So it was like this. . I lied. . .

And it was self serving.
I have issues with pipes outside my home at times. The exhaust one from the furnace, a white one for something else. A third one has to do with the hot water tank, the problematic one. The one, when it's colder than the Arctic outside, becomes blocked with ice crystals. Which, in turn, shuts down the hot water tank.
Let me tell you how miserable it is when you jump in the tub, toes ice cold,goosebumps chasing each other up and down your arms and there is no hot water. Whatsoever.
Yeah. . it just doesn't get more miserable than having to climb back out, much colder than a short minute ago.
Let me also tell you hell hath no fury like a woman's hot steaming bath taken away.
We've been in the deep freeze here for the last month. I'm talking minus 40 celsius with the windchill some mornings/evenings. The dogs won't even go out.
And,Baby,when it's that cold, I'm cold. There is no warming me up save for a hot hot bath. (except at 2 am when I'm having a hot flash and melting on the spot.)
Such was the reason for my lie. I called down to my daughter asking her to send my husband out to check the offending pipe. I was after having a hot bath and when the water cooled down, I was fixing to run the hot water tank dry, staying in that blissful tub of steamy hot water till I resembled a prune. Then I was going to jump in my most comfy flannels, crawl under the duvet cover and nap.
Yup. . I was that cold.
I told her there wasn't much hot water coming out and he needed to go clear the pipe. A lie, a big fat lie.
I heard the door shut solidly behind him and two minutes later he stomped back in grumbling there was nothing to clear.
And here was lil ol me up to my neck in hot water, grinning just a wee bit. Okay a lot.
Objective achieved.
But hey, a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.
And yes. . I'll be doing it again.

Christmas Village and Camera Jinxs

Christmas Village and Camera Jinxs via
Flickr  ( click on 'flickr'  for the pics )

Enjoy and Merry Christmas with a Happy New Year
:-)

Musings of This,That and Other Things

Confession: I can stick my foot in my mouth solid. I am not impervious to what I say, quite the opposite in fact,but sometimes, hey. . thinking's at a premium. Here's the Reader's Digest Version:
Setting the table at my Mom's for this culinary feast. ( I know we all prefer our mother's cooking but mine rivals those of chefs. I know I know blah blah blah she's your mom but I know good food and she's awesome at it.) A fondue is a beautiful thing, not to be rushed and complemented with wine. To minimize the confusion as to who's fondue forks are whos, they colour code the ends of them.
I worked hard assigning those forks taking into account fav colours. I announced each colour to my family ending with the bright yellow ones for my sissy's boyfriend.
Um yeah, problem.
He's colorblind. And I forgot that slightly important fact.
I couldn't help it, I giggled the next 15 minutes over it.

A slight pet peeve to share with you. Well perhaps more than slight as I have to stop myself from commenting. I'm good to restrain myself but it leaves me literally biting my tongue sometimes. It irks me to see people publicly ( and by publicly I mean social media. ) thanking others for having done something for them. ( Teri, not in your way whatsoever, I mean as in my neighbour helped me move the branch, the dog, shovel snow or shovel shit. You get my drift. . )
Can you not thank them in person? And if you did WHY do you feel the need to put it on facebook how nice they are only after they've done something for you?? Can you ever not write how nice they are,just for the sake of it? And make no mistake, I never see anyone who FB thanks another for doing something for them do just that. Throw in thanking the good Lord on facebook (of ALL places) ONLY when something good happens. It makes me roll my eyes and scoff at you. Not that you much care but my respect of you nosedives on the spot.
I guess I'm a part of a dying breed that thanks those face to face ( on the rare occasion as I'm the 'do it myself type of gal' ) and talks to the good Lord for other reasons, like. .  watching over us and/or steering me right. Not because I won money or I scored something materialistic.
Yeah, I know. I'm weird that way, I guess. I prefer human interaction when called for.

