I won the 50/50! 50..50...50.....

 Have you heard of the 50-hanger challenge? 

The challenge is to purge your closet and empty 50 hangers.  

You still win the challenge even if half the items come from a drawer or a pile on the floor.  And a pair of socks can count as two items if you get desperate. 

And don't feel guilty if your hubby's hideous 90's sweater makes its way into the pile. 

I have been wanting to participate in this challenge for a while now. And today's cool cloudy weather dictated that today was the day. 

I want to say I am proud. However, the truth is, I am a little bit embarrassed to say I spanked this challenge! 

I did not need to pilfer from Jim's closet. 

I did not need to count drawer items. 

I emptied pretty much exactly 50 hangers from my closet. 

On a roll, I started on the drawers...

I lost count at 50 items. 

And pairs of socks counted as one. 

I'm fairly confident I may have come close to doubling fifty.

I was feeling so successful! 

So I moved on to the bathroom. Surely I could find 50 items of clutter to dispose of: 

Nearly-empty bottles of lotion, hair products and make up. 

Horribly stained face cloths. 

Eyeshadow that, I know without a doubt, I purchased more than 15 years ago. (Not sure how that even made the move to this house three-and-a-half years ago.) 

Outdated vitamins. 

Random strips of used magnetic eyelashes. 

Bobby pins that were stretched beyond use. And I don't even use bobby pins. 

Thumb tacks.  Actual thumb tacks, not push pins. What the...?!  I had 6 or 8 thumb tacks thrown in my vanity drawer. NO idea why. 

Keys. I had keys stashed in my make up drawer that I am sure fit the ignition of one of Jed's many long abandoned quads. 

I found a $25 Home Depot gift card that did not make it to the trash bin as the other items did. I am hoping it is still good. Even though I know I acquired it almost 10 years ago as a reward from Albert's HD credit card.  

Heck yeah! 

50 items from the hangers.

50 (Times 2) items from the drawers. 

50 items from the bathroom. 

Let's move on to shoes..... 

Gulp 

No!!! Not the shoes! 

I know that I have more than 50 pairs of footwear. 

My heart started palpitating.

I do have a lot of shoes. But I don't feel like it's too many. 

Seriously, there are FOUR seasons.  All of which need entirely different footwear here in Northern Canada. 

Perhaps I could release FIFTY shoes. 

That's only 25 pair.... 

I went to the second spare room (known as "The Kid's Room") and opened the closet where my 'spare' shoes and jackets make their home. 

I sorted. 

I tried on. 

I walked up and down the hall. 

I organized the winter collection and felt good about that. 

I 'found' a number of flip flops that, here near the end of summer, I had forgotten about. 

Some of those made the "50-to-cut" pile. 

I went out to the garage where the official "shoe wall" resides. 

I sat on the floor in front of the shoe wall. 

It smelled of stale leather and foot odour. 

Only about 8 shoes made the delete list. (That's 4 pair) 

I moved on...

I flipped through the flip flops at the front door. 

I think there are a couple pair Maeve might be able to use. 

There's a pair that are very similar to a pair that is up in the spare closet.  But I still like them.

I cannot release them. 

Oh, and there is the pair of flip flops that I distinctly remember wearing out to the flower garden last week, knowing that I was going to take this 50-thing challenge and wanting to spare them with the knowledge that "I still wear them." 

But all-in-all I feel like I SLAYED IT! 

50 hangers

50 (times 2) drawer items

50 bathroom vanity items

30 shoes (15 pair)  feels marginally like a fail. But conquering a panic attack makes up for that, I think. 

And now I sit down in my art studio typing up this blog. I simply refuse to include this room in the challenge. 

But I may include fridges, freezers and pantry one of these days. I know for certain I will find 50 food products that are nearly empty, out dated, freezer burned or we just simply will not eat. 

I took this "50" challenge and spanked it in every regard! 

I think I deserve a shopping spree.  I am pretty sure Walk Rite Shoes has their annual sandal sale on... 

 

And For That I am Grateful

The current fires in Jasper are horrible and devastating. To humans. To animals. To culture. To the western Canadian economy. 

And, at the risk of sounding a bit ego-centric and trivial, they are more than a mere inconvenience to anyone needing to travel from Central BC to Central Alberta. 

On July 21, 2024 after a brief battle with cancer, Grandma Gloria, my last remaining ancestor, was awarded eternity in Calgary. And the round trip to be there to lay her to rest was nearly a 3000km drive. 

