Archives for the month of: October, 2008

Happy Halloween from Whimfield!

October 31, 08 //

Happy Halloween!

As I grow older, I just don’t know what to do about Halloween.

I really like and enjoy Halloween and dressing up. But it’s one of those holidays that creeps up on me slowly and finally arrives, at which point I think, “Oh! It’s Halloween already! I wish I’d thought to organize something to do..and something to wear!”

Well, maybe you already have something to do and something to wear, dear reader. If so, I commend you on your organization skills! I don’t know why I find it so difficult…but every year I never seem to get anything organized in time.

This year my Halloween events consisted of visiting a pumpkin patch, which was quite festive, I must admit.

But today I’ve done a little grocery shopping, during which I bought a small bag of Halloween Coffee Crisps. I worry that buying Halloween chocolate bars is as festive as I’m going to get today!

Oh, I miss being a kid and trick or treating!

What are your Halloween plans?

Squirrel in the Shed: When the Outdoors Comes Inside

October 30, 08 //

We were recently outside undertaking a major yard-cleanup. During the clean-up, I mistakenly left the door to the little shed wide-open for an hour or two.

Upon my return to the shed, movement in the shed’s corner scared the firewood right out of my hands.

I jumped back out of the shed, my arm-full of firewood strewn at my feet. From the shed’s doorway, I warily scanned the shed’s interior, looking for whatever beast might have made its home inside.

Soon enough, I spotted it. The unholy, ghastly, scary beast, who…turned out to be this little guy!

For a while, I tried to shoo the squirrel out of the shed. I was worried that I’d lock it inside, and it would perish without access to food, water, and other squirrel necessities like love and companionship.

I was almost ready to give up on shooing the squirrel out when the squirrel dived through a hole in the shed’s wall and escaped outside… This led me to realize that where there’s a way out, there’s a way in, too.

So there’s probably a squirrel and/or squirrel family living next to the croquet set in the little shed. But that’s okay, because look how cute he is!

Now, squirrels in the house–that would be a different story.

Wood Heat: A Girl and Boy’s Best Friend

October 28, 08 //

If you’ve been following our tribulations, you’ll know that the sighting of a wood-stove on our property is a good thing.

Yes, the long-awaited for wood-stove has arrived!

Once we received the call that our wood-stove had arrived at the dealership, we immediately dropped everything and drove to pick it up. It was almost a three-hour drive each way, but we were bopping and shrieking with glee the entire time. “Blaze King, Blaze King!“, we chanted for three hours–there and back.

At the store, Cameron and three other burly gentleman heaved our stove, the Blaze King Princess, into our trailer. And so we drove it home.

I wasn’t exactly sure how we were going to get the stove out of the trailer and into the house without the three other burly gentlemen. But I decided not to worry about that. Stage one was simply to get the stove on our property. We’d waited a long time for this moment, so I was happy to settle for stage one.

Soon enough, we were tackling stage two: getting the stove from the trailer, up the two-foot non-step step, and into the living room.

In true Cameron optimistic fashion, he figured that if we could move it an inch, we could move it all the way in. And we did!

Our tactic: Move the stove an inch. Stop. Re-evaluate.

Although it took a couple of hours, we moved it inside safely–without any damage to stoves or people.

Once in the living room, we tipped the stove on its side and attached the legs.

Um, here I am in the aforementioned crazy cat lady hat. It really is a nice hat, but it obviously doesn’t work with this outfit either.

Do not be alarmed. The little stove-booties were temporary.

Look, here’s our first fire!

Please join us in a collective sigh of relief.

PS: Here’s a “six-months later” update about our firewood consumption.

Have a Little Compassion for the Crazy Cat Lady in Your Life

October 27, 08 //

Silly folk that we are, my partner Cameron and I ejected our old wood-stove before we had our new wood-stove in our hands. This is a very silly thing to do when your wood-stove is your only source of heat.

Because the new wood-stove’s arrival was delayed and delayed and delayed some more, we’ve been trying to stay warm by any means possible: wearing toques and mittens and long johns and cuddling up for warmth.

Being cold has led to a variety of mishaps. The story that follows is the most recent misadventure.

It was morning. About 9:00am. I was freezing, and, in my attempts to get warm, I’d bundled up in a variety of strange clothes that I’d found laying around the house: Cameron’s large hooded sweatshirt, some crazy floral flannel pants, and a huge, fuzzy fuchsia mohair toque.

