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The Writing Mother

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The Suicide of Reason in Canada
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Monday, July 26, 2004
The way things are... and were meant to be...
Well, I've sufficiently dried out now, so I can post with clarity once again.

Thank you to all my on-line and IRL friends who dropped me notes to say "suck it up" or "quit being an idiot" in very polite ways. And thank you to my friend Geri who let me know that I'm predictable! Just when I thought I was all over the map! This is comforting in a strange and identifiable way. See, I get a little mopey and piney like I did the other night and I emailed an old (boy)friend. Apparently there is a pattern here, because Geri 'knew' I'd do that.

a) she's a very perceptive person to begin with
b) if I'm predictable, then not only am I following a path... I can change directions if I want to

Let me clarify a few things. Yes, I know that I do not need someone of the opposite gender in my life. I don't think I've ever said I needed that. (note to self: read back in the archieves and make sure you aren't fibbing here) I have said I wanted it. And it's like that Tim Horton's Maple dipped donut that's sitting in front of me when I'm on a diet.

My head says "you don't need that, you can do without it" and my heart is beating around in my chest like a caged bird saying "yeah but it would be sooo yummy!"

I am a hopeless romantic. Absolutely 100% incurable. To even try and cure me would change my chemical make-up I think. And I like being this way. I believe in the beauty, power, strength of love. I've also had enough reality to know you can't survive on love and that it does not fix all of lifes ills. It is, however, beautiful, powerful, and strong.

But what does a hopeless romantic do when she has no object of her affections? This is the wall I continue to flail myself upon. I've been writing a bit more, and may take up the pen and try write some kind of fiction... some kind of romance. I'm thinking that may at least help hold back the tide of wine you all witnessed the other night.

However, having said all of that, I had several moments of clarity today. There were swaths of time, in fact, where I knew all was as it should be.

For example, tonight we had to go catch a mare out in the field next to my house. Her baby had cut itself and I discovered the little gaffer's wound. (score one for me!) Unfortunately I've known this mare for years and she is so incredibly difficult to catch that they leave her halter on all the time, not something we usually do incase she catches it on something.

I brought some alfalfa cubes in a bucket and lured her close to me. Mares like this one are smart. She sees the rope in my hand, and she can hear me opening the clasp. She will stand just close enough to eat the cubes, but her head sways far enough away whenever I try to get within a foot of her head.

So for 15 minutes I found myself in a battle of patience with myself. She stood, head low to the ground. I was on all fours, crouching as low as I could. She was inches away, the bucket just between us. The idea was to slide my arm under her chin a quarter inch at a time with the clasp of the lead shank open and ready to snag the ring on the bottom of her halter.

I'd move an inch, she'd move an inch away. Her baby is staring, ears pricked and curious.. wondering just what in the heck this human is doing almost laying on the ground. Baby horses like things smaller than they are, so I'm trying to ward off little nuzzles of affection from it.

This mare knew what I wanted. Her old brown eyes watched my every breath. Finally I had my chance and in one not-so-quick movement I clipped onto her halter. She sighed.

The happiness I felt just then was so rewarding! The entire ordeal of discover and capture had taken an hour. And anyone who has had to walk down a horse that doesn't want to be caught knows the frustration and the temptation. But I was good dammit.

I walked her to the barn and smiled the whole way. I felt complete, walking past my house where my son was asleep and into the warm comfort of the barn on a gorgeous summer night. The sounds of the horses shuffling and sighing in their stalls. The barn cat winding around my legs. It was all perfect. We settled her in for the night and I headed up to my house. My house.

Where my son was sleeping happily and there was food in the fridge. I had a great and wide sense of peace.

And for the rest of the night I've known that I did not want anything else.

  The Writing Mother
  posted at 12:31 AM

Sunday, July 25, 2004
Wine Soaked

Excuse me for any spelling mistakes. I've drank about 7/8ths of a nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. And I've watched Cold Mountain.

Have you seen that movie?? Seriously. I'm talking snot running down the nose, sobbing, and raging against the turn of events. Remember I've had a bottle of wine.

7.5/8ths now.

I was made to be a piner. A longer. One who pines and longs. It is in me like a fever. If I believed in past lives I'd say I was a civil war wife or a world war two bride. In past lives I've longed for the one who was not with me. I do it so well.

I don't care if you think I am overly romantic or ... well, drunk for that matter. I long for a love I do not have.

I've heard the comments and rebuttals to this arguement.
"Just wait, your time will come." or "there's someone out there for you".

I know that.

It is the longing that I do well.

I often worry it's the loving I'll have a problem with.
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 2:12 AM

Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Life is good.

I have my computer back in working order, it was a little ill.... storm, no proper surge protector.... yadda yadda.

But that isn't why life is so good.

I'm just happy. I'm not sure if I can pinpoint why exactly. I do know one thing, there's a farmer in the orchard and although he looks like he may want a good apple, if he doesn't, I'm ok with that. In fact, I'm ok with being just as I am today.

M. is happy out here on the farm. He sometimes rides the big tractor with Bob, the owner, and sometimes rides the little lawn tractor. He gets to sit in the bobcat seat sometimes, and he feeds a couple of horses alfalfa cubes each day.

I look forward to work each day because my co-workers are great and I'm pretty good at my job. I look forward to going home each night because I'll get to play with Michael in the front yard, there will be friends around me, and I can still have my own space.

Let me explain a bit further for those of you who don't know my situation: I trained horses for a few years before I got married and M. was born. When I left training, I left a great job at a great facility, working for an awesome family.

