Forty by Forty (40x40): Day 21 - my closet

Today, in the world of the world's most boring 40x40 countdown, I decided to tackle my bedroom closet (my side of it). Fortunately, I knew what I was in for. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time I'd completed this "organizing" task.

Over the past two years, things have "slid" around my house. Unable to do as much as I'd like and unmotivated to do what I can, "things" have just been put where there is a space. In attempt to control my clutter, I've been ridding our house of as many horizontal surfaces as possible. However, I'm SO good at amassing clutter, that I've found ways to be cluttered in vertical positions too.

I've also completely repurposed rooms in our house just so it can contain my clutter in an seemingly organized fashion (that's really a joke but the bed in the photo studio may tell otherwise)...

Want to see my shame?


And before anyone asks, the paper plates stuck to the walls are actually reading aids for TroubleMaker. We were reading by flashlight and he'd have to find the word on the wall. He moved out a month ago (to his own room) and I've not taken them down... As I mentioned, things have slid a lil' bit around here.

Over the years, I've blogged about getting organized a lot. Like a lot, a lot. I've done a couple (three?) different organizing challenges (52 Weeks & 29 Day) and it always goes well enough. I completely understand the process and I'm really good at it (check out this and this and this) but as time passes, my interest wanes and my stick-to-it-ness disappears and then I'm right back where I started.

'Cept this time, The Org Junkie (the guru of all things organized) isn't hosting an organizing challenge so I must go it alone (I'd use a Star Wars reference about Luke & Yoda but I really don't know anything about the movies).


First, I emptied everything out of the closet.



Then I went through everything. Happily, I purged several pairs of pants that had grown too big for me. I tossed out several pairs of dress pants that I've had for more than 10 years and haven't actually worn in at least 4 years. Then I rehung what I'd kept, washed a few items (again that haven't been worn but one must always have at least one pair of dress pants and a blouse or two). I cleaned out the five purses I own (I used to only have one purse - it did everything I needed it to do, then I discovered Grace Adele and now I own four purses, 5 clutches and two wallets). I then put my boot supports in my most awesome boots and folded all my purty sweaters.




Now it is done and I'm the happy owner of a very tidy closet.

Forty by Forty (40x40) - Day 33

First and most important lesson learned today: I cannot count. Counting backwards was never really my "thing" and I realized today, that I've somehow managed to get mixed up but I'm back on track and I've been doing things daily (or delegating) so it's all going to work out in the end.

Today was a delegation day... I enlisted my super awesome, couldn't do it without her, Mother, to help me. My plan had been to do a cupboard today - my spice cupboard. Which I superbly organized while participating in an organizational challenge a few years ago but it's recently fallen on hard, mixed up times. So it got gutted, cleaned and reorganized all by my wonderful mother while my hunny and I spent an hour at Registries sorting out the how and why of registering a motorhome once the Registry office creates the registry incorrectly.

I also gave confidence to two Mommy friends who have apparent bathing suit complexes, cheered on eight very enthusiastic soccer players, made a kick-ass dinner and even crocheted a lil' something (serious, it's only little - I just did three rounds).  I figure that's a good list of accomplishments for today and will still only count all this awesome as just "one" thing.

What kind of awesome did you create today? This life is a journey and I think we should all try to be as awesome as we can each and every day - not just a certain number of days prior to a certain milestone. So go, be awesome and enjoy this thing called life.

Forty by Forty (40x40) - Day 36

First, some housekeeping...

I'm tossing the order of my "list" out the window. Turning 40 is liberating in the sense that I'm now getting to the age where two things are happening:
1. Things I remember like yesterday are becoming "vintage" (as I learned the other day, 1989 (the year), is now considered as such)
2. I can do whatever the hell I want!

The newest member of our family

Day 36 - today... Since my list is still my list and the order is being juggled like balls at a carnival, I've decided today is the day to buy an RV. Technically speaking, Monday was the day (we signed the final paperwork) and Thursday is the day we take possession so Wednesday seemed like a good time to share our news.

I've spent the past (nearly) two years cooped up in the house (well, in a manner of speaking) and since I'm not getting any younger and things (health wise) aren't about to change drastically any time soon, we, as a family, decided it was probably time we start "living" and for me, that's been a really important step to beginning to accept the my new reality. We've purchased one of those ridiculous reclining lawn chairs (zero gravity type) and with my super neck pillow, I figure it'll be just as awesome as my (ugly but comfy) recliner at home.


Different walls, different trees and a different place will be good for me. Different is good and I'm looking forward to getting back to something I've always loved doing! Our first trip is planned and we're looking forward to it.

Forty by Forty (40x40) - Day 39

So... Today's task was to sign my organ donor card. Doesn't sound like a big deal, does it? But it kind of is because I'm basically saying that when I die, they can take all the parts of me they want to use. Moreover, I might be able to actually help someone live!

That's really kind of awesome and since I have no religious affiliations (or attachments to my body), I say USE ALL OF ME.

 Did you know in any given year, there are approximately 4500 people waiting for an organ transplant? Did you also know that Canada has one of the lowest rates of organ donation in the world? And guess what, you can donate when you are ALIVE!!!

 Just some more quick stats for you... The biggest needed organ? Kidney - which you can be a living donor for. Number of people who died while waiting for organ donation (in 2012)? 256. What can one organ donor potentially do? Save as many as eight lives! A little weirded out by the idea of donating a part of yourself when you die? Donate blood NOW - it's considered the gift of life, takes about an hour of your time and they give you juice and a cookie when you're done!



