In The Wink Of A Young Girl's Eye...

Circa 2004 or 2005, Edmonton team. I'm the unattractive red-faced, short-haired, squinty thing in the middle of the back row.

Remember how I was talking about joining a football team after all these years of not being able to find one?

Well, this past Sunday I was able to finally play in a game.

I was SO excited. I knew I'd be a bit out of shape. Also a bit rusty on the field. But the girl who invited me on Facebook said that it wouldn't really matter, and they'd be happy to have me there. It was only a recreational league.

When I got to the field, I felt insanely awkward. I didn't know any of the girls. And I found out that this was a playoff game of sorts. And I also found out when I got there that they were all REALLY young, except the girl who invited me, and she was super fit. The woman had the body of a colt. I have a body like a stack of marshmallows.



When the game started, I was a sub-in with another girl. We were watching the game from the bench, and she leaned over to me and said quietly, 'Don't tell the refs, but I'm only 16! My sister asked me to come play because they needed people. I can't wait for my school soccer season to start up again!'

Yikes.

I leaned over and said in a loud, mock-whisper, 'Don't tell anyone, but I'm almost thirty. And I haven't played in 6 years!' (I had to swallow some wild, nervous laughter.)

The moment came when I was able to get out on the field. I started off pretty good...

Which lasted for about 2 minutes.

The other team looked like they were made up of female Marines. Which, being from this area, they most likely were.



At one point during the first half when I was trying to regain the ball, the muscles in my thighs seized up. Buckled. WOULDN'T WORK. I fell over sideways like I had forgotten that my ankles were shackled together. When I got up and started running around again, I felt very, very dizzy.

I had not realized until that moment that I was too out of shape to play. I voluntarily sat out the second half. If I thought it was embarrassing to uncontrollably keel over on the field while I was still conscious, than it would be mortifying to actually pass out.

At halftime, I did thank the woman who invited me for giving me the chance to come out and play. At least I tried. And I got to see just how out of shape that I am, so I know just how far I have to go to get out of that state. I'm pretty disgusted with myself, to tell you the truth. It was a fail of epic proportions.




I really wanted to leave after that, but I felt like that would be running away with my tail between my legs. I'm 29 effing years old, not 12. So I put on my big-girl pants and stayed to watch the rest of the game no matter how awkward and embarrassed I felt.




I'm glad I did, I missed watching rec football and they were really good. There were people on the team that strongly reminded me of people I played football and Gaelic football with back in Edmonton.

'Our' team ended up winning, so they're going on to the next playoff game. They were very nice and asked me to come back, and I told them I'd be back when I was 30 pounds lighter (and I also wanted to add '10 years younger').




I took off the big-girl pants when I got in my car, and I cried all the way home from the field. A big, red-faced, wailing, snotty cry. Other drivers must have been apalled.I was miserable for the rest of the day.

And you know what?

Luckily I have this little gift of turning an epic fail into a funny story to amuse others. Thank you, Genetics, for letting me be this way.

I went to work the next morning, and I told my friends about it. I did all the actions and everything. The more they laughed, the better I felt.

Like I said, at least I tried. And I got a funny story out of it. That's the most important thing. And I probably needed that cry for many reasons. I hold a lot of stress in. It kind of felt good.

Ok, Mr. Cleese. It's your cue!



There's something else that's bothering me, but nothing to cry about, don't worry.

I'm not one of those people who has to have a ton of 'followers' reading my blog. At my last count, I had 79.

I'm totally cool with that! For someone who had never expected more than 5 people to read my drivel, 79's a ton! I don't actively go out and canvass for people to read my blog. I don't wear a t-shirt advertising my link.

But last night, I came home and saw that the number of followers is now 78.

I'm LOSING follwers??

That kind of makes me feel a teensy-weensy bit insecure.

It's sort of like when someone quietly 'un-friends' you on Facebook with no explanation. And you don't even realize it till months down the road when you decide to leave a comment on their profile to see how they're doing.

I kind of feel like, 'What did I do? What's wrong with me?? Why don't they like me anymore???'

I love the internet. I hate the internet. These are things I just shouldn't care about. So why do I?

Not gaining any followers doesn't bother me a whit. But losing them? Really?

Love, Cancer and Good Friends

One of the questions I get a lot when I tell people I'm from Canada, is "How did you end up in Jacksonville?"

The place where I live is next to the Marine Corps base at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Like...in it's backyard. You can hear bombs and guns going off all day and at night. Sometimes it rattles the pictures on the wall.

Everyone assumes that I met a Marine, and that's how I ended up here. Women end up in this town in one of two ways: their boyfriend/husband is a Marine and brought them here, or their dads are Marines and they came here that way. I guess there's a third option, that the women came here as Marines themselves. How archaic is my thinking? ;)



Anyway, I'd like to use this post to tell the story about how I ended up here. I know that this is a gardening blog, but maybe this will help my readers to understand the author better. :) I love reading blogs about people's gardens, but my favourites are where you can also follow the life of the gardener. Makes a blog seem less impersonal, and I can see where the garden style influences come from.

