Sisterhood of the Travelling Teacup

sad news...

2012-02-03T16:07:00.002-07:00

Our filly Roxy, not even two years old, was called to equine heaven on Sunday last.
We are very sad... her dam Lexi is also very sad. I spend a good deal of time with her just now... just being with her, leaning up against her, stroking her neck and nose, sharing in the mourning and, hopefully, the healing. We seem to feel one another, she and I.
You were a happy, darling, spirited little filly Roxy... may all your pastures be green now.
xoxo

Winter wonderland....

2012-01-27T10:08:00.003-07:00

Soon, soon I will have internet at home... and then my darlings we will take over blogland once again!!!!!!!!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

My mama...

2012-01-20T11:34:00.000-07:00

Circa 1978.
I love you mom.
:)

I felt this needed reposting... a laugh was required!

2011-12-14T14:29:00.001-07:00

Hi guys!
This came to me via email from a friend, who received it from a mutual friend of ours who is a malamute owner. It is a true story, with some artistic licence of course in the form of the dog's script, and best beloved is the partner of the malamute owner who wrote it.
And I totally had to share it with you guys, because I may have never had a malamute, who as I understand it have immense appetites, but I have had thieving dogs.
Today was Mother's Day, by the by, and I hope all my fellow mums had a wonderful day filled with love.
xxxx
Stevie

Dog: I am starving.
Me: Actually, no. You aren't starving. You get two very good meals a day. And treats. And Best Beloved fed you extra food while I was gone.
Dog: STARVING.
Me: I saw you get fed not four hours ago! You are not starving.
Dog: Pity me, a sad and tragic creature, for I can barely walk, I am so starving. WOE.
Me: I am now ignoring you.
Dog: STARVING.
Dog: Did you hear me? I am starving.
Dog: Are you seriously ignoring me? Fine.

[There is a pause, during which the dog exits the room in a pointed manner.]

[From the kitchen, there comes a noise like someone is eating a baseball bat.]

Me, yelling: What the hell are you doing?
Me: *makes haste for the kitchen and finds dog there*
Dog: *picks up entire raw sweet potato, which is what was causing the baseball bat noise, and flees for the bedroom*
Me: *chases dog, retrieves most of sweet potato, less the portion which has disappeared into dog's gullet*
Dog: See? STARVING.
Me: ...That can't be good for you. It's a RAW SWEET POTATO.
Dog: I had to do it. I haven't been fed. Ever.
Me: You realize you aren't normal. Normal dogs don't steal raw sweet potatoes.
Dog, sadly: I was badly brought up.
Me: Yes. Yes, you were.
Dog: By people who starved me.
Me: Oh, no. I am not doing this again.
Me: *exits the room, bearing sweet potato*

[There is a pause.]

[There is a noise like someone is trying to eat a baseball bat very very quietly.]

Me: Oh, for the love of GOD.
Me: *heads off to the kitchen*
Dog: I am not eating a raw sweet potato.
Me: You have sweet potato parts all over your snout.
Dog: But you don't actually SEE a raw sweet potato, do you? So maybe that's just - um. A birthmark.
Me: Did you seriously eat a whole sweet potato?
Dog: You don't listen. I told you, I wasn't eating a sweet potato.
Me, searching around fruitlessly: Look. NO MORE SWEET POTATOES.
Me: Oh, what am I saying? This is you we're talking about, here. *goes to hide all the sweet potatoes that are left - which isn't many - in the fridge, because some people cannot be trusted*
Dog: *attempts to look thwarted*
Dog: *does not succeed, because her tail is wagging so hard small cyclones are forming in the kitchen*
Me: *has a very bad feeling about this*

[There is a pause, during which I do not even bother trying to return to what I was doing. I just stand in the computer room, waiting.]

[There is, as I wholly expected, a baseball-bat-eating noise.]

Me, stomping back to the kitchen: OKAY. GIVE ME THE DAMNED SWEET POTATO.
Dog, looking up guiltily: What sweet potato?
Me: THE ONE IN YOUR MOUTH.
Dog: Oh, did you want this? I just, um. Found it. Lying here.
Me: *confiscates the sweet potato and deposits it in the locking trashcan*
Me: Let us say no more about this.
Dog: ...Nooooo! They be stealin' my sweet potato!

[I attempt to remember what I was doing before the sweet potato episode.]

[Some ten minutes later, I succeed, and return to it.]

[NOT ONE MINUTE LATER, I hear a noise with which I have become all too familiar.]

Me, bonking head on desk: Arg.
Me, arriving in kitchen: How did you even get another sweet potato?
Dog, smugly: I have my ways.
Me: Are you punishing me for being away for several days? I was at a FUNERAL, you know. It wasn't FUN.
Dog: How would I know? You didn't take me. You left me here with only one human to look after my needs. One human is NOT ENOUGH.
Me: *shuts dog in bedroom, conducts a sweep of the kitchen to track down all remaining sweet potatoes, wipes up random sweet potato particles from floor, eradicates all traces of sweet potato from house*
Me: *lets dog out*
Dog, sulkily: Oh, so you think you've won.

[I watch her go about her business with the same sense of overwhelming doom that heroines of Victorian novels get when they meet Count Sinistrus Grimblack for the first time.]

[Half an hour later, there is a wetter, juicier eating noise, as though someone was eating a very moist baseball bat.]

Me, wearily: What NOW?
Dog, hunched over the remains of a butternut squash: *says something garbled because her mouth is full*
Me: Okay. Fine.
Me: *stomps over, empties entire vegetable bowl into trash*
Me: WE JUST WON'T HAVE ANY ROOT VEGETABLES ANYMORE. THERE. ARE YOU HAPPY?
Dog: I'm not even remotely sorry. I told you I was hungry. And you went to a funeral without me.
Me: ARRRRRRRRG.

[A half-hour later, there is another baseball-bat-eating noise from the kitchen. The dog, who apparently does not know how to win gracefully, has found another sweet potato, or possibly caused one to materialize from the Rift.]

Me, hauling chewed sweet potato parts from the mouth of a dog very reluctant to part with them: Oh my god how is this my life?
Dog: Don't you think it would just be easier to feed me?
Me: EVERYONE GO TO THE BEDROOM AND STAY THERE. EAT NOTHING.
Dog: Actually, I feel...um...not so good.
Dog: *throws up* *vomit is very bright orange*

[Unfortunate details ensue.]

Some time later:
Me, attempting to rescue something from the wreckage: So. What have we learned from this?
Dog: Sweet potatoes are yummy!
Other Dog, looking thoughtful: I should pay more attention to crunching noises. Sweet potatoes are probably yummy.
Me: I need a lobotomy.

And that, Best Beloved - and anyone else who made it through that - is What Kind of Day It Has Been.

FRICKING SWEET POTATOES. ARG.

And here we go......

2011-10-29T12:53:00.001-06:00

So I am running for District of Invermere council.
And suddenly I am squarely on the other side of the reporter’s notepad… or in this day and age, email address.
While I knew running for any sort of public office, whether I am elected or not, would involve this little switcheroo, I didn’t realize how strange it was going to feel, nor how unrelentingly rigid my standards for our local media were going to be.
I have to admit, I am upholding them to the standards once held by the editorial staff at The Valley Echo, back in the days of Cobb, Stevens and Fernandez. Perhaps I am just arrogant, but I am of the opinion that the three of us in particular made one hell of a trio, a journalistic gaggle who produced a paper worth reading each and every week, without compromising our integrity or losing our humanity.
Ah, for the good old days, of low pay, long hours, editorial “meetings” and J. Jonah Cobb bellowing at one of us at the top of his lungs.
Oh, wait…
While I do recall the old days at the paper fondly, it would never have allowed me to run for office of any kind. What is did give me was the opportunity to understand what makes this valley tick, and see, via covering council meetings, community forums and doing hours of research and uncounted interviews, what it takes to make it all happen.
Still, should I be successful in my campaign and become Councillor Stevens, there will be a lot to take in and learn. Over and above procedure and policy, and as certain of you reading this will agree, my heart might be better kept within my chest rather than on my sleeve, and the old chestnut think before you speak will become more of a mantra.
And as I suppose I should be actually campaigning a little… I do promise to listen. You can reach me via email at stephanieannstevens@gmail.com, or stop me on the street for a chat.
Catch you on the flip side folks… or better yet, at the polling station.

Sue.... find peace now....

2011-09-04T15:51:00.001-06:00

Dear Sue...
When we first met our young sons were already best of friends, and as so often happens with parents of children who are chummy, we became easy, amiable acquaintances. It was a year or so later, me exhausted and in dire need of help at the youth centre, and you in need of another job, that we really found each other, once again, via our kids being friends. I was picking Scott up and you had just been laid off, and we started our real road together that moment.
Sue, you never once pulled your punches, but you also never once failed to open your arms and heart wide when I or one of the youth needed you.
You worked like a demon all day, and still showed up at The YC ready to spend the evenings cooking noodles, playing games or offering your particular brand of advice to whomever needed it.
The things to keep are the memories we made and shared.
The sign you made for my office wall, calling me the marshal. Scrubbing the corrosion off of ancient coins you bought on E-bay, and laughingly cursing me for introducing you to online shopping.
Hawking hot dogs, planning events, wrangling kids, phoning parents, butting heads with me and reminding me of the mistakes I made when I was young if I was too stern, and the exasperated look on your face as you sent kids into my office, telling me to “fix them.”
The look on your face as you brought in more treasures from the thrift store or garage sales to make The YC more homey, the smile on your face as I walked in the door, calling out “hi sweetie, how ya doing?”
Memories flood in like so much flotsam and jetsam, each producing a smile at its rediscovery.
You bringing a tiny puppy into work one day and convincing me she could be our mascot... and she was. We promptly named her Anaphe, after the Greek goddess that protects children, though sometimes when she took her job too seriously and loudly announced newcomers, she was tagged Sarah Jessica Barker.
I remember the evening I came to The YC and saw you had sheared your long dark hair super short just two weeks before we were supposed to shave our heads together, saying you just needed a change and couldn't wait, grinning all the while at the look on my face.
Driving together to the youth conference in Rossland, you answering my cell every time it rang and telling whoever was on the line I could not take the phone as I was driving, stopping for coffee at the shop in Creston, you gripping the panic handle when we crossed the Salmo pass and encountered snow.
Your enthusiasm for my “Neon Rider” ranch dream,” as you teasingly called it, planning the garden and chickens and goats we would raise with our wayward charges. Perhaps one day that dream will still become reality, and I know your spirit with be there.
Your unwavering love for your boys, your fiery temper and equally fiery determination.
A whirling dervish of a woman, a port in storm.
Sue, you were my girl Friday.
And I miss you.
Love,
Stephanie.

Puppy... er... kitten love, and Uncle Tony and Miss Macy

2011-07-22T19:02:00.002-06:00

Dogs and cats sleeping together. What's next???
And holy blue eyes on those Dutch people.
A real post soon.
Love to all.
S

Introducing Fric and Frac!

2011-06-28T16:26:00.002-06:00

after all... what is a ranch without cats?

Small towns kick ass

2011-05-11T12:04:00.000-06:00

Columns again.... we'll see!

I'm home! After two years away, nothing says home like the Columbia Valley, and I am sure as heck happy to be back in your midst!
There are so many reasons I love this place, not least of all because my children are here.
Family, friends, familiar places and a general feeling of being back where I belong have all meshed together to give me that ol' Mayberry feeling I wrote about years ago when I was a new reporter for The Echo.
Having been out of the committing journalism scenario for some time, I look forward to writing a column now and again and offering my sage and brilliant perspective on all sorts of valley issues... heh heh! Oh I hear the collective groans now!
But one thing I do want to touch on with no uncertainty is our health care.
Now, I know there are always going to be people who gripe endlessly about small town medical care, and I know that just like in every profession there is a wide variety of talent and experience.
And I know something else.
I am sitting here clacking away on my computer today for one reason and one reason only: our hospital rocks.
See, a few Mondays back I got sick. Very sick. By Tuesday morning my husband Tony made the decision for me that I needed to see my doctor, Theresa Ross, immediately. And I did. An hour later I was in her office, with Tony doing the talking as I was in a fog of pain and fever.
And Theresa had me up in the ER, then the ICU, very shortly after that.
Things are a little hazy from that first day or two, though I do recall snippets here and there, many of them coming back like clips from a “best of” show.
If I could play it on a screen for you, with internal monologue dubbed in, it would have sounded something like this.
Upon first arrival...
Me: I hurt everywhere... so cold... please help.
Nurse: We're going to give you something for the pain Stephanie.
Me: I'll take anything.
About half an hour later...
Doctor: Stephanie you are very sick, we need to do more tests and you are being admitted.
Me: Mmm, yes sick. Goodness Percoset is lovely.
Ok, ok, of course my memory is a little befuddled, but my point is the doctors and nurses did such a good job of caring for me I really had no idea just how ill I was, or how close I came to dying.
Had I been in Calgary or Edmonton, sitting in a waiting room for untold, and precious, hours, the outcome for me would have been very different.
But I was not in a big city hospital.
Nope. I was here, in our little town, in our little hospital, getting the treatment I needed exactly when I needed it. Theresa, along with Drs. Francois Lowe, who was in the ER that day, Mike Walsh and Shannon Page, and nurses Teena Godlien, Ann Zurbriggen and Clara not only did their job, they exemplified professionalism, compassion, and respect for me that week.
I know there were other nurses who were involved, and please know it is not that I value you less. I have to plead memory issues from that week. What I do clearly recall is that first day in the ER with Teena, long days with Ann and long nights and Clara, my primary pair, who checked my vitals too many times to count, and made decisions for me when I was just incapable of doing so myself.
It did eventually occur to me how serious it all was. But when you have a group of people doing their job so well... heck, it just made it easy not to be afraid. And I was so confident they would take care of me, even without the Percoset I drifted in and out with an underlying sense of safety.
We have a wonderful team here.
I am thankful for all of you. I know I would not have received the same quality of care or compassion anywhere else.
Too often we take the bonuses of small town life for granted.
Heck, we take life for granted.
Not so much anymore for me. I am still recovering, still feeling the effects. I guess it`ll take a while. But when I think of the damage sepsis can cause, and look myself in the mirror, I remind myself my kids still have a mom, my husband still has a wife, complete and essentially in good working order.
And let`s face it. I just have too many opinions yet to voice.
Catch you on the flip side folks. Sure is good to be home.

the goods on the visit to hospital land.

