tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84694998260921777942024-03-05T03:27:38.292-08:00Busy Nothings"Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings."
― Jane Austen, Mansfield ParkStepheniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276166967086743211noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-20514121281812496032020-06-23T21:41:00.002-07:002020-06-24T21:42:02.205-07:00We're still here<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZg9sVXoT_7dBpPOT85PaeFFUJDARqGMKbfoFaa5OFvYB_V5Rvw1ljlsjbkP03Ie1JHVbS_TcxfA_jj6_gETvo44cWaayN_d9VgbEw0XQjKEpxlHQxu3G5GQn-f5hsknVVIm9rbSn66I/s1280/IMG_2578.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZg9sVXoT_7dBpPOT85PaeFFUJDARqGMKbfoFaa5OFvYB_V5Rvw1ljlsjbkP03Ie1JHVbS_TcxfA_jj6_gETvo44cWaayN_d9VgbEw0XQjKEpxlHQxu3G5GQn-f5hsknVVIm9rbSn66I/w300-h400/IMG_2578.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div>Today marks three months since we were sent home to "shelter in place."<br />
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In some ways it has been a roller coaster, albeit a very quiet and slow-moving one. To embrace that analogy completely, this roller coaster has its moments of just gliding smoothly along in our little car of four, followed by plummets into the unknown where sheer panic overcomes me and I struggle to control my breathing so I don't have to huff into a paper bag.<br />
<br />So many times in the week I remind myself of how fortunate we are. We both have jobs where we can continue to work and be paid from home. We have health coverage. We have the technology and the wifi to allow us to work at home, as well as plenty of space to set up two home offices. Make that FOUR home offices as the girls school from home. We are healthy, our families and friends are mostly healthy and continue to work. We do not suffer the effects of racism or dangerously ineffective political leadership. Medical advice comes from rational, trustworthy, scientific sources. Our home, while it doesn't belong to us, is a beautiful, spacious and comfortable place to shelter. Our yard has never looked so good as we have lots of time to spend taking care of it. The flowers bloom, the birds sing. Our cats comfort us and make us laugh. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79Ui-r2FXPRor88OG_kNBsgRVnCfFvqrc5hmTYGLHDTbfqVHE6rBQeqUx9p52WTtbaq96CVuGGgg3JHYfhw1k5NhZqEAfT-3dWqe05YQcVVfJe3H-z5iaE7RxIK82tzjj6HaY55sgq1M/s4032/IMG_2385.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh79Ui-r2FXPRor88OG_kNBsgRVnCfFvqrc5hmTYGLHDTbfqVHE6rBQeqUx9p52WTtbaq96CVuGGgg3JHYfhw1k5NhZqEAfT-3dWqe05YQcVVfJe3H-z5iaE7RxIK82tzjj6HaY55sgq1M/w192-h256/IMG_2385.jpeg" width="192" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I am not bragging here. I do this to remind myself of how much we have, to reframe the stress and weirdness that I feel some days.<div>
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Everything that happens has a ripple effect, and while we do everything we can to make life as normal and safe as possible for our daughters, there are times when I am sad to think of the long-term effects of stress and worry and loss on them. The loss of regular routine, time with friends, dance classes, school trips, our eldest's first year of high school, first high school musical she was to star in, dance in, laugh and live in. Our youngest's first big trip on her own this summer to an international Guiding event she had saved for, planned for, worked hard for. Normality. It is just all gone.</div><div><br /><div>
At first when we were at home, the kids grieved all of those lost joys. The teenager railed against not being able to see her friends, having to do her dance classes by zoom, being stuck at home with us all the damn time. The almost teen quietly went about her business, doing remote school like clockwork every day, filling her time with school work and projects. We worked, got out for walks, played games, watched movies, cooked, tried to have creative outlets. Then Dan started to make sourdough. Oh god, the bread.<div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgyKtpQ30v_tqmyneLZbc0JXPZ0uY9A2JQ2QHswQD_tV4plX554uIYN7uWfGcVxvU0ibK2Qqn_tFMwfLCWmJE-TM-tTN-rdvxE4vWMJ-IV0m8r29E9P4152hmj_OEqqMplgdD8pBvSK4/s2016/IMG_4022.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgyKtpQ30v_tqmyneLZbc0JXPZ0uY9A2JQ2QHswQD_tV4plX554uIYN7uWfGcVxvU0ibK2Qqn_tFMwfLCWmJE-TM-tTN-rdvxE4vWMJ-IV0m8r29E9P4152hmj_OEqqMplgdD8pBvSK4/s320/IMG_4022.jpg" /></a></div>Time marches on, and four months later it starts to ease a little bit. The "curve" as they say is flattening. Some businesses start to open up, and we all have a mask we can wear when we need it. The crippling fear of going to the grocery store is starting to let up for me. The idea that I could go to get groceries and bring home a potentially fatal disease to my entire family was seriously paralyzing.</div><div><br />
But we have all CHANGED. I am afraid of people getting too close to me. The girls are quite content to stay home. Even they find going to a store, a previously mundane task, to be fraught with invisible peril. It is just. So. Strange. Kids forget how to interact with each other.Heck, I forget how to interact with people except over zoom. It's like society has had this big, super bizarre reset button pressed, and now we have been plopped back out into the world which looks the same on the surface but definitely is not.</div><div>
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I know it is not reasonable but I grieve the fact my kid feels like she needs to wear a mask to go out in public. The mask is smothering. And who is it for? For us? For seniors? For the person who refuses to obey the (new) rules of personal space?<br />
Perhaps the most welcome thing out of all of this twilight zone quarter of a year has been that we all still quite like each other. We are probably less annoyed with each other now than when we were tearing around trying to get to school and work on time, running out the door with a bowl of pasta to eat on the way to climbing class or whatever long-ago far-away out of the house thing we were doing. We try to give each other space when we need it, and even though YES there are times when I want to throw something (admittedly something soft like a pillow) at my partner, mostly we are civilized.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwStHFJUjCwcpVE-q9awhYPj-RfsChGa5KUpiCj_SXcW1QL0YbjEIf4Dq5gcy0397eLqnE20GO0iKmBRDkp0r27x-flLox-T54V5aKuxxExZDn9lntB4gPAaMzPGyKfTuxYyxBtvyg7fk/s3024/IMG_2863.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwStHFJUjCwcpVE-q9awhYPj-RfsChGa5KUpiCj_SXcW1QL0YbjEIf4Dq5gcy0397eLqnE20GO0iKmBRDkp0r27x-flLox-T54V5aKuxxExZDn9lntB4gPAaMzPGyKfTuxYyxBtvyg7fk/w320-h320/IMG_2863.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>We cook Indian food and bake sourdough and watch Downton Abbey. My teenager gardens with me. She learns embroidery and steals my clothes (who knew my mom style would become a style?). The just-turned-a-teenager agonizes over the fact that her older sister also now sews and plays piano and nothing is JUST HERS anymore. I suggest she takes up being an amateur naturalist and so she does. Now she can identify wild ginger in the woods, as well as what plants in the yard are edible.<br />
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I hold this time tightly. No one knows what "new normal" will be or where this rollercoaster will stop and let us off. Our daughters become tall and beautiful and opinionated. Eventually they will leave the garden and the baking behind for the temptations of peer relationships, social life (whatever that will look like next year), young adulthood, life outside our little loving bubble. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hold on tight. The ride is not quite over yet.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6ZoQiFPN6JA50vtQsHcoeg_Y1IJlr0dMHuPBGTgnbvvsvASPk_DVYV6tbKulmpmar7KMzRzHdrqChKiPnkFv0t7uBfabuC-YBJiPlj2jN5QSHE6tfBs9HM_rSjMcaZer6kJhgQyZsaY/s3780/B37E0A96-0948-4AD7-A238-16656B26C2AC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="display: inline; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2785" data-original-width="3780" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja6ZoQiFPN6JA50vtQsHcoeg_Y1IJlr0dMHuPBGTgnbvvsvASPk_DVYV6tbKulmpmar7KMzRzHdrqChKiPnkFv0t7uBfabuC-YBJiPlj2jN5QSHE6tfBs9HM_rSjMcaZer6kJhgQyZsaY/w500-h369/B37E0A96-0948-4AD7-A238-16656B26C2AC_1_201_a.jpeg" width="500" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zOOA93uncoRTk01LUezRDxosnjAytyjXlk9jCFdkczc6Naja2flqQq3uyPnm6SEyMNFguDn2UPFqk1DKDgeY0V1lX8-chHcZv4pl6zHXTV7XpNEAdPnS2j2in4V_N7RKovQKLct6BwA/s5184/IMG_2513.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="5184" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zOOA93uncoRTk01LUezRDxosnjAytyjXlk9jCFdkczc6Naja2flqQq3uyPnm6SEyMNFguDn2UPFqk1DKDgeY0V1lX8-chHcZv4pl6zHXTV7XpNEAdPnS2j2in4V_N7RKovQKLct6BwA/w625-h416/IMG_2513.JPG" width="625" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br />
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</div></div></div></div></div></div>Stepheniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276166967086743211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-91273361956850700742020-03-26T19:28:00.002-07:002020-03-26T19:28:37.011-07:00Quarantine DiariesMy daughter woke up the other morning and started telling me about this really strange dream she had about being forced to build a raft from random stuff in order to get around a city where the streets were made of water and there were babies everywhere that needed rescuing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCNmDl5_CFyX5igh8FTUkK6Cc_ogB-5TVJqj2DF5Z4rN0BS515biyahX92mgMxx6k6PztckU3IT-8AY30X-l8u_yDgbIPsqAl25urYofvJmT5evvfHQr3XOfEZDzVjpDUS1Ppe11t-ks/s1600/2814284B-56E5-415B-B759-5435FB58F0E2.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCNmDl5_CFyX5igh8FTUkK6Cc_ogB-5TVJqj2DF5Z4rN0BS515biyahX92mgMxx6k6PztckU3IT-8AY30X-l8u_yDgbIPsqAl25urYofvJmT5evvfHQr3XOfEZDzVjpDUS1Ppe11t-ks/s400/2814284B-56E5-415B-B759-5435FB58F0E2.heic" width="300" /></a>Without batting an eyelash I told her I had a weird dream as well. I was grocery shopping in a quiet store where nobody looked at me and I had to stay far away from all the other people, who were wearing masks. When I got home I had to unpack the groceries on the deck outside, disinfect each item and lay it out to dry in the sun, then disinfect myself. I had to leave my shoes outside and come in to strip off, throw all my clothes in the washing machine and then get in the shower before I could touch anything in the house. </div>
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She kind of looked at me strangely and said she thought her dream was more interesting. </div>
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Her dream of course was a dream, while mine was the reality of that morning. It is Day 11 since we were told to stay home, and that it almost seems normal is what scares me more than anything. Maybe I've read too many dystopian novels? I have become unflappable due to years of reading post-apocalyptic fiction? The whole world is under quarantine, and the creeping dread I felt in the beginning really only came back when I finally had to go out for a big shop. The whole time I was in the store, I was clenching my teeth so hard my head hurt for hours afterwards. All I could think about was the invisible menace of that stupid virus that could survive for hours on any surface. What the actual fuck? It is just making me angry.</div>
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Everything my kids care about is cancelled, school, dance, Girl Guides, social life, trips that were a year in the making, the musical theatre performance of Beauty and the Beast that was the seminal event of my 9th grader's life (she was a villager AND a dancing napkin AND a wolf) all gone. They grieved and we tried in vain to explain this was bigger than any of us.</div>
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Many people die every day, and I read descriptions of exactly what it feels like to have this sickness, and I feel terrified but never say a word. The idea of dying in an isolated room, all alone, with no one you love around you because they could catch it too. It is horror. It badly makes me want to cry but I can't do that because I am a mom and moms keep shit together (often with pharmaceutical help and/or alcohol). </div>
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We all exist in household bubbles, unable to interact with anyone in real life except to wave across the yard to a neighbour. I am a serious introvert but even I find it exhausting. Our world has shrunk to our own house with the four of us and three cats. We occasionally leave the yard for a walk but mostly not. We watch way more movies, the kids Skype with friends as a pretend visit, we cook a lot but every once in a while I go in to the pantry and just stare at all the food in there, comforting myself that it is enough. If everyone gets sick and the stores have to close, we will be okay. If all hell breaks loose south of the border where they have been stocking up on guns more than medical supplies or common sense, we will still be okay. Right? </div>
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At the same time our world has contracted down to four, it has also expanded to the entire planet, as every human is facing the same threat but with wildly varying resources and abilities to overcome it. Can we grow our empathy and understanding in some way that will help us all? Can we connect to each other in different ways, better ways, kinder ways? Can we stop the spread of hatred that seemed to be growing exponentially before our attention was monopolized by this? Now I am veering off course but that's just how my brain works, try to keep up.</div>
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Much of what is happening is going to be well-documented for the history books, so the day to day rise of cases and deaths and stupidities of humans still out having dinner parties and spring break benders is not really something I need to document. But in our little world, we are about to home-school our kids for the first time, and I failed Grade 10 math. Both Dan and I are working exclusively from home, and are grateful to continue to work and be paid. If we have to be home-bound, at least we have a hell of a view. Our children are learning what existential dread looks like. They see the world changing in ways that seem impossible. I am sad they're not little enough to keep in blissful ignorance, but it is strangely comforting to be able to share just a tiny bit of the burden with them. </div>
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I am not a praying type anymore. I know the world is what we as a demanding and oblivious species have made it. But I do send my best, most positive vibes out to you all, along with a germ-free virtual hug. A little love can never hurt. x</div>
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Stepheniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276166967086743211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-82659107123430338172017-05-21T21:04:00.000-07:002017-05-22T10:03:11.214-07:00Grand MananThere is a place that has stuck with me for more than 20 years. Not once have I been able to return there, but I see it in my head as clearly as any spot in my world. It is an island off an island. Along its shore sits an abandoned lighthouse slowly falling into ruin, shingles beaten grey by the howling Atlantic winds, the smothering Fundy fog, the salt spray and the endless, unrelenting neglect of the years. I always wanted to go across the bay to that island, but it never happened. So I just sat on the back deck of my friend's place drinking cups of tea and gazing across the chop of waves to the island. I don't even know what it was called.<br />
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This is really not a story of an island or a lighthouse, but that lighthouse seems forever linked in my mind with my friend. If it were not for her, I probably would never have seen it. Perhaps I would never have taken the rough little ferry across from Blacks Harbour to North Head, but because I knew a girl from Grand Manan, I had a reason to go.<br />
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I met Kelly on my first day of living away from home, ever. My best friend Mere was a year ahead of me, and she had already laid the social foundation at university, greased the proverbial wheels of friendship, so to speak, and I was moving into the same residence house. I had heard all about Kelly in letters (this was the pre-email, pre-text, pre-cellphone days, people) and she was there with Mere, waiting to meet me. I was a little jealous. "She's my best friend, not yours," I was thinking. I was 17.<br />
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Kelly had a big, giant, completely open and uncomplicated smile. It was hard to resent that for long. We were very different, but it still clicked, and we all became a gang, the Holy Cross House girls. Kelly always worked harder than any of us at school, as we were far more interested in the party scene than we were in attending classes. She always attended class. Heck, she even attended mass. Kelly was a Good Girl. The rest of us were far from "holy." We somehow made it through university, partying hard and misbehaving in any way we could. Frankly, I was not always the best kind of friend to have, and yet Kelly was always capable of seeing the best in us. She struggled at times, but she had a way about her that allowed her to see the light when the rest of us saw darkness. She kept us grounded, made us laugh. Her crazy collection of fantasy books, pots of tea, pitchers of beer, nights at the movies (Beauty and the Beast five times in the theatre) and her absolutely irresistible laugh.<br />
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We stayed friends throughout university, even when she had moved on to "serious education" and I was still flailing my way through a BA and every bad relationship I could find. At one of my lowest points, at the end of an abusive relationship, I was hiding out in my little studio apartment, in bed. Kelly came and got me, made me get dressed and took me out for dinner at Mexi's. It was my birthday. She was so kind that it made me cry.<br />
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In later years, after we had all returned to our home islands, we visited back and forth when we could. She started teaching in a one-room school on another tiny island that she ferried to every morning. I found this endlessly fascinating. I went to journalism school and ended up back in our university town doing a summer job at the newspaper. On weekends I would drive down to Blacks Harbour and catch the ferry to Grand Manan to stay in Kelly's little apartment in an old RCMP barracks. We drank many cups of tea, watched movies and read, laughed and talked into the night, looked out at the fog. It was balm for the soul.<br />
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In my second year of J-school I was floundering a bit, falling back into my old slacker ways, dissatisfied with everything in the way that always preceded a bout of depression. I spent a couple of wasted months doing excruciatingly mediocre work in a job placement in Ottawa, but I was lonely and miserable, and spent a fair amount on long distance calls. Kelly was a great long distance cheerleader. In March I was back on my Island, generally feeling sorry for myself. One night I was home alone in the house I shared with 3 friends when the phone rang. It was Mere, and she was choking on words that made no sense.<br />
It was Kelly, she said. She collapsed, and her mom found her in the morning.<br />
In that sweet apartment by the sea, overlooking the old lighthouse.<br />
I remember sinking down the wall and we wept together, Mere miles away in Ottawa and me on the floor. It had been instant, an aneurysm or an embolism or one of those horrifying things that just snaps a life out like a lightbulb on a switch.<br />
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The last time I went to Grand Manan was for the funeral. Mere and I met in the town where we had all gone to university. From there we travelled down with another friend, all of us silent. It was a blur. A terrifying, numb, soaked, foggy blur. We could not hold it together, even in front of her family who were suffering so much greater a loss than us. We were selfish in our grief.<br />
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The idea that death could touch our lives in this way, take a friend from us at her young age was a shock that took our breath away. The fact that Kelly was such a good person, in my eyes a far superior human being to me, made it even more unbelievable.<br />
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I am not overstating the facts by saying that losing her changed my life. When I got back home from her funeral, I took the reins of my life into my own hands again, no longer just drifting downriver with no sense of direction. If my friend was not there to live life to the fullest, I would choose to do it in her place. I stopped waffling and started living. I applied for newspaper jobs across Canada. I ended up 5687 kilometres from home, in a little rodeo town in the Cariboo region of British Columbia, a place I had never seen and where I knew no one.<br />
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It had become clear I could die at any minute, so I'd better get out there and live. I bought an old beater car for $800 that I drove hours on gravel roads into nowhere to get a good story. I hiked up a mountain, waking up by an alpine lake with mountain sheep staring down at me. I rode in a cattle drive. On an actual horse. I lived by a lake, watching the float planes land and take off every day. To put it crudely in true Cariboo style, I grabbed life by the balls.<br />
