guilt spewed forth

I have guilt you see. It is not unfounded, I deserve it.

Indulge me.

Yesterday the man texted me and told me he offered to bring dinner to a family at church who has just had a baby. I do believe this is code for he offered ME to make dinner.

I have no problem with this. I believe in making dinner. And I especially believe in taking it to a woman who has just borne life.

These women, in particular, need to eat. Youknowwhatimean?

My problem, which has ultimately landed me here in guilt prison is this: the man told me two days ago that this woman had had her baby. I then started thinking about what night might be good for me to take her dinner. I did this in my mind, not out loud, as I should have.

Yes, I should have. For the man went and made his own plans and then he texted them to me.

Yesterday.

Whilst I was out driving around buying things for my party tonight.

Him: I told the SoandSo's I would bring them dinner tomorrow (tonight). Do you mind making that sausage cream soup? Can I buy you some ingredients.

This is what I love about the man. And I mean that sincerely. He asks me to cook something very time consuming and very much paininthebutt-ish but then he offers to buy the groceries. The fastest way to my heart is through the grocery store.

Did you know that?

Anyway....

Me: No way. Tomorrow does not work.

You see, I'm having a party, which I'm pretty sure I've mentioned. I plan on devoting all my time to the preparations of this party. I had no intention of feeding my own family never mind a family that contains a woman who has recently birthed her third son.

Yes, sometimes I'm selfish like that. I blame menstruation and a general malaise.

Him: I'll take care of it.

Me, feeling the need to clarify: My kitchen is not available to you. I can make them dinner on Saturday or Sunday. Otherwise you will have to buy them something tomorrow.

Him: Yes, I gathered that.

This is where it stopped. Because if there is anything almost 17 years of marriage has taught us, it is when to stop.

Last night I went to book club. When I got home, at midnight, the kitchen was clean, the dishwasher was running and the crock pot was on and something inside it was cooking.

Hmmmmm. This was the extent of my thought process when I went to bed.

This morning I woke bright and early to the smell of pig stewing in it's own juices. Which just grosses me out to the point that there are no words.

Well, there must be words but I'm not interested in finding them. The smell was not a good morning kind of smell. But, I knew that there was food cooking and eventually, at some point in the day, it would smell yummy. And in all my shame, I knew it was for a certain woman who has recently pushed a baby out of her body, so all I said was, "why are you getting up so early?" It was 6:45. Too early.

The man said, "Before I go to work, I need to pull the pork and add the sauce I made for it so it can cook some more."

The man made this family dinner. He did it in the night and in the wee hours of the morning so as to not aggravate me in my possessive kitchen neurosis.

He timed it beautifully. He waited just long enough for me to be fully enveloped in guilt before he asked, "Will you take it to them sometime today, when it's convenient for you?"

"Yes," the guilt oozed out of me and spewed forth all over the marriage bed.

Then, he kissed me farewell.

I am a terrible person. I think I'll throw a party to allay my remorse.

Yes...that is what I will do.

the hunger games was silly

There are only a handful of movies I can think of that were even remotely close to being decent in comparison to the books that inspired them.

For someone who loves to read fiction and loves loves loves to go to the movies I think it is one of the very best treasures in life when you read a book you loved and you see it like a movie in your head and then they make a movie based on it and the onscreen movie is the exact same movie you saw in your head while you were reading the book.

Youknowwhatimean?

For example, Shutter Island. The book and the movie were identical. Both awesome.

Harry Potter 1 and 2 were exactly how I saw them in my head. By the third movie they changed the director I think and he killed the scenery for me.

The Lovely Bones was an amazing book. Terrible movie. Awful, in fact.

The Other Boleyn Girl. Loved the book. Hated the movie. They totally changed the movie. Why do they do that?

We Need to Talk About Kevin. Absolutely, stunningly traumatic book. I gave the movie one and a half thumbs down. But only because Eva did not act in the movie like she acted in my head. And.....I'm pretty sure I'm right on this one. Someone missed the 'vision' and it wasn't me.

The Time Traveler's Wife. My favourite book of all time and I really liked the movie but most people did not.

Anyway.....

The man and I took Cicely to see The Hunger Games on Monday night. She had read the book twice, me once, the man none. I asked him repeatedly to read the books because they were so good and I thought he would like them.

He doesn't listen to me.

Whatever. Man. Your loss.

Now is where I will preface this story with my feelings on teen lit. I have not read a lot of teen lit as an adult. I have read all the Harry Potter books, well except the last third of the last book.

Can you believe that? I got two thirds through and gave up. I did not care for that book at all. I even carted that stupid thing all around Italy and Greece and never finished it. I loved the movies though so I don't feel so bad about it.

Twilight.

