The Post That Couldn't Possibly Cover The Last Few Weeks And Involves a Lot of Pictures...

I recently said; "See ya" to my first ever adult child.

I wasn't worried or sad about her leaving. I knew she had made an excellent choice and would come back, changed for the "even better".

Once she'd packed her bags, and said a tearful good-bye (not) to her sibs, I'm quite sure she never once looked back.

All the good-bye meals in the world couldn't drag her away from her new family; her Outta Town community who she would be spending all her days and nights with over the following year.

We couldn't have been more excited or happy for her. My only wish was to be a ride-along, but that's just wrong and gross and weird. I AM the mom, after all.

Lucky for me, I suck at making phone calls, so we'd been pretty pathetic with getting her immunizations for the upcoming trip to Guatamala done in time. This necessitated me hunting them down on one of their downtown Winnipeg excursions and bringing her to the clinic for a shot in the arm. I was kind of glad that I sucked, it was so good to see her. Happier than a pig in poop, she bounded out in a kitty cat sweatshirt that even Siloam mission didn't want in their missionary barrel. She'd traded one of her own sweaters for the privelege.

I had to leave her back at the Vineyard Church with her sore arm, and grandma mitts and slippers. They rounded out her nature sweater just perfectly.

She was happier than the allowable legal limit, so it wasn't too hard to let her back to her all grown-up life.

Besides. I had my own to pursue.

Always conscious of our carbon footprint, we anticipated a little green vacation getaway.

Since the basement had recently been carpeted, we decided against jacking up the house and putting it on wheels, and borrowed this teensey weensey little motorhome for the weekend instead.

It was barely big enough for Brian to prepare sushi for the driver while enroute.

It was, however, a comfortable ride. We chose the double bed nearest the sushi and chips for the duration of the trip.

After we emptied out our term deposits and RESP's to fill the tank, we found it was shockingly easy to get accustomed to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Our destination? Clearwater, Manitoba. Population: 54, home of the 11th annual Harvest Moon Festival. If there are moments in life during which I am sorely tempted to throw back my head and yell; "I WAS BORN FOR THIS!" its certainly how I felt in Clearwater.

Awesome old campers galore. All haphazardly parked in a field along a beautiful ravine.

 

Oh, how I love Manitoba! (home of the brave)

 

(we blended right in. All four of us in a bungalow on wheels).

I meanwhile, found something a little more sensible and indulged in daydream of retiring in Clearwater. Not that I'll retire before 74, but one can't plan too early.

 

I meanwhile was here for a purpose: to raise some money for the World Food Program.

It was fun to sell to like-minded people.

To learn about their own bags; lives. (A Dr who donated time with Doctors Without Borders, and had this African batik made into a gorgeous little bag)

And meet their dogs. (brochure said; "Leashes suggested")

To sell button hair clips to their children.

And to enjoy every moment of hippie fashion.

Every moment.

The weekend was magical

 

 

and delicious in so many ways.

Life. So full and rich, and ever becoming what we make of it.

Go ahead. Get out there and live your awesome life.

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People Are Awfully Nice When I'm Accidentally Killing Them

.... and other thoughts on a Friday morn.

So I was on my way to buy several cartloads of pretend/heat'n'go/carcinogen/cheese-flavoured/ die-before-you're-forty kind of groceries on the night before an anticipated weekend getaway with my collector husband. (he collects tv's. And I'm not talkin' vintage). I was thinking about buying easy food for the poor children who would be left at home alone with nothing but microwavable jalapeno poppers and a tall stack of frozen pizzas, a laptop, computer, and flatscreen tv with ten billion video games. These kids have learned the value of a hard day, let me tell you.

I was also deep in thought. I was thinking about profound things like: is 44 too late to think about becoming a grown-up? And, When is the carpet guy going to show up? And; What does "not making myself small" look like in real life? And; How come that "Good and "Natural" Store has a giant sign about rapid weight loss? Have they forgotten to edit the name of their store?

So, I was sort of poking along the parking lot, looking around for a spot really close to the grocery store so as to not accidentally exercise on my way to getting a $280.00 cart full of trans fats. I didn't really notice that I'd crawled to an almost stop right on the crosswalk. Or that someone was silly enough to actually think that I was stopping so they could return to their vehicle.

Woops.

Fortunately, I didn't entirely kill him. I noticed in time, even though I was smack-dab in the middle of some really epic Deep Thoughts. But here's the thing. He turned toward me just as I was about to slowly crush him, and he mouthed; "Oh. Sorry.". REally. You can't make this stuff up. He was sorry that he hadn't stopped to check whether I was in the middle of Introspection at the point of Pedestrian Intersection.

