tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87074460928953165892024-03-07T00:46:32.581-08:00Black Ink PaperieBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-55352877139408734712017-03-01T09:46:00.001-08:002017-03-03T12:34:44.297-08:00and into the breach i got tossed......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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jesus christ<br />
<br />
my life is a sticky mess,<br />
<br />
an eton mess<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
a trifle<br />
<br />
sat in the sun<br />
<br />
either way<br />
<br />
i am easily dissolved<br />
<br />
<br />
there, that is my poem of the day. i wrote it so i wouldn't scream or say fuck, but alas, i have just done both. why oh why can't i just mature. jesus, i am 54. what are the chances at this point of me becoming responsible, frugal, or to be "an able to follow the path kind of girl."<br />
<br />
zero, fucking zero i tell you. <br />
<br />
i buy kinfolk magazine instead of food - ( $24.99, if you don't mind) and oh, it doesn't stop there - why there's uppercase, flow, salvage, peeps, monocule.... and wait if i'm flush maybe ambrosia or the gourmand.<br />
<br />
what on earth is wrong with me. i'll tell you what's wrong - i would rather feel thick, smooth paper between my fingers, smell the heady perfume of wood pulp, look at pretty pictures and read cool shit than plan a safe and happy retirement.<br />
it is the religious equivalent of meeting the pope - on a quarterly basis of course<br />
<br />
oh lord, i am having this giant fight inside my head. bev the good is losing to bev the lunatic. i am that grasshopper who will be banging on some ant's door next winter, demanding to be let in out of the cold.<br />
there seems no way to stop it.<br />
<br />
i will be remembered for my lust, a cautionary tale, a fable.<br />
a portrait will hang in economic schools of me, peeping out from under my blue, plastic tarpaulin home, my skeletal hand grasping my precious tomes of fancy.<br />
<br />
in the meantime i will eat apples and oatmeal and carry on with this ridiculous behaviour.<br />
<br />
speaking of which,<br />
<br />
i looked back on my blog and my new year's resolutions for 2012 were as follows-<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;">- let my teats feel the breeze once in awhile</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;">- gain weight</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;">- discover i am talented embroiderer</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;">- swear more</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;">- be less cautious with prescription medication</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; font-size: 13.26px; line-height: 21.2px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; line-height: 21.2px;">i'm just going to continue with those, if that's ok.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; line-height: 21.2px;"> i doing well with them. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; line-height: 21.2px;">ok, with the glaring exception of dash 3</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times" , serif; line-height: 21.2px;"> i am still in the imagine phase of that one </span><br />
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i just wanted to let you know i am here. still breathing in and out with the greatest of ease. still trying to reconstruct the pieces of my dervish existence. still feeling as if i am a live streaming television show. still on my self-imposed sabbatical. still jousting with my mother. still listening to the shipping lane forecast to becalm my mind. still happy.<br />
<br />
but.....<br />
<br />
i am on the threshold of change<br />
the edge of reason<br />
i must be brave.<br />
i will plunge and hold my breath.<br />
the world is my oyster.<br />
the sea is in me<br />
i will bury the bones of the prairie and let them rest.<br />
the wind still carries the sound of his voice<br />
i will remember,<br />
but i will dance this dance.<br />
the water's coming in fast<br />
i will not drown.<br />
the sirens call from the rocks<br />
fear not<br />
i cannot fail<br />
i shall grow gills and swim<br />
<br />
cheers<br />
bev<br />
<br />
<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-43967865644018315732016-09-29T10:09:00.000-07:002016-09-29T10:09:24.470-07:00the space between your fear......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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this is where i spend most of my time... trying to keep my balance in this tiny space, but i am a rotund, tight-rope walker with smallest of possible feet ....to say the least it is a challenge ......to say the least it is a time consuming occupation.</div>
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where have i been - god only knows. i don't even know who i am anymore. i, as they say, must reinvent myself. i must find purpose and meaning in this new frontier. i must find money. i, as they say, have become a woman of reduced circumstances..... not to say it was a long drop. </div>
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i have come east, back to my ancestral home. back to sea. back to a sea that is not so impressed with how i've spent the last 30 years away from her. i stand on the beach and stare out -</div>
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she says - "really, this is all you've got." </div>
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"you," she says, "have not changed. you are still that bossy child who talked incessantly." </div>
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"yes, i know," i say, "change is hard." </div>
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"yes, she says, tell me about it."</div>
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i have travelled east with my youngest daughter who is going to college here. i have traveled east to spend time with my ailing mother. i know what you're thinking, "oh my god, what wrong with your mom?" well i'm not telling you yet, because then you'll feel all sorry for her and say things like "the nerve, talking about her poor mother that way" - get over yourselves! my mother is over 90 but less than 100 years old. you cannot possibly make me feel any more guilt than i do. </div>
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why oh why does she annoy me so. why can i not maintain my compassion. why do i want to stick a fork in her arm some days.</div>
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there i got that out! jesus christ, my mother is becoming that really poorly behaved 5 or 6 year old that other parents talk about. i feel the judgmental glare from the crowd as they silently hiss at me "for god sakes, get your mother under control!" it at those times i feel defiant, and hiss back "kiss my ass, you let her in. deal with it" </div>
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but when we're at home alone together and she starts to wind up, i think, jesus, marj, calm your effing ass down. there's no crowd to play to. you're not a gladiator and i'm certainly not a christian. </div>
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just knit and watch the wheel of fortune. the show is over.</div>
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if only it were that easy....</div>
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if only i didn't egg her on - slightly...</div>
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if only despite it all - she wasn't so god damn entertaining....</div>
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i will tell you all old women including my mother are obsessed with </div>
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- the weather</div>
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- baseball</div>
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- the wheel of fortune</div>
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- find-a-word puzzles</div>
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- other old people</div>
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obsessions seemingly particular to my mother </div>
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- the mail</div>
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- counting things</div>
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my mother's medial temporal lobe must be the size of truck! the sheer number of facts and information she has on everything and everyone is frightening. i mean, i take it she telling the truth but who the hell knows maybe she making it all up. i personally don't know how many times vanna white has appeared in pants on the wheel of fortune and what the mail lady eats in her car....</div>
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my mother likes to watch tv sporting events with the sound muted</div>
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for two reasons</div>
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1. like many old people, she believes "playing" the tv with no sound saves power... </div>
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2. she likes to do her own commentary. and she's mean! as an athlete you get no praise from my mother. she does not things like "nice hit" she says things like "well, it's about time" she calls them out on all their "dido's" as she calls them. saying things like "have you ever seen anyone go through so many dido's just to throw a baseball..... and, if you're watching with her - be quiet - my mother doesn't like anyone in the booth with her.</div>
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but by far the most embarrassing, inexcusable but unavoidable behaviour has to be her geriatric racial/people profiling... this on it own that makes me want to wear a t-shirt saying I AM SO SORRY</div>
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i don't know where it comes from. i was raised in a very liberal household but somewhere along the way to 100 my mother has lost her social graces. i still love her and look upon with tender adornment but...... holy mary mother of god, my heart races when we are out. i know it's coming! i just brace myself and think about the baby jesus.</div>
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- she calls all people of asian descent "chinese" </div>
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- she calls all people of colour "coloured"</div>
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when we sit down in a restaurant her head rotates like a great, horned owl looking for prey because that's exactly what she's doing. she blinks and pounces...... </div>
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"why is that chinese man eating fish and chips. chinese people eat chinese food. </div>
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i say things like "mum we mustn't point" "SHHH"</div>
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she says the most outrageous things in her "opera whisper" which is not in fact a whisper at all. the little nuggets just roll of her tongue...</div>
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"look at that fat woman" " there's a crippled person" "i have never seen a man as black as that before"</div>
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i can't shut her up! i can only look on in amazement, knowing that in the big game of "whack a mole" i have become the mole and my mother loves to bring the hammer down.</div>
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cheers,</div>
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bev</div>
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-22040862489000110102014-07-28T02:53:00.002-07:002014-07-28T02:53:58.234-07:00how i live, now......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLt0FtJL7t5ZjemVwaceho-iSoF45e6VGVVdWB-4TeoZnJ2QYry1PzZKbmCdPIEI1wCcgMFmWunNUsibyluqE8yCrr14WX67bqf9HVGzVDctZlcNzvNmVnzA5C3UCyVjm3snm3PDeQSXX/s1600/5887298d23e3a74865a914e4807d2974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLt0FtJL7t5ZjemVwaceho-iSoF45e6VGVVdWB-4TeoZnJ2QYry1PzZKbmCdPIEI1wCcgMFmWunNUsibyluqE8yCrr14WX67bqf9HVGzVDctZlcNzvNmVnzA5C3UCyVjm3snm3PDeQSXX/s1600/5887298d23e3a74865a914e4807d2974.jpg" height="640" width="468" /></a></div>
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i imagined i would write this post after the hay had been cut and baled but summer rain is delaying that. i imagined i would write this post after my garden was in and the pickles were made and the canning was done but that seems rather far off. i wanted to present a blog post with my new life mapped out. i wanted to wait until i had my shit together but that seems unlikely. i missed this place and the people i've met here. then i feared that all the people would be gone and i would be alone here - but i must take that chance and record the tale that needs telling.<br />
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this new life remains a slow dance. i see the world through my veil. i awake some mornings not realizing right away things are different. i listen for the sound of the tea kettle, wondering if my husband has made me tea... then i remember and i take a deep breath and crawl out of bed. some days are so happy, light, i laugh with my friends until my ribs hurt. some days i am like a robot performing my tasks with only muscle memory. those days are long, everything reminds me of how it used to be. i imagine his work clothes covered in tractor grease and cow shit. the stains i couldn't get out and how much thought i put into that task. i remember them blowing on the clothes line and how vexed i would be that my laundry failures were on display. i don't know what to do with the book he was reading before he died, do i take it off the nightstand or do i continue to dust around it. it seems somehow unlucky somehow to put it back in the bookcase - because at night i still dream of him and perhaps that shadow of my husband looks for the book and won't return if its gone.<br />
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life does go on. things are getting done. the cows calved, the garden planted, the lawn mowed, and on and on..... we seem to be moving forward. we seem to be coping. time will tell if my child and i can run a farm on our own. i imagine time will tell a lot - but right now i'm telling time that it may not completely rewrite the blueprint of my life. i will hold onto the remains of the day.<br />
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i took a knitting course in february and it has stayed with me. hours and hours since then have been devoted to learning and knitting and knitting. i knit in the evenings and watch british tv on bootlegged dvds. i am a tiny bit obsessed with: on the knitting side - brooklyn tweed and jared flood and on the tv side - the great british bake-off and graham norton. it is a happy time for me. my worries and grief get worked into ever lengthening shawls and wraps, sometimes if you look closely you can see them sailing away from me in tiny ships on a sea of wool.<br />
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we went on a holiday of sorts in june. we went to see my mother. i am very pleased to report that my mother continues to treat me as if i'm nobody special. for 10 days i was reminded of my many, many shortcomings and failings. it delighted me really........ but what is it with old people and counting. maybe i've mentioned this before but my mother is like the geriatric rainman. she counts everything, especially food on a plate. how many clams did you get with your order, how many pieces of lobster were in the chowder, how many biscuits were put on the table. i could write for 2 days and not cover everything she counted during my visit. i would wake in the morning and hear her on the phone recounting to my aunts the number of bottles of water i had drank the day before and asking "if they had ever heard tell of anyone going through that much water" she counted the number of cars i passed when driving, how many times i said "jesus christ" in a day. the number of times i rolled my eyes at her......<br />
