Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Series of Events (and Thoughts)

This narrative directly from my mind happened at 6:45. I had just gotten out of the shower, and was in my room:


Hm, I like showers. Feeling clean is always good. Ooh, I still have that set of brushes I was given...sometime...a while ago...from somebody...anyways, I should see if my hair's getting long enough to use any of them...

*cell phone buzzes*

(excited) Oh, text from Ken?...No, call from Rachel Flatts, probably to give me another clinic...but my schedule's in the kitchen and I'm wearing...oh right, nothing. I'll just slip on my housecoat...which is also in the kitchen because Mom washed it today. Damn. (trying think quickly while phone continues to ring) I could let her leave a message and call her back...but I have my towel, and only my Dad is home...the most he'd see is a bit of leg...as long as I can actually wrap my towel around myself properly...okay, just get it.

*answers cell phone*


"Hi, can I speak to Robyn?"

(trying to wrap towel around herself without dropping cell phone) "Speaking."

"Hi Robyn, it's Rachel, I was wondering if you could do a clinic on February 5th?"

"Hold on, let me just go get my day timer..."


It just so happened that my towel was in fact covering just barely past my waist, but nobody was actually in the kitchen or living room when I went out, so it was all okay. This all has very little purpose, but I just found the situation and my accompanying thoughts amusing.


"I generally don't like squishy things."

Sunday, January 17, 2010

A Clean Slate (Not)

Thanks to a lovely post from Mr. Lady, a blogger who's writing I absolutely love, I have decided to keep going with this blog. It's been with me through a lot, and I know I'm not always completely loyal (see: last few months) but somehow or other I always find myself coming back to it.

This next little bit is for my family. We recently went through a tough time because my grandparent decided to sell their place, and go find the endless adventures waiting for them. Good for them, I know, and we're all proud of them.

Now, this may not seem like it should cause such a tough time, as I'm making out. But if you're thinking that right now, it shows that you don't know that house. You don't know that place. And you don't know my family.

My grandparents, with the help of their kids (my dad, aunts, and uncles) built that house. That it itself makes it very special, especially for my dad's side of the family.

This house sat on the edge of a small cliff, looking over the river. During the day, we'd moo to the cows on the other side, and during the night, we'd howl to the coyotes. Grandpa always took care of the fields, and more than once we got to see a deer, or moose walking through them.

A trip to the farm was always a cause for excitement. The farm seemed to offer an escape from everyday life. School, work, stress...it all seemed to disappear at the farm.

I'm sure everybody has a special place like this. Where only good memories exist. Think of your special place, and you'll know what the farm was like for us.

The fact that my grandparents were selling the place hit everybody a little differently. I think the grandchildren were hit the hardest. That was grandma and grandpa's place. How could it be any other way?

I'm proud to say I was very strong through the whole thing. I talked about how awesome and fun this will be for grandma and grandpa. I agreed with all their reasons for selling and moving. I didn't get to go help them move out, but I happily looked the pictures and laughed at the more ridiculous ones.

But here's my secret: On my very last visit to the farm, I got up in the night, very quietly. I went to the sun kitchen and looked at the trees, and smelled the summer air, warm even in the middle of the night. I looked out the window to the bird feeder that grandma dutifully filled for the birds. And I cried. I cried because this place was our place. We were the ones who had filled it with life, with laughter, and with love. This place didn't belong to anybody else. It couldn't belong to anybody else. Nobody else would ever be able to love this place like we have.

That was my own, private goodbye to the farm. I was fine in the morning, I was fine when we were leaving. I had said my goodbye, just like everybody else.

But last night, Ken took me out of the city, in between all the little towns of Chestemere and Langdon. Out to a spot on the highway where there were no houses and no street lights. Only the occasional car. And he stopped the car, and we got out. And I looked up.

I almost lost it right there, because the stars looked exactly like they always had the farm, with no light to scare them away. And I suddenly missed it all over again, and starting wishing I had gone up there more often, if for nothing more than to just lay in the field to watch the stars.

I thought I'd done very well in saying goodbye to the farm.

But now I realize that maybe, in little bits and pieces, saying goodbye will take a lot longer than I thought.


Friday, January 08, 2010


So, if you hadn't noticed, I'm apparently a little bored with this blog. I love this blog, and I know I've put a lot into it, but I still feel a little bored with it.

Now, the problem is that I still want another way to...I don't know, express myself, tell my story...show the world my crazy life...something like that. I still want a way to do that...and I can't think of how.

I'd love to get into the webcomic scene...but I can't draw.

Video blogging has occurred to me. That one's still posted on the drawing board.

In general, other ways of writing, other styles of blogging have occurred to me, all on the drawing board.

But I'm still undecided.

Opinions, ideas?