Gearing up for the holiday

Yes, I missed a day. Have I mentioned yet that it's been hot? I have a day off. To myself. Myself and some bathroom cleaning, some laundry, some grocery shopping... but, that's what a day off is about really. All in all, I can take my time and enjoy some mental space. Tomorrow is a holiday. A holiday is different than a day off. No real time for mental space. There will be kids running around, guests to serve, meat to thaw, popsicles to freeze, cats to calm down all topped off with fireworks and (hopefully) well earned exhaustion. I'm actually looking forward to the chaos.

A dear friend J.O. called last night. She'll be dropping by some time mid-month. I've been thinking about my friends lately. How wonderful they all are and how lucky I am that they put up with me. The best thing about these friends is that, since they know me, they won't let me stray too far from who I am. Not that I am a particular fan of the phrase 'keeping it real' but it's comforting to be accepted.

One thing that a couple of my friends brought up is that somehow, without us looking, we ended up in our 30's ... essentially 'grown-up' with grown-up lives. How did this happen? In my head, I feel much the same as I did in university. How did we become editors for major corporations, police officers, mothers, professors and day-care instructors? How can it be that the boys and girls who bugged us in grade 9 are now in the position to teach our wee ones? (Not all of them...the boys and girls who really bugged us are living through their 3rd or 4th divorces, paying support out the ying yang, living in broken down trailers, working in cracker factories and are all grossly overweight with bad 80's hair and very yellow teeth)

Ok...that said, I am really beginning to feel the holiday spirit!!

tick tick tick tick

Approximately one hour ago, my email account here at work froze up. Now it's asking me for my password and won't believe me when I tell it what it is. Approximately one hour ago, J accessed our email from home. My theory is that my home email automatically popped up first thereby screwing around with my at work email. Like myself, the two sides of my email are very territorial and resent any attempt at forced comingling. Seems that my home email is winning this particular war. Apparently, I am able to receive all of my work email at home at the moment. I asked J to power down and see if that will help things out. I love a good technological mystery. For the second day in a row, however, I am not feeling particularly prolific. Perhaps it's the heat...yes, I'm still whinging on about it. What can I say? I am not a fan. J is doing showcall on the hill. Yet another national holiday spent apart. Won't be sooo bad though...my mother is coming into town :) Can anyone else sense it? A feeling of forboding? That not all may be right in this world? At least J is at home today and is able (although not willing) to deal with our impending laundry crisis...S had an accident in her bed last night...ammonia plus 35+ temperatures do not mix. Enough of this rambling.

Decisions

On a day like today, is it better to leave the butter on the counter or put it in the fridge? Keep in mind that I like toast in the morning and hate ripped bread but, simultaneously, am not a fan of liquid grease dripping on to my plate either.

In the hot seat

So I couldn't find anyone to run sound for me today. It's busy season across the city and every competent technician (and all semi competent and a good deal of the incompetent) have been booked already...Lured in by big money and status gigs. Sigh. So, part of my job description is that if I can't get someone else to fill a spot, I've got to step in. Not that dance recitals are difficult (get your levels and press play) but, I wasn't looking forward to it. I haven't actually worked a show in over a year. I've tried to keep my chops up but, lets face it, the magic of live theatre is that anything can happen at any time...that's the draw to any adreneline junkie. I used to thrive on the last minute but...did I still have 'it'? Well, the show went off without a hitch. The head lx and I were in the groove and all went well. I guess it's something like bike riding...once you learn...unless you fall off...or get forced into loosing your training wheels too early and end up with a strange aversion to all vehicles with two wheels...so bad that you can't even look at the profile of a car...but...maybe? I digress.

