How Do You Spell Guilt? RESOLUTION.

Today is one of my least favourite days of the year. Besides the fact that our roads will be polluted with every drunk this side of Betty Ford, there is this insane pressure to RING IN THE NEW YEAR!!! Whatever.

Yes, tomorrow will mark the start of a brand new year but it's meaningless to me except that I will have to remember to sign my cheques with an 8 instead of a 7. I fully expect to be subjected to the barrage of "Year in Review" programs that populate mass media. From the top 100 songs and the biggest celebrity meltdowns to the most compelling news events and of course, George Bush's most illiterate moments of the year, we will have a scintillating choice of mindless lists to digest.

And of course, I feel compelled to make a blasted list of my own. So here it goes:

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

• Read at least one book a week.
  

• Look, I know that I probably won't have the time to do this but what's a good resolution list without a few items that are impossible to keep?
  

• Stop using the "f" word.
  

• This may just fall into the "impossible to keep" category because there are times when no other word will do. And it is such a versatile word. It can be a noun, verb, adverb, adjective and object...often within the same sentence. If you say it softly, it's like a tickle. Say it with a little gusto and people could be wiping spittle from their eyes. In any case, I'm likely to miss it.

• Learn to speak another language.
  

• I know that in my line of work, Mandarin Chinese or Hindi would be useful but I've been looking for courses in daughterese, ex-husbandish and umm Kiwi. I still am not completely clear as to what the heck "crikey" means but a POME? Well, that's just a prisoner of mother England, don't you know? And it's a slur but compared to the ones we have here, I think we can all agree it's pretty tame.
  

• Exercise More.

• There is the gym and my perpetually psycho scale but I think that the best kind of exercise is the type that Eve whispered to Adam after that first nibble of the apple. I'm not terribly particular as to how the calories are burned, just that they are.

• Say Thank You More Often.
  

• Dallas's sister is this fiery, smart, independent woman named Leisa. I have never met her but I know that she would fit right in with the GNO crew. We are exactly one week apart in our birthdays and I'm older but I can't seriously hold that against her. Recently, she sent Dallas a note to let him know that she would like for me to attend an intimate luncheon and the wedding ceremony which was originally intended for close friends and parents, only. I had plans to shop in Auckland during this time and hook up later at the reception but her email changed everything. To Leisa, I say my first of many "thank you's" for the year. I understand how meaningful this day is and to include me in those plans is an incredibly magnanimous gesture. Some people teach you grace. Leisa appears to be a part of that group.

So there you have it. I could probably write a resolution list that would span the continental US but five is all that I'm able to manage. Any more than that would be as wasted as a common sense lecture for Britney Spears.

I hope that all of you have a prosperous, healthy and joy-filled 2008.

Where Did You Say You Was From?

It's a queer feeling to spend some time in your native country and find that it has become foreign.

I walked down to the local grocery store yesterday to grab a few necessities and as I perused the aisles, I had a hard time picking out a single brand that was familiar to me any longer. Then, I stumbled upon the sweets aisle and in a blink, I was transported back to my childhood when cookies were the only reason for choking down overcooked spinach (eyes watering, gagging).

Dare cookies.

They are a little slice of nirvana. I can remember climbing up the formal dining room chairs to get the bags of cookies that were hidden on top of the china hutch. And yes, you can assume that there was an issue when parental units are forced to hide the sweets. And because I am nothing if not patriotic, I bought a bag of Dare Maple cookies to take back home.

Old Dutch Potato Chips.

You have not lived until you have burned off the inside of your mouth with their salt and vinegar offering. It's hard to find that flavour in the US. Dill pickle is another Canadian favourite. Of course, I haven't had a chip since 1987 and can't imagine being friendly with my bathroom scale in the foreseeable future so marching down nostalgia lane is an exercise in junk food frustration.

Did I mention the drugs? According to the current American administration, Canadian pharmaceuticals are of inferior quality because negotiating the cost with the manufacturer is madness, I tell you. Certifiable. Besides, who has time to bicker over price gouging when there are more important things to do like topple "rogue regimes". But I digress.....the drugs. Yes. In Canada, there are magic pills called two twenty twos (222's).



They are basically Tylenol 3's and they are available over the counter. Apparently, Canuks are responsible enough to handle a little caffeine and codeine without too much trouble. Since most Canadians have engaged in at least one of the national past times (the consumption of beer, contact hockey), 222's are as vital in the medicine cabinet as toothpaste.

