blogging

A Week in Review: August 18th thru the 22nd


Globe and Mail writer, Christie Blatchford, was moaning about blogging and bloggers in Thursday’s paper, so in her honor I have decided to write the most banal of all blogging pieces – the update on my life.

I find “real” writers’ abhorence of blogs and their laments about the decline of “real” writing and journalism amusing. Newspapers long ago succumbed to the tabloidy tricks that placed selling above content. Print will never be able to compete with cable news channels and the Internet for timeliness of delivery, and when it comes to depth of topic, the political blogs have the edge and the freedom. Everything evolves. Just ask Darwin.

Besides journalists with blue-blooded leanings make lousy bloggers anyway.

So read along as I squander my finite word bank* by committing to the blogosphere my “most idle thoughts and mundane obeservations”**

My funked up mood from earlier in the week has cleared up thanks to a near complete abandonment of my schedule. No gym. Late lunches. Later suppers. No manuscript.

I just did as I pleased, and oddly it pleased me to reorganize the bathroom closet and search out the source of the fouler by the day odor in the cabinet where the dry goods are kept. The former is still awaiting final purge approval from the husband and the latter turned out to be a sack of something that had reached the gelatinous stage of decomposition therefore defying labeling attempts by both Rob and I.

I attended writing group on Tuesday evening and managed to be racially offensive to a potential new member of Cree descent. I didn’t do it on purpose but as I was explaining more of my novel to the group after reading the first several pages, I mentioned that one of the stories my main character tells is based on a family story. My grandmother’s great- uncle was the source of much concern when he was a toddler because a local native woman took quite the shine to him and hovered about whenever they ventured into town. The family, like most white immigrant settlers of the time, mistakenly thought she might snatch him. I could see the new member tightening as I told the story – even though I explained its origins and how it fit within my novel. I hate having to weigh words. I hate more that when people are offended they often fume instead of speaking up.

I finalized my writing course picks for the fall. Made out my yoga class schedule.

I prepared a new dish for supper.***

BabyD and I shopped. For her. She is quite the opinionated little clothes pony. While trying on a variety of pants, she jumped, pranced and wiggled – admiring herself in the full-length mirror as she did so. One pair of leggings left her standing completely still and not smiling. When I inquired about this, I was told,

“This pants don’t make me dance, Mom.”

A girl with her priorities straight.

While at the cute children’s clothes boutique, which is actually in The Fort, I overheard the owner mention she was looking for part-time help and I inquired. I nearly danced myself when she asked me to bring in a resume. Until I remembered that I don’t want to work for someone and that I dislike “service” work. Oh, and I am none to fond of the constant flow of humanity in the real world and that I find most things SAHM-ish incomprehensibly dull.

In fact now that I am sounding a bit more mommy-bloggish than I am comfortable with- let’s get back to me, shall we?

All deck work stopped this week. Rob and I are slightly fried around the edges and have just taken a step back from all the reno for this week. Sometimes one needs to surf the web and watch pointless movies in bed.

I got back to contributing at Moms Speak Up. Wrote a piece on Texas teachers being allowed to carry concealed weapons on the job. I won’t go into why this is the worst idea ever but if you knew some of the people I have worked with over the course of two decades, you would just take me at my word. I have yet to meet the educator who hasn’t uttered the phrase “It’s a good thing I wasn’t carrying a gun” at least once in their career – out loud and in the presence of witnesses.

Oh, and I have been reading. A novel.

Finally, I finished tagging my earliest blog posts from mid 2006 until about the time Rob and I started dating. Mostly very depressing widow stuff, but if that kind of thing interests you or you would like to know where I started my blogging journey, I am now easy to search under widowhood or grief. They can also be found under remarriage or long distance relationships or YWBB. Enjoy.

* Michael Farber of Sports Illustrated believes that writers have but a finite number of printable word combinations in them and to blog is to basically piss them to the wind.

** To quote Ms. Blatchford

*** That deserves its own paragraph. I am sure my husband can attest to the wonder of my attempting to expand my meager repertoire.

I am a bit Funked Up


The last few days have found me in funky sort of mood. Not wanting to delve, I ignored it but yesterday at lunch Rob noticed it in my eyes and tone. I absolutely can’t hide from him.

Found out, I was forced to examine and came to the following conclusions:

  • I miss working, but I miss the idea of it and not the reality*.
  • All the reno work and child rearing of the past weeks has kept me from my manuscript and I can feel the loss of muse time in my marrow.
  • I am like a canine when it comes to sorrow. I pick up on the vibrations of others like dogs hear those seemingly noiseless whistles, and it exhausts me.
  • I really am happier when BabyD is in school all day long.
  • While I love having a grown kid around, I will be glad when MidKid moves out again.
  • Rob and I need a date night. Two at least.**
  • I want to go shopping. For myself. By myself.***

That is such a whiny list. I hate being whiny. It adds to the funked – up’d- ness.

