§hria's spot

2007-11-07T20:55:00.000-05:00

I'm in. I made it back alive. It only took about three hours of digging to get to my blog but I found it.

No promises about posting regularly, though. I just thought I'd give it a little twitch to see if I still could.

2007-03-22T20:43:00.000-04:00

As one story comes to an end another begins

Or at least another chapter in a story that affected my deeply. Cowboy boots represent victim at double-murder preliminary hearing

The pre-trial of Albert Ouimet has concluded and the courts have found there is enough evidence to try him on two counts of murder. He is accused of murdering Melody Burtis and her 8-year-old son Harley Baxter-Burtis. There is a publication ban on evidence in the trial but the Sault Star's Linda Richardson has done a beautiful job of setting the scene and capturing the mood of the courtroom.

Meanwhile, the workers at St. Marys Paper Ltd. have voted to reject the company's offer and the mill will close by my dad's birthday at the beginning of June.

Let me just reach over to my crystal ball here to see what is in store for the dummies who voted overwhelmingly to put themselves out of a job...

Okay, it's becoming clear. I see 38 weeks of daytime TV at 45% of what they will make up until they are out of work followed by a rewarding career in call-centre-hell. Oh yes, voting yourself out of a job is very smart fellas.

I look at it like a fishing trip. Here I am in my canoe with the nice fish I caught and I have about an hour left on the lake. This little fishy has signed up to support my lazy ass for seven years but this guy comes up in the HMS National Union. What I keep forgetting is that he has a whole freezer full of fish at home but none of them are live enough to bite my hook. He tells me that I have an okay fish but could do better with his help. So what do I do? Come back to fish again tomorrow - ha, no way! Not me. Being the bright little candle that I am, I throw the half-dead fishy back in the lake and drop my hook in the water. The HMS National Union motors away while the guy at the wheel laughs and tells me I'm on my own. Yup, score one for those shining examples of wisdom at St. Marys Paper.

Tony Martin and David Orazietti tell me not to give up hope. They say we should hold on a little longer because something will happen. Meanwhile, the bank is inventorying the machines and supplies at the mill and will start to sell off what ever they can as soon as they can. Customers have already found other suppliers and suppliers have found other buyers. Can we turn back? Not likely.

What I really wonder is how the CEP figures it will sell a paper mill that doesn't belong to it? Are they going to wait till the Bank of America rips out its paper machines then sell an empty 100 year old building with no customers and no suppliers? That's going to yield a thriving business with plenty of jobs to go around all right.

Let's all cheer for the workers of St. Marys Paper. They stood up for themselves and didn't take any crap from that guy who was ready to run a mill at a loss for up to seven years so they could keep working and making paper. Those guys have guts. Not a lot of brains, but they have real spirit. I wonder how many pairs of shoes they can buy for their kids with that spirit.

Right then, off to play more RYL. Nothing quite as satisfying as a good stiff drink and several rounds of mindless virtual violence!

2007-03-22T09:00:00.000-04:00

This is it

Today is the first day of the rest of our lives. By us, I mean mine, Shaun's, Dana's, Nova's and our dependents. I also mean the 400 or so employees of St. Marys Paper Ltd. and the 300 or so people who aren't working there but whose jobs depend on the mill.

In a nutshell: St. Marys Paper has been loosing money for about two and a half years and last year its employees accepted wage and benefit concessions to save their jobs and keep the mill operating. The Province kicked in several million, created long-term programs aimed at supporting the forest industry in Northern Ontario and the owner took huge losses. Everyone has been loosing. Can we remember that? Almost everyone has been loosing.

On Tuesday the courts granted the Bank of America the right to order the mill liquidated and its debts be paid. The Bank of America will also loose a portion of its investment in the mill because of its decision.

There is one slim hope... If the employees vote today to continue its concessions until 2014 or until the company becomes profitable again then the bank, the province and the company can return to court and stop the liquidation, save the mill and continue its operation.

Enter the National Union. Its organizers say the company is posturing and isn't really $18 million or more in debt. It says that Ron Stern just wants to get his grubby little hands on the workers pensions and he has neither respect for nor appreciation of his employees' contributions to the company. They say that the workers should not have to make any more sacrifices to keep their jobs.

The one who stands to loose the least in closing St. Marys Paper in Sault Ste. Marie is the Communications, Energy and Paperworkers (CEP) union, the primary national union representing St. Marys Paper workers. Unfortunately, that is the group with the most influence over the mill's future right now.

From outside looking in, it doesn't appear that CEP cares much for its members in Sault Ste. Marie. Its executive has a rare chance to save jobs and they are refusing to allow concessions because they fear it would weaken CEP's position in negotiations with other employers. They say they will be here to support their members at St. Marys Paper but they haven't proven able to do that in other places where mills where closed.

What will happen in Sault Ste. Marie when this mill closes?

Instead of deferring 20 percent of their wages for one to seven years, employees of St. Marys Paper will loose 45 percent of what they were getting when the mill closed and can plan on that level of income for a maximum of 38 weeks. After that its call centre hell or social services. The average wage in the mill right now is about $45,000 per year. They could work for a maximum of seven years at that rate and have an opportunity to recoup (its a wage deferral not a cut) the $9,000 or so a year they are investing in their jobs at the end of that time or they could close the mill and sit at home watching daytimetv for the next 38 weeks while collecting about $25,000. By the time their 38 weeks are up they should be humilliated and degraded enough to be thankful for a job in call centre hell.

And what about the rest of us?

Let's look at my family for an example. Shaun still hasn't managed to secure employment in the Sault, despite extreme and creative job-search techniques and a solid resume that includes 20-years of accident-free, skilled work in industry. His chance of getting a job here anywhere but call centre hell will be about a pubic hair from zero when another 400-600 workers are plunged into the job-search market over the next three months or so. Even the call centres will enjoy a glut of employees to choose from and work there will be harder to come by.

In case you are wondering about the 400-600 count of unemployed resulting from closing St. Marys Paper, that number reflects mill employees and a portion of the contractors, suppliers, and service providers who depend on the mill for the majority of their business.

Soon St. Marys Paper workers will have to contend with what Shaun and I have been living with for the past seven months. He is used to being the bread-winner, and a very capable one at that. Now the whole family is dependent on my $24,000 a year and Shaun must find a way to deal with not making a financial contribution to the household. Not an easy pill to swallow for any man and no less easy for a proud man who invests much of his self-esteme in his ability to provide for his family.

We are doing okay in everything other than finances but it is hard. Very hard. I don't want to see anyone else, let alone so many others face this, especially since it seems so easily avoided. If they just vote to accept the agreement before them today, St. Marys Paper workers will keep their jobs for another one to seven years and have an opportunity to improve their situation during that time. If they follow their national union's recommendation to reject the offer, then the end begins for many of us.

I will not hold my family in a place without hope. Even if it means giving up my job (I am proud to say I write for a living, even if it isn't much of a living), we will leave to find a future elsewhere. I bet we won't be the only ones, either.

We are about to witness the next wave of out-migration from Sault Ste. Marie and it won't be pretty.

I grieve.

2007-03-18T13:31:00.000-04:00

The merits of writing for aliens from space

I was recently searching for Pagan articles and found one of my own, linked to from a variety of surprising Pagan places. The role of Timbits in Pagan ceremonies and spirituality is a story I wrote for SooToday.com about a year and a half ago and in it I was very careful to fully explain paganism as well as I could. I tried to leave nothing to assumption.

What I missed was the ultra-obvious.

The question we got most in feedback from the article was, 'What is a Timbit?'

Living in Canada and writing for Canadians, I thought we all knew what Timbits were. Wow, was I wrong. Something I assumed was as obvious and clear as water to a fish was a foreign concept to many American and European readers I never expected to read the article. It turned out that explaining water to birds was easier than expected and it's that much more funny that I didn't do it in the first place.

This lesson seems to be more universal than it appears, too.

It sort of boils down to a Benny Hill saying... never assume. It makes and Ass of you and me.

Reminder to me: don't assume people know what I am talking about and don't assume they are thinking like me. Not even the people closest to me.

Besides, asking how my loved ones feel or what they are thinking these days is a pretty sure bet for snuggles, kisses and hugs!

2007-03-08T23:00:00.000-05:00

I'm back

Well for now and sort of. It was a difficult transition from there to here (blogger to Google). It's amazing how much trouble auto-complete can cause! But, it's all good now, though anyone who find his or her way back here will see a different username up there at the top of the page.

Things are wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

My sweetness is still my well-tooled, pool-boyish quintessential dream come true. Better yet, Shaun has grown to become a second dad to my girls in just seven months of blissful co-habitation. I never thought it was possible to spend as much time with a person as I do with my beloved and not hate him or her. Not only do I NOT hate him, I love him more each day.

Feeling loved has also given me new confidence to try things I wouldn't have tried before. It has made me feel sexy and secure, beautiful and alive.

There is a slight tinge of guilt. How many times have I said to my daughters that they are responsible for their own happiness and need not rely on a man to make them happy? A freakin' way lot of times. That's how many times. I have even told them not to place love of a man before their careers, independence and ability to provide for themselves and their dependents.

But it all comes down to this... I am WAY INFINITELY SUPER UBER TO THE MAX AND Extremely more happy with him than I was without him. And that goes for all the time. Sleeping, awake, showering, alone, with him, with others... always. It's like his love for me came and put my life up a notch or two.

And the kids came up there with me. So did the pets.

Not only did Shaun make me so much happier, he made Dana, Nova, Milkshakes, Cooper, the fish and even the plants happier. Probably the only unhappy beings in my house are the mysterious fruit flies he keeps smacking.

Oh, and he says he made himself a lot happier being here with us as well.

How?

Just by being us and being together.

We are planning our wedding for that some day after he has found a job and we have bought a house.

But all of that seems so insignificant when seen beside him here with me right now doing what ever we want.

Happy birthday my beloved!

2006-11-15T13:15:00.000-05:00

Who are you and what have you done with my mom?

I rested a lot yesterday to recover from the hectic job of covering a municipal election, which was a lot of fun though I am very disappointed to see Debbie Amaroso gone from the Council Chambers for a while at least. I hope she finds her way back as soon as possible in what ever capacity she can.
This morning I awoke full of energy and grilled a cheese sandwich for Dana's lunch. The first one turned out perfectly and I didn't even have to feed it to the dog and make another as is often the case. I decided to attempt pancakes for breakfast, too. Again, all perfect. Not a batch burnt.

You have to understand, I am actually a very good cook but it is just my thing to burn one in three grilled cheese sandwiches and pan full of every batch of pancakes (from scratch too - no mixes needed here).

So, I didn't even have to call the kids to the table twice this morning. They sat down all brushed and dressed and ready to go about ten minutes earlier than usual. Pancakes and grilled cheese sandwiches smell good in the morning.

As I flipped her second pancake onto her plate while humming a little tune from Sesame Street, Dana looked up at me suspiciously and said, "Who are you and what have you done with my mom?"

I surely cracked up and she ducked before I klooned her with the frying pan when I recovered from the laughter.

"Okay, it's you," she said as she smoothed back her hair from ducking under the table. "I feel better."

The girls got off to school in plenty of time and I had the dishes washed and fresh coffee on for Shaun when he came out of the bedroom a short time later. The man has learned it is best if he just stays out of our way on school mornings and usually pops his head out when the battles have subsided.

We had a great breakfast and nice long shower as well. It's nice to conserve water!

VBEG

2006-11-10T16:15:00.000-05:00

Monitor exchange

Some people exchange rings to declare their never-ending love and fidelity.

How dull and impractical! Although we haven't set a date for the big data share, we have exchanged monitors so I guess that makes it official.

Shaun and I are engaged. Or something like that.

Future Shop is where it happened. How perfect is that!?

I wonder how much they'll charge us for the security cam tape?

2006-11-07T01:16:00.000-05:00

All Saints Day

So off I went to the house of the 'Man Shack' to do a little filming. Fun it was. Much fun for all. We danced, we sang and we made stuff... and you should watch for Saultites in reality shows on Discovery Canada this spring.

Then, on the way home to my beloved, my eyes fogged over and I clipped a sign. I went to bed and bumped my head and couldn't get up for much more than a pee for about 36 hours. Nasty business this cold season!

Shaun made up for lost time by keeping me blissfully busy for a very good chunk of the weekend, including a night out to see an opera about a brain surgeon going nuts in a seedy motel after running over a raccoon. After the show we stopped in at Loplop Lounge and Gallery to take in the artwork, music and a new drink Steve invented. I suggested he call it a 'Sacrificial virgin'. What ever he calls it, the drink is VERY good! All raspberry and cherry and sparkles with a kick in the pants to boot.

Then Shaun went to sleep for about 36 hours.

Today I worked with Les and had a lot of fun but now I need to find out who Mötley Crüe is.

*Sigh*

I'd really rather go to bed for a few days with Shaun.

Or maybe see Dana's play. She's the star you know.

More to come.

Really, I promise.

2006-11-06T13:41:00.000-05:00

Shria's Spot... is it still alive?

What I did on Samhain.

We started with a ceremony at my place on Saturday before the actual date. It was truly magical and wonderful.

Halloween night was hectic and a lot of fun with many kids visiting for treats and video. The video can be seen here.

Then there was All Saints Day. More to come, I PROMISE!

Really.

Truly.

Soonly.

2006-10-02T13:27:00.000-04:00

Who do you love!

I am still wondering how high it goes.

Three months ago I was wondering how much lower I could go in terms of as moods and self-esteem. Ami had turned my home into a living hell. I couldn't go anywhere or talk to anyone without a good grilling... "So, where did you go? Who was there? What did you do? Did you talk about me? Oh, I'm just interested in you and your life." What a load of horse shit. She was just interested in how much money, time and effort she could make me squander on her every whim. She was just looking for ways to pervert and ruin my children, turning them into twisted little images of what she thinks she is.

Now, I'm deliriously happy and wondering how much higher I can go. I come home to a man who loves me more than anything or anyone in this world and keeps surprising me with new ways to show me. He is my best friend, the best lover anyone could ever hope for and a terrific influence on my children. My home is peaceful and clean with no nasty surprises waiting for me. Instead, there is a loving, supportive man and happy children waiting for me when I get home from work.

I want to spend every moment of every day of the rest of my life with this man, even if we spend it sitting side by side, fondling one another while we work on our computers.

Oh! Mmmmmm... Yes, Sweetness! I'm done with this blog entry!

p.s. Thanks for the yummy sandwich, Shaun. And Ami, Shaun says to go get bent Troll Woman.

2006-09-26T17:22:00.000-04:00

How now brown towel?

Things are about as hunky dory as they can get. Shaun has settled in quite comfortably - man noises and all. I'm so happy to fall asleep to the sound of snoring in my ear. It's very reassuring to awake in the night and hear teeth grinding beside my ear. The best of all are the elephant noises he occasionally emits, followed directly by a blame leveled at the daughters, dog, cat or me.

It truly must be love.

Dana wonders, 'If Shaun farts alone in the basement does it make any smell?'

My man. He cooks, he cleans, he gives GREAT sex and he uses his emissions for tactical whimsy. Who wouldn't love him!? What a refreshing change from the woman with a new neurosis every day.

2006-09-06T23:08:00.000-04:00

I just can't believe it…

He is here. My sexy, hot, smart, sweet, compassionate, passionate, giving, kind, loving man is here. He lives with me. Wow. Cool.

I just can't believe it…

MY BASEMENT IS CLEAN! I mean, show people around clean. I mean come on down and check it out clean. So is the kitchen, Dana’s room and Nova's room.

I just can't believe it…

I'm as good in the bathroom as I am in the bedroom. I'm as good in the kitchen as I am in the bedroom. I am amazed at what my body can do.

2006-08-29T01:01:00.000-04:00

Flaws and fractures

I feel like a diamond being ground down by the tools of a jeweler. Unfortunately, there are flaws that threaten to fracture under the pressure.

In regards to work, sometimes life is a dog’s breakfast but I am hungry for justice and that's why I rant and rage against authority. (Thanks Jason LOL).

In regards to my relationships, or one in particular, there is the smallest little voice in me that cries out, 'Run away while you still can!' Its evil twin shouts, 'Traitorous wench, you are giving up your independence and letting a MAN in. EWWW!'

I think about things like having my nails done and want to scream. That really and truly isn't who I am. I am a dirty-handed-doer. I am not a pampered-bungalow-bunny. I can NOT be a desperate housewife. I must keep my hands in the dirt. I must have reason to keep raging against authority. I must…

Oopsie.

Did anyone else hear that?

I swear I heard a little, tiny crack.

Really, it sounded like a crack in my cosmic egg.

I wonder where it will lead. Will I be brave and forge a new life as a partner of my own creation, or will I become what the bunny he seems to want? Then again, maybe I will take the easy way out and run screaming into the woods, longing for another safe, fantastic infatuation. After all, the fantastic infatuation sustained me in relative sanity for the past three years, didn't it? Didn't it!? DIDN'T IT!!!?

Oh my. Apparently I've found another crack.

2006-08-20T22:25:00.000-04:00

My man is coming home.

He has been staying in that other place that he used to live for three weeks and two days. Too long.

Tomorrow he will give his two week notice at work and the plan is to drive down to Mississauga and pick him and as much of his stuff as will fit in my car on the long weekend. We'll be back on Sunday or Monday to get the girls ready for their first day of school on Tuesday.

That will also leave the house to Ami to pack and move over the weekend.

Tight but doable.

My #1 Crush

I would die for you
I would kill for you
I will steal for you
I'd do time for you
I would wait for you
I'd make room for you
I'd sail ships for you
To be close to you
To be a part of you
'Cause I believe in you
I believe in you
I would die for you.

Time to make some room. Time to steal time. Time to get ready to be the me I want to be. I've done my time in a prison of unrequited love and now I'm ready for the real thing and am finished with waiting.

I want to be close to him. I want to breathe the air that he breathes. I want to be part of him to be complete with him to be real with him.

289 hours and counting...

2006-08-11T01:33:00.000-04:00

The sum of all things is an infinite conjugation of the verb to do -- Thomas Carlyle

And what is there to do but to transpose the mundane into the mythical world of dreams made real. I am restless. I am anxious to get on with verbalizing... with doing... with being what I aim to be.

Let me drink deep from the cup of life. Let me stick a straw in and suck out every last drop of vital fluids. I will drive it deep, deeper than the knife of Romeo. Deeper than the darkest night of clouded, moonless wonder.

Let it begin NOW!

I am tired of waiting.

I want to burn in the fire of his embrace, to be utterly and completely consumed. I want to be, once again, deafened by the thunder of his heart. I want, again, for my sight to be absolutely eclipsed by his most radiant beauty.

Promises made in the heat of passion are standing like monoliths. Upwards they thrust from the cold ashes of my faded hopes and desolate longings. Strongly they stand and draw toward them the shimmering suggestion of a new dawn.

I believe!

For the first time in many years, I hold hope upon my tongue with pleasure and wonder at the lack of bitterness. The taste is sweet, salty and sort of mushroomy.

2006-08-06T22:03:00.000-04:00

Ring on my finger

As I type I am glancing at my fingers on the keyboard and there is lovely antique silver Celtic band on my finger where Shaun put it before he left for Mississauga on Friday.

It represents his promise to return and make this real.

I don't want to type any more about it for fear of cursing what feels like a very good thing.

Suffice it to say I am afraid, excited, happy and deeply satisfied for the first time in a very, very long time. That also may explain why I look so tired in this pictures of us.

Fingers crossed. Breath held.

Chant the mantra: I deserve to be happy. It's okay to love and be loved.

And note to self... get a haircut! Sheesh.

2006-07-30T23:54:00.000-04:00

Just Blow on it

Things are working well. Most things anyway. My desk is very nice again, thanks to the thing that works the best. My boy toy is turning out to be quite handy in so many ways. A bit of a handful at times but very pleasant to hang with. Good kisser too.

