in the garden of the mind...

2009-01-22T04:14:00.002-06:00

hello to anyone who might be out there! During my trip I will be blogging at justtwohands.blogspot.com
It seems fitting, a new adventure, a new page.
This one will be ignored until July-ish

Just a bus

2009-01-07T11:21:00.002-06:00

Until today my picture of the next 6 months of my life has been just a lonely tour bus, rundown most likely, waiting outside the sliding doors of the airport terminal. That's all I see. Just a bus. All I know in Africa is this bus. It will take me somewhere, I don't know where because it's a town not even visible on google maps. And then, mystery. It's no wonder that my anticipation and excitement has not been foremost. How do you pack for a six month mystery at the end of a bus ride? What do you need for a mystery? How do you even think about a mystery? So I sit in my room knitting in order to find something useful to do with my hands amid the cloudiness of mysteriousness that all too often leaves me feeling dizzy.
Today my picture hasn't changed, but my heart has. I'm so stoked. I get to go on the adventure of a lifetime. And not even for the first time, and maybe not for the last! All the while I get to meet other people who are going too, or who have been, or who would like to. Somehow the idea of sharing the overflow of our gifts and skills with people who have so much to teach us about faith and patience is the most perfect picture in my mind.
So, I'm leaving kids' club; I'm leaving the girls and my church and my life living with my best friend. And parts of me are actually selfish enough to be sad about this. But as I move out of the familiar and take one tentative step toward that bus, I am washed with the assurance that He who called us to himself, by His divine nature, has given us everything we need for living a godly life. I've got everything I need. And everything, although it doesn't feel like it sometimes, is enough.

Too many cooks in the kitchen

2008-12-29T23:45:00.002-06:00

While all of Saskatchewan huddled together with hot cocoa under fleece blankets over Christmas, I got to sip chilled wine on the patio amid cacti and desert heat. Not hot, hot heat mind you, but warm enough to wear bare legs outside. Our family has become so anti-traditional that it didn't even seem odd or amiss to be surrounded by nativity scenes displayed proudly in rock gardens; Santa and his reindeer making their way effortlessly over barren rooftops and dry decks. Strange. No white Christmas. No rosy cheeks, save those procured from one glass too many.
And it was there, in the beautiful kitchen of my mother's new home in a gated retirement community just outside of Phoenix that it became painfully obvious, there are far too many cooks in the kitchen. We are a family of cooks. Mom and Mark and I all fighting for head chef status, so unwilling and incapable of compromise. Fortunately maturity has tamed the insults and quelled the offense. in fact we even found it in ourselves to have a very lovely time.
Tonight, returning home to the frigid tundra I find myself deeply melancholy yet again. Only 2 weeks and 6 days until i get on a plane again. This time the destination will be so mysterious, the circumstances so out of my control, all my little cooks so far behind me. What am
I going to do without all my little cooks?

36 days

2008-12-12T23:28:00.002-06:00

the money came
the date is picked
the renter confirmed
the contract finalized
the documents gathered
it's like this was all meant to happen.
I have 36 days until departure. I'm sort of crapping my pants at the thought of what awaits me on the other side of the world. But, as I grasp at straws, trying to make sense, I must confess these musings do me no good. Better to have patience, to wait and see.
In the meantime, I have enough to preoccupy me. I can't believe this is actually happening!

good day

2008-12-07T14:57:00.002-06:00

The city is wrapped in a beautiful white coat. For the time being the wind is quelled and the air is so still, sun so warm, all of life feels like a movie set. Great flakes of snow land on hats and scarves and windshields and people are acting out the verses of silver bells on every corner. There's this feeling of anticipation and calm Sunday bliss that floats around town and settles into cozy, steamed-up coffee shop windows.
I feel like doing nothing but smiling or napping or seeing people I know today. I feel known today. I feel hopeful. I feel unworthy of the peace and the blessings and the hope, but I'm too tired to over analyze it. I just want to take them in, the blessings and the hopes, and rest. I want to extend it over to you. I want to give you this little piece of my cozy bed, this perfect line in a mindless novel, this sense that there's someone controlling the shmoz that's thumbing his nose just behind this sunset, waiting menacingly on Monday morning. And so we don't have to worry because it's all being taken care of.
Today I got to deposit $8,930 into my bank account. I had to shake my head at the girl who wondered how this money could possibly appear. I had to ask that girl where her faith is. It's coming, she tells me, it's building. And I hope for her sake, that she's right. This trip into the insanity, poverty, sadness, hopelessness needs to be laced with faith.
I can't consider it today. I just have to sit here. Glowing from an evening spent with old friends who bless my heart with their words and their love and their support. Smiling from the warm embrace of family that I now always seem to feel at church. Giggling that my friend Carissa has finally come home and Callie doesn't have TB and not everything is doomed. No, we've got a God who loves us very much indeed. Time to live loved.

Fun-raiser...

2008-11-27T13:13:00.002-06:00

Tonight's the big night.
Will it be raining cash at the "Louise goes to Africa fun-raiser party"? Despite all of my trepidations in earlier posts, it would now seem that the startling $10,000 I had to come up with has shrunk substantially to a mere $4,450... less than half! And I haven't even had a fundraiser yet!
That means that I need to stop worrying and start having some faith.
Ring those phones Saskatoon.

Cherish

2008-11-26T22:43:00.005-06:00

I just watched a video of a little girl called Cherish.
She's sitting on my lap as all the little kids at Kids Club sing "this little light of mine". It makes me wonder whether my light is in fact shining when I watch a thing like that, especially in light of Cherish's recent death.
How can this be? How can little girls die; little girls who sit on laps and clap hands and sing songs. How can this be?
And who am I that I get to know her, hold her, kiss her cheeks in this short time called her life? Who am I that I get to go on singing, not even taking the words very seriously.
I don't understand this life of endless privilege while abother baby girl, Tatiyana's cousin just died of whopping cough ten blocks from my house. How can this be?
I'm gonna let it shine, I guess...

...while stuck at school during P/T interviews...

2008-11-25T18:40:00.003-06:00

Life is at an uncomfortable level of familiarity and absurdity these days. Mundane and redundant, yet oddly unfamiliar. I sit in my "new classroom" surrounded by students and teachers whom I see daily, but whom I find myself not knowing and barely caring for. I am in a state of love-paralysis, comatose to the very fluid that fuels my existence.
At the same time, new life is springing out of every crack of predictability and I find myself in a strange garden with a familiar groundwork. Like Kids club where for 5 years worth of Mondays my life has lived out the same routine. Snack. Craft. Game. Lesson. Kids. Mess. Noise. Hope. Despair. Joy. Pain. Fatigue. Until just this week as new potential blossoms with new leadership from Angie. Suddenly Kids Club is not about me, and I discover that I am on my out, and life surges forward.
Having said all of this, I am rested and snug in a safe bed of the very love I find myself unable to dole out with the generous heapings I would want. I find myself protected and propelled by the love shining from the faces that surround me in life. And not only faces shining, but hearts beating and eyes blinking back tears and arms reaching to embrace and hands holding out gifts and legs marching firmly beside and backs bearing the heavy load. And this is how we know what love is: people laying down their lives for each other, for me. Loving me. Holding me. Sending me. Believing in me. I am deliriously and undeservingly lavished with more promise and more future than ever before.
I felt last weekend like my whole church accepted and affirmed me.
I feel this week like my friends have emerged, in matching T-shirts and with banners to declare that they love and support me enough to send me on my way to Africa.
I feel like the God who has been hiding behind a distant cloud has emerged as the beautiful mother who would kiss my cheeks and really love me until I feel good enough to be loved.
And the voice of "reason" the voice of "truth" the voice of "reality" is telling me this is all too pathetic. But I don't care. If needing to feel loved is pathetic, then there's enough room for that adjective along all the others that describe me amid the deep, high, wide, endless love my mother and father have unleashed.

count your blessings, will I ever learn?

2008-11-14T00:04:00.002-06:00

The snow settled in today, quietly.
One minute there's just a glistening ice covering the city, the next, a blanket of snow. It's like a big cover up. I hear the Geese protesting this forced exit from outside my bedroom window. They're not alone in their frustration. But mostly, for me anyway, it just feels like this snow triggers a fear of what's to come rather than an actual acceptance of the miracle of today.

All in all, the day, the snow, it still shakes down to a win.

I was a cow to a few students today. I have a cold that finally settled into my snot ducts. I did not finish anything I intended to finish. BUT I sent an email asking the people I love for their help on my journey to Africa and already a dozen people have cheerfully responded. I got to work on a sermon today with a guy who's taking the time to show me the ropes and this is changing my life. I reconciled to my best friend after an ugly theological debate over chocolate stout. I am staying in my bed tomorrow; which is a blessing disguised as illness so I'll count it on the pro side.
I guess I feel loved if I only think about this moment and block out the frightening images that threatening me from the past and the future.

Out of the mysterious anonymous

2008-11-04T16:01:00.005-06:00

So, I've been thinking a lot lately.
I mean, I think a lot at the best of times, but my efforts and thoughts have been concentrated on the prodigious tumult that my ego and identity have found themselves struggling to endure. I affectionately refer to this as "The Sh!t Storm". (The exclamation mark in lieu if "i" is my way of apologizing for the crass nature of this term, but no other word will suffice)
Self doubt and insecurity have executed a successful coup and I am now the POW and silent bystander of the bloody battle between Who-I-thin-I-am and Who-i-actually-am. And to be fair, I'm not sure Who-I-am as i (whoever that is?) watch the struggle unfold.
I know this sounds dramatic, but I feel like I am literally dying. Something is dying.
So if you made it this far without puking on yourself or rolling your eyes, thank you. I realize I need the odd sympathetic heart on this long and confusing journey into the unknown.
So the thought I wish to explore with you seems to have fittingly come from someone as unfamiliar to me as I am to myself; he/she calls him/herself Anonymous. (If this were a movie, it could even be that "anonymous" is actually my own subconscious. In this case, I tend to believe he/she is not. But maybe I'm going crazy?!)
I am actually referring to whoever it was that commented on my last post.
Anonymous writes (and I am poorly paraphrasing):
"Drop the p."

It turns out "t" and "p" might just be prefixes for the root after which I have set my life course.
Simple.
The clearest.
Preacher- p. Teacher- t. Reacher.

I love it. A Reacher.

There's no stigma, no preconceived ideas, no fanfare. Just this blessed little picture of one hand, heart in it, palm up, reaching out of my own dark corner of anonymity and into yours. Trusting, that by the grace of God that small token will give us both a sense of where we stand. Perhaps it will even offer a truth about who we are. But even if that who does not become clear, then at the very least we will know that who, both reaching and receiving, is loved.
For a moment the battle between "i" and "I" is quelled.

Pride leads to conflict; those who take advice are wise. Proverbs 13:10

C'est L'halloween

2008-10-31T12:36:00.002-06:00

Last night's post startles me like a strange lover in my bed. I momentarily forget his name this early in the morning after a wild bender.
I didn't...did I?
This incongruous relationship between "me" and the word "preacher" or "minister" or "whatever" is further accentuated by the above metaphor and the previous post about lipstick. I am sure there has never been someone so ill suited to this calling. However, having just written that, I am reminded of Paul - a mass murderer. Perhaps he was even sketchier than a girl with a freshly lipsticked potty mouth.
I just wanted to voice my surprise at my own audacity in case you worried I momentarily lost touch with who I really am. "And who are you?" you ask. Hmm, I was wondering that very thing myself.
What I know for sure:
I'm a girl who woke up and the world greeted her with the fresh smell of possibility.
Possibility stirred itself into her coffee and bounced in her step. It curled up her lips as she walked through the school doors and filled her little treasure chest with small blessings and profound joy. She enjoyed her kids today because she knew this might be the end of classroom teaching for a while. And what she discovered is that her kids, it turns out, enjoy being enjoyed. They like joy. It's about as addictive as MSG and Meth but it does not leave any residual damage. And so, everyone is very joy-and-candy filled. And not much compares to a good and perfect gift like possibility, joy and sugar.
So maybe I'm still drunk from last night's gluttonous portion of "dreams for the future", but the hesitation is still only said with a massive grin and a flip in my gut.
I didn't, did I? (I hope so.)

