mean, really. Great, good, I'm sure that the homeless (at least some of them) appreciate that contribution to no end. But.. um.. .why are you telling me about it? Why are you holding it up like some badge that you won?

Knitting is mine. FOR ME. Because I like to do it and because I like to bestow my loved ones and friends with handmade gifts that show them I've thought about them and value them. Why would I cheapen that sort of gift by handing out my talents to just anyone willynilly?

Bah. Excuse me while I go cheer at a rodeo.

A 'laughter' of clowns

2007-05-17T20:20:00.000-06:00

I've searched with Google, pawed through Dogpile and even Ask'ed Jeeves, but the only collective noun I can find for clowns is an 'alley of clowns'.

Well, I can see that alley is a very good word and well used, as most local clown associations are called Alleys it's probably all official and what not. In fact, upon contemplation I expect that it comes from where the circus clowns would prepare for performances. Where are the clowns? They're all down that alley. Maybe?

But after spending a wonderful weekend at a local 21st annual Clown convention I think that a 'laughter of clowns' works much better. If you ever have wondered what it's like to be a clown, or just like them, find yourself a clown convention and go. I can't recommend a hobby/passion convention I've ever attended (and being the obsessive gotta do it to the nth degree type I've been to a few such) any more than I do this one.

To be around people so honest and truly comfortable, and watch them just play. No strings, no agendas, nothing but true sharing and caring. I've seldom been in better company.

I was there in the capacity of chaperone to a group of youth. Some of them had been to the convention the year before but a few of them were as new to it all as I was. Suffice it to say we dived right in. :) Thank fully I mean into classes and not a glass of water or a clown car ;P. In fact the only 'clown car' I saw was one made outta balloons and there were no cream pies anywhere. But there was laughter everywhere you turned.

Clowns have a bad rap thanks to "IT" by Stephen King and various other misuses of the makeup. Really, when you paint your face pure white, exaggerate your features with traditional black and red (did you know, I'm told that it was against tradition (searching for more info on that) to wear blue greasepaint?), then clap on a wig of colours seldom seen together no shit that's scary stuff.

When Bumper and Patches met us at the door, my 5 year old nearly climbed me like a tree to get away from them. Bumper, I'm told, is a traditional whiteface. While Patches is what is called an 'auguste' (pronounced awwgooose) clown. Although he claims to not play in the traditional auguste way :) and I have to tell you after watching him perform a bit I think he just likes to play but that's just my theory.

Bumper was great, when Littlest was so unsure of him. He told her that under the makeup and clothes he was a daddy and a grandpa and did ordinary things. Then he left her be till she was in facepaint herself. Then HE acted afraid of her, and totally got her to run over and give him a hug to prove she wasn't scary. It was important to him, anyone could see and a payoff he was willing to wait patiently for. I think that's why I was extra pleased to have spent a little time getting to know him and to be present when he was awarded clown of the year. Patches' letter of congratulation was enough to put me and many around me to tears at the true bond of friendship, respect and love between them.

There are other traditional types of clowns and each was expected to play in a particular way. The whiteface is usually 'boss clown' He's the one that the auguste is trying to play pranks on and often ends up being the dignified winner in a contest he didn't even know he was entered in. The auguste is often a prankster, thinks he's clever than he is and the whiteface is his target. The tricks he plans for the whiteface's tumble are thwarted by misunderstood or literally enacted instructions by the whiteface whose earnest attempts to complete them often has the audience cheering for him rather than the IMO more appealing mischief maker. Heh, I guess I'm a little leary of the whitefaces too.

Which makes this rather ironic.

Memories...like the corners of my mind...

2007-05-04T10:10:00.000-06:00

Recently I read a post on GutRumbles that made me start thinking about a lot of things. Primarily about how much *country* I really am, but also about how we are so sure we're all unique and we are, each of us, experiencing the world with our own personal opinions, life experiences and yet...

We think we're all so very different but really in a lot of ways we aren't. In fact right there in the job description for a vital part of growing up is 'disassociate yourself from your parents' beliefs, values, and morals...' what a lot of kids miss is the fine print that says 'until you figure out for yourself that those are good beliefs, values and morals and you could have saved everyone a lot of grief if you'd just thought about it for a bit before going off on that roadtrip...'

He spoke about watching a 100 best country songs and crying on the floor at various songs. I was surprised and yet not, to find that the songs he mentioned were ones that have been known to undo me as easily as they did him, although obviously for very different reasons. How so fitting I thought afterwards, the echoes of his posts long ago written, sending forth ripples of my own song associations through my mind. That I do believe is what some people mean when they say blogging is their way of reaching out.

Boobs spoke recently of how her son is becoming someone that delights her and yet surprises her. She recounts a conversation about being 'Goth' and how even though she was she didn't know. Yet again our differences become so much definition and not so much truly differences but variations. My daughters and son surprise me at every turn, even when it's what I expect them to do, they have their own spin on it.

I listen to a station called "Classic Country" in the Dodge. Somehow it seems to fit the car :P. I find myself bellowing out the lyrics along with Johnny and Marty, Waylon, Willie and the rest of the boys, surprising myself at how well I remember the words. The intonations and feelings that accompany these jaunts down memory lane are enlightening to me. Even if they do sometimes leave me wiping my eyes when I get to where I'm going.

People often talk about a song taking them back. I understood that, even though I wasn't someone who lined up speakers like headphones and laid on the floor between them to *experience* the sound. Music is background to me. That doesn't mean it's not important, just not the be all and end all I've imagined it to be to others. I've never spent a lot of money on records, cassettes or cds, content instead to listen to the radio. I admit I taped a few songs here and there and even *gasp* bought more than one collection for a particular song.

Another reason blogs are changing the way we think...

2007-04-21T22:38:00.000-06:00

Well maybe... Scientific Sex postulates that once someone writes something down they believe it, even if they write about something they don't agree with or against something they do agree with. Further research (in the guise of calling up a couple of psychologist friends and searching a bit on the 'net) explains to me that while a complete and utter reversal of opinion isn't the usual result, a questioning as to why one believes as one does, in respect to disagreeing with the 'false' opinion written often occurs.

So that makes me wonder, when we write about something, when we 'blog' our opinions what are we blogging? Are we blogging well thought out stands on issues we are well versed in? Or... are we guilty of 'jumping on the bandwagon' when we read something well written (regardless of truth in what we've read).

I know I am, at least at times, guilty of just that. But...then when I read what I've written I become even more firmly convinced that yes, that is my opinion and why is anyone even questioning that I think that way. Too bad if not that long ago I voiced a different opinion. That doesn't make me wishy washy it makes me smart enough to realize when I'm wrong.

The next time I find myself writing with Passion, I promise myself that I will examine that passion to be certain that it is mine and not inherited second or third hand.

Recycled Post

2007-04-11T13:18:00.000-06:00

Well folks, it's come to this. I liked this post when I wrote it but I posted it somewhere else. Now that I'm trying to gather my fractured personality into one place I thought I'd post it here as well. This was written and posted in December 2006.

I tried the NaNoWriMo novel. Which to those uninitiated is a challenge to write a novel in 30 days. The goal is 50,000 words in the month of November. That breaks down to 1667 words per day. I got to just under 42,000. Much closer than the 13,000 I arrived at the end of November 2005 with.

The idea is great. My novel, not so much. But that's not really the point. The point is to write something, anything really, every day and keep it up for 30 days solid to establish the habit. Sadly, when you allow it to either become such a priority that you end up resenting the fact that you have to write those damned 1667 words or such a barrier that every word is wrung from you with such effort you start to sweat just sitting down at your desk, it sorta defeats the purpose. Not that I got that way you see. :P Just that I can see how that whole let's establish a habit can backfire. :P

Meh, I suppose that's nothing more than justification :) But I did learn a few things about myself and my desire to be a writer. I really do want it; and I really need to stop believing those 'only from angst and strife comes good literature' stories I've been hearing. Writing has to be something I do because I enjoy it, not because it's ripped from me like some clinging tentacles that are unwilling to leave go. So when it's not on, it's not on and forcing it, working myself into a mood of anger, disgust or just plain depression will not feed any muses that are hovering nearby.

On the flipside? When the muse speaks I need to listen. I've learned to carry a small pad and pencil in my purse as well as a small tape recorder for those moments where writing won't work. And I need to record everything. Because if I try to write in an orderly fashion, telling that dream of an idea to just wait its turn it will dissolve into the ether, leaving only the barest of flavour to the air that surrounded it. A teasing touch on your tongue, a brush of whisper against your mind and then it is gone. Never to return, never to dance upon your heart again to send it quivering. Oh you'll think you've got it back but if you're truthful with yourself, there'll be some lingering word that just isn't quite right.

Writing can be painful :) but it doesn't have to be. And just because it isn't rent from someone's mind amidst the throes of angst and turmoil that frankly would just leave me with a headache doesn't mean it's not good enough to put out there to read. What some would call bubblegum for the mind, soft teen romance and a girlhood crush that turns to first love is just as important, just as hard to write frankly as any epic. Just ask Margaret Mitchell (author of the ultimate true love gone bad story, Gone With the Wind...which she wrote in long hand.)

Wild Hogs

2007-04-07T10:26:00.000-06:00

There are certain movies that have to be seen in a theatre to fully appreciate the scope of the film. Epic type movies like Lord of the Rings and certain family favourites like the Harry Potter franchise which while not really needing the *big screen effect* certainly are a family tradition to see on opening day.

Wild Hogs is not one of them. Not because it's not a side slippingly genuinely funny movie that had us smiling fondly and laughing out loud, choking on popcorn within 10 minutes of opening. And not because the cinematography isn't awe inspiring for many of the long 'road trip' shots. And certainly not only because it's a very accurate assessment of why many people find the appeal of the open road and no helmet addictive.

No, it's because at home, you can REWIND to hear the parts you missed from laughing at the bit just before.

There's little time wasted setting up the premise, as it's not really that difficult a concept to grasp. Four friends, middle aged, a couple of them apparently friends since college like to get together for a ride on their hogs. Not that strange that one or two or even all of them for varying reasons are in a state of malcontent at the way life has turned out for them.

So in the eternal cry of moviedom solutions, a roadtrip is proposed.

The story plays out as expected, but not in a jaded, oh here we go again fashion. Allen is eloquent, although almost seems to be striving to play against type, Travolta sometimes appears to be mailing it in. Hennessey is miscast in my opinion, not to mention looking a tiny bit too skinny. Lawrence is the fallguy or maybe not. And William H. Macy is brilliant. Tomei, cute, sexy, honest. Liotta...mmmmm HOT in a badboy is only misunderstood sort of way with just enough of a nod to the old Rats&Mice version of bikers to make it not sit badly. The Easy Rider nod might not be so apparent to some of the younger crowd but I certainly got it :) as did many others around us. And for anyone who didn't, look it up.

Certainly not an *enthusiast's* movie, for that you might want to go here. It sure won't give you anything more than a jaded 'let's make 'em look like idiots to stop people being afraid of them' glimpse of bikers either. Then again, it's not a documentary, so why should it do anything more than entertain? Which for myself, it did very well. Well enough that a few minutes into the movie I found myself thinking, "I'm so buying this when it comes out."

My rating: 3.5/5

You gotta know how to celebrate the difference, is all I'm saying...

2007-04-06T11:07:00.000-06:00

Without much hope of a change, despite the determinedly cheerful forecast by the poor guy on the weather channel last night; (I do believe that's one of the most thankless jobs around at times) I looked out the window this morning to a view of white with more falling from the sky. Did the weatherman not hear the date? I mean we changed to DST early and all for this? Oh sure it's beautiful, all pristine and still like that; the white flakes falling from the sky in silent splendour reminding me of the awesome implacability of Mother Nature. IN DECEMBER it's freakin' awesome.

We are now in April. 'nuff said.

'Move south' my american friends tell me. 'Come to God's Country' my relatives on the west coast and in the valley tell me. 'Come home' say the ones still living in Saskatchewan, adding 'at least you'll know what to expect', because when it's winter in Northern Saskatchewan it's WINTER and while it's brief, when it's summer time it truly, truly is.

Having grown up with seasons as distinct as that I have to say that as much as I bitch and complain along with everyone else I look forward to the seasons changing.

There's something about the scent of snow in the air in October that reminds me that all's right with the world and sends me into a Suzyhomemaker spiral that equates to a squirrel getting ready to hibernate. I bake, I cook, I organize my spice cupboard after much swearing because I can't find the nutmeg I bought last fall after running out and I go out and buy more. Somewhere in my house is a treasure trove of little orangeybrown tins of nutmeg. I pull out my wool for new winter wool socks and I revel in it anticipating the hours I'll spend watching the new seasons of various tv shows and knitting because it's too ugly to go out. And just when it's become very nearly unbearable to stay cooped up inside one more day, I catch a glimpse of a brave stem of grass poking through the muddy snow.

