Isn’t it ironic…

23 12 2013

We were all rushing around in our urgency to be on the first chair. We’re a 45 minute drive to the ski hill, so that means getting out the door by 7.30, which allows us to get coveted “rockstar” parking, maybe enjoy an Americano from Freshies and then mosey on over to the lift for first chair.


All the while, I am in the kitchen prepping snacks and thermoses of hot chocolate and I pause to lecture my kids, who both seem to be at ease with taking their sweet time to do things in the morning. “Hey, you are all each responsible for your own gear. I’m pretty damn tired of double-checking to see if you have your mittens and goggles and poles. From now on, you get your own crap together, and I am not going to say this again! You get to the hill and don’t have your stuff, well it will suck big time!”


We all pile in the truck, excited about a day on the slopes. We chatter and laugh and reminisce about epic ski days of yore. Lo and behold, we arrive at Whitewater and get a spot in the FIRST ROW! Yeah! No exhausted 1/2 kilometer hike at the end of the day to our truck, lugging all of our gear.

The tail gate is dropped and I start handing out skis and poles.

And then I ask:

“Hey! Where are my boots?”

Everyone looks at me, and I humbly realize they’re sitting on the shelf in the garage back in Balfour.

Yup. Lesson well-learned.

Note to self….

3 12 2013

There’s the Drunken Facebook Posts,  the Texts You Instantly Regret, the Midnight CryFest Phonecalls and then there’s what I did.

First, a bit of a back story…. I have dealt with chronic pain for 20+ years now. I don’t like to talk about it too much, since there is a lot of Advice Givers and Naysayers out there and I have learned to just not say anything when it comes to my health: otherwise I face an onslaught of Granny’s special cure-all potion recipes to me being told that it just might be all in my (obviously crazy) head.

Anyways, I have IBS, which can be crippling when I have pain flares. Fortunately, it has been dormant for a good part of a decade, raising its nasty head rarely. But the last six months and especially the last two weeks, it has been pretty bad. I have been in bed a good majority of the time, sinking into a pit of worry and stress which only compounds my situation. Depression and chronic pain is real, you guys, and I know firsthand that you should never mess around with that shit. (Thank god I have an amazing support group around me, whom I can count on to help me out when I am in it deep. You know who you are, and I can’t thank you enough.)

Anyways, my doctor has prescribed Ativan for severe attacks, when my regular meds don’t cut it. I try to avoid that as much as possible, because:

A) I don’t want to rely on heavy drugs and


So Saturday, I took an Ativan in desperation, as I lay writhing in pain. Under the tongue, that teeny little pill dissolved and worked its magic upon my body. I felt relaxation ebbing through me. As I floated on the couch, all happy and shit, I saw my iPhone beside me…. And a surge… nay, a TIDAL WAVE of love washed through me and I started texting my undying love and complete adoration to all my friends. At some point I passed out and slept like the dead.

I woke the next morning to find several replies.

Most went like this:

“Aw, you’re so sweet. How drunk are YOU? LOL!!!! :-)”

I felt a wee bit abashed, I admit… But then I also thought, hey… It’s always nice to tell people you care about that you love them. In my case it was urged along by my good old pal, Ativan….. that devilishly wonderful relaxant that makes me super dippy. But, oddly, I had no regrets about what I texted to my wonderful friends. Because, you know what? It was ALL true.

In closing…. I love you man. I  mean, I really really love you.