There are certain things...very whimsical things...that will never cease to make me smile.
Tonight I smiled because I heard a clip of Make Someone Happy by Jimmy Durante. If you haven't heard it, or at least haven't heard it for a while, go YouTube it. Jimmy Durante was an amazing talent, and he interprets that song in a way that makes you just feel good about love.
Goodnight, Mr. Durante, wherever you are...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
November 29/12
There was a moment this evening, on the bus, when I found that I was totally anonymous.
I wear sunglasses, yes, even in the dark, because I have a dry eye condition, and they help shield my eyes from the cold air. I will frequently been seen wearing them at work, on the bus, in malls, cars (under the safest conditions), and while I have gotten curious looks in the past for wearing sunglasses at night indoors before, it's not often that they somehow act as an invisible shield, rendering me outside of the vision of most everyone around me.
It was all at once safe and familiar, and disheartening and spooky. Safe and familiar because I miss being able to disappear into a faceless crowd and not run across a person I've ever seen before, as I did in big cities; disheartening because it means I've become wallpaper in the eyes of so many strangers, allowing for anything to happen to me with little notice.
You'd think a young woman in sunglasses on a bus in the dark, cold evening would draw a raised eyebrow at least.
Disappearing act...
...Wish you were here.
I wear sunglasses, yes, even in the dark, because I have a dry eye condition, and they help shield my eyes from the cold air. I will frequently been seen wearing them at work, on the bus, in malls, cars (under the safest conditions), and while I have gotten curious looks in the past for wearing sunglasses at night indoors before, it's not often that they somehow act as an invisible shield, rendering me outside of the vision of most everyone around me.
It was all at once safe and familiar, and disheartening and spooky. Safe and familiar because I miss being able to disappear into a faceless crowd and not run across a person I've ever seen before, as I did in big cities; disheartening because it means I've become wallpaper in the eyes of so many strangers, allowing for anything to happen to me with little notice.
You'd think a young woman in sunglasses on a bus in the dark, cold evening would draw a raised eyebrow at least.
Disappearing act...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
November 28/12
As petty as this sounds, today, I was vindicated.
There has been this task at work that I've resisted doing, despite my manager's insistence, because, if you know me at all, I don't like to waste my time, especially in pursuits that I consider to be tantamount to reinventing the wheel. I've been pushed to do this task even though I haven't wanted to because while I might advocate for a particular thing, I've learned by now that the direction comes from the top down, not from the bottom up; why waste my time (when I have so many other projects related to this file that need my attention) working on something that I know I've already done in one format which will not likely be the direction senior management will want to go in. I've done my job by researching, developing, and presented the options; let the decision-makers pick based on what I've provided.
Today an unrelated situation finally occurred that spurred a meeting on this project, and the options preferred were not the ones I would have thought would sell. Had I gone ahead and done the work my manager wanted me to do, I would have had to start over again almost entirely. I don't mean to be obstinate at all; I just feel that my time would be better spent if I get the proper direction and then start. As a policy analyst, sometimes I need to lead, other times, I need to seek direction. My strength lies in my ability to know when are the times to lead and when are the times to follow direction.
Tomorrow, I'll feel alright because I'll go in to work and start working in earnest on this project, knowing where I should be going with it, instead of feeling resentful because I started the work already and it turned out to be not what I should have done.
Trust in my process...
...Wish you were here.
There has been this task at work that I've resisted doing, despite my manager's insistence, because, if you know me at all, I don't like to waste my time, especially in pursuits that I consider to be tantamount to reinventing the wheel. I've been pushed to do this task even though I haven't wanted to because while I might advocate for a particular thing, I've learned by now that the direction comes from the top down, not from the bottom up; why waste my time (when I have so many other projects related to this file that need my attention) working on something that I know I've already done in one format which will not likely be the direction senior management will want to go in. I've done my job by researching, developing, and presented the options; let the decision-makers pick based on what I've provided.
Today an unrelated situation finally occurred that spurred a meeting on this project, and the options preferred were not the ones I would have thought would sell. Had I gone ahead and done the work my manager wanted me to do, I would have had to start over again almost entirely. I don't mean to be obstinate at all; I just feel that my time would be better spent if I get the proper direction and then start. As a policy analyst, sometimes I need to lead, other times, I need to seek direction. My strength lies in my ability to know when are the times to lead and when are the times to follow direction.
Tomorrow, I'll feel alright because I'll go in to work and start working in earnest on this project, knowing where I should be going with it, instead of feeling resentful because I started the work already and it turned out to be not what I should have done.
Trust in my process...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
November 27/12
Oh wow, time flies.
While I was cleaning out my papers in the office on Sunday, I came across my PhD application documents and I realized that it's about that time for me to get moving on my applications this year. Which means it's time to re-tool my proposed thesis work because if there's one thing I do know, it's that there are few options available in Canada for studying end-of-life decisions.
Back in 1994, Russel Ogden, a MA Criminology student at Simon Fraser University (one of my alma maters) was studying assisted suicide among persons suffering from HIV/AIDS, and his ethics proposal noted he offered his informants absolute confidentiality. His research and thesis proceeded, but once it was done, he became the first researcher in Canada to be subpoenaed by the Coroner because they wanted to know what he knew about a death. He refused to testify, and was eventually vindicated, but not before the SFU administration and ethics committee virtually abandoned him.
Since that time, the ethics committees have come to be guided by, in my opinion, a fairly conservative Tri-Council policy which scares most supervisors away from supervising students wanting to look at assisted suicide or medically hastened death in Canada. I know this because I originally proposed a Master's capstone project on the issue and was adamantly warned off it by my supervisor. Instead I went with organ donation rates in Canada.
Now, in light of the BC court decision in the Taylor case, what is really needed is academic study into the policy development and implications of a right to die law. I just have serious doubts that the academic world is prepared to move ahead and catch up with public opinion on this one, which is no better than the refusal of politicians to address the issue. Without proper study, the issue will never be adequately addressed, and poor policy could result from the dearth of academic, peer-reviewed study.
But I'll keep trying.
Determination...
...Wish you were here.
While I was cleaning out my papers in the office on Sunday, I came across my PhD application documents and I realized that it's about that time for me to get moving on my applications this year. Which means it's time to re-tool my proposed thesis work because if there's one thing I do know, it's that there are few options available in Canada for studying end-of-life decisions.
Back in 1994, Russel Ogden, a MA Criminology student at Simon Fraser University (one of my alma maters) was studying assisted suicide among persons suffering from HIV/AIDS, and his ethics proposal noted he offered his informants absolute confidentiality. His research and thesis proceeded, but once it was done, he became the first researcher in Canada to be subpoenaed by the Coroner because they wanted to know what he knew about a death. He refused to testify, and was eventually vindicated, but not before the SFU administration and ethics committee virtually abandoned him.
Since that time, the ethics committees have come to be guided by, in my opinion, a fairly conservative Tri-Council policy which scares most supervisors away from supervising students wanting to look at assisted suicide or medically hastened death in Canada. I know this because I originally proposed a Master's capstone project on the issue and was adamantly warned off it by my supervisor. Instead I went with organ donation rates in Canada.
