what do i know?

You know what I think? I think that if I am going to work for free that I may as well clean the house, bake, crochet, read, and blog. And blog often. At least that job is fun.

So why don't I blog more? Don't ask me stuff. I don't know anything about anything.

Apparently.

I recently became an employed person. And then promptly became an unemployed person. I thought I wanted to be employed. I mean, I do. It is what I want. But I don't know that I am quite ready to sell my soul for it. And this is what is happening around here. Of course, I went to university and got a degree. Why would anyone do that unless it is to be employed? I would like to be employed. Eventually. But I would also like to like my job, or at least get paid for a job, because there is a sacrifice that comes with it and so the balance is delicate. Delicate balances need much consideration. Am I right?

What I was not anticipating was that the moment I graduated from University our economy was going to tank.

And tank hard.

I should have anticipated it, because it only makes sense that this would happen to me. These kinds of things happen to me all the time.

The economy tanked so hard that people like me: the smart and (life) experienced (I was naive enough to think that meant something), eager, mature, ambitious and all good things kind of people could not find work. I can't even tell you why I couldn't find work, because out of hundreds of applications in a five month period I got one interview. And then I got that job.

ONE.

One interview. That's it. One. Measly. Interview.

I wasn't thrilled about it either after I met with the Bossman. It was for a small start up that needed a writer.

I write. Right?

So the guy told me what he paid and I think I made a yikes face because he sat straight up and said he could get people to do it for less than that. That was the first moment I caught a whiff of his salesman odour. I replied with a hey, hey. Hold up, big guy. Can I do two projects a month? To which he responded you can do ten a month, I don't care. You go for it.

His first big lie.

But, despite my skepticism, I thought what the heck do I have to lose at this point? I have no other prospects. I'm bored as all get out. Let's give it a go. 

I gave it a big, huge go. And very shortly after I began that go all the red flags raised. I put them off to the side so I couldn't see so them so clearly because I suspected that although this job smelled funny, I was also being a bit of a snob. Plus, what do I know about being a working woman? Not much.

Not much, I say. So I carried on.

A month passed and the scope of work became clear. There was no way on this planet two projects were going to get done a month. Not at the rate Bossman was holding me up and putting me off with his grand vision and potential opportunity speeches.

So, in a fit of frustration, I went to work one day to confront him. I had demands and visions of my own to explain. He beat me to the punch and offered me a raise and a promotion.

Ooooooooh, okay. I wasn't expecting that. I accepted, because like I said before, what do I have to lose at this point? Still nothing to lose since I had nothing anyway. And then Bossman smiled at me and suggested I come "work", for free, until my start date, which was unclear.

Hmmmmmmm................... Let me think about that for a second.

No. Nope. No thank you. No. No siree, Bob. Not gonna happen, Bossman. But....but....but....all the vision......and all the potential.....

I went home to contemplate just how I was going to handle this. I figured if I was going to become venomous I would much prefer doing that via the written word, as my written word is much more beautiful than my raving, lunatic personal performance could ever be.

So I did the classy thing. And by classy I totally mean cowardly. I wrote him an email. It was the most satisfying experience of my life. Well, the second most. Second only to the day Brooklyn came out on DVD and I bought it.

I informed him his charlatan ways don't fly with me. I told him I was onto him and that I'd given him far too much of my free awesome already.

I told him his grand vision and potential opportunity don't pay my bills. I suspect they aren't even paying his bills, but that isn't my problem anymore. I suggested where he might like to stick said vision and opportunity.

So here I sit. In my slippers and pajamas at 1pm on a Wednesday afternoon, unemployed and loving it. Don't tell the man I said that last part. The poor dude had to leave us to go work in Vancouver where the building industry apparently adores the bad economy because there is work there. Lots of it.

So he works there. I don't work here.

See how that works?

I don't know much, but I do know that this chasing a career thing is for the birds. I did not care for my first pilgrimage into careerland. It sucked the rotten egg.

ladies of the mountains

This blogging business is tough. First of all, I forget all about it for days and days and 101 days.

It literally has been 101 days. But, who's counting? Surely, not you.

Anyway, I have lists and lists of things I want to say. My life is actually pretty interesting right now. Teenagers, job hunts, religion.... The fun never stops, no wonder I can't find time to blog.

