Showing posts from February, 2011

Tasting the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

Home alone as an eight year old, I took the opportunity to investigate what secrets lay behind my parent’s bedroom door. I don’t ever remember being told we were not allowed in there. Some things we were just expected to know.
I wouldn’t have been surprised had I been hit by fire and brimstone raining down from heaven, as one by one I pulled the drawers of my mother’s dresser open. She didn’t own a lot of clothes, and though the drawers were small, none were full. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but there, in the middle drawer, were two items that were clues that life was changing: a pair of burgundy elastic waist pants, and a little box that resembled a small matchbox, except that it was plastic and bright red. I slid the box open. I had no idea that the little black cake of paste and tiny comb inside were mascara, but I sensed whatever its purpose was, it was sinful.

A lot of things in those days were sinful, according to the cult, thinly veiled as a church, which our family …

Take Care of the Meat

Yikes! I am caught in a lie. Momma always said your sins will find you out.

As you probably know, I am taking a " creative non-fiction and the personal essay" writing course. It's not unlike the blog in that you start with a real life story and tell it not just simply as an act of exhibitionism, but as a source of entertainment or education for your reader.

While we are encouraged to embellish and take poetic license to a certain extent for the sake of the story, the facts are supposed to remain the facts. But me, well sometimes I make people up. I do it for the sake of the story, knowing my classmates are from all over the world and no one will know that I don't have an eccentric old Aunt, or a co-worker with a sordid past. Except when everyone falls in love with the eccentric old aunt. They all want to know more about her and insist that next week's story have good ol' Aunty at the centre....

It's true, you can never tell just one lie...

Here's th…


I find it a bit difficult to blog from my iPhone so I guess I'll be AFK for a few days. See ya Monday.


I am not going to blog today. Get over it.

Hallelujah Mickey!

I wasn't thinking. I should have taken a video at church yesterday.

Xander loves coming to church with me. However now that he's closing in on his second birthday, it's hard to keep him contained and quiet for an entire service. He has discovered the nursery and looks forward to playing with the toys and books and things, but I usually keep him in the sanctuary for the worship part because he loves all things music.

My heart just melts when I see him raise his little hands whenever a song has the word hallelujah in it. He has recently learned to "sing" as well. It usually just sounds like babbling, but he's engaged in the music.

Yesterday he was dancing in the aisle waving his arms around when Jade and I realized he was singing actual words. While the rest of us were singing "Be Exalted, oh Lord" and other such songs, Xander sang along at the top of his lungs, repeating over and over, while dancing and raising his hands in worship, "Mickey M…

Who am I to argue?

A number of years ago Jed, like most tween-age boys, developed a resistance to showering. While most boys grow out of this adversion after a couple of years, when they discover girls (the Palm sisters usually being the first, however that's another story for another time, and probably a different blog....) Jed has never matured into a love, or even an acceptance, for showering.

He regularly needs to be coaxed into jumping in the shower, and often needs to be chased back in when he emerges from the shower with his hair not even wet. It can be so frustrating, because once he resigns himself to showering, he blasts his stereo and sings at the top of his lungs and dances and stomps around to point that I expect him to put his foot through the acrylic bathtub at times.
He went to a Spruce Kings hockey game last night, and true to form, came home with a bag full of goodies from the sponsors of the game. Included in the bag was a "Shower Coach."

I am certain the intention of th…

How do I become a nun?

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time at all, you know I'm a google-a-holic. Google is my bible. My bible when I want to look up stuff about Jesus. And my bible when I want to look up stuff like sex stores.

That sounds slightly more perverse (or exciting - depending on your view) than it really is.

I'm writing a story for my creative writing class and I'm making reference to the age someone needs to be before they can go into a sex shop. Since most people in the class are from the US I wanted to make sure I had my "facts" straight.

I typed into Google, "How old do you have to be to go into a sex shop in the USA."

Right at the top of the list returned by Google was a site called "How do I become a Catholic nun?"

Does anyone else find this funny???

What I got so far

I've decided I'm gonna be a starving artist when I grow up.

Well, I don't really want to starve, I would love to have someone bring me occasional meals and top up my wine glass regularly. But you know what I mean...

For someone who tends toward the creative side, I don't have a lot of imagination. I have to see something before I can paint it. Thus, I spend quite a bit of time googling ideas for my new hand painted watercolour card making venture.

