Holding on to my Youth

Harv woke me up with a kiss and a “Happy Birthday” this morning. I said…”Wow – I can’t believe I am 27!” I guess I was still in a partial state of dreaming.

I have been thinking about age. Not surprising given that I am turning a year older today. I have been thinking how age is just all relative. Its feeling changes like the swaying of my moods. I feel that way now more than ever. When we are first born, the passing days bring such wonder. Every month we celebrate Sam’s “birthday” and marvel at how fast the time is going. I just want to hang on to every moment. When we are young (no longer babies), the time seems to slow down. We are bursting at the seams to age. We are “Twelve and a HALF”; "Thirteen and three quarters thank you very much” and so on. We are always looking ahead to that next age of opportunity.

I remember it was around high school graduation/college, when I felt somewhat of a dawning coming over me…an awareness of life going so fast. I felt like time was picking up speed. But at the same time, I felt like I was in the prime of my life. Like a slow motion movie picture.

In my mid-twenties I remember feeling so old. I realize now it was very circumstantial. There I was – mid twenties – not married. No prospects on the horizons. Seemingly all my friends were married and starting families. I felt so old. Like the big party ship had passed me by, and I was stuck on the river raft all alone. I was young, but felt old. Old and alone. Then I met and married Harv, and felt young again. All of a sudden life was before me. We were the newlyweds. The young married’s (so to speak). I went from feeling old to young in a pretty short period of time.

In my early thirties I started to feel old once again. But in this case it felt more like a panic situation. Life was passing me by, and I felt like….like I was loosing time. At that point we had no kids – and were feeling pretty hopeless about ever having kids. I didn’t have a career. I did not particularly love my role as pastor’s wife. I felt like I had a big clock in front of me – wherever I turned – staring me in the face, just tick-tick-ticking away. Every year that went by, I felt more panicked, and more old. I felt like opportunity was slipping by me. Birthdays were not really a welcome event.

And today I turn 37. WOW. 37 seems MIGHTY close to my 40’s. Yikes. And how do I feel today? I feel content. I feel happy with where I am. I feel right where I should be. I don’t know what it is…maybe it is just having my Sam; but I feel good. I love where we live. I love, love our new church and I love, love, LOVE being a mother to my little Sam. Holding him seems to make time and age disappear. I don’t feel the same panicked sense that “life is passing me by” like I have felt the last number of years. I am tempted to say that “late 30’s” is a great age. But I know better now. I think that it is just a great time in my life and that makes me feel young. And happy. So happy birthday to me. And happy day to you…whether you are “young” or “old”.

The Stressful Bliss of Free Time

6 hours of free time. That is what I have. 6 hours to do whatever I please. Harv has taken Sam into the city to visit Grandpa and Grandma, leaving me with 6 hours to myself. 6 hours alone in my house. 6 hours alone with my thoughts - something that has not happened in more than 4 months. Not since the little one came in and disrupted our lives in such a pleasing, yet time consuming manner. Oh the bliss.

Being the freakishly unrealistic list writer that I am, I immediately came up with a list of more than 20 things that I needed to do, wanted to do, or just thought would be fulfilling to my inner psyche. Work on my baby book, work on my thank-you cards, paint my toenails, drive into town for some without-baby perusing, reading, organizing my office, writing in my blog, finding out if I still had a blog that people read, writing some letters, making some phone calls, having a nice long nap, having a shower without having to talk in sing-songy voice to the little one sitting outside the shower curtain, watching TV, napping again and the list went on as the thoughts and ideas flowed. As the list got longer and longer, the little prickles of stress became more and more prevalent, overtaking the bliss.

Harv, upon seeing the list, and knowing my freakishly unrealistic nature of wanting to accomplish EVERYTHING on that list, kindly offered to dispose of it. He instructed that the only thing I needed to do today was to sit and twiddle my thumbs in a restful and rejuvenating manner. (Thank you honey for even providing a physical demonstration of thumb twiddling, as I had forgotten.)

So here I am…resisting the urge of my inner to-do and embracing the bliss of the whatever. I had a great long shower (and even shaved my legs!!), I have revisited the joy of blogging – which I had forgotten about. And now I am off to do…whatever. Anything and everything. Or nothing…whatever I want. Oh the bliss.

The Unsettling Act of Settling

So the boxes, though still aplenty are slowly (emphasis on slowly) being emptied. My computer is finally out of a box and set up in a somewhat temporary situation, but set up none the less. I can’t say the same about the TV unfortunately. I’m really missing that. Harv’s first week has come and gone, and we have made it through 2 official Sundays. So far so good. This has been a month of many changes. Slowly (and again, emphasis on slowly) things are starting to feel a little familiar. Not so much with me as far as church and town goes – but as far as the house and where we are living. It is starting to feel a little more like home. I haven’t really done any decorating – so it actually feels like I am living in a really nice hotel that I quite like – but it doesn’t quite feel like “me”. Not yet anyway. I have however, taken to country living like a fish to water. It is quiet and peaceful and I can’t believe that I had my doubts.

