tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14086048947333126852024-02-07T16:23:14.675-08:00The Return of.... El Torro SalutesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-367208188326658902013-01-06T18:55:00.002-08:002013-01-06T18:55:22.929-08:00Good bye EltorroMy new blog is here:<br />
<a href="http://toastandgems.wordpress.com/">http://toastandgems.wordpress.com/</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-34852731072514207632012-12-25T19:37:00.000-08:002012-12-25T19:37:08.231-08:00Jiminy Crickets
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can hear a cricket chirping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I am NOT in some warm climate, camping by
a creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in my house, post-holiday turkey
dinner, it is minus 4,000 outside and a bloody cricket is chirping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You see, Lenny the lizard is growing up and
he requires more food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we began
buying the ‘large’ crickets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reason
that they are larger is because they are older and when they get older, some
sprout wings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the hell and why me?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have had an aversion to winged things since the time when I
was four years old and was chased by geese while my parents and grandparents
laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can still hear them shouting “drop
the bread” while I ran and ran and was eventually bitten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rude! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>While I do not dislike all birds, I am not
terribly fond of them either. The only bird I have ever really liked up close
was a Cockatoo named Casey that my cousin had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That bird was cool. He talked a bit and on command he would stand on top
of his cage and do a head bobbing dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We would laugh and call it “the Stevie Wonder” (with apologies to Stevie
Wonder). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The louder the music, the
bigger the dance. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I never had enough
guts to hold Casey and over the years I have not developed a fondness for any
other close encounter of the bird kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes at work the loading dock door gets left open too long and we
get a sparrow inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently one made
its way to back offices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The poor thing
was terrified and in a panic it flew fast and furious around the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no shame in saying that I screamed “get
it out” and took cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I’m not fond
of winged things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the crickets are not going anywhere; they are a staple
in Len’s diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point I have to “man
up” and deal with this chirping insect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lenny has not been successful in hunting the creepy thing down. In fact,
he has become a little reclusive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think the chirping freaks him out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
afternoon I was looking in the cage, shuddering at the wings on that bug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its head has changed shape too and it looks
awful, akin to the head of a praying mantis. Gross. I then observed it and a
couple of its nearly winged friends drinking from the water bowl like a herd of
cows to the trough. At that moment I made a plan make the winged villains a
little less agile by way of dehydration. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less agile means better chances for Len for a successful
hunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even if the hunt fails, seeing
those dudes on their backs with their toes up to the mesh lid will give us all
peace of mind.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tonight I fed and watered Len outside the cage and did not
refill the water bowl inside the cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Len will be fine and hopefully the winged one will be gone by the
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the meantime I will try not to hear the
chirping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I will probably dream of geese...</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-65323907802222679072012-11-29T19:18:00.001-08:002012-11-29T19:32:44.446-08:00The Tree<span style="font-family: inherit;">I picked up the Christmas tree tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is thawing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have always had real tree. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like the ‘charlie brown’ style, full of
holes and usually missing a limb or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This year’s edition is nearly 8 feet high, I had to break off part of the
top as our ceilings are not that high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is sure to be a beauty tho.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Generally, I am the one who decorates the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my tree you will find a mishmash of ornaments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are not the perfectly matched units from
cylinder tube costing $20.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, my tree
is full of odd pieces of history and they tell the story of my family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The lights go on first. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like the small lights, no blinkers, just the
lovely multi-coloured rays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first ornaments
are two that make me cry every year; they belonged to my grandparent’s- my dad’s parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not remember giving the ornaments but I cherish
them as if they were made of gold. They are old Hallmark balls that say Grama
and Grampa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The silky string that is the
canvas for the bulb is getting frayed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
always hang the balls near to each other; Grama’s just a bit higher than Grampa’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad and Grama would laugh at that, Grampa not
so much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I put the ornaments on the tree,
I feel sad that they are not here now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish they knew my kids. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I knew them now, as a grown up. But I know
they are together, wherever they are. And I swear I feel all each person's spirit with
me when I put out those ornaments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those
two Christmas balls alone are worth half a box of kleenex. My family have
learned to just say nothing and let me blubber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I will be fine in an hour.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The other ornaments are ones that we have collected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is The First Christmas from 1989 and
some of the other tree trimming we bought that year has survived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laugh when I see the Woolco price tag on
the boxes. Two Baby’s First ornaments exist. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Kids have various tree trimmings from
