Suck, Suck, Suck

Really. What was I thinking?
I was getting a swelled head... I admit it. I thought I was pretty damned good. I thought I had a knack for short stories. I thought it was something I was good at.
Nothing like another rejection to make you feel like an ass for thinking that way.
I imagined I had a shot at getting published in the charitable anthology 100 Stories for Queensland. I actually got confused when they published their "long list." I thought it meant my story was going to be included, but it was a cut list, a whittled down list and not the real thing. Yesterday they posted the "real thing" and, despite the fact I read it hopefully, twice, I didn't see my name on it.
I thought it was a pretty good story. One of my best. People who read it said they liked it. I dunno. I guess it wasn't good enough.
Not. Good. Enough.
Story of my life, really.

I'm OK!

Great Grey Owl (photo credit)

Oh, I just had to get that feeling-sorry-for-my-poor-sick-self blithering off this page.
It was just meant as a one-day rant but there it sat for almost a week, attracting more nice comments and phone calls than I deserved. And yet every time I opened the computer to say something, to get that one off the page, nothing came out.
I mean, it was NICE getting all those nice comments and phone calls (thanks Mark and Alan!).
Really nice, as a matter of fact. (Thank you!)
But I'm OK, honest. Yes, I'm still a little sick; yes, I'm a little down in the dumps. But just a little. I think I'm on the mend. Man, I hope so. Saturday night I went to bed by 10 o'clock and didn't wake up until noon Sunday. Seriously! I haven't slept until noon since ever! But that wasn't enough, it seems, because I fell asleep on the couch for almost two hours before dinner. And then I went to bed at 9:30 and promptly fell asleep. This morning I got out of bed at 7 a.m. and it just seemed INSANE.
It's obvious my body needs rest to fix itself – and more of that nummy codeine cough syrup. And all those vitamins you guys recommended.
I am heartened by your experiences being sick for so long this winter. And glad that all your experiences had happy endings. What a horrible flu season it's been, eh? Just the worst. Big phlegmy hugs to you all!
In the good news department, my 10-year-old son, Sam, has just started a blog and, as far as I can tell, he's writing it himself and not copying it and pasting it from the back of a videogame as another unnamed son did a while back. Sam sat at my laptop for several hours on the weekend hammering out his stories. When he was done, he said, "I don't know how you just whip off those stories all the time. It's hard work!" (Such a cutie, he is.) If you want to stop by Sam's blog, curiously called Count Stupid, feel free. Followers will make him happy.
More in the good news department, I won some Google swag over at Kathryn's blog, From the Inside Out. Kathryn has a fantastic blog – and I'm not just saying that because I am getting GOOGLE SWAG!!! If you need a smile on your face, she's one of my favourite go-see ladies.
Even more good news - Laurita Miller celebrated the anniversary of her 21st birthday on the weekend. I hope she had a happy day – she certainly deserves one. Laurita is taking part in Shave for the Brave. In a short while she will be shaving her gorgeous hair to raise money for cancer-fighting. If you click on the little head up at the top right of my blog, you'll link to her campaign.
Other nice things: yesterday I spotted a Great Grey Owl in our neighbour's yard. An amazing bird. And we've noticed wolf tracks going up and down the frozen river. Unfortunately we haven't seen our neighbour, the beaver, for a week and I'm hoping the wolf didn't have him for dinner. Maybe he's just making himself scarce while the wolf is out and about. Fingers and toes are crossed.
Well, I'm off to work.
Hopefully I won't fall asleep in my chair.
But if I do, and it sounds like I'm having nice dreams, don't wake me up.
OK?
Thanks. You really are the best.

