Thursday, July 29, 2004

Homeward Bound

Going Home this weekend. By Home I mean to visit my parent’s home. It’s funny how you can have more than one Home. I guess that Home is really defined by who is there waiting for us.

Mom and Dad’s home is a good 7 hour drive. As you can well imagine my visits are few and far between. Before I met Eric I would get home more often but he’s on call more often than not so we rarely get away now. This is a long weekend though and he booked off specially so that we could make the trip. I’m really looking forward to going. Although I’m usually exhausted from the trip by the time we arrive it’s always a good relaxing few days while we’re there.

I miss being so close to family and friends. The distance may as well be 7000 kms instead of 700 kms sometimes. I have some friends that have just drifted away. It baffles me sometimes. By phone I’m no further away and it only costs 7 cents a minute to talk but for whatever reason I seem to have been cut loose from the friendship because I’ve moved. I find that disappointing and no matter how hard I try to stay in touch the gestures are rarely reciprocated. Other friends are different. Some I’m in contact with weekly or more whether it be by phone or by email. Then there are still others that I don’t talk to often but we can still pick up where we left off. It seems to be mutually agreed that we accept that we’re each busy but the friendship is important enough to make the long silences acceptable.

Anyway, I have lots to do to prepare for the weekend. I still need to pack all our things and gather them by the door so I only have to pack up the car tomorrow after work. We’ll get in late Friday night and then we’re heading out off again on Saturday to visit a family friend who can no longer travel. I’m looking forward to Saturday evening because that will be quiet together time with my family.

On Sunday evening I’m trying to round up whatever friends that I have left in the city so that they can drop by for drinks. Boy, the older we get, the harder it is to arrange visits. Half of my friends have children or extended family so it’s not as easy for them to get away. We’ll make the best of it though. Enjoy a few cocktails in the wonderful garden that my folks have created. Even if no one shows up we’ll still have fun.

I’m looking forward to Dad’s cooking. He’s turned into quite the chef over the last couple of years. I’m sure we’ll be able to squeeze in our traditional big breakfast on Sunday. At least, I hope so.

Let’s hear it for Long Weekends!

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Bad Hair Day

Not off to a good start today. As you can tell from the title, it’s one of those "bad hair days". Could there be any worse way to start the day? Well, I suppose that there could be but it’s about the worst start that I could have.

My hair is getting long. Too long. I would like to cut it but there are 2 reasons that I haven’t yet. Firstly, my husband keeps telling me how much he loves my long hair. The longer, the better according to him. Secondly, I just can’t afford a freakin’ haircut right now. What to do?

My hair has been a struggle my whole life. I was born with naturally curly hair. Lucky me. It’s been the bane of my existence since I was old enough to comprehend that my hair was different than then lovely straight manes of my friends. Remember the ‘70s? Farrah Fawcett and all that? The feathered look just wouldn’t work for me and boy was I jealous of all the kids in class that could style those feathers into their hair so perfectly.

Then in the ’80’s poofy bangs were all the rage. Well due to the lovely "cowlick" in my own bangs I usually looked very lopsided. Finally I gave up on bangs all together. I grew them out and that was the first time that I was slightly ahead of the style. In the ‘90’s everyone grew out their bangs and that was fine by me. Now, the current styles seem to dictate that anything goes. That’s good news for me but straight hair is always more "in" then curls. I get frustrated when I see movie stars with curly hair always straightening their locks. Please, for once, make curly hair cool! Nicole Kidman, Minnie Driver and Julia Roberts are among a few whom straighten their tresses regularly and I really wish they wouldn’t.

I grew my hair so that I could have a fabulous updo for my wedding. It worked out perfectly but now I’m dealing with the consequences. I’m house poor and still recovering from the costs of the wedding. Eric needs a cut too. Lucky for him a "good" cut costs about $10. I only wish.

