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27.6.16

Woman, Woman, Let Go of Me

Remember how one of my New Year resolutions this year was to finish that stinkin' "Don Quixote" book?  Good news!  I did it!  It was seriously the hardest book I have ever read.  I started it about a month before Sheriff was born and finished it just two months shy of her second birthday.

I was beginning to worry that it wasn't that the book was hard, but that I just sucked at reading.  So I quickly started another book to make sure it wasn't the latter.  The book I picked was "Peter Pan," and I finished it really quickly (which isn't saying that much, because it's pretty short) and remembered how enjoyable reading is.

Anyways, I wanted to share a part of the book that really hit home for me.  After Wendy and her brothers return from Neverland, Peter makes a deal with her mother that he can come and take Wendy back to Neverland once a year to do the spring cleaning.  Peter remembers and gets Wendy for a few years, but then forgets and doesn't show for a long, long time.  Which is where this part happens:

And then one night came the tragedy.  It was the spring of the year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now asleep in her bed.  Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow.  Then the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the floor.


He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he still had all his first teeth.



He was a little boy, and she was grown up.  She huddled by the fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.


"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her first.


"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small as possible.  Something inside her was crying "Woman, Woman, let go of me."



"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third bed.



"John is not here now," she gasped.



"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.



"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that he was untrue to Jane as well as to Peter.



"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should fall on her.



Peter looked.  "Hullo, is it a new one?"



"Yes."



"Boy or girl?"



"Girl."



Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.



"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away with you?"



"Of course; that is why I have come."  He added a little sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"



She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring cleaning times pass.



"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how to fly."



"I'll soon teach you again."



"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."



She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him.  "What is it?" he cried, shrinking.



"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for yourself."



For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid.  "Don't turn up the light," he cried.



She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy.  She was not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.



Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw.  He gave a cry of pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he drew back sharply.



"What is it?" he cried again.



She had to tell him.



"I am old, Peter.  I am ever so much more than twenty.  I grew up long ago."



"You promised not to!"



"I couldn't help it.  I am a married woman, Peter."



"No, you're not."



"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."



"No, she's not."



But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child with his dagger upraised.  Of course he did not strike.  He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so easily once.  She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the room to try to think.


I FEEL THIS.  Every day.  I hear the voice inside me crying, "Woman, Woman, let go of me."  I hate admitting it, but I've forgotten how to fly too.  And there are most certainly days when I smile at it all, but they are wet eyed smiles.  For heaven's sakes, I even have not one, but two little girls in their beds right now.  I am only a woman now.
17.5.16

One Man's Junk...


This house used to be on Main Street back in my hometown.  It belonged to a man named Spud Kitigawa.  My uncle purchased it, knocked it down, and built something new.  Fortunately, before it got knocked down, I got to spend a few hours exploring.  Spud left a great deal of stuff behind.  Stuff both him and my husband would agree is junk.  But you know how the saying goes.  "One man's junk, is another man's treasure."  Here are the treasures I found.










Here are some pearls of wisdom I found in an old Buddhist text in the basement.













I may or may not have left with a few trinkets...

I don't know why I'm drawn to old things, but I am.  My Grandma Gibb calls me "sentimental."  My husband thinks that I am mental.  But to me, these things really are all treasure.
8.5.16

Magical

I don't mean to brag or anything, but I had the most magical childhood.  Sure, there were growing pains and little heart aches here and there, but overall when I reminisce about growing up I only feel happy and warm.  Don't believe me?  Let me describe my childhood to you.

I don't exactly remember these parts, but they look pretty magical to me.



When I was around three or four, our family moved to a place called Westlock.  I had a sandbox, trampoline, swing set, and best of all, garden in the backyard to play with.  My favourite was the rhubarb.  They made perfect elf hats.




I also had the greatest custom made dresses to wear around.  They oftentimes matched my younger sisters.  Everyone thought we were the cutest little girls at church on Sunday.




As I got older, I was shown to love the outdoors.  Regardless of what the weather may have been like.  


Some of my most fond memories include the amazing places I got to explore.  There were long summer days spent exploring the hoodoos at Writing-On-Stone and building sandcastles along the slow Milk River.  There were days spent in Waterton, hiking the frigid water up Red Rock or the steep steps up Bear's Hump.  Mornings on the road to Calgary that lead to a full day of shopping or the zoo or Calaway Park.  Hundreds of afternoons and hot summer evenings were spent at "the bridge," jumping into the dark, fishy water to cool off.  Sometimes we'd even float the steady canal to keep cool.  As we got older and more adventurous, we'd drive out to Kimball to float the river rapids, sometimes stopping to jump the cliff.  There were more slurpees, snow-bobs, ice cream cones, and popsicles than I can count.  There were Sunday drives that lead to Sunday walks.

Of course, not everything was always a party, but even in retrospect, the things that seemed tedious back then still feel magical to me.  There was always a garden that needed weeding, Saturday chores to be done, but those were small payments made on my behalf for the adventures and fun.

I had a playhouse in the field and horses out there too.  There were pet cats and dozens of kittens; rabbits and scores of bunnies.  As I got older a pet dog was entrusted in my care.  Or that was the theory when the decision was made to get one.  

Eventually I took a liking to baking and the kitchen was loaned to me, no questions asked.  I probably wasted a lot of ingredients, but I was never scolded or lost my kitchen privileges, for that was a place of learning.

There were early mornings riding my bike to school and long angry afternoons riding my bike home against the brutal west wind.  There were special days at school where I got a hoagie for lunch or went on a field trip.

Honestly, I could go on for so much more, but I want you to finish reading this, so I'll move along.

Now that I have kids, it weighs on my mind quite frequently how much I want them to have a magical childhood, like the one I enjoyed.  I had so much.  But now, since I'm a mom, I realize that most of my childhood was made possible by one person.  My mom.


For every magical childhood, there is a mother backstage.  I'm so grateful for all that my own mother did to make my childhood so magical.  I hope that my girls can experience the life and excitement that I did growing up.  Thank you, mom, for setting the bar so dang high.
30.4.16

Thoughts on Parenthood

I live in a lovely neighbourhood where a great deal of the backyards back onto a green space and trail.  When I run on said trails I can't help but look into all the backyards.  Honestly, one of the things I look forward to most about owning my own home is the backyard.  I want a huge garden, beautiful flower beds, neatly pruned trees, and a well manicured lawn.  I love yard work.  It's so relaxing.  So when I run pass yards that embody my dreams, my heart just sings.  But those kind of yards aren't all that common.  There are yards where the owners obviously have a dog that has wreaked havoc on everything.  There are yards where the owners just plum don't care.  And then there are yards that belong to the little people that live in the house.  Those yards have toys and bikes and balls and swing sets and sandboxes and much more strewn everywhere.  And although my heart yearns for the tidy yard, I know that when I finally own a house, I will have the last yard.  And that is okay.  Because in all honesty, I think the little people that create the chaos in the last yard will bring me infinitely more joy than the most neat and tidy yard in the world can.  And besides, "to every thing there is a season."

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