We (Jim, Connie and I) decided to make it a circle drive and stop for the night in Kamloops to hang with Brandi, Kore and the girls before trekking through Roger's Pass and onto Calgary.  It was a treat to get an unexpected day with them. And it had been more than half a century since any of us had driven through Rogers Pass. 

Yes, we are that old. 

And the drive, even with heavy traffic including other diverted big trucks and RV's, was beautiful and enjoyable. 

And for that I am grateful.  

We opted to take the north route home, even though it was about 100km further. But I think the higher speed limits and reduced traffic probably made it a faster drive overall on the two day trip.  Even with stopping to visit David and Bobbi in Innisfail and spending the night in Grande Prairie and hanging with Coralie and Greg. 

These 'people connections' wouldn't be normal on a quick trip to Calgary, but the fires dictated our detours. 

And for that I am grateful. 

****

Grandma, being of sound mind and genuinely looking forward to eternity, took her brain tumour diagnosis, with its 3-to-6 month prognosis, with dignity and acceptance. 

And for that I am grateful. 

She organized and assigned roles for her funeral service. Chose the music, and determined which songs were forbidden, due to the involuntary sounds playing audibly and constant in her head, while the tumour pressed on the sound receptors of her brain. 

Grandma assigned two of her granddaughters to speak at her service. Neither was me. 

For that I am grateful. 

There would be no "open mic" during the service, however there was a call for all grandchildren willing, to submit a memory or a blurb to be read by a designated spokesperson. 

Write a memory and NOT have to public speak??! Pick me. I am in! 

Here is my contribution of memory and honour of my Grandma Gloria. And I didn't even have to stand in front of a crowd and say it. 

And for that I am grateful.  

****

Grandma Gloria has been my grandma since I was nine years old. And she has always just been “Grandma” to me. I never thought of her as “Grandpa’s wife” or “Mom’s stepmom.” She is just Grandma. And I love her. 

 

And for that I am grateful. 

 

I don’t think it was coincidental that the year after she married Grandpa, our customary 2-dollar bill in our birthday cards became a 5-dollar bill. That was a colossal gold mine in the eyes of a kid living in the sticks in Keefers in the early 70’s. 

 

The first time I really felt like I got to know Grandma was when they visited us in Prince George in 1979, just five years into her role as Grandma. (They may have visited before that, but I don’t remember developing a relationship in the same way as that summer.) 

 

One of the days while they were visiting, Mom, Grandma, Jennifer, me and a friend went to the mall. (I’m not sure why Connie wasn’t there, but lucky her…) My friend and I parted ways with the adults and Jen, with instructions to meet back at a certain spot at a certain time. 

 

Mom and Grandma’s shopping time was cut short when Mom got paged throughout the mall to return to Woolco, the olden days “Walmart.” 

 

Where they were greeted by Woolco security and the RCMP. 

 

I cannot even imagine my mother’s humiliation upon realizing, within the presence of her stepmom, that her child had just been busted for shoplifting. Dollar-twenty-nine nail polish. While packing $40 in babysitting money in her wallet. 

 

What I DO remember is overhearing Grandma talking to Mom.  

And if we are all being honest, especially in the early years, Grandma was a pretty stoic, rule keeping, black-and-white, good-and-bad type girl. 

 

Yet, what I overheard her say to Mom, as the RCMP released me to their care, endeared her to my heart. 

 

“It’s NOT a big deal. It’s like smoking pot. ALL kids try it.” 

 

SERIOUSLY! My Grandmother thought this was “not a big deal!”  It was 1979! 

 

Mind blown! 

 

She had no idea that she had just saved me from a grounding, or a lecture, or a belting. 

 

However, I cocked my eyebrow in slight offence. 

 

Pot smoking???!!?

 

C’mon, Grandma! I may not be above slipping a $1.29 nail polish into my pocket. But pot smoking???! I’m offended. 

 

And few months later some kid on the bus gave me a bag of pot… 

 

For the record, I hated it, and it never became a thing for me.

 

And neither did shoplifting. 

 

But I credit Grandma for treating me with dignity, even while not approving my behaviour.  

 

And for that I am grateful. 

 

And through the years, Grandma has had an innate ability to love and include, while holding fast to her morals and belief in Jesus. 

 

And her love and inclusion included my son Jed. 

 

Grandma loved all her grandchildren. 

 

But she held a special love and inclusion for Jed. 

And for that I am grateful. 

 

She knew that when he called, it’s best to just answer and say, “I am too busy right now.” Rather than endure the 47 subsequent unanswered phone calls.  

 

Grandma often said to me, “I know that Jed loves me. And I love him.”  She was so gracious. 

