And we're back

Summer is a wonderful, magical time. The days seem endless; the skies bright and blue; and we allow ourselves to believe that things can be forgotten for a few weeks; that 'normal' life can be paused while we relax and unwind for awhile. Children can do this with ease, forgetting all about the lessons and classwork they just completed moments before bursting through the schools doors for the final time. Adults need more time to adjust to personal freedom and relaxed demands on their time. Many find they don't adjust well to non structured lives though they'll not admit it. Many more find that after enough time has passed they can indeed slow down and begin to enjoy the finer more subtle things that life has placed around them - but after those few weeks of time off its back to familiar routines and all that progress is forgotten.

It's turned fall here again, and we find ourselves astonished that summer seems to have vanished so quickly once more, if it really ever came at all. It did of course - we had heat and sunshine this year and enjoyed the days we were given, in between the necessary rains and required irritants like mosquitoes and early morning lawn mowers - but as the calendar turns again those days are memories now, distant reminders that things change and move on. The gardens are pulled, the flowers long past their prime have been trimmed back or pruned away. The pools have been drained and scrubbed and stored; the windows need washing again though - better write that on the list...

The mornings are cooler, the leaves are changing colour and we're surrounded by tomatoes, boxes of them in the basement, the green ones ripening as they sit, the red ones getting sweeter and more juicy. And the sealers have returned from their year long pantry slumber, ready to be filled with mounds of fruit - pears and peaches in our case, bushels of them in the kitchen waiting to be boiled and sliced and packed in their sweet surroundings to be savoured on some dreary day in the dead of winter, a snapshot of warmer days waiting to be rediscovered.

So its back to the routines. School starts in a few days, the streets will be brimming with children again. Football is at the midway point of the season already, and that means hockey is just around the corner too, and don't forget about piano lessons.
Life is about to get busy again. On many fronts.

We'd better get ready.

You go ahead. I think I'll linger just a while longer and enjoy those finer things before its too late.

Two steps forward...

It rained again today; a steady, slow drenching that has left the yard soggy and the mosquitoes enormous, and our spirits a little more down in the dumps than usual. We still haven't found summer hiding among the daisies and the peony bushes - but we've searched, quietly when mother nature wasn't trying to drown us, which seems like every other day again this year, and frankly, we're tired of it. But what can we do? Protest marches? Letter writing campaign? Facebook petition? It's a losing battle, we know, and someday we'll figure out that we haven't lost anything in days like these, except the ability to spot the normal perfectness that is all around us.

Life gives us what we need, not what we want. We know this, but we rally against life and try to find something to control, something to own, something to quiet the distant ache of uneasiness and unhappiness, something to fill us up and make us feel whole and worthy, of what we are not certain, but worthy just the same.

And so we struggle, instead of letting go and accepting our fate and enjoying the ride.

It's been a month of struggle around here lately. Self imposed struggle you might say, thanks to our decision months ago to enter our first ever half-marathon. Somewhere in the last year we found a past-time that seemed innocent enough, a pair of running shoes, shorts and t-shirt and off you go, one foot in front of the other. Babies can do this. Babies DO do this, and we celebrate them when they do, and then they grow older and they run everywhere and are full of energy and we stand back in awe of how it must feel to be so full of energy and vigour and get-up-and-go... No one celebrates when a couple of 40 somethings decide its time they got off their rear ends and starting moving a bit more quickly, and cut back on the cream and the sugar and the sweets, and wake up when it's still dark and put on those running shoes and shorts and t-shirts and slip out to run a few miles and get back home before the rest of the world wakes up and sees them and points and wonders what the hell those two think they're up too?

We still don't consider ourselves 'runners' - that label we seem to save for those gazelle-like creatures who flow when they run, effortless movement through space, feet barely touching ground before lifting off once more; unlike our still slowish plodding and noisy, heavy, thumping on the uneven pavement. The gazelles run continuously; we break up our running with regular walk breaks, allowing our older, tired bodies a wonderful recovery and extending our runs in the process.

Not that we ever aspired to become gazelles; these leopards aren't changing the spots they were dealt, let's face it. But a year ago we walked / ran the 2.6 mile Super Run during the annual Father's Day Manitoba Marathon; by October we had fooled ourselves into running a race, an evening race no less, while on vacation in Florida. I tackled the Tower of Terror 13K while the rest of the family took on the 5K. We survived, and enjoyed it enough to bump up the challenge to the next level, hence this years half-marathon.

No longer content with the Super Run, or the 10K Walk, we took on the Half Marathon, 13.1 miles (20K). We entered a real race! And so we trained, quietly, slowly, methodically; building up our strength and stamina along the way, not fooling ourselves into thinking we had become anything more than better runners than we had been a year ago. And that was fine. This half marathon's goal was just to finish, no stress of a time goal needed.

And even that looked like it might be pushing it, when we both ended up with injuries and in physiotherapy two weeks before the event. One of us was left with the desire to run but without the ability (thanks to my ITBand flair up) and the other battled lack of energy and motivation to continue mixed in with hip / back issues that hampered the ability even once the motivation returned. But with fantastic assistance from our wonderful friend and therapist, we both healed sufficiently to continue with our plans and so we found ourselves on this past Sunday, lined up safely behind the gazelles and the cheetahs, back with the warthogs and elephants and tortoises, but lined up just the same, waiting for the crack of the starters pistol and Chariots of Fire and then we did it. Step by step, mile after mile, surrounded by runners from every walk of life, every size, shape, gender and possible running style or lack thereof, all progressing toward our own personal goals.

We slowed as the miles passed, Karen hit a wall near mile 7 so we walked more and talked more, and enjoyed the cool shady confines of the neighbourhood and the hospitality of the residents cheering everyone on from their lawn chairs, curbside Sunday morning, and once she regained her energy, we picked up the pace a bit again, mindful of our previous injuries, but determined to find that finish line.

A few more miles on we passed through our own neighbourhood, no thoughts of turning and heading home this morning, we continued on, and soon found ourselves within earshot of the PA announcer and the spectators and the wonderful volunteers waiting inside the University Stadium. We conserved our strength as we headed into the stadium grounds, and stepped onto the track together running in unison, side by side, urging each other through the cramping leg muscles and the aching joints, listened as our names were announced, and then with a determined effort, rounded the final bend and headed for the finish line. Cheered on by the volunteers lining the track at the finish zone, congratulated as we crossed, and rewarded with a medal for our efforts, we high fived and congratulated each other, and ourselves, and were absorbed into the crowd of recovering runners behind the stadium grandstand.

We accomplished what set out to do! And we felt great!

Shiny medals around our necks a reminder of that fact, and it was fitting we would do it the way we did, slowed by injuries, hungry for more but not quite able to get there, humbled in the process, and ultimately left to accept our circumstances and deal with them as best we could. Why would it work out any other way?

