My feet are gonna be SO wet by the end of this...

Thursday.

2010-08-12T11:17:00.004-06:00

Ugh.

Slept in this morning;

Awoke to find my alarm turned off and stuffed under my pillow.

As I have no memory of doing this, I blame the dust bunnies.

Or perhaps Morty has decided to branch out.

Food for the Soul

2009-09-23T10:16:00.003-06:00

It was a warm, late September evening, and slow strains of bass and steel guitar drifted into the night as we drew near the entrance of the little bar in Inglewood. It had been a brutal day, and my soul was a bit tender. We stepped inside, and I was greeted by the cheerful sight of a busy barroom and a tiny stage against the back drop of a burgundy velvet curtain.

We sat and ordered drinks, and then I turned my attention to the three-man band before us. Harmonica, acoustic guitar, steel guitar, and bass. Their name was The Tim.Buck.Two, their style was country with a twist, and they were very good.

I watched the bass player dance around his instrument, the back of which was pleasantly scarred and battered. A sure sign of love. Then I closed my eyes and let the music wash over me, feeling the vibrations course through me like electricity.

Before long, I found myself smiling and tapping my foot to the beat, the weight of the day sliding from my shoulders as they moved to the rhythm. The whole experience brought to mind a similar barroom, a few years and many miles away, where I used to sit for hours and let a different, but no less wondrous, music pour over and through me. I had honestly forgotten the sheer enjoyment of listening to a musician play his or her passion from a tiny stage.

It was a good night.

Spring in Calgary

2009-06-06T10:57:00.010-06:00

Such a strange juxtaposition:

The lilac and forsythia blooms are a riot of colour and scent that is only amplified by the cool air and the dampness of the snowflakes that drift down to meet them.

The sun peeks through the thick blanket of steely clouds, and the world is momentarily diamond encrusted.

Very refreshing.

Smile dammit!

2009-04-15T09:30:00.003-06:00

The woman walked quickly along the busy street. Immersed in her own thoughts, she barely noticed the noisy traffic and passersby that swirled around her.

A horn blared behind her, jolting her back to the here and now. She looked over her shoulder at the offending vehicle and frowned. Turning her eyes toward her destination, she noticed a man sitting with his back to a store front several yards ahead of her. He was unshaven, wore dirty, ripped clothing, and was holding a sign. Just another homeless person in this city that was home to so many who could not afford a roof. Unremarkable.

The woman silently cursed as she realized that she had no change to offer him. She hated meeting the eyes of those in need without being able to assuage her guilt by offering a coin or two. She considered averting her eyes as she passed. She was only a few feet away now. At that moment, the man turned his sign in her direction. She was sure it would have some sad message on it, something to persuade people to part with their spare change. Instead, she read:

"Smile dammit!"

Scrawled in black sharpie ink on ripped cardboard. Immediately, her furrowed brow relaxed, and her face broke into a wide grin. The man whooped and wiggled his whole body in celebration of his victory.

The woman chuckled to herself as she walked on. And smiled.

Note.

2009-04-09T13:38:00.004-06:00

If there's something better for soothing the frustrated soul than listening to Ani DiFranco whilst going about your day, I don't know what it is.

This time I've gone and done it. Again.

2009-01-20T11:09:00.004-07:00

I have finally tasted pure bliss. After hearing about them for ages, I recently had the pleasure of experiencing a Crave cupcake. I could be in trouble.

And also? I'm moving to Calgary.

As you were.

I can quit anytime I want to. Honest.

2008-11-10T22:13:00.003-07:00

Seriously. I'm not dependent upon my cellphone. I'm not.

Just because my cellphone is simultaneously my timepiece, my alarm clock, my window to the world, and the only way most people can get in touch with me does NOT make me dependent.

And the fact that I LEFT IT AT THE OFFICE, WHICH IS LOCKED FOR THE NEXT THIRTY-SIX HOURS BECAUSE TOMORROW IS A HOLIDAY is causing me to have mild heart palpitations doesn't mean I have a problem, does it?

All Hallows Eve

2008-10-31T11:58:00.004-06:00

It's deliciously chilly and overcast; the browned leaves swirl and slap wetly in the sharp wind, and my breath billows from my mouth in white clouds. By all rights, I should be longing to curl up in front of my fire with a cup of tea, but I find myself enjoying the day, the tangible energy of it, and the prospect of the little ones creeping down my long, dark lane way to come knocking in hopes of a sweet treat.

It's All Hallows Eve; the Samhain. The Celts herald this night as the first of the new year, and a day to celebrate our lost loved ones. I quite agree. So tonight, I will set an extra place at my table, and light a candle to guide the dead home. And although I won't have a feast with my family and friends, they will be in my thoughts as I recall my lost loved ones, and celebrate them in my own way.

Have a wonderful evening, no matter how you plan to spend it.

Back in the saddle again...

2008-10-28T10:05:00.002-06:00

Good day.

It's been a while, but I've decided I'm going to begin blogging again. For real this time. I mean it. No, really.

I also think that it may be time for a re-vamp of this template. Thoughts?

Goodbyes.

2008-09-25T10:04:00.007-06:00

As many of you know, two years ago my paternal grandmother suffered a massive stroke, which left her weakened, unable to care for herself, but thankfully able to speak, move on her own (a bit), and she was still Grandma. Last Wednesday, she suffered a second stroke, and this time the muscles of her neck and throat were paralyzed, leaving her unable to eat or drink. The doctors informed us that regardless of what measures we took, her life would not extend beyond a few days. She hung on for nearly a week- thanks to the excellent care of the staff at her nursing home, and I think the love of her family. She died in the early hours of Tuesday, September 23, 2008.

Her death was inevitable, and not unexpected, and while I am relieved that her suffering is at an end, it does not change the fact that my grandma is gone. I fly to Ontario tomorrow to be with my family as we say goodbye to our matriarch. It will be a tough weekend, but a good one too: the stories are sure to flow, and we will all have the opportunity to reconnect with one another. While we are working our way through through our grief, I thought I would re-post my words from two years ago. If you haven't already heard, please let me tell you about the remarkable woman that my grandma was:

Born on December 28th, 1919 (for those of you that know me, that means that I was my Grandma's 60th Birthday present), Beulah Marguerite Carkner (nee Lawrence) is the oldest of thirteen kids, (8 of whom are still living). Beulah grew up on a farm near Hartland, New Brunswick, in the heart of the potato, and bible belt. She helped to raise her younger siblings through the Depression, babysat the future magnates of the potato world, Wallace and Harrison McCain, and as a young woman, moved to Saint John to work as a nurse. At one point, her youngest brother, then just a baby, was very sick. In a last ditch effort to save him, my great grandmother, Mildred Lawrence, brought him to Saint John, where my grandmother was able to save his life by giving him the simplest gift of all: a transfusion of her blood.

I should note that although she left the Hartland area over sixty years ago, my grandmother had the uncanny ability to recall near complete narratives of the area and its people. Once, on a drive through her old 'neighbourhood', she charmed us all with the family histories of each house that we passed (including one hilarious story about the McCain boys). Her stories have brought my distant family home to me, and to the rest of her children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, helping us all to understand where we've come from. And when she got together with her brothers and sisters, watch out! 'Cause the family narratives flowed like a river. There's nothing that is more of a comfort to me than listening to the tales of my family. But I digress.

When World War II began, Grandma left New Brunswick to work as a nurse on the base at Summerside, Prince Edward Island. It was here that she met my grandfather, Wallace (Wally) Carkner. They were married on December 30th, 1943, shortly before he was shipped overseas. My Grandmother would go on to give birth to six babies in the next thirteen years, the third of whom would become my father.

Now, my grandmother was a strong-willed, intelligent woman, and always had been. She was hardly the ideal of the 'obedient' wife of the mid-20th century. In fact, I suspect that Grandma would give many of the young 'liberated' women of today a run for their money when it comes to independence of spirit and speaking her mind. These personality traits did not mesh well with my grandfather's ideal of a wife, and thus, despite their love for one another, the marriage would ultimately dissolve. The final strain was the tragic death of their eldest son, Terry, in a car accident in 1961. He was only 17 years old. I'm not sure that the family has ever fully recovered.

After my uncle's death, my grandparent's marriage quickly went from bad to worse. The separation was not a pleasant one, and when the dust settled, my grandmother was forced to leave Ottawa, to return only a handful of times- for the marriage of my parents in 1976, for the birth of my cousin in 1977, and for my Grandfather's funeral in 1992. She had gained custody of her two youngest children (the older three stayed with Grandpa), and settled in Toronto.

I cannot imagine how devastating it must have been for her
to lose her eldest child, and then effectively lose her family as
well as the life that she had known for over two decades, and be faced with literally starting all over again. But she did it, all the while raising two teenagers by herself. (By all accounts, this latter task was not all sunshine and picnics, but all parties involved have survived the experience, and my grandmother shared an enviable bond with her younger son and daughter).

Here was a woman who had been married for 23 years, and consequently had not worked outside of the home during that time. She needed a career; one that would pay well enough to feed, clothe, and house three people. Her background was in Nursing, but her history of service was not enough to get her a job- she needed certification. So what did my grandmother do? She went back to high school. HIGH SCHOOL, at the age of 47. And obtained her GED. Next, she proceeded to put herself through the Quo Vadis School of Nursing in Toronto. All while working to pay the rent and put food on the table.

Upon receiving her certification, Beulah worked at Toronto General for a year or so, and was then offered a job in the Labour and Delivery Ward of the Sault Ste. Marie General Hospital, where she worked, helping to deliver and care for babies, until her retirement in 1984. I cannot think of a more rewarding way to spend your time. Most people have one or two kids; my grandmother had hundreds, maybe even thousands. I have even met some of the people she helped bring into this world: I went to school with one in England, and I worked with another when I lived in Fredericton. They're not kidding when they say it's a small world.

But growing up, I did not know any of this. My grandmother's demeanor was fairly no-nonsense, and I remember that I used to be intimidated by her for that reason. It was not until my grandfather's funeral that I finally figured out that unemotional on the outside does not necessarily mean unemotional on the inside. In fact, I think I would be hard pressed to find a woman who loves her family more than my grandma loved hers.

When my grandma had her first stroke, she asked for pictures of all of her grandkids (there are nine of us) and great grandkids (of which there are now eight) to be placed in her hospital room. I could just imagine a veritable gallery of memories surrounding her as she snoozed and her children looked anxiously on. Upon hearing of her request, I realized that I might be out of time, and that I had wasted all those stupid years being intimidated by a woman who would have done just about anything for me. I'm just glad I came to my senses before it was too late, and got to visit her once or twice as an adult, to get to know her as she really was. Now I have my images of her through a child's eyes, as well as some memories from an adult's point

of view.

This is the woman who made me my first blanket, an article that hardly left my side for the first seven years of my life, and did not leave my bed until I was thirteen. I still have it. It is disintegrating, so I've preserved it, but it still exists. When the twelve-year-old me couldn't stop crying at my grandfather's funeral, she took me aside and calmed me. She was the only one who could. She is the woman who taught me how to knit, how to ice cookies, and to bake checkerboard cake. She inspired my first foray into quilting (which now resides on my bed, in the place that her blanket used to occupy), and taught me to love gardening and yard saleing. She attended my undergraduate convocation ceremony, and upon its conclusion presented me with a wall-hanging she had quilted for me. I was floored- it was so beautiful- and all I could do was nod when she said she hoped it was ok. Later that summer, when I traveled by bus for three days to visit her and my aunt, I arrived in the Soo wanting nothing more than a shower and a bed. What I got was a cup of coffee, a set of knitting needles, and some wonderful conversation. I am so glad she didn't let me have what I wanted that day: What I got was infinitely better than any nap ever could be. During that same visit, I remember her telling everyone and anyone that would listen about her granddaughter, the university graduate, potentially a future Prime Minister! I was embarrassed and incredibly pleased at the same time.

So here's to you, Grandma Beulah. I love you so much. Boy are we going to miss you.

New Friends

2008-08-11T10:20:00.002-06:00

I made a new friend this morning. He's short, hairy, very friendly, has a drooling problem, and is incredibly fond of golf balls.

A largish puppy accosted me on my street as I walked to the bus stop this morning. He was very friendly, and as soon as he determined that I did not have any treats for him, he decided to let me lead him to the treats, and thus followed me all the way to the bus. In that time, I determined that he knows how to sit, but not to stay; that he is well loved, but has no tags; and that he does not have much sense of traffic (he dashed through traffic on one VERY busy street, and ran out in front of at least one truck, much to my horror.)

Unfortunately, the bus driver would not let him come to work with me, but he was good natured about it.

If he is waiting for me when I get home, I'll consider bringing him home for dinner ;)

Update

2008-06-20T11:40:00.004-06:00

Please forgive me, dear readers, for having ignored you for so, sooo long.

I wanted to write- really, I did- but in the upheaval of recent months, my inspiration seems to have taken a temporary (I hope!) leave of absence.

You see, approximately three months ago, I made great strides in fulfilling resolution number 7 by interviewing for, accepting a job offer on, and moving to the POLAR OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. All in the space of three and a half weeks.

So here I am. In the West. Far, far away from my favourite region of this continent, 98% of the people I know and love, and my comfort zone. Don't get me wrong- this is a good thing. A very good thing- new experiences are always welcome to me- but it does take some time to adjust.

So far, so good:
- The job is going well. It's a good move for me: the organization is young, so there's plenty of opportunity for me to make a contribution, and the people I'm now working with are pretty fantastic.

- I've found, and moved into an apartment, and am now in the throes of tweaking it to my liking (read- painting it wild and wonderful colours, plastering the walls with wonderful artwork, and getting everything positioned "just so"). It's a process.

-I am starting to recognize a small semblance of a social life appearing. Again, it's a process, but one that I am beginning to enjoy.

Two extra bonuses to my new location are:
1. The weather- it's warm and beautiful (despite what the locals will tell you has been a "frigid" Spring), with a distinct lack of two things that make Maritime summers so "interesting"- humidity and mosquitoes.
2. My grandparents live here, so I get to see them once a week rather than once every two years. Yay!

I'm slowly finding my feet here. I'm hoping that once I get settled into my apartment, and work evens out a bit more, I'll start to feel more like myself, and the creative juices will flow afresh. In the meantime, I'll leave you with an image from my new neck of the woods.

Observation.

2008-02-01T06:32:00.000-07:00

People are more likely to acknowledge you with a nod, a smile, or even a friendly "Hello" as they pass if you are both walking on the street, rather than the sidewalk.

Curious.

What is it that prompts this? Is it that they feel more of a connection? That you are bonded by your rebellious need to avoid the bone-crushingly slippery ice on the sidewalks , and play chicken with on-coming traffic?

New Resolutions (only a wee bit belated)

2008-01-08T07:45:00.001-07:00

Happy New Year!

We're back to square one again; life can be a virtual tabula rasa, or so we would like us to believe in any case. It's that time of year again- Time to wax philosophic about the state and direction of our lives and how best to improve upon both. Thus, I present you with My Resolutions:

1. I have been very happy with my progress through my resolutions for 2007 , so I shall continue on with those that are still relevant, ie:
#5. I will learn to, if not love, at least like myself.
#6. I will write more.
#7. I will live more.
I've made great strides with number 5, which is perhaps the most important of all resolutions, and thus I will continue the journey; Some of you have noticed that I've sort of fallen off the wagon with number 6, so I'll have to really work at that one; Number 7 is a bit broad. How do I propose to live more? Well, let's see:
- I will take a trip this year- a big one- and cross of at least one of the places on my life's "Must See" list.
- I will take a class in at least one thing that is completely non-academic: Photography? Tango? Belly-dancing? Who knows!?
- I will make an effort to meet more new people- difficult to do in this town, but I'll see what I can manage.
- I will finally make the time to sit down on a regular basis and work on my French.
- I will continue to find new and wonderful ways to be creative.
- I will try something new at least once a month, if not once a week or day!

Ok- I think those are some good goals to work towards. Let's see how this goes.

Good luck with your resolutions for 2008!!!

In praise of the season.

2007-10-12T11:04:00.000-06:00

It's raining, it's pouring...

I think I've started a post with that phrase before, but I'm too lazy to check my archives for confirmation.

It is, in fact raining, and pouring, right now. It's a deliciously halloweeny type of day: the dark and dreariness is constantly interrupted by the magnificently colourful bursts of flame-like trees. Every once in a while, fallen leaves are swept up in a cool gust of wind. I half expect the headless horseman to come charging 'round the bend at any moment.

Taking all of this in today as I walked home for lunch, I was struck by an incredible sense of loss for the season. Some of the trees are nearly bare, their leaves a riot of colour at their roots, and I know that soon the world will become a monochromatic scene, where life is frozen in time and space.

This is a thought that occurs to me around this time each year, and I am genuinely sad. But then I remember that this is how it is: part of a cycle that must not stop. I think about how beautiful and quiet that monochromatic world can be, and I feel a little bit better.

The benefits of Queen, freestyle.

2007-08-01T06:17:00.001-06:00

It's amazing what things will make you smile and set your day off on the right foot.

This morning it was the solitary, and very off-tune stylings of the guy I passed on my way to work. He was crooning to himself while painting his house, and I was delighted when I realized that his tune of choice was Bohemian Rhapsody. As I passed him, I joined him by singing along in my head, and couldn't help but grin when he shakily extended the note that accompanies "toooo meeeee" about three beats longer than Freddy would have done. Gotta love poetic license.

