tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-200356302024-03-13T02:34:24.456-05:00chronicles of blunderviewLiving my life on Re-Purpose.joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.comBlogger1105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-39099505370887057782020-05-16T09:32:00.000-05:002020-05-16T09:32:14.473-05:00We Are NOT Amused
Woops.
You mean- home reading wasn't meant to be an optional, biannual event?
joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-61261608621354225522019-11-03T17:46:00.002-06:002019-11-03T19:38:55.783-06:00The Secret To LifeIt was way back in the 80's when my friend Patsy introduced me to James Taylor's soulful baritone- well before I myself was anywhere near the top of the hill. I admired her for knowing musicians,; for having the sense of self to to bold about music, and which artists she loved. I couldn't relate; being naive in every single imaginable way, and having spent my teens isolated on joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-48612177497350101982017-04-15T11:12:00.004-05:002017-04-15T11:12:59.692-05:00Easter
I don't often miss my mama in an aching way. She lived a long and healthy life, kept growing in her person, and died a peaceful death. It was very, very hard to watch her waste away. Usually I'm just grateful she didn't have long to suffer, and usually I just enjoy remembering the way she embraced her life after all us kids finally left and she had peace and time to learn to joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-76571120167134743822017-02-20T18:11:00.002-06:002017-02-20T18:11:23.375-06:00On Honouring You
“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” Dr Suess.
The way you think, rest, reset, get energized, or get tired- those are all unique to you. Sometimes that's not so hard to deal with when you think of others needs, but way confusing when you think about your own.
2015 was a difficult year. My dad went intojoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-87752629073707660662017-02-06T18:59:00.002-06:002017-02-06T19:28:07.316-06:00On Not ScreamingIt's been a long and difficult couple of weeks- almost like there's a line in my life between "then" and "now"; "before" and "after". In ways, things feel even harder than they did when the Giant Cheeto first came into power. I won't try to reiterate all the facts and events of these past few weeks, because we all know I'm more about the aura of things than the blacks and joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-8321793316058905662017-01-22T13:10:00.003-06:002017-01-22T15:49:57.536-06:00Resistance- 100 days of kindnessLast night I dreamed that I attended my own funeral. I wasn't afraid. My body lay in a casket, and people were gathered together. I came late, and wasn't dressed really well for a church hosted event. I stood near the back.
In the morning, when the dreams came to my conscious mind, I became aware that there was a part of me that was really okay with Joyce in the joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-26012766292680600342015-08-24T20:25:00.001-05:002015-08-24T20:36:30.281-05:00My Mama Grows a Garden With grape vines climbing a trellis Morning glories where you might not expect. Surprise pumpkins from her compostWhich she did before it was cool A peony from the first house Brian and I owned Gooseberries just like on the farm Corn from seed her son brought from far away lands squash And poppies anywhere the winds might blowjust like her lovely dill tiny apples for juice all winter My mama joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-29190483353354380282015-07-25T12:22:00.001-05:002015-07-25T12:29:26.991-05:00Room 101 This was dad's last breakfast at home before we took him to the hospital and never moved him home again. We poured our milk from the rose pitcher that I remember since forever and ever growing up on the farm. Our milk came home in ice cream pails from dad's cousin's dairy across the road. I knew my way around the milk room, and would release the lever on the big stainless steel reservoir andjoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-30301929021479195332015-07-15T20:49:00.001-05:002015-07-15T20:49:10.186-05:00Winnipeg Folk Festival 2015Sometimes Life and the gifts it gives are almost too good to set words to. Folk fest with my darling girls.My sweet Jane and I had the awesome adventure volunteering backstage on La Cuisine, pink crew. What a bunch! Friendly and upbeat and hardworking. We may have spent many hours grilling in the thirty+ degree heat, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Seriously cold beer after four hoursjoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-28695186244964438232015-07-01T12:55:00.001-05:002015-07-01T12:55:48.731-05:00July 1, 2015 It's my first day of holidays! The daisies are blooming.Hiawatha's tires are full of air and she's ready to hit the road. The deck will be hosting less of this And more of this. My hollyhocks are budding.My application to volunteer at Winnipeg Folk Fest is approved.A trip to Flin Flon to pick up my daughter is being planned. And.The bangs are growing out.It's going to be an epic summer, joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-76258678808963163612015-06-22T20:42:00.001-05:002015-06-22T20:46:43.298-05:00Abs and Flabs There's a reason that I look more than . It might be related to my urge to cry and break for DQ when push-ups and runs are the torture de jour at my local "Box". (I think that's what actual fit people call crossfit gyms). I said push-ups.And running.Coaches just let that roll off their tongue as though it were entirely doable.Trust me when I tell you, they weren't in my phys ed class, circa joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-21267816846515921662015-04-26T14:12:00.002-05:002015-04-26T14:12:32.449-05:00This Journey With Dad
Dad never wanted to grow old enough to "become a burden", and by that I think he meant a few things. He wanted to remain independent, mobile, mentally sharp, able to manage his own body, finances, yard work, and decisions. And until past the age of ninety, my dad did just that. He defied his family history of illness and poverty by becoming a successful farmer who barelyjoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-61612975514471409182015-04-14T20:43:00.001-05:002015-04-14T20:43:33.743-05:00Abnormals Anonymous They weren't offering Abnormals Anonymous, so I joined crossfit instead. It was time. I'm not very good at it. But I keep going back. Sometimes we have to run to the elevator, which is sort of on the way to my house if you don't actually run to the elevator, but you take a sharp left instead.So far, I've never run home instead. This is sort of how I look when I run. But actually, more like this.joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-19884917854933488362015-04-11T15:02:00.000-05:002015-04-11T15:31:30.098-05:00Mexico, 2015This did happen. Mornings started early, and went like this: in room coffee, and a visit to the balcony to study the mama and baby bird swaying in the palm tree. After a buffet breakfast of mimosas, yogurt, fruit, eggs and bacon, we would head to our favourite spot on the beach. And watch this guy and his team work their butts off. Apparently, sea grass season came early this year. I joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-11593617259193853582015-03-28T07:01:00.001-05:002015-03-28T07:01:41.427-05:00A day of happy things A late start to my work day (7:45!) and the gift of cheesecake- for breakfast, of course. This little guy in this adorable sweater. It was his dad's for goodness sake! I can't even stand the cuteness factor here. This.THIS! How did it even get to be this day before the day? Impossible. My people.Do you have any clue what kind of friendships get forged in my muddy mudroom? I sometimes get joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-42994426250696017222015-03-16T20:16:00.001-05:002015-03-16T20:16:20.028-05:00All the things- Badly writtenHi there. I used to blog here. Write blog posts and process stuff and tap away at the keyboard like I could. And then life got all lifey, like it does.
