Performance anxiety…
Many people run around the wet floor of a locker room with stocking feet,
resulting in damp—and possibly fungus-contaminated—socks…
Putting shoes over damp socks creates the perfect environment for the athlete’s foot fungus to grow and thrive…
If you discover that you have athlete’s foot, alert the authorities responsible for any communal areas where the fungus might be lurking…
— in Smart Medicine for Healthier Living by Zand, Spreen and LaValle
Public pools give me the creeps…
I only enter them under duress…
And now that my children are old enough to swim on their own,
I’m finding ways to avoid them altogether,
by containing my swimming,
to rivers…
Yesterday,
at Little Gem’s last swimming lesson,
of the school session,
I was sitting with a teacher…
He was in bare feet in a public space with band-aids,
on some toenails…
I don’t need to go into the details of the cover up,
but let’s just say,
for the intents and purposes,
of health and safety,
the authorities should have been alerted…
He filled me in on his treatment plan…
I asked him the following question,
If your big toe is THE area of concern,
then why are you putting a pill,
in your mouth,
which enters your bloodstream,
and impacts every single cell of your body…
President’s Choice Montreal smoked meat,
with a chaser of oregano oil,
might be a more effective mode of treatment…
He, of course, said,
I’ve already gone the natural route…
It didn’t work…
I’ve heard that one before,
and it is another word for lazy,
can’t be bothered,
and liver damage…
It takes less effort to say,
My doctor put me on a prescription,
and pop a pill…
Then if things don’t work out,
the blame can be handed off,
to someone else…
We had a good poolside giggle about the aesthetics of aging,
and then our conversation moved onto hockey…
He said,
I’m going to tell you why the Canucks will NEVER win a Stanley Cup…
It’s because they’re all family men…
Most of them are married and have children…
So they’re not all having fun together,
living and breathing hockey,
or sweating beer,
like the gang of twenty-year olds on the Chicago Blackhawks…
I put his theory in my pocket,
and didn’t get defensive,
over the criticism of my horses’ power…
In my opinion it is more than possible for family men,
to maintain the edge,
that is needed,
to stay in the game,
if resources are managed,
in the right way,
without being a bull,
in a china shop…
But that takes practice and commitment…
There’s no easy way around it…
Last night I went to see a Japanese opera,
and one of the ushers,
was a local kilt maker,
of the Sean Connery generation…
Only two weeks ago he had given his entire collection,
of Scottish woolens,
to a thrift store,
as he now has arthritis,
and can no longer hand sew…
I asked him if he found me,
kiltworthy…
He said,
Women don’t wear kilts…
But we could put you in a skirt…
They have less fabric and fasten on the right side…
I said,
This is 2010…
I’m prepared to cross-dress for an authentic experience…
He looked at me,
from under the bush,
of his eyebrows,
and said,
This isn’t something you can get me to budge on…
It’s tradition…
Kilts are only for men…
I asked him about the underwear…
He said,
Only shoes and socks…
Now please,
go and take your seat…
And just remember that when you were asleep... (photo: Little Gem)
Achtung baby…
I could feel a wallop of rude and ornery coming up my throat and fighting to get out of my mouth…
But I had promised Mama seven times when we drove to school that I would be polite…
“Yes, ma’am,” I finally said through my teeth,
because they were keeping the rudeness in my mouth…
Then I made a schedule for the rest of the day with the only piece of information I knew for sure:
what the clock would look like when it was time to go home…
— in Ida B by Katherine Hannigan
The last time I spoke with my mother in a big boundary setting conversation,
one of the bargaining chips she put on the table was this,
Your daughters need contact with the maternal side of their family…
I said,
They already have it…
Through me…
Some time after that I was on the phone,
long distance,
with my aunt,
and she said,
What are you doing to keep your children connected to their German heritage???
I found this interesting given that her only child had long since moved,
across the Atlantic to South Carolina,
speaks with a drawl,
and is about as German as Hawaiian Punch…
My cousin often said to me as we were growing up,
she in a small German town,
and me in Canadian suburb,
You’re more German than I’ll ever be…
This,
and few other things,
makes me wonder about cultural transmission,
and what it means to be German…
My mother’s side has a doctoral degree in entitlement,
obligation,
and guilt…
That isn’t the kind of special sauce I want my children marinating in…
The last time I went to Germany was in a rush,
because my Oma was dying…
She bounced back to life,
and complained in typical fashion about how the cooks at her altersheim,
didn’t make spaetzle,
with real butter…
So I took matters into my own hands,
rode my bike over,
through fields of sunflowers,
from my aunt’s apartment,
and whipped some up for her…
I hadn’t made it before,
it was better than my mother’s,
and I wasn’t following a recipe…
How was it that I could get her drooling,
when those born and raised on German soil were foiling her taste buds???
And where exactly is knowledge???
Today I was throwing pots on the wheel when a couple walked into the studio,
and asked it they could film me,
while I was doing something that I love…
We talked a little bit of English,
and a little bit of German,
to bridge a difference in communication…
On Saturday they return to Frankfurt after a das ist wunderbar time in Wancouver…
While I was packing up some of my stoneware,
in newsprint,
I read something in the Vancouver Sun which made my blood boil…
Words about the Canucks owing their fans bigtime,
because 96% of the seats in GM Place are sold out,
each season…
How about this for a new marketing strategy???
