The East Coast Rules

“Defining Love”: The Column, Day 8

2012-01-23T18:15:00.000-04:00

By Ms. Lee, Sponsored By The Ramblin’ Rule
Hello my dears. I am back. I hope you didn’t miss my insights too much in the two days I was absent from your lives. Day 6 and Day 7 passed by in a haze of “so much to do” and I’m afraid I was not able to find the time to put hands to keyboard.
But I must confess the lack of time was not our only enemy, for much like that famous Def Leppard Song “Love Bites” tendonitis in one’s hands does too bite. And while the words may run almost constantly from my brain to my fingers and wait patiently for the tap of pain to be turned off long enough for me to bring you my quirky views on love to the page, the phrase “You need to rest your hands” uttered by my very kind Occupational Therapist, will flash before my eyes and force me to heed her advice; the column and the words, reluctantly, are set aside for another day. (And she’s right; I really do need to rest my hands more!)
What am I trying to say? I think we all know…I think stalling will only make it worse. As you have probably already guessed from my two day absence, I will have to continue not writing a daily love quote breakdown column for you my dears. Last weekend, in a fit of ambition, I said “Daily! Until the play “Defining Love” debuts at the Rodd Miramichi on February, 11th for the Hospice Miramichi Fundraiser!” I hate to admit that I spoke too soon, but it is true. I will be unable to do so.
However, this is not the end. I will return when I can, when the hot pain of my thumbs takes a break for a while, and bring you a bit of insight to a few of the world’s most famous love quotes. In the meantime, if there is a love quote that has been travelling through your brain trying to find itself a meaning, and you’d like some help, just drop it in the comment box of this, or one of my other columns, and much like the love that leaves one, but is meant to be and returns, the comment will find its way to me.
On that note, my patient readers, I would like to end today’s column, with not a famous love quote, but still, a famous quote, one that we all know: “Parting is such sweet sorrow”.
Sweet because the anticipation of returning to you with insight that could change the way you look at love is divine. And the sorrow, well, sorrow is for the bruise on my soul at the loss of not being able to bring life changing advice to you all as often as I’d like to. It hurts, more than I can put into words, but not as much as my hands.
Until next time, take solace that my public appearance at “A Taste of Chocolate” will in no way be hindered by the inconvenience of aching limbs.
http://www.miramichionline.com/miramichi-ae-miramichi-hospice-fundraiser-will-cure-that-sweet-tooth
Hopes to you for a lovely weekend,
Ms. Lee

“Defining Love”: The Column, Day 5

2012-01-23T18:13:00.000-04:00

By Ms. Lee, Sponsored By The Ramblin’ Rule

Hello all and welcome to day 5 of my love quote breakdown natterings. I’m just waiting for my assistant to bring me her idea for today’s quote. Ah…here is she.
Really? This is what you think I should write about today?
“Your heart is my piñata”?
Well…ok…is this from something? Chuck Palahniuk? The fellow who wrote “Fight Club”?
Hmm…I hope my assistant is not setting me up for a lawsuit and that the rules about fight club and their nonverbal agreements surrounding said club don’t apply to “love quotes” by Mr. Palahniuk that can be found on the internet.
I need a few moments to think on this rather aggressive love quote. Or perhaps I’m judging too quickly. The quote could be fluffy and light. It could mean that he would like to fill her heart, metaphorically, I hope, with sweets, fill it to the point of ridiculousness. He would like to his love to have a heart so candied that she will feel nothing but joy and saturated, syrupy happiness. This confection coated heart will serve her well. She will feel no pain at all, only her heart strings being pulled like saltwater taffy after she catches him with another girl and he gently explains to her that he is the kind of man that needs to be with more than one woman.
“Oh, I understand.” She’ll giggle, her candy heart beating too fast and loud to grasp the fact that she’s just accepted that her man cheats on her.
“I knew you would understand, because you’re just so sweet.” He’ll croon, as he runs his fingers through her cotton candy hair.
This could be one way of looking at this love quote. I know you may be thinking that I’ve take the metaphor too far and perhaps I have. But I’m working on an arbitrary deadline here and I really have to put down whatever comes to mind.
However, I think we need to examine what the meaning of this quote really is; he had rotten birthday parties as a child.
I know, from personal experience, nothing can be quite as exhilarating as taking a stick to a cardboard cartoon character and sending its contents and tissue papered exterior all over the floor. I also know that to be the child who has to watch the treats spill before she’s taken a baton to the candy housing creature, can be deflating. The intense moment of taking a swing and a miss or even just grazing the piñata as you run frantically in the wrong direction because you are blind folded is a moment not easily replicated in life. How often, as a child, will an adult give you a stick and purposely let you hit something with it? Not often and so if you miss your opportunity for violence in the name of birthday party shenanigans, your heart breaks a little.
It is in my “professional opinion” Mr. Palahniuk use of a heart = piñata metaphor can only mean one thing. I believe that there is a good chance that when he was a child, at all the birthday parties that were held in his honour, or that he attended where the was a piñata in the party game lineup, before he got a chance to bust open the donkey, or hippo that held the goods, a girl standing in the line ahead of him broke it open first.
So since then, this man, or perhaps it’s a “friend” he’s talking about, sees women as colourful, beautifully tissue papered piñatas he can fill to the brim with sweet nothings and then before they can say “Yea! Candy!” he leaves them broken hearted.
“In your face Donkey Pinata!” he screams to the heavens as he races away from the latest girl who sheds gum drop tears at his rejection, the latest girl who represents all the girls who stood between him and birthday party fun.
To wrap up this bit of love quote break down nonsense, I feel I must, rework the quote in my own special way.
“Thanks to never getting my turn at the piñatas at birthday parties, always missing out on the first dive for the loot and later getting in trouble for trying to reassemble the piñata so that I could finally take a crack at it in a fit of blind, zany wildness…getting in trouble because the party was long over and the time for being allowed to hit things with sticks in the house was long past and this behavior was no longer acceptable… thanks to this, your sweet loveable hear t is mine for the breaking. But to cushion the blow, I actually will give you candy because I don’t want you telling all your friends that I’m a total slime.”
Join me and my co-stars Jason and Lisa as we take you through all the trials and tribulations of finding that someone special to share your life with, on February, 11 at 7pm at the Rodd Miramichi River.
http://www.miramichionline.com/hospice-miramichi-presents-a-taste-of-chocolate
Sweet Dreams to you all,
Ms. Lee

"Defining Love": The Column, Day 4

2012-01-17T16:00:00.000-04:00

By Ms. Lee, Sponsored By The Ramblin’ Rule
Good-day online community, I have returned with another love quote breakdown. Remember folks, if there’s a quote you’d like to me shine my insightful light on, just drop it in the comment box and I’ll be happy to see what I can do to take you through the murky water of obscurity and into the twinkling pool of knowledge.
Today, I’d like to look at the quote “If I love you, what business is it of yours”.
This quote can be looked at from a couple of different angles. If you look at in a negative way, you can believe that this person, the speaker of the quote is involved with someone, but wants to withhold very important information that could aid in the progression of the relationship. Perhaps he is not ready for the level of commitment that often comes with uttering those three loaded words. He is not ready to look at rings and table settings at Tiffany’s. He knows that if he holds his feelings, close to his chest, this action will guarantee keeping the relationship on a steady incline of “maybe”; a place some people are perfectly comfortable staying at for years.
Or perhaps it’s something more than not having reached the emotional maturity to say “I love you”. Perhaps his is a spy and if he confesses to that someone that he is feeling the love, he may as well hand that person a big list of “why a spy in love is bad for the country.” The spy knows he may have to jet to some foreign land and infiltrate a group of badies who are set on doing something really nasty to the world such as flooding all major department stores with straight to DVD movies that no one will ever buy. This is pure evil and an evil that he will not be able to vanquish if he has love on his mind. So, he will remain cold, distant, never confess his love for you and because you are drawn, for some reason , to his brooding, mysterious side, you’ll stay, just in case he opens up to you one day and admits that he has “nothing but love for you.”
Now, let’s look at this quote in a positive light. If you are friends, really good friends with someone and you love that friend, I mean really LOVE that friend, but you know he doesn’t feel the same way, it’s probably for the best if you never admit these feeling to this friend, never make it his business. When you let the “big three words” out of the bag, it changes everything and if you share the “I love you” with the good friend who “loves you like a friend…or a like the pet iguana he had a lot of fun with as a child”, things will never be the same. Those three words will hang in the space between you like an awful smell or a giant, dancing elephant you can’t see around. The friendship most likely wouldn’t survive the “I love you” bombshell and even though you may feel that you should put your heart on the line so that you won’t look back on this time in 50 years and regret that you never found out if the feelings were mutual, don’t talk about them. Instead, lock those feelings away and keep the friendship because believe me, no one needs to hear “I love you like I loved my pet iguana” from anyone.
Of course, these are only my opinions, only the advice of someone who really only exists on paper and is only an expert about love on the stage. You can ignore both views on this quote and confess love to whomever you wish.
However, I still feel compelled to put a twist on the quote to make my breakdown clear. So here it is.
“If I love you, it may be your business, but I may take up a life embroiled in espionage at some point in the next twenty or thirty years (you know, while I still have my health) and therefore I can’t let a pesky thing like love get in the way of potential high action chases on a not fully constructed office tower nor can I risk admitting ‘I love you’ to someone who may only love me as much as he loved his favourite hamster ‘Mr. Biscuits’ so really, it’s none of your business”.
Yes, I like that quote much better.
If you feel my insights are off today, I promise they will be spot on at the Hospice Miramichi Fundraiser on February, 11/12 at 7pm at the Rodd Miramichi River. My friends and I are looking forward to taking you through the love our ages in “Defining Love”: The Play.
http://www.miramichionline.com/hospice-miramichi-presents-a-taste-of-chocolate.
I remain as ever,
Ms. Lee

“Defining Love”: The Column, Day 3

2012-01-16T16:54:00.000-04:00

By Ms. Lee, Sponsored By The Rambling Rule

Hello one and all. It is I, Ms. Lee, (of “Defining Love”: the play) once again using The Rambling Rule’s generously donated cyberspace to help you through the layered and sometimes contrived world of love quotes.
Today we are going to examine a few lines from a very popular love song from the 1991 movie, Robin Hood, starring the delightful Alan Rickman.
What? Sorry, excuse me… I was just passed a note from my assistant…Kevin Costner was the star? Really? Ok, well if you say so. I really only remember the sheriff.
So to continue, I’d like to examine just four short lines from the very popular love song “(Everything I do) I do it for you” By Bryan Adams. This song really brings back some happy memories for me. A few minutes ago, when I sat down at my computer to start writing about today’s quote, I got carried away on a flashback tangent and recalled all the Friday nights I would go to my friend’s place, we’ll call her K, and we would watch this video over and over. More specifically, we would watch a series of videos that K taped off of Much Music. We would moon over specific guys (and their long hair…it was the tail and of the 80′s hair metal era after all) and giggle when they would look at “us” from their music set world.
“Oh! I love the look on his face when he does that thing with his hair!”
“Me too! Rewind it so we can watch it again!”
Yes, it was a sweet time. As I was sitting here, not writing, I remembered that one our favourites videos on the tape was Mr.Big’s “Be with you”; a lovely, heartfelt ballad, with great guitar and harmony. When I hear that song blasting from my alarm clock after the 6:30 news, I am taken back to those Friday nights. So of course, instead of getting down to the business of writing, I had to look up the video and sing along. Then I wondered “What has Mr.Big been up to? Are they still around?” And I have good news: they are. In October 2010, they rocked out in Japan and I can tell you that the lead singer can still belt out “Be with you” with all the intensity I remember from the video. However, there are two things that stand out about “Mr. Big” that I hadn’t noticed until today:
1.) The lead singer kind of looks like Bjork (you know, the famous Icelandic singer of the Swan Dress)
2.) The drummer is pretty hot.
But I digress. Let me get back to my professional self and work on breaking down a few of the lines from that Robin Hood love tune.
The lines I’d like to look at are:
There’s no love, like yo love
And no other, could give mo love
There’s nowhere, unless yo there
All the time, all the way, yeah.

When the mood strikes and my star sign is in the house of Saturn I have been known write a song or two and so I understand the desire to want to get just the right rhyme, but why did Bryan Adams write Yo love, Mo love? It’s a bizarre way to get a point across and not at all romantic!
Sorry, excuse me again…my assistant who is hovering over my shoulder and making sure I get this done before I go for coffee is passing me another note…
Really? The lyrics are not Yo and Mo? They are Your and More? Well, that makes more sense! So why didn’t he just say that? OH…he is…I’m hearing it wrong. Thank-you for the correction. I suppose then this means he’s say Your there and not Yo there? Ah ok…it’s just a problem with his annunciation… or my hearing. Oh dear, where is a towel to wipe the egg off my face?
Well, everyone is wrong from time to time, even me. Let us move on now.
The last line of this lyrical section that I’d like to examine is: All the time, all the way, yeah.
You may be wondering what this line means and I wish that I had a clear way to break this down for you, but for the last 20 years, I have not been able to define the line to myself in a way that makes sense. I understand the love; he loves her a lot, she returns the love in an appropriate manner that satisfies like no other, there’s no one else in the world like her, life is vague and empty, sort of a nowhere land when she’s not around, but what does the last line mean? Is she always around? All the time, all the way? Perhaps this means she’s in his way, all the time and although he’s got love for her, MO LOVE than he ever thought he could have for another, she’s becoming distracting. Yes, I think that’s exactly right. I think I’ve finally cracked the code on this lyrical mystery.
Now to wrap up, let me see what spin I can put on this love quote, to make it even clearer to you all.
No one in the world loves me like you do
My life is an empty chasm of cold, inky darkness when you’re not around
And yet, at the same time, you’re always here and I could really use a little space
Yeah.
Thank-you for walking down memory lane with me. I hope to see you all learning about love and its complexities at the Hospice Fundraiser at the Rodd on February 11 at 7pm.
http://www.miramichionline.com/hospice-miramichi-presents-a-taste-of-chocolate

Best wishes for a happy day,
Ms.Lee

“Defining Love”: The Column, Day 2

2012-01-16T16:52:00.000-04:00

By Ms. Lee, Sponsored by The Rambling Rule

Hello all and welcome to day two. When I rose this this morning from a fairly decent sleep ( Although I should really rethink watching CSI until one am) I checked my email to find that I had a comment regarding my first article from a Rose-Marie about roses. If you recall from yesterday’s column I had said that if there was a quote you would like me to break down for you, to simply deposit it in the comment box. Rose-Marie did just the thing. Thank-you for the comment Rose-Marie and now let’s see what I can do to shed some light on your love quote which is:
“A life with love must have some thorns, but a life without love can have no roses.”
Ah yes; that old yarn. This quote reminds me of that love ballad by one of those hair bands back in the 80′s. You probably recall the song, no? I believe it is called “Every rose has its thorn.” The singer, I believe is talking about love much in the same way Rose-Marie’s suggested love quote is; love, although beautiful is painful. You must take the good with the bad. However the song also goes on to say that “Just like every night has its dawn.” Which isn’t such a bad thing and to my mind means all things come to an end which isn’t the same thing at all. And furthermore, the singer goes on to drone “Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song.” This, to me adds confusion to a metaphorically driven metal tune. Why is this cowboy singing sad, sad song? Is he singing because love is beautiful, yet painful? Or is he singing because the dawn is coming and as the sun peaks its head over then rocky horizon he will have to draw pistols against his arch foe who was once his closest ally?
The song is unfortunately unclear.
And the song was made even more unclear to me when I heard Bret Michaels, the singer of the famous ballad, rasp out a reworked version of it to Regis during “Good-bye Regis week”. (I didn’t even know Regis was retiring and only found out because I had the information forced upon my knowledge base in my Dr.’s waiting room. Sad to see Regis go… I guess…I’ve only watched the show MAYBE five times in the thirty years he was on the show and therefore have no real feelings for his departure.)
So, to get back to my story, Kelly calls out “Please welcome Bret Michaels who is here to sing his hit song ‘Every Rose Has Its Thorn’.” Mr. Michaels comes out, guitar in hand, says some nice words about Regis and then he says “Here’s the song with new lyrics for Regis”. You could feel the audience’s collective gasp. This is not what they had expected! At his announcement of his reworked song I thought of two things at once:
1. “I’d really like to leave because this will probably be painful” and
2. “He’s going to Weird Al his own song.”
The second thought did not come true. Weird Al would be ashamed. The lyrics were in no way a parody of the original song, it actually sounded like he was making them up as he went along, and the tune not so much like the original but more like he was ripping off his original tune. Or maybe he’d forgotten the original tune, but just soldiered on anyway. Whatever the case, my first thought was correct; it was painful. Even Regis looked like he wished that someone would pull the plug on his show immediately so that he could go throw himself off the back of his couch rather than be forced to listen to a specially “written” version of the 80′s hair metal ballad of roses, the dawn and sad cowboys.
I believe that this is a good place to tie your sent in love quote Rose-Marie. Much like love you can’t have celebrity status without battling your way through a wall of thorns from time to time, but also like love, you can’t be a celebrity without roses. Dozens and dozens of roses that are sent to you your dressing room daily by adoring fans and desperate stalkers.
Thank-you for the quote Rose-Marie I hope I helped you understand your chosen love quote a little better and to my other readers, remember to feel free to drop a quote in the comment box. I’ll do my best to shed light on the complexities of love.
The live version of my insights is only 27 sleeps away!
http://www.miramichionline.com/hospice-miramichi-presents-a-taste-of-chocolate
Thank-you for reading,
Ms. Lee

