I MayB giving away a coffee cozy!

I'm giving away stuff! How exciting!

I've decided I like you people and I want to reward you for that. I know, being near me is reward enough, but you also deserve a prize!

So, here it is.  A coffee cozy. Handmade with love and hugs. If the one below is too girly, there are others.  If you win, you can have this one, one of the others I have made, or I can whip you up a new one in any colour.  I'm accommodating like that.

Coffee cozy of cuteness

So here.  Here is a give away.  It runs from now until midnight on Sept 17. I will announce the winner on Sept 18.

I really hope this is fun.  If not, I apologize in advance.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tales of Grandma -- Stubborn runs in the family: A post from the past

I thought this post was apt for this week. I wrote it in November of 2009, when Grandma moved from her apartment of 40 years to a smaller apartment down the road. Now almost 5 years later, after 2 years at an independent senior's lodge, Grandma is moving in with my Uncle Dean as she is requiring more and more care due to her failing memory. This post makes me both happy and sad - happy she was always such a tough old lady and sad that she has changed so much even in the last few years. As Gram says "It is a terrible thing to get old."

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Pic by my sister, Ky via Flickr

This weekend, Lyn and I will converge at Grandma's place.  It has been a busy month for Grandma and we're going to visit in order to do a quick check on how things are going.

Not only did Grandma get a new dog this last month, she also moved from her home of over 40 years.

Grandma lives on the common grounds that is owned by our church.  It started as an orphanage and bible school and years later exists as a meeting place for the "universal church"(though as far as I know only people from Earth attend) a few times a year.  My grandparents helped oversee the orphanage back in the day and my mother spent her entire youth there.

Grandma lived in a building that was once the orphanage and was later adapted to be a rooming house of sorts.  She and her family inhabited the entire top floor of the building that sat on the east end of the grounds.  For the last few years, the building has been empty but for Grandma and an occasional renter of the small apartment next to hers.  It has almost 20 of the steepest steps known to man and is a feat to climb even for the fittest person.  Grandma has been kept young by those stairs.

In the last few years, we've all realized Grandma would need a change soon.  She will be 90 in January and, even though she could still beat me for hardworking stamina, she is getting older.  She can still care for herself -- food, cleaning, bathing, etc -- but she's a little forgetful and she's a worrier.  We thought about moving her from one city to another (to be closer to immediate family) but this is a woman who's been wearing the same clothes for 30 years -- she doesn't do change well.

Grandma and her 4 sisters in 1976

The perfect solution presented itself awhile ago.  A small apartment on the same grounds opened up.  It is in the same building as two of her dearest friends and is above her nephew and his wife who do more to take care of her than time or patience would allow.  Grandma has worked towards this slowly.  One day, the idea of moving is excellent.  The next?  Not so much.

A week or so ago, none of the family could get a hold of Grandma.  Days went by and she was no where to be found.  Calls between siblings went back and forth until Ky got Grandma on the phone.  She wasn't dead and being feasted on by "the little black dog" as we had feared.  She had moved.

Grandma got it into her head she was going to move to the apartment and so she did.

By herself.

She packed up all her clothes into her suitcases and walked them down from one end of the grounds to the other.  She unpacked them there and returned for another load.  Then she loaded up dishes and books into boxes.  She carried those boxes down the flight of The Stairs of Death.  And then, she loaded those boxes into her wheelbarrow.

Her wheelbarrow.

My almost 90 year old grandmother transported all her own items down to her new apartment in a wheelbarrow.  None of us had any idea she was moving.

Grandma with Monty (left) and Vicki (right)

I talked to Grandma as she was cleaning out her old refrigerator.  She was standing on a chair, using a butter knife to defrost the freezer.  She chatted amicably about washing her windows before she moved out for good and contemplated how she would wash the outsides of them.  After I made her promise not to hang herself out the window, she casually mentioned that she wondered how to get the rocking chair downstairs.

