Things I've Learned from the Barn

There is much happening around here these days, but most of it requires Patrick to be home.  So we fill our days until he comes home and then we kick it into high gear!

Actually... I don't.. So much of the construction requirements for me are decisions and ordering supplies.  So I decided to assess what other things needed to be done that I could handle on my own.  I know that soon there will be much for me to do... The painting and cabinet staining is all me.  Meanwhile, I putter in the garden from time to time and keep the meals coming.  So I looked around some more.  The BARN.

It was due for a new coat of paint or stain to keep it around and in good repair.  Paint falls under my jurisdiction.  

The toughest part... choosing the colour of the stain.

After a bit of research I decided on a semi-transparent stain in 'Tugboat' colour.  I also ordered some wood cleaner.

A few sunny days on the forecast; I donned my painting clothes and headed out to start the barn washing.

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Washing pictures

At first I wondered if I was making a difference or just wasting my time with all the spraying and scrubbing, but as it dried I could definitely see a difference.  So I spent the entire day scrubbing the barn.  I used muscles that have been on a lifelong vacation.  I was drenched and worn out, had sunburned the back of my calves and my neck, but it sure felt good to have that accomplished and now I knew that next up was painting.  I was giddy with excitement to start painting.

I waited the required 24 hours for the wood to be fully dry and then headed out early one morning; again garbed in my designated painting suit.

I was talked into using a paint sprayer.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE???

It was amazing!

Within an hour, I had painted one entire side of the barn.  Paint Spraying is my favourite way to paint.  Painting is already so satisfying to me but this reached an all time high level of satisfaction beyond any paint project I've ever attempted.  I was grinning ear to ear as I methodically stepped left, squatted and slowly rose to a standing position all while keeping my arm straight and even with the wall, my finger gently pressing the trigger, then without missing a beat; step left and slowly lower back into a squat with the steady hand on the sprayer, evenly releasing a stream of perfect paint... Then repeat.. .and repeat... and repeat.  Beautiful.  The rhythm was easy and I could paint about ten feet of wall before needing to fill my reservoir again.  Even having to climb the ladder for the high sections was done evenly and I was making short work of a large barn wall!

During the previous 24 hours that the wood was drying, I had attended a meeting on zoom.  Someone shared a motivational analogy about marathon running.  It had been interesting.  As I painted, I began to think about the marathon analogy.

A marathon, is a large endeavor that people train for and prepare for.  Even with the desire to complete a marathon however, not all entrants complete the race.  The point of this particular analogy was about those who don't complete the race.  There are a lot of reasons why someone who trains and desires to finish a marathon cannot.  But the interesting part was when did the majority of those who don't complete the race stop.  It is pretty rare for a runner to stop within the first mile or two.  They're just getting started, they've been training and know to pace themselves.  They still have energy and feel empowered. 

It is also unusual for a racer to quit with only a mile or so left.  The finish is in sight (metaphorically if not physically), victory and accomplishment are sending a last bit of adrenaline to see them through the final sprint.  Once this far, there is no talking a racer into stopping now!  Goals are about to be met.

So when do those who don't finish give up? 

It is said that they give up around the 20 mile mark.  They've given a lot.  Their training has paid off in getting them this far.  It's still a huge accomplishment.  However, there are still 6 miles left.  Six miles.  That's a good size race all by itself for some people.  They are tired and mentally it's a challenge not to think that six miles is a long ways still to go.  This is the tough endurance part that makes or breaks the racer.  Dig deep and find something to spur you on or be pleased with all you've accomplished and stop at the 20 mile mark.

So I was thinking about this as I painted.  The first side was completed in about an hour.  The barn has four sides... Totally doable.  The weather was ideal, the wind was non-existent, the paint sprayer and I were simpatico.  I rounded the corner and began the next side.  Although the front of the barn had higher peaks and I needed the ladder more, it wasn't as wide and within about an hour, the second side of the barn was painted.  This was mind blowing!  

As I rounded the third side, I had to slow for some detail stuff around the door, but even that wasn't complex.  I was now moving right along.  Jim in the Tin house played some painting tunes to keep me focused.  'The girl from Ipanema', some Beattles, some jazz.. It wasn't fast paced, it was consistent... just like my painting rhythm.  I had opened my second bucket of 5 gallons of stain and kept on tackling the project.   At the end of the third wall it had taken a little longer than the others.. This side was taller than the first so I had spent more time up and down on the ladder and there were external trusses to paint as well.  It was noon.  I took a lunch and potty break.  

After lunch I noticed a few achy muscles from my four hour squatting session and the muscle in my forearm was letting me know that my trigger finger was tired.  I was soo close!  I wanted to be finished.  I also began to think.. it would be doable to finish within an hour or so and since it had been 4 hours since I started the first side, I could just start the second coat and the barn painting would be completed in just one day!  (Paint sprayer for the win!!)  So armed with my fabulous, time saving sprayer, I set up the ladder and paint for the last and final side of the barn.  

Before I began I had another realization.  Some sage advice from a book the boys had been listening to before bed that week.  'If you have to eat a frog, best to do it in the morning.  If you have to eat two frogs... eat the big one first.'

If the barn was my frog, I had done well and began in the morning.  It was now 1:30 in the afternoon.  The temp was in the high 70's.  I had already painted 3 sides of the barn, so I was no longer in the morning of my energy level.  But I was clinging to my marathon analogy.. Can't quit now with only six miles left.  

Up the ladder, down the ladder,  squatting and reaching, refilling the reservoir, and since I was in the corral.. shoo the geese and chickens away from the paint bucket from time to time.  

