Library Squirrel

I have Fish-ues

2011-11-06T20:09:00.002-06:00

I have fish issues. Fish-ues.

When I finally saved some baby fish in my aquarium from getting eaten by the frogs a month ago, it seemed like such a good idea. I still have those two one-month old fry in a little segregated tank, growing bigger daily. They're so cute and watching them grow is so much fun, that I'm glad I did it.

BUT.

But, yesterday five new baby fish were born. FIVE. So, I scooped them all up - the small-fry - and put them in the segregated tank with the big-fry. And then the realities started to settle in on me. Saving baby fish (baby fish hero, moi!) is courageous and kind. Ending up with more fish than you can handle is, um, foolish.

If all seven of these fish grow to the gigantagigamous size of their parents, then I will need another fish tank. And, taken to its logical conclusion, another tank and another tank and another tank.

Pretty soon I will be "the fish lady" and will make the newspaper as the police drag me - sobbing - and my 'fish children' out of here, to save my neighbours from the animal hoarding.

So, here are the options that lay before me:

* let all the babies out of the holding tank, and see what nature does in this little artificial microcosm. Perhaps the big-fry will survive?

* keep cramming new babies into the holding tank until it looks like a New York subway car

* embrace my new commitment to save all fish babies, and buy a new aquarium tank now where they can mature in lavish style

* stop saving fish babies unless someone bigger dies in the tank - the one-in-one-out rule of all decluttering specialists (I do have some neon tetras that are so old that they have shredded fins and cataracts)(you can almost see their little walkers and canes)

* start a sideline occupation, selling fish babies to the independent pet store guy. This will require tanks and tanks, but not too many. This will also require a more serious, researched approach than I've got going

I'm stumped. And quite the parent. Yup.

Dawn Treader

2011-10-29T21:05:00.002-06:00

I am slowly working my way all the way through the Chronicles of Narnia. Haven't read them since I was 10 or so.

The creation story was stunning, and I don't think I actually read The Magician's Nephew until I was an adult. The crucifixion tale chilling and magnificent. Love those mice. The fall from grace and the dull inhumanity alluded to in Prince Caspian had me nodding my head.

Now I've reached The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. I always find Eustace's dragon skin sloughing to be highly resonant. Was just tonight trying to figure out if the quest through the unknown islands to find the seven lost knights is tied to the seven deadly sins. There's definitely greed and envy, pride and a little wrath, but then there's despair. Despair should really be one of the seven deadlies, don't you think?

And who's Lucy in these books? She is completely steadfast. She saves their butts over and over again with a lot of faith at exactly the right moment. The more I think about the books, the more is revealed. Like a shiny little puzzle box.

Reepicheep is about to leap into his coracle...!

Librarian by Day, Fairy by Night

2011-10-28T22:45:00.002-06:00

...Veggie Fairy, that is.

I worked all day, and then had exactly 1 hour to come up with a costume for the City Park Halloween Dance tonight.

I attempted Sherlock Holmes, but no hat. I attempted Hercule Poirot, but no eyebrow pencil. At one desperate moment, I was all dressed in green and I said to Jimbo, "That's it. I'm going as a zucchini," and he shot me down with a disapproving look. But it's a process, right? So from walking zucchini, I moved on to Veggie Fairy. As in that person who sneaks up to your house in the Fall and leaves a pile of zucchini and tomatoes on your back porch, and then runs away.

Green clothes. Diaphanous green sparkly veil. Basket full of paper vegetables to give away. In 10 minutes flat, I was outfitted, and it got the husbandly nod of approval.

Whew. Another one down.

I had it easy a few years ago when Martha Stewart was in prison. All I needed for my costume was a striped jailbird shirt with a prison number taped to the pocket.

Other years, fate doesn't throw something so readily into your lap.

Squirrels Should Know Better

2011-10-27T21:12:00.002-06:00

Last night we thought the laptop had given up the ghost forever. With two years of family photos on it, not backed up. Squirrels should know better.

Today, Jimbo got it working somehow, and we're back up! Now we need to find some back-up discs in this renovation mess, so we can save those photos.

**********

Sprout and I were on our own for supper tonight, so we ventured forth on a bus adventure. I think kids should take the city transit bus often, so that they know how to do it when they are grown up. And the bus is fun!! You can sit at the front, you can sit at the back, you can sit sideways, there are people to watch, there are bells and lights and signs. We took the bus over the bridge and had burgers at the Broadway Cafe.

Nothing like a little bus adventure to build up an appetite.

***********

We have baby fish in our aquarium, and yesterday they were two weeks old. (There are only two of them, because I think the rest got eaten while we were working on that first day.) We scooped them out the day they were born and put them in a little segregation tank, which is why the frogs and other fish have not yet eaten them. The two babies are fraternal fish twins, not identical. One is already twice the size of the other, and the bigger one is grey while the petite is orange.

I can't figure out when to let them loose into the bigger tank. They still look like snacks to me, so perhaps in another two weeks or so, they will be ready to tackle the wild kingdom.

*************

Today I had one of those days at work where you actually get a bunch of niggly little jobs done and over with. It was very nice. Now if I had three of those in a row, my office would be shiny like new. Fat chance of that happening.

Next week we've got a new staff member starting a job with us, which means I return to training and orientation mode. Lucky for me, I'm getting pretty good at training and orientation mode, so it shouldn't hurt too badly.

**************

This squirrel is in hibernation mode - bring on the nine hours of sleep! zzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

Stories in the Bar!

2011-10-25T22:01:00.003-06:00

Last night was the fourth annual 'Stories in the Bar' event. It's stories, or storytime, for adults in a pub - complete with beer.

Ms. J. and I came up with this brainchild a few years back, as a way to celebrate Saskatchewan Library Week in a wild and whacky way. And it's gaining a following. Last night, there were tables full of library staff, and tables full of book-loving patrons, and we discovered even a table full of library tech. students. Ah yes, library tech. students! That's why they could answer all the book trivia questions better than any other table.

Stories in the Bar is a mix of library staff performing and community people performing. It's very weird. First there will be a picture book - yes, a picture book! Adults secretly love having picture books read to them. Then the whole bar will be doing a finger play together! Then lofty poetry will be recited. Then a song might happen. It's very small-town talent show at moments, and very gritty urban at other points. Ms. J. has been our MC for all four years, and weaves everything together with her improv comedienne skills (librarian by day, improv star by night).

I think I have the best time of anybody at these events. It's all the geeky things I love gathered together. And there's beer! Squirrels in their element.

Plumbin'

2011-10-23T20:02:00.003-06:00

We got da plumbin' woes. Woes at our house.

Yesterday morning the tub wouldn't drain quickly and the toilet started 'bubbling'. Yeah, bubbling. If it was alive, it would have been glugging or gargling.

I had to go off to a workshop. When I checked on the fambly later, Jimbo had the toilet pulled off and was thinking new wax ring. Later that progressed to a need for Drano, and then a need for a Roto Rooter guy to clean out the toilet drain.

Mr. Roto Rooter came late last night, he snaked the drain, and the toilet went back on. Now, every time we flush, both sinks in the house start to glug. There is something really weird and wrong going on.

Now we're waiting until a plumber doesn't cost a million dollars (i.e. waiting for the weekend to be over), to see if we need the stack to be cleaned out or if it's tree roots downunda. Or something else we haven't thought of.

Tiptoeing around, flushing with our fingers crossed. A little tense around here. I suppose it's good to be reminded how good we've got it most days.

Was talking to a taxi driver yesterday about plumbing woes, and he told me he took his Canadian daughter back to Africa for a visit, and she didn't know how to go to the bathroom without a flush toilet. There was no way she'd pee in the bushes. He had to drive her to a flush toilet before she would go. We had a good laugh together about that.

Happy flushing, readers.

Decrepit

2011-10-21T21:39:00.002-06:00

I have just realized that I can't confidently spell 'decrepit'. Does this ever happen to you, when a word looks completely wrong written down? It happened to me once with 'does'. Because 'does' doesn't sound like 'does' when you say it, right? I completely blanked.

Anyway, Google sez that the Squirrel duz know how to spell 'decrepit'. Thank goodness for that.

I am feeling decrepit this week. Let me count the ways. (This would be the boo-hoo pity blog, popular among squirrels who are looking for the blogging easy out.)(The Pity Party, as Aunt Frieda would say.)

Monday. My new boots gave me a giant blister, and I have literally been wearing slippers (very beautiful slippers, but still, slippers) all this week. Monday, the blister was so big that I wore my slippers on the bus instead of attempting to walk the 12 minutes to work.

Tuesday. Tuesday, I ate so many cookies (am temporarily the quality control cookie taster at the Library, while I get the cookies we give out at programs up to my standard) that I had to stay home for a few hours Wednesday until my tummy stopped aching.

Wednesday. Wednesday I drywalled the ceiling with my head angled sideways long enough to give myself a seized muscle bump on one shoulderblade and a headache. Obviously didn't drink enough Mountain Dew (my sister says drywallers all drink Mountain Dew.)(Who can say why.)

Thursday. Thursday I got a cold and actually didn't make it all the way through the new play at Persephone. Needed to lie down, and so we snuck out at the intermission.

Friday. Almost started to cry because my favourite bike shop is not open, and they have my bike until I can pick it up when they're open. Don't cry very often. Concluded that my sniffles were making me whingy.

Hey, how do you spell 'whingy/whingey' anyway?

Retro Blogging - Why Squirrels?

2011-10-20T22:14:00.005-06:00

Today, someone I've met recently suggested that I dig deep into the squirrel archive and explain why. Why squirrels? Why library squirrels?

(Is it okay to do blog re-runs? You must tell me if you are offended by recycling. I promise not to do it every day.)

Why squirrels? Squirrels are smart and silly and have hot little tempers. Squirrels are alarmingly similar to librarians. Squirrels like to have their smarts with coffee.

Chip chip chrrrrr.

Happy Saskatchewan Library Week!

2011-10-19T22:27:00.002-06:00

In honour of Saskatchewan Library Week, some Saskatchewanity.

If you could hear me singing this rodentia intelligentsia favourite, it would go like this:

Gopher up the telephone pole,
Can you tell me why-y?
Gopher up the pole,
He said, "I'm learning how to fly!"

CHORUS:
Oh, gopher in the sky,
Come down here and tell me why,
Come down here where you belong,
Down below the ground, down below the ground.

Gopher up the telephone pole,
Can you tell me how-ow?
Gopher up the pole,
He said, "I'm gonna fly right now!"

[Sing with me!]
Oh, gopher in the sky,
Come down here and tell me why,
Come down here where you belong,
Down below the ground, down below the ground.

Happy Library Week, Sask Squirrels. Damn, now I gotta figure out who wrote that genius song. Can't remember.

I've Got the Giggles

2011-10-19T22:25:00.002-06:00

Today I was having a funny conversation with a guy about "Fridays at Two". "Fridays at Two" is an armchair travel program, mostly attended by seniors.

I once had a reference question over the phone from someone that went like this:

She: "What day is Fridays at Two on?"

I: "Um, Friday..."

She: "And what time does it start?"

I: "Um, it starts at two o'clock."

That happened years ago and it still gives me the giggles. I love people. They are endlessly charming.

How?

2011-10-18T23:02:00.003-06:00

How do people blog every single day? I am just exhausted at the end of the day. Every night I got nothing to say. But here goes.

I think parenting really kicks me in the ass. It really doesn't come naturally for me. I find it such hard work.

Tonight, I took Sprout to a Provincial Election Forum at the Library, because I thought he might find it an interesting experience. He was very well behaved, as kids go in kid-boring meetings, and he could quote whole sections of the forum afterwards, so he must have been listening quite closely. I couldn't be prouder of Sprout; he's a smarty, and he pays attention.

Until he gets home.

Then I can talk until I'm blue in the face, and he still won't have his pajamas on or his teeth brushed. If I didn't have to try so hard to get someone short to do the things required to move through life successfully, I think I would be a much happier parent.

But that's what a significant portion of parenting is: nagging and moral compass-reading. Hence my quandary.

Perhaps a beer would help. Yes. Mama's little helper.