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i returned home inspired. i had seen so many small businesses run by women - of course i won't count them for you but trust me it was enough for my heart to catch a clear glimpse of ways of making this new world order work for me. a framework of hope. it is enough for now. because for now there are carrots to pickle, jam to stir, hay to bale and a need inside me to return to this world and tell my tale<br />
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bev xx<br />
ps. to those of you i have neglected over the last months i am truly sorry. i thought of each of you so often. sometimes i would lead all of you on an imaginary tour of my home and life. please bear with me as i make my way through the stories that i have missed and the voices i have not heard.Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-78601346280950515482014-02-17T17:48:00.000-08:002014-02-17T17:48:48.199-08:00talk pretty to me......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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now, i don't normally post pics of my children. but this is relevant to the story and i am trying to participate in 5 on the 5th. from the lovely <a href="http://www.iloveitallwithmonikawright.com/" target="_blank">Monika Wright's blog</a>. it is a monthly post where you post 5 random pics from your life. well, obviously these are not random, they are pics taken of my daughter amy for the christmas cards that i have yet to send but that is neither here nor there. this story has to do with my mother and the pics go along with it - sort of. if you have not met my mother and would like a bit of background. well, she fantastically old, she calls her lady bits her monkey, and when she comes to visit she dries her underpants on my furnace vents. if you would like more info please refer to <a href="http://blackinkpaperie.blogspot.ca/2012/07/elder-encounters-field-guide.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://blackinkpaperie.blogspot.ca/2013/01/mom-live-action-shorts.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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anyway, this past summer my mother came to visit us. it was lovely to see her and i felt that she just might cut me some slack because of the difficult time we were going through. but of course, that was incorrect. my mother practices a strange sort of love. one might call it tough. one might call it heavy. she doesn't like belly aching. she doesn't like spleeny people, she doesn't care for complaining. she says things like "oh for god's sake would you get over it" </div>
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and so she started one afternoon over tea.......</div>
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mom: "you know, amy is quite pretty"</div>
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me: " yes, i think she is"</div>
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mom: " well, we've never really had a pretty person in our family before"</div>
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me: "oh"</div>
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then my mother starts going through her eight brothers and sisters and their children and in some incidents their grandchildren</div>
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mom: well, there's bob. his kids were not good looking. and there's marion, her kids were all kind of hunchbacks. there's dot and her kids were really... well you may as well come right out and say it. they were homely as sin..........."</div>
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as mom continues on with this "who are the ugly relations reminiscing" i sit quietly sipping my tea and think "god, you've got to love this women" </div>
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then she gets to the more immediate relatives.....</div>
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mom: "and my children, well they were certainly nothing to look at"</div>
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i pause mid-sip and look at her</div>
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me: "jesus mom, i'm sitting right here"</div>
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mom: "what, (huge dramatic pause where she turns to face me, knit needle halted) did you think you were pretty?"</div>
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me: "well, maybe in my own way."</div>
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mom: "now beverly, let's be honest"</div>
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me: "thanks mom"</div>
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mom: "well its not my fault what you look like"</div>
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me: "of course not"</div>
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mom: "well some said you were quite clever"</div>
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me: "now that makes me feel better"</div>
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mom: "of course, i couldn't see it"</div>
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and that is that. how it is to be loved by my mother. i look at her with such admiration and awe. this odd little nut has made me who i am. in my family you are never at risk from delusions of grandeur. your head will never swell with self-pride. you will be reminded that you are loved despite being nobody special.</div>
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bev xx</div>
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-71142183738246589642014-01-28T15:26:00.001-08:002014-01-28T17:22:42.997-08:00a journey of a thousand steps.....<br />
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is that right? no, it has something to do with miles and beginning with a single step. well, i have to start small, i can't think of miles right now.<br />
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this is the plan. i need to write or i'll go mad. i need to start this new life of mine - somewhere. i need to focus. i need to breathe. so i thought i would start by keeping a weekly(?) diary of sorts. how i am - where i'm going - that sort of thing. firstly, i need to be kept accountable or at least reminded to continue in a forward direction. secondly, i need to somehow come to terms with the fact that my life is still very sad and will be so for a long time but that my life is also incredibly joyful and happy. i have to find a way to mash the two together without losing sight of either one. i feel like if i write a happy post, everyone, including myself will think "my god, you heartless bitch" but then again if i write depressing things about my grief everyone, including myself will think. " jesus, come on already." i know this sounds very business-like but i have to start somewhere. i have to, over the coming year, get my shit together. there are practical matters to be dealt with - earning money, the farm, the septic system..... and on and on. there are the children and our ability to carve out some sort of new life. how to be happy and sad at the same time.<br />
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so off we go.<br />
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i'm fine, i'm really fine. i say that a lot now. i mean it about 80% of the time. people have been so incredibly kind and good to us. our community and family have quite literally given us a financial buffer that allows us to get through this first year without having to think about the power or gas and many, many other things. that gift is such a blessing and i want to remind myself, often, i must make the most of it. i must parlay that into the next phase. i must take those good wishes and hopes and show in the end, that we were worthy to receive them.<br />
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our lives right now are ruled by snow. this little part of alberta has received almost 200cm of snow this season. and nearly all of that now has decided to stick around. everything is made near impossible by waist high snowbanks. neighbours plough the driveway and shovel paths to feed the livestock. it snows almost everyday. i'd cry if it wasn't so damn funny. if this snow is a message from god. i'm just not getting it. my goal this week is to go the dump. i've never been. sad, really, that in 30 years of marriage i have not managed to help with garbage. i had to phone my friend and ask her how to do it. i have to find the dump card. i'm weirdly nervous about going but really i can't put it off. i let you know......<br />
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that was then - (2 weeks ago)..<br />
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this is now. i put off writing. but i read somewhere recently a quote "i will write myself well" i could google to see who thought that gem up, but does it matter? it is stuck in my head now. i did not end up going to the dump - bill, the crusty farmer went. he came over and collected my trash. so it appears i may be starting widowhood as i was in marriage - not taking responsibility for my own shit.<br />
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the snow has settled- it only comes to your knees now and so a lot more things seem possible. january is almost over. the sun is holding heat. spring is not far off. the farm ticks along, the children tick along. there is ballet, piano and 4H. i am tired, i will admit that, and i dream of my husband almost every night.<br />
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my grief comes in waves of panic. i feel, i'm sure, as a heroin addict feels. i can't breath or think of anything else. i want my life back. i want him back, now. i find if i just sit in that moment it will wash over me and i am ok. the panic passes, the knowledge that you would do anything in that panic to have what you want and then if you just let go, it passes on and leaves you in peace.<br />
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there i got that out. i think i'll finish here for today. i have so much more to tell you, funny stuff about my mom. i just want you to know that i'm living, i'm breathing in and out. i see a way forward. i don't know if will turn out to be "the" way but i must step onto the path and see where it leads......<br />
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bev xx<br />
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ps. i have linked this post with <a href="http://www.stephaniehowell.com/my_weblog/2014/01/blog-your-heart-january-2014-edition.html" target="_blank">http://www.stephaniehowell.com/my_weblog/2014/01/blog-your-heart-january-2014-edition.html</a> who is i must say a lovely lady. i have added it to the "Blog your Heart" series. i hope to do more of these sorts of things this year - force my feelings out. i would like to insert a smiley face or say LOL here but i'll restrain myself.<br />
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Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-66602608745189897542013-11-21T13:16:00.000-08:002013-11-21T16:10:11.191-08:00waiting for time.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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well, here i am. i hope i have something to say. my life has been altered, rearranged in a way i never saw coming. my sweet husband is gone. a summer filled with treatments, driving, pain, forms and more forms. a fall filled with long good byes. whispers of a life well lived, of love and laughter. and of course tears.<br />
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we never asked why? we never bowed our heads and asked for miracle. we understood from the second it was uttered, the future we had planned was impossible. we instead starting thinking about life in days. our time was no longer a stretch of open prairie, it had become a finite thing. we felt no urgency to rush, we would wait for time.<br />
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and then the time came. the unbelievable quietness of death. the flurry of activity that followed. the rituals and rites. and then, quite literally the snow came - over 1 metre of it. it became the period at the end of the sentence. i was forced to pause. i was forced to look around at this new world order. i was forced to face some hard truths. i was forced stand still for a moment.<br />
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so now i wait for time again. people watch me and i in turn watch them. my mother, bless her, waits for me to crack. it gives me hope that i might disappoint her yet again. i cannot grieve in the open. i cannot stand and wail. i cannot take to my bed. instead i find my sadness bobbing on a sea of gratitude. i find that happiness cannot be denied, laughter creeps in through the cracks of my grief. i am blessed to have had 30 years of marriage. i am blessed to watch our children. i am blessed to be surrounded by family and friends. i am blessed to encounter so many kind strangers.<br />
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i am told that this is shock. i am told this is denial. i prefer to think i'm waiting...... i'm waiting for time.<br />
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bev<br />
<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-50078397686989045642013-06-14T23:27:00.000-07:002013-06-14T23:27:01.604-07:00only kindness matters....quite unexpectedly, sadness and fear have entered our lives. this past week my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. the cancer has spread beyond the pancreas and the prognosis is very grave. surgery and radiation have been ruled out as options. he will begin a course of brutal chemo therapy to try to slow the progress of the tumors and to hopefully buy him a little bit of time.<br />
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i ask all of you to be kind to one another. because kindness never fades from memory , it remains around you like a shawl - a layer of love against the sorrow<br />
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bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com58tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-20981296183970806982013-05-20T17:18:00.000-07:002013-05-20T17:19:46.270-07:00nancy spots a whale and other tales - personal in nature......<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;"><br /></span>
