My faithful readers- all 5 of you- may or may not have read about the depression and anxiety problem that I may or may not have previously mentioned. I hestitate to go on about it because THAT'S NOT WHAT THIS BLOG IS ABOUT but it's relevant.
Two people that I care deeply about have asked me, "Do you think you'd still be depressed if you still lived in the country?"
The answer, sadly, is yes. It's not something I can shut off. I ran the idea past my shrink, though, and he poo-pooed it and told me he treats people who live on farms for depression. Well duh. If you had to have millions in assets in order to make thousands, had to work 7 days a week, and knew you'd be leaving your debt to your kids when you croak, you'd be a little bummed out too.
Living in town, for me, doesn't help the situation. Often when driving past another big box mall development beside another subdivision development, I honestly feel like screaming, or flooring it and running the truck through a red light just to get out of there. Even in my nice established clean part of town, I feel suffocated. I can't see the sunset because there are houses in the way.
Well, enter the drugs. This is the doctor's solution to my problems. It's not going to solve everything, they caution me, it's just an immediate solution until you're feeling better. And then I have to exercise and meditate, blah blah blah. Well, my favourite exercise is chasing my horse with a halter and lead rope, and my favourite meditation is done from horseback at a walk. However there are bylaws around here regarding horses living in town. I should make a big deal out of being Mennonite and tell them I need a horse for transportation. The pink hair might betray me though.
So, I take the drugs. Do they work? I don't know. I've been on at least one since last February. Since then I've had two withdrawals when I accidentally ran out of pills, and am just now finishing up a bad side effects trip. I've been okay all day but now my sleeves are rubbing my wrists raw, or so if feels, and my eyeballs are jagged. It's not fun! I never was a druggie even in my youthful rebellion, and I don't tolerate it well! This sucks ass! I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, this is more than a total drag! I hate it!
But the doctors treating me keep telling me that it gets worse before it gets better, and that we can't keep changing the dosage and flipping back and forth to different drugs to see what works. In the meantime, I get through a day, but I'm starting to feel like a human guinea pig.
I can't help but wonder if my loved ones have a point. If I was not surrounded by the visual and mental and aural chaos of urban life, would the anxiety be lessened? Maybe just a little?
In the middle of all of this I'm happy that I haven't completely lost my sense of humour and I promise to bust out some amusing anecdotes on this here fancy inner net.
Until then kids, stay off the Junk, I mean the real junk, the bad stuff that nice country girls like me supposedly don't know about. If prescription, legal drugs that are supposed to be helpful can be this nasty, I cannot believe the damage the bad stuff does. Stay real, my lovelies, stay real!!!!
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
I dream of Johnny
I'm in the tail end (I hope) of a drug side effect problem. Skin crawling eyeballs hurting type thing.
Last night in an uncomfortable sleep, I had a little visit from my pal Johnny Depp. I was telling him about a great story I wrote, and he was digging it, and then he took a paper and pencil, drew a fat little dog, and wrote "HEIDI" over it.
I retorted in my best Capt. Jack Sparrow, "That's not very nice," and took the paper. As I drew, I told him that I am neither fat nor a dog. But I do admit to being little. He laughed when I showed him the picture of a skinny dog with horn rim glasses with "JOHNNY" written on top.
Then we auditioned actesses and they were all bad so we left.
The end.
And now that the drug I took half an hour ago to combat the effect of the other drug is kicking in I'm gonna go lie down very still with the cat and dog until my kids get home. See ya.
Last night in an uncomfortable sleep, I had a little visit from my pal Johnny Depp. I was telling him about a great story I wrote, and he was digging it, and then he took a paper and pencil, drew a fat little dog, and wrote "HEIDI" over it.
I retorted in my best Capt. Jack Sparrow, "That's not very nice," and took the paper. As I drew, I told him that I am neither fat nor a dog. But I do admit to being little. He laughed when I showed him the picture of a skinny dog with horn rim glasses with "JOHNNY" written on top.
Then we auditioned actesses and they were all bad so we left.
The end.
And now that the drug I took half an hour ago to combat the effect of the other drug is kicking in I'm gonna go lie down very still with the cat and dog until my kids get home. See ya.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Hayway to Heaven
I dig farm equipment. Especially the old stuff.
This sign is so cool, it tells you everything you need to know. I have no idea how old this hay elevator is, but it works; we use it at least once a year to put hay in the barn
Doesn't it look like you could climb up and pull a cloud out of the sky? You can't really. We park the elevator on the barn bank, with the top in the haymow door. Then the hay wagon is parked at the bottom of the elevator. Somebody strong and tough, usually my old man, goes into the hay mow to stack up the bales when they drop. I would like to say that another strong person stands on the wagon and heaves the hay bales onto the elevator, but it's usually me and I am neither of those things. It's great when Jethro helps out. He's all brute strength.
It's not an easy job, especially in hot weather which is the time the hay's ready. You have to wear jeans. Don't even think about shorts; the hay stalks are sharp on the ends, and you will scratch your skin. You'll suffer. Only denim and canvas will protect you. I have to wear gloves because of my soft townie hands, but Dad has hands are like leather so he doesn't bother.
It's a hell of a workout! You work you whole body! If the bales are below waist level you have to pick it up by the twines, do the old weightlifting move to get it up to you waist, then flip it onto the elevator. My mom really freaked me out one afternoon a couple of years ago. She got home from work as we were into this job, got out of her car with a big smile on her face, and remarked that she hadn't done this in years. Since they aren't profitable farmers anymore, she doesn't really do chores unless absolutely necessary. So there she is in her uniform, my soft, clean mother, throwing bales around like she'd been doing it every day since. And man, she had the moves down! She flipped those bales onto the elevator perfectly straight. I'd been at it for about an hour and I was still dropping them crooked and they'd fall off. Then as I stood slack-jawed, (kinda normal for me actually), she pleasantly announced that she was going into the house for a rest and then start supper. What a woman. I can only aspire to such amazingness.
My kids aren't big enough to help haying yet. But they will. If you want to have cheap board for your horses, you will sling hay bales. I feel kinda sorry for kids who don't get opportunities to feel this dog tired after a job. You ache, but you feel like you accompished something. And you know what? There is nothing like the smell of hay.
This sign is so cool, it tells you everything you need to know. I have no idea how old this hay elevator is, but it works; we use it at least once a year to put hay in the barn
Doesn't it look like you could climb up and pull a cloud out of the sky? You can't really. We park the elevator on the barn bank, with the top in the haymow door. Then the hay wagon is parked at the bottom of the elevator. Somebody strong and tough, usually my old man, goes into the hay mow to stack up the bales when they drop. I would like to say that another strong person stands on the wagon and heaves the hay bales onto the elevator, but it's usually me and I am neither of those things. It's great when Jethro helps out. He's all brute strength.
It's not an easy job, especially in hot weather which is the time the hay's ready. You have to wear jeans. Don't even think about shorts; the hay stalks are sharp on the ends, and you will scratch your skin. You'll suffer. Only denim and canvas will protect you. I have to wear gloves because of my soft townie hands, but Dad has hands are like leather so he doesn't bother.
It's a hell of a workout! You work you whole body! If the bales are below waist level you have to pick it up by the twines, do the old weightlifting move to get it up to you waist, then flip it onto the elevator. My mom really freaked me out one afternoon a couple of years ago. She got home from work as we were into this job, got out of her car with a big smile on her face, and remarked that she hadn't done this in years. Since they aren't profitable farmers anymore, she doesn't really do chores unless absolutely necessary. So there she is in her uniform, my soft, clean mother, throwing bales around like she'd been doing it every day since. And man, she had the moves down! She flipped those bales onto the elevator perfectly straight. I'd been at it for about an hour and I was still dropping them crooked and they'd fall off. Then as I stood slack-jawed, (kinda normal for me actually), she pleasantly announced that she was going into the house for a rest and then start supper. What a woman. I can only aspire to such amazingness.
My kids aren't big enough to help haying yet. But they will. If you want to have cheap board for your horses, you will sling hay bales. I feel kinda sorry for kids who don't get opportunities to feel this dog tired after a job. You ache, but you feel like you accompished something. And you know what? There is nothing like the smell of hay.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
New! Improved! Hick Chic with PICTURES!
Jethro showed me how to put photos on my site!
This is from our last trip out to the farm. Here's my Boy bringing the horses in. Notice that the King is blocking our view of the Little Lady.
I admit to some fakery here because the following was taken around this time a year ago. Not much has changed, except maybe I have more wrinkles and the Girl is taller now.
(Please go back to "A Chilly Wind, A big sky, and two acres of pasture" for a another shot of my Girl and I with the King and the Little Lady.)
This is going to be fun. From now on you'll get a photo treat every couple of days. Welcome to my world!
This is from our last trip out to the farm. Here's my Boy bringing the horses in. Notice that the King is blocking our view of the Little Lady.
I admit to some fakery here because the following was taken around this time a year ago. Not much has changed, except maybe I have more wrinkles and the Girl is taller now.
(Please go back to "A Chilly Wind, A big sky, and two acres of pasture" for a another shot of my Girl and I with the King and the Little Lady.)
This is going to be fun. From now on you'll get a photo treat every couple of days. Welcome to my world!
Jethro and Daisy Mae
We went to a wedding last night. It was wonderful (as most are) but special because it was hosted by the happy couple's two kids, and those kids did a great job!
It was also nice because the place was full of colleagues, which meant the cellphone wouldn't ring anyways since most of his regular callers were at the wedding. Although there were a few "Oh My god, who's at the studio right now?" jokes.
It's fun to get dressed up now and then. I actually do enjoy it, despite being a very casual bare faced girl 99% of the time. I had my hair re-fuschia-ed the day before and I put on my black dress--that's right, even the Hick owns a little black dress--and my white high heeled boots--so trashy and yet so right--and painted up my face and fingernails. Don't worry, I have a bit of taste. With hair like this you don't go too technicolour with everything else. I went for the mid 60's black eyeliner and pale lips look. I must say I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. That in itself is a good feeling.
Husband went for the Johnny Cash look- the Man in Black. People, you cannot go wrong. Men look so good in all black. Especially mine with his dark hair and green eyes.
We're a couple of jeans wearing slobs but dang, we clean up good.
As long as people fall in love and get married, we'll have reasons to celebrate! To the gorgeous happy couple, way to go!
It was also nice because the place was full of colleagues, which meant the cellphone wouldn't ring anyways since most of his regular callers were at the wedding. Although there were a few "Oh My god, who's at the studio right now?" jokes.
