Such a mix of feelings.

His dad here.  Past and present all jumbled together. 

And then, there is the uncertain future.  Is this the end of tea and chats and the odd-and-awkward-but-weirdly-cozy blending of lives and families?

It feels like the end of an era. 

We are pretending that it’s just another visit, but it isn’t. 

I’ve been working like a dog on the copy edits I received for Gemma.

Emily leaves for the airport this morning.  It’s been so lovely having her home.  Although, this project of hers is worrying me to death.  I try not to think of all that could go wrong.  Try to think about how this could really be a wonderful thing and that it will enhance and change the way she looks at life and at the wide variety of ways to live ones life.  Sort of like when I was acting, stepping into my characters skin, in living their lives, I would learn so much about my own.

Will has his last provincial exam this morning, in history.  He has been studying for days.  Really, really studying.  On his own.  Spread out on the sofa, piles of books and papers and notes.  Out on the balcony, daylight turning to dusk.  Up in his room.  I’m really proud of the effort he’s been putting into his finals this year.  All on his own.  Self-motivated.  I hope it pays off for him today. 

Then Don and I make the trek to our new little cottage on the beach, (yes, I sold the big house) and tomorrow we meet the movers and place furniture, unpack our mountains of boxes.  I have to leave mid-afternoon to do lung tests at the hospital, and then, back again, to unpack some more.

We’ve loved living in this Coal Harbour rental, walking to restaurants, the grocery store, long walks in Stanley park.  It’s been sort of live a vacation holiday, with the Boardwalk and boats bobbing right outside our window.  It’s been lovely, but now, I have to say, I’m ready to settle, move into our home, be surrounded by familiar things, sleep in our old bed with it’s soft comfortable sheets. 

We have Will’s confirmation, grad dinner and dance, then one more week in Vancouver and then we’re done.  Home sweet home.  Hopefully.  It’s always strange, when I make a move to somewhere new, unfamiliar.  I have all these hopes and dreams of this wonderful, creative, peaceful life, but who knows how it will really turn out.  Will we have nice neighbours?  Or the neighbours from hell?  Will it be beautiful and serene, with the waves gently lapping and an occasional sea gull’s cry, or will a neighbour have a dog that barks incessantly, all day and night so that sleep and writing is impossible? 

And then, what happens if Lorri, (my Coal Harbor neighbour and actually, we’ve only known each other for around a month now, but she is starting to be a really, really good friend, and I have these cautious, shy hopes that maybe it will be one of those rare, lifelong friendships) what happens if her mad-cap scheme comes to fruition?  Then what? 

And last but not least, can’t wrap up this blog without mentioning that last week I was in London, with my sister, Jennifer, cheering her on in Wallace Shawn’s new play, Grasses of a Thousand Colors.  Jenny was MAGNIFICENT!  I was sooooooo proud to sit out there in the audience, watching her character, live and breathe up there on the stage.  Her performance moved me greatly. 

I was in London for eight days and it flew.  We had so much fun, talking and eating food and shopping and meeting her friends, and going to her play.  Being backstage with her, breathing in the particular smells that theaters have.  Puttering around town.  It was so much fun.  And sitting here, typing to you, telling you about it, I feel surrounded with the magical glow of those eight days, the cozy comfort, puttering around her apartment, making tea, the after theater snacks of tasty English treats, why she Skyped Phil and I Skyped Don and Will.  Curling up on the little makeshift bed, Jenny, Miranda and Emily had in their dressing room, that had a brightly colored coverlet with what looked like little mirrors sewn in, but they couldn’t have been because it didn’t cut me. 

Jenny wanting me to take a short nap before the play, because I was really tired, but once I lay down, I couldn’t.  I felt like a little kid, being allowed to sleep in her mothers room.  The mystery of it.  The three women talking softly, putting on their makeup, getting ready for the show.  The anticipation of the evening to come, the audience, starting to arrive, the gearing up, and tiredness too, because they every night they have three hours and twenty minutes to fill, and who knows what the audience will be like this night. 

No sleep was impossible.  I didn’t want to waste a moment of the experience with sleep, and this might sound strange, but one of the things that stays in my mind, that moved me the most was when Jenny wanted to make the little bed nice for me, I started to lay down and she said, “Wait!“ took off the silk kimono, jacket she was wearing and draped it over the rather squashed white pillow that was rumpled in the corner.  “There,“ she said, smoothing it with her hands, and I have never felt quite so loved as I did in that particular moment.

My daughter, Emily has come up with a plan.  A crazy plan, that when she first told me what she was going to do, I really tried my best to talk her out of it.

No luck.