Garcon?

Mud and Tape

2011-10-17T21:36:00.002-06:00

I'm completely immersed in taping and mudding the new renovation. Stay tuned for details.

A Nut Story

2011-10-15T20:27:00.004-06:00

So, Sprout is still allergic to peanuts. This spring, he was occasionally complaining that kiwi makes his throat hurt, and pineapple makes his throat hurt, and shrimp makes his throat hurt, and that certain type of lasagna makes his throat hurt... So we thought why not get him tested for those things.

He's not allergic to fruit at all, but indeed he is allergic to shrimp. So no shellfish for Bobo.

While we were with the allergist, he suggested that we do a blood test where they test Sprout's blood against all the common nuts. The new thinking is that you test versus all the nuts, and then if you discover that he's not at all allergic to almonds, we could buy them in the shell, crack them at home, and cook/bake with them at home. This sounded like a good idea to us. Information is good, right?

So we got Sprout's blood tested, and were optimistic. In fact, when the results came back, it turns out that he is allergic to all the nuts! He is least allergic to peanuts, and more allergic to all tree nuts! It was such a surprise. All the nut reactions in this test come back in percentages, and someone without an allergy has either a 0.7% or 0.07% reaction to nuts (I can't remember exactly). Sprout is allergic to peanuts at 3%, walnuts at 40%, almonds at 28%, etc, etc. Hazelnuts came in at a whopping 100+%.

We are - no surprise here - not eating nuts at home...

What was so funny about this situation was our (the grown-ups) own reactions to the news. We both freaked out about the 100+%, and walked around completely anxious for three days afterward. It was the same feeling you have when you're with your allergic child in emergency. Only this time, nothing had happened to him. He was completely fine. We were just 'loaded for bear' against all those hazelnuts out there in the world.

I'm glad we did the test. Information is always good - now we know for sure what the issues are. It was just such a surprise.

And here's an unrelated nut story: have you noticed how bread and butter with bananas cut on top tastes weirdly like a peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich? Very strange indeed.

Who Are You?

2011-10-14T22:27:00.003-06:00

Maybe I need some love! Who's reading this blog anyway, and what do you like about it. Obviously, I need some help here.

Or you'll get 'Words that Rhyme with Floor" next.

Words That Rhyme with 'Tree'

2011-10-14T22:22:00.002-06:00

I have promised to blog every day and I have no licorice. There is an imbalance in the world.

I got nothin. Again.

Words that rhyme with tree:

me, ski, Karachi, Habachi, thee, Cree,
lee, free, frisbee,
teehee,
Glee, glee, potpourri,
he, she, we, knee,
flee, congee, be
bee

Treadmill Magic

2011-10-13T22:15:00.002-06:00

When I was 20, my roommate and I started flossing late at night while watching 'Magnum P.I.' re-runs on T.V. I decided to floss one night, and it was so ridiculous that she said, "I'm going to floss too." Flossing with Magnum became a daily joke for quite a while. Then we did it in earnest.

I have been flossing ever since. True story. And the minute I started flossing, I stopped - for the first time in my life - getting cavities, and subsequently, fillings. Eureka. The grand discovery.

The cause and effect of this has become an innate truth for me, and I value flossing highly. (Who says that, "I value flossing highly"?)

And then there's the treadmill. If I walk for 20 minutes at a good pace on my treadmill for two nights in a row, I wake up on the third day with no pain in my feet. Eureka. This again is a clear 'cause and effect' situation. Who doesn't want to have happy feet?

And yet somehow I can't make it a habit. You'd think that I could squeeze in 20 minutes of treadmill every day. It's a battle of wills. Me against me.

Now all this being said, purchasing a treadmill has been a really good decision for me. I used to get gym memberships that I didn't use, and join aerobics/yoga/aquafit classes that I never went to, and I even jogged on the fabulous Saskatoon riverbank a few times (a. few. times.). With a treadmill in my living space, I can theoretically step onto it at any moment of the day or night. And this has meant that I've never quit doing it for more than three weeks at a time, since I bought it in 2007. That's pretty good, considering it's me.

Crappy T.V. shows help. Sometimes we set up the T.V. in front of the treadmill, and I can walk and watch trash and time flies by.

Perhaps I should rent some Magnum P.I. DVDs from the Library. Perhaps he's the catalyst. The squirrel tamer. My very own Richard Simmonds.

Blawg

2011-10-12T22:13:00.003-06:00

Only by the force of extreme will am I blogging tonight. If I am going to make this a habit again, something has got to shift.

I think it's Facebook's fault. Once you've plumbed the depths of Facebook, and have absorbed all the chirping from all your peeps, where are the fresh brain cells to be had?

There's something to this. Yes. Perhaps I need to blog first, and then catch up on the 'news' later. Hmm.

My life, generally, is very elemental these days. Tonight, after work, we ate supper and then took Sprout to his swimming lesson. I love pools. I've spent a lot of time in my life in pools. They are safe, happy places for me. They make me drowsy. When we go with Sprout, we sit on the floor near the pool, with our backs against the wall. I had a nice daydreamy snooze tonight, with my feet up on the wall and my hand on Jimbo's knee, listening to the sounds of kids and water.

Soon after we got home, everybody else snogged off. So I've tidied my e-mail inbox, read the whole tide of Facebook news, shopped for jobs and houses and campervans online (compulsive browser), stared at my unused treadmill speculatively, watched the new baby fish in the aquarium repeatedly (we've segregated them this time, so they might actually live), and eaten more red licorice than is ever a good idea.

Tomorrow I go to a special care home to read to a group of seniors. They like happy, interesting stories, and I always need to bring an armload of jokes. The worse the joke, the better. Here's one I found in a seniors' newspaper yesterday (paraphrased):

"I have headaches and foot aches. I've got arthritis here, and heart palpitations there. There are cataracts in my eyes, I'm hard of hearing, and I snore like a freight train. I've suffered from dementia. My hands shake and my ears ring. I don't remember if I'm 85 or 86. It's tough getting old. Thank goodness I've still got my Saskatchewan driver's licence."

Hard to top that.

Health Conditions

2011-10-11T23:08:00.002-06:00

If I weren't hosting all the consumer health programs that I go to, I'd start to worry about being a hypochondriac.

Last year it was the all-day arthritis forum. The year before that, it was a presentation on Alzheimer's Disease. This month alone, I've been to a brain program, a walking-poles-for-falls-prevention program, and today osteoporosis and bone health. (Not to mention the funeral pre-planning workshop last week.) I'm tuned in, boy howdy.

Today I learned that bone breaks down and regenerates your whole life. All the bone cells in your body are replaced every X years (sorry, the host's mind wandered for a split second right then, during the presentation). Weird, huh? Which is, of course, why you can build bone with good nutrition and exercise at any point in your life. Somehow I always thought that you built bone until you stopped getting taller, and then you stopped building bone. Myth!!!, as the health nurses like to say.

The funniest thing about hosting all these health programs is that they always say the same four things. Eat well. Get lots of sleep. Exercise. Laugh and socialize. They say this for arthritis. They say this for brain health. They say this for bone health. They say this for depression. Not rocket science.

You'd think I'd be running for the treadmill daily, with this sort of repeated insider information. Hey, guess what - I'm going to bed.

Cheap Blogging Trick - Show Them Your Tattoo

2011-10-10T23:23:00.000-06:00

Since I promised to blog everyday, and since I already blew it yesterday, I am looking for an easy way to be successful tonight. I'm going for the cheap trick. Here's my first tattoo, which I got a month ago, at the hand of the highly skilled Jeremy Riley from Tattoo Union.

I learned with great interest that there is a whole sub-group of tattoos which are called "functional tattoos", and I have high hopes that never again will I have to bring a tattered scrap of paper to the grocery store.

Another functional tattoo that I like is the "Hello, My Name Is..." sticker tattooed on one's chest. In case you ever want to meet people at the nudist colony, or find success at naked toastmasters. (I did not get that tattoo myself.)

I'm big into experiential learning these days. Getting a tattoo was a really cool thing to go through, with the weird disinfectants, the tiny adjustable armrest, the decal, the shop talk, and whatnot.

You could call it a mid-life crisis, getting a tattoo at my age, but I don't think so. It's just... handy.

Rats

2011-10-10T11:06:00.001-06:00

Rats, I've blown the blog-everyday-for-a-month already. Forgot to blog yesterday. Slap on the paw for me.

Flannery O'Connor Scares the Crap Out of Me

2011-10-08T20:44:00.002-06:00

Flannery O'Connor is such a good writer. Some people say that she was the best short story writer ever, in the English language.

I know that every time I sit down with a book of her stories, though, I'm afraid to open it.

The first time I read one of her stories was a few years ago. I think it was "A Good Man is Hard to Find", and it started so nice. Family in the car, and Grandma is kind of a handful. At some point, Grandma acts like a childish ass, and this small tiny act snowballs, before you know it, (spoiler) into everybody being murdered horrifically. Completely terrifying.

So my first experience with this magnificent writer, and she goes all "Monkey's Paw" on me.

I still read her stories, because they are magnificent. But now I go in with my extra layer of protection on.

Today, I was reading her stories by the pool at the leisure centre as Sprout went down the giant inflatable waterslide over and over and over and over. Just to add a little extra anxiety to the situation of watching my firstborn swim in the deep end.

Too Many Cookies

2011-10-07T20:51:00.002-06:00

I ate too many cookies today.

My department at the Library has just taken over an armchair travel seniors' program that a different department used to host. This program always comes with coffee, cookies, and socializing afterwards. Last week someone complained that she didn't like the cookies.

So what's a squirrel to do? I went down to the coffee room and tasted all the cookies. Some were dull. Some were good. Some needed tasting twice...

A squirrel's job is hard sometimes.

Aquarium

2011-10-06T20:11:00.002-06:00

I'm having a writer's block moment... So I'll fill with filler.

Hey, did you know that I have an aquarium full of fish? It all started when Sprout said that he wanted a pet. Now, his Auntie is allergic to all animals with fur, so that takes everything but fish and reptiles off the list. He, of course, wanted a snake.

Let me say that it will be a mighty cold day before a live snake lives in my house. I'm a squirrel. You can see how we might not get along too well.

So I said, "Hey, it's your first pet. I need to know that you'll take care of it. Let's start with some fish." So he and his daddy went off to the pet store, and came home with a giant honking fish tank. Rocks, statues, filter, heater, light, you name it. And one fish.

We enjoyed the fish, but the tank was so big. So then we got two cute and tiny water frogs. And then we got a school of tetras. And then we got a swordtail, who then needed a mate for total fish fulfillment. Then came the snail to keep the tank tidy, and some live plants to liven things up. Zebrafish are so very pretty and lithe like pickerel, and mollies have a certain kind of charm. The harlequins are regal, and the pink skirted whatsits look a lot like Dora from 'Nemo'. It's a microcosm, and I love it. And then there were the babies!! The swordtails had babies, which were so very cute and impossibly small.

My memories of fish when I was a kid are all tinged with tragedy. An empty tank and one spotted fish floating upside down. Terrible scenes, created by my inept fishkeeping hand. And this tank has also had its share of sadness and bad decisionmaking. We won't talk about what happened to the babies, for example. But for the most part, the whole experience is stunning.

At our house, we call it 'Frog TV'. You can sit down to take a look, and 20 minutes will pass happily.

It will not surprise you that my young child does not often remember to take care of his fish. But it doesn't matter, because I think I've adopted them all. And now I'm never to be trusted alone in the fish store.

Yay, Balloon!

2011-10-05T20:54:00.002-06:00

If you work in the Library, and you are known to like squirrels, and you have a birthday, and you leave your office for five minutes to get a drink of water, you might come back to this:

There he was, just filling the space. Isn't he beautiful?

Squirrel is Sleepy

2011-10-04T20:58:00.002-06:00

It's my birthday today - and I had a lovely day - but now I'm sleepy.