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I also met a guy and I gave him a chance that I have never regretted.<br />
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Would any of this have happened if we had not lost her? I don't know. I just know that her loss changed the trajectory of my life. I think of her so often. When I got married. When I had my daughters. When Mere and I get together for our yearly catch-up visit. When I took my daughters to see Beauty and the Beast. I dream about her sometimes, and I wake up feeling comforted. The world is so so different now from what it was in 1999. Kelly would have loved social media, would have relished the funny cat videos and the clips from Jimmy Fallon on the Tonight Show. What would she have brought to the world if she was still with us? She would have been such an amazing auntie, parent, teacher, friend. Even after all these years, I still can't imagine why she is not here.<br />
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Years ago, I had one of those dreams that are so real you could swear it actually happened. You wake up with the emotions intact, the conversation still reverberating in your head. I dreamed that Kelly came to see me, that I was so overjoyed and surprised and relieved. I still remember what she told me in that dream and how she looked, so well and so radiant.<br />
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"I'm okay, really. I'm happy. And everything will be okay."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-27150597671507074092017-02-08T08:29:00.000-08:002017-02-08T08:29:07.806-08:00Snow day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sounds carry a lot of memory, and as a child there was no sweeter sound than howling wind and the scour of snow on the house on a school morning. You could almost tell by the pitch of the wind whether it would warrant a coveted "all schools closed" day. I would lie in bed as long as possible, listening to the wind and waiting for my parents to turn the radio on. The crackling old portable radio (queue the CFCY jingle) would announce the weather and any storm closures. We would rejoice to hear that schools across the Island were closed for the day, which was far superior to the "all schools will be delayed for an hour" announcement.<br />
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Growing up on an Island, storms were serious business, with 100 km/hour winds and huge dumps of snow blowing around in it, resulting in complete whiteout conditions when the police would actually tell people to stay off the roads. I loved it. Every kid loved it. Getting stormstayed meant complete freedom, to read, play cards or yahtzee, watch cartoons, play in the snow, whatever. Glorious, unstructured time to just BE.<br />
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I loved it a little less when I grew up and lived in a big old draughty farmhouse of my own. Snowstorms were all well and good until the power went down. Going without electricity or hot water for four days with two kids in diapers was really a bit too pioneering for me. But once the girls were in school and old enough to enjoy those days of breaking free from scheduling, it was lovely all over again. No lunches to pack, nowhere to go, and lots and lots of snow to keep everyone occupied.<br />
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So imagine our shock when we moved to the prairies and "storm day" was not something that ever, ever happened. Oh, noooooo. The schools could never close, because what if that one family did not hear the news and sent their children to school, only for the children to find the school locked up?<br />
Ridiculous, I know. Didn't they know what they were missing out on? Loved the prairies, hated the winters, that is my truth. Four long years without a single storm day.<br />
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Well, seaside winters are best but I still think we have now landed in the winterland. People do not simply embrace the season here, they become one with the winter, the mountain life and all that outdoorsy, down-muffled-ski bums-and-winter-carnival lifestyle. The best part? The winterland just had its first real live Snow Day in decades, just in honour of our first winter in the mountains.<br />
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Okay, that is probably a huge assumption but so be it. We woke up for school, and school was cancelled. Work was cancelled. For one day, adulthood was cancelled. It does not get any sweeter than that. So sweet that people actually snowboarded down the streets of Nelson. Oh, hell yeah they did.<br />
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As for us, we could not get out of our road, so what to do? Laze in bed with the cats. Drink tea by the fire. Watch cartoons. Play Scrabble. Bake. Toboggan. Snowshoe. Giggle. Live life to the fullest. Forget all the bad news, the scary stress-inducing reality of the world, all the crappy stuff we can put off worrying about for another day, a day that will be still be there with all of its worries, after the snow day. Recharge, restore your faith in fun and snow angels, hot chocolate and fresh biscuits, chili in the slow cooker and a day to be with the people you love, or the pets that you love, or just on your own. We are all more equipped to handle the rest of the week, now. Thank you, universe, for the snow day.<br />
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<br />Stepheniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276166967086743211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-24699802036112566082017-01-13T11:13:00.000-08:002017-01-13T11:14:10.641-08:00I resolve never to make resolutions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Let it be resolved that we will never again make New Year's resolutions based on what we saw in the flyers this week.<br />
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It boggles my mind that every single January, the gurus of marketing ensure that all of the key words are hit in every advertorial, every flyer, every promotional email. You know the ones. Renew! Refresh! Detox! Organize! Purge! Declutter! Clean! New new new! New you, too!<br />
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Ads for treadmills and magic bullets, miraculous shoe racks and plastic totes promise to make everything easier, cleaner, healthier, fresh and new. I actually find myself getting sucked into articles telling me how to detoxify with a shot of apple cider vinegar every morning and a cup of turmeric tea before bed, and nothing in between. So down the hatch with the vinegar. Drink that glass of water first thing in the morning, and follow it with ten minutes of meditation. Write down goals for the new year in a beautiful, pure white journal. But for heaven's sake do not call it a resolution, because there is no better way to curse yourself to complete and utter failure than by making resolutions. Especially if you make your resolutions public on social media. *ahem*<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apple cider vinegar with a tea chaser.</td></tr>
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And yes, I was a total failure at the apple cider vinegar thing, but I am drinking a glass of water first thing every morning and trying to remember to meditate each day even for a few minutes. I have a lot of experience with a busy mind, and it has taken a lot of practice to slow it down over the years.<br />
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One of the biggest <strike>resolutions</strike> goals for me every year is to write more regularly, not for money or glory (because there is none) but just as a creative outlet because I can't knit or paint or sculpt or carve, or anything else, really with any level of prowess. Probably prowess is the wrong word, actually kind of an icky word. Sorry.<br />
Years ago writing is what I did for a living, following a stint in journalism school, and I have had a love/hate relationship with the media ever since. But writing is something I can do, and as it makes life better to spew words onto a page, then it must be done.<br />
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Where was I going with that? Oh yes, goals.<br />
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Decluttering is another one of those hot topics of January. Last year I signed up for <a href="http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/" target="_blank">Apartment Therapy'</a>s January Cure, thinking that maybe regular emails reminding me to declutter would help clarify my vision of spare, simple space. I failed, plus my email box was even more cluttered, but they do offer lots of mindful suggestions, like <a href="http://bit.ly/2ixhaD6" target="_blank">how to meditate on what kind of space</a> you want.<br />
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That being said, getting rid of stuff is so important. A few years back we moved from a 2500 square foot farmhouse into a 1000 square foot townhouse. It is staggering how many things we got rid of and how many more we fit into that small space. I am quite fascinated by small space living and love to read about tiny houses and all that jazz, but am equally enamoured with thrift store shopping. The simple rule of "one thing in, one thing out" is something that keeps it under control, and we keep a box or a bin always available for donating. It is a constant process of dropping things in until it fills up, and then dropping it off to charity.<br />
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Another goal for this year to work harder to connect with people and to maintain those connections. Somehow it was much easier to make friends when our children were tiny. Perhaps wild-eyed, exhausted parents covered in baby drool are just drawn together by some unseen force, and bonded together by mutual need and stress. Book clubs! Playdates! Birthday parties! Storytimes! So many social opportunities. I clearly remember ambushing an obviously pregnant woman (That's you, Lilah) and forging a friendship based on babies and a love of books. It is sooooo much more difficult now.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mbRUH2ENMxrsOYi0IaNs3e9Hb0jMHNEjE2Z8HmtLLQ3ztyeE1dDBN7naic_WzuOjk_AdnhGQjPlNZtlSnS3g7Vn54hL95sqT7urZBFSGhZ5l8QtvXMXUsgGzbeLIqUkvA2s7P2KfRQk/s1600/mary-oliver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2mbRUH2ENMxrsOYi0IaNs3e9Hb0jMHNEjE2Z8HmtLLQ3ztyeE1dDBN7naic_WzuOjk_AdnhGQjPlNZtlSnS3g7Vn54hL95sqT7urZBFSGhZ5l8QtvXMXUsgGzbeLIqUkvA2s7P2KfRQk/s320/mary-oliver.jpg" width="320" /></a>Reaching out is tough, and I've never been a joiner but I have always been blessed to have livelong friends who stay in touch. When I see them again it as if we were never apart. One glass of wine or cuppa tea and we are right back to the comfort zone. But moving around as we have means we have friends all across the country, so that is a positive, right?<br />
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Blogging is another way of reaching out, as well. Sometimes I wish I could do something BIG like Jonathan Field's The <a href="http://www.goodlifeproject.com/" target="_blank">Good Life Project</a> or Tsh Oxenreider's <a href="http://theartofsimple.net/" target="_blank">Art of Simple</a> and become someone who does podcasts on .... something meaningful, but hey, not everyone can podcast so I will be happy if ten people read my blog. Or none, other than my mom. Another blog I love to read is <a href="http://ritaottramstad.com/uncategorized/of-pulleys-and-buttonholes-and-light/" target="_blank">Rita's Notebook</a>. Rita writes about whatever the heck she wants and she does it beautifully. I especially like <a href="http://ritaottramstad.com/uncategorized/of-pulleys-and-buttonholes-and-light/" target="_blank">this post </a>about how her teachers changed the trajectory of her life. All of these clever folks (and many more) are busy trying to make a positive difference in the world, despite the modern day Grimm's fairy tale taking place in the States these days. And when I say "Grimm" I mean, the original Grimm's fairy tales that were really, well, GRIM.<br />
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I would love to hear some goals that you all are thinking about for your lives, as well. Let us inspire each other, and reach out to others who are working hard to keep the sunshine in their hearts. By focusing our lens on good people and good things in our lives, it helps us shift our attention to optimism.<br />
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If all else fails to inspire, then go read a good book. A little escape never hurt anyone. Right now I am reading Catherine Alliott, while also rereading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Reading to children will always bring you joy (and giggles). I am so happy to be returning to the toddler/baby world this week by facilitating a songs and rhymes program. Which means of course that I am wandering around the house singing "Mama's little baby loves dancing dancing, Mama's little baby like to boogie down." Hey, I have to practice. I am also having a look through this list of books for children that I pinned ages ago. Have a wonderful week, friends. <br />
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<script async="" defer="" src="//assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js"></script>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-62218261296966224052017-01-01T19:51:00.000-08:002017-01-08T19:07:50.453-08:00Blending in is overratedSo, that year is over.<br />
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Honestly, 2016 was not my favourite year from a news perspective, but then one of the promises I've made to myself is to read less news in the new year. Or at least to seek out legitimate news, which is a bit like finding gold ingot buried in the compost heap. In a personal sense, a year of upheaval has led us from the prairies to the mountains, to a place where it seems anything can and often does happen.</div>
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Reflections on our new home place? It seems blessed with an endless supply of creative anachronism, and not just in the sense that yes, some people actually dress as though they exist in a whole different century, or reality. There is a sense of optimism here, despite the proliferation of homelessness and addiction that also seems to exist. It is a place a bit outside of time, where conscientious objectors live happily alongside excruciatingly cheery Australian ski buffs, stores have "sliding scale" pricing and focus hard on natural, organic, fair-trade, local, free-range, handmade ....where was I going with this? Anyhow, it is just that way.<br />
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It is a bit hard to reconcile the well-heeled, fresh-faced, Patagonia-wearing crowd with the dreadlocked cape-wearing panhandler with a dog and guitar on the corner, but there it is. Weirdly I feel like I fit in here just by virtue of being human. And if my child wants to dance down the street wearing mismatched rainbow knee socks, red suspenders, shorts over tights, a down coat and a top hat, no one even bats an eyelash. You have got to love that.<br />
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Certainly the pioneer spirit is alive and well, since surviving in a place where fabulously-well-paying jobs are few does present challenges. Making a living requires endless flexibility, and possibly the ability to raise your own rare sheep, shear them, spin and dye the wool and weave it by hand into value-added luxury pashminas, while composting the sheepshit into your organic vegetable gardens. Back-to-the-landers are in heaven here. As long as you've got a sunny slope then you might as well grow veg and raise chickens on it. Unless of course you can afford to pay the prices at the glorious new co-op store. *sigh<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmvX3op7pdqHqLEWeMCLvk61eB4gVkKVK5_SJHyZlboBI8mtLmZ1VM6NUtNkwFMd4z_ulJQ3kexMfj2tAGtcwhgjSXJjVLnrESbdyGp4iu-45eSCOQPNtU48H8blFfnFr-qyDMxbI_TU/s1600/DSCF2810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmvX3op7pdqHqLEWeMCLvk61eB4gVkKVK5_SJHyZlboBI8mtLmZ1VM6NUtNkwFMd4z_ulJQ3kexMfj2tAGtcwhgjSXJjVLnrESbdyGp4iu-45eSCOQPNtU48H8blFfnFr-qyDMxbI_TU/s320/DSCF2810.jpg" width="240" /></a>The thrifting economy flourishes in the Kootenays, so if you are willing to work for it and really dig, there are treasures to be found. Facebook buy and sell pages are unbelievably competitive so if you are serious about looking for something you have to troll the waters almost constantly, as coveted items are often offered and bought within minutes. Best buys? Ikea Billy bookshelves for $50 and a gorgeous old wood sewing table for $40. A fist pump is totally acceptable when you score a deal.<br />
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I am working at resurrecting my country skills now that we have moved away from townhouse living, back to the woods. The mountains stretch out around us, so that all we have to do is strap on snowshoes to walk out behind the house onto the trails.<br />
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Winter is well and truly settled in for the long haul, which means the oft-made resolution to embrace the season has again been made. It is so much easier to embrace winter when the very act of breathing does not feel like sticking dry ice up your nose (-50 degree prairie windchill, anyone?) but I am the first to admit I am not a snow bunny. Snowshoeing out on the mountain is glorious but the local passion for downhill skiing is probably not contagious as I have quite a high level of immunity to death-defying sports.<br />
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Creative endeavours always seem to take off in the colder months, and this year is no exception, but READING will always be my favourite winter sport. I so miss working in a library just for the flow of suggestions on what to read next. What is on your shelf for this winter? I am crushing on these books but looking for more as always, particularly as I gravitate towards light, fluffy, happy-ending fiction and I feel I should broaden my horizons. Of course, there are times (all of 2016) when fluffy happy endings are really quite appreciated. Needed, even.<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0142426814/ref=as_li_tf_il?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=0142426814&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=0142426814&Format=_SL160_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=CA&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=theminddoeswa-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-ca.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0142426814" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
<a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B007FEFJ46/ref=as_li_tf_il?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=B007FEFJ46&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=B007FEFJ46&Format=_SL160_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=CA&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=theminddoeswa-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-ca.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=B007FEFJ46" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0865716846/ref=as_li_tf_il?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=0865716846&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20"><img border="0" src="https://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=0865716846&Format=_SL160_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=CA&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=theminddoeswa-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="https://ir-ca.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0865716846" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" />
<a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0981142427/ref=as_li_tf_il?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=0981142427&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=0981142427&Format=_SL160_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=CA&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=theminddoeswa-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-ca.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0981142427" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/1594748381/ref=as_li_tf_il?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=1594748381&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20"><img border="0" src="http://ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&ASIN=1594748381&Format=_SL160_&ID=AsinImage&MarketPlace=CA&ServiceVersion=20070822&WS=1&tag=theminddoeswa-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ir-ca.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=1594748381" height="1" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /><br />
Living in the woods does make me feel like I should learn to whittle, or knit, or something like that. We've tried felting this winter, with some small success. Last week we went to the fabric store and wandered around in a dazed and amazed fashion for a while, coming out with what is most likely wildly inappropriate fabrics for my limited skills. I am pretty sure the salesclerks snickered when we left. Still, perhaps crepe and chenille will inspire my youngest seamstress child to some cutting-edge dolly creations so it will be worth it.<br />