We got what we needed, and on this Sunday, it was also exactly what we wanted.

Seeds of change

I have always loved apples, devouring them as a child, never letting them spoil in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator or in the fruit basket on the sunny counter. Not every apple mind you, I never really developed an appreciation for Spartans, something about the texture; or Red Delicious either - too mushy I think. Golden Delicious, that's a better apple for my money, or Granny Smith with its puckering tartness - now that's a sensation! But nothing ever compared to a BC MacIntosh for me, its subtle green and red outer skin seemingly caught somewhere between both colours, its bright white juicy interior filled with sweetness and crisp, clear notes... that's an apple for me.

I've been away from writing a bit - busy in life I suppose, working on projects that have involved more time and mental energy, that somehow have left less of both for the important things in personal and mental growth. Those damned migraines have resurfaced anew lately as well, stealing away what energy and stamina was left, until the days blended together into weeks into almost a month.

Summer returned to brighten our spirits and fill our days with more ideas of how to stay even busier - and we allow ourselves to be seduced by the glossy ads of ideal yards and the longing for something more relaxing than where we find ourselves right now. So we plant and weed, and mow and trim, paint and stain and scrub and cut and haul away loads of yesterday's ideas and plans, making room for today's and tomorrow's and the tomorrow's after that.

The neighbours trees, bright green branches reaching higher into the sky, became a blizzard of blossoms in the wind this week, littering the back yard with an aerial assault of summer's promise. With the heat of last week, we filled the pool in anticipation of continued hot days and clear sunny skies, only to be rewarded with cool greys and the pool skimmer net and unlimited opportunity to use it.

Apple blossoms blowing into the yard must be to blame, a cosmic karmic debt of sorts, for the other time-consuming aspect of this past month: visits to Apple Store(s) and our successive returns home with sleekly designed white boxes, and the treasures they contained: a macbook pro for Karen started us off, followed by an iPad on our trip to Minneapolis mid-month ahead of the launch in Canada tomorrow, and then last weekend after running out of patience with the waiting ritual of the PC start up, a new iMac for my desk. So, yes, I've been distracted, and converted.

In for a penny in for a pound.

Of Apples that is.

Changes

My desk is a disaster.

And I'm okay with that. On some level. On another level I must not be 'okay with that' or I would not have chosen the word disaster, right? Let's just agree that I've come to terms with my desk and the way its kept, and the season-like tendency I have to renew its contents, only to have destiny invite a different crop of clutter to the party.

Tax time is a good excuse to clear your desk, it helps to have that vast openness upon which to de- clutter your files as you progress through the tax forms and software. Though if my experience is any indicator, the desk looks alot more like it did before tax time again, rather than that vast openness. Might have something to do with the stack of tax related folders and forms still on my desk...

Organizational gurus continue to send me productivity emails that I signed up for in some stupor of righteous office orderliness - God only knows why after all these years of working this way I'd think it would be easy to change - but maybe thats the point, thinking you CAN change is what keeps you moving forward, open to new possibilities and experiences. So wanting to change; recognizing that what you currently do or where you currently are, could stand to be improved upon in some fashion is a noble thought.

Spring is all about change, and renewal, at least here where we are blessed with four distinct seasons, as the grass is once again green (thanks to the past week of rain) and the flowers are up and about, and the fruit trees seem ready to burst into that fragrant colourful bloom any day now - just like those damn dandelions... The shovels have been stowed for another 6 months, and rakes and lawn mowers are fertilizer spreaders and weed whackers are now again in vogue. Change is good, it keeps you moving; prevents complacency, broadens your horizons.

This week is the one year anniversary of a dramatic change for me personally, having lost that battle with the table saw this time last year, and most days it seems very minor really. Like nothing much has changed, when in reality its obvious that something indeed has changed. People still look, and I can tell those that want to ask but don't - and that's just fine. For those that do ask, it lets me make more connections with them, and hopefully helps them deal with their perceptions of loss and it helps keep me grounded. From a productivity and life standpoint, its all really the same as it was, though I have learned to take more time to be grateful for what I have around me. That change has been worth its weight in gold.

On the house project front there is little change to report. Other than I've called the surveyors to poke around and measure the house and provide us with a Building Location Certificate - we never got one done when we bought he house, we just used the original from 1962. But I'm in the mood for a fight, should it come to that, so I'm applying for that variance to the by-law regarding parking spaces and driveways and garage conversions, and I'll need this $500 certificate as part of that application. And with that decision behind us, I guess we've also decided to slow down the reno plans until we know which way we're able to proceed. For now, it's a wait and see approach, with our eyes fixed on garage expansion.

Karen's the new owner of an 13" Apple macbook pro this week, and she's adjusting to that change and learning how to deal with the new and different ways of computing on it's quick platform, versus her old HP laptop. Everything in her life has now moved down a notch in importance since this new "baby" arrived home on Sunday - so I'm even further down the list behind her car, the cat and the boy. Some changes take more time getting used to - others you've seen coming for years!

With her old laptop now in the process of being cast aside for being slower, it needs to be said that it still has alot of useful life left - an idea that pleases the boy to no end! Seems he feels entitled to claim the old laptop since he has been without for so very long in his very short life, and so his world will change shortly too, as will ours with him and the entire cyberworld as his fingertips.

Remind me when we find that he's been surfing to questionable sites, that I said change was good.

It is, it really is. We're just so stubbornly opposed to change sometimes that we're frozen, clinging to past ideas, thoughts, beliefs and patterns of behavior. That reminds me, my desk is a disaster...

Buried treasure

It's been said that renovations are not for the faint of heart. There are the myriad of decisions that must be made, often well in advance of the actual project; the upheaval of regular routines; the debris; the stress; the cost; and of course the ever-present uncertainty of what lay ahead. We haven't even swung a hammer and we've been tested far beyond what we ever thought we'd have to endure at this point - with little to show for our time and energy beyond plans, calculations, and headaches.

So we gave our hearts some time to recover; a break from the decisions and questions and uncertainty, and we left well enough alone last week. Almost like hitting the pause button while watching a jugglers performance: all the balls are still in mid-air; arms outstretched ready to catch and release the next one; all focus frozen in time. Plus the weather is nice for this time of year, so we've been enjoying Spring come early - given what we endured last year in the pretext of being Summer - we deserve this bit of paradise while it lasts.

In between the lawn raking and window washing, we grabbed a shovel and some steel pry-bars and removed a cast concrete drain diverter sidewalk pad at the front corner of the garage. It was no small feat - having sat in it's present location for almost 50 years, wedged in place between gradebeam and sidewalk, and those nasty shrub roots and shoots that refuse to die...

But we did manage to wiggle it free and out of the way so we could dig down in that area to see what treasure lay buried beneath. We weren't searching for gold - though that would have been a welcome bonus - instead we were after a precious cargo of a different sort; one that might only appeal to builders: evidence of a concrete pile.