Now, the fuchsia toque that I speak of is actually quite chic. Paired with the right outfit and matching fuchsia scarf, it works. But paired with flannel pants and an over-sized hoodie, the toque turns a bad outfit into an outfit fit for a crazy person. Especially when one’s unkempt morning-hair is sticking out at all angles from beneath said toque.

But what did I care? I was cold, and I was alone in our house in the middle of the woods.

So, as mentioned, it was morning. I was sitting on the couch, listening to birds peck at the eaves on the outside of our house. I understand that the little starlings are trying to make a home in order to prepare for winter, but I simply cannot allow them to peck their way into the attic. Irritated, I finally decided that enough was enough. I needed to scare the birds away from the house. I headed towards the front hall–intending to open the front door and yell, in the highest of decibels, at the birds.

Walking briskly, I headed to the front door and flung it open in one fast, irritated motion. Poised high on the stoop to yell loudly in gibberish, I found myself face to face with the Maritime Electric meter reader, who’d come to read our meter. (The meter is located outside, directly next to the front door.)

Poor Mr. Maritime Electric looked young, handsome, and scared out of his wits.

“Oh!” I said, wearing my giant fuzzy toque and flannel pants. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I was just going to yell at the birds!” And I tried to flash him my cutest apologetic grin.

Now, let me tell you something about cute, apologetic grins. They don’t work if you’re dressed like a mad-hatter.

“You came to yell at the birds?” He asked, taking a step backwards.

I nodded, not sure how to explain myself.

By this time, I knew my silly grin was only making things worse.

I changed to a somber tactic and tried to explain, “I don’t normally wear these things, you see, it’s because of our heat, it’s…”

“Oh sure, sure.” He nodded vehemently, backing away a little further.

He was almost out of ear shot by now, and he turned quickly and jogged back to his company car.

I watched him go, wondering whether he’d even had a chance to read the meter.

Standing high on my front stoop as the strapping young meter reader fled our property, I found myself feeling a kindred camaraderie with all crazy cat ladies and spooky neighbours everywhere.

Perhaps crazy cat ladies are not really crazy. Perhaps they’re just terribly misunderstood: caught unawares during inopportune moments. Perhaps they’re just sweet ladies who are no longer able to rely on cute, apologetic smiles to explain their plight.

So the next time you encounter a crazy cat lady or a mad-looking woman in a fluffy fuchsia hat, I urge you to think twice before judging.

Love,
Resident Cat Lady

Contest: I Think I Can, I Think I Can

October 25, 08 //

During the past year, we left our city life and moved into the country. We have learned so much, and I’ve been amazed at what we–two untrained, able-bodied, average-sized people–have been able to accomplish.

When we realized our steep roof needed to be re-shingled, Cameron stated with conviction that we could do it ourselves. I, on the other hand, didn’t believe that we could do it. I truly thought that there was no possible way we could get up there by ourselves to accomplish such a feat. But we did.

Similarly, when we realized that we’d need a substantial amount of firewood to see us through the upcoming winter, Cameron stated with conviction that we’d be able to cut all the wood we needed from our own land. Similarly, I didn’t believe him.

Wood is our only heat source, so that means we need a lot of of firewood. We’re not lumberjacks, and I really couldn’t envision us being able to haul enough wood with our own hands.

Oh sure, I humoured him a little. When he’d talk about cutting wood, I’d smile tightly and say, “We’ll see what happens.” But inside my cold little heart, I figured that we’d end up buying most of our wood.

But once again, he proved me wrong.

Like anything else, it all started with baby steps.

There were the first few logs.

Then we started to get serious.

And Cameron’s skills with the chainsaw grew.

And day after day, the piles kept growing.

Until finally, we suddenly realized that we’d cut enough. It’s a pretty strange and magical feeling to realize that all your tiny trips and baby steps have taken you where you wanted to get to. Do you know what I mean?

I’d love it if you, dear reader, shared a related story. Leave any thoughts in the comment box below.

To help sweeten the pot, we’ll be randomly selecting a commenter from this entry to win another $25 Chapters gift card. More info about contest rules can be found here. The winner will be announced next Saturday.

Have you ever accomplished something you thought was near impossible, only to one day realize that…you’d done it?