2011-05-03T15:34:00.003-06:00

Branding at the Feldmann Ranch.

So the last week of April was an interesting one.
I felt very unwell on the Monday, my entire body aching, could not get warm, generally felt dreadful. I assumed I had the flu. By the next morning I was worse, and Tony took matters into his own hands and got me in to see my doctor Theresa Ross. Tony did most of the explaining to her as I was feeling pretty dazed, was still in considerable pain and just could not get warm, which of course was because I had a fever.
I was admitted to the ER where Dr. Francois Lowe and the nurses took wonderful care of me, tests were done, turns out I was full on septic and was shuttled into the ICU.
Between pain meds, IV antibiotics, pain meds (yes I know I listed them twice) and general good care I was not feeling particularly concerned. Of course, I had no idea just how gravely ill I was either. And as the staff did not know what was making me so ill, so there were no other answers to be had.
My blood pressure did dip very low at one point, and I was given boluses to combat that (large amounts of saline sent via IV quickly into my body), but unfortunately my kidneys did not quite keep up and fluid backed up into my lungs causing a new issue, as did the large amounts of painkillers which were necessary, but a little too strong for narcotically virginal system. See also "I was absurdly stoned and unable to respond to anyone coherently," not a state I ever wish to be in again. It scared the hell out of Tony and Theresa was none too pleased either, so pain meds were changed right away.
Thursday my fever was gone and I was sent to Cranbook via ambulance for a CT scan to see if they could pinpoint the cause of the sepsis. This was a nightmare of a trip. I was supposed to go in, have the scan, and come home. Did it goes that way?
No.
No instead I went in, they did the scan, sent me to their ER and was told to wait for a surgeon as I had to have a biopsy in the morning. No other explanation at all. Just that.
They stuck me on a stretcher in the ER, I could not get in touch with Tony as I had not brought my cell and had not memorized his cell number, so I was a little distressed. Then a nurse comes in, closes all my curtains, tells me my fecal samples finally came back and I was now under quarantine, could not leave the curtained area as I had some dangerous contagion and to wait for the surgeon there. It was another half an hour before he arrived and by then I was in a total panic thinking I had infected my children and husband and who knows whom else with this apparent infectious disease, and needless to say I got weepy and a bit... well... hysterical for a few minutes when he did arrive.
Feel a little sheepish over that, but I mean come on!
Ultimately what the fecal had revealed is I had contracted a Campylobater infection, which is infectious, though not quite as fearsome as they had made it initially sound (I had visions of bad movies with rabid monkeys creating an epidemic... keep in mind I had been very sick and was not on top of my game!).
What the CT scan revealed is my large intestine is rather a bit of a mess, and likely has been for a while, which explains to a degree just why this bacteria was able to take over as it did and send me into sepsis.
The biopsy was postponed until things are fully healed up, 10 weeks or so, and I was sent back to Invermere ICU. Mike Walsh, another doc, was the hospital when I arrived around 9:30 that night and asked me if I knew how I likely contracted the bacteria. I explained the surgeon had told me it was from improperly prepared chicken, and I was to stop antibiotics, go home, and not touch anything for a couple of weeks. (sounds logical... NOT).
Keep in mind it is a small hospital, I was very sick and so all information I had given anyone had been shared between the docs as they discussed my case, so it was easy for Mike to pinpoint just where I had picked up the campylobactor: at the branding I had helped at the Saturday before. Just as he had contracted it at a branding a couple of years ago.
After a Friday morning meeting of the eight docs on staff at the hospital it was decided that the surgeon's suggestion I not be treated further was not going to fly as he had no idea just how sick I had been, but they would let me go home on the stipulation I be very careful and take a round of Zithramycin, which does combat campylobactor.
And I must note, my friend Dr. Shannon Page had suggested I had campylobactor when I was first admitted, and was tickled to know she was right... in fact was oddly gleeful as I lay in a peekaboo hospital gown... Shannon has a positive attitude that just won't quit and I totally adore her!
So home I am and home I stay until I am fully healed up, which hopefully will be soon. Every day I feel little better, but internally it will be a while before things are totally back to normal. I can eat again, which after fours days of no food and little water is very nice indeed.
I have to say the care I received at Invermere's little hospital was incredible. I cannot thank my doctors Theresa, Francois, Mike and Shannon enough, nor the nurses that took such care of me, especially my night nurse Clara and day nurse Anne, and ER nurse Teena. Though they were not the only ones involved, they were my mainstays over longs nights of constant vitals checks and IV replenishing.
The first 24 hours were in all honesty a little dicey, but it is done an over with, and I am healing fine.
My new personal theme song is Day by Day by Doug and the Slugs.
:)

a long overdue post...

2011-01-23T13:01:00.002-07:00

It's been a long time since I have posted anything on a regular basis. In part that is because of being busy, in part dial up and wanting to post photos and not really being able to, and in part because this past year or so has been exceptionally trying.
No desire to go into details, but suffice to say, it has just really not been a year to go in the good books.
But things are better now. Much better, and with luck and positive thinking and hard work, it will only continue to get better.
And part of that is some big news... we are moving back to the valley!
We got a new job for us both as caretakers of a thousand acre ranch half way between Radium Hot Springs and Invermere. While the ranch is much larger (we are on 30 acres here), there are at this point only three horses to care for, rather than hundreds of alpaca. It was used for years as an organic beef ranch, but now the owner wants to reclaim that land and bring it back to a more natural state. There is also her own home, pool etc that we will be caring for, as she is only there sporadically, though she does occasionally rent it out as a high end vacation "cabin." If you want to know why I used quotes for cabin, visit her website... www.firlandsranch.com.
Our own home is not so lavish as hers of course, but very nice and a good size.
There are a few concessions, but a lot of gains, first and foremost, going home to my boys.
And right now, and really feel the need to be home.
I am so sorry I have been so reclusive. I am not trying to be secretive, just not stuff I want to air just now, or perhaps ever.
But you have been on my mind, all of you.
Here is to making a concerted effort to be here more often. Facebook is ok, but this is our spot. Know what I mean Jellybeans?
Much love
S

What's in a name?

2010-12-07T17:30:00.004-07:00

Names.
We all get one when we are born.
Sometimes two or three.
My name is Stephanie. I post as Stevie, because that is the name that most defined me for a long time. It is what my soul child Hayley-Bug calls me, and her mama, my dear friend Rachel... whom we all know as Rache.
Hayley could not really get her tongue around Stephanie.
Nor could my niece Margery when she was two or three, and to her, I was Dearie.
And still am today, when it comes down to it.
My Tony calls me Juliet.
My boys call me mom.
And Jeremy Stevens, my nephew by heart, to him I am Stepamy, for much the same reasons as Hayley. He just could not say my name when he was a wee gaffer.
My Tony is my love, my honeybunny.
Val is our Vally, Catherine is our Gypsy.
My boys are Scooter and Juster Buster to me.
My Darling Lovely, my Dearest Dru, my Wonder Twin... there are so many more people in my life I have my own name for.
What I am getting at is though we all have given names, so very often we create our own versions of them for the people we love.
I call one friend of mine Wil, because, I suppose, no one else really does, at least not that I am aware of. Of course, others could, but I doubt it. It is my name, the name of my friend, his first given name that he does not really use, a way to differentiate him, or perhaps myself, from the rest of the world.
My dear friend Peter, whom you have all heard about on my blog before, never called me Stephanie. To him, when I was his student, I was Stevens. His way, I suppose, to differentiate me from the others.
I cherish that.
It's funny, somehow, but though we are all so very formally given monikers, we find a way to make them ours. We don't change our own name, but that of others. To bring it all down to something quieter in our heart. To show that while we know the name on the driver's licence, there is something more to our version. Some secret message, of love or friendship, some part of ourselves we put into it.
There is so much in a name. And each one smells just as sweet.
Have missed you all... been so absent. Forgive me.
Yours, always,
Stevie.

October chills me.

2010-10-02T08:31:00.002-06:00

I am at a loss for words.

for my Jiminy Cricket

2010-09-26T19:20:00.003-06:00

Whilst doing a sexy fandango
(A lively spanish-esque-ish dance)
I happened to spy a wee Poncey
A most obsequious, they say, happenstance

You see a Poncey is a thing which I made up
Or at least that's what I like to think
And since I've no true frame of reference
To debauchery, for the most, I must sink

A sanctimonious creature I've made up
A plethora of sins they commit
But in truth just then I was envious
And aspired to be one... a bit

So well in my cups by this meeting
Callibogus is strong brew you see
I deked out the hoser I danced with
And made my way to the window with glee

Girding my pluck in (Ayn) Rand fashion
A diabolical plan came to mind
More than a little chaos would happen
And quiet the storm in my mind

But you will not guess that which now happened
As I dogged ballicatters in the storm of my soul
A bright light appeared upon my horizon
To make me rethink before selling self whole

As succinct as an angel she told me
(though a twinkle bedeviled her eye)
"That window slut holds no solution!"
And her words I should heed lest I sigh

My wonder twin spoke of an alternate
Another path my tormention could take
And if I would listen I might even
Keep it, and eat it, (my cake)

Her saucy hair swirled all around her
Framing that glorious face
She said "goodness girl, look for answers!
And get the hell out of this place!"

So now ends the story I've told you
As darkness digs deeper t'wards dawn
There's always more than one solution
And I really not need be his pawn.

With love,
Pinnochio

Goodbye old girl...

2010-09-05T20:16:00.002-06:00

Have had bits of this song flitting through my head ever since we spent our last day with our darling Cinder Dog before we had to make that last, heartbreaking visit to the vet, so finally had to look up the lyrics.

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile, even though it's breaking
When there are clouds, in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile, through your fear and sorrow
Smile, and there'll be tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through
If you'll....
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear, may be ever so near,
That's the time, you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile,
If you'll just....
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear, may be ever so near,
That's the time, you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile,
If you'll just....
Smile

Aug 21, 2010

2010-08-21T11:41:00.002-06:00

Cool today, blessedly so. The grass in the pastures making one last dash for freedom and growing again, alpacas happily keeping it at bay. The wheat, just a couple of short weeks ago green now golden and ripe, waving in the breeze as their heads rustle together. If you are very quiet, you can almost hear them whispering.
My son Scott was just here, making my feel almost complete, his brother headed out in a month to do the same. Can only talk on the phone with sweet daughter Hayley, but love the sound of her voice and her giggles when I am silly.
Tony is out mowing what the animals cannot reach, paperwork sits on the table for me to tackle once again. Who knew ranching would entail so much paperwork? Not me.
I can hear the rain starting, pitter pattering on the deck overhang, a comforting if sombre sound.
Friends and family near and far seem to call to me to visit or write, and I feel the urge to wrap them all in a huge embrace, thank them for being in my life, thank them for loving me, but most of all, thank them for giving me the opportunity to love them.
My soul drifts today, waxing and waning with each hour that passes, lingering on a thought, an urge, a memory.
Something deep in my heart stirs...

Camping with the family!

2010-07-25T12:50:00.003-06:00

ah... high speed land... that mystical place!

2010-07-25T12:28:00.003-06:00

Ok a couple got on and now blogger is being weird! First is one of my family reunion (more on facebook) and a couple of baby alpaca shots!

Note to self.

2010-07-16T23:04:00.001-06:00

Never, EVER, discuss religion with husband. Nothing good can come of this.

a conversation with the cat.

2010-06-27T19:16:00.004-06:00

"Cadie, nice cats to NOT drink out of the toilet."
Cadie flicks her tail and glares over her shoulder at me.
"Cadie, you do not even really live here. You are Daryl's cat. You live in the shop. You just visit here."
Again, the most disdainful of looks is directed my way. A stretch, a yawn, then Her Highness sets one leg delicately in front of her and begins to groom, wondering, no doubt, what makes me think I am not the interloper here.
"Cadie, come outside please. I have to get to work. I put nice dishes of cat food and water out there for all of you, even you ranch cats that are not really mine."
a cajoling "puss puss puss" gains a modicum of attention from the grand duchess of Amber Autumn Alpaca land.
A toss of her head, a flick of her tail, and she slowly gets up and walks past me, giving my leg a gentle nudge as she passes, a reminder that she tolerates me despite my eternal faux pas... that of course, is being human.
Heading towards the door requires winding through table legs, sniffing the mat, and sitting just in the doorway so I cannot quite close the screen.
"Cadie," I begin, and then, just sigh.
After all, nice humans do not consider themselves superior.

oh... oh... no.

2010-06-20T00:37:00.004-06:00

Dear Neil,

I am having a hard time really grasping the news that you are gone.
Just a few short years ago you came into my life via darling Cathy (somehow it seems more appropriate to use her given name just now, as well as her darling Gypsy moniker).

And I am having a hard time writing about you being gone. So, instead, I will write directly to you, with love.

