chronicles of blunderview

Thursday, March 01, 2012

Finally Someone

Typing your own name into a google search is sooooo passé.

Now there's Pinterest.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Still, a Weekend Well Wasted

Winter has come late to Manitoba this year. And as it blows in and brilliant white snow covers everything, it just feels right. Cozy and safe to hibernate in the house with a good book.

And I had one.

A fifty cent purchase at the thrift shop.

I chose to employ the book instead of the red set of Samsonite luggage that I scored for a cool five bucks.

But I don't have anywhere to go.

Besides. It's snowing.

Living In My Head

But, knowing that I'm ridiculous doesn't seem to stem the flow of thoughts.

I've lived for years in a strange mid-point where I continue to have unrelenting thoughts of inadequacy and failure, but no longer believe them whole heartedly.

I've been plagued for the past thirty-one years with thoughts and obsessions about my weight. I've taken it to extreme degrees- starved and binged, wasted away and plumped out. I know that freedom from these obsessions lies within the realm of possibility; as I've enjoyed long periods of peaceful remission. I know too, that bondage in every sense is also possible, since I've also suffered long bouts of this reality. I am no longer whole-heartedly committed to hating myself, and this now prevents me from becoming as thin as my dysfunctional daydreams dictate.

So, I live in this world between being blissfully well and not-at-all well.

All of it rests on my state of mental health. When relationships fail, people cause me pain, and I'm at a loss for how to respond appropriately, my mind hits the "big red button" and my obsessions kick into moderate to high degrees. I dream of diets, weight loss, clothes hanging in folds. I imagine the peaceful facade that a thin body would provide me. It would give me the protection from the cruelty of life.

These are my imaginings; though I admit they are ridiculous.

My other automatic defense against the pains of life is to blame myself, and even here I no longer believe my thoughts. It used to be easy to imagine that I brought pain upon myself by being inadequate. That surely I deserved to be mistreated and disrespected. It's at least as painful, if not more so, to admit that sometimes people just fail and mistreat me. Due to nothing that I deserve. This puts me in a position of powerlessness. I am powerless to change another person, or influence how they choose to treat me.

Hence the urge to starve. Something that I can manage on my own.

But all my years of therapy and endless reading and strenuous mental work have rendered me incapable of the basic necessities of the eating disordered. I'm grateful, but left wanting. All I'm left with is the mental struggle of sorting out my thoughts, disciphering what is truth, deciding what to own and what else to discard.

I get tired of the weight of my brain. My anxieties, worries, fears, and introspection.

Meanwhile, my smiles are real. Sincere.

And I do love to laugh.

I will move on. It will take me longer than I wish it would, and I'll likely put in more mental energy than your average bear. It will be moment by moment, and will only occasionally feel like a renewal. It mostly feels laborious and painful.

I will be honest, and I will do my best to be kind and patient. With me, and with everyone I can. For everyone carries some sort of burden. (thanks, pinterest for some variation of that quote, I've thought a lot about it).

(not to worry, oh speculators, my marriage is intact. I have these bouts- always have. This too, shall pass.)

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Snow Day

The view out of my kitchen window.

The deck.

The yard.

Lucky kids, they have no school.

Lucky husband, the school teacher.

Lucky me? Perhaps I'll take my day kids outside, to get away from it all.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Home again

......in my newly thrifted skirt, a head full of memories, a whole day off, and some treasures worth sharing.

When there's a whole extra day to the weekend, there's plenty of time for the laundry, vacuuming....... And even..... The annual battle of the taxes.

But meanwhile, my eyes and mind can wander to all the richness of the weekend.

My creative and "old stuff loving" friend, and the richness of the way she lives.

The endless surprises in her house.

And the strength, love, and beauty that her hands portray.

More people should live in homes where it's okay to engrave "I want to live here" on the breakfast table.

More kids should grow up in kitchens where apes belong on cupboard pulls and bananas have individual homes.

And you should all have friends who take you treasure hunting in their ancient graineries.

At home again, coffee in one hand and wine in the other and taxes still before me, I see my newly gifted treasures around me.

A yellow paisley kitchen apron.

Granary rescued curtains for my bathroom.

And a tall stack of bags4darfur potential.

My daughter Jane came with me as well. To reconnect with her childhood friend; my friend's daughter. Jane came home to a renewed relationship with these:

And her own head full of memories of snowboarding, and friendship.

Life, my friends, is largely good.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

I am here.

I am here, in one of my happiest places on earth, with some of my most favorite people.

