Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Back in BC

I'm home.

Well, I'm back in my mom's home.

Man. That was a good week.

If you were following along on Facebook or Instragram, you'll have noted how 6 women and 1 man managed to share a house, successfully, for 7 days. It helped that we had 4 bathrooms, good senses of humor, fantastic food, perfect weather and a slushy machine.

There's something about living with someone 24/7 for a whole week that allows you to see a version of them not normally exposed during a regular evening visit. (Makes me nervous, wondering what dark aspects of my personality came to light during our time together...) I've been on my own for so long, that it's always an adjustment for me to share my space. The first night Sandra and I slept in the same bed, I stayed up all night. Just thinking/worrying/wondering if I'd do something stupid/revealing/inappropriate/embarrassing if I fell asleep.

I. Am. A. Moron.

The following night I took a sleeping pill before I went to bed.
If I did anything besides snore, she was gracious enough not to mention it.


Women love to talk.

About everything.


All things.


Some conversations I entered into (aging, being a mom, books, movies, relationships), others I didn't (sex after 50 - hints/suggestions/sexting, husbands, daughters, pets, diets, exercise, health foods, grandchildren, clothes, sales, alcoholic beverages and so on.) Consequently, I spent more time in the sun than the others (almost all conversations took place in the shade) and I finished a few books from My Spot in the pool.

The book, My One Word ... reminded me of my Arrow days when we were to pick a One Word Focus on our birthdays. Then folks would pray that word for you during the coming year.

After reading this book, I think My One Word for 2014 is going to be LISTEN.
You can help me stay focused on this word the next time we're together. If I end up monopolizing the conversation, tell me to shut up already.

I'm going to try to do this with God too. When I pray, it's always ME talking. What would listening look like?

I loved this book.
I think Maureen knew I would ... not only is it well written, it's set in England. And as Harold walks from one end of it to another, I say to myself, "I WAS THERE!"

If you want to read a decent review, read this one.

Quotes I liked:
“The world is made up of people putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time.” 

“He must have driven this way countless times, and yet he had no memory of the scenery. He must have been so caught up in the day's agenda, and arriving punctually at their destination, that the land beyond the car had been no more than a wash of one green, and a backdrop of one hill. Life was very different when you walked through it.”

“If I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, it stands to reason that I'm going to get there. I've begun to think we sit far more than we're supposed to." He smiled. "Why else would we have feet?” 

“The least planned part of the journey, however, was the journey itself.” 

“... He went under the stars, and the tender light of the moon, when it hung like an eyelash and the tree trunks shone like bones. He walked through wind and weather, and beneath sun-bleached skies. It seemed to Harold that he had been waiting all his life to walk. He no longer knew how far he had come, but only that he was going forward. The pale Cotswold stone became the red brick of Warwickshire, and the land flattened into middle England."



(I started this blog post days ago. Then I got sick with the flu. And I was going to blog about how I know for sure that there's no way I'll ever choose to live in a place where I have someone living above me (like, say, in a basement suite, or an apartment) because HOLY COW do I ever not like listening to someone walk/move furniture/breathe on the wood floor above my head. Seriously. (The family/TV room is right above my bedroom.) And then, this morning, she brought me an apple, on a plate, peeled and sliced into 16 bite sized pieces, and in my mind I forgave her for all the ruckus she creates in her own home. If you're gonna be sick and pathetic, I recommend staying at your mom's. Moms are the best. A few minutes ago she was here, in my basement bedroom, wondering if she could bring me anything. I suggested a sliced apple would be nice. Hahahaha. She just brought me 4 big chunks in her fisted hand. It's definitely time I got better.)


And I read The Birth House.
I had read it awhile ago, but it was our book club's selection for this month, so I needed to re-read it. I loved it too.

“No matter what you do, someone always knew you would.” 

Speaking of my book club, it met last night. I was supposed to host. 
Thank goodness I have a generous mom - she let everyone in, put on the tea and coffee, then let them have the living room while I moaned, groaned (and apparently snored - Sandra came down to check on me, she just texted. I was asleep) downstairs in the dark. 

Sad I missed the meeting. Would've loved to have talked about that special tool the doctor used to combat depression in his patients. 


With not much else to do at the moment, I'm remembering last week. 

And how this pic caused some discussion amongst us. No one of felt it adequately captured the essence of WHO we are:

Are we really the type of women take their purses and wear colorful printed sundresses TO THE BEACH?

We decided we are definitely not.

So seconds before we left the resort to board our plane, I asked a very pregnant sunbather to take another pic of us:

Much better.
No hats.
No purses.
No big flowery sundresses.

My hair looked much better just half an hour earlier. But I talked to Shelly. And that changed everything. "What's more important? Appearance or experience?" she asked. And for herself, she decided she wanted to say she'd swam in these waves:

So I followed her in.
"Experience," I said to myself.

Of course, there are two major differences between Shelly and me.
One. She knows how to swim.
Two. She has naturally curly hair. 

One Big Wave splashed me entirely and caused me to lose my footing, which gave me a tiny "I'm drowning" panic attack - and that was pretty much it for me.

I can say I've had the experience, but in the end, I really ended up with wrecked bangs/messed up hair for the final group photo and the (eventual) 12 hour journey home.


Three things I'm thankful for:

1. Gracious friends. Wayne and Rose for driving me back to Neuvo to get my passport that was locked in their safe. And Sandra for waiting for my much delayed flight to arrive in Vancouver to drive me home. 

2. Church on Saturday night. I love baptism services. It felt so good to be celebrating with everyone.

3. Dinner with 3/4 of my kids on Sunday night at the Spaghetti Factory. Then watching Olympic curling with Drew and Danica afterwards. 

And everything's a blur after that....


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