Neil, you were so many things to so many of us.
So deeply intelligent, that much is obvious. But also so very witty, a bit of a wonderful wise-ass really, and creative. You made my crack up time and time again, and thank God Facebook was there after your blog went off-line. I am hoping it might still be resurrected somehow, a lasting tribute to be visited by us all, to laugh at, cry, be inspired to think by.
Your tenderness shone through on so many levels, a post here, a comment there. I have spent the time since I met Cathy and the others believing fully that one day, not so long away, I would travel to meet you all in person, and when the beau dear Gypsy loves so well sauntered into my life, I assumed you would just be there when I showed up at the flat above the Chinese take-away one day.
You will be, via her heart.
But I will miss your laughter that I have heard so many times in your words and in my head not being a part of that which I certainly will still share with Cathy and Chantal and the babes. But then again, perhaps I will not miss it at all. Perhaps, if we listen softly enough, we will hear it yet, echoed in years of love and oneness.

A part of me thinks that you just could not wait for the adventure that awaits us all at the point when life turns to something else. That you just HAD to go and see what awaits, to make sure it is all up to snuff.

I have not watched Val's video just yet... but I think it a good lead to follow, since you offered so many of your own to us. It will follow... when the inspiration is right. I know you can appreciate that.

Reading this over, my words seem too hollow, not enough.
But perhaps that is because I feel a little hollow right now.
What I wish more than anything is that I could fly to Trashington, to be there for our girl. And she is ours, isn't she? Funny. From blog to blog, never meeting in person, I could not mourn you more or feel more sorrow for Gypsy if we had met in person. You are, and will always be, as real and precious to me as the people I see and touch every day. What a brilliant gift you are to me. To us all.

Keep the kettle warming. We will all be there soon enough. Try not to get into too much mischief up there. I don't believe in hell, and even if I did, it would still be heaven for you me mate.

Talk soon.
Much love,
Stephanie

yippeee!

2010-04-26T09:22:00.001-06:00

Babies! Babies are finally arriving!

wowzers

2010-04-19T19:20:00.002-06:00

So, for no particular reason, I have been re-reading my blog posts and comments... though I am only up to mid 2007!
And I have come to a great realization:
you people have become my family. I almost hate facebook right now because it just does not allow for that... what is the word?... that... intimacy we have all shared, and still share, albeit a little more sporadically lately. I am ever so guilty of not being on enough, and I use the excuse of dial up far too often.
But in reading back, and especially your comments back and forth, bring to my mind a kitchen, one where we would all gather for coffee and talking and sharing and... and... so much love.
I guess what I am trying to say, is thank you... thank all of you. I, without reserve, love each and every one of you. You are my tribe, and I will never give any of you up.
We are all so busy these days, and I know we will have lulls and ebbs, but how very good it is to know you are all out there... just a keystroke away...
thank you.
xo
Stevie

just because I liked the memory...

2010-04-18T18:47:00.003-06:00

was re-reading some old posts... wrote this one in early 2007... and decided to repost it cuz... well I just like I the zone I was in when I wrote it.

When I refer to my Calgary, I speak of what it is I see when I walk down the street, or drive downtown very late at night.
Stephen Ave. is my first walk when I arrive, always. It takes as long as it takes, sometimes hours, but the stark, almost brutal contrasts that are always present make the artist in me thrill, the untrained social worker in me long to be doing more, and the philosopher in me wax poetic. I have taken photos of Stephen Avenue before, and no doubt will again.
My Calgary is CUPS, The Mustard Seed, The Salvation Army. It is the skuzzy downtown cafes and pawn shops. It is the old architecture, the decaying buildings on which you can still see the old words that advertised what the business was. It is the ghosts of better days on the façade of the Grand Theatre on Stephen Ave, the homeless, the hopeless, the hopeful, the street vendors. It is the man who today, professing to be a “real gypsy, 100 percent, not like those other guys” who read my tarot cards on a bench for $10, really just a good study of human characteristics saying what he thought I wanted to hear.
He watched me when I bought an old native man coffee a few benches down. Easy mark, that’s me.
After he read a few cards, he told me, I am “more man than any man will ever be, and more woman than any man could ever handle.”
I could care less if it is true or not, I am going to run with that one.
What really strikes me about that avenue is that absolute juxtaposition of so many worlds, of past and present, of rich and poor, stunning beauty and contrasting ugliness, of the good hearts and the ones who would happily relieve you of your wallet. More than any other spot I walk in Calgary, it is that Avenue that is my Calgary, so old, so new, so downtrodden in one step and upbeat on the next. There is a whisper on that avenue, one that speaks if you listen closely. But so few will, do, or want to. It tells of a thousand heartaches, even more of laughter, of lovers, and quarrels, and total despair and of unbridled passion. That avenue is like a secret preacher, speaking only to those who truly stop to listen, telling stories only told to a privileged few.
But in my own contrast, my Calgary is also sitting in Devonian Gardens, inhaling the heady, scent particular to greenhouses, earthy and moist. It is the little shops, like Art of My Heart, the owner of which, Harold, has never failed to remember me over the past 10 or 15 years of sporadic visits. It is the bartender at The Unicorn, Greg, who knows, even though I stop in only a few times a year, I drink Oban neat, I like the barstool at the far end corner, and he keeps the drunks away from me. Calls me young lady, like it is my title, though he knows my name is Stephanie. My Calgary includes art galleries, mostly on the Avenue mind you, and the theatres, the Glenbow Museum… still all on that avenue. It is CKUA instead of CJ92, it is The Unicorn at 11 p.m. on a weekday or The Auburn Saloon at 6 p.m. any day. It is in the faces I remember and the ones I will never forget. It is in the ones I will buy a coffee or sandwich for, and the ones I know may need help but are beyond me. It is the old man who walked with contented, aimless purpose ahead of me this morning, smoking his pipe, just going where he was going with no hurry or concern. I stayed a few steps behind him to inhale the fragrance of his pipe tobacco. It is the old woman, white hair down in an up-do with what must be a hundred cans of hairspray, decked out in her old fur, her makeup overdone in 1940s style, all that she owns that glitters on her neck, ears, fingers, her warped feet still thrust into shoes with heels, still carrying herself with a bearing of class and days gone by.
It is the little girl skipping on that brick avenue in the sun, her mother not far behind keeping a close eye on her.
My Calgary has become like a patient and ever forgiving lover, one that amazes me, makes me joyful, makes me weep, gives me both hours of hope and moments of despair, one that will always be there waiting for me, eternally patient and ready to take me in its arms to share its secrets, fill my soul, and bring me home.

the road home all started with a contest...

2010-04-13T19:52:00.013-06:00

"While it's just a fun contest - we start shooting Dragons Den in a month - I will likely be at 8,000 followers by then on Twitter - but Kevin Oleary is tracking about the same numbers and rate of growth. How do I get to 10,000 serious honest genuine followers before he gets to 8,000? Game on!"

So read the Facebook post by my friend Brett Wilson. I met B several years ago when he hosted a fundraiser for my youth centre. We forged a friendship, and keep in touch, albeit via email as he has joined the ranks of celebrity and we really do not travel in the same circles.
Anyhow, I figured, what the heck, and posted on my own Facebook for people to help Brett out.
My friend, and former publisher, Sheila wrote me a note the other day regarding this.
It read:
"So I was on Brett Wilson's webpage like you suggested and was checking out some of the links he has, other organizations he has helped out. I noticed a 'fuckcancer' bracelet and checked it out. I have corresponded with the designer and she is giving me one for our Kickoff party and any that we sell because of our promoting it, she will give us $50 per bracelet for the Relay. How great is that?"

I responded, "not just great, but fucking great!"
You see, Sheila beat breast cancer a few years ago, so raising money for cancer research via the Relay For Life (same event I shaved my head for a few years back) has taken a more personal note for her.
Then, after going to her page, (I so rarely go to individual pages as I am on dial up... poor excuse, I know), I realized she has cancer again.
And my heart fell.
Just now it is still falling... I will stiffen my spine and cowgirl up tomorrow.
Sheila and I had our moments of butting heads, one strong woman to another, but one thing I can be certain of is she is a woman I always want in my life, though I have moved away and rarely see her.
She is funny. She is strong. She is witty. She has a huge heart, and strong conviction. I have such respect for her.
She is a force to be reckoned with.
She is my friend. And she has cancer.
I am ordering a bracelet, and I am including the link if you want to see it... or order one yourself.
Funny, how a light-hearted contest for Twitter followers would be the thing that brought me back 'round to base, back to my roots, to friends I have left behind physically, but whom have not left my heart.
The world is a curious place... made all the richer for the presence of one Sheila Tutty.
Fuck Cancer Sheila. Fuck it.

"did the ol' head shave today. Took the grandkids with me and had a bit of fun with it. I did not know I looked so much like my brother, until I was bald. Clearly Tesslin doesn't care. She just kept rubbing my head and patting my cheeks. Aren't children wonderful?"
http://www.fcancerembracelife.com/

heh heh.

2010-04-10T12:34:00.001-06:00

the wind is blowing.
like, really blowing.
it makes me consider
buying a kite.

(I am pretending that is a poem.)

Instead, I will stay inside and bake bread today. and create some lovely stuffed pasta dish for dinner.

I know these can sometimes be overdone, but I am feeling frivolous today. I am going to list some questions, and tag all who read this to answer them... do the old copy and paste thing... pretty please?

I'll go first.

1) If you could go for a coffee with one friend, anywhere in the world, right now, that you have not seen for years, spend a few hours catching up, and just pop back home, who is the first person to come to mind?

Peter. Because if there is one person whom I know would enrich my soul today, that I could talk to for hours and listen to for hours, it would be him.

2) Do you truly find Seinfeld THAT funny?

Not really. EVERY character irritates me. And yet I still find myself watching it now and then. Weird. Must be subliminal.

3)If you could travel back in time, where would you go?

I'd really like to know the truth about Jesus. I am sure he existed, but was he really the son of God, or was he just a charismatic, incredible leader that inspired and continues to inspire?

4) If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

I usually say I would fly, but then I think breathing under water would be good because I am a really lousy swimmer. But flying wins out.

5) What makes you giggle?

When Tony says celery. It is just the way he says it.

6) Would you ever want to be famous? Would you trade privacy and risk being the target of the paparazzi?

No. well, maybe for a week.

7) What is the one talent you wish you had that you just cannot seem to cultivate?

Singing. Definitely singing.

your hands will tell you...

2010-04-02T17:43:00.002-06:00

I look at my hands. Snarled up, scarred, callouses. Fingernails short by necessity, cuticles often stained purple with Cristol from treating one alpaca, or red from iodine after sterilizing the cord of a newborn cria. I like what I see. They are hardworking hands. Hands that while are not trained for a vet, do see their share of healing animals, delivering babies, reaching far into the dam if need be to untwist a baby's long neck or guide it down the birth canal. Hands that learned to run new equipment, shaking a little sometimes because the machine's power occasionally scares me. Hands that hold a rake, a pitchfork, that carry newborns into the green pasture to learn to stand and reach for mama's milk. I have rancher's hands.
Hands that reach for my husband's face as he makes me laugh day after day.
Hands that once, sometimes, were soft, nails long and painted, work of a different kind allowing for such cosmetic graces.
I think this way today, because I am blessed to have had so many opportunities in my life.
From waitress and chambermaid when I was young, waitress when I was older too, to landscaper, then journalist, writer, youth worker, photographer, ski tuner, running the deli at the Banff School of Fine Arts (what a way to be 17 that was!) grocery store clerk, and once, for a short two weeks, a door to door encyclopedia salesman. I never sold a single set. I was very bad at that job!
So many things, such variety. And still so many things to try! For now, ranching suits me though. I like this calling.
I do not think I am at all unique this way. You, reading this now, have surely had such variety in your life. Your hands tell stories, create them, mold them. As surely mine have.
Tell me your stories.... what one, what job or experience, or moment in general, do you hold in your hands?
I await with bated breath...

so simple

2010-03-25T18:45:00.001-06:00

it snowed again, for two days in a row.
then today, warmth.
and I found little green shoots in my garden.
a simple reminder, an important, and ever taught, lesson.
I smiled.

if only if only.........

2010-03-14T17:51:00.005-06:00

if only I could touch the stars
if only I could see your face
if only I could hear your voice beside me
my heart would not hurt so.

if only I could travel through time
if only I could fly through the sky
if only I could be there in the blink of an eye
my heart would not hurt me so.

but if only I had never had you
if only you were not part of my life
if only I had not seen you grow
my life would have no meaning

you are my sunshine and my rain
my sorrow and my greatest joy
my inspiration to be
and my hope to go on.

you are my greatest achievement
my most spectacular creation
my warmth, my laughter, my smiles
you are everything I aspire to be worthy of.

I miss you, no doubt
I think of you constantly, each day, each hour
you are filled with promise and future
and I never regret a moment I have had with you.

But in truth I do... regret harsh words and anger
In truth I cannot take back some things I have said
But you in truth, I know you will learn
From my mistakes in raising you.

Because in truth, you are my everything.
My every day.
My every wonder.
My darling loves...all three of you.

xo
Mom

so....

2010-03-11T20:27:00.001-07:00

how are you all doing?

Don't you just hate it when you get a song in your head????

2010-02-25T17:19:00.000-07:00

So long and thanks for all the fish
So sad that it should come to this
We tried to warn you all but oh dear?

You may not share our intellect
Which might explain your disrespect
For all the natural wonders that
grow around you

So long, so long and thanks
for all the fish

The world's about to be destroyed
There's no point getting all annoyed
Lie back and let the planet dissolve

Despite those nets of tuna fleets
We thought that most of you were sweet
Especially tiny tots and your
pregnant women

So long, so long, so long, so long, so long
So long, so long, so long, so long, so long

So long, so long and thanks
for all the fish

(yeah)

So long and thanks for all the fish
So sad that it should come to this
We tried to warn you all but oh dear?

(oh dear)

Despite those nets of tuna fleets
We thought that most of you were sweet
Especially tiny tots and your
pregnant women

So long, so long, so long, so long, so long
So long, so long, so long, so long, so long

So long, so long and thanks
for all the fish

Talk about taking your work home with you...

