Happy Birthday Jesus

Happy Birthday Jesus. (Okay, so I am a day late.) Thanks be to God for the greatest gift ever given in the form of his baby son. Many blessings to you all as you celebrate this joyous occasion, with whatever traditions you have accumulated over the years!

Unique Uses

Did you know that Vick's Vaporub makes a great hairgel? (Though the smell leaves a lot to be desired?!) Gavin decided to gel his hair into a mohawk and in mistaking my very similar gel/hair mold container for Vick's applied very liberally...

My "under construction" project involves removing hurricane debris from our living room. It is amazing what mess an extra two children can create, but we have a blast with our nieces last night. (And I even had my very own piano recital this morning!) Currently Gavin and Rebekah are dancing and bouncing on the mattresses still piled in the living room. I hear a gaspy "I can't wait to tire myself out to sleep!" and can hardly believe it!

Did you also know that turtle-shaped sandbox lids make great toboggans (that fit 3 or 4 kids)? (And the massive green UFO-shaped half-dome sure can destroy a poor little innocent spruce...)

Me Once Removed

As heard on the CBC: "There used to be a me behind my mask but I had it surgically removed".

My problem is that the me behind the mask rears its ugly head too often...not so much a scary me (well for me, that is, so of course it is a biased opinion) but an honest me. A go-against-the-grain me. An I-can't-understand-why-everyone-else-has-such-a-problem-with-change me.

Yep, that's the one. Rearin' its strange, seemingly anti-culture and ugly to everyone else head...

Paralysis by Analysis..My Avoidance Technique

Tonight is the big night in terms of my written reflexology exam...and so of course today I am procrastinating. Odd corners uncleaned for "a coon's age" as I hear people locally explain extended length of time (and not, thankfully, any sort of racist comment as I discovered in my investigation)...well, these uncleaned corners are suddenly sparkling. (Though producing a shimmering whole house would indeed be the true feat.) Unmade phone calls are suddenly happening, and stacks of papers left about being rifled through...ah, good ole procrastination...

Ironically Denis Waitley's article entitled "Six Behaviors That Increase Self-Esteem", discovered this morning in my inbox, would be unlikely to agree with my current avoidance technique..."Fifth, respond to difficult times or depressing moments by increasing your level of productive activity. When your self-esteem is being challenged, don’t sit around and fall victim to “paralysis by analysis.” The late Malcolm Forbes said, “Vehicles in motion use their generators to charge their own batteries. Unless you happen to be a golf cart, you can’t recharge your battery when you’re parked in the garage!” "

Guess it's time to leave the garage...

Too long it has been

Too long it has been since I sat in this seat, penning a message to send out to the blog universe. It's beginning to sound like a rhythmically repeated cycle of a statement. Busy-ness, ah busy-ness. Such an unhealthy reality.

Sadness and philosophy aside, for it is only me creating this insanity (moi and my lack of ability to speak the word "no" - I am learning, yes, I am learning, and it is amazing how much easier it becomes the more I repeat it).

Day of the Dead passed. So called due to our finds, all within mere yards of our property, of a decapitated mud-coloured bird and a squirrel, almost flawless yet absolutely for sure in a state of rigor mortis. We spent a lot of time investigating the incredibly intricate bumps and pads of squirrel paws, the size of sepia stained teeth, and the black formless orbs with missing eyeballs. No touching, of course, but the kids and I were in awe of God's creativity.

A weekend away at Crieff Hills - a so-called "retreat" though my brain worked harder at deciphering speaker comments and questions regarding "multiculturalism" than normal. Stuffing myself with freshly made bread at every meal, still warm and dotted with sunflower seeds, I could only be grateful for the kindness of the friend who blessed me with the weekend away. And the proximity to her and her wisdom, along with the honesty and realities of so many other women. Why can't women be so opaque in "normal" settings? Don't we all know that not a single person lives a perfect, continuously happy, life?

And an upcoming reflexology exam on Nov 29. What is Raynaud's Phenomenon again? What does the Parasympathetic Nervous System do? Arggg...this thinking thing is certainly hurting my head!

The first Day of Snow/School

Tromping to school, fluffy flakes poured down. "It looks like dust, Mom!" [which, of course, is worrisome and slightly horrifying because he knows what dust is from the hordes of it lining our shelves.]

"Stick out your tongue, Mom, " he excitedly demanded. "Stick it out and catch the snowflakes!"

And so I did. So we did. Marching along, tongues stuck way up and giving our hyoid bone a workout (check that out for terminology inserted into regular speak!), we made our way to school. Who can't be fascinated and grateful and overwhelmingly excited when huge nickel-sized flakes are tango-ing on to your cheeks, into your lashes, on to the bits of neck exposed despite scarf tie?

We were excited for another reason too. Other than Halloween festivities and spring water day, this was my first day of volunteering in the kindergarten class. Feeling almost nervous as I readied in the morning I wondered what it would be like, being back in my previous work-type environment? Had I crazily committed to help out weekly? Would I fall right back in love with a career I had been so passionate about? What would it be like???

The Blank Bone's connected to the Blank Bone

Learning all of the body parts for reflexology is a crazy change of pace for my dusty cranium...so here is my attempt to really ingest the Lymphatic and Immune Systems....my speech from last night's ToastMasters meeting...

Ah…AHHH…CHOOOO [dramatic sneeze]

Oh. Excuse me. Did you know, Chair, ToastMasters & Guests, that if that was a true sneeze (I know, my acting is impeccable but it was fake, but IF it was real…) the germs could have flown…SPEWED… 12 to 15 ft!

Now that you’re wriggling in your seats, anxious to get to the nearest anti-bacterial station and lather yourself with all that watery stinky-ness, I’m going to tell you about what your body already has in place to protect you.

Here is a precursor, a warning really, to any anatomy Einsteins out there…not being a biologist myself, merely a reflexologist-in-training, this is going to be a severely simplified version of…

[“unveil” body “amp” of immunity system on overhead]

the “Immunity Community” better known as the Lymphatic and Immune Systems. These guys are movers [move imaginary box sideways] & warriors [make punching motions in air]. Using gravity and muscular contractions they move all sorts of crap – more scientifically known as fluid, waste products, toxins, debris, fat. And after they work all day moving [move imaginary box sideways] they spend all night fighting [make air punches]…these defenders identify foreign materials and destroy them. They should be applying to CSIS…okay, maybe the CIA and FBI are better at identification and destruction than our mounty-looking moose-loving spies, but you get the picture!

Let me introduce you to the Lymphatic Family members of the Immunity Community. Lymph & Lymph vessels; Lymph Nodes; Thymus; Tonsils; Spleen and Appendicitis. [Point to what written on overhead, side of System picture]

First up… Lymph, a whitish, watery fluid. [point to where located on overhead and then hold up picture fairy with “lymph” written on it] I want you to imagine a fairy-like creature that gets whisked around your body, almost romantically…they get picked right up out of their capillary bed [show overhead], and, still in pjs, rushed to lymphatic capillaries, lymphatic venules, veins – all before breakfast! Here, though, romanticism ends as they are harshly dumped into terminal vessels (terminal as in airport not as in “dead”), called the Right Lympahtic Pearson Duct – oops, I mean, Right Lymphatic Duct and the thoracic duct.

Now let’s meet Lymph Nodes [point to spot on overhead and then hold up picture of football with “Lymph Nodes written on it]…they live in kinda yucky neighbourhoods: armpits, elbows, knees, groin and below the jawline. Not the best locale in the Immunity Community perhaps but alas…the Lymph Nodes, despite unappealing homes, play 2 roles: defence & formation. Sounds like a football move!

And introducing…Thymus. [point to where located on body and then hold up Bill Gates picture with “Thymus” written on it] Bill Thymus Gates as I have lovingly knicknamed him as he is the Bill Gates of the Immunity Community. Many think he’s lazy because he’s retired by early childhood and turning into fat – he reaches his largest weight at puberty – a whoppin’ 35 g (that’s about 7 nickels) [show stack] Truth be told, he worked REALLY hard before retirement – before the body was born he was already producing T-Lymphocytes (commonly called T-cells) with his magical hormone called thymosin. He lives in the Mediastinum (appropriate for a Bill Gates wannabe) – a wonderful space in the chest cavity between the lungs, prickly sternum, and tall bony vertebral column. He may retired early but like Bill Gates and the world of technology, Bill Thymus Gates plays a crucial role in the Immunity Community.

