well, June has arrived.
i was beginning to think we would perpetually live in May, the month felt like it lasted for years. but, no, it seems the world is still spinning despite my stress level, and our last month here has come. and with it, the count-downs.
less than four weeks to pack the house.
four more sundays.
three weeks of school.
one more bookclub.
one more prayer meeting with my girlfriends.
and countless tears to cry.
on sunday afternoon i was feeling manic - twirling like a dervish around my house, cleaning, packing, organizing...i saw the look of fear in my husbands eyes, my children creeping around me hoping i would pass them by. i made myself sit down and work on a puzzle, and then i felt the tears coming. at first my eyes would start welling up, and i'd think "here it comes", and then the tap would dry out. this happened a few times, and with each dry well experience came a deeper clarity that i really needed a bawl. a good shoulder-shaking, ugly-faced, snot running precariously close to my mouth break down. finally my husband asked if i was alright, and he held me a little, and shazam! open the flood gates!!!
this was my first good weep since we announced our resignation, and let me tell you, it was well overdue. i have since felt so much calmer and normal (if there is such a thing as me being normal). i remember hearing in university about this experiment where they fed tears to rats or mice or something and they all died of horrible diseases. have i blogged about that before? i'm feeling deja-vu. anyways, obviously our tears are our body's way of releasing not only sadness and pain but toxins as well. which scares me for my husband, who rarely has a drop leak out. maybe i should "accidentally" slam his hand in the car door or something, for the sake of his health.
despite the sadness and sense of impending loss, there have been some delightfully beautiful moments in our lives this last week. my son has finally released himself from the tyranny of training wheels, ushering in a new kingdom where we can actually bike to school! on monday scott and i biked over and picked up both the kids, and we rode through the back pathways home, skirting around the zoo and forestry farm, and cheering mightily at the finish line of our garage. i have dreamt of biking with the kids to and from school for a long time now, and it was quite an accomplishment. I looked around at my little family, and down at flavia (that's my bike), and couldn't have been happier.
i have taken a few opportunities to lie on my hammock in the backyard, and have fallen asleep to the rustling of the neighbours poplar trees. i watched excitedly as my very first iris bloomed in the front yard. we daily check on the robins nest to see if the eggs have hatched, and i can look out my front window and watch the mama robin sitting on her little blue bundles.
amid the boxes and tape and lists and phone calls and reminders and good-byes, this beautiful world keeps peeking through. little gifts to look for. praises to be offered.
and toxic tears to shed.
About Me
- janet anderson
- I now live in Victoria, after a couple years on the North Shore of Vancouver, and a (too) brief time in the prairies. Working as an artist, mother and wife (not necessarily in that order), i am striving to live well, to find the truth of God in all things, and to pass on this truth to others.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
confession
forgive me readers, for i have sinned.
it has been a week and a half since my last confession.
on monday morning i snuck out of bed. monday is scott's day to "sleep in" until 8:30, so i get up with the kids and get them breakfast, pack the lunches, comb the hair, make the coffee and wake him in time for him to drive them to school. then i go back to bed.
or, at least, that was the plan.
i snuck out of bed and turned on the fan in the bathroom to mask the morning noises. i donned my robe and walked down to the kitchen. the kids were smiling, reading on the couch. i thought fleetingly of how beautiful my life was. then i heard a noise.
a noise like a whirring, a pulsing, a pitch not high, but not low. a noise that i remembered hearing the night before as well. i thought it was the air conditioning. i thought it was the dishwasher.
it wasn't.
with trepidation i realized that neither the air conditioner nor the dishwasher were presently in use.
i looked out the front window. and gasped.
the front sprinklers were on. the front sprinklers that we had turned on the night before. the front sprinklers had been on
for
12
hours.
there was a little river running down our road. there were birds galore feasting on drowned worms. i ran to the door, mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of ridicule and scorn from my neighbours, but when i opened it the only dirty looks i received were from said birds. i quickly shut off the tap and barricaded myself back inside.
on the edge of my mind stood a sign that read "children die every day from lack of clean water". i averted my attention, but to no avail. what a truly disgusting waste. i hesitate telling you, because i am ashamed of myself, but i thought "hey janet, if you can't be honest on the world wide web about your sinful nature, where can you be?"
i think scott and i were waiting for the knock on the door from the city of saskatoon for the rest of our sabbath. but hey, what are they going to do, kick us out? :). we really should be fined though. i suppose the water meter will expose our guilt in time.
