I Walked Across a Smile

"A smile is happiness you'll find right under your nose.

~ Tom Wilson

I try to walk every day.  In the heat of the summer, that sometimes means an early morning walk before work.  Most days, I like to get a break during my workday and get out for a walk to clear my head.  Occasionally I walk after work to exercise away the day's stress.  I've walked hundreds of miles on the same streets of Perth over many, many days, but today was different.

Today on my walk, I happened across a nice surprise.  As I was headed back down main street to return to the office, I noticed an arrow drawn on the sidewalk in chalk.  I was headed in the direction of the arrow and thought little of it.  I was half expecting a game of hopscotch on my travels but discovered instead a simple message...."Smile." 

I did.

I continued past "Smile" and found myself a the end of the block and a four-directional arrow.  It was clear to me that some kids had been playing a game of some kind -- a treasure hunt maybe.  I crossed the street and continued along my way.

Within half a block, I happened across another message...."One Happy Thought."

So I conjured one...

...and I smiled again.

It was completely unexpected and absolutely delightful.  It brightened what was already a pretty awesome day. 

It would be nice to think that the universe was speaking to me but I get the randomness of it.  Some kid wrote it...I just happened across it.  BUT...it could have rained and washed away; I could have taken another route; it could have been a game of hopscotch.  None of that happened, so I'm taking it as a hug from the collective consciousness of the universe.  It was a message and I received it.

Thank you universe.

Right back atcha!!

So here's my little message to the kid who wrote the message.  "Thank you for not drawing a penis or the chalk outline of a dead person or another hopscotch pattern that I never know whether to jump across or walk around.  Thank you for choosing a five letter word instead of a less-complimentary four letter word.  Whether you had intended it or not, you had an impact.  The choice you made brought joy to another person -- ME -- so....kudos to you Random Nameless Kid.  You rock!"

Playing Hostess - Setting the Stage

One might well say that mankind is divisible into two great classes: hosts and guests.

~ Max Beerbohm

I'm a guest.  I am a kick-ass visitor.  I am NOT a hostess.

Having confessed this, you should know that I'm hosting a very dear friend and her family on the upcoming long weekend.  While I want everything to be perfect, it won't be -- because that's not how things go.  It is not her expectations I fear, but rather my gnawing tendencies towards perfectionism.  Strangely, once she's here, I will stop measuring "things" like how clean the cottage is, or how good the food is, or if there's anything "missing."  I will go crazy stressing over food, cleaning, lawn care and activities until she arrives and then those shallow things will fall to the wayside as we simply enjoy our time together.

Until then....I make lists.  Lists for food, lists for ingredients, things to do, things to buy, things to have, things to clean, things to fix, lists, lists, lists.  I make lists.  I even make a list of lists I will need.  Lists, lists, lists.  

I initially asked for help with the menu from my dear friend "The Foodie" whose strength (as you can imagine by the nickname) is food and menu ideas.  He is a very good cook and food is important to him -- he is my life's version of Wolfgang Puck - food is his hobby.  It drives me nuts.  I subscribe to the "live to eat" notion that food is necessary fuel for our bodies.  I remember to eat when my stomach growls but more often than not, I skip meals like a hopscotch champion.  On weekends, I generally eat a pot of coffee in the morning and then make something late afternoon when I have a chance.  It's a terrible, unhealthy habit but it's an incredible time-saver and I don't usually have a sink full of dishes waiting for me.  The Foodie plans his activities around meals most days.  I have a real problem with it. 

The Foodie and I had a falling out, however, so I took it upon myself to Google some meal ideas.  I have a rough idea of dinners, lunches and breakfast.  We'll have at least 1 meal out -- maybe 2 -- and the rest will be taken care of.  First night is Mexican-ish-y fare ... mostly because I want to mix up some Margaritas...bad...I know.  Saturday will be seafood lakeside with cedar grilled salmon and skewered shrimp with vegetables and rice.  Sunday is either steak or chicken...maybe both.  I think I have this food thing down.

I spent the last week doing deck repairs to avoid an injury (or worse, a lawsuit) involving my company.  My friend has a young daughter so I'm cleaning up the kayaks and have found a small(ish) life jacket for her.  The pool at my parents (across the road) is on stand-by.

I weeded the garden, and The Foodie dropped by today to apply a fresh stain to the bench on the deck.  He also kindly dropped off two lounge chairs in anticipation for my "girl time" lakeside catching up.  Thoughtful!!  Hmmmm, maybe sucking up....not sure...possibly both.

I spent the weekend burning crap from my deck repairs and cutting the lawn and stacking some wood by the bonfire pit.  The lawn looks pretty good except for all the crud washing up with the high water and the flooded part of the lawn.  It's as good as it's going to get.

I cleaned the bathroom and washed the floors and took a stab at the cobwebs -- though cobwebs grow overnight here at the lakeside.  I know, I know, I will freshen up the bathroom before she arrives -- maybe twice.