I signed the back of my Alberta Health Care Card and made sure my husband knows what I wish to have happen when I die. That's really all I have to do! If you want to be a living donor, there are links via a map here.


PS It was very kindly pointed out to me that yesterday, I posted five things on my list and stated I would update next week. Apparently, next week is 7 days so why was I posting 5 things I'd do over 7 days... So, to please the one who will be donating my organs, here, again, are the SEVEN things I will be doing...

1. Finish & share my 40x40 list!
2. Sign my organ donor card!
3. Make a duct tape wallet for TroubleMaker (aka Brennan, who, with each year, outgrows his toddler moniker)
4. Store away our winter clothing & footwear
5. Make a kid summer "bucket list"!
6. Clean out my beside table (I live so dangerously)
7. Clean out my closet

Forty by Forty (40x40) - Day 40

In 40 days, I turn 40 years old. Although I'm not especially bothered by turning 40 (if any birthday was hard, it was either #18 or #39), I kind of thought it'd be fun to try and do 40 things (a thing a day) on and before the 'big day'. I'm going to send my thirties off in as big a style as I can...

So what will I strive to do? Well, I can't travel too much (my ability to drive has been impeded) and I won't be doing anything crazy (like bungee jumping or skydiving) so in the grand scheme of awesome, it may only register as a “6” - perhaps even just a “5” - but it'll be my 5 and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.

You can follow along here on Barefoot Deliberations or find me on Instagram or Twitter. I will also be posting publicly on Facebook (I will specifically open up the 40x40 Facebook status updates and will Tweet  links to them). The notable exception is the one item which stipulates "24 hours with no Facebook, Instagram or Twitter". I likely will still blog about it though - not totally decided!

Here, in a not yet determined order, are the first five things of the 40 things I aim to complete...

1. Finish & share my 40x40 list!
2. Sign my organ donor card!
3. Make a duct tape wallet for TroubleMaker (aka Brennan, who, with each year, outgrows his toddler moniker)
4. Store away our winter clothing & footwear
5. Make a kid summer "bucket list"!

Exciting, I know! Can't you just wait to follow along? Each Wednesday, I'll post the next five things on my list.

Get out and VOTE! Civic Elections 2013

I'm passionate about politics and especially passionate about my right to vote. I've done my "go vote" thing on Facebook and I'm further encouraging my friends and family by writing this!

Today is Civic Election Day across my province. I voted. In fact, I was the 10th person to vote at my polling station this morning. As we got ready to take TroubleMaker to school, I explained that we were voting after dropped him off - that's why were driving to school. Being the inquisitive kid he is, he asked why?

Which brought out my inner suffragette.

"Did you know that less than 100 years ago, Mommy wouldn't have been allowed to vote in any election?" I said, making grand gestures (I'm part French, we talk with our hands).  "Also, when my Grandma was your age, he Mom couldn't vote either!" I said again, swooping my arm for effect.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because women weren't considered 'persons'!"

"What does that mean?" he questioned.

"It means that women weren't considered to be people like you and your daddy are." I smiled.

I think he found this most perplexing - of course I'm a "person" like he is! Of course I should have the right to vote, like he can (or will, when he turns 18)! 

Want to know what is alarming? 

Edmonton, my city of residence, has about 619, 138 eligible voters across 12 wards (districts). In our last civic election, only 199, 359 people voted. That means only 33% of eligible voters exercised their right!

What!? Only one third of the people who could vote, did? How is that even possible? How could people be that apathetic? Especially women! 

Listen folks, I know about voter apathy. I don't like our member of parliament and every election since moving to this riding, I go out and vote. And every time, he gets reelected. By a landslide majority. My vote truly does not count. At all. But I vote - because I can, because the women who came before me who fought relentlessly so I had the right!

So what are you doing today? Did you vote? Do you vote - even if you know your vote won't "really" count towards the change you'd like to see? Do you believe that not voting speaks more loudly?

Move home and let Mom sort it out

There have been very few (if any) days in my adult life where I thought moving home and letting my Mom take care of everything was a good idea.

Today, I believe this may be the best solution (not really, kind of).

Being a parent is hard. Being a grown up is hard. Having to cook 300 days a year is hard (I'm allowing for a lot of take-out/restaurant meals). Cleaning the house is hard (because it just keeps getting dirty). Cleaning windows is hard. Home maintenance is hard. Working is hard.

I want to be that kid that spends hours in the basement playing "Office" with my siblings. I want to be the kid who plays endlessly in the dirt surrounding our acreage with my brother's Tonka trucks and the homemade trucks my Grandpa made us. I want to play Barbies with my sister. I want to write stories. I want to come home from school and have my Mom smiling with homemade cookies for a snack the yummy smell of dinner cooking in the oven.

I'll even weed the garden and spend 3/4 of the summer shelling peas. Oh, how we spent our summers shelling peas (and taking the ends of green beans and picking raspberries and digging carrots and dusting the cauliflower and broccoli with toxins to kill bugs). Heck, I'll even take my elderly Grandmother shopping every single Saturday (without complaint) and I promise I won't die of embarrassment  when she farts in every isle.

I want fresh sheets on my beds, clean laundry in my drawers and a hug from my Mom telling me tomorrow would be a better day. My life wasn't a Normal Rockwell painting but there are days now where I reflect on my childhood with longing and desire. I was always in such a hurry to grow up that now that I have, I think young me was a total moron. Being a grown up is damn hard and it isn't nearly as much fun as I expected it to be.