Looks like I'll be trading in my room-mate for a boyfriend. Turns out that Shaun is actually interested in me. Go figure, life is full of surprises and some of them are really, awesomely cool.

We even starting composing a song together.

I came in the Sault to visit my girl
Ended up with an oboe
The size of a sex-blister on my elbow

Just blow on it babe
Blow on it babe
That'll work

My man came in the Sault to visit
Ended up with a screw-oo
Underneath a honkin' huge desk that is blue

Just blow on it babe
Blow on it babe
That'll work

Okay, maybe it needs a little work but that's what we have so far. Better not hear anyone singing it, either! And maybe I better not give up my day job, either.

Pictures coming soon to a blog near you. Some may even involve oboes, sex-blisters and screwing under desks...

2006-07-18T23:52:00.000-04:00

Tony missed his calling

Today a few of us media peeps headed up to the hills around Gros Cap for a look at some important guys looking at some important stuff.

As usual, it was me and some guys hanging out. It was cool. Tony Tagliabracci from Shaw (who should have been a comedian) was very funny and cracked us up while we waited for Minister of Natural Resources David Ramsay to arrive with Sault MPP David Orazietti, Algoma Manitoulin MPP Mike Brown, as well as Brookfield Power's General Manager Jim Deluzio and VP of Ontario Operations Andy McPhee. They were coming up to take a tour of the Prince Wind Farm and see how things are shaping up on the hills.

Shaping up they are, all right. Deluzio says that they will have 128 wind turbines up and generating enough electricity to power at least 40,000 homes - more than there are in the Sault. Very cool.

Minister Ramsay also said that this farm and others like it will let Ontario soon shut down all it's coal fired generating stations because there is no way to cleanly generate electricity from burnt coal. I'm not holding my breath, though. Show me, don't tell me! Or, at the very least, tell me when and how.

It was very interesting at the wind farm, though, and I hope to get back there for more pictures soon. I may even be able to wrangle my way up into a wind turbine. Bill (on the left) says it takes about 20 minutes to walk up even if you are in good shape and used to it. He says there are the equivalent to at least six flights of stairs to climb. It would be worth it to shoot some footage and stills of Lake Superior, the Sault and the surrounding hills from that height without the noise and motion of a helicopter. A once in a lifetime opportunity! Maybe one Tourism Sault Ste. Marie should be looking at... hmmm, I wonder if I can find John Febbraro's card?

BTW, it looks like Christine is still here. Alex is smiling like I've never seen him smile before! LOL

2006-07-11T23:11:00.000-04:00

Nice guy tough spot

Do you ever meet someone you just want to tell things to? I mean things that have been bubbling around in the bottom of your soul for decades that are kept all corked and sealed for fear of some sort of emotional eruption and lava flow. Things like, "that man coming out of Riverview Centre right now raped me at gunpoint 22 years ago on February 19 in a house on Biggings Avenue."

Can I have a retractable sentence now? Nope, too late. I guess I just wanted to tell someone. I just wanted to be mad about it for a while and say this guy did something wrong. I'll be okay to let it all go away once more soon. I'll be okay enough until I see him walking down the street or through the mall or something, anyway. Then I'll be upset again for a while before I'm okay. Thus is the sightless roller coaster of my life.

I told the right guy though. He will be good with it and he will be there for me if I ever need him. He is a good guy in an uncomfortable spot who knows how to handle it just fine. I know this because he shared some deeply personal stuff about himself as well and we are on equal footing. I know I can trust him and that's a very big deal for me.

This whole trust thing is a tall order after trust I have given has been so deeply and injuriously betrayed so often. I think my judgment is improving.

2006-07-10T23:11:00.000-04:00

Nova helps out

Nova has made a few new friends. Howard Hampton even yelled hello to her from the car they were riding in the parade on Saturday but that's another story.

On Monday, July 10, Hampton came to town and held a media conference at Martin's office. It was Dana's first day of science camp at Algoma U and not a chance we would want her to miss a minute of that, even if we could drag her away to babysit Nova while I covered the Hampton thing. Ami was still asleep and not feeling well enough to chase after Nova and Nova's dad was no where to be found. Grama and Papa were out of town and so was the kid across the street. You get the picture.

It came down to bring the kid to work or not work.

Nova packed up her stuffed snake and alphabet book and while I grabbed my camera, notebook and digital recorder.

It all went off with barely a hitch. The only problem was that Nova sort of stole the show, and especially Hampton's heart. I think he spent more time talking to her than to us.

Nova also got some excellent shots of the other media in the room and asked that we invite the nice camera girls (Jennifer Keating and Sonja Denton from MCTV) over for dinner and tell them to bring their very cool camera so Nova can have a go at it.

2006-07-09T11:11:00.000-04:00

Lessons

Love I gave to you
Should have been asked for
Should have been earned

Love I gave to you
Should have been deserved
Should have been returned

It was none of these
And it was so much more
What are the lessons learned

Love freely given
Is freely rejected
This is a lesson learned

All to often
Best just isn't enough

Love that grew for you
Took me into darkness
Left me bleeding and burned

Love that grew for you
Was truth disregarded
Tip to toe fully spurned

I hurt through the soles
Of my feet where I walked
In a dark world that yearned

Love freely given
Is freely rejected
This is a lesson learned

All too often
Best just isn't enough

2006-07-07T23:26:00.000-04:00

Could someone please remind me of why I blog?

For now, how about I just catch up on what has happened.

Item one: We adopted a cat. Then we lost the cat and everyone (pretty much) freaked. The cat suddenly re-appeared about a day and a half later. His name is Milkshakes (from The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy). Milkshakes and Niemo are friends now. Milkshakes and Cooper were friends since the second they sniffed butts. Everyone is happy - relatively speaking.

Item two: I've been working a lot. Not enough but a lot. I was supposed to go visit Shaun but chickened out.

I am a coward. I have no heart. I suck rocks at this relationhsip crap. I just want to work more and think less.

What could I tell him anyway? - 'Er, sorry dude. I did my best to get there but couldn't? Will you come here? You'll have to come here on the bus though. I don't want to tempt fate by saying I am going to Mississauga to see you.'

Item three: Work is interesting. My peers respect me and treat me as an equal (see photo of Alex Mihailovich raising his middle finger as a sign of respect and Paul Norbo respectfully saluting me as he motors off in a boat I couldn't get on).

I like that they feel like they can tell me to fuck off. I feel respected, not protected. Respected is safer than protected. It can be done from a distance without intimacy and it's much more amusing than actual and messy relationships.

Item four: I joined GoodLife fitness. It's my last shot at finding some pride in the way I look (unless I suddenly come into a shit-load of cash and can get all the plastic surgery I've been dreaming of). I have trouble even typing the words 'pride in the way I look'. There is no way I'll ever be able to say them, let alone feel them.

Above and beyond the quest for a feeling of beauty, appeal or attractiveness is the feeling of power.

I love to feel like I can do something.

Another 10 pounds on the stack, just one more rep. I like that feeling a lot. I can tune out the fact that there are people in the gym for that.

My trainer is cool. He seems to know when to be amused and when to not let me get away with it. I like working with Joey.

Item five: I did something else to look after myself that was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's hard but I'm learning a lot so it's cool.

What I've learned so far: I may have some self-esteem and trust issues.

Okay, if anyone actually reads this, I'm sorry about that. I maybe should have put a little warning before that paragraph saying don't take a sip of your coffee yet because you are about to snort it out your nose.

I may have a hard time with trusting people or feeling good about myself but I sure have a good time with cynicism and sarcasm.

I also found some pictures of me from a couple years ago and thought I'd share one. Although I generally hate pictures of me, Jim did okay with them. You can hardly even see it's me!

Question of the day: What is the difference between a career and a vocation? You tell me the answer.

Answer of the day: A hole. You tell me the question.

2006-06-25T23:06:00.000-04:00

Dreams

My thinking is overly rational right now. Can you help me feel it out?

I hear a knock at the front door. As I walk by the dog, he wags his tail but doesn't get off the sofa. The sun seems to be rising or clouds clearing because the light from outside becomes brighter as I approach the door.

Looking through the window on the door, (the blinds are up, leaving the window open), I see the bench, and the two bushes on my front lawn are in bloom. There is no one at the door but a flicker of movement to the right of the white lilac bush in the middle of the yard. I open the door and look in that direction and see a large fawn, just losing his spots and he is backing shyly away from the front steps.

In aggravation I close the door and there is another knock, more insistent.

Again the fawn is backing away and I close the door and for the third time there is a louder, more insistent knock at the door. I awake as my hand touches the doorknob and my last thought in the dream is to yell at the fawn and tell it to go away though I wake before I can enact that thought.

2006-06-23T23:26:00.000-04:00

Discovering universal indifference

I have finally determined the depth and breadth of the universe's indifference to me and it is infinite. That is somehow reassuring. It squarely fixes the irrelevance of relating to others in the realm of reality. If there is a divine being, it is utterly unconcerned with my desires.

That is why I love the man I love. He is the embodiment of cold unresponsiveness to me. Regarding me, he is absolutely apathetic and I recognize the universal truth of his attitude toward me.

I wish I could write something clever and romantic like I will hold my love for him before me like a shield to keep the world at bay! or My heart is as a sword, tempered by repeated trials and it will cut anyone who tries to have me. But that would only work if anyone were trying to have me or to get through to me. I have finally gotten what I wanted all along... to be left alone.

It is somewhat peaceful in a distant sort of way. I watch as my body goes through the motions... smile, shake hands, make pleasant small-talk, throw in the occasional personal fact or detail to give the impression that I am something like the warm contact-craving people I meet and talk to. The truth is that I am aware that truth is an illusion and facts are the only things that can be relied upon.

Fact: Love is a myth

Love is a myth and human beings only interact to control one another and the resources necessary for continued life or procreation.

Children appear to love their parents so their parents will provide for and protect them.

Men appear to love women so those men will advance their social standing and/or secure offspring so they can live forever in the genes of their future generations.

Women appear to love men to advance their social standing and/or so that the men will provide a stable and abundant environment for their offspring to thrive in so that they can live forever in the genes of their future generations.

Best evidence of all, our consumerist society proliferates the myth of love so that we will feel a need to buy more cars, smoke cigarettes and go on diets to look a certain way so that we can attract a mate of a higher quality than we are and advance our social standing or produce better offspring who are more likely to survive to breed future generations for us.

We even anthropormophize our animal companions, projecting meaning on their behaviours so that we can interpret those as love in order to protect that myth of love.

Action to arise from realization of that truth:

All that I do in life from this time on is aimed at making me stronger, more capable and more self-reliant. I will never rely upon another human being for any of my basic needs. I will meet my own needs or they will not be met. Relationships breed dependance and dependance is a weakness.

Stress is good for me. I must work until I am exhausted to become a better person (more self-reliant and independent). My performance of all tasks must become more efficient and less hampered by emotion. Correct and efficient action can only arise from pure, simple, thoughts that are untainted by feelings.

Peace, joy and play are unproductive, achieve no goals and are a waste of time. Quality of life is achieved only through accomplishment. I am what I do and nothing else matters. Not even him.

I reflect the indifference of the universe by acting purely for the sake of achieving my next goal as mindlessly and efficiently as possible, unfettered by the complications of sentiment and nostalgia. I am driven by a need to do and devoid of passion or pride. I understand compassion enough to appear to possess it but it is only skin deep.

My card of the day today: Ten of Poetry (Prophecy), when reversed: Being swept away by a feeling of spiritual intervention. Profound existential awe. Bondage to elemental forces and divine will. Predetermination. The burden of prophecy and commitment to serve the greater good. Awakening to the full scope and indifference of the universe

From facade.com

This blog is becoming tiresome and serves no purpose.

2006-06-21T13:47:00.000-04:00

Something light, comic relief for the icky birthday blues!

Thanks to Canadian Mark @ 6:14 pm.

5 things in my fridge.

1. Things that start with 'p'... pita bread, pizza, peppers and 'please don't ask what that is'.
2. Four near-empty bottles of different flavours of Gator Aid.
3. Three different kinds of cheese.
4. Two mysterious yogurt containers full of left-overs that no one is brave enough to open.
5. A box of baking soda that seems to be coming to life.

5 Items in my closet

1. Black t-shirts.
2. Black trousers.
3. Black turtle necks.
4. Black hangers.
5. Black shoes. (I refuse to see anything else that may have found its way to the back of my closet.

5 items in my car (If I had a car to put five items in.)

1. A four CD changer with Garbage, Chris Belsito, Evanescence and Astral Projection in it.
2. A stuffed growling dragon.
3. An eclectic blend of crystals, sweetgrass, eagle feathers and medicine bags.
4. Dirt. A lot of dirt.
5. A yellow happy-face frisbe.

5 items in my purse (My backpack is my choice of late, so I’ll use that)

1. Laptop computer and its plugs and cables.
2. Camera stowed in a winter mitten.
3. Digital recorder.
4. Notebook and pens.
5. Make-up, deoderant and cereal bar.

Mark says I am supposed to tag people but I think I'll just leave it for whom ever wants to play.

–Amendment from Mark–

As Les recently noted in the comment section below, I’ve been rather stingy with the live links - or perhaps it’s that I was being compassionate toward the 4/5 bloggers that actually really hate memes. With that said, the following four people can blame Les for this bout of fun.

The Queen (duh)
Jafer
Radmila
The Green Lady

Les, of course is the 5th person, and in her honour, I’m adding a question #5 to this “list five meme” - it only makes sense - right?

The new list of five that I have created for this meme shall be…

5 ways to leave your lover

1. Cease all bathing and other regular hygiene practices.
2. Chew up as many zesty cheese flavoured corn-chips as will fit in your mouth and then french kiss them - works better in the dark.
3. Quote Star Wars CONSTANTLY - though that’s never actually been 100% successful - yet.
4. Take the 7:20 to Wawa.
5. Buy a Sharpie Permanent Marker. Use it when they’re sleeping.

All theoretically speaking, of course…

2006-06-21T11:39:00.000-04:00

My horoscope for Thursday:

Your Daily Horoscope from The Future Minders

It's your birthday-or very near. Set new sights for yourself and consider ways to renew your personal will and power as this day signifies a rebirth. By paying attention to this annual occurrence at a deeper level, you achieve a better understanding of your unique truth with each passing year. Celebrate your individuality, dedicate yourself to pursuing your life's path, and have the goal to express fully the identity that is you.

Feelings quickly surface, and whatever attracts you also moves you-sometimes without knowing why. Sensitive to others, you may rely on their approval, and not being appreciated can cause moodiness. Tension tends to surface between present needs and past considerations. Strive to find appropriate emotional outlets; give yourself permission to laugh-and to cry.

How ironic.

2006-06-20T00:23:00.000-04:00

Why is this bugging me!?

Why is this birthday crap bugging me so much? I mean, it's just a number. It's just another date on a calendar. It really shouldn't have any significance at all.

But it does. Maybe I'm not very comfortable with where I am and my birthday has always been a sort of day to measure benchmarks. It's a day to check on my progress in life and chart new directions.

I'm getting old. I have nothing concrete to show for my time on this earth and little in the way of accomplishments.

What am I now and how do I rate?

I have been devoting most of my time to work and liking that but other areas of my life have suffered. It would have been nice to find a partner in this life and invest some of my efforts in a future with someone who loves me for who I am more than for what I can do for him. Now I believe it is too late for that.

Garbage - Only Happy When It Rains

I'm only happy when it rains
I'm only happy when it's complicated
And though I know you can't appreciate it
I'm only happy when it rains

You know I love it when the news is bad
And why it feels so good to feel so sad
I'm only happy when it rains

Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me
Pour your misery down, pour your misery down on me

I'm only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are going wrong
I only listen to the sad, sad songs
I'm only happy when it rains

I only smile in the dark
My only comfort is the night gone black
I didn't accidentally tell you that
I'm only happy when it rains

You'll get the message by the time I'm through
When I complain about me and you
I'm only happy when it rains

Pour your misery down (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down on me (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down on me (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down on me (Pour your misery down)
Pour your misery down

You can keep me company
As long as you don't care

I'm only happy when it rains
You wanna hear about my new obsession?
I'm riding high upon a deep depression
I'm only happy when it rains (Pour some misery down on me)

I'm only happy when it rains (Pour some misery down on me)
I'm only happy when it rains (Pour some misery down on me)
I'm only happy when it rains (Pour some misery down on me)
I'm only happy when it rains (Pour some misery down on me).

Nobody loves you

Watching the days slip by so fast
Knowing our fate has long been cast
Working our fingers to the bone
Cause nobody loves you when you're gone, gone, gone, gone

Coughing up feeling just for you
To find something real to hold on to
But there is a hole inside my heart
Where all of my love comes pouring out

You know you'll always be my man
But grab yourself sweetness where you can
Cause sooner or later we're gonna die
Left to the dogs under the sky

I cracked a piece of broken glass
I cracked a piece of broken glass

Coughing up feeling just for you
To find something real to hold on to
But there is a hole inside my heart
Where waves of my love come tumbling out
You say that all the good is gone
That I have forgotten who I am
Free as a bird
Wild as the wind
But somehow I cannot let you in

My anthems for today. And my questions for today, does he know he's the one I'm coughing up feeling about? Does he know he is the reason I cannot let anyone in?

Two words will make my day wonderful on Thursday. Just a simple 'happy birthday' from him... by email, by phone call, by telepathic communication. Yeah, I know it won't happen so I'm off to buy some vodka and get stinking drunk with my computer that night. The day should be cool with a dentist's appointment and three assignments to do. Then there will be a family dinner at my mom's which should be actual fun. But the night time belongs to me, my vodka and my computer.

There are plenty of good people I will avoid inflicting my sorry ass on this coming weekend. Don't expect to see me at anything but work for a while.

2006-06-19T22:30:00.000-04:00

Well, it's that time again

Last year I totally forgot my birthday until I got pulled over for not renewing the sticker on my license plate.

This year I dropped a few reminders that my birthday is coming up but expect the same as last year. A nice quiet dinner with my kids, parents and Ami followed by a work assignment.

I was going to go out and have fun like I did a couple years ago but no one is playing anywhere so, oh well.

On a brighter note, I bumped into a nice fellow at the Tim Horton's on Bay Street. Everyone was making such a fuss over him and he was kind enough to stop when he heard my friend Carmine wish me an early happy birthday.

"It's your birthday?" asked Mr. McGuinty.

"Well, not until Thursday, but yes - soon," I said.

"Well Happy Birthday, Carol. I enjoy your website very much," he said as he stepped around beside me. "Can we get a picture, please?"

And instantly about half a dozen flashes went off in my face. It was kind of fun to have the Premier wish me a happy birthday and ask for a picture with me. For that, I can stand still for a camera!

2006-06-15T09:31:00.000-04:00

I have a new love

This man is not only sexy as hell but he actually had the nerve to give the Da Vinci Code 2.5 stars on Canada AM during the week the cast was in Paris flogging the hell out of the movie. I laughed my ass off!

Today they were talking about the top inspirational movies and I realized I've never seen any of them. I started to cook up this theory...

Maybe I should have watched Rocky or It's a Wonderful Life just once. That could have made me a better person couldn't it? Maybe that's what is so essentially wrong with me... I've never seen an inspirational movie. I tried. I really did try hard to watch Rocky once. I just couldn't keep from gagging and my husband (now ex) sent me from the room in disgust. I bet that, if I could have watched one or two of those movies and been the sort of person who really gets carried away by them I'd have actually found that happily-ever-after before I got to old to care about it.

By that point in my inner diatribe Richard to-hot-for-TV Crouse was talking about movies he thought should have been on the list. He first really caught my attention when he said the two movies he has watched the most were It's a Wonderful Life and Pulp Fiction. 'Wow,' I thought. 'There's an incredibly sexy man with a brain AND good taste.' (Pulp Fiction is inspiring to me)

Then he utterly blew me away... he said Edward Scissor Hands should have been on that list. My heart melted. I am so his. The only way I will ever love another man is if Richard Crouse gives Blade Runner a bad review.

