We Hardly Knew Ye...

Listen, I know there is real stuff going on in the world. Big stuff. Scary stuff. Really big scary stuff. It's too much sometimes to comprehend. Sometimes all you can do is give a little of what you can and keep hoping that there are the right people trying to do the right thing at the scene, on the ground, that will make a difference. Then you go give your daughter an extra hug and a kiss and thank the universe that just by sheer luck alone you and she were born in a safe and beautiful place.

When the magnitude of what a shitstorm the world can be at times is just overwhelming, you focus on something smaller, something more compact and more manageable. I think this is the main reason why we have the kind of celebrity mania we do in our culture. It's easier to get all riled up about who's with whom or not, who's had what done to any part of their body, who's too fat, too thin, too crazy and on and on it goes. Why? Because it really doesn't matter. It's all projected angst, displaced rage, disgust, indignation. It's a really really good distraction. If people were to funnel all of the energy they put into caring about American Idol contestants and voting frantically to make sure they live to karaoke another day to issues that really matter, well, I have a faint hope that the world would be a
better place. At the very least, at the absolute minimum, a more engaged one. In the absence of true civil discourse though, there is just an awful lot of noise. And late night talk show feuds.

So I suppose that it's without not a whole lot of irony that a small part of me is the tiniest bit heartbroken at the moment.



I've had a crush on this guy since 1993 when he first hit the airwaves, at a time in my life when you still lived and died by late night television. He was high school hallway talk the following morning. He went from 'Who the hell is this guy' to 'Hey, did you see Conan last night?' I only ever remember Johnny Carson as host of the Tonight Show and despite being quite young during his reign, I seem to recall watching quite a bit of him. I distinctly remember watching his final show in my parents basement. And then promptly forgetting about the Tonight Show altogether until June of 2009.

Because the other guy isn't funny. At all. Never has been. He wasn't funny at 11:35, he wasn't funny at 10 and I'm fairly confident he will continue to be not funny when he's back at 11:35. I kind of have my fingers crossed that after an illustrious 60 year run, the other guy will be the one to kill The Tonight Show once and for all. In my opinion, that would be a fitting legacy. Because if he had any class at all, he would bow out and RETIRE like he said he was going to five years ago. Passive aggressive placating to network executives is unflattering to say the least.

Lunacy. It certainly has been fun to watch though, on all fronts. Especially Letterman. I'm going to miss this incarnation of The Tonight Show, I think it had real potential, had it been given a chance. Seven months. I can't get over it. Seven measly months. It's almost enough to make me just throw in the towel and cancel the cable altogether.

Anyway...



Here's the cute patoot doing her level best at posing in knitwear. This adorable ensemble is courtesy of lexa over at Just in the Knit of Time. It was only after I had taken this shot that I tidied up her hair a bit and attempted another shoot, but no dice. And it was later still that I found tights with ruffles on the bum at the Superstore, which are just begging to be worn with outfits such as this. I'm a big fan of tights for babies, I never thought I would be, and it's just too bad that little boys can't wear them too. I never have to worry about socks being pulled off and the rest of the leg is nice and toasty. It's a small luxury. For both of us.

In Pinta news, she's had a bit of a cognitive explosion in the last couple of weeks. After months of trying, she finally figured out the commando crawl and just in the last few days had been putting her arms and hands too practical use after being on hands and knees for what seems like forever now. Most of the time, you'd think she was doing baby yoga, with her on her tippy toes in a downward dog position. Then she does that leaning thing that you see above, which is pretty much her version of getting to a sitting position from lying down. It's freakin' adorable.

Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, on the same day no less, she started waving and clapping her hands. Out of nowhere. And after months of indoctrination, she finally started doing the hand sign we'd assigned to her bottle. She does it all the time now, prompted and unprompted, when she wants her bottle (or pretty much anything else to drink for that matter). I'd also been doing my own hand sign for 'all done' when we're having meals, and she's started to do it pretty consistently now too when she's had enough. In addition, she can also say 'Doggie', or her interpretation of it which is more like 'do-do-do-do', but it's a word associated with a thing and she has connected the two. So I was partially correct in my assumption that her first word would have something to do with the dog, but relieved it isn't the string of obscenities that she has likely heard since she was a zygote. I really gotta stop that now.

