Kiviaq is staying with Kirsten and me. Kirsten now needs new socks. Kiviaq's owners have gone fishing with Miguel.

She's a very cute puppy. Her mom is part wolf. Rachel had (it's a long story) actually picked her out to be our puppy, but. It didn't quite work that way. But it's good to spend time with her anyway.

I'm a bit slow in the updating...

(which is like slow on the uptake but quieter.)

Took all my kids and one of Patti's out to the cabin this last weekend, it was windy but it was very cosy to be out there. Miguel was in Vancouver. We barbecued, swept up flies, played cards and bickered amicably, lots of fun. There is a converted woodstove that now burns oil like a furnace, and Ian helped me start it. When it warmed up, we made raisin scones in the oven for a midnight snack.

Work is good. Busy. Lots to do these days. And I have a summer cold that is a real pain. Now that we finally have summer.

Kirsten and I are going to be by ourselves the next couple of days, Rachel, Miguel, and Ian are going to Ferguson Lake fishing with some other families. Kirsten's puppy-sitting. I'll take pictures, because the puppy's awfully cute.

I'm tired tonight. this evening as I was walking home from Patti's, a little kid who looked to be about six shouted something at me. I turned and said, "what?" He repeated himself - "fucking white". I grinned at him and said, "thank you" but I walked a bit faster. Kids in this town spend a lot of time throwing rocks at things, and some of them have really good aim. I've taken calls at work from grownups who are outraged to find themselves the target of rock barrages as they go to the store.

Someone who failed a learner driver's test today said something about 'stupid' under his breath that I suspect was directed at me. I ignored him.

But I found that this evening with the little kid, I had some anger rise up inside me. I watched it for a while with interest. Would I go smack a little kid? I don't think so. But the urge was definitely there. But what I want to know is why? I'm an adult. This is a kid that doesn't know me. I should add that the kids who do know me, from work or Cubs, always greet me happily by name, some of them even run across the road to give me hugs. And once or twice kids I know have stopped kids I don't know from shouting slurs at me.

Does racism mean anything really, coming from a six year old who doesn't know me at all? Why is my response immediate anger?

"Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world." -- Archbishop Desmond Tutu

Rachel and Kirsten and I did the church service today. Lots of fun. The texts were cool ones, Jesus and Elijah raising the dead, and we talked about zombies and waffles.

(Incidentally, Kirsten complained that I had left her out of the first sentence. I told her that's the reason Joeby's the only one who is allowed to read over my shoulder. Now she's leafing through my IPod...)

There is a minister coming. The week after next. So I probably won't do the service again. I'm not really an organized religion kind of person. I've really enjoyed our little experiment in Quakerish church. It's been very inspiring to listen to everyone's thoughts on our readings and our lives together. Most of us who go to the church are linked in other ways, as friends and co-workers, and it feels good to go on Sunday morning and think about our connectedness. I think I will really miss it if it gets to be different when the minister comes.

he's the only one who's allowed to look over my shoulder. (I know, some folks don't let their dogs sit on the couch. he doesn't know he's a dog.)

You know what's weird? Every year about this time things seem to break down. Last year I felt the need to share the world's most depressing poem, in 2005 I didn't post for the three and a half weeks around June 1st, and when I did it was to report chaos, in 2004 it was my delusion that I'd died and this:

things are getting a bit weird here. in case you haven't noticed. I'm obsessing about outkast and my concentration is shot. I'm contemplating giving up all my worldly possessions and becoming a bag lady. I have a nice bag, that M brought me back from a conference he went to recently, and I've been filling it with stuff.,

and in 2003 I had this to say:


I wish there were a way to make it all go away. To sit down in a corner and say, no, I've lost my sanity and I'm just going to sit here for a month until it comes wandering back of its own accord, and apologizes for screwing with me for so long. Then the dust under the couches and the pine needles in the bathtub and the clothes festering under the beds would be remedied by some sort of kindly matron person, and I could knit little sweaters for squirrels and the state would pay for it. I'm sure the squirrels would have all the answers, too, and if I listened to them they'd tell me that work is for suckers and life is for hanging upside down in trees and yelling at people. I wish I could rid myself of the feeling that I'm the biggest idiot in the world. That I could resign myself to the fact that my opinion is never going to amount to a hill of beans around here.

