This last weekend was a holiday weekend here in Alberta as Monday was Family Day. Yes, they actually have a holiday devoted to spending time with one’s family. Last year Rob was in Grande Prairie with Farron and Jordan visiting with his in-law’s. Without Internet or reliable cell service, we spent most of that weekend out of contact for the first time since we’d started communicating with each other before Christmas of ’06. It was a very long weekend as I remember it. He did manage to sneak out to the truck and call me a couple times from the on-star phone, but it was nowhere near the marathon phone sessions we’d become accustomed to by then. It seems such a long time ago now.
This Family Day activities we attended were at the Dow Centennial Centre, which houses, among other things, the gym I workout at most days. The community sponsored events included stage demonstrations on the soccer field by local groups like the judo and gymnastics clubs. There were also booths set up around the edge of the field for churches and different volunteer organizations. Rob and I generally walked by the church stuff without making eye contact as neither of us is inclined to practice religion in an organized manner. Indeed, Rob isn’t inclined to practice it in the disorganized manner that I have chosen. In addition to these attractions there was also face painting , yoga, belly dancing, storytelling and of course there was someone making balloon animals. In the art gallery attached to the Shell Theatre lobby was a traveling exhibit from the Alberta Art Gallery and the Waiward Steel Pottery Studio held demonstrations and a sale in hopes of attracting people to sign up for classes. There was also free public skate and shinny skate and no Dow Center do would be complete without those inflatables that Katy so loves to jump around in and slide on.
Afterwards we stopped to pick up tomatoes for supper and hit the Staples for a copy of the tax program because it is really time to figure out what kind of cluster-fuck we’ve gotten ourselves into by shunning our own and marrying across an international border. Rob suggested that I run into the Safeway and he would hit Staples and thus save time.
“But I wanted to go to Staples too.”
“Why?”
“.....because....I like to go to Staples....”
(Laughing) “I forgot what a Staples addict you are.”
“I’m not. I just love office supplies.”
“You are so weird.” (Big grin)
It’s true though. I am weird. I love pens, pencils, notebooks, folders. If it is paper or has something to do with paper - I love it. I have no sense of organization at all, but I love wandering office supply stores.
After we had late lunch and tea, I spent some time out in the yard building a snow fort with Katy and Rob worked on finishing up the north side of the basement. When we moved in, a person couldn’t even access the basement for the stuff piled high, but soon it will be Katy’s play area and an exercise area for Rob and I. Progress.
I love long weekends.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Picnic in Elk Island Park
We have been promising Katy a hike and a picnic lunch in the nearby Elk Island Park for some time, but until this week, it has been far too cold. Friday the weather turned and though not as warm as some of you in the southern 48 might think it should be to hearld the coming of spring, it has felt mighty good up here. Today we decided to skip our usually Sunday afternoon skating at the Moyer Ice Arena here in Josephburg and head over to Elk Island for a short hike and lunch. We fortified well with tuna wraps, grapes and baby carrots not to mention a thermos of Earl Grey and another with water for hot chocolate. Bundled and with Katy’s little green toboggan packed in the back of the Equinox, we felt ready to tackle the snow-covered trails.
We made one stop on the way and that was in the tiny town of Lamont which is just north of the Fort. We needed to pick up the Edmonton Journal because even if it is light on news beyond its own borders - we are newspaper addicts and have to have at least one paper coming into the house daily and well, the Globe doesn’t run a Sunday edition. In fact neither paper runs its big edition on Sunday. The biggest paper of the week is the Saturday edition for both. Lamont though is not much of a town. Rob remembers the ice rink there as being a vandalism target for the bored teens trapped by a lack of transportation, probably, and somewhere to go, likely. There is a grain elevator and railway tracks. A main street with a donut shop, a bank and a grocery. Very small. Not picturesque. It bills itself as the “Gateway to Elk Island Park”. And with that, enough has been said.