And my favorite golden retriever who is absolutely, without question, never, ever allowed up on the couch.

Unless his real alpha goes upstairs to bed.

I am here for some of this.

But mostly, I am here

for this

and this

And this.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Make Hugs, Not War

Sounds sweet; doesn't it?

That's not the kind of day it was here at Happy Happy Farms.

It was a tug o' war kind of day without enough giggling or winning.

But when the day finally ends, I get to hand these kids off to parents who care. Who say; "Oh! Please vent. That's what I'm here for..." or "Joyce, kids get hurt sometimes, its ok. It happens at home too- you can't be everywhere....." or "Joyce, you're such a blessing... we're so glad to have you loving our kids....." (even when I've suggested that at times I wanted to throw them out into a snow drift.... they still say these things....)

So today when Princess Penelope got dropped on her head (no, it wasn't me....) and bit her tongue..... and bled and bled.... what did I hear today?

"It's not a broken bone, Joyce. Tongues heal really fast. I hope you have a relaxing evening, Joyce. It's not as bad as when she bit her tongue last time... at home....."

You've no idea how grateful I am. You've no idea what it means to bask in this kind of support, trust, love, grace. I don't know if I could do this if I didn't have all of you- my most amazing moms and dads.

I'll save my giggles and kisses, rolling, grinning, and cuddling for your babies. But when my house is quiet again, I'll be grateful to you.

Thursday, February 09, 2012

Love Letters

I have a book that I can read.

My daughter made it for me one christmas. I cried when I read it then, and I cry when I read it now. It reminds me of the beauty in my life. The beauty amidst the mess and confusion.

It reminds me of this constant love I have around me. How my family is always here with me, in one way or another. How the ones who have left us are still so special, so missed. (I can still hear him laugh whenever I see a picture)

It comforts me when I wonder if my children mostly despise me. (I know they don't, but sometimes its a shaky deal). It pleases me no end to see the creativity and thought and time that went into this book. How she made it for me, her mama.

I have these amazing kids, this perfectly malfunctioning family, and a nineteen year old marriage chock full of love, forgiveness, and hope.

There are times in life where stuff gets thrown around in places it doesn't belong. And its easy to forget all the amazing goodness right in front of me.

So when life is sad and heavy,

I have this that book I like to read.

(thank you my beautiful daughter. You make so me happy)

Wednesday, February 08, 2012

The Crisis: a Snapshot

Call me an overachiever, but I'm thinking of practising for my upcoming mid-life crisis.

I should have time before the weekend to paint my kitchen turquoise, replace our boring, functional refrigerator with an awesomely curvey one, and install a spice rack that can double as an ashtray holder.

I already own a tutu-esque garment, thanks to my grad dress shopping forays into Winnipeg's Ragpickers. All I'll have to do to fit into a supremely delicious green checkered dress is tensor my breasts, and wear roughly five pairs of spankies, plus my mother's handmedown girdle from the 1970's. And not eat for the next fourteen days and nights. But that's what the cigarettes are for. I'll throw my red valaise atop the voluptuous fridge so that I can dash away at a moments' notice. I'll leave the door thrown open.

It's going to be divine.

Maybe I'll have time to start after chauffeuring the kids' basketball team; Saturday.

Monday, February 06, 2012

Am I Who You Say I Am?

Who am I when what I hold near and dear doesn't reflect or confirm the goodness that I know I possess? How then do I hold fast to a self-concept that I've carefully constructed, guarded, and protected? What character must I possess to know who I am in spite of what others believe? Can it be enough that I know who I am?

In "Le Miserable", Jean Val Jean doesn't insist that people understand that he is a good and kind, honest and trustworthy person. He doesn't insist on convincing anyone. And people mistreat and abuse him terribly. He is cut off from people who he's loved with every cell in his body. People he has sacrificed and suffered for. Is it enough that he truly was good, kind, honest, and trustworthy? What did he tell himself?

Where does selflessness end and self respect begin? When is it important to speak your own truth without fear, and when is it better to just let it go.....

The careful dance of caring for others while respecting oneself is a great mystery that is not without pain. It holds no set of instructions, and a heartbreaking variety of possible outcomes. Loving people brings all the richness that life can hold, while it twists your guts and makes you wish you could stop caring.

It is better to be kind.... it is better to be kind.... it is better to be kind....

Be kind.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Check-Out Line

She was buying lentil soup, an eggplant, and five organic tomatoes on the vine.

