Just Smile and Nod

I have something on my mind. In fact, it’s been a little all consuming, and I am afraid that this may come as a shock to those of you who think you know me well. It’s politics. It’s the state of our government. It’s the threat to my democracy. It’s all a little upsetting, all a little consuming, and could very well be the one thing that agitates me enough to send me into early labor.

For days I have been listening slack-jawed to all the things happening on Parliament Hill. I have felt enraged as I have listened to those I would deem “clueless” as they have spouted opinions that go against my sensibilities. And it shocks me to think that they are listening slack-jawed to those like minded to me, dubbing us as the clueless ones.

I rarely speak on this blog about politics. In fact – considering my growing obsession with the subject, it is a little shocking to me that I don’t write about it more. But there is a little fear - a fear that I may not actually know what the heck I am talking about. And I don’t want to be like those people. Like someone I know who talks so matter-of-factly about politics, and other such life things, and it is so evident to all the others in the room that they really have no clue of what they are talking about. But we all smile and nod and pretend…

So, go ahead and smile and nod…but this is what I think:

I think that this whole coalition scam was brought up under the guise of “concern” for the economy, but had VERY LITTLE to do with it. All this is about is 3 poor losers who determined ahead of time that they were bringing down the Prime Minister the first chance that they could. To “strike when the iron was hot” to quote Jack Layton himself, and he prearranged with another coalition member shortly after the election results were announced. POOR LOSER. If that is not premeditated, then I don’t know what is. In the days of the Tudors, all three would be beheaded for treason…but we won’t even go there.

I think it is absolutely crazy how the opposition moans and groans about democracy, and about how Harper is not listening to the Canadian people. He is listening to the Canadian people. We spoke 6 weeks ago, when we voted in Stephen Harper as PM. We spoke when we DID NOT vote in Dion or Layton as PM. And I do NOT remember there being a box to check for the coalition. Dion and Layton apparently do not like the voice of the people, and now are trying to muscle their way in through the back door. And that they call democracy? I don’t think so.

I think that Charles Adler is my new best friend. And you can hear all about his thoughts on the pathetic attempt to steal unearned power in his riveting hit-the-nail-on-the-head article on the “Three Stooges of Coupscam.”

I think our Governor General made a wise decision to prorogue government. Let’s all (and I mean all) just simmer down and take a deep cleansing breath. Let all the powers that be, and want to be have a nice break and share a little Christmas cheer with their families. Let’s just hope that the three stooges can look their loved ones in the eye (though a red face would make a stellar santa costume.).

I think I really like Stephen Harper. But you probably figured that out.

I think I need to stop. All this agitation is not good for the baby. All I have to say is this – my life was so much more peaceful when I was politically apathetic – living in my non-voting, non-caring state of bliss. And I have only Harv to blame. He has educated me. He has sparked my interest, and now we can discuss at quite long length all things parliamentary. And the more I get worked up, the broader his little grin becomes. I think he likes his feisty politically-minded wife. And I don’t think he is just smiling and nodding.

Let's NOT Give Them Somethin' to Talk About...

Have I ever mentioned how great my neighbors are? They are GREAT. Well, great in the sense that they are never home. They are two bachelors with out of town jobs that bring them home approx every third weekend. It’s an arrangement that has some definite advantages given our particular house situation.

You may wonder what difference it makes to my life whether they are home or not. And before you go labeling me as some nosy old bitty who is far too aware of what her neighbor is up to, let me assure you that this is not the case. In fact, it is my obsessive need for privacy that makes me so aware of the schedule of two bachelors.

Here lies the problem – my neighbors deck is almost directly across, and the exact height of my kitchen window. So if I am in my kitchen, and the gang is on their deck, then we are staring right at each other. And this seems to happen often, because when they are home, they are on the deck. Seriously…all day on the deck. ALL DAY. From sun up to sun down. I am not too fond of this arrangement. I have a high need for privacy in my home. And I feel like they are watching me. I do question why I have never bothered to put up curtains as I avoid my kitchen as much as possible on these weekends – but being the main cook in the house, I have to go in there eventually. And when I do…there they are – looking at me, thinking that I am looking at them. I have no desire to be looking at them. Sigh.

This weekend I felt like I just had enough. After 3 years of living in this house I finally lost it, and tacked up a piece of fabric to hide behind. It’s not permanent. It’s not pretty. But I know it will only be there for as long as the long weekend takes, and Tuesday morning when they will be gone once again, so will the fabric shield. And hopefully so will my irritation.