She’s going forward with it. 

Now, everybody I’ve talked about it with, thinks it’s a really interesting idea.  They, of course, are not Emily’s mother.

I could try to explain what her scheme is, but I think her website  does it better.

All you parents out there, will know just how my heart lurched when you read what she’s planning to do.  But when I stand back, away from the worry, I think it is a pretty cool idea too.

I am going to be in charge of her kick off week.  My sister, Jennifer is going to do a week and so is her kick-ass poker player boyfriend, Phil Laak.  Emily has a ton of very interesting people lined up and a few openings left. 

I’ve decided that I am going to make the best of a situation that I personally find quite scary and put my week to good purpose!  My week will probably be the week that Emily is well and truly happy to see the end of.  Be that as it may, here finally is an opportunity to schedule some of those pesky worrisome motherly things, that I am always trying to get my children to keep up with now that they have left home.  Heh…heh…heh! 

Hey, look, giving relatives, friends and total strangers the power to chose how you spend an entire week wasn’t MY idea! 

And right now, I have to say, I am feeling quite tricky.  I’ve already booked my daughter in for something on her first week that I’m sure she won’t be pleased about, but I am thrilled that this is finally going to be done.

And I’m supposed to give her a book to read during my week, and instead of a lovely, literary read, I have settled on a book, that she would NEVER read on her own, but is going to stand her in good stead, and is way more practical. 

I’m nervous about her Art As Life, but I have to say, I’m having fun figuring out how to spend her week.

Just hope she is still speaking to me by the end of it.

I have made a decision to try and cut down on my computer time.  I find I am losing more and more of my precious life hours sitting in front of this screen, either blogging or reading financial news letters, and other people’s blogs.  Then there is the regular news that gobbles up more time, and I find myself reading about really horrible things, murders and suicides, and parents killing children when what I really want to be doing is to be finding a way to feel present in my own skin. 

I don’t want to be on my death bed, my life passing before my eyes and when I come to the last eight years (around the time I got on the Internet because my daughter was heading off to University) it is one huge blur of me pecking away at my computer, while the days flipped past.

It’s weird how it started.  For years I didn’t have an email.  I didn’t have my computer hooked up to the Internet.  I only used my computer for writing.  And now look at me, a large portion of my waking hours are squandered siting in front of a glowing screen.  And I feel undone, overwhelmed, by all the horrific news out there.  I feel like I want to stay in bed and not face the day.  I feel tired, burnt out.

And so today I start the great experiment.  When Don gets home I’m going to have him disconnect the Internet from my computer.

If someone wants to get in touch with me, they will have to call.  I much prefer talking on a walk, or over tea, or a yummy meal.  I even would rather talk on the telephone.  I shall check my email from Don’s computer on Sundays.  And if I decide to do a reading or something, I will post it on my events page at that time, but other than that, I’m going to hold off. 

I want to thank all of you who have come to visit with me.  I’ve really, really enjoyed it.  And am very touched by the enormous number of people who have taken a moment out of their day to share this last year and four months with me.  I have loved blogging.  It has made me feel not so alone in the world.  Like there is a whole cozy world of blog out there that I feel connected to.  Strangers who come to my readings and I can tell by the light in their eyes when they walk up to me, that they have read my blog, because they approach me like a friend.  Not a thing. 

Blogging has been a great gift for me.  I feel known by you.  I thank you for that.  And even though I won’t be writing on my blog, please know that I hold you in my heart and will always treasure this time that we’ve shared.  The midnight wakings, me creeping downstairs, turning on my computer and writing my thoughts to you.  The bluish glow of the computer screen, making a small halo of light in all the darkness of the house. 

Now I’m going to move on, unclench the tight grip this computer has over me and try to rediscover and enjoy other aspects of my life.  Things that I have let fall by the wayside.

It is time for me to simplify. 

Much love and affection, Meg xo

Then what could possibly be interesting and important enough to wrench you away from your computer?

I’ve been…ahem… having fun with my new coin counting machine that I bought at Staples. Yes, I know that doesn’t sound so riveting but let me tell you, Will and I are really enjoying ourselves. 

It started out as one of those gotta-do-chores, but once I figured out the little plastic Ultrasorter and the little paper wrappers and so forth, it’s amazing how it passes time.  And even more amazing is how much money Don had managed over the last four years to dump out of his pockets into a white plastic bucket sitting by his desk.  A TON!

It’s been two days of sorting and I’m still not done and Will and I have sorted and sealed over ONE THOUSAND FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS!  And I’m not even done yet.  My arms are actually sore from lifting all that change. 