My birthdays get simpler and simpler every year. Today I found joy in the small things: talking to old friends I ran into, finally washing the bug guts off my car before winter sets in, teasing my son about the size of his bison burger at dinner in relation to the size of his mouth, treating myself to store-bought lunch AND dinner, wearing sparkly costume jewelry. At breakfast, Jimbo and Sprout put a candle in a mango for me, and sang Happy Birthday. At work, a France-french woman who comes to see me - with reference questions, but sometimes simply to tell me how she did recently at boules - gave me kisses on both cheeks when she heard which day it was.

It was a very nice, simple day.

Now, all that being said, I am once again instituting Birthday Week, which stretches the revelries in both directions. In my near future, there will still have to be shopping, and waffle breakfast, and sleeping in, and some serious goofing off.

Tomorrow I could tell you about the convent. Or about my new tattoo. But I can't tell you about the hairy hug, which is a story that should never be written down (bad karma).

I Love Bounty Bars

2011-10-03T22:31:00.002-06:00

In my family, we regularly say "I love you more than a thousand salmon" and "I love you to the moon and back" and "I love you a google." So the other night, in this vein, I said to my husband, "I love you more than I love Bounty Bars."

"I didn't know you even liked Bounty Bars," he said.

"I LOVE Bounty Bars!" I replied. "In fact, the restaurant next door to the Library has them sometimes, and when I'm having a bad day I run next door looking specifically for a Bounty Bar, because Bounty Bars always make me feel better. Actually, they had a bunch of Bounty Bars next door once, and actually I've never seen them there again, but I keep looking.....I suppose I could walk a block and get a Bounty Bar when I really need one, from the pharmacy, but I never do..."

"Okay." he says. "You're telling me that you love me more than a chocolate bar that you can't bother to walk a block out of your way to get?"

"Um," I said. "I love you a lot," I said.

Road Trips are Exhausting Me

2011-10-02T19:15:00.002-06:00

Today, I took my fourth road trip in five weeks, and they're wiping me out. Aunt Frieda gave herself food poisoning and ended up in the hospital for weeks on end. She is finally better, and today we drove her home. I'm glad she's better, and glad she's home. 'Nuf said.

I used to love road trips. The open road. Big adventure. And somehow now all the stats are piling up on me: I read the newspaper every day, and every day there's a vehicle accident with injuries or casualties out there on those Saskatchewan roads. Despite the fact that, logically, I know there are thousands of cars that make it to their destination safely, I worry. Every time I head out on the highway, I'm convinced that there's a moose or a deer or a reckless driver with my name on it (or him).

Whew. Home again, and very happy about it. I guess I'll tell you about Bounty Bars tomorrow. I know it's a tease, sorry.

Frankenblog

2011-10-01T17:43:00.002-06:00

It... lives....!!!

I miss blogging, but don't seem to do it anymore. I have decided to bring Library Squirrel back to life for the whole month of October, in hopes that it becomes a habit. For those of you who haven't heard from me for two years, let me set the stage.

I still work at the Library. Sometimes the bureaucracy grinds me down (= squirrel rage), but I still believe that down on the front lines we are still doing awesome things for people.

My son, Sprout, is growing like a weed, and is currently most interested in climbing trees, jumping in leaf piles, wants a multi-fangled pocket knife, and spends a lot of time trying to convince me to let him drink Pepsi.

We are again renovating our house - big windows, and more insulation, because of course we still live in the frozen north.

Aunt Frieda is pushing all my buttons, but occasionally acts her age and reminds me that even the most formidable person you ever met can have moments of childlike frailty.

I am doing stained glass as a hobby on and off, and am dabbling in doing commissions. I currently have a commissioned piece in the basement that's almost done and somehow I've hit the wall and can't finish it. It's driving me crazy, but some of my friends would say that this is simply my pattern and when the pressure is high enough, I will spring into action.

I love people. People make me belly-laugh every day.

I waste a lot of time on Facebook, and am attempting to leaven that sloth with reading classic novels. Right now I am reading the whole Narnia series (I love C. S. Lewis), and the roaring creation story in 'The Magician's Nephew' is stuck in my brain. Very compelling.

Squirrels still think they're very smart, but like to be smart with a latte, discussing the matters of the day at tiny neighbourhood cafes.

Tomorrow I will tell you about Bounty Bars.

The Hidey Burger

2008-11-30T22:04:00.003-06:00

My last living uncle died a few weeks ago, and I took a trip with Sprout and my sister to the funeral. It was sad but fun, in the way large family get-togethers can be.

While driving through Saskatchewan to get to the funeral, we passed a small-town restaurant called "The Heidi Burger" and I remarked aloud at the name. Sprout responded by saying - very excitedly from the back seat - "What BURGER? Where did dey HIDE da BURGER?"

He was just starting to get restless after 2 hours in the car (I refuse to get a portable DVD player because I'm convinced that it's the beginning of Armageddon if I do), so we turned the "Hidey Burger" into a game.

Sprout would draw a picture of a restaurant with his markers and paper, and then hide a tiny burger-shaped dot somewhere in the scene. Auntie Bean and I would have to take turns trying to find the 'burger' in the picture. It was good for at least 30 minutes of amusement for all.

I was thinking that La Lauveen would have loved it altogether.

A Universal Truth

2008-10-28T07:01:00.003-06:00

I had the most splendid conversation last night with a shoe salesman. The Birkenstock guy, or the Broadwy Shoe guy, as he is known, has been selling me shoes for years. But, every time I see him, I become immediately awash with guilt that I never shine my Blundstne boots. I want to drop everything and hide my feet.

I ran into him at Lydia's last night, as we were setting up for Stories in the Bar (library storytime in the pub, which turned out to be awesome fun).

I admitted my shoeshine guilt problem to Birkenstock Guy and equated it to how people react to me when they meet me and learn that I'm a librarian: "Oh, [sigh], you should see the big fines I have on my library card". It taps right into their library guilt. Birkenstock Guy nodded knowingly, and said, "I spend a lot of time helping people to feel okay about the state of their shoes."

And there, in the pub, we discovered a universal truth together: "Librarians and Shoe Salesmen Have a Lot of Power."

I Stop for Vegetarians

2008-07-14T22:09:00.002-06:00

My son - the Sprout - is very chatty. He has always been very chatty. Lately, he's amusing me more than usual.

The other day, he was biking on the sidewalk and I was walking alongside.

Him, apropos of nothing: "Mama, I ALWAYS stop for vegetarians."

Me: "Um, can you say that again?"

Him: "I always stop for vegetarians."

Me: "And what's a 'vegetarian'?"

Him, scoffing at my ignorance: "A person without a bike, didn't you know that??"

Me: "That's a pedestrian, dear."

Him: "Oh."

***

And then again a week later, I'm reading the morning newspaper and he stumbles into the dining room, sleepy...

Him: "I'm very blonde in the morning, Mama."

Me, wondering where he learned blonde jokes since we don't talk like that at my house: "Uh, what do you mean by that, Sprout?"

Him: "I'm blonde in the morning. I just don't see very well when I first wake up."

Me: "I think you mean 'blind', don'tcha, sonny boy?"

Five years old is just too good.

"I'm in Town for a Murder Investigation, But I Can't Talk About That"

2008-07-01T09:48:00.003-06:00

Weirdo, or messenger of God?

The other day, I was having supper at the Cavalier with Jimbo, the Sprout, and Auntie Bean. Just a nice family meal. There was a woman at the next table dining alone. I noticed her because she was chatting very familiarly with the waitresses, smiled benevolently at us a few times, and drank three glasses of wine with her meal in the short time we were sitting there.

Jimbo took Sprout to the bathroom, and Auntie Bean decided to wait for us outside. I finished the last bite of my food alone and got the bill sent over. When the server brought it, she said, "The lady at the next table paid for your son's meal, and that's why it is not on there."

I graciously said, "That was kind of you," to the woman, and this conversation ensued:

Her: "I was drawn to your son because of his fine manners and his spirit!"

Me: "Uh, he is very charming, yes."

Her: "I am a forensic psychologist, and I study people. I'm in town for a murder investigation but I can't talk about that... (imagine this line delivered with a grandiose mysteriousness like Bette Davis in film noir). I see something very special in your son's future."

Me: "Oh. Um. Well, he's a pretty good negotiator too, so perhaps he'll be a United Nations arbitrator or something. That would be pretty cool. Unless they squash his spirit in school, of course; he does talk non-stop."

Her: (With palpable wisdom. Like Yoda.) "I could see how one might want to curb his spirit, but I would encourage you to nurture it. He really has some special qualities."

Me: "Okay, well thanks again.... Goodbye!"

So. Drunk lonely rich woman who likes to pretend? Expatriate forensic psychologist murder investigator? Messenger of God?

Ein Engel geht vorbei.

Blog Mute I Am

2008-06-04T15:45:00.002-06:00

I am teaching a class today on blogging, and wanted to show my folks how easy it is to make a blog. Ta da!

Bootstrap Sprout

2008-02-19T22:27:00.002-06:00

Here's what it takes to get me to blog: a friend has to quit her job, marry the sweetheart of her youth, and move to Australia. And yet, I still can't promise long term carry-through. Sigh.

The Sprout turns five this week, and he's a strapping big pirate, don't you know. My little library has started hosting free themed birthday parties (bookable storytime in disguise), and so one night this week I'm taking a holiday and Sprout's having a Pirate Party at the Library. Pirate-themed stories, a few games, and tons of fun. Tonight the little chef and I chopped apples, stirred batter, and whipped up a cake. On the weekend, there was an art-fest, where we concocted 'pin the parrot on the pirate' and giant 'Sprout's Birthday' signs. A fun time will be held by all. Or else. The plank with ye. Or a bit of keel-haulin'. Heh heh.

And it's not only a Pirate Party.

We don't want a lot of presents, so we said 'bring a food donation for the food bank instead'. We also don't want to load the kiddies up with chocolate just before bed, so it's all natural apple cake and milk for everybody. Wholesome treats; free party; wraps up early so everyone gets to bed on time; social justice; and a literacy fest. Wait one minute, you barnacled blackguard!! This ain't no pirate party! It's the 'yoghurt and sunshine communist birthday party', innit?!? I'm onto you.

Happy birthday, my Sprout.

Synergy

2007-12-02T22:18:00.000-06:00

I don't think that I'm actually bipolar, but there are definite times in my life where I am healthy, peppy, highly effective, and interesting. These periods can stretch for months or years, and then they are inevitably followed by periods where I am sick, dull, touchy, and hide in my house a lot.

I had an interesting conversation with a mentor of mine once, where she talked about being 'just busy enough to be effective'. If there is too much going on, it all breaks down. If there is too little going on, she can't get anything done. But once there are enough things on the plate, it all hums along, everything gets done, and new energy and new ideas get created by all the things that are happening.

I'm having a good period right now. Of course, I do still work at the little Library branch with the big heart, where nice people get nicer and nasty people find that their edges have been smoothed down considerably by the atmosphere. Don't know if it's the big windows or the great staff team. Do know that either way, it's good for the soul to work there.

This year, I should be going mad instead of having a happy roller coaster ride. I'm supervising a busy branch, I'm spending all my off-hours keeping our local preschool from going belly-up (again with a small but fantastic team of helpers), and I just finished off an exciting round of being on the union's negotiations committee.

And yet, I'm remarkably unravaged by all the demands. Perhaps it's the vats of Vitamin B and D I'm consuming. Or maybe I should knock on wood and wait for the descent into despair. Ole.

Squirrel on a Treadmill

2007-12-02T22:08:00.000-06:00

Did I mention that I got myself a treadmill last February, and STILL find myself using it at least once a week? However sparse, it's a sustained exercise regime the likes of which my body has never seen. Like all other hobbies, I usually take up some form of exercise, go megalomaniac for a while, and then quit. But this treadmill, I'm still doing it!

And once in a blue moon, when the air is still, my squirrel husband even uses it. When he thinks no one is watching.

He Cooked Me a Banana

2007-11-01T20:50:00.001-06:00

I actually do think about blogging every day, but I just can't quite get here that often.