2002 around the beginning of June was when the doctor called to tell me he thought I had MS.

2001 there was a big gap between the end of April and the beginning of July. (these last two are from my now archived Diaryland diary)

What does this mean?

I don't know. I should mention that this is one of the things I often do, I like to look back at "this week in history" courtesy of my weblog and my old Diaryland site. Especially with the Diaryland site there is often a big contrast between my worries at the time and how I know things turned out. And I like to be reminded that I did ALL THAT schooling from 2002 to 2005, and have now got a job that uses it. But it was only today, looking at my 'first week in June-ish' posts from the past few years that I see parallels in emotion. I wonder if it's the anniversary of something but I can't think what.

a movie you all should watch: Men With Brooms.

because it has beavers (the road in front of the car is full of beavers. it's an omen. it's not an omen, it's just a bunch of confused beavers. get the brooms. what if it is an omen? and lo the river shall bring forth beavers in abundance, and they will enter thy house and...) and the Tragically Hip and Leslie Nielsen being funny.

some days I feel as if I'm sitting in sand. the universe is sand. it seeps through my fingers. the mental health worker came today, to see one of our incarcerated and disturbed individuals, and he and I talked about suicide. he's against it. he's a mental health worker. I suppose he has to be. I didn't tell him that there are days I understand. the universe is sand. everyone who ever lived before a hundred or so years ago is dead now. I put purge dates on files that someone will throw away after I'm dead. it's funny, this year the neverending darkness didn't get to me, but I'm having trouble dealing with the eternal light. at 2am you could still read a book outside, if you so desired.

the other night I had a dream that I was trying to escort a polar bear through town, and stop it from eating people. my friend Patti says that means I feel responsible for everyone in town. what a scary thought.

anyway. please know that I often get like this. and it passes. just, I don't always feel like talking...

On Saturday night we went to a hypnotist show. It was for the spring festival going on in town this week, and included dinner and a comedian. The comedian was a bit bemused by the whole "ohmygod it never gets dark" experience, and the fact that people were coming up to him at the airport and saying to him, "You must be the comedian," and not because they recognized him, but because they didn't. It's a small town.

Anyway, the hypnotist show. He asked for volunteers, and I stood up. Twenty of us went up and filled the chairs on the stage, and he said that he would be sending some of us back to the audience. After a few minutes of listening to his spiel, I still felt totally normal and I figured, ok, maybe I'm not suggestible enough and he'll send me back in a minute or two. Then he stepped it up, started asking us to stare at a spot on the ceiling, and then we had to close our eyes and then. After that my memory gets a bit spotty. At one point I guess he was going through the volunteers to see who was relaxed, and picking up people's hands and dropping them. I didn't realize he'd picked up my hand until I felt it hit my knee when it fell, so I can only imagine that he picked up my arm and it felt like overcooked spaghetti.

My friends said that I still seemed like myself. I have a memory, like you would have from a dream, of dancing with one of the town councillors. But apparently I was more reserved than some of the younger women.

I expected something more dramatic. I expected to not feel like myself, I think. But it was interesting, because it was as if there was a tiny bit of consciousness that was still me, and it was watching with interest. As if, I knew what I was doing but it didn't really matter. I was surprised afterwards to hear that all the people around me were asked to go back to their seats, I wasn't aware of that at all. Interesting, all in all.

Did you pray for Britney Spears? I'm afraid I did not. I can almost understand the angst of someone who perhaps did not intend to be famous (some are born famous, others have famousness thrust upon them) but I can't understand someone who has gone all out to flirt, seduce, and court fame and fortune and then becomes unhinged when it arrives at the door with a bouquet and a ring. Sorry. I think I'll save my prayers for others who really have rough lives.

Miguel came home from Yellowknife today and brought me a brand-new laptop. Yippee! It's beautiful, kind of a grey colour. It's a Compaq. And that's all I know. If you were expecting to hear specifications, I'm not your gal.

So the careening and crashing laptop I've been using (I'm not complaining, it lasted longer than I expected considering that it was second hand to begin with) can be consigned to the pile of non-working computer components. Which is growing. It's something we do. Rachel also got a laptop, as each kid got a computer for their 12th birthday and as she's not into the online gaming like her brother and sister, she wanted a laptop too.