Next up…Tonsils. [show where located on body and then hold up sign of “bouncer” with “Tonsils” written on it] I always thought we had a mere two tonsils but how many do we really have? [look around for answer, repeat back] Six! Six tonsils. This mouthy fellow, Lingual, is a bouncer. Does a fabulous job of strong-arming (or strong-tonguing in this case) bacteria – stops them from entering the clubs where he works – Club Nasal and Club Oral. His friends, Palatine, who bounces at Throat Dissco, and Adenoid Pharyngael, who works in Posterior Pub, which is in downtown Nasal Cavity…are both amazing at keeping out bacteria as well.

Spleen. Mean Spleen. [show where located on body, then hold up vampire with “Spleen” written on it] The largest lymphoid organ in the body…you don’t wanna mess with Mama Mean Spleen. She removes what she doesn’t like in 2 ways: filtration (her top-notch famous lymphocyte filter) and phagocytosis, which is, yes, as bad as it sounds. Outright engulfment, ingestion, digestion of enemy particles. Yes, she’s into cannibalism. And yes, she’s a bit of a vampire with her habit of drinking blood. Perhaps “Mama Mean Spleen Eat You Up and Swallow that blood” may be a good name for her…she holds up to 1 pint of blood! ONE PINT…and she isn’t even that big!

And last…and yes possible LEAST…think of worms. Vermaculture. Heard of it? Composting with worms? I am NOT suggesting there are worms inside you, though perhaps if you’ve been to Mexico lately? And I would certainly hope they wouldn’t be in your lymphatic and Immune system – yikes! I’m talking about the Vermiform Appendix [point to where it is on body, and then hold up worm with “Vermiform Appendix” written on it]. Vermiform appendix is a wormlike structure attached to the cecum that possibly plays a minor role in the Immunity Community. Not a big player perhaps but still there showing up to duty 24/7.

Ah…AHHH…CHOOOO [dramatic sneeze] I’m sure you’re not as scared now….but just in case your Immunity Community’s on holiday, or gone on strike…here’s some watery stinky handwash….

My Painting Pants

My Painting Pants. That could be the ever-so-practical name for my pair of leg coverings absolutely festooned with paint splotches, which would of course play a role in the “exhibition of my life”. The museum spectacle, as portrayed in my head of course, would have the pants spread out on a wall with arrows and brief descriptors pointing to various paint stains.




As you may surmise, I am NOT a nitpicking, detail-oriented decorator (which is not always a great thing to be when you crane your neck upwards to examine wall corners and ceiling crevices, or atleast what you can observe of them through the filmy cobwebs). More paint probably ends up on me and my clothing than it does on the walls. [Some see the world through rose-coloured glasses whereas I tend to view it through paint-speckled ones.]

Maple Leaf blue is both our living room colour in the first home we owned together, as well as our current garage doors.

Chocolate: The colour of the kids' room, making it cave-like in its darkness (both good and bad aspects to this).

Pepto Bismol Pink: The shade of Rebekah's shelf, and also the colour I painted the bathroom a few months ago in attempt to produce some sort of shocked reaction from my husband. It proceeded to "haunt" me as it was a mess to clean up, though now I can claim to have had a pink washroom, my favourite colour!

Pale sky blue: Our first home's guest bedroom/computer room.

Of course I can't even recall the true names of the colours, so really why do I obsess?

Ironically Sleek Walls

After a child trade (I had two for the morning and now a friend has two for the afternoon) in order to aid us both in actually getting something checked off our massive ‘to do’ lists, I set to work at putting a second coat on the nearly completed bathroom (yes, yes, that one that has been under construction for 2 years now).

I veer towards the mistints (much cheaper, and yes, I have yet to be converted to environmentally friendly paint, shame on me). The first one, upon opening its lid was more mauve than the greyish tan splotch it advertised. We exchanged it. Second can: slick first coat was an exact match to new greyish grout. Perfect. So this afternoon I intended on coat 2 and possibly 3 paint completion…except that as I stirred and poured the paint, previously grouty grey, was now tawny with bits of PEI soil shade. Rolled a bit on the wall. PEI polka dots. Made me think of potatoes (that was an easy supper menu decision.) Hmmm.

Wonderful Paint Lady Tracey (wonderful for more than just her paint expertise of course)at Home Hardware had never heard of such a thing happening. "Changing colours overnight? REALLY?!?" And of course couldn't match exactly without us examining all of the paint chips lined up so sequentially (and so terrifyingly: what if it ISN'T the right shade? as though that truly matters in the grand scheme of life). And it was then that my eccentric little habit of choosing paint hues based on their name blaringly (almost) got in the way of perfect colour match. I was sure, above all else sure, that "Irony" would be the one (especially being as this would be the third can of paint involved)...who knew that "irony" was pale steel coloured? I would have thought more of a reddish cast....? But, alas, it was "sleek" that won the race. And "sleek" that dons the walls (or atleast the two I could do as the tormentingly now auburnish wall still dries before being ready for its new coat).

Does anyone else do that or am I the only one??? (I am sure SOMEONE out there has to have this habit too?) And who names the colour chips anyways? Do they meet regularly with Crayola Dudes to compare? What colour do you think Persian Essence would be? (Ha ha...go seek the answer!)

What was I going to write? Something about T.P.?

Every day as I "meander" (okay, "plough") thoughout the minutes and hours I constantly think "I could blog about this..." or "ooohhhhh oh yes, I could definitely write about THAT" which is only to be followed promptly by forgetting what exactly was so momentous that lightbulbs dimmed the rest of my cranial action.

Last night at ToastMasters during Table Topics (the time when you may choose to participate in making up a spur-of-the-minute 1 to 2 minute speech about whatever is written on the slip of paper given to you about a minute before you have to stand and blither) my topic was "something exciting to me". Well, previously (as in pre-kids, or maybe more realistically: pre-mortgage) excitement paraded itself in "big ticket" items. Vladmir's castle perched amongst the rolling hills of Romania after being royally ripped off by train "police" demanding a second payment, my first straight-from-the-factory VW, that sort of, well, superfluous "stuff"...Now? What is exciting now? Informing the mainly-female audience I shared that yesterday's hugely exciting moment, lame though it may be, involved previously leaving my bathroom after using the last shred of toilet paper on the roll and returning mid-day to discover a brand new role strapped into its silver holster....THAT WASN'T REPLACED BY MOI!

You have to admit that IS fairly exciting...

Things Kids Say

So here is a wonderfully humourous story for you (not so funny for me at the time) - we went swimming on Rebekah's 3rd birthday at the Hanover indoor pool. Afterwards I had to relieve myself and of course had to bring R in with me to the stall for who knows where she would end up otherwise (she really isn't as bad as we make her out to be!) ;) Anyways, there I am pulling down my pants when Rebekah yells and I mean YELLS (and the change room was FULL) "Mommy, you have such a BIG VAGINA!!!!"

I slunk out of there...feeling as though every gaze was upon me...

The follow-up: during advance polls a lady I know well came in to set up the advance voting station at the store where I work on Saturday mornings. She sauntered in and with a very mischievous twinkle in her eye faced me and shrieked, "SO I HEAR YOU HAVE A BIG VAGINA!!!"

It was then that she noticed four other people were in the store, staring at her, mouths agape, and then allowing eyes to wander from her blushing cheeks to me...of course the story (that had made its way to her) had to be told to all of them.

They Finally Asked!!!

Surprisingly it has taken 5 years but I finally had this question directly asked, "wow, you're a stay at home mom. Your husband must make loads of cash?"

I was somewhat shocked to be asked, taken aback, though you have to give credit to someone "ballsy" enough to(or as I like to say "with the ovaries to...") speak aloud what they are thinking.

No, no he does not. When we made the choice that I was going to be at home with our children (then, just one child), 2/3 of our income disappeared. This has been a true venture in trust and in the faith that God will provide.

I truly believe that almost anyone can be a stay at home mom - given that they are willing to make a lot of sacrificial choices. I am sure that my wardrobe is clear evidence of the fact that though I sell Epicure and walk a little guy to school (and get paid for that, amazingly), those incomes go straight to the family coffers and don't provide for any extras such as clothing purchases. Yes I would love to spend oodles at Value Village loading up on new to me outfits (because I can't fathom paying what it costs to buy new, let alone the environmental stress caused by it), but when weighing that against spending cranky days at a full-time career and letting my child be raised by someone else, my choice is clearly the ratty apparel.

We have been blessed by and through many people - which has enabled us to be in a little less debt. Expired food from mom's general store, hand-me-down clothing for us and the kids, holidays at my parent's timeshare, a hair stylist sister-in-law way too generous with her minimal cost haircuts, a great aunt generous in too many ways to mention, endless and countless other blessings.

So that is my quick, simple answer (because you know I could go on and on!)as to how many loads of cash we bring in....