No, we don't need to see a doctor.

The concrete pile in question would be a very welcome sight, in that it would allow us to continue our plans of garage conversion, provided it was of sufficient size to carry the additional loads required by the new framing. So I dug down and after a few false finds which consisted of bits of excess concrete from the original construction and the odd root, I finally struck construction gold, and located a solid, non-movable surface inside the dark clay and soil hole I'd created.

With a bit more excavation - mostly by hand - I had uncovered the top of a circular concrete pour, about 18" in diameter, as best I could measure since a good quarter of the pile is hidden beneath the garage grade beam concrete, with a bit of exposed re-bar tying the two together, and with a bit more fine-tuned digging, the outside edges were revealed as well.





So our garage was built as we had hoped, with proper foundational support. I sent off details of our findings to the engineer for his consideration, installed some wooden stakes around the hole, tied them with bright pink survey flagging tape to keep the neighbor's kids from falling in, and called it a day.

We still don't know in which direction our next steps will be with this project, but at least we're slowly learning what we have to work with. Which is usually more than half the battle. In the meantime, we'll shine up our armour and hone our swords while we wait for divine inspiration.

I have to go. Bad.

So this kitchen / house reno is taking on a life of its own.

First I verified a hunch that with the new stairs having to meet current code and the new framing required to open up the dining room and kitchen walls, said new stairs wouldn't fit where we needed them to go.

Great.

Luckily we had plan B in the wings, a plan which is actually a better layout and solves more of the issues that we listed as being reasons why we wanted to renovate in the first place. Certain items on that list got shelved with our original plan, because plan A allowed us to renovate within the existing footprint of the house as it stands now. No new foundations, or roof additions, just open up a few walls and move a few things (like stairs.) Plan B also allows us to remain within the existing footprint: we'd expand into the attached single car garage.

Yes, I'd lose the space that is currently home to my tools and small workshop and storage, but we'd gain a breakfast nook area, a main floor laundry space, and the existing living and dining rooms would either remain as is, or grow slightly larger.
It's a win -win - sorta win. The sorta being that my tools would need a new home, but that's a story for another day.

With Plan A now wounded, Plan B was summoned to the front line to fill in. B was given the once-over to review the details and get current with its nuances, and then it was off to battle. In this case, the battle was a call to the City to inquire about what's involved should I wish to convert my attached garage into living space.

Well. Serves me right for asking questions.

In this fair city, and quite likely in most across the land, the existing By-Laws that were drawn up years ago to serve as guides for development and community planning issues haven't exactly matured with the pace of society. In my particular case, the by-laws dealing with accessory parking on residential lots doesn't fit with the traditional image of a sub-urban development, with its rows of garages fronting the street, front doors and entrances hidden in the shadows, out of sight from the road, cars parked in front of those garages since the inhabitants have more "stuff" than they'll ever need, and it's all stored in that garage, instead of their 2 cars, boat, camper trailer and snowmobile.

Yes, I know - I've seen your garage. You park on the driveway too, I know.

And so do we. And that's the problem. All residential lots must be served by a driveway that leads to a parking space that does not encroach past the frontage of the dwelling on the lot. For those homes that have rear lane access - this isn't an issue.

For residents like us who live on a Bay with no rear access, our driveways lead from the street to an area on the lot that is reserved for parking, usually a garage or carport, or just a surface beside the house, large enough (8' x 20' typically) to park a car. And that's where we are supposed to park.

But if I were to convert my garage, I'd be losing that parking space that meets the by-law.

Yeah so? you ask?

Well, I would require permission from the city by way of a variance to park in front of my garage / house. Even though that's what we do right now. As do many of you, I know. I checked again this morning on my run.

The City Planner in charge of my particular area was a nice enough man, but he didn't know how'd he'd rule if I were to apply for a variance. he looked at the aerial view of my lot and noted that "you have room behind your house to expand the living area, without the need of converting the garage. I see a deck there." No shit Sherlock - and I intended that to be a deck and not park of the house! I got the impression I was fighting an uphill battle, as he wasn't a "fan of cars parking in view of front yards."

I had an few suggestions for him, but I kept quiet.

As part of my application, I'd be advised to get as many neighbors supporting my application to sign off that my parking on my driveway, slightly past the front of my house, but still wholly within my property, was not an issue for them, in which case my request for a variance would have more weight, but would still be up to Mr City Planner to weigh all the factors of my case before making a decision.

Neighborhood support shouldn't be an issue, as some of the people directly affected by my conversion also happen to park in front of their garages and not in them too... just like we have for 14 years...

Honestly? I feel like a schoolchild needing to raise my hand so I can go to the bathroom, when I really, really have to go.

I never did like authority, and I never once wet my pants.

Often in the silence you'll hear what what is needed

It's been a rather odd week.

Odd as in 'not normal' or different or unique. On many fronts.

With Spring Break coming to a close, coinciding with the Easter holidays my little family saw more of each other than we normally do, and while for some family groups this might spell chaos or danger, for us it was an enjoyable time to remember who we are individually and collectively. For while we each have our own roles that we play daily in our respective lives, we also share a bond that transcends those daily roles, and unifies as for better and for worse.

We marked Riley's height on his bedroom door casing on April Fool's day, apt I suppose, his head level and flat against the wooden trim, feet firmly planted on the floor, and I needed him to re-steady himself in position after the first marking because we did not believe where the line sat, so much higher than the previous record taken only six weeks earlier.

The second trial confirmed the first, and it shall be forever noted that he quietly grew an inch and a quarter in six weeks, momentarily measuring 5'-4" - at this rate his parents are in danger of being overtaken by summer's end. Eleven and a half years old, and hitting his first real growth spurt.

Saturday saw me complete a task that for some time has been rolling around my brain, an outcome that was inevitable, I knew, and one which Mother Nature has been slowly uncovering for me over the years.

I shaved my head.

Seriously.

For a number of reasons actually. I was continually headed (no pun intended) down that path a bit further each year, whether I liked it or not, and figured with spring now upon us it would be the right time to reveal what secrets lay hidden under the remaining areas of thick hair - did I have some hideous bump back there protruding unseen, or maybe a scar from childhood that would become much more evident without its protective covering? The answers to those questions are no, and no. The ol' bean looks quite well actually. And now's the time to get it used to the sun, before it turns my melon painful shades of red.

I've also found over the past year of running that my head gets very warm, very quickly, and traps massive amounts of heat up there, which quickly sends currents of perspiration cascading down my forehead stingingly into my eyes, and over the back and down my neck, testing the latest moisture-wicking properties of my running gear to the extreme.

Bald is much cooler. And aerodynamic too!

The mirror still hasn't quite figured out whose reflection it is sharing with me as I pass by, but I'm sure that will slowly become routine as well.

