Sorry, but its Hard to See With This Plank In My Eye

How deeply lines rivet the faces of those whose role in life is that of keeping other people from sinning. How precious and valuable used, unwanted, chipped, sweat-stained, and skin follicle speckled junk is. What great responsibility to protect it, to ensure it is securely and diligently locked up so that only the keeper of the key can unlock the bounty of those one dollar and fifty cent broaches and belly rings. How critical to maintain the integrety of these objects so that good may be done. This good which will be bestowed upon the great and blessed field far, far away. Visited by few, the field is vaguely known by the glossy pictures carefully fastened to white walls- gleaming pictures of cleansed field dwellers whose lives have been eternally changed from dusty monotony to ceaseless gratitude.

How tremendously rewarding and exciting it must be to deliver this good news to that land far far away. Surely it would not be as complex as being the keeper of the keys here in the Land of the Plank. It takes a great deal of commitment to confiscate backpacks and large handbags at the door, lest untrustworthy locals should be found allowing merchandise to fall into their greedy folds. Its no small task to sleuth about the place, scowling down at children and sticky-fingered mothers who are surely in this place to take and take and take, never once thinking of the good that could be done to those in the field far, far away. Or what of the responsibility to ensure that no one should fondle an item yet unpriced!! Or slip an item with a pink tag into their satchel on bag sale day when the signs clearly read blue tags; priced $5.00 and under! (no fabric, no tea towels, no pretty things, no vintage things, no laughing, no smiling, and certainly, no dancing, drinking, or loitering). No, nor shall we support the hedonistic pleasures of campers, seeking to purchase a cooling receptable whose exterior clearly depicts bottles of Coors, or Labatts, or Kokanee. Woe to the fingers of the fallen pricer who brought such an abominable thing of shame onto the floor.

These are the thankless, unrecognized duties of those who were left behind. Their pictures will never smile from a brochure that promises tax deductable receipts to support the efforts of those lucky messengers of good in that land far away. In that place, surely the good is always well received and its recipients never fall into traps of greed and carelessness like the lowly, base thrift shoppers from the land of plenty. Surely their men marry women without question. Surely their mothers teach children to be seen and not heard. Surely all its people have learned the value of not asking questions; not challenging the status quo.

But someone must stay behind to ensure that the cracked and faded donated things don't get all dirtied up by some local before the proceeds can be used for some good. Somebody must ensure that some local doesn't carry off the merchandise improperly priced, or taken from behind a staff only sign, or that backpacks and large handbags don't get stuffed with eight tracks and cd games from the cheerio boxes seven years ago. Somebody has got to stay behind to make sure there are no toys in the area that the kids are allowed to play in. They might carelessly damage one, and what good would that do?

Its a diry job, but someone's got to make sure that nobody is doing anything wrong. No good could come of it.

One More Shot at Making an Ugly Mark

Back in the eighties I shared the second floor of an amazing old house just off of Corydon and my roomies and I had a party that would be henceforth be remembered as the "cop stopper". As it turned out, the guys who lived below us, (and repaired harleys on the living room hardwood in their spare (sober) time) were also throwing a party, so we just threw all the doors and stairways open and had one great big, cop stopper. It felt to me like one of those life events that I could wear as a feather in my kercheif. Like maybe I had finally moved off the farm...

Well, I'm not twenty-something any more and I'm not afraid to tell you that I've been thirty-nine for some ten months now. You gals all know about the up and coming cougar party, and I trust that your shopping and hair-teasing is well under way. I'm putting quite a bit of energy into plumping myself with that extra twenty to thirty pounds that was mentioned in the comments. I'd forgotten about that cougar special, but I think I can pull that one off. (she says, taking a sip of her wine, and a big bite of baguette with boursin cheese...the sambucca resting in the folds of her thigh).

Last year I hosted my first ever I'm-thirty-nine-and-not-afraid-to-tell-you-what-to-do-about-it-Ugly-Sweater-Party. I'm not joking whatsoever when I tell you that I believed this to be my very own, original idea. I came up with it at the elevater thrift shop when I was enjoying all the ghastly holiday sweaters and wishing I had some reason to purchase them. Turns out that there are other brilliant minds out there. That this has been thought of before. And I'll tell you how I know.