Alright. Let's try this again, since it got deleted yesterday :)

Way back in 2004, I was a happy-go-lucky, 23 year old woman in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. This was before I discovered my love of gardening, and I spent most of my time playing an Irish sport called Gaelic Football. My teammates were not only good friends, but they were my family.
If you haven't ever heard of GF, you should check this out, very cool sport:




I'm #17 :)


I also am a huge lover of music (right now I'm the manager of a music department). When I wasn't playing GF, I was online checking out music forums. I met Mr. A on a Led Zeppelin message board in late November 2004. He had made a comment about a sports injury that I mentioned I had received, and we talked on from there.

We talked on the phone every day, for two months before we met. He bought me a ticket for Christmas, to come down and see him. My family and friends were a bit worried I think. He not only lived 2500 miles away in a different country, but he also is 19 years older than I am (gasp!). My mum said, 'Maybe he's online in prison, and he's trying to lure you down there'. lol

But I came down anyway, and I saw that he hadn't been lying about himself, and we had a great time!

Just after we met face to face:


In May of that year, he came up to visit in Canada for my 24th birthday. I picked him up in Calgary, and we drove through the mountains for two days. Mr. A was in total awe of the Canadian Rockies. He had never been out of his EST timezone before, let alone in a different country. Let me share the scenery with you:



We took this picture over a cliff, and right after that we saw a bear cub climbing up another cliff right above us. Amazing!


In Banff, Alberta (major ski resort town)


In Edmonton on my birthday

Things were going along well, and then in December of 2005, some bad things started happening. Mr. A started coughing up blood. We were both very freaked out. He had been a 3 pack a day smoker for 30 years, but quit entirely before I first came down to visit. He's also been a drywaller for 25 years, and breathes in all sorts of nasty things at work.

Mr. A put off going to the doctor, and everyone that cared about him nagged him till he went. They put him through all sorts of tests, and finally near the end of January the doctors told him he had lung cancer. A 'garden variety smoker's cancer', said the doctors. He had to have the bottom 2/3 of his right lung removed ASAP.

I was back at home in Edmonton this whole time, and I was an absolute wreck. I had been crying so much that my face looked like a truck backed over it a few times. My excellent, excellent roommates/teammates Carlin and Sky convinced me to fly down to North Carolina and be with him through his surgery. They told me not to worry about the rent, or taking leave from work, or stupid bills, because those things aren't as important as they seem. My brother and sister-in-law paid for my plane ticket to come down here. I'm very grateful to a lot of people, more than words can say.

Mr. A didn't want to put me through any of this, and begged me not to put my life on hold. But I'm stubborn and came down anyway. I arrived here on February 7, 2006.

Surgery was performed on Valentine's Day. :) That was the longest wait of my entire life. I had company in the waiting room: my husband's two daughters, Lindsay (who was 20) and Desiree (who was 10), and Mr. A's ex-wife (she came to comfort the little one).

When the doctor came out to tell us that everything had gone ok, he asked what our relationship was to the patient. We told him, "Daughter, daughter, girlfriend, and ex-wife" and he answered 'I don't even want to know...' LOL!

This is a pic of Lindsay and Desiree, taken on Lindsay's birthday after Mr. A got out of the hospital:


Mr A. was in the hospital for 10 days. For most of those days, the hospital was accomodating enough to set up a cot for me next to his bed. Originally, they thought the cancer was caught early enough to not receive chemotherapy. The doctors removed some lymph nodes along with the lung. They found cancer cells in two of them. Chemo was now on the itinerary.

Originally, I was supposed to go back to Canada after Mr. A was finished recovering. But now, I was scheduled to go home three days after his second round of intense chemo. I had seen the effects of the first round...not pretty.

We talked it over, and both decided that we wanted me to stay. We got married on May 3, 2006. It was a Courthouse Special, with Lindsay and her cousin as our witnesses. We went out for breakfast afterwards, and took some wedding photos in the park by the water:






The next day we spent our honeymoon in the chemo bay at Pitt Memorial Hospital in Greenville, NC. The doctors and nurses at that hospital are amazing people.


Mr. A has now been in cancer remission for 4 years, and we're coming up on our 4th wedding anniversary. During that time I became a permanent resident of the US of A, and we're very happy. We both love being outdoors, and going on all sorts of adventures. Our best time spent together is tag-teaming the yardwork :)

I'm glad all of you Patient Readers got to 'meet' Mr. A, and to share in the story of how a Zone 3 Canadian ended up in Zone 8a :)


Thank you very much for reading! Tomorrow, we'll be back to your regular, gardening schedule.