2010-02-19T14:48:00.003-07:00

This is Khandi's Kotton, a cria whom, recently weaned, has become even more social. She had a rough start to life, and when she was first born I had to handle her a lot, bottle feeding, physiotherapy for her legs, an IPT transfer, etc. Tony decided to see if she would follow him into the house, and voila, Kotton came to visit!
She only stayed a little while, then went back out to her pen, following Tony like Mary's little lamb.
and PS
That sweater goes in the garbage! I most certainly DO NOT have a spare tire like that around my middle!

for today....

2010-02-12T17:26:00.003-07:00

For today, I will remember, simply, that I am.
I am not sure why things happen to people, good or bad.
Karma, self fulfilling prophecy, bad luck, good luck, angels, demons, good choices, bad choices, hard work, hardly working, destiny, rewards, punishments.
Is it piety that allows rewards? Is it disbelief that holds reward back? How often do we ask "why do bad things happen to good people? Why do good things happen to those undeserving?" Who decides? What are the checks and balances? And who is the karmic tallyman anyhow?
But I have decided that things to not happen TO us. Instead, I think things, good and bad, just happen as we walk our path of life. Predestined? Who knows. But how we perceive events can alter if they really are good or bad, or perhaps, just indifferent.
I have spent a lot of time in my life wondering why things have "happened" to me.
And especially when they are not happy things, it puts me directly on the path of playing the victim.
The last few years I have been trying to think differently, find the good in everything that happens in my life, or in the lives of those I know and love, even when those things really suck.
The last few days I have been tested a little. Allowing the fears and doubts that plague us all from time to time to to gain the upper hand is always a risk, for some more than others, but it happens in all our lives at some point.
But are fears and doubts really totally negative?
Fears and doubts make us think things through a little more, and as long we don't let them take over and just be fears and doubts, perhaps they can be teachers, their own positives not as overtly obvious as the more impetuous happinesses that also occur.
Like the teachers that don't give the easy A, the darker moments have a lesson to teach. The teacher that made you work harder, try a different method, change your thinking process to arrive at an answer we might not have arrived at had it all been candygrams and laughter.
Where am I going with this?
I have no idea.
Just working it out with words I guess.
My daughter's death taught me about love, about scrappiness, about not wasting time fearing the inevitable but embracing the time given and rejoicing we were given it at all.
The youth centre tested my every fibre at times, especially at the end, when people I trusted turned out to be less than worthy of said trust.
But there it is.
If I ignore the lesson, the scrapes and bruises were for naught.
And really, were those scrapes and bruises really all that bad?
Maybe not.
There will be more lessons. More candygrams as well as more bitter moments.
But in the end, when I tally my own philosophical books, I think things will tip in a positive balance. Just enough sweet, not too much sour, and plenty riches, the kind that don't show up in your bank account.

Voices

2010-01-23T12:13:00.004-07:00

Some of you have been subjected to this in the past when I was in the editing stages, but I came across the cd I have been meaning to send to Brett and thought this might be a easier.
It was made as a thankyou to a man who, with his company, held a brilliant fundraiser for the youth centre that literally, at that point, saved it from closing the doors.
Miss the kids... both mine and the ones I worked with... and ps, I am ready for spring now please.

:(

2010-01-21T19:14:00.001-07:00

Justin went home.

oh dear Lord...

2010-01-17T11:12:00.001-07:00

so, um that photo of me and MM in our bras is going to the January in the Sexy Bra Club Calendar.

new blog to check out!

2010-01-03T13:04:00.003-07:00

Please accept this invitation to take a gander at my niece Miss Margery's newest blog, www.losingplastic.blogspot.com
I am most proud of this young woman. Not one to sit on her laurels, that's for certain!

one for Val to laugh at!

2010-01-02T14:07:00.007-07:00

ok, so, my FABULOUS niece Miss Margery joined a sort of fabulous bra sisterhood, and has been traipsing around this country and that snapping photos of herself in fun places in... you guessed, her bra!
Of course a snow laden alpaca farm was just the place for such a shot! So here we are, in Pen One, braving the elements for my first such pose with her!
LOL!
(Gotta say, sure wish I had her abs!)

CANADIANS DON'T FEAR WINTER.... WINTER FEARS CANADIANS!

Thank goodness for the public library and high speed access!!!!

2009-12-30T14:24:00.003-07:00

Whew! What a luxury to be able to post so many photos so quickly! Or... at all these days!
Not sure what order they are all in, but obviously Christmas pics! My boys Justin and Scotty, my mom and niece Miss Margery, and of course Tony and myself!
Plus one of the kittens, which should havce a caption reading, "everytime Daddy makes us a fire in the fireplace we alllll fallllllsss asssslleeeeep...." and one where Justin appears similarly affected by the fire!
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! Much love to all!
xo Stevie

Yes, Peter, there is a Santa Claus, but even he would not venture this weather without longjohns!

2009-12-13T12:19:00.009-07:00

"TV saying this morning the wind chill temp was (or will be) -53C near you.
That's just cruel."
Yes, my dear Peter, that is truly just cruel.
I went out this morning to feed the critters, my only morning chore today, Tony and I having done as much as we can the past couple of days so as to take a day off... in as much as we ever truly take one.
I thought as we would be back inside within half an hour, my jeans, hat, scarf and sheepskin would be sufficient to keep me warm.
What I neglected was long underwear.
Let me tell you what -39 feels like in a pair of skinny legged jeans.
At first, though you realize your mistake quickly, you think "Bah, just a few minutes in the cold."
But by the time I reached the third pen, I felt as though I were wading pantless though a vast field of Devil's Club, a beautiful broad leaf plant that harbours thousands of tiny stinging needles on every curve.
If you have ever encountered this plant, much like stinging nettle, you can imagine that you would want to get out of said field quickly. But with two more pens and the barn to get back to, I was smack dab in the centre, and no where to go but forward.
While my sheepskin did keep my core warm, my legs were in agony by the time I reached the aforementioned barn.
A mistake I will not repeat anytime soon.
But while the cruel fingers of winter sliced at my legs, the sky in brazen contrast to that misery was a brilliant clear blue, as if glorying in the icy tentacles this December has wrought, and daring me to linger and soak in that beauty. The fact it was so brightly blue while it was so still early in the morning seemed more a poke in the nose than any gift of nature. It only comes at the cost of extreme cold, that particular hue.
Clear skies, as any Albertan will tell you, or for that matter any prairie province, means especially cold weather, no protective cloud covering to hold down whatever warmth the jet stream or muggy pollutive haze the nearby cities might provide.
And as clear as that, sounds travel more clearly, the the traffic from the Parkland Highway just a kilometre away seemed to crack as clear as gunshots, tires crunching and Doppler effects unmuffled even by the wind drifted mounds of snow.
Inside the barn, after feeding a wayward cria who just refuses to grow up and tending to the two older ladies, one of whom has been on death's door for months now (though no one thought to tell her, so she keeps plodding along as if she actually has red blood cells in her shriveled arteries), I grit my teeth for the short walk back to the warmth of the house, knowing full well that while my legs have quit stinging, they will take only seconds to begin again when I emerge.
Grinning the grin of a fool that knows her folly, I nip quickly back into the house, where Tony awaits, having finished his own chores just minutes earlier, coffee ready for me, steaming and rich with the full fat cream I adore, and served, I must add, in the one of the splendid mugs Dale gave us for the wedding.
"No long underwear?!" he exclaims as I explain my rueful smile. "My God. You are one tough chick."
(Translation: you nutty broad.)
It is a lovely day to be inside.

Missing woman causes concern

2009-12-08T12:12:00.006-07:00

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WOMAN?

Investigators are flabbergasted by the mysterious disappearance of one Margie CM, known affectionately to some as Madam Margie From Down Undah, and a disorganized crime ring is suspected.
"We have been searching high and low," said Detective Frankenfurter LaBrassier.
"There have been numerous reports of movement in the underground caramel groups, and as Ms. CM has been known to lose her head over such sweet and sticky treats... well, we can only hope she has not fallen prey to these dastardly sweet mongers."
One suspect, a titian-haired woman from the northern reaches of Alberta, has been questioned regarding this case.
Known only as Stevie, the suspect allegedly sent the Australian born woman a large box of sweets, including marshmallows, chocolate, and caramels. More suspect though was the tin of fruit tea included in the package, which shook the Australian postal service to the core a few years back.
Although she declined an interview, the Edmonton Alpaca herd manager did admit to sending the treats, but denied they were part of a dastardly plot to ensnare Ms. CM in a worldwide ring of mouthwatering indulgance. However, a second such package was sent in the direction of Trashington, Northumberland that very same year to one Gypsy Noir, who is now the prime suspect in this mystery.
Ms. Noir has herself ties to the nefarious Ferrion gang, and has been known to harbour not only sweets in her apartment above a Chinese take-away, but to consort with Bert, the drunken carrier pigeon, as well as several feline conspirators and and the notorious Neil Emery, reputed son of Pete Townshend. Scotland Yard is closing in on Ms. Noir's residence as we speak... erm... type, and will ransack the joint for any sign of Ms. CM in hopes of finding her safe and free of caramel.
If you have any information that could lead to the solving of this case, please forward them to Scotland Yard post haste.
THIS JUST IN!!!!!!!
Vally P has admitted to potentially having had part in McM's disappearance. The plot thickens...

um... brrrr

2009-12-07T18:34:00.002-07:00

and tomorrow morning, a balmy -29, with a wind chill to make it feel like -39 degrees celsius!
Wow... I think it will be a good day to work in the barn and then hang some photos on the walls of the spare rooms...
All this after nearly 20 cm of snow and more flurries tomorrow.
Welcome to Edmonton folks!

just a little snow...

2009-11-21T08:10:00.005-07:00

I awoke this morning to a gentle dusting of snow on the trees and ground. A faint melencholia settles around me, the same sort of gentle shawl that the trees are wearing... light, smiling a little sadly, a protective coverlet preparing us both for the winter to come.
Tony sits at the table with his coffee, the inevitable book propped in front of him. My own current tome resides on the bedtable, its call to me unanswered.
In a strange way I want to let this feeling drift over me completely, wrap up in it, and let the tremendous changes of this past year really sink in.
So much... so much.
In many ways, life here is lonely. I mean that not so much as a complaint as perhaps a comparison to the life I led before. It is a contrast so great I am not sure how even to describe it.
From a constant surrounding of people to a solitude of just a few, or more often, of the one.
I have no desire today to look forward or back. Today, I would rather allow that sense of reflection give me pause, a moment in time to catch my breath, take in the enormity of the new path I travel. I feel a great need to get my home in order, paint the rooms that still wait, prepare them for the people in my life I hope will be here soon.
It is not really MY home, but as long as I am here on this ranch, it is mine to make home.
Such changes.
Such changes.
A time now to heal perhaps, rest my soul, allow that ache to come through finally, so perhaps, just perhaps, it will abate and move on.
Just a little snow...

I think I used them all!

2009-10-30T21:28:00.012-06:00

WARNING: this post is really quite absurd. Perhaps have a few drinks prior ro reading to dull the inevitable pain....

I sit on my recliner
And attempt to find
The right meter and rhythm
My own challange a bind.

So I will tell you a story
With verisimilitde
And certainly hope
I never am rude.

My titian hair tousled
My brainwaves in peril
I dwell and I dither
My words come out sterile.

But I tell myself "Stephanie,
You must have more pluck.
SO get out of this dwaal
Lest this poem be all muck."

So I will attempt to vivisect
A day common to me
With conundrums aplenty
And much puckery.

The kittens shenanigans
(you see we have four)
Have made a kaleidescope
Of my living room floor.

These scurrilous felines
Begin every day
With Snagglepuss tactics
They just won't obey.

Then after a coffee
For caffeine is a must
I make my way to the barn
Feeling oh so robust.

I don my galoshes
After snarffing a bagal
My nifty jeans all tucked in
To avoid the yard's muddy peril.

"Oglalla!" I shout
Pretending that it's someone's name
And not a species from Voyager
See Star Trek's the game!

The evenstar hangs
In the dark morning air
Giving an eerie bouffant
To my touque covered hair.

The alpaca pellets
A first morning treat
Are greeted with wahoos
And ogles repleat.

Rex is sanguine
Then suddenly lugubrious
He realizes I am walking
Not driving the gator... so curious.

You see Rex is a Gator Dog
It is his job to navigate
So when driving said ranch wheels
I do not discomobulate.

But this morning I walk rounds
In peripatetic fashion
Pouring sesamoid offerings
Into troughs is my passion.

I would play them a tune
If I just had a zither
Instead of singing off key
And sending cria a-dither.

Perhaps filled with aldrenadon
Or suffering hallucinogenation
I pitchfork the hay
For the critters' better selection.

A few cria bottle fed
A bunch of shots given
Is the only way I can think of
To include antidisestablishmentariansim.

My uvula quivers
My tummy is queasy
Do I really dare post
This literary travesty?!

"BAH!" says I, with a right hook to good taste
"I will post it and laugh right in my own face!"
So with that fellow bloggers, yes you, all my friends
I will bring my gaggle-less efforts, now closed, to their end.

(this is just soooooooo awful... lol!)

okay then....

2009-10-29T16:30:00.003-06:00

SO we have:
dwarf
dwindle
dwell
pluck (must be used as a noun)
sesamoid
verisimilitude
peril
galoshes
bouffant
dwaal
discombobulate
conundrum
titian
peripatetic
puckery
and from Rache "IJUSTNEEDONEMORECUPOFCOFFEETOFLY" (hee hee!)
snagglepuss
snarf
shenanigans
aldrenadon (which Rache made up, so we best wait for her daffy... er, definition)
hallucinogenation (see above remark!)
evenstar
gaggle
kaleidescope
lugubrious
vivisect
woosah
zither
dither
uvula
travesty
scurrilous
sanguine (ooo I do like this one!)
robust
obey
nifty
ogle
Oglalla
queasy
and of course...
antidisestablishmentariansim

All righty then! Rise to the challenge friends and neighbours! I tag you all to use as many of these in a post as possible! Creative silliness encouraged mightily!

word play.... please play with me!