This little diatribe leads me to two important pondering questions. First of all – why is this bothering me? After 3 years of them nodding at me from their deck while they observe me wash my dirty dishes, why all of a sudden the need for some sort of protective shield? Most people become more relaxed as they age and mature. Is it possible that I become more neurotic as the sands of my life slip through the hour glass? I fear this may be the case. I feel I may be regressing, rather than progressing.

The other thing, and possible more intriguing to me is this…WHAT do they talk about for so long? I can't even wrap my mind around it. What on earth are they discussing? And how long can they discuss it for? I have never in my life seen anyone sit for such long periods of time. Just sit. I have to say, I don’t think that there is ANYONE that I would want to just sit and talk with for that many hours. I am good for maybe 3 hours…but then I need to throw in an activity. Could it be that I just haven’t found the right conversation partners? Could it be that these gentlemen are far more interesting than anyone that I may have encountered in my lifetime? Could it be the free flowing beer that accompanies the chatting - is that the secret? Maybe I should go see what these guys are talking about that is of such interest. Hmmm... maybe they are talking about me? Maybe my kitchen routines and old sheep pajamas spark the conversation that keeps on going...and going. Do you think? Well, if that's the case, maybe I should tame down my kitchen antics...look a little less enthused as I wash those dishes. Maybe cook with a little less flare.

Maybe the curtain was the answer to the problem all along! Lets see if this fabric puts the kibosh on the lengthy deck gazing. We'll see if this little curtain experiment gives them something NOT to talk about.

A Plea from the Frozen Tundra of my Mind

There must be something strange in the water these days; something floating around undetected that is throwing me all off kilter. I am not referring to our new water supplier: Superstore (or rather that we are now back to Superstore after they finally paid their water bill and are back in supply.) I am not even talking about the new found affection our former fish bully Dorrie has now found for her fishy tank mate Bonnie. I am talking about something entirely different. Or rather, I am not sure what I am talking about, but I know that something feels a little out of whack. I am not feeling like myself. I feel a little…off (Well let’s face it, I am usually off in some way or another, but this time I can’t quite put my finger on what it is.).

I haven’t felt like writing. I haven’t been playing on Facebook. I actually felt anger at my beloved cat the other day, because she wasn’t living up to my cuddly-cat expectations. Not even chocolate is holding its normal appeal. I have been all clingy and needy to my poor husband who is absolutely befuddled as to how to handle me. Sigh. All I can say is this…

I AM SO SO SOOOOOO SICK TO DEATH OF WINTER.

It has GOT to be over soon. It just has to be.

So maybe it is not in the water at all. Maybe it’s in the air. The cold, frigid, freeze your eyeballs open air that is seemingly NEVER ENDING. My calendar is telling me that in 14 days it will be spring. Dare I hope that to be true?

Oh please, someone tell me winter will be over soon.

Please?

Yeah...What She Said

This week we were once again at the Nursing Home doing a hymn sing for the seniors. At the risk of totally mortifying my beloved Grandma I must confess…I hate mornings at the Nursing Home. I think I have said it before, but it is probably my worst part of church life. It’s not that I don’t like the seniors. I really do. I’m not sure what it is exactly. Maybe it is because I don’t enjoy hymns. Well…I do enjoy hymns. Maybe it is because I don’t enjoy so many hymns. We sing in 3 different wings, and I don’t enjoy singing hymns for over an hour. Hymn after hymn, verse after verse after verse in screeching high pitches is not my idea of a good time.

Tuesday morning I went with a particularly good attitude. *Sense the sarcasm here people. I was carrying on an inner dialogue of grumbling and kvetching, all the while belting out never ending stanzas of Blessed Assurance and My Hope is Built. No, it was not my finest hour. All of a sudden, in the midst of my brooding and watch glancing there was this absolute holler... “GET ME OUT OF HERE!!” I slapped my hand over my mouth in horror. Did I say that out loud? How could I do that? What would Grandma think?

But no, it wasn’t me. It was my soul sister senior in the front row, who apparently wanted to be there as much as I did. Sigh. I can’t wait until I am a senior and can say what I am thinking as loudly as I want and no one even bats an eye. Well, no one except for me, who was holding back laughter, and fighting back the urge to high five her in front of the whole room.

For some reason I went to the next wing with a self satisfied skip in my step. Somehow I was feeling a little lighter. Like my words had been spoken, and I didn't even get in trouble with the pastor.

