Ontario-i-o

These are long overdue.  Blame our beautiful borealis-ness and no or limited Internet connection.  However, they're here now...some southern Ontario sights from early December.  It took returning to Ontario, north-western this time, to be able to get them to you.

Half pint.

Get your roller girl on!

We were here.

Grandma and Evie.  A blurry, beautiful moment.  All this new, joy to the old.

Hiking up the ski hill.  I love our Canadian Shield.

gratuitous baby shot 2

For demanding aunty #2.

Evelyn took to the sky for the first time.  The flying baby was a hit everywhere we went...no screaming en route (in public) this time!

Hah!

It's like a sasquatch sighting.

Only the sasquatch doesn't make you do a round-off and hop up and down for it to appear.

Winter sensations

It's officially winter.  Crisp air leads to crisp blues and whites that wake you up.  Eyes widen as they are hit with the harsh light.  Red cheeks burn hot, a reminder of the cold walk to mumma and grandpa's through the woods.  Crunching over the newly-packed snow, papoose thickly bundled against maman's chest.  Time to break out a scarf.

Dabada dabada dabada dabada dah! Dabada dah!

I've been hiding behind the "new mom, no time" excuse...Thanks for the kick in the pants, Aunty Dez.  You're gentle, for an Enforcer.

The thing is, there's tons of time.  It's funny how it gets filled so easily.  Between an all-consuming girl, construction and food (gotta eat), something's gotta give.  Nothing stops the thoughts, ideas, realizations and wonder.  One-handed typing can slow down the blogging and emailing, though!

It's amazing what I won't do for a smile.  To see that little girl break into a beam when you walk into her room (especially first thing in the morning), when you parrot her coos, ahhs and hahhs.  It makes you feel like you are the most special person in the world.

(Shroom tuque by Rosie)

And now, the elusive laugh. It's just about to spill out, I can feel it.  The beginning of a giggle kept false-starting as Evelyn listened to my verbal drum kit solo this morning, rim shots and cymbals accented as I helped her kick her feet and shoot out her arms to their raps and crashes.  But giggle became hiccups became cries...drum solo ended.

She's a growing, healthy girl who lets us get lots of sleep at night.  She looks like Steve, especially when she's got her fussy-pants on (I think that's a Parks creased forehead!)  She loves the Indian elephant above her change pad, paper star above her crib.  Steve walks her in her princess chair so that she can see the world and I walk her in her carrier so that she can know her beautiful boreal backyard.  And so that she can be lulled to sleep for an afternoon nap so that I can "do something".  Anything.  There's a list.

Not a written list.  That's too stressful.  More of a panoramic, 360 degree turn and look...could do that, or that, or that....yeah, that.  That's what I'll do.

Time to hit the trail.  Hopefully, the girl will be sleeping by the time we get home so that I can keep mudding in the utility room.  This is a Job in 12 Movements.  Da da da daaaaa, da da da daaaaa...

Task at hand

I like to work hard.  I like to push my body to a point where my muscles are sore afterwards, even the ones you were never really aware of.  I like it when I've worked so hard that there is nothing better than a shoulder rub, or dig.

There's also the satisfaction of digging up all of the potatoes and looking at a freshly turned-over garden.  And getting up on the wakeboard for the first time in a year, crisscrossing over the wake, despite the niggling little fear of...what?  Not being able to get up?  Falling into the water?  (Fear of faiiiiiiilure!)

And finally, after all of these workouts, there is now nothing better than being forced to sit down, feed my baby, and relax.  Stare down at her, aware that she is now aware of so much around her.  We both take it all in.

I'm realizing that the jobs I am responsible for have changed.  Everything outside of Evelyn is secondary, whether I want it to be or not.  I am slowly learning, as a local librarian called them, the "Rules of Evelyn".

Gratuitous baby shot follows.

borealiso beautiful viii

First kick at blueberry picking, 3 days B.E.  No blueberries, (no Evelyn) but plenty of northern beauty.

Pebble Beach, end of dragonfly season.  Our selfless protectors.

Flip Side

I guess I should mention the flip side of breast feeding.  The yin to the idyllic, peaceful by-the-lake yang moments.  Because the "my boob is leaking" situations occur just as frequently as waterfront meditations.

