Bleached Linen

Easter Tradition

2010-04-02T17:25:00.000-07:00

My grandfather is Ukranian, so when he married my grandmother she was determined to master the art of perogies, cabbage rolls, borstch, and every Easter.... Pysanky (Ukranian Eggs). It was a wonderful tradition. We'd all be gathered around the kithen table while my grandfather watched, his eyes twinkling and he'd laugh as he called me his little kushka (chicken)... My grandmother always had all the supplies laid out for us and encouraged everyone to experiment with different designs. She, and my Aunt Nicki, always made the best pysanky in my opinion. They had the patience for the intricate details, a character trait I wish I'd inherited from them.

The above photo is from our cross Canada trek in the summer 2008. We stopped in Vegreville, Alberta. This giant pysanky is a roadside attraction there that we just had to stop and admire. It was created back in 1974 to commemmerate the 100th Anniversary of the RCMP. The design represents harmony, vitality and culture.

Words on the tip of my tongue (or rather... my fingers)

2010-03-13T19:10:00.000-08:00

I had hoped to start blogging this year with a renewed vigour, but instead find myself staring at the computer screen waiting for the words to return to the tips of my fingers.
Have you ever had that feeling, you've got something to say, words on the tip of your tongue but you just can't find them? It's a great way to describe writers block... because even though the words are failing you can feel them burbling under the surface.
I remember years ago, going on a poetry retreat with a friend who is an amazing poet (and I believe she is now the poet laureate of the City of Victoria... a very witty and inspiring woman!) Anyways, prior to this retreat I was writing away, trying to get something half decent on paper to workshop while I was there but the only thing I could get out was either too rhymey or too whiney. Yet after a few days of workshopping these really bad poems at the retreat, something shifted in me, and I came away with something I was proud of.
Recently I was at a Steve Bell concert and he, a songwriter, was talking about writers block, about heading off alone to a friends cabin in the middle of nowhere and how it took days of sitting alone on the couch, just meditating on the scene in front of him before a song came burbling out.
It'll be a few months before I can head out on a weekend retreat but I think that is just what I need. In the meantime I'll have to start searching for ways to have mini retreats: a long walk, a good book, a hot bubblebath, a bikeride through the woods...

Beatle-opoly

2010-01-08T18:32:00.000-08:00

A lovingly competitive round of Monopoly on Christmas night at my brother's house went on for about four hours. We picked up Beatles Monopoly as a last minute Christmas present for the boys after playing a round of it at my Dad's house. (He had bought the game as a Christmas gift to himself and we decided to do the same.) It was a big success.

We try to keep up a tradition of family game night throught the year, but it doesn't compare to the fun we have when everyone is together, satisfied from a savoury turkey dinner with all the fixings, under the twinkle of tree lights, and a steady stream of Beatles tunes to keep us in the groove. "A very merry Christmas and a happy new year. Lets hope it's a good one, without any tears"

Nostalgia

2010-01-06T18:26:00.000-08:00

This silver airplane ashtray lamp was in my grandparents house for years before finding its new home in my Dad's livingroom. My grandfather, who passed away in 1992, was a maritime patrol pilot in the Canadian Airforce and this piece always reminds me of him. I remember when I was a kid thinking it was so cool that the plane lit up from the inside, the light reflecting out the windows. The lamp feature broke years ago but I still think it's pretty cool . My grandparents bought this in Toronto in the late 1940's, when they were a young married couple, before they adopted my Dad, before they moved out West to Vancouver Island, before a multitude of milestones, long before I was born...

A View of the World

2010-01-04T15:10:00.000-08:00

This telescope and globe are on display next to a row of windows in my Dad's home. Outside those windows there is a patio. Beside the patio is a garden bed. Beyond the garden bed is an expanse of yard surrounded by fence and a big wide gate to the road. At each end of the road there is a trail to the beach. At the beach there are barnacle covered rocks, waves lapping softly or ferociously depending on the wind and a haphazard collection of driftwood that has rolled up against the shore. Along the beach is the ocean and beyond the ocean a view of islands and distant mountains and an expanse of sky.

On this globe my Dad's home is not even visible. You couldn't even put your finger on the street where he lives. You'd have to peer intently at the smudge of land that represents the 450 km long island where I grew up, to see the tiny dot that represents the town of Comox, with a population just over 12,000.

And to be honest, you could look at the globe for hours and still you would only see Comox if you already know it's there. This all makes me think how the world is so big and so small at the same time.

My Haphazard Garden

2006-05-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

This year I am really pleased with my garden. I am not an avid gardener but I do enjoy being outside digging in the dirt. This year my garden has offered me a refuge. I pull in my driveway filled with anxiety and I see a new blossom. My anxiety lifts. In the morning I sit in my backyard with my morning coffee and take in the lush greens, purples, yellows and blues that surround me. This morning quiet rejuvenates me and prepares me for the day ahead. It is a haphazard garden, somewhat like my life, and I love it.

Happy Mothers Day

2006-05-16T07:57:00.000-07:00

I arrived home on Saturday afternoon to find this incredible bouquet of flowers on my doorstep. A loving note was tucked inside from my husband who phoned long-distance to flowers on top, our favourite flower store downtown Victoria. He is still in language training just outside Montreal and won't be finished for another few months. I love this spontaneous romantic side of my husband that surprises me with his extravagance. I love how much he appreciates my role as a mother. Sometimes it feels like a pretty big role to fill. Other times (most times) it feels like the most incredible opportunity. I cherish my three children and on mothers day this year they made me feel like they also cherish me. I think they learned that from their dad.

No Straight Road

2006-04-13T08:57:00.000-07:00

Our lives are inspired by the dreams we have from the earliest stages of our youth. When you combine passion and hard work, then success is always possible. While no road is ever straight, dedication and persistence will always lead you to your dreams
Starbucks The Way I See It #63

This was the message on my coffee cup this morning. I was struck by the words "while no road is ever straight..." I have been longing for the straight road, for clear direction without awkward turns, but this road I long for is not appearing. Instead I am faced with the road to Tofino, complete with big trucks blaring past me and the occassional bear sighting ... Of course I am being metaphorical. If you have ever travelled the road to Tofino you will know exactly what I mean. It's a scary road to drive. But the destination! Wow! It is incredible. At the end of this windy narrow old-logging-road-turned-highway you arrive at paradise: the most spectacular expanse of ocean on Vancouver Island.

Finding Nemo

2006-03-18T18:49:00.000-08:00

Right now my 13, 11 and 1 year old sons are sitting on the couch together watching Finding Nemo while my husband does laundry and while I work on the last of three essays for a course that finsishes in just two more weeks. I woke up this morning to a hot mug of fresh organic coffee and the newspaper laid out on the coffeetable right in front of where I love to curl up on the couch. Later, while my 11 year old son practiced baseball with his team and my 13 year old son curled up into another hour of sleep my husband and I walked along silent trails through the forest while our 1 year old son tried to eat random sticks, blades of grass and daffodils that I handed him as we walked, in hopes that he would be entertained in his stroller.
Life couldn't be more perfect than this moment.

Re-Weaving

2006-03-06T21:57:00.000-08:00

This evening as I was writing in my journal and half listening to the CBC I had an awesome moment of synchronicity. I wrote "I really need to be getting on my way out of this rut that I am in, toward whatever it is that God created me for." (refering to my indecision over where I should be going with my school/career goals)
...and the speaker on the radio show (David Kearney) responded with "We are a patchwork of stories; stories that have been chosen for us and stories we reweave for ourselves. Through communicating our story we are able to unweave and unwind it and say I am not determined by this chosen pattern. I can reweave my life."

No Place I'd Rather Be

2006-02-19T21:14:00.000-08:00

My friend Irene (the one in the middle) just sent me this picture that was taken a year ago on Galiano Island. (Look how small baby Eli is in my arms!) Four of us had rented this cute little cottage across the street from the beach. We feasted. We laughed. We cried. We laughed more. In fact we probably didn't cry at all, but it seems like the kind of thing we would have done. Irene is coming to BC in a few weeks and I wish I could surprise her with a weekend at this same cottage. I wish I could recreate this moment of intimate friendship. But I know there will be other photographs taken, in different settings, that capture the same intimacy and joy that is so vivid in this picture.

Preparing to Climb

2006-01-13T21:39:00.000-08:00

I just received this picture, by email, of my son preparing to do some climbing at a local climbing gym with his youth group. What a wonderful shot! Thankyou to the leader who captured this image that is 100% Jonathan; serious, thoughtful, contemplative...

You may look at this picture and see a boy with smudges on his shirt and hair in his eyes. I look at this picture and I see a young boy preparing to climb. I see a youth who is oblivious to the rest of the world. I see a young man carefully following the rules as he ensures that the ropes will hold him firmly in place as he climbs to great heights. I see my son growing from a boy into a young man, and I know this is something he will do well.

so much depends on an old wheelbarrow

2005-12-13T22:59:00.000-08:00

I have often wondered how much really ...depends/ upon/ a red wheel/ barrow/ glazed with rain/ water/ beside the white/ chickens and then I saw this wheelbarrow lying abandoned as I was walking throught the forest after a rain. As I shot this picture I created my own version of the famous poem by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon a rusty old wheelbarrow
that used to carry
wood
across the farmyard
and now lies waiting for the children
who will
find
and transform it
into a chariot for imagined adventures

Moral: what is old and discarded to one person is a potential treasure to another. What one person does not see anymore another may find and cherish.