And for that I am grateful. 

 

The summer of 2009, in Kamloops, I got to present my grandson to my grandparents. And getting 5-generation photos was seriously a highlight of my life. 

 

Last year, in 2023, Jim and I became great-grandparents to baby Bec.  

 

If I am a Great-Granny, this makes Grandma Gloria a great-great-great Grandma. 

And she makes a really GREAT great-great-great Grandma.  

 

Everyone has heard of families that have had “that praying Grandma,” who has brought their families incalculable protection and blessing. 

 

Grandma Gloria was one of those.

 

And for that I am grateful.  

 

And now she’s gone. 

 

Who will pick up the slack? 

Visiting Grandma just 90 days before she was awarded eternity with Jesus. 

Return to Vegas

"Amazon Queen." 

I'm sure my hubby has nothing but love in his heart when he refers to me with his favourite endearment. 

Occasionally I feel a wee bit of guilt shopping online.  Y'know, not supporting local and all that. 

But honestly, if I want handcrafted stuff sure, I buy local.  But most everything else comes from the same shop in China anyway.  

It still kinda boggles my mind that I can pay ten bucks a month and get endless deliveries to my door within days. Sometimes ONE day.  I ordered a watch charger yesterday.  Got it at breakfast today.  

It would cost me a lot more than 10 bucks a month to drive to Walmart for the number of items I get brought to my door. And Walmart is within walking distance of my home. 

Part of my Amazon Queen title includes not being above returning even minor items if things aren't right. 

 A few weeks ago, we needed size 2025 button batteries for something.  A 4-pack was $17.99 at the grocery store.  I refused.  

I came home and ordered them from Amazon (yes, same brand) for $8.99. They arrived within 48 hours. But they in fact sent me size 2032 button batteries, which we already have a large number of. 

Jim's inclination would be to suck it up and go back to Superstore for the $18 pack.  (Actually, that would have been his first option :D ). 

But not me.  I immediately started the return process.  I figure there are too many people in the world who would just brush off the shoddy service and take the loss, while Amazon pads its ultra-billion dollar empire. But not on my watch!  It's up to me, the Amazon Queen, to teach them a lesson. When I order 2025 batteries, they best be on their game and send 2025 batteries.  

And as occasionally happens, they told me to keep the 2032's and they'd send out the 2025's. Which arrived in 48 hours.  Bonus. 

Two weeks ago, we had my teenage grandkids for 8 days, while their parents went on their first-in-15-years alone vacation. Which meant me driving them to school.  The said teens do not have their own phones yet, so I turned to Amazon to deliver $11 alarm clocks for their nightstands. Turns out the "alarm" clocks were simply digital clocks. No alarm involved.  

Six clicks on the website had return labels printed. And as soon as I drop the cassette-tape size package at the post office, my Visa gets a twenty two dollar credit.  

Seriously.  For $22 I had two digital clocks driven 1500 kilometres from Langley or Richmond or wherever, to my door and back. And the money is refunded to my Visa.  How does this even work?!?? And Amazon is for sure not losing money.  

These seem like such trivial returns. 

But I think today wins the title of most ridiculously small return. 

Enter one single eraser. 

Yes, today I am returning one 45 cent eraser all the way back to Las Vegas. 

 I ordered a 24-pack of kneadable erasers for $10.89. Free shipping. These were for use in the Watercolour Wine and Paint nights that I teach. 

The delivery arrived this morning.  The approximately 10x18 delivery package felt practically empty when picked up.  Inside was ONE eraser.  I got one eraser for $10.89.

Eleven bucks isn't that big of a deal. Could I just let it go? Yes, yes I could. Am I willing to? No, no I am not.  

It's not really even about the money. I need the erasers. 

So I started the process of complaint hoping they would just send me the other 23 erasers. 

But that is not a clickable option. 

My only option was to request a refund due to "product not as described."  

I'm not sure how I am supposed to attach this 4x6 return label to this 1x2 eraser. But I am the Queen. I shall reign. 

Happy Swim-a-versary to Me!

These two selfies were taken exactly 75 minutes apart. 

On January 8, 2023. 

The first, as I was proudly about to walk into my very first swimming lesson.  With high hopes of conquering my fear of water and becoming a swimmer. 

Oh, I knew I would never be a champion swim racer. I knew I would never make the dive team. I knew I would never make a career of teaching swim lessons, or leading aquafit. But I wanted to be able to jump into the deep end with my grandkids. And not drown. 

Not drowning was the ultimate goal, I suppose. 