Things won't be perfect, but the weekend will be.  She has already warned me..."We are not coming to see your house...we are coming to see YOU."  She is an absolute joy to be around so I know that everything will be just fine and our time together will be fun and full of laughter.

I found this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt, however, and I thought, "I can live with that."

"The only advantage of not being too good a housekeeper is that your guests are so pleased to feel how very much better they are."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Soul Sista Lost and Found

Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one.

~ Oscar Wilde

I met Nori one summer at a local campground.  I was a shy teenager completely captivated by this outgoing, cheerful, funny dynamo who was unlike anyone else I had ever met.  She truly was one-of-a-kind.  We spent a lot of time talking and I credit her with being a trusted confidante and a guide, of sorts, as I stumbled -- often blindly -- across the minefield of teenage angst.  She kept me happy and real and positive.  I met her when I absolutely needed her and am better for it.

We found each other on Facebook a while ago and tonight we talked on the phone for about an hour.  It was interesting to hear about her life and all of the changes.  I am beyond thrilled to learn that she is a mom -- because when I met her all those years ago, there was nothing more important to her than having children. 

People change over time.  We see it every day.  Some people resign themselves to their life.  Some people trade their ambitions or desires for the role of parent or partner.  The people that learn and grow from their trials become better versions of themselves; the people that don't are at risk of becoming empty husks. 

Nori is a light.  She is everything I remember but better.  I can't wait to see her. 

I sometimes make fun of Facebook because it can be bogged down with pointless remarks and hurtful messages.  Sometimes though, it delivers a friend.. For that, Facebook, I am grateful.

My Asshole Cat. Part 4 - The Surrender

Kneading on You. You may think this is a sign of affection, but your cat is actually checking your internal organs for weaknesses.

~from How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You

Yesterday, I carted up Mac and we headed to town for our vet appointment. I dropped Lys at the high school and made my way across town to collect my drive-thru breakfast before making a quick stop at the office. Within a few minutes of dropping Miss Alyssa, I was assaulted by a stench that – literally – brought tears to my eyes. I lowered the windows and tried to calm Mac but her nerves clearly had gotten the best of her. I stopped at the office for some paper towels and some cleaner and decided to make an early appearance at the vet clinic.

Dr. Greg hadn’t arrived yet so I begged the vet tech to borrow an exam room and clean up Mac before her debut appointment. Once in the room I forced open the windows and released Hell herself from the carrier. She left her prison like a shot and was soon a drenched, smelly mess on the other side of the exam room. I decided to let her gather herself so I took the opportunity to clean up the carrier. There are no words that can adequately convey to you the breath-robbing, eye-stabbing stink of that cat. I dabbed and rubbed at her wet fur without any measure of success.  It really seemed like nothing more than busywork.

As Dr.Greg entered the room, his first words were “Wow, smells like a tom cat in here.” I quickly apologized and explained that she messed herself in the carrier on the way over. He placed Mac on the exam table and after the briefest palpation exclaimed – “…because it IS a tom cat.”

Congratulations, it’s a boy!

I burst out laughing. “Boy, do I feel stupid!” He assured me that I shouldn’t feel bad…it would be far worse, he explained, if THEY got it wrong.

(You should understand that this man knows that we have not actively pursued “pet owner status.” We do not go to pet stores, choose our pets, build our intelligence about their breed and behaviour and then dote upon them with our vast knowledge and skill. We are…instead…a small family of bleeding hearts that cannot turn their backs on a stray animal in peril and so we commit to their care in the absence of a loving owner. We are pet owners by circumstance.)

He excused himself from the room to gather the vaccinations. I could hear him tell his tech to correct Mac’s chart to show a male cat…”the she is actually a HE,” he said. I smiled and turned to Mac… "You tricky little bastard,” I whispered. I took those brief seconds to reflect on Mac’s behaviours and things began to fall into place. Wait until I tell the kids, I thought..

The rest of the appointment went very well (obnoxious odour notwithstanding) and Mac was treated for every possible parasite and disease before returning – with much help from Dr. Greg – to the carrier for our return trip home. I paid for the appointment and booked Mac’s neutering for next Thursday. The tech and I laughed about the Mac’s sexual confusion and I told her it was going to take some getting used to – I refer to the cats as “the girls” so I’m going to need some retraining. I suggested that in all likelihood, Mac would return to its rightful owner AFTER I vaccinate and neuter him and the tech reassured me that “at least” neutering was less expensive than spaying to which I thought…OK…silver lining. (I clung desperately to that little thread of positivity as I tried to bathe the stink off that tom cat later in the evening.)

So there you have it.

I confess to being an inadequate pet owner – so much so that I failed to correctly identify the sex of my cat. I confess also to surrendering to this irksome little beast. While I will continue to fondly refer to “my asshole cat,” I have to admit that he has grown on me. If I’m being honest, I kind of prefer “spunky” behaviour – predictable can sometimes be boring – and this little jerk kind of fits with our familial band of misfits anyhow.