on another note, i was thinking yesterday about how i wish you could capture a smell like you can capture an image. i would definitely bottle the aroma of my front yard in early spring. blossoms, sweet and fresh and inviting. lilacs are used as hedging around this city, so every so often their purpley scent will smash into you, but i don't think that's what i smell out front. i think it's the neighbours crab apple, and my laurel, and maybe the hedge as well. whatever it is, it mixes into this truly intoxicating perfume that i can't get enough of.
two lovely fat robins have built the most beautiful little nest-home in our cedar right beside the front door. today scott looked inside and was rewarded with the sight of three perfectly blue eggs. i went out and took some pics but had to cut the photo session short due to some very angry bird parents sitting on my roof. i'm pretty sure that the father gave me the stink-eye, but it was hard to tell because, well, i was nervous to look squarely at them, and with eyes on the sides of their heads it's a little difficult to know exactly which direction they're focussed. i wanted to remind them of the monday morning worm feast, but felt it best not to bring up the indiscretion out-of-doors.
thank you for being my confessional. i don't feel better having told you, but it does feel right and good to share my sins. i have a movie downstairs from the library that has the tag-line "hope begins where secrets end". amen to that.
and take it from me: set an alarm when you turn on your sprinkler.
it has been a week and a half since my last confession.
on monday morning i snuck out of bed. monday is scott's day to "sleep in" until 8:30, so i get up with the kids and get them breakfast, pack the lunches, comb the hair, make the coffee and wake him in time for him to drive them to school. then i go back to bed.
or, at least, that was the plan.
i snuck out of bed and turned on the fan in the bathroom to mask the morning noises. i donned my robe and walked down to the kitchen. the kids were smiling, reading on the couch. i thought fleetingly of how beautiful my life was. then i heard a noise.
a noise like a whirring, a pulsing, a pitch not high, but not low. a noise that i remembered hearing the night before as well. i thought it was the air conditioning. i thought it was the dishwasher.
it wasn't.
with trepidation i realized that neither the air conditioner nor the dishwasher were presently in use.
i looked out the front window. and gasped.
the front sprinklers were on. the front sprinklers that we had turned on the night before. the front sprinklers had been on
for
12
hours.
there was a little river running down our road. there were birds galore feasting on drowned worms. i ran to the door, mentally preparing myself for an onslaught of ridicule and scorn from my neighbours, but when i opened it the only dirty looks i received were from said birds. i quickly shut off the tap and barricaded myself back inside.
on the edge of my mind stood a sign that read "children die every day from lack of clean water". i averted my attention, but to no avail. what a truly disgusting waste. i hesitate telling you, because i am ashamed of myself, but i thought "hey janet, if you can't be honest on the world wide web about your sinful nature, where can you be?"
i think scott and i were waiting for the knock on the door from the city of saskatoon for the rest of our sabbath. but hey, what are they going to do, kick us out? :). we really should be fined though. i suppose the water meter will expose our guilt in time.
on another note, i was thinking yesterday about how i wish you could capture a smell like you can capture an image. i would definitely bottle the aroma of my front yard in early spring. blossoms, sweet and fresh and inviting. lilacs are used as hedging around this city, so every so often their purpley scent will smash into you, but i don't think that's what i smell out front. i think it's the neighbours crab apple, and my laurel, and maybe the hedge as well. whatever it is, it mixes into this truly intoxicating perfume that i can't get enough of.
two lovely fat robins have built the most beautiful little nest-home in our cedar right beside the front door. today scott looked inside and was rewarded with the sight of three perfectly blue eggs. i went out and took some pics but had to cut the photo session short due to some very angry bird parents sitting on my roof. i'm pretty sure that the father gave me the stink-eye, but it was hard to tell because, well, i was nervous to look squarely at them, and with eyes on the sides of their heads it's a little difficult to know exactly which direction they're focussed. i wanted to remind them of the monday morning worm feast, but felt it best not to bring up the indiscretion out-of-doors.
thank you for being my confessional. i don't feel better having told you, but it does feel right and good to share my sins. i have a movie downstairs from the library that has the tag-line "hope begins where secrets end". amen to that.
and take it from me: set an alarm when you turn on your sprinkler.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
barbeque
I decided today that heaven will smell like barbeque. which will be ironic since there will be no death, but maybe God will somehow make cauliflower taste like steak for my benefit.
i was washing dishes at my kitchen sink as this thought was sliding through my brain. right on it's heals was another: a scene from 'Bones' where they're tracking down a cannibal and she's told to follow the smell of barbeque.
