woody the creeper

Getting ready to sit down to breakfast the other day when i happened to glance out the window and meet the unblinking gaze of the neighbor's dog. Wtf Woody? It freaked me out a bit. He just sat their staring at me. So I tried to call him over to me, and he wouldn't come. Then I sent Welli out to rouse him from his trance and Welli ran up to him with his tail wagging and kinda slowed down when he got closer and was like "dude, what is your deal." I could tell he was weirded out too. Eventually he trotted off to his cabin but man. Weirdest dog I've ever met. And I've met some weird dogs:

Atticus
Abbie
Lexie
Trixie
Wally
Lucy
Duc
Ranger
Talouse
Shilo

I could go on. Funny thing is most of those dogs are treeplanting dogs. 

Sugar Sasquatch

Ever since coming in from the wild the Sasquanch has been obsessed with clothes. I understand the allure to a certain extent... going so long without clothing must make him want to ensure it never happens again. But really, does one person need so much clothing? 

The only plus side to this (other than being on the arm of a snappy dresser) is he sometimes he sets me loose in a store with a couple hundred dollars to make himself feel better about splurging.

I was raised by a mom who was frugal to extremes. And a DUTCH step-dad. (Enough said?) Let's just say my wardrobe growing up was hand-me-downs, Biway, Good Will, and Wolco. 

Nothing wrong with this. There are certain things I will never spend a lot of money on. I still go to Walmart for underwear (Fruit of the Loom makes a nice boy short style I like). I will always buy cheap pjs (the last pair i purchased from Mark's was on clearout and cost me $10). 

Actually, if Sasquanch didn't have a say, I would probably still be shopping mainly at Value Village, but who is going to argue with someone who is encouraging you to spend money on your wardrobe? 

So yesterday I tried on an amazing cardigan/wrap sweater at a local shop. It had an orange sale sticker which I glanced at ever so briefly as I swooped the fine wool garment over my shoulders. I thought it said $24 and it didn't really matter because once I had it on I knew is was going home with me. It is a reversible  elegant purple/grey thigh duster of a silky, fine knit. Beautiful and flattering over jeans or tights, or anything really. 

Upon closer inspection I discovered it was knit of baby alpaca wool. And. AND! It wasn't $24 dollars. It was $240. ON SALE. 

And so I bought it. Partly out of spite. Partly as an experiment to see if it would irk Sasquanch at all. And mostly because I couldn't imagine not owning it.

Upon returning home he was PROUD of me! "Great purchase," he said. And now I am wondering how many garments I have enabled him to buy guiltlessly and for how long with this one splurge.

i bet you'll think it's about you

And it is.

I've been writing fiction lately. Doing what I like with people and places and events of my past. Twisting settings and conflicts and loves every which way. Reliving and creating.  

For example. In the summer of 2009 a man I was involved with came close to throwing hot tea at me. Stopped and glared and tried to scare me with the fact, he could have. I wasn't scared. I was too busy revelling in the freedom of no longer lying to myself. I was leaving him and he was angry, had the arrogance to believe he could tame and keep me forever. 

In fiction the tea gets thrown. Thank you for the dress rehearsal Mr. Gilbert Blythe, jilted lover, cheesy dresser who talks like a cowboy but is an east coaster. "I reckon" haha oh I am mean. For some reason it still irritates me. How someone is convinced their love alone is enough to sustain a relationship, when the other person involved has clearly stated their indifference. 

And this irritation stems also from my own sense of guilt for my own stake in this convincing. Had I not weaved myself into his family, learned his grandmother's recipe for cinnamon buns and sat and charmed his parents at so many weekly family dinners, and oh god spent an entire, all expenses paid week, on a yacht in the Bahamas with them. 

Out of so much awkwardness. Out of guilt. Out of uncomfortable pangs of nostalgia for someone I tried to love once and the failure of fate to fetter me to this simple capsule of an island and this tidy island family and this island nice guy who was so nice and knew he was so nice he couldn't compute my desire to leave. Out of all this emerges words on a page, chiseled and sculpted as I choose. 

