Harriet’s Pet Pea and the love of my life (English children’s accents)

Well, friends, I’ve done it again.

It happened before, with Charlie Bit My Finger.

And it’s happened again.

I would like to announce that Poor Kyle and I are selling our house to pay for plane tickets to England so we can move there, take up residency, and raise a couple of adorable British children just like this one:

http://www.smories.com/watch/harriets_pet_pea/

(Sadly, I cannot find a way to embed in my blog the video to which the above link will take you. But if you click it—IF YOU CLICK IT—you will not be disappointed. I am backing up this claim with my AoOL money-back guarantee, it’s THAT GOOD.)

So click it.

And then come back here and tell me how much you love it.

Harriet’s Pet Pea, the most brilliant children’s story I’ve heard since I can’t even think of when, was written by Andrea Boerem, my as-of-five-hours-ago newest literary role model.

Half of me hates her for writing the story before I did.

The other half of me hates myself for such feelings, because I know I never would’ve thought of it and thus, had Andrea not written it, Harriet’s Pet Pea would have never been born, and how sad a place would the world be then, I ask you?

HOW SAD?

So sad.

What do you think, should I try to get an interview with Andrea, to pick her brilliant literary mind?

Posted in awesome., Book Reports, like-it-link-it, short films, short stories/vignette | Tagged , | 10 Comments

I really, really am.

I am taking a Women’s Studies class right now, wherein the topic of feminism is discussed every day at great length and breadth. Incidentally, the subject matter is not altogether different from several other classes I have taken in recent semesters. In my experience, higher education literary professors like to champion feminism any chance they get, whether in American Lit. or Poetry 101 or Victorian Novel or just plain Remedial English. So in every class I’ve taken over the past two years, feminism has been discussed at least a little, but mostly a lot.

This does not make me an expert on feminism.

But it does make me a little bit educated on it.

And I think that’s why this post from the well-known (and generally beloved) CJane, which I read four months ago on its original publish date, has bothered me ever since.

I really do urge you to read the post before finishing this post of mine, because it will give you the background necessary to see where I am coming from.

If, however, you choose not to read the post, I will summarise it this way: CJane purports that, according to the definition of a feminist as one who “believe[s] in, support[s], look[s] fondly on, hope[s] for, and/or work[s] towards equality of the sexes,” she is NOT a feminist. And here’s why (in her own words):

“Equality has never done any good for [her.]”

“[L]ife is not fair. So how can it be equal?”

“Male and female will never be equal.”

This particular post of CJane’s bothered me instantly, but I never pinpointed exactly why until just this week. I thought at first it might’ve been the annoyingly cliché photograph at the head of the post, showing Courtney in a flowery dress sitting demurely, cross-ankled on a loveseat, bottle-feeding her infant; while her husband sprawled out on the sofa perpendicular, sleeves rolled up, glasses perched atop his masculine head as he poured over the day’s newspaper (the business section, no doubt).

Or maybe it was simply my general tendency toward liberal-mindedness that forbade me to make peace with such a concept, I thought.

At length, though, I could not accept that general explanation. I needed to know why it irked me. I needed exact reasons. Details. Similes!

Of course, being the pathetic excuse for a crusader that I am, I pushed the entire experience to the back of my mind for several months while I took time to finish the semester, and holiday in Arizona. Still, throughout the course of my denial, the thought popped up on occasion: Why does CJane’s declaration that she is not a feminist bother me so tremendously?

And now, as I find myself slowly reacclimating to the university environment, especially in a Women’s Studies class, I have finally given myself the time to sort it through, and I think I’ve got the answer.

CJane’s post is not, as she purports, discussing equality, but instead discussing sameness.

Equality is defined as “the state of being equal, especially in status, rights, and opportunities.”

Same, on the other hand, is defined as “identical; not different; unchanged.”

I fully agree that men and women are not, and will never be the same. Physiologically, emotionally, whateverally. We were created differently. We are innately different. We will never be the same.

And yet, I fully believe that men and women are and will always be equal.

For a woman in 2010 to publicly announce that “equality has never done [her] any good” seems the epitome of ignorance. Which doesn’t make sense, because CJane has never come across as ignorant to me. Always before, she has seemed intelligent, educated, open-minded, thoughtful. (In fact I always have, and continue to enjoy reading her blog. I don’t intend for this post to become a let-me-hate-on-CJane heyday.)

In one of the 679 formal responses to said post—responses of which the first 150 (I couldn’t muster the stamina to read more than that) seemed pretty equally divided between support for and rejection of CJane’s assertion—a commenter said that she didn’t really think women had it all that bad 100 years ago.

