That loser I'm in love with

You need to understand that Husbandly One doesn't actually enjoy having fun.

That's as clearly as I can state it, and I know that my family members just read the preceding sentence and said, "That's right, Husbandly One does NOT enjoy having fun." He enjoys being serious, he enjoys being stoic....but FUN? Sooooo not on his radar.

We are going to a wedding tonight. A Hallowe'en wedding, complete with costumes.

I have been working on the costumes for weeks. My sister, the make-up artist on the other side of the country, sent me a "crash kit" of make-up. (Knowing full well I have ZERO idea what to do with any of this shit....I suspect she is in Vancouver laughing at me.)

But whatever, the point is that all of this has been up to me, my husband Chuckles contributed nothing. I bought his suit and my dress. I went out in the garden to mix a batch of mud to stain said clothing. I packed the cold cream to remove Sister's bizarre make-up later. It's all me, all the time. Chuckles is NO FUN. WHATSOEVER.

He just tore our front closet apart, looking for an old pair of shoes, then went in to the kitchen and mixed a new batch of mud so he could apply it to the shoes. And he had this tiny little smile the whole time. "Well dear, a zombie wouldn't have shiny shoes."

No, dear. No he wouldn't.

And I remember why I love you so much.

Today - then and now

A year ago today, I was somewhere in Spain, walking my pilgrimage, my Camino. Without looking at my journal, I can't tell you where exactly I was, but I can tell you that I had already injured myself by this point. I walked in pain, but by God, I WALKED, up to 30 kms a day. I made myself do things that I knew were impossible, I just convinced myself I could do it.

A year later....no exotic local, no reason to keep a journal. I am sitting in my livingroom, knitting a sock.

I am forty years old. I have been a knitter for almost thirty of those years, and have knit more sweaters than I can even remember. Sweaters, knit on two needles, are easy. But dude, SOCKS? Socks knit on five needles? That shit is HARD.

About six months ago, I decided I wanted to learn to knit socks. My Mum spent 20 minutes trying to teach me how to work with soooo many needles, and then we got distracted and moved on to something else. I came home, tried, and failed.

Five months ago, I decided to learn how to spin my own yarn out of fleece. Turns out I have (so my teacher said) a natural hand for it, my yarn is uniform and (quite frankly) gorgeous. I decided to tackle the socks again, FAIL.

Three months ago, I taught a total "virgin" how to knit in less than an hour. Encouraged by my knitterly genius, I picked up all the scary sock needles again. MAJOR FAIL.

I just didn't get it, I mean I understood in theory what should be happening but I couldn't make my hands, the needles, and the wool do what I wanted, damn it.

I kept trying, and I kept failing. I do not enjoy failing at ANYTHING, by the way, never mind failing at anything as "stupid" as knitting. I mean, come on, there are hundreds of thousands of six year olds all over the planet who can knit socks. But me? Not so much.

Yesterday I got angry. I was pissed off at myself and at the universe over my inability to create something so basic. I decided that, no matter how ugly or uneven or even totally UNWEARABLE the end product might be, TODAY was the day I was going to knit socks, goddamn it.

Twenty four hours later, I have four inches of the most beautiful, perfect sock on my needles. I mean, I want to rub this bad boy all over my lady parts, it's THAT perfect.

Turns out all it took for me to have my break-through was for me to get really angry at it, and decide it wasn't stronger than me.


And if you think this post is really about socks then you're not paying attention.

Seduced

A year ago yesterday, I set off on my Camino. I knew walking that pilgrim trail would change me, and it did. I knew it would show me things about myself I didn't want to face, and it did. I knew it would show me things about myself that I never even dreamed were possible, and it did.

But I did not anticipate how the Camino would get under my skin like a lover, make me crave it in ways I can not even articulate to myself. It is truly like a sickness, this desire that never goes away.

I need to go back. I need to.

And I will.

I don't know when, I don't know how, but I will walk the Camino again.

Mark my words.

Happy birthday, baby

So here you are, 59 years old. Meh, I don't give a shit about the number. Hope you don't, either.

Over the last eight years, you have been told that I am too young for you. And over the last eight years, I have been told that you are too old for me.

The central point in all of that being "over the last eight YEARS". Despite what many people thought would happen, we are not some quick May-December romance that ignites in passion and flames out when reality hits.

We are a couple. We are a family. We are us.

And I love you in ways I could never explain.

Come to bed.

xo

I am the Greatest Mother in the WORLD

Yes. It's me.

I know this is true because I freaked the $%#*@% out on Son Saturday afternoon. I get the fact that he is fourteen, and that he needs to push boundaries, and that it is my job to push back.

So we're in the grocery store. Normally I get the "little" cart because all I'm usally buying is a few items; this particular day I wanted dog food, sushi, and English muffins.