2008-10-30T22:13:00.002-06:00

I think today is the day I decided I want to become a preacher.
Ha! Even writing the words sounds audacious. But I think I believe them.
The thing is, I need to admit I'm not good at teaching. Like the profession of teaching math and social studies and computer and planning for 500 years in the future and making sure everyone has their lunch and did their homework. I don't really care.
But philanthropy? Philosophy? Theology? Hook a sister up!
I don't remember the last time I felt this free.
There is a long road ahead, but I will be damned if it means another year of french lesson plans.
(Don't quote me on that; irony has a funny way of biting me in the ass).
Step one: deal with potty mouth. "Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be." James 3 :10

the power of a good lipstick

2008-10-29T15:52:00.005-06:00

I love to be a woman when someone holds the door for me.
It makes me want to curl my hair.
And wear lipstick.
And dance the waltz in a skirt that twirls when I do.

I love to be a woman when there are only other women around: the kind of women who seep wisdom from their pores.
Because there is always wine.
And passion.
And it makes me feel sexy to be passionate around intelligent women drinking wine.
(Especially if there is lipstick involved)

It makes me wonder what on earth could leave a man feeling perfectly fitted and contented in his own skin.
Surely beer kegs and football does not evoke this same deep satisfaction.
But, perhaps they wear lipstick too.

A clobbering to beat all clobberings

2008-10-27T21:26:00.002-06:00

It would seem that life is very much transpiring outside of my sphere of influence. I did not realize that it worked that way. It explains some of my fatigue and anxiety when placed in its chaotic midst. I am forced to admit that despite my clearest unspoken request, people fail to read my mind and act the way I hope they would. No matter the care and deliberation I put into lessons or outings or plans, kids rarely take the time to notice or appreciate. Relationships break down, fall apart and need work. Bills pop up out of even the thinnest air. And then, just when it seems like nothing else could derail life further, someone will appear out of the mystic to say something so elementary and yet entirely profound that I find myself void of any and all knowledge. I am suddenly stripped down to nothing and am right back at the beginning, reconsidering everything from the ground up. Everything. Right down to the very root of the thing.
And YET(... are you ready? This is the part where I stand up as I'm talking to you, not because I feel the enthusiasm but I believe if I build it, it will come.) And YET this could be the first time God is actually doing something!
First of all, I suddenly have $5050 in my Africa fund. (thanks mom!)
Secondly, I discovered today that the people in Africa are praying for us at Lakeview. They are praying for us? Nuts!
Third, I think that the Holy Spirit totally rocked some little kids heart tonight at kids club. Like seriously, after 5 years (!?!?) 5 years of showing up on Mondays for what usually seems like no reason, I think some kid got it. The real deal.
Fourth, I am beginning to feel the confidence to confront issues in my life that are holding me back from freedom. I know, vague and self important sounding. But seriously, I have issues! I had no idea it was this extensive.

So, thanks Jackie! I'm totally giving up control. I'll grow some and suck it up. I might even be busking in the foyer this weekend. I'll be the bum people are paying to stop playing.
And thanks Jacqueline for kicking my ass on Saturday.
And thanks Angie and Diane for insisting we pray.
And thanks Kristie for reminding me what beautiful looks like.
And thanks mom for giving me $5000!
And thanks Kristal for praying for us.

Right now my grandma is hugging me tightly in the form of my cozy red housecoat. I'm lying in bed with sleep only an eyelid away, knowing that something big is coming.

I will consider it pure joy. Even though it looks like work and feels like a pummeling.

Two paths in a lame wood

2008-10-23T21:52:00.003-06:00

The biggest grade 8 baby, the one who at times has made me consider abandoning my profession and instead rocking gently in a chair at Zellers for the rest of my life, wrote "I like to do animals" in French today. Of course this was a mistake. He did not intend to tell me about some sick fantasy in the language of love. It was an error born of the consequences of his actions which to date have been none that appear productive or conducive to learning French. It was like that moment I've been waiting for when I could pull out all the stops and really embarrass his sorry ass.
I could have smirked gently and said, "Hmm, you like to do animals do you?" just loud enough for everyone to hear.
I could have given him a feigned astonished look and quiet, disapproving shake of the head before launching into a speech about how embarrassing it is to say you like to have relations with animals. People in a foreign country would not be as understanding as we are here and he better hope he shapes up before leaving for France and saying something so stupid. He would feel like an idiot. So if he just quit rolling his eyes all the time... etc.
The choice. To be or not to be, that teacher.
Well, for better or worse, I took that road less travelled by, you know, the high road. The place where two paths fork: one goes to hell and is paved with good intentions and the other road, the skinny, high road leads right into a rainbow and ends in a pot-o-gold. That's right. I didn't even crack a smile at that creepy perv.
Hmm, this seems vaguely like a concept I am becoming familiar with. Could it be, no, it couldn't. Not, maturity?
I think it might just be the beginnings of something along that line.

2008-10-21T22:13:00.002-06:00

broken washing machine repairs - $100
Tuition outstanding - $7800
water bill resulting from washing machine fiasco - $300
new phone after pepsi spilling in the purse incident - $90
car accident fine - $275
Ummm, miracle from God? Priceless. And yet pending.
I could use a little cloud rolling back style miracle. Hands at Work has accepted me, so Africa is three months away. Unfortunately I have yet to get the balls to ask for some moola from people to ensure I'll actually be able to go.
In the meantime, all these little kicks in the junk are falling from the sky. There is no way I can afford anything. This will be a miracle or it will not be.

painting a sunday afternoon

2008-10-19T22:13:00.002-06:00

I painted my first ever canvas today. Perhaps the best Sunday in recorded history, my best friend and I sipped lattes and painted away an afternoon at the river. The chilly wind was no deterrent, nor the giggling joggers; neither did the lack of skill even discourage. Instead, it was sheer bliss as the sun tried peeking through the hazy clouds and biting fall chill. We sat until our bums were soaked. I am pleased to announce no one painted a river scene, much to my relief. Instead, Kristie painted her own lungs and I painted two girls in scarves....bet you can't get who came up with the more creative theme?

I am crossing over the world of artists. This is for sure what life has been missing. Berets and acrylic paint sets.

Melancholy Thursday Musing

2008-10-09T09:01:00.003-06:00

The whole world feels languid and gloomy today when confronted with the somber reality of this gray day. The people outside my Starbucks' window shuffle in a bundle of coats and scarves and rosy, runny noses - hair and coattails flapping at the frigid breath of a coming winter.
My coffee and my hands have gone cold, reminding me that everything is fleeting. It's here and it's gone: like that man's cap, like the delicious feeling of hot coffee, like the perfect sensation of waking in a warm bed full of blankets and sleep.
The end of a season. The end of summer, the end of my employment at Lakeview, the end, the end.
And yet, the beginning.
I guess that's the beauty of endings.
And, at the risk of boring everyone with my redundant lamentations, I only feel like bemoaning the end. Somewhere in my heart though, there is celebration.
Points of celebration on a gloomy day in October:
1. Hands at Work will be contacting me sometime in the next week to confirm or decline my application to go to Africa.
2. I get to see my little brother play football on Friday.
3. My best friend prays or drinks wine or watches movies with me when I'm wigging out and it helps.
4. God answers prayer.
5. Two of you read this - shout out to Shanny T. and anonymous- which comforts me because that means I am not talking to myself. ha ha
6. There's always room for growth. Things need to die so other things can grow. And they do, without fail.
7. My grade 3/4 class speaks only in French for 30minutes! It's beside the point that we only talk about whether or not we can go to the washroom and how we are doing. It's beside the point because they can do it for 30minutes without any English.

If only I could date seniors...

2008-10-06T21:18:00.000-06:00

Today blogging feels like talking to myself. And not in a productive way. Does anyone even read this or am I merely flapping my metaphorical gums in vain? Not vain. Writing, even for myself alone, is worth the effort. But I wonder who's out there...
So the date? You're curious? (Whether you are or not I plan to tell you about it.) Well - I hate to say "meh" but that's all the poetic enthusiasm I can muster. It seems I develop insatiable and all consuming crushes on men who have ZERO interest in me. Unfortunately this apathy is transferred onto the few-and-far-between fantastic gentlemen who would extend me the courtesy of dinner and good manners. Genuinely good guys. I am not cut out for dating. It's consistently confirmed on the rare occasion that I try it. So much for a little romance.
I did however, have the privilege of meeting the most lovely man on my cab ride home.
(So there is greater purpose)
The gentleman who drove me home, Afbad, is a Pakistani immigrant. We got into a friendly 4am chat about social justice (as I seem to get into with EVERYONE, in particular cab drivers). I eventually elicit from him that he is alone in this country. He knows no one. "You go where the food is," he says. My heart is broken.
How can people be so lonely in a world so absolutely FULL of other people? Kristie thinks that he's a creep and is trying to pull a fast one. I hope, in a strange way for his sake, that she's right. That means life is actually better for him than it seemed. As it is, it seems I've become the first Canadian friend to a previously retired Pakistani man. What an unlikely friendship. Though, I look more forward to a date with him than anyone else on the radar. I wonder how his story goes.

I got the joy, joy....uh where?

2008-10-02T23:06:00.000-06:00

So if Paul can work out this "joy" business while he's rocking a prison sentence, I can sort out some joy in working for an extra month. And I think that pretty much sums up why I have often wanted to punch Paul. He just throws down these super harsh statements that he expects people to follow - and then, just when you're really choked and defensive, he casually mentions that he's been beaten within inches of his life, ship wrecked, poor, destitute and imprisoned and yet has the gall to THANK GOD. What the h Paul? What the h.
Anyway - I'm no Paul. But perhaps I'll try this thankfulness cloak on a little more regularly. I cannot very well show up in Africa - whenever this happens - feeling sorry for myself. Nope. Not me. Not anymore. That's old Louise who sucks. Watch out Paul, I might just very well take you up on your offer to be thankful in all circumstances. I might just do that.
Top Reasons to Give God a Shout out
1. He never actually said I was going to Africa in January. In fact, he said I was going in February so perhaps this weird contract snafu actually proves something divine.
2. I got to sleep for 9 hours yesterday.
3. My baby brother, who is actually no baby but rather a fully grown adult, cooked me a beautiful supper tonight.
4. I received a care package from my friend Carissa who is all the way across the ocean, thinking about and loving me.
5. Tomorrow is sushi Friday and I get to drink wine with my best friend and watch her try on her wedding dress which she picks up tomorrow.
6. Tomorrow I get the morning off work to go to a lame new-teacher orientation which I will choose to have a good attitude about tomorrow, but I just don't feel like it right now. However, the thankfulness bit is that I don't have to teach in the am. Which means I don't have to be an adult for a little while, which I like.
7. I got to write a song with my gr. 5's today about things "dans la salle de classe" to the tune of "We are the Champions" and they thought I should quit my job as a teacher and become a rockstar.
8. I could be a rockstar.
9. I am a rockstar when I play Rockband. I hate to brag but I totally got 97% singing weezer.
10. I'm not imprisoned, shipwrecked or starving.
11. Life is brimming with hope.
12. My puppy Boston kicks ass. Well actually, licks ass, but you know what I mean.

So whatever Paul. I'm working up to it.

2008-10-01T20:41:00.000-06:00

Today was a long day of yelling at kids. I prayed for the kingdom of God to come today in first period after I scrambled through the doors with the kids - late because I'd locked my keys in the car. So, we're stood around the classroom staring at a map of Canada mumbling along with the anthem as it blares over the intercom. Do we really love "canada" this much? Whatever canada even means, that we stand around every morning giving it unabashed praises? I don't. So I pray. Except for, today I really meant it. And the kingdom did not come; or if it did I could not hear it over the shrieking and yelling and general mayhem that was intrinsic in the very fibres of the particular 8 hour period that was my work day.
PLUS I found out from head office that my contract does not end at Christmas as I was assured when I was hired - but rather extends until February! Damn PMS and shrieking kids and misunderstandings! How it makes me want to cry and hit things.
But, I still have a lot of reasons to be thankful, and I plan to list them to remind myself that the kingdom of God is within. Or something like that.
1. Monday I got to spend the evening with some of my students from last year! They initiated an evening meeting to discuss plans for philanthropy. Those kids make me want to dance and sing and giggle and most of all, hope. How many 14 year olds get together to talk about how to better love the world? Wow.
2. Today was so warm and beauiful I had to take my tights off. And yesterday too. And I can guarantee if I was still unemployed it would have been warm enough to get a suntan.
3. The girls and I went shopping today and they got beautiful new dresses for Angie's wedding. And they are very excited. And they were so lovely.
4. Only two days until sushi Friday. Saki. Saki. Saki.
5. I am going to bed and it's not even 9pm. How sweet (pathetic?) is that?
6. My heating bill was only $400! (I was calculating $600)
7. I didn't go to Starbucks today even though I was sorely tempted twice!
8. My little friend Brook in gr.2 drew a picture for Vaheed because he got in trouble for jumping on a desk and was very sad. Pretty much the most spontaneously generous gesture I have ever witnessed from a 7 year old.
9. I have a date on Saturday. That's right. Louise Carroll. Hmm. This is only on the list because I'm not really sure what to do with this information. It reminds me that life is not always what you anticipate or expect. Sometimes there are surprises.

