Star Wars

Cue the music …

I have an obsession.  Obsession is a really strong word, yes, I know, and while maybe it’s not quite the right term – I could use fixation or attraction, but it doesn’t really cover it – so I’m going to use it anyway.  My obsession is called: Star Wars.

If I could join the Rebel Alliance, I would.

My running hat?  It’s a Star Wars (in Concert) hat.  Yes.  Michael and I went to Star Wars In Concert.  And yes, I’d like to go again … with the children.  I wore high heeled boots that day, for 14 hours straight, and my feet hurt for literally months because of it, but it was worth it.

Our house is very Star Wars oriented.  My husband can be a bit of a traitor though, because he is a fan of that other “star” oriented tv and movie series. Gross.  I know.  It’s okay though, the Wars wins out every time.  Four against one, majority rules.

Lily thinks I have The Force.

Seriously.

One day she walked up to me and straight faced asked me to teach her how to use The Force.  I asked her what she meant and she gave me a play by play of a specific incident she remembers in which I used The Force on one of her Bakugan thingamajigs.  It was a very detailed report on precisely what I did when I used The Force.  So detailed in fact that I am beginning to believe she’s right.  I possess The Force.

Yes.  I’m insane.

Obsessed.

My Mom always told me obsessions aren’t a healthy thing to have, but it’s STAR WARS, how bad can that be, really?

We watch Star Wars in our house – all six movies – on a regular basis.  We use Star Wars puns and references daily.  I nicknamed Owen “Obi-Wan Kenobi”.  It started out as Owen-Wan, but grew to be Obi-Wan.  He responds to it.

I love Darth Vader.  If I ever get another black lab and it happens to be male, his name will be Darth Vader.  Michael and the kids agree.  Michael named Dozer for the guy in The Matrix, so why can’t we have a Star Wars dog too?

I even have a Darth Vader bobble head in my living room.

Okay, maybe obsession is the right word to use after all.

Know Your Colours

Most everyone can be identified in some way by what their favourite colour is. Off the top of my head I can tell you Owen’s favourite colour is orange, Lily’s is pink, Mom likes green and purple, my sister, Vickey, likes orange and blue, Valerie likes pink and green and Laurie likes purple (but it is a specific shade of purple, get it wrong and you’ll be told).  When I see those colours, or colour combinations, I think of those people.  I identify and associate people with the colours they have told me they prefer.  Favourite colours are a part of life, a part of personality and preference.

It’s normal to have a favourite colour.

Right?

Ask my dad what his favourite colour is.  Go on, I’ll wait …

He’s off his rocker, isn’t he?  He doesn’t have a favourite colour.  Weird isn’t it? How he could not have a specific favourite colour baffled me as a child.  I would quiz him on it frequently.  ”Hey dad, what’s your favourite colour?” … “I don’t have a favourite colour.”  It drove me nuts.  It probably drove him nuts too – the questioning, not the lack of a favourite colour.  The colours he prefers at any given time are muchly related to the season, his mood, his surroundings, time of day, weather, etc. etc.

When I was a small child my favourite colour was yellow.  In around grade 6 I decided I liked blue the best.  Somewhere along the line that all changed …

Apparently I’m off my rocker too.

I absolutely do not have a favourite colour either.

Today?  I like grey.

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Today’s writing prompt:
3.) If you really knew me, you would know that…

Wordless Wednesday – Around the Bay 5km

It’s Your Funeral …

I remember being a small child and laying in bed worried about Death.  Worried Death would take my parents, worried Death would take me.  As I grew older I became vividly aware that Death is a natural part of life, and while there is always apprehension of the unknown, Death is no longer something I fear. That’s not to say I want to meet Death any time soon, it’s just to say I understand. That’s also not to say when Death takes someone I love there is not sadness, because there is, but I know it is natural and can take comfort in that. Everyone who is born dies.  It’s life …

The other day I was talking Laurie about death and funerals.  I told her how I’m going to plan my own.  I am not ready to jump out and pick out a coffin, but I am doing other things to plan.  Funerals are not, to me, about sadness, they are a way to honour a person’s life.  There is no reason why I can’t have a say in how it goes down.

We have a family plot Michael and I plan to be buried at along with my parents and paternal grandparents.  I’d like to buy a headstone and have it put there. Kind of like making a reservation.  We both agree we want one that will age well, made of a strong natural rock.  I love cemeteries and want a headstone that will be here in 100 years so other creepy people like me will be able to look at it, be able to read it and wonder what the people beneath it were like.

I’m planning to write my own obituary — aside from cause of death, which will need to be filled in, of course, by someone else.  I saw an obituary in the newspaper about a year ago in which the woman (the deceased) had written herself.  It was fantastic, funny, heartwarming and I’m sure something that will bring her children and grand children comfort in the years to come.  I feel an obituary saying “So-And-So died from Such-and-Such, here’s a list of all their relatives (15 minutes of fame?) and here’s the funeral information” is not really how an obituary should be.  An obituary should be about a person’s qualities, about their life achievements about their personality.  It should be that person’s story, not the story of those who survived them.

Also, my funeral will be by invitation only.  Sort of like a wedding.  Only there won’t be a white dress.  There are people in my life (past, present and I’m sure future) whom I really don’t think deserve to see me put in my grave.  I’m going to limit it as best I can.  20-30 people sounds like a good number of people.

I’ve never been to a funeral where everyone wears black.  I think it’s classy and elegant.  That’s what I want.  I’m hoping for a Spring funeral so everyone can use those big black umbrellas, but planning for Spring might be pushing it.

Lilies.  Those are the flowers I want.  It doesn’t matter what colour.  Just lots of them.  They are my ultimate favourite flower.  And yes, I named my daughter Lily for that very reason.  That and when we couldn’t find a name I happened to be reading Harry Potter and any Harry Potter fans will know Lily is his mother’s name — but that’s a story for another day.

