Thanksgiving, 2008

And yet... we must remember that we still have so very, very much to be thankful for.

Manners Maketh...

We were all sitting 'round the luncheon table in Stratford today, my mother having concocted a feast of pancakes with maple syrup and Canadian bacon, fresh from the local farmer's market.

I had spent the nearly three-hour car ride (through rush-hour traffic on Friday afternoon) whipping the girlies into shape... All three had been warned to be on their very best-est behavior, for the benefit of my overly-generous and long-suffering parents, who are hosting us for the weekend.

Having crammed themselves with as many pancakes as was "safe", their skins feeling sufficiently tight, Child Number Two and Wee Three were slightly taken aback when in response to their request to be excused from the table, my mother placed a banana in front of each of them for dessert:

Wee Three: (glowering blackly at the fruit) YUCK.

Child Number Two: (horrified by her little sister's lack of table manners) No, sweetie... You're supposed to say, "Yuck, PLEASE".

I must be doing something right with these kids... I'm just not exactly sure what...

Music for Today.

Hallelujah.

Finding Truth.

This past August, I was fortunate enough to attend an informal lecture given by the great American actor and director, F. Murray Abraham. Many of you will remember him as the "musical villain" Antonio Salieri in the 1984 film, Amadeus. And hopefully, some of you may also know what a truly generous (and genius) mentor and teacher he is, both in America, and abroad.

In his talk, Mr. Abraham spoke passionately about how tremendously important the theatre is to our society... Especially today, when the world has never been more turbulent, dangerous and confusing. He struck a chord in me, when he said that one of the main reasons he goes to the theatre, works in the theatre and CREATES theatre, is to attempt to discover "Truth". He said that in this day and age, when there is such a glut of information and "News" constantly bombarding us from all angles-- much of it inaccurate or downright lies-- it is often in the theatre, and very often in the ideas that new playwrights create, that he discovers the most Truth about the world in which we live.

I have been thinking about that lecture, and all of the wisdom that Mr. Abraham shared with us, a great deal this week. Because in all honesty, I am having a very, very hard time weeding out "Truth" from ANY of the news that I have been hearing and reading lately.

My little family and I are still in the throes of having to try and sort out our place in this outrageous mess that politicians and broadcasters have now finally termed "The Economic Crisis". (Honestly. It's as though they only just figured it out on Monday, for crying out loud.) Things in my little world feel like they're spiralling slowly but surely out-of-control, and there's not a damned thing I can do about it.

But, luckily, one of my closest friends boarded a plane and arrived for a visit on Monday. Travellor is a very "old", and very close friend of mine from a-waaaaay back... We originally met working the North American tour of "Phantom of the Opera", more years ago than either of us cares to remember. Being in his delightfully silly (but undeniably sweet) company always cheers me up. His visits give me an opportunity to talk about the past, and our shared love of all things Theatre.

For some reason, just as my dear friend strode through the arrival doors of the Toronto International Airport and wrapped me in a bear-hug... and ironically, JUST as the American Congress was rejecting a bill that we had been praying would be passed... A song from the musical "Cabaret" suddenly sprang into my mind.

Where it has been "playing" ever since.

It's an old song, with lyrics that my brother has often quoted to me, whenever one (or both) of us is frazzled and upset about something.

I have decided that this song- this snippet of truly marvellous theatre- is an example of what Mr. Abraham was talking about that day. Re-discovering this song was a discovery of Truth, for me.

So What?

(from the musical, Cabaret)

You say fifty marks, I say one hundred marks.

A difference of fifty marks.

Why should that stand in our way?

As long as the room's to let

The fifty that I will get

Is fifty more than I had yesterday!

When you're as old as I-- Is anyone old as I?

What difference does it make? An offer comes, you take!

For the sun will rise and the moon will set,

And you'll learn how to settle for what you get,

It'll all go on if we're here or not,

So, who cares, so what?

So, who cares, so what?

When I was a girl my summers were spent by the sea, so what?

And I had a maid doing all the house work, not me, so what?

Now I scrub up the floors, and I wash down the walls,

And I empty that chamber pot.

If it ended that way, then it ended that way,

And I shrug and I say, so what?

For the sun will rise and the moon will set,

And you'll learn how to settle for what you get,

It'll all go on if we're here or not,

So, who cares, so what?

So, who cares, so what?

When I had a man, my figure was dumpy and fat, so what?

Through all of our years he was so disappointed than that, so what?

Now I have what he missed and my figure is trim,

But he lies in a churchyard plot.

If it wasn't to be that he ever would see

The abundance of me, so what?

For the sun will rise and the moon will set

And you'll learn how to settle for what you get,

It'll all go on if we're here or not,

So, who cares, so what?

So, who cares, so what?

So, once I was rich, and now all my fortune is gone, so what?

And love disappeared, and only the memory lives on, so what?

If I've lived through all that, and I've lived through all that,

Fifty Marks doesn't mean a lot! If I liked that you're here,

And I like that you're here,

Happy New Year, my dear, so what!

For the sun will rise and the moon will set

And you'll learn how to settle for what you get,

It'll all go on if we're here or not,

So, who cares, so what?

So, who cares, so what?

It all goes on,

So, who cares?

Who cares?

Who cares?

So what?!

Yes, the sun will go on rising and setting, and the world will keep on turning, no matter what happens during the days and weeks to come... The question is, how long will it take for me to "learn how to settle" for whatever comes out of all of this mess?