Maybe it was my newfound smoothness, or maybe the long weekend, I can't quite say which, but something had me reviewing a previous house renovation plan that we had decided wasn't the best solution to our problems, late into the morning hours Sunday night. I was drawn back to the ideas I had assembled on the screen, intrigued by the flow of spaces, and effortless solutions the drawing presented.

I had spent the three previous days in communication with the structural engineer as we finalized the lintel sizes and beam requirements and support framing necessary to reroute the loads from the current wall layout to the new design and was updating the drawings to place everything so we could apply for the necessary building permits.

As I checked and double checked the positions of floor joists, removing ceiling panels and measuring to a common reference point, making sure the drawings accurately reflected the existing conditions, I felt a change in the air. A curious palpable energy shift that left me uneasy but with much more calmness than I had been feeling all week.

It was with that quiet calmness that I revisited the earlier plan. And also with that same calmness that I confirmed the relocation of the basement stairs, the critical first step in the design and process of creating more space for the expanded kitchen, that I confirmed those stairs would not be able to be placed where we intended.

For with the relocation, the new stairway would have to be code compliant for rise and run dimensions (which our current 40 year old stairs are not) and the resulting changes would mean we'd be building a longer flight of stairs, and with the increased length, we'd run out of room at the base of the stairs for a landing that would also meet code. I couldn't just back the entire flight of stairs the required distance, due to the main support beam for the house and the necessary supporting framing for the new lintels and beams...

The new stairs were stuck between a rock and a hard place. And so was our plan.

The quiet calmness allowed me to linger in the midnight darkness of my office, accepting the circumstances of this dilemma, and understanding why I had been drawn to the other design earlier.

So much for lighting and tile samples. Now we're considering a plan to expand our living space by converting the presently under-used attached single car garage into the new kitchen and breakfast nook, complete with a row of windows overlooking the deck and backyard, and leaving those existing stairs right where they are. We'd be able to move the laundry upstairs, and expand the current dining room to formal dining room status; the living room would remain unchanged; and we'd close off the existing front porch area into a true front door entry with a door that actually faces the street...

Sure we'd lose the garage, but with the one year anniversary of my table saw accident approaching I'm very much aware that last year's new adventure began more lasting changes than previously thought. Unfortunately, with this latest discovery, our renovation plans may have to be rescheduled somewhat. Cuz if we're seriously looking at garage conversion / expansion, I'll need to clean that space out which means I need a new place for my tools, but then we'll also need to completely gut the interior of the garage space to allow for insulation and vapour barrier and floor framing...

I think it's time to listen for more silence...

The Devil's in the Details

It's Tuesday, it's Spring-like, and this young man's fancy is not turning to thoughts of love, it's turning to sinks and faucets, and granite and stone, and tile and sinks...

And don't forget lighting. That's on my list too. Recessed pot lights, and a few hanging pendants over the island; under cabinet fluorescent strips; and what about the front entryway? Did someone say Sun Tunnel? How about sky-lights?

It's enough to make your head hurt - even if you weren't migraine prone.

And let's not begin to discuss sinks, and why they are half the price of your new stainless steel, side-by-side refrigerator - but all they do is sit there and hold water - they don't freeze it into perfect cubes; or dispense it at the ideal temperature...

I don't understand. And heaven forbid you want additional insulating properties on those sinks! You'd think I'd asked for KFC's secret recipe of 11 herbs and spices!

We spent a few hours this past weekend, camera in hand, looking for alot of things. Sinks among them - and we know what size we want, and yes, we understand the difference between 18/10 and 18/8 and mirrored decks and polished ones - it would just be easier if someone threw one in the cart and said "Here you go, Enjoy!"

Too many choices sometimes lead to no choices being made.

We did find a faucet for the island sink, which by the way will be a round sink used mainly for prep. here's a picture of the sleek faucet:



We're not spending more than the sink on the faucet, and we're not impressed by expensive names with expensive price tags. Form, function and efficiency please, thank you very much.

We looked at many different pendant lights - and happily snapped away with the camera so we could pretend we didn't have to make a choice until later. Here's a few that caught our eyes:

I kinda like the retro feel of these



And these next two have similar shaped lights, which might mean we're leaning that way without realizing it.




We're looking for something traditional to go with the style of painted maple cabinets with a hand-rubbed glaze top coat. But we haven't decided on cabinet handles yet - so we'll let the lighting decision simmer while we attend to more pressing issues.

Like tile for the backsplash... more on that next time!

Out with the old, in with the new

I sat and contemplated things yesterday in the erie silence that was our house. No distant hum from lights to colour the background; no constant furnace fan whirring around me everywhere I went; none of those everyday sounds that we've learned to ignore as we go about our days; nothing but the sounds of productive work echoing from the basement laundry / utility room.

Except the rumble of a gas-powered generator outside on the deck, as the electricians worked to remove the old electrical breaker panel that has served this house since 1962, and it's newer companion, the sub panel I had installed a few years back when I brought the Delta cabinet table saw back home and set up a scaled down woodworking shop space in our small single car garage.

I brought in a company to handle this aspect of the renovation, a company I use on a regular basis for electrical work commercially in the course of my regular life as a contract project manager for a commercial general contractor. The guys are almost like family - I see them regularly, know their stories and their natures, and they know me - so it's not your typical residential job for them, it's different, it's easier in a lot of respects, but more difficult at the same time - for while they know I'll give them free reign to correct and fix what they see, and I won't hover and stand over their shoulders while they're working, they also know that I'm not a one-off customer they won't have contact with again. The stakes are higher to produce a quality product.

But that's why I asked for the lead electrician I did, because I know he'll clean everything up like it's his own house and make it right; even more than right when possible, and he knows I appreciate his knowledge and his attention to detail.

Sure I dropped in on them now and then and checked their progress as they went about tagging, cataloguing and tracing the existing lines to make sure each one was accounted for and able to be installed in the new service properly and orderly, but I gave them space to work required, and they knew if they needed clarification on any aspect of the job I'd be there to assist them, and when they needed some 2x4 cut offs to attach the new plywood backer board, all they had to do was ask.

I think its important to give people space to perform their work, and not micromanage what doesn't need your input. It's a lot like raising children, sure they need boundaries and discipline and the knowledge that actions have consequences, but you have to let them grow and learn on their own for best results.

With this first tangible step in the renovation process underway, it struck my how much our lives are going to change this summer, and while I'm comfortable with the amount of upheaval that's headed our way, I'm not sure Karen or Riley is aware of what's barreling down the tracks right at them. But that's how we roll, I'll try and keep them comfortably unaware of the multitude of things going on behind the scenes as we approach that day when we can finally swing a hammer and start dismantling those past chapters of our lives tied into those doomed walls; like a good parent, protecting my crew from unnecessary stress and uncertainty, while at the same time, preparing them for the positive things coming their way.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Here's what was powering the house before:

(click to see full images)

And what we've got moving forward:

Now we have lots of room to grow; and so does our electrical service.