I know that spring will stir other, although similar, urges within me. My farmer father's genes run rampant and I have to fight the urge to rip up the soil and plant something, anything. Usually I manage to lay down and this urge goes away :)but sometimes I have to repot all my herbs and houseplants (the ones that survive in spite of me) and there's usually a new addition. Last year it was crocuses (crocusi?)in a lovely blue crockery pot and I'm rather curious to see if they will come back this year. I guess pulling the pot out of the storage shed and unwrapping it would help, hmm? After spring comes summer, days of lake time (if Miss gets a chance and life cooperates that is) and hot days. As little clothing as is legal or practical and corn on the cob grilled on the barbeque. But even that ideal fades as the summer winds to an end. A soft chill creeps into the morning air and takes longer to leave each day, and soon the dry scent of snow is in my nostrils and the cycle starts again.

Winter allows me to love summer, and summer allows me to love winter. I think that's why I firmly believe you can't know if you're happy unless you've experienced sadness, nor sad unless you've experienced happiness. Success is only truly embraced if you've experienced failure. Although I do believe that contentment is another matter, because it's a fine line between content and complacent with only a step or two to go from there to contempt. But that's another post.

I've learned that seasons change and nothing is forever, not even the idyllic 'hazy days of summer'; no matter what that phrase becomes a euphemism for. I know that life is a temporary state. It's also what you make of it. You can freeze your fingers and bitterly complain about the cold, walking around in clothing unsuitable to the climate, however no matter how much you complain the weather isn't going to change for you unless you move. Or you can bundle up and have a snowball fight, or make a snowman, knowing that even that emblem of fun will not last forever. It's all about how you choose to view the world.

Today, I'm choosing happy and let the snowflakes fall where they may.

Ain't no altruism, at all

2007-03-31T13:21:00.000-06:00

Thank you all for the kinds words about getting our good friend Special K up and running again. It's heartening to receive all this attention but like the good lady said. It was absolutely and positively not an act of altruism. Damn it all, I was going into withdrawal.

Most of my daily reads (with the exception of Acidman ... and his are archived posts being put up by a friend in his memory) are becoming somewhat lax in their posting. And yes, I am well aware of the irony in someone who has posted a grand total of what? 5 times in the first quarter of 2007 complaining about the lack of posting by others, but they were daily posters when I started reading them and now they aren't. So, I stand by my whine. ;P. I was running out of new stuff to read. I dislike that. It makes me crabby and whiney and I really needed to know about (let's call him) Mark and the status thereof, and Petey and RaisinDoug and all the rest of the wonderful characters that populate her world.

So, when the simple fact of her not having a computer could be solved by my taking one of the ones we had donated and cleaned up for our own personal little 'make sure everyone who wants one has a computer' thing, voila, easily done.

But altruistic? Nope. Pure, unadulterated selfishness on my part. The woman makes me laugh, think, cry and muse over her random and sometimes scary posts :P. I like that in a person. Don't you all?

So again, thank you but come on, be honest, any of you would have done the same if you'd had the wherewithal, opportunity or what have you. Cause face it, you were all in freaking SK withdrawal too, weren't you?

For those who don't really read comments here's a list of the pimped urls that have accumulated:

www.acrossthelana.blogspot.com
www.thekaetlancaresnot.blogspot.com
http://www.sundrymourning.com/
www.izzlepfaff.com

Now I'm off on my daily roll through the blogs.

See you in the comments.

tru

stolen idea

2007-03-21T13:58:00.000-06:00

Heh, isn't that what memes are all about? :P

Crystal over at Boobs has a pretty cool idea. She's asked her readership to pimp their blogs. She also had the *gasp* courage to turn off her word verification for the post. As she said in the comments, here come the penis ads LOL.

I'd like to invite you all to do something similar here. I'm not turning off the word verification however :) I'm not that brave.

I'd like you to instead of pimping your blog, put a link to your favourite read. Be it blog, newspaper, sarcastic news site, entertainment whore site whatever.

Some filler for a few laughs.

2007-03-20T17:56:00.000-06:00

writer:

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind.
You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life.
Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling.
And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

How Leo are you:

You are 73% Leo

How Leo Are You?

Seduction style:

Your Seduction Style: Ideal Lover

You seduce people by tapping into their dreams and desires.

And because of this sensitivity, you can be the ideal lover for anyone you seek.

You are a shapeshifter - bringing romance, adventure, spirituality to relationships.

It all depends on who your with, and what their vision of a perfect relationship is.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

SNORT: Driver:

You Failed Your Driver's Test

You only got 5/10 correct.
If you have a driver's license, it needs to be revoked!

Are You a Good Driver?

mythical creature:

You Are a Mermaid

You are a total daydreamer, and people tend to think you're flakier than you actually are.
While your head is often in the clouds, you'll always come back to earth to help someone in need.
Beyond being a caring person, you are also very intelligent and rational.
You understand the connections of the universe better than almost anyone else.

What Mythological Creature Are You?

I miss my car.

2007-03-08T09:33:00.000-07:00

It took me a while to get back to the fun of driving. I'd gotten used to it being more of a tool than a possession, more of a needed thing than an identity. I even got to a point where I poked fun at those who did have an identity because of, or sometimes in spite of, their car.

I learned to drive in a toyota corolla in the midseventies. Rather I learned to love to drive in that car. I'd been driving tractors (badly, we won't mention the JD up the tree just now) a chevy truck of my father's with three on the tree that hated me, a fact I'm still convinced of some 30 years later, but when Sam let me take the wheel of that little brown toyota I fell in love with driving. I had no fear. I spun that little car through sand dunes and over gravel, revelling in the sensation of skimming over the pavement, caught in the hum of the tires under the country sounds on the radio. Driving got to me.

I've been horse crazed my entire life, so it only stands to reason that I'd be nuts about Mustangs. Still, I teased and poked gentle fun at the II on my hubby's car. He'd done a bit of playing under the hood, though and when he finally let me drive it I got pretty fond of that car pretty fast too.

My love divided then, between the slick handling of the toyota I remembered and the sheer let's do it power of that little Mustang.

Then we got practical. We got an Aerostar. *sigh*. Still a standard though, so that was some relief. After that, it was a succession of cars for transportation. Economy and price were the deciding factors.

Finally the Tempo pretty much died. I found a Supra at a decent price, getting it from the young fellow who needed to sell one of his two cars before his dad did it for him for half his asking price.

And I fell in love all over again. Here was the perfect blend of my two previous loves. The handling I remembered together with the speed. It was bliss. Driving to school was a pleasure that offset the need to go somewhere as the Aerostar had not done.

It died last summer. I killed another one (not quite the same, being an automatic, read the Mountain Dew post if you want to know how) and now drive a Dodge Spirit.

Here's the bumper sticker that the blog thing says should be on my Supra:

Your Bumper Sticker Should Be

Anything worth taking seriously - is worth making fun of

What Bumper Sticker Should Be On Your Car?

Here's the one that I get for the Dodge Spirit:

Your Bumper Sticker Should Be

Squirrel - it's what's for supper

What Bumper Sticker Should Be On Your Car?

Le sigh...sort of says it all, doesn't it?

It was inevitable

2007-02-27T10:34:00.000-07:00

I've been trying hard not to turn this blog into a mommy blog, or a knitting blog and reading back through my posts...well... I failed. So I might as well give in and write about knitting.

A while back I started reading (with great delight to find her blogging) The Yarn Harlot. Finding Steph posting on the net was like discovering an old friend. I used to read her on the KNITlist and often read her posts outloud to my family. That is when I could get the words out without falling outta my chair with laughter. Trust me, if anyone of you has ever read the skating while knitting adventure and didn't laugh then you just plain don't have any sense of humour what so all.

Her blog isn't quite as madcap as some of those posts used to be (I wonder if she's planned a book of those) but it's full of wonderful inciteful posts that will leave even the non knitter muggle thinking, I guarantee you that. She hardly needs more publicity :P I can barely get to her site some mornings over coffee because her non believer ISP has difficulty believing -that- many people want to read a knitting blog.

So in the interest of throwing up my hands and surrendering to one of my quiet passions here's a copy of a letter I recently wrote to Steph aka TheYarnHarlot.
Hey Steph,

Yet again I've read something in your blog that has inspired me.. gofigure :)

I tend to focus on the little throwaway stuff you toss in more so than the big check this out ones :) so a while back you mentioned acquiring Sea Silk. I promptly went to the link, checked it out and after a while (cause I tend to have wonderful intentions but a gold paved road) went back and found the link again and bought some.

I have to say, my initial take on it when my son picked it up for me (at the wool shop, in the city, where he had to go out of his way across town to get it for me...what a good boy he is...which would be said with a great deal less sarcasm if the daughter of the owner wasn't his age and a gorgeous doll that makes him nearly stammer when he talks to her LOL) was wow.. oh WOW it's even prettier than in the pictures. Yeah I know, it always is but I'm always surprised. Living life as an optimist has its perks :) .
Then I felt it. YUMMY. Smelt it..double YUMMY...

then... and then... oh the pain... I started to wind it on my ball winder.

Not so yummy.

It was a mess. It tangled and twisted and was generally a pain. Okay so it's me I decided and took up the other skein after fighting with the first one for two days. This time I told myself to besure to examine the skein ... find the right end and not try to wind from the middle out. That was what I was sure was the problem. Not so much.

Second skein same as the first. (will you forgive me if I say that sounding like Davey Jones? :))

I called the wool shop and whined and whimpered. They said they'd get in touch with handmaiden. A goodly time passed. Days, weeks even and I spent hours on the couch untangling the silk and ended up with about 6 balls where I had to break it.
This was intended to become a hairpin lace shawl so I wasn't too overly concerned with the breakage but the stuff that was too tangled that bothered me as I hate to not have enough. (hence my stash suitable for insulation of a bedroom according to hubby)

Long story short, by the time they got back to me I'd started and completed 3/4 of the lengths of lace so wasn't interested in their return the skeins and get new ones solution.

Even more cutting to the chase...

The shawl is nearly done, border to be crocheted on today.
And now after all that longwinded moaning, my question... any ideas on how much I can block this? And how to do so?

How has your seasilk experience been? I'd like to do more with it...not totally turned off it from the winding but definitely will be fortified with various libations to the knitting gods before I attempt another winding.

tRu

FYI the shawl was recieved with much gimmeegimmeegimmee of the recipient. Promptly put on and cuddled. Made its debut on a cruise and was pronounced perfect. So a happy ending nonetheless.

In the Just when you thought it was safe department

2007-01-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

I've only recently (ie in the last year or so) become a prisoner of my cellphone. Sure I had one years ago. We had one of the radio phones that was like a suitcase that you carried with you and believe me we had some elaborate charging system for that 10 mins of usage at a time. *GRIN*. Then we had the Motorola 650 which is one of the toughest phones we've ever seen. Hubby actually ran over ours with a semi, not once but two or three times. On pavement and on gravel. he'd get out of the truck to do his bihourly brake and load check and take the phone with him to call home. Inevitably he'd set it on the back tire to thump his tires and occasionally he forgot it there. After retrieving it for the third time it became a family joke that we needed to invest in Motorola and that he oughta get a job in their R&D department for destructibility.

I progressed and picked up a V100. ( http://mobile.softpedia.com/phones/Motorola/Motorola-V100.shtml ) A cute little laptop wannabe in opaque blue plastic. It was intended I believe mostly for use as a handsfree and had a convenient little beltclip and nifty headset thingie. When you opened it up it had a tiny little keyboard but it was cute, and I got it for cheap ($50 I think) too bad that the cellphone service provider I used wasn't so cheap on the text messages.

After a while of not having one personally but hubby using the MIKE phone sytem (yet again Motorola go figure..that whole stock option thing I guess) and being able to talk to him when he was on the highway, all over the states and Canada we started looking for cellphones that worked for us.

Eventually we decided upon the Solo system. ( www.solomobility.ca ) Solely for the 10-4 capability. So we joined the current decade as my snarky children like to point out, and bought Sanyo 2300 phones. I tricked mine out with a MyTego tigerskin (www.mytego.com) and away we went. Soon we picked up one for the 10 yo, because it's handy for riding. The horses are all used to the phones ringing and talking and when you're collecting cattle in the foothills it's great to not have to shout around the bushes and over the hill.

But now... this is going a bit too far... http://electronics.howstuffworks.com/ref/nfc-phone.htm?cid=rss1 I have enough trouble with lost/misplaced cellphones, debit/credit cards without combining the two.

Yikes.

The Tooth Fairy Cometh

2006-10-31T23:30:00.000-07:00

My children were young when my marriage reached its end. After everything was said and done they ended up living with my ex husband. It wasn’t the way I wanted things to be, there were things that were worse and things that were better but we made the best of it. Weekends were spent with me, school holidays and summer holidays.