“Defining Love”: The Column, Day One

2012-01-16T16:50:00.001-04:00

By Ms. Lee (Sponsored By The Rambling Rule)

Hello all and welcome to my four week guest spot on Miramichi Online. I will be appearing in a play at the Rodd Miramichi River on February 11th as part of a Hospice Miramichi Fundraiser and Cindy Rule (AKA the Rambling Rule) graciously offered me the use her cyberspace as a way of promotion and to allow me to have a place to air my thoughts about love. After all, since my role in “Defining Love: the play” is that of a lecturer who heavily researched the topic of love (for an hour least) and has lived a life full of heartbreak and heartbreaking, it really only makes sense that I may have the knowledge base to wax beyond the production and help shed light on the mysteries of love.
My plan over the next four weeks is to take love quotes and break them down for you. What is on the surface of a quote such as “I love you” may not be the full story. I feel that as an “expert” in the field of love I can help shed light on the obscure meanings below the simple words and make the quote and its lesson accessible to you all.
So let’s get started.
The first quote that I’d like to look at is “Love means nothing in tennis and everything in life.”
Ok, so right off the top, a falsehood. I’ve played tennis, and took lessons once upon a time and while I may not have been the best player (unless it is a good thing to say I was the best of the worst) I know that while “love in tennis” may literally mean nothing as in “zero”, it means something to the person who has a score of “love”. It means that they are not “in the zone” or they keep “dropping the ball” or letting the ball rush by them like a tribble on a mission, which results in getting no results point wise and landing a in a score of “love”.
It is sad really, that the word “love”, a word that when spoken by the right person can fill you with a sense of life, would be used in such a derogatory way; what a racket.
Let us move on to the second half of the quote “and everything in life”. While the first half fills me with memories of being a bit of a loser, the second half smacks me in the face with its presumptuous quality. To say that “love” (and we’ll assume that the one who penned this phrase was speaking of romantic love) is “everything in life” is basically saying that all and sundry assume that if you do not have someone special to share your life with, that you don’t have romantic love, well…you might as well just hang your head in shame. Do you have friends that care about you? Big deal! Do you have self-respect and a feeling of purpose in the world that replaces needing to have a partner? You must be delusional! Do you have a job you love? So what! Your job doesn’t tuck you in at night and love you even when you wake up with pillow marks all over your rumpled face!
This part of the quote seems to be saying that romantic love is a goal that should be achieved. It heavily implies that this kind of love will fill all the gaps in your life that are empty because of the lack of it. It is basically telling you that without life “love” much like scoring “love” in tennis; it is nothing.
I think that it is an unfair quote and would like to give you, as an ending to my first column, my own reworked version.
“Love is nothing in tennis, which only matters if you are highly competitive or a professional tennis player in which case if you keep getting love in tennis perhaps you should rethink your career path, and everything in life UNLESS you know that life can be fulfilling even without romantic love and can always be replaced with the heavenly confection know as chocolate.”
Yes, that’s much better.
So, I hope you enjoyed my first “Defining Love” column. I will be back soon with another love quote interpretation for you all.
If you have a love quote that you would like dissected or broken down into simple terms for you, please put your idea in the comment box.
And remember for a life version of my insights, I hope you’ll come on down to the fundraiser for Hospice Miramichi “A Taste of Chocolate” on February 11th at 7:00pm. For information, please this link. http://www.miramichionline.com/hospice-miramichi-presents-a-taste-of-chocolate
Thank-you for your time,
Ms. Lee.

Hospice Miramichi Presents: A Taste of Chocolate

2012-01-16T16:46:00.001-04:00

Hello Everyone

Those of you who are fans of my blog or those of you who just find yourselves here from time to time, I also have a column with a local online newspaper. I don't post on my blog as much as I should so for the next while I'm double dip so to speak. Whatever I put on Miramichi Online, will now go on my blog. I'm not sure if it serves a greater purpose. I just feel like putting my work in more place than one.

Right now is a very busy time for me. I'm directing and acting in a play that I wrote. My friends Lisa and Jason are in it with me and we're proud that it is going to part of a Hospice Miramichi Fundraiser. We hope that lot of people will come out to see it and give their hard earned money to a very worthy and much needed cause.

Here is the first of my month long columns that I'm writing to help promote "A Taste of Chocolate".

If you love chocolate, laughing, music and helping out in your community, then there’s a good chance that you’ll be heading to the Rodd Miramichi River on Saturday, February 11^th, 2012 at 7pm
“A Taste of Chocolate” is returning to the Rodd as a fundraiser for Hospice Miramichi. Below is some information about Hospice Miramichi from their website.
“Hospice Miramichi is a non-profit volunteer organization and was established in March 2011. The focus of hospice care is on comfort not cure, and on life not death. Hospice Miramichi is seeking to raise awareness of the unique needs of those who are living with life threatening illnesses where cure is not an option and medications are no longer controlling the illness. Hospice Miramichi will work within the community by providing services and support for clients and families within their homes. Our volunteers will be trained to provide practical and emotional support during the end stages of life and through the grieving process.
Our plan is to bring hospice to Miramichi in three (3) stages. First, the establishment of a Hospice Outreach Program, where in- home support services will be offered to assist palliative patients and their families live the remainder of their lives to the fullest extent possible. The second stage of our plan will be the addition of a Hospice Day Program . The third stage of our plan is to establish a Residential Hospice (RH) in Miramichi within the next 3-4 years.”
Turning this much needed organization into reality requires community help and “A Taste of Chocolate” is just one of the fundraisers that Hospice Miramichi will be presenting this year. They are hoping the turnout at these events will reflect the huge amount of support the Miramichi community and beyond has already shown Hospice Miramichi.
Along with mountains of delicious chocolate desserts (and non-chocolate treats if chocolate isn’t your thing), you will be treated to an original one act play written by yours truly, Cindy Rule, called “Defining Love.” Lisa Savage, Jason Blanchard and I will entertain you as we take you through the different stages of love; from childhood crushes to finding that special someone, we believe the play is filled with moments everyone can relate to.
The evening will also include music by Connie and Paul as well as an Arm’s Length Auction, Cake Auction and a 50/50 draw.
So, once again, the event details are…

Hospice Miramichi Presents

A Taste of Chocolate

Saturday, February 11, 2012 at 7pm at the Rodd Miramichi River.

Featuring the Crule Players in the original one act play

“Defining Love.”

And the music of Connie and Paul

Tickets are $25 and are available at Saltwater Sounds, Bill’s Quik Way and The Books Inn.

For more information about this event please call 625-2153.
Or email info@HospiceMiramichi.com
For more information about Hospice Miramichi please go to www.hospicemiramichi.com

Thank-you for your support and we hope to see you there!
Cindy Rule

This One's For My Mum

2011-12-10T09:52:00.002-04:00

   Well over two years ago, for a local writing event that used to be held at the shop where I work, I wrote a piece for my Dad. I talked about all the ways he's positively influenced my life even though he spent much of my childhood away at sea. I was happy let him know that he was still a good father, even when he was far away.

   Ever since then, I have tried to write a piece for my Mum. At least a dozen times I've sat down at the computer or in front of a blank piece of paper with a pen in my hand and tried to put into words how much she means to me and...the words won't come. Now, I did write her a song, but it was about her relationship with my Dad and not about the person I've become because she is my mother.

   I've tried to figure out why exactly this is and it's certainly not because we aren't close or because I don't have anything nice to say. If anything, I think it's because I have almost too much to say. Also, perhaps I feel that this piece would be a vanity article. My Mum and I are a lot alike so if I started singing her praises would I also be singing mine?

   Even now, I'm having trouble. My heart is beating rapidly, a great feeling of love and respect is swelling in my chest and creating a lump in my throat. I'm a very emotional person and before I can put emotion into words, I have to work through those feelings. I know I am lucky to have a mother that makes me speechless with admiration, but I'm going to put the emotion aside and get on with the words.

   My Mum is a healer. She has been in the field of healthcare since her late teen years. When I was a little girl I dreamed of being a nurse because I wanted to be like her. My Mum looked so professional in her nurse whites and she always looked proud to go to work. She used to come home with funny stories or sometimes very sad tales about her patients. Some of the stories she would tell at the dinner table would make most people blush, but we loved them. Nursing has it's dark side and to get through some of those times, my Mum would use humour. It's a trait I've picked up from her; even in my darkest moments, I've still been able to laugh. Sometimes through tears, sometimes a little manically, but I can still laugh.

   When I was a child, although my Mum laughed and joked and made up silly songs about crocodiles and skipping to school with lunch in a basket, I hardly ever saw her laugh hysterically. The first time I can recall her doing so I was about 11 and the sight of her laughing uncontrollably in the kitchen, head down a cutting board, really frightened me. I thought something was wrong with her and practically begged her to stop. I remember how angry she was with me for thinking that her laughing fit was a bad thing. I felt guilty, but it was at that moment my view of my mother really changed. I realized that this woman standing in front of me wasn't just my mother, someone who was born to take care of me and my brother, cook our meals and keep the house clean. I realized that she was a person, a woman with feelings and dreams not yet revealed to me. She could, if I stopped looking at her through narrow eyes, be my friend.

   I tell my daughter that I am her mother first and her friend second. Once I stopped thinking of my mother as just my mother, this was the relationship that grew between us. I discovered I could talk to her about anything, silly crushes on boys, the cruelty of the girls at school, my dream of becoming an actress (once I leaned about needles, blood and aiding in many messy tasks, I decided I didn't need to be a nurse to be like my Mum) and she would listen without judgement and with great patience. I loved talking to her about these things and more because when we talked I would feel like a grown up. She would share her own stories, talk about things that some people may have thought I was too young to know about, but that she felt I was ready to learn. She trusted me from an early age to do the right thing and armed me with knowledge that helped me in situations where many of my friends remained a little too innocent.

However, as I said, she was my mother first. When I took liberties with her kindness, or took her for granted and lipped off or yelled, she would put me in my place with a look, or a well deserved scolding. It didn't always go over well. We are both stubborn people who like to be right and get the last word in. When two people with these traits are arguing you wind up with very loud fights. As a teenager, the arguments between my Mum and I happened often. My Dad would often try to act as mediator, but my Mum would tell him that we would work it out when we were ready. The fight would rage, we would go to our corners and when we were ready we would talk it out once the words had been shed of their raw emotion.

   These were difficult times for us, but they made me stronger. I know that a fight can clear the air and that as long as you have the courage to talk after, to work it out, to forgive the hurt feelings and even boldly admit when you are wrong, the foundations of your relationship will remain strong. I have a very good marriage and I strongly believe that my rocky yet strong relationship with my Mum during my teenage years taught me that the right person will work through all life's problems with you. The right person will still love you and forgive you. The right person will love you for all your flaws and goodness.

   My Mum is independent, friendly, and her compassionate and beautiful soul shines in her eyes. People gravitate to her because she has an energy you want to be a part of. Her many friends trust her with their deepest secrets and know that she is loyal, honest and will not let them down. I try to be this kind of friend too, and when I feel let down by someone I thought was a friend, my Mum understands exactly how I feel.

   For years I lived far away from my parents, but last year the stars aligned in such a way as to bring a distance of almost 6000km between us down to just 7km. Instead of two hour talks on the phone I can now pop over for coffee, gossip, laughter and long talks about everything. We don't fight anymore, or very rarely, and she still shares stories with me and we help each other through the rough times. She is proud of me and the person I've become. She is one of my best friends which fills me with a joy I cannot put into words. But those feelings fall a distant second to how I feel when I look at her and know that I am truly blessed to be able to say that this amazing woman is my mother.

Happy Birthday Mum. I love you.

Cins

Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas

2011-10-02T10:04:00.000-03:00

Hello Blog Fans...very patient Blog Fans...

It has been quite some time since my last post. It's not that I haven't been writing...I just haven't been blogging. Well, that's not true. I did post to my other blog in April. Here's the link for those of you who are fans and missed that particular post...

http://thingsthatmakemeawesome.blogspot.com/

Now, brace yourselves. I have big news. For those of you who have been waiting patiently for the tune that goes with the words for the Christmas Song that I talked about in my last posting, your long, painful, agonizing wait is over. Back in July, we filmed the singing of our tune in Saltwater Sounds (where I work) and posted it on You Tube. Why? Why you ask...have I waited almost 3 months to tell you? Because the local magazine that nicely publishes some of my writing is soon to release it's fall/winter issue is coming out soon and included in the magazine (Bread 'n Molasses) are the song lyrics and the link to the video. The deadline was July for the info so we had to film it in the summer. I didn't want to tell people too soon about the video as it may have spoiled the experience for people who buy the magazine. BUT...the time has come to release the mind penetrating goodness that is

"Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzLs2rGPWI0

Behold the wonder, the joy, the silliness and the slightly amusing fact that my daughter looks a bit like she's singing for the camera against her will...

I will be back sooner than later, so until then, Merry Christmas!

Yours as ever,
Cinfully Silly

A Christmas Tale in February

2011-02-05T09:34:00.003-04:00

Howdy Hey Blog Fans

Before I start, I would like to say that I should have written this entry long before now as it has to do with the Christmas we just had...but I got distracted with other things...life and what not. So, if reading anything about Christmas in February offends you at very high levels, book mark this post for later seasonal reading or perhaps put a sticky note on your calendar in December as a friendly reminder to come back to this entry and read about a Christmas event closer to Christmas.

But for those of you bold enough to brave the festive waters of a Christmas past in February, here is a quick tale for you.

One day, about a week or so before Christmas while Sorcha was eating dinner and I was washing dishes, we started talking about Christmas songs I dislike. The list is many and my reasons lengthy, but what it boils down to mainly is that I am tired of the same songs every...single...year...As Sorcha and I attempted to dissect the reasons for the fury that explodes from my being when I hear "Jingle Bell Rock" we both had a delicious moment of sarcasm. In this nugget of silly wit the gem of new song involving pets and Christmas cloths was unearthed. It was a magical moment and I mean that sincerely. In 90 minutes Sorcha and I together wrote a new Christmas song WITH music and sung it proudly to a few lucky family members and friends over the holidays. (and I unleashed the tune on my own without warning at a friend's party on boxing day...twice...to a crowd bemused party guests) We have a wee recording device that usually lets you download your witty imaginings to the computer, but at the moment, it's giving me attitude and refuses to co-operate.

So for now...I can only give you the words to what I hope will soon be a new Christmas Classic. I give you...

Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

It's not an easy thing to do

They don't care what sweater

That you thinks looks better

Why are you even bothering with shoes

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your dog for Christmas

Don't dress him up as Santa Claus

Put him a fluffy beard

All your friends will think you're weird

He'll yelp if you put boots on his paws

Dressing up your dog for Christmas

Dressing up your cat for Christmas

She's not the mother of the Holy One

She's just way too hairy

To be the Virgin Mary

This won't be her idea of fun

Dressing up your cat for Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

They don't care if they match the tree

Even in something snappy

They'll still look unhappy

It's such a waste of money for me

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your fish for Christmas

He's not into cloths this year

You won't get him to wear a tie

He's too fast don't even try

He hardly even knows you're here

Dressing up your fish for Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

It's not an easy thing to do

They'll just eat the sweater

That you thinks looks better

And soon they will be chewing on their shoes

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your pet....for Christmas

And there you have it...a new Christmas song. My mother in law, who was one of the fortunate few to hear this song over the holidays actually caught herself singing it at work upon returning in the New Year! This song could be a hit for the ages...and if I can ever figure out how to transfer the recording to the computer, I will post the song so you too can hum a new Christmas tune that will drive you to the brink of festive madness.