On that note, let us remember that friends don't let friends carry on conversations with parsley stuck in their teeth.  So if you happen to notice a wet bull's eye around my mammaries, you have my express permission (and request!) to speak up.  Something along the lines of "Psst...your boobs are leaking."

Photos not included.

A New Favourite

My new favourite past-time: nursing by the lake.

Often in the overstuffed floral armchair that was booted out of the house (thank you Louise Brown) and has made its comfy home on our sauna deck.

Cause if you've gotta be on your butt ___ times a day, it helps to switch up the location and the intention.  Yes, sometimes I can just stare away at Miss Evelyn Ann, other times I have my eyes closed as I mimic what I once knew as "sleep" (oh sleep, how I loved thee), and other times I have one of my many library books propped up on a pillow in front of my baby.  But at least once a day, I hie me to the lake.  Just like my Hugo Bay "morning meditations", but now slightly altered.  Shared with another person, just a little more quiet, more still, more in the present.

Amen.

ps.  Once again, photo credits going out to Jenny Keller.  Who makes an art out of her past-time.

one week (+...) since you looked at me...

Miss Evelyn Ann Parks came tumbling into our lives on Wednesday, July 27th, 2011.  She bumped along the construction-riddled road from The Pas to Flin Flon in the back of an ambulance, secure in mom's tummy (who was fully secured to a stretcher).  She then performed her next trick, presenting her derriere instead of her tête to the nurses.  Feet tucked up by her face, she planned to plummet to earth bum-first.  Maybe ungraceful, but certainly a joyful dive.  After an emergency C-section, she came out arms-waving to her adoring crowd.

We didn't even know you, but already loved you.

So, we've spent the past week and a half being fascinated by the little details.  Fragile toes and fingers, screwed-up old man faces, gas-induced smiles that give us hints of the happy faces to come.  We are spell-bound, helpless but to watch her every (helpless) move.

I can't imagine life without her.  We are blessed.

Form Follows Function

And ornament is crime?  Design principles.  Hmph.

In this case, let me argue that the ornamentation speaks to the identity and values of the creator.  Nature, simplicity, yet something a little outside of the box.  There were too many baby blankets and quilts out there with "themes" that screamed "Not me!"  I didn't want any of it.

So to Mitchell's Fabrics I went.  Mitchell's is a hallowed-place of a fabric store.  Huge tables, wide wooden floors, staircases and beams straight out of the 1920s on Main Street in Winnipeg.  Not to mention a killer bargain and vintage section downstairs.

I didn't intend to buy these "baby fabrics" when I was there, but some things just buy themselves.  And now I have two functional quilts ready for a crib.  Today, I added the leafy window-frame to one of them.  Don't look too closely at the binding or check too carefully for the straightness of the quilting.  Better just to admire the fabric (blue-grey herringbone and a solid cream) and rub your cheek against its soft flannelette.  And dream...of a baby.

Strawberry Summer

Doesn't this just scream elfish-forest garden?  

I swear, little people could live beneath that greenery.

Strawberry tops for hats.

This is the first year that I've had a strawberry crop from my lakeside garden!  Even the garlic that I planted behind them came back (I had taken them for dead).  3 cups worth of tiny strawberries and there's more to come (I should check that out today).  We had them with a lemon-zest shortcake and whipped cream, courtesy of Ricardo (I love his Québecois culinary genius-ness).

That's the thing about gardening...there's lots of surprises.  Like the 4-petaled velvety purple flower on a long, spindly stem that popped up in my purple (and red and pink) fireweed and wild-rose garden.  I don't remember planting it, but there it is, right next to the rubble from our newly dug-out foundation.  Hence the importance and fun of maps.  Draw out your gardens, adapt the drawings as you add to and rearrange your plantings.  Oh, the excitement never ends...

Reno, Demo, Addition Update

It may comfort you to know that we keep some livable (and CLEAN!) spaces (bedroom 1 and 2, stove, counter, fridge, bathroom) in the midst of all of this chaos.

 Rooow. Baby.  You can clean my anytime.

Living room to be. 

Current kitchen. 

Used-to-be-kitchen. 

Master bedroom. 