Oh Lou of Little Faith

2008-09-29T18:13:00.000-06:00

Well, the grade 5 teacher showed up in my room today with a jar full of change for my Africa fund. $30.
I didn't even ask. ha. Go figure.
A money fish?

Africa fund grand total to date: $50
(The other $20 showed up on the sidewalk when Diane went for a walk and prayed for me.)

It's no $10000, but it's a start.

Be sure of what you hope for...

case in point

2008-09-29T08:39:00.000-06:00

Starbucks has had a promotion going on all month.
Free coffee for teachers every Monday morning. How sweet. At least someone values us.
How many Mondays in September? 5.
How many Mondays have I been in Starbucks? 4.
Number of free coffees? 0.
Today I only went because it was free and I've decided I can't blow cash on coffee!
How am I going to ask people for money when I can't even ask for a free coffee?
I need a stunt man.

Fundraising sucks.

2008-09-28T21:24:00.000-06:00

I need approximately ten thousand dollars.
$10000.
1000000 cents.
That's a lot of cash. For me. As a teacher.
And so, the thing is, for me to actually be boarding a plane in 3 months means that I will need to procure this money by then.
The following are my only foreseeable options.
1. Get lots of credit cards and then fake my own death so I don't have to pay them back. (Because I won't have an income before next August and I'm terrified of interest.)
2. Start doing a lot of illegal things like selling other people's kidneys or children.
3. Sell my own kidneys and children. (Though three months is not really long enough to make a child, especially at the rate that I date, forget procreate.)
4. Find someone to sponsor me.
5. Get adopted by a millionaire.
6. Rob a bank.
7. Dognap Paris Hilton's mutt.
8. Have a bake sale every day for the next 90 days and hope that I can average around $100 a day which would be approximately 8 pies, 5 cakes, 7 chocolate zucchini loaves and 13 dozen cookies.
9. Busk. Which, I think if I played my cards right, might result in people paying me to stop playing.
10. Ask for help. This idea sucks because I guess I just don't know why other people should help me. I'm not really sure how to ask.

Maybe I'll have a moment like Jesus and Caesar and the fish when his disciple just pulled enough money out of a random fish to pay his taxes. That sounds like a good idea. I'll pray for money fish.

Take back the night, they say.

2008-09-25T21:05:00.000-06:00

I passed a massive group of protesters marching down 20th on my way home tonight.
"20th is for women walking!" someone yelled and tears sprung immediately to my eyes.
I've thought this before. I've yelled this before. Can we really "take back the nights?"
I want to believe it!
Unfortunately, the very women this protest was for were still there, 5 blocks further west, unaware that liberation had come. And when it did? Well, the strip moves a block further north while the cars and attention and cop cars pass.
They are adaptable, these women of the night. Survival of the fittest.
2oth is indeed for women walking, and men stalking, and the rest of us quickly passing by before we are implicated with the whole sordid affair.
We're so disconnected from each other. We're so blind to the real factors that enslave these girls; the hungry mouths and the drug addictions to feed; the hopelessness and helplessness that inevitably follows a lifetime of being told you're worthless; the despair and isolation that comes with poverty.
Right now they walk for all of us. They parade around the fact that none of us cares enough to really stop it. So we march or chant or make a poster to ease the guilt or buff the pride, but in the end we do not love enough to offer hope. The kind of hope that actually ends oppression.
And so, 20th is indeed for women walking. And when the protesters go home, they'll keep on walking. It's what they do. They walk because for now, they've been offered no other choice.

I should probably be at work

2008-09-24T13:53:00.001-06:00

Today, I woke up around 10ish. I opened my eyes groggily and looked around for my cold. But he was nowhere to be found. I lifted the covers off my sleepy limbs and couldn't see him lurking. I stepped tentatively out of bed, on the off chance he'd just slipped to the washroom. But I didn't hear him. I could still smell him in the chilled air, see the imprint he'd left in the pillow beside my plugged up head. But, it would seem, he disappeared sometime during my beautiful, unburdened slumber.
Since the sub was already into second period by the time I realized he'd cleared off, it seemed I couldn't renege on my first ever "sick day". So I've decided to call it "health and wellness day" and not indulge the twinge of guilt gathering around my brain. Health day has included some of my favorite things: hot tea in bed, baking cakes and various other concoctions with our wide array of rapidly ripening produce, chatting with my best friend in my pj's.
Now, I'm about to send off my Hands at Work application. I think this is a much needed day. Perhaps I'll even have a nap.
Is it wrong to stay home once you discover you're actually not that sick anymore?
Thanks to all of you who pay your property taxes and make this day possible for me. Trust me, I am enjoying every moment. Call me if you'd like a piece of the fruit of your labour. I have cakes flying everywhere...

2008-09-23T17:52:00.000-06:00

We had to turn on the furnace today.
The leaves are tap dancing outside my bedroom window, through which air swirls in, cool enough to freeze the end of my nose. Colds are running through playgrounds faster than the snotty noses of their victims. We're caught off guard already - on the second day of fall.
I still can't really believe that people lament this. People mourn!
As I watch the trees explode into a fireworks display of red and gold and yellow, I'm just overcome with this sense of urgency to open my eyes.
It doesn't last!
So - with wide eyes - my list of reasons to be thankful:
1. The creator of the universe believes in colour coordinating her seasons which make them aesthetically pleasing.
2. I still talk to my kids from Hepburn because love is bigger than I thought.
3. A plan is materialising for a trip across the ocean to learn about faith and poverty and hope.
4. My job is easier than I would ever have though possible - it doesn't come home with me. It doesn't keep me up at night. It just, is a job!
5. I took my first ever sick day which means tomorrow, my cold and I are going to curl up with a good book and not leave our bed until we feel like it.
6. Walks in the fall smell like potporri.
7. Purging oneself of unnecessary clutter leaves room for possibility.
8. I have the most amazing people in my life who pray and hope and trust and encourage and love. They inspire me to be the me I was destined to become; they call her out of me.
9. I have a credit card which makes these last few weeks before pay day pretty possible. (Despite it now being 3 months to the day since my last cheque)
10. I don't have a poetic tenth thing, I just like round numbers.
11. Forget it, prime numbers are fun too. I'm thankful for prime numbers and factor trees and my grade 6 kids who like them too.

root canal

2008-09-21T22:27:00.000-06:00

Inspire by this week's root canal, I've decided to use the same reckless abandon for rotten roots in the rest of my life. Today, my closet. I think I cleared out half of what I own today and I feel amazing.
This Africa preparation is a weird thing, but I feel lighter. I think I need to learn to be more mobile. No more stuff weighing me down for the sake of stuff.

Preparing for a funeral

2008-09-13T10:04:00.000-06:00

Life is a lot like fall, right now.
It's exhillerating to watch leaves turning brilliant shades of red and orange; so bright and thrilling you barely notice it is a signal for a coming death.
But it's coming.
Death is on the crisp morning wind; it bites my cheeks when I'm busy smiling to myself. It swirls up under my skirt hem and reminds me that this is ending.
I feel a need to acknowledge this girl whom I vaguely recognize as myself. She needs to know she's served a purpose and for some reason, that's all about to change.
Carissa leaves this morning, my fellow traveller along the lonely road of insanity. Her leaving is foreshadowing for my own and it's exciting - bright colours flashing through the sky. But with it, something dies.
I'm eager to meet the girl I'll find on the other side of the mirror when life grows again sometime in the spring. I wonder what she'll know. I wonder if her heart will still be in tact.
In the meantime, I'll need to practice the art of self-counsel. Adios Carissa.
"Good luck storming the castle."

2008-09-10T23:43:00.000-06:00

I wish I was the girl who could just said what was on her mind, who didn't hide behind ulterior motive. But here I am, conniving and manipulative as possible, wondering when I'll know "truth". (whatever that even means)

Moving on

2008-09-08T21:03:00.000-06:00

It's a funny thing when you realize the very thing you've been praying for is actually the end of your own role in the story. It's surreal to be wiping weepy eyes when discovering God has provided. I realized this evening that my stint at kids' club could potentially be ending, and at the very least will undergo an extended hiatus during which time, life will go on. It will be 5 years!
I remember my first monday.
I'd been begrudgingly peeling carrots when I discovered a little group of dirty kids colouring in an obscure back room. To think I'd been held hostage amid the humming freezers when a whole group of kids were enjoying cookies and germs in the next room while I was slaving seemed rather unjust! Within three months the two girls who started the fledgling kids' club disappeared, leaving me the unsuspecting and unenthusiastic "kids' club leader". ha ha
And that's when I started that prayer - it's been a desperate cry, a frustrated demand, a mournful request and now, answered. Help! Please, just help me. And now, in fact, it's been answered six times over!
The part of Louise that is wholly evil and self important is mourning the fact that I will leave in January and I won't be missed. But there is a tiny place in my heart where I recognize and acknowledge the God who loves those kids far more than I do, providing. There's even a shred or two of thankfulness for the way he's raised up these people to love them.
And so there's hope.
Carissa and Fred assured me yesterday, in a moment of pitch black, that there's hope. And it broke through like the first hint of dawn already today. Tatiyana asked me how my day at school was, and that, is the first time. So, I'll take my little assorted and mismatched array of treasures, those things the world would never recognize, and tonight, it will be enough.

Why rye won't cure an absessed tooth and other stories of suffering

2008-08-23T16:38:00.000-06:00

It turns out that people drink listerine because it's full of alcohol. I discovered this while garggling rye at 7am today, trying desperately to quell the overwhelming ache in my tooth. It feels exactly like mouthwash - tingling and wonderful. But of course it tastes like rye, which is most unfortunate over breakfast.

2008-08-21T10:51:00.001-06:00

This is the day for which green was created;
the day she fully and perfectly reveals herself
in every weed that protests the vast drab of grey concrete,
in every brave, beautiful leaf that extends boldly into the
bluest blue of sky who stands proud behind the white clouds declaring,
"I am blue!"
This is a day for him, too.

a secret or two...

2008-08-19T22:34:00.000-06:00

The tension of holding valuable information against my heart where no one else can see it is as challenging as convincing my little puppy, Boston, to hold still while we pour cleaning solution into her floppy ears. I'm squirming and agitated and spilling information all over the carpet.
I can't wait for saturday...so close.

I started a joke...

2008-08-12T23:53:00.000-06:00

Holy shit balls, I'm going to Africa!
I knew it! I just knew He was going to work this out, and now all the pieces are slowly falling into place.
Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desire of your heart.
What a promise. Let's just hope his hearts come with warranty because I have a feeling that I want the truth, but I can't handle it.

2008-08-12T00:45:00.000-06:00

I sometimes feel it as I'm kneading bread. It pulses through my hands into the doughy flesh - creating life, nurturing life, healing life. This power that I quickly dismiss as social indoctrination that leads to my oppression. But it's there, buried in my grandmother's blood that surges through my veins; blood from her grandmother before her, the quiet story of the perfect stranger who brought me life. She beckons me out of myself and into the communion of women who, for centuries, have healed and fed and nurtured and delivered life through strong hands kneading bread and patient hearts healing wounds both physical and emotional. How is it that this gift has caused us to live in shame?
Tonight I sat as the little girl in a sacred circle of wise women, admiring their beauty and strength. I discovered in this ritual that I have been initiated into a society as old as time, the bond through which women share life and love and sorrow and strength. It is an education of the inferior gender, the story of the woman behind the man. Through this story, which we all share in one form or another, women offer to the daughters of the earth the lessons they hope their own daughters will one day receive from other women as patient and wise. In these moments I pause and fill my heart with this beautiful truth that knits our lives to each other and with the great lover and creator. And then I wonder why those bloody loonies at willow get their panties in a knot over women in leadership? Have they never met their own grandmothers? Do they not know the sacred wisdom of women?
And then it doesn't matter because as long as women have been women they have been oppressed and as long as God has been God she offers us the gift of other women who will drink wine, and eat meals and swim naked so that we know our God is made entirely of love that tastes like chocolate and looks like stretch marks and feels like labour pains. Hard and good and beautiful.

