After a very busy summer, our house is a tad quieter. My university age girls have left: one is in Winnipeg studying music at Canadian Mennonite University, and another has begun a Nursing program in Regina. I still have two teenagers at home: one doing online high school courses, and the other in grade 9, which brings me to a rather startling realization-- this is my last year of full-time tutoring. We've had our ups and downs on our homeschool journey--lots of fun and lots of challenges. It's hard to believe that the end is in sight: I'm already having mixed feelings. In the meantime, does anyone need eight years' worth of books and curriculum? If I sold it all, maybe my hubby could retire early.
And to my husband. No, it's not our wedding anniversary (32 years in October). But it's our 30th anniversary of parenthood. Good gosh, where did that time go? Happy Birthday, Mrs K!
Yikes. Time to replace the album. Good retirement project. .
I kid you not. He also lauds atonement, redemption and metanoia! The audio is not the best, and there is no video. (You may do as I do, and LISTEN to it as you go about your daily household chores, or your various commutes.)
The wisdom and inspiration in this lecture is off the charts. I truly do praise the Lord for what this person is accomplishing in the world today. There is a reason why the mainstream media is attacking him so viciously, but basically the devil is behind it. Dr. Peterson is improving (and sometimes saving) people's lives, and he's even leading nihilistic, addicted atheists to Christ (see this video/podcast by James Fox Higgins).
It's past the middle of April, and we're into Music Festival week, where I have to drive literally hundreds of km (29 km one way; round that off to 30, then multiply by 15) back and forth to a nearby town for our daughters to compete in piano, vocal and musical theatre. And I don't like winter driving. And what is going on outside at this very moment is winter. I know this is Canada, but even here, we're supposed to have something resembling Spring right now.
In the olden days when people were ignorant and superstitious, they would blame this on the weather gods. But now we have Al Gore. I'm long past even hoping for a little bit of Global Warming. At this point, I'm praying that our government will let us keep our carbon tax so that we can use it to heat our homes in June. Cuz the planet isn't overheating. Not here. Not even a little bit.
The view out my North patio doors, blocked by the driven snow.
An artistic (blurry) rendering of my patio chairs, buried in snow.
The melting drops on the window in the foreground represent my tears of frustration at Al Gore, and all Global Warmists and politicians who think taxing us will change the weather.
Unfortunately, the movie is Napoleon Dynamite. This actually happened to me recently.
Yes, Middle Age Brain strikes again (actually, I'm past middle age, since I don't think it's likely I'll live past 100, but that's neither here nor there. I still feel too young to call myself a 'senior'). I was at a small-town grocery store, having dashed inside to buy two (literally two) items. $44 later, I zipped open my purse to see... no wallet. Of course. I had put it in the side pocket of my gym bag the previous morning, and had forgotten to replace it. No cards, no cash, no knowledge of how to use my smartphone to pay for stuff (IS there such an app? I don't even know. Probably, but I'm old.)
Luckily, I had my bulging little change purse, and if there is anything I don't do often enough, it's empty my change purse. I decided to pay with "loonies" and "toonies" ($1 and $2 Canadian coins).
I got as far as $37, and that was that. The kindly clerk said she would ring in the entire amount ($44) and that I could bring the rest back the next day. Did I mention she didn't know me from Adam? Or Eve? However, I must have looked suitably pathetic (and trustworthy) because she let me walk out with $7 of my groceries unpaid for. Fortunately, when I got to the car, I remembered hubby also has a little stash of coins which he uses at the coin-op carwash (sorry, Hon). So I ran back into the store to square my debt.
It restores one's faith in humanity. My memory, not so much. Must go put wallet back into purse now.
Scale: our quarters, nickels and dimes are the same size as U.S. coins of that ilk. So are the pennies, but we don't use them anymore.
This blog post was written by my lovely niece Anna, who is a mom, designer and seamstress/crafter. She owns and operates Little Plum Tree from her home: beautiful hand-made toys, using local products and materials. I have a couple of her tote bags, and my pet hen, Henrietta, also came from Little Plum Tree.
