Fantasy

Ok. Sorry. I have to gloat a bit. Last night was wonderful! It's hard, sometimes, when you are with someone for a long time to keep the proverbial spark alive. It takes work. Understanding. Compromise....yadda yadda yadda. So. Last night, J and I each had an 'opening night' in separate theatres. I left for home as soon as my show started. I have staff who run the shows in my space. I would rather bugger off and be with my kids. J had to stay for his show. Not so much 'had to' ... it is a labour of love. Well. I hinted. J got the hint!!! Big time! At home alone, I began to think that J would probably forget about me and stay with the cast at the theatre and...later move on with the stragglers of the group to a nearby pub and get trashed only to stumble home around 3am reeking of cigarettes and alcohol, crashing on the coucn and making the next day a veritable right off. It's happened before. Not last night though! Around 11pm I heard the familiar key opening the back door. J came home. Not only did he come home...he brought home some beer from the cast party! He told me that he had worked like a dog with these people all week and, when the show was over, he enjoyed a celebratory drink with them. After that, he told them that he had an early morning and had to go. They all cheered him and he took off. He told me that he had been thinking of me all day. And, was kind of excited at being able to surprise me. He told me that he would rather share his 'triumph' with me than anyone else. We sat on the couch...drank the beer ... and talked!! We haven't shared a beer together in about a year.(talked until we went upstairs...but you may thank me for not going into more detail). It was magical. Seemed, at times, more fantasy than reality. It may seem strange but, last night finally showed me that J actually does put us first. Our relationship matters to him. I know that I should 'know that' but, without an occasional reminder, it's amazing how quickly things can sour. Well, I'll sign off now. J is in the shower. I brought the kids to school and hit the gym this morning. Now, we are going for a drive in the country. Maybe do a picnic lunch. Cheerio.

Loving the Feeling

The other day, J, the kids and I were driving around...the windows were down...we were scarfing back ice cream cones...good tunes were on the radio. It was a good moment. Actually, it was an amazing moment. I'm getting a lot of those lately. I have amazing kids. I have a good home. I have a wonderful partner. I have a great job. My ass is beginning to look smoking (thank you lunges!). I have fantastic friendships (although they all live too far away to sneak a coffee break). I have 2 cats who brighten my day (except for the early morning 'we want food' whinge). I'm soooo happy I feel that I might actually burst...it's not cliche...I really might! World terrors, stupid wars, soccer mom/anti-poor/let them eat cake budgets, egomaniacal directors, crazy springtime drivers will all have to take a back seat. I'm feeling good.

Where I Work

I look up and see out of the corner of my eye (to the left) a grand piano, covered, sitting on a stage. My stage. My piano. For all intensive purposes. A 9' Steinway Concert D Grand Piano. Freshly tuned. Jealous? I have a colour monitor which is constantly on showing me what is going on on the stage. Behind me, I have wired up speakers. I can choose to have them on or off. They are off now. There is no one on stage. No one to listen to. I'm a part time voyeur. To the left of my computer monitor (I have, at present, a 19" flat screen) there is a page scotch taped to the wall which has my daughter's first full attempt at writing out the alphabet. It's very good. She ran out of room at the bottom so switched colours from orange to blue and wrote out 'w x y and z' at the top. My daughter is very smart. She doesn't suffer fools gently either. Above the alphabet is a poem from a friend...I thought she wrote it...that she didn't doesn't really matter since whenever I look at it, I think of her -- A Woman Should Have... and Every Woman Should Know... Directly in front of me I have a large cork board filled with thank you cards and clippings. Interesting clippings. To me, anyway. One is a news item talking about a 'lost' Amazon tribe that re-emerges from the jungle just in time to be ordered off the land. I also have a fire safety notice. I accidently set off a fire alarm in the theatre a couple months back and got my wrist slapped by the powers that be. They gave me a notice. I put the notice on my wall. Soon, it will be covered by other cards/papers/notices. Like vines covering cottage walls. I also have requisite pictures of kids and J. To my right is an ancient speaker. Ok, not ancient but, was new probably in the 1960's. I used to have my computer wired to it through the ancient amp that sits on top of it. Both sound like crap. I keep them because they are cool, the right height to act as additional file storage space and, I really couldn't be bothered with disposing of them. On top of the amp is an old heat shield from a follow spot. At the moment, it is storage for old show reports. One day, it, and it's partner that resides on another desk, will be transformed into herb boxes. I have a book shelf filled with old log books and industry mags as well as holding a magnetic tape eraser. It's cool so I keep it. I have a cabinet filled with old audio reels and albums. Ancient artifacts. Behind me to the right is a drafting table. It has shelves underneath that house rolls of old and current plots. More pieces of equipment replaced by my computer drafting program. Behind me is another desk. Also mine. On it sits a stuffed gorilla. I worked a show wherein the set designer asked if I would rig a monkey up out of sight lines. I did. In gratitude, I got the gorilla. On the walls, I have taped some show posters and cool industry articles. My actual work surface desk tends to fill quickly with industry mags, current and future show notes, gear gak and coffee cups. I try to keep a number of pens scattered around because I always find it difficult to find them when needed. Although I have a number of note pads on the go, more often then not, I end up writing important information on the back of scrap paper. I like my office. It's a hole. It's a dive. It's mine. For now. It's the type of office that, when I go, will be used by a person who will add to the decor but, will essentially leave it as it is. This office belongs to the theatre. I'm here cuz I fit.

The Real Poop

I couldn't even dream about posting today without talking about poop. Things happen in 3's and shit talk on the blog is no exception. The family and I got some bags of cow manure -- it now comes in unscented varieties! -- and I spread it over the back garden. I'm loving this garden. The earth is filled with worms. Even though it's still too early to plant, I love just being in the dirt. When I first started digging, the neighbours came out and started to help. Yay I thought. We'll have a communal garden. Crap, I thought. We'll have a communal garden. I like my neighbours. Working together is fine. But...well...it's my garden. I'm a competitive, territorial bitch when it comes down to it. I didn't let any of this animosity show, however. As I said, I kinda like the idea of everyone working together. As well, it seemed that they were really enjoying themselves too. To be perfectly honest, so was I. Today was the perfect day to spread the manure however. It was raining. No one came to help. I dug in perfect harmony with my surroundings. I know that one day, I'll have to share. Just not today. Today, it was just me, my garden and a couple bags of poop.

Flower Dreams and Other Poop

I am a much relieved person today. I've been having the weirdest violent sort of dreams. I'm not sure why. I finished The DaVinci Code but, I don't recall any bloody monks in my dreams. Some friends of mine were smack dab in the middle of the 'civil' conflict in Nepal. They are safe and sound (thankfully and welcome back!) but, even the image of gun toting anti monarchists weren't the main players of my dreams. To be honest, I'm not sure what my dreams have been about. I have woken up tired and vaguely aware of being uncomfortable all night with violent movies playing out inside my head. Last night I finally was able to sleep. Well. I woke up shortly after 9am feeling foggy but refreshed. I still dreamed last night but I don't think the violence was there. My son, on the other hand was awake when J went into his bedroom this morning. He told J that he had had a nightmare. Apparently, among other things, the flowers that he had been dreaming about turned into poo. He then informed J that that part of his dream had been kinda funny. Dreams are funny things. I believe that some dreams are portents but most, in my case anyway, are poorly shot video images depicting the clutter that has accumulated in my brain.

Ok. A short book review. The DaVinci Code was a quick read. A pretty good read. I think the controversies surrounding the book are a bit over the top. Mind you, I don't see a problem with the idea that Jesus was married and had kids and his blood line survives today. It doesn't cripple my faith. Mind you, I believe that my family can be linked back to the great Genghis Khan. Virility has a power all its own. The predominance of the female goddess idea and the links between modern day Christianity and past pagan practices was refreshing but nothing really new. The book has a few characters who belong to Opus Dei. From the media accounts, I was expecting to see all the Opus Dei folk lumped together as crazy catholic fundamentalists. Seems there was only one. And what group of folks out there can't claim to have at least one crazy fundamentalist among them? The book was clever. Not mind blowing. Not overly deep. A good beach book.

Blog Response. I've been thinking about Canadian troops in Afghanistan. I'm against it. I've been trying to work out why. Yes the Taliban is bad. Yes, western powers have screwed things up over there and things need to be put right. But. It's the but that I have not been able to elaborate on ... I'll try now. Bear with me...this is off the cuff:

Ok. I can't think of any cases wherein a foreign army has been able to successfully move in and 'fix' things in a country. The only successful 'fixes' come from within. Sometimes it takes a civil war but, if the people want change, change will come. It might take a while but it will come. If a foreign army comes in, there will be some people who will welcome it thinking that the change they were hoping for will come faster. There will be others, however, who will be against the change and will fight the foreign forces. The foreign forces will fight back. People will die. Occasionally, civilians will be caught in the crossfire. Eventually, one of these civilians will be a child. Ok. Some of those people who had welcomed the foreign army will begin to rethink their position and start to criticize the foreign army. The foreign army will start to think 'why the hell are we here?' Depending on how long they've been there and how much is invested it becomes increasingly difficult to extricate the foreign army from the position. If they stay, morale will drop, more people will die and support from home will drop. If they go, they will be leaving the country in a worse position than when they started and, chances are, the conservative anti change factions will be able to garner more support.

