Wake up in the morning, feeling shy and lonely. . . .

February 16, 2012




Another day where my circle of constant companions has shrunk to one. 

Not being able to manage actually getting up and doing everything that needed to be done to go to work, let alone stand in front of  three classes while trying to keep my lungs withing my body, and not being able to stand the walls of our bedroom for a second longer, I trudged downstairs to the kitchen to nosh on some homemade chicken soup and read second year book reviews of Sudhir Venkatesh's Gang Leader for a Day.

Of course, my little shadow, Jasper, has been with me literally every. single. second of my convalescing. 

Including any and all trips to the bathroom. 

The above is his take on the critical thinking exhibited in the second year book reviews.

Imagine what scathing comments would emerge if he could speak.

Or worse, write????????

Pookie Flu, Pookie Flu, how I'd like to kick you in the ass.

Once you're finished kicking me.

I was sad to read on www.cbc.ca that Wheels from Degrassi Junior High and Degrassi High passed away. 

He's the one wearing the glasses.

5 years ago.

For whatever reason, news of his passing remained silent until now.

He was 35 when he passed away.

I have no trouble admitting that I LOVED all the versions of Degrassi.

Growing up in a small village in rural New Brunswick, Degrassi was my way of connecting with the world outside our little hamlet. 

Issues like teen pregnancy, sex and condoms, teen suicide, abortion, drug use, bullying, dating violence. . .Degrassi was the way I was introduced to many of these issues.

I still remember sitting on my mother's bed, watching as Spike gave birth to her daughter, and wondering how any 14 year old could raise a child.  

On occasion, I wondered what my mother would say if I wore my hair the way Spike did. 

She was the most rebellious character I had encountered. . .at least at that point in my life. 

And how long would it take to get your hair like that??????

Sick or not, tomorrow I have to leave the house.

Before I hurt someone.

Or they hurt me. 

Plus, there are meetings I can't miss.

Faculty Fund applications are due.

Stephen has to be home to supervise the installation of a new downstairs bathroom toilet.

A replacement that was not a part of our fiscal plan until at least the spring.

But some things simply must be addresses asap.

So Em and Mer are off to the airport to collect Grandma.

Pookie is otherwise engaged in a commitment he could not get out of. 

The girls will, I am sure, find unique and creative ways to entertain Grandma until supper time, when we will go out for dinner and drink wine and catch up.

Me holding onto my lungs. 

Still, I am looking forward to her visit.

Just because one marries an idiot, does not mean that one cannot maintain relationships with his family.

All of whom are wonderful, caring people.

When you think about it, I am very blessed.

I remain a part of a wonderful family and I married into a wonderful family.

Not everyone is so lucky.

Title Lyric: Degrassi Junior High Theme Song 

The sharpest weapon she has is her tongue. . . .

February 15, 2012




Thank you Pookie.


Your extended sojourn last week in your Man Cave has resulted, by means I simply cannot trace, my own body being invaded by viruses and germs.


To the point that I have actually had to cancel my once a week, three hour seminar class. 


With the understanding that this does NOT mean I'll be cancelling classes tomorrow.


But right now, my hair hurts.


My joints hurt. 


My throat has become a repository of mucus. 


I feel like Sheldon Cooper. 


Let's just hope I don't act like him. 


Hope being the operative word. 






The day will be one of bed, work, bed, work, eat, drink, bed, work.


A vicious cycle that makes me angry, frustrated, annoyed because it completely annihilates my much needed and carefully choreographed routine that keeps me, and those around me, sane. 


Em always states, most honestly, "Mum, when you're sick everything is screwed up."


Simple, yet elegant and not all that true. 






Wait until they hear that the three of them, alone, will be collecting Grandma from the airport Friday because I have two back-to-back meetings I cannot get out of.


That they, and they alone will be responsible for entertaining G-Ma (as Mer calls her) for the afternoon.


Ah, maturing, becoming adults.


The double edged sword. 






Title Lyric: Double Edged Sword by Horizontal Orange

You can't run away

February 14, 2012




Valentine's Day, Shmalentine's Day.


Anyone who knows anything about Valentine's Day knows it has NOTHING to do with hearts, chocolates, or love.


Just ask Sheldon:

Plans for Grandma Weekend 2012 are shaping up.


15-20 cms of snow predicted for the day she arrives. 


It's always like this.

As soon as someone from away comes to visit us, there is always some sort of weather weirdness. 


Like the Thanksgiving Stephen's parents and Aunt came to share in our bounty and it rained the entire three days there were here.


The sun only making an appearance when they were on their way back to Montreal.


There's a metaphor in there somewhere.






The last time Grandma was here was when she and Mer arrived at 5.00 am.