Oh Stress, Thy Name is Church Potluck

Have I ever told you my feelings on the church potluck? I’m sure I have. I hate them. Seriously. I am using the word hate here, to describe church potlucks. It’s not the visiting and the fellowship. I’m all about that. It’s not even the 20 variations of the same ground beef casserole. That particular aspect I find rather intriguing. It’s all the stress. It’s getting the food to the table. It’s bringing it all together. It’s the working with that blasted pot I find rather un-lucky. I can’t take it. I'm quitting.

I don’t know how to master the art of getting the aforementioned ground beef casserole to the church for the precise time, at the precise temperature, with the precise level of doneness – not frozen in the middle and not dry and crispy. I JUST CAN’T DO IT!!! Do I leave my casserole at home and come back to get it during the few seconds between the last amen of the service and the first amen of the blessing? Do I bring it to church and risk it being moved to the top of the crowded oven, leaving it undercooked? Do I rise early and bake it before church and just keep it warm for the hours I am at church? With all the greeting and Sunday schooling and worship servicing, that’s a lot of time in the oven. Should I bake it tonight and then just reheat it in the church microwave in the morning? Aaahhhh. Too many questions. This should not be this hard. I must be the only woman in the world that finds this stressful, or CERTAINLY some forthright wife would have spoken up and had these potlucks banned years ago. Or at least suggested that Boston Pizza be stirring the pots for us while we are sitting in the service. But apparently that is not happening, and so I sit here stirring up my own pot of inner stress.

That’s it. I’m calling my mother.

Tornado Watch

I don’t know if it’s the Monday thing, or if it’s the tiredness, or if it’s just the (sorry guys) PMS of it all, but (and here is where I would interject a good German word if I knew one) yeesh I am a grouch today. I am not my usual charming self, which is causing me to do some unusual, less-than-charming things. This has been felt all around town, as the poor citizens of Yorkton have been battling “Hurricane Shirley”. Victims included the dental hygienist who informed me that they would have to redo a botched filling job from my last appointment. This of coarse was just before she pulled out her little tiny steel dental blade of torture and proceeded to cut up my gums in the name of a hygienic check-up.

Also affected in the form of “inner mind torture” was the parishioner who continually calls Harv on his day off without fail –EVER…every single Monday (are you getting my point here?), calling to his attention all forms of subject matter which most certainly could wait until Tuesday. Oh, and lets not forget the poor Wal-Mart cashier who received a steely look of death so cold that she immediately disembarked on the chatty discussion she paused to have with her co-worker to resume serving us with an apology and quickened service.

My poor husband, bless his heart, looked at me in confusion and asked gingerly, “Um…are you feeling a little…um…blue today sweetie?” Well worded I must say. I don’t think he wanted to anger the beast. Sigh.

As Lloyd Robertson would say… “And THAT’s the kind of day it’s been on this Monday, June 25th."

Would You Like Cheese With Your Whine?

*note: Mom, you may not want to read this…

You have got to be freakin’ kidding me. This day could not get any worse. This week could not get any worse. Seriously…I could just swear. Really. But I won’t, because I know my mom is reading this, even though I warned her not to. Yes, I know that there are people sleeping on the streets. I know that there are children starving in war-torn countries. I know that there are many that have things WAY WORSE than me…but right now… I feel like life just sucks.

It was a bad day. We had to get the roofers to come in today, because they didn’t seal the chimney properly last month when they redid the shingles. The rain was leaking into my kitchen peeling down my paint and causing the stippling to crumble and fall. Then I went downstairs and found that there was a mass flood in our basement. The rain was coming in from somewhere. And we had just barely got the carpet dry from last week when we had to get the rotor rooter in after a tree root blocked the drain and flooded our washing machine. Now all the dirt that the rotor rooter guys dragged in has all turned to mud. The carpet will never recover.

My flower beds are flooded and everything is so wet and yet the rain still comes. Oh, but it did stop for a minute when is started to SNOW. That's right...I said snow. I might as well just water my flowers with poison and put them out of their misery.

My back is killing me. I don’t know what I did. And now I am wondering if it is my back at all. Maybe it is my kidneys. Maybe I’ve got the stones. That is just a self diagnosis in my depressive state. I am moving like an old woman, and I really need to be in tip top shape, because we are having a garage sale in Friday and I am NOT READY. And that is stressing me out.