While we're bragging here, her vocab includes 'Da-Da' pretty much all of the time that she is happy and only 'Ma-Ma' or 'Mmumumum' when she's pretty miserable or in desperate need of something, like a block she can't reach, a nap or some food. There is all kinds of other gobblydegook in her chatter now that are sounding more and more like mimics of real words and the fact that we're communicating on an interactive and meaningful level now just blows my mind.

In crafty news, I'm chugging away on my Babette blanket with renewed intensity and am nearing the home stretch. Very excited. I still think it's going to be too wee, but whatever. I'll just be pleased with myself to have finished what I started.

Until later...

Hoarding...

I watched this rather disturbing documentary last night about this Swiss film maker and his brother who had to contend with the contents of their mother's apartment after she had passed away. She ended up being a hoarder in her later life, and long story short, it took 7 dumpsters and four weeks just to clear out and clean up her flat. After that was finished, they had the vacation home in Greece to contend with, not to mention the 20-some odd cats that were congregated there as well. Then there were two storage lockers filled to brim. Yikes. Anyhow, it got me motivated to finally face the growing number of boxes that have migrated from the garage into my craft room that I told the constable that I would 'deal with later.' I don't want to end up being crazy cat/ 7 dumpster lady.

It was a sit down and plunk away at it kinda job, which is perfect for me in my present condition. The first garbage bag I filled was easy peasy...all stuff that I instantly knew I didn't want or need. Just accumulated stuff. The daunting part of the task was the first of two purple totes that I've been avoiding for not just months, but years. Years and years and years. I had carefully packed it's contents and thought to myself, 'There. I'll deal with that when I'm old.' Letters from friends long phased out of my life, notes passed in various school hallways, love letters from childhood sweethearts. This part was a little more difficult. These were all parts of me, parts of my life at one time. To keep or not to keep? That is the question.

But I found as I perused the seemingly endless pages of kindly written (and some, not so kindly) words was that, more than anything, I needed to make space. These things that I had been holding onto were good and great and wonderful in and of their time. Which has passed. So I winnowed. Considerably. That which is still relevant stayed. All else did not.

I think the funniest thing I re-discovered about my adolescent self was that I
wrote...a lot. I desperately wanted to be a writer back then. Somehow that just slipped quietly away. But there are volumes of random thoughts, (very deep ones mind you...wink) bad poetry and false starts at short stories. Some of it wasn't all that horrible either.

All of this was in my highschool notebooks. Gives you an indication as to how studious I was. I flipped through each trying to sift out any kernel or nugget worth keeping. I did end up keeping most of it. My most favourite find by far was the following.

Ya know when you're young and you're thinking about someone, you tend to write their name down? I was hurriedly flipping through one of my history notebooks looking to see if there was anything other than notes on medieval feudalism and my current last name happened to flash by. Which was a bit unusual, as I didn't posses it back in 1995. So I found the page. The date in the top right hand corner was Dec. 6, '95. Below that, written in large letters, was my first name, my middle initial, my maiden name. Below that, in equally large letters and a much fancier font was my husbands first name, middle initial, surname. We went to highschool together, but we never dated. Well, we had one sorta date, which I think was later than '95. We traveled in different circles. But on Dec. 6, I must've been thinking about him. Must've had a little crush, even back then. I had to show him. He thought that was pretty amusing. He strutted around for the rest of the afternoon. I don't even know how I knew his middle name back then. Anyway, it was fated I guess.


Debbie Bliss Cabled Tank Top in Debbie Bliss Baby Cashmerino in navy and white, sized 6 months-ish Started Jan. 5/09, finished Jan. 12/09.


Enough of the jibber-jabber. I finished another one of these DB Cabled Tanks, this time for miss Pinta and it's as cute the second time around as it was the first. I love this little thing. It's so adorable.



