Category Archives: Weather or not

Stitches and Disney and Snow in Late May

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This is a photo of my backyard this morning:


What’s that on the ground? SNOW! And what are all those buckets in the background? They are covering up my poor, non-frost-tolerant flowers that I planted on Tuesday. And why would I plant non-frost-tolerant flowers prior to June in Calgary? Because I am stupid, evidently. I probably cursed the city by planting impatiens on May 25. Sorry everyone. I guess the snow is my fault.

Nonetheless, I’m very hap-hap-happy today so I’m going to share some random, somewhat amusing things.

1. Today during my yoga practice I accomplished something that I have been working on for…I don’t even know how long. A year? More than that? A very long time. I accomplished it and then I felt somewhat startled, not unlike the ONE TIME I actually caught a ball in my two years of playing slo-pitch in university. But, I did it! I did it! I really did it!

2. Disney should have a warning on their movies for sensitive children. Like, rated G but with extremely sad and tragic scenes. Appropriately for the weather I watched The Ice Age with the kids and Mark was completely devastated several times. What is with Disney movies and all the death? Especially all the deaths of mothers and other family members?

3. My husband had the day off work and we took the kids out for lunch. The extremely low frequency with which we take the children to restaurants is never more obvious when they cheer at getting TWO STRAWS in their iced teas and that lemon on the side of their glass? “It makes me feel like I’m in Hawaii!” said Mark. We are a simple people.

4. On Tuesday a neighbour – not the Deerhunter, another neighbour – stopped by to see if I had any nurse’s training (I don’t). If so, he thought I could remove his stitches. His stitches! I was completely weirded out by the request, albeit slightly curious as to where the stitches were and why didn’t he go to a doctor? I immediately emailed another neighbour who is also my friend, and we giggled in a horrified way about it. I am convinced my evil giggling was bad karma for me because the incident occurred while I was planting the aforementioned impatiens. Coincidence? I’m sorry everyone. The snow was totally my fault. So sorry.

Gone With The April Snowstorm Wind

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Right now it’s snowing, big thick flakes; our entire yard is blanketed, the whitened trees swaying violently in the wind. After dinner the boys went outside with umbrellas and snow boots, running and screaming with joy in the wind. Wouldn’t it be nice to view an April snowstorm like that, like an unlooked-for and unexpected gift? Instead of a big giant soggy-dog puddles-in-the-mudroom power-threatening-to-go-out pain in the ass?

The boys finally came in, soaked and frozen, after the bizarre thunder and lightning started to accompany the snow, and I felt more like my normal self. All day I had been rehearsing for the starring role of Bitchy Mummy, and I think I was doing quite well at it, if I do say so myself. The problem lies within. My personal philosophy is that if you are a person like me – a stay-at-home mom with no babies or toddlers to look after – then you really should pull more than your weight in the volunteer department. My best friend, who has four children ranging in age from eight months to almost seven, is someone who I think should never be asked to volunteer ever. She is one busy woman. Someone like me…well, I’m not living a particularly hectic life, and so I think I should take on the lion’s share of volunteer work. Which is why I am rocking the role of Bitchy Mummy today.

Evidently I should say no more often. The past few days have seen me baking like a fiend and also, cruelly, refusing to allow the children to eat more than one brownie each. “Can you make brownies again someday?” Mark asked pathetically, like the Dickensian character he suddenly is, given his mother has become suddenly negligent and unreachable. I have been spending hours – HOURS – creating the community soccer schedule and I have been spending much time feeling utterly defeated with my forehead in my hand wondering if that many games can be fielded at one time or do I need to CHANGE IT AGAIN. This is my second year of taking on this job and if my husband has any say in the matter there will not be a third because my normal, fairly cheery personality is gone, people, gone with the April snowstorm wind. I initially volunteered for this job because hey, I used to create linear programs and other mathematical models, how hard could a soccer schedule be? This is called hubris. The soccer schedule is an evil, evil thing. I am having disturbing dreams about the soccer schedule. I am living and breathing the soccer schedule. And the children, the children with their Insatiable Curiosity and Natural Inquisitiveness, the children with their Need for Maternal Attention and their Nutritional Requirements, the children, they are driving me crazy.

So I’m going to go out on a limb here and incur the wrath of my neighbours and say that the snowstorm, while it is a giant pain, is also a blessing, a blessing that saw the children outside and absurdly happy, and that reminded me what it’s like to be a kid who sees excitement and fun in an unexpected snowy curveball. It took the Bitchy Mummy right out of me.

Spring-ish

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We’ve had a run of really unseasonably warm weather and I spent the afternoon cutting back perennials, pruning shrubs, and pulling back mulch to squeal over the teeny sprouts of my emerging very hardy perennials. Then I immediately replaced the mulch because while I might be excited, I’m not stupid: no mulch shall be removed until May. Fortunately these are extraordinarily hardy plants; they could probably survive nuclear fallout.