Love him or hate him…Mac’s vet record clearly shows that we are now, officially, his family.

My Asshole Cat. Part 3 - Staging the Coup

I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days.

~Bill Dana

It has been several weeks now since outdoor cat made her appearance and there is no sign of her leaving despite all of our encouragement. It’s clear she wants to stay. So, she has plotted her takeover.

I recognize and easily admit that I am the weak link. She has broken me down using clever sleep deprivation techniques. She has walked across my remote control in the middle of the night waking me to the fevered pitch of late night info-mercials. She has stepped on my snooze button releasing country music into my otherwise silent night. With my defenses down, she manipulated me with cuddling and soft, soothing purring, focusing her feline attentions on me until I submitted to the Stockholm Syndrome that has defined our relationship.

Our household rhythm has slowly changed to follow the beat of our little outdoor drummer. Wake-up call is precisely 5:45 am each and every day without fail. Outdoor cat jumps to the bedside table where she quickly bats any loose objects onto the floor before short-jumping her way to the bed. Once there, she begins with a “brrrip brrrrip” to signal her presence (in case I missed the remote control hitting the floor) and then takes position on the side of my pillow that I am currently facing. As is our usual routine, I roll over and she begins noisily cleaning herself until I throw back the covers in surrender.

We traipse down the stairs together as she commences the morning workout with agility exercises, zigzagging her way down the stairs in front of me. Once downstairs, I prepare the coffee maker and my servitude begins. The cats are fed twice daily – once when I wake (which outdoor cat orchestrates) and once when I return from work (though it took a while for outdoor cat to understand that this does not mean every time I come in the door from outside). Once the cats are fed, I turn my attention to the hated litter box which is scooped twice daily and thoroughly scrubbed once a week. While I may be able to tolerate cats, I absolutely hate the smell of a dirty litter box. I have designed a concept for the outdoor kitty litter box which I will experiment with once the warmer weather arrives.

This winter has brought with it some very hostile weather which meant that “Outdoor Cat” has become a bit of a misnomer. I suppose we could rename her “Fairweather Outdoor Cat” or simplify that with the slightly more fitting acronym FOC, but I’ve always thought pet names should be “call worthy.” You know, you stand at your door and call out the name of your pet – here Skippy, here Buster, here "insert name here" -- so it must be inoffensive, short, catchy and identifiable at high volume. “My Asshole Cat” is not call-worthy, but I’m thinking MAC may be a fit for this little furry jerk. Move it Mac! Hey Mac, what’s the problem? Yup...Mac is the winner.

Mac heads to the vet this Friday for a full work-up. I’ve been avoiding this appointment but it’s clear that this cat is officially ours so, we’ll concede that she staged a successful coup. The vet appointment, I can re- frame for my own purposes as a calculated maneuver recommended by General Sun Tzu…”know thy enemy.”

My Asshole Cat. Part 2 - Into The Breach

"Staring Contests: If you get caught in a staring contest with your cat, do not look away. Looking away will signal to your cat that you are weak, and an attack is likely to follow. "

~from "How to tell if your cat is plotting to kill you.

Outdoor cat spent her first night indoors one rainy night last summer. Outdoor cat brought her fleabag self into our home and immediately began her skulking. She wandered around eyeing up the place like a dieter in a bakeshop. Lys eventually bundled her up and took outdoor kitty to her room to retire for the evening. We all took to our beds and turned out the lights. Moments after arriving at the coveted REM sleep, the night was perforated by the wailing banshee. It was a God-awful, unnatural shriek that was at once irritating and terrifying.

It took me a few seconds to get my bearings and locate the source of the hullabaloo. I turned on the light and there she was, in the middle of the kitchen, just looking around wailing. A cat person might say she was mewling or meowing but I am not a cat person; I am a person fixated on achieving 4-6 hours of REM sleep a night. This was going to be a problem. She was not in distress, she was not in heat, she was neither hungry nor thirsty. It was the equivalent, I felt, to waking up in the middle of the night to find someone singing at the top of their lungs in the middle of your kitchen and, as you turn on the light, they turn in your direction and smile as they begin the second chorus. I stared slack-jawed in stunned disbelief.

I opened the door sure that outdoor kitty was in need of some fresh air figuring this vocal exercise was her jailhouse rock. She ended with a big finish and came to stand beside me in front of the open door. She looked up at me, looked out the door, then looked back at me as if to say, "where you headed at this hour?" I closed the door and returned to bed. turned out the light and resumed my pursuit of restful sleep.

At precisely 5:45 am, outdoor cat jumped on my head. I burrowed beneath my comforter and pillow but she persisted with a leggy tap dance on my kidneys. She followed with some "brrrip, brrip" chatter that immediately made me think of the movie "Gremlins" and I made a mental note to keep her away from water. Her tireless efforts finally paid off as I threw back my covers and returned to the kitchen. I filled up the empty dishes and then made my way, blurry eyed, back to bed.