Let's see what would happen if the foreign army stayed away...would the Taliban lose control? Yup. Eventually. Will people die? Yes. But, the people fighting for change will know that they are fighting for their lives and the lives of their children. They aren't foreign collaborators. They are Afghani people fighting for a better future for themselves. But, there are those who welcome foreign intervention because they know that they aren't alone...the world is watching. This is a good thing but...only if the intervention works--works in a timely, not too costly fashion. When has this ever happened?

But, is the Canadian army over there to help the Afghani people? Really? Is that its primary purpose? Or, was this the safest perceived option for Canada to show the U.S. that it stood behind the American war on terror without actually having to stand behind the U.S.? The games some folks play eh? Although I believe that a military option is sometimes necessary, I do not believe that it needs to be used as much as it has been over the years. Although, come to think of it, could early troop intervention lessoned the carnage of Rwanda? Hmmm... but Africa is a different thing altogether isn't it.

The feeling that 'if we do nothing bad things will happen' persists. Does 'doing something' always need to involve guns? I guess so. When things like oil and American interests are in play anyway huh? I know I'm being unfair. I'm proud of the Canadian troops. They do good things, work hard and literally stick their necks out so that others can feel safer. Afghanistan, however, is a non starter. History shows over and over again that foreign invasion forces don't win there. Is there, perhaps another way to help?

I just figured out my son's dream! We are starting a garden and I told him that we needed to fertilize the soil with poop. Sometimes beautiful things come out of shit. I guess his dream could be seen as a warning that sometimes, beautiful intentions can turn into shit as well. Or, instead, to paraphrase Freud, sometimes a pile of poop is a pile of poop.

Bunny Poop

Happy Easter Weekend everyone. Yes, it's a Christian holiday but, has enough of the pagan in it that the Christian overtones seem to have been watered down somewhat. Perhaps that's the real effect of commercialism. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny have eroded the importance of Christ as an ultimate symbol of good. Mind, we all become complicit don't we. Those of us who partake in these rituals know that we are all Santa and the Bunny. We do our bit. We shop for gifts and chocolate. We give as good as we get. Wonder if that's what gives some of us a god complex? Yes, the evils of pride, ownership, greed and gluttony come out and are promoted by the corporations from which we make our purchases. Jesus himself was shown to have a meltdown in a church once when he saw traders and merchants making profits from faith. Seems we all have a bit of a problem with folks gaining profit from our best wishes. We see it as a bit on the evil side of things don't we? Yet, overall, despite our collective misgivings, stores continue to stock little foil wrapped chocolate eggs resembling bunny poop this time of year and little chocolate eggs get sold. And on Sunday morning when my kids search the house for the eggs that have been hidden the night before by my own incarnation of bunny spirit, I hope that they gain a bit of this idea...sometimes, the good that you are searching for is right here at home. And, maybe if we all concentrate a bit on being good? Our homes will get that much bigger.

Cry

Certain things make me angry. And incredibly sad. One of these things is when I hear/read/become aware of any type of child abuse. I sense my brain actually turn numb and a visceral reaction wells up inside of me. I've started to try to consciously channel this anger/sadness into energy...and send it out to somehow soothe the wounds of the stricken. Is this prayer? Otherwise, I feel so helpless. I don't want to do nothing. Neither do I want in any way to be a voyeur to someone else's pain. I turn away from the headlines. Not that I don't want to be aware that it's going on...it's that the one's who have suffered deserve respect. They are not a sideshow. I won't link to the article. Unfortunately, it's one of many. Justice is being done? Two more people have been accused and summarily convicted. Two people who held the title, in name only, of grandparents. But, a child with shining eyes and a gorgeous smile died 4 years ago. And I never met him. But I'm praying. Praying that he is in a good place. That he knows he is cherished. That human beings will get over themselves enough to know that we can't afford to be mean. We need each other. Each of us is precious. And when the laughter of a child is silenced, we are each of us, to blame.

Alternator Plans

For the first time in my life, I took the car and kids and drove towards Montreal. My brother lives in the outskirts and, although he bought a new house over a year ago, I had yet to set eyes on it. Normally, I am with J on any road trips. He likes driving. I like being a passenger. This particular morning, however, was different. J quit smoking. Well...this was his quit date. He had gone out after work the night before and, in a ritualistic manner incomprehensible to me, decided to say good bye to his vice by over doing it and indulging in excess. When I woke up in the morning, he was lying on the couch. Fetid fumes I once thought only existed in cartoons actually rose up from his non-Apollo like form. Staying home was not looking like a fun plan. I got the kids dressed. I packed up some pita bread and carrots. We jumped in the car and took off.

I haven't had much experience driving on heavy traffic highways. I've been doing more lately. Now that we live close to an on-ramp, it doesn't make much sense to avoid this route. It wasn't so bad. The kids travelled well. We made good time. Just as we arrived at my brother's exit, however, the check gauges light turned on on the dash. Hmmmm. This wasn't the first time this had happened so I wasn't too concerned. The last time it occured, I was informed by our mechanics that we should plan to bring the jeep in for a check up within a couple weeks but, not to worry too much unless the light started to flash.

Seeing my brother was nice. He's a bachelor. His house is a bachelor's house. Kids don't really fit in with the decor but, we managed the visit without anything getting broken. I decided that we would go out for lunch. Seemed safer. Driving to the restaurant, the gauge light would come on periodically and then go out again. It wasn't flashing tho' so we carried on. Driving away from the restaurant, I remembered that I had put the leftover pizza on top of the car. I stopped and had a look. No luck. I was seriously thinking of going back and looking for it. If I was with J, we would have. J's not known for pizza wasting. One look at my brother's face however was enough to dissuade me. We dropped him off and got on the highway again ready for home. A couple kilometers on the highway, I realized that we had left the kids hats in the restaurant. Oh well, I thought. No use going back.

As we were driving, I started to notice some disturbing things about the car. Was it my imagination or, were the windshield wipers disrupting the radio signal? I turned both off. Then, the dashboard lights began to fade. Oh crap. I had a sneaky feeling that if I stopped the car, it wouldn't start again. Ok. We were only 50km away from home. If I increased the speed, turned off all electrical extras and prayed, we should make it. I was beginning to feel a bit like Star Buck. Just then, my son, who was sitting directly behind me, began to choke. He and S had been munching on the carrots. Panic started to rise in me and then, just as quickly, the situation was somewhat resolved as A puked all over himself and the car seat. "I need a cloth!" he yelled. I told him that we were almost home and that I would clean him up then. He was a real trooper.

We managed to get into the city and, we were only had a couple exits left. We were going to make it! I turned off our exit and headed down the ramp. Oh No! There was a red light. No, it was ok, it just turned green. Thing is, the cars in front of us were slow to get started. I was forced to break just as I got down the ramp. The car then died. Kaput.

A couple of women stopped to ask us if we needed help. I met some more nice neighbours. One of them offered up her son's house in case it started raining. Very very nice. My son told her that he loved her. J came and we pushed the car to the curb and then walked home. I was a bit shaky buy, considering that we could have had the car die in the middle of the highway, we did quite well. I came back later and managed to get the car going enough to bring it home. I guess it had a bit of juice left in the battery after all.

Turns out it is the alternator. I hope that's it anyway. J is going out to buy one and hopefully will be able to swap it out this afternoon. At least, if J can stay a non smoker, we can afford break downs like this eh?

You Know? Really, I'm Just a Nerd

Yup. That's me. Just a nerd. I called a friend the other day...with really nothing to say. Just wanted to hear her voice. Been awhile. Wish she were closer. Was craving nachos and a beer. Spring has finally arrived weather wise. Time to get out more. Just feeling a bit lonely. sigh. This too shall pass.

I Earned Over $300 Yesterday. What the F*&K Did You Do?

Money Money Money Money.
It's a drug
It's a means to an end.
It makes the world go 'round.
It can make people mean.

Money is important. It tends to suck when money is short. I get that. It's also a good feeling to know that one can earn it. It's a nice feeling to be self-sufficient and not dependent so much upon hand outs. What scares me, however, is when money is used as an indicator of self-worth. The value prescribed to money sometimes seems to overshadow even what money can be used to obtain. Money can then be used as a weapon, even before a single cent is spent. So and so is a better person because they have more money. Really. What's up with that? I tend to value kindness, respect, being good and the like. Although I agree with a solid work ethic, it's really too bad that the most common, and most valued, reward from having one is money. And, if you work really hard and don't make a lot of money, more often than not, you are perceived to be a chump. The notion that some people work hard because they gain a sense of satisfaction from a job well done takes a back seat to what the base rate of pay is. Is it any wonder why there seems to be so much disillusionment creeping into our collective psyche? How about focusing less on how much money is coming in -- yes, I know, keeping in mind the minimums to pay bills for food and housing and the like -- and more about what is really valuable. Being a good person. Loving and being loved. These things don't cost very much monetarily. The value of these things though? To me? Priceless.