More people should sing as they work. I think the world would be a much calmer, happier, and entertaining place if we did.

Eight things...

2007-07-24T06:19:00.000-06:00

1. I love English Lavender. The smell reminds me of the time I spent in the UK during my undergrad. It was a really good four months.

2. I can be seriously dramatic, especially if I'm upset, but I'm usually pretty level-headed.

3. I am 27 years old and absolutely love children's literature.

4. I am a fairly solitary person, but I over think things if left to my own devices for too long, so I go out of my way to be in social situations that I might otherwise avoid.

5. When I was a kid, I used to stand on the shallow tree roots in the woods on windy days and sway with the trees.

6. I have a vivid imagination.

7. It takes me a while to process things that people say, or things that happen. This means that I'm excellent in a crisis, as I won't start to panic until several hours after everything is over.

8. I love to swim; I love the feeling of moving through the water. When I was younger, I would pretend I was a mermaid discovering a deep-sea trove of treasure. At the same time, really deep water, and the possibilities it holds scare me.

Ok, now it's your turn: Tell me eight things about you!

It's a slow day...

2007-07-16T08:03:00.000-06:00

Overheard at the office:

"That's the first time I've ever seen purple paint!"

Internal commentary:

What kind of hideously sheltered life has not, in over 50 years, involved purple paint?!?

.

Lilacs

2007-05-29T06:57:00.000-06:00

Soft violet and bright green contrast sharply;
Their flourishing clusters adorn laneways and sidewalks throughout the city.
You need only close your eyes and breathe deeply, and the aroma will carry you to warm evenings spent sitting ‘round the barbeque.
As I step into my front path, I stop to bury my nose in the wondrous perfume of late spring.

The lilacs are out.

Green

2007-05-23T06:35:00.000-06:00

Unable to focus on her work, she resigned herself to the meandering of her mind and stared out the window onto the sun-bathed street below. The trees were finally beginning to fill out with fresh new leaves, the colour of silly childhood summer afternoons, and in the distance she could hear the buzz of a lawnmower and the cacophony of construction crews. She closed her eyes and sighed as the refreshingly cool mid-spring breeze washed over her, its brusqueness biting into her arms and face. Longing to be away from this place, to be out there in the breeze, she opened her eyes and looked to the distant tree-encrusted hills. As her eyes scanned the horizon, she shook her head and smiled to herself, enjoying the fantasy of heading out on a journey for destinations unknown.

The phone rang shrilly in her ear, startling her back to the monochramatic reality of office life. As she lifted the receiver and began to listen to the caller describe his quandry, she tucked her hopes back into their hiding place with a small sigh, and returned her mind to her work.

RALLY FOR CHOICE TODAY!!!

2007-05-16T07:33:00.000-06:00

JUSTICE BUILDING
WEDNESDAY, MAY 16TH
12:30 PM - 1:30 PM

The provincial government refuses to provide adequate access to funded abortion. Dr. Morgentaler is suing the provincial government in an attempt to expand access.

On May 16th the government is bringing a motion to try to stop the law suit. Come and tell the government to stop using out money to attack our rights!

The provincial government continues to claim that it provides adequate access, but the facts show that access was cut sharply last June when the hospital in Fredericton stopped offering abortion service. There are more women than ever seeking abortions at the Morgentaler Clinic.

The government has repeatedly stated that it will not change its policy without public outcry. Government officials have started to sit up and take notice since the April 11th event in Fredericton where almost 300 people spoke out for choice. We need to keep the pressure up.

COME TO THE JUSTICE BUILDING ON MAY 16TH TO VOICE YOUR SUPPORT FOR ACCESS TO SAFE AND PUBLICALLY FUNDED ABORTION!

WE ARE NEW BRUNSWICK! WE ARE FOR CHOICE!

ORGANIZED BY: Abortion Access (NB) with support from: The Morgentaler Clinic, Fredericton Sexual Assault Crisis Centre, Law Students for Choice, Abortion Right Coalition of Canada, National Abortion Federation.

What is Stephen Harper Reading?

2007-05-04T06:56:00.000-06:00

Life of Pi author, Yann Martel is valiantly attempting to broaden the horizons of Stephen Harper by sending him bi-weekly doses of some of the most thought-provoking and revered works of literature the english-speaking world has known. Mr. Martel has promised to continue this 'campaign' as long as Mr. Harper holds the post of Prime Minister. All I can think of is the incredible library that Harper will accumulate if he manages to win the next election, and how said library will inevitably go to waste. This is an excruciating thought.

To document these attempts to inspire more 'stillness' in Mr. Harper, Mr. Martel has begun this website. The best part is that with each book, Martel includes an introductory letter that describes his reasons for selecting this particular work. Reading these letters make me want to read. Continually. I encourage all of you to check them out. It's also amusing to note the types of literature that have been sent... in contrast to the policies of the man to whom they are addressed...

I am glad that Mr. Martel is publishing his attempts, as his letters, which I fear are wasted on Stephen Harper, offer us a wonderful insight into the works he is recommending. So tune in to "What is Stephen Harper Reading?" every second week to check out the latest entry (and to see if Mr. Harper has responded...)

On where we're headed.

2007-04-19T07:43:00.000-06:00

In the past few years, I have often looked at the world and been reminded of a poster that used to hang in my departmental lounge of my university. This is what is said:

Only after the last tree has been cut down;
Only after the last fish has been caught;
Only after the last river has been poisoned;
Only then will you realize that money cannot be eaten.

- Cree Indian Prophecy

Somehow, it just seems to fit.

The REAL reason they put benches in public washrooms.

2007-04-16T06:03:00.000-06:00

Everyone seems to have a different sensitivity to Public Displays of Affection. Some are loathe to hold hands in public, while others seem to have no qualms about detailed exploration of their partner's anatomy whilst in a group situation. I place myself somewhere in the hazy middle of this scale: I don't consider myself to be a prude, but I wouldn't say I'm exactly an exhibitionist either. Really, I think I'm pretty open-minded when it comes to PDAs: I think it's nice to see a couple expressing their love? affection? for one another... but when a quick peck on the lips or a hand on the leg turns into obvious lust right before my eyes, I'll admit, I tend to feel awkward- like I'm peeping, even though we're all in a public place.

This brings me to an explanation of the motivation behind this post: On Saturday evening, I attended an event with a large group of friends. It was something we had all been looking forward to for a long time- winding down after a loooong couple of months while enjoying one another's company. One of our number has recently begun a new romantic relationship. He and his new amour are still in the cuddling, don't-want-to-let-you-out-of-my-sight-for-two-seconds phase, and it's really quite cute. To a point. During the course of the evening they spoke to approximately 5 people, and ended up making out in the middle of the room- taking a 30 second break every 5 minutes or so. I really would rather that I did not have as much detail as I do concerning their... mutual affection... but as they were in the middle of a rather small room, it was sort of hard to miss. At one point, they decided to get away from 'prying eyes' and proceeded to occupy one of the washrooms for a while...

*sigh*

The whole scenario reminds me strongly of a futuristic short story I once read (Jules Verne?) in which spontaneous sexual activity had replaced conversation as the culturally acceptable mode of relation between the sexes. The story, of course, revolved around a young man and woman who were looking more for cerebral than sexual stimulation, and thus found themselves at odds with the societal norms. It was a very interesting read, and I have often mused as to whether or not this is one direction in which our current society might be leading us...

Now don't get me wrong- no one at the party on Saturday was particularly upset by the couple's display of attraction- on the whole everyone was pretty amused: There were lots of comments along the lines of "Well I haven't seen THAT since I was in the eighth grade..." and the occasional joking "Ahhhh. Ain't love grand?" But it sparked a hot, and somewhat drunken, debate to which I now request your input. So here is the question:

Public Displays of Affection: How far is too far?

Go nuts.

Willingly boring holes in my teeth.

2007-03-26T05:53:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning, a beautifully sunny and brisk Sunday, a group of friends, acquaintances, and I ventured to the little pioneer village just outside of town to participate in the annual Sugar Bush ritual. We left at a relatively early hour, considered by some to be unreasonably early, in the hopes of beating the post-church crowds.

For those of you who have never experienced a Sugar Bush festival, it is an event the surrounds the production of maple syrup: Once all of the sap has been collected, it is boiled for hours and hours (~20 or so, I think), until it is reduced to the sticky goodness that is real maple syrup- it takes something like 30-40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of syrup!

Once the syrup stage is reached, one pot is kept on the fire to be reduced even
further, in order to produce maple candy. This wondrous stuff is then poured over snow to cool, and then wrapped around a popsicle stick to make a sugary lollipop of bliss that will rot your teeth out of your mouth even as you consume it.

In my hometown, this process is combined with the annual fundraiser for the local Search and Rescue: what better to go with fresh maple syrup than a pancake breakfast? Once you've gorged yourself on a plate of pancakes and eggs and bacon and sauage and beans and toast, you can work it all off by wandering around the village, which is beautifully situated, and really quite pretty. This is made incredibly enjoyable by the satisfying feel of a full belly and listening to children yelp in delight as the pigs snuffle about their stalls. Later, you can stop in at the pub for hot apple cider (or hot toddy...), and purchase just about every form of maple sugar known to humankind.

I can't quite put my finger on why, but I always enjoy this outing immensley. It was a good Sunday.

All that's missing is my hot chocolate.

2007-02-13T06:04:00.000-07:00

It has been five loooong years in the making (maybe even longer), but I have finally finished my first quilt! I was inspired to start the project by the amazing artistry of both my Grandmother and my Aunt: They have each made some absolutely remarkable quilts in their time, and I have been fortunate enough to be permitted to help out here and there. I must admit, I was, and still am, in awe of the amount of patience, work, and care that goes into these amazing pieces (You will note that I lack the patience, so mine is not half so intricate as most quilts...).

Those of you who are crafty will know that every once in a while, you get an uncontrollable urge to create something. When I was twenty or so, a number of these urges found me tinkering with sewing geometric patterns. These experiments produced four "blocks", which I had initially intended to turn into cushions; but what did I need with four little (pretty but useless) cushions? Nothing. So finally, (after the blocks sat in my closet for a month or five) I decided that the only way to go would be to make a quilt of my own.

Now, I will warn the purists out there: This quilt was completely fly-by-the -seat-of -thy-pants. No planning. My only vision for it was to incorporate as many different soft textures as I could, so it uses various forms of cotton, flannel, courduroy, terry-cloth, and whatever you call the inside of swearshirt material. Much of the design as it now appears, occurred almost by accident, and was done in fits and starts over an extended period. (In case you're wondering, the original cushion fronts became the corner blocks...) And no, not all of the seams match perfectly (ok, some not even a little bit)... I'm really not that great of a seamstress. But it's all one piece (don't even ask how many new words I learned trying to get it that way), and it's really really warm. And cozy. And warm. And did I mention cozy? 'Cause it is. Maybe if you're reaaaally nice to me, I'll let you try it out sometime!

Meet Dax.

2007-01-19T07:13:00.000-07:00

Note- to the best of my knowledge, no squirrels have been injured in their pursuit of pilfered bird seed.

For a little over a year, my father has been waging war on the squirrels that have cunningly found their way into each of the four or five bird feeders that reside in our backyard. It's been quite entertaining to observe the new tactics and fantastic structures that he has employed in an effort to thwart the little critters... it has been even more amusing to watch said critters find their way around each and every one of these measures.

Typically said measures have consisted of hanging the bird feeders by metal twining (to prevent the squirrels from chewing through the cord, felling the seed-filled feeder, and running away with the spoils crammed in their little cheeks); placing a wide, circular object, such as a garbage can lid or a pizza pan, above and below the feeder (to impede the squirrels' ability to access the feeder); or placing the feeder far out on a small branch of a tree so that the branch will not support the weight of the squirrel and will flop it onto the ground. We even put out some seeds in a container at ground level to lure the squirrels away from the feeders and their need for high-flying acrobatics.

None of it works. These are canny critters that we're dealing with here, and they can pretty much find a way around any obstacle. Steel twining? They chewed through it. Garbage can lid/Pizza pan? They would hang by one back paw (how do they do that??) and swing onto the feeder. Thin branch? They would either take flying leaps onto the feeder, or would team up and while one squirrel applied its weight to the branch, dipping it closer to the ground, another would jump from the ground to the feeder.

I used to watch this while playing the theme to Mission Impossible in my head, secretly rooting for the squirrels (sorry, Dad). It was a hilarious scene.

This past Christmas, my Mom thought that she had finally found the coup de grace. A certified squirrel-proof bird feeder. This sucker is designed to be hung from your house, and has a little grate in the front that birds can fit through, but squirrels cannot. Being that our house has vinyl siding on it (not an ideal climbing surface) , it seemed that the squirrels would have a devil of a time even getting to this feeder, much less be able to extract seeds from it.

Could it be? Could the little birdies that reside in our backyard finally get an undisturbed meal??

Maybe not.

I have no idea how it got up there, but isn't it cute?? I think I will name it Dax. Just because.

My sister took this picture and sent it to my Mom and I and then posted it as the desktop on the family computer so that my Dad would see it as soon as he got home. There was a certain amount of resignation in the disgusted look on both Mom and Dad's face. And a certain amount of amusement (I think...).

As for me, I don't think I've laughed that hard in quite some time.

I'm still giggling just thinking about it.

one year down...

2007-01-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Well whaddya know? It's my blogaversary!

Happy Blogaversary tooooo mee!

Ice, ice baby.

2007-01-05T11:33:00.001-07:00

This morning, the roads were so slippery that nobody could get anywhere for approximately an hour and a half. It was the strangest thing- at 6:30 am, the roads were fine; from about 7:30- 9am, the roads were a death trap, and since then they've been fine. A city bus and a dump truck collided and ended up in a ditch (no one was injured as far as I know). When the tow truck arrived to pull the vehicles out of the ditch, it was instead pulled in. A police car then arrived on the scene and promplty slid into the ditch as well. I imagine all of the passengers and drivers are still stuck in that ditch- they have lit a fire by now and are busy roasting marshmallows and singing Kumbaya.

New Year's Resolutions...

2006-12-31T07:06:00.000-07:00

Well. It's been a busy week. First came Christmas, which this year included a fantabulous dinner with my Korean students, who had never tasted turkey before. My family has never really had guests for Christmas dinner, as our extended family lives elsewhere, so this made for a nice change. Four days later, it was my birthday: I am officially in my late 20's and as many of you know, I'm not entirely happy about that. But then, as my Grandpa used to say, it sure beats the alternative! Third, and finally, New Year's Eve is now upon us. Thus, this week has essentially been one long excuse for unimpeded imbibing of alcoholic substances, consuming of delicious goodies, and lazing about in general. It's been nice.

I am beginning to mourn the fact that in less than 48 short little hours I will be slogging my way back to work. Seriously- this week I have slept better than I have in the last two years, and I attribute it to the fact that I haven't been at work. Sad.

But I digress.

With tonight's festivities, comes the age old tradition of naming our New Year's resolutions. This is the one day of the year during which people are actually encouraged to be self-reflective- something some of us all too often forget to be. So what shall I resolve this year? In a sort of omnibus resolution (followed by a resounding 'DUH!' from the peanut gallery) I resolve to make 2007 a better year than 2006. True, it won't be hard to accomplish this, as 2006, in my experience, was a particular stinker, but there are a few points that I will concentrate on (in no particular order):

1. I will find a job that doesn't cause me undue stress and depression.
2. I will continue to work towards my latest goals.
3. I will continue to rid myself of poisonous relationships... I think I've already got most of them, but I also need to make sure I stay rid of them (I'm a bit of a doormat that way).
4. I will continue to work on fixing the emotional problems that have plagued me since my teenaged years.
5. I will learn to, if not love, at least like myself.
6. I will write more.
7. I will live more.

And no, I am not so naive to think that the clock will be reset and that my problems will evaporate simply because I am exchanging my Giverny calendar for one of Scottish landscapes. Nor have I waited for said changing of the guard to commence the changes I deem necessary (note the verb 'continue' in sub-resolutions 2, 3, and 4). But still, it appears that I've got my work cut out for me. Never fear, though. I've got some excellent friends, tons of sappy movies, good music, this blog, pretty toes, and gallons of coffee and wine to get me through ;)

What are your resolutions??

Oh, and-

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Riding in cars. With or without boys.

2006-12-09T04:40:00.000-07:00

You know, it never ceases to blow me away: What people will do in their cars, while sitting in traffic. Now admittedly, there is not much 'real' traffic in my neck of the woods, but you do occasionally have to wait five to ten minutes to make it through an intersection or two, so there is some time for people watching. I like to watch the car behind me through my rear-view mirror. Somewhat voyeuristic, I know, but it's still a public place... I observed three cars yesterday.

The first is the one that prompted this post. When I glanced in the rear view mirror, the lone occupant was digging around in her nose. And I mean digging. Once she had finished with both nostrils (it was like a train wreck or one of those mosquito lights: I couldn't look away... I just had to know how deep she was gonna go. Was she going to nick a vessel? Would the paramedics be needed??), she commenced with her nails (I figure they would have needed a good cleaning after where they'd just been), and then she proceeded to use the rear view mirror to examine her eyebrows and how they reacted to every ridiculous expression she could think of. Alas, my entertainment was cut short by the change of the light, at which point she gunned the gas and nearly clipped my rear end as she made a sudden lane change and swerved around the corner.

