by Heather Plett | Apr 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
Inspired by Owlhaven (a recent addition to my blogroll), I wrote an “I am from” post. What fun! If you want to join in, she has a template here. It’s a great excuse to take a little walk down memory lane. Here’s mine…
I am from horses without saddles riding down road allowances on sunny afternoons, from John Deere tractors with broken seats and Heinz ketchup cans full of old tools. From bumpy rides on school buses down gravel roads, and from snow forts in winter and bale forts in summer.
I am from the little green house with no bathroom and cold running water heated on the stove for baths in the tin wash tub, from the new house with real bedrooms, from a living room with a different furniture arrangement nearly every week, and from the pig barns with squealing weanlings under heat-lamps.
I am from the chokecherry trees, lilac bushes, wheat fields and willows, the sandy soil, mud puddles, snow storms, and the smell of pigs. I am from the prairies, both harsh and friendly, from tiger lilies and crocuses, from quack grass and weeds as tall as the barn. From bitter cold winters buried under the snow, and sunny summers with breezes dancing through wheat fields and stands of poplar.
I am from springtime picnic lunches on the field next to Dad’s tractor, and Sunday morning scrambles to get to church on time, from Arthur and Margaret, Bradley, Dwight and Cynthia. From the grandpa who died on our front lawn, the grandma who liked to giggle and feed us chicken noodle soup, the grandpa with the dry sense of humour, and the grandma who was tiny and strong and who travelled to Africa when she was eighty.
I am from the family that didn’t go to community dances or bingos but never missed church on Sundays. From faspa on Sunday afternoon with aunts and uncles, friends, or the visiting minister. From a visit to the neighbours to watch the Sound of Music on their TV, and from bicycle rides with my best friend Julie.
From “don’t chew gum in church”, “clear your plate – there are children starving in Africa”, and from “bad things always happen in threes”. I’m from “you COOKED it? But that bird spoke seven languages” and “that hag Madam Yvonne with her chicken fat”.
I am from faithful, hardworking, peace-loving Mennonites who shun alcohol and love their neighbours as themselves. From a mom who loves water fights and tells the best children’s stories in church, and a dad with bushy eyebrows, a Bible tucked under his arm, and a question always on his mind.
I’m from Russia where my ancestors fled for their commitment to pacifism and their resistance to war, from a hospital in Steinbach where my mother nearly bled to death, and from Arden, a little prairie town with an elevator, a grocery store, a post office, and a swinging bridge over the river. I’m from “forma vorsct” and “vereniki”, from “plooma moos” and “rollkuchen”. From the smell of fresh bread and the sound of my Mother singing when I walked in the door after school.
I am from the day my sister nearly burnt to death and I came home from a field trip with only Mr. Bateman to give me pieces of the story, from the high school band trip to Toronto that my brother Dwight paid for so that I didn’t have to miss it, and from the tree house behind the barn that my brother Brad built with his friends.
I am from the stories my dad told with a chuckle – of working in the bush and shingling houses, the scrapbooks full of sympathy cards in my grandma’s coffee table, the dusty suitcase in the attic full of Dad’s mementos of youth, the hat box in Mom’s closet with the blue hat from her single days in the city, the Gilbert and Sullivan records, the shelves of books on the wall of mom’s sewing room, the cubby hole full of soft blankets perfect for hide and seek, the old tape recorder with the tape of Grandpa singing “A few more days shall come”, and the red mixing bowl Mom always used to mix cookies and cakes.
I am from the northern lights dancing in prairie skies, newborn calves frolicking in the field, family gathered around the table, and story time before bed. I am from home.
by Heather Plett | Apr 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
Most people, when they know they have a dentist appointment in half an hour, stop to brush and floss their teeth.
But not me – oh no, not I. I stopped to pop a chocolate in my mouth on the way out the door.
Why? Oh, mostly absent-mindedness, I suppose. But maybe I figured if I’m gonna sit there and listen to them scold me for not flossing, I might as well have a sweet taste in my mouth to go with the bitter taste of guilt.
by Heather Plett | Apr 26, 2006 | Uncategorized
Call it “the muse”. Call it “the writing that has a mind of its own”. When you’re a writer, and you know that you must write to have any kind of life or sanity at all, you satisfy the muse in any way you can. You feed it bits of yourself, and, like someone once said, occasionally you sit down at the page, open up a vein, and let the blood flow.