Sure, I have a job (sort of) and it pays well and I can buy "things" I want but I can't buy everything I want because, you know, I have to eat (and feed my own little TroubleMaker) and make house payments and pay bills and save for TroubleMaker's university education. I can't bunk off my responsibilities and because I'm not independently wealthy, I've actually travelled less as an adult then I did as a teenager.

Then one has to factor in the whole "getting old" stuff. How things hurt now that didn't before and how the ground keeps getting further and further away from me (and it's not because I'm growing taller). My neck and back are aching and my sight and hearing's fading for crying out loud - this grown up thing is stupid.

Seriously, it's not really that bad but I'm certainly willing to go to my Mom's for a few days and just lay on her couch and let her serve take care of me.

My Favourite Things: Sunday Mornings

As I sit in the eerily still and quiet house on this Sunday morning, I'm reminded of one of my most favourite things...

Sunday mornings. It's the only time of the week (save for holiday Monday's or Christmas) where the entire neighbourhood falls silent. I awake to hear birds chirping their morning songs, the odd rustle of feathers as the magpies settle on the rooftop and the gentle breaths of my little boy sleeping snugly beside me. Not far off in the kitchen, I hear my lovely fur-son, Max, rearrange his old weary bones in his crate and sometimes, I hear the soft snores of my husband.

No one is zipping off to work or school or the store for milk. No one is yelling or honking their horns on our street as they try to hurry up those the pick up for work. There are no roaring engines as they race up our street trying to beat traffic by cutting through our neighbourhood.

I lay still in my bed, listening to the sounds around me - the sounds of a world still sleeping and I feel peace.

Home is where the heart is. Or isn't.

I will apologize firstly to my friends and family before I continue this post. What I'm about to share are simply my thoughts and memories of growing up where I did. I'm sure it's a lovely town now (it's increased it population by over 13 000 people since I lived there). My time there, like most kids who reflect on their home towns, was more like purgatory.

Yesterday, it would appear, my "home town" was featured on "Today In America", hosted football legend, Terry Bradshaw (of the United States' National Football League).

I was born in Edmonton and moved west when I was three. We lived a little further west initially, finally settling about 20 minutes west of Stony Plain in 1979. So, technically, we didn't live in town, but Stony was our nearest town and it's where we went to school.

I started grade one in Stony Plain and dropped out of high school, twice, from the town's only high school. In all fairness, I dropped out of school from the high school in the adjacent town/city too. School, at this point, wasn't "my thing" - due in large part to the lack of options, extra curricular activities and restrictive programming. A small town high school can only offer so much - we had one language option and because I had no math by grade 11, I was "removed" from music because the math class I needed was offered at the same time (and was only offered once during the year). Music was my thing - losing that removed all my interest in school. I went through the motions for a year and a half before packing it in permanently.

It was a town with a population of just over 2700 when we moved to the area (the Wiki on it has a higher population) but I clearly and positively remember the sign to town saying "Population 3500". By junior high, all the charm of the small town was done. As a teen, there was nothing to do.

Well, that's not totally true - there were things to do - none of them really positive for a young teenage girl (or boy, for that matter). Bush parties, drinking, casual relationships, drugs. Unless you count the annual fair that came to town every June - but it always ended in the same four things.

Because my parents (occasionally) read my blog, I won't bore you with details but one thing became evidently clear to me as I prepared to move away from Stony Plain: I would never, ever, EVER raise my children in a small town. Ever. I moved away in early 1994 and haven't looked back.

To see the town painted in with an picturesque brush - portraying it as a perfect place to raise a family, start a business or visit, honestly, nauseated me. Worse still - seeing the people I grew up with share it with pride on Facebook - saying how it will always be home.

It will never be home to me. The person I was then doesn't exist anymore. The town I always felt held me back, no longer has any hold over me. It's a fart on a map, something I drive around and don't really thing about. When pressed, I will reluctantly admit I grew up there but usually, I just say I'm from Edmonton. And although I'm not always really happy with living here, it is certainly a far cry better than Dog Rump Creek.

My life, my heart and my home follows me - it's not where I've been. Stony Plain may be where I lived for a time, but it certainly is not my home.

Talking Tuesday: discovering self

I've decided, as part of my "40 by 40", I should blog more. Part of my lack of bloggy goodness has to do with the fact I have no idea what I'm doing or where I'm going. I have so many ideas in my tiny little head that it's really, really hard to focus on one specific thing.

I keep reading to 'blog about something you're passionate about' - frankly, I'm passionate about a whole bunch of things but I keep trying to pigeon hole myself into something specific that's readable, doable and appealing to others.

As 40 approaches, I've decided I don't care about convention. I started this blog out of desperation: I'd started a new job I absolutely detested and I *hoped* it would be a means to an end so I could quit and finally resume my role as a SAHM. I knew nothing about blogging but I was so desperate to be a stay at home mom, I would have sold my soul. Life had other plans: TroubleMaker is five and a half and I still work full time (the notable exception has been the past year as I've been on medical leave). I'm tired of trying to fit some mould of what I should be.

After all, isn't that what 40 is about? Realizing you don't owe anything to anyone and you start really figuring out who you are? That's always been my impression, even if I've spent the past 20 years trying to be 'me'. I don't feel I've ever fully given myself permission and I certainly didn't believe I would have the support of my family, friends or society. Now, I'm not sure I care so much. I'm not trying to impress anyone and I really only care about what those who share the house with me think (of me) and that I can look at myself and be proud of who I am. I want my son to see the strong, dedicated, hard working, passionate woman I think/hope I am. My husband supports me - always, regardless of what I may think, say or do (the only whim he will no longer follow is my desire to be a vegetarian (again)). Max, my dog, thinks I'm totally awesome - especially if I have food.