Today was an errand day after morning swim lessons and in addition to food – which we always seem to be out of – I needed a new desk calendar. So into Staples I happily skipped with BabyD in tow, but every meditative Nirvana like moment of its wonders was interrupted with a question or a request. Normally a restorative, it became a place to get in and get out of as quickly as possible.

Same with the grocery.

And the library later that afternoon.

Home is no better and even less so when MidKid has the day off. Not that she is underfoot with questions and requests as she keeps to her room in a way that reminds me of the kid in the Steve Martin movie, Parenthood, but just knowing that I am not alone is enough to knock the Zen out of me.

Today it is back to staining wood after a morning of more swim lessons and a tiny bit of gym, but I will sneak away in the evening for a bit to meet with one of my writing groups. Despite having nothing ready to read because I have gotten badly off track with my manuscript between deck and washing dishes and cooking and a child who needs to be back in school (oh, I mentioned that already, didn’t I?).

Rob reminds me that in two weeks, normalcy will return.

But between now and then:

  • a deck needs finishing
  • decorative rock applied to the house
  • sidewalks to pour
  • swim lessons
  • school shopping
  • alien zucchini to transform into loaves of bread
  • two children and all their stuff to move
  • and a possible gallbladder extraction to attend to

Sigh, I just want a little me time.

* Teaching used to be an art. It was creative. I had autonomy. Those days are gone. And so am I.

** When showering is the only alone time a couple is getting, aside from going to bed at night, steps need to be taken.

*** FYI. Shopping is seldom about me. This is the time of year that I used to begin my Christmas shopping in the days of yore. I am thinking I need to return to that. There is nothing like finding the perfect gift for someone. Truly.

Universal Lessons


As many of you know, I live in a tiny hamlet outside a tiny town. Life could not be much more small town for me. Back in Iowa everything I needed was within 15 minutes or less of my home. Job. Daycare. Shopping. Food. Doctor.

My house was fully equipped – unless furniture isn’t optional which I personally believe it is. Maybe not the newest gadgets but everything was there.

Late in the spring we lost our dishwasher. I think I mentioned it. The new one sat in the box for a month and now sits – not yet hooked up – under the counter. I do dishes by hand on average of 4 times a day. I will be a tiny bit sorry when we go back to automated dish and utensil cleansing because I have come to enjoy doing dishes by hand. It’s a calming and reflective activity that has helped to put me back in touch with the reality of food. The preparation and the clean up are powerful reminders of what and how we eat. Something we can easily lose track of in a world of less prep is more quality time which couldn’t be more false in its assumption.

There is no air conditioning in our home either. Not really the best use of money in a place where summer lasts as long as it takes Sears to go from its summer to fall catalogue (approximately 4 weeks). We cope with strategically placed fans, closed blinds and drapes, wear less and lighter clothing and drink lots of water.

This last weekend we lost the refrigerator. It was the second time in 4 months that the unit simply went warm. Rather than shell out more repair money and end up purchasing a new fridge this fall anyway, we will simply buy a new one. Not as easy as it is to do back in Iowa. There one can have a new appliance the same day it is purchased almost. Here it could take a few days or more*.

So the food is in the freezer in the basement and packed into coolers in the kitchen. The old and the questionable containers have been purged – again. There is really nothing like a fridge on the fritz to inspire a closer look at expiration dates.

Rob was a bit glum about this latest appliance setback and I, for once, am not all that concerned. Though I did remark,

“I wonder what the universe is trying to prepare us for?”

He had wondered the same thing.

Unlike Woody Allen, I don’t really believe in a totally random and completely uninterested universe. My common sense simply refuses to buy into it. I feel that we are continually handed growth and learning opportunities. Some very obvious ones and others not so much.

Like the dishwashing, the fridge is teaching me something about myself. That I can cope with minimal refrigeration options? Or that the unexpected crisis is not really?

As I reminded my husband, a new appliance cannot hurt us at re-sale but give us an edge over other sellers who are trying to leave their old crappy stuff behind for a brand spanky new home and stuff.

His reply was that our fridge wasn’t that old. He wasn’t in the mood to look for the bright side yet.

We have a tiny fridge out front in the tent trailer and a freezer in the basement and a garden full of fresh produce. The universe has taken care to provide and another lesson is learned.

*Fortunately we were able to pick one up Monday evening.