It's fun to get dressed up now and then. I actually do enjoy it, despite being a very casual bare faced girl 99% of the time. I had my hair re-fuschia-ed the day before and I put on my black dress--that's right, even the Hick owns a little black dress--and my white high heeled boots--so trashy and yet so right--and painted up my face and fingernails. Don't worry, I have a bit of taste. With hair like this you don't go too technicolour with everything else. I went for the mid 60's black eyeliner and pale lips look. I must say I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing. That in itself is a good feeling.
Husband went for the Johnny Cash look- the Man in Black. People, you cannot go wrong. Men look so good in all black. Especially mine with his dark hair and green eyes.
We're a couple of jeans wearing slobs but dang, we clean up good.
As long as people fall in love and get married, we'll have reasons to celebrate! To the gorgeous happy couple, way to go!
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Exterior Decorating- Hick Style!
In my corner of Ontario a lovely fluffy white covering of snow has landed on us, hiding everything that you didn't manage to put away yet. All the nice residents of the hood have cleaned their barbq, their lawnmower and all the leaves have been bagged and picked up. Not me, man. I'm doing my part for the hick cause.
Not all hicks are slobs. In fact, I personally know many who have neat tidy places. They just don't like to leave their places much. but sometimes you get some hillbilly or some redneck creeping in and then your place rocks.
To really get the essence, a few objects have to be poking out of the snow. Not sharp objects, because that is not hick, that is stupid and dangerous. You must have an old tire on a rim lying around. Why wouldn't you? Let that hang around. It looks great when the snow falls through the slots in the rim. An old bucket seat from a car looks pretty good too, especially if it's leaning casually against a tree. Actually a whole car is best but there are rules against that if you happen to live in town like I do.
The best part about the above mentioned items is the fun value if you have kids. YOu wouldn't believe what kids can come up with when supplied with a rim and a bucket seat. Give them a couple of branches and you've got the flintstones or something. And I'm a big believer in recycling so it's a win win.
The tire swing hanging out of a tree is a classic. All year round. I feel so sorry for those who don't have any tree big enough. We had to use our neighbour's tree. Luckily we love our neighbours.
We haven't put away our lawn chairs or anything. Priorities. So many other things to do. Play tug with the dog. do laundry.
If you're a hick, you are not concerned with what the Joneses are doing. You might not even be able to see the Joneses from your front porch so why would you care? I believe in keeping a place decent, for your own peace of mind, but the world stops at your picket fence, or barbed wire fence, or pile of rocks. Let your flowerbeds wither the way the frost intended! Don't be afraid to plant your rubber boots firmly on your snow covered lawn, cross your plaid-clothed arms over your chest and proclaim to the world: "Yep, I am a hick."
Not all hicks are slobs. In fact, I personally know many who have neat tidy places. They just don't like to leave their places much. but sometimes you get some hillbilly or some redneck creeping in and then your place rocks.
To really get the essence, a few objects have to be poking out of the snow. Not sharp objects, because that is not hick, that is stupid and dangerous. You must have an old tire on a rim lying around. Why wouldn't you? Let that hang around. It looks great when the snow falls through the slots in the rim. An old bucket seat from a car looks pretty good too, especially if it's leaning casually against a tree. Actually a whole car is best but there are rules against that if you happen to live in town like I do.
The best part about the above mentioned items is the fun value if you have kids. YOu wouldn't believe what kids can come up with when supplied with a rim and a bucket seat. Give them a couple of branches and you've got the flintstones or something. And I'm a big believer in recycling so it's a win win.
The tire swing hanging out of a tree is a classic. All year round. I feel so sorry for those who don't have any tree big enough. We had to use our neighbour's tree. Luckily we love our neighbours.
We haven't put away our lawn chairs or anything. Priorities. So many other things to do. Play tug with the dog. do laundry.
If you're a hick, you are not concerned with what the Joneses are doing. You might not even be able to see the Joneses from your front porch so why would you care? I believe in keeping a place decent, for your own peace of mind, but the world stops at your picket fence, or barbed wire fence, or pile of rocks. Let your flowerbeds wither the way the frost intended! Don't be afraid to plant your rubber boots firmly on your snow covered lawn, cross your plaid-clothed arms over your chest and proclaim to the world: "Yep, I am a hick."
Friday, November 25, 2005
Hick Pink
Just got my hair done. At the mall. I was in the mall and it was even more horrible because of Santa Claus but that's another story.
So I have a halo of shocking fuschia pink around my face. It's awesome. She slicked it all up and straightened it and did a groovy zigzag parting. I'm wearing a pink top too. It all seems rather UNHICK does it not? Considering the tall black boots I tucked my dark jeans into, Kate Moss style, I could almost pass for somewhat trendy. Fashionable. Maybe even hip.
Not so fast! I am not hip! I'm cool, I'll say that, but I ain't hip. Proof of my unhipness- I'm listening to Velvet Revolver right now. Not hip.
I feel okay about it though because over the whole mess I was wearing my Wind River Outfitting Parka which came from Mark's Work Warehouse. It's brown. It's not very feminine. It rocks. I think I looked very Hick Chic today.
Of course the whole mall thing didn't last long after spending two hours in the hair salon. Planned to stalk around looking for stuff that we actually need but the whole place was full of wandering losers buying crap they don't need, plus people forcing their kids to sit on a strange man's lap. I'm not anti-Santa, but if your kid's crying, is it really so important to get the cute picture? I dodged the strollers and headed for the exit.
I left the place with my chin up, strutting on my black chunky heeled boots, thinking, yep, when Daisy May goes to town, she does it real good.
So I have a halo of shocking fuschia pink around my face. It's awesome. She slicked it all up and straightened it and did a groovy zigzag parting. I'm wearing a pink top too. It all seems rather UNHICK does it not? Considering the tall black boots I tucked my dark jeans into, Kate Moss style, I could almost pass for somewhat trendy. Fashionable. Maybe even hip.
Not so fast! I am not hip! I'm cool, I'll say that, but I ain't hip. Proof of my unhipness- I'm listening to Velvet Revolver right now. Not hip.
I feel okay about it though because over the whole mess I was wearing my Wind River Outfitting Parka which came from Mark's Work Warehouse. It's brown. It's not very feminine. It rocks. I think I looked very Hick Chic today.
Of course the whole mall thing didn't last long after spending two hours in the hair salon. Planned to stalk around looking for stuff that we actually need but the whole place was full of wandering losers buying crap they don't need, plus people forcing their kids to sit on a strange man's lap. I'm not anti-Santa, but if your kid's crying, is it really so important to get the cute picture? I dodged the strollers and headed for the exit.
I left the place with my chin up, strutting on my black chunky heeled boots, thinking, yep, when Daisy May goes to town, she does it real good.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Dog hair in the keyboard
right now, the pug, who is nearly 14 weeks old, is on my lap, grunting and blinking. He has just settled in and let a big fart. On my lap. Fifteen minutes ago he was chewing my dining room chair. AAAGGGHH! It's a freakin antique! Get your teeth off it!!!!
Then he was attached to my slipper as I walked down the hall. I tell him to drop it. He darn well knows what that means. And then he's right back at it, approved chew toy ignored. I come downstairs and set him on my lap and he wraps his jaws around the edge of my desk. Grrrr.....
I love him but he's driving me crazy...and I do not have far to go, people.
Please believe, I did the research before he came home. I spent a year reading up and asking dog owners what it's all about. Especially the finer points of keeping a dog in town and, you know, having him wear a collar and license and stuff like that. And I knew what I was in for with a puppy. I cannot say I wasn't warned.
I find myself wondering why the puppies I grew up with didn't make me this crazy. Heres' why:
1) I was a kid then. Now I'm the mother.
2) our puppies lived in the barn. There were no antique chairs in the barn.
3) I wasn't as depressed at age 10 as I am now!
I have to admit, now that he's part of our family, I can't imagine not having him. He's funny and loyal and stubborn and cuddly and I love him to pieces. Just like he loves that old towel in his kennel to pieces.
Then he was attached to my slipper as I walked down the hall. I tell him to drop it. He darn well knows what that means. And then he's right back at it, approved chew toy ignored. I come downstairs and set him on my lap and he wraps his jaws around the edge of my desk. Grrrr.....
I love him but he's driving me crazy...and I do not have far to go, people.
Please believe, I did the research before he came home. I spent a year reading up and asking dog owners what it's all about. Especially the finer points of keeping a dog in town and, you know, having him wear a collar and license and stuff like that. And I knew what I was in for with a puppy. I cannot say I wasn't warned.
I find myself wondering why the puppies I grew up with didn't make me this crazy. Heres' why:
1) I was a kid then. Now I'm the mother.
2) our puppies lived in the barn. There were no antique chairs in the barn.
3) I wasn't as depressed at age 10 as I am now!
I have to admit, now that he's part of our family, I can't imagine not having him. He's funny and loyal and stubborn and cuddly and I love him to pieces. Just like he loves that old towel in his kennel to pieces.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Sexiest Hick Alive!
So I'm sitting here this morning staring at Matthew McYummyhey on the cover of People Magazine. When I saw him staring at me over at Shopper's Drug Mart, I said to myself, Now there is a good lookin' hick. You are comin' home with me.
I have always kind of liked this guy and I couldn't honestly tell you if he's a good actor or not. He just always looks like a good old nice guy who always finishes a meal and says thank you afterwards. And he really looks hot in those Stetson ads. Does not everybody agree with me? I'm a sucker for a Stetson any day but he tops it all.
Speaking of Sexiest Man Alive, I still have not forgiven the People people for the huge mistake they made in 2003. Finally, they give Johnny Depp his cover. It took way too long and then to add further insult they only gave him two thirds of the cover. The rest they gave to that Bachelor Bob doofus and his equally dorky looking lady friend, who later joined the convent because ol' Bob turned her off of men so bad. Or something. Who cares? They ripped off my Johnny! I figure he himself doesn't care either but I care very deeply about Johnny.
He's a sweet little hick too I think. Born in Kentucky. I've driven through Kentucky. What an amazing place! Mountains, hillbillies, race horses, Mercedes dealerships, trucks, Jesus billboards! Wow.
So if you don't mind, this is it for today, my four dear readers. (Yes, there are four of you now!) I must read all about the sexy men. This may take some time!
I have always kind of liked this guy and I couldn't honestly tell you if he's a good actor or not. He just always looks like a good old nice guy who always finishes a meal and says thank you afterwards. And he really looks hot in those Stetson ads. Does not everybody agree with me? I'm a sucker for a Stetson any day but he tops it all.
Speaking of Sexiest Man Alive, I still have not forgiven the People people for the huge mistake they made in 2003. Finally, they give Johnny Depp his cover. It took way too long and then to add further insult they only gave him two thirds of the cover. The rest they gave to that Bachelor Bob doofus and his equally dorky looking lady friend, who later joined the convent because ol' Bob turned her off of men so bad. Or something. Who cares? They ripped off my Johnny! I figure he himself doesn't care either but I care very deeply about Johnny.