Henrietta enjoying a prairie summer sunrise from the comfort of the settee
The article is about making one's home beautiful--something with which I have always struggled mightily. Heck, I can hardly keep the place tidy, but it's all part of the same problem. I liked this quotation:
In the past I’ve been tempted to settle for a solution that is functional only, thinking I need to be content with something I don’t particularly like because we need to finish a project, or because it’s superficial to hold out for something that’s more attractive.
Ain't THAT the truth! Mrs Beazly and I have struggled with this for so long, we even came up with a name for our decor style: "Scrap and Salvage" (and not in a good, trendy, hipster, thrift-store kind of way). For a while at my house, we had an old kitchen cabinet standing backwards (doors to the wall) embellished with some laminate shelving and pine "trim," which functioned as a shoe shelf IN OUR ENTRYWAY: you know, the place in your house where guests get their first impression. Before it went to its rightful home (the dump) I photographed it, but it was so ugly, I can't even bring myself to post it. (Like that Legolas guy said after that Gandalf guy died in that movie, "the grief is still too near.")
And I still can't get my hubby to throw away the boxy, non-functioning, fake wood/fake leather stereo speaker from the 1970s that he uses for an end table next to his reading chair. Good Lord! I'm in my FIFTIES: when can I stop living like a college student, and instead have only real furniture in my house? (Yes, I know: First World Problems.)
Anyway, back to Anna and Little Plum Tree. She also has a great eye and is a marvellous photographer.
I think my next acquisition will be this little owl. I'm in love with him.
Today is music lesson day. Not much time for blogging.
So true. It was true in university; it was true for freelancing, columns and speech-writing. It will likely remain true for future projects (evidently).
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I'm old, but I'm not that old. Going to the gym, circa 1923
OK, I've now completed three workouts, and I have good news: I DIDN'T DIE! And I didn't even throw up (though after my first one last Thursday, I felt pretty nauseated, and my entire body felt like Jello). But I survived! This took place at the local CrossFit gym. I was inspired by a friend and assured that "anyone" can do it: they scale down the exercises and movements to fit your age, fitness level and any injuries or or chronic physical issues that you may have. So far, so good.
And golly, as a Catholic, how can you not be attracted to something with the word "cross" in it? And believe me, after my first three sessions, the emphasis is definitely on the "cross" -- fit, not so much.
I have to do the "On ramp" beginner's class, before I'll be ready to join the regular fitness classes (well, "ready" is a relative word. I may never feel "ready"; the best I might be able to do is "willing"). My first sessions have definitely pushed me to the edge of my strength and abilities. I had not done any research into CrossFit before plunging in; this was so that I would not get intimidated before I even began. But I'm moderately intimidated now. Not only are the workouts hard, but it also looks as though the cost of regular gym membership might be prohibitive, at least for the present. My writing income has been (*cough*) hovering around zero for the last three years. So until I can find a job or two, and earn a few dollars, I don't see how it will be feasible for me to join a second gym. (Our family already frequents another establishment on a semi-regular basis.)
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Today I'm taking the plunge and starting a new fitness adventure. I'm carpooling with a couple of other ladies and going to a gym in a nearby community. Close to the time they were due to arrive, I heard a vehicle pull up outside. "Is this my ride?" I wondered.
Not that I want to pick on Mr. Gore especially (cough); after all, he's not the only alarmist, but it's possible that he's made the most money off his fear-mongering. (Oh wait, mybad; that's money made from fossil fuels.) And I have just one teeny question to ask him: WHEN IS THE GLOBAL WARMING GOING TO START? and CAN IT START IN SASKATCHEWAN, PLEASE? Pretty please?
Here it is, March, and yes, I know March always has unpredictable weather (heck, so does January, February, April, and so on. Do my classmates remember the blizzard of '82 that happened on the day of our high school graduation on the last weekend in May?) At any rate, there is such a thing as "normal and "seasonal" temperatures for this time of year, and -26 degrees Centrigrade is NOT IT.
I don't mind the snow--truly I don't, except when it's all over the highway and makes you cancel appointments or makes it dangerous to drive. With the fresh fall of snow, I might even get out to use the snowshoes that I received for Christmas.
But the cold: I can no longer stand the cold. Not in March. Please Mr. Gore, let loose the Dogs of Warming ... or at least open up one of your many vacation homes to winter-refugees, so we can get away from this chilly misery. Some of us can't afford tropical vacations, because we're trying to keep up with the cost of not freezing to death and stuff.