2009-10-24T19:19:00.002-06:00

OK, so my last post was solved instantly by darling Lannio, (the Three Great DWs: dwarf, dwindle and dwell) and Val added a lovely new one to the mix with dwaal!
We also have pluck, which must be used as a noun.
I am tagging everyone!
Let's play a game. Let's list as many unusual, or not used nearly enough, or obscure and strange words as we can and then... we will put them all together! I challenge everyone (once we have a nice crop of them) to stuff in as many as they can in a post of their own.
Mooaahahahahaha! The recipe of a literary mad scientest.... a veritable Frankenstein of phrases! Oh, include phrases too if you like... but don't let on the definitions... perhaps we will learn a little on the way!
I am going to start with
sesamoid (always wanted to use this one and never had the chance)
salubrious
verisimilitude
peril (which started this whole thing off)
galoshes
bouffant

The three great DWs.....

2009-10-21T18:34:00.003-06:00

Ok, so while spending a brilliant evening with Dale, we happened on the topic of wonderful words in the English language that are not used nearly often enough. I believe the word that sparked that discussion was "peril."
It reminded me of an email from my friend Peter, who seems to figure quite often on my blog lately! I do not recall just what the whole email was about, but at the end, Peter noted the three Great DWs, three words that begin with dw that are not used nearly often enough, (as well as the word pluck used as a noun.)
So I challenge you all to figure out and list the Three Great DWs... and Peter, I know you are reading this, so no cheating! But do feel free to comment... :)

a request....

2009-10-15T12:39:00.003-06:00

could you, would you, all of you please, send me your physical mailing address? You do not have to post it on here, but if you would email it to me at stephanieannstevens@gmail.com I would greatly appreciate it! I have this silly idea that I might be organized enough this year to send Christmas cards to one and all... hee hee! But I have been rather into writing real letters lately, and would love to be able to zip one your way(s) when inspiration strikes!
Thank all.. much love...
S
Margie oh Margie... where for are thou Margie????

today...

2009-10-11T16:16:00.000-06:00

i miss my boys so much it is all i can do to stop crying

my friend...

2009-09-27T13:14:00.003-06:00

Peter... I hope you do not mind this... sharing a piece of your last letter to me... you reminded me of something I had let go for far too long...
S

....You write beautifully.
Scott soaring and becoming a man.
Finding Tony.
Even that rebuttal to those who must have lost all their senses and urged caution upon you. I guess you know you're a good writer when you can tell your friends to fuck off, without them really knowing that's what you said, but nonetheless being convinced that they should, well, fuck off.

You told me a story once about that gay guy who was in your year at SAIT, who Ian took mercy upon and allowed to intern at his paper. You said that some community leader stopped Ian on the street one day and told him as forcefully as polite communication allows that he couldn't let that kid ever become a journalist.

If I could meet your Tony on the street, I'd tell him as forcefully as polite communication allows -- no, maybe I'd risk it all and grab him and shake him and tell him as forcefully as necessary communication demands that he can't ever let that wife of his stop writing.

Your friend,

Peter....

his words made me feel like an inspired student again... my professor, my teacher, my friend.
Peter was my newswriting instructor at SAIT for two years.
Peter, who never believed in an A , because there is always room for improvement.
Peter, who always called me Stevens, rather than Stephanie, who tented his fingers and stared at me over them with those brooding, inestimable eyes, daring me to keep his steady gaze and earn his respect.
Peter, who referred to our craft always as committing journalism, and whose casual references to his time as a foreign correspondent in the Middle East in the 80s made me yearn to drink in his memories over strong coffee brewed long and black in the Turkish tradition.
It was from Peter that I most craved praise, and from Peter I took criticism not as a setback, but as fuel to improve, to learn more and be the best writer I could be.
And from him, in the end, I got not only knowledge, but a friendship I carry with me like a talisman, more powerful than any charm I wear, more precious than any jewel or token, invisible to others but pressed indelibly within my breast.

His humour, dry and often sarcastic, felt like a shared secret.
I walked into the dark halls of SAIT one early fall morning, the sun barely risen, the grey cement height of the Senator Burns building adding to the quiet the uninspired hallways brought. On the train to school that cold morning the sky had burst with colour, filling me, as it never fails to, with a sort of awe at
the effortlessness of nature to point out good naturedly the impotance she observes in our human existence.
I saw him walking purposefully ahead of me, and called to him. I asked if he had see the sunrise that morning.
His stride did not falter and he responded without pause, "yes Stevens. I watched it with my first years upstairs. We all held hands and sang Feelings."
The quip was delivered dryly, without a glance, but not without a subtle note to it that understood my understanding of the humour within, meant, I like to believe, only for me.
And Peter, who when I was at one of my lowest moments when I was a reporter years ago, overwhelmed with work and life and staring at a deadline already behind me, my spirit crushed and no strength in reserve to draw upon, it was Peter, in response to a desperate plea-riddled email from me that long night, who demanded in no uncertain terms I get my ass in gear, get the work done, and take time to break down later.
Perfect.
More one of my tribe than any ought to be, it brings my soul a healthy measure of steadiness to know he will always be just there, ready to listen, laugh, share of his own... to sidestep in time perchance to share that Turkish coffee, but until then, always just a keystroke away.

and you thought hormones affected YOU.....

2009-09-07T22:54:00.003-06:00

So, here I am, entering my eighth month at Amber Autumn Alpacas, happily married to my tall Dutch cowboy, and I have discovered fairly recently that hormonal changes during pregnancy are most certainly NOT restricted to humans.
Nope. Nada. Niet. Nay.
Enter exhibit one.
Ekela.
Now Ekela is a very attractive alpaca, weighing in at about 165 pounds (which is about 40 pounds less than Big Crystal, who did her level best to knock me out last Saturday but managed only to knock me on my back and put my tooth through my lip and nearly break my nose, but that is a story for another post).
When I met her, Ekela was well along in her pregnancy (alpaca gestation is 11 and a half months) and she would stand in her pasture, tail erect and cluck incessantly at me or anyone else with her regal head held high. In alpaca speak, this means (loosely translated of course) " back the hell off or I swear I will charge you and stomp you to smithereens."
If she were in a particularly bad mood, the clucking and posturing was accompanied by a well aimed spit, made up of a lovely blend of regurgitated grass and/or hay and pellets, made up at no small expense just for our rather large herd.
It is a fragrance I truly hope none of you ever wear.
But of course, as she was not in full control of her emotions, we would just give her a wide berth and avoid the spitting, choosing instead to coo to her in soothing tones that she was a lovely girl, and we were so looking forward to meeting her cria, which we truly hoped would be a lovely pure white female.
Time came, about two months ago, that Ekela gave birth to a lovely while male cria, whom I have dubbed Zeke, though his official name has yet to be given.
Of course like all new mums, our Ms. Ekela was VERY protective for the first while and the clucking continued for a couple of weeks.
Then one day, we noticed a wee change.
In doing routine herd care, trimming toenails, giving shots etc., Tony remarked to me, "Honey, do you see how Ekela is acting?"
I looked, and no word of a lie, she was rubbing up against him, as if to say, "Oh Hi! My name is Ekela, and oh please would you rub my neck? You are ever so handsome... did you feel my fleece? It really is soft and fine... touch it... really, go ahead!"
Flirting with abandon at my then fiance (now husband... titter titter!) Ekela went out of her way to charm Tony, then turned her eyes to me and gave what for all the world looked like a dazzling smile.
She continued this way each time we saw her for a few weeks, after which she was bred again, I believe to the handsome Prince Charming (yes, that really is his name) and while she is not quite grumpy enough to spit at us just yet, she has been known to toss a few clucks our way, and does not invite us to stroke her regal neck anymore.
I was reminded of this strongly today when Pixie, who had gotten not quite but almost as bitchy (pardon the language) as Ekela during her pregnancy, gave birth a few weeks ago, and came up to me today and showered my face with adoring little kisses and sniffs, following me around like a puppy awaiting a snuggle.
Sadly, her wee baby did not make it, but she seems to have gotten over the heartache and has directed that adoration directly at me.
Pixie love. Nothing like it, and it makes up for all the hormonally challenged months. I'd best appreciate it while it lasts. Sweet little Pixie is due to be bred in a few days.

Figured I had better post SOMETHING or you would all think I had abandoned you!
Oh and Margie, please to send my your mailing address again?
With love, snuffles and much affection,
S
xoxo

August 1, 2009

2009-08-09T14:58:00.003-06:00

Hello all! Mrs. Evers here!
A few pics of the wedding, with the photographer's (my dear friend Monte) to follow when I get them!
It was a wonderful day, and I know Rache you were there with H in her heart, and all the rest of you were carried there via darling Dale!
I am very happy... :)

holy upcoming nuptials Batman...

2009-07-23T17:34:00.002-06:00

Oh my gosh you guys.... I am getting married in like... 8 days.... I am so very excited, but it still does not seem real! I admit a teeny bit of fear... that somehow the rug will be pulled from under me. I have been here before... in love, thinking all was perfect, and then wham... all gone. I know that is not the case this time, but still, until the day arrives I am not sure I am going to believe it.
Is that terrible of me?
Here is a snap of Tony and me at a wonderful BBQ my brother put together for us last weekend.
love to all of you...
s

halooooooooo!

2009-05-31T14:19:00.003-06:00

Far too long since I have written anything! IN part that is because life is non-stop, and in part because the dial up is to slow it makes me a little crazy!
A quick hello to you all... I have been lurking and reading, but not posting much.
A few new photos... including Tony`s parents who came to visit a couple of weeks ago and I adore!
Love to all... talk soon...xo Stevie

Me, Daisy and Sundance Kid....

2009-04-20T21:26:00.003-06:00

We are up to six cria now, with several more due in the next few days... I am in love with each one!
The wedding date has been changed so Tony's family can attend... anyone in the Canmore region Aug. 1 please do join us!
xo
S
ps
please click on the photo to enlarge and appreciate my rubber boots. If one has to wear them... they may as well be kicky!

Our first baby!

2009-04-05T22:29:00.004-06:00

Welcome little Daisy...
:)

long overdue.....

2009-03-10T13:24:00.005-06:00

Hello all!
This post is long overdue, and my only excuse is the frustration factor that has been trying to upload photos.
So, if this post finds you graphic free, I have decided to wait until I can take the computer to a high speed location to add images!
I love it here, love living with my Tony, and adore my new charges.
We have just over 200 alpaca here, and 70 cria (babies) due between April and August. Our job here entails the usual ranch related duties, feeding the animals, cleaning and repairing pens, herd checks (trimming toenails, teeth, general medical upkeep like shots and exams) as well as an abundance of property care. I am in charge of halter training the weanlings as well, and while Tony will learn, he would just as soon leave it to me as it requires rather a lot of patience!
My big rough tough cowboy has fallen in love with these critters as well, and has been seen giving the odd one a cuddle to soothe them when they have to have teeth trimmed... though he will deny it if you ask him! But I have photos to back me up, IF I can ever upload them.
I saw my boys this weekend when I went back to the valley to see a concert through that I had set up some time ago when still with the youth centre. There was a certain amount of closure for me doing so, though in all honesty, it was an exhausting weekend and the concert took too much of the time I would have rather had with my boys. But, no regrets, and I will see them again soon.
I miss them terribly, but talk to them every few days and I know they are fine.
As for my love and I, we are happily esconced in setting up household together. Admittedly, we were both a little nervous at first. We moved in together so quickly, what if we were not as compatible as we thought? Luckily, we are, and love waking up to each other every day and working as a team here at the ranch.
We picked up a washer and dryer yesterday, and in doing our first load of laundry together had a laugh at the domesticity of it all!
"You're stuck with me forever now baby," Tony told me laughing.
Fine by me.
The house is really more house than we need, but the room will come in handy when we have guests (nudge nudge wink wink) and when the boys are here. I still hope they might decide to move in at some point, as does Tony, because we are feeling pretty strongly this will be our home for many years.
We have a huge yard which Tony is thrilled about. His family background is landscaping and tree care, and he is like a kid in a candy store being able to reach back to his roots, no pun intended. This summer will be busy between our regular daily ranch duties and planning and planting our own gardens and such.
Daryl and Shirley are lovely people to work for, and we are pretty much left to our own devices, which is what they were looking for in their ranch managers. They are both nearing retirement age, and while they love the alpaca, are happy to leave the ranch in our hands.
All in all, things are wonderful!

I am here...

2009-02-23T20:12:00.001-07:00

I am here... I am happy... and on the slowest dial up EVER... but will get some photos and post a good one soon!
Love you all...
xoxo

the countdown

2009-02-05T11:25:00.002-07:00

one more day... to pack, to gird my loins for the goodbye... to join mijn Tony... myheart is so torn.. so happy to be with my love, so heartbroken to move away from my sons...

the seed.....

2009-01-31T16:41:00.003-07:00

So, Rache and I were chatting on Facebook the other night, and we came up with an idea that we are both saying out loud so we can make it become a reality! Or rather, we are both blogging about it to make it a reality!
In 2013, to celebrate the world NOT ending in 2012, let's all of us meet in New York and have a huge first time reunion!
That gives us four years-ish to plan and save, and wouldn't it be wonderful for us all to meet?
I believe the difference between a dream that comes true, and one that doesn't, is whether or not you say it out loud.
So, when you are reading this, and get to this point, please take a deep breath and say loud and clear:
'We are going to meet in New York in 2013 and have a hell of a time!'
xo
Stevie

and so.

