If you let it, the mind can run away to the ends of fantasy and back again. Particularly when confronted with a challenge you just don’t bloody well feel up for… such as, when ruminating on a tough UPHILL triathlon only hours away… and then lo and behold, in the deep, dark yet scarily vivid recesses of your mind, yer being abandoned on a high mountain trail, alone, lost, with no food or water, stalked by wolves and cougars, ultimately to end up an early supper for a frustrated mother bear and her eager little cubs.

And there’s where our story begins….

I did get out of the pool last. I did end up alone, the last racer on the bike trail… slowly pedalling if I wasn’t trudging, pushing my bike up the steep, narrow inclines, alone with my thoughts, sometimes singing- and yes, as I sang tunes loudly hoping that, if my presence alone was not enough to scare off predatory wildlife, then my complete lack of musicality would be- but always working to appreciate the sounds of the birds , the butterflies and the burbling of the creek in the narrow valley below, and reminding myself it’s really not so bad. Things can always be worse, after all. And… I took the short option trail, which brought me out to the festive crowds cheering, the first person to take to the trails on foot.

And so, I ran. Again the short course. Which brought me into the finish….

FIRST!!!

OK, so I know that out of 12 individual participants in this inaugural race, I was the only person to take the available short cut. I was also one of only two women to participate. The other woman hauled ass, my friend. She won the event- the long EXTREME event, I might add, beating the guys handily. For her, this was merely a fun event in an otherwise gruelling triathlon circuit over the summer.

Ahhhh, if only…..

Anyways, it was a great day. A great event. And many volunteers in the way of our trusty local Lions Club. They were organizing, offering support and several opportunities for water and oranges.

It was great. And, yes, if it happens, I will, in fact, participate again next year. LONG COURSE!

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I am so very exhaustedly pleased, as I lay here headachey and largely shattered on my comfy, cozy couch, to say yet another month is in the can. I know it’s a monthly. It’s all of six pages. But, by golly I swear it’s bloody well like giving birth every month. And, if you’ll indulge the birthing analogy just a little longer, this month was excruciating. I was prepared the day before ‘due date’. I had everything written, laid out, and all submissions in and placed… all but one. A blip on the heart rate monitor strapped around my heaving, bloated belly. So as I readied myself for the final push, the print to CutePDF…. I awaited eagerly, anxiously, the final contribution.

My last contributor, my one complication, in an otherwise uneventful, yet joyous, delivery. A fifty eight year old baby- I mean, man- with long, grey hair and a love for all things musical. He’s in a band. A percussionist- a genius on the maraccas; bloody brilliant on the tamborine. A middle aged master home builder who missed his calling in a for real rock ‘n roll band. He also has his finger on the pulse of all things musical in our area. With no wife and no kids, but for some young, groupie girlfriends, he is everywhere… and knows everybody. His life is one big ol’ party. He is my Music and Entertainment Reporter.

Granted, the job offers no compensation other than a case of beer and the honour and prestige of the title, Music and Entertainment Reporter. Understand that in our town, during the low season: quaint and charming, sort of Northern Exposure meets Deliverance. High season: Northern Exposure meets Deliverance meets Dallas- the Alberta oil money comes to town. So the title is one of great respect and admiration.

No, really.

I do appreciate that given there is limited compensation, expectations have to be managed. I must treat my talent with care, sensitivity and immense gratitude. Not to mention exuberant praise for the work they do… a case of beer only goes so far. Egos must be stroked, readily and consistently.

However…. when I say Wednesday. I. Mean. Wednesday. Even if your 58th birthday was Tuesday.

Thursday afternoon does not cut it. And “I’ll have it to you in 20 minutes” NEVER means four hours.

So, the music column for July has been replaced by a last minute sad-ass review of The Other Boleyn Girl. Music Man’s submission did finally arrive. Too late. I had pressed SEND an hour before. I haven’t been this angry at a man other than Husband in quite some time.

In this case, as with my children, I exercise consistency: You don’t play by the rules, you don’t play. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Take your commitments seriously and show your friends and colleagues respect. And please, we’re all busy adults here, if for whatever reason you can’t do somethin, let me know and then I can plan accordingly. Just don’t leave me hangin’!

Music man will not know he missed the boat until he picks up the issue at newsstand on the weekend to read it. He will call me. Angry. Dejected. Hard done by. Unappreciated.

