Update on Project: Tell It Like It is

I haven't forgotten about my Project emails and I don't want anyone to think that they're not coming. They are. They are just a little slower than I first anticipated.

I have been writing them for a week now and my plan is get them all done and send them out en masse. It's harder than I thought it would be. I want to give each person an earnest evaluation and don't want to write some pat email about how nice they are and how they are good at sharing. Its been hard to sit and really think about each person in my life and not let me emotions get too out of control and in the way of a fair analysis. I feel, so far, like this is a very valuable exercise...to sit down and really think about each person and what they have brought to my life. It's humbling in a way and it makes me feel very lucky.

Another Cliche Gets a Makeover...

I did a post about this a few weeks ago but just discovered two more dandies that I had to mention:

1. My friend the IT guy says he must hear "Silicone Valley" used more often than the original and more accurate Silicon Valley. I think Silicone Valley is a little more South.

2. Just read on a blog:
"Ugh, I hate how I look...my skin is just so pastry white."
(Maybe white like apple pie? Or an éclair?)

Love it.

PROJECT: Tell It Like It Is (or at least how I think it is...)

Here it is folks, the launch of my very first project. Well, my first public project anyway...I've been working on getting into the splits but nobody needs to be privy to those kinds of agonizing contortions.

Here is the premise: I am a big believer in letting the people in your life know that they are valued and why. Life is too short for anyone to wonder if they are appreciated. Most people don't really do this and although I've always made a point of trying I am sure there are many people who might be surprised to hear how I feel. So, I'm going to tell you...each and every one of you.

Here is how it will work: In the next week or so I will be sending out Project emails so that you know you've been included in the project. (If for some reason you don't get one and you feel like you should be included...let me know.) Don't worry, this will be a positive experience ...except for a certain person who lives in Sudbury. (But I probably won't email her because, what's the point?) Anyway, I have no idea how long this will take so I ask that you bear with me. (You could also bare with me I suppose but that might be a little awkward.) I currently have a list of over 50 people including such web-icons (Hah, get it? Web? Icon?) as Heather Armstrong as well as friends, family, work colleagues, politicians and a whole bunch of people at CBC radio.

Now, I am not naive enough to think that everyone will actually care what I think. But that's okay. I will have told them and that's the point. I should mention too that any responses I receive might end up on this blog...so consider yourself forewarned.

And we're off!

My New T-Shirt

...courtesy of dyoapparel. Note the small syringe on the back. Awesome.

Small but Simple Ways to Improve the World...

Following is a list of things I swear to you, my readers, that I will never do:

1. I will never spit out of my car window. Not unless a bee flies in my mouth or I happen to drive past the guy responsible for breeding the first miniature-poodle.
2. I will never insist I can sing, even though it's painfully obvious I can't, and then audition for some idol television show. If I audition it will be because I know damn well I cannot sing.
3. I won't pick a hairstyle and then use it everyday for the rest of my life. My hair will grow and change with the times.
4. I won't ever put on makeup while driving my car.
5. If I have kids I will never put them on a leash. Unless it's very long and tied to the front of a sled.
6. I won't blame other people if I never make something of myself.
7. I won't become morbidly (or even cheerfully) obese.
8. I will do my damnedest to never make an elderly person feel unwanted, bothersome or unimportant. Unless that elderly person is a Bush.
9. I will never reject new technology (or music, or fashion trends) simply because it is new. One armed blouses aren't new and they have always been stupid.
10. I won't ever let my blog just die without saying good-bye. Unless I myself die suddenly.

Okay, that's it for now. Now it's your turn? What do you promise to never do?

Fender Bender Leaves Calgary Couple Jaded and Bent

Special Report
Karoline Nox - Reporter

A minor fender bender left a Calgary couple late for work and feeling shaken up, Monday morning. While traveling south bound on 14th Street NW, the couple, who were driving a white VW Passat were rear-ended by a white 1990 Dodge Colt. "I saw her coming in my rear-view mirror, " says the driver of the Passat, Caroline Knox, 29. "She wasn't even looking, she just seemed to be digging around in the car and never looked up. I braced for the impact...it was pretty hard." Shaken and annoyed by the avoidable collision Knox and her husband, Brian West, 31, who was sitting in the passenger side pulled over to avoid another accident. "I told her (Knox) to call 9-1-1 because there was fluid and glass all over the road" said West, "When I looked over she was calling 9-1-1 and then, the next thing I knew, she was on the phone with CBC's traffic reporter, giving them them all the details of the accident. She really loves CBC radio."

The other occupant of the car, who was still wearing her gigantic sun hat after exiting her car, was slightly injured by her seat belt but was otherwise unharmed. "My foot slipped and I hit the gas instead of the brake" said the woman, who refused to give her name, "It was an accident." "Yah right." said Knox, while rolling her eyes.

Firetrucks and police arrived at the scene but took longer than Knox or West expected, "I have four job interviews today." said West, who looked dashing in his navy blue pinstriped suit. The fireman were quick to clean up the glass and were very attractive and well-bronzed from their daily workouts. Knox commented on the excellent service they received at the scene, "One of the hot ones asked me if I needed an ambulance. Mouth-to-mouth I might have accepted, but an ambulance? Not necessary."

Damage estimates for the Passat sit at $4,000 while the Dodge Colt was totaled and needed to be towed from the scene. Police issued a ticket for careless driving to the occupant of the Colt. "I knew her foot didn't slip, " said Knox, "Do they hand out tickets for retarded driving too?"

Approximately 45 minutes after the initial collision, both Knox and West were able to leave the scene. While both occupants sustained minor injuries, Knox seemed the worst off and was unable to attend work for several days after the incident, "Whiplash is a bitch," said Knox, "I could hardly even move. But I'm okay...nothing too serious." "I'm just happy that we're both okay, " said West, who appeared to be the more rational of the two, "It makes you realize how quickly things can go wrong." "Especially when you're a moron driving a car." added Knox.

Warbled Gords

I don't know what you would call these misused words but they're pretty funny and increasingly common:

On a personal blog:
"I didn't want him to think I took him for granite..."
(Or concrete or heaven forbid, even brick...)

In a THIS Magazine story:
"And it's healthy - hemp seed is a high source of protein and contains essential fatty assets."
(Fatty assets? Is that what happens when saddle-bags meets money bag?)

In a conversation yesterday...repeatedly used by everyone at the table except me:
"If money were no option...""If I could go anywhere and money were no option I would go to Tuscany."
(Really? If money were no object I would send you back to high school English.)

And the one I hear literally everyday at work:
"The idea just needs to be flushed out..." "Good point Caroline, can you flush it out for us a little bit?"
(I can flesh it out if you would prefer. Or hey, even better, I could get another job.)

Weather Un-Patterns

Thursday...


Saturday...

This Morning

Oprah would call it a "lightbulb" moment, Dr.Phil an "Aha!" experience. To me, it was a gentle reminder of a lesson I've learned but had forgotten.

This morning it snowed. A lot. I looked out the window and my heart sank. All my beautiful flowers planted (prematurely, I'll admit) in the front garden were covered in 10cm of thick, heavy snow. And I had slept in. I rushed around the house, dragging out the sweaters I packed away two weeks ago and packed a lunch. I was feeling irritable and stressed and annoyed...at nothing and at everything.

Brian was driving me to work today and so he headed outside to brush off the car while I finished putting my lunch together. I went to the door to put on my shoes and saw him across the street. "What the hell is he doing over there?" I thought, "Doesn't he know I'm late!" I felt grumpy and a little annoyed that he wasn't doing what needed to be done so I could get to work on time.

Brian was across the street talking to the old woman whose townhouse faces ours. When I saw him take the broom out of her hand and proceed to brush all the snow from her sidewalk, I stopped and watched. She stood there looking old and frail and happy as he cleared the snow and then beat the broom against the tall tree in her front yard, releasing it from the weight of the heavy snow. A big branch had already fallen from the tree and he picked that up too and took it away to the dumpster.

As I stood there on this January/May day I not only fell in love with Brian all over again, I realized how quickly and easily we fall into selfish behaviour. I wasn't late for work this morning, I still had my coffee and a little old lady has a renewed sense of community and a back that doesn't hurt.

