It's NOT over until I say it is

Although the month of January is winding down, I'm am nowhere near ready to be done with the dog sledding. In fact, I feel like I'm just finally getting the hang of things! The temperature warmed up for the and light flurries fell throughout the weekend. Nancy and the dogs were ready to hit the trail. Unfortunately, the snowfall was not sufficient to run the dogs with the sled. Not yet. Nancy's hoping that with a few more dumps of snow, she should be able to get the sled out in February - and I will be there! Screw this one challenge per month. It's my experiment - so I can (and will) bend the rules...

Ev was working so I brought along a blast from my blog past: sexy hair tossing flutist, Heidi! She actually owns a coat with a fur-trimmed collar and little stitchings of Eskimos and sled dogs on the back. It was a no-brainer. She was the perfect dog sledding buddy! We met Nancy out on the trail and it was apparent from the yelps and barks that the dogs were raring to go (they've been cooped up in the cold for almost 2 weeks!) I actually felt like I was semi-helpful as I strapped each harness around the dogs, gave Cooper (nervous nellie) his pre-run pep-talk, cleaned up after Coooper's pre-game ritual, and led each dog to the gangline. Nancy was concerned the dogs would go "kamikaze," running wildly after having not run in 2 weeks, but they were stars! Perfect left turns to "Haw" and sharp right turns to "Chee," they listened intently, concentrated on the path, and ran in perfect sync for 9 miles. At one point, Nancy couldn't see the track with the fresh snowfall on the ground, but the team did not skip a beat - whether they remembered or were able to sense the path, they made a perfect left turn without a command from Nancy. Nancy instructed the team to stop about 3/4 of the way through the run, "Look at how Loki is running funny. He must have an ice ball in his foot." Ice ball? Apparently, some dogs have "hot feet" and fresh snow will melt between the pads, creating a snow/ice ball in their foot. It would be comparable to running with a rock in your shoe. Nancy always watches her dogs very carefully throughout the run, picking up on any changes in their stride or behavior. She removed the chunk of ice, and we carried on to the "finish line."

"Stop dudes! I got an iceball!"

Other than experiencing stinging toes and fingers,  (-15 is still cold, people!) it was a great day out on the trail. I refuse to conclude this month's challenge at this point in time because there is still so much to learn and experience. I barely got a taste of it. As soon as there's enough snow, I'm on that sled! I can only imagine how awesome that experience will be! I can close my eyes and hear the sounds of the dog's breathing and the swish swish of the sled on the snow. I can't wait! Also, I'm looking forward to partaking in pet therapy with Nancy and her dogs. There's been a ban on visitors at many of the longterm care homes this month due to illness, so we've been unable to bring the dogs in to visit with the residents. But I'm really interested to see how the resident's and the dogs will react to each other. I'm really enjoying working with these dogs and I just feel like I'm starting to see each of their unique personalities shine through. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm kinda getting attached to Cooper and his anxious little personality. Perhaps I can share Biloxi's little blue pill with the poor dude? (BTW, Biloxi is now refusing the little blue pill, foaming at the mouth when I shove it down his throat. Super calming experience for both of us).

Check out all the pics:

Hey, is that a musher from the Arctic? NO, it's flutist, Heidi!

Snotsicles!

The dogs love Heidi with treats

Crochet Update: No baby...yet. Janna is concerned that the baby will "arrive in a suit and tie, ready for work." Yikes. The baby is now 3 days overdue; however, I stopped by Grandma's and she's putting the finishing touches on the final attachment of the crochet squares. Perhaps this genius baby was concerned that it might arrive cold, with no blanket. Smart kid. Ok, baby, we are now ready for you...NOW!!!!

My cat's on valium and I'm crushing on my vet

Well THAT got your attention, didn't it?

It's been a rough week in the Lindsay house. First, as documented in my last blog post, there was "furnacegate 2012." What wussy 2 month old furnace can't cope with January in Saskatchewan? Seriously. Then I began to notice that Biloxi, the cat, was acting strangely. Like any cat, he prides himself on maintaining his lovely orange coat with regular grooming. His grooming; however, has deviated from the norm to a violent plucking of his fur, resulting in a very pronounced bald spot on his left leg. Yikes. Ev thought that perhaps it was "sympathy" plucking - you know, so he could share in Ev's despair with the inevitable male patterned baldness. I knew better. Like any educated woman in the 21st century, I immediately diagnosed my cat online. Looks like "Psychogenic Alopecia." Apparently cats will engage in excessive grooming when they are overly anxious or have lived through a traumatic event. Poor Biloxi, the cat, has lived through numerous traumatic events. Could it have been the 48 hours of quarantine at London Heathrow? The 4 day drive to Pensacola, Florida in a tiny kitty carrier? The arrival of the giant fuzzy-headed dog, Dundee? Nope. I believe it was a traumatic incident that occurred 2 weeks ago in his very own house.

Remain calm? Are you kidding me?

Biloxi's bathroom is located in a storage room in the basement. The storage room also houses the equipment for our home sound system and satellite TV. A repairman was in that room a few weeks ago working on the system and shut the door behind him on his way out. Poor Biloxi was locked out of his bathroom for almost 2 days! That would stress me out! My poor orange buddy finally peed right smack in the middle of our carpet, "Guys! seriously! Look! I have nowhere to pee!" I quickly determined the problem, apologized profusely to Biloxi, and swore that it would never happen again. It was too late. The damage was done. I managed to completely stress out my poor cat to the point of OCD-like behavior. Shit. Time to visit Dr. T. The most amazing vet in the universe. That's right. The universe.

Dr. T is the kindest, most compassionate man I have ever met. He's probably in his early 30's, soft spoken, extremely thorough, and I believe, loves my animals as much as I do. Many animal owners in Prince Albert rave about Dr. T. In fact, Dr. T sees 3 generations of cats in my family: Grandma's cat, Miss Kitty, and my mom's little white cat, Maggie. Dr. T compassionately helped my mom through the horrible experience of putting our wonderful family cat, Holly, down when she was suffering in her old age. Dr. T sees Nancy's dogs and is willing to make special trips out to the yard when one is ill. Dr. T is known to answer the phone in the wee hours of the morning and talk animal owners through difficult experiences. Dr. T rocks.

Initially when I met Dr. T, a giddiness overcame me and I mistook my feelings for "vet crush." As I've spent more time with Dr. T (Dundee, was that a cough? Let's go see Dr. T! haha), I wouldn't define my feelings for him as a typical "crush." It's more of a "I wish we could hold hands and watch "Free Willy" together" kind of feeling. He makes me feel warm and fuzzy. Biloxi, on the other hand, did not share my sentiments. Ears flattened to head, heart racing with fear, Biloxi yelped as the thermometer slid into his....well, you know. Looking up at me with black eyes, I imagined him saying, "Are you shitting me?" Dr. T thoroughly examined my buddy, letting me listen to Biloxi's heart murmur (he may have been born with it). For a split second, I imagined Dr. T wrapping his arms around me, helping me hold the stethoscope in a giant warm hug, as 'Unchained Melody' played in the background. It didn't happen. In fact, Dr. T informed me that he and "his wife" (right, yes) had a similiar problem with their cat and decided to prescribe a low dosage "kitty valium" to help the cat settle and terminate the OCD behavior. So that's what we've decided to do. Biloxi, the cat, after years and years of living an unsettled lifestyle, is now on kitty valium.

Kitty valium is soooo good.