I had some anxiety about “starting”. This month – though hectic beyond belief has been such a nice break. I have LOVED having Harv around, having no expectations, and not being “the Pastor’s wife”. I loved feeling like we had a choice about things -about our schedule, and who we spent time with, (or if we spent time with anyone!). I thought that after a month I would be ready to have Harv start. But I did not feel ready. And I felt quite frustrated with myself about how I was feeling. But I think it’s getting better. Or maybe I have just been distracted…

The pregnancy, which is moving right along now, has been taking up all my waking thoughts. Though I was progressing quite nicely (if I do say so myself) in Saskatchewan, it seems like it has all fallen apart with this move. OK – that sounds a little dramatic. But my blood pressure has gone up to concerning levels, and Dr’s started throwing around words like high risk and bed rest, and taking the baby out early. This was quite disconcerting for a first time prego like myself. I have now been referred to a specialist – who is apparently amazing with high risk deliveries. We now have to go into Winnipeg once a week, for monitoring and I will have to deliver in Winnipeg. I am ok with that – as long as Harv doesn’t have to deliver this baby in the back of our car on the way to Winnipeg. I have 7 weeks to go – so I am concentrating on getting lots of rest, and putting my feet up. This is not necessarily the easiest thing to do when one has just moved into a new house and all the nesting instincts are completely running amuck. Good thing we finally get our TV hooked up on Wednesday. Maybe I can keep my feet up while catching up on all the TV I have missed for the last month. Good times.

Missing Out

Do you ever feel like you are missing out? I have been feeling like that a lot lately. I know it is bound to happen when you reside in a separate province from family and friends, but lately I have been feeling the sting of it most sharply. Permit me to whine for a moment will you?

It was a quiet Thanksgiving. We missed out. Mom and Dad usually come here for Thanksgiving, but they had a wedding on the weekend and didn’t come. In desperation I even tried to farm myself out to some of the church members, but they were busy with their own family stuff. I did get some looks of pity though. That was…nice. I was so desperate for turkey and stuffing we went to the local buffet restaurant just to get some. We pretended it wasn’t as pathetic as it sounds. Sigh

On Tuesday, I phoned home to talk to my sister who was out for the weekend. They were all there (Mom and Dad, both my beloved sisters, and my dear nieces and nephews.) I was missing out. (Oh ya, the husbands were there too. They usually get overshadowed by the sisterly bonding and the antics of the children). And I was in Saskatchewan. Missing out. Again.

And then there is today. The big one. The event of the year. The Grand Poobah of all things to miss. As I write, my mom and my sisters are on a plane flying to the USA for a Women of Faith conference. The very conference that my sister and I have been planning and dreaming and scheming for almost a year now. The one with all details carefully and happily planned…from the conference to the hotel, to the shopping at Mall of America, to the…sniff, visit to…*catch in my voice*…IKEA. But I am missing out. I think I may have to stick my head in a blender.

We had no idea. We had no idea when we started planning this, that I would be 5 months pregnant. How was I to know? There was no way to predict this. And there was no way I could predict the extreme exhaustion I would feel, and how this baby would suck the very life out of me. (There is a reason they don’t advise children after 35.) There was no way I could predict the horrible, debilitating backaches. There was no way I could sit for 2 days straight, unless somehow I could smuggle in a lazy boy and a couple of pillows. Basically I knew when the Doctor frowned on the whole idea, and informed me I would have to wear compression stockings to prevent the blood clots that run rampant in my family, that the idea was dead in the water for me.

So I am missing out. And this time it really cuts deep. And I don’t mind saying, I'm feeling quite despondent about the whole thing.

But then…I’m not missing out on everything. I get to have a baby. And I get to feel this little one squirm around. I get to dream dreams for him or make plans for her. I get to think of names and nursery colors. Somehow that sweetens the whole sourness of this day. Well, that and chocolate. Trust me, just because I can see the bigger picture, does not mean I’m not wallowing in a grieving hole of chocolate filled sorrow. That is something else I am definitely not missing out on.

People

The other night a friend introduced me to a new show (as if I need any more shows to be addicted to...) Beauty and the Geek. As we watched we got into a discussion about what made a geek a geek. She informed me quite matter of factly that I was indeed a geek. I tried to contain my shock, though my stunned look and outcry of “I am NOT a GEEK!” might have given it away. This conversation has stayed in my mind ever since and I am left feeling quite baffled.

I know that this friend meant no ill towards me, and holds me in her highest affections (Hmmm... and it may be sentences like this last one that make her come to such conclusions about my inner geek.) though I was starting to wonder when she added a few days later that you cannot be beautiful and be a geek. I’m not sure what she is trying to do to my self esteem. She herself is a self proclaimed geek, and claims to be married to one. But even being aware of this, in regards to myself, I still must protest. And in doing so, I send this question out to the masses. What makes a geek a geek?

I decided to consult Webster’s. I was sure he would be on my side. This is what I found:

geek –noun
1. A person with an unusual or odd personality.

That was not really the rock solid defense case I was looking for. It could go either way. Though I do see myself as somewhat quirky, I don’t know that I would go as far as saying I was odd. I decided to try again. An online dictionary stated it this way:

geek Slang.
–noun
1. a peculiar or otherwise dislikable person, esp. one who is perceived to be overly intellectual.
2. a computer expert or enthusiast (a term of pride as self-reference, but often considered offensive when used by outsiders.)
3. a carnival performer who performs sensationally morbid or disgusting acts, as biting off the head of a live chicken.
Origin: 1915- 20

Form — geek·dom \ˈgēk-dəm\ noun
— geek·i·ness noun
— geeky \ˈgē-kē\ adjective

My dear husband came and looked at this definition and said, “That doesn’t describe you at all.” Bless his heart for not being able to visualize me as someone who bites the heads off of chickens. That is why I love him so much. So together we decided that I was indeed NOT a geek, and that I could put all such worries and offense out of my head.