Well! Let me tell you of fallout from my post about a secret sect of a gaggle of  Desperate Housewives. It got me kicked off two sites I was a member of. Okay, I wasn't a big contributing member, more like one who went on to read and be entertained by the follies but I was, nevertheless, a member. To get deleted from those sites one has to troll the posts, insult/berate members or generally carry on with no decorum. To which I did none of those things.
One site was of the going ons in my neighbourhood. I emailed the admin,was promptly ignored and the other a Rant and Rave site. Again I emailed that admin who played the ' I'm not aware' card. I'm calling it. . .Bullshit.
My being 'kicked off the island', so to speak, happened right after that post went viral within the town itself and three/four neighbouring towns. Within a weekend, it went from 30 views to 440. I'm no detective but it doesn't take a genius to figure the timing of it.
Getting my wings clipped from those two sites brought what was a rumor (albeit a pretty solid one) to it being fact given the end results. There is a bunch of small minded, vicious ( some have had numerous complaints filed against them with the law) people who berate, belittle and bully innocent decent people.
Yes, I did take great pleasure in ousting them. For there is nothing worse I hate than cruel self serving little ignoramuses.
As the saying goes, 'Ain't nobody's got time for that'.
Enjoy your mean spirited 'secret' little desperate housewives club, ladies. It's not so much a secret anymore.

And that, Peeps, is my musings of the day.
What's yours?

Wisps of Plumes

So winter's here to stay, I'm sad to say. I'm increasingly becoming a hermit as soon as the snow hits. And when you are from my neck of the woods ( Western Northern'ish Canada ) winter comes early and stays forever! I kid you not, six months duration at times. Yuck.
Anyways, I get cabin fever bad and need to do things to occupy myself. Such is the challenge. I cook ( I eat WAY to much of what I cook ha ha ) I read, I cross stitch, I watch a select few tv shows, I surf the net probably way too much and I have my camera.

Winter came in one BIG dump two days ago. 20 cms, ummm hang on let me figure out the imperial for my American friends. . .( cause I'm nice that way) if 5 cm is 2.5 inches, 20 cm = almost a bloody foot of that stuff. That I had to shovel some of. ( I'm into sharing, I left the biggest part for my manly man hubby to deal with. *wink* (if I am to gauge the temps, that bloody stuff's here to stay till Spring. Which is far far away.)

Anyhoo, all this long lead up brings me to what I did yesterday which was visit a weed shop.
Yup, a '420' store.
Wicked nice girl worked there and we chatted for a bit. Then got down to business.
I was on the hunt for incense sticks, the smoky kind.
You see, charcoal based ones don't smoke as much or so I was told. By a Wiccan witch I had just met at Walmart 10 minutes prior, which is all they carried. Nice lady, informative but misjudged by awfully small minded red necks.
She sent me along my way to the umm smoke shop. ( I use that term loosely)  Luckily ( or strangely enough ) there was one in my town. Good thing because the roads were iced up with the arrival of that cantankerous old Man Winter. I wasn't about to drive down the crazy ( as in idiot drivers )  stretch of highway between my town and the 'big city' 20 minutes away, the RCMP were advising against such travels. No prob, Bob! I'm good where I am.

The girl at the smoke shop, I discovered, had a mutual intense dislike of incense sticks. She refuses to burn them on her shift, we laughed given the business she worked in. I can't stand the smell of them either and I had to buy a box of them as they were not sold by the stick.
Off I toddled on home after loading up on caffeine at my beloved Tim Horton's.  (Yeah. . it's a Canadian thing, this love affair with Tim Horton's coffee. )

I set about preparing my tools of the trade and for the next couple of hours I indulged in a fantasy world of smoke and shape.
And I got off on it. Big time!

lol yeah, before you judge me here's the link to what I did.
Enjoy.(and you best bloody well appreciate because I had to open both doors to to my house after along with the upstairs windows and boil some vinegar water to chase out the smell. Blech! )
:-)  

Wisps of Plumes

Flickr-On the Edge of Canada, Eh. ( Vancouver Island Oct 2013 )

My week on Vancouver Island- Oct 2013 on Flickr

Vancouver Island October 2013

Musings of This, That and Other Things.

