A Comedy of Chairs (with black eye).

It is relatively easy to get a black eye while buying chairs.

The simple fact of the matter is that we needed to buy two dining room chairs. I have been keeping an eye out for some time, cruising the likes of Bombay, The Bay, Sears, Home Depot, Restoration Hardware, Winners, Home Outfitters, Pier 1, etc, but the second simple fact is that Zellers stores are closing, so I knew I could get the same style of chairs I have seen almost everywhere else at a good price.

[Greg: You get what you pay for.]

[Shelley: Not always so. Look at the dishwashing detergent. Based on home trials, we've learned that the yellow-boxed NoName Freshwater Dishwaster Detergent beats the shine out of any of the expensive brands we've tried.]

So off to Zellers, in the Kingsway Mall. Yep. There they were, at 70% off. Not leather, but something almost like it, in chocolate and red (but only one red left). And some pseudo-sueded styles, too, with broader backs. A bit of flair. We purchased five chairs, and had two young Zellers employees help us out with them.

Greg was at the side door with the Subaru, ready to load. Before we got the first one -- the single red chair -- in the car, he noticed that the was super wobbly. I about-faced to Customer Service, and got my approximately $23 back. 

Outside, Greg was struggling with getting the four chairs into the car.

[Shelley: You've got to put the seats down, like this ...]

I bent to demonstrate and at that very point I cracked my head on the car door. I collected myself in the front seat while the stars exploded in and around my right eye.

We drove home.

We were carrying the remaining four chairs into the house, when hundreds of tiny white beads began spilling out of the bottom of one of the fancy-backed chairs. On inspection, the bottom fabric was merely Velcroed in place, with huge gaps between each piece of Velcro.

I started sweeping. The beads travelled far and wide.

Greg couldn't get the Zellers stickers off the chair legs. They remain there still.

And then he sat down at the table on one of the new purchases. Let's just say we're going to be a lot closer to our food from now on.

And I'll be sweeping up beads until Christmas.

 

 

Chairs aside, Zellers, you will be missed. 

When the Trees are Like Torches ....

I want to change my name to September.

Several things.

I am back in the city, finally all-of-a-piece:
and it feels much better than expected. Urban energy. And a city this size changes rather a lot within a year, so there is newness. Glad to have this fresh perspective. And apples on the tree.

I recently attended the Kaleido Festival on 118th Avenue in my neighbourhood, and the weekend of diverse and non-stop music, dance, art, and spectactle -- ie: zombies and stilt walkers -- made me extremely proud to be a part of this particular community. Read in the paper that 42,000 people attended. Holy.  

While driving home from work (at the radio station) yesterday, it donned on me: life is sweet right now:

*I enjoy my home and work

*I will soon announce an Edmonton launch date \ venue for Listen, Honey

*Red Deer Press has reconfirmed that they are bringing out my next book (an illustrated children's book titled The Moon Watched It All)

*I'm reconnecting with friends and the larger writing community here 

*The Commonwealth Fitness Centre has opened near us. Love it. Thus far I've attended a Zumba class (about 80 people there ... I was five rows back so had a little trouble seeing the leader and thus sometimes botched the choreography, but was impressed by how much I sweat!), and an Abs class ... four days later my abs are still killing me

*the Lasik surgery was a success

*Visited my brother and his wife in High River last weekend (R.I.P. dear Gunner, their 10-year-old white Shepherd I sometimes cared for when they were travelling.)


Kirby and Laurel in 2007

Gunner and Laurel at Greig Lake

Gunner and Jackson enjoy the dock at Greig Lake


*Greg is happy in his new position at McNally Composite High School

 

 *We have enjoyed two picnics (the goal is five before the snow flies): one at Hawrelak Park, and one in Red Deer, where we watched Greg's son Eric compete in a cross-country run with his fellow runners from Medicine Hat High.



Shelley in Red Deer, with omnipresent reading glasses in pocket



Eric (all grown up now!) races in Red Deer



Greg at the race in a T-shirt from his alma mater

 

Also special was my visit with one of my dearest friends (and first serious boyfriend) Robbie Hayashi. We dated for nearly five years, beginning when I was fourteen.  

Rob in Red Deer

 *Greg and I are on the waiting list for an adult continuing education class that sounds like the epitome of fun:

 

"Co-ed Healthy Active Living Evenings:

 

If you love trying new things, meeting new people and have an adventurous spirit, here is your chance to try a new and unique sport or activity each week. Past activities include paddleboarding, indoor rock climbing, snowshoeing, speed skating, hula hooping, lacrosse, boxing and more. The most exciting part is that you don't know which activity you are participatinig in until you arrive each Wednesday night! Every activity is geared to the complete beginner, no experience is necessary and you do not have to have the fitness level of an athlete to participate. The co-ordinator will let you know in advance how to dress and what to bring, but everything else is a surprise. Men and women welcome!"