Thanks for reading Blog Fans!

I remain as ever,

Cinfully yours.

An Unexpected Tradition

2011-01-23T17:36:00.008-04:00

Hello all. I probably should have written this entry around Christmas, but with one thing and another, I never got around to it. In November the editor of Bread 'N Molasses asked if I had a piece of Christmas writing on my person that I would like to submit for the Nov/Dec issue of the magazine. I said that I didn't, but I could send something soon.

It took me a few days to come up with a topic, but once I did, the poem came to me fairly easily. Every year in the fall since she was almost 4 my little girl has been cutting paper for Santa. She finds construction paper, or white paper and cuts into tiny bits and leaves it in a zip lock bag for the big guy. To this day, I still do not know exactly why she decided to this for him, but it's become as much a part of our Christmas as turkey and rum sauce (not together of course...). My heart aches at the thought of this lovely offering to Santa running it's course, but when it does at least it will last forever in our memories.

I wrote this with great love for Sorcha.

Paper Love

Late September
3 months to go
Christmas thoughts come early
In her room
Small hands work busily
Cutting carefully
Clipping paper
Not wee fingers
Red, green, purple
White, blue, brown
Different shapes
Odd shapes
Placed gently into piles
Paper for Santa she says
So he can make crafts
And she smiles
A simple explanation
For a generous offering

4 years old
Anxious and happy
The bag of paper love
Sits next to the
Milk and Cookies
With a note explaining
Her gift
To him
Christmas morning
Soft running
On carpeted stairs
A note lies beside
The empty plate
She is pleased
Santa is happy
He promises to makes crafts
For his workshop
A tradition is born

Next September
A new room
Slightly bigger
Busy hands
Clip and create
A new bag of paper
For Santa
To be left
On a different mantel
With the same feelings
5 years old
Delighted at Christmas
At the missing paper
At the craft left by Santa
It’s a Christmas Tree
Full of colour
And joy
Like her

Christmas time
6 years
7 years
8 years old
His Paper waits
With his cookies
Genuine wonder at the

The Angel

The Polar Bear

The Rabbit

All created by Santa
With paper
With love
With the gift
From a sweet girl
Who wanted to give
To Someone
Who gives to
Everyone

And there you have it. And yes, for those of you who are curious, Santa left a picture this past Christmas (2010) with paper she had left for him in 2009. This past November we happily adopted a goldfish named Mushroom. Santa, through is magical and mysterious ways, must have found out about our new pet because below is a picture of the latest creation Santa left behind for Sorcha.

I can't imagine what he will leave next year...

Until next time, I hope everyone's year is off to a good start.

As ever,
Cinfully yours.

Chicken of the Sea

2010-09-20T20:41:00.004-03:00

Beached rubber chicken
I see you under that log
You're nothing but a
Washed up comedy prop.

Who's laughing now?

Oh-Can-It-Fit Day

2010-09-17T10:25:00.005-03:00

Howdy Hey Blog Fans

If you're a fan of my facebook album "Canada Day Through the Ages" then this story may interest you. I wrote a story for the current issue of Bread 'N Molasses (on sale now!) all about the dress Sorcha is wearing in the photos and how it has become to mean so much more then just Sorcha trying on this dress every Canada Day.

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I had a dream recently in which I told someone in the dream that for my Bread ‘N Molasses article I was going to write about soccer. When I woke up I realized, no matter how certain I had been in the dream, there was no way I could do this. The World Cup News has obviously slipped into my subconscious enough for me to dream about it, but all I really know about soccer is that it seems necessary for a player to rip his shirt off when he scores a goal.

I also thought about writing an article detailing my recent trip with my daughter Sorcha to the West Coast. I thought about describing all that had changed in the 4 years since we’d moved away, but I wasn’t sure where to begin. It’s not that I’m against change, not at all. It’s just that so much changed so quickly. The community I grew up in no longer looked like my old stomping grounds. I was a stranger to the new box stores and large ever expanding suburban areas. I was but a ghost of what was once a quieter town.

However, while we were away, we made sure to honour a tradition held in our family every year on Canada Day for the last 7 years; the wearing of the Canada Day dress. This seemed like as good a topic as any.

In 2003, when Sorcha was 20 months old, we went to Ottawa for my sister-in-law’s wedding. A friend of my mother-in-law generously volunteered to make Sorcha a dress for the wedding. While on the hunt for material for this dress, she found a material covered in Canadian Flags and insisted on making Sorcha 2 dresses. Both dresses were beautiful. Sorcha looked adorable in her wee white dress covered in little blue flowers, but unfortunately the only time she wore this dress was at her Aunt’s wedding. However, the Canadian Flag dress got a lot more use and became much more to us then just a dress.

On Canada Day of that year, we attended a party at a friend’s place. While Sorcha tromped around the yard in her second new dress of the season, Canadian Flags waving from shoulders to knees, our friend Erin took her picture and sent me a copy not long after we’d returned home. It was adorable. She’d caught Sorcha in mid strut. She looked sure footed and proud. I love this picture and hung it immediately on the fridge.

The following Canada Day, the dress being a tent style dress, was a bit shorter, but still fit very well. I’m not sure what made me think to do so, but while Sorcha stood in the kitchen waiting for her close up, I grabbed her yard stomping photo off the fridge and asked her to hold it front of her while I took a picture of her in Canada Day Dress. And the rest is history. Since then, every Canada Day Sorcha puts on the dress and we take a picture of her wearing it while holding the picture of herself wearing the dress from the Canada Day the year before and in the picture of the picture she’s holding a picture of herself wearing the dress from the year before…you get the idea. Every year the roots to this tradition get longer, the history gets deeper, the little girl in the picture gets bigger, and the dress she’s wearing gets smaller. In 2006 it had become a very short dress. So short that shorts were now required under the dress. By Canada Day 2009 it was a full on shirt, but it still fit her.

As Canada Day 2010 neared, some of our friends anxiously asked if we were going to bring the dress with us on our trip out west to continue to the tradition, but more importantly, did I think the dress would still fit? Honestly, I really didn’t think it would. I had considered over the year making it bigger by adding a new panel of material to the dress, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be like cheating. If the dress in its original state didn’t fit, then it didn’t fit. We would figure out how to show this new development when the time came. However, on July 1st 2010, with a bit of struggling and mild squawks of protest from Sorcha that she couldn’t get one of her arms in one of the arm holes, we got the dress on. It still fit…sort of. It wasn’t much shorter then it had been the previous year as most of her growth had been in her legs and not her torso, but it was tighter across the shoulders. The button at the top of the dress refused to close and it uncomfortably snug under her arms. Sorcha suffered wearing it long enough to for the taking of the tradition photo and then politely asked to have it taken off.

This day has become very special to us because it’s not just about tradition, it’s about change. The size of the dress represents the physical changes in Sorcha and the backdrop of the photograph represents all of the changes our family has been through since we started this yearly snapshot. We’ve moved a lot. Between her birth and turning 5, Sorcha experienced 5 moves. Most of these moves are represented in the Canada Day photo because the first 4 photos were taken in 4 different apartments. The 5th photo was taken in the same on as the 4th; a big deal to be sure for us. When I clicked the button on the camera, capturing Sorcha in her dress in front of the same door as the year before, it was a very happy moment. The same place 2 years in a row showed continuity in our lives. Something we had sorely lacked for years. Last year, the 2009 photo was taken in a different location then the previous 2, in front of a different door, but it wasn’t a rented door it was our door. This was the first Canada Day photo taken in a house we’d bought. The photo now had new layer; home. This change in the photograph was an extremely welcome one and one we were never sure would exist.

Now of course, this year the photo was taken no where near that door, because of being, as I mentioned, on the west coast, but next Canada Day, or as we now call it, “Oh Can-It-Fit Day, we’ll pull out the dress and the camera and Sorcha will stand in front of our door. The wearing of the dress is a fun tradition, but the Canada Day picture to me represents the journey our family has taken to find a place we could call home. That journey is finally over. We finally have a home Sorcha can grow up in and grow of the Canada Day Dress in. The picture of Sorcha in or at least holding the dress will now simply show the passage of time. As I said, I don’t mind change because clearly it’s inevitable, but our home, our door is one thing I truly hope stays the same.

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And there you have it!

Have a Cin-Fully lovely day.

Summer Showers with A Spider...Man.

2010-08-31T17:13:00.006-03:00

This is an open letter to the spider that is living in our bathroom.

Dear Spider:

AKA Moisty (as you have now been dubbed by my husband)

You, my 8 legged foe, have taken up residence in our bathroom and have been there for quite some time now. I have tolerated this in spite of my arachnophobic nature and let you live. The day I saw you crawling on the floor near the linen closet, I could have called Sean to my aid and had you disposed of immediately, but I chose to just leave you be because I really do believe that your kind shouldn't die just because I'm not very fond of you and your scuttling ways. Also, your diminutive size was in your favour. If you had been any bigger then your "smaller then a dime" self, I would have let out a blood curdling chicken like noise and summoned the aid of my husband who would have introduced you to the tight squeeze of tissue while I huddled in a corner crying and asking through tears "Is it on me? I feel like it's on me!"

BUT I did not.

After your long trek from the floor to the wall to the sky light, you decided to live on the ceiling RIGHT ABOVE THE SHOWER and have been in and around there for a better part of 2 weeks. I have been tolerant of your web crawling and sneaking around the sky light behavior for a couple reasons. First, you look a little pathetic as you try to stay on your single strand of web. The moist air from the shower clearly disturbs the ball like state that you seem to enjoy. While the shower is running your are constantly struggling for an 8 foot hold but with dampness lurking around you on every side, you just can't do it. I can almost hear your wee squeaks of frustration as you slide up and down your invisible web pole and feeling a tad sorry for you, I let you continue to live there.

The second reason you remain a part of our bathroom is out of concern for our environment. I love a long hot shower. Water conservation isn't my strong suit I'm afraid. AND for the last 10 days my family has been away leaving the shower time wide open. However, thanks to you and your web crawling, leg kicking, creepy oozing ways, I've not lingered in the shower at all. It's been all about getting in, getting washed, keeping an eye on you and your whereabouts, and getting out. No extra has time has been spent enjoying the soothing water and thinking about what my next blog entry should be or pondering whether or not wine and popcorn for dinner 2 nights in a row would be a good or bad idea.

All was well...until this morning.

Listen "MOISTY" I thought this relationship of ours was working. You had found a safe place to live with no birds lurking or ants waiting to take you down (although what are YOU surviving on? Your will to live?) and I had found the key to being very water conscience. But NO! You had to almost ruin this bizarre co-dependent lifestyle we've created! During my shower this morning you journeyed from a position not quite above my head to a position directly above my head and for some reason you seemed to be having "extra trouble" keeping your single strand to a short length. I'm not going to lie to you, this made me nervous. So if you recall, I said "OK! The shower is yours! I surrender it to you!" I shut if off, did my drying thing on the far end of the tub and as I lifted up my head after wrapping my hair in my towel, there you were; dangling your wee brown self no more then a foot from my face! I managed to not hurt myself upon exiting the tub at lighting speed (which is why this entry is not "awesome") and screeched. And you just hung there, legs splayed, increasing your size to full on bluenose, twisting happily in the breeze left by my hasty departure. You seemed, dare I say it, smug Moisty. But smug is as smug does (whatever that means) so let this letter be a warning to you! My family is back tonight which means I will not be taking long showers anyway and if you dare repel down your gossamer thread to within an arms reach of my head, you will not be allowed to flee back up to your home near our sky light, but you will be flung rather rabidly to that big web in the sky.

Think on that my Arach-Nemesis,

Most sincerely,

Cindy Rule

Perspective in only 750 words...or more...

2010-04-24T09:45:00.005-03:00

Hello Fans

A couple weeks ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a link to a wonderful site called "750 words". The website is essentially a private notebook. It encourages you to write at least 750 words every day about anything that comes into your head. It keeps track of your word count, happily lets you know when you've reached 750 words and once you're finished it gives you stats about your writing. Today was my first entry and I thought I'd also double it as a blog entry as I haven't done one in a while. It's not perfect, but I'm happy with the way it turned out considering the circumstances in which I wrote under. If you're wanting to find away to practice your writing, it's a great site. http://www.750words.com

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Last night Sean and I were just drifting off to sleep when we heard quiet, but desperate whining coming from our daughter's room. Well, actually, Sean heard it first and jumped out of bed while I in my, almost asleep and so in a sort of weird dream place, took minute to realize what was going on. I heard Sean asking "Are you ok? Are you going to be sick?" "No..." Sorcha croaked, followed by a whine..."Sorcha, are you going to throw up??" "No..." pant, pant, whine...."Sorcha, use the bowl! You are going to throw up!" And she did. And we weren't surprised by this midnight spewing as we knew, or thought it may be coming. Earlier in the evening after coming home from a brief appearance with her school choir at a Music Festival Finale, Sorcha had a reunion with her dinner, via her throat, unexpectedly. (A lovely image to be sure, but throw up is never a positive topic no matter what metaphor or simile you coat it in.) When she'd first come home she had been complaining of a stomach ache. This has happened a lot lately because she's growing quite quickly right now and almost every day something in her wardrobe no longer fits her. Tight pants are famous for giving one horrendous gas so I figured that this was the case upon looking at her wee bloated tummy and her unbuttoned jeans. Unfortunately I was wrong.

Last night was unlike one my husband and I have had in years. We slept with our door open, we had a our "parent ears" on full alert for any sound of distress and jumped up with amazing wakefulness at the slightest sound of crying. It has to be about 6 years since we've had a night like this. Sorcha learned to sleep through the night at a very early age and we never had to endure one night of changing the sheets at 3am because she'd wet the bed. Between birth and 2 years old, we had many up and down, awake and doze kind of nights, but after she turned 2, the occasional once or twice a night became quite rare. Sorcha is a good little sleeper and now getting up at night because of plea for help or a hug required to rid her of a bad dream is a once in a blue moon kind of event.

So, the night went like this; a cry in the dark, a comforting mummer of "poor dear...you'll be ok..", one parent rinsing the bowl, another wiping her face and putting the covers back over her weak body while she moaned quietly and whispered apologies to us for having to get up and help her. Over and over, we told her it was ok. "We are your parents and it's our job to look after you." Not that that is how we really think of raising her...as a job, but I knew that if we explained it that way, Sorcha would understand that us being up with her not something we were angry about and that she didn't need to worry. "But you're not getting any sleep..." she said, her wee voice full of genuine concern. "Yes, I'm sleeping in between the pukings." "Oh...ok." and then she would close her eyes and sleep or rest until the next wave of "need to grab and hug the bowl tightly" struck her and started the whole process over again.

The fact that last night was the first time Sorcha has had a bout of stomach illness since the horrific events of the holiday season in Ottawa 5 and half years ago is a bit...well...ironic...if that is the right word. (poignant? perhaps that's a better word.)Today is Sean's last day of work at his current place of employment and instead of heading off for his final day with worry and stress of having to look for another job, he instead left thinking about his little girl and hoping she'll be ok. His last day will be about the night before, the up and downs, almost a reflection of life in general really. You never know when the rug will be pulled out from under you. Last week, Sean had a secure job and we felt we were on a path to some sort of stability. But now, we're back into the area of uncertainty. Like Sean getting laid off, Sorcha's stomach bug came out of no where. Today we had plans that have to put aside just as plans for our financial security are on a different path. And, as things usually do in our lives, Sorcha will get better and Sean will find work.

There's nothing like a tummy bug to put your life in perspective.

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And there you have it. No worries, I won't be forcing you to read everything I type on the 750 word site, but I felt this one was worth sharing.

Have a FANtastic day Fans,

As Always,
Cinfully yours.

St.Patrick's Parachute Pants

2010-03-17T11:06:00.009-03:00

Hello and Happy St. Patrick's Day Blog Fans from, according to one of our water towers, Canada's Irish Capital!

This entry won't be a long as some of my other ones. After all, the pubs are now open and some of you have drinkin' to be gettin' on wit'! I will not be partakin' of the booze the colour of pond alge this year, but I am decked out in green and wanted to share a quick story wit'all of ye!

