bizarre gardening accidents: they're not just for rock stars anymore.

Warning: This post contains gross things like blood and barf and broken bones.  Also, possible Gaga content.  Readers are advised to use their own discretion and look for Spinal Tap references.  Also: LINKS. 

Well I survived the First Aid course this past weekend.

It was a re-certification. Mine expired in February and I have to have it in order to be a riding instructor.

When I took the course the first time, in 2008, I had a pretty serious panic attack.    With that kind of precedent, I was a little nervous going in.  At least I could assure myself that I do have a clue what I'm doing now.  I've been teaching for two years (not much but it counts) and I've had time to build up some confidence.  I'm quite sure if you were riding my horse and you fell off, which believe me, I would do everything to avoid, I could scrape you off the ground and put you back together until the professionals got there!  But like I said, I am on a mission to never have to use my First Aid training.

I left home at 7:30 am and got home at 6:30 am.  In between, I had 40 minutes of driving altogether, about 20 minutes of break time, and an hour for lunch.  So I'm not good with numbers, but I think that means I did 9 hours of All The Awful Ways People Can Almost Die And What I Must Do To Not Have Them Die.

This could also be known by its alternate title, What To Do When A Person's About To Die A Horrible Accidental Death.

Or, the whole thing can be referred to as just, Boneheaded Injuries To Fix.

Being me, I can't stop my brain from taking off in a different direction.  Rolling an unconscious victim into "recovery position" makes me think of that time on the beach when I was 13 and my buddy was kinda drunk and kept barfing, so the other buddies kept rolling him over, because this recovery position will prevent a person from choking on their own barf, which makes me think not only of drunk buddies but also the amount of rock stars who die of choking on their own barf, or even, somebody else's vomit, which is even more complicated, because you might not ever find out whose barf it was.  You can't dust for vomit.

I'm not kidding, after about Hour 6 this all starts to morph away from Serious into Unbelievable and all the way into Ridiculous.  By that point, I'm looking at videos of people hacking sharp things into themselves (accidentally) and I'm holding back the giggles.  Or maybe that's just me being weird and nobody else in the room felt the same way.

The creepy little plastic rubber mannequin torso starts to morph too.  I'm bitching at the thing for having such a stupid little mouth.  How the hell am I supposed to pretend to scoop a grape out of there to stop the choking, when I can't even get the mouth open?  I'm pressing on its chest, counting compressions, and thinking about how a real person's chest wouldn't squeak like that... or at least it shouldn't...

Try as I did, I could not think up a good name for the creepy torso mannequin.

(and now I find myself wondering if that term will ever come up on an internet search.  THAT would be weird.)

I was one of 12 people pretending to get hurt, grievously injured I could say, and then taking turns pretending  to save each other.  It really reminded me of my son Bucky at 4 years old, wearing a plastic fireman's hat, dragging a wagon up and down the lane, between little orange pylons, clutching a Cabbage Patch baby under his arm.  He'd set the baby on a step ladder, then with the most serious face in the world, go Rescue The Baby.  He'd put the doll under the wheel of his tricycle, then go Rescue The Baby.  We were talking about that a few weeks ago and giggling about, you know, GOOD TIMES in our past.  Bucky's 15 now.  He has a babysitting gig.  He shook his head and said, "Man, that kid got into a lot of trouble."

Ahhhhh yes.  People get themselves into a lot of trouble.

I remarked to one of the other girls, during the bandaging part of the course, that I've spent long hours bandaging horse legs after an injury.  She asked if horses get hurt a lot.  I rolled my eyes and said yes.  What do they hurt themselves on, she asked with surprise.  My answer?  EVERYTHING.  They're worse than toddlers.  They see a nail sticking out of the fence on the other side of the pasture and they take a flying run to impale themselves on it.  You spend a day looking for every sharp protuberance in their environment, and they kick themselves in the bone with the other hoof.  They cannot be trusted.

Humans aren't much friggen better, though.