Godzilla meets Clearwater. 

Bringing the outdoors indoors.  Or open concept.  Take your pick, they're only words.

Fleeting Moments

"I like my body

when it is with your body.

It is so

quite a new thing.

Muscles better 

and nerves more."

- e.e. cummings

I wanted to share these photos that Jenny Keller, photographer and editor extraordinaire, took last month when we were out at their cabin at Rocky Lake.  Enjoy!

Mother Blessing

"You have been my friend,"

replied Charlotte.

"That in itself

is a tremendous thing."

-E.B.White

Amazing friends and family are interchangeable.  It's hard to tell the two apart at times.  I've been blessed with friends and family who support me, love me and choose to honour me (and the monster who is about to make its entrance to this world) with good thoughts, prayers, wishes and meditation, all part of a ceremony called a "Mother Blessing".  

As part of the ceremony, each person brought or sent a bead.  This is quite the beaut of a necklace sporting everything from Snoopy to Tiger's Eye, plastic baubles, shells from India and semi-precious stones of different meanings.  It will be close by when I go into labour as a reminder of all those who are part of my web of support (à la Charlotte).

The dress, by the way, comes from my 10-year-old Indian salesman.  Little did I realize it was zeroing right in on the reason for the ceremony.  Mom, Darce and Amanda were none-too-slow to recognize this.  Steve just called me gorgeous.  Truth prevails in both cases.

When pressed for time, insert image

What lies beneath... 

and within...

Ice on the lake, holes in the house. 

New bedroom windows installed, house zipped up. 

Spanakopita break.  That's what every contractor gets, right? 

Brüder.

Mann.

Seestahs and gas mask (and work pants that fit).

Painted Bedroom 1. 

Needs flooring, closet doors, closet shelves and rods, trim, baseboards and the right door. 

 But it's done.

Kitchen to bedrooms.  Are you on this fridge?  (Every item is a person).

We love pink.  Bits.

Goodbye, spare room.  Hello, dining space.

28 weeks.  Today marks 32.  Essentially, just under 2 months to go. 

Monster will arrive at full reno time.  We'll do our best to not lose him in the insulation.

(She wrote him!  What's she saying?)

Baby in French is masculine.  Is that a patriarchal-type thing?

Borealiso Beautiful

From Steve's collection.  Poplar and birch at their mossy, lichen-covered best.

Lady Dunnigan's Book of Pressed Gargoyles

When I first saw this photo, I thought it was a mistake; a smear on a microscope slide.  Look closer, though, and it's reminiscent of Lady Cottington's Book of Pressed Fairies.  No boobs and butts in this photo.  (Like lascivious fairies).  My suspicions of monster are confirmed with this proof: baby's squished facial features.  We're having a gargoyle!  Long pointy ear leaves it open to interpretation.

Bloomin' Spring

This is what springtime blooms looks like in The Pas.

I love my work jeans.  Unfortunately, they no longer work for me.

Primary Pieds

A parade of primary-coloured shoes hypocritically picked their way through Winnipeg's slush and saturated streets.  Hypocritically only because these same styles of shoes (and girls) get laughed at when they can't switch up their favourite footwear to accommodate the weather.  But for a night on the town, celebrating one of our best girls, you gotta pull all the stops and primp to the best of your capabilities, foul winds, rains and sludge be damned.

Pick a colour, any colour.  Mix em up and you get great results.

Petits pieds

One of our French immersion teachers in The Pas is from Africa.  You meet a lot of French-speaking folk from different countries when you teach in French in Canada, especially when you sit on provincial committees.  (toot toot).  They bring a whole new perspective to teaching, a whole new voice to the French that I learned in school and later in travel and work, a whole new view of your hometown, home life, home geography.

So when Elisabeth found out that I was pregnant, she exclaimed, "Tu as des petits pieds!"  Apparently, "enceinte" (pregnant) was a slightly taboo word that could attract the evil eye when speaking of young girls.  They skirted that issue by talking about having "little feet" when a woman was in an interesting situation.

Alors, voici mes petits pieds.  The ultrasound pics reveal a lot of spinal cord in one, top of a round head in another, but never that full lateral view.  Other than this.  Petits pieds portant du plaisir palpitant.