And so I have been crying all day. Crying and eating chocolate. I know…it really doesn’t sound that bad. It doesn’t sound like much. Truthfully it is so much more, but these are the things that I feel I can share on a public forum such as this. An open book I am not. So I will just share a few and you can imagine the rest. Imagine it's bad enough to provoke an unhealthy mixture of tears, chocolate overdosing and swearing.

Thanks for letting me whine. Not that you had a choice...it is my blog. But I do feel a little better already. Maybe the chocolate is just kicking in. Tomorrow WILL be a better day. Right?! Oh please tell me that tomorrow is a better day. Mom? Are you reading this? You always said things would look brighter in the morning. I'm counting on it.

Another One of Those Days...

You know you’re having ANOTHER bad day when…

…You discover that the downpour of rain from yesterday is the final nail in the coffin that is your garden. A watery garden graveyard.
…You are informed with the tactfulness of a bug that the flowers you have planted from seed will not develop any flowers this summer.
…The trio number you have been practicing with your hubby and friend is stolen right out from under your nose (to be performed by another group this Sunday).
…You have supper company coming in 1.5 hours, and you are about 2.5 hours from being ready.
…You really want to write something to fill the blogging world with joy and warm thoughts but you are stuck too deep in the pit of despair and depression that has been your home for the last few months.

Sigh

One of Those Days...

You know you’re having a bad day when…

…It’s your only day to sleep in and you wake up at 6:00am.
…You wake up mad at the world, even though the world hasn’t acknowledged you yet.
…You drive over a pothole so deep that your teeth literally hurt from the impact.
…You spot a senior citizen wearing the same shirt as you, further cementing your place in the pathetic clothing hall of shame.
…You have to go to the Dr’s for an appointment that HE summoned you to.
…Your cat leaves more hair around your house than is actually on its body.
…You realize that you sent your father’s day card with only two words on the envelope…”Dad Janzen”.
…You FINALLY find the time to mow the lawn, and the mower breaks down after 5 minutes.

And that’s the kind of day it’s been. I’m not making this stuff up people! Let’s hope for a better day tomorrow.

Some Things You Won't Know Until Heaven...

These are just a few of the questions floating through the breezeway of my mind these days...

1. Why does it feel like all I do is clean day after day, and yet I am still racing around 15 minutes before the company comes like a crazy woman?
2. How is it possible that my cat has ANY hair left when it is ALL OVER THE HOUSE?!?!
3. Why can’t I find a contractor in this town to come do some work in my kitchen?
4. Why is the snow not melting any faster? (sorry, just being impatient!)
5. Why, when I finally stop biting my nails, do they all break off?
6. Why does the phone ring the MOMENT we take our first bite of supper? NEVER fails.

Just wondering.

If I Had a Loonie for Every Time I Felt This Way...

Superstore fills me with rage.

There…I said it. If admittance is the first step to recovery, why do I still feel the need to throw a toddler’s temper tantrum every time I go into that store? I hate it…absolutely hate it. But yet, every week, never fail, Harv and I go, dig out our loonie for the cart and participate in a form of self inflicted torture along with our fellow citizens of Saskatchewan. Every week I am filled with rage. (Well except that one week when we got everything on our list, and were .50 cents below our budget. A rare event that caused such great rejoicing in our household. All rage was overlooked that day). Yes rage people. And these are the questions I ask myself week after week:

*Why do I have to pay for my cart? And why can’t I ever remember to keep a loonie on hand for the occasion? And why is it that I forget the loonie on the coldest and stormiest of days? The loonie struggle does not start this grocery event well...it bodes trouble

*Why is it so blasted crowded in the store? Why does it feel like I am in the parking lot just after the super bowl game lets out? Why do I always feel like I am running people over? Why can’t people stay home and let me shop my groceries in peace? And why does everyone seem as rage-filled as I do?

*Why can't I ever find anything? It seems like I just get used to where something is, and they move it on me. Is it a little game that the night shelf-stocking staff plays? Are they trying to give me an anxiety attack so that I will head to their handy in-store pharmacy for anti-anxiety medication? Why are things not in logical places? Why are the powdered marinades not with the liquid marinades? WHO SETS THIS STUFF UP?!

*Why do they carry every specialty item from fancy cheeses, to 800 different kinds of imported rice, to foods that you should by every right have to order from specialty web sites or eBay, and yet, they can’t carry the most basic of things such as ivory dish detergent, the kind of Mayo that I like, and a lint roller for the cat hair on my jacket. Why people WHY?!?!