2009-01-25T20:22:00.001-07:00

Scott... and Kootenay National Park... on our way to see Tony.
I am moving in a week. To be an alpaca rancher with Tony. Lol... changes changes!
More soon!
xo

January... 14.. oh my..

2009-01-14T17:35:00.006-07:00

I realized today how very quickly certain things in my life are coming up. On Saturday, my darling son Justin will turn 19, and I can hardly believe the wee baby I brought home is now hitting six feet, and is only a year younger than I was when I had him.
He is a good boy, a good man, and I am so very proud of him.
Justin is one of those souls that feels things deeply, yet holds his cards close to his chest. The rapid recent changes in our lives has had him a little perpelexed I think, but we have had some good moments of communication (not easy for the likes of him and I, butting heads as often as we do!)
Justin has always amazed me a little with his mechanical abilities. Always taking things apart and seemingly always putting them back together in better order than they originally were. Just as Scott sees music as a language, Justin sees circuits and engines and all those mysterious bits and pieces as clearly as I would see words on a page. It truly amazes me.
He was flying when he was 15, his first solo, I believe, a critical turning point in his life. I remember him calling me late one evening, after he and one of his instructors had been soaring for hours, breathless and tripping over his words as he told me he had shared a thermal with a hawk.
"I flew RIGHT BESIDE HIM," he told me, and in a more hushed tone, added, in not to many words, it was an almost spiritual experience. I could not stop the tears his voice and words drew out of me, a salty smile that I will never forget. My boy was becoming a man.
It would seem that experience made driving a car passe, and he has only just finally made the push to get his full driving licence this month. HAHA!! It must be hard for him to drive on the ground with all those corners and restrictions when flying at 11,000 feet was part of his normal days that wonderful summer.
He is so endlessly funny, and smart, with a healthy dose of sarcasm in his charactor. I wonder if I have prepared him enough for the world... or perhaps what I really wonder is if the world is prepared for him. He does things his own way, more's the pity, a trait of mine I would have happily not passed on to him. But I know he will find his way, just as I did, just as we all do.
I am as tall as I can be with pride for him. I know he will do good things in his life, make a difference for people, and while he is on his way to living his own life, I hope, oh, I hope I hope I hope, that he remembers he is always going to be my little boy, and no matter where the winds take us, he has a home with me.
Welcome to the legally adult world my darling Justin... I love you forever... all the way to the moon and back.
And that is far... very very far.
xo
Mom

Our wedding.........

2009-01-06T21:23:00.006-07:00

So, Tony and I have chosen as our final date Saturday, June 20, 2 p.m. in Exshaw Alberta at my sister Rose`s home.
:)
We are both very excited!
Of course you are all invited, and I know it is not likely many of my darling overseas or overcountry loves can attend, but you are invited just the same.
We have much to do, but really, it will be a simple wedding, no gifts, just the presence of friends and family. Potluck, and bring lots of laughter...
xo
S

Adendum
I have to admit, as much as I understand and do appreciate the expressions of concerns regarding the short time Tony and I have been together and become engaged, it is a little... wearying. Of course, a few members of both our families have mentioned it, some more vocally, but I wonder if they really think we have not given this serious consideration... for ourselves, as well as my children. We are adults. We are both well thinking, and have not done this lightly or without consideration. After all, we resisted the temptation, great though it was, to get married last week! lol!
I have listened to the concerns from my own family, some expressed clearly and vocally, other via vague words, pursed lips and expressions, and I take them all to heart for what they are: concerns for me from those who love me. And now that they have expressed them, I would ask they please be done with it.
What I appreciate far more are those many friends who have rejoiced with me, and most expecially my mother, who ackowledges the short time, but is celebrating with me and even helping me plan. I don't think that just being happy for me, without questioning me, is really too much to ask.
Ok, I vented. Thanks for listening. It hasn't bothered me all that much, but it obviously has bothered me a little. And now I can get on with the business of being happy!
xo

:)

2008-12-25T22:54:00.002-07:00

Mijn Tony...

ok then, here goes...

2008-12-22T16:08:00.004-07:00

he asked me to marry him. I said yes.
Yes, oh yes oh yes!
May 23, 2009.

hard to contain...

2008-12-16T15:02:00.001-07:00

there is something I am bursting to tell you all... but I need a few more days to really get my own head around it....

to see the world in a grain of sand....

2008-12-10T16:36:00.006-07:00

I think in all our lives there are moments when things seem perfectly clear.
Instances of clarity that seem to make time stand still, quiet the cacophony of life and its trials, the air suddenly calm, clear and crystalline.
They come at random times, standing at our shoulder as we discover their gift, quietly nodding and dissipating once their message is received.
Tangible moments.
Life changing.
Things like love.
You look, and wonder, and create your ideal. You work towards it, and sometimes, wanting it so much, convince yourself it exists where it truly does not.
Then, perhaps when you have given up hope, you look just ever so slightly to your side, and all goes quiet.
Oh there you are… mijn liefde.
I asked where he had been all my life.
He answered, “waiting for you to come home. Took you long enough.”
No idea where this path will lead. It has been a difficult one to navigate. Leaping into the unknown, uncertain what the future will bring, looking past the histories we might both prefer to forget but have been brutally honest about… all possible with the courage drawn from believing.
What seemed insurmountable has suddenly given way. Cautious steps must be chosen wisely, but can at last be taken nonetheless.
And hearts that have been broken too many times can heal in the warmth of love.

interesting....

2008-12-07T20:27:00.005-07:00

seems there have been posts on our circle of blogs lately that have had a political theme (understandable really), so I invite you to read a new blogger... meet my nephew, Chris. (Note: he promises not to be political all the time...)

http://round-one.blogspot.com/

And if you have not yet found my niece Miss Margery...

http://vantownmrose.blogspot.com/

Frankly brilliant both of them. M's most recent post is a fun ski trip, but peruse a little further down and she too has some very thought provoking posts regarding her thesis subject.

And as one is in Newfoundland at university, and the other in Vancouver at university, I think we have the country covered. Let's just see anyone try to get away with anything...

Of Angels and fortune

2008-11-30T19:25:00.006-07:00

I am not sure if I believe in angels.
Well, not totally true. I think my daughter was one, here for only a short while to teach me about love.
But I think our generally accepted version of what an angel is, a clean, perfect entity, with a serene expression and calm demeanor, is more than a little off.
I do not believe Mother Theresa was an angel. Rather I think she was an incredible human being, one who saw angels for what they really are.
I think... no, I know… I had an encounter with an angel this past weekend.
You see, on the Friday prior to Copper Point’s 5th annual Feed The Town Christmas dinner (a free turkey dinner with all the trimmings for those less fortunate as well as everyone else, doubling as a food drive for the food bank), I actually sat down and had a proper and technical look at my finances.
Needless to say, it was not a pretty picture.
I am not sure just why I did not do the math earlier than that. Now on my own, a single mum, I should have had a more critical look at it all much earlier than I did.
But, woulda coulda shoulda, right?
The next two days I spent distraught, trying to figure out what I was going to do, tearful and afraid. Not a new story by any means. In our fair, idyllic valley, there are many families who are facing the same dilemma of how to pay the bills and feed the kids all out of the same static pot of money.
Sunday morning dawned, and I awoke with the thought that volunteering with Feed The Town would be a good way to take my mind of what I perceived as insurmountable problems.
And that is where I met my angel.
The role I filled, along with several other people at the event, was to make sure people had beverages, pie, and clear up after they were finished. I enjoy serving people, always have. Waitressing was always an enjoyable profession for me.
So what better way to fill a Sunday afternoon?
About mid-way through the day, I saw an older gentleman sitting by himself, dinner plate filled, but no beverage glass. So I went over, asked if he would like anything to drink, then brought over to him his requested glass of water.
I spoke to him briefly, about nothing in particular, and then went back to doing what I was there to do.
But every few minutes I would look back at him. And as I watched him from afar, I would see him looking around the room, savouring each bite of his meal, and now and then a gentle smile would cross his face.
He was dressed in clothes that were clean but well worn, and had about him the look of a man who did not have much in the way of family.
I was drawn to him.
As more people came in, and he was still alone at his table, I went over to talk to him and clear his plate.
It was a wonderful dinner, he told me.
I agreed.
Then he looked right at me and said, “This is so wonderful… this whole thing, the feeling… I don’t know just what to say.” His words were halted by an emotion I can only describe as a gladness at what he saw.
As he rose to leave, pushing carefully off the table and in obvious discomfort, he repeated what a wonderful event it was.
I opened my arms to hug him, smiled and said, “I know it is a little early, but Merry Christmas.”
He put his own arms out and I stepped forward. He held me in gentle embrace for a few moments, then stepped back and put his hands on my arms.
“Every day is Christmas for me,” he said. “Every morning that I can get out of bed is a blessing.”
He smiled at me, gave my arms a final squeeze, and walked slowly away.
I do not know his name, nor do I know if I will ever see him again.
But I felt tears sting my eyes as I cleared a few more plates, knowing I had just had an encounter I was not meant to take for granted.
I realized, in that one perfect moment, that my problems were not so bad. That all I had to do was find a way. I am strong and healthy, my boys are as well, I have friends and family that love me, and each day I can get out of bed without worrying if I can or not.
I can get another job if I need to, or drum up a little more photo business. I just have to find a way. That is the simple and plain truth.
A friend of mine told me recently that God does not give us anything we are not strong enough to deal with, and while I do not necessarily buy into any particular religion, I do believe in a higher power.
God has not put anything in front of me I cannot find a way to handle. I just needed to see that.
And to my great shame, I let myself wallow in self pity over what is nothing I cannot find some solution to.
I saw an angel Sunday, Nov. 30. One sent to remind me of my own strength, and to be thankful for all I do have.
With that in mind, I wish you all good days ahead, remind you to look for your own inner strength, and thank that man, my angel, for reminding me of a lesson I thought I had learned long ago.
God, the Goddess, Creator… however you choose to believe… believe. Or not. It is truly up to you.
But do, if you would please, believe in yourselves.
Blessed be.

my first hat.... cowboy that is....

2008-11-23T01:06:00.001-07:00

and my dad would have loved it...
I miss him.

I am moved in. ish.

2008-11-12T18:47:00.002-07:00

this will be my home for six months... it is a good home. I will be happy here. I will heal here.
must to the long overdue rounds.
xo
for now... my column. Goodbye to the YC... for now.

New beginnings

A little over a week ago I turned 39.

I don’t feel it. To be honest, I don’t think a lot about age. But the number is there and I find myself scrutinizing it as one would a colourful bug: interesting, but not interesting enough to really concern myself about. As long as it doesn’t bite…

With that birthday, the very same day, another event occurred: it was my last at the youth centre.

My time at the Summit has come to an end. I think I knew it was time about six months ago, but refused to give it up, thinking I could never walk away and be complete.

But it was time. Time for new blood, new ideas, new energy. Time for someone to take the reins and take it even further. They say a good leader knows when to let someone else lead. Hopefully I can fit into that category.

Time for me to walk away, much as a parent watches a child finally leave the nest. I have lived and breathed youth centre for so long , it seems very odd to think it will no longer be my first thought as I wake up in the morning. It is a bittersweet sort of feeling.

Eventually I will join on the board (if they will have me), but I realize I must make it a clean break for a little while and trust the new program coordinator and the incoming board of directors will keep things running smoothly. I am especially proud of one new board member in particular: Lee Meadows, who in some ways practically grew up at the YC, is taking on the role of vice-chair. I know he will receive the guidance he needs, and Lee, you know I am always just a phone call or text away. Incoming treasurer Diana Linde is also an exciting addition, with the skills required to keep the financials on track and in order. There are more new members, a few still from last year, and I am encouraged to think they will keep everything going, bigger and better.

My new job will keep me busy and my mind off what is for me a monumental change.

But I do want to thank everyone who has ever been a part of the YC, the various members of the board over the years, the volunteers, the donors (private, business and corporate) and most especially the youth.

You guys have been the light of my life, even when we butted heads and we challenged each other.

I watched so many of you grow up, sometimes make mistakes, but much more often make me proud. I know, I know, I was sometimes too stern. But you never failed to come back, and I never doubted the bond I formed with so many of you.

You know that I believe in you. Each and every one of you. You know I will always be around somewhere and when I do stop in at the YC, it will be to play a game of pool or some 21, maybe a little ball hockey or whatever we come up with. No more paper work. No more longs stints at the desk. With this retirement, I get to do the part I like best: just hang with you.

It might be a bit before I show up. This letting go business is harder than I thought. But I will get there. And in the meantime, you know how to get hold of me, so never hesitate to if you need that ear to bend or a cup of tea. What I have told you all still holds true. You know what I mean and you know the number, and for those of you who don’t, get it from one of the others or ask me when you see me next.

You are truly a part of me. You are the one part of the youth centre I simply refuse to give up.

There will still be a River of Change camp in the spring, come hell or highwater, so I suppose it is appropriate to end this column the same way we end the camp at closing circle.

“And with that, I’m outta here.”

Love always

S

taking a chance...

2008-10-18T22:09:00.002-06:00

something has happened.
I am terrified... but exhilarated...
I am jumping into something like I know I should not.
And, no, it is not what you all think.
There has been a total earthshaking event in my life.
I hope you will all understand when I tell you.
I do not know exactly what is going to happen.
But I am going to do what my nature tells me to do. My true nature. The one I have denied for many years.
please... send me your love... send me your support... and your understanding....

ok...

2008-10-13T08:04:00.003-06:00

So, I will be working for Windermere Water and Sewer, I suppose best described as a private utility company, doing some reception work but also putting together presentations and reports and that sort of thing. A lot of what I do will depend greatly on my own initiative.
I put in my resume not thinking I would get the job,but I did!
It is good pay, better than I have been getting for certain, and the hours are regular, so I can plan, like, a life!
And the benefits are also excellent, which is good as I will no longer be on Ian's. Having said that, Ian is being very gracious and keeping us on his until mine kick in three months from now.
I get to dress nicely, and most importantly, I get to use my brain!
All very exciting. But now I really have to get with the packing. I have been avoiding it... hate packing, but I am only a few weeks away from moving and I think Ian is beginning to get ansty... can't blame him. He has roommates moving in and I still have not packed up!
Talk with you all soon...
much love
S

YEA!!!!