did I go too far there? sorry. I think the show may be changing me. I watch it while I paint - because it's entertaining and I don't feel like I have to have my eyes glued to the screen to follow what's happening - and, frankly, I love the unrequited love, the lingering glances, the body language of longing and fear and desire....i'm a total junkie for romance. especially long-drawn out painful ones.
anyways, I think it's changing me because yesterday we introduced some friends to a magical place here in Saskatoon. it's called the chief whitecap park and it's a forest that you have to hike through, branches flying back in your face, traversing swamp and stream, prickly sticks and bugs. you come across this clearing that's heavy with wild grasses, dotted with birch and ash (okay, i'm totally making that up, but it sounds authentic right? I have no idea what kind of trees they are, but picture something lovely). just when you think you're going to punch your husband in the nose if he makes another comment about your lack of direction and how you're never going to get there...voila! you find a river. and a river bed. and the most intoxicating white sand you could ever ask for. it's like Florida sand. and there are little shells to find in the sand and crayfish claws and clean crisp water. and the whole time you're thinking "what?!" "how?" "what?!".
unless you're me.
i'm thinking "if I killed someone this would be the perfect place to stash the body".
maybe I should cut down on my Bones consumption.
but back to barbeque. we are in full summer swing here in the prairies. a month ago I was freezing, literally. and now it's all sprinklers and weeds and the constant drone of lawn mowers. Saskatoon is magical in the spring. the first warm day everyone shuffles out of their houses, teeter-tottering on their bicycles down the road, roasting weinies by the river. we are all gleaming white (except for those who were lucky enough to hit a hot destination in the last few months, but they're only a shade darker), sneezing and wiping our eyes and deliriously happy. it's amazing how dear my winter coat looks to me in October, and how much I want to rip it to shreds in May. I just might.
we look at our neighbours over the hedge, dig out gardening tools we forgot we bought in the fall clearance bins, celebrate every green shoot and blossoming tree. we made it! we're alive!!!
but the real magic of this season in this city is this- it makes us fall in love so deeply that we stay through another winter! last night scott and I had a date and we ended up down by the river, sitting on a bench wrapped in a quilt, watching the sun set. there were people having a ballroom dance class just down from us, a kayak silently slipping past, and a duck, asleep, drifting downstream. perfect. I asked scott "what will you miss the most?". we decided we won't really know until we're in North Van, but conceded that on thing we will probably, remarkably, miss is snow.
tomorrow we sign the papers to buy a home across the country. we had it inspected last week and I cringed when the inspecting referred to as, yes, a "fixer-upper". and he's right, there are quite a few little jobs to do. but no cat-urine-soaked carpets or cigarette smelling walls, so i'm happy! we feel immensely blessed, cared for and protected in this whole house affair. what a gift to have the God of the universe looking out for you. immeasurable gift.
I went to home depot today and came out with a literally arm load of paint swatches, and I got a book out from the library on trim (as in the trim around your doors and windows). this is how I mentally prepare to leave the home I love and travel to a distant land: I plan home renovations. renovations that I have no idea how to perform (except the painting), and will probably never come to fruition, but it comforts me to plan. maybe it helps me feel connected to our future home, or gives me an illusion of control. I will be lying awake in bed at two in the morning thinking "could I live with a mustard yellow wall?". sigh. i'm not painting a pretty picture of myself in this blog entry am I? a mind bent on murder and home décor.
on Sunday my son found a loonie and gave it to scott "to help us buy the house". it was scott's loonie, but it was still sweet. he showed the first signs of sadness at the thought of moving yesterday, because I told him we're not taking the carpet with us. I don't blame him. I told him i'm sad to leave it too. I imagine myself the day we leave, lying prone on my bedroom floor, soaking up the last moments of it shaggy softness. don't laugh unless you've touched my carpet - you have no idea.
well, the smell of barbeque has faded from the neighbourhood, but I can guarantee that little piece of heaven will return tomorrow. the next time you turn on the propane, think of me.
i was washing dishes at my kitchen sink as this thought was sliding through my brain. right on it's heals was another: a scene from 'Bones' where they're tracking down a cannibal and she's told to follow the smell of barbeque.
did I go too far there? sorry. I think the show may be changing me. I watch it while I paint - because it's entertaining and I don't feel like I have to have my eyes glued to the screen to follow what's happening - and, frankly, I love the unrequited love, the lingering glances, the body language of longing and fear and desire....i'm a total junkie for romance. especially long-drawn out painful ones.