Coming home to kids and gramma...knowing that all that was in fridge was leftovers ... not wanting to put on stove...it's hot...still...hot and humid...yuck. I noticed that our street was having a block party...I remember having seen an invite. They were going to serve hotdogs and cupcakes...dinner plans saved!! (see above post and realize that foraging for free food is a survival skill...learned at many a backstage function) I got the kids sunscreened, shoed and hatted...oh ya...and put pants on the boy and off we went (after saying thank you and bye bye to gramma of course). Well, there were toys, and a jumping area, and indeed hotdogs, cupcakes AND salads AND chips AND juices AND pop AND BEER!!! Feeling at peace with the world, I set the kids free and headed to the sustenance table...beer in hand, I then headed for the food. With plate laden down my boy started crying...right there in the middle of the sitting area, he was relieving himself but, hadn't had time to drop his drawers. I looked around for the girl, she seemed fine, I asked some kind looking people if they would watch her and rushed A home to get changed. I put on his swimming trunks and we went back to the festivities. It was very nice...a lovely idea...good to get outside from the heat...nice to meet people (who all, apparently already know my children). The kids ate a couple bites of hotdog, some chips and then decided to go swimming (ya...I know...I seem to have broken yet another major parenting rule...one about waiting an hour before swimming unless it's shark infested water whereupon you wouldn't want to go swimming anyway unless you wanted to be dinner) ... the kids swam and splashed and had a blast. S started to try to actually swim...very cool. A, after a while, stripped off his trunks declaring to all who would listen that he really didn't need them...he could swim just fine without them...who could argue? When it came time to pack up, S was ready to come home as she was shivering and in need of some dry clothes. A, on the other hand, wanted to stay and supervise the emptying of the pool. I handed him my house keys and, knowing that he was the one who could let us all in, he proceeded to streak down the road...with the key chain flapping beside him (yes...my key chain is actually a 2' long chain). We got in...got bath time out of the way...had a snack...brushed teeth and crashed. Well...not exactly. I'm still hearing some strange sing song sounds from their room but...these too will fade away.

All in all, a hot day...but a good day.

In Memory

There are just too many to choose from -- topics I mean. 'Cruise'n for a Bruise'n'-- a rant and 'what the fuck' about the seeming need to seek and base opinions on an authority...any authority...even Tom freaken Cruise, 'Hot Hot Humidity' -- today has been hot...and humid...need I say more?, 'One Lump, Two Lumps or None' -- the mother of an old friend walked in to the operating room last week and had her breasts removed...seems that mamograms do work...no sign of cancer anywhere else and she's happy and at home. When asked if she would like breast reconstruction, her response was 'no, they were never all that big to begin with' , 'My mother is coming, my mother is coming' -- the visits tend to be whirlwinds...just gotta make sure to batten down the hatches. The choice should be clear but I can't get images of Dragonflies out of my mind. Here's the scoop:

One of the images I have of a dear friend is one that I never experienced first hand. Although she only ever told me about it all I have ever needed to do is close my eyes and I am there. She had a job tree planting in Northern Ontario one summer and made friends with dragonflies. She described sitting by water as dragonflies flew around her and, sometimes landed on her knees. They kept the mosquitos and other insects at bay. The scene evoked a sense of peace and tranquility missing from newage shops with their incense and counter fountains. For the longest time, I couldn't even think about a dragonfly without that image coming to mind. Time passes, however, and images fade.

A couple of years ago my friend called me to tell me that her mother had cancer. Cancer. Brutal. This woman...who I called Mom...this woman...who introduced me to the joy of Johnny Horton...this woman...who whisked me away from the bus station so I didn't have to announce my presence in town 'just yet' to my own family, this woman who, no matter what, I felt safe with...comfortable around...myself 'unplugged.' Over the next couple years, the disease worked its way from her breasts to her lungs to her spine. My friend, an only child, learned to administer medication and needles to her own mom...pretty brave...pretty unthinkable...pretty ... well, not pretty.

When the phone call finally came indicating the end, it was with relief...that the struggle was over...that rest could come. It was also with a feeling unlike any other I had felt. I've never before had anyone really close to me die. I won't say that I was sad...that word doesn't work. It's neither complex enough nor is it elegant. I felt crushed...I felt heavy...I mourned.