[This contest is now closed. The winner was announced here.]

The Pumpkin Patch: A Lesson in Squash

October 23, 08 //

Pumpkin fields dot the landscape on Prince Edward Island.

It being near the end of October, we finally succumbed to the orange temptation. We pulled over to a you-pick/we pick pumpkin patch.

We already had a giant pumpkin on our stoop at home–a gift bestowed to us from two very special loved ones.

So we passed right by the pumpkins and made a bee-line to this marvelous spread of small squashes.

I was on a quest to select the most divine and intriguing of squashes. Here I am, getting serious.

After much discussion and inspection, we scooped up two little autumn wings and called them our own.

These little guys are incredible. Every one is different. Kind of like you and I and everybody else!

Frog in the Woods

October 17, 08 //

Today, I didn’t have time to write about the outdoors.

I didn’t have time to write about the outdoors because I was outdoors following a tiny frog all over our woods.

Indeed, this frog is why I simply cannot write about the outdoors today.

Moving Across the Country and Reinventing Yourself: It Worked for Me

October 13, 08 //

When we decided to move across the country, I was prepared for a lot of negatives. I didn’t know what to expect. I was afraid of the cold. We were leaving our families behind.

Oh, I knew there’d be positives, too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have done it! But one positive that I hadn’t given much thought to was being able to reinvent myself. Being able to shed all of those vestiges of teenage-hood.

I grew up in a small town. I’d had my fair share of popularity as an early teenager, which led me to high-school. In high-school, I found my social status slip from popular, to sort of popular, to “loser”, and, finally, to outcast. But I hadn’t thought that I’d adopted these statuses myself. I hadn’t felt like a “loser.” I hadn’t felt that “weird.” I’d thought I was pretty happy with myself and who I was. Even during high school, I tried to convince myself that I was above all that.

After graduation, I moved to a larger city and left my small town up-bringing behind. I asserted myself. I felt good about who I’d become.

But occasionally, I’d encounter someone from high school. Immediately, I’d revert back to who I used to be. I was someone that no one thought to stop and invite to…anything. I was someone that no one bothered to consider.

So when I’d encounter someone from high school, I’d walk in the other direction with averted eyes.

I thought I’d put it all behind me. But chance encounters with people who saw me as less than what I really was put me right back in that place–back in high school all over again.

Being here, in a new province 6000 kilometres away from all of that, has let me shed those feelings for good. I realize that I was afraid of failure. I was afraid to prove those people right. I was afraid that I was going to realize that they were right.

Sometimes I don’t realize how something was affecting me until I’m through it and on the other side.

I’m not an escapist. I didn’t leave to escape my past. But when I did leave, I shed all those old expectations and statuses that didn’t fit. I’m not sure exactly what it is. Maybe it’s just a part of growing up. Whatever the cause, I’m coming into my own. I’m no longer afraid to fail. I could yodel my dreams from a hilltop with no hesitation. I no longer care who might see me, defeated, chasing down broken dreams all over a hill-side. What do other peoples’ opinions have to do with me?

I’m taking risks. I’m taking more risks than I ever thought I would. I might succeed and I might fail. But I don’t care. I’m giving it my all, and it sure feels good.

En Route to a Meeting: A Mishap in the Woods

October 9, 08 //

My purse, portfolio, and crisp blazer were waiting neatly by the door.

My teeth were freshly brushed. My hair was clean, bouncy, and in perfect position. I had precisely twenty minutes before I had to leave the house for a meeting.

I was wearing my favourite high-heeled shoes. I had it all timed perfectly.

I passed a mirror and was pleased with my overall reflection.

Having recently transitioned from being a tight-skirt, sleek-haired-wearing city girl to a country bumpkin, I’ve become used to peering at my current reflection in the mirror and shaking my head. I’ve been wondering when exactly I made the slow transition from fashionista to mom-jean wearing hippy.

Sometimes, I miss the old glamorous me. So I was pleased to be well put together for once.

Wandering around the house, I began wondering when Cameron was going to come in from the woods. He was out cutting firewood on our property. He was due to come in any minute because I needed the car, which he was using to haul wood.

As the minutes began to tick by, I realized that perhaps I hadn’t exactly articulated my plans about when I needed to leave. (I have a bad habit of assuming that he knows what’s going on in my head, but, in reality, sometimes I neglect to actually speak the words out loud.)