He's a sweet little hick too I think. Born in Kentucky. I've driven through Kentucky. What an amazing place! Mountains, hillbillies, race horses, Mercedes dealerships, trucks, Jesus billboards! Wow.
So if you don't mind, this is it for today, my four dear readers. (Yes, there are four of you now!) I must read all about the sexy men. This may take some time!
Monday, November 21, 2005
A chilly wind, a big sky, and two acres of pasture
Sometimes, that's all it takes to make me happy.
After church yesterday, the kids and I put on our grubby clothes (they weren't actually dirty but the point is that they're allowed to, get it?) and we wandered around the farm. This isn't the adventure some of you may be picturing. We don't have access to miles of untamed wilderness. But there is a scrapyard, there is a pasture, and there are horses!
This was Dog's first weekend at the farm. This was an entirely new thing for him. He's still in that disgusting poop eating phase of his puppyhood, and he was pleased with some hidden surprises. Amazing how dogs sniff out poop in the most obscure corners.
The meeting of Horses and Dog was pretty dang funny. Ever seen what happens when a horse gets his nostril licked by a puppy? I hadn't either. I've never seen a horse blink so fast. As for Dog, the friendliest little critter in the world, he was ready for a good old butt sniffing party except that it wasn't physically possible and I had to grab him away from impending doom when he ran up to a set of hooves to take a look.
We did not let the house dog walk through the corral, location of manure pile, on his own paws. We carried him across to keep him away from the mecca of manure. Call us cruel for wrecking his fun but we have standards, okay?
Our hands were freezing. I had my big awkward work gloves off so I wouldn't drop the puppy. There isn't any windbreak to keep the west wind off the field, but I was surrounded by my horses and kids and had the dog in my arms, and the barn cat was prowling around, and every few seconds the sun would poke out from behind a cloud before going into hiding again.
A short visit, but a worthwhile and necesssary visit.
I'm going to reward you, my three faithful readers, with some PICTURES as soon as somebody smarter than me figures out how to do it. Come back again!!!
Friday, November 18, 2005
Cabin Fever in the Burbs
I have got to get out of here.
I haven't been out to the farm in over a month. It could be closer to two months. Part of this is the amount of work we suburban homeowners must do in order to keep up the appearances of being normal nice people. Gotta rake up the leaves and you know, that kind of thing. I must not complain because I'm just happy for all the big legit trees around our little slice of heaven here. And remind myself how lucky I am to have a little slice of heaven. Even if it's in (shudder) town.
Also, we got a dog, a puppy, who needs to be housebroke before we take him out to Grandma's house for a weekend. Remember, my mom, aka Grandma, has never had a House Dog. In our world, the dog lives in the barn, where he is useful. The only time a puppy was in our house he only lasted a night or two. At his first vet visit, the poncey vet was disgusted that we had him sleeping in the pig barn. Well duh. He's a dog. Idiot.
I digress. In order to even get the Dog we had to have Grandma on board. She likes the cute wrinkly little fella. She just wanted to make sure he didn't crap in her house. Because that's the deal on the farm right? The poop stays outside.
There's a big family dinner at the paternal Grandparental home this weekend! It includes both sisters and a brother in law and cousins and other set of parents. That's right, Jethro and I have parents who hang together.
(Sorry, just got distracted. Jethro brought home an electronic metronome- for the kids, right?- and he's currently ripping out a killer white British boy blues riff while the irritating contraption clicks. I tell ya for the pasty white son of English immigrants who listen to Chopin, my man can play the blues. God love 'im.)
So ennyways, big family get together. Jethro the Genius Blues Boy and I and our kids are the only ones who live outside of the fifteen minute drive hometown radius. I miss my family, the whole damn rottin' lot of them! I miss the culture clash of ex-British Canadian and two hundred years of Canadian Mennonite and how the two families have blended so beautifully and laugh at our differences and celebrate our similarities!
I miss my horse. My boy says he misses his horse SO MUCH that his heart is THIS CLOSE to breaking. I tell him I know how he feels. I really do. I haven't lived with my horse for over fourteen years. I got a husband out of the deal, and got to keep the horse thanks to parents who insist on keeping him around, but I know how it is to miss an animal. Especially one who is so special.
So tomorrow will be a big day for our Little Dog. He'll be meeting the horses for the first time! And he'll be meeting the cousins for the first time! First visit to Grandma's and to Granny's. He's not a farm dog, let's face it, but if he's a dog after all. (Maybe crossed with a pig, a monkey, a cat and a rabbit.) What dog wouldn't love to have a few acres to run madly over? I mean, I myself have been known to run madly through the field, waving my arms over my head and yelling with joy. Must look pretty funny to those driving by on the highway.
Ah, I can't wait to get out there.
Must go, there's a great jam session going on upstairs in the dining room and I'm missing out. Next time: GO WILD IN THE COUNRTY!
I haven't been out to the farm in over a month. It could be closer to two months. Part of this is the amount of work we suburban homeowners must do in order to keep up the appearances of being normal nice people. Gotta rake up the leaves and you know, that kind of thing. I must not complain because I'm just happy for all the big legit trees around our little slice of heaven here. And remind myself how lucky I am to have a little slice of heaven. Even if it's in (shudder) town.
Also, we got a dog, a puppy, who needs to be housebroke before we take him out to Grandma's house for a weekend. Remember, my mom, aka Grandma, has never had a House Dog. In our world, the dog lives in the barn, where he is useful. The only time a puppy was in our house he only lasted a night or two. At his first vet visit, the poncey vet was disgusted that we had him sleeping in the pig barn. Well duh. He's a dog. Idiot.
I digress. In order to even get the Dog we had to have Grandma on board. She likes the cute wrinkly little fella. She just wanted to make sure he didn't crap in her house. Because that's the deal on the farm right? The poop stays outside.
There's a big family dinner at the paternal Grandparental home this weekend! It includes both sisters and a brother in law and cousins and other set of parents. That's right, Jethro and I have parents who hang together.
(Sorry, just got distracted. Jethro brought home an electronic metronome- for the kids, right?- and he's currently ripping out a killer white British boy blues riff while the irritating contraption clicks. I tell ya for the pasty white son of English immigrants who listen to Chopin, my man can play the blues. God love 'im.)
So ennyways, big family get together. Jethro the Genius Blues Boy and I and our kids are the only ones who live outside of the fifteen minute drive hometown radius. I miss my family, the whole damn rottin' lot of them! I miss the culture clash of ex-British Canadian and two hundred years of Canadian Mennonite and how the two families have blended so beautifully and laugh at our differences and celebrate our similarities!
I miss my horse. My boy says he misses his horse SO MUCH that his heart is THIS CLOSE to breaking. I tell him I know how he feels. I really do. I haven't lived with my horse for over fourteen years. I got a husband out of the deal, and got to keep the horse thanks to parents who insist on keeping him around, but I know how it is to miss an animal. Especially one who is so special.
So tomorrow will be a big day for our Little Dog. He'll be meeting the horses for the first time! And he'll be meeting the cousins for the first time! First visit to Grandma's and to Granny's. He's not a farm dog, let's face it, but if he's a dog after all. (Maybe crossed with a pig, a monkey, a cat and a rabbit.) What dog wouldn't love to have a few acres to run madly over? I mean, I myself have been known to run madly through the field, waving my arms over my head and yelling with joy. Must look pretty funny to those driving by on the highway.
Ah, I can't wait to get out there.
Must go, there's a great jam session going on upstairs in the dining room and I'm missing out. Next time: GO WILD IN THE COUNRTY!
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Mayor of Crazyville
So my best friend has her tons o fun brother staying with her for oh, a month or so. She leaves me a message on my phone tonight, since we've been playing phone tag, and it goes a little like this:
"Hi, sorry I missed your call, I've only got a few minutes to talk while my brother is out. We've been having a great time, like you remember when my Dad died and my brother set my couch on fire? That kind of stuff. Call me back!"
Never boring eh?
"Hi, sorry I missed your call, I've only got a few minutes to talk while my brother is out. We've been having a great time, like you remember when my Dad died and my brother set my couch on fire? That kind of stuff. Call me back!"
Never boring eh?
I am the BEFORE photo
I'm heavily into a very ugly phase of my life. Luckily my Love Of My Life does not agree. He tells me I'm beautiful all the time. Am I an idiot that I don't believe him? What woman wouldn't want to hear that? He's very sweet, and sincere, but he can't change the fact that I look in the mirror and all I see is the dark circles under my eyes. And the way most of the pink has faded out of my hair. And I think my skin is turning grey. I look like the sad sloppy loser in the BEFORE photo.
Just a few days ago my neighbour buddy came over to see my pug puppy -and me- so we got off topic and I ended up showing her my old high school ID cards. One from each grade. You can see me evolve from shy awkward Gr 9 girl who thought I needed to wear my sunday school clothes for my photo, then Gr 10 girl who was trying out the Madonna hair and looked bad in yellow, then Gr 11 girl with the wicked standing up rooster comb hairdo, then Gr 12 girl who looked like a cute clean metal fan, and then finally Gr 13 girl. It took that long, but I finally got the AFTER photo.
I had great skin, the summer tan hadn't faded yet, my hair was flowing in its natural wave and sun blessed colour. There's a Gr13 1/2 photo too and that one's even better. By that time I was evolving into my hick hippy phase and didn't even have much make up on. Dang, it's such a good one I wish I could show you, but I have no clue how to put pictures up and I promised myself I wouldn't paste my face all over this here fancy internet. But my point, finally, is that there have been times when I looked pretty good. Maybe that's why Mr Wonderful thinks I'm beautiful--he still remembers me from 1989 and hasn't had a real good look lately!
AS with all things for the last year, I'm going to blame the depression and the drugs. And the panic disorder, that's gotta be bad for your skin. I might even blame the studio for taking up so much of Mr Nice Guy's time. Yeah, blame the studio. I could even blame Puppy for getting me out of bed but that's not fair, he can't help it that he can't hold it yet. Or I could blame this odd dwelling area full of sidewalks and streets and traffic. Too damn many people making too much noise.
Various therapist doctor type people have told me countless times that it took years to get me this messed up. It'll take a while to get my normalized again. I have my doubts; I have never been in any kind of normal category. why start now.
The funny thing is, I turn 35 in a little over a month. I still get people thinking I'm a teenager, which I think is a joke because I'm not nearly hip and cool enough for that. But I don't have too many wrinkles, not a single grey hair, and am the size of some of my daughter's Grade 6 classmates. I wonder if I haven't aged visibly because I've internalized all of it and just got depressed and anxious and sickly looking?????