But of course there were no little carts available, so I ended up with this cart the size of my car. With a bad wheel.

Son has never changed his habit of putting one hand on the cart while I'm steering (which I love about him) but this stupid cart was pulling to the side and he wasn't really helping the situation.

Finally I said, "Honey, take your hand off. This thing is massive and hard to control."

His response?

"That's what she said."

I went nine kinds of crazy all over his ass. "How DARE you speak to me like that, I'm your MOTHER, you should be ASHAMED of yourself, you little creep."

Now go over to the next aisle so I can laugh my ass off. Because, dude? That was funny.

Enviro Laundry

I have previously written about my environmentally-neutral home made laundry detergent... which I swear by, but which is NOT appropriate at all times and frankly needs to be used with caution -- it kicks the SHIT out of wool and therefore needs to be used with a gentle and discriminating hand.

But here's something else I know, something that works ALL THE TIME.

Do not use stupid fabric softener!!

I gave up on "Bounce" and other similar products almost five years ago...honestly, because I ran out one day and had a pile of laundry to do. It wasn't a conscious decision to let fabric softeners go, but here's what I have learned over the last five years:

NOTHING BAD HAPPENS.

Yeah, you're going to take your stuff out of the dryer, and it IS all going to stick together. But you're going to peel off one shirt (taking the socks out of the sleeves), shake it out, and hang it up. Repeat.

NOTHING BAD HAPPENS.

The static electricity, through you beating your hands on it and then placing the garment on a hanger, disappears. I SWEAR.

Please please please please please please please please PLEASE stop using fabric softener. Just trust me and see what a quick shake of the garment-in-question will do.

See, THIS is why I hate social networks

So a few years ago, I got on the popular bandwagon and joined this social network thing on-line. Everybody was doing it so I figured why not, this could be fun.

And it was.

For a while.

A year later, I was being bombarded by emails, requests, postings, emails, requests, postings, requests, requests, hurt emails asking why requests were ignored.... it was creepy and invasive and I hated it, so I closed my account. Bye bye forever to Irma, because she is sooooooo out of here.

Two months ago, my mum moved to a whole different continent. She is a member of this social network, and it is there that she posts her amazing photos, so I knew I had to rejoin.

Let me be clear: I did not rejoin to socialize, I rejoined so I could have access to pictures my mother had taken.

When I created my new account,I did not want to be "found". I used a fake name. I used a fake age. I used a fake location. And, as required, I entered my email address.

The same email address I had before, and LUCKY FOR ME, the social network knew that! And helpfully posted my real name, from my original account!! And posted the picture of me that I had used years ago!!AND alerted all of those people from before that I was back!! Isn't that great SERVICE??

So now I am being inundated with unwanted messages from the same people I tried to get away from two years ago, and I have to go in and figure out how to use the super efficient "security" (HA) settings to make it all stop. Either that or I need to cancel my account AGIAN, get myself a brand new email address and then start over.

But with my luck, the helpful people at th social network would recognize my IP address and default to my real name anyway.

THIS SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS.

Where were you?

Whn JFK was shot?
When Apollo 13 landed safely?
When the Iranian hostages were released?
When John Lennon was killed?
When the shuttle exploded?
When the Wall came down?
When Princess Diana died?
When JFK Jr's plane went down?
When the Pope died?

Now, in a list dominated by sad events, add another joyous question.

Where were you when the first Chilean miner came up?

I watched breathless as the first man emerged last night just past midnight. And, less than 24 hours later, I am about to see the thirty third man come out.

GOD IS GOOD. The human spirit is good. Love is good. Being stubborn is good.

And sure, after the thirty third miner emerges, the focus will turn away from the five rescuers still in the mine, but they are also heroes, who have done what no one else has done in history.

Here comes Number 33, Luis.

God is good.

The Camino

In just a few days, it will be one year since I started on my Camino. I took three weeks to walk this holy path, I learned so much about myself and about the world.

I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I haven't unpacked my backpack yet. Yeah yeah, the dirty panties and granola bars were unpacked as soon as I got back, but the first aid kit, the sleeping bag, the rain gear are still in there, waiting for me to start out again.

And I want sooooooo badly to go back.

Like, maybe at the end of June.

Anybody want to come with me???

Modern Families

My step-father, my mother's widower, is getting ready for a Thanksgiving weekend trip to Cape Breton with a new lady.

My step-mother, my father's widow, is currently in Egypt, about to get in to a hot air balloon ride over the Pyramids.

My sister is in film school in Vancouver.

My brother is in a rock band in Toronto.

I have a normal, middle class, suburban, professional life.

How come I feel like the weirdo in this situation??