When it comes to online communication and/or searches, a single letter, or even a dot can direct you to the wrong (or let us say "different") place. So one must be precise. I was googling our blog name one time, and came up with this lady's Twitter address (or handle, or whatever the Twitterites--Twitterenes--Twitteronians--Twits? call themselves).
This is not us we (you must use proper grammar, no mattter how awkward it sounds). This is (as you can see from her description) a wife, mother of 5, who is Catholic, from Nebraska, who is prolife, conservative, and promotes natural methods of fertility awareness. Something tells me we could have a tremendous amount in common with her. But I can't say for sure, as I've not read all of her tweets.
Here are the differences: we are three ladies (albeit two fairly silent ones, for various reasons--we're slowly rectifying that); we have 16 children between us, and we are not from Nebraska. We are from Canada (SK and ON) and Australia.
In any event, more power to you, Mrs DOH from Nebraska! Let it be noted (if copyright issues ever arise) that she joined Twitter in 2017, and our blog has been operating under this banner since 2009. And she has 128 followers, and we have 34, so we're evidently doing something wrong. Maybe we should get on Twitter.
Mainly because it's killing satire. What would Jonathan Swift have said to all the craziness going on in North American society these days? Possibly, nothing: he'd have been hauled before some human rights or social justice tribunal for writing Gulliver's Travels (alternately, he'd have been given an award by Planned Parenthood for his essay "A Modest Proposal" wherein he --satirically-- suggests that society solve the "overpopulation" and poverty problems in one go by eating their children.) It is satire. He wasn't serious. You have to explain that these days.
When satire is dead, comedy is dead. Also drama, poetry, song, fiction and film. I avoid Hollywood movies for the most part, because they are no longer interested in telling entertaining and exciting stories. Most of them contain lame preaching on trendy topics, and thus have become the equivalent of medieval morality plays (in fact, they're probably far worse, becuase at least back then, people knew how to write). It's the same reason why some Christian ghetto novels and films are so bad. The story must come first; the moral or lesson must be incidental, not central to the purpose of the artwork. But I digress.
I enjoyed this essay/article by Lionel Shriver. I must admit I had not been interested in her work until I saw her interviewed by Mark Steyn, back when he had a TV show on CRTV. Those videos are also worth checking out.
It doesn’t take much parsing to conclude that protecting all and sundry from the terrible experience of having your feelings hurt is the end of free speech altogether. Since nowadays “you can’t argue with what people feel,” umbrage is freed from rational justification. Given that the better part of the human race is crazy, stupid, or both, there’s nary a thought in the world whose airing won’t offend somebody. Doesn’t Darwin offend creationists? Furthermore, in granting so much power to woundedness, we incentivise hypersensitivity. If we reward umbrage, we will get more of it. We do reward umbrage, and we’re buried in it by the truckload.
If you feed me, I will grow.
Trigger warnings/Microaggressions
More from Ms Shriver:
Yet these days, straight white fiction writers whose characters’ ethnicity, race, disability, sexual identity, religion or class differs from their own can expect their work to be subjected to forensic examination—and not only on social media. Publishers of young adult fiction and children’s literature hire “sensitivity readers” to comb through manuscripts for perceived slights to any group with the protected status once reserved for distinguished architecture.
Good heavens, what hope do aspiring writers have, unless the culture regains its sanity?
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And my adjective is meant as a sad and tragic irony. I read this article, but I didn't really need to, because the headline says it all. Deputy Who Didn't Enter Parkland School Defends Himself
Well, yes, that's rather self-evident, isn't it? He didn't go in because he needed to defend himself, not the kids and staff who died.
Protocol, orders, yadda yadda. Law enforcement is hard; heroism even harder. My nephew and brother are city police officers who have faced danger and threats and death and the whole nine yards. Serve and protect. May God have mercy on those who died, and those who have to live with grief and shame.
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So this Yahoo article is titled: "Are you too old for jeans?" And I had to click, because I still wear jeans. So does my dad, and he's 92: if he's not too old for jeans, no one is. I read the article so that you don't have to.