Barefoot Deliberations is me - in print form. I've not always done a really good job at reflecting that - because I've been caught up in the machine - but I'd like to be more true to myself. I've written some good things here (and some not good and some mediocre) but that is who I am. I can't be any more or any less - especially if I'm not being true to myself.

I like talking design, politics and current events. I love writing and talking and sharing the things I've learned. Naturally, I have reservations (because my life has been complex and not always great and I know some of my family and friends read me regularly (Hi Friends and Family)) so I have to temper some of my propensity to "share" because I am not an island and I can't be anonymous. This is my method of expressing myself and I'm kind of done trying to fit a mould. It keeps me in a box and doesn't let who I am shine through.

Going forward, you may see posts about me, food, design, crafts, family, politics, current events, things that get under my skin, reviews (of stuff I really like and have happened upon on my own), organizing, life and anything else that strikes my fancy. Of course, I'd like everyone to read me and think I'm wonderful and awesome and oh so amazing, but if you don't, that's okay too because it isn't a popularity contest and I can only be me.

The last hours of my 38th year...

Tomorrow, I will turn 39. As I've said for months, tomorrow, I will FINALLY be the age my husband was when I met him (15 yrs ago). This means I am now 'officially', old. I don't have age hangups, 39 is a number. The fact I remember both my mother's and father's 39th and 40th birthday causes me to pause but otherwise, I'm okay with it.

My niece and my Mom came in today to celebrate my birthday and I suspect my "E" (my nickname for my niece) and TroubleMaker are planning my party for tomorrow. They were working my studio part of the afternoon and evening making 'stuff'. I'm excited!

I'm not doing anything exciting tonight in preparation for turning 39 but I've been giving a lot of thought to what I want the next year to look like. Forty is half way to death so I think I should probably get my act together and figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.

I want to be more of a humanitarian; I want to do nice things for people and for the world! I'm not sure where to start so I should probably make a plan (and break it down into smaller chunks).

I don't want to turn 40 and still be 'unhealthy'; I'm happy with my body, don't get me wrong (I could lose a few dozen pounds), but I don't want to have to 1. shop in exclusive plus size stores or 2. get winded chasing my kid around the park.

I don't know if I could come up with a '40 before 40' list - not sure there are actually 40 (doable) things before I turn 40. Many of the lists I've seen other bloggers do start 10+ years in advance of their 40th birthdays. I've always been ahead of the curve so I'm sure I can complete this (probably not) before next year. Seriously though, I've got memory issues so I'll likely forget this plan by next Tuesday.

What was I talking about?

Thursday and other such ramblings...

I've got four posts in 'draft' (or can it still be draught?) but I'm too chicken to post two of them and the other two aren't done so today, I shall babble incessantly about nothing. Or maybe about something; I don't really know yet.

Let's talk Twitter first. I joined a while ago (like a month or two) and was initially trying to figure out exactly what it's purpose is. Although I'm not quite sure I know, you can follow me, if you so desire, it's kind of interesting to know what people are doing day to day, minute by minute - especially since so many people have a much more interesting life than I do (it feeds my voyeuristic tendencies - no, mothers of mine, I'm not 'weird' like that, I mean in a 'watch E news kind of way'). It kind of feels like a high school popularity contest and that bothers the crap out of me. I part because we're all adults, right? Yet, we find (as adults) new and even more tortuous ways to perpetuate the childish games we should have left behind. Or maybe that's just me and the coffee talking.

Here is me: Brennan's Mom

If you follow me, I'd love to follow you back and we can be Twitterpated with one another (again, not in a 'weird' way)!

What else should I talk about? Hmmmm...

I have a birthday coming up (Saturday) and although I typically keep my birthday low key and quiet (which is weird, because on the inside, I'd love skywriting and surprise parties and big announcements on the radio), this year I know my son wants to plan a party (yay! he's just like me when it comes to celebrating things). It got me thinking about presents...

Since 2005, my husband and I haven't exchanged gifts. It may have started before that, I'm old (and getting older) and I don't remember quite as well as I used too. Since TroubleMaker was born, we allow him to get us something at Christmas (we still don't exchange gifts) and sometimes birthdays. Typically, I have no idea what I want - because I don't really need anything.

This year, I've come up with a list of 8 things. In no particular order, they are:
1. Popcorn maker (Brennan got me one at Christmas and it always ran rough -  about a month ago, it died completely)
2. Ice cream maker (This isn't a need but a want - because in the summer, I see the BEST homemade ice cream recipes)
3. Drum kit (my husband says 'over his dead body' and did not find it hilarious when I said it could be arranged - I was, of course, joking - but he's really serious - eventually, our house will have one, don't worry)
4. Saxophone (I played for years but never owned my own. I'd love to take it up again and want one!)
5. Swimming pool (this is ridiculous request that will never be fulfilled unless it's another 5' kiddie pool)
6. Perfume (usually, I get this for Mother's Day - but I'm running low on the (only) one I wear)
7. Electric guitar & amp (again, I've played for years but my ex-partner sold mine (almost) 20 years ago)
8. Microphone (so I can sing and maybe start recording some of the stuff I've written lately)

I feel totally selfish and greedy for having a list so long. It's almost embarrassing.

