The One Legged Robin

Are my personal stories relevant to Daniel? Yes, to my surprise, he has requested this particular story several times.

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Many years ago in the early spring I looked out of my window at work and saw a robin sitting on the ground. At the time it seemed odd; I had never noticed a robin sitting on the ground before. After a few minutes it stood up and searched for some food. I then realized that this particular little robin had only one leg. My first thought was that it wouldn't last long: it was extra-vulnerable and hunting for food must have been more difficult than for other "able-bodied" robins. I kept my eye on him throughout the afternoon while I worked; he alternated between resting on the ground all puffed up to keep warm and jabbing the lawn in search of worms. The next morning he was gone.

Well, the year came and went, and the next spring arrived. With it came the one-legged robin! To my delight he looked healthy and full of energy. Nice colouring to his feathers and he hopped about enthusiastically. How wonderful that the little guy had survived through two migrations and three seasons since I had last seen him!

Each spring I'd keep my eyes open for him, and was thrilled to see his return for several years.

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Take away from this story what you will. It's a great little story to illustrate determination, the power of survival instincts, making the most of your situation (even if it's not ideal), perseverance and land stewardship (take care of your space, you never know what little creature might rely on it every single year to rest and refuel during their journey).

Feeling Guilty

Forgive me. I derailed on the weekend. I've been doing so well over the last few weeks, straying only a few times from my new eating habits. However, this weekend I succumbed to my own weakness for sugar. I'm back on track now, but I'm ashamed of my recent behaviour at the kitchen counter.

The whole sordid affair happened when I was tidying up the house and decided to throw out the remains of my son's gingerbread house. Stale and dusty, it clearly was no longer wanted by anyone in the family. Usually, I can resist such temptation, but this time I didn't just quickly throw it in the garbage. I looked at it. Closely. There was a teeny tiny piece of gingerbread underneath the wreckage and it was perfect: 1 piece of candy, some royal icing, no accumulation of dust. I gave in to temptation. Mmmmmm - stale gingerbread. What was I thinking? More is what I was thinking. Then I gave in to temptation again with a larger piece. Yikes! I felt like I was out of control - in a flat spin! While I did throw some out, it wasn't anywhere near the original quantity that I'd planned on chucking.

Of course I felt crummy afterwards. Whether it was just from my guilt or the spike in my blood glucose levels, I don't know, but I felt awful. I felt so ashamed that I even lied about what had happened to the last of the gingerbread house. "It all went in the garbage sweetie," I told my son "nobody wanted it any more." I half expected a lightning bolt to come down and smite me.

It's funny how guilt works. I automatically assumed that my continued weight loss would have been side-lined, and that I wouldn't be as content upon my return to my now-usual healthy eating habits. Happily, despite my over-indulgence, my weight loss is still on track and I'm content this morning with my usual breakfast of one grapefruit and one green pepper, both cut up into chunks and munched on throughout the morning.

Wish me luck in resisting future temptation. With two family birthdays on the horizon, the next few weeks will be a test of my willpower... how does one make a birthday cake for an 8 year old without sampling the icing?

Magnetic Personality

A former boss of mine, let's call him Rick, is quite a character. During the time that I worked with him there was never a dull day. In truth, the days ranged from being mind-numbingly dull to frustratingly bizarre adventures.

Quite early on in our working relationship he wanted me to organise a large stack of resumes. In his office, the stack had been accumulating for a couple of years. The resumes contained the usual personal information; names, contact information, employment history. I'm sure he thought of the resumes as people, not just pieces of paper or maybe he was just trying to keep me busy. Regardless, he didn't want to shred the old ones - that wouldn't do. So, he plunked the pile on my desk and asked me to sort them into alphabetical order and then call each person and ask them if they're still looking for work. Those that weren't looking any longer would have their resume removed from the pile, while the active job seekers would remain. Can you imagine the phone call? "Hello, is this Bob?" "Yes" "I'm Christine from Protect Your Steel Incorporated. Are you still looking for work?" "Yes I am." "Thanks Bob, we'll hold on to your resume. We don't have any openings at the moment though." In the end I kept the most recent resumes and shredded the older ones and avoided making the almost endless embarrassing phone calls.

