Camp Erika

Camp Erika

There cannot be a personal history if I leave out describing the place where we have spent the majority of our holidays for the past thirty years.  This island on the Winnipeg River was where my mother-in-law grew up, the youngest of six siblings, born after her father drowned in the river.  I don’t know if it was accidental or not (HA!) but that’s a whole other story.  Her mother, a strong Swedish woman with lots of determination, obviously did not have an easy life.  She farmed there, raised cattle and pigs and somehow grew a huge garden amongst the rocks.   She died when W. was very young.  So his memories of this place go way back.  I came on the scene many years later, but I’ve learned to appreciate the island almost as much as he does.  The original house has of course been torn down, and W.’s dad built a great little cottage which has been continually upgraded over the years.  W. and his siblings spent entire summers there while they were growing up, and we never missed a summer holiday there when our kids were young.  It continues to be a big part of our lives, especially now that W.’s parents aren’t able to look after it anymore, and the responsibility has been passed on to us.  Eventually we want to move back there.  Not to live on the island, but to have easy access to it all year round.  Hopefully we’ll do it while we’re still able to enjoy it.

 

Here’s what it looks like coming across from the mainland. The little shack on the left is the gas house (the name a source of numerous jeuvenile jokes, where life jackets and fishing gear etc. are stored) and the building to the right is where the generator is housed.   Further to the right, not in the picture, there’s a playhouse.

This is coming up the hill.  Our next project is to build a screened in porch on the front deck so that people can sleep there.  It’s an incredibly beautiful, private, relaxing place to be.  The first summer I spent time there was when W. and I were living with his parents before we got married, and he taught me how to fish.  He tried once to teach me how to CLEAN fish, but I was smart enough to completely botch it up, and have never had to do it since.  Down behind the cottage there’s a big flat lawn, suitable for lawn darts, horse shoes and bocci ball.  And also a great place to pitch a tent.  To the left is more lawn, and then the spot where the original house was.  The flat rocks in the foreground used for the flower bed are from the old foundation.  To the right is the other 80% of the island – we only use a very small portion of it, but the remainder is great for hiking through the trees, picking blueberries, and lying on the flat rocks by the water in the sun.  We have an eagles nest at the far point, and a deer who comes every year to raise another fawn.  I suppose they swim back to the mainland when the baby is better able to fend for himself because they’re not there in the winter.  We had a black bear visit us once, but thankfully he didn’t care for the place.  There are loons and pelicans and snapping turtles and crayfish and gulls.  We have humming birds.  We used to have squirrels, but they haven’t been around for the past couple of years, and we assume the eagles are the reason why. 

And finally, a really old photo of W, his dad and his brother.  And the requisite number of fish.  Kind of a motely crew, aren’t they?  The picture also shows the view in the opposite direction, and how close we are to civilization, but no road access has its advantages.  If you don’t want visitors, you just don’t go across and pick them up!  So that’s the backdrop for a hundred camp stories.  I spent a lot of time there enebriated, and killed a lot of brain cells, so don’t expect anything brilliant. 

Holistic Haiku

Holistic Haiku

When I was little I decided one day to eat some dirt.  Just to get it over with.  I remember thinking that since life was full of all kinds of things you had to do that were unpleasant,  it was probably a good plan to do them as you thought of them, rather than let them all pile up and have a lot of them to do all at once.  So eating dirt was one I could get out of the way, and once it was done I would never have to concern myself with it again.  Pretty convoluted thinking for a little kid.  I remember it tasted pretty disgusting. 

Since I did my blog on the 98 things a woman should do in her lifetime, I cannot get it out of my head that I really need to write three haiku poems about my most amazing, horrible and baffling sexual experiences.  I draw the line at framing them for my ‘boudoir’ – even dirt eaters have their limits.   

So, here they are.

Amazing:

Down by the boat locks

Lost in eachother ’til dawn.

This is forever.

