Our original plan was to renovate the hell out of the place and then flip it, but circumstances, as usual, careened out of our control. So 5.75 years later, we’re still here. We’re cool with that, because we like it and we were lucky enough to buy right before the real estate market in Calgary exploded. So our house is easily worth twice what we paid for it, possibly more.

Sometimes, though, summer rolls around and the laundry lists of projects seems ridiculously long, and it feels like we are never, ever going to be those people who wander down 17th Ave on a sunny day or sit on a patio for an afternoon, or even lie in the backyard with a good book. Sometimes, it feels like every summer of our lives will be spent ripping off stucco, or grading the backyard, or digging fenceposts with a teaspoon. I imagine Mike probalby feels like this far more often than I do, because he’s far “handier” than I am, and I just stand around holding things, feeling sort of inadequate about it, and waiting for the construction part to be done so I can put a coat of paint on whatever it is we’ve just ripped apart and put back together.

This weekend, we put in a new window in the home office. It badly needed a new window. The thing is, the window that was in there was put in in 1954, when the house was built, and the one that we put in was made in 2008. You may or may not know this, but windows have changed a fair big in the past 50 years. So of course, it didn’t fit. And then it did fit, but not all the way. And then it sort of fit, but only on one side. And then we got it to fit, but not perfectly, but we were too damn tired to keep taking it out, so we screwed it in and fixed it.

The thing is, now that it’s (almost) done, it looks great. It’s a huge improvement. And that’s the part that’s hard to remember when the house is covered in drywall dust, and we’re hitting Home Depot for what feels like the millionth time. That one day, we’ll be done, and it’ll be beautiful.

And then we’ll probably sell it and start again.

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One never knows.

While I was busy not writing in here, I crossed a couple things off my big list of endeavours. I took a woodworking class a few weeks ago, during which I built a garden bench and destroyed a knuckle. The knuckle is now healed, and the garden bench has been waterlogged pretty consistently since I brought it home. But I got to use power tools! And I didn’t strip all the screws, which is a definite improvement in my relationship with the cordless drill.

I also continued my misadventures in the kitchen, when I attempted to make this quinoa recipe from Good Housekeeping that sounded delicious, but tasted like nothing. It was “Warm Ginger and Almond Quinoa Salad” or something. But all you could taste was quinoa and reduced-sodium soy sauce, so there wasn’t even any salt to get your motor running. I messed around with it for a while and then put the leftovers in the garbage. I’m sure there’s a magpie somewhere enjoying it. Note to self: there’s a reason you don’t read Good Housekeeping, and it’s not just because they put Dr Phil on the cover.

On the upside, I did make a pretty good buttercream icing with my new handheld mixer, which I bought for next to nothing at Superstore for the sole reason that I wanted to be able to make buttercream icing. I’m not sure why, if I enjoy savoury food so much, I can only manage to excel at baking sweets. It’s probably my savior.

Anyway, next up, I need to get my paintbrushes out. Not to get all arty, mind you. If the bench ever dries out, I’m going to caulk and paint it so you can’t see the results of my overzealous chiseling. And then I’m going to paint my kitchen, and finish all the trim that I started last summer before I was swept away by lazyitis. What happens after that is anyone’s guess, but it will likely involve running shoes, a rolling pin, and a sticky mat.

Stay tuned.

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As you’d expect, it’s a struggle. How do you capture yourself in six measly words? But here goes: Finally tries it, actually likes it.

This pretty much sums up all the great experiences I’ve ever had. Things I’ve written on my want list in the past, and then done, and loved once I finally tried them (with the possible exception of the Dry Martini experiment, which I didn’t enjoy one bit. Luckily, I immediately discovered Chocolate Martinis. No harm, no foul.). I’ve written before about falling into a rut - I need to remember these six words when I feel that comfy ruttiness creeping in again. Life is short, and you’ve got to cram in as much as possible before your number comes up.

And now that I’ve written my six words (and then some), here comes the assignment for five other lucky individuals.

• Write your own six word memoir.
• Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
• Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to this original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.
• Tag five more blogs with links.

You’re it:

• Superfunk
• My good friend at Wiggy
• One of the Four Flemings
• It’s All Downhill From Here
• CinnamonOpus

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So begins The Big List, and the Experience Experiment. It’s not that I don’t have “experiences”. I do. I’ve been places and seen things. But yeah, sometimes it’s easier to stick with what you know, rather than open yourself up to something you may hate (or, God forbid, really, really love). It’s easy to say you don’t have the time, or the gear, or the money.

I started the list a few weeks ago, and I seem to add to it pretty regularly. I know there’s a school of thought that says if you make a list of the things you want, you’re more likely to get them. Not because of Crazy Magic or anything, just because you’re more open to things that come your way. I guess you’re more likely to take advantage of opportunities, instead of chickening out and maintaining the status quo. So I started my list, and then lo and behold, I saw that Mighty Girl had posted her list right on her blog for the whole world to see. Funny how once you start thinking about something, you see it everywhere.

Anyway, I started actually working on the list by coloring my hair red. That might seem like a weird place to start, but I have wanted red hair for a really long time. So far I love it (except for the part where I have to go get it touched up, because it’s fading after only ten days…booo.).

Second (well, this was first really, but whatever), I joined a running club. I realize, working at home all day, that I could use a little human contact once in a while. I’d also like to run more often (did I really just write that? Whoa. Maybe the dye has permeated my skin and leeched into my brain.). So the running club seemed like a good way to kill two birds - in this case, Penguins - with one stone.