anyways, I think it's changing me because yesterday we introduced some friends to a magical place here in Saskatoon. it's called the chief whitecap park and it's a forest that you have to hike through, branches flying back in your face, traversing swamp and stream, prickly sticks and bugs. you come across this clearing that's heavy with wild grasses, dotted with birch and ash (okay, i'm totally making that up, but it sounds authentic right? I have no idea what kind of trees they are, but picture something lovely). just when you think you're going to punch your husband in the nose if he makes another comment about your lack of direction and how you're never going to get there...voila! you find a river. and a river bed. and the most intoxicating white sand you could ever ask for. it's like Florida sand. and there are little shells to find in the sand and crayfish claws and clean crisp water. and the whole time you're thinking "what?!" "how?" "what?!".
unless you're me.
i'm thinking "if I killed someone this would be the perfect place to stash the body".
maybe I should cut down on my Bones consumption.
but back to barbeque. we are in full summer swing here in the prairies. a month ago I was freezing, literally. and now it's all sprinklers and weeds and the constant drone of lawn mowers. Saskatoon is magical in the spring. the first warm day everyone shuffles out of their houses, teeter-tottering on their bicycles down the road, roasting weinies by the river. we are all gleaming white (except for those who were lucky enough to hit a hot destination in the last few months, but they're only a shade darker), sneezing and wiping our eyes and deliriously happy. it's amazing how dear my winter coat looks to me in October, and how much I want to rip it to shreds in May. I just might.
we look at our neighbours over the hedge, dig out gardening tools we forgot we bought in the fall clearance bins, celebrate every green shoot and blossoming tree. we made it! we're alive!!!
but the real magic of this season in this city is this- it makes us fall in love so deeply that we stay through another winter! last night scott and I had a date and we ended up down by the river, sitting on a bench wrapped in a quilt, watching the sun set. there were people having a ballroom dance class just down from us, a kayak silently slipping past, and a duck, asleep, drifting downstream. perfect. I asked scott "what will you miss the most?". we decided we won't really know until we're in North Van, but conceded that on thing we will probably, remarkably, miss is snow.
tomorrow we sign the papers to buy a home across the country. we had it inspected last week and I cringed when the inspecting referred to as, yes, a "fixer-upper". and he's right, there are quite a few little jobs to do. but no cat-urine-soaked carpets or cigarette smelling walls, so i'm happy! we feel immensely blessed, cared for and protected in this whole house affair. what a gift to have the God of the universe looking out for you. immeasurable gift.
I went to home depot today and came out with a literally arm load of paint swatches, and I got a book out from the library on trim (as in the trim around your doors and windows). this is how I mentally prepare to leave the home I love and travel to a distant land: I plan home renovations. renovations that I have no idea how to perform (except the painting), and will probably never come to fruition, but it comforts me to plan. maybe it helps me feel connected to our future home, or gives me an illusion of control. I will be lying awake in bed at two in the morning thinking "could I live with a mustard yellow wall?". sigh. i'm not painting a pretty picture of myself in this blog entry am I? a mind bent on murder and home décor.
on Sunday my son found a loonie and gave it to scott "to help us buy the house". it was scott's loonie, but it was still sweet. he showed the first signs of sadness at the thought of moving yesterday, because I told him we're not taking the carpet with us. I don't blame him. I told him i'm sad to leave it too. I imagine myself the day we leave, lying prone on my bedroom floor, soaking up the last moments of it shaggy softness. don't laugh unless you've touched my carpet - you have no idea.
well, the smell of barbeque has faded from the neighbourhood, but I can guarantee that little piece of heaven will return tomorrow. the next time you turn on the propane, think of me.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
life line
yesterday morning I read psalm 107:
here's the part that struck me: God leading by 'a straight way'. I thought about the Israelites wandering for 40 years in the desert - not my definition of "straight". I thought about our journey from Parkside and through unemployment, the journey here, and now the journey away. not my definition of a straight line. more, as my son would say, "ziggity-zaggity" - which is how he likes his ketchup on his kraft dinner.
I bet that God sees things differently (no surprise there). when He looks at my life He sees the line of experiences and people and growth I needed to get to this day. He sees all that I need to get to tomorrow and next year, to be the mother and wife I need to be, the artist I want to be, the daughter, the friend, the mentor...
and that's the straight line that matters.
I prayed yesterday that God would lead us to a city where we can settle. I want to be a "lifer" somewhere. I want to grow old digging into a community and neighbours and church body. I want to swing my hips wide and sit down deeply, surrounded by place and people that I've come to know over many years. when I die I want it to be a no-brainer where I should be buried.
