I'm a tad early with the blog posting today, which means that it has the strong possibility of actually being coherent (imagine that!). Steph's working on getting the little gaffer to sleep, a job I relinquished about 10 minutes into it (tonight, not in general). Theo's really funny in his personality--when he wants to play, he looks for me, because he knows that I'll do fun things like throw him in the air, carry him around on my shoulders (note to my dad: I'm now realizing your pain at having your hair pulled by child perched on shoulders--sorry about that), and generally roughhouse with him.
Okay, brief pit stop because I can't get over that word, "roughhouse." It doesn't look like it should have two h's does it? And yet, Microsoft tells me that it's okay, so I'm in the clear. I've been approved by Bill Gates' spell checker, and thus I am clean. I think it belongs in the category of other incomprehensible words like "vacuum."
Moving on. When Theo wants to play, he looks for me. When he wants to sleep, he looks for Steph. She's got these lullabies she sings him that he will not go to sleep without. Such a funny little boy. I wonder where he got it from?
Pretty good day today. Beautiful, sunny, and hot--25 degrees. I'm trying to figure out which adjective most correctly describes the weather here in central Alberta. So far I've come up with "frenetic", "schizophrenic", "rowdy", "unpredictable", and "tempestuous." Okay, that last one came from Microsoft Word again. Busted. Anyway, according to Environment Canada, it's supposed to be 26 tomorrow, but only 13 on Sunday. Hmm. The last time I saw something that changed that fast was when Theo grabbed the TV remote and started pressing random buttons. Some change indeed.
Okay, I'm sure I could've come up with something funnier, but who wants to sit at computer giggling to themselves? Not me.
Anyway, the day started off on a good note and only went up. At chapel this morning, we had a guy doing a presentation that was called, "Learn to speak Chinese in 30 minutes." I had to go. He's a dude who is in charge of an English-language training school in China, and he did his seminar in the same way English is taught in China--immersion. Except he was immersing us, so it was all in Chinese. Even though we didn't understand what he was saying at first, we got it eventually, and he was just a really funny man. Good times were had by all.
Laughter. That's what it is. Sorry, I'll bring you up to speed on my internal monologue. I was wondering why chapel (and school in general) has seemed, well, heavy over the last little while. Take this into your situation, too--I'm specifically thinking of the church you attend, but it also works for the job you do. Anyway, I have a book I'm reading in one of my classes, and it pinpoints eight different characteristics of healthy churches. No, it's not a stupid "8 Keys to Success" book; it's actually based on empirical evidence from thousands of surveys they've done over the course of 10 years. One of the key components is laughter. In fact, the statistics are startling.
Of high quality, high growth churches, 68% of the congregation responded "true" or "very true" to the statement, "There is a lot of laughter in our congregation." Conversely, only 32% of low quality, low growth church members answered the same way. Interesting, isn't it? And yet, it makes sense. When are you most vulnerable? When you laugh. As my prof said about a prof he had when he was attending Prairie (no lie), "He'd get you laughing uproariously, and then he'd stick the knife in." People who laugh together are more willing to open up to each other. It's a proven fact.
After the funny guy from China (yes, he too is a Prairie grad), I went off to class and had a rip-roaring discussion about the headship of the church. Interesting stuff. I could write paragraphs and paragraphs about it, but I don't need you falling asleep on your keyboard, especially if you're reading this at work. It was fun for nerds like me.
After class, I actually went--hold on to your chairs--to the gym and worked out. Man, it's been a while. I used to be quite regimented about going to the gym, but I've slacked terribly. But I forgot how good it feels to go work out. I'm no muscle-head, but getting a good sweat going really makes you feel energized. And like a hangover (not that I'd know what one of those feels like), it stuck with me the whole day--in a good way. This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
The one thing I hate about gyms, though, is the sense of competition among the guys there. Inevitably, I'll set a machine on a certain weight and go through an exercise, and then some other guy will come up and jack the thing all the way to the top. Then, when he's done, he'll leave the pin at the highest setting, even though I'm waiting right there, just to make me move it back. I almost feel like saying, "I realize you're stronger than me, and so you're probably more manly. Now can I get on with it?"
It's no wonder female-only gyms have cropped up. It's hard enough for me as a guy to go in there; I can't imagine being a girl and having to not only put up with the apes beating their chests, but also have to get leered at all day. Yuck. I think I'm going to open my own line of gyms that cater to the guy who just wants to go to the gym to get healthy. It'll welcome scrawny guys and fat guys alike--it'll be the anti-stereotype gym. I think I'm onto something here.
That said, there was nobody in the gym when I went today. Had the place completely to myself. Note to self: go to the gym at lunchtime more often.
Well, I could go on and on, but I think I'll call it a night (and a week). This weekend promises to be fun. We're going over to my cousin's for dinner tomorrow, which I'm looking forward to immensely, and then heading off to the dinosaur museum in Drumheller on Monday, which should be so much fun. Not sure Theo will appreciate it yet, but I will. Yes, I have been before, but I'm looking forward to going again. The first time I went, I didn't know what to expect; now that I know what's there, I'm looking forward to going. It's kind of like watching "The Sixth Sense" a second time. You know very well what the plot twist is at the end (which I won't explicitly mention, just in case you're the one person in the world who doesn't know), and so you watch with a different mindset.
Enough philosophy; I said I'd call it a night. Wife is doing sudoku, so I might have lost her for the evening. That or I'll have to fight her for it. Note to self: buy another book. Okay, everyone, I've appreciated your coming by this week (and yes, I know you're coming because I have a hit counter on my page. If you scroll to the bottom and click on the "Site Meter" logo, it'll take you to my stats page, which is quite interesting--click on the "Visits by country" link at the very bottom of the page). See you next week when we do it all again.
9.29.2006
9.28.2006
The Well is Dry, as They Say
I will freely admit that's it's been a bit of a strange week thus far. I've found myself getting into a weird sort of funk as the days go by; can't really say what it is that's causing it, really. It's just one of those things that seems to happen to me on occasion. It often comes at the strangest times, and its manifestation is always the same: (1) a general feeling of melancholy, and (2) being kept awake until the wee hours.
As a result of three days and two nights of this, I'm exhausted. It's 9:30 right now, and I feel like it's midnight. I'll have to keep it short tonight, then, because I'm afraid that the sound my head makes when I fall asleep on the keyboard will wake Theo. Then we'd all be in trouble.
Speaking of Theo (I know, he's got a blog of his own; why not just save it for there--well, I don't really have a good answer to that except that I need something to talk about tonight), he's been in the whiniest mood recently. He's also explored a new pitch to his whine that's somewhere in the stratosphere. I think the dogs next door actually go crazy when he does it. Not sure where he picked it up (probably from those no-good hooligans he hangs around with--oh wait, he hangs around with us all day), but he can take it back wherever it came from, as far as I'm concerned.
There's something about a whiny infant that just grates on you, you know? I can take roughly 5 milliseconds of it before becoming annoyed, which makes me glad that I'm not here during the day and that my wife has a much higher level of tolerance than I. But we take heart, knowing that Theo's disposition is usually sunny, so there must be something, like teeth, brewing. Last time he was this whiny, he had two teeth within a week. If I'm going to be putting up with whiny, the least that can happen is me getting something out of it, you know what I'm saying?
The biggest challenge about being this tired at a Bible college is the struggle of staying awake through prayer times. Fine, call me unspiritual, but I have to say that it's a big issue at times. So of course, when I'm the absolute tiredest (is that even a word? Tonight's post should be titled "A Study in Superlatives." I'll get my English major wife in here for the official word. And when I say "English major" I mean that she majored in English. Not that she's a major who happens to be English. She's not in the RAF. She isn't even English. Although there is English blood back there a few generations. And I guess technically she majored in English literature, not grammar and such. What a boring degree that would be. I can't wait for the graduate-level program. They probably would have seminars like "Advanced Split Infinitives" or "The Danger of Dangling Modifiers." Oh, those dastardly dangling modifiers. Not quite as loathed in the grammar world as incorrect verb tenses, but they're more fun to say) is when they call a campus-wide day of prayer. Lots of eyes closed today. So I forced myself to kneel in prayer when I had to pray solo, and that kept me awake. Cold, hard cafeteria linoleum will do that to you.
I seem to have exhausted my supply of weekend pictures already. It's a good thing I took some shots last night, I guess. Looking them over in the sober light of day (or night, in this case) makes me realize that they're not actually all that good. So here's the one shot that is actually blog-worthy...
Ah. So nice. Peaceful. That's what it's all about here in Three Hills--peace and quiet. Until my neighbour started hammering something with great urgency a while back. Not sure what's so important to be hammered at 9:00, but hey, that's the way it goes.
So nice of you to stop by. Tomorrow's posting will hopefully have a little less whining from me and maybe a little more fun and games. We'll see. It is Friday tomorrow, so that's always good for some sort of fun. We'll see. Speaking of see, I'll see you then.
As a result of three days and two nights of this, I'm exhausted. It's 9:30 right now, and I feel like it's midnight. I'll have to keep it short tonight, then, because I'm afraid that the sound my head makes when I fall asleep on the keyboard will wake Theo. Then we'd all be in trouble.
Speaking of Theo (I know, he's got a blog of his own; why not just save it for there--well, I don't really have a good answer to that except that I need something to talk about tonight), he's been in the whiniest mood recently. He's also explored a new pitch to his whine that's somewhere in the stratosphere. I think the dogs next door actually go crazy when he does it. Not sure where he picked it up (probably from those no-good hooligans he hangs around with--oh wait, he hangs around with us all day), but he can take it back wherever it came from, as far as I'm concerned.
There's something about a whiny infant that just grates on you, you know? I can take roughly 5 milliseconds of it before becoming annoyed, which makes me glad that I'm not here during the day and that my wife has a much higher level of tolerance than I. But we take heart, knowing that Theo's disposition is usually sunny, so there must be something, like teeth, brewing. Last time he was this whiny, he had two teeth within a week. If I'm going to be putting up with whiny, the least that can happen is me getting something out of it, you know what I'm saying?
The biggest challenge about being this tired at a Bible college is the struggle of staying awake through prayer times. Fine, call me unspiritual, but I have to say that it's a big issue at times. So of course, when I'm the absolute tiredest (is that even a word? Tonight's post should be titled "A Study in Superlatives." I'll get my English major wife in here for the official word. And when I say "English major" I mean that she majored in English. Not that she's a major who happens to be English. She's not in the RAF. She isn't even English. Although there is English blood back there a few generations. And I guess technically she majored in English literature, not grammar and such. What a boring degree that would be. I can't wait for the graduate-level program. They probably would have seminars like "Advanced Split Infinitives" or "The Danger of Dangling Modifiers." Oh, those dastardly dangling modifiers. Not quite as loathed in the grammar world as incorrect verb tenses, but they're more fun to say) is when they call a campus-wide day of prayer. Lots of eyes closed today. So I forced myself to kneel in prayer when I had to pray solo, and that kept me awake. Cold, hard cafeteria linoleum will do that to you.
I seem to have exhausted my supply of weekend pictures already. It's a good thing I took some shots last night, I guess. Looking them over in the sober light of day (or night, in this case) makes me realize that they're not actually all that good. So here's the one shot that is actually blog-worthy...
