Hmmm... Interesting....

My blog buddy, Heidi Willis, asked me to do this, and I'll do it for her because she is one of my favourite people I've never met.  We're part of an online writing group, in which we plan lovely getaways to Heidi's Maine beach house, where we'll read in our jammies all weekend (in pretend world).  I didn't think I had anything interesting left of me -- I spill a lot on this blog.  I might repeat myself, so consider pretending you don't know anything about me first.


1)  I have a crooked spine.  I've come to terms with it. Symmetry is over-rated.  Imperfection is interesting.

2) I was at a bush party in 1987 with my boyfriend.  I watched him take a drunken beating from a particularly tough dude, while standing beside my ex-boyfriend.  Also in attendance that night, although I didn't know it yet?  My next boyfriend.  I ended marrying him and we don't do bush parties anymore.  Good times.

3) I have written 5 novels.  One of them is pretty good.  One of them is really good and getting better, but I'm aiming for excellent.  None of them are actual real books.  However, I can call myself A Writer because I have been rejected by some of the best literary agents in North America, darn it!

4) I got a pony for my 7th birthday.  I named her Chocolate.  Because she was dark brown.   I was seven; clever literary reference names weren't in my repertoire yet.  Besides, "Hemingway" is a ridiculous name for a small filly.

5) I don't care or mind if you resent me for #4.  Hey man, I didn't have much of anything else, but I had ponies and that was more important than anything else.  Even Barbies.

6) I am a bit of a tomboy but I loved my Barbies.  (Both of them.)

7) I had a huge crush on Shaun Cassidy when I was eight.  I had the T shirt.  I had the pin-ups on the wall.  Until John Stamos came along a few years later, Shaun was the sun in my sky. What can I say, I fall hard and I fall easily.

8) I had a Donny Osmond doll too.  He had purple socks!!!!!

9) Sometimes I really lay it on thick with the red carpet stuff.  Like, "Well when I was on the red carpet the first time..." and "We walked right past (insert Famous and /or Well Known Canadian Artist) and he/she is actually very short..."  and also "....about four feet away from Shania Twain..." and I am just a tiny bit ashamed that I throw it around like that.

But come on!  I grew up on a pig farm!  My husband grew up behind the feed mill!  RED FRIGGEN CARPET?  You are damn right I'm gonna brag that up.

10)  If I had money to burn I'd start up a Useless Critter Farm.  I'd have a llama and a few miniature horses, heck, I'd have the three horses I have now.  A large collection of donkeys.  A sheep.  About 50 goats, because they rock!  Numerous cats.  Peacocks.  Heck if I could I'd have an elephant.

hahaha, I just changed four of those because I thought of something more interesting than what I first wrote.

Twenty years ago today, I got married. Smartest thing I've ever done.

Most of it is a blur but I clearly remember my young man's face once I got to the gazebo in the park and stood there facing him.  He smiled at me.  He was happy to see me. Him so purty.

Over the years, people who didn't know us back then are shocked when I tell them we got married at 20 and 22 years old.  You know what? I would have married that guy two years earlier, but we got him through college first and I had some time to save up for the wedding.

I wanted a picture for our 20th anniversary, taken by our talented daughter.  The old dress still fits, but the jacket he wore is too small in the shoulders and the sleeves are about four inches too short.  He ain't a cute baby-faced kid anymore; he's my big hunk o'man now.  Me, I just have more wrinkles.

I just got through a very difficult month, and I still feel kinda pale and frail... but he's solid.

Can't imagine how much I'm gonna love that man in another twenty years.

2011 and I are cautiously proceeding with our new relationship.

I'll say this right now though: if 2011 screws with me like 2010 did, we are OVER.  I'll skip straight to 2012, I don't care how much begging 2011 does.  I ain't puttin' up with that kind of crap again.

I'm willing to look at the positives though.

2010 gave me a few brilliant exceptions amidst all the monumental stress.

My god-daughter became the mother of a gorgeous baby boy.

My kids had a great year in the school bands.

Our house sold quickly and above asking price.

I started off the year with no students and ended the year with five.

A cute little red Quarter Horse mare came to live with me.

Does that make up for a devastating fire, the physical and financial aftermath?  Or the loss of a family member, with the legal and emotional aftermath?  The worry about the health of loved ones?  The constant stress of wrangling with debts?