I can't help but squirm in my seat when I see couples openly display their relationship woes or tooth aching saccharin 'I love yous' on a social media site. I get embarrassed when one doesn't have a clue to filter what or what not to share for all to see.
( I guess I'm not a romantic?.. . or maybe just not an openly flamboyant one. I'm certainly not into PDAs, well save for the occasional quick kiss, hug or hand holding when I'm feeling lazy and need to be propelled forward. ha ha )
My husband doesn't have a facebook account or twitter, google+,Instagram or anything like that. In fact it's only till recently we've had to show him how to type in a web address. ( he's come a LONG way since then, baby!)
But I'll be damned if I ever put any argument we have or state the dumb things he does ( well, sheesh, it's not like I do dumb things lol *wink* ) or doesn't do. And if I do post something, I'll use humor as a platform and you may be sure I'm holding back 80% of what actually happened.
So it confounds me how some can openly display the TMI stuff or air out their dirty laundry for all to see/read. I always feel badly for the other person.
Marriage and it's highs/lows are, at least for me, intensely private stuff.
I'm not saying it's wrong, but it's. . .baffling.

I took down all my photographs from Facebook, save for the cover/profile photographs which are public. While it's not one incident in particular there is one that 'broke the camel's back' so to speak, lending to the decision to remove most of them.
No I'm not the next best photographer to come along. No I'm not a pro, nor do I have any intention on becoming one. Nor do I guard my photographs like security on the Hope Diamond, slapping big ass watermarks on half the picture. But I do take pride in my work and yes, it gives me faith to keep doing what I do when one takes enjoyment out of a photograph or asks to have a print of it.
I've no problem with that and it is very flattering. I've had prints go to Japan, the States and around Canada. Photography is more than holding a camera up to your eye and clicking away. Honestly, it's hard work and at my age, the sheer learning curve fries my brain at times. Let's not mention photographer's block and how much it sucks. I know, I'm in one.
Yes and I do realize that once it's on the net, it's a free for all. ( to a certain degree) I get that.
Seriously though, since the only people I share my photographs with on FB are friends the key word here would be: Ask.
It's just a respectful thing to do.

Holy shit, someone better tell the head of the Menopause committee to hook up with Mother Nature PDQ and cool things down just a wee bit heat wise. How does one survive summers with disgustingly high temps? It's been ugly hot and I just don't think I'm going to make it. I'm going to melt down to a pile of miserable yuck.
( wait two/three months, I'll be bitching about the ugly cold. There's just NO making me happy till I'm through the fracking change I think. Feel sorry for my husband. Hell I do )

I swear on my sanity right here, right now if that boy of mine doesn't buy new alarm clocks ( he has two set up. His main one and a back up ) I'm going to open the window within the next couple of nights and fire those loud ticking mechanical time tellers.
They drive me mad at 2 am when I'm woken up by the, 'TICK TOCK TICK TOCK TICK TOCK' And here's the mister, flat on his back snoring to wake the dead.
I'm on sleep aids, for the love of all that matters. I should be waking up. At all.
I can feel it, I'm going to crack soon. Or those 2 alarm clocks will. In half.

Well, Peeps, that's it. I'm done with the tattoo removal process. I decree it so. After seven sessions, I am calling 'Uncle'. I have a ridiculously high pain tolerance level but I reached my limits. He ramped the laser up higher every time ( not blaming him, he had to do it ) due to some stubborn black and it hurt on a whole new level every time. This last one was a doozy. :(
The good news is it's 96% gone. Higher percentage now after this last session and over time it'll   fade to nothing. I consider myself very lucky, I had a top rated tattoo removal specialist, with top of the line equipment and he did an amazing job. No scarring. Expensive but worth it.( don't ask, it's jaw dropping.) I am one of the lucky ones at 7 sessions, there are some that reach 13/14 sessions and the tat's not gone. I guess my body wanted it gone as much as I did. :) 
1 1/2 years later I am done! WOOT!
And no, I'm not after getting any more tattoos. Ever. I have a small one that's a keeper, that's good enough for me. ( The one I had removed covered a portion of my middle back, extending to above the shoulder blades.You want a tender spot, try that area ) If you google the coloured 'pain' map of getting a tattoo, you'll see the back is one of the highest spots. And getting tats removed rates five times that in pain. Ouch! Be sure of your tats, Peeps, that's all I gotta say.