I thanked Dr. T for his advice (shall we hug it out, Dr. T? ;) and took the little blue "happy" pills home for my buddy. I am pleased to report that Biloxi has already terminated the plucking behavior, yet does not appear "snowed," staggering drunkenly like that dude I saw on Central yesterday. It appears as though the little blue "happy" pill is leveling the cat out - stabilizing his mood. He's calm. He's happy. He's constantly purring. Hmmmm.....I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling a clump of blonde strands out and contemplated a phonecall to Dr. T.

1 for me. 1 for you. Life is good.

Update: Crochet done! Grandma is helping me put the blanket together as we speak! Janna's due date is Monday but she feels like the baby could be here any minute! Hurry Grandma!
I am hoping to get out with Nancy and her dogs for a run tomorrow. It's now warmed to a balmy -15 degrees - Hooray!

Mother Nature (and karma) is a bitch

I'm pretty sure that I pissed off Mother Nature. On January 10, I commended Mother Nature on her breathtaking scenery, stating, "I didn't know that winter could be this beautiful." I had Mother Nature on my side. One false move (Cold snap hits priaries), and I instantly turned on her, trashing her like that skank that steals your highschool boyfriend (FYI: no skank every stole my highschool boyfriend. I just liked the way that sounded). I thrashed Mother Nature in my video, wailing over the arctic winds, "Why do I live here?" She heard. She heard loud and clear and she sought...revenge.

It all began yesterday morning as I opened the door to let Dundee, the little white dog, out for a pee. Tail wagging, completely content in his little world of happiness, he bounded out the door for his morning pee. As he did his business, one cold paw lifted up from the ground and began to shake, followed by two cold paws. He continued to alternate paws, although at one point I swear he was only standing on one little white paw. Poor little bugger was freezing. Instead of channeling his inner Huskie, he completely gave up and laid (on his side) in the snow and began to shake. No survival instinct whatsoever, Dundee, the little white dog, completely gave up on life. I cheered from the patio, "C'mon buddy! You can do it. Get up and walk to the door. Just get up! Do it for the Coton de Tulears of Madagascar!" (his breed). Nope. Pleading with me with his little black eyes, he laid shaking and defeated in the cold snow. Running to his rescue in sock feet, I saved my pup from imminent death. Once inside, he gazed up at me with those sad puppy eyes, "How could you do this to me?"

Mother Nature: 1 Dundee, the little white dog: 0

As I pulled into the dark, dismal hospital parking lot at 8am, I was reminded by Power 99 FM that it was -30 degrees in Prince Albert (but Oh Thank God it's still +30 in Jamaica. Incredibly helpful). I popped my hood to release the cord in anticipation of plugging in the Grand Am for the day. Now the Grand Am is a pretty sweet car. It's the special 2002 edition. You may have heard of it. But seriously, other than being trashed by an incredibly arrogant Calgarian ("I thought you made good money? Why are you driving this?") the Grand Am has pulled through, despite being neglected in all areas (do you really need an oil change THAT often?) As I searched for the plug under the hood (in complete darkness), snotsicles began to form on my upper lip (isn't it amazing that we've actually created our own winter vocabulary, unique to our horrific experience of -30??) With giant fuzzy mitts, I attempted to lift the hood and seek the much needed cord. Hands shaking, ears stinging, and visions of Dundee falling helplessly to the snow, I  muttered, "can't see the f'n cord!" and gave up. Fully aware that the Grand Am would likely not start, I ran outside at 2 hour intervals throughout the day to let it run. This worked just fine until it was time to call it a day. At 4:30, the Grand Am, like the little white dog, did not even try. Didn't even roll over. Click. Dead.

Mother Nature: 1, Grand Am: 0

The final straw occurred as I returned home for the day. Snuggled happily on the couch, and Evan on nightshift, I watched The Bachelor without guilt. As the drama heated up, my house cooled down. Right down. It became uncomfortably cold. Checking the thermostat, I could see that it was currently 15 degrees in my house. The thermostat was set for 21. Something was wrong. By 10pm, I had Guy, our trusty builder frantically calling Furnace Fixers (let's call them FF's) and the temperature had fallen to 13 degrees inside the house. Did I mention that this house is 2 months old? The furnace is a whopping 2 months old! Like, what - you didn't think you'd have to work this hard, furnace? You never stood a chance against Mother Nature! C'mon!

Mother Nature: 1, Furnace: 0. 

I was now shaking in front of the fireplace. Guy assured me that FF#1 would be at my door by midnight. Perfect. Because what lady doesn't want to open the door to a complete stranger at midnight? He would assess the situation, realize that I was cold, alone, at his mercy and I would be ladynapped..or worse. I've seen Criminal Minds. I quickly updated my facebook status:

"midnight. -30 degrees outside. Broken furnace. Brand new house. If tomorrow I am MIA, I have: a)frozen to death (current indoor temp=13), b)been smothered by one of the 80 blankets that I'm currently wrapped in (why don't I own a snuggie?) and/or c) furnace repairman sketch and ladynapped me. Just sayin'"


I saw this on Dateline once. I was leaving a trail. FF#1 arrived at midnight. As he entered the house, I examined him closely. Guard dog, Dundee, bounded on him, ferociously licking his hand. He petted Dundee. FF #1 seemed OK. Well, he seemed pissed, to be honest. I mean, who wouldn't be pissed after being woken up at midnight on the coldest night of winter (wait, wait, spoke too soon. This just in: TONIGHT will be even colder! Hurrah!) Although I exuded sexiness in my touque, scarf, and 8 layers of clothing, FF #1 did not try to ladynap me. In fact, he went straight out to the side of the house to investigate the vents. I explained that I had already done this (via telephone instruction by Evan), but he proceeded to head outside. Suddenly, I heard a bang. I looked out the window to find FF#1 flat on his back, having become a victim to the slippery slope. FF #1 bellowed, "F*(^!!!!!" Poor dude. I pondered. Reminiscent of Dundee, the little white dog, I wondered If I should run out in sock feet and rescue him?  FF #1 slowly stood up, kicked the fence, the side of the house, uttered more threats, and limped back inside. 

Mother Nature: 1, Furnace Fixer: 0. 

The night continued with FF #1 and additional FF #2, #3, and #4. They banged away on the furnace as Dundee, the little white dog, and Biloxi, the cat, and I sat shivering in front of the fireplace like a scene from Little House on the F'n Prairie. I was starting to wonder if I should head out to Nancy's yard and steal some straw from the dogs.  I became angry. Very very angry. Why, again, did I choose to live in such a horrendous climate? Finally, at 4am I made a pact to myself, "As blog as my witness, I am going to leave. I am going to divorce the Saskatchewan winter." I needed a plan. I searched speech pathology jobs in the Caribbean. So, what, no one has strokes in the Caribbean? Obviously not, their bodies aren't being subjected to this! By 5am, I gave up on finding a speech job and decided to sell it all and peddle bracelets on the beach in Mexico. By 6am, I channeled Dundee, the little white dog, rolled over on my side, whimpered in the cold (Can I seriously see my breath?), and gave up. 

The heat was restored at noon the next day. Noon. That's 17 hours with no heat. 

Mother Nature: 1, Kirstie: 0. 

You win. 