The next car kind of freaked me out a bit. It was one of those ugly new Cadillacs, and the occupants, a man and woman who appeared to be in their early twenties, were obviously having words. They looked furious with one another, and as the woman kept talking, I really thought the man (who was driving) just might smack her. He didn't though. At least not that I saw. The light changed, and as I proceeded through the intersection, he made an illegal and high-speed turn, cutting off traffic in the turning lane.

The third and final car was a van with two occupants, ostensibly father and son. This pair was fun to watch. They quite obviously were having a blast, laughing and joking. The son looked to be about 10 years old, and at one point was demonstrating something that looked very little boy-ish. I imagine battleships and fighter jets were involved, complete with sound effects. The light changed, and I was forced to concentrate on what was in front of me.

So why do people act as though they're alone in their cars when, in reality, they are, more often than not, in the middle of a crowd? I suppose all this must have something to do with the fact that when in our cars, we feel relatively secure and isolated, never mind the fact that we're surrounded by clear glass... I must admit that I myself have been caught by this: More than once I have been rocking out to the stereo, singing to the masses at Woodstock, only to return to my senses and find that I have been serenading (potentially off-key) three lanes of traffic with my windows down. I got applause once, but I think that due more to my comedic value than singing abilities...

Hmmmm... just another day in the fascinating realm of people watching.

Word of the day

2006-11-28T11:01:00.000-07:00

Cerulean is a great word. I love the way it's spelled: Trying to pronounce it correctly, is a sort of puzzle, you see, and then there's the treat of the way it sounds rolling off your tongue once you do figure it out:

seh-roo-lee-un

And finally, I love the images it conjures... his eyes were a clear cerulean blue; adrift on a calm cerulean sea. Ah.

What words are you currently in love with?

Return of the Native

2006-11-24T06:12:00.000-07:00

So this post will not be half so tragic as Hardy's classic, but the title fit, ok? Sheesh.

Anyway, I'm back on the East Coast, where I have been for a few days now, but have been up to my eyeballs in bureacratic red tape and other such wonderful substances, and thus have been unable to communicate with y'all.

Thanks again to everyone that wished me a good journey, and sent their love to Grandma. It was greatly appreciated.

The trip to the Soo was good. In fact, my only regret is that it did not last longer. I feel like I should be there. I want to be there. But, alas, I've taken about as much time from work as I dare in this crazy season. All I can do is hope that I have the opportunity to go back sometime soon (*que pointed look towards the Air Canada offices (somewhere in the ether) and the sending of mental vibes along the line of "seeeeeeeaaaat saaaaale").

At this point, I feel I should note that there are a few bright points to Air Canada- to start, they managed to get my Mom and I on my sister's early flight. Yay! No Montreal for us! On the way there, at least. Oh, and they give you PeakFreans cookies on the plane. Yum!

Upon arrival in the Soo, I was struck (as I always am) by what a sad place it is. Once a booming steel town, it has dwindled over the past twenty years. All I can say to describe it is that it is a sparse place. We arrived at the Rehabilitation Hospital (once the secular hospital- the main hospital used to be run by the Catholic Church), which is located across from an old residential area near downtown. As we crossed the street, I noted the painful irony that there was no crosswalk to aid in the crossing of the four, fast-moving lanes of traffic, forcing visitors (and potential patients) to play a rather scary game of chicken with the on-coming traffic.

But we made it. In one piece. The up we went, dousing our hands in disinfectant and inhaling the astringent aroma of Hospital. Seeing my grandma for the first time since her stroke was both better and worse than I thought it would be. That's all I can think of to describe it. I was shocked by her altered appearance (I'm not sure what I was expecting), but her voice has returned to its normal range, and when we arrived, she was "holding court" (her words) in the hallway with my aunts and her best friend, and munching on a fresh piece of gingerbread. This was encouraging.

We spent the four days of our visit scheduling ourselves around the hospital visiting hours. In the 'tween hours, we'd all apply ourselves to some project or another- knitting, baking bread, reading, pre-cooking dinner for post-evening shift with Grandma, or reliving our family history by looking through Grandma's multitude of photo albums. We spent our time with Grandma taking her for spins around the ward in her fancy chair, giving her foot massages (she looooooooved those!), looking at and discussing with her the two HUGE bulletin boards by her bed that have been covered with pictures of her, her sisters, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and finally trying to convice her to eat the gray lump that was supposed to be chicken, or pork, or beef, and the green lump that was supposed to be beans, and the ever-present potatoes and gravy. I never thought I'd see the day when my grandmother refused potatoes, but that day has come, and I'm pretty sure Hell has frozen over.

During the first visit, I had been knitting away while my sister took a turn showing Grandma all the cards people had sent her. She saw the knitting needles, and seemed quite interested, so I offered the yarn to feel (nice, soft mohair-like stuff) and inspect my work. Now, my grandmother has been a knitter for well over seventy years, and before I knew it she had the needles from me. (I was only mildly shocked by the fact that I had just been outpowered by an octogenarian stroke patient.) All four of us present held our breath as we watched her attempt to knit with one hand. I swear, the shear power of our stares could have set the needles on fire as we attempted to will her success with our minds. I couldn't believe it: She nearly got it. But then, as I've mentioned before, Grandma is the most determined woman I've ever met.

So the next day, I spoke to Grandma's occupational therapist, and lo and behold, there is such a contraption as a one-handed knitter!!! It's a little wooden block that holds one needle while the knitter works the other one. Amazing. So now re-learning how to knit has become part of her daily therapy. I'm pretty sure she'll have the hang of it before long, and hopefully that will help with the boredom...

Well, I could sit here and write a narrative about the whole trip, but then you'd all likely be bored to tears. Suffice it to say that as a result of this trip I have come to value my family even more than I previously did (which is definitely saying something), and have learned a multitude about strokes. The most important things I have learned are the following:

1. Every stroke is different- the cause may be the same, but the effects vary so much with every patient that you should not allow yourself to by filled with hope or dread by other people's stories. Just take the situation as it comes, one day at a time.

2. Should your loved one survive the stroke itself and be given a chance to rehabilitate, remember that the road to recovery is a very very bumpy one, and is by no means assured. There will be bad and very bad days; days when you're sure that, even though your loved one has survived the stroke, he or she is still gone forever. But there will also be good days; when you almost forget that he or she is sick. These are the days to look for and to treasure; they'll keep you going through the bad ones. I promise.

Off to see the wizard...

2006-11-15T16:32:00.000-07:00

Well, ok... you got me. I'm not technically going to see the wizard. But I am going to see my Grandma. See you all next week! Have a great weekend!

:D

Just one of those weeks.

2006-11-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

First, off I'd like to thank all of you for your good thoughts and wishes for my grandmother's recovery. I am told that she is making progress (slow, but steady), and her sense of humour remains in tact, lifting the spirits of the whole family. I'll finally be heading out there late next week to lend a hand and prove to Grandma that I really was paying attention during those knitting lessons.

Which brings me to a point. I have a bone to pick with Air Canada. First of all, the company no longer has family emergency rates if you're flying within North America. For this, they suck on immeasurable levels of suckiness: I can get a family emergency rate to Paris, or London, but not to Sault Ste. Marie. Here I would note that a return plane ticket to Paris or London at regular rates costs LESS than a return ticket to the Soo. Substantially less. Logic? I can only think that the almighty buck wins out again, even if it means gouging people who are on the brink of a break-down due to worry and fear for their loved ones. Classic.

Secondly, upon attempting to book the tickets, my Mother and I had the frickin' prices change on us approximately 4 times in the space of ten minutes. Now, I know and accept that the pricing of plane tickets is a volatile and ever-changing phenomenon, but this is insane. As a result of this diabolical pricing scheme, my mother and I are on one flight, and my sister is on another. And it will take us nine hours to get home (please note that actual flying time is 2 hours and 30 minutes- we will become very well acquainted with the wine bar at Trudeau Airport, I suspect).

Next in the comedy of errors that has been this week is the fiasco that has occurred with my new glasses. Finally, I have found a pair frames that I love, and have obtained a perscription through which I can actually see. Splendid, right? Except that I brought my beautiful, spotless, new glasses in to the shop from which I purchased them, to have them adjusted (they were killing my ears), and the guy who helped me ended up ruining my lenses. Ruining them. They look as if something has eaten into the coatings, so now it looks like one big smudge when I look through them. He has ordered new ones, of course, but now I am stuck wearing the old glasses- the ones with the chipped finish, scratched lenses, and the perscription that gives me headaches- for the next TWO WEEKS. I am so unimpressed. In fact, I'm pretty much spitting mad. And I've mellowed since last night.

But fear not. All will be well. My boss has been uncommonly good about helping me to arrange everything for my absence in this, the craziest time of my work year, so kudos to her- she's not wholly without consideration for her employess; I will be calling the manager of the eye-glass shop to see if we can't speed my lenses along a bit; I've managed to get three course modules done this week. Amazing progress for me; And finally, I am meeting a dear friend for beers, dinner, and movie tonight, with the object of both of us forgetting the ills of this past week. Joy! Is it 5 o'clock yet?

For Grandma

2006-11-04T09:47:00.000-07:00

My grandma is sick. Last Sunday morning, she had what the doctors have now confirmed to be a stroke, and has been in the hospital ever since. My family has not lived within easy driving distance of my grandmother's house for quite some time, and so my father has flown to the Soo (Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario for those of you who are uninitiated) to be at her side. His sisters and two of my grandmother's sisters are there as well. My uncle is anxiously awaiting his flight from the West Coast. At first, we thought that the damage from the stroke was relatively minimal, affecting her speech somewhat, and weakening one side of her body, but the doctors have informed the family that the stroke is 'evolving', that the damage is spreading. I didn't know that strokes could do that. This is a cruel way to find out.

As luck would have it, my father and his younger brother and sister had just returned from visiting the Soo. I thank God, Buddha, Allah, the sweet baby Jesus, and the time-space continuum that they all made that trip. For their sakes, as well as for Grandma's.

On Friday, the hospital set up a 'family conference'. This is a meeting in which the patient's condition is discussed with the family and the patient. Everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) who has had any involvement with my Grandma's care was present, along with all available family members and a social worker (who is there to make sure the family is doing ok). From what I can tell, the care has been excellent, and the doctors are great, but all anybody seems to be able to tell us can be summed up in three awful little words: wait and see.

So while my family is waiting and seeing what the fate of our beloved matriarch will be, I thought I'd take some time to tell you about the remarkable woman that is my grandma.

Born on December 28th, 1919 (for those of you that know me, that means that I was my Grandma's 60th Birthday present), Beulah Marguerite Carkner (nee Lawrence) is the oldest of thirteen kids, (8 of whom are still living). Beulah grew up on a farm near Hartland, New Brunswick, in the heart of the potato, and bible belt. She helped to raise her younger siblings through the Depression, babysat the future magnates of the potato world, Wallace and Harrison McCain, and as a young woman, moved to Saint John to work as a nurse. At one point, her youngest brother, then just a baby, was very sick. In a last ditch effort to save him, my great grandmother, Mildred Lawrence, brought him to Saint John, where my grandmother was able to save his life by giving him the simplest gift of all: a transfusion of her blood.

I should note that although it has been over sixty years since she left the Hartland area, my grandmother has the uncanny ability to recall near complete narratives of the area and its people. Once, on a drive through her old 'neighbourhood', she charmed us all with the family histories of each house that we passed (including one hilarious story about the McCain boys). Her stories have brought my distant family home to me, and to the rest of her children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, helping us all to understand where we've come from. And when she gets together with her brothers and sisters, watch out! 'Cause the family narratives flow like a river. There's nothing that is more of a comfort to me than listening to the tales of my family. But I digress.

When World War II began, Grandma left New Brunswick to work as a nurse on the base at Summerside, Prince Edward Island. It was here that she met my grandfather, Wallace (Wally) Carkner. They were married on December 30th, 1943, shortly before he was shipped overseas. My Grandmother would go on to give birth to six babies in the next thirteen years, the third of whom would become my father.

Now, my grandmother is a strong-willed, intelligent woman, and always has been. She was hardly the ideal of the 'obedient' wife of the mid-20th century. In fact, I suspect that Grandma would give many of the young 'liberated' women of today a run for their money when it comes to independence of spirit and speaking her mind. These personality traits did not mesh well with my grandfather's ideal of a wife, and thus, despite their love for one another, the marriage would ultimately dissolve. The final strain was the tragic death of their eldest son, Terry, in a car accident in 1961. He was only 17 years old. I'm not sure that the family has ever fully recovered.

After my uncle's death, my grandparent's marriage quickly went from bad to worse. The separation was not a pleasant one, and when the dust settled, my grandmother was forced to leave Ottawa, to return only a handful of times- for the marriage of my parents in 1976, for the birth of my cousin in 1977, and for my Grandfather's funeral in 1992. She had gained custody of her two youngest children (the older three stayed with Grandpa), and settled in Toronto.

I cannot imagine how devastating it must have been for her
to lose her eldest child, and then effectively lose her family as
well as the life that she had known for over two decades, and then
be faced with literally starting all over again. But she did it, all the while raising two teenagers by herself. (By all accounts, this latter task was not exactly all sunshine and picnics, but all parties involved have survived the experience, and my grandmother continues to share an enviable bond with her younger son and daughter).

Here was a woman who had been married for 23 years, and consequently had not worked outside of the home during that time. She needed a career; one that would pay well enough to feed, clothe, and house three people. Her background was in Nursing, but her history of service was not enough to get her a job- she needed certification. So what did my grandmother do? She went back to high school. HIGH SCHOOL, at the age of 47. And obtained her GED. Next, she proceeded to put herself through the Quo Vadis School of Nursing in Toronto. All while working to pay the rent and put food on the table.

Upon receiving her certification, Beulah worked at Toronto General for a year or so, and was then offered a job in the Labour and Delivery Ward of the Sault Ste. Marie General Hospital, where she worked, helping to deliver and care for babies, until her retirement in 1984. I cannot think of a more rewarding way to spend your time. Most people have one or two kids; my grandmother has had hundreds, maybe even thousands. I have even met some of the people she helped bring into this world: I went to school with one in England, and I worked with another right here in Fredericton. They're not kidding when they say it's a small world.

But growing up, I did not know any of this. My grandmother's demeanor is fairly no-nonsense, and I remember that I used to be intimidated by her for that reason. It was not until my grandfather's funeral that I finally figured out that a no-nonsense demeanor does not mean that she loves her family any less. In fact, I think I would be hard pressed to find a woman who loves her family more than my grandma loves hers.

My father tells me that Grandma has asked for pictures of all of her grandkids (there are nine of us) and great grandkids (of which there are now eight) to be placed in her hospital room. I can just imagine a veritable gallery of memories surrounding her as she snoozes and her children look anxiously on. Upon hearing of her request, I realized that I may be out of time, and that I had wasted all those stupid years being intimidated by a woman who would have done just about anything for me. I'm just glad I came to my senses before it was too late, and got to visit her once or twice as an adult, to get to know her as she really is. Now I have my images of her through a child's eyes, as well as some memories from an adult's point

of view.

This is the woman who made me
my first blanket, an article that hardly left my side for the first
seven years of my life, and did not leave my bed until I was thirteen. I still have it. It is disintegrating, so I've preserved it, but it still exists. When the twelve-year-old me couldn't stop crying at my grandfather's funeral, she took me aside and calmed me. She was the only one who could. She is the woman who taught me how to knit, how to ice cookies, and to bake checkerboard cake. She inspired
my first foray into quilting (which is still in progress...), and taught me to love gardening and yard saleing. She attended my undergraduate convocation ceremony, and upon its conclusion presented me with a wall-hanging she had quilted for me. I was floored- it was so beautiful- and all I could do was nod when she said she hoped it was ok. Later that summer, when I traveled by bus for three days to visit her and my aunt, I arrived in the Soo wanting nothing more than a shower and a bed. What I got was a cup of coffee, a set of knitting needles, and some wonderful conversation. I am so glad she didn't let me have what I wanted that day: What I got was infinitely better than any nap ever could be. During that same visit, I remember her telling everyone and anyone that would listen about her granddaughter, the university graduate, potentially a future Prime Minister! I was embarrassed and incredibly pleased at the same time.

So here's to you, Grandma Beulah. I love you so much. Take your time, play some Skip-Bo, and give em' hell.

Oops! Did I horn you?!

2006-11-01T19:03:00.000-07:00

So Halloween has come and gone once again.

I really quite like All Hallows Eve... especially when it comes to manning the door at my parents house and greeting all of the neighbourhood kids- one of my favourite things to do. It's sort of a family tradition, you see. When I was growing up (and even still most years) My Mom and Dad would always get all costumed up. One of them would take my sister and I trick-or-treating, and the other would remain on door duty. It was great to watch my Dad in action at the door. He's always got a fabulous costume (my personal favorite was the very convincing California Raisin of 1988... does anyone besides me remember the California Raisins??) and never fails to grill the trick-or-treaters about their costumes, their candy haul, or whatever else might present itself. Those kids earn their candy at my house.