The second photo was minutes after I exited the pool, where the water, and my youthful instructor, kicked my ass for a full 60 minutes. 

Seriously. 

I was completely beat up. Exhausted. In pain. And crying. 

(You can read the details of that episode in THIS BLOG POST if you missed it.)  

And all of that was exactly one year ago today. 

Happy swim-a-versary to me! 

Long story short, I finished the nine weeks of lessons as a swimmer. Not a strong one. And I still hate my face in the water. But I can jump into the deep end without fearing for my life. Ok, ok, I don't actually 'jump' into the deep end (that would get my face wet :D ) but I can somewhat gracefully let myself into 4.5 meters of water via the ladder and swim a few laps or tread water endlessly. 

Mission accomplished! 

A few times over the summer months I attended some aquafit classes. I prefer the shallow water classes because they feel like a better aerobic work out, but I am completely comfortable doing jumping jacks in 10 feet of water. 

It's amazing really. 

And October 1st, when lake season ended, I began registering for monthly pool passes so I could start going to aquafit every Monday, Wednesday and Friday while Jim plays hockey. 

A few times in November we learned upon our arrival at the pool that our aquafit class was cancelled. (I suspect due to lack of instructors) 

Our class usually has 20-25 participants, but there are about 12 or 15 participants who show up faithfully. 

Being new to the group, the first time a cancellation happened, I didn't realize that it didn't matter if we didn't have an instructor. Class carried on. 

And at the stroke of 10am, we began our synchronized flailing even without an instructor. 

Also unbeknownst to me, when this happens the participants take turns leading the class. 

At 10:27 Yasmin yells my name, "Liana, take over!"

What the actual freaking heck!!?!! 

I don't know anything. I'm new here! 

Jumping jacks. I know jumping jacks. 

And I begin leading the class in jumping jacks in 1.1 meters of water. 

I'm shocked. I'm baffled. I'm out of breath.

But I am giggling. 

Holy Hannah. Exactly nine months ago I was crying my way through my first swimming lesson. 

But look at me! LEADING an aquafit class! 

Happy swim-a-versary to me! 

 

 

Mama. Your Legacy Continues.

 For the most part, I live my life in gratitude. Grateful for where I am. And grateful for where I've come from.  Even though I feel like I have come from questionable circumstances and I have lived many "wtf" moments. I am indeed grateful to be here and now. 

But there are rare occasions I wish I could go back in time. 

And most of them would transport me back into the presence of my Mama. 

While she was here with us I had no idea I had so many questions. 

Why? Why? Why? 

Why did you choose my Dad?

Why were you so honouring?

Why were you so willing?

Why were you so humble? 

My Mama's talents were so beyond. Seriously. When she set her mind to something, she became the best. 

One of the last things my Mama set her mind to was quilting. 

And she excelled. 

Ok, maybe she obsessed. 

And while I, and the rest of my siblings, were in awe and reaped the benefits of her talents, so far none has picked up her passion. 

Enter today. 

My nine-year-old granddaughter, Beatrice Jean (yup, named for Grandma Jean) presented this quilt to her six-year-old sister Daphne. She had been working hard with her Gramma Maureen all summer to put this quilt together. 

She is nine! 

This Granny is so impressed and in awe. 

She is NINE years old!! 

Mama! Could I go back in time I would introduce you to my Bea. My Beatrice Jean. While it breaks my heart you never knew her, I also know that where  you are, you know. 

She carries your name. She carries your talent. She carries your character: Humble. Quiet. Caring. Determined. Excelling. 

Monkey Bump!

Fasting not required. 

That's how I interpretted my doctor's brutal handwriting  on Tuesday when I showed up for my blood test appointment. 

Turns out it said, "Fasting mid August." 

The lovely lab tech/nurse/clerk (not sure of her formal title) informed me they had no available appointment slots left for Wednesday. But she was sympathetic to the fact I was leaving town Thursday and said if I just showed up sometime in the morning, she would be there, and would squeeze me in. 

I arrived shortly before 10am, having had no coffee and minimally brushing my teeth, being careful not to swallow. 

My nurse of yesterday was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any of the supposed patients who had all the appointments booked. The waiting room was empty and I got in right away. 

"Liana?" the nurse calls out. 

I stood to follow her to the blood sucking station. 

"What's your last name?"

"Ziemer," I respond out loud while thinking, "I'm doing fabulous, thanks. I got a parking spot right next to the meter and had no-one in line ahead of me." 

"Birthdate?" 

I responded with the correct answer followed by my usual comment when having to have blood taken, "My veins don't always cooperate. Often they need to use a baby butterfly in my hand to get blood." 

