I Bought Beef Jerky

This is going to take a minute. Bear with me. At some point I'll make you laugh.

I've been driving a GMC Sierra truck for the last week. And this doesn't feel like "me." And today, in a mindless gas station stop to refuel the ugly beast I reached out to the impulse shelf at the gas station and bought beef jerky.

That was my first clue that something was wrong. I'm sure it's been 10 years, if not forever, since I bought salted dehydrated meat, never mind from a gas station. But that was, in the moment, what I had a hankering for. Ewww.

So what on earth has happened to me, and why am I driving a GMC Sierra?

An unfortunate set of circumstances has disabled my much-loved Titan. And until the sexy, powerful truck can be repaired, I was gifted a "loaner" vehicle to drive. So this 2012 Sierra was the best they could offer. Sure, it sounds fine until you realize the seat does not adjust in height, and that it has a column shifter that I seem to bump every time I reach for the radio dial. (Yes, I did say DIAL) So there I am sitting low... oh, did I mention it's a bench seat? (Good lord, I didn't realize that was still an option.)  Every time I reach for a knob or button or something it's in the wrong place. And it corners like a farm tractor.

Even so, after a few days, I have started to get used to it. And that's when I noticed the changes happening to me. I'm driving about 80km/hr in a 90. I'm taking the long way home, just to check on the neighbour's crops and cattle. I'm starting to rest my right arm on the back of the bench seat, and steer with my left hand. Good God, what's happening to me? And that's when I bought the beef jerky. Ugh. I NEED my Titan back before I start drinking 6 packs of OV off the tail gate.

This isn't me. I'm not in my element right now. I'm beginning to think that I should start a charity, or support group for people who are oppressed, depressed or dysfunctional from the exposure to unfortunate vehicle choices. It's like trying to walk in high heels when all you know is cowboy boots. Or trying to watch football when all you understand is the Arts.

People who drive "whatever" or something that is just good enough, are missing out on the joy of driving. To have something that expresses your personality, or even just suits your lifestyle, is to know happiness. As I used to say, there are two kinds of drivers in this world... convertible people and "unhappy roof people."  I now have to broaden my definitions, but you either ARE, or you AREN'T.... and I certainly "aren't" a GMC Sierra-type girl.

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease get me my Nissan Titan back soon. I'll never survive on beef jerky and OV.

Happy Anniversary!

It's been a year since we met and I fell head over heels for my sweetie. Together we've seen rain and sleet and snow; good times and bad. We've gone on several hockey road trips and had a blast. I'm sure we've been to the grocery store 400 times, and hauling all those supplies.... he never minds.

At first I wasn't sure he was the one for me. After all, he's kind of a big lug. I'm kind of a little thing. Of course, no one would suggest I was a girly-girl, but still. It's not like we look like a matched set.

I am a little bossy, but he handles it like a pro. Whether I want to go off-roading or weaving through traffic he suits the course.

Not once has he complained when I sing along to the radio or use my ipod for some obnoxious pre-game hockey music that the kids like.

Gosh I love the big lug! He makes me feel safe. Safe and warm and totally protected. What more could a girl want? So.... happy anniversary, Titan. My Nissan Titan! Cheers to us and the many miles we have ahead!

Mrs. Not-so High Maintenance

A million years ago, in a lifetime I can barely remember I had a guy walk away from me at the bar after calling me "high maintenance."

Pardon?  The next thing he saw was a snowball flying at his head in a parking lot. As a baseball player, my arm was going to have the last word in THAT discussion. And I did. Or so I thought.

Every now and again, I hear that insult in my head. "High maintenance." I don't know why it ever bothered me. Did it mean I put a lot of effort into dressing up and looking good? Or did it mean he thought I was emotionally needy? A princess by modern definition? Well that's not me. Nope. Hell no.

I don't spend any time with fashion magazines or at make-up counters. I rarely enter a mall. More likely you'll find me grabbing athletic wear for myself in the same store that I buy hockey gear in for the kids.

My hair typically sits low in a pony tail, or in the winter, under a toque. The last time I wore a dress was in July, that's 7 months ago.

My work life has unglamorous tasks like mopping the floor and cleaning freezers. So, obviously I'm not a princess. Cinderella maybe? LOL

Anyways I guess you could debate the emotionally needy definition but I do make an effort to never sound that way. I'm pretty much a straight shooter or  like to think I am. I'll tell you what I think and how I think it should be done. Why mince words? Why play games? Maybe this comes with age. Maybe wisdom. I prefer clarity over confusion. If I die tomorrow, I don't want you to be confused on whether I liked you or not.

(Insert profanity laced tirade directed at the twit who criticizes my sons' coaches or speaks slanderously  towards my little superstars.)