One third of the back wall of the barn and I was sweating.  I didn't wish to wear shorts and a t-shirt because I'd been sunburned earlier in the week from watering in the garden and bike rides and all the barn washing.  My sunglasses were specked with paint mist and my hair had a crunchy paint film.  No sense cleaning up now with so little left to go.  But I was starting to drag.  This end was the tallest wall.  With the ladder completely extended, I still had to stand on the top rung in a precarious position.  The ground was not level and the ladder was teetery.  The hose for the sprayer was getting caught on the ladder rungs and I often had to climb up and down the ladder extra times to loosen the hose.  Even standing on the top rung and reaching beyond what was really safe to do, I couldn't reach the top peak of the wall.  The wind was picking up and the paint was blowing back into my face.  

Half way, I sat in the shade of the chicken coop for a few minutes to cool down amongst the dust and the chickens.  I didn't sit long.  So close... so close.  I had convinced myself not to do the second coat today though.  Just finish the fourth wall. I mounted the ladder again.  I began the steady, rhythmic strokes.  My arm was aching trying to hold the sprayer, that hadn't seemed heavy all morning, up and away from my body stretched as far as I could get it.  As I pondered my position, precariously perched on the top rung of a teetery ladder stretching beyond safety.. exhausted and hot, I thought of the two frogs. 

 'eat the big one first.'  

This fourth wall was my big frog.  Had I tackled it first in the morning, the barn painting may have had a different feeling.  I used every inch of stamina I had and finished the fourth barn wall.  I painted a little thicker than the other walls because I knew then I may never return to the big frog wall of the barn.  

Completed! The barn had a full first coat of paint.  I didn't even care how it looked, I just picked up my now empty second 5 gallon bucket, my paint sprayer and walked to the house.  I threw away the empty bucket and began washing the paint sprayer.  I was filthy, exhausted, and I my muscles were lecturing me on the merits of training.. or easing into using them.  The temperature had reached over 80 degrees and the wind was picking up.  BUT!!!  I had completed the first coat on the entire barn in one day.  Paint sprayers are the BEST!!

Somehow, the act of washing the sprayer gave me renewed excitement.  It took all of five minutes to clean up!  Rollers and brushes take me longer than that!  I was back in full throttle love for the paint sprayer.  I was eyeing the house... I will be painting it soon... once Patrick finishes building it.  As achy as I was feeling and dirty as I was, I began to eagerly consider the next painting projects... Ignoring the second coat the barn needed, niggling in the back of my mind.

Clean and accomplished, I slept well that night.  

The next morning... my eyes were swollen.. one almost swollen shut.  My nose was watering, and half my face felt numb.  I went back to sleep.  I woke again a few hours later.. aching as I rolled over and itching at my still swollen eyes.  I made an executive decision.  I would NOT paint the second coat today. 

Unsure exactly why my eye was swollen and my face was numb other than perhaps some seasonal allergies which I had been fighting mild symptoms for about a week, and perhaps that I had possibly overdone it the day before, I opted to take it easy and recuperate for a day or two.  

Then the weather didn't cooperate.  A week later I headed out once again.  Still in love with my sprayer.  My eye and face healed, my muscles bracing themselves for another round of torture.

In three and a half hours, I had painted the barn's second coat. 

Three sides of it at least.  I ran out of paint.  Probably two weeks until I can get some more.

The second coat on the back wall will happen as its own project another time.  It's better that way.

BEFORE

AFTER

(The bottom left side is the same colour as the others... just unusual lighting.)

For James Douglas Nelson

I've been crocheting book marks and teddy bears and scrunchies and scrubbies and other small projects.

I began a large 'ish' project a few weeks ago.  It seemed simple enough. Just a bunch of squares really.

A baby blanket made with 14 squares done in 2 different colours and a few other squares down with both colours.  Then just stitch it all together.  What could be simpler. 

Weeks!

Of hours per day.

And then the long anticipated baby came early!

I stayed up late.  I neglected other things.

I finished the blanket and the little velvet bear.

I would do a lot differently if I ever made another.  First... 

I would give myself more time!

Then, I would use a different yarn.  Maybe bamboo?  This was soft baby yarn but it kept splitting as I crocheted.. so tough to work with.

I would choose less complicated stitches... probably not because I loved learning all the stitches, but... It may have been more symmetric with less variety in the stitching.

Lastly,  I would finish early enough that I had time to test wash it so I can be certain that all my weaving and knots held fast.  (I'm very nervous that it will unravel.  I will happily repair it, but I'd rather it didn't cause any distress.)

Honesty and Integrity

Honesty isn't the best policy... it is the only policy.

I heard it all my growing up years.

Apparently it didn't sink in.

I was first accused of being a liar by Tree and Memo in Texas.  I don't recall the exact circumstances but they wondered how I expected my children to respect me when I lied to them.  I think it had something to do with bedtime and allowing them to think that I was also going to bed... even though I wasn't.  I think I hung my head in shame and continued to pretend life was grand my way.

More recently I was accused of being a liar again.  This time on a more grand scale.  The accusation went something like,  "You lie so often that you aren't even aware of it anymore.  You believe the lies yourself now.  It wouldn't be so bad if your kids could distinguish when you are 'kidding', but they believe you completely.  How will they ever know the truth... or worse.. ever trust you?"

In my defense....

Oh forget it... I've lied.  I am a liar.  What are the 12 steps?  How do I make restitution for the lies?

I began by admitting that they have occurred. 
I began to make a list of them.  I don't even know if I remember them all.
These are the nine I can remember. 

