And then my eyes glaze over and I start talkin' stupid.

I'm sick of typing up posts and then erasing them.

I will tell you this: Jethro and the kids just watched a piece of brilliance on Youtube.  It was this Metallica Smooth Jazz creation...  Now they're watching a Lady Gaga Speed Metal Polka Face thing.  Yes, Lady Gaga Speed Metal Polka Face.

I'm pretty sure this is real and I'm not hallucinating but holy heck man, it's been a hell of a week so far.  I don't think anything would shock me anymore.  But please let's not test that theory.


It's just good to be alive and have the loved ones with me.  That is all I want to say for now.

Shaking my fist at that got-dern Google Van!!

I'm not living in the wilderness out here.  We're in farm country, all set out in little 50-acre and 100-acre lots, with neighbours in view but just far enough away.  We can get to a Tim Horton's for Jethro's daily coffee fix in less than ten minutes.

So we're not isolated and cut off from the world.  But the world is encroaching!!

Some of you may have heard of a thing called Google Street View.  It's a great party trick. Hey, look up the house you grew up in and see what it looks like now!  Wow, check it out, that's the variety store we buy our People magazine at!

Well that's fun and all, but then you realize that this is for real, and holy heck, this is kinda CREEPY!

Zoom in -- you can see folks hanging around on their porches with their faces blurred.  Their cars are parked out front with blurry licence plates.  You can see who's got their curtains open and what kind of plants are parked on the windowsills.

Wow.  As if living in town wasn't nosy enough already.  I say this as someone who lived in town for most of my adult life and sort of didn't really get the whole curtain thing.  Apparently they're supposed to be closed.  My bedroom now only gets the curtain pulled when Jethro wants to sleep in.

Good thing Street View doesn't extend its creepy lurking presence out here in the land of fields and farms, eh?

I mean, they don't even have that satellite view in detail this far out of the big urban centres.  In town people can zoom in and see the bubbles in their hot tubs, but we can't see much more than blobs for trees and boxes for buildings.  That's okay; we ooo and aww and remark on the shape of our property, giggle over the two white grains of rice in the field that represent our horses, and then we're done.

Ha, not quite!

Imagine our shock when we discovered on Sunday evening that the Google Van happened to meander past our place on its way from one small town to the next.

Seriously, there's the farm.  Right there.  On the screen.  Yikes.

To our credit, the place looks great.  Green grass, Mom's flowers blooming beside the house, nicely trimmed lawn, straight fences.

However, any place has its blemishes, and sure enough, we got our blemishes.  Yep, the spittoon on the front porch, undergarments flappin' on the washline, dog lickin' himself, it's all there!

I'm kidding.  We don't have a spittoon.

What irritated me was the unfinished project on the barn bank.  I'd pulled a few pieces of *ahem* lawn equipment out of the barn to return it to its rightful owner, who'd likely forgotten this stuff even existed.  So there it is, right out on display.  Hey world, check out the junk.

And my ol' man had a few unfinished projects down by the garage.  Well that's just ongoing.  It's a constantly evolving project down there.  See, it's just that now, people don't have to actually drive past to see how the projects are coming along.


I guess I shouldn't be too vexed about it.  Just last week I was riding my horse  in the corral when a particularly loud small plane flew overhead.  Phoenix had to look up and watch it.  Days later, we got a notice in the mail from the aerial photography people.  They'll be knocking on our door soon to show off a nice bird's eye view of the farm and try to talk us into buying one.

Good thing I combed my hair before I went out for a ride that day...

Face it: At some point you will have to get dressed. Y'know, in like, actual clothes.

Ever have that dream where you get to school/ work/ church/ the bank/ Motley Crue concert and suddenly realize you're still wearing your jammies?

I used to walk my kids to school in my jammies.  I'd put a snowsuit on over top, drop them off at the front, trudge back home and then fall back into bed.  Then it wasn't snowsuit weather anymore and I felt compelled to put on clothes. I wonder why I bothered.  Would the othermothers' opinion of me changed?

You know what?  I've even gone out to the barn in the morning with my jammies on under my coveralls.  That's pretty bad.  I'd get back into bed and fall into a very disturbed sleep, the thought of microscopic particles of barn dirt clinging to the collar of my flannel PJ shirt and crawling all over my pillow.