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Ah. So nice. Peaceful. That's what it's all about here in Three Hills--peace and quiet. Until my neighbour started hammering something with great urgency a while back. Not sure what's so important to be hammered at 9:00, but hey, that's the way it goes.So nice of you to stop by. Tomorrow's posting will hopefully have a little less whining from me and maybe a little more fun and games. We'll see. It is Friday tomorrow, so that's always good for some sort of fun. We'll see. Speaking of see, I'll see you then.
9.27.2006
Funny, I Don't Feel Any Different...
I'll admit with much trepidation that today was my birthday. I say "trepidation" because I've never been a big fan of the birthday. I'd be equally as happy with everyone just carrying on with their business, thank you very much, and not making any kind of deal at all about it. That's why I don't tell anyone it's coming, and I don't say anything on the day of.
There are some who enjoy birthdays for some odd reason. My sister, for example, is one of those birthday lovers. Same with my Oma. They love their birthdays. Good for them, I say. I just don't understand it. But hey, there are lots of things in that category.
I suppose that I'm feeling a little bit philosophical as well. Age will do that to you, they say. It's not that I'm getting "old" by any standard other than my own, but there's a certain kind of, I don't know, let-down, I suppose when I wake up and realize that as of today, my mid-20's have officially passed me by. Oh, I'm sure that I could stretch my mid-20's out until I'm 28, but I think they stop at 27. It's the end of an era. Guess it's time to grow up now. Ha.
It's not that I've been a total slob. I have a beautiful wife and child who love me more than I deserve; I have a great family of origin and in-law family; I have a good group of solid friends; I have all you faithful blog readers. And yet, I find it hard not to focus on the things I haven't done. Does that happen to you, too? It's just that there were all these things that I thought I'd do before I hit a certain age, and when I look back, I haven't really accomplished them. For example, here I am, now officially out of my mid-20's, and I still haven't got my bachelor's degree. Maybe that's why I'm a poor goal-setter--I just don't know what goals to set, and I take it too hard when the ones I set aren't achieved, even if they were rather pie-in-the-sky to begin with.
Wow, that sure was depressing. I hope you haven't all collapsed in a heap of tears and unrealized dreams. Let's move on before this gets worse.
Had a new adventure today, but it requires a small back-story. Coming from BC, I take certain things for granted, like the curbside recycling pick-up. I have to constantly remind myself, though, that I come from the hippie province where things like that are to be expected; not every province has the same ideals. Here in Three Hills, for example, there is no such thing as curbside recycling pick-up. It just doesn't exist. Doesn't even exist in a big town like Airdrie (which is why our friends, the Pearsons, have set up their own recycling pick-up business). If I hadn't drunk the environmentally friendly Kool-Aid when I was a kid (we did a musical in elementary school called "The E-Team" that was all about being environmentally friendly. It included such hit songs as "Driving Miss Lazy"--a rip-roaring polemic against the too-quick-to-hop-in-the-car-for-a-short-trip generation featuring a moving solo performance by my cousin, Melissa (hi, Melissa!)--and another one, whose name escapes me at the moment, that was all about the packaging fast-food restaurants used to use--the styrofoam burger containers. Personally, I miss those mothers. Yeah, sure, they had a half-life of 900-billion years, but they were so much fun) then I'd just throw the stupid plastic bottle-liners in the trash. But no, I can't even bring myself to throw a single piece of recyclable material away because I think to myself, "Well, there's another two centimeters in the ozone hole--thanks, you selfish jerk!" I must recycle everything that I can. Even if it means having to make a separate trip (in my car, no less) to the recycling depot.
Another thing about being out here that's different from home: at home, we have three different categories of recyclables. Everything that's glass, metal, or plastic goes in the blue box. Everything that's newsprint goes in the blue bag. Everything that's paper of any other variety goes in the yellow bag. Simple. Not here. I got to the recycling depot today and I had to ask the guy how it worked. Here's the scoop. For plastics, there are three different categories: milk jugs, plastics labeled with a "2", and everything else. All must go in separate bins. For paper, there are also three categories: newsprint, glossy, and other. Oh, and cardboard is also separate, so I guess that's four (although I don't really consider cardboard a "paper product" per se; however, since I'm going with the differences in the categories and at home it goes in the yellow bag, I'll have to include it with papers or else the parallelism just disintegrates. And then what? The very moral fibre of society would be rent, that's what). Finally, your metal goes in a pit off to the side of the building, meaning you have to walk it around there. Next to the metal is the glass. So that's how many? NINE!! Nine different categories! Gosh, keep making it that hard and I will just throw something away that could otherwise be recycled, no matter what Mrs. Tinkham drilled into my impressionable little elementary school mind (yes, her name was actually Mrs. Tinkham, although I think she prefered "Ms.").
Furthermore (yes, there is more), I asked the fine gentleman where I could take my beverage containers back for deposit money. He told me where the bottle depot was, but added, "But it's only open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays." Okay, can you please make it a little harder to be environmentally friendly?! On top of all that, they're closed for lunch--an hour a day on the three days they're open. What, did the stress of having to work three days for eight whole hours get to you? Gah.
To finish off today, I have a couple more shots taken this weekend to show you. Yes, they are both pictures of fields. So what? There's a lot of field to photograph. Here they are...
So, that'll about do for now. As I alluded to on Theo's blog about how it's tough getting the intro of a blog entry going, I'm finding it's difficult to find ways to sign off this one. So, fare thee well, says I. See you tomorrow.
There are some who enjoy birthdays for some odd reason. My sister, for example, is one of those birthday lovers. Same with my Oma. They love their birthdays. Good for them, I say. I just don't understand it. But hey, there are lots of things in that category.
I suppose that I'm feeling a little bit philosophical as well. Age will do that to you, they say. It's not that I'm getting "old" by any standard other than my own, but there's a certain kind of, I don't know, let-down, I suppose when I wake up and realize that as of today, my mid-20's have officially passed me by. Oh, I'm sure that I could stretch my mid-20's out until I'm 28, but I think they stop at 27. It's the end of an era. Guess it's time to grow up now. Ha.
It's not that I've been a total slob. I have a beautiful wife and child who love me more than I deserve; I have a great family of origin and in-law family; I have a good group of solid friends; I have all you faithful blog readers. And yet, I find it hard not to focus on the things I haven't done. Does that happen to you, too? It's just that there were all these things that I thought I'd do before I hit a certain age, and when I look back, I haven't really accomplished them. For example, here I am, now officially out of my mid-20's, and I still haven't got my bachelor's degree. Maybe that's why I'm a poor goal-setter--I just don't know what goals to set, and I take it too hard when the ones I set aren't achieved, even if they were rather pie-in-the-sky to begin with.
Wow, that sure was depressing. I hope you haven't all collapsed in a heap of tears and unrealized dreams. Let's move on before this gets worse.
Had a new adventure today, but it requires a small back-story. Coming from BC, I take certain things for granted, like the curbside recycling pick-up. I have to constantly remind myself, though, that I come from the hippie province where things like that are to be expected; not every province has the same ideals. Here in Three Hills, for example, there is no such thing as curbside recycling pick-up. It just doesn't exist. Doesn't even exist in a big town like Airdrie (which is why our friends, the Pearsons, have set up their own recycling pick-up business). If I hadn't drunk the environmentally friendly Kool-Aid when I was a kid (we did a musical in elementary school called "The E-Team" that was all about being environmentally friendly. It included such hit songs as "Driving Miss Lazy"--a rip-roaring polemic against the too-quick-to-hop-in-the-car-for-a-short-trip generation featuring a moving solo performance by my cousin, Melissa (hi, Melissa!)--and another one, whose name escapes me at the moment, that was all about the packaging fast-food restaurants used to use--the styrofoam burger containers. Personally, I miss those mothers. Yeah, sure, they had a half-life of 900-billion years, but they were so much fun) then I'd just throw the stupid plastic bottle-liners in the trash. But no, I can't even bring myself to throw a single piece of recyclable material away because I think to myself, "Well, there's another two centimeters in the ozone hole--thanks, you selfish jerk!" I must recycle everything that I can. Even if it means having to make a separate trip (in my car, no less) to the recycling depot.
Another thing about being out here that's different from home: at home, we have three different categories of recyclables. Everything that's glass, metal, or plastic goes in the blue box. Everything that's newsprint goes in the blue bag. Everything that's paper of any other variety goes in the yellow bag. Simple. Not here. I got to the recycling depot today and I had to ask the guy how it worked. Here's the scoop. For plastics, there are three different categories: milk jugs, plastics labeled with a "2", and everything else. All must go in separate bins. For paper, there are also three categories: newsprint, glossy, and other. Oh, and cardboard is also separate, so I guess that's four (although I don't really consider cardboard a "paper product" per se; however, since I'm going with the differences in the categories and at home it goes in the yellow bag, I'll have to include it with papers or else the parallelism just disintegrates. And then what? The very moral fibre of society would be rent, that's what). Finally, your metal goes in a pit off to the side of the building, meaning you have to walk it around there. Next to the metal is the glass. So that's how many? NINE!! Nine different categories! Gosh, keep making it that hard and I will just throw something away that could otherwise be recycled, no matter what Mrs. Tinkham drilled into my impressionable little elementary school mind (yes, her name was actually Mrs. Tinkham, although I think she prefered "Ms.").
Furthermore (yes, there is more), I asked the fine gentleman where I could take my beverage containers back for deposit money. He told me where the bottle depot was, but added, "But it's only open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays." Okay, can you please make it a little harder to be environmentally friendly?! On top of all that, they're closed for lunch--an hour a day on the three days they're open. What, did the stress of having to work three days for eight whole hours get to you? Gah.
To finish off today, I have a couple more shots taken this weekend to show you. Yes, they are both pictures of fields. So what? There's a lot of field to photograph. Here they are...
So, that'll about do for now. As I alluded to on Theo's blog about how it's tough getting the intro of a blog entry going, I'm finding it's difficult to find ways to sign off this one. So, fare thee well, says I. See you tomorrow.
9.26.2006
They Mean What They Say
Having trouble getting the brain in gear tonight. Thought I'd keep this post mercifully short (although it likely won't end up that way--trust me, it could be much longer) because it's torture for all of us when I'm really stretching for humour. So although I'm not particularly witty and urbane this evening, here's my offering.
We experienced the very best/worst of the changeable Alberta weather today. Here's a brief timeline of events.
4:35 - sitting in class, sunshine streaming through the windows, wondering if I need to actually put on my sunglasses to see my paper.
4:45 - Meet wife and child downstairs. Clouds begin to roll in.
4:55 - Get slushee beverage from convenience store. Rain begins.
4:57 - Rain becomes torrential; wife, child, and I get soaked walking the three blocks back to our place.
5:05 - Sky clears, sun shines.
Unreal. There's a saying out here that if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes. And every word of that is true.
I could write at least three more paragraphs dedicated solely to meteorlogical phenomena, but you don't come here to talk about the weather now, do you? No, you come for, well, I'm actually not sure why you come, but come you do. And I appreciate it.
As promised, here are some more pictures that we took this weekend. This first one is my wife showing her artistic side...
That has to be in the running to win some sort of contest, doesn't it?
These next two have a story behind them. We were driving to church on Sunday (we attend a church that's in a town about 25 minutes south of us) and it was an absolutely stunning day. Sun shining, clear skies; the kind of day that makes you give days like today a pass. It's not quite a one-to-one ratio (I'll need several more spectacular days to make up for another day like today), but it's at least something. It was the kind of day where you could see for miles, quite literally, especially here on the prairies. And that was proven true when we looked out the window and saw this on the horizon...
