tick tock

I know I recently wrote a post similar to this, but, whatever, it’s become some kind of theme in my life and it’s my blog.

Time. I don’t know why we’re always straining ahead trying to beat time. There’s so much pressure to do everything this instant. Don’t waste time. We don't have time. Clock in, clock out. What happened to taking our time? To having free time? To not being rushed and savoring the moment.

I’ve been experimenting with time. Dabbling in long stretches of time doing very little. It’s tough to do. Not because it’s impossible, but because of my storehouse of guilt that I carry around with me. I’ve been raised to keep moving, keep doing, and never stop. It’s the Mennonite mantra. (If you know anything about being raised by Mennonites you’ll get this. Oh, and no, the Mennonites I know don’t have a horse and buggy as their main source of transportation and wear their hair in long, thick braids. They look just like you and me.) It is guilt that prevents me from enjoying time too much.

I like purpose and form to my day. I thrive in that kind of environment. My kids, especially, benefit from that kind of environment. But, somewhere in me lives a wanderer…someone who wants to do nothing…play away the hours until the sun sets into the moon. But, the guilt is there, a sentinel keeping watch over my wasting precious time. It’s casting long shadows with lists the length of my arm and one more thing I could do. I'm trying to get the lists out of the way to prepare time. To make way for it so I can settle into it like a comfy, worn couch. As I’ve been dabbling and experimenting, trying on time, turning this way and that to see how it fits I’ve seen that it suits me. It works to not have plans jammed into every void in my week. It wears nicely to wake up and not know what the day holds for me. Anxiety starts to creep in when my calendar is full. This week is one of those weeks. It’s alright. I’ll find spaces in my calendar soon. I’ll make sure there is.

Time is precious and I want to be able to waste it, use it, stretch it and savor it the way I want to.







In Villages Antique Mall in Fort Langley
There are thousands of finds in this place. It is completely packed. Every corner is filled with plates, cups, chairs, scary looking dolls, wardrobes, and anything else you can think of that’s old. My kids and I love this place and it is a great way to waste time around here.

born on the 4th of july

I always wanted a girl. Or was it that I knew I was going to have a girl? As soon as I found out I was pregnant I was sure fingers crossed wished on stars prayers prayed it was a girl.

My first visit to my doctor after my very first ultrasound ended in tears. I wasn’t expecting a strand of the cord to be missing (whatever that meant) or an abnormality of the baby’s heart or a head that was measuring too large. I knew what it implied, but I didn’t know how it applied to me. Before I was sent to BC Children’s for a round of tests and another ultrasound I was comforted by three words that circled my worried head. Happy, healthy baby. Happy, healthy baby. Three words that I wrapped myself around until my visit to the hospital.

Every fear was undone on that list I was given. Peace came when there was a third strand visible in the cord (whatever that meant), the heart needed whatever it was that appeared as an abnormality and the head measured just fine. In fact, the doctor said, “It looks a little like yours,” pointing to me. Ummm...was he saying I have a big head?

I was sick with nausea through my entire pregnancy. Well, I had one month of reprieve, but that was all I was getting. Happy, healthy baby would drift in and out of my mind when I was told there was too little fluid around the baby; your baby is measuring too small and on and on it went. Doubt swirled around this baby before it even got a chance to breathe outside of me and I wondered what kind of person she…it was going to be a she…would grow up to be.

Annie Elizabeth was born on America’s Independence Day. She’s named after my dear, sweet friend, Elizabeth Anne, who passed away in that car crash 11 years ago. The beauty and magic of Betty lives on through her loved ones, through her name and in memories where time stands still for me. When Annie came into this world she was my redemption. Her feet, her unmarred skin, her body and her strength were my own. She was a gift. My daughter.

Annie is inquisitive. She is curious. She is restless. She never stops – not when I carried her for nine months and not now six years later. She wants to be a ballet teacher or a gymnastics teacher or a paleontologist – in that order. She has lofty plans to live in the city when she grows up. She does not like glitterbugs (litterbugs) and she loves thunderstorms. Doubt may have clouded who Annie was before she came into the world, but there isn’t a trace of that today. She knows who she is. Even at this age she knows. And my hope, my desire is that this is a truth she will always carry with her – that deep, deep down no matter what happens she will hold fast to her heart. Her sure, free from abnormalities, beating heart.

My bean, my babycakes…you are my best girl.







