Tuesday, October 22, 2013

On Why Writing on Blunderview Has Become Virtually Impossible.

Goodness knows I can't tell you about the unholy thoughts I have while I'm at the gym. First off, I'd have to admit that I go to the gym and that's a really, really big secret. I thought about getting a gym membership mostly so I could be one of those people who can go on facebook at six AM and state: "Just got back from the gym! Now I'm all sweaty!! And I think I'll make some coffee!!! I think I'll put cream in my coffee!!!!!"

I wanted the chance to be that person who posts stuff that no one at all in any world cares about, and I especially want to use way too many exclamation points. Like I'm creating a virtual giddy schoolgirl on her fourth RockStar With Vodka or something.

So, say I did write anything that I may have thought while being at the gym (although it's not public knowledge that I've ever gone to said gym) and say the particular thought in question went something like:


Well, clearly I just can't go ahead and say something like that. I'd be putting myself at risk of being accosted on Main Street, somewhere near the thrift shop by a woman I've never met before who will accuse me of looking at her husband's.....

and then anyone within earshot will find out that I've been going to the gym.


I can't even write about being on Main Street, because I generally have a gaggle of a million plus two children trailing before and behind me. If I identify myself as that woman, there will be an outcry on Niverville Buy, Sell, and Trade about who is that evil woman who takes children for walks on Main Street. They are sure to assume that I am Eye Drop Lady. Or, I Really Need A Coffee or a Walk Lady. Goodness knows I can't have the Real Housewives of Niverville on my bad side. I just don't got that kind of strength.

Plus I've pretty much blown my chances of writing about the thrift shop, now that I'm a board member. Conflict of interests, I suppose. Or maybe more like- darnit, I've spent time on the inside and I kind of understand these people a little better now, and they're pretty darned hardworking. Twould be a shame to offend them....

I suppose I could write about really fascinating things like recipes. But I'm pretty sure you don't need a tutorial on how to microwave weiners.

Weird how that made me think of chin ups and the rowing machine, the skipping rope and kettle bells. Oh, and running- just for warm-up. If I ever did write about the gym, it might be to dwell on another question: Do all the 40+ women wear attends?? So, if I was a gym rat, I could probably run for a little while. I'd be the one wearing $7.00 cropped legging Wal-Mart hand-me-downs with absolutely no lemony accents. And I'd be pounding the pavement, feeling not-too-bad that I could sort of run.

I'd also be the one who didn't get let in on the "Party In Your Pants" protective briefs memo. Apparently you have to earn your right to be in that club.

So I may or may not have peed my pants. That aren't pants at all, but skin tight royal blue, you're-not-kidding-anyone, that's-your-ass handmedowns. And since the warm up run is at the beginning of the workout, there's still the whole part about- go back inside where the lights are on and do all manner of unnatural movements that will clearly showcase that tiny little issue of STRESS INCONTINENCE.

So you can see why I just can't write any more.

Not until I get my life entirely straightened out and I can be a Good Example or something.

Or until I move to a new town and don't have to worry about anyone tracking me down.

Or I learn to stand on my head at the gym and lift fourteen pianos with my pinkie and climb up a rope with my teeth, all in proper lulu's.

It might take me a little while. It sure would be nice to be back.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

This Old House

It's been a very damp September/October. And really kind of smelly.

I suppose it was all in the forecast- a new one year old baby, a potty-training two year old, an excitable boy who doesn't want to miss a thing, and a horribly regressive five year old girl.

I'm just relieved the dog has been good, the cats are not sick, and that none of us original inhabitants have taken leave of our senses and begun to pee and poo willy nilly wherever the spirit urges.

I've imagined slapping maxi pads on anyone over three and plastic pants/rain suits on anyone two or less. I've had tiny panic attacks imagining all the possible wet spots that are slowly growing into an overwhelming cesspool of pee pee marsh- that is my house.

So on weekends, I hunt for windswept houses with plenty of ventilation.

I drink in the blue prairie sky and meditate in the symphony of waving grasses.

I stand in a yellow room and dream of what once was. I make it a happy family in a happy yellow room because It's the loveliest scenario.