Rick was a generous man. Generous with taking people out for lunch, and especially generous with pouring the wine. He often had a nice quiet afternoon wine-induced nap or a loud booze-fuelled rant in the shop. I, along with the shop employees, did my best to avoid him in the afternoons. One day, after consuming a copious quantity of vino, he returned to the office with every intention of having a productive afternoon. After reviewing the messages on his desk, he picked up his phone and dialed... on his CALCULATOR!!! When questioned about what he was doing, he at least laughed at his own foolishness. I can hear his deep belly-laugh now, gravelly after years of late nights and overindulgence. Sheesh. Put your head down and sleep it off, Rick.

Years later, during his mid-morning (around 10:00am) commute to the office, he had passed a stalled vehicle on the Alex Fraser bridge. In spectacular fashion, he burst through the office door, briefcase lurching about as his arms flailed around madly and his overcoat and hair resembling Mr. Bean in a windstorm. "Call 911! Hurry, there's a stall on the Alex Fraser." Although there must have been minimal traffic on the bridge, he must have almost ploughed into the poor stranded vehicle, he was on such an adrenaline high. If you have ever driven over the Alex Fraser, especially when there aren't many vehicles around, you can relate to my dilemma. You can see quite a distance ahead, there's nothing but the gentle curve of the bridge to block your view. Possibly he was too busy talking on his cell phone, waving his arms around while explaining himself or he could have simply not been paying attention. Or, and this is a distinct possibility, he might have been so engrossed in one of the new gadgets on the dash of his brand new M5 that he failed to notice a large stationary object ahead of him on the bridge. However, my flat out refusal to call emergency services did not meet his approval. After explaining that there are cameras monitoring the bridge 24/7 and a tow truck keeping vigil at the south end, he was still determined that I should make the call. In the end, to avoid further berating, I actually faked the call to 911. Not a shining moment in my life. I blatantly lied to my boss to get him to shut up.

Heaven forbid you question him on his decisions or try to hold him to a higher standard. One afternoon after trying to convince Rick to submit receipts, or explain some purchases, our Controller was discussing something while standing at my counter. As Rick walked by, he actually kicked Mr C in the shin! Of course, rather incensed, Mr C, demanded to know why he had been so rudely kicked. Rick's reply: "Someone has to kick you in the shins every now and then." Mr C and I were gobsmacked.

After years of enduring his buffoonery and ridiculous demands he became a mockery around the office. Ever in search of the fountain of life, he constantly tried the latest miracle cure that would turn back the clock. He tried blue and green algae, herbal remedies, tonics... Anything to avoid actually changing his lifestyle. By far though, his most memorable health kick was when he began wearing magnets. He had purchased special clothing so that the magnets would be placed strategically on his body during the day so that he could maximize the extolled magnetic benefits. He even went so far as to have magnets in his shoes. Unable to resist such an opportunity to mock and make fun of him, I foolishly embarked on a demonstration of how the magnets might change his life. Usually I reserve my outbursts until I'm in the presence of family or dear friends. Not so on this day. I demonstrated how walking through the shop would suddenly become hazardous, what with his feet suddenly lurching out from under him to be drawn to a steel beam. His computer, residing under his desk next to his feet, would be rendered into a large paperweight, its data erased as he crossed his leg in the computer's direction. The possibilities to mock were limitless: credit cards, cell phone, driving past scrap yards, watching television at home, and so on. I wonder if he still wears magnets in his shoes and underwear?

And the Verdict is...

Blood sugar level average over past four months was a bit high at 6.9, but everything else checked out fine. Kidney function was fine, cholesterol was fine, iron was on the low end of normal, red blood cell count fine, white blood cell count fine... what else was there? I don't recall.

Recommendations: keep following my new eating habits, keep exercising, take a calcium and an iron supplement, come back again in six months for blood work. Can stop pricking my finger unless I want to monitor the impact of a certain food. Keep up the good work! Take this seriously now and avoid the potential terrible consequences of full blown diabetes later.