And here's what I might do with it...hehehe. Needs pants though.



What I am currently working on. Not so bad so far. I wanted to use my Tanis Buttercup for something baby, and this seemed like a good choice. I think the pattern calls for almost 400 yrds., which is what the yarn label states, so hopefully I'll have enough. It's nice and sunny and looking like a 6-9 month size or so. May I rave about the yarn again? It's wonderfully soft and stretchy. Great for baby knits methinks.

That's about it. Until later...

Useless Observation...

This may seem redundant, but the whole 'two sleeves at a time' thing is BRILLIANT! This is only the second time I've done it, and on baby sweaters, they're done in no time.

Here's the useless observation of the day; In the new issue of Interweave Knits, page 53, the Rowan Classic ad? The model in the short shorts has unshaven legs.

I'm not judging. I'm just saying that if it's acceptable enough for a (presumably) European model in a reputable magazine, then I shouldn't get hassled about it. That's all I'm sayin'.

That is all.

Until later...

Paper or Cotton? Or a clock?

I just remembered that today is my two year blogiversary. What is a traditional 2nd blogiversary gift? Also, we've been in our house officially one year today. Well, 'in' is a fairly loose term at this point, but we're getting close! Anyhoo, some milestones.

I know it's proper to conduct a contest on one's blogiversary but, uh, no. Not gonna. Thing is, I have no idea how I'd craft one or what it would be about or have to do with (though placing bets on a move in date into the house portion of our property would be quite fitting I think), nor do I know what I would give away as prizes. I have no stash worthy of giving away, and besides, if I did, I'm keeping it for myself!

So here's a little something for everyone. Just wanted to say a very heartfelt and sincere thanks to any and everyone who stops by, be it regularly or every so often to check in on what's going on in my little life. This blog thing greatly amuses me, and I hope it does the same for you. Hope y'all stick around for as long as I decide to.

To go along with that, a little random nonsense. I've been plagued with this for the last week or so. Every once in a while, I wake up with some ridiculous and obscure song that has bubbled up from deep within my subconscious. I share it with you now, hoping that will haunt you as it has haunted me. Clearly an indication that I started watching far too much television at far too young an age. Enjoy.


I had hoped to find the video intro to the show, but this was the best I could do.

Update: FOUND IT!



Until later...

Free Platter!

My morning rule is two cups of coffee before I even think about commencing normal daily activities, whatever they might be for the day. First cup is generally reserved for my innernet (intentional misspelling...cuz really, that's how we say it, inn't it?) rounds of blog reading and a quick glance at Ravelry. Can't stay too long there or nothing will ever get done. Second cup I reserve for knitting a bit. Instead, I'm blogging as I haven't stopped by in a while.

What I find rather amusing is how all of these new fangled activities find a niche in our lives. Blog reading, blog updating...something we think about and make time for. I continually assess my life and all of it's mundane activities for blog fodder. Case in point, I was eating supper the other night, Lipton Fettucine Alfredo Sidekick. Nearing the end of the sidedish, I noticed what a appeared to be a smiley face on one of the noodles. I actually stopped what I was doing to grab the camera, with the intention of posting it on my blog. Which means that I have now gone to that very scary bloggy place that I never wanted to go.


What I am about to talk about next isn't much better. It's the minutae of my life, and I have no earthly idea why even I find it interesting enough to talk about. I can't even imagine why you're interested in reading it. But the weird thing is, if I were reading your blog, I'd be all over it. The very nature of the personal blog I find facinating. I don't know who you are and we likely have only yarn in common, but being able to look in on a small part of your daily life is more interesting to me than the evening news. So here goes.



