Super Genius

Owen and Dad had a sliding party to attend Sunday afternoon with the beavers.

Dad: It's going to be a nice day. Minus 2 and sunny. A perfect day for sliding.
Owen: Yup, but not for haying.

I sometimes forget he pays attention to EVERYTHING and forgets nothing.


I've really got to stop letting him watch discovery channel. Sometimes kids can know too much. On the drive home I get this little lesson.

Owen: Do you know how to drift mom? Because to drift you go around the corner and turn the wheel a bit then back real fast then back again hard and then you're drifting. You have to do it fast. And you have to drive around the corner faster mom if you want to do it. They do it on Cars (meaning the movie) but that's not the real way because they only turn the wheel once and really they have to do it a bit one way then again the other way fast.

Me: OK, but do I have to try it today?

Owen: No because you probably don't know how but when I get big and I can drive I'll show you.

One of his favorite shows is Canada's Worst Driver. I never understood the appeal it had to a 5 year old, but it didn't bother me that he watched it. It's censored, it's on when I need him out of my hair while cooking supper and it's better than those crappy cartoons. I didn't realize that he was actually paying attention to the lessons. That he was actually learning how to drive!

Dognapper?

Her name is Lucy. Or was Lucy. I'm never sure what tense to use. She has tan fur with a black back and looks a lot like a compact german shepherd. She's been missing since before Christmas, so I figure she must be dead. The only other logical reason for her to still be missing is that someone took her. I almost prefer the idea that she's dead. The thought of her being stolen just doesn't make sense in my head. Death is part of life, especially with pets, so for her to die is more acceptable for me. For her to be lost by no natural means, by a malicious human act, I just can't get my head around.

Maybe we'll find our neighbours dog once the snow melts, in the ditch. The victim of a hit and run. She often ran up and down the road and it wouldn't surprise me if that were her fate. There are many blind crests and turns on our road. I just wish we knew.

Yesterday our neighbour across the road, who just got a 1 year old yellow lab named Nova came to visit. Nova is missing. The last time we saw her was Sunday.

This neighbour had a dog Ben, who he let roam free. Ben, an intact male, made himself into a very bad pest. We feared causing a rift but had to tell the man to keep his dog home. Actually we didn't care if he stayed home, we just didn't want him on our property anymore. Shady couldn't go outside to pee without him humping her. (No she wasn't in heat) We offered advice (get him fixed, get an invisible fence) but the man is a stubborn backwards minded sort and his response was "I'm not getting him fixed, he'll get fat, and them there fences don't work worth a damn and I'm not putting a penny more into this dog". So he traded Ben for his sister. He's had her since the new year and has kept a closer eye on her. She's only been in our yard twice that I've noticed. Nova couldn't help her puppy self on Sunday when Shady and the kids went out to play and bounded across the road to join in. Mart and I worried that the problem would begin again, but she hasn't been back. So we've been pleased. The problem now is where is she?

There are sick twisted people who smile politely, do a good job in pretending and are careful in not saying anything that would reveal their true selves. But in our neighbourhood? Really? Most families on our road have dogs. People don't use our road unless you live on it or near it. Who would just happen to drive by, while Lucy and Nova just happened to be out, and take them? And why?

I really wish I knew where these dogs have gone. I'd like to know if they were shot, or trapped or hit. That would give closure to their families, and make me feel a lot more safe about my dog. If some sicko is out stealing dogs, how can I protect my dog from that? An odd thing to have to choose, an accident or a sicko, death or kidnapping.

Float like a butterfly

It seems fitting that I'm here during the time of year full of resolutions and weight loss. And since it's not February yet, those resolutions haven't even been broken yet.

I woke up to 2010 amongst four piles stacked high of files, each in a different state of completion, and working every waking hour. Feeling swamped and stressed and similar to a pile of shit, I decided to do something different.

I chopped off my hair. Well, that's not all that different, but it's been in a pony tail for a long time. I even highlighted it. Which to all the ladies out there wouldn't give cause for a cheer, but it did for me, as I've never ever had anything put in my hair. So I felt much the same as I did when I was 7 and was allowed to get my ears pierced. Finally taking the step long after it was considered cool. But still, my own token of whatever to show that I'm not so different from all of you. I just wanted to feel pretty.