I was aghast.

100 years ago, in the year 1910, women still couldn’t vote. Not much before that, married women couldn’t divorce their husbands; if their husbands divorced them, the children automatically went into the custody of their father. If married women earned any money, it belonged to their husbands. If their husbands squandered it, too bad, so sad. If anyone else ripped them off, their husbands had to sue on behalf of their wives; if he didn’t feel up for a legal battle, again: too bad, so sad for the woman.

So here, in 2010, is Courtney Kendrick, a woman who runs her own (presumably lucrative) business, who not only votes but also campaigns publicly for her chosen political candidates, whose mother is on Provo City Council, who served a mission for her church, who has been divorced by her own free will and choice…and for whom equality has never done anything?

I don’t follow.

Putting my CJane-anxiety aside, all I can really say is this:

I am a feminist.

The way I learned it (just last week), there are several main types of feminism, and a score of subtypes.

In my generation, feminism often gets a bad rap leftover from the bra burning hairy-legged radicals of the 60s and 70s. A lot of people in my university classes refuse to consider themselves feminists based on the belief that doing so will be yoking themselves to said “fanatics.”

By this definition, I am not a feminist either.

I mean, look at me:

I am married.

I shave my legs.

I wear a bra (often an ill-fitting one, but still).

I am unemployed.

By the radicals’ definition, I am an horrible feminist.

But according to the definition from the original post that sparked CJane’s claim of nonfeminism—feminism n (1895) 1 : the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes—I am a model feminist.

Because if you look a little closer, you’ll see a woman who…

…wields a sledgehammer right alongside her husband as they tear out their picket fence (an interesting symbolism in itself, I think).

…attends university, and outscores 95% of her fellow students of both sexes.

chooses to vote. And sometimes chooses not to.

…feels comfortable enough in her own skin to skip shaving her legs if it suits her (sometimes for months at a time).

…goes to her husband with difficult decisions, not for his permission, nor even for his blessing, but simply for his opinion, as an equal (yes, an equal).

…is plotting a career, and fully expects to accomplish her goals someday.

I am a feminist.

I do subscribe to the theory of political, economic, and social equality of the sexes.

Biological sameness? No, never.

But equality?

Absolutely.

No bra-burning necessary.

(Though I really should see about replacing mine one of these days.)

Posted in in all seriousness, introspection, Married Life, self-actualisation, what I'm about | 23 Comments

Saturday Steals Recap and a Teaser and Something to Make you Puke

This is the Saturday Steals recap of the weekend’s steals. It includes photos and links to each person who participated in the Saturday Steals event over the weekend. If you wish that you could have your photo and link showcased on my blog, maybe you should join us this coming Saturday (and ever Saturday for the next nine months) for another round.


Nain of View from Down Here scored this wonderful contraption—a one-cup coffee maker—as a delightful wedding gift.

Shesten at Two Weeks On Two Weeks Off scored two pairs of cute prescription glasses PLUS SHIPPING for 20 bones.

Then, because she is faithful and honourable and lovely and wise, she wrote ANOTHER Steal post at her OTHER blog, I Heart Monster, detailing her nifty new book light (it illuminates the pages from behind, so they’re backlit, what a novel idea!) that she got for a sweet deal online.

Niki from A Lovely Lifestyle landed some excellent deals from an estate sale for a total of $22.00—the handbag alone (item D) is worth that!

My Spanish friend Chloe from My New Life as a Housewife got a host of steals, among which were her wedding announcements (!!!) paid for by her parents unexpectedly. They look cute, too!

Molly from Red Rawlins also got a lot of wonderful steals as gifts from friends and family, but my favourite was the segment wherein she waxed poetic on the importance of not being too sentimental about STUFF, for fear of turning into a house like this from Hoarders. Too true, Molly. (I have a room in my basement that looks eerily similar to the above photo.)

**Side note: Did you know that any way you want to spin the topic of Saturday Steals is fine with me? If you want to talk about the best steal you ever got, or the steal you hope someday to get, or the horrible luck you have with steals in general…THAT’S GREAT! I am no respecter of stealers, nor would I ever turn away a thoughtful Steal post. Come one, come all. I think that’s how it goes.***


And Lindsay from a blog that is, sadly, private, scored a PLETHORA of great Steals this weekend, my favourite of which is this “New Model” old school sewing machine, which makes a lovely bookshelf focal point, for $10.

So there you have it. Saving the weekend blogworld one steal at a time—that’s us.