Ok, 'nuff stuff shared tonight. I was quite 'chatty' by the looks of this. A rare moment indeed. I've neglected this blog, trying to muster up some stuff to post but it's been a stretch.
The way I figure it is: it's better to write posts when I actually have something to say, rather than 'fluff' and incredibly boring  crap some bloggers post just to say they have.

Yeah, you're welcome for that. 

Bedtime. Hmmm he doesn't work tomorrow, maybe I'll bury his stupid alarm clocks under the twenty pair of boxers he owns.
( call him a pack rat, you wouldn't be wrong. )

Night all.

Musings of This, That and Other Things.

I came across a complaint on FB this morning and it's been bouncing around in my head since.
It seems this woman had an issue with girls wanting to facetime with her pre to teen boy ( not sure which ) at 2 am while his 'electronics slept in her room' What followed was a litany of complaints against young girls.
I raise two myself, I know all about pre to teenage girls. BUT what really irked me was the overwhelming consensus that all those girls were trouble or going to be.
I didn't respond. Most replies were from younger women that had a wholeee lotta growing up and living to do yet.
You just wait,my judgemental little pretties, your boys WILL be coming home in a boatload of trouble in the years to come yet.
I went back to the original complaint and couldn't for the life of me figure out why his cell was left on to 'sleep' in her room all night everynight??  It seems like an oddball thing to do on a parent's side, no?
And for the record, not all what's wrong with this world lays solely on teenage girls. Most of us mothers who have daughters are much better able to lay the blame where it's due. Be it the girls camp or the boys. .
It seems to me that a lot of the mothers of sons act like their boys can do no wrong. It's always the girls that 'convert' them or lead them down wrong roads or trick them. ( rolling my eyes here)
And by the way, one simple solution for that mother. Shut the stupid cell down at night.
DUH

I can not tell a lie. Getting a 'WOW!' from a photographer's daughter on an album I posted gave me such a charge. I've been in a ' I hate all my photographs and who do I think I am anyways' phase. It's brutal, it sucks but it's fact.
Grant you that daughter is my mother but she is a photographer in her own right and I know she separates the chaff from the wheat, so to speak. ( Mom, if you are reading this, Dad will explain to you what that saying means xoxo )  If I got a WOW! from her it's because she's taken into consideration all that is involved in the process of a successful photograph.
I think in a real way, I measure my success ( I'm an amateur with NO intention of going pro. That's not to say I wouldn't like to have a small showing or two eventually ) by two things; the emotion the photograph draws from the viewer and the nods I get from fellow photographers.
And I got a 'WOW!'
Made my day, it really did. :)

You have all heard of the 'Desperate Housewives' series. . ? Yeah, I don't watch them but I know of them as well.
What was brought to my attention is where I live there is a chapter of truly pathetic women that have started a 'private' facebook page called 'Desperate Housewives of Leduc County' . They are all a part of this Rant and Rave site where if you dare go against the 'grain' you are jumped on and the whole post is brought to this sad page where you are ridiculed and ripped to shreds. I know someone who knew someone who left the group because she couldn't handle the vicious callousness of it's members.
I've probably been the topic of conversation on that page more than once. ( if you know me in RL, I call them as I see them and there are a chosen few in the Rant page that need to get out more or get a life. I can hold my tongue for the most part but well lol,at times I can't. ) Which, by the way, if any of them stumble in on here I'm fairly certain I'll make top billing on the Housewives site for a week straight and be 'uninvited' to the Rant and Rave page. ( In truth,I don't go on it often, I can't stomach it much) Ohhh welllll.
But can you imagine the sheer ego it takes of stand above all and lay judgement like that? Wow.
Karma's a bitch, ladies. You just never know when and where. . . and seriously, get a life, a job or get out more often.
Then again, you can stay in your so called secret society and judge. Your little pea brains probably can't handle the outside world. 

Omg. A massage, a massage! My kingdom for a massage! . . 'nuff said.

I have to start exercising in earnest again. I don't remember in recent history where I've spent such a long period of time not working out.
Not to excuse it but it's been a crazy busy summer and we're now mid August.
Come on, Jamie, off your as of lately lazy ass and git at 'er!
lol yeah, I have inner monologues and arguments with myself. Often. I always lose. Sigh. *wink*

Well, it's 3:15 pm and that means it's 5 o'clock somewhere. Time for a glass of wine.
Yeah yeah, I'll start working out ummm tomorrow, yeah that's what I'll do. I swear.

