Confession Time

I have a confession to make. Its almost embarrassing. We did the math today. A little shocking. A little unbelievable. A little "Really?? REALLY?". We have not been in our canoe for nearly 7 years. Seven. SEVEN. Yes. Seven. What? Yes. 7.

This shocked us when we determined that it was pre-pregnancy. I did not paddle while pregnant and we just never felt safe or confident with mck in there. But she spent a summer in lakes with a lifejacket on and has proven herself a mighty hiker so now is the time. We have talked about getting a roof rack put on for the last 4 cars and have finally done it. Today we went to make sure the canoe fit on there like it should. The result? Like a glove.

I made the effort yesterday to dig out our boxes upon boxes of gear and pull out the items necessary for a summers worth of tripping and voila, we are a threesome ready to j-stroke the hell out of town.

So what spurred on this drive to just quit making excuses and hiding our laziness by "all the other things we have to do this weekend"? I saw pictures on facebook of a friends group of friends that kayaked through terrain that I used to live and breathe. I have probably paddled some of the same water. Sat on some of the same rock. And I decided enough was enough. It was time. We have everything we need, we have time, we have an amazing explorer in our beautiful girl who loves being outside as much as we do.

We are going back to the island we new so well. We once spent two weeks of vacation living on that island. Its a homecoming for us. And an introduction for Mck. I am aching for it, for lying on rocks warmed by the afternoon sun, meals cooked on an open fire, stars that light the night sky, lazing in my hammock, aching to see the island through the eyes of my five year old.

I am longing to feel the grain of the paddle in my hands, the drip, drip, drip of the water as I bring it back for another stroke, the sun on my face and wind at my back. Seven years. What was I thinking?

Connecting

So once again Facebook has proved to be a connector of sorts. Not only do I get to sneak a peek into the lives of my cousins around the world that I have not seen for decades (they are nearly unrecognizable but clearly related) but I get a glimpse into their adult lives and no longer are they the cute little kids who would visit us and talk with adorable accents. They are now the stunningly beautiful grown people with fantastic interests and skills and stories and yes, still with adorable accents.

Most recently I have connected with an Uncle I don't even remember having an actual, honest-to-goodness, proper conversation with. I have no idea how old I was the last time I saw him but I'm pretty sure if he didn't have something positive to say about Wham!, neon tube socks or heavily backcombed hair, we probably didn't talk much. But now? Its like we've known each other all along. His kids are grown and beautiful and amazing and while I know my mom has sent him pictures of McKinley, I feel like I now get to share my own growing, beautiful, amazing girl with him.

He writes poetry, reads great books, shares one of my favorite authors with me, loves some of the same movies. Related? Without question. Am I speeding up my intent to take a jump across the pond? Without a doubt.

MJ

So I know a million people will be writing about the fact that Michael Jackson died and they will go on and on about how he was a pioneer and in the top ten music makers of all time and blah-de-blah-blah but honestly, what do I think? I think he was a freakshow.
I have never hidden my disdain for him. Yes, his songs were all great. Not denying that. But how much can one person do to themselves and their body before it shuts down and refuses to work properly?
While its undoubtedly sad for his kids and family and friends, as any death would be, I for one am not looking forward to the endless coverage that will be on tv.

Stop. Hammock Time.

We are going canoeing for the long weekend. 3 days of pure nothingness but gorgeous sunsets, campfires and some much needed hammock time. I am a little bit apprehensive about digging through all of our stored boxes to find what we need but a whole lot giddy that once we have it all out and back at the apartment we can go whenever we want. Bliss.

I'm Sorry, Did I St-st-st-stutter?

I remember back when I was young and everyone wished they had braces and glasses (everyone except those that actually HAD braces and glasses that is). We would chew our gum and then squish it in front of our top teeth and pretend we had braces or take the dark lenses out of our parents glasses and pretend we had specs. I even recall being a tweenager and buying fake glasses. I think I only had the guts to wear them in public once. I kept thinking everyone would know they were fake even though you would never be able to tell.

Anyway. I think theres a new social-misfit-wannabe-thing out there these days. McK has not yet expressed a desire for glasses or braces. She has, however, started to fake a stutter. Yes. You heard me. She pretends she has a stutter. I get irritated everytime she does it because I know how hard it can be to correct if someone actually had one. You can take fake glasses of and fake braces out. But what if you get so used to fake stuttering that you are actually doing when you're not thinking about it?

It freaks me out when she does it. Like my mom always told me, if I make a face it will stay that way. Well. If you fake a stutter will you actually end up with one?