Well now I've purchased the mobile home that their son owned, right on the property. It's a horse training facility, there's an indoor and two outdoor arenas, and a 50 or so stall barn. It's my favourite place to be, and I live here.

I recommend that to everyone: find your favourite place to be and be there.

I'm happy because I like myself, I know I'm a good person and I deserve to be treated well - by myself. You know what the saddest thing in life is? To never treat yourself well. Speak nicely to yourself, encourage yourself, love yourself.

Too many people have the negative, self-defeating tapes playing over and over in their heads. It tells them what they can't do rather than telling them what they can. Actually everyone has those tapes, I think the key is to speak louder with the positive tapes. Drown out the bad tapes.

Do this: look at yourself in the mirror and smile, each and every day. More than once. Several times. It works, I know.
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 8:22 PM

Monday, July 12, 2004
Yes, I do expect Prince Charming.

This is what you get when you mix one GoodApple with two and a half glasses of Unwooded Chardonnay and the movie Ever After (which is not a particularly stellar movie).

Those who have been reading my blog for some time should be used to this.

Yes, it's a tangent.

How many of you have dated as a single mom? You will agree with me then, that it is quite different than dating on a regular scale. There are rules to follow.

My first rule is to make sure I mention my son in the first encounter. Wherever it fits in naturally of course. This gives Mr. Potential a chance to vacate.

Oooooh, woman with baggage in the form of an almost three year old boy... scaaaary.

My second rule is very cuthroat. I will call him once, I will call him twice, if he does not deign to return my call at that time, he is not worth my time.

My third rule. Boys need not apply. I have tired of boys. Applications of suitble men are currently being accepted.

Today, while mowing my well endowed lawn, I realized: my life is practically complete. I have my house, I have my lawn. Everything inside my house is mine. My son, although in one of those taxing moods, is my purpose and my life. There is really only one more step.....to own the land my house sits on.

The plan will develop as such: I have three years to perfect my credit further, come up with a down payment, and buy some land. I'm thinking 10 acres, I know the piece I want, I know the owners.... things will fall into place.

I've been very lucky so far. The little house I bought was actually one I wanted three years ago, but my then-husband did not want to move here. So we languished in in-law-ville and debt-hood. But I've always known that this was the house I wanted. When it became available, I was available, so I snatched it up.

I don't know why I have such confidence in myself. This was supposed to be a tangent on my high expectations for a future beau, yet it has taken a turn.

I am going to bed, it is nearing midnight. I get to go to work tomorrow. Wow. I cannot belive that for the first time in a long, long time, I look forward to work.
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 12:38 AM

Sunday, July 11, 2004
Boys are Dumb

Well, obviously except my son. Before I expound on the dumbness of boys, let me tell you about my son. He will be three years old in just over a month. He is going to make someone an awesome husband some day. Why do I say this?

Because he already knows that please and thank you are important words. He knows that you have to ask before you stick your fingers in someone else's food. He likes to vaccum with the little Dustbuster, and knows you cannot dustbuster up an entire Poptart because it gets stuck.

M. is at my mom's house tonight. Although I often crave the alone-ness of having the house totally to myself (with the exception of Horatio, the new cat... but that's another story) without knowing that M. is in the next room sleeping, I am almost without purpose. There is no reason for me to be here. This worries me and I wonder if, when the time comes for him to leave home, I'll turn into one of those needy women who takes in too many stray animals and derelicts to fill her empty nest.

But I did get the entire house vaccumed, a necessity since Horatio joined us last week. And I'm catching up on the laundry pile. And in the event that Brad Pitt decides to leave Jennifer Aniston, I'm available for a passionate fling.

But boys are dumb. And when I say boys I mean men. Men who act like boys.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not forgetting that I'm a *Good Apple*. But I do wonder about the games that boys play. The following is a list of the games I've witnessed in the last month or two:

1. Boys who tell stories about there wives at work. Not good. Not good at all. The rule is: if you couldn't say it in front of her, don't say it in front of me.

2. The I'll Call You game. This is as classic as the snake and the apple. I do not have time for this game. The rule is: If you do not respect me enough to call me, you are obviously not interested. Trust me, I am not crying in my Chardonnay, it will take more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to call before I'll be swept away.

3. The You-talk-to-me-therefore-you-want-me guy. Yes, this archetype is a popular one. He's the guy that is cool to hang out with, you may even chat on the phone regularly, but whoa... a movie? Hey, let's just be friends. Ok, don't friends go to movies? I must be confused. The rule is: I am able to talk to you without wanting to see you naked, even if that is not possible for you.

4. The You-talked-to-me-so-I-must-chase-you-down-club-you-on-the-head-and-drag-you-back-to-the-cave guy. A slight mutation of the You-talk-to-me-therefore-you-want-me guy, this one assumes that you want him, but also feels that showing up unannounced and assuming that dating has commenced is a natural thing. The rule is: see above rule, or read it in the restraining order.

I really should not say boys are dumb. It is wrong of me. In fact, I wouldn't want my son to hear me saying it, anymore than I'd want him hearing (and repeating) a multitude of bad words. Boys are not dumb. Men who act like boys are dumb.

Anyways, I'm off to bed to enjoy my Unwooded Chardonnay (whatever that means...) and read my book.
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 12:09 AM

Thursday, July 08, 2004
OK... I am not DEAD...

I have just moved. I will keep posting. It's just taking a while to get my internet hooked up!

And it's been super busy at work so I have no time to post... not that I'm supposed to post at work anyways!

Be back soon! (Hopefully tomorrow!)
  The Writing Mother
  posted at 4:02 PM

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