What's your musing and thoughts today or inner monologues, my bloggie pals?

I may or may not have

I may or may not have:

. . called my stick thin 82 yr old Dad a 'sxy bastard' when he came out of the bathroom freshly showered. He was wrapped up in a long thick towel from just below his chest to just above his knobbly knees. Bones jutting out everywhere. It earned me a hearty snort, which I consider a sign for a successful line delivered.
The man doesn't laugh at simply anything, you know. . .

. . tore some idiot lady a new one in the parking lot. After following her from two streets down when she tried to run me up the median with her car, switching from the right lane to the left one occupied by me. Or. . she tried run into me, I'm not sure which. I might or might not have suggested in a very strong manner she take off those ugly sunglasses as they were a) not doing a damn thing for her and b) making her blind,deaf ( I held the horn behind her from one stop to the other) and stupid.
BUT, and there is a redeeming 'but' here, I ripped her a new one in both official languages, not knowing which she spoke. ( I know, right? I am quite considerate that way)
Aaannnd I can promise you she'll never do that again. .to anyone. You are safe to go forth and command your side of the road with confidence if she's around.
You're welcome.
:-D

. . told the sweet 4'8" (and a prayer) lady at Timmy's the donut I wanted was on the very bottom shelf but not to worry as she didn't have far to go to reach it.
She froze for the briefest of moments and gave me a megawatt smile. Seems her mother used to say that to her all the time, she thanked me for the memory.
Warm fuzzies.

. . went through a 3 way stop sign the other day. Ooopsy.

Yup, I just may or may not have done one or all of these things.
:0)

John Ceprano's Inukshuks. Rock balancing at it's best.

I was lucky enough to be able to drive where John Ceprano ( an international balanced rock sculptor/painter and photographer) displays his amazing rock creations.
Although it was early in the season, I managed to take some photographs of his work. His collection will grow as the summer days go by.
He is originally from Rhode Island but his home has been near Ottawa, Ontario for a number of years now.

Showing a youngster the tools of the trade

For Today

For Today

Outside my mother's kitchen window... 
I see signs of summer in her neighbourhood. Children hard at play, people sitting out talking loud enough to be heard four houses down. ( french people talk loud naturally ) I'm down for 3 weeks while I help her rebound from a knee replacement operation.

I am thinking...

about tonight's supper. Yup, I've got food on the brain today. Pre Aunt Flo's visit, stupid bitch. She's well worn her welcome after X amount of years. ( yeah, like I'll put the number of years down for all to know. Pfffhhhttt ) 

I am thankful for...

the rate at which my Mom is gaining strength post-op. Damn she's a hellova strong woman. Big grin!
    

From the Kitchen...

I'm eyeing the mountain of pots and pans I hand washed and piled on the drying rack. They are balanced precariously and I'm a klutz, bad combo. Mom's sleeping. Even worse combo. 

I am wearing...

the lightest summer clothes I own. The humidity levels are through the roof in this province, I live where's it's dry. I can kiss my mother's feet for her AC. ( yeah I can but I'd hafta be dead drunk first ha ha. Just stating my appreciation at this lovely air conditioning )  

I am creating...

a photographic folder of my mother's bounty in her beautiful garden. I have shit for beans for talent in the gardening department sadly. I am enjoying the beauty of vivid colours, kissed by rain and Mother Nature herself.

  

I am going...

to nap this afternoon. Don't dare text me or call me,you'll be taking your life in your own hands if you dare rouse me out of the tropical planet I'm visiting in my dreams.

I am reading...
the package of sterile bandages I have to soak and use on my mother's leg which is housing 35 staples keeping her skin from splitting open and displaying her muscles, bones, plasma and cells. . . The staples I have to clean/disinfect. If I go slowly enough I can count the staples as I pass over them. Bwahahaha  is your stomach is flipping? Mine's fine.

