Conqueror of silly little things

I'm writing at....

2012-01-30T21:39:00.000-08:00

I'm now writing at http://conquerorofsillylittlethings.wordpress.com/

Same deal, different look.

Sometimes I Wonder.

2011-08-03T20:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just find writing really wonderful. Today is one of those times. So I’m thinking of starting something called “Sometimes I wonder” on this lovely blog. That way I can write my day-to-day perplexings (yup, I manipulated that word real good) and still have longer posts that I pour more energy into. Often my thoughts are in questions so hopefully this format will transfer well from brain to keyboard to blog. Nice move on my behalf? I think so. So here goes.

Sometimes I Wonder:

How did that little bug get in my apartment? We are on the second floor, we have screens on all the windows and we have never taken them off. And now there is a bug in my apartment. I keep seeing it in my peripheral looming by the lamp. Yuck. However, this must be a very clever bug to make it all the way into our place, so I guess a compliment is in order. Nice work you crafty little bug.

How did Robbie get so particular about his signature? He just about gave me a heart attack this evening. He was working away finishing off reports for work when he suddenly and intensely said, “Do you know what I just realized?” I automatically thought “Oh no, he’s been doing something wrong on every single one of his reports that he’s been slaving over.” This “slaving” includes giving up his Saturday and Monday of his long weekend (someone is a very good employee and a very hard working de Fleuriot man). Then, since he is not very good at multi tasking, he left me hanging waiting for the answer to his self-imposed question, which was now imposing itself on me quite persistently. I waited for what felt like eternity (and was probably only 3 seconds), lost my patience and barked at him saying ‘What Robbie?” He then explained that he was unhappy because his signature was unbalanced, but now he is quite chuffed because he found the solution. It has to do with the F in de Fleuriot slightly changing. You see he has to sign his signature on each of his reports so it all made sense to me quite quickly. I do know that his family used to, and come to think of it still sits around practicing and perfecting their signature. It’s a very interesting family activity. And he thinks the Hamels are a bit nuts. Somehow for Robbie it has become a lifelong mission to perfect his signature. I guess there are worse things in the world. Also, I often hear from him how I need to change my F in de Fleuriot because it doesn’t look very nice. Specifically I am making it loop the wrong way. Jeepers.

Why does the sound of boiling water make me so irate? Yesterday I made mashed potatoes for the first time in my married life. So why was this the first time? Because I don’t like them. Its one of the advantages of being the wife. You never have to eat anything you don’t like again because not only do you buy the food, but you make the food. This is pure genius passed on from my Mom. Siblings: do you ever wonder why we didn’t eat French Toast or Squash? Now you know. Anyways, I noticed that once the potatoes were rolling in the boil that the noise made me super agitated. This did not help as I was trying to finish off a roast and decide what to do with the carrots. I was especially annoyed when water would splash over the side and hit the burner making a hissing noise. Robbie saved the day by pouring some of the water out (practical thinker I am not). However, it still made lots of rather violent noise. Does anyone else experience this? It was just so unsettling.

How many times will I move in the next 5 years? I’ve heard ridiculous stories of the early years of marriage involving several moves. With one behind us and one right around the corner in the first 15 months of marriage I’m hoping it doesn’t get out of hand. Any guesstimates one this one? Well, at least we will always have our tea station with a ‘Touch of Earl’ on hand to keep us feeling homey no matter where we go.

Excellent. I feel much better. Now for a cup of tea for me and a bowl of ice cream for Roberto and off to bed.

This is how we roll

A post post post (get it?) Sometimes I wonder how I am supposed to control the size of these fonts on blogger.com. Oh my word it is driving me batty. If only I were a html pro, then I would conquer this silly little thing for sure.

It's just me...Emily.

2011-05-15T14:27:00.000-07:00

Ponder this riddle:

I am a very special woman that you might know.
I have passion in my eyes and a mischievous glow.
I can pick up any instrument and play it like a pro.
My imagination is something I will never outgrow.

I'm tall and lean,
But don't call me string bean!
But do call me Fliedermaus,
Or Gloria if she's in the house.

You might find me just daydreaming for hours and hours,
Or plotting some plot with my thinking powers.
And when this thinking would get me in trouble,
I'd always know what to say on the double.

You can find me in 'The Book Man'
Or hanging out with my theatre clan.
In my closet you'll find many coats,
But its really shoes I love the most.

Do you have an idea yet?

Well...
If you must know.

It's just me... Emily.

A riddle is quite appropriate, for Emily is quite a mystery herself. She is a force of nature, someone to be reckoned with.

My mother has said that raising Emily took more energy than the other three of us put together. Now Emily could take this as a slight or see that she is largely responsible for the extremely skilled mother that we have today. It is not necessarily that she was naughty all those years, but rather that she was excessively creative and energetic, which often lead to naughtiness.

As for myself I am incredibly thankful for the experiences that I have thanks to my second oldest sister. I played a part in many of her fantasies. Often the part of trusting innocence, like a lamb being led to slaughter or a princess taking her place in her kingdom. As a kid I was drawn to Emily and for good reason. There was never a dull or monotonous moment with my big sister. I am happy to have participated and look forward to the days that she can take my own children along with her on her journeys.

Imagine you are me. You are no older than 5 years in age. You enjoy your simple life and are highly trusting of those around you.

I have to set up the physical space to make sense of this tid bit. Our childhood house on Killarney drive had an open dining room, kitchen plan. It was separated from the living room by a wall that contained the kitchen from the living room, but exposed part of the dining room. We would use this area for many dramatic entrances throughout the years as we played out our games and created alternative worlds to enjoy.

Emily saw this particular set as a place to stage one of her sneakiest dramas, the Gloria drama. You see, she would walk behind the wall into the kitchen while Jeff and I were playing in the living room. She would change character from her normal self to Gloria, her evil twin. My 5 year old mind remembers her as totally different, as though she had morphed into something new... and sinister. She would treat me and Jeff terribly calling us names, ordering us around, and getting up to all sorts of nonsense. She was not the same person. We would be incredibly distraught by the time she would make her exit back through the kitchen again. However, this time she would emerge as the sweet and darling Emily ready to console us after undergoing such unjust and inhuman treatment. She would always say something along the lines of "Was Gloria here? What did she do to you now? Don't worry you'll be okay now."

Pure genius I tell you.

Another notable performance from Emily during our childhood took place when Mom and Dad were out for the evening. We were in the family room downstairs with the legendary, funky old carpet that looked like a Persian rug. This room housed the TV, our old couches, the piano, the ironing board, the sewing machines, and a fireplace that we never used because something was wrong with it. I distinctly remember this taking place by the ironing board under one of those hanging lamps with a big pink shade. The lighting of course was dramatic.