But I am still thinking about it. Thinking about what makes a geek, and about what kind of people fall into that class. Even more importantly, I am thinking about - who decides? Who walked down the street one day and decided that so-and-so was deserving of this unflattering title? Who decides who falls into the category of geek, who makes the grade of beautiful, who is considered cool and who falls short? Who decided that we were not just all people with our own differences and quirks and uniqueness, but rather a society of classes...geeks, beauties, cool people and so on and so forth?

At the risk of recreating the scene in Can't Buy Me Love where Patrick Dempsey (aka "McDreamy") makes a similar heartfelt speech in the school yard (which incidentally was followed with that Hollywood classic that gets me every time- the awkward silence turned into a single slow hand clap that builds into uproarring applause.) I must say, I don’t see people that way. At least I try not to. I don’t see people as “too cool” for me, or not cool enough. I just see us all as… people...different people with different strengths and weaknesses. Some people I get along with better than others. Some I feel more of a kinship with. But we are all just people. Aren’t we ALL “cool” in some ways? Aren’t we all a little odd in some ways? Isn’t that what makes us all unique and special - our differences? Isn’t that what makes people – people?

So today I am embracing me…embracing people. People with differences. People with uniqueness. People with oddities and quirks. People who are cool. People who are classy. People who are known as geeks. People who are just people.

And even people who happen to think I am a geek.

The Too Tired to Think of a Witty Title Post

Have you ever been so tired that you feel like you can't even think straight? Probably not the best state of mind to be writing on a public internet forum. I can't be held responsible for what I may or may not say on here. It has been quite a week. We've had two funerals, a church banquet, worship leading, visitors, stresses and tensions to deal with...and I know there is more, but I am too zoned to think of anything else. I feel so tired that all I want to do is cry. I slept this afternoon for 3 hours, and I'm thinking of heading to bed before 9. That is not like me. It is amazing how things can all build up. It feels like some weeks are slow and "normal" and then you get hit with a whirlwind.

It is days like these where I need to fight to avoid drowning my sorrows in a pool of chocolate, or letting complete dispair set in. So far the fight is not going so good. But I am happy to say that I have only sucumb to a little chocolate and a little bit of complete dispair. I guess that would make it partial dispair.

But help is on the way. My dearest friend Tia is on her way armed with good humor and craft supplies. I have cleared my calendar and we will be having a week with enough rest and creativity to rejuvinate even the tiredest of old souls. She is informed of my depleted state, and will be fully prepared for a week of frozen pizza and Kraft Dinner.

Seriously...I feel the dispair subsiding, even just anticipating it. And in the meantime...I'm going to bed. OK...maybe just a little more chocolate, and then it's time for bed. I can't be expected to resist in my tired and weakend state. Sweet dreams everyone.

Happy Little Homebody

Yesterday Becky called me a homebody. Would some of you find that insulting? I just found it delightful (and I know she knew I would). Yes, I am a homebody. There is nothing that excites me more than a day at home with no plans. My mother was like this. And I am happy to inherit the genes. Today I am at home. Nothing short of a house fire is going to get me to leave this house today. I am snug as a bug in a rug.

I love being at home. I love having the day before me to putter and clean and do projects and catch up on my computer time. I love not doing my hair, and walking around in “home clothes”. It is a mix of satisfaction and increased adrenalin that someone may just pop in and catch me in this unfashionly state. On home days I feel free. I can decide what I will do with my time. I can decide whether or not I will answer the phone. I can decide whether or not I will answer the door, or slide on my belly across the floor, hoping that no one saw me through the window. OK…I don’t actually DO that. And I don’t usually let the phone ring either, but there is some thing about home days that make me feel like I could do those things if I wanted to.

I wish I could be home everyday. Sometimes that attitude concerns my hubby who states constantly that it would drive him crazy to be at home all day. Maybe that is why he drags me out so much. Or maybe it’s because of his job. Either way, I take these home days when I can get them, and soak in every precious minute. So today I am celebrating home days. And you can celebrate them with me. After all, if it wasn’t for these home days, I may never get to write in this blog.

And then what would you read on your home days?

Goodbye, Sweet Girl of my Youth

Today I say goodbye to my youth. That is what it feels like. Some would say I said goodbye to those days long ago. Others would shake their heads and say that I was still young. I guess it’s all how you look at it. Today I turn 35. I am not happy about it. Up until now I have still been getting away with “early thirties”. In fact, I must confess, that someone said I was 33 at the beginning of this year, and I didn’t bother to correct them. Frankly, it sounded so good that I told myself I was 33 for the entire rest of the year. That husband of mine kept correcting me. Being married to the pastor sure keeps you honest. Blasted.