The Office

I've been working at my job now for 15 months. In my time here I have helped write the organizations first research brochure, become the web editor for the province, taken on the duty of provincial photographer, developed and maintained relationships with key researchers, organized media interviews, organized parties, team building lunches, chili cook-offs, brought the writing standards up by several notches, remained positive and optimistic in the face of major organizational upheavals and staffing changes, never made a spelling mistake, kept my boss organized and informed of what was going on, where we were meeting and why, given valuable input on strategy, come up with unique and creative marketing strategies and I have been undervalued and overlooked and drastically underestimated...and all for far less money than I should be making given my performance, capability, education and the job market I am working in.

But today made it all worth while. Today, as a reward, I was given a cubicle near the window.

So when I finally decide to jump I won't have to run as far.

Life in a Revolving Restaurant...

This past weekend we went to Edmonton for my Dad's surprise party. He's been staying up and working on the house for the past few weeks and I was really missing him. His birthday actually isn't until June but since my brothers and their ladies are all headed off for various countries very soon, we decided to celebrate a little early. Dad had no idea what was coming. As far as he knew, he was going for a nice dinner with Mum and Craig and Bobbi and when he showed up there were 15 other people there. My Aunt and Uncle and cousins, some of our oldest and dearest family friends, my other brother and his girlfriend and of course, Brian and I. The look on his face when he saw us was pure magic.

I have found over the past few years that how I look at my parents has really changed. When I was younger they were "Mum and Dad" - older, wiser, funny but at the end of the day, my parents. Now that I am an adult I see them as more than just my parents. I see them as complete individuals, as a couple but also independent of each other. I recognize myself in them and I see their lives with greater clarity and a sense of recognition. I am able to see myself in them in a way I never could before. This has been a wonderful gift for me and I feel like I have a far deeper understanding of how they must have felt at different points along their life, because I have experienced a lot of the same things in my life now. With this greater connection also comes a greater understanding of pain and how difficult and complicated life can be. I see them struggle with growing older and know that I will have the same struggle. I see them making adjustments as they move to a new stage of their life and I watch and learn.

My Dad really is an amazing man. I watched him on Saturday night as he went to every single person in the room and made them feel valued and special. He had kind words for each person and they were personal and genuine. He has an energy that lights up a room and makes every one in it feel like they are the most important person there. He has a vulnerability that he does not try to hide and it makes people feel like they can be vulnerable too...like they can just relax and be who they are. I was so happy to see him there surrounded by people who love him and respect him and I hope he knew, at that moment, how truly loved he is.

In Defense of the Indefenceable

Damn Facebook.

I feel like my web-based life has become completely one-dimensional. I recently bought a domain with the full intention of building an entire site. It sits idle and ugly (two very bad things to be if you can help it). I haven't blogged since our Mr. Vonnegut's demise and although I'd like to flub that off as self-imposed mourning time, it wasn't. I was buried neck-deep in Facebook.

I often feel the need to defend this new kid on the block because its increasing popularity and subsequent vulnerability to naysayers. I've heard things about how people just add friends to make themselves look popular (So? Maybe I really do have 159 close, personal friends - did you ever think of that!?) and that it is a total time-sucker and well, that's true. But so is breathing and nobody complains about that.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr. 1922-2007

Kurt Vonnegut has died and I don't know what I'm more surprised about; the fact that he lived as long as he did or the deep sense of loss and sadness I feel.

Kurt Vonnegut was my favourite writer and has been since I first read Cat's Cradle in 1995. I think what impressed me most at that young age was how witty and completely irreverent he was. He had opinions that were flagrantly anti-social but he came across as insightful and wise instead of cranky and ill-adjusted. I wanted to be him.

His writing was sharp and edgy and extremely demanding. He was obviously intelligent and subtly sad and I sometimes felt frustrated on his behalf. To have witnessed the war, to feel a natural connection with all mankind and to communicate it so vividly and then...to be ignored. Never as a writer, but as a social critic. The people who listened already knew. How angry he must have been at times. Him and Noam Chomsky would have had a lot to say over beers.

Kurt was on my list of things to do before I died. I wanted to meet him. I have written him several letters over the years and sent none of them. They were never good enough, never worthy of being read by him. Did I learn a lesson now that he's gone and I'll never meet him or even have the chance to thank him? You bet I did.

I feel like the world has lost an important voice. A hysterically prodding and achingly accurate, in your face, peace-loving and at times, desperate, voice. I feel like I've lost a very good friend and the only thing that brings me comfort is that I knew him at all.

Everyone Needs to be Kneaded...

Breathing...

Throughout my life I've often felt a little culturally disconnected - I always wanted to be able to identify myself as one thing or another and never really could. My parents grew up in Africa but my mother's roots are Scottish. My father is South African but his parents were originally from Scotland and the Isle of Man. Then they moved to Canada and I grew up in Alberta. I took Scottish dancing when I was young and identified strongly with Scotland through my Grandma and the time I spent there. But I always felt like a bit of a fake. I grew up eating South African food and hearing African stories and visited there many times as a child and then as an adult. Africa is in my blood and I feel a love for South Africa that runs deep and makes no rational sense. There have been times where I think I should move there and live the life that is rightfully mine and fight with the Africans to reclaim a country of power and beauty and justice. But I'd get killed doing it and I have to face the fact that I don't belong. At the end of the day I'm a Canadian. There is nothing wrong with being a Canadian, in fact it's wonderful. But sometimes I feel envious of people who wear their ethnic clothes and eat their food and know, without a doubt, where they come from and who they are.

Last night we went to see the Soweto Gospel Choir, more for the Soweto aspect than for the Gospel. They were everything I expected and more - colourful, vibrant and achingly beautiful. Their voices, singing in Zulu, Xhosa and some English told the story of South Africa and the struggles of the blacks. They were songs and sounds that are familiar to me because I have heard them being sung by many Africans in Africa. I felt like such an outsider watching them dance and sing and I ached to feel a part of it. I watched my Mum and Dad who were sitting next to me and I imagined they must have felt some similar feelings - Africa is their homeland, the place where they grew up and yet, white people are depicted often as Africa's conquerors and tyrants. It makes me sad to think that my parents might feel as isolated and uprooted as I sometimes do.

I did a lot of thinking while listening to the choir - about people and communities and how we work better as a group than as individuals. I thought about Africa and the future of that continent and how many horrible things it has experienced. I thought about white people and how rigid and pursed we often are. I thought about life and what connects me to the people who are living on the same planet at the same time as me and for a fleeting moment that feeling of disconnect disappeared. For one beautiful second I felt a sense of communion with every person on that stage, in that room and on this earth. It was good.

Soaking Wet

Some days you just need something good to happen. A lot of times it doesn't and you just sort of make do with the day-to-day niceties that can be amplified into day-improving events with a vivid imagination. Today I didn't need to rely on such hyperbole, I had a good thing happen right out of the blue.

I dropped Brian off at Rona this morning because he is working on his first job of the fencing season. (It starts.) The day was more white than gray and my heart was more gray than light so I did what any self-respecting semi-sad woman would do; I headed to the shoe store. I walked right past the regularly priced shoes and directly to the clearance section (where the shoes don't fit but the prices do) where I proceeded to man handle the 12 pairs of affordable shoes available to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two young girls staring at me. I sort of smiled their way and went back to a particularly ugly pair of purple pumps. "It's your lucky day!" the two girls started screaming. "We're going to spend $100 on you!" The next thing I knew, radio station pamphlets were being shoved into my hands, the purple pumps were dropped to the floor and I was being dragged around the store by two pretty and very excited promotions girls. I bought shoes I would never have really even looked at. I bought Sketchers. Sketchers that weren't even on sale. By the end of the hour I had three new pairs of shoes and all I paid was $30.

It was a cloudy day...but it was raining shoes.

What TV is good at...

Last night Brian and I did CBC's Test the Nation. It was a two-hour long television special - essentially an IQ test for the whole country. It was awesome. I've never been a huge fan of TV. I like the medium and I love its potential but I find that it is largely wasted. I enjoy the brain-softening escapes from reality as much as the next person but I feel like its usually all the box has to offer. Last night made me feel excited about TV again. It was interactive, it was smart, hip and fun. It paired the internet with the TV special so that people could take the test either online or along with the people in the studio. I don't know who dreamed that concept up but I hope it catches on because I sat in front of the TV for two hours and I left feeling smarter, not dumber.

In sickness and in health...

It's easy to take things for granted when there is so much to take for granted. It's easy to stop thanking people or for the beauties of everyday life to become nothing but the backdrop. When things don't end up the way you want or you get thrown a curve-ball it's easy to miss how lucky you still are.

