Show us a puppy.
Show us a puppy.
In honor of Canada Day, show us your favorite Canadian.
For crying out loud, spell it FAVOURITE if you are going to use the word to refer to Canadians.
Anyway...
My favourite Canadian would be very hard to choose, seeing as most of the people I love the most live in this beautiful country. My favourite famous Canadian would have to be, without a doubt, Margaret Atwood.
I was "assigned" her in History class, mainly because I believe Mo thought it would be funny to make me a feminist, and got hooked on her stories. I don't think Mo created anything in me that wasn't there already but he might have given me an outlet to unleash it. In those years since high school I've been an avid fan, even writing songs inspired by her writing. This one is the longest song (8 minutes, two time signatures and several movements) and is named after a phrase in "Alias Grace".
I've just returned back home from visiting the place where I grew up:
A small town where most of the cars still have six-digit license plate numbers but is big enough to be infected with the current epidemic of never using the car's signals.
A place where I discover I still have buttons, and that others can decide which ones to push and do so, regardless of how I feel about it.
A town where unwanted and specifically denied headstones pop up out of cemetery ground, bearing your name, while you are still alive.
It's so nice to be back here at home.
Because of everything that's been going on, I've packed up my sewing machine and put away the stuff I had in my quilting studio. I have bins and bins of beautiful, rich cotton fabrics that are now in storage. I can hear my entire stash screaming, telling me that their colours won't wait for me to pull them out, and when fabric screams to you and you are a quilter... you hear it.
I didn't realize how much I missed making my quilts until the other night. Smike and I were bored with what was on television so we were cruising the channels. We settled on an episode of Penn and Teller's "BULLSHIT!" in which they debate the theory that pornography is harmful.
During this episode, they are showing various images from different porn films and commenting on how much fun it is for them to watch the boobies, etc. Me? I'm hoping they will get back to interviewing the gal with the flowchart, because she has a giant rainbow-hued quilt behind her and I can't decide if it's string-pieced or a pattern of some sort.
So basically, there are people fornicating right in front of me, and I am just waiting it out because I want to see the quilt. Not likely to be a normal reaction from most folks.
Maybe it is true that porn doesn't cause adverse effects, but sewing fabric can sure make you an addicted quiltaholic.
Something I've wondered about... Game show name tags.
How are they made? Are they done by an in-house person or are they sent out? How long does it take to make one? Wouldn't the staff have to know well in advance who will be on the show to make these things?
What about after the show? This is what I wonder about the most. Does someone come around and collect the name tags from the participants? If so, are they recycled? Does some other DAVE get to wear that name tag?
Have you ever gone over to someone's house and seen a game show name tag on their dresser? Did they get to keep it or was it smuggled out? Was the name tag signed by the Very Famous Host? Do these things ever show up on eBay?
Yes, I know. I'm very, very deep. I have world-changing ambitions, obviously, with probing thoughts like these.
My husband and I have just finished re-doing our laundry room. I'll admit that Smike did most of the work, but I did all of the research. I've been cheerfully annoying during the whole process, muttering things to him like "Stewart Copeland never had to hang Debbie Travis wallpaper" and "I bet Hugh Laurie doesn't have a German Shepherd as a supervisor". These types of things don't go over too well after several nights of staying up until 3am getting stuff done. And yet I persist. Sure, he elbowed me in the temple and I dropped a piece of the blinds on his head. But my game is off... I know you have to start this stuff right off the bat, while the late nights are still making you punchy.
You wouldn't believe how the previous owners of this place left it (and I'm serious) so I won't bother describing it to you. Keep in mind that we had planned on putting down a new laundry room floor when we had first moved in, but didn't get the keys to the house until 7pm on moving day and once the dudes put the stuff in there it was too late. So we've lived with this completely shitty room for two years now and didn't notice it too much. The walls were in bad shape and painting wasn't going to work so we put up some Debbie Travis textured-and-paintable wallpaper (the previous owners had put up wallpaper, too, except that it was only attached at the top and at the bottom).
Bearing all of this in mind, here's me towards the end of the last night, doing the flooring:
A work in progress:
I am so tired, discouraged, and disappointed.
There are few things that can be as soul-killing as the demise of your expectations, so it's a good thing I didn't have any. In the midst of all that is happening, I feel like I'm standing alone, and shouldering the entire burden. That might not be true... but it sure as hell feels like it.
Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to return a few things at the store, and hopefully get someone to pull down the mirrors from the top shelf so I can get one today instead of traveling into the city to take my chances on finding one there if I'm lucky. Then I'm going to get a goddamn burger. And a salad. Yeah, that's right, I said it. A salad.
And when I get home I'm going to take a long, hot shower and slather lotion all over my poor sandpaper-wrecked hands.
And after that I'm going to put an end to my poor me routine and get back to work like a good little drone.
I cannot tell you what it is like to watch, helpless, as a neighbour family's entire lives go -- literally -- up in flames.
I tried to help as much as I could, but there was nothing I could do except stand back and offer what assistance I was able to. I took photos because I knew I'd have to bring my own kids past this horror and that they'd have heard and seen things from the school, and be frightened. They were. My youngest had been crying and most of the kids thought it was their house on fire. So I brought my camera with me and showed them one of the photos, telling them that they were safe and to be prepared for what they were going to see. They were relieved but still very tense, and when we got to the house I showed them how the firemen (and women!) were keeping track of who was where, how they put on their oxygen tanks, how they checked for hot spots, and why they were pulling down bricks and poking things with long poles. There were hundreds of people out watching and I met quite a few people, including one fireman's wife (who totally understands my thing for guys in uniform) named Beth. She answered a lot of my own questions about what they were doing, and we talked about my fears that someone would get killed going in there at night (they have a night patrol person to stay).
There was at least one person in the house, and all got out safely. They all lost everything. It's such a tragedy, but they still have each other... as unkind as it may seem to say it, the house and treasured things they lost are nothing compared to what it would be like to lose one of their loved ones.
The whole community has tried to come together and help out, I know they have family and many friends in the area who are doing all they can for them as well. If you have any suggestions of what I can do (my neighbours have made me the contact person for them, because I am friends with the gal who took them in while all this was happening), please let me know.
And while I've got your ear, please say a little thank you for the rescue workers and volunteers who put their lives in danger for us. They are true heroes, no two ways about it. Hug your family and thank whatever powers that be that they are safe.
]]>You already know that I'll have a lot to say about the whole experience, but for now (because I'm desperate for some sleep) I thought I'd share this photo from fourth row at last night's Police concert:
Yes, Stewart, that green blur you saw was me. Thank you for pointing at the flag, and especially for the big smiles and eye contact. Thank you for the opportunity to meet such incredible people. Thank you, Kellie, for letting me be a part of this crazy Kryptonite history.
]]>Duchess: Mum, can you find me that book that's written in Haiku and is about spring?
Me: Uhhh... we don't even have one of those.
Duchess: Oh.
I am almost sure she expected me to write that book for her, tonight.
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