I must have dozed off, because it seemed like only seconds had passed before outdoor cat jumped onto my chest for an early-morning staring contest. I lost. Then I lost it. I picked up outdoor cat and encouraged her outside for some early morning sun -- and by encouraged, I mean I opened the door and threw her outside onto the deck.

I returned to the warmth of my bed and curled beneath the blankets and rested my eyes. Unable to fall back asleep and resigned to the lost opportunity for a leisurely sleep-in, I cracked open my eyes....to see her....staring at me from the window. I dragged my butt out of the bed and turned to see her walk away, satisfied that I was finally out of bed. My brand new alarm clock. My new asshole cat.

My Asshole Cat. Part 1 - The Infiltration

When my cats aren't happy, I'm not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they're just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.

~Percy Bysshe Shelley

Our family has a long history of taking in stray animals so when I saw a small, skinny kitten hanging around the cottage this summer, I got a sinking feeling. We had, just one short year ago, taken in an unwanted farm cat (whose bleak future included population control) after repeated pleas from my daughter. Enter Meeko. Lys's love affair with Meeko lasted about seven months. Meeko is now my cat. She is the cat I never wanted. So, as you can appreciate, this newest arrival was not met with my warm welcome.

The kids and I agreed that we would not name the cat or feed the cat but that instead we would look long and hard for this stray cat's family. We called the local vet, inquired at the nearby campground, enlisted support at the local corner store and twitted, tumble'd and facebook'd news of this lost (or was it found) cat. We were told by the vet that cat owners (read bad cat owners)were known to DUMP their unwanted pets in the country to let them live or die on their own. This, he said, was a common occurrence. My hopes of finding kitty's family were suddenly dashed. What's worse, I was conflicted now with feelings of compassion for this animal -- compassion that wasn't there seconds before when I simply thought it was misplaced.

The night that "outdoor kitty" showed up was a fitful one. I lay in bed and wrestled with figures as I adjusted our monthly budget to allow for vet bills, flea treatments, cat food, litter, and a contingency fund for cat emergencies. I eventually fell asleep with the hope that I would wake and kitty would have returned to her rightful place. It was not to be. During the night, the kids had prepared a cardboard box, lined it with a towel and placed it in a sheltered spot on the deck for maximum comfort. I discovered this "kitty cat comfort inn" when I took my coffee on the deck that morning. Imagine my surprise. This initiative from two teenagers who need to be reminded to put their dirty clothes in the hamper. I felt the odds beginning to stack against me.

On day two of the infiltration, "outdoor kitty" slept in the sun on a quiet corner of the deck as my kids questioned the depth of my humanity. How could I leave it there without feeding it or giving it water?   Did I have to point out that there is a lake less than 10 metres from where the cat lay languishing? Now I am suddenly the patron saint of stray cats? The Highland's version of St. Gertrude. Why not?  After all, what single woman doesn't want to run the risk of becoming known as "the cat lady?" Spectacular!

On day three, I was forced to acknowledge that this cat was going nowhere. It had not, to my knowledge, breached our points of entry but it was working on the kids' defenses...OK, our defenses. Meeko offered her own brand of uninviting feedback through several exchanges mediated by the patio door though the kids were far more easily swayed. I have to take ownership of some of the blame though...I am a sucker for "cute." Besides, I kept replaying this vision of "outdoor kitty" being thrown from the window of a car by a hellish cat owner as he drove away with a maniacal laugh. He didn't even take the care to stop the car. (Well, that's how it played out in my head anyway.)

Needless to say, we all bought into the cute kitty act and you know what followed. It began with a bowl of milk, then a few scraps of cat food, then we were petting kitty on our laps and discussing the logistics of an outdoor cat. Days passed.

Then it happened. It rained. Not just a light shower, but a wicked rainfall complete with thunder and lightning. We opened the door and "outdoor kitty" ran inside.

Little did we know that we had been infiltrated by an asshole cat.

Should Have Demanded A Handshake

Be true to your work, your word, and your friend. ~ Henry David Thoreau

Last week I had the pleasure of chatting with one of our clients  -- a senior citizen with a lovely disposition and a wonderful sense of humour.  During the course of our conversation, he came to tell me about how he acquired his first home mortgage.

About sixty years ago, this fellow walked down the the local sawmill to meet with the owner of the mill.  A successful business man and a pillar of his community, the owner of the mill was a friend to everyone.  My client explained to the sawmill owner that he was interested in a particular home "down the road" that was for sale along with considerable acreage.  The sawmill owner asked about my client's family and then quickly and directly explained his lending terms.  "I will finance the purchase at 5% on the condition that you pay each month without fail.  If you miss a payment, you make it up and pay the note out at 10%."  Needless to say, assured my client, that he never missed a payment.  They shook on it right then and there on the floor of the sawmill office.  The lawyers drafted the note but it was a done deal as soon as they clenched hands.  Sixty years ago a man's word was his bond.  It was currency.  It was credibility.