Anyway, today I’m 35. MID thirties (*shudder). HALF-WAY to SEVENTY!! It’s all a little much to take. I confess…I shed tears. Seriously. So yes, I’ve moped around a little. I’ve bemoaned all my woes of being 35 with no children and no career. I’ve cried on my husband’s shoulder. I talked it all out with my sister. I’ve cuddled the cat.

BUT…I have decided to cheer myself up. I am, as we speak baking myself a cake, for the party that I am throwing for myself tonight. I am meeting my favorite Yorkton people at my favorite Yorkton place (BP’s) and we are going to hoop it up. I might even break out the good lip gloss for the occasion. And, on top of that, I am about to bring out all my Christmas decorations, because that never fails to put me in a good mood.

I am putting up a brave front, and I am determined to have a good day. I will worry about the rest of my life later. For today, there will be cake, and there will be sparkle, and I will show that sweet girl of my youth that we mid-thirty types know how to party as well.

The Sweet and Sour of Home Sweet Home

We are home now. Did you even know that we were gone? We have been all over the country…in Saskatoon for meetings, to the Whiteshell for relaxing and holidays, and to a camp near Regina for the annual Pastor’s Retreat. We have been tearing up the miles on our car for the last 2 weeks, and finally we are home. I love coming home. I know I have said this again and again, but I really do. I love sleeping in my own bed. I love showering in my own shower. I love not living out of a suitcase. I love our house. I love our cat. I love my routine. Home is good. It really is.

But there are two sides to being at home, and today I am feeling the sting of the dark side of coming home. This doesn’t come when you walk in the door. This doesn’t even come when the meals have to be cooked or the laundry has to be done. This comes when people realize that you are home, and life takes over. Phones are ringing and emails are waiting to be answered. Requests are pouring in... “Can you sing on worship team this Sunday?” “Can you come decorate the church for Thanksgiving on Saturday?” “Can you do this?” “Can you do that?” There are questions that need answers, plans that need planning and sweet and sour meatballs that need rolling for Sunday’s potluck. Then there is the guilt kicking in of – I should phone so and so, and them and they. It’s all a little overwhelming. Its life calling and I wish I wasn’t home to answer. It makes me want to leave again – to go back to the cabin and hide. But on the other side, I don’t want to go back to the cabin, because you know my feelings of being at home, and how I love it. Sigh.

Maybe it’s not home that holds the dark side, but rather my life. Can I even say that out loud without stirring the masses to get up in arms with speeches of thankfulness, and how I have it so good? I am not ready to face that (the speeches, or the depressing implications of such a statement) so I will not go any further with those thoughts. Rather, I will say – today I am extending our vacation. I am declaring a vacation day at home. I am staying home today. I am shirking responsibilities, and shrugging off guilt and “you should’s”. I am leaving the phone unanswered and the door unopened (I know that would absolutely mortify my father, so if anyone REALLY needs to chat, call him…he will always answer.).

I know this may sound depressing to some of you. And maybe in truth I am a little depressed. I know I can’t hide forever. But today I can. And maybe tomorrow, when life comes calling, I will not feel the need to screen its call. Maybe I’ll be ready. Just maybe.

Immersing the Reborn Waterbaby

I have always loved the water. I remember while growing up, spending hours running through sprinklers, spending the day at the waterslide park, or swimming in any form of pool/waterhole/mud-pit that was wet and available. It was like I was born to be a fish. Over the last many years though I gave up my love of the water. I would like say that it was due to some tragic near drowning that caused me to rethink my connection to dry land. Or I would even like to say that it was from some strange chlorine induced skin rash that has even the world’s finest dermatologist scrambling to find a cure. I would like to say those things, but truthfully, and yes, vainly, it was more of a... “packaging” problem than anything else. OK…I didn’t want to be seen in a bathing suit. There. I said it. Vanity run amuck I realize.

This year I decided to change all that. I got a little tired of sitting on the sidelines (and frankly, it’s too hot out there in the summer!). And so I jumped in. Ok, it was more of a toe dipping, gradual submersion thing, but in I went. I started at a hotel in the spring. It was me, Harv and a hot tub in a deserted pool room. I think the sparse company was only due to the desperate and fervent prayers I was wailing up to the Heavens all the way down the hall way to the pool area. I got in. I liked it. Water is still wet and fun. And the sleeping waterbaby started to stir.

The next try was here in Yorkton at the water park. It was me and my sister having a HOOT with my nephews and brother in law. There was splashing and tubing and floating and the waterbaby was fully awake and wanting more.

And so, it was quite the wet summer, and I can’t get enough. Between the tubing, the lake, the pool, the canoeing, the beach times, and even yes…water sliding (which is a WHOLE other story), I am hooked!! The other week my friend Tia came and we left behind our most beloved craft of card making – to spend hours and hours frolicking in the pool, floating on the “waves” and going down the waterslides over and over and over again. Seriously people, it’s ALL I want to do. So if you are ever in Yorkton, and feel like going for a little dip, just let me know. Chances are, this waterbaby might already be fully immersed in the pool.

Fallin' in Love with my Favorite Season

What bizzaro weather we are having today. It is a changing mix of rain to sleet to hail and then back to rain. It is cold and fall like. But I LOVE IT!! I love fall. Seriously…it is my most favored of all the seasons. I love the crisp and cool air. I love walking on the crunching leaves. I love the colors and the smells. There is just nothing better. Fall is the most beautiful time of the year.