I've always prided myself on being able to find good in everyone and everything. It's a trait I learned/inherited from my Grandma. Bombs could be falling all around her and she would remark on the blueness of the sky. She didn't have an easy life but her attitude helped to make it a good one.

Throughout this diabetes thing there have been fleeting moments of self pity and of anger. The unfairness of it all and the incense that it could be me. Then I think of the people in the world who are born in abject poverty or who have had far, far worse things happen to them and I feel sheepish.

The one thing I have come to appreciate even more than I already did is the Canadian health care system. You hear people complaining about it (which confirms my ever-strengthening theory that Canadians love to complain - it's part of our self-deprecating psyches) but when you need it, it just swoops in there like a net. I have seen doctors, dietitians and nurses and I have seen them within weeks of my diagnosis and hours at a time. There is a whole clinic set up in Calgary just for diabetic women who are pregnant or trying to get pregnant. They set up lab tests, ultrasounds and specialist appointments with warmth, speed and efficiency. And it doesn't cost a thing. I feel like I have had better care than I probably would anywhere else in the world and I draw real comfort from that knowledge that it isn't in any way related to my race or income. It feels good to know that any woman who found herself in this position would receive good care. Because after all, those who cannot pay for it usually need it most.

It's not perfect and like anything in life, our health-care system could use some improvements. It could also use some of our gratitude.

Odds

The needles aren't that bad. They are very tiny and since the injections just go under the skin I don't have to bother with finding a vein or anything. In fact, it's more like playing a game of darts on my own tummy. Huck it and hope it sticks.

The math involved with calculating how many grams of carbohydrates I'm about to eat and then from that figuring out how many units of insulin are required to cover said grams is a little more complicated. This is one of life's little ironies - I'm horrible at math and have done my best to avoid it and now my life depends on my ability to cross-multiply. Nice. Next thing you know I'll be held hostage by a crazed-gunman who will shoot me in the head if I can't name the last ten Stanley Cup winners.

Parasailing...

I realize it's a bit on the long side...didn't know how to edit it down.

On pins and needles...

I'm going to my appointment today for my insulin start. I'm scared and I don't even know why. It's not just the needles or the regimen that the needles will require. It's the reality of it all. The idea that this is real, and serious and permanent. And it's the needles.

!Hola! Amigos...

We're back from Mexico! I can't even begin to describe what a great time we had in Puerto Vallarta. The weather was hot (28-30 degrees) and sunny everyday and our resort was perfection. We laid by the pool, drank pina coladas, swam and relaxed every day. I can't remember the last time I felt so relaxed and chilled. The food was great and there was something really calming about being able to wake up, eat, nap and go to bed whenever you felt like it. No alarm clocks or rules. The old Caroline emerged from her cocoon of urban stress and I don't know who appreciated it more, me or Brian. :-)

We managed to strike a good balance between doing things and well, not doing anything. We walked around the old town and went on a pub crawl one night. I danced my little tooshie off at all the big clubs in PV - it was a blast. We went para-sailing which was incredible. It was a bit scary at first but as soon as you're up high and looking out over the water it was peaceful, calm and beautiful. My only wish is that we could have done it together. Brian went sea kayaking, we went boogie boarding and we met some really cool people.

On Friday night we celebrated our 2nd anniversary. Some days I can't believe how quickly the time has gone and at the same time I can't really remember a time before Brian. It feels like he has always been there. We walked along the ocean from our resort into town and we held hands and talked about life, relationships and our future. We ate dinner at a small little restaurant overlooking the malecon (basically the boardwalk) and the ocean and drank wine as we listened to the Mexican band in the background. The people were nice and I couldn't have asked for a more romantic, special place to spend our anniversary. I loved having Brian all to myself and being able to spend so much time with him...it was perfect.

We fell in love with Mexico and with the Mexican people. Every one of them was nicer than the next. I liked the pace, loved the food and felt safe and welcome every where we went. More importantly, and this isn't something I ever thought was really possible, I fell even more in love with Brian.

Just Because You're 29 Doesn't Mean You Have to Act Like It...

Twenty-nine

Despite everything that has been going on lately and my recent (but shallow) dip into the waters of self-pity, I feel very lucky today. I have a wonderful family and great friends and a husband who I love more than anything. Especially when he's bearing a MAC makeup gift card. :-)

I have been thinking of my Grandma a lot lately. This is the first birthday without her and I miss her so much. She always had an amazing knack with birthday cards. It didn't matter that she lived so far away, she always managed to have my card arrive on the day of my birthday. I miss talking to her every week and the way she used to turn everything into a joke. With the new developments in my life and this birthday it has finally sunk in that my life is moving forward and she won't be there to see it. That's hard. I want to talk to her about my diabetes, I want her to see me turn 29, and 30 and 40. I want her to meet her great-grandchildren and see my new house and witness Brian being called to the bar. I want her to be with me for everything. Clearly this isn't realistic and I know that all I can do is take all of the lessons she taught me and apply them to the rest of my life. In that way she will always be with me. I feel happy that I knew her and that I loved her so much but mostly I just feel like a part of me is gone.

My existential crisis is over I think. It was never really about the number, and 29 isn't a bad age. I guess it's just adjusting to a new part of my life, and maybe having to make too many adjustments in a short amount of time. Things are good. I'm starting my insulin in March and although I don't relish the idea of injecting myself four times a day I am excited to get this thing under control. Right now I'm on oral meds but that means I am constantly watching to make sure I'm not too low. We're heading to Mexico for a week on Saturday and will be celebrating our 2nd anniversary poolside. Spring is coming and work is going well. I just got a freelance blogging job (details to follow) which will help pay the bills and keep me writing.

Like most things in life, even crises come in threes: first was my pre-birthday freak out. Now I'm faced with even bigger issues; What book do I bring to Mexico and do I spend my birthday money on a Shuffle or a Nano?

Road Monkeys

Not to get too philosophical about traffic but sometimes you have to wonder what motivates people to behave the way they do on the road. Today I was in line to turn on to Crowchild Trail, the freeway that takes me to work. The weather was horrible and the traffic volume was turned way up. (Did you like that one?) I couldn't help but feel like I was in some sociological experiment when I watched several cars bypass the very long line and cut in just in time to make the turn. The same turn that I was going to be making, oh, about 10 minutes after them because I am nice. My first instinct was of course to think, "What bastards! They're cheating! Here we are, all waiting in line doing the right thing and these jerks are whizzing past me, signaling their obvious disregard for every other person left in their trail." These people are the people who would screw over their own mother in the old prisoner dilemma. The alpha male who eats its competition. The ones who always end up on the top of the food chain...

"Wait a damn minute!" In the game of life these guys win! Which made me start to wonder why I wait in line. What keeps me from doing the same thing? What is it about 90% of the population that makes us angry enough to flip the bird to these guys but not brazen enough to follow? To sit at a red light on a dark and empty highway for 5 minutes? What externally imposed social conditioning has taught me that these people are bad and that by sitting there, absently waiting for my turn, I am morally superior? It's nuts.

And for a fleeting instant, as a big black, fuel-guzzling Avalanche flew past me I felt envy. Not disgust or disdain but a sense of awe. Inspired by the sheer ignorance and blatant disregard for others. Impressed by the ability to scratch, claw and kick their way to the top of the social heap.

And as me and all the other mindless drones united in our efforts to refuse him entry and I drove past the man in the Avalanche, waving his fists at us as we sputtered and puttered by in a single chain of moving resistance. I smiled. Because sometimes the little guy does win.

Me...being a kid and loving every minute of it.

Aigu

My birthday is fast approaching and for the first time in my life I'm not feeling all that excited. In fact, you might even call it cold dread; if you were so dramatically inclined. Twenty-nine isn't a milestone year necessarily but after much thought I've realized that for me, it's a big one. This is the first birthday where I haven't had a world of opportunities facing me in the coming year. Last year I had just started a new job and still didn't know what it would hold. The year before that I was living in Asia and was getting married and going traveling. Before that, just got engaged and in grad school. I could go on and on all the way back to my teen years and every year has offered hope of the unknown. A year of opportunities and excitement and endless possibilities. I never knew for sure where I would be at the same time the following year. This year I think I can guess where I will be on Feb. 15th, 2008. In Calgary, probably living in the same place, maybe working at the same job and Brian will still be in school. I'll still be broke and not much will have changed. Obviously I can't be sure of any of this and things could always happen but I just feel like at this point in my life a lot of the big decisions are made. Marriage, a career, a house, a city. This is my life, my real life.