So, those are the basics … As time goes by I might change some stuff.  As time goes by my obituary will be added to because as my life grows so will my story.

Nothing to Say, but a Brain Full of Words

Do you ever get to the point in your day – in your life – when you have a lot to write down, but can’t seem to find the words?  That’s where I am.  I have plenty to blog about and honestly really do want to, but I just can’t.

Writers block.

Bloggers block.

Writers blog.

Here I sit, staring at the screen, watching the cursor blink blink blink. Everything and nothing comes to mind all at once.

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

Any suggestions?

Run Like a Mother — Review & Giveaway

I wrote a review of the book Run Like a Mother for the eZine I work for. We’re also having a giveaway contest to win a copy of the book — actually two copies are being given away!! See the bottom of the review (on this page) for contest entry details.

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Run Like a Mother—How to Get Moving and Not Lose Your Family, Job or Sanity, is the inspirational journey of two women runners – Sarah Bowen Shea and Dimity McDowell – who take their readers on their adventures and share stories which will inspire you and make you laugh hysterically.

One of the things I like best about Run Like a Mother is that it’s directed specifically towards mothers who run; women like me. It lets us know we are not alone in our crazy passion. As a matter of fact, not only are we not alone, but we’re completely normal … there are hundreds of other crazy, fun, lovely mother runners out there.

While I was reading this book I constantly found myself nodding and wondering how they got my thoughts and feelings out of my head and onto the paper without me knowing, that’s how closely I related to what the authors were saying.

The number of chapters is poetic – 26. With a short piece after each chapter entitled .2 —”a nod to the final stretch of the marathon” — the chapters represent the entire length of a marathon; 26.2 miles.

In these chapters Dimity and Sarah discuss everything from the reasons we, as mothers, run to what kind of gear is available to us and even further to more intimate topics in which only a woman can relate. They talk about running during pregnancy and post-pregnancy; they talk about fitting running into an already hectic family schedule; they even talk about marriage and their jobs and how they mash everything together to make it work.

Run Like a Mother is chalk full of helpful, practical advise. Insets titled “Take it From a Mother”, “Practical Motherly Advise” and “Run Like This Mother” are filled with real women’s opinions, advise and encouragement, from not just the authors, but also from other mother runners Dimity and Sarah interviewed for the book.

Sarah and Dimity have written this engaging book with such honesty and integrity; their wit and humour goes unmatched to any “how-to” running book I’ve read to date. It truly has inspired me to lace up my shoes and get out running more often. Run Like a Mother is not just a book, but it’s also a community of women who share a common passion. You can find Sarah and Dimity posting more of their adventures frequently on both Facebook and their website, Another Mother Runner.

PS. This is one of the hardest reviews I have had to write. I wanted it to sound just right and get my feelings of the authors across clearly, but that’s not why it was hard. It was hard because my 3.5 year old was helping me type. Ironic.

Giveaway Contest Details
To enter the Run Like a Mother book giveaway head over to Outdoor Adventure Canada’s Outdoor Girl page and click the link to send an email — it can be found near the bottom of the review.  Don’t forget to follow the instructions!!  Two winners will be drawn randomly. Winners will be contacted and announced May 2nd.

Adventures on an Escalator

When I was a kid my parents accidentally abandoned left me at the top (or bottom) of an escalator, because I just didn’t get on (and they thought I had).  I was a tiny little gaffer.  Some strange, yet brave, woman held my hand and brought me up (or down) the evil moving stair case and all was well.  Except somehow, perhaps even before that, I grew a phobia.  A phobia which sticks by me even to this day.  I’m still worried that my feet will get caught in the end and pulled under.  Maybe that the escalator will think my feet are tasty or something and will want a snack.  Who knows?  I hate them.  Like an adult, however, I put on my brave face, clutch the side and ride up/down like the rest of the world.

That being said, I hate stairs too.  Some kid pushed me down a set once and I’ve never forgotten … but that’s another story.

I’m a good mom.  My kids have no idea I have a phobia.  I hide it well, like all parents (I think) should with their phobias.  They don’t know I’m afraid of bees either.  For the record I’m not ashamed of my phobias, but I don’t feel my kids need to have their opinions of such things jeopardized just because I have a fear.  They’re entitled to learn about the things I’m afraid of without being infected by my negativity.  So I wear my happy face and move forward.

I digress.

On Saturday we had to go into Hamilton to pick up our race kits for the Around the Bay Road Race at Copps Coliseum.  We dragged the kids along with us.  Not that they weren’t willing, but it was a planned trip of get in – get the race kits – get out, so it wasn’t going to be much fun … or so I thought.

So, we walked in the main entrance and towards the escalator.  Michael got on easily with Owen and Lily and it then occurred to me that Ethan had never been on one before.

Never ever.

I already had my happy-no-fear-mom-face on and I said “big step, Ethan!” and he did.  We were on.  Frightening part #1 was out of the way.

Then Ethan started to climb the stairs.  I said “Ethan, just stand still, we’ll be up in a minute.”

He looked at me and said “But we need to go up!”

And then it I realised he didn’t know we were moving.  I explained this to him.  He was adamant that we keep moving.

It was hilarious.

“Look at the other people Ethan, look at the walls, we’re moving,” I said.  His eyes went big as saucers, his face broke out in a huge wide grin.  ”We moofing Mom, we MOOFING!!”

Finally we arrived at the top.  Frightening part #2.  This is where the escalator wants to grab that snack.  Ethan was a pro!  He watched carefully, and did a giant sized step.

The next thing Ethan did was request a 2nd ride.

No phobia there.  It’s a love affair.