Bare chest to the sun God

2008-08-06T21:03:00.000-06:00

I wasn't sure I could rely on the message because I never trust the sound of His voice when it sounds exactly like my own and reverberates through my own head, bumping off my conflicted and guilt ridden heart.
But it was there and my logical mind was working overtime to explain it away or hold it at far enough from me for fear that it wouldn't last longer than it took to consider it. This is usually what happens when I've heard rumours of this message.
There weren't words, really. Not pictures or revelations. Just this feeling.
Peace. Calm. No. More than this.
Happiness? More.
It was love. Real love for myself like I haven't felt before and if I have it was so long ago I don't remember. Love that accepted me, lying naked in the sun, without guilt or alteration, bare and raw and vulnerable.
I discovered the holy communion of skinny dipping. Water cleansing and caressing and embracing. I discovered that I was okay while the sun dried me with her radiant smile and the wind kissed me with her gentle breath and the waves under the boat gently rocked me on her knee until I was asleep, or better, content.
And so this must be the church...full of friends and laughter and food and wine and this bizarre and unexpected assurance of His love. This gentle but outlandish idea that I am loved and capable of love and worthy of love. Today, I get it.
And so I thank the God of the water and the God of the sun and the God of the wind who momentarily commandeered my head today to reveal this tiny, unfathomable mystery in the universe.
Who knew a christian god would condone skinny dipping? I get the feeling that She is very much more radical than we give Her credit for.

Walking in Memphis

2008-07-26T10:48:00.001-06:00

I’m not sure where to begin. Two days is a long time in my weird life. I’ve officially lost track of the day, the state – not only of the country but also the state of my hair. I’ve stopped worrying if I have mustard on my pants. I’ve stopped wearing makeup. I’m slowly becoming a trucker. This lifestyle would eventually get to me I think. I like feeling clean… at least a little bit.
Yesterday I started out in Memphis – with a Starbucks’ coffee and a whole town of kitch. I had the best time cruising the streets of the city that the greats of soul and rock roamed. Unfortunately, America has an uncanny ability to turn everything into a phony show. Just when you think you’re somewhere, you realize it’s an illusion. Despite that realization that everything I saw and touched was created to sell me a dream, I drank beer and ate BBQ pork in a little bar called Blues Boogie Café. It took a few hours before I was okay to hit the road again – on to Kansas City.
I drove and drove and drove and drove. Finally, grumpy and hot, I pulled off the interstate and discovered the second thing America does well. She conceals her beautiful secrets from the masses by erecting massive concrete planets of speeding vehicles. Behind these monuments of speed and efficiency, I discovered the most incredible country scenes. I was amazed at my own amazement. Who knew I, self proclaimed left wing socialist, could love America? But I do. It’s an incredible country. Barry White and I drove through town after town along rolling Missouri hills and vast, plush corn fields. We were seeking the winery we’d seen advertised from the I60 – but soon could care less.
Finally, I could no longer take the mournful sight of the swampy Mississippi river winding around me, the quaint iron bridges that embraced her nor the inviting front porches with rocking chairs that overlooked her. I had to be in the scene. I pulled off the road at a road side picnic table in the middle of nowhere. There I spent an hour in holy communion with my guitar in the vast sanctuary of endless countryside. It was perfect. I was Leonard Cohen, I was Neil Young, I was perfectly content and free from the demon interstate.
Unfortunately the interstate is a means to another end. And so, today is testimony to my own hypocrisy. I spent an entire day today on the I35. I just pulled into Minneapolis around 12am. It was an uneventful day but I am sat right now in the window seat of my motel room that overlooks the one edifice that single handedly embodies American ideology and worship -WalMart, sipping my $8 raven’s wood zinfandel (I know! $8! What a steal from the local Target). Surprisingly this WalMart is not 24hours, so the scene is somewhat barbaric. However, I’m dealing with it in stride. Good thing I don’t suddenly need something I can’t wait to get in the morning.
Tomorrow is dedicated to zero progression. I’m going to read, wander, maybe, maybe head to Duluth along Lake Superior. Whatever I do, I plan to enjoy sweet, sweet life and freedom. I need to have a Sabbath after all this. I need to get some perspective. Despite a week of nothing, I’ve spent surprisingly little time in prayer and reflection. I have a sneaking suspicion that could be what I’m meant to do.

Dark roast and lamp posts

2008-07-23T22:30:00.000-06:00

It was perfect.
The heat, the music, the smell, the people...
There's a lot of reasons why this road trip is sketchy, none the least of which is Mr. Barry White who might break down at any moment, but it's all more than worth the risk.
I accidentally backed into a lamppost today...I'm hoping no one noticed. The street was full of people from whom I quickly sped away. It would have been embarrassing if I thought anyone would ever find out. That's the beauty of anonymity.
Tomorrow is Memphis and then continue north along the Mississippi.
Can't wait.

Me and Barry

2008-07-22T23:04:00.000-06:00

So I picked up the new man in my life on the side of the road today. ( I have a feeling this is some kind of foreshadowing for how our relationship might end. )
Barry White is a '94 chevy cube van that I will be spending the next week with. He is smelly and shakes a lot when he's going over 45m/h. It was a startling change to leave my sleek convertible with a/c for this bizarre artifact from another civilization. But it was worth it. He makes me laugh and listen to fuzzy country music over the tinny radio. In fact I get a sweet calf workout just pushing the peddles.
Today before I left Pensacola I took a quick detour to the beach. I spent a solid two hours basking in perfection and hot, wet sun. It was unreal. The Gulf of Mexico is surrounded by miles and miles and miles of flawless white sand beaches. In fact I'm bringing tiny pieces of that beach right into bed with me. Sand is stuck everywhere. I stayed clear of the interstates today and enjoyed the hilarious scenes that finds you on back roads in southern united states. Mansions with stables beside trailerparks. What do they all have in common? American flags. I felt like I was driving back in time...plantation owners and cotton pickers all still living side-by-side.
I finally came to highway 90 and it took me nearly 80miles before I put road construction and more road construction together. There are remnants of that hurricane everywhere. It's scary. Driving into new orleans is like driving into a fake model version of america made in china. Everything new and exactly the same. But no proper trees.
I crossed three borders today and finally arrived in New Orleans about an hour ago. I was warned to stay clear of this place, so don't tell my mom.
Accents are awesome even when everyone refers to you as "mam"
Peaches taste like something when you purchase them from roadside stands in Alabama.
I'm pooped and sleeping until I get kicked out of this deliciously cold room.

Florida Turnpike

2008-07-22T08:31:00.000-06:00

The air licked my face with his wet tongue the second I stepped out of the airport.
Relief enveloped me as quickly as his sticky sweat on my skin. It is indeed hot in Florida.
I reluctantly coughed up the $93 that had somehow grown substantially from the $48 I’d been quoted yesterday, and walked over to my very own blue 2008 sebring convertible. What better way to experience true American culture than by cruising down the Florida Turnpike in the hot sun singing at the top of your lungs to rock and roll the blares shamelessly over the radio. And I didn’t hold back. When people drove by and slowed down, I sang louder, even danced. It was perfect. Even when it started raining. I just drove faster and the whole storm raged on above my naked head. Even when I got home and realized a comb will never fit through my hair again. Despite an entire night on a plane and in an airport preceding this adventure – I was nearly wishing my 7 hour road trip from Orlando to Pensacola to be longer. Now that I’m out of the persisting heat (at nearly 11pm) and into a lovely air conditioned room with a massive kind sized bed, the idea of sleeping diagonally to see if I can use up the entire bed is most appealing.
Tomorrow I pick up my cube van and head to New Orleans. I think first thing, though – the beach. The radio says there is a hurricane warning for the whole gulf of mexico. I better get down there before the party stops.

Adventure begins...

2008-07-20T22:43:00.000-06:00

So, I've got my guitar, some gitch and an open highway.
I'm sitting right now in the Calgary airport. I've been here several times before - every time as a portal to another mystery or adventure. Today, the greatest to date. In about ten hours I will be in Orlando Florida where my shiny red convertible awaits. From there I get to drive along the Gulf of Mexico, hair blowing in the wind.
It gets less glamorous and more comical at this point as I pick up the cube van I will be driving home.
I'm thinking first stop is New Orleans... Memphis...Chicago...and we'll see from there. Of course if I get discovered in Memphis then I may never come home.
My future is as naked as the tarmac outside this window. It could be clothed in almost anything.

Did you know..

2008-07-13T18:00:00.000-06:00

puppies pee every ten minutes?
I just found that out.
I have pee soaked everything to prove it. I guess that's why God made them cute. So we wouldn't mind.

Cigarettes and wine

2008-07-10T22:30:00.000-06:00

There comes a point in a girl's construction career when she's entitled to cigarettes, despite the pictures and the gruesome warnings.
I cannot believe that I decided to redo my house. Have I even met myself before? Useless is an understatement.
To my credit, I'm trying to avoid my female stereotypes... that's all I've got.

2008-05-26T21:55:00.000-06:00

I may or may not have just turned down full time employment at the world's most lovely school because I have a hunch I'm supposed to teach somewhere else in the fall. I can't tell if this is called faith or stupidity. I have moments of clarity followed by lapses of insanity. I can't figure out which is what.
Suffice to say...I will no longer teach in my little small town school where my grade eight students pass me notes because they don't realize that I'm the only person they shouldn't pass notes to. Oh, I sure won't be in Kansas anymore.

8 year old wisdom

2008-04-18T21:52:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was so warm it smelled like sunshine.
I decided to take my grade 3's out of the dungeon of learning for a few moments of fresh air. Jaidyn, my little day dreamer, looks up to the sky with arms wide, eyes closed, twirling and exclaims, "Ahhh! It's so good to be alive."
I agree.
Even when you have parent-teacher interviews.
Even when you need to mark papers.
Even when you hear rumours about an upcoming blizzard.
Even though the sh*t is hitting the fan in Zimbabwe.
There's still that moment when the sun kisses your cheek for the first time in spring, and it just feels so good to be alive.

Hello Lamp post, Whatcha knowin'

2008-04-11T22:36:00.000-06:00

I've officially become a fair weather blogger. I must admit, I haven't missed blogging. It feels strange again... maybe because my life lacks the romantic confusion that spawns musing and philosophizing. As it is, my life is grand. I finally made it to Europe with ma mere. We had the most wonderful time doing all the things one is supposed to do when abroad. The clincher is that I got to come home and discover my life was even better than I originally thought. I love my girls and my friends and my job. It's pretty surreal to enjoy life as much as I do. Even bread pudding tasted better today than I ever thought possible. Which leads to my one problem, buttoning my jeans.

I guess that's what happens with wheels of Parisian cheese and buckets of sweet, sweet wine.

It's pretty nice to be alive.

Even when your pants don't fit.

So, cheers. To enjoying every good and perfect gift.

the spatula

2008-02-02T18:30:00.000-06:00

There's something ever so slightly dehumanizing about walking to the bathroom with a spatula. Don't get me wrong, I love spatulas. But how is one supposed to maintain her dignity while strutting to the loo with a 2ft spatula in hand.
Forget the obvious questions and assumptions that arise, it just seems like Starbucks is discriminating against girls with small bladders.

The Pork Chop Fiasco

2008-01-27T21:50:00.000-06:00

It's disheartening when you make someone pork chops, which you don't even like, and suddenly 3 extra people (uninvited) show up for dinner. They don't ask, they don't clear their plates and they ruin the evening - in particular because one is intoxicated and screaming, and the other two want to talk shop. So, I guess you should make something more delicious and quit whining next time.

Can a writer stop writing?

2008-01-24T15:39:00.000-06:00

Too lazy?
Too boring?
Too dry for words the sounds nice, sad, sorry; wishing I had that perfect phrase to make the world a different place.
Alas, it's me and the dictionary and we're creating arbitrary alphabetical order, not beauty. Not meaning. Just words without a heart to hold them in place.

2008-01-14T20:55:00.000-06:00

I wish the kids I teach could just be the kids I think they are.
I wish they wouldn't do the kinds of horrific things to each other that make me ashamed of them.
I wish they didn't prove others right when they were dispicable.
I wish there was a way for them to see the way they disappoint the people cheering for them.
And I also kind of wish I could slap some of the and send them to their rooms without dinner.
I definitely should not have children, my heart would never recover from the pain of it.

sweet, sweet employment

2008-01-11T22:46:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I'm still employed, still a Miss.
Can I admit I was secretly hoping to not have my contract extended so I could bum around Europe, play the jambe and write haikus?
On second thought, I get to continue hanging out with my 8's who, recently, have been talking about staging protests, writing letters, signing petitions. Oh to be a 13-year-old activist. Those were the days. I would miss them terribly if I had to go. I'm thrilled to stay, just always curious as Kim said. I like that. It makes me feel less like the word I usually think: fickle.

voila

2008-01-09T22:03:00.000-06:00

Today at Starbucks (where I got a frequent coffee drinker freebie) I was approached by a dark haired stranger who inquired (en francais I might add) if was was francophone.
Non. I replied briefly, tongue suddenly dumb to the foreign language stuck on the roof of my mouth.