Ah well, until I turn back into my AFTER phase of life, I'm having fun imagining the paparazzi lurking behind trash cans in the Newmarket Salvation Army Plaza, thinking that Julia Roberts is really looking like crap lately and has shrunk 10 inches too.
Just a few days ago my neighbour buddy came over to see my pug puppy -and me- so we got off topic and I ended up showing her my old high school ID cards. One from each grade. You can see me evolve from shy awkward Gr 9 girl who thought I needed to wear my sunday school clothes for my photo, then Gr 10 girl who was trying out the Madonna hair and looked bad in yellow, then Gr 11 girl with the wicked standing up rooster comb hairdo, then Gr 12 girl who looked like a cute clean metal fan, and then finally Gr 13 girl. It took that long, but I finally got the AFTER photo.
I had great skin, the summer tan hadn't faded yet, my hair was flowing in its natural wave and sun blessed colour. There's a Gr13 1/2 photo too and that one's even better. By that time I was evolving into my hick hippy phase and didn't even have much make up on. Dang, it's such a good one I wish I could show you, but I have no clue how to put pictures up and I promised myself I wouldn't paste my face all over this here fancy internet. But my point, finally, is that there have been times when I looked pretty good. Maybe that's why Mr Wonderful thinks I'm beautiful--he still remembers me from 1989 and hasn't had a real good look lately!
AS with all things for the last year, I'm going to blame the depression and the drugs. And the panic disorder, that's gotta be bad for your skin. I might even blame the studio for taking up so much of Mr Nice Guy's time. Yeah, blame the studio. I could even blame Puppy for getting me out of bed but that's not fair, he can't help it that he can't hold it yet. Or I could blame this odd dwelling area full of sidewalks and streets and traffic. Too damn many people making too much noise.
Various therapist doctor type people have told me countless times that it took years to get me this messed up. It'll take a while to get my normalized again. I have my doubts; I have never been in any kind of normal category. why start now.
The funny thing is, I turn 35 in a little over a month. I still get people thinking I'm a teenager, which I think is a joke because I'm not nearly hip and cool enough for that. But I don't have too many wrinkles, not a single grey hair, and am the size of some of my daughter's Grade 6 classmates. I wonder if I haven't aged visibly because I've internalized all of it and just got depressed and anxious and sickly looking?????
Ah well, until I turn back into my AFTER phase of life, I'm having fun imagining the paparazzi lurking behind trash cans in the Newmarket Salvation Army Plaza, thinking that Julia Roberts is really looking like crap lately and has shrunk 10 inches too.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
What it takes to be a ROCK STAR
I spend a lot of mental energy on rock stars. What a fascinating species. Imagine a creature that is nocturnal and diurnal at the same time, often has multiple nesting spots, and migrates at odd times. Let's not even get into mating. Ha ha, that last sentence is kinda funny.
I think to understand, we must imagine our own voices on a videotape of someone's birhtday party, or even your answering machine. Hate it, doncha? Now imagine your voice comin' atcha through speakers-while you're singing! How much do you have to love yourself to do that? Or maybe pretend you're someone else? Imagine the need to make a fool of yourself in front of a multitude of screaming people? These, my dear readers, all 3 of you, these are special people. They may or may not deserve anything or everything, but they serve a purpose. They do all the crazy stuff that we are not doing. They are the conduit to crazy world. And that's a place I visit often!!!
some of my favourites, LIVE!!! (See Opera Vs Audioslave)
The White Stripes: Jack White is frontman, piano man, guitar man, and my favourite, Marimba Man!! Here's a guy who plays his ass off and says maybe fifteen words in two hours, yet you're hanging off of every note. He's such a strange little man. He rocks, but he might be a bit of a nerd. His guitar is out of tune, but possibly in a very deliberate way? Always keeps you guessing. Especially with the 3 Amigos suit and the smarmy mustache.
Chris Cornell: Loved him in Soundgarden. that video with the shirtless guys and the flames and all that, that wrecked my head one day in college. Good stuff. In Audioslave he is totally pro and still unpredictable. Some of the minor notes he hits make my hair stand up- in a good way. And he keeps getting more beautiful, damn him.
Rage/Audio guys: Morello Commerford and Wilk are STUNNING. Listen to this. Heavy. Precise. I mean really listen, Put down the broom and listen.
Motley Crue: Yes, that's right, I went to see them in Toronto last winter! THey were great! The dancing girls, circus tent, evil clowns, contortionists, flames, choppers, everything was crazy, and to top it all off, the guys actually PLAYED WELL which was just a pleasantly surprising cherry on top of the whip cream! I screamed and laughed so hard I didn't have a chest pain for a day after! There's your rock n roll psychotherapy for ya.
Billy Idol: My best friend's 17 yr old daughter took me. We got sent down to the floor to be within sweating distance and sweat he did. I gave my young friend a poster I had of him that's now twenty years old. I was close enough to confirm that yes, Billy looks better than ever. The wrinkles are perfect. He told stories between songs that were basically unintelligible. I still laughed.
Other Rock Stars I love:
Bono: Okay, I know, he's more a world saving guy now, but a quote in Rolling Stone that said it all for me. "I am sick of Bono. And I am Bono. But at least we're not boring." Or something. And let's face it, the man can SING.
The Darkness: These guys make me smile every time. Justin Hawkins is like the 90's anti-rockstar. He manages to be the swagger and take the piss out of the swagger at the same time. He's got a tattoo of his OWN NAME on his shoulder. How cocky is that? If you've only heard his crazy falsetto, you're cheating yourself; his chest voice is great. And he can fit a lot of syllables into one bar of a song. fun. None of this would matter if these guys were wanker hackers but they can play. They're very very good player. Plus they're ENGLISH and I LOVE English men. Just love them. Ask my husband.
Robert Plant: I fell in love with him at age 15. (Also English!) If you don't know why, I suggest getting the DVD, watching the performance of The Immigrant Song. I dare you to not fall in love. This guy came along and made a new blueprint for Rock Stardom: gorgeous and aware of it, lean, direct, powerful and in control. Why do so few acts cover Zeppelin? Because nobody can sing like Robert Plant. I've been listening to him for twenty years and he still stops me and makes me wonder why the world is such a place that I will never ever have what he has.
Davey Havok from AFI: this is a new one for me. This guy is crazy. He's not English but I like him anyways.
Angus Young: You have to be very assured of your own coolness to get on stage in short pants and a tie. Rock on my little australian guitar god!
David Lee Roth: It helped that he had a SOLID band behind him. Another character who didn't take himself too seriously. He brought the fun to the party. I bet he's a hell of a paramedic now.
JET: They're a bunch of skinny upstarts. Excellent rip off artists. We'll see where this goes...
Billy Talent: wild frontman, tight band. Great tunes. They're Canadian so they're not extremely nasty. Punk your kids can listen to.
Bif Naked: I wish I liked her music more, but she's great. She should be a role model just for being so healthy and buff. the tattoos which would be icky on any other woman look like art on her. I don't even care that she's not a technically great singer- she more than makes up for it in buckets of attitude.
Johnny Depp: Yeah I know, he's not a rock star, but be could have been because he's got the triumvirate of attributes: crazy, doesn't give a crap what you think, and beautiful even when dirty. And I just wanted to see his name in my blog again.
There are so many more, but I have to close the chapter on this hobby of mine because I have a crappy novel to write before the 30th and the clock's tickin!
I think to understand, we must imagine our own voices on a videotape of someone's birhtday party, or even your answering machine. Hate it, doncha? Now imagine your voice comin' atcha through speakers-while you're singing! How much do you have to love yourself to do that? Or maybe pretend you're someone else? Imagine the need to make a fool of yourself in front of a multitude of screaming people? These, my dear readers, all 3 of you, these are special people. They may or may not deserve anything or everything, but they serve a purpose. They do all the crazy stuff that we are not doing. They are the conduit to crazy world. And that's a place I visit often!!!
some of my favourites, LIVE!!! (See Opera Vs Audioslave)
The White Stripes: Jack White is frontman, piano man, guitar man, and my favourite, Marimba Man!! Here's a guy who plays his ass off and says maybe fifteen words in two hours, yet you're hanging off of every note. He's such a strange little man. He rocks, but he might be a bit of a nerd. His guitar is out of tune, but possibly in a very deliberate way? Always keeps you guessing. Especially with the 3 Amigos suit and the smarmy mustache.
Chris Cornell: Loved him in Soundgarden. that video with the shirtless guys and the flames and all that, that wrecked my head one day in college. Good stuff. In Audioslave he is totally pro and still unpredictable. Some of the minor notes he hits make my hair stand up- in a good way. And he keeps getting more beautiful, damn him.
Rage/Audio guys: Morello Commerford and Wilk are STUNNING. Listen to this. Heavy. Precise. I mean really listen, Put down the broom and listen.
Motley Crue: Yes, that's right, I went to see them in Toronto last winter! THey were great! The dancing girls, circus tent, evil clowns, contortionists, flames, choppers, everything was crazy, and to top it all off, the guys actually PLAYED WELL which was just a pleasantly surprising cherry on top of the whip cream! I screamed and laughed so hard I didn't have a chest pain for a day after! There's your rock n roll psychotherapy for ya.
Billy Idol: My best friend's 17 yr old daughter took me. We got sent down to the floor to be within sweating distance and sweat he did. I gave my young friend a poster I had of him that's now twenty years old. I was close enough to confirm that yes, Billy looks better than ever. The wrinkles are perfect. He told stories between songs that were basically unintelligible. I still laughed.
Other Rock Stars I love:
Bono: Okay, I know, he's more a world saving guy now, but a quote in Rolling Stone that said it all for me. "I am sick of Bono. And I am Bono. But at least we're not boring." Or something. And let's face it, the man can SING.
The Darkness: These guys make me smile every time. Justin Hawkins is like the 90's anti-rockstar. He manages to be the swagger and take the piss out of the swagger at the same time. He's got a tattoo of his OWN NAME on his shoulder. How cocky is that? If you've only heard his crazy falsetto, you're cheating yourself; his chest voice is great. And he can fit a lot of syllables into one bar of a song. fun. None of this would matter if these guys were wanker hackers but they can play. They're very very good player. Plus they're ENGLISH and I LOVE English men. Just love them. Ask my husband.
Robert Plant: I fell in love with him at age 15. (Also English!) If you don't know why, I suggest getting the DVD, watching the performance of The Immigrant Song. I dare you to not fall in love. This guy came along and made a new blueprint for Rock Stardom: gorgeous and aware of it, lean, direct, powerful and in control. Why do so few acts cover Zeppelin? Because nobody can sing like Robert Plant. I've been listening to him for twenty years and he still stops me and makes me wonder why the world is such a place that I will never ever have what he has.
Davey Havok from AFI: this is a new one for me. This guy is crazy. He's not English but I like him anyways.