2006-06-14T10:26:00.000-04:00

Fear

A down-turn in the cycles of wealth have seeded her with apprehension.

Fear grows in her belly making her pregnant with desire to defend an untenable position.

Lies breed distrust and guilt gives rise to irrational attacks on anyone in close proximity.

(This is not about me but I am updating my resume today just in case this pregnant pause gives birth to big changes.)

2006-06-13T09:00:00.000-04:00

I feel like Dian Fossey

Well, I feel like Dian Fossey might have felt had she been spanked and sent home from the mists for some terrible infraction like, say, refusing to bait her beloved gorillas with sugar so some wealthy business man could take pictures of them.

In my case musicians are the gorillas and their natural habitat is Loplops, the SpeakEasy, and the Downbeat as well as special venues such as RotaryFest Second Stage and the Lost Loon Festival.

Like the gorillas in the mist with Dian Fossey, many of the musicians were at first wary of me, the strange woman with the camera and note book but over the years I gradually earned their trust to varying degrees. Recently, some had even begun to make socially inclusive gestures and signs which included behaviors ranging from a rather tentative hand flick of acknowledgement to an actual visit to my home for dinner and drinks. Of course a few of them, one big male in particular who fancied himself a leader of the clan, never came round.

But would Dian let that break her heart and send her home from the mists in tears? No way! Dian let him have his space and abided by his rules. She let him be who he was and continued to interact with and attempt to build trust with the other musicians in the clan. My guess is that kind of irked the big male but that's another story for another day.

Just when Dian was getting to enjoy plenty of positive responses from the elusive and mysterious musicians (including many smiles and waves and even a few jokes shared), her boss came down to the mist and told her she couldn't study them any more. The mean boss lady said that her funding had been yanked and she was not to go near the musicians any more. She didn't give her any reasons and she made no assurances that someone else would be sent to continue the studies to their natural conclusions.

So now Dian sits in her lonely apartment longing for a nice smile and wave from an elusive musician. Dian is getting drunk and missing the mist. Dian is afraid that her beloved musicians are being slaughtered by poachers while she can't be there. She is afraid that they will forget her and that all her hard work to earn their trust will be undone by time away.

Me, I feel a bit sorry for poor Dian and I'm busy trying to figure out what the hell I am going to do with myself now that a project that meant everything to me for the past two years has been torn away from me and killed with absolutely no chance for input or suggestions from me and no explanation what-so-ever.

Maybe I'm a little pissed off, too. Dian Fossey probably should have stayed in her observation tower and not tried to interact with the musicians, sort of like Brian Kelly. At least then there would have been no expectations raised and less harm done.

It was a deeply disturbing slap in the professional face and personal affront to mine and Dian's integrity.

But I'm going to smile, nod and play nice while I bide my time as I fade and dissolve.

Project: Musicians in the mist
Duration: August 13, 2004 to June 12, 2006 - 137 stories.

Question: If I am not Dian Fossey with my camera and notebook, who am I? What is my purpose? What is my reason to be in the mist?

Goodbye musicians. I'm sorry I couldn't find a way to serve you better.

2006-05-30T22:01:00.000-04:00

The single life or fakin' it like a pro

Fakin' it used to be so much easier. Back when I knew what sort of girl they wanted me to be.

Now I suffer from disosiative faking disorder.

I forget which me to fake at any given time. Sometimes I have to fake being a good daughter while faking an enlightened state of blissful motherhood. In the next instant, I must make a smooth transition into the role of efficient journalist while neatly spinning the plate that is my role as supportive friend.

Meanwhile I wonder, or should I say wander through the roles trying to pick out facets of the real me. Who am I? Does it really matter? What is important? Will I ever play the role of partner again?

2006-05-28T22:36:00.000-04:00

Flirting with disaster

Situation:

Four of Cups: You not only have gifts at your disposal, you are being offered another at this moment. You are focusing on an idealized concept that does not exist at the expense of current happiness.

Why is it that when I am all nice and comfortable being married to my job some man always has to try to come between me and my beloved work?

It's okay, though. This one is so not serious. He's been saying he wants to be with me for about three years now and doing nothing to make it happen.

Okay, in all fairness maybe I could have been doing something to make it happen. Especially since he is so perfect for me.

He is sweet, compassionate, passionate, sexy, an awesome lover, smart, interesting, talented and capable. Best of all, he is 511 miles away... just over eight hours of driving.

It means I don't actually have to have a relationship with him and it isn't anyone's fault.

He is so perfect for me. I get to say I'm committed to him and avoid relationships here while knowing there will never be more than the occasional conjugal weekend between us. I can call him 'boyfriend' instead of 'bonk buddy' and no one will be the wiser.

As I said, perfect. He'll never have the chance to really know me and come to despise me.

I can easily pretend to be someone vital, sexy, interesting and important for the brief and rare times I am with him and totally avoid any of this getting to know the real me nonsense.

No risk, just a very hot sex pod up my sleeve.

Outcome:

Wheel of Fortune Reversed: Be aware of using the cycles of the wheel to neglect personal responsibility. Keep in mind the things that are within your control and do not blame circumstances for mistakes that are truly your own. You could miss out on important lessons and opportunities for growth.

From Llewellyn Web Tarot

2006-05-27T23:42:00.000-04:00

What a weekend!

And so much for my bike-capades.

Imagine me sitting under the arbor at Shingwauk Education Centre, chatting with a Medicine Man about days gone by, ceremonies to come and the merits of traditional teachings. The good-natured fellow makes light of it when my cell phone starts to ring.

"The smoke from that fire," he says, pointing to the sacred fire. "That smoke is like a telephone to the Creator. It carries our prayers on the wind to the Creator's ear."

After we are done talking I pull out the phone to see who called. It's Ami's cell. I am wondering why she called from her cell when she is supposed to be at home and feeling a little apprehensive.

A little while later I am chatting with the Executive Director of National Residential School Survivors Association. He is sharing some very personal and painful memories with me and I am feeling honoured to hear what he has to say.

My phone rings again. It rings a very long time. Long enough for him to laugh and say I better answer it and for me to find it in my purse.

It's Ami on her cell again.

"I've been hit by a car," she says.

No preamble. No reassurances to cushion the blow. Not even hello. Just, "I've been hit by a car."

"Agaaa????" I say in my usual eloquent style.

"I think I'm pretty much okay but your bike isn't," she quickly adds. I can almost see her cringing through the telephone.

"Are you really okay? You're not bleeding? You haven't broken anything besides the bike have you?"

"I'm just really shaken up... *gasp* *sob*"

"What the HELL were you doing on a BIKE!!!!"

I didn't really care about the bike, especially not then, I just cared about the fact that Ami's health is highly questionable to begin with and anyone who knows anything about it would agree that a bike is not a good place for Ami to be, most especially when the bike is under a car.

So surely I am going to need a new bike and I was pretty sad about that until Ami's mom delivered an envelope that had gone to her place by accident.

Apparently Ami has been accepted to graduate school at McMaster University with a full scholarship. Yeah, I thought that was pretty cool all right. It sort of took the edge off the whole Ami getting run over thing.

But really, who has a life like ours?

Last week I was trying to wind down from some very huge and heavy stories I covered then Ami got run over by a car and accepted to McMaster in the same weekend.

At least it isn't boring.

2006-05-24T16:03:00.000-04:00

Two for one sale

Be aware of the lure of the role of the tragically broken-hearted lover. It gives the lover reason to pine and mourn and never move forward. It is a sham, an excuse to avoid life.

Hey, would you look at that! I made two blogs in one day. Nothing in forever and then two in one day.

I'm still not moving forward though. I'm THE most obstinate ass I know.

You know, I always thought I would have made someone a good partner.

When I was married I thought I could be a good partner to my husband if he ever came home long enough to notice me. Before I was married I thought I could be a good partner to someone when I found the right one. Now that I'm not married any more I think I could have made someone a good partner but that opportunity has passed.

Am I avoiding life by realizing that the man I am live-die-and-do-anything-for in love with is head-over-heels-happily-ever-after in love with the woman of his dreams, that she is perfect for him and that I am happy for him because his happiness means everything to me? Maybe. Maybe I would have made a good partner for a good partner for me. Maybe life is avoiding me by making my perfect catch a catch 22.

I am feeling weak and lonely. I must keep myself more busy and avoid emotional entanglements of any kind at any time, especially at vulnerable times like this.

What is in me that craves connection and intimacy? What do I need to hunt down and kill to make sure I NEVER crave it again?

The outcome of the matter.

You have dallied with desires and fancies that kept you distracted from your path, from doing what you know you must. It is time to turn away from this shallow comfort and forge ahead.

-- Llewellyn Web Tarot

Yeah, right... I'm gonna do that right now. NOT! (Â§hria digs in her heals and brays like the ass she is!)

2006-05-24T09:33:00.000-04:00

Mowing the lawn - a metaphor for life

Here I am trying to do something good and what happens, I dig myself a series of holes. Of course it would have helped if I weren't so passive about the settings on my mower.

Ami discovered a new depth for lawn mowers. We shall call it 'dig'. Apparently she thought she was raising it and was actually lowering the body of the mower.

I, being the trusting should that I am, thought there must be something wrong with me because no one else but I could possibly screw something up that badly. So I huffed and heaved the thing around the lawn, which is now bald, for about three hours until it was too dark to see the furrows I dug with Ami's dad's mower.

Let me say the guilt I feel is great. I feel guilty for seriously dulling the blades on an innocent mower, doing irreparable damage to a beginning friendship with owner of the mower, not to mention the damage to my struggling field of wild flowers, well the guilt is overwhelming.

Yes, mowing the lawn is a metaphor for life.

And today, the dandelions are back, standing tall and proud above the brown furrows that used to be my lawn, my body hurts everywhere and I have to find the energy to work.

Perhaps brewing coffee will be a better metaphor for life. Or maybe a school being torn down... that's what the pictures are from. No, they have nothing to do with the blog, I just thought they looked nifty.

2006-05-15T11:29:00.000-04:00

The hot and cold of mother's day

The images that spring to mind when you say the words 'mother's day' are images of things such as flowers, chocolates, Sunday brunch and a special dinner. Most people in our society see smiling mom’s with loving children having burnt toast and eggs in breakfast. They see special family dinners and picnics in the park. They see a day spent with family doing loving things.

I guess I’m not most people.

When you say 'mother's day' to me I see an image of my sister-in-law weeping with a pile of envelopes in her hand. She is long dead now but she used to check almost daily for news of her lost children taken in to foster care long before she straightened out her life. I see her straightening her face and opening her arms to her younger children and being the whole, healthy, strong mom they needed to rely on when her heart was broken so badly by her husband's fists and the system's cold shoulder. I see her keeping things together for them when the world was falling apart outside her door and in her soul. She died in June of 2001.

I see my friend Ann Marie struggling to stand when she was so full of cancer and pain that she couldn't eat or sleep. I see her struggling with all her heart to walk to her dying mother's side, to hold her children's hands and to keep things together when the world was falling apart outside her door and in her body. She died in April 2004 and her mother died in June of 2000.

I see my friend Michele holding tight to her loving husband's hand and trying valiantly to keep it together for him and for their son when her body was long gone – lungs, bones and lymphatic system filled with cancer. She died February 23, 2006.

I see the face of Melody Burtis smiling from a photograph of her with her son and daughter. She and her son died April 20, 2006.

I see the face of Debbie Doucet smiling from a photograph of her with her wonderful husband and two beautiful daughters. Her husband, Donald Doucet became the first police officer in Sault Ste. Marie to die on duty. He died on mother's day this year and they buried him on his daughter’s 17^th birthday.

Somehow, the cold touches of tragedy found in the lives of the other mothers I've known and felt for are fading the warm, loving touch of my own mother. Even the loving hugs from my children seem a little further away these days. The tragedies I become a part of on a daily basis so that I can write about them with the intensity they deserve are changing me and not for the better, I fear.

Please could I have some happy stories to write about for a while?

2006-05-13T01:45:00.000-04:00

I am a social problem

Today, as I was covering the release of a study about the working poor done by Dr. Gayle Broad and Seffanie Date of Algoma University, I realized I am one of the people they are talking about.

Their study, Courageous Lives: A profile of the Working Poor in Sault Ste. Marie, says that a working poor family is a family of four that earns less than $34,000 a year and/or has to spend at least 50% of its gross income on basic needs.

I earned just over $24,000 last year. The year before that, I earned almost $18,000 and about the same in 2002. In 2001 I earned $9,000. I am raising two children on my own. Those income figures also include child support from my ex-husband.

On average, my monthly income is about $2,400 gross now. Basic expenses usually come in at about $1,700 before gas, and not counting the payments I am making on a loan I had to get to replace the engine on my car. (The car was paid for by my separation agreement) There is nothing left on a month with no unusual expenses. Hit a month with car repairs, a birthday, a holiday or other special event and I am screwed. Something doesn't get paid.

Yes, I am one of the working poor.

Broad and Date say 77% of the working poor are women.

Though it's kind of a moot point, I am actually a woman.

Two-thirds of those women are single moms and I am a single mom.

Nova turned six about two weeks ago and Dana turned 12 recently. Their father can and does spend a fair amount of time with them but I am their primary provider and care-giver.

Apparently we working poor are at a much greater risk of becoming homeless.

I know this. I lived in my car for a while after I left my husband. Then, when I got my kids out, we lived at my parent's place (many of the working poor are also forced, unwillingly, to rely on the help of family, friends and charity0.

The working poor are also supposed to be more likely to live in subsidized housing, which I do.

We are also more likely to be depressed, to suffer from illness or injury that goes untreated because we don't have any medical benefits or health insurance above OHIP. Some of us work in the sex-trade industry or stay in abusive relationships to survive or take care of our children.

Many of us suffer from post-traumatic incident disorders that go untreated because we can't afford counselling, can't get the time off work or don't want to deal with the stigma of it.

I don't have to worry about that. I never get enough time between traumas to get into the whole post-traumatic thing. I also have my blog so what do I need a counsellor for?

This all comes as quite a shock to me. I had no idea I and my life was that messed up. While I am not disputing the findings in the study in the least, I am creating an opportunity to defend myself. After all, to me it's just life - like water to a fish.

So I'm poor! So what? Does that make me a bad mother/journalist/daughter/sister/friend or what-ever?

I think not. Yes, I am one of the working poor and one who has slipped through the social safety net more than a few times. Yes, I have experienced many of the negative consequences of it, but I know there is little I can do about it or even want to do about it.

I like my job, even though it takes up about 60 hours of an average week. I like my little house in my cute little neighbourhood. I like my friendly, colourful neighbours, even when they sit on their front steps drinking beer, smoking cigarettes and shouting to each other when they wake up about noon or so on any given day. I like my ugly, old furniture because a dear friend gave it to me when I got this house. I like all the stuff in this house because I got it for myself.

I like being a single mom. We girls do plenty of quality boy-free stuff that makes us happy to be together. I like the messy chaos created by our four human and seven critter lives blending, conflicting, harmonizing and coming together as something bigger, better and more alive than any of us would be alone.

Yeah, I am a working poor person. I am a mostly-happy, more-satisfied-than-not, working poor person. Sure there are things I'm working on changing about myself and my life but who isn't? And, if you are one of those people who think housing, childcare and other such subsidies are a bad investment, think again. It would have cost you a lot more to fix the damage done if us girls had stayed in the unhappy, affluent, male-dominated place we were in before. And much more would have been lost.

2006-05-06T19:03:00.000-04:00

I HATE days off

The minutes are going SO slowly. I feel like I am in a daze. It sucks.

Somebody give me five things that are a matter of life and death and NEED to be done within the next hour. I haven't worked since about midnight last night and I think I'm slipping into a coma. Yuck.

My editor said I need some time off to de-stress after the Burtis story. I say let me work it off. It's not like I have any life other than work anyway. My kids are reasonably self-reliant (I type as Nova gets herself some chocolate milk) and like to do their own thing a lot. We are all good with it if I just put in an hour or so here and there giving them my undivided attention. It's not like I want any life other than work. I'll rest plenty when I'm dead.

If I had my way, I would never do anything but work and work hard all the time. My stupid grotesque body would not need food or sleep and it would mostly go away. I would be arms for carrying my camera, recorder, notebook and laptop (skinny arms). Hands for typing, taking pictures and recording stuff. A head to think of ideas and create stories. Eyes to see what's happening and ears to hear it. My mouth would be only there for asking questions and I would have a foot for driving with. That would be me - oh and I would be mechanized. No other bothersome squishy bits are needed and it would be peachy if they would all just drop of somewhere. I would feel nothing and be nothing but a reporter at work.

Well, I guess I'll go clean my basement a bit, figure out how to finish my desk by myself and wait for another story assignment.

2006-05-05T22:01:00.000-04:00

When rage triumphs

A community came together in grief today.

Also, about 50 people came out for a memorial honouring Melody Burtis and her son Harley Baxter-Burtis who were kidnapped and brutally murdered on April 20.

After the event, some of Melody Burtis' friends told me they believe rage is what motivated Albert Ouimet to change the license plates on her car before breaking into her neighbour's house to steal a knife he intended to use in the planned abduction and murder of Burtis and her son.

Her friends said Melody was a very strong, positive and vibrant woman. They said she had gone through some hard times and been the victim of abuse in the past and would have had nothing to do with Ouimet if she had known about his violent past.

According to the Sault Star and other sources, Albert Ouimet was charged and convicted of abducting, forcibly confining and assaulting his ex-girlfriend when she dumped him about a year before this. He was on probation and was ordered to abstain from alcohol and keep the peace because of that incident.

Ouimet was attracted to vivacious, slender and beautiful Melody Burtis and they went out a couple times but Burtis wasn't interested in him. Just like she had told several other grieving would-be suitors who were at her memorial, she told Ouimet that she wasn't interested in having a boyfriend, that there were things she needed to do for herself before she could get involved again.

That enraged him and he began to hate her. Melody's best friend said that Ouimet began to stalk Melody after she told him there couldn't be anything romantic between them. But Melody didn't take it seriously and didn't call the police.

I'm having trouble not personalizing this story. A lot of my experiences with men have been very negative.

Melody's friend said that it was like Melody walked around with saying 'whackos hit here and do as you please.' They said that Melody would have done anything to protect her children and that she was very close to regaining custody of her daughter who is just over a year younger than Harley. But they said that Melody had very low self-esteem and was like a moving target for abusive men.

This is not to say that all the men who were grieving the loss of Melody and her son today were abusive but at least one of them was. It is also not to say that all women with low self-esteem are targets for whackos.

What I am saying is that the rage that I have seen on the faces of some men who have said they loved me made me sure that even one bad apple CAN spoil the bunch. At least for me anyway, and certainly for Melody.

Although I had always hoped that I would some day find a partner I could be happy with, I have come to accept that I will not and plan for a life without a significant other. Stories such as the one about Melody Burtis and her son Harley Baxter-Burtis reinforce that ideal and sadden me greatly.

I feel deeply for Harley and Melody's friends and family. There are many who loved them dearly for their joy of life and beautiful dispositions.

The murders make me very tired. I want to tune out and go away for a while. I want to be blissfully ignorant and enjoy time playing with my daughters. I want to think about nothing more than what kind of cake to bake for Dana's birthday next week or what to serve for dinner when my parents get home from Mexico in a few days. I want to see the inside of my eyelids for about 18 hours and I want to drink a bottle of vodka.

But, on a more positive note, I also liked Melody's friends and hope to see them again some day, but under happier circumstances. I just hope they were okay with what I wrote in the story. They shared much more with me than I reported and I felt like we really hit it off so I didn't want to betray any information they may have come to regret sharing later. It was hard to tell what would be okay and what would not so I hope I didn't hurt them any more than they have been hurt already.

As the father of Melody's children said, "The truth WILL come out."