Oh, sorry, you looked French.

Ha! Brilliant. Resolution #1 is clearly, en effet, and working out for me. Vogue, I will remind you, means fashionable in French. Bien fais.

As far as the second resolution goes, I'm not sure I even know what I meant. What the hell does a Christian look like? I don't mean religious, I mean really, truly, at the heart level.

I need some work...my heart I mean. But will a stranger inquire (perhaps in tongues?) if I am a Christian while lovingly sipping my extra-hot-half-sweet-earl-grey-tea-misto? I'm not sure how to pose Christ-like. Is this heresy?

feliz neuvo anno

2008-01-02T18:19:00.000-06:00

2008 hey?

wow-y.

What better way to ring in the new year than salsa dancing the night away? I feel it's indicative of good things to come - more dancing, more champagne, more Spanish.

In 3 weeks it's possible that I will be thrust back into the world of uncertain employment, which will lead to more waitressing, as my dream job comes to a murky pinnacle. Will it continue into the new year? Will I be, once again, getting rounds and rounds of overpriced drinks in my ugly black skirt and itchy nylons?

Who's to say.

I'm not going to panic. I am a girl of faith this year...uncertainty won't shake this resolve. There's a plan, even if it smells like steak and tastes like minimum wage.

So feliz neuvo anno, frohe Silverster, joyeux neuvelle anne....you know, happy new year. It will indeed be a lovely one - if for no other reason - it begins with health, happiness and a ticket (finally!) for my England!

Deadly.

New years resolutions?

1. Dress more vogue, more consistently glamorous.

2. Quit the hypocrisy and actually become a Christian who lives like a Christian. (so, I guess disregard the first resolve?)

3. Live with faith that adventure beckons.

4. Buy only fair trade coffee.

On shovelling and godliness

2007-12-02T20:58:00.001-06:00

I think I've just discovered how the world is changed.
My next door neighbour's had it sorted for quite some time. He is constantly loving his neighbour (me in this case) and I've somehow chalked it up to his embarassment at how I keep my yard.
Jesus has that whole deal about loving your neighbour as yourself and I've been so busy trying to find a neighbour to love that I missed my literal neighbours. Like Jody, or Orville across the way who hates my paint colour, and the lady next door whose name I never remember. Or the lady two doors down with cancer and the one beside her who rides a Harley and wears a Hell's Angels jacket in the summer. Also the little lady kitty corner to me who lives alone and shovels in blizzards.
So I shovelled today instead of going to the gym. I shovelled my little heart out - until my back was stiff and my fingers numb.
Why do I try so hard only to discover it's really so simple.
The kingdom of God is shovelling snow.
The kingdom of God is delivering pineapples to friends.
The kingdom of God is eating soup with my brother.
It's a good place. Illusive, abstract, and yet here, closer than the frigid air I breathe.
It doesn't cost anything per se, it just costs love.

The Black Hole

2007-10-21T16:58:00.000-06:00

wooops.

I got sucked into the vortex of parent-teacher interviews, grade 8 novels and new art supplies. Help! I've fallen into full-time work and I can't get paid for it.

Oh well.

Best week at school - aside from the fact that I spent 50 part-time hours there.

We had a car smash fundraiser and it was amazing. So fun.

Who knew taking a sledge-hammer to a vehicle could be SO cathartic.

I understand now why they overplay that Carrie Underwood song so much - she was really onto something.

If you want to destroy my sweater

2007-10-09T20:40:00.000-06:00

How could I have forgotten about these guys? This morning started with white breath wafting from my lips and a cloak of darkness and fog following me all the way to my frosted Sunfire, Sheila. After scraping her I climbed into my car and shivered while I waited for her to warm up.
And then, there they were, my old friends in chauchy button up shirts and old man pants singing about sweaters. How can you possible not love these dorky little men who sing songs called The Sweater Song or Tired of Sex? And write lyrics like:
I wish I could get my head out of the sand
'Cause I think we'd make a good team
And you would keep my fingernails clean
But that's just a stupid dream that I won't realize
'Cause I can't even look in your eyes without shaking, and I ain't faking
I'll bring home the turkey if you bring home the bacon
I'm a lot like you so please, hello, I'm here, I'm waitingI think
I'd be good for you and you'd be good for me

You had me at hello Weezer. Not to mention you are good for me, and I am good for you.
(And I realize this is not from the blue album, but that's hardly the point since it was a mixed CD - this is them at their cutest and dorkiest and most loveable.)

Revised Edition

2007-10-08T21:43:00.000-06:00

After thinking about my last post, I've revised my thankfulness plan.
I don't want to be so bratty.
I'm thankful that there are geese on the river that meet in secret communion to negotiate travel plans.
I love that you can only hear them if you are right next to the water.
I'm thankful that I can see my breath outside, but it's not too cold to sit on a bench and watch city lights reflecting off the shiny, fallen leaves.
I love that I get to hang out with awesome kids every day.
I love that I am learning a lot and that I have ripe tomatoes on my counter.
I'm thankful for the warm bed I am about to crawl into and a loving family and good friends that would kick my ass if I needed it.
I'm thankful that my mom's cancer seems to have disappeared and that whatever happens to my Oma is in my God's hands, not mine.
I'm thankful that I got to relax all weekend and that I had one last nap outside in the sunshine...even if my feet and nose were frozen.

Thankful

2007-10-08T17:37:00.000-06:00

It's kind of bizarre that I can eat so much food in one sitting that I cannot move and feel like if someone even mentions the word pizza I would hurl for the sheer amount of pressure that puts on my brain.
It doesn't say much for self-control in the face of turkey n' trimmings, but it certainly makes a girl think a bit about what a strange kind of place allows for this kind of gluttony while others starve.
What can I do to feel less responsible? How can I give enough away? It sure doesn't feel like enough just to give thanks.

AA Brothers Chinese Food

2007-10-03T21:16:00.000-06:00

There are a few unfortunate manifestations of the language barrier. Having lived in a country where I could barely speak the language, I know some of the awkward nuances, shocking ramifications of mispronunciation and the unwillingness of people to laugh when they think you're incapable of speaking their language.
I remember all too well the accidental "ass tray" in lieu of "ash tray"; the inappropriate invitation I unknowingly gave to club full of Frankfurters from the DJ booth; not to mention countless other confusions over cuckoo clocks and their inner functions.
England was hardly better. You'd be surprised how many awkward things one can say when the word "pants" suddenly means "panties". Dump a glass of water and suddenly everyone thinks you've peed yourself.
So, it's with a heavy heart that I drove past the "AA Brothers Chinese Food" restaurant sign today. Did no one have the courtesy to tell them what they're claiming? Unless they are in fact AA Brothers. In which case, it puts a whole new spin on 'anonymous'.

How to Meet a Good Man at a G'N'R Tribute Band

2007-10-01T20:26:00.000-06:00

As a young, single female who has suddenly found herself craving books and wine and her couch on weekends, I've noticed myself in fewer and fewer situations wearing lipstick and a good pair of heels. So how is a girl supposed to meet any decent men while lounging in her own living room? Not that I've ever been one to go on "the prowl", but it seemed this past weekend's adventures proved great fodder for contemplation and analysis. Grasping at straws you say? Good men and Guns 'n Roses? Well, why not?
How would you know if you'd found 'the one'?
I guess the first thing a girl needs to do is ask herself a few questions:
1. Do I like a man with feathered hair that is longer, shinier and better maintained than mine?
2. Do I like a man in tighter, smaller jeans than me which show explicit and irrefutable evidence of a tighter, smaller derriere?
3. Do I like a man who sings in a high pitched, Axel Rose-esque voice while headbanging his long, blond locks into the paralyzer of the woman with matching hair in front of him?
4. Am I okay with the fact that when this man begins to bald and his gut rolls out over his skin-tight jeans, I will still have to stand beside him in the grocery store check-out?

If you answered 'yes' to the above questions, chances are you are a perfect candidate for finding a good man at this unconventional venue. If you answered 'no' to any of the above questions it's possible that Guns 'n Roses, maybe Metallica, Aerosmith, Def Lepard, Led Zepplin, and other classic rock tribute bands might not be the place to find your soul mate.
In which case ensure you have:
1. your best friend
2. your dancing shoes.
3. and an appreciation for the lost art of truly rocking out.

Wrong

2007-10-01T01:09:00.001-06:00

I thought I was okay with cancer and death for a minute.
I'm not.
I think it's just finally been put out of the front page of my life news for a few months and so I had time to breathe and sober up and call a friend.
My grandma had a stroke and there it is again...the threat of death. It hangs in shadows and lungs and steals your breath and your comprehension and dreams.
For the record, in case it seemed different, I am not okay with any of it: cancer, blood clots, strokes, chemo, radiation, blood transfusions, death.
I just forgot for a little while how terrified it makes me.

The Double Lane Dillema

2007-09-27T18:55:00.000-06:00

There are a few things God gave us to test our patience:

1. Babies.

2. Physics formulae.

3. Saran wrap.

4. Dial-up Internet.

5. Telephone banking.

6. Commercials.

7. Grocery store checkouts.

8. Tight cowboy boots.

9. Toilets at gas stations in the middle of nowhere that won't flush.

10. Snow

... and the list goes on.

On that list however is not Double Lanes.

Double lanes were made only so that a person with a lot of time on his/her hands could drive at his/her leisure ON THE RIGHT HAND SIDE of the road.

The rest of us have places to go, lives to live, jobs to do SO MOVE TO THE BLOODY RIGHT HAND SIDE OF THE ROAD! Please!

Is that really too much to ask?

There are even bloody signs to remind you in case you forget.

If this has struck a chord you might enjoy: http://thefunnybone.com/slower/slower.shtml

top ten, today

2007-09-25T21:53:00.000-06:00

(I was starting with a different number one, but after writing this title, I have come to my senses. )
1. Alliteration - I love the leisurely way it licks and lures a line of listless musings into luscious, luxurious life.
2. Extra Spearmint Gum. And the package it comes in and the way makes my whole purse smell minty and the vivacious flavour that compliments...
3. Starbucks coffee first thing in the morning while
4. writing
5. my novel.
6. Shoes that make my feet hurt.
7. Pajamas.
8. Teaching children about Peace and Joy.
9. Learning something that makes my world do a head stand and drop all the change in its pockets onto the floor.
10. Love. The kind that curls my lips and bends my moods and fills my heart and spills on the carpet.

Pay Day

2007-09-24T20:50:00.000-06:00

Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages - the time has come. Stay tuned to your online bank accounts because tomorrow is the day Sasktel, Blockbuster, The City of Saskatoon, SGI, and SaskPower have all been waiting for- pay day! (And why do they care about my pay day? Because they care about the gobs and gobs of money I owe them.)
I'm pleased to announce that my experiment if faith has worked out perfectly and despite having quit my job July 23rd to wait for divinity to inspire my career pursuits, I have neither run out of cash nor (fully) maxed out my credit card! And now, exactly 2 months and 2 days later - sweet, sweet money.
Tomorrow, oh tomorrow, when the saints come marching in, I can start answering my phone again!
(just kidding mom...I totally answer my phone.)

And then suddenly...

2007-09-23T18:59:00.001-06:00

I'm not sure when fall happened.
I went for a lazy, late-afternoon coffee today and discovered Second Avenue quivering and naked. Branches stood awkward and self conscious at being so quickly disrobed. They waved nervously as we watched them. (No one knows what to do with their hands when they're feeling vulnerable.) They have not adjusted to their new winter wardrobe. And neither have I.
I feel the cold sneaking in through the holes in my sweater; pounding up through the soles of my shoes; creeping into the cracks in windows, doors, and walls that I've forgotten about in the seduction of summer sweat.
It's here...fall officially, nearly winter.

F.O.L.S.

2007-09-18T18:54:00.000-06:00

Attention: There is a new, rare condition that Health Canada has just made known to the public. Fear Of Lice Syndrome (FOLS) affects 7 in 8 inner city children's club leaders.
Symptoms include: incessant scratching of one's head, arms, neck, face, and arms; irritability when young children touch, brush, or rub against one's hair; severe suspicion of dandruff and other hair debris; screaming and fits of rage.
If you or someone you know suffers from FOLS please be sure to wash your hair immediately with lice shampoo.
You can never be too safe when it comes to a lice scare.