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I am still seeking my place, and who knows, maybe I will find it here.Stepheniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02276166967086743211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-88246723134007456212013-06-24T12:57:00.000-07:002013-06-24T12:57:11.441-07:00How to survive (and love) summer vacations with kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ava's very first road trip. That's Mount Robson reflected, and she is SO excited.</td></tr>
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Remember road trips with your family as a kid? I do. It was always very exciting except for the part where my dad made us get out of bed at 4 a.m. so we could be in line for the first ferry in the morning. Yup, the joy of living on an Island in those days (pre-Confed Bridge) was having to wait in line for the 6 a.m. ferry to the mainland. Yeesh.<br />
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Anyhow, we rarely travelled all that far, maybe to Lunenburg to see the boats, or Cocagne for the boat races (see a boat theme here?), or even to Cape Breton to do the Cabot Trail. My husband remembers driving from British Columbia to Manitoba every summer. He claims his dad told them to go to the bathroom at home 'cause they weren't stopping again until Manitoba.<br />
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Now that we have our own children we know the frustration of having a small but demanding voice coming from the backseat every half-hour, "I have to peeeeeeeeeeeeee!" We are planning trips to both coasts this summer, so we are in full prep mode now, especially from a mental perspective.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Confederation Bridge...much easier than waiting for the ferry.</td></tr>
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Roadtrips</h3>
<b>Accept the fact that you have to stop a lot and it will take at least 2 hours longer than you plan. </b><br />
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<b>Make a playground the destination.</b><br />
Make sure every place you are headed has a playgound. And pretend that is your major goal in life, to get to the next stop so that you can go to that playground. Somehow they will endure hours of driving for some monkey bars. I swear we could write a book entitled "Playground tourism for Dummies."<br />
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<b>Bring lots of stuff</b><br />
We don't have DSs (DSesses??). No video games. But I stock up on lots of books from the Sally Ann or library book sales for the girls. No library books on holidays so they don't get left somewhere. We also bring MP3 players for each girl, loaded with lots of their own tunes. Taylor Swift, Walk off the Earth, One Direction, some clean Pink, Josh Groban, some fiddle tunes and Irish Rovers. Eclectic. We also pack lots of drawing pads, coloured pencils and doodle books because they can draw for hours.<br />
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<b>Bring lots of food</b><br />
When in doubt, give snacks. Lots of fruit, nuts and something treat-like. Road trip food like corn nuts or popcorn or (GASP) junk food. I always have to have corn nuts and cream soda on road trips.<br />
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<b>Bring your sense of humour</b><br />
If you're feeling a little crazy and you think you might scream if one more person asks "whennnnnnn will we be there?" just remember, your children will grow up and refuse to go on roadtrips with you. Enjoy! Be silly, and laugh. You will all feel better.<br />
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<b>Camp or stay with friends with kids along the way.</b><br />
That way the trip itself is part of the fun. It's not just about the destination, it is all the fun stops as well. Plus the kids can entertain each other while the grown-ups crack a cold bottle of wine and catch up on life.<br />
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<b>Learn stuff</b><br />
National Parks and Historic sites are SO great for families. They have wonderful programs to engage kids, and lots of fun things for everyone to do as they enjoy nature and learning. I know, theme parks and water slides are fun (for about 10 minutes), but nature is the ultimate theme park. Last year we bought a national park pass that let us into every park and historic site in Canada, and it was well worth it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z0ArW_Pz8CpbeZrPn0utJAtA2s195pX2Sy_HrxByG_8lokFzJjJ7BNoka_r9DgSKZaWlM_ro-jP1h6n9YmnhskMt-zfGTJ84s_Y8pBRHGu4MuXush2VZ_PsasQfFE7wcCXEwNSr1lTo/s1600/IMG_0198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9z0ArW_Pz8CpbeZrPn0utJAtA2s195pX2Sy_HrxByG_8lokFzJjJ7BNoka_r9DgSKZaWlM_ro-jP1h6n9YmnhskMt-zfGTJ84s_Y8pBRHGu4MuXush2VZ_PsasQfFE7wcCXEwNSr1lTo/s1600/IMG_0198.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun at Lunenburg</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Digging for dinosaur bones at Fundy Geological Museum</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Xplorer program at Fundy National Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Changing of the guard at Fortress of Louisbourg</td></tr>
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Surviving the summer at home</h3>
<b>Make every day a stay-cation. </b><br />
This is my first summer of being totally off, full-time parenting for the entire season. And I am ready. Rainy days call for trips to the library, where there are always lots of activities as part of the Summer Reading Program. Sunny days mean picnics at the park, playground tours (we make it a goal to visit each one in the city), and this summer it will be trips to a lake since the ocean is currently thousands of kilometres away. Swimming lessons are also on the list.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaSXOhKJd26jKWMBESz1gWsFNZY3MeEWEoIReKTVHkkh9nbwWOI8SYxfHmFK7uxaEGkm9qqN-1b59Jcmmh-jeTUUSdGnh5xBa3W2qbRxp9lmxn8k2cl0kclcmxg3KHTacka1ffvgvgr4/s1600/DSCF6420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaSXOhKJd26jKWMBESz1gWsFNZY3MeEWEoIReKTVHkkh9nbwWOI8SYxfHmFK7uxaEGkm9qqN-1b59Jcmmh-jeTUUSdGnh5xBa3W2qbRxp9lmxn8k2cl0kclcmxg3KHTacka1ffvgvgr4/s1600/DSCF6420.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kids+mud=wonderment</td></tr>
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<b>Be footloose and fancy-free. </b><br />
Take the kids for a hike in the woods, find a stream, sit back and relax. It is amazing how much fun children can have with a few sticks, some birch bark and some free-flowing water in a sun-dappled forest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little geocachers</td></tr>
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<b>Go geocaching!</b><br />
If you've got a GPS and lots of junky doo-dads, you are all set for this amazing outdoor activity. Everybody loves a treasure hunt, and there are literally hundreds upon hundreds of geocaches in every province. We have a little bag of goodies (called swag in geocaching language), so when we find a cache we can swap for whatever little item in the cache the girls want. Check out <a href="http://www.geocaching.com/" target="_blank">geocaching.com </a>to download coordinates for caches wherever you are.<br />
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<b>Go camping. </b><br />
There is nothing better than sleeping outdoors. Really, I mean it. It just may not seem that way when you have to get up in the middle of the pitch-black night and stumble to the nearest comfort station (ie. bathroom) with a child who needs to pee and flatly refuses to do it behind the conveniently located tree beside your tent. But camping is a parade of awesomeness. Stay up late, eat beans and wieners, roast marshmallows on the campfire and listen to the crickets.<br />
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<b>Relax.</b><br />
Have some lemonade and freezies. Enjoy this oh so short period of time when your children are so young and full of imagination and joy and enthusiasm for the world around them. If we could all adopt that attitude, to approach each moment with the trust, optimism and fresh outlook of a child, summertime becomes all it is meant to be. A time to refresh, to soak up nature, blue skies, good food eaten outdoors, and time to reconnect as a family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If all else fails, go fly a kite.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-74049588179268318012013-06-11T13:39:00.004-07:002013-06-11T18:56:36.710-07:00My sizzling summer reading list...<br />
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Books are my drug of choice. When I don't have a book, I am thinking about getting one. I have books in every room of the house, and I carry my e-reader around just in case I can snatch even just a little fix while I wait outside the school for my kids or at a stoplight.<br />
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Just kidding about the stoplight. Really.<br />
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As addictions go, I suppose reading is a good one to have, although my husband might think otherwise when he is trying for the third time to ask me a question and I just look up blankly from my book and then continue to ignore him.<br />
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I still love real paper books with pages, but I love my e-reader as well, so I alternate between the two. A couple of real books, a couple of e-books. My usual goal is about 100 books a year. Sometimes I reach the goal, sometimes I don't. I am a bibliophile.<br />
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Now that I am on sabbatical from the library, I really miss the day-to-day book chat that has always been my favourite part of working there. One of the greatest compliments I ever got was from someone who told me I was like a "book diviner," that I could talk to a person a few minutes, then go to the shelf, run my hands over the books and pick out the perfect one for that person. Just how geeky I am is reflected by how incredibly flattered I was by that comment. Anyhow, something I like to do every year is write a blog about summer books, good ones to read or a list of a few I am planning to take on this summer. Unbelievably, summer is almost here. (Honestly, I did not think our first prairie winter would ever, ever end.)<br />
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So drum roll... here is my wish list for this spectacular summer reading season. Please, help me out by commenting at the end and giving me some more ideas...there is always room for more. With a major road trip coming for us this summer, I will be reading my way across three provinces when I am not busy refereeing whatever is going on in the back seat.<br />
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You can find any of these titles free at your local library, as I will. If you like to own your books and want to order them from Amazon, click on the title links to read reviews or shop, and this blog will receive a tiny portion of sales, with thanks. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/The-Paris-Wife-Paula-McLain/dp/0385669240/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">The Paris Wife </a><br />
Paula McLain<br />
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There is a little rebellious bit of me that won't read what everyone tells me to read, but this one I will, because it sounds like a delicious plot. Literary history at its best, with Hemingway in love.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Summer-Love-Katie-Fforde/dp/0099539152/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">Summer of love</a><br />
Katie Fforde<br />
Fluffy, frothy, British. Katie Fforde is almost as good as Jill Mansell for escapist, fun, romantic romps in the British countryside. And summer is in the title.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Penmarric-Susan-Howatch/dp/0751535346/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">Penmarric</a><br />
Susan Howatch<br />
...because frankly, I will read anything moody and atmospheric and set in Cornwall. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HAQ-qHk5eE5XvDHpfYoF4Fnzdkq4A2ujWQP9H5lwG9j48uWh8J61By_nFx_HbDi9j_7aY3o2bkVvNHBTdgNoojmNw_WRrZUZYmaB2X0it-BnRnqfXntPTrG23hPzy-VaCi_T4YfrWZg/s1600/51UQ+m-T9LL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HAQ-qHk5eE5XvDHpfYoF4Fnzdkq4A2ujWQP9H5lwG9j48uWh8J61By_nFx_HbDi9j_7aY3o2bkVvNHBTdgNoojmNw_WRrZUZYmaB2X0it-BnRnqfXntPTrG23hPzy-VaCi_T4YfrWZg/s1600/51UQ+m-T9LL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a> <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Barefoot-A-Novel-Elin-Hilderbrand/dp/0316018597/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">Barefoot</a><br />
Elin Hilderbrand<br />
Some of her books were, I thought, a waste of time, but they are always beachy, set on Nantucket, and involving lots of family intrigue, so I am going to give her another try barefoot. And summer is on the cover.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIobXVenTz22VLRQF08G2iXXfoxB6jwVafH9wksaUMmCSm5JCpQTltnFBWxBeZeCzdYyxY6BiCG1uok4ptZ86ENJdVdd-kRj5kxW72we2-34E3-P4tGubZrWaLfDvYzvr-bUH_RRvPTh0/s1600/51P9sQFtKkL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIobXVenTz22VLRQF08G2iXXfoxB6jwVafH9wksaUMmCSm5JCpQTltnFBWxBeZeCzdYyxY6BiCG1uok4ptZ86ENJdVdd-kRj5kxW72we2-34E3-P4tGubZrWaLfDvYzvr-bUH_RRvPTh0/s1600/51P9sQFtKkL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/The-Summer-Guest-Justin-Cronin/dp/0385335822/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">The summer guest</a><br />
Justin Cronin<br />
This book looks so diabolically different from his huge bestseller The Passage that I have to read it. The Passage is part one of a highly-addictive trilogy of zombie apocalypse books that I consumed (all 800 pages) in a weekend so it will be interesting to see what he does with family drama. And summer is in the title.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y1OBRlw8XPunDAiRfQRiQH396ZtTugwTb0qJXJkRsve70osr6yWabzFq6Yk-qbyoBjumNS_PgSvsreTjAsBpeLPMnzljbNQRQvHvni_Ck3_IQ9Iynev5TfCm_LhYljTIkQVpzKkb7uo/s1600/51tx4Diju2L._BO2%252C204%252C203%252C200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click%252CTopRight%252C35%252C-76_AA300_SH20_OU15_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9y1OBRlw8XPunDAiRfQRiQH396ZtTugwTb0qJXJkRsve70osr6yWabzFq6Yk-qbyoBjumNS_PgSvsreTjAsBpeLPMnzljbNQRQvHvni_Ck3_IQ9Iynev5TfCm_LhYljTIkQVpzKkb7uo/s1600/51tx4Diju2L._BO2%252C204%252C203%252C200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click%252CTopRight%252C35%252C-76_AA300_SH20_OU15_.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/The-Light-Between-Oceans-Novel/dp/1476738084/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">The light between oceans</a><br />
M.L. Stedman<br />
I know you should never judge a book by its cover, but this IS a great cover. The story looks gorgeous, too, set on a tiny lighthouse island off of Australia. A little mystery, a bit of tragedy, lots of dramatic crashing waves, and I am sold.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNXOHj72w5ZGC_8r8lI4l6-Y8YXiflnBeLGRaAqoCFRY3cQI3cwd4UxS415jknaFejnB6lY8GQA1rlNcm8PVB-NaGX3VYHkLKElq6SaFNOsSMMhtI9NklLGOZ95xb8ki3hfLBPl9ys2c/s1600/51smdyefGXL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNXOHj72w5ZGC_8r8lI4l6-Y8YXiflnBeLGRaAqoCFRY3cQI3cwd4UxS415jknaFejnB6lY8GQA1rlNcm8PVB-NaGX3VYHkLKElq6SaFNOsSMMhtI9NklLGOZ95xb8ki3hfLBPl9ys2c/s1600/51smdyefGXL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/The-Way-Revised-Expanded-Edition/dp/193527421X/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">The way I see it </a><br />
Temple Grandin<br />
This is a book I have meant to read for ages, since I saw the movie Temple Grandin, which was stunningly good. I have a sweet little friend who is autistic, and I want to understand him as much as I possibly can. <br />
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Ah yes, I will also be including at least one book from<a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Family-Pictures-Jane-Green/dp/0312591837/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank"> Jane Green </a>and one from <a href="http://www.amazon.ca/Dont-Want-To-Miss-Thing/dp/0755355873/ref=as_li_tf_mfw?&linkCode=wey&tag=theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">Jill Mansell</a> if I can squeeze them in. What is on your list for this summer? Please share, and happy reading.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-82596535166990942572013-06-06T08:54:00.000-07:002013-06-06T12:08:29.221-07:00Finding community and digging it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQO1Ba0g9bzpf-Z2NEzxjXQYPRcdBSg5eLc3ab_t7AZmix82YLh6TCcu8yScbT7HFW5_FY_mCN_i6C4B6i3TojJJvxNtntvpqBCkrfxutk_nSwvHRBXmQ94RlZu_wDAnf_Yi_HxQs3gn8/s1600/DSCF9386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQO1Ba0g9bzpf-Z2NEzxjXQYPRcdBSg5eLc3ab_t7AZmix82YLh6TCcu8yScbT7HFW5_FY_mCN_i6C4B6i3TojJJvxNtntvpqBCkrfxutk_nSwvHRBXmQ94RlZu_wDAnf_Yi_HxQs3gn8/s1600/DSCF9386.JPG" height="427" width="640" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">Just when I think about how difficult it feels at times to set up life in a new place, I get a reminder that we have a head start on settling that so many don't have. At least we are in our own familiar country, where people speak in languages we understand (mostly) and every step we take is not a struggle to survive and fit in.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">My youngest daughter goes to daycare part-time at the local association for newcomers, where she stands out as a newcomer of a different sort, an Anglo-Saxon Canadian newcomer. Let's just say she glows there. It was her idea. She was bored at home with me in the afternoons, so she said, and wanted to play with other children. The other kids are from many different parts of the world, and we both love that. She talks about her friends from Saudi Arabia, Africa and other countries she didn't even know existed before.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">Today we saw a woman sitting, her face turned toward the window, her beautifully-embroidered clothes covering all but her sandalled feet. Her head, fashionably wrapped in a hijab, rested on her hand, and she sat silently, just looking out at the strange prairie city outside. When I left, she was still there. I could not help but wonder what was going through her mind.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">I hear many conversations in many different languages here, and I hear translators trying to explain to settlement workers what the newcomers are saying, what problems they are facing and asking what to do about it. It puts our whole life into perspective, truly. We may have some (ahem, political) problems in this country, but all in all we have it pretty darn good and no one can tell me otherwise. How does one make a home in a country that is so strange and alien, when that person has run from a life which we in Canada can not even imagine? So far from family and all they know, it must seem insurmountable. If I think it is tough to meet people and find some sense of belonging, what must she feel?</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">One place I am looking for community (not to mention fresh veggies) is at the city's community garden, and interestingly enough, so are many immigrants. The organizer tells me that about one-third of all the gardeners in the city's large garden plots are in fact newcomers to Canada. It is a way for them to grow their own food, and specifically to grow food that is culturally appropriate for their families. What an idea! I love it.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg1MiCGButAuNzJxURk5JU0E92bPNAvXN3KGxcAeO5bbc6pNzFRIyABZ5eVQ2SRtFnNx3KtYiN-3avTxBeGracFMG6CUhunRkRxrXhDsl8kRbIQEYAC0CUpGy_8jw89Hgb9i-MbW7cco/s1600/IMG_1389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTg1MiCGButAuNzJxURk5JU0E92bPNAvXN3KGxcAeO5bbc6pNzFRIyABZ5eVQ2SRtFnNx3KtYiN-3avTxBeGracFMG6CUhunRkRxrXhDsl8kRbIQEYAC0CUpGy_8jw89Hgb9i-MbW7cco/s1600/IMG_1389.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;">I have never needed to do community gardening before, as we have always had a big yard in which to putter. The garden is a fascinating place. Seniors and young families, newcomers to the city and newcomers to the country, all are there digging and weeding alongside one another. There are even raised platform gardens for those with mobility issues. It is the ultimate in inclusive gardening, where the experts can help the newbies, where you can share if you have too many zucchini and someone else too many green beans. Kids run free, gardeners discuss the weeding over their coffees in the morning. Twice during the growing season the gardeners hold farmers' markets selling their extra produce and baking, with the proceeds going to local charity. AND everyone is encouraged to grow an extra row of vegetables for the food bank. Fabulous, and also pretty timely considering all the talk these days about food security, eating local and the rising price of groceries. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #274e13;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFKfLPMT1_EJbB2PCabsegb6eB4saklHRzX8m2g2BG0VhaBViExKpE4bDBBHgQNGep4oKJfpVxOoMYWXC_awV-1dxxGS09Dv68RVatCRgRsoZzpl7j4UIvg-PXMhEmQl8O9FtbKe4j8I/s1600/DSCF9383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFKfLPMT1_EJbB2PCabsegb6eB4saklHRzX8m2g2BG0VhaBViExKpE4bDBBHgQNGep4oKJfpVxOoMYWXC_awV-1dxxGS09Dv68RVatCRgRsoZzpl7j4UIvg-PXMhEmQl8O9FtbKe4j8I/s1600/DSCF9383.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a>For
a very small fee, we get a plot, rototilled and ready, a supply of
water, and a shed full of every tool we could possibly need, from
wheelbarrows to hoes, tomato cages to watering cans. It is the best deal
in town, truly, because for newly-arrived city dwellers like us it
becomes our yard, the place we go after school on a sunshiney afternoon.
We weed and water and plant, pick some rhubarb out of the communal
patch, watch the trains go by across the river and listen to the birds.