Decorating for Christmas

2005-12-13T08:35:00.000-08:00

I have begun decorating my home for Christmas... The tree angel above, a remnant from my childhood, is my very favourite ornament. I absconded with it when my mother abandoned our childhood Christmas ornaments for the designer ornaments that make her tree look like it sprung from the pages of an interior design magazine. In fact I thought she gave this ornament to me but she does not recall having done so. I may have to one day give it back as apparently it is also a favourite ornament from her own childhood.

The wall hanging above was a Christmas gift many years ago that usually contains glass vases that I fill with fresh flowers or floating candles. I found the white cones on sale last year and added the incredible greenery a few days ago. Do you notice the little red berries? I have never seen anything like them. It is quite a remarkable bush that lines the sidewalk into my backyard. I still plan to string popcorn and cranberries for the tree which is an arduous job but, like the tree angel, brings back happy memories of childhood Christmases. My oldest son has requested that we also string the tree with gold ribbon that he saw on a tree at a local department store. I have yet to put up lights outdoors but am enjoying the incredible light displays that my neighbours have put together. I am beginning to feel the excitement of the Christmas season, especially as my husband arrives home in two days after way too many months of being apart.

Home

2005-12-06T22:26:00.000-08:00

I took this picture last summer as I took a walk around my mom's property. The house in the distance belongs to my mother and her husband, George. Where I am standing I have my back to three acres of trees. Behind the house is another forest of trees. Within this forest is a shady creek that runs throughout the year. There are some ragged trails to the creek but mostly you have to break through the underbrush as you make your way to the water's edge. This is the place I think of when I think of going home for Christmas or even for a weekend of home cooking and sattelite tv. There is always delicious food, a bottle of wine, a lively conversation, a cozy fire and a blanket to wrap around myself.

At this moment, as I am longing for home, this is the place I am thinking of. I miss you mom. Make ribs and caesar salad. I'll be there as soon as I can.

In Tandem

2005-12-05T22:47:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I read a book about a man and his wife who would spend their holidays sailing together in tandem on two different sailboats. When I read the story I was encouraged by the idea of this couple maintaining their individuality while travelling side by side. I gave the book to my husband for our anniversary that year because I thought these boats sailing in tandem provided a perfect metaphor for our own life together. I still agree with this concept in general but these days I don't feel such a strong need to maintain my individuality. After 15 years of marriage I would be quite happy to travel in one sailboat together for the rest of our life, no matter how small it was.

The Annual Christmas Cookie Exchange

2005-12-01T23:08:00.000-08:00

My friend Tina organized a cookie exchange which I more than willingly signed up for last month. This morning as I was frantically preparing cookie dough before work while holding Elijah on one hip I realized that I was out of eggs. I had just enough time to run to the grocery store, add eggs to the cookie dough which had to sit in my fridge all day in preparation for the chocolate-vanilla pinwheel cookies I was planning to make by 8pm this evening. Unfortuately there was a bit of a mix up with the boys schedules. I thought I was supposed to pick Jonathan up from Volleyball at 4:30 (which gave me just enough time to get Matthew to his 5pm guitar lesson) It turned out Jonathan's game went late and he didn't get back to the school until 5:30. I spent a good part of the evening waiting in a dark parking lot before retrieving my son, rescheduling the guitar lesson and returning home for supper and cookie making. As you can see I didn't manage to make chocolate-vanilla pinwheel cookies. I realized too late that before I refrigerated the dough in the morning it should have been rolled into logs (a layer of chocolate over a layer of vanilla rolled into a log makes a pinwheel design when cut) . I had refrigerated it in one big lump that did not want to be rolled into anything resembling a pinwheel. Always the queen of improvisation (which has something to do with my tendency to do things at the last minute...) I turned my "pinwheel cookies" into chocolate vanilla marble cookies dipped in icing sugar. Still I did not have the requisite 9 dozen cookies that I needed for this evenings cookie exchange so I had to make a little segway to Thrifty foods on my way to Tina's house. I checked the rules before leaving the house. Tina had requested that our cookies be extra special to honour the festive season approaching. She did not specify that we actually had to make them ourselves.. (Note: The store bought cookies are not pictured... The cookies in these photographs are all home made!)

It Doesn't Matter That I Can't Paint Horses

2005-11-04T12:04:00.000-08:00

...as you can see by this sketch I did (a few years ago) I am an abstract thinker. It is not easy for me to keep within the lines; to draw absolutes. What I think is so neat about painting is that if I scribble and smudge at the right moments I can let the picture create itself. I do not have to create an exact replica of anything. I do not even want to. What I want is to create an image, either with words or pictures that brings about a response. I don't care so much what the response is (though of course there is a part of me that always wants it to be positive). What is more important to me about this blog is that words and images create conversation and conversation makes us grow and change in ways we didn't know were possible.

A Friend is a Dog's Best Friend

2005-11-03T20:40:00.000-08:00

At the moment that I bought this book for my friend Jessica, she was at a different bookstore buying this book for me. Neither of us were expecting the other to be buying a present though we were meeting for dinner that night! There is a story that I will remember whenever I look at this book.

The previous night we were out for a walk along Dallas Rd; a popular dog-walking destination. As we met with various dogs along the walkway Jessica told us about the breed, temperment and tendencies of each dog we saw. We were all enamoured with her knowledge and hung onto her every word (as we are strongly considering asking a dog to join our family in the next year or so. )

On our way back to the car we met up with a woman and her very large dog.
Jessica said, "isn't that a..."
The lady said "No, actually he's a..."
Jessica said, "Oh yes, that's right. Aren't they very..."
"No" said the woman, "their temperment is..."
Jessica said, "Right. I forgot that. But they tend to..."
"Umm, no" said the woman. "They are known to..."

As we continued our walk to the car the boys and I started laughing and chiding Jessica that she really didn't know anything about dogs and had made up everything she had told us on our walk. In fact Jessica does know a lot about Dogs and she had just been mistaken about this one particular dog, mixing it up with a similar breed. But we had fun teasing her about it anyways.

(P.S. The Photo, painted by Jessica can be found on her website along with an incredible selection of her art. She hasn't painted as much recently because she is a: pregnant b: working full time c: illustrating a children's book d: all of the above. Her website is well worth checking out: http://www.jessicamilne.com/sam.htm)

An Hour of Waiting.

2005-11-01T23:19:00.000-08:00

Still God often keeps us waiting. Face to face with threatening foes, in the midst of alarms, encircled by perils, beneath the impending rock. May we not go? Is it not time to strike our tents? Have we not suffered to the point of utter collapse? May we not exchange the glare and heat for green pastures and still waters? There is no answer. The cloud tarries, and we must remain, though sure of manna, rock-water, shelter and defense. God never keeps us at a post without assuring us of His presence and sending us daily supplies.Wait, young man, do not be in a hurry to make a change. Until the cloud clearly moves, you must tarry. ...An hour of waiting but there seems such need, to reach that spot sublime!"
-from Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman

tarry: linger or delay, stay briefly
sublime: of high moral, intellectual, or spiritual value

It is not easy to tarry when I am longing strike our tent and set off looking for that place sublime. I opened up my devotional book to this excerpt today and it was as if these words were written just for me.

Priorities...

2005-10-25T14:29:00.000-07:00

Priorities? What are mine? I am seriously contemplating going back to work. I am hesitating on two levels.

One: My husband is away until mid-December. Though I have an awesome support network of friends and family to call on (ie: lean on) when necessary the reality is that I am parenting 3 boys, ages 1-13 on my own. Could I maintain my sense of humour and charming disposition if I add the demands of a new job to my busy schedule.

Two: There are some big transitions coming up in the near future. (ie: moving to a new and as yet unknown city) But the move might be a long way off. Do I hold off going back to work until our life is more settled or do I (gulp) admit that this is about as settled as it is going to get for a long while?

ok, there are more than two levels that I am hesitating on...

Three: I (gulp) have a long held ambition of pursuing a career as a freelance writer/journalist. To this end I am working steadily on my English Degree and hope to pursue a more specialized education (either as a journalist or a teacher) when our life is more settled... (italics added to emphasize the irony(?) of our life being settled. Is there really such a thing as settled? What does that mean anyways? I don't know if irony is the right word but I couldn't think of a better one.) If I go back to work I would not be working in this field as I have no experience or education to qualify me for it. Well, that is not completely true. I do have some experience but not enough to get me a job that pays for food, gas, tuition and daycare which is what I need. To earn an actual paycheque I would have to return to work that I know: clerical work and/or customer service and/or retail work... I could attempt an unqualified leap into the freelance writing arena but wonder if I have the stamina and ambition necessary to be self employed. As I said to a friend the other day, "it is great to imagine being your own boss when you are planning coffee breaks, etc. The hard part comes when you actually have to get assertive and make yourself get down to work."