Harv and I fell in love in the fall (aaaawwwww!). Yes we did. Maybe that is another reason why I love it. Or maybe that is WHY we fell in love…we were all intoxicated and hyped up on falling leaves, pretty colors, and pumpkin pies! Good thing I find him such a catch in ALL the seasons, or I may have to really think about this new theory I am stumbling on here. Hmmmm. We spent a lot of time outside that fall, seven years ago. We went on A LOT of walks and breathed in A LOT of fall air. Not much has changed. You can still find us out walking every night in the cool air. And yes, a lot of the times we are still holding hands. It’s the season people…fall just brings it out in me!

The other thing I love about fall is how everything is new, and beginning again. And I am not just talking about the new TV season (but let me tell you I am SO JAZZED about my shows starting. It’s like welcoming old friends back into my living room. But that is another post for another time…). Fall feels like a fresh beginning. I feel more of a sense of “starting over” than I do even in ringing in the New Year. Even though I haven’t been in school for a while now, I still get the same excitement of “things beginning” that I did when I was a student. And don’t even get me started on my love of new school supplies. That might just send me over the top here people!!

I am so thankful that God, in His infinite wonder and creativity, gave us seasons to enjoy. I am thankful that He gave us moments in the midst of the long year to feel like things are fresh and new. I am so glad that just when we are starting to lose the wonder of one season, He brings in another to keep us on our toes. Speaking of toes, all this talking of fall has given me the itch to go walk around in some crunchy leaves. I may even jump in a big pile of them…but then again, we wouldn’t want to get too crazy now. We’ll save those sort of shenanigans for the snowy piles of winter. Enjoy fall everyone!!

Making My Dreams a Reality

Last night we had our first planning meeting for our church camp retreat, happening in June. Hammering out some of the details just got me so excited. I am hoping this will be a time of bonding and renewal for the church. I have been dreaming of doing this since we started here, and after 4 years of talking about it, it will finally happen. I can’t think of a better way for a church family to really get to know each other.

This retreat makes me think of the church retreat that I was a part of with my Winnipeg church years ago. It was an excellent time of fellowship. Unfortunately for me, the one that I really wanted to fellowship with had just broken up with me a month earlier. And yet, in all the heartache, there I was, still leading worship with this guitar playing blond drink-of-water who could warm me down to my toes with just a certain smile. Yes, it was a gut-wrenching weekend. But that was only because we were fooling ourselves to think that we could live without each other. Good thing we rectified the situation the following summer with the wedding of the century.

Anyway…but I digress.

The retreat is happening, and that feels good. It feels good when things happen. One thing that I have learned about myself since being here in Yorkton is that I am a great visionary. I have ideas and dreams flowing forth like milk and honey in the Promised Land. The thing that I don’t have is follow-through. I am a little weak in the implementation. This has gotten me in trouble more times than I care to count. Is it any wonder why I have a room full of hopes and dreams in the form of craft supplies, and few finished products? I have ideas, but I can’t seem to make them happen. This moment of self discovery and clarification has really been quite freeing. I do wish I would have learned this about myself years ago. It would have cut back on many moments of brow beating and inner berating. I also would have saved a bundle on “project supplies”. I am embracing my weaknesses. I have learned that I need a helping hand. I can dream, and in my delusional state, I can scurry around, trying to accomplish things all on my own, but in reality…I need others. I need a team. Enter Harv. Enter family. Enter church friends. Last night was so great. I was zinging out ideas like baseballs in the outfield. And along came the team to help with implementation. This is the beauty of working together. I am so thankful that God gives us people to fill each others gaps. When we work together, we accomplish so much more.

Now that I have come to terms with my shortcomings, I think that I need to add a housekeeper to the “life team”. Someone who could come and implement some floor washing and laundry folding perhaps?

Dark Night of the Soul

I have “update blog” on my list of things to do today. Well, truth be told, I have had “update blog” on my list of things to do all week long. It has come down to this: whether inspired or not, the blog must carry on. I don’t know why I am finding it so hard to get back into things here on this sight. Even my emailing habits as of late have taken a nosedive. But let's face it, they were really nothing to snort at to begin with.

OK…here it is. I’m blue. I am feeling a little out of sorts. A little down. I’m not sure why. Maybe it is having the taste of glorious spring out in BC, and then being thrown back into the unmelting field of snow in my backyard. Maybe it is getting back into my life after a very lackadaisical March. Maybe it is all the sadness in my church right now, as it seems like so many are really struggling with different things. The sorrow feels like it weighs heavily. Maybe I am just moody. I just don’t know. But I feel such a heaviness in my spirit, and I am at a loss as to what to do about it.

Last night I had a good cry – poor Harv. (Incidentally – what is a “good cry”? It really didn’t feel that good. It felt like a sobbing-heaving-I-think-I-am-having-a-heart-attack-anxiety-causing-sorrow-laden-tear-fest…and they call that “good”?) This morning, I still feel…ech. In fact, I really did not sleep well, and so now I feel tired, and…ech.