I am hoping... 
more like prayin' to the car gods I don't scratch/dent/rub up against anything with my mother's car. You have to understand something here, this is the 1st time in my life she's let me drive her car! ( albe it out of necessity)  Holy shit, this is a huge moment in my life ha ha. This woman lends her car to no one. Ever. I want to shove it in my sisters's faces bad. But I'm not that petty, damn it. 

I am hearing...

my father's dog snore. How the hell can a freaking dog snore THAT loudly already?! 

Around my parents's house...
I am trying not to kill their plants. Or drown them. I am a serial plant killer. GULP!

One of my favourite things...  

when I come back 'home' is to face dive into the foods I grew up on. Which are all very very unhealthy. But ooooh soooo good :-D  I'll pay the stupid piper after. As my daughter says, 'And not a calorie fuck was given' 

A few plans for the week...
playing nursemaid to my patient. 

Here is a picture I thought worth sharing...

Hubby and I on an evening walk. The kid in me wants to run hell bent for leather and jump off the end of that pier. 

Can't hide it.

'Three things can not be long hidden:
The Sun, the moon, and the truth."
-Buddha.


What people think is true:
I'm hard edge.
What actually is: While I'm not a pollyanna type, I'm a hella lot more sensitive than I let on, I just hide it really well.

What people think is true:
I speak two languages.
What actually is: I speak three. English, French and Sarcasm

What people think is true:
I'm not patient enough with some people
What actually is: I don't handle stupid well, so ummm yeah.

What people think is true:
I'm strong.
What actually is: Yes I am but contrary to popular belief, I'm not strong ALL the damn time.

What people think is true:
I'm a bitch.
What actually is: I stand up for what I believe is right, I speak out against what I believe is wrong. I call a spade a spade. If that makes me a bitch, then I'm a damn proud one.

What people think is true:
I am funny.
What actually is:
Quite often I hide behind my humour.

What people think is true:
 I'll be there through thick and thin.
What actually is:
Not so ready to be there rain or shine anymore. I'm growing much more selective.

What people think is true:
I have it easy because I don't work.
What actually is:
No f*$&ing comment. That's pure Bull. Shit. and does not deserve a comment.

What people think is true:
I don't have weight issues.
What actually is:
Thanks, but you are dead wrong. I might not have significant weight issues but they are there nevertheless and not going away any frackin' time soon.

What people think is true:
I can handle confrontation of any kind.
What actually is:
While I won't back down from it, I will try to defuse if it warrants it. Unless it touches my family then you rue the day you ever crossed my path.
I can name names of those who tried.
And failed. Miserably.

What people think is true:
I can be. . . crabby at times.
What actually is: I have functional hypoglycemia. Want the list of symptoms? They are many. I fight hard to control it but at times, when life gets too bloody busy it gets the short end of the stick and I pay for it. Dearly.

Musings of This, That and Other Things

I'm standing in line at the coffee shop doing what 99.9% of us do, people watch. Sunglasses in place so I don't get busted because man! I hate that. ( hence sunglasses. A people watcher's necessary and #1 tool.)
My gaze is jumping from here to there as if in a race to find the most interesting sight first. I have mastered this sport, now if I can master the iPhone camera without getting caught damn it.
My sight falls upon the back of your head. Suweet muther, honey. It's called a brush? Well ok, so you've heard of one but you missed the all important spot.
The crown.
I can't stop staring, it's as fascinating as it is almost repulsive. It's been a while since your last hair wash, I see? The strands are well separated and well . . oiled. It is badly coloured or should I say you are in a dire need of one.
I can't comprehend how you are not aware, I want so badly tell you. I'm embarrassed for you.
My fingers automatically go to the start of my hairline above my forehead and viciously I rake my hair overtop my head and down my crown. I'm trying to straighten it out for you using my own head, it's not working damn it.

Bed head, Ladies. Take heed, it is not a pretty thing.

Speaking of bed. . things. At the risk of repeating myself, don't wear PJ bottoms out at any time in any situation in any public place. Especially if they look slept in which, clearly, this guy's did. Creases at the back of the knees, rumpled at the hems, a couple of unidentifiable stains here and there.
Ew, just a big gross EW. Where's your pride man?!?