Angus Young: You have to be very assured of your own coolness to get on stage in short pants and a tie. Rock on my little australian guitar god!
David Lee Roth: It helped that he had a SOLID band behind him. Another character who didn't take himself too seriously. He brought the fun to the party. I bet he's a hell of a paramedic now.
JET: They're a bunch of skinny upstarts. Excellent rip off artists. We'll see where this goes...
Billy Talent: wild frontman, tight band. Great tunes. They're Canadian so they're not extremely nasty. Punk your kids can listen to.
Bif Naked: I wish I liked her music more, but she's great. She should be a role model just for being so healthy and buff. the tattoos which would be icky on any other woman look like art on her. I don't even care that she's not a technically great singer- she more than makes up for it in buckets of attitude.
Johnny Depp: Yeah I know, he's not a rock star, but be could have been because he's got the triumvirate of attributes: crazy, doesn't give a crap what you think, and beautiful even when dirty. And I just wanted to see his name in my blog again.
There are so many more, but I have to close the chapter on this hobby of mine because I have a crappy novel to write before the 30th and the clock's tickin!
Furry Friends
I have been blessed with some of God's greatest creatures in my life. Specifically, My Critters.
As I type this, a wrinkly, grunty puppy with buggy eyes is snuffling in my lap. He's a very different dog. He doesn't look or sound like a dog, but he sure does run, chew and eat like a dog, even one four times his size! He's wearing me out but I love him. He's already a good friend, despite still poopin in his kennel once each night. (Grrrr)
My Cat is in his rightful place where I left him much earlier this morning- my bed. To be exact, the place where my shoulder would be, just under my pillow. He is The King Of The Bed. This cat joined us over 14 years ago, about a month after the Man and I got married. Cat has endured 6 moves, 2 babies, and now a Puppy. Through it all he has rarely stopped looking like the regal Cool Guy that he is. Although he really sleeps a lot now. Some things don't change, because he still tells me when it's time to eat and time to go to bed, and when I come home, that I was out too long. What would I do without him?
But the guy who's been in my life even longer is my horse, The KING. How many horses know what a camera is, and that it's time to puff up and look magnificent? I don't get it, but he does. He knows things he shouldn't know. He will watch you work and if you lean that tool against the wall, it'll be gone next time you turn around. He'll be halfway across the corral with it. If somebody rolls into the laneway with a horse trailer, he is up at the fence like a dog wagging its tail, his eyes big, tail up like a flag. "where are we going???" Imagine his disappointment if the trailer goes into the shop instead of up to his corral. My favourite is his incredible hygiene. He's the cleanest horse I've ever met. He is visibly disturbed if his corral is muddy. He'll pick his way through the drier patches rather than get his four dainty whites dirty. Like any horse he loves to roll but has an amazing ability to shake much of the dirt off after. In the barn he only drops his mess along the back of the stall. And, shame on you if you don't get out there to let him outside early enough. He'll hold it all night, but you'll know it if you got out there too late because he's looking at you all sad faced and irritated, and there's a big puddle in the middle of his stall. And it's all your fault. I have actually apologized to this horse.
My kids have had a lovely filly since 2002. She's an appaloosa. She was the same red as the King when she was a yearling, but with white spots on her bum. She's almost all white now, with little red flecks and freckles. The kids are so in love with this little mare. She is so gentle and agreeable. She's one of the easiest horses I've ever trained. Just a complete joy. Only once before in my life of horses, have I had one come up me for a pat like she does. Most horses are only interested in you if there's food in your hands. This one really just wants to be your friend. Of course, our Little Lady is in her rebellious teenager phase of her life, but her version is nothing. I got the King at age 4 and he was a handful. Little Lady is just a frisky young mare trying her best to figure out what her humans want from her. I'm so glad she's part of our lives.
I'm really looking forward to seeing those horses next weekend, and the Barn Cat who is a good little buddy too. If we stay for a long weekend, we'll be bringing our Cat and Dog. The little Dog hasn't been out there yet. I wonder what the horses and dog will think of each other! Whatever I may feel is wrong in my life, my Critters can always make me feel good again.
As I type this, a wrinkly, grunty puppy with buggy eyes is snuffling in my lap. He's a very different dog. He doesn't look or sound like a dog, but he sure does run, chew and eat like a dog, even one four times his size! He's wearing me out but I love him. He's already a good friend, despite still poopin in his kennel once each night. (Grrrr)
My Cat is in his rightful place where I left him much earlier this morning- my bed. To be exact, the place where my shoulder would be, just under my pillow. He is The King Of The Bed. This cat joined us over 14 years ago, about a month after the Man and I got married. Cat has endured 6 moves, 2 babies, and now a Puppy. Through it all he has rarely stopped looking like the regal Cool Guy that he is. Although he really sleeps a lot now. Some things don't change, because he still tells me when it's time to eat and time to go to bed, and when I come home, that I was out too long. What would I do without him?
But the guy who's been in my life even longer is my horse, The KING. How many horses know what a camera is, and that it's time to puff up and look magnificent? I don't get it, but he does. He knows things he shouldn't know. He will watch you work and if you lean that tool against the wall, it'll be gone next time you turn around. He'll be halfway across the corral with it. If somebody rolls into the laneway with a horse trailer, he is up at the fence like a dog wagging its tail, his eyes big, tail up like a flag. "where are we going???" Imagine his disappointment if the trailer goes into the shop instead of up to his corral. My favourite is his incredible hygiene. He's the cleanest horse I've ever met. He is visibly disturbed if his corral is muddy. He'll pick his way through the drier patches rather than get his four dainty whites dirty. Like any horse he loves to roll but has an amazing ability to shake much of the dirt off after. In the barn he only drops his mess along the back of the stall. And, shame on you if you don't get out there to let him outside early enough. He'll hold it all night, but you'll know it if you got out there too late because he's looking at you all sad faced and irritated, and there's a big puddle in the middle of his stall. And it's all your fault. I have actually apologized to this horse.
My kids have had a lovely filly since 2002. She's an appaloosa. She was the same red as the King when she was a yearling, but with white spots on her bum. She's almost all white now, with little red flecks and freckles. The kids are so in love with this little mare. She is so gentle and agreeable. She's one of the easiest horses I've ever trained. Just a complete joy. Only once before in my life of horses, have I had one come up me for a pat like she does. Most horses are only interested in you if there's food in your hands. This one really just wants to be your friend. Of course, our Little Lady is in her rebellious teenager phase of her life, but her version is nothing. I got the King at age 4 and he was a handful. Little Lady is just a frisky young mare trying her best to figure out what her humans want from her. I'm so glad she's part of our lives.
I'm really looking forward to seeing those horses next weekend, and the Barn Cat who is a good little buddy too. If we stay for a long weekend, we'll be bringing our Cat and Dog. The little Dog hasn't been out there yet. I wonder what the horses and dog will think of each other! Whatever I may feel is wrong in my life, my Critters can always make me feel good again.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Junk in the Truck
I would like to say that I keep my sweet ride perfectly clean. I would also like to tell you that I'm perfect but it just ain't so. I'm not worried about it though, because a perfectly clean pickup truck smacks of fakeness. I keep the cab clean, because I am a lady at times, but the box is a whole other story.
The only thing I've hauled recently is a nice black Nauga Hide swivel chair tht my Boy picked out at the Seven Nation Army. (He said it reminded him of the White Stripes song that starts off "I was sittin there, I had a com-for-table chair, and that was all that I needed")
I'm not sure where all the junk in the box came from. I know the maple leaves are from the tree I park the truck under. I know the air filter is, uh, from the engine. (And I think tomorrow I should go to Crap Tire and get a new one, eh?) There's a broken latch from the quarter window that I got fixed last summer. I keep forgetting to throw it out. I have no idea where the three crushed pop cans came from, or how they ended up in my truck. A tailgate party I slept through? In my own driveway? We don't even drink pop. The best one is the empty chip bag. It's been there since late summer, from both laziness and forgetfulness, and it's still there.
The physics involved in keeping light stuff in the back of a truck is interesting. The wind comes off the cab and hits the bed right in front of the tailgate, keeping all the things jammed up against the cab right there to stay. I took the tailgate off of my first truck. I thought I'd get better gas mileage without that wind block. A real smart guy told me lately that that's a myth. There must be something to it though. When my old man hits the gas on his old hot rod truck, he pops the tailgate open if it's not chained tight enough.
One day my kids and I were checkin' out a groovy store called Van & Truck World. Can you believe it, a whole world!! We were really digging it until we came across this boxliner that had a solid fibreglas lid, on struts like a hatchback, and was lined in carpet. We stood there looking at it in bewilderment, until one of my Genius Junior kids said, "But, how do you sweep the dirt out of the box?" I shook my head. "Kids," I said, "if you need this, you should be driving a minivan." ( See Hell Has Frozen Over) So today's lesson is this: The clean stuff goes up front in the cab. The dirt goes back in the box. If I can eat off the truck bed, you have been wasting a lot of money at the gas station on a vehicle you don't really need.
The only thing I've hauled recently is a nice black Nauga Hide swivel chair tht my Boy picked out at the Seven Nation Army. (He said it reminded him of the White Stripes song that starts off "I was sittin there, I had a com-for-table chair, and that was all that I needed")
I'm not sure where all the junk in the box came from. I know the maple leaves are from the tree I park the truck under. I know the air filter is, uh, from the engine. (And I think tomorrow I should go to Crap Tire and get a new one, eh?) There's a broken latch from the quarter window that I got fixed last summer. I keep forgetting to throw it out. I have no idea where the three crushed pop cans came from, or how they ended up in my truck. A tailgate party I slept through? In my own driveway? We don't even drink pop. The best one is the empty chip bag. It's been there since late summer, from both laziness and forgetfulness, and it's still there.
The physics involved in keeping light stuff in the back of a truck is interesting. The wind comes off the cab and hits the bed right in front of the tailgate, keeping all the things jammed up against the cab right there to stay. I took the tailgate off of my first truck. I thought I'd get better gas mileage without that wind block. A real smart guy told me lately that that's a myth. There must be something to it though. When my old man hits the gas on his old hot rod truck, he pops the tailgate open if it's not chained tight enough.
One day my kids and I were checkin' out a groovy store called Van & Truck World. Can you believe it, a whole world!! We were really digging it until we came across this boxliner that had a solid fibreglas lid, on struts like a hatchback, and was lined in carpet. We stood there looking at it in bewilderment, until one of my Genius Junior kids said, "But, how do you sweep the dirt out of the box?" I shook my head. "Kids," I said, "if you need this, you should be driving a minivan." ( See Hell Has Frozen Over) So today's lesson is this: The clean stuff goes up front in the cab. The dirt goes back in the box. If I can eat off the truck bed, you have been wasting a lot of money at the gas station on a vehicle you don't really need.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
You can't talk to your horse over the phone
Which is a shame because all long distance relationships are hard to maintain.