Can't quite see what I'm talking about? Here's a closer look...
MOUNTAINS!!! Glorious, wonderful, majestic mountains! And even though they looked so close, we knew they were so far away. But it was incredible (a) to see mountains so unexpectedly, and (b) to see the juxtaposition of the two elements of Canadiana (wheat fields and mountains). Now I know why the next "county" over is called "Rockyview." Pretty spectacular stuff, if you ask me.
Is nothing sacred? As Steph was watching Entertainment Tonight this evening, a little piece on Rod Stewart came on. Now, normally I don't pay much attention when his ugly mug comes on the screen (sorry, sexy mug *shudder*), but I was struck by what he was singing. Evidently he has a new album out. Now, I'm not exactly sure when it became cool in the music industry to cover other people's songs as a way to make a living, but it sure seems that the idea of putting out an album of standards is all the rage nowadays. Rod's done his share of them, and now he's decided he's going to tackle, and take a deep breath, classic rock songs. The first song on the album (and the one he was singing on the aforementioned TV show) is CCR's "Have You Ever Seen the Rain."
Two questions. (1) If you're John Fogerty, what possibly comes over you to allow your songs to be used in such an awful, awful way? Was he drunk? Possibly. Was he high? Could be. Then again, knowing the music industry he probably had no say in it whatsoever. *Wild rant alert* That's the problem with the music industry: artists don't have possession of their own creative property. It's a real scandal--the bigwigs and fat cats get all the cash, while the artists are abused and mistreated. In fact, an artist can't even hand out copies of his own songs without permission of his record label. Does this strike anyone else as weird? In the process, good musicians get pushed aside for commercially-produced, cookie cutter bands. And the worst part is that we just swallow it, hook, line, and sinker, thinking that we're making a musical trend when all we're doing is following what the man wants us to think.
Here's my second question (even though I've transitioned it, I'm still going to put the number in brackets, just in case any of you chose to ignore the wild rant above and skip straight to the next numbered point): (2) what demographic do you think they were going for? Two options here, which I will conveniently not number 1 and 2: (a) the generation that grew up listening to these songs, in which case that generation needs to get out of the LAME and back into the rock and roll. What makes you, in middle age, suddenly not like the music you've grown up with? Is the internal monologue really like this: "Hmm, I'd sure like to listen to that CCR again, but this time without those rowdy electric guitars"? My suggestion? Buy a rocker and take up knitting, gramps.
The other option for target market: (b) the parents of the generation that grew up listening to this music, who secretly harboured a desire to listen to it but just couldn't get over the fact that there were rowdy electric guitars. The internal monologue here might go something like this: "Oh, I'm so glad someone has finally done these songs in a nice, respectable way."
But that's just the thing with rock and roll, isn't it? This is music that defined a generation; it's the soundtrack of the anti-establishment era, and to see it being pushed into the establishment's mold is disheartening. All of a sudden, it doesn't seem so cool anymore. It's like the current trend in music--bashing George W. If everyone makes an anti-war protest album, it's not so counter-culture and cool anymore; in fact, it just becomes another commercial venture--even though you think you're really "sticking it to the man", you're really just doing what the man says (see previous wild rant). It becomes the thing you were railing so hard against. Same thing here, really--making these songs "respectable" takes away everything they stood for--it turns it into the very thing it was fighting against.
That sure got bogged down real fast, didn't it? I'm not really an anti-establishment kind of guy, but I'm just really sick of being a sheep. If we as a society decided it was time to start thinking for ourselves again, I think we'd be in a lot less trouble than we're in right now. But that's just my opinion, and I hope you have one too.
That's about it for this evening's rants and raves. Thanks for coming by, and I hope to see you again tomorrow.
We experienced the very best/worst of the changeable Alberta weather today. Here's a brief timeline of events.
4:35 - sitting in class, sunshine streaming through the windows, wondering if I need to actually put on my sunglasses to see my paper.
4:45 - Meet wife and child downstairs. Clouds begin to roll in.
4:55 - Get slushee beverage from convenience store. Rain begins.
4:57 - Rain becomes torrential; wife, child, and I get soaked walking the three blocks back to our place.
5:05 - Sky clears, sun shines.
Unreal. There's a saying out here that if you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes. And every word of that is true.
I could write at least three more paragraphs dedicated solely to meteorlogical phenomena, but you don't come here to talk about the weather now, do you? No, you come for, well, I'm actually not sure why you come, but come you do. And I appreciate it.
As promised, here are some more pictures that we took this weekend. This first one is my wife showing her artistic side...
That has to be in the running to win some sort of contest, doesn't it?These next two have a story behind them. We were driving to church on Sunday (we attend a church that's in a town about 25 minutes south of us) and it was an absolutely stunning day. Sun shining, clear skies; the kind of day that makes you give days like today a pass. It's not quite a one-to-one ratio (I'll need several more spectacular days to make up for another day like today), but it's at least something. It was the kind of day where you could see for miles, quite literally, especially here on the prairies. And that was proven true when we looked out the window and saw this on the horizon...
Can't quite see what I'm talking about? Here's a closer look...
MOUNTAINS!!! Glorious, wonderful, majestic mountains! And even though they looked so close, we knew they were so far away. But it was incredible (a) to see mountains so unexpectedly, and (b) to see the juxtaposition of the two elements of Canadiana (wheat fields and mountains). Now I know why the next "county" over is called "Rockyview." Pretty spectacular stuff, if you ask me.Is nothing sacred? As Steph was watching Entertainment Tonight this evening, a little piece on Rod Stewart came on. Now, normally I don't pay much attention when his ugly mug comes on the screen (sorry, sexy mug *shudder*), but I was struck by what he was singing. Evidently he has a new album out. Now, I'm not exactly sure when it became cool in the music industry to cover other people's songs as a way to make a living, but it sure seems that the idea of putting out an album of standards is all the rage nowadays. Rod's done his share of them, and now he's decided he's going to tackle, and take a deep breath, classic rock songs. The first song on the album (and the one he was singing on the aforementioned TV show) is CCR's "Have You Ever Seen the Rain."
Two questions. (1) If you're John Fogerty, what possibly comes over you to allow your songs to be used in such an awful, awful way? Was he drunk? Possibly. Was he high? Could be. Then again, knowing the music industry he probably had no say in it whatsoever. *Wild rant alert* That's the problem with the music industry: artists don't have possession of their own creative property. It's a real scandal--the bigwigs and fat cats get all the cash, while the artists are abused and mistreated. In fact, an artist can't even hand out copies of his own songs without permission of his record label. Does this strike anyone else as weird? In the process, good musicians get pushed aside for commercially-produced, cookie cutter bands. And the worst part is that we just swallow it, hook, line, and sinker, thinking that we're making a musical trend when all we're doing is following what the man wants us to think.
Here's my second question (even though I've transitioned it, I'm still going to put the number in brackets, just in case any of you chose to ignore the wild rant above and skip straight to the next numbered point): (2) what demographic do you think they were going for? Two options here, which I will conveniently not number 1 and 2: (a) the generation that grew up listening to these songs, in which case that generation needs to get out of the LAME and back into the rock and roll. What makes you, in middle age, suddenly not like the music you've grown up with? Is the internal monologue really like this: "Hmm, I'd sure like to listen to that CCR again, but this time without those rowdy electric guitars"? My suggestion? Buy a rocker and take up knitting, gramps.
The other option for target market: (b) the parents of the generation that grew up listening to this music, who secretly harboured a desire to listen to it but just couldn't get over the fact that there were rowdy electric guitars. The internal monologue here might go something like this: "Oh, I'm so glad someone has finally done these songs in a nice, respectable way."
But that's just the thing with rock and roll, isn't it? This is music that defined a generation; it's the soundtrack of the anti-establishment era, and to see it being pushed into the establishment's mold is disheartening. All of a sudden, it doesn't seem so cool anymore. It's like the current trend in music--bashing George W. If everyone makes an anti-war protest album, it's not so counter-culture and cool anymore; in fact, it just becomes another commercial venture--even though you think you're really "sticking it to the man", you're really just doing what the man says (see previous wild rant). It becomes the thing you were railing so hard against. Same thing here, really--making these songs "respectable" takes away everything they stood for--it turns it into the very thing it was fighting against.
That sure got bogged down real fast, didn't it? I'm not really an anti-establishment kind of guy, but I'm just really sick of being a sheep. If we as a society decided it was time to start thinking for ourselves again, I think we'd be in a lot less trouble than we're in right now. But that's just my opinion, and I hope you have one too.
That's about it for this evening's rants and raves. Thanks for coming by, and I hope to see you again tomorrow.
9.25.2006
Whatever You Do, Don't Bring Your Gun.
I feel a bit spent at this point in time. Have you read my other blog yet? Please do; I did it first tonight, and now I feel like I've used up all the wit quotient for the evening. So if this post feels like the dregs of humour, there's my excuse. But I'm glad to have you here nonetheless.
Fall took a quick pause this past weekend; the sun came out and the temperatures soared again. It's almost as if it sees the end coming and wants to give it one more good kick at the can before it's all over, for another year at least. We sure appreciated it, that's for sure. Plus, it made for quite the photo-taking opportunity around here. The photos we took will be spread out over the course of this week so that I can pad these posts, but here are a few just to whet your appetite.
Behind the houses across the street is Wilson Sports Fields, Prairie's, well, sports fields. They're a throwback to when there were actually outdoor sports being played at the school, I'm sure (the only ones we have now are basketball and volleyball; oh, and futsal--what, you've never heard of it?). Across from these somewhat neglected fields is a small play ground. It's a little bit on the sad side, too, and more than a bit neglected. Huge metal frames that swings used to hang from, and two little slides out in the middle of the grass, looking like they're trying to escape the decay that's coming over the other pieces of playground apparatus. Quick mates, let's get out of here before it's too late! Of course, when one sees a slide, one has to try to go down it. Or at least, that's what Steph thought...
Until she tried to actually go down it...
...and ended up having to walk/stumble down the last bit of it, her momentum carrying her forward, but her butt not "sliding" per se...
Oh well, it was good times. It's good to act like a kid again, you know? Somewhere along the line, we get taken into this societal vortex that sucks all the spontaneous joy out of us. In a recent conversation with my pastor, he was telling me how his two-year-old sometimes just starts to dance around for no apparent reason. He's hearing some song in his head, and, well, he responds to it. What a wonderful thing to do. What a completely joyful experience that would be. Having a kid is a good opportunity to get that joy back, and I hope that my culture-bound inhibitions don't hold me back from just enjoying living life through Theo's eyes, even if that means dancing around in public and doing other "embarrasing things."
Here's a theological side note (hey, I'm at Bible College, after all): I think that God wants us to regain some of that joy. Jesus tells us that He came that we may have that "abundant life", and yet that abundance eludes us in everyday life. And the sad thing about it is that we've come to accept that as normal. But it's not the way it's supposed to be, if you ask me. How do we get that joy back into our lives and live with the mentality that is "in the world but not of it?" I realize this isn't exactly a thorough treatise on the matter, and I'm glossing over some very important points, but I hope you're seeing where I'm going with this. Any thoughts? It's good comment fodder, if you're so inclined.