I have no choice. I have no control.

Only time will tell.

A remarkable tribute to a Remarkable Man.

Philanthropist.

(And a magnificent actor, too.)

Paul L. Newman, 1925-2008

Please, listen.

This is not just a problem that is affecting the United States of America.

This is a problem that is affecting the entire world.

If not dealt with, swiftly and effectively...

I fear.

I fear for all of us.

Please, Washington. Invest in your country. Before it's too late.

A Lesson in New Life Skills.

For the past week, I have been absolutely riveted to CNBC, CNN, and BNN television networks. I have been trying my utmost to glean any and all information I can about the proposed "bail-out" that the Powers-That-Be are trying to create, in order to save the world economy from implosion.

I have been bombarding my husband with questions... Questions that, as it turns out, even HE doesn't know the answer to. Because, let's face it, no one has ever been through an historic event quite like the one that is taking place right now... And, unfortunately, there ain't no formal business qualification that can prepare you to have to deal with a situation like the one we find ourselves in.

Finally, The Husband had had enough of my pestering.

"You've got to stop it!!" he insisted, completely exasperated with me. "Stop watching!!"

How, I queried, shriekingly, could I POSSIBLY stop watching, when the outcome of the next few days will determine the course of our future?

"It's like this," he sighed, looking straight into my eyes. "Making up law like this is like making sausage."

I winced.

"Exactly," he continued. "If you watch the sausage-making process too closely, it gets pretty gross. So the best thing to do is just AVERT YOUR EYES, and let them get on with it. But, DON'T WATCH TOO CLOSELY. Or you might have an even harder time stomach-ing it later on."

Grudgingly, I agreed with him.

And I turned to my little girlies, and asked them what we could do for FUN, instead.

I kid you not, folks. THIS is what they came up with:


As it turns out, THIS is a GREAT way to spend a sunny afternoon:

Out in the garden, on the lawn... because it's much more pleasant if you don't have to listen to the loud clanging on the kitchen floor, every time somebody starts giggling so hard, the spoon falls OFF.

Big fun, people. BIG.

That is, unless you are ME.

Unlike my children who inherited my husband's cute-as-a-button, squoodgy little nose, which is perfectly designed to "hang" a teaspoon on...

I sport a hawking, aquiline schnozzzzz, bestowed upon me by my own overly-generous father.

A schnozzzzz, with solid BONE right. down. to. the. tip.

Which makes it IMPOSSIBLE to balance even the largest soup-ladle on.

(Believe me. We tried. Which added MUCH to the afternoon's hilarity, I assure you.)

They don't call me "Funny Girl" for nothin'.

I'm Still Here

Once again, my friends, I am overwhelmed. After removing this post this morning, as I had said I would, I had some time for reflection... And you know what? I've decided to leave it up.

Thank you for receiving my "news" with such overwhelming kindness and generosity of spirit. I received many, many lovely comments and emails yesterday, that lifted my spirits and truly made me feel that I am most definitely NOT alone. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I have saved every, single one, and will no doubt, be re-reading them often, in the days and weeks to come.

xoxo CGF

* * * * *

This is the post I've been avoiding.

The post where I try to explain where I've been, lo' these past many weeks.

And it's hard.

Because, as I mentioned several months ago, just as all hell around me was beginning to break loose: I don't "do" the needy, depressed, self-indulgent thing, as a rule. On the rare occasions that I do, I have a really, really hard time admitting that I'm feeling needy and depressed, except to my very closest circle of friends.

And, even with those friends... I have an even harder time admitting when what I really need is HELP.

I was brought up by two of the most wonderful, stoic and steadfast people on the planet. My parents were, and continue to be, pillars of strength. To be truthful, I never once saw them waver, throughout my entire childhood. They brought me up with the intention of empowering me with my own sense of strength. I have always striven to be the sort of grown-up that my parents wanted me to be... and worked so hard to shape me to be.

It's a wonderful thing, to know that you are Strong. It is a gift, to have a family that raises you up to believe that you can do anything, endure anything, survive anything. It makes you bold. It makes you confident. And it has helped to make me as a pretty well-adjusted (for the most part), happy person.

But, as it has turned out, lo' these past few months, I am not actually as strong as I thought I was. And even more amazingly, admitting that fact has not resulted in a cataclysmic end-of-the-world scenario.

My own little family and I have been through quite a time. It has actually been slowly spiralling downward for a little over a year now. When something like this happens, it often begins almost imperceptibly. You do your best to believe that things will get better, then make up your mind to carry on. You put out the little fires around you, scuff the dirt over them a bit, and keep going. Sure, there's some soot left on your shoes, but it's hardly noticeable to anyone around you.

The trouble is, sometimes those little fires don't go out completely. Sometimes they burst back into flames again, and with each larger recurrence, it gets harder and harder to put them out. Your feet get burned, and your hands, too. It hurts. But, if you're like me, you don't want to let on to anybody that you can't handle the pain and anxiety it's causing you.

The massive wildfire of the economic crisis is now blazing out-of-control in the United States, and the repercussions are affecting the entire world. It's been like watching a long, slow-motion train-wreck, with no caboose in sight. My husband and I are spent from the stress and exhaustion of trying to maintain our small family business during this terrible time. As things have become more and more irrational and negative in this world of ours, so has our own "little life".

