Scared if they knocked!

No kids come to my house which is too bad because I love Halloween. I would have candy and be dressed in a scary costume to answer the door. I have  scary skull lights that play creepy organ music for no one but myself.

I’ve already polished off two big bags of Rockets because I know no one’s showing up. (You can only buy them this time of year.)

This is the second place I’ve lived that’s too far back from the road with a long, dark driveway. This road isn’t one you’d want your kids walking on;  long stretches of woods with no streetlights, the houses are far apart and there aren’t many kids around here. The kids that do live here go to town to trick or treat where the houses are close together, the streets are well lit and the people have more money/ candy.

So if some kids were walking on this road and walked down to my house; I’d already be scared! I ate all the candy!

The Noisy Fridge

The refrigerator; The prompt hit a sore spot today. Like the one you get on your tongue so you keep rubbing it on your teeth to feel the pain.

I live surrounded by woods on three sides and my lot is not on the road. Now that tourist season is over there is hardly any traffic so it’s very, very quiet.

I love it when the fridge stops for a few minutes. My ears relish the quiet like its the sound of heaven.  But then it kicks in, a soft roar with a little chug topped by a high-pitched note that pierces my ear drum.

I try not to pay attention but sometimes it’s impossible. It sits at the corner of my kitchen and hallway which seems to create the perfect acoustics to carry the sound down to my bedroom. Those dark nights of anxiety and hot flashes, when I can’t get to sleep, I can hear that damn fridge.

And it leaks. Water dribbles out of the bottom so I use a sponge/ cloth on the floor to catch it. It has to be changed everyday as it gets saturated.

One morning, after a sleep deprived night trying not to listen to my fridge and rushing making my lunch for work, I stepped on the sponge and felt that cold water squeeze through my toes and only clean socks.

I started to cry. I know, it’s only a wet sock, but it was the last sock straw.

I’m wearing this freaking polyester uniform, I’m tired, I’m old, my place is a mess; I want to stay home so much!

I lived through it. I wiped my eyes, pulled up my dirty socks and went to work.


Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call).

Just Like Star Trek

Today’s prompt is perfectly timed for my ‘walk-off home run’; back against the wall, victory at the last minute.

I always say my life is just like Star Trek. Everything is falling apart and will blow up in 5…. 4….3….2….. pow! The shields kick in, warp speed returns and ….ffffffttt! We’re outa there and flying!

Sometimes I wonder if I have a lot of faith or I’m just living in fool’s paradise. Either way, it always works out in the end. All that anxiety didn’t change things one iota.

If you’ve ‘followed’ me for a while you know I have a rusty old car that needs to be replaced. I’ve been fretting over it giving me trouble in the dead of winter; hoping something will just ‘come up’. And it did.

My sister’s friend’s son is selling his 2006 Suzuki. It’s in great shape, safety checked has new snow tires and it’s a hatchback. (I love hatch backs)  Because they know me, (well, my sister) he will take monthly payments. It’s $1500.

Yes, that would qualify for a walk-off home run! I even went around with the victory arm raising when I got home!

Another crisis averted…… for now…….. stay tuned for the next exciting episode!

The World Series starts tonight! In your own life, what would be the equivalent of a walk-off home run? (For the baseball-averse, that’s a last-minute, back-against-the-wall play that guarantees a dramatic victory.)

Thank God it’s Monday

It’s my day off and it’s raining.  Usually I would be happy about it raining on my day off. It makes doing nothing seem OK. I can take the time to write on this blog, just putter around doing little chores and watch a lot of TV.

If it’s nice outside I feel like I’m ‘wasting the day’ if I’m not ‘accomplishing’ something. (Get out of my head, you old curmudgeon!) Some people feel that way everyday and can’t take a day off, even on their day off!

Not me. I love it.

I had so many years with no days off….. and I didn’t even have children. There were no fun times or loving family moments; there was work.

When I was married and worked with my beekeeper husband on our business, I never had a day off. He hated leisure. He would yell at me if he caught me resting. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!!” Days when we weren’t together I felt I had to show how hard I had worked while he was gone.

My mother had Multiple Sclerosis. Because we had our own business and I sold our honey and beeswax products that I made at a weekly farmers market, she felt I had all week off since I only really  ‘worked’ on Saturday.  She did not leave her home; it was too hard for her so I took the four hour drive to her place often.  How could I take a day off when she needed my help?

I still get that voice in my head and that little twinge of guilt but now I stand firm and argue with it: I work, I’m not lazy and I deserve a day off.

Yes, I still have to tell myself that at 61 years old: I deserve a day off. If there is one thing I like about having a job it’s the feeling I’ve earned a day off. Even though I don’t like going out to a job, it really helps me feel secure and somehow validated. Too bad I have to feel that way but it’s true.

Work at home, now, is all geared towards coming home from my job. When it’s tidy and the kitchen is clean,  my purple fuzzy throws are neatly thrown on the couch, it’s so welcoming; so wonderful to be at home. When I take off the polyester uniform and my bra, ( ooo, that moment massaging my boobs is heaven) and put on soft cotton, it’s a sensual experience.