For so many years I looked forward to when my "real, adult" life started. I imagined what it would be like to own a home and put down roots and drive to the office everyday. At 25 I thought I would have a family by now and I would be at least a part-time writer, writing witty columns in the newspaper or plugging away on another book. I thought I would be shopping at nice stores and not worrying about the bills. It's not that I don't like my life because I do, I've just never had the same life for so long.

I think some of this is coming from the whole diabetes thing which has kind of bitch-slapped me when I least expected it. Just when I thought I was getting things together, something like that comes along and turns it all upside down. When I said I wanted a little more of the unexpected, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

I feel annoyed at myself because I've always loved birthdays and could never understand those people who moped around in stodgy anticipation of the big day. My birthday has always been a cause for celebration, another year behind and a fresh start with a new number attached to my identity. It's just such a cliche to feel the way I do. I hate cliches. (almost as much as I hate computer programs that refuse to automatically add the accent on the "e" in cliche).

Stuck in Traffic...

Chuffed

Proud sister brags again...

Mental Meanderings

I can feel myself changing these days. My attitudes about the world and my place in it are morphing into a more mature and maybe more realistic version of their former selves. I always used to imagine myself at the helm of a family of globetrotters. International schools and summer safaris, kids learning their way through the world while really living in it. Christmas cards sent from a different continent every year.

In recent months I have started to see the benefits of staying put. I have started to realize that having good friends who you never see isn't so great. That it's hard to build and deepen relationships from afar and that there is something very powerful about being a part of your community. Having roots, and childhood friends. Bumping into people when you go shopping, having family nearby and developing friendships that go through ups and downs instead of time zones.

This new way of looking at the world might not last for long but it has allowed me to imagine a new way of life, one that hey, I'm already living.

In sort of related news, we're off to Mexico in less than 4 weeks!

Why I Run...

I run because it makes me feel strong and I need that right now.
Because it often feels, about 10 minutes into my run, like I just woke up.
I sometimes look down at my feet and they look like someone else's - an athletes.
I breathe so deeply I can feel the air reaching into every dark corner of my lungs, like light.
Because I can feel myself getting faster and lighter and better.
Because my new running tights make me feel like a Ninja.
I can listen to music and think about whatever my mind wants to think about, with no interruptions.
I smile at people when I pass them and they smile back.
Because I get a beautiful tour of the river side and downtown.
I push myself to go on when I feel like I can't and that empowers me in my other life.
Because I've lost 10 pounds and built muscle.
Sometimes the light in the afternoon is so bright and beautiful it makes me want to cry.
Because I can.

The Devil that you know...

I finally got all my test results back and was relieved to learn that they were normal. Well, except for the diabetes. Intellectually I knew that the chances of anything else being the cause of the diabetes were slim but it was still nice to hear that there wasn't some huge growth on my pancreas. That's always good news.

I'm waiting to see an endocrinologist which could take as long as a couple of months. In the meantime I am on oral medication to lower my blood sugars. They are actually working pretty well and for the last few days have been fluctuating in and out of the normal range. I'm feeling good despite the thousand and one holes in my fingertips. I feel a great sense of loss sometimes when I think about things that I may not be able to do. Brian and I were planning to climb Mount Kilimanjaro in May '08 and now I'm not sure if that's realistic. I sometimes find myself thinking, "Ooh, I'll make a lasagna this weekend..." only to realize that lasagna is now a thing of the past. And so is pizza, and cake and cookies. And although I know food does not make life it does make it better.

Having said that, the only thing that makes life more enjoyable than good food is not being dead and so I'm willing to sacrifice.

A least I didn't ask them to donate blood...

This past Christmas I decided to start a new tradition in our house and do an anonymous Secret Santa. I chose a single woman at my office and a family that lives across the street from us. I have seen this family out in the yard and smiled and waved but have never actually met them. The family consists of two little kids, a boy and a girl, the parents and the Grandma. They are immigrants from Africa and the Grandma would walk past our house dressed in beautiful Tribal dresses and matching head wraps. She always looks so regal and kind. I thought they would be a great family to "treat" over the Holidays.

Every week leading up to Christmas I left a little gift on their doorstep or in their mailbox. Chocolates, cookies, candles. Each gift had a little tag attached, "From your Secret Santa". I got such a kick out of imagining what they were thinking and the nice feeling that would accompany a secret Christmas friend.

That is until I found out that the family are Jehovah's Witnesses. And don't celebrate Christmas. And probably think I'm the devil.

Bah-humbug.

New Year's Resolutions

Do the Splits.
Play Squash at least once a week.
Call my friends more and make them more of a priority.
Write more.
Be at work on time.
Sit straighter. Walk straighter.
Be more gentle.
Get a baby.
Don't get worked up about things that aren't really that important.
Control blood sugars.
Run 4-5 times a week.
Have people over more often.

Bittersweet Evenings

Last week Brian and I went to see a play downtown. After it was over I went to the bathroom and bumped into a homeless woman I have spoken too several times before. She has always been so sweet and I recognized her right away and asked her how she was doing. She wasn't doing well. She looked a bit sickly and told me that she had been wearing the same clothes for three weeks and she stank and how hard it was. It broke my heart. I gave her a hug and promptly emptied my wallet. She cried. I cried and wished her well and left. It was all I could do to maintain my composure until I got back to the darkness of the parking lot and our car. As Brian closed the car door behind me I started to weep. I looked at all the little families walking to their BMW's, the little girls in Christmas dresses heading home to their warm and comfortable lives. How can that woman see that every day and still keep smiling? How can she not be overcome with anger and resentment at the unfairness of it all? On the way home I talked with Brian about what I could do the next time I see her. I suggested taking her home, letting her have a long soak in the tub, a good meal and some clean clothes. But then what? Send her back into the cold? It's hard to know what to do.

I decided that every chance I get to help someone like that, I will take. And in the meantime I will do my damnedest to appreciate every moment I have, every comfort I experience and every privilege I have not really earned. Tonight I am grateful for my family, my lovely husband and...my life. It's the least I can do.

Swimming

I think I have felt every emotion there is to feel in the past few days. I walk in to work and find myself face to face with a mountain of Christmas baking. I feel angry.

I eat my lunch and consider how healthy it always is, and realize that this change will be much easier for me than it would be for a lot of other people. I feel fortunate.

I measure my blood for the 12th time in 3 days and as I watch the little droplet raise above my skin I feel weak and scared.

I go running and despite everything going on I feel proud and powerful and strong.

I look at Brian and all I want is to have a baby and be a healthy little family and I feel devastated. Then I realize how lucky I am to have him at all and to have the love of my life to help me through and I feel so blessed.

I go to bed at 8:00, body tired, mind exhausted and I feel defeated.

And I wake up and start everything all over again.

A Long Weekend...

The idea that your life can change in an instant is a globally accepted one. It is rooted in truth but also in the intellectually abstract. Everyone knows this is true but it never really makes sense until it happens. This past week has been a crazy one for me. Full of blood tests, doctors appointments and since my family doctor is in another city, a lot of driving. And the end result? Diabetes.

Now, don't ask me to explain this. It's not type 2, the kind people usually get in adulthood. It's type 1. As far as we know. Long story short: Brian and I applied for life insurance which involved a urine sample from each of us. They came back for blood from me and then sent me an email the Wednesday before last saying that my results were abnormal and I couldn't get life insurance. Abnormal? What a horrible vague word to send, attached to a person's blood sample no less, over email! Of course I freaked, even though I tried not to and had to fight with the insurance company to fax my results to my Doc rather than send them by mail. When the doctor finally got them and saw that my blood sugar was slightly raised (8.1 mmol/L - cut off is 8.0 mmol/L) she assumed they had screwed up the test and actually referred to the insurance people as "dumbasses". She referred me for a series of tests for this past Friday.

The test she sent me for is supposed to take 2 hours. First they get your fasting blood sugar level and from there they give you a cup of glucose drink and then measure how you react to it over the following two hours. Only problem was, my fasting blood sugar was 16.6 mmol/L. Anything higher than 7.0 means Diabetes - mine was so high it wasn't even close to the line. I couldn't take the glucose tolerance test because putting more glucose in my system would have put me in a coma. The nurse was a freaked out and that made me freak out. She called my doctor right away and suddenly I was taking another day off work. I left the office in tears and felt totally overwhelmed and sideswiped. It was a very long day.