The struggle we have been waging to stay afloat has taken a terrible toll on my physical and emotional health. It has also taken a toll on our marriage. And no matter how hard we try to hide our feelings and fears, all of this has taken a toll on our children, as well.

It has not been a happy time.

Being scared wears you down. Living in constant fear of the unknown-- fear of things that are happening around you that are completely beyond your control-- inevitably steals from your ability to be strong, or even to feign strength. I don't care if you're on Wall Street, or, like us, The Little Guy, trying to eke out a decent living in The Great White North.

Living this way eventually wears you down to the point where you just can't do it anymore.

It wore me down to the point where I "caved" by the end of the summer. The "role" I had been playing simply became too hard to portray anymore. The load became too heavy to carry by myself.

I went to my parents' home, handed over my three little girls, and lay down.

I couldn't get up again for nearly a week.

During those seven days, I really needed help. And I got it-- I got the compassion and support that I so desperately needed. Not just from my mum and dad, but from several close, trusted friends, as well.

It's been a long road "back". And I know in my heart that I'm probably nowhere near my actual destination... But I hope I'm on the right path-- for now, at least. There may well be a few unexpected detours in my future, still. I'll just have to wait and see.

Physically, I'm doing better. I've gained back some of the 25 pounds that "worried" off of me, almost imperceptibly (to me, at least). I've got a few more grey hairs, but at least it's not falling out anymore.

Emotionally, it's still a bit touch-and-go at times. But, with the tremendous support of the circle that I was able to "let-in" on my troubles, I'm getting there. I'm talking about it a bit more, and not feeling as though admitting that the panic and fear that I carry is such a colossal failure in my own character. I'm not just living day-to-day anymore, but minute-to-minute, and second-to-second. And I'm really trying hard to forgive myself for having to exist this way, for now.

I used to be the five-year-planner... The person who could always be depended upon to arrange things, and take up causes, and throw major events... Now, I'm teaching myself to be "okay" with letting other people take up these mantles, and cutting myself a break. I don't have to be The One, anymore.

I'm concentrating on other things, instead.

On a course that I'm taking, which will qualify me to be a specialized teacher of people with learning disabilities (I hope to be able to begin taking students before Christmas).

On my children, who continue to be my life's delight, and who are thrilled that mummy's smile is being seen a lot more frequently these days (hell, who WOULDN'T smile at a four-year-old who is loudly singing the new Sunday School hymn, "He's Got The Whole World In His Pants"?!)

On my family, who have been more supportive than I ever could have imagined... And most especially my brother, who has, at long last, ended his world-travels and now lives a blissfully short distance away (let all the Little Girlies in residence say, "SQUEEEEEEEEE!!!"... and this Big Girl, too, actually...)

And, last but not least, I'm trying to concentrate a little bit more on Me.

Myself, The Person. Not just "The Mum", or "The Wife", or even "The One Who Cooks and Cleans and Drives and Does The Laundry". But rather, The Person I used to be before all of this-- the one with interests and ideas, and needs of her own. Maybe needs that I never even realized I had. Amazingly-- to me, anyway-- needs that are important, and deserve to be fulfilled.

It's all still strange and unfamiliar territory, these days.

And more than a little bit scary, sometimes.

But, I'm still me.

I'm still here.

I've run the gamut, A to Z,

Three cheers, and dammit,

C'est la vie!

I got through all of last year... And I'm here...

Lord knows at least I was There,

And I'm Here! Look who's Here!

Counting Blessings...

Good Mother

Written by Jann Arden Richards and Robert Foster

I've got money in my pocket

I like the color of my hair

I've got a friend who loves me

Got a house, I've got a car

I've got a good mother

and her voice is what keeps me here

Feet on ground

Heart in hand

Facing forward

Be yourself

I've never wanted anything

I've, no I've, I've never wanted anything

so bad

Cardboard masks of all the people I've been

thrown out with all the rusted, tangled, dented

God Damned miseries

You could say I'm hard to hold

But if you knew me you'd know

I've got a good father

And his strength is what makes me cry

Feet on ground

Heart in hand

Facing forward

Be yourself

I've never wanted anything

I've, no I've, I've never wanted anything

so bad

I've got money in my pocket

I like the color of my hair

I've got a friend who loves me

Got a house, I've got a car

I've got a good mother

and her voice is what keeps me here

Feet on ground

Heart in hand

Facing forward

Be yourself

Heart in hand

Feet on ground

Facing forward

Be yourself...

Just be yourself.

Is that a light I see at the end of the tunnel??

I just hope and pray it's not another on-coming freight train...

Today's music is one of my favourite "train-inspired" songs... Crank it up, my friends!

Especially YOU, Travellor. And YOU, Buddy.

And my DLB. And the divine Mrs. G.

And you, too, Mrinz. And Nan. And Shauna. And Canape. And Karly.

And Painted Maypole, of course. And Leann. And the expectant-any-moment MTM, along with wunderhusband SciFi Dad. And my "old" friend Prairie Preacher.

This is for all of you, my friends-- and all of the rest of you, whom I am too scatter-brained and exhausted to remember and provide links to this morning...

Thank you for being "out there" for me.

Here's a little bit of "bling" for each and every one of you-- it was awarded to me several weeks ago by the lovely Nan, of "Things I've Found In Pockets". I have been as remiss in extending my heartfelt thanks to her, as I have been in passing the award on.

Paste it into your sidebars, and know how much I appreciate you.

xo CGF

Still trying to find a "bright side"...

"It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.

"So it is."