But not as embarrassing as my 21st birthday when either my ex-partner or my (horrible) ex-step monster arranged for a 'surprise' at the restaurant when we were all out celebrating my birthday. I was 'forced, cajoled, coerced' into standing on the table while the restaurant patrons and staff sang me happy birthday. I've never forgiven anyone for perpetrating that and it is my only memory of that birthday.

In other news, I'm in the process (the long, tedious, frustrating, time consuming process) of editing my story. A month or so ago, I printed it off (I'm best at editing that way) and made changes, fixed, ect. As I blogged about before, I procrastinated my keister off. I designed the house the family lives in (three storey, obscenely big), wrote my outline (most of it), answered questions that were kind of open ended about the story and have begun the character biographies (most of this was a means to an end - my memory is terrible and I couldn't keep my facts straight - all of this was my way of being a continuity director). I am also now wrestling with the idea of letting my husband read it. He's read a couple other things I've written and he liked them (one he really liked). This (story) is totally different than the other two pieces but I've got to start somewhere and he said he'd be nice with his criticism.

Lakeside - nearly the same spot - August 2012

Lakeside - July 2012

I'm also thinking about doing one of those lists - you know, the ones that allow you to quickly add up how inadequate you are at life? The 30 by 30 type thing, but of course, mine would be '40 by 40' (since I'm turning 39). I do not know, however, if I'm prepared to set myself up like that. I mean, my list would be simple but with my continued health issues, climbing Mount Edith Cavell (the back trail - see the link below - the glacier calved almost a year ago taking out part of the parking lot, road and creating a new 'creek' in the former creek bed - the pic of Brennan and his Pépére was take a mere 14 days before the collapse - we saw a large part calf the day were were there - it was a sight to see) or hiking to the top of Whistler's Mountain may be next to impossible. Although in my defense, last summer, we were with in 100' of the top of Whister's Mountain but we were all just too out of shape to continue in the high winds and chilly conditions (excuses, excuses).

I really like talking, in case you hadn't realized it, and sometimes, I just need to blab about nothing and not be deep or meaningful or insightful (okay, I have never actually been any of 'those' things on this blog but I think about it often because I am unique but I haven't found 'my voice' yet because I'm not sure exactly what direction I want my life to go in).

But this is the end of this little ditty (there could be more but I try not to swear too much).

Mount Edith Cavell - Ghost Glacier collapse

For fun - here are some pictures from Mount Edith from our trip and similar angles captured by Parks staff after the Ghost Glacier fell off the mountainside.

Lake side - before (July 2012)

Lake side - after (August 2012)

PS Sorry for the really, really bad text wrap - Blogger is being a cow today and I can't get anything to work!

Today's Stress: haircuts

Most people who know me have come to learn I have a very serious dislike of getting my hair done. I hate the idea of spending hours making chit-chat with someone I have nothing in common with, I hate the idea of having to take time to do it and I hate the fact it never, ever comes out as I expect.

In the past (almost) 10 years, I've burned through half a dozen salons. I go through phases where I don't care about the grey in my hair, the split ends or the fact I wear it up ALL THE TIME. Since last summer, it's excruciatingly painful to flat iron my very curly, very unruly hair so I don't, unless it's a very special occasion.

But it's too long again and it needs a cut. And a style. And a colour. I really like the idea of the finished product, it's getting there that's the problem. I'm introverted and I find it painful to go in and say "I want x, y, z done, please." I know it sounds stupid but it's my phobia and I own it. It is also the primary reason I've spent the majority of my life (since I was 13 years old) cutting my own hair.

But I can't cut it now so I have to go elsewhere. The length is annoying because I have to put it up at night (braid) but that means pain. My husband offered to learn to braid it for me, but that just seems cruel and another task on his already unending list of 'things to do'.

*sigh*

Total first world problems and I own that too. I just hate the stress and anxiety I feel over doing it. It's dumb, I know, and I will at the very least get it cut today (at one of the 'walk-in' places) but I'd really like to feel 'pretty' when I walk out and I got the idea in my head I should colour my hair. I have a 'year before a big' birthday in a couple weeks and although the idea of turning 40 doesn't really bother me, the idea that I'm OLD does.

I'm really a very complicated person. Or perhaps, more accurately, I'm just a person who makes simple things complex.

Edited to add I just booked in at an Ultracuts after the first four salons couldn't accommodate me. I certainly hope I don't live to regret this...

The Power of Music (my thank you to the Northern Pikes)

Years ago I read about the ability for music to heal; whether it be from depression or physical illness, I understood the connection between the two. In my teens, as a young, amateur musician, I felt the importance of that when dealing with my own issues. What I've come to realize in the past ten months is that music can also be a measure of the physical level of healing – from a basic biological healing to a more immeasurable brain/body connection.

Shyly snapped picture

In early August 2012, I learned my favourite band, the Northern Pikes, were set to play a small theatre in a suburb of Edmonton in early 2013. Feeling nostalgic, I immediately bought two great seats and started to flip through their catalogue of music. 

My happy thoughts of nostalgia were soon to be redirected inward as later in the month, I lost most of the use and strength in my right hand and arm due to a degenerative and rheumatic condition in my neck. The pain was extreme and my usual active life was reduced to almost nothing. House bound and in continual pain, my demeanor changed (enter FrankenB!tch), my health deteriorated and I found myself off work and facing another spinal surgery. Depression set in quickly and I was angry and hostile more frequently than I'd like to admit.

