The Rural Compromise

Throughout my wanderings across Southwestern Ontario, as I am sure you have realised, I have landed myself in both urban and rural places to live.

As I currently live in an urban centre (not Toronto...don't worry, I won't put myself through that again!), I still find that I yearn for the small town loveliness. (Just like when I lived in the small town, I yearned for the city. It's like I just can't be satisfied. Pfft.) Well, I may have recently found a good compromise. Live in the city, but work in the small town. I know, I know, most people do this the other way around. I like to be different, what can I say??

It's only been a few weeks of the switch up with work, but it's off to an excellent start. I spend my mornings driving through the countryside, enjoying the horse paddocks to the right, and the patches of forest on the left. Traffic is minimal, a tractor or two on the road to slow us down, but that's about it. I mean, it's not as ideal as my two minute roll to work when I was working at the city office, but I really can't complain.

One of the projects I am working on right now is setting up an event. This really defines why I love small towns. I stroll on into the Legion to scout out their hall as a potential venue. As I look around the hall, an older gentleman walks through. He stops.

"You looking to get married here?" he asks me.

A little startled at the question, I hastily answer "Uh, no, sir."

He raises his eyebrows in wonderment as to why I am there.

I think quick. "Can't find anyone to agree yet!" I exclaimed, whilst snapping my fingers and doing the classic finger gun.

He chuckles and carries on to the bar side.

See, in a small town, this is a funny, friendly old man. In the city...he would be classified as a creepy old man.

Small town charm seeps into everyone. You just can't help it.

Sleep Tight

I am 31 and a half. Recently I've taken to sleeping with my teddy bear again. He's 30 and a half. We've been in it together for the long haul. But seriously. Like I am physically falling asleep with my teddy bear tucked up in the crook of my arm. What am I, 5??

What the hell is up with that???

Ten Years

It's hard to believe that it has been nearly 10 whole years since 9/11. Less than a month away now.

I'm reading a book right now and there is a reference to one of the characters working in the south tower of the World Trade Towers - it's just 1999 for them. As I was reading it, I wondered if it was a pre-emptive hint that this character was going to be taken out of the story, because I know what is coming along in just two years for them.

I remember the first time I experienced 9/11 to be woven into pop culture. I can't even remember what book I was reading, but I was half way through it and there it was. September 11 on the news and the characters in the book were stunned, speechless, at a loss what to do.

I had to put the book down and I walked away from it for a couple days. I didn't like that it had found it's way into contemporary fiction. I didn't like that such horrific reality was now accepted reality in the world we live in. That I had to read fake people were experiencing the real thing we did.

I guess 10 years down the road it's still as fresh as it was then, but it's a real part of the everyday now.

Eight Arms to Hold You

So I've been finding a rather high number of spiders in my apartment this past while. Really, I live in a basement apartment, so what can I expect? I am generally ok with spiders, they don't give me the heebie jeebies, and I don't desire to squash them every time I see them.

I pretend that spiders know what I am saying to them. I tell them we have an agreement. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. Don't scuttle across the living room floor when the lights are on, and don't creep up the legs of the bed to where I am sleeping. Up until last week, this understanding, as far as I was concerned, had been met.

Once or twice over the past few months I had spotted a huge mother of a spider zip along the floor when the lights were on. Big and black and hairy (ok, I am am making the hairy part up) and fast like lightening.

Maybe it looked like this. (There are too many spider pictures to choose from, and not enough time.) I'd say it was less brown and more black.

Anyways, point being, the big spider broke the rules, but since it quickly dashed under the bookshelf it was safe.

My crazy thinking makes me have weird notions. Some spiders, well I don't mind them at all. You know those smaller ones, with the yellowish bodies and spindly legs, and they generally stay up along the ceiling corners? They don't seem to want to bring any harm at all, so when I see them, I tell them to scoot off to where I can't see them. I don't mind sharing my living space with them.

But these big guys who are so obvious in their whereabouts...not so much. I had noticed a little yellow spindly spider had taken up residence in the bathroom. She had started a web in a corner beside my standing cupboard. I had a notion to be a homewrecker, but decided to let it be. Really, what was the harm? Two days later I notice that another spider - big ol' spider - had taken over the web. The little one was no where to be seen!!! What? Spider homicide?? I was irked that this big spider had bullied the little spider out of it's home OR that it killed it. Yikes. The world of the arachnids is a brutal one. I reflected in my heart and only found a stone cold answer. Yup. I did away with it. All I could think of was it was big and it was going to get me somehow.

Imagine my chagrin when the very next day I am blow drying my hair and I spotted an even bigger spider!!! This was the mother of all spiders!!!! You know on Harry Potter, the big spider Aragog...yeah, we're talking big here. Ok, obviously not that big. But a big spider on the terms of a house spider in Canada. It's body might have been equivalent to the length of a nickel, but more oblong. Ick. My cold heart told me what to do. All I could think about was this big ol' spider having free reign of my apartment and running all over. I took care of business.