Just when you think you've seen enough video dramatizations of people having heart attacks, or brain implosions, or lawn rake fractures and garden hose strangulations, I dunno, it started to blend after two hours, you get to learn about how trying to help can make a person's problems worse.  Then you start thinking, what have I gotten myself into here I am never going to teach another riding lesson because if I person trips over a dragging latigo strap on the way back into the barn carrying a saddle they'll break every bone in their spine let alone if the person actually falls off my horse which I don't want to happen screw it I'm never leaving the house ever again.  

By the time we got to the part where we got to watch videos of people slicing off appendages - oh lucky us eh? - I was finished.  I couldn't stop the howls.  It was like watching Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd.  You know it's fake.  You know it's all buckets of red paint.  You know it's all ACTING.  But when that fake red-paint-blood comes squirting out of the fake-wax-arm, I'm the one right up at the front (better to pay attention, right?) cringing my knees right up to chest, shrieking with nervous laughter, wiggling sideways in my chair, plastering my hands over my face.  How embarrassing!  I might as well be the chick in Grade 10 who pokes the formaldehyde frog in biology class, exclaims how gross it is, then pokes it again.

Seriously?  How can I not laugh though.  All I could think of was...

Do you believe this?  Just call me Mr Butterfingers!    This hardly EVER happens... to me....

You have to watch this youtube video.  Please.  I beg you.  If you haven't seen it before, you won't truly be able to understand why I was unable to control the giggles.  If you have seen it and you get it, oh heck just watch it again.  It'll feel like you're 14 again.  Just watch it.

So yeah.  That was this year's First Aid Course experience.  If I'd had a panic attack instead of a laugh attack, maybe people would feel sorry for me instead of thinking I'm rude and insensitive.  Ohhhh well.

Then I didn't watch the MTV awards.  Dammit, I always say I'm going to but then I don't.  This time it's because the Canadian Government has decided we all have to watch high definition digital broadcast, because we need to see every forehead wrinkle on every actor or newscaster over 16, or something, and they've been running commercials all year telling us that if you watch TV over cable or satellite, but if you're still getting signal off your rabbit ears antenna THAT WOULD BE YOU, HEIDI'S FAMILY then you have to either spend out for a new TV or spend out for a little plastic box that will take four weeks for a brilliant recording engineer to set up leaving me to wonder how the hell all the normal people do this and why the hell do we have six remotes in front of Grandma's couch now....

But I found out the next day that I'm not the only chick with a split personality...

Heck if people wanna speculate that she's a guy, why not mess with their heads a little? I guess?  I mean, I didn't watch it, but the pictures are hilarious.

Heck who am I to criticize?  I've done it.  Except it was HALLOWEEN.  

If you wanna get the highlights, you have to just do what I do and go read Go Fug Yourself.   They get all the good pix and they're WAYYYYY FUNNIER 'N I AM.

I can't... I have to go catch three horses who need their hooves trimmed.  Sigh.  I know.  Busy life.

I think it's funny when the dog farts and then looks at his butt like he has NO IDEA HOW THAT HAPPENED!

Of course, being a pug, he looks confused most of the time anyways.  

Bye, Jack.

I kind of liked Jack Layton, at far as liking a politician goes.  I gave him nicknames.  I do that.  SILVER JACK!  Also sometimes SMILIN' JACK or even SMUG JACK. Or just, THE MOUSTACHE.

I said things like, "You can trust a guy who picks a style of facial hair and sticks with it for decades."

And, "A man who keeps a moustache even when it's out of fashion is a guy who is not afraid of commitment."


My in-lawrs are big NDP people.  They're New Democrat Party all the way.  I haven't talked to them since Jack's passing on Monday.  I don't belong to any party.  I often have a very hard time taking the whole thing seriously. I'm the kind of slacker who just wants to go ride my horses and wish everybody would get along.  I don't like to think about the uneasy relationship between farmers and government.  But I vote.  Even if I'm reduced to simply voting for the person with the least amount of bullcrap, or the one who smiles the most (while appearing genuine about it) I  always vote.