Maybe my truth is that my ability to become involved with and maintain a healty relationship with a man as a partner was damaged beyond repair long ago but I can still have a happy and fulfilling life with family, friends and work.

After all, why would I let some man interfere with the wonderful relationship I have with my job?

2006-05-02T00:15:00.000-04:00

Not that you're detrimental or anything but...

Hopeless... as in without hope. As in not any hope in hell... the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks place. As in no expectations. No ideas of what will be or not be. No notion of what needs to happen or how things are supposed to be. You know that sort of feeling when you are just cool with what ever is happening. Sort of like peaceful or something.

Helpless... as in without help. As in I was helpless to assemble my desk. That is to say, no one was there to help. Does that mean it isn't getting put together? Hell no... as in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks place no. I am putting it together without help. It's just taking a while, but it's getting done and done right. Right therapeutic it is, too.

Okay, I'm REALLY tired now. It was nice to see an old friend, though. Time to watch some CSI, eat something -- yeah I haven't done much of that lately, and have a drink before bed.

2006-04-30T10:11:00.000-04:00

How does a Crone celebrate Beltain?

For the May Day is the great day,
Sung along the old straight track.
And those who ancient lines did ley
Will heed this song that calls them back.

-- Ian Anderson

Back in the day Beltain was celebrated with giant bonfires and 'greenwood marriages' of young men and women who spent the entire night in the forest, staying out to greet the May sunrise, and bringing back boughs of flowers and garlands to decorate the village the next morning, according to this site.

One could assume that handfasted or married couples had their own May Day celebrations after the fires and through the night at home as well.

The significance of this Pagan holiday is to welcome the coming summer and to remind the Earth that it is time to wake up and be fertile, to grow and to be productive. It is essentially, to ensure good fertility among crops and animals for this growing season.

What about the Crone?

What does she do with her withered, dry old womb? No babe will be at her sunken breast. No man's hand upon her wrinkled thigh. Are there other forms of fertility to be celebrated when the face is not so fair as to attract a man for a greenwood marriage and the bed at home has had only one pillow for several years now?

What more fertile ground can there be than that tilled by experienced plows? What more promising seeds can be sewn than those thrown from the hand that has seen many seasons and knows the best times to do the right things? Who can better tend the flock than she who has seen and persevered through all kinds of illness and injury? Who better to guard the fields and flocks from marauders than the woman who has been torn by all forms of wolf?

Perhaps the role of a Crone in the Beltain celebrations is more important than has been recognized in tradition. The Crone who embraces her rich experiences and chooses to share those with the fair young maidens can help them to become wise, fair, young maidens and to make good choices for their fertility of mind, body and soul.

So, this Beltain I will not lament my ugly face and aging body. I will celebrate the rites of Beltain in some way as a wise crone, rather than a wickedly bitter crone.

It is said that, to some, Beltain signifies the beginning of the fighting season as well as the time when legendary poet Taliesin is said to manifest. For some it is a time of sexual fertility, for others it heralds the ripening of a time for plunder, conquering and the spoils of war to the strongest of them. It can be a time for growing the food of stories yet to come.

The warrior, as a vigilant guard, was as necessary to guarantee a good harvest as the tillers of Earth and sewers of seeds. The wise woman who tends to the ills of the flock or herds and to the blights on the fields is also as needed to ensure a good harvest to all.

While I am not suggesting or intending to celebrate and embrace the ways of war, I am thinking this is a good time to become more active in the pursuit of victory. This could be victory over an inner daemon, an opponent in one's workplace, some social injustice or some form of illness. In any case, blood shed in war can be more figurative and less literal and still make for a good story.

I guess what I'm saying is that, since I have been forced into Cronehood a bit early and it is no longer an option for me to make love, I'll make like a warrior and be a vigilant guard for the fertile fields and I'll make like a healer and tend to the fields and flocks, then I'll make like the poet and write about it for maidens to come.

Fertility means different things to different people. We all have a part to play and there are many alternatives.

2006-04-29T22:27:00.000-04:00

Desperately seeking Blog Fodder

So there we were wandering around in Wally World hoping for a dimension door to come suck us out of this world and through the looking glass when suddenly there was a voice in the air saying, 'It is now 9:50 p.m. WalMart will be closing in 10 minutes. Please bring your purchases to the checkout and thank you for shopping at WalMart. We will re-open at 8 a.m. tomorrow.'

'Who the hell is in WalMart at closing time, anyway,' was my thought. "What sort of a loser is wandering aimlessly through a WalMart store at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night? Pitiful!"

Turns out the only ones wandering around WalMart at 10 p.m. were me and three people I knew.

But the REALLY sad thing about that is me blogging about it! ROTFLMAO

And now for the real entry...

Nova's birthday party was a blast. She and six of her best friends had a great time in playland, eating cake and playing games.

They got awesome loot bags and cool toys as well as their favourite foods.

Nova got all the best stuff, a major haul! Strawberry shortcake jammies, two Barbie dolls and a boy Bratz toy. (Yeah, a boy toy... my SIX year old got a boy toy for her birthday!). She got a tonne and a half of pink clothes and jewelry as well as two pair of pink sandals.

The best thing about birthday at McDonald's is no mess, no fuss. I had fun too.

Well, that would be the best thing from my point of view. Nova's favorite thing was making a sunday and touring the staff area at McDonald's.

Okay, I was feeling kind of inadequate having my kid's party at McDonald's. But just before the party I was chatting with Emily Richard who said she had her older son's last birthday party there.

I guess if it's okay for Emily, it's okay for us.

And, as I said, Nova had a very fun day. She and her friends nearly hugged me to death and they all kept thanking me for bringing them to McDonald's.

2006-04-26T11:49:00.000-04:00

Virtual Shoji screens

"Shoji screens create an atmosphere of privacy whilst their translucent character allows the soft diffusion of light." -- Handmade Shoji screen website.

The philosophy of the Shoji screen is simple looking, like the screen itself. If it’s closed nothing is happening on the other side. It’s all about courtesy, it’s about respect and it’s about the need to smooth out social situations.

If it's open, communication, air, light and ideas flow freely so it's also about the flow of air and the healthy properties of open spaces and light in a living space. Last but not least, it's about ergonomic flexibility or the idea that one space can have more than one use.

Maybe blogs are a bit like traditional Japanese or Chinese Shoji screened rooms.

When we are going by our pseudonym inside our blogs, the screen is closed but air and light from our ideas slip through the paper walls. Even if we know and see each other in real life, we hesitate to refer to our blogs, testing a bit to see if the screens are open or closed. There is an element of awkwardness in a chance real life meeting of bloggers known to each other primarily through blogging because we don't know if the person we are talking to is walking around with his or her screen open. Maybe we should institute some sort of code word or gesture, like a secret handshake, to use to acknowledge one another without revealing to others that we are bloggers. Okay, this could be fun!

Responses on our blogs are like notes slipped between the Shoji screens or quiet questioning scratches on the wooden frames.

Occasionally someone lights a screen on fire or batters it down to get through and shakes us out of our illusion of privacy. These unwanted intrusions behind the paper walls make me feel a little vulnerable but a little less alone. Sometimes these flaming intrusions form a cyber kick in the pants that is helpful to my continued development and growth. Maybe in real life a person wouldn't be comfortable hefting a verbal boot my way even if I would obviously benefit by it .

Sometimes I slide the screens back all the way and take a walk in the real world with my blog face on. When I introduce myself as Shria I mentally take inventory of everything I've written on my blog and wonder if the person I am speaking to has read it and what he or she thought of it, of me. Times like that I feel the most excitingly vulnerable. I feel tantalizingly real and so much less cyber. I feel almost like I could actually touch the world instead of just watching it from behind a screen.

That's where the idea of multi-use space comes in. My blog is a way to get to know me, or at least the parts of me I let show through the screen. Not only is it my soap box and my self-help manual (constantly under construction), it's a doorway to me.

Blogging can be dangerous. If you think it's bad to throw stones in a glass house, try playing with matches in a paper house. But once you build your house, it's hard to move out of it and it's nice to have company in it some times.

Even though you put bits of yourself out there for judgment through blogging, you learn so much about yourself, other ways of doing things and other people that it's worth the risk of living in a paper house.

2006-04-25T11:21:00.000-04:00

Birthday parties

It's the birthday time in our house again. Nova turns six later this week and Dana is 12 two weeks after that. My mom's birthday is about two weeks after that, followed by my dad's another two weeks later and mine three weeks after that.

Of course this means that I have to buy about 12 gifts in the next six weeks. I am open to side projects that pay well and demand little time. I am also expecting a bit of a lag in some bill payments.

This would be the pattern of my life... live from pay cheque to pay cheque and take three months to financially recover from events such as Christmas, birthday season, vacations and special occasions like weddings and funerals. Retirement... ROTFLMAO!!! I will rest and enjoy my retirement when I'm dead and I'm not quitting work before then.

The picture is of some hand made invitations Ami stayed up late to make.

Nova invited her friends, Abbi, Robbi-Lynn, Brittany and Keetan. She also invited her family - mom, Dana and Ami; as well as dad, Courtney, Sarah and Kyle and Auntie Pauline, cousins Wendal and Keenan. Nova also insisted on inviting her teacher, Mrs. Halverson.

"But sweetie, people don't usually invite their teachers to their birthday parties," I said to her.

"Maybe OTHER people don't invite their teachers but I do!" was her answer.

'Miss H.' has a invitation to Nova's birthday party at McDonald's Playland this weekend.

2006-04-24T16:13:00.000-04:00

Tougher to take notes

I think I know where Melody Burtis met Albert Ouimet. If it turns out to be true that Melody met the man who would come to kill her and her son at a place that was supposed to be safe, that people go to for help, it would be so wrong on so many levels.

This story is becoming more and more difficult.

Police Chief Bob Davies described the murders as horrific, brutal and gruesome. He was very controlled when he talked. I could tell he was affected by it.

Inspector Plus also seemed somewhat shocked and bewildered by the whole affair.

They have not found a motive, or what the connection is between Ouimet and Burtis but they do know that her killer broke down her door to get her and her son out of their home. They know that Melody and Harley were transported to the place where they were killed in her car and then their bodies were brought to the graveyard in her car.

What they aren't saying is if Melody and Harley were killed in Melody's car and how they were killed.

Jane Martynuk said they don't want to prejudice the people of Sault Ste. Marie against the possibility of choosing an impartial jury and ensuring Albert Francis Ouimet a fair trial. I think that statement pretty much assures that we will have to either try him elsewhere or search far afield for an impartial jury. It also speaks volumes about the local police's perception of the media.

Okay, some of us are vultures but I know of none of us who actually want to know the gorey details of how this woman and her child died.

Three things I do want to know though are what happened to the dog (the police didn't know about it) and if the daughter knows any more (maybe Ouimet was looking for her) and when/how Ouimet got those injuries on his face. I would also maybe like to know who was killed first. Maybe not, though. It's just that my mind has been grappling with the idea of what it may have been like to be fighting for my child's life, or for my child to see me die. There are deeply disturbing elements to this crime.

Paul Norbo got a good shot of the injuries on Ouimet's face. The original is here and I put a copy here in my blog so you can see what I'm talking about.

2006-04-24T10:57:00.003-04:00

Two things today

Thing one

The art show from Algoma University College's graduating fine arts students was fabulous. Nova and I went on Saturday and she was so inspired she wanted to stop at the Dollar Store on the way home and pick up stuff to make art with.

She picked out about $20 worth of little bird, butterflies, ribbon, stickers and such. Then, when we got home, she got right to work. She worked on the floor behind my chair as I worked on the computer in the kitchen. She kept asking me how to spell things like 'I love mom'. It was very cool.

I have an idea for an art project for all of us. We have a wall that cries out for something from the family. We'll keep you posted.

Thing two

Dreams again

Early this morning I dreamed of rabbits and ducks in an office building.

After waking for nothing at 4:56 a.m. and watching the clock through to 5:55 a.m. I finally fell asleep again for an hour or so until the girls got up for school.

I dreamed that he and I were going to the Island on some task and going to be there over night. It was cancelled as we were in transit and we ended up in an office building when he decided to come to my place for the night instead and we got lost along the way.

That's where I found the ducks and bunny rabbits typing out mathematical formulas on computers and tending to nests that had strange shiny eggs and human excrement in them.

I just wanted to get back in the car and find my way to Keys Street so I could take him home with me before he changed his mind. That's when I awoke again at 6:54 a.m.

By the way, I found the nightmare BunnyDuck graphic here.

2006-04-23T09:16:00.000-04:00

Significance

A recent conversation with some friends involved the question of what to call the person one lives with.

"If I say my daughter's partner people think she is a lesbian," said one man. "Partner implies a gay relationship."

"I prefer the ambiguity of the term partner," said another man. "Leave them to wonder."

"What about significant other," I said.

That was the preferred term that was most generally agreed upon.

So if I am not in a relationship, does that make me insignificant?

Another tarot card reading from Mystic Games tells me more of what I don't want to hear but know will be there.

What surrounds you?

The Hanged Man

You are stuck in a dilemma. You are suspended between the past and the future and a new direction for your life is in the making. You need to look at things from a new perspective in order to make necessary changes. Making a clean break with the past will help you to become more spiritually attuned. Take your time and make the right decisions about where you truly want your life to go.

General Description

Superficially seen, primarily means that we are stuck and in a dilemma. However, with more thorough consideration we can see that in the external immobility there is a forced repose, as well as the necessity and opportunity to achieve a transformed view of the world and change one's life. The passivity to which we are condemned in such phases is at best illustrated with the image of an illness, which is often actually indicated by this card. C. G. Jung says of the experience that the Hanged Man expresses: "To hang can ( ... ) even be a positively seen 'hanging on', which on the one hand means apparently insurmountable difficulties, yet on the other hand presents that unique situation that requires the greatest effort, and therefore calls the entire person into action.

Where it leads?

Death

You will be faced with a parting, a letting go, or the end of something. This may be a long wished for and liberating ending, or a painful experience. Regardless, it will represent a natural end. It will be time to let go of something, be it a person or situation. Do not deny yourself the natural deep experience of parting and the related life-accepting experiences. This will help prepare you for new things which will follow.

General Description

Death means parting, the great letting go, the end. It then also prepares the way for the new, for that which is to come. However, the card itself first presents us with the end. This can be positive when it relates to a long wished for, liberating ending, yet it is also natural that we have our most painful experiences with the theme of this card. In contrast to the 10 of Swords, which indicates the random and thereby premature ending, this card always stands for the natural end. This means that it is time to let go of something. The Death card is unjustly one of the most feared. The eternal embellishers, who do not understand it, read the card only to be the proclamation of something new and want to deny us the deep experience of parting and the related life-accepting experiences. "We have separated living from dying and the interval between them is fear" says Krishnamurti, and: "You cannot live without dying."

My conclusions

What if I refuse to let it die?

"The deep experience of parting and the related life-accepting experiences," is how the author of these cards explains this situation. If I refuse to accept the parting and the related life-accepting then what do I become? What am I becoming?

The crone

My inner crone is growing silently and secretly and when the time is ripe it will be revealed. I can never leave the place I so desperately wanted him to be so I will take root here and embrace my inner crone until I die an insignificant other to the many whose lives I have so lightly touched.

No, I am not hopeless. I am not hopeful either. I coast in neutral. Nor is there anything that needs fixing about my perspective. It is different from most but that doesn't make it wrong.

I seek peace in my insignificance; deference to my indifference.

2006-04-22T10:49:00.000-04:00

More on the Burtis murders

When it was just two bodies in a cemetery it was a lot easier to be detached enough to get on with the task at hand. When it became a woman close to my age with a young child it got very hard to maintain any distance. I found myself identifying too much with Melody Burtis, really needing to know what happened to her and her son and at what point it could have been stopped.

I thought a lot about the man who killed them. I wondered how he could have been so brutal, so vicious and so irrational. How did he get them both out to Connor Road? Why did he take Harley, too? Were they there already and he came and killed them? I became very angry with this man, more angry with every question my mind raised. It was hard to be objective when I thought it could have been me under his knife or axe or what ever he used.

Yesterday morning I found myself standing outside the court house for about two and a half hours waiting for this man to come out so I could take a picture of him. Spending time with other people who were probably thinking some of the same thoughts as I made it easier to put aside my feelings and focus on the task at hand. It was also nice to spend some time chatting with an old and dear friend (Hi DD).

It was also helpful to see how other people dealt with the waiting and with what ever they were feeling about the whole thing. Paul, as always, devoured the task like a lion with a mouse.

"Look at that glass," he said. "I can't shoot through that!"

So off he went to find the supervisor and get the glass cleaned. As you can see by the picture of him cleaning it with his hat, that didn't work out very well.

"They told me it's never been cleaned before so why would they do it today," he said with disgust as he put his hat back on.

I love Paul Norbo!

A couple times during the waiting Alex Mihailovich and Grayson Hartsula passed through the scene with a flourish of perfect white teeth. In no time they were gone again ode-de-metro-sexual pheromones wafting off on the breeze behind them as they moved on to something else more important than waiting with us.

I love being the only girl on the scene and being invisible to the naked eye. You learn so much about men when they think you aren't there.

Brian Kelly brooded in the corner, talking quietly into his recorder periodically and only coming out of his thoughts long enough for the occasional very funny comment. That seriously intense man in the pink shirt has a lot of depth.

Craig Huckerby came around to the side David Dorricott, Brian Kelly and I were on for a brief hello once or twice before returning to take his station with Paul.

When they finally brought Albert Ouimet out we had gone over the top of tension from waiting and started down the other side to relaxed and ready. It was still as surprise to actually get a look at the face of the man I had already begun to hate.

He was very downcast. He looked like he was in hell.

Nothing can excuse what this man appears (very certainly) to have done, but I couldn't look at him and hate him. All I could do was start asking questions all over again. The need to know what happened is great. The need to know is a big part of who I am. I need to know what happened on Wednesday night. I need to know who Melody and Harley Baxter-Burtis were. I need to know who Albert Francis Ouimet is.

Little bits of information, unconfirmed and not yet fitting together in a cohesive story include the suggestion that Melody Burtis has been a recovering drug addict, that she has been the victim of domestic abuse with at least three partners and that she has an older child, a girl who lives with her aunt. I've also heard that Harley was in grade two at Riverview School and am very worried for his classmates and teachers. There is also a story circulating that Melody was involved in a custody battle with Harley's father.

In the Sault Star Brian Kelly reported that Albert Ouimet was convicted of assault because of a horrifically violent attack on his girlfriend in 2001.

There is no indication of what Melody's relationship was with Ouimet, only a police statement that they were known to each other and that it was not a random act of violence.

Alex Mihailovich interviewed Melody's neighbour for MCTV and the neighbour said that only Melody, Harley and their dog lived in the house on Salisbury Street.

For myself, years of experience have taught me that any assumptions are bad. (Unfortunately I still make too many.) This time, I will not make any inferences about what I don't know from what I've heard. Instead, I will wait and see what develops at the media conference on Monday. My hopes aren't high for answers there, though.

Forensic investigators can sometimes figure out what most likely happened but the why of it, the really important question, usually remains a mystery.

From the look of Albert Ouimet, I would be willing to guess he doesn't even know why.

2006-04-22T10:21:00.000-04:00

To tan or not to tan

The question I face at this moment in time is probably more of an avoidance issue than a real question, but here it is, none-the-less.

Should I go to a tanning salon?

Why would I? Because I won't be out where people can see me in a bathing suit to get a natural tan but would like a little colour for the summer.

I also like to lay in the warm tanning bed and relax. It's probably the only place I can actually relax. I think I allow myself to relax there because I know it is for no more than 20 minutes. The thing I find most weird about tanning is that I can be naked and relax. Probably because I am laying in a coffin-like structure and can't raise my head to see myself, even if I were inclined to open my eyes. I do find myself making sure the door is locked at least three times before taking my clothes off, though.