The girls run around importantly checking their own little plots and
playing with the toys that live in the gardens. We bring a picnic and
enjoy the flower beds. It makes me wish that everyone who lives an urban
lifestyle could have their own little patch of earth like this. Just as Ava's daycare does for her, the
garden helps connect us to others we might not normally know, and indeed
gives a sense of being "settled" in a way that we wouldn't find
otherwise. The bonus of fresh food grown by our own hands is just another fabulous perk.</span></span></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-74111058600748978542013-05-17T14:06:00.000-07:002013-05-17T14:08:29.639-07:00It's a little weird, but I like it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unknown prairie flower (ideas, anyone?)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Murals cover buildings all over Moose Jaw</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkziV6b_owuZHiefsN69k3bkv212GtzpL2v_KVBOuZe_s906r-_NkSrGrDvsOx-CqeSGDzK0a9KN68oWJNwKavSKFL6AbdmmfCiZqQbWIhHavbQfkCcR4W9P672QdfRUFKguqwFqZ3cR0/s1600/DSCF8993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkziV6b_owuZHiefsN69k3bkv212GtzpL2v_KVBOuZe_s906r-_NkSrGrDvsOx-CqeSGDzK0a9KN68oWJNwKavSKFL6AbdmmfCiZqQbWIhHavbQfkCcR4W9P672QdfRUFKguqwFqZ3cR0/s1600/DSCF8993.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So many buildings have these amazing old signs</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBvVXs-vRMe4D8s_si8Xp8La8igwDOVTh-fIXLqYK6ei8uxusgg95hyqKqwqGsjfpFTDEIx77cAZ-80CoapyAwtPBs0J6av9Ppf_dWMogGrdEWfTW4FG34fwxRNiwgENm6RddXZDUyS8/s1600/DSC_0651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBvVXs-vRMe4D8s_si8Xp8La8igwDOVTh-fIXLqYK6ei8uxusgg95hyqKqwqGsjfpFTDEIx77cAZ-80CoapyAwtPBs0J6av9Ppf_dWMogGrdEWfTW4FG34fwxRNiwgENm6RddXZDUyS8/s1600/DSC_0651.jpg" height="640" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grain elevator in rural Coderre</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfeOjtDiOM2uvdLtT4c8YoEFKjNmZ26pu0IJL5Nb3w0vUenYUmyqvgv9hVdaW_QBjaSf5L6nAcz57DjjlOqpFLdisO_BHcHKINEqwFtYLyV2JAKDP9SxJdj7sREIdnz9a_AuP6zaMRRs/s1600/DSCF8997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfeOjtDiOM2uvdLtT4c8YoEFKjNmZ26pu0IJL5Nb3w0vUenYUmyqvgv9hVdaW_QBjaSf5L6nAcz57DjjlOqpFLdisO_BHcHKINEqwFtYLyV2JAKDP9SxJdj7sREIdnz9a_AuP6zaMRRs/s1600/DSCF8997.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The cheapest cash store in the new province" (dating this sign around 1905)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrhX_ogK__4uIfSGuT0qzqg-OHoQ2o9uFmg-Cpo16xSIP4y3IiO_NGBFG-v19rpCfJyGiMKqRJ9wUpOXvNbtdnQ3-ZK14bZdELWpXcvvCxfQmdUF9zFkx3LUeXYSh11D6-x8If-LbYJo/s1600/DSC_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrhX_ogK__4uIfSGuT0qzqg-OHoQ2o9uFmg-Cpo16xSIP4y3IiO_NGBFG-v19rpCfJyGiMKqRJ9wUpOXvNbtdnQ3-ZK14bZdELWpXcvvCxfQmdUF9zFkx3LUeXYSh11D6-x8If-LbYJo/s1600/DSC_0002.JPG" height="428" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The river, looking towards the railyards and grain elevator</td></tr>
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The magpies and geese sing their songs, the train whistle echoes across the riverbank, and the grain elevator towers over all. Oh yes, and the Snowbirds zip overhead regularly, making aerial acrobatics seem like an everyday occurrence.<br />
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Just a few things that make our life in Saskatchewan SO different from the Maritimes:<br />
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A couple of weeks ago, we had a blizzard. Then three days later it was 28 degrees Celsius. You just never know when to put the mittens away.<br />
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Our garden is not in our backyard. We have a patch in the community garden, a big green space along the banks of Thunder Creek and the Moose Jaw River, overlooking the Canadian Pacific railyards on the other side.<br />
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The earth is not red, like our home in Prince Edward Island. It is black, sandy soil that even smells different. Can't wait to see what grows well here.<br />
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We live on the edge of the city, literally. Out our front window we can see across the highway to the wide open prairie. <br />
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We hear and smell the trains all the time. Coming from the Island where trains ceased running in the 1980s I still find it a novelty to hear the trains whistle, especially at night. The bridges in town go over the railyards, which stretch almost as far down the valley as the eye can see.<br />
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Grain elevators are some of the tallest buildings in town.<br />
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There are a lot of ticks here. Ewwwww. And prairie dogs, except I guess they are technically ground squirrels. Whatever, they are a hoot. Also many, many deer, just hanging out in the parks and fields.<br />
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15 Wing Moose Jaw is the home of Canada's air force aerobatic team, the Snowbirds. Since there are so many brilliantly clear days here, these daredevils can often be seen zooming their jets overhead in formation. And I still get goosebumps every time.<br />
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At least a couple of times a week I encounter other Atlantic Canadians. It is like we can smell the salt air on each other.<br />
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Language quirks:<br />
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Hooded sweatshirts are called "bunny hugs." I know, weird.<br />
According to my daughter, Kat, you don't "butt in line," you "BUDGE" in line. I think they are just more polite in Grade 2.<br />
People from Moose Jaw are called Moose Javians. Seriously. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-84253227749182077492013-05-08T16:18:00.000-07:002013-05-08T16:18:41.105-07:00Being MomI never thought of myself as mom material.<br />
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To be perfectly honest, I didn't really like kids much, even when I was one myself. That might have explained why I wasn't terribly popular. I didn't have the "right stuff" for parenting, like patience, selflessness, moral fortitude, or a strong stomach. I was all about "me," but I guess that is the job of kids, teenagers and twenty-somethings everywhere, to be totally about self. And yet, there are women like my mother or my sister-in-law who had their children young and did a fantastically good job of raising them despite their extreme youth. Being "all about me" was never an option for them in their twenties, as they already had little humans depending on them for life.<br />
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I waited a long time to change my mind about the baby concept, but once I did I jumped onboard the train with all engines firing. And what have I learned in the past eight years of Mother's Days? Because when you've got small children there are 365 Mother's Days a year. Well, you can click on this old post of mine from last year for a little bit of that, <a href="http://theminddoeswander.wordpress.com/2012/01/08/speaking-of-babies/" target="_blank">Speaking of Babies</a>. It is still one of my favourites, because it helps me remember when my girls were babes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwP_LuFqWNFQhdy040GBhj08Ynxq_p_bgUDPs718BV-AV1O113RAV77AQTFiisugatN-HNgdKjignAt1LFAYQnBKWg6oib2ftdhW6Nv2zQXPYULR-yIqzuezIRr1pGC8oCUuibZVi_bE/s1600/DSC_0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwP_LuFqWNFQhdy040GBhj08Ynxq_p_bgUDPs718BV-AV1O113RAV77AQTFiisugatN-HNgdKjignAt1LFAYQnBKWg6oib2ftdhW6Nv2zQXPYULR-yIqzuezIRr1pGC8oCUuibZVi_bE/s1600/DSC_0736.JPG" height="640" width="424" /></a></div>
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One little thing I've learned is that I can never capture on film what my eyes see when I look at my children. Sometimes I will be talking with them or just looking at them, and they get a look in their eyes that I so want to capture, so I run for the camera, and snap and snap photos, but somehow they never quite work. Every once in a blue moon it will be successful, and I catch an image of what I see. Sometimes, it's a feeling of pure love emanating from her as she looks at me on the other side of the camera. Those are the keepers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RE7JyMvsxcQXHMHvPb4Kai6YTxLC8EKRiJ5OgzCkv7yVaNdhP8_CuNjx-vBlUtg7urVgBhpL-yrv_NoQ2N-oem9Wu8mCAY6kIM5sZFctUiP9CtlHBHrXp9deAQRNq-p_mpgCqrIOQ5U/s1600/IMGP1499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2RE7JyMvsxcQXHMHvPb4Kai6YTxLC8EKRiJ5OgzCkv7yVaNdhP8_CuNjx-vBlUtg7urVgBhpL-yrv_NoQ2N-oem9Wu8mCAY6kIM5sZFctUiP9CtlHBHrXp9deAQRNq-p_mpgCqrIOQ5U/s1600/IMGP1499.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kat, then</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFARtGEF2_k-z237e_1Xbke6JkagOM5-8fqT9BbTE-vCnOtxXkpMF2gctZje0E5-wXJO_r4LQ_OQ90gJ_ft_IC9X77dsllMSa7O3f5TEJXkVPQ14Ai4bz4NaixuAZ8-y4LilPP5Ug_aes/s1600/DSCF9108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFARtGEF2_k-z237e_1Xbke6JkagOM5-8fqT9BbTE-vCnOtxXkpMF2gctZje0E5-wXJO_r4LQ_OQ90gJ_ft_IC9X77dsllMSa7O3f5TEJXkVPQ14Ai4bz4NaixuAZ8-y4LilPP5Ug_aes/s1600/DSCF9108.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bOZ5GZFtdSm4spIrEMJx1TzA74zQVU1fO6480HZXaoYXQZphj7jvbxLzW1E-gVvKm4ybc0nQbJgmxG1wHwuP_NcgPQ5ruAAxvY-3XupH0Shk13_n4wDg1PHsMqfM-4REXMf_8BT8SyY/s1600/IMG_0594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7bOZ5GZFtdSm4spIrEMJx1TzA74zQVU1fO6480HZXaoYXQZphj7jvbxLzW1E-gVvKm4ybc0nQbJgmxG1wHwuP_NcgPQ5ruAAxvY-3XupH0Shk13_n4wDg1PHsMqfM-4REXMf_8BT8SyY/s1600/IMG_0594.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ava, then</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYH7GTWZ7jp2fQI9sv6JsNtTOTzI3gIKBg6nCl6AdzO2VbMhs2-oiooJdejTUvwNNjekOQXXsg84o7gP1TokzvrU2o-7WenHVVDaUw1HDU8MEWay07piILWXmkNew5eQuVYPvKYa8BECY/s1600/DSCF8304.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYH7GTWZ7jp2fQI9sv6JsNtTOTzI3gIKBg6nCl6AdzO2VbMhs2-oiooJdejTUvwNNjekOQXXsg84o7gP1TokzvrU2o-7WenHVVDaUw1HDU8MEWay07piILWXmkNew5eQuVYPvKYa8BECY/s1600/DSCF8304.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And now</td></tr>
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It makes me realize that what I am seeing is their pure spirit inside that makes them who they are. It is so much easier to see in children, who have not started putting on the masks and acts that we as adults adopt over the years. Their true selves are so much closer to the surface. If you can be truly present and look at them not just to check for eye crusties in the morning or to make sure they have on matching socks, you can really see them, deep inside. Especially as they get older, it is amazing to see them develop their own identities, as hard as it is to imagine them living independently in the world. It gives glimpses of the future.<br />
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Looking back through our thousands of photographs taken since the girls were born, I realize the very best ones are those that happened by accident. We have never once had studio portraits taken of the girls, or of us as a family. Somehow it seems having someone they love behind the lens brings out the true personality, and of course the widest array of goofy faces.<br />
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So much of mothering is done stumbling along learning as we go. I learned from my mother, from my <a href="http://livingbrilliant.blogspot.ca/2013/02/superwoman-makes-best-biscuits.html" target="_blank">grandmothers</a>, and so much from dear friends who bravely went ahead and had children before we did. I am quite sure they must have gotten tired of my endless questions, but they were always open and generous and kind and understanding of my profound ignorance. I am also the most fortunate of women to have a supportive equal partner and co-hort in all this parenting craziness.<br />
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Our girls have taught me about the important things in this life of ours. Career and money and "stuff" don't come into it at all, to my surprise. They have taught me to slow down, to breathe, to look around me and listen and smell and reach out to what surrounds us, to be open to all. The most simple of things can bring the greatest joy, and every stranger could become a friend if you just smile.<br />
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I have learned that I am not as selfish as I once thought. From the moment of their conception, my daughters have taught me many ways of being a better person, a better parent, and I hope a better citizen of the world we live in. The sense of responsibility is huge, to protect them in what is frankly a frightening world at times, and to help them learn all they need to know to be happy, healthy, productive members of the planet. Already they have made a difference, by teaching one person how to put others first, and how to love unconditionally.<br />
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This weekend I want to wish a Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers in my life, my own mom and the moms in my large, lovely extended family, and to all of my friends across the country and indeed in other parts of the world who are all doing a damn fine job of this mothering gig. May we all teach our children to be open, loving people who will make the world a better, more peaceful place in the future.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-66954102095121378642013-04-15T09:20:00.000-07:002013-04-15T09:20:06.987-07:00Making a (small) homeThis time last year I was browsing the seed catalogues, planning our vegetable garden and berry patch, watching things start to grow in the cold frame. This spring we are still watching the snow fall outdoors, and I am rethinking the whole concept of "garden," not to mention the idea of "home."<br />
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Moving from a 2500 square foot century farmhouse on half an acre to a 1000 sq. foot townhouse condo with a back deck and no yard has challenges, not the least of which are mental and emotional hurdles. The stupor brought on by the winter that just won't die is not helping matters. Still, I find it oddly fascinating to figure out how to make the most of our space, how to fit outdoor living footage into the deck and the tiny square of grass that we do have, as well as how to eke out personal space, not to mention personality, out of a cookie cutter condo.<br />
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In the farmhouse, we expanded to fit the space. More rooms, lots of nooks and crannies and large open spaces meant we needed lots of stuff to fill it, even stuff we didn't actually need. Before moving across the country, we let a lot of things go in yard sales, selling online and hauling at least 10 trunkloads to donate at the Sally Ann. When we got here, we unpacked only what was really needed and stacked the rest in boxes in the basement, as I <a href="http://livingbrilliant.blogspot.ca/2013/01/the-new-year-is-still-in-boxes.html" target="_blank">wrote about in January</a>. For one thing, we had only signed a six-month lease here, so it seemed silly to unpack just to pack it up again. Over the past few months we have come to realize we don't need or even know what's in those dozens of boxes.<br />
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And so, the challenge of living small after years of living large. The crabapple tree, the raspberry and strawberry patches, the big garden and flower beds wrapping around the house are all in the distance now. Container gardening is what comes next.<br />
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With less space it becomes easier to get on each other's nerves, especially during these cold months. The girls are used to sharing a room by choice, not by necessity, but they still need their own space sometimes. I've made a point of creating some quiet spaces here, albeit very small spaces, like a chair and lamp in a hallway nook. It just means those in search of a little privacy can find it without having to sequester themselves in the bathroom. Although that does happen a lot, too. We have also had to make each room fill more than one role. Instead of having an office with a door that closes, we have a corner of the kitchen. Rather than having a playroom where only toys live, we have a very messy bedroom. Good storage becomes so necessary, and I finally understand the concept of rotating toys, where you regularly pack up some toys and put them away for a while, swapping them out occasionally. It actually works, cuts down on clutter, and the toys seem much more exciting when they haven't been seen for a while.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdyjSta8xvjLrCat-k2biAPLtTxhEPdOazmlieODzr50BpqmFHuWTChNsd2WiyCEOzw_Arp2rgvPD6x0dx5-tZ_18LYJ-P9hFm-f6nWxe6SAU7I3Pcu1j9o8vpRe7zVeDNecuqsLG62k/s1600/DSCF9152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdyjSta8xvjLrCat-k2biAPLtTxhEPdOazmlieODzr50BpqmFHuWTChNsd2WiyCEOzw_Arp2rgvPD6x0dx5-tZ_18LYJ-P9hFm-f6nWxe6SAU7I3Pcu1j9o8vpRe7zVeDNecuqsLG62k/s1600/DSCF9152.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Ava's girly space</span></td></tr>
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It is a huge adjustment for all of us to be living in a city. The girls love adventure and are usually game for anything but like all children they thrive on routine and familiarity. There are times when we are all homesick. We struggle to make the girls feel like they have their own space, decorated and arranged the way they want it to be as much as possible.<br />
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The logical part of my brain knows that children are raised in cities all over the world, more often in tiny apartments than in big farmhouses. A townhouse would be palatial in comparison. So the only thing to do is to embrace it, to see it as an opportunity for simpler living, less yard work and housecleaning.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbF0FrjdGyJ_vCvDYyo0w69K0pE5-LwmJ59MunlPvKn2M8P1oFltIvlUqfLQTcVvdqbZxxAkvznJ16tRD2uFjxN56eaZomoKNzFH_50hLdvX-sc_GLFb_f1wpc8tDn0uExxyQH0QDmKSc/s1600/DSCF9144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbF0FrjdGyJ_vCvDYyo0w69K0pE5-LwmJ59MunlPvKn2M8P1oFltIvlUqfLQTcVvdqbZxxAkvznJ16tRD2uFjxN56eaZomoKNzFH_50hLdvX-sc_GLFb_f1wpc8tDn0uExxyQH0QDmKSc/s1600/DSCF9144.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Kitchen/dining room/office</span></td></tr>
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When warm weather finally arrives, we've got to figure out how to fit a barbecue, table and chairs AND a deck garden onto our smallish back deck. Or should it be a swing? Or a comfy cushioned bench on which to sit out and have a cool drink? There's not room for everything. I know we can still grow food as long as we have an outside space, so I have started perusing Pinterest for ideas on maximizing growing space and how to make a boring deck into a glorious retreat. Check out my <a href="http://pinterest.com/katava/spring-will-come/" target="_blank">board</a> here for inspiration.<br />
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Even the simple act of buying and repotting houseplants goes a long way to making a townhouse a home. Having some green things to look after is good for everyone, and plants are the best way to clean your indoor air in a tightly-sealed newer home. Not a chance of a draft in this place, despite the prairie winds blustering by. I am discovering the joys of succulents, those hardy little funny-looking plants that you absolutely can not kill. Getting a sprouter is on my list as well, so we can try growing some microgreens indoors. It is not just the brain that starts to crave green at this point in the year, but the body craves fresh, local (like local from your windowsill!) green food as well. It is officially a thrill to find Saskatchewan greenhouse-grown tomatoes and cucumbers in the grocery store at last, a sure sign of spring despite the fact that I just heard a snowplough go by.<br />