Things were going on as usual. We were up to some nonsense probably enjoying onis (mac and cheese) and iced tea for dinner while watching an episode of Newhart or something since Mom and Dad were out for the evening. Suddenly Emily started acting strange. She looked all lethargic and started breathing funny. Jeff and I rushed to her side. She collapsed under the ironing board and "fainted." I distinctly remember Jeff checking to see if she was breathing and telling me that she wasn't. (Come to think of it maybe the stinker was in on it too!)

At this point I really honest to goodness thought that she was dead. Jeff and I were both crying and were incredibly upset at this point. I remember laying our heads down on her supposedly deceased body, like you see in the movies. Then all the sudden she jolted up with a large gasp of air. She had a far off look in her eyes. We asked her "Emme, Emme, what happened? Are you okay? Are you alive?" She caught her breath and managed to say "I went to heaven and God told me that I wasn't ready to die yet. I'm too pure and young. I need to stay on earth."

I believed this whole heartedly. I thought it was amazing that she got to go to heaven and see God and Jesus and all the Saints. Oh how I wanted to go to heaven and see those beautiful things just like my big sister. I wanted to be pure too.

However, these memories seem to have a way of sneaking back to you later on in life. I confirmed a few years later that this was indeed a scam, but at least it made me long for heaven even more.

From our days of play. Emme is 2nd from the top.

One of the most wonderful times of the year is clearly Christmas. One of my favorite musical delights from the Christmas season is Amy Grant's 'Home for Christmas.' The most epic song on that album is the instrumental recording of 'Jesu, Joy of Man's desiring.' It begins with beautiful classical guitar and builds into a stirring celtic arrangement. If there's one thing that gets me up and dancing, its fiddles at their best. For many years in a row Emily used to choreograph a dance to this piece of music that went out of our traditional Scottish dance training. We would dance the night away waiting for Santa and the birth of Jesus. I remember spinning around and around giggling with joy in our Sunday best for what seemed like an eternity. It was Christmas in Killarney at its best.

Emily is also excessively talented musically. When she reached teenage-hood she would play piano and sing for hours and hours. She even penned a puppet opera once of which I was going to be the star. I still remember the reoccurring song that played throughout the story. Maybe the world will be delighted with this little ditty one day?

Emily leads the Hamel 3 in song.

As we grew up it was evident that Emme had to cultivate these talents. After high school she left for Rosebud, Alberta where she attended theatre school for two years. The morning she left was probably the day that I cried most in my whole life. I was inconsolable. Alberta seemed a world away and I couldn't imagine not seeing one of my siblings for a 4 month stretch. I remember waving goodbye to her from the driveway and watching the van turn away from the house. I knew life just wouldn't be as fun or adventurous with Emily moved away. I was about to start high school in a few weeks and I needed her around to help me through it. But it was the way it was. I picked myself up and walked into the house in her newly vacated room, which was now mine. I cheered up a bit relishing in one of the perks of being the youngest. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad after all.

One of her more mischievous looks.

Emily left behind a little reminder of herself in our home. In Home Ec. class they made stuffed animals. She chose to made a mouse. We affectionately called it the Fliedermaus, the German word for bat, one of Emme's nicknames for her ability to make jolting entrances much like bats. Her little mouse had a superhero cape that went from one outstretched arm to the other. Its perky ears rested on it head which had a severe tilt. It looked ready to pounce any second. We placed it on the highest part of the kitchen cupboards. It would sometimes take you by surprise if you forgot about it presence as you could feel its little sweet eyes looking at you. We would often look up at the little Fliedermaus and remark on how we missed our Emme. It was yet another remarkable creation that filled our lives with theatrics even while she was gone.

And this talent for the theatrical has only continued to blossom over the years. On a recent trip home Robbie and I were able to see a production of "Sabrina Fair" directed by none other then Emily Hamel. It was a delight. It was one of my favorite nights at the theatre. The casting, costumes, acting, and set were all a perfect bundle of classy storytelling. And my Emily had the final word in each of these decisions. It was truly a marvel to behold.

Emme on the set of Sabrina Fair

I've been thinking lately about the miracle it is that my family love each other the way we do. We're all stubborn. We're all very different. We have had very difficult times that my teenage heart could see no way out of.

However, I think my parents did something more than right in raising us. You see, in spite of the hard and difficult times, deep inside we all feel the beckoning call back to one another. When it comes down to it, we can't live without each other, because we know the value of what we have and who we are as children of Tom and Diane Hamel.

My case in point: Emily Diane Hamel.

Stunner much?

You see I waited through my late teenage years for my family to make a pendulum swing back to the peace that we now have. What shook us was no one persons fault, but a disagreement of ideologies, personalities, and the messiness of life. In short, there was a deep divide in our family.

Its not worth hashing out as the past is the past, but it is worth mentioning. It is worth mentioning because it helped define each of us as we grew into the adults that we are now. For many uncomfortable years I know that the hardest thing for each of us: Mom, Dad, Jenny, Emme, Jeff, and myself was that we couldn't be together in the all familiar and comfortable way that we had know for so long.

Like molasses slowly moving, things have changed and shifted.

And now I rejoice, for wounds have been healed, words have been spoken that needed to be spoken long ago and prayers recited for many years have been answered.

I return again to the blessed day I married Roberto to explain myself. Emily came out the day before the wedding from Chilliwack to Walnut Grove. We spent the greater part of that day together running errands and finishing off 'To Do's." She had my back all day. She took such good care of me. We chatted about our current states in life and the excitement of the big day as we traipsed around Walnut Grove together.

It felt like for the first time in a long time that there were no barriers between us. It was the most unexpected blessing that I had all week. I could feel God smiling down on my family as we prepared for this most important day saying "Isn't my timing always perfect Laura?"

And it is.

Isn't she lovely?

Emily, I can't imagine my life without you. There is still never a dull or monotonous moment when I am around you. I am still drawn to you and will always be drawn to you for your beauty and your love of all things aesthetic.

I may be the conqueror of silly little things, but you are the conqueror of many great things.

You are the rarity.

2011-03-31T12:54:00.000-07:00

There is an eldest child in every family. They are normally characterized as obedient, independent, and reliable.

Our Jenny is no different.

Tom and Diane plus Jennifer Leigh.

She was in many ways an ideal child. At least I’ve always seen it that way as the doting youngest sister. Jenny to me has always held a strong fascination. She is so beautiful, so refined, so intelligent, everything a young woman ought to be.