If the walls could talk. But they do in ways, and if I were a photographer I'd want a backdrop just like this.

If I were a painter, I'd seek to recreate this patina.

And if I were a bird, I'd live here too. Reclaim it, celebrate it, bring back some life, and some more stories.

And if, long ago, this had been my family home, I hope I would have restored it.

I'd wash my bowls in this kitchen sink.

Store my salsa in this pantry.

Slide open those pocket doors and invite my friends to


Stay a little longer.

The view is spectacular.


There's plenty of room.

Bring your friends too.

Everything here is so golden.

And rich.

These prairie roads have given me so very much this damp, damp Autumn.

So much peace and happiness and imagination, fresh air and old house air, and treks through the stubble.

Until Monday brings me back to babies, their heads buried in my neck, little hands grabbing.

And lysol spray cleaner, rags, and a few sighs,

Until Saturday finds me again.


Tuesday, October 01, 2013

I Know, Brenda. It's Gotten Ridiculous

Sure, there's Mildred, who I never really told anyone about, even though I sent out a bit of a trailer. But there's so much more.

Like Harvest Moon Festival. (Which you can read a bit about here)


And what about my Manitoba road trip, destination unknown? Just a cooler packed with chips and salsa, cheese and crackers, cookies and candies galore?

We stumbled on a washed out scouts camp, restrooms thrown upside down, nature all wild growing over everything.


An abandoned cabin, where someone had once giggled and swatted mosquitoes after lights out.

Amazing fall colors.

Giant uprooted trees on an endless beach.


And kicking off our shoes to dip a toe in the rapidly cooling lake.

Our feet tingling, we knew it was time to hit the road again to more destinations unknown. We found an abandoned property, chock full of delights for the eye.

So we took only pictures and left only footprints *sigh*.


We speculated-- how does it come to this??



What happened, what's the story?

And what remains up the road?

ahh- a sewing cabin. (in my dreams).

It would be a walk up. Through rustling grasses, melodic in the wind.

With a bit of work.....Perhaps.

But the prairie roads are calling us away.

The road narrows, sirrus promises a provincial park. It urges us to drive to a certain point, and then walk to our destination. When the road ends directly in the marsh, we wonder if sirrus meant "swim"?

I like this world. It's quirky and wild. In a prairies sort of way.

But we've still not arrived at the Perfect Picnic Destination.

And then we follow more signs: "St Ambroise Provincial Park".

We love it.



We picnic.

Practise some skills.

Hunt for treasure.

Until we hear the road call again. (Or is it the impending Monday morning?? Surely not).

And another house to explore.

A little worse for wear...


But a terrific view.

There's a shed.

And a swimming hole. (IF you're a frog).

How I've loved the prairies this summer.

And how I love my exploring friends.


And, Brenda, believe it or not, there's more.

There are the thoughts I've wanted to write:

  • Why I Still believe in Jesus after all I've heard against Him.
  • Why "awareness" with mental illness is just a start, and why it's frustrating for me to imagine people finally having the courage to ask for help, and then being met with inadequate help, no help, or just plain assinine excuses for help.
  • What friendship looks like. All the billions of variations.
  • Why this September nearly killed me.
  • Why I'm getting a pretty big hatred for motorcycles.
  • Why Christian schools can be harmful to your faith.
  • Why comparison is a bitch.
  • Why we all need to stop commenting on each others' body size, especially this ridiculous double standard of it being okay to tell someone they are thin, but rude to tell people they are fat. Keep your size opinions to yourself. You haven't got a clue what people are going through.
  • What makes my job awesome, even though it's a hard job at times.
  • How I'm changing the way I feel about my body.
  • That I've been meditating this year about how "you can't really help anybody, and you certainly can't save anyone". And that that might sound hopeless and depressing, but its really quite the opposite.
  • How I'm pretty much firm on taking a hiatus from sewing for a while. If I feel like it. And I can change my mind if I want to.
  • And how sometimes taking a photo- a still life- can help me get perspective.

So, I know, Brenda. It's gotten ridiculous. I miss writing, and I've got stuff to explore. It's officially October now, and it can't possibly be like September, right?

So, I hope I'll be back soon.