After the Ugly Sweater Party, I received an e-mail from a Michigan reader who was contacted by a columnist at the Winnipeg Free Press. He had googled "ugly sweater party" and landed up at her site. She had been sent a lovely honourary bad-ass sweater corsage since she had been otherwise committed on the day of the party and could not attend in person. Mr columnist guy wanted to write an article about this trendy Christmas party theme and asked her some questions about the event. She in turn directed me to him; and he to me. We exchanged e-mails, and since we were already well into December, he decided to defer until the following winter to write the piece about the ugly sweaters.

TRENDY?! Like I said, I thought that this was my original idea. I thought it was just possible that this idea of mine would be my ticket to finally making something memorable of myself- some legacy for my children, for my future generations.......

Hard to believe its been a year already. Another year off my life, and I'm still not a published author, a tae kwon doe instructer, a famous lecturer, or a coveted artist. But just this week, I received an e-mail from Dave Sanderson of the Winnipeg Free Press. He requested an invitation for himself and his photographer in anticipation of what he probably believes is an annual event for me. Rapidly approaching forty, and fearing that I may never make my mark on this world, I lept at the oppurtunity. So, maybe my works would never get published, but at least I'd get my name and maybe even a photo in the paper?!

So, here's your formal invitation:

on November 24, 2007, 7:00 pm

We request the honour of your attendance

at Joyce's second annual

Ugly Sweater Party

this year featuring

your choice of male escort or attendent.

(not necessarily paid)

No shoes, shirt, or black tie required.

Sweater mandatory.

Bring food and drink to share.

(BYOB&F&S)

(bring your own drink and food and sweater... heck, just bring your own party!)

Care to join me in becoming famous?

Check out last year's event here and here.

This time, if you want to, you can bring your husband or significant other. (just please not both). Leave your kids and pets at home though. They remind me too much of work.

No Screen Sundays

(just don't scroll down and notice that I'm writing this on Sunday. That would make me a hypocrite.)

Every fall and spring and new year, and possibly days in between, I get the undeniable urge to write down some goals and good intentions. Some directions to move into. Some intentional plans to pull into focus the rumbling, fumbling grey matter above.

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At the end of August, I forced my sometimes pliable husband to sit with me and agree on some good intentions for our family life in the new school year. As much as I love screens, and couldn't possibly convince anyone that I'm above all that technology, pretty colours, lights, and sounds..... THEY DRIVE ME UTTERLY INSANE. I like to blame it on the fact that I grew up without any screens whatsoever. We never, ever had a television, and since humanity had just recently left the dank caves, home computers were unheard of. (unimaginable). I like to pretend that this has caused the inability in me to know what balance is. That I was raised on such purity that my "inner child" craves the silence (hah! eight kids!) and creativity of our farm house years.

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So, I foolishly came up with the notion of "no screen Sundays". Not because my parents had taught me that cards and homework on the sabbath were sins, (they didn't.) not because I think it irreverent to humour hollywood on the Lord's day... well, I wish I were that holy but I'm not. I just thought that I wasn't really willing to make it Saturday since that's the day after Friday and some saturday mornings, there's nothing better than a bunch of brain dead kids in front of the tv and me not being side-show-daycare-lady for a change. So I picked Sunday. I also reasoned that we'd be more likely to remember undone homework due on Monday if the tv was off. And that out of sheer boredom and desparation, everyone would come to church with me instead of watching Bing and Bong in their underwear.

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And its had the desired effect. Children get their homework done. (or sit and cry about their homework, but its a start, right?) Children haul out tape and crap out of the recycling bin and make tvs and computers for their play mobil people. (at least they're seeing some action...) Wildly stimulating and educational comic books get read. Block towers are built and conquered. The hamster's cage is cleaned. Flute practise gets done. Friends come by, dress up breaks into hysteria. Children actually ask to go visit grandma and grandpa.