*Why oh WHY do I have to pay for my grocery bags? I have NO IDEA how many bags it is going to take. I cannot see into the future. Why do you ask me things I don't know the answers for oh young girl at the till? And do I play it safe and not run out, or do I remember that I am paying for these extra bags?! It’s FOUR CENTS people!!! Can’t they absorb FOUR CENTS?!?!? Shouldn’t there be some benefit for the torturous experience of stepping foot into their establishment? Seriously people, I am not making this stuff up.

And the biggest question of all…

Why, can’t you bag my groceries oh young girl at the till? Couldn’t you just do that for me? Don’t you see these stress lines that I have from the experience of the shopping trip? Don’t you see how my shoes are scuffed from the masses driving over my toes with their loonie-paid grocery carts? Don’t you see how tired I am from chasing down the boy on roller blades to find me the item that I knew exact location of the previous week? Don’t you see how I am weakened by the strain of weaving through every household item imaginable to man just for a litre of milk and a stick of butter? Please, oh young girl with the various stylings of superstore wardrobe (I particularly liked the green shirts they were sporting tonight) please couldn’t you just bag my groceries? Throw in the bags, and I’ll give you the four cent tip.

These are a few of the things that fuel my rage. And yet I keep going amidst the madness and psychotic breaks in the aisle. And why you ask? Because yes, indeed it is cheaper (that was painfully and calculatingly determined in the early days of seminary. Harv had to be VERY persuasive to lure me away from my beloved Safeway.). Yes, it is cheaper…but at what cost to me? Is it really worth the internal angst that I go through week after week? Is it really? I say no people. NO. And yet… I will still go, and knowing this I must ask myself…Is it really cheaper, or am I just addicted to misery?


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Swimming the Backstroke Down the River of Rage...

Hi my name is Shirley, and I am a rageaholic. Apparently the first step is addmittance. So I am on my way to recovery. Yes, last night I was in quite a rage. Harv told me to watch my temper, and I just had to laugh because I have never in my 32 years even once been told to watch my temper. Interesting feeling. And how do you watch a temper? Do you just sit there and think..."Yep - it's there - I'm watching, and I can see it is brewing like a firey inferno!!!" Yes, it was a night of rage. And really now, this morning I am not quite sure of what all the inner angst was all about. My Bass guitar fell over and gouged a big hole in my plaster wall and baseboard, Harv had a meeting at 4:30 and didn't come home till 9:30. Who needs to meet about ANYTHING for FIVE HOURS?!?! I am suppossed to be playing piano for worship on Sunday and I still don't have the music - and practice is today(and the leader knows I am no Mozzart...I need practice). I was volunteered to be on yet another committee last night, because the consensus seems to be that I don't have enough to do around the church. OOhhhh - that must be the biggy...I can feel the chewy chunks of rage building in my throat as I mention that one. Abby - our most loved and spoiled cat - scratched up my newly painted wall in her attempt to literally climb the walls. And then Harv and I heard her crash something last night, but fought over who was going to get up and check what she did. And as I lay there in bed raging, I thought...this can't be good for the blood pressure!! So yes, it was a horrible, no good, very bad, yucky day. But I survived. And it is amazing what a good nights rest can do. I am feeling better today. I am even smiling as I hear the continual beep-beep-beep of the neighbors rented back-O as he landscapes his yard. He is putting up a garage. The beep is continual. CONTINUAL. It sort of reminds me of the time that I was living in Winnipeg and they started building the Home Depot in the lot beside our apartment. About 6 feet away from my bedroom window. At 6 in the morning. And the beeping, the constant beeping...somebody stop the beeping!!!!! HEY...maybe THAT is when my anger management problem started?!?! ANYWAYS...so today I am taking deep cleansing breaths, thinking happy thoughts, and meditating on Isaiah 26:20 "Come my people, enter thou into thy chambers and shut the doors about thee: hide thyself for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast." Wouldn't it be nice if we could just hide ourselves away anytime there was any inner angst? I have a feeling I would be hiding ALOT. Maybe instead I will just learn to accept that everyone has a bad day once in a while and that is OK. I will learn to laugh at my rage problem. Didn't they always say that when life hands you lemons - make lemonade? Well how about if we are going to be swimming down the river of rage anyways...might as well make it fun and do the backstroke. Just a thought. Water wings anyone?