Now, in light of the BC court decision in the Taylor case, what is really needed is academic study into the policy development and implications of a right to die law. I just have serious doubts that the academic world is prepared to move ahead and catch up with public opinion on this one, which is no better than the refusal of politicians to address the issue. Without proper study, the issue will never be adequately addressed, and poor policy could result from the dearth of academic, peer-reviewed study.
But I'll keep trying.
Determination...
...Wish you were here.
November 26/12
I hate when people try to pardon a crime by lessening its severity when compared to another situation.
Okay, by now, most people are aware that Rob Ford was found to have contravened the civic act on conflict of interest, and the judge has ordered his removal from office in 14 days. This all stems back to his use of city letterhead to solicit donors for his football foundation. The magic dollar figure here is $3,150. He was warned not once, not twice, but seven times to repay the money by the Integrity Commissioner. He did not, and instead, he stupidly chose to not only speak to a motion before city council about whether he could keep the money and not pay it back, he voted on the motion.
His legal defense was pathetic ("I didn't read the act, so I didn't know I was contravening it), and the judge rightly busted his balls, citing that time-tested adage that ignorance is not a defense...especially given that Ford swore he would carry out the duties and responsibilities required by a city councilor and mayor four times. All of this is just fodder for this post, because my real beef is that John Stall, a so-called "political commentator" on 680 News radio in Toronto went on City TV News tonight and defended Ford by arguing that "$3,150 is not a lot of money, hey, at least he's not the Mayor of Montreal who did worse!"
Descriptive Moral Relativism at its most pathetic.
Yes, let's teach our kids and normalize this idea that a political figure contravening a legal act to ensure a more fair and accountable system to citizens is okay when it's only for a little bit of money instead of a lot.
The fact is that both mayors committed acts that contravened the conflict of interest act. It's irrelevant that one did so for so little money.
So to you John Stall, on a day when there are plenty of stupid things said and heard, especially in reference to this case...to you I award the win for the "Pull Your Head Out Of Your Ass And Stop Being An Idiot" Moment of the Day.
Less stupidity in the world...
...Wish you were here.
Okay, by now, most people are aware that Rob Ford was found to have contravened the civic act on conflict of interest, and the judge has ordered his removal from office in 14 days. This all stems back to his use of city letterhead to solicit donors for his football foundation. The magic dollar figure here is $3,150. He was warned not once, not twice, but seven times to repay the money by the Integrity Commissioner. He did not, and instead, he stupidly chose to not only speak to a motion before city council about whether he could keep the money and not pay it back, he voted on the motion.
His legal defense was pathetic ("I didn't read the act, so I didn't know I was contravening it), and the judge rightly busted his balls, citing that time-tested adage that ignorance is not a defense...especially given that Ford swore he would carry out the duties and responsibilities required by a city councilor and mayor four times. All of this is just fodder for this post, because my real beef is that John Stall, a so-called "political commentator" on 680 News radio in Toronto went on City TV News tonight and defended Ford by arguing that "$3,150 is not a lot of money, hey, at least he's not the Mayor of Montreal who did worse!"
Descriptive Moral Relativism at its most pathetic.
Yes, let's teach our kids and normalize this idea that a political figure contravening a legal act to ensure a more fair and accountable system to citizens is okay when it's only for a little bit of money instead of a lot.
The fact is that both mayors committed acts that contravened the conflict of interest act. It's irrelevant that one did so for so little money.
So to you John Stall, on a day when there are plenty of stupid things said and heard, especially in reference to this case...to you I award the win for the "Pull Your Head Out Of Your Ass And Stop Being An Idiot" Moment of the Day.
Less stupidity in the world...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
November 25/12
I really hate Sundays. Sundays are chore days, when all the stuff we ignore or don't have time for during the week has to get done, and today was no exception. The laundry was piling up, the kitchen needed cleaning, the dishes needed washing, the cats needed fresh litter, the recycling had to be taken out, and as if that wasn't enough, Etienne's been after me to deal with the pile of filing and such in the office.
So after traipsing up and down to the basement with a grand total of six loads of laundry and all the other fun stuff (Etienne did the recycling), I had to mentally prepare myself for the office. The stack was small, only over a foot high, and much of it was already sorted, but wow...such a pain in the ass. And it's actually such back-breaking work because you have to sort and up and down and file and lift. Eventually I managed to whittle it all down to what fits in a large shoe box, and I told Etienne that he'd have to wait until I did my annual file clean-up in January for the rest. My back was too cranky to continue. And so was I.
Sundays suck...
...Wish you were here.
So after traipsing up and down to the basement with a grand total of six loads of laundry and all the other fun stuff (Etienne did the recycling), I had to mentally prepare myself for the office. The stack was small, only over a foot high, and much of it was already sorted, but wow...such a pain in the ass. And it's actually such back-breaking work because you have to sort and up and down and file and lift. Eventually I managed to whittle it all down to what fits in a large shoe box, and I told Etienne that he'd have to wait until I did my annual file clean-up in January for the rest. My back was too cranky to continue. And so was I.
Sundays suck...
...Wish you were here.
November 24/12
Tonight, I did something out of the ordinary.
I went to an art auction.
With Etienne staying home, I was finally free of my near-constant monitoring of the cats since Thursday night, so I got dressed up and went to the Odawa Friendship Centre with Maureen and Sayyedya, where they fed up and entertained us (If the guy in the costume asks if he should invite the ducks to his wigwam, yell 'NO'...it's just a gateway to duck homicides), and finally, they turned a room full of people loose with bidding cards and sold some Aboriginal art.
To be blunt, Max's situation has put me in debt by a lot, so I had no money to spare for art, and even if I did, much of what was on auction was not at all to my taste. So my attempts at bidding on the few items I might have been interested were quickly bested, and I settled in to just watching what happened around me.
At the end of the night, my companions snagged some pieces, and I nearly walked out empty-handed, *Until* the door prizes began. I won an APTN mug. Why can't I have that kind of luck when something big is on the line like trips, cash prizes, or electronics?
Cursed...
...Wish you were here.
I went to an art auction.
With Etienne staying home, I was finally free of my near-constant monitoring of the cats since Thursday night, so I got dressed up and went to the Odawa Friendship Centre with Maureen and Sayyedya, where they fed up and entertained us (If the guy in the costume asks if he should invite the ducks to his wigwam, yell 'NO'...it's just a gateway to duck homicides), and finally, they turned a room full of people loose with bidding cards and sold some Aboriginal art.
To be blunt, Max's situation has put me in debt by a lot, so I had no money to spare for art, and even if I did, much of what was on auction was not at all to my taste. So my attempts at bidding on the few items I might have been interested were quickly bested, and I settled in to just watching what happened around me.
At the end of the night, my companions snagged some pieces, and I nearly walked out empty-handed, *Until* the door prizes began. I won an APTN mug. Why can't I have that kind of luck when something big is on the line like trips, cash prizes, or electronics?
Cursed...
...Wish you were here.
November 23/12
Today I worked from home again, and between the dentist appointment that left my mouth feeling like it had been the victim of a multiple stabbing, the cats behaving rather badly (Purrball's aggression continues, Max tries to lick himself), and my manager's endless revisions to a work product she's already revised, this has been a most aggravating day that I'd just as soon forget.