I remember watching her get ready for dances, putting on makeup and fixing her hair. I would think ‘If only one day I could be as beautiful as Jenny. Jenny must be perfect.’ I would often sneak into her room and put on makeup myself. I was so proud to be her little sister.

Great beauty.

But my mistake was that I could only see the outer beauty of Jenny.

Let me explain.

My mom recalls a story of when Jenny was in Kindergarten. Mom dropped Jenny off at school. She saw a group of little girls from Jen’s class and overheard that there was some sort of dispute or difficult circumstance (something age appropriate such as ‘Person A called Person B a meanie’). They were discussing what to do when one of them had a Eureka moment and said “I know, lets ask Jenny. She always knows what to do.”

So there she was at the tender age of 5 analyzing a situation and coming up with a solution that worked for all parties involved.

And she hasn’t stopped since. She is a true giver of self, contributing to the peace-making of many awkward and frustrating moments in my childhood. She has a desire to help make sense of things and make things right like I have never seen in another human soul. Now this is not just a sweet little aspect of her character, rather it is an intelligence that she possesses. It is a feminine determination to care for and protect others.

Along with this intelligence Jenny has a certain silliness to her. Something you wouldn’t expect from such a refined young woman.

A favorite Hamel memory happened one day in our Killarney house in Chilliwack. If I recall correctly this was a stage in Jennifer’s life where she was very serious and quite grown up, Thank you very much. One day Emme heard a little song coming from the kitchen. It peaked her interest and so she went to investigate. As she came closer she realized the songstress was Jennifer. Emily saw Jenny eating her lunch, a nice bowl of soup to be exact. Emily listened carefully and this is what she heard:

♩ Hello Mister Soup. How are you Mister Soup? I’m going to eat you Mister Soup ♩

Over and over she repeated this. Jenny was singing to her soup with great care and personification. To her horror Jenny eventually noticed Emme and asked her to never tell the story again. Clearly that did not happen. Actually this little story seems to come up quite often. All you have to say or sing is ‘♩Hello Mister Soup,♩’ and Jenny gets all red in the face.

Jennifer led us younger children fearlessly. She is credited with pulling Emily away from a moving vehicle just in time to literally save her life. She read to Jeffy tirelessly as a little boy, giving him a great love for knowledge. She changed my stinky diapers armed with rubber gloves, a breathing mask, and an apron. She taught me how to write papers. All of these things great and small show me how much she loves us.

Hamel Sandwich. 

But there were times of great tragedy.

Emily, Jeffrey and myself were playing on the stage left side of the house (if the audience were the road). We were near the back by the porch. On this part of the house there was this amazing old tree tucked right up to the house that had a ton of branches all coming right from the ground. There was no real trunk to it. It made a great backdrop for many adventures. We had taken an old sheet and had placed it from the overhang of the tree to the porch creating a little tented area.

The game of the day was something about an evil Duchess who was terrorizing the poor peasants of the town. We wanted Jenny to play the Duchess, so we hauled her out from her room and explained the scenario. Things proceeded as normal for a few minutes. I was a dramatic little peasant, Jeff spoke up for the peasants invoking our rights and the need for justice, and Emily led us as our great leader to the Duchess.

We went to the tent/palace expecting to have an audience with her, but something was wrong. We looked at Jenny who wore a face of distress. Then with a far off vapid expression she said “I’ve forgotten how to play,” and slowly walked inside.

It felt like my heart had broken.

I’d like to think that there were many tears after this. I’m sure I cried. I always cried. It was a memory we have never forgotten. Our biggest sister had crossed over from fantasy worlds and silly games to the reality of adult life.

But life is a funny thing. Life itself is what in my opinion brought Jenny back to a place of childhood wonder and awe.

You see Jenny married this wonderful man named Darren roughly 8 years ago now. She and her Greek god moved to Saskatoon, far away from the rest of us. While they lived there studying our great and noble country their own family began. Our little Benno joined the fam in a dramatic way in December of 2004.

Benno bambino.

I think that Benno rocked Jenny’s world in a way she didn’t expect. I can’t speak exactly for her, but I began to observe a change in her. The seriousness of life was still there and her nurturing tendencies were more pronounced than ever.

However, when a little boy is around things can’t help but get a little silly sometimes. You can’t help but go for long walks enjoying the outdoors. You can’t help but play with trucks and cars, and cars, and more cars. You can’t help but spend hours and hours in a playground each month. You can’t help but be a dinosaur with that little boy for an afternoon. You can’t help but read Dr. Seuss over and over again, which is decidedly some of the silliest literature I have ever read and some of the best.

And then when a little bundle of girl named Cate came along, things were silly in a whole new way.

E-Tuc Cate.

You see when a little girl is around you can’t help but put her in lovely dresses. You can’t help but put her hair in pigtails, even if she pulls them out after a minute. You can’t help but play with My Little Ponies with her. You can’t help but receive several cups of tea from her tea set when she is serving you with great civility for a 2 year old. You can’t help but kiss her sweet little cheeks at every possible opportunity. You can’t help but tell her what it was like being a little girl yourself.

I’ve seen these two little Friesens take my Jenny back to where she used to be before she forgot how to play, even for a few moments each day. And for this I thank them.

Silly kids.

I can only imagine what bambino number three has in store for us!

The weekend before I got married Jenny threw me a Stagette. We painted pottery, got dolled up, went for a yummy dinner and Bellini’s, sang our hearts out at Karaoke and then returned to Jen’s house for an unforgettable experience. Jen had each one of the girls go around the circle and affirm me. It was incredible. You see in my heart of hearts I had always imagined something like that might happen in my lifetime. The thing is that my big sister really knows my heart. She knows who I am and how I experience love, because she is just that kind of person.

So now I say to you Jenny that you have a very special place in my heart, and not just because you are so physically beautiful.

The Italian humanist Petrarch said "Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together."

You are the rarity.

Jenny, I love you in all your intricate plots and plans. I love the look on your face when you are about to figure something out. I love how you were so honest to me in my youth about what true happiness is. I love how you look after your kidlets.

But most of all I love how you look after me.

A history of War.

2011-01-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

Laura and Ffej looking cute

Jeffrey Thomas.
Jeff.
Jeffy.
Jeffykins.
Jeffo.
Ffej.
Ffejo.

All of these names mean one thing. My big brother.

I feel like I am at a loss to explain this relationship. Truth be told I am not as close to Jeff as I am to my sisters in a friendship sense. We don't hang out just the two of us like I would with Emme, Jen, and even his lovely Michaela.