“Yes,“ I say, “This is how one gets in shape for the grueling Spa week to come.  One sorts coins.  Strengthens the biceps etc.“  I’d be better served by getting on the cross-trainer.

I’ve also been busy, helping Don get ready for his first public appearance as an author.  He is nervous and I’m…

Well, sometimes I’m soothing, but sometimes no, because he asked me to help him with his presentation, and being soothing all the time, is not very helpful

I’m sure Don would say that I was “soothing” maybe one-half a percent of the time, but when he comes home on Saturday, all triumphant, he’s going to give me a big kiss and thank me for all the help I gave him and say, “Honey, I never could have done it without you.“  And he won’t remember the non-soothing times.

So, what I’ve been doing, along with all the other regular day-to-day stuff.  Hence a few skipped blogs. 

Reading what he has to say, looking at the accompanying charts, the word that comes to mind is YIKES!

Bright sunshine ricocheting off the water, making my eyes squint even with my sunglasses on. 

It was a good workout.  Ki_____n’s back is out, but you’d never know it by the strength and length of her stride, not to mention her kick-ass pace. 

I kept up however, so I was proud of myself.  Was even able to carry on a conversation. 

That woman is super-fit, let me tell you.  And I’ll bet that even with us going a super workout clip, that she could have doubled the speed and still would have been fine.

Anyway, the weather report is that we are expecting snow tonight, which makes me doubly glad we got out today. 

My skin is still tingling from being in the outside air.  It’s like an all over gling feeling.  Like something exciting is going to happen.  My outside skin is cool too, I can feel my inside body blood rushing to the surface to help bring everything back to the same temperature.

Lovely, lovely.  I’m so glad she emailed this morning to see if I wanted to go for a walk.  Spur of the moment.  I’m so glad I said yes, even though it was cold.

I am going to use it to join Jenny on a girl’s week away!  And guess what?  We are going to leave in exactly ONE WEEK.

What a splurge!  And honestly, something I wouldn’t have felt comfortable doing using the family expenses money at this time.

A week with my sister, getting in shape, hiking, talking, walking the labyrinth.  What an unexpected luxury.  I feel very lucky.

Thank you, Jenny. xo

I used to like driving at night.  I could see well in the dark.  Not anymore.  I don’t find night driving restful at all.  I wonder if it’s going to get even worse as the years pass.  Will I someday be unable to do any night driving at all. 

My mother can’t.  I used to think she had just gotten timid as she aged, but now I know that it was her eyes that aged, not her spirit. 

Or maybe it did too.  Maybe mine is as well. 

As I was tearing along the freeway, headlights on, peering into the inky darkness, a slight taste of apprehension and fear in the back of my throat, I was thinking to myself, I would only do this for one of my kids.  Driving to an unknown address at a time of night when I am generally tucked cozy in the house and flirting with the idea of going to bed.

But, I’m back.  Safe and sound.  Nothing untoward happened.

God, the house is quiet.  Both dogs asleep on the rug in the hall.  Just far enough away that I can’t even hear the gentle snuffles and grunts of their sleep breath.

This house is way too big. 

I had lunch with Ki______n yesterday.  “Your house is nice but it feels like you haven’t moved in.  There is none of that clutter, personal touches,“ she said.  And it surprised me.  Her forthrightness.  But even though it kind of embarrassed me, I had to admit was true as well.  I haven’t moved in here.  It doesn’t feel like mine.  It feels like somebody’s house that I am visiting.  A nice house, but nothing to do with me.  Even more so, I suppose, since last year, around this time, when I shipped most of the furniture that I had collected over the last 15 years to someone who needed it more than I did. 

My old-time bloggers know what I’m talking about. 

It was hard at the time.  Hurt like hell, but now, I look back and really, it was a gift.  The act of that set me free in a way that nothing else could have done.  Don and I got busy, used our writing money, refurnished the house.  Nice squishy sofas, new tables, new chairs, paintings.  But is there a connection?  Some yes, but to most of it, no. 

And when I sell this house, I will donate most of it, give it away.  Take only what the heart wants.  What will fit in the new place.  The smaller place that we won’t rattle around in like yesterday’s memories.

I am not looking forward to all of the work.  I am looking forward to having done it.  To the time when the downsizing will be completed and we will be tucked away in our cozy little house, with it’s postage stamp lawn and the water lapping at our feet. 

I can hardly wait until the work and worry of it is done and there is nothing left to do but write if I want to, eat cozy food, take long walks and enjoy.

I am so happy.  Feel so good.  And to top it all off when I finished up the new chapter, I went on a mist-ladened walk with Karen and our dogs and talked about life and writing and woman stuff. 