A while later...I was in my back garden. Sitting with a coffee and a smoke. Trying to bring back a feeling of peace. A dragonfly came by. It landed on the fence and looked at me. I was told once that spirit animals are everywhere but, it's only when you notice them that they have a message for you. I noticed this dragon fly and was instantly brought back to a Northen Ontario tree planting camp. I was sitting beside my friend and the dragonflies, like the fairies named hope that came out from the bottom of Pandora's box, danced around us. I started to giggle and then, staring straight back into the dragonflies eyes, I said goodbye to mom, finished my coffee and went inside.

The Measure of a Man?[sic]

I'm doin' this a bit early this morning. I'm not working until after lunch and I have a break seeing as the laundry is in the machines. Yesterday, there was a retirement party for our esteemed president. It was a themed affair -- retirement at the cottage -- complete and replete with a log fire and marshmallows. Yum. As I entered the 'space' I was given a ticket for which I could exchange an alcoholic beverage...one...beer or wine. I abstained. Instead, I was one of the rude over eager eaters who, much to the organizers' chagrin, dove into the food goodies before the speeches had begun and then continued to munch throughout. It's a survival skill. The president was suitably cheery and gracious. There seemed to be over 500 people there. Nevertheless, for those who don't know who I am, you would really have no idea who this man is that I'm writing about. His 'legacy' as it were seems confined to a 'space' soon to become no more memorable than as a photograph (do they paint portraits anymore?) hung somewhere in a hallway of the institution. Last month, a fellow from our department retired. We all went out to lunch to 'celebrate' the occasion--I think there were 20 of us in all. We were seated at a long table and I was stuck down at one end. There was a brief speech and gifts were given and then we all paid our tabs and went back to work. Thanks for the work! Have a good retirement! Don't bother us. Perhaps I'm a bit too uncharitable? When the job we do defines us as who we are is it any wonder that retirement, for some, quickly leads to death? First, a social death of sorts. Sure you don't have to work and have free time to do stuff but...what stuff...and with whom? Mental diminishment may follow...why would anyone listen to what you have to say anymore anyway? How can you be relevant? Slowly, the physical body will begin to fade away. Now, I know that this isn't true of everybody but, in a world that seems to place a priority upon productivity viewed through an economic lens, it must be difficult for an individual self to feel valued just for being. I wish both of these men a good and happy retirement. I hope that instead of 'retiring' they are able to truly enjoy their time outside of the box. I fear, however, that this may not be the case. Guess I'll just have to wait and see how things measure up.

In Tune

This must be another example of tuning. I have just started my blog and, have found out (just this morning) that a friend of mine who is across on the other side of the world (night time for her) has just started her own. So, why this pre-victorian need to write all of a sudden? Her response is that a creative outlet has been missing and this could very well fill the void. I have to agree. I'm actually looking forward to writing this each day. Unlike others, mine is not a morning or before bed occupation. I am taking the second half hour of my lunch to do this. Since I quit smoking, that bit of time after eating has left me at loose ends. I usually have just gone back to work or, mindlessly surfed the web for obscure news bites but have never really been able to find that sweet channel spot on the radio tuner. J and I have just gone through a period of being out of tune. He is in work mode. All else goes to the way-side. Festival/concert season does this to him. Long hours with 'the guys.' I'm not very supportive of that...I'm too greedy...I need proper attention paid to me. The money is nice but, I want him to remember to clean the cat box too. After all, I work too and seem to be able to get stuff down around the house. It's hard for him though. I can be too demanding and picky and he does really suck at doing dishes. I mean...how hard is it to feel a plate and discern that perhaps if your finger slides off it and leaves a greasy mark then perhaps, just perhaps, it needs to be scrubbed a wee bit more? At least we both recognize that this season is hectic ... and, it helps that kids and cats are involved in keeping us from imploding in our personal states of self-absorption. There are, indeed, more important things to do during the day than worry about cat piss, laundry, which dude got to run followspot and the like. Things like playing princess with my son and hairy monster with my daughter. Sometimes a bit of dissonance is a good thing.

