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Grade 11 Ceramics
Final Grade: A
Taryn can be commissioned to make something special for you, too. We are currently in negotiations with Dr. Seus so, move quickly, before the demand drives up her prices.
Seriously, I do love her art. These pieces are like a fleeting glance into the rapidly fading childlike thoughts that a sixteen year old tries so hard to hide.
Or, yet another intelligent conversation with a 12 year old.
As we are watching the CFL pre-game where Milt Stegall was awarded, oh, everything for breaking the touchdown record.
Liam, "I'm going to play for the NFL."
Me, "You don't play football."
Liam, "But I'm really good at it. I just don't have a team."
Me, "Sooo, how do you suppose that you are going to play professional football when you have never actually played the game? Just curious."
Liam, "Some team that really sucks, like Oakland, will have open try-outs; they'll hire me. Then I'll be traded to the Falcons or the Eagles. That's it. And, look, they've named a street after him. That'll be me. And, I'll buy you a house."
Me, "Hmm."
Who needs RRSP's when there's a plan like that in place.
Here I sit in a Vancouver hotel room. I plan to go to sleep early tonight and set my alarm clock for 3:30 am.
At that time, it will be my responsibility to go out to the street, bang my wine bottle against my aluminum Chinese food container and yell towards the sky to effectively chase off the voracious monster that will be attempting to consume the moon.
My efforts will likely go unnoticed in this part of town; commonly witnessed behaviour, I suppose. In fact, I may get a date.
I rode my beautiful Suzuki Bandit motorcycle home from work this morning with a smile on my face and a song in my heart MP3 Player, as always. I came into the house; The Ex is visiting and somewhat awake. I grabbed my mini-mechanic kit and turned to go back outside where my soulmate was parked in the driveway feeling a little unwell.
The Ex queried my intentions. I explained that Bandit was not responding well on the hairpin turns that I enjoy between home and work. It felt as though the front tire was turning in too far. Poor description, I'm sure, but he rides a motorbike as well so, he should get it. I was speaking the language of the rider; I was talking about feelings. Something that I was apparently unable to do while I was married (little aside, over it). So, I was going to check the tire pressure. Simple mind = simple solution.
The Ex reminded me that he rode his brand new bike last season off the lot with low tire pressure and, didn't catch it until the first (5000 km) servicing and, therefore, had to replace both of his tires. Low tire pressure is not as easy to detect as "a feeling".
Front tire pressure should be 42 psi: mine was 28.5 psi.
Seriously, how could I have possibly not smiled.
It had to be said: "Hmmm, maybe if you would have let me ride your bike I could have saved you about $700 in new tires. I am at one with the bike, you know."
Hello. My name is Kim and I have not read any of the Harry Potter books.
Pause to allow for the cries and gasps to subside.
I am not the anti-Potter or anything that dramatic. I have appropriately funded the empire of J. K. Rowling by purchasing, at full price, all of the books for the children, we have seen the movies and we own the videos DVDs.
Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl has just finished The Last Book. I, quite mistakenly, thought that it was perfectly reasonable to ask her how it ended; who died, who converted to The Dark Side (oops, wrong literary empire), who fell in love. The usual.
"Mom, I can't tell you that. You haven't even read any of the books."
"But, I've bought them. And, I've seen the movies."
"You're still like three books behind."
"I can just look it up on the internet you know. I don't need you to tell me."
"I guess you'll have to do that then."
Tramp. Give me my book back. There must be a spot on the bookshelf somewhere between the unopened books of Grimm and Homer.
The Edmonton shopping and visiting extravaganza was cut a day short. After a week of proving my love to the children via AMEX Platinum, I was looking forward to finishing it off with a child-free night committing at least 4 or 5 of the Seven Deadly Sins. But no, there had to be a stupid forest fire at my house. I'm not a big God follower but, apparently someone didn't feel that I deserved a night out.
"What's this? Kim wants to go out drinking and gambling wearing a booby shirt? Well, we all know that can't happen. What to do......... hmmmm.....how about a forest fire?"
The foreboding phone message started with, "I know you've left town and I'm not sure what you have at home in the way of animals and kids...." Because I have deserted them so many times in the past.