One really cool thing that happened this weekend as a result of having some good weather was the reception on our TV increased exponentially. Okay, we got one more station. And two other really fuzzy ones (I'm not even sure they count). But the good news is that the station we get is CTV. You know what this means? "W-5" baby! Well, actually it just means that Steph can channel hop between Y&R and Dr. Phil. And I can watch Law & Order. And CSI. If I want to squint.
One more quick thing before I pack it in for the evening. Tonight on the news (that I now get with my incredibly high-tech rabbit ears) they were talking about a new gun amnesty program that's getting underway here in Alberta, following the success that BC had in a similar venture a month ago. In fact, if you read that article I linked to, you'll see that the BC program even netted police a rocket launcher. Oh man, would I have loved to be a part of the conversation that went on in that house. "Hey ma, do you reckon I should turn in that ol' rocket launcher of ours? We've had it for so long and we ain't doin' anything with it." Seriously, who has a rocket launcher just laying around the house? If nothing else, where do you get ammo for that mother? It's almost so ridiculous that nothing needs to be said. Almost.
Anyway, the newscaster was extolling the virtues of the program, being sure to point out that the police don't want to take guns away from responsible gun owners (which is good--this is Alberta, after all. The other day, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Protect the west: no Kyoto; no gun registry; no wheat pools"). But they also admit that of course, gang members probably won't use the occasion of a gun amnesty program to rethink their criminal patterns of behaviour. Again, the conversation at a gang HQ probably doesn't look like this: "Hey guys, did you hear the cops are doing a gun amnesty program? You know, maybe this whole life of crime isn't everything it's cracked up to be. Let's all go turn in our guns." Don't forget the holding hands and singing "Kum-by-ya."
The point I'm trying to make here is that the newscaster was also quick to point out the proper procedure for turning in your guns. "If you have a gun you'd like to surrender, please call police and they will send someone out to get the gun from you. Do not bring the gun into the police station." Oh boy. And the sad thing is that people will do it. "Excuse me, officer, where do I turn in this gun?" If police were looking for an excuse to use the ol' Tazer, that'd be it. Of course the news guy forgot to mention that it's probably not a good idea to meet the officer at the door of your house weilding the gun, either. Why do we even have to go over this stuff with some people?
I think I've done enough damage here for one night. I do appreciate your stopping by and visiting; I'm getting more people coming here than I thought I would, so thanks. As usual, comment away, please; I look forward to seeing them. Until tomorrow, may the road rise up to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back. See you then.
Fall took a quick pause this past weekend; the sun came out and the temperatures soared again. It's almost as if it sees the end coming and wants to give it one more good kick at the can before it's all over, for another year at least. We sure appreciated it, that's for sure. Plus, it made for quite the photo-taking opportunity around here. The photos we took will be spread out over the course of this week so that I can pad these posts, but here are a few just to whet your appetite.
Behind the houses across the street is Wilson Sports Fields, Prairie's, well, sports fields. They're a throwback to when there were actually outdoor sports being played at the school, I'm sure (the only ones we have now are basketball and volleyball; oh, and futsal--what, you've never heard of it?). Across from these somewhat neglected fields is a small play ground. It's a little bit on the sad side, too, and more than a bit neglected. Huge metal frames that swings used to hang from, and two little slides out in the middle of the grass, looking like they're trying to escape the decay that's coming over the other pieces of playground apparatus. Quick mates, let's get out of here before it's too late! Of course, when one sees a slide, one has to try to go down it. Or at least, that's what Steph thought...
Until she tried to actually go down it...
...and ended up having to walk/stumble down the last bit of it, her momentum carrying her forward, but her butt not "sliding" per se...
Oh well, it was good times. It's good to act like a kid again, you know? Somewhere along the line, we get taken into this societal vortex that sucks all the spontaneous joy out of us. In a recent conversation with my pastor, he was telling me how his two-year-old sometimes just starts to dance around for no apparent reason. He's hearing some song in his head, and, well, he responds to it. What a wonderful thing to do. What a completely joyful experience that would be. Having a kid is a good opportunity to get that joy back, and I hope that my culture-bound inhibitions don't hold me back from just enjoying living life through Theo's eyes, even if that means dancing around in public and doing other "embarrasing things."Here's a theological side note (hey, I'm at Bible College, after all): I think that God wants us to regain some of that joy. Jesus tells us that He came that we may have that "abundant life", and yet that abundance eludes us in everyday life. And the sad thing about it is that we've come to accept that as normal. But it's not the way it's supposed to be, if you ask me. How do we get that joy back into our lives and live with the mentality that is "in the world but not of it?" I realize this isn't exactly a thorough treatise on the matter, and I'm glossing over some very important points, but I hope you're seeing where I'm going with this. Any thoughts? It's good comment fodder, if you're so inclined.
One really cool thing that happened this weekend as a result of having some good weather was the reception on our TV increased exponentially. Okay, we got one more station. And two other really fuzzy ones (I'm not even sure they count). But the good news is that the station we get is CTV. You know what this means? "W-5" baby! Well, actually it just means that Steph can channel hop between Y&R and Dr. Phil. And I can watch Law & Order. And CSI. If I want to squint.
One more quick thing before I pack it in for the evening. Tonight on the news (that I now get with my incredibly high-tech rabbit ears) they were talking about a new gun amnesty program that's getting underway here in Alberta, following the success that BC had in a similar venture a month ago. In fact, if you read that article I linked to, you'll see that the BC program even netted police a rocket launcher. Oh man, would I have loved to be a part of the conversation that went on in that house. "Hey ma, do you reckon I should turn in that ol' rocket launcher of ours? We've had it for so long and we ain't doin' anything with it." Seriously, who has a rocket launcher just laying around the house? If nothing else, where do you get ammo for that mother? It's almost so ridiculous that nothing needs to be said. Almost.
Anyway, the newscaster was extolling the virtues of the program, being sure to point out that the police don't want to take guns away from responsible gun owners (which is good--this is Alberta, after all. The other day, I saw a bumper sticker that said, "Protect the west: no Kyoto; no gun registry; no wheat pools"). But they also admit that of course, gang members probably won't use the occasion of a gun amnesty program to rethink their criminal patterns of behaviour. Again, the conversation at a gang HQ probably doesn't look like this: "Hey guys, did you hear the cops are doing a gun amnesty program? You know, maybe this whole life of crime isn't everything it's cracked up to be. Let's all go turn in our guns." Don't forget the holding hands and singing "Kum-by-ya."
The point I'm trying to make here is that the newscaster was also quick to point out the proper procedure for turning in your guns. "If you have a gun you'd like to surrender, please call police and they will send someone out to get the gun from you. Do not bring the gun into the police station." Oh boy. And the sad thing is that people will do it. "Excuse me, officer, where do I turn in this gun?" If police were looking for an excuse to use the ol' Tazer, that'd be it. Of course the news guy forgot to mention that it's probably not a good idea to meet the officer at the door of your house weilding the gun, either. Why do we even have to go over this stuff with some people?
I think I've done enough damage here for one night. I do appreciate your stopping by and visiting; I'm getting more people coming here than I thought I would, so thanks. As usual, comment away, please; I look forward to seeing them. Until tomorrow, may the road rise up to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back. See you then.
9.22.2006
Ah, Friday
I knew the answer would be different this morning--I had Theo out of bed, changed, finished his bottle, and halfway through his oatmeal before Steph even woke up. Success. Finally. And it only took a Gravol to do it. Oh well, you take 'em when you can get 'em, that's what we say (I think it's the official motto of parenthood). Because of the sleep, a happier day was had, at least by the adults in the family.
Theo, on the other hand, is back to his grumpy side again. We had to let him cry himself to sleep today three times. Oh, how it hurts to hear your child screaming away, and knowing that as much as you'd love to go to them, that's the worst thing you can do. Sometimes love isn't easy. But it's always a good thing, if your motives are right.
A strange thing happened today as well. I was sitting there feeding Theo his oatmeal (it's the only thing we can give him that we know won't upset his stomach or give him a rash), and I heard a thud on our window. At first, I thought the kids next door were playing and they'd accidentally thrown something against our window. Steph went out to investigate and found...
What a strange experience. We were stunned. What do you do when a bird flies into your window and then sits there stunned on the ground? Naturally, you take your infant son out to look and snap a photo, but what about after that? You can't just leave an injured bird sitting there (if nothing else, you'd have a carcass on your lawn; the least you can do is shove it over across the property line). However, since my suggestion (hitting with a shovel to put it out of its misery) was kyboshed, we (and by that I mean, Steph) opted for the "humane" thing--put it in a shoebox. I'm not sure what the next step would have been. Maybe, "gently nurse it back to health." I was thinking more along the lines of "gently nurse it back to health and train it to do your bidding as an attack bird", but judging by its size, it probably would've been feared by nobody.
But just as we tried to get it into the box (which was carefully lined with an old towel, because if there's one thing a bird wants, it's comfort--that's why it sleeps in a bed of sticks and eats regurgitated worms, I guess), it flapped its wings and seemed as good as new. Still couldn't fly away yet--I suppose it was still in shock--but at least it had all its faculties. And when we got back from a walk shortly after, it had flown the coop.
I have a correction to make regarding yesterday's post--Steph has actually been watching Y&R for 15 years now, not the 10 I reported yesterday. My apologies.
One more picture before the night (and the week) is through. Part of the charm of downtown Three Hills is its rustic character; much of it seems like it hasn't changed in years. This sign, in particular, is one my favourites; a real throw-back to times gone by...
I'm glad they haven't replaced it with a "new and improved" model. I'll bet that sign has plenty of its own stories to tell about the things it's seen happen in its lifetime. And yes, Speed Queen still does exist. Man, can you find pretty much anything on the internet or what?
That wraps up the evening for me; I'm not feeling particularly witty or urbane tonight, as you can likely tell by the quality of the preceding post. However, I do think it's great that you've come by, and I hope that you stop by again next week (I'm taking the weekend off, as I rightly should) for more tales of life in Three Hills. See you then.
Theo, on the other hand, is back to his grumpy side again. We had to let him cry himself to sleep today three times. Oh, how it hurts to hear your child screaming away, and knowing that as much as you'd love to go to them, that's the worst thing you can do. Sometimes love isn't easy. But it's always a good thing, if your motives are right.
A strange thing happened today as well. I was sitting there feeding Theo his oatmeal (it's the only thing we can give him that we know won't upset his stomach or give him a rash), and I heard a thud on our window. At first, I thought the kids next door were playing and they'd accidentally thrown something against our window. Steph went out to investigate and found...
What a strange experience. We were stunned. What do you do when a bird flies into your window and then sits there stunned on the ground? Naturally, you take your infant son out to look and snap a photo, but what about after that? You can't just leave an injured bird sitting there (if nothing else, you'd have a carcass on your lawn; the least you can do is shove it over across the property line). However, since my suggestion (hitting with a shovel to put it out of its misery) was kyboshed, we (and by that I mean, Steph) opted for the "humane" thing--put it in a shoebox. I'm not sure what the next step would have been. Maybe, "gently nurse it back to health." I was thinking more along the lines of "gently nurse it back to health and train it to do your bidding as an attack bird", but judging by its size, it probably would've been feared by nobody.But just as we tried to get it into the box (which was carefully lined with an old towel, because if there's one thing a bird wants, it's comfort--that's why it sleeps in a bed of sticks and eats regurgitated worms, I guess), it flapped its wings and seemed as good as new. Still couldn't fly away yet--I suppose it was still in shock--but at least it had all its faculties. And when we got back from a walk shortly after, it had flown the coop.