My hair is subject to what I have dubbed "hair moods". Everyday it sits slightly different. The curls may look different on any given day. Some days I just have to shake it out and add a little hairspray. Other days, I waste my whole morning fighting with it until it looks semi presentable. It’s so frustrating but I haven’t had a good hissy fit in the morning in a long time. My parents can attest to the fact that more brushes used to get flung into whichever wall was handy at least once or twice a week when I was a little younger. Since then I have more or less come to terms with my hair but there are still mornings like this when it just utterly defeats me.
To top the whole thing off this morning it was so hot in the bathroom that I was sweating while I tried to deal with my mop. Then I couldn’t find my favourite clip (and only clip) that I use to clip up the ‘do if I can’t do anything else with it.

So here I sit at my desk, cringing because my hair is pulled back in a cheap elastic band. It will bother me all day long. I’m pretty neurotic about getting my hair just perfect so days like this drive me mad.

Wish me luck for tomorrow.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Home Sweet Home

Back from our girls’ weekend. We had so much fun, as we always do, but it’s good to be home. I got home around 130pm so I’d have time to unpack and do laundry and get back into the swing of things. Right now I’m sitting on my living room couch with a load in the washer just waiting for my man to get home.

We were blessed with wonderfully warm days and fresh cool nights. Best of both worlds for sure. There was swimming and eating and drinking and then more eating all weekend. But of course there were evenings around the campfire too and even a glimpse of The Northern Lights. What a treat!

I love to go away. Especially to the Cottage. But coming home is just as sweet as going away. Eric just called and I’m glad that he’s on his way. I think that it’s important to spend some time apart but I missed him. I would have loved to share The Northern Lights with him. Someday our timing will work out and we’ll watch the show together. Until then it was great to share them with a close friend.

I look forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight. I feel rejuvenated and content and can face another week caught in the grind.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

It Soothes the Soul

This weekend I’m going for girl’s weekend with one of my closest friends. Kris and I have been using The Farm as our retreat for around 7 or 8 years now I’d guess. This coming weekend is only the latest in a series of fun times that I’m sure I will elaborate on next week.

The Farm is like a balm for tired bodies, minds and spirits. Its towering pine trees, babbling river and tall grass call to me over the miles until I come and immerse my weary self in its splendor. This marvelous piece of heaven actually belongs to my favourite Aunt and Uncle but they let me use it whenever I please or feel the need. Am I not lucky to have such a haven available to me?

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t only go there when I’m sad or tired or blue. It can also be the greatest things that take me there. Not even a year ago, Eric and I dropped in on my parents, who were vacationing there at the time, to tell them the wonderful news that we had just gotten engaged. Also last year, we celebrated my Uncle’s 50th birthday there and my cousin’s wedding. More recently, Eric and I spent our honeymoon there.

Those were the loud, crazy, celebratory times but usually it’s just a couple or a few of us relaxing, reading, eating and enjoying the luxury of the experience. Just thinking about it makes me a little less tired and a little more able to face the rest of the work week.

On any given day we’ll sleep until we feel like getting up. If there’s a big crowd in attendance we’ll often cook a large breakfast for a sometimes rambunctious crowd. If there are only a couple of us there we’ll have a more leisurely start to the morning. After that the days is ours to do as we please. The choices are endless. Take a brisk country walk down the road or maybe a jaunt around the property’s trails. Or, if we’re feeling ambitious a hike across the road in the more "untamed" part of the property.

Maybe it’s raining so we’ll go into town and hunt and peek into all the corners of the unique little shops that we find. Or the rain will keep us indoors entirely and we’ll spend the afternoon curled up with a good book in the light pooled by the window or under the warm glow of a lamp.

In between afternoon snacks or after a light lunch maybe we’ll catch a quick nap in the hammock or visit the Swimming Hole for a quick dip. Kris and I have even been known to spend hours clamming or traveling the length of the river on our air mattresses as it snakes through the property.

There have been summers that I have spent almost every weekend there. These weekends were sometimes with friends and family but other times, just by myself. The Farm answered the needs of my life at the time and ministered to me in many different ways. For the past couple of summers my visits have been fewer because of demands on time. But I carry a piece of The Farm with me in my heart and knowing that I will get there sooner or later gets me through until I can feel its healing touch again.

Doesn’t it sound divine? Don’t you just love it? What will I find myself doing this weekend? Hopefully the mosquitoes will be scarce and the hummingbirds will be plentiful. Hopefully, the sun will shine but the humidity will stay in the city. But whether there’s rain or sun I know that I will come back refreshed and rejuvenated.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

The Light of My Life

Sometimes I look at my new husband and shake my head in disbelief. Can I really be married to him? What does he see in me?