Huskies get cold too

Winter officially hit Prince Albert, Saskatchewan. It was bound to happen sooner or later. With temperatures wavering between -10 and +8 for the past 3 weeks, there was a part of me that was slightly hopeful that this was the new "global warming winter." I even considered switching to aerosol cans, replacing my gas efficient car with a Hummer, and changing out all my our energy efficient lightbulbs with regular ones. Alas, it's much too late. We were scheduled to hit up a trail with the dogs at Christopher Lake today and I took one look out the window this morning, checked out the weather forecast ("Warning: Arctic chill brings coldest temperatures this winter") and was assured with a phonecall from Nancy that the dog sledding was a "no go." Disappointing; however, I do not want to be out there. At all. Brutal. But thank you, Power 99FM, for continuing to report forecast highs of +30 in Jamaica. Again, super helpful when I am NOT in Jamaica.

Check it out. I actually choose to live here. I know. I am confused as well.

I know Nancy worries about her dogs when the temperature dips this low. Although equipped with thick fur coats and bred to withstand arctic temperatures, with a forecast high projected right around the -30 mark all week, the dogs (especially the older dogs) will certainly feel the cold. I helped Nancy fill each dog's house with straw and it was apparent that he dogs loved it! They snuggle into the straw and take shelter from the elements. Nancy also prepares by giving the dogs extra helpings of food - kibble high in fat and protein. As the temperature dives, the dogs will burn more calories to keep themselves warm. A few of Nancy's older dogs also receive capsules of glucosamine in their food to help protect their joints. The frigid temperatures can cause these old guys to become stiff and sore. So not even Huskies are immune to the cold. On the other hand, I doubt they share my desire to escape to a tropical island right about...now.

Since the forecast is not promising over the next 10 days, I'm making plans to spend some time with Nancy and her "Carlton Pet Therapy" group. Nancy, along with students from Carlton High school, regularly take a few dogs to a long term care facility to participate in pet therapy with residents of the home. Nancy also takes her dog to an annual camp to help grieving children. What a fantastic idea! There is no doubt in my mind that animals can improve our social, emotional, and cognitive functioning. Animals don't judge. They don't interrupt. They love unconditionally. They make you feel young (wait a minute, that sounds like a recipe for the perfect husband!) Grandma Ivy (crochet instructor, extraordinaire) has a cat, aptly named, "Miss Kitty." When Grandpa was sick, Miss Kitty patiently laid by his side, purring away. She took her job very seriously. Now that Grandma's on her own, Miss Kitty has become her ever faithful companion and even humors Grandma by rolling from side to side when Grandma sings, "There were 10 in the bed and the little one said...roll over...roll over." (True story).  I'm very interested to see Nancy's dogs in action and the response from the residents.

In the meantime, I'm cranky, stuck indoors, and wondering why the hell I'm living in such an inhumane climate. Time to schedule some therapy sessions with my pets:

Hungry like a wolf

Wow. Ev and I had our first dog sledding/fall training experience with Nancy and her dogs on Sunday. It was unreal! First, the weather was about as perfect as a winter day in Saskatchewan gets - sunny and 2 above. We met Nancy just north of town and she immediately provided me with some authentic mushing gear. I must say, I rocked the "mushing look." Nancy gave us the rundown of the prep involved prior to running the dogs. I can't believe that Nancy does this regularly on her own. Kudos to her because it's not easy - it's a lot of work and needs to be done in a timely matter so that the dogs don't get too restless. And trust me, they let you know that they are ready to go! Initially, the dogs calmly waited in Nancy's trailer, peeking out of their "windows" to see what was going on. Every now and then, a few peeps were heard and I could just picture them saying (here I go giving the dogs human-like qualities...again), "Damn, it's the dumb blonde. This is going to take forever. C'mon, Nancy, push her out of the way and hook us up. Let's go!"

First, the quad was unloaded out of the back of Nancy's truck. Nancy showed me a snow hook. A snow hook is used as a break when you're using a dog sled. It's like an anchor that is "thrown overboard" when you need the team to stop, by hooking firmly in the snow. Nancy showed me how the snow hook is presently useless, given the light dusting of snow we currently have. This is the main reason why it's not safe, at this time, to use the sled behind the team. The quad is a safe alternative. Nancy then hauled out all the "rigging," which includes all the gear needed to attach the dogs to the quad. The gangline is the main line that keeps all the dogs together. Off of the gangline are the tugline and the neckline. The tugline attaches the dog's harness to the gangline and the neckline attaches to the dog's collar and keeps the dog in line. Still with me? Once we harnessed the dogs (each dog has a specific harness size), one at a time, we attached each dog to the gangline in the appropriate spot. Nancy has certain dogs that she puts in different positions along the gangline depending on their strengths and weaknesses. For example, she decided to put "General" and "Garlic" in the lead. They listen well to commands and are well behaved (for the most part). The next two dogs are placed behind the leads in the "post" position, followed by the "team", and then the "wheel" dogs, which are the two dogs directly in front of the sleigh/quad. I wondered if General and Garlic felt a sense of pride when they were lead to the front of the pack, "Looks like you'll be gettin' another view of our arses, boys! haha" Remember poor anxious "Cooper," the stressed-out dog who did circles around his house, food bowl in mouth? He was placed alone on the gangline. Apparently, a running buddy creates anxiety. Poor Cooper. Funny enough, he had a little performance anxiety prior to the run (resulting in a quick clean-up on aisle 4, if you catch my drift). It was interesting to see how each dog "prepared" for their run. Evan immediately hit it off with Cooper and assured Cooper that he had similar "issues" prior to big games.

The process of leading the dogs to their spots on the gangline was pure chaos. These dogs were raring to go and weren't in to dilly-dallying around. Nancy hooked the line to a tree and the tree actually began swaying as the dogs pulled, pleading with us to let them run. Check out this video - my eyes say it all. Chaos. What a rush!

Once we got going, the goal was to keep the quad around 12-15 km and ensure the gangline was tight at all times. The dogs instantly took over, doing what they love best and ran their hearts out. I was totally impressed by their focus and consistency. When I run (I HATE running), I slow down, speed up, contemplate throwing myself to the pavement in hopes that I might sustain an injury that would prevent me from continuing. Not these dogs. It's apparent that they are in their element. It's innate. Nose to the snow, ears perked for commands, legs entering a steady pace. Ev noticed immediately that, like people, each dog had a unique gait. Some dogs almost trotted, others galloped, and a few almost looked human-like barrelling down the trail.

Nancy showed us 3 commands that the dogs responded to: "Gee" - turn right, "Haw" - turn left, and "Hike!" or "Mush!" which means "Go!" Believe me, the dogs do not need to be told when to go! General and Garlic glanced back at Nancy a few times, anticipating her next command. It absolutely amazed me when we came to a fork in the path and Nancy hollered, "Haw!" resulting in a seamless left turn. Frick, I've been trying to teach Dundee, the little white dog, how to shake a paw (unsuccessfully) for a year now.

Nancy entrusted me with the quad for the last half of the run. I'm not gonna lie to you, I was nervous. Although Nancy was directly behind me in the "passenger" seat, the following thoughts ran through my mind, "What if I run over the dogs?" "What if I panic and gun it?" "What if the dogs sense my trepidation and refuse to run?" "What if I freak out and throw myself off the quad?" Everything was cool. I maintained an appropriate speed and the dogs even responded to my nervous, shaky command, "Gee!" I even relaxed enough to take in the unbelievable scenery. Words can't describe how beautiful it was on that trail. Winter scenery can be beautiful? I was under the impression that palm trees were necessary to constitute breathtaking scenery. I was wrong.