Bed can be irresistible.  But I'm not good at sleeping.  I seem to need to be in there for eight hours just to get five or six hours sleep.

Pretty much every morning for the last two months I've wanted to either stay in bed or get back in.

One of the interesting changes brought on by my new farm life is the morning routine.  I get up and change into my clothes right away.  I know I have to get in the truck and drive the kids across the highway to the bus stop. I guess I could stay in my jammies.  But then I'd be right back to lying in bed wondering if there's anything worse than dog hair stuck to my flannel pants from the truck seat.

Reluctantly I drag myself into the world of the living and get on with it. By the time I've let the horses out and given them hay, then taken the Pug for his morning scamper around the yard, I'm pretty much awake.  There's really no point in going to all the bother of getting back into the flannel PJs and snoozing in my room.  So, I deal with it.

Something strange and wonderful can happen.  I can wake up.  I mean, really wake up.

Today I spent the morning with the dog and a 5 gallon pail, picking up bits of litter the snow had been hiding for a few months.  I dug up a few more useless items lurking in the yard; broken weed whackers, a bent desk chair banished from the garage for being tilted, a couple of rad shrouds that will never again shroud a rad.  I threw 'em all in the truck box along with the garage and barn garbage.  After lunch, I headed off to the dump.  Buh-bye useless crap.

I felt so invigorated and lightened up that I stopped by the car wash on the way home.  I spent a couple of toonies on a vacuum, then a few more on a good scrub.

After school the kids and I did some cleanup in the barnyard.

I cooked supper.  Okay I heated up some stuff - let's say it counts.

I washed every dish.

The barn clothes were swishing around in the machine in the cellar.

I folded the clean stuff.

I saved a plate for my mom when she got home from work.

At chore time I picked out the horses' hooves and gave them each a nice forehead scratch before tucking them into the open shed for the night.

When I got back into my red flannel jammies with the dog bones and paw prints, I had my hot chocolate, a kid at each side and a Pug at my feet.

Delicious.  Satisfactory.  Earned.

I'd like every day to start and end this way.

Heeeeeey maaaaaaaan....

"Duuuuuuuude.  Wats goin' on, eh?"

"Who ya talkin' to eh?  Who ya talkin' to on that little black phone thing, man? "

If Jethro had me on speaker phone he'd have snuffly horse noises in the control room.  I am really looking forward to having the horse and the husband living on the same property.  That'd be coooooool.

Bad Timing!

The sun is shining, the mud is drying, and the horses are relatively clean.  You know what that means!

RIDE TIME!

It's not just because I want to ride but because I have to.  Phoenix my Prince still has a few little lessons to learn before he's working for a living.  He's doing great - collecting nicely and responding well to my cues. I'm still working on those lope transitions.  I know he can do it.  I know I can do it.  We just gotta get together on this project.

Have I mentioned how much I hate this time of year?  Hate it.  Even though the sun is getting up around the same time I have to, I do NOT want to get out of bed.  Once everybody's been walked and fed and taken to the bus stop, I wanna get right back into bed.  Blaaaggghhhh.

Getting out to the barn is still a drag, even though I no longer have to get into my truck to get to the barn.  Yes, that does definitely make it a lot easier!!  But my ambition is looow.

At least once I'm out there I could just stay there all day.

But here's the problem: I WANT TO WRITE!

Why, why, why couldn't I have gotten the urge to write in the dead of winter?  Why????

I have so many things to do now that the snow's gone, and I want to curl up on my bed with the MacWhite perched on my knees so I can do this writing project!

But I really want to have my horse time too.

Hey- wait a second...

THIS IS ACTUALLY A REALLY GOOD PROBLEM TO HAVE.

... especially since some of this writing project has something to do with my furry friends out there...

A Reminder that Life Can Be Good...

Last week was our March Break, and none of us got up at 6:30 am because we didn't have to.  The horses spent the week sleeping outside, which they loved.  I made the kids take the dog out for several "walks" each day, and I use the term "walk" loosely because there isn't really much walking going on out here!

We tackled our ongoing yard cleanup project, what with the departure of a few scrappers over the last month.  There were little bits of automotive hose, and the odd paper coffee cup and a few bits of metal that rusted off an old truck.  Like a treasure hunt, only not treasure.