I ended up with a free platter the other day. I went to the grocery store to stock up on supplies for a potluck supper we were going to. I was obligated for dessert. I had decided upon mini cupcakes, cuz who doesn't love mini cupcakes? And you don't need a plate to eat them. So I picked up a mini cupcake tray (which was right next to a muffin TOP tray. Did you know that you can now only make the muffin tops? Stumpless muffins? Is this really how far the Seinfeldian universe has infiltrated our daily lives? Absolutely brilliant) and as I was browsing the isles, came across the outdoor serving ware isle. The aforementioned platter was there, in a variety of colours, for $2.99, marked down to $1.99. Even at $2.99, as this sticker will clearly tell you, it is a...



So with the aquisition of my mini muffin tray and my big plastic platter (and somehow a lettuce knife and an extra serving spoon and a storage magazine all hopped in the cart as well) I made my way to the checkout. Long story short, the platter rang in wrong, it was their fault, I was right, the little yellow sign said $1.99 and apparently, if they screw up, you get a free platter. I love when that happens. I love free shit.



Home I went to bake up 62 mini cupcakes (with big hunks of strawberry on top) and two apple crumble pies, all withThe Smiths Louder Than Bombs as my soundtrack, a more incongruous match I cannot think of. Baked goods and whiny 80's Brit-Pop. A lovely way to spend a Saturday.



Not to be forgotten in the update, Hank pooped in the constable's office on Friday evening. What started out as a quick pick up at the end of shift, turned into a unscheduled and surprising pit stop in the midst of a government building, much to the constable's dismay. The fact that he was leaving made it more hilarious, though those on the night shift would surely disagree. Though Hank is a big fan of stopping by the office for treats and attention, we're putting him on an undetermined hiatus for the time being. I'm sorry, but I'm still laughing about it.

On the needles, I've got my cabled cardigan with one sleeve and the button bands to finish, a Fleece Artist Somoko sock at the gusset and one very big year long WIP ALMOST FINISHED thanks to the selfless help of one of my fellow Knitterpudlians. I can scarcely believe that within days I will be nearing the finish line with this project. I can't discuss it more than in general terms...it's a super secret squirrel project that really isn't all that secret, but I am still trying to maintain an element of mystery about it for it's intended recipient. 'Nuff said.

Second cup is empty now. The day must officially begin.

Until later...

Oh What a Beautiful Morning...

Before I forget, Heddy has been very busy rustling up some contests. I entered a couple, one of which was over here. It's a St. Patrick's Day contest for knitters/spinners. Tell 'em I sent ya for an extra entry on my part, if you decide to stop by. Or you can mention Heddy, as that's where I heard it from.

That's really all I've got for today. Until later...

Deja Vu, All Over Again...

I'm home on a Saturday night, my own choice. I've had this hermitting instinct for the last couple of days. It happens, from time to time. I just want to stay home, curl up, be by myself. It works out well when the constable is on night shift. I get to pursue my alone time uninterrupted.

I have very little trouble keeping myself entertained most of the time. I knit, I read, I organize, I clean...it all amuses me. While doing all of this, I have the tv on, mostly for background noise. This evening, after organizing and doing a little cleaning, I've been curled up on the couch pouring over a slow cooker magazine, planning out a few recipes for the upcoming weeks.

Trying to find something decent on tv, with only basic cable mind you, on a Saturday night is always a challenge. I had the race on for a bit, the NASCAR Nationwide series. I enjoy watching racing, and it's really great for filling that background noice quota. You don't have to pay attention or follow along and the roar or the cars is a nice, constance hum. It put me out for a little catnap.

I was rudely awakened by a large snout to the face, and when I woke up, I actually felt like watching something. So I flicked around. I landed on the History channel, as they were showing a program I watched almost a year ago to the date, about the Shag Harbour UFO incident.

I distinctly remember sitting in my in-laws living room (as I lived with them for a time), with my MIL, watching this program last winter. The constable wasn't a constable yet, he was still in Regina at Depot and it was getting pretty close to the end. I was knitting the edging row of a scarf that I had started around the time that he left, in September. I started it with the intention of wearing it at his graduation.

I had bought the yarn at Value Village. It was a huge ball, very fuzzy, almost laceweight, bright red. And cheap! I'm still not too sure what it is, but the way it behaved when I was knitting it might suggest that if it isn't 100% mohair, it's definitely a mohair blend.