2008-10-07T10:22:00.001-06:00

I HAVE A NEW JOB!!!!
regular hours, good pay, excellent benefits!
Will tell all later!
XO

A celebration of life...

2008-09-21T20:56:00.001-06:00

I can’t say as I have ever been to anything quite like it.
A celebration of Dennis Hemus’ life, held at the Great Hall at Panorama Mountain Village, had one very significant difference when compared to other such celebrations I have attended.
Dennis himself was there.
Smiling, laughing, talking, loving.
And saying goodbye on his own terms.
A couple of hundred people, all of whom have their own stories and memories of Dennis, gathered to hear a eulogy, music, and stories about him, as well as listen to Dennis recite The Shooting of Dan McGrew.
It was… well… perfect.
Dennis has lived with multiple myloma for seven years. It is not like other cancers. Multiple myloma (MM) has no cure.
Den has always known this, as have his friends and family.
About a week ago Dennis was told he had only a few days to live. His children were called, friends and family arrived, and then, it would seem, Dennis decided to wait a little longer. So the celebration of life he would attend was planned.
As Roscoe Dalke, who was for lack of a better term the emcee of the afternoon pointed out, we always say we wish we had a few more moments with those that leave us. And this was just such a chance.
When editor Ian Cobb asked me to take on the task of writing about Dennis’ life for The Echo, I was honoured and accepted without a second thought.
When I spoke to Dennis about writing about his life, I agreed to wait until after he is gone. That piece has yet to be written.
But this column is to tell about the celebration I was so honoured to be present at. It is me telling all of you, and him, my own feelings on what it was meant to me to work with him on stories about the injustices of Celgene and their atrocious abuse of power regarding the drug Thalomid, a brand name version of thalidomide that has huge benefits for MM patients but Celgene charges obscenely for. Dennis has worked tirelessly for years to make a difference for other MM patients, fought to make Celgene accountable for their actions, and done so in an absolutely selfless manner.
It is to tell about the man that I got to know over the past few years, come to call my friend, come to admire, respect, and care deeply about.
This column is for you Dennis.
We had many conversations together, during some of which you told me things you never meant to go public, and I promise you they never will.
Those conversations meant a great deal to me.
I remember one evening in particular.
It was a few years ago. We were walking around the Windermere Cemetery, preparing a story for the Relay For Life. You proudly showed me the Rotary Columbarium, we wandered around, looked at the old grave markers, and sat on the bench as the evening passed us.
You asked me then to never make you out to be a hero.
“I am not a hero,” you told me as we watched the sun set over Lake Windermere. “I am just a guy trying to stay alive.”
I told you I would not.
Neither of us talked for a few moments, and I took a photo of you that still hangs on my wall.
Sorry Den. Just this once, I have to break my word to you. You see, a hero is just what you are. They way you have fought doggedly against Celgene, for people you have never met, for people who will develop MM and you will never meet.
For that, you are a hero, and I am so blessed to have gotten to know you.
For the rest, you are my friend.
For the courage and grace you have shown, for never failing to smile, for never feeling sorry for yourself, for being so grateful for the life you have had.
For allowing me to take a small part in the Celgene stories, though bigger journalists than I took it much further. For trusting me.
For all of it.
Saturday was perfect. It was friends and family hugging and talking, laughing together, having a drink with you, celebrating not only your life, but all our lives and every day we have.
You are a cheeky fellow Dennis, and you have once again done things on your own terms.
I cannot help but smile as I write, knowing there is still much work to be done.
Know that there will be people who continue your fight, and if ever there is a way I can help them I promise you I will.
So, with that, I am outta here. This is not a memorial column, this is just a moment in time. One for you, one for me. I’ll catch you on the flip side.
S

Punk rockers....

2008-09-15T20:49:00.004-06:00

Denyss McKnight

Kaine Delay

A bunch of my girls... I am in there somewhere...

Mosh pit frenzy...

My achingly beautiful girls... my little sisters... my heart.

There were technical issues from hell, the warm up band had to bail (and I totally do not hold it against them... they had been together like... 12 hours) and the gig started 45 minutes late.
But it was glorious. The kids danced and moshed and tried to sing along and the band brushed away all the sound issues and glitches and gave a HELL of a show.
We broke even, and they are coming back after their tour.
All in all... a success.
I am going to share with you a bit of what Denyss said. You may remember Denyss from my post about him and my Dearest Dru in the car accident...
This was on his My Space bulletin.

"September 12, Invermere/BC
Our first show of the tour. Youth event in a small town at a community centre. It's been ages since I've done one of these, and I'm not sure LSD has EVER done one.

After an agonizing all night drive which left Thana and I delirious with sleep deprivation and too much Red Bull, we arrived. At first, I can never be sure what to think and I sure as fuck hate pre-judging a show before anything happens. So I waited. I watched kids roll in to the hall. I remember being their age. Looking at a band from out of town as some foreign and rare gem. In a small town, you don't see this often. With that in mind, I tried to be the kind of guy I would have wanted to meet when I was their age and living in a small town going to a punk rock show. The other bands on the bill bailed last minute, so it really was all on our shoulders. The intro hit and a hall full of teenagers start screaming. They're ready for anything and we're just as ready to give it back to them in appreciation.

The sound was terrible. The vocals kept cutting out. The electronics were too loud out front and not in the monitors. My guitar was inaudible. But it was fucking incredible. Sweating, dancing, singing along when they could figure out the words.

It made me remember. It made me grateful for my teenage years. It made me proud that I can carry on a tradition that has more integrity, depth and strength than any mainstream audience could ever compete with. This is my world, these are my kids."

Mine too, Denyss. Mine too.

moving on.... slowly.

2008-09-12T07:50:00.003-06:00

breaking up is hard to do... and splitting the dishes is as well.
I have found a place to live for the winter, one I can afford on my own, which is a miracle. Anything that is big enough for me and the boys is crazy expensive. So here is to finding a place in the fall that I can swing as a single mom. Actually, there is a subsidized house that is really pretty nice, but it is a months long process. So, we will wait and see.
So we are finally embarking on the real end of days.
I would like to say Ian and I are on speaking terms, but just now I think there is too much hurt and anger on both sides. But we are both decent people and I think that in the end, that will prevail. At least I hope so.
Getting ready for a punk concert for the youth centre tonight so best be off.
Love to all...
S

so this guy walks into a grocery store...

2008-08-17T00:31:00.001-06:00

a guy came in to a buy a couple of things the other day. I asked if he wanted a bag. he looked at me, frowning, and asked, "Is that a trick question?"
I guess a few people do read my columns.

Imaginary heroes... dedicated to Robbie

2008-08-03T22:32:00.002-06:00

Bags bags bags.
Having cut my hours at the youth centre by half, I recently took a job at AG Valley Foods.
Like many of us here in the valley, I have bought, in abundance, reusable bags from both AG and Sobeys, to avoid the accumulation of a gazillion plastic ones.
And like many of us, I forget to take the darn things in a regular basis.
I have come to realize though, in my short time working, that the reason we are so forgetful about our bags, is the knowledge in the back of our heads that there are always plastic ones, or paper, in the stores. Not just grocery stores, but all stores.
So I got to thinking, if they were not available, would we keep forgetting?
Well, maybe once or twice. But after a couple of episodes of either having to drive home to get them or loading a plethora of items loose into our cars from the carts, I think propensity to forget would be eliminated.
Just imagine if we never used disposable bags.
Beyond the environmental bonus, you can get more into them, they are stronger, and you can use them for anything. If we all just made a point of taking them along with us, easy enough to do as they scrunch down and fit in each other, we would have them all the time.
Like carrying your wallet or purse.
I propose we become a community of no disposable bags at stores at all. Several of our local retailers already have some version of reusable bags for sale for just a dollar or two. And we could even start off with a campaign of every $50 you spend earns you one bag for the first 6 months or so, just so everyone has a chance to stock up. We could phase it in, and for visitors, we could make sure we advertise it well and have the odd contingency plan in place so as not to disgruntle them.
Imagine, the entire valley plastic bag free.
I know some people use them for garbage bags, but they really aren’t all that great when push comes to shove. And if you go so far as to recycle weak little grocery bags into garbage bags, I would think you would be right on board with this idea… nudge nudge, wink wink.
And think of the promotional value.
“The Columbia Valley: proudly plastic bag free since 2008.”
And the trickle down effects could be fantastic.
The more we do to cut down on packaging, the more aware of the immense amount of unnecessary packing we see very day.
In Germany, the 1992 enacted green dot law regarding recycling actually requires manufacturers and retailers to take back all secondary packaging. A year later, it was the obligation of retailers, distributors and manufacturers to accept the returned sale packaging of all types of packaging necessary to contain and transport goods right up to the point of consumption.
I am not saying we need to put the onus on our retailers. What I am saying is we can put the onus on ourselves. After all, we have plenty of recycling bins at our disposal, no pun in tended.
Take a little less home, put a little more in the recycling bin, and suddenly, you don’t need as many of those make shift garbage bags that seemed so handy when you unpacked your groceries.
Food stuff can be composted (and all that stuff we should not put in our outdoor compost piles for Bear Aware purposes, there is a product out there that that you use in a bin inside your home that composts quickly and without odour so you can compost all of those food bits and keep Yogi and Boo Boo at bay).
Having said all of this, my bags, all 14, 643 of them (because for a while I made myself buy new ones every time I forgot them) are in the trunk of my car, and like I said, I STILL forget to take them in sometimes, so I am not all squeaky clean and shiny over this issue.
But, I am trying a lot harder to remember them, and hey, the trunk of my car is better than the house where I used to leave them, hence the accumulation. And at the youth centre, we are going to be making bags as a way to raise funds, out of all recycled material, so heck, you could deal one for the environment and the valley youth at the same time! Heh heh.
Just imagine.
A valley without disposable bags.
Dudes, we’d kinda be heroes.

hmmm

2008-08-01T22:33:00.001-06:00

I bought an amazing little black dress. It is very kind of va-va-voom... now I just need to figure out how to date again.

Click...

2008-07-29T00:51:00.007-06:00

Sometimes, even with people you care about, there is not that intimate friendship right away.
The "click" moment happens at a different time for all of us.
Tonight was the click moment for me and Angela, and I am most pleased by this.
It is not that I did not care, or that she did not, but we never had the same relationship as I had with a couple of the others in the Sisterhood of the Travelling Teacup... but like all things, different people drift in on their own time, and the teacup circle changes for the better with each addition, different aspects of each adding her own unique flavour and tradition.
Truly it is a living entity, and tonight... tonight Ang and I clicked to our groove.
Most excellent.
:)

First, an update... and renewed hope...

2008-07-29T00:48:00.001-06:00

Norm is progressing slowly but surely... this is Kim's update as of today (July 28).
Thank you all for your loving words...
xo
Stevie

"July 28

Well Norman is heading in the right direction. They have taken him off all the drugs that paralyzed him, the sedatives, and the heart meds. He is not fighting the breathing tube and they are giving him some pain meds.

They have removed the new feeding tube in his belly, as the nurse was not confident it was working properly. So they have done an X-ray and are doing a CAT scan tonight to check things out in there. We do not need a repeat of what happened Thurs/Fri. They will decide if it should go back in or not.

So, slowly things are going in the right direction. As for me, I think it's all kind of hit me in the last 24 hrs what is really happening. I will be concentrating on myself this week, so I will apologise up front if I am not as diligent with my updates or as up beat as I have been in the past weeks.

I will be going to see Norman by myself on Wed and that I cannot wait for. To spend some time by ourselves will be good therapy for me if no one else.

Thank you everyone for just being there.

Love and Hugs...Kim"

so sad....

2008-07-26T23:16:00.001-06:00

Norm had a major setback last yesterday....

You are my sunshine...

2008-07-20T11:50:00.002-06:00

I love you both to the moon and back.
Thank you for enriching my life as you do.
xo

It’s all a matter of circuits

2008-07-12T21:10:00.002-06:00

My newspaper column this week.

“Stephanie, you changed colour! Nice software!”
That line, originally uttered by robot Number 5 from the 1986 movie Short Circuit, was the bane of my high school existence… and the culprit most likely to utter it, huge grin plastered to his face, was my pal Norm Gagatek.
We were a pretty tight knit group. We were the band geeks, the science wing squad… we were the Columbia Valley Goonies.
But one of our number now needs our support.
On Saturday July 5, Norm had a small stroke and was Stars ambulanced to Foothills Hospital in Calgary. Even though a stroke as small as the one he had is usually undetectable, this one occurred in the brain stem. What was most affected was his wake up function, and for several days he was considered to be in a coma. Also affected is his vision.
His motor functions were not affected, but there are other effects of the stroke for Norm to overcome.
There is, of course, a worst case and best case scenario, but I, and I know many other people, are putting their energy into focusing on the best case scenario which will see Norm home with wake up function and all motor skills intact.
Norm’s wife Kim has been a rock, and even if she did not have so many friends and family members rallying around her, as well as everyone from home offering her support, I believe she would still be as strong and resilient as she is. No small feat when she is also caring for their four-year-old and expecting a teeny Mini-Norm (or Mini-Kim) in early 2009!
As so often seems to happen with our community, people have rallied.
Messages to Kim and Norm on their Facebook support page (Norm Gagatek Support if you are looking for it) and visits from old and not so old friends have I know meant the world to them.
It is hard to say just how long Norm’s recovery will take. But the more positive energy sent his and Kim’s way the better. And if you are in Calgary, or can make a trip in, Kim has said visits from friends are helping immensely. Check with the nursing staff about good visiting hours.
Who has not at some point been the recipient of Norm’s giant heart and will to help out? Few can say they have ever asked something of him and had him say no. I doubt anyone can.
Even last Monday, when at the last minute we needed someone to tow our Canada Day float for the youth centre, it was Norm who came through for us, adding to his already hectic schedule, and doing so with a smile and asking nothing in return. It may sound cliché, but they truly did break the mold after they made our Normy.
I saw him just two days after the stroke. He did not open his eyes or talk, but he squeezed my hand when I made bad jokes, and when I was lippy… a squeeze of the hand might not quite be a snappy comeback, but it go the message across: he was listening and boy when he fully wakes up am I going to hear an earful!
I don’t want to update his progress at this point because as I sit writing this it is Saturday evening, and by Wednesday when you will be reading this, and I am having a visit with him, who knows what leaps and bounds he might have made.
Suffice to say, each day brings new hope, new achievements, and new strength to meet the challenges ahead.
And for possibly the first time ever, I am hoping to hear those familiar words, with the familiar laugh and predictable smirk: Stephanie, you changed colour! Nice software.”
You only get one free one Norm. I expect to hear it soon.