Oh Brett, You Always Did Make Me Smile

Is it wrong that every time I see the clip of Brett Michaels getting a face smashing from the prop at the Tony Awards I laugh?

One Happy Lazy Cook

I won't even joke and call myself a cook for reals. However, way back when I lived over at the other blog house, I spoke once of a dream of mine. While I adored and continue to do so, all of the companies that make my cooking time swifter and easier and just a little more mindless, I had always had a dream of someone cutting and coring my strawberries so I don't have to. Well. Behold.

Thank you Sobeys. Thank you.

A Steal

For those of you local readers, a furniture warehouse has been found. Palliser Warehouse is a gem of a store with a surprising amount of stuff to choose from and a selection of dining room tables that leaves us questioning our current table and dreaming of having 8 chairs that match.

We are keeping our eyes open for a few key pieces for the new house and needed another high back leather wing chair. We have one already that we will use in the den but wanted one for the living room. Behold. There was one lovely brown leather high back wing chair amidst a warehouse full of lazyboys and club chairs. It was comfy. It was attractive. And it was freakin cheap. Ahhhh, I lurrrrve me a good deal.

Tough Call

If your husband and a lawyer were drowning and you had to choose, would you go to lunch or a movie?

Me, The Oxymoron

I was thinking alot about a variety of things last night. And it dawned on me. I like alot of opposite things. Things where you would usually like one OR the other. Not things where you like both just as much. It happens alot to me. Its like I love, love, love one thing only to realize that if I just had that one thing I would most certainly miss the opposite.

Usually people are one or the other. Like all those survey thingy's that used to go around by email, do you prefer thunder or lightening, chocolate or vanilla, coke or pepsi. I always had SUCH a hard time with those. How do you pick one when you love Coke when its from a bottle but prefer Pepsi when your choice is from a can? Chocolate in a cone and vanilla in a bowl with caramel sauce. I think I am not as cut and dry as I think I am.

Not only do I have a tough time being unable to choose favorites, but my likes are so opposite. Opposite enough that you'd think the choice would be clear. But no. Not me.

I can't read fiction books. I read non fiction only. I don't care to read something someone else made up. And yet, I love movies and have a hard time with documentaries.

How is it I love the real story when its on paper but want someone else's imagination when its on film?

I dream of a loft in Manhattan, amidst the hustle and bustle with people-watching galore and small groceries stores where I know the owner and the guy on the corner knows what time I pass by for the paper and I walk everywhere or ride the subway and we try a new restaurant every week and live in bookstores and coffee shops. I also dream of a one room cabin off the grid in the middle of a forest where no one will ever bother us and we live off the land and have fires every night and wash our clothes in the river and cook on a one-burner stove and spend lazy afternoons reading old magazines in our hammock.

If someone asked me to chose and I could only pick one place to live out my days I think my head would pop off.

I love having people over. I love it when people stop by. I love going to other peoples houses. I love it when we have company for dinner and friends with us at the beach or on the trail. I enjoy entertaining. I love to talk and share stories and look at photos and be with smart, witty, enjoyable people. But I hate social gatherings. I hate small talk. I hate large functions and feel like I glue myself to people I know so that I don't have to pretend to be interested when you tell me all about your job or your kid or your fabulous cabin. I leave at the earliest acceptable time and often earlier than that. Yet if you and I are having dinner I often don't want it to end at all.

Can I have it both ways? I like to think I can.

Thunder or lightening? Both. Mountains or desert? Both. Sleep in or get up early? Both. New York or the deepest darkest woods? Both. People or no people? Both. Chocolate or vegetables? Bot....ok, some choices are easier than others.

Dead. Really.

You would think that when someone you know is going to a funeral for someone who has passed on, chances are they probably knew them fairly well. (Unless you live in a seniors complex then they seem to show up just for something to do). And you would also think that when that someone you know says they are going to a funeral that your automatic reaction would be to ask who's it is. Apparently not.

Pat (on phone with his dad): You can't pick her up from school? How come? (pause) Oh a funeral, ok.
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
Me (once Pat is off the phone): Your dad is going to a funeral?
Pat: Yeah.
Me: Oh thats too bad, who died?
Pat: I have no idea.
Me: Seriously? You didn't even ask him who died?
Pat: No. Should I have?

I feel a little like Seth and Amy but REALLY??? Really, you didn't even think to ask who he knows that is no longer living? Really? Really. Are all dudes like this or am I just the special lady who scored this one?