So here's the thing. My son turned twelve in December and we still haven't done his birthday party.
I could say its because I spend so much time at the hospital sitting with my dad and that would make me sound like such ajoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-5012485404450276912015-02-21T21:27:00.001-06:002015-02-23T11:08:19.163-06:00Weekends With Dad
I get dressed in the early Sunday morning darkness, the memory of Saturday with dad still sticking in my throat. It was a tough one. Full of dad's confusion and frustration, and of my attempts to explain and console. So, I wake early, with worries on my heart. I chose a white sweater with the word "Peace" in shimmering silver letters. It's my prayer, and a sort of benediction I say over myselfjoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-77297742139693504392015-02-18T09:26:00.001-06:002015-02-18T09:26:07.640-06:00Countdowns Weird- only 37 days until we get to go somewhere hot, humid, and beautiful. A land flowing with guacamole and cervesa.Last year when we were counting down, I felt like I was literally dying in the winter of 2014. It was a terrible winter. Colder than any human should endure. Plus bronchitis, an unending cough, and a house full of the most obnoxious preschoolers I've ever endured.We were joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-62505049654224669812015-02-09T07:31:00.001-06:002015-02-09T07:37:28.553-06:00Retreat 2015 Retreat. Re-Treat.Treats to relish, over and over again: beginning in the days and weeks leading up to retreat day, as I review and rediscover all the goodies in my sewing room and begin to choose what to pack up to share. To reuse. Retreat has given me justification for purchasing gorgeous old thrifted sewing machines. What an honor! To think of the woman (I'll go ahead and make that joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-2225894887760074452015-02-02T18:29:00.001-06:002015-02-02T18:43:16.246-06:00Dad A little over two weeks ago I sat at my parents' kitchen island and shared in their breakfast rituals. First mom and dad took turns with the Bible reading and the Daily Bread. Then they dug into their raisin bran and homemade yogurt as only an 88 and 92 year old can. Dad struggling to make the spoon meet his mouth and mom pouring milk from the same rose pitcher we used when I was a child. joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-76794265506420984112015-01-25T22:09:00.001-06:002015-01-25T22:15:53.186-06:00Some Thoughts
For days I have yearned to sit at my keyboard and pour myself out.
To reach into the sadness and gladness and all the profound and ordinary. To lay it all out and wrap it in words, and move it from churning into sentence and paragraph.
But I've not yet found that sweet release, and with each new try the words look cheap and profane. Too contrived to be authentic.
Let me say this, for sure.
joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-10295077278894295272015-01-09T19:58:00.001-06:002015-01-09T20:15:09.049-06:00All The New Year's Resolutions Only Ever wear stretchy pants. Ever. (when it's just barely January, and you're trying really, really hard not to hate yourself for the box of wine and bottles of wine and maybe the spiced rum too. oh- and the chocolates. All the chocolates. And then there was that beer-querita night- oy vay.) Dance Party, at home in the living room. Always. Someone once coined the phrase: "dancejoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-30949557778139683872014-12-30T19:42:00.000-06:002014-12-30T19:59:02.163-06:00Life With Really Ugly Legs
I imagine it was an undiagnosed congenital disease, since I barely remember a time that I wasn't hyper conscious that I wasn't like the other kids. By grade six, at the tender age of eleven, I was actively trying to do something about my condition. It was the year my mom required us to pack our own lunches, and let it suffice to say, that mine was left sorely lacking.
By the age of joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-37309786050997471522014-12-20T22:34:00.001-06:002014-12-20T22:34:39.410-06:00The Dreaded Family Christmas
When you're part of the Kehler lineage, getting together for Christmas is no small feat.
Folks, its all about the appearances, and the pressure is insane.
I like to get up real early to ensure plenty of time for a pedicure.
There are a number of steps involved- move the dish rack. Lay out a towel beside the sink. Position self within arm's reach of the coffee machine, ipad, and variety of joycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20035630.post-63412854127933834692014-12-12T20:06:00.001-06:002014-12-12T20:13:25.620-06:00Because, Broken.
There's a lot of stuff broken in the world. It's easy to see that in the Big World, what with the CIA shooting blender meals up suspect's asses with Dr's approval, the UN running out of money to feed refugees in Syria, and moms who kill their babies. And while all of that and more is horrifying, its all sort of "out there", and pretty easy to compartmentalize as "things that will never happenjoycehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10269164806627544548noreply@blogger.com7