So usually I would be happy for a rainy Monday off but for one thing; Thursday I had a load of firewood delivered. Since then it has rained on my days off and sunny on my working days. This whole week you could match my work schedule to the rainy days on the weather forecasts.

It’s nagging at me just like a husband. “You can do it in the rain”

I want it to be stacked and drying in my wood shed instead of mounded up in my driveway with a bright blue tarp over it.  (Why are naturally coloured tarps twice as much money as the bright blue?)

I probably will try to do a few loads if the rain lets up; three wheelbarrows loads dumped in the shed then stacked is my method. I chip away at it for weeks so it’s not a back breaking job. So I get a little wet, so what? It’s nice and cozy in the living-room with a fire going.

Then I’ll feel like I really ‘deserve‘ to nothing for the rest of the day.


Blog, little one, Blog!

I came across a little writing tip in HuffPost today;

Writing about the mess on my desk would be boring. Reading about the mess on my desk would be even more boring. Messes are hidden and shall remain hidden.

(I’m  playing with this rhetoric called progressio)

Mess? What mess?

Papers; piles and piles of papers.

Work, never ending work.

So many pies, so little time.

Rest, I need some rest.

Add some of your own…..

The Endless Line

Oh my gosh,(no OMG’s for this crowd) it was so busy in the store last night. I had a six hour shift; 3:15 to 9:00 p.m. I don’t think they allowed for the fact the having turkeys on sale was going to boost the Thanksgiving shopping.

When I came on the two harried cashiers had line-ups. As soon as I turned on my light they started to line up at my cash, I hardly had time to get set up; rolls of coins to open and the dreaded Jamie Oliver stamps.

Sobeys’ has deal where you collect a Jamie Oliver stamp for every $10 you spend and can get a discount on Jamie Oliver dishes. I have to ask every customer if they are collecting Jamie Oliver stamps.  So many are disgusted because they’ve been asked so many times. Others will say “What are those?”

So you explain what they are and what they will get you while the people waiting in line silently groan.  Then they always say no anyway!

They made my dinner break too early so I had a run of 3 hours being the only cashier; 6:00 to 9:00 of a solid line, many slippery, frozen turkeys and to everyone: “Are you collecting Jamie Oliver stamps?”

My ten minutes is up. The Jamie Oliver stamps go on until Dec. 23.

Time Machine for Sale

The Daily Prompt wrote; Congrats! You’re the owner of a new time machine. The catch? It comes in two models, each traveling one way only: the past OR the future.

One way time machine? Surely we have better technology by now. Even that pimped-up sleigh with flashing lights Jules Verne thought up a hundred years ago is better than that.

I guess going back into the past would give you a chance to change things you didn’t like about your life, as long as you remembered everything and didn’t just to the same things over again. Bah! Forget it; I do not want to do this all over again. What’s done is done.

As for the future: I’d be too nervous to jump ahead. I’m 61 so if I jump ahead too much I’m either elderly or dead. No, I’d rather squeeze what little I have left out of life and try to make it as good as I can.

I could really use the money so….. Time Machine for Sale! I’ll accept the highest bidder.

Little Town of Strangers

I live in a small beach community in a strip of land between two First Nation’s Reserves; Kettle Point and Stony Point. This area was once given to the natives by ‘the crown’.

map of KP(Kettle Point is the pink area, Stony Point is the green and I’m near that black smudge in between.)

Ipperwash Beach was just too popular to let the natives keep it so about 100 years ago it was sliced off for white tourists. The natives could come and sell trinkets and such but were expected to stay in their place.


The original reserve was divided into two small reserves with a strip of ‘publicly’ owned land only a few kilometers wide. Stony Point became a home to many displaced families as reserves around southern Ontario became smaller and smaller. People were forced off their land, many finding refuge with families on other reserves. Those without families or were too old or infirm, could settle in Stony Point.

At the beginning of the Second World War, our government took Stony Point reserve over for a military camp. The natives were given some money and told they would all have to move onto Kettle Point. Since many of them were already displaced from other reserves, they had nowhere to go; no families in Kettle Point to move in with.

The government did not give the land back after the war.  The  beach became Ipperwash Provincial Park.  The rest of the land became Camp Ipperwash; a military training camp.  In the 1960’s and ’70s the natives started to make a case to get their land back. It was in the land claims courts for years and years, being put off again and again. Finally, in frustration, a group of natives took over Ipperwash Provincial Park.  Riot police were sent in, there was a stand-off for months.

stand off

Tensions built until it finally erupted in violence. Dudley George, a likeable young man, was shot and killed. This brought everything out in the open; the government had no public support. The truth came out in an official Inquiry and years later a public apology was made to the Chippewas of Kettle and Stony Point and to the George family.