Do you think if you have parked next to me and you've the need to schooch down and under as to not bean your dumb ass face by our mirrors, you've perhaps parked a smidgen too close? Just maybe?
It would make it worthwhile to see you get knocked on your ass by my mirror or yours ( Hey, I'm not fussy) but judging by the smoothness of your move, you've done this a time or twenty.

I think I have possibly come across the next generation of Dragon's Den. A couple of streets over from me there is this work crew rebuilding the sidewalk the whole length of the street on both sides, it's quite the organized chaos. There are many many of them there, all identifiable by the bright orange vests. From an arial view, it would look like a small colony of ants busily working away.
About half way to 3/4s way up in sits a table in a driveway selling hot dogs and home made lemonade, maned by three kids.The line of workers, at lunchtime, extends down the driveway spilling onto the newly poured and hardened sidewalk.
Location. Location. Location.
Smart kids, flat out.

While I understand the instant gratification of transplanting readily grown flowers and plant life, I have to say there is something deeply satisfying about growing something from seed. To go out each morning and finally see that wee little seedling fighting to break out of that layer of soil just makes one's eyes light up with pleasure. Yes it is a personal choice, I don't condone anyone else's but I have to say I much prefer this type of satisfaction. And judging by everyone else's fronts and backs in the neighbourhood, I'm one of the few who does.

Speaking of lawns, there's a guy up the street and he, I swear, is out to have the.perfect.lawn. Every day he's out there spraying unnatural. . crap to rid his every blade of grass from unwelcome neighbours, the dreaded weeds and dandelions.( he's also the dude that doesn't take down his xmas decorations till freakin' May and shovels half the sidewalk length wise in the winter. Wtf? ) Don't get me wrong, yeah it's pretty to look at, he's got every pot and flower meticulously placed and it's almost magazine worthy. (I give his land a very wide berth when I walk the mutts )
Call me lazy or just call me a country girl but perfection like that makes me uncomfortable. I don't see the enjoyment in perfection, I see obsession. Give me a meadow with wild flowers any time and I'm in as close to perfection as it gets.
As nature intended.

I'll leave you with this last one.
Do you think when I get waved at in recognition by the guy that works at the wine store when I'm in the jeep in the parking lot it's time for me to find a new wine establishment? That I go there way to regularly?
I laughed when he did that and these were a few thoughts that ran through my head. . .

What about you, my bloggy pals, what are your musings of the day?

To honour of a mother I wasn't born of

To most of you who have your mothers still or who's mothers are in heaven looking down and smiling upon you, I hope you have a great day with them or remembering them.

I want to take a moment to honour my own Mother. No I wasn't born of her but she's fought and struggled to be my mom since she came into our lives.

My bio mom died when I was . . 6? 7? I don't remember much, her memories are like faded snapshots from long ago. Without the few photographs we have of her, I wouldn't remember her at all. But don't be sad for me, I'm not. From what I remember, she wasn't that much into. . . parenting, let's just say.

My father was lucky enough to meet and fall in love with this women who's strength knows no bounds. Still to this day, she's one of the strongest women I've ever come across.
She'd have to be. Married at the tender age of 22, four children and my dad in tow. Her parents warned her it wasn't a wise thing to do and she was in for a hard life. < go figure! :-/ >
But love is what love is and, like her strength, it knows no bounds.
I have to be honest, if that was me, knowing what I know now having raised two girls, I would of ran for the hills.
I think back to what we put her through and I just sit and shake my head.
Hell. Just sheer hair pulling sanity trying hell.

Not at first mind you, we were young and cute as buttons but the cute era only lasts so long with the teenage years materializing and as the saying goes, ' hormonal highway going hell bent for leather'.
Throw in an extremely difficult half brother with a major chip on his shoulders, problems from him best left unsaid, she eventually found herself with three teenage girls of various ages, graced with three vastly different, at times difficult personalities and by then a wee babe at home.
Having raised two girls and knowing what I know now, I would of RUN.
How she survived those years, I have NO idea but my admiration of her, my love for her has grown 100 fold over the last ten years.