He questioned my rapid weight loss, asking if I was on a fad diet. Nope, I eat almost constantly. Fruit and veggies, just avoiding rice, potatoes, pasta, white bread and other processed items.

Keep on keepin' on. I feel fantastic. Once in the mindset, treating yourself well is easy.

Lumberjack Encore

Time to call in the experts, be still my heart, to handle keeping our big trees in good shape. This time around we may need a large cedar, or should I say, what's left of a large cedar brought down and replaced with a more space-appropriate specimen that won't be ruthlessly hacked at to keep power lines clear.

The first time we had a crew come in to deal with our trees I couldn't help but write a short story about it. You'll see why if you read the text below. It turned out to be the the very first post in this blog. To this day it remains one of my favourite entries.

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I could never relate to women who drooled over good-looking men. I just didn’t get it. And then I turned 38. Now I understand where all those ladies were coming from.

A couple of years ago my husband, Daryle, and I bought a house on a hill with a lovely view of the Alex Fraser Bridge in Delta. It had been quite neglected: stucco siding with chunks missing, carport showing signs of wanting to slide downhill, rotting retaining walls, a 30 foot stump and its trio of neighbouring trees that needed either bringing down or a thorough cleaning. The list goes on and on. Our neighbours even commented on how neglected our trees had become and how they had been the most beautiful trees in the entire area at one point. Hmm.

After two years of being inundated with repairs around the property, Daryle told me to proceed with getting the trees taken care of. He handed me a flyer and told me to call for a quote. Okay, deep breath. In – out – in again. I can do this. After all, I am an office manager, strong woman, and only need to make a quick phone call and talk to someone at the other end. No big deal unless picking up the phone puts the fear of God into you.

I managed to procrastinate on making the phone call for about two months. Descending from a long line of procrastinators, I’m a born natural. But after beginning to have nightmares about making the call and desperately wanting to plant my new spring-flowering bulbs, I finally picked up the phone. Relief, nobody answered. So I left a quick yet ridiculously-phrased message. When Sarah called me back she gave no indication that she felt I was slightly deranged. Within a minute we made arrangements for someone to come out and give me a quote.

The company owner, James, arrived to give me a quote. He was very handsome: smooth complexion, balanced features, strong jawline and a relaxed, yet professional manner. However, he didn’t appear old enough to have any experience in the industry, let alone be able to provide a knowledgeable quote.

Grabbing my grubby gardening shoes, I took him into our back garden. We discussed bringing down the tall dead Douglas fir and tidying up the trio of two firs and a cedar. The large cedar in the front yard didn’t need any attention yet, just some maintenance in a couple of years along with all the other trees that had been topped. I pointed out that there were several dead limbs suspended in the firs. He seemed confident that they’d be able to easily bring down the fir and tidy the trio. He quoted a cool $600, well within my budget of $1,000. Okay, he was fully capable of providing an knowledgeable quote. I was thrilled: I’d be able to get all the work done at a reasonable price and get my bulbs planted before winter!

Two weeks later James’ crew was scheduled to arrive. I booked the morning off work to make sure they did exactly what I wanted. When they made their appearance, half and hour late, they introduced themselves: Brad (OMG!!!!!), Sam and Jonas. Brad was tall, very athletic and had the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever seen (aside from Daryle’s of course). I was so taken with him that I forgot his name instantly, focusing only on his chiseled facial features. I felt a little foolish trying to pick up his name during conversation. The other two seemed very fit, friendly and eager to get on with the job, but they were nothing compared with the Richard Armitage good looks of Brad.

After discussing the trees and what was to be done to them and where the wood was going to be stacked, Brad asked if I was partial to the plant at the foot of the big dead fir. The rings sawed from the stump would probably obliterate it. “Oh, not at all. It’s just parsley, I’ve got some more elsewhere in the garden.” Jonas, upon hearing this, proceeded to pick a stem of parsley and eat it. I laughed and told him there was some mint and oregano that he could help himself to if he were so inclined.