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(<i>this is a repost about my last visit home. at the moment i'm up to my ass in children, planting the garden and greenhouse, making stuff for the farmer's markets and getting cows ready to go to summer pasture...... jesus christ i'm tired)</i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">my oh my, how time flies when your losing your mind. where to start - not the beginning - that's too obvious - not the end..... i think i'll not start at all, i'll just carry on. let's pretend in april i sighed somewhat dramatically, took a sip of tea and then looked pensively out the window for awhile. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">i went on an aeroplane. that practically ruined my entire summer. the anticipation of the crash. of whether i would ultimately sacrifice myself to save other passengers or in the flush of adrenalin i would toss them out in hopes of creating a soft pile to land on.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">in the end i went and we did not crash. i hated every second of being on that plane. i sort of forgot about falling from the sky and instead found considerable issue with how uncomfortable i was, how confined and chubby if felt, how goddamn much a mini can of pringles cost, how long it was taking....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">but then...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">6 days in my mother's house. 6 days of sleeping on feather pillows that were created before WW2. 6 days of not eating any vegetables except canned peas. 6 days of laughing and laughing. 6 days of realizing i no longer belonged in this place. 6 days of soaking up the song of a people that is still my own. 6 days of my dear susan</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">i grew up among people who value the art of the telling over the art of the tale. which meant we thrived on the details. god how i miss that. i miss the sheer thrill of the tell. where facts are passed over for the more speculative approach. where judgements are passed before plots have unfolded. and to have 6 days of that wonder and recognizing yourself in the words and cadence of those around you is just to lovely for words.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">during those 6 days i had use of my mother's car. firstly she said - "i would appreciate if you didn't go over 80km." i didn't see that restriction coming. that's the great thing about my mom - you can't predict her next move. her offensive game is just outstanding. mom had other rules regarding her 1991 ford focus. no driving after dark. no rough roads. no unlocked doors or windows left down. and under no circumstances was i to hit a deer. hmmm...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">the first time i sat in the car. i said "ok little ford focus, you better keep your frigging mouth shut about the next 6 days or i'm going to slam your tiny, god damn ass into a deer." </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">those 6 days were filled with immaturity and joy. my baby girl got to see humpback whales with here auntie sue. we ate clams and lobster and fish. we slept in the ancient lakelawn motel where we found blood, mysteriously smeared on the door and top sheet. we all had our theories and we felt delighted to have been assigned this family double. we found sea glass and iridescent blue plastic tampon holders on the beach. we picked apples and ate them unwashed. we sang filthy, dirty songs about sailors and german soldiers.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">we had the time of our lives. but at times i looked in the face of my friend and found a happiness that i cannot find on my own.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.203125px;">bev</span>Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-41048699448125680202013-05-03T18:35:00.001-07:002013-05-03T18:35:53.292-07:00let's review the tape..........<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i must warn you, i'm going to use the word anus in this post. not that's such a bad word. its just one i find quite startling to write. i not used to typing it. i say it a lot - as in - "my husband being a giant anus" but i rarely write it down - as in - correspondence to my mother - "your son-in-law being a giant anus." i ran into a similar problem when i used the word masturbation in a post. again, i just don't write that word a lot. i don't put pen to paper and say the neighbours' boy lost a thumb from vigorous masturbation. so hang on when you see anus.<br />
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some people bring out the best in others, some the worst. i seem to bring out the unexpected. people have the habit of saying the oddest things to me. sometimes my friends think i'm lying when relay a tidbit from someone else but then they're with me, it happens, and they look at me in shocked silence and i say "weird isn't it".<br />
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this past week a perfectly nice lady cornered me and told me her god had a special plan for me. to be frank i did nothing to illicit this, i was minding my own business, eating a hot dog. she introduced herself, we chitchatted and then boom - she leaned in close and said "god has a special plan for you." as a nearly atheist, agnostic girl this was troubling. why was her god targeting me? why not give her a special plan? i was led to assume that this special plan was most likely carnal in nature. jesus, everyone wants a piece of the deliciousness that is me.<br />
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i also had a awkward encounter last week with a nurse. i asked what i could possibly give a baby girl, who was in my care, to boost her immune system. let's just put it out there that i was confident she was going to say vitamin drops. i was just about to say "i'll buy some on my way out." then, out of the blue she says, "breast milk." i was dumbstruck - breast milk. how is breast milk the answer to any question in my world. "well, as it turns out," i said, " i don't have any." not deterred she told me to go to the milk bank. again i replied, "well, as it turns out i don't know where that is." "never mind," she said," i know a woman whose producing 70 oz a day. i'm sure she share with you. here's her number." "yea, maybe not today. i said.<br />
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of course<br />
when i moved to the prairies and started my my life as farm wife i found that farm women liked to talk about worms - specifically worms in their children. there were two camps, those who wormed and those who didn;'t. i fell in with the non-wormers. over the years i have heard an ever increasing number of ways to detect and expose the worm. when my children were small, people simply gave their children a worm pill in the spring - much like we give our cows. although, the cows get a liquid poured on their back to kill all and any parasitical intruders. sometimes i would spill a tiny bit of this bovine medication on the kids' heads and hoped that would do the job for them.<br />
in the last year or so i have heard of mothers actually going looking for the worms. no more blind dosing. people are becoming proactive. one mother told me that she goes in her kid's room at night pulls down their pants and shines a flashlight on their kids ass. then shuts it off and looks for worms - the worms apparently climb out of the anus at night and glow in the dark. jesus, jesus, jesus, so much planning. the csi flashlight, lying awake, waiting for opportunity and body position.<br />
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the mother of all evidence gathering came from my friend whose name rhymes with tim. she said her friends' mom taped her kids anuses at night and in the morning pulled the tape off and the worms apparently stuck to the tape. sort of like a fly trap or one of those glue mouse traps. well this information sent me to the borders of my imagination. what sort of tape did she use - gift wrap invisible or standard duck tape. i assumed the tape would run vertical like a adhesive thong. was it pulled off quickly like a band-aid or slowly for the big worm reveal? what age range were the children? who in holy hell thought of this? who said "i've got a idea let's put a bit of tape on the little fellers' ass and see what crawls out. come here to mommy."<br />
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so you see you can't shock me. well, you can shock me but only for a second and then i'm good to go.<br />
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bev<br />
ps. for those who would like to know<br />
<a href="http://blackinkpaperie.blogspot.ca/2012/11/guest-post.html" target="_blank">hornet</a> had a heifer calf this year and we named her terri<br />
<a href="http://blackinkpaperie.blogspot.ca/2012/12/sally-christmas-horse.html" target="_blank">sally the christmas horse</a> is lovely. she is halter broke and the apple of my daughter's eyeBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-55830576682118683822013-04-12T01:30:00.001-07:002013-04-12T01:30:53.669-07:00maternal laws of acquisition......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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my mother is in the mood to love me right now. not that she doesn't love me all the time, sometimes i'm sure she could love the life right out of me. but right now she buoyed by the spring weather, photos of her grandchildren and the promise of a visit. yes, i plan to visit my mother this summer for up to 3 weeks, god help me. i will bury myself in the bosom of my ancestral homeland and pray i don't die of exposure. i plan to take my teenage daughter on a tour of all the historical sites of the maritimes - stand on battlegrounds and peer over ramparts. i will probably also need to be immunized to face the wonder that is my mother's refrigerator. ketchup that expired in 2009, mystery bits of food wrapped in tinfoil. my mother plays fast and loose with "best before dates." she tells me they are suggestions not facts. she is not deterred by mold or undercooking. i will sleep between damp and sheets and rest my head on pre world war 2 pillows. it will be grand and i'm sure you'll hear about</div>
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but this story is not about that. its about another time.....</div>
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my mother went on a trip to prince edward island with my sister and her friend. i was not there but i'm sure they traveled along with my mother providing on the spot commentary about the lack of amusement being provided. on the first afternoon, quite suddenly my mother had to pee and if i have not mentioned she is fantastically old and the general rule is never trust the elderly when it comes to holding it. my sister started looking for a place to stop. they came upon a house whose front lawn was awash with whirligigs - you know those little wooden folkarty things that twirl in the wind. my mother said, "look, pull over, there's a gift shop." everyone piled out of the rent-a-car and my sister and her friend walked around the lawn, admiring the items whilst my mother headed for the house. she tapped on the door and walked in. she was greeted, and my mother asked if she could use the bathroom. the women showed her to the washroom. after mom had finished her business she wandered around the place admiring the things on the wall. a ceramic cow took her eye, "why", as she tells it, "beverly would love this because she has cows." this, i should point out, is my mother's reasoning for all gifts to me. her gifts are often randomly odd and she says things like "well i know how you like french fries so i bought you this pair of plastic potato salt and pepper shakers."</div>
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my mother finds the woman and says, "how much for that darling cow. my daughter lives in alberta and she and her husband have a cattle farm. and by the way, you have some lovely things in your gift shop."</div>
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the lady says to mom, "this isn't a gift shop."</div>
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my mother and sister stories change at this juncture. my sister tells her part through gritted teeth, "jesus, mom went into someones house, used the bathroom and bought a cow off the god damn living wall." now, if i'm being honest and why wouldn't i, my sister did not use those swear words. she's so sweet she couldn't, but her cheeks do turn red and her nostrils do flare when she tells it so i'm inserting the swears i would use.</div>
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my mother's recall has her not fazed at all by urinating in an out of province private home. instead, she says "oh is that so. well, thank you dear for letting me use your washroom. now would you take $2 for that cow."</div>
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and that little cow still hangs beside my kitchen sink. it is as homely as sin but it makes me think fondly of the people from prince edward island and of my unflappable mother and her ability to put on a show.</div>
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bev</div>
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Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com107tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-47012676928914385282013-03-30T02:04:00.000-07:002013-03-30T02:04:15.904-07:00little miss sunshine.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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happy easter and all that. for those of you "of", or "new to" the christian religion, i realize the beginning of the holiday must be a definite low point for you, what with the cross bit and all, but don't despair. everything turns out later in the weekend, so hold on to your shorts, somebody going to be making a comeback. </div>
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well it turns out that the fantastic annie over at <a href="http://www.annieboreson.com/" target="_blank">annie off leash</a> gave me a pressie. she nominated me for the sunshine blogger award. annie is a sexy, smart, funny writer. she's definitely one of the cool kids. and she has her own full pilgram costume for mature role playing games. check her out. she's grand!</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Droid Sans', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 26px;">“The Sunshine Award is an award given by bloggers to other bloggers. The receivers of the Sunshine Award are bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogsphere.”</span></div>
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i have to reveal 7 interesting facts about myself. but let's face it, are there 7 interesting facts left? i have spread my business over this blog like a $2 whore - my massive boobs, my mother's monkey. my various rashes.... what is there left to tell - that i was promiscuous as a teenager and that i have wiped more whiskey off the end of my chin than you'll drink in your lifetime. boring crap like that</div>
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and so..... here they are.....</div>
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1. margaret atwood has not responded to my plea for academic banter and life-long friendship. i fear another gentle missive may be in order </div>
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2. for a time my blog was big in lativa. (well, this according to blogger stats) lativa is a small country nestled between estonia and lithuania. i thought for awhile i might become the 'latvian jesus' but then realized i was probably more like the 'latvian david hasselhoff.' and then they went off me - completely. i think they're pissy about something lost or added in the translation. now, my 3rd highest audience is poland. i'm going to wait a bit before i pack my bags for the tour.</div>
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3. six of my chickens appeared in a hollywood movie. it was a western and they needed hens for a homestead. the animal handler came and picked them up, they were gone 6 weeks and were paid $100. they came home with their heads all big and wouldn't stay in the hen-yard. they were picked off one by one by the coyotes. so let this be a tale to heed. </div>
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4. i disappointed my mother on a weekly basis in march. i know this because she told me - every time i called she would say, "beverly i'm some disappointed in you." i can't wait to spend 3 weeks with her this summer. </div>