The King has a real good life. He has two acres of pasture that he only needs to share with one other horse. He gets to go into a cozy clean barn on winter nights, and a guy who keeps on eye on him to make sure that his Arabian skin isn't shivering in the Canadian chill. His little female equine companion is the best mate he's ever had. He tells her to move over and she asks how far. He gets to go for rides with kids around the pasture and sometimes a long ride around the block. Many people who stop by the place have to pause to admire him. He loves that.
He should have been a show horse, not a saddle club horse, but a horse who gets groomed every day and travels to interesting places. Instead, he got stuck with me, and has spent much of his adult life in various forms of semi retirement. I shouldn't feel guilty though, because he really doesn't seem to be suffering. I know a lot of horses who live with their humans and get as much attention as my guy gets.
Safe to say I miss him more than he misses me. He has no idea that there are pictures of him in all his shining red glory all over my house. I can call my folks and talk to them on the phone, and they can let me know how he's doing. I have %100 confidence that they are taking good care of him. Moving him up to a stable near my home is out of the question because I'd have to sell my house to have the board money! I don't recommend a long distance horse relationship. There are all kinds of problems.
The thought of not having him in my life is too sad to deal with. So having a weekend horse is not great, but this is better than not having him at all.
The King has a real good life. He has two acres of pasture that he only needs to share with one other horse. He gets to go into a cozy clean barn on winter nights, and a guy who keeps on eye on him to make sure that his Arabian skin isn't shivering in the Canadian chill. His little female equine companion is the best mate he's ever had. He tells her to move over and she asks how far. He gets to go for rides with kids around the pasture and sometimes a long ride around the block. Many people who stop by the place have to pause to admire him. He loves that.
He should have been a show horse, not a saddle club horse, but a horse who gets groomed every day and travels to interesting places. Instead, he got stuck with me, and has spent much of his adult life in various forms of semi retirement. I shouldn't feel guilty though, because he really doesn't seem to be suffering. I know a lot of horses who live with their humans and get as much attention as my guy gets.
Safe to say I miss him more than he misses me. He has no idea that there are pictures of him in all his shining red glory all over my house. I can call my folks and talk to them on the phone, and they can let me know how he's doing. I have %100 confidence that they are taking good care of him. Moving him up to a stable near my home is out of the question because I'd have to sell my house to have the board money! I don't recommend a long distance horse relationship. There are all kinds of problems.
The thought of not having him in my life is too sad to deal with. So having a weekend horse is not great, but this is better than not having him at all.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Hell has Officially Frozen Over: My Dad bought a Minivan
Talked to my old Man last night, my backwoods, pickup truck driving, car fixing, church going, flannel wearing, Pre-1960 Ford loving Partriarch. He spoke the words I NEVER thought I'd hear from him: BOUGHT A VAN. He didn't say it in caps, that's not his style, but I heard it in caps because I was so stunned.
You need to know a few things. First, Dad still has the truck he bought when I was an infant. In 1971. It was almost a twenty year old truck then. And when I say still has it I don't mean rusting away behind the barn- he's still driving it. It's on it's fourth or fifth engine, third transmission, and uncountable paint job. He's sort of retired it after the last overhaul, intending it to be his summer cruising machine, but it got pressed into service again this past summer as a trailer puller for work. He says it's great advertising.
Last year he had a real dilemma: which truck should I drive into town? the nice one or the work beater? The old one stays nice, but the beater is held together with the minimum of work and cash to keep it going. It finally bit the dust, forcing him to beg my mom to drive her car over the winter if he needed to go somewhere, which did not go over well with her...and he found himself with winter approaching, and no work truck.
He tells me it's a Town & Country, which we had another good chuckle over. Fullly LLLLOaded! There's no rust on it but he says,"It's got this reeeeal nice wood grain on the sides!" Even Better! As soon as he got it he took the back seats out. I mean, it's his new work van. How's he gonna haul stuff around with all those seats in there.
I could have seen myself getting roped into the minivan thing before him. So many folks drive them because they're so practical. But, I VOWED I wouldn't. My old man figured he'd never have to make that promise so...Congrats, Chrysler. Your van is so ubiquitous (that means it's everywhere) that even the hicks are driving them!!
You need to know a few things. First, Dad still has the truck he bought when I was an infant. In 1971. It was almost a twenty year old truck then. And when I say still has it I don't mean rusting away behind the barn- he's still driving it. It's on it's fourth or fifth engine, third transmission, and uncountable paint job. He's sort of retired it after the last overhaul, intending it to be his summer cruising machine, but it got pressed into service again this past summer as a trailer puller for work. He says it's great advertising.
Last year he had a real dilemma: which truck should I drive into town? the nice one or the work beater? The old one stays nice, but the beater is held together with the minimum of work and cash to keep it going. It finally bit the dust, forcing him to beg my mom to drive her car over the winter if he needed to go somewhere, which did not go over well with her...and he found himself with winter approaching, and no work truck.
He tells me it's a Town & Country, which we had another good chuckle over. Fullly LLLLOaded! There's no rust on it but he says,"It's got this reeeeal nice wood grain on the sides!" Even Better! As soon as he got it he took the back seats out. I mean, it's his new work van. How's he gonna haul stuff around with all those seats in there.
I could have seen myself getting roped into the minivan thing before him. So many folks drive them because they're so practical. But, I VOWED I wouldn't. My old man figured he'd never have to make that promise so...Congrats, Chrysler. Your van is so ubiquitous (that means it's everywhere) that even the hicks are driving them!!
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Sometimes Decorating Books Make Me Laugh, Sometimes they Make Me Mad
I get at least two book a week out of the library full of glossy dreamy photos of carefully aged houses. Words like VINTAGE and SHABBY and no surprise, COUNTRY. I really love looking at these books because I love old stuff. I got a real beaut yesterday. It's even got a photo of a Pug on a sofa draped with an old quilt, how sweet is that? The book is gorgeous. But it's totally, unmistakeably, shamelessly & blissfully ignorantly OUT TO LUNCH.
Let me risk getting in some kind of obscure trouble by repeating this, cuz you gotta read this. It's such a truckload of BS.
"Notice the happiness of a visit to the country. Friends know they will spend peaceful hourse relaxing in front of a crackling fire, sink into a comfortable old sofa, around a pine table waiting to savor a delicious meal, or outside in the shade of a arbor."
What is that all about?? Last time I visited my friends who live out in the country, it was freezing rain, we stayed for an hour to pick up the kennel they were loaning us, and I ended up out in the paddock helping load up the lumber for the shelter into the truck and covering it with a tarp. Yes they had a fire going on but it was more like a roaring fire since they'd been out in the horrible weather trying to get this shelter built for their horses and they were frozen. There was no time to languish in the cozy living room while knitting, because there are two jobs to go to during the week and they had only one weekend to do their work around home. That, my friends, is reality, not just of life in the country, but life. You can-and should-slow the pace of your life, but sometimes you've got to get that shelter built before the snow flies.
I grew up with two Mennonite grandmothers who worked their tails off. They raised kids, helped with the farm, cooked, and still did all the embroidery and quilting and all that fun quaint stuff. The only way I figure they did it is the absence of modern burdens: Homework and TV. Back in the 50's apparently kids didn't get as much homework as now. (Oddly enough there are plenty of smart people hitting their 60s now, but plenty of stupid people in their 20s. Hmm) Besides, if you had 4 to 6 kids they were on their own with that stuff. One of my Grandmas didn't even have electricity, so there was simply no time for time wasters.
My parents still live the slow pace country life, but they both have to work for a living. Wouldn't my Mom just love to relax under the romantic veil of a simple length of vintage lace swung gently over a tree branch? Well no, because my Dad's coming through with the lawn tractor soon. Such is life in the country.
Let me risk getting in some kind of obscure trouble by repeating this, cuz you gotta read this. It's such a truckload of BS.
"Notice the happiness of a visit to the country. Friends know they will spend peaceful hourse relaxing in front of a crackling fire, sink into a comfortable old sofa, around a pine table waiting to savor a delicious meal, or outside in the shade of a arbor."
What is that all about?? Last time I visited my friends who live out in the country, it was freezing rain, we stayed for an hour to pick up the kennel they were loaning us, and I ended up out in the paddock helping load up the lumber for the shelter into the truck and covering it with a tarp. Yes they had a fire going on but it was more like a roaring fire since they'd been out in the horrible weather trying to get this shelter built for their horses and they were frozen. There was no time to languish in the cozy living room while knitting, because there are two jobs to go to during the week and they had only one weekend to do their work around home. That, my friends, is reality, not just of life in the country, but life. You can-and should-slow the pace of your life, but sometimes you've got to get that shelter built before the snow flies.
I grew up with two Mennonite grandmothers who worked their tails off. They raised kids, helped with the farm, cooked, and still did all the embroidery and quilting and all that fun quaint stuff. The only way I figure they did it is the absence of modern burdens: Homework and TV. Back in the 50's apparently kids didn't get as much homework as now. (Oddly enough there are plenty of smart people hitting their 60s now, but plenty of stupid people in their 20s. Hmm) Besides, if you had 4 to 6 kids they were on their own with that stuff. One of my Grandmas didn't even have electricity, so there was simply no time for time wasters.
My parents still live the slow pace country life, but they both have to work for a living. Wouldn't my Mom just love to relax under the romantic veil of a simple length of vintage lace swung gently over a tree branch? Well no, because my Dad's coming through with the lawn tractor soon. Such is life in the country.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
"But why does your Mom drive a pickup truck?"
I had a silly little game that I used to play in parking lots. This is a couple of years ago when I was driving my beloved 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon. It was a beaut. Full size, rear wheel drive, all eight cylinders, power everything. Legally seated nine. Ah, how I loved that car. The game was called "Who's Longer" and it went like this: Pick the most ostentatious ridiculous truck type thing in the lot. Go for ones that are obvious useless status symbols. Park beside that one. Back the big car into the spot, as far in as you can get it. Then notice that the back bumper is way behind the Fake Truck and the front bumper is way ahead. You have just won "Who's Longer!" Smugly think of the tens of thousands of dollars that thing cost, and then consider the $2000 body-and-paint job that it cost you to save your magnificent car from the junk yard. Smile.
So why did I give up this wonderful piece of vintage North American steel? It didn't really have to do with the thirstiness of the beast, believe it or not. It came down to this unavoidable truth: IT WAS NOT A TRUCK.