"And freezing."

"Is it?"

"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "we haven't had an earthquake lately."

--from A. A. Milne's "Winnie the Pooh"

I am still here, my friends... it's just taking time to sort some things out.

I'll be back. Promise.

Miss you. xo CGF

The latest.

I am going back to work.

(How many people are lucky enough to get paid to "play"?!)

And thanks to Gilda Radner, here, I'll be sure to stay AWAY from the adhesive supplies in the wardrobe maintenace room this weekend...

I'll be back soon, folks-- thanks for your patience, your emails, and kind words during this difficult time. I appreciate it more than you know.

xo CGF

Reason #1,678,934 to stop watching tv

Stormy Weather

I'll be back when the skies have cleared.

xo CGF

Spamalot.

I've been experiencing "technical difficulties" for the past few days... The other night, this blog was mistakenly identified as SPAM by the robots at Blogger, and consequently shut down (at my end, anyway).

For anyone else who is experiencing the stress of receiving an email from The Powers That Be, stating that their blog has been LOCKED, here is the latest news on the issue:

We've noticed that a number of users have had their blogs mistakenly marked as spam, and wanted to sound off real quick to let you know that, despite it being Friday afternoon, we are working hard to sort this out. So to those folks who have received an email saying that your blog has been classified as spam and can't post right now, we offer our sincere apologies for the trouble.We hope to have this resolved shortly, and appreciate your patience as we work through the kinks.

— Brett

My many thanks to Brett and Co. for responding to my request for a "review" so quickly... I can't tell you how much better it made me feel to know that it was not ME... it was THEM. (Because, I'm a bit insecure that way.)

And, of course, many more thanks to those of you who have continued to check in on me over the past few days! I hope to have the remainder of the "kinks" worked out around here over the next day or so. (We are at the cottage this week, and there is MUCH to report from the lake... Stay tuned!)

xo CGF

Incomplete

Incomplete

by Alanis Morissette and Guy Sigsworth

One day I'll find relief

I'll be arrived

And I'll be friend to my friends who know how to be friends

One day I'll be at peace

I'll be enlightened

And I'll be married with children and maybe adopt

One day I will be healed

I will gather my wounds forge the end of tragic comedy

I have been running so sweaty my whole life

Urgent for a finish line

And I have been missing the rapture this whole time

of being forever incomplete

One day my mind will retreat

And I'll know God

And I'll be constantly one with her night dusk and day

One day I'll be secure

Like the women I see on their thirtieth anniversaries

I have been running so sweaty my whole life

Urgent for a finish line

And I have been missing the rapture this whole time

of being forever incomplete

Ever unfolding

Ever expanding

Ever adventurous

And torturous

And never done

One day I will speak freely

I'll be less afraid

And measured outside of my poems and lyrics and art

One day I will be faith-filled

I'll be trusting and spacious authentic and grounded and home

I have been running so sweaty my whole life

Urgent for a finish line

And I have been missing the rapture this whole time

of being forever incomplete

Honestly.

A little while ago, I received an email from someone who had been catching up on my blog. She is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and it has been some time since she and I have been able to find the time to sit down and have one of our marathon telephone conversations. Luckily, she is one of those "kindred spirits" that are few-and-far-between: It doesn't matter HOW many months elapse between emails, phone calls or visits, we always seem to be able to just pick up where we left off, and keep right on talking. We might inadvertently miss birthdays (I plead guilty!), anniversaries (GAA!), and the odd Christmas Morning (it was the TIME CHANGE!! Honest!!) but I can't tell you how grateful I feel to know that she'll always be my friend, nomatterwhat.

In this last email, she wrote:

"When I read (your blog) I really want your life. I hope that all you write is really where you are at. It sounds so great, listening for an owl, and watching a big bad bandit eat all the food. My life is so hectic, not a moment to spare. I love the leisure your blog paints...."

While this is an enormous compliment (she is actually quite the writer, herself), the comment got me to thinking... Because, although my blog IS an account of my daily life with the girlies, my friend knows me well enough to know that my daily life is considerably more complicated than the leisurely picture I paint here.

It concerned me slightly that people who do NOT know me in real life might think that this is an entirely "charmed existence", safe from all of the problems and worries that most people have. It's certainly not true.

My husband and I work, and are scrambling to deal with the fall-out of the current economic crisis. We're trying to keep the "family business" afloat, whilst resisting the overwhelming temptation to kill each other in the process... My kids get bored and fight, don't always do as they're asked, outgrow their clothes too quickly, and will ALL need braces... I sometimes struggle with my decision to give up working outside the home, and fear that my brain will be reduced to the consistency of oatmeal and eventually leak out of my ears... There are nights when the mere THOUGHT of cooking something edible for dinner is completely beyond me, and I wind up running to the corner store to buy a box of Kraft Dinner and a package of hot dogs... And to top it all off, yesterday, I discovered a BIG BLACK HAIR growing out from the spot just under my chin.

But, do you know what?

It may not have been a conscious choice not to write extensively about all of the above (and a lot more, I assure you), but I do believe that not writing extensively about all of the "dirty laundry" in my life has been even more therapeutic than "venting". Because writing this blog for the past year-and-a-half has made me examine my daily life, and find the POSITIVE, the FUN, and, most importantly, the FUNNY in it.

There are times, like these past few weeks, when I have not been able to find much inspiration to write at all. Searching out the "good" just seemed to be too much of an effort, with everything else that's been going on around here.