I have a correction to make regarding yesterday's post--Steph has actually been watching Y&R for 15 years now, not the 10 I reported yesterday. My apologies.
One more picture before the night (and the week) is through. Part of the charm of downtown Three Hills is its rustic character; much of it seems like it hasn't changed in years. This sign, in particular, is one my favourites; a real throw-back to times gone by...
I'm glad they haven't replaced it with a "new and improved" model. I'll bet that sign has plenty of its own stories to tell about the things it's seen happen in its lifetime. And yes, Speed Queen still does exist. Man, can you find pretty much anything on the internet or what?That wraps up the evening for me; I'm not feeling particularly witty or urbane tonight, as you can likely tell by the quality of the preceding post. However, I do think it's great that you've come by, and I hope that you stop by again next week (I'm taking the weekend off, as I rightly should) for more tales of life in Three Hills. See you then.
9.21.2006
Life Without Y&R Isn't Worth Living...
We ask each other the same question every morning, and always with the same cautious optimism. This morning's question came with a fair deal of trepidation as well, because we knew that the answer was a pivotal point in our lives here.
"How'd you sleep?"
So innocent, yet so loaded. And the answer wasn't what we wanted to hear. For my part, it wasn't so bad. Not great, but then I've never been a viking when it comes to sleep (ah, Ralph Wiggum; where would I be without you?). In fact, I'm one of those people who never feels completely rested no matter how long I've slept for. It's a terrible feeling to wake up in the morning and have your first feeling be exhaustion. I know all of us go through it at times, but try having it be your daily routine.
Enough pity party. My answer was non-commital (I learned to be non-commital in the pregnancy--the last thing you want to say to a pregnant woman who isn't sleeping well is something like, "Wow, that was the best sleep I've had in weeks!" Foreign objects are sure to come flying your way). Steph's answer was definitely commital: "Terrible." Okay, well that about solves the "where to sleep" problem. No wait, that just made it more complicated. We've now eliminated our bedroom and the spare room as places to get a good night's sleep. Our next stop: the shed.
Seriously, though, this is somthing that can't go on for much longer before one of us goes crazy. Tonight our arrangements are Steph in the spare room on a mattress on the floor (which is where I slept last night--she was on the bed, which was too creaky and woke her up every time she moved, which was roughly every 1/2 hour) and I'm back in the master. Sleeping apart sucks, but if it's for a short time and so that we both get a good night's sleep, I'll take it.
After almost three weeks of being TV-less, and realizing that hockey season is soon starting up and we'd have no way to get games, we decided to go old-skool and get some rabbit ears for the TV. I haven't worked with rabbit ears seriously, well, ever in my life (I'm sure we had rabbit ears at one time or another; I just don't remember), and it was fun. For the low price of $12.99 (plus another $3.99 to get the contraption to work on a TV made after 1970), we now get two channels: CBC and Global Edmonton. Not bad. I get my hockey, and Steph gets her Y&R.
Those of you who know Steph know that Y&R (The Young and the Restless, for those of you who are uninformed) has been a big part of her life for over a decade now. It's one of the simple escapes that she has, and I think that's great. We're both happy with the arrangement (I also get the news now, which, although occasionally depressing, is good to keep on top of), and I think much bliss will ensue, especially when the opening chords of the Hockey Night in Canada theme song burst forth in a few weeks.
Took another drive tonight, again into the fine city of Red Deer. Checked the odometer; pretty much exactly 100 km one-way. It's a very nice drive that reminds us a lot of the English countryside, if you can believe it. Anyway, the purpose of the trip was to return some books to Chapters (and, of course, we just happened to stop in at the Starbucks while we were there) and get some new pants for me.
Now, I think I speak on behalf of all the men here when I express my deeply-felt loathing for all forms of shopping (except grocery--I can handle that). To me, there's nothing worse than having to buy new clothes. I figure this all goes back to our basic natures as men and women. Back in the day, men were the hunter-gatherers, and I think we take this mentality into our shopping experiences. I, for one, go into a store with a purpose in mind (in this case, to buy a pair of pants, maybe two); upon entering, I do a quick scan of the store and categorize it in my mind, immediately locating the area that is of direct interest to me. I enter that area, grab basically the first thing that's my size and fits the description (pants: two legs? Check.) and head to the cashier. In my old age I've added the unfortunate stop at the fitting room, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the only thing worse than going to the store to buy clothes is having to make an extra trip to the store to return them.
The bags at Old Navy (I buy all my clothes there to keep the number of destinations to a minimum) say, "Shopping is Fun Again!" No wait, my friend, I think we've skipped an important step in that logical puzzle: shopping was never fun to begin with. I, for one, have never associated the word "fun" with the word "shopping." "Fun" = cooking a steak on the BBQ; "shopping" = poking my eye out with a rusty nail. Not the same emotion, I'm afraid.
Although the shopping was eventually a succes, I can't say the same about the dinner experience. We were craving McDonald's (why? "Because he puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes you crave it fortnightly, smartass!") and decided that we'd indulge for dinner. But man, was that the worst McDonald's experience, nay, the worst restaurant experience, ever? I think so. Please understand that I spent five years in the quick-service food industry, so my critiques of fast-food denziens are usually fair and honest. That said, this was the worst experience ever.
I'm not sure if un-motivated employees is a side-effect of Alberta's economic boom (some think it is), but man, I've never seen a bunch of slugs like that in my life. Two tills going, three people ahead of me, and I stood in line for 10 minutes. The cashier (who was the picture of the "Smiles are free" mentality that McDonald's embodies) moved at a speed somewhere in between glacial and sleeping sloth. What's worse, when she finally did manage to walk her lazy butt over to get my burger (which was cold, after all that time), she took the opportunity, with my burger in her hand, to stop and ask someone in the back how they liked the CD she lent them. Argh!
I understand that sometimes long waits are unavoidable. But if I wait for an inordinate amount of time, I at least expect some type of apology, even an insincere one. Heck, I at least expect there to be a hearty "Thank you" waiting for me at the end of our transaction. But none of these happened. This economic boom has made workers surly and rude; I can't wait until the bubble bursts and these surly employees who are used to having everything their way figure out what it's like to work in the real world, where you get fired if you suck as badly as they did. Okay, that's harsh; all I wanted was my food in a reasonable amount of time. Bad service makes me cranky (but not this cranky).
Whew. Glad that's out of my system. Got back about an hour ago (only saw two coyotes on the way home--it's really odd to drive for an hour on roads with no lights at all, especially when you're the only car within visual range) and now it's time to hit the hay. After I do my homework. Or make it up. One of the two. That's all for this evening, folks. See you tomorrow.
"How'd you sleep?"
So innocent, yet so loaded. And the answer wasn't what we wanted to hear. For my part, it wasn't so bad. Not great, but then I've never been a viking when it comes to sleep (ah, Ralph Wiggum; where would I be without you?). In fact, I'm one of those people who never feels completely rested no matter how long I've slept for. It's a terrible feeling to wake up in the morning and have your first feeling be exhaustion. I know all of us go through it at times, but try having it be your daily routine.
Enough pity party. My answer was non-commital (I learned to be non-commital in the pregnancy--the last thing you want to say to a pregnant woman who isn't sleeping well is something like, "Wow, that was the best sleep I've had in weeks!" Foreign objects are sure to come flying your way). Steph's answer was definitely commital: "Terrible." Okay, well that about solves the "where to sleep" problem. No wait, that just made it more complicated. We've now eliminated our bedroom and the spare room as places to get a good night's sleep. Our next stop: the shed.
Seriously, though, this is somthing that can't go on for much longer before one of us goes crazy. Tonight our arrangements are Steph in the spare room on a mattress on the floor (which is where I slept last night--she was on the bed, which was too creaky and woke her up every time she moved, which was roughly every 1/2 hour) and I'm back in the master. Sleeping apart sucks, but if it's for a short time and so that we both get a good night's sleep, I'll take it.
After almost three weeks of being TV-less, and realizing that hockey season is soon starting up and we'd have no way to get games, we decided to go old-skool and get some rabbit ears for the TV. I haven't worked with rabbit ears seriously, well, ever in my life (I'm sure we had rabbit ears at one time or another; I just don't remember), and it was fun. For the low price of $12.99 (plus another $3.99 to get the contraption to work on a TV made after 1970), we now get two channels: CBC and Global Edmonton. Not bad. I get my hockey, and Steph gets her Y&R.
Those of you who know Steph know that Y&R (The Young and the Restless, for those of you who are uninformed) has been a big part of her life for over a decade now. It's one of the simple escapes that she has, and I think that's great. We're both happy with the arrangement (I also get the news now, which, although occasionally depressing, is good to keep on top of), and I think much bliss will ensue, especially when the opening chords of the Hockey Night in Canada theme song burst forth in a few weeks.
Took another drive tonight, again into the fine city of Red Deer. Checked the odometer; pretty much exactly 100 km one-way. It's a very nice drive that reminds us a lot of the English countryside, if you can believe it. Anyway, the purpose of the trip was to return some books to Chapters (and, of course, we just happened to stop in at the Starbucks while we were there) and get some new pants for me.
Now, I think I speak on behalf of all the men here when I express my deeply-felt loathing for all forms of shopping (except grocery--I can handle that). To me, there's nothing worse than having to buy new clothes. I figure this all goes back to our basic natures as men and women. Back in the day, men were the hunter-gatherers, and I think we take this mentality into our shopping experiences. I, for one, go into a store with a purpose in mind (in this case, to buy a pair of pants, maybe two); upon entering, I do a quick scan of the store and categorize it in my mind, immediately locating the area that is of direct interest to me. I enter that area, grab basically the first thing that's my size and fits the description (pants: two legs? Check.) and head to the cashier. In my old age I've added the unfortunate stop at the fitting room, because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that the only thing worse than going to the store to buy clothes is having to make an extra trip to the store to return them.
The bags at Old Navy (I buy all my clothes there to keep the number of destinations to a minimum) say, "Shopping is Fun Again!" No wait, my friend, I think we've skipped an important step in that logical puzzle: shopping was never fun to begin with. I, for one, have never associated the word "fun" with the word "shopping." "Fun" = cooking a steak on the BBQ; "shopping" = poking my eye out with a rusty nail. Not the same emotion, I'm afraid.
Although the shopping was eventually a succes, I can't say the same about the dinner experience. We were craving McDonald's (why? "Because he puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes you crave it fortnightly, smartass!") and decided that we'd indulge for dinner. But man, was that the worst McDonald's experience, nay, the worst restaurant experience, ever? I think so. Please understand that I spent five years in the quick-service food industry, so my critiques of fast-food denziens are usually fair and honest. That said, this was the worst experience ever.
I'm not sure if un-motivated employees is a side-effect of Alberta's economic boom (some think it is), but man, I've never seen a bunch of slugs like that in my life. Two tills going, three people ahead of me, and I stood in line for 10 minutes. The cashier (who was the picture of the "Smiles are free" mentality that McDonald's embodies) moved at a speed somewhere in between glacial and sleeping sloth. What's worse, when she finally did manage to walk her lazy butt over to get my burger (which was cold, after all that time), she took the opportunity, with my burger in her hand, to stop and ask someone in the back how they liked the CD she lent them. Argh!
