and into the breach i got tossed......

jesus christ

my life is a sticky mess,

an eton mess

or

a trifle

sat in the sun

either way

i am easily dissolved


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."

zero, fucking zero i tell you.

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.

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.
it is the religious equivalent of meeting the pope - on a quarterly basis of course

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.
there seems no way to stop it.

i will be remembered for my lust, a cautionary tale, a fable.
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.

in the meantime i will eat apples and oatmeal and carry on with this ridiculous behaviour.

speaking of which,

i looked back on my blog and my new year's resolutions for 2012 were as follows-
- let my teats feel the breeze once in awhile
- gain weight
- discover i am talented embroiderer
- swear more
- be less cautious with prescription medication

i'm just going to continue with those, if that's ok.
 i doing well with them. 
ok, with the glaring exception of dash 3
 i am still in the imagine phase of that one 

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.

but.....

i am on the threshold of change
the edge of reason
i must be brave.
i will plunge and hold my breath.
the world is my oyster.
the sea is in me
i will bury the bones of the prairie and let them rest.
the wind still carries the sound of his voice
i will remember,
 but i will dance this dance.
the water's coming in fast
i will not drown.
the sirens call from the rocks
fear not
i cannot fail
i shall grow gills and swim

cheers
bev

the space between your fear......

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.

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. 

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 -

she says - "really, this is all you've got." 

"you," she says, "have not changed. you are still that bossy child who talked incessantly." 

 "yes, i know," i say, "change is hard." 

"yes, she says, tell me about it."

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. 

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.

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" 

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. 

just knit and watch the wheel of fortune. the show is over.

if only it were that easy....

if only i didn't egg her on - slightly...

if only despite it all - she wasn't so god damn entertaining....

i will tell you all old women including my mother are obsessed with 

- the weather

- baseball

- the wheel of fortune

- find-a-word puzzles

- other old people

 obsessions seemingly particular to my mother 

- the mail

- counting things

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....

my mother likes to watch tv sporting events with the sound muted

for two reasons

1. like many old people, she believes "playing" the tv with no sound saves power... 

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.

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

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.

- she calls all people of asian descent "chinese" 

- she calls all people of colour "coloured"

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...... 

"why is that chinese man eating fish and chips. chinese people eat chinese food. 

i say things like "mum we mustn't point" "SHHH"

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...

"look at that fat woman" " there's a crippled person" "i have never seen a man as black as that before"

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.

cheers,

bev

how i live, now......

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.

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.

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.

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.

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......

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

bev xx
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.

talk pretty to me......

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 Monika Wright's blog. 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 here and here.

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" 

and so she started one afternoon over tea.......

mom: "you know, amy is quite pretty"

me: " yes, i think she is"

mom: " well, we've never really had a pretty person in our family before"

me: "oh"

then my mother starts going through her eight brothers and sisters and their children and in some incidents their grandchildren

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..........."

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" 

then she gets to the more immediate relatives.....

mom: "and my children, well they were certainly nothing to look at"

i pause mid-sip and look at her

me: "jesus mom, i'm sitting right here"

mom: "what, (huge dramatic pause where she turns to face me, knit needle halted) did you think you were pretty?"

me: "well, maybe in my own way."

mom: "now beverly, let's be honest"

me: "thanks mom"

mom: "well its not my fault what you look like"

me: "of course not"

mom: "well some said you were quite clever"

me: "now that makes me feel better"

mom: "of course, i couldn't see it"

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.

bev xx

a journey of a thousand steps.....

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.

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.

so off we go.

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.

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......

that was then - (2 weeks ago)..

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.

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.

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.

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......

bev xx

ps. i have linked this post with http://www.stephaniehowell.com/my_weblog/2014/01/blog-your-heart-january-2014-edition.html  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.

waiting for time.....

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.

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.

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.


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.

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.

bev

only 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.

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

bev

nancy spots a whale and other tales - personal in nature......

(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)

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. 

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.

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....

but then...
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

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.

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...

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." 

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.

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.

bev

let's review the tape..........

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.

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".

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.

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.

of course
 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.
 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.

but
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."

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.

bev
ps. for those who would like to know
hornet had a heifer calf this year and we named her terri
sally the christmas horse is lovely. she is halter broke and the apple of my daughter's eye

maternal laws of acquisition......

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

but this story is not about that. its about another time.....

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."

so

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."

 the lady says to mom, "this isn't a gift shop."

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.

 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."

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.

bev

little miss sunshine.......

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. 

well it turns out that the fantastic annie over at  annie off leash 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!

“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.”

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

and so..... here they are.....

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 

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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."

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.

and so...

now i must nominate some blogs to pass on the award. so, with out further ado here they are in no particular order.....
amy from addled
lady c from from fat to .... fabulous?
chris from life your way
francie from a north end journal
kate from nested
doris from meandering

thanks again annie
bev

meeting on the shore.......

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.

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. 

and so they came.........

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.

sometimes..

 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. 

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.

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.......

bev

dear margaret atwood.....

dearest margaret

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."

but all that can wait because let me tell you about my morning.....

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

so....

 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. 

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. 

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.

yours

bev

taking my demons out for a bit of exercise.......

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.

but ........
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..

because.....
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."

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"

harsh, i know but unavoidable. so with that in mind i started working on some things. and here are the results

little bag

covered notebooks

recipe book

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.

bev

arrange your face.......

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 ADDled who i'm very fond of and anna from The Silent Isle who i feel myself becoming very fond of and chris from Life Your Way 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 nested 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 

The Rules for the Versatile Blogger are:

             1) Thank the blogger who nominated you and include a link to their site

             2) Add the Versatile Blogger Award picture to your blog post

              3) Nominate 7 fellow bloggers and include a link to their site.

              4) Let them know you have nominated                5) Share 7 random facts about you 

(1) thank you amy, anna, chris and a belated thank you to kate. these are all lovely talented women and i appreciate their support and encouragement. go show them some love.

(2) done

(3) em at http://dartmoorramblings.blogspot.ca/

      debra at http://shewhoseeks.blogspot.ca/

      cindy at http://starlitstudio.typepad.com/

      jenn at http://jennsrandomscraps.blogspot.ca/

      mark at http://blackriverlakeblog.blogspot.ca/

      jo-ann at http://jo-annemotherandnanna.blogspot.ca/

why! because i like them.

(4) gotcha

(5) seven random facts about myself

random facts

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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

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. 

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.

and because i don't know the rules for blog of the year, i give you this

currently i'm .............................

reading - 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.  

listening - of monsters and men, pitbull, damien rice, florence and the machine unplugged and emiem

watching - ricky gervis show, it crowd and swedish crime drama (very hard to sew and read subtitles)

in love with - charley boorman. well actually the charley boorman from 2008. i thought i was over it but apparently i'm not.

waiting for - the cows to start calving and mr. selfridge to be released on amazon.uk

thinking about - almost nothing except why i love pain medication

eating - oranges and more oranges

doing - swimming 4 hours a week, trying for 5

worrying - about starting my craft blog. 

needing - to get my act together

thanks for the love people

bev