I called my uncle who lives just over an hour away and let him know.  He went down that weekend and helped her move the rest.  When he was done, she burst into tears and said "Can we move it all back?"

I'm going up this weekend to make sure she didn't do that herself too.

My dog Monty

After my recent post picturing Monty, I had a lot of questions about him. I thought I would tell you a little about my favourite mutt.

Come closer, let me drool on you.

Montel was born in the middle of my sister's bed on a Saturday morning in May, 2005. His mom, Madison, was my dog and had gotten herself in the family way. (That was on my bed. Damn dogs.) I was out preparing for my garage sale when my sisters flew out of the house with the news that Madison was finally in labour.

Montel (and all his siblings) came out looking like a little black jelly bean despite his mother being an entirely white Cocker-Poodle cross and his father being a white and brown Shih Tzu.  He was followed by 5 other brothers and sisters throughout the morning as I ran back and forth between the garage sale and the house.

In my excitement and panic, I decided to sell the dining room table so Madison could have a birthing spot on lino instead of the bed.  I accidentally put the foot of the table through my front door window. It was an exciting day.

Montel as a puppy - about 2 months old.

We named all the puppies after talk show hosts.  Why? I have no idea. But we had Montel, Phil, Maury, Vicki, Dini, and Sally Jessie.  It was a gong show.  Madison had had 6 litters by this time, so had no interest in parenting, feeding, caring for them, or anything at all that involved puppies.  We all took turns feeding the puppies by bottle and trying to convince Madison she really wanted to do it instead.  She did not and showed this by flinging Monty against the wall.

I did not plan to keep any of the dogs. In fact, when we found out Maddy was pregnant we decided one of them would be for my Dad to keep him company.  He picked out Vicki because she chewed on his nose.  He decided she needed a brother, so Monty came with her.

Dad did his best to spoil the pups rotten.  Then, he met his wonderful wife and moved to Ukraine. He left Monty and Vicki with me. For a woman who had not planned to keep any dogs, I suddenly had 3. This led to me walking them through my neighbourhood and being approached by a little girl saying "Mister Lady, you have LOTS of dogs."

We think the probable brain damage just made him cuter.

Enter The Guy. When we started getting serious, he suggested that perhaps starting our lives with the dog equivalent of the crazy single cat lady wasn't the best idea. He said he would prefer if we had one dog. And he wanted Monty.

His sister came over to visit one night and took Madison home for a sleep over.  Madison never came back. Both Maddy and (my now) SiL fell in love and have had the most hilarious time ever since.  Then my little crazy Grandma needed a dog to take care of her and Vicki was it.  She went to keep Grandma in line.  Both were very happy.

That left Monty. I wasn't sure what I thought about him at first.  He wasn't my first choice, but I grew to love him like I haven't any dog before him.  He is easy going, a bit of a princess, and loves me more than any other creature on Earth.  It's hard not to reciprocate that kind of devotion.

Monty's favourite thing - ball. But don't touch it.
He doesn't want you to play. He just wants to show it to you.

I tease that Monty isn't smart enough to be bad.  He is what my Auntie Coral calls "good and kind".  Good for nothing and kind of stupid.  But I like him that way.

The shop - Fiction Friday

The story of the Spinster house began here, here, and here. 

Chapter 3: The Shop

Anna stopped on the sidewalk in front of the line of little brick shops. She breathed in deeply as though inhaling memories of times she had been in the same place before.  Each summer she had been lucky enough to spend with her aunts, she had been drawn to the shop despite the sunny weather tempting her to play.

It was all hers now.

Okay, not all hers.  She shared ownership with her aunt's best friend, Zoe. That suited Anna fine as she'd grown up with Zoe in the shop. It wouldn't be the same without her.  Her vibrancy and off-beat personality made everyone around her that much better.  And, for Anna, having Zoe there was like having a piece of her aunt with her.

Anna moved again slowly until she was in front of the store. A small, antique looking sign hung down from the steel rod protruding from the building. It simply read "Books and Ends" in a clean, simple script. Anna glanced into the window noting the display of books intermingled with small knick knacks the store was known for.  Beyond the display, Zoe looked up and a smile filled her face.