In my lifetime, there have been two national leaders who had a standout personality (whether or not it was likeable).  They were both from Quebec and were both real flamboyant characters. Personality or not, I didn't expect Jack to become Prime Minister.  Being from Quebec might not have been enough.   I think he was too much of a s*** disturber and rebel.  Maybe even too honest.  He 'fessed up to things rather than verbally backpedal, and what kind of politician does that?  He was leading the underdog NDP.  Besides, how many world leaders have worn successful facial hair?  That would have been pretty cool, I think.

I won't get into details.  There are news websites where you can read all about it.  Everybody remarks on how tragic it is that he took his party to their biggest triumph in history, after beating cancer and campaigning on a broken hip, and died 16 weeks later, from another kind of cancer, one that didn't care who wins what.

But, the one good thing about his death is that he had time to write his last words.

Well, the house didn't get blown down this weekend.

Got away with it just a little longer.

Maybe I'm a pessimist, but I have this thing where I figure I'm not so special that only good things will happen to me.  Why wouldn't a tornado rip through the farm?  It's happened not far from here.  To perfectly decent people.  It could happen.  Lots of awful things happen to nice people and it could all get inflicted on me too.

Yesterday a tornado hit the town of Goderich Ontario, a beautiful little town on the shore of Lake Huron.  I love that whole area and have wished at times that my Mennonite ancestors had put down their incredibly strong tough roots there instead of Amish-Mennonite Central here.  Not that I don't like the area I grew up in.  I love it.  Beautiful farm country.  It's just that it's also beautiful farm country out there, plus BEACH.  Also, real estate prices are waaaay lower.

So basically I have a real appreciation for that area and felt a little sick when I heard on the news that Goderich's gorgeous town square has been reduced to rubble.  Giant trees, stripped, gracious Victorian buildings shattered.  Over twenty injuries and one death.  People left homeless or worse.  I fear that shocked and frightened state.

I feel really awful for the people whose lives have just been changed by that twister.

The sky clouded over in the afternoon, and those of us who were at home on the farm here started looking out the windows anxiously when the wind picked up.  When I say that, I mean, ME, I was looking out the windows, and by wind I mean so strong the willow trees were bent over.   We opened windows to let the air pass through.  Houses implode when they're shut up tight against that violent wind.  Although I have a feeling a tornado doesn't care whose windows are open.  I was looking for sickly green in the sky, things blowing through the air that shouldn't be there.  My kids told me I was paranoid.  It occurred to me that really I was just dreading going into the cellar for shelter, because the cellar is damp and icky and really unpleasant.  Plus Jethro can't stand up straight in there, the ceilings are so low.

We got lucky (again) and didn't have to run down to the cellar to save our lives.

I figured we were safe once the rain started lashing down.  Relief.  The horses had been out grazing like nothing weird was going on... that alone sort of made me feel like we'd be okay.  Maybe I'm all wrong about this but I figure if they are acting weird then we're in big trouble.

By evening the air was all cooled off and you'd never know a storm had just whipped through.

Another weekend without being taken out by a natural disaster.  Yay.

Don't know about you but I'd like some JOHNNY TIME.

I will never make enough money teaching riding lessons to justify building an indoor arena.

Yeah, whatevs man.  If it rains torrentially it just means we stay in the barn and learn about latigo knots and the intricacies of wrapping a horse's legs.

After an extremely dry July, we've been getting some rain.  The grass is green again, and we don't have little sand twisters all over the yard from the wind blasting across the corral.  Riding in there doesn't kick up so much dust you can hardly see 30 ft.  The drainage pipe/ gravel/ sand combo seems to be doing its job, taking the water away to let the surface dry and firm up.

I have one student this year.

Luckily, she is my favourite student.

I got off to a slow late start.  I tell myself it'll be okay.  I'll advertise, I'll spread the word that I'm open for business.  People will drive down the road and see us riding.  It'll be okay.

But I know this little horse business of mine won't support the land necessary to run it.

My goal is to have the horses paying their own way and not have to ask my husband to pay them.  My next goal is to be able to sit down at the table in September and write out cheques for all those pesky school things.  You know the deal.  Kid comes home after the first day with five sheets of paper telling me to fork out for photography supplies and upcoming field trips and next year's yearbook.  Last year I did that.  Everything was paid on the second day of school.  It's not looking good for this year... so far...