 

• On the way from Utah to Wyoming, we drive past a factory of sorts.. a power station maybe.  The tall smoke stack is always steaming.  It's situated in literally the middle of nowhere.  Surrounded by thousands of acres of sagebrush.  It's almost always blue skies for miles except the steam clouds forming above the factory/power plant stack.  I've always said this is a cloud making factory.  It's one of Wyoming's best industries.  Scientifically... steam does enter into the water cycle which creates cloud formation so I'd say it's a partial lie backed by science in a roundabout way.

• I'm not a fan of cantaloupe.  It's not one I dislike, I just am not a big fan.  So... we don't often have cantaloupe.  However during a visit to Wyoming, we had cantaloupe at a few meals in a row.  There had been a lot of discussion about Antelope on that trip.  Probably hunting season or something.  Anyway... Whittaker who doesn't always hear all the syllables of words really enjoyed eating the cantaloupe.  He called it Antelope though.  He must have asked if we could get antelope at our house, since he really liked it.  Trying to work on his articulation of words, I spent time saying antelope and Cantaloupe very clearly.  He obliged since he's always had speech corrections but then wondered what are they.  Oh... I replied.. (to my chagrin)... Antelope are an animal, like a deer, that live in Wyoming.  Cantaloupe is the melon that he liked to eat.  .... and then I added.... Cantaloupe are the eggs that antelope lay so that's whey we can have them in Wyoming.  

• I blatantly made up a lie when Miles innocently asked about the scar on his head when he was 5 years old.  It came out without any plan.  Instead of telling him he was a miracle and that skilled Dr.'s had performed surgeries to save his life... I told him it was the mark left behind when he had been abducted by aliens.  In my defense, he was pretty excited about the abduction... asked questions which I obliged by embellishing my lie.  The pulsing soft spot was the homing beacon.  Also they could turn him off remotely... that's why he gets tired at the same time every night.  It also explained why he could do big math equations in his head and solve a rubik's cube... those were skills he gained from the aliens.

• Whittaker gave open mouthed slobbery kisses.  After bedtime kisses I would always wipe my cheek after tucking them in.  One night after tucking in Whittaker and Emerson, they kissed me extra sloppily.  I instinctively reached up and rubbed my cheek.  One of them called out... "Don't wipe off the kiss!"... I responded... "Oh I'm not wiping it off, I'm rubbing it in so it will last longer!"  Now they ALWAYS rub it in for me when they kiss me.  Sometimes they remind me to rub it in so it will last all night!

• Whittaker is shorter than the others.  Whittaker has learning delays.  Whittaker rode a bike later.  Whittaker learned to read later and slower.  In contrast, Emerson who is three years younger can read better, ride a bike years earlier, is a big boy and will any day be taller than Whittaker.  In order to help prepare him for being outgrown by the baby brother and for being a bit behind academically than a younger kid I tried to explain that everyone does things at their own pace.  I also explained that people all grow differently.  I showed a family picture with my siblings.  I showed how tall I am and how three of my younger siblings were taller than me.  Even Caleb and Sarah were taller than me, but I'm still older.  We talked about how we all learn when we are ready.  I thought I'd been pretty clear and that maybe he'd be able to handle the inevitable future of being the shortest sibling and the bigger issue... the delays academically.  I was not prepared for a few days later hearing him explain it to someone else.   "I'm the oldest in the family but I age slower, like my mum.  That's why she's 26."  Oh dear.  

• Which leads me to the, "I'm 26 years old".  I'm not afraid of getting older... I just don't feel older than 26 yet... plus it's my favourite number so why not enjoy that age the longest. 

• For many years as I've shopped at Costco, I've purchased one of the tasty rotisserie chickens.  They're hot and smell so good, so when I get to the car I can rarely resist the tempting smells.  I prefer dark meat so I would eat a drumstick on the way home.  Once home the questioning about the missing leg began... My response, "That's how Costco sells their rotisserie chickens... Sometimes only one leg... and sometimes they don't have any of the tasty, crispy skin either!"  I would like to point out that I rarely shopped alone in the decade of shopping at Costco and managed to eat that drumstick while driving with many children in the vehicle.  

• Recently while in a dollar store, the little boys were fiddling with everything in the store.  When we arrived at the check out there were so many gadgets  on the counter, there was hardly anywhere to put my purchases.  I was tired and the boys were infringing on my personal bubble plus fiddling with stuff again.  They finally reached into a jar of pens with enormous, plastic diamond's on the ends and each were shaking them in case they lit up or made noise.  Trying not to lose my patience, I said, "Don't wave that around... you don't know what kind of power you might be unleashing with that wand"  The check out lady stopped mid scan of my purchases and looked right at me.  "I need to remember that!  Every kid in here picks those up and waves them around."  Instead of feeling pleased that I'd brightened her day or given her a humorous way to deal with obnoxious behaviour... I realized... I just lied... again!

• Most recently, just over a week ago.  Here at home while watching General conference on tv. We had explained that the choir performances were pre-recorded.  That because of Covid19 there wasn't an audience.  Emerson still didn't understand.  After the first few songs, he asked, "How come the ladies keep changing their dresses?"  So we explained pre-recorded from different events again.  We thought he understood this time.  Later he said, "It's too bad no one showed up to hear the people talk.  But lots of people like coming to hear the choir."  Everyone said, "It's pre-recorded!  No one is there because of the virus." Okay.. but then later...  "The guys only have to change their ties, but the ladies change really fast!"  *sigh*  "Yup, ladies are just awesome like that."  I did try! 

I have attempted to come clean on the lies that I have remembered.  Apparently some have been told for so long that even when I tell the truth now, some still don't believe me... I tried.