And I will say, “Tough Tittie, Music Man. A woman in labour is not to be toyed with.”

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Well…. Monday. We’ve returned from Calgary where we left dear Filipes at the airport- his annual trip to the office. In Delaware. This means I will be alone. All week. With miscreants. Alone. All week. Oh, God. Somebody help me…. can anyone hear me…? Oh, God. It’s only Monday. Not even 24 hours… unghhh…

I digress…. We left Calgary this morning. The city is a treat. Really. As I’ve mentioned before, the streets are lined with gold and the SUV’s encrusted in diamonds. My beat up old Odyssey looks downright woodsy amongst the Hummers, Pimped out Dodge Ram Crew Cabs, Lexuses (Lexus’… Lexii…?), Beemers, Audis, Volvos…. whatever. They’re all shiny new and you can hear each and every one of them belching happy and satisfied the alphabet on $1.40/litre. I do love to dip my toe in the excess even if only for a couple of hours. Then… back to the sticks.

Oh, my… ANYWAYS… we left right after our event yesterday to get to Calgary so that Husband could catch early a.m flight to Philadelphia.

But, back to event.

I came an amazing 152nd overall in the Sprint Course. Out of over a thousand!! What a day. Oh yes. What a feeling of accomplishment. We can’t wait for next year!

Oh……. Did I say over a thousand? Hmmm. I meant… 158.  There’s always next year….

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And so… spring has come to The Valley. A gorgeous weekend.  Dear Old Mother Nature gives us a reprieve…
Here as I write, I am awash in the sun, having just made herself known from above the jagged peaks I gaze upon from my small, cozy living room. From my gushy, cushy sofa. With my coffee and my most favourite coffee cookie- thanks Bernie’s!

It’s delicious. And it’s as it should be at this time of year.

The skidderoos are going for sleepover at Nan and Pops tonight. We are going golfing. The AGM. My one round of golf a year. Because my fee also includes steak. I do not golf without the promise of steak.

A quiet… sunny… day…

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We just returned from a night out a neighbors. The first official ‘Friday Nite Happy Hour’ of the season.

I knew they would be there. In the half hour before we were to arrive, as I prepared some overdone, intricately arranged friggin’ cheese tray I was having conversations with the voices in my head. And becoming ever more aggravated with every schizophrenic syllable.

I yelled at the kids for nothing. I knew I was freaking out. My otherwise friendly and utterly lovely neighbor’s would not be a safe place. Because I knew they would be there. As I madly sliced the Gouda. The Asiago. The Jalapeno Havarti. The extra creamy Blue. The Oka.

So engrossed was I in the dialogue in my mind that a meticulously prepared, delicious plate of a delicious variety of cheeses made their way onto a plate as though by Siegfried and Roy, themselves. Perhaps Penn and Teller. And maybe even Doug Henning. In keeping with the crazy voices in my mind.

I didn’t want to see them.

So I am emotionally immature. So, as my 40th bears down rapidly approaches, I’m still not quite able to overcome challenging interpersonal conflicts and take the high road. So, I’m a grown, relatively accomplished wife, mother… woman, and would rather just hide in my house and surf the ‘net, than go and face them. In the company of my real friends.

And so…

It went fine. I held their new baby. For a long time. They have great babies. I have screaming babies. How does that happen?

But, for now, I’m still happier not seeing them.

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Ugh! Another month. Another Gazette to the printers!

Now, my question to myself is this:

“A month is at least 30 days long. That’s a fair bit of notice of a deadline. Why the HELL can’t I get it started before the 29th?”

That’s a question I’m sure I shall ponder until April 29th, when I am inevitably busting my ass trying to come up with content: harassing local businesses for advertising and bothering neighbors for silly Q & A… blah, blah, blah!

While I managed to meet the newspaper deadline, we are all still sucking wind. Whether it’s the ongoing recovery from last week’s company or this GD early Daylight Savings Time, I haven’t been up to enjoy my usualy early, early morning for weeks! And I have a triathlon to prepare for. Training was supposed to start Monday….

It’s Tuesday. 7am is passed. That is designated running time, doncha know. If it don’t happen then… well, it just don’t happen. Less than 10 weeks and counting.

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Wow! A whole seven days have come to an end. A whole extra family and one Andy descended upon this here little cottage house a week ago…. and now they are all gone. And I don’t know what to do with myself.