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5. starting at about 2 years old, i told my now 14 year old daughter that martha stewart was her aunt. i used to say "we must sit very quiet because aunt martha is on the tv. i even went so far as to put a present under the tree from auntie martha at christmas. i was a big fan of the martha stewart living television show and wanted to watch it in peace. the poor little thing used to tell people, "martha stewart is my aunt," and people would look at her like she was addled. she figured it out around 6 or 7. don't judge me she's a whiz at folding fitted sheets.</div>
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6. i slept walked as a child. i would be found outside, asleep on the front porch or on the neighbours' porch. nobody that we knew suffered from my affliction and my mother was horribly embarrassed. she had no idea what to do about it so she took the approach that if i got hurt while sleep walking it would teach me never to do it again. she used to say, "i guess when you're out there traipsing around in your sleep and you fall down and break your leg, that will be the end of that foolishness."</div>
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7. i gunned the engine of my kia at buddy last week. buddy is the chihuahua that bites me every tine i go to where he lives. i pictured clipping the little bastard with my bumper and sending him skidding across the frozen crust of prairie snow. i scared the living shit out of him - his little bulging eyeballs were riveted on my smiling face. he ran off with his tail between his legs...... but he's a feisty bugger because the very next time i visited he bit me. maybe next time i'll pop it in drive and make contact.</div>
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and so...<br />
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now i must nominate some blogs to pass on the award. so, with out further ado here they are in no particular order.....<br />
amy from <a href="http://www.addledliving.com/" target="_blank">addled</a><br />
lady c from <a href="http://afatgirlzjourney.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">from fat to .... fabulous?</a><br />
chris from <a href="http://www.pixiecd.com/" target="_blank">life your way</a><br />
francie from <a href="http://7thdecadegirl.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">a north end journal</a><br />
kate from <a href="http://www.thenestedblog.com/" target="_blank">nested</a><br />
doris from <a href="http://dorissander.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">meandering</a><br />
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thanks again annie<br />
bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-55339587670481186342013-03-17T20:06:00.001-07:002013-03-17T20:06:58.576-07:00meeting on the shore.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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strangers show up when you least expect them. they arrive wrapped in promise and stories. i come from a place where the stranger was a subject of intense observation and welcomed delight. the people in my village loved the arrival of a stranger. we had memorised the shape of our own faces and could recite all our tales. when someone strange arrived either by land or sea the whole community rushed to the wonder.</div>
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i imagine that is where my lack of fear of the unknown comes from. when i see a stranger my heart beats fast with the knowledge that i may hear a story. how can you not trust someone you've never met. it is my experience, it is the ones you hold close that cause the most harm. </div>
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and so they came.........</div>
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when i was quite young a japanese man stayed in our home. he had come from his country to study the mackerel or herring - i don't remember which. he stayed with my mother and i. my mother was a widow and so i'm sure any stipend he offered was appreciated. i loved him. i talked his ear off. his english was about as lovely as my japanese. he brought excellent gifts of fans and small dolls. when he went fishing with the men he wore my deceased father's rubber boots and fishing gear. some may say that set the tone for me - a stranger from another land looking sweetly familiar - like a memory from a happier time. maybe that's the moment i feel in love with strangers.</div>
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sometimes..</div>
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young men would appear out of seemingly, thin air. the men were bearded with backpacks. they were running from war and choose to hide in the thick spruce on our shores. they built dodgy shelters and did odd jobs. my friends and i would stand in the bush and watch their doings. still and silent like wooden totems, we watched unseen as they ranted aloud about the government and smoked those, as my mother said, "funny cigarettes." most of them would last the summer and fall but when the wind started to blow from the nor'east and the ice and snow came they rethought their principles and moved on. </div>
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on rare occasions strangers arrived by water. an unfamiliar boat would sail into the harbour. i can tell you that was a time of quick, excited action. women whipped off their aprons and men ran their fingers through their hair. we were like people heading for a show. one such time a sailboat limped into our little port in need of engine repairs. word went round and i raced to the wharf to be first to greet them. my friend was with me, the pretty one who could sing, she and i rushed to usher the woman and children ashore. the men surround the stranger. the flag on the masthead was swedish and so was much of what they spoke.. my friend and i steered the woman and her children towards the beach. this little family was going to be my prize. i would convince her to come to my house for some tea and a slice of cake. i stood slightly in front of my friend to make it clear i was obvious choice. the woman took some clothes out of a ditty bag and said they wanted to change out of their bathing suits. i was just about to suggest they did that at my house - when they all stripped off their suits and stood stippy stark naked on the sand. i will admit to be slightly taken aback, but quickly recovered. my friend, a good girl, clutched her freshly ironed shirted and started to cry. she wrung her hands, turned and began running down the beach, wailing her head off. i turned and thought, "well there goes the competition." i was not accustomed to naked foreigners but manners suggested i wait patiently for them to dress. "this way," i said and then lead then through the path to my house. my mother, like every other woman in the village, would have already boiled the kettle. she was in fact probably already slicing the cake - because in these situations it was an asset to have have a child, who as my uncles would say "could talk the paint off the boat" the little family stayed in our village for a week but sadly they did not sleep at my house, as it turns out they preferred showers to baths and my house didn't have one. i feel that this was condition i couldn't have foreseen so i didn't take to heart.</div>
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so when i see a stranger i feel no sense of apprehension, no fear, i just see someone i haven't met. but anyway, why lead with fear - these strangers may carry with them the kindness you seek and the stories you have not yet heard.......</div>
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bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com80tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-60640463702923677382013-03-03T11:08:00.001-08:002013-03-03T11:08:51.346-08:00dear margaret atwood.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0FWSYTcgstMsb1-BPGHutOFaiCkGfw5qE0YNV6J3gXpz_HNXDVsJ2onmOP6xCZddPEEaQxaiFisf6F7UBo3k5itSOtSJgjgRcl-KQf79sbSLrplOjZE1gSv3nhjMdbm2l2yA63R5RBiR/s1600/vintage-lady-writing-at-desk-woman-50s-60s-retro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0FWSYTcgstMsb1-BPGHutOFaiCkGfw5qE0YNV6J3gXpz_HNXDVsJ2onmOP6xCZddPEEaQxaiFisf6F7UBo3k5itSOtSJgjgRcl-KQf79sbSLrplOjZE1gSv3nhjMdbm2l2yA63R5RBiR/s400/vintage-lady-writing-at-desk-woman-50s-60s-retro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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dearest margaret</div>
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may i call you "dearest margaret" or should we save that until we've become confidants. i have written with the hope that you are accepting new friends. i have always been a huge fan, but lately i have been asking my self, "self, why aren't we friends with margaret atwood? her books are everywhere in this house and i feel happy when i see her picture." self said, "write her a letter, maybe two. i'm sure she'll love you" i thought great idea and besides that margaret, i want to talk about all those great stories of yours. plus, i'm reading "wolf hall" right now and i want to get out of it. i'd like to start a marathon of your books but i don't want to hurt "old what's her face's" feelings by stopping midstream and also, i vowed to mohamed in january to finish every book i start this year. honestly, wolf hall is lovely but jesus must we hear about every time thomas cromwell pricks his finger... or is that the other way around - i forget how that old saying goes. so i thought striking up a friendship with you would help get me through those last 300 pages of the book and then, its on to the greener pastures of your prose - some of which, i must say right now, i don't understand, especially the poetry. i'll read something you've written and think to myself, "ok self, what does that mean?" and self says "i got nothing, maybe you're reading above your grade level again."</div>
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but all that can wait because let me tell you about my morning.....</div>
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my husband often says the problem with me is i have no natural fear of strangers. i'm like one of those giant tortoises on the galapagos islands. (speaking of that, remind me to tell you about the time i found the sexy holiday photos from the galapagos. it's a great story but i'll save it because i sense our relationship is going to be long term). i, like those tortoises, wander about bumping into humans at will, with no natural ability to detect danger</div>
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so....</div>
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this morning - picture me, slumped on the sofa, waiting for my 14 year old daughter to get out of the shower so i can drive her to the vet clinic, where she volunteer/works once a month. it's about 7:30 AM. i am dressed in my grey flannel pajama pants, the ones with the red cardinals on them. they are quite possibly my favorite article of clothing and my stretched out gap, man's sweater, also grey. i have on no bra and i have not, as yet, performed my morning toilet. a knock comes at the back door. i open it to find a very intoxicated man. i will not reveal his ethnicity but let's just say his people where already on the north american continent when my people arrived. i realize that information is not politically correct but i want show, like the pope, my appeal as a problem solver has no racial bounds. i'm acquainted with this man but not in a way that would encourage early morning cold calls. he wonders if i can give him a ride to his cousin's house. i should point i live on the bald ass prairie, my nearest neighbour is nearly 1 mile away, so this fellow has put considerable effort into this transportation plan of his. i say "why not, almost stranger guy. let me grab my keys" during the ride he tips from side to side as he laments his inability to remember the events of the previous evening. his family is not home. he states this rather dramatically by saying, "my people have all disappeared." he hopes, in his words "he didn't do something stupid." he's going to his cousin's because he's lonely and wants to continue to drink. "grand" i say, "well, here we are and have a lovely time." he thanks some invisible person in my car named beth and we part ways. </div>
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i return home, pick up my daughter and drive her to the vet clinic. she, like her father, comments on my lack of stranger boundaries. i tell her personal danger can not compete with the chance to hear a great story. i realize this is probably not my finest piece of maternal advice margaret, so don't base your opinion on that one statement - i'm going for full disclosure here......so, in several shakes of a lamb's tail i return home and decided that what i need, is a nap. i settle in and no sooner had i shut my eyes than a knock came on the back door. i opened the door to reveal another intoxicated gentleman. i think to myself, well this is getting curiouser and curiouser. he too, is wishing for a ride - again to this apparent party central, cousin. "well, of course" i say "i know the way now." it's a rare day indeed when not one but two drunken semi-strangers present themselves at your back door. let me try to remember when it happened before..... right - never. i grab my keys and load the fellow into my suv. this man is weighted down by bottles. beer in his pockets, a quart of rum in his hand. he has lost the lid to the rum somewhere and strangely, he apologizes for this. on the drive he tells me he drinks because he can't find love. don't think me cruel for exposing this. i believe that he could hardly expect confidentiality at 9 am in the passenger seat of my kia. he topples over a bit and spills rum on the heated leather seats. i suddenly remember i'm still in my pajamas and i have yet to look in a mirror today. i wonder if i'm danger of being ravished. i asked my self if i'm in danger. my self says, "who knows". we arrive at the cousins and he is reluctant to get out of the car. he's telling me about his ex girlfriend and his passion for her. "off we go now," i say. several people have gathered on the doorstep. i wonder if i'll be invited in. alas not. i return home and make some tea. this day, i decide is wearing me out. i am not equipped for this much unsolicited excitement. i must rest. </div>
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so you see margaret, this is why i can't talk about your writing today. i will avail to cover that in my next correspondence. but feel free to write back and tell me how you like me so far.</div>
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yours</div>
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bev</div>
