Monday, September 28, 2009
Words to live by?
Quote o' the day: To get something you never had, you have to do something you never did.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Whale or mermaid?
Recently, in a large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin and tanned woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said: "THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE?"
A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym:
To Whom It May Concern:
Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans). They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins, stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Barren Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.
Mermaids don't exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don't have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention how could they have sex? Therefore they don't have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store? The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.
P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver and a coffee with my friends. With time we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren't heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy. Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, "Good gosh, look how smart I am!"
A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym:
To Whom It May Concern:
Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans). They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales. They have a wonderful time with dolphins, stuffing themselves with shrimp. They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Barren Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs. They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.
Mermaids don't exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don't have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention how could they have sex? Therefore they don't have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store? The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.
P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver and a coffee with my friends. With time we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren't heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy. Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, "Good gosh, look how smart I am!"
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Farmer Dave
Does owning a farm automatically make you a farmer?
My family has always been the black sheep of the community: farmers who live in town. The townies think we're farmers, and the farmers think we're townies. At any rate, I've been raised to know the value of a little dirt under the fingernails, and the benefits of a paved road at the front door.
And after years of closely watching barley prices and staring at dark clouds in hopes of a rain storm, Dad has quit farming. Or quit typical grain farming - he's now the proud landlord of a tree farm.
My family has always been the black sheep of the community: farmers who live in town. The townies think we're farmers, and the farmers think we're townies. At any rate, I've been raised to know the value of a little dirt under the fingernails, and the benefits of a paved road at the front door.
And after years of closely watching barley prices and staring at dark clouds in hopes of a rain storm, Dad has quit farming. Or quit typical grain farming - he's now the proud landlord of a tree farm.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Ultimate ultimate
For the first time in my athletic life, I've honestly been able to say I enjoy everyone on my team. I've never been the best player, or the fastest, or the trickiest. I have, however, consistently been the loudest. And team sports give me a place to use my lungs and my sportsmanship. And they're exercise wisely disguised as fun with the added distraction of sideline visits!
This year was my first go at the sport of ultimate frisbee. And though I recognize there are teams who play barefoot, or with herbal aid, it is also a sport of strategy, of speed, and of disc skill. As a team of mostly beginners and an eager coach, we took to Sunday practices, and short strategy meetings before each game. We steadily improved, with high-fives all around when we gained our first sideways shoe. We have yet to achieve our first victory on the field, but there is a sense of victory in understanding what 'chilly' means, positioning my body for home or away, and having a small bag of spirit games for the end of each competition.
It made my summer months into a summer, complete with passes for cheap beer and free wings.
This year was my first go at the sport of ultimate frisbee. And though I recognize there are teams who play barefoot, or with herbal aid, it is also a sport of strategy, of speed, and of disc skill. As a team of mostly beginners and an eager coach, we took to Sunday practices, and short strategy meetings before each game. We steadily improved, with high-fives all around when we gained our first sideways shoe. We have yet to achieve our first victory on the field, but there is a sense of victory in understanding what 'chilly' means, positioning my body for home or away, and having a small bag of spirit games for the end of each competition.
It made my summer months into a summer, complete with passes for cheap beer and free wings.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Separation Anxiety
This weekend I’m picking up a new (to me) car. And though I’m excited for heated seats and power locks, I’m sad to be leaving my (somewhat) trusty/rusty sidekick. Stella and I have been together since Remembrance Day, 2000. My longest chosen relationship, really. I buy her oil and gas and brakes, and she safely takes me to Grande Prairie and back, and to Grande Prairie and back, and to Calgary and back, and to Grande Prairie and back. Yes, we know Highway 43 exceedingly well.
I know that her driver’s lock is broken from the robbery in the Zellers parking lot on my way to see Karissa’s new baby. I know the recline lever is missing from my seat because Dad wanted to ‘check out the new car’. I know the rough groove my thumb has left on the bottom of the steering wheel from 9 years of roadtrips.
Saturday will be the beginning of a new era – an as-of-yet nameless responsible 4-door collection of metal and grease. And goodbye to my spunky little red 2-door friend.
I know that her driver’s lock is broken from the robbery in the Zellers parking lot on my way to see Karissa’s new baby. I know the recline lever is missing from my seat because Dad wanted to ‘check out the new car’. I know the rough groove my thumb has left on the bottom of the steering wheel from 9 years of roadtrips.
Saturday will be the beginning of a new era – an as-of-yet nameless responsible 4-door collection of metal and grease. And goodbye to my spunky little red 2-door friend.
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