We met at work. His company sold my company a phone system. So I saw him often in the first year we were open. Installation, reprogramming and service calls. I remember the first time I saw him. He was standing at the front desk talking to the receptionist and I thought to myself, "Wow. He’s cute. He wouldn’t be interested in me though." I continued on to my office and didn’t think much more about it. But there were many more mornings that I saw him there when I first came in the doors. Eventually we became friends and would chat in halls or on the way out the door. I would get butterflies in my tummy when I saw his work truck in the parking lot.

So, we started flirting. The flirting went on for quite a while. That was perplexing. It seemed like he was interested. He would go out of his way to say hi or prolong our short conversations. But he just wouldn’t ask me out! Eventually, I asked him if he wanted to go out for lunch when he was next at my work. He took me up on that offer later that week. Well that was a good sign but then nothing again.

One afternoon he was leaving at the same time I was and we walked out together. That’s when it happened. He finally asked me out! Wow, was I excited. I looked forward to his call like you wouldn’t believe. As luck would have it, something came up. He never called and apologized when I saw him next.

That was fine. Apology accepted but at this point I had written him off. This guy is just not interested. I must have been imagining things. Or maybe he’s got a girlfriend and I’m just confusing him. Whatever the case may be, that’s it, that’s all. End of story.

Well, isn’t it always the way that when you finally pack it in they come around. Soon Eric called and left me a voice mail. Did I want to go out some time? Well duh!!! Sooner than you can say "first date" we had a day picked out and a time nailed down. (I wasn’t going to let it slide this time.)

The rest is history. We had an amazing first date. A long, leisurely, scrumptious dinner and conversation. We ended up kissing in my driveway for a ridiculous amount of time. By the time I went in I was floating. Absolutely walking on air. Wow. Could this guy be for real?

The next morning I still had butterflies. Would he play games? Was he going to wait before he called me again? Would we ever go out again? Could I stand it if we didn’t? The next day he called and our fate was sealed. He said "I just couldn’t wait to call you any longer. I’ve been thinking about you." Well my heart was pounding and I rejoiced. This guy is different!!! We went on to our successful second and third dates and never looked back. Three months after our first date, we moved in together and not even a year later we were engaged.

The rest is history but to this day I can’t believe that I married that good looking guy that I used to flirt with at work. Apparently he sees something in me that I don’t know is there. I honestly believe that I got the good end of this deal. He is the most amazing human being. There is a light that shines in him and I’m not the only person that sees it. Eric has broken down all my barriers and managed to restore my faith in love, trust and relationships. He has become what I thought no man could ever be to me. Eric is my best friend, my soulmate, my lover and the light of my life. He centres me when I’m off kilter. He reasons with me when I am being a crazy, neurotic bitch. He believes in me when I can’t believe in myself. He knows when to leave me alone and he knows when not to leave me alone. And he loves me the way I thought I’d never be loved.

Thank you God for sending me this wonderful man.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Enough of the Storms!