I'm Tired

Nothing profound. Except maybe that I'm profoundly tired? Really. The only thing that is keeping me from heading straight to bed right now is the perverse joy I gain from delayed gratification. And J is working late tonight so I get the entire bed to myself. Joy and Bliss! Today after dropping the kids off at daycare I went to the gym and did a double workout of cardio and weights. I then came home and spring cleaned the upstairs bathroom while doing a couple loads of laundry. I just finished with the toilet when I realized it was time to get dressed and go. My old grad advisor was doing a talk this afternoon and she had called the other day to inform me of it. I actually dressed up for the occasion--short skirt, black tights. Her talk was brilliant. The theme du jour was art vs? aesthetics. Moving away from using the privileged gaze, she discussed the idea of truth in terms of sound--music. Instead of abandoning truth, she argues that a new way of addressing it is required...apart from the truth vs. false dichotomy. The end result is part performance, part treatise, part entreaty, part discourse...I dig it. I do sense a bit of my own work ... I like to think that perhaps, when our brains met, something clicked for both of us. Thoughts like these keep me going as I sweep dust bunnies out from beneath my bed. It was nice to voyage back into the academic world for a bit. I actually had learned minds speak to me as an equal (I love crashing symposiums where I'm not really known by anybody so I'm often treated like a somebody...cuz you never really can tell who I am eh?) It also helps when you are greated warmly by one of the speakers/chair of the department. I've never really understood heirarchy. I mean, I get that it's necessary. I work in theatre. When the relationship between production staff and directors and stage managers becomes vague, all hell can break loose. Yet, these heirarchical distinctions only really apply when there is a show. After the show is over, the titles don't really mean much. The titles, as far as I can see it, are there to allow for the work to get done in a more efficient/smooth manner. Granted, I come at this as someone with a house gig. I don't have to work the room to ensure employment. Mind, I've never really felt the need to suck up for a job or opportunity even when I was basically unemployed (although I have sucked up for the pure unadulterated fun of it!). Is this privilege or luck? Probably a bit of both. But, enough of this. My duvet awaits!

Feeling a bit stiff

I whacked my head the other day. It was a pretty good fall. I returned from work around midnight, walked my mother-in-law to her car, reparked my car and, as I was walking back to the house, I slipped on a patch of ice. It has been very icy out back of late. So, I went ass over teakettle and the extent of my injuries are thus:
I slammed my tail bone in to the ice.
I whacked both of my wrists...causing stigmata type bleeding and some bruising as well.
I slammed the back of my head -- my glasses flew off about 4 feet
My head bounced up and I gave my self a mild? case of whiplash (the stiffness didn't appear until the end of the next day).
Overall, this was a pretty good fall. Right up there with the one that occured back in my cross country running days whereupon I slipped going down a hill, gashed open both knees, sprained one ankle, twisted the other ankle only to have my coach, who was running behind me, stomp on my right hand and kick me in the head with his cleats.

I'm much better now.

I've been thinking about my poor neglected guitar lately.

at the gym

Today was weight day. So, here's what I did:

Ball squat with shoulder press. Definition? Take a big ball and put it behind shoulders against wall. Go down to squat position while pressing weights up. First rep of 12 = 10lbs and the second rep of 12 = 12lbs.

Chest Press. Is how it sounds. First rep of 20 = 15lbs and the second rep of 15 = 20lbs.

Ball Crunches with straight arms. I lie on the big ball and then do crunches. Simple yet painful. First time I did 20, the second I did 25.

Reverse Lunges with Bicep Curl. I really really really loathe these. Yet. They are making my butt better than it's ever been. Each set 20 on each side. First set with 12lbs. Second with 15lbs.

Close Grip Low Row. A pulling machine. First rep of 20 = 70lbs. Second rep of 20 = 85lbs.

Inner Thighs. Yup. The sex machine. Always conveniently placed in front of a window. First rep of 15 = 110lbs. Second rep of 15 = 115lbs.

Outer Thighs. Same machine. Different angle. I like this one cuz I feel strong. First rep of 15 = 145lbs. Second rep of 15 = 155lbs.

Overhead Tricep Extension while sitting on the ball. First rep of 15 = 15lbs. Second rep of 20 = 20lbs.

After each set, I do crunches. After I'm done, I go home. Tonight, J has a 3am call. I have a 12 out of 12 scheduled for tomorrow. No gym for me. I'll have to do cardio and weights on Sunday. Funny how this is becoming slightly addictive.

Because there are people who want to know...Really!

A typical week day:

Alarm goes off at 6am. I kick J to get him to turn it off. If this is not successful, I look to see if one of the kidlings is in bed in order to get them to do it. If this does not work, I growl and get out of bed (the alarm is across the room...you can guess why) and press snooze. I stumble back to bed and push J out of the way (he always seems to steal my pillow during this time...sneaky bastard) and try to ignore the whining and mewling from the most annoying cats in the world. One drools and the other sounds like a rusty gutter pipe scraping against a tin roof. Finally, I get up, go downstairs and feed the beasts and put on coffee. I go back upstairs and very unceremoniously turn on the light in the kids' room and announce that they have 5 minutes to get dressed and get downstairs or I'll choose their outfits for the day! This is usually enough for my girl to leap out of bed and scream 'no mamma...I'll pick my own clothes!' The boy will squirm and flail his arms about and say things like 'go away I'm tired.' After a few more minutes of threatening and cajoling and, let's face it, playing, the kids and I are dressed and we go downstairs for breakfast.

Kids eat oatmeal or cereal. I wash left over dishes from night before and clean out stinky reeking cat box. I get the kids' lunches ready (hopefully I was aware enough the night before to make them in advance). Depending on what's in the fridge, the lunches range from gourmet feasts to siberian work camp fare. After breakfast, I send the kids back upstairs to brush their teeth. I follow them after downing a coffee and taking out some form of protein from the freezer for dinner. I then go upstairs in order to make sure the kids brush their teeth. I then send them downstairs to begin the chore of snowpants, boots and the like. Finally they are ready. I am ready. We get out the door (hopefully before 8am), get in the car and boot off to their school. After dropping them off, I race off to begin my 'work day.' Even writing it sounds funny.

I usually chat with my supervisor/friend (the best combo really) and see what's up ahead for the day. I take a break around 10am for coffee and a muffin and to read the daily free paper. After that I do what needs to be done until lunch. If it's busy, I'll skip lunch. If it's not too busy I'll walk down to the caf and grab some noodles or sushi.

The afternoon usually flies by and by quitting time (4:30 or 5) what was needed to get done has been done. What sorts of things you may ask? Well, things like getting technical info from clients about upcoming productions, making sure our stock inventory is up to date, making sure professors are able to work their gear, making sure gear works, fixing what I can, sending stuff out for repair when I can't, dealing with and keeping on top of silly new safety legislations, updating coming events info, booking staff for gigs...etc. etc. and so on. If there is an evening event, I stick around until it starts in order to make sure that all is running smooth.

I then get in the car and go pick up the kids from school and take them home. If J has been home, he usually takes care of dinner but, if he's been working, we'll throw something together when I get home. The kids get a snack and watch some t.v. until dinner is cooking then they start their homework. At this point I might throw in a load of laundry. After dinner, I get the dishes, J gets the table and the kids get upstairs for playtime/jammie time/teeth time.

After the dishes, I'll go the gym for an hour or so. When I get back, if the kids aren't in bed yet, we put them there. The laundry moves to the dryer. I sit with J for a while like a lump on the couch. We fold laundry when it's ready. I make the kids lunches for the next day. We watch t.v. I might do some computer stuff. I go upstairs, shower and go to bed.

All in all it's a pretty good life.

Sorry I Barfed on Your Shoes.