If I ever planned to do the following activities I would need a truck:
-haul a horse trailer
-haul a load of gravel
-topsoil
-sidewalk bricks
-hay
-furniture
-move my husband's office/studio three times in a year
-bring the free piano home
-take all four bikes, two suitcases, a plastic tub full of pillows and a cooler to a rental cottage week
-go to the drive-in with the lawnchairs on the back for true outdoor viewing experience
We found the truck that suited our needs and came in on the price range. It was already fifteen years old but we were cool with that. Trucks are built better than cars and tend to hold their years better. It had the extended cab (it's not legal to put your kids in the box so they have to ride in the cab, you know) it had the V8, and it had the trailer hitch. Perfect. It also had the swanky nice interior. Bonus. No radio, sadly. But it also had a feature I hadn't really specified: the extra two feet of length out behind. We ended up with the 8 foot box. I didn't really need it but I got it. The price was right.
Of course the obvious question had to be asked. "You live in town. You don't have a horse trailer. You don't have to haul hay."
Well if you're going to get hung up on details, let me state that no, I do not have a horse trailer--YET. Now if I bought one, how would I get it home? Hmm? See, a truck is important. And all of those things, except for the hay, I have put in my truck. We get the hay brought to the farm on an actual hay wagon, so we can put a year's worth in the barn in one shot. But if I were to take my horses somewhere I might have to throw a few bales in the truck box, right???
AS for the questions regarding my environmental disrespect, I have to agree but also defend. Yeah, she's a pig. It costs about a $100 to fill the tank these days. And it don't last real long. But my trips are either across town, or a long trip about 4x a year, so don't get your pants in a knot. Besides, we bike a lot. That's a total novelty for me. I wasn't allowed as a child to bike down the gravel shoulder of the highway to go into town. Besides, the truck is actually better on gas than the magnificent car was.
I spent the first week driving over curbs accidentally. You'd think me who grew up driving trucks and station wagons and other huge GM cars from the 70's would have been able to avoid the curb jumping but geez, this thing was LONG. And parking it is an exercise. Most spots cannot be driven into, you have got to back it in because of the length+ turning radius. When you start backing in, you have to go ahead first further than you think.
I use the trailer mirrors and now I hate backing a normal car because I can't see the back tires in the mirrors.
Funny thing is, playing "Who's Longer" lost its appeal. I'm always longer. The only way I lose is if I find a truck with an 8ft box AND a crew cab with 4 doors. That's okay. I don't use my truck as a weapon, but if I need to get into traffic, I get in. I usually get the parking spots I want, just because few argue with the revers lights that are at a normal car's windshield height.
So, why do I like my truck so much? Practical reasons aside, I'm going to cut the crap and tell the truth. I'm a small woman. I get lost in crowds. I really like being bigger, even if it only lasts until I jump down out of my truck. Besides, every now and then Jethro and I trade so I can shift gears in the VW and he gets to drive around feeling like a cowboy for a day... and when he has to explain that it's his wife's truck, those of those who know me, simply smile and nod.
So why did I give up this wonderful piece of vintage North American steel? It didn't really have to do with the thirstiness of the beast, believe it or not. It came down to this unavoidable truth: IT WAS NOT A TRUCK.
If I ever planned to do the following activities I would need a truck:
-haul a horse trailer
-haul a load of gravel
-topsoil
-sidewalk bricks
-hay
-furniture
-move my husband's office/studio three times in a year
-bring the free piano home
-take all four bikes, two suitcases, a plastic tub full of pillows and a cooler to a rental cottage week
-go to the drive-in with the lawnchairs on the back for true outdoor viewing experience
We found the truck that suited our needs and came in on the price range. It was already fifteen years old but we were cool with that. Trucks are built better than cars and tend to hold their years better. It had the extended cab (it's not legal to put your kids in the box so they have to ride in the cab, you know) it had the V8, and it had the trailer hitch. Perfect. It also had the swanky nice interior. Bonus. No radio, sadly. But it also had a feature I hadn't really specified: the extra two feet of length out behind. We ended up with the 8 foot box. I didn't really need it but I got it. The price was right.
Of course the obvious question had to be asked. "You live in town. You don't have a horse trailer. You don't have to haul hay."
Well if you're going to get hung up on details, let me state that no, I do not have a horse trailer--YET. Now if I bought one, how would I get it home? Hmm? See, a truck is important. And all of those things, except for the hay, I have put in my truck. We get the hay brought to the farm on an actual hay wagon, so we can put a year's worth in the barn in one shot. But if I were to take my horses somewhere I might have to throw a few bales in the truck box, right???
AS for the questions regarding my environmental disrespect, I have to agree but also defend. Yeah, she's a pig. It costs about a $100 to fill the tank these days. And it don't last real long. But my trips are either across town, or a long trip about 4x a year, so don't get your pants in a knot. Besides, we bike a lot. That's a total novelty for me. I wasn't allowed as a child to bike down the gravel shoulder of the highway to go into town. Besides, the truck is actually better on gas than the magnificent car was.
I spent the first week driving over curbs accidentally. You'd think me who grew up driving trucks and station wagons and other huge GM cars from the 70's would have been able to avoid the curb jumping but geez, this thing was LONG. And parking it is an exercise. Most spots cannot be driven into, you have got to back it in because of the length+ turning radius. When you start backing in, you have to go ahead first further than you think.
I use the trailer mirrors and now I hate backing a normal car because I can't see the back tires in the mirrors.
Funny thing is, playing "Who's Longer" lost its appeal. I'm always longer. The only way I lose is if I find a truck with an 8ft box AND a crew cab with 4 doors. That's okay. I don't use my truck as a weapon, but if I need to get into traffic, I get in. I usually get the parking spots I want, just because few argue with the revers lights that are at a normal car's windshield height.
So, why do I like my truck so much? Practical reasons aside, I'm going to cut the crap and tell the truth. I'm a small woman. I get lost in crowds. I really like being bigger, even if it only lasts until I jump down out of my truck. Besides, every now and then Jethro and I trade so I can shift gears in the VW and he gets to drive around feeling like a cowboy for a day... and when he has to explain that it's his wife's truck, those of those who know me, simply smile and nod.
Fake comments, telemarketers and duct cleaning. Go away, All of you!!!
So far, on my Blah blah blog, I have gotten about 4 comments. That's it, four stinkin rotten comments. Every one of them start off, "Hey, nice blog!" And ends up with "Hey, wanna make money just by sittin around on your butt at home? Visit this website!"
What a load of bull%$#*. If I wanted to get barraged with this kind of garbage, I'd actually answer the phone.
You know how you're just sitting down to eat and the phone rings? I refuse to get it while we're eating. You know it's somebody trying to get you to pay them to suck the dust out of your heating ducts. Like you couldn't find that in the friggin phone book if you wanted it done.
My husband, Jethro, likes to pick it up and tell them to take his name off the list.
And then there's junk mail. Every Thursday I throw a stack of flyers in the recycling box. I don't want to know what's on sale this weekend. If I don't need it I won't buy it--look at that, I just avoided spending my money. I didn't even have to leave the house.
And now I have to put up with junkmail on my blog, of all sacred places. Get me all amped up for a comment on the witty humour, imaginative titles, and quality writing. But no, all I get is "Visit my great new work from home website!"
Come on, all three of you readers, give me some love! Be the one to be the first to put a real comment up! Strike back against the bogus form letter of rip off fake business! Unless you're really boring. Then I'll just go on being disgusted with what I'm getting.
What a load of bull%$#*. If I wanted to get barraged with this kind of garbage, I'd actually answer the phone.
You know how you're just sitting down to eat and the phone rings? I refuse to get it while we're eating. You know it's somebody trying to get you to pay them to suck the dust out of your heating ducts. Like you couldn't find that in the friggin phone book if you wanted it done.
My husband, Jethro, likes to pick it up and tell them to take his name off the list.
And then there's junk mail. Every Thursday I throw a stack of flyers in the recycling box. I don't want to know what's on sale this weekend. If I don't need it I won't buy it--look at that, I just avoided spending my money. I didn't even have to leave the house.
And now I have to put up with junkmail on my blog, of all sacred places. Get me all amped up for a comment on the witty humour, imaginative titles, and quality writing. But no, all I get is "Visit my great new work from home website!"
Come on, all three of you readers, give me some love! Be the one to be the first to put a real comment up! Strike back against the bogus form letter of rip off fake business! Unless you're really boring. Then I'll just go on being disgusted with what I'm getting.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
pink John Deere cap
It is very hard for me to admit that I was in the mall, because I find that place generally disturbing (especially when I don't have much $) but yes I was there, shopping at Old Navy for shirts big enough for my big man, when I walked past a hat store and there it was. A pink John Deere hat. Pink!!! My new essential colour, the colour I avoided from age 13 onwards, the colour that alwasy seemed too girly and silly for me. The colour that I suddenly started wearing last year, just before I had my little mental and emotional meltdown. And there it was with a silver John Deere emblem on it!!
Never mind that I already have two John Deere caps. Both black, one with yellow emblem and one all black. But I had to have the pink one. So I did something very out of character for me, since I am famous for being very cheap. I walked in, grabbed it off the shelf, adjusted it, slammed it on my head, and paid for it.
Geez, that felt pretty alright.
Soon after I bought it, it occurred to me that somebody in the marketing department thought this hat would be a good idea. I have looked at the JD website many times and didn't see this particular item. I found it in the friggin' mall of all places. There were only four of them there, but they were in the mall, not the JD dealership or the TSC store. And it's even licensed John Deere merch.
Which makes me wonder two things. Could it be that mall rats are picking this up? Do they even know what John Deere is? There's a deer on the logo, not a tractor. Ignorance is bliss after all. I mean, look at Von Dutch. How many mall lurking plastic girls actually know that the real Von Dutch was a hot rod customizer? A legendary pinstriper? My other ponderment is this: Who are the other three women who will buy the pink John Deere hats? I'd like to find them, since so few of my girlfriends are in the Two Cylinder club! Unless they just bought the hat because it was, like, hot.
Never mind that I already have two John Deere caps. Both black, one with yellow emblem and one all black. But I had to have the pink one. So I did something very out of character for me, since I am famous for being very cheap. I walked in, grabbed it off the shelf, adjusted it, slammed it on my head, and paid for it.
Geez, that felt pretty alright.
Soon after I bought it, it occurred to me that somebody in the marketing department thought this hat would be a good idea. I have looked at the JD website many times and didn't see this particular item. I found it in the friggin' mall of all places. There were only four of them there, but they were in the mall, not the JD dealership or the TSC store. And it's even licensed John Deere merch.
Which makes me wonder two things. Could it be that mall rats are picking this up? Do they even know what John Deere is? There's a deer on the logo, not a tractor. Ignorance is bliss after all. I mean, look at Von Dutch. How many mall lurking plastic girls actually know that the real Von Dutch was a hot rod customizer? A legendary pinstriper? My other ponderment is this: Who are the other three women who will buy the pink John Deere hats? I'd like to find them, since so few of my girlfriends are in the Two Cylinder club! Unless they just bought the hat because it was, like, hot.
