Don’t it make my brown eyes bluuuuueeee.

So I’ve been blue, due to a number of factors, the most pressing being disappointment over not being offered a writing contract that I had my heart set on.  I’ve been in mourning about it, wallowing and eating all manner of bad things, and reading my most favourite comfort book, Diary of a Provincial Lady.  That book never fails to cheer me up.  It’s like chocolate cake and macaroni and cheese for the mind.  It is possibly the wittiest book ever written, and contains such gems as:

Move about after dinner, and meet acquaintance whose name I have forgotten, but connect with literature.  I ask if he has published anything lately.  He says that his work is not, and never can be, for publication.  Thought passes through my mind to the effect that this attitude might with advantage be adopted by many others.

Right?  Mark said “I’m sorry you’re sad you can’t write for those people.  But you can still write at home!  On your computer!”  True. 

Do you have a comfort book?  I once dated a guy who had a comfort movie.  Whenever he was feeling ill or down, he would watch Rudy.  The thought of it makes me snicker, and not in the kindest way.  Remember the scene – if you ever had the misfortune to watch said film – when all the players brought their jerseys to the coach.  “It’s for Rudy, Coach.” 

It just occurred to me: maybe I’m like Rudy.  I do have a lot of heart.  That’s depressing.

It also occurs to me that perhaps I just need an excuse, at this time of year, to have an emotional breakdown.  Remember last year?  When I had a complete breakdown at the fact that my printer wasn’t working and ended up sobbing, on the phone for hours with the Dell representative who kept speaking in soothing tones and asking if maybe I should get myself a drink of water and not to worry, he was going to to take care of everything?  I’m a mental case.

Not helping matters is the fact that we are all a tiny bit sick.  Nothing full blown, nothing major, but the boys both woke up Friday morning with slight runny noses.  Two things: a) that was fast, normally the first cold of the year occurs within the second week of school, not the second day, and b) five years old is NOT too young for a man-cold.  Jake became completely indignant that he was going to go to school, despite a tiny sniffle and slightly watery eyes.  “I can’t BELIEVE this,” he said, “This is the SECOND TIME I’ve gone to school like this!”  I related this amusing anecdote to my husband but ended up having to explain the concept of the man-cold to him, which was somewhat awkward.  I tried to make the explanation as general as possible.

And how was the first day of school?  It was excellent.  Both boys are, as anticipated, in the same class at school.  The benefits of this arrangement far outweigh the negatives, not the least of which is that I don’t have to be room parent for two separate classrooms and, with any luck, I will only receive ONE copy of all the notices that come home from school.  Also the boys are ecstatic to be together, and their teacher is fabulous, one in a million.

On the way home from dropping the boys at school, I saw a woman with a very small boy, standing on the sidewalk watching a wood chipper at work.  That brought me back, intensely.  I don’t know how many hours I spent watching various large machinery at work, boys in tow.  I don’t know how many times I would take them outside to watch the garbage truck pick up the trash, or watch sidewalk repairs, or to the nearby construction site where a large office building was being built.  “Diggies!  Diggies!  Happy!  Happy!” one-year-old Jake would say from the stroller, clapping his hands.  A gas station in our neighbourhood was demolished, and believe me, I spent days watching the machinery tear down the buildings and dig out the contaminated soil.  It got so that the crew would wave when they saw the three of us walking up the street.  My jeans would be caked with mud from carrying Jake, his muddy rubber boots bumping against my thighs.  I would be tired, so tired, but would stand there with my fascinated boys, daydreaming about other things.  And now we’re in a whole new chapter.


“What grade are you guys in?”


  1. (((Hugs)))

    Grieving is good. It is necessary.

    I have so many “comfort” books and movies, I don’t know where to begin. I also have books and movies I read when I need a good cry, but for some reason, it isn’t coming. Little Women. Glory. Stuff that will just gut me emotionally.

    Hugs to you!

  2. They are so cute.

    And as for the melancholy, you are not alone.

  3. I don’t have comfort books — I seldom read a book more than once. This is probably one of the many, many, many reasons I am not a Christian. “WHY ARE THEY ALWAYS STUDYING THE BIBLE?,” I often wonder when in the presence of my more devout friends. “Surely by know they know how it ends?” But I do have comfort movies, however “Rudy” isn’t one of them. I’ve never even seen “Rudy,” and based on your comments I never will.

    I’m sorry you didn’t get the writing contract. I’m very curious about it. Was it writing Harlequin Romance novels. Oooh, I should hope so.

    My annual depressive period comes in late November. It’s the beige-ness of that month. Not quite winter, not really fall. All manner of beige

    Your boys are very cute! I think it’s great they’ll be in the same class.

    And so concludes this very, very long comment. Erm. Maybe I should write a post on my own blog rather than prattle on here.

  4. My comfort book is _A Window Over the Sink_, by Peg Bracken. But the last time I read it, I felt like I’d probably read it too many times now, so I might need a new comfort book.

  5. So glad to hear the first day of school was great. Sorry to hear though that you have been blue. I hope that passes soon.

  6. I don’t know why I always assume I’m the only one that gets insanely weepy and shaky and, well, insane in September. Maybe it’s all my friends who are so happy about the kids going back to school and the douchebag in the elevator who said “counting the days?” while I was happily shopping with two fabulous little girls in Oakville (“uh, no, but I’m counting the minutes until we’re out of this elevator, you joy-sucking asshat”). Also, the people who didn’t give you the writing contract are stupid-heads, and you are awesome for trying for it. Also, let’s email daily about how much it sucks that kids grow up, except when it doesn’t, and how the colour blue is sometimes unbearably sad. Also, for me every book is pretty much a comfort book.

  7. Well shite on the job. I’m sorry about that. Want me to punch someone in the taco for you? Would that make you laugh.
    I don’t have a comfort book. But I’m thinking I need one because actually eating chocolate and mac and cheese is doing nothing for my soul aside from making it fat.
    Yes, kids. It’s so weird how they change so fast with the season. I remember last year at this time lugging Chunky in a stroller…now he walks…errr…runs right beside me. Sigh…stop growing.

  8. I Don’t Know How She Does It always makes me laugh, and puts things into perspective. (And now it’s going to be a movie!!)

    I too have spent hours watching big yellow machines at work and running out to the back alley to watch the garbage or recycling trucks. Love It!!

    PS Glad to hear grades 1 and 2 are going well!

  9. I don’t have comfort books because I don’t have enough time to read them at the moment. I don’t really have comfort movies either.

    Sorry about the job. Suuuucks. I know there’s another job out there for you. Promise.

  10. I am sorry about the job, too. My guy wants to start school. Next year. I will be sad.


  11. Hee hee…Rudy. When I was in university it was playing on some pay channel that we got for free because we’d just signed up for cable. We mocked the commercials for it mercilessly for weeks until one night, tired from studying, no one got up to change the channel when it started. We all wound up watching it and weeping.


    I’ll deny it if you show anyone this comment.

Leave a Reply