In my house, these little sprouts are known as “baby plants” and while my children may have a high level of disdain for actual human babies, they are thrilled about non-human babies, plants included. “Mom”, Mark said excitedly, “It feels like you are going to have a baby! Baby plants!” Apparently my ovaries are green now.

Finding little bits of green in my yard is my favourite part of spring. It feels very festive around here: the sun is shining, the snow is melting, and I walked the dog without gloves on. Truly festive indeed. There are only two small dampers on this festive spirit: muddy paw prints in odd places and the proliferation of outdoor wear in the back entry. I find the latter to be somewhat trying. Our back entry is overflowing: winter jackets and snow boots, gloves and toques and also baseball caps, light jackets and down vests, running shoes and mud-caked rubber boots. And I cannot get rid of One Single Thing because I am superstitious and it’s only March – I’ve finally realized it’s not still February – and the second I put away a winter article, even the smallest mitten, the city will be blasted with snow and ice, and it will be All My Fault.

Groundhog Day is the stupidest day of the year.

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I was about to launch my annual diatribe against Groundhog Day, and thought I would actually look up a bit of the history behind this dubious so-called holiday. It turns out that modern day North American Groundhog Day has roots in European weather lore, the pagan festival of Imbolc, and the medieval Catholic holiday of Candlemas, which is related to the end of the Epiphany and (in the Lutheran church in which I was brought up) the Presentation of Jesus. One thing I love is when I find out that something ridiculous like Groundhog Day, setting for one of the lamest movies ever, is actually related to something more global. It’s like realizing that in the dead of winter, cultures and religions all over the world recognize the need for a light-filled holiday, and bam! There you have Christmas, Hanukkah, Diwali, Winter Solstice, Midwinter Pagan Festivals. It makes me feel like a part of a global community, cue the We Are The World music. It almost softens my feelings for Groundhog Day.

But really, Groundhog Day. I hate it. Despite the above paragraph, it is surely the stupidest day on the calendar, if only because I live in a climate in which six weeks more of winter is an early spring. Hell, if you could guarantee that in ten weeks there would be no more snow and minus ten degree frosts, I would be ecstatic. My husband actually dug up a bed of my tulip bulbs, evidently tired of my face falling off with sadness year after year as I would eagerly watch my tulips emerge, then bud, then get covered with a foot of snow, freeze, and break off at the stems before flowering. Of course, he grew up in a significantly warmer climate that me, a place where tulips actually grow and flower unhindered by snow or frost.

As an aside, a certain family member of his who still lives in this lovely climate phoned me a few weeks ago, complaining about the glorious spring weather that they were experiencing. “I hate this,” she said, “Because you know, I just love winter.” I looked out at the minus 20 degree, snow covered backyard, then broke my own rule about speaking nicely and snapped nastily, “Then I guess you should move to Calgary!” What I was trying to accomplish with that comment, I do not know. For one thing, perhaps I too would enjoy winter if a frigid winter day meant the temperature hovering around the freezing mark and the season itself lasted less than three months. For another thing, what if she took that comment at face value? Then where would I be?

Anyway, I heard this morning that our resident groundhog, Balzac Billy, did not see his shadow, predicting an early spring, whatever that means. Here’s a picture of Balzac Billy:

Yes, Balzac Billy is a guy dressed up in a groundhog costume. Suck on that, PETA. You want to swap out a large rodent for a robot? Well, we are WAY ahead of you up here. Yes, we may have the rodeo, and the grizzly hunt, and my neighbour kept a deer carcass in his backyard all last winter, but DAMN. We have our mascot-like, six foot tall, red-t-shirt-wearing Balzac Billy.

You’re out of touch, I’m out of time

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“Why do old people always talk about the weather?” I clearly recall asking my mother this question, probably flipping my spiral-permed hair with my mood-ring-adorned hand and rolling my eyes. Likely I was wearing a black Depeche Mode concert t-shirt with ripped jeans at the time of this comment. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would speak about anything as mundane as the weather. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine not having incredibly meaningful conversations about poetry and alternative music at all times, the kind of conversations that would arouse emotions and incite heated debate.

But how about this weather?

It has been unusually warm over the past couple of days, and, since I am acclimatized to minus twenty, it feels like an absolute heat wave. A heat wave in which I am still wearing my winter boots and coat but still. It’s the kind of weather that instantly lifts my mood and makes me feel like Spring! Is! On! The! Way! Of course, this is ridiculous considering where I live but let’s just walk away from negativity, shall we?