Why wouldn't I? Because it costs money I could be spending on less frivolous things, because I have to go there without makeup on and someone might see me like that and because it might be bad for my skin.

Well, the bad for skin thing actually means nothing to me. I am virtually immune to the sun and hardly ever burn. Even when I've spent hours in the midday sun without sunscreen I was a little pink and it faded to brown by morning. I'm much more likely to faint from heat stroke long before I get a sun burn. Being in the sun usually gives me a headache.

2006-04-20T12:41:00.000-04:00

Who got turned back

There I was, sitting in my car, sipping my coffee and watching Sault Ste. Marie's finest in action.

They were sitting in the Elmer the Safety Elephant van turning civilians away from the scene of a crime. The van was parked outside gate one of the Greenwood cemetery on People's road.

Police tape cordonned off about a third of the graveyard at the time and more groups of police showed up in about 10 minute intervals. By 10 a.m. there were five police vehicles on the scene.

Two unmarked surveillance vans, an SUV from the Emergency Services Unit and one of the big white unmarked Investigative Services vans were lined up along the road in front of the graveyard.

Meanwhile, three people came by walking their dogs at different times and each stopped to talk to an officer for a few seconds. One woman came up with a camera.

"I guess I won't be getting in there to take any pictures of birds this morning, will I," she said to Alix Mihailovich (MCTV) and I as she gestured toward the graveyard. She then went away from Alex and I to speak privately to a police officer. Alex and I stopped talking for a few seconds and both of us watched to see which way she went when she left. I guess there is a bit of predator in us, after all.

Another of those big white vans could barely be seen about 50 yards into the graveyard, partly behind some bushes. About five or six people could be seen circulating in, out and around the van.

Police spokesperson, and former high school classmate of mine, Jane Martynuk, said that two bodies had been discovered in there. She couldn't say what the gender, age or condition of the bodies were and they couldn't give any details about the man who was in custody and charged with two murders.

Later, while at home writing the story and processing the photos, I received a phone call from a reliable source who told me some things that I can't write until the story develops a little further. Now I am off to get my hair done and report on a meeting of the Board of Directors for Sault College. Tune in later for more on the story.

2006-04-20T08:24:00.000-04:00

Life is a zoo

Dreamed of exotic pets, horses, a deserted mall that had been converted to a library, slippery slopes, night turning to day and all my black clothes turning into pale pastel shades as I put them on. Truly a hideous nightmare!

Note to any wily coyotes out there who think I'll let them in. That door is permanently closed for business. I'm thinking of painting it sky-blue so you won't even see it. You'll think you are looking at the wide open, nothing there sky, not a door.

Will expand on the dreams later. Now I must renovate my face, fix my hair and find some coffee. Two dead bodies discovered in the west end, one male in custody. Press conference imminent. I will be playing the role of a vulture shortly.

2006-04-20T00:39:00.000-04:00

Crumbling walls

The Tower shows that we have walled ourselves into an area of supposed security that suddenly starts to waver.

This is very much a matter of structures and dimensions that have become too small and narrow for us. Convictions and basic principles of life could be affected by this, as well as our thoughts of security in the professional and financial sense.

Last but not least, our personal friendships and other partnerships could also be influenced.

In every case, the Tower stands for a concept that used to give us a reassuring measure of security, perhaps even a feeling of safety. But now we have grown out of it. These old concepts are usually toppled by surprising experiences, sometimes even true flashes of genius.

Since this is a matter of the supposed basis of our security, these sudden changes are often first experienced as catastrophes. It is only when the first shock has been overcome that we sense with relief that we have been freed from old burdens. This breakthrough can be triggered through our own perceptions as well as external events.

The I Ching says in this regard: "The storm with its thunder and lightning overcomes the disturbing tension in nature."

What are the bricks in the walls of my tower?

What are the beliefs and thoughts that I held to be so self evident as to be completely and independently true, even without testing?

I won't get that personal here, but to say that many structures are crumbling.

I am tired, though, and may have to let the bricks lay where they fall - some for a while, some for good.

Fitday.com is working fairly well for me despite the lack of support I'm getting for my efforts to improve myself. I just wish there was more time for working out earlier in the day, when I have the energy to do it.

I've decided to focus more on what I can do and less on how bad I look, though. I feel like I am fighting a battle I am doomed to lose. I had SO much work to do and time is just not helping.

In other news, everyone should go and see the art show at the Art Gallery of Algoma running only until Saturday. I just hope the Queen will forgive me for missing her opening. The work is very good. I saw it being hung.

(Also, the tarot card in this blog entry is from this site. The woman pictured in the site looks just my friend of many years, Michele, who died of cancer this February 23. She taught me to read tarot cards 24 years ago. I still have the deck she taught me on.)

2006-04-10T10:41:00.000-04:00

The laws of mathematics FAIL

I finally managed to set up my Gazelle exerciser. It works great and is actually fun, especially when I am armed with my MP3 player.

The problem is the math. It says I burned about 300 calories in about 45 minutes, yesterday. I know I didn’t eat more than 800 calories all day and my doctor says my body needs about 800 calories just to walk, breathe and think. So, why did I GAIN weight?

At lunch with a bunch of female friends on Saturday, one said she has been eating real fast food (like Big Macs, Wendy's Chili and Tim's pastries) for about a week and lost five pounds and she is older than me. I ate about half my salad with no dressing and saved the rest for dinner.

And don't say it's ratios either. About a third of what I eat is vegetables, about one third is complex carbohydrates from whole grains and one quarter is low-fat protein sources like chicken breasts and dry fish. The rest is fat-free or low-fat dairy.

I haven't had a Danish in many weeks, and seldom even eat chocolate now. There are no hidden calories sneaking into my diet. I even count the 20 calories a cup from the milk and sugar in my seven or eight cups of coffee a day.

While it's true that I only recently started working out seriously, I should have been losing weight all along (a LONG time) based on numbers alone. That's what my doctor said, “It’s simply a matter of math. Burn more calories than you take in and you will burn stored calories."

The math is STILL failing! Does he believe me, though – NOT!

This is incredibly frustrating. Will I never be able to go out in public in a swim suit, put on a short-sleeved shirt or wear something with a little colour?

Summer is coming on like a speeding train toward a broken track and I am afraid of having to spend yet another warm season watching from inside my car or on my computer in the basement as other people have fun in the sun.

Addendum: I AM SOOO HUNGRY I COULD KILL SOMEONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-04-07T00:50:00.000-04:00

Exotic pets

My attitude toward men and relationships with them is improving greatly.

Even Ami agrees. After I told her about my latest thoughts on the matter, she said, "Yumi, usually your theories are pretty out to lunch but I think this one is pretty okay. I think I may actually like it."

"Maybe it isn't out to lunch because I was out when I thought it up. I was out in my car eating a salad for lunch.," I replied.

I've come to the conclusion that men are a lot like exotic pets.

They are beautiful to look at. They are fun to visit, to hang out with, to be seen with, occasionally to play with or to pet, but they are just too high maintenance to keep one of my own. The return on my investment of effort, time and money can't possibly be justified - especially when there are so many available to borrow.

I have met one or two about whom I've thought, 'I could do what it takes to give that one a nice home,' only to be disappointed when I learn that they already have a nice home.

What brought this train of thought crashing through the station? Four and a half years of single life.

I lived with my ex-husband for four and a half years before I married him. It took me a while to finally decide to make that commitment. I had to figure out if an investment in that exotic pet would pay off, either emotionally, physically, spiritually or financially.

In some ways it paid off much better than I ever hoped. My girls are the BEST!

In some ways it took its toll on me.

Now, after spending four and a half years on my own and raising my kids, I've come to realize I am ready to make a commitment to myself. I am ready to be in a committed relationship with myself and leave the exotic pets at the store.

Besides, with two kids, a room mate, a dog, a cat, five fish, a three-bedroom house and 60 hour a week job to look after, who has time to nurture, nourish, clean up after and support a needy exotic pet?

2006-04-05T08:41:00.000-04:00

Outside

All the times that I felt insecure, yeah
And I lift my burden out the door

I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
'Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you

All this time that I felt like this won't end
Was for you
And I taste what I could never have
It's from you
All those times that I tried, my intention, full of pride
And I waste more time than anyone

But I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
'Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you

All the times that I've cried
All this wasted, it's all inside
And I feel, all this pain, stuffed it down
It's back again
And I lie here in bed, all alone, I can't mend
And I feel tomorrow will be okay

But I know

That I'm on the outside
I'm looking in
I can see through you
See your true colors
'Cause inside you're ugly
You're ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you

Aaron Lewis feat. Fred Durst

I liked the song above a lot when I heard it this morning.

That's about all the time and inspiration I have for today. Now I have to go break open my head and watch my brains dribble out on a keyboard... ie, work as a writer.

Sometimes there is just nothing there, no matter how deep you dig in the dirt. But when its your job, it has to be there.

That kinda sucks.

Tomorrow will be better.

2006-04-02T00:53:00.000-05:00

Everything broke

The following is most of an actual email I sent my boss today and it is all true. It has been a day I am glad to see the end of. -- The picture is by Nova.

Hi Dave

Sorry I didn't get to the Goulais story today.

Dana wanted me to bake her a cake for her cast party today. I told her I would do it as soon as I did the vacuuming. The vacuum clogged and I had to take it apart before I could make my white fur area rug green again.

Then the mixer burnt out on the double cake batter batch. Damn that mocha chocolate cake recipe!

Then the toilet broke and I ran out of hot water because the washing machine timer broke and the washer kept emptying and refilling with warm water. When the water heated up enough for me to have a shower so I could go get the part for the toilet and a new mixer it was time to take Dana to her cast party... with no cake.

It was such a beautiful day that I turned right instead of left after dropping Dana off and ended up at Bellevue Park with Nova for a wonderful hour or so before heading off to WalMart for supplies. Nova was an awesome helper and I only came home with about an extra $50 worth of stuff I didn't intend to buy today but did need for the house. (Including a very sweet 18v cordless drill and nifty set of bits and drivers to go with it -- I am not even going to try them today, though)

When I returned home with the part, tools to repair the toilet and a new mixer, it was time to cook dinner. After dinner I fixed the toilet and tried to make the frosting for the cakes I had finished without a mixer.

The second mixer I bought had a great motor. It wrapped the blades around themselves so that one of them looked like a corkscrew in about 45 seconds. I would have taken a picture of it, but Ami had my camera because she wanted to cover a ballet (which she didn't get to cover but I'll let her tell you about that). Obviously, I still had the box and receipt. Back to WalMart I went.

Mixer number three of the day worked out really well and now my mocha chocolate scratch cakes have yummy pink peppermint butter-cream frosting on them.

My kitchen is a mess because I said 'screw this' then watched Harry Potter and ate cake with Dana after Nova went to bed.

So, now I'm emailing you (as per your request) to remind you of tomorrow's telethon. The clocks change forward an hour tonight. We are supposed to be at Council Chambers by 10:15 a.m. tomorrow. We are on air between 11 and 12 a.m. to answer phones. I can pick you up on the way by if you like.

I'll be up by 8:30 with the girls if you would like to give me a call about a ride.

Tomorrow is likely to be a better day than today! -- especially with that bounty I have on the gremlins in my house.

And that is only about half of the everyday adventures that occupied my day today.

It's a beautiful chaotic mass of organic nature and I revel in it.

2006-03-31T08:45:00.000-05:00

War resistors

Now that James Loney is so much in the news for his return from war-torn Iraq, it seems timely to also raise the issue of another man who barely escaped from Iraq with his life.

Joshua Key is an American war resistor who fled the United States to seek asylum in Canada with his wife and four children rather than return to the war in Iraq.

Their story is here and here.

Josh and his wife, Brandi, made a big impact on me when I met them last year. The sacrifices they made and the lengths to which they went so that Josh wouldn't have to kill anyone else were great and long. Their courage to stand by each other and for a belief very apparent.

Josh appeared before the Immigration and Refugee Board hearing Thursday and they will deliberate his case over the next few weeks. If they send him back to the United States, he could face a firing squad, long imprisonment or, what he says would be worse than anything, being sent back to kill innocent people in Iraq again.

Privately, Josh told me he would kill himself rather than shoot another woman or child. I believe him. I believe that Josh and Brandi will go back underground in Canada if he is denied refugee status and that the 27 year olds will raise their four children as fugitives until they are caught.

He said there are not really any soldiers in Iraq. There are non-uniformed civilians fighting a guerilla war. Only desperate people trying to hang onto some thread of what they were.

To find out more about the war resistors in Canada, visit their website.

2006-03-29T20:43:00.000-05:00

Miracles DO happen

There we all were, standing outside the home of James Loney's parents.

Word had gone out that he would come out with his family to pose for a few quick photos at 12:30. All the national and local media was there.

The air was electric with expectation.

A reporter asked a man who came out to brief us if she could give James Loney a hug. Everyone laughed. I thought I would like to hug the man too. The young reporter looked a little embarrassed but she laughed it off.

Even the most seasoned and cynical of us were obviously affected by the idea of finally seeing this man we had all done our best to learn so much about in the past four months.

James Loney has obviously had a profoundly positive effect on everyone his life has touched and it was almost miraculous to actually see him walk out to the end of the driveway this afternoon.

There were about 50 journalists standing quietly waiting for him and his family to take their places. None spoke but a few quiet words, asking only very light, warm questions like, "did you get to wash your first sink of dishes yet, Jim?" or "what kind of pizza did you have last night?"

The family seemed shy and somewhat overwhelmed by all of us and the journalists equally humbled by the families' grace and warmth.

It was truly a heart-warming and miraculous experience. A rare gem of a story, filled with joy and love. It was the sort of story that keeps us all coming back for more and it was even more meaningful for me because I got to share it with a brand new colleague, one I haven't seen in 20 years (the one who got me into this in the first place) and I was able to get there because of a thoughtful call from another esteemed colleague.

2006-03-28T10:41:00.000-05:00

Media vs media: Us against them

Many artists view the rest of the media with a spectrum of reactions ranging from at best, an irritating but necessary evil to at worst, the enemy of their privacy, their message and their public image.

I'll begin by defining us and them. By us, I mean writers of non-fiction. Generally journalists, reporters and public relations people -- though public relations people's production of non-fiction may be questionable. By them, I mean artists, performers and writers or creators of artistic/interpretive works. They could be musicians, actors, painters, photographers, poets, novelists or a whole host of other disciplines. Some of us are also them at times. Some of them are even us at times.

But, make no mistake about it, we are ALL media.

From Ask Oxford

MEDIA

noun 1 the means of mass communication, especially television, radio, and newspapers collectively. 2 plural of MEDIUM.

MEDIUM

noun pl.media or mediums 1 a means by which something is expressed, communicated, or achieved. 2 a substance through which a force or other influence is transmitted. 3 a form of storage for computer software, such as magnetic tape or disks. 4 a liquid with which pigments are mixed to make paint. 5 mediums a person claiming to be able to communicate between the dead and the living. 6 the middle state between two extremes.

adjective between two extremes; average.

ORIGIN: Latin, 'middle'.

What is media but a means of communication? We all communicate and want as many people to get our message as we can expose to it.

The journalist wants the world to hear what other people have to say. We are the ones in the middle. The other people are the artists, politicians, and anyone with a story to be told. The other people have a problem when the journalist filters what they have to say through his or her own ideas about what and how the world wants to hear it.

The artist often primarily wants to create but for many there is an underlying need to expose their creations to the world. They want to get their interpretations of the world out into the world to be interpreted and responded to. Some of them even want, on some level, for life to imitate art but most want some sort of response to their work.

Artists (as well as politicians, business people and others) generally realize the best vehicle to get their work (ideas and goals) out into the world is through journalists but they fear and hate what journalists may and often do to their work in the process of getting it out there. They tolerate us while we are doing what they want but, if we ask the wrong question (or they answer a question in a way they regret), take a bad photo or give the world information other than what the artist wants out there, we are the enemy. They openly distrust and exclude us more than they would any member of the public and justify their abuse of us by saying it is our job to get the story and get out so we should be able to take the abuse and get used to it.

What they really fear is that we will get the story and get out. They are afraid that we will find some flaw or shortcoming in them or their work and their public image will be ours to ruin. A few of them believe that we are there to find a way to ruin their public image and that is our primary goal in life. They even believe that we have the power to do that.

No one of us does. No single bad photo of a beautiful person will make the world believe that person is ugly. No solitary negative comment on a song or an artist will make the world believe that person's work or that person has no value or no worth; especially when there is a whole body of words and photos to say otherwise.

A journalist who continuously slams people for no good reason will lose credibility. We must let the readers/listeners/watchers make up their own minds about the facts and our influence on them must be negligible or very subtle for us to maintain credibility. Credibility is our only true currency so none of us will risk it lightly. Nor will most of us intentionally burn our sources without due consideration.

Both artists and journalists need to remember that we are ALL media, intent upon getting our ideas across to the rest of the world out there. For many of us, the world mostly involves the local arts and entertainment scene and who ever might notice us from outside our world is incidental. But regardless of the size of our world, we all just want to get our message out to it and for our message to be given credibility.

We all just want respect for our work, our ideas and ourselves.

Not long ago I posted a rather harsh blog after feeling excluded and mistreated by a community of musicians I held in great respect and whose acceptance on even a very surface level I craved. I thought long and hard about it and came back with the ideas above. I believe it is much the same as the blog I was flamed for but better stated and I stand by my assertion that many artists treat journalists poorly. Perhaps some of that poor treatment is justified; perhaps some of it is irrational and unfounded fear of humiliation. Perhaps my feeling that artists treat journalists poorly comes from my own irrational desire to have credibility among the artists I am a medium for.

I took my medicine over the last blog and am healthier for it. Now I am putting on my asbestos underwear and getting ready for more because this issue is far from resolved in my little corner of the world.

A few artists whom I have supported in the past have come forward to offer me private support for my annoyed rant. A few have come forward in private to flay me alive. One even told me not to cover any more of his shows.

I hope to continue to cover local artists in a professional way but no longer crave inclusion in their community. If they give me any credibility it will be a bonus but my primary goal continues to be to support local original music. I can do this from as far away as Brian Kelly does and I can do this without emotional involvement.

2006-03-27T22:25:00.000-05:00

Ami wants onion rings

So off I go into the dark of night, where I like it best. No nasty sun shining in my eyes. No cheerful people walking their dogs. No joggers, lean and fit, taking a moment to wave as they fly by on the wings joy.

I really hate the day time. Nope, no regular version of seasonal affective disorder here. I am the antithesis of seasonally affected disorders. I get happy when it gets dark.

So up to Burger King I go, singing a happy song (from some soundtrack, you know like Akasha or the Crow or maybe it was the Skinny Puppies... I forget).

So I get to the drivethrough thinking, 'Oh yeah, Andre Riopel would be SO proud of me now! High Five! -- Wait a second, did I bring any money with me!?'

While digging in my purse for change a car pulls up behind me so I pull ahead to the little talkie box.

"WelcometoBurgerKing, wheeze-wheeze, howmayI crackle fuzzzz?"

"Uh, hi, do you take debit?"

...

"Hello, do you take interac, debit, you know plastic cards?'

...

"Hello? Is there anybody out there?"

"... crackle POP cracklehelp you ma'am"

"Uh, deb-bit?" I say v-e-r-y slowly.

"YES MA'AM How can I HELP you?"

"Onion rings, lots a them, oh and an Angus Burger a la Craig West." I blurt out in shock and indignation at the seemingly innocent box's outburst.

"Par-don me?" It replies, slowly and with an icy calm.

"Oh, um, one Angus Burger combo, nothing on it... just bun-meat-bun, you know... oh but you can put the onions on it, okay? Is that okay? And can you make it with onion rings instead of fries?"

Thinking Ami might be really hungry for onion rings I quickly add, "And another order of large onion rings."

Just as I sit back and relax, thinking the order ordeal over, the box squawks at me, "TO DRINK????"