A look back

So here's where we started back in 1995.

Lovely 1960's bungalow, 1400ish square feet main floor, 3 bedrooms, 2 full baths, finished basement, attached (small single) garage.

It's changed colours a few times.

The trees have been removed, and or replanted - depends where you're looking.

Here's a picture last fall:

Yeah, I know, it looks a little barren without the trees. I think so too, glad you agree!

Here's what we found inside back then:

The lovely 60's kitchen.Check out that toaster oven over the Harvest Gold range! "Here's George Jetson..."

A view down the main floor hall. Yep, that's green and then blue carpet... wowsie!

The built-in mahogany china cabinet - in the dining room which is across the hall from the kitchen. (see past said china cabinet into kitchen doorway above)

The Gorgeous pink upstairs bathroom. Note the Hospital green painted insides on the vanity cabinet...

And not to be outdone, the blue basement bathroom... (and we BOUGHT this place?)

Yes, yes we did. I'll save you the shock of seeing the basement today, you can only handle so much. The previous owners left this house in the 60's with the decorating and furnishings too - the half-moon coffee table and purple sofa greeted us when we toured the open house.

Yes we got the place for a steal.

We saw the bones of the house and its potential. It was well built, all Douglas Fir framing, and straight and square, so we knew we could start over and have the house grow with us as we went. So we tackled the obvious issues; carpet, paint, added some built-ins and then lived in the house for a few years and figured out where we'd go from there.

Sure, well meaning family members told us to paint the kitchen cabinets for the time being, but we knew better, we knew we'd be tackling that room soon. Soon, as in this lifetime, it turns out, and not 'soon' as in the next year or so, but our intentions were good. We bought new appliances for the kitchen and adjusted our expectations once Riley arrived. But we kept fine tuning things, like paint colours (I think we're on the 4th or 5th colour in the master bedroom and at least that in the living room, dining room and main hall) and home office vs master bed room vs nursery locations - for awhile there each of the three main floor bedrooms got a crack at being one or the other.

Finally we stuck with the current arrangement, Riley's room at the end of the hall (blue carpet above) Master BR left hand side of end of hall beside that, with the 3rd BR becoming the office, across the hall from the former pink bathroom. We gutted that bathroom and redid it about 5 years ago. Good bye pink, hello earthy greys and greens and maple cabinetry and in-floor heated tile. I'll try and find a picture for you. But don't ask about the lack of doors on the medicine cabinets. They didn't get built. And then after a few years of living with the sans door concept, we tore out that set and recessed new units into the wall and ordered mirrors custom cut to fit into the solid maple doors I was making.

Anyone remember what happened with that project last year? High 4 1/2 if you do!

Next time, more pictures of the current main floor, and maybe a quick look at the basement before and after.

But first, lets hold hands and sing songs. I've got the electrician in tomorrow to replace the existing electrical service panel and sub panel in the basement, so we'll have a fresh new start for the new wiring that's coming in the expanded kitchen space. That's the first real step in this project.

It looks like we're serious about this!

Home Sweet Home...for now.

Ahh, spring time in Paris! The cafes; the blossoms; the architecture...

No wait. Check that.

The calendar says Spring, but there's not much springing up and growing anew just yet, and this isn't Paris, it's Winnipeg, which once Spring starts happening is very wonderful and fresh as it removes its winter trappings and begins to green up and bloom, but it's not Paris.

And this ain't a love song.

This is the beginning of a story, a journey to find something new, of recreation and rebirth. It's been a number of years in the making (don't ask, it's been awhile, trust me) and its finally here; we're renovating the house.

Sure, we've done minor rehabs to the interior in the past, including the main floor bathroom (complete gut) and the basement including full bath down there too, and numerous coats of paint and new trim and roof, and seemingly endless variations of yardwork including 2 decks, 5 or 6 raised flower beds, the shed, and the fence. But this year we're tackling the kitchen.

And if you know us, you also know that its not going to be just a simple kitchen redo, with new cabinets and flooring and lights etc.

No, I've been blessed with a broken switch that allows things to grow, to blossom into much larger, more grander incarnations of their original plans. Like vacations, but that's another story...

It all started with an Island. Actually that's not true, it all started moments after we moved into this house, and made a list of the things we wanted to change about it, to make it our own. Like removing the green carpet on the main floor, and the pink and white shag carpet in the master bedroom, or the blue carpet in the back bedroom. Under all of which we found oak hardwoods. Or the pink bathroom fixtures upstairs, or the raised velvet on the black and red wallpaper in the rec-room that went so well with the dark wood panelling, and the black vinyl-upholstered front on the wet bar, which matched with the vinyl coverings on the support columns...

With all those areas fighting for priority, the kitchen got pushed down the list - though we knew we wanted to change it. And so we planned it out, while we worked on the other areas. And as life is known to do, plans change. Riley was born, certain areas of the renovations took greater immediacy than others, then vacations grew... and grew again, and again...well, you get the idea.

The time has come, the time is now.

And so, this year we've decided and embarked on the plan. Not the same plan for the kitchen that we first started with, mind you, or the second or third... And truthfully, if we had built any of those we'd be redoing the kitchen again, for those first plans wouldn't have solved the main issue we had with this house: that the main traffic flow to the basement went right through the too small kitchen.

Next time: some pictures of the old, and a look at how we got here.

All things come to an end

"...for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Shakespere, Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2

Ones health, much like the weather, is usually viewed from a perspective of wellness; of one's ability to enjoy their current situation. If you are not feeling well, then you must be ill - a duality we've come to accept almost in its inevitability - but more correctly, wellness is merely the scale upon which one's health is measured, and you may find yourself anywhere along the scale from gravely ill near one end, to stupendously well at the other but we as a society don't have many gradations of wellness beyond the midway 'well' mark, now do we?

Once you're feeling 'well' there's no need to discuss your situation further, you're no longer ill, so you're fine! Get along and enjoy your life, stop moping and complaining and get 'r done! But there must be increments of wellness beyond that middle ground that we could use to distinguish and rank our health, could there not?

Or are we just so ego-laden and deluded of our own self importance and so thirsty for the need for acknowledgment from others that we have unlimited numbers of health problems and complaints to share with anyone who dares ask "How are you?" Or maybe you've already come to the realization that if you ask dear friends that particular question they'll honestly share how they are feeling with you, when what you really meant to have said in greeting them was "It's good to see you again!" I'll be honest - many days I'm thankful for the ones who respond with "I'm fine, thanks!"

We do it with the weather. We use it as a greeting when meeting more-distant acquaintances, "Nice weather we're having!" or "Sure has been cold these past few weeks..." It's a conversation starter that's assumed safer than politics or religion or (see above) even one's health! But again, the reality is that weather just is. There's no good or bad weather; alot of it depends on mood, and expectations and wishful thinking and planning outdoor events that would be so much better experienced in 'good' weather, rather than 'bad' weather. But who's to say what makes weather good or bad? And why give the current meteorological conditions the power to influences our enjoyment of activities?