But we certainly have a history together. We spent hours playing orphans running away from the oppressive and child working head mistress with Miss DK and Judy. I think he may have even helped us set up intricate barbie cities with us. We got up to all sorts of nonsense with Emily such as turning down the volume on soap operas and doing the voice overs for the characters. The argument was always over whether oranges or bananas are better. Trust me this is alot of fun. I seem to remember something about garden gnomes too. We even started a band. We did a photo shoot and made an album cover with pretzels spelling out our band name, but alas we had no songs. We even got married once. Emily was the priest (a wee bit liberal), Jen attended as a guest, and we even had communion like good Catholics.

Our first dance: for real. We've got style.

But we also have a history of war. War of all sorts. Fighting with each other, but even better fighting for each other.

Before I get to that, lets go back to the beginning. Imagine a beautiful October day in 1987 in Chilliwack, BC. Leaves are falling, the air is crisp, and the sun lights the world with a warm Autumn glow as if it were coming from underneath the earth. Everything is beautiful. I love these days. They are my absolute favorite. In the Hamel house a new little bald bundle with a V on her forehead enters the house for the first time. Her name is Laura Christine. Her three siblings gather around her. They love her instantly. Each takes a turn bonding with her for the first time in their home. It comes to the wee little boys turn. A boy named Jeffrey. He holds her so gently in his lap with all the care in the world. He looks at her with absolute wonder and awe. He leans down and places a gentle and voluntary, sweet kiss on her forehead. Their mothers' heart melts. Their father looks on proudly. They have a true gentleman for a son. Their dream come true. Love fills the room.

That exact moment

Neither did they all know what a firecracker I'd turn out to be and how these two innocent children would be anything but peaceful with one another in years to come. The dynamic of the family shifted once again to let a little soul in. My little soul. And I am always pleased to remember my first interaction with my big brother was a perfect moment.

I don't think its that constructive to explain in great detail how or why we didn't always get along. Its as simple as we're brother and sister two and a half years apart with different personalities.

I remember once driving across Alberta somewhere on one of our family trips out to visit Emily while she was in Rosebud. We always drove across the prairies commenting on how funny it was that every time there was a slight bend in the road/highway there would be a ton of signs leading up to it. 'Look out, Its an anomaly, A bend in the road. Oh no!' Coming from BC this was pretty funny.

We would often take the Trivial Pursuit cards on these trips to entertain us. It was generally a competition between Jeff and Mom to see who could recall more useless/interesting bits of information from their brains. After a while we stopped playing and just chatted for a while, something that I could participate in with much more ease. I was about 12 at the time, in my awkward years of tearaways and visors. Jeff would be pretty close to his 15th birthday. I, like many 12 years olds often felt ugly, weird, and just out of sorts. I'd look in the mirror and see someone in-between. I started to complain about how I was ugly, probably going on about my eyebrows being terrible because they look like two caterpillars (true story). Then being the true gentleman he is Jeff piped in and said "Laura after all the arguments we've had don't you think I would have called you ugly by now if it were true." Another perfect moment for Jeff and Laura was created. My pre-teen angst subsided and I had to admit that that was a good point. Mom and Dad or course chuckled in the front seat.

There was a time in Jeffs life before he became a strong military man and a law student with an extremely gorgeous wife that things were quite hard for him. He has always been incredibly intellectual. As a kid he would pour over books. He was always taking those eyewitness books out from the library memorizing huge amounts of data. He knew so much about airplanes and weapons used in World Wars by each individual country. He read 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy by the time he was 12. In grade 7 he did a report on Dieppe that was 20 pages long, well researched, and properly cited if I recall correctly.

This boy was smart. But he struggled in school. It wasn't until my mom practically forced his high school to test him for learning disabilities in grade 10 that his grades finally reflected his great intelligence after modifications were made to what was expected of him in school. In grade 10 he was spelling at the level of a grade 5 student but reading at the level of a second year university student. His success in many ways is my moms success. He took off from there and has been unstoppable since.

When we were in elementary school there were certain boys who were treating Jeffrey with great disrespect on a regular basis. I was not impressed. Nobody was to treat my brother like dirt. I knew he was smarter than all of them, but he just didn't have the guts to really lay down the law with them. So one day in grade 5 I decided to give them a piece of my mind. I told off those grade 7 bullies for my big brother. I remember them looking back at me pretty scared. I've always had the skill of pulling out the scary guns when necessary (ask my grade 9 students from last year). Reflecting back I am certain it didn't help at all since he now had the added embarrassment of having his little sister ream the mean boys out for him. But I swear from the bottom of my heart that I meant every threatening word because I knew my brother was being treated unjustly.

I would go to war for him any day.

Fast forward to my grade 10 year. Jeff was in grade 12 and a tall but lanky 6'2, much more intimidating then he was in grade 7. Jeff was coming into his own. He was going to attend TWU after high school and knew unlike those bullies that there is life after graduation. One day on the bus a certain classmate of mine (who will remain nameless) decided that a fun activity for the ride home would be to cut my hair. He cut a small to medium but unforgivable chunk of my locks. I was not impressed. Evidently Jeff wasn't either. The authorities that be dealt with it in their own way with something lame like a detention or an in school suspension (I would have had him cleaning toilets). Jeff walked up to the nameless young man in question in the hall the next day and told him with a cool and calm demeanor "If you ever touch my sister again I will take both of your (expletive) legs and (expletive) arms and shove them up your (profanity)." All with a smile. Now Jeff did get called to the office and was spoken to quite firmly nodding along to the allegations agreeing that that's exactly what he said, which I think dumbfounded the authorities more than anything. But he told me he didn't regret it at all.

You see he would go to war for me any day.

And maybe that's what we both have deep within us. An innate sense that although we are never going to bond over pedicures like I would with my sisters (that would be awkward anyways) that when push comes to shove we will ALWAYS push and shove for each other (in a figurative sense). Because its right. Because blood is thicker than water. Because, and I speak directly to you right now Ffej, I love my big brother and I always will. We've grown up and we probably know each other strengths and weaknesses better only than each other spouses. We wished each other heartfelt words on our own respective wedding days this summer and meant everything we said. We'll tell our kids embarrassing stories about each other and we might still have a few tiffs from time to time. But I know I can rely on Jeff to stick up for me when I need it.

After all he can kill a man with his bare hands.

Dilemma

2011-01-22T11:54:00.000-08:00

So heres a big shock. I can't stick to a writing schedule. I've been trying to move onto my next family member to write about, but its much harder to write about siblings than parents.

Do I write about Jenny my oldest sister currently with child? Or Emme my second oldest thespian sister with new love blossoming in her life? Or Jeff who I affectionately call Ffej who is away in London, Ontario with his beautiful golden beauty Michaela?