I sincerely hoped the city was going to be Saskatoon, and I daily grieve that it is not. two and a half years here, and I feel like i'm just starting to find places of influence that resonate with my passions. it's exhausting to think I have a number of years ahead of me where i'm the newbie, trying things out, trying friendships out, figuring out where people live...ah, I need to stop typing about this.
the good, the amazing, news: God heard my prayer. last night we bought a house.
and it's not a fixer-upper, or covered in cat pee, or almost what we wanted. it's wonderful. it's got a little creek running through the front yard - with a tiny bridge on the path to our front door. it's half a block from the school grounds. it has room for a guest room (!) and a studio (!!!). and....wait for it...a chef-grade gas stove, with a salamander (not the lizard - a small oven for broiling things like nachos and crème brulee) and a ginormous fridge. start booking your holidays at chez Anderson today!
it has all that we prayed for, and we got it for the price we wanted to pay. we placed a bid and heard that another bid was expected last night. this happened to us last week and the house we bid on sold for 45 thousand more than we offered. but last night the other bid was the same as ours. so, instead of jacking up the price, it solidified how reasonable our offer was. amazing.
God is in charge of my life-line. and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that.
I now have less than 7 weeks to enjoy my little house on the prairie. my in-laws gave me money for flowers for mother's day, so I planted geraniums and petunias in my garden, and filled some pots for my front step. I have a multitude of green sprouts (SPROUTS!) all over the place - plants I harvested last summer from the gardens of friends. I don't have a clue what they are, but i'm so excited!! it is bitter sweet to finally have perennials growing - I hate to say goodbye - but i'm pretty darn proud of myself. I've come a long way baby!
may we bear witness to God's guidance, to his hand drawing the paths of our lives with gentleness and accuracy. to live in trust for tomorrow, straining for a larger view of our lives, a bigger faith, a sweet surrender.
and thankfulness that no matter how L-O-N-G the winter, (and folks, I mean lo-ong)
the perennials break through.
some wandered in desert wastelands,
finding no way to a city where they could settle.
They were hungry and thirsty,
and their lives ebbed away.
Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
and He delivered them from their distress.
He led them by a straight way
to a city where they could settle.
here's the part that struck me: God leading by 'a straight way'. I thought about the Israelites wandering for 40 years in the desert - not my definition of "straight". I thought about our journey from Parkside and through unemployment, the journey here, and now the journey away. not my definition of a straight line. more, as my son would say, "ziggity-zaggity" - which is how he likes his ketchup on his kraft dinner.
I bet that God sees things differently (no surprise there). when He looks at my life He sees the line of experiences and people and growth I needed to get to this day. He sees all that I need to get to tomorrow and next year, to be the mother and wife I need to be, the artist I want to be, the daughter, the friend, the mentor...
and that's the straight line that matters.
I prayed yesterday that God would lead us to a city where we can settle. I want to be a "lifer" somewhere. I want to grow old digging into a community and neighbours and church body. I want to swing my hips wide and sit down deeply, surrounded by place and people that I've come to know over many years. when I die I want it to be a no-brainer where I should be buried.
I sincerely hoped the city was going to be Saskatoon, and I daily grieve that it is not. two and a half years here, and I feel like i'm just starting to find places of influence that resonate with my passions. it's exhausting to think I have a number of years ahead of me where i'm the newbie, trying things out, trying friendships out, figuring out where people live...ah, I need to stop typing about this.
the good, the amazing, news: God heard my prayer. last night we bought a house.
and it's not a fixer-upper, or covered in cat pee, or almost what we wanted. it's wonderful. it's got a little creek running through the front yard - with a tiny bridge on the path to our front door. it's half a block from the school grounds. it has room for a guest room (!) and a studio (!!!). and....wait for it...a chef-grade gas stove, with a salamander (not the lizard - a small oven for broiling things like nachos and crème brulee) and a ginormous fridge. start booking your holidays at chez Anderson today!
it has all that we prayed for, and we got it for the price we wanted to pay. we placed a bid and heard that another bid was expected last night. this happened to us last week and the house we bid on sold for 45 thousand more than we offered. but last night the other bid was the same as ours. so, instead of jacking up the price, it solidified how reasonable our offer was. amazing.
God is in charge of my life-line. and I can't tell you how grateful I am for that.