Four: I have not forgotten that I am mother to an incredibly charming one year old boy. I know some people in my life might balk to think that I am not 100% satisfied with my role as a stay at home mother. I love the time I spend with my son. I just think I would love that time with my son more if I knew I was not sacrificing my own personal goals to stay at home with him. I am not looking to work an intensely full time job. I'm looking for a balance. Perhaps I will spend my mornings working part time and studying part-time and leave my late afternoons and evenings free to enjoy the energy and enthusiasm of my three incredibly talented and diverse sons. That is my ideal goal. I just have to figure out how to make it work.

By the Way... (Re: Deleted Comments)

2005-10-14T01:35:00.000-07:00

if you see deleted comments on my blog entries it is likely spam. If I get a comment that is generic and looks like an attempt to get people to log onto their website and sell them stuff, I do not check the link to that website. I delete it immediately. If I get comments from fellow bloggers that are not generic I will read them and likely check the website link before deciding whether to delete or keep the comment.
Feel free to comment. But if you are trying to sell debt repayment or college girls, I am not interested and neither are my readers.

I'm Prone To Happiness...

2005-09-28T13:17:00.000-07:00

I have this quote, cut out of an article in last weekend's globe and mail stuck to my fridge. "I'm prone to happiness..."

I love that!

Prone: (adj. Middle English. from Latin pronus. from pro; forwards...) lying flat, prostrate, disposed or liable (especially to a bad action, condition etc... )

The meaning of the word prone is flipped in this quote to demonstrate where one could easily be prone to bitterness, failure, frustration, dissolusionment and is instead prone to happiness. According to the newspaper article this person has a joie de vivre that adds a great deal to the lives of those around her. To me, being prone to happiness means being prone to friendship. It means being charming, successful, confident, and engaging. That is the kind of person I'd like to be. (just perhaps with not quite so high a profile.)

You might ask what this photo has to do with my rambling about happiness. It has everything to do with being the kind of person that lets a dragonfly rest on her arm and the kind of person who stops to capture that moment. I've had a few people tell me recently that my happiness in the midst of the big upheavals our family has been faced with this past year, has been a big encouragement to them. It is only by staying in the present moment that I can remain joyful. When I look to what lies ahead for us I become fearful and agitated. I have accepted that I must live in this day. I have made a decision to be prone to happiness, not in a superficial-smile- anyway-kind-of-way, but out of a genuine thankfulness for all I have going for me.

...to hold onto the present and not rush headlong into the future. That is what being prone to happiness means to me.

Most People that Know Me Laugh A Lot

2005-09-07T20:43:00.000-07:00

I can be humorous when I have a lot on my mind but it is not intentional. For example, I sometimes forget common words for objects. Today I asked my husband to pass me “that moon thing”, referring to the stuffed cow my one year old was playing with. I was thinking of the nursery rhyme where the cow jumps over the moon. Fortunately, my husband knows me well enough to know exactly what I was referring to. Another time I was visiting my aunt in Edmonton. I asked her where she got the beautiful candles on her dashboard. She looked at me quizzically and replied that the candles on her mantle were a gift from a friend. When I was a young wife living in a basement apartment fifteen years ago, I had an episode where my cat had brought a half dead bird into my apartment. I called my new mother-in-law in a panic. As the bird flapped, half dying, around my living room I screamed into the telephone, “there’s a crow in my house!” When she asked me how big the crow was, I answered “It would fit in the palm of my hand”. It is humorous to me that I, a person who loves language and literature with such passion, could find myself so often in situations where I can not remember the simplest word.

Eli-Something to Crow About.

2005-09-07T09:31:00.000-07:00

IMG_3892
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

We went to Saanich Fair this weekend as our last hurrah of summer. Matt and Jon got all day passes for the midway while James and I walked around with Eli, making him pose for goofy pictures like this one. There were fun picture boards all over the fair. I wish we'd been able to get pictures of more of them.

Why Toil?

2005-08-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

Life is a learning process. What I am learning right now is to live in the moment and not to let fear of an unknown future stop me from enjoying today.

Knowing that our family will soon be moving to another city could stop me from enjoying the beautiful city that I am in right now.

Knowing that we will have to invite new friendships into our lives when we move could stop us from making plans with the friends we have (and adore! and don't want to ever say goodbye to!)

Knowing that it is unlikely that I will live in this home next summer could stop me from spending time in my garden in this season. It is hard to toil when you are afraid you won't be the one to enjoy the "harvest"

...and yet I am learning that the toiling is the harvest. It would be so easy in all areas of my life to say "Why toil?" and therefore miss out on the joys of today.

Hands in the Sand

2005-08-10T15:29:00.000-07:00

Getting his hands wet
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

and when I am gardening these hands are in the dirt.

and when I am doing dishes these hands are in the bubbles.

and when I am pulling out the vacuum these hands are picking up crumbs off the floor.

and when I am holding my beautiful baby these hands are running through my hair. These hands are poking me in the eye or ear or nose or mouth.

These hands are moving rapidly across the floor as Eli becomes a crawler and begins his exploration of the world so large around him. (and as I learn very quickly which things I need to move up and out of reach in a house that has grown used to dangling wires, collections of rocks and breakable dishes.)

Ditty Wa Ditty

2005-07-21T10:17:00.000-07:00

Learning To Play
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

My brother is teaching my son to play a ditty. I watch from the couch where I sit nursing my youngest child. I am moved by the way Jonathan looks up to his uncle, hangs on his every word. I listen to them play together. I marvel at the intensity of this eleven year old child attempting to master a new song. I pray that this desire will intensify as he gets older, that he will create something unique and beautiful with his music, as I know he has the talent to do. I pray that he will continue to listen to his elders, to allow himself to be guided, even when he wants to go his own way. And that finally, he will go his own way even when others are intent on guiding him.

Pregnant Bellies

2005-07-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

Pregnant Bellies
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

One of these pregnant bellies isn't pregnant anymore. Can you guess which one???
Congratulations to one of my dearest friends on the birth of her son. I am overcome, amazed, excited, filled with wonderment and can not wait to meet this little dark haired boy.

It is one thing to say Fret Not...

2005-07-05T11:30:00.000-07:00

Benches at Point Holmes
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

Yesterday morning I sat at the kitchen table reading a page from my devotional book. As I attempted to shake the anxiety that I was feeling I read these words:

"It is one thing to say Fret not, but a very different thing to have such a disposition that you find yourself able not to fret..."

It was as if it was written especially for me; to remind me that my current state of mind is a 'disposition' and something I have ultimate control over.

The anxiety I feel as my husband searches out new work (very possibly in a new city...) and as I search out my place in the life we have created is acentuated when I allow myself to fret over the unknown details.

Morning Walk

2005-06-24T09:08:00.000-07:00

Morning Walk Along Lazo Road
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

life is like a morning walk. You just have to put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

I shot this picture as I walked along Lazo road away from my Dad's house and towards the beach in the early morning hours. I had a lot on my mind and needed some time alone to think and pray before heading into my busy (but wonderfully busy...) day of breakfasting with friends, exploring a local riverbed and feasting together with four girlfriends and all of our mothers at an impromptu dinner party.

Just Incase I forgot mine at home!

2005-06-23T23:33:00.000-07:00

Just Incase I forgot mine at home!
Originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

My mom is the queen of organization. This is a picture of the contents of a drawer in her bathroom. Another drawer is filled with diapers. There is a deep drawer filled with spare rolls of toilet paper and there is always a stack of clean face cloths and hand towels beside the sink (in matching shades of grey and burnt orange...)

In contrast, my friends come to visit my home in search of basic neccessities.

Where do you keep your extra rolls of toilet paper? (Oh yeah, I need to buy some... Do you mind using this paper towel roll!)

Do you own any face cloths or hand towels? (Umm... yeah... just a sec... I think they are all in the dryer.)

Where do you keep your juice glasses? (mmm... we don't actually own juice glasses. Do you mind pouring your juice into this coffee mug.)

People often buy us housewares after coming to visit because they simply can not believe we can live without such neccessities.

We now are the proud owners of a new face cloth and a set of six glasses. But if you are planning to come for a visit you might want to bring some toilet paper.

Isn't he cute???

2005-06-14T22:46:00.000-07:00

Isn't he cute???, originally uploaded by Bleached Linen.

It has been a few months since this photo was taken. I was at my favourite coffee shop for a long overdue visit with my friend Ann. I love going to this coffee shop with Eli because they make such a big deal about how cute he is. If I attempt a coffee run without him there are always dejected looking faces behind the counter. I do realize there are other cute babies in the world but it sure feels good to be told he's the cutest!

When Your Baby Pees on Your Boss it's Kind Of Hard to Look Like You're Under Control!

2005-06-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I took Eli into the bookstore where I worked before I went on maternity leave. I dressed him up in a cute little outfit. His hat matched his shirt which matched his pants. He was wearing his favourite pair of Robeez slippers and I had made sure to clean the snot and drool off his face.I like to think that I am a fairly organized, consistent person. I like to think that I've got things under control, and at the very least I like to appear that way to others!