Since seeing Ratatouille, the movie, two weeks ago, the Sprout has decided that he wants to become a chef. This is not a completely new concept in our house, of course. Jimbo (Sprout's main male role model) is an excellent cook, and I (clever squirrel that I am) regularly tell my son, "If you learn to cook really well, you can have any girl that you want when you grow up." It's a bit hyperbolic, but it amuses me. And it's one of the main reasons why I married Jim, so perhaps it's somewhat true.

Sprout's first post-Ratatouille meal was to help me make simple quesadillas. He crumbled the cheese, he spread the cubed leftover chicken, he squirted on the salsa, he patted down the top taco shell. It was very satisfying for both of us. And it was tasty. Dessert was fresh raspberries on ice cream.

The next night, he wanted to make me a fancy dessert again. I said I'd prefer fruit, and could he cut me up a banana? I got distracted momentarily by something else, and when I got back to the kitchen, he had done it all by himself. He had gotten a butter knife and sliced the banana into a bowl, and now was presenting to me my dessert with a flourish.

Me: Oh, Sprout! That's just lovely! Would you like to share my banana dessert?

Him: Um, no, I'm okay. [wait for it] I'm just pwoud dat I cooked dat dessert for you.

I love him to bits.

Crazy

2007-09-30T19:58:00.000-06:00

Am having a mini-nervous breakdown. Very quietly. Preschool is driving me crazy.

Achoo

2007-09-14T19:54:00.000-06:00

The squirrel has a head cold. Poor me.

There is so much news since I last blogged, that I am cowed at the prospect of trying to bring you up to date. Here's my wild and furry life, in a random-off-the-top list:

Am writing to you on spanky-new but unfortunately not yet really paid for lapttop
I love my job at the little branch with the big heart
Aside from how much I like the staff and the public that I am working with, I am also really enjoying planning public programs - It's like a party every day!
My next big event at work: a book-themed speed dating night, to celebrate Saskatchewan Library Week (an opportunity to find love in the Library - how cool is that). An idea stolen from a library somewhere in the States (thank you, whoever you are).
I am occasionally moonlighting as a house painter and getting paid for it! Perhaps this will dig me out of my laptop debt. Spent 3 solid weeks working full-time at the Library during the day and painting late into the night on a whole house interior job. Darned-near killed me. Made my fur dull and matted, at the very least of it. Paid off my Visa bill, though!
Spent 2 1/2 weeks in the car (we traded in our crappy car for a less-crappy car, and can now travel out of town with aplomb) going to Vancouver through the mountains and back
Oh, the beaches. oh the food. oh the mountains. oh the fancy coffees. oh the hot springs. oh the food. oh the vintage shopping opportunities. oh the good times with old friends. oh the food.
Do I dare to eat a peach.
We shall choose not to remember... oh the whipping of markers in the car by a bored 4-year-old. oh the fights between the 4-yr-old and the 2-yr-old nephew. oh the terribly steep cliffs. oh the painful three hours in a traffic jam behind the logging truck that had rolled on the highway. oh the mind-altering power of just a few gummy bears on the brain of the small child. oh the impish decibel screaming of the impish 2-yr-old. oh the bad habit my husband has of sleeping late on work days, and unfailingly getting up at the crack of dawn on holidays to annoy me (who's trying to sleep late for once)...
Ahh... holidays.
I have somehow become the President of the Parent Council governing our neighbourhood preschool. It's a wild time: we had to hire a teacher, and we don't have enough kids to fund the school so that it breaks even, so we're suddenly serious fundraisers. It's stretching my human resources skills in many directions, between team-building so that the parents are a strong group, and helping the new teacher to get settled.
Aunt Frieda is off the rails crazy, but yet still so strong a self-advocate that I'm afraid to mess with her. If I start any sort of investigation into whether we need to get power of attorney on her behalf, she'd 'get' me. She slept for two cold nights last week in her broken down car in Wosetown, and refused to spend money on a hotel room. My 73-yr-old Auntie, with arthritis and now perhaps diabetes. Let's understate it: it's a worry.
Sprout - oh, proud Mama! - Sprout learned how to ride his bike without training wheels this summer! One evening, he told me to take them off, and 10 minutes later he could ride alone with merely a push-start! It was so cool.
On the other hand, Sprout is also worrying us a tiny bit. He hasn't had a peanut allergy episode for two years, but just this past week, his top lip has swollen up twice after eating supper. Once was in a restaurant, and I accept that risk as one I had taken. Tonight, we ate at home, a meal I've been making for 10 years - with no known nuts in it. Very worrisome. The only thing we can figure is that perhaps the hard cheese we grated on it was cut into chunks on a nut-laced cutting board at the cheese shop? Oh dear.
Preschool started today, and of course, I am obsessing about other people taking care of my child when he's unexpectedly getting swollen lips.
On top of working full-time at a mad pace and being the Preschool President in my off-hours, I am also on the union's negotiating team for this round. It's my first time in bargaining, and it is truly as frustrating as everyone says. It's a wonder that labour standards exist anywhere in the world. Thank God for labour legislation, is all I can say, or we'd never get anywhere.
Am completely addicted to new Nina Simone recording, "Remixed and reimagined". Am doing miles on my treadmill while daydreaming about disco dancing, all in the privacy of my own home. It's bliss for an old fuddy-duddy ex-diva like myself.
Spent 2 days trying to figure out how to move to Vancouver for a year, for a temporary holiday from the rat race. It was a nice bit of escapist dreaming. The closest I got to a workable plan was to do my MBA. Perhaps.

What would a squirrel do with an MBA, though, really?

I'm Back

2007-09-10T20:38:00.000-06:00

Travelling undercover in the world of the rodentia intelligentsia across the wilds of Asia is tough work.

Wish I had an excuse like that for not blogging since JUNE. Alas, I'm merely a working parent in the rat race that is life.

Now have computer access at home, and am putting self to a one blog a day challenge.

Dress the Squirrel!

2007-06-20T18:47:00.001-06:00

Paper-doll fun for squirrel lovers!!

http://www.virtualcourtney.com/paperdoll.php

It's TOO good.

The Librarian Stereotype is Alive and Well

2007-06-01T13:13:00.000-06:00

I was training, along with a co-worker, some Grade Six and Seven students in how to search the library catalogue the other day, and the teacher wanted us to cover how to think about a question and focus a search.

Before I got into hardcore classification issues, I asked the students this question: "What do you think librarians do all day?" Here are the answers I got:

sit around
play on their computers
say "Shhhhh"
check out books
put books in order
read
help people find books
tell people about their fines

I told them that actually I was a supersleuth who solved mysteries all day, helping people find information. Either, they were impressed with me or they thought I was a complete geek.

The fact that I have no sense of which way they leaned on this question suggests the latter...

I guess we have a lot of work to do on our image.

School Mom

2007-05-25T10:17:00.000-06:00

I am declaring myself an official School Mom, based on what happened in the wee hours yesterday.

At 2:00 a.m. yesterday, Jim rolled over, nudged me with his elbow, and said, "Playdough!" To which statement, I responded, "Oh, shit!!" Yesterday morning was to be our turn to bring playdough to the cooperative preschool that Sprout goes to - and I went to sleep with Sprout at 8:30 p.m. and never got up again to make the playdough.

So, at 2:30 a.m., I found myself sifting through playdough recipes to find one that was peanut-butter free and had no exotic, fishy ingredients like alum (who would want their child working with stuff that has alum in it anyway?!?). At 6:30 a.m., I was up again, making said playdough. And kneading in the food colouring. And wrapping it in plastic. In order to disappoint no short people.

I've arrived.

Aunt Frieda and the Fall of Rome

2007-05-17T09:31:00.000-06:00

Much, much stress in our family unit these days, because Aunt Frieda's real estate empire is crumbling around her.

Frieda likes to buy things, but does not like/does not know how to get rid of things. Like crappy little houses in small towns that no one wants to buy, and no one wants to rent for more than a month at a time once a year. She spreads herself way thin, paying tax on these empty properties, mowing their lawns, fixing their broken windows, installing sump pumps when the basements flood, and sprucing them up for new renters - who stay a month or two and then abscond without paying the remainder of their fees. And then it's not done: she'll track them down and garnishee their wages for her $250.00 owing. It drives me crazy.

In the last few years, Frieda has been using a wheelchair more and more to get around, and so can't do the mowing or glazing or wall-washing that she used to do herself (and in the early years with child labour (me and Auntie Bean)(no wonder I can replace and putty broken windows like a damn)). Beans and I have stepped back, because we can't be part of the craziness. It's too soul-destroying. Now she has to hire people she knows to do all of this for her. And yet the results are the same. Empty houses. Lots of work for naught. Needless stress.

Now, I don't think that seniors should sit at home and have nothing to do, but it might be nice if Aunt Frieda could see that she could be travelling more, visiting people more, etc. if she didn't spend all her time and money keeping her crack-house empire running. But she doesn't see it this way.

And now it's starting to affect me, Beans, and the family too. A number of years ago, when I was young and stupid, Aunt Frieda talked me and Beans into putting our names on all her properties as joint owners. Her reasoning was that when she dies someday, we will immediately own these properties and can bypass probate fees. Sounds great, until Frieda ages and starts to run out of money to pay all her bills.

That's where we're at. Her heat just got cut off recently because she owes a significant amount of money to the utility, and if she doesn't pay it soon, they will be sending the bill to a collection agency. And my name and Beans's name are on the property title. So whom do you think the collection agency will start to pester for that cash? Yup, anyone on the title. Like me.

Frieda says not to worry. It will all get taken care of very soon and will not come to that. My lawyer says it's a good idea to get my name and Beans's name off the titles of Frieda's properties. The catch: all the joint owners have to agree to make this change - Frieda needs to agree.

And she doesn't agree. So here we sit. Waiting for the sword of Damocles to kong us on the bean. Or the fates to decide.

It's a cautionary tale.

No Time, No Time

2007-05-17T09:27:00.000-06:00

I can barely find the time to blog anymore, and now I've been invited to join in the frolic of Facebook! So glad to be invited, but when I get into the interface, I have only vague ideas about what's going on. Must spend some time figuring it out, but have no time.

May switch from blogging loser to Facebook loser! Sigh... The future does not look bright for the Gwendochicken...

Ah well, day off today! Garden planted. Laundry drying out on the line. The day stretches ahead of me with such exciting prospects.

All Volunteered Out

2007-05-06T09:49:00.000-06:00

I just finished running 70 volunteers at the Sask. Library Assn conference this weekend. It was a smashing success all around. Last time I worked on this conference, there were many little disasters to work out, but this time it was like clockwork. And in terms of my area of responsibility - volunteer recruitment and coordination - it was fantastic.

I've been working on it like a crazy woman for probably the last six weeks, in between my other work responsibilities, but it was so rewarding. People were awesome volunteers. Whatever I asked for, someone would take on.

Saskatchewan libraries are known for their collaboration and cooperative ventures for the benefit of all. I really saw this on a close and personal level this weekend, from all the individuals involved.

I'm proud of us.

(And I'm ready to sleep for a week.)

The Sorrow of the Four Year Old

2007-04-15T21:54:00.000-06:00

There is nothing so cute and so sad as a grieving four year old. I just love him.

Example One: The Lost Treasure

On Easter Sunday, Sprout and I were sitting in a very crowded church on a small ledge at the side that also contains a grill for air vents. He scribbled many, many little pictures in his little tiny notebook, and then - zip - suddenly the notebook went through the grill and down the air vent. And there it was, out of our reach, so many feet below.

Oh the sorrow.

He cried quietly on me in despair for a whole half-hour. I'm sure no one around us knew what it was about at all. We had oodles of conversations like, "I'm so sad dat my notebook is down dat vent, Mommy. You know where I got dat? [sob]" "You got it at H's birthday party, didn't you? It was special to you, wasn't it." "Yeah!!! [boo hoo!!!]"

When the church service was over, and all the other people had left the air grill ledge seats with us, we pried up the grill and tried to get it. It was at least five feet down. Once Sprout saw that it was a lost cause, and I knew it was a lost cause, I suggested that we could probably get another notebook for his drawings. And so we did, and once he had the new one, he was totally cool with it.