I took my purchases up to the register and noticed that the cashier had a fairly thick Canadian accent. As I paid and exchanged pleasantries with her, she asked me how I was enjoying my visit.

"How did you know I was visiting?"

"Oh because of your accent," she answered.

This took me by surprise but I guess after fifteen years in another country, assimilation will take place. My knee jerk reaction was mild panic at the thought of losing the Canadian in me but after giving my head a shake, I realized that I get the best of both countries and who really gives a flip if I can no longer be identified by the way I talk.

I was once caught speeding in northern Michigan and the first thing the police officer said to me after I opened my mouth was, "You ain't from around here, are ya'?" Today, I'd have to ask him to define, "here" because for me, home has really become less concrete and more about where my hat is hanging.

Special Gifts Come in Small Packages

Last Friday, just as my plane touched down in Canada, my eldest daughter went into labour. After fifteen or so hours, she gave birth to a healthy eight pound baby boy.

So I'd like to introduce you to the best Christmas present our family received this year:

MADDOX CADE

I can't wait to meet him.
I hope your Christmases were equally fabulous.

The Food is Better at Grandma's

I'm sorry about the lack of posts recently. After posting every day for the month of November, I had very little left to say. Then we had the holidays....

The kids and I got on a plane last Friday at 5:40 am (don't rub your eyes, you read that right) to fly to my mum's house in Victoria, British Columbia. After three flights and ten hours, we arrived to typical winter weather in the Pacific Northwest. Rain. Vast quantities of stuff. Biblical. As in Noah and his bloody ark.

In spite of the damp, I was once again awash in the feeling that comes when I go home. I think it might be awe. As soon as I step out of the airport, the visual aesthetic of the northwest blows me away. EVERY TIME.

And the air tastes...I don't know.. clean somehow. It's hard not to be impressed when a single 360° view produces mountains enrobed in mist, towering evergreens, lush holly trees in full berry bloom and the cold, gray fury of the ocean. Rain or not, the beauty of this area is unparalleled.

It goes without saying that my children love being with their grandmother because her sole purpose in life is to exist as the antithesis of me. They are lavished with attention, stuffed with all sorts of sweets and generally waited on hand and foot. When we get back to the US, they'll wander around our house asking for ridiculous things like a home cooked meal or a bedtime story. It will take WEEKS to deprogram them!

We spent Christmas day like a lot of other people: eating ourselves into a coma and talking with far flung relatives on the phone. I was sloth-like. I got up from the couch to...um....well...I guess "got up" might be a slight exaggeration. I probably slid off the thing a few times to amble to the fridge or the bathroom. Other than that, I did a whole lot of nothing. It was pure bliss. Tomorrow is Boxing Day and I intend to go shopping. I am well aware that hitting the stores on the day after Christmas is a lot like having an ice pick jammed repeatedly into your brain but the advertisments use language like, "clearance", "sale of the season" and "80% off". The cerebral self understands gimmick marketing but I am an imperfect woman and if there is the merest whisper that a real deal might be had, I feel compelled to participate.

Hello. My name is Beth. I am a female with a little money and a babysitter. Why don't you just preauthorize my Visa right now so we can get this party started.

Table for Eight

I have a love hate relationship with Christmas.

On the one hand, there are all of these memories of snow, cousins, rosy cheeks, food and laughter. On the other, I remember stomach churning anxiety. I loved shopping for gifts but as a student, I always spent an obscene amount of money which usually represented my car note, rent or tuition for the next semester. And I stressed over the gifts themselves, worried that they wouldn't be good enough. Yes, I know. I was in desperate need of approval, blah, blah, therapy, blah, blah....

And then, I gave birth.

Children give the gift of Christmas back to us, don't they? There are letters to Santa, classic holiday TV shows, baking shortbread and sugar cookies and staying up until four in the morning with a set of Japanese instructions in an effort to assemble the gadget of the moment. I have loved this time of year for the past decade. To see the look of awe on their faces Christmas morning makes it all worthwhile. Besides, Santa is a great disciplinary tool as in,

"I'm picking up this phone right now to make a report to Santa about your behaviour, young lady" which usually yields the desired results: look of horror, mouth open in silent scream and immediate change in attitude.

But this year felt funky and for the life of me, I don't know why. I sort of wanted to blink and have the holiday go away. Bah humbug! And the crazy thing is that I couldn't get a handle on why I felt this way because I have been living a charmed life. I should have been spreading Christmas cheer instead of ducking it. Then, early this week, everything changed.

Dallas and I got our respective broods together to celebrate Christmas since the kids and I are heading out of town tomorrow.