The Next Day

Curbs went in yesterday. And in celebration of that momentous event I decided a colon cleanse was in order. (Okay not really due to that momentous occasion...) Word of advice: clean colons are super, fabulous, and all that jazz but surely they should recommend on the bottle's side that taking pills the night before needing to do ANYTHING more than a dozen feet from a porcelain throne isn't for the faint of heart...

Celebrate....Curbs!

Some disheveled hard-hatted fellow came to the door this morning as we readied the wagon, tricycle, and backpack for school announcing the need to remove all vehicles from the property (well, any that we wanted to be able to use in any location other than our driveway for the next two days)...

Everyone CELEBRATE! The curbs went in today! Looming, perfectly-formed greyish-cum-white as the day crept into evening, slabs of cement!!! Never has stone and gravel mulled in powdery cement looked so wonderfully inviting (and invited)!

Tunic Trouble

When looking for information on tunics (because it is such a common item to seek after all!?) be aware of the fact that you may discover a little too much information about feline vaginal infections. I am not kidding. Did you know (and you may if you are a vet or a person hyper-aware of his/her cat's anatomy) about "tunic vaginalis"? Saving you the detail and picture (apparently anything CAN be found on the internet), I will only share that it involves nasty repercussions after an injury/infection and that no cat, let alone person surfing the net (save for afore-mentioned vets or hyper-knowledgeable anatomy studiers), should have to uncover or experience this.

Crazy internet. Just a few weeks ago a few of us, post-meeting, were exchanging tales of people's bold statements that "this will NEVER get off the ground..." (Yes, it was a church meeting and yes the main discussion was change!) One woman's story of her grandfather laughing hilariously about how anyone could ever think a TELEVISION would ever get into every household in North America, let alone ONE home was topped only by another's uncle stating firmly that "what are they thinking? This crazy ole computer thingie won't ever hit it off...waste of money, time, and energy!" (Which may very well be true - about the waste of time, money, and energy -and yet still...)

Why the search for tunics? I am not learning to sew (my peach and burgundy velour jumpsuit, sewed inside-out for a public school 4H project, should have been warning enough about my personal tailoring abilities). I am not becoming a fan of medieval fashion. I have decided that this distribution "career" of mine needs some sort of "title"....now just wait: LEGAL distribution, and not simply my Epicure Selections business. Since children arrived in our home I have become (willingly) some sort of central location where items (mainly baby and kids' clothing) arrive, are organized by yours truly, and then re-distributed for free to people who need them. Everything from training potties to baby bikinis have temporarily habituated in our basement.

This is our attempt to assist in a solution to many issues: lack of funds (it has certainly aided us), saving of the environment through efficient re-use of items otherwise destined for landfill, responsible stewardship...

So why tunics in the title? Two Tunics (and perhaps "trading" in small letters underneath? Still to be determined.). Luke 3:11 "John answered, 'The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.'"

So, tunics and vaginas...who knew?!

A Laugh A Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Why set that full coffee beside the computer keyboard when you just have that teeny inkling that something horrid could occur? [Which would answer why this blog will take slightly longer to type due to very sticky keys - especially most-used "delete" and "backspace" buttons.] Why set boundaries that no one is willing to observe? Why have a blog you rarely write? Why NOT eat birthday cake before the main meal? Why worry about stain removal? Why NOT live in squalor? (Proceeded by: why then is the mess and chaos and endless piles claiming squatting rights on the kitchen table driving me batty?)

Just some of the thoughts plaguing me right this moment...

De-cluttering would involve much more than a day....Peter Walsh's book "Enough Already!" adorns my bedside table and Jeff and I have been working through it - Walsh's premise being that removal of clutter from all areas of life (relationship, spiritual, financial, family, work) involves forming visions, clarifying issues, and not simply removing items (as more will only take their place until the issue is resolved). So guess that one is off the fix-it-today chart!

How about the idea that maybe, just maybe, we need a good laugh today? Well, here's a joke for you:

In the days when you couldn't count on a public toilet facility, an English woman was planning a trip to India . She was registered to stay in a small guest house owned by the local Schoolmaster.

She was concerned as to whether the guest house contained a WC..

In England , a bathroom is commonly called a WC which stands for 'Water Closet'.

She wrote to the schoolmaster inquiring of the facilities about the WC.

The school master, not fluent in English, asked the local priest if he knew the meaning of WC.. Together they pondered possible meanings of the letters and concluded that the lady wanted to know if there was a 'Wayside Church' near the house . . . a bathroom never entered their minds.

So the schoolmaster wrote the following reply:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Madam,
I take great pleasure in informing you that the WC is located 9 miles from the house.

It is located in the middle of a grove of pine trees, surrounded by lovely grounds. It is capable of holding 229 people and is open on Sundays and Thursdays.

As there are many people expected in the summer months, I suggest you arrive early. There is, however, plenty of standing room.

This is an unfortunate situation especially if you are in the habit of going regularly.

It may be of some interest to you that my daughter was married in the WC, as it was there, that she met her husband. It was a wonderful event. There were 10 people in every seat. It was wonderful to see the expressions on their faces. We can take photos in different angle.

My wife, sadly, has been ill and unable to go recently. It has been almost a year since she went last, which pains her greatly.

You will be pleased to know that many people bring their lunch and make a day of it. Others prefer to wait till the last minute and arrive just in time. I would recommend your ladyship plan to go on a Thursday as there is an organ accompaniment. The acoustics are excellent and even the most delicate sounds can be heard everywhere.

The newest addition is a bell which rings every time a person enters. We are holding a bazaar to provide plush seats for all, since many feel it is long needed.

I look forward to escorting you there myself and seating you in a place where you can be seen by all.

With deepest regards,
The Schoolmaster
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Woman fainted reading the reply.......and she never visited India !!!

What should be done with...???

As I have been sorting through kids clothing, weeding out the too small or seasonal summer gear, I have come across several pieces with which I do not know what to do? Good quality jeans with broken zipper; lined jacket with, again, broken zipper; t-shirts too stained to pass down (bleach and I are not companions). Hating to see them simply tossed in the trash, but unable to do the necessary repairs (and knowing the cost of newly installed zippers is excessively high for what were free pieces of clothing), with an already overflowing rag bucket, and unwilling to donate un-saleable items to the local secondhand shop (and thereby leaving it with them to purge), I question their fate?

While visiting with my inspirational, funky friend Faye this morning, I revealed this dilemma. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "Sometimes I put them in separate bags with a note on it and give them to Value Village - they say they have someone who takes the damaged items...or if they're not toxic or plastic-y I remove buttons and zippers and shred them for the fire pile and toss them on...do you have a backyard burn bucket?" The answer being "no" we don't. As I glanced at her she knowingly held up her hand, palm towards me, "I do NOT want them for my firepit," she stated firmly, winking in a mischievous almost-maternal manner as though she thought I honestly would leave a box outside her front door (which I probably might have had she not unflinchingly denied me the opportunity).

Hmmmm...the burning/fire idea got me thinking. Could I compost them? The cotton denim atleast? And what about that company I had previously heard of that makes insulation from old jeans?



Planetgreen.com had some suggestions for old denim: area rugs, coasters, etc.
http://planetgreen.discovery.com/home-garden/delightful-denim-great-crafts-that-reuse-your-jeans.html

So, hmmm, what shall it be? Considering I am attempting to declutter, the idea of holding on to them to possibly, someday in the future, maybe recycle them into some sort of unneeded coaster, means I am choosing compost for the jeans and stained shirt and neighbour fire (if they say yes) for the double-lined jacket...Thanks, Faye!

Soap Finally Made!

Yes, it has happened. We finally managed to get our homemade soap done. And simple enough was the process: melt it down, add some food colouring and some essential oil of your choice (ours was saje's "unwind") www.saje.ca, dump into containers (we used silicone muffin tins), and let dry. A few hours later and we had our creations complete!



I think that from now on, since fancy schamncy shades and designs (rounded soap with marbles in one, the letter 'g' in another, and a teeny horse romping through a larger rectangle), though fun and funky, really don't need a consistent home on our bathroom shower stall shelves, that I may just chop the soapbase into smaller sizes (ours came in a 2 pound block) and use "as is"...

Brain Drain Games

Avidly I have been reading, whenever a moment arises and allows, Norman Doidge's The Brain That Changes Itself...fascinating stuff in down-to-earth language. Defying scientists' previous beliefs that the brain could in no way be plastic (a word so taboo that some research papers weren't originally published due to its use) in its ability to change and grow as the body ages, Doidge shares post-stroke victims' tales of mental and physical recovery; the existence of pain as emulating from the brain rather than the injured body part; a young woman born with an empty cavity where her left hemisphere should have been and her successful experience with "re-wiring"...