I love a good thunderstorm but this is ridiculous! We’ve had storms almost every day it seems. Right now, even, I can hear thunder breaking up the normal sounds of a quiet evening. Last night Eric and I watched a storm roll across the sky and eventually land over our own heads.
I was washing dishes when he called me out to the front porch. Way over yonder we could see a dark cloud and what was apparently, (according to him) if you looked closely enough, rain falling from the cloud. Whether or not you could see the rain (it looked to me like mist) it was a neat sight to behold. All we had to do was sit still and watch one of the best shows available in the natural world. A lightning storm. The thunder was rolling and the lightening was flashing in the dusky sky. The show was beautiful and the clouds were seething and moving closer and closer to us. The lightning continued to strike and the thunder was rolling unendingly. Then we heard a sound. It caused us to stick our heads our from under cover and look up and down the street. We could distinctly hear the pelting of rain again roofs and cars but could see nothing. The sound became louder and louder until finally we could see that it had come from down the street as it started raining on us. The effect was spellbinding. 
This is one thing that was really important to me when we were searching for a house. I wanted a front porch so that I could watch the rain and if I was lucky enough, storms. When I was growing up my family lived in a wonderful old house with a large, covered front porch. I can still remember slipping outside with my parents and sitting in awe of a good storm. Isn’t it neat to think that 25 years ago my parents let me sit outside with them to watch a storm every once in a while and I loved it so much that I remember it today?
Watching storms makes me think of those good times and others. I can still remember coming home from a neighbours cottage one night and it was storming so badly that Dad had to pull off the road until it blew over a little bit. That was one of the scary times.
Another time I remember going out with friends to a bar. Not too many people ventured out that night because of the storm but we had a great time and took no notice of the raging weather. The next day wasn’t quite so much fun as we were mopping up a flooded basement with hangovers.
Thunderstorms are terrible and wonderful at the same time. I have a friend who is scared to death of a storm. Not me. As long as it goes no further than a thunderstorm, I say bring it on! Tornadoes, on the other hand, scare the crap out of me. They are right up there, alongside spiders, on my list of greatest fears. I can honestly tell you that in my very active dream life I have nightmares about tornadoes quite often.
Anyway, tornadoes aside, I appreciate a good storm maybe more than the next person but even I’m getting a little apprehensive about these storms that seem to rolling through close to every day. Here’s hoping for peaceful, idyllic, summer (and not too humid!) weather. 

Monday, July 19, 2004

Feet First Down the Chute

Considering it's Monday I'm having a pretty good day. It's "Western Day" at work so I'm dressed in jeans, a gingham top, a hanky scarf and to top it all off I have my hair in pigtail braids. Needless to say I can't go out as usual on my lunch break for fear of getting weird looks so I'm spending my lunch break blogging instead.
I woke up on a good note (which is a rarity on a Monday). Not only was my husband urging me to "wake up cowgirl" but I had a pretty funny dream. I dreamed that I was under housearrest. I had been falsely accused of some crime and now I was "serving time". (I blame the house arrest aspect on watching the Martha Stewart news) So I was stuck in this room in a tall building. I don't know why but a close friend (Kris) was there with me. Sympathy jail? Anyway, I had this grand plan for bustin' out and I had my laptop bag slung over my shoulder and I was disappearing, feet first, down the laundry chute! It was a tight sqeeze for these hips of mine and when I looked at Kris's horrified expression, I had second thoughts. She was questioning my sanity and I ended up agreeing with her and then I suggested that we use the secret back stairs instead of the laundry chute. Imagine that I would have chosen to try a chute over the "secret stairs" in the first place! Anyway, it was a pretty funny dream. One of those ones that you end up shaking your head at. Every once in a while I seem to go through a phase when I have very odd dreams. Apparently this is one of those phases.
Today only gets better. I found out this morning that someone I don't even know is reading my blog. What a neat feeling that is. I've been a little nervous about writing for all the world to see. I haven't told anyone of it aside from my immediate family. We all need a little validation and encouragement so it is really nice to know that someone has stumbled onto my blog and continues to read it. It was really hard to take that leap to start a blog and even harder to tell people I know to go and check it out.
Let's hope that the rest of this Monday goes as well as the beginning.

Friday, July 16, 2004


Thank goodness it’s Friday. Nothing beats the feeling of walking out of the office at 430pm on a Friday afternoon and knowing I have 2 days of delicious freedom. 2 days which hold endless possibilities. Just knowing that Friday is coming gets me through the week. Each morning when I drag my sorry self from bed, almost the first coherent thought that goes through my head is a morning count until Saturday when I know that I can sleep in.

Sleeping in. Was there ever such a more luxurious thing? My definition of sleeping in has changed over the years. 10 years ago I would have thought nothing of sleeping until 2pm. Mind you, I thought nothing of staying up all night either. Now, I relish sleeping in until 10am or so. If I sleep later I feel guilty but if I’m up any earlier I feel a little ripped off in the sleeping in department. Those of you with children are scoffing at me right now but you had your days of sleeping in too. Those of you that are morning people think I’m crazy for wasting a perfectly good morning but the jokes on you because there’s nothing better than staying up late and sleeping in.