Dang.

Three people to choose from. Three crazies (I say respectfully). Three intelligent, worthy contenders for my thoughts and words.

Do I go oldest first (very original), or only boy first, or second first to mix it up?

This is difficult because as much as you love your siblings there are things that drive you totally batty. So how do I balance my struggles with each of them without offending the Hamel kingdom?

I'm not sure yet, but I'll give it a try starting with......

Tom Hamel: Action Hero

2010-10-22T08:40:00.001-07:00

Firstly, clearly this is not a week from my last post. I promise to improve henceforth.

How can you possibly give credit to your hero? It is an impossible task, but I will attempt it.

Cheesy as it may be, but my hero undoubtedly is my Dad. He is everything you can imagine a hero to be. Strong, Independent, Intelligent, Kind, Caring, and Selfless. He is a bulldog when he needs to be, a shoulder to weep into, an imaginative man with the ability to make dolls and blankets come to life when boo boos are a plenty, and he’s even occasionally a rock star.

My dad is awesome. Consider this little ditty:

How many RPC students does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
(You pause to consider what Catholic joke may be coming).
Zero, Tom Hamel’s already done it.

And isn’t that the truth. My Dad is a man of action. Oh my goodness, things are about to get even better!! My Dad is an action hero. Perhaps that’s what RPC should give to all its grads. The Tom Hamel action figure: a Saint in the making.®

But I know he’s not perfect. He has his little faults. He eats ice cream when he knows he’s not supposed to. He is a big tease like all the men in my life. He loves ABBA (sorry Padre).

….I think this is an appropriate time to end this list.

I still like to think he’s perfect though.

So now to let you in on a not so secret family secret. It goes like this. I was a newborn and my parents were out after mass one Sunday with all of us four kids. Some family friends were sitting nearby eating their lunch as well. The Father of the other family said to my Dad “So is this your last kid?” To which my Father replied by gesturing towards Jeffrey my older brother by two and a half years “He was our last kid!” When Mom tells the story she makes sure we know that the other Father was asking something a little to personal.

But alas it is true. I am the classic Catholic surprise baby.

I came into my parent’s life in a time of great prosperity for them. I think they were quite shocked by the fact that another ‘blessing’ was coming into their lives. I’ve known about my origins since I was about 12 when I asked my Mom “How did you feel when you found out you were pregnant with me?” (Inquisitive much?) When she told she was quite surprised and the implications set in it changed how I looked at things. I was no longer the final precious planned Hamel baby, but instead I was a tragic mistake, an interruption in their already busy lives. I began to think that that was why I was born bald, with a V on my forehead, and not nearly as classically cute as the other kids. Now I know this seems ridiculous, but I’ve spoken to many other youngest children and this type of active imagination coupled with a sense of inferiority to their siblings is quite commonplace.

Of course I began to mature and realize that you can’t always trust your 12-year-old self and the dramatic musings of your heart. God does indeed work in mysterious ways and surprise us all the time with many wonderful things. But something still remained in me, egging me on year after year that I was inferior.

And so returns Tom Hamel to the story. I believe that my coming into the world changed my Dad in a way he didn’t see coming. You’d have to ask him about the exact details as it is just a notion on my behalf. I have always had a special connection with him as a result. That has always worked its way into our relationship. I can look strait into his eyes for song after song while he sings to me and plays the guitar. It is like nothing else I have experienced in my life.

My first memory is of me sitting next to Dad wrapped in zhuzhin (my baby blanket) on the downstairs stairs in the Killarney house holding on to his arm, while he played the guitar and sang the folk song ‘Lost John Riley.’ I can transport myself back to that moment in an instant. I know exactly how I felt. Safe. I felt like I would always be happy if my Daddy was around. I could look at him forever. He was perfect.

It is perhaps a memory that happened more than once through all my stages of life. Bald, blond, scrawny, even throughout puberty again and again he was there for me. We may have disagreed between these stages on everything from the mysterious disappearance of my chocolate covered pretzels from Purdy’s to why I wasn’t ever allowed to go on any dates to why he must ask me even as an adult when I leave the house where I am going and when I will be back. I still remained spellbound.

And his heart responded to mine in a similar fashion. My Mom recalled a story to me about the last time I played with my worship team at TWU, a crowning accomplishment in my life. During one of my solos he turned to her and said “Diane, she’s my favorite mistake.”

The happiest day of my life was not so long ago. I got to marry my best friend in the world, tied with Dad for the best man I know. In the back of the church right before I walked down the aisle Dad kept affirming me telling me how good this was and how he felt so secure giving me to Robbie. He told me He loved me. I tried to hold back tears failing miserably but smiling through them I told him I loved him too. And then came the affirmation I needed to know that I am loved and was planned for this world. It came at a perfect moment. He said to me something to the effect of “I’m so glad we had you Laura. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.” Those words are truth. They tell me I can conquer anything for I am truly loved and cherished. I am invincible. I am in fact the second generation Tom Hamel action figure: The Laura de Fleuriator®.

To top things off Dad wrote me a song for my wedding. It was perfect. I was so surprised. He sneakily wrote it in the basement in the months leading up to the big day. He had been playing it for months for friends and family alike when they would come to visit trying it out on them like a true artist. The name of it is ‘The girl at the top of the stairs’ commemorating his own memory of his little Laura waiting for him at the top of the stairs every day when he got home from work. The morning of the wedding he took a photo of me all ready to go to the church, veil and makeup intact standing excited looking for approval from my Daddy and Mommy at the top of the stairs. He showed that photo at the reception while he played the song. You see, my Daddy is a very thoughtful one.

The picture I’ve included below is of that very moment. Note that all three of his beautiful girls, plus little Cate are totally entranced by Tom Hamel, their hero. In that moment he was his real self removed of all the glitz and glamour that I sometimes ascribe to him of action and heroics. He was showing me what could logically be called a nearly perfect love, only because it is earthly. But as far as I’m concerned its perfect.

Aren’t I lucky?

I love you Dad.

My first best friend

2010-09-01T13:12:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: These following posts as part of my writing project are not in any particular order of favor. I love my family, all of them, equally. They all know that. Now you do too.

A natural place for me to begin this journey is with one of my parents. They are in fact the reason I am here. For that I thank them (ahem) and move on.

Let me give you a little bit of background first on my family. I have one mommy and one daddy. They are still married after 38 years (a modern day miracle). I am the youngest. I was preceded into the Hamel family by Jennifer, Emily, and Jeffrey. We were all cute, happy, energetic, and dramatic children. We sometimes fought, but we always made up. My parents are to thank for this. As an educator I would truly give their parenting skills an A+. I suppose the first relationship I ever made was with my mother since I spent nine cozy months in her womb. So in honor of her being my first best friend here goes:

Diane Irene Gummeson she began.