******************

I have a post in the works that has been weighing heavily on my mind for several months now. It’s about feminism. It might stir the pot a bit. It might not. But I will sure be glad when it’s out of my head so I can finally  get back to focusing on the important things in life like Patrick Jane and tweezing my armpit hairs.

(Did you think I was joking with that last bit?)

Posted in Saturday Steals | 4 Comments

Saturday Steals: French Apothecary Jar and A Little Less Rooster

Hello. Welcome to Saturday Steals.

If I don’t sound enthusiastic this week it’s because I’m not.

I’m getting burned out of this whole Saturday Steals business.

It’s not that I’m not getting steals… On the contrary; I get great steals. Every week. Sometimes every day.

But I am getting tired of sharing them. It’s a lot of work, you know. (You do know. Otherwise you would join in every week. Lazies.)

But I set out to do it for at least a year, and when I have a conviction I may as well go to prison, that’s how convicted I am. (Convict, get it?)

Anyway, there’s no getting rid of me now. And there’s no getting rid of me next week, either.

But I don’t have to be chipper about it.

*********************

This week I got a cute french-looking white ceramic apothecary jar (slash cookie jar) for $1.00 at the Sally Ann.

Here it is, complete with my attempt at skillfully styling a photo:

I think I could’ve done without the rooster. That should pretty much be the overriding theme of my life: “Hmm…Camille was close…but she could’ve used a little less rooster.”

Photographic creativity fail.

Saturday Steal success.

****************************

Now it’s your turn.

Steal a steal.

Take a picture.

Write a post.

Add the link.

The end.

(List open from now until Sunday night at 11:59.)



Posted in mediocrity, oh brother what next, Saturday Steals, woe is me | Tagged | 9 Comments

ha.

My brother-in-law goes for a colonoscopy today.

This fact delights me to no end. There are not many things that can grate on his nerves, so you better believe I will use this opportunity to grate and grate and grate. Like the microplane zester of sisters in law.

(Then again, I go for a pap next month, so I should shut my pie hole.)

Being responsible about health is for the birds.

Hey, bird.

Posted in thisandthat, woe is me | 6 Comments

Hey, Bird.

Yesterday we had a pretty intense storm blow through our neck of the woods.

Mayberry (and area) is really windy on a good day, but in a storm, it’s like walking through a hurricane. I have experienced that strange sensation of walking through a stubble field at practically a 90 degree angle into the wind, where every time I lift a foot to take a step it gets blown a few inches in any given direction. Where if I jump, I am liable to land a foot away. Where a windbreaker is not so much a break as a harness, like a sail and I’m the boat and the course is all shot to hell. Iceberg dead ahead.

That kind of wind.

Yesterday was one of those days.

And as I was driving my lengthy commute to my summer school class, I witnessed something I have never before seen, nor ever imagined I would see, as a product of said wind. It was an extraordinary sight to behold…

…So there I was, driving along the highway in the middle of the flat prairie landscape typical to Southern Alberta.

Conscious and courteous driver that I am, I was taking the time to observe my surroundings while jamming to some classic Shins tunes: no cars ahead of me…no cars behind me…no deer in the ditches…

…but wait! What’s that?!

There, about 50 yards ahead of me on the right side of the highway, high in the sky near the power line, was a bird. A large-ish sort of bird, with its wings outstretched, but it wasn’t flying—

IT WAS HOVERING. Like a helicopter—no, like a HOVERCRAFT. Perfectly motionless. Wings sprawled like it was preparing for a nice glide. But no movement (aside from the occasional flap)…and the bird was staying in the exact same spot in the air.

I slowed down so I could take a better look, because I wasn’t sure I was seeing right. Surely that bird couldn’t just be HOVERING…it must have been tangled up in a wire up there.

I was just getting ready to call animal control (yeah right, I’m not that much of a lover) when I got a wee bit closer and saw, to my disbelief, that no wires, no cables, neither cords nor ropes nor nets were responsible for the bird’s incredible stasis.

He was playing a game.

That rascally little bird was holding his wings out perfectly still—no flapping at all—and facing into the gale-force wind, letting the intrinsic laws of the universe do all the work.

It was insane. And totally enviable. I bet birds just love windy days in Southern Alberta. I bet they have Bird Olympics, competitions to see who can hover longest without needing a little flap.

And now, since I suspect my storytelling abilities might possibly not convey the magnitude of the spectacle I witnessed yesterday, I will turn to my sketching skills to make up the slack. (As if.)

I present to you…the masterpiece of the century…

Bird in…Flight?
by cpsf
(2010): ink on looseleaf

(Yeah, it’s drawn on lined notebook paper. So what? Something has to get me through summer school.)

Hey, Bird? Yeah you do.