I understand that sometimes long waits are unavoidable. But if I wait for an inordinate amount of time, I at least expect some type of apology, even an insincere one. Heck, I at least expect there to be a hearty "Thank you" waiting for me at the end of our transaction. But none of these happened. This economic boom has made workers surly and rude; I can't wait until the bubble bursts and these surly employees who are used to having everything their way figure out what it's like to work in the real world, where you get fired if you suck as badly as they did. Okay, that's harsh; all I wanted was my food in a reasonable amount of time. Bad service makes me cranky (but not this cranky).
Whew. Glad that's out of my system. Got back about an hour ago (only saw two coyotes on the way home--it's really odd to drive for an hour on roads with no lights at all, especially when you're the only car within visual range) and now it's time to hit the hay. After I do my homework. Or make it up. One of the two. That's all for this evening, folks. See you tomorrow.
9.20.2006
Sleeping, packages, and weather
Life sure is difficult when you're not sleeping. The funny thing is that the longer you go without it, the harder it is to get it, and so on in cyclical fashion. Add an infant to the mix and, well, you're pretty much screwed.
Alas, this is the situation we find ourselves in as we move steadily into week three. You see, there's a double bed in the master that we've been sleeping on and it's just not cutting it. After two weeks of not much sleep, we decided yesterday afternoon that we'd try to nap on the single beds in the two bedrooms (we actually just pulled the mattress off the one and laid it on the floor of the front room so that we could at least both be in the same room). Wonder of wonders, it was the best sleep we've had in two weeks, even though it was only an hour-and-a-half. We're holding out hope for tonight.
Of course, this poses an interesting problem. We're not going to sleep apart for eight months. Furthermore, one of us isn't going to sleep on the floor for eight months. There has to be a solution in here somewhere, though, and when we're better rested, I'm sure we'll think of something brilliant.
Got a package today in the mail--some course books I had shipped out to me. Even though I fully expected them to come, I still feel a great sense of anticipation when I open that box and look inside. It takes me back to when I was a kid and got a letter in the mail. "You mean, it's a letter for me?" No matter what it was, that letter made me happy. Life chnaged when bills and junk mail started arriving, but I still occasionally get that feeling when I open a package.
As a double-feature, we also got a Purolator shipment today (yes, couriers do come to our door, even in Three Hills). Funny thing, though: the guy shows up in a rented cube van. Hmm. No, he didn't cart off any of my valuables when I wasn't looking.
Other than that not much else going on. A pleasant enough day, weather-wise--sunny and milder than usual. I was going to say "warm" but that certainly doesn't cut it. Rain and cold weather expected back again tomorrow, so I'll enjoy it while I can. Lots of school work to do, too, so I'm actually looking forward to it (sense of accomplishment and all that). Should be good times.
I'll keep you posted on how things go with sleeping. Until then, keep enjoying the reading, and stop back again soon.
Alas, this is the situation we find ourselves in as we move steadily into week three. You see, there's a double bed in the master that we've been sleeping on and it's just not cutting it. After two weeks of not much sleep, we decided yesterday afternoon that we'd try to nap on the single beds in the two bedrooms (we actually just pulled the mattress off the one and laid it on the floor of the front room so that we could at least both be in the same room). Wonder of wonders, it was the best sleep we've had in two weeks, even though it was only an hour-and-a-half. We're holding out hope for tonight.
Of course, this poses an interesting problem. We're not going to sleep apart for eight months. Furthermore, one of us isn't going to sleep on the floor for eight months. There has to be a solution in here somewhere, though, and when we're better rested, I'm sure we'll think of something brilliant.
Got a package today in the mail--some course books I had shipped out to me. Even though I fully expected them to come, I still feel a great sense of anticipation when I open that box and look inside. It takes me back to when I was a kid and got a letter in the mail. "You mean, it's a letter for me?" No matter what it was, that letter made me happy. Life chnaged when bills and junk mail started arriving, but I still occasionally get that feeling when I open a package.
As a double-feature, we also got a Purolator shipment today (yes, couriers do come to our door, even in Three Hills). Funny thing, though: the guy shows up in a rented cube van. Hmm. No, he didn't cart off any of my valuables when I wasn't looking.
Other than that not much else going on. A pleasant enough day, weather-wise--sunny and milder than usual. I was going to say "warm" but that certainly doesn't cut it. Rain and cold weather expected back again tomorrow, so I'll enjoy it while I can. Lots of school work to do, too, so I'm actually looking forward to it (sense of accomplishment and all that). Should be good times.
I'll keep you posted on how things go with sleeping. Until then, keep enjoying the reading, and stop back again soon.
9.19.2006
A Frosty Morning
Is there anything better than the start of hockey season? Yes, I realize it's not the "official" start of the season yet, but there's hockey on the radio--I'm not picky if it's pre- or regular season. Even though I don't know any of the names of the players on either team (they're all minor-leaguers; when Shorty calls the names, I don't know who has the puck), it's nice to hear it again. This is how I know that fall is here. Ah, hockey--you're my hero.
*cough* Okay, that got a little awkward there at the end. There are, of course, other signs that fall has arrived, even if not in the autumnal equinox sense of the word. Leaves turn colour from vibrant green to a crackling shade of yellow; soon all the trees will bare their branches, losing the splendour and vibrancy that characterizes their summer adornment. In summer, everything seems more alive. Yet there's something comforting about a crisp autumn morning that you just can't find in summer. When your breath crystalizes as it comes out of your mouth and there's that familiar bite in the air--that's my favourite time of the year.
And there's hockey on. Did I mention that?
Yesterday morning we had the first true taste of fall around here. I woke up to a brilliant sunrise...
And turned to look at the ground...
'Twas a surprise, it was. I took a couple more photos, just to give you all a sense of the fact that it was, indeed, frosty...
I think the flowers were caught unawares...
Other than catching up on photos I took yesterday, nothing much to report today. I wore a toque to school for the first time (but it's okay that I wore a toque because there's hockey on the radio)--could see my breath when I stepped out of the house, so I knew it was time. My only fear (and it's a reasonable one, I think) is that it'll be an absolutely brutal winter this year. Haven't had one around here in quite some time, they say--we're due. Maybe, just maybe, it'll hold off for one more year, giving us ample time to retreat back to our temperate climate like the wimps we are. But then again, maybe I'll have to buy a pair of long underwear this year. I've never owned a functional pair before (I had a pair for snowboarding, but I wore them about twice), so it should be a new experience. I say I'll keep you posted but, you know, there are just some things that should remain in the privacy of my own home.
Oh, how could I forget my manly achievement of the week--I installed a new battery in the car. Grunt, grunt, grunt! Yeah, you're jealous of my life, admit it. Next week I'm moving on to heavy machinery. Stay tuned!
So off I go to build a zoo (Zoo Tycoon has me in its grips--I'm powerless. There are dinosaurs, people; DINOSAURS!!!). Thanks for swinging by, and hey, the comments section is always available for your disposal. See you again tomorrow.
*cough* Okay, that got a little awkward there at the end. There are, of course, other signs that fall has arrived, even if not in the autumnal equinox sense of the word. Leaves turn colour from vibrant green to a crackling shade of yellow; soon all the trees will bare their branches, losing the splendour and vibrancy that characterizes their summer adornment. In summer, everything seems more alive. Yet there's something comforting about a crisp autumn morning that you just can't find in summer. When your breath crystalizes as it comes out of your mouth and there's that familiar bite in the air--that's my favourite time of the year.
And there's hockey on. Did I mention that?
Yesterday morning we had the first true taste of fall around here. I woke up to a brilliant sunrise...
And turned to look at the ground...
'Twas a surprise, it was. I took a couple more photos, just to give you all a sense of the fact that it was, indeed, frosty...
I think the flowers were caught unawares...
Other than catching up on photos I took yesterday, nothing much to report today. I wore a toque to school for the first time (but it's okay that I wore a toque because there's hockey on the radio)--could see my breath when I stepped out of the house, so I knew it was time. My only fear (and it's a reasonable one, I think) is that it'll be an absolutely brutal winter this year. Haven't had one around here in quite some time, they say--we're due. Maybe, just maybe, it'll hold off for one more year, giving us ample time to retreat back to our temperate climate like the wimps we are. But then again, maybe I'll have to buy a pair of long underwear this year. I've never owned a functional pair before (I had a pair for snowboarding, but I wore them about twice), so it should be a new experience. I say I'll keep you posted but, you know, there are just some things that should remain in the privacy of my own home.Oh, how could I forget my manly achievement of the week--I installed a new battery in the car. Grunt, grunt, grunt! Yeah, you're jealous of my life, admit it. Next week I'm moving on to heavy machinery. Stay tuned!
So off I go to build a zoo (Zoo Tycoon has me in its grips--I'm powerless. There are dinosaurs, people; DINOSAURS!!!). Thanks for swinging by, and hey, the comments section is always available for your disposal. See you again tomorrow.
9.18.2006
Some Stories, Some Photos
I'm back again, and so soon. Perhaps it's the cold. Or maybe the lack of TV. Whatever it is, it's to your benefit, I suppose. My goal for today's post is (a) a quaint story or two about small-town living, and (b) a photographic spectacle of prairie beauty. Onward!
I have two tales to regale you with today. First, a story about crime in Three Hills. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a "professional" working in a town such as Three Hills. For example, Steph went to the doctor's today (nothing seriously wrong, thanks for asking), and he's this black guy straight from the Caribbean. No joke--he had the accent and everything. What makes a guy like that want to come to Three Hills? Wouldn't it get boring always treating harvesting accidents all day?
The point of my story about crime is that I apply that same logic to being RCMP here in Three Hills. I think there's one or two regular cops here (just like in Dog River), and it must be boring. I mean, I know people who are RCMP (two of them are related), and it sounds so exciting to chase the bad guys (even though I wouldn't do it for anything). But here? Nothing. For example, the local paper published a front-page story from the RCMP detachment here, highlighting their three-pronged focus for the coming fall. Prong 1: drunk driving. Okay, that's pretty standard everywhere, especially, I would imagine, on the prairies (you figure out what I mean by that comment). Prong 2: not coming to a complete stop at stop signs. Considering Three Hills has several of them, I could see where this is a problem. Hey, you want a solution? Traffic lights. No wait, that would really ruin the small-town mystique, wouldn't it? I mean, first it's the traffic light, next it's a Wal-Mart. Prong 3: turning across a solid yellow line on Main Street to park on the other side of the road. Oh, the humanity! Those nefarious single-yellow-line-crossers! Better nip that in the bud before all of the ruffians in town get the idea that they can drive across single yellow lines willy-nilly. It tears at the very moral fabric of society!
As you can see, the idea of "crime" here in town is foreign. And you know what? That's exactly the way I like it. This is a place that I can see Theo growing up in--it's safe enough that children actually walk to school alone and ride their bikes with their friends without having to carry cell phones. It's going back to what it was like when I was a kid growing up in Ladner, and that's really refreshing.