Do the positives make it easier to live in a house with four adults, two teenagers and one bathroom?

Got no answer for that.

2011 is well aware that we intend to get some serious accomplishing done.  We have projects to finish and yes, more moving to do.  Those life altering changes will continue.  We have goals to reach.  By this time twelve months from now I want my husband and I living under the same roof and he won't be staying in the city five days a week.  Those debts of ours aren't really so monumental, and they're shrinking.

Therefore I have advised 2011 to stay alert, cuz things are going to happen.

And the blogging will be happening as soon as I find my iGadget so I can hook it up to the computer and get internet.... so yeah.  It's hard to find a cell phone when it's either dead or the ringer's off.  Yeah yeah, I know, way to start off the new year all organized and stuff.  I'm still ME okay?????

There's just so much to admire about the menfolk.

I think men are awesome.

I could look at them all day.

Fascinating creatures.

I could listen to them all day.

Men are just so much fun!

They like to have fun. They never outgrow their toys. They like to drive expensive cars and junky cars, they like to talk about machines, and they like to modify them. Most men are big kids. I love that.

Despite never really growing up, men improve with age.

You know how in the animal world, the males of most species are the most flashy and visually interesting? It's to attract the females. Makes sense.

Yep I sure do admire the menfolk. I like the looks of 'em and the sound of 'em, their strength and honesty and energy.

Men are so huggable and warm and funny and amazing.

(And that's all good cuz it really makes up for all the farting.)

(Come on, they ALL do. You know it.)

The Lost Bush Party Scene (which had to be cut due to pacing problems)

Friday's blogpost at Hick Chic has been postponed until Monday while Heidi sleeps off a sore throat and stuffed skull, occasionally rising to check her email for rejections from literary agents. If she feels like it she'll ride a horse this weekend. All Johnny Depp pictures for the week will appear on Monday. Until then, please read the following novel excerpt. You may party in the comments section but please clean up after yourselves. Thank you and have a good weekend. Stay healthy and keep track of your glasses!


I check to make sure all the locks are pushed down, and clutching the keys in my hand, slam the door. The keys are in my hand. I stuff them in the back pocket of my jeans, and then tell myself that they’re in my back pocket. I reach back and feel them.

“Geez, Kipper, let’s go!”

We follow the faint sound of tunes and voices, past the barn and the shed, until we see the orange glow of the bonfire. The sky’s a deep dark blue now, but we can still see the bush lane from the yard light on the corner of the shed. The party is in a sheltered little valley, just before a scrubby bush set into a hill. Obviously this is a part of the farm that isn’t anything but a hassle; even I can see that. You couldn’t run a tractor up the steep hill, so it was left to grow wild. The bonfire is roaring away happily on the edge of the bush lane, and already some kids are standing around, most with some kind of can in one hand, and judging by the little points of orange light that bob from hip level to head level, a cigarette in the other hand. I can tell that Jenny’s hyping herself up as she walks: she’s got a strut to her walk, and I’ve known her long enough to feel the energy buzzing off of her. All the world’s a stage. I stick one hand in my pocket, stick my chin out, and crush down the butterflies. We’ll have to walk up and have everyone looking at us. What if none of our friends are here? What if it’s all the serious metalheads in Grade 12? What if--?

“Katie Kipfer,” a low voice calls out. Brent steps into the bonfire light, smiling as usual. “How’s it goin’?”

I shift, put on a smile, and answer, as casually as possible, “It’s goin’.”

Brent has a nice little hockey haircut and never looks tough or mean, only marginally cool. The red plaid bushwacker jacket gives him a vague air of toughness but he always looks too clean cut. He’s a nice farm boy no matter what. He motions over to the group. “Get over here, there’s a bunch of guys here already.”

Turns out it’s an accurate statement, because there are a bunch of guys here: about ten guys, and no girls. We’re the only girls. We’re the only girls standing around with a bunch of guys, and suddenly this party idea doesn’t seem so smart.
But Jenny goes on like a light bulb. “So what’s going on here,” she crows over the tunes coming out of the boom box, “Where’s that big fuckin’ goof Marty Martin?”

Brent takes a big fat swig off his beer bottle and replies, “He should be here by now. He’s gonna ride his bike over.”