My ex was not the sort of man who believed that children should believe in fairies so while he bowed to convention regarding the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus he simply was not going to play the tooth fairy game. My eldest was the only one losing teeth at the time and I convinced her that since the Tooth Fairy was a lady that she would find her way to my house easier than to her dad’s and so she should save her fallen teeth to put under her pillow at my house.

All went along well in the tooth fairy department for a year or two. The eldest has brought her teeth to my house with unfailing regularity, and had convinced her younger sister to do the same. Number 2 daughter is a spirit unto herself however, and one day she decided to test mom’s theory about the tooth fairy. She announced that the next tooth she lost she wasn’t going to wait till the weekend visit, she was going to put that tooth under her pillow that very night.

I was blissfully unaware of the crisis my eldest faced that night until later. By now she knew that her sister was going to be disappointed as she’d secretly tried this very thing herself, only to find the tooth still there in the morning. So she waited till her sister was asleep and snuck into her room replacing the tooth with two shiny quarters from her own allowance.

She told me the story the next weekend and I tried hard not to cry. Nevermore than in that moment did the guilt and selfishness I’d felt about the divorce rise up to confront me. Nevermore than in that moment when I saw her innocence draining away. I rewarded her with a dollar for her kindness to her sister, hugged her and told her how proud I was of her. She went out to play and I sat and cried.

Believing in the tooth fairy was one of the childhood dreams that are so precious and I had let that be taken from her, I berated myself. I was immensely proud of her though and through my guilt I found a glimmer of hope that some of what I was teaching her was the reason she’d been so compassionate towards her sister.

A few weeks later, she hugged me good night and whispered in my ear. “Mommy, I lost a tooth today.” She showed me the tooth proudly. “Do you think the tooth fairy will come if I put it under my pillow?” Her face was earnest, eager for my answer and innocent of all sarcasm or guile.

“Yes, baby, I’m certain she will.”

That resonates

2006-10-15T18:41:00.000-06:00

One of my favourite reads started back blogging a time ago and I'm glad. Sometimes she's funny, sometimes she's sad. And sometimes she makes me squirm in my own skin when she rales about things that make her nuts and I know that I do them.

Sometimes however, simply, she resonates.

Like this post, entitled "Goal" and it's simply a plaque type picture that says. "Love like you'll never get hurt."

How terribly honest.

How absolutely terrifying.

How immediately I rejected that idea. And I doubt that I'm alone.

yet...there's a nagging honesty there, something that made me stop, pause and look over my shoulder as I ran screaming from that proposal. Why shouldn't one? Why shouldn't someone go into a relationship without all those anxieties and nasty memories of how someone trod upon your heart?

But then all these other branches of thought open up. Do you really want to lead with your heart? Time and time again. Isn't it just asking for someone to step all over you if you don't learn from past mistakes? Isn't it a repetition of the cycle if you repeat and repeat and repeatedly take up with the wrong kinda guy? Or for that matter.

And yet, that honesty nagged and nagged. I've had many people prejudge me by the fact that I looked like, sounded like, thought like someone else. I've seen people not celebrate various holidays because this person or that person did this or that or the other thing on that holiday. I mean really, do we need to outlaw breaking up on Christmas? Sometimes though, people need to just get over stuff.

I've heard sad story after story about how someone let someone go, walked away because of past experiences and not wanting to revisit those feelings. And to tell the truth I've had a moment's pause here and there myself about people.

I wish that everyone coming into my life had the same open chance that others have had. That's just not the way of it though, and I'm sure I'm not alone. Each experience colours my ability to trust, love, believe the next time around.

I wish I could have that goal. In not just love, either. People deserve a chance to be who they are. Correction, I wish I could have that goal as an achievable goal.

What's your goal?

mountain dew, not just for drinking anymore...

2006-10-12T20:39:00.000-06:00

So.. a few days ago I'm returning from an evening visit with my daughter (we went and saw a really dorky movie called You, Me & Dupree...normally I like owen wilson but meh...

I'm driving the sorta supra. It's a year newer than the old one (which we're still not talking about what happened to btw) but it's an automatic. It's still a fun enough car to drive and gets from point A to point B well enough but it's an 'automatic'. It's hard to explain but there's something about driving a standard. It's difficult to explain but there's a sense of being in control. It's like your brain goes to mush when you drive an automatic and you make silly decisions.

Anyway, i'm on my way home. Driving down the main thoroughfare and I see a sudden blurup of flame shoot up from the left side of the hood of the car, and then in my rear view mirror I see a flame shoot out from the car and a trail of sparks.

And yet, the car is still running. There's nothing odd about the sound of the engine and I'm not totally sure I didn't imagine it. I drive a bit further, and there it is again, a fillip of sparks behind me and still nothing indicating that anything is wrong. The car has not lost power, there's no more flames and before a chorus of facepalming and what the hell were you thinking starts, consider this. I was in traffic on a fairly busy road. Averaging 100 kmh. And it's not like any of the other drivers were in any way inclined to move the hell out of the way so I could pull over to the side of the road.

Oh, wait, there we go again, another flashing trail of sparks. Alright, it's time to find an exit. Off I get...still rolling at a regular speed, no hiccuping, no more flames. A quick phone call home on the cell and the concensus is, drive it as close to home as I can get it. It's cooked already is the thought.

Getting off the main road drops my speed to about 60 kmh. Now followed by an odd coloured plume of smoke I'm still moving with traffic and the car appears totally oblivious to any sort of issue. The smoke is not blue, indicating burning oil, nor is it a billowing cloud of white steam that would probably mean a blown head gasket. It's just smoke.

yeah yeah, I know... still no clue.

I am starting to feel uncomfortable and uneasy and all I want to do is get back onto the highway where I can keep up my speed. Miraculously I make every light but one at the very edge of the city and that seems to bode badly for the now starting to chug car. Then, the traffic is moving again and believe it or not, so is the car (and me).

But it's the beginning of the end. The dash has finally gotten a conversation going wth the various computerized controllers and is sending a flashdancing set of signals that are basically telling me to pull the hell over and get the hell outta the car. Apparently that was far too easy to do 20 minutes ago.

A few miles more, a hill or two and the gallant little car is coasting to a standstill at a conveniently located roadside set of selfweigh scales. I call home again and give my location.

Now this car is previously owned and some previous Special Person has had the incredibly annoying idea that removing the radio is as simple as snipping a few wires and yanking... causing a recurring short in the dash that as an interesting side effect requires the headlights to be turned off by unclipping an aligator clip from a wire under the dash. (And no, that was not the source of the yet to be declared problem) As I open the hood, in the dark, unlit area I've rolled to a halt I notice a glimmer of light. Curiosity certainly will kill the cat... I had to know what that flickering was so I walked around to the other side of the car and there we have it folks... a fire. Right there on the back underside of the engine on the passenger side.

I ducked into the car, grabbing my purse, cellphone, insurance and registration, a litre bottle of Mountain Dew with a few sips gone, and a camera case full of cameras and dashed to a safe distance. Setting this stuff down I flip open the cell phone and holler, "I'm on fire!!!"

"You're what now?" Hubby's distracted voice cuts through. "I'm trying to find ..." I'm not listening anymore.

"I mean the car's on fire, not me." Somehow I thought this was an important denotation to make. Now I'm back at curious and circling closer to the car, Mountain dew in hand...

Side note: On any given date or time, the back seat of my car holds anywhere from 3 to 10 half finished bottles of water. The girls are always grabbing a few bottles to take with us when we go to the horses and despite our constant nagging to the contrary, leaving them in the backseat unfinished. This time apparently, they decided to change things up and there were no bottles of anything in the back seat.

"I'm trying to put it out..."

"Let it burn..." I know he's thinking fire insurance, however I'm thinking ...my supra...

"Yeah..yeah... I'm putting it out ..." Splash! Sizzle...splash splash splash...sizzle sizzle sizzle..billow of smoke now scented with the unbelievable scent of hot burnt mountain dew.

Yuck!

So there I sat, for a little while, till hubby and son pulled up in son's chevy pickup. Which he repeatedly and annoying pointed out was running. and a chevy... meh...

Custom make a quiz...

2006-09-12T22:16:00.000-06:00

... and receive lots of spam :) or maybe not

So far I'm not but...we'll see I guess.

Anyway... want to know what your friends really know about you? Your significant other? Set 1 to 10 questions about yourself or some other equally scintilatingly interesting topic and send the annoying link to all your friends. Thereby challenging them to admit to you how much or little they know about you. ;P

Here's the link to mine...see how you rate about knowing the unicorn (aka me).

http://www02.quizyourfriends.com/quizpage.php?quizname=060912201530-520122&

Hee... it suddenly occured to me that some people reading this might not even know that my pseudonym, long before the notion of an online nickname entered my mind, was UNICORN.

I've used it since I was 13, a very long time.

irish directions

2006-09-10T22:51:00.000-06:00

The Quiet Man is the one movie that always makes my very changeable favourite 10 movies list. Not only is it a 'John Wayne' movie, it's also a 'John Ford' movie and a 'Maureen O'Hara' movie. An Oscar winning (for cinematography) 'classic' that almost never was. It is also one of the most visually beautiful movies I remember seeing.

The tone of the entire movie is set for me in the first 10 minutes of the film. John Wayne arrives in a small Irish town. He asks directions to the town of Innisfree of the conductor of the train. A simple enough scene, rather mundane in the way of starting a movie but the dialogue is unforgettable. I begin to smile as soon as the conductor and the engineer begin to fight about whether the fishing is best to the east or the west and the helpful lady with the daughter who'd be glad to show the nice man the way were she here always makes me laugh out loud at JW's reaction. But the sequence that sums up the entire movie for me and how it makes me smile and feel good is the one that goes something like this: "Do you see that road there?" JW nods eagerly, sensing an actual bit of useful information forthcoming, "Don't be taking that road, it'll take ye nowhere near Innisfree."

No matter what mood I'm in that line will draw me into a Brigadoon like state, where the world is suspended for an hour and a half and I live in a world where horse races can decide the fate of a relationship and the anger and animosity of a life long hatred for someone different from you can be turned off to share a wager on a fight.

It's an old story, a 'taming of the shrew' so to speak, love will conquer all and the like. The characters are caricatures of the Irish. The rowdy brother; the stand offish men in the pub until they discover JW's true connection to the place; the little Michaleen; all stand against time to how the Irish have been percieved and portrayed through the years. Remember the Irishman in Braveheart? A little off, talking to God all the time but a lovable character nonetheless. It's difficult (for me at least) to dislike someone with the lilt and charm of the Irish in their voice. So even the villians of movies end up being a little bit loveable.

Years ago I was calling about a groom position at a breeding farm. The lilting tones of an Irishman greeted me over the phone. We chatted for a bit about my qualifications and he invited me to drive over for a face to face interview. While giving me directions he uttered this sentence:

"Do you know the road that goes by McDonald's?"

"Yes," I quickly answered, pen at the ready to take down the directions.

"Don't be going on down that road, it won't bring you anywhere near here..."

My laughter was barely muffled and it was a longish pause before I was able to compose myself and get the correct directions from him.

Upon meeting this delightful man I began working for him and one day he was showing me his racing history, some of his souveniers from his years and years of participation, first as a jockey, then as a trainer and now as a breeder. In the corner, tucked away under a jacket lay an old beat up saddle. He saw me looking at it and explained that it was a souvenier from a movie he'd been an extra in years gone by as a boy in Ireland. The saddle had been used in a race in the movie.

My ears perked up, could it be? Sure enough, he'd been a young lad living in the town that became the fictional Innisfree in my favourite movie. He told me stories about Ward Bond and how the locals had been agog at the man's ability to consume alcohol and still function (no small praise coming from an Irishman), how attentive JW had been to his family and how Miss O'Hara was so beautiful she'd taken his breath away. Listening to his accented tones still strongly Irish after his many years in Canada, I was swept away.

Today, we were a little unsure of where we were. So we stopped to ask an older man, who was sitting on a chair in front of an antique shop, for directions. He stumbled to the car and clung to the door frame for balance. After listening to him tell us not to go that way as it won't take us where we wanted to go we drove off, my smile somewhat fixed as I tried to not breath in the alcohol fumes still hovering around the window.

Finally I turned to hubby and remarked, "trust me to find a drunken Irishman in the middle of nowhere to ask directions from..." He chuckled and nodded and said, "well at least he didn't tell us where the fishing was best."

The words of a child.

2006-09-10T21:15:00.000-06:00

Today we took a drive south to visit Jack, #4's 'horse to be' once we get him all paid off. We've been working with him for quite some time and he's become a pet as much as a horse to ride.