If you don’t love the Canucks,
stay home,
and give up your seasons tickets to someone who does…
Getting seasons tickets for the Canucks should be made as difficult,
as buying a Soft-Coated Wheaten Terrier puppy,
from a reputable breeder…
Fans should be made to prove their love,
with references,
home visits,
and a statement of philosophy…
In my new NHL,
throwing beer at athletes on the ice,
or any other tantrum-like behaviour,
would warrant an immediate suspension,
in season ticket holding,
as agreed to in the contract to be a loving fan…
If Flyer’s fans have the guts to bleed orange and black,
then Vancouver hockey fans should have the heart to bleed,
true blue…
New technologies could be dispatched for detecting conditional love,
at the gates…
If you’re caught packing,
you don’t make it in through door number one,
two,
or three…
And the ticket goes to the happy lady,
with kaleidescope eyes…
A few years ago,
when I was well underway into my positive disintegration process,
my mother screamed into the phone,
Do you have any idea how much you alienate people???!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I didn’t have a snappy comeback,
and I didn’t need to be right,
so I gave her the last word…
Tough customer…
These duets serve a third function,
after mating and fighting:
to strengthen the pair bond,
and help the two stay close in communication through the densest thickets,
where it is often very hard for one bird to see the other…
— In Why Birds Sing by David Rothenberg
Some people move far away,
in attempts to extricate themselves,
from the influences of their families…
I tried to do that a few times,
but something always pulled me back home,
to this place…
An inner voice mixing with something from outside that said,
It is here that you will nest…
Just be patient…
It will all become clear…
I don’t argue with things when they feel right,
even if I don’t understand all of it,
or I don’t know the next step to take,
because I know from experience,
that things always work out,
the way they are supposed to…
They always have…
So instead of trying to move over hill and dale,
and open ocean,
to create space for my own nuclear family,
to grow on its own strong vine,
I started asking for help,
Dear God,
Please send my mother a man…
Almost as soon as the words popped into my head,
he delivered…
A man with a GD mega-house on wheels,
who took my mother south every winter,
so that I could start to experience a guilt free Christmas,
with my own children…
I hadn’t even thought about the part about taking her away…
This reminded me that when we ask,
what we end up getting,
is always so much better than what we can imagine…
When this man of my dreams and I first met he told me,
I just saw a movie about my life…
I couldn’t believe how accurate it was…
Holy eye opener…
I had no idea what I’d become…
I told him,
I’m going to make you a medal for bravery,
and heroics,
for dealing with my mother…
Thank you so much for coming…
They must have broke the mold when they made you…
The idea of the medal made him laugh,
and smile…
And one night he came to me in a dream,
only to say that he was grateful for the endorsement…
But before I could make up the prize,
my mother pulled one of her negative numbers on him…
And as he rolled his house on wheels down south without her,
one September,
he pulled over to the side of the Pacific Coast Highway,
reclined on his bed at the back of the unit,
and was found lifeless under the influence of cardiac arrest,
by highway patrol…
My mother never saw him,
his motorhome,
or the cookbook with all her traditional German Christmas cookie recipes,
ever again…
This weekend I was filling up a planter,
with the joy of summer flowers on my front porch,
and I heard a young woman say to a young man,
in the midst of her story about being stood up a second time,
by the same guy,
after she’d made him a dinner of mac and cheese,
I’m from Campbell River,
and Campbell River sucks a lot of bag…
I was relieved that my children were occupied inside playing The 39 Clues,
and not out on the sidewalk playing hopscotch,
because I wouldn’t want to have to explain that choice set of words…
People always say,
You live in such a great neighbourhood…
I just LOVE where you live…
There is such a feeling of community,
and the houses are so colourful…
Well sometimes it’s absolutely fabulous,
and other times,
I could coin a phrase or two…
Stepping on used condoms when I got into the car in the morning rush to work,
is akin to stepping on a banana peel…
We’ve all seen the cartoon,
we know what happens…
It’s a great way to start out,
when you’re on your way to spend the day with small children,
and makes a solid case for early instruction,
on the need to clean up after oneself…
If you’re getting a visual,
you haven’t gone deep enough…
This is an opportunity to go visceral…
Yesterday I took Starshine, Little Gem and their two Sisterfriends to the West Vancouver Aquatic Centre,
for a swim…
But we had to get back in the car because it was a Family Swim on the schedule,
and I did not bring my bathing suit…
Four children under the age of 12 who are capable and confident swimmers,
apparently do not constitute a family…
So we got back in the car and drove to the Karen Magnussen pool in North Vancouver ,
for their Public Swim…
At that pool,
children seven and under must be accompanied by a guardian over 16 years of age at all times…
Little Gem nearly lost her mind when I told her the rules…
So I used my panther smarts for the greater good…
Little Gem and her friend walked off by themselves to the change room,
to join Starshine and Sunshine who were already floating around the wave pool…
And as Little Gem walked away,
I heard her say this,
My dad tells lies all the time,
but I never thought I’d see the day when my mother would…
Canuck'd 