I notice Ozzy the Ashtray, much to my disgust, on the other side of the bonfire.

“Who’s the big dude standing beside your mailbox?” Jenny asks loudly.

“My uncle Jim.”

“Oh yeah? Do your parents know about this little event?”

“Nope, and if no bad shit happens they won’t have to know til it’s all over.”

Jenny nods. Then the conversation slows, letting the awkwardness settle in. We stand there in our tough denim jackets and our high top Converse sneakers, our studded belts and black eyeliner, quickly losing the ability to pretend that it’s okay to be outnumbered by slightly drunk boys in the dark out in the country.

My Third AND LAST Boyfriend!!

Three days before Valentine’s Day in 1987, a series of coincidences and circumstances met up and formed my future. It was like, totally cosmic, man. It was destiny. I mean, it was density.

I had switched to a high school in the nearest (somewhat medium decent sized) city, because I’d been very sick in the fall and missed the first half of my Grade 11 year.

My friend Biddie had just returned to Ontario from a year and a half in Nova Scotia. We were very relieved to know that we’d be going to the same school in January.

A guy I didn’t know yet had blown off his Grade 12 year because he was going to be a rock star. Instead he ended up eating a lot because there weren’t any gigs, maaaan. Guess what school he planned to go to.

Biddie and I met up in the hallway. She asked me if I knew this guy from her hometown, who hung around with her brothers. Lives behind the mill? Plays guitar? Fixes cars? I didn’t know him, but his name sounded familiar.

She decided that all of us had to meet, what with having Smallburg in common. It was pretty strange that I hadn’t met him. Turns out he’d gone to Rural District High School the entire time I’d been there.

Biddie and I walked through the maze of hallways that made up Middle of City High School to meet up with this buddy. She introduced us.

I remember details among blur. Biddie was wearing her black mini skirt and her very cool flat pointy toed black shoes with the little zippers on them. I think she may have been wearing fishnets too. She was killer hip.

I was wearing a long black shaker knit skirt- it was like a tube- and a blue plaid flannel shirt. I marched to my own drum, kids. I was hick- chic already back then.

The tall young fella was leaning against his locker with the laminated parking permit in one hand. He was wearing jeans, a blue sweatshirt with FLORIDA on it, a denim and khaki jacket, and giant huge canoe sized white Converse sneakers. He was kinda round in the middle, which was directly related to the demise of the rock star career and short but intense TV watching career. He had shoulder length dark hair, professionally cut into an incredible shag haircut. All spiky on top, longer around his face, and long at the back. He had that long oval British face, and tear drop shaped eyes.

Of course, I noticed immediately that his eyes were green and framed by those loooong eyelashes. He was cute. He was cool and casual and I liked him.

It was not love at first sight though. I was still deeply tangled up with boyfriend #2. There was no thought that this guy would have any place other than as a new buddy.

I asked him about his car. He said it wasn’t on the road yet. He was bunking at his sister’s place in the city until he got his car plated.

“What kind of car is it?”

“Oh... you wouldn’t know. It’s old...” he mumbled.

“No tell me! I love old cars!”

“It’s a Strato Chief...”

I yelped. “The one under the snow bank!”

He looked surprised.

“My dad was gonna buy that car, but when he called Buddy Byner somebody else already bought it!”

Well that was enough. I had proven myself as a cool chick in his eyes. I didn’t realize at the time that under his obnoxious attitude, he was shy. When this nutty girl told him that he’d bought her car he had a nice little ice breaker.

There was that boyfriend thing though. Danny was getting quite the nasty reputation around town. He’d moved in with a friend and all kinds of stuff was going down there. We fought constantly and it was getting ugly.

But I had a new friend. He never took a wrong step, never said a bad word, just stood by smiling. He offered to drive me home from school so that I wouldn’t have to take the bus for over an hour. It was only another ten minutes out of his way. He and Biddie and I spent our lunch hours together. The weather warmed up with spring and I slowly, painfully disentangled myself from Danny. My new friend hung around calmly, just kind of .... there. Smiling away, being a steady presence in my rolling boil of a life.

Being in his space was wonderful. He made me feel good about myself, after months of feeling all black hearted and cruel.