I'd think about my house and the old neighbourhood.  I hope my friends all get to like the new owners.  I know it won't be the same.  CuteStuff won't be able to fling himself out his front door and end up in our backyard anymore.  No more ridiculously large pickup truck in the driveway.  But who knows, maybe the impromptu summer chat time at the side of the road will continue, just with different accents.  

It won't be the same.  It can't be.  Life never stays exactly the same.  

Some of this is a total drag but it can mean happiness too...

And that right there is a whole lotta happy!

"Pay Up Sucker" is right. I am so sick of this crap.

You know what really bugs me?



They're always sooooo sorry.  AFTER they get caught.

Everything looks fine, until the scandal breaks, then it's all carefully and vaguely worded apologies stinking of Public Relations experts and crash courses in Media Training.

Not really admitting to anything, but not exactly denying anything either, these public apologies seem designed to soothe broken hearts and smooth over flared tempers.  I think it's just embarrassing.

I don't understand it.  Do they really think they'll get away with it?  It's one thing for the average factory-employed T-shirt wearing dude, or the guy who puts on a suit and works in an office, but any man with any level of fame has so little chance of getting away with it.  

Newsflash:  Secrets get found out.  

I'm generally one of those irritating people who likes to believe the best in others.  It's getting more and more difficult.  

I want folks to be happy. I know what it's like to be in love and I like seeing that in others.  You know?  Warms my heart and all that?

I am perplexed. Why would a guy get bored with a woman like this?

She's beautiful, talented, and has loads of personality.  She's successful.  She hasn't done awful things to her face and body in pretending to be younger.  She's sexy and wholesome at the same time.  She's fun.  She's cool.  She can work an evening gown but you just know she's happy in boots and jeans.  She's relatable, and that's why all of us women out in the real world are pretty upset about this.

Here's what really burns my ass:  The whispers and murmurs that she is the problem. That she is too successful, and that his fragile little man-ego couldn't take it.  He had to be flattered, had to be the most important.  

So let me get this straight... she's got it all together, and for that reason he's got to find someone else?  It's her fault for being good looking, good at what she does, likable, and handling her career smartly?  I cannot tell you how much this idea infuriates me.

I don't even know this woman and I feel like defending her.  I do know a few awesome women who've had their hearts broken by cheaters.    

It's a power trip.  I do believe that's what affairs are about.  These guys think they're invincible and not accountable to anybody.

Maybe some people just shouldn't sign a contract for a lifetime commitment.  There'd be nothing wrong with that.  Just be honest.

Maybe some people have a danger addiction.  Well that's fine.  Take up bronc riding.  I'm sure in the long run that'd be safer and healthier than going out skank-surfing.

I'll be honest, I was ready to blame "Trophy Girl".  I figured she's just another attention hound doing what any smart attention hound would do: wait for the opportune moment and then strike.  Get all the pictures of the loving husband glowing at his award winning wife, then make the sordid claim, and BOOM instant fame.  Plus a big chunk of cash.  I found myself wanting to believe that she was a liar.

I wasn't defending him.  It's not like I figured it was out of character.  I just couldn't stand looking at those loving pictures.  She adores him.  I didn't want her heart broken.  I keep thinking of my friends who've been put in this awful position.  It's always someone trashier and less quality.  Always.  I don't know why.  It just is.

Then I realize I am blaming the wrong person too, just like anybody who suggests that a man can't handle the irritation of a successful and wealthy wife.  

Maybe Trophy Girl is a hard working woman who handles her own life on her own terms.  Maybe she's a good mother, or a great housekeeper.  Maybe she's not lying and he really did tell her his marriage was over.  In which case, she's a fool, cuz from what I've heard the marriage is never over, girls, and you're not gonna last.  

Also, I have nothing against tattoos, but hers are not pretty.  It's like she went out with the intention of getting tattoos and just picked them off the wall with no significance.  Also I do not approve of her eyebrows.  But that's neither here nor there.  

The stupidity.  It irritates me.

But hey, this will all blow over eventually and be added to the ever-growing list of dirty dogs who cheated on their wives and ruined their families.

Just remember: You reap what you sow.