Three hundred and sixty days ago I shook hands.  I stood on a sawmill floor myself and promised I would knuckle through twelve months of an unfavourable term to break through with considerable gain at the end of the year.  Short term pain for long term gain.  A risky investment fueled by emotion more than logic but justifiable nonetheless after a quick cost-benefit analysis.   There was no kindly sawmill owner.  What there is, regrettably, is a bureaucracy with a deeper sense of responsibility to its shareholders than to the individuals in which they invest.  I was an investment and, as good as it was...they want more and have no compunction whatsoever in reversing their original agreement with me.  The terms have changed...just when they were supposed to turn in my favour.  At least they will, if I don't terminate....and I will terminate.

I am the first to admit that I am hopelessly naive but it is only because I have an unwavering faith in the goodness and truth of others.  Don't get me wrong, I can spot a fraud, but all things being equal, you have to earn my mistrust.

This experience won't change my outlook. I know that because I've survived worse and I still believe in the greater good.  

Next time I'll be sure to insist on a handshake.

Parenting in a Brand New World

"When we were kids, our parents taught us to meditate. They said 'Sit down and shut up!'" ~ unknown

Raising kids to become responsible, well-adjusted adults is pretty tricky business I think. As the mother of two teenagers, I feel sometimes like I am flailing about in unknown waters as I throw life preservers at my kids. How in the world do you nurture a sense of adventure in your children when what is most important is to protect them from harm? I decided long ago that sharing this world with my children means exposing them not only to its beauty, but also to its unsavory side...there seems no way around it.

During summers when I was a kid, my parents would take us down to the lake for a swim before bed. It meant crossing a road, so we were shepherded from the house by Mom and Dad - an unholy trio of hot kids who couldn't wait to be "the first one in." I remember one night I ran ahead, bound and determined to be the first one to the dock. My father yelled "stop" and so I did...in the middle of the road. "Did you look?" he asked. I looked in both directions and promptly replied, "Yes." "Lookit here...the only thing you're gonna see is the colour of the car that hits you." Then it hit me. Not a car...but that first feeling of vulnerability...mortality. It was a lesson, albeit a brief one, but I still remember it and - well - I couldn't tell you what I ate for lunch last Tuesday so...let's just say it stuck.

We all agree, we don't want to scare our kids, we just want them to be aware. The world needs risk-takers not martyrs and certainly not more fools. It takes courage to know when the risk outweighs the reward and the world needs heroes so we do our best to help our kids calculate risks and then attack life with purpose and clarity and confidence. We hold our breath as they test the waters and hope they survive each and every lesson as they become more practised at managing their own risks. But they are kids, and they are human, and they make mistakes.

Accidents are just that...heartbreaking tragedies that steal and cheat time away from families and friends and futures. There are no reasons to be found...no villains...no dark motives. Just a sad absence that bores its way into the community that loses a life unlived.

Too many young lives end in so many preventable ways but this one...Ben Rogers...hits home. It wasn't misadventure. It was a choice that, under different circumstances would be applauded as a responsible one. I would have done the same thing...I would have walked.

My kids were talking about Ben and, while I normally offer my opinions I could not offer anything of substance...no deeper insight or understanding. No advice. Nothing. I felt only a tightening in my chest and realized I was holding my breath.

Grandma's Little Red Book

I was thinking today of my Grandma. When she passed, a small red book came to be in my care. It is a collection of pages written in the careful penmanship of someone who spent a lifetime scrolling letters across an expansive blackboard. Careful letters canting to the right in a lazy, lovely flow of captured versus. She wrote in this book, quotes and captions that held some secret meaning for her...a cautionary tale, a life lesson or maybe just something to read when she needed to change her perspective. It's too late to ask her why she selected the passages; I can now only imagine why or how she chose each and every one.

On days like today when I wish I could curl back up into her lap like I did when I was young, I get instead to flip through the pages and remember her through her handwriting. I remember being young, sitting on her lap. I remember the way it felt when she ran her fingers through my hair as I leaned back into her. I remember her smell, her voice, her benevolence...the peace I felt curled there in her care.

The words of Taylor Caldwell, Piet Hein, Peter Marshall, Winston Churchill, Euripides and ...wait for it... Led Zeppelin...among others.

"Life itself can't give you joy unless you really will it. Life just gives you time and space. It's up to you to fill it." The Mountain Bar

"The first thing that popped into my head was the last thing I should've said." Unknown

"The reason that worry kills more people than work is that more people worry."

"Use the talents you possess for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang but the very best."

"Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves." Sir James Barrie

"A girl who thinks she is too good for any man may be right -- but she may be left."

Riding out the Winter

In the prairies today, the temperature is -50 degrees with the wind chill. On the news they showed pictures of vacant playgrounds and broken-down cars on empty highways. Authories in those provinces are asking people to stay at home until the weather system passes. Schools have been closed.

