Thursday, November 8, 2012

Falling Forward.

At first, I didn't want to move to a small town. I like the feeling of things "happening." I love to spend solitary time, but with the hum of activity just out the door and around the corner.

I think I've always been like that.
I remember loving when I could hear my parents' friends or small groups over when I was trying to fall asleep (or, more likely trying not to fall asleep).
I remember loving hearing the noise of traffic through my bedroom window.
I liked the glow of streetlights too, because that meant we were on a busy enough street to warrant those lights.

So when we decided to move to this small town, I was hesitant.

That now seems ridiculous.

The small town we're in is one of the most coveted places to live, no exaggeration, in Canada.
And I'm experiencing why every day.

The hum of activity is literally just out our door and around the corner. My walk with Huck this morning will serve as evidence of the sweeter-than-sweet life we are privileged to be living these days.

First, we stopped by the local church to drop off some unneeded clothing items in the big blue bin. I've noticed I'm more likely to do that when it's a 3-minute walk away than when the car becomes involved. 

Second, we considered stopping at the local chocolate shop for a mocha. But when I realized it was only 11am I decided I should wait at least 1 hour before consuming my first chocolate for the day.

Third, we were magnetically pulled into the local antique store. More accurately, one of the local antique stores. There are 5 or 6. While inside, 2 small dogs ran half-way up my leg. It's okay, though - small town dogs are allowed in stores because they are innately friendly. Like the store owner, who oohed and aahed over Huck's eyelashes. We found a connection point by sharing in the common unfairness of a world where boys so often get nicer eyelashes than girls. Also, they were filming a movie in the back of her shop, so there was much to talk about.

Fourth, we stopped to get mail at the post office. Nothing with our name on it today, but there's something precious about needing to walk to get your mail. Sometimes I wish emails were a little less accessible like that. Don't you?

Between the fourth and the fifth thing, Huck and I turned to watch the train scratch its way noisily through town... as it does every 12 minutes or so. It seems like 12 minutes... And I promise that I'm only exaggerating by half an hour at the most.

Anyways, fifth, we stopped in to the local bakery, which was recently sold, closed, and reopened within 4 days. I am keenly hopeful that this new baker will have also gone to the school where they teach bakers how to fold dough into these beautiful, sugary pockets and stuff them with strawberries and rhubarb. We'll see.

Sixth, and finally, I peeked through the window at the "Growcer" to see if he was working today. He wasn't. But if he was, I was going to tell him that I saw a poster about a cat. He told me a few weeks ago that he lost his cat during a local festival, and he was very sad about it. While walking by the river a few days ago, I saw a poster: "Found Cat." I think he should know, just in case.

So, we returned back around the corner, and through the door.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Piles Schmiles.

It's 1pm.

The kitchen is dirty.
The recycling needs to go out.
There are two wet diapers lying around somewhere that need to be chucked in the bin.
There is a basket full of laundry waiting to be folded.
Our toilet has one of those "clean-me" rings accumulating (sorry, gross).
I have at least 5 emails I "should" respond to.
I have one large administrative task to complete.
And, I just received the last of seven daily reminders in my phone to order Huck's passport.

But you know what I'm doing right now?

I'm sitting on my bed.
I'm in my pyjamas.
I have headphones over my ears... {which I just realized are playing absolutely nothing}.
And I'm blogging.

Ryan told me to.

Sometimes you need that, you know? Someone to tell you to be a little less self-sufficient. Someone to tell you that you're perspective is becoming skewed. Someone to load up the dishwasher in front of you when your eyes are glazing over. Someone to give you a hug before they leave for their third of four rounds of work for the day.

When you find someone like that, you should probably marry them.

Or, thank them for being your mom.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

A Slippery Slope.

I have a tendency to be overly ambitious.

I don't mean like I want to be a medical doctor and get a PhD in English Literature and fly to the moon before I'm 38.

I mean, when I have 45 minutes "free," I want to accomplish approximately thirteen things.

A few days ago, I had about a 45 minute Huck-will-be-happy window to do a big Superstore shop. My goal was, surprisingly, straightforward:
Just get everything on the shopping list.


I would say that I flew around the store, collecting my items in the efficient style of an experienced shopper. I felt like I was doing that, but I'm self-aware that I'm not the world's fastest shopper.
Let's compare it more to a methodical jog than to a 100-meter sprint.

However, I was focused, determined, and honestly very proud of myself on this particular trip. I had read in a book the day before that one "Mama time-saver tip" is to stock up on those things you always end up needing at some point rather than waiting until they run out. So I found sales on my favourite shampoo, a high-quality body wash, top-notch coffee, creamy smooth yogurt... I mean, I was really winning this particular day.

I found gifts for people on my list.
I pre-ordered and therefore efficiently picked up medications.
I comparison shopped for inexpensive yet quality baby cereal.
And, I bought spinach, which made me feel like a very healthy and therefore comparatively better person.

There was icing on this cake: I found the shortest line and I snagged it.

Around this self-satisfied time, as I unburdened my items onto the conveyer belt, a thought occurred to me. This thought was the equivalent to "Oh, crap."

One stinkin' item on my list couldn't be checked off: A little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.

A quick internal debate led me to the conclusion that to give up my spot in this high-quality line would be worse (although barely so) than leaving that one thing undone. This almost killed me, you know? I had worked so hard. I had been so proactive in my shopping. Huck had been so cooperative.

But I could not, could not, leave my place in line.

So, if you don't know, Superstore has this thing where they give you a prize if you spend, like, 12% of your yearly income in one shopping trip.
Last time, I got a huge box of little chocolates. (Subconsciously why I was buying spinach on this particular trip).
This time, the cashier mentioned some gift box. I almost rolled my eyes. Thanks, Superstore, for taking, like, 12% of our money, then slamming us with a package of something you were unable to sell because nobody needs 14 different lotions in one big un-biodegradable package.

I don't know how else to end this story.

Except to tell you that in the front window of the un-biodegradable gift box of 12 lotions....
There was a little tube of diaper-bag-sized Vaseline.