I may have mentioned this before

Go team! Now there are four of us signed up as a team to walk in the Weekend to End Breast Cancer on August 19 & 20. Click this link, select 'Search for a team' and enter 'Sisters for Sisters'.

We had our first team meeting yesterday to plan fundraising and to figure out a day we'd all be able to get together to walk.

W-hoo! Want to help us save the world? Come walk with us, or make a donation (or BOTH!) It's going to be great.

Are you ready?

Noah says his chocolate chips are singing a song called, "Are you ready for happiness?"

I think I'm going to have to write that song. Stay tuned.

P.S. I bought six more packets of seeds the other day.

I could stop anytime

Hi. My name is Candace. It's been 16 hours since I last bought flower seeds.

It's my sister's fault. Brenda wanted Carnations, so I had to find seeds. Then I saw the Johnny Jump Up seeds, and the English Daisy mix, and the Dianthus Double Pinks, then the exclusive offering from Mr. Fothergill's for Comedy Mixed Violas (only 99 cents!!). How could I stop myself?

But I can't really blame Brenda.

Dad has to bear some responsibility as well. He got us kids into gardening young. It started with picking rocks, sowing seed, then soon he had me started on my own flower garden.

Over the last 20 years or so, when we lived in apartments, I suppressed the urge to garden, but when we bought our house in 2004, I started thinking about peat pellets, soil amendments, plant cages . . .

So here I am with a huge inventory of seeds, and the frightening realization that if one package of Sweet Peas covers half a table, then the 37 other packages of seeds are going to fill my house with seedling trays.

Oh. My. Goodness.

37 packages. I need help.

Have any room in a south-facing window?

Happy Valentines Day

I hope you have a lovely Valentines Day. (These aren't rank ordered.)

I love Steve. I love Noah. I love my family. I love God. I love my friends. I love that my sisters live so close. I love my friend, Alison's blog. I love chocolate. I love doing work that will make the world a little better. I love my garden. I love the colour of my kitchen (Green Balsam). I love a good night's sleep. I love a hot shower. I love the smell of oranges. I love good writing. I love candlelight. I love the smell of clothes just out of the dryer. I love singing. I love warm socks. I love lemon marmalade. I love tidy, organized places. I love lists.

How does your garden grow?

I've lived in the Lower Mainland for 20 years and am still a little surprised when cherry blossoms start appearing in February. This is my first spring with my own garden, and I am just blown away that there's already life in my flower garden. Some of my rockery plants are evergreens, and are now flowering, yes, flowering.

Part of my disbelief is because I'm originally from Prince George, and am used to the garden being under two feet of snow at this time of year. My in-laws are skiing, and I'm trimming back last year's perennial growth and sowing seeds.

Isn't it WONDERFUL?!

I'm sowing tons of extra seeds this year since I'm planning a plant sale as a fundraiser for the Weekend to End Breast Cancer.

Any suggestions for favourite flowers I can grow from seed?

Task avoidance

Yesterday, Steve comes home from work and says, "Wow! The house is really clean. . . Do you have a deadline?"

Who'd have thought that polishing the kettle with baking soda (it is SO shiny!) would be an indication of a looming deadline. But it is. Our house was never as clean as when I was doing my B.A. and had exams or papers to prepare for. When I was facing a 5,000-word report on the history of psychology (one of the reasons I dropped psych as a minor), cleaning the fuzz out of the fridge's vegetable tray looked appealing by comparison.

Of course, Steve speaks not only from observation, but from experience. We had an incredibly-productive garden the year Steve was (supposed to be) writing his master's thesis.

I'm sure the four of you who read my blog would prefer that I procrastinate by writing blog entries (which I'm doing now), but if you could see your face in my kettle, you might just change your mind.

Bad blogger

Bad, bad blogger.

Yeah, pretty pathetic that I haven't blogged since Noah's birthday. Even though I had to bake three birthday cakes, host two birthday parties, two grandparents, and two nephews that week, and since then have been assessing Passion 4 Action's marketing tools, hosting two nieces, and a Bible class, not to mention spending two days on computer upgrades, and attending a half-day brainstorming workshop, I really should have spent some time blogging.

But then there was the weather.

How much grey can one person stand? I'd say about half of what Lower Mainlanders lived through in January. Blaargh.

So the sensible thing seemed to be to sign up for the Weekend to End Breast Cancer. Seven and a half months to transform from slug to fundraising athlete. Here I go.

How many is four?

Four years ago today, I lived through an amazing, life-changing event. My son, Noah came skidding into the world at 7:18 p.m., weighing in at 9 lbs., 11 oz.














Over the next few days and weeks, I lived the words of John Mellencamp's song, Between a Laugh and a Tear: "I know there's a balance, I see it when I swing past."