I've gathered quite a few ideas. Okay quite a few dozen. But I haven't painted nearly that many. Yet. But here's a sampling of what I've done so far:


I went into work for a couple of hours this morning. My boss hasn't said anything to me but apparently she complains regularly that she should never have agreed to lay me off for a couple of months. I, on the other hand, am loving it! Although my Visa would really appreciate my EI cheques to start flowing in. Stupid Revenue Canada.

I received a notice within days of initiating a claim giving me my online access code and reminding me to submit my ROE (Record Of Employment) I've been regularly logging in online to submit my weekly reports. Each time, the website reminds me to submit a copy of my ROE. However, at no time have they instructed me "where" to submit my ROE. I have spent hours - and yes, I mean HOURS at the Service Canada website, Googling and on the phone pressing 1 for english etc and NOWHERE is this information available.
(If you can find this info and publish it in the comments I will give you a dollar!)
Then the other day I got another letter stating …

Still a weirdo...

The marathon is over.

I really hadn't intended it, but I simply forgot. Sorry.

And you know this is just "the thin edge of the wedge" or the first step on the "slippery slope" of blogging sporadica. (Yeah, I made that word up. But I like it and I'm sure it'll become a permanent part of my vocabulary)

FFF - Flash Fiction Friday

As soon as she awoke, she glanced out the window to see if the weatherman’s predictions had been correct. “Why? Why today of all days does he have to be right?” she wondered when her sleep deprived eyes focussed on the rain pelting down sideways, carried by driving winds.

“Oh well,” she brushed off her disappointment and jumped out of bed resolved to have the best day of her life. As she passed her wedding gown hanging from a hook near the ceiling, she couldn’t help but reach out and caress it. Oh how she’d longed for this day.

She’d always dismissed the stories of other brides-to-be telling how the dress picked them. How slipping it on just felt right. How tears flowed when they caught a glimpse of themselves in the mirror. Until it was her turn.

The dress didn’t particularly catch her eye, but the gallery attendant insisted she try it on. It was as if it held magical powers. She felt transformed. Beautiful. Loved. Invincible. It was the one. Just as she knew Trent was the one.


That'll teach ya

So tell me, how many phone calls or texts have you gotten from Jed this week? (Or that unknown number ending in 6244?)

When Kerri got back from Texas a couple of months ago, her iPhone wouldn't work in Canada so I lent her my old cellphone until she could get a new one. She returned it last week - with a large credit on it, which expires sometime in the middle of February.

I thought, "What a great opportunity to see how Jed would handle having his own phone."

Everyone else thought, "Damn!"

I glanced out the window this afternoon and saw a loader coming down the street. Weird. Sometimes they follow a grader, but this is not a through street so it's unusual to see one when the streets don't need plowed.

The city actually did a pretty decent job of keeping our streets cleaned off during those huge dumps of snow a couple of weeks ago. And the loaders piled up all the gathered snow at the edges of everyone's driveway. It was a bit tricky to see oncomin…

Is there something wrong with this picture?

I'm sure if you haven't already heard this week about the mass execution of the sled dogs in Whistler you must be living under a rock.

I do not condone this behaviour and am shocked and disgusted by it. And truly I hope that appropriate punishment is metered out. But think about it...

The guy owned the dogs. He knew he was not equipped to continue to provide care to them. He couldn't be bothered to find loving homes for them. So he killed them. His choice. And the world is up in arms - offering death threats and screaming for the maximum penalty.

That very same day (and every day previous and each day since) approximately 250 women, in Canada alone, make the same decision for their unborn children. They own them. Don't feel equipped to deal with parenthood. Couldn't be bothered finding loving homes. They kill them. It's their choice. We applaud them.

Is there something wrong with this picture??

Setting the neighbours straight...

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Every vehicle that drives by on the street sounds like it's in my driveway with all the ice out there. All that snow. Then days of melting and raining. Then sudden drops in temperature. Everything, including the snow banks, are wearing an icy crust.

I hear the vehicle crunch, then I hear Jed leave the house. Then I hear talking in the driveway and think perhaps someone did drive up this evening. It's 10pm and I wonder who it could be so I look out the window to see a taxi leaving next door.

I open my door to hear Jed deep in conversation with my obviously drunk neighbour.

"Uh yeah. Good for you Shelly for not driving tonight. Drinking and driving isn't a good decision. Glad you got a taxi!"

One by one, I'm sure my son will get them all converted.