We did; however, run into a snag at about the 6 mile mark. Nancy instructed me to yell "Haw," indicating a left turn. It was a sharp left turn. I needed to take the quad wide and I hesitated. Poor General looked back and me, "What the hell?" The dog team stopped - a few ran right. A few ran left. Shit. Nancy immediately shut down the quad and attempted to straighten out the dogs. "Seika," one of the wheel dogs instantly became tangled in the gangline. While Nancy attempted to untangle Seika, Evan held General and Garlic steady in the front to keep the gangline from tangling further. Super helpful as I was, I sat on the quad and fretted, "oh shit. oh shit." Within minutes, all was fine and we were off. The dogs, including Seika, whose oxygen may have been depleted for a few seconds whilst tangled, weren't rattled. Off they went. No biggie. I couldn't help but imagine how stressful that would be if you were alone on the trail. Nancy did, in fact, sustain a significant injury 10 years ago in this exact situation. As she attempted to untangle the dogs, the gangline became wrapped around her knee and the dogs bolted, resulting in a dislocated knee. Those dogs are extremely powerful. You really need to know your stuff - it's not like skiing where you "give it a whirl" on the bunny slope. It's easy to see how you could endanger yourself and the dogs if you're not educated about the sport.

One of my favorite moments of the day (and there were many), was when we passed another team of dogs on the narrow, wooded trail. I gasped, held my breath, and hoped for the best. The fur on the dogs back did not even rustle. The team was "in the zone." Like top athletes, nothing was going to distract them from their run. The head-on pass was seamless. Amazing. I was impressed.

Overall, the day was fabulous. I learned so much and truly enjoyed seeing the dogs in action. Once we completed about 10 miles, we headed to the trailer and the dogs recovered with dog treats and slurps of snow. I swear they were grinning from ear to ear as they panted proudly, "What do you think, blondie. Bet you can't run like that. "

January Challenge!

This January challenge couldn't come at a better time. I loathe the first week of January. If I didn't have to work, I would lock myself in my room and sleep the entire week away. Although the temperature has been unseasonably warm in Saskatchewan (16 in Maple Creek??!!), which I find...confusing, it's still dark. Dark. Gloomy. Dark. I arrive at work in the dark. I leave work in the dark. Every now and then, I gaze out of a hospital window to prove that natural light does really exist. I hate it. And as an aside, power 99 FM, our local radio station, does not help the cause by reporting the temperature high in Jamaica on an hourly basis. Power 99 FM why are you doing this to us? I am NOT in Jamaica!! Torture. To add to the misery, I typically buck up and completely change my diet, cutting out the crap that I carelessly consumed during December. The "food" that has caused me to become malnourished and irritable. The fact is, the "cutting" of the crappy food causes excessive irritability for at least the first week. My very wise mother asked, "why are making yourself more irritable during what is always the most difficult time of the year for you?" Good point, mom. I guess I'm a sucker for punishment. I have to admit, this week I was not practicing what I've been preaching on this blog. I actually walked into the coffee room on Tuesday and proclaimed (speech pathologist's cover your eyes!), "I don't think speech therapy ACTUALLY works. My profession is a farce. I am an epic failure." Wow. Good day, Kirst? Not very "seize the day" of me, is it? Now speech therapists, don't get all riled up on me, I take it back completely. The lack of light, sugar, and laughter temporarily turned me into a hopeless, frustrated biatch. But by Thursday, the cloud of despair began to lift, my withdrawal from sugar shakes began to subside, and I received confirmation that my January goal was "a go."

I am just so excited about this month's challenge for a few reasons. First, it reunites me with someone who was a very important part of my and Ev's lives as we entered adulthood (wait...are we there yet?) Second, it involves animals and I love animals. Finally, it's something that, I believe, will provide an adrenalin rush out in the winter elements which is exactly what my sad, sorry, tired ass needs right now.

For the month of January, I will be....

DOG SLEDDING!!

Cool, I know. I can't wait. Technically, it won't be "dog sledding" this month. The lack of snow this year makes it difficult and dangerous to actually ride the sled behind the team, so we will be partaking in "fall training," in which the team of dogs pull a quad. To be honest, the day I decided to embark on this experiment (back in August), I knew that this activity HAD to be on my list and I knew of just the person who could make it work.

Anyone who attended Carlton High School knew teacher/basketball coach extraordinaire, Nancy Dragan, AKA "Drags."Nancy was that one teacher that even the most horrible, defiant little bastards couldn't help but love. Although extremely level-headed, calm, and rationale, her passion and exuberance for the sport of basketball was apparent as she ran up and down the court shouting plays and encouragement to her team. I didn't have the opportunity to play for "Drags," as I was never in to basketball (I was a volleyball girl); however, my sister, Lori, played for Drags throughout high school and frequently comments (15+ years later) about the dedication that Drags always provided to that team, including completing stats late at night after a weekend tournament so that the girls had them for morning practice.

Nancy was much more than just a teacher to Evan and I. Nancy was Evan's billet for his last 3 years with the Prince Albert Raiders. The billet situation was always so difficult for Ev and I. There were very strict rules about curfew time, visitors, etc and although Evan I had been dating for over 2 years, previous billets did not respect that Evan and I were actually involved in a serious relationship. Many in the hockey world encouraged Evan to "ditch the girlfriend and focus on hockey." In addition, I was attending my first 2 years of university and I was receiving similiar advice, "There's lots of guys in University." "He'll move away and forget about you." "Move on." That was hard to swallow. Although we were very young, and looking back, had no idea what barriers lay ahead, we were in love. We had made plans to get married. We spent hours talking to each other about our hopes, dreams and fears with hockey, university, our future. We needed each other and it was so distressing that so many people around us couldn't see that. I remember begging one of Evan's billets to let me be with Evan after 10pm curfew, as Evan had just found out his Grandpa had died. That was hard. Thank god for Nancy Dragan.

Nancy was exactly what Evan needed. She provided a warm, comfy home full of lovable dogs and that extra bit of freedom to be an adult. Evan was 20. He did not need his meals cooked for him. He did not need to report his every move. He needed a friend. A responsible adult who could support him and point him in the right direction when needed. Nancy understood the mind of an athlete and Evan truly appreciated her response to the hockey. While other billets badgered players for play-by-play description of why a loss had occurred, Nancy provided quiet support and just let Evan "be."And I always felt like Nancy respected that Evan and I had a "real" relationship. She never downplayed it, mocked it, or attempted to break it up. She was a very important part of our lives at a critical time when we were learning who were were as adults, and as a couple. This is why I am presently over the moon about spending some time with her doing what has become her greatest passion.

When Ev was living with Nancy during the late nineties, she was just starting to become involved with the world of dog sledding/mushing. She always had a keen interest in Huskies, and Ev and I have fond memories of one of her pets, "Dakota." Dakota was a beautiful dog - the poster dog for the Siberian Huskie, with a shiny thick coat and haunting two-toned eyes. But Dakota was a shithead. He owned the joint and would slam his giant head into Evan's door, rifle through his closet and steal bags of Peg's homemade gingersnaps. Dakota would sneak out the door when I arrived, running recklessly down the streets of PA with Ev and I hot on his heels. Dakota was a character. Dakota's no longer with us, but Nancy now has a yard full of "Dakotas" (well these dogs are likely trimmer, faster and probably don't eat gingerbread cookies!)