Since bridging the gap into 'adulthood' (is anyone really an adult at Halloween?), I've divided my time between the 'grown-up' Halloween parties, and door duty (fortunately, Halloween has a 5 in 7 chance of falling on a week night, so the parties are usually scheduled on the closest available weekend, thus freeing me up for door duty). This year, the party was also my friend's birthday. A group of us decided to go as... wait for it... the Spice Girls!

Look at us! Aren't we simply devastating? You'll note that, in keeping with an authentic Spice Girls look, I tried in vain to turn my cork-screw curls to Posh-pin straight, but alas, the rainy atmosphere had different plans.

I've got to say, it wasn't until we popped some old Spice Girls tunes on (you know, to get us in the mood), that I realized just how raunchy their lyrics are. What were we thinking?? But I digress...

Watch those things, Scary! I don't want to lose an eye! (I'm told that Tiffany, aka Scary Spice, was nearly reduced to cutting those things- actually gold christmas trees- out. Almost.)

... and here's Ginger (aka-my sister) striking a pose...

Bust a move, Graham! Oh, I mean... wait... who are you again?

This is Thuy (pronounced Twee) and Colin,
aka- a butterfly nymph and the undead...

As you can see, a good time was had by all (despite the rain and the fact that come 1am there wasn't a single cab to be found in the whole of downtown) and the costumes were suprisingly entertaining.

Three nights later, I did door duty once again (as a slightly more wholesome gypsy this time), and was highly entertained by a variety of ghouls, goblins, a sleeping bunny, one very small giraffe, and a jack-o-lantern extinguishing turtle. Hee :D
.

Random Jenn: Inadvertently repairing photocopiers since late 2006.

2006-10-30T12:11:00.001-07:00

It's Monday. That should have been my first clue. AND I awoke with a headache. AND my wrist was (and is) f*#^ing killing me.

BUT.

I've been trying to improve my attitude of late, and this therefore means that I am no longer permitted to write the day off as a loss before noon. So I have been stubbornly looking on the bright side of life all day. For example:

It's Monday morning: I don't have to teach tonight, and there is a pumpkin just waiting to become a jack-o-lantern in eight to ten hours!

I awoke with a headache: probably lack of caffeine. Better have that fabled second cup of coffee this morning.

My wrist hurts like h*$$ and has developed a strange bump: perhaps it's carpal tunnel syndrome and I can get a medical leave from work due to my inability to type.

My 10am meeting neglected to show up: Whew. Another hour in which I can work at clearing this stinkin' 'TO DO' list.

The milk I keep for my tea is found to have gone sour: Ah well, I've always wondered if I would like my tea black...

My 10am meeting shows up at 11am: I didn't really want to work on that 'TO DO' list anyway...

The wrap I purchased for lunch is soggy and quite gross: Meh, I didn't really need the preservatives and calories anyway.

Our photocopier has been embellishing each and every sheet of paper with a nice clean stripe approximately three inches down from the top of the sheet: The stripe is just below the letterhead... it looks like I did it on purpose.

I somehow manage to end up with 44 copies of the letter I needed only 4 copies of and in the process jam the copier beyond all recognition: In the process of disasembling the copier to extract the six-hundred-and-forty-two segments of ripped paper stuck in its various cogs and rollers, getting myself coated in a fine layer of toner, cutting one finger, and re-setting various paper sizes (accidentally), I also managed to somehow banish the hideous and unwanted stripe.

Hm. See how good I'm getting at this whole sunshine thing?

20 points to the person who knows the answer.

2006-10-25T17:50:00.000-06:00

Something very strange has just occurred and I am in need of explanations...

I was making myself a cup of tea this evening 'cause it's cold and rainy out, and tea is just the beverage for such a night. As I added the milk, my mug began to whistle at me. A very strange, high-pitched, whiny whistle. I feared for the safety of my mug (was the tea too hot? Was my mug about to crack? Even though I first tempered it with hot tap water?) so I quickly transferred the whistling drink to another mug. As I was pouring the tea into the new mug, the whistling increased in pitch steadily, until it ceased altogether. Hm.

Upon examination of the whistling mug, I found no cracks of any kind... nothing out of the ordinary at all... nothing different from the last time I drank tea (quiet tea) from it. So, as an experiment, I transferred the tea back to the whistling mug, where it promptly began to serenade me again. Puzzled and cold, I transferred the tea back to the quiet mug, and went about my business.

But it's still bugging me...

Does anyone have any ideas as to the source of the whistling? Help put a sorely anal retentive mind at ease. Please.

this one's for T.

2006-10-23T06:04:00.000-06:00

My parents recently treated themselves to a
well- deserved holiday. In Paris. For 10 days. Please note that my skin has taken on a green tinge- the tinge of the green-eyed monster- that has only recently started to fade. But I digress. The trip was taken in celebration of 30 years of marriage. Sort of a second honeymoon, I suppose. And of course, being the fantabulously thoughtful parents that they are, they made sure that my sister and I were supplied with a Parisian fashion fix to help get us over the pain of being left here in the anti-fashion capital of the world whilst they went off to enjoy the City of Lights.

And they done good.

Behold:

The cow-hide bag, which is that perfectly rich hue of red and feels like butter;

The pashmina and silk pashmina that is warm, but not too warm, and makes me feel soooo cosmopolitan;

Also, here are my new boots. My love for them is pure.

Finally, and this is in no way related to the fashion-lover in me, here is my latest knitting project, which is ~2/3 complete. Rudimentary, I know, but they should get the job done. What do ya'll think?

They're meant to keep my hands warm at the office, which is notoriously chilly in the winter...

My Dad has taken to calling me Bob Cratchet whenever he sees them. Hee.

And yes, Therese, I will be starting work on the shawl soon. I'll keep you up to date!

And yes, I am aware that vegans everywhere are likely taking contracts out on my animal-product loving life. Bring it. I'm ready.

sick

2006-10-16T05:50:00.000-06:00

I've been sick for the last week. Yuck.

I might be starting to feel better... but then again, I thought that on Wednesday, and again on Saturday... we'll see.

Ah well. At least it was a valid excuse not to go to work. ;)

ho hum

2006-10-06T09:16:00.000-06:00

It's Friday! Yipppeeeee!

This is good. I have been schemeing about this day allllll the live-long week;

Very difficult decisions have to be made;

For instance:

- When it is finally time for me to drag my ass home for three full days of freedom from this hell-hole masquerading as an office, do I stop for the traditional Friday-at-5 beer, or do I just burn rubber to get away from here as quickly as possible??

- When I arrive home, do I slip into the flannel or the cotton pjs?

- What do I pour myself to drink? (and this is a tough one) A nice hot cup of Earl Grey, or the largest glass of red wine ever consumed? Or both?

- Finally, do I agonize over which movie to watch so I can knit whilst watching, or do I read my book, which precludes knitting... (now wishing I'd taken a page out of Aunt Nan's book and got the damned book on tape...)

VERY exciting stuff, I know. But it's been a week- well ok, a month- from hell, and it's the long weekend, so a girl's entitled to embrace her inner octogenarian, and hole-up on a Friday night, isn't she? All those in favour, say aye!

Success!

2006-10-04T06:34:00.000-06:00

Lisa and Mitch got married.

We all survived.

And actually had a pretty darn good time in the process (even if we did nearly freeze to death under a waterfall...)

I made a speech...

We ate some cake...

I caught the bouquet (hehehehee)...

And then we partied it up!

Congrats to the Happy Couple!!

as close to looking like Audrey Hepburn as I'm ever gonna get

2006-09-26T12:41:00.000-06:00

*ahem*

This is the pretty dress (in red satin and sans belt) I will be wearing with my black strappy sandals in exactly 4 (count them, 4!) days while I stand next to my best friend and watch her and her sweetheart say "I do".

Hee.

cause for solitary exhalation

2006-09-22T05:47:00.000-06:00

You walk into the bathroom, and nod as you pass one of your coworkers, who is busily scrubbing out her coffee mug at the sink.

You lock yourself in one of the stalls and go about your business.

Just as you begin to contemplate the meaning of life, your coworker finishes with her scrubbing.

And turns the light off as she leaves.

*sigh*

Deal Breakers

2006-09-21T08:07:00.000-06:00

To be honest, I don't date much, usually because I'm not the type of person who will date someone just for the sake of going on a date... but I have accumulated a few interesting stories...
Thus, in answer to dooce's question, and because I always find it amusing to relive dating disasters (both my own and those of others), I shall now proceed to outline my "deal breakers":

- first, lets go with the no-brainer that apparently isn't: if you want to take me out, respect me enough to look at my face and not my breasts. Thank-you.
- working your dating schedule around what your Mom is cooking for dinner is bad enough, but don't actually TELL me that's what you're doing. That's just too much.
- I once had a guy tell me that he was not going to allow me to leave a party until I had given him my phone number. I wonder if that preview-to-a-controlling-and-potentially-abusive-
relationship act works with all the ladies...
- emailing me six times within 48 hours of obtaining my email address is just plain scary.
- calling me at home when I didn't give you my phone number is likewise just plain scary, and will likely have me checking dark corners with a baseball bat in hand for the next six months...

And then, the last guy I dated was just one big deal breaker, it seems. I'm still not quite sure why I agreed to go out with him more than once, but I did... here is the harmless yet annoying list that he left me with:

- telling me I'm an "awesome girl" does not score any points. It takes me back to junior high, and I hated junior high.
- feeling it necessary to have the "are we exclusive?" conversation anywhere in the immediate vicinity of the first date is a big no-no. Let's just say it's safe to assume that if I haven't even been all the way out with you once, or twice, or three times, even, I'm not going to be ring shopping any time soon, ok?
- showing up for a date hung over (and grumpy) is not a good plan. Much better to cancel and live to charm another day than to show me just how ugly (personality wise) you can get on the second date.
- picking itty bitty little arguments all over the place and then taking them to the mat is not stimulating discussion, it's annoying.
- A kiss is not supposed to involve more teeth than lips.
- let me just say that having a man, a man I am dating no less, get irritated with me because I make him "feel inadequate as a man" is a big red flag. And I don't mean physically. I'm sorry if I'm too fabulous for you to keep up, but really, is that my problem? And who the hell are you to try to make me feel bad for my accomplishments? I worked damn hard for them, thank-you very much, and I'm not about to downplay them for the benefit of your ego. Next, please.

What are your deal breakers?

Random Jenn, MLA?

2006-09-19T06:32:00.000-06:00

I have done something that I have sworn many, many, many times that I would NEVER do.

That's right. I ran. In the provincial election. For a seat.

I lost.

But then, I expected to. That's the thing with being a paper candidate, you see... you're not supposed to actually win (although, truth be told, it has been known to happen from time to time). The whole purpose of a paper candidacy is to get the party in question on the ballot in the event that a serious candidate cannot be found for a particular riding.

Why, you ask?

Because the way election funding goes, a party receives a certain amount of cash per vote it receives (I think in this case, that certain amount is $5...). Thus, even if the party has no hope of winning a seat or two, it still wants the potential for votes... so it can get money... to run again later. So they get people (like me) to volunteer their names and faces to the campaign, but little else (which is good, 'cause I had NO time to give...) In fact, they often place these volunteers in ridings to which they have never been, and in which they know not a soul. In my case, that was a riding located approximately an hour away, in a part of another city to which I had been only a handful of times.

So there I was, content in the knowledge that I had done my civic duty by signing up, and in the assurances of the party staffers that I would have to do no more than that. Then I recieved a phone call. At work.

The caller was a man who works within my organization. He asked very tentatively if he had correctly seen my name on the list of candidates? When I answered in the affirmative, he began an enthusiastic spiel about the voting history of my riding (1800 votes for my party in the last election), and how I could quite possibly be voted in as the next MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly)there.

*gulp*

But... but... I have plans!! I can't be voted in! I can't stay here and be an MLA! Ack! Gah! Stupid assurances of the stupid party staffers. They don't know what they're talking about! Oh. My. God. I'm going to have to move. To a new city. And represent people I have never met. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

The freak-out lasted a couple of days. Until I realized it might not be so bad to be paid to represent a group of good, hardworking people, to be a voice of opposition in a legislature full of pompous middle-class white men who are more interested in furthering their own ends than those of their constituents. I could stir up a lot of shit, and maybe even affect some small modicum of change... The idea actually began to appeal a bit.

And I could do that job. Well.

Even still, come election night, I was not disappointed to see the votes of my opponents climbing higher and higher, while mine remained stable: I got 283 votes. That's 4.17% of the popular support in my riding, and $1415 for the party.

And in hindsight, I'm glad to have participated. Maybe I'll do it again sometime... for real...

Oh, and man, it's good to be back. I missed you guys.

Just plumb tired.

2006-08-04T07:56:00.000-06:00

My regular readers will have noticed that there has been little-to-no activity here at My feet are gonna be SO wet by the end of this... and for this, I apologize. That said, it may be a while yet before the post quotient increases:

I currently find myself in an all-out frenzy at work (in preparation for a MUCH needed vacation), as well as a crazily attempting to organize several fronts on the volunteer side of my life as well.

And then I teach.

And then I have to get things organized for the Fall.

And then I have a wedding to help plan.

And then everyone and their dog wants to know why I haven't finished whatever they've been hounding me about.

In short, I'm just plumb tired, and I need a break... not just from the blog (for which I currently have zero creativity to spare), but from life in general. So I'll make it official and say I'm going underground for a bit.

But fear not, dear readers, I shall return ;)

I'm too young to be this rickety...

2006-07-27T12:39:00.000-06:00

My feet hurt. And so does my neck. And when I sit for more than ten minutes at a time, I actually hear a sound that is not dissimilar to the sound my Grandfather's knees make when he walks down the stairs. All I can say is that I'm WAY too young to feel this old. I mean, what happens when I actually AM old? Will I even be able to move?

Last night found me literally shuffling around my apartment because my feet hurt too much to actually flex and lift them off of the floor.

Something must, and will, be done.

Fighting For Our Right To Choose.

2006-07-21T18:04:00.000-06:00

Please read this post, and then, if you agree even the slightest bit with what we're trying to do, please send a letter (there is an example at the bottom, that you can use if you like). It doesn't matter where you're from: What the government of New Brunswick is doing will have an affect on everyone, and if they are allowed to take away our right to choose, what's next?

I would also ask that if you do send a letter, you ensure that your name is legible and that you include where you're from (just the city, and if you're from outside NB, the province or state.) Thank-you all in advance for your support of this action.

Action Alert! Right to Choose Under Attack in New Brunswick

Once again our right to choose has come under direct attack in New Brunswick. As of July 1st, 2006, the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital in Fredericton is no longer performing publicly funded abortions. Financial reasons were cited for terminating this service; because the hospital is short-staffed. The Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital was the last publicly funded institution to provide abortion services for the entire province of New Brunswick. Our provincial government has been quick to promise us that abortion services will be performed in at least one other publicly funded institution in the province, but they will not release the names of the doctors who have volunteered to fill this gap in our health care services, nor the location where this service will be provided.

Concerned New Brunswickers are spearheading a campaign to let the Government of New Brunswick know that denying a woman’s right to choose and consequently endangering her reproductive health is unacceptable, and to demand that the government immediately begin a publicly funded program to provide abortion services in all hospitals across the province. We would like to begin by organizing a campaign, with the goal of having at least 400 letters sent to our provincial Health Minister, Brad Green, who approved the cancellation of abortion services at the Fredericton Dr.Everett Chalmers Hospital. We are suggesting that each letter contain a coat hanger to remind our public health representative of one of the most disturbing dangers of restricting a woman’s right to choose: self-induced abortion.

We would like these letters to clearly express the danger of the current situation, as well as suggest positive improvements that our government can make to bring us closer to having access to adequate public health care. We encourage the inclusion of statistics from reliable sources,personal statements of the dangers of not providing abortion services, and the changes that you deem to be most urgent. This campaign will continue for an entire month, ending with a Pro-Choice Rally in Fredericton, NB, on the 19th of August. Please find listed below the various addresses of the Honourable Brad Green’s offices, to which you should address your letters. We have also provided some suggestions of demands you may wish to include in your letters to Mr. Green, as well as a form letter and several online resources which you should feel free to use.

Recommended improvements to our public system:

* A return to publicly funded abortions at the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital in Fredericton.
* Provision of provincial funding for all abortions.
* Inclusion of all public health facilities in New Brunswick to perform abortions, so that families who cannot afford to travel will have equal access.
* Elimination of the necessity of having two doctors confirm that an abortion is “medically necessary” before the procedure will be funded by the province. This is the only medical procedure that needs two equally qualified medical professionals to approve, and its sole purpose seems to be the limiting of access.
* Removal of politically motivated categorization of abortions such as “medically necessary”, and “therapeutic”.
* Improved education and access to birth control options.
* Improved education and access to the morning after pill.
* Comprehensive sexual education program in schools.
* Sexual education programs in schools starting earlier in the school curriculum.