On the way from the church to the car, though, I said, "You were pretty sad in there," and Sprout answered, "Yes, I was sad, and then I started to feel better, and then I was sad again - I don't know how that happened!"

Example Two: No More Mook

Today, Sprout was grieving over my lack of 'mook' or breastmilk. The conversation:

Sprout: "Mommy, I want mook."

Me: "But there is no mook. It's all gone. You're so big that it's all gone."

Sprout: [his little face crumpling in sadness] "But I want mook."

Me: "Do you want to try it?" He does, and finding no success, says:

Sprout: "Dere's only one dwop."

Me: "What should we do? Should we go to the gas station and fill it up?"

Sprout: [smiling] "We can't get mook at the gas station."

Me: "Oh, where does it come from?"

Sprout: "When you have a baby or a four-year-old - no, a free-year-old - you have mook."

Me: "Oh, and when your son gets to be four, there's no more mook?"

Sprout: "Yeah."

And then he was fine. We decided to go off and do something fun.

Do I Say It Out Loud?

2007-03-28T10:31:00.000-06:00

I'm afraid to say it out loud, in case something changes, but the Sprout has weaned himself this week, I think. I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but he's stopped breastfeeding.

Yay! I'm getting excited about the toxic hobby opportunities that I could get into again if this truly lasts. I couldn't do leaded stained glass panels, and I certainly couldn't do furniture stripping while nursing, but perhaps I can start one of these hobbies again soon.

Keeping my fingers crossed.

Not that I regretted extended nursing - I'm hoping it helped him grow out of his peanut allergy, all the nutrients have given him strong teeth and a precocious brain, and he's a really emotionally secure little guy. I'm glad I did it. I'm just done.

If he's done, I'm done. With all my heart.

Springtime Melt

2007-03-28T10:25:00.000-06:00

It is melting like wild around here (except for snowy today), and on Sunday, Sprout went through four pairs of mittens and about six pairs of pants playing outside.

At some point, he had shed his mittens and was standing in a deep snowbank sawing the snow for a while. Then he was gamboling around happily doing this and that. I asked him, "Your hands are pretty red. Do you need mittens? They look cold."

He stared at me for one short second, and then burst into a howl: "Bwah!!! And my feet too!! The wind is blowing right through them! Boo hoo hoo!" I took him into the house, and we took his boots off - to find that they were full of water and about 3 cups of melting snow in each. His feet were bright red and very sore from the cold.

After some relaxing in a warm bath, all was right with the world again.

But if I hadn't asked him if he was cold, he wouldn't have even noticed. Kids are so funny.

My Old Friend

2007-03-28T10:20:00.000-06:00

Alas, poor Yuck, I knew him.

My old friend, the poopy diaper, was back last week.

Some little friends of Sprout had him over for dinner and the evening last week, and when we arrived to pick him up, they were all eating prunes as a snack. Yup, prunes. My son LOVES prunes, and will eat them until I make him stop.

And no one made him stop, I guess.

In the middle of the night, he suddenly sat up next to me, whimpered in his sleep, and pooped the biggest prune poop I've seen in a long time. In fact, it was the first non-bathroom poop I've seen in a long time. And then he fell over and went back to sleep.

We've been meaning to try night-time potty training him again, but I'm so glad right now that he had a diaper on that night. Wow.

And I must say that from out of a dead sleep, I rallied to his cleaning up rescue, but I sure don't miss the midnight diaper change.

Honey or Vinegar

2007-03-19T08:21:00.000-06:00

At the little branch with the big heart, I am responsible for planning free programs for teens and adults. There are lots of reasons to do this. A program attracts people to the Library (and they might decide they like us and come back), it supports local arts and culture by providing a venue for people to perform/read their writings, it gives people information on a topic through a means that is an alternative to printed information.

Sometimes the programs fly and sometimes they flop. We're always scheming to figure out a topic that will attract people. I've been doing this in bits here and there for years at the Library, and I think I've got a handle on what attracts adults, but teens are pretty much still a mystery. I was such a geeky teen, that all my internal radar is faulty. For example, if someone advertised a free program on 'be an archaeologist for a day' and come dig in the dirt behind the Library under the direction of trained excavators, I'd be right in there. But everyone that I bounce the idea off, who happens to be the parent of a teen or teens, says 'pitch that idea to 8-12 year olds'. So you see, I'm a victim of my own perkiness.

I was told that kids and teens around my branch are really into creative writing, and so we put together a teen poetry writing workshop on two Saturdays and advertised it city-wide - and got one registrant. So we cancelled it. Sigh. And yet, 'Making handmade soap', pitched at adults and teens together got 12 registrants easily, and 'Learn to play chess' got fourteen people of all ages to come as a drop-in program without even taking registration. It's mystifying.

My next plan is a series of 'handmade' programs for Wednesday afternoons in the summer, and I'm going to pitch it to adults and teens together to make sure I get the numbers. I'm very excited about it, because we have come up with some cool ideas. 'Make your own backyard bubbling fountain', anyone? How about 'wind chimes made out of old silverware'? I'm pumped. And obsessed with getting winner topics. And pleased to heck with myself when I strike gold.

Jim has only one word for me in this state: 'megalomaniac'. (And if this sounds bad, you should see him roll his eyes when I talk about my plans for the storytime I signed myself up for once a month.) It's my cross to bear, I guess.

Spa Ahhh

2007-03-03T11:21:00.000-06:00

We spent last weekend at the Moose Jaw spa hotel, and it was bliss. Sprout had his birthday around then, and we had a very nice family time to celebrate. I don't have any riveting stories from that weekend, but perhaps an uneventful weekend at a resort is a good thing.

Monkey's Potty

2007-03-03T11:12:00.000-06:00

Sprout is pretty good at using the grown-up toilet these days, and I would like to get rid of the training potty. Sprout knows this, but there is always a reason why we can't do it right now. The current problem is that the little training potty is not only Sprout's potty, it is Monkey's potty. Who is Monkey, you ask? Monkey is Sprout's little blue stuffed animal and sleep companion.

This, earlier today:

Sprout: We could give dat potty away, but dat is Monkey's potty.

Me: Maybe we could teach Monkey to use the big potty.

Sprout: Monkey can't use dat big potty because he might fall in because he never grows.

Me: Uh, you're right. What if we got Monkey a diaper he could wear?

Sprout: Monkey doesn't pee in his pants at night. He stays dry.

It's a logic hurricane. And I'm not winning.

Sprout Logic

2007-02-07T11:06:00.000-06:00

Now that we have a treadmill in the middle of our living room, Sprout wants to 'exercise' every day at least once. And I am insisting that he wears shoes when he does it.

Me: "Why don't you wear your white sneakers?"

Sprout: "No, Mommy, I can't wear dose! Dose sneakers are only for SNEAKING. I need to wear different shoes."

Wheels

2007-02-04T17:53:00.000-06:00

My squirrel husband has just been complaining that there's just no good blogging going on these days. So here's me, stepping up.

We just got new wheels. When I say 'new', I don't really mean 'new'. It's more like we got rid of our car that sucked really bad, and bought another one that sucks less. It's new to us. Our last car hasn't been highway-worthy for the last five years, so we haven't taken any road trips for a long time (except for ones where we've travelled along with others). This car will make it on the highway, I'm pretty certain, so the first thing we did after buying it was to book a trip. For Sprout's big-4 birthday, we are going to the Moose Jaw spa for 2 days. Ahh, I love Moose Jaw. Old buildings, decadent mineral spring spa, groovy coffee shops, ohsopretty library, and the best darned Sally Ann I've ever seen. (I was just there for union school two weeks ago, so I feel like I can talk like an expert.)

And, as they say in junior land, "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round". The latest in Gwen's library life is that I have signed myself up for a family storytime once a month. This means that I am the children's entertainer once a month at a regular drop-in program at the little branch with the big heart. I have no children's programming experience, aside from parenthood and going to a lot of storytimes with Sprout, so I'm rather nervous about it. But I'm sure it's going to be good for me, just like vitamins. It will be hard to get good at it when I only do it once a month, but what the heck. My squirrel husband, who does it regularly in the Children's Department, is giving me valuable feedback on my style (I'm focusing on that rather than on the patronizing 'aren't you cute and oh so hopeless' grin on his face that occurs each time I try to do a finger play).

In other news, I have taken my obsession with not getting enough exercise and bought a treadmill with it. The City has this nice program where city employees can get a loan to buy exercise equipment (a wellness initiative, hopefully to keep us off of sick leave due to slothfulness). The beast arrives tomorrow, and will probably dominate the living room in our tiny house, but I'm determined. I hate 'exercise' but I really enjoy walking at a good heart-pumping rate. If I can continue to walk 20 minutes to the bus stop a few times a week, and can add a daily trek on the treadmill, I should be a healthy zen squirrel.

Union school was fantastic. I meant to tell you all about it, but I'm in catch-up mode at work. Can't quite. Catch up. I took a course called 'Collective Bargaining', since I'm on our Union's negotiating team and have never done it before. The whole bargaining process is so fascinating. Let's face it, human beings are endlessly fascinating. Bargaining has developed traditions to it, and developed processes, but every individual who participates can turn it into a completely different animal. At union school, we talked theory for a bit, but how do you teach someone to do bargaining when it's so fluid? What they did was to split us into two teams, union and management, and got us to negotiate a fake contract in a fake economic situation in a fake city. It sounds like it shouldn't work, but it was fabulous. All the elements were there: team-building issues, alpha-male competitions (and not just between the males), communication breakdowns, stereotyping, suspicion, everything. We got so into it. When all the other classes had done their school for the day, we were still spinning our wheels developing proposals and hammering it all out. It was exhausting, but that sort of activity always gets me wired right up. I hummed for about four days afterward. And now I'm ready to bargain, boy howdy. Let me at 'em.

And did I mention that I'm very, very cute these days? D gave me a haircut that makes me look like Louise Brooks. It's a bit librarianesque, and a bit naughty schoolgirl. I'm having lots of fun with it.

Drugs. Or Licorice.

2007-01-29T14:36:00.000-06:00

I am at work, crunching stats on an informal staff survey. I am on a Staff ID Committee, and the survey we did is on whether staff would be willing to wear a nametag or uniform when they're at work, to designate them as library staff.

I'm so glad that we did this survey, since getting staff input on something that affects us all is something I believe in strongly. BUT. But, counting all the stats is, well, deadly boring.

Since I don't have any mind-altering drugs in my little office to cut the tedium, I've turned to the soothing properties of red candy licorice whips. Oh yeah. Uh huh.

By the way, 100 librarians agree: wearing uniforms, or nametags with your personal name on them, are JUST NOT ON. But you might talk us into a nametag that says 'Library Staff'... Maybe...

Parents Don't Play Fair

2007-01-11T09:43:00.000-06:00

Poor Sprout. When he thinks he knows the rules, the rules always change.

The other night, I made falafel burgers for supper. Although Sprout likes savoury foods and eats a wide range of things, he pronounced that "Dat falafel is... Yuck!!" (And the food is usually pretty good around here so he had this little look of disbelieving outrage on his face that food could actually taste bad.)

Anyway, I always like him to sample things that he doesn't like anyway, even if he doesn't eat them. I said, "Please eat a little more falafel." "No, dank you," he replied. "If you have one more bite," I said, "I'll stop chasing you around with it." He had one more bite and we ended the interaction.

Twenty minutes later, I announced that I needed to go to an appointment (haircut), and that night Sprout decided that he didn't want me to go. He cried, he clung to my leg, he suggested that Daddy go instead, etc, etc. At last, in despair, he said, "If you stop needing to go, I'll stop chasing you around."

And did I agree like I was supposed to? No, of course not. Off I went to my appointment anyway.

Ooh, those parents. Don't they just get you sometimes.

Snowed Under!

2007-01-11T09:26:00.000-06:00

We had the biggest blizzard since 1955 in Saskatoon yesterday, and I was literally stuck at the Library with six of my colleagues until 9 p.m. It was classic prairie weather, the kind where pioneers would die after going out to check on the cows and would lose their way returning to the house. You couldn't see a foot in front of you, with blinding winds blowing cold, wet snow. Cars were abandoned everywhere, but especially in the new neighbourhoods around the little branch with the big heart.