Nancy is right in the middle of intensive training with her dogs, as she is preparing for the Torch River Run, an 80km race in March. She invited me out of town to her dog yard to meet and help feed her dogs on Friday evening. Initially as I walked into the yard to loud howls, barks, and shrieks, I was a little intimidated, but it soon became apparent that these guys are friendly and quite comfortable with humans, especially those that might help feed them ;) Nancy is obviously so proud of her dogs and cares for them dearly, but she explains that it's important not to anthropomorphisize these animals (give them human-like qualities). They are still dogs and if you were to examine their family trees, you would find the word "Wolf"; however, after only a few minutes, it's easy to see that each dog has its own distinct personality. I immediately notice Cooper, an anxious-looking dog with a dog dish in his mouth, repeatedly circling his house - round...and round....and round. Nancy explains that he's the most nervous of all the dogs and appears to have some OCD-like behavior (interesting!) She's tried everything to help him to relax, but the only time that he tends to calm down is when he's running (interestingly enough, he also gets performance anxiety prior to run!). Garlic, (what a name for a dog!) on the other hand, sits stoically and calmly in front of his house. Nancy explains that he is a leader. He works hard and motivates the other dogs to follow suit. Garlic actually looks like a yellow lab. I'm surprised to recognize a few dogs from our days with Nancy years ago. Obviously these dogs are now 13-16 years old. They no longer race, and although they show their age as they walk stiffly around their house in anticipation of food, I can see that spark in their glaucoma-ridden eyes and can just picture them hoarsely shouting, "I can still race, pick me. I can do it." (and there I go anthropomorphizing the dogs).

Dundee resolves to become a member of a sled team in 2012

Nancy and I spent a few hours catching up and feeding the dogs. Once the dogs were fed, the yard grew eerily silent, as the dogs settled in for the night. Nancy pointed out the spectacular sunset. Wow. I've never actually paid attention to sunsets during the winter. I just kind of wrote them off. Ask anyone who's holidayed with me in tropical locations or boated with me on a summer's night and you'll know that I'm a sunset addict ("Hurry, guzzle your beer and meet me at the pier. Sunset!") How have I missed winter sunsets for all these years? What I love most about sunsets is that it forces you to momentarily "be" in the present. I know that I live my life in constant anticipation for the future, but with a sunset, I am present in that moment. When Ryan died, his friends gathered around his laptop to search for pictures that would be appropriate for his memorial. Ryan's computer contained folder after folder filled with pictures of sunsets. A random sunset over a field. A sunset over Candle Lake. A sunset in Bali. A close-up of Ryan's giant head right in front of a sunset :) Ryan, apparently, shared my love of sunsets. I had no idea. I wonder if sunsets helped Ryan live in the present?

What a great experience. I can't wait to get to know the dogs, learn more about the sport of dogsledding, and catch up on lost time with Nancy. And don't fret, I'm still finishing the crochet - only 3 squares left and 16 days until the baby's estimated arrival!

Check out the video. Nancy had just pulled out the dog food and it's chaos! Every time I play this video, Dundee, the little white dog, runs barking from window to window. He's ready to become a sled dog's meal.

Happy New Year!

Another year in the books. I learned a lot about myself in 2011. Who knew that you could still discover things about yourself well into adulthood? Most of all, as you've heard me utter repeatedly, I have learned (as cliche as it sounds), that each and every day is a gift. Prior to this year, I have said it, thought it, etc, but honestly, I didn't LIVE it. Ryan's death has taught me that I need to LIVE it. There's still so much in life to discover - even at age 32. That's what I'm trying to do, and what I will continue to strive for in 2012. So far, it's been such a rewarding experience. I have learned how to longboard, play the flute (terribly), correspond en espanol, and crochet! I have had the opportunity to meet new people (how cool is Randy??), learn from my fabulous friends and coworkers, and spend some A+ time with my fantastic Grandma. In addition, I've been reacquainted with an old love of mine - writing. My love of writing dates back to my elementary school days (anyone read, "The Adventures of Misty the Wondercat"? It was a page turner, let me tell you!) I'm just so excited in anticipation of what 2012 has in store and I intend to savour every moment of it.

Ok, on to some news:
1) I've decided to stop eating shit. Not literally. I mean crappy food with no nutritional value. Like most, I got on a roll and consumed an excessive amount of sugar over the holidays. It happens every year. Last January, I embarked on an experiment. I completely cut out sugar for the month of January. Like NO sugar. That doesn't just mean eliminating the obvious sugars like cookies and cake from my diet, but also included things like ketchup and salad dressing. It was horrible. Like a coke addict suffering from withdrawal, I obsessed about sugar and even "cheated" 3 weeks in, sneakily inhaling a donut in my vehicle in the Safeway parking lot. As I shamelessly licked the honey glaze from my forearm, I realized that I had reached a low point in my life. I vowed that I would never get myself to that point of addiction again. And, like clockwork, here I am January 2, in the same predicament. I don't think that I will completely disallow sugar from my diet this month; however, I will do my best to increase my consumption of "healthy" foods.

2) I have an exciting new goal in the works for the month of January. Once it is confirmed, I will be announcing it on my blog. I can tell you that it's very "Canadian" and will force me to embrace the winter elements. It's a gooder.

3) Randy, my inspiring longboard instructor, has closed the doors of "Ten Foot Touque," the most unique and adventure-filled store that has ever graced the streets of Prince Albert. Anyone who had the opportunity to get to know Randy will miss him immensely; however, he will be reuniting with his wife, Sharon, after years of long distance, and embarking on the next chapter of their adventure together in Edmonton. I really feel like some things happen for a reason. Randy came into my life at a time when I needed help grieving the loss of my friend. I needed some time with another "Ryan" of the world - someone who shared his exhilaration for life to help me understand why. Although Ryan's death is still a mystery to me, my experience with Randy helped me deal with those intense feelings of sadness, anger, and guilt. As my board rolled down the riverbank during those warm September evenings, I really felt like Ryan was there with me, which, looking back, is exactly what I needed to feel. As time passes, the horrible memory of that fateful day on the Torch fade slowly, revealing all the wonderful memories of our spirited friend, Ryan Holowaty. Thank you, Randy, for helping me through such a challenging time. I wish you and Sharon the best of luck - can't wait to get you up wakesurfing this summer at Candle lake!
Happy 2012 everyone.

Death by tracksuit

Christmas 2011 has come and gone and, overall, I would have say that it was quite successful. Ev and I "hosted" xmas day at our new house for my mom's side of the family (including the fabulous Grandma Ivy). Basically, I wore a cute little apron and ensured that my guests' drinks (as well as my own, of course) were topped up while my fantastic mom prepared the turkey, stuffing, potatoes, salad, etc. My mom is awesome. Although I'm slowly entering the world of domesticated bliss with the crochet, I'm no where near capable of preparing xmas dinner for 15 people (perhaps a goal for the upcoming months??? hmmm....)

Can I get a whoot whoot!

Boxing day; however, was my favorite. Ev and I lazed in bed with Biloxi, the cat, and Dundee, the dog, until noon-ish, watching big white fluffy snowflakes fall to the ground. Never changing out of our PJ's, we watched crappy TV, consumed excessive amounts of carbs, and discussed the past and our future plans (involving House Hunters International, of course). I even threw in the crochet for good measure. I'm getting good. Wicked good. Like I can sorta kinda watch TV out of the corner of one eye whilst crocheting kinda good. I'm currently on a crochet roll, completing my 7th square last evening (only 5 more to go!) I will actually conquer the crochet. Anyway, back to our boxing day bliss. The holidays weren't always so blissful for us. In fact, the end of xmas holidays typically marked one of my and Ev's miserable, pathetic, emotionally-draining goodbyes. Man we were "good" at goodbyes.