And in that same split second that it took for him to apologize for me almost killing him, I recognized him as my Main Crush from grade nine. Oh, it was a heart wrenching time, back in the eighties.

I don't think he recognized me. I sure hope not, or he's going to think I'm a total DORK.

Forever. There goes my chances of ever being cool.

Speaking of the cool factor.

Life is so full of moments that delight me. Were these brave women going to get henna tattoos as kind of a practise run for when they go get inked for real? and what would they tattoo?

I enjoyed the mental image of one of them hiking up her long skirt and asking for a sweet tat right on her hip. Just above the pantie line.

Mostly I just enjoyed their moxie. I've always found the idea of a colony fascinating and appealing on some level. No competition for wardrobe. No pinching waistlines. No pressure to "find yourself" and figure out what career is your best bet. No worries about your mortgage, your retirement savings, or your child's public school. Old and young, all together in community.

and yes. That might be a one-dimensional view, but its the one I want to look at today, the day after I didn't actually kill anyone.

It's going to be another hot weekend, my most favorite kind. And the plan was to drive up alongside Lake Winnipeg, all the way to a cabin we've heard tell about. However. The husband hasn't gotten out of bed for three days now because of his grumpy back. Walking is out of the question. No, we weren't planning to walk to the lake, but sitting is also out of the question, so unless I strap him flat on his back to the top of the car and drive four hours north with the glorious freedom of choosing the radio station that I want to listen to, he won't be going anywhere. And I will faithfully stay by his side, delivering breakfast, lunch, and dinner up the stairs while he watches 37 episodes of "Stargate".

(pray for me. He's starting to smell just a little funky)

Well, maybe I'll bring up a microwave and a box of melting jalapeno poppers, set it beside Brian's bedside, and take the kids to the beach tomorrow.

Next week everything changes again.

My big adult girl leaves us for a little while, and my rapidly growing up three others return to school, piano, swimming lessons, volleyball, and not practising their instruments for band. I'll try to make sure they find time for video games, just to keep them balanced.

Did I mention that Brian collects? That reminds me. I have to head to the local hardware store now. It appears that my husband's name got pulled in their draw.

For a television.

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Best. Day. Ever.

 

Do you have a friend who sees the sense in video taping the sounds of her bubblies pouring into a perfect thrifted mug on a spontaneous picnic complete with marvelous old linens and a vintage basket?

Oh.

But you should.

It is tres perfection. And the dreamiest sort of ending to a day that should never end.

The day that began with coffee and conversation. A grand plan to uncover thrifting paradises that we'd only dreamed of. And a whole, glorious day, all ahead of us.

And that's just what we had to anticipate: thrifted goods most divinely wrapped and handled by the caring-est volunteer in her empire of cast-offs.

Plus an imaginable amount of eye candy.

To feast on.

and explore.

We found all manner of goodies. Some wildly overpriced.

(!) I have enamel bowls in the sandbox! Am I an undiscovered billionaire??

And some too perfect (ly affordable) to leave behind. (panel of barkcloth drapery for ten dollars, should be able to feed some displaced people with that..... and a chickeny mug for just twenty-five pennies.)

 

We even found a Mennonite thrift store in the most thoughtful location.

Talk about one stop shopping.

We felt fortified enough for our hair to stand on end.

To hold entire buildings by the strength of our hands.

To embrace cultural origins in style.

And hug some trees.

How serendipidous to remember so clearly who we were. To be loved so.

Downright medicinal, it was.

 

Life has its dips, this we know firsthand.

And at times we see things through a glass.

dimly.

But the beauty is all around us.

Bursting out of the ordinary.

 

 

So if at times you feel you've lost your way

May you be found.

Again and again, and in the most loveliest of ways.

(My wish for you, all my beloved.)

(photo credits: LJG, thanks, oh great Miranda)

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You'll Never Know, Dear

(written with thoughts of sweet friend. Whose tender, broken heart deserves true love.)

I dream sometimes that you come back to visit.

No warning, no call ahead.

And in my dream

I'm glad to see you, but its

Awkward.

There are all those words that never got spoken.

They crackle between us, even as my stomach knots at the memory of

the ones that were.

The words that dropped like bombs and accusations, hot and so dreadfully cold.

I remember how much I trusted you. Told you. Believed.

How I was sure we'd grow old

laughing.

at the absurdity of it all.

But whats absurd is that its not.

That for all my trusting and believing, none of it made us immune.

But I opened my heart wider than wide, and invited you in, because it was

You.

Love.

So when you visit me in dreams, you open the door

again

without asking.

And you take some more.

My heart is no longer open, and my days have begun to ache a little less.

I've filled in those spaces in safer ways.

So please. Leave my dreams.

Alone.

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