It's been a while since we've been able to get there to work with him. Added to that, Jack is entering what amounts to the teenaged angst age group for horses and we weren't too sure of his reaction to being summarily hauled in from the pasture, saddled and ridden. Horses typically have ages where they respond (or don't as the case may be) to certain things amicably or not. Usually what you see as a 1 and 2 year old is what you'll eventually get but there's that ...deadfromtheneckup... time period around 3 to sometimes as old as 5 when they are just cantankerous and unwilling and unpredictable. You know, teenaged angst time.

Jack was a little flat eared and hunchy when hubby got on so we didn't push things. The girls wanted a ride so I led them around on him. I was hot and tired and a little crankily myself with one thing and another, and to tell the truth, trudging around the corral leading a reluctant horse was low on my list of things to do today. #4 enjoyed her ride even if she's a little jaded about being led, being accustomed to being allowed to ride him unaided. Then it was #5's turn.

She clambors up with a little assistance from my knee. She settles into the saddle and picks up the reins. Jack and I start out and her voice trills out, "Mommy when I ride a horse I feel like I'm flying."

"Do you?" I replied in a somewhat surprised tone. The words were clear and the sentiment one I identified with immediately.

"Yes, flying through the air, all by myself."

I couldn't help the smile and sense of wellbeing that rushed through me. I repeated her words to the hubby, adding that I sure could understand that sensation. It didn't really matter that it was hot then, or that I was cranky or grumpy about things external.

To ride a horse -is- like flying. It's something that can't be explained to someone who doesn't get it, whether they've ridden or not. It is something that can be shared in a glance and a sigh but not with words.

The first time I flew my girlfriend tried to prepare me for the take off. She said, "it's like galloping on a horse but instead of running out field, you simply lift up into the air..."

#5 can be a conundrum of emotions and odd behaviours at times. She's got some habits that can set your (well mine anyways) teeth on edge in an instant but that moment then...those are the moments that matter. There's something so brutally and beautifully honest about a 5 yo's enthusiasm and it gladdens my heart that she could tell me so very very clearly, both in the way she spoke and what she said that she understands.

I've often joked that the reason she's the youngest is because God has a sense of humour. At times like this, I see his other reasons too.

I know I've said it before, but as far as you run, you can never outrun your genes.

2006-09-03T22:23:00.000-06:00

A few evenings back I was sitting happily watching (read playing Darkthrone) tv and the phone rang. It was my older sister. She lives "back home" in the province and relative area to where we grew up. She married a local boy as did our two older sisters also married locally as did our brother Not me...I moved to Calgary and married a man from England. I've since divorced him. But for the eldest (her husband has passed) they're all still with their highschool sweethearts.

Suffice to say I'm the black sheep. The odd duck and the 'what is that kid thinking' element of our family. Doesn't mean I'm not one of them at heart.

The conversation started out in a normal way, a bit of joshing and goodnatured self dreprecation about our age and weight.

Me: "Hey, how are you?"

Sis: "Old and wrinkled."

Me: (laughing), "well you should have stuck with the family plan of fat, that way the skin's stretched out and the wrinkles don't show."

Sis: (also laughing) "Yes well I've plenty of both to go around."

We exchanged family news, catching each other up on the respective grandkids and children. The talk turned as it often does to who died, who wasn't dead yet and who had already died but I'd forgotten when she'd told me. Now to be totally fair, we aren't totally obsessed with death but the community -is- dying. The young'ns are escaping and not returning and that's sad for people like my sister and myself frankly, even though I can't believe I'll ever live there again. Not only that but she works in a funeral home as part of the catering staff (the woman makes one hell of a pyrogy let me tell you :P and her cabbage rolls are to well..die for ... even if they are her mom-in-law's recipe) so she does tend to mark time by funerals.

Sis: Nick B. died.

Me: (totally shocked the man was still alive) "Uh...wasn't he like 938 years old"

Sis: (laughing) Not quite.

Me: Truthfully, I thought he died years ago.

Sis: No that was ...

And the conversation turned to who was related to whom, and how Nick B. wasn't who I thought he was (he was I just truly did think he'd died years ago I wasn't mixing him up with another old man :P but it's fun to chat about who's who with my sis so away we went).

Somewhere in this long standing conversation (only the people we talk about shift generations or sometimes families) it takes one of those leaps that only do when people know each other well enough to let happen and just run with it.

Sis: S... were you ever in an accident? (somewhat startled tone as it had just leaped back into her mind, and also being the reason she'd called me).

Me: (knowing full well that she meant there and in the time we'd been discussing, a time when I'd been a young teen fool and she'd worried about me more than my own mom did...not because she cared more but because she was closer to my generation and what sort of stupidity teens were capable of). "Yes. I mean no not back then, but here in Alberta yes..." (see as much as I like to play with her mind, there's some things I won't twist about with her)

Sis: Well D. P. (who by the way would have been about oh...3 years old when this particular accident did occur)said you were in the car with B when that happened.

Me: (having a semi tempertantrum flashing back on the reason I wasn't in the car with B. who up until about 2 weeks prior to that had been my first boyfriend) NO. That was some bimbo with bigger boobs than mine and thanks for reminding me of that shithead.
(all said in a tone that she would know to be jokingly)

Sis: Well D.P. said. (dog with a bone, that's our family. We get an idea in our heads and it sticks, right or wrong).

Me: (pointing out the age difference between D.P. and myself ...frankly he's a little suck :P and a tattletale) (oh and we always call him D.P. to differentiate between him and our brother D.) I think I'd remember being in that accident. (it had been one where truly the three in the car had been extremely lucky ... they'd crossed a highway in front of a semi carrying logs to the local mill. It's a blind curve and they had a stop sign but they were also young, stupid and who knows possibly a little drunk although I can't honestly remember if they were or not, or if any charges were laid.)

Sis: Well that's what I thought but D.P. said you'd dated him. (Time you see, is relative to our family's need to connect events. Yes, I had dated the boy in question for the entire school year prior to that summer. And yes I was rather bitter that two days after playing "I Wouldn't Want to Lose Your Love" (by April Wine) to me on the phone this boy had taken another girl to the April Wine concert and had never called me again. Sure it was 30 + years ago but some wounds are easily torn open it would appear.)

Me: Thanks for reminding me of that. (the devil? he's got nothing on sardonic remarks around us).

Sis: You're welcome. (see? Not only do we have sardonic down cold but we own stock in sarcasm as well.)

We're goofy now and giggly, sharing things as we never did when we were younger. The age difference between us negligible now that we are both grandmothers. We see the world through the same glasses now, bifocals that let us see both near and far of the situation and with a little bit more patience and a lot more ability to let things be, instead of youthfully trying to mold the happenings in our lives to what we wanted rather than what was to be.

When I was a young adult (in age, at least if not in brain) she'd seemed impossibly old to me. Stuck in her ways and unbending in her beliefs. We fought a lot then. She wanted to mother me, to replace somehow the mom I'd lost at 16. I didn't begin to understand her reasons, why she couldn't be my sister and stop trying to boss me around. How I wish I'd taken a moment to think and realize how old she'd been when her own mother had died and the woman who was to become mine became a part of her life. We'd fight nearly every time we'd talk on the phone but to her credit she didn't stop trying. When I walked away from the family for nearly 5 years she held onto hope that I would return, looking for me now and again and crying with relief when I finally called home, alone, divorced, without my kids she never chastised beyond why ever didn't you call?

We fought a lot. Our conversations never ending without one or the both of us in tears. She wanted so badly to help me with my life. I wanted so desperately to be accepted for the decisions I was making. Finally one day I realized, actually had what amounted to an epiphany :) that I didn't have to fight so hard to be accepted for them, I simply had to believe in them. I stopped defending them to her. When she'd challenge me on something I'd decided, I'd remark on the weather. And to her credit she took the hint. Our conversations became tolerable, then even pleasant. Now I look forward to enjoying a good yak with her about who died.

I guess this post could also have been entitled, "time heals all wounds" but really it's not just time. sometimes it's a remark about the weather that does it.

Resolutions...not just for New year's day.

2006-08-26T14:47:00.000-06:00

In an attempt to post more often I'll be putting up the odd Q&A (well hopefully odd, unless my muse takes another sabatical or twelve).

Scooped this one from a blog I recently discovered from another blogger's blog list. (wow can you really use the word blog that many times in a sentence and maintain your sanity?)

Another blog q & a

10 years ago today I was: heavier, unemployed, in post partum depression and blissfully unaware of it.

5 years ago today I was: also heavier than I am today, heh, also unemployed and also in post partum depression only I and everyone around me was dreadfully aware of it.

1 year ago today I was: Still shaking after being robbed at gunpoint earlier in the month. I'd quit the job and was signing up for school.

Yesterday: I was drinking a slurpee (cranberry) that my manager at the bank decided everyone needed one of.

5 snacks I enjoy: mixed nuts, particularly brazil nuts, hazelnuts, cashews and almonds; raw carrots; crisp apples and old cheese; popcorn; fresh fruit.

5 songs I know by heart: Two Little Boys, Runaway (Del Shannon), I Cross My Heart, George Strait, Last Kiss, Don't Be Cruel (ELVIS), Can't Help Falling in Love (also ELVIS).

5 things I would do with $100 million dollars: Buy each of my 5 kids a house, set each of them up with trustfunds with ridiculous conditions and tell them "sink or swim I gave you a life jacket use it wisely". Buy land. Invest in a friend's business. Take a cruise. Have a blast doing little favours for people.

5 places I would run away to: The mountains. Up north somewhere. The deep south but I'd need a guide to keep from getting something squishy to eat or offending someone. Australia. Morocco.

5 things I would never wear: Thong bikini. nuff said.

5 favourite TV shows:CSI, American Justice, Big Brother, Passions (the soap opera)

5 favourite toys (actual you know, toys, that little kids play with not XXXTOYSXXX): Spirograph. That drawing tool where you could trace over a picture and draw it with the other end, larger or smaller. Yoyo. Slinky and building blocks, megablocks, lincolnlogs, leggo, erector sets, what ever I could stack and build shapes with. Oh does anyone remember little daisy shaped plastic bits? rather like the connector things?

5 *moments*: Settling into the saddle of a new horse, the little frisson that races up your spine. Taking off in a plane. The first time you make love with someone and realize it is really lovemaking and not just sex. That brief moment just before...well you know... When you know, in your heart, that what you're doing is the absolutely right thing to do at that particular moment.

Your turn.

Sometimes I need to listen to myself.

2006-08-20T16:04:00.000-06:00

Recently I was talking with someone about their love life. I tend to be a bit of a snoop in that regard, I like to think it comes from being a writer, as to be a good writer one must be a voyeur of sorts. But on the flip side somewhere along the way certain people have found me easy to confide in and have even told me later that my listening and inevitable advice has been helpful.

Anyway, I found myself listening to a sad tale. My friend, and I wish I could say that both parties in this relationhip were my friends, but sadly that's not the case, is feeling somewhat frustrated with his significant other. I like them both. I enjoy both of them as people but only with one did I make *a connection*.

This is hard, as my immediate response is something that was said to me a long time ago by a friend of mine. "You're mine and he's not, and therefore regardless of the circumstances, you are always right and he's always wrong." She went on to add, "unless you're being a big fat idiot."

I listened and nodded and hugged and generally was a sounding board for my buddy to get out what he needed to get out. At the end of it I found these sage words leaving my lips: "...love isn't slavery, subservency or superiority. it's not two people coming together to make one. it's two whole entire people, coming together to make a sum far greater than two."

There's so many old saws that come to mind, 'if you love something set it free...', 'if you can't love yourself, no one else can...', and my favourite...'who wants to belong to a club that would let me into as a member?'

I've always said that people that need someone to *complete* them didn't understand the concept of a relationship. Only I wasn't listening. I was busy saying all the right things just not doing them. I was busy searching for someone to finish me, to add the edging and embellishes that I wanted or thought I needed to complete me.

What I needed was already inside me. I simply had to allow it to be enough. To be what -I- needed, rather than what others were telling me I needed. I don't need fringes and tassels and a fancy lace edging to make me special. I already am. If only I'd believe it.

I'm considering this an affirmation that I am enough. For me. Anyone else can figure out their own standards or levels of enough.

Turning the Other Cheek

2006-08-08T08:58:00.000-06:00

You know how people turn the other cheek, swallow the insult that cuts to the very quick of their heart because well... nice people do just that. Parents do that. Friends do that. Sisters do that. Coworkers do that. I'm DONE doing that.

I no longer am a nice person. I no longer will let others' wishes, desires, needs, wants, gratification whathaveyou, come before my own. If I'm not important enough for the common courtesies of wishing happy birthday to, being concerned when I'm ill, accepting that my feelings are also hurt to someone then they can go find someone who is. If they were important to me and that's how they think then I was obviously mistaken about their importance to me.