 

 

Fingers crossed we get in. This starts next week!

 

  

* We have won meat (pork schnitzel!) at the Norwood Legion (the REAL reason Greg is so happy about being back in Edmonton ;) )

 

* I have been playing guitar and singing with Anna again, and last night had four of my favourite Edmonton writer friends over for wine and song

 

Bottom from left: Kath, Astrid, Anna

Top from left: Rita (celebrating a profound book sale in Brazil) and Shelley 

 

 

*I have finally gone over to the dark side and joined the 21st century: I bought a Samsung Galaxy 3. Even after one Telus training session, it completely baffles me. Trying to learn this technology (at this age) is like being dropped in the middle of Belarus and being expected to immediately speak and comprehend the language. Oy!

 

 

*And last and probably least: NEW BOOTS!

 

I'll be taking these babies with me to Europe next summer.

  

 

 

 

 

The Eyes Have It.

I have been sporting glasses and \ or contacts since I was 10 \ 15.

Age 13, Meadow Lake, Saskatchewan

With my many siblings in Wilkie, Saskatchewan. I am on the couch, far left, age 10.

I am adept at popping contact lenses into my mouth for lubrication; changing them on wind-blown beaches; removing or inserting them whilst driving; combing them out of shag carpets; releasing tub water and picking my contacts out of drains; and spying them when they fall during insertion and stick to cupboard doors, or socks.

I had been thinking about having Lasik eye surgery for a good decade. This summer I determined that when I returned to Edmonton I would look into it. Well, I'm a doer, not a talker ... I've been back in the city just a few days and I've already had the surgery.

Good-bye terribly expensive glasses. Farewell Opti-Free Express contact lens solution I've been hauling around like other people pack water. So long contact lenses which were no longer that comfortable, anyway (maybe because I didn't believe in wearing them for just the single "month" one is supposed to?).

Facts:

-You can have a Lasik consultation one day, and surgery the next.

-It was far more expensive than I expected. Triple what I expected.

-The coffee maker at the clinic was "down" the day of my surgery. Damn. I had so been looking forward to my $3400.00 cup of coffee

-It is briefly uncomfortable, but I experienced no pain during or after surgery.

-The combination of two Tylenols and Xanax make for a lovely, 2-hour, post-surgery nap.

-One can get used to eye drops. Lots and lots of eye drops.

-The funky sunglasses you must wear (even to bed for the first two tnights) are not half bad. I would wear them anywhere.

-I see well out of my right eye, the left eye is coming. I have a 20\20 "committment" from MD Lasik.  

-I will still need reading glasses.

My surgery was Friday. I listened to many CBC Radio "Writers and Company" episodes while recuperating. Yesterday (Sunday), I was able to watch television. How apropos that the movie I tuned into was "Blindness," based on one of my favourite books (of the same name, by Jose Saramago). It happens to star my favourite young-ish actor, Mark Ruffalo.  

More facts (including the extremely trivial):

-I have not had the euphoric "I can see without glasses!" moment.

-I cannot run yet, nor swim.

-Immediately after surgery (while waiting for Greg to pick me up), I ate a bag of Miss Vickies Salt and Vinegar chips, as a reward.

-I bought new earrings and had bangs cut, just because.

Am I happy I've done this? Mais oui! Now, if only someone would buy my "Fantastic place at the Lake!" (see previous post) ...

Selling.

You tend a garden. You create a home. It is serene.

 

 

You live there a time. You make friends with the birds and neighbours.

You listen to coyotes. You run along the lake.

You swim. It is all lovely. You pick berries and provide

for yourself from your own garden, your own fruit tree. You lose yourself in the woods, and it is good.

 

 

People smile at you. They stop to talk to you. They take time. You take time. You write, and paint, and make videos. You rock in a chair in the second floor reading nook, and slowly sip a glass of wine. You are your truest self in your hammock, admiring the wash of colour that is the garden in full bloom, then an eagle flies overhead. Or a storm gallops in.

 

 

Or a hummingbird savours a delpinium. Or you get up at 2:00 a.m. or 4:15 a.m. just to stand outside and marvel at the everywhere stars.

 

 

Sometimes you lend this place out. Sometimes you must be away for a long time. Life gets complicated. Then more complicated.

 

You hope someone will love it as much as have.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13RndcZobJc&list=HL1346606676&feature=mh_lolz

Real estate.

I have ever maintained that the most difficult thing about being an adult is that you have to make decisions. Major decisions. I’ve been putting off a biggie since ... oh, about mid-2010, and I finally bit the proverbial bullet:

 

I am selling my beloved house in Middle Lake, Saskatchewan.