their childhood craft times, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love
those the best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite of all time
is the year we made clothes pin angel decorations. The pin was the body, coffee filters were cut to make wings and The Kid’s faces where the
faces of the angels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Absolutely
hilarious – and perfect. The past few years we have begun to collect memories
of our vacations for the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have found
out this is an entirely fascinating and tacky industry; yet highly appealing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Funny thing, I haven’t been able to find the
right ornament for Maui – I guess I will have to go back to continue the
search.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year I completed the
ornaments with photos of the dogs inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Those make me laugh out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
must get one for Lenny the Lizard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">From time to time people make jokes about the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those folks do not understand
that the random collection of things is really the true reflection of this
family, of this house, of these four walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is a snap shot of time over many years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing on the tree matches, nothing is perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a real tree. Pass the tissues.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-43599850799816404862012-11-17T22:20:00.001-08:002012-11-17T22:20:52.137-08:00Rinks<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I was in a hockey rink that I have never been to before
and yet it was exactly the same as all the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some rinks are built with bricks, some are
the tin can variety, and some are throw backs to another era with wooden
benches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two things remain universal
inside every rink: 1) everyone’s opinion of what the “right” call the referee
should make is different and 2) the loudest person in the rink usually knows
the least about the game.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I stood there today, I realized that I have been in four different
rinks in the past two weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not
earth shattering but it is odd since I am no longer a ‘hockey mom’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Boy is an adult and my role is no longer
chauffer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a mere fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I simply show up when I am ready, watch the game and the leave at my
leisure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I treasure his nod of
the helmet acknowledgement I receive – once - during the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week I went to a game and it was a real
treat to run into another hockey mom that I haven’t seen in ages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We agreed it was good fun to see the boys
(for they will always be the boys, not men) on the ice together again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gone are all parental delusions of grandeur,
these boys are playing for fun only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
rink is brick rink with wooden benches and the flooring looked like it had been
redone since the last time I was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Earlier in the week I was loitering in the community rink
looking at old hockey team pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
really, really hard to find The Boy amongst all the faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried doing the math of how old he was
in 2005 or 2007 and what level that age is and then figured out if Atom
came before or after PeeWee and what year did he not play because of the
broken wrist….Oy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up relying on
the coaches to landmark the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed at the pictures of hockey hair and
smiled at the memories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, the boys
will not be playing in this rink again – no ice time available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This rink is made of bricks and cement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has remained the same through all of our
years of hockey.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last weekend my little niece asked me to come to her skating lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found it odd to be sitting there
with my little brother watching his daughter navigate the ice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we
adults talked I kept remembering him learning to skate when he was about the same age. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are still moments when I find it hard to
believe he is a parent – because he has always been my little brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there he is doing up skates and zipping
jackets and this little girl calls him dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was one of those full circle moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This rink was more bricks than tin and so new it does not yet have smell
of frozen sweat permeating through it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
And that brings me to today. When I am watching a game, I
prefer to stand at one end of the rink, just off to the side of the net.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was standing there today, Tim’s cuppa
steeped tea resting on the ledge, watching another niece play in
a girl’s hockey tournament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many years ago The Girl played a season of
girl's hockey before deciding it wasn’t for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her games were usually in a community rink
with a terrible viewing area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did
not have any tournaments other than the standard minor hockey week tourney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a very short lived hockey career and
yet very memorable. I’m not even sure The Girl owns skates now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today’s rink was like a tin can, metal frame, tin
roof, metal seating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had the rink
smell, the loud ‘fan’ and young referees being judged by the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>New rink for me but it was oddly familiar. Good game, too.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-55152807629615327762012-10-15T19:10:00.000-07:002012-10-15T19:10:33.351-07:00Wind
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once upon a time I went to Maui.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was such an adventure for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had never travelled any great distance by myself. Prior trips I
had made were with The Husband or friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But one day I got on a plane, by myself and went West.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I landed in complete darkness and was
immediately assaulted by the humidity of Maui.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It took my breath away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in
heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I easily found my luggage and
made my way to the car rental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once in