I was wearing fashion boots and grey leggings that double up as jammie bottoms on cold winter nights.

Her hair was cute, and short- dyed a funky, unnatural colour that made her look fun-loving without appearing desperate. Her clothes were understated, but artistic.

I'd been too tired to shower in the morning.

She studied the sodium content in her canned lentils while she waited patiently behind me.

I had to apologize for holding up the line. My yellow brand taco chips, bulk discounted oranges, and four boxes of feminine hygiene products had clogged up both conveyer belts.

She didn't need a cart.

My boots clicked busily and the knees of my jammie tights began elephanting around my knees as I hustled the tuna, flats of tomato soup, multiple loaves of bread, and XL bag of pretzels back into place.

I wondered......

~how long the 16 litres of milk would last.

~Whether mac and cheese would eventually be outlawed.

~if it were possible to put both bunches of bananas on the table without turning my day kids into ravenous monkeys.

~whether $298.00 in groceries would mean that there was anything to eat for lunch the next day?

While she fingered her

eggplant

vine-ripened tomatoes

and lentils.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

On Why I'm Considering a Full-Blown Mid-Life Crisis

Having spent portions of a glorious Saturday perusing Winnipeg's "Ragpickers : The Unfashion Emporium", I'm gripped by the fear that I've missed my true calling. I ought to be dressed in a pale blue tutu from 1951, bangles jangling on my wrists, and feet slipped into well-worn secondhand cowboy boots. I was meant to finger old linens with intricate histories and armed with needle, thread, and an enamel bowl full of ancient buttons, I ought to be repurposing and breathing life back into the garments of yesteryear.

I should be busy with interior design, re-selling the turquoise and orange housewares from another time, and fashioning all manner of art from the world's discards. My weekends and weekdays should find me at estate sales, yard sales, auction sales.

My closet should be spilling out into my shop, where I putter and rearrange to my hearts' content.

And that's just the tip of the ever growing pile of textiles.

My children.

Ought to have grown up raising chickens instead of mastering levels on video games.

They ought to be concerned about global events and gathering signatures on petitions instead of texting someone at school who they don't even like.

I should be secure.

I shouldn't be struggling with the same pains and fears that I remember from the age of twelve and onward. I should be over that by now. I should be running seminars to expound on the secrets of no longer being haunted by my twelve year old self.

And those are just a few of the reasons why I'm considering having a full blown mid-life crisis.

Can you relate? Do you have reasons of your own?

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Life Lessons From Kijiji

You might think that browsing on kijiji is a colossal waste of time. You probably spend your bored moments studying international politics; brushing up on geography, and rearranging your linen closets.

I don't have a linen closet, so I often invest my precious time on kijiji looking at things that I don't need. Things that other people bought, and now they don't really want anymore, so they are hoping that maybe I want them so that I give them money and they can go out and buy something that they really need now. Or just kind of want.

It fills sort of a niche market for weird people who fancy a bit of a sociological study in their moments of boredom.

And you thought it was a waste of time.

Recently, I've had a deeper reason for kijiji. I noticed one day that my lastborn wasn't three years old anymore, and was looking a bit like he'd been forgotten in a Cairo prison, the way he squished onto his ancient fourandahalf inch iron frame bed that's been in the family since the kids were twinkles in their daddy's eye. He and his brother share a room that's not really a room at all- more like a large landing at the top of the stairs. To my knowledge, they'd never noticed this reality. Perhaps it allowed Sam to disregard the rather restrictive nature of his bed for all this time- the fact that his "bedroom" has no door or closet detracted from the prison-esque quality of his sleeping quarters.

So, to delay the demand for an actual room to sleep in, I thought I should possibly invest in a mates bed. A sort of bed/dresser to make his stay in the open concept hallway room a little more pleasant.

This need has increased the frequency of my forays into kijiji, and recently, I came across a profoundly insightful advertisement.:

Need a grad dress? are you selling a queen bed room suite??

swap/tradeHello, I have a beauitful size 5/6 (will fit up to a size 3-6; I know cause thats my normal sizes) high end desinger dress that retails for $1130.00. I'm willing to trade it for a nice queen sized bedroom suite,we dont need a mattress or boxspring at all. Preferably: headboard & footboard, dresser, nightstand, wardrobe closet, ect. Must be all in great condition and modern. Please send me a email with what you have to offer. Thanks for looking!