Friday, November 04, 2005
This is supposed to be an ANTI depressant????
So it's been about 10- 11 months since I've been on Celexa/Citalopram. But really, who's keeping track? I still can't say it's working. Oh sure, I have less days when I get as far as the couch and don't even have the strength to cry. In fact I can get through a day pretty good. I can laugh, crack a joke, have fun. But not for too long.
I always thought of myself as fun. I mean, I have pink hair. I drive a pickup truck with funny buttons such as "mentally confused and prone to wandering" and "why be normal" holding up the saggy headliner. I own three pairs of high heeled boots. I listen to the Darkness. I'm not afraid of mud.
How could I be depressed? And yet when the doctor, who has known me for eight years, asked the questions, I had to be honest. What a surprise.
I wonder how many seemingly normal people are out there, suffering, and not even admitting it to themselves.
Well Sam Hill, this got heavy. How depressing. HA HA! and now, the sad and funny truth about legit drugs:
The first night that I got this stuff, my darling man and I were in the kitchen after the kids hit the sack. He had the day off, so he was home at bedtime. I got out the nasty side effects sheet and had a look at it. What's the first thing I see?
AVOID ALCOHOL. Waht????? That's no fun. I had an argument with that, right off, because when we were in Florida mere weeks before this, hanging around with the paternal parents in the trailer park, we had a right good time with the rum. I'm not a hardcore drinker by any stretch, partly by my upbringing and partly just due to being a cheap drunk, but I make an exception for two things. Beer and rum. Not together. Me and the old man were really going through it. He makes a mean drink, my father in law. He had the rum and orange juice with a little splash of Cointreau. Yee haw. Or should I say, clearly you've never been to singapore. And I was having the WORST chest pains while we were down there. Imagine, lounging by the pool with a bunch of harmless 60 year olds, and I'm having paralyzing panic attacks. So by dinner time I was really digging my special drink.
But apparently alcohol is actually a depressant and won't do my any good in the long run. Grrr. So Jethro says, "hey, it just says avoid, like pretend you don't see it when you walk in the room. Not, like, you know, don't even go in the room." Man, he is brilliant.
Next disturbing side effect? MAY CAUSE ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION. To which Jethro replies, "Oh, listen, I assure you, that will not be a problem."
So anyways, I discovered something called Upper Canada Point Nine. It's like beer, but it's not really beer, because it's less than one percent alcohol. I don't even get silly from sniffing the bottle cap, like I do with real beer. I let myself have one a week, just to let myself feel less deprived. At least until I can get off the *&#% drugs.
I always thought of myself as fun. I mean, I have pink hair. I drive a pickup truck with funny buttons such as "mentally confused and prone to wandering" and "why be normal" holding up the saggy headliner. I own three pairs of high heeled boots. I listen to the Darkness. I'm not afraid of mud.
How could I be depressed? And yet when the doctor, who has known me for eight years, asked the questions, I had to be honest. What a surprise.
I wonder how many seemingly normal people are out there, suffering, and not even admitting it to themselves.
Well Sam Hill, this got heavy. How depressing. HA HA! and now, the sad and funny truth about legit drugs:
The first night that I got this stuff, my darling man and I were in the kitchen after the kids hit the sack. He had the day off, so he was home at bedtime. I got out the nasty side effects sheet and had a look at it. What's the first thing I see?
AVOID ALCOHOL. Waht????? That's no fun. I had an argument with that, right off, because when we were in Florida mere weeks before this, hanging around with the paternal parents in the trailer park, we had a right good time with the rum. I'm not a hardcore drinker by any stretch, partly by my upbringing and partly just due to being a cheap drunk, but I make an exception for two things. Beer and rum. Not together. Me and the old man were really going through it. He makes a mean drink, my father in law. He had the rum and orange juice with a little splash of Cointreau. Yee haw. Or should I say, clearly you've never been to singapore. And I was having the WORST chest pains while we were down there. Imagine, lounging by the pool with a bunch of harmless 60 year olds, and I'm having paralyzing panic attacks. So by dinner time I was really digging my special drink.
But apparently alcohol is actually a depressant and won't do my any good in the long run. Grrr. So Jethro says, "hey, it just says avoid, like pretend you don't see it when you walk in the room. Not, like, you know, don't even go in the room." Man, he is brilliant.
Next disturbing side effect? MAY CAUSE ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION. To which Jethro replies, "Oh, listen, I assure you, that will not be a problem."
So anyways, I discovered something called Upper Canada Point Nine. It's like beer, but it's not really beer, because it's less than one percent alcohol. I don't even get silly from sniffing the bottle cap, like I do with real beer. I let myself have one a week, just to let myself feel less deprived. At least until I can get off the *&#% drugs.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Sweater wearing lap dog. I'm so embarrassed.
It's a lovely sunny fall day today, which is good because I could take my puppy outside without putting his very fashionable sweater on him. Yes, that's right, I broke down and got clothes for my dog. Stop laughing, ok, the poor little guy was shivering all week, and if felt sorry for him. I mean, he's just a baby! Fortunately, everyone else on the block thinks he's adorable in his little jacket. Which is good, because I thought for sure I'd get the crap beat of me, and the Dog, for looking like a couple of pansies. Where I come from, dogs do not wear sweaters, or live in houses, or for that matter, have to be bought. It's bad enough that I actually gave somebody money for this dog, let alone put a sweater on him!
But he really is adorable. If I get over myself for a minute I can even admit that he is really cute in his sweater. And he was worth every penny.
I wonder if anybody's making John Deere T shirts for tiny dogs? hee hee
But he really is adorable. If I get over myself for a minute I can even admit that he is really cute in his sweater. And he was worth every penny.
I wonder if anybody's making John Deere T shirts for tiny dogs? hee hee
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Gotta love farm boys
So I bought a couple of newspapers last night so the Boy could have some news to present at school. In The Toronto Star, I.D. section, there was a lovely article about young farmers. So naturally I skimmed through it (reading can really only be done when the kids are asleep or not home) I have to say it was a pretty good article although the part about never being totally clean didn't do much to advance the profession. Plus it isn't true. I go to church with a bunch of farmers and they're not only clean, they're decently dressed and smell nice.
Let's just talk about farm boys for a minute. Here are some of my favourites:
-Wesley, "Farm Boy" from one of the best movies ever made, The Princess Bride. Not only was he beautiful as the wind blew his innocent blonde hair from his forehead, he also looked damn fine in a pirate outfit. Ah, farmer and pirate. Thrown in cowboy and he'd be PERFECT. Sigh.
Ashton Kutcher. How can you argue with a name like Kutcher? Plus he's Man Pretty.
Viggo Mortenson. Ok I know, he's from Manhatten. But he just looks like he'd be good at farming. Picture the brown canvas Carhartt work jacket, slightly worn Pioneer Seed hat, navy work pants and work boots. He's got really gnarly hands. And he played an Amish guy in Witness.
My Dad. He actually is a good Mennonite boy. I may be a little biased but he's a good looking fella, plus he taught me most of what I know about style.
Jethro, on weekends, when we go away and act like farmers. Put that big guy in a pair of navy coveralls and rubber boots, then put a cordless drill in his hands and stand back. Nothing like a long haired metal head fixing things in the barn.
Isn't this fun? There are more, I just can't think of them all right now because the Dog is snoring so loud it's distracting me. I will be adding to my list of Favourite Farm Boys as we go, and if you think of any more, let me know, the more the better!
Let's just talk about farm boys for a minute. Here are some of my favourites:
-Wesley, "Farm Boy" from one of the best movies ever made, The Princess Bride. Not only was he beautiful as the wind blew his innocent blonde hair from his forehead, he also looked damn fine in a pirate outfit. Ah, farmer and pirate. Thrown in cowboy and he'd be PERFECT. Sigh.
Ashton Kutcher. How can you argue with a name like Kutcher? Plus he's Man Pretty.
Viggo Mortenson. Ok I know, he's from Manhatten. But he just looks like he'd be good at farming. Picture the brown canvas Carhartt work jacket, slightly worn Pioneer Seed hat, navy work pants and work boots. He's got really gnarly hands. And he played an Amish guy in Witness.
My Dad. He actually is a good Mennonite boy. I may be a little biased but he's a good looking fella, plus he taught me most of what I know about style.
Jethro, on weekends, when we go away and act like farmers. Put that big guy in a pair of navy coveralls and rubber boots, then put a cordless drill in his hands and stand back. Nothing like a long haired metal head fixing things in the barn.
Isn't this fun? There are more, I just can't think of them all right now because the Dog is snoring so loud it's distracting me. I will be adding to my list of Favourite Farm Boys as we go, and if you think of any more, let me know, the more the better!
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Why I hate Wal Mart
Aside from the fact that I was recently accosted by a greeter, who seemed to be offended by the fact that I did not know proper Store Entry Protocol, I find the place gruesomely overlit, crowded, offensively visually loud, and confusing to all other senses. Oh, and it also seems to always be full of unhealthy looking people who are wearing too much synthetic based clothing.
Yeah, I know it's cheap, but Zellers is almost as cheap, and honestly, HOW MUCH CHEAP CRAP DO WE REALLY NEED? There's a scary epidemic in North America called Clutter, and you know where clutter comes from? Wal Mart. Zellers. The Dollar Store. Home Depot. Need I go on?
On that happy note, I need to take the plastic skeleton out of my lilac tree now. I'd leave him up because he looks so cool, but I have to make room for the plastic lit up nativity scene. *
* I do not actually have a plastic nativity scene. I am hick, not tacky. I will admit to a small touch of goth in me, hence the skeleton in the tree and love of Tim Burton. And I can't see him shopping at Wal Mart. Except as a joke.
Yeah, I know it's cheap, but Zellers is almost as cheap, and honestly, HOW MUCH CHEAP CRAP DO WE REALLY NEED? There's a scary epidemic in North America called Clutter, and you know where clutter comes from? Wal Mart. Zellers. The Dollar Store. Home Depot. Need I go on?
On that happy note, I need to take the plastic skeleton out of my lilac tree now. I'd leave him up because he looks so cool, but I have to make room for the plastic lit up nativity scene. *
* I do not actually have a plastic nativity scene. I am hick, not tacky. I will admit to a small touch of goth in me, hence the skeleton in the tree and love of Tim Burton. And I can't see him shopping at Wal Mart. Except as a joke.
Tractor joke #3
In honour of the harvest season!
What did the farmer say when he harvested the corn field?
Hey, there's my tractor!
ok I'm done with those now.
What did the farmer say when he harvested the corn field?
Hey, there's my tractor!
ok I'm done with those now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)