<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-34083643248713528282013-02-16T12:08:00.000-08:002013-02-16T12:10:02.178-08:00taking my demons out for a bit of exercise.......<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVyzU9g4zPmDKXvkwvw-b5XmAfMInmoN0uPsg-1wNGiE1QKgpScPIe1BzzAo8i-3pHvUNZxEoLaFbQZyH6P7bre6shCOonhyphenhyphenb6oNKmocQusaD_skcCBx1jzhkOHo083wM06eNkfh5KjZb/s1600/Portrait-Photo-Exercising-on-the-Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVyzU9g4zPmDKXvkwvw-b5XmAfMInmoN0uPsg-1wNGiE1QKgpScPIe1BzzAo8i-3pHvUNZxEoLaFbQZyH6P7bre6shCOonhyphenhyphenb6oNKmocQusaD_skcCBx1jzhkOHo083wM06eNkfh5KjZb/s400/Portrait-Photo-Exercising-on-the-Beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">i think i mentioned awhile ago that i suffer from the crafting equivalent of erectile dysfunction. in fact, i'm probably the hugh hefner of the condition. i'm surrounded by beautiful product. i possess all the right equipment to make it happen.... and yet when i assume the crafting position; i am unable to perform. the problem is all in my head - like that's a big surprise. i feel such immense pressure to create. i'm like the magician who reaches into his hat and expects to pull out the baby jesus instead of a rabbit. that would be something though.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21.203125px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">but ........</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 21.203125px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">it's time to take one for the team. bury my face in the pillow and do it for my resume. it has occurred to me that i may simply have nothing left to make. i haul it all out and look expectantly at all those supplies. where are you, my little project? maybe i suck or maybe i'm lazy. maybe i'm all dried up - a withered old craft whore. that was a bit harsh. bear with me, remember i can sometimes be a prayer challenge. but today, i must do the deed - brace myself and remember the empire. I have more but I won't use them. I am known locally as the model of restraint. but craft i must..</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">because.....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">i come from maritimes, specifically nova scotia, where women can craft with their eyes closed. non-crafters are looked upon with disdain. picture my mother, in her platform rocker, the cuff of a mitten taking shape. she waves her knitting needles in the air and punctuates each opinion by thrusting the end of her #7's in your direction. and she says "could you tell me what she does all day. if you ask me that's her problem - she's not keeping her hands busy."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and that my friends is what it boils down to - it's your own fault, whatever malady has befallen you could have been avoided if only you did not have idle hands. they say "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" well in the maritimes "a mitten a day keeps madness at bay"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">harsh, i know but unavoidable. so with that in mind i started working on some things. and here are the results</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyi81TJFRcAY0B6VARCk_BJZf2mKTcT_FcxD2dJoyIIv7CrOZaWMZAS1HsvNmatLFclvm7CJU8MPwOmtPFKkAaNrpSwG26bPkFBXS1EyX12qBVVof2X9dcfQSwW1O9SDUHRzFe-yi6WyJo/s1600/buggers+pics+120.JPG"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679790425768438866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyi81TJFRcAY0B6VARCk_BJZf2mKTcT_FcxD2dJoyIIv7CrOZaWMZAS1HsvNmatLFclvm7CJU8MPwOmtPFKkAaNrpSwG26bPkFBXS1EyX12qBVVof2X9dcfQSwW1O9SDUHRzFe-yi6WyJo/s320/buggers+pics+120.JPG" style="display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 299px;" width="239" /></span></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA0TGp0HGL4k49Hl6ejUaMAJ_iUqVdZhB6Tn_QFPGdjVnqLDXorM5k5VIcoSV_YDasR0mjOIYU5WAjXlhaMIhsFzVf2ZIO7svH9RPaYO5hao11x2GtKlf-wSbOhpT4foXKQ8SdBvJyy_8/s1600/buggers+pics+124.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679789861561052098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA0TGp0HGL4k49Hl6ejUaMAJ_iUqVdZhB6Tn_QFPGdjVnqLDXorM5k5VIcoSV_YDasR0mjOIYU5WAjXlhaMIhsFzVf2ZIO7svH9RPaYO5hao11x2GtKlf-wSbOhpT4foXKQ8SdBvJyy_8/s320/buggers+pics+124.JPG" style="display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 299px;" width="239" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">little bag</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJoMhOrQCV5YzmJGVRK0VL1elFYuJ0xQXiqhmhC6M0IBZpoCyhpr5J5IU-qzHb7t9b_a4L8Vz9r9Bw5cJ-pX1LcnT5YCt8L9fgvOHMr6VKdh6AtF8kAKlHubQhaxDfp1xlFqaFtJrGPQT/s1600/003_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJoMhOrQCV5YzmJGVRK0VL1elFYuJ0xQXiqhmhC6M0IBZpoCyhpr5J5IU-qzHb7t9b_a4L8Vz9r9Bw5cJ-pX1LcnT5YCt8L9fgvOHMr6VKdh6AtF8kAKlHubQhaxDfp1xlFqaFtJrGPQT/s640/003_edited-1.JPG" width="427" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">covered notebooks</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQywtvBJb7fnxqDiuBBrQ8Doen5zW6OkTZuX7Ky7yMhqBVbIwgObETVORENyoYk1lAvtHTZeBOlqoBsK5_j1GvRPwgss2G0mxzPJQFXUeiyMdUHYFq5qIb0TcsnaE0ZSJ36zWTlj6zMuZ/s1600/IMG_1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQywtvBJb7fnxqDiuBBrQ8Doen5zW6OkTZuX7Ky7yMhqBVbIwgObETVORENyoYk1lAvtHTZeBOlqoBsK5_j1GvRPwgss2G0mxzPJQFXUeiyMdUHYFq5qIb0TcsnaE0ZSJ36zWTlj6zMuZ/s640/IMG_1000.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">recipe book</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">as you can tell i have given up my brief career as a professional picture taker. as a result all photos were taken on the couch, with my phone pointed slightly north of my lady bits. strictly low-end i know but christ i can't do everything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">bev</span>Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com98tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-47333356010492621642013-02-08T23:32:00.000-08:002013-02-08T23:46:42.033-08:00arrange your face.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmxLviCec4Iga-FkpGfrHPw_46cAxzV1SJuytpFV_KUNNxVjMOJOVBy_g92l_0C7Q7lhoAtVjel_HKr4ppeeOD7cSB6qcv0VupXU9FvSbn7I0WXXnI5A8qy-_Pty01W_r6q_k3QT0oPLf/s1600/tumblr_m7ipireTij1qapwx6o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmxLviCec4Iga-FkpGfrHPw_46cAxzV1SJuytpFV_KUNNxVjMOJOVBy_g92l_0C7Q7lhoAtVjel_HKr4ppeeOD7cSB6qcv0VupXU9FvSbn7I0WXXnI5A8qy-_Pty01W_r6q_k3QT0oPLf/s640/tumblr_m7ipireTij1qapwx6o1_500.jpg" width="460" /></a></div>
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this is what my mother says when she is getting ready to go out, "i must go arrange my face" or she says the ever popular, "i must go put on my face". well, i must do the same as i have found myself in possession of some blog awards. i can't think that i deserve any trophies but this is hollywood and these things sometimes happen. amy, from <a href="http://www.addledliving.com/" target="_blank">ADDled</a> who i'm very fond of and anna from <a href="http://annaurquhart.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">The Silent Isle</a> who i feel myself becoming very fond of and chris from <a href="http://www.pixiecd.com/" target="_blank">Life Your Way</a> who i'm practically married to, have bestowed upon me some fabulous hardware and made me sausage queen for a day. i also know that kate, who i feel very maternal towards, from <a href="http://www.thenestedblog.com/" target="_blank">nested</a> presented me with one a bit ago but i think that may have expired. i decided to use my two versatile blog awards, from amy and jane, as breast plates and the blog of the year from chris to cover my lady bits. if my nod from kate is still effective i'll be fashioning it into a shield of some sort </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTPdU2d2z9nGK6I1zXHaQ7hEXR0LGGLe77ixY5itHJqBt6M4Lxvbsg_vu-y7E5DbBoCntkVKdgRB3etwqVFDPxadkB3ewJp1kSgjUZoZQsNh-g4FmWGQS06t-p_MqCnvV9S9WH8gmv9ir/s1600/versitle-blogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTPdU2d2z9nGK6I1zXHaQ7hEXR0LGGLe77ixY5itHJqBt6M4Lxvbsg_vu-y7E5DbBoCntkVKdgRB3etwqVFDPxadkB3ewJp1kSgjUZoZQsNh-g4FmWGQS06t-p_MqCnvV9S9WH8gmv9ir/s200/versitle-blogger.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">The Rules for the <strong><a href="http://my-purple-dreams.blogspot.com/2013/01/vba-part-2-nominations.html" style="color: #386123; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">Versatile Blogger</a></strong> are<i>:</i></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;"></span></div>
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<dir style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;"><dir><strong> 1)</strong> Thank the blogger who nominated you and include a link to their site<br /><br /><strong> 2)</strong> Add the Versatile Blogger Award picture to your blog post<br /><br /><strong> 3)</strong> Nominate 7 fellow bloggers and include a link to their site.<br /><br /><strong> 4)</strong> Let them know you have nominated </dir><dir><strong> 5)</strong> Share 7 random facts about you </dir></dir><br />
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(1) thank you <a href="http://www.addledliving.com/" target="_blank">amy</a>, <a href="http://annaurquhart.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">anna</a>, <a href="http://www.pixiecd.com/" target="_blank">chris</a> and a belated thank you to <a href="http://www.thenestedblog.com/" target="_blank">kate</a>. these are all lovely talented women and i appreciate their support and encouragement. go show them some love.</div>
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(2) done</div>
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(3) em at <a href="http://dartmoorramblings.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">http://dartmoorramblings.blogspot.ca/</a></div>
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debra at <a href="http://shewhoseeks.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">http://shewhoseeks.blogspot.ca/</a></div>
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cindy at http://starlitstudio.typepad.com/</div>
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jenn at http://jennsrandomscraps.blogspot.ca/</div>
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mark at <a href="http://blackriverlakeblog.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">http://blackriverlakeblog.blogspot.ca/</a></div>
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jo-ann at <a href="http://jo-annemotherandnanna.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">http://jo-annemotherandnanna.blogspot.ca/</a></div>
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why! because i like them.</div>
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(4) gotcha</div>
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(5) seven random facts about myself</div>
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random facts</div>
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1. i got into massive amounts of trouble in the 3rd grade for organizing a easter egg hunt on the playground for the Jehovah witness students. </div>
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2. i didn't know who the bloggess was until recently. and if i'm being honest, she's no sedaris. she seems a bit mean. maybe i'll warm up to her. maybe not. please don't hate me kate.</div>
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3. i peed on the plains of abraham when i was a little girl. for those who did not study canada's past - in 1759 english and french armies fought on the plains of abraham (in quebec) for control of this part of the world. the land belonged to a farmer named abraham hence the name. this "voiding" of mine has become a point of pride for my mother. whenever canadian history is brought up mom says, "you'd never believe it, but beverly peed on the plains of abraham. she just up and said she couldn't hold it anymore and she pulled her pants down and let it go, right there on the ground." now, hopefully i have done many things in my life that should have merited my mother's pride but apparently open-air urination on a historical battlefield is the one that stuck.</div>
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4. i am rarely angry. i get my ass up sometimes but it never last long. i will cheerfully argue someone to death and the fact that people often want to kill me is a source of joy to me.</div>
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5. i unknowingly gave someone a book for christmas that contained instructions for making a portable pussy. i guess this information is important if one should find themselves alone in the wilderness and feel the need to make love. i thought i was giving someone a survival book and if i had any sense of dignity i would be embarrassed but alas - not so much</div>
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6. in my tiny effort to make the world a better place i visit a residence several times a month and at that residence there lives a chihuahua named buddy and i'm bitten by that chihuahua named buddy at least 3 times between the car and residence. buddy does not trust police officers and apparently me. when i get out the car now i say "jesus christ buddy, just get it over with". i'm staring to look forward to my interaction with him and i make no attempts to gain his trust. i like our relationship the way it is. </div>
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7. i'm addicted to le labo perfume thanks to my god damn sister/friend whose name rhymes with busy. i'm just goofing around about her being damned by god, she's really quite lovely and sweet - it's just i can't remember what i smelled like before "another 13" and my visa bill proves this.</div>
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and because i don't know the rules for blog of the year, i give you this</div>
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currently i'm .............................</div>
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<u>reading</u> - wolf hall . i will probably grow old reading this book. the tome chronicles the life of thomas cromwell and his relationship with henry viii. mr cromwell seems to spend rather a great deal of time walking around fingering his illegal copy of the new testament. i have had to google search characters in this book as my knowledge of all the english reformation homeboys is somewhat dusty. </div>
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<u>listening</u> - of monsters and men, pitbull, damien rice, florence and the machine unplugged and emiem</div>
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<u>watching</u> - ricky gervis show, it crowd and swedish crime drama (very hard to sew and read subtitles)</div>
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<u>in love with</u> - charley boorman. well actually the charley boorman from 2008. i thought i was over it but apparently i'm not.</div>
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<u>waiting for</u> - the cows to start calving and mr. selfridge to be released on amazon.uk</div>
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<u>thinking about</u> - almost nothing except why i love pain medication</div>
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<u>eating</u> - oranges and more oranges</div>
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<u>doing </u>- swimming 4 hours a week, trying for 5</div>
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<u>worrying</u> - about starting my craft blog. </div>
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<u>needing</u> - to get my act together</div>
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thanks for the love people</div>
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bev</div>
<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-15726441118480732092013-01-29T00:28:00.000-08:002013-01-29T00:28:39.692-08:00afloat on the sea......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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when i think of it now, i should have been a fisherman. but when i was young, such things were not heard of. i'm sure somewhere in the world there were lady sea captains but new ideas were not common in a place where you heard only 63 other voices. in my village it was unlucky for women to even be aboard the boat. women apparently made the winds and sea confused. but as a child i was forever on a boat of some kind. my father died when i was very young and so my uncles and the other fishermen became stand-ins. i sure talking to a fatherless girl is hard for crusty seafarers but taking her fishing, well that was one way to be together without the worry of words or emotions. and so i went to sea. i fished with my uncles on their boats. they pulled their herring and mackerel nets and i found my first place in the world.<br />