But, thanks to my friend-- and thanks to ALL of you who read, and write back to me with comments and emails-- I'm going to make more of an effort: I'm going to keep trying. Because it is important for me to remember how truly blessed I am, no matter how crazy this life may seem.

And, come to think of it, maybe discovering that big, black chin-hair wasn't quite so tragic, after all... Now, if I could just find those damn tweezers...

Supper? Um, I think I'll pass...

It was a beautiful day today.

Well, if you subscribe to my idea of "beautiful".

It poured all morning, complete with a little requisite thunder and lightning, for dramatic effect. Which allowed me, once again, to skip my garden's fairly extensive watering routine. (Truth be told, I have only been forced to drag out all of the hoses, set the timers, and then play a merry game of musical-sprinklers ONCE so far this year-- it would seem that the Gardening Goddess has mercifully given me a season "off", for a change. Of course, now that I've actually written that down and sent it out into the ether, I'll be cursed by drought for the next month-and-a-half.)

Just after lunch, the heavens cleared, and the bright sunshine broke though... but not with the sweltering heat and humidity that we are accustomed to here in July. It was a perfectly manageable 26 degrees (Celsius) on my patio.

The girlies and I raced down to the pool to enjoy the remainder of the afternoon.

Wee Three is becoming quite a proficient little swimmer, so long as she stays in the comfort-zone of her Mickey Mouse inflatable ring. She bobs happily around the shallow end (where she can touch the bottom on tippy-tippy-toes... if she stretches a bit), and actually gives her older sisters a run for their money, when they all engage in speed-races. More often than not, though, the older girls go splashing off to the deep end to practise their "mermaid" routine, leaving Wee Three with only me for company. And it is then that we play her favourite game, which we call "Swim-Up Restaurant".

I sit lazily in a deck chair by the edge of the pool, and my youngest child bobs up beside me.

"What-a you like to eat?" she demands, firmly but sweetly.

It is then that I am able to spend a few blissful moments, casting in my mind for a delectable imaginary meal that I would devour with great relish, if only someone else were willing to concoct it and serve it to me.

Once my order has been taken, my tiny, watery waitress scoots off, little legs kicking away, as she darts around the shallow end, pretending to gather ingredients, and mix things together. This goes on for several minutes, after which time she swims back to where I am seated, and pretends to present me with her culinary masterpiece.

I make ecstatic faces, and sufficient snorfling noises to indicate that I have enjoyed my "repast", and once the mandatory **burp** has been proffered, she eagerly inquires:

"NOW. What-a you like to DWINK?"

Which sets me off on a whole other fantasy. (I secretly fear that the extensive amount of vocabulary I have recently given my child in this area might one day set her off on a career in professional bartending... And me on a career as a professional drunk, for that matter. Hey, I am nothing if not supportive of my children...)

This afternoon, however, the restaurant-game took a slightly different turn.

Wee Three swam up beside me, and asked me what food my heart desired...

And all of a sudden, I had an intense craving for rich, creamy pasta. Not just ANY pasta, but tiny, fresh, hand-made dumplings... smothered in a delectable, pungent blue cheese sauce.

"Mmmmm..." I closed my eyes for a moment, and could almost SMELL the buttery-garlic-y aroma as I requested, "I'd really like a big bowlful of fresh gnocchi, in a lovely, silky, Gorgonzola sauce..."

She immediately splashed off to "prepare" my meal, and I enjoyed a solitary reverie, imagining exactly how the pasta would taste... what wine I'd like to drink with it... and, of course, the chocolate I would eat for dessert...

It seemed like only a moment before she was back at my feet once more, offering me an upturned Frisbee as a makeshift "plate", and shouting a hearty, "Here-a go!!"

I let my mind wander to the food once more, as the wet Frisbee dripped on my lap, and she began to swim away.

Suddenly, she stopped, and whirled around to face me:

"Mama! Just so-a know..." she said with an enormous grin:

"I put lotsa Gorgons in it!!"

Medusa (the Gorgon) by Arnold Böcklin

Ew.

Come to think of it, I'm not so hungry, after all.

Damned Greek Mythology...

Still sitting here...

Welcome to my Monday.

How to Foil Enemy #1

I did it.

After years, and years, and YEARS of trying... and of UNINTENTIONALLY "feeding" this neighbourhood's rodent-population-of-the-squirrel-variety... I have FINALLY figured out a way to keep them out of my yard.

Yesterday, I had my laptop out in the garden, so I could do a little writing while the girlies were playing in the sandbox.

I sat peacefully on my patio, not ten inches from our main "squirrel-proof" bird feeder. (Um, yeah. That is to say: the bird feeder that I spent SIXTY DOLLARS on, because it has a weight-sensitive trap-door mechanism, that lowers whenever anything heavy lands on the perch... Needless to say, the manufacturers have not attempted to weigh my death-defying, wildly acrobatic Red Squirrel Bandit. Dude is BONELESS, I swear, and weighs less than the average sparrow... Until he has successfully emptied the contents of the aforementioned bird feeder into his stomach, that is...)

There I sat, typing away, pausing every few moments to "gently remind" my youngest child to turn off the hose... now... before it floods the ENTIRE backyard, not to mention our basement...

When who should shimmy up the bird feeder pole but The Red Bandit. I stopped in mid-shout, to turn my head and gaze incredulously into his beady little eyes... Clearly, this was a rodent who was well and truly OVER his "fear" of me.