I wish I was aerodynamic.

Posted in awesome., It's All Good, my edjumacation and me, Overall Good Things, quickies, thisandthat | 7 Comments

Me and Friends: The Second

Where we last left off, I was a social recluse with a disinclination toward friends and relationships in general.

Nothing is sadder than the girl who secretly longs for friends but cannot make any. But the girl without friends who never professed to want them in the first place? She bears a certain nobility in her solitude.

That is the girl I strove to be.

Lately, though, something has changed in this hard little heart of mine. I’ve come to a few pivotal realisations that have depressed me just enough to spark a hint of a desire for something resembling maybe possibly friendship in my life.

A few of those realisations are:

1. If I ever get pregnant, I don’t have enough friends—or even acquaintances—in this country to have a baby shower (leastwise, a baby shower that’s not fraught with social awkwardness). So sad for my poor little unborn fetuses who will have to wear the same seven outfits every day of their lives.

2. At certain times of the year when my in-laws are out of town for the winter and my husband is out of town for work, if I were to need a tow or a ride to the hospital or just a listening ear within the nearest thousand miles, I would have nobody to call. (This realisation inspired me to sign up for AAA and therapy—AAA for emergencies and therapy for someone to talk to. Apparently I am the kind of person who is willing to buy my friendships rather than work to build them organically.)

3. In the history of my life, there have been a few rare phases during which I force myself to be social. I always enter such occasions with dread in my heart, but nine times out of ten, I come away with nothing but positive experiences to look back on.

Take this summer, for example:

On my recent trip to Arizona, I made the effort to meet up with a couple blog readers (incidentally, readers who made the effort to meet up with me). Moments before each rendezvous, my palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, and my head was screaming at me to STOP THIS CRAZINESS, GO BACK HOME, PUT ON SWEATPANTS, AND WATCH SEASON ONE OF HOUSE.

But when I fought through the mental roadblocks, I found myself meeting—and having fantastic conversations—with some really wonderful people.

Take Alexa Mae, for example, who told me I could use her drama-filled life as a base for my first best-selling novel.

I expected our meeting at Golden Spoon to last for maybe thirty minutes, but it turned into two hours of some serious heart-to-heart girl talk, and I left feeling like I had become a better person just by having met such an inspiring soul. As I drove away, I couldn’t believe I’d almost chickened out two hours earlier.

Or take Liz (and Rory and Bruce and Dave), who drove FOUR HOURS and planned a family holiday around my passing through Idaho on my way back to Canada from Arizona.

(Side note: I told my sister, who was accompanying me back to Canada, that we were stopping for dinner with people who were driving four hours to meet me, and she said, “Four HOURS to meet YOU? Why would anybody do THAT?” I had to agree that it was crazy, but I was also extremely honoured. [Don’t worry, my sister loves me. She’s just cheap and would never drive four hours to meet me anywhere.])

I was totally flaky about the whole thing, promising to call and forgetting to call, blah blah blah, but they were so forgiving of my exhaustion and social terribleness. They told us all about how they met and how they got from there to here in their lives. Liz even told me how my posting had disappointed her lately, and even though she said it nicely, I was sufficiently shamed, and have kept that thought in my mind over the past month of struggling to get my blog back in order.

Again, the time flew, turning into a two-and-a-half hour dinner at Applebee’s. When the time had come for us to pay our cheques and hit the road again, my sister (who’d tagged along with me to Canada) kicked me under the table just in time for me to see that Liz’s husband had paid for our dinner, too—and we had even told the waitress before Liz and Dave got there that we wanted to split the bill! We protested heartily, but the damage was done, and all we could do was thank them for their graciousness and generosity.

As with my meeting with Alexa, I left feeling uplifted and inspired—a completely different person from the freaked out social-anxiety-ridden blogger from a few hours earlier.

These experiences serve as a testament to the fact that, when I put my mind to it (and when presented with kind and willing souls), I can make friends and it can be worthwhile. Relationships can be meaningful, and maybe even life-changing (and not only for the worse, as I previously maintained).

So I’ve decided to open my mind toward friendships, because I think it a worthwhile cause. Sure, I could trust people who will stab me in the back with hundreds of splintery toothpicks—in fact, I expect to, based on past experiences.

In fact, already I’ve gotten crapped on a few times, but I guess that’s just the risk you take when you try to soar with the Friendship Eagles. And I’m slowly convincing myself that the view from the clouds will be worth the dry cleaner’s bill it takes to get there.

Posted in change, friends, I hate change, introspection, It's All Good, Overall Good Things, what I'm about | Tagged | 13 Comments