The park is a forested preserve for elk and bison herds. It’s mainly Aspen as this area is the transition land between Aspen parkland and boreal forest. There are plains and woodland bison here and they are kept in separate areas. They have flourished here to the point that this park has repatriated some of both herds to other areas that are trying to reestablish them. It’s part of the national park system and so there is a toll station at the entrance/exit areas. Trails are maintained and some of them are groomed specifically for cross country skiing. It’s snow up here a fair amount in the last few weeks so the snow we encountered was too deep for Katy to walk and we’d suspected she wouldn’t do much hiking anyway - thus her green toboggan.
Rob is always teaching Katy about something whether it is about drywalling or painting or the fact that there was a squirrel living in the area we were hiking through. He pointed out the food leavings and the collapsed tunnel the squirrel had been using to travel.
We picnicked at a spot that would overlook the lake in warmer weather but right now unless you knew it was out there, you’d have a hard time picturing it at all. It was a quick lunch. Just the wraps and hot drinks and grapes, and then back to the vehicle to tour the rest of the park from the warmth of the car. Katy and I are not quite so Canadian as we need to be for winter hikes yet.
As we trudged back to the main trail and then to the parking lot, a story came to me. It amazes me how this happens. How I can be doing something completely normal, like pulling Katy in a toboggan, and suddenly a story comes. Like a gift. A gift with a lot of work attached to it, but still a present from the universe just the same. I think it will be a creepy story. I just finished Stephen King's The Mist. A very quick read - day and a half at most as it is only a bit over 200 pages. Sadly it is something I could have started and finished in an afternoon or evening back in the day but I don't have the stamina - or the time - for such a quick turnaround these days. Anyway, I think some of the inspiration came from my reading too. I have always loved apocalyptic survival stories. Mine is not an end of days thing, but it is about survival and I hope it will be a little suspenseful anyway.
On the way back to the car, Rob stopped us to show Katy a picture of a bison and then a moose. There are stations on the trail in that give the history of Alberta and pioneers and some of the wildlife in the area. Katy really loves moments like these although Rob doesn't think she is always paying attention to him, she is. She is becoming quite a daddy's girl. Recently she has been telling Rob that she loves him. Spontaneously and not merely as a response. They say it takes several years to blend families. I wonder what they mean by that because I know so few "real" families that are "blended". Perhaps what they mean is that it takes time for people to get to know how everyone reacts in situations - what they are likely to do or say. Still, even though I can predict my siblings and parents, I wouldn't say that I knew any one of them very well, except maybe my mother, and I know they don't know or understand me at all.
As we were driving out of the park, we stopped to watch a moose grazing. Katy was quite fascinated and equally horrified when she was told that she'd had moose for supper the other night. The drive home was quick. We don't live far from the park. It was another splendid day.
We made one stop on the way and that was in the tiny town of Lamont which is just north of the Fort. We needed to pick up the Edmonton Journal because even if it is light on news beyond its own borders - we are newspaper addicts and have to have at least one paper coming into the house daily and well, the Globe doesn’t run a Sunday edition. In fact neither paper runs its big edition on Sunday. The biggest paper of the week is the Saturday edition for both. Lamont though is not much of a town. Rob remembers the ice rink there as being a vandalism target for the bored teens trapped by a lack of transportation, probably, and somewhere to go, likely. There is a grain elevator and railway tracks. A main street with a donut shop, a bank and a grocery. Very small. Not picturesque. It bills itself as the “Gateway to Elk Island Park”. And with that, enough has been said.
The park is a forested preserve for elk and bison herds. It’s mainly Aspen as this area is the transition land between Aspen parkland and boreal forest. There are plains and woodland bison here and they are kept in separate areas. They have flourished here to the point that this park has repatriated some of both herds to other areas that are trying to reestablish them. It’s part of the national park system and so there is a toll station at the entrance/exit areas. Trails are maintained and some of them are groomed specifically for cross country skiing. It’s snow up here a fair amount in the last few weeks so the snow we encountered was too deep for Katy to walk and we’d suspected she wouldn’t do much hiking anyway - thus her green toboggan.