Today we went ice fishing. Well, actually, some of our group did fish but most of us sat around the holes in a lazy manner and drank coffee. We were out by our cabin, so I went in, filled and lit the naphtha stove, and made tea. I'm looking forward to when we can go out there to stay, this summer.

There was a moment while we were travelling out there, and everything was white and silent, when I had the feeling of being a tiny living dot on a huge landscape. Very cool. There's something about this land that makes me feel ancient and somehow timeless, when I'm out in the middle of it...

Today, we had this. It was a busy day.

Stuff like this is logistically very difficult and complicated. Added to that, I swear the phone rang every three and a half seconds. Town of 1500, it's possible I talked to most of the adults. People kept calling to ask if they could leave their homes yet... I'm tired, but it's a good tired. The bit where the outcome was peaceful and favourable was wonderful.

My house seems to be endlessly full of enormous teenagers. There are always extra bodies lying on the floor in the living room, playing that Mortal Kombat game or watching movies. I suspect that some of them, although they claim to be visiting my son, are actually here to attempt proximity to my sixteen-year-old daughter. I always sort of thought that was a myth, but I see it in action here. Plus all my son's friends are growing madly, and the nice little eleven and twelve year old boys I met when we first moved here are now huge. Boys do that, hey? Just grow overnight? Ian slept for a couple of months and is now almost 5' 7". For those of you who are counting, yes, that is almost five inches taller than me. But it's good. Boys should be tall. And yeah, I'm short.

I think that I have forgotten to mention a couple of things that I found out in Australia. The happy thing being that Roy and Robyn are having a BABY and I will be an aunt in October. Robyn's almost my age, so they've been cautious about telling people, as she's old to be having her first baby, but it looks as if all is good.

The other thing, not so happy, is that my dad has to have open heart surgery again, and soon. One of his valves is failing, and he needs a new one. And they want to check on the five bypasses they did in 1993, as they usually only last ten years or so. We were bugging him that if they knew they were going to have to go in again they should have given him a zipper. He's pretty cheerful about the whole thing. It was funny, because I told them I was pregnant with Ian right around the time they told me Dad needed surgery, and now Roy tells them Dad'll have another grandchild right around the time of the second surgery.

We took the kids out on the snowmobiles today, over to where there's a cliff that gets a great overhang of snow and you can jump off. When we got out there, the snow was sparkly and the wind was just fetching little plumes of dusty snow off the top. Beautiful. And we all climbed up and leapt off. I'm tired now, but it was worth it. I find that in order to stay sane in the job I'd doing, I need to get out and play every once in a while. Don't get me wrong, I do love the job, but it tends to weigh on your mind. I didn't have to drive a kid, we had enough adults and snowmobiles and komatiks (wooden slatted sleds to pull behind snowmobiles) so that I ended up alone. This partly because my machine is a 350 and everyone else has a 500 or a 550, which pull the komatiks easier.

It seems strange that this time last month I was bodysurfing in Australia. I find that there's something very mind-clearing about riding on a snowmobile. After a while you don't think about anything any more. You just ride. It makes me think I might like riding a motorcycle, too, even though I've never done it.

Trying to clear the piles on my desk at home, today. This week I had cubs and a meeting of the school board and a late night at work when an emergency developed at 4:30 and I stayed with the radio at work because the guys were out on snowmobiles looking for someone and needed me. Then Friday night at midnight they called asking me to guard, so yesterday was kind of a write off too. Not that staying in bed all day is really such a hardship. But what happens is I come in and dump mail and stuff on my desk, and some of it really needs to be dealt with. Every time I get it all cleared up on a Sunday, I swear that I'm not going to do that during the week to come, but it never seems to happen. All the efficiency I might have at work doesn't seem to translate...

You know what's funny? (I know, I'm up too late. I'm not going to want to get up in the morning.)

Everything you do, in your life, while it's happening it all seems so random, somehow. But then one day you move on to something else and you look back, and you think, hey, did I do that for a reason? And even if you didn't do it for a reason, it all comes together and knits itself into a life. All the things I've done, and all the things that have happened to me, they add up to 39 years of stuff that didn't seem to have a plan at the time, and yet if I look back I've been going in the same direction all along.