Ahh… I’m back in my skin.

So many people.  So much hope.

Such mixed feelings in my heart.  I feel he is a good man.  His intentions are true and honorable.  I feel that he will do his best to serve his country, his people and the world. 

I also feel that the task before him is so huge and so vast, and the expectations so high, that the obstacles are almost insurmountable. 

I have hopes.  There are no quick fixes. 

We must be realistic, patient, and know that hard times are ahead.  He is only one man, and no matter how hard he works, there is only so much that can be accomplished.  There is so much that needs to be healed, fences to mend, economies, international relationships.  If Obama and the team he has put together is able to do one fifth of what we hope for, it will be a great thing.

The pastor is speaking now.  He irritates me.  He is sooo pompous and full of himself.  I can feel huge ego emanating from him.  Icky. 

Thank God, he is done.  Now Aretha Franklin is going to sing.  Hopefully that will get the taste of that pastor out of my mouth. 

I’m off.

I’ve read various investment blog tonight, The Big Picture, John Mauldin, Investment Postcards from Cape Town.  It seems like no sooner have I finished one when another one appears in my mailbox. 

And the problem is, that both The Big Picture and Investment Postcards have all these taster articles and if you find it interesting you can click on it and read the whole thing.  And the IPFCT guy,  Prieur du Plessis, also has started doing an addition to his blog that has a ton of really interesting, relevant to the economy, video interviews that he assimilates during the week and a lot of them are quite fasinating and so of course there goes another couple hours of my day.  Once he included a bunch of really great black and white films and clips from the crash of 1929 and the aftermath.  And then of course around Christmas he “elfed” himself and it was really funny seeing his serious head dancing disco. 

After viewing that I went to the site and elfed Will and Don and then we did all three of us dancing a trio.  It was fun.  We laughed our guts out and then had us do another dance. 

Anyway, I’ve been reading a lot of stuff lately.  And I mean a lot!  I even went to far as to read an e-book calledThe Hyperinflation Survival Guide just in case, down the road, the Fed isn’t able to unwind all this stimulus and liquidity that they are pumping into the money supply.  I know it’s a long shot, but I’m all about contingency plans.  A carry-over from my chaotic childhood.  I am hoping we won’t have hyper inflation, but just in case, I now know what I’ll need to do to keep up with it.  The book was written in the 80’s and made for pretty wild reading. 

Luckily, it was Martin Luther King day, an American holiday, so there was no Richard Russell today.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Richard Russell, but I getting to a tipping point with how much I can digest before I start to zone out. 

It will be nice when things in the world start calming down a bit.  Then I’ll probably get myself back to a nice comfortable, one or two a day.  And sometimes, if I’m busy with my writing, I’ll go a couple days or even a week, without reading a single one. 

Ah… That is the telling sentence. 

Yes, the economy and the political, social, moral repercussions make for fascinating, riveting, interesting, scary reading…

BUT… Now that I sort of know what I’m going to do, and I’m following my investment plan, and putting in the foundation for this next phase of my investment life, shouldn’t I be able to tear myself away from the drama and return to my writing desk?

The family’s finances are relatively safe.  Well, as safe as one can be, but really, who knows what is safe anymore?  My house is paid for.  No debt.  I have savings.  Shouldn’t I now be carving out a couple of hours a day to return to my writing?

Maybe.

I’m scared, I think.  To try writing again.  It’s like the longer I stay out of the water, the colder the memory of it gets in my head. 

The longest break I’ve taken from writing in the last eight years was two weeks and even then, I had to force myself to stay away for the whole two weeks because I was chomping at the bit to get back in.

Well… I haven’t worked on my manuscript for two and a half months!

I’m worried to go back to the manuscript I was working on, because this is my seventh draft and I was right near the end and I put a lot into it and now I am worried that it isn’t any good.  Maybe that’s why I’m not writing.  After working on it for all these years, trying all these different approaches to the material, what if my worry was confirmed and the manuscript did suck and the story was no good. 

Do I really want to know that?

I’m not sure I do.

Maybe it’s better to be wrapped up in the financial side of things for a while.  Exercise the analytical side of my brain.  I’m good at it.  And really, looking at it from a dollar prospective, I make way more handling my finances than I do from book sales etc.  And it’s interesting too.

The weird thing is the two things have reversed for me.  The writing feels like work and handling my stuff feels like a hobby.  It used to be the other way around.

Sigh.

You know, I’m really not being fair.  I’ll try again tomorrow, to go into my writing room.  I’ve already made a few half-hearted attempts and one serious one, but I got overwhelmed and fled.  Wish me luck.  And courage.  I’ll need it.