At one point in the afternoon, I went on a mini-strike. I threw a movie on and just let myself chill out before I attempted to address the work situation. It seems that my experience and expertise count for little when someone new to the program tries way too hard to make it their own. I get that a new team means that people will want to make some changes, but when I have to spend a lot more of my time explaining why change X, Y and Z are not advisable, I feel like I'm losing the battle.
Meh.
Patience...
...Wish you were here.
At one point in the afternoon, I went on a mini-strike. I threw a movie on and just let myself chill out before I attempted to address the work situation. It seems that my experience and expertise count for little when someone new to the program tries way too hard to make it their own. I get that a new team means that people will want to make some changes, but when I have to spend a lot more of my time explaining why change X, Y and Z are not advisable, I feel like I'm losing the battle.
Meh.
Patience...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
November 22/12
Last night, as I was settling Max back in with us, I got some sad news, and it still weighs on me today.
My ex's sister sent me a message to let me know that their Auntie Margaret had died. All I know is that she had heart problems, and the cause of death was a massive heart attack. My heart jumped into my throat, remembering that awful day when the same cause of death took Rod and Marie's father, Harry.
When it's sudden like that, you feel such shock. It's not like cancer or some slow, lingering health issue, and you're given no time to consider the possibility or prepare yourself a great deal. Those left behind have to struggle through dealing with the instant change to their lives forever.
Hug a loved one today.
Rest in peace, Margaret...
...Wish you were here.
My ex's sister sent me a message to let me know that their Auntie Margaret had died. All I know is that she had heart problems, and the cause of death was a massive heart attack. My heart jumped into my throat, remembering that awful day when the same cause of death took Rod and Marie's father, Harry.
When it's sudden like that, you feel such shock. It's not like cancer or some slow, lingering health issue, and you're given no time to consider the possibility or prepare yourself a great deal. Those left behind have to struggle through dealing with the instant change to their lives forever.
Hug a loved one today.
Rest in peace, Margaret...
...Wish you were here.
November 21/12
Max Update:
We brought him home :)
He's recuperating beautifully, and the final vet bill was shaved down by $1000 because he responded so well to everything.
He has to wear an Elizabethan collar, which if you follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook, you've seen. Poor little guy, but I want to give him a few days so he learns to leave the scar site alone. It hasn't been all sunshine and roses though, as Purrball's been very aggressive toward him since he arrived back home. I gather that the unfamiliar smells of the vet hospital upsets her, and she's been alone for two days, so we're going to have to work our way through that.
But since he's been home, we've had a chance to just sit on the couch, and he's gingerly climbed up and settled on my lap. Normally, I get no love from him, as he absolutely *LAVISHES* it solely on Etienne, but true to form, when my baby boy is sick/hurting, it's his mummy he wants.
My strong, gutsy little baby boy on my lap...
...Wish you were here.
We brought him home :)
He's recuperating beautifully, and the final vet bill was shaved down by $1000 because he responded so well to everything.
He has to wear an Elizabethan collar, which if you follow me on Twitter or are friends with me on Facebook, you've seen. Poor little guy, but I want to give him a few days so he learns to leave the scar site alone. It hasn't been all sunshine and roses though, as Purrball's been very aggressive toward him since he arrived back home. I gather that the unfamiliar smells of the vet hospital upsets her, and she's been alone for two days, so we're going to have to work our way through that.
But since he's been home, we've had a chance to just sit on the couch, and he's gingerly climbed up and settled on my lap. Normally, I get no love from him, as he absolutely *LAVISHES* it solely on Etienne, but true to form, when my baby boy is sick/hurting, it's his mummy he wants.
My strong, gutsy little baby boy on my lap...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
November 20/12
My day yesterday has sort of melded with today into one loooooooonnng day.
We went to bed, but the vet called at 2:30 this morning to let us know that Max did indeed have bladder stones, 8 or 9 of them. If it had to be something, this was the best case scenario, and the stones could be surgically removed and with a properly Ph balanced diet, Max could avoid a recurrence, and make a good recovery. The vet said all of his levels and kidney functions looked alright, and he made it through the sedation very well, he was up, he was eating, and he was doing much better.
Our next challenge was to arrange the surgery to remove the stones. Suddenly, the estimate for Max's care doubled. At 3 am, this is nothing short of a kick to the gut. Suddenly the scary $2000 turned into a daunting $4000. For a cat? Yes. The rub of it is that these places know we love our pets like children, and they can commit highway robbery because of it.
Max is too old to be covered by any reputable pet insurer, so I basically had to agree to give away all my money until next spring, but it had to be done. Max had his surgery this afternoon, and he came through pretty well.
Assuming there are no complications, my baby boy should be home tomorrow night. After all, the little guy has survived so much and come out alright, so...keep hoping.
My baby boy...
...Wish you were here.
We went to bed, but the vet called at 2:30 this morning to let us know that Max did indeed have bladder stones, 8 or 9 of them. If it had to be something, this was the best case scenario, and the stones could be surgically removed and with a properly Ph balanced diet, Max could avoid a recurrence, and make a good recovery. The vet said all of his levels and kidney functions looked alright, and he made it through the sedation very well, he was up, he was eating, and he was doing much better.
Our next challenge was to arrange the surgery to remove the stones. Suddenly, the estimate for Max's care doubled. At 3 am, this is nothing short of a kick to the gut. Suddenly the scary $2000 turned into a daunting $4000. For a cat? Yes. The rub of it is that these places know we love our pets like children, and they can commit highway robbery because of it.
Max is too old to be covered by any reputable pet insurer, so I basically had to agree to give away all my money until next spring, but it had to be done. Max had his surgery this afternoon, and he came through pretty well.
Assuming there are no complications, my baby boy should be home tomorrow night. After all, the little guy has survived so much and come out alright, so...keep hoping.
My baby boy...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, November 19, 2012
November 19/12
This has been an awful evening.
When we got home, there was a massive pile of solid kitty puke. Within a minute, we recognized something was wrong with Max. He was staying away from us, he was hunched over like he was trying to poo, and his belly was so rigid.
I found the closest 24 hour vet hospital, called a cab, and took him in, hoping it was just constipation.
It's not. My poor baby boy has an obstruction, and he can't pee. Whatever this is, it wasn't causing a problem even yesterday, as he was eating normally and behaving as normally as he does on a lazy Sunday. We're hoping it's a build-up of crystals in his bladder, but while they are putting in a catheter to drain the bladder, they will do x-rays and urinalysis to see if there's a different, more serious cause.
While meeting with the vet, she was cautious, as she noted that he is 15 and a half years old; older cats are at risk when put under anesthesia, especially if they are not stable. I was in shock and crying a lot, but I couldn't make that call yet. If Max passes away during the procedure, so be it; but to make the call when this might be something like crystals, which can be flushed and removed, and fully recovered from...well I had to wait to see. If it's a tumor (another awful possibility), the decision is made. Max will be put to sleep.
The worst part is leaving the hospital, so uncertain and scared of losing my baby boy. He's a strong, happy little boy.
Max...
...Wish you were here.