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For years I have blathered (at least to myself, sometimes to others) about living more simply, having less stuff, and focusing on what matters. Now is my chance to see if we can really follow through and come out with a greater appreciation for all that we have.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4mseWMADqpyCsMJlABUuM2mSJVqua4BwW86QmetS9R5IzBm7R-W68tyZPo1MRvRvJUpl1Ba60u26m3-4MOjUlIWFYUCZarKLzG_9Nf21usqiWV2EE80eskW16Z9MOODYTubZCp_Eqdk/s1600/DSCF9182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4mseWMADqpyCsMJlABUuM2mSJVqua4BwW86QmetS9R5IzBm7R-W68tyZPo1MRvRvJUpl1Ba60u26m3-4MOjUlIWFYUCZarKLzG_9Nf21usqiWV2EE80eskW16Z9MOODYTubZCp_Eqdk/s1600/DSCF9182.jpg" height="640" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">mysterious succulent</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMp_FF9F60-DSqV9E9A2tP15LcAmkiZesP5XqJB6QwQJfmYAB7Tu7FirptNyFk4hqljWDHP3XQg8ii6QnwXTnrnEcBM7KhpScT5M1U5700FJ9wosQkWhBz3XAxkQnWLsWbIwDpdcaWhxY/s1600/DSCF9068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMp_FF9F60-DSqV9E9A2tP15LcAmkiZesP5XqJB6QwQJfmYAB7Tu7FirptNyFk4hqljWDHP3XQg8ii6QnwXTnrnEcBM7KhpScT5M1U5700FJ9wosQkWhBz3XAxkQnWLsWbIwDpdcaWhxY/s1600/DSCF9068.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A little bloom inside to focus on (instead of the snow)</span></td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-47395042049201421382013-04-08T18:15:00.004-07:002013-04-08T19:09:04.428-07:00The Household Guide and Domestic Cyclopedia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTwL5j_FTNy_KYfrqKwxBhHGJ_EeyWFA9g_gzw2nKaEgSbuxPcd3mKsUcskZkKCVO8CTvqxcOuVKORajQziFbSQ5LXZzgWTjqhGN1GkUSeAQibhc7DtcoZnHngIWo3mUNlqbHLlpiQ6s/s1600/IMG_NEW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTwL5j_FTNy_KYfrqKwxBhHGJ_EeyWFA9g_gzw2nKaEgSbuxPcd3mKsUcskZkKCVO8CTvqxcOuVKORajQziFbSQ5LXZzgWTjqhGN1GkUSeAQibhc7DtcoZnHngIWo3mUNlqbHLlpiQ6s/s1600/IMG_NEW.jpg" width="490" /></a></div>
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So in case you have not heard, I am being the Ideal Housewife these days. Whatever that means. It is like a quirky social experiment, whereby the girl (okay, woman) who used to scream inside her own head at the prospect of staying at home and keeping house does just that with vigour and enthusiasm.<br />
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Maybe not every day, but I try. I make homemade granola, for heaven's sake, and the <a href="http://livingbrilliant.blogspot.ca/2013/01/the-49-muffin.html" target="_blank">infamous $49 muffins</a>. As I wrote in <a href="http://www.livingbrilliant.blogspot.ca/2013/02/superwoman-makes-best-biscuits.html" target="_blank">this post</a>, I am inspired by my grandmother and strive to find the joy that she found in everyday life.<br />
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Lately I find myself turning to an unlikely source for inspiration. A few years ago, a gorgeous old volume of home-keeping appeared in a box of donated books I was sorting at the library. It was pleasantly smelly, as only very old books can be, and pages were falling out, but I simply could not throw it out. Published in Toronto in 1897, <b><i>The Household Guide and Domestic Cyclopedia</i></b> was created to help women in more ways than we can imagine, instructing on everything from how to clean nickel plate to making puddings, looking beautiful to writing a proper invitation, homeopathic remedies to comportment, nursing typhoid fever to the dangers of overfeeding children.<br />
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At times hilarious, this book is a goldmine of insight into the lives of our foremothers. While I question some of the advice (like how to make a pork and onion poultice for wounds), some words still ring so true. While the authors state that laughter is a great tonic, "giggling" is most definitely not:<br />
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<i>There is no outward mark which demonstrates the woman of shallow mind so unmistakeably as that of giggling. There is no sense in the giggle; no benefit to be derived from it. It makes a fool of the person, and renders everyone about uncomfortable.</i></blockquote>
Well, then, I guess I am in trouble, having a giggle that was once described lovingly by my oldest friend as "machine-gun fire."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S-jvYyK-XHvxHliAvmixm9_GuZZQ4T7VS175kakNUx8eASrOu5nih-sv5HahVnWXWkyVTgYWNu5_5MvQtOmaB7vI0KC1J9BMTitJsAUtDB56f3ygkZWxcES80RNK9Q9HzQFf2V693Dg/s1600/2pics_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9S-jvYyK-XHvxHliAvmixm9_GuZZQ4T7VS175kakNUx8eASrOu5nih-sv5HahVnWXWkyVTgYWNu5_5MvQtOmaB7vI0KC1J9BMTitJsAUtDB56f3ygkZWxcES80RNK9Q9HzQFf2V693Dg/s1600/2pics_2.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div>
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The interesting fact about this book is that the only part actually written by a woman is the last section, one of recipes and cooking tips. All of the other chapters, all 398 pages of them, are written by two men, who also co-wrote a book on Eugenics, which Wikipedia defines as "a social and political philosophy that tries to influence the way people choose to mate and raise children, with the aim of improving the human species."</div>
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Yowza. A little creepy, but anyhow, back to THIS book, our Domestic Cyclopedia. The authors have this to say about the fairer sex: </div>
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<b><i>Woman</i></b></div>
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<i>The organization of the home depends, for the most part, upon woman. She is the queen of domestic life. The management of the home depends upon her. Her character, her temper, her power of organization, her business management is what brings comfort and happiness to the home.</i></div>
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(I think this is true, since Katherine told me last week that I was Queen Mummy, Boss of the House.)</div>
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Some of the more amusing parts of this very amusing book are the sections on personal beauty and car<span style="font-size: small;">e</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">, including<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> tips for "cosm</span>etics and cheerfulness<span style="font-size: small;">":</span></span></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Cosmetics are generally good for nothing but the <span style="font-size: small;">drug business. One merry thought, one kind word, and the smallest contri<span style="font-size: small;">bution to another's happiness, will do more for the complexion than a tableful of cold cream, violet powder or other skin whiteners.</span></span></span></span></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">...Young lady, do not dec<span style="font-size: small;">eive yourself. You cannot use cosmetics without the knowledge of your gentleman friends. They will respect you more if you forever abandon the use of such subterfuge.</span> </span></span></i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Huh<span style="font-size: small;">. I guess he told us<span style="font-size: small;">.</span> Abandon the subterfuge, ladies, that lipstick isn't fooling anyone!</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvp4o1MQRUKUOhex1J816gNis0f-QK2hh5Vu-TVtiDbKd9kgCCdzNV8ocfKULdd9Cg8AbwP_TcjZYhjReuvFLksADO0TKb4JIe_DPA2tiDAkAye2X7LMiiHUmY52vHSM557hv0adC9z8/s1600/exercise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSvp4o1MQRUKUOhex1J816gNis0f-QK2hh5Vu-TVtiDbKd9kgCCdzNV8ocfKULdd9Cg8AbwP_TcjZYhjReuvFLksADO0TKb4JIe_DPA2tiDAkAye2X7LMiiHUmY52vHSM557hv0adC9z8/s1600/exercise.jpg" width="332" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love this workout for the busy mom...no Lululemon here.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">N<span style="font-size: small;">ow let us remember this is all written by MEN. Which makes it esp<span style="font-size: small;">ecially fun when the instructions for how to develop the chest and bust come up later in the chapter. It is most defini<span style="font-size: small;">tely wri<span style="font-size: small;">tten by a man, and could be a man of 2013<span style="font-size: small;">:</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The best treatment is gentle rubbing. This gent<span style="font-size: small;">le friction night and morning (</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">oh, in your dream<span style="font-size: small;">s, buddy boy</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">), five minutes at a time, will generally produce the desired <span style="font-size: small;">results.</span></span></span> </span></span></span></span> </span></span></i> </div>
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On the bright side, they are proponents of breastfeeding, and give a truly excellent description of all different varieties of baby poop and what each colour and consistency might mean. Seriously, this is useful information if you have a baby and have NEVER ever in your life seen poop like THAT. This section is appropriately titled "Evacuations of a Child."</div>
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On a more serious note, the authors point out that out of 987,000 people who died in 1890, 400,647 of them were under the age of five. In their opinion, "this terrible mortality among children is undoubtedly largely the result of ignorance as regarding the proper care and treatment of sick children."</div>
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<i>Never mind whether your little boy or girl stands first on the roll of honor or not. See to it that no honors or rewards are gained at the expense of vigor and health. Never slight the beginnings of a cold. From six to ten drops of turpentine will generally arrest a cold at the beginning...</i></div>
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It was really solid advice up until the turpentine, don't you think? Here are another couple of gems that stand the test of time, and that I just might adopt as my new mantras:<br />
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<i>A successful life is nothing more or less for man or for woman than
living as well as we know how and doing the very best that we can. </i></blockquote>
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<b><i>The Art of Happy Living</i></b><br />
<i>Happiness is not an indescribable something always beyond one's grasp, but is in the reach of all, if we but look for it in the common path of life, in the ordinary routine of everyday duty.</i></blockquote>
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More next time on this irresistible volume... Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-58367634437555024442013-03-21T09:47:00.000-07:002013-03-21T09:47:22.805-07:00Random therapeutic photography<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This morning I am digging deep in my photography bank to provide us all with a little bit of spring for the eyes and for the heart, even while the wind still howls out of doors...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylNgOcTPMn9S1xSpH_YkmEjl5W898utHL1C1ZHWghbUMkdcQrISqLxNmkVQAy0eGm-_feyu3bS3UJGdPreVyq74_v3-k4kq-FkIHyHovXKHlp-N4RswEtyDn_7SAooDf24QoAv9qjpaQ/s1600/DSCF0201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgylNgOcTPMn9S1xSpH_YkmEjl5W898utHL1C1ZHWghbUMkdcQrISqLxNmkVQAy0eGm-_feyu3bS3UJGdPreVyq74_v3-k4kq-FkIHyHovXKHlp-N4RswEtyDn_7SAooDf24QoAv9qjpaQ/s1600/DSCF0201.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Colour</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguF9Ngl7XXWU4mjvqlNkUf3U4zpoQ_X5XQLV4DlwfPelu9iL9Zv8B92rQ1rj9X-kjCBiM6hT5eVTfa6t8u2NnDfwKD6saCwFQKwyuj4HfZiY7ibGbbghfoikW6qsHeOaRHTs42ub1BK20/s1600/DSCF0282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguF9Ngl7XXWU4mjvqlNkUf3U4zpoQ_X5XQLV4DlwfPelu9iL9Zv8B92rQ1rj9X-kjCBiM6hT5eVTfa6t8u2NnDfwKD6saCwFQKwyuj4HfZiY7ibGbbghfoikW6qsHeOaRHTs42ub1BK20/s1600/DSCF0282.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ocean</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRfdP4GoTcCHu2siKKuvzVVVMtEoMnZLSKmuAkKzDKGftrbGcT07jYk-jK23R8QejXzOcQxCVvZq1VWAisShNJpDfLn47GhOX2-QpMWUkZE9A1TpT4r0DuvLDDOfsCHi4Qbn0aeF1djE/s1600/DSCF6347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRfdP4GoTcCHu2siKKuvzVVVMtEoMnZLSKmuAkKzDKGftrbGcT07jYk-jK23R8QejXzOcQxCVvZq1VWAisShNJpDfLn47GhOX2-QpMWUkZE9A1TpT4r0DuvLDDOfsCHi4Qbn0aeF1djE/s1600/DSCF6347.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinV86b5kLNhgBJS9u6_kZnXtgI6HLSFx4cjxcYFtQ07w7izyV7OugROsJX-IxIEUuYAQCKu146F6tdGUF7tdP497g3nx_Apr7BweODyg7zIUR8DGNvPCW7TborxqWpItLeiz3sRwKMcPs/s1600/DSCF6357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinV86b5kLNhgBJS9u6_kZnXtgI6HLSFx4cjxcYFtQ07w7izyV7OugROsJX-IxIEUuYAQCKu146F6tdGUF7tdP497g3nx_Apr7BweODyg7zIUR8DGNvPCW7TborxqWpItLeiz3sRwKMcPs/s1600/DSCF6357.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beauty</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFx8UL9b2KSmli9BpjKA8yw-4b0duRH8-Knug8x0mLgRq2v6yxlF0_jF6IqSX4ah8fkuWHR3GL4RRmK46NcaqXITJWESxVgc1r51ixipemxH5MmFqrCRmS9lDuW6EtxTkvgTyEFq3Ge0/s1600/DSCF6294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFx8UL9b2KSmli9BpjKA8yw-4b0duRH8-Knug8x0mLgRq2v6yxlF0_jF6IqSX4ah8fkuWHR3GL4RRmK46NcaqXITJWESxVgc1r51ixipemxH5MmFqrCRmS9lDuW6EtxTkvgTyEFq3Ge0/s1600/DSCF6294.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginnings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5ozTku2RPs1X4pI6tPOHeK1oM-PiE5hjSbu0R5YgmhyphenhyphenXx29LGZKWVEWArLk3TonpfQWkDt0ZABV_kkyXuhXYy7fvVBtVfKCp0KdYMBqtz5CN666ESDLHnxssC3wK2VdLdUMlYkeE5hc/s1600/DSCF6384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf5ozTku2RPs1X4pI6tPOHeK1oM-PiE5hjSbu0R5YgmhyphenhyphenXx29LGZKWVEWArLk3TonpfQWkDt0ZABV_kkyXuhXYy7fvVBtVfKCp0KdYMBqtz5CN666ESDLHnxssC3wK2VdLdUMlYkeE5hc/s1600/DSCF6384.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWTfDeyusBo-2e5pTRHuoqN8LPkMS0NM43uCJOxVF71bq2Lx2L-aG74umAurKWi-5GvrTsonOAGfDk8HXrqFJPIr0SypfXFsVH053lxe3PKOG5Ad4yfKCVR79sBp-1V-l64uQpKjXKfI/s1600/DSCF6845_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWTfDeyusBo-2e5pTRHuoqN8LPkMS0NM43uCJOxVF71bq2Lx2L-aG74umAurKWi-5GvrTsonOAGfDk8HXrqFJPIr0SypfXFsVH053lxe3PKOG5Ad4yfKCVR79sBp-1V-l64uQpKjXKfI/s1600/DSCF6845_2.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brilliant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTFx-a0X6m0OxeJbAdDMt_HIvFs0GuMiU6oBUCGTFeoxXpWkrQlDncmLHo3_CnmS9EYr_bST0tGhjjhLZ_R3DGsh3tIspCZC7xiqv9HbMrtIkP6d7NdkmGARaiVe0AGXmfIhEEJbcLZw/s1600/DSCF6398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPTFx-a0X6m0OxeJbAdDMt_HIvFs0GuMiU6oBUCGTFeoxXpWkrQlDncmLHo3_CnmS9EYr_bST0tGhjjhLZ_R3DGsh3tIspCZC7xiqv9HbMrtIkP6d7NdkmGARaiVe0AGXmfIhEEJbcLZw/s1600/DSCF6398.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eoLBZygFOSTuED1keNTm3uGOy2avNxIAzPb9I_cotX4_JpvpuZFl0z8zEw20Za1K6kSqIcABKbEF9_U0Pp2JKCAYGzkIFskLdVlLthuiWjRmOzF_rlL-hmij2gcxJOLkpHQOi4NRCQY/s1600/DSCF7038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_eoLBZygFOSTuED1keNTm3uGOy2avNxIAzPb9I_cotX4_JpvpuZFl0z8zEw20Za1K6kSqIcABKbEF9_U0Pp2JKCAYGzkIFskLdVlLthuiWjRmOzF_rlL-hmij2gcxJOLkpHQOi4NRCQY/s1600/DSCF7038.JPG" height="490" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friendship</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizz5PzAxF4k0l-DRJCOG0cCkNIiYHj7HidYnyB2nujQDdZvTlYs19CY8HP_z2CRPMrK6xwquPajMcsh4P-pzVi7q0TIGVxfD-QZBPuq3PLsw7M6vIKaoDdUrxqlsG-ZAY5Nnxjo_xogU4/s1600/IMG_0349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizz5PzAxF4k0l-DRJCOG0cCkNIiYHj7HidYnyB2nujQDdZvTlYs19CY8HP_z2CRPMrK6xwquPajMcsh4P-pzVi7q0TIGVxfD-QZBPuq3PLsw7M6vIKaoDdUrxqlsG-ZAY5Nnxjo_xogU4/s1600/IMG_0349.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOs7GBsGp_fRkfoiEGdCG-uilROTewmLm30MepDmJ5mZB2At7tL27XQPfL_fjLxmxVUODHWaSC-G8K3Um3Sb5ewXTHuTwcVBY8vPc9TBZPUI6I08gl7BGOFvfkaSf-IwGoEW2uMPmf2w/s1600/DSCF6368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOs7GBsGp_fRkfoiEGdCG-uilROTewmLm30MepDmJ5mZB2At7tL27XQPfL_fjLxmxVUODHWaSC-G8K3Um3Sb5ewXTHuTwcVBY8vPc9TBZPUI6I08gl7BGOFvfkaSf-IwGoEW2uMPmf2w/s1600/DSCF6368.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simplicity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqzhez-rViPt0rBrgVZky7RKywREI562Jrj6qLd1LD3Qde1405xceSGGk94lktnhZhBxjGappu7euMn4oBpN19HRCGlKxtSFeDV91_2A5QOFbRfkDdlCcLEL1ZOghno0fxig4t03hYOI/s1600/DSCF5976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkqzhez-rViPt0rBrgVZky7RKywREI562Jrj6qLd1LD3Qde1405xceSGGk94lktnhZhBxjGappu7euMn4oBpN19HRCGlKxtSFeDV91_2A5QOFbRfkDdlCcLEL1ZOghno0fxig4t03hYOI/s1600/DSCF5976.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Humour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span id="goog_546164388"></span><span id="goog_546164389"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-19725583742632632222013-03-15T10:00:00.000-07:002013-03-15T10:00:15.816-07:00The Ides of March<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EcgvCDQl4loIevngsUCNi6cCxCc23uQMxoRJhqwkE-q6_XnSyvuZa4Wx4p_VJThL1mo2TPL50etcKZJ_ANrHiUEU6kN-jRvBGooT3J4SuF-DD5CL-ZPAAokkZsQDrvvmJD9_lcm8k9w/s1600/IMG_1326_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EcgvCDQl4loIevngsUCNi6cCxCc23uQMxoRJhqwkE-q6_XnSyvuZa4Wx4p_VJThL1mo2TPL50etcKZJ_ANrHiUEU6kN-jRvBGooT3J4SuF-DD5CL-ZPAAokkZsQDrvvmJD9_lcm8k9w/s1600/IMG_1326_2.JPG" height="412" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
We are on the downhill slope now. Despite the fact that it is a blizzard outside my window, I refuse to give in to the urge to crawl into bed and stay there until spring. Well, maybe I will crawl in for just a few minutes.<br />
<br />
Every year March manages to bring me down, with its relentless zig and zag from winter to thaw and back again. This March is no different, except for the fact that everything else is different. This prairie city has a thaw, a beautiful glimpse of dripping spring when kids strip off their coats and believe they can have picnics in the back yard just for today. Later that night the snow blows in again, the puddles freeze and the temperature drops to -21. Convincing everyone to put on their snow pants and scarves this morning brought no one any joy, as the novelty of playing the snow is long past in this cantankerous month of March.<br />
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So, what can you do? Focus on the positive. Blue sky days do still outnumber the grey ones, and spring will come because it does every single year without fail. Children will still strip off their coats and insist on wearing capri pants well before the weather really recommends that fashion choice. Eventually the snow will melt. The rivers will thaw and sparkle, the ground will turn green, the leaves will unfurl. We will get to experience the rolling wheat fields, the grasslands, the lakes. The outdoors will call to us, and we will throw off the fleece blanket, uncurl from the couch and answer it. Soon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_WoLK3jdlY423OLZnZw8NftexmYyJh5ZSOlMxgLyPJ2BaojfZZ_wqeChOxI8eFYwBUYXSyi4zmDo2kPPp8raajOR1NiYsE6D0-DpcmYBtrl7FduzCmotr6Rj58ldXhF_gR2WxDzK9Ow/s1600/DSCF8922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_WoLK3jdlY423OLZnZw8NftexmYyJh5ZSOlMxgLyPJ2BaojfZZ_wqeChOxI8eFYwBUYXSyi4zmDo2kPPp8raajOR1NiYsE6D0-DpcmYBtrl7FduzCmotr6Rj58ldXhF_gR2WxDzK9Ow/s1600/DSCF8922.JPG" height="425" width="640" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a
miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
~ <span style="color: black;">Albert Einstein </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-56455620264717157422013-02-26T19:17:00.002-08:002013-04-08T19:06:39.371-07:00Superwoman makes the best biscuitsLet me tell you about superwoman.<br />
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Once there was a very smart-looking, dark-haired young woman, dressed fashionably in skirt, boots, and a fur-collared jacket, posing for a picture in the metropolitan downtown of Montreal, circa late 1930s-early '40s. Maybe that is just the way I remember this photo, since I don't actually HAVE it but anyhow it struck me how worldly and sophisticated she looked.<br />