We learn that walking barefoot encourages stability, learning new languages and taking dance lessons ward off cognitive decline, and that, yes, high vegetable and fish intake, along with exercise and brain games, encourage neurological growth and mitigate the onset of Alzheimer's. Studies on people who actually physically exercised, as opposed to those who merely spent equivalent time merely visualizing the very same activity, demonstrated that the 'doers' muscle mass and strength improved by 30%whereas the 'thinker' muscle mass and strength improved by 22%. Wow. The power of our minds!

"We must be learning if we are to feel fully alive" (p.116).

Honestly it scares the pants off of me in terms of raising children: are we stimulating them enough? The first six years are so critical...as well as the fact that the more education and experience one has the better chance of living life without dementia (as well as the fact that if a brain injury does occur, positive results are much higher/better when higher education is involved). Are we filling those little brains as best as we can?

Tonight I completed Day 2 of Luminosity's 40 Day Brain Training. FREE! Luminosity.com (Check it out!) Having jumped on to my lap to observe, Gavin asked about playing. His first desire was a game that involved making as many words as possible with the first three letters (e.g. "som" and "ele" were two of today's) and though he tried it was obviously beyond his developmental level. However, "monster garden", revealed a savvy little memory. A 5x5 grid displays 3 monsters before hiding them, then shows a farmer who must reach a specific flower without treading on a monster. After completion of the 'path creation' bonus points are awarded for clicking on the squares where the monsters hid. He was amazing!

Luminosity.com, as well as an orchestrated effort at mental exercise and reading more challenging material, is my current attempt at a solution to temporary memory loss and neurological shutdowns! ("Baby brain", or "Placental Drain" as my friend Laurie calls it, eventually ends does it not? Our daughter is almost 3! Where is my brain? Who has taken it hostage? When shall it return?) And today's morning at the beach followed by a trip to Bruce County Museum's "Sea Monster" exhibit is my attempt at filling up those kidlet cranial cavities. http://www.brucemuseum.ca/calendar/sea-monsters-predators-of-the-ancient-seas/

Today's holiday solution...Robert Mondavi's merlot...my sister...a husband who takes our children swimming...gentle breezes tickling cheeks as dusk descends...

Ahhhh...holidays are a fantastic invention!

What to do with Bountiful Chives?

[Apparently yesterday's topic of consideration should have been "how to find time to blog?"!?]

Chives, chives, chives...any fans of chives out there? Being prone to grab, chop, and add them to just about everything, I am quite content with the two massive mounds that have expanded out near the back garden. Having originally relocated them closer to the vegetables I realize that this autumn the 'to do' list will include modifying their current position to one closer to the house, enabling us to trek merely feet outside the kitchen door for retrieval.

What to do in the winter when those green sprouts no longer stick out in their spiky fashion begging to be tossed with salads, swirled into soups, and sprinkled on to potatoes? Yes, yes, Epicure has fabulous dried chives and I do have a jar in my spice cupboard for wintry needs. But with our own summer horde I am wondering how easy it would be to keep some for the snowy season? Dried? Frozen? Bringing a clump inside to continue growing on the windowsill? (The kids would like this option as cutting chives is about the only freedom I allow with scissors, since too many items of clothing, not to mention the tent, have suffered the fate of "cutting curiousity". Oh, and the chopping of Larry's hair - see picture below of the homemade/camp project 'Chia Pet'.)



Advice on preserving bountiful chives? 3 to 7 hours in the oven at 110 farenheit or the intriguing solution of utilizing God's drying power by drying them outdoors: "Spread chives in a thin layer over trays. Dry in a well ventilated area out of sunlight 8 to 10 hours". http://web1.msue.msu.edu/imp/mod01/01600642.html It sounds as though freezing them may well keep a better flavour? (And I could even freeze my purple basil?)

"Problem": bountiful chives. Solution: Somehow keeping the suckers for wintertime useage...

Cutting with sharp knife/scissors apparently damages the original plant less.



Wash in the sink, and sort to get rid of those wonderfully woody or wilted brown bits.



The tray on the left is destined for outdoor location for drying, whereas the one on the right, chopped into small bits, is going to be our freezer experiment! A couple of suggestions involved freezing first on a tray to avoid "clumping" (I do this when freezing strawberries - first "flash freezing" them individually, to keep shape, before putting them all together into a larger bag - advice thanks to my clever, canning & freezing fiend friend Amy) The only thing left to do: shovel a smaller clump into a wondowsill-sized pot to keep indoors. And...when the snow flies, we'll taste test!

Be it Bald or Make Your Own Shampoo?

Because my soapbox rarely makes its way into hiding, or collects dust (and not because I am a clean freak), I am sure I must have shared my views about chemicals in shampoos - the sodium lauryl sulfates and parabens and other fancy schamncy names that basically translate to "cancer" and "environmental destruction". Jeff jokingly asks, "why worry NOW when we've had those lathery shampoos shinin' up our locks for forty years already?"

So what to do about it? After briefly considering shaving every hair off of every head in this household (cats included) as well as the alternative of simply not washing above the ears and forehead anymore, I knew there had to be another way. What did the pioneers do before Head and Shoulders? Oh wait, it was either water, ashes and lard, or simply little hygiene at all. So perhaps my friends, family, and hostesses would prefer something - anything - as opposed to "eau de armpits" and "sparkly dandruff powder puff shoulder pads"?

Combining two recipes (because I can never really follow recipes exactly as written) I came up with the following homemade shampoo: boil 6 cups of water and add to 1 TB of lemongrass tea (could use chamomile as suggested in original recipe), in tea basket or ball/spoon so you can easily remove the 'remnants'. Add 4 TB of baking soda (it will fizz up, so it could simultaneously provide a volcanic experiment for children and adults alike). Add in 2 sprigs of fresh lavender (or few drops of lavender essential oil or even dried lavender could be added initially to lemongrass tea basket). I left the concoction overnight and this morning, with playset pitcher, poured on and massaged on to hair and scalp.

Yes, being so used to lather, it WAS odd to have bubble-free hair cleanser. And sure, I had to deal with one friend's taunt of "you are such a HIPPIE", but today's shiny hair is surely worthy of one days testimony...

Solving Problems One Day at a Time

Okay, so despite what I may wish to believe, not everyone wants a daily recount of my life and opinions. So, what shall I do instead? How about we try to solve atleast one problem every single day? What problems we solve may scan a multitude of issues, a variety of what could even be considered problematic to begin with. What I determine as "problems" will certainly be revealing in itself, so in many ways an extension of my life and opinions. (And here you thought you were getting out of it!?)

The July 2010 ToastMasters (an organization that promotes self-improvement and speaking skill advancement) magazine has an article about how to increase your brain power. "Become a Better Thinker" screams the title, just above a photo of a barely pubescent lad gravely considering something, hand on chin in true Michaelangelo fashion. Author Howard Scott suggests: asking questions, becoming a serious reader, being a "skeptic" who is not "hoodwinked by labels", and making people "your school of life". http://www.toastmasters.org/ What questions should we now ask?

Jeff's suggestion for problem solution is one with which he is momentarily dealing: how to enable the toilet to flush when it doesn't seem to be sucking anything into the depths of the sewer. A constant issue around here - even when we have a brand spankin' new toilet tucked away in the basement waiting to be installed. My solution would be simple in speak: install the new one. His solution: flush flush flush flush and flush. (Comment from the sidelines: Doesn't appear to be working!)

Here's a suggestion from "Rustic Girls" (http://www.rusticgirls.com/repairing/the-best-way-to-unclog-a-toilet.html) "Homemade Unclog Recipe: Wait till the water level in the bowl is fairly low then measure 5 tablespoons of common dish soap into the clogged toilet bowl. Let it sit for a few minutes and then add a pot full of boiling/hot water, then try using the plunger. This usually works after 1-2 plunges."

And apparently as I write this his howl indicates his success...so let me know if the dish liquid works! (Although with the frequency of our non-flushes I am sure we will have the opportunity to try it out soon enough!)

"Should Have" Mathematics

Vacation Bible School + 2 kids old enough to attend = a vacuum. Not vacuum as in the apparatus that suctions up bits about the floor but rather a vacuum of time crying out to be filled...

I know what I should have done with this vast and open number of minutes (and hours, even! 9 until noon - wow!). I should have been working; making phone calls and business contacts and all the administrational "stuff" I just should have been completing.

[A side note, since detours off focus and topics seem to be allowed by me to guide my existence: "Should be"s and "should have"s must be one of the ruling forces in a mother's life. Scratch that: "Should be"s and "should have"s must be one of the ruling forces in a person in our must-be-busy-all-the-time society's life.]