I'm feeling better these days, still the occasional cough, and some residual stuffiness and sniffling but my face finally feels like it belongs to me again, and my head is much more calm. I'm doing well. It could be worse, it could be better, so I'm doing just fine, thanks.

The 11A2 Greendell Falcons met their demise this past Sunday, at the hands of the Fort Garry Flyers, well, not so much at the hands of the Flyers, than due to that wonderful unpredictable force that is life. The Falcons fell behind 1-0 in the first despite having outshot the Flyers 6-2, save for a deflection from a point shot that found the back of the net. The action was so intense that there wasn't a whistle in the opening frame until 7:42. The second period was more of the same, close checking, the Falcons much more physical, but the Flyers found a way to score again, making it 2-0. But with 25 seconds left in the 2nd, the Falcons got one back, and took the momentum with them going into the third. They outshot them 7-2 in the final period but couldn't beat the goalie, or the posts, or the crossbar, and even with the net empty in favor of the extra attacker and all kinds of pressure, it was not to be.

Final score Flyers 2, Falcons 1. End of playoffs, end of season.

Sad dejected faces, some tear stained, some not, all disappointed in varying degrees, met us as we entered the dressing room afterwards. As coaches we are so proud of them for their determination, their hard work, their effort and never backing down, working together as a team, and we told them they had nothing to be ashamed of or sorry for, and so many reasons to be proud of who they had become. From 15th place to 6th when it was all over, more wins than losses in the 5 playoff games, not only beating the top seeded team, but knocking them out of the playoffs...

It was a great game. The outcome wasn't what we had hoped for, but then life doesn't always give you what you want, does it? I'm feeling better, and the weather has been very Spring-like, and hockey's over for another season. It's not our place really to judge whether anything's good or bad. It just is. And you know what? That's just fine with me, thanks.

There's light at the end of the tunnel!

The good news is, I'm still alive!

The bad news is, I'm still not out of the woods. But we're getting closer!

The migraines of Tuesday have left me - but that sinus infection thingie decided it needed to teach me something, and moved into my chest and lungs and promptly unpacked and decided to make itself at home. This week has been a write-off, and for awhile there I wasn't sure I was going to make the weekend. Bronchial passages clogged up to here left we gasping for air on more than a few occasions - and no, I didn't take the cough medicine Karen advised me to take - I'm stubborn, remember? I needed to cough this crap up and get it out of my system.

Luckily work has been slow this week, so taking time to heal wasn't an issue - I doubt anyone would have wanted to see me in that condition anyway! Sleeping has been the toughest part of this, I couldn't lay down without getting everything clogged up which caused more coughing fits, which aggravated the headaches... it was a viscous cycle.

T-3's helped with the headache pain, and the codeine helped keep the coughing down - but until the airways get totally clear I'm not about to say I'm over this whatever-it-was. I did learn that cold air helped my breathing, and that a hot steaming bath almost killed me - I'll store that useful information for a later date.

I slept well last night, so I'm making progress.

Riley played his latest playoff game (that's game number 4 for those of you keeping track at home) this evening - remember they lost their first game, so one more loss means the season's over - they met their nemesis from Fort Richmond tonight(a team we have battled with over the past few seasons and who ended our season 2 years ago in overtime - we don't think kindly of them, or them of us for that matter)and it was a tight checking, defensive battle, with Riley's team (the Falcons) getting goals in the first and second period to take a 2-0 lead into the final frame.

Some subjective officiating game Richmond a powerplay midway through the third, and they managed to squeeze one past our goalie. The intensity was high, the battle fierce, and when the dust settled and the buzzer went to end the game, the Falcons skated away with a 2-1 win!

The boys have gone from being seeded 15th out of 16 teams in the city, to now being one of the final 6 teams left playing! They get another chance to keep the season alive tomorrow (Sunday) at 12:50, when they take on Fort Garry, 11-4-3 in the regular season, but against our Falcons they won 1, lost 1, and tied 1.

Should be one heck of a game! Go Falcons!

Stop me if you've heard this one before...

So let's recap: Saturday Feb 27th migraine hit me late in the evening while watching tv; Dog Whisperer, in fact, though I hold Cesar and his staff and pack entirely blameless. Managed through it okay, by Wednesday I was more or less back to normal except for the odd muscle twitch in and around my left knee.

Saturday March 6th, while returning home to pick up the boy to take him back to the hockey team's parent party, round 2 of the migraine meltdown hits, and the Captain and I fend off the invading forces as best we can with his trusty first mate Cola, but we were forced to give i just after midnight. Sunday wasn't great but I could function, and went to Riley's playoff game and watched them beat the top seeded team and advance to the next round.

Monday felt generally crappy and hung-over like but also seemed to be developing some kind of chest / sinus cold. Did some reading on migraines and found that men and women experience them differently and that our bodies deal with the pain in different capacities too. Many men who are treated for sinus headaches are actually suffering from migraines, and these can also be accompanied by the sinus infection apparently. But since most men rarely seek medical treatment for anything, there is far less data available on exactly how many men suffer from migraines and what their symptoms entail. Long story short I felt and sounded "sick" not just wiped out from the headache.

Tuesday I felt even worse, but took care of a couple site meetings that I had to complete, and then crashed by noon, welcomed home with that all-too-familiar vision thing happening in my right eye for the first time ever! The aura didn't grow too large, and a dark room and an afternoon of rest and meds helped. Karen took Riley to his piano practice, then to hockey practice and finally to parent-teacher meetings (I love that woman!) And I hit the couch, curtains drawn and the cat wisely sensing I didn't want him anywhere nearby.

Got up to take meds at 5 cuz I felt 'off' somehow, and while I was up checked my email. Sat in the office read the two or three messages that didn't need my attention anyway, and realized I was being attacked by yet another dazzling lightshow! This time back in the familiar left eye field of vision, starting as a very small blurred spot, but quickly growing outwardly into a "C" shaped ribbon of zig-zags, until it covered my entire left visual side!

&#@*!&

Coupled with the runny, stuffy nose and the occasional coughing fit, I was the poster boy for pharmaceutical intervention. The resulting headache was brutal, and thankfully the T-3's kicked in enough to let me get some rest..

I'm sick. And I don't like it. I'm also concerned about these headaches and auras - yes, a doctor's appointment has been made - and no, I'm not working today - though I am writing this to let you know I haven't been totally incapacitated, though at times I sure felt like it.

I'm going back to my cave.

Second Verse, Same as the First

I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

Another Saturday, another playoff hockey game for Riley's team (this time they won - which they'll have to do from here on in, as one more loss means their season will be over) and instead of another quiet evening watching Olympic sports and The Dog Whisperer, this particular Saturday we had plans for an evening out with parents from the boys' hockey team. A parents party! Which loosely translated means booze, food, stories and laughter; and no kids! So after a relaxing afternoon of napping and resting, we had dinner and got ready.