So, I am not sure what more to say. You know I would like to wrap all this up with a pretty bow, and say how I read a verse or two, and now I feel so much better. I do like things to come off looking…"unmessy”. But life is messy, and sometimes sadness lingers, and sometimes things cannot be spun into a positive Daily Bread sort of tale. So with that said…I will end this, and hope for better days to come.

Decisions, Decisions...

I'm stressed. I just got back from vacation and I am stressed. It's not good people. Alot of big decisions going on in this household these days. And those of you who know me well know that I am not good with decisions. NOT. GOOD. We are choosing colors for our roof, siding paint, trim, cement stairs, and all that stuff. It is extreme makeover at it's finest. Or at least at the only level that I may ever know. It's a total turn around in current curb appeal. Thanks to that hail last year that wiped out our yard, Insurance has insured us a new look for the spring. Oh, don't get me wrong...it is exciting. It is thrilling in a way that mere words cannot describe. This very well could be the only time in my life that I get a complete new look for the house at one time. But do you know the pressure that I am under right now?

Where is Martha and her fabulouso color palette when you need her? I have been looking around at A LOT of houses since last fall. There are many amazing color combinations. There are also a few combinations that I can only describe as "ooooops". I can't have an "ooooops" moment here. What are the chances of getting this once in a lifetime freebie done again in a few weeks if the colors we choose turn into an "oooppps"?! Any hail in the forecast?

I am attracted to bold colors, dark colors, colors that you would see in Nova Scotia, or in some areas in BC. But these are not Yorkton colors. Not in the slightest. I am surrounded by whites and shades of blue gray. And I need to consider resale right? I would like to do it a mossy sort of green, but Harv refuses to live in a "mold house" as he so affectionately calls my color choices. Hmmmphh.

Yes, so my mind is in a bit of a whirl wind right now. And to top it off, we are thinking of changing our TV provider. And I don't do change very well. I am as good with change as I am with decisions.

I think I need to go lie down. But where...on the couch, or on the bed? I can't decide.

I need help. Seriously.

The Latest Fad...Is it a Crock?

I don't think of myself as one who follows the fads. I've never been particularly moved by the latest styles, or the newest thing. Oh sure, there was that time in grade 8 when my friend Gloria tried to move me into modern style by dressing me up in her ever-so-hot floppy pink sweater, leggings, slouch socks, and full length pearls. I remember walking into church choir practice feeling on top of the fashion world. I was hot. H.O.T. And who could forget the Grand Beach “clam digger” faze, and that unfortunate grade 7 hair “feathering” fiasco? But other than a few misguided attempts in what’s hot and what’s not, I have pretty much done my own thing. But that being said…I am all for a good thing. Becky and I were discussing last night that I am a bandwagon girl. If it’s fun, and if it’s a good thing…more often than not, I will jump on the bandwagon. Mind you, often that bandwagon is about a year behind, but I will still be on it. A good example of this would be this blog. I am totally on the blogging bandwagon. I love it, and it makes me happy. And though it seems like having a personal Internet space, or blog, was all the rage for a long time, it took me a while before I was ready for one of my own.

Last week I was visiting a foot doctor, and we were discussing my obsession with wearing slippers 24 hours a day…winter or summer. She suggested to me that there were things to wear that would give better arch support, and make me feel better from head to toe. So I asked her about Crocks, and she suggested I give them a try. I had heard about crocks last summer, when all the kids in my youth group were wearing then, and apparently anyone who was anyone had them as well. I just thought they had a ridiculous name, they looked rather funny, and what on earth was the big deal about rubber shoes? Sheesh.

Well I did it. In the name of good arch support, I got them. It’s not about fashion…it’s about the health and wealth of my feet and knees. I felt a little silly buying them, and I’m sure the pre-teen girl at the counter was laughing behind that polite smile, and knowing look, but I did it. Tonight as I skeptically put them on my slipper-less feet, I thought, “Wow, there are really comfortable.” After a while I thought, “Man, these things are great.” And after an even longer while I thought, “Wow, my feet look freakin’ fantastic in these ultra cool shoes. I am so hip.” And before I knew it I was back in junior high, walking into choir practice with my slouchy socks, swinging pearls, and sporting a ‘tude the likes no runway model had ever seen. Now this is one bandwagon worth jumping on with both feet.

Creatively Expressing My Lack of Creativity

So Harv is out tonight at a Superbowl party. A night of football and big screen TV; what could please him more? I on the other hand am still fighting the germ pandemic of 2007, which now has been downgraded to a bad cold. I was supposed to go tonight as well, and knowing my love of all night sport-fests, I’m sure you are sensing just how broken up I am about having to miss this. And now I have a whole evening to myself. What to do? What to do? What I do know is that it will have to involve some sort of chick flick, and some form of creative expression (that would be crafts, not interpretive dance…though I could do that as well).

For some reason this night of opportunity doesn’t please me. Lately I have been discovering a painful truth about myself – I don’t handle “me time” all that well. Now don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I don’t like to be alone. It’s not even that I have no hobbies or interests to occupy my time. That is not the problem. The problem, is that I have too many. Should I paint? Should I read? Should I make cards? Should I dust off that old Bass guitar that I haven’t touched in a year? I could work on this journally-scrapbooky thing that I’ve started. I could finish painting the tray I promised to a good friend of mine. I could make Harv a hand-made-with-love Valentine’s card, so that we don’t have a repeat of last year’s debacle. I get so overwhelmed by all of the choices that I usually end up doing none of the things that I hoped for. And then when hubby gets home I’m all grumpy because I didn’t do what I wanted to do, because I could not figure out what that was! I don’t do what I want to do, because I don’t know what it is that I want to do. Do you think that there is any chance in Romans when Paul is talking about the good that he wants to do, that he does not do, that he could be referring to crafts?