It was a good plan. 

When I woke up this morning, I dutifully put on my exercise clothes and came downstairs, and had some breakfast.

Don is in his writing room now, at the computer talking with Ken and James.  He’s been in there for 47 minutes

And me?

Well, I guess it’s easy to ascertain that I am not downstairs exercising!  I don’t know why typing that last sentence put the biggest smile on my face?  This is not a good thing.  This is a blatant disregard for my well thought out this-is-how-we-do-it exercise plan. 

I’ve still got a goofy-Dennis-the-menace smile on my face.  Feel like I’m doing something wicked, but incredibly clever.

This feeling will pass however and guilt will take over.  And then I won’t feel so clever.  I’ll feel like a big giant sloth blob sitting on the sofa.  Unhealthy, like after I ate all that delicious pink cotton candy at the Canucks game.  It was fun while I was eating it, but afterwards, I wished I had only eaten a portion of it, not the whole thing.

Okay… The smile is gone.  Phooey.  I’d better go down and get on that stupid treadmill. 

Bye for now.

A dream woke me.  It wasn’t a scary dream, but I got scared anyway.  I was trying to hide, it was a game, the person I was hiding from was being nice, playful.  It was kind of dark, hard to see, I was moving fast up the back stairs, holding the ball, and then I got scared.  Not the bad kind of scared, more the feeling when you are approaching a blind corner in a spook house.

Turning the corner of the stairs, and everything is all fluttery and jumpy inside, my feet can’t help but do a scared dance, even though I know it’s silly.  But what if he has gone the other way and is waiting in the dark, around the corner to roar at me.

My step-father used to do that.  Hide around corners, in the dark, leap out and roar.

But this guy is not my step-dad.

I get to the top of the stairs, time is running out.  I have to make a decision.  He is looking for me now.  I can either run down the hall and look for another place, or I can hide here in the shadows.

I slip into the shadows. 

I am good at that.  Melding, blending in with shadows.  People can walk right by, see nothing.  But you have to be good at it.  Hold absolutely still, be silent.  Tuck into yourself, don’t even breathe.

I can hear him coming up the stairs.  My heart is hammering.  I make myself smaller, but then the slightly deflated child’s ball I am carrying, lets out a small wheeze.  It is not a loud noise, but it is enough, I will not escape detection.  And this giddy fear that almost borders on fun, but is out of control, erupts and I can’t stop noises and laughter from escaping.  I’m laughing, but I’m scared and shaking too, even though this guy is nothing like my step-dad.

And he finds me, but he doesn’t roar. 

I am kind of embarrassed at how out of control I felt.  I shake my arms to try to rid myself of the fight or flight adrenaline that is roaring through me. 

He is kind, gentle, compassionate eyes.  “You aren’t twelve anymore,“ he says.  “You’re big now.  They can’t hurt you anymore.“

And then I wake up. 

“You are big now.  They can’t hurt you any more.“  That’s exactly what Rosie O’Donnell told me after I was on the View and couldn’t stop crying.  “You are big now.  They can’t hurt you any more.“  And I used her words, when ever I got scared, on book tour for Gemma.  I used it as a mantra.  Said it to myself, over and over, and it helped.

And I lay there in my bed.  Not scared anymore.  I lay there, full of gratitude for my life, the safety and peace I’ve been able to create.  I am big now.  I can take care of myself.

It’s funny how easy it is to get out of practice.  Seriously, when the alarm jolted me awake this morning I felt like I had been run over by a cement truck.  Like the truck ran me over and then backed up and ran me over again for good measure.

And one would think I’d be used to early mornings after twenty-four years of small children and then larger ones and school mornings of preparing hot breakfast and lunches, the drive to school, but I’m not.  It’s always hard getting back on school schedule and this time seems to be even harder. 

Maybe because I stayed up later this holiday than I normally do to hang out with the children, who seem to go to bed late and rise even later.

I made Quinoa for breakfast.  And for those of you who are unfamiliar with the grain, I’ve plucked this description from an article written by Karen Railey.

Quinoa (pronounced Keen-wah) is an ancient food that is not yet well known in North America. It has been cultivated in South American Andes since at least 3,000 B.C. and has been a staple food of millions of native inhabitants. The ancient Incas called quinoa the “mother grain” and revered it as sacred. Each year at planting time it was traditional for the Inca leader to plant the first quinoa seed using a solid gold shovel! Quinoa was used to sustain Incan armies, which frequently marched for many days eating a mixture of quinoa and fat, known as “war balls.“ Beginning with the Spanish conquest in the 1500s, there was a 400-year decline in the production of quinoa. It became a minor crop at that time and was grown only by peasants in remote areas for local consumption.