I'm So Depressed

It's funny that I'm reluctant to blog about what's really going on in my head.
I started this as a diary, a chance to let whatever was going on inside my head - out. Then, as other people started reading it, I started getting nervous. What will they think if I'm down in the dumps ... again?
If ever I needed a diary, though, it's now.
I am so overwhelmingly depressed. I've been sick since Christmas Eve and I'm still really sick. No sign of it letting up. That's the depressing part. I don't remember what it feels like to be healthy and I can't envision a time when I won't be sick anymore. I'm tired of coughing, of gagging, of sore ribs, of running nose, of diarrhea, of being tired. I'm so sick of being tired. Today at work I could hardly keep my eyes open, even though I got 10 hours of sleep last night. The exhaustion is overwhelming.
I don't have the energy to work, but I have to go. I've already missed so much time due to this cold. I can't afford more. And yet I can hardly function when I'm there.
Other people are sick, too. About half the people I work with. They're just as tired of it as me. Our corner has more germs than a walk-in clinic. We cough like we're members of an orchestra.
I try so hard to get along with everyone. When I'm sick, it's harder. I don't feel like myself. Little things implode into big things. I feel like no one takes my side. Ever. All I want is for someone to take my side, to believe in me, to like me. Some people work for money. I work for approval. Pay me crap, I don't care, as long as you like me. Some people don't like me, though. It breaks my heart. I don't know why. Am I really that hard to get along with? Am I?
Every day is the same. Get up. Drag myself to work. Get through the day. Come home. Go to bed. Start over.
I can't remember the last time I did anything fun. Or had people over to visit.
I haven't been to my writer's group for weeks.
I have no energy for my kids or my husband.
Every day drags into the next.
Today I cried at my desk.
I cried in the car.
I cry here, on my bed.
I just want to feel better but I don't know how.
I wish I could curl up into a ball and the world would leave me alone.

Never Too Old For Happy

One of 'my' pages from Weddings 2011.
It's a working copy, so there are some things that are blatantly wrong, including the folios!
Click for a bigger view.

It's hard to believe I'm still talking about my wedding.
It was four whole months ago!
I have a reason, though. This past week the papers I work for put out our annual Wedding Guide. It's 48 pages of love and dove, pretty pictures and prettier fonts. I lay out a lot of projects for the newspapers but the Wedding Guide is my favourite. Especially this year because I'm in it!
I've posted part of my story from the guide but you can see the whole story, and more photos, at the Huntsville Forester/Bracebridge Examiner/Gravenhurst Banner site here.
If I'm not enough to get you to check out the guide there are some other really great stories inside – like the heartbreaking true story of one bride, Tanya Swan, who had to rush her wedding day because her father was dying from cancer. Or the gorgeous story of my cousin Carly who married the dashing Jason Chow one week after Dave and I tied the knot. For sure don't miss Vic Burton's funny story about being a wedding officiant for the first time.
If you're getting married in Muskoka, you'll want to attend the Wedding Show being held Sunday, February 6 from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. at the Muskoka Riverside Inn, Bracebridge. Fashion show starts at 2 p.m. I dragged poor Dave to the show last year and, despite his complaining, we both had a good time. I brought home tons of free stuff and loads of ideas.
Without further adieu, my rather self-deprecating little bride story.

Being old takes a lot of pressure off a bride on her wedding day.

Like, you don’t have to worry about losing that last 10 pounds because 10 pounds is the least of your problems. Maybe 80 pounds would help but when you get to be 50, fat is your face’s best friend. It’s like natural Botox. Skinny old women resemble prunes. Fat old women are like ripe plums. So there’s no need to crash diet to fit into a dress. If you’re like me, you order a dress that is extra big so after a month of nervous binge eating it will fit you perfectly on the big day.

May I also recommend fat-squeezing underwear. (In case the month of binge eating turns into two.)

Speaking of dress, finding a dress that looks appropriate on an old broad like me is a bit of a chore. Most wedding dresses are designed for thin 25-year-olds with big bosoms. And almost all of those dresses are strapless! Strapless isn’t good when you’re old.

First of all, there’s no place for bra straps. You can’t go braless when you’re 50, unless you plan to tuck your breasts into your pantyhose.

Second, you’ve got those upside down arms that keep on shaking hours after you’ve waved good-bye. (My youngest son once said to me, “Mom, how come the muscles on your arms hang upside down?”) You want something to contain the wobbles; otherwise when you toss the bouquet you might thwack a bystander with flailing arm flab.

And unless you are blessed with good legs, legs that aren’t blue-mapped with varicose veins and bumpy with misplaced cellulite, you really should cover up those puppies, too. What I really wanted to wear on my wedding day was a burka, one of those tents that cover every part of a Muslim woman except her eyes.

My mother was no help. She was afraid I’d show up at the wedding wearing something resembling marshmallow fluff. She wanted me to wear a suit. I pictured war brides from the 1940s with shoulder pads and wings on their lapels.

“You really don’t want to wear a big white wedding dress, do you?” she’d say. “At your age?”

Funny the difference between a first wedding and a second (or third) wedding later in life.

At a first wedding everyone comes out to celebrate with you. The wedding is packed with friends and relatives; the showers are many; the stag memorable (if the guys can remember it).