So that's that. The doc got me a blood glucose meter and I'm testing myself 4 times a day. I have an ultrasound, more tests and all kinds of doctor's visits looming throughout the Christmas holidays. And no sugar. Did I mention this is through Christmas!?! Who's ever heard of a Christmas without sugar. Ugh.

This past weekend has been a long one. I've felt sad, angry, confused, scared and tired. I feel a sense of loss greater than the individual losses I will face. I am mourning a way of life I didn't really even appreciate until now. I'm trying to figure out how at 28, in the best shape I've been in for a very long time, I could just one day, wake up with a disease like this. I don't even have any symptoms. It doesn't make sense. That's probably the hardest part is learning to accept something that doesn't make sense. I have very little control over this and it has made me feel betrayed by my own body. I have tried very hard to see the silver lining in all of this, and it is there, shimmering however faintly. I already have a very healthy lifestyle and have been eating very healthy anyway so this won't be as big a change as it might be for some people. I'm educated and informed and will have all the resources I will need to change my life. I'm not afraid of needles. I caught it early before I got too sick. It could always be worse.

So that's that. I felt horrible all day Saturday and my levels were really high. Yesterday they went down slightly and I'm feeling better. A little less vulnerable and a little stronger. Not as pissed off and more willing to approach this with patience and a positive attitude. And armed with proof positive that true to my Dad's opinion, I am definitely a Sweetie.

Finishing the Start

Tonight I went for a run under the last full moon of 2006 and it was beautiful.

I'm Begging Here People...

If you live in Alberta and you read my blog please do me a favour: Get a membership and vote in Saturday's 2nd ballot for the PC leadership election. This vote is probably the most important vote Alberta will see for years. Once the new premier is elected he does not have to call an election for another two years and doesn't have to actually hold one for three. This means we will have a premier with no provincial mandate - a government elected solely by the Conservative faction of the province. Some people are complaining that PC memberships are too easy to come by and are being bought up by non-conservatives. If becoming a member of the party and having a vote is what it takes to ensure I have a voice in our next government, so be it. If the newly elected premier were required to hold an election within six months of the leadership race I wouldn't feel so compelled to jump in where I may not belong. I care about this province and where it goes. I am opposed to everything that Ted Morton stands for and am terrified of the prospect of Premier Morton. You can buy a membership at the polling stations on Saturday and go here for information on where you can vote. The two top candidates are in a tight race and offer two very different futures for our province. Please, inform yourself and vote. It matters.

Read why, when and how here.

Just in case I forget...

Things that are bad for me:

Too many grey days in a row, inactivity, being alone, thinking too much, corn (you don’t want to know), sitting still for too long, stress, too much alcohol, too much internet, church, late nights, fighting with people I love, self-doubt.

Things that are good for me:

Being outside, running, being alone, laughing, talking with friends, a little bit of alcohol, psyllium fibre and flax, writing, reading, relaxing, picking at things (hair from brushes, grass from the cracks in pavement), massages, gardening, sex, pizza, voice mail messages, old friends, having a plan, early nights, long baths.

Welcome to the New Age

Raelians...all of them. I just knew it.



...and what's with the dirty look brother Bush is giving to Brother Harper?

Crush

Agghhh...I can't believe this. Dooce is in Calgary!! The woman I love, worship, strive to be...is in my city! Okay, so maybe that was a bit much but I am seriously considering taking the day off tomorrow to find her. She's the keynote speaker at the Lexi.net convention (registration is closed - I checked) but surely she'll have to step outside at some point. Right? I would do anything to sit down with her, Jon (her husband), Brian and I for some drinks. If I could get just get Kurt Vonnegut to join us I would die a happy woman. Not that I wouldn't die happy now - just a little less happy.

My new Kenneth Cole shoes...EBay rocks.

Kooky Kookster

I received the following comment on my blog regarding this post last week. Wow. I don't really know what to say (thanks to Bobbi who knew exactly what to say). I wish the anonymous poster had left his name, although I'm pretty sure I know who it is.

The poster later apologized and said I could delete his previous comment. (Gee, thanks for allowing me the privilege of deleting ignorant comments from my own blog.) The thing is, I don't want to delete it. I want to frame it. If I had a cross-stitching bone in my body I would have it on my wall when you walk in the door. The comment says more about right-wing nutjobs than I ever could. The fact that this person, who doesn't even know me, gets this angry over the word "kooky" says to me that he may have built his crazy house a little too close to the edge.

Wow, a female 28 year old journalist who's left wing; gee, there's HARDLY any of THOSE around.

Look bimbo, it's pretty obvious that you were too stupid, unmotivated, useless, lazy, egotistical and self important to study anything REMOTELY challenging or useful in college so you studied journalism. That way you sit on your fat ass and write snide remarks about others get paid for doing it and pretend your famous.
Maybe you should actually catch a grip BABY and realize you're not smarter than everybody else and no matter HOW CLEVER you think you are your just another journalist loser with no actual skills or talents thinking they are really performing some valuable community service by bitching about others.

I love that I have angry fans writing me hate mail. I feel like a Beatle or something.

Carrying a Card

I am a member of the Progressive Conservative Party of Alberta. Can you believe it? I still feel a little dazed by my most recent political move even though it makes sense. Since Alberta is sure to elect another Conservative Premier I thought it might be a good idea to have a say in who leads the PC party. With the likes of crazy, kooky Ted Morton running around talking about how he hates the Charter, I have to make sure that I have an active role in ensuring he stays on the farm where he belongs. So, I will be voting for the new leader in the next few weeks. Someone asked me if this now means that when the actual election comes around I will vote PC. I didn’t even have to think about that one – no. I have taken great steps by accepting reality and working within it but I’m not there yet. I’m just doing my part to ensure that the right moves as far left as possible.

The World is a Pigeonhole

Last night I went to watch Brian coach his Special Olympics basketball team. One of his athletes, Carolyn, was also one of my track athletes. As soon as she saw me she came running across the gym and gave me a big hug. It was nice to feel so liked. She sat down and we chatted. At one point she leaned over to me and pointed to Mick, one of the other coaches.
“I think he’s Jewish” she said.
“Pardon me?”
“I think he’s a Jew.” (She says “Jew” like it’s a dirty word)
“Really?” I said, thinking to myself, “Oh boy, this should be good”
“Yah. Look, he has sideburns. That means he’s a Jew.”

Once again I am forced to recognize that stereotypes extend into other stereotyped groups...and why shouldn't they? My Korean students thought Japanese people had slanted eyes and that products made in China were cheap. And my mentally handicapped friend is an anti-Semite.

Boring Beaver?

On Friday night Brian and I went to the James Blunt concert. It was at the Saddledome which seats about 20,000 people, so it was pretty big. Blunt was awesome and although we didn’t have great seats I could still see a lot and of course, there is always something special about live music. There was a British couple behind us and the guy kept yelling, “Go’on Jamie Lad” – it was quite funny. Near the end of the concert Blunt asked everyone to stand up and so we did. Most of the people around us stood up as well, although reluctantly. At one point the guy behind us cheering and yelling and said, “What’s wrong with this lot?” and his girlfriend responded quite loudly, “You’re not in England anymore love…you’re in boring Canada.” Which of course, got me thinking.

While living in Korea I encountered the idea of the “boring Canadian” for the first time. Prior to that I had only heard what party animals we were. It is strange to me that each of these stereotypes can coexist but they seem to. I have found Calgary to be very conservative and at the three last concerts I have been to, unlikely to move or sway to music. This bugs me. It’s one thing at a James Blunt concert given the style and music and the size of Saddledome but the Blue October concert was exactly the same. And the music was hard and the venue was small – two things conducive to a raucous party. Instead it was sober and static.

I realized that growing up in Fort Mac was a unique experience that until recently I took for granted. People who live up there do everything at full speed. Any concert or party I went to was loud, crazy and fun. You ran the risk of being stabbed but it was a good time. People work hard and they play even harder. Growing up I took for granted that when you want out, it was balls to the wall.

I left the concert feeling a little discouraged and frustrated. Sobriety can be contagious and it took the wind out of my sails a little bit. It reaffirmed my desire to get what I can from Calgary and then get out.