I can't imagine how cold -50 would feel and, quite frankly, I would prefer not to know.





I keep telling myself that there is probably only about 5-6 weeks of winter left to endure. Of those 6 weeks, 3 will be dedicated to the celebration of Ottawa's Winterlude Festival. I can't wait to go downtown and take more pictures of the ice sculptures.


Here's a picture of the kids sledding on a beautiful winter day.

Booger Check

Today I thought I would dedicate a post to the value of the "Booger Check." For those of you that are not familiar with the term, it is simply a tool to avoid the embarrassment of an unwanted...um...uh...shall we say...nose buddy.

Today at breakfast, a waitress came to the table with a...ahem...nose buddy. After a quick first glance, I thought it was piercing because of where it was positioned. She seemed a little old and a little conservatively dressed for a piercing but, hey, I'm not the fashion police so I didn't give it much attention. I asked for a green tea and suggested that she return for my husband's order when he joined me at the table. She came back with my tea and I looked up from my menu to thank her which provided me with the opportunity for a long second look. I realized then that I had mistaken her nose buddy for a nose piercing. I quickly scanned the data banks for any lessons I may have learned on how to effectively yet discreetly address this very personal issue, but she was gone before I could come up with anything useful. I checked my pocket for a Kleenex but found none. What to do? What to do?

At this point, I felt the blossoming birth of curiosity. My husband is a germophobe and is repulsed by anything less than the sterile treatment of his food. I suddenly felt as though I needed to see how he would respond to this particular situation. I had my chance only a few moments later when he came and sat down. He began looking at his menu.

Our waitress came over and asked if he would like some coffee. He looked up to respond and quickly fixed his gaze upon her nose buddy. He looked at me and I gave him "the caution look." (It's kind of a quick widening of the eye followed by a short eyebrow rise served up with a clenched jaw. ) He looked at her, he looked at me, he looked at her nose buddy, then at me again. It was all I could do not to laugh. "I'll take a decaf please," he said. Did he know that his nose was turned up when he said that? I was certain that he was going to suggest that we leave, but all he said was, "the other restaurant is where the 'old boys' hang out," as though we really had no choice but to be served by the waitress with the nose-buddy.

I won't trouble you with the conversation that followed but I can assure you that there was no laughter, no rude comments, no inappropriate remarks. We were just two people every bit as embarrassed by this situation as this poor woman would be as soon as she caught her reflection in a shiny pot.

Again, this long, sordid tale is intended only to promote the Booger Check. You can use a mirror, the studious gaze of a good friend or a discrete co-worker. Children make the best booger checkers though because they take that opportunity to assess your entire facial area. They identify boogers as well as blemishes, stained teeth, tooth-buddies, red eyes, and eyebrows in need of plucking. Remember, if you don't want to know, don't ask.

CAUTION: Beware of the little trolls that decide to exploit their trusted position as your personal booger checker to capitalize on this entertaining situation at your expense. They are evil, evil people.

Not everyone is built to be a booger checker.

Ready...

set...

blow.

4 am

I was up again at 4 am today. That's three days in a row. I've been wrestling with a decision about work and it's screwing up my sleep.

My best friend and I have long talked about working together and the time is upon us. My worry, as I have expressed to her, is how this might strain our friendship. Above all else, I told her, my interest is in protecting our friendship.

What is making this decision particularly difficult is that I really like the job I have now. I wear jeans to work, listen to music all day long, sip coffee, and work for the most wonderful couple I have had the privilege of meeting. My feeling is that I am at risk of losing a great job and a great friend. How pessimistic is that? (I really need to cool the drama, I think.)

I talked to the wonderful couple earlier in the week to let them know that I would need to make this decision. They were...well...wonderful. They said that though they had big plans for me, they would support me. They were concerned for my well being and their advice was to follow my heart and find my peace.

My peace, I believe, will come in the decision; the commitment; the plan.

In the end, I decided I would rather be a good friend than a good employee.

I don't know

I have so few answers these days that even I am tired of hearing me say, "I don't know."

I lack the capacity and the confidence for making big decisions so I simply don't. (I suspect that it is the perfectionist in me that prevents me from making a bad decision by making no decision at all.) Hardly a recipe for success, though these days survival seems to be the more pressing objective than long range personal, professional or financial success. There are many decisions to be made these days and I've been avoiding most of them.

I was accused today of being dishonest and wishy-washy and it hurt me deeply because I have long enjoyed a reputation for being honest and forthright. At some level I know that I must admit to being wishy-washy and I believe that it is due largely to the constant struggle between my heart and my head. They have, for many months, been wrestling over the trophy of my future; I sense now that they are beginning to align towards an inevitable truth. The truth (as I have mentioned elsewhere in this blog) is that I have no place being in a relationship.