When you become a parent "faking" control becomes that much more difficult. Yesterday, I took Eli into the bookstore and proudly passed him around from co-work to co-worker. Towards the end of my fairly lengthy visit, my boss was holding Eli. Because he was getting restless she was letting him pretend to walk (which means, thankfully, she was holding him away from her body). Suddenly, a very large puddle of pee appeared on the floor.

I said, "Oh my goodness, his diaper must have leaked." I took Eli from my boss and realized that this was not the case.

As my face turned a brighter shade of red I said, "Oh my goodness, I forgot to put a diaper on him!"

As I laid my seven month old son on the floor beneath a colleagues desk to give him a fresh diaper and to change his pants, my boss (looking professional in a silk blouse and slacks) exclaimed in a calm voice, "It's a good thing he didn't pee on me because I don't have a change of clothes!"

She was very nice about it, but I couldn't help feeling a bit like my fairly organized, consistent personna had once again been stripped away in an instant.

My Life As An Essay (and I need a bit more time...)

2005-06-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had to write an important essay or work on a big project that you knew you could do really well, but that you also knew would be extremely difficult?

So you have this project and you spend a lot of time thinking about it, and an equal amount of time avoiding it because it involves some really hard mental work that you don't feel prepared for.

Finally it is the week before it is due and even though you have had four months to work on it you are just now sitting down to force yourself through it and to give it the serious thought that is required.

You read it over and over again as you drive to school, flipping pages at red lights (I don't really do that!!!) and when you finish it and feel satisfied you can change it no more, you hand it in the day after it was due (because you pleaded with your teacher to give you an extension because you had to work, because you had the flu, because your pet hamster was sick and you needed to nurse it...)

You wait anxiously for the paper to be marked, and you feel almost satisfied with the A- you receive. You determine within yourself that next time you have a project this big you will give it the time and energy it deserves ...and then you will really do well, and you will reach your full potential.

(My life feels a bit like this essay right now. Could you give me just one more extension? Thanks!)

Aunt Gladys and Her Plunger are Coming For The Weekend...

2005-06-06T17:25:00.000-07:00

I met a woman the other day who remembered an aunt from her childhood that would sometimes come to visit. This aunt was a tiny, little old lady and for the most part quite normal and conservative. What made her memorable to the woman I met was this...

The aunt (I'll call her Aunt Gladys because it fits the era she would have come from...) would bring a plunger with her whenever she went visiting family or friends for the weekend.

One person, upon hearing this story being told said; "I don't even want to imagine the experience that would have led your Aunt Gladys to bring her plunger on holidays with her..." (which of course made us all immediately imagine exactly the kind of experience that would lead Aunt Gladys to bring her plunger along!)

Another person said, "I really don't know how I would respond if Aunt Gladys showed up on my doorstep with her own personal plunger..."

Myself, being the marketing type and looking for a good business proposition thought, "mmm... I wonder if I could manufacture portable travel plungers? There could be a market for this!"

Maybe I should blog about it

2005-05-26T22:49:00.000-07:00

but I don't feel like talking about it
and yet Eli is on a record breaking stretch of not needing sleep and so I, even though I do need sleep, am sitting here by my computer thinking about any number of stressful things...

like the fact that we need to make some big decisions fast... like, mmmm, where will we be living this time next month? ...and should we move to the big scary city or hold out for the bigger and scarier?

like the fact that I didn't respond when someone said something about someone and I thought something should be said and I didn't want to say it because I wondered if I was wrong.

like the fact that... (oh yeah, I can't say that...)

like the fact that Eli hasn't slept more than 20 minutes straight since 7 this morning. (Oh yeah, I already said that...)

like the fact that.... sssshhhhh! He is sleeping now. bye!

Hunger

2005-05-22T14:17:00.000-07:00

I am hungry
even though I have just eaten
and my fridge is full and I have money in the bank
to buy more food.

and though I eat
I do not ever feel satisfied

and it embarrases me to admit this
but I have thrown out leftovers
just because I did not feel like eating
the same thing
two days in a row

Odd things on my To-Do List...

2005-05-09T21:35:00.000-07:00

-Write an article about the socio-economic role of laundry in society.
-Knit dishclothes with the two rolls of funky wool I bought last Christmas
-Make a grandma maisie doll and a saltspring suzie doll (sorry to all the others who I dearly love but who I have not been inspired yet to make dolls for...)
-Send money to friends (sorry to all the others who we dearly love but who we have not been inspired to send money to...)
-Consider how I could use my life experience to be a mentor to young women. (Doesn't that sound like a cool ministry to be in???)

and of course...
-Taxi Matthew and Jonathan from baseball practice to Lacrosse to Music lessons and youth group and friend's houses, etc... etc... etc... fitting in volunteer work, lunches, coffees and short visits with friends whenever possible.

and...
-Remind myself every day that the verse (Ephesians 6:10) "Be Strong in the Lord and in His mighty power" does not say simply Be Strong (which I try to often on my own to be) but rather to be strong in the Lord. Big Difference!

Today I...

2005-05-06T22:41:00.000-07:00

...walked to my favourite coffee shop with my husband
...read the Times Colonist, three pages of the book "Hello I'm Special" and one article in The Walrus.
...watched National Treasure at my co-op community centre. I feel like movie night is a big success even though this month we had four out of forty families participating instead of last months three. I can't figure out why our co-op has such a small turn out for organized events. I thought that part of the reason people joined housing co-ops was for the community, but I guess they are really just busy people looking for cheap housing!
...had tea with my friend Julie.
...watched Matthew's Lacrosse practice.
...thought more about how much I love living in this city and thought even more about what it would be like to live in a similar city that is only a ferry ride away.
...and I won a contest that I forgot I entered! I won a box of children's books from Cadboro Bay Books. Lucky Me!
...hoped that winning this box of children's books would inspire me to become the world famous, slightly neurotic but rich and well loved children's book writer that I have always wanted to be.

A Poem About Standing in My Back Yard

2005-04-30T23:34:00.000-07:00

just the other day with the sun shining on the tulips
the rose bush starting to bud
a stray cat sleeping on the fence

When I looked up at the blue sky
I lifted my arms to God
I said "Thank You"
because I have everything

this is all I want
three healthy children
a husband who has loved me for 15 years
people who call me friend
and say they are lucky to know me
even though I am luckier to know them

I can imagine myself in any other land
without ever really needing to leave
the place I am in.

Dreaming of the Mountain High

2005-04-19T23:56:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had one of those moments when you felt you could do anything that you put your mind to?

I'm not having one of those moments right now.

I just read this passage in a devotional book by Oswald Chambers; "We must bring our commonplace life up to the standard revealed in the high hour. Never allow a feeling which was stirred in you in the high hour to evaporate. don't put your mental feet on the mantelpiece and say- 'What a marvelous state of mind to be in!' Act...

I don't usually take advice from people named Oswald...

but I think he has a point.

I'm dreaming of a Mountain High. Anybody want to go hiking?

Seeds

2005-04-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed that my mom was going to teach me how to sow seeds. I was very excited to have this lesson passed down to me. When I arrived at her garden, my mother was surrounded by potted perrennials instead of seeds. She was frantically hurrying to get them all planted. I tried to tell her how badly I needed to learn how to plant the seeds myself. She brushed me aside and said "Dig holes Jennifer. We've got to get these planted right now!"

Considering that my mother is a masterful gardener, and that she has also been extremely busy recently, I could assume that this dream is about her. But I know myself. I am far too self-obsessed to dream about anybody else for their own sake (even my mom!). I believe this dream is about me. I believe it is about my need to plant seeds in my life right now. I am at a point in my life when (if I had sown the seeds earlier...) I should be starting to see the harvest.

It would be a lot easier to plant perennials in my life right now. I would see the results a lot sooner... but then wouldn't I always have that nagging feeling that the seeds might have made a better plant? or that I didn't deserve the plant? or that the plant was beautiful but I'd never be able to grow another one?

All this angst! Come on, say it... It was only a dream!

I Invited a Few Friends For Lunch...

2005-04-12T19:26:00.000-07:00

...to celebrate the baptism of James, Matthew, Jonathan and Eli. We had more people over for lunch on Sunday than we had at our wedding; over 50 people! This is amazing considering the fact that some of our closest friends are living in faraway cities and could not come. (J, G, S, B, N, and I... you know who you are!). Each person that came over on Sunday holds a very special place in our lives. We did not invite a single person who was just an acquaintance. There are also a few people that we wanted to invite (F, T, H, S and W... to name a few!) and could not because we already had so many people coming over. I am sitting here, days later, feeling awestruck by the amazing way Sunday's celebration unfolded. I do not for one minute want to forget how blessed we are. Our friends and family are the most awesome people. I have so much I want to say about baptism and church membership and how much more monumental these events are than I could ever have imagined. I am trying to write about the flood of feelings that overcame me on Sunday, but it is so hard to verbalize. I told A. the other day that explaining my feelings is like the song that you can sing in perfect tune and harmony in your head but when you try to sing outloud comes out all wrong.

I opened my bible at the end of the day to this verse from Deuteronomy 6:5-7 "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you walk along the road." This verse was such an encouragement to me.