I used him. Sure he let me. But I used him. And I am not finished.

i still read ya know

A few books I've read lately:
The Antagonist - Love
Friends like us - Like


A few books I half read (am still planning on finishing) lately:
The Joy Luck Club - Love
Taft - Love

A few books I want to read soon:
The Diviners - an old Love
168 Hours: You have more time than you think - I love self help books and am into trying to curb my time wasteages.

Tidy Sapling

I clean houses. Basically, I get paid to go the therapy. Yes, cleaning houses, especially the houses of others is therapeutic. Here's why:

-Exercise. Bending, stretching, climbing stairs, VACUUMING!
-Alone time to think
-Experiencing the transformation of dirty to clean...
-Dirt is one thing in life we can control.

There are two kinds of houses:

The minimalist. They don't have a lot of stuff and everything they own is functional, simple and beautiful. There are no pets and no children. When I clean here I NEVER have to take out the trash or clean a sink full of dishes before I clean the kitchen. 

The maximist. Chaos. Teenagers. Pets. Busy. Busy. Life. I spend most of my time getting down to the surfaces and barely have time to clean them. Dishes everywhere. Laundry in various stages of doneness. Garbages overflowing. Archeological kinda shit in pots and pans and forgotten backpacks. 

And then there are all the houses in between. But of the two extremes I can't decide which one I prefer. 

At the minimalist house I harbour the secret fear I am miking the house dirtier just by entering it. (I have a dog so I use a lint roller on my entire body, including and especially the bottom of my socks, before I enter the house.) One time ALL of my cleaning rags were covered in the dogs hair because my daughter got into the cupboard and threw my rags on the floor. It drove me insane and I had to vacuum every surface I wiped. If all goes well, I am in and out of this house in a few hours. It is the same routine every time and so becomes easier and quicker. When I leave the house is pretty much the same as when I arrived, immaculate, except now it's immaculate with a bit of a shine.

At the maximist house it is always a surprise. Will I spend the next three hours climbing mount laundry or will I discover a new form of penicillin? When I get there I take the garbage bag from the kitchen and speed around the house picking up refuse wherever I go. Then I tackle the bathroom and the kitchen and I barely have time to vacuum floors and get them scrubbed and four hours have passed. I could spend a week in this house and still have stuff to do. But after a few hours of my time, the house looks completely different. The occupants come home they say AHHHHHHHH, for one second. And then they get back to life and back to keeping me employed.

I dislike winter. There.

Trying to be positive and write clearly thought out blog posts is making me mute. So here are a few half thoughts.

1. Cloud Atlas the movie made me swear off meat. (Reasons being the mass production of animals just for our consumption is something I have a hard time ignoring). A few times in my life I've been on a highway and passed a truck filled with live pigs. Plus the idea of forcing animals to eat their own selves to fatten them up for us to eat.... repulses me. Cannibalism. Horrifying. I should read the book. Game meat is different. I would eat it. But still this is hypocritical because I would never shoot anything unless my life or someone else's was in danger. I think.

2. Working at Starbucks. Why is it so enjoyable? Is it the constant stream of free drinks? Is it the constant stream of people to watch? Is it the camaraderie with fellow baristas? Is it the smugness of knowing I am in control of the sanity of a great many people in this town... police, medics, veterinarians, politicians... here's your coffee and a psychotic (not even ironic or forced) smile..

3. Night has eaten up the day. I'm cold. It is dark for too long.

4. Why doesn't Canada own a warm island somewhere? Oh. Because everyone would live there and we need people here to mine and drill and chop down trees. right. and there aren't enough mexicans to do everything.

5. "So you got mountains? That don't impress me much."

6. How many times did I utter the word Yukon before living here? 1 in grade 4 geography class? Yeah. Once. I don't like this place compared to pretty much every other place I've been in Canada. And I've  been everywhere else except NWT and NFL. But there are jobs here. A good life for our family. 3 months of decent weather.