Ahh but it’s more than just too many choices. I have issues. Yes I will admit it. I’m sure there are lots of underlying things that are swimming around in this brain of mine, blocking my goals, hampering my full potential. For example, the all or nothing syndrome, the need for perfection reeking havoc in all things peaceful and pleasurable, the fears, the indecision, the insecurities, I could go on and on. My mom said that when she does find the time to paint she realizes the talent that she has built up in her head falls a little short on the canvas. I know that blocks me as well. In my head, I am a fabulous painter. I could be a regular Thomas Kinkaide…ahem…um…but I just can’t find the time. I know that I should really see someone to sort through all this stuff, but I am afraid that I won’t be able to narrow down which one of my many issues I would like to discuss with my shrink. Then I will feel upset that we didn’t discuss what I felt that we should be discussing during our discussion.

I really WANT to partake in creativity. At least I THINK I do. Maybe that is the problem. Maybe I just don’t know myself. Maybe I would rather be watching football than being at home doing crafts!! THAT’S IT!!! Wow…maybe this is a defining moment that you are all witnessing here…a real moment of self discovery. I am a sports lover, not a crafts lover! Oh hubby, you wish…I couldn’t like sports if I tried. Seriously.

Well I don't know if I can figure this all out, but at the end of the night, at least there is one thing that I know about myself…ONE form of creative expression that I actually partake in, and not just think about…writing. And oh look…at least I can say that I did ONE thing that I wanted to do tonight…this post!! Now everything is right in my little world. I better go cancel that appointment with my shrink.

Dissolving the Evolving Resolution

Well it’s that time of year again. It’s time to make those New Year’s resolutions. I realize that there are those out there who have made and broken their resolutions already, but I think I established in my last post that I am a little behind this year. And besides, I long ago gave up trying to start my resolutions at the stroke of midnight. I think that happened the year I resolved to lose weight, but still wanted to party with chocolate until the wee hours of the morning. That of course went out the window, along with the resolve to get to bed earlier.

This whole resolution thing can really take on a life of its own, especially when one is as obsessive as I tend to be. One thing just leads into the other. After all, how can I resolve to improve one area of my life when there are so many other interconnecting areas to work on? For example, I would like to try new things, and try to finally get done some of the old things. I would like to procrastinate less with things I need to do, and procrastinate more with things I shouldn’t be doing. I would like to keep the house cleaner and get a little leaner. I would like to be a better support to Harv in the church, and that reminds me, I would like to shop for a more supportive bra (sorry men). I would like to be more faithful on the blog, and less faithful in front of the TV. I would like to cook a little healthier, and clean out the fridge more regularly. I would like to visit more in the church, and yet, break free of that need to do things that are expected of me, and not that I feel called to do. I would like to keep in better touch with people. Oh, and I need to finally send out those change of address cards. I would like to spend a little less, and buy a little more time for things that I would really like to be doing. I would like to walk a little more, and yet – drive a little more – I am getting out of practice. I would like to read more, and yet – maybe it’s time to stop reading and start writing. I would like to paint more, and do more crafts...which reminds me…I would like to paint the basement, but first I need to sort and clean. So add garage sale to the list…

Oh my, this is completely exhausting. On second thought, I would like to scrap all the above and make a new resolve for 2007. This is the year to finally accept myself exactly as I am. Wow. What a relief. I feel better already.

Oh Stress...Thy Name is Holiday Hustle and Bustle

I'm trying to keep it all together. I really am. I have given myself all the little pep talks about enjoying the holidays, and remembering the reason for the season. I have cut things like baking and extravagant holiday entertaining out of the to do list, and I turned my back on my nemesis - that blasted Christmas letter that I am always vying to write. I even went as far as to buy fabulous Christmas mugs to promote the drinking of hot chocolate and resting by the warm glow of the Christmas tree. But seriously people...it's like I just can't help myself. I am stressed out. I am inflicted by Christmas stress. The holiday hustle and bustle is reeking havoc on my quest for silent nights and a mental state of comfort and joy.

There is so much to think about. The cards. What to write in the cards. Who to send cards to. To add a photo or not to add a photo. And then more thoughts about what to write in the cards. Sigh. And then there are the thoughts on the church Christmas banquet. How did I get in charge of all the decorations? And will those blasted centerpieces look as unimpressive as I am afraid that they will? And how will our trio sound? And will my shoes work? They are old. They are not a great fashion statement. And did I buy the right size of pantyhose? Yes..these are the thoughts that churn around in my brain. Does this sound like sitting-by-the-tree-sipping-hot-chocolate-with-my-great-new-mugs sort of relaxing thoughts? No. I didn't think so.