A Quiet Walk around the lake sometimes means taking a wrong turn

2005-04-08T12:47:00.000-07:00

I went on a walk this morning pushing Eli in the stroller at Elk/Beaver Lake. I decide not to go all the way around the lake, and instead take a turn onto a trail I haven't been on before. I walk past a picnic bench that is knee deep in the water and I wish Eli was big enough for gumboots and splashing. I know M and J would have pretended that bench was a boat and been entertained for minutes, possibly even hours. I continue walking until I see another trail that appears to head back in the direction of Elk Lake. I walk a fair ways as the trail narrows. There are no footsteps, only horse hooves in the mud. The sun is glistening through the trees. This section of trail is quiet compared to the hustle bustle of the common trail around the lake. As it continues to narrow and get muddier I realize that the trek back to Elk lake is only going to get more difficult. I end up breaking through the bush (with the stroller) into the large field of grass (and muddy potholes) and making my way (with the stroller I remind you) across this muddy potholed field for the half hour it takes me to get back to the common trail. It was an adventurous morning!

(As I pushed the stroller off the muddy field and back onto the common trail I felt my arm muscles tighten and I thought.... this is way more fun than working out at the gym!)

Writer's Block

2005-03-31T15:58:00.000-08:00

I have nothing to say
I have been writing and erasing what I've written.
This is evidence to how closely linked my writing is with my life.
There are things I do not want to write about today because they are too personal; plans and ambitions that I am not ready to open myself up to public opinion and scrutiny on.

I do have something to say.
I am beginning to realize how important my role is as a mother and a wife.
Right now these roles are at the forefront of my existence. There was a time when I was desperate to prove that I was more than just a... ;
more than just a mother, more than just a friend, more than just a wife.
I no longer feel that this is something I must prove.

It is impossible to be just a mother, for motherhood encompasses all of me. There is no Jennifer the writer that can exist seperately from Jennifer the mother or Jennifer the friend. This is a revelation.

My friend Jess says...

2005-03-17T21:34:00.000-08:00

that if you want to make something big of your life you have to have big goals...

that if you want to suceed you have to focus on one thing you're good at, and not be distracted by all the other things you could be doing...

that I'm beautiful and talented...

that she loves her mom... (and I love my mom too!)

that we've got the best husbands in the world...

that she hates talking on the phone but she'll talk to me anyways....

that when she's back in Victoria she'll take lots of pictures of my cute baby...

(and if you want to know if her advice is worth listening to click here. You'll see just how lucky I am to have such a talented friend)

take an idea and make it into something real

2005-03-16T09:01:00.000-08:00

Last month James and I were talking about the family movie night that we used to go to at the UVic Grad Centre. We used to sit at the back chatting with other parents while our kids sat cute and cross legged on the floor in front of the big screen tv.

I said "Wouldn't it be neat if we had a movie night like that here in our housing co-op?"
and then I met with our co-op social director and told her what I would like to do. She thought it was a great idea.

A week later the co-op newsletter came out, movie night advertised in bold on the front page. And that is how easy it is to take an idea and make it into something real. A suggestion. Words typed on a page. It becomes an event. People write it into their calendars. They show up. It all starts with a conversation "wouldn't it be fun to..." "wouldn't it be neat if we..."

If you were to ask me what I want to do with my life, that would be it. I want to be a person that takes ideas and turn them into something tangible. It's really not that hard to do.

I am being given a pep talk from a four month old baby

2005-03-11T11:19:00.000-08:00

I was planning to fly to Toronto tomorrow on Jetsgo. Newspaper headlines all over the country advise of thousands of stranded passengers as the discount airline pulls the plug on operations. eli and I are both pretty sad. We were a bit scared of flying but we were alot looking forward to seeing our good friends in ontario.

right now eli is sitting beside me holding his stuffed puppy and telling me a story.

he's saying " iiii ooaaayyy aaaah ooohh: it's okay mommy we'll figure out a way for you to see your friend."

he's saying " oooooaayyy aahhh: your friend is sad"

and I say "yes eli, she is sad and so is mommy"

and he says " ooooeeaaa aahhhyy: do you want to hug my puppy? puppy will make you happy"

and I say "yes eli, puppy will make me happy. But I will still miss my friend"

and Eli gets a little sad and says "oooohhh oohhh oohhh: mommy, you promised you'd build me a snowpuppy"

and I say "I will build you a snow puppy sweetie, except we'll have to use our big imaginations and make it out of sand"

and he says "oohuuuaaaayyyy: and mommy, you and your friend can use your big imaginations to give eachother hugs."

Advice from my mother as I prepare to fly to Ontario

2005-03-10T19:35:00.000-08:00

Be careful on the plane
Be careful with your baby
Don't talk to anybody
ok, maybe you can talk to doting little old ladies
but if you do have to talk to doting little old ladies
don't say "Can you hold my baby, I have to go to the bathroom"

Next month Jonathan is going to Vancouver with his Ukulele troupe. I can't go with him. I know exactly how she feels.

"You look so good" and other lies people tell you

2005-03-04T16:58:00.000-08:00

For the past week I have had a burgeoning head cold. Yesterday it burgeoned. But regardless of how I was feeling, and in spite of the Giant Zit in the middle of my forehead I had to go out...

I had atleast a dozen conversations last night at Jonathan's grade five science fair, where people told me how good I looked. Now I am not looking for an outpouring of compliments and sympathy when I say that I know for an absolute fact that I did not look good last night. There have been times, and even recently, where I have looked fabulous; After a run when I look in the mirror at my cheeks all rosy with health, or the rare occassion when I'm all dressed up for an evening out. More often I am looking and feeling good on luxuriously lazy days spent comfortable in jeans and a tshirt, feeling invigorated by motherhood and friendship.

But last night I know with absolute certainty that I looked like crap. So why did all these people feel compelled to tell me how good I looked? Was it merely words to fill an otherwise uncomfortable silence, or did they really mean something else? I like to think that they are mostly referring to Elijah. Sporting a baby can be something akin to a new outfit. No matter how bad you feel, people don't really notice you. They notice the new baby tucked snugly into your arms like a prada purse. And I absolutely agree. Elijah looked fabulous last night.

Painting Lesson: Rule #1 DO NOT WATER PAINTED FLOWERS!

2005-03-02T23:47:00.000-08:00

Being at home with Eli I have a bit too much time during the day to ruminate, cogitate, ponder, consider, contemplate, muse, reflect and mull over all aspects of my life...

This is not healthy.

In an effort to avoid expensive therapy I have decided to try my hand at painting. This evening I became increasingly agitated while trying to paint what should have been a tulip. I thought it was going to be a lot easier! By the time I was finished my frustration had not subsided. The therapy just wasn't working!

So I took my painting outside and watered it down with the garden hose. (Now that felt good!)

Later I realized that this painting was probably the best I could do. That it wasn't so bad after all. Okay, maybe it did look a bit like chickenscratch and Okay, maybe Jonathan did tell me that it would never fetch more than twenty bucks on the fine art market...

I started ruminating over the use of colour, I began to cogitate the potential of art to transform lives. I pondered how every great artist must get his/her start with a scratchy tulip like thing. I considered how this painting might have been the beginning of a series. I contemplated what I would do for a gift (for my friend who now will not receive a tulip painting). I mused over the subjectivity of art. I reflected on my own inner artist. I mused over possible future paintings and...

...and that is why you should not water painted flowers!

Did you kiss my door...

2005-02-24T11:32:00.000-08:00

...and if you did, were you saying goodbye or hello?

We have had various people come to visit over the past few weeks and only yesterday discovered that somebody (with a very nice shade of lipstick) has kissed our door. I know that I really should wash it off but I think it's kind of cute.

It reminds me of the notes we would pass around in highschool (when we were supposed to be listening to mr. so-and-so's lecture on Roman Civilizations) signed with a kiss and an xoxo.

I wonder if people will arrive at our front door, see the lipstick mark, smile, and know that we are loved?

(Or will they just think that we have run out of windex?)

Let's do the Log Driver's Waltz Baby...

2005-02-21T17:21:00.000-08:00

When I was younger I watched a lot of TV. In fact for a little while I even had a TV in my room (until my first grade teacher told my mom that I was watching The Barney Miller Show. and staying up past 11 on school nights)
The funny thing is that even though I cancelled my cable subscription years ago I get all sentimental when I remember some of the old shows I used to watch...
In between shows the CBC would sometimes slip in humorous cartoons by various Canadian animators. Recently, in a fit of nostalgia, I ordered one of those animations; The Log Driver's Waltz from the National Film Board of Canada. It is part of an anthology of short animations that includes The Cat Came Back and The Sweater. It is so neat to own this video. I have watched it with my husband, my kids, my mother, my stepfather... I have even printed sheet music off the internet because (even though I am tone deaf and can't play an instrument) I am going to learn it so that I can play the song around the campfire this summer.

I am a Potted-Plant-Girl!