One of my favorite things to do when I was a little girl was ask my mommy to tell me a story about when she was a little girl, when she was Diane Irene Gummeson. I remember stories of her peeking over a little barrier where she saw the brand new puppies that were just born to the family dog. I remember countless recollections of her sitting on her daddy's lap while he played with her hair. One of my favorite stories was of the tricky game of 'I Spy' her little sister used to play with their daddy. Did she ever stump him with her elaborate description of a light fixture. Another favorite was a story from the dinner table. One night her Dad picked up the salad dressing and shook it behind his head not realizing that the lid was off. It flew all over the wall behind him making a colossal mess. All the kids sat there with frozen expressions while the laughter began to build up inside them. Would their beloved Father be furious? He broke out into laughter and released theirs as well.

She would also go way back in her family history telling about the time that her great-grandma with the tight bun and tight disposition once spent a whole afternoon rolling down a hill with her grandchildren much to their amazement. Sometimes I think these were my own memories. I knew them inside and out.

We especially bonded over stories of her Daddy and her brother Len, who she lost when she was in her early twenties. I loved to hear about them because I could see a part of her that so few people saw. Her love for her Daddy was so apparent. Her accounts of Len's mischievous ways were just plain amusing. She would delight in their memories and cry for their loss. I grew to cry with her missing the Grandpa that I never got to meet. Even at a young age I felt it was important to remember them. She made them real to me and the rest of the kids. She let us in on a little piece of heaven. Its truer than true that love never goes away.

So it is clear that my mother is a storyteller. When we were kids and funny little things would happen or we would say some something priceless she would write it down. She had a few journals full of all the things we said and did. Like when I decidedly dumped all my cereal on the floor and after with an innocent look on my face said 'Uh Oh....' Or when Emme and Jeff were playing with imaginary guns which they were strictly instructed not to do. When they were caught Emily being the sharp witted little stinker that she was said 'We're playing Cowboys and Indians and we're shooting rattle snakes.' I can only imagine all the laughs she and Dad had behind our backs when these stories were in the making.

Now all of her children have become storytellers of some sort. Through art, through history, through law, through teaching we are all acutely aware of the stories that make people who they are.

But who is this woman now that all her children are grown and launched? Has she shed her role of motherhood completely?? Of course not. She has taken on a whole new flock of children: the students of Trinity Western University. Most of my friends from TWU know her as the woman who loving bestows mom hugs. At least that’s how they first get to know her. Then she becomes a supporter, a listener, a shoulder to cry on, someone to laugh with, and a friend. This isn't her only role at TWU. Don't go thinking that she just has a free hugs stand in the cafeteria. She is the parent-relations coordinator and works her hiney off to create awesome programs for parents to support them while their students are far away. She takes on all the aforementioned roles in their lives as well. I have a sneaking suspicion that once she leaves TWU she will be remembered for her hugs more than anything.

However, all you TWU students out there I want you to know something. You've only got her on loan. She’s my mamma.

Only a week ago or so I was feeling distressed. Mom was over at my place and being the intuitive mother that she is gave me one of these famous hugs. Sometimes I like to think that I am a big grown up girl with bills to pay and a husband to care for and that I have become mostly invincible. But when she gave me that hug something happened to me. An all to familiar feeling came rushing back. Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt warm and cozy all over. A little sob crept up that I kept hidden from everyone. I was in my mothers arms. So in spite of my increasing age and increasing degrees and experience in life I am aware that I will always feel like a little girl cradled and cozy, allowed to cry with permission to face my failures and faults, safe in my mothers arms.

Diane Irene Hamel. My mamma, I love you.

Me Madre getting ready to send me off into womanhood.

Big changes, Big Ideas.

2010-08-23T22:41:00.000-07:00

Mr. and Mrs. de Fleuriot de la Coliniere

372 days ago I last mused to my little world of conquerings. Alot has changed. I have conquered the following:

- My fear of classroom management. It turns out I can be scary and relatable at the appropriate times
- I have added a degree to my name.
- I planned an amazing wedding with my Roberto. It was quite honestly a perfect day.
- I married Mr. Right (kind of a big deal). Now I am Mrs. Right. We love each other alot and it is beautiful.
- I set up a wee little home for me and the husbando with lots of his help.
- I've made pizza from scratch. This was probably the most frustrating of my accomplishments in this list.

So what comes now for me? The thing is that I really don't know. This summer I have spent alot of time waiting for things to happen. The reality is that thats where we're at. In the meantime its looks like I won't be going back to school for the first time since I was 3. I have an active little mind and to be honest I'm starting to go a little nutty without any intellectual or creative pursuits. So thus I am creating an opportunity for myself which I'd like to tell you about.

But theres a little back story to it. I have been listening to alot of story tapes lately. This is something I have done since I was a wee little one. For about 3 years I fell asleep listening to Lucy Maud Montgomery's Jane of Lantern Hill every night. The comforting words would sooth me to sleep. I've been getting back into story tapes while doing some odd jobs at my dads work. I've been painting, cleaning, and organizing a ton. the story tapes pass the time beautifully.

I revisited one by Mary Higgins Clark the mystery suspense writer. Its called Kitchen Priviledges and it chronicles her life from her childhood in the Bronx to her current state as a best selling author. She has a lovely and often tragic story. She was raised in a good Irish Catholic family so many of her musings on faith and family connect with me. As I listened to it I would often be so touched that I would shed a tear or seven. Just imagine me doing various painting touch ups with my portable casette player (thats right, casette player) plugged into my ears occasionally pausing for a short weep as I reacted to her story and courageous attitude in the face of suffering.

One of the things that Mary Higgins Clark says a couple times throughout her book is that budding writers should always begin by writing what they know. I want to write what I know. I reflected on this and surmised that what I like so much about her own story is that I know the people she is writing about are/were real. They existed and breathed the same air that I do. Mrs. Clark is so gifted at relaying their story because she knew her 'characters' intimately. They were her mother, brother, children, and husband. It is her story to tell.

I have therefore decided to write what I, Laura de Fleuriot know. I know and treasure memory and the memories of my family in particular. So starting once a week (a discernable deadline) I will write a story, a poem, an anecdote, really anything about my family members. To be specific I will write only of my immediate family plus my grandparents and of course my newly betrothed husband.

Clear enough? I am excited for I want to share my story with you. Perhaps you will find my family as amusing, beautiful, crazy, ridiculous, and loving as I do.

Here goes.

