Never Say Never

My Mother taught me long ago “Never say Never”. Her friends would say “my son would never ...”, or “my daughter would never...” and sure as the sun would rise those kids did. But she also meant those words to reflect more than a potential disappointment. She never would have imagined winning a trip to Florida in the 70’s and a SUV in the 80’s all by the luck of one ticket or becoming the senior manager of the food administration at the nursing she worked at and retired from (a huge accomplishment for a farm girl with an 8th grade education). I am sure there are many more incidences that mama would quote “never say never” to.


After being told we would never have children, eight years later (with their help of a great clinic) we conceived on the first try, a miracle and against all the odds. Three years later on that fateful winter night, the minivan crossed the median. I would like to say that I have never received that dreaded phone call at 4am, that I never imagined I would ever get, but I can’t. The doctors said Grant would never regain his short term memory, sense of smell or hold down a proper job. But he has. Okay the memory sucks sometimes but he is a man. Say no more. The doctors said his brother would never teach again, learning to read and write and speak again was going to be a challenge, probably be stuck living with his parents the rest of his life. But the teacher is able to work a few days a week, met a wonderful women and married life is bliss.

Had you told me ten years ago, even six years ago, that I would be co owning a bra boutique, I would have laughed and said “Never!” Yet here we are a year and half after opening, successful and prominent in our community. I would never have believed Grant would successfully achieve accreditation for his lab just 3 yrs after that accident or that I would be a mom to the most incredible 10 yr old.

You never know what’s around the corner – good or bad. I can’t say make lemonade when you handed a lemon, it’s not always that easy. But I have certainly learned to expect the unexpected. When it is good, I praise Him. When it is bad, I lean on Him. And I believe that All Things Are Possible.


~response to "when pigs fly!" prompt #203 Sunday Scribblings.

photo is around 1973 on our back step. I am the cutey on the right, my sister on the left and mama with her glorious beehive.

little g

I have to take a  moment to sing the praises of my beautiful daughter. Of course I am a little bias. A few of my close friends have told me how well mannered and polite she is, but sometimes as parents we those compliments are just pleasantries. I think it is starting to sink in and I believe my friends are being genuine. Why, yesterday we had a gentleman in our home doing an energy audit and he came to me in the middle of it to say "I have to tell you, not only is your daughter beautiful and well mannered, but she actually listens and obeys you. I have been in hundreds of homes and you don't see that very often..." we had quite a discussion. He was a very kind and gentle man who loves his job  but I can appreciate the situations he was describing and imagine how difficult that must be for him to do his job sometimes. I told him that we are so blessed to have little g, and I thanked him for his kind words.

Everyday little g comes home from school and makes a  snack for herself and for anyone else in the house (typically Grant's assistant is here, myself, and sometimes clients too). Today I suggested she might want to try to bake something. Afterall ,she is 10 now and when I was 10 my sister (who was 11) and I had to prepare a full dinner (with tea and dessert) after school before Dad and Mom came home from work.
I had brought home a bag of apples at lunch today, so little g decided she would make an apple crumble (apple crisp depending what part of the country you live). I was all for it. I told her it was my favorite dessert to make when I was her age.
 

I stayed curled up in the living room sofa working away on my laptop and could hear her in the kitchen humming away while she peeled the apples, preheated the oven, and made the crumble.  While it was baking, little g used the time to clean up her mess. You heard me correctly, the 10 yr old cleaned up her cooking mess without being told. It smelled so good. The apples, the cinnamon, the brown sugar all melding together. Mmmmm. Of course little g was dying to bite into it as soon as it came out of the oven, but I convinced her to save it for after dinner. She proudly served Daddy and I the dessert with a dollop of whipped cream on top.  It was perfect.

I love my little girl to the moon and back. She is growing up so fast, so responsible, so mature for her age.  But every now and then she will do something that will keep her my little girl a little longer, like bring all her dolls into the tub or wrestle with her dad or make goofy faces, or dress up the dog. She truly is a gift from God and I am so honored and blessed to be her mom.

It's not over.