2005-02-15T09:14:00.000-08:00

There are people who are rooted into the soil they stand on. Commitments to work, school, friends and family hold them to the ground. Like a tree that will not be uprooted in fierce winds these people hold fast to their homes. Their needles fall, turn to seed. New trees are born from the same soil. The land is fertile and a forest springs forth from the ground; a forest of familiar faces and familiar commitments. We have lived in this forest for a long time, but have not planted ourselves in it.

I am potted plant girl but I am ready to be a tree.

Is this ironic considering the changes that are taking place in our lives, or is it natural for a potted plant girl to find that somehow there are roots that have inadvertantly escaped from the pot and embedded themselves in the soil? To find out that she is not a potted plant girl after all?

My mom's cheesecake always turns out... and there's a reason for that!

2005-02-07T14:43:00.000-08:00

Sunday. 6pm.
I am in the kitchen with the makings of a cheesecake spread across the counter, but need some advice from an expert.

"bring-a-ling-a-ling... bring-a-ling-a-ling"
"Hi Mom... I need some help with this cheesecake I'm making"
"OK Sure." she says, and knowing how my mother likes to have everything in place before she starts a new week I imagine that she is just settling down from a busy Sunday afternoon of cooking and cleaning. "What are you making cheesecake for?"
"We're getting together with our household group from church tonight"
I hear an abrupt intake of breath "You're making it for tonight and you're calling me now!" I can hear the frustration in her voice. "What time do you have to be there?"
"7:30" I say with confidence, "but Mom there's lots of time! It only takes an hour to bake." I am familiar with her exasperation but feel quite sure that my cheesecake will turn out wonderfully.
"Oh, Jennifer" she sighs, "you do things so different from me. I would have made it first thing this morning. Now it will never be done on time!"
"Mom, it sounds like you're getting mad!"
"No" she says, "but yes... it drives me crazy how you are always late. I'm not even going to be eating it and it frustrates me. I want you to bring a nice cheesecake when you go out. I want you to be on time!"
"I am not always late" I say, defensive.

7:30 pm. I arrive at my friends house. So far the cheesecake looks pretty good. I feel smug. Wait til I tell my mom how wrong she was!
8pm. I cut the cheesecake. It falls apart in the spatula. My friends are gracious. We call it cheesecake custard. We laugh and feel grateful that it tastes so much better than it looks.

The next day. Early Evening. My mom phones. She phones for the sole purpose of finding out how my cheesecake turned out. I consider lying. I can't lie. I admit sheepishly...
"Yes mom, once again... you were right."

The Boy in the Mirror

2005-01-28T17:44:00.000-08:00

The other day when I brought Eli to the mirror, he smiled broadly at the little boy reflecting back at him. The little boy smiled back, and Eli cooed. The little boy made the same face, mouth open in a coo-a-goo and Eli and the boy in the mirror both bobbed their heads and laughed at the exact same time.

Do You ever get used to such a place?

2005-01-27T13:28:00.001-08:00

I just started reading Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence which I'm sure I read years ago, yet it all seems brand new. Perhaps when I read it I was too young and immature to understand it. Now, as you all know, I am old and wise. The breadth of my comprehension is unfathomable. Ha Ha Ha. I seriously hope you know I am joking when I say that. Of course I am still young and immature, just with perhaps a bit more knowledge than I had the day before and the day before...

Anyways, I just read this passage, where an elderly Hagar Shipley is in a retirement home that her son and daughter in law are hoping to convince her to move into. She has just met one of the residents of the retirement home:

"Do you--" I hesitate. "Do you ever get used to such a place?"

She laughs then, a short bitter laugh I recognize and comprehend at once.

"Do you get used to life?" She says. "Can you answer me that? It all comes as a surprise. You get your first period, and you're amazed --I can have babies now--such a thing! When the children come, you think --Is it mine? Did it come out of me? Who could believe it? When you can't have them anymore, what a shock --It's finished --so soon?"

This passage really struck me. Perhaps it is the passage of time that I am being hit with, how quickly we move from adolescense to womanhood. How so often we rush ourselves through these stages in our lives. We are so anxious to see the next sequence of our life unfold that we don't stop often enough to cherish today. And no, I have not gotten used to any of it. It seems that just as you start to comprehend one stage of your life you have already moved onto the next, which is perhaps one of the reasons I am cherishing Eli so much. It is a chance for me to embrace motherhood without being overcome by the newness of it.

A Dream ------------This------------ Big!

2005-01-25T13:30:00.000-08:00

For the past few years I have talked more about writing than I have actually written. I have read every YA book I could get my hands on, trying to figure out what I can about this elusive craft. I have attended meetings sporadically, looking for and finding inspiration. But I have not been able to find the uninterrupted stretch of time necessary to focus on writing. Now Eli has reached the blessed stage of afternoon naps and I find myself with a few beautiful uninterupted hours of mommy-time. I can't not write. I have been dreaming about this opportunity for too long to let it slip by; to let my life slip into easy mediocricy. But when people ask me what I am writing about I get all squirmy and skittish. It still feels so personal, so fragile.
Last night I went to the Children's Literature Roundtable, where Sheree Fitch was the featured speaker. She was so inspiring. She talked about each persons need to find a safe place to express themselves. Many people who want to write, don't. Not because they don't have time (although that is often the excuse) What really stops people is fear of failure, having a dream of something ---------------------this big--------------------, and not being able to live up to that high expectation. I realized listening to her how true her words were. I have a very big dream for my writing, but I have to start with a little dream and build on it. I wish I had tape recorded her talk, or in the very least brought a pen to write notes. (Read this 1999 interview to be inspired by Sheree Fitch) A lot of what Sheree Fitch said last night echoed the advice of my friend Jessica, a succesful artist. I wished Jessica had been there with me, to nudge me at key moments and with a look of true friendship say with her eyes "See, isn't that what I've been telling you..." And I could have looked back at Jess, and without saying anything she would know that I do know what she means.

Confession: I am the Messy Desk Girl

2005-01-21T10:13:00.000-08:00

There is paper and bills and boxes and lists and photos strewn all over my desk. I was sitting at this mess of a desk yesterday afternoon after having coffee with a friend. I was determined to start writing. I have been on maternity leave for three months now. That means I have only nine months left (and less if James decides to take a few months of paternity leave himself) to write the book that I am hoping will launch my career. I tried to shut out all distractions and focus on putting the story to the page. I couldn't do it. I can not work at a messy desk and I can not clean my desk without looking at each item stacked beside me and determining it's usefulness in my life.
In my work at the University bookstore (pre-maternity leave) some of my colleagues would tease me about my colour coded pens, how I had to keep everything in order. I'm sure they assumed that the same order would permeate my life. I'm sure they would never imagine me to be the messy desk girl that I am. I am giving myself a deadline. I have a week to clean off this desk and develop a writing routine. I am just hoping that my new writing routine doesn't hurt as much as the pilates workout I attempted last night!

I said YES...

2005-01-14T15:23:00.000-08:00

when the clerk at Thrifty Foods asked me if I needed help out to me car.

Even though I only had four bags of groceries, and even though I was only parked four feet away from the entrance. And it wasn't because the clerk was cute (although he was!)

I said YES because I am learning that I don't have to do everything like the miss independant I don't need any help super human m0m of three that I previously imagined myself to be.

As I started my car, with my groceries neatly lined up in the back I felt like I'd gotten away with something. (Sort of like when it was my turn to do dishes as a kid and I managed to hide out in the bathroom until somebody else did them for me.)

You Can't Treat Me Like That

2005-01-10T10:35:00.000-08:00

I have this note that Matthew wrote me when he was around 7 years old. He had just been given a time out and felt that his punishment was unfair. For ten minutes he had to sit in his room and he was not allowed to talk to me until the ten minutes was up. This was partly to give him a chance to calm down, but it was also an opportunity for me to figure out what to do about whatever had happened and so that I could calm myself down and not yell at him. (He had probably bopped his brother on the head or something. I can't remember why he was in trouble.)
So I was sitting on the couch contemplating, and waiting for the ten minutes to be up when Matthew determinedly marched into the room, slapped this note onto the coffee table in front of me and marched back to his room to finish his time out without saying a word.
The note read, "YOU CAN'T TREAT ME LIKE THAT!!" (with exclamation marks that had a frown drawn beneath them.)
The other day I was going through a box of old pictures with Matthew and we found this note. Matthew asked me why I kept it. Matthew, I kept the note because it is an example of your fierce independance and ability to stick up for yourself. I kept it because when you dropped the note in front of me and marched back to your room with such determination and confidence, my heart welled up with pride for the independant young man you were becoming.

What Embarrasses Me...

2005-01-09T13:42:00.000-08:00

When I am playing a board game with friends and a piece falls on the floor and rolls under the couch and when these friends reach their hands under my couch to retrieve the game piece and they find things like dried up pieces of toast, scrumpled up pieces of paper and smelly socks.

Can you guess where I am vacuuming today?