My Friday and Saturday nights have changed pretty dramatically over the years too. As opposed to years past, I can no longer handle doing much of anything on Friday evenings. I find by 11pm I’m ready to head to bed, tired from a long week. Saturday night I tend to opt for staying in or going to a friend’s place. Actually going out to a club or something just sounds like work now. Besides, who wants to be DD? Stay at home and everyone has fun!

I usually pick up something yummy for our weekend breakfasts. Our favourite is fresh bagels with the option of cream cheese. If we have company we’ll do up a big breakfast of eggs or pancakes, bacon, toast and all the fixings. What we do next all depends on the season or the weather. Sometimes we head out for a mini road trip. Maybe a cozy afternoon by the fire watching movies or reading. Or maybe an afternoon doing yardwork or shopping. Or just maybe, our least favourite, cleaning the house and doing laundry.

By Sunday thoughts of the coming Monday start to crowd me a little. I like to make the most of the day. While Saturday’s tend to have no rhyme or reason to them I like to be more on the go on Sundays. If we’re too lazy I get frustrated. We try to "get stuff done" on Sundays. By the evening I’m making sure that there are clean clothes for coming week and lunches and automatic coffee timers again. And so the beat goes on.

But on Monday I’ll start the countdown again. How many more mornings?

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

The Fellowship of the Bra

I've realized recently that I've probably spent more time shopping for the perfect bra than for anything else ever. It has become a quest for me and, I think, for other women too. Will I ever find that elusive, tantalizing, mythical perfect bra?

It all started for me when my Mother gave me the Judy Bloom book “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.” Wow. That book fascinated me. One of the most interesting parts of the book was the bra storyline. The 4 main characters made a secret club rule that they all had to start wearing bras. One chapter was all about Margaret going bra shopping with her mother and it couldn’t have hit closer to home. At this time in my life my own buds were beginning to bloom and my Mother took me out bra shopping. I WAS 10 YEARS OLD. 10! Can there be anything more mortifying to a young girl than being the only one in her class to wear a bra?. I’ll never forget the day that Adriane Sawchuk leaned over my shoulder in french class and asked in an incredulous voice: “Are you wearing a bra??” Of course I slumped down in my chair so she could no longer see the obvious outline of my bra and scoffed at the possibility, shrugging it off as “an undershirt, of course.” I can’t tell you how quickly I hightailed it home from school that day. I tore off the bra and vowed never to wear it again.

Well, I could get away with that for a little while longer but by the next year I had no choice but to wear a bra. I was now 11 and had just joined a new school. I endured the humiliating bra strap snaps and the embarrassing jokes. The fact was that I could no longer run home and take it off. There were 2 good (and fastly growing) reasons for wearing the blasted thing.

By the time I was 13 my bust was bigger than all of my friends’. Bra shopping was excruciating. Ancient sales ladies would barge into dressing rooms pushing and prodding at my embarrassed body and I could never have those pretty “on the hanger” bras. I would look longingly at those small, lacy, flimsy bras. No, not for me. It was all boxed support for my breasts which kept growing and growing and growing. I was no longer the butt of bra jokes and snide remarks. I now had to endure wide-eyed looks and “accidental” arm brushes from stupid boys. I’ll never forget going to a water park one day. Innocently, I went on the bumper boat ride and I was the most popular girl there. Every guy wanted to ram my boat. I pretended that I had no idea why they were all bee lining for my boat but I knew and I couldn’t wait to get off that ride. Forget supportive bras. Have you ever tried to find a decent bathing suit?

My whole life has been about pretty bras. I finally found a place in the States that sold pretty bras in my size but of course they were never very supportive. I can remember after having too many drinks one night with a girlfriend that we ended up with brightly coloured satin bras on our heads like helmets. The thing is that they fit on our heads. Almost perfectly.

In my mid twenties I took the plunge and got breast reduction surgery. This was after a few years of wrestling with the idea. Once, when I mentioned the idea to a current boyfriend, he told me that he would dump me if I ever got the surgery. Can you believe that I didn’t dump him on the spot? After all was that all I was? A giant pair of walking boobs? That’s what I felt like much of the time before I finally got the nerve up to get the surgery. What a life change that was. I was used to people talking to and staring at my breasts all the time. While they were still a respectable size they were no longer “awe inspiring” so to speak.