Our 8 years of premarital dating consisted of 6 years of long-distance. 6 years! While Ev battled his way through the Montreal Canadiens system with hockey (and boy, was it a battle!), I was in Edmonton with my BFF, Janna, partying studying my ass off at the U of A. Each and every break of 3+ days, I would hop on a plane and reunite with the love of my life. This is how it worked. For 6 years!!! Gawd. I still can't believe we did it. Because Ev was under contract with the Canadiens, they owned his rights and could basically send him anywhere within their system at the drop of a hat (Montreal, Quebec City, Biloxi, or Asheville). The Canadiens did not give a shit if Evan Lindsay's sweetheart of 7 years had a flight booked to Quebec City the following day. If Biloxi, Mississippi, needed a goalie, that's where he went. It was a nightmare of altering, cancelling, and/or re-booking flights. Of course, once we were in each other's arms, nothing could stop us. Nothing...except for the looming goodbye.

Our "goodbyes" were epic. They could (and did) bring even the most stoic of characters to tears. Ev and I would cling desperately to each other at the security entrance, sobbing, embracing, and whimpering. Ev would wait until the airline beckoned him overhead, shuffle dismally through security, turn towards me, painfully mouth, "I love you," while I would drop to my knees, alone on the cold airport floor, wracked with tears. I remember one affected observer who handed me a cigarette after Ev's departure.

"Thanks, but I don't smoke," I sniffled.

"Now's a good time to start," she said.

(O dear, a tear just fell on my keyboard. must(sob)...move(sob)...on(sob)...this(sniff)...actually(sniff)...gets(sniff)...funny).

Yes, our "goodbyes" were very dramatic; however, the "Edmonton goodbye" of 2002 takes the cake. It's the winner. Hands down.

It was September 2002 and Ev was set to depart to Roanoke, Virginia for an upcoming season with the Roanoke Express of the East Coast Hockey League. I was entering my 4th year at the University of Alberta, with the goal of achieving the marks required to gain acceptance into the Speech-Language Pathology Masters Program. Ev, clad in his newly acquired Roanoke Express tracksuit, reluctantly dragged me towards security at Edmonton International Airport. We were saying goodbye after a perfectly wonderful summer together, knowing that we would not be reunited for 4 long months. As per usual, we staked our location for the dramatic goodbye, directly in front of security and began the pathetic process. Face wet with tears, I buried my head in Ev's chest as he stroked my hair, repeating, "it's ok, Kirst." Sobbing uncontrollably, I inhaled sharply and suddenly found myself choking on Ev's tracksuit. The wet nylon shot straight up my nostrils, causing me to suffocate. I desperately pushed Ev away, attempting to get oxygen into my lungs. Ev, mistaking my panic for sadness, held me tighter to his chest, repeating those soothing words, "It's ok kirst. It's going to be ok." Shit. It's not Ok. I'm suffocating. On the Roanoke Express tracksuit. Death by tracksuit was imminent. AAAAAGGGGGGHHHH. When Ev finally realized what was happening, he released his loving grip while I sputtered and coughed, relishing the ability to breathe again. What a show.

Don't let the 'friendliness' of the tracksuit fool you. Can you say attempted murder?

To be perfectly honest, that was one of the most pleasant goodbyes in my memory. The fear of being smothered to death by the tracksuit totally overrode the misery of the goodbye. Perhaps my reunion with oxygen made me momentarily high but I was suddenly exuberant. Get on the plane! Go! Go! See ya, see ya, wouldn't want to be ya! Don't forget to stop the puck! haha!

Oh wow. Good times. I can't believe that was us. To this day, my heart fills with sadness at the departure gate of any airport. Sadness, and that undeniable urge to take a deep breath.

A "bad" day

I'm going to preempt this post with a warning: if you're looking for a shits and giggles today, abandon this post immediately. Go watch the flute vids from October or check out the Bloggess.com.

It blows me away how many times I hear people (including myself) say that they've had a "bad" day. What exactly does that mean? It's totally subjective. Perhaps my "bad" day would be a "pretty decent" day for some. I even requested bonus retirement points post "worst day ever" ( see blog post) which, reading back now, looks like a pretty fricken hilarious day, resulting in a fabulous tale! I think everyone has the right to proclaim that they've had "the worst day ever!" We all do it. However; occasionally, I think we all need a little perspective on what, exactly, a "bad" day means for some, and spend our time focusing on the positive things in our lives (Gawd, I sound like Dr. Phil or something).

I quickly realized into my 3rd month of working on the hospital wards that I couldn't cry each and every time I lost a patient. You just can't do that to yourself. So something happened to me, something that must happen to everyone who works in emotionally charged situations - you slowly become hardened. It's like a little suit of armor that slides on to protect you from sad as soon as you enter the workplace. I guess it's a technique that many professions (police, fire, social workers, etc) must engage in order to survive. I fear that I'm losing that compassionate side that families desperately need when I enter the patient's room. It's become another item on my to-do list: "discuss end-of-life feeding with Smith family followed by lunch out with the girls."

Not to worry, with the holidays in high gear, once again I've completely lost my little suit of armor, and have spent the week sobbing with patients, families, and alone in my car on my way home from work.

I cried with my patient when she uttered her first 3 words since her stroke 6 weeks ago: "Take a bath?" :) I cried with a lonely man who hasn't had a visitor since his admission 2 months ago. I cried with a family as they gathered around their dying father. I cried alone in my car, thinking of Ryan. It will be his family's first Christmas without him. I can't imagine what that would feel like. Thank goodness I work with a fabulous team of people, who I'm sure quietly share these feelings. We all "get" what it's like and bond together in our own little way in order to cope (Christmas caroling followed by a little wine and 'Love Acutally' does the body good!)

This post is not intended to throw you into a deep dark depression or cause you to react defensively, taking back every day you've proclaimed "the worst day ever." But sometimes it's important to focus on all the good things happening in your life (even the small, seemingly insignificant things) instead of dwelling on the bad. I constantly need to remind myself of that. I walked out of the hospital at 4:30 (ok, 4:21 - I snuck out early) and didn't look back. I filed away the sadness, cranked Mariah Carey's, "All I want for xmas is you" (how can that NOT make you happy?),  and celebrated all the wonderful things for which I am grateful.  I get to drive home. I get to spend time with my Grandma crocheting. I get to create a gift for my best friend's first baby (and meet him in just over a month!) I get to share the holidays with my friends and family - all of whom are healthy. I get to endure Ev's "budget" talks. I get to watch my niece and nephew excitedly tear into their xmas presents. I get to taste Baba's homemade perogies. I get to, I get to, I get to. There's so many things that I get to do! And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

Merry Christmas!
PS: 4 crochet squares completed. The tears slowed me down this week. Next week, I will be better!

Do Not Crochet with a Hangover.

You can't just crochet whenever you have a spare minute. Trust me, you really have to "feel" the crochet before you sit down and make that time commitment. Yesterday, for example, I attempted the crochet the day after hosting our gym's xmas party. This is not just any party, people. It's a Saskpro CrossFit xmas party. Our members are some of the most competitive people I've ever met - which is fantastic when you're trying to push yourself during a workout - not so fantastic when you're consuming alcohol. But, extremely entertaining! I awoke Sunday morning afternoon with a horrendous headache. I did not have time to wallow in my self-inflicted pain. This baby is coming in just over a month's time and I currently have enough crochet squares to possibly cover the baby's left foot. I popped a Tylenol and got to work. Bad idea. The swooping, hooking, and pulling made my stomach turn. I actually had to restart one stitch 3 times, muttering threats under my breath, "if you do that again, yarn, I will seriously kick your ass." Now that is NOT the energy you want to put into a baby blanket. I threw in the towel and admitted defeat. Vodka:1, Kirstie: 0. There are just some circumstances in which the crochet should not happen. Grandma failed to warn me that crocheting with a hang-over is a big no-no.