And I'm going to recognise that fact a hell of a lot sooner now because I'm going to be examining EVERYTHING with a fine toothed comb from now on. Everyone will be suspect until they PROVE their worth to me. I'm not going to sit there and expect humanity from people. I'm not going to assume that because I simply would NOT treat someone else that way, that they won't treat me that way. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'm going to assume that they are going to do as dirty to me as they can and defend against it. I'm going to be a lonely miserable suspicious person but damn it I no long will sit there stunned into sobbing tears at the level of inconsideration with which I was treated. I'll be well prepared for it. And I'll do everything in my power to do it first because I'm DONE.

I'm not apologizing for my desires anymore. And you know what else? I'm done explaining just how very simple they are. Because they are; they are the lowest level of respect and consideration for another human being that can be expected. Obviously that's my problem right? Anything that comes that cheap in effort isn't worth it.

So what I need to become is a high maintenance bitch. A person whose ass simply begs to be kissed. I will expect diamonds, even though I hate those hard brittle gems. I won't look for the fire and life of an opal anymore. I want diamonds and gold because when I'm done with whoever gave them to me, I can sell them for money. From now on it's about ME.

I've been accused of being selfish before, man they got nothing. They want selfish? They'll see SELFISH.

Mel Gibson

2006-08-05T12:10:00.000-06:00

heh... there was a time when I first got connected online when Mr. Gibson (long one of my favourite actors) couldn't make a public move without a network of MELFANs I belonged to sending the airwaves shimmering with the volume of their comments, tidbits of info and opinions.

BTW: if you're going to fill my comments with remarks about his recent remarks, drunken arrest or the like, piss off and read the post first.

It was the first email list I ever belonged to and one of the liveliest, while perhaps not in sheer numbers like the KnitList or eTatters it was one of the most enjoyable lists I've had the pleasure to participate in.

We talked about his pants size, his eyes, his kids, his movie role choices and how he portrayed his characters. We looked for motivation like the very best group of method actor wannabes ever, and we discussed the plot device of Rika (LW2) to death. We were all walks of life, many different religions were evident in the well wishes for the group from various members through the year. We ranged from judges to homemakers to professional extras and back to an ex girlfriend of his (from his teen years I believe) to industry insiders. We even (gasp) had male members of the list who simply admired the man's ability to be a man and or an actor.

The list disbanded just prior to the release of The Passion of the Christ and I believe it was a wise choice on Lisa's (listowner) part. Her reasons were personal, and had more to do with a change in her family dynamic (a teen was becoming quite well known in her chosen sport and time was becoming an issue) than any controversy that film was sure to stir up. We'd weathered more than one bout of *bad press* before that and probably would have come through this a more enlightened group as we had before.

You see the list wasn’t about MEL GIBSON = ENTITY and we weren’t seeing him as a EPITOME of how to live, be and think. We were a group of intelligent, articulate people, who chose to enjoy his abilities as an actor. Sure there were always people who when they disagreed with his choices talked about not watching him anymore. *shrugs*. That’s what free will and free enterprise and consumer’s choice is all about.

I didn’t even know he’d been arrested until the anti Semite hoopla started and my first response was sadness that the demon that he’s dealt with, hid from and fought with all these years had gotten another hold of him.  Then I started reading articles about it all. Man, everyone’s got an opinion hey? I read Mr. Gibson’s formal apology. I know that some will consider it lip service and an attempt to recoup his prestige. I don’t believe those people are correct. Sure, as a fan, I don’t want them to be either, but I really think that despite it being very formal and very well prepared it was an honest apology.

One thing I feel a need to comment on is this: Rob Schneider is simply capitalizing on the press being generated with his “I’ll never work with Gibson” crap ad in Variety. Who cares frankly? And I say that as someone who’s enjoyed both actors in separate films. I had and have NO DESIRE what so ever to ever see the two of them in the same film. So there, Robbie m’boy…smoke that in your publicity stealing pipe and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Getting a little bit antsy after the shitshow that Duece Bigalow European trash turned out to be? Need to jump on anyone’s bandwagon you can’t don’t you? You little shit piece of trash, before you say you’d never work with him you ought to wait to be asked. However, even though the above opinion is pretty strong, I’ll probably have a laugh at one or two of his movies again sometime. But I digress…

Back to Mel.

I can’t forgive him. 1. I’m not Jewish. 2. He didn’t make the remarks to me. 3. Even the person who is Jewish that he did make the remarks to can’t forgive him, truly. The only person who can forgive these actions is Mel himself and I doubt that’s something that’s going to happen anytime soon. People ought to heed their own teachings before they go out making remarks like the above noted, y’know. To err is human, to forgive is divine. I rather think that there’s relatively few that remember that when they’re out there ready to put up billboards. This is turning into a ‘oh look, the high and mighty is toppling, quick throw on a grappling hook and rip him apart’ or maybe just to their level hmmm?

Maybe I’m naïve, maybe I’ve got a Pollyanna people are truly good and life is all good view on the world, heh…maybe I’m selfish and just don’t want to believe that he’s a bad person because then I have to go around defending my admiration of his work.

See that’s where people get confused IMNSHO. The work is not the man. Who he is when he’s with his friends, his family and in his personal life is none of my business. And yes, there’s a line where someone’s personal beliefs shouldn’t be allowed to make them money especially where those beliefs are against the norm or mores of society but there’s far worse *people* out there making money off silly bullshit or off the norm scale remarks. And, I might add, although it’s not intended as a defence of Mel, without the aid of befuddling substances such as alcohol.

Certainly if a celebrity or person of note is found guilty of heinous act he should be accorded the same punishment as an ordinary person but we all know that’s something we as a society don’t allow. We vilify our heroes for stepping the slightest bit out of our preconceived pigeonholes for them. We don’t allow them to have faults; we don’t allow them to be anything other than what we’ve created them to be in our minds. Or what their PR person has created. (Think Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt here  or Madonna or a few dozen other ‘don’t have a clue what this is about but my PR person told me to smile and nod so like a bobble headed Chihuahua so I will’ celebs.)

Mel has a problem. One he’s fought and managed and dealt with for many years and likely will do so for the rest of his life.

I’ll still watch his performances. I’ll still count him as one of my favourite actors and certain scenes (not the hottub scene in Tequila Sunrise you dirty minded person you lol) will still take my breath away.

The names of our lives...

2006-07-29T22:17:00.000-06:00

Special K has an interesting post about titles. It go me thinking about how what we are taught (indoctrinated) as children affects our ability to address others by or without titles.

In my family 'auntie' is a very important title. Through a set of circumstances that precluded them spending much time with each other during their growing up time, my older set of kids did not automatically give this title to my female siblings. The title was, however, accorded to my best friend and through her Uncle was given to her husband. To this day, she and her husband, although no longer as integral to our lives are still referred to in nostalgia binges as Auntie and Uncle.

I make a point of asking people how they would like my kids to address them. The response has often been just call me *firstname* but now and again a thankful Oh, Mrs so&So will be okay if they're comfortable with that. And despite their teenage years' mantra of 'let's see just how hard we can make that vein in mom's forehead pop out' they usually were respectful.

I always balked however, when someone suggested "Oh, they can just call me auntie " No, that's not an option sorry. Auntie is an accorded honour in our family, awarded to a certain level of relationship. I didn't really realize just how strongly I felt about this until a ...lady? ... who was not to my liking stepped into a friend's relationship and became their *roommate* for a time. She was to watch my kids one day and they were unsure of how to address her. On the phone she mentioned "They can call me Auntie so and so" I nearly bit her head off with an abruptly snapped "No! I seriously don't think so." Thankfully she was the epitomy of blonde bimboness and was totally oblivous to my response. :) she weren't a blondie just for looks y'know. :)

It's in the conference of authority for me. In the comments of SK's post someone mentioned Southern manners. I will always refer to a woman older than I or that I am serving or providing a serving to as Ma'am (or a man older than me as Sir or Mr.) and be quite confused when they get pissy about it. Ladies, it's good enough for the Queen of freaking England quit getting yer knickers in a knot.

When I was a kid, it was the height of my contempt to not address my mom's brother as Uncle so&so. He was and is beneath my contempt and totally undeserving to my 8 yo mind of such a lofty title. This ideal of mine carried on through school when I dared to address a teacher by her first name. *daring do for a kid of my generation*

Now I tend to be a bit offhand with folks, shortening names and using the ubiquitous 'hon' (comes of hanging out with all those 'murricans' as SK would denote them. :P

Where do titles fit in your life?

Excuse me? Blessed? I'll say...

2006-07-11T22:23:00.000-06:00

Click, read, click again, read s'more. My very nearly daily evening activity of blog reading, occasional commenting, reading some of the funny bits aloud to my not so very interested other was interrupted today by this random click on someone's blogroll. It led me to here.

First let me say how terrible this whole situation is. How glad I am that this family escaped this experience without loss of life or limb. Truly, they are blessed.

Second...what the hell was this woman thinking? Pictures? keepsakes? momentos? The pets I can understand. I guess I can even understand going back in a time or two...but there comes a point...

THEN she got scared? Then? How does she think her family felt watching her running back in time and time again for this picture or that. Great that some of the neighbours took it upon themselves to grab stuff and run. Great. How would this story have turned out if just one of them had tripped.

Not only were lives risked unnecessarily but repeatedly.

:(

RRRAaaacccceee OVER

2006-07-11T00:06:00.000-06:00

I've been chuckling about this all evening long. The titles alone that have wandered through my brain whilst contemplating this post have kept me amused for hours.

Today after work my brief holiday from kidlets ended. I dropped the guy off in Okotoks to work on a car and went on into the city to pick up the littles. They've been staying with #2 daughter since Thursday evening. She's now rethinking the whole 'it's time for me to have a baby' thought pattern but that's another blog.

As I wander my way past a shitload of backed up traffic held up by not one but two multi car mishaps I count myself lucky that I only have *visit* the city occasionally nowadays, rather than driving there every day or weekend as was my life a few years back.

As I travel I glance in my rear view mirror and see a car approaching at what might e considered an alarming rate of speed. It lurches as it brakes and then edges even closer to my back bumper. Now since I've been rearended a time or two, and have rather less tolerance for stupidity than most I was immediately annoyed. I refused to up my speed as he obviously wanted me to do and held steady at (gasp) the speed limit as posted. A few more intimidation attempts on his part had me getting past annoyed well on my way towards cranky. I touched my brakes enough to warn him off and then when he encroached again I shook my fist in my rear view mirror. I didn't flip him off, just a quick shake of my hand and head. Well you'd think I'd ripped off his shiney silver mirror or something. He swerved and pushed his way into the other lane and paced me, dropping gears and revving for about 1 klik or so and then when we came to a halt at a red, proceeded to tell me off in a voice loud enough to be heard over the ridiculous bass pouring out of the ass end of his shiney, slick silver something or other, but it's got a spoiler car. I spared him a glance and rolled my eyes. Then he did it, he pushed me past the point of cranky. He insulted my car.

Them's fighting words. I really didn't give a shit that he called me a fat old bitch. Hell, somedays I'm even proud of being just that. But when he asked what a fat old bitch like me was doing driving a rustbucket of a sportscar like that I saw red. Well, green actually. I turned to him and snarled "smokin' your scrawny ass" and revved my engine working my gearshift through its paces. The light turned and my sanity returned and I didn't jump. He did however...

You know that bit in the movies where the smart ass young punk gets his after tormenting the hero at the light? Well... silvershiney crumples damn good when it smacks into the ass end of a caddy. And you know, that really big black guy getting out of the caddy...he didn't look all that happy camper. Funny how my little buddy didn't even wave back to me as I drove past, and we were having such a good conversation too.

holding pattern

2006-06-06T18:58:00.000-06:00

This movie has in it one of my all time favorite movie quotes. (not to mention one of my favourite all time movie actors but that's another blog post). However, it's one of my favourites, not the people who collect quotes and post them, so I'll have to paraphrase. Mel's character's girlfriend has been knocked down and is in a coma. He's drunk, despairing of her awakening and considering cryogenics (hey I didn't write it ;0) At any rate, he says to his friend about her, (warning bad paraphrase coming) "nothing was ever real till she knew..." I love that quote. That's how it used to be for me with my other half. Nothing was real to me till I got to tell him about it.

Today I got a parttime job at a new bank. Today I had no one to tell. No one to make it real for me.

I told him later, when he got home but it wasn't the same as it should have been. I told a couple of friends and they were of course, pleased for me, still not the same.

I don't really know when it changed or why it had to or whether it can change back or not.

I know I'm not blameless. I know that he isn't either. People fuck up. Make stupid decisions and forget to do things for one another when it's really important that they do. No one in this world is perfect. Well except for this one person I have this sneaking suspicion about but no one else is.

I guess I'll need a new favourite quote. This one doesn't feel the same anymore.

=reasonablefemale

Well I like it ;)

2006-05-28T18:26:00.000-06:00

Recently I've *moved on up to the current decade* as my daughter tells me and acquired a cellphone, with a *cool* service provider nonetheless. Yep that's me, cutting edge. *GIGGLE*.

