markets

Growing up I didn’t like corn on the cob. I didn’t like the feeling of it between my teeth, wedged, stuck.

Sure, I loved husking it- who doesn’t love to strip the protective layers off, one by one? Feeling the change in the texture, the change in the sound, and the change in the resistance as you get closer to the cob. The mildly compulsive part of me loved picking each silky hair off the cob, watching to see where it connected at the kernel. Trying to keep a single thread from breaking.
As I got older and stronger I loved to see how many of those layers I could pull off at a time without suffering any paper cuts from the leaves.

The best thing that could happen as a kid, was to find that elusive “baby corn”, that little tiny corn growing side by side with the mature cob, hidden within the green leafy layers. We’d try to pick the fattest cobs at the grocery store hoping to find mama and baby corns. Announcing loudly and proudly when they were found.

Baby corns were for playing with.

NOT for eating.

I’d dry out the husks and fold and tuck the baby corn into a special husk suit or blanket and carry it around for the rest of the day.

Eventually the “baby” status would wear off and they’d become rockets tossed high into the air. Little broken bodies all over the grass.

As I got older I realized I’d been missing so much deliciousness worrying about a few bits getting stuck in my teeth. I dove into the world of corn. Corn season got me excited and I’d drag bag after bag home from the store.

Till I met a friend who found out I bought my corn at the grocery store.

Lovingly she called me a “pin head” and introduced me to the wonder of the roadside stand.

Farmers proudly bringing bins from the field to the end of their driveways.

Corn so fresh you can eat it raw.

I'm a changed woman.

Now I drive my visiting city folk down Dale Road to the driveway with the tiny chalk board simply stating “corn”.

I don’t want them to make the same mistakes I've made. I want to save them the embarrassment.

“Did you know that Lesley used to buy her corn in the grocery store? What a PIN HEAD!”

Post - real life

Sometimes I talk in terms of things being "post-production" (show,festival,event).

I've been on spin cycle since my last blog posting. So much so, that I haven't taken the time to write about that which has eaten my days.hours.minutes.

That note about some "big news"? It's the biggest of my life.

When the board of SVFF started to break up, the last remaining members approached me and asked me if I was interested in the role of Artistic Director for the next festival. This was at the Jonathan Byrd show that I put on at the Mill, a show I was already immensely proud of putting together. (I'd never done something on that scale and I was so pleased with how it turned out)... then  I had to sit on the information for a month.

The board turned over and the last of that old board left. The new board approached me and asked me to write a proposal. .. where did I see the festival going? What did I intend to do with it?

I wrote a proposal. .. and next thing I knew I was handed a festival.

Just like that.

It has been the most ass backwards crazy ride ever.

I could go on for pages about the roadblocks left for me, the lack of information, the attacks on my work ethic, the sabotage of the position, and more... but it's not worth it. I choose to be above that crap.

I put my absolute everything into this year's festival.

And I'm so proud of what I accomplished.
Of what we accomplished.

It was beautiful.

And I'm a wreck.

Sigh

In a sad twist to the hobbit house love, I have an insane neighbour. .. she's always been a sad angry soul, but she's starting to impead my ability to enjoy my own home.

Today's verbal attack was pretty mean. In the end she insulted my home, my gardens, the library, my intelligence and followed it up with calling me "a cheeky neighbour". I smiled, gritted my teeth, rolled my eyes and said "I'm sorry you're so miserable".

I'm trying to decide if I should write her a note that asks her not to communicate with me anymore unless it is in writing or recorded.

But that's me being cheeky.

Fire

I love nothing more than to poke at a fire. 

Some of my earliest memories are as a child at the family cottage- getting ready for it's closing in the fall, cleaning up the grounds in the spring, and always a leaf pile to be burned. 