My second story has to do with neighbourly friendship. A couple days ago, someone we didn't recongize (not difficult, considering that we know, well, one other couple and our next-door neighbours) knocked on our door. Anyway, we opened it up, and the lady standing there introduced herself as the lady from across the street. She just popped by because she saw that we were new in town and thought she'd bring us a zucchini loaf. Ah, the zucchini (/banana/chocolate chip-banana) loaf--the international token of friendship. Seriously, let's just send some zucchini loaf to Afghanistan. I've learned in our short time here that if someone comes to your door (whether or not they bear zucchini loaf), you must actually invite them in, or else they won't come in. Prairie hospitality at its finest.
Another example of this (call this one story 2A) came the other day when we had to get our furnace looked at. Yes, it has been cold enough to turn on the furnace over the past couple of days, which really sucks. So we had an undiagnosed furnace problem, and, never having seen a furnace like this one before (it was made in 1973, but it's still going strong), we arranged to get a repairman over. After assessing and fixing it--which was easy because, hey, he was the one who installed it--he was headed for the door when he stopped to say hi to Theo (irresistable baby alert!). Then he launched into a story about his family--how he has six kids and 24 grandkids, and how he and his wife came to live in Three Hills. 20 minutes later he decided it was time to leave. Seriously, who does that? It was awesome! Small town living is the only way to go. As long as that small town has a Starbucks.
So that was my very long storytelling time. Now, as a reward for sticking with me this far, I'm going to show you some of the spectacular scenery you can see around here.
These are from a field that is literally at the end of our street...
And this is the pathway there...
I figured I'd put some campus shots here, too...
This is the view from the other side of campus...
And finally, my favourite shot that we've taken yet. This one is from the top of one of the three hills to the north of town...
So thanks for coming by today--I appreciate your business. Leave me a comment, if you feel so inclined (yes, I have fixed the problem with having to be a registered user--thanks, Barb). See you again very soon.
I have two tales to regale you with today. First, a story about crime in Three Hills. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be a "professional" working in a town such as Three Hills. For example, Steph went to the doctor's today (nothing seriously wrong, thanks for asking), and he's this black guy straight from the Caribbean. No joke--he had the accent and everything. What makes a guy like that want to come to Three Hills? Wouldn't it get boring always treating harvesting accidents all day?
The point of my story about crime is that I apply that same logic to being RCMP here in Three Hills. I think there's one or two regular cops here (just like in Dog River), and it must be boring. I mean, I know people who are RCMP (two of them are related), and it sounds so exciting to chase the bad guys (even though I wouldn't do it for anything). But here? Nothing. For example, the local paper published a front-page story from the RCMP detachment here, highlighting their three-pronged focus for the coming fall. Prong 1: drunk driving. Okay, that's pretty standard everywhere, especially, I would imagine, on the prairies (you figure out what I mean by that comment). Prong 2: not coming to a complete stop at stop signs. Considering Three Hills has several of them, I could see where this is a problem. Hey, you want a solution? Traffic lights. No wait, that would really ruin the small-town mystique, wouldn't it? I mean, first it's the traffic light, next it's a Wal-Mart. Prong 3: turning across a solid yellow line on Main Street to park on the other side of the road. Oh, the humanity! Those nefarious single-yellow-line-crossers! Better nip that in the bud before all of the ruffians in town get the idea that they can drive across single yellow lines willy-nilly. It tears at the very moral fabric of society!
As you can see, the idea of "crime" here in town is foreign. And you know what? That's exactly the way I like it. This is a place that I can see Theo growing up in--it's safe enough that children actually walk to school alone and ride their bikes with their friends without having to carry cell phones. It's going back to what it was like when I was a kid growing up in Ladner, and that's really refreshing.
My second story has to do with neighbourly friendship. A couple days ago, someone we didn't recongize (not difficult, considering that we know, well, one other couple and our next-door neighbours) knocked on our door. Anyway, we opened it up, and the lady standing there introduced herself as the lady from across the street. She just popped by because she saw that we were new in town and thought she'd bring us a zucchini loaf. Ah, the zucchini (/banana/chocolate chip-banana) loaf--the international token of friendship. Seriously, let's just send some zucchini loaf to Afghanistan. I've learned in our short time here that if someone comes to your door (whether or not they bear zucchini loaf), you must actually invite them in, or else they won't come in. Prairie hospitality at its finest.
Another example of this (call this one story 2A) came the other day when we had to get our furnace looked at. Yes, it has been cold enough to turn on the furnace over the past couple of days, which really sucks. So we had an undiagnosed furnace problem, and, never having seen a furnace like this one before (it was made in 1973, but it's still going strong), we arranged to get a repairman over. After assessing and fixing it--which was easy because, hey, he was the one who installed it--he was headed for the door when he stopped to say hi to Theo (irresistable baby alert!). Then he launched into a story about his family--how he has six kids and 24 grandkids, and how he and his wife came to live in Three Hills. 20 minutes later he decided it was time to leave. Seriously, who does that? It was awesome! Small town living is the only way to go. As long as that small town has a Starbucks.
So that was my very long storytelling time. Now, as a reward for sticking with me this far, I'm going to show you some of the spectacular scenery you can see around here.
These are from a field that is literally at the end of our street...
And this is the pathway there...
I figured I'd put some campus shots here, too...
This is the view from the other side of campus...
And finally, my favourite shot that we've taken yet. This one is from the top of one of the three hills to the north of town...
So thanks for coming by today--I appreciate your business. Leave me a comment, if you feel so inclined (yes, I have fixed the problem with having to be a registered user--thanks, Barb). See you again very soon.
9.16.2006
Where We Live
I think I'll never get used to it being so cold in September. Last week, it was close to 30 degrees. Today, the high temperature was 5. And it was windy. So windy. And I'm not sure why Vancouver gets such a reputation as a rainy city--it's been raining here for three days straight (only 37 to go until we officially get to "biblical proportions"), and the rain is heavy. And cold. In Vancouver, it's misty rain--here, it pelts down on you like so many icy arrows.
Enough complaining? Sorry. My accompaniment to today's blogging is the pitiful sound of Theo wailing away in the background. It gets me in a complaining mood.
Today's post is going to be all about where we live. I have a confession to make: we live in a trailer. Actually, I prefer the term "modular home", but that's really just splitting hairs, isn't it? Now, before you mock me for living in said trailer, I'll ask you if you've ever actually been in one. No, not the kind that dot the landscape in redneck corner, USA, but a respectable modular home. Ever? No? Then don't judge me, man! It's actually quite nice inside--very cozy. You wouldn't know it's a mobile home from looking at it. And it's got an addition built on it (which, I suppose, puts the lie to the term "mobile"), which increases its space substantially.
Anyway, it was built in the 70's, and much of the decor still reflects that era. The current owners, a missionary couple who are off to Peru, have started to renovate, and have done a spectacular job of it, really. The renovated part (the front half) is quite modern-looking. The back of the trailer is quite 70's-looking. It's quite an interesting juxtaposition (sweet, a huge word that makes me look smart)--it's like a before and after shot on a decorating show. Anyway, here are some photos:
Our backyard is quite spacious. This one is taken from the corner of the backyard looking back toward the house (that's a shed on the right)...
The living room and spare bedroom are quite nice (there's an office, but it's tough to get a good picture of due to layout)...
And then we get into the 70's portion of the house, starting with the kitchen. You can see where the painting of the walls stopped...
This is where Theo sleeps (or where we wish he would just fall asleep already)...
And this is the master bedroom...
Here's the most 70's thing--the bathroom wallpaper! Yes, we do shower here daily; no, we have experienced no harmful side-effects...
All-in-all, however, it's a great little set-up--don't get me wrong. It's one of those situations where we're just so lucky to have a place to live at all. We tend to look gift horses in the mouth quite frequently (you decide whether that "we" describes just our family or society in general), and we're not about to do that here. The layout is fantastic, the neighbourhood is great, our landlords and property manager bend over backwards for us--it's all really quite amazing, and we're lucky to be here.
So do you want to hear a story or two? If not, bye-bye. If so, read on. We've been making it a point to take forays into the Alberta countryside whenever possible. We've explored south to Airdrie (SuperStore and Wal-Mart!), west to Olds (a bigger town than Three Hills, but not huge--we ate at a Smitty's restaurant there; the menu was expansive and I think every item was just swimming in a lake of fryer oil. Reminds me of "The Emperor's New Groove" when Yzma asks, "Is there anything on this menu that isn't swimming in gravy?!" Good movie. Oh wait, I'm still in a bracket), and just today we went north to Red Deer.
Now, I'm sure Red Deer is a very nice city (even though their junior hockey team sucks). For instance, there's a Starbucks there, which was actually the reason for our going there. But man, what a hassle. The area of town we were going to was basically all just big-box malls. Picture the Langley Bypass times three, all within the same area. It was chaos. And I'm sorry, but anyone who thinks that BC drivers are the worst in Canada needs to spend some time in Alberta. Maybe I've just adapted to BC driving patterns and I need to get used to a whole new type of bad driver. Or this could be an objective measure of poor driving.
The thing is that it seems that the same car-driving paradigm is taken into the shopping experience as well. I've never been afraid for my life in a Wal-Mart before, but there's a first time for everything, I suppose. Someone in the way? That's what your big metal cart is for! Huzzah!
Ah well, at the end of it all, the Starbucks tasted extra good (especially when we know we have to drive almost an hour to have one), and we headed home. It's amazing how quickly we've adapted to rural life. Just going into "the big city" was enough to give me a tension headache. And coming back to the more civilized pace of Three Hills was refreshing.
Speaking of refreshing, Theo's stopped crying. What a lovely way to end an evening. Next post, I'll have a few scenic shots to put up, but I'll also have some more small-town stories to tell that'll make you wish you lived here. Seriously. Zucchini loaf is involved. Thanks for coming by, and I'll see you next time.
Enough complaining? Sorry. My accompaniment to today's blogging is the pitiful sound of Theo wailing away in the background. It gets me in a complaining mood.
Today's post is going to be all about where we live. I have a confession to make: we live in a trailer. Actually, I prefer the term "modular home", but that's really just splitting hairs, isn't it? Now, before you mock me for living in said trailer, I'll ask you if you've ever actually been in one. No, not the kind that dot the landscape in redneck corner, USA, but a respectable modular home. Ever? No? Then don't judge me, man! It's actually quite nice inside--very cozy. You wouldn't know it's a mobile home from looking at it. And it's got an addition built on it (which, I suppose, puts the lie to the term "mobile"), which increases its space substantially.
Anyway, it was built in the 70's, and much of the decor still reflects that era. The current owners, a missionary couple who are off to Peru, have started to renovate, and have done a spectacular job of it, really. The renovated part (the front half) is quite modern-looking. The back of the trailer is quite 70's-looking. It's quite an interesting juxtaposition (sweet, a huge word that makes me look smart)--it's like a before and after shot on a decorating show. Anyway, here are some photos:
Our backyard is quite spacious. This one is taken from the corner of the backyard looking back toward the house (that's a shed on the right)...
The living room and spare bedroom are quite nice (there's an office, but it's tough to get a good picture of due to layout)...
And then we get into the 70's portion of the house, starting with the kitchen. You can see where the painting of the walls stopped...
This is where Theo sleeps (or where we wish he would just fall asleep already)...
And this is the master bedroom...
Here's the most 70's thing--the bathroom wallpaper! Yes, we do shower here daily; no, we have experienced no harmful side-effects...