It really has been one of those weeks. Just this weekend saw a strike of one show Friday afternoon followed by a quick lx refocus for Saturday's performance that was struck for Sunday morning's church service which was struck out for a variety show. And we keep cramming them in! Get 'em in, get 'em on, get 'em out! My crew and I specialize in show biz triage. If a client requests more then time/money/crew size(related back to $$) can handle, we tweek it and shave it and get their product up and running. Lately, it's more of a perk or job bonus if the product happens to be of any quality. Our work is good but, it's hard to tweek bad vocal pitch from a sound console (although my crew has been asking for years for the completion of the almost mythical 'don't suck' button). This leads me to wonder where all the talent is? What happened to quality? Does anyone else miss it? I have, and will, bend over backwards for a client who possesses 'it.' Sure, some people are born with 'it' but, even so, they have to work 'it.' It's hard work to act well. It's hard work to tech well. I am getting increasingly disheartened by the amount of shit passing for drama that gets on our airwaves. Movies seem to be slapped together with no effort to keep up basic elements of continuity. Shots are made cuz they look 'cool' with little or no artistic merit...ie. they don't support the overlying meaning of the piece. Perhaps because there is no meaning in the first place? People are winning acting awards who, frankly, don't seem to have the slightest idea of what they are doing. I can actually hear the punctuation when they speak. Last week, I had the pleasure of working with a group of people who are increasingly frustrated with the level of tech support they are getting 'back home.' They love our space. We love them because they are talented, nice and are willing to work with us to get the best possible product on stage. The actors, I could hardly believe it, could actually act!! It was obvious that they took their craft seriously and worked hard at it. The designers actually designed. After they left the theatre it really was much harder to deal with the attitude of the semi-pro wannabes seemingly more concerned with image than product. Maybe that's the problem in a nut shell. Image has taken over once again (are we reliving the court age of Louis the sun king?) What happens when the veils are dropped? When the Emperor is revealed shivering in his nakedness? I know that there are people out there in academic land who are studying image critically with an eye to understanding its role in society as a constructing force. I've also read some stuff though that appears to accept image as reality. The line is blurring between so called reality and fiction. Perhaps because neither has any real meaning anymore. I heard an interview with Atwood the other week wherein she commented (perhaps more than a little tongue in cheek) that 'the non-fiction writers are accused of writing fiction and the fiction writers are accused of writing non-fiction.' Perhaps a value shift is needed. Move the money quotient away from value and strip away the false idols/images. Maybe what is left over will actually be worth hanging on to. We could look at it this way. Image is a good drunk. An amazing drunk wherein you become the smartest, sexiest most sought after person around. People around you agree because they too are three or four sheets to the wind. Take away the drunk and what's left? Your head is over a toilet bowl yakking out the poison. Everyone is gone. Everyone except for maybe that one person. That one person who stuck around to hold your hair out of the bowl. Holding your hair even though you barfed over their shoes.

Are You Too Busy to Read This?

The concepts of time and busyness have been taking up my mental space lately. Not all of my mental space mind you but, it's fair to say that a good chunk of it is in use. I am not a busy person. There. I said it. And...it's true. Really. I'm not. I do things. Quite a number of things really. I'm just not busy. You see, if I want to take the time to read a book, I do. If I want to take the time to make cookies I will. If I want to add to this blog, I will. I don't feel rushed. Nor do I feel run off my feet. I'm rarely late for things but, if I am, it's never really a big deal. I understand my responsibilities--to myself and those around me--and do my darnedest to see them through but, I also realize that I really can't control things. Things like kids who adamently don't want to put on their boots or, idiocyncracies of the weather. I am, however, beginning to feel a bit left out. Looking around me, I witness people rushing back and forth and, when they actually stop to converse (no time for a real conversation) the first words they utter are often along the lines of 'I'm just sooooo busy' or 'I am running out of time.' I guess we are all 'running out of time' but, some people just appear to be running a whole lot faster. This, to me, is strange. So, I wonder if being busy is seen as some form of status symbol? The busier one is, the higher up on the evolutionary ladder? Has the concept of busyness replaced honest to goodness work ethic? Could there be more than just an aural/visual link between the words business and busyness? Is there a corporate conspiracy taking place here? I see university students on a daily basis. For the past couple years I have noticed that they are increasingly 'busy.' Unfortunately, this 'busyness' has not really translated into productivity. I think back to my undergrad years. I had about 4 part-time jobs, a full course load with a decent average and yet, I seemed to have a lot of time for reading and playing pool. I don't really remember feeling all that busy then either. Perhaps, I am not really alone. Perhaps busyness is being used as an excuse. People aren't really all that busy. They would just prefer to be doing something else so they cite busyness as a reason for not doing something. That so and so didn't call back wasn't that they were too busy, it was, instead because they prefered to be doing something else at that time. Busyness might be used as an excuse to not offend or hurt someone's feelings. Concurrently, busyness might be used as a tool to foster a sense of greater importance: 'I'm too busy to be wasting my time standing in this line.' Perhaps a sense of martyrship might also explain this phenomenon: 'I'm extremely busy right now but, I'll do this thing that you ask even though it pains me to add to my already great burden.' Now, I understand that there are times when one's plate is full. There are times when there is a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in. There are, however, always choices (ok...maybe not always but surely most times there are choices?). We can't do more than we can do. We can't be other than who we are. Maybe it's time for a bit more acceptance and a little less busyness.

Contrary to Popular Indications, Logic Does Have a Place in the World

I wonder, at times, at how easy it is for people to live seemlessly within contradiction. It isn't ironic. It's just plain baffling. I listen as some theatre managerial types bemoan the lack of audiences to a show when, as they say this, they are standing beside a pile of posters for the event that never made it to a wall or telephone pole. Why was the money spent on making the posters? Gloss and colour included? Because publicity is important damn it! Why weren't they put up? Well...surely that was someone else's job eh?

Another example? When other folks print out scale stage drawings and wonder when they aren't all that close to scale when their printers are set to automatically change the scale to fit.

There's more.

When crew who get a call wonder why I might insist that if I offer a rehearsal and performance shift they can't get away with doing only one part. It really is all or nothing. I don't mean to be mean.

When people spend a great deal of time, focus and energy to label and catalogue items so they end up in the right spot but don't bother to actually notice the room numbers to the doors of the places where the items are to be placed and then wonder why they can't locate anything.

This one is to my mom who called the other night wondering if, over Christmas, I had taken a cabbage. Do you know your daughter? Really. Of all the goodies to be had in the house, do you really think I would avail myself of a cabbage?

If one doesn't save money, there won't be money left over. For anything. The same goes for fruitloop necklaces. If you eat all your fruitloops off the necklace, don't expect your brother to freely hand over his. And no. He really shouldn't automatically share.

Quick and Easy

Take chicken pieces (thighs, legs, breasts...whatever) and put in a cassarole dish. Mix together some fish sauce, lemon grass and thai chili paste. Pour over chicken. Shave over top about a half a brick of creamed coconut. Put on lid. Put in oven at 350 for about an hour to hour 1/2 stirring about half way through. Enjoy over rice with veggies.

I should have taken the quick and easy route today. Cables and their myriad connectors/adapters will see the death of me or, at the very least, see the synapses of my brain finally overload. Finally figured it out though...with a whole lot fewer adapters then I first planned for. I'm replacing video lines from a stage camera to dressing room monitors. The camera and monitors are now colour. A good thing.

Fixing up the coming events page for the theatre. Along with the usual variety show gak we are getting A Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo & Juliet, Grease and Hamlet. Kinda beginning to sound a bit like Shaw eh?
Ahhh Shawks! (sorry...near to the end of a work day and couldn't resist).

I won a coat. I actually entered a 'come to this website and click here to win' and saw that one of the contests featured coats. 'I could use a coat,' said I. And Voila! A genuine Canada-Goose 3/4 length parka is being sent my way. Seeing as my present winter coat is actually a fleece with an outside shell and the zipper is broken, this news really couldn't come at a better time. I think, however, that I have become so accustomed to my shoddy winter attire that I might find myself sweating profusely before this winter ends. There are worse things I suppose.

I'm really not in the mood to be defending my Dominion at the moment. Does that make me a traitor? The very thought of building ports and adding more ships to a delicate environment makes me kinda ill. But, I guess if we are all so hellbent on melting the ice cap we may as well suffer our slings and arrows of outrageous fortune all around. Any wonder why I like theatre? Just wish more stories were actually entertaining.

Soul Food

I made an amazing pork dinner yesterday. First, I fried up chopped onion in butter. When the onion was soft, I added porkchops (having already dusted them with flour and breadcrumbs). I fried these on both sides and added salt and pepper. After the porkchops were brown, I put them one at a time into a cassarole dish (with a lid) and layered them with sliced apples (keep the peels -- I used Royal Gala, a personal favourite). I then got a cup of apple juice to which I added some corn starch, lemon grass and dijon mustard. I poured this mixture over the pork and put the dish in the oven for about 1 hr at 350 deg. Very tender. Very yummy. This was eaten over a rice/noodle/peas combination. Enjoy.

I also made fresh hummous...a quick and easy lunch favourite for the kids.

J made fresh bread on the weekend. Best bread I've ever tasted.

Kids and I made banana spice muffins. Next Saturday we'll make chocolate chip cookies.

It's nice when being in the kitchen is just that...being in the kitchen. No sense of obligation. No sense of role playing. Just a time to be together and enjoy each others' company. Real soul food.

There's No Business Like It!

Heard something the other day...'it's only theatre. Don't take it personally.' I like this a lot. More people should use this as a mantra. Tonight is yet another openning night. Weird how a student production can have so little student involvement. But wait. There has been some student action. Students acting as scapegoats. Now, there are very few things that I detest more than bullies. As one who has been both bullied and a bully in the past, I see that bullies create for themselves a false sense of power/control that, in the end, makes them even more miserable than before they begin bullying in the first place. Putting it bluntly...bullies suck. In particular, I really really detest those bullies who pick on another person's ignorance. Nope. We don't know it all. Sometimes, we need to be taught. When I see so-called seasoned professionals (ok...I'm really using the term professional loosely now...how 'bout amateurs never good enough to become professionals who have subsequently glorified and built up their status as under appreciated volunteers. Know the type?) pick on those just starting out in this thing we call 'the biz' it pisses me off to no end. Hell. Not everyone knows what grommiters are and what the working load of 1/8" tie line is. Nor does everyone know all the pre-planning that must be done before a show can go up. If we continue to sneer at those who don't know, we're not helping the arts cause. People will walk away feeling bad about themselves and begin looking for:
a) others to bully; and
b) ways to slash arts funding.
Before the arts community looks out and starts blaming conservative agendas or liberal corruption, perhaps it should take a close look at itself. Is it inclusive? Does it treat ignorance as a learning opportunity? If not, maybe it needs a massive overhaul itself. The ground hog says spring will be early this year. How 'bout some spring cleaning? Let's throw out the elitist attitudes, false feelings of self-importance, and back stabbing tendencies. Let's be upfront and aware and accepting of our and others limitations and strengths. It's not life or death people. It's show business. It's only theatre. Don't take it personally.