Now some of you might have had a little splodge of it served up with your fish at a fancy restaurant, cooked perhaps with a little onion and chopped tomato and perhaps a sprinkle of parsley or basil.  That generally the way I’ve seen it.  They serve it at spas and things and I would eat it because I knew it was good for me, not because my taste buds wanted it.  So, that being said, it might seem like an odd sort of breakfast choice for me to make for my family this morning.  Or any morning for that matter.

BUT… when I went on that hiking holiday (that I blogged about in July) with my friend, Dawna, that I thought was going to be a living hell and then I ended up loving it and losing 4 lbs to boot…

They fed us Quinoa one day for breakfast.  I poked at it unenthusiastically with my spoon for a few moments and then I reminded myself that I had a whole day of hiking ahead of me and I’d better eat up because the stuff is incredibly high in protein, and guess what?  It tasted good!

I’m not sure what the cook had put in it, but she used it as the basis of a breakfast cereal rather than a riceish side dish for dinner.  I could taste banana and cinnamon and she’d sprinkled fresh berries on the top.  “Hmm…“ I thought to myself.  “I could do this.“

Anyway, here’s how I made it today, but really, with this kind of thing, anything goes, just throw in what sounds good to your tongue.  And if you look it up on the Internet and then read some of it’s history to your children (or reluctant husband/wife/partner) and show them the ancient pyramids and stuff like that it might encourage them to give it a go. 

Quinoa is really, really good for you and if you make it like this, it actually tastes good too.

Quinoa (as a cereal)
Ingredients: Quinoa, a banana, dried cranberries, raisins, almonds, either fresh or frozen blueberries or raspberries or both, maple syrup, cinnamon, honey, vanilla

-place in a pot and bring to a boil 1 cup of Quinoa and 2 cups of water, then turn the heat down to simmer.  Stirring now and then.

-chop one banana into small pieces and add to pot.

-add a sprinkle of salt and some cinnamon (I do around 6 long shakes and I have a big cinnemon shaker, so figure it’s somewhere between 1 to 1 1/2 teaspoons)

-add a glug of maple syrup and around a five second squirt of honey (maybe 1-2 tablespoons of maple, same of honey) and a tiny splash of vanilla to the pot.

-place a handful of whole raw almonds in the oven on a cookie sheet at 400 degrees for five minutes, take them out and chop on chopping board.

-chop a fistful of dried cranberries, chop a fistful of raisins.

When the water has been absorbed into the Quinoa, taste to make sure the texture is good.  The Quinoa should have opened up a little and should not be crunchy, but have a nice texture and a bit of a spring to them.  If you look real closely it’s like there they become a little more opaque and have a little “c” along the outside. 

-If it is winter, throw in around two fistfuls of whatever frozen summer berry you have in your fridge.  Once they are warm, serve.

-drizzle a little honey over the top.  Sprinkle on some of the chopped dried cranberries, raisins and toasted almonds.  (If it is summer, this would be when you put the fresh berries on top.)  And then…

EAT! 

I like mine with a drizzle of whole milk.  Don likes his plain.

I hope you like it, and if you don’t?  Well, isn’t it cool to think about all of those centuries of people before us eating this very same grain?  Not only that, think about how healthy it is!  Someone once told me that one serving of Quinoa had (as much?  more?) protein than a steak!

“The Bureau of Labor Statistics employed seasonal adjusting chicanery to mitigate job losses. Not seasonally adjusted (NSA), 954,000 jobs were lost. Additionally, the BLS’s hokey Net Business Birth/Death Model unfathomably created 72,000 jobs in December,“ commented Bill King (The King Report).

As you can see this is a much higher number than the 524,000 that The Bureau of Labor put forth for December.

And then, in a different article, John Williams at shadowstats.com did a chart that includes all the people that have left the workforce for one reason or another that has the U.S. unemployment figure at the 17.5% level.  Which is a very different figure than the commonly accepted one of 7.2%. 

I think the truth lies somewhere in the middle of these two numbers.

Do whatever it takes to pay down your debt and get a safety emergency stash of cash, because, unfortunately, all signs are leading me to the conclusion that the lay-offs that have happened already are only the warm-up act. 

And my dear bloggers, I know this isn’t the most fun to read, but every once in a while I have to let it out or I feel like I’m going to burst.  I get worried about all of you out there, and once in a while I need to say, “Be careful, this is what I see coming around the corner.“ 

I shall try my mightiest to give the financial stuff a break for the next few days, weeks, however long I can go. 

