Life in Cowtown

One of the nicest bloggers in the blogosphere and a prolific gardener  Water Roots tagged me to share dirty secrets some random facts about myself and since I never do memes on Facebook with the people who actually know me, I thought I’d throw it out there on the internets and share random things about me with total strangers instead.

1)      I’ve got some rather unique family members including: a great-great-great-great grandfather who was the financial controller of Russia in the times of the czars, and whose signature appears on old bills; an aunt who worked for the CIA and who passed away before I got a chance to learn all her secrets; a grandfather who worked as a rickshaw driver in China where he lived for 25 years and became a respected surgeon.  Many of them also drink a great deal, and one of my grandmothers calls vodka her elixir of youth.

2)      I am not a morning person. At all. Well, after ten hours of sleep I COULD be persuaded to wake up for a gorgeous sunrise, but it better also involve copious amounts of coffee. I was also this way as a baby. My mother tells me that she fought the battle of Waterloo with me every single morning, with tears and recriminations, and the only way she could get me up at the tender age of two was to play a rockabilly LP at top volume. Over the years it hasn’t gotten much easier although through copious self-therapy I am proudly at the stage where I no longer want to murder chipper, joyful, annoying, bouncy morning people.

3)      I was born in Siberia and live in Calgary but am a disgrace to my heritage. My heart lies firmly in warmer climes and I rather resent the length and strength of winters that we are subjected to here. When I was a child my family spent three years living in Cuba which was still under Russian patronage, and my body adapted to the tropics so successfully that I’ve never gotten used to the deep freeze again.  Even after the most brutal winter, I acclimatize to heat exceedingly well, and can handle any heat within a week of arrival. The only thing that compensates for the winters here is the abundance of skiing in the Rockies, and even that is likely not enough to keep me from migrating some day.

4)      I am a mean crocodile when I’m tired or hungry. When I’m both, even I can’t stand myself.

5)      I’m endlessly curious, and my deepest wish is to time travel. I want to see all the historical events and personalities for myself, and find out what really happened and what it all looked like. From the primordial soup that was our planet four billion years ago to the extinction of dinosaurs, to early humanoids, to life in ancient Greece, to the larger-than-life people that earned a place in history books, I want to see it all.  My second biggest wish is to learn the truth about all the mysteries that are current today, many of them silly – what is the actual deal with aliens/ufo’s? What is the deal with the Voynich manuscript?  What is the origin of The Bloop? And many more.

6)      I’m a huge animal lover, remaining skeptical about our own species, and think cruelty to animals is among the worst crimes. I also happen to think the majority of people agree with me, and still nothing is done about the currently weak and pathetic laws, which leads me to believe we live under taxation without representation. Ha.

7)       I have far too many interests and hobbies, and am awful at starting projects and not finishing most of them. The most useful book I’ve ever read on the subject has been Barbara Sher’s excellent  Refuse To Choose. Of course I need to re-read it now, since like most helpful (even life-changing) advice it slid by the way-side a few months after I finished it. I self-sabotage a good deal of my own hobbies with OCD-like tendencies to do it right or not do it all, which translates into buying a whole schwack of stuff for a new project/hobby/interest, taking too long to jump in and get started and eventually getting bored and abandoning it. I used to feel really bad about that, now I don’t.

Useless factoid – this post took forever to write for some reason. I kept thinking of insanely weird things to write about, like the time when we lived in Cuba, we had a frog living in our toilet bowl, right under the rim, and every time you flushed his tiny legs would scramble to stay where he was. I have no idea what he ate…

I’d like to tag a few bloggers myself, taking a page from the ever courteous Water Roots by not contacting these people directly. That way they can also pretend they never saw this post. J

Brown-Eyed Girl – a fellow Calgarian with an incredible joie de vivre permeating her writing.

Tatyana – a guru gardener that I aspire to be like someday, an adventurer through life.