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as i got older i went out on the bigger boats. we would be fishing on grounds over two days from land. i felt so at home. i never worried about the weather or the boat going down. i was too in love with the swells and the way the sun hit the waves. at night, down in the cuddy, i would lay in my bunk and i would press my face against cold wood of the hull so that i could feel the sea next to my skin. i felt safe there, beneath the water line. i felt calm and at peace being rocked to sleep by the movement of the boat and the muted sounds of the my ocean heaven.<br />
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i have seen all manner of creatures from the sea - the porpoise, the whale, the shark and the curious and common fish. whales are somewhat of a conundrum for me. when i see a whale two things simultaneously go through my mind - "what a beautiful site" and "god, that thing would feed a lot of people." when i was young and with my uncles, the whales were a nuisance. they swam around and under the boat. they could get tangled in the nets or eat the catch. we shot them with a 22 rifle. you can't kill a whale with such a small gun but i'm sure it must have stung. some whales we could identify by the bullet scars on their backs and heads. and yet they continued to come. i realize this is terrible, idealists will say the whales came to the boats because they wanted to communicate or make friends. maybe that's true. or maybe it felt good to be shot with a small calibre gun. human beings pierce and tattoo every part of their bodies and despite the discomfort, many of them keep going back. whales may be the same. i will never know. all i know is that those whales were a pain in the ass. they did however, make out better than the seals who were shot on site. the 22 rifle could kill a seal. seals are like the rabbits of the sea. they eat and they eat and they breed and they breed.<br />
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i loved everything about being on the boat. i would catch the fish, gut them and fling their entrails to the screaming gulls. when i was young i would plead to be given a shark if one were caught. the sharks were worth no money and they were seen, like the seals, as a menace. but i, on the other hand could cut their teeth out and sell them to the americans. americans loved shark teeth. but first i would have to kill it. the raging shark would flop about the deck. he would hurl his open mouth at my sneakered feet. i would scream and jump. but, oh i was happy. my uncles would shake their heads as i dodged danger and moved to finish it off. i would stun it with an oar and then slit its throat with the bait knife. it sounds so primitive, so savage - like clubbing baby seals. but my life was not one of sidewalks and shopping malls. it was not a life removed from the messy bits. death, and stark reality were very close to me. there was no shelter built over my childhood. i stood exposed to the elements.<br />
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one winter the harbour froze completely over. a government ice breaker was dispatched to free our little outpost from the crush of the ice. the whole community stood on the wharf to watch the event. many of the men walked out on the ice to meet the ice breaker. i think everyone on the land held their collective breath. to see the our men, so small, walking atop the water without their boats was in short breathtaking. the great chunks of ice heaved and they cracked like rifles shots and yet the men walked on. the huge ship sat poised at the opening of the harbour ready to save us and deliver us back to the water. how i wish i could have walked on that ice. sometimes i think i can feel what it must have been like, the floe groaning and moving beneath my feet. our beloved sea trying to breath and sing it's song.<br />
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the sea was always there. coming towards me with the tide and carrying me on it's back across the miles. to lay on a boat, towards the bow, and see an impossibly high pillar of water heading for you. to look forward to that pillar and the next, to feel alive and oh so safe in the arms of the sea - the refuge of each wave washing away the fears and worries of the shore.<br />
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bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com170tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-12934835188974663792013-01-24T11:51:00.001-08:002013-01-24T17:50:27.032-08:00the brief career of a clerical scholar.....<br />
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i have been known my entire life as a "prayer challenge". my aunt kept my name permanently inked in on her prayer list. the list was scotch-taped to the cupboard above the kitchen sink. as she stood and washed her dishes she would pray for the souls of the people on the list. i was the only child to make the list and i was the only one never removed from the rotation. i remember sitting on her kitchen counter, eating molasses cookies and asking her why i was on the list. "because," she would say "you're full of the devil". she always smiled when she said it and in her defense this was probably during my <a href="http://blackinkpaperie.blogspot.ca/2012/08/the-devil-in-deep-blue-sea.html" target="_blank">satan art - crayon series</a>. life was a puzzle then, as it is now. but i did my best to find answers, wherever i could.........<br />
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so<br />
when i was around 8, i told a story in sunday school that to my complete surprise, didn't go over well. I don't remember where i came across the marvelous information i was about to unveil but i remember being pretty excited to share it. before we go on, let's make it clear i thought i had come across yet to be released biblical insight. i was so sure my story was true but apparently fact checking was a yet to be acquired skill. i cannot remember the morning of my big announcement but i probably ran the half mile up the road to the church. my patent leather shoes slapping the pavement and my dress flying up i am certain i was there early, sitting in the pew with my "oh my god, i've got a story" look on my face.. i remember i was fairly bursting to get back to the lesson rooms. i loved the warm up songs with all the funky hand movements but this week i was breaking news. once we were in the back and in our classroom, i was off. i cut off whatever lesson the teacher was about to begin - my story certainly had precedence over any loaves and fishes. "EXCUSE ME, did you know?" i started. "on the ark noah removed all the boy animals wankers because he didn't want any fooling around on the voyage." i can tell you, the word wankers and the suggestion of sex on the ark had turned the crowd my way,,,,, but surprisingly this was not my "big news". i'm sure i had a dramatic pause just about then. hell, i probably stood up. "well", i continued , "when the ark landed noah gave everyone back their parts. except he mixed up the donkey and camel's wankers and that's why camels have such small ones and donkey's have such biggies.<br />
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waiting for my applause......<br />
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whatever i thought was going to happen at this point did not happen. i just remember being so frantic to get this new information out there. the sunday school teacher was not impressed. i was immediately escorted from the room and after a very long, damnation filled talk i was placed on church probation. i apparently posed a risk to the other children's salvation. i was devastated, not for being in trouble, not for getting my ass chewed out but because my story was not going to be written down by a scribe and included in future lessons. they thought i was being a blasphemous smart ass, telling dirty jokes in sunday school. i thought i was a religious correspondent<br />
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this theme has repeated over and over again in my life. i am an incredibly slow learner. i love the "tell" - the big reveal. when i got older, i remember thinking, before letting loose, this probably isn't going to end well. but the urge to tell the tale is always too great. and besides personal satisfaction trumps consternation any day.<br />
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a historical footnote: my church probation stayed intact till around 11 when i discovered and shared some fascinating info on mary magdalene. i was turfed from sunday school and received a life-time ban from the "young christians" group.<br />
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cheers,<br />
bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-75694432346788494802013-01-16T08:49:00.002-08:002013-01-16T08:49:38.786-08:00mom - live action shorts......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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having a telephone conversation with my mother can be, on occasion, like gladiator tryouts. pitted against my mother, i am at best, a mediocre warrior but knowing you're going to get your ass kicked is a piss, poor reason for not competing. the beginning of the bout is always fraught with posturing and posing. each of us wanting to get a sense of where the other is in terms of readiness for the match. and really, if you haven't any sarcasm in your prelude, you haven't got game.........<br />
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mom: i told those fellows up at the hall that winter was over for us<br />
me: really, why is winter over?<br />
mom: because the skins on the onions are so thin<br />
me: gotcha<br />
mom: it called folklore<br />
me: really, folklore, i've never heard of it<br />
mom: well, i wouldn't expect you to know any folklore<br />
me: thanks<br />
mom: i never said you couldn't learn<br />
me: gotcha<br />
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one of the best things about my mother is that her disdain is nearly universal. sure, i have disappointed her but so, apparently, have lots of other people. so, while i feel for my fellow comrades i am also perfectly willing to sacrifice them. hell, i will safety-pin them to the altar........<br />
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which led to......<br />
mom received some christmas presents she was not quite happy with - presents from friends and family alike. if i'm being completely forthcoming, my mother is unhappy with every present on some level. if it's a gift card, well there's the inconvenience of getting to the place, if it's something edible well it's stale or it interferes with her bowel movements. this particular disappointing present was a book. not, as it turns out the book she was expecting to receive. so, during the conversation, when i found myself on the ropes i referred back to this book because i needed a rest from getting my ass chewed off.<br />
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me: did you ever get the book you wanted<br />
mom: no, did i tell you? mary gave me the wrong book!<br />
me: yes mom, you told me already<br />
mom: i let mary know that i was some disappointed<br />
me: mother, that's not very nice<br />
mom: well, she should know<br />
me: of course<br />
mom: she gave me some thomas kinkade book. the guy who paints<br />
me: i'm sure its a nice book<br />
mom: i don't know anything about that man and i'm sure its not going to entertain me, its probably christian<br />
me: jesus mom, what's wrong with the christans<br />
mom: i'm just saying, its probably not going to be funny.<br />
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later in the conversation - a brief moment of victory......<br />
in mom's chrismas stocking was a little set of upcycled scrabble tiles with magnets on the back that spelled "grandma."<br />
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mom: could you tell me what those letters are supposed to be.<br />
me: you put them on your fridge and they spell a word.<br />
mom: well, i'll tell you one thing, they don't spell my name. i can't make them spell my name<br />
me: that's because they don't spell your name<br />
mom: your uncle couldn't figure it out, he thought it might be a game but there's not very many pieces.<br />
me: the letters spell grandma<br />
mom: grandma! are you sure?<br />
me: yes, i'm sure<br />
mom: hang on,<br />
(i hear hush puppies tap, tap tapping across the floor. a long pause ensues)<br />
mom: they do spell grandma<br />
me: i told you<br />
mom: well you know you're not always right<br />
me: gotcha<br />
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but alas it did not end well for me<br />
bev<br />
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com91tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-72913028989103521722013-01-08T19:36:00.001-08:002013-01-08T19:36:51.496-08:00an eye for the peculiar.........<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i come from a place where people's crazy is just below the surface, not buried deep but visible to even the most untrained eye. this is neither here nor there in terms of correctness but you must learn early, how to tread water. you must never come right out and point out the obvious. instead you must watch and wait. the man with the wheelbarrow, the hermit with over 100 cats, the woman with the shrine to rex humbard. they were everywhere, you couldn't swing a dead codfish and not have one pop out of hiding. i wasn't one to shy away. bring on your crazy. i'll take a look. my mother recognized early on that i could be counted on when the situation called for an audience. "let beverly go", she'd say, "she doesn't mind that sort of thing". and strangely, i didn't. i could pet imaginary cats and listen to ranting all the live long day - well the promise of a bit of lunch was always appreciated. you learned that crazy was dangerously close to the path, one misstep and you be living an entirely different life. this kind of early training has served me well. normal has became an wide expanse. sanity as odd as the alternate but in the mean time you must maneuver your way through both worlds and you must learn to live with the envy. because believe me there is a crazy so inviting, so liberating that even as a child you watched it in awe.<br />
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i had an great aunt that inhabited that kind of wonderland. i was too young to appreciate the tragedy that sent her there. i could only revel in the place she had came to rest. there was tea and mustard sandwiches. the table was always set to include Queen Elizabeth, my aunt's sister, and a long dead prime minister who had become her priest. the absent people were represented with framed photos and my aunt spoke to them. i never heard the photos speak, i never saw elizabeth drink the tea or the priest make the blessing but my aunt did. and this was enough for me. the sheer contentment i felt would sometimes take my breath away. after the refreshments we all went to the parlor and elizabeth and the priest would watch while aunt and i did the highland jig. the same scenes were played out for nearly every visit. it was for me how happy felt.<br />