the car I drove away from the city lights into the darkness of the valley to
Kihei and it was as if I had been there before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had studied the maps and had a good idea
of the roads and in the dead of the night I found my way to a condo that I had
never seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a ground level
walkout to the ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I opened the
patio doors I couldn’t see the ocean, it was too dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hear it though, and I could taste
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left the condo and found my way to
grocery store to get coffee and the basics of breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got back I fell asleep hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something woke me up super early the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to the kitchen and as I looked out,
there was a field of sculpted grass and the ocean. The sun was just rising.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened the patio door and walked to the
embankment before the ocean and just stood there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually I dipped a toe in the water then
made my way back to the condo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coffee in
hand, I took up a perch on the lanai and never moved for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I just listened to the ocean. I did this for 7 mornings. </span>To the left of lanai was the pool area with the
umbrella chairs and community bbqs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
caretaker was washing off everything, a task I learned he did every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A</span> couple took off for a run
each morning, returning to do stretchy things in the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have done without seeing the
stretching but I appreciated their dedication to the run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I brought my shoes but they remained untouched
the entire week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just let the island
recharge me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In the beginning, </span>I explored the island by myself. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband flew
in a couple days after me and I was so happy to be the one to show him
around a new area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband has
travelled much more than I, but he agreed that Maui was a special place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We drove to the top of a volcano and felt
like we really were at the top of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We also drove on the “do not drive here” part of the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a one lane road with two-way
traffic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazing adventure – so good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My best lesson to learn was on day one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Earlier that day I had read a bit about the
trade winds and how a person needs to heed and plan around them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discounted the winds until about 2:30PM
when the first gust hit and never stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was amazing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Relentless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of where I was on the island, the
wind was stronger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It funneled in
through the valley and exploded down the seaside sometimes carrying dirt from
the cane fields. The wind also started a game for me to see who is ”the newbie”
arrival at the condo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Folks would be
sitting around the pool with the umbrellas up and when the wind hit, the man
would get up to hold the umbrella.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
about 10 minutes, a “local” would let him know that the wind wouldn’t be
stopping for another 10 hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good
entertainment from my deck chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
was also my cue to take on a new adventure or go get fish tacos.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Soon The Husband and I are returning to Maui.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Same condo, new adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time it will have a different feel
because we have been there before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
loving that. I know there are new things to discover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband was back once already to ride his
bike up the volcano.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him this
time I will drop him off at the top and he can coast his way down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look forward to setting up a new perch to
wait for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might even take my
running shoes and use them this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do
not need the same level of recharge as I did last time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look forward to the wind, fish tacos, good
coffee, spending time looking at ocean at sunrise and planning for what is next in our crazy life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> This is good. </span>Aloha.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-52683777030241772252012-09-07T21:42:00.000-07:002012-09-07T21:42:41.890-07:00Fresh
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It has been an interesting couple of days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two notable things happened this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leonard got new skin and I took a chance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This morning as I was walking by Lenny the Lizard’s cage I tossed
over the usual “Good Morning Leonard”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Out of the corner of my eye I thought he had two heads. As it turns out
he was shedding his skin and the two headed effect was a result of the cracking
of the old skin off of his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a
reclusive nocturnal dude and I have never seen the actual shedding process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is pretty cool and it made me a few
minutes late for work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, 20 minutes
late. The gross part is that he eats his old skin but that is another
topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
I took a chance on a crazy ad to sell my remaining inventory
of jerseys – and it worked! Who knew?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Six emails and two phone calls later and it all will leave on
Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have had a business selling hockey jerseys for the last 6 years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband and I had the mesh spun and jerseys manufactured
for us from a friend in Asia. We imported 15,000 pieces and JJ’s Jerseys was
born. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been a successful run and I
have met super people. Hockey guys are great to deal with. Over time my
inventory has dwindled and I feel the business has run its course. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result I have been left sitting with a
mix of leftover sizing in my garage – until now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
only does this sale mean The Boy has more room for his social life in the
garage (he has a poker den for his friends) but it is a big weight off my back.