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Just a few years later, that vibrant woman was back home on the east coast, married to an older man and settled on his family farm in rural Prince Edward Island. She was about to deliver the first of 11 children, nine boys and two girls. She was now committed to a life of faith, family, love, making do and working harder than we can imagine. That strong character is my grandmother, Edith.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QhQ44yvbki-2FkniuK9uCMT69hG4uRauIY-Eez2aNtxXKrvQESKl-1cSxT69Bk7j3dnGWPanxHuVI71J0GBPVpwW8PskQAoPA_Z8EI_6SwVONaDvY9-UQ8dnZ6mtwnjbhGC9zZdjs4I/s1600/530404_309008052498855_468760019_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QhQ44yvbki-2FkniuK9uCMT69hG4uRauIY-Eez2aNtxXKrvQESKl-1cSxT69Bk7j3dnGWPanxHuVI71J0GBPVpwW8PskQAoPA_Z8EI_6SwVONaDvY9-UQ8dnZ6mtwnjbhGC9zZdjs4I/s640/530404_309008052498855_468760019_n.jpg" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith and Wilfred on their wedding day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was luckier than many children, having two living sets of grandparents close by when I was growing up. Edith and Wilfred Campbell, my grandparents on my father's side, lived within site of our house, so we spent a lot of time at their old farm. My grandfather was already into his 70s when I was a child, but he still worked hard, chopping wood in the shed and tinkering in his old carriage shop fixing clocks or taking engines apart just to put them back together again. He was the strong, silent type, happy to sit in his corner of the kitchen when folks were visiting, quietly sipping a cup of tea. My grandmother was the gregarious one, inviting every person who ever stepped through the door to sit down for a cuppa and a bite to eat. She would not be happy until you had eaten something, anything. Whatever it was, it was probably made by her own two hands and it was always delicious.<br />
<br />
When my parents both worked, we went to Grammy's house. Today I wonder if by that time she might not have been tired of looking after small children, having spent most of her life doing that non-stop. But no, she relished having her grandchildren around her, feeding us, keeping us overnight, sending us out to play, saying "Just don't go near the sinkhole!" I still remember the feeling of being put to bed in their house, the wool blankets and homemade quilts piled on so heavily that we would be immobilized. The morning sounds of my grandfather getting up to stoke the fire and my grandmother starting a batch of biscuits were immeasurably comforting.<br />
<br />
These days I use my grandmother's life to give me a dose of perspective. Particularly before we made this move to the prairies, I felt insanely busy, like there were never enough hours in the day. Two wildly different part-time jobs, plus being a full-time parent of two very active girls, plus marriage and a big house, a garden and yard to keep up. Oh, yeah, I was soooo busy.<br />
<br />
Then I try to imagine Edith's life. A family of thirteen, no money to speak of, a farm, no modern conveniences. "Me time" would seem like a joke. The sheer volume of laundry, done without a machine, just makes the head spin. And the cooking! How many loaves of bread would it take to feed a family of 13, 9 of which were growing boys who probably never stopped eating? I always found it funny that my grandmother made huge batches of everything even after her children were grown and gone. She probably didn't know the recipe for a small batch.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vQHodkB5EE5sQQYqO4z6t8oGvOK3ddS5FqDB7ff_d0alsRjqHQw7ytJ79ebNJA2dTB8sfZg-z1PQPCsWZUhgUYmwDwCBYbF9mighohkdNO0p7qqJ-ONg5aZWa8oC1W_8BuQv5g40ql8/s1600/485390_309021755830818_898146660_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9vQHodkB5EE5sQQYqO4z6t8oGvOK3ddS5FqDB7ff_d0alsRjqHQw7ytJ79ebNJA2dTB8sfZg-z1PQPCsWZUhgUYmwDwCBYbF9mighohkdNO0p7qqJ-ONg5aZWa8oC1W_8BuQv5g40ql8/s1600/485390_309021755830818_898146660_n.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of those mischievous sons</td></tr>
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<br />
There would always be a baby (or several) to feed, bums and noses to wipe, mischievous little scamps to chase around. (Oh yes, there were definitely those ... all those dark-haired boys had a glint in their eyes.) Clothes to make and mend and re-mend and patch. And always, always meals to get on the table on time because that is what farm wives did. If a neighbour needed help, you helped. There was no extra money, no little luxuries. But there was a lot of love, with Edith right at the centre of it. Somehow they made do, frankly putting all of us over-consuming, over-spending complainers of today to shame.<br />
<br />
You would think that backbreaking work, years of childbearing and rearing would make you cranky at times. But in all the years I've known her, I have never known my grandmother to be grumpy, or snappish as I am when tired or feeling moody. How can that be?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueVv_Xme9Q5QXWipRq1peQ9hjCWHgnW5WvQXQoUnw3zbjUWXGrxbG4yiR93BkwtRT7Yh-GU7AEo9_-DsIgMO-jid-rWIt47YCOfLu4uPGSwPo_TiJTMA8eK0Vf16JCX8nvVQkDkyQ3YY/s1600/545124_309021642497496_1066565998_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueVv_Xme9Q5QXWipRq1peQ9hjCWHgnW5WvQXQoUnw3zbjUWXGrxbG4yiR93BkwtRT7Yh-GU7AEo9_-DsIgMO-jid-rWIt47YCOfLu4uPGSwPo_TiJTMA8eK0Vf16JCX8nvVQkDkyQ3YY/s640/545124_309021642497496_1066565998_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith with the first baby, Bennett</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Edith survived two husbands and one son. In the last years of her marriage to my grandfather, he suffered from Alzheimer's, which eventually took away her beloved Wilfred. After his passing she remarried to an old flame from her Montreal time, the very fellow with whom she was photographed in that stylish fur collar. I always suspected that gentleman, Neil, had probably pined for her for many years before finally winning her hand. They had a number of happy years together, embracing their late-in-life romance with humour and love right up until he passed away. During her lifetime she faced cancer, diabetes, glaucoma and much, much more, not to mention all of the emotional, marital and health crises that happen to 11 children and therefore to her as well. Through all she remained steady, a loving presence in all of our lives. Right up until recent years, she still gave me a Christmas present, even though I am only one of 36 grandchildren. Who does that??<br />
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Each one of those grandchildren is so vital to her, as are our children, her great-grandchildren. She keeps track of everyone's lives, cherishes each new baby that comes into the family as if it were the first. After all of her own babies grew up and had babies, and those grew up and had babies, she still melts for the chance to cuddle one of those brand new people. I love to see the photos of my cousins proudly presenting their newborns to Grammy for the special Grammy Baby Benediction. She kisses their dear little fuzzy heads just as she kissed all of us when we were new. Her hugs are legendary, long and hard-squeezing, seriously loving hugs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOzL4PWsKqYC9vNyoKcG913Jrj-yUjvXLoaA1tEK3muVqSzq2JZ4GfIzVPlzwR9zWZkFxiPSUcB1Gtq1zzHvR3jdDeC1MsLS1sl5aEEoFFfhl34bb3rLR0cd_tT3v4649m-_kbwPTp1g/s1600/545856_317461094986884_1116404671_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibOzL4PWsKqYC9vNyoKcG913Jrj-yUjvXLoaA1tEK3muVqSzq2JZ4GfIzVPlzwR9zWZkFxiPSUcB1Gtq1zzHvR3jdDeC1MsLS1sl5aEEoFFfhl34bb3rLR0cd_tT3v4649m-_kbwPTp1g/s200/545856_317461094986884_1116404671_n.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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No one is perfect, I know that and she would be the first to say she is not. But if ever I needed a role model of grace in the face of adversity, love and generosity in the face of hard times and sorrow, beauty of the soul in the face of an ever-changing world, Edith is it. I know I am not alone in this.<br />
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We know now that she can't stay with us forever. Following a fall, a broken ankle, surgery and a heart attack, she decided it was time to leave this earth and join her loved ones in heaven. Her constant presence will remain with us, as such patience, wisdom, kindness and strength can never truly leave and will surely last through all of our lives. Surely such love has permeated all of us who have been blessed by it, so that we can still go on no matter what comes.<br />
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I certainly hope so. I will miss you terribly. Although I can hear your voice telling us it will be alright, today we are not sure. I will honour your memory by striving to be as loving, patient and kind to all that I meet, just as you did throughout your life. If any one of us can leave such a legacy of love as you have, we will truly be fortunate.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Written in memory of Edith Rice Campbell, 1921-2013.</span></h4>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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If you have any special memories or thoughts about Edith, please feel free to put them in the comments below. I would love to read and share them.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-31513007298476478332013-02-22T04:48:00.000-08:002013-02-22T04:48:20.030-08:00Seven going on eight(een)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRifwpmXb_Lawu6NBS5o-XRn8t2E1sv1xt7Jo1VK3SmTxrOI1B4mZmjWa9319kwRpoLzvlJh2o3V8jv6aUX4seqcpTxproEW018JinNxI36MjfBe56OGk6TfOPo8MHVBNMvC46fJM8n0/s1600/DSCF6290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCRifwpmXb_Lawu6NBS5o-XRn8t2E1sv1xt7Jo1VK3SmTxrOI1B4mZmjWa9319kwRpoLzvlJh2o3V8jv6aUX4seqcpTxproEW018JinNxI36MjfBe56OGk6TfOPo8MHVBNMvC46fJM8n0/s640/DSCF6290.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Eight years ago our world was turned on its ear with the arrival of our first child.<br />
<br />
I know, it's not momentous in the grand scheme of the universe, where babies are born every second in wildly varying ways (well, generally it follows a certain scheme) and in vastly different cultures and corners of the world and family configurations.<br />
<br />
But for two childless mostly clueless people in their thirties, neither of whom had ever wiped a baby's bum let alone been solely responsible for its very survival and wellbeing, it was pretty huge.<br />
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The result of that earth-shaking delivery turns eight today, and what about her? To put it mildly, we shake our heads in wonder, confusion, consternation and hilarity even more often than I could have imagined eight years ago. She is all long legs and arms, flying hair and leaping imagination. She makes us crazy, she amazes us, she makes us laugh. She is smart and sassy, perhaps sometimes a bit too sassy but some would say that is only what I deserve in a daughter.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbfzWaS6W1aJ0Z_Y2NxKQekl2mSx70l18ug509YULDLW2KjfXW0vCxaKz5j1y8GpMh9NwlFhIGFLCuVQKNUzPwZ2Z2svqVyhPKkC5w3wUQpnJ6ID0loa4-w9EYM5rAsYTarZ-Vv5u1kw/s1600/IMGP1499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbfzWaS6W1aJ0Z_Y2NxKQekl2mSx70l18ug509YULDLW2KjfXW0vCxaKz5j1y8GpMh9NwlFhIGFLCuVQKNUzPwZ2Z2svqVyhPKkC5w3wUQpnJ6ID0loa4-w9EYM5rAsYTarZ-Vv5u1kw/s320/IMGP1499.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_2118180047"></span><span id="goog_2118180048"></span><br />
Every age is kind of wondrous, really. Babyhood is golden, warm and fuzzy, literally fuzzy in my case as I have very vague memories of whole periods of time in that first crazy wonderful painful first year of parenthood. A raging case of postpartum depression coloured that time, yet I still remember a happy baby who only cried when absolutely necessary (For God's sake, Mummy, FEED me already, it has been at least an hour!!!) and was a cheery little character who almost never stopped moving. I should have known when she was still in the womb beating a constant tattoo on my ribcage and bladder that she was bound to be a mover and a shaker for life.<br />
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As a babe and toddler she woke early and would coo and chatter to herself until someone noticed her. She basically started talking the moment she awoke in the morning and stopped when her eyes reluctantly fluttered shut at night. Once she got to her feet, she would stand in her crib until she literally fell over asleep in abject exhaustion.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBRSgQHIu8ISRztfZjtjWvzMZluKYgWN5otj1OdQbxZ3dqoptimCKgk3pExYokznlykHWlulUlVfeIgynz5QE2iy_vL3x9vOy85v1Rn4e94tFpOakY2tUaJnZOCtpIT3PsuqI8gfnPHI/s1600/DSCF0095_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBRSgQHIu8ISRztfZjtjWvzMZluKYgWN5otj1OdQbxZ3dqoptimCKgk3pExYokznlykHWlulUlVfeIgynz5QE2iy_vL3x9vOy85v1Rn4e94tFpOakY2tUaJnZOCtpIT3PsuqI8gfnPHI/s320/DSCF0095_2.JPG" width="258" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One year</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Really, not much has changed.<br />
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It is fascinating to watch a child grow and develop, an exercise in mindfulness that perhaps is most appreciated when it is almost too late to do so. I find myself wishing as I see my ever-taller, ever-more-independent girls change every day that I had taken a deep breath more often when they were really little. We did try to appreciate every nuance but it is hard when you're in the thick of it. What is so fun to observe is that the very same character traits Kat had as a baby and toddler are still very much present in her today. Fierce determination comes to mind. Single-minded pursuit of what she wants is a trait she MAY have inherited from me but she makes me look like a pushover.<br />
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Her grey eyes are so expressive. They can wither you with a disdainful glance or make you feel you could never be more loved in this world than you are, right now.<br />
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She is what would have once been described as a tomboy. No girly, floofy pink ruffles for this girl. She started dressing herself at two and her, ahem, unique sense of style continues to evolve. She is sporty, lord only knows where she got that in the gene pool but it certainly was not from me, or her dad.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIolo-bOCOdthiFLPrq5MMFL_qgIVA0iqNva0eHCDO2C8JKwowauvNLDxd-g3S7FIUuZFPxAPAGapAK_w0L0f5nm93WQd_S1K-nA5uMOPeN9gbq0Ec7VPxCgHAX4B_3Y65Miyaa0tcEc/s1600/IMG_0918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIolo-bOCOdthiFLPrq5MMFL_qgIVA0iqNva0eHCDO2C8JKwowauvNLDxd-g3S7FIUuZFPxAPAGapAK_w0L0f5nm93WQd_S1K-nA5uMOPeN9gbq0Ec7VPxCgHAX4B_3Y65Miyaa0tcEc/s320/IMG_0918.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the funniest and dearest things about Kat is her inability to admit she is hurt. The only way to really know is by how furious she gets when you ask if she is okay. The more angry she gets at you, the more she must have hurt.<br />
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Her imagination knows no bounds. She and her sister have invented a whole world of fantasy called Los Lupes, where every day is a holiday, it is always summer, you can eat whatever you want and the Los Lupians live in tiny leaf houses and play all day long.<br />
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At home she is loud, active, bossy, funny, goofy and messy. At school (from what I can tell) she is quiet, shy, studious, a little serious, and quite tidy. Like all of us, she has a character she puts on for the world and everything else comes out only at home.<br />
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She never stops moving except when she sleeps, or is engrossed in a good book. She reads, and reads and reads, and for that I am grateful. We have always said Katherine hurtles through life, throwing her very heart and soul into every day. She does not walk. She runs, she cartwheels, she boogies, she does back walkovers across the lawn. Her energy knows no bounds. She is passionate and reserved at the same time. She is sensitive and insensitive at the same time.<br />
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She is eight. She is our baby. With every step she takes, she launches herself at the world. We want to hold on. Happy birthday, sweet child.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx14Y2mLOHhtN8o7t30WrDXK8K1ZLjmoS02qAd9ReL1jrYieVui-TGXbA1B5G8stxf3klgJZEBtGHHCOwMHyyCZw81X_HNy9xEsREkdnkrLf3qWgVvtVZzqyV-gBFpXG1AH9inUL8SKcw/s1600/IMGP2379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx14Y2mLOHhtN8o7t30WrDXK8K1ZLjmoS02qAd9ReL1jrYieVui-TGXbA1B5G8stxf3klgJZEBtGHHCOwMHyyCZw81X_HNy9xEsREkdnkrLf3qWgVvtVZzqyV-gBFpXG1AH9inUL8SKcw/s320/IMGP2379.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZJF3EpiiMGSUj93vGW_yvSt5paRNmCwAyidu1Iq1N0BnrZd2kUaLGMrls1F4X66zDlSwvbDh9EG9n_z0_oP5cRJyzO70xHHI5ruWaMRJtOIWBYq79ZAQnlsVLSsOVq_-PWp5BoqQ4DI/s1600/IMG_1303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZJF3EpiiMGSUj93vGW_yvSt5paRNmCwAyidu1Iq1N0BnrZd2kUaLGMrls1F4X66zDlSwvbDh9EG9n_z0_oP5cRJyzO70xHHI5ruWaMRJtOIWBYq79ZAQnlsVLSsOVq_-PWp5BoqQ4DI/s400/IMG_1303.JPG" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost 8</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-41335674820702397972013-02-09T15:41:00.000-08:002013-02-09T18:22:50.359-08:00Feel the love If you ask me about my first love, I would probably tell you I first felt that deep, passionate longing for...a book.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm0rZUqITG9PI3GC8_P_4M0Afsb07JvA41u51WL-Zq27pA46SUd5M_OLfsoNntAVP1-FDtR1H4sTB623aFbKXSuf_avRmlh6yuFigRrKbolPsIe0QmOh35dAmb35mN-uQsqwHH3AXhU8/s1600/DSCF8733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijm0rZUqITG9PI3GC8_P_4M0Afsb07JvA41u51WL-Zq27pA46SUd5M_OLfsoNntAVP1-FDtR1H4sTB623aFbKXSuf_avRmlh6yuFigRrKbolPsIe0QmOh35dAmb35mN-uQsqwHH3AXhU8/s400/DSCF8733.jpg" width="265" /></a>Yup, it is true. From the first moment I realized all those jumbled letters and marks actually made up sentences, pages, stories, even, I have been a passionate and not-at-all secret admirer of books. When I'm feeling blue, I retreat to books. When I'm ill, you can find me tucked up in a quilt with my nose stuck in a book. A book is the last thing I see before I go to sleep (okay, I DO see my husband as well although probably not as clearly as he would like).<br />
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In university I majored in English because I thought that would be the best way to feed my habit of reading by creating a purpose for all that book-lovin'. And we all know how terrifically valuable an arts degree is in the real world. Ahem. But, hey, it let me read through a four-year degree, well actually I stretched it out to 5.5 years just because I LOVED to read so much, among all the other things I loved to do at university.<br />
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Anyhow, I married another book lover, and now we have two dear little book lovers of our very own. Passionate library users and used-book-sale-browsers we are. I almost drove into the ditch one day last summer as we toured the winding seaside road near Ingonish, Cape Breton..."Hey, that sign says book sale!!"<br />
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With Valentine's Day coming up, that ridiculously sentimental Hallmark holiday that's trying its best to become the second coming of Christmas, I thought I would spread a little book love. Forget the chocolates, over-priced roses, and hideous pink stuffed monkeys holding hearts. Don't forget the red wine, though. You can enjoy that with a good book.<br />