So, here's the thing, some great things do happen on occasion and I get to share that greatness with you because of this here blog and so here I am sharing it because it was great and all great things should be shared, youknowwhatImean?

I went on a little holiday with some pretty great gals. I really love these ladies. They serve all sorts of purposes in my life. One of those purposes is planning getaways in the mountains and then telling me where and when to go and then I go. Because, well, mountains and friends.

Me and the mountains. There never was so great a match made in heaven. Even though, as of late, all my mountaining equals me indoors. It's funny, I'm not a real outdoorsy kind of gal, and yet, I'm all about being in the mountains. Some of these ladies went snowshoeing and cross country skiing and things such as that; whereas, I sat on my butt and read books and crocheted and even took weird mountain air induced naps and things such as that.

That's how I do mountains. I need to learn to stay on point.

Here's what we did.

The first night we stayed at the beautiful and swanky Copper Point Resort, in Invermere. It was lovely, and I got a king sized bed all to myself, which is what happens when you leave the men at home.

I highly recommend that, by the way. I mean, I like my man, but I also love to sleep alone in giant beds with all the pillows every now and then. Don't tell him that, I hate to watch him cry.

The next day we journeyed all the way to Radium, it took minutes. About 12, or something. We got settled into the amazing BigHorn Meadows Resort.

This was my bed, thank you very much.

And this was my VERY OWN bathroom, thank you very much.

And these were my neighbours. They were so polite, their mama's raised them well.

Thank you very much!

We walked about the town and bought stuff and ate all the food at the Blue Dog Cafe. This is where I fail at blogging. I neglected to photograph all that food that I ate so you'll have to take my word for it. We ate it all. We just kept going back and getting more. Worth it, I swear. Eat the grilled cheese and guacamole sandwich and then send me the thank you card you will most definitely want to send me. 

Ice fishing, anyone?

My favourite little consignment store I have ever graced was across the street from the Blue Dog Cafe. I'd show you a picture, but I didn't take one...

But I did buy this because obviously I needed it.

We found a thrift shop where they were selling books for practically free and I forgot for a moment that my 2016 New Year's Resolution (which was a stupid resolution to make and has since been forsaken, thank you Kate Atkinson) was to not buy books so my friend, Merry promptly reminded me ,and when I shed a tear she took the books from my hand and stood in line to buy them for me.

                                         We call this level of friendship and sacrifice - love.

                                                      That reminds me, I owe her $2.50. 

And then one of the best things that has ever happened to me happened. I learned how to crochet.

Again. 

I am pretty sure I learned as a child, because my mother is a very gifted crocheter, but nothing ever came of it so it was like nothing ever happened. The tree, the forest...that sort of thing.

I took this...

...and made this hat.

Which fits no one.

This is neither here nor there. The point is, I made that hat and that is extraordinary. My friend Erin, is very talented, and very patient, and she has created a crochet machine named Catherine that stayed up until 2:30 this morning making this epic blanket that I love so much and isn't even half way done but is giving me a reason to watch Bloodline on the Flix. Again.

As if I need a reason.

I am off topic again.

We ate here for dinner one night. And wow, so excellent. I was really impressed, especially since it was in the Super 8 and we all know about the Super 8...

I recommend the Key Lime Chicken Stack, of which I do not have a picture. 

And then, we hit the hot springs in Radium and I didn't want to go because I am so very lazy, but I got guilted into it by Tiffany from My Dirt because I made her drive to my house and get the swimsuit I forgot and bring it to me and she did because that's what I told her to do and so then she said "you better get in that hot tub" and I did get in.

We won't talk about the time I fell on my butt inside Kicking Horse Coffee. No one got a picture so did it even really happen? It's my word against theirs and I don't even drink coffee, so is it even really fair that I hypothetically fell on my butt inside a coffee shop? 

No. No, it isn't.

And then the next morning we left, because as they say, "all good things must come to an end."

You know, I think it's dangerous letting a bunch of women go away together. There is always the risk they won't come back.

If you would like to take that risk, and I do believe you should. I feel strongly, in fact, that you need to, you can stay at the BigHorn Meadows Resort for 20% off any 2 or more night stay (not valid on long weekends - so don't even try that crap) until June 23, 2016.