Mailing Addresses:

Brad Green, QC
Minister of Health
Attorney General
MLA Fredericton South

1. Constituency Office: Fredericton South
83 Regent Street
Fredericton NB E3B 3W3

2. Carleton Place
P.O. Box 5100
Fredericton NB E3B 5G8

3. Carleton Place
520 King Street
Fredericton NB E3B 6G3

4. Fax: (506) 453-5243

5. E-Mail Address: brad.green@gnb.ca

If you choose to write an e-mail, please CC, or BCC all correspondence to accesstooptions@gmail.com

For more information, please have a look at the following links:

1. Lack of abortion access may violate health act: analyst
http://www.cbc.ca/nb/story/nb

2. Backgrounder - Abortion Access Issues
http://www.arcc-cdac.ca/backgrounders/access.htm

3. Five Basic Principles Not Met
http://www.prochoiceactionnetwork-canada.org/articles/healthact.shtml

4. Women To Be Denied Funded Abortions in New Brunswick
http://www.womennet.ca/news.php?show&4366

Example Letter

Date

Dear Hon. Brad Green,

I am writing to express my great dismay over the New Brunswick government's recent decision to terminate publicly funded abortions at the Dr. Everett Chalmers Hospital in Fredericton. The government's proposal to further erode an already inaccessible abortion service system in this province is an irresponsible move in the wrong direction that needs to be reversed.

Given that 400 of the 404 publicly funded abortions performed in New Brunswick last year were done at the Chalmers Hospital and that there has yet to be an announcement by the government of where women can go to obtain a publicly funded abortion, the government is infringing on the rights of women to choose, and seriously jeopardizing public health.

Historically, women in our area, like elsewhere in the world, have tried to end unintended pregnancies when abortion services were inaccessible. Sadly, healthcare professionals in this province are still witnessing the effects of self-induced abortions and dangerous illegal procedures caused by a system that does not provide access for women to obtain a publicly funded and accessible abortion. This tragic scenario is only expected to continue and worsen with the further backward measures to make abortion services even more inaccessible.

I call on your government to return publicly funded abortion services to the Chalmers Hospital as well as enhanced publicly funded abortion services throughout the province so that women seeking abortions throughout the province have access to this necessary health service. The fact that the only abortion providers in this province are located in urban centres means that many women seeking abortions must travel varying distances from their homes and some do not have the means to do so. Also, many women who need abortions simply cannot afford them. For this reason, it is important that publicly funded abortion services be extended throughout the province.

Finally, New Brunswick is the only province in Canada that refuses to pay for abortions performed in private clinics. I call on the government to stop violating the Canada Health Act and make abortion services more accessible by paying for these clinical abortions.

Sincerely,

(Your Name)

Do you think I could just mainline some endorphins?

2006-07-20T07:50:00.000-06:00

Seriously in need of something to spark a good ol' fashioned belly-laugh here, people.

Seriously.

What have you got for me?

Really, anything, even a serious groaner, would be appreciated at this point.

Welcome back!

2006-07-19T06:57:00.000-06:00

Today is a day for celebration!

After months of groping in the dark void left by the absence of my favourite food/gardening/OBGYN info site, The Blog That Ate Manhattan has reappeared in the blogosphere!

I can't tell you how excited that makes me.

I'm going to go home tonight and make me some blueberry cake with lemon sauce.

Welcome back, TBTAM. We missed you.

...and I'm still sporting the red sparkles to prove it!

2006-07-17T06:33:00.000-06:00

Saturday night was Girls' Night. At my house. The theme was Hawaiian (which was appropriate given that it was ~35 degrees- with the humidex- at 8 o'clock at night) and the drink was a massive vat of Sangria. Much fun was had by all (how could it not??), and there was narry a drop of Sangria to be found by the end... only sodden orange wheels and a few stray lime wedges ;)

There is, I have come to discern, a need for the time-honoured tradition of Girls' Night. It gets women out of their worlds of coupledom, and allows them to reconnect with other women... Being a virtual singelton myself, it never ceases to amaze me the sheer joy that many of my 'coupled' female friends take in an evening with just 'the girls'...

There is certainly a connection that women feel with one another (and I assume men feel with other men)- the unity that is bred of shared experience perhaps? Wherever it comes from, it is highly comforting to indulge oneself in an evening of it every now and again... to let loose and just talk about things that can't be properly discussed in the presence of the traditionally more vocal men... I can't say exactly what though, as this would be breaking one of the primary codes of Girls' Night conduct: What happens at Girls' Night stays at Girls' Night...

The best part of Girls' Night though?? The deepening (and creating) of great friendships, and the fact that all you men miss us SO much, even though we're only gone for a few hours. That makes us feel needed, and that's a nice feeling :D

construction season...

2006-07-12T06:23:00.000-06:00

It's summer; that time of the year when everything is in bloom, birds sing, and soft, warm breezes play across your face as you enjoy a leisurely stroll along the riverbank. It is most people's favorite season, but in my neck of the woods, we have another name for summer: Construction.

Everything that could bloom has been dug up, and I have a headache that has nothing to do with the damn birds...

It might have something to do with the fact that a jack-hammer has been going almost non-stop just down the street from my office for the last three days, or that yesterday a truck seemed to be backing up interminably, thus exposing us all to that insipid "beeeeeeeeep- beeeeeeeeeep- beeeeeeeeeeep" for the ENTIRE day. Oh joy. There it is again.

*sigh*

When is the snow coming??

women can't change water jugs

2006-07-07T08:24:00.000-06:00

Or so it seems in my office.

Let me explain: In our office there resides a watercooler, just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill model, that will be permitted to sit empty, with its refill sitting on the floor, just waiting for a big strong male to happen by and make the switch. None of the women in our office (which comprises the majority of the office population) will attempt the operation.

As this has been the source of no small amount of curiosity on my part for some time now, I have observed the phenomenon carefully: Only in cases of extreme dehydration or some other form of desperation will one of them even approach making the switch herself. AND although I myself have performed the switch many times without incident and in the presence of my co-workers, they would all rather wait for a man (some of whom are arguably much less spry and able than me) to perform the task.

So what is this? Why, even in the presence of at least one able-bodied person (who happens to be female) do we have to wait for a man to grant us access to our water?

It seems so melodramatic- so damsel-in-distress... it drives me nuts. The scary part is that they just plain don't even think to ask another woman to help them out... it's just assumed that a man, regardless of his physical ability, is needed to do the job. Oi.

Just another illustration of the maddening ideas that persist concerning the abilities of people based on nothing more than gender.

Feel the burrrn!

2006-07-06T05:42:00.000-06:00

It's a good day. I am functioning on approximately three-and-one-half-hours sleep, but my early morning trip to the gym and that glorious post-workout cup of coffee were SO worth foregoing that extra hour of snooze.

A friend and I have decided to challenge ourselves to improve our overall wellness. We've given ourselves 50 days to shape up, and hopefully this will lead to a permanent overall lifestyle change. Thus far we have gotten off our sedentary butts and into the pool three times per week and are currently working on getting said butts to the gym at least twice per week (I like to go early early early because there are no 'beautiful people' there to make me feel like a self-conscious idiot, which has always been the starting point of my downfall in the past...).

We have also upped our H2O intake to a minimum of 2 litres per day. It's amazing how much better I feel just because I'm now properly hydrated! (for the first time in a decade, I suspect...)

Our plan took a bit of a hit over the weekend, as the camping was not overly conducive to our typical regimen... that's not 'virgin' watermelon there... let's just put it that way. BUT I think we managed to keep up at least our cardio, and we did so in the following ways:

1. Walking for miles along crowded streets and beaches on Canada Day.
2. Running around chopping down trees and constructing emergency rain shelters with holey tarps (note how proud Chuck looks of our design! We bled for that sucker... BLED!).
3. Evading a pool-side 'terrorist cell' of ten year old girls who decided it was their mission in life to expel our group from the pool by jumping on us... little @%&*!@ darlings...
4. Sprinting to and from afore-mentioned shelter during occasional torrential downpours.

Also, we have Bocce ball to thank for the addition of a bit of weight training... hmmmmm... all in all, it appears that we didn't really slip all that much...

Needless to say, camping was a blast, rain and all. We even had green and blue fire!!!

wir kampfen gehen!

2006-06-30T06:16:00.000-06:00

Ok, ok... so that's absolutely atrocious german. I apologize, but WE'RE GOING CAMPING! and I'm so excited that I can be forgiven, can't I?

A bunch of us have decided to escape the city and head to a little seaside resort town for a long weekend of beer-drinking campfire shenanigans. I am completely psyched to spend some time with great people outside of the stressful situations we usually get thrown together in...

We've got a vodka watermelon (please note- if using the syringe method, only create ONE hole... otherwise you will find that the vodka tends to spurt out the others, and that just isn't good) and a portable BBQ that bears a startling resemblance to the USS Enterprise (which I can't WAIT to try out!); Chuck tells us that he is providing home-made berry syrup for our morning pancakes (yay, Chuck!!), AND all of us being from the Maritimes, we have enough camping gear between us to house and care for a small army... let the good times roll!!!

Have a GREAT long weekend, everyone!!!

prior to consumption of caffeine.

2006-06-26T06:58:00.000-06:00

It's raining, it's pouring
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and he bumped his head,
And he couldn't get up in the morning.

Hee. Happy Monday, everyone.

Mini-break!

2006-06-21T05:30:00.000-06:00

This past weekend the gods finally answered my inward pleas for a reprieve in the form of a ridiculously low rental car rate. As I possessed myself of long distance mobility, which I have come to realize is science's greatest gift to humanity (a bit of an oxymoron, I'm sure some will think), I wracked my brains for ways to properly use this awesome machine. And then it came to me in a flash: Of course!! MINI BREAK!

Anyone who grew up near an ocean will tell you that if you remove yourself from the seashore, it won't be long until you begin to pine for waves. And pine I do. It was to be a gorgeous weekend- sunny and hot, so Saturday morning found me speeding off, picinic dinner, overnight bag, and camera gear in tow, to the splendiferously gorgeous Fundy Coast. Just me, myself and I. Fabulous.

My goal was to be incommunicado from all but those who share my understanding of an 'emergency' (ie- not being able to find the tea-lights does not qualify), and incommunicado I was. This was greatly facilitated by the fact that there is no (I repeat, NO) cellular signal along much of the Fundy Coast, which means even if you were calling, I couldn't know, and therefore couldn't feel guilty about ignoring you (I gave the number of the B&B I was staying at to those few who fell into the above noted category). Brilliant!

So I got to the B&B and hunkered down for an afternoon with the sun, the sound of the waves, my book, and a ridiculously luxurious nap. 'Twas heaven. My picinic dinner was scrumptuous, and then it was off to bed. In the morning, I awoke to the smell of frying bacon. You really can't beat a B&B for breakfast... especially a rural B&B. Bacon, eggs, toast, fresh muffins, fresh fruit, OJ, and a gallon of fresh coffee. Yum.

Once I had refueled, I proceeded to spend the rest of the day meandering my way along the coast. Part of the route I took is aptly labelled "The Scenic Route", which always makes me chuckle because, in my family, this was synonymous with "the looooooong way" and was universally loathed by all under-20's. Ah, how times change...

So it took me roughly 7 hours to complete what should... scratch that... could have been a 2 1/2 hour drive. It was marvelous. I stopped wherever the spirit moved me., which ended up including Mary's Point (see pic to the right), Cape Enrage (above) , St. Martin's (top), and Sussex Corner (below). Unfortunately, my pics are not ready yet, so I've had to turn to google image for illustrative assistance, but suffice it to say that it was gorgeous, and quite relaxing to be out of the city and away from my life, which has been unduly stressful of late. Just what the proverbial doctor ordered, I think.

Now it's back to the grind, and more of the same. But that's ok. Although I wish I had had more time and more money to continue my reprieve, I am rejuvenated for the time being. I highly recommend the solo mini break as a means to recharge batteries. It was incomprehensibly wonderful not to have anyone to answer to for anything. Even if it was only for a brief moment in time.

So... what did you all do this past weekend??

Resisting Atlantica: a worthy battle if ever there was one.

2006-06-13T08:31:00.000-06:00

SO. I participated in the anti-Atlantica demonstrations that were held in response to the Atlantica business conference this past Saturday in Saint John, New Brunswick. I was just one of many in a large group (~500 people) composed of labour, radicals, activists, and those who would merely call themselves 'concerned citizens', who gathered in the pouring rain and whipping wind to raise their voices against the newest in a long-line of proposed 'economic reforms' that are supposed to 'make life better for all'.

This latest proposal has been dubbed 'Atlantica', and seeks to join Quebec, the Maritime provinces, and much of New England in a new free trade zone. How, I would like to know, is a reduction in minimum wages and labour standards supposed make life better for all?? I mean, I can see how it will sweeten the deal for business owners, but what about the schmucks that have to work for the business owners? They have mortgages and loans and kids and health problems too, you know. I am reminded of the arguments that we were all treated to at the inception of NAFTA. Granted, I was eight years old at the time, but that doesn't damage my memory. The 'trickle-down effect' has always been my favourite. Why don't we ask the unemployed auto workers in Ontario and the Maquiladora workers of Mexico how things are trickling down? This photo is representative of the home of the average Maquila family. Looks like the lap of luxury, doesn't it? I can sure see how all those low-paying hazardous factories are paying off for the average folks of Mexico.

From what I've found (and believe me, I've looked long and hard), the only thing that trickles down from 'Free Trade' is misery and more poverty. Unless your last name in McCain or Irving, Atlantica is NOT a good thing. This is our future. We must resist it. We must continue to shout at the top of our lungs. We cannot let this pass without a fight.

For more information on Atlantica and what is being done to stop it, please stay tuned to the following sites:

Stop Atlantica
Citizen's Press
Left News

Oh! and if any of you know any other valuable information resources, please post them here.

SPAMMED!

2006-06-12T06:58:00.000-06:00

Imagine my surprise when I toddled into the office this morning, flicked my computer on, pointed and clicked my way to my inbox only to find that over the weekend I had been brutally and ruthlessly blog-spammed!! That's right... over 25 spams in the space of ~ 24 hours. I am not amused. It's bad enough that I average ~20 email spams per day, enough actual physical junk mail to choke a horse, AND fax spams, but now to deal with a crazy amount of blog spams taboot?? I really don't want to turn up the security on this thing, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do...

Yeah, FIFA!!!!

2006-06-09T06:39:00.000-06:00

It's official. World Cup fever is in full swing, and I've totally caught it. YEAH!

I'm not a particularly huge fan of football (aka soccer here in NA) as a whole... I mean, I enjoy watching the game, but I don't rearrange my schedule based on TSN's coverage of the Man U season or anything. But the World Cup is a different kettle of fish all together.

My first World Cup was in 1998. I was in Greece, and really, there's no better place to be during the World Cup than a country that really and truly loves its football. It was amazing. I was in Athens during the quarter-finals. I have no idea who was playing, but it didn't really matter. One evening, the group of people I was with was hot on the trail of dinner when we stumbled upon an out-door restaraunt. The wrought-iron tables and chairs were literally set up in the street, there was a massive television propped against the wall, and the game was on. As the cook handed us our lamb souvlaki through the window, he yelled something in Greek at the screen with a considerable amount of vitriol. Just then, a huge roar of mixed pleasure and anguish was issued from the crowd of sixty or so folks watching the game.

Our group pulled up a table or two, sat down with our souvlakis and cokes and just took it all in. The atmosphere was electric, and I can't believe that I got to experience it. Now, when I watch a football match I can almost feel the energy coming through the screen. Magic.

So enjoy, folks! It'll be another four years before we get to feel the magic again!

PS- I would also like to note that FIFA makes a point of utilizing the World Cup for humanitarian gains- every World Cup they launch a new campaign. In 2002, it was an anti-child labour campaign (as the majority of the worlds footballs are hand sewn by children in Pakistan, I thought this was appropriate). This year, it's a campaign against racism. Check out FIFA's website (under FIFA Fair Play) for more information.

in spite of the rain...

2006-06-05T06:08:00.000-06:00

It's been a great few days!! For those of you who don't know, the feldgling Fredericton Social Network hosted the first ever Fredericton Social Forum this past weekend. The concept was more or less modelled on the World Social Forum, and we have high hopes to expand in future years to encompass all of New Brunswick, if not Atlantic Canada as a whole.

The Forum was a success, and I couldn't be more pleased! The house was more or less packed both days, we had contingents from all over the province and even a group from Halifax, and the speakers were wonderful. Somewhere in the midst of having our curiosity piqued and our political passions fuelled, we also managed to have a bit of good ol'fashioned fun, which consisted of highly amusing conversation (just think of hickey-scarves, crazy phrases such as "blessed to heaven" spoken in an outrageous Irish accent, chicken periods, and impressions Mr. Miyagi performing reiki on Daniel-san and you'll begin to comprehend...), ample amounts of the local brew, some free-style rapping (thank-you Asaf!), and a rousing round of protest songs that we managed to butcher gleefully... ah well... it's the sentiment that counts, right??

I am rejuvenated by the comraderie of the past weekend and the knowledge that for the first time in a long time, all of my hard work (and that of my fellow organizers) actually paid off. Perhaps I am beginning to see through the bars of my prison a bit?? Too soon to tell if it's going to stick, but I'm working on it!

Anywho... I'll be posting pics and more of the Forum when I get a chance. In the meantime, I wish you all a fantabulous Monday, and a productive week!

TRAPPED!

2006-05-30T06:31:00.000-06:00

Warning: This post was written while the author was in an extremely angst-ridden and pissy mood. Read on at your own risk.