I won't go into details but there were some years we went without speaking. I refused to forgive her for being. . human. For being strong, for things she had no control over. For things she couldn't be to me. I said cruel hateful things to her and I was well in my 20s by then, a time I should of known better.
Even to think of how I treated her sometimes still brings tears to my eyes. It's my guilt I know and although I know she's past it, I've yet to fully forgive myself but that will come.

When I go home for a visit now, I visit my MOTHER, in every sense of the word. I hug her and feel the love coming from her, I bask in it. In those hugs comes forgiveness from both of us, the years of hell I put her though, forgotten on her end, a mother's end. To her it's past and it's where it will stay.
I smile at her with my heart, hoping she knows how I feel now, where we stand. We greet each other as mother and daughter, as friends. At long last.
I take the love she's always had for me, regardless of what I did, I let it sooth away the stresses of my life. Yeah, I'm still greedy enough to take certain things from her and that I'll take.

I want to dedicate this weekend to my MOTHER, the woman who has loved me through it all. She, who took on the weight of another woman's four children, had one of her own and somehow miraculously survived it all.
For those of you who think I am strong, come follow me home and meet the woman who taught me what strength is.
She's who I will try to be like till the day I die.
Come meet my Mom.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
❤❤

Take a moment and 'hand' it to me, will you.

Daddy's Hands
'Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin'
Daddy's hands were hard as steel when I'd done wrong
Daddy's hands weren't always gentle but I've come to understand
There was always love in Daddy's hands'


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey you! Yeah,you. . I see you looking at my hands. Not pretty looking I know. Sadly I'm powerless to change them.
If you know me in real life, I mean really know me, my hands have been a source of stress for me. I hate the way they've aged faster than I have.  I've always tried to hide them the best I could, hoodies with extended cuffs and thumb holes, Pockets work well in a pinch.

I'm not famous, I can't afford the exorbitant cost of what it takes to 'fix' them. However I notice a lot of celebrities overlook their hands. Their faces made up to perfection, high end surgeries from experts in the field of body alterations. Recovering in exotic places away from prying public eyes, then coming back home to live the lie.

Yeah. . I notice the hands, having had a hate on for my own,for so many years.

Till now, last week in fact. If pressed for a time I'd have to say approx mid-afternoon.
I'm not sure what shifted in my world, nothing special happened when I gave up the fight with my ugly hands. I was a passenger going along for the ride on what was remarkably a non busy highway that usually fights for the right to own the entire stretch.
I can tell you this; I had just finished staring at the backs of my hands for a ten solid minutes. I think I went somewhere deep in that head of mine. I don't remember being aware of the passage of time.
When I came back to the world of the living I knew I was past tired of hiding. I was,at the very moment ,exhausted from being swallowed by the hate I had of them.
I simply do not have the strength to fight what I can't stop. My age, my aging. My hands that have seen 50 years ( God help me, my breathing momentarily stops when I say this number still.. But like my hands, I'm working on it.

So I say this to you now. . .see these hands? Let me tell you about them:

These hands are a hard working woman's hands. They don't shy away from the curveballs life throws at me. They've held newborns, they've nursed the sick back tho health. They've held and helped dying animals/pets reach the end of one path and hopefully the start of another.
They've loved, they've hurt others, been rude times and yes, they've scolded when it was warranted.
The food they've prepared with care, the mountains of dishes they have washed would probably stretch across this great country I live in.
The rivers of tears they've captured and held, many of them my own in a bid to righten an immediate world gone mad.
The faces of the loved ones they have stroked, the hugs they've freely given along with my heart.
The cuts, bruises, the abuse they have gone through.

See these hands? They are MY hands and every line, every vein you see are MY badges of honour, my right to brag of what they've done.
Who am I to hide what I have worked so VERY hard for? They are a testimony to the life I have lived, an honest hard working life.
And now I choose to be damn proud of that fact.

 A life to which I still have a whole lotta livin' left to do and I will do so with the help of these hands. These hands that can not tell a lie.
But I will tell you this, they're done hiding.

March Photo A Day-2013

This is a compilation of four different 'PhotoADay' lists.

                               The prompts are written on the photographs themselves.
   And it was a tough tough month to get this done, March was livin' la vida loca in Jamie's world!