Rob is always teaching Katy about something whether it is about drywalling or painting or the fact that there was a squirrel living in the area we were hiking through. He pointed out the food leavings and the collapsed tunnel the squirrel had been using to travel.
We picnicked at a spot that would overlook the lake in warmer weather but right now unless you knew it was out there, you’d have a hard time picturing it at all. It was a quick lunch. Just the wraps and hot drinks and grapes, and then back to the vehicle to tour the rest of the park from the warmth of the car. Katy and I are not quite so Canadian as we need to be for winter hikes yet.
As we trudged back to the main trail and then to the parking lot, a story came to me. It amazes me how this happens. How I can be doing something completely normal, like pulling Katy in a toboggan, and suddenly a story comes. Like a gift. A gift with a lot of work attached to it, but still a present from the universe just the same. I think it will be a creepy story. I just finished Stephen King's The Mist. A very quick read - day and a half at most as it is only a bit over 200 pages. Sadly it is something I could have started and finished in an afternoon or evening back in the day but I don't have the stamina - or the time - for such a quick turnaround these days. Anyway, I think some of the inspiration came from my reading too. I have always loved apocalyptic survival stories. Mine is not an end of days thing, but it is about survival and I hope it will be a little suspenseful anyway.
On the way back to the car, Rob stopped us to show Katy a picture of a bison and then a moose. There are stations on the trail in that give the history of Alberta and pioneers and some of the wildlife in the area. Katy really loves moments like these although Rob doesn't think she is always paying attention to him, she is. She is becoming quite a daddy's girl. Recently she has been telling Rob that she loves him. Spontaneously and not merely as a response. They say it takes several years to blend families. I wonder what they mean by that because I know so few "real" families that are "blended". Perhaps what they mean is that it takes time for people to get to know how everyone reacts in situations - what they are likely to do or say. Still, even though I can predict my siblings and parents, I wouldn't say that I knew any one of them very well, except maybe my mother, and I know they don't know or understand me at all.
As we were driving out of the park, we stopped to watch a moose grazing. Katy was quite fascinated and equally horrified when she was told that she'd had moose for supper the other night. The drive home was quick. We don't live far from the park. It was another splendid day.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Writing and Submitting
One of the things that I find hard right now about writing is finding an audience. I could simply publish my fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry on one of my blogs. Not here, perhaps my Wordpress site, but somehow that just feels like when I was in school and my stories would be passed around among my friends and classmates. It’s like this blog too or even my writing groups. Just not enough.
There are writing contests aplenty. Between my two writing groups and a few magazines I have looked through, I have found more than enough contest opportunities. Currently I believe I am waiting on four contests and have three more I can enter. Good. But still not enough. I want to see something with my name on it in a newspaper or magazine. I am plaguing the Globe with one Fact and Argument piece a week now. I submitted one of the stories from my Sci-Fi series of shorts to a Sci-Fi/Fantasy magazine based out of Edmonton. Literary magazines of any genre are hard to find though and many will not take submissions from unpublished writers. So, what’s a frustrated writer to do?
Submit online.
Yes, apparently there is quite the sizable and respected community of literary magazines on line. I discovered this through an article in Writer’s magazine. The editor of failbetter.com wrote a piece about his and others’ online collection of tomes. Quite a list and one that goes back into the late to mid-90’s in terms of longevity. There are even literary awards for online lit mags. Cool.
I made my first submission to a site called Our Stories which looks for emerging writers and promises feedback for submissions within 3 weeks. More than cool. I sent a story I wrote for Rob called The White Boots. I based it on an anecdote he told that was first told to him by Shelley, his late wife. Seems that when she was in high school, there was a boy a bit older than she was whose pick up line was stealing girls’ shoes at parties and leaving his white cowboy boots in their place. Rob said it had happened to Shelley once but that he didn’t know the outcome. I found the whole idea intriguing enough to get out of bed in the middle of the night and jot down the basics of what became a pretty decent short story. When I let Rob read it, he thought it was strange to see personal details of his high school days and meeting Shelley fictionalized but he liked the story a lot. My Fort writing group liked it too though none of the women got the reference to “Aunt Flo” and I came to find out that it is apparently an American slang term for one’s period and not a universal one. Our Stories accepts submissions year round, as do many of the other lit sites do, and like them it will take only one submission per category a quarter. I am working on a few other things that I will look at sending in after March 31st.