When we got home, there was a massive pile of solid kitty puke. Within a minute, we recognized something was wrong with Max. He was staying away from us, he was hunched over like he was trying to poo, and his belly was so rigid.
I found the closest 24 hour vet hospital, called a cab, and took him in, hoping it was just constipation.
It's not. My poor baby boy has an obstruction, and he can't pee. Whatever this is, it wasn't causing a problem even yesterday, as he was eating normally and behaving as normally as he does on a lazy Sunday. We're hoping it's a build-up of crystals in his bladder, but while they are putting in a catheter to drain the bladder, they will do x-rays and urinalysis to see if there's a different, more serious cause.
While meeting with the vet, she was cautious, as she noted that he is 15 and a half years old; older cats are at risk when put under anesthesia, especially if they are not stable. I was in shock and crying a lot, but I couldn't make that call yet. If Max passes away during the procedure, so be it; but to make the call when this might be something like crystals, which can be flushed and removed, and fully recovered from...well I had to wait to see. If it's a tumor (another awful possibility), the decision is made. Max will be put to sleep.
The worst part is leaving the hospital, so uncertain and scared of losing my baby boy. He's a strong, happy little boy.
Max...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
November 18/12
Oh no!
I woke up this morning with a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose. I really thought I was getting away with not getting sick after traveling, but I guess not :(
It's like some curse. I can't recall a real trip (with planes and everything) when I haven't come home sick or else gotten sick immediately after getting home. I wasn't sick on Thursday or Friday, but yesterday my sinuses were going berserk, and by now, I'm heading into full-on cold. Booo!
Better health...
...Wish you were here.
I woke up this morning with a scratchy throat and a stuffy nose. I really thought I was getting away with not getting sick after traveling, but I guess not :(
It's like some curse. I can't recall a real trip (with planes and everything) when I haven't come home sick or else gotten sick immediately after getting home. I wasn't sick on Thursday or Friday, but yesterday my sinuses were going berserk, and by now, I'm heading into full-on cold. Booo!
Better health...
...Wish you were here.
November 17/12
Happy Birfday to my Big Brother!
Daryl is 11 years older than me, so actually, there were long periods of my early life when he wasn't around. His life has not been an easy one and he's seen some dangerously low lows, but he's still doing his best, and despite his troubles, he is still a good-natured guy. So today, as he turns another year older, I hope he's having a good day.
Miss you Brother...
...Wish you were here.
Daryl is 11 years older than me, so actually, there were long periods of my early life when he wasn't around. His life has not been an easy one and he's seen some dangerously low lows, but he's still doing his best, and despite his troubles, he is still a good-natured guy. So today, as he turns another year older, I hope he's having a good day.
Miss you Brother...
...Wish you were here.
November 16/12
Sometimes, the universe is trying to tell you something, and you should listen.
It's Friday afternoon: my microsoft outlook is having server issues, I crashed out of the Workload report, the Workload numbers are totally wrong, and FAS isn't operational. Nothing worked, and as a result, I couldn't do a lot of my work. I don't know about you, but it's pretty clear that I wasn't meant to be at work this afternoon.
Unfortunately, the woes of failing technology are no excuse to leave.
The weekend...
...Wish you were here.
It's Friday afternoon: my microsoft outlook is having server issues, I crashed out of the Workload report, the Workload numbers are totally wrong, and FAS isn't operational. Nothing worked, and as a result, I couldn't do a lot of my work. I don't know about you, but it's pretty clear that I wasn't meant to be at work this afternoon.
Unfortunately, the woes of failing technology are no excuse to leave.
The weekend...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
November 15/12
Oh fuck me.
Our flight landed just before midnight last night, and when we got home at 12:30 AM, the idea was to feed the cats and go to bed. It didn't work out that way. Etienne's mislaid something important, so we were up until 1:30 AM searching for it. We didn't find it.
I woke up at 7 AM to go to work, but I'm exhausted, both because of the traveling and because of the shortage of sleep. I wouldn't have gone to work but I was supposed to have a meeting with my director. Yeah, that was pushed back to next week.
I haven't been able to do much of any value today. Funny how sleep deprivation has that effect: sleep deprivation ≠ accuracy and productivity.
Sleep...
...Wish you were here.
Our flight landed just before midnight last night, and when we got home at 12:30 AM, the idea was to feed the cats and go to bed. It didn't work out that way. Etienne's mislaid something important, so we were up until 1:30 AM searching for it. We didn't find it.
I woke up at 7 AM to go to work, but I'm exhausted, both because of the traveling and because of the shortage of sleep. I wouldn't have gone to work but I was supposed to have a meeting with my director. Yeah, that was pushed back to next week.
I haven't been able to do much of any value today. Funny how sleep deprivation has that effect: sleep deprivation ≠ accuracy and productivity.
Sleep...
...Wish you were here.
November 14/12
If only I could live on the beach.
Today was our last day in Vancouver, and this time, I was determined to visit my favourite spot in the Metro Vancouver area: Locarno Beach.
I'm a fairly stressed-out individual by nature, and when I find myself in some sort of troubling situation, the best way to calm me down is to get me to a significant body of water for some talking and/or contemplation. Unfortunately for me (for so many reasons), I live in Ottawa, with three rather sad water bodies (Ottawa River, Rideau River, Rideau Canal) which pale mightily in the face of the expansive and open waters of the Pacific Ocean, so my "water therapy" isn't working the way it used to.
I truly miss this.
Calming waters...
...Wish you were here.
Today was our last day in Vancouver, and this time, I was determined to visit my favourite spot in the Metro Vancouver area: Locarno Beach.
I'm a fairly stressed-out individual by nature, and when I find myself in some sort of troubling situation, the best way to calm me down is to get me to a significant body of water for some talking and/or contemplation. Unfortunately for me (for so many reasons), I live in Ottawa, with three rather sad water bodies (Ottawa River, Rideau River, Rideau Canal) which pale mightily in the face of the expansive and open waters of the Pacific Ocean, so my "water therapy" isn't working the way it used to.
I truly miss this.
Calming waters...
...Wish you were here.
November 13/12
The great thing about visiting home is the friendly faces.
Just out of nowhere, my niece, Miss M. decided to come to Vancouver for the night. I haven't seen my baby girl since....summer 2010? And in that time, she's grown up, finished high school, gotten a job, and is planning for her education; but she's still my baby girl. She still the fun, silly character she was when she lived with me, and I've missed her. Her active Twitter activity has helped us keep in touch, but it's not as good as the real thing. The real thing lets us get into the goofiest fake shouting matching in front of my parents, like siblings.
Another friendly face was a former work colleague of Etienne's, who moved out to Vancouver earlier this year. His wife got a job out there, so they went, despite the uncertain career situation he was in. Like us, he is a fairly young policy analyst who worked for the Federal government at a time when job futures with the federal government are somewhat uncertain for so many. He's not had the best of luck with his job search out there, as policy jobs in Vancouver aren't prevalent. The provincial government (largely centred in Victoria) has a hiring freeze on, and the feds aren't hiring much. City jobs are few and far between, and largely focus on planning. So it's a tough go, which I knew, as I've been trawling the internet for months, trying to get a policy job out there. Despite this, he's doing well, and that's encouraging.