In Annie

This is one of my favorite photos taken by Stace when Annie was three years old.

musts

Having coffee each morning is a must. I am completely addicted to that first cup of coffee. My day doesn’t truly begin until I push the button to start my coffee maker, until I hear the whir of beans being ground, and I froth the milk in my mug to begin the process of making a cappuccino.

We have a lot of musts in life. Coffee is one of mine. Another is attempting some quiet in the morning. That will be a much easier thing to fulfill now that school is on hiatus. A clean bathroom, kids’ hair combed before we leave the house and some sort of treat to compliment my coffee (of course) are more musts. Another must that has been developed over the last twenty years or so has been commitment to a journey. The journey of self-discovery, of moving on or forward, of exploring something new, of letting go…there is always a journey to be had as tired as I can get of that word it’s one of the best words to describe what we do. We – being humans. I have yet to meet a person that doesn't keep going. We try something new. We unearth what brings us life. We find where we fit. We don’t give up too easily. Not without a fight.

I wonder what it is that compels us to keep going. Is it simply in our nature? Is it the hope…the promise of something better? Is it boredom? Is it something outside ourselves that draws us forward…some kind of wish fulfillment…a thrill to seek…the desire for change. Do we continually evolve wanting to make ourselves better people? Truer versions of ourselves? The more we journey the more ourselves we become or is it that we keep changing and we have to catch up with ourselves to resolve that change? To reconcile ourselves to the change until we understand it, therefore making ourselves more complete?

Have I lost you yet?

Another must. Questions. I can’t seem to stop asking.

I have talked about the journey a lot here. It’s an understatement, I know. The journey is a must for me because it’s about the search, the hunt. Like some animal instinct I have to go after whatever could be within my grasp and, like a human, go after something that is just beyond it.







In altar boyz
A whole bunch of us went to see this Off Broadway show that came to Vancouver. It’s playing at the Arts Club Theatre in Granville Island. I LOVED it! This is how it’s described on their website.

Watch out 'N Sync, the Altar Boyz are coming to town! Matthew, Mark, Luke, Juan, and Abraham-the gefilte fish out of water-can sing and dance with the best of them, and these heartthrobs want to praise the Lord with funk and rhyme. With lyrics like "Girl, you make me wanna wait" and "Jesus called me on my cell phone" this irreverent (but never mean-spirited) musical-comedy will wash your soul clean with laughter.

It’s very, very funny and completely worth spending the money on. These guys put on a great show.

lost in time

I can get very lost in my own world and, don’t tell anyone, but I really like it. Like when I get completely and wholly absorbed in a book that I can barely tear myself away from. I do because I have to, but I am counting down the minutes until I get to pick up that book again. I tune out the responsibilities that aren’t immediate and I tack a list to the back of my mind that I’ll get to later. I like being out of touch with the rest of the world for a while. I like being disconnected. Just me and my bubble. Until, of course, I have to break it to address the panic at the back of my mind. I can’t live in a bubble forever.

I wonder if more of us could use some disconnect from the outside just for a little while to regroup and remember what it’s like to spend time with ourselves. To be good to our mental health. I used to go for walks often. I would walk for the sake of being alone, to notice how the light fell through the trees and to breathe. Feel the sun on my face. Feel the earth beneath my feet (sort of). To get lost in a moment or an hour and let the routine slide away. Over the last two years walking has become too task oriented. It’s about the destination and I’ve forgotten about the light through the trees.

It’s not about hiding or shirking responsibility, but about taking comfort in my thoughts, scattered or otherwise, and my aloneness. There’s not much of a bubble to be had when you’re pulled every which way, but I can still carve out a space for myself where it doesn’t have to be filled with the next thing to do. There can just be time without knowing how to spend it.





In those damn Twilight books
I told myself I was not going to jump on the Twilight bandwagon. I thought, No, not me. It’s not going to happen to me. And then Quesnel happened and Scott’s aunt had every book in the series and I could borrow them if I wanted to. Well, I started reading Saturday night after the wedding we attended and it’s what…Thursday now and I’m halfway through the final book, Breaking Dawn (which I’m not feelin’ by the way). I’m a little embarrassed that I fell so hard so fast. I wasn’t going to be one of the many, many women that got hooked on books about a vampire and a teenage girl, but I did. So, I’m reluctantly, head hung low swept up in these damn books.