Failbetter.com will take novel excerpts, so I was looking through my novel last night while I sat with Katy in the living room. She wanted to watch Quest for Camelot, an old feature length cartoon that proved a bit too scary. The main character’s father is murdered within the first five minutes or so and it really doesn’t get any better from there, so we switched to Curious George and I went back to surfing through my novel. Now that time has passed since the first draft, I am able to be a bit more objective. It’s pretty good in places but there is revising to be done.
I was telling Rob this morning that I had yet another dream where my wallet (sometimes purse) was stolen and when I found it again, the contents were gone. An obvious loss of identity theme and he wanted to know why I felt that I had lost my identity. Too much cooking, cleaning and laundry? Well, there is that. My mini-inner feminist is disgusted by the extent to which I am really finding joy and fulfillment in making a home for my family, but there is also the issue of teaching. Less and less do I miss the actual job but more and more I realize that I am in between having been a teacher and being an actual writer - partly because of the whole getting published issue. And of course this is just an issue of patience but there is a sense of fibbing when I tell people I am a writer because I am not published and my two biggest works are incomplete.
There are writing contests aplenty. Between my two writing groups and a few magazines I have looked through, I have found more than enough contest opportunities. Currently I believe I am waiting on four contests and have three more I can enter. Good. But still not enough. I want to see something with my name on it in a newspaper or magazine. I am plaguing the Globe with one Fact and Argument piece a week now. I submitted one of the stories from my Sci-Fi series of shorts to a Sci-Fi/Fantasy magazine based out of Edmonton. Literary magazines of any genre are hard to find though and many will not take submissions from unpublished writers. So, what’s a frustrated writer to do?
Submit online.
Yes, apparently there is quite the sizable and respected community of literary magazines on line. I discovered this through an article in Writer’s magazine. The editor of failbetter.com wrote a piece about his and others’ online collection of tomes. Quite a list and one that goes back into the late to mid-90’s in terms of longevity. There are even literary awards for online lit mags. Cool.
I made my first submission to a site called Our Stories which looks for emerging writers and promises feedback for submissions within 3 weeks. More than cool. I sent a story I wrote for Rob called The White Boots. I based it on an anecdote he told that was first told to him by Shelley, his late wife. Seems that when she was in high school, there was a boy a bit older than she was whose pick up line was stealing girls’ shoes at parties and leaving his white cowboy boots in their place. Rob said it had happened to Shelley once but that he didn’t know the outcome. I found the whole idea intriguing enough to get out of bed in the middle of the night and jot down the basics of what became a pretty decent short story. When I let Rob read it, he thought it was strange to see personal details of his high school days and meeting Shelley fictionalized but he liked the story a lot. My Fort writing group liked it too though none of the women got the reference to “Aunt Flo” and I came to find out that it is apparently an American slang term for one’s period and not a universal one. Our Stories accepts submissions year round, as do many of the other lit sites do, and like them it will take only one submission per category a quarter. I am working on a few other things that I will look at sending in after March 31st.
Failbetter.com will take novel excerpts, so I was looking through my novel last night while I sat with Katy in the living room. She wanted to watch Quest for Camelot, an old feature length cartoon that proved a bit too scary. The main character’s father is murdered within the first five minutes or so and it really doesn’t get any better from there, so we switched to Curious George and I went back to surfing through my novel. Now that time has passed since the first draft, I am able to be a bit more objective. It’s pretty good in places but there is revising to be done.