Sometimes there are experiences we have that we just KNOW have to be written about (or painted, or danced – whichever art the muse demands of you). Sometimes it’s enough to write about it in your journal, but other times the journal is not big enough for what needs to be said.
I’ve been fighting with the muse lately. It’s asking for more of me than I want to give. It’s hard to explain, but there are pieces of me that are still well secured behind closet doors and I don’t want to let them out. But there’s a faint clawing at the doors of that closet lately, and I’m afraid I must open it soon.
I know this post doesn’t make much sense, but I felt like writing it anyway. Sometimes it’s easy to write, when you can hold the words at arm’s length and pretend they are only lightly attached to who you are. Other times, it’s wretchedly painful, when the words tear open your soul and reveal all the dark places you’ve kept hidden.
I’ve started writing a piece that is the hardest thing I have ever written. It’s about an intensely personal and painful experience, and I have no idea if it will ever surface. For some reason, I need to write it. So far, it’s called “My Trip to Crazy Town”, and by that title, some of you who know me fairly intimately may know about the day the title references. It seems the muse won’t let me shake the need to let this surface.
Feel free to ignore this post until I make more sense again.
by Heather Plett | Apr 24, 2006 | Uncategorized
This is our latest aquisition – Maddie’s tag-along-bike. She is SO proud! When we got to church on Sunday morning, she had to show it off to anyone who would stop to look.
There’s an incredible scene in American Beauty, when Ricky Fitts is showing the girl (can’t remember her name) the video of a plastic bag floating in the breeze. He says, as his eyes fill with tears, “Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart’s going to cave in.” That’s how I felt this weekend on the numerous occasions when we went out for family bike rides. Pedalling my bike behind my husband and three daughters on a perfect spring day felt almost overwhelmingly beautiful – so beautiful I felt my heart would cave in.
It’s hard to describe when you have a moment in time that feels as close to perfection as you can imagine. The sun shining, the warm Spring air, the man that you love ahead of you, Maddie saying hello to people on the sidewalk as she bounces along behind her dad, Nikki racing to try to beat her dad, Julie’s earnest look on her face as she pours her heart into pedaling… it’s almost more than the heart can take. We biked a couple of times to St. Vital park, watched the sun begin to set on the overflowing river, tossed breadcrumbs to the ducks on the duck pond, climbed the rocks – basically had an amazing time.
My life is full, and I am happy. May I live to see many more bike rides with my family.
by Heather Plett | Apr 20, 2006 | Uncategorized
I know I’m a little slow on the up-take, but Gina infected me with the Indie Virus, and unless I pass it on, I’ll be stuck with this pesky bug forever.
You see, Pearsonified has started a small, casual social experiment, it’s called “The Indie Virus.” Here’s how Pearsonified describes this experiment: The experiment, henceforth referred to as “The Indie Virus,” has two goals:
1) To bring exposure to lesser known blogs (especially those outside of Technorati’s top 100);
2) To explore the metrics behind a viral linking campaign launched by the ‘little guys’ (less popular blogs).
Part of the reason it took me this long was because I couldn’t decided whether to give the nod to the people who inhabit BOTH my blog world and my non-blog world (like ccap, ap, linda, or michele) or those whom I’ve met through blogs. Because I didn’t want to appear too biased (sorry family and friends), I chose the latter. So here are my pics…
1. Anvilcloud over at Raindrops was one of my first blog friends, so I remain loyal to him. But it also helps that he’s entertaining, interesting, funny AND a good photographer. I’m also rather fond of his wife Cuppa, who exudes warmth and comfort. (I only wish she’d post more often 🙂
2. Stephanie at Creature Bug not only has one of the most beautiful sites I visit on a regular basis (she’s got a great masthead that she changes fairly regularly), she’s also one of those people that I’m POSITIVE I would click with if I met her in person. She has similar interests, similar values, and she’s an entertaining and thoughtful writer.
3. Dale at Musings from Mimico is one of the most genuine people I’ve met in blogland. He’s incredibly honest – letting you into all the parts of his world, not just the pretty bits. I love his vulnerability, his ability to enjoy simple pleasures, and his kindness. Dale is also one of the most faithful and encouraging commenters, and I love him for that.
If Gina hadn’t been the one who’d passed this to me, than she’d be on my list too, ‘cause she’s definitely one of my favourites too.
Now run along, pay them a visit, and tell them Heather sent you 🙂
