Fog on the Brain

Well, here I am, despite the fact that I was debating whether to write a post or play a game online. Why am I such a pushover regarding myself and computer games? I tell Wade it’s because I get to take a break from serious thought. I have a little time to write because I shortened my run to two miles today – it’s foggy out and I decided that the highway portion of the run would be unsafe in the fog.

The fog was so beautiful, though! Following the example of One Thousand Gifts, I am choosing to see beauty as a gift from God for me to enjoy and how beautiful everything was this morning. The fog desaturates all colour, everything muted and quieter, and the wild oats had droplets of water at their tips, bowed over from last night’s rain. Little cobweb mattresses seemed to catch the fog, cloudy pillows, and water rippled over the grasses in ditch-running rivulets. Here and there there were mounds of foam, grubby-looking, but they always remind me of when I was a little girl, visiting Grandma’s house. Their farm was on the edge of a coulee and in spring my cousin, sister and I would walk along the edge of the garden where there was a little footbridge, barely more than a plank, spring runoff rushing and foam billowing around the posts. In our family legend is the time my sister and cousin got stuck in the garden on a muddy spring day.

I wonder what our family legends will be, twenty years from now? My mind is blank. Every family has their own stories to tell, and they aren’t scripted. Unfortunately, not all of our family legends are flattering to me. It’s so odd, me being such a dignified and classy lady.

Dignified. Classy. It’s what I do.

Anyhow, thus far in my lifetime I have managed to infiltrate the family history with tales of “How Angela Jumped off the Roof with an Umbrella” which is especially humiliating because I did it after my mom had told the story of how painful it was when she did it. Also you may be regaled with “How Angela spent a week babysitting and rinsed the cloth diapers in the sink.” My Bible study group likes to tell the tale of “How Angela Plugged the Toilet During Bible Study and Panicked,” while my husband would tell you, well, he’s the silent type so he wouldn’t tell you any stories about me, but oh, he COULD.

The fact that I too tell these stories (and allow them to be told) is just an indication of my extrovert nature. I never knew I was an extrovert until I was an adult. Being extremely self-conscious made me assume that my self-awareness was shyness. And after moving back to Canada from New Guinea, I was shy for a while. After all, I had lived for five years in a country where a single girl does not look a man in the eye unless she plans to bear his children. And then I found a job in sales. Wasn’t so good at that. I’m coming out of my shell though. Last week I hollered out the van window at a crew of concrete workers.* And yesterday I approached a random lady in Walmart to tell her to buy my neighbour’s Cricut.**

*They were sort of my husband’s coworkers.

**She was in the craft aisle. About to put a Cricut in her cart.

I guess I shouldn’t worry about having good family legends. Anything can make a story with enough spin, so here’s hoping I won’t always be stuck telling the story of Scooter’s “zipper teeth”

Or Wecco’s disgusting habit of sleeping on a wet drool spot

Or the time Sassy ate that unwrapped Starburst she found in the Walmart parking lot.

None of these things happened yesterday, as you can see by the toddler images. Where has the time gone? I’m so thankful that most of the time I don’t have to worry about them putting inappropriate things in their mouths. Well, except for Wecco. Is five the new two? And Scooter ate a mystery berry she found in the yard. Apparently it did not turn out to be a Mountain Death Camas.

It’s 7:30 am and the girls are in art classes at the art gallery this week. Is it foolish for an artist to send her daughters to art class? Shouldn’t I just teach them that stuff myself, you ask? Hullo, I homeschool. They have plenty of teaching from me. And it’s International Crafts week! Actually, coupled with the mother/daughter card class at the house last night, and the prep for the class, the girls spent about five hours crafting yesterday. Wowza. That’s almost as much as me. I wish.


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