(Well, let’s face it, it’s pretty difficult to relate a very personal experience and have other people get it.  And being restricted to five-seven-five syllables it’s damned hard to fit in anything even remotely erotic.  When we went to school in St. Catharines, W. and I used to drive down to the canal and “watch the boats”.  This particular night I don’t remember if there were any ships going by or not.  But that was the night we knew it would last, and it WAS amazing.)

Horrible:

Sand chafes.  Too much beer.

Heart throb retches on the beach.

Bad scene, so screwed up.

(This goes way back to when I was an experimenting teenager, and I’m a little happier with the images it conjures up, although I seriously wanted to use the ‘f’ word.  To really emphasize that passion and puking don’t mix. So feel free to substitute it in the last line.  You know how they say your first time is so memorable?  I believe they’re right.)

Baffling:

Big talk, wants action.

So much hype for what goes down.

Think perhaps he’s gay.

(Well, I mean really, how else do you explain the sudden backing down and subsequent lack of interest in me.  There was no chemistry.  And he was such a nice guy too.)

OKAY!  I have satisfactorily gotten this haiku nonsense out of my system.  It is WAY harder than it looks and I am SO never attempting it again.  Unless there’s a choice between writing haiku and swallowing bugs, in which case I might reconsider.

98 Things…

April 21

98 Things A Woman Should Do In Her Lifetime

Today at Chapters I picked up this little book by Rebekah Shardy.  I had two very good reasons for doing so.  I have to go through Chapters when I leave the mall after getting my hair done, and I cannot possibly go through Chapters without buying something.  Okay, three reasons.  There’s just something irrisistable about a little four inch square book. 

Some of these 98 things I have already accomplished:

- go a month without shaving your legs  (only a month? hahaha….I am SO past that it isn’t even funny)

- invent a punch that will raise eyebrows and lower inhibitions (come to my house for Christmas.  You will not leave sober.)

- serve something flambe (YES!  I really did do that once!  No buildings burned down!)

- sing to a child.  (Even though it’s not ALWAYS appreciated.) (Rockabye Baby used to make my daughter sob…..”Don’t song mommy!”)

- tell Richard Simmons to just shut up and sit down ( not face to face but via the t.v., which is the next best thing)

These are the ones I really think would be worth trying:

- paint a mural of your imagined past lives (it would have to be a damned big piece of paper)

- teach someone, besides a child, to read

- be someone’s fairy godmother.  Wand optional.

- write an unauthorized biography of your family, including embarrassing photos, a tribute to the infamous black sheep, and favourite recipes.  (Except for the recipes, I could do that!)

- burn a cd with music you want played at your funeral:  baffle generations to come by including the rap song “I Like Big Butts”. (Sadly, I fear no one in my family would find that strange.)

- cry in the rain (If you have to cry, that would be the perfect place for it.)

- remember life is too short for ironing, non fat dairy creamer and regret of any kind.

- don’t indulge in one judgemental thought for an entire day.  Okay, an hour.  (Sigh)

- write three haiku poems about your most amazing, horrible and baffling sexual experiences and frame them for your boudoir.  (OMG.  If I can just keep the hysterical laughter under control for a sufficient length of time I’m sure there are great rewards to be reaped from such an endeavor.) 

There is no way in hell I’d ever attempt any of these:

-  stay in a convent for a week.  (What in the world for?  Would it be a test for me, or for them?)

- ride a motorcycle alone across the Nevada desert.  (WHY?  No good could possibly come of it.  Unless someone is trying to kill me.)

- learn to belly dance and integrate it into your lovemaking.  (Okay, this lady does not know my husband.  He already thinks I’m crazy – why add to his aresenal of proof?)

- design a picnic around aphrodisiacs – raw oysters, champagne, rose petal jam on chocolate fingers – then whisper in another’s ear the sensual images that passing clouds suggest.  (See the belly dancing comment above.  He would have me committed.)

And finally, these are all do-able and sound like harmless fun! 