After a few minutes, I abandoned the stare-off, sighed heavily, and made a mental note that ANOTHER econo-sized bag of bird seed would need to be added to this week's grocery list. As I returned to my work, I could hear the little fecker madly crunching away behind me... and it was all I could do do squelch my murderous instincts, and instead try to concentrate on the topic of the day: Great Horned Owls.

Twenty minutes later, the post was finally finished, but even as I pushed the "Publish" button, it was clear that Red's appetite for seeds was insatiable. I remember thinking that surely he MUST have eaten the equivalent of his entire body weight, three times over, in just one "sitting". Surely, AT SOME POINT, the bird feeder's weight sensor would kick in, the buffet door would come clanging down, and Big Red would have to make one of his Baryshnikov-like leaps to save himself from hitting the ground.

I clicked the "View Blog" button, to proof-read my work one last time, and check to be sure that all of my audio players were working properly... and forgot to first check the volume of my laptop's speakers.

Oh, Happy Day!

Because, it turns out that there is NO greater squirrel-deterrent more fast-acting and effective than THE CALL OF THE GREAT HORNED OWL, played at top-volume, at mid-day: a time when most little rodents of the non-nocturnal variety are feeling a little bit too bold and "relaxed" about their personal safety.

The vigour and vim with which The Red Bandit bolted off of that bird feeder shocked even ME. He positively bounced off of the back fence, he was in such a hurry to hide himself.

And blissfully, I haven't seen him since.

It's been nearly 24 hours, now. And I'm seriously considering placing little hidden speakers all over my garden, so that I can project a looped-version of the owl call at strategic times... Like, for instance, just after I've re-planted all my bulbs in the fall. Hell, maybe I'll even put a few speakers up in the attic this winter, too.

And if I'm very, very lucky, maybe a REAL owl will hear the recording, and interpret it as an invitation to take up permanent residence with us...

Because that would be the BEST protection of all against the *&%$@! Red Bandit.

Guess whooooo we heard last night...

At the unhoooly hour of ten o'clock last night, Child Number Two came bursting into my bedroom (where I had retreated to "peacefully" attempt to read a book. Okay, a knitting pattern. I don't have enough time for reading entire books these days.)

She leapt onto my bed, brushed my reading material to one side, and in one fell swoop, landed squarely in my lap. Her arms curled 'round my neck and tightened strangulatingly, as she screeched something into my ear about "NOISEOUTSIDE! MONSTERSMAYBE! SOUNDEDLIKEASCARYSHOWONTV!!!!!!!!!"

Now, my bedroom is just across the hall from hers at the front of our house, and I was able to assure her that I, myself, had heard no such sound. When I had finally calmed her down enough, and smoothed the panicky perspiration from her brow, I asked exactly what the sound had been like.

Child Number Two: It went like this.... (arching her eyebrows right up to her hairline) Hoooo, hoo-hooo.... HOOOOOOO, OOOOOOO"

I had to laugh.... because the expression on her face made her look like a pale-faced, spitting-image of The Count on "The Hilarious House of Frightenstein".

But, then I stopped. A lightbulb suddenly went "on" in my tired, old brain.

Because the rhythm of the sounds she was making suddenly rang a bell.

"Hooo, hoo-hooo.... HOOOOOOO, OOOOOO"

"Whooo's awake? MEEEEEE, TOOOOO"

That? Is the call of the Great Horned Owl.

Yes, indeed, it is.

It would appear that all my efforts at bird-call memorization are beginning to pay off at last.

I grabbed my bathrobe, pelted (as quietly as possible) down the stairs and straight out the front door of our house, with my two eldest children in hot pursuit. We settled ourselves on the front step, and listened to this beautiful sound:

I have yet to actually set eyes on our beautiful, elusive Great Horned Owl... but I certainly hope he'll be in our neck of the woods again tonight. Because I've decided I'm going to sally out for a little late-night stroll. And if my new feathered friend cares to ask me:

"Whoooo's awake?"

I plan on answering:

"Meeee, tooooo!"

Swim.

It feels like we're just trying to keep

our heads above water these days...

One of the "Chocolate Elite"

The great Sandra Boynton, in her book, "Chocolate: The Consuming Passion", defines a member of the "Chocolate Elite" as someone who likes chocolate in all of its infinite variety (using the word "like" as in, "I like to breathe").

Let it be known to all readers of this blog (if it hasn't become wildly obvious already) that I am most definitely counted among the throngs of this illustrious group of people. And, if I keep eating chocolate the way I do, before too long, my steadily-increasing girth might very well qualify me as the equivalent of two, or perhaps even three Elitists.

I love chocolate.

Always have.

Want to know how much of a sickness my obsession is?

I love chocolate so much, I hoard it, and then I hide it from other people. I was stashing chocolate even when I was 21 years old, single, and living alone downtown in a bachelor apartment (it's hard enough to find hiding spots when you're living in a small, walk-in closet, and even harder to hide large boxes from ONESELF).

Last Friday was my 39th birthday (ahem), and it will be no surprise to anyone who knows me, that my very best birthday present... turned out to be the one that has ALWAYS been the very best.

My sainted, long-suffering parents showed up on my doorstep at ten o'clock in the morning, bearing an enormous, chocolate birthday cake.

Not just ANY birthday cake.