By Christmas, I'd began to lose feeling in my feet and the pain and weakness spread to my left hand and arm. Even more dejected and no closer to getting a surgery date, I settled in for a long, painful wait.

The man I'd leave my husband for (haha?)

February rolled around and we nearly forgot about the concert. Thankfully, I received an email reminder and we set about trying to decide if we should even go. The idea of spending a couple hours locked in a chair didn't seem like something I was ready to undertake! In the end, we hired a sitter – had the sitter cancel the morning of and again faced the decision of whether or not we should go. Mid morning, we decided and arranged for our niece to come and off we went!

As show time arrived, I sat in the audience mesmerized by just the instruments on the stage. The lights dimmed and my heard pounded. I grabbed my husband and I felt like a seventeen year old kid transported back in time to February 1991 when I saw the Pikes in concert the first time. When the boys walked out on the stage, I grabbed my husband, again, and professed my undying love for Bryan Potvin. The pain was erased, my body felt new and I was in the happiest head space I'd been in for six months.

Sitting in the little theatre, hearing the band play all the amazing songs they recorded, hearing them banter with one another and the audience changed my outlook and mindset. I knew as the concert drew to a close that I could survive this, I could get better, I could and would get past this health problem. The months of nothingness, depression and the loss of interest in everything had taken their tole but seeing the band I'd loved, admired and fawned over during my teen years spurred me forward in ways I never expected.

I came home energized and renewed. I dug out all my Northern Pikes CD's, ordered one I didn't have, got Bryan's solo work and even downloaded my first Itunes music (It's Good Life is not an easy CD to find – for under $100, that is)! Putting all the music in regular rotation, I started meditating to it, letting my imagination wander during the workouts I did with my physio therapist and letting my imagination again run free during my many sleepless nights.

Bass playing genius

All that beautiful music brought my creativity to life and I started writing again, something I'd not done in nearly twenty years (the obvious exception being my blog writing). In thirty two days, I'd completed my first novel length story (another first, although I'd written many, many stories in my youth, I'd never finished one) and had started on a second story.

It was about then I also decided to pick up my guitar – and this really is what the whole point of this tale is.

I'd played tons of music when I was younger, writing my own songs, playing in small bands – music was my life. As it does, life changed, I changed and my music took a back burner, eventually becoming a non-existent part of my life. In 2008, my husband bought me a new guitar and I started playing again. Due to many reasons, I didn't play much, but after the concert, hearing the music, I knew I needed to pick it up again.

Initially, my sessions were five minutes long, it's all I could manage as the pain was constant. Each day, for five or ten minutes, I played. Strumming the seven chords I could remember. Playing scales, playing bits of songs I remembered learning twenty years before.

The months of pain medications, neural inhibitors coupled with the weakness and loss of use of my arms, left me feeling clumsy and uncoordinated. 

A Google search found me the (sheet) music for Hopes Go Astray and I started playing along (fudging the Bm chord because it's not one of my seven). My playing was marred with missed chord changes, dropped (guitar) picks and muscle spasms that left me two lines behind but I tried and tried and by the week before my surgery date, I could play all the way through, although my strum patterns were often erratic and out of sync and I rarely finished the song with my pick in my hand.

On May 6, 2013, I had an anterior cervical discectomy and fusion at C5 to C7. This surgery was to erase all the problems of the past nine months. It was to get me off the meds that scrambled my brain, it was to restore my life, get me back to work, get me feeling and behaving like me. Two weeks post op and I wasn't feel particularly optimistic about the success of the surgery. The pain remained, the lack of coordination seemed ever present, the headaches hadn't dissipated, the loss of feeling hadn't gone away.

Best Canadian rock band - EVER

Feeling discouraged, I sat down after seeing my husband and son off on a bike ride and stared at my guitar. Did I dare even try? Did I need more proof I wasn't as good as I hoped? What if it hurt really badly? Could I make it worse?

Before I could think more about it, I went and got the guitar, plugged my Ipod into my ears and dug out the music. The song started and I readied myself, wondering what would happen when the first verse started.

Closing my eyes, I let the music transport me; I let the music take control and I found I could play! In fact, I could play well, much better than I had three weeks before! My strum patterns were as close to perfect as I could hope for, I experienced only minor muscle spasms and I did not drop the pick! Just to make sure it wasn't a fluke, I did it again and I did it even better!

After fishing the pick out of the body of the guitar, I realized that although I've been very wary of whether or not the surgery has corrected what it was supposed to, the Pikes music was a fantastic measure of the level of my healing! I've still got a long road ahead of me but having this tangible reminder of how far I've come has done wonders for pushing me further in my belief that I will get better!

When I reread this, I sound eerily like a crazy stalker lady and in some ways, I am. I've let a group of strangers, people I don't know, into a very personal part of my life and invited them to be an integral part of my healing process. Their music was as instrumental to my health care as my surgeon, physical therapist or my husband. A unwitting fan club cheering me on, letting me know I could get past it, I could get through it, I could get better – and when I didn't know if I could, I could get lost in their music.

So thank you, Don, Bryan, Jay and (former member) Merl for creating the music that made the past few months bearable and helped me measure how far I've come in my recovery. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

PS I've been debating whether or not I should share this post - it's very personal and it does make me sound like a crazy stalker lady. I am, but that't not really the point. I'm just intensely shy when it comes to sharing my feelings and if the best band in the world got wind of crazy old me, I'm sure I'd never be allowed to see them in concert again so don't tell them (unless it's going to get me a marriage proposal from a certain guitarist). ;)

PSS I'm kidding. Really. No, I'm not but now I'm deflecting and don't feel nearly as weird.
PSSS In case you are still reading and care, all pictures property of Barefoot Deliberations, 2013. They aren't great but I took them and am of the generation where snapping photos in a concert used to get you kicked out.