Ok... so you know that feeling when you can't see your way out of a situation, and then every stressor in your life snowballs into an incredibly dense and heavy mass which proceeds to come crashing down squarely on your head? Yeah... I'm totally there. I am officially freaking out.

I hate my job- they pay me barely enough to keep food in my tummy, a roof over my head, and the bills up to date. I can't even afford to get a goddamned pet fish. And I really like fish. This in combination with the fact that I KNOW that what I do for this place is probably worth double my paycheck is incredibly frustrating. And I won't even start on my boss. I feel like I'm at my wits end.

So I'm looking for a new job. But there is nothing. NOTHING. Ok... that's not quite true, but the ratio of jobs I am qualified for and could do without the intervention of little purple pills to the ones that would rapidly drive me to drink is depressingly low. I've applied for a every single one I can find that fits, and am waiting to hear, but as of today I am not hopeful (this is an inevitable stage of the job hunt, right??) It seems that my wildly expensive Master's degree is provided nothing except the ability to navigate through Plato's dialogues, analyze the latest political news, and the general knowledge that the world has already gone to hell in a handbasket and that we're all merrily burning without realizing it. Great. Fabulous. If only that could pay off the loans for me.

It's the loans afterall... the stupid goddamned loans are killing me. I'm trapped. Completely trapped by these things. I can't go anywhere or do anything more than a weekly visit to a pub and a movie until the fucking things are paid off, and at this rate that will be sometime in my mid-forties. Oh god. That's the most depressing thought I've had in quite sometime.

I hate being poor. Hate it. And the thing that pisses me off the most?? I did this to myself. It was a fucking choice. And I made it. Eyes open. (well- at least half open... the other half was clouded by visions of grandeur: rewarding employment, contenment, etc... HA!).

Ok... enough of the self-pity. I'm off to continue the seemingly interminable search for what happened to my life. I hope you are all enjoying a better day than I.

And Therese, I totally heart you for writing the list for me :D

you don't have to go abroad to have your rights violated...

2006-05-29T04:08:00.000-06:00

This past weekend saw a PEACEFUL demonstration for Solidarity Across Borders (ie- immigrant rights) turn ugly when the police showed up and arrested four protestors on charges of 'Failure to Disperse'. Bullshit. The demonstration took place on public property and the participants were doing nothing more than exercising their fundamental freedoms (as stated in the Canadian Charter of Rights, s.2(a,b,c,d)). Let me quote:

Fundamental Freedoms
2. Everyone has the following fundamental freedoms
a) freedom of conscience and religion;
b) freedom of thought, belief, opinion, and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication;
c) freedom of peaceful assembly; and
d) freedom of association

Tell me why it is that the police (and ostensibly the powers that be) are scared of a group of 20-30 people, a banner, and a megaphone??

Here's a picture of one of the protestors, Asaf, being arrested. Please note that he is not resisting, and that there is a knee jammed into his ribs.

For more information including first-hand accounts and discussion of these events, please see the following link:

http://leftnews.org/archives/2006/05/27/7941/

Makeup Party...

2006-05-25T05:47:00.000-06:00

Ok... so I walked into the bathroom at the office this morning only to find three women in there doing their makeup. It felt like I was walking in on some kind of ritual, and I was suddenly transported back to high school- where the girls whose parents wouldn't allow them to wear makeup would clamber into the bathrooms upon arrival and carefully apply the forbidden goops and paints.

But wait... this is NOT high school... we're all adults and can wear whatever the hell we want. Don't you people have mirrors at home?

klutz

2006-05-16T16:24:00.000-06:00

I am, quite possibly, the world's BIGGEST klutz. In one (that's right, one) twenty-four hour period, I managed to maim both hands, one foot, kill at least one kitchen utensil, spill various forms of liquid all over other people's apartments, and nearly impale myself with one of those cute little drink umbrellas. All of this before the consumption of girlie pink-drink liquor began.

That's right. So let me take you through it all, if you have the stomach for it, that is ;)

Maiming #1: involves the time honoured female ritual of shaving the legs. I somehow managed to remove half of the skin on the knuckle of my pinky finger AND a sizeable chunck from the MIDDLE of my nail. It didn't bleed too badly. No medical attention was sought.

Maiming #2: this also includes the murder of the kitchen utensil also... Whilst attempting to concoct my famous hummous for a potluck, the potato masher I was using to beat the chickpeas to death self-destructed in my hand. Wooden splinters abound and tiny slits made in my OTHER pinky finger. I am now pinkyless :( Again, not too much blood, and no medical attention was sought.

Maiming #3: chunk of broken beer bottle lodged in big toe... while on a 10 block walk... bliss. Glass was successfully removed. Wound was disinfected . No medical attention was sought.

The various spillages occurred whilst preparing for the evening... loading up the fridge, etc. at which point I managed to drop TWO 2 litre bottles of club soda, and thereby caused TWO explosions later in the evening... but it's all good 'cause club soda removes stains, right?

Finally, whilst preparing pink drinks for one of the wonderful women present, I very nearly impaled myself with an orange drink umbrella. Fortunately, it DID NOT draw blood.

At this point in time, the other women present (thank-you Tiffany!) decided it was a bad idea for me to be around the kitchen and began a subtle intervention. Thus I survived to spend the next two days recovering, cooped up in my parent's house and my room.

And now here I sit, at Joe's incredible computer writing this to you all, in various stages of repair and far, far away from all sharp objects.

Fleas

2006-05-10T11:56:00.000-06:00

Excuse me sir, but I have no time for fleas today. Or any other day for that matter.

*flick*

life's simple pleasures...

2006-05-08T06:17:00.000-06:00

Sometimes you've just got to love taking in the little things in life. You know what I mean- the simple stuff that puts a smile on your face.

Pay attention!

These things are easy to miss if you're running around with your head stuck somewhere it shouldn't be, too 'busy' to pay heed to the things that really matter...

Things like (for me, anyway) the simple joy of spending an evening talking to a good friend- no cell phones or computers, no complicated plans- just copious amounts of coffee (or beer), a kitchen table, and good conversation... the way it feels to put newly clean pajamas on your freshly showered body and crawl into a bed made with newly clean sheets... the smell of rain on a breeze blowing through your open window... listening to that song- one of your favorites from days gone by- that you haven't heard in YEARS playing on the radio... watching somebody learn (actually seeing the light brighten in their eyes as understanding dawns)... the sight of a bouquet of your favorite flowers on your kitchen table... a long, hot shower after a long day... watching people go about their days... waking up to the aroma of someone who loves you cooking breakfast for you... getting an email from a long lost friend.

My current favorite is quietly watching the sunrise from my little balcony whilst sipping on a hot cup of coffee, huddled in a warm sweater and slippers. Morning meditation, really. Glorious.

What's your favorite "little thing"?

Sunburnt!

2006-05-04T05:53:00.000-06:00

Summer is on it's way! As proof of this miraculous occurrence, I offer the following evidence:

- trees are greening up nicely- they're that wonderful yellow-new-bud green. I love it!
- tulips are beginning to bloom throughout the downtown area;
- the hyacinths and crocii are almost done (sad, but a necessary evil of the progression of the seasons);
- the black flies have begun to make their appearance in New Maryland (ew!);

AND (last but most certainly NOT least)

- I got my first sunburn of the season yesterday!!!

The burn was achieved during the lunch hour, at which time I was to be found consuming my lunch on a bench under a tree just outside my office building. The weather was unexpectedly gorgeous, and it can therefore be understood why my arm wandered (of it's own free will, of course...) out of the protective shade of the tree and into a patch of noon-time sun- it was merely attempting to make up for five months of vitamin-D deprivation. The arm cannot be blamed.

My (ever-so-slightly-but-lovably-over-protective) father is less than thrilled- as a result of yesterday's rebelliousness on the part of my right arm, Dad has already begun his annual campaign to do away with all short-sleeve shirts and to have both of his daughters and his wife permanently doused in SPF 60 sunscreen with a wide-brimmed hat glued to our heads.

I love you Dad. :D

noodle arms!

2006-05-02T13:25:00.000-06:00

The scene is this: two friends have just returned from the friendly neighbourhood vending machine, one carrying her spoils in the form of a plastic bottle of orange juice. They settle in an office to chat for a few minutes and enjoy some cookies and samosas with the help of the miraculously thirst-quenching juice.

Therese: Mmmmmmmm... good samosas. And now for my beverage...
*grabs bottle and begins to twist top off*

Therese: gah! grmph! gwa!
*continues to attempt to twist bottle top off... using her entire body and nearly falling off of her chair in the process*

Therese: Do you have this problem??

Jenn: *stifling a giggle* Not really... need some help?

Therese: NO! I can do this!
*the battle continues, the chair now turning slowly with the force of the effort*

Therese: *now with her back to Jenn* STUPID NOODLE ARMS!!! Gah!
*the bottle top FINALLY succumbs to the might of Therese's grip*

Therese: Ha!

Jenn: You know, I love that every time you open a bottle of juice, it involves you nearly falling off your chair.

Therese: It does doesn't it?? Hm. Stupid noodle arms.

Jenn: Indeed it does. Can I have some of your juice?

May the First

2006-05-01T12:54:00.001-06:00

Happy May Day everyone! The REAL labour day!

Today has also been delcared a day of international solidarity with immigrants. Rumour has it that massive protests against racist immigration laws should be shutting down various US cities even as a I type these words (oooooo... a thrill of anticipation and hope runs up my spine at the very thought...) Let's hope so!

We even had a small march right here in town! Here are some pics from that protest.

I suspect it would have seen much better attendance had we not all had to work. Ah, the glorious and ever-present twist of irony...

Google Image Survey...

2006-04-28T09:33:00.000-06:00

You know what they say about the linguistic value of pictures...

Both Shannon and Grum have posted theirs, and since I rather enjoy the photographic representation, I decided to post my very own version :)

My Name:

The age I will be on my next birthday:

The place where I live:

My favourite colour:

The place I want to go on vacation (I couldn't choose, so here is a selection):

My favourite drink (GreyGoose. Wet. With or without Sake...):

My favourite animal (awwwwww isn't he CUTE?!?!?):

My friend's nickname (actually TWO friends... hm):

The name of my pet (I don't actually have a pet, but if I did, this would be one of the contenders for a name):

My bad habit (need I say more??):

Buchimge. Yum.

2006-04-27T04:20:00.000-06:00

Last night, I learned how to make buchimge, which is my favorite (and oh-so easy to create, as it turns out) Korean treat. My students call it "Korean Pizza", but it's not actually pizza at all... more like a hybrid of a crepe and an omelet. Yummy!

And now I can make it in the comfort of my own home. One of my students informs me that it is best consumed on a rainy day with a cold beer. Hmmmmm... beer? (check!) rainy day? (just wait a few hours... check!)

I plan to assail Tobin with the delights of buchimge at some point this weekend... hopefully we will also be able to arrange for the beer and the rain to complete the experience... But don't tell her! It's a SURPRISE! Ha! Oh wait... what if she reads this??... oh well. Still. Nobody tell her, kay???

For those of you who are wondering, it is pronounced boo-chim-gay (contrary to the opinions of certain parties, who shall remain nameless, it is not 'butt-cheek') and is composed of flour, eggs, water, and pretty much whatever veggies you have lying around your fridge. There is also the high-test version, which utilizes kimchi (Korean radishes and hot peppers wrapped in cabbage and left to ferment for a while- you've got to try it to know that it's yummy!) and tuna. This is a bit zippy, but seriously yummy too. Serve with a soy-sesame dipping sauce... Hmmmmmm... ok. now I'm hungry.

In honour.

2006-04-24T12:57:00.000-06:00

In honour of the re-emergence of my dear friend Elliott, human encyclopedia, brilliant PhD candidate, and sous chef extrodinaire, a song:

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee love you Smelliott!
Oh yes, weee do!
Weee love you Smelliott!
Oh yes, it's true!
When you're not near us, weee are blue!
Ohhhhhhhhhhhh Smelliott!
Weee love you!!!!

It was good to talk to you Elliott. With any luck, I'll be seeing you and Suzanne soon!

There goes Peter Cottontail...

2006-04-18T06:21:00.000-06:00

Well, that's it. Tuesday is the new Monday- for this week at least... Sadly our spectacular long weekend has come to a close and now we must all eagerly await the next.

It was a magnifcently splendid spring weekend, complete with one fabulous day and three rainy ones... Who could ask for more, really?

The Market was certifiably insane on Saturday- everyone out to get their goodies for Easter Sunday and such- many folks home for the weekend and loading up on samosas...

The Tulip Man was being swarmed when I happened upon him in search of my weekly bunch- he was selling faster than he could bunch them. I was a little annoyed with two of the women who seemed to be trying to buy him out single-handedly. They actually argued over who got the last red and orange variegated tulip as if their Easter centre-pieces would be completely ruined without that one crucial flower. Grrrrrr...

but I digress....

As it turns out, my students (not being from a Christian country) had never heard of Easter before this year. Thus we have spent some time over the past few weeks discussing the point of the whole thing, the traditions, etc. It's quite amusing to watch an eleven-year-old crumple her face in confusion and disdain when you try to tell her (with a perfectly straight face) that North American children believe that their Easter chocolate is delivered to them by a giant Bunny (whom some have dubbed Peter Cottontail). Stick it in the same category as Santa and the Tooth Fairy- she knows she's being sold a bill of goods and she's not buying.

Their inquiries about what is consumed for Easter dinner (they are quite obsessed with "Canadian" food at the moment) were also very amusing- especially when I had to explain why roast rabbit was not only not common fare for the meal, but probably a bad idea...
visions of traumitized six-year-olds and tentative enquiries of "Mommy, are we eating the Easter Bunny?" danced through my head. Hee.

So, here I sit, one brunch, two magnificent Easter dinners, copious amounts of cheap chocolate, and four GLORIOUS days off richer than I was this time last week.

*Sigh*

I love Easter weekend. Can't wait to do it all again next year!

Now that makes my morning coffee taste better!

2006-04-15T19:57:00.000-06:00

I love long weekends.

Love them.

And what's better than a regular old three-day long weekend?

You guessed it!! A FOUR day long weekend!

I woke up this morning feeling like Sunday, but then came to the joyous realization that I had THREE WHOLE DAYS of weekend left.

Bliss.

an ode to magnetic verbiage

2006-04-11T07:01:00.000-06:00

I'm back!

I can't say for how long, but negotiations have been going well with the office, and I am hopeful that the hostage situation will soon be fully resolved.

In light of my joyous return to the blogosphere, I have decided to share something that has never been seen or heard outside of my humble little apartment...

Magnetic Poems!!!!!!

That's right. I, like many others, am almost completely, and irreversibly addicted to magnetic poetry... but there's a twist to this addiction... UNlike many others, MY magnetic poetry does not reside on the refrigerator... oh no!

Given the location of the fridge in the kitchen, this would almost certainly turn into a massive logistical nightmare and a giant pain in the ass. Thus, my roommate and I had the BRILLIANT idea to stick the verbose magnets on our washing machine...

... which just happens to be positioned directly across from the toilet.

Genius I say! GENIUS!!!

So here, for your viewing pleasure, are the little ditties that currently reside in my bathroom. They have been composed by various parties, including, but not limited to, myself, my roommate, and her boyfriend... Enjoy!

to do: watch goddess and drool into milk

Summer boils away mists of winter

I use my tongue like a knife

luscious purple hair swims after the girl

Spring is a garden of chocolate eggs and a life of love

worship the black dress

he is crying beneath me

storms never recall the flood

take power through sordid produce

delicate beauty would rust near your bitterness

men bloody sweat and moan needlessly like the wind licking at your feet

shadowy visions were like sweet rain

I eat a peach as lustfully as smearing honey on bare skin on a wet spring day

Writing from beneath a large pile of wood-products...

2006-04-04T06:49:00.000-06:00

I have not posted for a while...

(yes, I hear the resounding chorus of "DUH!")

...and I fear it will be a while before I am able to post again.

The office has taken me hostage and is refusing to negotiate at this point in time.

I promise that I shall return to the blogosphere with a vengeance as soon as I have managed to quell the beast that is my desk and the mammoth pile of paper threatening to collapse and either suffocate or crush me (both are viable possibilities)...

until then, I shall be missing you all terribly!

remember me fondly!

adieu!!

the people you meet when you're not paying attention...

2006-03-29T03:40:00.000-07:00

"How are you tonight?" I ask as I climb into the van.

"I'm feelin' groooooovy!" is the enthusiatic response, issued in a low, gravelly voice.

And then I realize who he is... and a little tingle of excited anticipation can be detected at the base of my spine.

"Well... you can't go wrong with that, can you?" is my somewhat awkward response to his response...

*clears throat*

"So... you got any jazz for me tonight?" I feel I have waited the appropriate thirty seconds to ask the question that's REALLY on my mind.

"Do I! Just let me call this in- where you headed, Sweetheart?" He is thrilled at the question, just like I knew he would be.

I give him my address and we're off. He calls it in to the dispatcher with the predictable result: this evening's transportation will cost me nine dollars and fifty cents. But the joke's on them. Tonight I get much more than a ride home for my money. I get an education. 'Cause tonight I'm riding with the Jazz Man.

The first time I met the Jazz Man, he was transporting my roommate and me to meet some friends for a beer. We heard the strains of what seemed to be some interesting music playing softly on the stereo, and asked him if he could turn it up? And so commenced our education.