And I'm done venting now.  I'm gonna go wash my hands and get some brain bleach.

Appaloosa, as rarely seen

Yesterday afternoon, Bucky looked out the window and saw both horses relaxing in the sun. He slipped out the door to take a few pictures.

Horses don't lie down much.  They can lock their legs and sleep standing up, but they still need to get off their feet for a space of time.  And why not lie down in the sun on the warm ground?  

They might only spend an hour out of 24 like this, and even less laid right out with their heads down.  It kind of freaks me out when they flatten out.  They look dead.  I'm looking for the rise of the ribcage and the twitch of an ear to show me they're just sleeping. 

I am always struck by how different they look like this.  Phoenix reminds me of a beached sea mammal.  Copper looks like a kitten with her legs all tucked under her chest. 

This is an extremely vulnerable position for a horse to be in.  Instinct tells them not to be this way, just in case a mountain lion comes along looking for a nice big hooved snack.  A lot of horses won't let you get this close to them when they're lying down.  These two are ridiculously tame, but Bucky still thought it was really cool to get this close to them before they decided they ought to get up and shake it off.

Later he did a little picture fixing and drew a big red heart around their heads for me.

I went out to see my horses this morning and greeted them with, "Hey, Eaters!"

They looked at me like, "Yeah what's yer point.  Gimme the hay."



After a weekend of cold and misery and extreme wind, we're back to sunshine. It was icky out there earlier this week, when I took these pictures with my iGadget.  I'm checking that clay corral several times a day to see how it's drying up.  I can tell where the horses went for a roll.  They loooove rolling!

The biggest problem is that ol' Phoenix there believes he has to give the Little Lady permission to do anything, and here he hadn't given her permission to roll. Sadly, she tends to think she needs his permission.

But she'll consider it.  She wants to get down and roll.  The second he gives her the go-ahead she's gonna do it.

Now?  He's not looking... maybe now, maybe when he's not looking...

YES!

OHHHHH YEAH!

And when Phoenix says it's time to run BOOM up she goes and it's time to run.

Oh sure Phoenix, you're such a magnificent dude.  Just look at ya.  whoo hoo.

But heh heh heh, he can't be looking at every second.  Any chance she gets she's going for another roll.

That's better, eh?  Nothing like a horse with a predominantly white coat rolling in the sticky clay/manure/ shavings/ rotten hay mixture.  

It'll be really nice when the corral dries up.  That's all I'm going to say about that.

A House: the Long Story and the Short Story

Time it took to prepare the house for sale while he worked his usual 14 hour day and I was an hour and a half away on the farm: 7 months

How much bickering and disagreeing and fighting we did in that time: more than the previous 18 years of marriage put together

How many times I told my parents and kids this would be the last time I'd have to go back to the house for a week to get it ready: Twice

When we put the sign on the lawn and the listing hit the internet: Last Wednesday

First showing: Thursday

Number of showings in total: lost count at 22

Number of days on the market until we looked at offers: 4

Number of offers presented: 5

People who did not win our house: the family with the slick smarmy agent who tried to butter up ours to get in first; the couple with knee surgery who wanted a bungalow so she wouldn't have to navigate stairs, who were stupid because why would you buy a house with such a beautifully finished basement if you'd never go down there plus their agent pestered ours the whole afternoon and was a general pain; the agent who lowballed us; the guy whose offer would have been perfectly okay in any other circumstance but just wasn't good enough

The family who did win our house: A man and a woman with thick Eastern European accents; she has a pretty face and a shy smile, he has a big grin and is built strong like a truck; two teenage boys who tower over both their parents and upon seeing the house for the first time that day looked like they'd just won the lottery.




Someday I will try to put into words how I feel about all of this...

The sadness over leaving behind the home I raised my babies in and created so many memories.

The relief of having gotten this over with.

The excitement of starting the next phase of our lives.

The worry that I won't be able to see my ol' town friends as much.

The belief that this is another step in my master plan to get the kids, the horses and the husband all onto the same property.



But now, I just want to relax for a few days.

The sun shines, the snow melts. Happens every year.

It took me a few years to figure it out, but it seems that every spring, I have a hard time coping with life.  The past few months have been particularly stressing, but despite that, I'm actually doing pretty okay.