Of course, it's always nice to see my parents and the family dog, Mojo. I know they are lonely out there, as none of Dad's friends and most of his family don't come out to Vancouver to see him, but they seem to do just fine, and since they got Mojo, it's been easier to get through the daily grind of retirement/semi-retirement.
Friendly faces...
...Wish you were here.
Just out of nowhere, my niece, Miss M. decided to come to Vancouver for the night. I haven't seen my baby girl since....summer 2010? And in that time, she's grown up, finished high school, gotten a job, and is planning for her education; but she's still my baby girl. She still the fun, silly character she was when she lived with me, and I've missed her. Her active Twitter activity has helped us keep in touch, but it's not as good as the real thing. The real thing lets us get into the goofiest fake shouting matching in front of my parents, like siblings.
Another friendly face was a former work colleague of Etienne's, who moved out to Vancouver earlier this year. His wife got a job out there, so they went, despite the uncertain career situation he was in. Like us, he is a fairly young policy analyst who worked for the Federal government at a time when job futures with the federal government are somewhat uncertain for so many. He's not had the best of luck with his job search out there, as policy jobs in Vancouver aren't prevalent. The provincial government (largely centred in Victoria) has a hiring freeze on, and the feds aren't hiring much. City jobs are few and far between, and largely focus on planning. So it's a tough go, which I knew, as I've been trawling the internet for months, trying to get a policy job out there. Despite this, he's doing well, and that's encouraging.
Of course, it's always nice to see my parents and the family dog, Mojo. I know they are lonely out there, as none of Dad's friends and most of his family don't come out to Vancouver to see him, but they seem to do just fine, and since they got Mojo, it's been easier to get through the daily grind of retirement/semi-retirement.
Friendly faces...
...Wish you were here.
November 12/12
Seeing Leonard Cohen live in concert has fulfilled a life goal. The Master of Words puts on a sublime show. At 78, he hopped, he skipped, he took a knee so many times, and he sang with heart and soul. And he did it for three and a half hours. I've been to concerts that have lasted that long, but where an opening act had at least an hour of that time.
Leonard opened with 'Dance Me to the End of Love' which touched Etienne greatly, and by the end of his third encore, he ended with 'Closing Time.' In between, he crooned his way through many of his best known and best loved songs, and the blend was new and old. In between songs, he would freely quote some of his poems, including the brilliant and wicked 'A Thousand Kisses Deep.'
And where was I during all of this? Thoroughly delighted. At some points, during songs that have particular meaning or resonance for me, I was sitting there, entranced. I've enjoyed so many concerts in the past, but none have ever touched me the way only Leonard Cohen can. I hope every music lover has the chance to be so touched by a concert experience.
Overwhelming joy...
...Wish you were here.
Leonard opened with 'Dance Me to the End of Love' which touched Etienne greatly, and by the end of his third encore, he ended with 'Closing Time.' In between, he crooned his way through many of his best known and best loved songs, and the blend was new and old. In between songs, he would freely quote some of his poems, including the brilliant and wicked 'A Thousand Kisses Deep.'
And where was I during all of this? Thoroughly delighted. At some points, during songs that have particular meaning or resonance for me, I was sitting there, entranced. I've enjoyed so many concerts in the past, but none have ever touched me the way only Leonard Cohen can. I hope every music lover has the chance to be so touched by a concert experience.
Overwhelming joy...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, November 16, 2012
November 11/12
The Poppy.
Who knew that one little flower would cause such a fuss?
The red poppy has been a symbol of the dead on battlefields since the Napoleonic wars, as those hardy little flowers were one of the few flora that would grow in the devastated fields of battle in and around Flanders. Then, in 1915, a Canadian doctor/soldier, John McCrea, wrote what would become the most iconic poem of its time, In Flanders Fields, which immortalized the red poppy as a symbol of the soldiers of war. In 1918, the red poppy became the symbol it is today, a tribute to soldiers who had fallen in battle, and generations of children, including myself, grew up learning that poem by heart, and pinning the red felt poppies to our winter coats.
This year, I wore a white poppy. It's not that I dare diminish the deaths of soldiers in combat; it's that I choose to stand for the kind of peace in the world that would end the overwhelmingly needless deaths of people in wars. We honour and thank soldiers and veterans for their military service, for putting their lives at risk for the idea of our nations. But the days are long past when the war dead were by and large soldiers; now, the war dead are infants and children, mothers, elders, black, white, brown, red, soldiers, storeowners...now the war dead and casualties around the world are largely civilians.
The white poppy honours everyone with a simple wish:
Peace...
...Wish you were here.
Who knew that one little flower would cause such a fuss?
The red poppy has been a symbol of the dead on battlefields since the Napoleonic wars, as those hardy little flowers were one of the few flora that would grow in the devastated fields of battle in and around Flanders. Then, in 1915, a Canadian doctor/soldier, John McCrea, wrote what would become the most iconic poem of its time, In Flanders Fields, which immortalized the red poppy as a symbol of the soldiers of war. In 1918, the red poppy became the symbol it is today, a tribute to soldiers who had fallen in battle, and generations of children, including myself, grew up learning that poem by heart, and pinning the red felt poppies to our winter coats.
This year, I wore a white poppy. It's not that I dare diminish the deaths of soldiers in combat; it's that I choose to stand for the kind of peace in the world that would end the overwhelmingly needless deaths of people in wars. We honour and thank soldiers and veterans for their military service, for putting their lives at risk for the idea of our nations. But the days are long past when the war dead were by and large soldiers; now, the war dead are infants and children, mothers, elders, black, white, brown, red, soldiers, storeowners...now the war dead and casualties around the world are largely civilians.
The white poppy honours everyone with a simple wish:
Peace...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
November 10/12
It's that moment - you've waited so long and then it finally happens.
I came home.
It's been more than a year since I've been able to come back to Vancouver, and to say I miss it is something of an understatement.
When I moved to Vancouver in 2006, I was delayed by a day due to a wild last night in Edmonton (read: hangover), so I actually didn't roll into Burnaby until the evening of May 1st. On May 2nd, I work up and went to my new kitchen window. My ex was still asleep, so it was me and the cats. We lived on the 23rd floor, and our windows and balcony had views that spanned from the mountains of the North Shore all the way east to the Rockies and Mt. Baker, on south to the flat land of Richmond. The sun had just come up over the Rockies to the east, and it was going to be a clear, beautiful, spring day. As I stood there, I took in a deep breath and everything became so clear: "I live here." This was the first time I had truly felt at home in years.
Tonight, as Etienne and I flew into Vancouver, there it was. I'm home.
Home...
...Wish you were here.
I came home.
It's been more than a year since I've been able to come back to Vancouver, and to say I miss it is something of an understatement.
When I moved to Vancouver in 2006, I was delayed by a day due to a wild last night in Edmonton (read: hangover), so I actually didn't roll into Burnaby until the evening of May 1st. On May 2nd, I work up and went to my new kitchen window. My ex was still asleep, so it was me and the cats. We lived on the 23rd floor, and our windows and balcony had views that spanned from the mountains of the North Shore all the way east to the Rockies and Mt. Baker, on south to the flat land of Richmond. The sun had just come up over the Rockies to the east, and it was going to be a clear, beautiful, spring day. As I stood there, I took in a deep breath and everything became so clear: "I live here." This was the first time I had truly felt at home in years.