I watched the movie In Bruges this weekend and it was incredible: hilariously funny, heart-breakingly touching, and possibly one of the most interesting movies I have ever seen. I enthusiastically recommended it to a few people, and the response was, consistently, that it is a great movie and that they saw it a few years ago, when it came out. Oh. I am always months and years behind on movie watching. One of these days I’m going to watch Brokeback Mountain. Even my grandmother has seen Brokeback Mountain – she saw it in the movie theatre – so I am officially more out of touch with popular culture than my grandmother. Actually, I am way more out of touch; she probably knows who Kim Kardashian is. The last movie I saw in the theatre was Pirates of the Caribbean Part Two, and I slept through most of it.

All of which is to say, I’m feeling a bit old. This feeling is not helped by the radio station I listen to, which frequently advertises for Grey Power Insurance. The other day I was listening to it, and the theme song from Golden Girls came on. First, I didn’t know that it was an actual song, not just a theme, and second, I SANG ALONG TO IT. Passionately. “And if you threw a PARTY, invited everyone you KNEW…”

What’s next? Coercing my husband into watching Jeopardy! and then answering all questions, out loud, in the form of a question? Oh wait.

November

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November is a dark month. Even when the sun is shining, it is so low in the sky that it is still dark and grey. Every room in my north-facing house is dark, even when the lights are on.

This month has been flying by. I can’t believe it is already the 23rd. We are having an unseasonably warm November, which in Calgary means that the temperatures are soaring all the way up to 6 or 7 degrees, as opposed to 1 or 2. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, any time temperatures are above normal I am happy, but it seems like those couple of degrees are wasted in November. I mean, it’s still chilly, still dark. The sun is setting at 4:30, and rising after 8. December is, of course, darker and colder, but it doesn’t seem that way because of Christmas, and festivity, and my general feeling of goodwill and happiness that accompanies it.

Four children in my neighbourhood lost their mother and, while it is not my story to tell, the tragedy of that has left me low. But I’m not going to talk about that. The feeling of goodwill and happiness, that Christmassy feeling, I needed that feeling this weekend. So I broke my own rule about no Christmas decorations before December. I brought the boxes out of storage and the boys and I put out a few choice decorations.

The pinecones are from my in-laws’ place in the Okanagan. My husband and I gathered them the year my father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer, which he beat against all odds. The little balls in the bowl are from my very first Christmas tree after I left home. I didn’t have lights on that tree, and it was odd how many people commented on the fact. I honestly didn’t think that no lights was a big deal, but apparently IT IS. The cute little star snowmen? A woman I worked with once made them for the company Christmas party. She made about 150 of them. Have I ever mentioned that I admire people who are crafty? Because I am the opposite of crafty.


Mark’s favourite decoration is a little train station. Technically it lights up but I have a small fear of fire – and I think that decoration was made in China, so my fear of plugging it in and starting an electrical fire is probably justified. Notice the bowl in the background. The Christmas balls I set in there are from my mother-in-law – old ornaments from the 60’s.


This is my very favourite thing. I bought the creche figurines in Mexico 12 years ago, and I just love them. I always put the angel on the ladder – angels need a little help once in a while. This is also Jake’s favourite.

When something is heavy on your heart, sometimes the best thing to do is find the joy in your life and be thankful for your blessings. And I am so thankful.

Drive Slow, Homie

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When Mark was two and Jake was seven months, I received “Late Registration” by Kanye West for my birthday, and although I mostly listen to a radio station best described as “oldies” – the kind that advertises for Grey Power Insurance and the benefits of getting your prostate checked – I really enjoy hip hop. I especially loved that album and I listened to it all the time in the car, with the kids. And – you can probably see where this is going – I didn’t at the time realize that the kids might be actually absorbing the information that was being presented in the music. I didn’t realize it until Mark – did I mention he was two? – informed me that he didn’t have no money, so he couldn’t get no ho’s. Nothing says you’re a good mother like having a two year old misogynist on your hands. Later, he told his grandmother that he wanted a prenup. At that point I put the album away, only to listen to it when the kids were not in the car.

In the past two days, there were over six hundred car accidents in the city! Six hundred! What could be going on, you may ask? What indeed but ten centimeters of snow. Apparently in this lovely city only one hour from the Rocky Mountains, in the Canadian prairies, snow is a new and novel concept. One that causes people to be in a perpetual bad mood and drive like lobotomized maniacs. As my yoga teacher said, “Snow is like death. We all know it’s coming, but for some reason when it arrives we are all still surprised and sad.” Yes, exactly.

So what does all this have to do with my wildly inappropriate musical choices? It’s my public service announcement for the day: DRIVE SLOW, HOMIE. Although you really do not need to “put your hazard lights on when you see them ho’s”. Really.