All-in-all, however, it's a great little set-up--don't get me wrong. It's one of those situations where we're just so lucky to have a place to live at all. We tend to look gift horses in the mouth quite frequently (you decide whether that "we" describes just our family or society in general), and we're not about to do that here. The layout is fantastic, the neighbourhood is great, our landlords and property manager bend over backwards for us--it's all really quite amazing, and we're lucky to be here.So do you want to hear a story or two? If not, bye-bye. If so, read on. We've been making it a point to take forays into the Alberta countryside whenever possible. We've explored south to Airdrie (SuperStore and Wal-Mart!), west to Olds (a bigger town than Three Hills, but not huge--we ate at a Smitty's restaurant there; the menu was expansive and I think every item was just swimming in a lake of fryer oil. Reminds me of "The Emperor's New Groove" when Yzma asks, "Is there anything on this menu that isn't swimming in gravy?!" Good movie. Oh wait, I'm still in a bracket), and just today we went north to Red Deer.
Now, I'm sure Red Deer is a very nice city (even though their junior hockey team sucks). For instance, there's a Starbucks there, which was actually the reason for our going there. But man, what a hassle. The area of town we were going to was basically all just big-box malls. Picture the Langley Bypass times three, all within the same area. It was chaos. And I'm sorry, but anyone who thinks that BC drivers are the worst in Canada needs to spend some time in Alberta. Maybe I've just adapted to BC driving patterns and I need to get used to a whole new type of bad driver. Or this could be an objective measure of poor driving.
The thing is that it seems that the same car-driving paradigm is taken into the shopping experience as well. I've never been afraid for my life in a Wal-Mart before, but there's a first time for everything, I suppose. Someone in the way? That's what your big metal cart is for! Huzzah!
Ah well, at the end of it all, the Starbucks tasted extra good (especially when we know we have to drive almost an hour to have one), and we headed home. It's amazing how quickly we've adapted to rural life. Just going into "the big city" was enough to give me a tension headache. And coming back to the more civilized pace of Three Hills was refreshing.
Speaking of refreshing, Theo's stopped crying. What a lovely way to end an evening. Next post, I'll have a few scenic shots to put up, but I'll also have some more small-town stories to tell that'll make you wish you lived here. Seriously. Zucchini loaf is involved. Thanks for coming by, and I'll see you next time.
9.11.2006
Life on the Prairies
Hi again, all. Good to have you here. And by here, of course, I mean the lovely town of Three Hills, Alberta, home of Prairie Bible College (along with Prairie Elementary and High Schools) and several other notable features. Like what? Well, won't you just find out soon?
Before I post some photos of the town, I'd like to wax philosophical for a moment, if you'll permit me to. This past week, okay, this past month, has been quite the ride for us. From deciding to leave on the spur of the moment to finally getting here has been quite the whirlwind adventure. But I think the word "adventure" really is appropriate. Yeah, there's been stress. Harsh words have sometimes been exchanged. Babies have cried. Bugs a-plenty have met an unfortunate demise at the grill of our car (seriously, it looks like a smorgasbord at a second-rate Chinese buffet restaurant--the question we ask the most is, "What on earth is that?"). But you know what? Through all that, we're in the right place.
Before we came out here, my urban-centric way of life (even though I live in the suburbs--oh no, I've turned into a statistic!) told me that there couldn't be any redeeming characteristics about this town, that I'd have to hold my breath for eight months and just get through, knowing that there was a worthy goal at the other end. But when we got here, I think I finally began to understand why people actually choose to live in a place like Three Hills. In a word, it's beautiful. Oh sure, it's a different type of beauty than the Lower Mainland can offer, but it's still absolutely stunning nonetheless.
And coming out here has made me start to reconsider what's really important in my life. By the way, the coming paragraph isn't meant as a slam against anything in particular, and it's not intended to be me getting on my high horse about how I'm superior to you--it's just my own personal, subjective reflections. Enough of a disclaimer? Anyway, I'm reconsidering my priorities, like I was saying. For example, one of the first things we noticed when we got to our new home (yes, it is a mobile home, but I prefer the term "modular") was that there was no cable outlet. "A whole year without TV?" thought I, "what the ham am I going to do with my time? How am I going to keep track of the dozen TV shows I follow?" We're a week into our time here (and a week into the new TV season), and you know, I don't even miss it. Not one bit. And this is coming from a guy who has a 44" rear projection TV in his living room (and no, just because I don't miss TV doesn't mean I'm giving mine away). It's just really not that important. This is the simple life. What do we do with our time? Fun things, like paying attention to our son 100%, without the TV blaring mindlessly in the background. Tonight we played a game of Chinese Checkers. We bought a 1000-piece puzzle to work on. I've become hopelessly addicted to Sudoku (me and the rest of the world, apparently). Heck, Steph's even taken up cross-stitch. We actually notice each other.
This is really the simple life. And not the simple life in the Paris-Hilton-I'm-too-good-for-you kind of way, either. We hang our clothes to dry on a clothesline. We walk into town and greet everyone we see as though we've known them forever. People stop each other in the grocery store and actually have meaningful things to say to one another. The entire town shuts down on Sunday. This is what community is all about. And I can't help but think that this is how we were meant to be.
If nothing else, even if I fail my courses and come home in disgrace, there's one lesson that I'll hold onto from this whole experience: sometimes I don't have it right. Sometimes there's more to life than what I think there is. Sometimes you have to get way out of your comfort zone, do something you never thought you'd be able to do, so you can say that you've really lived.
Before I really get going, I'll quit there and get on with the pictures. My goal today is to take you around the town, pointing out all the notable sights. First off, Three Hills is very proud of itself...
Here are a couple of random streets, but they give you the idea of what the town is like...
This is Main Street, first looking to the north...
Then off to the south (where the land goes on until it meets the horizon)...
Here's the end of Main Street, and, quite literally, the edge of town. Coming from the Lower Mainland (the city that goes on forever), the idea of town having a clear "edge" was very different for me...
One of the great features of small towns such as this are murals. Does every small town have one? I think so. Hey, Three Hills has, appropriately, three of them. We didn't get a picture of one, but here are two of them...
Finally, besides a grain elevator (which we can't get a really good shot of, or at least, haven't been able to yet), every town in the prairies has a water tower. Here's the one in Three Hills...
And that's pretty much the whole place. Next time I post, I'm going to give you a tour of our place, and I also have some scenic shots to put up here.
Until next time, keep it real. And if you ever find yourself passing through Three Hills (as the Wally and Sylvia Nickel family did this past week), let us know you're coming through. We've got a bed and a hide-a-bed available, so come on by.
See you all again soon.
Before I post some photos of the town, I'd like to wax philosophical for a moment, if you'll permit me to. This past week, okay, this past month, has been quite the ride for us. From deciding to leave on the spur of the moment to finally getting here has been quite the whirlwind adventure. But I think the word "adventure" really is appropriate. Yeah, there's been stress. Harsh words have sometimes been exchanged. Babies have cried. Bugs a-plenty have met an unfortunate demise at the grill of our car (seriously, it looks like a smorgasbord at a second-rate Chinese buffet restaurant--the question we ask the most is, "What on earth is that?"). But you know what? Through all that, we're in the right place.
Before we came out here, my urban-centric way of life (even though I live in the suburbs--oh no, I've turned into a statistic!) told me that there couldn't be any redeeming characteristics about this town, that I'd have to hold my breath for eight months and just get through, knowing that there was a worthy goal at the other end. But when we got here, I think I finally began to understand why people actually choose to live in a place like Three Hills. In a word, it's beautiful. Oh sure, it's a different type of beauty than the Lower Mainland can offer, but it's still absolutely stunning nonetheless.
And coming out here has made me start to reconsider what's really important in my life. By the way, the coming paragraph isn't meant as a slam against anything in particular, and it's not intended to be me getting on my high horse about how I'm superior to you--it's just my own personal, subjective reflections. Enough of a disclaimer? Anyway, I'm reconsidering my priorities, like I was saying. For example, one of the first things we noticed when we got to our new home (yes, it is a mobile home, but I prefer the term "modular") was that there was no cable outlet. "A whole year without TV?" thought I, "what the ham am I going to do with my time? How am I going to keep track of the dozen TV shows I follow?" We're a week into our time here (and a week into the new TV season), and you know, I don't even miss it. Not one bit. And this is coming from a guy who has a 44" rear projection TV in his living room (and no, just because I don't miss TV doesn't mean I'm giving mine away). It's just really not that important. This is the simple life. What do we do with our time? Fun things, like paying attention to our son 100%, without the TV blaring mindlessly in the background. Tonight we played a game of Chinese Checkers. We bought a 1000-piece puzzle to work on. I've become hopelessly addicted to Sudoku (me and the rest of the world, apparently). Heck, Steph's even taken up cross-stitch. We actually notice each other.
This is really the simple life. And not the simple life in the Paris-Hilton-I'm-too-good-for-you kind of way, either. We hang our clothes to dry on a clothesline. We walk into town and greet everyone we see as though we've known them forever. People stop each other in the grocery store and actually have meaningful things to say to one another. The entire town shuts down on Sunday. This is what community is all about. And I can't help but think that this is how we were meant to be.
If nothing else, even if I fail my courses and come home in disgrace, there's one lesson that I'll hold onto from this whole experience: sometimes I don't have it right. Sometimes there's more to life than what I think there is. Sometimes you have to get way out of your comfort zone, do something you never thought you'd be able to do, so you can say that you've really lived.
Before I really get going, I'll quit there and get on with the pictures. My goal today is to take you around the town, pointing out all the notable sights. First off, Three Hills is very proud of itself...
Here are a couple of random streets, but they give you the idea of what the town is like...
This is Main Street, first looking to the north...
Then off to the south (where the land goes on until it meets the horizon)...
Here's the end of Main Street, and, quite literally, the edge of town. Coming from the Lower Mainland (the city that goes on forever), the idea of town having a clear "edge" was very different for me...
One of the great features of small towns such as this are murals. Does every small town have one? I think so. Hey, Three Hills has, appropriately, three of them. We didn't get a picture of one, but here are two of them...
Finally, besides a grain elevator (which we can't get a really good shot of, or at least, haven't been able to yet), every town in the prairies has a water tower. Here's the one in Three Hills...
And that's pretty much the whole place. Next time I post, I'm going to give you a tour of our place, and I also have some scenic shots to put up here.Until next time, keep it real. And if you ever find yourself passing through Three Hills (as the Wally and Sylvia Nickel family did this past week), let us know you're coming through. We've got a bed and a hide-a-bed available, so come on by.
See you all again soon.
9.08.2006
Welcome to Three Hills!
Hi everybody--here we are in the lovely town of Three Hills, ready to post our (mis)adventures for you. For now, I want to say hi, and thanks for stopping by. In the future, I plan to take you on a visual tour of the town, highlighting all the important places, and a brief look around the little place we're going to call home for the next eight months. That's all going to happen when I have internet access at home, which should be next week. See you then!
By the way, "Box 4682" is our PO Box number here in Three Hills (postal code: T0M 2N0). Now there's no excuse for you not to send stuff to us, like, say, money. Or Starbucks coffee (not the brewed kind--it doesn't hold up in the mail truck). Or, well, be creative.
By the way, "Box 4682" is our PO Box number here in Three Hills (postal code: T0M 2N0). Now there's no excuse for you not to send stuff to us, like, say, money. Or Starbucks coffee (not the brewed kind--it doesn't hold up in the mail truck). Or, well, be creative.
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