Bye for now. xo

I enjoyed myself at the hockey game last night, but I think it was probably more the good conversation and the happiness of catching up with Cheryl and Vern that did the trick.  Not only that, but we were sitting way up high and so it was really quite peaceful watching the little figures gliding along on the ice.  Almost balletic at times. 

I liked it better than watching on t.v., because they sold cotton candy and warm cinnamon sugar mini donuts and when the players got into a fight, I’d just turn my head and you don’t have the announcer describing the blows and the close-ups of the pulpy bleeding faces and the replays and commentary and the shots of the angry faces yelling swear words with revenge in their eyes.  There was none of that dynamic, way up high in the bleachers.  Look away, eat a tuft of cotton candy and it’s over. 

All of a sudden my brain flashed to the atrocities that were committed in the Second WW.  The atrocities that are being committed today.  The desperate and homeless that are lining our streets.  Look away, eat some cotton candy, drive past. 

I went through my closet this last week and took all of the suits and nice clothes from my past that I don’t need to wear anymore because I work from home now.  Jeans and tee-shirts, an occasional pair of cords and nice top for my school visits.  Everything else, anything that I hadn’t worn in the last year, no matter how nice it was, or how much it cost, or who gave it to me, I folded them up and drove down to this charity that is having hard times with the turn down and dropped them off. 

It was a weird feeling, not to have the safety net of those power suits and what-not in case I ever needed to walk in that old world I used to be in.  Weird, but good.  Because I thought of the women that are new to this country, or out of rehab, or bad relationships, trying to start a new life, get off the streets, get a job.  I thought of them, putting on a lovely cashmere sweater and feeling confident that they would pass.  Putting on one of those kick-ass suits and saying, “yes, I can do it,“ and going in for that meeting and nailing that job. 

I was a bit over zealous.  My closet was never overly stuffed and now it practically echos.  I don’t miss the fancy old me clothes one bit. 

Anyway, back to last night.  I thought the hockey game was going to be way rowdier than it was.  With people roaring and stomping their feet and slopping beer over my shoulder.  There were cheers and such and when Matt Sudin got his first goal everyone shot to their feet and cheered and cheered for a really long time to let him know that they were so happy and pleased that he finally made up his mind and decided to join the Canucks.  They gave him two or three standing ovations and cheered forever.  Maybe the fans were hoping that if they made it really cozy for him, he’d decide that he liked Vancouver and would sign up for next year too.

I devoured the Suze Orman book, 2009 Action Plan, How to Keep Your Money Safe and Sound.  I had woken up with another hot flash so I put on my robe and puttered downstairs in the dark.  I find sometimes if I get out of bed, instead of lying there stressing about how I can’t fall back asleep, that it works better for me. 

Then after several hours have passed, I can return to bed, good and tired and fall right to sleep.  This way I associate the bed with sleep.  Before, it was getting so the minute I settled down into bed, my mind would start worrying and spinning that I might have difficulty sleeping, and then I would.

Speaking of difficulty sleeping, trying to keep up with the new economic drama and social/political goings on in the world is NOT helping the sleep quotient one bit!

Anyway, I really loved reading Suze’s action plan, because it made me feel like at least somebody is out there, trying to help the average normal person make sense of this mess.  What I loved about it was I felt it really puts practical information into people’s hands. 

She takes different scenarios and then not only says, this is what you need to do, but she actually puts the contact information right there. 

If you are having financial challenges, it would be an excellent idea to read the whole book.  You can still download a PDF of the book for free if you go to Oprah.com Suze has made it available to anyone who goes there until Thursday. 

If you don’t have time to read the whole book, or you find it overwhelming, then just do one chapter. 

Say you are scared that the bank is going to foreclose on your house, go to that chapter and your options will be laid out for you plain and simple along with what you need to do and who you need to contact.

Drowning in credit card debt?  Go to that chapter and you will get a straight forward very good step-by-step plan to get out of it.

Getting fiscally sound is very important, especially now. 

You know how I’ve said you need to have a six month safety net in savings, well according to Suze, in this economic environment you now need eight. 

I know it sounds like a lot.  It is a lot.  But it’s really important.  The unemployment figures are way higher than the government figures are stating and they are going to go up as the effect of this Fall’s economic fallout start to be felt.  The next while is going to be rocky.  I know I’ve been warning about this, but now it’s here, sitting on our doorstep and it’s even bigger and worse than even I imagined, which is saying a lot.

So, if you are at all worried about your finances, take advantage of Suze’s generous offer, download her book, and start taking the steps necessary to get your family’s financial future and safety back on track.

