Worry is a Bully. So Are Scary Clowns.

In Anxiety, scary clowns, teaching, teaching grammar, what your teacher is really thinking on March 1, 2011 at 12:18 pm

Apparently, our global collective psyche has a “thing” for scary clowns.  Over the past two days, this blog has received over 200 hits, primarily referred by Google searches for scary clowns.  One search was for a “scary ugly baby.”  While I believe Aksel does not fit the bill for the latter, I hope people were thrilled with the scary clown picture of two posts ago. 

Two things rise from this scary clown phenomena:  first, I am a bit sad people aren’t finding the blog because of my unmatchable wittiness and enticing prose.  Second, if we all find clowns so distburing and scary, why do we continue to think of them as good entertainment for children’s parties and Rotary parades? 

I also find those carnival- and forest-esque stilt people who frequent public events like Winterlude and Canada Day equally disturbing to the point I cannot look at them.  I concur with Anja that they just need to stay away.


On Sunday, our priest gave a homily on worry.  Worry, he said, is a bully.  It beats you down.  It gets in the way of human relationships because it makes you focus on yourself and your own mind-spinning. 

I worry a lot.  This week, we went on a two-night yurt adventure with both children.  A yurt is like a Mongolian tent that, with the right fire tending, stays toasty warm in the winter.   Our yurt was 3.5 km in along a cross country ski trail in the lovely Gatineau park.

However, I got the date of arrival wrong, so we ended up finding out Tuesday morning that we were indeed to check in that day, not Wednesday as planned.  The morning was a crazy-crazed race to get everything ready and out the door so we could ski in before dark.  I worried all day we would not make it before dark.  Not only would we not make it before dark, but we would fall into a ravine, break our necks, leave the children out to freeze in the dark wilderness alone.  They and we would be eaten by savage wolves and hungry owls. Etc. 

Well, we started skiing just before sundown.  What I had NOT worried about and should have was my ability to snowplow safely down hills with a 60 pound pack on my back.  As I careened wildly down a large-ish hill, I envisioned my own demise or, at the very least, my poor, already weak pelvis  splitting like a wishbone as my legs splayed farther and farther apart.  Fall I did.  It was one of those disastrous headfirst falls that are so hard you think your forehead must be smushed to the back of your skull.  Indeed, my forehead was tender, my glasses bent askew and the upper ridge of my nose bleeding (not broken – result of glasses being seared into my skin).  Of course, Kirk was away ahead and I could not, for the life of me, get up. 

So, I fell.  So what?  Normal, non-worrying types would put it behind them, but I was shaky and convinced of concussion.  I ended up taking off my skis and walking the last km in.  Of course, it was now pitch dark, Anja was howling from the Chariot about being lost, Aksel screamed every time we stopped, and Kirk and I could not see the signs to said yurt.  Eventually we got there, but the park managers had set the fire at 1:30.  By now, it was 7:30.  The fire was out, and it was dang cold (-23 with wind).  So, I worried about being concussed out in the middle of the woods with no adequate shelter to keep my baby and child warm.  Worry.  Worry. Worry.

Of course, Kirk is a master fire tender, and we warmed up within the hour.  Then I worried about my possible cracked rib.  Worried still about my concussion.  Worried about the ski out and all the Huge Vertical Mountain Slopes we had to ski down.  Worried about getting cholera and only having an outhouse to which to hurry in -25 midnight wolf-infested forest.  (Kirk is, most times, endlessly patient with my worry vocalizations – though I think he tunes them out now.  If I really did have a concussion or cholera, or was being eaten by a wolf, he probably wouldn’t even look up). 

The thing is, we had a GREAT time (apart from the worry).  We skiied the next day and snowshoed, and Anja had a blast.  The sun shone, it was (relatively) warm, the yurt was toasty, the stars were outstanding at night, though I always had an undercurrent of worry. 

Worry is a bully.

Here is a picture of Anja, Aksel (in Chariot), and I at the end of the trip.  It gives the rather inaccurate idea that I pulled the Chariot most of the way. 


I worry a lot at work and about work, too.   I’ve started to like wierd blog cartoons, many of which deal with worry about various things.  However, mine would look like this:

So, perhaps I shouldn’t.  What I should do is go to bed because I have to get up to work in 5.5 hours.

  1. Try naming your blog after a somewhat popular movie (ironically about a woman who loses her husband to a brain tumour. I honestly had no idea . . . ). One day I’ll apparently have to watch the movie at least to see the furniture though, as the couch and coffee table have been searched at least a few times.

    And, yeah. I hate clowns.

    As for the worrying – I find your worrying rather endearing my dear. I heard a saying recently that said, ‘May you have many worries’ – implying that if you had lots of little things to worry about it meant you don’t have one giant worry to override them all. So you can tell Kirk that it can be a good thing that you worry about so many little things! Still, it is a bully at times, isn’t it….

    Love ya!

  2. […] II  The Scary Clown Phenomenon seems to have passed.  I’m not getting quite the hits I once did.  Let’s change that, […]

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