Friday, February 3, 2017

Oh - hey

Yeah. Um... the ship went down. I'm not without injury or loss but I'm treading water and somehow think I'll be okay.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Dear mom...

I know it's a common theme for parents to want better for their children- hell, I feel the same regarding Kitten- but it is no longer your place to decide what's good enough for me. Feel however you want, that's yours, but I'm having a tough time with having it foisted upon me. I'm sorry that you don't feel that I'm growing fast enough. I'm sorry my life isn't as you want it to be- that I'm not coming to your conclusions (or that I may be, but not fast enough). I'm seeing even more clearly that it's about the journey and I hate to tell you this but I may never reach the outcome that you want for me. You see, you want what's best for me but you see "best" through the filter of your own story. You want for me the outcome you wish you'd had, and that just wouldn't be right for me. It's not personal! I'm not punishing you by traveling my road any more than I was punishing you when I weaned before you were ready! Please mom, take your heartbreak and own it! Stop blaming us because until you do, you can't nurture anything more than the "injustice" that feeds you!

And I am mortally tired of not being good enough.

Monday, June 11, 2012


The ship is sinking and I'm being asked whether I'm going down with it.  I don't know how to answer...

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

It can always get worse...

Okay.  So, I haven't been writing because I've been really broken, lately.  With the violent collapse of the business, I didn't have much left in me for writing. 

Since my last post, Wolf has begun a new adventure which requires us to work more than full-time hours with no pay, yet.  Kitten works in the same place, one day/week, and is the only one of us with a pay cheque.  We have 2 additional people living in the house (to help with rent, haha), neither of whom have pay cheques.  This work also makes it really difficult for me to draw (I've got something going on in my joints/tendons which has resulted in constant pain and numbness from my shoulders to my fingers) and Wolf's ankles are degenerating at a visible rate from being on his feet over 70 hrs/week.
Yup, things are pretty dire.  And yet, every morning the sun rises.  Time just keeps going.  The world is not ending (even though it feels like it is) and that means there are still options.

I'm looking and open to possibilities.  I'm available Sundays from 4pm and Mondays until whatever time can get me to the bus stop by 3:05pm.  

Saturday, April 14, 2012

All the way, then back again...


I have been writing, just not here.  I have windows live writer - or some such equivalent - which holds more entries than this one (even though it looks the same and publishes to this one with and internet connection and the push of a button).

First, let's do a short-form, catch-up:
Kitten's 14, has a different boyfriend who both Wolf and I love, is taller than me and still brings more sunshine into my world than anything; I finally cut my hair... to my shoulders (haha haha) but have yet to do anything even remotely funky; we've burned through another business (since my last news-y post) and I'm done with those, now.  I don't have the constitution for dealing with contractors or big construction companies... and I'm done with being the little guy, because the little guy can't do anything when the big guy refuses to pay, steals your tools, finally returns some of them when threatened with police action, but returns them with cut cords and missing parts and screws where screws have no right to be... Y'know, if that kind of thing happened in real life.  (Yup.  It kinda makes a person go into hiding from everything/one that she legally can.)

So, now that I can see the dismal end of that particular adventure I'm ready to turn my face into the sun.  I haven't felt warmth for long enough that it feels like the memory of a movie viewed in childhood.  Feels like.  Bear with me.  I'm dozy.  

And I'm drawing again.  That was the point of this entry. I'm not only just drawing but people are asking me about prices and I have one commission in the works, with 2-4 more in possibility-land!  Whoa, hey?!

Friday, December 16, 2011

Darkness falls…

It’s one of those Twilight Zone afternoons.  The fog is thick enough, beyond the trees, to make me question the existence of a world beyond.  (Am I removed from space and time, trapped in a finite universe, away from all that once was?)  Quiet and eerie, the air casts a violet haze over all I see.  Even the Christmas lights seem out of place, their cheer failing to reach beyond the gloom.

Darkness comes early these days; quick enough that you can watch it fall if you’re patient.  I can’t watch, though.  I’m uncomfortable with this moment.  All I can do is glance up now and again, sometimes to be pulled into the heaviness. 

On nights like this, dusk has a soul and it isn’t peaceful.  Eerie gives way to sinister as dusk approaches. It comes, creeping, slithering down our streets and onto lawns, searching for… what, I do not know.  Shade with no sunlight, it travels on the wheels of fear and desolation. 