At a second wedding, many people expect you to do it quietly. Is it because your first marriage failed? Are some people embarrassed? Well sure, there is some of that. I mean, you swore in front of everyone that you would be with Spouse #1 until death did you part. And yet neither one of you are dead. So here you are up in front of the same people, asking for their support (and hand blenders, towels and crock pots) while you do it again.

I see people’s awkwardness.

But you know what? When you find the Perfect Guy, when you never expected to, you want to shout it from the rooftops.

I was married for 19 years before my former husband decided he’d be happier with someone else. I believed, like so many others, that I would be married to the same guy forever. When he dumped me my whole world changed. You can’t realize how much it changes until you go through it.

Not all of it was bad, though. Like, I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until the relationship ended. As time passed I grew stronger, happier. When I met Dave, I had no intention of marrying him. He was just a date – a date that never ended. After nearly five years, he popped the question on Valentine’s Day last year. And on September 25th I married the nicest, strongest, most sensitive, honest, sweetest, handiest, hard workingest guy on the planet. I kid you not, ladies. He even cooks and cleans. Best of all, he loves me. Why, I know not. He just does.

So, you see, it doesn’t matter about the dress or the extra pounds or what people think. If you’re marrying someone who loves you, really loves you, the wedding itself doesn’t matter.

Hinterland Who's Who - Our Neighbour

Meet our neighbour. 

He lives at #1506 – yup, that's his driveway right there and that's him up on the snowbank.

Funny, seeing him in the snowbank. We'd always thought he was one of those Snowbirds. 

What? You never heard of a Snowbird? No, it's not the Anne Murray song, although that sure is pretty. 

Here, play this... yes, yes you HAVE to.

That's Anne, Canada's Sweetheart, when she was, like, 12 or something singing her heart out. (Love you Annie!) 

But that Snowbird isn't the kind I'm talking about now. Snowbirds are actually rich, Canadian old farts who escape places like snowbanks and spend their winters in Florida. (You can usually recognize them by their black socks and sandals.)

See, we've lived next door to our neighbour for more than a year now and are accustomed to seeing him in the summer. But we never saw him last winter at all. This winter? Whole different story. 

It all started one dark and stormy night a week or so ago. Dave was snowblowing the driveway (just another day in paradise) when something fairly big and dark caught his eye.

He came running in the house with his boots on bawling at me to get the camera because our neighbour was crossing the road - carrying a small tree in his mouth!

Click on the pictures for a better view.
That brown blob in the middle is our neighbour.

He carried the tree over a snowbank, trudged through his snowy yard and disappeared into the darkness near the frozen river.

A while later, he came back. Dave took another picture - sorry, it's not the greatest, but you can see him sliding over the snowbank and onto the road.

He's got snow all over his chin.

We tried to carry on a conversation, asking how he's been and where he got his new fur coat, but he wasn't feeling very neighbourly and basically ignored us (I knew I should have put on more deodorant that day). We watched him waddle into the bush and then lost sight of him.

Well, we thought that was the coolest thing! We chalked it up to one of life's memorable moments and forgot about it.

Then, yesterday, I came home from work 'cause I was feeling poorly and I caught our neighbour in broad daylight, walking across the road with another bit of brush. I didn't even have time to grab the camera but I did yell hi as he was cresting the snowbank.

No, he still didn't reply. I think he's getting snooty in his old age.

Today Dave and I went outside for a bit of fresh air and who do we see?

Yup! The neighbour!

This time we got nice and close.

That's his face closest to the camera... if you look really close you can see his eye, almost closed in the sunshine.
See his long claws on the tree he's chomping? Those are some fingernails!
Dave says they need to be long and strong for digging in the mud.

He must be lacking some fibre in his diet because he lay down on top of the snowbank, chewing at the base of a maple sapling. When he finished chewing, he dragged it back across the road.

This time we didn't let him disappear - we followed him. His trail led to a hole in the ground, right next to the river.

See the river up in the top right corner of the photo?

Dave says the hole leads to the river, under the ice. He says the neighbour probably has a couple of holes like this along the river where he can come up to feed.

Maybe those big all-you-can-eat buffets that Florida is famous for didn't quite cut it with the neighbour this year. After all, us Canadians are known for our love of all things maple. And while most of us Canucks like to pour our maple syrup on pancakes, there are some folks, like our neighbour, who prefer their food raw.

I just pray he doesn't come whining to us when he gets slivers in his butt.