Wow.  I sound like an advertisement.  Let me just state for the record that Suze Orman doesn’t know me from dirt.

Happy reading everyone! 

Love, Meg xo

Hello Bloggers,

You might ask yourself why I am posting a picture of me wearing a rather unattractive, shapeless garment?  And then, if I was going to put such a silly thing on, why would I post it?

Well, tonight I will be going to my very first live hockey game. 

Don would have been very happy if I had agreed to go earlier, but I’m not a big hockey buff and it seemed like it would be a waste of a good seat.

Also, I don’t like it when they engage in fisticuffs.  When it happens on TV and I happen to be sitting with Don I take a bathroom or snack break. 

I don’t understand why they have to have the fighting?  If they didn’t pull off their helmets and start slugging away at each other, I’d be quite happy to accompany my husband to the games so he wouldn’t have to buy single seats and sit by himself with nobody to high-five when the Canucks score.

Will used to go, but as much as he loves Don, he got tired of having to go to all those games.

But tonight, I go.

Why?  You might ask.

Well, remember when I blogged about how we were all going to go to Cheryl and Vern, my old neighbour’s home for dinner?  We got snowed out. 

Emily arrived via plane, Dave managed to make it over despite the snow, but the night before we were to make the journey, the snow picked up and there were blizzard warnings, roads closed, high winds.  To go was not a possibility.

So, we made alternate plans.  Vern knew that Don liked hockey and he didn’t know that I was squeamish about possible pummelling on the ice and I wasn’t about to enlighten him.  I felt way too bad about having to cancel the big family get-together the day before. 

“That sounds wonderful!“ I said. 

And it does.  I’m looking forward to seeing them and if it means I attend a hockey game, so be it. 

Who knows?  I might find I love it.

My sister Becky used to go to hockey games.  She said it was real fun.  She had a big cow bell that she would ring when the Canucks would score and they would bring snacks and eat them.

I might love attending hockey games.  The roar of the crowds, the tasty treats.  Wouldn’t Don be happy.

“Hi everybody,“ I say rather sheepishly.  “Better late than never.“

I spent the day with Karen.  We were belatedly celebrating her birthday which was a couple of days ago.  We went to the art gallery which was having a feminist show called Wack or Mack or Twack or something like that. 

I have to say, I was underwhelmed.  I was hoping to be blown away by amazing, fabulous, strong art that pulled at my soul and gut and made me proud to be a part of womankind.  I wanted to be impressed and humbled.

I wasn’t. 

I was grateful that Karen had a similar reaction to mine.  Nothing worse than going to an exhibit with someone who in in raptures about something that you think is a self-indulgent massive wank-off.  You have to walk around and gaze for hours at stuff that has them spewing sonnets in the artist glory, and if it’s a really good friend, you don’t want to ruin their good time by letting them know how utterly pretentious you find the stuff.

Don and I have finally worked out how we have to do the art gallery/museum stuff, because we have VERY different tastes as to what rocks our boat. 

We do the floors separately. 

I like to sweep, walk through, expecting nothing and letting certain pieces grab me.  Then, once spoken to, I go closer and take it in.  It’s sort of like when you’re dating and you finally meet some guy that your friend has been waxing lyrical about, saying the two of you would be a perfect match, etc.  And this guy, on paper he sounds great, but when you meet him… nothing.  Or sometimes, your brain is saying, wow, this guy is great, fabulous, wonderful, and your gut is screaming, RUN!  And you don’t know why.  Or sometimes, he’s nice, you get on.  He is a genuinely nice person, but he doesn’t smell right.  It’s like you have to hold your breath and breathe shallow around him.  Not that he smells bad, he’s just not right is all.

That’s what a lot of art is for me.  If I find one good piece that moves me, in an outing, it’s a good day.  If I discover more?  Fabulous.

You never want to go to an art gallery with me.  Or the movies for that matter.  I am WAY to particular about movies.  Mostly, I don’t go anymore because I find most of them around as enjoyable as cleaning out a filthy chicken house that has been left to stew in it’s juices for two weeks.

Lovely.  I bet you’re glad I decided to blog today.

Anyway, after the uninspiring (to me) exhibit, we had a lovely lunch, a great girl chat and a doggie drive home.  No… the dogs weren’t in the car, but the memory of them was and Molly went crazy when we got back to my house because she could smell them on us too.

Don said she wouldn’t stop crying when Karen and I left.  Because she associates Karen with her two dogs and a happy romp in the park.  Molly couldn’t believe that we left without her.  Howled inconsolably.  Which did not make for the most conducive work environment for my sainted husband.