I managed to get to work for my 1 p.m. start time on the bus, but things got progressively worse from then on. Some staff members, with four wheel drive, managed to make it home early in the afternoon. I quickly determined that standing outside to wait for a bus that might not come was a foolish venture, and that I was safer in the Library, even if it meant camping out. After all, it is warm and there was ample food. As a newly-designed healthy building, it even has one bed and a shower! What else could one ask for.

We spent the rest of the day officially closed but with the front doors unlocked in case someone needed shelter. A few sought refuge as they waited for rides or warmed up before walking the last few blocks to their houses. We played board games and watched movies on the big screen in the storytime room. It was rather fun. Sort of like a library pajama party. Or like that famous librarian movie, Party Girl, where she stays all night and has a cataloguing epiphany.

We were expecting to have to sleep there, until the Library Director - like a knight in shining armour - called from a cell phone in his jeep from the street outside to say that he could drive people home. I was very impressed. We weren't the only branch with staff stranded, and he must have been on the road for hours taking care of his people.

So, I got to sleep in my own squirrel bed with my little squirrel family, and today the Library is officially closed so we don't have to struggle through the snowdrift aftermath. What an adventure.

My Son, the Comedian

2007-01-05T19:31:00.000-06:00

It occasionally gets very, very funny when you choose to breastfeed your child through the toddler years.

At one point during the Christmas holidays, Sprout was nursing and humming 'Jingle Bells' at the same time. Sheesh.

Shabby Chic

2006-12-24T13:15:00.000-06:00

Oh, the life of the squirrel librarian.

At the same Christmas party where Sprout decided that I should work forever to keep him in swimming outings, this shabby chic incident also happened...

I don't dress up very often any more, but for the Christmas party I raised the bar and pulled out the vintage dress that I own that always makes me look super fabulous. When I wear it, I feel gorgeous in a volumptuous sort of way (yes, I did say 'volumptuous').

Anyway, in my gorgeous dress, off I sashayed to the fete.

And I carried on feeling gorgeous for at least half the evening, until I noticed that my vintage dress was coming apart at the seam just under my armpit. And showing a shocking bit of flesh.

Then suddenly, I felt volumptuous and shabby at the same time. For the rest of the evening, I held my arm tightly to my side, covering the protruding squirrel flesh, and made the most of it. But it sure cramped my style.

Librarians who dress up always seem to call down the wrath of the gods, don't you think? It is hubris to rise above the trappings of shabby chic. Obviously.

Complicated

2006-12-11T12:01:00.000-06:00

Reasoning with Sprout is getting more and more complicated. Of course, he is almost four.

Last night, our staff Christmas party was held at a local schmancy hotel, on the mezzanine with a fine view of the waterslides off to one side. Sprout, of course, wants to go on those waterslides.

Sprout: Are we staying in dis hotel tonight, Mama? [gazing at the big yellow plastic slide tubing]

Me: No, we don't have enough money to stay in this hotel tonight.

Sprout: Can we stay in dis hotel sometime, Mama?

Me: Yes, someday we can stay in this hotel. About once a year we have enough money to stay in a hotel.

Sprout: [Looking at me critically] Don't you work a lot, Mama?

Me: Yes, I do work a lot, but most of that money goes to buying food for us to eat, or paying for house bills like heat and electricity...

Sprout: Can't you work more so we can stay in dis hotel? Maybe you could work a thousand days.

Oy.

Breastfeeding Jesus

2006-12-11T11:59:00.000-06:00

This school Christmas concert story from Britain is too funny (by the way, Tesco's is a U.K. supermarket or drugstore or something).

Dumber

2006-12-04T09:50:00.000-06:00

This is something that happened to me a few weeks before I left Info Services downtown, but I forgot to write about it until now.

As a general, stereotypical group, I despair of teachers who never did the after-degree. If they went straight into Education, and then started teaching, I never consider them knowing enough about the Universe to teach other people. And stories like this only cement my worldview on this point.

A high school teacher came up to the Desk, and said that she was preparing a unit on teaching high school students about budgeting; she wanted books on budgeting for teens. Fair enough.

I started to search for the elusive subject heading that I knew would be there, but with a certain type of patron, a full minute of searching - let alone 3 minutes of searching - is just too much, and obviously I don't know what I'm doing. She started to give me suggestions, and show her impatience fairly quickly - I'm sure we've all experienced this phenomenon.

Because she was so impatient, I suggested that she use some of the general budgeting books I was finding. She replied that those wouldn't work, because - wait for it - "With teens, sometimes you have to dumb-i-fy it."

Now, usually, I slip into my poker face and try not to comment on the patron's statement. But this time - with this shaper of young minds - I just couldn't resist.

"Um...," I said, "Did you... just.. say... 'dumb-i-fy'...??"

"Yeah," she nodded pertly, "Sometimes they just don't get it."

At this point in our conversation, two things happened together. We suddenly got very busy on the Desk, and I snagged the perfect subject heading as I knew I would. Since she's a teacher (heh), I wrote it down for her and sent her to the catalogue computers to find materials, and told her I'd check back with her in a few minutes. It should be pretty easy - right? - to find books with the perfect subject heading put in your hand for you?

But when I got back to her five minutes later, the only thing she had found of value was a 1986 children's book at a different branch. Puzzling? Oh. The despair. Indeed, she was using my perfect subject heading in a TITLE search. Yup, a high school teacher who doesn't know the difference between a subject search and a title search. And I couldn't talk her into doing it again correctly. She was all used up. She insisted that she'd drive all the way to Branch X to get her outdated budget book for kinders, and make the best of it.

It bugs me that she's dumb and doesn't know it. It bugs me that she probably thinks I wasn't very helpful because I didn't put the best books in her hand in the 30 seconds that she afforded me. It bugs me that her students have to put up with her for a whole year. And mostly, it bugs me that she has such little respect for the potential of her bet-they're-wildly-smarter-than-her kids.

Sayonara, Ms. FancyPants. May your teens dance circles around you.

Playing Nice

2006-12-04T09:46:00.000-06:00

I like my new job a lot. The staff are great and there is lots to learn.

And the patrons continue to be exceedingly well-behaved. There is one gentleman who comes in regularly and behaves slightly odd, but it doesn't seem to bother anyone. Example: the other day, he picked up two decorative gourds off the Desk, juggled them for a few minutes in full view of everyone, and put them back. And that's the extent of the weird behaviour.

If something bad ever does happen out there, I hope I remember how to handle it.

Note to self: Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving are both over - remove the decorative gourds?...

Working It

2006-11-16T19:53:00.000-06:00

Ballsy sister does good: if you happen to have a December issue of Fine Woodworking magazine, you will find a picture of Auntie Bean's furnyture in the Reader's Gallery section.

We're tickled over here, chez nous. And very proud.

007 Squirrel

2006-11-15T08:36:00.000-06:00

I'd like to say that my long hiatus from blogging is due to undercover secret agent squirrel work, shooshing down some snowy alp in Switzerland, chasing an evil muskrat mastermind.

In fact, I'm just terribly busy at my new job, and power sleeping at night to keep up with my daytime schedule.

The good news around here (is also good news that I like my busy new job) is that the shop is done in the backyard! Auntie Beans is up and running at last.

Vigilante Justice, Preschool Style

2006-10-26T13:51:00.000-06:00

My son is in preschool in the neighbourhood two mornings a week, and he loves it. He is up for anything that gets him out in the world having adventures.

It is a cooperative preschool, which means that Jim and I sometimes help out as helper parents. I was helper parent yesterday for the first time and I actually had lots of fun. Kids are so cute. There was 'supercat', a little girl who spent the whole time crawling around the floor looking for people to rescue with her kitty superpowers. There was the extremely shy little blond girl with a brace on her leg and a heart of gold. There was the Irish sweetheart who turns out to be an unabashed nosepicker. And there was the gaggle of good old boys - football players just waiting to grow up.

And then there was trubba. There is one kid - let's call him Ralph - who has a few behaviour problems. As in, without warning, he will walk up to a child lying on the floor and step on his head. Or if another child is walking down the stairs near him, he will grab the other kid's ankle and say "Do you need some help getting down the stairs?" (at which point adults lunge in to prevent injury).

It's hard to be an adult in the room, trying to teach him how to behave around other kids, and trying to prevent unprovoked violence. But I think it's harder to be another kid in the room. Three and four year olds don't lie about what they're thinking, so yesterday I heard, "I hate that kid Ralph," from one child, and "I don't want to sit next to Ralph," from another. And there were a lot of troubled looks and avoidance tactics, to avoid getting hurt by him.

The most surprising, though, was when I found two of the good old boys sitting under the slide. "We're planning how to GET Ralph," they said, conspiratorially. And they were totally serious. It was like looking into the face of Peter Pan and his cronies. Or like standing on the island in "Lord of the Flies", waiting for the pig-sticking.

I never think of very short people as being old enough to have stereotypical characteristics, but these preschoolers were cowboys, plain and simple, making the wild west safe for decent folk.

It was vigilante justice, preschool style.

Extreme Librarianship

2006-10-18T21:19:00.001-06:00

So, I have been working downtown for years, and downtown is where a lot of colourful characters go to use the library. I am very used to people who behave oddly. And now, I have moved to one of those suburban branches where people behave, well, decently. It's like moving to Pleasantville.

And yet.

You can take the girl out of the crazies, but you can't take the crazies out of the girl. Or maybe I'm just a weirdo magnet. It's one or the other. (And let me remind you, for this story, that I walk a lot and so people stop me to ask directions constantly. It's Street Librarianship.)

I got a ride home the other day from a colleague, and I asked him to let me out of his car early so that I could have a bit of a walk before I got home. He dropped me off at the yoga studio strip mall, and I had only walked for a half a block before it happened.

I suddenly became aware that a young man on a bike was pedalling madly straight at me, hollering at full volume, "Help!!! You've got to help me!! I need help!!"

Being a librarian used to strange behaviour - and quickly considering that he's probably on drugs, but there's lots of traffic going by so I probably won't die, or at least die alone - I stopped and gave him my full attention. He rode up, dropped his bike, clutched his chest, and said, "I have asthma, and maybe I'm [pant, pant] having an anxiety attack! [pant, pant, sweat, sweat, eyes rolling wildly] I'm really, really scared! I'm so scared, you've gotta help me, etc., etc."

I was about to offer to find a phone to call someone to help him, when A SECOND PERSON (woman) came up to me, ignored the young man, and asked directions to a nearby street. I multitasked by pleasantly answering her question while keeping my eye on the other guy, sent her along on her way, and resumed helping him (while thinking "HOW CAN SOMEONE NOT NOTICE THAT I'M KINDA BUSY WITH THE EMERGENCY SITUATION, HUH? STUPID FREAKING LADY...")

By this time, had assessed that the young man was likely not on drugs after, but was simply having some sort of mental breakdown.

Anxious had decided, after all this, that all he needed was for me to stay with him while he walked to a phone to call his friend. I agreed to walk him to the strip mall, and took him to the shoe store that was still open. We went in, and in my best 'librarian in charge' voice, asked if the young man with asthma having the anxiety attack could use their telephone. He was still puffing and agitated, and called his buddy on the portable phone. I was pretty sure he was not going to do anything really odd, like rip off their cash register, but I had my beady little eye on him steadily all the same. I got him to sit down after a while to calm down, and that sort of worked, even though he was on the phone for a good five minutes.

And then it got dull, so I asked them if they were indeed closing right away. The woman was great: she said, "He's calming down. He can stay as long as he needs to." They had three staff members there, and two of them were big men, so I figured my superhero job was done. After checking with them about whether I could go or not, and getting a confirmation, I was off like the littlest hobo.

A little extreme librarianship after a long day at the branch where they all play nice. Keeping my hand in, I guess.

After all, what would the crazies do without folks like me roaming the streets.

Hibernation

2006-10-09T08:43:00.000-06:00

It is Fall, and the urge to hibernate descends on all squirrels. Except me.

