Breakfast Conversations, or, what it's like to be more brown than me.

"You're not supposed to touch other people's blood, right?"

"Gah! No. That's important. You don't touch other people's blood"

"No. It's important. Like the airport is important! [what?] You don't touch other people's blood. You wipe it off. And maybe then you get a band-aid to put on it. And then, when it's all healed, it's gone! And you take off the band-aid, and then you have a tan line."

Chapters Bargain Books

Hee.

So I just bought Trinny and Susannah, The Survival Guide A Woman's Secret Weapon for Getting Through the Year

I kinda love it. I'm working through it bit by bit. So far? My two favorite pieces of advice that I plan to implement IMMEDIATELY!

1. (about making time and money for pursuing your dreams) "Maybe you go to numerous exercise classes. Ask yourself how fit you really need to be."

Well, exactly. I mean. When you have available to you the magic of Spanx, why would you ever go to the gym? Oh, well, yeah, I guess. Heart disease and the needing to remain in one's trousers. Picky.

2. (and kinda my favorite) "Once a month, wash your engagement ring gently with an old toothbrush and fairy liquid. You will get lots of compliments."

Dude! Compliments!! I'm totally doing this. I already have a ring, and an old toothbrush. Now I just need to find a fairy willing to give me some liquid. Hope it's not too sticky....

9:49 PM, Aug. 26

Walkley Goodlife.

The left hand rocks the cradle. The right hand runs 10K.

I had set 4 miles as my goal last night; MasterP had slept through bootcamp, and Husband offered to put MlleL to bed to allow me to get to the gym all by myself. Four miles would have been the most run yet, but then, as I approached that, I still felt great. And then, I was timing out on the treadmill (cause' it'll only let you go for 60 minutes, and my dears, Katie is not one with the wind unless she has to catch the train.) but still, could breath. Legs felt good. Kept running. Retimed the treadmill.

HIT 10K. That little promise I made to myself with the right handed wedding band.

Things I said yes to last night:

1. $10 parking
2. Do you have a snack?
3. The dinosaur ride and the firetruck ride and the Raiders of the Lost Ark ride
4. Should we buy more tickets?
5. The VW bug ride and the elephant ride and the airplane ride
6. The bumper cars
7. $5 for a Batman balloon 'prize'
8. Pogo and fries for dinner
9. Giant lollipop for dessert
10. Do the carnies seem a higher class to you this year?
11. Did you see the no smoking signs?
12. A ride on my shoulders back to the car

and finally:

13. Wasn't this best Ex yet?

What a day.

Last night, MasterP did not wake for milk. Instead, I woke at 3:30, and couldn't get back to sleep. (n.b. - I do think that this is terribly, terribly unfair.) I had had this amazing but concerning dream - this doula/babysitter had come to see us, and announced that she only had a two week period to get MasterP sleeping through the night, which apparently was being done by feeding me huge amounts of fabulous hippy food. Starting with a big, big bowl of seaweed salad.

Yum. (no seriously, it was just like the one you get at sushi restaurants. mmmmmmmm)

But seaweed? THAT'S what my subconscious would like me to be eating?

Well, ok, I guess, if it'll help MasterP sleep, I'm in!!

In other news? I really do have the gravitational pull of a black hole. Just ask the second person in as many months to drive into me. I was actually driving this time, on a road as opposed to a parking lot, in my rental car, as my car is currently still in the shop from where the first person drove into me. Again, gentle readers, do not fear. I am fine, and MasterP (as last time) did not even wake up.

But seriously. What is the universe trying to teach me here?

Lessons Learned

Number 152:

If you taunt Jules while running backwards, she will come up the hill after you, and push you. She can also yell really, really loud. It's probably better just to run when she tells you to.

Thanks, but umm....

My sister, when packing to come to North America, couldn't find the PIN for her visa. Apparently, in Europe, you can't buy anything without that PIN. They require it for any purchase. Anyhow. She searched high, low, and in-between, but to no avail.

