Enough is Enough: Conquering the Snowblower

Enough is enough, I decided: continuously I seem lecture people on accepting change, learning and growing and it was time to "put my money where my mouth was" and get to work. Tired of constant slushy snowbanks intruding our driveway I knew it was time I learned how to use the snowblower. A gift last summer from my father-in-law to my husband I yanked the sucker out of the garage (sending a pile of odds and ends scattering, breaking a porcelain toilet back in about 5 pieces - I don't even recall where it could have come from?) and read the instructions. I can operate the riding lawnmower (albeit dangerously by some standards: the neighbours, for some reason, move their van from the block to the driveway each and every time I get the riding lawnmower out). So I knew I had to be able to operate the snowblower.

Quickly I discovered why my husband is "addicted" to this "sport" (although he still often doesn't take the time to get our driveway cleaner than "GUN IT AND GET IT IN!"). A sense of accomplishment followed each dizzying circle around the lane. How could I do it more efficiently? Like a Zamboni driver I attempted to perfect the switchbacks and zones where blowing snow landed. Look how clean it is, I admired as the machine almost slipped from my grasp...but not clean enough. I need to see pavement...(though I never did today).

Yes, I quickly began understanding the addiction. Will the driveway be much cleaner in days to come? Well, I highly doubt that fact but now I have no excuse....

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...

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?!

Here Come the Backhoes....

Excavation machines draw closer...bringing with them a sense of excitement as well as dread. Our entire street is being ripped to shreds, sewers and old still-wood pipes being replaced, and the whole road widened to palatial dimensions. We'll have a sidewalk on our side!

This morning, we were almost astounded to discover that as we showered they had torn up the intersection just down from us (about 2 lawn lengths away). The kids are in ecstasy - a whole summer of "mighty machines" - pull up the lawn chairs, deposit kiddie pool in front yard, and our entertainment for the next 2 months is covered!

An alarming apprehension settled in my gut for a few moments: how will we get in and out of our driveway? Where will we park our cars? What if they are broken into? How will I cart my work apparatus from house to trunk without losing breath and cookware? And almost as suddenly the sentiment disappeared.

But in that brief period of time I began to understand the inklings of anxiety a lot of people generate on a regular basis when faced with change of any kind. I embrace change (my husband might even claim I jump on it and wrestle it down just to be sure it sticks around) - having grown up in a family that moved homes and towns annually we had a choice to squeeze revision close and count our blessings for the upsides, or to smother ourselves in the depressing lack of stability. Of course there were moments when, jealous of those who had the same students in their kindergarten photo as in their grade 8 graduation, I wanted merely to be in one place for long enough to cultivate a garden let alone a friendship.

I would entreaty that this constant motion made me a better person - but in reality I have allowed it to mean only that I can't comprehend others' anxiety over any sort of change. Why do people freak out when we sing a new song on Sunday mornings at church? What's wrong with experimenting with a new recipe? Why shouldn't I try to grow watermelons in my garden? Why can't someone who never has had to grocery shop simply get used to it?

I hope the excavators dig up my seemingly lost sense of lightheartedness since my latest blogs seem imploringly depressing. And because my family is likely exasperated with hearing me mutter in a somewhat whiny whisper: "If you can't change something, change the way you think about it" (you know you say it often when your 2 year old rushes to finish it before you).

Dartboards, Dirty Undies & Charred Lunches

Our living room has become a "piano bar" - or perhaps a better description would be "the legion"...

Thinking I was safe to begin the above blog - one child snuggling up to the upright organ (a garage sale gift to us) and pressing the auto song buttons while the other fervently, with great concentration, chucked magnetic darts at a bulls-eye (borrowed from the "Funtime Bus" - a toy library on wheels), I began to compose...

Snapped a photo to add and then proceeded to insert the card into the wrong computer slot - while hopelessly searching, began to smell charred odour of forgotten grilled cheese still on element. And then: "Mommy...MOMMY! I have to stinky..." which always implies a puddle and other such mess have already formed around teeny toes.