No backing out now, Anna thought.  She's seen me.

Anna pushed open the heavy oak door with a ping as the top scraped by the bell suspended above.  Zoe had made her way to the door by that time and flung herself into Anna's arms.

Well, more technically face first into Anna's boobs.  Zoe was about 5 feet tall to Anna's own nearly 6 feet.  However, despite her small nature, she was strong. Anna's ribs were squeezed tight in testament of that fact.

Zoe danced with joy as Anna returned the embrace.

"It is so good to see you finally! I wondered when you would come scope out the shop." Zoe swirled around, her floor-length, patchwork skirt flaring out around her. "What do you think? It's been awhile since you've visited!"

Zoe darted away to straighten up a shelf and turned to beam at Anna. "Hope would be so pleased you are finally here." Her eyes misted for a moment before her smile returned with a little waver. "It's not been the same the last few months."

Anna gently patted Zoe's shoulder in an effort to comfort the small woman. She didn't know what to say to make it easier. Anna blamed herself for much of what happened. If only she had visited more, she could have helped with the stress of the store and the house. If only she had returned when Hope first asked her, she could have saved herself the heartache she experienced in the last year, and she could have made her Aunt's last year easier.

Anna shook her head clear of the negative thoughts, "I'm sure it hasn't, but you've done a remarkable job with the store. It looks fantastic. You've expanded a bit haven't you?"

Again, Zoe became joyously animated. "We did! We put in a fancy coffee maker and made a couple of seating areas. Even one in the garden out back!"  Zoe nearly bounded across the room despite her chunky shoes, her long black hair swinging like a pendulum across her lower back. "This is my favourite spot! It was Hope's favourite armchair.  I put it here in the corner for people to curl up on and sit a spell."

Anna slowly wandered to the old wing chair and ran her hand over the faded material. She remembered spending many evenings nestled into pillows on the floor beside this chair while her aunt read aloud or sat quietly and knit.  The soft blue had dimmed over time, worn along the arms where her aunt's elbows had rested. It looked inviting, comfortable, and like home.  The matching stool sat off to the side ready to be pulled into action as a footstool or coffee table, whatever need arose.

Anna drifted through the store examining shelves of books and bric-a-brac that made up the store's inventory. Zoe and Hope had done a wonderful job of mixing curio with genre. Victorian tea cups accompanied books by Bronté, while exotic figurines decorated the shelves of the travel guides.

The entire store was treated more as a library. It was as though these two remarkable women had opened their homes and invited you to peruse their collections and take what you liked home with you - all for a reasonable price.  Nothing was overcrowded or overwhelming. Every aisle and shelf encouraged you to settle in, get comfortable, and find a new passion.

Zoe bustled about the store chatting about the changes she had made to the store in the last few years.  Suddenly, she gasp in surprise and exclaimed, "I forgot! Hope left something for you. I will get it right away."  She darted off - a blur of skirt and flowing hair - to the back of the store where the small office was located.  When she returned, she proudly held in front of her a leather bound tome.

"Hope left you this. It was her journal. She said it would 'Help you find your way.' I promised her I would give it to you if - when - you came home."

Next: Anna's last year

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Note: some of the details have changed from the last chapter and will continue to change as the need arises. Try not to be alarmed. Initially Hope was going to be a social worker, but I loved the idea of this bookstore too much not to go with it. 

Also, Zoe is loosely based on a dear friend of mine. She is one of the most cheerful, unconventional women I know. One time, on Halloween, she arrived at my house in a broomstick skirt, a pirate shirt, and clunky shoes. It was the greatest ensemble I had seen. I asked if she had dressed up and she looked at me like I was insane. Nope, that was just what she was wearing that day. 


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Childless by chance and by choice

People often ask if we have children. When I tell them no, they usually have questions as to why not.  It's a fair question. I am not upset by having to answer it.  Not at all.