So, we packed and headed home. As we rounded a mountain about an hour away from our house, this was our view:
In a matter of a few days, the forest fire that is currently within 5 kilometres of our village went from 255 hectares to 2000 hectares. From our front porch, the fire is visible but still far enough away for me to enjoy the pretty colours; in a terrible, destructive sort of way, of course.
This morning, I woke up exceptionally early with the theme song from M*A*S*H playing in my head thanks to the support of 10 helicopters and a couple of bombers. I'm always in fine form and a cheery mood when I get up really early, just ask the kids, or my Ex, or anyone who I work with.
This morning Liam-the-12-year-old-boy and I are leaving on another road trip. We are heading to Edmonton to meet Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl who is wrapping up her jet-setting summer of leisure.
The drive is sure to be a relaxing two days through various mountain ranges that separate me from the rest of Canada; a time to bond with the child who is still able to admit that I am a contributing member to his existence (albeit barely). You see, he starts high school and turns into an egomaniacal teenager in a few weeks.
Shortly, I will be demoted to provider of food and money and, once again, my thoughts and opinions will wither in comparison with the influence that all others will have in his life.
How do I know all this? It's like I have a crystal ball. I already have visions of the trip back when Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl claims her entitled place in the front seat, silently evaluates my choice of music before turning on her Ipod, adjusts her oversized, Nicole Ritchie sunglasses and reclines her seat. Never to be heard from again. Until it requires sustenance.
Boy, "Mom, will you make me some breakfast?"
Me, "Do you want eggs & toast?"
Boy, "Nope. Pancakes."
Me, "I'm not making pancakes, I'll make eggs & toast."
Boy, "But, I want pancakes."
Me, "Sorry, I don't want to make pancakes, I'll make eggs."
Boy, "Well, you're not being a very good mother then, are you?"
Five minutes later, as he is eating his eggs & toast, "Mom, can you give me some money towards an Xbox 360 if I don't have enough?"
What...... is this like my second chance or something? I am quite relieved to know that I can always buy back my Mother of the Year Award when I've had it yanked away by making the wrong breakfast. Jackass.
Any thought that crosses the blood-brain barrier.
That's my blog.
A few months ago, when I started contributing to my blog, my purpose was to journal and put up a few pictures to share with my family and friends who are spread all over the world. My BFF, Laurie, had started one and put me onto a few more that she enjoyed reading.
Considering that I have the attention span of a soup can, this effort was certain to be doomed from the conception. But then, something happened.
First, the target audience was reading my blog, then a couple of them linked my blog to theirs so there were people who I kind of knew existed, reading it. This was an amazing feeling, I was almost famous. I had my first taste and I wanted more. I read other life-themed blogs with great enjoyment and a little envy at how smoothly they flowed and what a grand following they had earned.
I've recently joined Blogher, a community linking women who blog about anything and everything from around the world, to learn more, cyber-meet and increase my exposure.
And today..... it happened.
I received a comment on one of my blog posts that came from someone who I have never met. I stood and jumped up and down and applauded like a little girl who has just received a pony for her birthday.
This was better than sex! (If memory serves because, of course, I'm not married right now and would have no idea, Dad.)
Thank you, Terri.
But, alas, with fame comes responsibility. So many of the other writers are amazing. They have something to contribute; great art, amazing photographs, incredible journalistic insight, thought patterns that are not distracted by red balloons.
I know enough about almost everything to get by at a party without being labeled as socially inept but, I'm not an expert on anything. Well, I'm pretty good at my job but it doesn't translate well into conversation unless we share the same appreciation about the obvious similarities between cannelloni and eviscerated intestines.
Parenting: the offspring have lived so I should get a few points for that.
Wine: like it a lot, pretty good at tasting it.
Current events: tainted and a little hardline, probably shouldn't share my views.
Photography: willing to spend the money on the equipment, lack talent, may get over it.
Art: like wine, I can certainly appreciate the work that others have done.
Cooking: no, just no.
And, I'm not even sure how to tie this one up. I know that I'm going to continue doing it. Some days will be better than others.