Next, I ordered up a motorcycle helmet with a side of jacket and gloves, and went for my first ride on the back of Mike’s bike. I’m going to admit here that while I did spend the entire first ride coaching myself not to puke in the helmet, I really enjoyed the second ride. My backside disagrees, I think.

What’s next? A stunning mixture of the wild and the mundane. The list includes everything from making my own bread to taking a trip to Italy and spending a week in an ashram. I like to cover all my bases. Maybe I’ll really commit, hardcore, and post the list here for the whole world to see. Why not?

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My grandmother passed away last week, at the age of 82. She’d been having a bit of a rough time in the last year or so, but none of us expected it. She was fine at Easter, but sick the next day, and gone the next Saturday.

As a result, I’ve been thinking a lot about both of my grandmothers. I know that the life I lead probably seemed incredibly foreign to them - tapping away at a computer keyboard in the spare bedroom of my house, working in an office where people wore slippers and jeans and pierced their faces. I look at pictures of them in the 1930s and 40s and I can’t imagine their lives, either.

I really dug my grandmas. They were two people who were unfailing in their love and support of their families. They both had fabulous senses of humor. They were both voracious readers, something that I’m sure is imprinted somewhere in my genes. They were excellent cooks, something that I know for a fact is not.

I have lots of great memories of my grandma. She used to give me hints when I tried to do the crossword puzzles (she was a master at them!). She made me lasagna on my birthday. She always wore the paper hat out of the Christmas cracker. I learned the words to Auld Lang Syne from her (and Dick Clark). She used to give me big kisses goodbye, then promptly have to wipe her lipstick off my cheek. There was never any doubt over whether she was happy to see her grandchildren - she had a big, beautiful smile for us every time, even when she couldn’t see our faces clearly.

I realize I’m lucky to have had grandparents around until my 20s and 30s. I have all kinds of memories of visits with the four of them as I grew up. And of course, I’m lucky to still have a grandfather around, so there are memories of more visits to come.

We had a party for my grandma in February, on her birthday. She told a story (with great relish) about me turning to her one day when we were watching television. “Grandma,” I said, “will you have wrinkles one day?”

“Yes,” she said, “I probably will.”

I seemed to ponder this for a while, before I turned back to her. “Grandma,” I said, “do you think Oil of Olay will help?”

I don’t know what we’re talking about in this picture, but we could easily be having that very conversation. I don’t think I’d ever seen this photo before last week, but it immediately made me remember all the great chats I’d had with her over the years.

Here’s to my grandma, Joyce.

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Things have been busy around here. I’ve been up to my eyeballs the past couple of weeks in some exciting new projects, and as always, new stuff means learning about new topics - wealth management, what teenage girls like on the internet, the history of the first settlers in the Calgary area. Botox. Next week I’ll be exploring wireless antennas, and possibly someone’s “green” program.

It’s all good, but all that thinking can really tire a girl out. So I’m happy it’s a long weekend.

So far all I’ve accomplished is one dog walk, one fabulous noontime yoga class, and a trip to My Favourite Ice Cream for a split (Nanaimo Bar and Cherry Custard, which I totally did not need but enjoyed immensely). I had big plans for today. I was going to make hot-cross buns from one of my favorite blogs, Dinner with Julie. I was going to make my kitchen sparkle. I was going to do all the laundry and finish cleaning off the tile in the front entry.

I still have time for the kitchen, the tile, and a load of laundry, but the  buns will have to wait for another day. Today’s slipping by too fast, and I don’t have time to wait for them to rise. Tomorrow’s out, since I won’t be here all day. Maybe Sunday.

I have big plans for Sunday, too.

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I can’t do her love of snow justice with words, so here are a few pictures:

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I”m sad to say we found neither. I’m even sadder to say that I wasn’t really surprised.

Over the years I’ve tried again and again to hook up with a writers’ critique group. Writing is a solitary profession, and there’s sometimes nothing nicer than connecting with someone else over a difficult creative problem or professional issue. It’s a nice break from being inside your own head all day, and it often means getting out of the house for a while (and hey, that’s never a bad thing).

Most of the time, I find the formal group setting a failure. I can’t put my finger on why – perhaps it’s the hobbyist-t0-pro ratio, or varying levels of ability, or just a clash of personalities. I have very rarely found a group that clicks. (and by group, I’m talking about a formal, fully instituted group of people all committed to meeting the first Tuesday of every month having contributed their own work or critiqued someone else’s). There’s so often something…off.

Maybe it’s because, so often, everyone has vastly different reasons for being there. I think for some, it’s a social outlet. For some, it’s a hobby. For others, it’s actual work. (I don’t mean to sound like a snob when I say that it’s a hobby for some, but let’s face it, some people earn cold hard cash from their words, and others scribble away in their bedrooms, dreaming of the day when their stuff will show up in print. There’s a vast difference. Oh. Hell. I’m probably a snob.)

Whatever the reason, I still keep hoping that a magical group will somehow form, and I’ll be a part of it. And I am invariably disappointed. It’s a lot like dating, I think. You probably have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a real winner. The other night was a great example of the Awkward Blind Date, when you know it’s not working from about two minutes in, but it’s almost impossible to exit gracefully. They all seemed like very nice people, but I quickly got the impression we weren’t there for the same reasons. And that’s fine.

So I’m be content instead with smaller meeting of like minds.  It’s far more pleasant - and productive - than all that puckering.

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