2007-09-17T21:00:00.000-06:00

So I decided to take a short cut on Sunday.
Mmhmm.
Good plan.
Apparently you can go through Dalmeny and miraculously end up in Hepburn.
You probably could do it.
I couldn't seem to.
By the time my fuel light came on, I guess, well, you could say I was lost. I didn't actually realize I was lost until the fuel light came on. At that point I was forced to admit that I am not a Sunday driver and that in fact I was having no fun whatsoever on this "educational" meander through the countryside. And what was more I was hot...it was bloody warm on Sunday. And the hysteria that is borne out of gravel roads, the possibility of dying when your tank runs dry and you're eaten by wild animals who find you walking endlessly, not to mention hot, sweaty jeans is pretty extreme.
It was all I could do not to drive straight into the ditch, rip off my pants, and jump into the swamps of blue duck water lining the road.
I made it though, eventually.
I did of course run out of gas, but that wasn't until I was nearly back to Saskatoon. I was safely out of the path of any wild animals (assuming of course that creepy truckers do not fall under that category).
My story has a point. Sorry for taking so long to get here, my mom would be disappointed in this drawn out tale.
Don't take short cuts.
Just don't.
Go the long way. And make sure you don't drive to Hepburn with your fuel light on. You can make it, but sometimes the thought that you might not makes you rip your pants off in frustration...and how on earth will they explain that at your funeral?

Half-full

2007-09-13T20:46:00.001-06:00

My grade 8's have just discovered they can change the world.
I got to watch that beautiful, heavy thought rise up slowly at the horizon of our classroom and gently flood the room with a dawning light that brightened their unsuspecting faces. One minute they were children disengaged from the 'they' in those delightfully detached phrases like 'they should help the poor'. Instead they became them; and now they want to help the poor. My little friends are presently working on proposals for fundraising events to purchase a generator for a school in Rwanda. They're almost as excited as I am. We have class meetings that get so loud for the enthusiasm we share that I worry other teachers will start to suspect I'm not teaching the curriculum properly. Every minute someone is coming up with an idea even better than the one before and I cannot believe it's coming out of their mouths.
The most beutiful part is that there is no one to tell them it can't be done; no one to squash their idealism; no one to destroy the perfect joy that come from philanthropy. And when they grow up next week and graduate and get jobs and houses and kids they'll never be able to deny again in their lives that the power of one is enough to shift the whole big, lazy universe.
Now honestly, as if you wouldn't want to be a teacher. I get to watch as our future grabs hold of this rotten, selfish world and claims it for justice! (And I didn't even do anything! I just hung out and listened!)

Too good

2007-09-10T20:33:00.000-06:00

Wow - it feels like a hundred years ago that I last sat down with a tiny morsel of life to share with an unknown cyber audience. (which might just be me for all I know).
Life could not be better.
It couldn't.
I kept imagining it with more money, or more flashing lights, or more chocolate, or shoes, or time, or anything - and it never got better. It's the best it can be.
As it turns out God did call me from the dock of my grandma's cabin. Actually, he waited until I was good and ready to come home and then plunked this precious nugget of good fortune into my lap. I knew it! I knew he had something amazing lined up. (I even afforded mortgage payments in the meantime, if that isn't divine intervention!)
I wake up with a huge grin every morning and wander downtown for a Starbucks. Then once I've woken up, worked on my novel and even read the paper, I meander to the school where I get to teach my tiny, well behaved classes about social injustice, apostrophes and typing home row. I just run around all day playing grown up. Then, when I'm ready for bed (at 9:30) - I fall asleep (with a huge grin on my face) and wake up the next day to do it again.
I am a novelist, kids club leader, and teacher. How could you want more from a life?
It's perfect.
I feel nothing but gratitude - for the leaves turning and the wind howling and the rain falling and the little health assignments I get to go mark. Mark! With a red pen!
To a future doubter - remember this joy. This is the overwhelming ecstasy that comes with answered prayer. Wow.

I'm a sucky blogger

2007-07-17T16:26:00.000-06:00

I can't seem to sit in my little office (closet) lately for any length of time. But today it's so hot that I have to sit in here because there are no windows and (relatively speaking) it's somewhat cool.
Sally, the little puppy I almost killed a few months ago, is sleeping at my feet and it's hard not to join her.
I just wanted to check in since I plan on dropping off the face of the planet in 6 days.
I quit my job. And I'm moving to the lake.
I figured life is going to change sometime this summer, and so I might as well enjoy myself while I'm waiting for the mystery profession that God has sealed in his little gold envelope. I'm hoping I'll hear his announcement from the dock of my grandma's cabin...and I hope to hear nothing else. (Except maybe for a call from the publisher who's interested in publishing the novel I'll be making huge progress on). Otherwise it is sun, scotch, and scrabble for this summer girl. Hopefully there will be enough in my account for mortgage payments and the like. I wonder what unemployment will be like.
I got to answer the "so, what do you do" question for the first time since my announcement. It was exhilarating to reply - "nothing" because no one knows what response to make. And frankly, neither do I.
In case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night. (I'm sure I'll be back with tales of adventure before you know it. Something big is on the horizon...)
Make sure to smell the rain and kiss a baby and ride your bike and burn your white belly and dance on the lawn because summer doesn't last forever.

My dinghy-ling

2007-07-05T23:42:00.000-06:00

I got a dinghy for my birthday which - next to my bicycle Ms. Mango Perry - is the greatest thing that's happened to me in the last 2 weeks.
The maiden voyage turned out to be a bit of a gong show however, as one might expect.
To begin with we have no pump and after tracking one down, we discover that a regular pump does not work with out a great deal of effort. So we did what any construction daughters would do and used an air compressor. Once inflated (hours after we'd hoped to be on the water) we proceeded to jam this huge inflated boat into a mini Honda Civic.
Between Kris and I we managed to shoulder check on both sides and shift gears, but it was so small feat with a huge inflated boat cramming our necks and heads out our respective windows. Finally, at the water, we discover we've failed to bring the paddles. After this much effort leaving to go home was out of the questions.
Fortunately after a passionate conversation with my family in which my grandmother assure me "zat it doesn't matter how good a svimmer you are - you vill die vis out a lifechacket and vat voul ve do if you died!?" to which I replied "you'd be fine" to which my mom responded with tears, she actually cried and said, "no! I would never be fine". Long story short, at least we had life jackets. We felt safe.
So we pushed off from shore and began a delightful Huckleberry Finn-esque voyage down the great Saskatchewan River.
By the time we'd passed under the Idylwyld bridge we'd polished off the sangria and realized we were on the wrong side of the river to get out of the water at the Mendel. So - without paddles - we took turns kicking off the back of the dinghy like the most ridiculous Flinstone style motor boat you've ever seen. It was good for a laugh. No small feat though, and I'm feeling it in my inner thighs today boy.
Anyway - we narrowly missed the weir, pulled up at the Mendel unscathed and proved our mothers wrong. The river is a perfectly safe place to spend a sunny afternoon.
Unfortunately Sheila my biznatchy Sunfire has all kinds of poky things in her ass because we punctured a huge hole in the dinghy! What a mess.
Of course we always have duct tape...

And the World Will Never be the Same

2007-06-27T22:44:00.000-06:00

Hope is a funny thing: without it life is meaningless, dark and full of fear.
I've been a touch short of it for lack of faith or courage.
I've been afraid of mortality, afraid of failure but mostly afraid of hopelessness itself. It can eat you whole if you let it; it can suffocate you.
But suddenly, in the past few weeks, I've discovered that faith is actually being sure - being bold in what you hope for; it's living like the future is bound to be brighter. And faith cures hopelessness.
Tatiyana spoke with me at church on Sunday. She was nervous and anxious and scared. And so was I. To be honest, until the moment we stepped onto the stage I thought she'd back out. But she didn't. She spoke loud and clear and proud. People were fumbling in their pockets for money faster than she could say her lines. I've never been more proud, never been more pleased to be part of her life - she's not 12 and already claiming her bright future. And the world will never be the same because Tatiyana Tootoosis will not become a coke addict, a prostitute or another nameless face in the soup kitchen. The world can never be the same place it might have been before she stepped onto the stage and became the beginning of the person she was destined to be.
Callie, her sister, has never lived in the limelight. She is the silent cheerleader, the backstage mom. She's been raising her sister and her brother and her mother since she was 9 - and this weekend she shed some of that heavy baggage of being old before her time. And the world can't be the same world anymore - where kids must grow up instantly. There's still time for a brief fling with childhood.
I just turned nearly a quarter century yesterday. Birthdays always make me pensive and sentimental and in my musings I realized that I'm outrageously fortunate. Not only for the obvious reasons of privilege, economics, and sheer luck - but the less obvious ones like finding something to be completely passionate about, and knowing how you can contribute your own small part to saving the world.
I can never make the world a better, more considerate, more tolerable place - but I sure can help two girls wh o might never have had an education believe that they can change the world. And I have faith - really sure to the bottoms of my feet faith - that they can change the world. And so on account of that - the world is no longer what it once was.

At last...

2007-06-04T23:19:00.000-06:00

Finally...a degree. After 5 years, 6 majors, 2 colleges, 4 moves, 2 vehicles, 1,892 bottles of red wine, 3 serving jobs, $28,000 in tuition - and no, for everything else there isn't MasterCard, it turns out you have to pay for that too - and at something ridiculous like 19% interest. Not to mention I couldn't even get approved with my sketchy student status until last year! MasterCard cannot take any credit in this moment. I think it's safe to say, this day, this picture, this degree is courtesy of the good woman who birthed me. Sure, I showed up, did the work, registered for the classes and am paying her back, I just know I couldn't or wouldn't have gotten here if it was up to my anti establishment dad and I. I'd probably be a plumber or something.

But I went, and I guess this picture pretty much sums up my presence in the college...Louise, looking confused, distracted, and well, perhaps a touch retarded. Whatever the case, no one could ever say I wasn't trying to have a good time. (Even if it was "simple")

As much as I'll miss spending $6000 a year (before books!) making puppets, colouring, inventing gym blasts and writing lesson plans - I think there is a lot more adventure lined up on the other side of receiving this degree. So, cheers! It's been an anticlimactic day, but pivotal all the same. At least I got to dress up...that made it all worth sitting around listening to mispronounced names for 3 hours.

spoke too soon

2007-05-27T01:27:00.000-06:00

I should know by now to stop talking.
If I'm not talking, I'm not setting myself up to be wrong.

Europe is off - I know, it seemed unlikely, but it's for the best. Ma mere has only one (one!!) chemo treatment left, and there is no reason to sabotage her recovery by exposing her to every snot nosed kid on the plane, in the airport, and in all of bloody damp, dank, England for the sake of a quick vacation before radiation. I think cancer has finally dampened our fun, but it really took a long time. I think we (specifically my mom) has done a great job of having a brilliant time despite. In fact, my first blog entry was the day she got her wig. And that was a fabulous day. Really, chemo and cancer have been great excuses for lunch dates and missed classes and green ginger tea dates at Starbucks (though I've missed the copious amounts of wine we used to drink). All in all, I'd say cancer 1: Carroll family 18. We're kicking ass. Plus, who wants to go to the UK in the spring?

Also - I had a beer today. I don't regret it for 1 second. It's been the best evening of my spring so far. I drank it with one of my top 2 favorite people, sniffing lilacs and berry cigars, watching the sun dip behind the Idylwyld bridge. It was a perfect way to spend my Saturday evening. I didn't even mind that Mark brought Jose the dog... maybe I don't hate hairy beasts as much as I once thought.

I'd say the novel is going well, but I'm taking a less fatalistic approach. I'll say nothing and hopefully my silence will not impede its progress.

another day, another dollar

2007-05-21T23:18:00.000-06:00

Quel relief! I made it through the may long without having planted a garden which means I'm not a washed up, middle aged, garden planting, RRSP buying mom!

In fact, I'm still broke, still under-payed, still irresponsible, and consequently, still young. Phew.

Not to mention, I get to go to Europe in less than a month!

Yep.

Straight up.

Not even lying.

Europe.

Me.

I'm so excited about this prospect, that I consider running down the street naked screaming. I'm not sure why, but it seems like the only thing that would match my internal glee. Unfortunately the non-grown up, non-savings account, non-debt free part of me is regretting all that wine I drank this term. Europe on a shoe-string is certainly the reality. Oh well, I'll be there, in a beret, drinking cappuccinos and writing my novel.