I understand that I will be meeting with a counsellor on Wednesday who is going to ask me (I expect) deep and probing questions. I am anxious about being put on the spot and having no real answers. I doubt that "I don't know" will carry much weight with her. That said, "I don't know" in itself, is an answer of sorts. It means, I can't arrive at a decision. It means, I can barely figure out what to wear in the morning, how can I expect to know how I will feel in a day, a week, a month, a year? It means, I cannot and will not make guarantees because I always keep my word and I don't feel comfortable making a commitment at this time. It means, that I don't know my heart. It means that I don't trust myself.

I have said all this to the interested party but because this isn't the "correct" answer, I am asked to consider and reconsider my position. I am being asked to make more sacrifices by someone who has made none in all the years I have known him. I am being asked to ignore my feelings and put my faith in someone who lost my trust.

Truth is, I know what the counsellor will say on Wednesday.

She'll say, "Oh well now, I think you do know."

and I will say,

"Yes."

Wake Up Call

My wake up call came at 6:15 am. I didn't answer. I got another at 6:45. I picked it up and listened. "I don't want to start my days like this." My protests go unheeded so I lay the handset down and go about making myself a coffee and pop some bread into the toaster. I sip my coffee, butter my toast and listen for handset noises in the background. Can't hear any. I go into the living room and watch a few minutes of Canada AM (morning news) and catch up on news in the rest of the world. I grab a warm-up for my coffee and listen for handset noises in the background. None. Back to the TV to finish my coffee and toast. When I return with my dishes I pick up the handset. Nothing. No talking. No dial tone. Nothing. I return the handset to the cradle and return to the television.

I'm blogging these days just to get rid of these thoughts (which is why I'm removing my comment fields from these blogs.) Sorry if it makes anyone uncomfortable but I started this blog so that I could process what is happening in my life. Right now, this is all that I can focus on and I'm hoping that I can stuff it away here so that I can find some peace in my day. Laying down my burden, so to speak.

The most difficult thing to deal with has been my own behaviour. I wanted to live my life every day by being the kindest person I know. I have said and done many things that are very un-kind and it fills me with such self-loathing that it fuels negative feelings that are later expressed through more bad behaviour.

I have absolutely no business being in a relationship at this time.

Painful Irony

He said, "for all of those years, I wasn't happy with myself and it kept me from finding happiness with you and the kids. I've spent the last year working on myself and I like the new me. Now all I want is to find happiness with my family."

All of those years, I was happy with myself and I tried to find happiness with him. I've spent the last year without him but I have failed to move forward because I remained committed to a dysfunctional and damaged relationship against my better judgement. I don't feel very good about myself these days and I suspect that it will prevent me from finding happiness with my family.

Ironic don't you think?

The Call of the Child

I'm bored, she says. One week out of school, Christmas over, beautiful mild winter day outside and she says that she's bored. She got games, books, a ski tube, movies and music for Christmas but still she says, "I'm bored."

We adults hustle and bustle our way through life checking important tasks off of our "to do list" as we complete them. Do the laundry - check. Do the dishes - check. Get groceries - check. Shovel the walk, vacuum, chop kindling, take the garbage out, cook meals, clean up after cooking meals, tidy, mediate kiddie fights, drive everybody to their activities, shop....well, you get the idea.

What I wouldn't do to be bored right now!

Our Family Christmas {and last day of school}

Wordpecker jr. reporting our family Christmas eve {Christmas day}

Christmas Eve,

Usually we put out some snacks and deserts and then have some friends over and when they go home, we get dressed up and go to church, when we come back we get dressed up all cozy have more snacks and deserts then we would call up our friends and then we have fun talking and laughing and I would play with my friends till about 10:30pm or 11:00 pm. Then me and my brother would put out cookies and eggnog, carrots and celery out for "Santa and the reindeer."
Christmas day,

My brother and I will walk each other up then wake let my parents know were up {they are to} run down stairs and grab the stockings bring them up and open them up in mom and dads room then wake them up all the way and dad will ask for 10 more mins. and mom would get up after we keep telling them "get up please please please come on get up hurry up, meet you down stairs" mom would always be down behind use then dad about 5 mins. after {we would have to wait to open presents till dad got down, while we waited we would look at all the cool stuff in our stockings again} when dad got down we would pass out one present to everyone when the tree was bare at the bottom we would open some presents out of the packages and play while 'rents made breakfast. After breakfast we would get changed then go to Christmas with dads side of the family and when we got back we'd play with friends and our new toys.

{one thing is in our house the toys get packed under the bed or in the closet and get forgotten about after a couple months but we might remember them and look for them then play with them and they get packed away again}


On the last day of school before break we watched Mr. Bean's Holiday in french class then had a secret Santa I got lip gloss and chocolates. Then after recess we had English class / history/ drama went around the school and went caroling we sang Rudolph the red nose reindeer, silent night, jingle bells and we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year. When we got back we had just one activity in drama a invisible sculpting guessing game. In math class we had a math Olympics {we had a 30min's.}and I was with Elizabeth we were in 1 place then we got stumped on this one question then we finished 1min after time. {It was a really fun!!!}

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a good holiday and a happy new year.

a special message from,
Wordpecker jr.