Instead, after my chiropractor appointment, I felt nudged to visit a woman from church - a pillar of calm strength and someone I hope I can refer to as a friend. And now, as minutes dwindle away, I think of readying myself to leave for child pick-up. Another day filled with blessings.

Table to Table

Did you know: for every Canadian EVERY SINGLE DAY 1 pound of food is wasted... Isn't that insane? How much is that? That means that Jeff and I put together weigh the same amount as ONE PERSON's annual waste. Wow. (Now just don't ask how much of that weight configuration is mine?!?!)

This morning's factually mindbending presentation by the Canadian "rep" for Leket Israel (http://www.leket.org/english/) was shocking. I have known by what Jeff ports home from vegetable growers - ripe and juicy and wonderfully tasty though somehow classified as imperfect "seconds" - that food waste is abundant. I survived my first job last night as catering help and scraping wedding guest plates made it even more obvious how much many of us squander. But a whole pound every single day for every single one of us???

How many more people could eat...

Leket Israel (known as "Table to Table" here) performs "Food Rescue" - from cafeterias, restaurants, army bases, catered events, leftovers are scrounged and given to the needy. For a cost of about 33 cents some hungry soul gets a $100 leftover wedding feast. (Apparently about 26% of Israelis regularly go hungry.)

And what about here in Canada? Why should any Canadian ever go hungry with the abundance so many here have? An age old question...and thankfully for you I won't sidle into discussion on capitalism here...

So now what can we do? What do we have a moral responsibility to do? What if it was us starving, or our children, neighbours, friends?

What Epicure Spice Goes with Turtle Burgers???

In remembrance of the "fallen snapper" the kids viewed near Mom and Dad's fire pit ("taken in the prime of her life as she painstakingly tore at gravel, trying to carve out a nest for the fifty or so little ones thriving in their ping-pong-ball-like eggs within her belly"), my sister emailed this picture with the recipe instructions: "Handmade ground beef patties, topped with sharp cheddar cheese, wrapped in a bacon weave, then the next step, add hotdogs as the heads, legs with slits for toes and tail. Next step? Place on an oven rack, covered loosely with foil and baked for 20-30 minutes at 400 degrees. A little crispy, not too crunchy...just how a turtle should be, no?"

So what Epicure spice goes best with turtle???

www.epicureselections.com

Free Kittens? How much?

The latest humorous "buzz" at the Holstein General Store involves a poster on the info board that you see immediately upon entering The Mall: a cutely drawn illustration of two kittens, one popping his red and orange head out from behind the other fat feline's bluish bushy tail with huge bubble/balloon letters, written by a girl of about 7, across the bottom stating a phone number and "FREE KITTENS FOR SALE".

Embarassment...

One "problem" with having ex-diaper pantyliners: they don't stick....one has gone AWOL somewhere in our morning travels downtown, printers, park? Thought this may actually bring a groan of slight amusement to some....

Blessings in Construction Disguise

When construction notice papers were tacked to mailboxes up and down our street I began praying that this devouring of our potted roadway and dusty inconvenience would bring our neighbourhood together in a positive manner. It is incredible to watch what has happened: people who barely spoke combining brain and braun to release broken chassis-ed trucks from mudpits; kids "too cool" for one another banding together in dirt bike races and puddle jumping; elderly ladies and gents being helped halfway down the block and back over rocky, mucky terrain to access their mailbox; backyard fences and bushes whacked down to make paths from the old arena parking lot behind to adjacent properties. Blessings abound.

Ladybug Ladybug Fly Away Home

Did you know the following facts about ladybugs?

· The black spots on their wings fade as they age
· Ladybug wings move very quickly, like a hummingbird’s, as much as 85 times per second in flight
· A ladybug can live for up to three years
· The male ladybug is smaller than the female
· Long ago, doctors used mashed-up ladybugs to cure toothaches
· The Swiss call ladybugs “Good God’s Little Fairy”
· The Ladybug is the state insect in New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Delaware, Tennessee and Ohio

http://www.howdididoit.com/home-garden/how-to-start-a-ladybug-garden/

Somehow, as is apt to occur in this household where non-linear thought and behaviour seems paramount, our search for information about earwigs (where we discovered the photograph below of one mimicking a scorpion) meandered off into other discoveries about praying mantises and ladybug gardens.



Our children are convinced that we need a garter snake because they pull weeds. (I deduce this to the slightly mutilated garter snake my dad came across - or rather, it came across my father - while he was whipper-snippering...it catapulted towards him from the weeds, sacrificing a few inches from its tail and eventually its life. He saved it for our kids to see - eyes wide open, it looked in a peaceful slumber save for the shadow of burgundy blood about its body. I imagine that this connection between weeds and snake somehow led to their belief that these scaly creatures actually yank unwanted weeds. Had I only known...!?!?)

Afterpangs

Yesterday's entry...

The Unexpected Emotional Afterpangs. How could I not have suspected, and how come I have been so surprised, by how I am feeling? Makes me think of how I was absolutely unprepared for the lack of sleep after new baby arrived; later, shaking my head, I mused on my pre-kid ignorance of sleep patterns and unbroken sleep in general. And now I feel the same: how did I not realize that today would be continue to emotionally drain us all? Did I really believe a valve would simply be turned, stopping all of this pain and confusion and guilt?

The Summer of Grandma

We have decided (well, Gavin and I anyways) that 2010 will be called "The Summer of Grandma".

"It feels like I am packing a kid for camp," I told Jeff as I ironed on a few name labels, rolled and packed clothing, bagged shoes. Sympathetically he glanced at me and then looked away - away from the half-packed suitcase and empty hangers. "You are," he said gently, "you are."

And that is all I can write now. It's far too sensitive for more (and the kleenexes are running out).

Is Anyone Listening? Sharing the Grief

Started last blog only to be interrupted - not uncommon of course, so now it will seem as though I am birthing multitudinous blogs (okay so 2 may not exactly be "multitudinous" generally speaking but anything commenced & completed in one week in my life, let alone one day, seems amazingly copious!).

Emotions are spiking and jackknifing here: we received a nursing home bed offer at the local facility for Jeff's mom and though Jeff's family thought they were all one "one page", situations seem to dictate emotional change, torment, and guilt. Are we making the right decision? Are we really considering what is best for Diane, and not simply for our own easy-ness?

Jean Harker writes in Help Me Coping with the Nursing Home Decision: "Frequently people being placed in a nursing home look at it as a one-stop place before dying. This feeling has nothing to do with the quality of care that the nursing home offers, but is just their way of thinking. Such thoughts are very understandable, because few people ever return to a "normal" life after being admitted to a nursing home facility. It represents a one-way street which no one really wants to travel, but people seldom have any choice. Lots of these individuals and their families and friends have little or no help during this very rough time in their life's journey. Their losses and grief seem overwhelming to them. They have nowhere to go for comfort, and quite often no one who will listen to their grief story." http://www.alharris.com/harker/helpme.htm

It is when I read this that it registered: it often feels we are alone. Sure, people are continually entering such facilities and family and friends are perpetually encountering the same situation as we currently are. We aren't so different. And yet somehow we are alone and yes, somehow, no one seems to be "listening to our grief story".

My grief story is mine alone, and is not nearly as looming as that of Jeff, his sisters, and their great aunt. I can not understand, as much as I would like to, my sisters-in-law as they lose pieces of the mother who comforted them, listened, offered advice, secretly filled her pockets with small change to take them them for ice cream after dog walks, and raised them in a strong Christian home despite the many horrors she endured. I see a new Diane every day and I can appreciate the woman she is today, this hour, this moment mainly because I don't have that long term connection and knowledge of whom she was. I am at the easy end of the stick.

Our 4 1/2 year old son and I both cry as I explain to him why Mama has to move to a new home. "Why?" he wants to know. "She's fun. I'll miss her. Will someone give her the pills she needs? Will we see her again?" Jeff cried as he told his mom and I think she was crying too. Everyone has been crying. So many tears shed. But it reminds me of the lyrics "and every tear I've cried, you hold in your hand" in Casting Crown's Praise You In This Storm. It is more than comforting to know that despite it and through it God is here, always with us, no matter what. He knows our grief story. He shares in the pain.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MUWbmtbzDno

Caution Tape: Under Construction

I haven't posed this question of myself for some time: What is currently under construction? Besides my patience level, that is...I was hankering to cut grass that seems almost a foot high due to our 6-week negligence and discovered that even the usual "start it up with the car and jumper cables" routine failed, and that nonetheless the gas (and containers usually topped up) were bone-dry empty...Despite noxious environmental repurcussions (and yes, I still plan to rid the front lawn entirely of all grass) I now understand my father's almost-obsessive infatuation with lawn cutting. Escapism: no calf-hugging children, no smiling but absent mother-in-law, no ipod-engrossed spouse, no unpaid bills, no rattling telephone...just prayerful silence. (Well, sort-of-silence - the "heard-through-earplugs roaring murmur" of a silence.)