In response to Sunday Scribblings #202 Ethic/ Ethical I wrote this short piece.

As the nurse called my name, mom rose from her seat to go with me. I shot her a look. I am thirteen now and I didn’t need a maternal escort into the examining room. After all it was only a sore throat. The odour of medicinal potions and antiseptics filled my senses as I followed the nurse down the long corridor. Nurse Myrna takes me to room no. 3 and slides my file in the tray on the wall. “Get up on the examining table, the doctor will be in shortly.” she tells me.
Left alone in the room, I look around. You’d think they would pick better posters for the walls, like Scott Baio or John Stamos from Tiger Beat instead of the colourful diagram of the digestive system or the inner workings of an ear. My throat was sore, like swallowing broken glass. I’d say it was tonsillitis but I had them out years ago.

The door knob turns and I sit up. Dr Lloyd’s hair is slicked back and turning grey on the edges. His square brown frames sit on the edge of his nose as he looks down at my file and asks me where it hurts. I think my mom fancies him. I think Dr. Lloyd looks like a greasy, athletic version of Mr Rogers with his crumpled button down, grey cardigan and plaid pants. As usual the tongue depressor makes me gag. His hands are clammy as they press against my neck and ears. I try to swallow when he asks. “I am just going to take a listen” the doctor tells me as he takes the stethoscope from around his neck. I wince as he slides it under my shirt and the cold medal touches my back. “I am going to need a better listen” he says. He is standing so close that his legs have straddled mine and he squeezes tight. I am feeling strange and grow pale. He begins undoing the buttons of my shirt. The numbness seeps through my skin to the very core of my being. The separation is ethereal.

My shell is left on the table as I watch from the corner of the room. Rocking back and forth, arms clenched tightly around my knees. It will be over soon.

to blog or not

My writings seem to be all over the place.  One minute I am journaling my crafts and hobbies, or day to day events, the next I am writing a rant or a piece of fiction. I am wondering if I shoud have more consistency.  Should my blog be just for journaling my hobbies, or chronicling my life. I don't think I can dedicate this space to one thing as that is not me.  There is so much more to me than owning a business (or two) or being a mom, or making dolls, or kayaking the lake in the summer, or writing a preteen fiction with my friend, or making a quilt, or being an armchair athlete during the olympics.
No, I like this space because I can write what fancies me at the moment and if you are reading this than you are getting just a glimpse of who I am.

Kick in the pants.

Maybe it is the mild weather we are having lately, maybe it is the grass trying so desparately to peak through the snow. The sky has been so clear and blue. I have a new playlist full of surprisingly mood lifting music. (nothing like listening to Julie Andrews and the original cast singing Do Re Mi while working away on my laptop in the local coffee shop) All of this has inspired me and motivated me to take my health a little more serious. I have been going to SFL for almost a year and have sabotaged myself more than once. I am only half way to my goal (35 to go). While I feel great and apparently look younger at 40 than I did at 30. I need to give myself a kick start and take charge.
Well today is the day I got that proverbial kick in the pants. Weighing in today was not nice. I felt ashamed, like I had let my coach down, myself down. The scales have very slowly gone the wrong direction over the last couple of months. I think I was celebrating Christmas a bit too long.
Today is a new day. I feel fresh, rejuvenated and ready to take charge. Back to the treadmill and weights for me. For the record, my treadmill is just that, a treadmill - not a clothes rack or a shelf of sorts. I actually use it and wouldn't even think of parting with it.
So charge up the ipod and fill the water bottle, time to get movin'


“If you could kick the person in the pants responsible for most of your trouble, you wouldn't sit for a month.”~Theodore Roosevelt

I can't hear you.