MY birthday cake. The cake that my mother has been baking for me for more years than I care to count. It is, to put it mildly, "choc-ful" of the most decadent ingredients you can imagine... and the mere THOUGHT of the taste sensation produced by every enormous mouthful is enough to make me want to lie down on the floor and roll around for awhile.

This cake isn't "easy", and it certainly isn't inexpensive to produce. But, it is quite possibly one of the most important recipes in our family "canon".

Because, this is cake. Truly magnificent cake. "Food Sex", my husband aptly calls it, and there ain't no higher culinary praise from a man than that.

But, most importantly, for me, the preparation of this cake, year after year, is a symbol of how very much my mother loves me.

That... mixed, quite possibly, with a small dose of revenge-- no doubt felt in its fullness, as she closes my front door on three hyper-active, sugar-high grandchildren, at the end of each and every birthday visit.

But you know what?

It's TOTALLY worth it.

Thanks, Mum. Love you, too.

MY Birthday Cake

(Go bake your own!)

For the cake (3 layers):

2 c all purpose flour

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

3/4 tsp double-acting baking powder

1/2 stick unsalted butter, softened

1 tsp salt

2 c sugar

2/3 c water

2 large eggs

4 oz unsweetened chocolate, melted and cooled

1 c sour cream

1 tsp vanilla

For the filling:

2/3 c black cherry preserves

2 tbsp fresh lemon juice

For the chocolate dipped cherries, and icing:

1 8-oz jar of maraschino cherries, WITH stems, drained and rinsed

1/3 c cherry brandy (or plain brandy, actually)

16 oz semisweet chocolate, melted and cooled

1 c of sour cream at room temperature
1/2 tsp vanilla

Okay... are you ready for this??

Cake:

Into a small bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. In a large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat together the sugar and the butter, until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each. Then, beat in the chocolate, the sour cream, the vanilla and the water. Add the flour mixture and beat the batter at "high" speed for 3 minutes.

Line the bottoms of 3 buttered 8-inch round cake pans with rounds of waxed paper. Butter the rounds and dust the pans with flour, shaking out the excess. Divide the batter evenly among the pans and bake the layers in the middle of a pre-heated, 350 degree oven, for 35-40 minutes, or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool the cake in the pans for 10 minutes, then run a knife around the edges, and invert onto wire cooling racks.

Filling:

In a blender or food processor, puree the preserves with the lemon juice, until the filling is smooth. Transfer the filling to a small bowl.

Chocolate Dipped Cherries:

Arrange the cherries in a small bowl, cover them with brandy, and let them macerate in the freezer for 30 minutes. Drain the cherries. (*hic*) Dip them one-at-a-time in the chocolate, letting the excess drip off. Place them on a tray lined with wax paper, and chill them in the fridge until the cake is ready to decorate.

Icing:

In a bowl, beat together the remaining chocolate, the sour cream, a pinch of salt, and the vanilla, until the icing is combined well. The icing should be very glossy. If the sour cream is too cool, the icing will become too firm... if this happens, add 1 or 2 tbsp of hot water.

Assemble the cake, spreading half of the filling between each layer. Spread the outside with chocolate icing, and then arrange the chocolate dipped cherries in a circle on top.

Serves One Highly "Elite" Birthday Girl.

July 11th

It's my birthday.

"18 Til I Die" a live performance by Bryan Adams

Tweet.

This past spring, I decided to undertake a little, "un-official" upgrading to my post-graduate education.

I am trying to learn a new language. Again. (Let the friends and family members who know me-- and love me anyway-- roll their eyes here.)

Oh, I've tried learning foreign languages in the past... I did okay in highschool French, and managed to learn just enough to satisfy my mark requirements for university entrance. I even picked up a few phrases of German from my sister, who learned the language well enough to go on a foreign exchange.

Then, there was the year my father and I undertook learning Italian from a set of cassette tapes, which we played during our morning car-rides together (he dropped me off at school, on his way to work). We actually did far more giggling than learning, as we repeated the (largely useless) tourist-y sentences to one another... The idea was that he would eventually be able to understand some of his favourite operas a little better, without the aid of sub-titles. Which, of course, never actually happened, since we were doing conversational rather than high fallootin' Italian. In actual fact, the only thing that I remember from all of our lessons is a polite, Canadian-esque: "Mi scusi... Excuse me!" To this day, whenever I manage to work that phrase into a conversation, using my finest accent and arching one eyebrow, I can still make my father laugh. Even if he's feeling cross. And so, it would seem that all of our efforts were not completely in vain.

It was my dad who got me going on this new language kick, too, actually. A few months ago, he sent me a 3-cd set, and a little booklet to help get me started.

But it is not a language that, even if I manage to master it by ear, I will ever be able to speak.

And that is because this language is actually sung.

Not by humans, but by birds.

Yes, folks, I am learning how to "birdwatch" with my ears. Because, if you learn to listen for birds, it becomes much easier to spot them, once you know what you're actually looking for.

Not that it's any easier to learn to identify bird calls and songs, than it is to learn a foreign human language... Just like us, birds love to use "slang"-- they change-up their songs, just as we create new words, and they constantly add and subtract "syllables" to and from their repertoire. Even if I manage to memorize the basic songs and calls on these cds, it will still be tricky to learn to accurately identify bird songs I hear in the wild... But, thanks to the fact that I've had a bit of musical training in the past, and have gradually developed a bit of an "ear" for remembering basic themes and tunes, memorizing "the basics" of birdsong has been not too difficult... so far.