Uh Huh.
So last year, someone needed to spend One Thousand, One Hundred, and Thirty dollars on a shiny dress.
This year, she would prefer to own a modern queen sized bedroom suite.
Next year, she'll prefer to swap her NICE bedroom suite for a post-secondary education.

And I am left thinking I've not been using my kijiji hours to their highest advantage.

I also have a daughter in neeeeed of a graduation dress.
After that she'll need a university education.
Maybe I should look into swapping that old iron bed.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Life as a Daytime Mommy

In this line of work

my wardrobe is always laid out..... on the floor beside my bed. I have been known to wear the very same pants for four and five days consecutively.
I never have to pack a lunch. Sometimes I start lunch at 11:00 am with a couple of peanut butter cookies, make a sandwich around noon, and then wrap the whole works up with vanilla yogurt, peanuts and raisins, and some licorice allsorts for dessert. It helps that I never see all the food in one place, ever.
I have an inappropriately close relationship with my dishwasher. I love it with a wild and unreserved passion.
When its minus twenty-nine degrees outside, I make my third pot of coffee, pull a pair of wool socks on under my four day old pants, and pretend that on the weekend I'll take the kids sledding. I won't. I'll go thrift shopping, but I'll plan to start being a really great parent starting on Saturday, when I'm sure the weather will be much milder.
I make a lot of toast. The thing about toast is that it is hot and smells like bread, and therefore creates the impression that a hot meal has lovingly been prepared. Besides, I love crusts. Dipped in peanut butter.
I can put together sentences like this: "Hey! Where are you going-- I wasn't done lecturing you yet!"
I have an extremely low cosmetics overhead. Or on-my-head. After showering in the morning, I generally forget to look in the mirror, unless I can sneak a peak at whether my thighs have swollen any further or my butt has fallen ever steadily in its descent towards my dimpled knees.
I'm always here for my offspring to snarl at when they come home from school. Actually, I'm pretty much always available for general snarling.
I get to watch Chicken Run, Ratatouille , Wallace and Gromit, and Flushed Away as often as I please. In my four day old pants, while sneaking licorice from my pocket.

Just try to do all that stuff in your high powered executive job.

I just dare you.

She thinks that she is teachable, but often wonders

Last night at the thrift shop, I ran into a woman who I know from around town. There was something different about her. She has always been pretty, but there was a softness and appeal about her that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I asked her- did you grow your hair out or something?

" Well, yeah, she said, "but I also lost eighty pounds...."

"wow!" I say. Did you follow some sort of program?"

She shook her head and expelled wise words about lifestyle, making decisions about how she wanted to live her life, and the reality that none of us is likely to actually follow a program for the rest of our lives.

I nodded excitedly and threw my arms around her - so pleased was I to hear someone preaching the sensible gospel of eating in response to the body's needs, and learning to trust its intrinsic wisdom.

Then I went home and ate the leftover Christmas candy.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

(rawr)

Last week, while I was on holidays, it was really exciting and invogorating to imagine forging into 2012 whilst being fierce. It seemed entirely possible, and just within my reach.

These days I'm back to wondering if fierceness consists of making toast or sandwhiches without screaming. If fierceness as I'd hoped it would appear is probable in this life of

joyce!

joycie!

jo-weeeees!

but a closer inventory indicates that certain small steps have indeed been taken.

I managed to address a few things that are imperfect in my profession. Maybe even thinking of some changes I can make in the future to make this machine run a little more smoothly. I'm not a very systematic thinker, so that's saying something.

I took another look at my body. That's a funny thing to say, because I look at it every day. And often with disdain. This particular look was more objective, and less hateful. I've been vascilating between disgust and acceptance of this flesh for the past 44 years or so, and so I've been taking a look at my body, the organ with a slightly different perspective. Because I often don't like the way I feel living in this bundle cells and whatnot, I wondered if that feeling would change at all if I were to grow stronger? Not necessarily smaller, but stronger.

So I took another look at the treadmill. (rawr). And I've been climbing aboard reasonably consistently for the past number of weeks. Yes, I know its January, and everyone says that in January. But the fierce bit in this for me is the NOT GIVING UP. The continued effort and energy being spent on searching for wellness in mind and body.

I asked some questions, even though I was pretty sure I didn't want to know the answers. Sometimes answers really hurt, even though you suspected them all along. (rawr, whimper)

I started working on my Etsy shop. Yes, indeedy, I have plans. Plans to move the bags4darfur project over to etsy- streamline the payment methods, have a seperate bank account, and open up a little vintage shop. I'm scared. Because I'm a woos that way and I'm not the best at learning new things. (rawr)

I sound pretty fierce, eh?