Finally, she tried Mrs. Maiden's tactic, and asked Himself to help her. The response she heard was something telling her to 'clean her house.' Each time she said 'But I am busy looking for something!' the response was 'keep cleaning your house.' Hee. There it was on the centre of her coffee table.

But that's so Himself. Helpful beyond the end - clean your house indeed.

But listen, Dad? If that's you that's recently signed me up for all of the CNN and MSNBC email alerts, thanks, but, umm.....

I kinda like being out of the loop, ok?

My Summer Vacation

I'm back. As you know, I've spent the last week in the land of dial up. Also, Mrs. Maiden does not know about the blog. Both of which make for awkward posting.

First, the basics: We got there Saturday night, and left on Sunday morning a week later. The kids had a great time; MasterP, while not a great napper, didn't do too badly at night. Thankfully, we remembered the night lights and sound machine, as we discovered on our last trip that the remote village Mrs. Maiden lives in is both TOO DARK and TOO QUIET to sleep.

Berries were picked, beach time had (both at rocky beach and sandy beach), and campfires complete with s'mores were enjoyed. Auntie and Uncles adored. My Auntie could not come, as her doctor refused her request to drive the 18 hour trip on her own at 73.

Husband, Bigbrother and brother in law worked like dogs each day cutting down dead trees and pushing the bush back from where it had spent the past 3 years encroaching on the yard.

Addresses were not made. It was a little as if Marie Antoinette planned the memorial - except that there was pie and cookies instead of cake. But about 20 people came, and raised a glass, a fork, and some flags to Himself. And as MlleL said at the event, "He's the only grampa I miss, Mama." And also, while jumping on the bed and discussing things with our next door neighbor "I wish Grampa could come back from God." Reasonable sentiments, both.

But it was the discussion on the eve of the memorial that brought the most reflection for me on the way home. During planning what would happen the next day (which didn't), we discussed the house, and what would happen to it, in the vaguest of fashions. Would we come up? was asked of the three of us and our spouses.

Uh, we guess, was the answer. Shrugs and nods occurred. Mrs. Maiden expressed her fantasy where this would be the place we came to, piling in and taking the boats out for a paddle. Despite the probable reality that the week we return each year would be spent much the same way as it was this time - with the guys working like dogs to keep up the property and the wimmins entertaining kids and cooking, she wanted us so badly to say that this was where we considered our home to be.

But where is your home town? I had a professor say that it was where you graduated from High School. In which case then, South Haven is my home town. It's where I graduated (the first time). It's a nice place to visit. It's beautiful, but there's nothing. I really don't even know many folk I went to high school with - with the exception of High School Best Friend of the same name as me Katie B. (Now Katie H., but she'll always be Katie B. to me.)

Is it through length of connection to a place, or is it your future there? (But, Mrs. Maiden said, we've been coming here for 25 years!) Is it where you've finally decided to make your home as an adult? Where you've bought your house and had your kids?

Is it where you have the most emotional contacts made? Husband and I killed ourselves to get to the annual Beef Barbecue - a homecoming for the village and it's disparate children. We drove 13 hours (had to keep stopping to let the kids out of the car.) We got there after the dinner, and before the dance really got going. We walked up to the town hall, conveniently located at the end of the driveway, and into the dance hall, ready to say hello and let the kids run a bit before bedtime.

What we got was open mouthed stares. Not welcoming smiles, not waves, not even a hello.

Now. It's possible that they were in awe of our intelligence and good looks, but I'm not convinced. It's not like they wouldn't know who we are, for goodness' sake, there's not even 20 people who live in the village full-time. We've been coming there for 25 years, after all. Shouldn't be a mystery.

What had just happened was the only brown person at the event had just walked in. The Island is populated by Scotch descendants and Ojibwa. While they blend a bit more down island, up at the west end, they don't so much.

Is this my home town? I wouldn't say as much. I'm happy that Mrs. Maiden has a place that she feels so emotionally tied to, but me?

I had a nice time, and a good visit. Wasn't long enough with Bigbrother or Littlesister and her delicious husband. (Four days in three years isn't enough, Auntie M. - we are discussing a trip farther East in the next couple of years... stay posted.)

While all of those things are true, I'm glad to be home.