I now have less than 7 weeks to enjoy my little house on the prairie. my in-laws gave me money for flowers for mother's day, so I planted geraniums and petunias in my garden, and filled some pots for my front step. I have a multitude of green sprouts (SPROUTS!) all over the place - plants I harvested last summer from the gardens of friends. I don't have a clue what they are, but i'm so excited!! it is bitter sweet to finally have perennials growing - I hate to say goodbye - but i'm pretty darn proud of myself. I've come a long way baby!
may we bear witness to God's guidance, to his hand drawing the paths of our lives with gentleness and accuracy. to live in trust for tomorrow, straining for a larger view of our lives, a bigger faith, a sweet surrender.
and thankfulness that no matter how L-O-N-G the winter, (and folks, I mean lo-ong)
the perennials break through.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
puke, real estate and bombs: my life this week
what a week. on monday i put my husband on a plane bound for vancouver, with the expressed instruction "don't buy me a fixer-upper". once again, he's buying a house without me. my mom sees a trend - I sell our homes alone, and he buys them alone. well, the buck stops here! i'm praying that our next home is of the 20 year variety.
that night my son puked all over his bed. thankfully the only thing he had eaten was an apple, and I have to admit that as far as vomit is concerned, apple is the way to go.
Tuesday we (both kids and I) all woke up feeling sick. so, we mustered enough energy to go to the library, check out an enormous amount of books, and sit on the couch reading. around 6pm I said "kids, do you know what we've accomplished today? we've all bathed. that is our only accomplishment". they weakly nodded their heads and went back to reading.
wednesday night i held my daughter as she cried herself to sleep - probably because she's picking up on the stress her parents are under.
Thursday we prayed for a miracle. we prayed that a house would pop up onto the market that would be perfect for us. well....a house popped. the exterior reminds me of a swiss chalet (which hearkens back to the sunday lunches of my childhood ...ummmm....chalet sauce), and the interior is covered with cigarette smoke and cat pee. DEFINITELY a fixer-upper (refer to paragraph 1). however, it's large, with a solarium for a studio, and space for a guest room, and a big yard, and could be (after lots of work) an amazing home. is this our miracle? i'll let you know.
friday was my son's sixth birthday. he climbed into bed with me for morning snuggles and I asked him if he felt bigger. "oh, yes!" he said, then i could see his little mind was working on something - "get out of bed right now mom!" "why?" "I have to measure how tall I am!". he has always used my body as his means of self-measurement. i remember when he was so proud to hit my belly-button, and now he's well past.
we opened presents and I made his favourite "pescetti" (trans. "spaghetti) and broccoli for dinner. he jumped up in the middle of the meal and clasped his hands together and said "thank you God for such a delicious supper!". thank you folks, my job here is done.
i spent the evening creating cake bombs for his birthday party. he, like his sister, was having a spy party. what kind of cake do spies eat? I suppose the kind with files or bullets hidden in them, but that is just a little beyond my comfort zone. fake bombs though....I can handle. scott finally staggered into the house around midnight.
Saturday was the party. six six-year-old boys descended. I have come to the conclusion that I love to plan parties, but the execution of them is a little overwhelming. here's where my hubby comes in - this whole marriage thing is a lovely strategy for life: teamwork. he had the boys using him as a moving target for water gun practice, he made a multi-level obstacle course which included them navigating through a laser web (not real lasers) and jumping down the stairs into a pile of pillows (real pillows). I ran the finger-print analysis training and made the ID badges. we're a good team.
but here's how we look after a birthday party at the andersons - "like death warmed over" - one of my moms best descriptive lines. i'm still recovering. I think the combined stress of this week has sent me into a bit of a tailspin. so, please pray for us. pray for physical health, for the ability to calm our minds and our bodies and trust in God's provision and timing. buying a house from across the country is difficult. buying a house from across the country that needs renovations before its inhabitable feels gargantuan. my gift is that I can let go of control and recognize God's sovereignty and goodness - but that is also proving to be a gift I keep refusing.
here's hoping the week ahead is filled with some normalcy (or, at the very least, no puking), and a miracle or two would be nice. yes, a normal week with miracles - hear my prayer Lord.
that night my son puked all over his bed. thankfully the only thing he had eaten was an apple, and I have to admit that as far as vomit is concerned, apple is the way to go.
Tuesday we (both kids and I) all woke up feeling sick. so, we mustered enough energy to go to the library, check out an enormous amount of books, and sit on the couch reading. around 6pm I said "kids, do you know what we've accomplished today? we've all bathed. that is our only accomplishment". they weakly nodded their heads and went back to reading.
wednesday night i held my daughter as she cried herself to sleep - probably because she's picking up on the stress her parents are under.
