October 2011

I’m not overly fond of getting unexpected phone calls. I’ve had a few that didn’t bring good news and now, so my friends tell me, I often answer with a hint of terror in my voice.  The minute I hear the ring, I do mental inventory of all our family members, where they are and what they are doing. 

So when the phone rang this morning, I admit I answered with a very hesitant ‘hello?’.  When the person on the other end of the phone said who she was, it didn’t register for a moment.  I was still in panic mode.  

I think she was hoping for a little more enthusiasm when she said she was from the nomination committee of the Ontario Library Association.  I was still processing the fact that I hadn’t heard the words ‘injury’,  ‘problem’ or ‘emergency’. 

I suddenly realized I was getting “The Call” telling me that my book, Saving Armpit, had been nominated for the Silver Birch Express Award.  Now I was flooded with excitement!

I could remember my own kids participating in the program when they were younger, eager to discuss their favourite books from the list with me.  My book was going to be on that list and in the hands of hundreds, maybe thousands of kids.  That for me, is the best feeling of all.

Summer is my favourite season and watching movies is one of my favourite downtime activities.    So I thought I would list some of my favourite summertime movies: 

A League of Their Own -women’s baseball.  GREAT movie

The Parent Trap-the original with Hailey Mills.  Always reminds me of my own summer camp pranks!

State Fair-Rogers and Hammerstein at their best.  

Bend it Like Beckham-great story.

Roman Holiday- Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck running around romantic Rome.  Mmmm

Journey to the Centre of the Earth-the original, which technically wasn’t summer underground, but whatever.

Raiders of the Lost Ark-this was summer, even if it was snowing in Nepal, right?

Pass the popcorn!

You never know what the day will bring.

Today while I was sitting in the dining room trying to write I heard a thunk on the window behind me.  When I turned around, a pigeon was sitting on the sill looking at me through the window.  He was beautiful with shimmering purple and green on his neck.

He had a yellow leg band on that identified him as a Canadian Racing Pigeon and a web address.  A few clicks and we were able to locate his owner.  While waiting for them to come pick him up we fed and watered Walter, as my daughter named him.

His owners told us that he had been released near Aberfoyle to fly home to Woodstock, about a 45 minute flight.  That was three days ago.  Walter needs a GPS.

It was a happy ending, though; Walter was finally on his way home.  His owners were relieved to have him back and decided that they would keep the name.

Happy travels, Walter.
 

There’s no getting around it.  I am an introvert. 

I took several online tests and it turns out I could be the poster child for introversion.    

    What does this mean? It means:

-I’m not really aloof, I am very shy around people I don’t know.

-Too much noise and confusion is like nails on a chalkboard to me.

-I talk to myself in the shower because often I need to rehearse what to say during an important conversation.

-I will be the last to join an activity...not because I don’t like to have a good time, but because I have to feel comfortable before joining in.

-I feel drained after social events even if I enjoy myself.

-I can become crabby if I am around people or activities too long.

-I feel anxious at gatherings where I don’t know many people.

-I feel terrified at gatherings where I don’t know any people.

-I am close to passing out at gatherings where I am the center of attention or on display.

    So the next time you see someone trying to hide behind the shrubbery at a party, have compassion. Remember, it could be an introvert.  It could be me. 

I was disappointed with the sea-monkeys.  

I remember so vividly seeing the ads at the back of Betty and Veronica comic books.  I wanted them desperately.  I don’t even know how long I plagued my mother for permission.  She tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn’t budge.  I wasn’t interested in the other ads for an ant farm or one where you had to sell greeting cards to earn prizes.  I think my brother did that one.  

But the sea-monkeys were the best.  Those cute little creatures could even be trained!  Or so the ad said.  I got a 10 cent allowance at the time, so it took me a while to save up the $1.25.  I was delirious by the time the package came several weeks later.  I followed those instructions to the letter and waited for my enchanting family to hatch. 

Trouble was, they didn’t look at ALL like the hand-drawn creatures in the ad.  They looked like little blobs; no crowns, no tails, no smiles.  And they wouldn’t do ANYTHING.  I’ll even admit that I tried to train them to come to the side of the fish bowl whenever I tapped on it.  

Either I had a batch of defective sea-monkeys ... or...the ad lied.  It was a hard lesson in “caveat emptor”.  Maybe that’s why I’ve never been taken in by Nigerian businessmen.  

    I love getting parcels in the mail.  When I was little, the weeks leading up to Christmas were full of anticipation waiting for the brown paper box tied with string that would arrive on our doorstep.  

    I remember staring at the colourful stamps and the multitude of customs forms and postal station marks all over it showing its journey as it made its way from my grandparent’s house in Letmathe, Germany to ours in Canada.  

    My mother always made us wait until my father got home to open it and it was torture seeing it sit there on the table, wondering what treats were inside.

    And what goodies there were!  Little square pieces of chocolate covered in brightly-coloured wrappers depicting fairy tales, packages of kokosflocken and little pigs made out of marzipan.  Small presents for us were wrapped in tea towels or table cloths for my mother.  There was always a letter with a few pictures, too. My grandmother used every inch of space and every available gram to send as much as she could. 

    It was with that kind of enthusiasm that I signed for another parcel just last week.  This one contained my author copies for my first children’s novel, Saving Armpit.  

    I have to admit, it was every bit as exciting to open that box to see my books for the first time ...even without the chocolate. 

I have to admit, I was tickled to see this picture that included my book, Saving Armpit, gracing the shelves of Fitzhenry & Whiteside’s booth at the Bologna Children’s Book Fair in Italy.  

There it is in the middle section, third row down, second from the left. 

As it had just come from the printer before my editor left for Italy, this was the first chance I had to see it in book form.  

It’s a strange feeling to see the words I strung together finally printed and bound and ready to make their way into the world.  It’s a little like sending your child off to kindergarten; soon your little one will be meeting new people and be judged by others and either treasured or left in a corner all alone.  

Here’s hoping Saving Armpit makes a lot of friends and passes the grade.

Love is more than roses and chocolates.  Love is...

...sitting for hours in a cold hockey arena watching a game you don’t really enjoy to keep someone else company.

...not complaining when your better half invites over people you don’t know, but you pitch in to help get ready anyway.

...doing the glamourous jobs of dishes, vacuuming and even scrubbing bathrooms so others can take a break.

...chauffeuring, picking up after, feeding and disciplining four feisty children on your own because someone needs to work late or attend a conference. 

All this and more has been done for me.  <3

Happy Valentine’s Day.

   This is the time of year when I get the urge to reduce the amount of ‘stuff’ we have in the house.  We call it the spring purge.  It never fails to amaze me how much has accumulated since the last time we did it.  

    Where does it all come from?  I am not a pack rat or hoarder by nature, I donate clothing to charities regularly and I don’t have any collections.  And still the piles are growing, the boxes are stuffed and the closet is almost full again.

    So we go through things and try to be ruthless.  Will we really use it? wear it? play with it?  I think we are constantly surprised by how little we need and how much we have.  

    There is a real feeling of lightness and relief when we pare down.  I don’t know whether it’s because we have less to take care of, we know others will benefit from our donations or the house just seems that much bigger and cleaner.

    Whatever the reason, I can’t wait to begin.  

    Anyone need stained-glass window paint or old rollerblades?