Tonight, as Etienne and I flew into Vancouver, there it was. I'm home.
Home...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, November 9, 2012
November 9/12
Today, nothing happened, and I'm completely okay with that.
After the chaos of the last week at work, including one major meltdown by yours truly, it was a welcome respite to have nothing significant to worry about today. I did know I wouldn't get a file signed off before deadline at the call of business today, but I didn't care, as we're so backed up in our group (Doing more with less!), it wasn't going to be my job to push back. And since I wasn't going to be at work on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, I could just breathe easy, knowing that I had no major responsibilities unrelated to my program waiting for me when I do head back to work next Thursday.
TGIF...
...Wish you were here.
After the chaos of the last week at work, including one major meltdown by yours truly, it was a welcome respite to have nothing significant to worry about today. I did know I wouldn't get a file signed off before deadline at the call of business today, but I didn't care, as we're so backed up in our group (Doing more with less!), it wasn't going to be my job to push back. And since I wasn't going to be at work on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, I could just breathe easy, knowing that I had no major responsibilities unrelated to my program waiting for me when I do head back to work next Thursday.
TGIF...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
November 8/12
Okay, I had a Hard.Fucking.Core day at work today, trying to get two files off my desk and helping out with a third massive mission, so I'm a little brain-fried as a result.
So it's probably a combination of the wine, the raclette, and the fatigue of the week, but somehow our discussion over supper turned to dinosaurs, and I was telling Etienne that it's too bad he missed the current ROM exhibit about Dinosaurs; some of the specimens on display are new to me, and one of the more striking things I noticed was a group of dinosaurs with extremely tiny arms. As in, their arms were shorter than the length of my hand (approximately 8 inches, BTW).
Again, I will remind you that we were under the influence of wine, rich food, and fatigue...
We were very politically incorrect, making fun of the stumpy-armed dinosaurs. I made a comment about a pathetic slap fight, Etienne commented about Natural Selection (No arms, no chance), and from there, we actually tied an Office Space reference to this whacked-out scenario, playing Bob's "Yeah, I'm going to have to go ahead and have you go extinct" line.
Earlier today, while trying to organize drinks out with a couple of friends, we ran into a problem that myself and one friend were available for the proposed date, but another had a retirement party to attend; so, I did what came naturally. Via email, I provided three options:
A) Reschedule
B) Keep the date, but get ditched by obligated friend to go party with old people
C) Crash the party!
Throughout the afternoon, we opted for C! I closed out with a "Yay! I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party" to which the ladies replied that they could actually hear me singing it as they read it.
And first thing this morning, as we were on our way to Campus station to catch our bus, Etienne invented a Deep Purple cover band, complete with a revised version of Smoke on the Water.
Yes, today was clearly a silly day meant for giggles.
Good times...
...Wish you were here.
So it's probably a combination of the wine, the raclette, and the fatigue of the week, but somehow our discussion over supper turned to dinosaurs, and I was telling Etienne that it's too bad he missed the current ROM exhibit about Dinosaurs; some of the specimens on display are new to me, and one of the more striking things I noticed was a group of dinosaurs with extremely tiny arms. As in, their arms were shorter than the length of my hand (approximately 8 inches, BTW).
Again, I will remind you that we were under the influence of wine, rich food, and fatigue...
We were very politically incorrect, making fun of the stumpy-armed dinosaurs. I made a comment about a pathetic slap fight, Etienne commented about Natural Selection (No arms, no chance), and from there, we actually tied an Office Space reference to this whacked-out scenario, playing Bob's "Yeah, I'm going to have to go ahead and have you go extinct" line.
Earlier today, while trying to organize drinks out with a couple of friends, we ran into a problem that myself and one friend were available for the proposed date, but another had a retirement party to attend; so, I did what came naturally. Via email, I provided three options:
A) Reschedule
B) Keep the date, but get ditched by obligated friend to go party with old people
C) Crash the party!
Throughout the afternoon, we opted for C! I closed out with a "Yay! I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party, I'm gunna crash a party" to which the ladies replied that they could actually hear me singing it as they read it.
And first thing this morning, as we were on our way to Campus station to catch our bus, Etienne invented a Deep Purple cover band, complete with a revised version of Smoke on the Water.
Yes, today was clearly a silly day meant for giggles.
Good times...
...Wish you were here.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
November 7/12
I don't know what is happening these days, but I'm not sleeping well. I'm having dreams or nightmares, I'm waking up in the middle of the night, or else too early in the morning but it's too late to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.
It's affecting everything: my physical health and immune system is weak, my mental and emotional state is fraught and unpredictable, and my stress levels are off the chart. I'm just no fun to be around!
Boooooo! I suck!
Dear, Sweet, Lovely sleep...
...Wish you were here.
It's affecting everything: my physical health and immune system is weak, my mental and emotional state is fraught and unpredictable, and my stress levels are off the chart. I'm just no fun to be around!
Boooooo! I suck!
Dear, Sweet, Lovely sleep...
...Wish you were here.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
November 6/12
It's 11:15 pm, and the moment we've all been waiting for has finally come, after two years of incessent, annoying campaigning and politicking...
Ohio has just been called for Obama, thus propelling him past the 270 votes needed to win the election.
The thing is, I knew this was coming. And anyone who paid attention to poll numbers in just the nine swing states probably knew too. While everyone swooned and swayed every day since the first debate about the national polls, I watched two sources: The Rachel Maddow Show on MSNBC, and the daily poll tracking of the swing states on Real Clear Politics. And by and large, those sources were consistently showing that Obama was ahead much of the time in those nine states. It's about getting to know your sources, and if your sources were Fox News and Rasmussen Polling, you were being duped by wishful thinking and spun numbers.
Finding sources you can (somewhat) trust...
...Wish you were here.
Ohio has just been called for Obama, thus propelling him past the 270 votes needed to win the election.
The thing is, I knew this was coming. And anyone who paid attention to poll numbers in just the nine swing states probably knew too. While everyone swooned and swayed every day since the first debate about the national polls, I watched two sources: The Rachel Maddow Show on MSNBC, and the daily poll tracking of the swing states on Real Clear Politics. And by and large, those sources were consistently showing that Obama was ahead much of the time in those nine states. It's about getting to know your sources, and if your sources were Fox News and Rasmussen Polling, you were being duped by wishful thinking and spun numbers.
Finding sources you can (somewhat) trust...
...Wish you were here.
Monday, November 5, 2012
November 5/12
I got home after 5:30 today, which is about usual, but tonight it hit me that on a night very much like this one--chilly and dark--11 years ago today, having just said goodbye forever to my beloved Gramma.
Gramma had suffered a stroke on October 6th. She lived in Fort Smith, a tiny town on the NWT/Alberta border, and her condition meant she had to be medivaced to Edmonton, where I lived at the time. From the moment she arrived, I spent nearly every free hour I could at the hospital, watching a steady procession of my relatives come and go, all arriving from points far away to see her.