I also checked off another item from my life list. If I were to actually write one it would contain things such as: husband (check), kids (check), farm (getting there), career (check), Africa, learn Italian, dog sled, learn violin and on and on. But the one I checked off has been nagging at me for a bit. So I'm super excited to have joined boxing.

If I had to identify myself in two words I'd say farm girl. That's probably the best fit. Being a farm kid, strength was always considered an asset. Growing up in, and working in agriculture, I've always been a little girl, largely under estimated, in a big man world. But, secretly I know that I can hold my own. Pound for pound I may even have some guys beat. This is something I've always taken pride in. So this boxing fits perfectly with me. It's full of heavy metal, sweat, swearing, grunting, ugly gym pants and workouts from hell. These girls are tough and there will be no gentle. When I leave, I am exhausted and satisfied I have given every ounce of effort. I can't lift my coffee mug the next day, but it feels so good. I float like a butterfly, heart and soul.

So this year has begun fresh and strong. What is good for the muscles is good for the mind. Twice per week I climb out from under my piles of work and give a heavy bag hell. At this pace, 2010 is going to be a great year.

water water everywhere

Have you ever been desperately thirsty? Drink out of a mud puddle thirsty?

My brother in law was visiting. It is a treat, his company, travelling far and sharing his time with us. So with his arrival the celebration began. After an evening sharing many beer and a bottle of wine we tucked in for the night. It is then, that I experienced thirst like no other.

I was travelling, visiting kitchens of folks with no faces, but with a feeling of familiarity and friendship. Other places unknown, new to me. All quite pleasant, and all with one thing in common. Water. As dreams often take you, chopped and pasted together with little continuity, there I was gulping glass after glass of crystal clear water. It sparkled and shined like the sun, magic in my hand.

Then I woke up. My breath like dust in my mouth.

Nothing dries you out like wine. It sucked water from each cell that forms my being. Certain if I were to glimpse my image reflected at me I would see a shrivelled mummified creature. I dared not look when I passed the mirror hung on my bedroom wall. Instead, searched for my robe and traipsed upstairs at 2:00 am. A glass is left on the counter, I grab for it and fill it. Eyes half, closed, brain only functioning with one purpose, screaming WATER at me, I gulp it down. Then realize the off taste is due to the dried milk from the previous user. It was the glass Owen had used at supper.

This has happened to me before. Well, not the dream, but the desperation from thirst. Far from a water source, and not fussy about the ownership of water bottles, I drank what was left of each I could find. Mart's, Reiley's, Owen's. Owen's bottle was last. It wasn't until the last few gulps remained that my brain stopped screaming WATER at me, and I was able to process other things. Unfortunately it was to notice Owen's snack floating in the water that remained.

The next day, the ache in my head reminded me of my dehydrated state, but after the milky drink, my gag reflex won out over my thirst. I had returned to bed to finish the night in a fitful sleep without another drop.

The moral of this story: Make sure you drink plenty of water after wine, and kids backwash.

there is nothing fast about fasting

It doesn't even cross my mind most evenings. No big deal. But tell me I can't eat, and it's a whole different ball game. I had to get blood taken Monday morning and this required that I fast for at least 12 hours. Twelve whole hours.

My dad had a heart attack when he was 43. Blocked artery due to high cholesterol. He didn't have a high cholesterol diet or anything, was a fit healthy guy. But his body lacked the ability to properly rid itself of excess cholesterol and so the inevitable occurred. He's fine and dandy today and will celebrate his sixtieth birthday next August. This little tidbit into my personal background is why I had to starve myself for twelve hours and get blood taken. To try to avoid the whole heart attack, near death experience and all that. The starving part is the reason I haven't done it sooner.