Anyhow, I wanted this scarf to be special. I wanted it to be long and intricate. I wanted it to take a long time to knit. I swatched. I measured. I did math. I picked a lace pattern that I thought would be quite pretty. And this is the finished product:



This was taken at the aforementioned grad, so I got it done in time. I have blogged about the scarf before. That night, almost one year ago, watching the same program, I gave the bind off edge a tug to try and ease a little of the tightness and broke the yarn and the stitches wide open. I froze and I think my MIL stopped breathing. I almost cried. Thankfully, it was only the edging stitches, which I had picked up, so they could be repaired without permanent damage to the rest of the scarf.

Anyhow, I just thought that this whole full circle moment was kind of neat. In watching the UFO program the first time, I knew by then that we were headed for Nova Scotia. The fact that Canada's biggest UFO case happened there only made it that much cooler! I never posted pic of the scarf, so now I have.

In other knitting news, I'm knitting socks. Which I really should be working on, as it's craptacular...again...outside and I've got nowhere else to be!

Until later...

Score!

The universe is a funny place. Last nite at Knit Nite, Heddy and I were chatting about the last time that the Yarn Harlot was in town and plotting how we could possible get her to come back to Halifax, since the new book tour will be underway shortly. For a neat little story and photo, hop on over to Heddy's blog and check it out. It was truly a serendipitous moment.

Funny story about that night; My mother in law came with me to see Mrs. Pearl-MacPhee and in turn showed my mom some photos when she got back home (they live in the same area, as my hubby and I grew up there...went to the same highschool, yadda yadda yadda...we're not highschool sweethearts, but we did go on one date...story for another time). Anyhow, I was talking with my mom a little while later and she was commenting on all the photos that my MIL had shown her and then she interjected this statement; "And I understand you went to see some sort of whore?" For a minute I was like, "WHAT?!" and then it hit me...she was talking about going to see the Yarn Harlot. I still laugh about that when I think of it.

Anyway...what was my point? I don't really remember. In any case, going to see the Yarn Harlot was a hoot and it ended up leading to being a part of my own little knitters group, which is awesome. I thought that the Knitting Out Loud bunch that were there that night were just the coolest kids on the block, since they were so well organized that they even had their own t-shirts! With a cool logo. And I really liked the name. Ever since Heddy organized our own little group here in Liverpool, I've been trying to think up a name for us. And I think I may have one. It struck me on the drive to work today. So, ladies, what do you think of this one;

Knitterpudlians.

I figured that since we're all agreed that 'knurled (sp?) knob' and 'downloading the uploader' were just funny things to say, you might get a kick out of that. Personally, I think it works.

Here's another reason why being part of a knitters group is perhaps the coolest thing on earth:



NovaKnitter had knit this as a gift, it ended up being too small, she couldn't find anyone to fit it and was, and I quote, going to throw it away. Gasp! I don't know if she meant literally or figurative, but still. Anyhow, she brought it to Knit Nite as I thought it might work for the constable. Turns out it works for me muuuuuch better! Totally free, hand knit sweater. You can't dispute that knitters are some of the most generous people in the world. I went and bought buttons for it today, which should take me all of five minutes to sew on as the sweater is already marked for where the buttons should go! You can't ask for a quicker project than that! Yahoo!

So in keeping with the scattered nature of this post, here's something that really grinds my gears:



I bought these oven proof bowls the other day, cuz I want to make some French onion soup and I found a recipe for it for my crock pot. They came cradled in cardboard packaging, which was fine. Until I found this:



It says 'Not for stove top or broiler use.' That's not what bothers me. What drives me berzerk is that it's a freakin' sticker! Could this not have been placed on the easily removable carboard packaging??? And it's not one of those easy to remove stickers either. It came off in little strips and I spent the better part of an hour scraping and scratching at the bottom of the bowls with my nails to get the sticker residue off. Sheesh.