That Which You Do Not Have

Do you ever realize that the thing you want most is the thing you don't have? Perfect example. Those of you who know me know I do not enjoy hot weather. I know this makes me somewhat of an oddity, what with my affection for fleeces and cold evenings by the campfire. Thus, we chose this particular apartment block for its central air. Well. It has been 2 days of plus 28 and mommy is set to expire. I have had all windows wide open and have given thanks to the weather gods for producing a breeze. However, the central air? Someone needed to get that beyotch kicked in to high gear.
We called maintenance, we emailed the office, we called maintenance and pretended that it must have been our thermostat not working because surely anyone in their right mind would have the air conditioning on in temperatures more suited for the Costa Rican jungle.
Finally, this afternoon, after a lovely reply from the main office saying they were "working on turning it on", the vents sprung to life and coolness enveloped us like a warm blanket. Or something like that but opposite.
And yet, as I walked about the apartment closing the windows in each room, I mourned the loss of a summer evening breeze, said a sad farewell to an early morning gust, and was kind of maybe a little bummed at the thought of shut windows for the rest of the summer.
Oh who am I kidding. Bring on the AC baby!

Anti-Social Extrovert

Is there such a thing? I think I am pretty extroverted in such that I can small talk with anyone and as painful as it might be I can more often than not find a common thread between myself and my conversation partner which we can grow a conversation on. I have no problem sitting at a table of people I don't know and listening in until I find something I can relate to or comment on or laugh with them about. And yet, I hate it.

I hate being put in situations where I am at a table full of people I don't know. I can see painful small talk coming at me from miles away and I exit stage left on the asap. I hate being in large groups of people and being forced to interact for fear of looking like a snot if I don't. I dread walking into places where I know small talkers lurk and I quickly calculate in my head how much time I need to devote to talking about nothing lest I risk looking like I am making an inappropriately timed departure. I avoid lunch rooms and gathering places and have detoured time and time again if theres someone in the bathroom when I plan to go in so that I don't have to listen to them pee while feeling obliged to ask them how their weekend was.

One on one's? Bingo bango. A couple of people who's company I enjoy? Bring it on. But if I pass by an old lady in the walkway under the building and I realize that we may have to share 15 long floors together on the elevator I will knock that walker right out of her hands and power walk my ass to the elevator to avoid it. Yes, I will even rapidly hit the "close door" button if I hear footsteps once I have entered an elevator. I don't want to talk to you in line at the grocery store. I don't want to know what you did this weekend. I could care less how you know the bride/groom/birthday girl/etc. I once had a 31 floor elevator ride with the CEO of one of Winnipeg's largest companies and while we probably could have found a myriad of things to discuss, I shut down and he commented that my lunch bag matched my purse. My averting eyes? Yes. Thats a sign. Leave me alone.

But should you happen to corner me and I have no escape route or hand signal of distress to a nearby friend you will find that I can prattle on about cars or construction or the cost of groceries or recipes or preschools or hand foot and mouth disease with the best of them. I just don't want to.

Jamaican Me Crazy

McK has had so much sweat and bug spray and sunscreen and lotion end up in her hair this weekend that prior to this evenings wash she actually felt like she had dreadlocks.

Life's a Beach

Summer Accomplishment #1

Walking Through Perfume

The Best x2

I just saw an old movie starring John Travolta and I realized that he is one of my favorite actors out there. Then I found out Will Farrell was hosting SNL and I decided that my Saturday night was pretty much a 10.

Look of Death a la Pat

The other day I brought home the worlds most gigantic post it notes for mck to draw on (the ones that act as flip charts in meetings). Her eyes lit up at the magic of it all. Within minutes the apartment was wallpapered in various sayings and pieces of art. This, as those of you who know us, drove Pat crazy in a matter of a day. I put off the inevitable gallery closing for a few days and just last night he had all he could take and down they came.

This morning, mck said, "Mom, I feel a little different. Somethings not right." I told her it was just that the apartment was tidy (apparently an oddity). She said no, that wasn't it, it was something else, something else made her not feel right. I knew she knew what it was but I decided to not draw anymore attention to it.

Later this morning, mck turned to Pat (thrower-outer of all things crafty) and asked him what he did with them all, cuz surely you wouldn't throw away something of such value. We both stared at him with big blinking eyes, mck waiting for the answer and me, waiting for the entertainment.

Pat: stammer, stammer, I ummmm, I ummmm, I took them to work and put them up there so all the guys at work could enjoy them.
McK: Oooohhhhhh, cool.
Pat (looking very pleased with the believability of his story)
Me: Maybe we should go to dad's work so you can see how nice daddy hung all your pictures.
McK: YEAH!

Insert look of death here.

All Moved In

You know sometimes when a little change can be a big change. Yeah. Well. Welcome to my big little change. Ahhhhhh. Like a new home should feel.