So many things don't count, up here. When I go somewhere else I remember.

We don't have cell phones. When I leave the house, no-one can find me unless they're willing to drive around and look for me.

Maclean's magazine sent me an email today offering to give me a chance to win a free car. There are no cars here. There are lots of old trucks, and some new trucks, but unless you count my friend Bella Rose's purple Jeep, there are no cars. The Dodge Neon that Maclean's is dangling would be completely useless here. I can barely get our big old black truck out of the driveway in the winter. A Dodge Neon would probably sit under a snowdrift for ten months of the year.

Unless you remember to go to the store after work and before seven o'clock, no food can be purchased. Except junk food from the game hall, if you don't mind braving the army of small children who hang there. And sometimes when you do remember to go to the store, the thing you were thinking you'd have for dinner is unavailable. David was here and he drinks Coke, but there wasn't any in town that week. We're used to this but I think he was pretty surprised. Like, if there's no Coke don't you just go to another store. Mmm. good thought.

We see movie trailers on tv and commercials for fast food, but we have no movie theater, no MacDonald's, no Taco Bell, no nothing but a pizza kiosk that generally shuts down around 5 pm, or earlier if they're bored. Our Friday night entertainment is usually sitting at my friend Patti's on her couch, or on her deck if it's not too too cold, eating her crab dip and talking. Sometimes we play Trivial Pursuit or argue with Peter (he's an atheist lawyer) about theology or justice. My friends all help with various things around town, Beavers and Cubs and the Education Authority (like a school board only not so much board) and we curl so we're together a lot in one capacity or another. If someone's building something, others come to help. We dog-sit and guinea-pig-sit. My father in law thinks we might be a commune. I think I could handle that.

Yeah, this is Kirsten and David at the beach in July. It's the Arctic. What can I say. (but don't they look cute?)

It has been busy here. Kirsten's friend is visiting from Ohio and it's been wonderful to have him here. Work is busy but they're mad at me at the moment because I took three days off this week to spend with them. Well, except one guy, who told me I should have taken the whole ten days off, and the rest of them be damned. But I did finish every scrap of work I had last week, and I've been in every evening to tidy up, and I'll be back tomorrow so hopefully they'll get over it.

We went out to the cabin last weekend, and stayed out there with Kirsten and David. We've been fishing a lot, and yesterday we went to the beach (in raincoats, mitts, hats...) and made a fire and had a picnic. Some muskox were running about in the distance, so David can say he saw some, but really they were just brown moving blobs.

My dad is recovering from his surgery, slowly, he's been at home since the weekend but is having home nursing as he still is feeling crappy and retaining fluid. He is probably not going to need a permanent pacemaker. My mum is talking about not going back to work in September, but staying home to look after him, but he doesn't want that.

My heart goes out to those who are struggling today. You know who you are.

Today while I was sitting with someone who took it into their head to run naked through the streets, I heard this song on the radio. It seemed apropos, somehow. REM, The Great Beyond:

I'm pushing an elephant up the stairs
I'm tossing up punch lines that were never there
Over my shoulder a piano falls
Crashing to the ground
I'm breaking through
I'm bending spoons
I'm keeping flowers in full bloom
I'm looking for answers from the great beyond

Headed for Alberta on Friday. Gonna go drop Rachel in Ponoka so she can go to horse-and-bible camp. And fetch Kirsten's boyfriend, who is arriving from Ohio to visit us.

Dad's operation went long, he had some bleeding and they left the breathing tube in overnight, but they took it out today and he's talking to my mum and my brother Roy in the cardiac ICU. I've been trying to keep my little brother, Graeme in Australia feeling connected to the whole process - he's so far away.

Thanks for all the prayers...

Mum called today, called me at work which freaked me out, Dad's surgery has been moved to this Thursday. Which is also his 70th birthday.

things I did not do today (but have been meaning to do for a while).

clean the bathroom.
empty the dishwasher
pull the little piece of cardboard out from where it's stuck under the dishwasher
peel the stickers off the kitchen floor
buy juice (this one I wish I had done. oh well. settled for beer.)

I also didn't want to wash the floor in the kitchen, because the puppy seems so close to the ground that I thought it'd get sick from the Mr. Clean.
The dishwasher will still be there in the morning. Ditto the bathroom, the cardboard, the stickers.
Instead I sat and read Kirsten the Chuck Norris facts. (There is no such thing as global warming. Chuck Norris was cold so he turned up the sun.)

Things I Did Today.

Slept in. - didn't wake up until 20 minutes before I'm supposed to be at work, and I managed to take a shower and let both dogs out. Arrived at work on time. With wet hair.

Sneezed on other people's keyboards. - One of the police databases accidentally got removed from my computer. I called the central help desk and they helpfully suggested that a tech should "stop in". Yeah. After his coffee break 5000 kms away. I'll leave the door open.

Watched the folk in cells inbetween everything else I was doing. - the weather is nice and nobody wants to work.

Fetched my foodmail from the airport - I love foodmail. Today we got nectarines and asparagus and dragonfruit yogurt tubes. And chocolate milk. which I hate, but it makes Kirsten happy.

Somehow, during the course of my day, I managed to get a piece of pineapple lodged in my nose. It took a long time to snuff it out. I did this in the bathroom, for those of you who are wondering.

I share this with you because maybe it will make you say, hey, my day wasn't so bad, I don't have a cold like Kate's, I don't have to work while the rest of my family goes on a fishing trip, I don't have to puppy-sit (and I know it's gonna whine allllll night) and there is currently no fruit in my nasal cavity.

And as a note to Ed, when the man who fits the bill you describe walks into my life, he will probably be completely disgusted to find me trying to extricate something from my nose, and will run as fast as he can.

My dad's having his heart valve surgery on July the 11th. I'm scared... and I think he is too.

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.