A Birthday Message

It's my little brother's birthday today. I hope he is having a good day. I'm not entirely sure where he is. I know the town but nothing more really. He decided to take a break from family. Makes a lot of sense to me. I've done that in the past...not for so long but, I wasn't home enough in the first place. I close my eyes and see him wandering off with his friend as they discuss how to make a movie (they are in grade 3 in this image) and I also see him reenacting for me the second Star Wars Movie in the back yard...so well that when I finally got to see it, I felt that I was watching a re run. We played legos together. He would push me in the wagon (his turn would be next....I promise!) around the yard...swerving deftly around trees and avoiding the garden. He's a nice person. A bit odd. Slightly melodramatic. Views Marvin the paranoid robot as, perhaps, too much of a role model. He got me my first Leonard Cohen tape. He made me a chain mail garter. He has always been unapologetically himself. He has his demons but, they haven't bested him yet. He used to write me poetry written on donut shop napkins. He would bike over vodka to me when I was at a friend's house. He would carry our beer into the underages clubs. My friend S and I drove him to the hospital when he broke his elbow. He didn't cry much. I cast him in his first ever theatrical role. He never seemed to grow out of the adolescent gronk stage. Inside his brain, a genius lurks. When I went to university, I left him behind. I dream of him sometimes. Sometimes they are nightmares and I wake up afraid...for him. But, lately when I think of him I feel that he is ok. I miss him. I love him. and just want to wish him a happy birthday.

This ain't a list for Santa Claus

Seriously,
Why should I spend my valuable time making lists of things to do for a person who should damn well know by now what needs to be done. Does it really take a rocket scientist to see that:
1) if there is dust on stuff, it should be wiped off;
2) if there are dishes in the sink, they should be washed;
3) if there are dishes dried on the rack, they should be put away;
4) if there is crud on the floor, it should be swept up or wiped up;
5) if the kids' rooms are too messy, they should be cleaned up (sometimes they need a hand);
6) if there are full laundry bags, laundry should be done (this includes washing, drying, folding and putting away);
7) supper is eaten every day...plan for it!!
8) if food gets eaten, we may need more...check and make a list
9) if stuff is broken, try to fix it;
10) if the cat box has crap or piss in it, it should be cleaned out.

This is but a start. I couldn't help myself. It looks something like a list. Does holding one's breath and turning blue help?

Baby Steps

Ok. When I was pregnant I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. Does anyone their first time around? But, throughout and after the process of growing the kids inside of me and then expelling them, I have come to question certain societal mores that are, for some reason, not questioned enough. I "found out" about my pregnancy by the age old method of peeing on a stick. Well, I kind of had an idea before the stick but, waiting for the stick to show its lines provided me with enough time to chain smoke a half pack of cigarettes. I was determined to smoke until I could no longer enjoy a drag without feeing officially guilty for harming my unborn child. So, J and I looked at the stick and said 'yippee' we're having a baby. We left it like that for a couple weeks. (and yes...I did enjoy the occasional drag...but my body soon told me to stop...it wasn't guilt...just plain 'ol nausea).

Approximately two weeks later my leg started getting sore. It was the wrong kind of sore. Many years before, I had a blood clot in my leg. This felt remarkably similar. I called J away from work to drive me to emerg. This was on a Friday evening. Well, after waiting for 4 hours (I also puked a couple times while waiting), I was brought behind a curtain to be informed that they had no way to be sure I had a clot but such and such specialist said that just in case, I needed to have a needle. Ok, I said. Then I was told to lift my shirt. "In my belly?" I asked? Yup. In my belly. "But, I'm pregnant!" I was then told that I didn't have official proof of my condition...you see, I had merely pee'd on a stick...I hadn't been diagnosed by a doctor and, besides "we have to treat the mommy before the baby!" I felt sick and sicker as the needle was jammed into the flesh under my belly button. I really don't mean to gross anyone out but, I think it's an interesting tale to tell. So, I was given a slip of paper to have an ultra sound done to my leg the next day.

Hospitals on the weekend are dark and dreary places. J and I walked down the long and dimly lit corridor to where the ultrasounds took place. A young student did the test. The pain in my leg was in my calf. He checked my thigh. I told him where the pain was. He told me that it wasn't statistically relevant. He didn't find any clots. I was told to return on Monday for a retest 'just in case.' My leg still hurt but I was getting tired of this. Nevertheless, I returned on Monday. After the test I was told to take my results upstairs right away. I was also told not to walk. Seems I had 5 separate clots and one had moved above my knee. Ok. Fine. I went upstairs and became a part of a study for pregnant people with clots. I would have to give myself injections in my belly throughout my pregnancy--once or twice a day--and, when my belly got too big for the shots, I would have to put the needles in my thighs. One last thing, however. They needed proof that I was pregnant. My word and the stick didn't work. Upstairs I went to get another ultrasound. It was here that J and I found out that we were expecting twins. I was then told that I couldn't have a midwife and that I was considered a high-risk pregnancy and would need to come in for regular exams and such under the supervision of specialists.

I won't go into too much detail now but, some of the things I discovered are:
1) ultrasounds don't seem all that useful. measurements were taken each time to determine whether or not the babies were growing alright but...to me, my belly kind of gave that away. I wasn't too interested in knowing the sex of my children...besides...I already knew (in a different way) that I was carrying a boy and a girl. Ask J, he'll tell you that I'm telling the truth. I think ultrasounds are more for statistics and parents peace of mind then for any real medically sound reason.
2) ultrasounds tended to add to stress. the babies in my belly didn't like to be prodded and let me know. I didn't really need to know that one of them had a slower heart rate that then switched to the other one the next time around....things like that kinda freaked me out.
3) nurses like to make sure you have your vitamins...which I didn't take cuz they made my stomach upset. I just ate the foods that I wanted...that seemed to do the trick...and then lied to the nurses so I wouldn't be made to feel guilty
4) J and I avoided tests for such things as downes and the like. We didn't want to know because seriously, there wasn't anything that we would do anyway.
4.5) Student docs like to perform even more unnecessary tests to fill their roster of 'things I can do now!'
5) Weight gain and loss seemed to become the business of other people but, I was still able to function and carry on normally. I felt good. That's what counted. 168lbs baby!!
6) Daily injections suck. They really do.
7) I understand that seeing the docs was preventative but, really, looking back, I know I would have been fine and perhaps less stressed, if I had seen less of them.
7.5) Scheduling inductions and c-sections for the sake of following a schedule is fucked.
8) When push comes to shove in delivery, if your doc is off, your doc is off. There will be someone else there to deliver the kid. I don't know the name of the woman who delivered mine. It really didn't matter at that point who was down there.
8.5) The machine that is strapped to you once an hour to check on your contractions is stupid...J would be watching the machine to let me know when I was having a contraction and I would then say 'no shit sherlock' from between grit teeth.
9) It's not a great idea to puke on a nurse...she may deny you water.
9.5) Smuggling in coffee is easier if your partner is an addict as well.
10) Nurses will wake you and your children up so that you can feed on a schedule...geeesh...and try and make you feel bad for wanting to sleep.
11) It's only at home where I could begin to feel comfortable with my new family...away from poking and prodding.

There are things I wish I had said and did differently. I went in not knowing and was unprepared. Not so much with the pregnancy. That all came together. I was unprepared with how systemized the process of child birth had become. Poking and prodding and testing were the norm. At times, I felt more like a cyborg than a human being. I don't understand why things are like this. I hope that people will begin to rebel against this. Challenge this new 'norm' and realize that it is their body--their choice. Don't let a system make you question what you know is true...for you.