Truffle Travesty

So here is how it happened...

I got home on Wednesday afternoon at about 5 pm. I heated up a can of beans for dinner (not kidding) and collected all of my ingredients. I got a little distracted with gift wrapping and realized at about 8 pm that I was running over schedule. I unwrapped my $13.00 worth of chocolate, poured my 35% cream and measured out 2 tbsp from my bottle of Grand Marnier. I heated the cream, added the chocolate, butter and liqueur. Following the directions, I placed the saucepan into the freezer to cool the mixture enough to work with. What? I have to wait one hour for it to harden? An hour? Are you kidding me? It's almost 9 pm!

At 10 pm, I removed the mixture from the freezer. Brandishing my melon baller, I began to scoop out balls of chocolate yummie-ness. Uh oh, I can't get it out of the melon baller. I have to scoop it out with a tiny little spoon. My vision of terrific truffles morphed into a reality of oblong abominations. Yikes!


"No problem," I think, "I can fix this." I read the instructions again -- place the truffles on a baking sheet and return to the freezer to harden. OK. I remove them after about 15 minutes later and try to shape them into perfectly round little balls only to find that they are melting into the palms of my hands. (I'm thinking that I should have made them with M&Ms.) I gently try to re-shape them with my fingertips while I melt the rest of my chocolate in a dish ready to cover these delightful little delicacies. I dunked one, two then three. I thought this part was going to be easier. It wasn't. The chocolate is much thicker than I thought it would be and it cools fast. I ended up having to throw out about 8 tbsp of chocolate and re-melt another batch to finish up. This task certainly didn't go as planned. The clock is racing past 10:30 pm and my eyes are starting to burn. I'm tired. I finished dunking the last of my truffles and put them into a container to finish setting.


At 11 pm I threw the dishes into the sink, soaked the chocolate stained dishcloths and headed to bed. I squirted some Spray & Wash on my sweater, dug chocolate out from beneath my fingernails and hopped into bed.


As I lay there trying to sleep, I added up my costs and figured that -- time included -- my truffles cost approximately $2.85 each. If the stain doesn't come out of my sweater, that will increase to about $3.43.


Next year I'm going to the drug store to buy Lindt Lindor Chocolate Truffles. In fact, I'll buy the biggest bag they sell and laugh all the way to the checkout! With or without a coupon, on or off sale, I'll laugh knowing that I paid WAY LESS than I did this year.

Here's the picture from the recipe.


Pretty don't you think?


I'm confident that they were made by Stepford Wives in a state of the art kitchen at 10:30 am on a Saturday morning. Damn those Stepford Wives and the Kraft Kitchens marketing machine. Damn them all!


4 more sleeps!

Christmas Baking

I managed to get most of my baking done on the weekend. I made:

Crunchy bars (12 o'clock covered in chocolate and pecans) You would never believe that these are made with saltines. They taste like Skor bars.

Shortbread with cranberries and pistachios (2 o'clock round cookies). I made these with whole wheat flour and the least amount of butter I could to keep the cookie from falling apart. They turned out quite well. Pretty and yummy!

• Candy Cane Bark (4 o'clock squarish things) made with white chocolate and smashed up candy canes. I don't like either of these ingredients, but they look nice in my gift baskets so I feel compelled to make them every year.


• White cranberry biscotti (7 o'clock biscotti-shaped cookies). These are by far my favourite treat. I will take half of the batch, dip one end of each slice in dark chocolate and then package them up in baggies. They look so pretty in a gift basket. I experiment with many different biscotti recipes and try to have a batch on hand. They go great with a cup of coffee or tea.


• Chocolate Candy Cane cookies (9 o'clock candy-cane shaped cookies). These things are chocolate cookies made with a package of cream cheese. It's the first year I've made them and I had quite a time getting the correct consistency for a cookie. My daughter drizzled white chocolate and topped them with candy cane pieces. I have to confess, they look better than they taste.

I also made cookie fudge (way too rich to eat) which is like giving the gift of sugar shock. I'm worried that these things are going to fall apart when I put them in gift baskets so I'll have to warn the recipients. No photo sorry. Just picture chocolate fudge with chunks of Oreo cookie sticking out.

I still have to make truffles and fruit balls. I've never made the truffles before but I'm looking forward to trying. I bought a bottle of Grand Marnier to add to the recipe (and a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream for the cook :) so I think they will be quite decadent. If they turn out I'll take photos and post them. If they don't, I'll steal a photo and take the credit anyway (tee hee).

I would love to post more photos but it takes somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes to upload over this connection. I absolutely HAVE to show you all the snow we're getting though. Amazing!

6 more sleeps gang!