Is that funny, or what? (Yeah, it's late. It made sense in my head. Really. Blame Prince. Electric word life / It means forever and that's a mighty long time)

Long day today. I'm in bed now. Because, when I'm the only one in the bed (well, unless you count Joeby) I can bring my laptop with me. And I can have all the pillows. In the last month I've spent four days, I think, with Miguel. And he's not back for another week yet, either. But he did call today, and all is going well in Europe. He and Kirsten were at Vimy the day before the Queen.

I was watching General Hospital. One of the characters, Jason, is meant to be the strong silent type, and Elizabeth, someone he's not currently in a relationship with, is having his baby. This situation calls for a lot of dramatic shots of Jason looking pained and conflicted. Ian, who was hanging about and pretending he doesn't watch GH, said to me, "Jason have big thinky brain. Big thinky brain must decide what to do about the baby." (I'm not trying to claim that Ian made this up, I know it's from Futurama, where the giant brains try to take over the earth) Then tonight I was dozing on the couch. I woke up to hear some really not-so-good American Idol-hopeful singing, and said to Ian, who was just turning off Mortal Kombat, "She's not very good." He replied, "I would imagine that's why she's wearing those shorts." I had to tell him later that Simon agreed with him.

I think I've spent so many years explaining things to the kids that I somehow don't think they legitimately have a thought unless I, or someone else, gave it to them? Don't get me wrong, I love it when they surprise me. When they told me not so long ago that if I help them with their Scrabble letters it means that I'm really just playing against myself... Heck, that's worked for years. I basically used play a four handed game of Scrabble, looking at everyone's letters and telling them what words to make and where to put them.

Rachel had a sleepover the other night. Three friends, and I said they could sleep in the living room and play video games and stay up as late as they wanted. I went to bed and put my IPod earphones on and listened to Prince. Next day her friends asked me not to tell their parents they stayed up late. I said, "Did you stay up late?" Rachel told me later that they had decided that I didn't count as a Parent. That I could be trusted to know that they hadn't gone to sleep until three AM. It's spring break. They have no school. I went to work in the morning and let them sleep in, came back to make them pancakes at 11:30. They had eight hours of sleep. Whatever. One of my very vivid childhood memories is of a sleepover I went to at a girl named Kim's house, when I was about Rachel's age. We stayed up pretty much all night, talking and laughing and playing games, and her parents went to bed and never came out and yelled at us once. And her mom made us breakfast in the morning like nothing had happened.

Happy Easter. It's very quiet here, without Miguel, Kirsten, and Ian. Rachel and I have been hanging out. We made snickerdoodles this afternoon, and yesterday we watched all the episodes of General Hospital that were recorded while I was away. I really like the PVR on the satellite tv. I know, I could probably think of a better use for that particular feature, something educational, but Luke's back on GH and so at the moment, I'm in.

Work is fantastic. I missed it so much. I feel all happy, inside. Even getting the truck stuck in the snow yet again today didn't upset me. I shouldn't drive. I should just walk. I haven't even set foot in the truck since Miguel left, but tonight Rachel persuaded me that she really needed a ride to her friend's place. I managed to move the truck about ten feet before getting it stuck. She walked. I spent about 45 minutes trying different things - wood and dog food and floor mats and cardboard under the wheels, and dug a whole lot of snow out from underneath it. No luck. Then my new neighbours showed up and made 'damsel in distress' comments, and pulled it out in about three seconds. So I emailed Miguel and told him we had to add them to the list of those who have helped me extricate the truck and other vehicles from sand/mud/snow/flat tires. It's a long list.

Tomorrow we're having Easter dinner with the other abandoned spouses. And children. I think it comes out to 3 adults and 8 or 9 children. Rachel and I are bringing salad. The truck is now parked in the detachment parking lot, behind the house, rather than in the driveway, so I might even be able to drive there....

Today I went back to work.

And when I say that, I mean, at the best job in the world, once again. The lady whose maternity leave I filled last year (who came back early) has gone again, and I have another six month contract. And it is still the best job. And it was so good to be back.

I'm sleepy tonight. But it's good. I know that tomorrow I get to go to work and be happy. Miguel is off to Europe with Kirsten tomorrow, he's chaperoning the high school tour of the Canadian battlefields, and they're both excited. And Ian's going to Yellowknife on Friday for a cadet rifle-shooting competition. So next weekend Rachel and I will be having Easter dinner with the two husbands left behind by the female chaperones. We're going to cook a turkey.