This is not how Christmas is supposed to be. And the craziest part is, it's all very self inflicted. Take for example the aforementioned Christmas banquet decorating thing - I said that I didn't want to do it this year. I said that if they couldn't find anyone else I would do it - but it would be VERY simple, and VERY low key. So this afternoon while we were decorating I was getting all uptight because it was TOO simple and TOO low key. It's like the burning desire-for-things-simple side of me was fighting with the high-falootin'-perfectionist side of me, and the perfectionist was winning. The perfectionist always wins. It's an obsession and it always seems to win. But does it REALLY win? Since when does stressed out feel like winning? Since when does the angst of getting things perfect feel like a victory? No I think that it just makes me feel all around loser-ish. Why is it that even though I cut things out of my to do list, deep inside I still have the inner angst of what I am not doing? When will I ever really just be able to chill out and just simplify? And I mean really simplify. Not to just say it, but continue on with the inner mental berating that follows me around. I mean simplify and feel at peace about it.

This is such a battle. So much of me wants the perfect little life. I look at a Martha Stewart Christmas, and I want that in my home. I want the real floral centerpieces and the perfectly browned turkey to be served with perfectly matching linen napkins, beautifully flickering dripless candles, and a trail of pine greens cascading down my carved wooden staircase banister. But the thing is - I don't have a carved wooden banister. I don't have a clue how to make a turkey, much less brown it perfectly and in all reality, most of my friends would much rather hang out around a pizza and a good game of Scattegories than a formal dinner. And frankly - so would I. What I think that I want doesn't really seem to fit into my lifestyle - or even who I am. Maybe I just don't know who I am. Wow - I think you are all witnessing a real life identity crisis.

Well, the perfectionist in me would like to wrap all this up nicely with a glittery bow, and tell you how I have found victory in my angst, and how I have grown in this area of my life, but truthfully - I am at a loss. I don't know how to break the perfectionist cycle. And I don't know if I want it completely broken, or just partially broken. But what I do know is that my real floral centerpiece looks very Martha-ish, and amazing, and is giving me daily joy. So in all things there is joy and sorrow. There is some angst in the perfectionism, and there is some joy in it. I just can't figure out if the end result of joy is worth the angst it takes to get me there. But that is something to ponder on another day. For now, I am going to sit by my perfectly decorated tree and try to relax with my new wintry mugs filled with hot chocolate, steaming just like they would in a Martha Stewart magazine. And for now, that is O.K.

Happy Birthday to Me!

At the risk of sounding attention deprived and well-wish seeking, I would like to make the following announcement ... today is my birthday. Yes, 34 years ago I entered this world. I'm not sure how I feel about this age. I was quite unhappy about the whole thing until I decided that 34 still qualified as "early thirties". Mid thirties will happen at 35. I really don't care if anyone agrees with this or not...in my little world - it's a fact. So now that this little decree has been firmly established in my mind, I have decided to let the good times roll. Let the birthday celebrating begin! The following are some of the things making me look forward to this day...

1. I am wearing a fancy shmancy new outfit to church. It's all flowy and girly. I can't wait. I will knock 'em all dead. Yaaay me.

2. Harv is going to sit with me in church. He is not preaching, not leading worship, not leading communion, not doing anything, but welcoming the people, praying and then coming to sit with me. This almost never happens. Someone is getting a little arm-around-the-shoulder action tomorrow. Yaaaay me.

3. Harv is whisking me away on a little birthday get-away tonight. We are going away for the night. Our bags are already packed. I have the promise of much care, attention, and a good dose of cuddling. And there will be a hot tub. Too much information?! Yaaay Yaaay me.

4. On Monday we are meeting some of our much loved church friends for supper at Boston Pizza. I love Boston Pizza. I love meeting friends at Boston Pizza. I love going to Boston Pizza with friends for my birthday. And Becky made some mention of an ice cream cake. Yaaay Yaaay Yaaay me.

So I am happy. It is going to be a good day. But for now I had better go and prepare for the onslaught of affection. I need to be my sparkly best for my big day.

Home Sweet Home?!?

I’m feeling a little out of sorts these days. After a week away from Yorkton, and all that life holds here, I am finding the reintegration to be somewhat of a challenge. I had a very happy husband greeting me with flowers and a spotless house – but even with that I am struggling to get back into routine - struggling to feel at home in my home. It really didn’t help that I was greeted by a strange man standing in his pajamas in the middle of my kitchen. We (and by we, I mean, Harv) have been hosting one of the hockey chaplains who is here for the week attending the big hockey tournament in town. I felt like I should tell him to make himself at home, but I realized that he had been there for almost a week and in all reality, he was feeling more at home in my home than even I was at that moment!

I often feel homesick when I am away. I am a bit of a homebody – and I like to stick close to home. But right now it feels different. Is there such a thing as away-sick? I just didn’t feel ready to come back. I didn’t feel ready to face a busy schedule and so many things that I “should” be doing. I wasn’t ready to let go of time with Tia and Amy, and with my sister, and my nephews. It was all just too good. And it all went so fast.

So I am feeling a little sad today - a little away-sick. Harv is at the hockey tournament, and I am home alone thinking about the great talks and laughs and adventures of last week. We have something up every night until next Monday, and all I can think about is hopping on the train and heading back to Winnipeg. I just wonder how long I would be gone until the homesickness would actually kick in. I know my inner homebody is in there somewhere, but today I just can’t seem to locate it.