We Are All Responsible

It takes a village. Yup. We've all heard it. Some actually believe it. I'm one of those believers. Even though, at times, it seemingly would make more sense to hole oneself up against the onslaught of narrow mindedness, self-absorption, arrogance and ineptitude on a multitude of levels that pervade our existences, it does take a village. Put another way, it takes all kinds. And, as it takes all kinds, one's responsibility increases. We become responsible for each other. We must look out for one another. We must accept one another regardless -- let's face it, we all have flaws eh? We really ought to stop nit picking and looking for reasons to discriminate and sigh a collective sigh of 'ok then...such and such is happening...what can be done? who is available to do something? can I do anything to help? ' and then we should just roll up our collective sleaves and get on with it. No person is an island. Each choice we make has consequences...ripples...like ice cream. I have faith that all will be sorted out. I'll accept some people's choice to disregard faith and put it in a storage box filled with other 'I can't believe people used to believe that!' non-sense. I hope to not be so arrogant as to decide that people's beliefs can be so callously discredited but, to those that do this, remember that you don't exist outside of the village. No matter how you may try. One also has to try to not allow the actions or non-actions of others to cause one disappointment. It's unfair to put so much weight on the actions of another. The only one you have control over is yourself. We have free will. We make choices. We have to live with them within the context of each other. I am trying to teach my children to enjoy the gifts that each day brings...not to dwell on perceived slights or what hasn't worked out as planned. I think they get it. More readily then I. But, I've made my choice. I voted yesterday. And, I'll live with the consequences. And add my support to the creation of a more tolerant and accepting world.

Are your ears burning?

As I was driving into work this frigid morning, a 'news' item came on the radio that disturbed me. Apparently, a woman in Sweden had a spider living in her ear. It had crawled up (supposedly while she slept) and spun its web. She experienced a slight hearing loss and then began to hear a scratching sound. She went to the drugstore and got some stuff to flush out her ears. When she did this, the spider and its web came tumbling out. The spider, unharmed, walked off non-plussed. My ears feel funny now.

A History of Smoking (Part IV)

I just realized that I have been an official non-smoker for over a year. The anniversary, however, passed me by without notice. I realize that I am jumping ahead in my telling of this smoking tale. But, aren't stories that fall out of sequence more interesting? More thought-provoking? Instead of a series of events -- typical block buster mind fodder -- a tale that is interwoven on various levels, slipping, like smoke itself, between cracks of understanding works, for me at least, to provide a more satisfying literary meal. Ok. I agree. Enough. So, as I was saying, I have been a non-smoker for over a year. My clothes smell better. I have more money in my pocket. I can climb stairs without wheezing. I can sleep through an entire night without waking up mid-chest crunching hack. My boogers are no longer black. I can spend more time with my children playing games without having to duck out for a quick puff. All in all, a pretty good deal. Side effects? Yes. A few. My husband who has not yet quit must deal with my inability to kiss him after coming in from a quick smoke. My nose stuffs up horribly if he comes to bed without showering first. I get cravings and mood swings if I am around smoke for any period of time. These, however, are a relatively small price to pay. I feel better and am surprised that I can go so long without even thinking about cigarettes when there was a time when I would go into a cold sweat if I knew I only had 2 left in my pack. Geesh. I'll leave the actual process of quitting for another post. Gotta leave a trailer eh? Suffice it to say that I am celebrating a belated happy new life as a non smoker day. When I get home, I'll toast it proper with a shot of another potential addiction.

Mundane Thoughts On The Way To Work

1) Damn, looks like I'm going to be late;
2) What's S singing? Sounds like Green Day
3) Yup, it is Green Day -- 'Wake Me Up Before September Ends' -- that's my girl
4) I won't be too late
5) Traffic is better than I thought.
6) I have a meeting today at 10? or is it 10:30?
7) Wonder if A is awake yet. Hope he's feeling better
8) Weird how he puked and then fell asleep immediately...falling into it. J and I made a good 'change the pukey kid' team
9) Hope the highway is good for my mom and d. Talk about the highway. A Northern thing. It was nice to see them. And short visits are good
10) Will the tiles be finished in the office? Maybe I could set up C's office for him. He's sick today too.
11) Ok. S has been dropped off. They'll make A a card at daycare today. Cute
12) Lots of NDP signs in this neighbourhood. To be expected. The conservatives scare me. But...they too will pass. Like bad gas.
13) Women in BC are donating breast milk to the underprivileged. I really don't know how I feel about this. Seems wrong to me on some level. And icky.
14) Ok buddy. If you are such a rush then pass me.
15) Nice. You passed me in order to stop. See? It wasn't my fault that the traffic is slow. grrrrr
16) Inner peace...inner peace...inner peace.
17) Hmmmm....wonder if he'd like to drag?
18) I see the university in the horizen
19) S wants to fly with Santa Claus
20) Feel kinda bad for the Russian team...the goal was good. They still got smoked however.
21) Hey...not late. The parking around here is stupid.
22) I have to open up this morning. First class is at 8:30am. Who the hell would book a class for 8:30am on a Friday morning? Who would go? I'd skip. Geeeesh. Just watch though...when I get there, there will be about 100 kids in the lobby eager to rush the theatre for a seat. AT 8:00AM!!! I don't think I was ever early for a class ever. Not to sit in it anyway. What about a smoke? What about a coffee? A quick chat? Students these days are weird.
23) I should delay openning until 8:25am...get me a coffee first. Weird how something like that sounds subversive.

Calm After/Before the Storm?

The flood waters have abated and I feel strangely at peace. The holiday was a good one. Funny how leaving town for even a short period of time makes the actual time off seem longer. Well, it did for me at any rate. It is also very nice to be back home. Even sitting at my desk feels better. I needed the break. Now I have to work on keeping this sense of serenity...of calm. My work area was left relatively unscathed by the flooding. My boss needs to get his office redone. And the hallway tiles all need to be replaced. Things will look and feel cleaner and more fresh however. I feel that my faux pas has only expedited the necessary. J is now a union man. Life is carrying on as it should. Until the next bomb drops.

Update

This holiday is flying by. In a good way. Lots of eating and playing and sleeping. Kids are a bit confused as to why they aren't going to school. They are missing it actually. Nice. And strange. I'm a bit sluggish. We're off to C & S's farm today for lunch and to frolic with the horses. Tomorrow we're off to the North land. I booked a sleigh ride for the kids on Friday. Watching Blue's Clues as I write this. 'Why did the sock puppet cross the road? Because the chicken was wearing it.' Yes. My sense of humour is preschool. I dig it. At times, I feel as if I can live this way for a very long time. Holed up in this house. Not venturing very far away. Focusing on the little things. Little and paramount.

How Dry I Am

Our tree is up. Real, of course. Prettiest one ever. Our house is decorated. The cookies have been baked. 7 varieties. The turkey is in the fridge. The presents have pretty much all been obtained and are waiting to be wrapped. The house is clean. Top to bottom. Kids are excited. I am ready. Bring it on.

Last week was my last one at work. I took this week off. I needed it. A lot to do. And, at the same time, I needed a rest away from 'the office.' Yes. Working in a theatre is fun. I love it. It's great. It is also, at times, a soul stealing, mind numbing bureaucratic nightmare that only those in charge of academics could possibly dream up. My staff is made up of lovely people. People who are all certifiable. I was getting through shows by the skin of my teeth. My game hasn't been sharp. I've almost dropped the ball on a number of occasions. I hope the time away can clear up some of the cobwebs that seem to have become entrenched inside my skull. Last Friday I filled the humidifier for the Steinway. I turned off the water and went home. At least I thought I turned off the water. I went in on Sunday. The stairwell seemed to be a bit water stained. I went into the office. Chaos. The place had flooded. Big time. The main damage? On my boss's desk. You see, the Steinway is housed in a room directly over his desk. Seems that there was so much water that his office and the workshop were under about 6" of water. Soggy. I called him on Monday. Although officially on vacation, I thought I should go in to help clean up. No need. He was practically giggling. The main computer was unscathed. Business could continue. Albeit on a stool set up in the middle of the workshop as his office was being dried out. As I mentioned before, hope my holiday will give me time to clear out some cobwebs or next year will be a bumpy one indeed.

My Mother's Hands

There are times, when I am driving, that I see my mother's hands on the steering wheel. The way my fingers touch lightly on the beige vinyl and the way they skim over the surface when turning. It is during these times that I am conscious of sitting up straighter and imagine that I carry the same expression as she. I am my mother's daughter. The same but different. My hands have noticibly thicker skin. As do I. Her skin is soft and fair. Mine is rough and ruddy. Her fingers are long and delicately tapered. Delicate is not a good adjective to describe my digits. My fingers are short although, to their credit, not quite squat. My thumbs, however, are stumpy. Always have been. I've made up stories over the years to explain them to others. Things like 'my dad used to tie me up outside by my thumbs and one night he tied too tightly and I lost circulation and had to have the tips removed.' Sometimes these stories were believed. A psychic once told me that stumpy thumbs were a sign of a quick temper. I never really noticed having a temper until I was told this. When I was younger, I thought that my thumbs would grow as I did. I would wake up one morning with boobs and grown up thumbs. One day I would have my mother's thumbs. This didn't happen. When I played guitar (I used to play a lot...not so much if at all anymore...although I think about it occasionally...like chelsea hotel) I used to love watching my hands. When I played, my hands were mine. No one elses. I would be amazed while watching them that they seemed to know so much that I didn't--where the notes were, how strong or how lightly to pluck to achieve that 'just right' nuance, the minimum amount of pressure necessary to hold down a string before buzzing would occur. I wonder if my hands still hold this memory? This memory along with the memory of my mother's hands.