I can't even believe I'm asking that question. I bought this the first week of February in honour of our granddaughter's birthday, and since there are only now four people living in my house and none of them are toddlers (it's SO quiet!) and we've been taking turns being sick with phlegmy coughs, stomach issues and so forth... that here we are, a WEEK LATER, and there are still some slices in the fridge. And, as Miss P#5 lugubriously lamented when she was four, "It'th Lent." So should I keep it till Sunday, or should I freeze it?
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But the dizziness is a bit much. Yes, people, I'm still sick. But it's not the flu. It's severe sinusitis (read all about it here, if you care to.) Also called "rhinosinusitis," hence the cartoon. But the last three weeks have been anything but funny. I've experienced a wide range of symptoms, including headaches that have lasted for days on end, face pain, tooth pain, body aches (?), fever, chills, phlegmy cough, runny nose, ticklish throat, loss of sense of taste and smell, nasal congestion, dizziness, buzzing in my ears, and the feeling of having a heavy or "pressurized" head.
I've been on bed rest, fluids, NyQuil, antibiotics (which caused diarrhea--oh joy), Neo Citran (sinus), nasal sprays and inhalers (I also have mild yet chronic asthma). For some strange reason, I thought I'd be up and about within a week of getting sick (I'm used to things like colds, and 24-hour stomach flu), but this is a bit much. Now I'm reading that this sort of thing can last 12 weeks. Yikes, that's 3 months! I'm not going to stand for that. Actually, I can't seem to stand for any length of time.
This virus (or bacterial infection) now seems lodged in my ears: they feel blocked, they buzz constantly, and pop intermittently. I don't know whether to head back to the doctor (I envision getting 4 or 5 more prescriptions if I go that route) or try something more natural, or just keep drinking tea and wait it out. I'm slowly starting to function, and trying to be optimistic. Those who know me also know that I gravitate towards being paranoid about worst possible scenarios. To wit:
In extreme cases the patient may experience mild personality changes, headache, altered consciousness, visual problems, seizures, coma and possibly death.
Let us hope not. There is simply too much to do.
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I've been sick for a few days now. I thought it was a cold at first, but now I'm getting flu-like symptoms. Which is really annoying, because I got a flu shot earlier this fall. (My arm still hurts! I'm gonna guess that's not normal.) I can't sleep at night, which means that I don't get much done during the day, except for tutoring my daughter, as she sits on the edge of my bed, and blogging, and listening to Jordan Peterson vids and podcasts.
My hubby and I bought snowshoes for each other for Christmas. We did this for a few reasons:
both of us (and I in particular) need to be in better physical condition
we wanted to spend more couple-time together (and how better to get a man committed than make him invest some money in the scheme? Mind you, we bought the kits at Costco)
we wanted an incentive to get out and do some winter exercise and enjoy all that sunshine and crisp fresh air
snowshoeing seems safer than most other winter sports, and it's something we can continue into our retirement years. A few years back, I fell and dislocated my thumb by (wait for it) cross-country skiing--the Nordic kind! So I need something fairly fool- and klutz-proof.
I envisioned that we'd be doing this come December 26:
The fantasy
And yet, here we are January 17:
The reality
The snowshoe kits have not moved more than four feet from the Christmas tree. Maybe the latter part of January will be kinder to us--and I mean that literally. No one can have "fun" with outdoor winter sports when the wind chill is -37 C.
Rightly or wrongly? Most people I know hate January--at least the ones who live in the Northern Hemisphere. It's cold, dark, and post-Christmas depressive. I don't know about you, but come January, I usually find myself 10 pounds heavier, lots of dollars poorer, still tired from the holidays (moms don't usually "rest" much over Christmas, even though we do enjoy it, so don't feel guilty, kids!), still wondering where the previous 12 months (or 45 years) went, and feeling just a bit overwhelmed about starting a new year (it's depressing when you get depressed over having no Resolutions, because ultimately you know that they'll end up where the Resolutions from the last 50+ years went).
But you know what? The sun is rising earlier; life is pretty much what you make it, and God is watching over all of it, and willing to hold our hands if we let him. Just don't forget that he's there. One good thing about time going quickly is that January is 32.258064516% over. That's about one-third. The inspirational quotation below seems to be for Jan. 1, but really, you can use it any day of the year. Because, Behold, God makes all things new.
PS, you are less likely to have a good year if you spend January like this, so make a different plan:
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