Here's the way I see it: Every spring people get a hint of what's to come and they start getting silly, running around in shorts and T shirts when it really isn't that warm yet, getting out their motorcycles and carefully stored summer cars, and packing away the snowblower.  We all darn well know it's gonna snow again.  It always does.

But for a short time, we sort of don't care.

That little taste of summer feels so good.  

(I really must find a better tether for this poor guy.  Spending the winter under a snowbank was not good for this rope.  Last year's chain didn't do much better.)

This is the fourth day of sunshine.  The corral is drying up and I finally feel like going out there and doing something with my two hayburners.  Out in the pasture, a steady trickle of water runs down the low spot.  All the snow banks are gone now.  There are only a few wet spots in the corral.  The horses have been rolling off chunks of winter fur, and providing us with regular horse shows.  

The downside is that there's no way around it: SPRING STINKS.

In town, all the winter's worth of dog droppings surfaces in backyards, while out here, a giant pile of next year's compost is just cooking away in the sun and stinkin' up the place.  

I walk the Pug around the back and stare down at the mud, and the slimy remains of melted snow.  The horses are filthy.  There's gravel in places it shouldn't be because of snowplows.  

I don't think this is why I get seasonally depressed.  I don't know why.  I kind of don't care.  I'll just keep taking my big pink capsules and running around with my dog and staring at the huge lamp every morning.  

It's gonna be okay.  It is every year.  All I have to do is give it time.  And you know what? Looking out the window and seeing this somehow makes it all feel so much better.

I have an appointment with Dr Puggy and Dr Phoenix this afternoon.  Lucky me.

Hey, did you guys watch the Oscars on Sunday night?

I DIDN'T.

I know, I'm as shocked as you are.

I'd tell you I've been really busy lately but that's so cliche.  Everybody's busy.  You know the deal.


However, because somebody invented a magical communication medium known as The Internet, I can find all kinds of pictures of people I couldn't watch on TV.  Then we can all talk about who looked awesome, who looked awful, and how funny it is that one dress can top both lists!  Also we'll maybe discuss the last four awards of the night, which I did see before I dropped off into a restless sleep filled with well-dressed nightmares about people wrapped in grey polyester with oxygen masks on their faces.

Anyways.

THERE WILL BE A HICK CHIC OSCAR REPORT.

I'm working on it.  I'll let you know when it's up.  Promise.


NEWS FLASH!


I did it, it's up, you can read it on my evil twin blog, and I'm exhausted.  I think I'll go have a nap.  

As Mad as a Hatter

...which, luckily, I am...

(sometimes it doesn't matter how bad things are, you need to cough up the $30 to take your kids to a movie.  If you stare at that picture long enough, his eyes look like they're going in two different directions.  Haven't we all felt that way???)

THIS will NEVER get old and boring!!! JUNO AWARDS!!!!!!!

Just when our beleaguered family needed some good news...

HE'S IN!  FOURTH YEAR IN A ROW!  Every year he says he won't get nominated, there are so many guys making good sounding records, blah blah blah, and then he sounds all sheepish when he gets the call.

Ha!  Amazing how a guy so arrogant wise-ass can sound so humbled/giggly when he's proven wrong and gets himself another nomination!

We're going to the Juno Awards! 

So now he says he won't win and dude, so what.  He's won it once already.  I'm good with that.  I love it that he gets some recognition for the work he does.  The music industry is brutal, folks.  The hours are long, the dues are never fully paid, and the pay is just not as good as it should be.  Add to that the fact that most recording engineers are self employed, either freelance or on contract to a studio, and that means you pay your own taxes and get no employee benefits program.  This job can be hell on your health, not to mention the stress it can put on a marriage and family.

The only comparison I can make is farming.  In order to do the work, a huge amount of assets are required.  Land, giant tractors, livestock quota, feed, seed... and long hours... really not enough pay if you take all the labour into consideration... yet the average person looks at the situation and goes, "Wow, you guys got some bigass tractors and a couple hundred acres, you must be all fulla scratch!" Or, the average person assumes, "OMG your dad owns a recording studio?!?!  You guys must be loaded!"  Meanwhile the child is growing out of her sweater and her jeans are too short.  Oh, and the whole concept of "ownership" is fuzzy when it comes to farming or recording studios.  It should be called "bankership" or "deepindebtorship"

So yesterday morning I called my man about three times, what with us currently sort of not exactly living full time in the same house.  A buddy was at the press conference texting him the nominees as they were announced.  I had work to do, which is why I was standing in the corral with a manure rake in one hand and the iGadget in the other, grinning and laughing.