Party was to start any time after 8. So we packed up the Margaritaville Machine, a few bottles of rum, some mixers, a good Hawaiian drinking shirt and headed out. We arrived at our hosts house and unloaded the supplies, got a quick tour of their minor kitchen renovation, and headed downstairs to set up the MM and get a drink under our belts.

Their son was home, and would be banished to his room for the evening to play video games and get to bed at a decent hour - though how they expected that to happen in a noisy house full of partying parents was beyond me. Perry, our host, hinted that practice makes perfect, so perhaps they've done this a time or two...

Our Hostess asked where Riley was - we said home alone in front of the Wii, a place he was happy to reside in our absence - and she said that we should go get him, as another couple was bringing their son over too. Okay, what the heck, this might work out better for us, as having the boy with us gives us a chance for an earlier out than if we'd left him behind. Perry was talking about having the hot tub and a firepit and something about watching the sun come up...

Now it should be noted that we've been out of the hardcore partying loop for a few too many years. We had no plans to be celebrating that long!!

So I left to get Riley. Luckily no drinks had been consumed yet. As I drove away, I realized that something wasn't right. A slight uneasiness surrounded me - I figured it might just be the anticipation of an evening out - but as I drove it soon became clear (or not) what was happening.

After having spent the day with a sore left eye - a sort of ache behind and inside the eye itself - coupled with still lingering muscle twitches in my left leg around my kneecap - I was looking forward to relaxing with good friends and getting to know the new parents on the team a bit better.

Cue the Groundhog Day do-over...

Driving along St Mary's Road, just after 9 in the now night darkness, facing rows of oncoming bright white headlights and burning red taillights, I noticed my eye had stopped hurting, which was great - but that ache had been replaced with that telltale beginning spot of pulsating blurriness, and with each block it progressed into a larger arching trail of brilliant dazzling contrasts, until as I pulled into our driveway I was missing a good third of my vision.

Here we go again...

Now I can be stubborn. Really. I know that might come as a shocker to many of you, but it's true. And I was in no mood to be shutdown by some malfunctioning neurological disorder. Not this night. This night I had plans! So I called for Riley to grab one of his Wii controllers and his jacket and jump in the car - we were headed back to the party.

I explained that Brayden had wanted Riley to come over, since Sean was going to be there too, and Riley was all for it - video games with friends and getting to stay up late on a Saturday night? What's not to love? I also explained that I was in the beginning stages of yet another migraine and while I wasn't in any pain yet - I was experiencing the aura phase. Smart boy that he is asks, "If you can't see everything, should you be driving?" Well, I'll leave the ethics and legality of his question for another post - and explain that we were driving maybe all of 2 miles to get back there.

Spare me the lecture. I have a stubborn side - I'm not listening.

So we returned and pretended nothing was wrong and enjoyed the evening. I apparently do not have a poker face - the pain and discomfort gave me away, and as much as I tried to put on a brave face and be part of the festivities, it was obvious I wasn't my usual normal happy go lucky self. A few parents at the party are also migraine sufferers, and listened wide-eyed as I described the aura I had just experienced, and they couldn't believe I wasn't somewhere in the fetal position begging for mercy. One of our assistant coaches is an Optometrist, and he sympathized with my plight, but knew there was little that I could do but wait it out. I've accepted that fact, but I'm not sold on having another migraine a week after the last episode.

I figure you do what you have to sometimes. And if I was going to suffer the headache and after-effects of a migraine, I may as well stay and enjoy the evening and have something to show for my pain.

So I self medicated with small amounts of rum, staying away from the Flaming Sambuco's, the Tequila shots, the Apple Pie shots and the silliness that would soon overtake the party, knowing our evening would end prematurely eventually, once the pounding reached its crescendo. Don't ask me about the one-armed air-hockey player, or the Boob-Olympics - those stories will stay private with us for a long time!

The boys play again this afternoon in a couple hours time. Something tells me our side of the rink might be very, very quiet...

Update: The boys won! Knocked off the top seeded team in the playoffs, 3-1. They live to play again next Saturday. Fingers crossed we don't have another replay of the migraine situation.

Why playing with your food isn't a bad thing

a broken misstep backwards

a moment out of time

echoes in silent darkness

a victim without a crime

Words need rhythm, they need to feel the air before they can comfortably live on paper, or in this case any number of digital formats. The lyrical quality that makes good writing great is difficult to achieve; and even harder the more one tries to perfect it. Great writers seem to be able to take their readers to a different plane, some higher place outside the pages of the book, where words melodic and light play lively and intertwine to form scores within the stories. They don't know how they do it; at least they can't explain their craft, those writers just know how to weave phrases and imagery so skillfully. It's an art. A worthy pursuit.

My brain is cluttered at the best of times - words, music, images, ideas, plans, memories, all jockeying for supremacy and for recognition, in hopes that I might do something with whatever thread or remnant lies there, bare, able to be plucked and held and used in some glorious grand design.

Most of the time I find mush.

But like a child in a highchair, strapped in place, stuck, unable to free himself from the plate of greyish 'stuff' in front of him, I poke and push at the mush, passing time, trying to find the common element, the purpose, the essence of that mush. Often it ends up on my shirt, and in my hair, and all over the floor. Puddles of bland ideas and bits of music and the odd idea jumbled together there on the floor beneath my swinging feet, nothing to show for my efforts.

Sometimes I get lucky and I find something identifiable in the mush, down deep in the middle, a small fragment of a creative spark, a line or a flash of an image, a design that I can use in something, somewhere! And I reach and grasp and pull on it and hold it and try to contain it and once I've captured it and brought it forward with me I can let it grow on paper, or in my mind further, allowing it to breathe life into itself, letting it expand and seek its own path as it broadens into what it was destined to become.

We don't control those times, or even pretend to really be a part of the process, other than to have given the 'thing' a place to manifest, like a gardener planting a seed. We didn't create the seed, we merely gave it the opportunity to grow. Like that idea or creative spark. We didn't 'invent" it, it was always there, hidden in the mush. We just set it free and let it develop into its destiny.

Sometimes, I think, we try too hard to force the process instead of sitting back and accepting what comes our way, allowing ourselves the freedom to recognize the opportunities all around us. Caught in the mundane aspects of this life we disconnect from our nature and play out the roles we've defined ourselves by, ones we tried on early in life and liked, or felt suited us best - never stopping to really ask ourselves who we are and why we're here, and what we're meant to become. We rush and fight to get everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Often feeling empty, lifeless, grey, and dull.

Maybe what we need to do is to stop and look at that empty, lifeless, grey dull, mush from a different angle; a fresh perspective, and poke at it a little, and push at it a little, and maybe we'll find that something, deep down inside and grasp it and hold it and take it, and let it grow.