Meadowwood Garden – a gardener with experience, a good climate and a gorgeous dog.

Teena in Toronto – a prolific poster and a fella bookworm.

Elle – a horticulturalist and freelancer.

The inadvertent farmer – a great photographer and storyteller.

Kim – a new blogger who just made a leap many of us don’t dare, packed up her kids and moved to Malta.

First off,  I wanted to say sorry for not posting this week, I’ve been under the weather, and had an exam to write, and a relative to send off to Malta, and nothing new is happening in the garden, other than champion weeds. I’ve been busy, really busy, balefully glaring around the house and yard at all the chores that need doing and that are decidedly not getting done. Which inspired this post.

The world is divided into many dualities of people, but two of the most common that I encounter are the doers and the slackers. I admire the doers, I really do, they are the people that get it done, the putterers, the fixers and the workers. They are the ones that can’t sit still, they must be tinkering, fixing, polishing and improving. They are great to have on hand – they are often pretty organized, fully domesticated, they clean and cook and repair like Martha Stewart on crack. They are awesome.

Then there are the dedicated slackers. They like to sleep and do it like an Olympic medal is at stake.  They love lounging time, in front of the tube or with a book, and will dedicate great lengths to the pursuit of comfort. They are happy chilling out with a drink in the evening, feeling like they earned it after working all day, while their partner has hours of energy to spare and wants to get some weeding in, or maybe run a quick marathon.

I fall somewhere in the middle and it causes some conflict for me. My nature falls firmly into the lazy camp, I am not a person that thrives on being busy, and if I have more than one commitment on a weeknight, I panic about the sleep I’d miss. I love leisure more than just about anything, and I often wish I could clone myself, twice, to do all the things that need doing that I don’t feel like doing.  Sometimes I attempt to go against my better nature and force myself, literally kick myself, out of the house into the great yonder to try a new activity, or do something outdoorsy, or just go for a beer on a weeknight.  It often pays off too – I took up skiing last winter, and discovered an amazing new sport that I did not for a minute, think I’d like.  But too often I get worn out just by the act of existing, sitting for eight hours at work, plus a long commute and arrive at home wiped out, ready for a nap and an easy dinner. Even doing the things I enjoy sometimes requires a mental kick to get rolling.

However, that lazyness stops a few steps short of the kingdom of slack. For one, I love me a clean house, and while I’d love to relax while the dishes are piling up, the laundry is overflowing and the floors need vaccuming, I can’t. I’d rather suck it up, sacrifice some time and get it done, so I can relax with a clean conscience until it all starts to build again. Another area where it breaks down is career. A truly lazy person is not very ambitious. Of course they would enjoy the benefits of an easy jobs with a  great paycheck, but if it takes too much work to get there they won’t bother. I bother. Part of it is professional pride and a part of it is the very tangible increase in quality of life that money can buy. Let’s face it, whether you’re earning a little or a lot, you’re likely working the same 35-40 hrs a week, so why not earn more? And while I love vacations, my idea of a good time is not drinking by the pool. I have a deep desire to see the place that I’m visiting. To soak in the atmosphere that shapes its citizens, to see the ruins and houses and cafes, to visit a store and a farmers market, to explore local flavors and see a glimpse of their lives. At a leisurely pace, of course.

Sometimes I walk the line between leisure and ‘getting crap done’ just fine. Sometimes I’m composed and in the moment, which is the only way to live of course, as I do the household chores, maintain the garden or plan a weekend. Other times the balance gets skewed, and I chafe with frustration at the demands on my time, which I want to do spend doing nothing. On some level I realize that all the little running around we do is ultimately meaningless, just a way to stay busy, distract yourself, and take time away from simply being. Other times it feels like life is not to be wasted, and I should just manage time a bit more effectively to keep it running smoothly and ultimately do more, and get more out of doing.  And I envy the happy tinkerers who itch to clean the house, organize the pantry and do some canning while they’re at it, cause that gene passed me right by.