"Abadda ahh, uh, Rootbeer, yeah, rootbeer no ice," I stammer.

As I drive slowly and cautiously around the corner I see a $10 bill in my bag and pull it out.

The drive through window opens to reveal a bespectacled little man with wild brown hair sticking out all over the back of his head. He is standing with a paper cup of pop in one hand, and a straw in the other, looking like he's been waiting all night like that. I make to hand him the money and he shoves the drink in my hand. I nearly drop the cash and quickly stow the drink in my cup holder.

When I turn back, the intense little man is shuffling under the counter for another straw. Apparently he just dropped the first one without waiting to see if it was in my hand or not.

"Oops, sorry," I say as I back away from my door a bit. "I found some cash..." and I give him a tentative smile.

He looks at me like I just murdered the last Dodo bird in the world as he hands me the straw and a little piece of paper with no obvious markings on it.

"Take your receipt around to the other window," he says as he drops my change in my hand. I drive around to the other window and put my car in park knowing you have to have orangutan arms to reach the window.

A slim blonde girl hangs out the window, which is, incidentally, about 2 feet from a door.

"Thanks, that's quite the reach, isn't it," I say as she hands me a bag of what I assume is food.

She says nothing, only looks at me like I was the very person who stabbed Christ through the heart as he hung on the cross.

'Whoa,' I think as I drive away. 'Remind me never to work nights at Burger King in Sault Ste. Marie. It seems to seriously suck.'

I check and find the order is right then drive off after cranking the tunes again.

Down to Mac's on Second Line I go for smokes. I stand there and chat with the two clerks about what to buy Ami, since they are out of her favourite brand of death stick. In walks this guy, lean, about 35 to 40, dressed in expensive casual clothes, very clean, gold rimmed glasses, short, dark hair and receding hairline.

He is clearly agitated when he asks the younger clerk if he is on the right road for Thunder Bay.

I laugh.

"Uh nope, you be heading for the lake, sir," I say.

He starts waving his arms around and his voice becomes more loud and starts to raise hysterically as he says, "There are no signs in this town! Why aren't there any SIGNS in this town!? Why don't they put any signs here!? There really are NO SIGNS around here..."

"That's because its Sault Ste. Marie," I say in what I hope is a calming voice.

"I KNOW I'm in Sault Ste. Marie!" he says with one more hand brandish.

"I mean, there are no signs BECAUSE it's Sault Ste. M... oh, never mind," and I pretend to find something really interesting on my foot.

The young clerk jumps in to rescue me and speaks in an efficient, well-informed sounding voice,

"Drive east, back the way you came, (pointing as she talks) through six lights until you come to an intersection with Tim Horton's on your right, Petro Can on your left and a Shell station across the street and on your right. Turn left there and you will be on Highway 17 North to Thunder Bay."

The sign-needy man immediately relaxes. He repeats the clerk's directions and I wait for her to confirm them as correct before piping up, again craving the taste of my own foot.

"Seek ye Tim Horton's young man, turn at Tim's."

"Just not the first one," says the clerk.

"Oh yeah, I forgot there is at least one between here and there," I stammer and return to quietly inspecting my shoe as I wonder if I'm really as stupid as I look and sound.

The man laughs and thanks me first before nodding his thanks to the two clerks and departing the store.

Now I am home blogging on a very full belly.

Ami has her smokes and the onion rings are done.

I couldn't eat much of the burger and gave most of it to Cooper but still feel like I should be making myself barf before I run downtown and back to purge myself of that adventure.

Hopefully Ami will have had enough onion rings to last a while.

2006-03-27T19:23:00.000-05:00

Feelin' like a bum

Ho hum. It's so awesome to lounge around in the afternoon sun.

There I was, sitting with Ami on the front steps Sunday afternoon at 2 p.m. in my pyjamas smoking cigarettes and drinking beer.

Oh yeah! That's the life.

Well, for about 20 minutes anyway. Then it's back to moving furniture around, building bunk-beds, writing stories, preparing the kids clothes and snacks for the week ahead and cleaning out the basement.

Yup, 20 minutes I sat around and did absolutely nothing -- other than think about all the stuff yet to do. But I did manage to look like I'm relaxing for at least 20 minutes. I'm so proud of myself!

Live HERE AND NOW!

2006-03-26T13:01:00.000-05:00

For the love of instant mashed potatoes

I like instant mashed potatoes.

Yes, I've openly admitted it. I like instant mashed potatoes.

Now, of course this raises the issue of looking at the ingredients. I am afraid to find out how many calories there are per serving and how big a serving really is because I have a feeling I would find myself sitting and staring at a three table spoon serving thinking, 'Do I really want to use up 400 of my 800 calorie a day diet on this!?'

And point number two of ingredient lists... sulphates. I am very sensitive to them. They are everywhere. I bet it's number two on the ingredient list after potatoes. That, of course, would be why I like them so much.

I guess instant mashed potatoes are a lot like love. You have a taste and want more. Then you find out what goes into it and want to stop wanting it.

2006-03-25T10:46:00.000-05:00

The highway or the lumpy way

The year that I was born Edward Asselbergs invented the first instant food. That's right, instant food.

"Edward Asselbergs developed the first powdered instant fish, cheese and meat in Ottawa," says Valerie Wyatt in the Kids Book of Canadian Firsts.

"The new foods were not a hit – they were lumpy and hard," she says. "Asselbergs solved the problem by adding instant potatoes, which he also invented."

Also in the year I was born, and a few weeks after my birthday of June 22, The Trans-Canada Highway was officially opened.

A box of instant mashed potatoes to the first person who correctly guesses the year I was born… anyone who already knows is disqualified, though.

A bonus box of instant mashed potatoes is on its way to Canadian Mark for putting me on The Premium Canadian Blogs poll.

Thanks Mark.

2006-03-19T10:52:00.000-05:00

Shkmissy and the supercanabalistic fish

I woke up this morning with a cat on my head and a kid on my tummy. The cat was trying to claw its way out of the vice-like grip of the kid.

When the cat realized there was a living being under her claws she was morbidly embarrassed. The kid found that to be just way too funny. I swear, the cat had a “oops, I’m really REALLY sorry about that look on her face” as I pried her claw out of my forehead. But she soon cheered up as I applied a similar vice-like hold to the kid.

“Shkmissy” I mumbled through the bleary morning fog that had barely been abated by blood and tears from four tiny claws finding their way into my tender flesh.

“What!?” giggled the kid as I proceeded to squish the love out of my little missy.

“Shkmissy. Squish the missy,” I said, demonstrating the technique.

“I want to pet the fishies, mommy,” she replied between giggles. “Can I go pet the fishies?”

“Anything to get out of a good shkmiss, eh Nova?” I said to her as she wiggled off the bed.

“Just watch out for Doree.” I told her as she sauntered off down the hall. “She’ll probably take your finger off. She’s a supercannabalistic fish, you know.”

It had the desired effect. Now everyone is wandering around my house singing songs from Mary Poppins. Bwa ha ha ha! Phase one of my evil plan is working.

Now if I could only beat the bathroom scale into submission, all the important stuff in my life would be in order.

Well, okay, and fix our computers, assemble the desks, clean the kids’ rooms so Ami can move in, help Ami with her homework, save the Falun Gong in the Chinese organ farm, end world hunger, earn the respect of peers, serve whirled peas for dinner, and maybe do something about my self-esteem/body-image while I’m at it.

Yeah, then everything would be cool. Wouldn’t it? I wish.

2006-03-19T00:37:00.000-05:00

Vertigo

Smoke rises all around me

Ghostly

Illusive

Illusory shadows of smoke curl around me

Slant

Tilt

Lean into it

Taller

Growing like Alice in Wonderland

Rising above it

Then slope sharply to the side and slide right off

Spinning out of control

Where am I going?

2006-03-17T17:50:00.000-05:00

Integravations

A friend of mine who likes to make up words (and steal Dana's made-up words) says I have some integravating habits.

Adrift on a sea of infinite sadness
Awash with deep regret

There is this blogger's tendency to avoid using the first person in conversation or in writing. She says that is incredibly annoying - down right integravating.

Tremendous tenacity brings
Terrors in the night

She also cites this blogger's habit of responding to comments, suggestions and questions with questions as being obtuse and inconsiderate. She says that it is a way of being passive aggressive and avoiding every opportunity to communicate the blogger's genuine feelings.

Is it? Says this blogger.

Separation of spirit and heart from mind and body
Severing the soul

Every day she asks for the untold - knocks a little louder – digs down deeper. One of these days she’s going to realize there is nothing there to dig for. No buried treasure here. No pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Everything is gone
Empty

This blogger only hopes the eventuality of that realization doesn't do to her what it did to... ME.

NO, I AM NOT A PIECE OF FURNITURE
I am a living, feeling person, here behind these eyes I just don't know

Who is this blogger, anyway? Just an insignificant observer. An observer cowering in the corner of her heart - trying to keep away from the shovel.

SQUIM...

squim...

Squim...

Squimvinity!

>I win... kept the fact that I can never leave the place I wanted him to be hidden, didn't I?<

2006-03-12T22:29:00.000-05:00

Star Trek character

Your results:
You are An Expendable Character (Redshirt)

An Expendable Character (Redshirt)		100%
Mr. Sulu		100%
Deanna Troi		95%
Data		83%
Worf		80%
Geordi LaForge		70%
Spock		65%
Beverly Crusher		60%
James T. Kirk (Captain)		60%
Jean-Luc Picard		60%
Leonard McCoy (Bones)		60%
Will Riker		50%
Mr. Scott		35%
Uhura		30%
Chekov		30%

Since your accomplishments are seldom noticed,
and you are rarely thought of, you are expendable.
That doesn't mean your job isn't important but if you
were in Star Trek you would be killed off in the first
episode you appeared in.

Click here to take the "Which Star Trek character are you?" quiz...

This one turned out to be totally on the money. Right at this moment, Rodney Dangerfield's words 'No respect' ring so FREAKIN' true.

What does a person have to do to get some respect? Spend thousands of hours taking photos, doing interviews, writing stories, promoting the HELL out of people? Nope, not good enough.

Maybe stay up all night long editing videos then get up to go to look after kids, go to school and earn a living? Nope, that's not good enough, either.

How about pour out a heart full of compassion, support and thoughtfulness? Nope. That leads straight to doormat city.

How about starve to be thin and almost attractive enough to look at when you are spoken to? Nope. It's the look-over-the-shoulder-while-pretending-to-listen-and-bolt-at-the-first-opportunity treatment instead.

What would be a sign of respect? Uh, lets start with a simple, "Hello, it's a pleasure to see you here. Thanks for coming out to the show." And try saying it to the reporter, not just to the people she brought with her to hear what she STILL (maybe stupidly) thinks is good music.

But to be completely honest, of the dozen or so musicians regularly covered and promoted on SooToday.com there are three, sometimes four, who would ever be caught talking to this lowly red-shirt in public unless they had something for her to do. One of them is the consummate gentleman, another a gracious and supportive woman, the third a couple of dear friends. They have earned loyal support from this lowly red-shirt, not just for the good work they do, but for the kindness and grace they show while doing it.

The rest treat her like some sort of embarrassment. The creepy, fat, ugly, stupid groupie who has to inflict herself on them by coming to take pictures at every show.

Recognition and gratitude are not expected. Saying something like, "Hey the media is here, thanks for coming out media person" would be REALLY embarrassing.

Just simple courtesy would be fully appreciated. Maybe even almost as much courtesy and respect they show other photographers/reporters.

"Hello, this is the red-shirt in black and former doormat, signing off and saying, BITE ME."

Okay, vent done. We now return you to your regular programming and hopefully something much more interesting and clever will be found to blog about tomorrow.

Everyone who is not a local musician, or who is among the four or so who understand courtesy, sorry about that. We just had to clear the air so we can return to our usual smiling, supportive attendance at shows without throwing up on our shoes or something.

Yes, this would be a royal 'we'. It's just that this lowly red-shirt has difficulty speaking in the first person. It appears to have been beaten out of her by bad.

2006-03-11T10:57:00.000-05:00

Blissful ignorance

My house is calm and quiet, with just enough buzz to know its alive and filled with love.

Right now, there are four girls, a cat and a dog who just met last night, five fish and assorted spirits occupying my three bedroom abode and its peaceful. Quiet and serene. Believe it or not.

Yesterday, I told Ami that I love a man so much that I can't love another man so I will be single for the rest of my life. She said, "Shit, Yumi, you love him so much you can't even love yourself."

Very insightful, my bio-chem/english major Ami.

Now I am setting my sights on a happy single life filled with love and even self-acceptance.

Missing him has been pushed into the smallest corner of my awareness. It is a little nibble of my whole soul supper. The majority of my soul-food is made up of wholesome family/friend love and a joy of doing what I'm doing. Here and now.

Good morning.

2006-03-09T11:14:00.000-05:00

Echo and Narcissus

This nymph, Echo, saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the chase upon the mountains. She loved him and followed his footsteps. Oh, how she longed to address him in the softest accents and win him to converse, but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience for him to speak first and had her answer ready.

One day the youth, being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, "Who's here?"
Echo replied, "Here."

Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one, called out, "Come."

Echo answered, "Come."

As no one came, Narcissus called again, "Why do you shun me?" Echo asked the same question in return.

"Let us join one another," said the youth. The maid answered with all her heart in the same words, and hastened to the spot, ready to throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, "Hands off! I would rather die than you should have me!"

"Have me," said she, but it was all in vain. He left her, and she went to hide her embarrassment in the recesses of the woods.

From that time forth she lived in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, until at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that she is still ready to reply to anyone who calls to her and keeps up her old habit of having the last word.

Bereft of me

I do decay
I am, indeed dead
Declaration of motivation gone
Exsanguination complete
Dry desiccated corps
Fertility flown
No more crops to be grown
Shrunken heart, dehydrated liver
Withered wishes wander aimlessly

When will this foul and putrid body
Catch up with the fearful soul fled

No touchie
No tell
No tingling desires dwell

Frozen smile bereft of me
I’ll get by myself, you’ll see
Waiting for hungry eyes to close
Waiting for gnawing pit to quiet

The body is the enemy, the prison
Death done at long last, the only saving grace

Waiting
Waiting with baited breath
Waiting for it to be where he should have been
At my side
All over me
Inside me
Filling up the emptiness
Finding me hiding in the hollow spaces
Watching me flourish
Food on which to nourish
My desire
My desire
Me

2006-03-04T14:29:00.000-05:00

Vagine-OH-MITE!

That's the name of the new drink Steve and Andréa made up to mark the occasion of this year's production of the Vagina Monologues.

It's going pretty well, I think.

There are a lot of people coming to the shows and they are saying good things when they leave, although they look a little dazed. I hope that's just that the show had some effect on them, like other than putting them to sleep.

Somehow, I don't think anyone could sleep through Andréa bolting through the room and screaming CUNT at the top of her lungs, though, so I'll say it's going pretty well.

Last night tonight.

I'll miss working with the vagina warriors but I'm ready to return to the normal life of a supermom/reporter.

That's four of the nine of us below. Steve Alexander from Loplop is seen with Andréa, Becky and the drinks invented to celebrate the show. Those drinks are very good, too.

Hopefully we will find our way back to Loplop for a round of them after the show tonight. Economy Studz and the Vagina Warriors seem some how apt.

A review about the show is here.

An article about it is here.

2006-02-28T02:58:00.000-05:00

Damn the torpedoes

I just learned to play the guitar. At 2 a.m., after several shots of vodka, I learned the C and G cords on my guitar. Damn, I love that Johnny Cash strumming!

This is like the coolest night of my life. Way better than the first time I had sex.

Thanks Andréa. You're the best!

I don't even care that my fingers are on fire, I have to get up for work in three and a half hours and I still don't know my lines for the play. Those two cords are so totally MINE!

Now, if only I could get from one cord to the other it'd be ALL good!

Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have that down by the time you want to play at Loplop tomorrow - uh, later today. I am not sure I will even be able to type later today.

2006-02-27T08:56:00.000-05:00

I am the night

At the doctor's office I saw the sweetest thing the other day.

This couple that must be in their 80s easily, so frail and fragile looking, both of them, were at the doctor's office together. When the receptionist called the woman in, she helped the man to stand so he could help her stand and he held her purse while she went in to see the doctor. When she came out they helped each other with their coats and leaned on each other for support as they left. They were like a well oiled machine, needing no words and just doing what needs to be done for one another.

I thought about what my life will be like.

Will I always be able to sharpen my own knives? Will I always be able to look after myself and do what needs to be done for myself? What will happen to me if I need help with something?

Sometimes alone for the rest of my life can be a little frightening but it still won't make me eat cream cheese Danish when I want maple pecan.

So I guess all that's left now, since someone else ate the last maple pecan Danish, is to bake my own cookies and hope that I die before I can no longer look after myself.

A song I've been listening to goes something like this

Pearls that swim the rift of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow I feel
For anything I feel yeah

I am not your rolling wheels
I am a highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky

Friends and liars
Don't wait for me
Cause I'll get on
All by myself
Put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the sky here
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night
The night

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet rag
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightening
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night

It's by Audioslave and it's called I am the Highway. I like to listen to it while I drive.

Oops, phone call, be right back. Friend on the phone. Promises made.

Notes to self:

1. Eat. Eat food. Eat food now.
2. Get off computer and clean house.
3. Make the calls. You promised. I am NOT going to let yo weasel out this time.

Okay, gone to eat some food and make some calls.

2006-02-26T11:33:00.000-05:00

Burning Down the House

Some people say that dreams of a house represent dreams of the self. They say that the rooms in the house symbolize different aspects of the personality.

I would go further and say that my basement, in real life, represents my self-image, my body-image.

The basement of my house is the most incredibly horrible mess anyone has ever seen. There are unpacked boxes from when I moved to my parents place in 2001. I don't want to look in these boxes so they stay closed and stacked to the side. There are clothes that I am hanging on to because I may someday be that size again. There are snowshoes I'll never use stacked in a corner and dirty laundry all over the floor. Kids' toys have escaped from the boxes I piled them in when cleaning the girls' rooms and remnants of old broken kitchen toys are piled high on the shelves. A huge pile of boxes of stuff to give away is stacked near the bottom of the stairs and all the off season decorations clutter a corner.

My basement, my body image, is a cluttered maze of unwanted items and emotional land-mines.

So I just don't go down there unless I really really have to. Avoiding it is much easier than dealing with it.

The problem is, that's where the washer and dryer are. I don't do laundry very often. As a matter of fact, I usually decide which black shirt and pants I will wear today based on which ones smell best and have the least dog fur on them. Eventually, though, I do have to make the dreaded trip down there to wash mine and the kids' clothes.

It's truly disgusting to look at all the stuff I have to deal with so I just get the laundry done as fast as I can and get the hell out of there.

There's another problem though.

If the basement symbolizes my body image, then the dog could symbolize my sexuality. He gets fed in the basement. It's the only place to keep his food and bowls. On realistic terms, I usually make my kids feed him because I just can't bring myself to go down there and wait for him to eat. That is the most horrible feeling of all. Having to stay in the body-image long enough to satisfy an appetite. So, does anyone want a nice dog that is a little malnourished? Okay, is in danger of starving to death (the symbolic dog, not the real one).

One solution a friend of mine suggested is to just toss a match in the basement and burn it down. Unfortunately that would probably take the whole house with it. If it were only me involved, it wouldn't be a problem. Not much of a loss at all. But it isn't only me involved. Where would my kids live if my house was gone?

Hmmm, I say as I play with a lighter. Anyone want a couple of really nice kids and a starving dog?

2006-02-24T14:06:00.000-05:00

Today I tried a different kind of Danish from Tim Horton’s.

Chocolate is my character flaw but maple pecan Danishes are my secret pleasure. I wait weeks, driving by Tim Horton’s when I crave them, sometimes circling the block several times before driving on and enjoying the self-denial. I budget sugar, calories and grams of fat so I can just allow myself a single 460 calorie 25 grams of fat brain masher because I really really want one. I dig change out of the sofa and am willing to walk or ride my bike to Tim Horton’s so I can get one when I’m finally ready to let myself have it.