Into whatever it was destined to become; to find its own true rhythm.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear...

Migraines are cunning creatures.

One minute you're living your life in all it's ignorant glory, watching Cesar's seemingly effortless canine behavior modification, and the next you're suddenly aware that parts of the flat screen image have become like your car's blind spot, except you've lost parts of your field of vision directly in front of you, not over your shoulder, like some distorted digital image captured on your child's handheld game device, it's stylus churning a once recognizable picture into a blurred mass of colour. But there's no 'restore' button to press; no 'undo' feature to this experience.

I watched a portion of my world disappear again Saturday evening, awed by the sensations appearing somewhere between my reality and my consciousness. I've moved beyond the fear and panic of that very first episode a few years ago, when I wasn't sure what was happening and whether I was about to have a stroke or an aneurism or something worse. Was it visual? Neurological? Physical? A combination? Was I losing my eyesight? Would it be permanent or just a temporary inconvenience? Was it a result of my surroundings or something I'd ingested or been exposed to? A reaction? What?! Once I was able to quiet my racing mind and realize that while something was most definitely happening to me, I was in no immediate danger, I was able to deal with my new state in more concrete terms.

The tunnel vision was a treat, and I likely shouldn't have tried driving home, but hey, you live and learn, right?

As further portions of my surroundings dropped from my field of view this past weekend, replaced by a void of clarity, I watched and waited patiently, knowing full well what might come next; half expecting it, half dreading it, but always mindful to be present in the moment. No two occurrences are alike. Some last much longer than others; some pose very little discomfort during the aura phase; others affect me much more severely in terms of vision impairment; each one brings something new to the table.

Sometimes its simply a loss of vision in one small area, and it will clear with the passage of time, perhaps with a headache, perhaps not; maybe the light-sensitivity this time, or maybe I'll escape unscathed and be able to resume normal activities relatively quickly. But when the blurred areas of vision continue to bind together in ever tightening currents of jagged contrasts, I know I'm in for a wild ride. So I watch the magical, hallucinogenic effects of my brain appearing in my eyesight with interest and appreciation, surveying the zig-zag lines for new patterns and colours, trying to remember them for later, much later, when the pounding finally subsides, and the pain recedes to more tolerable levels.

Then I admit defeat and seek remedy for the impending events, taking solace in dark, quiet spaces, fatigued and drained without much apparent effort, to ride out the storm.

Morning may bring relief.

Or it may not.

Usually the new dawn brings a shallow, fragile, hollowness, and mental dullness. Tired eyes still sensitive; remnants of aching echoing throughout; time the only cure. Sunday brought small comfort; the lingering symptoms never far from the surface. Monday seemed more hopeful, and life was attempted with gusto, though I find myself still affected this evening as I write.

The appreciation and interest have waned considerably.

To-Do List: Put Off Procrastinating

Its that kind of day again, where you’re faced with unlimited choices of things to do; ones that should be done, or could be done, and quite frankly many that must be done, but you’re stuck in a fog, knowing you need to get moving, but the transmission’s locked in neutral and try as you might you can’t knock it free.

It’s a perfectly wonderful Friday outside, if by wonderful you mean that it’s still not Spring, the sun can’t be seen, and while the days are indeed getting longer, you’d rather just return to bed. Your desk is a cluttered mess – you could clean that up and organize it and file that pile of papers you keep pushing further and further away from your peripheral vision – but that seems like too much work. Taxes could be started and you could figure out how much you should be investing in your retirement account, if you had free money laying around, which you don’t, and that’s sounds like a lot of work too – painful work at that, all those forms and papers and numbers and well, lets face it, you can’t do your taxes if your desk isn’t clear – where would you put all those forms and files and papers?

You could put away that basket of laundry that you’ve let sit on the floor by the bed the last three days, matching those socks and tucking them just so and putting them neatly in their drawer – but you know you won’t find that last match, or the one before that, and then what do you do with the lonely outcasts? Chances are they aren’t both your socks anyways, so you can’t just throw them in the top drawer with the other unmatched ones – and no, you can’t go looking in there for another one just like it and make a pair that way – that’s akin to laundry dishonesty. They went into the washer together, they should come out of the dryer that way too. Sock infidelity won’t be tolerated in this house.

The plans for the kitchen remodel could be finalized a bit further, so you could cost out those final pieces of the puzzle, to see where this dream turned minor nightmare is actually heading, but you still need a consult with the other majority shareholder regarding door/drawer configuration on the island cabinetry.

Lord knows you could clean up after the child, but that goes against your principles of having him learn to pick up after himself and be responsible for his belongings, and not leave things just laying around in heaps and piles on the floor or whichever horizontal surface was easiest to set things on. What that child needs is more discipline, you decide, and today’s the day you’re going to start making sure he gets it.

Maybe. Right after you start applying those same principles in your own adult life.

Too few places to Hide a Body

We all know this of course, it shouldn't really be shocking, but there just aren't enough good places to hide a body.

Don't be calling the authorities just yet - I haven't done anything to warrant that type of behavior. Just throwing this out there. Put down the phone.

Your children know this too. They've played hide and seek, and we all learned early on, and so have they, that just because you can't see someone doesn't mean they can't see you. For while your head may be sufficiently hidden behind that tree, or covered just so with that pile of laundry beside your bed, or inside that cramped cupboard, the simple fact is that there's a pretty good chance a larger, more obvious part of your anatomy is on display, easily visible to those you are so carefully hiding from.

The internet is like that.

We have this assumption that we are hidden from view, safe in our daily lives, anonymous as it were, when we post on message boards; tweet our latest movements; shop online or even just browse the web looking for that next great deal on ebay. We know this to be just as false as being hidden from visible view while playing hide and seek - yet many of us seem very willing to ignore what we intrinsically know, regardless of how many times we've had our identities compromised. We're lazy. We don't take as many precautions as the "experts" tell us to in order to protect ourselves. We're adults; we don't want to be told how to do something, we want to be free to do whatever we want, however we'd like, whenever the urge strikes us.

Play with fire long enough, you'll get burned.

And so, eschewing the safety of true anonymity, here I stand before you, joining the too-many-to-count masses that have for a variety of reasons (most of them ego-issue related) taken to posting their thoughts and observances for you to read and comment on. Why? I really don't know. Maybe to finally silence those dear friends who have continually urged me to write something, anything! ? Maybe to satisfy some deep seated unresolved vanity? Could be. But more truthfully, I see this endeavor as a way for me to gain more knowledge about myself and my interests, allowing me to discover my own opinion on things and to value that opinion more and to grow in new directions as a person.

So. Let's see where this takes us. Let's explore the world together and search for treasure. And if we uncover a few bodies along the way, well, they weren't all that well hidden to begin with, were they?