The future starts today friends, as if I won't be a famous novelist now? Come on! I'll be writing on the beach at Montpelier!

Don't worry, I won't let it get to my head. I'll be a benevolent celebrity who still lives in a small city and drives a Sunfire...ugh, no, no - the Sunfire will definitely go. But it will be nothing fancier than a Volvo - I swear.

Though coming across a money tree in the meantime would not make me any less humble either.

the Infamous May Long Weekend

2007-05-16T00:36:00.000-06:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have arrived. Middle-aged-dom welcomes me with open arms and I'm racing, in sensible shoes, towards it's gentle embrace. Despite my attempts to stay as radically far from the slippery slope of growing up I find myself grasping at the grassy precipice (quite literally) on the brink of tumbling into full on lame ass grownup. That's right friends, I'm planting a garden this year.
It's Kritie's fault really. She's pressuring me into it. I don't like gardening, but she makes a valid argument for the responsible use of our land and an appropriate destination for our compost. Ugh. I just loathe the idea of wearing muddy shoes and wide brimmed hats while digging in the muck because it's a practical and economical idea. I'm against economically, environmentally sound decisions! At least I was once.
Anyway - I got a wicked forearm workout Round-up-ing the dandelions. I guess that's the upside. Either way d-day (aka may long weekend) is rapidly approaching and you all know what that means - the garden must get in. The official countdown of my waning coolness has begun.

Three's the charm

2007-05-15T00:12:00.000-06:00

I broke three pairs of sunglasses in one week! One pair spontaneously combusted in my purse, one pair I sat on - and the other pair miraculously appeared in my bed (under my knee)! You'd think at least I had a really steamy story to justify the latter, but I really honestly cannot imagine how a pair of sunglasses appeared under the covers in my made bed. I never even make my bed! Maybe it was sabotage.
All I know is that I have one pair without a second stem, one pair with a cracked lens, and one with a cracked frame, and so I've been wearing the ones with the cracked frame and I feel like I am mentally retarded. People look at me and point. They whisper to each other "Does that girl know her lens is cracked?" (Uh, yeah! It pinches.) It's too bad, but I can't seem to justify risking a forth pair in the span of eight days. That's preposterous.
So that's my story. You can tell my life is reaching an unprecedented low as I've resorted to stomping on my eye wear to spice up my life. I guess I'm not as interesting as I allow myself to believe. Pretty soon I'll just lieing instead - at least it will spice up this blog too.

2007-05-12T15:06:00.000-06:00

At least when it rains, when it really rains,
(flood gates open, heavens naked, river washing)
impatience waits huddled up in hidden doorways.
Perfect strangers, frightened children, wait.
Safe from the water, (only water!) poisoned water?
And I can walk,
Hair stuck to face and arms,
Socks drowning in sunken boats,
Down the road.
I can run,
through the empty streets
and no one fights to share my catwalk.
Back straight.
Head high.
Shoulders square.
Arms swinging.
Lips grinning.
Alone.
Eyes poke out from under overhangs.
Dry lashes, safe suede coats.
Envy waiting.
Bemusement waiting.
Strangers waiting.
And I'm alive, cold and wet.
Chest heaving,
lungs aching,
mascara running,
tongue tasting angels' kisses.

Delirium indeed

2007-05-10T22:55:00.000-06:00

de·lir·i·um [di-leer-ee-uhm]

1. Pathology. a more or less temporary disorder of the mental faculties, as in fevers, disturbances of consciousness, or intoxication, characterized by restlessness, excitement, delusions, hallucinations, etc.
2. a state of violent excitement or emotion.

Wow-y friends. Delirium was delirious. And the speedo dudes from the other day were totally in the show - you can see them right here in their fancy little outfits. I'm not going to lie, the real thing was even more impressive than the show at the river. My jaw hurts from dragging on the pavement all evening.

I think today will be the turning point; I'm going to become a gymnast. Now for those of you who have seen the Louise style cartwheel, and wondered how anyone can survive a day with so little coordination, I can feel your disbelief...but have faith. My goal is to be able to stand on one foot while rotating a hoolahoop on the other foot behind my head by next Friday - I'll let you know how that goes. Perhaps the week after that I'll be able to do back flips off people's shoulders; any volunteers?

New Leaf

2007-05-09T22:20:00.000-06:00

I started my new novel today. I mean, the one I'm writing. (And the one I'm reading actually, which was a lot better than the last one - I finished The Story of B and would recommend it to you all.)

Anyway, my last disastrous attempt at writing has finally, for today anyway, been laid to rest. The story was a (barely) fictional account of the internal musings of a deranged, neurotic writer named Gwen. (Based on the real life internal musings of someone you probably don't know who is a deranged, neurotic writer with an old lady name).

Ah, but the new novel will be better. So far I only have a title and the first page - but it's there, waiting to be written, just outside the grip of my ball point pen, lurking just beyond the margins of my new notebook. It's coming. I can feel my mind in the throes of labour willing this masterpiece (or piece of you-know-what) to be conceived on the page. I'm excited.

I can't wait to be a real writer who actually writes a whole novel. I mean, if Dan can get away with that Arnold Schwarzenegger stint and make millions, surely I could at least finish something. Though, looking at this blog and that creepy piece of man meat here staring me down - I'm unconvinced that there's hope for me. We'll see how it goes.

Circus in the Sun

2007-05-09T00:46:00.000-06:00

Out for a morning meander in the hot, hot sun - what accosts my eyes but the sight of several men along the river bank in speedos. (or shorts tucked into their bum cheeks) "Hmmm, interesting", I think to myself - and so I wander over to see what on earth these men are doing in such scandalous apparel.
Of course my first instinct tells me they are body builders posing for some small town church potluck calendar (on account of the muscles and the photographers), but that assumptions is quickly dispelled not only by the lack of protruding veins and crisco oil but by the queer sight I was about to behold. One of the speedo clad was balancing horizontally on one hand. Imagine - flat out, straight sideways. However impressive this might be, I'm sure you'll agree, was even more astounding considering the thing he was balanced on - his buddy's head.
Wow - weird was a good word to describe the scene.
As I was warned after yesterday's post, the last line of Dan's book took a strange turn for the weird. In light of the day's events, I couldn't help wondering about the possibilities of not only yoga instructors, but perhaps circus performers also. Let that resonate.
Either way, I feel that balancing on a friend's head in a speedo is a great way to tan the fold of your bum. There's really no other way to ensure maximum, equalized tan. (As irony proliferates in my life, I believe only yesterday I said I liked to get a good base-burn, well, I sure got that today and perhaps a touch of the ol' heat stroke as well....awesome.)

Random thought of the day: Burned legs get very, very hot in nylon pantyhose as they trap and recirculate the heat.

Dan the Man

2007-05-07T12:11:00.000-06:00

In an attempt to acquaint myself with popular culture, I've conceded to the pressure of Dan Brown.
Now, before I say anything about Dan - let's look for a moment at his picture. The guy, for lack of a better word, is a complete chauch. Look at his hair! The mushroom cut? Poor Dan. you'd think that after the success he's reached someone might have told him.
Despite his poor taste in hair dos and the unfortunate bum-chin fate that befell him, Dan Brown has made it to the top of the best seller list for his novels The Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons. (fortunately the good people of North America don't judge a book by its cover, or inside jacket either).
I just need to say I don't get it. I'm reading Angels and Demons right now because Kristie told me to - and I do everything I'm told to do - but I feel like the story is being narrated by Harrison Ford or Patrick Swayze back in a time when it was still really impressive to do very manly, impossible things with an uber-ly macho internal commentary. I find myself reading in my head with this cheesy voice over that sounds like a big, muscley, monotone meat man. I suppose at least it's funny that way. I think next I'm back into my choices. The Story of B by Daniel Quinn is ready for me when Robert Langdon is able to save the Vatican and mac some lithe Mediterranean scientist. (I can hardly wait to see if anyone else will be branded or maimed or tortured - and miraculously survive).

Okay, fine!

2007-05-06T15:16:00.000-06:00

Okay, okay, I'm over it. "IT" being the me, the giant pity party in the corner.
I'm ready to have a fabulous spring now. As if I'd be pouting when the buds are out and BBQ's are fired up and I can wear skirts and tan my legs. I mean really, who can be grumpy when their legs are tanned? And not even orange fake baked, but authentic, patchy, farmer tanned!
So, I'll just get over myself now.

Out of control

2007-05-04T14:37:00.000-06:00

I've been living on the precipice of panic- my heart beats through my shirt, my head pounds late into the night, my eyes bat long languid blinks. The little storm cloud of doom and gloom seems to follow me around and there's nothing I can do. I feel out of control - mainly because that's exactly what I am beside the world and all the things causing me to panic are out of my control.

So what a timely verse to come across as I am deliberating over what to do in a helpless spot:
1 Samuel 12:16
Now then, stand still and see this great thing the LORD is about to do before your eyes!

I think this sounds a little too much like patience, but in the absence of any reasonable ideas on how to react to my current crises, I guess I'll stand still and see.

Perhaps I'll even have a witty quip or a clever joke before long too. Wouldn't that be a lovely change from the pity trip segment of my life novel.

Bottoms Up

2007-05-03T23:01:00.000-06:00

I went to an AIDS fundraiser tonight (to improve my spirits after a pretty downer week I guess).
And as I sit in my cozy little home tonight I am perplexed and overwhelmed. Overwhelmed because people are starving and life goes on. I'm just not sure how we can justify ourselves- standing around in uncomfortable $200 pumps, tipsy on $5 beers, batting our eyelashes at each other at Lydia's while watching images of people dying in squallor. We're a sick, twisted, preverted little group of middle-class, mostly white, North Americans.
And I for one, am guilty as charged. I hate that I'm part of a society that systematically kills more and more of the poor on account of its own greed. I hate that I cannot seem to extract myself from its allure.
My new month resolution is to sacrifice something.
I think I'll sacrifice booze. All month. That's a useless waste of my money. Every time I want a drink this month, I'll put five bucks in the fund. And now that it's here, written on this public post which both of you read, I'll be held accountable to it.
I'm sick of feeling and acting helpless...I'm sure a more sober Louise would be better at saving the world anyway. Beer slows me, wine dulls me, gin, uh - well, everyone knows what gin does, and tequilla tends to kick me in the junk. So cheers - to Koolaid and a new month.
I love the start of an adventure.

tick-tick-tick

2007-05-02T01:10:00.000-06:00

This ancient ticking clock is perhaps the most infuriating background noise of all time.
So long as I have something going on, a word to say, or anything to do - I can't hear it. But in this moment of silence it nags at my empty thoughts...tick-tick-tick.
As I sit here tonight in my dad's basement (where I'm babysitting my dad) I am feeling bleak sentimentality seep into my cold feet.
Tick-tick-tick.
This ticking clock feels like foreshadowing for whatever lies on the other side of this evening, this night, this morning. I can't help but feel a certain sense of dread as each moment passes.
Tick-tick-tick.
It's hard to believe that I had a 'normal' life only 4 months ago. I would have never dreamed that my mom would get cancer, and have surgery, and lose her hair; or that my dad would get a blood clot and have hemorrhaging and hernias and look sicker and sicker by the day; or that school would end, and that all the while life would keep tick-tick-ticking right along as though none of this was of any consequence.
And perhaps it isn't. It's just a blip - a few ticks of this ticking time bomb.
I just can't help but feel a slight twinge of uneasiness. I'd just hate to waste one of those moments that tick by so easily, steadily - I'd hate to waste any what with so much life to be lived.

And they called him shit head

2007-04-29T00:40:00.000-06:00

I'm pretty sure - positive actually - that I resolved not to swear anymore. However in this rare instance, in order to appreciate one hilarious moment, I need to.
Out for a stroll the other day(one of the very last to my car in the secret parking lot by the university and the river) I came across a multitude of joggers and cyclists and old people out enjoying the sunshine. One thing I will say about Saskatchewan is that everyone appreciates the sunshine - in particular in April when we're still groggy and fat from hibernation.
Anyway - amid the onslaught of merry passers-by is a middle aged woman with her big black dog. She is dressed appropriately (if not stylishly) in some reasonable jogging attire and in the midst of the zoo of people and the smell of spring wind and the bright sun I nearly missed it. But there he was, her muzzled dog, with a bag of his own shit stuck to the side of his head. I nearly wish I was joking for the sake of this poor creature, but alas, for real this dog was running by the river with a baggy of poo attached to his muzzle! Can you believe it? That guy must really get harassed by the other manly dogs by the river. I mean the muzzle is one thing, but a bag of fecal matter on your face? Come on!

