#thehomeproject Home Edition

My Dad 'built' our house. In so far as a Civil P.Eng. builds his house without his very mechanical father and father-in-law. No he built it.

It is a profound point of pride in our family that while we lived in the suburbs our home was a home.. made with busted fingers and the sweat and designs of our people. My mother the wizard who brought the 1 and 5 year old onto the old property to foist up a structure that would be home. A builder in her own right she taught me every trick I know to design or tile or finish or ... well I can't uploster, she is the Alpha.

Homemaking has its meaning to us.

My husband is a soft-bodied lawyer from the rich side of town where every domestic charm came from the very best catalogues.

But he tries. Damn I acquired him the summer after we met as a painter and amour. Good combo. He was faking it mostly but 20 years hence blood may be thicker than water but plumb chalk and spackle binds in its own special way. We are now one. I have no end of special treats on my walls and floors thanks to his crossover.

For the long weekend we set to our religion. Renovate. The target to unburden ourselves of the old workshop for a cantina space. The current garage leaves enough workshop room for amateurs like us. And soon more room for summer sun where the kids can all run while the salmon BBQs. A bigger passion than the homemaking the object togethering. Wish you could join us. Soon.



ps.. there is a well known joke at my office. If I am renovating I must be pregnant. But no we can simply rest on our laurels (or bay leaf as the case may be) -- its just for us at this point.

#thehomeproject

What you might not know is that when I started this blog it was a lot about my husband. Not directly. More about a lure to the writer he is... incidentally the dad in here. (More important backstory...)

I do huddle to the men on my digital, and internal, blogroll. Their mindful lives written. I think the best part of being a mother might be the dads! Since I am so committed to the gender inclusion when it comes to this media I was pretty attracted to the man focus in #thehomeproject. A project to invite anyone to speak weekly to the muse they make a home with... The task at hand a photo a week to show what we see. You know something like this:




But instead I went with Dadzilla from our recent polar bear swim:


ps.. Are we a media? Are we a channel?

Skate

I grew up in a town with little for recreation. Even less in the winter. There was nothing or skating at the rink. I was one of the few chumps who could bbbaaareely skate. I dragged myself there. These were the days before I was dateable at all really; gawky and bookish then. I was a girl who couldn't attract a decent skater suffice it to say and that was the rank for those many dark months.

Today our family went for a skate and we all had fun. Me the most. I put on my game face to teach my kids. I urged my husband a good Canadian all-star swift on ice to skate away. I love to watch him skate. Even on days that are not today.

Men are better when their feet don't touch the ground.

Sure do

Some days their vulnerabilities sure press to make us better people than we are.

Oh Rob!

A few weeks back MetroDad posted On racists, and such. I wanted to write something back about coming from a family of racists but instead I expressed my curiosity about the production value of the new MetroDad TV show!! Read all about it!! What it's gonna be like Little Mosque on the Prairie or Corner Gas? I wonder about things like this.

I appreciate what MD repeats from the gospel of Denis Leary, racism is taught. But how is it taught? That's what I want to know. This morning we crossed Oak street and a clutch of fellas were striding through the intersection in long coats and yarmulkas. I pointed them out to Miss Fancy pretty absentmindedly. I also said they were going to church. A Jewish kind of church called synagogue. I am ignorant as shit, eh? Why didn't I just say synagogue in the first place??? Part of me thinks being so totally self-centred about culture or religion is a way to teach racism. Idiot.

So 1.) What about you? Do you know how to not teach racism? and 2.) What do you think would be the best production value for MetroDad TV?

Three Case Studies

When I meet pleasant blogger families in person it never fails to blow me away how incredibly life-like the husbands are. I am surprised. Not that the writing makes spouses seem wooden or anything. Oh, dear. What am I saying? Maybe I have bought into the words of our enemies; we all blog because we live insular, repressed lives that prompt our whining writing.

Noooooo, she reports.
Au contraire.

In my case study of three I have now proved that we blog because we all have rakish, genius, articulate and engaging husbands. It's like how people say if your spouse dies and you have a good marriage, you'll marry again soon. That shit creeps me out but it's undeniable.

Me. I'm a dreamer. I'd like to feel we were out here writing away because we need each other. Too bad for me and my dreams.

Thanks for coming over Famille de Fromage-Tamano

Tell me do you blog, just to show off your husband?

Ring of Truth

A long time ago a young man went to the bank and cashed that bond from grandma. The store was on Granville Street and they'd been there together. You would have thought the bond would cover it but no the deal could only be done after he crawled past the mushrooms growing in the floor of the Camaro to find those last few dollars among the spare change slipped beneath the bucket seats.

Credit cards were something unknown.

Almost immediately he went to his girlfriend to ask she excuse herself from her 4th floor office. She scowled harshly and they took the ride down in the freight elevator. "What do you need money?", she asked.

Out came that ring. You asked me to marry you.

In that moment you shattered the myth that I'm the sensitive one. A good start to this marriage, I'd say. That you would transform that bitchy girlfriend into your wife is always with me, I know you didn't know that. I'm not one to say marrying you has made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, thank god. Marrying you gives me what I need, counterpoint. The opportunity with each day to save myself from myself.

I am one to put on airs, for sure. Sensitivity, intellect, responsibility. All those years ago I chose a diamond ring in an antique shop that I thought was a good choice. I loved it, especially that first day, but I never wore it. It seems diamonds are something I admire but not something I wear. A few weeks ago I checked the black velvet box and it wasn't there. I can't remember when I last had it but despite that I'd say I'm heartbroken. It screams callousness to have lost track of something most women guard with their lives. It saddens me to be without this piece of that day. As a talisman of lives together I most comfortably sit, instead, adorned only by the plainer gold band from our wedding day. But I'll keep looking as, apparently, I just never seem to know where things turn up.