And rather than me having to pay to landfill the jerseys someone is buying them
from me and they are picking them up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am pretty freaking happy about the entire scenario.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Tonight I walked by the lizard’s cage and tossed over the
usual “Good Night Leonard”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was resting
proudly in his new suit of armour, pulling off the last bits of his old skin
from his toes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks fresh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow I think I will put on my weekend bra
and dye my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-19746044968810753442012-09-04T07:38:00.002-07:002012-09-04T08:08:17.980-07:00McFly...McFly...<span style="font-family: inherit;">So it is back to school day today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This day ushers in the return to routine for
many folks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is kind of a late year
new resolution time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back to the gym or
to eating right or to regular bedtimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For me it is some of that but mostly it is back to the future for me.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">No, I do not have a Delorean – sad face – but I do have a bit
of a time machine:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old photos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They capture moments in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried my very best to be that mom who took
the photo of the kids on their first day of school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have many of the early years and I will
freely admit that at least one was taken a day or so late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somewhere around junior high those
ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably a mix of teenage distain
towards me and my overwhelming relief that they were out the door for 6 to 8
hours per day lead to this photographic documentation breakdown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admit to celebrating more than one back to
school moment with a shot of Baileys in my coffee and toast to me for not
being arrested for a rendering a child silent over the super special summer
break.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I have a different non-Baileys toast though (non-Baileys becasue I have to go to work soon).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This toast is not to me but to The Kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I toast them for having graduated high
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I toast them for having at least
one good friend that they can count on and a few more waiting in the wings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I toast them for both being strong enough
people to know what they do not want – for now – because they have the rest of
their life to figure out what they do want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I toast them for making me (and The Husband) crazy with some of their
choices and decisions and having the fortitude to challenge ours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I toast them for being good people with big
hearts and open minds.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Life lessons cannot be taught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have to be lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not a teacher of such lessons but I am a
student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day opens a new chapter
and it is up to me to let the lesson of that day resonate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My photo today looks different than it did 14
years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Girl was out the door
early to work on her way to her next chapter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Boy was gone soon after on his way to his new beginning, text book in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband is immersed in his next edition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And me, at the moment I am
hanging with The Dogs before work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
this is all good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is time to put the
back pack on and get learning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-9314896458460442212012-08-28T16:00:00.001-07:002012-08-29T07:43:22.535-07:00Magic Mats<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was driving the QE2 today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Windows down, sun shining in, the Fuzz nowhere in sight and I was transported to a summer gone by when I was at my grandparent's farm in Manitoba.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I was about 13 or 14 years old, my cousins were 2 and 4 years older than me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While we sometimes watched my eldest cousin wreak havoc on the locals – she was the early version of punk in small town rural Manitoba – mostly my other cousin and I pouted and cursed our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were stuck in hell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day we were sun tanning, the day was hot and the wind warm and I wrote a poem called Magic Mats. It started out “here we sit in the flats, brought here by our magic mats”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that summed it up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I look back on it I can still feel the palpable boredom and distain at being on this secluded farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No other kids. The biggest excitement of the day was seeing if the mail truck stopped at the gate or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually it did not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if it did stop, none of us kids wanted to walk down the hill to get the mail – it wasn’t going to be for us anyway.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I arrived at the farm with my cousins via my cousin’s mom, my Aunty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not certain of the logistics but at one point I remember being part of her entourage that was visiting my Uncle’s relatives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those folks were kind and welcoming and I remember listening to The Cars – Drive on cassette in a tree swing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually we got to the farm and Aunty went home; leaving us cousins on the flats with no magic mats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t a full working farm then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The orchards were overgrown, the fields were rented by other farmers, the barns were empty but the place was picture perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a weed in sight. My Grampa would be gone from sun up to sun down “farming”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just before suppertime he would show up, cook supper for us and then sit back and watch. We grandkids must have been entertainment for him; surely we filled up the house with noise. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">During the day we would sleep until the afternoon then go exploring, play silly games in the barns like scaring ourselves silly imagining ghosts. There was a river nearby and we would do all the things you shouldn’t do. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My cousins would get leeches on their legs and run screaming all the way back to the farm house for Grama to help them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was always too scared of the water to go in so they would be the ones to get into trouble for playing in the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On rainy days we would try to use the satellite dish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gramps liked to watch the playboy channel at night so we were warned not to touch the tv.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sometimes we found the MTV satellite/channel and I remember Bruce Springsteen and Courtney Cox - Dancing in the Dark. There was a big picture window in the kitchen that overlooked a meadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would spend hours looking out that window watching for coyotes crossing the field. It was a real score to see more than one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I admired their independence, their sideways loping, ever wary of the unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think that is why I have such an affinity to the coyotes now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eventually someone, maybe my mom, came and picked us up and we went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next time I was at the farm was probably 7 or 8 years later for Grama’s funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not stay very long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My cousins were not there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The picture window was dirty and the view was obscured by overgrown trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the barns had obvious structural issues. But it was still beautiful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t been back to the farm since.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on days like today, sunshine, wheat fields, windows down and farmers in the field – I think about the flats and the magic mats and I am back there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-42537460862037143542012-08-27T10:29:00.000-07:002012-08-27T10:29:46.788-07:00Angry hair
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went for a run this morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing earth shattering about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact I haven’t run for a while is a sign
for me that I need either a kick in the @ss or a moment of reflection &
refocus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this case, all of the above.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The past couple of years have been difficult on me in mind,
body and spirit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I finished my
first (and only!!) marathon in 2009, I felt like life started slipping thru my
fingers. Work is not the centre of my universe but what was supposed to be a good
thing eroded into a not-so-good thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That was frustrating and made me sad, disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the other parts of my
universe – the things that happen inside your 4 walls - went off the
rails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how other houses function
but in my house, I am the constant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
the main support beam and when the rest of the house has ‘renovations’, it is
me who taps in the supporting braces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And this is ok; for my 4 walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But – it takes a toll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to
become immersed in the renovation process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All of my time and energy went to other people’s projects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In turn I got fat, tired, out of shape and
fairly pissed off at the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
pissed off is different than being angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I am angry I lash out, when I am pissed off it is a slow simmer of
reflection served with a side of brownies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The past winter I started moving to get back to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lead some running
clinics, finished my first half marathon in several years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was good. But I’m still feeling fat and
unhealthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My blood pressure is
elevated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure I can look/feel/be
much better if I truly focus on ME now. I pretty much stopped running in the summer to do some additional renovations. Lame - cannot believe I let all those physical gains go. However,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
come to the understanding that renovations may be a life long journey for some
folks and that I cannot be sitting on the sidelines, wearing a tool belt and watching
it happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only tap in the support
wall and carry on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Work is good
too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And let’s be real – it does matter
because you spend a significant part of your time there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one needs to be surrounded by negativity –
anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I signed up for a course that
I have wanted to take for a couple years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I will even get to drive my car to campus. And it is Fall; my favourite
time of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crisp, clean air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No bugs. Less allergies.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today’s run was hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could not find my footing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
doesn’t mean I fell. I mean the rhythm of pace and breathing was jumbled and jagged. When running is
good, it is like time stands still while you move thru it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The measure of distance is not in the front
of your mind and the concern of the public at large watching your giggly parts
evaporates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is magical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why I run – for those moments. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I rounded my last corner on the final
stretch to home, I was met by this ridiculous looking dog on a leash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had this goofy white hair blowing in the
wind and was hell bent on going somewhere but the leash was holding it
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sight made me laugh and I felt
a connection with the dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought –
it has angry hair!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope it gets to run