I read all the Twilight books. The first one was good. I was gripped. No question. The rest were total crap. Why did I read them? I bowed to peer pressure. I was weak. I conformed. And these stupid books ruined all teen lit potential for me. I forbid Cicely to read them and I stand behind my opinion that these books are the epitome of a teen love triangle vampire/werewolf fiction cesspool.

Okay, that was dramatic.

Enter The Hunger Games. At first I did not want to read them because of the whole Twilight thing. But Jack wanted to read them and I needed to know if he was going to survive the ridiculousness that is teen lit.

So I read them. And I loved them. And the love triangle did not leave me wanting to deck anyone. And the leading lady had good reason to be mopey and ill-wardrobed. She had important things to contend with.

She was nothing like that whiny smile-less, needy, tease Bella.

I was so impressed with how close the onscreen movie was compared to the movie playing in my mind as I read the book. It was really good.

The Hunger Games that is.

Really really good.

When it was done I looked at the man and asked him if he loved it like we did.

"It was stupid," he said.

"Haha." Surely he was pulling my leg.

He held firm to his opinion all the way home. We almost argued over it. I even accused him of acting like his mother. He didn't like this, he didn't like that, he didn't like the other thing. He claimed he needed to have read the book first. I told him he was wrong since the movie was so accurate and what could he possibly have issue with? Regardless, he hated it. Thought it was dumb, stupid and silly.

Silly.

He thought The Hunger Games was silly.

This from the man whose favourite genre to read is fantasy.


Fantasy. Silly. Aren't these synonyms?

Cicely and I decided that we will never ever invite the man to another movie ever ever again.

Pfft....The Hunger Games was silly.

Silly my butt.

art a la carte

I mentioned, not long ago, that I was going to be filling some of my free time with volunteer work. I am excited to finally be able to share what I've been doing.

I responded to an ad for an organization, Art a La Carte, that provides art work to the bedside of cancer patients who are unable to leave the hospital.

They were looking for a creative writer. Someone who could put into words the experiences the volunteers were having with the patients.

I submitted my pieces and then I got the "job".

Sometimes it's hard. Sad hard. People do hard things.

At first I struggled, a tiny bit, with the idea of giving my writing away for free. But I also wanted to write. And this writing position provided me with an opportunity to do something totally different than what I do here on this blog.

After I wrote my first two pieces I no longer felt as though I was giving anything away for free. For these stories are not mine.

I merely give a voice to the experience.

As much as I look forward to every piece I get to write, it means, sadly, that somewhere someone's heart is breaking.

Soon I will have the opportunity to go into the hospital and shadow these sweet volunteers who visit with these sick people and provide them with the art work of their choice. This will be hard for me.

For I am an emotional girl.

Here are the first two pieces I wrote for them.

My Bear

and

The Power of One.

namesake

This is Cate.

She is my niece. She is 3. She is a spitfire.

And she is also my namesake.

But.....my name is not Cate and her name is not Catherine so I'm not totally sure how that works.

Whatever, I think she's the closest thing to a namesake I'll ever have. And since she's a fearsome thing to behold, not unlike her auntie, I'll take what I can get.

She eats popsicles in a very strange fashion which, when all is said and done, leaves her face with one stained cheek.

Cate stayed with me all weekend, along with her two brothers. Which took the kid count up to 7.

It was real loud-like.

Anyway, every time I look at Cate I think about her being my namesake which reminds me of a story that makes me laugh every single time I think about it. Like laugh out loud laugh. Not LOL because I really hate the LOL but seriously, I laugh. Out loud. Every time.

Does that ever happen to you? One memory makes you laugh every time you remember it? And then you tell someone and they look at you like you have no idea what humor is? Last night I told the man the funny story that makes me laugh out loud. I told him I was going to blog about it.

Him: How are you going to tell the story?

Me: Just like I told you right now. You laughed. It's funny, right?

Him, dead pan face: Well, good luck with that.

I asked permission from the person who made this story so funny that I laugh out loud every time I look at Cate and he said I couldn't use it. So I decided to use it anyway and call him Bob.

His name is not Bob and he may or may not be directly related to Cate. I'm not allowed to say.

One day Bob rented a movie to bring home to his wife. Upon his arrival she asked him what he rented.

He response was this, "It's called Nom-a-sock-ee."

"Nom-a-sock-ee? Hmmmm, never heard of it," was her response to his response.

When she looked at the DVD case she saw that it was called Namesake.

And she laughed and laughed and laughed.

As I have done over and over, every time I look at Cate, since she told me that story.

I love Cate, that magnificent beast, my little nom-a-sock-ee.

hefty goals

So this week I announced a big goal to lose 30 pounds by my birthday. And then I ate my body weight in Cadbury Mini Eggs.