But four years has taken the edge off the harshest memories of sleep deprivation and insecurity and left that hazy image of a beautiful babe happy to be cuddled in his Mama's arms.





















I know all kids grow and change, but he still manages to surprise me when he learns something new or moves on to a new stage. I remember how, at bedtime or naptime, he would cry and beg me to stay. Now, when I ask if I can stay and cuddle he says, "It's okay, Mama. You go nap on the couch. It's more comfy."

My boy is growing up. I suppose I'd better, too.











Happy Birthday, pumpkin.

But wait! There's more.

Northern holiday: long story

Weather: Excuse me, but we did not drive 800 km north for a GREEN Christmas. Prince George was a half degree off the 1947 record for the warmest-recorded Christmas day. Wrong. Wrong. In every way wrong. We were looking for more of a ‘Walkin’ in a winter wonderland’ vibe. And thankfully, the weather turned on Boxing Day and we got a foot of fluffy white in which to ski, sled and snowmobile for the rest of our holiday.

Singing: W-hoo! Strolled my brother, Mike’s street with my sisters, admiring elaborate light displays and carolling. We sang Noah’s favourite version of Jingle Bells. As Noah sings it: "Dindoo bewws, Batman smewws! Wobin waid an edd!" Followed by huge belly laughs.

Two of the four times we went to karaoke (that’s right, FOUR), there were hardly any singers, so I got to sing, sing, sing. It was SO cool. My favourite was when my sister, Brenda sang ‘Leader of the pack’ and sent half the patrons into apoplexy when she screamed, with extreme authenticity, “Look out! Look out! Look out! Look out!”

Catch-up: I got to visit with high school friends (it still stuns me to think I’m old enough to have a friend who’s a doctor and the head of her department at the hospital), and family I don’t get to see often enough. We met for dinner at Mr. Jake’s, a childhood favourite, and breakfast at the Hart Wheel Inn, where everyone stared at us until we sat down where my Dad was waiting. I could see them thinking, “Aaah, one of Pat’s girls home for the holidays.”

Relaxation: Grandma got up with Noah almost every day, cooked us lovely meals, and fattened us up with ANZAC cookies and Christmas pud’. Grandpa kept the fire going, fixed snowmobiles, hauled out sleds, and loaned us winter gear. Staying at Steve’s parents is fabulous. A log house on the lake, hot tub on the deck…Wait. Click this link for a few thousand words’ worth of pictures. (Steve’s parents rent out the house in the summer while they’re off hiking and kayaking, and generally worrying their poor children.)

So here we are, home again to early mornings, cooking for ourselves, working, bookkeeping, and all the rest.

A final, unrelated thought. What possible use is the highest setting on a toaster? So far, this is the only scenario I see: “Oh, Fire Inspector Jones! You say the fire started with the toaster? And nothing is left of my cramped, hopelessly-outdated kitchen. Oh, the tragedy!”

Hi honey, we're home

MCGUIRE BILLINGTONS RETURN TO LOWER MAINLAND

NEWS FLASH - Clan McB returned safely to their home approximately 10 p.m. Wednesday, January 4.

"Roads were bare and dry, except for a half-hour patch of light blowing snow," reports Steve. Candy & Steve are pleased to report that Noah proved to be a good road trip companion. (That is except for the incessant, unanswerable questions. A budding inquiring mind.)

While the McBs were happy to return to their own bed, they had a rude awakening when no grandparents were available to get up with their son the next morning. More shocks occurred once the McBs reviewed weigh scale and VISA bill readings.

"We return from our trip 'fat broke'," quips McGuire, "so we're heralding a new era of low spending and low-junk eating."

But the main reason for the McB announcement of their return is to offer not-seen-in-the-last-two-weeks opportunities for socializing. "Call us, email, or drop by!"

As an added bonus, those wishing to 'spend time' with a curious almost-four-year-old could offer the movie-deprived parents a night out. "We haven't seen Harry Potter, King Kong or Narnia yet," wails McGuire. "What will people think?!"

Details of the McB adventure in the sometimes green, sometimes frozen north available soon!!

- 30 -

P.S. We missed y'all.

Joy of Cleaning

You’ve seen my lists. You’re wondering how I have time to post. Well, here’s an interesting conversation I had with my nieces Kaitlin (9) and Leona (7) after I picked them up at the train.

K: Is there anything for us to DO at your house?
Me: Well, we’re really busy cleaning and getting ready for our holiday.
K: Can we help?!
L: I get to do the bathroom!!!
K: Awww.
Me: Don’t worry, girls. We have two bathrooms.

They had a minor conflict over who got to do the bigger bathroom.