Mr I'm Pretty Sure I Won't Get Nominated This Year assured me that somehow we will find a way to pay for plane tickets to get to Newfoundland.  Nominees get free tickets to the three events but have to find their own way there.  Our attitude is, if you get the call, you go.  Show up.  Support.  Wear last year's suit jacket, borrow a dress, sweet talk the hotel into a discount on the room whatever, just find a way.

It's Canada's biggest entertainment celebration and it ends up being just a big giant rock concert. Love it.

I am SO excited!  In case you don't know, NOOF-enland is the party capital of Canada.  All Newfies are awesome people. This is documented proven truth.  It just IS.

Also???  This is a once a year treat for us.  As much as we love our younguns (and it would be fun to bring them some day!) this is the only time we get to spend a whole weekend together.  Don't kid yourself, it is a work trip, but at least we get to hang and have fun.  Yes, even work trips can be fun!

We can get all dressed up and purty.

He gets to sleep without worrying about who's waiting for him at the studio.  I get to sleep without worrying about letting the dog out for a whiz or making sure the kids get to school on time or getting the horses out of the barn before they start chewing it apart.

(Plus I get to stay in a room that gets magically cleaned while we're out for the day!)

If I'm really lucky there will be cut flowers at the fancy dinner, which I can't be trusted with, because I will take them and it can lead to goofy things like, Zoolander faces.

That's my Le Tigre.

This is my Blue Steel.

I'm still working on my Magnum.

Or wait, is it the other way around???  I think I've got time to work on it.

They let us go on the red carpet!!!!  With Mounties!!

And sometimes, the crowd gets so excited and hyped, they think we must be Somebody Famous and they scream and yell and it's hilarious!!

LOOK!  It's Brangelina!  No it's not!  Bwa ha ha ha ha!  Silly breathless fans!

We are allowed to have fun!  One word: AFTERPARTY!

We get to sweet talk our way past the bouncers because we are actually allowed to be there!  Us two hicks, in the same building with rock stars and lots of people we don't recognize and might actually be nobodies like us!!!

Hey, Nobodies?  I think not!

Getting to the awards event requires a form of travel that I am generally NOT HAPPY ABOUT.

We do it like the Ramones.  I wanna be sedated.  By the time the Ativan sinks in, he pushes me into the plane and when I wake up we're there!  He's kind enough to take pictures while we're up there so I don't miss anything, like last year, flying over the Rockies.

Oh my gosh, we are so lucky.

I mean, I grew up on a pig farm and he grew up in the big house in town behind the feed mill.  I'm pretty sure I could attend these things for the next twenty years and never get over it.

Glowing Hearts

The airport in Vancouver has cleared, but it feels like Canada is still on a collective buzz.

Even me, the girl who thinks barrel racing should be an Olympic sport but be televised annually, me who doesn't really get sports.  I who wonder if the event damages the land and causes pollution.  I watched eagerly.


Part of it for me, actually most of the appeal, is the story behind the athletes.  I like the human drama.  I love seeing the short features on TV about the people in a star athlete's life, the support and drive and inspiration that go into years of training.  I admire that perseverance these people carry with them.  Any of us can use that.  It takes bravery.

Joannie Rochette, who grieved for her mother while skating her way to bronze.  

I love the characters this brings out!  

Jon Montgomery (who my kids have enthusiastically named JONNYMONTY) our gold medal winning skeleton racer, who did the best victory walk ever through the town of Whistler with a pitcher of beer in hand, high-fiving, hugging, signing babies and throwing the finger cannons!

He's an auctioneer from Manitoba.  This guy rocks so chill.  We're fans.


Okay, so I didn't get to watch much the last week because I was at the house in town with no TV.  I still haven't watched the tape of the closing ceremonies.  And I think I was one of maybe ten Canadians who didn't watch The Hockey Game.