I blame the stress. And the PMS. There is so much stress.

And so much PMS.

And herein lies my problem. Or one of them anyways. I always have something to blame.

I am really good at blaming at myself as well. I am not above blaming myself so don't you worry your pretty little heads. But, you have to admit, it is a whole lot easier to blame the stress, when there is stress. And when there's no stress I'll find something else to blame.

This is just another thing I get to work on over the next few months.

Hey! It's like a renovation. And I am a super pro at renovating. This should be a piece of cake.

Seriously though, I have put on about 40 pounds since I sold my little happy house in my little happy neighbourhood and began living this high strung, stressed out existence.

I lived by the motto "I'll deal with it when it's over". And I have learned that waiting to deal does not work. Sometimes the "it" never ends.

Youknowwhatimean?

Last year, one of my resolutions was to not weigh myself for the entire year and letmetellyou, it was bliss.

By the end of the year, however, I could feel my jeans getting snug. In February of this year I weighed myself. It had been 14 months. And in that 14 months I put on 16 pounds.

As blissful as the not knowing was, too many years of that and I will be a serious contender for some very serious sumo wrestling competitions. Never mind some very serious health issues, I'm sure.

I loved not having to worry about the number on the scale. No obsession. But I will concede that when you have a weight issue ignoring the number on the scale is not the best idea, especially if you haven't given up the problem eating.

The balance, I guess, comes from knowing the number but not being ruled by the number. I have made some big changes in that area but I have a long way to go. For example, I bought some really nice clothes. Clothes that fit. I no longer live by the "I'll buy new, nice stuff when I lose the weight but in the meantime I have to dress like an overweight homeless person." No offense to the homeless. Especially the over weight ones. There is no reason I can't look decent at this weight. Or any weight. That is a stupid rule.

And I forsake it.

I have joined forces with a friend who also feels her weight is a battle worth fighting. Sadly, I feel as though I have not motivated her as of late since every night I report that I have not exercised nor have I eaten well.

But, every battle has to start somewhere. And being linked to another person who gets it makes a big difference for me.

Every Friday we weigh ourselves, or this is the plan anyway, but I have either been out of town or forgotten for the last three weeks. Tomorrow I'll weigh and compare it to the last weight and we'll go from there. I'll report to you every ten pounds.

I won't bore you all year with my woes of weight. When I do have a thought worth sharing I'll share it on Fridays.

I need to make exercise a passion again. After I had my first baby I sunk so far into an abyss of despondency I actually wondered if my lifetime ambition to have babies was something that was going to kill me with sadness. I thought maybe I didn't want to have babies if it meant being that unhappy. I sought medical advice which is not something I do. My doctor said "get some regular, consistent HARD exercise and report back to me in 4 weeks". So I did. But within 2 weeks that darkness had lifted and I was a different person.

Exercise became my anti-depressant. It was my drug. And I was religious in the partaking of it.

Sometimes I wonder if that darkness hasn't resettled in my soul and is slowly stealing my sunshine. Sadly, that darkness keeps me from doing the things for myself that I know will lighten my spirits. I hope to find that lightness again, I know the exercise will push chemicals through my brain that I need.

I know. But I don't do.

This this is my battle.

My mum always says, "there are worse things in life than being fat. It's just that being fat is so obvious."

My mum is so smart. She is right and I remember daily the things that I don't have. I don't have sick children. I don't have a tragedy that weighs me down. I don't have many of the difficulties that others have to deal with. My life is actually pretty easy. And I am grateful.

What I do have is a healthy body. What I could have is a healthier body.

It's hard to "want it" when I have done it so many times and I know how hard it's going to be. I could write a book about weight loss and all the different ways to do it.

I just don't want it right now. What I do want, though, is for this time next year to be ending this journey instead of contemplating it's beginning (again) like I have been for so long.

I want to "want it." I need to "want it".

So until I do "want it" I am going to fake it. Next week I will exercise like a person who is in love with their exercise.

Let's see where that takes us, shall we?

urban legend

It's starting again. My psychosis is rearing it's ugly head. I am dreading the dealing of it because last year I barely escaped with any semblance of normalcy.

I believe I am an urban legend in the making. The kind of legend where everyone ends up dead. The kind of legend university students study at the risk of their very lives. The kind of legend that makes history.

Let's go back in time, shall we.....

A couple of years ago we renovated a house. Remember that? Man......those were good times.

No, they absolutely were not.

In the course of said renovations we removed boards off the exterior of the house to deal with vermin in the walls.

Go read about it now.

I believe that incident has set forth a darkness so black that we may be swallowed by it and there will be no trace of us anywhere.

A type of voodoo. Black magic. A curse.