But as for "under construction" on non-emotional topics??? Turns out, after consultation with a contractor friend, that our year-and-a-half bathroom renovation would be simple, cheap, and likely completed already had we not chosen in-floor heating; I am gently begging Jeff to give up his dreams a HEATED floor simply so we might have A FLOOR!

I'm trying for more construction on the mental level - it feels incredible to fit in hurried moments of book ingestion...while in the backseat on the way to church, a minute here while kids slide, a moment there while supper brews, anywhere, everywhere...

Go ahead...Posess an Experience

"People who spent money on experiences - such as traveling, eating out, or attending concerts - were happier with their purchases than those who bought possessions, regardless of the amount spent, according to a recent study at San Fransisco State University" p.152 Martha Stewart August 2010 "Living" magazine.

Normally I don't get my paws on such literature but why turn down a free copy? "Summer, Simplified" squeals the cover. Sure - if spending $145 US on a serving bowl emblazoned with a stripey horseshoe crab and 85 hours tye-dying every piece of fabric and object from area rugs to candles and baskets is YOUR idea of "simplified"...I admire...without the necessary patience and attention to detail. Yummy recipes and intriguing "plant swap" article....

Back to original point: experiences versus possessions. Possessions certainly don't and can't define us whereas experiences certainly can alter our very being. New book on my bedside: The Brain That Changes Itself by Norman Doidge, provides incredible insight into neuroplasticity and the human brain previously thought to be un-changeable. I am definite he would heatedly argue for experiences.

Surprising Discoveries

This search for a block of soap base has led to many fascinating discoveries (one NOT being the presence of a block of soapbase!). The local bulk store "Ingredients" surprised us with a section loaded with all natural sunscreens, deodorants, and toothpastes. Chicory Common in Durham, a pleasant drive through hail-like rain and constant questioning from a 4 year old about tornado weather and on what level of ground we drove, provided Eco-Pioneer products.



"As the early Pioneers knew, cleaning does not need to be complicated. Our products are designed to be simple, effective and environmentally sustainable. Besides being all natural and readily biodegradable, our washing powders leave a small ecological footprint. They are sourced from local suppliers and are minimally packaged in 100% recycled paper fibre boxes and printed with non-toxic, vegetable inks." http://www.puresource.ca/vervenaturals/EcoPioneer.htm

So my soon-to-be-need for washing detergent that I mix myself from soap flakes, natural Borax and pure washing soda has been fulfilled.

An amazingly friendly "temporary staff" (friend covering while boss on holidays I believe) at The Colour Jar took my number and offered, in small town fashion, to inquire from her soap-making pals as to their bulk soapbase source. http://www.thecolourjar.ca/

The journey has proven gratifying... "the hunt", as Gavin calls it, continues...

The Sweet White Stuff

No soap yet. But a dandy, philosophical visit with my sister, freshly returned from a little more than a week on British soil. Piping hot coffee ingested curbside, under overcast skies, while seated in contemporary (almost too funky for our small town?) metallic armchairs. Raw sugar crystals, amber brown and reminding me of Polish stones encircling mosquitoes and whatever else managed to be bogged down in their gloopy-ness before becoming eternal ornaments, embellished her latte.

And what's so special about raw sugar? I know, I know: it's not processed in the same unhealthy way as white sugar, but what is the more specific reason it is better for you? Google research begins (which I realize isn't TRUE research before you condemn my methods! but it has some merit?)...

Here's what Michael Bloch shares: sulphur dioxide is added, phosphoric acid and calcium hydroxide or carbon dioxide are mixed in to "rid the impurities" and pretty it all up. (Whereas raw sugar simply has lime added followed by a centrifuge method to separate crystals.) It's a threat to our environment due to pesticides, clearing of forest/land for sugar cane plantations, processing = loads of energy, waste & chemicals. http://www.greenlivingtips.com/articles/73/1/White-sugar-vs-raw-sugar.html

It's a threat to us for many reasons, one being that refined sugar raises our insulin level which in turn means a depressed immunity system, causes weight gain, and forces our body to utilize much-needed vitamins and minerals to help our body metabolize it.
http://ezinearticles.com/?Why-is-Refined-Sugar---Known-As-White-Sugar---Bad-for-You?&id=119462

Sugar lesson of the day.

All I need?

Canadian Living "Inspiring Ideas for Everyday Living" 's somewhat psychedelic "fun suds" make the art of soap making highly simplistic. All I need is:
• 1 block of soap base (available at craft stores)
• Food colouring
• Essential oils
• Soap mold or muffin tin

http://www.canadianliving.com/crafts/home_and_garden/fun_suds.php [Thanks Serena!]

Just need to get my lye-free paws on some soap base and away we go! (Will let you know results...we're considering what toys to "embed" in our soap now that I have assured Gavin that yes, you will get the toy back out of the bar...)

A Little Funny & a Little Soap

I need a little funny in my life. Okay, okay: I need A LOT of funny in my life right now. So I checked out, on a friend's suggestion, this very humourous blog http://www.theartofdoingstuff.com/stuff/kitchen

Besides funny, I also want some soap that won't give me itching skin-cancerous stenchy-ness, so I have decided to make my own. Unfortunately Karen can't help me out (well, she probably could if I gave her enough time but with this fast-paced "I want it NOW society" attitude of mine means the solution isn't already available on her site). So, soap and making my own...

But an aside: why the mention of "stenchy-ness", you ask? Yes, not a better word for it than that with a sweet nasal "ch" in the middle of its utter grotesque odour of a word...here's something from this past Valentine's Day to explain the smelly soap issue...

On Valentine’s Day night a state of panic ensued at our home. Nothing amiss in romanceland…no thorn-in-the-eye paramedic emergency or anything. No…this anxious chaos arose from a smell. From somewhere in the depths of our tiny bathroom, an odour…and not a dead-animal-in-the-wall or backing-up-sewer stink. Nope, this was the reek of toxic, burning plastic.

Let me first backtrack to a couple of days earlier when a toaster oven button had gone haywire, stayed on when no one was home, and melted our steak knives, handily childproofed in an old hand-me-down margarine tub above, right into the container itself. A unique piece of art, and, when combined with this newfound stench, a possible sign that God was going to burn down our house and it was just a matter of time as to when?

Could it be the new-fangled LED lights that seemed to have black patched on their toxic curls? A quick internet search determined a great likelikood for explosive stinks (oh, wonderful…mercury spewing everywhere!). A late night call to my overly handy father, just home from dancing the night away with mom, went something like this: “Do the walls around the outlets feel warm? Can you isolate the smell? It’s near the light fixture? You took the light bulbs out? The switch is turned off?” Me on all fours, precariously perched on the vanity in pitch black, sniffing the empty light sockets and wondering when I was going to have to make the 9-1-1 call. Endless private detective work seemed to narrow the problem to the light fixture – or so my nose was determining. We cranked open the window, revved up a small fan, and set about ridding the room of the noxious aroma.

The stench was still present the next morning. As we busied ourselves getting shrieking half-naked children ready for church my husband saddled up behind me, said “close your eyes”, and shoved the most rotten of smells under my nose. “Is this the smell?” Stepping back, I opened my eyes, watering from the very nearness of toxic burning plastic odour, to find a tangerine-coloured bar of soap. Carbolic soap. Recently purchased at the amazing Chicory Common in Durham because I wanted something that wasn’t only biodegradable but was eco-friendly and without nasty sulphates (and hey, being sold without packaging, it saves some landfill space as well). Soap! SOAP!?! All that fuss over soap? And to think that some claim it sweetly reminds them of childhood, their grandmother’s antiseptic cleaning agent, of hospital cleanliness…How it evokes anything but the deepest of gag reflexes is beyond me, but after a few days of hiding the all natural glob in a many-times-used Ziploc bag the smell mostly diffused. So don’t be surprised, when you’re initiating (here’s my plug:) body- and earth-friendly products from The Soap Works (a local, Ontario company) into your bathroom, to be entertaining a few days of “memories of Grandma” (or, in my case, toxic burning plastic)…

So, making my own soap - where to start?

What do blogs and BMs have in common?

I think that blogs, like bowel movements, are supposed to be regular...sorry!

Today's Blessing

Jeff is jockeying cars - parking them down the street since we have had the absolute pleasure of being able to access our driveway all weekend long...with construction beginning bright and early tomorrow the chauffeuring 'business' would take a real kick if a vehicle was suddenly barred entrance to anywhere by some wonderfully large and looming excavator. Gavin to day camp, Diane to day programme, Rebekah and I to help a friend with her new home...