Hope

A pandemic.  Fueled by instant information age caused overwhelming feelings of panic.  I had wrestled with the decision to keep our appointment in Utah.  I had come to the conclusion that we should go.  In the four hours it took to drive, I had second guessed my decision multiple times.  Questioning what was so important that I would risk the health of my children.  And the pandemic wasn't even a big deal yet.... Just wait a week and everything would be different.  Schools weren't closed yet... business were all still operating... And talk amongst friends wasn't only about the virus. ... yet.

We arrived in Utah and ran our errands and went to our appointments.  In between it all checking the latest updates and discussing the potential future.  We began to do things differently.  I wore rubber gloves to the store and carried clorox wipes to clean the cart.  I shopped alone whenever possible.  I found myself sanitizing my keys, my credit card, my door handle, my steering wheel, my phone, the gas pump handle.  We didn't stop for our usual treats or plan any fun activities into our trip.  I didn't want to cause paranoia in my boys, but I was beginning to cause it in myself.  I tried to stick to my shopping list and not suddenly buy items out of fear that weren't on my list.  I also knew of my limited vehicle capacity. 

I found myself not as eager to hold a door for someone else but rather hope that I could slip in to a store when a door was already open or catch it with my foot.  I became flummoxed when handed change after a transaction, realizing that money wasn't something I wanted to handle.  After over 24 hours of constantly checking reports, running errands to multiple locations since most stores were sold out of things and packing my car as full as possible, we spent the night at Channa's and worried.  Early the next morning we had one last stop to make to buy our perishables... the way I've always shopped when I make our routine trips, but as I drove to the store I felt overwhelmed and nervous to be going to the store again.  I questioned if I really needed the salad and butter and cheese on my list.  Could I make do with what I had on hand at home and just forego the stop.  I was feeling my stomach churn with the panic building. 

Subsequently I took a wrong exit and had to backtrack to find my way to the store.  That only added to my worries.  Especially as I saw the lines outside of the stores.  I was looking around for the road I needed to get back on track and stopped at a red light only to see the road I was on. 

Hope Drive!

All I could do, stopped at that red light was call out.. Thank you.  I needed that sign... literal sign.  That hope is not lost.  I can not give up on hope.  I had wrestled with the decision to run our errand and had felt it was okay.  I needed to carry on, not give up hope, and finish my errands and then take my boys and go home, just as planned. 

So as chaotic as this journey we're on is... with no road map or set itinerary, I remind myself regularly that I'm on Hope Drive and I just need to do my best. 

Willows Elementary School - Nova

Attended Willows from Kindergarten to Grade 5

K- Mrs. Glue

1 - Mrs Fairburn

2 - Mrs Coady

3 - Miss Meikle

4 - almost Mr. Popoff... Mrs. Hockin

5 - Mr. Popoff

Kindergarten - no distinct memories.  Vaguely remember walking down the stairs into the kindergarten room.  The cloak room, the kitchen area and wearing slippers

Grade 1.  Peeing my pants and Mrs. Fairburn discreetly handing me my gym bag and sending me to the restroom to change.  

Grade 2.   I wasn't certain who the teacher was until I looked through the paperwork from the forties file.  I do remember where the classroom was located in the building.  End of the hall,  top of the stairs to the right.  I believe I broke my thumb riding my bike to school that year and didn't have to write a spelling test that week.  I met Trevor Lines in that class... and to my eternal shame... leaned over one day in class and kissed him.  Not the way to introduce yourself!  However of all the children in my class that year... he's the only one I remember by name!

Grade 3 - Miss Meikle.  She was short and older.  I recall she was well traveled.  Often spoke of African and Middle eastern trips she had taken.  No fondness for her or that year.. no dislike either... 

Grade 4.  First day of school sitting in my new classroom.. forty students.. not enough desks... Mr. Popoff looking intimidating.  Agonizing hour not knowing if I would be kept in his class or one of the fortunates asked to go to the new teacher's class.  Hallelujah.  I was selected.  I remember the terror of that hour vividly.. the name of the new teacher... nothing!  I do remember enjoying the new teacher and she reminded me of Julie Andrews.  This was the year of the 'great eclipse!'  Likely a normal eclipse, but I remember having to close all the blinds in our classroom.  DO NOT LOOK AT THE SUN!  being ingrained into us, and the TERRIBLE storm that accompanied the eclipse.  (I assumed storms always accompanied eclipses until recently)... It was 'the great eclipse' also because that TERRIBLE storm, caused a large tree to uproot and fall ... and crush my bicycle.  Not something a timid, small 9 year old girl ever forgets. 

I believe I began crosswalk patrol that year.  Seems crazy now to think of nine year olds being in charge of stopping traffic and other children's safety.

 (The teacher's name was Mrs. Hockin.. thankfully she signed my report cards)

Grade 5.  Back in that same class again.  Mr. Popoff, still looking intimidating.  And no reprieve that year.  A whole year of Mr. Popoff... kicked in garbage cans, broken pencil sharpeners, split meter sticks... and an unusually strict adherence to colouring in one direction with pencil crayons on hundreds of maps!

(I can't help thinking of how old I was.  I cannot picture Whittaker handling such an intimidating teacher with any more grace.  How did children not run home crying daily?)

I remember whole school assemblies.  Being a 'cougar', for school spirit activities.  Going upstairs to the nurses cubby of a room for shots.  Walking to Grandma's for lunch on Wednesdays.
Hot dogs and real milk on special Fridays.