My little girl has loved to draw ever since she could hold a crayon properly. I am an extremely sentimental person and want to keep everything! So, you can imagine the chaos this can create in my mind if I need to clear some things out.(Because, let's be honest...no matter how cute or thought provoking or bizarre the drawing, test or card at hand, you can't keep everything!) School work, sheets brought home years ago from kindergarten covered in carefully draw alphabet letters and other such items are either recycled or made into new paper. Sorcha's drawings however, no matter how big or small, are put into scrap books. And I don't mean the fancy kind of scrap book. (Please I intend no offence to all the scrappers out there..."scrap booking" just isn't my thing.) No, I'm talking about the thin paged, pages that inevitably fall out and need to be taped back in, scrap book. The kind of scrap book I used to glue my many 100's of pictures of Michael J. Fox into. (I also had one filled with NKOTB pictures! Shhh! Don't tell!) But I digress...

Sorcha enjoys taking long walks down memory lane, in particular paths that lead to early childhood which being only 8 wasn't really that long ago, but when you're a child, 1 year can make a huge difference to who you are what you can do. A few days ago she chose the path marked "drawings" and proceeded to spend about an hour in the living room looking through a scrap book filled with drawings she had done when she was 5 and under. I had just stepped in the door after shopping on a Sunday at Walmart (ALWAYS a good time) when she asked "Mummy? Why did I draw a picture of a leprechaun parachuting?" Immediately I was on that memory lane with her and recalled in full colour the conversation I had with Sorcha at the time she'd drawn this picture for St. Patrick's day in kindergarten...

Sorcha: "Do you like my drawing?"

Me: "Yes, it's very nice. What is it exactly?"

Sorcha: "It's St. Patrick parachuting."

Me: "He's very high up...did he parachute from a space ship?"

Sorcha: "No, just a plane."

I think the drawing is wonderful. I particulary like Sorcha's bold attempt at the continents and how happy St.Patrick appears to be even though chances are he's going to burn to crisp upon entering the earth's atmosphere. However, I wanted to inject a slight amount of realism into her thinking and gently explained to Sorcha at the time that the only way for earth to look that way to a person was if they were in outer space. But I didn't have the heart to tell her that St. Patrick was not, in fact, a leprechaun and so did not dress like one, (well, not as far as I know anyway...I mean I never actually met the man. Perhaps this is exactly how he dressed! And when you get right down to it, I'm not even totally sure that this is how actual leprechauns dress.) and instead just complimented her on her very creative drawing which we then hung up along with her other St. Patrick's Day arts and crafts.

Sorcha sat on the stool waiting for an explanation as to why she, her 5 year old self, had thought to draw St. Pat up in Leprechaun finery. I told her the same story I just related to you and watched a look of confused bemusment cross her face. "Why would I do that?" she asked. "I guess you thought that's how St. Patrick dressed and I've no idea why you drew him parachuting." And then she laughed. She laughed the laugh of someone who recalls with great joy and slight embarrassment the silly things they did in their youth.

May your St.Patty's beer be green, but not your face tomorrow mornin'.

Cheers and Cin!

Winter Wonderment

2010-01-28T22:49:00.007-04:00

Hello to you Blog Fans.

It's been a while since I've posted something on this blog. (too busy being awesome!) But once again, the monthly Words on Water at Saltwater Sounds has brought forth from me a piece of writing I like enough to post online. The theme for this month was "Winter". Here in the Miramichi we've had very light winter. It's been cold sure, but we've had very little in the way of snow. The day before yesterday it was 8 degrees and raining! But tonight we are getting a lot of snow and it's my favourite kind of snowfall; soft and beautiful.

I give you...

Winter Wonderment (which I dedicate to my Sorcha)

When I was a little girl, the most exciting event that could take place in my life, aside from days like Christmas and my birthday, was a snowfall. I grew up on the rainy west coast in Victoria and a snowfall, even if it was only a few cm, was a big deal. If it fell on a school day, waiting for recess was agony! The snow could be gone by 10:15 if it was suddenly sunny or rainy! What if we didn’t get a chance to play in it? Usually the snow was there for first recess, but by lunch time recess, usually due to melting and 100 kids making snow balls and snow men during first break, lunch time snow play was a desperate undertaking of rolling a snow ball from patch of white to patch of white over churned up muddy green, giving our snowmen a very hairy appearance or getting a snowball in the face a muddy experience. If our magical snowfall fell on the weekend or during holidays, my brother and I would spend hours in the yard building, running, piling, sliding, freezing and waiting for my Dad to offer to pull us around the yard in the almost pristine sled.

Some years, we would only get one snow fall or we wouldn’t get any at all. Some years, the snow lasted for a couple weeks and the novelty of the snow would actually wear off and we would want again for the comfort of our green.

As a teenager and in my early 20’s I got my fill of snow. I lived in Ottawa and in the winter there was no shortage of it. Much like a lot of Miramichi winters, the snow would last for what seemed like forever. Having to wear clunky boots, scratchy hats and bulky coats is never a strong desire for a teenager. I was never one for really caring about what I looked like in my warm finery, but in early high school my brother said that one of my hoods made me look like ET and I became quite self conscious about my winter gear for years. During this time in my life participating in outdoor winter fun was never something that brought me joy. I didn’t really like skiing, skating on the Rideau Canal was a bumpy affair that left me sore and sledding always made me miserable because I was extremely good at getting snow up my sleeves. Spring brought a sort of freedom; I could stop looking like an alien and feel more like the awkward teenager that I liked only slightly more and I could stop making excuses for why I didn’t want to participate in anything wintery.

My husband and I moved from Ottawa to the west coast after we married and rain or snow, dreary grey or bright white made no real difference in our lives. Rain in the winter was the norm, and snow was never a treat. It was just weather. However, when our daughter was born, we started to feel the tingle of magic wonder that a snow fall can bring. We pictured ourselves bundling up our wee one and teaching her how to make a snowball, or a snow fort, showing her how to make the perfect stereo typical snow man and sharing in the beauty of a soft snowfall at night.

Sorcha’s first experience with snow occurred when she was 17months old. We’d had a fairly heavy snow fall and I’d been stuck inside for a couple days because I didn’t have tractor tires on her stroller. However, once it melted off the sidewalks, I took Sorcha up to hill to a community park. Once out of her stroller, she stared around her at the whiteness mixed with green. Without hesitating she bent down and put her mitted hands in and immediately put one hand in her mouth. Being the wonderful mother I am, I didn’t scold her, but quickly took a picture of her first taste of cold white snow; she wasn’t impressed. I let her run around in it until she found a broken bottle under a tree and we went on home. Soon the snow was gone and it brought a quick close to Sorcha’s first experience with snow.

Shorty after Christmas of 2003, when Sorcha was just 2, we got about a foot and half of snow in a couple days; a huge deal for southern coastal BC. In a freshly purchased pair of used purple snow pants, Sorcha took her first walk falling snow. She laughed as the snow flakes tickled her lashes and marveled at the different pattern every snow flake seemed to be. The snow was barely covering the grass at this point so no attempt at a snow man was made, but Sean rolled a couple snowballs for her and Sorcha had great fun throwing them at me. The next day the snow was deeper, but joy and the novelty of snow were quickly replaced with dismay and frustration as Sorcha struggled to wade through the wet, heavy snow that came up over her wee knees. Tears signaled the end of fun thus ending Sorcha’s second experience with snow.

The following winter we got more snow then we’d had in years and it lasted for over a month. We had moved to a different place by then and the complex offered a huge park area for playing and running around in. Once again bundled up in her purple snow pants, Sorcha and I went out for fun in the snow. She was a bit taller, a bit stronger then the year before so the slog through the snow was more enjoyable. It was a lovely day for being outside and together, Sorcha and I built her first snowman. He didn’t have a hat or scarf as it was a communal yard and more then likely they would have been stolen from the poor guy within the hour so we settled on creating a snowman with a half classical whimsy about him. As we were building him near a tree that had shed everything for winter, sticks were easy to find and we used them for arms, a smiling mouth, nose and sticky up hair. For the eyes and buttons we collected pieces of bark from the gardens under the windows that hadn’t been covered with snow yet. When we were finished, we stood back and assessed our creation with satisfaction. Both of us were hot from the rolling and packing of snow, our long hair was coming out from under our hats and our hands were starting to go numb due to snow soaked mitts; but we were pleased. Sorcha beamed at her first snowman and I was happy to have shared another first with her. We stumbled back inside and right after we stripped off our wet snow gear, we went to the living room window to see if we had a good view our new winter friend. The view from our 4th floor window was perfect; there he stood, under a tree, leaning slightly back and smiling right up at us.

One morning, a few days after we’d built our snowman, I went to the window to see how our snow friend was fairing. He was still there, arms spread wide, big happy grin smiling up at me. As I sat there sipping my coffee, I saw a guy cutting through the yard most likely taking a short cut to get to a walking trail beyond the property. And from our window, I watched in absolute horror, as this person made a B-Line for our handsome snowman, walked over him and crushed him to the ground. I was shocked and angry! Why would he do that? Did he think he was a big man because he wrecked this happy creation? Had he been attacked by a snowman as child and now all snowman in his path were the enemy? It wasn’t as if there was no space to walk around it. He had clearly done it on purpose! Now you may be thinking “What’s the big deal? It’s just a snowman.” But to me, he was so much more then that. I’d found my childhood joy in snow again and created something special with my daughter who had discovered her joy for snow by creating this iconic winter being. My first thoughts after the initial shock had worn off were “How am I going to tell Sorcha? How will she take this?” I was guessing the news would not be welcome news because this was a girl whom the day before had had a near meltdown when she couldn’t get her socks on right.

I heard Sorcha getting up, and quickly got her ready for the day, keeping away from the window as to not bring the thought of anything snow related to her mind and went to have a shower. When I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard “Oh no…” from the living room; Sorcha had seen the carnage. She ran to the bathroom and said “Mummy? I think someone wrecked our snowman.” Bracing myself for the onslaught of weepy tears I sighed and said “Yes, sweetie…a man walked over him…I’m sorry…I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d be upset”. But she didn’t get upset, my 3 year old daughter took the news with the ease of someone much older and said “Oh, that’s ok Mummy. We can build a new one. Don’t be upset.” I was so proud of her. I had imagined hours of comforting talks, hours explaining that sometimes people do mean things without thinking or caring about how it will make others feel, but instead, she put it out of her head, moved on and left me in a haze of wonder. She and I didn’t make a new on that year, but I think her father and her did. (A bit off any possible path to keep the new one from harm.) I picked up the pieces of bark that we’d used to help create his face and put then in bag for possible future use. They are still in that bag, all these years later, in a drawer of an end table in our living room. Every time I look at those pieces of wood I’m reminded that people don’t always behave how you’d expect them to and that cold winter memories are usually very warming and that sometimes, with Sorcha’s help, a bit of snow can still be an exciting event in my life.

For John

2009-12-09T09:56:00.011-04:00

Recently on the CBC, a DJ was talking about the loss of a musician; a young musician. He was saying that sometimes there are no words, no rhymes to put loss into words.

And he's right.

The call came late Sunday morning on December 9th 2001. It was a dark, rainy day. The dampness of a long Vancouver winter was already upon us. Sean and I were tired and cranky. Our newborn girl, just 7 weeks old had had a rough night so we'd all had a rough night.

I was sitting on the arm of a chair in our living room, holding Sorcha and trying to decide whether or not she really needed to be fed when the phone rang. Sean got it; it was his Dad. I don't remember the exact words Sean said out loud. I just remember the horrible cold feeling of disbelief; of feeling like someone was trying to pull my stomach out my back; of knowing that our family had forever changed in the end of a heartbeat.

While the world outside our tiny space stopped being real, the baby in my arms because very real and very hungry. Through my tears, my shock and while listening to Sean struggle with the news I sat down to feed our wee girl. While she ate I cried, asked questions, received fragmented answers and waited for Sean to be finished on the phone and tell me everything I didn't want to be true.

John, Sean's cousin, was gone. He'd been found in the alley outside his apartment in Toronto. Had he jumped? No, they didn't think so. It looked as though he'd been thrown. Why? Why? Why?

So many questions...so much confusion...Why did this happen? What are they going to do? What are we going to do?

Two days later, Sorcha and I went to my parents place in Victoria and Sean went to Ottawa for young John. He'd been asked to help carry John's casket to his grave site; help carry John on his last journey which unfortunately was the start of a long tortured path for his family.

John's case was too quickly determined a suicide when it was obvious from the evidence that it was wasn't. John's death was highly suspect, even to the casual observer, but the minds of those in power could not be changed. John's parents who are not people to just back down refused to accepted this hastily made decision and for 8 years they have fought tooth and nail to have the case reopened and have the ruling of John's death as suicide overturned.

But now we come to where the loss of words becomes a reality. How do you put into words the tragic death of a kind, happy man who loved his family deeply, who really cared for people and who truly believed with all his heart that his Papa was Santa Claus? How do you write down the frustration, the anger, the torment brought on by people who didn't to their jobs to bring about justice for John. But most of all, how do you even begin to describe in words the abyss of loss that his parents and sister feel? You can't; not in any words that come close anyway. John would have been 30 this year. The anniversary of his death brings about deep grief for all of us who knew him, but I can't imagine trying to put into words the thoughts and feelings his parents and sister must have on his birthday. There are no words of comfort to say to those who held John on the day he was born when he is now no longer here to hold.

We won't forget John and we will fight for him until the the words we've used to do so will finally mean something to someone. Until the words that have been said out loud are no longer lost on anyone.

Below is a link to a website John's family has set up for information about John, his case and the publicity his case has received. Please take the time to go to this site and see if there is any support you can offer.

http://www.aquestionoftrust.com/?p=5This

The Fall of Coffee

2009-09-22T08:42:00.017-03:00

Tuesday, I think...I started to write Saturday...yes, Tuesday, Sept. 22/2009

8:44AM

I'm sitting at my computer willingly eating breakfast, and while stomach is happy for this unexpected early intake of food, my head is none too pleased...Today, I'm quitting coffee...

I love coffee...love it...it fills me with a sense of well being, comfort and...another word similar to those 2 concepts I've laid out. But lately, I've been thinking that perhaps it's time to make a change. I spend A LOT of money on coffee, and cream and sugar. And let's face it people I'm addicted to coffee. This is starting to make me uncomfortable. Plus, I'm pretty sure all the cream and sugar I put in my morning cup of love goes straight to my backside. So, this morning I thought "Well, I like tea, and I can drink tea with milk. Tea has the caffeine buzz that makes me feel so fine so why not give it a go."

Sigh...not so much...I felt like I had gut rot after the first 2 sips. Usually tea agrees with me, but not today so...I decided to go big or go home; cutting out caffeine entirely. And for your reading displeasure, I will be popping onto the entry throughout the day to record the process of "The Fall of Coffee". (a good name considering it is the first day of Fall)

So, it is now

8:54AM

I feel like I haven't slept, like my eyes are just sort of floating in their sockets, my head is heavy, but hey...I ate breakfast this morning because I really wanted to!! Coffee usually tells me..."Nah...you're good. We can do without food until at least 11:00." Ok, it's now time to pack up and head to work...where many varieties of caffeinated products abound and where there is a Tim's down the road! NO!!! I can do this!!

9:39 AM

I am at work…my head is reeling…the florescent lights are killing me eyes and I’m hungry again! I need coffee!! I’m trying to remember why I’m doing this…

9:47AM

Is it really so bad to have one vice????

9:48AM

Good gravy...I could fall asleep in my chair...I'll go sweep. You know sweep? With a broom? I wasn't saying sleep in baby talk...just want to be clear.

10:10AM

Help me!!!

10:21AM

Well...I could try to cut out the sugar...This is sad...I've been up for 4 hours, only 4 hours and I feel like I've deprived myself of this dark nectar of the Gods for days.

10:28AM

It's over...I can't take it...I actually have heartburn from NOT having coffee...bring it on!!

11:03AM

Coffee is brewing...Coffee: 1...Cindy: 0...I'm quite disturbed that not having a coffee has a horrible effect on my brain, but I'll never get any work done if I don't have some! So...sorry had to yawn...I'll carry on with this vice for now...maybe cut out a sugar or 2 and not worry about my backside. I exercise, that should help the ol' rear view, but if I don't get any coffee, I'll sleep more, do less and tell me,what good will that do anyone!!! I NEED COFFEE!!