Lovestruck

I Own Noobs

I sometimes complain that Calgary has no subcultures, no real diversity to speak of. Tonight I was proven wrong. My brother and I went to see the 12th episode ofPure Pwnage, an internet show that has taken (a certain demographic) by storm. We showed up, with pre-purchased tickets thanks to my brother, and there was already a huge line up. The line up consisted mostly of teenaged boys carrying original Nintendo guns and sporting trench coats. They were selling merchandise at the theatre and the crowd was going crazy! Before the show started they had the characters from the show (Pure Pwnage is filmed in Toronto but most of the cast is from Calgary) come out and they brought a bunch of fans to the front to do random things like, oh, I don’t know-spout off the entire dialogue from episode three. These fans were extremely devoted and apparently all had very good memories. Or no life. At one point during the evening I went to the bathroom and for the first time in my movie-going life I walked past the long lineup for the guys bathroom and right into an empty ladies room. Awesome.

It was a good night. The show was great and I got a glimpse into another world. A world where it is okay to wear videogame t-shirts and tight jeans, where it’s normal to pull out your DS at slow points in the film and where most people only knew each other by their Warcraft alias. I felt like I had ventured beyond the borders of Cowtown and I enjoyed the trip.

Death Insurance

There is nothing like running into your own mortality on a Wednesday afternoon. Today Brian and I went to buy life insurance. How very mature and responsible of us. Fortunately, because of Brian we are both eligible for Canadian Bar Association coverage which is very affordable. We each got enough coverage to make sure that if one of us died the other could pay for a funeral, move if necessary and maybe go on a nice trip to Mexico or something. Or if so inclined, bury the other person in the backyard free of charge, sell the house and move to Europe. Whatever helps with the grief.

Same Same Same Same Same Same

Things have been sort of crappy lately. I don't know whether I am going through some kind of quarter life crisis of if I'm just getting older but I've felt so subdued. I feel a little trapped and a little disappointed. I have a good life - I love my job, I have a husband who I love and who I love back, I have a nice house and a good family. I'm active and although I don't have many friends who live nearby I do have a handful and I certainly have some wonderful long distance friends. And all I can seem to think is, "Is this it? Is this my life?"

I'll be the first to admit that for most of my life I carried some very grand ideas of how my life would look. A famous writer, living on the intellectual cutting edge and inspiring the masses to challenge the status quo, cool. Never did I imagine a quiet, normal, blissful existence.

I find myself feeling suffocated by the sameness of it all. I live in a white-bred city where homogeneity runs rampant. I have a terrible case of the travel bug and I don't have the finances to cure it. My weekdays, from week to week, look frighteningly similar to one another. I need something, but I don't know what.

I've considered taking a vacation alone (since Brian cannot possible give up the time) but know that once again, I have too much debt to start doing that. And besides, I would prefer to travel with someone. I am trying to make new friends by participating in all sorts of activities. I meet people that I like but they already seem to have a large group of their own friends and whatever particular friend niche I might occupy, has already been filled. I run like mad to make myself feel good. I do ballet and I try to be happy...and sometimes it works.

I feel guilty for feeling this way sometimes because I know that the world is full of people who would love to have my life. The warmth, the love and the possibilities. The security.

How to I rectify the ideas, however unrealistic, with the reality? How do I bring myself to accept all that is good in my life while setting out to change what isn't? How do I make myself happy without making myself sick?

Flammable but fitted...

Sure, this week has seen a nuclear test in North Korea, the loss of Habeus Corpus rights in the U and the Canadian government thumbing their collective noses at the developing world's health by refusing to support the addition of asbestos to the Rotterdam list but I've got something a little more pressing to consider.

Pantyhose.

Now, I work at an office that requires business wear and I like that. What I don't like is wearing pantyhose with waists so high that my options are to roll them down so it looks like I have a sleeping wiener dog wrapped around my waist or to tug them up so high that they actually tuck up into my bra. Pictures that for a second...exactly. Not pretty and I can assure you, definitely not comfortable. If I buy them one size shorter the crotch hangs so low that I waddle when I walk, K-Fed style. So, last week when I saw a par of low rise pantyhose I naturally grabbed them, boxed out and defended the stock from any other long-crotched ladies who might dive into my stash.

This morning I got dressed and opened up the package, narely breathing with all the possibility that existed in those flaccid nylon tubes. And? They fit like a glove. The crotch is exactly where it should be. My bra contains only what it should. All is right with the world.

Humility in a Barbie Bicycle Helmet...and Skates

I had my first Special Olympics figure skating practice today and it went really well. Well as in I didn't fall on my ass. Some of the athletes are very good and some of them are just learning to skate. I've managed to rope Brian into coaching Special Olympics as well so he starts basketball tomorrow night. I was feeling pretty lousy before I went to practice and of course, like always, Special Olympics took care of that. I left feeling uplifted and excited for the rest of the season. The thing about Special Olympics is that I spend a lot of time laughing. Not at the athletes but with them...they are so good at laughing and they never do it with any ill intent. They just genuinely find themselves funny and I am more able to laugh at myself when I'm with them. And sometimes, just sometimes, I laugh at them too...I'm only human.

Precious Visit

On Thursday we went to see Alexander McCall Smith do a reading. We have both been reading his books for the last year or so and really enjoy them. He writes a lot about Botswana, a place we have visited and are familiar with. There are so many shared interests and history between myself and Smith that I feel a sense of kinship with him. He is from Scotland (and now lives in Edinburgh) and grew up in Africa, much like my mother. He studied law (as does my husband), writes from a woman's perspective (I am a woman...okay, I'm reaching with that one) and writes children's books. To top it off, he did his reading at KNOX United Church. Weird, huh?

So I was happy - I got to hear McCall Smith and better yet I got to hear him talking to Eleanor Wachtel as the reading will be featured on CBC's Writers and Company. Life is good.

Heart

Do you remember Jump Rope for Heart? I remember when I was young we used to do it every year and every year I loved it. The t-shirt, the super cool knee-high athletic socks (which eventually were used to launch stinkbombs into the boys change room - now why couldn't I enter that in the science fair?) and those beaded-skipping ropes like muticoloured knuckle-bones nipping at your legs every time you stopped to take a breather.

Today we went to a charter school (just like a private school except it's publicly funded) for a Jump program launch. The school focuses on athletics, academics and arts...sort of like what regular schools used to focus on. The Jump program is celebrating its (wait for it...this is going to make you feel old...) 25th anniversary this year. The kids did a skipping demo and presented the Heart and Stroke Foundation with a cheque for $40,000. Wow.

The kids were really happy and excited about raising so much money. They were proud of themselves and their teacher and weren't the least bit afraid of talking to the reporters and camera men who covered the event.

Which made me wonder, at what point exactly does everything change? At what point do people get annoyed of not-for-profits asking for money? When do we become so self-aware that we would rather stay quiet than risk saying the wrong thing? When does it stop being "cool" to care? At what point in our lives did we stop skipping?

Me and the Archbishop

I'm a ballerina! Okay, so not exactly but last night was my second ballet class and I have to say that even I noticed an improvement in my pirouette. I am having such a blast and since I have never taken ballet before (as a young girl I could never have withstood the repetitiveness, the pinkness of it all and of course - the rules) but I thought I would give it a try and I'm glad. I have little pink shoes and the teacher is really great and I have sore muscles where I didn't know I even had muscles.

Live Show

Last night we went to see Blue October - it was an awesome show. Justin Furstenfeld was one of the most theatrical and engaging performers I have ever watched. Every song that came on was better than the one before it and I know this must be true because I was completely sober.

In sort of related news, my best friend's band, Keating, has just released their second album. Take a listen and if you like it, request the single "Much to Say"...most radio stations have it.