Today I decided I really needed one, even though I had one only nine days ago. I pulled up to the drivethrough, riddled with guilt both at being in a drivethrough and at my plan to eat the sticky sweetness I was anticipating.

“One large coffee, milk and two sugar please and a maple pecan Danish,” I said to the little box.

“Just a sec, Hon, I’ll have to see if we have any of those ones,” said the box back to me.

After a brief pause which I used to imagine the sweet gooey goodness making my tongue swell and the sensual scrape of the pecans sliding across the roof of my mouth the box spoke the words I’ve always dreaded.

“I’m sorry, all we have right now are cream cheese and cherry Danish,” it said.

In the following seconds of panic two thoughts chased each other around my head like a dog and a cat on a tear. ‘Try something new,’ barked the dog. ‘Drive to another Tim’s and get what you really want. Don’t settle!’ hissed the cat.

“I’ll take a cream cheese Danish,” I said, mentally congratulating myself for not wasting gas and money to go looking for the maple pecan this time.

‘Change is good,’ I reassured myself. ‘Maybe you’ll find a new favorite, one that isn’t quite as bad for you.’

So I ate the cream cheese Danish.

From the first bite I knew it wasn’t what I wanted but I kept eating it, hoping to cultivate a taste for it.

Nope.

It was totally unsatisfying. Right to the very last bite. It wasn’t bad. There was nothing wrong with it. It just wasn’t what I wanted.

So the next time Tim Horton’s doesn’t have what I want, I will say no thank you to all of it.

“Just the coffee, then, please,” I will say.

And I will keep coming back to see if I can have another maple pecan Danish. They can keep the rest of it.

2006-02-22T16:20:00.000-05:00

Too Funny

So there I was visiting Curt over at Better Than Crabs when I came across one of those very cool time wasters.

Apparently Carol cannot regurgitate and can clean her ears with her tongue which is 39 inches long.

I put in a bunch of other people's names, too.

Dana is born white; her pink feathers are caused by pigments in her typical diet of shrimp and grapes explode if you put them inside Dana!

Influenza got its name because people believed the disease was caused by the evil "influence" of Nova and over 2000 people have now climbed Nova, with roughly ten percent dying on the way down.

Chris has 118 ridges around the edge, can taste with his feet and ancient Chinese artists would never paint pictures of Chris.

Medieval knights put the skin of Amanda on their sword handles to improve the grip. Amanda is the male seed of a flower blossom which has been gathered and treated by bees!

Kyle is picked, sorted and packed entirely in the field, has four noses and is the only planet that rotates on its side. Tradition allows women to propose to Kyle only during leap years.

If you put a drop of liquor on Fluffy, he will go mad and sting himself to death and in Eastern Africa you can buy beer brewed from Fluffy.

The average duration of sexual intercourse for Jerry is two minutes. (See, I didn't make that up!). Jerry has enough fat to produce 32 bars of soap and ostriches stick their heads in Jerry not to hide but to look for water!

But the funniest by far was this one:

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Craig!

The liquid inside Craig can be used as a substitute for blood plasma.
If you don't get out of bed on the same side you got in, you will have Craig for the rest of the day.
Olympic badminton rules say that Craig must have exactly fourteen feathers.
If you chew gum while peeling Craig then it will stop you from crying!
Craig was declared extinct in 1902!
During the reign of Peter the Great, any Russian nobleman who chose to wear Craig had to pay a special Craig tax.
Koalas sleep for 22 hours a day, two hours more than Craig.
Humans share about fifty percent of their DNA with Craig.
If you kiss Craig for one minute you will burn six or seven calories.
A chimpanzee can learn to recognize itself in a mirror, but Craig can not.

2006-02-14T23:17:00.000-05:00

A monkey's uncle

Here I was expecting absolutely nothing and ended up with more bling, yum, cuddly things and pretties than I've had in this lifetime if you add all the Valentine's Days together.

Wow! How'd that happen?

It all started when Jason, a media friend, slipped me the late birthday gift (shiny 'C' key chain) and Valentine's gift (chocolate hearts) over coffee this morning.

Then my kids came home with a cake that Dana won at school and we went shopping. They picked me out the monkey and I went to cover a school board meeting. The chair, Wanda, slipped me the rose on our way out and Mario, the director, passed me a little box of Laura Secord chocolates.

There were also cards and cookies from my kids (courtesy of my ex and his girlfriend believe it or not) and a card from an old friend. (Damn skeletons keep getting out of the closet).

As I said, wow, what a day!

2006-02-13T12:52:00.000-05:00

A year later...

No, I have not jettisoned all the progress.

A year ago, yesterday, I wrote this:

The Brutality of Kindness

Talk to me, like lovers do
Walk with me, like lovers do
Sleep with her, like lovers do
Leave me outside, like masters do

Look at me, like lovers do
Listen to me, like lovers do
Embrace with her, like lovers do
Feel sorry for me, like masters do

I am the fat, old, shambling dog
Walking loyally at your heels
She is the lithe, young, graceful mate
Standing proudly beside you

DeNile is a river of hope
I am over my head and drowning slowly
Be a real friend and cut off my legs

Turns out the man was a real friend and was kind enough to cut off my legs. This was actually very cool, (although it was a little uncomfortable at the time), because I found out I can swim just fine even with no legs. I even managed to climb on out of the river of DeNile. -- I hope!

Yup, I got better.

I'm still in love with him but its much different. Maybe more like a deep and abiding respect and affection rather than love, what ever the hell love is. I'll probably love him forever, but he isn't the only one I will love forever and may not even be the last.

It may sound bitter but my tone was sincerely realistic when I recently described my situation like this:

"I'm head over heals in live-die-and-kill-for-love with a guy who is in happily-ever-after-love with the woman of his dreams."

A friend of mine thinks I'm suffering because I am alone and in love with a man who will never love me. He's wrong.

I am alone but seldom lonely. Many people in relationships are also sometimes lonely. It's life.

The man I love is happy with his life the way it is and that makes me happy. It gives me joy to know that he is loved and appreciated the way he should be, the way he deserves, even if it isn't me loving him.

If someone comes into my life that moves me and makes me want to love again, I will. I won't settle for someone I don't want to be with just to avoid loneliness.

What ever life holds for me I will embrace and enjoy to the fullest of my ability, whether it be alone or with a partner.

If nothing else, I've learned that wishing for what I cannot have and probably isn't even real is a sure way to bring me down. That would be a waste of fun times. Better to enjoy my life as it is, than to wish it were something else. Makes it easier to endure the lonely times that are sure to come every now and then.

2006-02-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

Uncomplications

This is it. Tomorrow is *ARGH* Valentine's Day.

Oh Lord how I HATE that day. Christmas doesn't even come close as the most reviled of holidays.

But this year, I'm going to take a different approach. Nova is seriously into the whole idea of Valentine's Day. She begged me to buy and put up decorations, put out candy and even get her some new pink clothes to wear for the party at school.

How I ever ended up mother to the girliest girlie girl in the world I do not know but pink does look nice beside black, anyway, so I'm good with it.

Actually, I had none of those usual feelings of dread over being one of maybe five people I know who will be single on Valentines Day this year. Especially after my last horrifyingly wrong attempt at a 'relationship', it's a relief to be single with no possibilities for a relationship anywhere on the horizon.

This year for Valentine's Day, I will celebrate the great relationship I have with my daughters. The deep, meaningful and fulfilling relationship I have with my job will also be celebrated. Hey, at least it doesn't snore, hog the covers or expect sex when it comes home smelling like Channel #5 at 3 a.m. after a 'hockey practice'.

Last week I paid someone $20 to plow my driveway very well. It was a man, but it could have been a woman driving the truck for all I care. I don't even know what the man looks like. All I have is a phone number, a first name and drop off location for the cash. Don't even need to talk to the man. Just put in a call and the driveway is done when I get home. Doesn't get any better than that.

The knife sharpener I bought a while ago cost $14.95. The jar opener I picked up at the dollar store for, guess what, a dollar. If we really must talk about sex, there are some very interesting toys to be had for pretty cheap.

I need a man for what?

Valentine's Day? HA, bring it on! As a matter of fact, I believe I will just go out and buy myself some sexy lingerie to strut around the house in all by myself feeling pretty and uncomplicated.

This year the theme for Valentine's Day in my house will be uncomplicated.

2006-02-06T21:18:00.000-05:00

Blizzards and winds of change

I feel something coming.

Not sure what it is but something is coming in faster and more frightening than a winter storm.

The darkness is trying to hold my heart but my heart wants to squint in the sunlight again. I'm wishing to be free of this eternal night.

This is me, opening my door to the groundhog. Come, spring. Come, light and love. Come into my life and open my heart like the delicate flower it is. If only it were not such a delicate flower.

The door is open, now if I could just take a few steps out from behind it.

I've tried to join the dance of life many times before but always retreated to the wings to watch. I'm watching now. Craig is singing "Working Class Hero" at the Bean. It's nice to work while I listen and watch, just to know there is human contact out there for the partaking of, even from the wings.

2006-01-29T18:17:00.000-05:00

Side note: Something from today -- and an excuse to put more pictures in (I can only put three per post)

I am a very bitter woman. Today I realized that even if the man I love turned to me with love in his expression I wouldn't know how to return it. It is too late for me to love or be loved.

He hurt me -- or rather I hurt myself so deeply on him, that I will make sure I never allow another opportunity for love to grow.

Okay, back to the important stuff... Mexico

2006-01-29T10:37:00.000-05:00

The lowest point

On Friday, January 20, I was sitting in front of a computer in an internet place on the main street in Melaqui, Mexico, trying to fix a huge mistake someone made under my by-line on the Entertainment Page. Suddenly my mother came running in looking all flustered.

"The girls had a problem over at the water park," she said breathlessly. "Dana's been hurt, I think it's bad."

I saved what I was doing and exited the programs I was using as she told me where the truck was parked. Mom ran back to the truck and started it as I paid for my internet time.

As I came out of the shop into the bright sunlight it took a second for my eyes to adjust and much longer for my heart to get back down where it belongs when I saw Dana.

My child's face was ashen, even through her deep-fun-on-the-beach tan. She was shaking and barely responded as I got into the truck and asked her how she was. Her head was down and she was hunched over like someone punched her in the stomach.

"It hurts mommy," she said. "It hurts a lot."

I choked back my own tears as I we circled the block to head for the clinic and I reassured Dana that it wasn't very far to the doctor's office and that they would make it all better soon.

Nova was visibly upset but doing a marvelous job of controlling herself.

As we drove the few cobblestone, gut-wrenching blocks to the clinic my mom explained what had happened.

"Nova was at the top of one of the small slides in the waterpark and Dana was at the bottom," my mom said. "Nova slipped and fell right on Dana's shoulder. I could see from the way Dana got up that she was hurt but she tried to say she was okay. I think her collar bone may be broken."

The beginnings of hysterical wails erupted from both girls in the back seat. I turned and reassured them that it was a common and easily treated injury that would be all better very soon even though it hurt a lot right now. Meanwhile inside I was picking up the hysterical wail and carrying it along.

I wondered what sort of reception we would get at the clinic. Would there be anyone who spoke English? Would there be a doctor there? How long would we have to wait? How much would it cost? Would Dana be all right to travel home on the 25th? Would she get good enough care to prevent long-term damage or much pain.

Damn, I have to go to work. Some idiots are having a biathalon in a blizzard and some other jerk is playing a gig at the library that I have to cover. More later, I promise.

2006-01-28T21:53:00.000-05:00

Stupid Saturday

Yesterday, when my ex picked up the girls he informed me that he had made a hair stylist appointment for Nova to have her hair cut.

I nearly choked. EVERYONE loves her long beautiful blonde waves of silk cascading over her shoulders almost to her waistline already. It has been growing since she was born with only trims along the way to keep the ends healthy.

"You mean a trim, right? Like half an inch or so, right?" I said.

"Yeah, just enough to get the ends evened up," he said.

This morning begins for me with a 9 a.m. wakeup call from my ex. He knows that I was working late, that I am sick with a cold and am not due to pick Dana up until 10 a.m. but still he calls anyway, just to irritate me. It works. I am very irritated. He just loves to play these stupid games.

"We're ready to go," he says. "What time are you picking Dana up to take her to the walk in clinic and have her shoulder checked by a REAL doctor?"

From the background I hear Dana say, "Dad, it's my COLLARBONE and the guy in Mexico was a REAL doctor, and a cute one, too. Just ask mom." I end up picking Dana up about 20 minutes late and they are all in the driveway waiting to go. My ex's boss is not happy that I am late. (That would be his girlfriend, the woman I suspect is behind the idea of cutting Nova's hair).

Dana's time at the walk in clinic is short so I take her to the hair stylist's where I know Jerry and Nova will soon be. I check with my stylist and he says he can fit me in for a trim in about 45 minutes so I go make myself busy and come back.

When I walk in the shop my jaw hits the floor. Nova's hair is about six or eight inches shorter and the stylist is STRAIGHTENING it. Nova catches sight of me in the mirror and gives me her best see-what-a-good-girl-I-am smile and says, "See mommy, aren't I pretty?"

I make my best quick recovery and try to find something positive to say that isn't a lie.

"Yes, sweetie, you are beautiful." I say as gracefully as I can as I look at the pile of hair on the floor. "Very short but very glamorous."

Meanwhile I'm thinking, 'Oh my Lord! What the hell have they done to my beautiful child! Can we stick some of that back on!?'

Just then my stylist Franco touches my arm startling me. "Are you ready for your shampoo?" he asks. "Uh, yeah, oh yeah sure," I stammer as I follow him to the chair.

Then my ex hits me with the big one. "You're going to cover for this, right?" he says as he slips out of the shop with the girls.

So I paid for Nova's hair to be cut short and ugly so she can look just like every other five-year-old girl -- rather non-descript and much like my ex's girlfriend's five-year-old daughter.

Yes, I know it's only hair and it will eventually grow back. That four or so years of hair growth that they hacked off will grow back just about the time Nova outgrows cute and gets into pretty and well groomed instead of the wild mane of exploding hair she was so admired for.

So much for her getting off for being cute. Now she will have to aim for good little ordinary girl.

I guess the ex's girlfriend was tired of people saying how cute Nova is and forgetting about her ordinary child whining for attention. Now the two of them will be on evenly ordinary ground. I can also see where spending a lot of time with her dad, his girlfriend and their kids is going to be bad for Nova's self esteem.

2006-01-27T23:37:00.000-05:00

A short one today

I'b sick. Yuck and damn. I really wanted to go see Craig and Ed. I actually miss them and the gang at Loplop

Just a few words about some treasures I found while in Cuastecomate and a few pictures to illustrate them.

Treasure number one was found (initially with his or her tail intact) inside Fred's trailer hitch. The little sweetie was curled up and sleeping the afternoon away when Fred decided to hook up his trailer. When the skink was startled it up and ran away, leaving a piece of its tail behind.

He or she did let me get pretty close, though. I crept up and took a bunch of photos then gave him or her a pat on the head before he or she skittered away.

Then Dana discovered treasure number two, a young iguana, dozing in the afternoon shade on Fred's wall. That one was kind enough to pose for pictures until Fred called me for my dorado filleting lesson.

2006-01-26T13:26:00.000-05:00

I'm back

Yes, I made it back alive from the bowels of hell, pretty much alive anyway.

There were some very high points and some very low points with the Mexico trip.

I've decided to break up the journaling of the trip into several entries so I can post more pictures.

Let's start today with the highest point.

Three humpback whales.

Unfortunately I haven't got any of my own pictures of them to share with you because they dove beneath the blue-green sea before I could get a shot. Okay, I was struck motionless with the absolute awesome size and beauty of them. I couldn't have moved to get my camera let alone drawn a breath when I saw them break the surface. I did manage to find a few pictures pretty close to what I saw, though.

The first was far out from the bay of Cuastecomate and it was shortly after sunrise so far away that I could barely make out the silhouette of its tail on the horizon in the distance. Then suddenly the whole animal erupted from the water higher into the air and unmistakably a humpback whale.

The 20 HP Johnson outboard motor couldn't move the 17 foot aluminum boat very fast and we didn't get close to this one before it disappeared. As we motored out to sea we saw the whale breach a couple more times.

Later in our fishing trip we saw a humpback whale, or rather its tail, a few times in the bay at La Manzanilla. It seemed like the whale was playing with us. It would arch across the surface almost soundlessly, slipping beneath the waves before whomever saw it could point it out. First about 300 meters to the sea side of the boat, then about 400 metres behind us, then again somewhere around 200 metres to the front shore side of the boat. In total we spotted it at least six times in about an hour.

Once, I had a fish on my line and it was putting up a very good fight. Suddenly there was a really sharp tug on the line, sharp enough to nearly haul me out of the boat but short enough to give me time to recover before I got really wet. Then the line went totally slack. I thought it was another Dorado playing dead on me so I would give up and give him slack to break free so I kept reeling in the line. It came up with the lure intact and a little piece of a fish lip on it. Fred said that was weird and threw it back in the water for me to set.

I asked him if humpback whales eat dorados and he thought they may, since some of the younger dorado are about the right size. Not wanting to get caught by a whale while fishing for dorado, I snapped the safety belt on and checked to be sure it was secured to the boat before resetting my line.

Moments later the same line was hit by another fish and started spinning out. I wrestled it out of the holder just as Gerry and Fred started to holler and point behind me. I turned just in time to see the tails of two whales about 100 metres to the sea-side bow of our boat wave good-bye before they dove into the depths, not to surface near us again.

The fishing rod that I was barely holding on to suddenly stopped clicking and the lure started to sink. That was when I realized how quiet it was. Fred had cut the motor and lifted it out of the water. We gently drifted in the wake of the disappeared whales for a few minutes before Fred dropped the motor in the water and we wordlessly went back to setting the lines.

When we got back to shore and told everyone gathered there to greet us what we caught, the Mexican chef agreed with Nova who told me to fish when I am fishing and never mind the whales. Fred and Gerry laughed hard, telling them its pretty hard to do that.

2006-01-11T03:19:00.000-05:00

Okay, just one more entry before I leave in two hours.

I almost finished all my work and just have to pack the stuff I've gathered into its bags.

So much for sleep.

Hopefully I can sleep on the plane but that should be interesting with the girls along.

Maybe Dana will watch out for Nova and I while I watch the insides of my eyelids. They have lots of quiet things to do, too.

Finally, today (yesterday) I got to have a real conversation with Michele. She has been in the hospital for transfusions on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday then asleep most of the time after. She perked up a bit when I told her about the Webb family and says she thinks she would be okay enough for Claryssa to come over on Sunday along with Michele's pastor and his wife. She rather liked the idea.

Although it was often difficult to understand her and her thoughts wandered a lot, occasional rays of the Michele I know so well and love so much shone through and it was very reassuring to talk to her again. She managed to sustain a near hour long conversation.

Her husband promised to keep me informed of her progress through email while I am gone.

Time now to pack and go, although I still don't want to leave. Can you tell?

I will be checking my email from Mexico and may even post some pictures of the kids on the beach or something in the next two weeks.

Yeah, okay, I'm out a here.

2006-01-10T12:13:00.000-05:00

I LOVE the taste of toe jam

Just one more entry that has to be made before I leave.

It's good to eat my words.

The Webb family has a little band they call Webb Surround. They are Bill (Dad), Claryssa and Todd (son and daughter). Mom, Peggy, is the taxi, cheerleader, booking agent, and general all around support person.

Every year they busk at the Cambrian Mall and hold other functions to raise money for charity in addition to their paying gigs.

When I went to cover their donation to the soup kitchen, Peggy asked me how my Christmas was between songs. I told her it was pretty subdued because my friend is dying of cancer. She expressed her condolences and we went on to talk of other things. It wasn't particularly intense or anything but it was nice.