I was loading the Jetta with boxes to move to the farm when I heard happy shouts around the neighbourhood, and car alarms going off.  Yep, that would be the sound of a gold medal... within minutes cars were cruising around tooting horns and spilling yelling passengers out the windows.


I don't know if anyone who isn't Canadian can really understand how badly "we" WANTED IT.  I mean, even people like me who say they don't care really, really wanted to win hockey gold in Canada.


I never thought of us as being a particularly patriotic nation.  I wouldn't want to live in any other country in the world and am thankful for the luck that had me born in this country, but figured we just don't really make a big deal.  We don't make big deals out of much of anything.  Except maybe hockey.  And not me.  Canadians seem like the kind of people who don't brag up our country but won't let anyone talk mean about it.


Anyways.


It's not true.

We're patriotic.


We just maybe didn't realize it.


I think part of it comes from being the dorky little sister in the North American family.  We're younger.  We are often overshadowed by our glamorous, outgoing and extroverted big brother, America.  Sometimes we're kinda jealous of America cuz he gets all the attention and everybody seems to like him better.  But then every now and then we get some kind of validation that yes, we are liked too, you like us, you really like us!


We go out of our way to prove that we are Canadian.  We're not American or British.  We spell COLOUR with a U in it, but we drive on the right side of the road.

The speed-skating Hamelin brothers finally got their gold in the relay.  We like them.  They're cute too.

We crack jokes about our Canucky image.  We tell people from the southern states that we live in igloos and ride snowmobiles to work, then chuckle about it.  We invite our politicians onto our comedy shows.

Buble!  He's funny.  Anybody catch him and Colbert mash two national anthems?  Who knew the words would fit the music like that?  

We have an annoying habit of creating stars we can't really support, who move to Los Angeles, and then we want to remind everyone that they're OURS.  (Except in Quebec- there's a star system!)

Yep, Alanis.  She's one of ours.

So is Michael J Fox.  Anybody see him cheering at hockey games?

And, SHATNER!  He's one of ours too!!

Every Olympic year, the debate comes up: why aren't our athletes doing better?  We're not a third world country, shouldn't we be hauling in the medals like Russia and Germany and the USA?


Yeah, we don't want to be them, but we want to keep up with them... and most of Canada does an eye-roll while the rest start bawling about wanting to be included.  Some of us snidely remark that we don't have the money to spend on athletes when we're giving away life-saving medical procedures, labour and delivery, and visits to the doctor's office for free.  Actually, that was me who made that remark in Sunday school last week.  Yep, I said it.


Vancouver is the third time we held an Olympics in Canada.  Until 2010, no Canadian had ever won a gold medal in the home country.


Also the men's hockey team got spanked last time around...


There was a huge push to get some action this time.  We were inundated with "Do You Believe" ads and ran a crazy zigzagging torch run that got within an hour's drive of 95% of Canadians homes.  Canada went into this thing like we meant business.

You know, I'm the person who cheers for the underdog.  Heck, I generally am the underdog.  But I admit, I wanted this.  I wanted some national self esteem and I wanted the world to come away from this two week event feeling like Canada knows how to party.


So.  Did we succeed????


I feel pretty good about it!


How could I not?


(More gold medals than any host country ever?  Records broken?  So many firsts I forget?)

But because I'm Canadian (and also a mostly-modest Mennonite and all that) I'm not going to make too big a deal out of it!


Years from now, my country will still claim some pretty great memories, but I doubt this hot streak of success will last forever.  Why should it?  It's not natural to stay on top permanently.  We'll be losers again.  And then we'll kick ass again.  It's what we do.


Also, you may have noticed that we love us a good party, and the best way to party Canadian style is to throw a big honkin rock concert.

Come on, you KNEW there would be Nickeback!  And, PYRO!  We can't throw it down properly without the world's favourite rock n roll hosers!

I heard Neil Young was the last act of the night.  Were there any dry eyes left at that point?

I do love this country, despite its huge flaws and problems.  Now, I must get on my dog sled, mush over to the Tim Horton's to get some coffee and donuts, put some maple syrup on it, then share a beer with a moose.  Eh?

The mittens even Oprah couldn't keep her hands out of!  I love these.  Annyong has a pair.  So does Grandma.  

Hey World, hope you enjoyed the party!!!  I know I did!