And NO, I Don't Want to "Get Over It"

I passed by flags at half-mast the other day. 'who died?', I asked. I asked J. He shrugged his shoulders. I had forgotten. Then I remembered. Then I read this: take-minute-and-remember and I was sad. Sad because it happened. Sad because it still happens. Sad because I had forgotten to remember. Sad because a part of me wanted to forget. Sad because change doesn't seem to happen fast enough. Sad because some things change too quickly. Sad because I have a daughter. Sad because I have a son. Sad because December should mean "peace." Sad because some things are still not called hate crimes. Sad because I have inside me the capacity to hate. Then I smiled. The flags were at half-mast the other day. Everywhere! Someone remembered. And would continue to do so.

My Humpy Lumps Aren't Beige

And just what have I been up to? Life, I guess. I've sunk into a novel which is always a sweet sweet and mildly obsessive venture. The way the Crow Flies by Ann-Marie Macdonald. I'm enjoying it. I'm in it and outside of it and around it and beyond it. I joined a gym. Am actually enjoying the cardio machines. My trainer is giving me good support. I'm not as out of shape as I thought. I need work but, thankfully, it's not a hopeless cause. I watched the Grey Cup the other weekend. Good Game!!! One of those 'I don't care who wins...they are playing well and it's exciting' games. Well...Edmonton was actually walking all over Montreal for the first half but...then the game picked up! Things I've never seen in the CFL (or football in general). At one point, the Montreal quarter back fired off a shot and it bounced off of someone's helmut back into his hands and he fired it off into the end zone just slipping off the finger tips of the receiver. Turns out that even if it had been caught, it wouldn't have counted. You can't throw twice. I did not know that. The game ended up in OT. First time since the 60's. It was a nail biter. Montreal QB threw a gorgeous TD and thought they had the game wrapped up. Edmonton followed with pretty much the same play. Very cool. Interesting to see the different coaches. Montreal headed up by an old veteran with a walrus moustache and close to zero facial expression. Edmonton led by a rookie who had a difficult time controlling his emotions. Edmonton ended up taking it. Good on em. I made a huge pot of chili. J supplied the munchies. Half-time performance featured the Black Eyed Peas. Hmmm.. I like them. It's just...well...no one sounds good at half-time. It just doesn't work. The audio sucks. Performers can't hear themselves.
Sigh. At least the female singer did her 'job' in providing young adolescents with wet dream fodder for the next little while.
I'm looking forward to the vacation. Christmas vacation. Christmas. Yup. I like Christmas. Our department is having a "holiday luncheon." I'm setting it up (it's on my stage) but I fear I must boycott. The logic/reasoning behind not calling it a Christmas party is weak. I come from Sault Ste. Marie. In the 80's, my fair city declared itself to be unilingual. A wrong headed decision but, it arose out from a grass roots frustration with how things were being done in the name of equality. Back lash is always quick to rear it's ugly head. Our supervisor want to avoid any possible problems and avoid the use of the term christmas. Except that we can have a christmas tree. And play christmas carols. Already, I hear rumblings and murmerings about how the 'we' are being dictated to by the 'they.' Sigh. My protest is with the drive to make all things bland. Uncolourful. Beige. Beige, I think I'll paint the ceiling beige.

'Til Tuesday -- Wasn't that a rock band?

Strange how, at times, I feel like a voyeur of my own life. Even as I am in the act of doing certain things, I am simultaneously watching myself 'do.' My sickness has abated. My only reminder is awall of phlegm that refuses to dislodge completely from behind my nose. It sits in a toxic, gooey lump until those inopportune times that it decides to loosen just a little bit...its outlet usually coming from a surprise sneeze that shoots a yellowish mass either across a room onto the floor or into my hand...the floor is most often my office (don't pick up the papers on the floor folks...they've been placed for a reason)...I get a handful of slime when I'm driving. I know. This is gross. And pretty sick. But really, am I the only one? I doubt it (hopefully).

Ok. I'm back at work. Things are pretty slow but will pick up soon enough. I've been invited by the president of the university to breakfast next Tuesday (myself and 14 others). I had put my name forward last month to form a part of a task force looking into the possible future
direction(s) the university might take. I was not chosen. I figure this breakfast is a sort of consolation prize. The prez still wants to hear our thoughts on things though. That's rather heartening. I just have to figure out which crew shirt to wear. Judas Priest? Alberta Theatre Scene? Special Effects? The choices keep growing. Tomorrow morning I'll have a new U2 shirt to add to the pile. Membership does have its privileges. I want to represent/be representative of, the arts scene here at the university. Push an arts agenda as it were. Worth a shot, no?

I've been asked by people from my childrens' daycare to speak at the city council next Tuesday. I'm not entirely sure what I'll be saying but, I will meet with one of their union reps over the weekend in order to figure things out. This is something I never really pictured myself doing. Even as I said yes it felt more as if I was following a script than actually acting for real. Odd. What do I wear for that? Will I have to change from the morning or I can I find the perfect outfit to suit the prez and the 'right wing councillors?'

I played hookey today. And I joined a gym. Really. Me. Along with a personal trainer. Who wants to meet me on Tuesday. Between the breakfast with the prez and the city council. Why is everything happening on Tuesday? Something is gonna have to give.

I'm making a pot of chili on Sunday. Greycup weekend. I like watching football these days. I am actually beginning to 'get it.' It's smarter than I thought. It's also an excuse to watch something that is not entirely mind numbing/soul squelching on the tele.

I Get a Bit Sappy When Sick

Just wanted to say thank you to J. I love him. Dearly. Yesterday, when I was still feeling miserable, he left work early to leave some meds by my bed (I was fast asleep). He looked after the kids. He let me rest. These are small things really. They should be done without saying right? But, the point is...they were done without saying. With no expectation of thanks. Just because. And he fits. Me. And sometimes I want to break down in tears because my world is filling with so much good lately that I feel I have to burst.

A Dinner Conversation with One Wiser Than I

My daughter turned to me over dinner tonight. Her mouth covered in ketchup having just swallowed another piece of fish and a couple fries. 'Mommy, what's dead? What happens when you are dead?' She looked at me intently. She has very old eyes for a not yet 4 year old. She coughed. A brutal chest wracking phleghm producing cough. 'Well,' I said, 'it's a bit complicated...are you sure you want to talk about this now?' She nodded her head. Of course. So, I broke death down to her in as simple a way as I could. First, I asked her if she remembered the flowers that we planted and then how they shriveled up and 'died' when the weather changed. 'Yes, I know that,' she said, 'but, what about people?' Ok. I gave her 3 options that I have toyed with over the years:
a) when you die, some people believe that your spirit goes to a place called heaven which is a place filled with peace and love. It's kinda like being in your mommy's arms for ever.
b) when you die, some people believe that your body breaks down into nourishment for the soil so that more beautiful flowers can grow;
c) when you die, some people believe that your spirit finds another body to be born into so that one is born again as something or someone else.
I then told her that I wasn't sure what if any of these things was right....that no one really knows for sure. We can only believe. I then asked her if she had any other questions. She shook her head and said:
'Mommy, when I die, I will come back as a butterfly....a purple, yellow and pink butterfly...and I will flap around.'

Ramblings From a Sick Bed

The other night, let's call it Monday, my son raced downstairs for the umpteenth time after having been put to bed inorder to give mommy 'just one more kiss and hug.' Ok. I'm a sucker for that and with 'daddy' glaring from the sofa with a 'the kid is getting away with murder and you're encouraging him' I let him come and give me a hug and kiss secretely feeling that part of 'daddy's' problem was that he was being offered neither an extra hug or kiss. I reached out and swooped Aryn in my arms and waited for that treasured kiss. Kiss of death more like. Even as his lips pressed to my cheek I could sense it. A biological invasion of the worst kind. The little ingrate had just infected me with something and I was going to suffer. Soon. I did.
Now, I rarely get sick. Really. I get colds like the rest of the general population but, nothing that neo citran, cough syrup (drunk straight from the bottle) and liquid codiene can't put to right quite effectively and quickly. Not this time. At work on Tuesday I got a call that Sierra had puked at school and needed to go home. Ok. I rushed to get her and A both and after calling gramma to look after them for the afternoon, I went back to work. I know. Bad mommy right? But, my boss was away that day and no one else was there to handle things and who are you to dump your moral judgements on me anyway?
So I went back to work and started to feel a tickle at the back of my throat. Damn. Got a cold. I started to get grumpier as the tickle began to fester and I called around for someone to come in to replace me. Nope. Not going to happen. I wrote a scathing response via email about acetate rolls (I kid you not...sometimes my life is like that) and waited as the clock ticked down to closing time.
At 4:30, I bolted home and replaced gramma. I was still, at this point, feeling that I was just coming down with a cold and, if I knocked it out right away, I'd be fine.
I planned to stay home the next day with the kids anyway (S cuz she had puked, A cuz I didn't feel like working out the tranportation logistics to get him there). I was feeling like crap. Bless the t.v. They watched Blues Clues and Dora while I swirled inside myself and crashed on the couch or upstairs in bed hoping that they'd be able to fend. I puked. A lot. Dry heaves cuz I couldn't even think about eating anything. My ass hurt. Don't ask me why. It just did. And then, my throat began to swell. And burn. Thankfully J had 3 short shifts that day and was able to come home so the kids actually had a functioning parent around. Little buggers recognized my weakness and immediately went for the halloween candy.
Today I feel better? Slept for about 6 hours this morning/afternoon. Will go back to bed after posting. Kids are at school. J will pick them up in an hour.
It's snowing outside. Very lovely. Thing is, before getting stricken down with the plague (could it be bird flu? the chicken I had the other day may have been dodgy), I had been overcome with images of absolute beauty. You know those moments when walking or driving and the sky is just gorgeous and everything else looks at peace and something fitting is on the radio...snapshots of perfection. I'm feeling it now as I look out my living room window. Snow is falling and is just beginning to collect on the ground. When I moved in here, I felt that this would be a great place to spend a winter. I think I'm right. It's cozy inside. Beautiful outside.
Damn. The kids need winter boots.

