Generation Exhausted

T minus twenty five days

It worries me that I have more than 25 things I need to get done in the next 25 days. I don't mean minor things, that will take me about 25 minutes to accomplish - I mean major things, like finishing the reno. And the Christmas letter. And the Christmas cards. And the Christmas shopping.

Oh god, the Christmas shopping.

I have done no shopping for this Christmas yet. Not. One. Single. Thing.

No, that's a lie. I have three presents tucked away for little daughter, and that's it. And technically, I didn't shop for them. A friend called and said, "I'm at (name of store) and Groovy Girls are on sale. Want me to pick some up?" So that doesn't really count. Although it's handy. If any of you are out, and come across something you think I ought to buy for my mother, give me a heads up, would you?

But I can't start the shopping because with the reno, I have no where to put anything. I can't even start decorating, because we have to paint the living room first. After the reno.

Oh god, the painting-the-living-room.

That's right, the paint I bought at WalMart before Halloween is not yet on the walls. No point in painting before you start dragging drywall and other construction materials through the house.

I think Trading Spaces lies. There's no way they could get done all that they do in 48 hours. There's just no way.

Found a cute thing over at the Blog Herald today. Top 10 Dangers of Living in the Blog Space. Some of the description fits. Here's my favourite:

8. You will stop having normal conversations with family and friends: Real life conversations will go like this. "Oh, hey, I saw So-And-So in concert and the weirdest thing happened..." Friend, "Yeah, I know, I read about it on your blog." Silence. Friend, "Did I tell you that I'm..." You, "Blog." Friend, "Yeah."

On the radio tomorrow morning - 8:20, to be precise. So if you're anywhere between London and Toledo, you might be able to tune in to AM 800 CKLW. If not, well, I'll let you know how it goes.

Under Construction

If you want to give a mother gray hair, show her teenaged daughter how to use a circular saw.

I had this wonderful post centred around the Basement Project, but lost it when I tried to upload more than photo. You'll have to take my word for it - it's going well. And we're half a day ahead of schedule.

Instead, I'm going to blog about Linda and Kim.

It's been an odd week for me, with both of them "out of the office" dealing with the deaths of their fathers. Their absence is understandable, of course.

But I've missed them. And some people just don't understand that.

See, I met both of them online in the spring of 2000. They are that rarest of species, Very Best Friends, and rarer still, friends you make well into adulthood. We connected with each other via our common thread of being writers, and the friendships have grown since then.

We've met face to face many times now, met each other's children. They're not "strangers." Nor are they "online" friends any longer. For almost four years I've been in almost constant daily contact with at least one or the other, if not both. I know when they've had a cold, when they're doing their laundry, and when their kids are being swamped with homework. We've become such a part of each other's lives, they could live next door to me.

But they don't.

At times like this, it's difficult to know what to do. I'd like for them to be able to drop by for a quick coffee, or I'd like to be able to offer to help with something - watching their kids, bringing casseroles, lending an ear. None of that, of course, is possible. We're connected through a computer screen, and sometimes a telephone, and when they're Away From Keyboard, it's hard to do anything but wait for them to return.

In the last six days, there are a number of times I've thought to myself, "I must mention that to Linda" or "I'll have to remember to tell Kim about that." I've been saving up these nuances of daily life for when they come back, and hope to be able to listen as they tell me about the trials of the week just passed.

If I mention Kim or LInda, someone is bound to give me a blank look, and then say, "Oh, your Internet friend." But they're not - they're just friends, like any other friends. We talk to each other so much, so often, that I forget that I'm not actually "seeing" them.

I spoke with Linda today, and for those who've asked, she's okay. She'll be back soon. And I'm sure Kim will too.

I just wanted them to know that they were missed.

50, 083

She's Running Just As Fast As She Can is finished. Done. All done.

And so am I. I'll return to regular bloggage tomorrow, once my eyes can focus again.

Three days left

I'm at 44,060 with three days left to go. Think I can do it? I do! Hard to believe I scoffed at those who joined early...that'll teach me.

And please, if the last 5000 words are the hardest, well, just keep that info to yourself. I don't need to hear it.

It's not our holiday

Psstt...Notice how quiet it is around the blogosphere today?

See, our neighbours to the south, the Americans (god love 'em) are busy. They're celebrating Thanksgiving. They've got turkeys to eat and parades to watch, and football games on the TV to yell at. Tonight, while they're picking over ther remains of the bird, they'll be studying WalMart and Target flyers, in preparation for tomorrow's holiday, also known as Shop 'Til You Drop Day. Some of them are travelling - they're out there on the highways and the bi-ways, or flying the friendly skies, to visit their far-flung friends and relatives.

So a lot of them aren't blogging. You may be clicking your way through your Blogroll or Linklist and discovering that many of them have announced they're taking the day (or a few days) off.

What a wonderful opportunity this is to explore some new territory. Because while the Americans are enjoying their tryptophan-induced rest, Canadians and others around the world are still typing and linking away, pouring pithy and sometimes poetic prose onto the page. This is our chance to shine, like a lone flashlight in the middle of a blackout. (I really should be forbidden from using metaphors like that, shouldn't I? Bleh.)