Anyways, one of the links on their website led me here MyTego and ultimately to this.

Now perhaps I'm overly excited by this, and easily amused :) but I think this is great. I like my cell, and particularly enjoy being able to text off it during class time (shhh) as it keeps me amused although I hope I don't get like that Sean character off Survivor that was using a rock as an imaginary Blackberry *MEEP*.

If you get any imaginary messages from me, don't answer, 'kay?

In the blink of an eye

2006-05-05T07:51:00.000-06:00

I'm sitting here half dressed, coffee slowly percolating through my sleepy brain, waiting on the dryer that I forgot to turn on last night, and thought I'd enter the snide post I wrote yesterday at school, while I was supposed to be studying Desktop Publisher 2003.

I got it about half typed out, then got distracted watching #4 play with Dexter and Huggie (papillon and pug, 7 and nearly 10). She's teasing them to join her on the couch and when Dex, his tail creating a breeze that I can feel from the next chair, jumps in her lap she laughs and shoves him off as his main purpose for getting into your lap is to smother your face with kisses. Poor old Huggie is getting a little slower, and his snorts and grunts are getting sometimes alarmingly loud. He's trying to climb up on the couch and after a few attempts, finally gets the afghan in a pile on the floor to use as a ramp. Now she's having to fend off two flying tongues and two solid bodies clambouring all over her. Her laughter rings out and fills the room, punctuated with the sounds of pug grunts and tapping nails when they skitter onto the foyer floor.

Somehow I don't feel all that snide anymore. I think that I'll just sit here and watch her play, sip my coffee and contemplate my day.

Enough time to be snide later on.

Sage Advice, maybe...

2006-05-03T16:43:00.000-06:00

So, my horoscope for May 3rd, 2006 says:
Limits only exist where you think they exist. It's time to ask yourself the payoff for staying stuck in a certain situation. Then think about what frightens you about being able to live your dreams. Go from there.

Well now, isn't that interesting. Of course it's rather general, somewhat like a fortune cookie. I don't necessarily plan my day around my horoscope...in fact I find I often don't read them until a few days later. It is strange though how sometimes it seems just so right on the money.

There are changes in my life approaching, but you know what, there usually are changes just around the corner for folks, aren't there? Do I feel stuck in a situation, yes, a little bit, but I'm willing to bet that most folks do at some point of their week. Everytime the copier jams yet again at work, or the phones are acting up... or maybe the boss has a crappy day and reminds you of the old adage about shit rolling down hill, don't you feel stuck at times likes that? Don't you want to look around the corner and see the changes approaching? And don't those changes give you a little...thrill? A tightening in your stomach, a bit of regret for the good things that might change, anticipation of the new, dread of the new, grief for the old...all these emotions whirl through one at a time of change.

I guess we'll see... if this horoscope like any other that's given me pause, comes true or not.

2006-05-03T08:03:00.000-06:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Truth or what ever passes for it these days

2006-02-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

Things I've learned in my life...

eventually...

Some people are who they are. They won't ever change, they won't ever care and they won't ever be who we think they should be, would be if they could be or anything but what and how and who they are.

As a corrollorary to that...learn to love them as they are, or leave them as they are. Anything else is a waste of energy on your part; and an insult to the other person.

It's taken me a good long while, but I think I've finally figured out that there's a point where all that's left to do is to make an exit.

We are, none of us, as interesting as we think we are. Nor, are we as non interesting as others think we are. Nor for that matter, are we ever as non interesting to everyone as we are to ourselves. (yeah..okay, still working on that one).

No one will ever do it for us. Whatever it is. We have to find our own mountains, climb them ourselves and write our own memoirs.

Life is too serious to take lightly and too short to take seriously.

Further to the whole Feet of Clay Deal...

2006-01-12T23:58:00.000-07:00

Once your hero has crashed andsmashed before you, and you're dealing with the sadness of realization; it behooves one to realize also that not only are your impressions of this person inaccurate and dashed to pieces, but so might be their own impression of themselves. This is the second step in the learning process that having and worshiping heroes teaches us.

Some people, you see, believe their own press releases. It becomes important to them to BE that person that you and others believed them to be. They have fooled themselves into seeing only the hero and not the real person behind the smoke and mirrors. Oh sure, they know they have been behaving in a manner that could be construed as non hero like behaviour; they are well aware that they actions, words, intent, demeanour are at odds with that fine statue others have been worshiping and looking to for guidance, approval and acceptance. They believe they've hidden these anomalies well enough to fool others and thereby themselves. Like the magician agog at the way he makes the doves appear and disappear, they have been onstage in the performance of their lives and now...sadly the curtain has come down. But not before they've stumbled and fallen, crashing scenery and facades down around their ears leaving members of their audience in stunned silence.

Cut them some slack, even in the midst of your own grieving process. Realize that they too have a life lesson to learn here. We can't be all things to all people. We certainly can be the world to someone but not to everyone. We can't always be what someone else wants or even needs us to be; we have to be ourselves. Warts 'n' all, selfishness allowed, true to ourselves people. Not every person can be a Mother Teresa or a John Wayne. Not every person has the wherewithal to be ALL THAT THEY CAN BE (to borrow a catchphrase), some people struggle just to be someone they can like; someone they can look in the mirror at and not wince away from their own gaze.

Turn your eye as they pick up the pieces of themselves. Give them the privacy to rebuild the statue if they so choose. Now you know that the feet are of clay, you won't lean so hard against it the next time, or maybe not ever again. Let that be your lesson and let them have theirs. That's not always easy, or fun but it is the right thing to do. Sometimes doing the -right- thing is all anyone can do; but don't ever forget, what's right for some may not be right for all and everyone's moccasins walk differently. Just because you know a statue has fallen before, that doesn't give you the right to poke fingers at it and tell everyone and sundry of the clay laden feet. Let others learn their own lessons.

Feet of Clay

2006-01-04T17:02:00.000-07:00

Do you remember having a hero? Watching that special person, be it a sports figure, or a family member, admiring them, wanting to be them, knowing that all was right in the world because that person was there?

Do you remember the day it all came crashing down? The day the feet of clay on the golden statue were revealed? Some statues just start to lean a little; others fall to the ground in a thunderous crash. The result is the same. Ideals are crushed; people’s hopes, dreams and trust are smashed to small little pieces. Mostly they can be rebuilt, patched back together good as new. Good as new, except for that one tiny little chip that you can never find no matter how you scour the ground where the statue fell.

It’s an important experience to watch your heroes shrink to normal size. It’s traumatic and steals your breath but it’s necessary. It’s best if it happens naturally, the day your mother becomes a grandma, the day your dad claps you on the shoulder and congratulates you on your win, your accomplishment, your best day ever. Sometimes it happens harsher than that. Sometimes the façade is torn away in one fell sweep that leaves bare your hero, broken and shattered, lying scattered at your feet.

Yet it’s still a good thing. It prepares you for the disappointments in life. The day you realize your best friend is a petty do-gooder who’s secretly judged you AND found you wanting all your friendship. The day you look into your childhood sweetheart’s eyes and realize that childhood is over and this grown boy before you doesn’t really love you the way you thought you loved him. The day your child tells you to leave her alone, that you aren’t really the mother she wanted all her life. It prepares you for these days. It doesn’t insulate you from them but you’re not as shocked as you might have been had you not seen the feet of clay before.

It prepares you for another type of shock. Sometimes through no fault of their own people become idols to others. Sports figures deal with this but so do bosses, friends and coworkers. There’s a pressure to being a hero. An honorable person can’t go around being selfish and petty and having shitty days. An honorable person can’t have wants and needs of his own. They can’t be who they want, they have a unwanted obligation to others to be the hero. So they sneak off. They create places, ideals and alter egos of their own to feel normal, to feel not beholden to be a certain way around others. It’s why people slum. It’s why they hang out with people you’d not expect them to. It’s why men cheat on their wives and why wives do also. It’s a difficult thing to just let someone be who they are.

Is it any wonder they have feet of clay? No. Does it hurt to find out that someone you idolize and envision as a hero does. Yes. Very much.

Stolen advice but valid

2005-12-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

I recieved this as an email today. Ever hear something that rang so loudly with the truth you couldn't shake it? This did that for me.

Merry Christmas Everyone.

Let it go for 2006 ..

By T. D. Jakes

There are people who can walk away from you.
And hear me when I tell you this! When people can walk away from you: let them walk.
I don't want you to try to talk another person into staying with you, loving you, calling you, caring about you, coming to see you, staying attached to you. I mean hang up the phone.
When people can walk away from you let them walk. Your destiny is never tied to anybody that left.

The bible said that, they came out from us that it might be made manifest that they were not for
us. For had they been of us, no doubt they would have continued with us. [1 John 2:19]
People leave you because they are not joined to you. And if they are not joined to you, you can't make them stay.

Let them go.

And it doesn't mean that they are a bad person it just means that their part in the story is over.

And you've got to know when people's part in your story is over so that you don't keep trying to raise the dead.

You've got to know when it's dead.

You've got to know when it's over. Let me tell you something. I've got the gift of good-bye. It's the tenth spiritual gift, I believe in good-bye. It's not that I'm hateful, it's that I'm faithful, and I know whatever God means for me to have He'll give it to me. And if it takes too much sweat I don't need it. Stop begging people to stay.

Let them go!!

If you are holding on to something that doesn't belong to you and was never intended for your life,

then you need to......

LET IT GO!!!

If you are holding on to past hurts and pains ......

LET IT GO!!!

If someone can't treat you right, love you back, and
see your worth.....

LET IT GO!!!

If someone has angered you ........

LET IT GO!!!
If you are holding on to some thoughts of evil and revenge......

LET IT GO!!!
If you are involved in a wrong relationship or addiction......

LET IT GO!!!

If you are holding on to a job that no longer meets your needs or talents .

LET IT GO!!!

If you have a bad attitude.......

LET IT GO!!!

If you keep judging others to make yourself feel better......

LET IT GO!!!

If you're stuck in the past and God is trying to take you to a new level in Him......

LET IT GO!!!

If you are struggling with the healing of a broken relationship.......

LET IT GO!!!

If you keep trying to help someone who won't even try to help themselves......

LET IT GO!!!

If you're feeling depressed and stressed .........

LET IT GO!!!

If there is a particular situation that you are so used to handling yourself and God is saying "take your hands off of it," then you need to......

LET IT GO!!!

Let the past be the past. Forget the former things. GOD is doing a new thing for 2006 !!!

LET IT GO!!!

Get Right or Get Left .. think about it, and then ..

LET IT GO!!!

Chronicles of Narnia

2005-12-18T21:04:00.000-07:00

Forget Simba... Aslan RULES!

Together with my 9 yo, 4 yo and my son's 20 yo girlfriend I took in Chronicles of Narnia today.

Took it in... that's about what I did. I haven't inhaled a movie like this in a while.

It took me a few minutes to orient on the story, as I'm more familiar with The Magician's Nephew than The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. We have listened to the books on tape version so I do know the story, although unlike another (soon enough to be) 7 book series I don't know it *cold*.

I was pleased that the sound level wasn't overwhelming. I guess I'm really getting old, and dislike to be bombarded by sound. The bombing is quite startling enough without it blasting you with a wall of sound. With the train scene, I took a moment to whisper to the 9 yo about how the children were being sent to the country for safety. After that about all we exchanged were mostly looks of delight and one very dismayed crumpling face (from her) at *THAT* point, however a bit of judiciously applied motherly assurance, (Don't worry, he's in the other books) which was met with incredulity, (That's IMPOSSIBLE) took care of that part. Although more than one tear was shed by each of us then.

Over all a great film, one most definitely to be purchased and rewatched at length. We'll await the DVD with anticipation and unbridled impatience if I know my kids.

And Aslan? He's EVERYTHING one could ask for in a CGI lion *GRIN*. I particularly loved the way his mane was done. The cheetahs are great too. Not to mention the unicorn, Phillip, Tomas and the beavers... ah yes... the beavers. Oh and can't forget the fox, nor the wolves either. All yummy. All anyone who believes in anthropromorphism could desire in an animal or twelve. However, the siberian white tigers were on the wrong side, *harumph*.

It's that time of the year...

2005-10-21T12:57:00.000-06:00

Whilst out running errands today I found myself at the local Esso, needing air in an annoying tire and since I was there (and in need of some legitimate daydreaming time) decided to pop in and pick up some lottery tickets.

As I entered the store my eye fell upon an older couple. I’d noticed them walking ahead of me but when the gentleman turned to face me and smile, I took note of his royal blue blazer. On his left chest were a number of beribboned medals. I wish I could tell you what each one stood for but 1. Sadly, I don’t know. (I’m working on rectifying that) and 2. I didn’t get that good a look as I was more interested in studying his face as we chatted. I smiled and said, oh yes, it’s that time of year isn’t it? He nodded and agreed that summer had passed us by as its usual speed of light appearance and disappearance.

