Canada ROCKS!!!
TWENTY-FOUR medals! Woohoo!
To my American friends, yes, I know you still beat us by one, but you’ve got about ten times the population, so you’ll have to let us enjoy this – as close as we’ve ever come to matching your powerhouse.
A nice lead-in to 2010 in Vancouver, I’d say. Congratulations to all the athletes – you make us proud. Especially our home-town girls, Cindy Klassen and Clara Hughes.
Taxes are done, we’re getting money back, AND I didn’t get an aneurysm!
It’s all good!
Now if only this head cold and PMS would go away.
There’s nothing worse than doing your taxes – at least if you’re a disorganized, form-illiterate, numbers-handicapped numbskull. Like me.
Oh wait.
There is something worse.
Sitting down to do your taxes, while an approaching head cold is threatening to drive a truck over your sinuses and PMS is playing racquetball with your hormones. That’s worse.
Wait, there’s more.
You load the tax software, and when it tells you to restart your computer, you click “OK”, the computer powers down, and then, because your computer has decided that wreaking havoc with your life is more fun than helping with the taxes, it sticks out its tongue and says “Nyah, nyah, nayh, nyah, nyah, nyah.” (Otherwise translated as “Non-system disk error”) You think, “Oh, it’s just messing with me” and so you power down and try again. And again. And all that happens is more taunting. And the T4’s and T3’s cluttering your computer desk start to dance a dance of glee to the tune of your computer’s nasty taunt.
I wish I could say I handled it maturely, walked away, rose above my tribulations, and instead decided to catch up on the laundry. But that would be lying.
No, instead I disappeared into my room, closed the door, climbed under my blankie, and cried. It didn’t solve my problem, but at least I got to indulge in a good old-fashioned pity party.
Yes, I did eventually figure out that I was getting a disk error because someone had left a floppy in the drive. Whew. I was beginning to have nightmares of the cost of computer repair, and that just made me cry harder. Any money I was HOPING to get back on taxes would quickly be drained.
But now, instead of going back to the taxes, I’m killing time blogging. Any tax-energy I’d managed to build up has been destroyed by my emotional meltdown. Sigh.
Why couldn’t I have been born with the “good at doing taxes” gene?
Ten years ago
you made me a mother
Ten years ago
after hours and days of pain and waiting
you joined your Daddy and me
and made us a family
In the wee hours of your first night on earth
after my body had stopped shaking
and my eyes had re-gained their focus
I tip-toed into the nursery just to gaze at you
because I missed the movement of you
in my body
In that moment
I fell in love
I should have known that
your reluctant entry into this world
would set the stage for
your approach to life
and that time would see you struggle through
so many more reluctant entries
Life is not always easy for you
my child, my firstborn, my thinker
You wrestle with things bigger than yourself
and in the end, victory comes with a price
You are wise beyond your years
and as deep as the ocean
Now, ten years into life,
your age is finally catching up with your mind
You’re more rested these days, relaxed,
knowing that some of your questions have answers
and you have the knowledge to find them
You don’t have to waste as much energy
on the unknown
Some answers may never come, my dear one
I think you know that
and it seems it’s becoming easier to accept
with your ten years of accumulated wisdom
You are beautiful
my child, my firstborn, my gift
you opened up my life
and showed me things I’d missed before
Your perspective
is so different from mine
and so delightful to be alongside
How rich my life has been
since you came
A variety of newspapers cross my desk every day. I cast a cursory glance at most of them before I toss them into someone else’s inbox. Today, this articlecaught my attention, and sent me on a little trip down memory lane.
It turns out that the Arden elevator is for sale. If it’s not sold, it may face demolition. Why is that significant? Well, I grew up in Arden, a tiny town in Manitoba. In fact, this picture is taken from a spot just down the street from my elementary school, my church, and the community centre – all places I spent many hours of my youth attending. Many, many times, I’ve driven past this elevator – most recently to visit my Dad’s grave just a few miles north. In most of the classrooms of our elementary school, we could sit and gaze out the window at it. In the green space at the front of the picture, we would hunt for crocuses – the first sign that Spring had arrived in the prairies. I remember running out of church on Sunday mornings, trying to be the first one to spot a crocus. Arden is known for its crocuses – Manitoba’s provincial flower.
There are so many memories this photo conjures up in my mind. I’m sure my siblings (who all read this blog, by the way) are by now almost as nostalgic as I am. Remember walking past the elevator on the way from school to the curling and skating rinks? Remember the rare occasions when we’d get a note from Mom that we could walk to McCamis general store at lunch time? Remember the excitement around town when the annex (the part of the building nearest the photographer) was built? That was my first experience with catcalls from a construction site! Remember putting pennies on the railroad tracks in front of the elevator? Remember sneaking under the train cars to take a shortcut, hoping the train wouldn’t start to move just as we climbed underneath?
Ah, sweet nostalgia. Apparently, this is one of the last remaining woodframe elevators in the province. It really would be a shame to see it disappear. Arden would never be the same without its sentinel standing guard at the centre of town.