You mean most people don't chug wine upside down at their xmas parties?

I have; however, found optimal conditions for the crochet. I'd like to share my top 2:

1) During an Evan Lindsay "budget" talk. I just threw up in my mouth. The Evan Lindsay budget talk is like my least favorite thing in the world. Evan tries to pretend it's not a "budget" talk, he even attempts to disguise it by renaming it clever things like, "profit planning." I'm on to you, Evan Lindsay. On cue, as soon as I hear words like, "RRSP's" "mortgage payments," "tax-free savings account," etc, I completely shut down. I see Evan's mouth move, but I cannot make out the words. My little head fogs over and I desperately try to find my happy place (diving with whale sharks, a nice glass of wine, wakesurfing on a summer's day). I nod and smile, having NO clue what Evan is saying. I've found that the crochet fits quite nicely into this scenario. As poor Ev attempts to plan our financial future, thinking he has my undivided attention, I happily focus on the swoop, dive, hook, and pull, producing some of my finest stitches!

2) During a "top 3" movie. I've never met a person who doesn't have at least one favorite movie that they obsess over, watching repeatedly, whilst continuing to be entertained. I have 3: "Romancing The Stone," "Dirty Dancing," and "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation."Each of these movies would be optimal to watch whilst crocheting.

While most 6 year olds were practicing their "care bear stare" or prancing around like, "My Little Pony," I was repeating my favorite line from "Romancing The Stone."  "How would you like to die, Joan Wilder. Slow, like a snail? Or fast, like a shooting star?" Pretty messed up, right? I have no idea why my parents condoned my obsessive fascination with that movie, but, whatever...I turned out OK. Mostly. I loved that movie. Apparently, most 6 year olds were not as in to Michael Douglas as I was?

Dirty Dancing is epic. How could you NOT love that movie? Janna and I shared a deep love for Patrick Swayze. Sharing a little house off of Whyte Ave in Edmonton, Janna and I watched that movie repeatedly during our University years. We did; however, run into one problem. Our VCR was salvaged from the dump. It didn't quite work properly. One of us was required to sit on the floor and hold the cable that connected the VCR to the TV at all times. A little inconvenient, but it never prevented us from acting out every single scene in that movie (Man, how annoying would it be to watch that movie with us?). Janna took it one step further and actually performed the "time of my life" finale dance at her wedding. Wow. It was impressive. Aren't they going to be cool parents? Check it out:

Finally, I'm finding that the crochet works very well with National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I don't even have to look up. I hear Clark W. Griswold proclaim, "I give you the Griswold Family Christmas Tree!" and I can immediately picture that massive tree crashing through their living room window. That movie evokes so much festive cheer within me. As I chuckle happily with each swoop, I imagine that baby giggling under my happy little squares, thinking, "My aunty Kirstie is frickin' hilarious!"

36 days until baby! 9 squares to go!

Biloxi the cat.

Wait a minute...are we having a baby?

Biloxi, the cat, loves the crochet. He cuddles up next to me on the couch, lays his little fuzzy orange head on my leg and purrs away as I swoop, hook, dive, and pull (it's getting much better, by the way). Ev arrived home from work to find Biloxi and I in this serene position, xmas tree lit up, fire blazing the fireplace, house hunters blasting on the big screen. It was a like a Norman Rockwell xmas card or something.
"Wow, this is different," he commented.
Which caused me to become slightly annoyed. Like he typically returns from work to find me guzzling Pilsner and rolling joints or something? I can play the domesticated role. I just choose not to.

Nice house. Never get too attached - we could move tomorrow

I digress. Back to Biloxi, the cat. Every now and then, he loses it and attacks the crochet - completely destroying the serene Norman Rockwell xmas card moment, biting at the yarn, causing me to curse and toss his fuzzy, 20 pound (for serious) body off the couch. He leaves the room, regroups, and returns a few minutes later to calmly observe the process again. I think it's a great stress reliever for him. And, trust me, he could really use a good stress reliever.

Biloxi, the cat, has just completed his 32nd move in his 10 years of life. Biloxi "chose" Ev and I 10 years ago at a little pet store in Biloxi, Mississippi (hence the name, "Biloxi.") We had intended to purchase a female cat so we held and cuddled Biloxi's sisters, attempting to determine which one was the right kitten for us. Ev was drawn to the little orange male kitten (probably because Ev's orange...and male too). He held the little guy in the palm of his hands. They immediately bonded, but I was quite set on a female cat.

Man I hope Ev doesn't get traded today.

"Gross. What's that smell?" Ev held out his hand to reveal a tiny piece of kitten poo. His new orange buddy shit in his hand! That was the deciding factor. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is. The little orange kitten became ours. He instantly became "Biloxi, the traveling cat." Since that day, Biloxi has faithfully followed Evan and his hockey career to 8 different states in the US as well as England and Scotland. Biloxi, the cat, was in possession of a European Union passport (for serious), quarantined at London Heathrow airport (24 hours for possession of catnip), smuggled into "no pets allowed" condos and hotels, and endured a few 14-hour flights overseas (in a huge pet carrier with a sign that read, "My name is Biloxi. I am scared. Please be nice to me.") He's a trooper. Like being the cat of a professional hockey player wasn't shitty enough, he's now the cat of a couple of 30-somethings with a fear of commitment to location. That's what I call it. Like clockwork, Ev and I get this overwhelming urge to move (somewhere...anywhere) approximately every 2 years. We get bored, I guess. Biloxi, the faithful friend, reluctantly gets shoved in his little carry-on box and follows along. With each move, Biloxi takes a few days to settle in, slinking with his belly to the ground, eyes darting quickly from side-to-side like he's dodging snipers. Poor little dude.

Me and Evs won the cup in Scotland. No biggie.

Christmas with Ev in Texas. I love dressing up for xmas.

I love England. Cheerio!

What? We're moving again? Can't you rejects hold down a job?

So, you know what? If watching the crochet calms his furry little nerves, then by all means, watch away. Perhaps I can teach him how to crochet (there's that whole "no thumbs" issue though). Janna: the baby blanket may have a little bit of cat spit on it, but I hear that will help your baby to build resistance, ensuring that he doesn't develop allergies to cats. So realistically, I'm helping keep your child warm whilst preventing pesky cat allergies. You're welcome. :)

Check out my first 2 squares. Grandma says I need 12 squares. I'm hoping the baby is very small and only requires 6.

Note: right square was my first attempt. I am improving.
Which means that right square is no longer good enough. Damn.

My first crochet injury...