Guess who got head hunted?

That would be me, of course. It would be kind of odd to write about Bob from down the street being head hunted for a job.

I've been doing what I do for 10 years now and this is my first 'head hunt'. I was blown away - shaking, in fact, as I read the email. Absolutely, out of the blue, blown away by it.

As I said on my Facebook page, "I just got head hunted! This means that people who don't know me think I'm pretty awesome too."

It's my anniversary as well (seven years married but together for nearly 15) and I had an awesome night out with my husband. Dinner, coffee, relaxing. An amazing end to a pretty awesome day.

Thanks world, I owe you one (even if our illegal plumbing cost us another $1000 on top of the stupid expensive new HE laundry pair that is arriving tomorrow), you did good and I thank you.

Menu Plan Monday - May 13 - 19, 2013

I kind of fell off the (planning) wagon, but only in bloggity blog land. I've actually got my menu planned through to the beginning of June. Having had surgery a week ago tomorrow, I wanted to be PREPARED. Being prepared, in my world, meant planning a menu and having food in the freezer. I had no idea how long I'd be in the hospital (was told 3 days but with Back Surgery #1 in 2003, I was told three and stayed eight) and I also didn't know what kind of shape I would be in (last surgery, due to complications, I was kind of a mess and after a few days at home, alone, I was shipped off to the (best) step Mom in the world (oh, my Dad was there too)) to recover because I couldn't be 'alone' (because I was a medical mess).

This time, I breezed in and out of the hospital (29.5 hours from the time I checked in until I checked out -  to say I was determined to get the H E double hockey sticks out of the hospital would be an understatement - I would have moved mountains to get OUT of there) and I am doing considerably better than the last time around (not having a staph infection will likely improve anyone's recovery) but knowing I have to put no thought into instructing the world's most awesome husband into preparing meals makes life better.

This week we have a few freezer meals and a few "simple to cook" foods (save for the weekend - it's the first Long Weekend of the summer and I'm living large). I'm also having issues swallowing (a side effect of the operation) so some of my meals will be replaced with soup - namely anything that can't be chewed with my neck brace on.

Monday: Beef Stroganoff with egg noodles (freezer)

Tuesday: Scrambled Eggs & toast

Wednesday: White Chicken Enchilada with Green Chili Sauce  (freezer - enchiladas only)

Thursday: (I forget - side effect of getting old)

Friday: Shepherd's Pie (freezer)

Saturday: (I forget - side effect of neural inhibitors)
Sunday: BBQ Steak and Gramma's Potato Salad

Sharing my meal planning awesomeness with the Org Junkie's Menu Plan Monday and Erin Branscom's Menu Monday and the world (or at least the 78 readers who usually frequent my menu - J.W. and L.P. - thanks for using all the computers in the shop to make me feel like people read me). :)

(Almost) 36 Hours Post Op

Thirty six hours ago (well, technically, 32), I was being wheeled off to the operating room (give or take another 45 minutes). Now? I'm sitting at home in my easy chair with my Philadelphia Collar on. I was supposed to be in the hospital an extra day (I was to be released, pending no complications, tomorrow) however, I had such a horrible night with little to no sleep that I knew I could not, in any way, face another night in the hospital. I think if they had made me stay, I would have spent the night either crying my eyes out or wandering the streets because I'd run away.

It truly was one of the worst nights I'd ever spent in a hospital, keeping in mind my first back surgery resulted in an eight day stay, five infections and a few other unhappy experiences. Since I woke in the recovery room Monday afternoon, until 2pm this afternoon, I had a maximum of three hours sleep. That is a generous 'guesstimation' with at least 1.5 hours of that happening between 5am and 6:30am this morning. It was truly one of the worst experiences of my life. One I was so willing to not repeat, that I started in on the night nurse on how I was going home in the morning. When I saw of the doctors who was in on my surgery at 6:45am this morning, I'd told him I was going home. By 9am, I had everyone 'on board' with my departing the hospital early (even if I wasn't 100% sure myself if it was the right thing to do).

The surgery itself went well. I'm all fused where I'm supposed to be and I came out fine. I still haven't regained feeling in the places I lost it but was assured it could take as many as six months before it does return (if it returns). None of the concerns I had going in (like death, paralysis) came to fruition (obviously). None of the common side effects, like hoarse voice or loss of voice, happened - I, in fact, woke up talking (my husband is so happy about that).

I was in a ward room (this particular hospital does not do private or semi-private rooms) with three other patients who were suffering from various degrees of serious brain injury. It was a high-stress room with high needs patients. A night of constant alarms, yelling, snoring, more alarms, more yelling and a constant coming and going of hospital staff. I felt powerless and being an extremely light sleeper, it was impossible for me to sleep - even with earphones in and my music turned up.

It also meant that the nurse assigned to care for me also didn't get much opportunity to do that either - caring for upwards of 8 to 12 patients (most of whom were suffering brain injuries), it left me going long periods between pain medication dosages and without some basic care or vitals checks. I do not, in any way, blame the nurses - it just was simply overwhelming.