I’m totally serious about this.

They then fetched and carried for me all through the rest of the day. The result: I sit here, writing this post, waiting for take-out dinner to arrive, listening to the Barenaked Ladies ‘Barenaked for the Holidays.’ Just a second. I have to get some egg nog.

Industrial revolution

I love lists. Even at our other times of the year, I have all sorts of lists going. Things to do, things to make, things to buy, things to retrieve from storage, things for Steve to do. But Christmas is definitely a stellar opportunity for list creation.

For you, a list of all my current lists:

1. Christmas presents that must be completed before we travel to P.G. next week.


2. Household tasks that must be completed before we travel to P.G. next week. This list is bigger than normal because we have friends (whom we've never met) from our church staying at our house when we're gone.


3. Miscellaneous tasks to complete before leaving town (job application, GST payment, filing, write lesson plan for teaching grade sevens how to write a communication plan)


4. List for houseguests of where to find things and numbers to call if anything floods or blows up while we're away.


5. Repeat of (3) for tenant.


6. What we each need in P.G. (3 lists)


7. What we need to take in the car for trip.


8. Groceries we need for this weekend, with brother & sister-in-law as houseguests.


9. Baking we'll do Saturday, and corresponding ingredients needed.


10. Decorations and food to take to Sunday Christmas party for my church's ESL class.


11. Christmas presents, and corresponding supplies, that we can finish in P.G.


12. People we have to get in touch with in P.G. to arrange visits (including my brother, Mike re: karaoke!!!).


13. Things I should be doing (instead of posting this entry) before guests arrive in one hour.

One list, one item at a time. Off to deal with grapevine and pinecones.

Swipper feef

Noah appears at my bedside, gleefully shouting, “Swipper feef! Swipper feef!”

In my advanced state of grogginess, I respond, “What?”

He replies, “You mean ‘pardon me’, Mama.”

Chastened, I try again. “Pardon me?”

He repeats, with same level of animation, “Swipper feef! Swipper feef!”

Now he’s laughing so hard, he’s almost falling over. “SWIPPER FEEF!” he yells, and points at his feet.

He’s wearing my slippers, which have been … mysteriously absent … for two days.

Crime report: Burnaby. Slipper thief on the rampage.

December weekend

Friday:

1. have tiny (benign non-health-threatening) cyst removed under local anaesthetic
2. discover that surgeon’s reassurance of minimal pain is remarkably untrue
3. consume a panoply of painkillers, administered by able and sympathetic nurse, Steve
4. drowsily watch Troy
5. go to bed without brushing or flossing (I'm sure that will alarm those of you who are aware of my pathological oral hygiene)

Saturday:

1. repeatedly try to get out of bed, but find am unable to defeat gravity
2. finally rouse through promise of food and more pain meds
3. begin to feel better, and contemplate shower
4. make list of baking projects and needed ingredients
5. consider that I won’t have time to bake until Monday

Because we also have to:

1. pick up vacuum cleaner that the shop, after 6 weeks, tells us can’t be fixed
   
2. buy a toy to donate at tomorrow’s party
3. go to friend Shonna’s this afternoon to hang out and meet her friend who’s in town for the weekend
4. get started on sewing projects this evening
5. spend tomorrow morning at Sunday School and the meeting (aka ‘church’)
6. attend our work Christmas party Sunday afternoon/evening

Anniversary

I was at my sister, Brenda’s store today, and she was commenting on a button a customer was wearing.

Her: “Oh. There was some demonstration at the Art Gallery about some women who were killed, and this is the anniversary…?”

Me: “You mean at L'Ecole Polytechnique?”

Her: Blank look.

So for those of you who’ve forgotten, or are who are too young to remember, today is the 16th anniversary of the death of 14 engineering students, targeted by a mentally-unstable gunman because they were women.

In Canada, it’s also been declared a National Day of Mourning and the National Day to End Violence Against Women.

A lot like Christmas

My sisters, Steve and I spent Saturday making Christmas presents. We spent a lot of the day talking and planning, and little of it actually working, but we got a few things done.

My normal pattern is to think about Christmas in November, then decide that everyone I know has too much stuff anyway, and I don’t need to worry about gifts. Then around December 20, I develop this enormous enthusiasm for Christmas and wish I’d taken the time to handcraft gifts. But since it’s too late for that, I go out and spend a whack of money on more stuff for people who DO have too much stuff, and DON’T need another (fill in the blank).

I heard on CBC that Maritimers spend more than other Canadians on Christmas (according to VISA). My theory is that in the most economically-depressed area of Canada, Christmas is a time to buy things one has dreamed of through the year. Versus here in B.C., where people buy everything they want through the year, and so at Christmas, there’s nothing left for others to buy for them.