free soon - and gets a hair cut. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-19019527511999283062012-08-17T22:09:00.000-07:002012-08-17T22:09:10.520-07:00Main Street<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On a recent road trip The Husband decided he wanted some Chinese food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, in all my days of travelling – including the times with my parents, what I know to be true as the sky is blue when the sun shines is that in every town and hickville there is a Main Street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And on this Main Street you will find a place that says Chinese Western Canadian Food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And 9 times out of 10, when you go inside you will find a fish tank with a gold fish or plastic flowers or paintings depicting waterfalls or lanterns with red tassels or a combination of such treasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are truly lucky – you will also find the paper placemats with Chinese Zodiacs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a rooster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I verify this every time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, we are in a medium sized town and we enter the doors of the Chinese Western Canadian Food establishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My radar was on high alert because we had to enter via 2 doors which contained no windows; perhaps an airlock of sorts. The first door was painted bright blue, the second pink. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside we decide on the lunch buffet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is 2PM. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We are seated near to the buffet and before we can even sit down, the resident local has literally ran to the buffet to scoop up treasures. That sort of spirited hoarding raised our hopes that the airlock was not a bad omen.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At first pass of the buffet, The Husband returned with a plate of 4 pieces of deep fried shriveled up things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I have yet to go up as I am stunned into silence and amazement by the decor. After we stop laughing at his plate of crap, w</span>e hear the shouts of kitchen folks and then the buffet begins to have fresh food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fresh stuff was ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But let’s be serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only things<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in Chinese Western Canadian Food places you are truly safe with is fried rice, fresh chow mien noodles, fresh mixed vegetables and chicken balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also up for the offering were 4 colours of gelatin and 3 colours of ice cream, all in pre-portioned <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>parfait glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The ice cream was housed in a new looking chest freezer with the glass sliding top. Jello on the counter in 8 neat rows. I always wonder who cuts the jello into cubes. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let’s talk about the décor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pink from the airlock door carried forward as an accent colour, everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wire tracks of the drop ceiling were painted pink as were the air registers. The 80's track lighting had a not-so clever disguise of plastic flowers and vines. There was a large brick fireplace which was not in use. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The opening had a hand created zodiac diagram and the mantel housed a giant waterfall picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A precious print embossed with metalic paint and a rounded edge gold frame. Other such pictures were on the walls, too. I didn't look at the floor but I know it was a cloth-like substance. My best instinct says it was 70's fuzz carpet.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The mantel. I was nervous to sneak the photo. If you look hard you can see the pink drop ceiling track. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The people were friendly and polite. When they asked about the food we mustered up the word 'fine'. The fresh stuff was fine. We never did figure out what the 4 pieces of deep fried shriveled up stuff was. Come to think of it, I never saw a fish tank either. Is this a coincidence? I think not.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-84527900312144063602012-08-06T18:49:00.000-07:002012-08-06T18:56:42.892-07:00Safety glasses please.<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I admit it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I almost
bought a “magical” bra off of a TV infomercial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I got totally sucked in with the hype and stories and pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wires poking , no uncomfortable straps, no
squishy bits??? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign me up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever the cautious consumer, I did some online
research and there are people who actually post reviews about this “magical”
bra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You do not even have to buy it
from the TV – the local big box store sells it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One reviewer’s comment has
stuck in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In part it read “this
is a good weekend bra”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Weekend Bra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started thinking about a “weekend bra”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew there was such a thing?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would this mean? Is it less
conforming?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Less confining?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More flexible?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it supportive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are there options to be exercised at your discretion?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does it have a calendar attached to it so
that it knows when the weekend is over?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
if you wore it on a Tuesday?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got my first bra when I was in grade 6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disgusting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Who wants that? (Trust me, you don’t). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still cringe at the memories of the teasing
and gawking and losers trying to look down my shirt. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back then "El Torro" did not exist, just the shy
girl who did not want to be noticed was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I feel like Grade 6 was the start of the end of my childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure I got older because of the earths’
rotation but I also got Old. My dad died that year and there was just me and my
little brother and my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By necessity I
grew up; along with the bra came new responsibilities and expectations. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, Grade 6 was not a great year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we go to grade 7.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not much better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We moved from hick town to the city mid-year.
Terrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There may have been a slight
advantage to the needing a real bra in grade 7, but I was too shy and
shell-shocked to use it to any advantage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course there have been other bras.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been pretty bras (I got married), nursing
bras (I had kids), sport bras (sometimes I am a runner) but never a Weekend
Bra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe it is a metaphor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perhaps you put it on and then you are freed from your weekly
grind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meh – I’m pretty free with my
weekly grind though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids are young
adults now (YES!!), sometimes I drive my own car, my job is fine, dogs are
good, lizard is cool, there’s food in the fridge, neighbour boy cuts my grass
each week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What else is there? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A housecleaner would be luxurious… but
honestly I pretty much do what I want, when I want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe it is about freeing the mind!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you do not have things poking you for no
good reason at inopportune times you are able to clear your head? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe not having wires or uncomfortable straps
which encapsulate, compress and control the situation causes so much flopping
around that you are knocked silly and cannot remember what you are supposed to be
bothered about? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am very confused about the Weekend Bra. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I had to go buy vacuum cleaner bags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually I go to the local retailer of tires
and household appliances for this very exciting purchase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But today I deviated from that store and went
to the local big box store. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told
myself I was going there because I needed yogurt but the truth is I went to buy
the magical bra. I am totally confused about whether or not I picked the
correct vacuum cleaner bags, but I now have a Weekend Bra (and yogurt).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look out world – here I come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope I don’t lose an eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-32905907185096512612012-08-04T09:22:00.001-07:002012-08-04T13:08:43.000-07:00I've been driving!If you have teenagers/young adults you will understand that I am celebrating driving My Own Car this week. This is the car that I pay for, that I picked out for me, that I enjoy driving. In the last 2 weeks I have driven to and from Edmonton, Canmore and to work. The work part is kind of lame because it is a 20 min walk down hill to work - but whatever. I have been driving My Car! My car is a Jetta, shiny and black. I named her Betty and while she is a good car, she isn't the Jetta we *heart*. Once we had Jonny. Some folks met Jonny, some didn't but this is the story of Jonny.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A coworker was selling his car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We talked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>$1900 and a $25 coffee card later, I was the owner of a 1998 VW Jetta
K2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Blue, rusted, super styling roof
rack, temperamental passenger door, 3 of 4 electric windows opened, hatchback,
5 speed manual transmission, battered windshield and the rain would sometimes
come in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I</span>t ran like a
dream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drove that car for 2 months
before I learned it was named Jonny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
never asked why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jonny the Jetta.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Boy was 17 and needed to get his driver’s license.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had the “good” car and then Jonny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both were manual transmissions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband announced that the “good” car was
off limits for learning, so Jonny became the teaching car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Husband’s tutelage of the art of driving
a standard lasted 3 minutes at which time he announced, “We need to buy an
automatic”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed and shook my head
no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I always knew I would be the one to
teach them to drive a standard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a
life skill and the kids will have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So it began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh poor
Jonny and his over-heated clutch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
lurching and lunging and cursing he endured!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I thought I was going to die many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It all came to a head one day in a parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Boy was feeling mighty spunky and wanted
to drive home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked at the steel
toed work boots and paint covered clothes and thought that maybe this was a bad
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I gave him the keys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That session of driving lasted 90 seconds
during which time there were 4 stalls and one tantrum where The Boy stated “Dad
was right, we need an automatic”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
kicked The Boy out of the driver’s seat, drove home, made him change into
runners and get back into the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
drove to the country and parked Jonny on a hill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Boy got in the driver’s seat and I said,
“Go”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t pretty and I’m sure it