What I discovered helps me the most are the words, or "lyrics", that the instructor on the cd has set to many of the bird songs. They are intended to help the listener remember the rhythm and changing pitch of the sounds. Here are a few of my favourite examples:

-Many people know that the American Robin's most basic song can be easily remembered, if you imagine that it sings, "Cheer-up, cheerily! Cheer-up, cheerily!"

-A Red-Eyed Vireo sounds like it's singing, "Here I am, where are you? Here I am, where are you?"

-One of the sweetest songs is that of a Barred Owl, who sounds as though he hoots "Who cooks for you, who cooks for YOOOOUUU all?"

-But my favourite (and my Dad's too), is undoubtedly the White-Throated Sparrow, who sings a rhythmic "Ooold Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody!"

It is uncanny how quickly I've been able to pick up and identify songs, once I've set them to words that I can easily remember.

There are also songs and calls that can be identified, because they are similar to other familiar sound-effects we hear in "real life". The Field Sparrow, for example, makes an accelerating trilling noise, that sounds like a ping-pong ball being dropped on a table. The Black-and-White Warbler makes a sound like a very annoying, squeaky wheel on a child's tricycle.

The ones I've had the most difficult time remembering are the songs that have been set to made-up words. For instance, the Summer Tanager's "Picki-tucki-tuck!", the American Bittern's "WOONK-ka-chunk!", and most maddeningly, the White-Eyed Vireo's "Chick-per-a-weeeeeo, Chick-per-a-weeeeeeooo..." drive me absolutely crazy. That last one has a tendency to throw in a couple of more "chick!" sounds every once in awhile, which throws me right off, every damn time.

Looking back on that last paragraph, it's no wonder I've had a tough time with those songs... They seem even more ridiculous written down, than when I'm trying to sing them out loud to myself. The whole exercise would make rather good fodder for a Monty Python sketch, come to think of it...

Sigh.

Oh, well. Luckily, we've got plenty of Chick-a-dees, Killdeers, Phoebes, and Pewees around these parts. Because they are all a type of bird called a "Name-Sayer": they actually TELL ME who they are, as soon as they open their little beaks, and save me no end of time and trouble.

"Conk-a-REEEEEEE!!"

(Red-Winged Blackbird!! Got it!! Hah!)

Hay!

Scenes from the farm, on this beautiful,

hot, hazy Wednesday morning...

"Breakfast!"

And now, I've got a craving for cereal... go figure...

Masterpiece

This is the first work in a series by new Canadian artist,

Wee Three, which we entitled,

"Laundry Stains"

This One's For The Girls

In the morning hours of July 5th, the blogging world lost an incredible voice.

Andrea, A.K.A. "Punk Rock Mommy", passed from this life, after a brave fight with breast cancer.

Today, I paid my daily visit to Whymommy's site, Toddler Planet, and discovered a most wonderful tribute to Andrea... and, in order to help her reach out to as many of you as possible, I am going to re-print the information she offered.

Please, please take a moment to take a careful look at the picture below (click on it to find a link to an enlarged version), and read about the 12 signs of breast cancer. Then, check yourself. Regularly. And remind all those you love how important it is to be your own best advocate for your health. Because knowledge and awareness about this terrible disease, and vigilance about performing a regular, monthly breast self-examination could save your life. If you think you recognize any of these symptoms, please call your doctor.

The signs of breast cancer

can be broken down into 12 basic categories:

1. hardening

2. growing vein

3. redness or hotness

4. skin erosion/rash

5. visible bump

6. puckering or dimpling

7. retracted nipple

8. new asymmetry

9. change in shape or size

10. unusual fluid

11. invisible lump

12. skin that looks like an orange

These signs can happen on the breast or sometimes in the armpit where lymph nodes are located. They are sometimes accompanied by soreness or itching. Soreness and itching itself though is not a sign of breast cancer. And near your period, the breast often changes for a week or two. It’s best to check a few days after your period when your breasts have the best chance of being “normal.”

Please visit the World Wide Breast Cancer Site for more detailed information.

In Andrea's last post, she wrote:

"I learned a lot over the year that I battled this dreaded disease. I learned that it is not in our best interest to hold out expectations to God. He is not Santa Clause. He does what is right and good. This was my path. My journey in this world was difficult and painful but important in my spiritual growth. I learned that we have to be happy despite our circumstances. We can’t say I will be happy when…. No sweeties be happy now because today is all you have.

I learned that all the small stuff is very small and not worth your time and attention. Gossip and resentments,worrying about things that never happen, fearing the unknown. Let it go my lovelies, breath and just be good to each other."

Thank you so much, Andrea, for sharing your life journey with us.

You fought a good fight, and taught us so much.

Rest in peace.

When Daisies Pied

When Daisies Pied

by William Shakespeare

from his play, "Love's Labour's Lost"

When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring-owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who—a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-who;
Tu-whit, tu-who—a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

A famous tale told by my former piano teacher and choir master was of the year he adjudicated at a very large music festival... and a sprightly little boy stood before him, and pronounced the first line of this song, "When Daisies PEED". Ever the gentleman, my teacher kept a straight face throughout the performance, and even while he delivered his "notes" to the contestants at the end of the class. I've no doubt he nearly "peed" himself laughing, once he had safely made it out to his car and was driving home, however...

For my DLB...

We love you--

xo YBS and Girlies 3 xoxoxo

"Happiness", from the musical, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown"