Dance like Nobody's Watching, Sing like Nobody's Listening, and "Skate like your Shift is Over"

There's nothing quite like watching a girls tyke hockey game.
Where it's not unusual to see 10 girls on the ice laying flat out all at the same time and, quite likely, in the same heap.
Where the goalie may decide to take a nap mid-game or even abandon her net altogether.
Where the girls skate harder and faster back to the bench at the end of their shift than they ever do while playing the game.
Where the most common check occurs when they take the puck from their own teammate.
Where there is no ability to stifle the sound of the parents' laughter in the stands.
And where the score is oftentimes 42-2 or something equally lopsided, as the girls have a turn at goalie for the very first (and often only) time in their lives.

Last night was S.Rube's turn.

She'd been excited for weeks. The fact that it was an away game made it all that much more exciting too; an hour's drive to North Vancouver against a team we'd never played before. She spoke on the way there about how she wasn't even going to let one goal in. Fearing she was setting herself up for disappointment, I, forever the realist, explained that every good goalie lets in a goal once in a while and suggested that she just play her best out there.

In the Warm-Up

Pre-Game Huddle with Coach Steve

Game begins!

Waiting for some action

Still waiting...

This net's kinda cool.
                                        

Hey guys!! I'm down here! Bring it down here!

Just go for a little skate....or something!

You know... this makes snow if you scrape like this.

Get ready!!!! Here she comes!!!

Now, I don't know if you can all see this or not.... but look at the smile on her face!!!

When I saw that smile in behind that cage of hers, it made my heart so very happy. That right there is what this is all about! That friggin' smile.
She LOVES what she does, even if that is standing around in a net for an hour, and only managing to fight off 1 of the 5 shots she had on her. It made the hour-long drive to North Vancouver worth every drop of bloody expensive gas in the truck.
When asked on the way home if she would consider playing in goal again, she replied that she wasn't sure. When asked again today, she still isn't sure.

I just peed in my pants a bit

and it's all T.Rube's fault!

And I know it's way too much information to be publicly sharing here, but that's kinda what I do....demonstrate little shame or humility, find the ability to laugh at myself; just lay it all out there and make people a bit uncomfortable (or a lot uncomfortable depending on how damn uptight you might be). You're actually lucky that I don't share more, like I do with my close friends.  Be forewarned, however, that there are some explicit goat pictures coming to you that are definitely going to make a few of you cringe....

I was out doing the farm chores (where it is fucking cold! I know that some of you prairie and central-Canada folk might laugh when I say that. The Pacific Northwest....where it rarely dips below zero. But, seriously, it is COLD. Like, minus double-digits windchill factor cold.) But, rather than hurrying through my tasks, I brought the camera out with me and got some great pictures of some of the animals in the bright winter sunshine.

(with a face that only a baboon's ass would love...)

It was when I started to coil up the frozen hoses to haul inside that I started to have the urge to pee. I quickly finished what I was doing and hurried to the basement bathroom where, just as I was about to pull my pants down, I glanced into the toilet bowl and saw....... THIS.

A heavily saturated half of a cheese bun stick and a black plastic bar cup. Interesting.
And, seriously, NO TIME TO CONTEMPLATE!

It was during the run upstairs to the other bathroom that the 'accident' happened.
Although I'm still claiming it was no friggin' accident really. There is someone at fault, and it isn't me.
This has T.Rube written all over it.

You know what she's going to be doing in about 2 minutes, eh?
Goin' fishin'.

Most of the time, I dream happy

So, for the past couple of days, I've been curious and somewhat disturbed by a dream that I had the other night. I remember my dreams fairly often and am continuously amazed by the whole phenomenon. The ability of our subconscious sleeping mind to activate a dream with such vividness, clarity and, in most cases, absolute bizarre and unrealistic outcomes is boggling.

My dreams are usually fun and welcome escapes; something I look forward to when going to bed at night. I often spend those nights in Vegas, with lots of socializing, or exploring houses, bars and loft suites with endless numbers of hidden rooms and secret passageways. When I was pregnant, the rush of hormones provided me with crazy, lust-filled nights that were so realistic I felt guilty in the morning.
I've been angry in the morning too, after waking from dreams where I've been done wrong by; where lying and cheating occurs. Those dreams that take hours and hours to shake off; where, on occasion, you have trouble ever looking at someone the same again, learning what they were capable of that one night in your dream.
And, on the very rare occasion, I've woken up in tears, after dreaming of a loss. Usually the loss of one of my girls.

But, most of the time, I dream happy.

Even the other night. I was oddly okay with what was happening in my dream; despite the fact that all of my teeth fell out. Now, I've dreamt about tooth loss many times before. It is usually just one or two teeth and I find myself worried, shocked, confused and devastated by the loss.
This week, it was my entire upper set of teeth. And they all came out in one big section, exactly as though I had dentures. In the dream, I was out with friends when I realized I had a loose tooth, and as I touched it and wiggled it and eventually pulled it, the other teeth beside it also started to come out....until I was pulling out my entire upper set of teeth, much to my surprise.  Maybe in an attempt to cover up my shock and upset, I made a joke of the issue and turned it into a bit of a bar trick, drawing attention to myself rather than detracting it.  As the dream continued, I would demonstrate pulling my teeth out to anybody who would take the time to watch, and even entered a 'stupid human bar tricks' contest, with my teeth as the main attraction. (which reminds me.... I gotta show you my real stupid human bar trick!)

Apparently tooth loss dreams are really common, and represent a few different things going on for me in my subconscious mind.  Most obviously, it might suggest that I am having some actual teeth issues that I'm worried or thinking about. And this is, in fact, true. Not to mention the extreme avoidance I have when it comes to my dental work. So, yes, I am having teeth fears and not addressing them.
The other thing that dream analysis talks about with loss of teeth dreams is a fear or insecurity of aging and a decline in attractiveness. I think this also could be true. Interestingly, in my dream, I seem to overcome my insecurities and cover up with humour and witty presentation. Much like I do in real life.
Or it could be that I am feeling powerless in some situation in my life. I might be having trouble expressing myself or feeling as though I'm not being heard or that things are out of my control.

I'm going to take it as a sign that:
I need to get myself to my dentist, before I truly do start losing teeth and have to place my dentures in a glass of water beside the bed.
And find some peace in knowing that I always seem to turn my anxieties into a positive thing.
And hope that I'm back to dreaming about Vegas again tonight.

From my coccyx to my neck...

This bikram body is SCREAMING for relief; an advil, hot stones or a soft massage...something!
I'm not going to pretend that I'm not hurting after yesterday's first-class-in-a-long-while. Cuz I'm hurting. There are clearly a few muscles that running just doesn't touch upon, and I'm feeling every one of them.

Dear Little Dog,

I know it must be confusing; that the cat, bigger than you are, poops in the laundry room. And is allowed to...is, in fact, set up with a litter box even.

This does not, however, give you permission to do so too. This activity must cease immediately.

In fact, if I step in your shit one more time, you will be taking up permanent headquarters out there in the barn with CC and the farm animals.
Where you can shit wherever you want.

Surrender to the Mat

Today, metaphorically speaking, I got back up on the horse again.

The last time I had gone to my Bikram studio, I had to quickly leave the room halfway into the 90-minute class to puke. There were many many classes before that one where I had felt like puking, but that was the one and only time that I actually did. It was months ago. Like, months and months ago. And I was scared to go back; scared to feel that bad in there again.  Bikram does that to you, though. It tests every physical limitation you might have and makes you realize that your mind really is a very powerful thing; that those physical limitations you think you have are often more mental and emotional than you give credit to. (Although trying to will yourself to stop obsessing about the fucking fan that isn't moving above your head, but that you wish the teacher would turn on for even just one tiny gust of air; believing that unless you get that momentary bit of satisfaction blowing against your boiling hot body, you very well could possibly die right there on your mat...is NOT easy. And sometimes not even possible.
After overcoming that, however, everything else in the room becomes less complicated.)

I discovered Bikram yoga in December of 2009 and very quickly became hooked on this 90-minute extreme heat (40+ degrees celcius with humidity!) yoga class that provides a total body workout by moving through the same 26 postures and 2 breathing exercises every class.
And by sweating your ass off.
I think it's safe to say that, until you've tried Bikram, you will have never experienced sweat like this before. I don't care what kind of athlete you are, whether you live right on the friggin' equator, or how bad your hot flashes hit you (which Bikram helps regulate, by the way....), there is nothing like sweating in that hot torture chamber. It pours (POURS!) off me, almost from the minute I walk in there. Oftentimes, I will start to sweat while sitting in the lobby waiting to go in. The body just knows what is about to happen and begins to prepare to work for me before I've even begun.

Clearly, bikram requires a good consistent daily water intake for the extreme amount of water loss that occurs
and, for me, a very empty stomach.

Today, I surrendered to my mat and had, quite possibly, my best class ever.
Whew.

The Fashion Police hit the Westminster Dog Show

I laid in bed last night before falling asleep watching the 2011 Westminster Dog Show and was struck with a thought that I have every time I come across one of these shows:
What the hell are these women wearing????

There is definitely a certain breed of person that is drawn into the Dog Show world, as was demonstrated in the hilarious Best in Show movie in 2000 and further evidenced every year as the Westminster Dog Show is publicly broadcast for the world to see. Let's face it, we have our preconceived stereotypical ideas about the dog lovers that do this sort of thing to begin with. And their choice of clothing only reinforces that further. It is seriously antiquated and seriously unflattering.

Maybe it's the fact that they appear to be dressed for church in 1981 that turns me off so much. I'm almost certain that their lovely polyester suits have not come off the store shelves anytime in the past 20 years. Because, quite frankly, nobody is designing clothes like this anymore. Right?

This is NYC in the year of 2011 and here is what the handlers are wearing:

I actually find myself having trouble focusing on the actual dogs while these women are running them around the ring, because their outfits are so damn ugly.  The intent of the handlers outfit is to showcase the dog and to provide a nice complement to their canine counterparts; not to detract attention.

Well, guess what, ladies? It ain't happening.  Because here's what we see...
Fat legs and fat feet squished into tiny shoes.

I would think that when this guy showed up, it was a friggin' welcome relief for the spectators. Pretty sad when he, almost completely naked, looks better than the women running around the ring.

And, at least this handler knew enough to cover herself in the appropriate places too....
(but, jesus, a slightly longer skirt is definitely called for here.)

I would like to make the recommendation that dress slacks and a nice blouse would help the Dog Show's profile considerably. (Or a lot of exercise and a good diet plan.)
Get with the program, ladies. Update your wardrobes. Look around you for a moment and see what the rest of the world is wearing - and not wearing. Learn what flatters you - and what does not.

And, in the meantime, until that happens,  here's my winner:

A Girl and her Donkey

Always fold, bet or raise; never check

I'm happy to report this morning that nobody - mainly and including myself - required lifting the toilet seat during last night's poker party, other than the men using it for their regular business. A couple of the girls had to run a 10 km this morning, so they refrained from drinking. I, with an easy 20 minute jog on the schedule for today, figured I could indulge a bit. With only a couple of vodka/limeades in me, I managed to stay fairly clear, while still being occasionally loud and obnoxious, and made it to the 'heads up' round, by attempting to "always fold, bet or raise; never check".... where I eventually lost, but happily took my $60, wishing it was $100.

(Art, you may have beaten me in poker, but the challenge for our foot race remains intact: Golden Ears in July, my friend...)

Poker Party Prep

One of the things that I learned from previous poker night parties is that it's always important to make sure to clean under the toilet seats. Don't ask me how or why I know. I just do.

So, in preparation for hosting our poker party tonight, be assured that I'm totally ready for you.

Duck Catching

We have a customer coming over this morning to get some ducks. Now, before you make the assumption that we are sending them off to the butcher blocks and roasting pans, and start feeling sorry for them, know that these ones are simply being happily relocated to another farm.

It's always a bit of a challenge catching ducks and is not really something that I am skilled at or enjoy doing. I lose patience with the process far too easily. But, it is something that S.Rube likes participating in. It's the only time she's allowed to chase our animals, I guess; working them up into a crazy frenzy.

This morning, I caught her on video catching ducks.

And, speaking of crazy frenzy...what the hell is CC doing in the background here? You can certainly see the concern of the others - all the sheep and goats are watching, wondering what's going on. CC gets quite worried when we interfere with her animals like this, and begins to kinda playfully exert her power and need to control things. Either that, or she's just trying to help out by catching a duck or two of her own.

( By the way......not necessarily a highly dangerous activity, duck catching does not really require the use of a helmet. But it's a new helmet so she's been wearing it non-stop, and she actually was riding her bike before jumping in to help catch ducks.)

Running Freak!!!

You gotta know I'm hooked on running when I'm at the gym running interval sprints on the treadmill at 8:30 pm on a Friday night. When the only other people at the gym are small clusters of 15 and 16-year-old boys pumping iron, drinking Rockstar, and text messaging (probably each other).

I know that many of you were following my 1/2 marathon training last year on facebook, leading up to my first race ever in Las Vegas in December!!, and you won't be disappointed to hear that the training continues with my next big race in Eugene, Oregon on May 1st.

The benefits of having a schedule for training is that I find myself accountable and committed to every single day. Even when it's Friday evening and I'd rather be curled up on the couch balancing a glass of wine in my fingers. I am about 11 weeks away from the run, and into my 2nd week of a 12-week intermediate training plan. I am running 5 days a week, and cross-training on a sixth day, where oftentimes Jillian Michaels kicks my ass...and my 'trouble zones'.

The other thing that keeps me accountable and committed to the training is being able to share my daily accomplishments and tribulations with others. So I plan on continuing to do so here. Thanks for supporting and inspiring me, and I hope I continue to inspire some of you!

and, oh goody, there's another one on Monday

Shortly after 2 pm, and the Pro-D Day has officially fallen apart here at the Farm, resulting in both Rube girls spending time alone in their rooms.  If I have to hear about who was playing with the stuffed monkey first one more time, I will most definitely freak out.
Oh yeah... I already did.

I friggin' LOVE these things

I am a total pepperoncini addict. I never eat more than 3 at one time, but I have to get my fix every day.

It's the school that nobody wants

There's something to be said about registering for kindergarten at a school without having to sleep overnight or line up at 5 am or have your child on a waitlist from the time she was born; where you know you could just bring her in that first day in September and there'd be a spot available.

Maybe it's saying... This is not a popular school, not special in any way, parents don't want their kids to go to this school, it isn't providing your kid with the best. Or, as I've heard said about our school before....'this is an inner-city school'.  Which makes me shake my head, and want to send their ignorant, small-town asses into the city. The 'real' city, that is.  Where inner-city truly means something. Not our rural town of 5000, where inner-city seems to mean that the odd parent might still be wearing her pyjama bottoms to pick up her kids at the end of the day or that a Grade 5 student might tell a younger student the different names of the weed his dad smokes or, God Forbid, because there are a row of townhouses across the street!! Townhouses!!! Yegads!!! A sure sign of inner-city.....

I did my teaching practicum at an inner-city school in Toronto one year; a school deep in the heart of the downtown core.  In a class where only 5 of the 22 kids could speak English, where there wasn't breakfast that morning or dinner to come home to, where seeing big bags under the kids' eyes was common-place, as was them falling asleep at their desks, where their moms, dads, uncles and grandparents have all been incarcerated at one time or another, where the 6-year-olds know the street names of all the drugs available in their building and where to get them, mainly because their moms and dads use them, and oftentimes sell them, where one little girl's mom jumped off the 30-story balcony to her death while we were gone for the Christmas holidays.

Don't talk to me about our Aldergrove school being inner-city. I've sat in the bathroom at recess and lunchtimes and cried real tears for the kids who are truly in survival mode.

So, I'm grateful to have our little school. And I'm happy there was no waitlist I had to be prepared for years ago. And I'm glad that I could pick up the necessary paperwork this morning but just bring it back in whenever I get around to it. And I am more than prepared to help teach my kids understanding, compassion and respect for the differences in people, to help them know that they are no better or worse than the next person because it is not our place to judge in the first place, and to build and celebrate their sense of self and strength of character.

And if naked swimming isn't your thing......

In my search for naked public swim sessions, I discovered a club called SkinnyDippers. I'm sure they'd love the traffic to their new site if you want to check out their website. It's www.clubskinnydipper.ca. Maybe some of you are interested in joining. ;o)

And, the best part is that they don't just provide naked swim gatherings, they have also organized an upcoming rock climbing event. A naked rock climbing event.

Now, I used to climb a bit. I'm familiar with the sport. It involves being up on a rockface with someone standing directly under you holding your ropes. Even with clothes on, this is a very provocative position to be in, as you are probably visualizing right now.  Your private parts are exposed to everyone below. And then, add to this visualization...the harness. The harness that comes up around the legs to the crotch area. For the naked gentlemen climbers, the ball sack will be nicely squeezed and hanging in between. For the women, the coochie will be showcased well, almost framed. And, in both cases, the ass will be beautifully on display.

But, these aren't rock climbers who have decided to climb nude, with their fine lean experienced bodies. These are nudists who have decided to rock climb. It is not likely to be a pretty sight. And will involve far too much visible hair.

However, the thing about this that worries me the most; again, going back to my own fear and sense of ick in all of this naked stuff... are the rental harnesses.
Ewwwww

I'm all over jumping naked into a lake, but...

This afternoon in T.Rube's fantasy world, she packed up one of her favourite dolls, a 4-year-old named Rosie, and announced that she was taking her "daughter to Squamish for a trip to the swimming pool". I played along and asked if there was a special pool in Squamish that she was traveling so far for the day, maybe one with a big slide or something? She answered, "well, we're going to the naked swimming pool." Ahhhhh, I see...the naked pool.

This all stems back to a conversation we had a few weeks ago. One that she was very interested in at the time and has evidently remembered well.
I was searching the web for schedules for some nearby pools when I came across a monthly naked swim session. That's right....a naked public swim at the Newton Wave Pool. I was pretty surprised, to say the least. And I shared my surprise with my family.

Now, don't get me wrong. I truly love being naked. Definitely more so than many. I rarely ever get opportunity to be naked now, but I can assure you that I WOULD NOT BE FINDING THAT OPPORTUNITY AT THE LOCAL NAKED PUBLIC SWIM SESSION.  There is something truly odd about the person who participates in this; jumping and playing in the waves at the pool as their saggy tits bounce uncontrollably about, or taking a leap off the diving board for the ultimate belly flop with your penis aiming straight down, ready to hit first. Or sitting about the hot tub with a bunch of other naked freaks, and just hoping to hell that one of the woman isn't riding a jet while sitting next to you.

Before writing this blog tonight, I googled naked public swim sessions for the area and discovered that they are happening all over the Lower Mainland at different pools every week. So, it would appear that we all have to consider the exposed pubic hair and stinky body parts that inhabited the pool in the hours before we arrived with our kids for their swim lessons.
Ewwwwww.

So, T.Rube was heading off to her first (imaginary) naked public swim, in Squamish no less. I asked her if she planned for her and her daughter to be naked. And she replied that her "daughter had her swimsuit on actually, and that she did too, but wasn't sure if she was going to wear it or not."
I tried to distract her by telling her about other fun things to do in Squamish; some rock climbing perhaps, or a nice hike up the back of the Chief, some shopping along Cleveland...

.....Anything but the naked pool.

A Very Darison Bertation

This newscast was on Sunday night, just following the Grammy Awards. Initially, they suspected that she had some sort of mini stroke, but that has since been ruled out, and she is totally fine.
I think that I'd be exploring the possibility of a brain tumour or something like that, though. How the hell does this happen?

The Fascination for CC

There's always a fascination for our Great Pyrenees dog, CC (or Carolina Cargo if you prefer the more formal registered name). It is her physical being - the massive size and long white fur - that captures people's attention first. And then they learn more about her story - the incredible way she cares for her farm animals, and her gentle demonstration of love for us humans; the fact that we couldn't love and pet her as a puppy, and that she's never been inside our house or yard. She is our working dog.

I first wrote about CC over two years ago, the week before we got her. www.aruralrube.blogspot.com/2008/09/carolina-cargo.html

I can't say enough about this breed and this dog, my friends. In fact, I have so much to say about her that she now has her own site; devoted to the extraordinary, yet ordinary life, of this Great Pyrenees.

Check out the new site at www.ccthegreatpyrenees.blogspot.com.

Love as deep as...an iPad!!!!!

As the effects of the chocolate assault are starting to wear off for the kids, I sit and reflect on the beauty of today. For 11 years I have consistently received flowers for Valentines Day. It is just something I have come to expect and today was no exception. I lovingly accepted a pot of pretty pink azaleas.

And, then, an hour later, was handed a gift bag. A gift bag that contained....an iPad!
Now, THIS is love!!!!!

In the safe arms of mom

There's something desperately sweet and eerily vulnerable about watching your 4-year-old sleepwalk; with that strange vacant look in her eyes and a slight smile on her lips. I'm afraid to wake her, mostly because I just want to keep watching her. As she moves into the kitchen, straight for the snack cupboard, it's as though I'm not in the room. She has to yank again and again at the cupboard door because a 10-lb bag of potatoes is leaning against it, preventing it from opening. When I reach in to help, she stares blankly at me; aware I'm there for the first time. She pauses for a moment to weigh up her options before grabbing a big unopened bag of nacho chips, and places it on the counter while grabbing a glass. I continue washing eggs at the sink while watching her move easily around the kitchen. She fills up her glass with water at the cooler, drinks it down, and proceeds back to the counter.

And, then, instead of grabbing the chips as I expect, she reaches for the waist of her pyjamas, pulls the bottoms off, and puts them on the countertop. And is now standing bare bottomed in the middle of the kitchen.
And for the very first time, seems disoriented and not sure what to do next.

That vulnerability strikes me, and I scoop her and her pyjama bottoms up and carry her safely back to bed.

I think I'll turn my Fuck List into my Bucket List

I was sitting around sharing an incredible meal at Tao in Vegas a couple of months ago with friends, and the conversation turned to The Fuck List. My friends explained to me that this was a list of names that you compile with your spouse/partner - a list of the celebrities that, if given the chance, your partner would want to fuck and you would allow your partner to fuck. (Because, let's face it... it ain't ever gonna happen.)

Well, I don't have a list. And neither does B.Rube and it isn't anything that we've ever talked about before even. My friends asked who would be on my list, if I were to have one. After thinking about it for a moment, I had to admit that I didn't have anyone to put on my list. (most likely the reason why I don't have one to begin with.) My friends argued that this wasn't possible and insisted that there HAD to be someone famous that I would want to fuck.

Still, I came up blank.

I've never been one to idolize stars or create dreamy scenarios where I meet a celebrity, lock eyes, and proceed to find the nearest broom closet or bathroom stall. In fact, I've never wanted anyone who hasn't wanted me. If you don't want me (and CERTAINLY if you don't even know I exist!!), lusting after you is truly a waste of my valuable time.
So, I held my ground and offered no names.

Then, a few weeks ago while surfing the net, I saw the celebrity athlete that I would add to my Fuck List. Cheryl Bernard, Canada's hottest and most well-known curling skip.
Slightly peculiar pick perhaps. Not the first, second or even thirty-fourth name that one might come up with for me and my List. But, damn, she does it for me. She just does.

And the girl's got guns!! And, I, a strong weakness for women's incredible arms....

And, if the arms alone didn't capture you, this one's gotta arouse a dirty thought or two.

Fine Canadian specimen.

So, last night, I was at the Canucks game, with one of the same Vegas friends with whom this conversation originated. And just before the game, the Fuck List popped into memory and I excitedly told my friend that I had recently realized that I DO have someone for my List and told her about Cheryl. She had the usual shocked reaction that the couple others I've shared this with had. But, you can't really dispute someone's choices. So, she kinda smirked and nodded and found it all very interesting, I suppose.
And, right about then, the Canucks announcer began introducing some Olympic athletes onto the ice and ....there she was...."Cheryl Bernard"....!!

With hope building and eager persistence, I spent the next 150 minutes scanning the boxes and seats for another glimpse. To no avail.

I decided overnight to turn my Fuck List into my Bucket List... you know, to appease that competitive side of me and give me something to work towards. To make this List worthwhile.
I may have to take up curling.

(ANDDD...not only is B.Rube okay with my List, he even said he wouldn't mind watching. Shocking.)

The Resurrection is Here!!!

The site has sat dormant for far tooooo long, and there is just too much to share every day to not be writing something!!

I'm back!

It's going to be quiet around here

I'm sorry, my friends. I'm getting about 3 minutes/day on the computer right now and I simply don't have time to be here.
New York was awesome and seems like a lifetime ago already. I do have a few cool pictures and will get around to them sometime.
I'm not sure of the fate of this blog right now. I may be done.