Here are some Canadian and other international bloggers you might want to check out if your regular reads have taken the day off:

Robin, over at Speaking As A Parent always has something amusing to say, and he says it as only a Brit can.

Christopher at Insert Witty Title Here shares his adventures in Western Canada.

Alan, at GenX at 40 is a particular favourite, he being Donny to my Marie.

For the politically inclined, there are some good Canadian pundits available, all with their own particular view of the way things are, (or should be). Try Colby Cosh, one of our national columnists. Joe Katzman over at Winds of Change always has a good roundup of guest bloggers. (note - heavy duty politics at Winds, sometimes even my pretty little head can't absorb it all) Or check out David Janes, commenting from the Big City. Sometimes, I even know what he's talking about.

On the domestic front, find out what's happening in Wilson World, or Jenn at In Over My Head. (I hear she's jaw-droppingly superior)

If that's not enough to keep you going, or those selections don't float your boat, check out Blogs Canada for the largest roundup of blogs by Canadians you'll find anywhere on the Web.

And to all our American friends, especially those sneaking away from the dinner table to log on for a few minutes, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. We give our thanks to you for celebrating this holiday - how else would we know when it's time to start the Christmas shopping?

Sockin' it to 'em

Socks have taken up an awful lot of my head space lately. Probably too much, but there it is...I'm thinking about socks. Pondering them, even.

Back in September, I realized, after the back to school shopping was finished, that the girls' socks were all wrong. They told me so. While they owned everything from white tube socks to electric blue socks with monkeys on them, every single pair of socks they owned was just...wrong.

What they wanted...nay, needed even...was bobby socks. Ankle socks. Socks that covered just their feet, and none of the leg, because covering the shin and calf with a sock was just dorky, and don'tyouknowanythingmom?

My choice to run right out and buy the right kind of socks was based less on my desire to make their every wish come true, and more on the need to save my own socks. Because they kept taking my socks, and folding them back over the foot and stretching the heck out of them.

Quite honestly, socks just aren't all that important to me for half the year. From around the first of May until the end of September, I don't wear socks. At. All. But by the time the days are growing cooler, I'm searching for something to keep my feet warm down here in my basement office. So I needed socks that didn't immediately droop to my ankles when I put them on.

Then why, two months after the great Sock Shopping Trip, am I still reaching into the sock drawer and coming up with...nothing?

Because even though my children are trained (aka forced) to fold the laundry, no one ever wants to deal with the socks. Any given load of laundry leaves the bottom of the basket full of socks that must be matched and put away. The children's solution to this laundry detritus is to fish out their own socks, and leave the rest of the socks in the bottom of the basket, then send them back down the basement so they can be covered up with another layer of clean laundry.

The end result is that my socks ride around in the laundry basket for days, even weeks at a time. To find a clean pair, I have to root down to the bottom of the clean laundry. And it's in my nature to fold, rather than root. So I end up folding the laundry, even though that's not my job.

I think I may have stumbled on to another conspiracy theory.

I noticed tonight that the little daughter is sleeping with her socks on. She does that a lot, and I don't understand that either.

Sad news

Just wanted to pop in and mention that both Kim (Hoelzli's House of Horror) and Linda (Life Happens) lost their fathers to illness in the last 24 hours.

In both instances it was both sudden...and not. It is a myth that long-term illness somehow prepares you for this and makes the inevitable easier to bear.

Please keep Kim and Linda in your thoughts as they and their families go through his difficult time. And if you have a father, why don't you give him a call? I know I'm going to call mine.

Verbosity

I have written 21,000 words of my NaNo novel since last Wednesday. It's going to be writing right to the end, but I really think I'm going to make it. Time will tell. Plus, the rules didn't say it had to be a good novel, right?

This is clear-out-the-to-do-list week. First, there's NaNo. And I've got a writing newsletter that's supposed to make its relaunch next Monday. And I've got press releases to write. Plus, work.

Trip to WalMart tonight. I was having visions of a repeat of the Winter of '00 (or was it '99?), when it started snowing on November 28, and didn't stop until March. There wasn't a winter boot to be had in town that December, and with the forecast today, I feared that history would repeat itself. So, to WalMart we did go, and now the children's feet will be properly clad for the snow and the cold.

Also, got a new drill. And other necessities, like Cat In The Hat blueberry PopTarts (tm).

I finally figured out today why discussions about the weather don't hold my interest. It's because, for me, the weather requires Math. And I'm not a Math person.

See, I speak imperial, but live in a metric world. So when the neighbour says, "We're supposed to get five centimetres of snow," my mind immediately starts in with the calculations. Five centimetres? Let's see, two point something centimetres to the inch, five divided by 2, carry the decimal...Ok, just tell me if I'm going to have to shovel.

Temperatures get me the same way. Someone says 30 degrees and I think, "ooh, cold." I have to do Math to avoid being the only person that shows up for the heat wave in a parka.