The second floor reading nook.

Late yesterday afternoon, after all the chewing and stewing and pro-ing and con-ing that’s been going on in mein head for the last few years, I finally decided that my life is far too complex – living in three provinces within ten months didn’t help – and I need to simplify. (By leaps and bounds).

The realtor arrives tomorrow to do an evaluation.

 

I have been purging here: yard sale, dump (where I played guitar and visited with my friend, Frank Punk ... told him I always wanted to play the dump, ha!), a load to the second-hand store, give-aways to friends.

In an upstairs crawlspace I found two boxes of books, magazines and newspapers my work has appeared in. How my perspective has changed over the decades. At one time, I worked so terribly hard at getting published, and rejoiced in all those acceptances, and treasured the publications. Today I took most of it to the recycling bin.

Curiouser and curiouser. I seem to be disassociating with things that once really mattered to me. Except music. I’m playing guitar more than ever, and tonight I had a wonderful time on the piano: just me, my favourite songs, and a glass of white wine. Okay, two glasses, truth be told.  

 
The garden here has consumed me. Painting and staining and repairing and cleaning have consumed me. It has been an unusual summer, for certain, but ah, so many visits with friends from here (Middle and area), from my writing life, and from my long ago life, too. Man, I am seriously blessed in the "friends" department.

 

 

(Elaine B. and I cruise the countryside on her "RZR" and take a beer to a friend in the field.)

 

It's terribly difficult to say goodbye to this community. Lucien Lake Regional Park is a 10-12 minute walk from my door, and I didn't get there often enough this year to swim, hike, and just plain take all that beauty in. The beach is groomed (as below) every single morning. It is really something.  

 

Middle Lake, you are Saskatchewan's best kept secret. 

 

 

Limbo Land.

It is well past midnight, past 2:00 a.m. August, and I am alone.

Boredom -- and slim pickings -- have me reading a John Grisham novel ("The Confession.") First one ever. Last one.

I have a camera now.

I have a garden in full throttle. (Well, the lettuce is in decline.)

I have no idea when I'll be returning to Edmonton.

I have fallen down the stairs (but fortunately, I have broken only a single toe.)

I have suffered an otherwordly migraine, with accompanying nausea. (The latter came upon me so quickly I had only time to turn away from my computer and vomit in the closet.)

I have been to Saskatoon to visit my son and his girlfriend and to eat a Fuddrucker's hamburger and then play semi-competitive mini-golf. (Greg won).

I have been to a winery in St. Louis, SK.

I have learned how to make a hollyhock doll.

 I have launched a book in my garden.

I have enjoyed out-of-town guests.

I have had a moderately successful yard sale. (No one bought filing cabinets or bowling shoes, size 8.)

I have written, but not enough. Two poems:

Snake Walk

                              for Logan

 

This thing in us that loves

to discover them

along the old train lane. Garters

long as your arm—

                              even longer—

baking on gravel or curlicued

in whipgrass. Son,

this is where we are truest,

closest. Soft-stepping down the line,

prey to the darting Avocets

and badger holes. Unsticking ticks

from each other’s legs

and necks. Ears tuned to

the grass blade, eyes finessing

the tell-tale stripes. We count

fifty-three today. New record.

You photograph my veiny fist

full of intact snakeskins.

Like Hydra, you say.

I will find a long flat box, mail one

to your sister in Montreal, another

to an old lover, the rest I’ll release—

sheer ribbons­­­—to the tentative village

 of wind.

 ________________________

Five Minutes

Red potatoes off the spade

and into the soup pot. (Always

no one to share the best parts.)

                 Absence makes a sound

like a bluebottle

vibrating in the night-window.

Messy bouquet on the antique table—

monkshood and heliopsis. Maybe

someone will come. Ah, but the purple

martins sing like the mad. It’s their hour.

Little to know about this one, except

often she had dirty feet

 

 

and fingernails, often she fell

down stairs

                               and broke things.

As soup goes, it’s not too bad.  Big chunks

of light on the laminate. Sometimes,

she sang, too.

_____________________________

I have had snakes in my garage and snakes in my garden.

I have painted.

I have eaten much of Greg's raspberry jam.

I have made one coconut pie and one key lime pie.

I have taken photographs of unusual things, and ordinary things, and prairie, and musuem things.

I have been exhausted.

I have laughed on occasion, but not danced.
I have been worried.
I have come to the realization that I must let some old friends go, because, oh, they have let go of me.
I have been told I've been missed.
I have some new friends.
I can grow a garden.
I truly believe in cows.
I truly believe in this man:

I have great trouble sleeping.
I think too much at the wrong times.
I have been nourished by a sermon.
Sometimes I sing my own songs to myself.
I am rarely closer to understanding, but damn, the sunsets are really something.