Check one two...one two...check one two

So, here I am on day 3. The third day. The pinnacle of a triumverate (if turned on its side). 3 cheers. 3 fold. mommy and daddy and baby make 3. 3 is a powerful number. 3-part harmony. 3 is filled with nuance. 3 is suspicious. 3 is a crowd. let's lift it on 3. my children are 3. 3 cheers for 3! and 3 somes (if you're into that sort of thing). 3 day's grace. holy trinity. tricycles. events happen in 3's. without 3 is there a middle? an average? a mean?
Where I work, there are 3 dressing rooms. When examining them the other day, I noticed black dust sticking to the ceiling around the airvent in each room. Kinda icky. Kinda gross. I could have cleaned it myself but, decided to 'call it in' instead. My job, although this may to some seem surprising, is not to act as cleaner. I dutifully called it in. I took yesterday off. When I got in this morning, I had several voicemails from a member of the maintenance staff alarmed at the possibility of mould growing in these rooms. I called him back and said that it wasn't mould...just dust. I was told that if I mentioned mould, I'd get more action. But, that's silly I thought...it's just dust...black and icky...it needs hot water and a cloth...situation resolved. I hung up the phone and heard a rustling in the hallway. 3 cleaners...with gloves, brushes, brooms and vacuum...ready to tackle the 'dust.' Although it was dust, not mould, and they knew it was dust and not mould, the fact that the word mould had been mentioned somewhere along the chain of events had brought about immediate action. Seems we are becoming part of an extreme world. Dust as dust isn't important enough to be of concern. Dust masquerading as mould, however, necessitates immediate action. So, when I am sick I should say I am dying before I will be given chicken soup. The 3 cleaners (like wise men) swept and vaccuumed...took over an hour. The large fuzzy dust bits are gone although a greyish film remains on the ceiling. When I finish this post, I will get a cloth and some hotwater.

Hmmm...let me see

As I am going to make the attempt to make this a daily occurence (is it ence or ance? this one always confuses me...makes me second and then third guess myself) I am once again in front of both keyboard and monitor filling this page with whatever pops into my head. Recently, I've been trying to capture moments...first in my mind...second on the page. May seem odd but I need to experience a moment from as many angles, perspectives and senses that I can before I am satisfied that it is:
a) 'real' enough to put on the page;
b) separated enough from the real real to address it without compromising myself thereby leaving me open to an undesired scrutiny;
c) salient to mood--this 'mood' can be mine, what I perceive the outside world to be, my significant 'others' ...

All this to say that I have managed, quite adeptly actually, to put off actual writing for quite a while. So...without further ado...let's get real.

I cried last night. And in the afternoon.
Morning tears went well with my coffee
The Dutch, I hear, use salt in their grounds
Was it a mother who discovered this?
Or a daughter?
New turns old turns new
Cycles flip and fold and stroke and cajole
Teasing us with immediacy pressed hard against an eternal
Sometimes I don't want to keep up
With expectations of self ... of other
And need instead the comfort of release
In tears.


Ok...it's rough. One of my 'others' thinks it depressing. I don't think so. I'm kinda stoked that it came out. I shant delay the inevitable. I'll let it go and see what, if anything, returns.

here i am

The hardest part about this was chosing a name. Decisions decisions. The worst part about the process is that I discovered that I am not as original as I thought. Horrors. But, at any rate, here I am. Let's give this a go. I've been presured and peered. So, about the name. Rosco324 is a brand new colour, hot off the presses from Rosco. It's a beautiful pinky reddish purply hue that does wonders when shot from the side on a dancers form. Perhaps a bit too hot? But, thankfully, not bubblegum. I'm going to send this off to the world now...with nary a preview. As my first love?'s words to me the first time a kiss approached ... 'oh well, into the abyss.....'