My Family sans Grandparents

I take great pleasure in food.

2009-08-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

My recent conquerings have included that of baking and cooking. I have always had a desire to conquer these essential parts of life, but often laziness wins in these matters. However, the last couple of weeks have been different. With Robbie working crazy long hours there are less things for me to default to. In the last week or so I have found myself experimenting with such things and alas I have discovered that I find great pleasure in creating food. Perhaps I am drawn to learn these things now as in less than a year I will have my own household of sorts. It certainly helps.

I thought it would be fun to make a list of what I have recently made:
- 2 chicken stirfrys
- a lasagna (with Kyla and Karyn)
- a chicken, blush sauce pasta
- blueberry pancakes
- chocolate, blueberry, banana, chocolate chip pancakes (highly deadly)
- 3-4ish dozen ginger cookies (twice!!)
- 6 dozen chocolate chip cookies
- a chocolate cake from scratch
- chocolate icing (great comfort food)

I have always enjoyed making myself decadent breakfasts. I have created many omelets and 'gourmet' egg sandwiches over the years, but this week I have been experimenting with pancakes and toppings.

This little creation is my 'pink breakfast'. I enjoyed chopped and sugared strawberries on top of blueberry pancakes. It was tres yummy. I enjoyed raspberry yogurt, a touch of earl (grey that is), and pink lemonade.

These were the leftovers from the day before but with blueberries and strawberries on top. I cut the blueberries in half life my sister does for her one year old so they wouldn't roll away on me. I also had a chocolate chip muffin and white grapefruit juice. I'm a big fan of that juice and so was my nephew Benno.

This last one was a bit excessive. These would be the chocolate, blueberry, banana, chocolate chip pancakes. I topped them off with a blueberry sauce, icing sugar and I'm ashamed to say a bit of chocolate icing. I also had some of my ginger cookies, apple juice, yogurt, and chai tea. Heres a closeup of the pancakes.

I'm a fan, but this is probably something I can only eat about once a year. It was uber rich... super yummy.

So all and all this is lots of fun for me. Hopefully I'll continue to create and experiment once the school year commences.

Love story

2009-05-30T15:11:00.000-07:00

This is my love story.

I am moved by love, compelled by love, and I am ultimately designed by love.

Now I am preparing to leave myself behind as much as possible for the sake and calling of loving another person completely and fully. I want this to be a fairy tale, and in many ways it is. He came from another land, a handsome foreigner with a stellar accent different from me in every way, but our faith. God literally moved an entire family across the world and as a result I met my man. I call that epic. We met when we were young, very young. We both fell quick and fast. I can safely declare now my secret that I knew, I really knew he was the one from very early. I remember in the early days daydreaming and imagining Robbie travelling to Canada from Africa in shining armor. I would be waiting in my castle, princess hat and all. I would imagine God moving mountains for him to get to me. And then he was there, and we were happy and it was sunny.

There were signs everywhere that it was intentionally orchestrated by our Papa. He pursued me through all my inner selfish struggles of learning to love another person. I resisted and was confused and doubted, but he was convinced. He was my constant, a rock. I don't know what I would be if I'm using metaphors, probably something like a butterfly or a very restless kitten, but I know for sure that I was sure alot more flakey then him.

Then one day he asked me the question I'd been waiting for, praying for, hoping for for what seemed like forever, but I guess it really wasn't. Led by Our Lord Jesus to His mother in a beautiful graveyard of all things he asked me. I love that it was in a graveyard. 'Till death do us part.' I think thats beautiful.

I was, am dumbfounded by the fact that I am now engaged. I feel like a feather. I feel amazing.

So this is my side of the love story, the girly romantic side.

But...

I have learnt that life isn't always a fairytale. Life is draining, love is a sacrifice of self. I have been able to truly see how selfish, how self centered, how unaware of others we are. I am incredibly weak without Christ. I am nothing without him. I truly need him to love others, to love Robbie.

Dating Robbie has been my renaissance. He has allowed me to be myself, to surrender to who I am. Hes taught me that life is better when you choose to love it and not just hope that life will treat you kindly. It is our choice to live with joy or to reject it. Robbie challenges me when I need it. He is not afraid to disagree with me. Most importantly he isn't fooled by me when I'm putting on an act and he will relentlessly and patiently wait until I reveal the real Laura. This hasn't been easy for me, but I wouldn't want it any other way.

But...

While I am far too sensitive and he is perhaps far too practical we have reached a place of balance that isn't always comfortable, but it always challenging and changing us for the better. You are the potter and we are the clay.

This is my love story that will last. I am sure of it.

And if you still are confused about how I feel, this piece of music says it all.

Papa

2009-04-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

God is closer to me, more accessible to me right now than any human on earth right now. Not to say that I don't want to be around people, but I think I am finally understanding the lyrics of many a praise song such as

Be my everything. God in my waking. God in my sleeping. God in my resting. God in my waiting.

I'm falling on my knees, offering all of me. Jesus, you're all this heart is living for.

All of you is more than enough for, all of me, for every thirst and every need, you satisfy me with you love, and all I have in you is more than enough.

I have always had a hard time singing each of these songs. Its difficult to realize you dependecy on God, your utter need for him in every moment of your life. I'll never be fully there I'm sure, but for some reason I understand this better than ever. This semester has been really hard for me. Letting go of something that is so giving is painful. Finding people who love me for me only to have to leave is not the greatest. Having to trust God that everything is fulfilled in His time, according to His will. Keeping my brain in the present instead of having it wander into the future.

I
keep
waiting
for
everything
to
change
but
I
really
don't
want
it
to

Yet in this unknowing closeness that I feel with my creator that He reveals to me the extent of my brokenness, the extent of my selfishness.

The song 'Child of God' has been my song for this year. Here is it, because it can say what I cannot:

With every breath with every thought
From what is seen to the deepest part
I offer all that I've come to be
To know Your love fathering me

Father You're all I need
My soul's sufficiency
My strength when I am weak
The love that carries me
Your arms enfold me
Till I am only a child of God

With every step on this journey's walk
And wisdom's songs that the soul has sought
I give myself unreservedly
To know Your love fathering me

I want to be where You are.

2008-10-27T15:44:00.000-07:00

I wanted to share something beautiful with you. When I look at this I am reminded of the awesomeness of God. His power is so great. So overwhelming.... in a good way.

And then there is this.

To me, this photo is perfectly peaceful.

And finally....

This I see as man touching God. We are so human and broken, but he manages a way for us to make a place for us in his creation. I've been learning that lately. We are subject to a holy and eternal God, but He was firstly our creator. As an artist I never want to forget that. As a human I never want to forget that.