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another wondrous woman i visited was the wife of let's say, my eye doctor. this was a case of my mother volunteering me for a bit of psychiatric nurse training. my being under the age of 10 didn't seem to bother anyone. "just sit with her for a while," they said, "give the caretaker a break." i loved it. i was at times a wee bit scared because this gal was wildly unpredictable. she wore flowered caftans and her hair was piled high on her head in curls we called bubbles. she smoked and things sometimes caught fire. as soon as we were alone she always asked if i wanted a boiled egg and i always i did. she would put an egg in a pot, sans water and turn up the heat. smoke and or fire usually was the finale of all our visits. i would always catch hell from the returnees about not stopping her. stopping her never occurred to me. the fear i felt was tempered greatly by the anticipation of what would happen next. what would i possibly miss if i ran screaming from the room. so i happily sat next to a smouldering pillow or listened to conspiracy theories because personal danger cannot compete with entertainment. the highlight of most visits involved a tray of rings. the kind of ring you get for a successful doctor's visit. well mrs had her own large tray. we would sit like two young debutantes and try on rings. picking our favorites from each row. we discussed what situation would be best for each style. when we had exhausted our imaginations the rings were returned to the tray and she would light a cigarette and i wondered how a person could get their hands on such a large tray of rings. i always left with the idea that this was the type of life i wanted to lead.<br />
<br />
i have always suspected i might be crazy and in my life i have attracted some pretty freaky peoplev- to be honest i've been known to campaign for them. but, i have also been very fortunate to also have attracted some really sensible people. the sort of folks who hold the balloon strings that keep me from floating off to god knows where. because sometimes i like to inhabit that place where reason is often pushed aside for something more entertaining.<br />
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and as an added value - here is my favorite poem.<br />
<br />
first fig<br />
<br />
My candle burns at both ends;<br />
It will not last the night;<br />
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--<br />
It gives a lovely light!<br />
<br />
i feel this way approximately ALL the time. it runs through my head at least once a day. a mantra if you will<br />
<br />
so light her up<br />
bev<br />
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-83812782209193225242012-12-31T10:35:00.000-08:002012-12-31T12:31:24.810-08:00dancing to the edge, of the land........<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">and so it begins - a new year - a new set of impossible expectations. i for one love it - i've been disappointing people in one way or another since my birth. i thrive in no-win environments. but let's not give away the ending before the show has begun.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">the RESOLUTION. there it stands, an irresistible temptation.. it beckons and you can't help but be seduced. whether it be secret resolve or public declaration, you announce your intentions </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">and so i come to you with list in hand and eager to proceed. my many pledges include...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">- let my teats feel the breeze once in awhile</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">- gain weight</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">- discover i am talented embroiderer</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">- swear more</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">- be less cautious with perscription medication</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif;"><span style="line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">i should tell you...</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;"> i hoard normal like other people hoard money. i see a bits of it laying on the ground.- i snatch it up and carefully tuck it away. i tell myself, "someday i'll need that normal. someday i'll need to have my wits about me." for now i'm content to keep it in my pocket, i'm not ready to raid my stash.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">as my friend margaret atwood sort of says-</span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">my mother and i fit together like a hook and eye - a fish hook in an open eye.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">so speaking of her....</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">my mother and i conversed almost like a regular family on christmas day. well, almost, she spent about 25 minutes reviewing every present and when i say reviewing, i mean it in the worst possible way. "how much did that cost?" "i can tell you right now, that's not going to last." "the cookies are stale, god knows how long they sat on the shelf or did you have them from last year." </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">and on and on it goes. it's like a lulaby to me. a soothing tirade that assures me everything is well with the world. she has decided now she would like me to purchase a "lay down" freezer for her. she thinks i skived her on her birthday present. she doesn't understand the $300 walmart card was for christmas and her birthday. i can't decide if she's really going off or she's just watching too many game shows and i have somehow become the host. "yes, bev i'll take the freezer for $400 and the year supply of omaha steaks. and bev, i think i'll use my free spin."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif;"><span style="line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">you should also know that courtesy of my sister, mother received one of those "i've fallen and i can't get up" devices for christmas. she's fantically old and i live 3500km away from her so i feel comforted knowing that she has easy access to medical assistance .....but my mother doesn't like to let any service go unused, so she's pushing that button on a whim. in lttle over a week she cried black hawk down 3 times - once to test thier response time. once to complain about the cord being wet after her shower and once in lieu of reading the instruction book. sorry medical alert people, you'll be earning your money on this one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">finally i would like to share with you my favorite tv bit from this year. i love british tv and film, so several years ago we bought a universal dvd player so i could indulge my vice. i love all the cursing, it's like all hbo, all the time. this is from an eposide "an idiot abroad". i should warn you, there are proper nob and bollocks in this clip. so if you're uncomfortable with seeing a penis, remember - jeaus people, it's art, not porn. go on, have a peek <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwkizaIYMIk" target="_blank">best tv bit</a> (oh and elephant baba is featured too)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">happy new year</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">bev</span></div>
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com74tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-89801537163987528032012-12-20T10:58:00.000-08:002012-12-21T22:49:24.189-08:00sally, the christmas horse......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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magic and joy are sometimes not that hard to find. they are everywhere, you must only be prepared to look in unexpected places. sometimes your blessings are so tightly wrapped in packages that they do not look like gifts at all. but when you open your heart and unwrap them, joy will just come pouring out. i know i sound like boris karloff in "the grinch" but tis the season for such fancies.<br />
<br />
sally, the horse, came to our farm one winter's eve about 2 weeks before christmas. she was by breed, a paint with red and brown patches - a stout little horse, almost a pony. she was in fact the type of pony you may have seen many years ago, walking across the plains, pulling a travois and carrying a sioux mother and her tiny papoose.<br />
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in the farm house resides a girl. a little girl barely into her teens who is suspended somewhere between dolls and perfume. a little girl for whom christmas is starting to lose it's magic. a little girl who despite her tender years has already trained and broken two fillies. her calm, tender, no-nonsense manner is admired among the neighbours. "she should be a vet," they say. but she has other romantic notions of someday attending university in england and marrying an irish folk singer. perhaps this will, one day come to be and the newlyweds will ride their ponies over endless green hills. but that is another story.......<br />
<br />
this story is about sally and it started on the morning the diligent farmer came in after chores and announced the news. now, there is nothing in the world that will interrupt home schooling quicker than to announce a horse has wandered onto the farm overnight. a streak of blond hair bolts from her seat at the kitchen table, she pulls her boots on and rushes out. a while later that same blond head comes back in - talking to me as soon as she opens the door. her cheeks red from the cold but her face expresses pure delight. "mom, mom she has one brown eye and one blue eye". "mom, she so wild and she whinnies so loud." "mom, she a pretty little thing" "what should we call her?" " i was thinking something for winter, like snow or tinsel but i think her name her name is sally." "well, sally she is then," said the mother. "now come and finish your work. "mom do you think she's halter broke?" "mom, who do you think she belongs to?" " mom can we keep her?"<br />
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sally settled into life on this new farm. she met her sisters tessie and abby and her brothers henry and old skipper. she met her donkey cousins biscuit, poppy and the cranky nancy. she made friends with the big hound dog, birdie. after a couple of days sally's owner was located and it was discovered that sally had already been sold and was heading for market. she would end up being french cuisine or dog food or even the mystery meat in your stir fry. the diligent farmer offered to buy sally but the owner said he was committed to the other sale. it was arranged that sally would be picked up in a few days when the owner had time to get her.<br />
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the diligent farmer tried to soften this news for the little gril by saying the horse was just a range animal. probably too wild to do anything with. everyone knew that horses like sally are sold for their meat but nobody wanted to talk about it.<br />
<br />
the next few days came and went. everyday, as the little girl fed and watered sally, she crooned her secret horse talk. sally stayed a safe distance away but her ears perked forward as she listened to the words of a love song only a little girl can sing.<br />
<br />
in the end it was sally herself and mother nature, with perhaps a little help from father christmas that decided the pony's future. the day for sally's departure broke cold and the snow swirled thickly on the north wind. the owner arrived to retive his wayward filly. sally kicked up her hind legs and began galloping in circles that made herding her in the snow and wind nearly impossible. after about 15 minutes of chasing the dodgy girl, the owner sighed and turned to the diligent farmer. the diligent farmer smiled and asked if perhaps he had changed his mind about the little horse's future. "yes", the owner said." i'm too old and tired to chase a little horse through the snow." so it turned out that a surprising small amount of money secured the christmas wish of a little girl and a pony.<br />
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the diligent farmer got to play hero that afternoon. on the way to her piano recital he turned to his baby girl and said "i guess we should feed sally a bale when we get home." the little girl asked, "why are we giving her a bale, isn't the owner coming back tomorrow to try and load her" "well," said the farmer, "i'm asking the "owner" if we should feed her horse."<br />
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sally has brought some magic to the farm this christmas. she is someone to be fussed over. a jaunty new halter was bought with the little girl's babysitting money to adorn sally on christmas day and a special bag of sweet oats for her and her stablemates to enjoy. this is another chance for the girl suspended between a child and a women to enjoy the delight of an unexpected surprise. it does a mother's heart good to hear here the constant chatter throughout the house - snatches of conversation about horses, making cookies, her older sister coming home...... for one more year we see get to feel christmas through the heart of a child. the care this family will give sally seems tiny in comparison to love and good cheer she has already given us.<br />
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today, with only 5 days until christmas i look out the window and see a mittened hand rubbing the forehead of a wild pony. i watch the pony follow the little girl as she goes for water and i know that sally is wishing that the mittened hand will reach out again soon. i see what love can do in such a short time. i am glad sally found her way to us this holiday season.Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com95tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-79529488775654743562012-12-14T11:47:00.000-08:002012-12-14T11:47:50.650-08:00the christmas story..........<br />
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christmas is starting to do my head in.<br />
<br />
the lovely <a href="http://workinwithwhativegot.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/away-with-the-manger/" target="_blank">terri</a> posted her thought provoking piece surrounding the whole naivety scene. she brought up things i had never thought of before. here a bit of the post...<br />
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"<span style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-family: Garamond, 'Hoefler Text', 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">but I couldn’t abide another year’s witness to Mary, prodded upright and kneeling, minutes after giving birth......</span>..<span style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-family: Garamond, 'Hoefler Text', 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">Eyes glazed, these resigned Marys perch up on their knees—all the way up, restrained even from resting their bottoms on their calves".</span><br />
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bloody hell, mary kneeling beside the baby jesus. i have since found myself obsessed with the holy creche. i look at them everywhere i go. today shopping in every store i kept stopping to have a peek at mary's position. when i saw one where she was up too high i found myself saying, "jesus, mary sit down." i never was bothered by them one way or another before, but now i think about them far too much. quite by coincidence, i watched a travel show the other night where they visited bethlehem and saw the manager and the whole bit. people were bent over peering inside the fenced off area. i wanted to shout at the tv, if mary's there, tell her to sit the hell down. people at home, i implore you, if you do have a manger scene this holiday season and mary happens to be kneeling like she in the blocks ready to do the 100m dash, push her over and let her lay on her side for a bit.<br />
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also<br />
i've been reading on facebook recently a lot of chatter about bringing "my christ" back to christmas. because i rarely think things through - i thought it must be one of those word scramble things. well obviously i found christ right away, but where was "my?" there was ma christ but that sounded gangster. man, let's hang for "ma christmas". i then found sam christmas. that was a sort of a da vinci code moment for me. had i found some hidden message. i decided not. so in the end i failed to find my christ in christmas which is probably just as well because i would expect a big present from him.<br />