Well, not any more.

Almost 2 years ago, The Guy and I learned we couldn't have children.  This was after months and month of doctor's visits, needles, probings, stadiums filled with spectators of my lady bits, and finally the ultimate disappointment.

I stopped writing around that time and I realized most people don't know how things have changed for us since then.

We aren't going to have children and I'm okay with that.



We considered our options - adoption, rental, kidnapping.

Just kidding.  You can't rent kids.

What we decided was that adoption was too expensive for us.  We couldn't adopt (or even foster) locally because of my job (I do emergency child protection as a crisis worker) and, if we went internationally, it would be upwards of $60,000.  As much as I love children, that was just not feasible for us.

We even talked about older adoptions such as my friend, Violet, has done and my cousin, B. However, my heart was set on babies.  Finally, we settled our hearts and our minds.

Children weren't going to be for us.



Despite our initial hope we would be parents, we did become quite settled with the fact it was not to be. I think it took me a long time. My friends were all having babies by the droves.  My office was full of new babies. Even my job took me to baby after baby.

But I realized something.  I love babies.  I also love kids, but in much smaller doses.  What I did love was being an aunt.  Not that my siblings have kids.

I have copious amounts of first and second and third cousins with whom I am close. We have many, many friends.  We have coworkers.  They have kids. I would have the best of both worlds. I could spend time with kids I liked, avoid the ones I didn't, and have lots of cuddles or pirate searches or trips to the movies.

And then, I could send them home.

We would still be able to be important in the lives of children we love.  We would also be able to travel. We will have a fulfilling life even if it isn't the one I had planned when I was 12. (Thank God. I had 8 children in that plan. Lord, help us all.)

I'm pretty lucky to have a husband I love who is so much better for me than anything I could have dreamed up.  I also have my dog.



Who couldn't be happy with that?

Oops, I pooped my pants: Post from the Past

Since I posted yesterday about diet and health, I thought I would share one of my favourite stories from the past about the tolls dieting can take on your body.  This was originally posted at Buggering Crap Monkies on May 19, 2008

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I may have mentioned before that I am on a diet. A six week, unforgiving, strictly healthy diet. A diet I am actually dedicated to as I know it has worked before and thus will work for me. If nothing else, it forces me to eat better and more often. I'm not limiting calories by any means. I'm just changing the way I intake them. Before, one day I was eating Cheerios and a handful of jujubes. The next day, I was eating three take out meals. Now, I am eating regular meals and regular intervals of things that actually provide nutrients. I have noticed some changes although not on the scale.

The biggest change has to do with my intestines. You may want to stop reading here. I'm going to ruin the mystery.

Since I normally have the worst eating habits a human has ever had, I tend to be a bit gassy. "A bit" meaning that sometimes I clear all the dogs out of the room causing them to run in fear with a look on their face like "OMG WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE." I figure I learned from the masters. Both my brother and my Dad can do the same. Since starting the DIET FROM HELL, I have noticed a great relief (mostly for those around me).

I have noticed one other thing in relation to my intestines. Now, when I have to "go" I have to GO RIGHT THE FREAKING HECK NOW. Let me provide an illustration.

On Sunday, I worked until 5am. I woke at 3pm and figured I should hit the grocery store before it closed so I could actually eat that night. I got up, had my protein shake and scrambled eggs, and went to Sobey's. I had a few items on the list - most fruit and vegetables, eggs and meat. It was itemized and simple. I was prepared.

Halfway through accumulating the items on the list, I had a rumbly in my tummy. "Oh no," I thought, "I have got to go to the washroom". However, there are no public rest rooms in grocery stores, so I soldiered on. I picked up a few more items and the urgency worsened. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. The extra "squeeze your thumbs and pray" I was trying wasn't seeming to work. My stomach growls of protest were growing louder. I was starting to sweat. And panic.

