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Snow! Snow! Snow!
I've been so bored lately, trudging around the trails behind my house. Now that we have enough snow, the kicksled can come out! Even better, we have a new high-energy dog on the street. Two-dog-power was fast. I can't wait to try three!
I was watching an episode of Clara's Great Depression Cooking on Youtube when something caught my eye. It was the advertisement. An advertisement for cat food.
Coincidence, incredibly sophisticated software, or pure, evil genius?
This year, I thought I would break with my long-established tradition of covering my head with shaving cream and scaring kids. I didn't carve an elaborate pumpkin, either.
This year, I decided to mix things up a bit. I covered my head with a carved pumpkin and scared kids.
Looking at the picture, it's pretty obvious that the "scarecrow" is someone dressed up with a pumpkin on their head. After all, who would be crazy enough to leave an enormous bucket of candy guarded only by a sign that reads "Sorry, we can't come to the door. Take only 3"?
Peter Pumpkinhead
But when it's dark and you're a kid with your eye on the prize, you only notice the things (like the pillow and newspaper stuffing) that you want to see. You don't notice the bent rubber boots or the knees that look an awful lot like, well, human knees. You don't notice that, at that angle, the pumpkin should have fallen off of the scarecrow's shoulders.
With my head stuffed into the pumpkin, I couldn't see anything, but I could hear what was going on up and down the street just fine. I struggled to stay perfectly still, lest my movement give anything away. My neck strained under the weight of the pumpkin.
As in previous years, we didn't get many trick-or-treaters. It was worth it, though. Every batch of kids got their fright of the night. There's something immensely satisfying about scaring kids (and their parents) and hearing them laugh and talk about it excitedly all the way down the street.
An interesting side note, every single kid counted out the candy they took from the bucket. "One, two, three."
On September 30th, after a long fight with cancer, my Granny - the last of my grandparents - passed away. But I don't want to write about how she died. I want to write about how she lived.
My Granny lived with a zest for life that endeared her to everyone she met. It didn't matter with whom or where, it would take only seconds. We could be at a restaurant about to be served by an obviously cranky waiter then, all of a sudden, my Granny would say something and BOOM! the waiter would go from cranky to doting. Instant endearment.
It was the same with my friends. She was always a hit, even when I was a teenager. Seriously, how many teenaged kids get to hear their friends say "Your Granny is cool"?
My Granny always swore that her outgoing nature was borne from nervousness, not confidence. Watching her, you'd never know.
My Granny was (and always will be) famous for several other things. This is, by no means, an exhaustive list:
I just had to share this story from Clare's blog, The House and Other Arctic Musings.
Read more...Last year, about this time, things were not good. Not good at all.
Jade was having constant seizures and Fawn and I were at the end of our ropes - and near the end of our hopes. We were exhausted, eating poorly, and always on-guard. What hope we had was because of the ketogenic diet. We would soon be taking Jade to Vancouver to get her on the diet.
The night before the Jade's induction, a very pregnant Fawn woke up with intense abdominal pain. It was so bad that I had to call an ambulance, but couldn't follow her to the hospital. I needed to stay with Jade.
Lying awake on that couch, feeling absolutely exhausted but completely unable to sleep, waiting for a call from the hospital, wondering if my wife and unborn child were going to be alright, and wondering if my first child would ever be more than a constantly-seizing, heavily-medicated shell, was the absolute lowest point in my entire life. I wondered how things could possibly get worse, knowing deep in my heart that they could.
But I never gave up. Fawn never gave up. Jade never gave up.
With a lot of work, teamwork, research, determination, winging-it, trial and error, hope, and support from family, friends, and strangers alike, things got better.
In fact, we've come a long, long way since last year.
No, things aren't perfect. Jade's still having small seizures that disrupt her sleep, but we're working on getting rid of those, too. But dietary restrictions and some language delays aside, you'd think that she's just like any other almost-four-year-old. Halia's happy, healthy, and walking. Fawn and I are still married. We're eating better. We're spending more time together. In spite of Halia's best efforts, we're sleeping better. We're happier. Things are much, much better.
The lesson? No matter how bad it gets (and it can get awfully bad) if you refuse to give up, it will get better. It will get better.
It will get better.
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