Without any further delay I took my leave and went inside the house. After closing the door, I had to brace myself. Picture me leaning back against the door, arms out at my side with palms against the door. Big sigh. I was smitten. Sad, sad thing for a married, 38 year-old to be. But I was. Very.

Watching the crew, especially Brad, through the living room window was the most entertaining thing I’ve done in a l o n g time. I had to keep myself occupied with other things around the house just so that I wouldn’t creep the guys out. But they were absolutely riveting. I found myself returning to window more times than I care to admit. The sound of the chainsaws, the sight of Brad climbing, and the strength and confidence all of them displayed, was breathtaking. I couldn’t resist calling Yvonne at work to tell her about them.

Then it occurred to me: pictures. I needed to take some pictures. How though, without looking like some sort of deranged, lonely, housewife stalker? The simple answer; when they weren’t looking, of course. I managed to get some good shots of Brad climbing and sawing while working on the big fir stump. Really he was only a few feet away from me with only the window between us; I would have been a terribly poor shot if the photos hadn’t turned out.

Meanwhile, the garden took a bit of a beating. I watched while branches fell on my newly planted laurel ‘hedge’. WHACK!! My attempt at naturalizing some ferns – WHACK!! The poor parsley plant – WHACK!! The ground at the base of the fir compacted a little more with each thud of a ring from the dead fir, leaving a big hollow spot about two feet across. But I’m a big girl, I can cope. It will just mean that I’ll have a cleaner slate with which to begin planning the garden.

When the fir was nearing the height I wanted, Brad looked up and made gestures that appeared to ask if I wanted another ring taken off, or if the height was fine. I replied in similar fashion indicating that one more ring needed to come off. It’s amazing how easy it is to understand each other just by waving our arms about a little. After falling the twentieth ring, he carefully trimmed the raw edges of the stump. Perfect.

Throughout the entire project Sam and Jonas were kept very busy. They picked up limbs and debris as it fell and disposed of them up at the chipper in the driveway. They also passed things up to Brad as needed, like the extendable pole saw, small jug of gas for his chainsaw, a different sized chainsaw, just to list a few items.

When all was said and done, I must say that they did a great job minimizing the debris left behind. Brad made sure they cleaned up after themselves and even directed them to clean up some of the sawdust. Jonas fired up the blower and Sam picked up the rake to begin tidying the sawdust.

Noooooo! I didn’t want anyone walking, raking or causing any further damage to my garden, so I bolted out of the front door to run down into the yard to talk to Jonas and Sam. Hurry – quick – panic. I’m sure I made quite a noticeable exit from the house, arms flapping trying to pull on my jacket then reaching down to tug on my gardening shoes. When I stood up, dressed in my clownish attire of black slacks, red and white blouse, stained runners and turquoise all-weather jacket, to my great surprise Brad was standing shirtless in the driveway brushing sawdust off. Oh my! Must avert eyes – but really don’t want to. Instant visual of helping him wipe off the sawdust. I think I’m in heaven.

I’m sure he had seen me, so I couldn’t make the situation more awkward than it already was by running back inside as though I had something to be ashamed of. Casually, as though I’m used to gorgeous men standing in my driveway half-starkers, I strolled across the driveway to go down to the back yard. Oh, that I could have taken a picture of THAT. In A&E’s version of Pride and Prejudice, Colin Firth goes for a swim in his lake, looking rather stunning in his dripping-wet shirt when he emerges from the water. Well, Brad in my driveway was my coming-out-of-the-water equivalent!

By this time it was about 1:30 in the afternoon. With a quick change into appropriate shoes and a wrap, I was dressed for work and really needed to get going. After paying Brad and telling him that they did an excellent job, I said that I really needed to leave. Jonas finished blowing debris out of the driveway and Brad moved the truck out onto the road. After all three of them had climbed into the truck, I had to smile at the thought of three grown men squashed together while two of them changed their sawdust-covered shirts. Then when I drove by, all three of them waved. Be still my heart. I walked on air for the rest of the day.