Vomitting on the page.

2008-10-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

I am creating a character. I am learning conflict.
So this is how I feel right now.

Blah. Confused.
Tired.
Broken down.

Loved.
Hated.

Rejected.
Needed.

My eyelashes are stuck together.

This is playmaking, discovering.
I feel very alive in my tension and confusion.

Ahhh... that feels better. Thanks for listening.

The fruit is yet to come.

2008-08-24T13:52:00.000-07:00

In these last days of summer Carly Simon's song 'Anticipation' has been playing in my head. It really hits home for me right now. This is why.

My experience at university has encompassed everything I wanted it to be and much more. I can remember 3 years ago at the brink of my first year being so nervous. I had no idea what I wanted to do. But things began to fall in place. I remember staying up all night in orientation week with friends that I continue to grow with to this day. I was scared of things to come, but anticipating it all. We entered that world with a childlike excitement of things to come. I loved them then, I love them now. As time passed where I was heading just made sense. Teaching, theatre, history... these things are written deeply in my spirit. They found me as much as I found them. I tried to run away sometimes, but each of these callings beckoned me back time and time again.

Fast forward to now.

This summer has stretched me in ways I am just beginning to see. I was Robbie-less for 2 months and still managed to have a blast, I worked my hiney off, I became an Auntie again, I learned how to relax at the cabin for the first time, I got a pretty good tan, I fell back in love with cardigans, I caught up with alot of amazing woman, and I started paying car insurance for the first time in my life. It has been the summer of learning my capacity for independence (and shopping). I don't speak of an independence that shuns the help and generosity of others, but one that discovers and expresses the understanding of self. It is an independence that risks, hopes, and dreams. I think the next step is to see the fruit of these endeavors.

I can feel the excitement running through my blood. I am of the opinion that this year I will start to see the fruit of years of stored up learning of self, knowledge of craft, and love of others.

I hope its full of sweet fruit like nectarines and peaches and strawberries. I hope I can blend a whole bunch of fruits into a delicious smoothie and then share it. Whatever it is, I'm ready. I'm ready to dive in and get wet. I'm ready to be crazy busy and barely sleep. I'm ready to learn from the wise people who I adore. I'm ready to keep going. I'm ready to let friendship blossom and flower. (And I hope its a tulip)

It may be Earl Grey talking, but I am certain that life is fantastic.

So Carly I give you a big ditto on these golden words, "Stay right here, cause these are the good old days."

Thesis Statement: the big picture through inquisitive eyes.

2008-08-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

Diving. I am so afraid of diving. This is due to a childhood fear, something I can’t let go of, something I can’t blame on anyone, although I try. The truth is, I’ve always wanted to, I just can’t rationalize why I would want to throw my body head first into a large body of water. What’s at the bottom? What is it going to feel like? Will it hurt? Will the cold hit me like walking into the freezer at work, when I can’t breathe from the shock. I guess I’m just too rationale sometimes. But there’s something in me that just wants to do it. I want to know that it’ll feel so good to just get every little bit of me wet and cool and fresh feeling. I want it more then I can understand it, and I can’t understand it, so I just can’t do it.

This is the dilemma of so many things in my life. I want it so badly, and I can’t imagine why, so I just kind of go into neutral, have a good cry and give up. But I don’t really give up because I still think about it, like now. I still have moments where I imagine my fingers outstretched first emerging, my face smiling as I give into the water, my body experiencing the rush of water on my belly, my long legs gliding me into deep dark water. All of this seems to happen in my daydreams with an Enya-like soundtrack.

So why all this reflection? Tonight I was sitting in bed, waiting for Robbie to call me, and I was growing restless as I often do. Today was kind of a restless day. Nothing really worked out the way I wanted it to. If you know me, it is probably clear to you that I struggle with waiting for things such as phone calls. I was getting irate in my room when I thought “I would really like to take a walk in the rain… or just feel the rain, or just sit in the rain.”

Queue the internal struggle of Laura.

Rationale Laura: “That’s ridiculous. You’ll need to change into clothes that you don’t mind getting wet and then you’ll need to dry off when you get inside. It will be a pain in the hiney and besides, this bed is very comfy.”

Inquisitive/Restless Laura: “But I am so irate waiting here. I have lived in BC all my life and I don’t think I’ve ever just given into the rain and let it get me wet on my own accord. Perhaps I will appreciate it more and it will treat me better if I just let it do what it wants to do.”

Rationale Laura: “You are going nuts young lady. I truly think that you need to examine the fact that you think the rain has a personality. This is truly a problem with you. Irene said there’s an actual name for this problem… personification of something, well that’s not quite right but, oh well. Back to the main point… It is important to note that if you are outside you shouldn’t take your cell phone due to the impending wetness and then you might miss a call from Robbie. Look at the time. Any moment now he may call. Any moment. He might suddenly feel and urge to ask you his opinion on something… like the weather for example, or how you feel about vigilantes.”

Inquisitive/Restless Laura: “Well… I’ll tell you what. I don’t care about getting cold, or whether he calls, and even if he wants to know how I feel about vigilantes I’m sure I can call him back. I want to feel rain in my hair willingly. I want to smell the pavement. I want to get wet and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I am getting up. See. I am walking down the stairs. I am opening the door. I am outside. And as a final comment... Rationale Laura… I am not thinking about this decision so please go away for a while. Do not be offended, I just want to get wet.”

Rationale Laura: silence...

So when I was outside, getting wet on purpose, I was thinking about diving. I was thinking about how much I wanted to jump into the Shuswap and just get wet, on purpose. I sat out there for a while. I thought about what is bothering me these days. Then I stopped thinking and started paying attention to my body. At first it screamed at me to go inside. I was cold. I started to feel a wave of Goosebumps hit me on my arms. I wanted to run inside. Then there was a quick shiver… and relief. Suddenly I found that I liked the temperature, every drop felt pretty good. I even put my feet into the stream of water going down the hill on my road, just because I wanted to see my feet in the water make ripples. I really like my feet. I splashed around. I got wet. But it wasn’t a childlike visit to the outside, but a reflective time. The most important thing was that I felt free to follow my impulses and just be.

être.

I think this is incredibly profound for where I am in life. I am capable of so many great things that I don’t even care to admit. I can’t do all of them, but for random periods in my limited existence thus far, I think I don’t even try to do any of them. And that is just ridiculous.

So the whole point is that I want to risk, even if its silly little things, because those are the hardest for me to conquer. Perhaps I’ll go down in history as “Laura, conqueror of silly little things.” Seriously.

So, here’s to full body immersion. May the Shuswap cover every part of me.