Just now, she called me to say that Webb Surround would like to raise money for the charity of Michele's choice and Claryssa would like to go play for Michele if she is up for it.

Unfortunately, Michele is not up for a serenade but Webb Surround will be raising money for the Cancer society to help me remember Michele.

So, even though some stories have a sad ending, they have happy moments made brighter by the generous spirits of folks like the Webb family.

2006-01-10T01:32:00.000-05:00

Time warps and charm bracelets

I want to know what it is that has the power to instantly transport a person 23 years into the past. I want to know so I can keep it from happening again. There's got to be a temporal shield or something out there that keeps me nailed down in the here and now.

This blog entry was supposed to be a rant about a petty woman who collects 'important' people like charms on a bracelet. It was supposed to be clever and talk about how she has this maddening habit of dropping names like it somehow makes her more important just by association.

I decided to watch a little TV before settling down to write my last blog before I leave for a few weeks. That's when I saw the gun and I remembered why I stopped watching TV a while ago. Avoidance is not actually a very good temporal shield. It just lulls you into a false sense of security so you are totally unprepared for the next time jump.

There you are, avoiding a lonely life by watching CSI or some other equally absorbing distraction when suddenly an image flashes on the screen and 'poof' its February 19, 1983 all over again and...… and I’m editing out the story of what happened to me because, if I could tell it, I wouldn't be telling it to you.

Little things are revealed. Tiny fragments of memory hang on a thread like charms dangling from a bracelet. Shiny little symbols bound to a chain of events.

The shiny little silver people on that woman's wrist glitter like the silver barrel of that Colt 45 in the moonlight. There are lessons here, if only I could grasp them. Somehow it's about betrayal. They both said they were friends of mine and turned on me in one way or another.

The charms on that woman’s bracelet remind her of who she would like to be and of who she would like people to see her as. They make me angry because they remind me of the day I died. No links clasp shiny silver people to me or ever will because I'm not really here. I really would rather have lived and loved like a normal person. I should have had that chance. I did nothing to deserve what he did to me.

That woman did nothing to deserve loyalty from the people charms she collects.

Michele did nothing to deserve to suffer and die like this.

There is truly no justice and no hope for mercy or compassion in this world. There are no happy endings and life is NOT beautiful.

Then again, maybe I’m just a brat child having a tantrum because that woman thought I was worth collecting then suddenly decided I wasn't and cut me off her bracelet like I was never even there. Maybe I'm just bitter about how many bracelets I've been cut off and about the fact that one of the very few bracelets I still cling to is leaving this world.

Or maybe I just want a bracelet of my own to love as if there were nothing bad in the world.

Maybe I will have good dreams again tonight. I hope so.

"Sweet dreams," is the nicest thing anyone can ever say to me.

2006-01-09T12:27:00.000-05:00

Dream interpretation

"Lecture: Communication. Sermons. Ready to hear or to say something important."

"Church: Big happiness. Being loved by God. Spiritual belief." "Night: Darkness. Mystery. Unconscious contents. There is a mystery that you want to penetrate."

"Winter: In this case is a cycle of disintegration and rest. It foretells happiness and financial gains."

"Car: Personal power. Ego."

"Driving: Work on energy and power. Looking for the desired destination."

"Hand: Capacity and competence. Expect big work ahead, meanwhile must take better care of own affairs."

"Friend: Joy and consolation. Aspect of self ready for integration."

"Telephone: Remote locations. Connection. Trying to reach someone or something." - Online Dream Dictionary.

He took me to a church for a lecture. I am ready to hear something important that will make me feel spiritual belief. He has something to do with it.

He drove my car at night in the winter. I have put him in the driver's seat of my ego and he is piloting it through the mystery. Only he knows what direction to take to penetrate the mystery and I must rest and regenerate while he drives. (Remind me not to let others drive my car in the future.)

He held my hand. A warning of something to be careful of. Also a suggestion of the coming mutual support of partners in hard work and great capacity.

My friend phoned. I'm ready to move on to another phase of personal development and am trying to reach someone, to make a connection with that person.

Okay. Now I'm really confused.

2006-01-09T10:29:00.000-05:00

Wishes do come true

Well they do in dreams, anyway. Last night I slept like a rock and dreamed the most wonderful wish fulfillment dream ever.

I went to dinner with him then we went to some sort of a forum in a weird church that was set up like a lecture hall. The place was pretty full and there were not two seats together anywhere so he sat in the bleachers up on the side and I snagged a nice seat on the floor.

My cell phone rang as people were still coming in so I answered it.

The caller was a friend and former editor, Sandra. She was telling me about a great story she was really excited about and I was surprised that she would tell me about it since I could easily get the story up on my news site before she could print it in her paper. But she was really excited about it so I just enjoyed the story from her and left it at that. It was cool that she wanted to share with me.

Shortly after the speaker started I noticed my guy's seat was empty. After about half an hour it was still empty but I wasn't particularly worried about it. After about three hours I started to wonder where he went. Just before the last speaker wound up he was back in his seat.

Unfortunately, I don't remember what the speakers were talking about I just remember that it was very interesting.

My guy and I left in my car. He drove. It was a dark, winter night but warm and cozy in the car with him.

"Where did you go?" I asked him.

"I had to go out to the shop and do something, it took forever on the bus."

"You should have let me know, I would have driven you over there."

"Over half and hour each way and wait for me while I'm there, that's too much to ask."

"Not at all. I would love to spend an hour and a half trapped in a car with you any time," I said with a little laugh as I nudged his leg with my hand.

Before I could pull my hand away, he covered it with his, holding it gently on the seat between us.

"I just wanted to thank you for a perfect evening," I told him as I entwined my fingers in his. "I really enjoyed my time with you a lot."

I looked at him, he smiled his heart-melting, head-spinning, happy-to-his-toes smile and gave my hand a squeeze before letting it go to turn a corner.

Dreams like that make me actually want to sleep more. It's wonderful to have such a supportive and compassionate dream lover and a dream best friend who is alive and well.

Right now, I wish I could go back to bed.

2006-01-09T01:17:00.000-05:00

Today's thought

Things we do not expect, happen more frequently than we wish. -- Plautus

My eyes are shut tight and I am fully NOT expecting the man I love to kiss me today. Fingers are crossed. Toes are crossed. Breath is held as I do NOT expect him to kiss me.

Okay, the diet pills are kicking in and I can't sleep. I've moved all my furniture, washed and waxed my floors, its 1:20 a.m. and it's really very sad. Although I won't be thin enough to have fun in Mexico, hope remains that some day I may be thin enough to attract his attention.

ROTFLMAO!!!!!!!!!! Ha ha ha ha

Yeah, like that will EVER happen.

Whew, maybe I should just have fun with my life as it is. He probably snores like a cat in heat howling for some lovin' anyway.

Nah, that second pillow is staying in the basement and I'm sharpening my own knives until my last breath is drawn. Good enough for me.

Tomorrow I'll be taking the last daily dose of diet pills a lot earlier in the day and trying harder NOT to think about Michele.

She is so much on my mind I'm beginning to lose it... okay, continuing to lose it, maybe just in a different direction.

Nope, I still DON'T want to go to Mexico but we're nearly ready.

2006-01-08T10:10:00.000-05:00

←The real inner me

(or parts of what I aught to have been at some time in my life but am beyond hoping for, now)

Still nothing good to write but a few things that need to be written.

This is a very bad time to go, but I am leaving for two weeks of hell with Michele still barely hanging on.

I'm wishing to stay home but my family would disown me -- both kids and parents. They are all that is left now and as much as I hate the things they expect from me, I have to go. Some day I may need someone to go pick up things for me at the store or something.

The plan for Mexico is to wear tents and stay just drunk enough to not to spoil it for anyone else. That, and to work on a better list of excuses of why I can't go back again. That will be fine though, since Dana is almost old enough to just take Nova down there without me. They can be put off for a few more winters until the girls can travel without me. My parents don't really care if I'm there or not, anyway. They just want to spend time with my kids.

It would be the best if I could just replace myself with a cheerful stunt double who is full of confidence and a totally unconditional joy of living. Then, I could stay home with my dog, big black clothes and computer while she goes to the beach every day to swim in the ocean, work on her tan and makes sure everyone has a great time.

Unfortunately, there isn't anyone who could look like me and feel that way. Well, time to stop procrastinating with this stupid blog and do what needs to be done to go.

Now, where DID I put that home liposuction kit, anyway?

2006-01-01T00:32:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year

I spent the start of 2006 driving in my car.

With a deeply empowered feeling of self-reliance and independence, I split the scene at Loplop about 11:30 just to make sure I wouldn't be there for the humiliating 'kiss everyone around you' thing at midnight. I knew about five people in the bar and didn't want to kiss any of them.

So, next year I am staying home. I am keeping my kids at home and staying there with them, no matter how much better their father and his girlfriend are at that whole family thing.

I let them stay at their dad's this year so I could go out to work. The assignment was to visit a few bars and get pictures of people having fun on New Years Eve. The Downbeat was closed. I wasn't going to go into the River Rock or Foggy Notions, especially not alone. That left Loplop and Docks. Dave said he was going to do Docks so I checked out Loplop, although I was told not to come back with only pictures of that place because I had just done a story from there a few days ago.

But, that's where I found Robbie, the cartoonist. At least I got a story for later out of the evening so it wasn't a total waste of makeup. I'll use the photo and interview as an advancer for his upcoming book launch.

I also decided to take a picture of myself because I am not likely to be wearing a skirt or a belt again any time soon, and definitely NOT with white print on it. The picture, the skirt and going out were all HUGE mistakes.

Holy ugly woman!

This will be my before picture and there won't be any more pictures of me until I've lost at least 30 pounds and hacked off those freakishly huge boobs. Nope, sorry Les, no pictures of me in Mexico and most certainly no pictures of me in a bathing suit. I really can't believe how disgustingly HUGE I am and why do my friends try to tell me otherwise? Do they not realize I own a mirror?

I could afford to be fat if I were some sort of cute, smart, clever, talented or something but I'm none of those. What I am is grotesquely matronly. Ugh, it's true. Curse of all curses. I am matronly. Fat, dull, ordinary and uninteresting.

That's it for this stupid blog, too.

When I actually have something worth writing, I will. Until then I'll be starving myself and working out.

2005-12-31T16:54:00.000-05:00

Best-laid Mayhem

I can't reach Michele again. My skin is still trying to take one full step to the left without me every time the phone rings.

This entry is about New Year's resolutions, though.

This year, I wasn't going to make any because I never keep them, but instead decided to get extreme. Sort of an 'aim high so you don't shoot yourself in the foot' idea.

Resolutions for 2006

Relationships

- I will focus my attention on my children completely when they are home and save work for when they are gone.

- I will abandon all hope of ever being loved by a man or finding a partner in this lifetime. The second pillow stays in the basement.

- I will renew and cultivate my friendships that I have let languish while taking time to pursue a man who will never want me.

Home

- I will clean my whole house every night before going to sleep – walls, floors, fish, everything -- even though no one is coming over.

- I will paint my house this spring -- properly. Some idiot put latex over oil paint in here.

- I will build enough bookshelves to hold ALL my books.

- I will clean out all the closets, giving away all the clothes that don't fit, fixing the ones that are damaged and ditching every stitch of colour in my wardrobe. All black clothes for me. Only black for this lumpy body.

- I will conquer clutter for once and for all. No more damaged CDs kept for some-day projects. No more stacks of papers waiting to be filed. No more boxes of old bathroom stuff in the basement.

- I will shovel the driveway to the pavement all winter, every day.

- I will cut the grass to a perfect four inch length, every day all summer.

- I will prune the lilac and rowan trees in my front yard this spring and plant a vegetable garden.

Diet and exercise

- No food shall pass my lips (one way) until I am a size two.

- I will work out 40 minutes every day, including Pilates, aerobics and anything that makes me fall on my face with exhaustion until I am a size two and beyond (maintenance).

- I will save every penny, nickel and dime until I have enough money for a boob and belly job.

- I will then save the rest of my money for a face lift.

- I will make my body what it needs to be so that, maybe, I can love it enough to be loved.

Well, I think that about finishes both feet off. They seem to be shot full of holes before I even get started on 2006.

Now I think I'll go look for something positive to write in my blog and try calling Michele again.

One thing for sure, with all this positive energy emanating from me, it's no surprise that men are just lining up around the corner to spend time with me.

Okay, enough wallowing in self-pity. Time to take hold of life and make some serious and positive changes. Starting tomorrow!

Happy and safe New Year to everyone!

2005-12-30T01:28:00.000-05:00

A moment's insight is sometimes worth a life's experience. -- Oliver Wendell Holmes

Tonight's insight: Cookies would have only made me more fat and even less attractive. If that's possible.

But, on the other hand, although I didn't get the unattainable chocolate chip cookie I've been dreaming about for over two years, I did get a little taste of some oatmeal raisin that was surprisingly good.

Above, you can see some of the good stuff from that cookie at 12 Musicians of Christmas in Loplop Lounge and Gallery last night.

There were, however, moments when thoughts of Michele drove into me like a dagger between the eyes but mostly things were nice, light and wholesome. Just what I needed and, in my present frame of mind, chocolate chip would have been too sweet, anyway.

Speaking of sweet, Catherine (the pretty guitar player) has given me a lovely project to keep me occupied for a day or two. It will be fun and may even score me a free dinner with some compassionate, intelligent and sweet company as well. That is sure to take my mind off other things for a much needed break.

For now, every time the phone rings, I jump out of my skin.

I've also decided to put the second pillow from my bed in the basement and close the door on it for ever -- or at least until I need it for the sofa. It isn't going back on my bed, anyway. There is one man and only one man that I want to be with and that will never happen, so, oh well - that's that. Done. No more chocolate chip cookies for me.

2005-12-29T11:33:00.000-05:00

Cookies

I feel your support and I thank you all for it.

Last night Michele managed to wake up and talk to me for a very short time. She sounds far away.

She said she went to the hospital for some procedures and it didn't go well.

Everything seems like a dream right now.

My kids have gone back to their dad's so I can work but that isn't going well either. I have to try to pull myself together for tonight.

I told people I would be there.

Okay, truth be told, I need to be there. I'm not sure why but I just feel like its a ritual I have to do.

There isn't likely to be anyone there who cares if I make it or not and part of the reason I have to go is to remind myself that they don't care and to just give it one more shot. One of those 'Life goes on' things.

It's a ritual.

Like sleeping with two pillows on my bed.

Like Michele and I hitting the mall before going out.

It's just something that is supposed to be done. Like a dog sitting for a reward. The thing is, sometimes you get a cookie, sometimes you don't. You just have to keep sitting on command in hopes that this will be the time you get a cookie.

Most times Michele and I went out there was a cookie of one sort or another involved. When we stayed in there were plenty of cookies. Even when James painted the furniture, even when Sparky died there were cookies.

If nothing else, there was another shared experience in our memory bank, more smiles, tears and sarcastic digs shared. Us against the world. Anyone who didn't care about us wasn't worth a second thought.

Soon it will be just me.

Memory of time shared is not the same as her voice on the phone when I really need to talk to someone. Her ring on my finger is not even a fraction of what I need from her. It is almost a betrayal of my desire for more time with her in this world at my side.

Maybe if I don't wear the jewelry, she will stay.

But that isn't fair, either. It's selfish and stupid. She is suffering so much and is almost ready to leave.

I'm putting the pillow in the closet right now.

If I go to Loplop tonight, I will go with no expectations. I will simply take things as they are, take some pictures, ask some questions and go home to my empty house with things as they are really supposed to be.

Yes, Joan, I agree. The love you give is the love you take.

I still love her and I want her to have peace. Her peace is more valuable to me than my own.

I still love him and I want him to be happy. His happiness is more valuable to me than my own.

Neither her peace nor his happiness lies with me.

Are there any cookies in the jar for me?

2005-12-28T00:34:00.000-05:00

I keep two pillows on my bed

Michele asks me if I would ever consider getting back with Jerry, or if I regret leaving him.

I laugh before I say, "NO, no and not in this lifetime!"

That is obviously the wrong answer.

Then she asks if I am happy with Lyle.

"Who? Oh, what's his name who's never around, never on line and doesn't have a phone," I say. "Yeah, he's perfect for me. Sort of the Goddess' version of retribution for me screwing up at love so many times."

Obviously that is a wrong answer, too.

Michele has this way of cutting to the point, no matter how many squishy layers of vital organs it's hidden under. I think that's why I sort of let work/school/kids and not being able to walk take me away from her these past few years. I knew that I would always disappoint her and that hurt because she is so me.

That's how she knows how to find the point, under all that blood and guts. She has the same one.

Maybe more of us have that point than I am realizing right now.

After a few seconds with her eyes closed to wait for the pain to subside, she looks me in the eye with that look. The Michele-look. The one that goes through you, all your ancestors and at least seven generations of your offspring yet to come.

"You know, dear, I love you," she says.

I brace myself.

"So I just want you to know that you've always thought less of yourself than you really are. If you could just see yourself the way I see you..."

'What?' I think. 'As a spinster cuddling with my dog every night while watching the fire on channel 17 and reading a 'good' book until I fall asleep on the sofa?'

"I wish you could see how really smart and beautiful you are."

'Uh huh, there are a few other people in this world I would like you to talk to,' I think. 'Maybe if they... if he... then I...' as two years of the damage wrought by unrequited love flashes through my mind like a trout in a stream of consciousness.

I'm trying not to cry as I look at her. She is barely half alive in that body with her legs like two pieces of wood and her broken arm cradled against her in a sling. Really, only her head, left arm and torso are sort of working. (But she is still knitting and trying to take care of me - as always, driven to create and to nurture.)

Her eyes are the same, though. So huge. So beautiful. So seeing. And she is seeing that there is still much for her to do in this world and no time to do it.

"You know, this shouldn't be happening to me," she says, as her eyebrows lift and her eyes fill with tears.

That's too much for me. I break down. So much for being strong and 'helping' my friend.

"You're so right! In so many ways. And I am so going to miss you. Please don't go!" I wail.

"Yeah, like I have a choice," Michele says as she wipes a tear away. "I just want you to remember me, as I really am. Me, inside."

"Trust me, sweetest. No one who has ever known you could ever forget you."

So, that's what this is about.

It's about remembering Michele and it's about remembering what she says to me, what she means to me and what I need to do about it. This is my stab at writing it down so that later, when the job/kids/loneliness starts to take me away from it, I will remember and get back on track.

So what do two pillows have to do with Michele?

She knows, as well as I know, that I have a lot of love to give. That I am not supposed to be alone. She knows, without me even telling her, that I keep two pillows on my bed to keep a spot for someone. Just in case.

I would be so happy to hear the man I love (whom ever he may turn out to be) snoring beside me every night for the rest of my life. I would be happy to fetch a blanket from the closet because he keeps stealing the one we are supposed to share. Just to have him there would make it all okay.

Well, it would be okay until he started chewing with his mouth open or making little grunting noises while he ate. Then I would probably have to smack him upside the head before going out to buy a book and some doggy treats.

Michele probably knows as well as I do, that I will be alone for the rest of my life.

It shouldn't be that way any more than she should die so young.

Michele says, "what can we do to change it?"

What I intend to do is keep two pillows on my bed, call her every day until she is gone and write notes to myself in my blog so I don't forget.

But then, Michele whispers to me, as I am about to leave, "Sometimes, I wish it would be all over. That I could just die. I haven't seen the sun in so long. I can't even get out of this chair."

And I think that maybe I should put that second pillow away and get on with things as they are because, really, I am utterly helpless to change anything.

*******************************
Post-note

I wish that I could love me even half as much as I love her. That would make her happy before she dies and that's all I really want.

It may even help me find love in this world before I die.

But, really, should be me on that chair instead of her. I truly suck at life.

And, one last thing for tonight... I will never have a recliner in my house, not even for love.