She went back to Ontario.


Mer did not.


And we all know how that's worked out.






Keith was home all of last week.


Sick.


Miserable.


Burrowed in his man cave as the sickness invaded his frail self, an immune system that couldn't fend of a gnat let alone an airborne infection so severe I was worried his lungs would decide to live on the outside of his body.


I am coughing, scratchy throat, mucusy.


With no man cave thank you very much.


I have a Meredyth waiting to be picking up for dinner.


Lucky me.






Title Lyric: Valentine's Day by Outkast

Peein' in the woods and my home's far away. . . .

February 12, 2012




Stephen is most agreeable about taking the dogs out.


Agreeable and getting himself ready to go are two very different things however.


We made our arrangements for dog walking in the snow yesterday and it seemed as if he understood what we were planning to do.


And then he started the usual Stephen-stuff.


Housework.


Pottering around the house.


Stopping every once in a while for a spot of tea.


So when he was finally ready, coat, hat, mitts, hillbilly boots on, I knew I had to leave asap, because he could change his mind and be undressed at the drop of his hat, his standard, "oh-since-you're-not-ready-I'll-do-this" line and two hours we're still waiting to go anywhere.


I was out of the house, ready to go faster than you could say Stephen Pidwysocky.






The falling snow, the mild temperatures, the plowed roadway, happy puppies gambooling about made for a lovely walk.


However, I was slightly aware, at the point where we exited the car, that there was a pressure in my bladder indicating that I needed to pee.


No problem.


We'll be at the end of the trail and back again lickety split and I'll use the bathroom at home.


Halfway through the walk, it was very apparent to me that this was not going to be the case.


My bladder had no such intentions.


Waiting?


I think not.


Which is how I found myself on a snowy afternoon, squatting just around the corner of the trail, past the gate, with my pants hauled between my legs in a valiant effort to prevent them from getting wet, back cheeks open to the falling snow and curious dogs, Stephen standing guard against intruders into our bizarre tableau, having a pee in the wide open wilderness that is the farm.


And not IN the woods either.


On the trail.


The edge, mind you.


But the trail nonetheless.


Normally, I would have had no problem trekking into the woods, but the snow was very deep and I just didn't want to chance losing my footing and plunging my ample ass in a snow bank.


A frostbitten arse, one that may prevent ever knowing that you're fully on the toilet seat because you can't actually feel it is not on my list of things to experience in the near future.


Most problematic were the dogs.


Frankie in particular.


Who thought this would be a wonderful opportunity to get to know the rest of me.


And of course, my faithful guard, lookout, "watchqueen" finding this predicament more than entertaining.


At which point I reminded him that it wasn't my fault that I couldn't just unzip and aim the way he could.


Yet another example of how women's anatomy is far, far crueler than that of men's.






The walk back the car, some 90 minutes later was not as pleasant.


Snow falling faster.


More dense.


Us unable to even see the tree line signaling the gate at the farm.


Hence my concern that Em was going to be driving home, a week old official driver's licence in her pocket and no winter tires.


Which, when I was actually able to speak with her, cause some "words" between us.


And those "words" angered me enough that I was faced with the decision to eat a half a box of President's Choice Decadent Chocolate chip cookies, or, shovel the driveway.

Shovel the driveway it was. 

And for an hour and a half I was out there moving snow here and there, hither and yon, cleaning a wide space for our now two car family.


All the while contemplating the vicissitudes of raising a newly licensed teenage daughter. 


Let me tell you, by the time I was finished shoveling the driveway, walkway, path to the birdfeeders, path for the garbage dolly and clearing the back deck, I was clear about the vicissitudes of raising a teenage daughter.


And the driveway looked damn good.


And will again.


Because I have to go back out there shortly and shovel some more.


I don't mind.


No one else will do it the way I want it done. 






Grandma is coming for a visit next weekend.


And the Clarke-Pidwysocky-Van Every household is all aflutter.


As is our satellite apartment wherein Mer resides.


The cleaning shall commence this week in a fury not to be contested.


ALL the rooms in the house.

Including Em's room.


Whether she likes it or not.


And in spite of the but-Grandma-doesn't-need-to-see-my-room rationale I anticipate from the mouth of my babe.


You're right.


Grandma doesn't NEED to see your room.


But she will.


Because I will show her.


Hence it WILL be cleaned.


And as for Pookie's under-the-deck activities?


I see them being put on hold.


Just another benefit of the visit from Grandma.






Whitney Houston died yesterday.


I have many fond memories of listening to her music, convinced my pipes were just as good as hers.


Ah, delusions.


Another example of how fleeting time is, and that no one lives forever.


No matter how wonderfully they can sing.






Title Lyric: Wait and Pee by Slipknot