Ordinary waiting in line conversation for Canadians; chatting about the weather. As we spoke the people in front of us concluded their business and they gestured me forward. I said oh no, you’re ahead of me (more Canadian line etiquette in action :P). Besides I added, I’m only buying lottery tickets, your business is more important than mine. Pshaw, he says, I’m not important. I have to tell you, my eyes filled with tears and I stroked his arm. You’re awfully important to me, I replied and gave his arm a squeeze. I did go ahead then, as it was getting awfully cloying in there, GRIN.

As I sat in my car afterwards I was a little ashamed of myself. I really wanted to go back in and give this man a hug and thank him properly. I’ll go by later today and buy a poppy to wear. I think that maybe this weekend I’ll pop in to the legion and have a few beers, throw a game of darts or two and talk with some of the veterans there. Maybe I’ll get my chance to thank one or two of them too.

Go buy your poppy today, teach your children why you wear one and you know what, when November 11^th passes by, leave the poppy on your coat or hat or visor and remember when you see it. This isn’t a once a year thing. And if you get to hug a veteran on a regular basis, give them one for me, will ya?

http://www.legion.ca/asp/docs/rempoppy/allabout_e.asp#poppy

“I am Woman, hear me roar…” …or whine…

2005-10-11T16:43:00.000-06:00

There is an awful lot of worship of the girly girl going on around me these days. I’m starting to look at the grass over there and think that a few mouthfuls might just be a tasty treat.

Alright, now that I’ve compared myself to a cow O.o Let’s get on with this.

I used to thrive on being the self-sufficient type. I liked being the one who killed the spider, shooed the mouse outside, changed my own flat tires, put up my own drywall, taped and mudded it and then sanded, painted and finished the room. I’ve cleaned horse stalls for a living, working on the race track and being the only one on the crew who could handle the studs I had 7 studs and one cantankerous old mare on my string. As well as receiving the respect of all the other grooms for it. It was good being that person. Mostly it is good being that person. I remember enjoying being that person…

Sensing a change in the air that doesn’t feel like fall?

Ahem.

I really did enjoy being that person at one time. However, when I look at my rough worn hands, feel the crick in my back and can’t escape the smell of paint cleaner that hangs about me, I’m starting to think that maybe this isn’t what I signed on for. Strangely enough I don’t mind the smell of the horse manure.

I detest girly girls. I don’t want to be a girly girl…but sometimes… the grass looks pretty darned green over there…

I’m thinking it might be nice to be the delicate beauty that all the guys (and gals) flock to when she sighs. It definitely would be cool to not be the one crawling in under the sink with the hammer to try to flatten er chase the mouse. Fainting at the sight of a spider would be okay, so long as no one expected me to climb up on the chair and squish it into a tissue. Of course, under the condition that the Fabio clone, Marlboro Man version caught me gently in his arms instead of hitting the floor. Clunk!

I know that at least a couple of friends of mine will roll their eyes and mutter about whining if they were to read this, but you know what? TOUGH frozen titties.

I’m sick of being expected to do all the tough chick shit and the obviously not so tough chicks sit around and collect all the baubles and accolades and attenion. Next time you look at a tough chick, take a good look at her hands, and her hair.

Check out that manicure…guess what guys, that costs anywhere from $35 to $50 a month to maintain. Oh, don’t forget the hair? That will cost an easy $80-120 every six weeks not counting the dye job. There’s likely a pedicure in there every few months, too. But since I’ve never had one in my life I have no idea how much they are.

Low maintenance my ass :P. $200 plus every 8 weeks, hah.

Bitter? Yes, just a touch.

Why so cranky, you ask? This isn’t something new, or sudden in my life. Most of the time I’m quite content to leave things the way they are. Or it’s possible that it’s just less hassle than trying to change it.

This is like being the nice guy, and always being the friend instead of the hero who gets the girl. It’s one of life’s little imbalances that everyone says will even out in the end, but it never really does. The nice guys and real girls end up with the short end as often as not, regardless of how well their lives turn out and how many of God’s unanswered prayers there are.

Because at the end of the day, they still see themselves as inadequate rather than recognizing the inadequacy of the girl that goes for the hot bod and snazzy car and that little touch of danger that she’s sure she’ll be able to tame out of him. Or the missing part of the guy with the snazzy car and hot bod who thinks that fake nails are just an affectation and not really what she’s like and she’ll really want to pull wrenches with him on every Saturday evening instead of being taken out to the newest club.

These imbalances exist.

There’s always someone at the office who buys all the birthday cards and often no one remembers their birthday. Hello, people, why the hell do you think this person goes to all that trouble? Because they know what it’s like to not have the one special day that’s only theirs acknowledged.

There’s the one person in the family who everyone tells their troubles to, and no one bothers to ask about theirs, because they must be okay if they have time to listen to whines and moans from everyone else.

So the next time you forget someone’s birthday, phone your mother to whine about your boyfriend or drool over some hot chick on the street, think a minute, are you a nice guy or a tough chick that’s getting the wrong end of the shaft or are you the one handing out the shaft.

My own special talent

2005-10-07T22:35:00.000-06:00

So to those of you who know me this won’t come as a huge surprise. More like another piece of evidence of the aura that surrounds me.

Things break around me. I don’t mean I walk down the street and buildings crumble in my wake (looks over her shoulder...) but things have a habit of going wrong or breaking when no breaking is expected, anticipated or usual, when around me.

Case in point, years ago I had a Chevy Cavalier. We were rear ended and when we took the car for an insurance assessment at the shop, I noticed the one mechanic/adjuster looking under my car and appearing puzzled. I went over just as two others joined him, all looking under the car and then nodding to each other and appearing puzzled.

“What’s up?” I asked.
“How’d this happen?” one fellow asked me.
“We were rear ended.” I replied.
“By what?” asked another.
“mmm, Grand Am I think,” said I.
“Huh, I would have said a gravel truck.” He laughed and I stared.

“You see, miss (grins, I was younger then) that part,” I looked and sure enough, there it was, some little brackety piece hanging down from the underside of my car, obviously broken. “That part never breaks.”

This is a true story, I kid you not.

Some dear friends online were quite disbelieving of my ability to break stuff without even trying. However after a couple of them helped with installations of various OSs and other apps and found annoying little mishaps happening when no such incident has happened before, to them, to anyone…ever. They changed their minds.

We went from this is so easy, it’ll take us about an hour. To, well let’s see I can probably help you on Saturday I’ve got a few hours free then. To, want me to just do this for you? What’s your password? To forget it, I’ve still got the access I set up to fix this for you and I’ll do it myself.

Some might think that tells you that I’m simply an idiot. The perpetual loose nut behind the keyboard. I’m not. I can do these things and do, do them. However if there’s a little niggly thing that can screw things up I appear to have a multi-leveled talent for finding it.

We won't even get into the whole 'get this car, it's the best car and you'll never break it' thing. :P

Which brings me to this.

And the flipside of things.

Go figure huh? That’s after 5 days too. The kicker? I did this sitting down. Well, sitting on a horse. And not the obvious way of falling off the horse, I did this sitting in the saddle. I did eventually fall off, but my ankle was already done in well before I hit the ground.

Here's how this little fun house event happened. The horse I was ponying had an issue with being led (suddenly and out of the blue) and popped up (bucked). Since I’ve walked home a time or two, I’ve learned to never let go of the reins. This was enforced as a habit when I worked as a studgroom on the track. The last thing anyone wants to deal with (other than a whiny owner who can’t understand why his horse isn’t winning) is a loose stud, so you just never let go. Guess what? I never let go of the lead line, so when he popped he also tried to climb the horse I was riding. My horse is pretty cool but when another horse tries to get into the saddle, most horses have issues. So he shied away from the popping horse. Strangely enough, the lead line is still stupidly clutched tightly in my hand. By now I’m stretched between one horse who simply wants to get away and another who’s having a pretty cranky attitude attack. Something had to give. For most people it’d be a shoulder, but I’d gotten yanked off center when he lurched away in a buck and my foot got twisted in the stirrup. See that dark bruise, that’s the part that stretched. I really don’t think that your foot is supposed to bend that way. In fact, once I climbed out of the patch of thistles, (why is it always thistles? Or manure?) and up on my feet I was pretty damned sure that your foot isn’t supposed to bend that way.

My horse hadn't gone too far so with some assistance from hubby and a low spot I was back up in a few minutes. I was very pleased to see that my fear that I've spent the last 4 years conquering hadn't cropped back up and it felt good to get back in the saddle. I rode back up to the barn, caught hold of the idiot stick horse that had caused all the uproar and led him back too. Alls well that ends well after all.

And the next time someone tells you the best way to get over something is to get back on the horse, listen. This is the voice of experience telling you so.

Terri Shiavo et al

2005-06-21T20:14:00.000-06:00

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2005/06/21/national/main703187.shtml

You know, maybe I'm some sort of unnatural parent...but I think you raise your kids to adult state and then you get out of the business of living their lives. Oh you never stop loving them, watching them, holding out a hand when they stumble but you let them have their own lives. That includes giving up rights about your children to THEIR nearest kin...IE the man or woman they have chosen as their spouse. Who in my opinion and I do believe in the opinion of the law becomes their *NEXT OF KIN*.

I'm the first to admit I don't know word one about the details of the Shiavo case, and maybe I'm missing something crucial, but here's my take.

To start with:

This was referenced on a blog I happened upon by chance, it's not a blog I read, nor one I'll likely go back to (and not based on this commentary or post either). I perused a few posts and frankly not my cup of tea.

Michael Schiavo Is a Vile and Petty Man

Terri Schiavo's husband buried her cremated remains in a Clearwater cemetery Monday, inscribing on her bronze grave marker that ``I kept my promise.''

Michael Schiavo, who had said he promised his wife he would not keep her alive artificially and waged a long legal battle to remove her feeding tube, also listed Feb. 25, 1990, as the date she ``Departed this Earth.'' That was the day she collapsed and fell into what most doctors said was an irreversible vegetative state.

Submitted without comment.

However...this blurb irked me somewhat...particularly the hypocracy of setting out an opinion; and then ending it with submitted without comment. Hmmm, seems that a comment was made at the very beginning. But hell, that's just semantics after all. Right, no comment there at all...

Anyway.

It seems to me, that as parents we do what we can to raise our children right. Teach them to have minds of their own, maybe even challenge us on our beliefs and mores to discover their own. Raise them, never stop loving them, never stop watching them, nor being proud of them or wincing when they make a mistake. Maybe as I said, even reaching out an unconcious hand when they stumble, but all in all teaching them to be adults all by themselves.

Part of that for many, is picking the man or woman who they choose to love, live with, form a family with. That person becomes their *NEXT OF KIN*. I don't really understand why the parents in this case even had any say in their daughter's life at that point. Call me an unnatural parent if you like, but I want my kids to walk away from me whole persons on their own. I don't have to love or even like my children's spouses. I do however believe that I have to respect their choices. (little side note: if there is abuse in that equation, that all goes out the window and woe betide the man or woman who abuses one of mine)

As I said, I'll freely admit that I know nothing of the details of this case. My only information is that this woman fell into a coma in 1990 and her wishes were that she not be kept alive. The coma was deemed vegetative and the fight then began. The woman's parents fought this man in court, and public opinion for 15 years. Making it impossible for him to get on with HIS life. And now are crabby (or rather their lawyer is crabby if I'm reading the articles correctly) because he chose to put something that meant something to him and her on her gravemarker. Note, that's not all that's on the marker.Note the picture of the marker. It also says Beloved Wife. Nothing like a little judicious editing to cast someone in a bad light, hey?

I guess in my world (the one I control that I can reach with my fingertips when I spin around in a circle) he had the *RIGHT* to abide by his wife's wishes. In fact as her husband he not only had the right but also the obligation. It's my understanding that it was clear that Terri didn't want to be kept alive by unnatural means. I sure as hell don't and have made my wishes abundantly clear to my spouse, my children and my lawyer. That's all I can do. Thankfully, I doubt anyone in MY family would challenge my husband's right to see my wishes upheld.

So was he thumbing his nose at his wife's parents? It's entirely possible and without speaking to the man I'd have to go with gut however that perhaps, just perhaps... this 15 years he's been striving to do just that...keep a promise to his wife.. and this is his way of achieving closure...

You know in all my years, at funeral after funeral I've noticed one thing.. the dead don't care.. it's the living that hurt, and hurt back. Things were said to me at a dear relative's funeral that I would have bet you 3000 dollars to a donut would never have come out of the person who said it, not in a million years, and yet there it was, blurted out in emotion and anger and loss.