I'll give myself a break though, and work towards improving what I've got.

I ride almost every day.  

Outside.

I've got a killer farmer tan.  Brown shoulders and lily-white legs.

AMERICA

Crossing the border into Michigan isn't a shock for an Ontario girl, in terms of geography.  Everything looks about the same as in my part of Canada.

But don't think for a second that Canada and the USA are the same.

We are similar -- obviously close relatives -- but we are different from each other.  We can relate to a lot of cultural things, and sometimes the landscape, but the tiny differences are there, right up at the surface.

Road signs are in green, like at home, but there are little blue and red Interstate symbols.  I like American road signs.  They make sense.  I don't like American billboards.  I don't want to visit a gentleman's club or that fancy new hospital.  I'm really not sure if I want to buy super cheap discount fireworks.  Please don't give my son any ideas... It's very handy that I'm being informed as to what restaurants are coming up at the next exit, but if I'm on a road trip, chances are I'm going to look for a grocery store and fill my cooler in the trunk instead, so... thanks but no thanks.

In Ontario, you might - might, if you're lucky - get a small logo on a blue sign with a few other fast food logos.  There will be a Tim Horton's and a Wendy's.  There will be a Tim's at every stop.  It's almost like a Canadian law.  I really hope you like coffee and donuts if you're travelling in Canada.  Better eat now cuz the next rest stop is in... a long time from now.  Good luck.  Always get the tank filled in Sarnia because you'll be on the 402 for a couple hours running on empty.  So yeah.  Good luck.

American highways, are, in a word, gorgeous.  If you can call a road gorgeous, that's what they are.  Smooth, wide, with well-marked signs and well-lit lanes.  Those little "cat eye" reflectors in the pavement?  Genius.  Driving the Interstates is so efficient.  America, you are the undisputed KING OF HIGHWAYS.  (Okay, technically Germany probably is, with the Autobahn and all that, but seriously, you gotta have the stones to drive like a race car driver there from what I hear, so yeah, gotta hand it to ya, USA.)

I wonder though, my American friends, do Ontarian drivers piss you off?  We must.  We go flying past like speed limits are just a guideline.  But I'll let you in on a little secret, okay?  Those of us from north of the border cannot figure out why y'all have signal lights.  Because few of you use them.  Maybe it's just an Illinois thing.  Wow.  Guys?  Please let us know when you're fixing to change lanes in front of us.  Please.  We are simple-minded Canadians.  We can't read your minds.  Apparently we just don't get it.  Also I'm personally teaching a 17 year old girl how to drive and have developed a reaction like "eiidjjjuffffisisis guh guh guh" every time a vehicle in front of us does anything.  I'm sorry.  It's just how it is with us.

You know what else America excels at?  FRIENDLINESS.  At the Veegee's in Flint (I think that's what it was called and where it was... I wasn't totally recovered from the border crossing yet even though it was hassle-free) the sweet woman who sold us sliced meat and cheese had the warmest brown eyes and incredible dimples.  I darn near invited her to come to Lollapalooza with us.  Okay that's not quite true but for a split second I could have believed she'd known us for years.

By contrast, people behind the counters in Canadian stores are definitely polite... but not friendly.  There is a difference.  Up here, you'll always be greeted with a "how are you today?" but nobody really cares or expects an answer.  The transaction is made, receipt handed over, and off you go.  Very polite, kind of arm's length.  In the States, you walk out feeling like that person I just paid for a tank of fuel really honestly wants me to have a good day!


However.  Don't piss off other drivers in Chicago.  Holy crap.  In our confusion - and keep in mind, Jethro is one of the best, if not THE best driver I know - we ended up in the middle of an intersection in a yellow light.  We got the crap honked out of us.  HONK!!!!  Like, angry, multiple horns, mob honking.  Then a van passed us with the driver hanging his arm out the window like he was symbolically slapping us upside the head.  Like, three times.  Slap.  WTF is wrong with you?  Slap.  Go back to Canada you %$^%$!  Slap.  Why I outta kick you in your stupid &&^% pansy Volkswagen *&^ and stick my foot up your *^&%&   &*^*^  while I'm at it.  And there's me in the passenger seat, cowering, yes cowering because some of these people have guns!  At least that's what I hear, up where I live.