Recess:  Square ball, leap frog, Chinese skipping, playing on the soccer team - briefly- the ball against the wall game... each level added another difficult dimension such as turning around and catching the ball before it bounced or clapping your hands etc..  making hundreds of DAISY CHAINS...

Sub zero Field Trip

Valentines day in Wyoming.

The temperature never made it over 11*f, (or -11*c)

What a great day to drive through the canyon, grateful for an avalanche free drive!

What a great day to wear SIX layers and wrap in big blankets and go for a winter sleigh ride.

What a great day to stay down wind of thousands of wintering elk just minutes outside of Jackson Hole.

I learned a lot!  I, hopefully, won't sound so citified in local conversations.

I found it interesting that Patrick asked a lot of questions... I assumed he already knew all about the wildlife. 

The elk were rather quiet and subdued for our visit.  A few put on a sparring show for us but mostly they were content to relax.  Apparently their mating season ended and now they're recuperating.

Even with six layers and a blanket... my toes were cold and my cheeks.

Patrick only had on two layers.  He warmed my feet when we returned inside the visitors center. 

I suggested a stop for some hot cocoa but was outvoted.  We stopped at Dairy Queen and all the silly boys ordered blizzards!  I had hot chicken strips!

I already failed to sound educated on the way home... I casually said we should do the trip again in the summer when we could enjoy the view without freezing..... 

Our friend kindly said, we could.. but the elk won't be there, since the name of this place in the Elk's WINTER refuge site.  

Against the Current

I've been walking laps at the track four nights a week while Duncan attends his many choral practices.  It's indoors and warm and open until 8pm.  There aren't many other options for me to do in town.  The library isn't open until 8 every night and I can only wander the small grocery store for so long before they'll start expecting to me stock the shelves or sweep.

Anyway.  On Wednesday evenings, everyone is in town and while we wait for the big boys to be finished with activities, we head to the rec center.  Patrick has been taking the boys swimming while I walk my laps.  The track overlooks the pool for a section and I wave.  They have the pool to themselves.  After many weeks, the lifeguard knows them by name and automatically turns on the water slide and water features for them.  The little boys had been asking me to swim with them.  I remembered my swimsuit the next week and off we went.

After a few minutes of playing... I noticed that the lazy river had a sign.

"28 laps = 1 mile"

hmmm.

I mulled a few minutes.  Then I headed to the lazy river.  "I'll just walk the one mile, then I'll be back to play."

After 3 laps, I decided I'd increase the difficulty level and turned around to walk against the current. 

It was decidedly more difficult.  At times I was pushing my entire body into the current and lifting my legs and I wasn't sure if I had even progressed an inch.  Sometimes I know that I actually lost ground and ended up going backwards.  I found myself using my arms to help propel myself into the current.  My breathing was laboured.  When I made it all the way around I was tired.  But, 28 laps = 1 mile.  So I continued. I had set a goal.

At lap 10, I paused to catch my breath.  Patrick and the boys came over.  They offered to join me.  The boys in their inner tubes simply floated away.  Patrick tried walking in front of me to ease the current but instead he found himself falling over and then an even stronger current hit me.

He's taller so more of him was out of the water than in and the resistance against the current was tough to walk against without putting all your body against it.  It wasn't much fun.  Even when he tried to walk on his knees... it really knocked him over then and then I was walking against the current and against a floating Patrick.  I told him thanks, but no thanks.  I kept inching along.

After 20 laps I decided that I was exhausted and it was taking forever and that while 28 laps = 1 mile, walking a mile against the current at one inch at a time was perhaps more workout than I had bargained for.

So as I completed that lap, I turned around.  I began to walk with the current.

OW!!!  OW!, ow, ow ow... ouch!!!

My feet hurt.  Walking with the current was vastly easier and I could go almost two feet with each step.. with each agonizingly painful step.  I paused and lifted my foot.  The entire ball of my foot was a blister and on one foot the blister had already scraped off and had exposed some very tender skin. 

I had not even noticed the pain as I was putting all my energy into walking against the current.  I was just having a great time knowing that I was working hard and exercising.  Now looking back ... it wasn't such a great time... and the workout had come at a high price. 

I'm a glutton for punishment it would seem since once Patrick saw my feet he asked why I was still walking. "I haven't completed 28 laps yet."

"The sign is just information.. you don't have to do 28 laps.  And your feet hurt!"

I tried walking on only my heels and then I fell over... What happened next was amazing.. Okay not amazing at all... should have been obvious but when you get caught up in your own way of thinking, you forget to rely on what is right in front of you sometimes.  It's a lazy river!  When I fell over, I lifted up my feet... and ...

I floated. 

I completed the last 7 laps floating along on my back.  My feet didn't endure any more abuse, I was lifted and carried by the same current that had caused me such difficulties earlier... I used my arms to guide me so that I didn't hit the walls during the curves, but it was almost effortless. 

Moral:
When walking against the current... wear water shoes and know when to float.


What we think is good and will make us happy, often has disastrous consequences... and we often don't realize the hurt we are causing ourselves until we remove ourselves from the situation and can see more clearly.  We also sometimes have to learn things for ourselves even when loved ones around us can see clearly that we are hurting ourselves and even advise us against doing those things that will continue to hurt us.  Remember that there is a path of ease set ahead of us that although we sometimes feel is restricting is actually freeing and can lift and carry us when we are hurt and have nothing less in us to give. 

Project Procrastination

Sometimes when there is much to do, it's important to take a moment to reflect and do something completely unrelated to jump start the creative juices.

Or procrastinate...

This afternoon it took the form of, 'Feed the Birds'.

There were bird houses on about 6 of the fence posts around our house.  I assume this means that birds will show up... maybe... at some point.