We had the normal family camp fires... marshmallows and hot dogs in the evening after a long day of yard work and playtime. But my favourite part was always first thing the next morning, parents lazily reading the paper and the smell of coffee brewing filling the cottage, I'd be allowed to slip out into the yard and stir up whatever remained of the previous day's fire.
Rocks would still be warm to the touch, and ashes would drift as I raked my stick through the grey and black leavings. Then I'd find it. A stubborn chunk of coal, hot and black buried deep in the pile. Beside me I'd have my already-gathered tools,  bits of dried grass, a fist full of dead leaves, and a tiny pile of twigs I'd found on my way to the fire pit.
I'd lean in closely and carefully feed my offerings to the tiny coal. Blowing life to a wisp of smoke and then ... if I was lucky, a tiny flame. 

I have my own fire pit in my back yard now. I have camp fires with my friends and family whenever I can. Staring off into the base of the flames can calm me on even the worst of my days, but it's that next morning... coaxing a little flame back out of the ashes, that brings me the most joy. 

Hurry up and wait

So... big news coming.
But I'm in hurry up and wait mode.
All I can do is make lists and plan.

OK. 
Lists.
Plans.

I can do this.

Growth

It's official, I survived winter.

Today I looked around and saw that I was thriving again.. not just hanging on for dear life.

My house is clean (ish), the dogs are being walked, I'm reading, I'm cooking, I'm engaging with people on purpose.

It feels good.

Breathe in, breathe out.

How yoooou doin?

I was going to post to facebook a general request that someone in our neighborhood go outside and assure the young man, who's been driving around the block for the past 30 minutes revving his car engine, that we all believe that he does in fact have a giant penis. And that we request he stops with the revving and squealing of tires because his driving display has convinced us of his manhood.

But I didn't have to. I live two blocks from the police station.

More confessional

Sometimes Thursday confessionals need a little more set up than I'm willing to write in a status box on Facebook.

Wednesday last week I was a judge at a science fair hosted by a local elementary school. Who doesn't love little kids' projects? One kid walked up to me and said "mine's supposed to be messy- it's a project about the moon... things aren't really clean there".

We were put into pairs to do the judging. When I arrived I noticed a young guy in the corner playing chess with another young guy, They looked a little too old to be at the school, so I figured they'd graduated and had just come back to help with the science fair. They didn't even look up as the rest of the judges started to file into the room. I recognized him as the child of an old acquaintance and had a vague memory of him going to the school. But  I got a little confused when he was sent to a classroom to get something and wondered if maybe he'd been kept back a year- maybe the peach fuzz beard he was sporting was the sign of an early bloomer? There were some other grade 8s his height in town with the same attempts at facial hair. I didn't think much more of it till we were partnered to judge the projects.

me: Hey (name protected to prevent further embarrassment) How are you?! I haven't seen you in such a long time.. you're... not ... still going to school here are you?

young lad: Um. No.

me: ok... yeah.. uh- (I'm cut off)

young lad: I graduated.  Last year.  From college.

me: I think I've stepped into a time warp/worm hole or something.
(back peddling frantically)
um... I think I just forgot 12 years of my life have passed. Do you even remember me?

young lad:  No.

me: yeah... you were probably 8 or 10 the last time I saw you.

young lad: That was probably 12 or 14 years ago.

me: so... science fair projects?

young lad: yeah.... 

Furry

I have a dear group of friends that I see nearly every week- we head to a pub together, or more recently as we're all trying to save money, we head to one another's homes and pretend we're in a pub.

One of our members is a writer. A real one. Published and stuff. 

When he moved to our tiny town he started writing some poems about the quirks of Northumberland. One of those quirks/poems?  Everyone owns a dog.

Our pub group?

All but one of us owns a dog. 

Last week things got a little weird when one of us declared that we should put all the collars into a bowl and pick one out- whichever collar you got was the dog that you'd take home.

wait a second.... 

More sleep woes

More on the early alarm clock anxiety. ..

I've been really careful in the evening leading up to a day shift, no caffeine, limited screen time, physical activity, dim lights... last night I was drowsy by 10:30, and after combat rolling into bed I was sound asleep in just minutes.

I woke up so refreshed.

I was ready to hop out of bed without looking at the time, so rested I planned on using my extra few minutes before my alarm clock by braving the cold with the dogs.

I swung my feet to the floor and glanced at the clock.

And cried.

11:32pm

*I saw the clock at least 5 more times at randomly staggered points throughout the night. I think I need to start taking something.