People of Chicago, when you are in your cars you kind of aren't very nice.  Out of your cars, you're pretty cool.  In your cars, you're actually kind of scary.  Like, I worry that you will have some kind of stress related heart attack or something.  Maybe some of you should walk more?

I don't know if it was just the rock festival vibe in Grant Park last weekend, but I often felt like we were welcomed with open arms.  Getting chatting with somebody was easy, lining up for something to eat, or buying some merch (Been there, got the T shirt) and inevitably it would come up that I'M FROM CANADA.  I got a few big smiles, and "Hey, welcome to Chicago!)  I loved that.

A guy started calling, "John Deere!  Hey, John Deere!"  So I turned to look.  With a big excited grin, he pointed to my hat.  "You actually drive one?"

"Yeah!"

"Do you have one?"

"I'm inheriting one!"  I replied.

He had that broad mid-west accent.  Maybe it was just that mine was the only John Deere logo at an alternative rock festival, but hey buddy!  You got tractor, I got tractor, we are friends!!!

Packed in with a bunch of other Muse fans, I struck up a conversation with a girl from Chicago about the similarities between that city and Toronto.  Both up against a lake.  Airport on the far side of town.  Sprawling suburbs.  Boiling hot humid summers.  Brutal winters.  Oh wait - it's only Chicago that has the tough winters... Toronto thinks winters are haaaaard but Toronto in general is pretty wimpy. (Don't whine at me, Toronto people, if any of you are reading this, which I doubt, but you know it's true!  Talk to somebody from Manitoba and get back to me on it!)

Also, the two cities play each other in movies.

Thing is, I am just not a city person.

Most of the Canadian cities I've been to (thank you Canadian TV network for moving the Juno awards around the country each year) are kind of small and clean and new compared to the American cities I've been to (usually on the Interstate and as quickly as possible.  Not a city person.)

American cities have Bad Neighbourhoods.  And also, beautiful, exciting, interesting Downtown Cores with so much to look at, it's overwhelming.

America has a vibe and an energy that amazes and confuses me.  Incredibly friendly people who may or may not have weapons in their homes in case the enemy attacks.  I'm sorry, it's what us Canadians think, I don't know, maybe it's Michael Moore's fault.  America is huge.  America is home to some of the best ideas and bizarre weirdness.  America is a breeding ground for stardom.  America has so much natural beauty and every now and then, a big pocket of industrial ugliness.  But mostly beauty.

America is defiantly proud.  Canada is self-deprecatingly proud.

America parodies their politicians on TV comedy shows.  Canada invites their politicians to play themselves on TV comedy shows.  Kind of the same, but different.

America has a gorgeous flag.  It is awesome, in the true sense of the word, and it's everywhere.  Canada has a cute flag and pastes little red leaves everywhere possible.

I don't think Canada totally understands America, but it's okay, because I don't think America understands Canada either.  We're kind of the same, but we're very different.

America, you are BEAUTIFUL.

And also, America, you are weird.

And being Canadian, I know a lot about weird and beautiful.

I hope, sincerely, that we can always be friends.

Love, Heidi the Hick

MUSE: The band we'll do a 9 hour road trip to see.

This is the word I heard a lot of over a three day period:

LOLLAPALOOZA!

And this is the other word:

WERGONNASEEMUUUUSE!

When Annyong excitedly told me that Muse would be playing Lollapalooza in August and that it's the closest gig to us they'll be playing for the next two or three years because they're all moving back to England and they'll be writing and recording their next album so they won't be touring for ages and plus Matt&Kate have a new baby and Wolstenbeast and his Mrs will probably have a sixth baby cuz they seem to have one baby for each album and also Dom might get a new puppy so WE HAVE TO GO SEE THEM IN CHICAGO IT'S ONLY AN EIGHT HOUR DRIVE AWAY FROM US WE HAVE TO DO IT and also my friend has to come with us because we played the entire Origin Of Symmetry in the dance classroom lying on our backs at lunch hour and we looooove this band more than anything ever.