Go! Book it! Do it now, but make sure you mention the Blogger Special when you do so they don't look at you funny.

Happy vacationing!

beyond ordinary understanding: a novel

In the summer of 2009 I had a dream. Actually, it was a nightmare. And it left me rattled. I dreamt my husband and I were shopping on the streets of Italy. We went into a shop that interested me, and at some point he decided to go outside and wait for me. When I left the shop I couldn't find him.

I never saw him again.

The feelings this dream invoked in my soul woke me and kept me awake the entire night. Which, if you know me, is no surprise since sleep is not something I excel at. I was entirely distraught, but that is not all. I felt something I have never felt before, a sorrow so deep inside me it affected me physically. I wretched over the toilet that night as I tried to pull from my sleepy stupor what was happening. Was I sick? No, I wasn't. I was sad. Profoundly sad. And all from a dream. I wept for my own imaginary loss. The entire night I wept, and into the next day. I couldn't even describe in words my melancholy.

I still can't. It was a wordless feeling.

I tried to process it, tried to convince myself it was just a dream. There was no way anyone could feel that much despair in real life. But, I knew that wasn't true, people feel that all the time. I had never felt it in real life myself, and I hope I never do. It was a gut wrenching sensation.

I tried to write about it. I sat on occasion and tried journaling this one feeling I couldn't seem to describe. I began entertaining thoughts of writing a story about it. Eventually that story turned into a novel. Something fictitious. Yet real.

Does that make sense? I didn't think so...

Over the course of the next two years I created in my head characters that were not only capable of feeling this type of pain, but also inflicting it. Thoughts on the subject came at random times and in random places. I took notes on paper, napkins, receipts, and in my phone.

One hot day, as I was driving the kids to the Okanagan to see my parents, I was deeply entrenched with the creation of this novel. As I drove I tried to fix into my memory all the thoughts I had when all of sudden we came to a dead halt due to construction. We did not move for over an hour and as we waited I typed madly into my phone. Notes upon notes. The plot thickened and grew and before I knew it I was giddy at the thought of writing this book. I was a woman obsessed with recreating that one emotion I felt inside a dream two years earlier.

For months I added to those notes. In church I would find myself distracted by the characters and their choices. I would take notes on the sides of church bulletins, on my hand, wherever I could find space. I collected these bulletins in my bedside table, next to my notebook and my scraps of paper and all those receipts. It was a hodge podge of crazy. I knew it was going to be a chore to organize, but I didn't care. It was growing into something of its own. Like I had no say in the matter.

Yet somehow I was going to be responsible if it didn't happen.

And then my husband and I went to Mexico. The hot Mexican sun, coupled with the spotty wifi, and its evil Mexican sorcery took my phone and deleted every single thing on it. All my pictures (even the awesome puffer fish I found), all my contacts, and...

...all my notes.

Everything was gone. Pages upon pages, and hours upon hours of thoughts, ideas and character quirks...gone.

I was ill about it.

It was so upsetting to me I had no choice but to put it straight out of my head. I went into total denial. I tried to let it go, like it never happened. But every now and then it crept back in. Little snippets here and there tortured me. Why didn't I email the notes to myself? Back the information up? Why didn't I protect my baby? I have no answers. I just didn't. I could barely look myself in the mirror. What a giant waste of time. I had given so much thought to this project, and through my own negligence it was just gone.

Over the years it has slowly been reborn. If my memory serves me, it is almost identical, minus a few strokes of brilliance here and there. I will make attempts to recreate those as I go.

I find myself at a crossroads in my life. I am done school. And as I look for a job that suits my family I find myself totally consumed by thoughts of this novel.

So it's time.

I mentioned to my friends that I wanted to get it out. I was looking into a weekend away to start writing it in the mountains, for the mountains are where ideas come to life, don't you know? My friends, who are nothing short of amazing, pooled their loose change and their collective genius, and said go go go. Go now! And before I knew it I had three nights booked at the Banff Centre in a self-directed writing residency paid for entirely by them.

And this is where I sit, telling you this story. On the side of a mountain.

These friends of mine are making dreams come true. Do they even know what they are capable of? These ladies are my army, my village. I hope they'll be gentle with me when they read the book. Because this is happening, people.