Now, if a person wanted to be literal, I will admit that it takes some "regular" maintenance to keep up appearances. I get my nails done, my hair stylist is on speed dial, and I do exercise regularly. I also try to eat well and present myself as to not embarrass my children. But I consider that normal. I even bite my tongue when not appropriate, or not politically correct, to avoid unnecessary confrontation. I do that out of respect for my family.

But I'll drink a rye with the boys, or eat whatever hot sauce on my chicken wings. I like watching hockey and I've even paid to attend football. I'm just one of the guys. (Albeit, one of the guys who smells better and looks good in a dress!) I play blackjack and I can handicap a horse race. My truck has a bigger engine than yours and a quad cab you could play baseball in. There's no reason, IMHO to ever call me high maintenance.

And if you ever do, just don't stand within my throwing range. I'd really hate to chip a nail trying to teach you a humbling lesson.

Can't Sleep

So what do you do when you can't sleep?

Sometimes I listen to music, or read boring things on-line, in an effort to find sleep. But, my iphone battery is nearly dead tonight. So, I thought I'd get out of bed and charge it. Problem is I can't find a charger. Normally, not a big deal, since everyone in the house has a gadget and someone always has a cord or docking station handy, but not now. I "upgraded" to the iphone 5. I mock the word upgrade because it hasn't made my life better, or easier. Frankly, it doesn't do anything that the last version didn't do for me. I kinda thought a new phone would mean a new battery and less charging (since my 4 battery could barely survive a regular day on a full charge) but it really hasn't. Seems the battery life of a "5" and a 2 year old "4" are pretty similar.

Anyways, I'm rambling like a tired person.

The "5" has a new cord. Of course, so it fits nothing. Not compatible with any tool that came before it. So, to go with my new phone, I'm going to have to buy new docking stations, car adapters etc. Ahem... cash grab!  But whatever. I know the way the world works. I'd probably do it too if I owned Apple. Still kicking myself for not buying shares in that company when I was a kid.

Back to the topic. Can't sleep. Well, an hour ago, I couldn't sleep because the neighbor's dog, Buddy, was barking and barking and barking. So, I encouraged my husband to go see what that was about. He did and the barking stopped.  Nice.

Then the husband fell asleep instantly and snored like some chainsaw factory. Usually, earphones and music do the trick.... but you read the earlier paragraph. No damn battery power.

So, I wander around the house, looking for the cord and maybe a snack. (Since I'm up anyways.) And then I trip over a black dog in the living room, in the dark. Odd.... since my black dog passed away 2 months ago.

It's Buddy! The neighbor dog is fast asleep in my living room. Again, nice. Can you feel the sarcasm here? Ok, true, he's not barking anymore and he's obviously quite content because he's FAST ASLEEP and also snoring.  Obviously the two guys here have conspired to find an easy solution. Probably not the first time they've pulled this stunt either. But, the question remains... why is the neighbor dog sleeping in my living room?

So, here I am, writing. And I'm itchy. And I'm in denial about the source of the itch. I refuse to believe that peanut butter and I are not 100% compatible because I eat peanut butter all the time. I blend it with oreos in chocolate ice cream and eat it by the gallon. And yet, it does make me itchy. I know it. I hate admitting it, but I'm 98% sure that's the cause of this crazy itchiness. And I brought this on myself. I ate several. Ok, more than several, peanut butter cups last night. Hey..... I was doing kids with peanut allergies a FAVOUR by eating them all out of the box I bought, rather than giving them to small costume-clad children. It was a public service, of sorts. I took one for the team. Or a dozen.... or whatever I ate. Now my skin is crawling. I scratch and it's worse. I would totally go for a scratching post right now, or some fine grade sand paper. Oooooh, that'd be nice. And still I can't sleep. But at least while I type I can't scratch. So, that's a good thing.

I've finished my tea now, and the laundry is ready for folding, but I still have no resolution to my 3 bigger issues:  sleep;  itch;  dead battery. Huh.

Well, there's still the boob tube. I could go watch the last of the election race. That should solve one of the 3 problems. 'Night!

You can edit the photo, but not the memory

The last time I saw my Happy Place, I wanted to mark the moment with a photograph. Isn't that what we all do? Aren't we all documenting our lives through photos and photo sharing these days?

Well, I was looking for the photo to capture the place and time that I absolutely cherish. And then, there was this guy. This guy and his laundry.

My Happy Place, is a palm tree on a beach, outside the Atlantis Hotel, on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. It's just a single palm tree, on a tiny stretch of beach, surrounded on two sides by the ocean, but for me it's Utopia. It represents all that is bliss and perfection in a holiday. I love this palm tree. Seriously. Now, of course, as a traveller I've seen hundreds, maybe thousands of palm trees and sure, I like them all. But this is the ONE. It's my screensaver. It's my wallpaper. It's.... it's..... my HAPPY PLACE.