11:16AM

Ahhh.....coffee...but it's weird without sugar...But my head isn't reeling quite as much and I'll be able to function now. Moderation is the key. I'm trying not to feel like a failure...I mean I went less then 5 waking hours without coffee...that shouldn't have been difficult, but it was.

12:44PM

I’ve had 2 cups of coffee (one with 2 creams and no sugar and one with 3 milks and 1 sugar) and I’ve got to tell you…I feel super! I can’t believe how clear my head feels, how awake I am, how horribly addicted I am to coffee!

Sigh…

I will not dwell on this for too long. Quitting anything cold turkey is ludicrous. I enjoy coffee! I believe that you could say that I don't just love coffee, I'm IN love with coffee, it makes me happy, I makes me warm, it relaxes me…and stains my teeth…But it’s my comfort drink! (even more then WINE!) In conclusion it would appear my "Fall of Coffee" turned rabidly into "Fall off the Coffee Wagon."

Cheers!

Until next time,
enjoy, like I do, at least one
Cin

Environmentally Sound

2009-08-21T09:02:00.004-03:00

Hey there Blog Fanatics

We had an amazing Words on Water last night down at the OL' Saltwater Sounds. Miramichi born and now Fredericton based Carla Gunn read to us from her debut novel AMPHIBIAN. It's about an intelligent and articulate 9 year old boy named Phin who is dealing with his anxieties about the damage being done by humans to the environment. I'm looking forward to reading it. And I mean that...I bought the book and will read it soon. I too feel anxious about the environment, I feel as though any effor made by me to keep things a little greener will go un noticed, but really, every little bit helps and doing something is better then doing nothing. Excuse me while I climb off my soap box...

And as we always have with Words on Water, we had a theme and rightly so the theme was "Environment". I wrote a story of sorts about my Recycling Woes. Enjoy!

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Recycling Ramblings

I like green and I like being green but a certain Frog was right when he said it wasn’t easy...

I try my best to recycle…I sort my cardboard from my paper and rinse out my soup cans too; sometimes scrubbing extra hard to rid the tin of food and sticky hues.

They sit patiently in my kitchen closet in a bag or in boxes until they overflow to the floor. I load these into my car where I burn fossil fuels to take them to their temporary home among the hopefully correctly recycled items.

The big blue recycling bins are around the town. I usually take them to one in the collage parking lot. Perhaps they feel smarter as they lie and wait to become anew? Perhaps they wonder if they will become new paper that will be used to write beautiful prose or breakthrough scientific research.

But what about plastics you say? What about milk jugs, and pill bottles? What about strawberry clam shell containers that can slice your fingers open while trying to retrieve a sweet piece of forced into ripeness red fruit? What of these oil based homes for food and drink?

Well… I recycle some…of...them, but this is where the green turns to blue. For in my fair town, a frustration is growing…well with me anyway…I’m not sure how other people feel when they flip the lid of yogurt container knowing that they’ve bought something they can’t recycle here, but for me the pain goes deep!

1 and 2! Oh you’ll do! Come with me! But 6,5,4 and 3…stay where you are! You’re not recyclable in this town you see!!

It’s not a thing I can control…I understand recycling is costly…and to recycle all numbers means more computer numbers in the budget…

But it causes me such woe to throw away the margarine tub (a 5) and recycle the lid. It hurts to buy the coffee that comes in the easy to grip container (a 6) knowing that it will be separated from its top in the end.

So, I keep them…I keep them all…the margarine bowls and yogurt containers, the coffee tubs and mushroom restrainers, the apple sauce cups and so, so, so many containers…and yell WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH ALL OF YOU???

There’s only so many crafts you can use them for, only so many dried foods that you can store, only so many buttons and beads around and rocks and shiny trinkets abound. I fill them up, I give them away, I store them store them and still they stay.

I try to buy things that do not come in plastic containers I can’t recycle. Mushrooms in bulk and tomatoes too…no wait I can recycle tomato containers...they are a 2. Buying bulk beans is great, except the bag has to go, in with the garbage…woe upon woe.

Hey, hey! Did you know you can buy peanut butter in bulk and honey and jam and and and…the container you put them in is a 5! A 5! They’ll still in be in landfill long after I’m alive.

I want be gree even if, from time to time, trying to do so makes the air around me blue and my face a bit red. I can’t change the world, but I want to make my place in it a little cleaner. Recycling, composting and buying smarter...these things help me sleep a little better.

But I will always swim in the guilt of freezie wrappers and chip bags, plastic housing that cheese comes in and the waxy paper on band aids. And although I wince when these and other such items are tossed in the trash I feel a bit of the blue fade when our family of 3 creates less then one bag of garbage per week because of trying to be green.

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I also wrote a song, based on my story, but I only read the story. Below is the song so pick a tune, any tune and sing along with...

The Being Green Blues

I do my part to recycle
Separate the best I can
Paper goes in that box
Cardboard in that bin
Shopping bags and tin cans
A recycling we will go
But when it comes to plastics
My heart is filled with woe

Flip over your containers
A triangle lays in wait
To reveal a tiny number
The master of its fate
Now in the town where I live
This number can bring on pain
When I discover my apple cup
Can’t be recycled again

Chorus

1 and 2 you can come with me
Because of your recyclability
6,5,4,3 what can I say
You’ll live in my basement
To be reused someday.

Now recycling is expensive
It takes a lot of green
Not being green hurts my soul
A pain that’s felt not seen
The plastics I can’t recycle
Become homes for other things
Rocks, beads, rice, beans
Necklaces and rings

We recycle all that we can
We even compost too
Making so little garbage
The gray can’s a wee bit blue
Recycling even a little
Can keep your conscience clean
Don’t listen when the Frog says
It ain’t easy being green

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And that, as they says folks, is all.

I hope you're all having a lovely summer and remember

Being Green isn't a

Cin

This One's for my Dad

2009-07-06T12:05:00.014-03:00

Hello to all you Blog fans

Once again, wanting to participate in Words on Water was just the inspiration I needed to do some more writing (see beginning of previous to post if you've no idea what I'm talking about). As the last WOW was very close to Father's Day and to the start of summer, last months theme was "Father and/or Summer". Here is what I wrote for my Dad.

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My Dad joined the Navy when he was 17. His parents put him on a train in Alberta and send him packing to Cornwallis, NS. After training, he was posted to the Naval base in Victoria, BC. He met my Mum when he was 21 and they married within months of meeting. By the time they'd been married for 4 years, they had 2 kids; me and my brother Scott.

My Dad was away at sea for a great deal of the first 14 years of my life. Sometimes it was only be for a few days. For a few months he would be away during the week and home on weekends. For one year though when I was in early elementary school, he was on shore leave and was home with us in the evenings while my Mum was at work. But at least once every couple years, my Dad would have to go away for up to 4 months at a time. I remember many a tear filled dawn when my Dad would come into my room to say goodbye. The hugs were never long enough, the tears came even though I tried to hold them in and saying I love you over and over never seemed to the exact way of telling him how much I would miss him. But it's what I did and he did it too.

This of course was a day in age where the wonder of email and cheap long distance did not exist. We would be lucky if we talked to my Dad once when he was away. However, my Dad always did what he could to let us know we were in his thoughts while we were apart. His specialty was notes. When I would get up in the morning after he'd left, I would always find a note written in ink crayon on the bathroom mirror. Lovely words like "I love you and will miss you. Take care of yourselves." would hover above a carefully drawn desert scene (my Dad loves to draw camels and palms trees). If possible we would preserve the note on the mirror for the entire time he was away.

The bathroom note was just the beginning. In every cupboard, and closet, in drawers, in our cloths, mixed in with our toys, in the pantry and even with the cat food, we would find notes. "Pet Rocky for me." "Thinking of you!" "Mmmm Cookies!" But best of all, my Dad would leave notes in places he knew we likely wouldn't go to for months. One year he went away in August and was due back sometime in November. Near Halloween, while rummaging under the stairs for decorations we found a note on our pumpkin lamp,"Happy Halloween! See you soon!".

My Dad also wrote letters. When he had to go on course in Halifax, the letters would arrive in regular envelopes on regular paper. But when he was away at sea, the letters would be written on mint green self adhesive paper (paper the exact shade of green as his uniform shirts at the time) and stamped from faraway places like Hawaii, Fiji or Thailand. One time he sent me a letter from New Zealand. In it he'd drawn me a picture of a cute, wooly sheep. "There are more sheep then people in New Zealand," he wrote "and this one is for you." He also never failed to tell me how much he missed me and loved me and how proud he was of me for all that I did.

My Dad coming home from a long trip was always a day of high excitement and not just because he was finally home, but because it usually meant we got out of school early and got PRESENTS! I wasn't greedy or expected a lot of gifts, but it was so exciting to get wondrous gifts from far off lands; a jade bracelet from Hong Kong, a hand painted fan from Japan, a real boom-a-rang from Australia. One time he brought home an electrocuted Gecko that he'd found in a toaster in Malaysia.

When I was 14 my Dad was transferred to Ottawa and the long trips to sea stopped for 4 years. Except for a monthly trip to Victoria, my Dad was home with us during our rough high school years and it was wonderful. We moved back to Victoria the summer I finished high school and the trips back to sea began again; but not for too much longer. In 1995, after nearly 30 years in the Navy, my Dad retired. I asked him not too long ago if he missed it or thought that he was missed and he said, "Leaving any job is like pulling your finger out of a bucket of water." He meant very simply that there is always someone to replace you.

I feel however, that this is just my Dad's enormous modesty talking. My Dad was highly respected in the Navy and excelled in every position he held. He sailed on 5 Canadian Destroyers during his time and moved quickly up the ranks. The final position he held was that of Coxswain on the HMCS Winnipeg of which he was part of her first crew. One summer when I was about 9 or 10 he sailed on a number of smaller ships called Mine Sweepers. The Mine Sweepers he sailed on that summer were all named after Canadian Rivers. One of the ships was called "The Miramichi". For some reason, my Dad gave me the badge from his uniform that said Miramichi on it. I hung it up in my room on my cork board and I remember feeling very proud that I could say the name properly. I still have the badge. It's on our fridge. The day my husband and I decided we would be moving to the lovely town of Miramichi, I fished it out of a bag of memories to show our daughter the name of her soon to be new hometown. I find warm happiness and perhaps a bit of "meant to be" in that fact that I've carried with me for well over half my life the name of the other coastal city that would bring me great joy.

When my Dad was in the Navy the engine rooms of the older ships were hell; hot, loud and hard on the body. The ships themselves were highly poisonous as they were filled with asbestos. Many men my Dad sailed with died soon after retirement at the age the 55 of cancer or other health problems caused by years of working on the ships. My Dad liked to tease us by saying "Be nice to me...I only have - years to live". It was darkly funny, but it scared me because it seemed to be true. However, in June of this year my Dad turned 60. His lungs are clear, his heart is good, his arteries clean and he is currently working at his 3rd job since retirement. I never take my Dad still being here for granted. I know I've been blessed to have a father who has taught me to be proud of who I am, to find happiness in all my accomplishments and to be brave. He gave me my smile, my sense of humour and my strong work ethic. He instilled in me the love music, taught me how to laugh at myself and told me to never walk with my head down because everyone is equal. He sometimes says that he wishes he could have been there for me more, but I never felt neglected or unloved. I say a prayer of thanks everyday that he is still here, and now, instead of joking that his time is almost up, we joke that he's well past his expiry date.

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Until next time,
enjoy a life of
Cin

Fragmented Memories of My Gramma's Garden

2009-06-11T08:19:00.009-03:00

Howdy Hey Blog Fans!

My place of employment hosts a monthly event called "Words on Water". Every month there is a theme, a featured guest and a then it's open mic to whomever is there. Based on said theme people are able to use this happy venue as a place to recite a poem, sing a song, maybe do a little acting, or tell a story. In May the theme was "Gardening and/or Flowers". I wrote, and read, about my Gramma.

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My Gramma's garden was a place of beauty and oddities.
A place of nourishment and eccentricities.
A place of wonder and silence
A place of memory and warm aromas.

My Grandparent's home sat in the middle of her paradise.

As you approached the driveway you drove past the "spooky forest" which was fronted by rock gardens filled with many types of creepers and heather.

A large hedge bordered the right side of the their driveway; a hedge that was once home to many animals, including raccoons that more then once climbed through my Gramma's window and slept at the end of her bed.

At the end of hedge was a gate and beyond the gate was a large compost. Scraps from the potent "pig bucket" that she kept under the sink in the kitchen were carted out daily to this pile. Once nature had taken its course, the compost matter was used to fertilize her beautiful gardens.

My Gramma grew vegetables of all kinds and loved to steam them lightly and eat them right out the pot, dripping with butter, while watching a beloved nature show on PBS in her utility room.

She had a greenhouse that always smelled of musty earth and housed her many varieties of tomato plants. I always feared to go in there and especially into the little potting shed that was at the back of the greenhouse. It was too warm, the air too close and a cozy home for spiders.

She grew squash and beans, sweet peas and raspberries, broad beans and lettuce. On a summer day when she wasn't fishing we would often find her lounging on a lawn bed, shelling peas while watching "One Life to Live" or "General Hospital" on her 13" black and white TV. She had a great long cord for it that extended the length of her garden so that she could gasp in horror at all the loud kissing while she relaxed and worked near a patch of sunny flowers.

Her little house was surrounded by her flower gardens.

Flowers in window boxes.
Flowers in gardens below her dining room window, below the living room window, below the bedroom windows.
Flowers in hanging baskets from every corner of her house or hanging from the low branches of her apple tree.
Flowers in pots on her brick paths, in her driveway or under trees. Often they were not in pots at all, but in large barnacles she had collected while beach combing.

My Gramma being a person of the sea as well as of the earth made her fishing experiences part of her garden. Behind a fence covered with honey sweet nasturtiums, she had a table she and my Grandfather used for gutting fish. Often I would trek slowly along the garden stones to the table, not wanting to step in the mud and poke fish eyes or marvel at the fish eggs of a salmon.

She had a smoke house in the garden and used it often. The smell of smoking salmon and nasturtiums, fresh turned earth and fish heads is not one that is easily forgotten.

Near the end of my Gramma's life her garden took on an even more eccentric quality. When she hadn't the strength to plant all the types of beautiful and vibrant flowers that she loved, she decorated the ones she had. She would spray paint the teazle blue, yellow, orange or red and sprinkle them with sparkles, often while they were still in the garden. Her sunflowers which had deep red orange leaves and bright yellow centres wore happy smiles which she'd drawn on with a permanent marker.

A real treasure of her garden was Randolf. About 10 years before my Gramma passed away, she found a piece of driftwood while out fishing that bore a resemblance to the neck and head of a reindeer. For 11 months of the year Randolph stood watch in the garden. He would become part of it sometimes becoming wrapped in vines, or showered with petals, soaked with rain for days on end and on rare occasion, be covered with snow. But in December Randolf was brought into the living room and lovingly decorated as "The Christmas Tree". My Gramma would find twisted branches of evergreens and display them behind is head like antlers. These would be covered in many lights. And as he was a reindeer named Randolf, he had on light, a red one, on his nose. The best part of Randolf was that weathering of the marvelous piece of driftwood caused a split at in the "facial area" that looked like a smile. My Gramma would stare at him with great pride and grin and ask me "Doesn't he look happy?"

When kneeling in the garden became too difficult for her, my father made my Gramma sturdy raised garden beds so that she could continue to grow the veggies she so loved. He made them out of thick beams which he bound together with railway spikes. I remember thinking that the only way these beautiful garden beds would ever come apart were if they were bulldozed down...which is what ended up happening in the end.

When my Gramma passed away 8 years ago, a year after my Grandfather had died, my mother and her siblings sold the house and the land. The house, which was 70 years old at least, and in need of rewiring and re-piping was torn down. The "spooky forest" where my brother and I had played and scared ourselves was pulled down. And all of my Gramma's beautiful, wondrous, eccentric and beloved gardens were dug up and replaced by 2 houses.

There are more memories for me of this special place then I can ever write down. I feel great sorrow for what was lost, and even more sadness for the families who now live with the ghost of the beauty created by a woman who not only loved to garden, but needed to. But I mostly feel happiness and great fortune that I was once witness to a most beautiful place.