I thought so, too.

Sunday, January 08, 2012

Thank God for smart people I can learn from

(from a smart blogger at http://lovelife.typepad.com/my_weblog/2012/01/look-out-2012.html)

. I don't have much except the phrase above. BE FIERCE.. Don't worry - I'm not going to race around scatching people in the eyeballs and roaring like a beast. I'm not going to be mean or nasty. I'm simply going to be FIERCE. Doubt has this ridiculous way of being a sly creeper. Making edges soft and shining a little light on hesitation. Denial. Passiveness. Life is too short for that stuff and I don't like to waste the goodness I've been blessed with. SO. I plan to be fierce + uncomfortable. I plan to be fierce + assertive.

Yikes. That sort of sounds sort of FIERCE.

I like it.

(http://lovelife.typepad.com/my_weblog/2012/01/look-out-2012.html)

These are not my words, but this reflects my desire.

There are a number of areas in my life in which I need (want, desire the courage) to approach with a fierce sort of courage. Some areas that are holding me back, pressing me down, keeping me small. I'm so afraid to be honest about these areas, but I'm terribly tired of being held hostage by them.

Rest is good. And acknowledging that I've really been too afraid to effectively come clean and address and fully examine these facets of my life is "ok". I've been in that place of resting and being afraid for long enough though.

It's time.

For fierce.

Here goes.

Sunday, January 01, 2012

There's Something to be Said For Proper Routine

Sam: "mom, can I have some coke?"

Me: "Sam, have you eaten any real food today?"

Sam: "yup. I had cereal for breakfast and pickles for lunch!"

Saturday, December 31, 2011

The Eve of a New Year

I am

petty, forgetful, insecure, resourceful

kind, resentful, worried, and afraid.

Introspective, anxious, easy-going,

gracious.

Generous, shrewd, selfish, stubborn.

funny, sullen, irritable, friendly.

gifted, stupid, brave, and terrified.

fat and thin and fine and exhausted.

rested, read, curious, and compelled.

Intelligent, inspired, complacent, passionate.

Assertive, apologetic, timid, bull-headed.

And this year,

I am thinking of doing something pretty drastic.

I'm thinking of accepting

Myself.

the way

I am.

Friday, December 30, 2011

Life in Pictures

I took the camera everywhere with me this Christmas.

I love looking at life in review through photographs- it helps me recognize all the goodness that is so constantly and readily available to us.

But did I take any pictures?!

I can't find them.

And that makes it feel as though none of it really happened.

But I'm pretty sure that my sister decorated the entire tree at our parents, as she does every year. We always go to mom's for supper halfway through December and call it "tree decorating night at mom and dad's". We all eat. Mom always brings out her puzzle, which my other sister always works on. The kids always make too much noise. I read all the flyers, the local paper, and a Readers Digest.

And Kathy always decorates the entire tree, while we MEAN to get up and help her.

I thought I took pictures.

I'm sure the boys and I went out skating on Christmas Eve after Brian had gone off to bed.

I felt like a voyageur, mother-of-the-year, and an Olympian. I wish there were pictures.

We celebrated Christmas with Brian's family in the Land of Wink.

It was raining, and snowing, and mild, and green.

His mom made all the stuff that makes me weak at the knees- spicy papanate (pfeffernussen), chocolate covered peanut butter treats, chocolate pie, and lemon buns. The kids cousins played some instrumentals for the grandparents. The littlest cousin showed up looking a lot like a growing up boy, and there was no nappers or whiners or cry-ers. It was a moment of realizing how everything keeps changing and growing. We celebrated for the first time "in town" since Brian's folks had moved off the acreage that they'd raised their kids on.

Some photos would be nice.

The kids got way too many electronics for Christmas.

I'm glad there aren't any photos. They wouldn't fit with my preferred self-image as green and tree-hugging, and peace-lovin'.

My Christmas trees are absolute perfection this year.

In fact, they so defy Christmas Past, that I ought to find the camera and record them from every single angle. That would bolster my fledgling image of organic wholesomeness.

I won't be taking too many photos of how the kids are spending the holidays, unless I drug and drag them back out to the ice rink. Photos of the kids engaging in virtual quests is something I prefer to indulge my expertise of denial in.

Tomorrow is New Years Eve, and we're going to throw a party of epic proportion. The kids will be away at parties of their own, since they're practically adults now.

I'm planning to take some pictures.