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BUT THE NOISE!!!

oh the noise.

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I nearly succombed today. I nearly suggested that after they clean up the twelve thousand blocks, the fabric scraps, the milk jug lids, the shoes in the porch, the baskets of laundry and miscellaneous, the playhouse people, the markers, the waffle crumbs, and the bionicle pieces, that we should reward ourselves with an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. Oh, how close did I come.

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But thirteen odd years of trial and error parenting whispered in my ear..... You know where that will get you. Every sunday from now until eternity the children will use that as a bargaining chip. You know that you suck at saying no. You know that they will see your weakness and rub you with it.

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So, I did the mature thing.

I made them all go to bed early, after doing all the housework.

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Then I came down to use the computer in some peace and quiet.

Bringing Sexy Back

Down at the local junk shop yesterday I ran into a worldly friend who had been hoodwinked into buying tickets for the infamous Justin Timberlake concert. We giggled about being older than fourteen and trying to blend into the hysterical audience of perky young undie tossers. Then I inadvertently launched into a long spiel about my thirteen year old daughter downloading his music and how less-than-thrilled I was about the sexual pervasiveness in his tunes, and my horrer at the very idea of purchasing her a $111.00 ticket for the privelege of watching his hips gyrate. Our culture is so saturated with sexuality, I rambled on, and I want more than that for my daughters.

Little did I know how far and wide that Timberlake's influence had spread. Like a batch of newly hatched Manitoba mosquitoes launched out of a tepid July pond, that sexy thinking had saturated places previously unknown to the world and all its temptations. Little did I know that even our local haven- the mecca for clean hands missionary work, scrubber and seller of all things used and dated, was also a pawn in our culture of hedonism. Yes, buried under key chains advertising evangelism, hilcoa, fancy humble cars, and trendy funeral homes was a treasure unearthed by my precious, innocent, impressionable young daughter.

Run for the hills, cloister your handmaidens.

Our last remaining sanctuary of purity has been toppled.

The Niverville Mcc Store is bringing sexy back.

The Runway

Its going to be pretty tough to reach my goal of becoming a runway model in my forties if things don't start changing up around here. I suspect sabatoge when the husband invites friends over for dinner to share his artichoke and olive linguini, washed down with crisp white wine, and tempered with nutty brown buns. He's lured eldest daughter into his sinister plot, giving her the role of baking endless pans of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies instead of playing with her gameboy like sensible children do. Then there's all these lazy evenings spent slouched around a roaring fire in the backyard, turning marshmallows till they droop with golden temptation. Even at the lake, between fitting in the numerous meals that must be consumed, the Mike's hard in the cooler down by the dock, and the mid-afternoon nap, that lake can serve just as well as a backdrop. Its not limited in function to being a place to thrash about in, wet and miserable, and looking like an exercise junkie fool.

Oh, its noble to have goals and all. But if all the people around here don't start sitting down more and cooking and baking less, I'm going to need a whole lot of support. I may even need to sleep in your living rooms.

But only if your people are more supportive than mine.

Daycare

Proposed poster (hand scrawled in pink crayon) to hang in local grocery store and bank may read as follows:

Lady in Town opens home daycare.
Its all she really knows. She never finished her degree, which probably has to do with her fear of success and fear of failure issues. On the topic of issues, she probably has a great many. Where a normal person could look at events and quickly categorize them, she has the uncanny and entirely useless gift of mulling things over for years on end. She can take the average monday to friday problem and turn it into a bonified disorder and create drama with very few props and only a slight hint of a story line.

Her brain is multi-faceted and fragmented. This means that she can walk past a stack of fabric scraps on her way to picking up a Robert Munsch story book and get so distracted by their colours and designs that she forgets that she ever invited children into her home to read to in the first place. Hence, when she calls; "Just a minute....", its helpful to think of the Biblical passage that refers to a minute being a thousand years and vice versa. She simply cannot be trusted.