Happy Home Maker

2005-01-07T13:08:00.000-08:00

It seems that I have come to the time in my life where my primary purpose is to perfect the art of homemaking. As a stay at home mom in my early twenties I disdained the concept. Other than keeping my home reasonably clean I could not fathom spending an entire day "puttering" around the house. It would seem like a wasted day and I preferred to spend my days taking the boys for long walks, creating artsy cards and gifts and involving myself in the community. I don't discredit this time in my life for it was very important. I don't think that I was wasting my time or anything. Long walks, creative expression and community involvement are still very important to me. But I'm aware that being a stay at home mom in my early thirties is a very new and different experience. As I attempt to find direction in my new life I can't help but compare my role as a new mother just over a decade ago to my experience now. I am more interested in creating meals than I was then (especially because I have the help of two eager pre-teen boys who are excited about learning to cook and I want to encourage this new fascination.) I am more inclined to plan my day rather than let it evolve haphazardly (though anyone who knows me will interject that even my planning is haphazard!) I am thinking a lot about the word home maker and what it means to "make" a home. What kind of home do I want to make? I need to think about this because though haphazard can be beautiful (I love wildflower gardens), I know that to make a home that is safe, warm, nurturing and productive I need to also see my home as an orchid that needs very specific care in order to flourish.

Picture Day

2005-01-05T11:06:00.000-08:00

Do you remember picture day at school when you were a kid? My mom would comb and curl my hair until it was silky smooth and framed just right around my face. By the time I had run to school, hung upside down from the monkey bars and pulled my sweater off over my head my hair did not look so silky smooth. It did not even look like I combed it that day or even that week. I remember feeling hugely frustrated by my inability to get my hair to stay stylish for more than an hour. Now I look back at some of the old pictures that were taken of me as a child and I think that I was beautiful (vanity not-withstanding!) But at the time I hated to have my picture taken unless I was absolutely sure that every hair was in place, that my smile wasn't crooked and that my eyes weren't squinting at the brightness of the flash.

You would think that as I got older I would have the added perspective and maturity to know that the importance of photographs that mark important events and stages in our life far outweigh the concern over a hair that might be out of place or a crooked smile. A few weeks ago my friend Jessica, an incredibly talented photographer, was here to spend some time with my family. She is living in Prince George right now and I miss her terribly, both for her friendship and for her ability to capture my life, and the life of my family, on film. So you would think that I relished in her ability and obvious desire to photograph our family as much as possible. But no! Every time she pulled out her camera I grimaced. Not right now, I would say. Let's take pictures later in the day when I don't look so tired, when Elijah's finished napping, when Matthew's hair isn't quite so frizzy. She patiently heard excuse after excuse, putting her camera away and hiding her exasperation. I went downtown the other day to pick up the few pictures that I let her take. The two pictures she took of me are absolutely beautiful and she captured some fantastic images of Elijah. I desperately wish I could go back in time and change my attitude.

I want to remind myself that how I look is just right, that I shouldn't get so wrapped up in body image, that beautiful is a state of mind.

I'm Afraid of Heights and I'm FLYING to Toronto!!!

2005-01-04T20:54:00.000-08:00

My new years resolution for 2005: To overcome my fears.

I am afraid of heights. If I had to take a ferry ride when Matthew and Jonathan were small I would not sit by a window and let them lean on it. I was afraid that they would inadvertantly and tragically trigger a faulty seam that would come loose as they were leaning on it and they would fall to a cold icy death in the ocean below.

A few years ago I was travelling on the sky train across Vancouver and a mother was casually standing nearby while her toddler pushed and leaned on the closed sliding glass door of the train. If a mechanical error caused that door to open above the city the child would have shot down into the city in a split second. I sat in my seat hyperventilating, relieved when the train pulled to a stop and I was once again on solid ground.

In March I am packing Eli across the country to visit my friend Irene in Ontario. I am going to travel by ferry to Vancouver, where I will take a city bus to the airport, where I will take a five hour flight on a new airline that prides itself in providing only the very basic neccessities of travel. There will be no free peanuts. I'm ok with that. But when James jokes that the airline saves money by hiring pilots-in-training I do not laugh. I am afraid of heights and I am going to be flying above the clouds with a three month old baby. But I am a free-spirited, independant woman with a craving for adventure. I can do this.
I won't be asking for a window seat!

The Gift of Family

2004-12-30T13:21:00.000-08:00

Firstly for me Christmas is a spiritual holiday, celebrating the birth of Christ. But even as an adult this celebration of my faith is overshadowed by the excitement of waking up Christmas morning to a house full of blessings. First of all I am surrounded by my family. There is no place in the world for me that is as comfortable as my mother's house on Christmas morning with my brother making coffee and his children running circles around mine. My mother, true to character, filled the living room to overflowing with gifts of all shapes and sizes. There are no generic gifts under her tree. She has carefully and thoughtfully planned out Christmas gifts for all of us that I am sure takes her the entire year to wrap! We sit around her table for Christmas breakfast, which is traditionally Eggs Benedict and the room resonates with our laughter. The joy runs so deep.

There were a few years where I felt overwhelmed by this outpouring. When we go home for Christmas we are surrounded by four seperate families, as both James and I come from families of divorce. We travel from household to household over the Christmas holidays while our parents and siblings pour their love onto us. We are surrounded by generous gifts and meals but what strikes me most is how we are surrounded by intimacy. This intimacy of family and friends comes from a deep knowledge and love of one another. That is not to say that our families come free of bumps and bruises. There are some family members I do not know as well as others. There are sometimes gaps in conversation that I wish I knew how to fill. But there is an intimacy that grows from sharing Christmas traditions and it is demonstated in the sharing of meals, the exchange of gifts, the singing of carols and the free flow of conversation. I will gladly travel from household to household over the Christmas holidays to share in this gift of family. It is a gift that I do not want to take for granted.

when you have no words left of your own

2004-12-16T13:47:00.000-08:00

The other day I was on the phone with a close friend who has recently moved to Ontario. We had run out of interesting tidbits from our own life but were not ready to hang up the phone and go on with our seperate days. We began reading eachother quotes that we had written on scrap pieces of paper and into our journals, sharing words that had inspired us over the past few weeks. Suddenly my friend began to laugh at the oddity of our conversation. We had just spent atleast 20 minutes in conversation with no words of our own.
But I want to share my favourite quote with you, from the front flap of the book Nothing is Impossible by Christopher Reeves, who recently passed away after years of struggling with paralysis:

"For able bodied people, paralysis is a choice, a choice to live with self doubt and a fear of taking risks -and it is not an acceptable choice!"

I have thought a lot about these words in the past few weeks as I contemplate the choices I have made so far in my life. I wonder how often I have let myself and others down by succumbing to fears that I could have overcome. As I look down at my newborn son my desire is that I can instill in him the ability to take the risks neccessary to fulfill his ambitions. I look at my older boys, who are filled with the excitement and naivity of youth, and I pray that I can teach them to turn their active imaginations and creative talents into achievable goals.
I hope that I can give them the words to pull from when they run out of words of their own. That when they feel paralyzed by fear and self doubt, they can look back on the lessons of their childhood and be propelled forward.

Conversation with a Little Old Lady at the Mall

2004-12-15T09:10:00.000-08:00

You just never know what kind of fascinating details people will share with you when you are out with a baby. The other day a little old lady teetered over to me to gaze adoringly at my son, only 4 weeks old at the time. she is oohing and aahing over what an adorable baby I have when she says to me, "What a perfect little present under your tree this year..." (that seemed like a fairly normal little old lady thing to say) and then, as she is turning away she gives me a knowing wink and says, "My momma says I was conceived under the tree!"

Waiting

2004-11-04T15:21:00.000-08:00

We are waiting in turns patiently and anxiously for baby to arrive. I have been enjoying the land of the not working but perhaps a bit too lazily. I'm not terribly motivated, though I have read more than I have in years. I have also napped more than I have in years! The trouble with spending too much time at home is that I lose inspiration. I run out of funny stories to tell. I start to take pictures of the way the light falls in rays accross our ceiling. I eat too many mini chocolate bars. I start to long for cable tv.

Overheard

2004-10-30T19:33:00.000-07:00

As I'm walking downtown I am sometimes struck by the out-of-context snippets of conversation that I overhear. Yesterday as I was crossing the street I heard one lady say to another lady "Yeah, well to them lamb isn't meat..."

What does that mean? Does she have a pseudo-vegetarian friend who is willing to eat lamb on occasion? Is the lamb-as-meat thing a reference to some sort of religious cleanliness; like how Jewish people cannot eat meat from hoofed creatures? I'd like to know...

I think it would be a lot of fun to go downtown sometime with a pad of paper and write down all the strange pieces of conversations that I overhear and then to come home and weave the words into stories, creating my own context for what these total strangers might have been saying to eachother.

The Doctor's office

2004-10-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

Today I'm waiting in the doctor's office and the woman in the next room sounded like she was going into labour! It was quite disconcerting to listen to her yelling "ouch, ouch" over and over and over!!! By the time my doctor comes in to see me I'm a bit freaked out thinking that there is NO WAY I'm going to let her measure MY cervix.

So when I lay down for her to measure my belly and check the heartbeat and I think about what is going to come next I feel like I'm going to throw up right then and there. I had to sit back up and get my bearings. I could tell by my doctor's expression that she thought I might throw up too. Thankfully a glass of water seemed to make me feel better and everything was fine but since then I've been thinking about how scary the whole labour experience is, even while at the same time it is such an incredible thing to go through.