We are generally late eaters. I only get home around 5:30, so supper isn't on the table until 6:00 at the earliest. You would think that eating a full supper at 6:30 and not eating again until breakfast would be no big deal. You would think that, but you would be wrong. As soon as the clock passed 7:00, the fast began, and regardless of how long ago I ate, my stomach growled. My kids were helpful and oh so kind. They kindly ate their bedtime snacks next to me. Taking their time. (I think they took their time more to avoid bed than to tease me, but still.) I was a dog at their feet, trying not to look, but sneaking a darting glance and swallowing quietly.

The next morning I woke early, dragged my butt out the door and drove the 20 km to the hospital, only to realize as I arrived, my papers were sitting on the side table by the door. Forgotten. So much for getting this done early. I turned around and went home, fetched the papers and drove back. I wasn't fasting again. The idea was to get this done and enjoy a nice breakfast before work. Instead I was waiting in the hospital ready to chew off my arm, certain my stomach was starting to dissolve its own lining, going on hour 14 of my fast. Poor suffering children of Africa, I feel for you, on my pathetic journey of not eating for one whole night. I hadn't even missed a meal yet. But the mind is a powerful thing.

There are good things and bad things about small towns. Bad thing: we have no family doctor. Good thing: there are no people, and therefor, no line ups. I was in and out before Breakfast Television even broke for commercial. Had the best breakfast ever! Only a bagel, but the best bagel on earth I am certain. I even got to work on time. My ordeal was over. Since I no longer had to fast, that evening, after a wonderful supper, I never ate another thing.

let the games begin

I thought it was over at 9:00, but there was no sign of kids leaving so I went in to find my budding teen. I pulled the door and entered another dimension. The semi-formal junior high dance. The air was hot, the music loud and I felt old.

The girls took the opportunity to show off bra straps or lack there of, and more skin than the dress code regularly allows. They floated around in dresses, limping from shoes too big, heels too high. Officially initiated into the world of womanhood where, for some reason I've not yet understood, vanity outranks comfort. Some were beautiful, in dresses well suited to them. Others, I can't believe their parents bought them that getup, let alone allowed them to leave the house. They each had a try practicing their skills for the mating game. Some dared join in, other ran away in swarms of high pitched giggles.

I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the display.

The guys pretended not to care. To not notice. Practicing skills themselves. The brave using the slow dance as prime opportunity to take a turn playing the game. Most boys walked faster when a slow song started. Either searching for, or avoiding a girl. I couldn't tell which. A few brave pairs dared the next level and held hands. The girlfriend taller than the boyfriend. Dragging him along with her throng of friends. I asked Martin why a boy would subject himself to it at that age. "Because you got to hold her hand" was his answer.

Eventually the last song was played and the game was over. The budding teens returned to being just kids and found their parents for a ride home.

*************

I find it interesting. Like a study of social behaviour. To watch from the outside as Reiley enters what will be the most socially challenging years he has yet encountered. To see it all from a different perspective. Sometimes the reality I see now is vastly different from what I remember of that age. I worry for Reiley, but remember that as an adult it will all mean much less.

dog farts and other foulness

No one needs to even deny it when the smell comes wafting around the room. So heavy is the stench it is slow moving and lingers long. There is no question the source. If a human were ever to create a smell like a dog fart, they best be on the way to the hospital. It could wake us from a deep Saturday afternoon nap on the couch. Clear the room regardless of the activity. Cause everyone and everything to repel, except the dog herself. She sleeps through it. Her own brand I guess. I think I've even witnessed the leaves of the plants curl.

My Shady Lady is the prettiest thing. She trots through her day the epitome of happiness. A glimpse of her makes me smile. Her fluffy feathered tail bobbing this way and that. Never still. But a few days ago she rolled in the nastiest of all nasties. Even after a bath the stench of something dead remains. Not a skunk, that might be pleasant in comparison, more like the intestines of a skunk. Pretty as a picture, all that is missing are the stink lines. She's even rolled in fresh manure patties.

She doesn't stink all the time. Most of the time she's super soft and carries no oily dog smell at all. But when she finds that perfect spot outside, her taste in wonderful smells and mine differ widely. How can such a pretty girl smell so bad?