This is past history but it’s still fresh around here. There is still an underlying tension between the native and white population. Of course, there are racists on both sides, they’re everywhere in every race. But there’s still a division here; a sense of ‘us’ and ‘them’. Whites are reluctant to go onto the reserve. I was taking a friend to see Kettle Point (it’s a point on Lake Huron with kettle rocks) and she asked if we were allowed to be there.


At the Powwow there are very few local non-band members. A perfect time for the whole community to come together but neither side makes any effort to do so.

Stony Point is anarchy.  The natives have it back but there is no infrastructure whatsoever. There is a gated entrance to turn away any non-band member. Even many of the Kettle Point residents don’t want to go there.

Walking on Ipperwash Beach north of Army Camp road is not allowed. It’s off limits to anyone but band members.

Stony Point

In between it all lays the community I live in; cottagers, campers and those who decided to ‘winterize’ and stick it out all year. We have many trailer parks with year-round residents. We are a community of strangers.

What I like best about it here is that there is no “keeping up with the Jones’ “.  People here would raise up their beer, say “F*#k the Joneses!” and drive away on their golf cart; the most coveted of possessions.  The nicest homes are on the reserve; it’s not the same as up north where there is no work. Here we have whites who don’t want to live in a white-washed world and don’t have to!

Here it’s strangers like me who found a place to not fit in, comfortably.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Yesterday I received a notice saying it was my first anniversary of blogging. I thought it would be interesting to go back and read my first post but got into doing the prompt and reading other blogs until I had to go back into the ‘real’ world.

I was anxious yesterday. I took my car into a local ‘trusted’ mechanic to assess it and tell me if I have to scrap it or not. The previous mechanic had scared me into believing the frame was rusted away but it still runs well. So I went for a second opinion which involved my sister driving me there, leaving it overnight and driving back the next day; a lot of driving for my sister who never complains and won’t take any gas money. She’s trying to figure out a way to give me her car!

Firewood has been on my mind.  I should have ordered it and started to stack it already. There is a little left from last year for these chilly mornings but I need two dump-truck loads of firewood to get me through until spring. I’ve been lying in bed at night trying to turn off my brain from juggling numbers and worrying if I have to get a new car.

So yesterday I started out with anxiety, fearing how much will it cost me to find out it’s a wreck. But instead I got the ‘miracle’ I’d wished for!  The mechanic told me it was very rusty but not dangerously rusty, runs well and will get me through the winter.

“AH! And how much do I owe you?”  He waved his hand, no charge!

I said “thank you” at least 5 times.

I floated back to my sister’s car who was waiting to hear the verdict. She shared my surprise and joy then handed me a cheque to cover for a load of firewood.  Gosh, I can’t tell you how relieved and grateful I am!  It was a happy anniversary!

This morning I thought I might re-blog my post on firewood. It was one of my first posts so it also gave me a chance to see how my writing had progressed. To my surprise the firewood post was exactly one year ago today. I corrected a few errors and added the photo which I couldn’t figure out at the time.


It made me feel a little nostalgic even though it’s only been a year. I love living by the seasons and having seasonal jobs. My mind has been on firewood because this is the time of year I do firewood. It gives me a sense of security and accomplishment. I love getting it, love stacking it, love the ritual of bringing it in and I love to burn it and poke at it.

In the post last year I was looking for a job; now I have one. That has relieved my anxiety compared to last year. I don’t have much money but at least it’s going to keep trickling in for now.

I always get by. A few months ago I really needed to come up with $600 for my house insurance and hoped for a miracle. I was thinking of winning lots of money but instead, I got a lot of hours at work due to the students leaving, worked my ass off, and made enough to pay the bill. It’s always going to be just enough but that’s OK.

It’s the little miracles like yesterday and the support of my sister that keeps me going. My car is OK! I’m ordering firewood and I’m only two weeks behind from last year. I’m  working 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. tonight, which is a drag, but at least I’m working!

Here is the link to my Happy Anniversary Post;

I Like Crazy.

“Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness.” — Allen Ginsberg

I’ve been pondering on this ‘inner moonlight’. The light that shines in the darkness of our minds is not a real light but merely a reflection of the light of our soul. “Howling at the Moon” is for those who don’t understand where the light is coming from. Stand in your own light and let it shine!

It’s funny how people who say and do whatever they want appear a little crazy. When we were young we cared so much about ‘fitting in’ and not looking weird we would hide what we really think and feel. As we get older we’re not as bothered by the little things and start to think, “I couldn’t care less”. In our sixties we discover that we can, indeed, care even less and find freedom in expressing it!

It’s great when you really don’t care what other people think. I can break into dance when I hear a song I like in a store. Maybe someone will think I’m a little crazy but they’ll usually smile. Your moment of ‘craziness’ might bring a little joy into their dull day.

I am attracted to men who are little crazy. Just a little, mind you. Not crazy enough to stop cleaning their nails or keeping care their teeth but crazy enough to be funny and spontaneous. Crazy enough to not care if they don’t look manly for two seconds.

It’s your duty as a human being to let your light shine. Down with mediocrity! Bring out your crazy!