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Showing posts from 2013

Happy happy happy! New Year.

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Happy New Year! Here is your annual onslaught of ALZiemer anecdotes and exaggerations.

Think happy. Be happy.
It's a motto I have tried to incorporate into my life this past year. Although I am still a firm believer that Albert's motto should remain "Happy wife, happy life."

Each year at this time I pour a glass of wine and sit in complete silence and prepare to recall and put to words the past 365 days. Others may require a therapist's sofa, however I find this to be a cheaper alternative.

 I often start with re-reading my past "annual review" posts. (An advantage of blogging.) I always chuckle at how I end the letter with some form of "excited anticipation" for the upcoming year - having no idea (thankfully) what the year has in store.

New Year's Eve 2012 had me mostly focusing on Brandi and Kore's upcoming January wedding. And I was excitedly anticipating with good reason. It was a beautiful, intimate moment that I will cherish for …

Nailed It!

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Until two years ago women everywhere who aspired to be Suzy Homemaker or the Craft Queen could feel reasonably good about themselves. Martha Stewart was the only real public source of perfection to compare ourselves to and subsequently feel like a failure. But it was easy enough to convince ourselves that Martha is freak of nature, with unlimited funds, capable of doing things unimaginable to us mere mortals. 
Along came Pinterest.... 
At first glance it was the most amazing social network service ever. Millions of women across the world began pinning wildly as creativity and inspiration abounded at previously unheard of levels. 
We pinned and pinned - our inspiration and confidence building with each passing day that we found ourselves awake until the wee hours gathering ideas. At times we were even giddy with excitement at the possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, Martha wasn't so special after all. 
And then we started attempting... 
This week was my 4-year-old grandson'…

I Am Fearless!

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Well, actually I am NOT fearless. I am filled with fear. Which is why I was forced to commit this ultimate act of bravery. 
As I blogged earlier in the week, the tent caterpillars have arrived in our neighbourhood and I am taking whatever steps I can to prevent them from eating my weeping birch tree and keep them from covering my house and deck.
I took this photo the other evening as I was walking home from a visit with my kidlets who live 6 doors down from us. Their house and yard are crawling with the little vermin: 




Daily I have been giving my two infested trees a soapy shower with a hose sprayer attachment filled with Dawn dish washing soap. Here is the results of the first soapy shower when the caterpillars will small and still tenting at night: It's really quite amazing how quickly they die when they come in contact with the soap. There is no wriggling and squirming to possibly evoke slight pangs of guilt for torturing living creatures. There is no thrashing about to possib…

We should be safe from vampires for a while

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I thought about blogging the other day about how absolutely fabulous my yard smells. I didn't get around to it, but my next door neighbour's giant lilac bushes are in full bloom and it's like intoxication for the nasal senses when  I step outside. 
Or I should say, it WAS like nasal intoxication. 
We took proactive steps to combat the tent caterpillars that have appeared in the cottonwood tree in the backyard and cherry tree in the front. They did not crawl there from other sources, they were hatched in those trees and started out a little tiny wigglers. 
They are fast stripping my trees and growing larger by the hour. And once the leaves are gone from the said trees, I know the little critters are going to crawl down in search of a fresh source of leaves. And in doing so, will cover my house and deck with creepiness that makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. 
Even though I have lived in Prince George for 37 years, and this area has had some wicked caterpillar cycle…

It's camping, not a magazine feature article.

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I will never be a seamstress or a quilter.

I'm more of an adequate short-cut taker, who knows how to wield a pair of scissors. 
Oh, I can sew. If I want to. And sometimes I do. But I don't sew because I want to sew, I sew because I want the finished product. And by finished, I don't really mean "finished". 
My motto has always been "Good enough." 
Today I made curtains for the trailer in preparation for camping season which will start on the weekend. 
Our well-used trailer came to us with frayed blackout fabric pinned to the fabric valance with large diaper pins. It worked well for two summers. But this year we have booked a site at the lake for the entire summer. And the site comes with a 15x20ish cabin. 
I'm quite excited about this summer venture and am already planning the decor of the cabin.  We take possession on Friday when I will measure things up and then dig through the absolute mountains of fabric I inherited from Mom to make new curtains…

The trouble with blogging...

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The trouble with blogging is that most every topic that I could turn into a post, I've already blabbed about on Facebook. 










It's my right not to exercise my right.

I neither exercised my right nor fulfilled my obligations as a citizen yesterday.

It was voting day in British Columbia. I'm not sure why, but I rarely vote in the provincial elections. I always do in the federal election, and usually do at the municipal level.

To be honest, I had to Google what party Christy Clark is from when I heard she won this morning. Kinda sad isn't it.