As we speak, this is happening.

no matter how you slice it

The man is no dummy, he knows the way to my heart is through the grocery store. He wins husband of the year, every single time, when he responds with a "send me your list" to my subtle wails of "I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE GROCERY STORE!! Wahhhhhhh!!"

That's a lot of husband of the year awards. We might need a bigger house to store them in.

If I don't have to do the grocery shopping then he doesn't have to endure me and my post grocery shopping lunacy. That sounds like a win-win to me.

I really really really hate that chore. Like, really. So yesterday when I said "we need groceries" he said, in his wise wisdom-y way, "send me a list." Upon that list were the words lunch and meat.

Lunch meat.

And . . . this is what he came home with.






























Dude, c'mon now, that is not lunch meat. That's a ham. And some crappy, processed, semi-meat product. No matter which way you slice it, that's not lunch meat.

Okay, I will compromise on this and admit that the ham, if sliced appropriately, becomes lunch meat. But who wants to cut up a ham?

Also, there is such a thing as a stupid question. Who wants to cut up a ham? The man does.

And with a big grin upon his furry face, he asked, "Where's the meat slicer?"

and then she went to university. part 2

I was going to regale you with tails of the inner turmoil caused at having to leave my baby in downtown Toronto.

On a sidewalk, no less. 

I was going to reflect upon the emotional temper tantrum I threw within the innermost recesses of my soul, the part where my trying toddler resides. I was going to try and emulate, with words, my refusal to accept the inevitable. I was going to proclaim my outright dismay at the injustice of it all. 

But I'm tired. And today has been delegated migraine day. And really, there is only so much whining about my baby leaving me that even I am willing to put up with. 

So, instead, let's review what I did in the moments directly after the abandonment of my child on the rowdy downtown streets of Toronto. 

I went to a movie. And then I went to another movie. 

Of course I did. 

On my way back to the hotel I was overcome with dread at being alone for that long before sleep became a viable option. So I pulled over at the nearest movie theatre (and we all know that at any given moment I can direct you to no less than five movie theatres) and checked what was playing. There was something starting within 5 minutes and so I yelled "SOLD" and bought some sorrow drowning popcorn and a vat of diet coke and cried through a horror movie. 

The tears poured freely, movies theatres are the perfect place for free flowing tears. 

When the movie had ended, but my tears had not, I felt mild panic at what may lie ahead on that muggy, hot, and dreary day. 

But it was like heaven was looking down upon me because wouldn't luck have it?  Another movie was just starting, and so I cried through a comedy. 

That was a long day. 

But the next day I put on my big girl pants and went to Niagara Falls and got on a boat and rebelled against the flimsy red rain poncho. I decided to let the elements eat me alive. I got soaked, which was fine because it was one million degrees out and I was hot hot hot.

There is something about being left to the devices of nature this grand. The red rain poncho seemed wrong, somehow. 

It was tortuously hot out, I could now check witnessing this marvellous wonder off my list and so I headed back to the hotel. 

I was deeply lost in thought and missed a highway somewhere and got lost in this little place of perfection I can't even remember the name of. It was riddled with perfectly historical houses and I contemplated instant relocation because my inner self believes it was meant to live in history. Also it was a lot closer to my child than home was. 

When the lady at the door said I couldn't live with her I had no choice but to drive back to the hotel in order to fly home and wait for the rest of my offspring to leave me. 

Have I mentioned I hate flying and make a very poor seatmate? 

 And that is the story of how my heart took a beating but kept on ticking and contrary to the wants of my helicopter parenting heart, life goes on. 

and then she went to university, part 1

I'm finally ready to talk about it. Took awhile, but I got there eventually. Cicely went away to university a month ago and my heart took a blow I was not expecting. I mean, I knew it would be hard and that I was going to miss her, but I was not expecting that!

Nothing makes you scramble at reconciling your failures with your successes as a mother faster than those last moments before you leave your child on a sidewalk in downtown Toronto. 

Did I teach her everything she'll need to know to survive this?

There's no way I taught her everything she needs to know to survive this. I need more time. Loads and loads of time. But, KABAM, out of nowhere we ran out of time. This is it. This is happening. So, what can be said in those last seconds that will armour her?