Personally I think they'd like some trees...but we're not yet at tree phase.

So, on a jaunt to town, (so on a Wednesday), we stopped at the thrift store looking for something we could use as a birdfeeder. 

We left with a dinged up brass chandelier.

An obvious bird feeder choice!

We also picked up a can of spray paint and a bag of bird seed.

Since we don't return home from our day in town until bedtime, our project needed to wait for the next semi-clear/warm, afternoon.

This is the finished product.

We had to change the hanger from the top to the bottom so that we could fill the lampshades.

We also removed the wiring and bulb receptacle.

Doesn't that look inviting.

We should have birds, flocking to our porch in no time!

We also found this little bird bath/feeder, behind the garage when we were doing some clean up.

It weighs a tonne.

I rolled it across the grass with Emerson.

This is sitting next to the porch within the view of the kitchen windows.

Cue birds...

It's been two weeks.

Not a single bird.

Since we had a can of spray paint...

Sarah gave the boys these cacti when we were in SLC.

They needed repotting.

We painted the cans from our peaches after breakfast.

When finally dry, we repotted the cacti and tied a rope around them for that little finishing touch of xeriscaping, je ne sais pas.

we had one more can...

This is the new coin can in the laundry area.

Reaching an age

I've recently been told (a few times) that I've 'reached an age'.

As such I now wear reading glasses.

Not to be outdone.. Patrick had his eyes assessed..

WHEW!  They're worse than mine!

So we're adjusting.  

It's not as comfortable to lay abed and read.

Taking a photo with glasses has glare issues. 

(not that I'm a selfie taker typically) Or plan to wear the glasses for a lot of photos.)

We think we've angled correctly for no glare selfies... I'm positive we'll not remember the correct angle for future glasses selfies... so feast your eyes... it's likely the last.  

As far as reaching an age goes... I also am told, "You can't possibly be old enough to have a boy entering high school."  

I politely nod and agree... and mutter as I walk away, 'or three already graduated.'

Reinventing the Wheel (barrow that is)

There is just something exhilarating about a homemade go cart style riding machine.  They may have scooters, bikes, skates and rip sticks but making something with tossed out wheels, some rope and an old wheelbarrow created days of entertainment.  

Especially when they talked me into trying it out.

"Laugh and the world laughs with you.  Snore and you sleep alone." ~Anthony Burgess.

I wish I snored.

Since sleep is eluding me ... and turning me black and blue, I need to find something to fill in the time.

"Sleep is good, he said, And books are better."  ~George R. R. Martin

I've been accused of reading too much.  What does that even mean?

Catsup, Ketchup, Catch Up...

I'm behind?
It's self imposed.
Somewhat.

What's holding me back?
Can't quite put my finger on it.

Busy?
Of course, but that's nothing new.

Tired?
Obviously, but it would help if I went to bed.

Writer's Block?
Oddly enough, I don't think it fits this situation.  I have more than enough ideas of what I'd like to write.  I still have old drafts I could finish and want to finish.

Distractions?
Never ending but that's often fodder for more musings.

Lost interest, Disenchanted?
Not exactly...  the combination of busy, tired and distractions has left less enthusiasm for blogospherification efforts...   In fact that may be it ....  or not... like I said... tough to put my finger on it.

Intense introspection?
Likely this is the closest legitimate reason.  I haven't felt like delving into the innermost discoveries of my psyche therefore I've kept outer declarations superficial... which I'm not a fan of so I tend to feel better saying nothing than to say something shallow and meaningless.

Purpose driven?
Oddly enough, the purpose for beginning the blog was never clearly developed.  I just started it.  I enjoyed it.  It became a part of my existence.  I learned that I found joy in writing for fun and capturing memories and journaling experiences.  Lately I've wondered why the blog format though... Who is it for?  Do I really need the types of things that I've posted to be "out there"... What is "out there" anyway?  If I consider the audience, then I evaluate what I might post.  If it were simply a method of documentation for my own progeny, it changes the tone of what I choose to post.  If it is a sounding board for my musings then it is different once again.. Is it just a melting pot of whatevers?

Soooo.... nothing new... nothing determined.... nothing decided... seems to be the pattern.  Meanwhile... nothing is posted or said or documented or saved.  Since it appears that I'm still vacillating on winds of indecision I will write or update for Caleb and Cooper.  They seem to know what they want from it.

Something...

they want something....

in a word..  anything... a connection... an update!

I can do that!... they may regret their requests.

ISLEEP

Free Pancakes at IHOP led to crashing together in ISLEEP

End of the Weak..

A week presented itself  with Patrick and Duncan out of town. 

Grandma and Sarah gone, Miles at a camp, and of course Caleb still on his mission. 

Connolly's were at their home and I was left to enjoy a peaceful week with hardly (just 2) any kidlets.  

I was eagerly anticipating a productive and tranquil week.

Such a rare occurrence.

I should have checked the stars.

They were all out of whack.

First morning; 3 hours in... the vomiting and diarrhea began. 

First Whittaker, then Emerson.

Miles returned from camp.

Within 24 hours Whittaker had found his youthful energy again, but Miles had taken over his sick bed.

Emerson was lingering with low energy and nasty diapers.

After 3 days, the Connolly's returned.

The next morning, I succumbed.  

Four miserable days of crawling from place to place in the house.  Of letting the kids scrounge for sustenance.  Of being COMPLETELY unproductive... in fact... counter productive.  Now the house was a shambles and it may have stunk... a little.

Derek joined the illness.

Miles recovered.

Emerson regained a little too much energy.

I languished.