Do you know how to leave a message? Part of my morning routine at work is to get the messages left during after hours and seriously, some people have no clue how to leave a message on a machine. Typically, I have to replay the message once or twice, sometimes 3 or 4 times because people rattle off the info so fast that I can't get it written down quickly enough. Or they are so hungry that they decide to eat their phone while they are talking into it so that I hear some modern day version of Charlie Brown's school teacher. Then there is the type who talk on and on and on and say nothing. Details people! Details! We asked you to leave details (we meant specifics). Do not ramble - that's what blogging is for!
Here's an idea: if you feel compelled to leave a message try mentioning the purpose of your call. How about adding your name - it's highly plausible that we deal with more than one client. Do you have a phone number we can call you back at or did you just pick a random payphone to dial us up on? And really do you think we took a stenographer's course.  They haven't offered that since the mid 80's. If you want me to write down the details try speeak-i-n-g sloooooooooow eeeeeeeeenough that, I can get it all.

Sunday Scribblings wants to know what the message is, well intrepret this:

Speak Clearly. Make Your Point. Let them remember who you are, otherwise no one is gonna listen!

Perspective

This morning was the highlight of my week. A big part of what we do at The Girls is empower women, help them feel good about themselves, stand a little taller physically and emotionally. Tammy and I have been wanting to give back to our community but how was the question. There are so many non profit organizations out there that need a helping hand. The Coverdale Center For Women Inc. seemed where we were being called to help, but I didn't really know how much until I met the five incredible women who keep that place running.
The center is a shelter, a halfway house, a refuge for women who have nothing, who have felt like nothing and society have written off. Not right I tell you. This center helps these women by showing them compassion, gives them counseling, helps them with self improvement, life skills and so much more.
If you are reading this you probably have a computer or laptop, a warm house and food to eat. I am guessing you blew $20 this week on stuff you can't remember. Luxuries.

Tammy and I took approx. 60 bras with us to donate to the shelter.The residence and staff were excited and waiting for us. Starting this year, the Girls are donating $1 for every bra they sell to the center. That's just a drop in the bucket, I know. What they need is more people to help out. I can't imagine the life the women have experienced that lead them to take refuge at the center. I tip my hat to Nancy and her team, you are doing amazing work.


"... I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me." Matthew 25: 35-36, The Message

Am I a Mermaid or a Whale?

I have been doing some research today on marketing to the 50+ woman. While many women in our area have heard about and flocked to our shop, we seem to missing out on reaching this age group a bit.  Saint John is not a big city, yet many women who cross my path have yet to hear about us.  This was a slight blow to my ego due to all the publicity at the beginning. Why we couldn't even go into the hardware store with a sales rep pointing out who we were (blush). Nonetheless, we want to reach these women and my research took me to all sorts of places.  I stumbled across a blog that I thought posed a very good questions.  Do I want to be a Mermaid or a Whale? Hmmm. Is that like blondes vs. brunettes? Well, I can't say blondes have more fun. I have plenty. What's really interesting is that while I do not measure up according to my BMI (29), I have several friends comment lately how thin and great I look. Sure I would like to look like a mermaid but as the Northern Pikes sing "She ain't pretty, she just looks that way".

This is all so coincidental as I have been working on a new doll, which happens to be a mermaid. Missing arms, and hundreds of beads waiting to be sewn on, she is no where near being complete but I thought I'd attach a little pic of her in progress. Like my fabricated mermaid, I'm just a doll in the making.

Deep Freeze

It is -20C here in Quispamsis. I am sitting by the fire this cold frigid morning, working on a couple marketing projects for the shop. It is early and I am not quite awake yet so my mind is wondering a bit. 
Across the room perched on my stack of books and supplies is my latest doll.  I sewed her body and put the first layer on her face last night.  She is different from the others in that I deviated a lot from the pattern. When I laid the fabric out to cut, it looked a lot like the scale of a fish and my first thought was to make a mermaid with it.  But I didn't have such a pattern. I figured that shouldn't stop me. So I tried to imagine how a mermaids tail would look and how to translate that into a pattern.  With a bit of readusting here and there, I had an end result that pleased me. I also had time yesterday to stop by Cricket Cove and check out the wool selections.  I found beautiful mohairs, buffalo, alpaca and more. The mohair I chose for this doll with beautiful and sparkly. The colours are a bold version of iridesence, which will lend themselves perfectly for my aquatic creation. I think once her face is done and all the beading is applied she will be very charming.