I have started my new job, and in fact, I feel like I am just waking up from a long, deep sleep. Why? Because suddenly I'm the go-to girl. I haven't supervised more than one or two people for about seven years, and mostly my charges were so competent that they didn't really need me. Now that I'm the branch supervisor, I am the first person to talk to when something needs changing or fixing.

Not that I'm unhappy about this new responsibility. This is why I took the job; to learn more about being a manager, in case I want to go there. My first week there, though, was full of a thousand little conversations of the sort that I'm not used to having. In my head I kept thinking, "Oh, wait, yeah, they need to talk to me about this! Wake up, Gwen!!" Yawn and stretch, squirrel. Yawn and stretch.

My first week at the branch has been great, despite my sleepiness. The staff are fantastic, and they work really well as a team. The building has great light, from the big windows. The maintenance staff there keep it sparkling clean (yes, this is news). The patrons are nice, and there are lots and lots of cute kids around to make me laugh.

I think I'm going to like it at the little branch with the big heart.

Once I dust the cobwebs off my brain.

Crazymaking Conversations I Have Had

2006-09-29T16:16:00.000-06:00

This morning for example. After I pulled some clean underwear out for Sprout to put on, like I always do.

Sprout: [naked] Dose are not my gotchies.

Me: Yeah, I think they are.

Sprout: No, dose are your gotchies.

Me: No, they're not mine. Can you put them on?

Sprout: I'm not wearing dem.

Me: Okay, fine.

Sprout: Dose are not my gotchies.

Me: Whatever. Can you find some other ones and put them on, please?

Sprout: Dose are not my gotchies.

Scurrying

2006-09-28T07:40:00.000-06:00

In some ways it's a time of change for this squirrel, and in other ways life is so elemental.

Yesterday was my last day in Info Services, and Monday I start my new job. I did a pretty good job of tying off most of the loose ends, and wrote a how-to manual on details of the job, but who knows if it will all make sense. I love working in IS with my colleagues, so I feel like I'll be back there again someday. It won't be the same, though. Some people are getting older, and so perhaps they will have retired before I ever work there again. It's sad.

This whole baby-boomers-retire-in-one-big-rush not only leaves the organization scrambling for corporate memory, it leaves us missing the funny, clever people that we used to work with.

Anyway, so I'm having maudlin thoughts like this, and pondering career changes, and rushing around to clean off my desk. But I'm also doing simple things like walking in and out of the Co-Oc grocery store 3 times in one night to buy more than my limit of the toilet paper that's on sale.

Yesterday I was completely distracted. I was convinced that I lost my eyeglasses all day. I went back to work at 8:30 p.m. and searched for them for half an hour. And where were they? I found them in my backpack. Too many things going on at once in my tiny nut brain.

Auntie Bean is working very, very hard on her shop in our back yard, and the shop is looking fantastic. I talked her into trimming the exterior out to match the house, and we're painting it red and orange to match. It's so beautiful, especially when you consider that it is a new building. New buildings usually look like crap. Auntie gets frustrated about spending all the extra time that the trim takes, but agrees that it's beautiful. Today I have a holiday booked to help with shingling the outside, and sundry other tasks. Must attend very important conference planning cttee meeting first, though.

Gotta go. Sprout just woke up and will dominate my time from here on in.

Toupee!!!

2006-09-20T19:43:00.000-06:00

Isn't toupee the funniest word ever? There really isn't a toupee in my life; Jimbo has a full head of hair.

He is in a flap, however, because our hairdresser's phone number is disconnected and he needs a haircut! She is a genius, and it is possible that she has retired. Uh oh. Now we're both up the creek, possibly with bad haircuts...

Ethical Dilemma

2006-09-20T11:35:00.000-06:00

Hw much wd culd a wdchuck chuc, if a wodchuc culd chuc wd.

Hw t brea it t sister that I dropped her eybard this mrning, and nw the and the dn't functin cnsistently...

It's in the Genes

2006-09-20T10:42:00.000-06:00

New Branch

2006-09-12T13:51:00.000-06:00

I was going to say "New Tree" - going with the squirrel theme - but couldn't pass up the opp to pun with "New Branch".

Yes, indeed, I have a new job in the Library. In October, I am going to become the branch supervisor at the small branch with the big heart. It's not a financial promotion - I'll earn the same as now - but it's a heck of an opportunity to learn about planning budgets, developing community ties, and managing people.

And so I am not only an occasional blogger, I am an occasional blogger with a job to tidy up in three short weeks. Sorry if you hear from me even less than usual...

A Book Meme for Ms. PostCards

2006-09-07T13:39:00.000-06:00

My friend from afar, Ms. PostCards tagged me ages ago with this book meme, et voila!

1. One book that changed your life? Keep the list short, and exclude the Bible, Koran, or any other spiritual authority:
"The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding", a La Leche League core text - those first days of nursing were tough, and this was a lifeline. If you attend LLL meetings, there are parallels between breastfeeding culture and spirituality that make me giggle. They toss around fabulous phrases like "the healing power of the milk". Wow.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
I used to read "What's Bred in the Bone" by Robertson Davies annually, but more recently it has been supplanted by "The Beekeeper's Apprentice". It's too good not to read over and over again. (Note to self: must buy the whole series some day soon.)

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
Hmm. I'd want the OED too... the one with the tiny print and the magnifying glass, so I could look up words and also start campfires!

4. One book that made you laugh:
I remember belly-laughing a few times over some of the Janet Evanovich books in the "One for the Money" series - Grandma is a real hoot.

5. One book that made you cry:
I cried my guts out in the shower once in high school after reading part of "Gone With the Wind". I can't remember what was sooooo sad, but there was a LOT of sobbing. Cliched childhood of a squirrel destined to be a librarian? Sigh.

6. One book you wish had been written:
Gosh, I don't know. Okay, how about a cookbook written by my German grandmother. I hunt in vain for jam-jams that taste like hers did, and oh, that chicken soup with homemade noodles...

7. One book you wish had never been written:
There was a picture book that scared the bejeezus out of me when I was a kid, but I don't know what it was called. I only remember fleeting images of animals that were part-this-animal and part-that-animal, and they were soooo scary. Needless to say, it was NOT a children's book. And there were NO bunnies in it.

8. One book you’re currently reading:
I am not a great reader. I binge read. My most recent binge read was "The Human Voice : the Story of a Remarkable Talent ", which I started by reading 3 chapters in 2 hours, and then haven't picked up again. It's a fascinating book.

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
I keep trying to make myself read "The Dance of Anger", but I'm too bored to sit still and do it when I'm at home. And hey, who really wants to confront their puppies anyway?

Hey! I'm done! And now I think I get to tag someone. Perhaps I will tag our little furnyture maker. Lumber Bum! You're up!

Mook Conversations

2006-08-29T11:39:00.000-06:00

Sprout is still nursing, and this morning we had a conversation about mommy mook. Here are the parts that made me laugh:

Sprout: I want mommy mook.
Me: Oh, and where are you going to get that from? The store? The gas station? (We do this conversation over and over. It's our little running joke together.)
Sprout: No, fwom da boobie!! [giggle]

Me: How do you think the mommy mook gets in the boobie, Sprout?
Sprout: Da baby dwinks it all, and den it gwows back.

Me: And what does mommy mook taste like?
Sprout: It tastes like chocolate bars from a thousand houses.

(And how do you top that.)

Dry Pants

2006-08-24T21:32:00.000-06:00

No, not me, silly! The Sprout.

The Sprout has been daytime potty-trained for almost two years now, but mainly still pees his pants at night and consequently wears nighttime diapers.

We told him if he did not pee in his pants at night four times in a row, we would try going without a diaper at night. Tonight we're on the edge of something big. Once before, he went three nights without an accident, and then took a miss. Tonight again, he's been dry three nights.

If the diaper is dry again tomorrow, then I guess my nightlife is about to get very interesting!

Am having flashbacks to the last time we tried going commando at night. He was dry for a day, and then he peed and peed, and I slept less and less. Must avoid those thoughts. All is different now.

Carpe Diem, Squirrel, Carpe Diem

2006-08-24T21:11:00.000-06:00

I had the most ferociously good day today, working like a dog.

I am in the middle of three days off to paint the back of my house - the last remaining bit of unfinished renovations that ear-marks us as white trash.

The renos started yesterday under a black cloud of PMS. I was enraged. Raging at the whole world and everything in it. I was enraged why? Because

a) I wanted to paint the whole back of my house, but was chickening out once again because I don't want to get electrocuted by the huge, honking powerline that's up there
b) I had the type of PMS where I make stupid decisions, so I couldn't possibly go anywhere near the powerline
c) I forgot to eat breakfast for two hours (see stupid decisions under point b))

After stomping around dramatically and swearing like a girl from Lead.r for an hour or so, I realized that I could simply paint the lower half of the house so that we can put up the cedar shingles, and then we can paint the top later. Beans/Imelda is building a workshop in the backyard, and they are going to bury the power line to the house in the Fall. Then nothing will stop me from shedding my white-trash carapace.

Heh. How many hits would you get if you put "white-trash carapace" into Gurgle? Betcha that's good for a Googlewhack. But I digress.

Anyway, after the rocky start - plus, Jim was kind and made me some oatmeal - I got a lot done yesterday. Heat-stripped paint, scraped, sanded, filled, primed, caulked. Avoided hitting the powerline with my ladder... The day was salvaged.

And today was awesome. I not only painted some more, I also scrubbed and re-stained the front porch, did laundry (have become addicted to the smell of laundry from the clothesline), and tidied the house. And first thing, Jim and I went out and dragged a 15-foot cedar board home with our tiny car. It was hilarious, if not exactly smart. It was so long that it was hanging out the back of the trunk and sticking out my passenger window at the same time. I worked like a dog, and I loved it. This is a prime example of PMS superwoman syndrome. When I was in university, there would occasionally be a day where I would clean my entire apartment, wash the car, and weed the whole garden, after which I would go dancing for three hours. 'Wow,' I'd muse, 'What's going on with me?' And then I'd figure it all out.

So there you go, rage incidents followed by raw physical power. A squirrel at the mercy of the elements.

If I have any energy left tomorrow - and if it doesn't rain - there's going to be even more painting. Chip chrrrr.

Imelda on Ice

2006-08-24T21:09:00.000-06:00

Not only is Imelda sleeping in my house and eating my food, now she's going to curl with us! I suspect she let me talk her into it only so that she can try out yet more new footwear.

Shoo

2006-08-18T22:59:00.000-06:00

Imelda Marcos is living at my house and eating my Kraft dinner.

Squirrel on Ice?

2006-08-18T10:37:00.000-06:00

It is very possible that the curling team that was once "Librarians on Ice" may resurrect itself, with a slight membership change! We curled for a few years recently, but I dropped out to have a baby. Now maybe we're on again! I am currently recruiting folks, and am shopping for a rink with appropriate times and reasonable fees.

And, Good God, let's hope they serve Boh in their fine drinking establishment - or we may have to return to the end of the earth rink by the train station (great people and great beer, but a bit of a hoof from where we all live)!

I am not very sporty, but Gawd I love curling. It's just the perfect combination of physical activity, cunning calculations, game of chance, cameraderie, and beer. And stupid sweaters, if you can get them. Gawd I love it.

Crazy, Crazy Nature

2006-08-18T10:33:00.000-06:00

Nature is very funny sometimes. Has anyone else who works in this building noticed the tomato plant that is growing in the crack between the library and the asphalt parking lot on the way to the coffee shop next door? It has all the earmarkings of crazy relentless nature in the face of adversity.

Hey, perhaps, if we're smart, we could stop spending money at the coffee shop, and could instead grow a row of vitamin-rich snacks along the back wall of the library. Who's in?!

Oomph

2006-08-16T15:22:00.000-06:00

I have a rotten head-cold today, and I'm lumping around at work quietly wishing someone would hit me with a rock and put me out of my misery. I never take cold medication because it gives me nightmares; I just tough it out. Beans had this same cold last week (thanks Beans~), and her cure-all differs slightly from mine.

