Archive for September, 2013

As I navigated the aisles “The Things We Do For Love” played in my head; a screechy record I’d have given anything to snap in half.

You see I had an intense headache all day yesterday. Wait, that’s a lie. It wasn’t all day. It did presto into a massive migraine for several hours or so just to mix things up a little.

But, as us mum’s do, I trudged on, driving the boys to school, continuing the laundry I’d started the day before, cleaning one of the bathrooms that just couldn’t wait another second, sorting and tidying a pile of wayward clothes that were, admittedly, mostly mine, cleaning the fish-y bowl and running up and down the stairs five hundred times or so fetching this and that for my daughter who was, to top it all off, home sick with the flu.

So yes, I hopped around like a good little bunny mummy until it finally took me out. Around four o’clock I had no choice but to surrender.

With one last swoop of my sponge, the pain grabbed hold and dragged me to my room, roughly shoving me onto the bed. “Lie down,” it jeered. “And stay down, or you’ll be sorry.”

Its grip tightened.

It was showing me who was boss and I knew better than to cross it. It pressed with all its might. It squeezed until I thought my skull would open and seep onto the pillow. I lay in frozen fear with no intention of disobeying its very clear command.

That is, until I realized with horror, that I’d forgotten about dinner.

“Who’s going to make dinner?” My panicked whisper pierced through the delirium and my throbbing brain.

“Not you,” hissed the pain. “I told you you’re not going anywhere.”

There was a moment I’d felt defeated. A moment where I thought I had to listen. A moment when I believed I couldn’t win.

And then there was the moment where I (gingerly) sat up, (stiffly) stood up and (somewhat sheepishly) spoke up; “Screw you,” I exclaimed. “My family needs to eat!”

That folks, is how I found myself staggering through the Safeway aisles, and I can literally use the word painfully here, picking out the ingredients to create a robust Spaghetti.

I almost made it too.

Standing in line, waiting to pay, reality kicked in. Still in front of me, was getting this stuff home, organizing it, cooking it, serving it and cleaning it all up and I have to say, it all just seemed a tad undoable.

As I leaned on the cart and discreetly dialed the number to our favourite restaurant, the record played on, only a little louder and little less screechy and it made me realize that when you do things for love, you never lose.

TONIGHT'S DINNER - made with love

TONIGHT’S DINNER – made with love and only slightly less agony

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Well, we’ve finally become those people. We’re increasing my life insurance payout, but rather than freaking, I’m stoked. Why? Because I’m pretty sure it’s my husband’s Hallmark way of saying; “Hey babe, I realize that although no amount of money could possibly replace you, I’m willing to bet you’re worth at least half a mil dead.”  Aww, shucks honey.

We’re also upping our…shudderRESP contributions. It turns out that fifteen years of socking it away is barely enough to cover one child’s university tenure, let alone three and that whoop it up, I’m here for anything but the books college lifestyle isn’t even in the equation. Every hard-squeezed dime has to go towards education. Those campus capers and naughty nights will have to be subsidized by the part-time job my poor kids won’t have an ounce of spare time for.


These are my children though. The little humans that I grew from teeny seeds. For years, I’ve watered, fed and fertilized them and despite my lack of talent for gardening, I’ve (miraculously) managed to keep this one lush and vibrant to date. I want to give these sprouts the sun, the rain and the shade they need and I don’t need to tell you I want nothing but optimum growing conditions to sustain their roots. But wanting the best for something puts you in the position of having to understand what that really means. What exactly is this elusive best?

Will the palatial gardens I’ve been tending turn desertous if they have to feed and water themselves? I, of course, realize an actual garden would eventually become dull and desperate if it had to rely on itself for nourishment, but we are talking about kids here, right? They have arms, legs and mouths after all, moving parts for heaven’s sake, that can be surprisingly helpful when it comes to wielding a hose, directing a nozzle and taking a sip.

I admit I’m not sure at exactly what point we’re supposed to know when it’s time to shut the tap, but in the meanwhile, I’ll keep providing and pruning. After all, they’re only just beginning to bloom.

Lunch 1

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A lucky writer friend found a very special gift. Read about it here:



Over the last five days, I have been utterly possessed by what could become a significant work-in-progress. Some of you, who have been following my blog for a while, will remember that I wrote a post about my mother being a writer. For years, as I was growing up, my mother was writing a book. My father worked the night shift at a lumber mill, and night after  night we kids would be lulled to sleep by the clacking of my mom’s old Remington typewriter, complete with the ding of the bell to indicate she had come to the end of a line and then the crank-swish of the carriage return.

As I got older and curious about this book, my mom would dole out little bits and pieces of the story like Scheherazade in the Arabian Nights. The characters and the plot wove its way into my being, in…

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Like a droid, I walked into Starbucks and it wasn’t until I opened my mouth to order that I realized I didn’t actually want a coffee.


What am I doing here? I wondered.


If you’ve ever been to Starbucks, you’ll know there’s a language. You need to be able to order your grande, non-fat, half-sweet, extra hot, double shot, no whip macchiato in 5 seconds flat. No stumbling. No stuttering.


So, to be standing in front of this high-haired, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed barista and not have a clue what to say was, well, awkward.


“Something cold?” She offered, unable to conceal the hopeful gleam that I wouldn’t hold up her line much longer.