Since then I’ve been able to wear the pretty, “on the hanger” bras but I’ll tell you it’s still no picnic to find the perfect fit. I can try on 20 bras before finding one that will “do”. Most women I know also seem to be in search of the perfect bra. It’s like The Holy Grail. It seems that as soon as we find one that we like, they stop manufacturing it. What is that? I once waited for a whole year for one to come in on a special order. I’ve heard a thousand times from friends and family. “Have you seen that new bra advertised? It’s really pretty and looks comfortable too.” When questioned later about the bra in question I’m answered by almost melancholy voices. “Once I found a place that carried it, I tried it on but it just didn’t fit right.” Sigh.

So the quest for the perfect bra continues. At an average of $35 a pop, I sure hope that the search is over soon. One friend of mine actually paid over $150 to get a bra specially made. She swears by that bra but who can afford that?

And besides. It’s not pretty!

Monday, July 12, 2004

Pine Needles, Campfire & Clean Air

Eric and I visited his parents at their “chalet” this past weekend. We don’t get away too often with him always being on call for work so we took advantage of this weekend of freedom and headed for the hills. Literally.

The chalet is tucked away next to a small town in the Laurentians. What a beautiful area that is. Quaint towns nestled between ski resorts. Too many scenic vistas to see.

Of course once we got to the chalet the black flies were so thick that I couldn’t step outside. I walked the 20 yards from the house to the small river in the back and already I had 4 black fly bites on my neck and hairline. What is it about me that they love so much? Of course I had forgotten bug spray and my bug bite cream.

So, I spent much of my time in the house or in the car. But in the brief times that I managed to sneak outside the smells and a few sites transported me far back in time. Every once in a while I caught a brief whiff of what I call “cottage” smell. It’s a fragrance that’s hard to describe. A mix of pine needles, campfire and clean air is the best I can do.

When I caught the “cottage” smell I was instantly back at the cottage where I had spent many happy summers in my childhood. It was a dilapidated old shack on a sliver of land that was pure heaven for this little girl. Heaven is in that smell.

I go back every once in a while to visit the sacred site of such happiness. It’s not the same though. Why can’t we ever revisit the carefree spirit of our childhood? Did I know then how perfect and idyllic it was? No. We never do. And anyway, it was never as perfect as we remember it. It’s easy to forget the inconvenience of having no running water. Boiling the creek water and having to use an outhouse is only a distant memory now. The small house is no longer really habitable. It’s usable for daytime activities but you never know what’s going to crawl into bed with you if you spend the night. (yikes!) My friend and I took a tent and spent a night there a few years ago. I was more than happy to get back to the wonderful farmhouse that we now vacation in.

But back then? There was nothing better in the world than being able to spend a whole month at the cottage feeling the sunlight on my bare arms and smelling that cottage smell. Endless entertainment was found in the old trailer. It was just like playing house. There was neat old set of dishes and a proper table. Neat little nooks and crannies enough to fill my imagination with endless possibilities. I could spend mornings in the trailer and afternoons playing in the water. The creek that runs by the old place is a fairly quick moving body of water that gives way to a couple wonderful little waterfalls. There are crayfish and bull frogs and toads and clams galore. It was all fair game but we tended to stay away from the hole in the rocks where we believed a beaver or an otter or perhaps some other wonderful creature lived. I always believed that my cousin and I would find a sunken treasure wedged under some river rocks if we looked long and hard enough for it.

There were daytrips to the city and to provincial parks. There were afternoons spent at the beach. Shopping excursions to the village were always a family affair and there were usually treats to be had. Rainy afternoons when at first I’d look longingly outside but then soon get lost in whatever Nancy Drew mystery I was currently reading.