You heard right. A crochet injury. Actually, let's pluralize that. Injuries. Can you believe it? Some might say that I'm an "aggressive" crocheter. I sat down with Grandma on Monday for my first lesson. I'm sure poor Grandma wondered how the h I made it through grade 2 after my inability to grasp the concept of making a "loop." Poor Grandma sat down next to me on the couch and patiently demonstrated the basics of crochet, "Swoop, loop, dive, pull it through." I attempted to follow the movement of her fingers, the string, and the hook, but it was all happening much too quickly - it was a blur of swooping, looping, diving, and pulling. Sweating nervously, I pretended to understand, but as Grandma placed the hook in my hands, I began diving, looping, twisting, turning, and diving. It was awful. And embarrassing. Up until this point, I was pretty sure that Grandma thought I was one smart cookie. She remained patient, providing encouraging words, "Oh look, you swooped when you should have looped." "Oh, you hooked from the wrong side."  "Oh look you hooked from the wrong side again." (voice getting louder and shriller) "Oh, look, you've hooked from the wrong side again."AAAAAACCCCCKKKK! Why is this so difficult? When I finally managed to successfully create one chain (like the easiest "move" in crochet), Grandma fussed over me like I had just won a Nobel Prize, "Oh good! Look at how nice that chain is! What a smart girl!" At that point, I was crunched down on the couch with my head practically on Grandma's shoulder - hoping that if our shoulders touched, her talent would seep into me. How could this possibly be relaxing? Grandma crochets, holds conversations with her visitors, scolds Dr. Phil's reject guests, sips her tea, all whilst crocheting? I held my breath for fear that it would interrupt my damn chain.

After about an hour, I finally began to get the hang of it. Sorta. Grandma was over the moon, praising me, telling me that I had the crochet "gene." Trust Grandma to focus on the positives. If I ended up in the Pen for armed robbery (would I end up in the pen for armed robbery? Perhaps jail?). Anyways, If I was locked up for armed robbery, Grandma would brag to everyone what a great shot I was. Ivy MacDonald's grandchildren can do no wrong in her eyes.

I accepted my praise, my cookies (this crocheting is going to be hard on the waistline!) and headed out the door with the intention of completing a row independently at home. In the privacy of my home, I unleashed my anger on that crochet hook. I told it how I really felt. Recalling Janna's response to my project, "Our baby will know how much love went into this blanket," I couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for snarling, "You stupid piece of s$%t, motherf&^%$#$!"as that damn hook split perfectly good loops of wool and dove into places it wasn't supposed to dive into. I remembered one of Grandma's tips, "make a larger swoop." So that's what i did. Unfortunately, my nose got in the way. I actually swiped off a piece of nose skin on the tip of my nose. I knew it was time to throw in the towel as the blood began to drip to on the wool (don't worry, Janna - there is no blood or nose skin on the blanket; however, if your baby fails to have restful sleeps under this thing, I completely understand).

I awoke the next day with a hideous scab on the tip of my nose and a rib out. that's right, a rib. I didn't sustain that many injuries after a month of flying down hills on a longboard! Yikes. There was no waiver. No precautions were provided. I was never made aware of the risks of crocheting. I learned the hard way. The good news is that it can only get better...and I'm thoroughly enjoying my daily tea and cookies with Grandma.

Extreme close-up doesn't do it justice. 

December Goal: causing me to sweat uncomfortably

I found myself in uncharted waters this morning. Lost and confused, I wandered aimlessly down the aisles. I felt the other shoppers glaring - judging me - knowing that I was not one of "them." I'm quite certain that the entire store snickered as I stopped to ask for directions. With my awkward thumbs and complete absence of artistic talent, it was apparent that I did not belong. I was in Michaels. Specifically, I was searching for the wool aisle in Michaels...which leads me to my December goal.

I am super excited about this month's challenge for 3 main reasons:
1) It involves 2 of my most favoritest people in the whole world (I'm well aware that this is grammatically inaccurate; however, I feel the need to emphasize this point with excessive superlatives). These 2 fantastic people are my best friend, Janna and my Grandma, Ivy.
2) This is something I would NEVER have chosen to do on my own. This is not my "thing." This is completely outside of my skill set.
3) Ryan would definitely dig this.

with our moms at Janna's wedding: "OMG, your hubby is totally into you!"

First, let me introduce you to my best friend, Janna. I met Janna for the first time in kindergarten. We hit it off and I took her home with me. Literally. There was a misunderstanding and some bad 5 year old lying, but to make a long story short, Janna's parents did not know where she was, freaked out,  and her face just about made the milk carton. It's all good now. Janna and I have basically grown up together. We've shared every monumental life experience together. From my awkward "chubby" stage to my first phone call to Evan (Janna dialed, squealed, "Tell him you like him!", threw the phone at me as I dropped it on the floor, screaming. Needless to say, Evan hung up) to University life (we lived together in a great party pad) to our wedding days, we have been with each other through it all. Janna "knows" me. I don't know what I'd do without her. Here's the kicker: Janna's about to enter a completely new and exciting phase in her life - she's about to become a mom! I still can't believe it. Like everything else in Janna's life, I just know that she's going to rise to the occasion and be a spectacular (but very cool) parent.

Now let me introduce you to my Grandma (don't worry, Baba, you're in my April goal - love ya!). Grandma and I also go waaaay back. I lunched daily with Grandma and Grandpa in my elementary school days. I would arrive at their house, chow down on grilled cheese, whole milk, and pudding with cream and sprinkles on top, whilst watching the "Flinstones," then roll my tubby little self back to school (that was the awkward chubby phase to which I alluded to). Grandma is the perfect mix of "traditional" Grandma and modern "golden girl." Grandma will whip up a batch of cookies, check her facebook page, crochet an afghan, and invite her aesthetician over for her eyebrow waxing. She's awesome. We lost Grandpa to cancer in 2006. Grandma and Grandpa were such a fantastic couple. They had so much fun together. Grandpa loved to tease Grandma (and all of us kids). When Grandma would veer off-topic during one of her elaborate stories, Grandpa would grab the channel changer, point it at Grandma and say, "Fast forward Ivy!" causing Grandma to giggle flirtatiously and eventually complete the story :). I know that not a day goes by that Grandma doesn't miss Grandpa. But Grandma doesn't dwell on it, she has remained positive, embracing life, keeping busy by spoiling and loving her friends and family. I admire her. And...Grandma is the baby expert.

I'll just whip up some biscuits before I change my facebook status

So, let me put this all together for you. I want to make something special for Janna and her new baby. I want Grandma to help me. So for the month of December, with the help/guidance of my Grandma, I will be crocheting an afghan for Janna's baby!

I know I know. I can hear you all laughing. Kirstie? Make a baby blanket? I've never been the "crafty" one, avoiding scrapbook-making (hello? can you say photo album?), cake decorating (that's what the Safeway bakery is for), and scarf knitting (booooring). It just doesn't turn my crank. But that's what this year's all about - stepping outside of my comfort zone and trying new things. The Michael's experience was daunting. I mean, send me to the liquor store to select a fabulous South African wine, but do not expect to navigate the wool aisle at a craft store. But...I did it. "Baby" steps (lame :)  I selected some fantastic spools clumps balls of wool for this fabulous baby blanket which I am about to create.

Finally, I know Ryan would totally dig this. Not because he was super into afghans or babies (although, he definitely expressed an interest in having kids someday - little "buddies"). Ryan would be stoked that I'm sharing the experience with my Grandma. Ryan's Grandpa Holowaty lived a few doors down from us at the lake. Ryan was always over at his Grandpa's helping and hanging out. His Grandpa was a war veteran and every year Ryan made an effort to be with his Grandpa (in uniform) during the Remembrance Day Service. Ryan loved and respected both of his Grandpas and it was apparent in his conversations that he really enjoyed the time that he was able to spend with them. I realize at age 32 how lucky I am to have a healthy, happy Grandma who's willing to share her area of expertise with me!

"Wait a minute. I'm confused. Am I involved in any way?"

So away I go. Sweating nervously, with my balls of wool and crochet sticks needles hooks in hand, I am ready to enter the uncharted territory of baby-blanket making. READ: NOT baby-making...baby BLANKET making. There's a big difference there.