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finally, i leave you with this<br />
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earlier this month i was talking to my mother on the telephone. she asked me for a $300 gift card from walmart for christmas. i know, pretty damn specific and pretty damn a lot.<br />
<br />
she also said<br />
"don't mail a parcel. i don't want anything for my stocking. well, not a lot anyway. don't send a bunch of crap and don't get me heavy stuff because you're just wasting your money on postage."<br />
i said "right, gotcha ya"<br />
i thought to myself "my god, she's like a child, she'll be asking for a pony next<br />
<br />
so the following week i talk to my mother again to find out if "light, crapless parcel and the gift card" had arrived safely<br />
and immediately<br />
she says "i don't want a tv for my birthday"<br />
right, gotcha ya. i say.<br />
then she says "so you can just think of something else or send me a gift card to somewhere.<br />
right, i say, did you not get the card i sent.<br />
yes, she says but that is for christmas, not my birthday.<br />
gotcha ya i say.<br />
<br />
jesus christ i know she's 89 and i know she's forgetful but honestly, she got all the other detail about my life correct. she knows who i am. does she think i've perhaps come into a bit of money. some big win at bingo or something.<br />
<br />
well<br />
happy holidays<br />
bev<br />
ps follow the link to read terri's funny, poignant <a href="http://workinwithwhativegot.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/away-with-the-manger/" target="_blank">"away with the manger"</a>Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-58324535306093103802012-12-10T00:05:00.000-08:002012-12-10T00:07:57.363-08:00the santa diaries.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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christmas has always been a very big deal for me. sadly, with my family, it was all about the presents. steady on now people, we had a naivety display in our living room and we were all happy for joesph and mary and that fantastic story of theirs. but if we're being honest i used the naivety figures as foreigners in my barbie tales. i am a good and noble person but the biblical version of christmas didn't include any gifts for me. but santa on the other hand had flying deer and a sack full of toys. so, you see, don't be so fast to judge.<br />
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where i'm from, christmas was a community event. that was one advantage to being related to everyone in your village. well that and the wide spread present exchange. everybody gave everybody else a present. the gifts were not expensive - i remember my mom giving out boxes of kleenex. the gifts also had very strict gender lines. all the men received one sort of gift and the same followed for the women. my mom often gave each man a pack of playing cards and the women a pretty tea towel. children usually got mittens or a golden book. it was truly a lovely thing. small tokens of acknowledgement.<br />
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we also did a little thing called "see the tree". after christmas, families went from house to house seeing the tree and the gifts. each and every gift under the tree had to be shown off by the recipient and admired. men were sometimes reluctant to join in but once they got started they proved to be quite the showmen. you would have a bit of a lunch or "mug-up" at the person's house and then you moved on. it was an intricate ballet with villagers dancing to and fro to familiar steps. now please don't get the idea it was all dickens' like - the men often complained they didn't receive the much coveted knitted pecker warmer and there were frequent nips of the demon rum<br />
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ok, so then there was santa. during the holiday season he was on tv every night - right after the weather forecast. magically, there he was - in his grotto, beseeching us to follow the christmas pledge. the pledge had to be chanted aloud daily and it went as follows<br />
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i promise to be good in every way<br />
so that i can help make everyday<br />
almost as happy as christmas day.<br />
ho ho ho<br />
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as a child i was rabid follower. now i think, absolute damn genius on the part of the canadian broadcasting corporation. our version of create a cult - scientology north. i'm here to tell you that while some may have said the pledge with absolute confidence, there were some of us that treated it as the ultimate hail mary. my anxiety level would sky rocket around the 1st of december. i mean to even imagine that i might be held accountable for all of my transgressions was enough to have me asking for pepto bismol every night. it wasn't enough for you to repeat the pledge and mean it, you had to actually plan to be good the next day. whatever your particular behavior might be - nose picking, fire starting, excessive talking.... you had to give it up, cold turkey. i didn't stand a chance - i was a chronic hard core talker. how the hell was everyone around me going to know what i was thinking if i stopped talking? strapping, dunce hats, corner standing, blackboard writing, head cuffs, knuckle raps with the ruler had all been tried. trust me, if the provincial school system hadn't been able to shut me up did santa really stand a chance?<br />
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the short answer would be no. i tried, i tried so hard but they snuck out, those little opinions, those little suggestions that surprisingly irritated people. and to make it all the more difficult, santa could apparently see into your living room through the tv screen. he sometimes gave a shout out to kids named bonnie or allan - good children. i never heard my name, not even something that could be mistaken for my name. he was watching me and he could tell i was a pledge dodger. so the build up to christmas was fraught with hand wringing and compulsive pledge chanting.<br />
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then the morning would arrive and i will say every year he came. but it would not always be immediately apparent, because that god damn, little, elfin bastard would hide my presents. that's right he hid my presents. he seemed to be saying, all right little missy i brought you that farm-set but you're going to have to hunt for it. some years it wasn't too difficult - the aforementioned farm set was in the hall closet under the extra tea bags. the dawn dolls in the spinner of the hover washing machine. but really, my giant barbie head with the silken hair you could style, was in fact in the trunk of the car. i nearly come undone with that one. i feel santa was truly being pissy that year.<br />
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so, whatever your motivations for this holiday season might be, i hope you have a good one<br />
bevBevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-31305662945138290082012-12-03T23:29:00.001-08:002012-12-03T23:29:44.843-08:00miss esteem takes her self to market.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">i have been to a lot of farmer's markets in my day. why? because quite frankly, where else would i buy my barbie toilet paper holder with the green and yellow variegated gown. well that and i have merchandise to flog. the farmer's market is by all accounts rural alberta's most promising retail hotspot. this past weekend we held our communities' christmas market. the grand finale for the year. the big round up, complete with turkey dinner. it's almost more than one"s soul can bear. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">i love going to the farmer's market but i practically come undone in the days preceding it. i worry and i worry about anything and everything. will someone bleed to death from a paper cut after purchasing one of my homemade journals? will someone develop a festering blister from one of my book making tools? will someone be unable to afford food for their children because i sold them something? these questions and more are the whirly, twirly thoughts that spin in my head. the day of market i listen to eminem, loud, on my ipod and drink diet coke for breakfast. this duo being my choice drug when i'm in need of a confidence boost. there's nothing quite like an angry white man and aspartame to make a girl feel like she can fly.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">by the time i arrive at the market i'm a rock star. i confess right now that i love people. love, love, love them all. the big ones, the little ones, the babies, i especially love the cranky or peculiar ones. for me, they represent my best opportunity to hear a great story. this week i hit pay dirt right off the bat - a charming old lady, who had on what appeared to be blue lipstick in a wide swath under her eyebrows. not the eye lids mind you, just the brow bones above her little glasses. she also had pink circles drawn on her cheeks. i think perhaps, to invoke that fresh as a daisy look. she was pure lovely, all white haired and she was smiling at me. oh lord i thought , i've found a friend. she was so pleased with herself that i thought it just might be possible to inhale her confidence along with her avon perfume. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">to be honest (and why not) farmer's markets are, for the most part, uneventful. during my tenure there have been no armed robberies or assaults. sure there's the constant infighting surrounding table issues. location - location. and in case you're not in the know - the place you want to be is against the wall and near the front and nowhere near the tupperware chick. you absolutely do not want to be in the centre isle because of the back to back tables. i imagine this to be like general population in prison. except old craft ladies are covered in cat hair and they tend to smell a bit past their "best before date". i don't mind spreading myself around but i don't do general population - . well maybe i might, given a lint brush and febreze. every saturday there's always some trash talking by the girls. opera whispering about what dot does to hang on to table 3. at lunch time you buy your egg salad sandwich and you pray to god it does not contain any short curly white hair. just saying... this may all sound boring but i guarantee if you've got a diet coke in your hand - it's a teenie bit like dinner and a show.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">i occasionally get into trouble at the market. i usually come flying in just before the cowbell rings and hastily "ta da toss" my things across my table. sometimes there's dirty talk at my table and people laugh too loud and if i'm next to the candle lady she gets all pissy because she wants everything "serene". when the farmer's market director comes over to give me shit i just want to hold her little cheeks in my hands and say "honey its ok. get it out. i need to be reprimanded. i'm only sorry that its probably not going to work. but you go on and give to me just the same.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">this week at the market i was positioned across the aisle from an impressive display of normal. tight perm kind of normal - she was so sweet, i could have wept. it was pretty much love at first sight for me. not track lighting, vest wearing kind of love. the other kind. i spent the better part of 3 hours trying not to scare the bejesus out of her. she spent the entire show crocheting a shopping tote from plastic bags. and the look on her face - mother mary could not have looked more serene. hopefully she and i will become confidants by the end of the next summer</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;"> when people are cranky and bitchy it in some ways makes me all the more happy. in my head i think "ok missy, we'll just see about you. i'm about to crack your misery like an egg." i always start with normal chitchat - "it's a pretty day!" that sort of thing. then if i can't bring her round. i say "where did you get that sweater!". or "my god, you smell good" if i'm still failing i move to the straight forward approach and ask "are you mad at me?". finally if she's still there and still not coming around i start to wane and just end it by saying "you look so sad, did your man just get out of the pen" </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">we're all there every week, the farmer's market amateur players - the tupperware lady (whom i'm a bit afraid of), the bubble shirt seller with her impressive spiel on how her bubble shirts will fit sizes 2 through 22. the knife lady with her razor sharp personality. the woman wearing the jaunty hat selling lamb jerky. i know, lamb jerky! honestly eating that would be like poking the baby jesus with a stick. and the man who sells environmentally friendly household cleaner who says to each and every person "i like you. i'm willing to offer you a special deal". these are but a few of the stars in our little troupe.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">if you're ever in town and find yourself in want of something..... stop by - </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;"> we put on one hell of a show. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 21.200000762939453px;">bev</span><br />
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<br />Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com85tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8707446092895316589.post-51999836747399101872012-11-25T14:25:00.001-08:002012-11-26T12:59:39.936-08:00guest post........dearest readers.<br />
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the lovely terri at "workin with what i've got" has asked me to guest post on her blog. she was looking for animal tales and i had a tiny story about one of our cows.<br />
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here's a tiny bit and if you would like to follow the link and read the rest that would be wonderful. terri and i will appreciate the love<br />
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A Cow's Tale</div>
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The calf who would become “Hornet” was born on chilly winter's eve on a small Alberta cattle farm. Her mother had indulged in an unauthorized relationship with the red Angus bull the season before and the calf arrived over 6 weeks before her herd mates. The temperature that night was well below -20 degrees and the baby calf froze instantly when it hit the ground. Her little life was saved by the diligent farmer (who asked to called “diligent” in this story). The calf that would be Hornet was first called Ugly. Frostbite had claimed her tail, the tops of her ears and the end of her nose. As winter turned to spring and spring, to summer, Ugly grew and she towered above her half brothers and sisters. Her absent ears and tail made her a small embarrassment to the herd. The neighbor, Bill, a crusty farmer, was often heard to remark "Jesus, that's an ugly calf"...............<br />
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click for more of this exciting story - <a href="http://www.workinwithwhativegot.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">http://www.workinwithwhativegot.wordpress.com</a><br />
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thanks bev</div>
Bevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09800433104178336837noreply@blogger.com39