It’s been a week of imbibing and excess in almost every way you can think… and there’s always been someone around to make sure a meal is being made. Every two to three hours.

I’ve NEVER eaten this much. And, believe me that’s saying something. I have also NEVER been met toe to toe in the eating arts by another woman. Particularly one smaller than me. My stomach has grown to the size of my old Honda hatchback.

Some of the highlights in this past week’s gluttony:

• ribs ‘n my special Caesar Salad
• Pizza a la Filipes
• blue cheese burgers
• cheddar smokies
• steak ‘n my special Caesar Salad
• steak fajitas ‘n homemade grilled veggie salsa
• a night out for brie and bison
• Crispy French Toast
• Bacon ‘n Eggs
• Homemade maple scones and devonshire cream and jam (available every morning)
• Tim Horton’s (for our American friends….)

Distributed evenly throughout, endless chips and dips, bread and dips and very much cheeses…. so very much of cheeses… and bread… oh, and more meat, of various assortments….

There was also an endless supply of beverage choices… endless….. ugh.

It was a great week. They were all, including the Andy, the easiest of company. We will happily host their ski vacation any time… and I love their kids. They have wonderful kids.
Triathlon… 10 weeks and counting…

Training starts Monday.

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Yeeee-haawww! There were three of us. Praise be to the Creative Energy Throughout. I don’t know what this job would have been with just one. But there were three of us.

Me. Myself. And I.

Husband? Contributed two measley piddly filler bits in the closet. Then the phone. A neighbor. All of a sudden stack of logs laying out in yard for past three years needed to be bucked. Today. Immediately. A mere three days before the arrival of HIS relations. He just had to “buck wood”. Today. Now. Hmmm-mmmmm….

Bucking wood? The equivalent of a blue haired koffee klatch. All afternoon. Instead of koffee: chainsaws and beer. Better have been beer….

I laid the laminate flooring throughout the basement.  It’s doooonnnnnnnnnne!!
Thanks to the invaluable assistance of Me and Myself, of course. They’re lifesavers, really.

They always come through when I need them.

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Another month… another Gazette.  Three full days of grinding a monthly community paper out of my behind.  I literally started with nothing… hmmm…. what happened in our town over the past month?   Hmmmmm….. what’s gonna happen in our town in the coming month?   Hmmmmmm….. Well, the answers they did come.  They always seem to. It always surprises me.

And I doubled my advertising.  When I sat down to write the first word this week I turned to my lovely, supportive husband and said, “I’m going to double my advertising this month.”  Honest to friggin’ God, that’s what I said.  And honest to friggin’ God, that’s what happened.

Right outa Oprah, I tell ya!

Freaky…

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Another month.  Another newsletter pulled out of my worn ass the night before deadline.  OK.  It will, in fact, be merely moments before deadline when all is said and done and I am printing out piteously undersized .pdf’s to painstakingly edit in final form, with ‘dese almost 40 year old, and oh so friggin’ weary, eyeballs.

I have been sequestered.  Since 5am this morning.  I have all but ignored kids and dog.  I write this post just to avoid leaving the squallor that has become my workspace- an office could never really look like this- which says something about what I believe is out there waiting for me.

I can hear them.  Two of the children.  Oh, wait.  I hear only my dear Zip.  He has an uncanny talent for verbally imitating automatic weapons.  Is that an AK-47?  I do believe that beyond the sound of duelling machine guns (pppshhhhhwaaaa! Gisssshhhshhhhhhnnnnnng!) I cannot hear youngest child.  She is alive, of that I am certain.  Asleep.  I know it.  Company for American Idol.  Me and Fidgey McGee.

Now it’s quiet.  Where are the comforting sounds of battle, dammit?  The whistles and whinnnnies of grenades?

 It’s getting dark.  The children are out there and there are no lights on.  I work by the glow of my monitor.  By what possible glow could they be functioning?  Oh, wait.  A moment.  There it is.  A Fidgey.  A screech.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaah.  A boy’s mischevious giggle.  All is as it should be.

Children alive, awake and accounted for and probably due to be fed.  As will be the eldest boy and his most fatherly companion as they return from swimteam.  Must leave the sanctuary of dark, disgusting but most comfortiest hovel.  Cook chops.  And cheesebuns.  And for novelty’s sake.  In this miserable cold when what the body truly cries out for is gooey, melty cheese and a pot of meat, I will prepare a salad.

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