The strokes (TIA strokes), plus her diabetes, her advanced age, and a slow recovery from a mastectomy earlier in the summer all took their toll, and her body began to shut down. Knowing she was dying, all she wanted was to go home to Fort Smith. On that last day, November 5th, she was drifting in and out of consciousness more, and it was harder to get her to respond. Most of the family, understanding that she was dying soon, had left, heading to Fort Smith for the inevitable funeral. Left behind were me, my parents, and an aunt who lived outside of the city.
Gramma was scheduled to be flown back to Fort Smith that day, but the medical professionals were playing games; the mediplane staff didn't want to take her in her condition because she might die on the journey, and the hospital was reluctant to sign off on her release, given her condition.
My dad and I argued as calmly as we could--we knew she was dying, and she knew it too. She just wanted to go home. If she died on the journey, or had an event, so be it, as she had signed a "Do Not Resuscitate" order, which we all respected. We'd sign whatever they wanted us to, releasing them from liability, it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting her home. Finally, everyone agreed. She was going home.
We all had to say our goodbyes.
Even if we had left right away, Fort Smith was nearly a day's drive from Edmonton, and we wouldn't make it in time. So there, in a dark, dreary room shared with another patient at the University of Alberta Hospital, around 5 pm, I tried my very best not to cry as I leaned over to hug her and kiss her for the last time. Then they wrapped her up, buckled her in, and wheeled her out of the room. To me, she was gone. And I just let loose. Pent up tears--a month's worth of bring brave and responsible for her--came flooding out.
In the very early morning hours of November 6th, we got the call; she died peacefully in the hospital in Fort Smith. Her home.
I weep tonight just as I did 11 years ago.
Gramma...
...Wish you were here.
Gramma had suffered a stroke on October 6th. She lived in Fort Smith, a tiny town on the NWT/Alberta border, and her condition meant she had to be medivaced to Edmonton, where I lived at the time. From the moment she arrived, I spent nearly every free hour I could at the hospital, watching a steady procession of my relatives come and go, all arriving from points far away to see her.
The strokes (TIA strokes), plus her diabetes, her advanced age, and a slow recovery from a mastectomy earlier in the summer all took their toll, and her body began to shut down. Knowing she was dying, all she wanted was to go home to Fort Smith. On that last day, November 5th, she was drifting in and out of consciousness more, and it was harder to get her to respond. Most of the family, understanding that she was dying soon, had left, heading to Fort Smith for the inevitable funeral. Left behind were me, my parents, and an aunt who lived outside of the city.
Gramma was scheduled to be flown back to Fort Smith that day, but the medical professionals were playing games; the mediplane staff didn't want to take her in her condition because she might die on the journey, and the hospital was reluctant to sign off on her release, given her condition.
My dad and I argued as calmly as we could--we knew she was dying, and she knew it too. She just wanted to go home. If she died on the journey, or had an event, so be it, as she had signed a "Do Not Resuscitate" order, which we all respected. We'd sign whatever they wanted us to, releasing them from liability, it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting her home. Finally, everyone agreed. She was going home.
We all had to say our goodbyes.
Even if we had left right away, Fort Smith was nearly a day's drive from Edmonton, and we wouldn't make it in time. So there, in a dark, dreary room shared with another patient at the University of Alberta Hospital, around 5 pm, I tried my very best not to cry as I leaned over to hug her and kiss her for the last time. Then they wrapped her up, buckled her in, and wheeled her out of the room. To me, she was gone. And I just let loose. Pent up tears--a month's worth of bring brave and responsible for her--came flooding out.
In the very early morning hours of November 6th, we got the call; she died peacefully in the hospital in Fort Smith. Her home.
I weep tonight just as I did 11 years ago.
Gramma...
...Wish you were here.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
November 4/12
I just got off the phone with my parents, and it seems that my uncle's health has taken a drastic turn for the worse.
He was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease well over a year ago, but in the last year it's become evident that he also suffers from dementia as well. It a terrible time because his wife was diagnosed with advanced stage cancer this spring as well. He's an uncle by marriage, through my mother's only sibling, her sister Bev. My aunt Bev died of lung cancer in the early 1990's, but my uncle has been a rock of support for my mother despite my aunt no longer being with us. My uncle and aunt had no kids, and his wife didn't have children from her marriage either, so my mother is one of the few people left who can provide some support to my uncle and his wife.
Uncle Stan has always been wonderful to me and my siblings. When I was a little girl, he would let me play with these little commemorative phones that he received as gifts when he retired from BCTel. At the time, my aunt and uncle had an oceanfront house tucked away in a little cove on Salt Spring Island, and when the tide was out, he'd take me down to the shore and we'd hunt for sea shells and oysters (well, not so much me...I hated oysters). He stood out from all of my other uncles as the only one I had on my mother's side, and the only one who didn't live near us, so it was always a treat seeing him.
I haven't seen uncle Stan since 1996, but mum has always stayed in touch and kept me updated on his life, so it was very sad to hear about the Parkinson's diagnosis, and even worse when we had the first conversation about the dementia. He was moved to a care facility shortly after his wife's cancer diagnosis, as she was going to have to go to Victoria for radiation and chemotherapy treatments, leaving him alone on Salt Spring. Mum went over to help and she was struck by how different he was from the lively, healthy, sweetheart of a man she'd known most of her life. He's still a sweetheart, but he'd lost a lot of weight, and whether he had his wits about him depended so much on how quickly something would trigger the present for him. Since entering the care home, he's gone down hill far too fast. The Parkinson's has taken a terrible toll on him physically, while the dementia has all but wiped out his memory.
Etienne and I are scheduled to fly out to Vancouver this month for a visit home and a concert; based on similar experiences I've had with others whose health declines so precipitously, I have to be prepared for the possibility of extending my trip to include a funeral.
Family...
...Wish you were here.
He was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease well over a year ago, but in the last year it's become evident that he also suffers from dementia as well. It a terrible time because his wife was diagnosed with advanced stage cancer this spring as well. He's an uncle by marriage, through my mother's only sibling, her sister Bev. My aunt Bev died of lung cancer in the early 1990's, but my uncle has been a rock of support for my mother despite my aunt no longer being with us. My uncle and aunt had no kids, and his wife didn't have children from her marriage either, so my mother is one of the few people left who can provide some support to my uncle and his wife.
Uncle Stan has always been wonderful to me and my siblings. When I was a little girl, he would let me play with these little commemorative phones that he received as gifts when he retired from BCTel. At the time, my aunt and uncle had an oceanfront house tucked away in a little cove on Salt Spring Island, and when the tide was out, he'd take me down to the shore and we'd hunt for sea shells and oysters (well, not so much me...I hated oysters). He stood out from all of my other uncles as the only one I had on my mother's side, and the only one who didn't live near us, so it was always a treat seeing him.
I haven't seen uncle Stan since 1996, but mum has always stayed in touch and kept me updated on his life, so it was very sad to hear about the Parkinson's diagnosis, and even worse when we had the first conversation about the dementia. He was moved to a care facility shortly after his wife's cancer diagnosis, as she was going to have to go to Victoria for radiation and chemotherapy treatments, leaving him alone on Salt Spring. Mum went over to help and she was struck by how different he was from the lively, healthy, sweetheart of a man she'd known most of her life. He's still a sweetheart, but he'd lost a lot of weight, and whether he had his wits about him depended so much on how quickly something would trigger the present for him. Since entering the care home, he's gone down hill far too fast. The Parkinson's has taken a terrible toll on him physically, while the dementia has all but wiped out his memory.