Wow. As I write this I realize how blessed I am. How many other people are heading in the morning to work they consider mundane, reasoning that the paycheque covers for the dull, monotonous, irritating experience? And I get to play chauffeur, spend time with our daughter, make up a few dips for a party later in the week (my work), eek out some money from overdraft to get groceries...how truly blessed we are...

Now THAT is a wonderful way to end the day - a superb thought to hold close as I get ready to crawl into my bed (hopefully flea-free after the toxic dousing I gave it yesterday...good thing I love our feline friends so very much)...

Excuse me...Do you have the Time?

I've started this blog half a dozen times over the last few days only to be called away to something. God is definitely attempting to teach me patience and the gift of living in the moment (without the not-so-much-of-a-gift of overt frustration). Previously the idea of incompletion of everything (let alone the ability to even get it commenced in the first place) plagued me incessantly - now it has been...oh excuse me, I have a two year old with diarrhea with whom to contend.

I'm Back...to finish my sentence: now it (the completion of anything at all, or even the mere thought of completion) hasn't even been an issue because the whole situation activity-wise has been logarithmic - like an earthquake Richter scale in the amount that it has exponentially expounded in level is fantastical! And yet I am alive. And surprisingly sane.

My mother-in-law is resting on the couch: after an hour and a half trip that even our four year old was complaining about the speed of (to the post office and back normally takes about half an hour) in which I had to force myself to keep praising God for family in between diverting Diane from the middle of the road and pleading with our two year old to stay IN the wagon. Really: where else did we need to be? Why did it matter that it took so long? Why do I have to have everything done efficiently in terms of "time quota"?

And this is about all I have time for momentarily! Burgers sizzling in the grill pan (yes, Epicure and yes, amazing!), an underwear-clad toddler singing to herself (and serenading the rest of us), and laundry to yank from the line before incoming storm re-washes it! Toodles for now.

Results in

Swab results in: I have strep throat

A deep, deep peace

Having Jeff's mom stay with us should be the most stressful event to occur to us in awhile: a precocious, active 2 yr old and cuddly, adventurous 4 yr old seemed at first nothing compared to adding someone into the family drama with detailed needs unbeknownst to me. But God is so good - he has endowed me with more grace than I thought possible and an indescribable peace.

Like having a newborn around, true sleep rarely occurs as pricked ears await sounds of wandering and worry of what might happen when someone wakes up unfamiliar in foreign territory. What if she tries to open the door and leave? What if...? What if...? I am sicker than I have been in awhile - a viral strep-like infection that had me up all night (save for one hour of dream-loaded snoozing - we had a fridge full of chocolate milk) crying with the agony of swallowing (you can only go so long until the saliva forces you to wince it back with shoulder-rocking pain). And yet with all of this, having Diane here seems a gift.

I haven't been able to work my business and I should feel guilty. I haven't been able to do a lot of things and I should feel wracked with a sense of remorse. And yet I don't. I just feel peace. And a deep compassion. And a connection, if only through being in the same room, or rubbing a shoulder, or smiling across a picnic table.

I keep hearing how devastating Alzheimer's is - and I don't disagree. But when socially embedded expectations are removed it can be quite refreshing. A sense of humour emerges, atleast in Diane's case. Jeff and I have only been married 6 years, and dated 9 months before that, so I don't know Diane in the same way the family did obviously. I don't know the woman they mourn losing. But I doubt that six and half years ago even she would have bumped hips with me in dancing movements about the kitchen, or brought fits of laughter over various things to both of our lips, or caused me to have to be creative in how to affirm her emotions and stories as I hear mixed-up versions for the hundredth time in a row.

I just thank the Lord for this time, for this peace, and for Diane.

Brutal Honesty

If nothing else this blog is about brutal honesty. We are in the middle of a family crisis: a mother with Alzheimer's, a father with uncontainable rage who wants nothing to do with reality, and three kids who have shown an incredibly strong ability to pull together and stand in their strengths.

I have learned that sharing vulnerability usually tends to knit people to a common understanding, purpose, and mutual respect....so I am sharing our vulnerability.

I have learned a lot these past couple of days...more than I can mention now. But pride forefronts all emotions: Jeff and his sisters, yoked with the strength and mercy of the Lord, are a force to be reckoned with!

The Kids' Edition

"Daddy loves Gavin and Rebekah and Mommy. Daddy loves his birthday. Daddy loves his son. Daddy loves his daughter." When asked what they wanted to have written on the blog today, the latter was their addition.

Tomorrow is Canada Day but, more importantly in our household, it is Jeff's birthday. Rebekah wants to make Daddy a giraffe cake and Gavin thinks he needs a map. (Since Jeff doesn't read my blogs I am pretty sure no surprise will be ruined! Unlike last year's "surprise birthday party" that I mass emailed to a list on which he was on...he claims a horrified look crossed my face when he arrived home from work to my sudden realization.)

"The doctor is closed," states Gavin definitively with regards to tomorrow (he has a sore throat and after spending the day with a friend who now has strep throat I warned him of a possible doctor's visit today). (He wanted to be sure the blog readers knew this info!)

We are off to gather more rocks from the farmer's pile and then to ready ourselves for a visit to my sister's (the kids and Jeff - I have a party up near her place tonight).

HAPPY CANADA/BIRTHDAY DAY!!!!

Today's Visitor

My mom rescued a dessert-plate-sized painter's turtle from the midpoint of a busy paved road this morning, and knowing our kids' adoration of any creature that moves (and many that don't, such as the egg-filled-belly and maggot-filled-head of the snapping turtle near Dad's firepit), she sent it home for a temporary viewing, before allowing tenancy in their pond. Having researched how much these turtles love sunbathing on wood her next project on the "Honey Do" list is relocation of old logs to pond edge.

Housed in a large Canada Post bin, with chewy new grass, a few small stones, and an inch of water, this brightly coloured terrapin (yes, a new entry into my vocabulary!) visited Gavin's class and many of our toddler-sized friends' homes. When asked his name I jokingly offered "Trapped" though even some of the adults looked momentarily confused before groaning. [Please let me clarify, for Trapped's agent, that the image above is not the turtle in question - and that hopefully none were harmed in the taking of the said photo.]

Catch-and-release occured later in the afternoon: rapid crawling from waterside to rock and then a speedy plunge into watery shallows and our little friend disappeared into murky-ness.

I understand that us "countryfolk" discuss animals quite frequently...perhaps the antics of "Dumb" and "Dumber" - cockatiels belonging to a Holsteinian - will be discussed one of these days. ("How can you tell which one is Dumb and which one is Dumber?" asked someone of the owner, as they peered at a wallet photo. "Well," she responded frankly with an almost-cackle, "The one we have still has got to be Dumb since the other one died!")

The only other "creature report" for today involves our cat, Addy, interrupting, as he followed Jeff and the kids on their walk (a usual dog-like habit of his), the lawn bowlers game as he streaked across the playing area(as in ran fast not as in naked, though tehnically without a collar I guess he was just that as well).

Rescues and streaking...our lives are undoubtedly filled with great excitement!?!

Purpose???

Purpose? What's my purpose?

I've been asking so many areas of my life: Why do I do it this way? How could we change it? Do we need to do it at all? I ask this of: unit meetings, church, placement of objects, do-ability of evening outings, habits...

"It's easy to say no when you've said yes to something better" I have read (and can't give proper credit to since I can't recall where I read/saw it), as well as "if it doesn't fit your purpose, why are you doing it?"

So why this blog? As I scan other blogs I uncover "themes": cooking, "free range kids" (an amazing treasure of a find http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/!), travel...although my title would indicate constructive reformation of me and my life, does it acually reflect that through/in my recordings? Originally an outlet for the writing I love to do...but this is purely selfish. It shouldn't be just for me. Audience - who is my audience? Or so they would ask in high school language class (and recently when I asked a friend to review a proposed speech I had penned, she asked that very question). Who is the audience? WHat do they want and how can you give it to them? My blog (and everything I do) needs a higher purpose...less OF me, less FOR me...


Too often the world, media, our culture makes it all about ME. How does it benefit ME? Serve yourself first and others second...moms need time for their own interests so they can "feed" and nurture spouse and children...figure YOURSELF out...make YOUR dreams come true.

Hooey!

When the focus is on me it is off of God. When it's on me it's off of others. And Jesus shared that the 2 greatest commandements are Love the Lord and Love your Neighbour as Yourself (Matthew 22:36-38).