Explore your inner pagan by creating your own seasonal rituals:

- at the spring equinox, detox with a juice fast, sauna, and deep muscle massage

- at the summer solstice, hire a manicurist to give pedicures to you and four friends while your pampered klatch sips mint juleps

- at the fall equinox, organize a black clad beatnik poetry reading with the themes of rain, dissolution, and romance

- at the winter solstice, plant a circle of globed candles in a snowdrift and make wishes every night until they burn out

What a great little book!  It also suggests you write an autobiography about the life you didn’t choose.  Gah.  I’m having trouble writing about the one I did choose, complete with my own 98 things I felt were important enough to do in my lifetime.  It’s just fun to see things from a new perspective. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to buy some castanets, and then I’m going to practice telepathy with my cat.

You’re never too old to learn stuff…..

April 19

Stuff I learned this weekend….

Whenever my grand daughter comes to stay, we try to teach eachother important things.  This time around, these are the things I learned, in random order.

-It is perfectly acceptable to wear your pyjamas and your jacket at the same time, as long as nobody takes your picture like that and you don’t go outside.

-The little boy next door is the luckiest boy in the world because he has two baby sisters.  (The little boy next door was not available for comment.)

-Police keep people safe, and veterinarians keep animals safe.  (And steer them away from a life of crime, I guess.  We didn’t get into it that deeply.)

-If your friend Kaitlin wants to borrow your best Barbie, you just say “no way, girl” and then she won’t ask you again.  Apparently being polite with Kaitlin just doesn’t work.

-The main difference between ordinary bunnies and the Easter bunny is the ability of the latter to hop on only its hind legs.  (And here I thought it was all about carrying a basket and wearing clothes.)

-Lions would go and get their hair styled if they could just find somebody who wasn’t scared of them.

-Pancakes are not made from animals.

The most fun we had was playing with her new pixel chix toys – two houses and a car so far.  I think the arsenal may increase, based on how much giggling they generate.

A Pixel Chix™ pal is full of humorous helpings of attitude. Keep her waiting, and a restless Pixel Chix™ pal reminds you with tapping feet and a well-timed ‘ahem.’ Send her to bed during the daytime, and she’s likely to say, ””I’m not tired” before sulking upstairs to her bedroom. Suggest that she play outside in her nightgown, and a Pixel Chix™ pal exclaims, ‘you want me to go outside in this?’

 http://www.pixelchix.com.au/

The more you play with them, the more levels you achieve, and the more stuff there is to do.  We made it up three levels in two days.  Pretty impressive button pushing.  It’s always sad when she goes home, but this time she took my Miami Beach Villa with her.  Sniff. 

Married With No Children

Married With No Children

We didn’t live in W.’s home town for very long before he was offered a job with the then provincial government Ministry of Natural Resources in Dryden and we moved there.  It was kind of sad to leave our first little house.  We had been living just down the street from one of W.’s aunts, and whenever we were hungry and waiting for the next pay cheque,  we’d go down to visit her – she always fed us, no matter what time of day.  When we moved to Dryden we were close to one of my aunts, and she fed us too.    Yes, we were a couple of moochers back then.  We weren’t making much money, and neither of us knew how to shop or cook.  It was all a big learning experience.  Add to that the fact that we got a whole lot of useless stuff for wedding presents and were too dumbfounded by a lot of them to consider returning them.  How many people can boast that they received a yellow and red kitchen clock in the shape of a chicken, or a pole lamp with big green and white tulip shaped shades?  Seriously, some of the gifts were hideous.  Who gives someone an orange clothes hamper?  Or a cookie jar covered in gaudy fake fruit?  Perhaps having heard that, you will understand why we were able to move away and take all of our belongings which either had some practical use or that we actually cared about in one car and one pick-up truck.  On our 90 mile drive to our new life the pole lamp went flying off the back of the truck and into the ditch on the side of the highway.   I just kept on going, but W. stopped to retrieve the damned thing, and it didn’t have a scratch on it.  We eventually gave it away to one of our friends who was silly enough to admire it.  haha – be warned - don’t say you like something if you don’t, unless you want to end up carting it home with you.