My friend Norm.

2008-07-10T14:30:00.002-06:00

My dear childhood friend Norm had a stroke last Saturday. It was very small, and had it been anywhere else in his head it would have been but a twinge.
But it was not anywhere else, it was at the top of his brain stem in his hippocampus.
That is a very very bad place to have a stroke. And a one in a million shot.
Every day he improves a little, but this will be a hell of a battle. But if anyone can do it, it is my friend Norm.
Please send good thoughts his way. He has a wife who is pregnant and a son who is four.
And he is wonderful.
There is a support page for him on facebook. It is called Norm Gagatek Support.
If you feel like stopping by it.
Love to all, loving you all, believing in every one of you.
xo
Stevie

see...

2008-07-09T18:15:00.001-06:00

so wrapped in a steel gauze of our own myopic making
we rail against life and all its injustices
why me... how come... not fair... wah wah...
negative negative... and two negatives a positive most certainly do not make
then something happens outside your little bubble of Id
you see true trials
you see true struggle
you see true strength and grace under circumstances that would bring most to their knees
and you do not hear why me... how come... not fair...
you hear instead I am holding up well,
we will get through this
you hear laughter through pain,
strength when it would seem none could be found.
and you look at yourself with no small shame, and cut away the gauze, stop whining and complaining
breathe deep and count blessings
push away the negative and forge forward for what counts
and stand strong to help the ones who need you.

Get better Norm... you are strong... we are waiting for you.
xo

And so it is over...

2008-06-28T10:49:00.004-06:00

At this point I should tell you all Ian and I have split.
Actually, it was December. But for various reasons, some of which I truly did not agree with but respected Ian's wishes, we have not been terribly vocal about it.
But I have felt rather bad not letting you all in on this news, as you all mean a great deal to me and I have wanted to tell you.
At this point, we are still living in the same house, and will until a) I find a place to afford on my own, and b) until we come across a couple of roommates that will be decent ones for Ian.
My intention is for him to keep the house. It means to much more to him than me, and gives him the stability and equity he has craved for so long.
There are no bad guys in this scenario, and those closest to me were not surprised. We have no animosity towards each other, and I still have great respect for him, and I believe him for me.
So changes are afoot, but in the end, we will both be happy.
Love to you all.... and I am sorry for not sharing this rather enourmous news earlier, especially to you Rache. I have no idea if he told you or not, but I felt it his place to do so. Now, not knowing for certain if he has, I felt you should know before our girl arrives home and safe in your loving arms. She knows something is afoot, but it was Ian's wish not to tell her. She knows though, that no matter what, she is my soul child, and I could not love her more had I given birth to her myself. She will always remain my daughter, one you have so graciously allowed me to have, for whom I am forever grateful.
S

or....

2008-06-24T21:40:00.001-06:00

or perhaps Italy.

and so...

2008-06-23T22:26:00.001-06:00

I want to move to Nova Scotia.

3:49 a.m.

2008-06-22T03:48:00.000-06:00

Late night brings early morn
And Cuervo ramblings.
A mind and heart project...
A thought
A wish
A notion
A perfection...
What lies beneath perfect calm?
But currents deep
And eddies strong
A lasting truth
Forgiving fear
A wonder if
Forever near.
Testing baiting living waiting
Long lines of ramparts
Contemplating
Would that numbness replace the pain
Would that sun erase the rain
And in due time would triumph be
The place and present soliloquy.
Words sent and spoken
Haste made strange
Spoken… heard
Forgiveness reign.
The soul once raped finds solitude
But when and where and why eludes.
A prayer comes forth
To Goddess which
In truth can be answered only by the one
Who gives it birth.

(ps.... I am fine...)

oh so true....

2008-06-22T03:21:00.001-06:00

"I would be a naughty God..."

A series of unfortunate and fortunate events....

2008-06-15T17:58:00.003-06:00

So, sometimes you have to really wonder.
Last night something happened that could be viewed as lucky or unlucky, depending on your perspective.
I had gone into Calgary to see Left Spine Down, my startling beautiful Dru’s startling beautiful lover Denyss’ Vancouver based band. Over the past few months I had flaked out on her twice already due to work commitments, so I was determined to be there for this performance at The Underground in Calgary. And seeing as how these two awful plastic Goth girls, both of whom outweigh Dru significantly, and for whatever reason (jealousy I am sure) have both acted in threatening manners, even at one point one of them hitting Dru on the dance floor under the auspice of not perhaps being clear on mosh etiquette, I was not prepared to leave her side until she and Denyss were in the car and on the way to her apartment.
That was nearly 2:30 a.m.
My plan was to head over to Twisted Element to visit my two favourite drag queen friends Tara and Laura and talk about plans for a gay pride event in the East Kootenay.
And I know exactly where Twisted is, but for some reason, went down the wrong street.
Realizing my mistake, I circled around to get on the right street, which is one way.
As I rounded the last corner, an ambulance shot past me, and I saw the aftermath of a REALLY recent crash, like maybe a few minutes tops.
And as I carefully navigated around it, I saw standing in the street, Denyss and Dru, both looking very rattled, the unfortunate occupants of the smashed vehicle I was now stopped beside.
Of course I parked immediately and ran over to poor Dru who was wide eyed and shaking violently.
“Steph I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what happened.”
As I held her I looked over at Denyss, also pale but retaining, I must say, an impressive calm.
The long and short is this: as they headed home, with three green lights in front of them, Dru, who was driving, began to cross an intersection and was broadsided by another car, driven by a young woman who had been clubbing with her three friends. I am not sure just how many drinks were in that other driver, but it was obvious she had had at least a few, and her friends several. Luckily she and two of her passengers were ok, the forth sustaining only minor injuries but having to be extricated from the back seat of the car.
Dru does not drink at all. I feel compelled to point that out, as well as the fact she is a very careful driver.
The other car hit them with enough force to spin them around and slam them into a light standard on the other side of the street.
Had the timing been even slightly different, this story would have a tragic outcome as she would have hit my Dru’s driver’s side door and I don’t even want to think of what may have happened. And thankfully both Ds were wearing their seatbelts.
I am incredibly grateful I took the wrong street and came upon them. My cell was off, and though Dru’s first thought was to dial me, I would not have received the call. I am even more thankful they are both ok. Bumps and bruises and sore muscles, but essentially fine.
The car, however, was totaled.
So, you could say they were unfortunate to be in the accident. I prefer to think they were incredibly fortunate to be ok.
What a way to meet Denyss for the first time, and Denyss, though I am sure you will never read this, Dru will, and I want to say I was honestly touched by the care you took of her, and how calm and level headed you remained. Your concern for everyone around you, including the occupants of the other car, speak volumes for who you are, and I am glad you are in my Dru’s life, even if only when the two of you can be.
And Dru, Dearest Dru, you were so very strong throughout the entire episode. I was… am… so very proud of you. You are made of stern stuff and I hope you realize how impressive it is that while most people would have fallen apart, you did not.
I love you. Thank you for being ok.
xoxo
ADDENDUM:
I fear I made Dru out to be weak and wimpy and that is not the case, so I would like to add that, though she is slim and tiny, Dru also tosses around bales of hay at her place of employment, and if she had to I am sure could handle herself quite well, but two against one you know... not cricket, hence my concern for her well being in regards to the plastic goth girls.

late night awaiting dawn...

2008-06-08T11:07:00.000-06:00

and here once again
in the belly of the night
stealing pandoraesque moments through doors best left unopened
cursing wishing missing bereaving
a cacophony of silence screaming wordless into the water
a lesson never learned in claiming insight and hating what was there
head straight eyes up never let them see you tremble
even though your very soul is bleeding with the cruel slashes made by your own hand
a thousand apologies whispered half heartedly
promises predestined for failure placed lurid on the windowsill to await the dawn
do not look when you know it will cut
masochistic tendency entangles with pride and self indulgence
a napalm of emotion burning hot through skin, bone, soul
tears offering only moments of relief
but while assuaging the immediate same tears leave behind ghosts of what might have been
a wish… a wish… of stairways and dark roads leading everywhere and nowhere
a thought to old scars and back again, then focus on new and work harder harder harder until all breath is gone and pulse races dangerous
dawn will come… though slow to rise… and passion works both sides of the battle
neither wholly pure not wholly sin
devil’s advocate just the same….

Zany conversations...

2008-06-01T08:09:00.004-06:00

So there is really almost no video to these two clips as it was very dark, just the odd bit of light now and then, but it did capture the atmosphere of the late night laps around the track at the 12 hours Relay For Life last night. The voices are of myself and my young friend Zane, 20, whom I conned into the relay again this year with just half a cookie....

The first is less than a minute, the second just over five minutes... Zany conversation....
:)
S

Da yoot centre relay team: Team Quest!

Fantabulous.........

2008-05-30T15:47:00.002-06:00

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
neath the cover of october skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

Can I just have one a more moondance with you, my love
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

Well, I wanna make love to you tonight
I can't wait til the morning has come
And I know that the time is just right
And straight into my arms you will run
And when you come my heart will be waiting
To make sure that youre never alone
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear
There and then I will make you my own
And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside
And I know how much you want me that you cant hide

Can I just have one a more moondance with you, my love
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
neath the cover of october skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

One more moondance with you in the moonlight
On a magic night
La, la, la, la in the moonlight
On a magic night
Can't I just have one more dance with you.... my love

Thermal view....

2008-05-23T21:00:00.000-06:00

If I were thermalized....

das daughter

2008-05-04T21:56:00.002-06:00

sure she looks innocent... but you should see the tub.... pperrrrrple.......

sleep Data, sleep....

2008-05-04T13:50:00.001-06:00

oh my god... I am so.. fucking... tired.

dog days.....

2008-04-22T11:02:00.006-06:00

Well.

It has been quite a day and a half.
Mike and Ian planned some time ago to take all our assorted children to West Edmonton Mall.
Minus me of course.
Which suits me fine as I am not really a huge fan of the place.
But of course, this arrangement resulted in the assumption I would care for Mike’s Jack Russell Terror, Jake. And no, that is not a typo.

Now, first of all, as Mike and I share custody of our nearly grown boys and they live with him three days per week, he gave me a key to the house so if ever they needed to get in I could open the door.
However, he recently had to change his locks, and in doing so, entrusted the key he had cut for me to my darling 18-year-old Justin.
Justin promptly lost said key.
But thinking he knew where it was, we didn’t bother to tell Mike so as to avoid the whole lecture about not losing keys.
So here is a brief point form outline of my last 48 hours:

Sunday afternoon: Mike leaves, I head to his house and let dog out. On my way out I lock the door.

Sunday evening: I go to let dog out for last pee, realize I have no key, say several bad words, and climb in through side window, incurring several scrapes on the way in.
I say more bad words. And lock door on way out.

Monday morning: I realize I must let dog out again. But again face a locked door. I consider having myself checked for Alzheimer's. One kid goes with me and I send him through the window. Younger children take bus to school.
I let dog out, collect items for trip to Edmonton for youngest son, and take oldest son to school… this time leaving the door unlocked.

Monday afternoon: make frenzied trip to get tires balanced before weekend conference, renew my car insurance which ran out 10 days previous (oops) and run around doing various chores before deciding dog should just come home with me for the next two days instead of being all alone. Head to house, collect dog and dog food, walk out door and lock it. Realize I left daughter’s Ipod inside. Immediately realize my error in locking door. More bad words.

Take dog to my house, walk in, take him off leash.
Dog sees cat. Cat sees dog. Much insanity ensues. Did not realize cat could fly. Did not realize I should get out of the way.
Cat finds hiding place, dog is quivering with excitement regarding cat, I wash much blood from wounds on both arms incurred in cat meeting dog incident.

More badder words.

Find cat, put him in my room with door closed and all necessities. Find dog. Discuss finer points of interspecies manners and pecking order. Cat was here first.

Go pick kids up from school. Break into house for a third time and ponder the legalities of actions.

Get stuff. Make sure we have all stuff. Triple check that we have all stuff. Go back for dog bed. Lock door.

Kids and men leave.

Monday evening: make dinner, write, watch some tv. Ensure cat/dog segregation complete. Go to bed.

Dog whines.

Dog cries.

Dog gets into garbage.

I sigh.

Pat the cat on head and take blanket and pillow downstairs to sleep on couch to shut dog up… but clean up garbage on kitchen floor first. Have serious discussion with dog about interspecies manners again.

Lie down on couch. Dog leaps up and lies down on me.

I sigh.

Dog is happy.

Dog sleeps.

I do not.

And that concludes today’s episode of Adventures in Dog Sitting. Stay tuned. The little runt is here for another night.