A Not So Typical Typical Night

Last night I went to bed rather late...1am ish. Approx. 20min. after achieving REM sleep, I woke up to my son coughing and moaning. I went into his room and he told me that his throat really hurt and his cough was keeping him up. I went and got some cough meds and after he took a spoonful, he lay down for sleep. I went back to bed only to awaken again to hear him throwing up in the bathroom. I went and got him changed since while he was puking, he wet himself. I then brought him to my bed. After rubbing his back for awhile, we both went to sleep. I awoke a bit later when my daughter came to the bed. The three of us went to sleep. I awoke a bit later. I was wet. My daughter was wet. She had pee'd the bed. I got her up to start the changing process, carried my son to his own bed (thankfully he was still asleep) and then changed her, my sheets and myself. I took her to her own bed. By this time she was coughing and I gave her some cough meds. I went back to sleep. Shortly after, my son crawled back into my bed. We fell asleep. He woke a bit later and puked on the bed. J was finally home from work by this time and assisted in the child/bed changing. He took Aryn downstairs and got him set up on the couch along with a bucket and slept beside him on the chair. I found a blanket to crawl into on my mattress and went to sleep for a couple hours.
This morning, both children seem fine. I'm a bit tired. J, after only 3 hours sleep has gone back to work. This is our life.

Sugar, Spice and Puppy Dog Tails

I like boys. Can't help it. Something about the cocky swagger. The 'I'm in control' outward personna masking an 'I'm scared shitless' inner turmoil. Yes, sometimes they can get pretty...what's the best word?...hmmm....dull. Yes, that's it--dull. Yet, nevertheless, their innate predictability is a comfort in an everchanging world. Boys want to know the answers. They will often act as if they do. Boys want to show the world they are tough but, at the same time, are desperate to open up to whomever they feel won't laugh at them. Boys giggle when they fart. Boys will often try to blame it on the dog (cat, child, neighbour, cooking etc.). Boys are sucks when they are sick. Boys will always work harder (even when doing the same job) as their colleagues, workmates, partners, lovers.... and, Boys will always have bigger scars, bigger losses, bigger near wins, bigger stories then those around them. Boys will fight for their independence as long as they never really have to be alone. Boys know things. Some of which are useful. Boys gossip. Boys engage in competitive public school type games with each other. Boys like to flirt. Boys will be able to perform complex physical and mental maneuovers but, are oft times unable to notice shit under the toilet seat. Boys are imperfect and will use this to their advantage. Boys would rather avoid talking about a subject if a drag down knock out tickle fight will work instead. I like boys. I married a boy. I used to wish I was a boy. In my early public school days, when the boys played against the girls to see who could rule the snowhills left by the parking lot ploughs, I worked to knock down the girls. They were easy marks. So I thought. They just played by different rules. I grew up with three brothers. I would much rather climb a tree and hook a worm than play with dolls or dress up. From early spring to the end of autumn I remained muddy. My brothers would only let me play with them if I didn't cry. I used to think I was a terrific soccer goalie until I realized that they were purposefully kicking the ball to my face in order to get me to bawl. I lost my top baby teeth when I acted as back catcher and one of my brothers swung the bat into my mouth (an accident...hmmm). In grade 5, a group of us were playing touch football when I missed the ball and it pounded my face. It hurt. I felt tears well up but, I refused to cry. 'I'm ok,' I shouted. 'Let's keep playing.' I saw what I thought to be respect on the faces of my team-mates. I was 'one of the boys.' Then L got hit. She was grazed really. It wasn't as if it was full on. But, all of a sudden, she started to cry. Great, thought I. Silly girl. But then, one by one the boys on the field ran towards her. Someone tossed me the ball. I was suddenly alone on the field. Everyone was comforting her. The foot ball game was over. The gender game, for me at least, had really just begun.

Who Am I? or Who Are My Selves When Mixed All Together?

Sorry I've not been around. My mother has been in town. It's actually been quite a good visit. It's helpful that she has come alone. It's much easier to relax when it's just her and not her and her husband. At dinner last night (she took me out for a fantastic steak dinner with crab cake apps topped off with a really yummy Shiraz to bring to an end a full day of museums and knick knack shopping) she mentioned that she enjoyed our time alone together because she could recognize me best on a one on one level. I was her daughter during those times. When at home, she saw that I became (also) a wife and mother. Interesting eh? My self as an individual doesn't even really register on the radar. At the same time, I am guilty of the same. I recognize her as my mother when she visits alone. When she comes with D, she is his wife as well (and D is then not just my dad but her husband). As more people enter the equation replete with their own labels and self/imposed definitions of selves, the time spent sifting through the chafe to get to the actual wheat becomes an involved and exhausting process. No wonder family events such as holiday meals, reunions and the like are met with giddy excitement oft times bordering on the hysterical. The measurement of error becomes too difficult to calculate with anything but uncertainty (yup. I have an older brother working on completing his Masters in Physics--and I love taking his 'serious science' and bastardizing it for my own literary allusions).

A Very Bad Idea

To Whom It May Concern:

Whoever thought of putting raisins in otherwise yummy oatmeal muffins please stop. It's a very bad idea.
Yuck.
Thank you for your attention.

Not a raisin fan.

Arrrrrrrgh

I bawled my eyes out last night. Made the mistake of watching the news. First 2 items did me in. The breaking story consisted of a description of a child sex/porn ring uncovered in Winnipeg (alleged). Ok, I thought, I can get through this. I'm strong enough. Most disturbing for me was the statement by one of the interviewees that things like this were indicative of a growing market for this type of crap. These things are not isolated happenings...and there is something seriously ill in our society if there is a growing market...something seriously fucked up. Fine. Our would is screwed up. I can deal. But then, good ol CTV threw in a description of a trial going on wherein grandparents are being accused of allowing a 3 year old to starve to death. I've heard about this case before. I was not prepared to here a taped interview with his sister (11 years old) and her description of what had been done to the poor child. I mean...FUCK. I'm angry, scared, dumbfounded, ... at a loss. This world we live in seems to have lost a moral compass. Not everything is fucking relative. Some things are wrong. From every angle. There can be no justification. And, certainly, there can be no justice.

It's All How You Play the Game

The last day to withdraw from Fall term classes is Nov. 7th. I know this because I finally got around to flipping the calendar page here at work. The picture shows a campus under snow. Odd to think of snow just yet while the temperature remains, during the day at least, in the double digits...but I digress. Thinking of withdrawing from classes brought to mind that I haven't had my economics dream for quite a while. Perhaps you may have had dreams like this? I am about to graduate and realize to my horror that I hadn't properly withdrawn from an economics course--taken on a whim--and am therefore faced with not only an F on my transcript but am not eligible to graduate. I would wake from this dream in a cold sweat and, it would take a good 5 minutes or so for me to convince myself that I was in no danger of not graduating because I had never signed up for an economics course. Well, not since highschool and that experience was enough to tell me that the pseudo sciences just weren't for me. I'll expand a little. In my highschool course, 60% of our final grade was based on a business 'game.' That is, grouped in pairs, our teams were to create and run a business. We were to study market forces and then make decisions that would (hopefully) increase our profit margin. Now my partner N and I had similarly ignorant views on the world of economics. My first question to the teacher was 'Why do we need a stock market?' His answer, as I remember, was not very satisfying. Anyway, my partner and I set about creating our business and making decisions. Looking around at what other groups were doing, we noticed them making charts, doing statistical analyses and the like. We decided on an alternative approach. We brought in a deck of cards, a pair of dice and a quarter. Yup. Our business was run on chance and luck. Some days we'd even dress up like fortune tellers. Why did we do this? We were brats. Plain and simple. As well, however, we were curious to see how we'd do. Much to our teacher's chagrin, we won the game and were awarded an automatic pass in the class. I must admit to having felt a bit guilty for not putting in all the work that the other students were doing. On the other hand, however, it did teach me/reinforce within me a healthy skepticism for:
a) teaching methods;
b) economics and other quasi/pseudo sciences;
c) what is deemed to be important;
d) business 'ethics,' and;
e) so-called experts (in any field).
This type of learning has proved invaluable.