People will say, "Remember the Dabels? They were good people." While they hang their heads. Their heads will shake to and fro and their faces will show a mutual understanding. An understanding that our ultimate demise was something we brought upon ourselves. A sort of pity people will feel in their bones.

Those bloody Dabels. They were such dummies.

I suspected that there was a curse set upon us that day, when I watched the man murder all those little birds. I suspected that there would be no end to our torment.

Last April my suspicions started to become a reality. I wrote of my pain and suffering here and here. I do not think, however, I portrayed just how desperate I felt that these birds were pecking into my house.

You see, I was holding out hope. Hanging onto that little thread of silver lining. Holding on to the last bit of optimism I had that this cursed house would be sold by now, and that I would be moved far away from the cedar siding and it's temptation to the bird. That I would be a forgotten soul unto the birds of destruction and mayhem.

But alas, the curse oozes forth into all aspects of my happiness. The house did not sell. In ten months the house did not sell.

Yesterday I worked tirelessly to clean and organize and prove to the laundry Gods that I am a soldier of laundry warfare. I proved worthy, indeed.

We are listing the house again on Monday.

Heaven have mercy on my soul.

As I cleaned yesterday in an effort to make the house presentable for pictures today I heard it.

That horrific sound.

The sound that spreads terror through my veins. The sound that haunts me in my dreams. The sound I fear above all other sounds.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

Noooooooooooooooo..........................

When all is said and done, to whomever is brave enough to write my story, I want my urban legend to make three things very clear. One, it must allude to my beauty and wisdom, obviously. Two, it has to demonstrate, precisely, just how insane the pecking made me. And three, the great bird massacre of 2010 was entirely not my fault. That I am, in fact, the victim in all of this.

making goals and having a party

Remember last year when I made a goal every. single. month?

I miss that. I didn't think I would but I actually do. I decided at the end of 2011 that I wasn't going to do it again because it was so time consuming and sometimes just plain exhausting.

But, I guess, I am a goal person. Who knew? I really didn't think I was because I wasn't a fan of the idea of self sabotage. Make a goal, break a goal. That's how it goes, right? But last year I showed myself that I do better, generally, in my life, when there is something to accomplish. Even if I don't accomplish it.

Accomplishing things is the part I like, I think. Not necessarily the doing part. I do like the thinking part. But not the commitment part. But they lead to the accomplishing part. And that is my favourite part.

Take Timothy Findley for example. I have read two of his books in my life and I loved them both. They both took me months and months to read and I can't tell you why. I just don't know. Recently, in the course of reading The Piano Man's Daughter, which took two months, I read two other novels for book club. It's an enigma to me.

But last night I finished it and that was a major accomplishment. There was a point in there but now I see that it's just making no sense.

Back to goals. I have been thinking. A lot. About goals. And what I want for myself. In the near future and for right now. I have decided that I need to make some again because I am feeling pretty useless right now. There are three that I am going to announce right here and right now. There is also a little something brewing over here, on top of that, that is not ready to be announced yet but a little teaser can't hurt, right?

Consider yourself teased.

All right, number one is the tail end of last November's goal. Remember that crazy month where I decided to write 50 000 words of a book? And then I did? Well, I haven't looked at that book since November 30, 2011.

This is unacceptable.

This book needs to be finished. In fact, it is screaming to be finished.

I feel like I have inhaled. And now I have that desperate sensation to exhale. Like I'm holding my breath. Half a breath. Itching for release.

I want to breathe it out. I need to exhale.

End of June is the deadline. I want the book finished and ready for final editing by the end of June?

Do-able?

Sure, why not?

Number two involves my weight. I have so much to say about this. It will have to wait until I can dedicate an entire post to it. Today is just goal announcing.

I feel like last year I talked about it a lot and then let it go. It doesn't feel right. I need to finish my thought.

I will on Friday. Or at least, I'll start the conversation again. For those of you who care. Which is everyone. Is it not?

The goal associated with this is some actual weight loss. I did not weigh myself for the whole year of 2011. And it was wonderful. More on that on Friday.

30 pounds by my birthday. October 10. 30 pounds will make a world of difference in my life and I am looking for a difference.

The third goal is finding something meaningful to do with myself and my time. I have really enjoyed all the "free time" I've had since September. But there is nothing meaningful being done with all that "free time".

I have decided to volunteer somewhere. I have had three interviews at various places and I have already started at one. In the interest of not having this drag on I'll leave that for another day.

There you have it. Goals being made. Being thrown out into the world through my blog. Just me and my goals.

And also, I am having a party and I want to you to come. It'll be fun. So please do. March 30. My house. If you live in Calgary and want to hang out with me and many others and do some eating and some shopping then email me and I will give you some more details.

cddabels@telus.net

Really you should come.

Really.......