Etienne and I are scheduled to fly out to Vancouver this month for a visit home and a concert; based on similar experiences I've had with others whose health declines so precipitously, I have to be prepared for the possibility of extending my trip to include a funeral.
Family...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
November 3/12
Both of my parents were married to other people before they came together. In both of these relationships, there were kids. My oldest brother and my sister were the product of the marriage of my mum to Ron, and my second brother was the son of my dad and Roseanne. This all happened years before I was born, so there's a rather large age gap between me and the other three kids.
It's a long, complex story that I won't get into here, but the fact that both of my parents were married to other people before each other created a strange dynamic in our house as far as *I* was concerned. I grew up for the first years of my life referring to Ron as uncle Ron, which I assume was done for the sake of simplicity, knowing a small child would not be able to fully comprehend the relationship he had to my family.
Anyway, Ron would call the house to talk to his kids, and I'd usually get a chance to talk to him. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old when I started to consciously discern the meaning of uncle, and I remember asking whose brother Ron was. I assumed he was dad's brother (because they were both men...I know, the strange notions of babies), but I was told he was not my uncle, that he was the dad of my brother and sister. A blended family; imagine that concept ricocheting around the head of a 5 year old who had never heard of The Brady Bunch. They have a different dad? And my other brother has a different mum? Whoa.
As I got older, I stopped calling Ron "uncle" but I'll still always think of him as uncle Ron. Sadly, Ron passed away in May 2011. Today would have been his birthday. I know my sister misses her dad dearly; I know that because even I miss him, and he and I were virtual strangers to each other the older I got. On a day like this, I wish I could give my brother and sister a great big squeeze, just to let them know that I love them a lot, and I do miss his presence in the unusual family I've been a part of all these years.
The concept of family...
...Wish you were here.
It's a long, complex story that I won't get into here, but the fact that both of my parents were married to other people before each other created a strange dynamic in our house as far as *I* was concerned. I grew up for the first years of my life referring to Ron as uncle Ron, which I assume was done for the sake of simplicity, knowing a small child would not be able to fully comprehend the relationship he had to my family.
Anyway, Ron would call the house to talk to his kids, and I'd usually get a chance to talk to him. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old when I started to consciously discern the meaning of uncle, and I remember asking whose brother Ron was. I assumed he was dad's brother (because they were both men...I know, the strange notions of babies), but I was told he was not my uncle, that he was the dad of my brother and sister. A blended family; imagine that concept ricocheting around the head of a 5 year old who had never heard of The Brady Bunch. They have a different dad? And my other brother has a different mum? Whoa.
As I got older, I stopped calling Ron "uncle" but I'll still always think of him as uncle Ron. Sadly, Ron passed away in May 2011. Today would have been his birthday. I know my sister misses her dad dearly; I know that because even I miss him, and he and I were virtual strangers to each other the older I got. On a day like this, I wish I could give my brother and sister a great big squeeze, just to let them know that I love them a lot, and I do miss his presence in the unusual family I've been a part of all these years.
The concept of family...
...Wish you were here.
Friday, November 2, 2012
November 2/12
Tonight Etienne and I just needed to talk. It was one of those nights when you just want to have a few drinks and just discuss, anything and everything that is stimulating.
At one point, we talked about my writing. Etienne follows this blog (hi babe!), so he's gotten to know my writing style. I'm not sure if he's ever read any of my academic efforts, and I do know that in a moment of impaired judgement (literally...we had both been drinking), I did show him a couple of my poems. But whatever he's read, he's familiar with the idea that my voice really comes out in my writing.
So his obvious question is why I've never gone so far as to actually write. We have a friend who writes on the side, has self-published several of his works; so why wasn't I, since I do love to write?
It's because of this:
I'm very good at communicating in writing. At work I'm often complimented on my writing skills. In my academic life, I'm a strong, persuasive writer, and I find ways to invest myself in my topic, which comes out. My poetry is not the stuff of Wordsworth, but I've figured out by now that it can tend to be quite lyrical, which would be great if I had any talent for writing music (but I don't). But for all of this, I have no story to tell; or rather, I haven't found my story to tell.
They say to write what you know, but to this point all I really know is how to be a philosophical fuck-up with a knack for getting into unusual situations. Hardly the stuff of compelling reading. And without any guides to tether me, I can't reach out into the infinite possibilities and the story I can write.
So for all of that, I just don't feel that I have any business trying to write or get published. Let the others who are much better storytellers publish their gifts, and I won't clutter the world with my sheepish nonsense. Not such a bad deal!
Know thyself...
...Wish you were here.
At one point, we talked about my writing. Etienne follows this blog (hi babe!), so he's gotten to know my writing style. I'm not sure if he's ever read any of my academic efforts, and I do know that in a moment of impaired judgement (literally...we had both been drinking), I did show him a couple of my poems. But whatever he's read, he's familiar with the idea that my voice really comes out in my writing.
So his obvious question is why I've never gone so far as to actually write. We have a friend who writes on the side, has self-published several of his works; so why wasn't I, since I do love to write?
It's because of this:
I'm very good at communicating in writing. At work I'm often complimented on my writing skills. In my academic life, I'm a strong, persuasive writer, and I find ways to invest myself in my topic, which comes out. My poetry is not the stuff of Wordsworth, but I've figured out by now that it can tend to be quite lyrical, which would be great if I had any talent for writing music (but I don't). But for all of this, I have no story to tell; or rather, I haven't found my story to tell.
They say to write what you know, but to this point all I really know is how to be a philosophical fuck-up with a knack for getting into unusual situations. Hardly the stuff of compelling reading. And without any guides to tether me, I can't reach out into the infinite possibilities and the story I can write.
So for all of that, I just don't feel that I have any business trying to write or get published. Let the others who are much better storytellers publish their gifts, and I won't clutter the world with my sheepish nonsense. Not such a bad deal!
Know thyself...
...Wish you were here.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
November 1/12
Tonight, I got such a happy! Why? Because I got confirmation that there are other people out there who also love Halloween as much as I do!
Etienne was browsing through Halloween memes on the internet and while there were some really awesome ones out there, the one that made me squeal with delight was a picture of a courtroom. And who was presiding over the courtroom? A person dressed as Cookie Monster! If that had an ounce of truth to it, it gladdened my heart, which was broken after I made the mistake of googling to find out what a "Honey Boo Boo" was. So much exploitation in that entire...situation? What is that?
Anyway.
Cookie Monster...
...Wish you were here.
Etienne was browsing through Halloween memes on the internet and while there were some really awesome ones out there, the one that made me squeal with delight was a picture of a courtroom. And who was presiding over the courtroom? A person dressed as Cookie Monster! If that had an ounce of truth to it, it gladdened my heart, which was broken after I made the mistake of googling to find out what a "Honey Boo Boo" was. So much exploitation in that entire...situation? What is that?
Anyway.
Cookie Monster...
...Wish you were here.
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