I expect change in others - my endless lack of acceptance that someone (my husband, our church, etc.) can't seem to flawlessly hurdle themselves into new-ness - and yet here I am 4 1/2 years into motherhood and still unable to grasp the basic concept that life is just not the same...I cannot begin, complete, or even attempt to accomplish all that I previously could. Why, oh why, can I not deposit that trivial reality into my skull?

Ah, we were blessed by friends and family with the gift of a child-free weekend of sun, canoeing, and reading (adult) books while lounging beside the lake, which appears to have sown philosophical musings...Shake head, gaze about, and pounce back into reality - which isn't such a bad place to be, after all! Now, excuse me while I mop the legion's floor...

Ah the dilemma...and the dusty floorboards

Be satisfied with what you have. Long for more (the good ole mantra of consumerism). I realize that the Lord instilled in us a longing and that we are forever mistakenly struggling to fill our need for Him through the filling of our lives with stuff...it seems such a fine line, though.

While reading "Who Stole My Church?" by Gordon MacDonald suddenly a disheartening revelation that my words don't match my belief..."'Jesus didn't ask people just to swallow his words, but he asked them to spend time with him and see what he was about....Did his life match his words?" (p.73)

I strain for a life of simplicity with only a few possessions and yet in our garage sits a riding lawn mower AND a push one...a china cabinet perches against a cobweb-filled corner half-filled with wedding gift china and crystal that, in all honesty, is rarely pulled out and utilized...I am in the process of ripping out living room carpet to reveal a gorgeous hardwood floor beneath...why do I crave change? Why am I unable to remain static? This may not be erroneous on my behalf - but why the need for upgraded surroundings? Why can I not simply exude gratitude for what is here, for what I have? Why do I have to "pretty up" our living environment, dreaming of larger gardens and different hues of walls and heated bathroom floors?

Conundrum. Remember the "spatula" girl? I'm surmising that "conundrum" is now one of my very favourite words (and ways of being, perhaps?). Conundrum conundrum conundrum (and I can even repeat it without blushing)!

Stuck, stuck, stuck....

Ever been stuck - car hugging a snowbank so tightly you needed a neighbour's tractor and a few strong testosterone-filled individuals to release the car from its loving 'death grip'? Or calf-high (as in your own, not as in actual cow babies...)rubber boots in riverbank mud - trying not to shriek out in surprise at the frigidness of the water as it cascades against your leg while attempting to yank yourself loose from the squelchy mire? Or how about just plain routine?

That's the location where I often find myself stuck. Stuck - part of the dictionary.com definition - "to be at a standstill, as from difficulties: I'm stuck on this problem; to be embarrassed or puzzled; hesitate or scruple".

Stuck, stuck, stuck doing the same things the same way... But, wait, have you ever surprised yourself with a solution to that "standstill"? Wondered why, as you were overcome with a "eureka!" solution, you were ever performing the routine that way in the first place? Since our coffee maker "bit the caffeinated dust" a year ago I have been daily brewing my addictive poison in a French Coffee Press. This wonderful contraption has nestled ever-so-comfortably on the top shelf of one of our cupboards - so high that every morning I grappled with wooden stick and catapulting stainless steel. Finally one day, "Eureka!": could I not simply rearrange some of the bottom shelf inhabitants to make room for a tall, robust, shiny friend? Why was I ever performing that routine that way in the first place?

Well, I'm off for some "always under construction" adhesive-elimination (yeah, yeah, fancy for: change, growth & un-'stucking')...4 days at the "Emmaus Project" conference in Alliston("The Emmaus Project is transforming, recharging and refreshing presbyteries within The Presbyterian Church in Canada" http://presbyterian.ca/emmaus/ ).

Talk to you Sunday evening...

Who Would've Thunk it???

Well, one measly little thing I have to share that has changed my life today: handmade knit swiffer covers.

Who would've thunk it?