She will burn the last pan of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies every single time. And garlic toast. Having placed said item into the hot oven, her mind will tell her that the task is complete, and she will wander off, distracted by some pattern of light on the wall. In time, she may moan; "Dr Penfield.... I smell.... burnt toast", but by then she's probably scrubbing the bathroom sink with her pants down around her ankles. Having gone into the bathroom to pee, she probably noticed that many life forms have set up colonies and governments in the streaks around the faucet and mirror, so after rising from the throne, she likely has begun to evict them before her bottoms have risen to the level of her own sagging bottom.

As she scrubs, someone begins banging on the door, and she herself fights the urge to bang her own head against the wall. This reminds her of the possibility of other latent disorders and she remembers that she and half her offspring need Dr appointments for various undiagnosed anomolies. On her way to the phone, she notices the stack of information given her by another medical professional. She really should sift through that, make some phone calls, make some decisions and follow through.

But the kids are hungry and the laundry has been hanging in sun and the rain for two days now. All she really wants to do is wander down to the local junk shop to see if there are any more scraps of fabric with distracting colours and prints on them. Then she could wash them and fold them and imagine making things out of them while she is busy tripping over the stack that she folded last week thats sitting on the floor beside the oven.

Right. But I think this was supposed to be about childcare. Right. Okay, so......
About the kids. Hmmmmm...

Right. She's home anyway, so if you needed somewhere to leave the kids because you finished your degree, your kids will probably be happy there. There are tonnes of toys and no one has to be careful about the couches because they are so ugly that she's hoping eventually just to throw them in the trash and find someone else's cast-off that's still in way better shape than her ancient germ-infested lumps. They'll be relatively safe because bad things never happen to her, and she'll never be critical of your parenting style since she's so preoccupied by her own. Sometimes she'll sleep in and not hear you at the door, but then because she's obsessive compulsive, she'll feel so lousey that she'll make you an apple pie and deliver it to your house warm from the oven. And she'll apologize repeatedly. Then she'll wear the guilt and humiliation for so long that she probably won't expect you to pay for the childcare for about three weeks after.

So, anyway. I forget why I was writing this. I think I'll wander down to the thrift shop. Its tidier there.

Assume The Stance

*Alternate Title: How to be True to your Heritage, But Look After Yourself At the Same Time.

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*Alternate Title #2: How To Be Stingey So That According To Your Income Tax File, You Are considered one of The Most Generous People ever.

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When you go to a parade, bring grocery bags. Even better, pack a pillow case.

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Stand in an area of town that few other people will have the foresight to think of.

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Encourage your children to RUN into the street, FASTER than any other children, then RUN back to yourself to make the deposit into said pillowcase.

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Wear running shoes.

Wear really short shorts. Change into heels later. (What the -fneep- is with people wearing HEELS to a town fair?!)

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Never, ever, consider small children toward the back of the crowd who might not be able to run as fast as your children.

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Remember that if you accumulate a lot of candy, you may have enough to tide you over to Halloween, at which time you can hand out your leftover parade candy.

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(If you are worldly enough to keep your lights on near the end of October)

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Then, before the end of the calendar year, you will have the money (that you might have spent supporting your local gas station for your kids' candy), plus the money that you might have spent on halloween treats.

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Then you can pack up that money, (along with any leftover hamburger casserole or kumst borscht that didn't get eaten by your ungrateful children) and send it to the other side of the world.

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You'll might even be more than 10% a good Mennonite.

Righting Wrongs.

If I want to make an impact on my world, I'd better get on it cuz time's a wastin'. If I had one of those trendy life lists, one of my goals would be to fix up this whole "food pyramid" misconception that the devious Canada Food Guide pumps out year after year with some modifications when it turns out that we can't be expected to change at a kyoto rate.

Allow me to introduce the Food Rectangle.

So simple that even the most unteachable amongst of it shouldn't have any trouble understanding how to implement its practicalities. The more straightforward, rectangular shape is designed to debunk any mysteries that the previous, more complex pyramid shape brought about.

Allow me to pontificate.