As we got to know each other, we discovered some interesting things about our parallel lives. We had so many mutual friends. We’d been at many of the same parties (like that bush party I keep promising to tell you about). I remembered looking out the window of my typing class and seeing his goofy red Chevette with the ridiculous high rise hood scoop. Our paths must have crossed over and over again.

Chances are I might not have liked him as much if I’d met him a year earlier. When he was 16 he started apprenticing to be a mechanic. Being raised by a total gear head of a dad, I would have been cool with that. I would have been cool with his rock band gigging too. But in those days when he was bombing around in his 4x4 pickup truck, finishing off a 24 case of beer all by himself, and getting free weed from his buddies, he would have been just another weed puffing beer guzzling 4x4 driving gear head. I mean, honestly, there were so many of them and I think any of us girls could have had our pick!

He’d had time to think. He’d come close to wasting a year of his life and decided to smarten up a little. Just a little. He was still obnoxious. But he was putting one foot in front of the other and getting it together.

So was I.

Spring turned into summer and everything was changing. He’d been out jogging every morning before school. He was getting good marks, and playing his guitar every day.

I was no longer somebody’s girlfriend.

I wasn’t taking the bus home from school anymore. Sometimes I got to drive the big ol Strato Chief. I got to put my foot down on the 283, and wait approximately five minutes until the Two Speed Powerglide finally clunked into second gear. The cassette player bolted under the dash provided us with tunes. Iron Maiden, Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. Diamond Dave’s solo record, because we were mad at Eddie for firing him. Aerosmith’s Permanent Vacation. Lots of Dio. Rush’s Hold Your Fire. Black Sabbath. Ozzy Osbourne’s Randy Rhoads tribute. And of course, copious amounts of Led Zeppelin!

Nobody’s ever accused the Artist Currently Known as Jethro of being a flirt... but he had his ways. Leaving the school one afternoon, walking across the green lawn, he said, “Hey! Let’s play follow the leader!” Then he grabbed the bottom of his T shirt and yanked it up to his chin. I had mine up to my ribs before I started laughing. He got me laughing a lot.

Everybody else saw something happening. I really didn’t want a boyfriend. Not again, not yet. I just wanted him to be there all the time. I got off the bus in the morning knowing that he’d be at school by lunchtime. I loved the half hour drive home from school and wished it was longer. It started taking a long time for me to get out of the car at 4:00. He started hanging around at the farm, checking out my Dad’s collection of interesting vehicles in various states of decay and reconstruction, and eventually, letting my mother feed him.

I met his wacky English parents. I sat in his room while he played guitar. He had the best T shirt and Hawaiian shirt collection I’d ever seen.

School ended. We started hanging around at the local quarry to go swimming. He’d drop me off at home with a little hug. Just a hug, because we were just friends. But the hugs got longer. We’d stand at the door just hanging onto each other.

Then he gave me a nice friendly peck on the cheek. And he’d get in his car and drive away while I stood there feeling his lips on my cheek for minutes afterwards, afraid to move and forget what it felt like.

By the time he finally kissed me, after the Canada Day fireworks, I thought I’d stop breathing, I thought the top of my head was gonna come off, I thought my toes were on fire. I thought my chest would burst open.

I was in looooooooove. Deeply, strongly, permanently, furiously, crazily, happily, insanely in love.

And that could only lead to a wedding and like, babies and stuff.

But as I come up on the exact 20th anniversary of the day we met, I’m still stunned by the way it all fell into place.

If I hadn’t been very sick, I would have stayed at Rural District High School while he went off to be a rock star.

Or if his rock star career could have led to some good gigs, and eventually writing and recording, and I never would have met him, other than possibly having posters of him on my wall, because he was pretty like Kip Winger. (But not as self-serious and less hairy.)

If Biddie hadn’t come back to Ontario, she wouldn’t have been there to innocently introduce two of her friends to each other.

If I hadn’t gone through the wringer with Danny, I might not have been ready for this guy.

And what if Buddy Byner had sold the Strato Chief to my dad????

It could get silly from here on in. I mean, like what if a young man hadn’t sailed away from England with his violin on his back and his middle finger in the air and landed in Canada, that sort of silly wonderings. But the point is, when all of these events swirled together and landed us in the same building, none of us knew where it would go.

Thank God.

(and Biddie.)