I pulled aside my laundry basket, tissue in hand (that's right, I'm tough, I can handle the killings with a kleenex) and got to task. As I move the basket further to make sure that there wasn't another huge mofo waiting for me I see this wee little one come running out in a jagged little path.

My heart panged for a moment. What if I just killed it's mother!?!?!? This spider who really wasn't going to do me any harm who just lost it's life because I'm a nut has little babies who now have to grow up without a mom.

Uhhh...and then I remembered oh right, we're talking about spiders here. I don't think they have the same bond I have with my mom. And for Pete's sake, if there is one baby there is bound to be a hundred. Crap. That's a lot of spider killing coming my way.

Why can't they just listen and stay out of sight?

Can't Buy Me Love (And Happy Mother's Day!!)

It's been a good nine hours since the words were uttered, but I am still appalled. Today I attended a conference with prominent speakers from the Canadian business world. They discussed integrity, passion, motivation, self confidence. The things that would make you a great entrepreneur. My intention of attending was to gain some insights into networking. A little study I'm doing. Understanding the nuances of relationship building, of networking, of remembering things about a gazillion people. You know the stuff I'm talking about.

It seemed like a good place to be. These people in the room were network hungry. And apparently, many of them were money hungry. I understand that the point of the business world is to generate money, to get a little green in your pocket to make your life a little easier. I know there are people out there who think money really makes the world go 'round and that money makes you a better person. I just didn't expect to hear one of the presenters say that. That's right, SAY THAT. Not insinuate that. He actually said that having wealth made him a better parent.

Excuse me!?!?!?!?

It was the most ignorant, asinine, self inflated thing I have ever heard someone say. To over two thousand people in an audience. I mean, yes, I agree that having money can alleviate certain hard situations and open the door of some opportunity. But make you a better parent? I don't think so. Life is what you make it, with or without money. Would I say that if my mother had been rich she'd have been a better mother? Of course not. I think the fact that she experienced hardships and struggled made her a strong woman who set an excellent example of integrity for her children.

Money shmoney. What does he know? I bet his mother didn't raise him to think that. Mine certainly didn't. The audacity to actually say that money makes you a better person. Pfft.

Mom, I think you are a better parent for not having money. Thank you for instilling good morals into my being!

In person or bust.

The continuing trend of online shopping just irks me. In what I am sure is not surprising news to you, I like going out to buy things. Much like I enjoy going to the bank in person, I enjoy going to the store in person. I want to hold the item in my hands before making a purchase decision. I want to check out the packaging, open it up if I can; I want to see it first. And on top of that, I want to get out of my apartment and have a little excursion in order to make the purchase, and see a friendly face or two.

As much as I love Chapter's, I also hate that I will come across a book that I want, only to discover it is not in stock in any of the nearby Chapter's. Meaning I should buy it online. But you know what??? I don't want to buy it online. So I'd rather not buy it at all.

Take that, online shopping. I'm not relenting. I'd rather suffer and be uninformed about my topic of interest. That's right. Self induced ignorance just to make my point. I'm that kind of person. An in-person kind of person.

Hindsight is more than 20/20. It's like Superman vision.

It's interesting. In November I felt that I could once again reassemble myself to the full glory of completeness. Getting my footing back has certainly made headway for that progress, I'm pleased to announce. I can't express properly the delight I arrive at now when I feel myself becoming excited about doing things that in the past couple years I felt I could do with or without. The indifference hung over me like a saturated cloud ready to burst, but now the brisk breeze of pleasure is gently ushering it away. At the time, I didn't really see what was going on. I just knew that a part of me was taking a nap, all curled up in a warm duvet with 600 thread count sheets, and wasn't so keen on waking up. No one offered to wake me up for dinner though. A mild tap on the shoulder here and there, but nothing to really rouse me. I slept way past midnight. I remember saying to my close friends "I think I've lost my funny." I kept feeling that way but wasn't so sure what to do about it. That should have been my red flag. They still laughed at my jokes and my silly antics, because, let's be honest here, I'm always funny, though sometimes to a much lesser degree. Their laughter was, and will always be music in my soul. It helps to keep me going. I kind of felt like I was just going through the motions of my life. But I did not ever address the worry. I just kept going and told myself I'd get myself back on track. Perhaps I hid things pretty well too. Smiling when I should, laughing as I could, and running away every chance I had to not draw attention. And then November came. I finally realized I needed to do something. I don't really know if anyone gets it, if anyone understands that collecting myself and being on my own again and having all of my things in the land of Melissa put in the right spots makes me feel good, makes me feel like me. But it does. Notably, the first three months of this year were hilarious and fun. I know that I would not have been able to enjoy myself quite so much if I hadn't realized last fall that I needed to collect myself up and put me back together. Regardless of anything, I am just so happy to know that I was me, one hundred percent me, for the first time in a long time. That is what I call progress. That is the glue that is binding me together. Knowing that I still exist. *Apologies for the serious and cryptic nature of this post. Very out of the ordinary, I know! *Son of a crap! Why won't this format into proper paragraphs!!!! Pfft. Here I felt all nice and mellow from writing this post, and now the anger of poor formatting makes my blood boil!!!! Kidding. Mostly... ;)