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<h3>
Happy endings</h3>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGftIXrN0cG1yeI4IlMqL39U5T-OqyoW-rODrEmgWGtmbRkVMPxwSvBcab3bA-zvWzz15Q0K_CIZ3_sbTbCFVBuxfdXolgOscfbjHl1iDu7aIEe75qphjIRvcRJsrAzeEApGZGBtoDiZ8/s1600/DSCF8730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGftIXrN0cG1yeI4IlMqL39U5T-OqyoW-rODrEmgWGtmbRkVMPxwSvBcab3bA-zvWzz15Q0K_CIZ3_sbTbCFVBuxfdXolgOscfbjHl1iDu7aIEe75qphjIRvcRJsrAzeEApGZGBtoDiZ8/s320/DSCF8730.jpg" width="212" /></a>Don't be ashamed to read romance novels. Some of them are quite well-written, and who doesn't want a happy ending in their reading lives at least? Think of it as candy for the mind. I once would not be caught dead reading a bodice-ripper. Now I, I mean you, can read whatever you want on an e-reader and no one will ever know. Yippee! Of course if you buy them in my <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20" target="_blank">amazon store </a>at the right of your screen (shameless self-plug here) I get a commission. Is that tacky to mention? Oh well. <br />
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Mary Balogh's Bedwyn series is a good one to start with. <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=3" target="_blank">Slightly Married</a> starts off the saga of six brothers and sisters who live in Regency-era England. Each book tells the story of one of these sparky siblings who buck traditions while falling in love with wildly inappropriate people, perhaps having some juicy bedroom scenes and eventually living happily ever after. What's not to like? My favourite was the last in the series, <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=3" target="_blank">Slightly Dangerous</a>, in which the snobbish eldest brother, Wulfric, finally succumbs to his romantic destiny. Sexy and delicious.<br />
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Nora Roberts generates more text possibly than anyone in the universe, except maybe James Patterson. I find her a bit trite, but when desperate I'll read one of hers. Out of her many dozens, I find the trilogies are best. <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=3">Born in ice, Born in fire, and Born in shame</a> were a good summer weekend read, with lush settings in Ireland and spunky heroines which are surely the bread and butter of every romance writer.<br />
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<h4>
Other bearable romance writers</h4>
Susan Wiggs (especially the Chicago fire trilogy, <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=2" target="_blank">The hostage</a>, <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=2" target="_blank">The firebrand</a> and <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=2" target="_blank">The mistress</a>)<br />
Lisa Kleypas (the Wallflower series, like <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20?node=6&page=2" target="_blank">The devil in winter</a>)<br />
Debbie Macomber (a little precious for me, but a safe bet, not a lot of sex)<br />
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In the raunchy romance department, well, I tried the <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0345803485" target="_blank">Fifty Shades</a> trilogy and it left me kind of cold. I can see why so many people find it hot, but the profoundly horrid writing and lame plot lines just distracted me from all the hot stuff going on. But hey, the author is a huge hit so what do I know? You could always try the <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B00B3YXV1W" target="_blank">board game</a>.<br />
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<h3>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TfA4YcWkh-ukCSipgMbVnI_va7kHGHMTzkzSpbnSjw6rqkVd8fRq0j-A0BxAY1O8cwQ9TgrS5Y_9Uo2_4aIeFVhC10iphVxHDofHuhgPY2T6r-SfybcYvMo6-DPLuHI3iA0etPUqKNE/s1600/DSCF8645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TfA4YcWkh-ukCSipgMbVnI_va7kHGHMTzkzSpbnSjw6rqkVd8fRq0j-A0BxAY1O8cwQ9TgrS5Y_9Uo2_4aIeFVhC10iphVxHDofHuhgPY2T6r-SfybcYvMo6-DPLuHI3iA0etPUqKNE/s400/DSCF8645.JPG" width="400" /></a>
Romantic music</h3>
(to play while you eat Thai takeout because you don't have a sitter and can't go out for V-day)<br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B0089KQYO4" target="_blank">Royal Wood</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B001H123N8">Jill Barber</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B0000C8Y0P">Jesse Cook </a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B003ZBX83W" target="_blank">Sade Lovers Rock</a><br />
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<h3>
Kid's stuff (because we love them, too)</h3>
<div class="buying">
<span id="btAsinTitle"><a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0061915106">My Heart Is Like a Zoo</a> </span><span class="contributorNameTrigger">by Michael Hall</span><br />
<span class="contributorNameTrigger"><a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0316019852">The I LOVE YOU book</a> by Todd Parr</span><br />
<span id="btAsinTitle">Fancy Nancy: <a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0062082957" target="_blank">Nancy Clancy Secret Admirer</a></span> by Jane O'connor<br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0061978620" target="_blank">Splat the cat: Funny Valentine</a> by Rob Scotton<br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/1250017971" target="_blank">Wherever you are, my love will find you</a> by Nancy Tillman<br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/0061246476" target="_blank">Ramona series</a> by Beverly Cleary <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-73059947310817047712013-01-25T07:43:00.000-08:002013-01-25T07:43:25.230-08:00Sunrise at the edge of the city<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqUuIg_tD2iUAjcAxHsyBdwTC5gwyB4r0Ssh88BpQ1-Jv0fE9z0CrFsXCy0OC-8PtHNxwH-fJlNN3TnadIMm3c9Wj-s-UfIYYguhgj9U-2x2mYOvp4nLAxXI7K0AeIhLzanjOgvSsa9Q/s1600/DSCF8659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqUuIg_tD2iUAjcAxHsyBdwTC5gwyB4r0Ssh88BpQ1-Jv0fE9z0CrFsXCy0OC-8PtHNxwH-fJlNN3TnadIMm3c9Wj-s-UfIYYguhgj9U-2x2mYOvp4nLAxXI7K0AeIhLzanjOgvSsa9Q/s640/DSCF8659.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-66043969370591146712013-01-23T11:49:00.001-08:002013-01-23T18:51:05.520-08:00The $49 muffin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaUReqvjlSPTBVcpDhmPwplBxYJOU72ZeaX0H0pT7sW32v8kiBG1tGiAvux8a3YwSGYmpa_g5FIG40EDf80e3GCKGrIYACInIStulnSBFPkpx8kglU4stK4Sa7gd5aZS3_LwJaQQQOaA/s1600/DSCF8676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaUReqvjlSPTBVcpDhmPwplBxYJOU72ZeaX0H0pT7sW32v8kiBG1tGiAvux8a3YwSGYmpa_g5FIG40EDf80e3GCKGrIYACInIStulnSBFPkpx8kglU4stK4Sa7gd5aZS3_LwJaQQQOaA/s640/DSCF8676.jpg" width="426" /> </a></div>
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Driving back from school this morning, I had a hankering for a nice fresh coffee and a muffin. It's a golden time of the day after I get the girls successfully launched off to school, and I feel the need for a leisurely caffeine fix. Frugal instincts kicked in, however, and I thought "Why spend money on a fat-packed muffin and a coffee at a fast-food joint when I could make one at home for free?"</div>
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Indeed. Then it occurred to me that when packing for our move, I had tossed all of our ratty old muffin tins and had not gotten around to buying new ones yet. So I popped into a large store which shall remain nameless but by its very existence encourages us all to spend funds on more stuff than we ever need. And then it all went something like this...</div>
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Grabbed a shopping cart, never a good idea when you are just there for one thing. Found the muffin tin aisle, but they did not have the silicone one I wanted to try so I just got a regular one and oh, look, a mini-muffin pan, perfect for school snack-size muffins, I will get one of those, too. Wandered into the grocery section, thought maybe I needed buttermilk for muffins so grabbed some of that, and milk is cheaper here so I might as well get a jug, that will save me in the long run. Oh, look, cereal is on sale, and we always need cereal, better get some of that. Walk by the cheez whiz (ewwwwww) but then thought "Hey, Dan mentioned in a very sad tone that we had no cheez whiz so I will get that for him since I have a coupon in my purse for it."<br />
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You can see where this is going, right?</div>
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THIS is how we end up spending money and are not sure where it all went at the end of the week. About $49 later I exit the store and stand outside the doors, feeling slightly baffled, somewhat guilty and really, really wanting a muffin. It had better be the best damn muffin I have ever eaten. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">Orange Date Muffins</span></h4>
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2 cups all-purpose flour (I use half whole-wheat)</div>
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1 1/2 tsp baking powder</div>
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1 tsp baking soda</div>
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3/4 tsp salt (skip if you use salted butter)</div>
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1/4 cup bran (you can also sprinkle in some flax seed)</div>
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3/4 cup granulated sugar</div>
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1/2 cup butter</div>
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1 egg</div>
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1/4 cup sour cream</div>
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grated zest of 1 large orange</div>
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1/4 cup orange juice</div>
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1 cup coarsely chopped dates</div>
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1/4 cup or so raisins</div>
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Of course the recipe doesn't call for buttermilk, but I had to justify buying the buttermilk so I soaked the dates and raisins in about 1/2 cup buttermilk to soften them, then threw the whole thing in at the end.</div>
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Combine flour, baking powder, soda and salt if using.</div>
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Cream sugar and butter, then add egg, sour cream, orange zest and juice. Throw dry ingredients, fruit and buttermilk in and mix with a wooden spoon until well moistened. Try not to snap the handle off the wooden spoon as I did. It's almost impossible to mess up muffins, but the spoon is wrecked.</div>
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Bake at 400 for about 20 minutes, though I found that was a BIT too long. Until golden brown anyhow, and less for the mini muffins. Made 12 full-size muffins and 1/2 doz minis.</div>
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They are indeed quite fabulous as muffins go. Went down a treat with my coffee.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_E8Ga44rBYlYpiqEC3gsCsUPfIF4HRhl2W6eHTtQgCoWcO3lgHP4UdLqc4nS8KNvoEyzawDi5ke7NQcthiHPTUNveAK2k2ScF22clbs1iHChzNvOjwjIC0Sj8xdw779a5PRlYvlfG2Jo/s1600/DSCF8666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_E8Ga44rBYlYpiqEC3gsCsUPfIF4HRhl2W6eHTtQgCoWcO3lgHP4UdLqc4nS8KNvoEyzawDi5ke7NQcthiHPTUNveAK2k2ScF22clbs1iHChzNvOjwjIC0Sj8xdw779a5PRlYvlfG2Jo/s640/DSCF8666.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange date muffins. Really, really good. Worth $49.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-73343927702635420582013-01-21T09:10:00.000-08:002019-12-11T21:06:56.002-08:00Baby, it's cold outside<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Saskatchewan in January is cold. </div>
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Really cold.</div>
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Having grown up next to the Gulf Stream, I have become spoiled by mildish winters that yes, do dump a lot of snow (like the winter our swing set completely disappeared under 6 feet of snow) but are very rarely really frigid. Now I have never lived up north, so possibly I don't completely comprehend what real cold is, but today feels pretty profoundly freeze-your-face-off cold. I am starting to understand why Laura of the Little House was always afraid of getting caught out on the open prairie in winter, and wrote that burrowing into a hay bale might not even keep you from freezing to death.</div>
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She was not kidding around. It is cold. Yesterday it got down to -43 celsius with the wind, and my friend <a href="http://kiwicraftychemist.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Alison</a> asked me how could we survive in that kind of conditions. She lives in New Zealand, where my girls were fascinated to learn it is now summertime, where they can wear summer dresses and have barbecues on Christmas day. Humph.</div>
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I want to go there.</div>
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Anyhow, that is not going to happen this year, so we are doing our darndest to embrace and survive the arctic temperatures of this strange new land. So I thought I would answer my dear Kiwi friend's question in photos. Here is what we do...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjlCXsNuOZIt79sNZqtXqd3PJHQ5vTGWijGiUSOHY_ZzJLR77Ggtvq9ZnOPaXSp9Xo8_DBTebXru34H4KVtXRtgj9fOtHtVB98C0yg3u0mbVWYKzUHaXLDRh6NIzuSByHIzCkFNjlgGg/s1600/Ava+skates.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEjlCXsNuOZIt79sNZqtXqd3PJHQ5vTGWijGiUSOHY_ZzJLR77Ggtvq9ZnOPaXSp9Xo8_DBTebXru34H4KVtXRtgj9fOtHtVB98C0yg3u0mbVWYKzUHaXLDRh6NIzuSByHIzCkFNjlgGg/s640/Ava+skates.JPG" width="640" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"> </span></a></div>
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We skate outdoors...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6qoV_a9r5da-2GmD6E5RDGIGL_Xoi4nmLl8KwvzOfFyL5RicjN0c-e-UZ_ifwzf06SwqmxMGfCQ95N5d9qF9VMiotMujSoi0ZI6_JoKvryK5xVKnfz-bQ37HjNPGN_nfiqLYfe18Ah8/s1600/DSCF8505.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6qoV_a9r5da-2GmD6E5RDGIGL_Xoi4nmLl8KwvzOfFyL5RicjN0c-e-UZ_ifwzf06SwqmxMGfCQ95N5d9qF9VMiotMujSoi0ZI6_JoKvryK5xVKnfz-bQ37HjNPGN_nfiqLYfe18Ah8/s400/DSCF8505.jpg" width="266" /></a> Play lots and lots and lots of Playmobil...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzD2O-w7T4s9Zy0pFktGddRIGcBh72WR-JXY6nkxXa9492u4F5yRx1j3g2Z6oY9RbQ66J7EcxZprj30riwtkAKFAfnVLGwdoz7S59tIXeu08l0nAHglGTaqphfTOPOamgdwaCbhzOvJU/s1600/DSCF8547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuzD2O-w7T4s9Zy0pFktGddRIGcBh72WR-JXY6nkxXa9492u4F5yRx1j3g2Z6oY9RbQ66J7EcxZprj30riwtkAKFAfnVLGwdoz7S59tIXeu08l0nAHglGTaqphfTOPOamgdwaCbhzOvJU/s640/DSCF8547.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Bundle up in three or four layers and go sledding. Yes, despite what everyone thinks, there are actually plenty of hills in Saskatchewan. And to think I sold our big wooden toboggan, believing we would not need it!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rBBVXqqQcq3AsHwN9BHjYjPnrB2K6he6oYgwvUig_oC7Zes92NJ_MepvzzQikY-xi5OOWAguEhAixj01wcfdIl1W2DopE1im1By8FM3LFR7MsET_3l0FGtOADii4sPRySYQya6f4NIk/s1600/DSCF8648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rBBVXqqQcq3AsHwN9BHjYjPnrB2K6he6oYgwvUig_oC7Zes92NJ_MepvzzQikY-xi5OOWAguEhAixj01wcfdIl1W2DopE1im1By8FM3LFR7MsET_3l0FGtOADii4sPRySYQya6f4NIk/s320/DSCF8648.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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We do lots of crafting. The craft supplies live in the kitchen and are kept well-stocked, creating the very best way of passing a brilliantly sunny but painfully cold day. Yes, I am trying to teach the girls to knit, a crazy-making process if ever there was one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38i-CACh72XQekKxhjzm5x4eCfAYRxV2zaRkc8WkXXRQ0HWvxYsw6msfpbipa590Y75cNYV4ftAng3BBBJ5x5AMdLEEasNqOJ4BUHwvMzIKtbfMfUvP8-ULTviIcO-AkFmKgd1r_mzHA/s1600/DSCF8550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38i-CACh72XQekKxhjzm5x4eCfAYRxV2zaRkc8WkXXRQ0HWvxYsw6msfpbipa590Y75cNYV4ftAng3BBBJ5x5AMdLEEasNqOJ4BUHwvMzIKtbfMfUvP8-ULTviIcO-AkFmKgd1r_mzHA/s640/DSCF8550.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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More sledding, snowshoeing, skiing, and when that gets tiresome we can head to the thermal hot springs for a good soak. Sorry, no pictures of that as it is too steamy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEUWA3n7NnHkPinxtjZgqajIFtEoaPtGJhE6O3WoVhJYyCxRJ6OkVyesUtqPszVENOs4MZoGFTcqjYS_SuNQWwgPwf-_7yl2YMjG8unBE4yyGkjefvSsUKnvSgE871XNezcEZ6R4R1Dc/s1600/DSCF8629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiEUWA3n7NnHkPinxtjZgqajIFtEoaPtGJhE6O3WoVhJYyCxRJ6OkVyesUtqPszVENOs4MZoGFTcqjYS_SuNQWwgPwf-_7yl2YMjG8unBE4yyGkjefvSsUKnvSgE871XNezcEZ6R4R1Dc/s400/DSCF8629.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Read, a lot. Just finished Maeve Binchy's last book, and started <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=1439152802&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Kate Morton's</a> latest escapist tome, the<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=1439152802&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank"> Secret Keeper</a>. Dan is into <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=0241953235&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Watership Down,</a> again. Katherine is very engrossed in the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=1926818989&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Canadian Flyer series</a> of historical adventures, and adores the <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=1452102953&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Ivy and Bean</a> and <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ciframe%20src=%22http://rcm-ca.amazon.ca/e/cm?t=theminddoeswa-20&o=15&p=8&l=as1&asins=1443110213&ref=tf_til&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=447021&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&npa=1&f=ifr%22%20style=%22width:120px;height:240px;%22%20scrolling=%22no%22%20marginwidth=%220%22%20marginheight=%220%22%20frameborder=%220%22%3E%3C/iframe%3E" target="_blank">Thea Stilton</a> series.<br />
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Winter geocaching. Yep, if geocaches are located on trails you can even do it in winter. It is a great way to get everyone moving outside, especially if there is the promise of a little swag in the cache.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJM17GzEVLBb_kaVGZo_yst-rKSvt2kWmji54vHLxAWuTC054TEqAPv-O0-vsaAXgAsgFn_LusF6H3Oc8kEJB7shsvsDRUJG79cUxUaLpASz9MBdfFJX-pwUjXM4jrro3LbjaYYpv6Pw/s1600/DSCF8562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJM17GzEVLBb_kaVGZo_yst-rKSvt2kWmji54vHLxAWuTC054TEqAPv-O0-vsaAXgAsgFn_LusF6H3Oc8kEJB7shsvsDRUJG79cUxUaLpASz9MBdfFJX-pwUjXM4jrro3LbjaYYpv6Pw/s320/DSCF8562.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
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Make up games to play, in this case Ava's latest creation, "Doily beads." She always wins.<br />
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Sleep. We do that very well on chilly mornings when the sun slumbers late and no one wants to be the one to get up first.<br />
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Keep our sense of humour. Too much time spent indoors can make people a wee bit grumpy, so we try to avoid that. It doesn't always work.<br />