"You like Jazz?" he asked

We nodded and vocalized our response: "Hell, yeah!"

"Well then, have I got something for you!" My roomie and I exchanged looks of curious anticipation as he deftly removed the current CD and flipped through his collection until he found the desired album, telling us all about the music, the musician, and the background to both. And then we listened... toes tapping, fingers air-strumming, and hearts filling to bursting- grins on our faces the whole while. THIS was the shit. Oh yeah.

As the song ended, we pulled into our destination (I noticed that the Jazz Man drove slowly to allow time for the entire song to play... I'll bet the dispatcher just LOVES that! hehehehe). A little sad to go, my roomie and I pooled our change to offer the best tip we could muster, and thanked him, truly from our hearts.

Since that night, I have encountered the Jazz Man twice more. And this brings me back to where I began...

"I've got this one song that you NEED to hear. Let me set it up for you: It's a ballad... kind of corny, but clever. And it's sung PERFECTLY, right down to the last note... Here it is... see what you think."

And so we listen. His fingers playing the piano on the steering wheel. The city lights pass by, and the texture of this amazing music washes over me. The troubles of my day slip away like water down a drain. The harsh-then-caressing sax, the ups and downs of the vocals... they renew me. So I listen.

The song ends and all I can do is nod in appreciation.

"Ooh! Time for one more!" he says.

A fortuitous red light allows for the changing of the CD, and I am once again awash in the music. This one is different- a bit more up-beat. Jazz Man looks at me and grins: "Eh!?" I just nod and grin.

And then we're on my street. Stopped outside my house. We chat about the music a bit, he writes down the name of the musician for me, I pay him and hop out.

As he's pulling out, he rolls down his window: "You have a good night now, and thanks for loving the music!"

No, Jazz Man, thank YOU.

I can't wait to see what he's got in store for me the next time we meet.

The origin of family

2006-03-24T09:30:00.000-07:00

I wasn't going to blog today.

Work has been crazy-busy, and I've been feeling utterly uninspired for the last few days (as total and complete exhaustion tends to suck the creative juices dry).

But then I found myself lost in a daydream about having lunch with my surrogate mum.

Hannah is my Mom's best friend, and Mike is her husband. They are two of my favourite people on this planet, and probably two of the best people I have ever met. When I was a kid in Dartmouth, our families lived next door to one another- and my child-size memories tell me that we were all but inseparable- their middle child, Chris, was my BEST friend growing up, their daughter and my younger sister were very close. At times is seemed that all four parents were basically raising the five kids together:

When one set of parents went away for the weekend, the other set would take the kids; we had interwoven Christmas and Halloween rituals, not to mention frequent summer field-trips.

I remember Hannah sitting with me in my closet, talking me out of "running away" when I was six.

And then there was Chris and me being hauled off of the roof of Hannah and Mike's BRAND NEW Volvo by Mike and my Mom when I was seven and he was six... apparently we had thought it was a good place to hold a dance...

Or the time that we broke the neighbour's window playing baseball and Mike marched us over to apologize.

And then there were the family dinners- a huge vat of Hannah's famous Mac and Cheese, my Mom's Apple Pie and good times all 'round.

And then things changed, as things are wont to do.

We moved to a new house a few blocks away. And then they moved to a new house a few provinces away. Over the years, both families have moved around ad nauseum, we've all had our trials, and gone months and months without really speaking, but somehow we've managed to maintain that closeness. I guess that's just how it works with true friends, isn't it?

Last summer, feeling an uncontrollable urge to get-the-hell-out-of-Dodge and to wrap myself in the warm blanket of people-who-love-me-no-matter-what, I fled to Ottawa and set up a temporary camp in their spare bedroom.

It was a wonderful three or four days that consisted of good wine, good food, and great conversation. You could not ask for better company. One day, Hannah and I went to the Glebe, which, for those of you who don't know Ottawa, is an area marked by it's historical architecture, fun little independent shops, tiny bistros, used-clothing stores, and a general lower-middle-class-bohemian feeling by day, and a serious party/pub vibe by night. My kind of place.

We ate lunch at a little place called Von's and window shopped. As we prowled from one kitchen-gadget store to the next (Hannah and I share a weakness for culinary tools of all shapes and sizes... I ended up with a tea-ball, a wasabi grater, and a couple of spoons... she with a bowl, and some really great glasses), Hannah told me stories. I love her stories. She told me about when she was younger- fresh out of nursing school, living with her sister and scrounging to make ends meet, and I saw my own struggles to etch out a place in this world. She told me about the ill-fated turnip cookie incident, and I laughed until I couldn't breathe.

I think it was then that I realized that family has very little to do with DNA or blood. It's the relationships that really matter. (I mean, unless you need a kidney or bone marrow transplant, who cares if you are actually "related"??)

I felt the utter and complete acceptance and comfort of spending time with someone who knows me better than I know myself: someone who knows every little scar, who remembers the laughter, the tears, and all the stories behind them. Someone who has watched me grow up from a bossy little know-it-all snot (a source of no small amount of mortification to me in later years) into what I really really really really hope is a human being who she is proud of. I felt the comfort of being in the presence of a well-loved member of the family.

I am extremely fortunate to have both a biological and chosen family that I wouldn't trade for the world- who love and accept and support me no matter what I do. They have made me the person I am today, and I'm starting to think that this is a fairly good thing. I only hope I can someday return the favour.

I wish everyone the contentment and security of having such a family as I do whether you were born into it, or had the pleasure of constructing it member by member.

Help! help! the lurkers have run amok!

2006-03-22T03:54:00.000-07:00

Lurking...

I have heard reference to this activity often of late. It can be a source of great amusement, and I'll admit: I greatly enjoy the occassional lurk.

But there is a darker side to lurking.

Let me tell you about it...

Now, as you may or may not already know, "lurking" (in the new vernacular) is the act of hanging about and making a person distinctly uncomfortable so as to persuade him or her to vacate his or her current location so that the lurker is able to effectively usurp said location. This usually means an invasion of the "personal bubble", making awkward (and unwanted) conversation, etc. It can be a lot of fun to watch people's reactions to lurkers in public places... but there is a limit.

I draw the line at lurking around people's LIVES. You want my table in the coffee shop? Lurk away, but stay away from my home and job, please.

Now don't get me wrong- it's one thing to comment on how nice a person's apartment is and to casually enquire if the current tenant is thinking of renewing the lease, and even to state your interest in the place, but it is quite another to badger the tenant constantly about when he or she will be leaving, when the lease is up, how much heat and lights cost, etc. It's tantamount to waiting for someone to kick the bucket so you can snatch his or her car at a good price. Not cool. Go away.

The same goes for a person's job. It's quite acceptable to casually enquire as to when a person's contract is up and to ask that person to let you know when they're leaving said job so that you can get your foot in the door before the rest of the competition has a chance. Weekly emails and phone calls regarding the person's leaving date (especially six months or more before said date) is NOT acceptable behaviour. I say again, GO AWAY.

At this point, I add that this type of action would be made ever-so-slightly more understandable if you lived in a city where jobs and apartments were hard to come by... but if you live in a place where both are available in relatively good quantity, apartment and employment lurking is unacceptable, and frankly, a wee bit on the creepy side of life.

So take it from a victim of the dreaded uber-lurking that is plaguing our fair town: if you express interest in a person's job or home, and the person tells you that he or she "will let you know", wait 'til he or she LETS YOU KNOW before planning where you'd put the couch or what potted plant would look good in the office window. Please.

The best thing since sliced bread...

2006-03-20T17:58:00.000-07:00

Has got to be the inclusion of carrying handles on the 24 packs of toilet paper.

Anyone who has EVER had to walk home carrying one of those suckers sans-handle knows EXACTLY what I'm talking about.

My life has just become infinitely more simple.

I heart the new handles. I really, really do.

They made my day.

(Yes- I really am that easy to please.)

Sometimes you just need it.

2006-03-17T05:29:00.000-07:00

And by IT, I mean a night of pizza, martinis, and a power chick-flick. I'm not sure what the male equivalent would be, and maybe it differs from person to person, but regardless, there are just some days that must be capped off by a healthy dose of mind-numbing alcohol, half an ooey-gooey-extra-cheese pizza , and a movie that causes you to cheer and pump your fist at the screen, even though you know it will have no effect on the outcome of the plot...

Somedays you just need that.

And then you feel better, 'cause you can clearly see through your martini-dimmed eyes that life is better than the bullshit you've recently had to deal with, and so are you.

Then you can go to bed and sleep the sleep that only comes from consuming juuuuuuust the right amount of alcohol.

In the morning, the world is brighter, and you're ready to face the bastards again.

ps- for those of you who are wondering, last night's power chick-flick selection was 'The First Wives Club'. For those of you who haven't seen it, go out and rent it posthaste. Be careful to stretch before you watch it so as not to pull any muscles while fist-pumping ;)

Just say NO to the Snake-oil Seller...

2006-03-16T05:49:00.000-07:00

I would LOVE to see Dr. Atkins try to market his diet in Korea. I think it would be absolutely hilarious to watch him try to tell the people of this rice-dependent country that rice is BAD!

What brings this rather strange musing about, you ask? Well, I was teaching last night, and as she will often do, the mother of the family asked me if I would like something to eat? And as I was a wee bit peckish, I said "yes, please!".

Ten minutes later, I was served a white cube in a plastic bag. The cube measured approximately 4"x3"x2"... and it was composed entirely of... you guessed it: RICE! Compressed rice. It was really really good too... sort of sweet with a texture somewhere between a dumpling and marshmallows. As the girls dug into their own cubes-o-rice, I was instructed to just dig with my hands. Most satisfying.

So, as I'm sitting there, munching on this gooey-white-mass-o-goodness, I am also pondering the cultural differences in diet and the perception of what is good for you and what's not. It really is ridiculously subjective.

Most of the people I know here in North America would be astounded (not to mention a bit repulsed) at the idea of eating that much rice (read: CARBS!!!!!) in one go... it's tantamount to what offering a person a cube of pure fat would have been fifteen years ago.

And that, I suppose, brings me to my point... Fifteen years ago (really the whole time I was growing up...) fat was purported to be the arch enemy of the much-sought-after trim-magazine-cover figure. Now, suddenly, fat is ok again and the REAL enemy (so we're told ad-nauseum) is the dastardly carbohydrate.

So which is it?? I'm confused! And perhaps that is the point...

I would like to take a moment here to point out that it is not, in fact, any one element in our diets that is causing people to steadily increase in size and decrease in health, our bodies actually NEED fat, protein, carbohydrates, and simple sugars to function properly. What actually causes us to be so unhealthy is the sheer quantity in which we consume some of this stuff.

I would argue that the solution is NOT cutting one of the four out completely, but rather eating in MODERATION.

There is sooooo much more to be said on this topic... perhaps some discussion on the topic is in order! What do y'all think?

Definitions please...

2006-03-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

Ok... so as most of you know, I quite delight in coming up with new words and incorporating them into my daily vocabulary, or, better yet, taking pre-existing words and phrases and changing their meanings to suit my needs.

There are times when I just find the english language to be at a loss to properly express what I'm trying to say, so I have to make something up... Also, I'm not above shamelessly stealing from other languages...

Yes, it is true that this means that it can be very confusing to speak to me at times, but it's always exciting!

(well almost always... I can't be stimulating ALL the time... even adorable geniuses such as myself need a rest from time to time...)

For instance, some of my favorites are:

gorf- this is a combination of 'dork' and 'goof'. If I call you a gorf, do not be offended, it was meant affectionately ;)

goober- similar to gorf, but ever so slightly more loveable.

btw- I know this isn't a word per se... but if you're ever IMing with me and I say this, chances
are it doesn't mean 'by the way' (although it might, depending on the context), but 'back to work'... a carry over from my student days.

gah- usually seen with multiple exclamation points... this is used to express exasperation and frustration- I feel it works better than "argh!".

gesundheit!- I use this whenever anyone sneezes, coughs, hiccups, burps, etc, in my presence. I know that most people only say it after a sneeze. But I'm weird that way. Deal with it.

homewrecker- addressed to anyone who has just made a mess of somekind. Yes, I know what the conventional meaning of the word is. I reject that meaning and use mine good naturedly.

prolly- used in place of probably. It's just easier to say... I know, I know... this is the bastardization of the english language... Oh well- you know what they say: the only constant is change.

ich verstehe- it means "I understand" in German. It just sounds better... less... condescending... more like the "Aha!" of the lightbulb clicking on...

And then, the other day, I came up with a new one...

monkeyism

As a student of politics, I felt the need to have yet another 'ism' introduced to the world... in reality, I was referring to our pre-humanoid relatives in an incredibly crude conversation about the evolution of our eating habits... it was really grasped because I couldn't think of the word I actually wanted... but now I'm thinking that it's a fun word and I need to come up with a definition... what do y'all think??

Leave me ideas of potential definitions please!

Also, leave me new and fun words!!! (don't forget to tell me what they mean!)

pitter patter

2006-03-14T07:10:00.000-07:00

It's raining, it's pouring. The old man is snoring. He went to bed, bumped his head, and he couldn't get up in the morning.

It's raining today.

But it's a good rain.

It's a spring rain.

The air is cool and fresh, and the rain is falling perfectly: not monsoon, but not mist either.

The River has all but thawed.

The grass is slowly beginning to green up.

I envision crocus and hyacinth bulbs awakening in the soil and commencing their annual journey towards the sun.

Soon we will be able to glimpse little bits of white, yellow, and purple poking out of the flower beds of this town (did you know that crocii always bloom in order of their colour?).

I'm listening to Norah Jones and k.d. lang and have opened my window in the hopes of airing out this over-heated and stuffy room.

I love the sound of car-tires on wet pavement.

Love it.

It's a good day here. Hope it is wherever you are too.

Ancient Greek is Chic. Who knew?

2006-03-13T07:27:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting in the movie theatre with two friends... the VERY front row... craning to see the screen (there was an incident with a taxi that caused us to be lateish- don't ask). We are preparing to watch what we expect will be a fairly serious movie... I'm getting into my serious-movie-mind-frame... the previews have finished... I'm cozy in my seat... and the opening credits begin. The logo for Columbia Studios flashes onto the screen (see pic to the left). I'm all anticipation- set for the flick, when my friend whispers (seemingly to herself):

"Ooooo, I like her dress!"

And I'm done. Totally finished- I dissolve into giggles. I'm pretty sure the guy beside me had murder or some form of hideous torture on his mind... I didn't fully recover until we left the theatre two hours later. It was totally worth the price of the ticket just to hear her utter those words.

You have no idea.

To Joe on His Birthday.

2006-03-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Joeseph.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!!

... and many moooooooorrrrrrre.

See you tonight!

;)

Even inanimate objects are commenting on my eating habits now...

2006-03-09T05:30:00.000-07:00

In a recent and unwelcome development at work, I've found that each vending machine has been fitted with flourescent orange triangle of paper in one corner of the window... each of these triangles has a big, puffy heart on it, and script that says "Follow the heart for healthy selections". The idea here is that the 'healthy' selections in the machine will be tagged with a similar, though smaller, heart.

The first time I saw this, I took the advice of the poster and attempted to follow the heart: it was like a 'Where's Waldo' game. Find the health heart in the vending machine! I finally found one lonely little heart tagged under a bag of spinach-flavoured Sunchips in a sea of cheesies, chocolate bars, and danishes.

It made me laugh out loud.

Is it really necessary to point out that pretty much EVERYTHING in a vending machine is the polar opposite of healthy?? I mean, really... who doesn't already acknowledge that?

Since then it's just become annoying: It's like everytime I don't select the Sunchips (which I hate), I'm being judged for my lack of health-consciousness, and I'm beginning to resent that. I'm not buying from the vending machine 'cause I'm not interested in my health, you judgemental SOB, I'm buying 'cause I forgot my lunch and the damn coffee place is closed. So just stop with your stupid little day-glo hearts and GO AWAY!

Geez! Everything's a critic these days...

trying not to be a chicken-shit (is chicken-shit supposed to be hyphenated?)

2006-03-08T05:09:00.000-07:00

A recent conversation with a good friend has brought to light something that I think it is important to articulate. I offer this advice in the spirit that most of my advice is meant- hoping to help others to avoid the mistakes that I've made, or lived through. Ignore it if you like- that's the beauty of advice- you can opt not to take it.

Here it is:

NEVER neglect to make sure that the people you care about KNOW that you care about them. You may think that your feelings are understood, that your actions speak louder than words- and maybe they do- but a little vocal confirmation of your affections never hurts: Really, who doesn't like to hear someone say "I love you", or "I care about you", or "I miss you", or a simple "You look nice today"? (I'm pretty sure that, admit it or not, this goes for men as well as women.)

The human mind is a funny thing- for most, the bad is easier to believe than the good. Thus, if we don't have incontrovertible evidence that someone cares, most of us start to doubt. And doubt is NOT a fun place to be. Even though our friends may tell us we have nothing to worry about (and we understand that they are probably right), if you're not feeling it internally, doubt creeps in.

For some people, myself included, saying the words is an incredibly difficult thing to do. I think it's because actually vocalizing that kind of emotion, no matter how sure you are of your situation, leaves you open to some form of rejection. And we all know that rejection is amongst the scariest of everyday-scary-things...