I'm doing okay - the pain is pretty tough sometimes but my schedule is a bit off too - tomorrow, I'll get back in line with meditating with music and see if that gets things straightened out. I'm much happier and comfortable here and now I'm on the other side to healing and getting back to normal!

One Week - and anxious

One week from today, I will have kissed my husband good night and sent him on his way home. It will be 'day one' of a (what I hope) will be a three day stay in the hospital. I'm having an anterior cervical discectomy and fusion and we hope (know, wish, beg) that this will fix the current and ever present pain, loss of feeling, numbness and weakness that has been a constant August 2012.

Like any major surgery, it has risks. Not having it fixed, also has risks (not having it corrected has a higher chance of serious complication). Overall, I'm okay with the surgery and the plan. I'm not fixated on the 'what if's' and I expect the surgery to be a success. I've got no reason not to think it won't work!

In 2003, I had a lumbar/sacral fusion due to spondylolisthesis. It too was a three day stay - that morphed into an eight day, five infection, wrong medication (twice) hospital stay from hell. I came out the other side with a brand new lease on life and I hit the ground running and never looked back. The surgery was very successful and with in six months, I was back doing what I did before (and more). Pain was minimal and although I did still occasionally suffer from pain (mostly sciatica), I could usually stretch it out and keep going.

In 2007, I tore a disc in my back while pregnant with TroubleMaker. It would appear that pregnant women with previous back fusions don't have the same ability to flex as the baby gets bigger... It's all fine now, thought, it healed on it's own.

So back issues aren't new and even spinal fusions aren't new, but I'm a little worried and I believe that's got a lot to do with being a Mom now... It also has to do with remembering the pain of pacing the hospital hallways for two nights begging for someone to help me - to help ease the pain. To please LOOK at  the surgery site because something was seriously wrong... That was a truly dehumanizing experience that I do not want to relive. (In case you're wondering, I had a staph infection, obtained in the hospital, in my shiny new, 8" long incision. The staff kept telling me I'd just had back surgery and I had to expect some pain. I was up walking, the pain from the surgery was minute compared to burning, stabbing ache of having all the skin around your surgery site (and right around to the front) infected with a staph infection that was causing the problems))

I've stocked the freezers with food for when I get home, I've got a brand new bag of peas (for icing), I've got a back log of my soap opera to watch and I've got a bunch of books and I've got my story (which I've started writing on again - what can I say? I'm week and in love with my characters, I just couldn't walk away from them). :)

So... We'll see you when we see you.

xo
Corrie

It's done... I think...

Last night, I wrote a sentence, in what I thought, was just the end of the thirty sixth chapter. I spent an hour looking at the sentence. Tonight, I've spent another hour looking at the sentence. The longer I look at the sentence, the more I think that it is actually the last sentence in the last chapter in the story. It doesn't wrap up any loose ends, it doesn't give you the answers, it just ends and right now, I think that is the perfect ending. As much as I enjoyed several popular book series (50 Shades, Twilight, Harry Potter), the authors wrapped up the stories and gave us all the answers in a nice, tidy package. Being handed the answers really pissed me off. Sure, we all love happy endings and in my head, with my own story, since the fourth chapter, I've been waffling on what my happy ending would be. The deeper I got into the story and the more involved with the characters I became, the more certain I was that even if I know what happened, I'm not so sure I need to draw those lines for anyone who may read this story. Part of what I've always loved about reading is being able to draw my own conclusions and make my own inferences on the why and how certain things happen. Having that taken away from me always leaves me feeling empty. Does the author not think I'm capable of writing my own happy ending? Does the author not trust my ability to draw conclusions? Maybe it's just as simple as the author needs to get the story out of their head and to them, that means painting the entire picture. As much as I abhor serials, I know that there is more of my story to be told, in fact, while in the shower this afternoon, I actually thought of a completely different side to the story that I may need to tell. However, for right now, I would say my labour of love is complete. Edited to add: Now what am I going to do? It's been done just over 25 hours and I'm already tapping the keyboard wondering what to write next...

***Skooks' Playground***: Four Things Friday - Vol 1: Jobs

***Skooks' Playground***: Four Things Friday - Vol 1: Jobs




As I was catching up on my blog reading, I happened upon the Craftacular Mrs Skooks at Skooks Playground starting up a new "four things Friday" and this week, she's interested in our First Four Jobs...

My first job... Besides babysitting was waitressing at a small restaurant in my home town (to which I've now forgotten the name of). I remember liking it a lot - I loved the girl I worked with - she was older, cooler and kind of inspiring. The owner (who may have been the cool girls father) looked just like the Dad in the Cyndi Lauper video "Girls Just Want to Have Fun".

My second job (short of about three other short stints as a waitress) was selling credit cards at a box stores front entrance. I loved the job but I hated pushing credit cards. There were nights where I'd work for four hours and not make a cent. We were paid by the application - $2.50 if they didn't sign for the insurance, $3.00 if they did.

My third job was a rental car clerk. I loved this job and was devastated when I got laid off. I was laid off because the city I live in has two airports... Shortly after I started, the City voted to close the city centre airport and hence, I got laid off with a bunch of others because they'd be phasing out that location.

Irony - it's been 18 years and the airport is still open.

My fourth job was an order picker at a sewing supply wholesaler. I loved the job (most days - although it almost killed me the first few weeks as I was not accustomed to standing eight hours a day). it inspired my desire to learn to sew again and fostered my creativity. It morphed into an assistant manager's position and from there, I spring boarded into design school.

What a fun way to wrap up my Friday!

Images courtesy of Blackstone Images