(Annyong, hanging around before A Perfect Circle played their set.)

So after I said no a couple times and then broke down into coming up with lame reasons why we couldn't go, I came up with an idea.

You kids get jobs and pay for the trip, and we'll go.  

And you know what?  They totally stepped up.  They did it.  They made this trip happen.  It was so worth it.  It was worth the cost and the drive. (And the stress.)

(Our last road trip in the USA was overshadowed by a lot of anxiety and tears on my part, so I had some hesitation about the whole thing.)

You know what?  Our kids are fantastic - funny, cool and goodhearted - and choose excellent friends.  Spending a day in a Volkswagen with the three of them was a truly wonderful experience.

Know what else was wonderful?  Muse.

(Jethro took the pix. The girls were closer than we were.  I had problems with this but it's not a rough crowd.  More fanatically enthusiastic appreciative rocking than moshing.)

We've been to a lot of concerts, Jethro and I, over the last 20-plus years. He has been making musicians sound good for a living for his entire adult life.  Our standards are very high.  Muse didn't just meet our expectations - they exceeded. Even if they hadn't brought the lights and videos and lasers and like, exploding spaceships and stuff, they'd have blown my mind.

They are so technically good, and musically complex plus haavy and on top of that they have a sense of humour.  They did a little AC/DC riff between songs and I'm so sure I heard some Rage Against The Machine in there too. Their whole set was gloriously stage-banter-free.  Just the basic, thank you, you're a great audience kind of thing.  Specifically, "Thank you for coming to see us tonight.  We know you had options.  You chose the right one."  Heck yes we did.

Oh and because this is a ROCK BAND there had to be a guitar getting rammed through the kick drum.

(I think it's ok.  It took three techs to get it out of the kick drum and replace the skin, but I'm pretty sure he brought the same guitar back out for the encore. Hey man, rocking is not a gentle art form!)

Also, Hunky Bass Player is lookin' goooood.  He's had a rough road of his own the last couple years and he's awesome.  

(Annyong and I are trying to remember if someone yelled "Wolstenbeast" during the show.  She thought so... then I said, oh, maybe that was me....)

 Seeing a band live is an experience.  In the olden days we weren't allowed to bring a camera or tape recorder, but in this age of camera phones and gadgets, everybody's recording. (Dern young whippersnappers.) But it's not about that, even though we panicked to get a few pix for the girl.  It's about being there for a musical moment that is happening NOW and will never happen exactly the same way again.  We can say we were there, loving every second of it.

And I have to say, Musers are a pretty devoted lot of fans.  In general, the crowd was there to adore the musicians  and jump up and down, singing along, word for word, hands in the air.  I've always said I figure it must be the hugest buzz in the world to be a person on a stage having the words you wrote sung back to you by oh, thirty thousand people, give or take a few thousand.

I have a lot more to say, about Muse, about Chicago, road tripping and teenagers, and good ol' America.

Pretty!  That's not the moon; it's a Lollapalooza balloon. 

But for now, the kids are still coming down off the buzz, and since they just happened to both get this week off work, I'm letting them sleep in.

According to my daughter the Muser...

All must make the pilgrimage.  

They all look so SERIOUS in these pictures.  How does that work?  How do you get Matthew Bellamy to stand still long enough to take a picture?  

Muse are in North America RIGHT NOW, which is the same continent my daughter lives in!!!!! 

OMG IT'S LIKE WE'RE RIGHT BESIDE EACH OTHER

THEY'RE LIKE, ALMOST BREATHING THE SAME AIR AS US, EXCEPT ACROSS THE GREAT LAKES!!!!! 

I've decided I fully support this particular rock band obsession.

That is all.  Goodnight.

You know it's bad when a 15 year old boy is grossed out.

After wrangling with a saddle blanket, because I just can't seem to get it one straight first try, and wrestling with a billet / cinch / latigo combo, my son took a look at me on his way out of the barn and said something like...

Wow Mom.  You're sweating so much you're actually dripping.  That's...pretty gross.






(He doesn't tell the horses they're gross when the sweat drips off them.)