Perhaps that's how this started...who knows... maybe her parents were just unable to let go. I can't say that I don't sympathise with them even if I think they were wrong to pursue this. We all hold on to our children as tightly as we can and it is just wrong to bury a child. However... my take still stands.

Mr. Shiavo had the right to bury his wife. She ceased being the woman he knew and married for all I know even loved when she fell into that coma and I'm willing to bet those dollars again that given the same set of circumstances, she'd have let him go.

Emotion had no place in this decision. Harsh, well yeah but the time to make these sorts of decisions are not in the throes of grief, nor is it when beloved members of your family who love you without doubt should find out what your wishes are. Take some time to talk to those you love. Find out what they want. Tell them what you want. Do it now, without grief and loss looming on the horizon. It's hard, damn it's nearly impossible to do about your children whose next of kin you still are, but it needs to be done. Done with a clear head and a mind unbefuddled by what do I do now thoughts. And while you're at it...sign your doner card and make those wishes plain to your loved ones as well.

Remember Dad.

2005-06-19T15:51:00.000-06:00

I remember the night my mom died... my dad was a short man, stocky, strong but only about 5'3" or 5'4" I had to remove my heels to dance with him at my grad.. but he was always 10' tall in my brain. Until I watched him walk into the family room at the hospital.

He was a farmer, one of the younger of 11, parents immigrants from the old country, first generation Canadian, Ukranian by descent, mostly. Farmer and oh so much more.

I don't know that much about my dad's childhood, or even his teenaged years, for that matter not much of his young adulthood either. I know he married a local girl, had 6 children with her, of which 2 did not survive. She passed (I believe) of cancer at a young age, my info is sketchy but I think she was 39.

When the youngest was about 12 (my brother) he married my mom. A widow, crippled at aged 7 with polio. She'd been the housekeeper. My sisters, then 14 and two older as well (gotta keep the details down to a minimum you understand, as well I'd have to do the math to figure out how old they were.. suffice it to say both were married and well on their way with their families. I'm older than the oldest's youngest of 5 by 2 months.) Anyhoo... the housekeeper, quite a scandal.

Again, my info is sketchy...not because I don't care, but because I'm hesitant to ask.. to hear the versions.. I prefer my dad's information, given to me at the birth of my first daughter, when he arrived on my doorstep after a rather interesting conversation with my eldest sister... "Dad wants to come visit you and the baby..." "Okay, when are you guys coming?" "No, DAD wants to come, on his own... on the bus..." "...." "Yep..." "Ummm...okay...." You see, being a farmer my dad never voluntarily went on a holiday in his life, to my knowledge. So for him to want to come to see me was odd, and to do so on his own, even more so. But whatever... the point is, during that visit he told me that he loved my mom. That she wanted a child and that he'd have given her everything. That is good enough for me.

I am my mom's child. I didn't fall far from that tree when it comes to crafts, cooking, sensitivity or intelligence. Not that my dad wasn't an intelligent man.. he was ... very... I don't remember him sitting down ever without a book to read, unless he was playing cards. I grew up an only child, with a father who was 56 when I was born. My mom was 41. I don't remember either of them without white or grey hair. I don't really recognize them in the early pictures in the photo albums.

But the ones where I'm standing next to him, a huge umbrella of hay in a pitchfork over his shoulder, me with a much smaller umbrella and much smaller fork for that matter, over mine. That man I recognize.

The one who hid my mom's best knife for 6 months because despite warnings from her to the contrary he just had to cut the frozen keilbasa with it and snap the blade off in a half moon. That man I remember well.

The one with the twinkle in his eye as he told me some outlandish explanation for why the planets revolved around the sun to see if I knew my facts on space well enough for a test. The man who came in with tears in his eyes to tell me that my dog Laddie had died, and who bawled as he dug the hole for the faithful friend. The gentle hands on my horse's leg as we dressed and soaked a wound day after day, the same ones that packed the mud and chicken shit tightly in the burlap sack around his forelegs when he foundered and the voice that told me to stand him in the creek till my legs were numb. The guy who agonized with his 5th grade education over my 8th grade arethmetic. The guy who read my text books at night when he thought I was in bed to stay ahead of me. The one who danced with me at my grad, my chin nearly resting on his head while I did.

The man who at 76 turned a somersault (of which I have pictures) because his granddaughter asked him to...

The one who lay in the bed at the nursing home, curled on his side, eyes blinking furiously when I told him I was there.

That man I remember.

I love you Dad.

Shaken but not stirred...

2005-05-06T11:01:00.000-06:00

Life has its way of taking you by the scruff of the neck and making you pay attention.

Sometimes we get so bogged down in the throes of our own woes and cares that we neglect to look around us. Now I'm not talking about the pleas for assistance for the starving masses that abound just across the ocean. Nor even for the unseen homeless that wander the streets of even my tiny prairie town. I'm speaking of the people that share the dinner table with you, or used to. Your kids.

Of late (over the past hmmm year or maybe even longer?) I've had a number of family related issues that have stretched and torn tiny holes in our family fabric. Over all, we're still a family (I hope) but we're not really one that can be worn out in public to a fancy gettogether.

That we are still a family was evidenced by a late night call from my sil who informed me that my eldest was in the hospital awaiting an emergency appendectomy. She is pregnant with my second grandchild and we haven't spoken in well over a month.

Why? Because as my second oldest informs me, "you two are too much alike and when you both think you're right there's no talking to either of you." Hmm...

But being family this goes by the wayside, or perhaps I should say onto the back burner, cause you just gotta know that this is gonna simmer over at another time. Hubby and I speak briefly to a drugged cherished daughter (mine but his by heart) and tell her that all will be fine, she's expected to go into surgery within the hour. We stare at each other, knowing the reality of a surgery being scheduled that quickly, and the added complication of her pregnancy.

After the call, I phone for a sitter, but am unable to go. We discuss which of us could go, I'm not well, neither is he. Plus he's had a couple of beers since dinner. So we wait. We sit up and play silly computer games that I'm sure neither of us can recall. Finally after turning the ringer on the phone up to SHRILL CAR ALARM status, we stumble to bed. I read, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. We don't talk, there's nothing more to be said, but our hands creep across the covers to clasp the others.

The hours pass and sheer exhaustion from being sick and up extra early the day before win out and we doze. The phone rings, by the time the second ring starts we are halfway down the hall, stumbling over each other and trying to not shove each other out of the way in our eagerness to get to the phone. He reaches it first, and his worried expression remains then a nod and it lightens as he passes me the phone, whispering she's okay. My sil tells me that she's sleeping, that the surgery went well and the baby is fine and still inside mommy. I breath. I tell him to tell we'll be there the next day, little platitudes you murmur in such times and we hang up. Hubby takes my hand and leads me back to bed for an hour or two more of sleep before work.

Late in the day we arrive at the hospital. Because I am sick I stop at the nurse's station to ask for a mask. Hubby and the littles go in ahead of me. She's pleased but then it registers on her face I'm not there. Hubby quickly assures her that I'm just getting a mask and a look of relief passes over her face. When I walk in she's crying and asks to speak to me alone. Hubby takes the littles for a juice and we talk. She's had a *gush* of fluid, the dr is coming to see her and she's worried it's the baby. She's obviously in a fair amount of pain despite the meds and I help her to the washroom. I assure her that all will be well, inquire about whether they've given steroids to the baby. An oblique way in my mind of ascertaining whether they (the ubiquitious they) are concerned she'll go into labour. She calms at my assurances. I may not really know but I'm mom after all and can sound certain when I have to. I mask my own fear and hold her hand for a few moments. Then the littles and dad come back in and we visit. Nothing comments about school and such. I watch my hubby's face. It's tight and that little muscle at the back of his jaw works now and then as he fights to stay calm and at ease. I ask him later why he didn't hug her, and he says in a choked voice that he couldn't, he would have held on so tightly he'd have hurt her.

She's home from the hospital now. She's spoken with hubby, they've laughed. Her and I have not spoken. I suggest to #4 that she call and see how she's doing. She does... her sister is giving her daughter a bath and calls back, I answer and she asks for #4. I hand over the phone and know the crisis is over. We're back to not talking ...til the next time we need each other.

Such is the fabric of my family.

Swimming along...

2005-04-13T15:40:00.000-06:00

Do I strike you as the splashy sort? <grin> Let's explore.

I'm not sure who I am. I've let myself be defined by all these labels all my life, willingly and without need of any screeching I'm going to conquer the world, penis envying feminist who makes men eye me suspiciously when I approach a door.

(er, did I mention sooner rather than later?)

Ah, well, it's as good a place as any to start defining me. Who I am as it regards being a female of (muffled sounds) years living in the western world. Married, with children. Twice.

I like being treated with respect, and yes, even some deference to the fact that I'm female. (and old but yeah, 'nother post) I like a door being held open for me. Not only because I'm female but because I believe in courtesy and manners. I've been known, much to the chagrin of my children, to hold a door open for someone, and if they haven't acknowledged my gesture with either a nod, smile or thank you to holler after them, "you're welcome!" So that's one checkmark. I'm mannerly and I like to be treated in a mannerly fashion.

I don't need some feminist screeching about my rights and how they are being contravened by some imagined slight. Maybe this is my rose colored glasses act again, but frankly I think that fight has been fought.

've watched friends turn themselves into nervous wrecks and basket cases trying to be SUPERMOM. It sucks. We aren't. Guys aren't SUPERDAD. They don't get twisted about having a career and being mommy...so why should we. We work, we make do. Kids will survive without 3 hundred activities a year. They don't need to be in every sport, every club, every brownie troop/cub pack. I think that sets them up for all sorts of failure and psychosis later in life. They as children, are expected to be soccer players, gymnists, swimmers, basketball players and all around scholars. Hell for starters you got 4 different muscle training session there to excell just at the sports. Guess they are supposed to study on the treadmill hmmm? And recreation? Bah, we don't need no stinking recreation..we got organized activities, scheduled the nth degree.

Oh, in that whole definition thing....scattered thoughts has a pretty good position in the pack, y'know.

So next checkmark, NOT a SuperMom feminist who can conquer the world with a spatula in one hand, and a day planner in the other.. Check... Next...

Nope, sorry not done after all. When I was a kid and even now as an adult who enjoys RPGaming, I loved the feel of Just Say... just say you're my hero, and poof the other kid was. My littlest one #5 as we affectionately will call her in deference to privacy issues and such, is excellent at just say. I am by turns through out the day, the mother of a lion, a rabbit, a dog fairly regularly. It makes me use my brain when I say, "Ok time for little girls to be dressed." "I not a little girl, I a rabbit." So how do I tell a rabbit to put on clothes? HMM? Got any suggestions?

...to be continued, but I guess you'd gathered that...

Diving In...

2005-04-12T14:30:00.000-06:00

I've always considered myself reasonably intelligent, and not just for a female either. By the way, in no way is that to be construed as an admittance of male intelligence superiority or any other sort, but that said, I AM NOT A FEMINIST. Frankly feminists annoy the hell out of me. Believe me that's a whole 'nother post and will definitely hit this page eventually, likely sooner than later.

Now back to the issue at hand. About reasonable intelligence. Seems a pretty simple, straight forward phrase, no? Reasonable, as in not beyond expectation, desire or out of reach, and intelligence, something we as humans are supposed to possess. The ability to reason... reason...reasonable... hmmm...

Not so much, y'know? I look around my life and see every sort of intelligence, from the complete and utter lack to that coloured by age, or maturity or at the hands of that age old teacher, experience. Even the brand shiney new sort that sets your teeth on edge, because they think they know -everything-. I think mine is reasonable. I've screwed up, sometimes even more than once in the same way but for the most part I learn from my mistakes. Sometimes. Eventually. Hmms and considers that for a moment... Let's just say that I'm becoming more and more aware of the fact that Karma has a sense of humour.

So about this reasonable intelligence thing; I think that despite some rather startling incidences of evidence to the contrary, I'm reasonably intelligent. I can reason. I can even do it, without blurring the lines with emotion. Sometimes I choose not to and appear quite, hippy-esque, ala rose colored glasses and love beads, but often that's a conscious choice on my part not a lack of ability to do so. I prefer the world I expect and anticipate to the one that I actually live in, but it does not blind me to the fact that the later is reality. So I let the parts that have to be real be so, and revamp the rest in my mind to suit myself.

I recognize that I can't control others, no matter how hard I wish for the ability to do so. All I can be is who I am. Only...

That's not always something easily defined. Who I am, I mean. On the surface, it's pretty easy to define myself by who I am to others, I'm a Mom, friend, spouse, lover, confidant, whipping boy, sound board, evil letter writer (long story), buddy, chum, playmate... and the list goes on and on. But who am I? Who am -I-? Who is inside me, and do they want to come out? Do they like being anonymous, or would they rather splash themselves all over the scenery and never be anonymous again.

Maybe not, but maybe...just sometimes... that'd be okay, y'know, just not on a permanent type basis.