By Friday we were all feeling.... okay.

Not top of the morning.. but okay.

So... since it was a holiday and the Connolly's were gone again, I had promised Whittaker an evening of fireworks.

Miles cheerfully offered to stay home... in bed... so that Emerson could go to bed on time.

So at 10pm, Whittaker and I ventured out to find a place to watch the fireworks.  The perfect locale was happened upon.  An empty field.  We spread our blanket and began to watch the skies all around us as they exploded with colour.

I captured the colour and grandeur SOO much better in my mind.

Just take my word for it.  There were fireworks going off in every direction and we were alone.  Whittaker could dance and squeal with every explosion and turn and look and run about with abandon.

Until about 7 minutes after 10pm.

Miles texted.

"I'm throwing up again."

"Don't come home early for me though."

I seriously considered running away and never returning.

A fleeting thought.

Another 7 minutes passed.

Three more texts from Miles regarding further runs to the restroom.

Then...

Whittaker, "I need to go to the bathroom and these are getting boring now."

I shook my head, rolled my eyes, took a deep breath, gathered up the blanket and we returned home.

Miles spent the next 3 days in bed.

I did endless laundry, dishes and general cleaning scouring to be rid of any lingering flu germs.

The end of the weak week.

Patrick and Duncan returned.

The Connolly's returned.

Good health, vigor and energy returned.

Productivity was forever lost.

Wardrobe Malfunctions...

Do men ever have wardrobe malfunctions?  I mean beyond the occasional, 'your fly is down'.

The other night as I was working the concession window at the scouting fundraising, a woman came to the window to order and I noticed that two of her buttons on her shirt were undone.  I took her order and as she handed me her money I leaned forward and took her hand so I was sure I had her attention and whispered, "your shirt isn't buttoned."  She was SOO grateful.

I have walked into a building behind a woman whose skirt was tucked up inside her stockings.  I hurriedly caught up to her and told her.  She fixed her skirt and then whacked her husband who was walking along beside her in obvious la la land for not being more observant when he had held the door for both her and I!

I've had a skirt caught in the car door.

I've had the heel of my shoe, catch and tear out the hem of a skirt.

My earring has caught in the shoulder of my sweater.  

Knowing that I'll be carrying infants and/or toddlers influences what I choose to wear.  I have a top that I don't wear because Emerson tends to pull on my shirt and since it is stretchy fabric it would simply pull right off!  I remember not choosing a certain dress to wear to shirt when I had a newborn because if he were to fall asleep on my shoulder the beading wouldn't have been comfortable to lay his head on.

My bra straps fall off.... CONSTANTLY....

Static cling.  Forgot to change out of my comfy shoes into the dress shoes before I left the house.  (mismatched shoes!)  Run in the hose.  Infant spit up.  Leaky diaper.  Toddler sticky fingers.

Tonight I hurried in from the car in a rush for the restroom.  I was talking to Patrick, giving him instructions on where to put the groceries away.  In the middle of my conversation I added, "and I just peed on my shirt!"

Patrick from the kitchen, "What? How's that even possible."  

I had made it to the restroom and was taking care of things when I realized my shirt which ties in the back had come untied and the ties had fallen into the toilet.  Hence I had just peed on my shirt.

Patrick wears jeans and t-shirts, shorts and t-shirts, and suits.  He has as I can see it two worries ever.
1.  Keep an eye on the tie... Is it in his food?

and


2.  Is his fly down?

911

It has been a very long 6 week course in First Aid.  Each week as we struggle to keep the boys' focus and teach them all the requirements, I come away shaking my head and wondering if we will ever work on a different advancement or if we will be stuck in First Aid land for evermore.

Cooper is typically capable of regurgitating anything he has ever read, seen or heard verbatim.  However that skill apparently is not available when it comes to knowledge of First Aid.  For some reason he can not find the least bit of interest in the subject and instead has been goofy, silly and down right obnoxious during class. We quiz throughout the week on the assigned reading and practice the rescue breathing, Heimlich and the taking of pulse.  Why oh, why does each lesson end with him insulting or baffling our instructor.

On snake bite night he demanded that he know exactly which variety of snake had bitten and spouted off all the available information regarding habitat, diet and venom of the snake.  Could he tell what to do in the event of a bite..... 'cricket... cricket'.

On bandaging night, as he attempted to wrap the arm of the 'dislocated shoulder victim who wouldn't stop panicking', he yelled at him, ""Listen, I can just as easily break something else as I can fix you, so be quiet would you!"

On CPR night, he couldn't stop giggling long enough to give his dummy one full breath.

On First Aid kit night, we brought the first aid kits we'd put together and when the leader asked him to tell him what each item was used for, he replied, "I'm not a neurosurgeon you know!  I can't use half of this stuff."

Tonight on what should have been the final test night, he was given the scenario that he then was supposed to demonstrate the correct First Aid to use.  Cooper was quiet for a minute.  He commenced to bandage for a few minutes, looking perplexed and quite un at ease.  Then, at the prompting from the leader, "What do you think you should do next?"

"Well....",  He looked at the 'patient'.  "I'm just a Webelos scout and I don't know what to do next.  I'm terribly sorry.  I'm afraid you will most likely die."

The room was silent.  The leaders looked at each other, at me, at Cooper.  They finally closed their mouths.
We're going to be doing a little more review... again.... next week.

Try it on

The line for the change room was too long to wait.   Since there wasn't a mirror available I had my paparazzi photographer snap pics while I walked down the catwalk, aisle.  I am Miles favourite person to shop with!