Steve and I have found that there’s truth to the saying that a house will suck up all your spare money, so we decided to make use of our craft supplies and fabric and make some Christmas gifts this year.

Of course, I can’t write much about what we’ve made or planned, because that would spoil the surprise. But my favourite project so far is pomander balls, made by studding an orange or lemon with cloves, dusting it with spices and leaving it to dry. But since last year’s oranges rotted, I’m using the oven this year. It makes the oranges dry faster and it makes the house smell great.

It's beginning to smell a lot like Christmas. Hmm mm hmm mmm hmmm.

Do something, already

It’s not just me. Apparently Canadians in general think too much.

The United Nations Climate Change Conference started today in Montreal. It doesn’t surprise me that that Canada is hosting these talks when, according to a report released last month by the David Suzuki Foundation, Canadians have very strong environmental values. But there is a certain irony considering the same report placed us among the worst environmental performers in the industrialized world.

Not that I think that means we shouldn’t host the talks, or participate in the Kyoto Protocol. I do. (Consider that we placed ahead of the U.S., which, in 2001, backed out of its commitment to the protocol.) I just hope that instead of just talking (and thinking) about climate change, we’ll DO something.

Let it snow

When my little morning person woke me up at 7:15 Sunday morning, I could hear the snow. Not in the way you can hear rain pounding on the roof, but in the way even the tiniest amount of snow absorbs sound and makes everything seem like it’s whispering.

Me: “Noah, go look out the window.”

Noah; “It snowed, Mama! Is it winter now? Can we go to Prince George?”

Three-year-old logic. We’re going to Prince George for Christmas. Christmas is in winter. It snows in winter. Therefore, if it’s snowing, it’s time to be in P.G.

He took it well that the trip isn’t for another three weeks. And since we weren’t getting on the road, he knew what to do.

“Let’s go catch snowflakes on our tongues.”

So there we were, shivering in the cold, raincoats over P.J.s, heads tipped back, catching snowflakes on our tongues.

Made for walkin'

Finally. I bought a pair of boots. Steve likes them, but warned me not to wear them with a red shirt. The boots do have a certain je ne sais Star Trek about them. They’re mid-calf, black patent leather with a square toe. And they’re comfortable. Really. Not in that “considering these shoes were made for someone with four toes, and if I never walked farther than to my car” comfy. These boots are grippy soles, cushioning, and arch supports comfortable, and they’re just groovy enough for me.

I was originally looking for something a little dressier, a little more chic. But then I realized I’d have to buy a new wardrobe, and a car. I take transit and walk a lot, so comfortable is key. And my wardrobe is pretty casual, so ultra-chic just wouldn’t work. The catch is that I’m too vain to buy ugly boots, and I’m cheap frugal thrifty, so $300 boots were out of the question. I guess that’s why I’ve spent two-and-a-half months looking for boots.

I really like these boots. They aren’t perfect, but I don’t think the perfect boot exists. Comfortable, gasp-inducing boots that no one else has (yet wishes they did), that cost $49, aren’t a realistic goal. These are very comfortable, pretty groovy, and were on sale for $100 off, so I’m just going to stop re-re-re-thinking my choice (I returned the last boots I bought) and just WEAR the boots outside. Or I could go out today to just see if there’s something a little more perfect available…

Don't feed the animals

I’m not a real fan of squirrels (flea-ridden rats with fuzzy tales and good P.R.), but when they started digging up and eating bulbs in my garden, they dropped into the Endangered Species category.

We planted the first batch of bulbs in October on a cold and rainy day, and I was stiff and sore for three days. So as I limped through the garden, the sight of freshly-dug soil and flower bulb husks definitely added insult to injury.

Rotten squirrels. Evil, mangy, thieving vermin. To make it worse, the parasites seem to favour the most expensive bulbs. No run-of-the-mill narcissus for them (which is too bad, because they’re TOXIC); their taste runs to the more exotic Anemone Blanda (windflower).

So after some online research (thank you, GardenWeb forum participants), when we planted another batch of bulbs this weekend, we added bloodmeal (supposed to smell like death to squirrels) and placed a layer of chicken wire over the newly-planted areas. We didn’t bother doing so where we planted narcissus and allium, since, as I said before, narcissus are toxic. And alliums are in the onion family, and I guess squirrels don’t like onion breath.

But, we discovered on Sunday that just because squirrels don’t EAT those bulbs, that doesn’t stop them DIGGING THEM UP!!! So we’ve added his-and-hers slingshots to our Christmas wish lists. Good-bye, cruel squirrels.

P.S. I think I've improved your ability to respond. Click on 'thoughts' to leave a comment.