As a few more minutes ticked by, I began to get a little nervous. Was he coming back? Had I even mentioned anything about my plans? I checked the clock. I had fifteen minutes before I had to leave. If he wasn’t back by now, I figured that he wasn’t coming at all.

I quickly assessed the options. Taxi? No, it would take eons for a taxi to even get here in the first place. Cancel? No, too late to cancel!

I took a look in the mirror and sighed a little sigh. I whipped my heels across the room and put on the closest gum-boots I could find: size-eleven, orange, steel-toed boots.

I started clomping my way through the back field in over-sized boots and a pin-striped skirt.

I wasn’t too worried. Cameron usually sticks close to home when cutting wood. I figured I’d find him at the end of the first field. I walked briskly, but I still thought I’d have time to find him, drive together back to the house, and get to the meeting on time.

After walking for about five minutes, I didn’t find him where I expected to. But I kept going.

After walking for another five minutes, I rounded a corner, expecting to find him there. Nope, no car, no sign of him.

This was not what I had expected. I’d expected a five minute walk. By now I’d been walking quickly for a good ten-plus minutes–with no sign of him.

By this time, I was half-way away from the house and half-way to the back of the property, so I figured I might as well just keep going.

So I started running in size eleven boots, a skirt, and once-perfect makeup.

Eventually, I came to a pile of freshly chopped wood. And then another pile. Still no car.

By now, my appearance was fading. I was running in giant boots through field and forest. The bugs were getting me, and I was all a-sweat.

I looked ahead of me. It was the swamp.

Tire tracks led straight through it.

I’d never known Cameron to cross the swamp in search of firewood, but, of course, he was bound to do it some time.

I frowned and began crossing the swamp. And by “crossing the swamp” I mean…walking directly through the swamp.

Eventually, at the very end of our property, I found him. He was cutting wood two kilometres away from our house. The poor soul was hard at work, and, when he turned toward me, he looked so happy to see me traipsing towards him–until he saw the look on my face.

We drove back to the house in silence. Disheveled and down-trodden, I looked out the window, catching my reflection in the glass.

The old glamorous me was gone again. The new me was back.

A Day in the Life at Whimfield These Days

October 7, 08 //

I’ve been really busy. I mean really, really busy.

I’m writing up the ying-yang and sending out pitches like I’ve never pitched before.

Look, here I am petting our neighbour’s dog whilst checking my phone messages. Is nothing sacred??

Our home is still a renovation mad-house, with exactly three square feet of clean space in which to live.

Here’s my work-station/dinner table/relaxation area:

I know. It’s not very ergonomic. (Mom, look away!)

But the worst part of it is that I don’t really have a desk or a spot to put any papers. Normally, I’m a relatively organized person–when it comes to paperwork, anyway.

But yesterday, I was heading out to a meeting and I could not for the life of me find my bright blue portfolio that carries integral items such as my resume/work/contracts in it. Of course, I didn’t realize that I didn’t know where the hell it was ’til three minutes before I was supposed to leave. So I was running around in heels on our gritty, construction-zone floors like a mad-woman, leaving wakes of fluttering papers and cookie tins in my wake. (I may have eaten a chocolate-chip cookie during the frenzy.)

Eventually, I hit that crucial point: do I keep looking or do I just leave without it? Knowing the thousands of nooks and crannies where it could be hiding, I just printed off a two-page resume and flew out the door.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Laura-Jane. Do you have any samples of your work?”

Ugh! I didn’t even try to make up an excuse. I just grinned and said, “Oh! No, I didn’t think to bring any!”

Today, I did inadvertently come across my bright blue portfolio. It was underneath a photo-album, which was underneath a giant mountain of clothes in our one tiny clean space–the bureau in the bedroom. (We don’t have any functional closets at this point.)

Amidst all my craziness, Cameron is keeping the house renovation going. By day, he’s in the crawlspace securing vapour-barrier and insulation. By night, he’s making tofu and writing code.

And remember when I was freaking out about the temperature and how we didn’t have a heat-source? Well, we still don’t have a heat-source, but it hasn’t been as cold this past week so we haven’t had to burrow under the quilts too frequently.

So yes, we’ve been busy. But it’s good busy. It’s the kind of busy that still allows for lazy mornings if we want to.

Must go!