Anyway...yeah. There you have it, the spillings from my mind for today. Perhaps tomorrow will be more coherent.

Until later...

PS: I have this feeling I've told that Yarn Harlot story about my mom before on the blog. All apologies if I'm starting to repeat myself!

Feeling Nostalgic...and a little ashamed...

I'm taking a great risk here by completely outing myself for having poor musical judgement and taste as a niave 11/12 year old. I'd like to blame it on the fact that my brain wasn't fully formed yet.

Anyhow, this one goes out to my former posse from the H.W. Burgess days. I won't shame you by naming you. You know who you are. Enjoy.

PS: Any of these dance moves remind you of a certain sixth grad talent show???!!

PPS: Hard to believe that I went from this directly to the Cure a year later. Pretty easy to pin-point exactly when puberty kicked in, huh.

A Thoroughly Modern Moment...

Actual conversation had by two married people yesterday morning at 7:30 am...both still sleeping.

*Cell phone going off in next room to the tune of 'Suck My Kiss' by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers*

Husband, awoken with a start, sleepy and confused: "Wha...what is that??"

Wife, awoken and ticked off at being such: "It's my cell phone." Turns over and attempts to go back to sleep. "No wait, it's your cell phone. Yours is the Chilli Peppers. Mine is the Beastie Boys."

True story.

7 More Things...

Okay, seven more random things about me...

1. My coffee cup is empty, and this is a tragedy. I doubt I can continue until this is remedied...needless to say, I have a bit of a coffee habit.

2. I used to be the biggest Cure fan that you can imagine. I had posters all over my room, made my own t-shirt from a centerfold poster out of some strange teeny-bopper magazine, worshipped Robert Smith like there was no tomorrow. Ever see that Southpark episode where Robert Smith was called in to defend the town from Mecca-Streisand? No? Well, at the end, one of the kids calls after Robert Smith as he's walking away into the sunset, "Disintegration was the best album ever!!" That's me. But, like all things from childhood, I've put that away. I think I'll go dust it off now that I'm talking about it.

3. I am deathly afraid of fish. Live or dead, but mostly dead, because that's when they're closest to me and I can't stand it. I can deal with spiders, crawly bugs, mice, awful disgusting cruddy dirt in my house; I can even reach down into a sink that's full of water and there is weird gunk collected in the drain stopper thingy and that doesn't bother me at all. But if there is a dried up fish carcass on the beach and I happen upon it, I freeze up with an irrational, paralysing fear. There was this commercial on the other night where this fish calls up this guy who is working on the weekend and the fish admonishes him for not taking the day off to go out and fish (which is totally odd and will eventually lead me to #4 on my list). That would be my worst nightmare, if a fish called me on the phone. And don't say I wouldn't know it was a fish, because I would. Also, I heard that some lakes were getting so polluted that fish were starting to evolve leg buds. LEG BUDS! That means legs, and that means they're coming out of the water. This simply cannot happen. I don't even eat fish, I hate them that much.

4. I'm bothered by commercials that profile self aware food, like I mentioned above. Like commercials that have cows who know that their milk will be chocolate or the chickens conspiring in the barn to get everyone to eat turkey...it just really bothers me. It's hard enough to eat this stuff when we know it's Frankenfood and probably not processed in the most safe manner, but now I have to contemplate the CONCIOUSNESS of my food? It's like the cow in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series (I believe it was Restaraunt at the end of the Universe) who comes up to the table and asks which part of him you would like. No thanks. Just gimme the product info and the straight goods on why I should buy your brand as oppossed to someone elses. That's really all I need to know.

5. When we first moved here, people told us that there were bears in the area. I didn't believe them. I thought they were pulling our leg cuz we were from 'away' or that maybe they meant that there were bears in the national parks and perhaps even evidence of them on the nature trails. I didn't believe in or worry about the presence of bears until my husband was on patrol one night, ON THE HIGHWAY mind you, and saw a bear just hanging out on the shoulder digging through someone's trash. Now I believe in bears. Bears, people, bears. Not that it's incredibly likely, but as I've seen deer in my backyard, the possibility of a BEAR isn't that far off. Bears are supposed to be small and cuddly, wearing a bow, possibly a small sweater and sitting on your bed to remind you of the Valentine's day when you got it as a gift. Not rummaging through your trash in the middle of the night.