Until next time,
Find Happiness in Cin

Do You Believe in Magic?

2009-04-24T11:07:00.007-03:00

Hello Blog Fans

Oh my dear ones...it's been too long...I shouldn't go so long in between posts lest you give up on me, but here I am!! Breathe my pretties, breathe.

My husband loves the game Magic. He started playing the game in high school, was still into it when we met in college and to this day, continues to carry a torch for the game. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it's card game with creatures and colours and you have casting costs and land and you get to thrown down and put beasts in the graveyard and explode monkey's at random...maybe not the monkey part...you think after all these year I would know more about it, but I don't. ON PURPOSE! Let me explain...

Have you ever been in a relationship with someone where you have pretended to be "Really Interested" in something that they are interested in EVEN THOUGH you would rather have played in traffic then participate in it, BUT you pretended to like it because you thought it was the "nice" thing to do?(or because you want them to like you more or think you're cool or more pretty...)Or did you ever pretend that a particular habit of theirs didn't bother you at all (even though it did) because you didn't want to appear bitchy or lame? Sigh...I have...especially at the beginning of the relationship. Silly...Silly...Cin...

"Oh yes, I'd love to go watch you play pool in poorly lit sports bar for hours while you ignore me and I have to make small talk with your 'gal pals' that I have absolutely nothing in common with"

"Smoking? No it doesn't bother me at all. You go right ahead...I'm just hanging my head out the car window like the lap dog I am because I like the fact that you smoke! The world is your ashtray you say? Ha! Ha! That's a good one! Aren't you clever??!!"

"Why sure! I really, really enjoy watching you(for hours)look up 'interesting' facts about RUSH, a band that I dig just enough to put in my garden and forget to water, on the Internet that is only text based at this time because it's only 1992. NO!! I don't have a headache at all. The YELLOW lettering on BLACK screen is soothing really!! So...do you like me more yet? How long do I have to keep this crap up???"

So...by the time I got involved with Sean, I had had enough of the shenanigans and the lies and thought "I'm not pretending for anyone anymore. If it bothers you that I don't like something you do and that you are one of these guys who think that couples should share in everything, should have the same interests, should wear matching velour jogging suits as we walk our matching rat dogs on the walking path in the park then I'm going to have to say NO to you." Thankfully he was not one of those guys. And so, because of this charming quality I did not pretend to like Magic the Gathering for him. He would play it a lot with his friends and with his brother. For years I have overheard long discussions about which card should be added to the deck or what colour is best again which colour, should one have a mixed deck while pursuing my own interests and trying my best, but not always being terribly successful, not to mock him. I have never asked to learn, I have no intest in learning, the thought of playing the game bores me tears. So my answer to the question "Why don't you want to learn?" has always been and shall always be "Because I don't want to thank-you" Now, I don't want to come across as a Magic hater here. I'm not. It's just not my thing. I do enjoy the art work on the cards. Some of it is quite beautiful and spectacularly creepy, but I have no desire to learn how to "get more manna" or whatever...

Over the years, Magic had become a distant memory in our home due to Sean having no one to play with. He'd pull out his cards, make a new deck just in case he met someone who'd like to play or study and old deck to see if it was still powerful. Last year, he'd met a few Magic-ers, and they often "threw down" but unfortunately for him, they moved away or got involved in another activity and so he was once again left along with his memories and his decks...until recently. One day out of the blue, our lovely daughter went up to him and sincerely asked "Daddy? Can you teach me how to play Magic?" For Sean I'm sure the Heavens opened and Angels sang!! Finally!! Someone to play Magic with whom he lived with AND wouldn't mock him!

They started slowly; he got Sorcha familiar with how the game worked, who played when and what and why. He taught her what kind of creatures went with what colours and what the different colours meant. He's literally spent hours making her decks she can understand with creatures she finds pretty in colours that she likes. (which is adorable because he's happily catering to her girly side!) In a act of deep love for his daughter, he actually broke apart a deck he'd had together since high school so that she could have some of his best cards. He's is slowly teaching her to play more strategically, is trying to encourage to play her hand aggressively and not worry about whether or not he sends her "Beautiful Fairy" to the graveyard. One day Sorcha ran up to me and "Mummy!! I beat Daddy at Magic! I used (can't remember) casting cost on my Pegasus to turn it into (some level of power) and it did (enter amount here) damage to his (blah dee blah) and put it in his graveyard!" "That's great honey!" I said. And even though I couldn't understand half of what she said, I meant it. I think, truly, that this is lovely. She was glowing with pride and happiness. I don't mock them or even feel the desire too as I think it's wonderful that they have something that is their own and hopefully it will continue for years. They "believe in Magic" and I believe I'm off the hook to learn forever thanks to my "young girl's heart."

Farewell for now, Blog Fans and continue to believe in,

Cin

Crest-Fallen

2009-03-01T20:06:00.014-04:00

Hello to you Blog Fans

I have a confession to make. I'm cheating! It started slowly, you know? A little look here, a realization there, the "magic" was running out and soon...I was not just thinking about it, I was looking for it. I couldn't help it! I had to move on!! It doesn't matter how long you've been together or how loyal you try to be sometimes...yes sometimes...you HAVE to try something new! And in my case it's completely justified! I couldn't find what I needed anymore in the one I was so use to depending on, so use to USING I'm sorry to say! I swear, no matter where I looked or where I searched...or how much I pushed and tried to squeeze every little bit of what I deserved out of our "relationship" it was gone...my toothpaste...was no more...

Perhaps you think I'm being dramatic and that may be so, but that's how I roll. Ever since I've had teeth, I've been using Colgate toothpaste. I'm normally not a slave to brands, but I have always been loyal to this one. Now when I lived at home I didn't buy my own toothpaste, my Mum did, but I always attributed my perfect non filling-ed teeth to the regular use of Colgate toothpaste. (that and usually being way too good and actually using the 3 minute egg timer my Mum kept in the bathroom for us to use while brushing our teeth.) I felt so loyal to my toothpaste that whenever I spent the night at a friend's house and was forced to use a brand of toothpaste that wasn't Colgate, I would feel slightly guilty. I remember the overwhelming feeling of wrongness I endured whenever we stayed at my Grandparent's place and I was subject to the likes of Aquafresh or AIM! (although and I hate to admit this, but I always thought Aim to be a very pretty colour and if using Aquafresh, I would carefully put it on my toothbrush to look like it did on the toothbrush in the commercial with the tri-colours in a perfect line and the little "curly swoop" at the end...oh for shame!!!)

When I moved out on my own, I still bought Colgate toothpaste and it made me happy that I was hanging onto something that I felt was "part of our family". I gave up things like, making my bed on a regular basis, washing my colours separate from my whites or doing my dishes everyday (that's what large microwaves to hide said dishes in when company comes over are for), but the Colgate toothpaste and I were a match meant to stay together. When I got married, my husband, who was brought up in a house where he said the toothpaste they used was the toothpaste that was probably on sale, (and that's fine..I don't know want to start a family feud with my in-laws) did not make an issue out of my need to buy Colgate toothpaste. He quietly accepted that it was the toothpaste I preferred and that was that. (which is good because WHO KNOWS where we'd be today if he dared question our use of Colgate toothpaste.) Over the years, our Colgate toothpaste needs changed, more tarter control, total tooth control, able to do our taxes control, whatever, but it was still Colgate toothpaste. A few years ago though, things started to change...

I went to dentist and for the first time ever I had cavities...I was crushed!! My perfect teeth were no longer just that! Now BEFORE the thought even enters your mind it was NOT because of Colgate toothpaste; it was because I was seriously lacking in the "you should be flossing everyday" department. (as a side note, my husband's dentist once asked him if he considered himself "to be a good flosser" and he answered "I'd like to think so." For those of you who know my husband this may be amusing. I personally find it hilarious.) Anyway, I got some cavities BETWEEN my teeth...where Colgate toothpaste couldn't go and it can't help where it can't go if you understand me. And as a result of having a bad filling experience (pain, so much pain...nerve-damage-pain), the teeth with the fillings between them became very sensitive and I had to start using Colgate toothpaste for Sensitive Teeth. Not earth shattering news, but this meant that Sean and I were now using 2 different kinds of Colgate toothpaste. Not a big deal you say...perhaps not then...but it would be eventually!

I grew very use to my Colgate toothpaste for Sensitive teeth and never strayed from it except for perhaps to use Sean's Colgate Total if I ran out of mine and hadn't had a chance to get more. And here's why I may not have got a chance to get more...it was hard to find!! Everywhere I'd shop, I'd have to scour the toothpaste aisle in search of my Sensitive Colgate and as the years went by, more often then not, I would have to look in 2 or 3 stores until I could find it! It was dawning on me that this...my loyal, beautiful, faithful relationship with Colgate may be coming to an end...

Which brings us to the traumatic events at hand...My Sensitive Colgate was starting to get low so I started looking for a new tube...couldn't find one. "Oh well. I still have quite a bit left" I thought and moved on. The tube got thinner, flatter...I shopped around again...nothing..."Hmm...this isn't good..." I thought and tentatively moved on and pushing the thought out of my head that while searching for and not finding my Colgate Sensitive Toothpaste that I had dared to sneak a peak at the price of another brand...And then, when I got down to the "rolled up tube, hurting my hands just to squeeze any amount of paste out of the tube" phase I went out on a panicked induced shopping frenzy to find my Colgate toothpaste for Sensitive teeth!! And I found....none...it was gone...gone...It appears the folks at Colgate-Palmolive Canada Inc no longer make my much needed toothpaste. Perhaps they feel there aren't enough "sensitive teeth" in the world anymore...or else there's not people in my geographic local that have as sensitive teeth as I do or a almost fanatical loyalty to Colgate Sensitive and so local stores ordering it in when there are a lot of other brands to chose from is probably futile.

Now you, if you haven't drifted off, are probably thinking "Just grow a pair and stop using Sensitive toothpaste and go back to sharing the Colgate Total with your husband." But hold it here BF's, I've done that and I'm afraid, my teeth have grown too attached to, become spoiled by the loving protective embrace that only Sensitive toothpaste can provide them. I'm am forever a slave to the Sensitive toothpaste's loving caress. And that is why, adrift in a sea of tooth pain caused by NOT using Sensitive toothpaste, and faced with the fact that in my lovely town, the brand of toothpaste I had been so long paired with was not longer available in the kind that so matched my needs, I had to buy ANOTHER BRAND OF TOOTHPASTE!!!! And there it sits...gleaming silver and all full of what I need, on my bathroom counter; Crest Sensitivity! With extra whitening! My Colgate Sensitive didn't have that, but it doesn't mean this one is better! This one tries to protect your children under 12 from it and from other things bad for them! "Keep this and all drugs out of reach of children" it says on the back. Colgate Sensitive didn't need to tell me that! I'm not a moron! "Hey honey, this toothpaste is bad for you right now, but what about these other non prescription drugs??? Where should I keep them? Within your reach? If only my toothpaste would tell me what to do!!" It also gives me the "helpful" advice of how to get the toothpaste out of the tube. "FOR BEST RESULTS, SQUEEZE TUBE FROM THE BOTTOM AND FLATTEN AS YOU GO UP." Well, thank the stars for that one because my Colgate Sensitive never told me that and I stupidly tried to squeeze it from the top and see how fat and bulging I could get get bottom! My daughter's toothpaste (and yes, it's Colgate for Kids with a jaunty picture of Sponge Bob Square Pants on it) doesn't tell her how to get the toothpaste out of it!

So as you can see..I'm not taking the toothpaste brand switch too well. Then to add insult to injury, I said to my husband "We're no longer a Colgate Family" and he said, and brace yourself for I swear this is the truth, "I don't have to use Colgate. It doesn't matter to me what I use." OH pain of hearing such blasphemy in my own home!! He'd only been using Colgate all these years just to humour me!!! Where will this lead?? Where will it end?? I hate to think of the shopping trip that will come at the end of this tube of Crest Sensitivity...will I end up just picking a tube at random, not caring about the brand? Will I just end up buying whatever is on sale? Or will I take up the mantel of a new brand and remain CREST-FALLEN? Only time will tell...there is always a chance, that like the cat, my Sensitive Colgate, will come back...if I'll want it anymore. It left once, it may leave again...Trust issues will arise! Maybe I'll enjoy trying different brands of Sensitive Toothpaste, enjoy living the life of one who "teeths" around if you will...perhaps cheating won't be so bad after all.

Till next time,
enjoy taking care of your teeth while you
Cin
I know I will...

Things of Randomness regarding Me that you may or may not know ...or care about....that add up to 25

2009-02-04T16:17:00.008-04:00

Hello my fine Blog Fans

Over the past couple of days on Facebook, a few of my friends have participated in the note of "25 Things about Me". Well, not about me, but about themselves. I suppose I could post a note like this on Facebook (or not do it at all! I mean I'm sure you're not being kept awake at night by NOT knowing 25 random facts about me...or maybe you are...if you are, please seek professional help)but since I have this Blog here, I figured I may as well use it. So here goes.

25 "Facts" about me...

That's not a good start. You will now think that I'm not being honest because of the quotation marks around "Facts"...OK, 25 "interesting" facts about yours truly. Oh and the order has nothing to do with how important these facts are or how important they are to your well being, or how interesting they are or how important they are to me. Here goes.

1. I LOVE acting. I will do almost anything on stage and be anybody (so long as it doesn't involve naughty acts with animals or stripping), BUT I am terrified of being myself on stage.

2. I HATE it when people use quotation marks for emphasis. Here is a real example I witnessed on a customer's order while working at the UPS store a while back:
-Hoodies "In Stock". (gah...it hurts)

3. My daughter and I are so much alike that it frightens me. Even her hand gestures and the looks she gives her father...scary. Sean is thrilled because he often gets told the same thing in stereo.

4. My husband makes me laugh more easily and more often then anyone else I know.

5. I LOVE CORNER GAS!!! I watch all the seasons (except the current one because we don't have cable) over and over and over again. I put it on when I'm cleaning, when I'm writing, when I'm lonely, when I'm blue. It's my comfort show.

6. I can't stand the Shrek movies. There! I said it!!! Many of you will probably stop reading now as you will be too shocked to continue, but there you have it...they make me want to tear my eyes out and shove them (my eyes) in my ears.

7. I have a fantastic relationship with my parents AND my in laws. I'm very lucky.

8. Wine makes me a better mother. When I'm at someone's house, there's nothing like a glass of wine (or 3) to help stop the micro managing instinct I have. Happiness lies in a glass of fermented grape juice.

9. I LOVE to sing. If I had half the confidence in my singing ability that I have in my acting ability, I would willingly sing in public.

10. I've seen NKOTB in concert twice...on purpose...in the same year. Ottawa, March 1990 and Ottawa, Aug 1990. I have no desire to see them now that they've made a come back. Perhaps if they'd come back with something new...but sadly...they didn't.

11. I am always shocked by cleavage. Truly. You see it all the time in magazines and in movies! Celebrities just FALLING out of their cloths for the masses! Or showing up at awards shows with their fathers in tow and FALLING out of their dresses!! But when I see it in real life, perhaps at my job or in a restaurant or the lady washing my hair at the hair dressers, I'm shocked! I get embarrassed! I end staring intently into their eyes to the point of eye strain and tears lest my glance go southward! However....

12. At the same time I am a little bit jealous of woman are comfortable enough with themselves to show cleavage. It's just not something I can ever see myself doing without being totally self conscious.

13. My favourite band is an the Australian band Icehouse. They are extremely diverse. Their lead singer Iva Davies is an incredibly talented musician.

14. My favourite album currently is KD Langs "Hymns of the 49th Parallel". I listen to it over and over and never tire of it.

15. I was a bully for a short period in grade 4 to a girl named Kaelen Nelson. I am profoundly sorry for the way I treated her and wish I could apologize to her.

16. I used the "It's not you, it's me" line twice in my lifetime, but I wasn't using it as a line. I really, really meant it. However, I never fully explained why I was saying it to the 2 people I said it to as I was too embarrassed and ashamed. Rich Holt and Matt Levinson, I am truly sorry.

17. I am horribly arachnophobic and am scared of spiders almost as much as I am of dying.

18. I use to be extremely shy and acting was a way to put that aside for a while. I'm still shy now, but usually only in group situations. Put me in a group of people I only sort of know or don't know at all and most likely my ability for conversation ceases to exist. I'm a dry well. I sit there wracking my brain for something to say while I grind my teeth. I probably come across as very snooty, but really, I do want to talk! I've just gone blank.