cost me a whole tank of gas and half a clutch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the light bulb went on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Boy <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">felt</i> the car, listened to the
engine and drove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He received his
license and voila – Jonny became his car for the grade 12 year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I bought Betty the Jetta. </span>We worked out a system for Jonny's gas for “fun” vs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gas for the apprenticeship job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jonny needed new tires that fall and some
strut work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a cool $1500 all was
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The battery went the following spring and
there was leak of some kind. The Girl learned to ‘drive stick’ and in the
summer, The Boy got a new old truck (manual transmission!) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and The Girl took over Jonny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jonny was again a fixture at the high
school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At long last his front window
was replaced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then it happened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Snap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wasn’t there but The Girl describes it as the saddest sound she has
ever heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a left turn onto a
quiet street there was a snap and then Jonny was still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The transmission had gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The expense to repair could no longer be
justified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jonny was retired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sad, my family was sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 5 or so other kids who my kids, (unbeknownst
to me) taught to drive stick on Jonny were sad. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><o:p>Since the demise of Jonny I have been on car share program with The Girl. How this works is I ask her if she needs the car and then I can figure out my day. And this is ok - minus the bottle of fake nail glue which is now permanently affixed to the accessory box inside My Car. But I miss Jonny. Not only for the freedom he gave ME but the awesome unit he was. My new Jetta rattles and whistles. The seat warmers are not nearly as warm. Betty is far more plastic than Jonny ever was. The Girl miss Jonny too - he was much easier to hide the bumps and scrapes on. The Girl is working towards getting her own car - I will return the favour of the nail glue. </o:p></div>
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<o:p>.</o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmfsWZes0R3OSPNP0boMRLj7-yyvfAPWYjQLpHY5ZtjlPDPgJPysLVvshM0RWSeO9kIMqI4bWrlxfbt1GjKiqw767xBi9fSaYoSMATLxKNUJkVLn95ZIBg3Vjlu_ke4RA0rVST-X4r5gc/s1600/jonny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmfsWZes0R3OSPNP0boMRLj7-yyvfAPWYjQLpHY5ZtjlPDPgJPysLVvshM0RWSeO9kIMqI4bWrlxfbt1GjKiqw767xBi9fSaYoSMATLxKNUJkVLn95ZIBg3Vjlu_ke4RA0rVST-X4r5gc/s320/jonny.jpg" width="320" /></a>Jonny on his retirement day</div>
<br />
Betty<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEN-6TnlXEekYCgp6g3dunMHc4PofCavfPPirQMlJwkwwy6qKpTQLipXzo3-rRXEQF3I9AJATXV8QC7gSLOC4217rhCQUQQAQk4LrKHcUdeQl-5DMQA8628eNgk7MhOrrsufDE3kA2915/s1600/IMG00096-20101023-1549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEN-6TnlXEekYCgp6g3dunMHc4PofCavfPPirQMlJwkwwy6qKpTQLipXzo3-rRXEQF3I9AJATXV8QC7gSLOC4217rhCQUQQAQk4LrKHcUdeQl-5DMQA8628eNgk7MhOrrsufDE3kA2915/s320/IMG00096-20101023-1549.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1408604894733312685.post-37380587764548772562012-07-26T22:03:00.001-07:002012-07-26T22:03:11.600-07:00The Ants came back...So, the ants came back. They are back in the basement. Effers.. Disgusting little insects with an unwavering sense of purpose. A little army marching from under my baseboards and across the carpet. It got me to thinking about the last time I did battle with them. At that time too, I am fairly certain I was solo in my efforts. All the people who live in this abode were elsewhere, as they were today. I shuffled around heavy furniture to spray chemicals along the baseboards and found particular glee in shooting out the lights of the small swarms. I hunted on hands and knees like a soldier going to war. I followed their trail, perhaps found a general point of entry and took some sense of satisfaction in this "recon" work. The previous battle was waged two years ago in the exact same location, different entry point.<br />
<br />
Two years ago I initally used a different approach to the ants. The kinder, gentler method of the baited food traps. Useless. Food traps take time and the ants, with their endless marching, multiplied many thousands of times over within days. The "food" probably gave them energy and vitamins. It was like a horror movie - Ants on a Plane! Then I got angry and bought the chemical and got the mutherhugging ants outta my mutherhugging basement. By the time it was all overwith, all the carpets needed replacement. Too many ants, too much chemical needed. Stupid food traps. So this time, I am going with the big guns blazing the first time. Work smarter - not harder, right? <br />
<br />
Two years ago was when I first had this blog. At the time it served a purpose, a purely selfish need for reflection and release. I mean, really, isn't that what a blog is for? I had a couple reasonably funny things written but I couldn't find the guts to write the real stuff I wanted to say. Too personal. Too close. I'm not sure I have those guts yet. I closed the blog off without the intent of ever bringing it back. I needed the private, internal self-reflection for my own growth. I have missed the outlet though. And I feel ready to share again. So, like those ants, I am marching forward, not quite sure of the destination. I have resolved to make the best of the best and not take one moment of crap or heartache or disappointment more than I have to. Life is good. I choose to write now. The ants came back...and so did my blog.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08249155668829631935noreply@blogger.com1