None of those personal insecurities really matter though- not when you're talking about making sure that the people that matter in your life know that they matter. A little bit of vocal appreciation goes a looooooong way. Never forget it.

So suck it up, deal with it, and make someone's day, you big wuss.

You don't need God! Sunshine and oranges will save you!

2006-03-07T05:42:00.000-07:00

I have returned from the void! Ask not where I've been, just know that I'm back now ;)

This post is a scattered smorgasbord of stuff that I've been meaning to post for a few days and have decided to stick together- an omnibus post, if you will.

FIRST! Let it be known that I have decided that ample doses of the vitamins C and D (in other words, Sunshine and Oranges) are wonderful things and should be administered to all by the public-health nurse, just like meningitis vaccines or something.

SECOND! I have some updates on past posts...

1.) that moron of a governor in South Dakota has signed the flippin' anti-abortion bill into law. Now it's up to the pro-choice lobby to file a challenge with the courts... So it begins...

2.) at the suggestion of some of you, I submitted my post on childcare and the state to all of the local papers. At least one of them (our local rag) picked it up- it's in the February 27th 'Opinions' section! That said, they edited the crap out of it... took out all the fun stuff (apparently you can't say 'fart' or 'screw' in today's mass media...). Bastards. If any of you have seen it elsewhere, I'd love to know about it!

THIRD! Funny randomness that is, apparently, one of my many trademarks ;)

So! This morning I decided to walk to work. It's an absolutely GORGEOUS day, and since I am feeling rejuvenated (and didn't want to pay bus fare), I stuck a mixed CD in my portable disc-player, threw my sneakers on, and proceeded to bee-bop my way on up the hill.

I was doing great until I hit a patch of ice about a hundred feet from my office. Fuck.

It's all good, though! I recovered quickly with my dignity and muscles intact.

I love this time of year.

Gesundheit!

2006-03-02T05:08:00.000-07:00

Let me set the stage for you:

An office.

A beautiful young woman, let's call her... Jane... is walking towards the out-going mail box, sheaf of out-going mail in hand.

A nameless co-worker rounds the corner, whilst initiating what looks to be a massive sneeze.

At the last second, the nameless co-worker, realizes Jane's proximity (too close for comfort) and cuts sneeze off (quite a considerate, and no easy thing to do! I'm sure you'll agree.)

Nameless co-worker: (disappointed) Aw. You made me lose my sneeze!

Jane: (confused while feeling grateful for the lack of sneezage in my..oops, I mean her... general direction) I'm sorry... is this a bad thing?

Nameless co-worker: (indignant) Yes. I don't like to lose a sneeze once it's started! (walks off slightly miffed.)

Jane: (standing at the out-going mail box, staring bewildered after her nameless coworker) Okaaaaaaaaay....

to self- Really... is it THAT big of a deal? Really?

Jane shakes her head, deposits her outgoing mail in the outgoing mailbox, walks back to her desk -taking care to give her co-worker a wide berth and thereby eliminate the need for 'losing' any more sneezes- and returns to her incredibly productive day.

Some Pride, Some Prejudice, and Some Pancakes

2006-03-01T05:47:00.000-07:00

Happy Belated Pancake Day!

Ok... ok... I know that's not the technical term for the last Tuesday in February (Shrove Tuesday! Mardi Gras!), but being the heathen that I am, I feel inclined to limit my acknowledgments to PANCAKE DAY.

Mmmmmmmmm... pancakes.

I was too perturbed yesterday, what with the misogynistic actions of the South Dakota State Legislature and all, so I felt it best to leave my poetic pancake waxings to another day. And that lucky day is today!!

So, like many of you, I was craving those wonderful spheres of fluffy yumminess all the live-long day. But alas and alack, I was unable to partake in any of the 650 gagillion pancake breakfasts/lunches/dinners offered around the city owing to the facts that a) I am not a religious person and therefore have no connections with any church... and b) I had to work from 8am until 8pm, and thus effectively missed every one of those damn breakfasts/lunches/dinners anyway.

So I craved, jonesed, whatever you want to call it... until 8:30pm... sweet, wonderful 8:30pm, when I arrived home (my sparkling, pristine, just-released-today copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched in my hot little hand) and proceeded to commence the crafting of my very own batch of the coveted flap-jacks.

It was as if the stars had aligned just for me and my pancakes: JUST the required amount of baking soda left; my big cast-iron skillet finally cooperated with my stove and me to heat up to the perfect pancake-cooking-temperature, and not a degree more; and I managed (without any real effort, I might add) to pour the batter to the proper size so that the recipe actually made the coveted EIGHT medium sized hot-cakes.

I temporarily considered getting adventurous and adding something crazy like corn or raspberries (not together of course), but quickly threw that idea aside. No. This night was a night for unadulterated fluffiness.

So I poured and then carefully watched the batter for the signal that the first side is cooked- the infamous popping of the surface-bubbles, got out my trusty flipper, and flipped away- with flare even. And then they were ready.

So there's Tobin and I, quarter after nine in the evening, situated on the comfiest-futon-in-the- world, huddled over our respective plates, positively maowing down on buttermilk pancakes soaked in butter and maple syrup, whilst avidly watching the hate-to-love progression of Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy (oh yes- his name really is Fitzwilliam, even though it's not mentioned in the book... an Austen expert tells me it is so...). Who could ask for more really?

So here's to Pancake Day, whatever your religious affiliation! And here's hoping you all got some!

(pancakes that is... get your brains out of the gutter. Geez)

First they go after the right to choose... what's next? A woman's right to vote?

2006-02-28T05:58:00.000-07:00

Ok... so what are they trying to do in South Dakota? Roll us all the way back to the stone age, slowly but surely? I'm sure most of you have heard the scary news of the newly anointed abortion law that was recently passed there, but due to my shock and horror, I've decided to present the details here:

I had heard rumblings for some time that a major anti-abortion bill was in the works, and on Friday, February 24, 2006 (a dark day for women everywhere- whether you're anti- or pro-choice), the South Dakota State Legislature passed a law (which apparently the Governor is disinclined to veto...) which outlaws all abortion, even in cases of rape and incest UNLESS the life of the woman is in direct medical jeopardy (ie- threats of suicide ain't gonna sway the government of South Dakota.) On top of this, doctors who flout this new law could be sentenced to up to five years in prison for performing an abortion.

This law, once it is signed, will be a direct challenge to Roe v. Wade, which, most of you will know, was the 1973 US Supreme Court ruling that struck down anti-abortion laws in the US. Thus, it will be challenged in court. Good.

The problem here is that the law has been crafted in such a way as to allow it to stay in place whilst said challenge is underway... dammit. What's more, and this is really, truly scary for women of the US, when this case does make it to the Supreme Court, what if the now-higher-content-Republican Court (given Bush's TWO appointments) finds in favour of South Dakota? Wow, that's a dangerous precedent to set. I'm not even sure of the mechanics of how or if that could happen, but I'm sure the possibility is there.

Perhaps this was the purpose all along... find one of the most socially conservative states in the country (with a low abortion rate taboot- ~800 per year are performed and there is only ONE legal abortion clinic in the whole damn state), get the Legislature to pass a massive anti-abortion law (knowing full well that it will be challenged under Roe v. Wade), and then let the judicial system do its work in the hopes that the courts will find in favour of the anti-choice lobby and the State of South Dakota...

True-this does not have a direct affect on those of us that don't live in the US, but (I say again) it does set a dangerous precedent. Canadians can take comfort in the fact that an anti-abortion law here would have to get through the Canada Health Act as well as the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms before it could be enacted... and that's not a very likely scenario right now, given the composition of our government and the Supreme Court. Thank goodness.

That said, the very existence of the South Dakota law sends shivers up my spine. Some women just cannot afford to have a baby, whether financially or socially (and unfortunately, this is a responsibility that is ultimately borne by women). Why should a woman be forced to carry to term and give birth to a child that she knows, from day one, she can't support? Never mind the intense social stigma of being a single or unwed mother- you know it's still there. And don't even try to quote the birth control argument to me- accidents DO happen, and what if you can't afford birth control? Should you just never have sex? Right.

Don't they know that no matter what the state says, women are still gonna have abortions??? They always have... but when it's not state sanctioned, women are forced to get creative, and that's when abortions become truly dangerous. Conjure images of bent clothes-hangers, dirty knives, lye (LYE!!), and women throwing themselves down stairs in an effort to self-abort.

*shudder*

See a very informative post here for more information on this, and also, for fiction-based-on-fact tales of pre-legal abortion situations, The Cider House Rules by John Irving (the book, not the movie), and the movie Vera Drake are good representations of what I'm talking about. (Vera Drake also does a fantastic job of highlighting the class divide when it comes to abortion.) We have to take action here! This is our past, but if we don't speak up, it may also be our future. And that's a truly horrifying thought.

Ahhhhh... that's better!

2006-02-27T05:29:00.000-07:00

I have no coherent vision for what this post should encompass, so be prepared for a scatterbrained account of the last couple of days!

It was a good weekend! Tobin and I broke in our new apartment properly with not one, but TWO nights of parties (ok, ok... one was not planned, but does that really matter? Really?) All I can say are the following things:

- enchiladas really are the food of the gods.
- impromptu house-parties rock;
- red wine and Mezcal DO NOT mix. period. (no really- take my word, and blood-red eye, for it...);
- futons are the most comfy pieces of furniture going;
- potlucks are definitely the way to go for house-warmings;
- 3am scarfing of trifle should become a time-honoured tradiation (Laura- YUM!!! It was seriously ALL gone in ~4 minutes. Seriously.);
- morning-after brunches and running into another group of morning-after friends should likewise become tradition;
- magnetic poetry is awesome (and incredibly hilarious when alcohol is involved in the composition);
- never trust a drunk man to clean up a broken glass, no matter how much he insists he can do it... (many people will get cut, and we like to minimize the cutting);
- daffodils are very pretty and make EXCELLENT house-warming presents! (thanks, Sarah!)
- having your own washer and dryer cannot be over-valued. There are no words for how much I love my washer and dryer.

AND THEN, in addition to this ALREADY stellar weekend, I attended a meeting of the Fredericton Social Network yesterday. It was very exciting to see people from different organizations and ideological backgrounds willing to work together within their commonalities. I'm so sick and tired of groups complaining about and bad-mouthing other organizations that are working towards the SAME GOAL because they differ on one or two points, rather than working with them. This was just SO refreshing. Could this be the beginning of a UNITED FRONT ?!?!?!

Really things are just getting off the ground with the FSN, but the idea of having organized links between all of the social groups in Freddy makes me think that we may finally be moving somewhere. We're organizing a weekend of workshops for late April. I'll keep you all posted on the details as decisions are made. Even if you don't want to give a workshop, maybe you'll want to attend them!!!

So really, the weekend was the perfect mix of social and political; of running around and down-time. Yup... it's -26 outside, but I definitely smell spring in the air. Happy Monday everyone!

ps- keep up the discussion on my last post- this is good!

Catch 22... with kids.

2006-02-23T05:57:00.000-07:00

The problem of being able to find and pay for adequate childcare in this day and age is one that most people seem to accept as one of those things in life that just has to be worked through... and always will do, but my thinking is that we shouldn't have to choose between a reasonable quality of life for our families and taking care of our children.

It should be a given... shouldn't it??

The Setting: the 16 South bus at 7:45am. Crowded. Two dads, seated with their respective daughters (~6 years old each) are chatting while their children introduce their dollies to one another.

The Scene: The topic of conversation (which was impossible not to overhear as I was seated approximately 0.5 feet away from it) was not Canada's abysmal loss to Russia in Olympic hockey, but childcare- the availability and the cost thereof (both daddies were escorting their little darlins' to daycare on their way to their respective places of employment).

The Problem: As I observed the discussion, it became more and more disturbing to me. The overall theme of the discussion was how lucky each had been to find a place for their kids in daycare. As the dollies danced together and farted in one anothers' face (awwww, aren't they cute?) both parents confided that the price of daycare was prohibitive, but what could they do? The kids had to be taken care of, and both Mom and Dad had to work.

... the dollies were now tap-dancing on thin air... it's amazing how dollies can do that...

The Rant: This is a theme that is very familiar to most people, even if they don't have kids. The cost of childcare is astronomical. Many families just can't afford it, so they end up relying on a relative or two, or the kids end up raising themselves (except for the fact that it is illegal to leave a child under the age of twelve unattended... or is it ten? Either way, the point is the same, if you can't afford daycare, don't have any able family or friends nearby, and you have to work, you're essentially screwed, or at the very least, forced to become insanely creative). In fact, for many young, dual income families, once you've factored in childcare and transportation costs, it's actually cheaper for one partner NOT to work- ie: these costs not only absorb one person's income, but actually start eating into the second (and you JUST KNOW that nine times out of ten, it is Mom who's expected to be the one to give up her 'day job'). What's wrong with these pictures?? Or worse yet, what the hell are single parents supposed to do?

And on top of all this, even if you have enough income to actually pay for someone to look after your kids, you still have to worry about actually getting them a place in a daycare facility. And you'd better believe that the competition for these coveted spots in our sleepy little town has become cut-throat. I ask again: What's wrong with this picture??

...at this point in my thought process, I notice that the dollies have morphed into light-sabres and that their owners are now locked in a do-or-die battle...

Now don't get me wrong: I'm not suggesting that care-givers be paid less. Quite the contrary, in fact: Most care-givers are extremely underpaid, and this is something that should also be addressed. So what's the solution? Should the government pay?

The Solution(?): As most of you probably know, the recent federal election brought forward promises of a $100/month childcare subsidy from the party that actually won. Upon discussing this with my one friend who actually has a child, I discovered that the average monthly cost of childcare per month is actually in the neighbourhood of $900- $1000 (~$6/hr, ~8 hours/day, 5 days/week)- and that's CHEAP childcare. What the hell is $100 going to do to defray that kind of cost?? And now, on top of that, for those of us that live in New Brunswick, our glorious leaders are considering scrapping the childcare program altogether. Great idea, guys!

It seems to me that if the federal government put even a fraction of their military budget into social programs, including childcare, we could come up with something a hell of a lot more feasible for the majority of parents than the extremely creative solutions that people are currently forced to come up with... the mythical creature that is a national childcare program, perhaps... And that's just to start. But alas and alack, our current governmental structure is simply not up to the task of dealing with the social issues that have arisen as a result of said structure (among other things). Thus, I fear that the people of this country will continue to grapple with the Catch 22 that is trying to earn enough money to provide basic care for their children whilst attempting to ensure that there is actually someone there to provide said care.

Even though I know most of you don't currently have kids, and are in fact eons away from even considering a little bundle of joy, I'm interested to hear everyone's thoughts on this...

... by the time we reached my stop on the line, the dollies were locked in a vicious wrestling match... accompanied by ear-splitting giggles...

Ah to be six and worry-free again.

Exeunt.

tomato sauce is evil

2006-02-22T05:17:00.000-07:00

Well wouldn't it happen that the one day I've worn white in the last two months is the one day that I'm seriously jonesing for spaghetti?? You know it would. That's right. And what better to go with my nice off-white tank-top but a nice spot of tomato sauce?? (Strategically placed, of course, front and centre on the bustline... where else?) Even my trusty little Tide pen is not equal to the task. I fear for the well being of my tank. Evil, Evil spaghetti! Why did you make me want you so? Why did I give in? I am weak. WEAK!

The old addage really is true: you CAN dress me up, but you can't take me anywhere... unless you follow me around with a bib, a dustpan, a washcloth, and a Tide pen...

** please note that this is NOT an advertisement for Tide pens... the damn thing let me down. I still have a little orange spot, front and centre. *grumble grumble grumble*

Good day to you all.

the TEST.

2006-02-21T06:01:00.000-07:00

You all know of what I speak. The BEST FRIEND TEST. It is the test that all new dating potentials must pass if they ever hope to get past 'go'. This is even more scary than the sibling/parental test. If you fail those tests, depending on the family, you may still have a fighting chance... afterall, we don't choose our family. But flunk the BEST FRIEND TEST, and you've just constructed serious obstacles in your relationship, if not killed it altogether.

I mean, we all know that NO ONE is ever going to be good enough for our best friends, but there are some that we can learn to live with...

I've recently been reminded of a highly amusing methodology that a very dear friend of mine used to employ (and perhaps still does) in administering the BEST FRIEND TEST. He would ask the new guy/gal one simple question:

Which, in your opinion, is the best Eagles song/album?

The correct answer being (of course) NONE! Double de-merit points if said guy/gal even admits to knowing the titles of the albums.

This, of course, was a question designed to be specific to that particular group of friends, and apparently indicated enough to them about the person being questioned to allow the group to make a sound judgement ;)

I'm curious to know if you all think this is an acceptable methodology, and if not, what would you suggest as an alternate means of administering the TEST? Do we go for the tried and true standbys of 20 questions or the quiet observation of every move made and syllable uttered? Or do we get more creative? Do tell. I'm dying to know.

And now for something completely different...

2006-02-18T10:43:00.000-07:00

I've finally succeeded in changing my template.

I didn't like any of the standard offerings, so I decided to take my existing template, rip it apart, and put it back together in a new and mysterious fashion. (learning html is fun!)

Please validate my existence by leaving a comment to let me know what you think of the new look.