Jesus Camp

Despite a good seven hours of sleep I still feel as creeped out and edgy as I did last night. I saw the scariest movie I have ever seen and I think it might take some time to get over this one. The Calgary International Film Festival is on right now and so of course there are lots of great movies playing with lots of neat, funky, and mostly liberal vegetarian people watching them. I had been wanting to see Jesus Camp since I first heard about it and I wasn't disappointed. I can't even begin to explain how frightening this movie is. It's all about the far (far, far, far) right evangelical movement in the U.S. and how they are quite literally training soldiers to lay down their lives for Jesus...except that these soldiers are under the age of ten. The movie profiles several children who have been indoctrinated into the fundamentalist Christian right. The main preacher in the film is quite proud and willing to use the term "indoctrinate" and has no issues whatsoever with how she or her ministry is portrayed in the film. Abortion, Satan, Harry Potter being put to death, speaking in tongues, convulsions, rebirths, repentance, screaming, attacks on global warning, evolution and democracy were all featured and culminated in a prayer session over a cardboard cut out of the celestially appointed George W. Bush. These kids were like little robots and were vocally and proudly calling themselves soldiers of God who would lay down their lives for Christ. What stunned me was how anyone could miss the parallels between this and fundamentalist Islam but, as the preacher herself said when asked about the similarity, "Yah, but excuse me, WE have the truth."

It's easy to dismiss these radicals as just that - a fringe group. Mostly uneducated and of low socio-economic status they are not the most intellectually impressive group. But they are large and they are growing. 75% of the children home-schooled in America are evangelicals. They are being taught that evolution is wrong, that global warming doesn't exist and that their country is under attack from the left. The "us versus them" mentality has reached new heights when the world is described as having "two types of people - those who love Jesus and those who don't."

I hope everyone gets a chance to see this movie. I think we need to be aware of what is out there and the influence this group has. One of their greatest preachers meets with the President and his advisors every Monday. As a voting block they outnumber all others. They are passionate, ignorant and determined. They have nothing to lose because they truly believe the world will end soon and they will be here for the rapture. And most importantly, they are self professed soldiers for all the things they believe in and anything that stands against them is a product of the Devil. They want America back.

I left the theatre feeling sad for the children because they are being subjected to what, in my mind anyway, amounts to psychological abuse. Children of six, seven, eight years old, bawling hysterically because they believe the Devil is tempting them and that their family is under siege. Falling to their knees begging for grace for all the sins they have committed and praying to be washed in Jesus' blood. Not being allowed to have any fun because everything they do must be for the glory of God. I also left feeling afraid. Afraid because I know how much influence these people have in America and how much influence America has on the world stage. Mostly I was afraid because if this continues, I don't see any possibility for peaceful coexistence either within America or on this planet. I left feeling a bit hopeless and unsure of what, if anything, I can do to stop it.

The Big Time...

Brian is back into the swing of things at school and was recently given his first case for the year:

So, this guy picks up a prostitute (for a philosophical discussion he maintains) and asks her to come back to his place. She refuses, saying that it isn't safe. He refuses to pay her and she insists on $40 for her time. Instead, he steals her purse and drives away. She goes to her pimp and she hunts down the John in his trailer court. Pimp beats the shit out of him (allegedly of course) and throws something through the trailer window. John sues pimp (that's right...apparently he's horny, deep and stupid). In comes the lawyer...

My husband is a pimp defender.

Bad Bad Blogger...

Vacation to the Okanagan wasn't all I had hoped it would be. Of course I loved spending time with Bri (which after all, was the point of the trip) but I made the fatal mistake of trying to recapture childhood memories. The waterslides in Penticton aren't really cool...they're scary looking. And Ogo Pogo isn't a giant dragon you can climb all over - he's a plastic toy about 4 feet tall. We had planned on stopping by Flinstone Park because really, who didn't love that as a child? It doesn't exist anymore. I kept telling Brian that all I wanted to do was jump in the lake as soon as we arrived. So, after coughing up $40 for a campsite (which doubled our trip budget on the spot) we ran into the water. As we stood there in the chest-deep lake we looked at each other and I realized, with painful clarity that the water was wet and cold and that I am nearly 30.

We stayed in Kelowna for a few days and actually has a pretty good time. We went on a great tour of the Mission Hill vineyards and winery and played mini-golf. We headed to Osoyoos for three days but ended up bailing a few hours after we arrived. The campsite we were booked into was essentially a squatter's camp and Osoyoos (my apologies to anyone who is from there) is weird. It was creepy and like much of the Okanagan had a disproportionate number of trailer parks. The entire region looked to me as though a lot of people had moved there with a dream and then run out of money before they could put siding on their home or tow the truck to the local garage. And that's where they've stayed...along with their truck.

We headed into the States (Washington, across Idaho and into Montana) which of course was an adventure. I got to listen to my fill of Jesus radio, which for some reason I absolutely love. My favourite quote? "If God is your co-pilot, you better believe that it's time to swap seats!" Pure gold. We ate at a Denny's where I was forced to order from the Senior's Menu because all the stuff from the regular menu came with a bucket of hashbrowns and your weight in pancakes. And if you ordered pancakes? Yup, they came with a side of pancakes.

So, in ten days we managed to cover two provinces, three states, every political and current event worth discussing, a few arguments, some great bumper stickers ("Orgasm Donor")and a few hours of tax-free shopping in the great state of Montana We also learned many lessons for our next trip - mainly that next time we should take our ten day budget and use it over three days.

Summer Hedonism

You thought that last week has been bad? Prepare for far worse...I'm going camping for ten days...with no access to the computer. So no blogging and no emails. There are quite a few emails that need to be written and blog comments to be posted so I've decided to take the lazy man's generic Christmas letter to a whole new level:

Justin: You're home! I can't believe it has been more than two years. Still reading your blog and still loving it - no worries. Any plans to come visit this year or will we have to wait?

Vernelle: He's home! He's home! Hope you're enjoying every minute of it.

Linda: Congrats on Hofstra...it sounds like you're enjoying law school already. I'm interested to see how it develops and how it differs from hubby's experience here.

Stephen: When are you ever going to learn? Either bulk up our troops with foreign involvement or get out of Afghanistan. How many times have we had this discussion...they're dying over there!

Craig & Ian: I love you and I hope to see you soon.

Greg: If you're reading this...get back to work! :-)

Matt: Got your email and loved it. I wasn't trying to goad you into a debate, just thought you might miss the opportunity to have those types of conversations. Point well taken.

Bobbi: Where are you? I miss my lovely lady friend...

I think that's it for now...please don't be offended if you weren't mentioned. In fact, be relieved, be very relieved.

Off to the Okanagan to gorge myself on fruit, wine and skinny dipping.

Please watch this video...I don't know what I'm in awe of more, how articulate she is, what a wonderful feminist and atheist she is or how much I agree with what she has to say.

I'm home today with a wasp sting. I can't put any weight on my swollen stump of a foot. I hate that wasp.

Pardon me, Excuse me...leper coming through...

On Saturday we went to the Korean Festival here in Calgary. We braved the rain and the possibility that we might feel like unwanted foreign invaders all for a taste of galbi and dukbogi. Now, dukbogi is a street food and not one of the Korean foods I ever thought I would encounter again, but we relished every chewy cabbage-covered bite of it.

Koreans use the word waygook to describe, well, everyone who isn't Korean. American soldiers are waygooks, so are white people, and Chinese and Japanese and probably those of Korean descent who live in other countries. The Korean ability to categorize others so easily is a perfect example of their xenophobic and insular approach to the world. Here's a better example: they were still calling us waygooks here in Calgary! The festival, advertised in English, was obviously geared for Koreans since the entire festival was in Korean (and Chinese for some reason) and the signs were in hangul. This was another thing we encountered a lot of in Korea...a map or a pamphlet with an English title or introduction and then nothing else. I can't tell you how many times we picked up an English booklet only to find the inside entirely in Korean. What a pump-fake. Anyway, we got such a kick out of the fact that they were still referring to us as "foreigners" in our home country...I guess it's all a matter of perspective and some people's perspectives never change.

Bathroom Before and After

Some Before and After Shots...

The living room when we first looked at the house...not our furniture...



During...



When we were finished. New floors, new colours, new baseboards...

Heads in the Clouds

The idea of an after life has got to be the most manipulative and powerful concept ever invented by mankind. It has made poor people complacent about their status in life by promising them eternal rewards. The meek are told that they will one day inherit the earth. It's untestable promises have kept slaves in bondage in Jerusalem, in Africa, the Asias, in the Americas and across countless generations. The fear of punishment after death has led to the denial of sexual desire, repression of science, intelligence, progress and intellectual debate. It has lauded obedience above reason and mildness over justice. It has given power to those who don't deserve it and can't handle it and made sacrifices of the week, impoverished and uneducated. It has made sinners out of babies who weren't splashed with water soon enough after birth. Behind its trail it has left a wake of complacency, acceptance, fear and abuse. And today it creates an atmosphere where blowing people to smithereens is okay because you will be rewarded with virgins and martyred in the name of God. It has allowed the infestation of incivility to fester and become more than acceptable, it has mutated into righteousness. Christians can rest easy because gays will reside in Hell and perverted old men can have sex with altar boys because they yield the promise of eternal salvation as easily as they do their dicks.