It was a madhouse.

We had dinner and then opened our gifts. It was noisy, confused, wrapping paper everywhere and quite fun. I think Dallas might have been overwhelmed because I don't hold to any gift-opening rules. I let the children run wild. WILD. It was mayhem and for the first time this season, I felt the beginning jolts of Christmas excitement. We looked like a big, disorganized family and I loved it.

For years, I concerned myself with the quantity of gifts under the tree. I always fretted about whether the children would be disappointed. Did we have enough? Would they be happy? This year, none of that crap mattered. Sure, the kids enjoyed opening their gifts but looking around the room that night, the magic for me came from the sense that we were blending together nicely and defining family in our own way. At one point, I looked over at Dallas during the frenzy and he smiled in a way that said, "Can you believe this? Aren't we fortunate?"

Unbelievably so.

Is Vegemite Actually Edible?

Last weekend, Dallas received a postcard in the mail announcing the planned February nuptials of his sister. Tuesday, we booked our flights to...

NEW ZEALAND

Excited doesn't begin to describe my feelings about this. Besides the obvious plus of meeting his family, I'm looking forward to seeing the southern sky for the first time. I know that it must sound ridiculous but I can't wait to have a look at the constellations south of the equator. I hear the beaches are fabulous, too. And it will be their summer. Which means shorts. And possibly a bathing suit.

Okay. I'm not going to let myself get all freaked out by that last thing because I'm going to

NEW ZEALAND !!!

Wearing My Emotions

This weekend, we had our office Christmas party. I know that many of you are rolling your eyes because often, these kinds of events are their own special brand of torture. Believe me. I have been there, too. Ours is a bit different, though.

Because we are a relatively small company, we have this intimate affair with great food, wine and some sort of live music. Last year there was a harpist. This year, we had four musicians playing Christmas carols on violin. It is low key, tasteful and very, very conservative. The men dress in suit and tie and the women are just one Spanx garment shy of a ball gown. This year, I asked Dallas to be my date. Gulp.

Besides being a great sport about shucking on a suit, Dallas allowed himself to be introduced and scrutinized by the thirty odd people at our event. They had all heard of him, knew he rode and had seen up close that I was crazy about him. In the four and a half years that I have worked for this company, I have never once showed any real interest in a man so it was only natural that my work family would be interested to lay eyes on this "Harley" guy. He was charming, attentive and a perfect gentleman. I was thrilled to be there with him.

Later that night, we went on to a local club with Steph the Magnificent and her husband. After a few cocktails, it was decided that the four of us would try to get to a Nascar event sometime next year. Steph promised me that I wouldn't have to flash my boobs and just like that, my metamorphosis into a southern Republican began.(NOT!)

Yesterday, those of us in the local office were gathered around the water cooler rehashing the party. The girls told me how happy I looked and that Dallas and I made a cute couple. I gushed like a school girl, of course because I don't seem to have an emotional off switch where he is concerned. Then, this delivery arrived:



It seems that Dallas was thinking of me and wanted me to know. The bouquet was lovely but it was the card that made me misty. One of the girls in the office whispered to me that I "wear love well".

And truthfully, this is the singular instance in my life where I could care less that I'm wearing my heart on my sleeve.

The Exhale

God, I'm happy.

I have always been able to laugh pretty easily but these days, I'm downright giddy.

What has struck me lately is that I feel content. So what, right? Who cares about contentment? Well, I'm not sure that I have ever been content before. I've certainly had extended periods of happiness. I've experienced joy and peace but there has always been this quality of restlessness about me. Foot-tapping, onto the next idea, breathless, agitated, unfocused, can't-put-my-finger-on-it unease.

For years, everything I owned would fit into a backpack so that at a moment's notice, I could bolt if I had to. I have lived in this one horse town city for seven and a half years. It's the longest that I have hung my hat in any single place ever. EVER. Like, as in forty years ever. And the strangest thing is that I like it. I am content here.

I suppose that happiness is a choice that we make each day but it is so much easier to pick that option when all facets of life are working together in harmony. Some people keep gratitude journals, some carry gratitude stones and still others blog their blessings on a daily basis. Regardless of the methodology, I'm convinced that a sustained, conscious and focused effort on the positive is life changing.

Shit happens. Yes.

But when it hits the fan, it's comforting to know that I've got more than one umbrella to weather the storm.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl this year. I did not maim my ex husband and most times, I was able to greet him with a smile. I made an effort not travel as heavily this year and sure enough, my children no longer panic when I leave to go grocery shopping. I kept three houseplants alive and there are enough weeds in my flower bed to confirm that I am capable of nurturing something more than a grudge. I ate my loathsome vegetables. And I flossed.

Please see this year's wish list below. Please note that the usual requests: world peace, an end to human suffering and the impeachment of Dubya, should be considered understood and thus, they are not included.

1. I would like a blank cheque for the plastic surgeon. Now I know that this might be viewed as a hefty request but really, if one is going to receive Botox, what's a little Restylane to fill in the crevices? And if I have to be anesthetized to receive lipo, doesn't it just make sense to keep me under a wee bit longer and give the girls a make over? ECONOMIES OF SCALE, I tell you. Is it too much to ask to be able to see my abdominal muscles again without the benefit of an MRI?

2. I would like an inground pool. When it is 120 degrees outside and the humidity is 99%, I find that it is difficult to be reasonable. Can you wiggle your nose or snap your fingers and find some way to get it installed without having to dig up my back yard or rip down my fence? And while you're back there, would you mind planting a tree that I can't kill? Maybe something like a cactus would work because apparently, two sugar maples, a dogwood and a Bradford pear require watering and who the hell has time for that?

3. I would like one week at a luxurious beachfront resort with Dallas, preferably after healing from the plastic surgery. (see item #1)

4. I would like a personal chef. I have come to accept the fact that my idea of domestic bliss is to outsource the dirty work. My yard is mowed and my house is cleaned by other people. It only stands to reason that the final barrier to total sloth be breached. The candidate should understand that sometimes, he will be required to double as a short order cook because my children have never met a box of mac and cheese that they didn't love.

5. I would like the opportunity to be fifteen again for one day. There are several reasons for this. First of all, I'd like to sit my teenage self down and veto the decision to start smoking since all of those years contributed to the vain need for Botox. Second, I'd tell her to take a cab instead of accepting a ride home from that creep in the donut shop. Finally, I'd like to crawl into her body just once more to see what ten hours of unbroken sleep feel like.

Well, Santa. That's it. I realize that there are some tall orders on that list but I have confidence in you. By the way, my dentist has recently informed me that I will require a crown and a possible root canal so if you happen to see the Tooth Fairy in your travels, would you mind sending her my way? It's obvious that I have somehow pissed her off and I'd like to apologize. Thanks!

The First Stirrings

After a completely indulgent weekend including beer, wine and a veritable carb festival, I got on my scale to find that I was down nearly two pounds.

So let me get this straight.

I limit my carbohydrate intake to sniffing the air at the local bakery, workout until I vomit my spleen and I get to gain a pound OR I eat and drink like a toga clad Roman and I lose weight. Yes, that makes perfect sense....if you live on Fantasy Island.

The only conclusion that I can reach is that my scale is possessed by a lithium-popping, filthy, lying, whore named Cybil.

Anyway, the weekend was fantastic. Dallas and I spent it doing mundane things like an ordinary couple and it was the best time I've had in months. We cooked, shopped and went out with friends. The definitive high point of the weekend was meeting Brandon and his wife, Erin. Wow. They have got to be two of the smartest people on the planet. Several times during the evening, the four of us were howling with laughter.

Besides the fact that Brandon could pass for a Canadian in his mannerisms and his dress, he further endeared himself to me because he married Erin. She is warm, sharp and she makes no apologies for her opinions. After years as a designer in the theatre business, Erin elected to go back to school to complete her degree in architecture. She can spell and she's got a great eye for all things creative. NOT FAIR. Best part is that Erin has agreed to join us on "Girls' Night Out: The Road Trip". And the mix just keeps improving...

They were just awesome and I look forward to getting to know them.

Late Sunday afternoon, Dallas dropped me back at my house and as I watched him pull out of my drive, I realized that my defenses had disappeared. I think the scientific term is smitten.

After four years of self-imposed exile from the dating pool, a girl can become remarkably comfortable with the idea of spending the rest of her life alone. She tells herself that it isn't so bad because after all, the kids need her and that floor really could use a good washing. She doesn't have to consult the TV guide to know which shows are on and she spends hours on the phone with family and friends catching up on the minutiae of their lives. She tells herself that she owes it to her children to remain free from entanglements because the stain of her failed marriage is still vivid. But there is a difference between being alone and being lonesome. Eventually the day comes when that line gets crossed and she will open up her mind to the possibility of being involved with a man again.

Thank God for eHarmony. Dallas and I joke that we'll be making a commercial for them one day. Nobody knows what the future will bring but today, I'm liking our odds.