The heaviness thickens, coagulating into a sickening sense of terror and despair – the screaming wail that waits just below the breastbone for one more second.


Then, as dusk deepens past twilight, the air loses its menace.  The street light pours out an amber glow over the neighbourhood and - just like that – it’s simply night time.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Change... but not too quickly

Our kitchen has an island, which in many homes equates extra counter space.  It's an area which some families might use for meal preparation, baking - for whatever normal people use an extra expanse of counter.  In our home, the island is where our junk congregates.  Mail and newspapers, wrappers, receipts and various bits of paper gather to bask in the glory of our many, hydro-sucking pot lights.  Last week, I decided to tackle the piles of debris in a long overdue attempt at creating order-without (y'know, because they say that's the first step to order-within).

The standard tidy-up routine consists of sorting each piece of crap into new piles according to owner.  Wolf's, Kitten's, Mom's, the landlord's and garbage.  I took my crap and Wolf's crap to our room and put Kitten's crap outside her bedroom door (where it would stay for several more days) and had in my hand a bunch of crap for the garbage.  As I made my way back across the living room, I became hyper aware of one item in my hand.  It was a piece of Pale green paper, folded many times so it resembled a flattened tube.  I'm a chronic checker (let me just make sure I have my keys... for the third time) which means I cannot throw anything out without first reading it.  What if it's important?  I unfolded the paper - a 4" square sheet of origami paper, coloured only on one side - and held in my hands one of the sweetest and slightly-less-innocent-than-I-would-have-liked love note.  It was signed, in cursive, by the young man who enlivened our home for two and a half days, three weeks ago.

I took a few days to panic and obsess about it before I told Kitten we had to chat.  I told her that I'd used variations of a particular parental quip on many occasions but that I had to amend it.  In the past, I've said, "You know you can talk to me about anything?" and "I want you to talk to me about whatever!"  This time, I said, "Communication is imperative.  I need you to talk to me and you need me to talk to you.  Because the only other option is for me to assume."  I don't like being blindsided.  It tends to tweak my anxiety and I get a bit crazy.  The chat ended up being more of a mom-ologue (which I tend to be completely blind to, in the moment).  

When Wolf arrived home, I brought the whole thing to him.  Typical man, he said, "So, what did she tell you?"  Allow me to take this moment to look sheepish.

He called Kitten.  She arrived with her typical, "Yes, Daddy?"  and the conversation truly began.

Wolf:  Mom showed me the note.
Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-I'm-trying-to-look-innocent look)
Wolf:  Is [he] your boyfriend?
Kitten: Yes.
Me:  What does that mean?
Kitten:  (deer-in-headlights-what-the-hell-are-you-asking-me look)
Wolf:  Since when?
Kitten:  Since I was eight.
Wolf:  Have you kissed him?
Kitten:  No.
Wolf:  Have you kissed any boys?
Kitten:  Only you, Dad. 
Me:  So what does boyfriend/girlfriend mean to you?
Kitten:  We hold hands.
Me:  (relief)
Wolf:  Good.

It was a decent conversation.  She's at the tail end of twelve and while there's a huge, screaming part of me that insists she's too young to be using the word boyfriend, I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.  She was born into a family which boasts stubborn strength of conviction, for good or for ill.  She will do what she will do out from under our watchful eyes*.

I spent a few more days lamenting the death of my 'baby girl' ("If drama was money, I'd be a millionaire" - Kitten) and then it snowed.
Due to recent extremely dire financial straits and a kid who doesn't complain, Kitten needed footwear.  She's worn her runners folded at the heel almost since the day she got them. As a result, pinchy-toes have never been an issue.  Snow is and there was no way I was letting her play in the snow with her heels hanging out of the backs of her shoes.  So, Kitten got her first pair of grown up winter boots.  She loved them so much she put them on at the till. 

We had one more stop before heading home and I parked in a snow drift.  Kitten leaped out of the truck as soon as Wolf had cleared the door.  Off she tromped through the parking lot bent on trying out her new boots.

I watched her, independent and self assured, with my heart heavy.  And then... I smiled.  There was my daughter, a breath away from thirteen, climbing the biggest pile of snow in the lot.  She thew her hands into the air and crowed her success at the mountain's summit.  And she's still my Kitten.

  *which means she must stay under our watchful eyes until we're confident in her strength of character!