The Most Important Decisions

2004-10-25T23:24:00.000-07:00

Today I had an epiphany; one of those rare moments of clarity when the world suddenly makes sense and is put in perspective.

As James and I sat discussing some important decisions on our horizon I took a mental look back on the life choices we have already made; both good and bad. I wondered at what our life would be like now had we chosen different directions at different times in our life. Then it struck me that James' decision yesterday to advise the clerk at the grocery store when she over-changed him by $5 was a more important decision than whether he worked towards one degree or another, whether he took this job or that job, whether we live in a city or a small town; Decisions that we have been faced with over the years.
The small choices we make every day that build and represent our moral fibre do much more to form who we are than the seemingly larger choices of career direction and deciding where to live. There is a quote I read somewhere once that goes "Wherever you go, there you are". This is such a large truth that I don't think I fully comprehended it until now. It doesn't really matter where you go. What really matters is how you behave/react/respond once you get there.

lunching and other stories...

2004-10-23T21:33:00.000-07:00

This week I "lunched". Seriously, all I did all week long is meet up with old friends for lunch at various restaurants around the city. I lunched at Med Grill on Monday with Tina and was shocked when the bill for my lunch alone (with tip) came to $24!!!!! And I'd already booked lunch dates for Wednesday and Friday that I guess I could have gotten out but I just didn't want to. I was much more frugal at these lunches which combined still came to less money than my lunch on Monday, and tasted just as good...

I also had a lunch date on Thursday which I did cancel because I woke up that morning feeling extremely grumpy and tired with a sore throat and a bit of a headache. I phoned up my friend who I knew would understand (which she did) hoping to reschedule some time with her next week. After I hung up the phone I opened the fridge to make myself some breakfast (cold cereal and milk sounded just fine and I was feeling lazy) but when I went to pull the milk out it was EMPTY.

The trouble with having pre-adolescent boys in the house is that not only do we go through litres of milk each week but they consistently forget to acknowledge that they have taken the last of it. I often find our milk jug empty in the fridge, which I think they secretly put back empty on purpose because it is so much easier than throwing the bag away which might lead them to realize that the garbage also needs to be taken out, which means voluntary chores, which means ick and avoid-at-all-costs in the eyes of any sane adolescent.

Though I was tired and grumpy I felt like I wasn't going to let the small matter of milk get me down. After all I had the whole day ahead of me and could easily jump in the truck, drive to the store for milk, and while I was at it stop at my favourite coffee bistro for a steaming hot decaf. I even brought my book along just incase I decided to sit on a sunny bench with my coffee and read. Aaaah, what luxury to be unemployed and waiting for baby. I was therefore feeling extremely patient and relaxed when I tried to start the truck.

The key word here is tried because IT DIDN'T START! Of course I panicked. I imagined a $1000 transmission bill or something equally scary. I tried to call James to my rescue but he wasn't at his desk. I reminded myself not to panic and how much easier it would be not to panic if I atleast had a coffee and milk for my cereal. I gave the matter some thought. I tried to phone James 4 more times in a five minute period and then decided to walk to the store. Walking to the store was not bad. I felt slightly invigorated, my sinuses started to clear up, my legs felt strong and I was getting exercise. All good things. By the time I was walking home from the store I felt none of these things. My pelvis was aching terribly. My arms were drooping from the weight of the milk that I kept shifting from arm to arm. My coffee was lukewarm and relatively weak. I was back to being miserable. When I felt like I had reached the end of what I could take, I looked up and saw James driving towards me. It had been nearly two hours since I left the house and by this point I was only five minutes from home but I could not have been happier to see him. In fact, if it did not hurt to jump I would have jumped for joy. He had heard my messages and come home on his lunch break to discover that the battery had died, and not because I had done something stupid like leave the lights on (which is not unheard of) but simply because it was old. James was able to borrow a battery charger from a neighbour. The next day, feeling like a very responsible and take charge kind of person, I went to Canadian Tire to purchase a battery. I walked up to the service desk and asked for a battery for my 1990 Ford Explorer. I felt some of my self-assuredness fade away when the service clerk gave me a quizzical frown and said that there was no such thing!
(oops... how am I supposed to know what I drive? And my last car really was a 1990!!)

finding balance

2004-10-20T08:54:00.000-07:00

Reading an issue of "Fit Pregnancy" that a friend gave me recently I was encouraged by a picture of a very relaxed looking mother with four young children looking relatively happy and clean. The quote above the picture says, "Slow down. When you rush, things fall apart. Lower your expectations of what you can do and how fast you can do it, and everyone will be happy."

I feel like my life has slown down to a halt. I am not taking any courses. As of last friday I am no longer working. I am not on any committees and haven't volunteered myself for any activities. I have slowed my life down considerably in preparation for this baby on the way and find the pace both exhilerating and frightening. For the first time in years I have the ability to create my own list of daily expectations. Yet without outside forces pushing me forward I find myself at a standstill. Part of this is simply being very huge and pregnant and not having much energy for anything but I am also afraid.

I am afraid that I will spend the next five years at a standstill. I am afraid that any attempt to accomplish more than a burp and a walk around the block will leave me feeling fatiqued and resentful. I want to epitomize the relaxed confidence I see in the woman pictured in my "Fit Pregnancy" magazine but I am afraid that I am not the kind of person who easily finds balance. I am either running full steam ahead with projects on the go and expectations to meet, or I am asleep on the couch with dirty dishes piling undone on the countertop.

The Christian Bubble

2004-10-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

In church this past Sunday the pastor spoke about the relevance of the Christian faith outside the Christian faith. He was referring to someone he knew who had grown up in a Christian home, attended Christian school her whole life and was hit with culture shock when she began attending a public university. All of a sudden the language of her faith that had seemed so relevant and so "right" became confused in the sea of new faces and ideals. It is not that it stopped being right but that she no longer knew how to share it with others without putting them off. How does one define their beliefs outside of the Christian bubble? How does a Christian represent Christ's love in society without confusing the relationship of faith with the ideals of the Christian culture, without coming across as judgemental?

I just finished reading a book called "The Jesus I Never Knew" by Philip Yancey which posed some of the same questions. Philip Yancey pointed out in his book that the people Jesus associated himself with in the New Testament were not the "righteous" religious people of that time, but rather the down and out; tax collectors, prostitutes, lepors... Yet somehow as Christians in the 21st century we allow our desire to follow God's laws to become a sort of self-righteous hypocricy, not much unlike the Pharisees of Jesus' day. It isn't intended. I think that the self righteousness comes from pride. It is human nature to want to compare ourselves to others, especially if we think we are the ones on the right track. It is hypocricy because of course no one can ever be always on the right track.

I want desperately to find that middle ground, to be the kind of Christian that reflects God's love without coming across as superior for knowing that love. I want desperately to be the kind of Christian who knows instinctively what to say to put others at ease, to let them know that I have no judgement, no preconcieved notions of who they are or should be. After all we were each created as unique individuals. Who am I to tell anyone how to live out their faith? How to live out their lives?

What I sometimes find myself doing instead is waffling in my faith. I sit in the uncomfortable seat of belief mired with self doubt. I find myself attempting to convince others and myself that I am not "that" kind of Christian. Whatever "that" kind of Christian is I don't know. What I wish I could do is define the difference between life in Christ (which is vital to our relationship with Him) and life in Christianity (which has become something of a middle class picture of manufactured urban bliss). I think the only way to do that is to dive into God's word and attempt to discover who He really is, rather than who people say we should be if we claim to know Him.

Garage Band

2004-10-14T20:28:00.000-07:00

Tonight I came home to find the boys excited about their first attempt at a garage band with some of the kids around the neighbourhood. When we were up island for thanksgiving my father gave the boys an old drum set he'd acquired from a family friend. They want to call themselves "Elastic Rabbit" which I think is a pretty cool name. They won't tell me how they thought it up though. Should I be worried? Matthew and a girl named Rachel play the electric guitar. Cody is on bass and Jonathan is the drummer. They haven't agreed yet on the lead singer, though Matthew is pining for the spot. He figures since it's his garage he should be the leader. I remember when I was about 11 and had a band with a bunch of kids around the neighbourhood. We called ourselves The Heartbreakers and we had white T Shirts with Heartbreaker in Red across our chests. Our lead songs were "Nobody" by Sylvia, and of course "Heartbreaker" by Pat Benatar. I quit the band after I sat on my microphone and broke it.

My Big Belly

2004-10-13T18:43:00.000-07:00

On thanksgiving weekend we headed up island for a feast of turkey with all the trimmings. James and I made a detour at one of my favourite beaches where I stood in the ocean up to my ankles with my jeans rolled up below my knees, my shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal my burgeoning belly. There was rain, of course. There is always rain in October. The first set of pictures was the easiest because I was standing on a small sandy section of the beach. When I tried to move up the beach to get some of the wave action that was happening against the rocks I ended up with a wave crashing into my butt, soaking my jeans and just about knocking me over. (It was a small wave but at 36 weeks pregnant I am fairly easy to knock over!)T