When I am stressed, or scattered and I need to find my peace and my focus, I take my mind to this tree. I feel the breeze, I hear the ocean and I go back to a time when I was there and I was calm and rested.

So, back to the guy and his laundry.....

My family goes trotting out to this area of beach to see the palm tree, and along comes another tourist with an armload of towels. He unceremoniously tosses them down on the sand, in a heap. Then he proceeds to walk another 12 feet or so, to the palm tree and park himself underneath it. He just lay there. He just lay there....completely ruining my shot. Him and his pile of laundry!

See him and his pile of yellow towels?

"What the Hell? This isn't your laundry room!" I thought. "Not your basement! Not YOUR tree!" But of course, it really isn't my tree either. I shook my head and smiled, "what luck" I thought. So I simply encouraged my family to enjoy the beach. Play in the water, relax and take your time. Do whatever. "We'll wait." I figured at some point he'd get up, gather his laundry and go. Then I could have my postcard photo, and blissful moment to capture.

But no. Laundry guy thinks it's a jolly idea to linger, to "camp", if you will. Dozens of other tourists come and go in the area. They take photos. They're obviously posing. They're taking their photos in spite of his presence. He is, of course, oblivious.

"Get your picture and let's go" says my husband. "Just edit him out like you would a zit."

Now it's sunset & he's still here! Him and his laundry!

Really? Is this a school photo? I'll just blend him into the sand? Is that what my husband thinks? Now, yes, I do have the skills and it's not that hard to do, but how do I edit the memory? I can wipe Laundry Guy off the beach with a swoosh of my mouse, but how do I get him out of my relaxation ritual?Laundry, is not exactly what I would consider peaceful, or happy. Laundry is a chore! I have two sons. They play hockey. Laundry is not my happy time. Ugh.

The birds are a nice distraction, but I still see him in this sepia version.

Obviously, I'm left with no other choice than to call a do-over on this vacation. I simply must return to see my tree again, and make a new postcard memory. Frankly, I don't see any other choice. So, thanks, "Laundry Guy" I'm going to have to go to the Bahamas again. "Darn!" (She says squealing with joy and dancing a jig.) I'm just going to have to go back!

Simply cropped. But "yuck" my tree doesn't grow in the water. I NEED sand in the photo!

You know it's time for a break when....

I've been burning the candle at both ends for a while now. I'm pretty durable and can take quite a bit. But the last week, I've had a couple of clear indicators that I need to slow it down a bit.

You know you're tired when... finally get home, sit down at the end of your work day and pour a cup of tea and open a chocolate bar and the next thing you know you wake up (still sitting upright on the couch) because the dog is licking the uneaten chocolate bar in your hand.  And you're first thought is... "what time is it?  4AM? Oh good, I can still get a few things done before I go back to work."

You know you're tired when.... your son asks you to lie down in his bed and read him a book and the next thing you know you're awake, it's pitch black, you've just cranked your head on the top bunk and you have no idea what the hell just happened. But... there's a book on the floor and a sleeping child and you piece it together.

You know you're tired when.... you look forward to using the bathroom because at least it's a break.

You know you're tired when... your truck's fuel indicator light flashes "low gas" warning and urges you to refuel and you reply out loud, "yeah well I'm running on empty too. Shut up. You're going to have to wait."

But for me the most laughable indicator was last night.  I was home in the evening, during daylight (rare!) and I looked outside the kitchen window and let out a gasp and a little scream. My husband "what's the matter? " And before I could even think I said "I thought I saw a lion." Yes. I am an idiot. For a split second there I thought I saw a small male lion stalking my pasture.  I am exhausted. I am an idiot. It was my miniature horse, Sunny, who has lived here "forever" and walked past my window "a million times."  I laugh even writing this.  Yeah, but he LOOKED like a lion... oh, nevermind.

Now if only I could get some rest, a new chocolate bar and a day off, I'm sure I'd be good as new.

The wind in my face

It's Canada. It's cold. We're the only people who understand "windchill". Try going go Florida, or California or Alabama and saying, "ok, so it's 18 today, but what's that with the windchill?" You'll get the look and probably giggle inside until you crack a smile.

Lately, the weather here has been a bitter, blinding, nasty wind. It has been anything but good. How on earth can it be -12C out, but -37C with the windchill. No wonder people are in a bad mood. It's tough to go out. It's tough to do anything.

But then, today, the blustery "in your face" wind was warm. Oh my gosh, it was actually refreshing. I didn't have to grit my teeth and push forward into it to make progress. I could walk, hold my head up and go forward without a struggle. I sure hope it's a metaphor for life. I could use the break. What if... what if... there was less resistance. What if.... each day wasn't such a struggle? What if it wasn't uphill both ways and -40C?