19. I coloured my hair various shades of red and auburn for 14 years. When I stopped almost 2 years ago, no one noticed.

20. I'm a sucker for cover albums. You haven't heard anything until you've heard The Wiggles version of AC/DC's "It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll".

21. I usually go to bed feeling guilty about something I've said to my daughter.

22. If it wouldn't eventually kill me, I would SLATHER butter on almost everything I ate. That's right, SLATHER.

23. I really don't like Vegetables. I never get a craving for a big bowl of anything leafy and I only eat them because if I DON'T, that will eventually kill me. To me veg tastes like metal. Yum.

24. I am often moved to tears by music. It could be because of the chord it's in, or the instrument that's being used, or the sound of the singers voice or the lyrics...all of these or any one of these will bring on the tears.

25. I am often very critical of my appearance, but I can honestly say without vanity or conceit, that I really like the colour of my eyes. Do you know what colour they are?

And there you have it...25 facts about me. Actually, if you go through the list very carefully, I mean study it and become one with it, you will discover a lot more then 25 facts about me. Truly amazing I know.

Delight in Cin!

The Shape of Things

2009-01-27T12:40:00.008-04:00

Howdy folks...I'm on a Rule Roll...another entry straight away pour vous. I have a couple more Sorcha tales that are sure to amuse, but ones that I thought should be separate from the last tale.

In case you've spent a fair bit of time in a dark dwelling such as a cave or have spent a year or 2 under a rock, you know that Barack Obama is now the president of the USA. Last week on inauguration day, Sorcha came home from school and told my hubby and I that they watched part of the inauguration ceremony at school. I found that fascinating because as far as I know back in October when Stephen Harper became Prime Minister...again...they didn't watch diddly about it at school. The following is a conversation I had with Sorcha.

"Really?" I asked, "You watched part of the swearing in ceremony at school?"
"Yip"
"So, you know what the president looks like? You could pick him out of a line up?"
"Yes"
"Does he seem like a nice guy?"
"Yes"
Pause
"Do you know what Stephen Harper looks like?"
"No"

This seems sad except that, and I won't Harp (Ha!) on this too much, he's not very memorable...for some. I however, can't wipe his plastic hair and smile from my mind...But let me add, that if you asked Sorcha who the Canadian Prime Minister was, she would tell you Stephen Harper. She knows a lot more about Prime Ministers then I do as she has a place mat with all of them up to and including Paul Martin on it. She even, when quizzed by me just for kicks, correctly answered, who the only Prime Minister with a mustache was. Do you know? In case you're not walking around with a $100 in your pocket, it's Sir Robert Borden. Tell your friends! They're sure to be impressed! Now, some others did have facial hair, but he was the only one to sport JUST a mustache.

OK, next on our list of tales...

For Christmas my mother gave Sorcha a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse DVD. It turns out it's for wee kids, (and similar in context to Dora the Explorer where the main character doesn't seem to know much about his or her environment so is constantly looking at the screen and asking the kids watching to point out "Where Boots is" for example even though he is CLEARLY right beside her...) but she still enjoys it for the most part. However, Sorcha being quite literal in her thinking gets very indignant at times about certain things she watches when she just can't wrap her head around why they are the way they are. One day she says "You know the Mickey Mouse in Micky Mouse Clubhouse? Well...I don't understand because he has his license, he owns a car, but...he doesn't know his shapes!" She understands that the show is a learning show for little ones, but she figures that if he's going to teach kids WHILE driving, he should not pretend he doesn't know his shapes as it's very silly and misrepresents what a person (or mouse) should know BEFORE they get behind the wheel of a car. I happen to agree with her. Why do characters have about as smart as a box of hair so that kids feel like they are learning? But that I think, should be another blog entry altogether.

So long for now,

I'll leave you to get your Cin on.

PS: I'd like to pass on a lovely Hello to good friend Jason Gemmill. I learned the immortal phrase "Smart as a box of hair" from him.

Tell Me What's the Circumstance of Circumcision?

2009-01-27T11:28:00.010-04:00

Hello Blog Fans

The title of the this entry is no great creation of mine, but of the Bare Naked Ladies. It's a clever line a song called "I know" from their third album "Born on a Pirate Ship".

A couple of weeks ago, Sorcha took a book, a kids book, out of the library about Egypt. One quiet afternoon while intently reading about the pyramids, the desert and the Nile, she stopped suddenly and with a look of sheer incredulity on her face she asks "Mummy? What are they doing?" I take the book from her to see this (see picture below)....

"Huh...well...that's an interesting thing to put in a kids book..." I said...slightly bemused..

"What are they doing?"

I thought for a few seconds about the best way to handle this delicate circumstance and thought that in this case honesty probably was the best policy.

"Well...I could tell you. Do you want me to tell you? It's a bit icky..."

"OH I don't want to know about icky stuff!!"

"Well, Sorcha, you're going to have to learn about icky stuff eventually. Do you want me to tell you?"

"...OK..."

So, without a full transcription of our conversation, let me just say that, based on the basics of the male anatomy that she knows, I told her as delicately, but as truthfully, as I could with out being too "icky".

"Oh...OK..." she says...looking pretty confused as she tried to digest this new and probably disturbing information about the society in which she was being raised.

"But why are they holding his arms back?" (see picture)

"Oh...well...back then, they didn't have anything to freeze that area with so that they wouldn't feel any pain so it probably hurt quite a bit and my guess is that he didn't WANT to get this done."

And there you have it. I suppose I could have denied knowing what they were doing or said she wasn't ready to know, but I think that would have been a bad thing. She's only 7 yes, but I was too when I started to ask questions about all the "icky stuff". And my answers will be calculated in a way, based on her age at the time she asks, but I will be honest because that's how I roll. She's growing up and unlike the crocodiles in Egypt, I won't live in De Nile.

Until next time,
Cin with the best.

The Long Hot Shower

2009-01-02T12:54:00.006-04:00

I have a confession to make...

I am guilty of the long, hot shower.

It is a beacon of watery escape.
A security blanket disguised as a waterfall.
As I surrender to its warmth
I feel safe and protected
It's rhythmic hum blocks out other noises beyond the frogs
and leaves me at peace with my own thoughts.

I then however, become victim of the long, hot shower.

For the seclusion of the tub with it's vinyl curtain,
the sound of the steady fall of therapy will not block out,
will not let me forget all the thoughts that make me weary.
I am glued to my hot spot as I sort through a mind full of
longing, guilt, cynicism and wrath.
But in there I feel no pain.

For them, I become crusader of the long hot shower.

When I step out of my steamy haven
and face the realities of my happy world,
I feel better, I feel comforted and relaxed.
The shower washes away the dark thoughts,
and it cleans my mind with a scented hope
that I can make it through to the next...

long hot shower.

Here's hoping your New Year is full of,
Cin

A picture says a 1000 words....about your insecurities...

2008-12-26T21:31:00.003-04:00

Hey Blog Fans

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas. We sure did. It was just the 3 of us this year, which was new. Sean and I have never had a Christmas in our 11 years of marriage, let alone since Sorcha was born, that wasn't with people other then ourselves. Every year we've gone somewhere or had people come to us which has always been lovely, don't get me wrong, and perhaps, it's selfish to have enjoyed it being just the 3 of us, but that's the way it went this year. We ate lots, and got spoiled by various family member. In the middle of opening presents Sorcha said "I'm getting spoiled here!" We are very thankful and look forward to Christmas with family next year, but probably will do this kind of Christmas every few years.

But that's not why I'm writing this particular blog entry. I'm writing for another reason. There's a picture of me posted on facebook right now that disturbs me. I'm not upset it's there. The girl who posted it posted it because her Uncle is in the picture and I just happen to be in it as well. I'm not tagged and she probably doesn't know my name. What disturbs me is how I'm sitting, my posture. It's summer and I'm wearing a fairly tight fitting tank top and shorts. I'm smiling, but my body language says that I'm not truly happy. My legs are crossed tightly, one of my hands in across my chest and clutching my neck and the other arm in draped across my stomach. I look as though I'm trying to cover myself up, to hide all the flaws about myself that I feel are there. I look as though I would turn myself into a little ball if I had that strange ability. However, I know why I'm sitting that way. I don't like my legs, so I cross them to hide them as best I can. My hand is below my neck to hide part of my upper chest because I feel that my shirt is too low. And my arm is draped across my stomach to cover any roll that may or may not be there because I've never achieved a perfectly flat stomach. (which really isn't a goal for me, but I'm still self concious about it which I know is pure silliness,but there you go.) I am not happy with body and this picture tells that story louder then I usually proclaim to anyone. Why am I a writing about this? I guess because I'm tired of feeling this way and this picture is a wake up call. (sorry for going all Dr. Phil on you). I'm not hideous, I have nothing to hide and people are too busy with their own insecurities to be worrying about my legs. And if they are worried about them...well, that's their business. I just hope they don't tell me. :)

But let's end this post on a silly note. Last night during Christmas dinner while drinking a lovely glass of wine I was proposing a few toasts when an extremely bizarre thought popped into my mind. I will share it with you to ponder...When toast sits around with friends and family and shares in a bottle of wine, do they propose a person?

Food for thought is it not?

Until next time, continued Happy Holidays!
Eat, drink,
and Cin

There's a Moose in my Jeans!

2008-12-11T11:23:00.005-04:00

It's been a while my dear followers, but fear not, I am back with a posting that is sure to please... or confuse. Either way, it's a new post.

Last week Sean was getting dressed (as he often does, which is a good thing) and said (not for the first time) that he found it amazing how many people wear jeans. As in, you look around when you're out and about and most people are wearing jeans. Some are wearing cheap jeans, some are wearing expensive jeans, some are wearing jeans that look cheap and ruined, but were very expensive...but still, they are wearing jeans. I muttered "yes dear...", or whatever an appropriate response was at time and moved on mentally to another thought. Sean however,
was not done with the jeans topic. He then said " You know, it's funny though, because when my Mom was a kid-" And I cut him off as I knew where he was going next in his jean key. This is how the rest of our conversation went.

"Yes, I know. Only people who worked on the farm or what have you wore jeans...We've talked about this before."

"No...that's not what I was going to say...I was going to say that when my Mom was a kid if you wanted jeans you had to go take them off a moose."

"Really...Moose just walked around in jeans?"

"Yes, and if you wanted jeans, that's how you got them."

"How could you even get jeans off a moose? Wouldn't they run away?"

"Well, they stood around a lot... "

"That would be hard to do wouldn't it, they are pretty big? And the jeans would be huge! You could get a few people in one pair of moose jeans."

And it went down hill from there. Actually we were laughing so hard at the thought of moose in jeans that conversation was rather difficult. Other strains of conversation around Moose Jeans were "Where did the moose get the jeans in the first place?" "What kinds of jeans did the moose wear?" and "Didn't they notice or get upset about people taking their jeans?" I believe the last question was answered thusly. That the key to getting moose out of their jeans was too get them drunk and...no wait, that wasn't it. It was to have one person distract the moose with antics at the front end while another person (or persons more likely...remember, Big Moose, Big Jeans) hauled the jeans off the poor unsuspecting moose at the back end.

I don't know how many of you have obscure conversations that lead to gut wrenching laughter, but I seriously encourage it. You leave trails of happiness and laughter in your wake, or at least in your mind. Conversations like this will make me smile weeks after when I think of them. I'm easily ammused yes, but it's in my genes. (A lot like that moose over there...)

As ever,
Cinfully Silly.

"Hot" is the new "Cute" apparently...

2008-11-03T17:05:00.005-04:00

We moved recently and therefore my daughter had to change schools. I'd have to say she's fitting right in...maybe too well. ON THE FIRST DAY at her new school a little girl in her class came up to her and said "That boy over there likes you and thinks you're hot. " "Hot?" I said. "Hot?" My husband just stood there doing this fast blinking thing he does when he's having trouble grasping what he's just learned and has no words. I then said (again) "Hot? You're not hot! You're 7! What happened to cute? You're cute not hot!" I could go on a long tirade about how this is the word that the youngin's these days here in every form of media blah blah blah to describe anyone attractive, but I'll keep it short. Hot is wrong for young kids...it's not an innocent word...it's...there are so many more feelings attached to "HOT" then a simple school kid crush...feelings that 7 year olds really shouldn't know about yet. I know kids don't stay young and innocent forever, but I'd like to be for a few years past the age of 7.

And it didn't end on the first day. On the second day she had another boy tell her outright he has a crush on her! And then she tells me that all during her first week a boy at her table "Always interupts me when I'm writing by saying 'I love you'". I'm trying not to be disturbed by these diplays of "love" toward my daugther. They are just kids after all and I know my daughter would never let it go beyond giving a shy smile in return. Plus, I'm a big help as every few days I, out of the blue, turn to her and ask "Do we kiss boys in school?" "No Mummy!" (enter dramatic eye roll here). She's cute...I don't care what anyone says.

Until next time,
Don't be good,
Cin

Short... but not always sweet.

2008-10-15T20:37:00.010-03:00

I've got to eat, so this won't be long, but I feel this needs to be said. I strongly believe that WHEN you stock the shelves with "make my PMS symptoms go away RIGHT NOW" pills that they should be stocked in a place that is EXTREMELY obvious. For example right AT THE FRONT DOOR so that women, such as myself, don't have to hunt around the store in the angry PMS induced RAGE that makes them want to throttle anyone who gets in their way with a bottle of "eaud de stinky headache inducer" that IS usually sold near the front of stores!!! Yes, Yes, I found them in the same aisle as all the other "gotta have because we don't really have a say in the matter" items, BUT they were in the middle...little colourful boxes mixed in and surrounded by other little colourful boxes making them HARD TO FIND which makes me cry...REALLY. But if you INSIST on putting them in an aisle with similar "oh this is best time of the month because it makes me SO SO SO HAPPY to be a woman" products surround them with BRIGHT LIGHTS! And WINE! We'd then be sure to find them with soothing, non yelling and throwing ease.

And that's all I have to say about that. Now DON'T BUG ME!!!

No, wait, one more thing...AND a bottle of "love...this won't hurt a bit as we trickle your anxiety away" remedy should be EASY to open!!! One should not have to damage their teeth or get out a hunting knife to pierce the shiny and impossible to get through seal of doom!!! Followed by (to quote the wonderful Dave Barry) "a piece of cotton the size of a small sheep". It's just plain MEAN to not have them easy to get at AFTER they've been hard to find. Actually, what they should do is have a lovely man servant waiting by the cash for you to pay for this "magic in a bottle" who will kindly open them for you with a smile, take 2 out for you (or however many you feel your "delightful mood" will need to disappear) and hand them to you with a glass of chilled sparking water for you to take them immediately and leave the store with a "smile". But don't forget the rest of those pills deary...you'll need them again soon....

Cin-ister thoughts be with you.

Help! I've been bit by the Procrastination Bug!

2008-09-26T14:19:00.006-03:00

As we all have been from time to time eh Blog Fans? Today the bug has bitten because I HAVE TOO MUCH TO DO and my brain hurts and when my brain hurts I get sleepy. My parents arrive tomorrow morning after a years absence from the Miramichi. We are all excited and for their arrival, but, as with any visit, this means a large amount of cleaning. Normally I can tackle cleaning with very little injury to my brain, but today I'm feeling overwhelmed by the thought of many weeks of cleaning and sorting and packing to come. Now don't get me wrong, we are also excited about our upcoming move into our new home. Sean and I will be celebrating our 11th anniversary next week and this will our first home purchase. It's been a long time coming. But but but..the packing...anyway...enough whining, it will get done, tired brain or no. I'm starting to pick away at it today while cleaning out drawers in our bedroom and bathroom for my parents. Well, for their things...I'm not making them sleep in a drawer....And while I was packing up a bedside table drawer I found a piece of my past in a brown envelope right at the bottom; poems from 10 years ago. In order to further my procrastination, I'm going type some of them out pour vous...my lovely BF's.

--------------------------

Devil Box

I am a potato without a couch.
One day I woke to find that my couch was missing.
In its place was a note.
It read "You have used me long enough to waste away your dreams
and your ambitions.
I have gone to live them for you."

So now I sit on the floor of my apartment.
I bask in the soft blue glow of my devil box
and wonder how my couch is doing.

-------------------------------

Treasures

Secrets of the soul
told only to the sea
become oceans of whispers
that wash up on the shore.