Speaking of the unbelievable - I'm officially done, finito, vertig, finis my university career today. Hmm. I'm not even sure what to say. I had a pitcher of delicious beer on the Yard patio before my final today and realized how good it is to be alive and be a student. I think I won't be a student by the time I wake up tomorrow, so I better enjoy these last few moments at 1 in the morning before I mutate sometime during my sleep tonight into an adult with 11g's of debt...oops.

Any good ideas for making a shit load of money? (...no pun intended)

Never put what on a puppy?

2007-04-20T01:06:00.000-06:00

Seth and I learned a very important lesson on Tuesday...it was a total shocker to us both, and nearly cost us Sally.
As many (both?) of you who read this know, I am a passionate accessorizor. Narturally I assume that every other creature God created is as zealous for glam as I. Unfortunately, not all are created equally, in fact God made some creatures accessory challenged. For some unlucky beasts, too many accessories could actually lead (like all good things) to death.
Though a tiny German Shepherd neck looks like a perfect and inviting display case for a chic leather bracelet DO NOT BE FOOLED. Bracelets choke puppies! Who knew?
Not to mention what goes on easily, does not necessarily come off easily.
However, thanks to the bravery of a puppy named Sally and the ninja dexterity of a quick thinking brother named Mark, Seth and Aunty Woop learned a valuable lesson about what not to wear - for dogs.

Aunty Woop: Seth, what should we never put on a puppy?
Seth: Bwathlet!
Aunty Woop and Seth: Hooray!

Moral: God made bracelets so girls could look cute - not puppies; he made puppies cute enough as is.

Very Superstitious

2007-04-15T21:31:00.000-06:00

So, I'm not a proponent of superstition, but Friday the 13th always sounds crazy enough to

believe in. (I'm sure that's because my life is plagued with irony) Anyway - how about robbery for an unexpected twist? Straight up car break-in. Which ended up not even doing "break-in" justice as they didn't "break" anything, and they also didn't steal anything which is often the point of a break-in. Well, they did take one thing, my homework. But then the thieves left it for me at Moxie's where the kind people who work there called the police, who informed me they'd recovered my bag before I even knew I'd been robbed. That's efficiency. And lazy robbery. Wasteful robbery. Why bother stealing someones homework? Anyway, it seems like a bit of a rip off, but I'm quite relieved, for my own selfish reasons, that the thieves got ripped off when trying to thieve me. Bless them.

Call for Rebellion

2007-04-12T12:53:00.000-06:00

At the risk of sounding like the cold hearted biznatch that I really am, I must make the following observation. The moment classes are over and finals start, students give up hygiene, make-up, self respect, fashion sense, and better judgment. But why? why suddenly do all the people I've worked and studied and suffered with for 5 years decide (simultaneously and without warning) to wear their pajamas and old, ripped jeans and loose fitting bunnyhugs with ketchup stains? Why is it abruptly acceptable in the last few weeks of school to abandon your true self and instead mutate into a drunk Alzheimer's victim who got lost leaving the home?
Well, it's not acceptable, it's not okay.
Take off the sweats, comb your hair, have a shower for crying out loud and reclaim your freedom to look good.
Don't let the man take your last shred of dignity - he's already taken everything else; namely, your money, time, youth, energy, and social life. Don't let him take your freedom to look good.

For the sake of everything sacred, please, don't let him take that from you too!

This is a call to rebellion, a call to abandon the things that seem most comfortable but will cause the most humiliation, the most oppression, not to mention the least action. Take off the chains of bad fashion, don the sparkling cloak of dignity and freedom and discover, within you, the person of reasonable fashion that you really are.

4 resolutions, 3 slip ups, 2 roommates, and a partridge in a pair tree.

2007-04-11T09:54:00.000-06:00

My best friend in the world returned to our little home yesterday. How lovely. And she brought with her another dear friend, my 6'3" 200lb baby brother (also her boyfriend).
Since the last post, I've resolved to make some changes in my life. And while I love these people dearly, to go from 1-3 people in a tiny little basement suit in the same week that I've resolved to:
1. stop swearing
2. stop speeding
3. stop drinking coffee
4. stop drinking after 1 alcoholic beverage

...well, it's hard. I mean when the house is getting a little cramped and we're bumping into each other and bumping into the wobbly shelf and glasses are breaking and headaches are starting, I just want to jump into my car and speed to the closest coffee establishment and calm down.
And when I discover I can no longer do that I want to swear out loud and drown my sorrows in a bottle of wine. But I can't do that either. It's hard.

This is day 3 with no coffee, and I only swore twice. (I had to let out a string of profanities when I burned my finger on the oven, and also when quoting the hilarious Farva in the "I got you good f*cker" scene.) Other than that, I only had 2 drinks yesterday and caught myself speeding once.

So I think I'll survive. In particular because Kristie is the best friend ever - in fact she's organizing our kitchen as I write this. And my little man! He's lovely too; not only did he fix my ghetto internet cord so it no longer clotheslines my guests, he also bought me Deltron 3030 which we listened to while making supper together yesterday.

There's hope for me and my roommates.

So long as God will grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

At the risk of unleashing the demons of irony, how bad could it be?

Freedom Time

2007-04-09T13:37:00.000-06:00

In light of recent events, namely the remembering of the sacrifice of my supposed saviour, it would seem that my life is in need of significant analysis. How could it be that I slipped back into the swampy marshes that line the higher road without noticing the murky water seeping into my shoes and muddying my clothes? How can it be that I forget in an instant the truth which sets me free, and chose instead to shackle myself to the lies that would keep me chained to sin and frustration?
So here I am. At a loss for good excuses as I've used them all before - as I am no longer a stranger in this cycle from holiness to hopelessness. How do I climb up out of my self-inflicted swampland and reclaim my freedom? How can I think I'm still entitled to it?
And I guess that's what grace is - God loving me hopeless and sorry and bashful as I mess his gleaming white kitchen with my muddy boots.
"you see the depths of my heart and you love me the same..."
(scary thought considering the depths of this particular heart)

James 1: 21- 27
Therefore, get rid of all moral filth and the evil that is so prevalent and humbly accept the word planted in you, which can save you. Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does. If anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

So, no big deal. Just have to keep myself from 'being polluted by the world'. Thank James - I'm sure that will be a piece of cake.

Rebel. Or are you satisfied? -Lauryn Hill

my name is Louise, and I have a problem

2007-04-04T20:14:00.000-06:00

I can't stop. Despite my aching conscience, my vanquished bank account, and my peanut sized bladder - I cannot stop coffee cup gambling. I love it. I love the anticipation of milky coffee; I love the seduction of winning as my lips caress the rim; I love waiting, wondering; I love when my teeth finally pry the little rim up. But I lose. Every time, I lose. And then the environment loses. My bank account loses. My little heart breaks and I vow never to roll-up-the-rim-to lose ever again. But he gets me every time, my lover Tim, reminding me of all the great mornings we've had together, all the drunken stupors he's revived me from, all the chocolate he's helped me choke down. And so I give into him, smooth operator that he is.

I fought the law...

2007-04-04T11:12:00.000-06:00

Turns out I'm not super stealth. The woman I ran into a couple weeks ago - you know - the crazy biznatch that waited until I hit her to honk, apparently she thought it was a hit and run. It was a hit (tap really) and "wait around for the light to change" followed by a "round the corner and wait" followed by a "too late for class to wait any longer" and then a slow drive away. So there was really no hitting and certainly no running! How audacious. It was a tap and meander!

Now I must report to my new friend Constable Bright who has me on file (#07-21161 as it were) and I have to go down to the police station and turn myself in. Hopefully Constable Bright lives up to his name and is a "wow" in a blue suit or has magical powers like his mom, Rainbow.

I can't move my arms

2007-03-27T15:09:00.001-06:00

The nurse stabbed me 6 times, thrice in each arm, and then couldn't even get enough blood to fill a little baggy!
Turns out I have huge ninja veins that elude even the most skilled needle technicians (several of which tried to get 'em), or I have baby veins that seem to be there only to mock needle technicians and not to actually transport blood. Nothing in the middle though.
So my inner elbows are bruised to shiznit, and my head is fuzzy, and my stomach is churning sickly - and I didn't even get to save a life like the advertise on tv! How disappointing.

When I grow up

2007-03-24T14:24:00.000-06:00

I got a booter yesterday. A good squishy, slurpy, wet and nasty one. It felt really good, really like spring.
But, when I woke up this morning there was mud between my painted toes, and earrings stuck to my cheeks, a necklace choking me, and mascara all over my face. I wondered if perhaps this was an indication of something.
Do I sleep enough?
Do I drink too much?
Am I losing it?
Meh.
I'll worry about it when I'm grownup... in 2 weeks...oh dear.

Stilettos 1: Tatyiana 0

2007-03-18T20:17:00.000-06:00

Tatiyana and I had another race today.
The last race was the fateful day I challenged spring and then lost to a truck and a puddle.
The stakes were higher today because I was wearing fun floral print, pink stilettos.
I won.
I will more than likely break a leg or an ankle on account of this gloating, but I'm unreal in the 100 meter stiletto dash.

The sun was shining today. I've determined that even though it was cold, and my dad feels like shit in the smelly hospital, and my mom is full of chemo, and Callie and Tatiyana don't even have flour in their house- it's a great day to be alive. It's great because the ice is cracking; and dad's going home; and mom crochets stylish hats; and I have flour to spare.
So it's good. Or it will be as soon as I can convince myself to believe that. (Which I will). Because life is far too short to be moody. (Unless you write brilliant poetry, which I don't so I'd better get over myself).

spring is in the air...and in my hair

2007-03-08T14:49:00.000-06:00

Unfortunately it only took until 2:41pm for my sunny spring disposition to be dampened (literally).
I woke up this morning in one of those moods that can only come with a new season or a new pair of shoes. In addition I'd had a good, long, deep sleep - the remnants of which were stuck to my cheek and dried to my pillow (which was a relief after a good week and a half of self inflicted sleep deprivation...self inflicted? I guess that's another story...).
And then there was the miracle of breakfast. That's right, real food in my house that I could actually eat. Food that makes me happy like oranges and almonds and a hot cupper (with milk!).
Of course all of these events were mere prelude to the elation of stepping out into the brightest, boldest, most beautiful morning of the year so far. The sun kissed my cheek; the sweet breeze tickled my nose with the promise of warmth and melting, and I didn't even mind that I was going to Education Psychology 390 with the most mind-numbing professor in existence.
It wasn't until I was in the prime of my day, just having finished a Starbucks and a Louise alone time that it happened.
I was waiting for the hand to change into a man at the meridian dividing college drive when a truck decided it was neither convenient nor important enough for him to slow at the enormous puddle right behind me. Perhaps I'd earned this early afternoon shower after the comment I made yesterday to the effect of, ' I like that my pants get wet in spring, because at least it reminds me that I don't have frostbite!'.
Sure, in the life of irony that I live, that comment was begging for trouble - a puddle shower seemed inevitable.
The second vehicle which failed to discern the effect his speed and mass would have on the puddle he was driving through though, that was unwarranted. Not only was this particular shower get my pants wet - it got my f-ing hair wet! Not to mention my shirt, vest, bag, homework, belt, shoes, arms...I look like I'd fallen in!
And then, as though the gods of all things slap stick drank a little too much cheap sherry, as I walked from the scene of humiliation my left shoe started to squeak. And squeak it did - loudly announcing my shame as I slushed, slurped and squeaked all the way across campus.
So the moral? Wear yellow rubber as often as possible.

Critique of Roto-Rooter Man as a Philosophy of Life

2007-02-28T14:09:00.000-06:00

Today I conclude the trial run of a bullshit free life. My experiment began at the beginning of the month and has proceeded until now. The following are the pros and cons of a no-tolerance approach to fecal matter.
Pros.
1. I experienced fewer incidents of confusion and ambiguity. (ie. wondering whether or not something was the case; the no-tolerance approach requires W-5 style questioning at the slightest uncertainty)
2. I experienced fewer incidents of polite meaningless conversation. The Roto-Rooter man forbids frivolity and niceties.
3. Sometimes this lead to incredible insights.
4. Usually I knew the version of events closest to "truth".

Cons.
1. The number of people I engaged in awkward conversation increased substantially.
2. The the number of new friends I made decreased significantly.
3. Sometimes this lead to information that I'd rather not have known.
4. I discovered, I can't handle the "truth".

In conclusion, after considering the evidence, I would recommend the non bullshit lifestyle, I might just mix in the odd martini to make it more bearable.