Now, I don't know how it is that I managed a Canadian education without fully grasping the metric system. I could blame it on that ever constant exposure to the American news stations. But other people I know that have lived here all their lives, people who actually grew up with imperial and converted, don't have the same problem.

So I think it just comes down to a stubborn mental block. I simply refuse to learn the language.

In the meantime, it's a good thing the people around me can translate. And snow is snow, whether it's five centimetres or five inches. And now we have boots, so everything's okay.

More on random acts of kindness, and their opposite

Well, well, well! Seems I have stumbled upon a cultural difference without realizing it. I had no idea that most Americans do not have to put a quarter in the shopping cart. This is important information to a writer - I'll be sure not to have my fictional characters put quarters in shopping carts, or make references to the phenomenon in my non-fiction, so as to ensure broad marketability.

**Note: I say "most Americans" based solely on the responses to last night's entry. Four Americans replied - three didn't know about quarters in shopping carts. Thus endeth the scientific sampling.

Anywho, Kim explained it pretty well in the comments section. In an attempt to lessen shopping cart theft, and also because they're too cheap to pay extra staff to round up carts in the parking lot, many of our large grocery chains require a 25 cent deposit for the cart. I believe it was the massive Loblaws chain who started the practice back in the eighties. Pam makes a good point about my RAK possibly causing someone to get their fenders dinged. But I would like to point out that WalMart hires people called "store standards" and much of their time is spent rounding up carts. Yet still, in spite of this increased staffing, they have the lowest prices on merchandise. Go figure.

Also, a note to my mother, who is apparently a bit shy about using the comments section, but has no problem emailing me demanding answers - yes, Mom, I still had an extra emergency quarter in my pocket. While feeding my family could be considered an emergency, I would never dream of using my phone-call-quarter to access a shopping cart.

Additional cultural observation - Americans call them buggies (and WalMart Canada does too) We seem to call them carts. Buggies are what you push babies in.

Now, here's what being a kind and generous quarter-leaver gets me in this karmic universe: someone has apparently felt themselves entitled to waltz into our garage and walk away with hubby's bought-less-than-a-year-ago cordless drill, router and compound mitre saw.

He was close to tears. No, the garage wasn't locked (though it is now). The garage had finally become his "space", his place to go and get away from all the women in the household. He built himself a workbench this summer, and was so happy that he finally had decent tools. Need a piece of wood cut? He was on it. That was his domain, and now it's been violated.

It really pisses me off. Those tools weren't cheap, and now I have to add $300 in tools to the cost of the room we're building. We're going to check out the pawnshop tomorrow, but I really resent the thought that we might end up buying back what belonged to us in the first place. And we don't know if they've been missing a day or a month, and we had no serial numbers recorded, so it's not like we can prove anything. After all, you don't use your compound mitre saw every day.

What kinds of people do these things? How does someone get the thought in their head that it's okay to just...take?

This is how people become bitter, and I'm trying not to be. My mother raised me with a good sense of right and wrong, and taking what doesn't belong to you definitely falls into the "wrong" category. I know I carry that a bit farther than some people. I don't even steal software, or web graphics, not for anything. At the bingo, I've been known to chase down a seller that gave me an extra card without meaning to, just to return it, or give her the extra dollar.

I'm as angry about this as I was about the bike this summer. There are some things that just aren't fair, and although I know life isn't always fair, this is one of the times that lack of fairness really bothers me.

Word count to date, 31,351. I'm going to make it, I think. And tomorrow, I'm borrowing a two year old (I have permission, and I will be returning her to her rightful owner) , so it should be an interesting day.

As promised

Told ya I'd be back. Current word count is 26,184 which means I wrote just over 5000 words tonight. How long before I'm caught up?

I've developed another conspiracy theory. You know how, whenever you run to the store for bread and milk, you end up spending $30 and can't figure out how that happened? Most families know that, the fewer trips you have to make to the grocery store, the better you're able to stick to the budget. I know this is true because when I shop bi-weekly, or monthly, I end up spending less, over all, than I do on weekly trips.

So here's the thing - you can't fit two weeks' worth of food for five people in one cart. Not unless they eat like birds. It cannot be done.

So, if you're shopping solo, as I was today, the duration of your trip and the amount you buy is limited by what you can fit in the cart. You have to go back, probably at least four days before you'd hoped to.

Small carts = more frequent shopping = more money spent overall.

Now, tell me that hasn't occcured to the marketing people!

I also noticed something else - we'll give a waitress the extra change plus tip when our bill comes to something like $9.65. We'll ignore nickels and dimes scattered across the dresser top. But how many of us will leave the quarter in the shopping cart for the next person?

Oh no, that's our quarter, damn it, and we'll walk an extra fifty feet in a snowstorm to return the cart and get it back. Why? It's 25 freakin' cents! Leave it for the next person! Call it your random act of kindness for the day!

I did.

Can you tell what I did today when I wasn't writing 5000 words?