The entire rectangular form represents the central and crucial food group: Carbohydrates. Carbs come in many edible shapes and sizes. Cookies, cakes, biscuits, bread products, noodles, cereal, and brownies are just a few of the available choices.

The letters "A", "B", and "O" represent all other food forms. The basic premise is that all other foods were created to complement the carbohydrate. I'll provide some examples, just to make sure I'm being absolutely clear.

ice cream+ peanuts+ chunks of cookie dough= Complete Food Rectangle.
wine(carb)+ cheese+ grapes= Complete Food Rectangle.

Now, because I don't anticipate living forever, I'll need your cooperation in spreading this truth around the world in the shortest possible time. This blog is being tracked. If you read it and delete it, you are a heartless, selfish, unhealthy, unattractive excuse for a human being. If you want to be a part of something bigger, you will make the time to spread this new, TRUE publication of the Food Rectangle. Send it to everyone on your e-mail list. You will become happier, healthier, and more fulfilled.

Its time to make a change, people! Let's unite, and right some wrongs in this deceitful, wicked, vegetable-obsessed world! Balance! Simple, simple balance.
Start with the rectangle, and add the spread of your choice.
Lets change our lifestyles, one rectangle at a time.

Simple Living

The mania of our current society has created renewed desire for the less complicated times of the past. There are many publications out there for you to access that secret information on simplifying your life. But if you want to listen to them, you'll have to get up from your warm computer chair right now, transfer your sorry self out to a cold vehicle, then drive to Chapters where you'll be tempted to spend your hard-earned money on a latte while you're perusing the aisles. While you are there, you'll likely run into that old boyfriend from high school who always makes you feel nervous and stupid. You'll probably see a lot of books and magazines on self-improvement that make you feel really lousey about your current self. You'll notice people who have regularily left their houses since 1981, and notice that maybe that's totally irrelevant because those really wide elastic belts are back in fashion, especially with long, clingy, vertically striped acrylic sweaters. Then you'll kick yourself for having thrown them all out just last week when you went about trying to simplify your life without the guidance of a published author. The affect of these stressors will likely engage the compulsive componant of your mind and you'll soon find yourself in the mall, tossing throw cushions, sweaters, and ottomans into your shopping cart with great abandon whilst casting nervous glances at your watch because you really should get going on that list of stuff that you should have been working since 7:00 am this morning.

So, lets keep it simple, shall we?

Lets get started with the kids bedrooms. Keep them in cribs or toddler beds for as long as possible. They come enveloped in heavy plastic which eliminates the need for absorbant sheets and mattress protectors. If the precious kiddies have little OOpsies in the night, the urine, drool, and vomit will simply roll off the edge and save you a lot of laundry the following morning.

A lot of televisions is worth the initial investment. A minimum of one in the kitchen, bathroom, family room, living room, and all bedrooms is a sensible place to start. It completely eliminates the need for teaching and learning social skills. Since much tv programming now is also educational , it will also help to free up any time that you have been using to instruct your children on life-navigating skills. You will also be able to give away all books, games, messy craft kits, cars with sound effects, tiny lego pieces, and electronic pianos. Hence you have eliminated clutter, and dealt with noise pollution.

When the tv's get a little dull, try the kids on the computer. Google earth is an excellent place to begin. Early on even the smallest of children will learn to spin that virtual globe round and round and round at a dizzying speed. Hence, they've recreated the mania of our actual lives, but without the noise and clutter of hockey lessons and equipment, a large cumbersome piano, and ballet leotards, (we don't want to bother with the inconvenience of body image problems either).

The very, very most critical way to simplify your life is to keep your relationships to a minimum. Banking cards have eliminated the need to engage with tellers, mail keys simplify access to your bills, blogging can substitute for relationships with real people, and the tvs should take care of any marital instability. When you are forced into relationships, keep things as minimalistic as possible. Stick to the safe, simple responses to most questions, and smile pleasantly at most times. "I'm fine", and "No problem" are excellent choices for most concerned inquisitions.

If you have problems implementing any of these concepts, please don't come crying to me.
I'm trying to simplify over here.