So it shouldn't be about me me me...it's supposed to be about and for you, the reader. What can I do? How can I do this? Do I need a "theme"? Have I even figured out its purpose, my calling, or have I just rambled on some more?

Quote of the Day

At "The Mall"...quote of the day (though not voiced today as the person who shared this thought, the local mayor, is en route from Australia - but shared today by the afore-mentioned styrofoam cup farmer who used to actually pen ideas and quotes from the coffee club's gab sessions on to his faux "mugs"):

"'When poverty comes in the front door, love goes out the back door'"

Ever thought of yourself as a rock?

Anyone who has been in my kitchen and viewed, most likely in peripheral vision, the rocks lining the windowsill above our sink, or who has meandered into the depths of the basement and noticed the stones chunking up the gas fireplace mantel, is likely to guess my infinity, passion, and somewhat peculiar perhaps habit of bringing rocks from wherever I have traveled.

When I backpacked through Eastern Europe long ago - 6 weeks with a fellow teacher friend, after my first year of actually making money in the profession, he laughed continually at my penchant for eyeing up, and then tucking into backpack pockets, stones of various shades and sizes. "No wonder your pack is so heavy," he would sigh as though I was the most obscure individual he had ever met (and yet still he kindly, and gentleman-like, helped out whenever an attempt to squeeze my MEC hunchback through some skinny spot seemed impossible).



A stonemason living near Holstein who frequents the store whenever in need of conversation to go with his refreshment, deduces that humans have such almost-obsessive kinship (see, it's not just me!) with rocks because we are made up of the same trace minerals.

So, alas, the mystery of my "rockbed" in the front yard has been solved!? I need merely to lie down on top of them, rub my face amongst their crag-gy spots and feel at home...



While Rebekah napped (now an infrequent practice that seems only to occur when a vehicle and hot weather is involved), Gavin and I created the front step design below (thanks to mom and dad's woodpile, an old washtub once belonging to Jeff's great aunt, and hostas salvaged from the rental). Our front yard garden will have a forest-y theme, so I wanted something to fit in. As we were almost done, and placing stones beside the old washtub, Gavin introspectively eyed up our creation, looked over at me, back at the tub, and exuberantly said, "you know, Mom, it's not quite right...we need one more stone!" (the one on the far right). Ah, his mother's child!

It's raining, it's pouring: can I be the old man snoring???

Have I been so overwhelmed with it all that I have missed that many days of blogging? How negligent of me...do I apologize? Or would that seem egotistical in that I am assuming my oh-so-many fans can't live without my entries? Or do I just pretend I am sending these out to the universe of cyberspace...

Jeff is home for lunch, allowing some sanity time for me (much needed for some reason - does rain have that much negative power over me?) - all I hear are the chucking of bean bags and counting of points from the other room, brief squeel-y cheers and incessant "Daddy...Daddy...Daddy" as I imagine she pulls at his pant leg or shirt collar. Oops: there is the clomping sounds of toddler heads colliding and now the tears I can almost feel from here.

Construction of my front yard garden is on hold - the white-lidded engineers were about this morning staking, leaving me wondering if my new "burm" (or "bunker" as Jeff calls it) is about to be shredded by excavators. Did I just waste a lot of time and muscle? Alas...backyard gardens will now have to be the focus...which will be welcome relief to our family who, though enticed by the cow skulls at the rock pile, are fatiguing of the twice-daily chuck-stones-like-mad-and-pray-the-clunker-of-a-van-will-make-it-up-and-out-of-the-pit "adventure".

Hmmm...deep sigh. Goodbye moments of peace. Maybe I'll let the kids paint their own little mural on the living room walls???

Back to Holstein

“You know,” he said between sips from his styrofoam cup (because “it keeps warmer than one of those normal mugs” and so he dutifully writes his name on the cup and sets it aside, using it daily for a week or so), “it sure costs a lot these days to be dead.”

I couldn’t see him from where I stood behind the counter, having just scooped out 81 cents worth of penny candy for some acned tween who was trying desperately to calculate how many coins he had in his grimy paw.

I couldn’t even remember if this local coffee-drinking farmer, maybe ten years my senior, still had a wiry mustache that tickled that afore-mentioned Styrofoam cup each time he raised it to quietly slurp, or whether he’d shaved it off. Months ago, after he had joked about having cheek and chin stubble due to lack of finances available for purchase of a razor, some Mall regular had cockily placed a cup with a few "coppers" and a note attached stated, “money for the poor: help ______ buy a razor”

It costs a lot these days to be dead?

Intriguing… much like many of the conversations the morning “coffee club” regulars have off in the corner of this general store. A group of mainly men with impressive, usually sage, advice from all and any (even when not requested or desired), and the copious tales of delight, horror, sadness, humour, and life in general.

This talk of death and the cost of coffins, burial plots, death taxes (such a happy note at the day’s beginning!) lead into another fellow present’s sharing of his ongoing jocular threat to his very elderly father. “Careful what you say and do to us, Dad – or we’ll bury you on top of your dad and you’ll be there forever”. (Apparently he and his dad were in all-out war most of the time.)

UNfortunately I rarely hear more than a murmur, the odd comment audible between customer purchases, phone calls, morning routines. Not wishing to appear too nosy I only infrequently amble over to fill my own "mug of murk" (so some short order cooks call it? Uncle John's Bathroom Reader says it so it must be true...), though fascinating is usually an adjective that could be chosen to represent the coffee club's a.m. banter...

Monoculture

I have known for while about the evils of lawn (herbicides, insecticides, etc of course that were originally created to kill ALL lifeforms for war purposes, but also the vast amounts of water needed to keep these non-native plants alive and lush) and especially the evils of mowers that then murder the poor blades, spewing gas and sweat into the ozone. I have also spent many hours dreaming of what will fill my front yard once I have back-breakingly lacerated all evidence of grass. But I didn't know before reading Liz Primeau's intro on lawn history that WE have, by eliminating all types of plants/bushes/flowers other than grass, CREATED a monoculture (and therefore our very own problem). No longer does the ecosystem with multiple varieties of bugs feeding off of one another exist, meaning that certain bug levels get out-of-hand... With only grass and little else there is no "balance" and so certain types of insects, bugs, fungi greedily create their own nasty, destructive empires.

Yes, so guess what I did today? (And am already paying for shoulder-wise.) I'll have to take a pic of my half-shredded lawn. My loving husband has already brought back a load of rocks (our kids have become experts & adore chucking stones into the van's open back - not to mention uncovering millipedes and worms and, more frighteningly, cattle skulls, teeth intact).

The goals is FREE. Rocks from farmer field piles, bushes and perennials from others overloaded gardenscapes...there IS one "statue" I have my eye on (which is odd for me - a non-collector who rarely covets material items)but otherwise FREE free free....

And yes, this lawn commotion ("turf under construction") has me temporarily skipping the Holstein mini-series (suspended pro tem?)...

As Liz Primeau penned: "I realized I wanted to save the world. Then I realized I couldn't save the world, but I could change my own garden. Then I thought that maybe, just maybe, my neighbours and all their friends might take up the cause. Maybe, just maybe, we could weave together a network of poison-free, biodiverse, nature-friendly garden that would, in the end, make a difference. And this has become my quest." (p.24, Front Yard Gardens).

My "Letter of the Day"?

You know someone is an amazing friend and person when not only do they send you a letter, but they include a bag of tea for you to drink while reading it! (Written on May 28, 2001 – in an ongoing journal of a very transitional period of my life. Can I even recall who blessed me with such a letter and pekoe treat? Not exactly though I hazard a guess…a blonde dynamite of a friend, encountered in Kamloops during my Bachelor of Ed training?)

Traditional letter-writing has, unfortunately for many, disappeared. The physical unfolding of paper and excitement as you strain to see what has been happening in someone else’s life…I momentarily considered, “what would I write in a letter to someone at this point in my life?” and then it dawned on me, almost as though I was a 300 year old woman who had never before seen a dial phone let alone a computer keyboard, that letter writing is what I am doing this very second. Each time I press the “submit” button on the blog site my little ‘letter of the day’ has been created…

Campbell Cork, the History of Holstein’s editor, penned with great pride in its introduction: “No longer must all this information be stored in heads, attics, and photo albums”. I adore that deduction. And it wasn’t really all that long ago that “the people’s history” was even considered history at all. What happened behind closed doors, or in women’s quarters, worthy to be classified as history? My B.A. in Women’s Studies sure ingrained the switch of the anthropological take on history (or “herstory”) from political arena to private domain as fresh, genuine, and necessary.

So I am apt to assume that Holstein must be then of importance at this point in my life as it lingers (explodes? ha ha) into a "mini-series" in this blog...