Perhaps the most magical times spent at the cottage were in the evening, particularly when there were extended family or close friends visiting. After dinner some nights we’d sit on the screened-in porch for hours. We were safe from the bugs and surrounded by warm lamp light. It must have looked like an inviting beacon to the cars driving by. We never thought about how we looked to the travellers, we just enjoyed watching the endless headlights zooming by and listening to the thundering sound of the waterfalls and smelling that cottage smell. You could curl up on an old couch with a good book or play “Old Maid” at the table or just shoot the breeze with the rest of the crew. Being just little then I didn’t “shoot the breeze” much but I would be quiet and listen and hope not to be sent to bed. It was thrilling to stay up late with my book and listen to the adults talk or play cards or if I was really lucky there might be guitars and singing. I can still hear the refrains from some of those songs. Some nights Grandpa would build a fire in the “smudge pot” outside and we’d warm ourselves and roast marshmallows. I could (and still can) watch a campfire for hours. When I finally did get sent to bed, I was lulled to sleep by rushing water and waterfalls and only dreamed good dreams.

And then the next day we’d do it all again.

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Singles & "Smug-Marrieds"

So. I’ve been married for almost 4 weeks now. Wow eh? While not that impressive to others I find it a pretty amazing fact. We’re busy doing fun things like writing up thank you cards and I’m getting used to signing a new name. No small feat, that. I can only hope that it will get easier with time. I wonder how long it will be before it seems like that really is my name.

I was saying to my new husband the other night that I have noticed subtle changes. Not between us but around us. Now that we have joined couplehood it seems like people are looking at me differently. Is this something I’m imagining because I feel differently or is it really so?

The obvious changes are like the ones I’ve mentioned. Getting used to a new name and also being a half of a whole. The not so obvious ones are how people seem to perceive me a little differently. Sometimes, I almost feel conspiratorial with other couples. Like I, along with my new husband, have been let into a secret club that singles don’t know exists. It could all be coincidence but our social lives have become much more active. Invitations have been more plentiful.

I am willing to agree that this could all be because summer is now here and everyone is feeling more social. I’m also willing to concede that since we now live in a neighbourhood invitations will come more often. But there’s a little part of me that believes that this is all because we’ve made it official and tied the knot. Our status has changed.

One thing that I will vow to all my married and single friends is that I will NEVER become a “smug-married”. Those of you who have seen Bridget Jones’ Diary and knew exactly how the heroine felt, don’t have to ask what I’m talking about.

I was just as proud of being single as I am of being married. One thing I think that married couples really do have to be careful of (among other things, I know) is not to become “smug” and patronizing. Nothing can be more offensive to anyone single. Some couples I know have avoided these traits completely. Others have fallen into the trap. The latter group seems to define everything by if you have a significant other or a family. I can remember talking to certain “smug-marrieds” when I was single and the first thing that I was asked was “if I had a man yet?” No? Just can’t seem to find one eh? This would make my blood boil. I always felt like telling the offending parties that I was still a worthwhile person all by myself and that just because I hadn’t accepted the first eligible guy to come along didn’t mean that I never would find the perfect guy.

So maybe I am a little smug. But I’m smug about the fact that I did live out a big part of my life single. I had a chance to find out who I was and depend completely on myself. I’m glad that I waited for Mr. Right and didn’t settle for Mr. Maybe. Being single was fun. All you have to do is watch an old episode of Sex and the City to catch a glimpse of the fun to be had. A little part of me will miss it. A big part of me is looking forward to the other secrets and joys of couplehood.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

On Writing

Every once in a while I get this wierd urge to write. The reason I find it wierd is that I don't seem to have anything to say. When I get in this "writing mood" sometimes I venture as far as to pick up a pen and notebook and try journal keeping for the umpteenth time in my life. The trouble is that I tend to get very deep and sometimes melancholy. I overanalyze everything and once this happens the writing isn't fun anymore. So then I stop until the next urge comes on.

I've been reading a couple of different blogs pretty faithfully. There are 2 in particular that I enjoy.



Brown Betty Brew

I must admit that these blogs belong to my parents so I'm a little partial to them but if you get a chance, check them out. They're a good read.

Anyway, my point is that with reading the above mentioned blogs paired with the urge to write, I've ended up trying out this blog-thing. I haven't figured out how to put a picture in my profile yet but so far it seems pretty neat.

A lot has been going on in my life lately so perhaps I can find enough to write about to fill a couple of blog postings. Stay tuned.....