6. I prefer Coke over Pepsi, but fully believe that drinking both, a lot, starting at a very young age right up through to my twenties directly contributed to a multitude of health issues.

7. This is sort of a cop out, but it's true...seven is my lucky and favourite number.

Fin...

Apparently, I'm it...

I've been tagged by Chicken Betty, so I guess I'm it.

This is how it goes, I think. I need to put seven random things about myself in my blog, as well as the names of seven other people whom I've tagged. Am I getting this right? I have no idea...lemme just go steal this from Betty's blog...

Each person tagged gives 7 random facts about themselves. Those tagged need to write in their blogs 7 facts, as well as the rules of the game. You need to tag seven others and list their names on your blog. You have to leave those you plan on tagging a note in their comments so they know that they have been tagged and need to read your blog.

Now, there is a problem here. I don't know seven people with blogs. I know, at best, three, including Betty. So I'm bending the rules to suit me, which is what I usually do with these things. Also, Betty stole a lot of good stuff that I could use. Seems we have a few things in common like bare feet and cheese.

Ok, here goes. Randomness...this is going to take forever.

1. Since I've arrived in Nova Scotia, I've been craving avacadoes, green olives and my nose won't stop running.

2. When I was way young, I wanted to be a boy, cuz boys could climb trees and throw really well and just generally seemed to have a lot more fun doing way more interesting stuff than playing house or with dolls, (which I also did and really loved). The closest I came to being a boy was wearing this t-shirt, almost like bicyclists wear (come to think of it, it did say BIKE on it) and when I wore that shirt, I could pretend I was a boy. I never did learn to climb a tree though.

3. I used to have an imaginary friend named Buddy. He was a stick mouse. That is, he was a mouse but if you asked me to draw a picture of him, he wouldn't have been a fleshed out mouse, he would have been drawn like a stick person. But a mouse. It's not that I couldn't really draw, that was actually how I pictured him. He drove a red Corvette and he had a million friends. Not a figure of speech, but actually a million. They were everywhere. My house was very busy with stick mice that only I could see. He could also expand or shrink down to whatever size I wanted. Like if I wanted him to be able to swim in my soup, then we was quite small. You get the idea. I also had this other imaginary friend named Aunt Oma (yes I know Oma is Dutch for Grandma...I don't know where the name came from). She was really really old and she looked like your stereotypical old woman, with white hair in a bun on top of her head, small glasses and all dressed in black for some reason. She lived in Toronto (where I did not live when I was young, but not terribly far from it). I used to pretend that I was going to visit her by sitting on the stairs of our house which was actually the bus. When my wee little psyche felt it was time that I let go of these friends, Buddy went to live with Aunt Oma in Toronto to take care of her, and I never saw him again. I wonder if they are still there...

Buddy...pretend you're five and it will make more sense

4. I used to be a voracious reader, almost to the point of being a book snob. I can't even remember the last time I finished an entire novel. It was likely when the last Harry Potter book came out.

5. My first memory of my husband was the day I got my drivers permit (we went to highschool together, though only went on one 'date' in highschool...that's another story). He was getting his license the same day. I was so excited to finally be able to drive that I was dancing around in the drivers seat of my mom's car while this guy was across the street in front of the Masonic Lodge where they issued licenses every Tues. and Thurs. laughing his ass off at me. Nothing much has really changed.

6. Of all the people that I miss from back home, I miss the dog the most. When I think about him, I get teary. He's a good deg. That's right, deg.

7. This last little while, I'm the happiest I've ever been.

So, if you stop by and read my blog, even if I don't know you, feel free to randomize yourself. Link back to me if you like. Or randomize yourself in the comments. This exercise is actually a little cathartic!

Until later...