Thursday we prayed for a miracle. we prayed that a house would pop up onto the market that would be perfect for us. well....a house popped. the exterior reminds me of a swiss chalet (which hearkens back to the sunday lunches of my childhood ...ummmm....chalet sauce), and the interior is covered with cigarette smoke and cat pee. DEFINITELY a fixer-upper (refer to paragraph 1). however, it's large, with a solarium for a studio, and space for a guest room, and a big yard, and could be (after lots of work) an amazing home. is this our miracle? i'll let you know.
friday was my son's sixth birthday. he climbed into bed with me for morning snuggles and I asked him if he felt bigger. "oh, yes!" he said, then i could see his little mind was working on something - "get out of bed right now mom!" "why?" "I have to measure how tall I am!". he has always used my body as his means of self-measurement. i remember when he was so proud to hit my belly-button, and now he's well past.
we opened presents and I made his favourite "pescetti" (trans. "spaghetti) and broccoli for dinner. he jumped up in the middle of the meal and clasped his hands together and said "thank you God for such a delicious supper!". thank you folks, my job here is done.
i spent the evening creating cake bombs for his birthday party. he, like his sister, was having a spy party. what kind of cake do spies eat? I suppose the kind with files or bullets hidden in them, but that is just a little beyond my comfort zone. fake bombs though....I can handle. scott finally staggered into the house around midnight.
Saturday was the party. six six-year-old boys descended. I have come to the conclusion that I love to plan parties, but the execution of them is a little overwhelming. here's where my hubby comes in - this whole marriage thing is a lovely strategy for life: teamwork. he had the boys using him as a moving target for water gun practice, he made a multi-level obstacle course which included them navigating through a laser web (not real lasers) and jumping down the stairs into a pile of pillows (real pillows). I ran the finger-print analysis training and made the ID badges. we're a good team. 
but here's how we look after a birthday party at the andersons - "like death warmed over" - one of my moms best descriptive lines. i'm still recovering. I think the combined stress of this week has sent me into a bit of a tailspin. so, please pray for us. pray for physical health, for the ability to calm our minds and our bodies and trust in God's provision and timing. buying a house from across the country is difficult. buying a house from across the country that needs renovations before its inhabitable feels gargantuan. my gift is that I can let go of control and recognize God's sovereignty and goodness - but that is also proving to be a gift I keep refusing. here's hoping the week ahead is filled with some normalcy (or, at the very least, no puking), and a miracle or two would be nice. yes, a normal week with miracles - hear my prayer Lord.
Monday, April 22, 2013
team prairie
In the bleak midwinter frosty wind made moan,
earth stood hard as iron, weather like a stone.
Christina Rosetti
I didn't blog last week because i had nothing to say, other than "i'm cold".
I'm not sure there's all that more to say this week, but here goes.
picture me here, on my couch in my living room, surrounded by paintings of flowers, a bouquet on the glass table in front of me. i'm wrapped in a blanket, and you know why. i'm wracking my brain from something interesting to say.
outside i can see my lawn, but not all of it yet. this week our bush magically reappeared after its long hiding, and we actually had to stick the "for sale" sign in the ground rather than in the snow. we bought popsicles at costco, in great anticipation, and i've begun reaching for shoes rather than boots. so, there are hopeful beginnings.
but i'm still freakin' cold.
in my favourite books by Louise Penny, there's a little Quebec town that is filled with delightful characters, and they love to talk about the weather. i get it. i am literally salivating at the mouth thinking about warmth. last night i was in that wakeful dream state before finally taking the plunge into slumber, and i was imagining actually having to take off a blanket because i was too hot. i dream of heat. and i'm not alone, and that is why here in the prairies we talk about the weather. it is our common enemy, or common triumph. sometimes, it is truly capable of killing us, so we have to stick together. we commiserate over pushing shopping carts in inches of slush. we pass understanding looks at the gas station while shakily refueling. we make sounds of exclamation when exiting or entering buildings. we are team saskatchewan, and team winter is kicking our butts.
but at least we're a team.
which is why, despite what people keep saying to me, i will wholeheartedly miss the prairies. i will miss the camaraderie and the kindness, the simplicity and pace. the expectation that strangers will be helpful, or at the very least polite.
and some day i will even miss the snow.
but today is not that day friends. on saturday i was looking out the window at beautiful puffy snowflakes billowing down. it was the perfect Christmas snowfall. in late april. it was at the same time visually magical and terribly depressing. scott quickly checked the forecast and tentatively announced that "yes! this is the last snowfall". i knew he was just saying that to keep me from completely breaking down, but it worked. i stared out at those gorgeous flakes and thought "i may not see this again for years". that really perked me up, and made me sad for reasons other than missing my lawn.