Drink water. Get enough sleep. Stay on top of your assignments. Do not wander down Yonge street alone, and definitely not at night. Be kind. Ask for help when you need it. Choose good people to surround yourself with. Stay close to the Lord. Say your prayers. Read your scriptures, they will bring you peace. 

Text me.

Call me.

I can help you. Please let me help you.

Was she listening? Does she know these things? Does she believe them? She would say yes, she knows - there was a lot of nodding and 'yes, mom-ing'. 

But I don't know for sure. 

What I do know is that leaving her there was the hardest thing I've done thus far in my life. I wept buckets of tears every time I thought of her for days on end. Watching her skip off away from me, me getting into the car as fast as possible as to not melt into the saddest puddle you've ever seen right there on Jarvis Street. Driving away from her. 

All of it was hard. 

It's like someone took a chunk of my heart and said, "this isn't yours anymore." She makes her own decisions now. Now, I just get to watch.

Turns out I wasn't ready. It feels like I spent the last three years semi preparing myself for her to leave, but I wasn't nearly thorough enough. I missed the important parts like: the broken heart, the random moments when all of a sudden you remember you're here and she's there and tears soak your face before you even know what hit you. It's sort of hard to prepare for those parts because, well, they aren't fun.

She was ready, I was not. That is just how it rolls. Doesn't change the fact that it totally happened. And I was there to witness it. 

And it was hard. 

collateral damage

So I guess I was sort of lying when I said I was back. I think it was more intention than anything. I intended to come back, but then I didn't. You know?

But I have been thinking about it a lot. I'm sure that counts.

So anyway, while I sit here and eat my bon bons I thought I'd drop you a line. And here it is: I may be enjoying, a lot, this past month where my kids are in school all day and I AM NOT.

Three years.

It's been three years since I have been a true stay at home mom (whatever that means) and apparently it took working real hard-like and being real stressed-like and busy ALL THE TIME to appreciate the simplicity of running a home and making dinner.

Not that it's simple to be a 24-hour on-call master of the universe. That's not what I'm saying.

The simplicity comes from witnessing, first hand, this machine you created 20 years ago, and then tended to for 17 years. Oiling and altering and maturing and developing. A system that was able to pretty much run itself for three years while you stepped away and delved into all selfishness. Doing something for yourself, something you hadn't done for almost two decades, and truly thought you would never do again. Never mind do well.

My family became collateral damage.

You see, I am bad at balance. This is the most valuable lesson I have learned from going to university while being a wife and mother. I am bad at balance. I am an all or nothing sort of person. Except, when you're a mom, you are always a mom. So sometimes your attention is forced into places that pull it away from other places and nothing is getting all the attention it deserves. Everything is getting what's left, and what's left is usually scraps. It takes its toll. You crave and wish for balance. Sometimes you are even able to fake it for short spurts of time, but it isn't who you really are so you can't fake it forever. Not without your soul taking a beating. And maybe the souls of your people, as well.

I am bad at balance. I am bad at going to school, being a mom, being a spiritual person, and fulfilling all my responsibilities with any semblance of success. So I will be grateful for all the oiling and altering and maturing and developing I was able to squeeze into 17 years so that when I made getting a degree the priority my family was able to fend for itself, under the guidance of a very good and very capable man, and stay afloat while they watched their mom and wife sink into academia and only surface long enough to say hi and how's it going and does anyone need anything and if you do go ask the man because I am too busy for you.

So when all is said and done, and you have taken three years to run yourself ragged fulfilling bucket list number one, and then all of a sudden the running ragged comes to a full stop and you get to see clearly, again, this creation called your home and your family with eyes devoid of stress, anxiety, deadlines, and exhaustion? It feels like simplicity.

And simplicity is a beautiful thing. Trust me.

I am looking for a dream job. It's what I want. It will take lots of time and lots of paying my dues and various positions on various totem poles and all that jazz. It's a painfully slow process, which I have decided I am not going to complain about. It involves many job applications and cover letters every few days and then the hearing nothing from anyone except that it's a tough job market and there is tons of competition and since I have nothing to offer that seems remotely impressive on paper and yada yada yada...

I know where I stand.

Until that possibly imaginary day when a job comes my way that scratches my corporate itch and I get to go buy some new shoes, I will sit and stare happily at the brilliant simplicity that is my home and my family.

Now, pass the bon bons.

Oh...and, what's for dinner?