While my history would indicate that I probably wasn't going to vote anyway, I am blaming my lack of action on my frustration with the number of political phone calls we received in the past month. From all parties.

This invasion of privacy and what bordered on harassment occurred pretty much daily and sometimes as many as three times a day. And it's not like it was even a real person calling. The computer generated call playing a recorded voice didn't respond to swearing, hanging up or politely asking them to remove my number from their calling list.

The final call I received was at 5:50 yes…

My Brain Has Retired.

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"One day blurs into the next. I never know what day of the week it is."

I've heard the phrase many times over the years from people who are retired. Frankly, I thought it was just an overused joke, and I didn't find it that funny.

Guess what? It's not funny. It was never meant to be a joke. I am 10 days into retirement and I can attest.

I rolled outta bed at 9:15 this morning. I knew today was Pink Panter Preparation Day. I needed to haul out the buckets of decorations, prizes and costumes and get everything gathered for this weekend's Relay For Life. But I was feeling pretty chill.

I made a coffee and plunked myself down in front of my email and Facebook.

My daughter-in-law greeted me with "Good morning?"

"Weird, for her to question that," I thought to myself. "It's another sunny day of retirement. Why would she question it?"

Followed quickly by, "OH CRAP!"

I had completely forgotten to take Xander to school this m…

My Committed Mom

Never say never.
It's such a cliche. However I try to make it a general rule. Because sure as anything the moment you say "I will never...." you end up doing it.

And sometimes you don't even have to say it, or even think it for that matter, and before you know it, you end up doing it.

One thing that I could easily have said "I will never" to in the past is delivering the eulogy at funeral. And more specifically my mother's funeral. Not in my wildest nightmares could I have ever imagined that situation coming to pass. But as the day approached with obvious inevitability and incredible speed, I found myself more and more confident that I would never forgive myself if I didn't.

It's not like I had some profound speech that needed to be said, but I could not leave the task in the hands of just anyone. Okay, okay, I may have a few control issues. I did try to offer the experience to my siblings and children. No one else was chomping at the bit to par…

Oh Mama

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The phrase I have uttered most often in the past six weeks is simply, "Oh, Mama."

I utter it when I'm tired. When I'm sad. When I'm happy. When I don't know what I am, but just need to utter...

I'm not a talker, but I am a thinker. I imagine scenes and what-ifs and shoulda-coulda-woulda's. I'm never bored, even if I have nothing to do, because I always have something going on inside my head.

I've experienced some pretty traumatic life situations. And survived. Sometimes I think part of the reason I'm a pretty even keeled person (yes, I am... stop laughing) is because I've already imagined and planned how I might react in different situations.

But there is one situation that over the years I never could successfully imagine. Living without my Mom. It was almost like if I don't pre-imagine it, it will never happen. So here I am fumbling through life unprepared for this predicament I find myself in. Oh Mama.

It's not like I had da…

Kinda girly

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Day two of my return and I'm already staring at the screen and drawing a blank...

I think we're in trouble.

However I do recall my first weeks of blogging way back in 2007 were tough going. I believe one early entry was titled, "Four Days in and I Already Want to Bail". But let's try to persist, shall we.

Relay For Life is coming up in just seven days and Pink Madness will be upon us. In the weeks preceding Relay my mind begins to Think Pink and everything pink catches my eye, unlike the rest of the year when pink and I don't really hang out together too much.

Walking through the mall a couple of weeks ago a male mannequin in the window of District Clothing made me stop in my tracks. Bright pink underwear. For men.

"Gotta have!" my inner voice screamed at me.

I buy all my husband's clothes. Always have. Always will. So I know that men's underwear, even basic tighty-whitey's, are expensive so I fully expected to find a $19.99 or more pric…

"Albert! Albert! Albert!"

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Do you remember this Canadian Tire commercial from the 80's?




I don't think the only reason I remember it is because the kid's name is Albert. (Although in my heart, I am convinced the final phrase is repeated often among acquaintances far and wide ... "I sure wish we had a guy like Albert")

Over the years this commercial has been brought to my mind on numerous occasions.

I think of it every time a crowd of people are cheering and encouraging an individual on.

The feel-good nature of the commercial has us all feeling warm and fuzzy because the individual who was previously down and out is now the hero whom everyone wants.

I heard the "Albert! Albert! Albert!" chant ringing in my head this week.

Sunday April 28, 2013 at 4pm I retired.

Monday morning the chants began. Resurrect the blog! Resurrect the blog! Resurrect the blog!

Geez. I retired to relieve pressures and deadlines and expectations. But truth be told, I had been considering the resurrection eve…