Jim and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this week, and last night we took Beans and the Sprout with us to a fancy restaurant. Luckily my cold was minimal yesterday and I could still taste food when my rack of lamb arrived. Sprout had the very fancy 'doigts du poulet avec pommes frites', found in quality eating establishments everywhere. Being consistent with her head-cold cure-all, Beans finished off her meal with the Belgian chocolate plate. Ooh-la-la.

Hit me with a rock. Or maybe with a nougat-stuffed horse's head. Ole.

Wheels

2006-08-14T12:43:00.000-06:00

Hmm, have you noticed how Ms. JR/RM doesn't visit us in Westpod anymore, now that she has a car and a local boyfriend? Sigh. The life of the young and glamorous.

Family Outings

2006-08-14T12:08:00.000-06:00

Since Beans and Jim are busy building the garage every chance that they get, and since I have my own little projects going on, we tend to be tag-team parenting these days. When Jim is doing a project, I have the Sprout, and vice-versa.

The other day, I offered to make a run to the beer store to replenish the building crew. I should have sneaked out, but instead I annouced to Sprout that I was going out for beer and would be right back. In his usual fashion as a busy little person, Sprout announced in turn that he was coming with me. "You can't come into the beer store with me, dear, and you can't wait in the car by yourself outside the beer store," I said firmly. "But I want to come with you, Mama!" replied Sprout. To solve the problem, Jim offered to come along and wait in the car with Sprout. And so off we went.

Ah, yes. The togetherness of family outings. To the beer store.

Me

2006-08-03T09:26:00.000-06:00

I am going through a period of emotional growth and change. It's always a good thing, because in the end of it I understand myself better and find innovative ways to improve my life.

I just wish it didn't come with quite so much self-loathing. Or I wish that I was too stupid to notice when I behave badly.

And then, in the midst of despair, I will have exceptionally perky moments. I got the pushmower sharpened the other day, and cutting the grass without using electricity pops Bridget Jones-type thoughts into my head: "Am ecological resource-preserving goddess, doing my part to save the beleaguered environment."

It's nuts to be me.

Said the squirrel.

Today's Treasured Word

2006-07-27T14:49:00.000-06:00

And today's favourite word is 'fussgesundheit' (brought on by two days of wearing my Birkenstocks).

Runway Squirrel

2006-07-27T14:44:00.000-06:00

I have a terrible yen for elegant, high-heeled, chocolate brown shoes.

Off to a Rocky Start

2006-07-27T11:48:00.000-06:00

I am off to a rocky start in my wine-making endeavours.

A number of months ago, I joined a small wine-making collective, for fun, frolic, and of course, homemade wine. Recently, it was my turn to go and buy the wine kit. "Red", they said. Off I went to the winemaking supply store.

On a whim - and with visions of eighteenth century romantic tete-a-tetes in dim parlours festooned with curtains - I purchased a blackberry red wine kit. 'Cassis!', I thought.

The minute I arrived home thrilled with my find, my food snob husband said, "What did you buy THAT for?" Humphh! Thou shalt not rain on my new hobby parade, ruffian.

Making the wine seemed to go fine, and it sat in the carboy for a very long time. We bottled it a month ago, and tasting it at the time, I thought it had a very sharp, zippy bite. Oh well.

Taking it to a party and letting people taste it resulted in comments such as, "It's...um...like drinking warm jam..." Sigh...

And the pinnacle of my success was achieved last week, when bottles popped open on their own in four different houses across the city, spilling purple wine everywhere, because somehow the wine was carbonated like champagne. What a mess.

I'm drinking from the remaining bottles, because it makes an excellent summer sangria, but perhaps I should sit back and let other people pick the kits for a while.

Madagascar, the Movie

2006-07-24T17:02:00.000-06:00

Do you remember Alex, the lion in the animated movie Madagascar, when he does his roaring thing in the zoo in New York and the crowd goes wild? Well that was me at work last week. I could do no wrong.

In a four-hour shift on Wednesday morning, three separate people asked my name so that they could shake my hand and say thank you for the service. And a fourth guy - intrepid local newspaper reporter, no less - said to me, "You're better than the Internet. No, no, you, personally, are better than the Internet."

It doesn't get much better than that on the library reference desk.

And all this just as I was toying with the idea of switching from the public library to a technical college library. Isn't that how it always works. If you consider leaving, or if you actually do, then suddenly they love you.

Am terribly conflicted. My interview for the college job was the day after all my sweet roaring, and so my heart really wasn't in it. I am not expecting them to call me with an offer any time soon.

At the same time, I am waiting for a sign from God about which path to take. Perhaps three good handshakes in one morning is the clearest sign I'm going to get.

Delicious!

2006-07-21T09:50:00.000-06:00

Some good fairy left a beautiful old squirrel postcard on my desk yesterday. Sleek squirrel, standing tall on someone's hand, eating the remains of an ice-cream cone. All my favourite things together in one place - intrepid squirrels, ice cream, togetherness.

Thank you, mystery man. Or mystery ma'am.

O Frabjous Day!

2006-07-18T16:05:00.000-06:00

Calloo, callay!

Saskatoon used to have no squirrels, as far as I knew.

But there. Today. In an actual tree. In my own actual front yard. An actual squirrel.

And he was gorgeous.

He was sleek and agile, all graceful pauses and bursts of speed. Like a tiny James Bond in a red furry suit, don't you know, dahlingk.

Come again soon, squirrel of mystery.

Semantics

2006-07-17T13:47:00.000-06:00

I had a hoot helping someone last week, to find books by a Carlton Mellick III. Let's call our patron Young Surfer Dude.

"You probably won't have any of his books, because they're pretty dirty," Surfer Dude said.

"Well," I replied, "We do have some books with explicit content, so you never know."

Indeed, we don't have any of Mellick's books. I offered to do an interlibrary loan for a title or two, and we looked up Mellick's oeuvre on Global Books in Print.

"All his books are filthy," Young Surfer Dude commented, as the list of titles loaded up. "I don't read porn," he said, "but I like to read filth." Although I was dying to know the difference between porn and filth, I missed my opportunity to ask.

As I wrote up an interlibrary loan form for the title 'Razor Wire Pubic Hair', I mentioned that he'd be giving the ladies in the back a good giggle with his choice of titles.

"Whatever makes your day more entertaining," Young Surfer answered, with a nod and a grin.

Dude.

Squirrel in Action!

2006-07-13T14:25:00.000-06:00

Good God, they's photos of me on the 'net! Squirrels usually move too fast to get photographed.

Uh huh.

It's a Meme

2006-07-12T10:13:00.000-06:00

I have been ducking this whole meme thing for quite a while because I didn't really get it, but today I think perhaps that I will play along. Without tagging anyone else. If you feel you must jump on the bus along with me, feel free.

Sleeves has called me out to post five things that make me very, very happy whenever I encounter them. Et voila:

1. Holding my sleeping child.
2. Juicy news (usually about curious job postings or fabulous houses for sale).
3. Extended, undisturbed time alone to strip furniture or make stained glass.
4. The breathtaking beauty of autumn leaf colours on the riverbank.
5. A roll-on-the-floor belly laugh.

Tales from Small-Town Saskatchewan: The Glensite Wave

2006-07-07T16:38:00.000-06:00

Waving from trucks. Who knew it had cultural properties?

Where I grew up in Lead.r, people spent a lot of time driving around town. Every time you passed someone else's vehicle, you would wave to them in the special Lead.r way: without removing your hand from the wheel, you would lift one finger off the steering wheel - slowly and with attitude - and then you would set it down again.

Now many years later, my sister moved to the town of Glensite, SK. In Glensite, they do things altogether differently! They still drive around town, mind you, but the wave is unique. To do a proper Glensite wave, you whip your whole arm straight up in a quick, smooth motion, with your palm facing backwards, as if you were throwing a very light ball upwards and backwards, and then you drop your arm back to its original position.

One fateful day after she had been living in Glensite for a while, my sister decided to show us what the Glensite wave looks like. She whipped her arm up. She dropped it down. Perfectly executed.

Unfortunately, she was wearing a little shorty shirt at the time, and flashed us her boob for one shocking split-second. Zut alors.

The Glensite wave. Not for the faint of heart.

Hauling

2006-06-30T13:56:00.000-06:00

Oh, those short people.

I took Sprout to Auntie's house (daycare) this morning on my way to work, and at some point we had ground to a halt - over dandelions. As in, he wanted to stay there all day and pick dandelions, and I wanted to get to work on time. He picked one and got back on his bike. He picked two and got back on his bike. When I ixnayed the third stop absolutely, I knew it was going to be ugly.

The conversation disintegrated after a few negotiations, and at some point I found myself hauling two backpacks, a squalling three-year-old, and a tricycle for a half-block until another daycare parent came to my rescue.

The Sprout and I generally get along pretty good, but occasionally there's a standoff. What always amazes me is how the short person's brain can, in an instant, stop being mad and start being happy or amused. Wow. I had to carry Sprout up the stairs to Auntie's apartment too, and mid-staircase, he started pulling himself up with the handrail. In zero to sixty, we went from "I'm not going up to Auntie's house!" mad to "Hey, Mama, this is fun!!" happy.

And then he kissed me goodbye with a big smile on his face, and I shrugged off my own grumpies and headed off to the world of work. Whew.

The Friendliest Corner

2006-06-30T13:50:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning I took the bus to work, and waiting for the bus I found myself on what seemed the friendliest corner on earth.

Every stranger who passed me greeted me with "Good morning!", or "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?", or at least a genuine smile. This doesn't always happen in Saskatoon, so I did start to wonder if I had jam on my face or something. But indeed, I think it was just the glorious weather. City Park can be so very beautiful on a sunny day in the Summer.

The only person who didn't greet me all-friendly-like was the bus driver. Huh.

His loss.

Vignettes from the Lead.r High School Reunion

2006-06-28T11:45:00.000-06:00

My 20-year high school reunion a few weeks ago went surprisingly well. The people who were really cruel in high school did not come, and the people who did come had turned into really nice, interesting people.

My sister came with me to the reunion, and we left Jim and the Sprout at home to batch it. This was a very good decision. Partners at reunions really don't have a good time. It's not about them at all.

Vignettes:

...A high school reunion is a lot like speed dating. Every conversation was at top speed and jam-packed with important data, along with an urge to connect. Whew.

...We spent a great amount of time talking about playing together as little kids. It was not the high school years that we wanted to remember together, but stories of sibling rivalry, smoky weiner roasts (what is more fun than running around with a burning stick??), and the hazy evenings of playing kick the can behind old man so-and-so's garage. It was gooood nostalgia.

...People seem to think that they know what librarians do, so no one had any questions about my job - a mildly annoying feature of most social occasions, when you're a librarian.

...A boy that my sister dated in high school was there, and even old boyfriends improve with age.

...For the first time ever, the Schmidt girls got stopped by the cops on the way home from the dance. Beans was in the police car for ages, blowing into a breathalizer, as I quietly had a meltdown in the truck at our stupidity. After all, the dance hall - like all places in Lead.r - was only 8 blocks from our house! But hey, no one walks in small-town Saskatchewan when they can drive. Beans did not get a ticket since she drank responsibly, but it was a tense moment.

...No one in the class had a job that was completely out of character. It was a surprise. I thought there would be more shocking stories than there were.

...Lead.r has just added yet another giant fibreglass wildlife sculpture to the town landscape this year: a bobcat. A bobcat?? There haven't been any bobcats around there for decades!! And I'm not convinced that the burrowing owls, giant kangaroo rats, and the bobcat are drawing tourists to the extent that they are meant to.

...Sunday morning breakfast at the Lead.r Hotel was as good as ever. Pancakes. Coffee. Bacon. Mmmm.

...Ooh, almost forgot the giant goose! Beans and I had the truck, and so we brought the giant goose blind decoy back to Saskatoon with us - a giant fibreglass decoy of our dad's that you can hide in with your rifle when hunting. We brought it back to install in someone's yard as a joke - and it was a great success.

All in all, a great weekend and a good way to heal some of the bad feelings that one gets about high school. I'd recommend it.

And I'm as surprised as anyone to hear me say that.