What would this world look like if the concept of eternal life had never been? How would we act if we knew this is all we had...no reward and no punishment, just the direct results of our actions. If personal accountability dictated how we treated others as opposed to their skin colour, religion or status? What if someone asked us to blow up a plane and we knew that if we did that it would be the end. No virgins, no respect, no reward - just death.

How much have we lost by allowing our humanity to reside in the clouds rather than on the earth?

Shirts and Skins

I spent Monday and Tuesday out in Banff at the Telus Skins Golf Game. I was working with Making the Connection (which Heart & Stroke is a part of) and got the chance to meet a bunch of famous golfers...who I didn't actually know or recognize. I knew who Jack Nicklaus was, but only because I used to see him in the Sears catalogue as a young girl. There was also Sergio Garcia, John Daly, Greg Norman and Stephen Ames. it was nice to be treated like royalty and as VIP's we had access to all the hospitality tents etc. It was fun and I really enjoyed meeting Pat Quinn - what a nice guy. More than that I enjoyed getting paid to hang out in Banff with famous people...even if I didn't know they were famous.

Crazy Jesus People Comics

More lunacy...

Fun With Flipping Floaters

The weekend is over and for some reason I feel very tired even though I had a fairly relaxing time. On Friday I went for dinner with a friend I hadn't met yet. I am good friends with her son and she reads my blog...I had such a nice time talking with her. We had a good meal and laughed and shared stories and I felt like I had known her for a very long time. We probably wouldn't have met if it hadn't been for the internet...nice internet.

On Saturday I decided to embark on a project I shouldn't have even considered let alone embarked at. I replaced the burner on our barbecue. Sounds easy right? After battling with a can of degreaser, wrestling with rusted metal wing nuts and finally begging for compliance from a pair of metal venturi, I finished. Five hours after I started. I was covered in black grease. But the barbecue works. Then again, it worked before I started. Look what five hours of hard work will get you.

Yesterday we headed to Bowness Park to relax and read in the sun. (I am reading the most incredible book right now called "The History of Love" by Nicole Krauss. It's probably some of the best writing I have read since Alistair MacLeod's "No Great Mischief" although of a different type.) We had been laying there in the hot sun for a few hours (me, basting in SPF 30 of course) when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, came this gale-force wind. In seconds the temperature dropped, the sky turned black and our mouths were filled with a fine grit. We, along with half the park, ran for our car, dodging falling tree branches as we went. Water Rescue trucks, with sirens blaring, headed to the water to rescue the floaters. It was like Armageddon...I kept waiting to see naked bodies floating up into the heavens (especially the family picnic to the right of our spot who prayed/sang loud enough that even the Muslims at the Islamic Centre barbecue felt shamed), but alas, it was just a summer storm.

Big People in Little Bodies...Revolt!!

One of my favourite things when I was a child was going to the public library. I bloomed under the potential of all those books and the knowledge that I would be taking at least some of them home. My Mum would often tell us we had a limit of say, five or ten items and I would spend the next hour agonizing on what books I was going to check out. Would it be too quick a read? Was it funny enough? Hard enough? Would I like it? I would read the description on the back and maybe the first few pages trying to extrapolate what the rest of the experience would feel like. Usually I ended up with five books and a list of another 50 I would have to get next time.

I still love going to the library. I still bring home too many books and end up with late fines. Just last week I returned James Gleick's Isaac Newton only half-finished. I really enjoyed it...but now I don't know what happened to Newton. I can only assume he died.

Last night I went to the library because I had a whole list of books I wanted to get and I managed to get a bunch of them. Unfortunately I stumbled across something while I was there that made me feel angry and a little sad. The library has a new "Kids Bag" program where parents can go in and grab a bag that contains five books and an audio-visual item. The bags are all lined up along one of the shelves and labeled according to gender and age. What the hell? What happened to choosing books with your child? What happened to the idea that kids are actually little people who have preferences, tastes and varying abilities? Can you imagine if I handed you a book and said "Here you go. I have no idea what this book is about but it's geared towards your generation and gender so you're bound to like it." How are you supposed to learn about yourself and develop a relationship with reading if you're just handed an arbitrarily assigned plastic bag of reading materials?

If parents don't have time to even pick out the books for their little ones I can bet they aren't reading to them either. Sometimes I wonder how we all ended up doing things so ass backwards and why nobody seems to notice.

Number One of Series

I don't know what it says but I like it anyway...

Yay Brian!! (Also known as West, BD)

I hope you choke on a roll...

I do not profess to know very much about the Middle East or how we're all going to solve it, but I do think I can safely say that it won't be with rockets. What a mess over there right now. What sadness and frustration to watch it all happen and know that it's very unlikely it will come to a peaceful resolution any time soon. I still can't believe to this day that the post-war Zionists and whoever enabled their little "utopia" to exist, couldn't foresee the instability it would bring to the region. I can't believe that last night on television I witnessed the President of the United States of America lean over towards Tony Blair and say, "See the irony is that what they need to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop doing this shit and it's over." What? First of all, the man obviously doesn't understand the idea of irony (put him in a room with Alanis Morissette and who knows what the hell would happen). Secondly, does he really think it's all that easy? Does he think he can just pick up the phone and tell Syria to stop Hezbollah? And why is he talking about international affairs while chewing on a bread roll? This is the man that many peoples hopes are riding on.

There will be no peace until the Israeli government realizes it is not perfect, it does not have sole claim to the Holy Land and that they have to negotiate. It won't end until Hezbollah and the Palestinians realize that launching rockets or blowing themselves up isn't getting them anywhere but dead. Both sides need to stop, take a deep breath, swallow their pride and meet in the middle. I'm afraid though that once again, as it has a thousand times throughout our history, hubris will conquer compromise.

That's awfully ambitious.

"Vote for Me, Have a Latte"

Some people have way too much time on their hands...and I'm glad.

Ground Level

One of my Special Olympics Athletes, Bonnie, died last week in her sleep. I was so sad when I got the call because she was so sweet and I'm tired of people dying. I went to the service last night (the official Catholic funeral is going on right now but obviously I'm not there because I'm here writing) and I'm glad I went even though it was difficult. I had never actually been to a funeral home before and I didn't really know what to expect. The family was so sweet and very happy that I had come. I went with the intention of sharing some stories about Bonnie that maybe the family didn't know and telling them what a sweet, kind and special person she was. I left feeling like they had given me something instead. Every person in the room, despite the enormity of their loss, made a point of thanking me for working with Special Olympics. I felt a bit bad until I realized that obviously they wantedto thank me. I had given thought to what the program means to the athletes but to be honest I had never considered it from the perspective of their families. Obviously it means more to them than I realized.

Bonnie has two special needs brothers who were both there last night. I went into the viewing room and one of the brothers John came with me. As we stood there over the body of his dead sister he started to cry and said to me, "Bonnie likes puzzles. She won't be doing any more puzzles." "No, she won't." I replied. "Bonnie is never going to go bowling again." he continued. I guess that's the strange thing about death. It means something different to everyone but it never hurts any less.

Seeing her body was a weird experience for me. It was the first time I had ever really seen a dead body (except for the time I failed miserably at CPR but he was newly dead and I was too exhausted to really stop and look at him) and it was strange. I have become insanely addicted to "Six Feet Under" as of late and they do a lot of embalming on that show. It's a really strange idea I think. There was Bonnie, only it wasn't Bonnie, and she had been stuffed and sewn and glued. For what? Apparently, for a lot of people, it is psychologically healthy to be able to see the body before it is buried so they can fully understand that the person is gone. Me, I would rather keep their living image in my head than be face to face with the remnants of what is left after death. Again, it's all a very personal thing and there is no right or wrong way to deal with it.

I said all the right things when I was there, "She's in a better place." "Yes, you're right, she was an angel." "That's a good way to think of it...her father and her are together now." It made me want to bite off my own tongue because I don't believe a word of it. But who the hell am I to take away the comfort those beliefs obviously bring them? I may be an atheist but I'm not a sadist.

Cowgirl Up...

Check out those boots!! Yee Haw!