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To sum up, we blunder through somehow, and have made it through our first month of prairie winter. Although it is true that a summer breeze seems like a far, far away dream, we remain cheerful mainly because we are mostly a fun bunch, and on the bright side the sun shines almost every day, bringing at least the promise of spring.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-210602711573221902013-01-13T19:05:00.002-08:002013-01-13T19:22:08.718-08:00There's no place like home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHPQP8zcJIPBAP151rm-HwBXXeLbKF_DJYkHIR_pBBakVj2l6pcpJHuynEIuFzsjs_ClhJuoHhWTIVu-80bFw45ap40ZVBoy0rDk-GXhyfM0aj5njMYePviUTTod_nI0CAVwBJkHydUA/s1600/DSCF8478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHPQP8zcJIPBAP151rm-HwBXXeLbKF_DJYkHIR_pBBakVj2l6pcpJHuynEIuFzsjs_ClhJuoHhWTIVu-80bFw45ap40ZVBoy0rDk-GXhyfM0aj5njMYePviUTTod_nI0CAVwBJkHydUA/s640/DSCF8478.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Like Dorothy and her glam ruby slippers, there are moments when I wish I could just click my heels and we would all be back home, back in our big, somewhat drafty but always homey home. There were idiosyncrasies, to be sure, like the fact that when the wind really howled outside we could actually feel the house move, swaying in the gales that blew in off the sea.<br />
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Even more disconcerting was the cold draft that blew up the toilet on really windy days. How could that even be?? I never did figure out the physics of that one, although my dad patiently tried to explain something about pee traps and the direction of the wind.<br />
But ANYHOW. I digress.<br />
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I have moved more times than I can count, it is true, and somehow it seemed like a badge of honour to be always jaunting around the countryside, to and fro and hither and yon and to New Brunswick and everything. There is something quite thrilling about making a new place your own, so why does it now seem more daunting to be jaunting? (Sorry, I couldn't resist that rhyme.) In my efforts to send it all on a big positive spin (thank goodness for that really excellent Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction course, without which I would have lost my grip long ago), I find myself wildly veering from Pollyanna Sunshine "isn't this a thrilling adventure?!" all the way to "what an opportunity for all of us!" but then way over to "What are we DOING??"<br />
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I had, in fact, forgotten how terribly difficult it is to meet people in a new place sometimes, and as for the stay-at-home parenting full-time all the time, well, I had forgotten about that, too. Meaningful and challenging part-time work has always given me the identity outside the house I thought I needed. It's also a wonderful way to meet people, much better than trying to make eye-contact with the least-tattooed mom at the pool or skulking around the kids' section at the library looking for parents who are helping their children pick out enriching, literary children's books that don't involve SpongeBob or Barbie. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But really, they're baaaaaaad.<br />
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So, here I am, outlining a plan to get out of the house, embrace our new town, and circumvent the inevitable slide into surefire depression and hermithood. And doing it in a public forum, so I will feel obliged to follow through. Things I must do:<br />
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Get out of the house, and not just to drive the children to and from school. Get sunshine, fresh air, vitamin D to fight the stupor that comes from sunrises at approximately 8:45 a.m.<br />
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Find a place to volunteer. I have always said I wanted to volunteer and never actually have. Hmmm.<br />
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Return to yoga. I first took yoga about 16 years ago because as a high-strung university graduate stuck in a crappy retail job I REALLLLLY needed to relax. It has worked ever since, but I fell out of the habit a few years ago. There are cheap classes offered by the city, and I can do it. I will do it.<br />
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Get a pack. You know, like wolves, but nicer. I miss my pack desperately from back east, those women who were with me through my first seven baffling years of parenthood. I need a pack, just a small one. More hanging out at the library is required, or else posting a personal ad, "Wanted: Book club. Books not always required. Wine, snacks and warm conversation with wildly different but wonderful people a must."<br />
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Continue to look for creative outlets. Take up pottery, take more photographs, write. Be more patient when teaching children to knit.<br />
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Live in this moment. It is hard to remember this one sometimes, but as my children grow and grow, I remind myself they will need me less and less. More than anything I want to embrace this time with them, time to play a bigger role in their everyday lives. I am not just putting them on the bus in the mornings and saying goodbye until late in the day. I cherish our little lunch parties, when they come flying out of the school, breathless and happy to see me. We drive home to eat together, spend a little time in the middle of the day just catching up. It is precious time I will never regret spending.<br />
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Accept that all the stress will pass, and we will feel at home again. And Home with a capital "H" will always be there, as we return to the Island to clear our little plot of cottage country woods.<br />
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Do you have ways to put yourself out there when you settle in a new place? I would love to hear a few new ideas.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-14280045972290925902013-01-04T19:44:00.001-08:002013-01-04T19:44:15.091-08:00The new year is still in boxes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJw5D-WSkXnVuHMIMJBr3Olt32RuR80qt16r5JlRe1p1FI91PW6yVSYxGYsf_Fb-_wKrZQsy8FVsKFXJ91jM3oCeqsTwT-SWrlNagukF58dFJ5psCtMyQMvoWbW-FnW4ucWdDoZ8NC1wg/s1600/DSCF8471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJw5D-WSkXnVuHMIMJBr3Olt32RuR80qt16r5JlRe1p1FI91PW6yVSYxGYsf_Fb-_wKrZQsy8FVsKFXJ91jM3oCeqsTwT-SWrlNagukF58dFJ5psCtMyQMvoWbW-FnW4ucWdDoZ8NC1wg/s640/DSCF8471.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of our winter visitors...</td></tr>
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Every year on New Year's Eve we pull out our family journal and review our list of goals that we made the previous year. We check things off if we have achieved them, and talk about the how and why and when some things got accomplished and some things fell off the radar. Then we all joyously contribute our new goals for the coming year.<br />
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I have always found this to be a great way of marking the end of one year and the beginning of another. Now that our daughters are older, they like to kick in their ideas, and they think it is a hoot to look back at past years' goals and achievements. Things like "Ava: Learn to talk." and "Katherine: Potty train." For the grownups, it was often financial or personal goals, along with things that we wanted to do as a family, like "Do something active as a family twice a week: bike, swim, walk, etc." Once our goal was to "Have another baby." Check.<br />
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The funny thing is, writing those things down in the book sometimes seemed to have magical properties. Putting it on paper, in the family journal, with a nice pen and a glass of wine (or milk) at hand, made it real, tangible, and somehow more possible. It made us feel so good to mark things off the list, to make a goal and actually achieve it. It makes all my efforts to be more intentional, um, more intentional.<br />
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So, this year the journal is lost in a maze of unpacked boxes in the basement of our rented condo. We have unpacked the necessities of life, yes, but dozens and dozens of boxes remain, neatly stacked for the time when we move into a more permanent home. So, there I was, just before New Year's, wading through boxes with an exacto knife, desperately looking for that journal. I still have not found it and it left me feeling positively bereft on New Year's Eve, one more family tradition that fell through the cracks in the chaos of moving thousands of kilometres across the country right before Christmas.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking forward with joy</td></tr>
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Just put it in another journal, you may say. Somehow that didn't feel right. We could not review last year! But, maybe the best solution is to just start with a totally clean slate. The longer we are here the more I realize that most of the stuff in those boxes is not being missed, not even needed or thought of.<br />
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As I unpack things, it makes me wonder "Why did I keep this and haul it across the country at great cost?" In some cases it goes from a packing box into another box to give to charity. I want less stuff that I love more. How is that for a New Year's goal? The fact of the matter is we had a big house that we expanded to fill. Much of the stuff we didn't even need. And if it's gone we don't miss it.<br />
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I am starting to think that less things will actually mean more happiness. We don't have to worry about how we are going to pay for it if we just don't buy it. Of course I have always claimed to be non-consumerist but the piles of boxes say otherwise, clearly. I can no longer pay lip service only to the idea of "less stuff." I am starting to think a small house may be one answer. Trying to teach our children what they have is all they need is a challenge, but one that is so worthwhile.<br />
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So, I turn the page on a new family journal, one of a stack of beautiful blank books I could not resist buying over the years and still haven't used. The time has come to look forward with joy, and to never look back with regret. Wishing you all a year of doing the same,<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><b>Stephenie</b></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-69928567706764549462012-12-17T19:46:00.001-08:002012-12-17T19:46:19.124-08:00Finding familiar in the strange<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It is hard to know where to start when I've been silent on the blog front for months. Upheaval makes me quiet, but now we are settling again in a strange land, anticipating our first Christmas on the Canadian prairie. It seems a little crazy at times, but then compared to most things in the world right now it seems pretty minor.</div>
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It is different in so many ways here, the cold, the landscape, the people, the huge, never-ending sky that opens up on the horizon every morning. The train whistle blowing every night, its mournful sound echoing across the sleeping city and the prairie that crouches at its edges.</div>
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I miss the red cliffs dusted with snow, and the December whitecaps off the coast, and the warmth of our family and friends nearby, but I must admit the adventurer in me has re-awoken after years of post-parental slumber. I have long been fascinated by the prairies, and several trips driving across Canada have convinced me that Saskatchewan is in fact the most underestimated province in the country. The sheer horror of many people when I told them where we were moving made me laugh. </div>
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It's okay, I wanted to say, we know just what we are getting into and we will embrace it. </div>
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Still, it seems a little unreal to be celebrating Christmas here next week. Our big farmhouse lent itself beautifully to Christmas finery, and it is a wee bit harder to make a modern city townhouse look quite as charming. I find myself looking for familiar things, the music we love, the movies, the food, the books that we return to every year.<br />
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Stuff like these icebox cookies, which my mom always made, and my grandmother before her. They are perfect because you make a big batch, stick it in the fridge or freezer and just pull it out, slice some off and bake them anytime you need a treat. Oh, the smell of cloves and molasses and ginger, supreme.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jcdMai32RyTnmXplOLZBd5sVYtua6ubZuq4QUq0iMMjnBP1978qt2UNvyMm82xhjGT3DfGVUP2c8ZPisAppYTfDCFoAZHt_Fht0J8cLbg0OWijMeWuH00aNeAMlNic2POzTGfjEP90U/s1600/DSCF8470.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jcdMai32RyTnmXplOLZBd5sVYtua6ubZuq4QUq0iMMjnBP1978qt2UNvyMm82xhjGT3DfGVUP2c8ZPisAppYTfDCFoAZHt_Fht0J8cLbg0OWijMeWuH00aNeAMlNic2POzTGfjEP90U/s320/DSCF8470.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Molasses Ice Box Cookies</u></span><br />
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1 cup blackstrap molasses<br />
1/3 cup dark brown sugar<br />
1 cup butter<br />
3 3/4 cup flour<br />
2 tsp soda<br />
1 tsp ginger<br />
2 tsp cinnamon<br />
1/2 tsp cloves<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
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Mix ingredients, then form dough into blocks. Wrap in wax paper and refrigerate at least an hour, or several weeks. Slice thinly and bake in a hot oven.<br />
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Mine are baking right now and it smells like home.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Christmas CDs we have on repeat</span></b><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B000J3F7F6" target="_blank">Wintersong by Sarah McLachlan</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B0043A0PXU" target="_blank">A Christmas Cornucopia by Annie Lennox</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B00000412W" target="_blank">A Canadian Brass Christmas by the Canadian Brass</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B00006LHYO" target="_blank">Raffi's Christmas Album by Raffi</a><br />
<a href="http://astore.amazon.ca/theminddoeswa-20/detail/B002MT3BM6" target="_blank">Any Putumayo Christmas CD</a><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8469499826092177794.post-49123361381595895212012-09-15T16:53:00.000-07:002012-09-15T16:53:22.945-07:00Little House on the Prairies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I started reading<i> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0064400026/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=0064400026&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20%22%3ELittle%20House%20Prairie%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.ca/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0064400026%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22" target="_blank">Little house on the Prairie</a></i> out loud with my daughters.<br />
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The Laura Ingalls Wilder books were my absolute favourite when I was growing up here on a little Island in the Atlantic. I still remember exactly where those books could be found on the shelf in my school library, and probably if pressed I could quote whole passages from my favourite book of all, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/0060581859/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=15121&creative=330641&creativeASIN=0060581859&linkCode=as2&tag=theminddoeswa-20%22%3EThe%20Long%20Winter%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.ca/e/ir?t=theminddoeswa-20&l=as2&o=15&a=0060581859%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank"><i>The Long Winter</i>.</a><br />
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Anyhow, I have waited to read them to my daughters, just because I wanted them to be old enough to enjoy them together. The time seems right now, for reasons that will become obvious.<br />
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Of course, <i>Little house in the Big Woods</i> comes first in the series but I really wanted to focus on the Prairies. Last night I read the first very long chapter, where the Ingalls family packed up their little house in the woods, said goodbye to all the aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, and drove away in that fragile canvas-covered wagon into the unknown. I know it is totally unreasonable, but I found myself choking up just thinking about it. They said goodbye, knowing that they might never see that family again, in those days when letters might take a year to cross the country, when there were no phones, no planes, no Skype, no emails or blogs or really any mode of dependable communication. Just imagine it.<br />
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I identified with the Ingalls family, as we prepare for a major journey of our own, leaving all that is familiar and comfortable, our farmhouse on our Island by the sea. Like that family, we are going west, except we will head for the prairies of Saskatchewan in considerably more comfort and with easy access to constant communication, not to mention access to return flights home any time. But, all that aside, it still feels pretty large.<br />
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I have always found the prairies kind of fascinating, and somehow more comfortable than the towering majesty of the mountains. The prairie, despite its obvious lack of sea, is in some ways a visual ocean all of its own, rolling away as far as the eye can see, constantly in motion as the grasses wave in the wind in an almost seaworthy fluidity. The stereotype is that it is flat, boring, flat. You know the joke about watching your dog run away for three days. Well, surprise, surprise, like many stereotypes it simply isn't true. The prairie is full of surprises, rolling hills, coulees and valleys, and beautiful lakes. And the sky. The sky just seems to go on forever, just as it does when you look across the ocean on a clear blue day.<br />
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There are places that feel like you just stumbled into W.P. Kinsella's <i>Who has seen the wind, </i>tiny towns that once boomed and now were all but empty except for the lonesome shell of a grain elevator and a few businesses and homes. Old houses whose gaping doors and windows look mournfully out across the open prairie. But there are also thriving communities with yoga studios and really fabulous Thai restaurants and many young families. Historic buildings and parks, and yes, lots of horrible new booming subdivisions springing up on the edges of the cities.<br />
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But as soon as you leave the city limits, you are out. The fields roll on ahead of you, roads crossing and seeming to head off into the sunset. You can drive for miles and not see a house or a car or anything but a hawk circling overhead in search of a prairie dog dinner. It has a beauty.<br />
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All of that beauty doesn't make it any easier to leave the beauty we know, however. But we choose to see it as an adventure for our family, one that we will take when the girls are still young enough to transplant easily. (We hope.)<br />
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I never moved as a child. Once we were in our childhood home, we stayed there forever. My father built a house within sight of his family home, and my mother moved a couple of kilometres. We are just not really movers. So it is hard, almost impossible to imagine why we would ever leave. Like the Ingalls family and many, many others in that time and today, we just have to.<br />
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We will be back. It will always be home. But the Prairies await us.<br />
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