 We rented a basement appartment in Dryden from an older couple who were incredibly nice to us.  We had an old borrowed couch and a chair, an actual bed, access to our landlady’s laundry facilities, an old kitchen set that is now called ‘retro’ and which people would pay big bucks for, and the place came with a fridge and stove. We built some shelves using bricks and planks, and made candle holders from Mateuse wine bottles.  We hung up posters on our walls.  The very first thing we saved our money for was a stereo.  There were times when there weren’t even any crackers in our cupboards, but we had our music.  We didn’t even bother with a tv when we lived there.  Reception was crappy and there was nothing to watch.   Our entertainment was mainly get-togethers with friends.  These first couple of years were when it dawned on me how much of an outdoorsy type I had married.  And how much camera time I would be expected to share with fish.

Damn, I wish I still had those pants.  While W. was out tagging fish and bears for the ministry, I worked at Ella Lynn’s Dress Shop.  This is where I learned some social skills and tact.  You had to be truthful, but if a size 16 squeezed herself into a size 12 and felt she looked great, it was best to just agree with her. 

Those were fun times, with lots of parties and barbeques.  Even ice fishing can be fun if you’re with the right people.  But we got a little weary of being destitute most of the time.  I got tired of selling polyester pant suits to fat ladies.   If W. was going to get a permanent position in his field, he would have to return to University for his Masters degree.   We would have to get a student loan, and I would have to find a better paying  job.  So, we were soon off to residence numbers three and four, this time in Guelph, Ontario. Where it turned out to be a much bigger adventure than we imagined. 

Historical Photos

Historical Photos

Due to popular request (okay, it was only one request, but it was popular with me) I am going to post some funny pictures.   They are probably only funny to me, so consider yourself warned.  Okay.  Picture number one – prom queen.  I have a piece of unruly hair, but other than that look young and innocent.   As does my date.  He had a sad ending, I’m genuinely sorry to say, thrown from a horse when his two sons were very young.  At this age you just believe you’re going to live forever, but it ain’t necessarily so.  I have had considerably more luck in that department so far. 

Next, the wedding party from hell.  The church appears to be listing to the left.  Where is my brother?  His ushering duties were done by then.  Probably doing a beer store run.  Or maybe he’s the one taking the picture, listing to the left.

 

Here’s one of the ‘professional’ pictures of the shell shocked lot of us.  I had forgotten about W.’s ridiculous sideburns, his brother’s flying dutchman hair do, and the fact that Jim’s suit jacket was too small and he turned out to be too tall to fit into the photos.  My ringlets had started to seriously droop.  My brother is still missing.  How do you like those color choices?  Never been duplicated, as far as I know.

Although I have dug deep and long, I cannot come up with the picture of us with our parents.  I think I may have given copies to the parents, thinking they would be the only ones even remotely interested in having one, and I didn’t keep one for us.  Oh well, it lives on in my memory.  Here’s one of them at the church luncheon, sitting beneath the paper wedding bell of doom.   My parents are on the left, his on the right, and his little sister is beside his mom.  Its a pretty good shot of MIL’s famous hat. 

Here’s a close up at the church in which W. appears to be checking out how I smell, while simultaneoulsy showing off his dental work.  I’m smiling at the wrong camera. 

And here’s the “after” picture to go with that “before”.  We have now been partying for quite some time, and are dressed in our ‘going away’ outfits, although we never actually went anywhere.  My hair no longer has any semblance of style whatsoever, I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, and W.’s sideburns appear to have grown another inch.  He is still trying to determine if I smell okay.  Taken by the same person whose left leg was several inches shorter than his right.

I’m jumping to a x-mas picture with our almost grown children just to show you that MIL may have given up the cowboy hat, but she still has the shirt.   lol.  And our son’s xmas shorts are a mystery to all of us, so don’t ask.

This is a totally random picutre of me and my sister-in-law competing in the biggest white collar on earth contest, which she appears to have won.

And finally, a picture of the grandparents we have become with the babies when they were relatively new.  We, on the other hand, are relatively ancient.  I appologize for the irridescent eye shadow.  I have no idea what I was thinking.  If you are very young and cute right now, take a long hard look at this one, just so you know young and cute doesn’t last forever.  It gets passed on to the next generation.

Hope you enjoyed this brief leap through history.