Brown Apple Juice

Growing up, we would sometimes spend the day at work with my dad.  He worked in a research lab on the campus of the University.  I never completely knew what he did, nor ever understood it.  I think I ended up telling everyone he was inventing a nuclear physics bomb or something. 

None of that really mattered. 

What mattered was 



.................. lunch time. 

More specifically a drink.  We probably had a packed lunch from home but Dad would take us to get some brown apple juice.  We always called it that.  "Brown Apple Juice".  And there was just something incredible about it. 

It's been close to three decades since then. 

They say the sense of smell and taste invoke memories better than any other sense.  I have 7 apple trees in my back yard.  I have made close to 1000 quarts of apple sauce and 600 quarts of pie slices and 100 quarts of juice since moving to this home 7 years ago.  We've taken advantage of the bounteous harvests.  This year, Caleb took a bucket of our apples to a gentleman's home in the neighbourhood.  This older gentleman had been telling Caleb about a press that he had made. 

We typically steam our apples in a juicer to extract the juice.  We also drink hot cider for about a month.  Can't get enough.  It's delicious. 

Caleb was gone an hour and a half.  He returned with 7 jars of brown liquid. 

One sip. 

I was transported. 

I was about 10 years old, on the university campus, drinking 'brown apple juice.'

It was even better than I could have imagined and definitely surpassed what I had remembered.  In looking back on the last 7 years I've missed out.  I should have been cold pressing.  Our cider pales... quite literally... in comparison. 

Costume Sensations

I had a tough time caring too much about Halloween this year.  I just didn't have the usual excitement for costume ideas nor the making of any ideas that the kidlets came up with.

Sarah had an idea back in August and she began early and made her own costume.  But the boys weren't narrowed down to anything until just before the first of the costume events occurred.  

The only one that we had come up with any advance thought was the Curious George and hte man in the yellow hat.  I even went out and paid $2.00 for that great yellow shirt!  Whittaker as a monkey I knew had to be really simple.  He wouldn't keep it on and that had to be considered.  He wore his winter monkey hat and my brown fleece.  He refused to wear the brown pants.  He removed his costume within 5 minutes of the party starting.

About an hour before the party, I was panicing for some costume ideas.  With anything we could find around the house we made a shoulder angel costume for Emerson and Patrick.  Oddly enough, unless Emerson stayed on Patrick's shoulder all evening he simply looked like we dressed him in a sweet little angel costume.  And with a skirt no less! He even had wings which caused him to spin in circles as he tried desperately to see them over his shoulder.  

This costume was inevitable.  I knew someday my scar skulled boy would eventually turn it into some form of Halloween costume.  His version of Frankenstein was fabulous.  He even read the cliff notes version of Mary Shelly's 'Frankenstein', just to get into character.  Other than the neck buttons, we found everything around the house... yes in that last hour while I was also creating a shoulder angel.

Cooper had insisted for the month that he would be handing out treats on Halloween and therefore did NOT require a costume.  However, he didn't take into account, Halloween costume parties.  So once again, with only minutes to spare before our second costume party of the season, we put together, Indianna "Cooper" Jones.  The best part was creating his facial hair.  It changed his entire look.

Caleb had to work the evening of the second costume party, so Patrick stepped in to play the part of the man in the yellow hat.  However, Whittaker had moved on.  In searching for costumes for the other boys, he discovered that we had.... 

a SUPERMAN outfit in his size.  He was willing to wear this costume for the entire evening.  Actually he was willing to wear this costume every day and sometimes nights for over a week!  It made the man in the yellow hat costume a little out of place so I insisted that he at least arrive as a monkey and then in true Clark Kent fashion he could remove his outer clothing and be Superman!

I didn't feel like I could walk around with a shoulder angel all evening, so Emerson needed a new plan.  With about 15 minutes until it was time to leave I decided to go with an idea that I saw a friend post about.  I must admit... the chippendales costume was the simplest, but when I suggested all the boys wear it, I received dagger like stares.  

I really need my head examined or a shoulder angel to hop up and sit on my shoulder, but.... if you think the photo above was a bit odd for me to pull off....

... In my moments of insanity before leaving, I decided that every chippendales dancer needed a showgirl.  So I dug deep and found an inner showgirl in me.

Now what was wrong with this costume for EITHER of the parties.   I hadn't taken the time to pull out our actual costume bins until the morning of Halloween.  It would have been so much simpler and adorable to have dressed him as a clown!  He spent Halloween as a clown, running around town doing errands and even going to a Dr. appt for Caleb's thumb (which is healing nicely).  He didn't even balk at the wig.  I didn't press my luck and try the red nose!

After eating in the clown suit, Trick or Treating required a change of outfit once again.  He made a sweet little frog.  He was cozy also. 

My Trick or Treating crew!  Caleb had to work and Sarah stayed home to hand out treats.  (She says it was boring because not many kids ventured down to the end of the dead end circle)

Duncan???   only pictured in the Trick or Treat photo.  I know.  He opted to wear the Superman costume each time we went out all season.  Each time he declared, 

"I'll think about what I want to be later, for now I'll just wear this."  

Proof you shouldn't procrastinate halloween costume decisions.  He was Superman.  Of course, so was Whittaker, and with only one cape, Duncan graciously allowed Whittaker to wear it.

You might think since Sarah spent 2 months working on her Lady Guinevere costume and made it herself and she wore it to two events that I would have a much more stunning photo of her.   But alas, I only have one of her in the background of Emerson's photos, where she is judging the musical chairs game with the music guy.  

Next year I vow to be more on top of the costume situation.  In fact I suddenly have lots of ideas... I better send myself a dated reminder so I don't have to panic and think of them again.