She wasn't particularly friendly from the get-go, but my comment caused an actual visual cloud come over her. As if I was challenging her. 

She whips a rubber tourniquet around my upper arm, swabs my inner elbow and gives it a couple of firm taps. 

She didn't even ask me to make a fist. But I did anyway. This is not my first rodeo. 

She plunged a syringe into my veins. 

It wasn't completely painless, but not the most painful blood extraction I've experienced.

She sucked out a single vial of blood.

And in one fell swoop, removed the tourniquet and taped a cotton swab onto the injection site. 

"You are free to go," she triumphantly stated. 

"Well, that was easy peasy. Thank you." I stood up and walked out of the clinic after being in her chair less than 40 seconds. 

As a token of appreciation of my less-than-five-minutes in the medical lab for which I was forced to purchase a mandatory minimum 2-hour parking ticket (aided by the fact I was parked right next to the meter) I took my parking ticket and jammed it into a crevice in the parking meter hoping someone else could use it.  

I then sat in the car for two minutes answering some texts. 

Meanwhile an older gentleman came up to the parking meter and took the ticket and was squinting to examine the dates and times on it. 

"It's good until 12:30," I said. "It was mine, but I only used it for 5 minutes." 

Oh my gosh! Best part of my day was the glee on his face! He saved a loonie. 

I drove away, headed for Costco. 

I got a few blocks away from the clinic and my inner elbow felt tight, like the tape was pulling on my skin. So as I was driving I reached with my right hand and pulled the tape and cotton swab off my elbow. A quick glance showed a bit of blood on the swab, maybe slightly more than normal, but not a crazy amount. 

Driving further my inner elbow still felt weird, so I look down at it.

Monkey bump! It looked like there was a golf ball under my skin at the injection site! 

I tried to get a photo. Yeah, I was driving distracted. 

I was driving so couldn't get the best angle. But this was a giant monkey bump! 

It's now 12 hours later. The bump has subsided somewhat but I am black 'n blue and if I touch it I get a jerking reflex sensation. 

I've never experienced anything like it. And I've given many many vials of blood to the lab. 

 

Tiny Seeds of Joy Sown 100 Years Ago

My grandchildren’s great-great-great-great Grandmother Winnifred Florence Elvina Christina Jay Cutting (Now that’s a mouthful of name) would be one hundred and fifty five years old were she still living.

She was born in 1868, married in 1889 and widowed in 1903 at the age of 35 when her husband George Smith Cutting succumbed to typhoid.

Times were tough. Winnifred took in boarders, did laundry for people, cleaned houses, grew her own food, preserved the produce, baked, and sewed the family’s clothing, all while raising their five children on her own. The eldest of whom was 13-year-old Howard.

Winnifred would harvest the seeds from her vegetables and flowers so she could propagate them in future years.

She successfully raised all of her children. Not an easy feat for a single woman at the turn of the 20th century.

Howard went on to marry Elva Watterworth and they had four sons, Earl, Bert, Harvey and Murray, as well as adopting Shirley, the infant daughter of Howard’s younger sister Mary Viola who died in childbirth.

Harvey grew up and married Margaret Forman. And Jean, the eldest of their six children went on to marry Ed deBalinhard and have five children – yours truly being the second in line.

Before Winnifred passed away in 1949 in Carman Manitoba, she gave some of the seeds she had collected over the years to her grandson Earl (Harvey’s older brother) and his wife Annie who lived across the street from her.

Annie hung onto a little bag of poppy seeds for decades, and many years before she passed in 2013, she gifted them to her daughter Gwenda.

Gwenda was decluttering her home last year, in 2022, and came across the 80-100 year old little bag of seeds.

With little hope of success, some of the seeds were given to a relative who worked in a nursery in Manitoba to see if they would germinate.

To everyone’s delight, within 2 months the seeds had blossomed into the most beautiful frilly purple poppies!

And through the magic of the internet and Facebook, I took Gwenda up on her offer of some of the heritage seeds.

Winnifred had no idea that nearly 100 years later, I would be thrilled out of my mind to have those little suckers blooming in our wildflower garden behind our house.

Great-great-great-great Grandma Winnifred Florence Elvina Christina Jay Cutting.  (With baby Gwenda)

Howard and Elva with Earl, Bert and Baby Harvey on the lap. 

Harvey with Jean, Liana and his first great-grandchild, Brandi. 

Winnifred's grandson Harvey, and his daughter Jean, and her daughter Liana, and her son Ken, and his son Xander - Winnifred's great-great-great-great grandson.