The memories of forgotten people
are picked up by strangers
and taken home
to be kept in jars.

--------------------------------

Windows

I see the world reflected in my computer screen
I see myself
The world outside my windows, I don't know.
The world inside my windows, I know everything.
It is large enough.
It is fulfilling enough.
It is enough.
To keep me from knowing the world outside my windows.

--------------------------------

Soul Music

We sit on a log watching the sea,
it's roar deafens us to other sounds.
The soaring of the gulls and the rhythm of the waves are soothing.
The music of the ocean
a beautiful symphony my heart loves to hear.
You say something to me,
but the salty breeze takes it away.
All I see is the movement of your mouth.
I smile because you are smiling and turn my head back to the sea
wishing that you too could be music for my soul.

-----------------------------------

And that's it for now Blog Fan's. Be nice...I was only the tender age of 25 when I jotted these down on company time at the currency exchange I was working at at the time.

And now I MUST GET BACK TO CLEANING!!!

I remain,
As CIN-ical as ever.

A Long Time Coming...

2008-09-19T20:38:00.009-03:00

Hello Blog Fan(s?)

I have so much that I could write about, so much that I could gripe about, so much that I could wax about...but I'm not going to. Why? Because at the moment I'm too lazy to do an actual life update with "witty" anecdotes and "clever" prose. So instead you'll be stuck reading, no treated too, (let's be positive shall we?) a song a wrote during a phase of sweet lowness. After the theatre group I'm a part of finished it's first production, I got a bit moo as I like to say. And really, that was to be expected and is very normal for me. If have a high, I eventually have to low and feel very melancholy for a while which is a real treat for those who live with me let me tell you. I honestly use to feel terribly guilty about my highs and lows and would get angry at myself for feeling down. Now I just ride the wave and know it will pass and sometimes while in a low I'm hit with a bout of creativity and I produce something I love and it lifts me out of the well and into the "normal" state of me. Which is still a bit difficult for those lovely people who live with me. Anyway, enough rambling! I give you....

I Gotta Case of You

Mosquitoes flit before my eyes
Nighttime stars begin to glide
Past the moon beyond my sight
To where the heartaches go

Your image burns inside my mind
My heart will heal but not tonight
I'll be fine when the sun does rise
But now...I gotta case of you

I drink with your memory
Scotch whiskey, rye
But when they are empty
My tears won't be dry

Music drifts along the breeze
Songs of love sway with the trees
And you are dancing here with me
Oh when will my heartache go

Your image slips before my eyes
Will my heart heal? No not tonight
I pray to God when the sun does rise
I won't...have a case of you

I say that I hate you
You treat me so bad
But baby your kisses
They drive me so mad

A gentle wind tries to talk to me
Crickets play their symphony
Do they have any sympathy
For how deep my heartache goes

Your image burns inside my eyes
My heart will heal just give it time
When my Lord will that hot sun rise
Tonight...I gotta case of you

You said you would come back
But baby you're gone
I hope you don't come back
Cause we were too wrong

The river carries night away
Full moon's glow begins to fade
Soon I'll see the break of day
But not where the heartaches go

Your image always in my mind
Morning stars now glide on by
Telling me when that sun does rise
I'll still have a case of you

Oh no...I'll still have a bad case...of you
----------------------------------------------------

Cindy: "Well there you have it...are there any questions?"

Blog Fan: "Um yes Cindy....where did you get the idea for the song?"

Cindy: "Well, BF, I was listening to a KD Lang album called Hymns of the 49th parallel A LOT and KD's remake of the Joni Mitchel song 'A case of you' kept getting stuck in my head. One day while in the 'dough making zone', and feeling blue, my mind got to wandering and wondering and I thought it would be interesting if one had a 'case' of someone, like they had a sickness and Bob's your uncle, a song was born."

Blog Fan: "Wow that's super keen. Do you have a tune to go with this here song of yours?"

Cindy: "Why yes BF I actually do. It's in the key of E flat minor if you're wondering. And I am featured playing the song on the piano and singing it on 'Sorcha Video 5 for Gramma and Grandad'."

Blog Fan: "Neato! Where can I pick up a copy of that?"

Cindy: "Oh I don't know little BF, it's pretty hard to find..."

Blog Fan: "Awwww....shucks....but but but would you ever sing it in public? You know for kicks?"

Cindy: "Perhaps...one day BF, with a little coaxing, some positive reinforcement and A LOT of wine."

Until next time Blog fans I remain yours,

Cinfully Delicious Blogger

A Tigger Tale

2008-03-25T15:58:00.002-03:00

Hello one and...well...maybe more then one...

It is been a fair while since I last wrote...I have no excuse other then laziness is sometimes a close, personal friend. Well, it's spring, well, it is in some parts of the world...time to shed the winter coat of "moo-ness" and get on with the blogging!

This entry will be a tale of Tigger. One evening back in January while I was making dinner, Sorcha stormed out of her room to announce that Tigger had been very bad and was on a "time out!". "Why?" I asked. "What did Tigger do?" With her hands on her hips and a look on her face that she could only have learned from me she said "He fell out of bed...on purpose! 4 times Mummy!" "Oh..." I said. "Yes, so I had to put him on a time out, for an hour!" So I went to her room and there he was, sitting on her little purple Ikea stool in a corner feeling looking very slouchy and sorry. I said that an hour was pretty long and Sorcha that it had to be this way because it was craft and drama time for all her other dolls and he was missing out, and this was his punishment. I felt it was harsh, but she disagreed and said that he would be on his time out everyday from 3pm-4pm for 2 weeks, just to make sure he learned. "OK..." I said. "If you're sure this is what he needs." I myself have never put Sorcha on a time out longer then 6 minutes so I wasn't sure where she got this long term time out from. But she was, in her own words "Very angry at him" and felt this was a fair punishment.

So poor Tigger sat on his stool until Sorcha rushed into her room at 4pm and put him back in bed with a stern talking too. The next day I wondered if she would remember her promise of a 2 week time out phase and sure enough, at 3pm, Tigger was back on the stool looking very sorry for himself. The next day, Sorcha wasn't coming home from school right way, but going to her friend Kale's house on the bus. I asked her about Tigger.

"What about Tigger and his time out?"

"Well...maybe you could put him on before you come over to Kale's after work."

"I'm not coming home after work."

"Oh...well, maybe I'll put him on his time out now."

"An all day time out? Seems kind of mean..."

"Oh well...maybe he won't get one today then, but he'll get on tomorrow."

Poor Tigger...but fear not, this tragic tale has a happy ending. I guess he was grateful for the day off from slouching in the corner of Sorcha's room for an hour when he would rather be sleeping in bed (it's so hard on his back you know) and so on the 3rd afternoon after Tigger had committed the horrid sin of "falling out of bed on purpose...4 times" Sorcha announced that his punishment was over because he had apologized. What a tiger that Tigger.

A matter of Facial Importance

2008-01-23T10:35:00.000-04:00

Sean comments on his facial hair a lot....I mean a lot! He strokes it often and asks my opinion about shaving and what not and threatens more often then I like that he may grow a mustache...gah... I try to be supportive..."Yes dear, it's very nice...perhaps a goatee...trim if you'd like...yadda yadda yadda..." And he then says something like "You don't care about my facial hair. You don't think about it as much as I do."

Well, for his birthday, I decided to make him feel like I care about his facial hair almost on the same intellectual level that he does and wrote him an Ode. I give you...

Ode To Sean's Beard!

Through darkness I traveled.
In search of light, in search of...understanding.
Behold! On the horizon!
Was it salvation I saw?
The darkness parted, like Moses parted the sea.
The gleaming light came slowly at first, but then came
brilliant and quick!
As if on the heels of Mercury himself!
It's brightness was almost unbearable to mine eyes, eyes that had lived
in obscurity for too long.

T'was it the sun you say? Yes and yet...Nay you fool!
It was HE! SEAN! The Sean of this...SEAN'S BEARD!
Bathed in the glow of his golden whiskers he stood smiling at the Sun
for the Sun shines to give light to his marvelous chin.
If it were not for this wonder, this... SEAN'S BEARD, the Sun would perish.
She would turn her face away from the world for if there is not this, this... SEAN'S BEARD
to shine up...what is her purpose?

With one hand on his hip, with his robes flying in the mighty breeze that surrounded him,
he stroked his prize this... SEAN'S BEARD, slowly, lovingly
as if to reassure face that it was well in derservance of this dazzling display of facial awe
this...SEAN'S BEARD.

Can this man, dare we say this God, can he think of nothing else except that
which grazes his face, this...SEAN'S BEARD?
Nay, for how can he?
These thoughts are for him like breathing.
It is something he must do.
With every though, he is wrapped in the manliness that is his,
this...SEAN'S BEARD.
And do not think that it is conceit for you too would do the same
if you too were in possession of a treasure such as this,
this...SEAN'S BEARD!

I felt as if I should turn away...as if I was not worthy of such an experience as witnessing
this...this...SEAN'S BEARD.
But I could not!
To have done so would have been to rob my eyes of that which gave it sight,
to become blind!
For no other sight is worth beholding after gazing upon the mightiness that is this,
this...SEAN'S BEARD!

He turned to me and smiled; his glowing face a compliment to his confident grin and said
"I think I'll shave..."
And I, as if struck down by the Hammer of Thor, fell down at his feet and cried,
"NO! For the love of all that is holy! For the hope of all beings who desire to possess a
radiance such as yours, do not peirce my soul! Do not deprive the world of your
glorious golden bounty!
This...SEAN'S BEARD!

He laughed, his head back to the sky. "Oh you obedient servant to my facial prowess,
fear not!
I only mean to give it a trim, to keep the perfection that is,
that always will be
that the world will forever behold
this....
SEAN'S BEARD!"

Now never again can Sean say I don't care about his facial hair. Perhaps I care about it...too much.

'til we meet again,

Cinfully Silly

2008 is off to a good start...

2008-01-17T10:01:00.001-04:00

Hello All

It has been a while, but life gets busy and my blog doesn't take priority I'm afraid...But I am back. The East Coast Rules have so far had a pretty good start to 2008. On January 7th, I won a photo contest. :) I entered the above picture into a photo contest at Shoppers Drug Mart in December (I didn't even know they had monthly photo contests. A lady who works there suggested I enter one of my photos when I was getting some of them printed off...) and was called on January 7th to be informed that I had won. I was thrilled to be honest! I hardly ever win anything! I won a copy of my photo, a $10 gift card and they are displaying it in the store for a month. I intend, eventually, to make a go of combining my photos with my hand made paper and try to sell them in gift shops or what not....

But the main event in my life at the mo is the start of the Miramichi, yet to be officially named, community Theatre group!! Oh, glorious, glorious stage...to be on you again makes my heart sing. We had our first meeting on the 15th and it was quite productive. First order of business; finding the right script!! We are hoping to have our first show up in late spring. I am giddy and a bit nauseous ( in a good way). I have been hoping this would happen here since we arrived here, and even considered trying to form a group myself, but had not the courage or resources so...I will keep all you posted on our script of choice as I'm sure the edge of your seats is where you will all be at until then!

All else is well in world of Rule. Sorcha received a camera from Santa and has taken a fair number of photos. I will ask her if she would like to post some soon.

Until next time...

Cinfully yours.

Literally more awesomer then a Panda..

2007-12-17T11:25:00.000-04:00

Hello to all my adoring fans...it's been a while...where to begin? I hope Christmas spirit is well and good in your nature and that you are on your way to a lovely Christmas Day.

Sorcha has made some comments and queries of interest as of late and I feel they deserve to be typed into blog land.

Every day at school, her class checks out the days weather on their smart board. ( a type of interactive white board that can be connected to the Internet.) Sorcha has noticed that the weather outside does not always match up or reflect the weather conditions on the weather network website. However, she does not believe this is the fault of the weather network folk. No she strongly believes this due to the fact that ( and I quote) "The weather has no appreciation for the weather network." So apparently the meteorologists are never wrong...it's the weather and it's shenanigans...

A few weeks ago I was heading out to the gym. Due to illness, it had been about 3 weeks since I had gone. On my way out the door I said "Gah, it's been so long since I've been! I'm going to die!" And Sorcha says "Not literally Mummy..." I don't know about you, but that word wasn't in my vocab when I was 6. I was surprised that she used it in a sentence and more impressed that she used it correctly as I've heard adults use the word horribly wrong! It was very amusing.

The other day while we were all getting ready for work and school and what not, Sorcha, who is a bit obsessed with the cartoon Grinch, says "You know what? There should be a movie called 'Santa kills the Grinch'. " Trying not to laugh, Sean and I suggested that perhaps the movie could be called "Santa catches the Grinch and throws him in jail" because Santa would never kill anyone. And Sorcha's responce was "No...the title is too long." I'm inclined to agree with her...

And wrapping up the tales I've been meaning to share with my fans is a new twist on an old classic Christmas song that a couple of Sorcha's friends at school made up. (It should go down in history...)

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Mousie
Had a very shiny toe
And if you ever saw it
He would be more awesomer then a Panda.

And on that note, I bid you all a fine farewell and wish you all the happiest and safest of Christmases...

'til we meet again,
Cin

Much Ado about Jammie Pants

2007-11-21T09:29:00.000-04:00

So the other night, just as Sean and I were about to go to sleep I started thinking about my jammie pants. They are blue, very cosy and have snowmen on them. Happy snowmen, frolicking in the snow...imagine that...Anyway, I started thinking about how cozy my pants were and how it was kind of odd that my cosy pants had snowmen on them because when one thinks of cozy they don't usually think of snowmen...So I voiced this deep thought to Sean and he said that perhaps the pants were meant to mean that much like the snowmen, I am comfortable. The snowmen are comfy in the snow and I am comfy in my pants. However, I pointed out that snowmen are cold so really, cozy and cold don't always go together, at least not where jammie pants are concerened. And so Sean said that maybe they mean that if I was out in the snow with the snowmen and in my snowman jammie pants I would comfortable in the snow because of my cozy pants and therefore be content in the snow, like the snowmen. However, I had to then point out that although my pants are warm for jammie pants, they would not be warm enough for outside and romping with the snowmen. It almost came to fisty cuffs (or however that expression goes) and I think we agreed to disagree. I did say though, that if you had snowmen on a pair of snowpants, that you would be much like the snowmen on the pants; comfortable in the snow. And this would be a state where cold and cozy could come together.

Chew on that thought people, it's a thinker...

Until next time,

Surrender to Cin

Absolutely Speachless

2007-11-10T19:59:00.000-04:00

It's odd, losing your voice...I've been talking like I'm up to 3 packs a day for 5 days now and there seems to be no end in sight. The only real cure for laryngitis is not talking which is difficult when you have to work and take care of your family. At work I just didn't talk if I didn't absolutely have to. Which, in the case of today where talking may have added fuel to an already negative fire , was probably a good thing. On the home front, my wee girl has a magna doodle which was my communication of choice for the evening. And luckily she can read. However, there were several games of Shirades at the dinner table which proved to be more humourours then informative.

But now, it's just me and my thoughts. My better half has gone to work for the evening and my wee girl is in bed. Not talking makes me sleepy, makes me relax which makes me think that maybe a lot of the time what I'm talking about is not worth saying outloud. If I didn't feel the need to vent all the time and say every little thought that came into my head, at home anyway, perhaps all of us would be a little more relaxed. My wee girl often feeds off my moods and if I'm in a yelly, tense place she is too. But since I wasn't talking tonight, she seemed to feed off my quietness and it was a generally pleasant evening all round. We even managed to get through bath time without ANY screaming despite her getting water all over her face. This is a record for sure!

So without sending myself into a shame spiral in regards to how my crappy moods and endless venting and my often micro managing mothering can sometimes make everyone around me miserable, I think I'll take a lesson from my forced speachless phase and think more before I talk and really examine if what I about to say is absolutely necessary for everyone to hear.

'Til next time,
Cin

Potty Humour

2007-11-07T09:51:00.000-04:00

To quote Wanda from my favourite show Corner Gas, "Why not put it on your blog and have the whole world ignore it. " So I here I go, my second attempt at being a blogger.

Our little one is quite the artisit. At only 6 years old she can draw better then I could at 10. I think she takes after her father. Her father was working on some story boards the other day and she decided to join in the fun. Above is what she drew. Ah... the mind of a 6 year old lives in the bathroom...

'til next time,
Cin