so, for those of you who read my last entry where i asked for prayer for the colour green - you may want to search your lives for some unconfessed sins because those prayers have not been granted. just a heads up.
come to think of it, i'd better do a moral inventory because my prayers are seemingly ineffective as well. could this entire winter by my fault? could God be using the snow as a means of his refining, the cold as a measure of my worth? have the last 6 months been a trial so that i can leave this province a little bit easier? does the world actually revolve around me? has my mother been wrong all this time?!
possible. but unlikely.
at the very least, this winter has made me even prouder to be on team prairie. and i'll be on this team no matter where life takes me.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
green is the colour
i miss green. i live in a world of brown and white and, thankfully, some blue sky. but green? i have taken to holding onto the "greenery" from a bouquet of flowers for months. who needs flowers? well, i do actually, but what i need more is GREEN.
i was thinking about this deep desire of mine, musing on the fact that i am more than a little nuts, when a newsletter from a renowned artist (Robert Genn) on the topic of creativity appeared in my in-box. let me quote:
and there it is. confirmation.
i have been feeling very lack-lustre in the studio lately. i thought it was just the stress of selling the house, but now i'm thinking it's living in winter for almost 6 months that has sucked the creative juices out of me. Robert also suggests moderate drinking and daydreaming. well...if i must.
all of you who don't live in the prairies could send up a prayer for us flat-landers. the 21st of April will mark 6 months without seeing my lawn. i would really love to look outdoors on that day to a world devoid of snow. well, not a world (sorry polar bears!), but my neighbourhood would be lovely.
there were some positive developments for my little family today - my son and i went to pick up my daughter from school sans coats! (we did wear mitts). and we actually barbecued for dinner!!! it was very encouraging. there's nothing a cave girl likes more than grilled steak - except for maybe chocolate and cheese. my naturopath has given me the green light to start introducing said items into my diet again. i had a teaspoon of mascarpone (which is cheese that tastes like whipped cream) on my salad yesterday at lunch and yikes! it seems i definitely have a dairy intolerance.
which means i'm just going to have to work at it - i wouldn't want to be labelled as intolerant.
so, i'm going to stare at my turquoise pants (that's close enough to green right?) for a while, drink some cider and dream of boursin...i'm sure that will spark some creativity.
if you're interested in the Robert Genn twice-weekly newsletter, which delves into all matters relating to artistry, go here.
i was thinking about this deep desire of mine, musing on the fact that i am more than a little nuts, when a newsletter from a renowned artist (Robert Genn) on the topic of creativity appeared in my in-box. let me quote:
when do ideas happen?....When we see green: Green surroundings, whether green-painted walls or the green outdoors, suggest new growth, rebirth, fertility and renewal--just one of the reasons why a walk in the park can be so fruitful. Feeling non-creative in the studio? Squeeze out some green.
and there it is. confirmation.
i have been feeling very lack-lustre in the studio lately. i thought it was just the stress of selling the house, but now i'm thinking it's living in winter for almost 6 months that has sucked the creative juices out of me. Robert also suggests moderate drinking and daydreaming. well...if i must.
all of you who don't live in the prairies could send up a prayer for us flat-landers. the 21st of April will mark 6 months without seeing my lawn. i would really love to look outdoors on that day to a world devoid of snow. well, not a world (sorry polar bears!), but my neighbourhood would be lovely.
there were some positive developments for my little family today - my son and i went to pick up my daughter from school sans coats! (we did wear mitts). and we actually barbecued for dinner!!! it was very encouraging. there's nothing a cave girl likes more than grilled steak - except for maybe chocolate and cheese. my naturopath has given me the green light to start introducing said items into my diet again. i had a teaspoon of mascarpone (which is cheese that tastes like whipped cream) on my salad yesterday at lunch and yikes! it seems i definitely have a dairy intolerance.
which means i'm just going to have to work at it - i wouldn't want to be labelled as intolerant.
so, i'm going to stare at my turquoise pants (that's close enough to green right?) for a while, drink some cider and dream of boursin...i'm sure that will spark some creativity.
When students were given creativity tests, those whose test-cover pages had a green background gave more creative answers than those whose pages were white, blue, red or grey." (Sue Shellenbarger, reporting in the Wall Street Journal)
if you're interested in the Robert Genn twice-weekly newsletter, which delves into all matters relating to artistry, go here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)