I was telling Rob this morning that I had yet another dream where my wallet (sometimes purse) was stolen and when I found it again, the contents were gone. An obvious loss of identity theme and he wanted to know why I felt that I had lost my identity. Too much cooking, cleaning and laundry? Well, there is that. My mini-inner feminist is disgusted by the extent to which I am really finding joy and fulfillment in making a home for my family, but there is also the issue of teaching. Less and less do I miss the actual job but more and more I realize that I am in between having been a teacher and being an actual writer - partly because of the whole getting published issue. And of course this is just an issue of patience but there is a sense of fibbing when I tell people I am a writer because I am not published and my two biggest works are incomplete.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Simply Saturday
A beautiful day in Josephburg follows hard on the heals of a warm, melty spring day yesterday. There is no mistaking the smell or feel of spring when it begins to arm wrestle with winter. It’s a bit like watching my daughter arm wrestle with my husband however. She hanging with both hands onto his wrist and dangling a few inches off the ground in a futile attempt to subdue him. Spring will not suffer the same loss that Katy did to Rob. Spring always wins out in the end simply because she is patient and persistent. Certainly more-so than we who want wearily for her victory at this point in the winter season. It’s a thrill to see the shingles on the roof and the asphalt of the road reappear for the first time since early December. The constant dripping from the eaves stops and the sun pulls away enough moisten from the roads that one can ease up on the wiper fluid. The wind carries a hint of warmer days and the branches of the trees and bushes seem to know it as they dance, sway or bounce, depending.
The sky looks warmer. And the sun? The sun! It was quarter to six and just dust the other night when we were leaving dance. Another month and daylight savings returns with its plethora of light to cheer Spring on in her quest for reclamation.
The day began with Katy and breakfast as most weekend mornings do. Sometimes I get up and sometimes it’s Rob. Pour the Fruity Cheerios, get the half-full juice box and rice milk from the fridge, and make sure the TV is on and set to Treehouse. Back to bed then for a bit more shut eye or snuggling or whatever. Around nine there is the long leisurely breakfast - today’s menu was Cream of Wheat and half a Starbucks scone each. Did you know that they are a whopping 470 calories and 23 grams of fat - with or without frosting? Pure evil carb. After there is showering, dressing and readying for errands. Today I went right to the Safeway and groceries and Rob took Katy along with him to Canadian Tire on the left for paint and supplies.
The afternoon was laundry. Painting. And Katy spent time in her winter wonderland that is our front yard, scaling the melting drifts, sliding down on her seal-skin like bum and digging. Oh, the digging.
At the moment, Rob is hard at work on the NYTimes crossword and I am writing while simultaneously making a poor attempt to bake a banana bread. It will be edible, just, but not photo-worthy.
A simple Saturday. Something to savour.
The sky looks warmer. And the sun? The sun! It was quarter to six and just dust the other night when we were leaving dance. Another month and daylight savings returns with its plethora of light to cheer Spring on in her quest for reclamation.
The day began with Katy and breakfast as most weekend mornings do. Sometimes I get up and sometimes it’s Rob. Pour the Fruity Cheerios, get the half-full juice box and rice milk from the fridge, and make sure the TV is on and set to Treehouse. Back to bed then for a bit more shut eye or snuggling or whatever. Around nine there is the long leisurely breakfast - today’s menu was Cream of Wheat and half a Starbucks scone each. Did you know that they are a whopping 470 calories and 23 grams of fat - with or without frosting? Pure evil carb. After there is showering, dressing and readying for errands. Today I went right to the Safeway and groceries and Rob took Katy along with him to Canadian Tire on the left for paint and supplies.
The afternoon was laundry. Painting. And Katy spent time in her winter wonderland that is our front yard, scaling the melting drifts, sliding down on her seal-skin like bum and digging. Oh, the digging.
At the moment, Rob is hard at work on the NYTimes crossword and I am writing while simultaneously making a poor attempt to bake a banana bread. It will be edible, just, but not photo-worthy.
A simple Saturday. Something to savour.
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