I hurried as fast as I could waddle to the checkout line. The woman in front of me was painstakingly slow. The cashier was occupied with his two buddies who were bagging groceries and everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion. I threw my items on the counter (including the eggs) and perched on the bar separating one till from the other. I waited.

Beads of sweat were starting to form on my forehead. The room was starting to spin. I knew I could not hold on much longer. I swiped my debit card from my perch and waited until the entire transaction had processed before moving. Cheeks firmly clenched, I grabbed my cart and violently swung out in front of people trying for the door. I flew to my car, got my groceries inside and pushed my cart haphazardly towards the cart corral. I sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. And realized I could not possibly make it home.

Now that I was sitting, I realized I could not hold out any longer. I had moments, not minutes before I lost all control. The turmoil of my belly was threatening to make itself public. The sweat was now rolling down my face. I had to find a public washroom. I was two blocks from a Tim Horton's. I threw the car into gear and drove like a mad woman. I squealed the tires pulling into the parking lot and burst from the car. I walked into the coffee shop behind a group travelling across country. A woman in her early twenties was ahead of me, strolling calmly towards the bathroom. I had no choice. I had to follow.

I made it to the washroom and picked a stall two down from the other patron. Zipper down, purse to the floor, relief forthcoming. My bowels released and everything I had eaten in the last 5 years evacuated my body with a speed and force I have never experienced. I thought I would die from the relief and the embarrassment. I could just picture the look on the young woman's face as she sat two down from me and wondered what disease I was surely dying from. Finally, the beast was satiated. I waited (like we all do) for the other woman to clean up and leave the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, I crept from my stall looking around for other witnesses. I washed my hands and braced myself for my entrance.

Then calmly and with determination, I left the safety of the washroom and made a bee line for the door.

Keep fit and have fun: health awareness

As with many women, I have struggled with my weight and body image for most of my life.  I learned to eat my emotions and, despite knowing this, I continue to do so.  What can I say? Chips taste better than sadness.

Last year in the spring, I started Weight Watchers.  People thought I was nuts for going on a diet during the summer, but I decided I was going for it and I went.  I downloaded the iPhone ap and tirelessly plugged in everything I ate and did. I loved it. It was structure and routine and a goal.

I kept my weight steady for a year.

The downside to it all was, it cost $22/month for Weight Watchers.  To have access to an ap I could use on my phone.  I decided it was too expensive for me and I would do just fine without it.

Enter 4 months of incredible workplace stress, planning to build a house, selling our house (which was an on-again/off-again ordeal), packing up the house, moving to a rental, and applying for new jobs, I was beat. I wasn't keeping track of a darned thing and I was eating everything.

EVERYTHING.

If there was a glass of wine, I would drink it.  A piece of gluten free cake? I was there.  An extra bag of chips wouldn't last long around me.  I was drinking as much pop as I could to stay awake.  I didn't say no to myself very often because I "deserved to have a break".

Once we settled into the rental, I knew it was time to get myself back on track. Eating better, not eating as much, and not having takeout for every second meal because cooking was just WAY TOO MUCH. I found myself doing better, but still not quite fitting my clothes the way I had been.

Finally, I had to admit it. I don't need to diet, but I do need to keep track of what I'm up to. I need to know what I've eaten in a single day and how that compares to the amount I should be eating. I need to keep track of my exercise because, otherwise, I can convince myself that the walk to the fridge is good enough.

I got the livestrong.com My Plate ap on my phone.  I don't like it as much as the Weight Watchers one, but it works well enough.  I use it to basically keep track of what I'm eating and try not to go too far over the base calorie amount of 1750 (with added calories for any fitness I do).  I don't find it as easy to use as WW or as accurate, but the ap cost me a one time $3 (there is a free one too) and that's a lot cheaper than $22/month.

The most important thing for me is awareness. If I don't pay attention, I will eat my weight in anything. I don't care if I'm skinny. I don't much care if I'm super fit either. I just want to be active-ish and not too much at risk for scurvy or diabetes.

How do you manage to keep yourself healthy and eating better?