Something cold, I puzzled. Something cold? But, but I always got coffee. Hot coffee. Extra hot coffee. Something cold?!


Her eyes fluttered and a Colgate crescent fastened itself into place just below her sweet, petite, pierced nose.


“We have these things,” she informed me in a voice that sounded like a long, twirling question mark. “They’re like, cold with ice and berries, you know? They’re good.” She shrugged.


“Alright,” I conceded. “I guess I’ll try one of those.”


It felt odd to watch her write my name on the foreign, clear plastic cup, the comfort of my usual white, smooth familiarity gone with my snap decision. But I only had a moment to feel uneasy about my impromptu choice. In a flash, spontaneity was set in front of me, beads of water diluting the black lines of my freshly Sharpied H, A, Z and Y.


As I walked out into the sunshine, I paused, the fear that my gamble would disappoint, halting me.


Finally, caution was thrown to wind and I whet my whistle.


Sometimes it just takes a ballsy barista to bust your blahs and quench what has been a long-standing thirst.

Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher

Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher

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As happens with most things I take on, when I signed up to participate in the Community Story Board’s Chain Story Event, I immediately checked to see if I had in fact, fallen off my rocker. Turns out it was a lot of fun and I got to be inspired by a heap of imaginative peeps. The first seven parts are linked below and my bit, the eighth bit, follows after the first seven links and there’s a link at the end to what will soon be the ninth bit. I hope you enjoy!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight of “Squirrels: This Time It’s Personal

Gosling Fedora

“Oh Shit,” McAdams murmured. “Now we’re done for.” She was staring at Sauron who had fallen to his knees, blood soaking his gilded gown.

All Gosling could see through his watery eyes and the smoky billows were her deep, red lips. He tore his gaze from them just in time to watch Sauron’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he fell, face first, into the dirt.

“What now, genius?” She continued. “We’ll only have every nefarious creature in the Kingdom after us. That’s all. Nothing to worry about here, folks.”

“Oh c’mon, my little steam pot,” Gosling soothed as he hauled himself up, swatting dusty debris from the sheen of his pants. “You know he wasn’t gonna let the goat-poker thing go. I did what had to be done.”

“Listen loverboy, we’re Canadian. We are not equipped for this kind of nasty. It’s just not, well, polite!” McAdams had also managed to stand and was fixing her skirt and fluffing her hair.

Damn. All that broad had to do was bat her lashes and Gosling was a goner. He attempted to shut out her porcelain skin, gold locks and tiny waist.

Ahem. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shoulders in an attempt to appear macho. “Since it seems we’ve forgotten our manners then, I may as well help myself.”

He stooped to pick up Sauron’s gold fedora and proceeded to place it on his own head. When he saw disgust cross McAdams’ face, he simply said, “Don’t think I didn’t hear your gun go off as well, killer.” and with a wink, he started along the path.

“She’ll be hot on our trail, you know.”

“Who?” He asked, already aware of the answer.

McAdams kicked a rock out of her way further scuffing her already destroyed designer pumps.

“The Goddess, that’s who. I’m sure she somehow already knows what we’ve done.”

Gosling had no time to worry about the Goddess. He’d deal with her when the time came. Right now he had to get them to Rivendale in one piece. He knew McAdams was behind him, knickers in knot, twisting her fake diamond ’round her slender finger, fraught over stinking like Cayenne, but he could not let anything distract him. Well, maybe he could indulge in a few impurities from this morning’s romp with her just to keep him motivated. A man has needs, after all.

Back at the old Smokeasy, Sam stood polishing glasses and wiping the bar. He was restless. The place was empty but for one and the cleaning kept him busy. He sliced limes and restocked the ice, folded the drying towels that were fresh out of wash.

But all the while, he kept an eye on his one customer who sat with her back to him, long tendrils of smoke curling up above her head, the pink bow of her apron jutting out below the back of her chair, a blood stained pencil sticking out from her disgruntled bun.

The intermittent clink of ice from her glass reminded him every once in a while, that he wasn’t alone.


And with that, I pass the torch over to Treyzguy who seems more than capable of keeping it lit.

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No time to blog

A post in an hour? My God, unheard of, I tell myself. But it’s Friday, I argue. Yes, yes, you should definitely post while it’s still Friday…even though you’ve only had an hour to yourself all day…all week…it’s still totally possible.

Oh, wo-ez me, right? I mean, first world problems or what?!


It’s been back-to-school week here in the Hazy household. The same for many, I’m sure and in between cutting hair, tweezing eyebrows, cleaning rooms, buying supplies organizing finances (take that with a grain of salt) and spending a fortune on a selection of clothing items I can count on one hand, I have come to realize that no kids, no dog and less (astonishingly vast amounts of) shedded, a creatively engineered word, hair do not in fact equal more time.

So, I literally have one hour here. Okay, I’ll admit to pinning something a while back that alluded to the fact that I hate when people misuse the word literally. Thus, I must eat that particular word and restock it with…loosely. I have to pick my daughter up in 49 minutes and I only have 37 percent battery left on my laptop (heaven forbid I’d have to run upstairs and get the charger) so really, there’s nothing literal about me having one full hour to write this post. It is literally a loose hour at the very most.

This weekend will involve spending, driving, eating, playing, watching, cheering and finally, celebrating the ability and opportunity we have to do all of these things. Something that shouldn’t be overlooked.

What will you do this weekend?


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