30 June 2002, 08:06

bounce

Lately, we have been leaving work to enjoy our lunch to the "park" -- a place where picnic tables are scattered on a patch of lawn, bordered by white tents (that serve as a market on weekends) to the west, the ampitheatre to the south, the York Quay Centre to the east, and hotdog, chip truck, juice vendors on the sidewalk to the north.

Yesterday, as we unpacked sandwiches, we realized that enterainment was going to be on our lunchtime agenda. Two trampolines were parked right in the middle of the lawn, and several bodysuited and latex-clad people were taking turns on the apparatus.

Bodies shot up into the blue sky, then -- almost in slow motion -- lithe torsos twisted, flipped, and somersaulted in mid-air. Then the graceful correcting of limbs before the bounce that propelled them into some other demonstration of strength and pliancy. Every few minutes we were treated to two new artists; each unique in their flexibility and performance.

It was nice to just sit back and enjoy the supple beauty of the human body in motion. A nice change from tourist-watching.

29 June 2002, 11:06

frankenfish

It's a fish, but it has a snake's head, and can climb out of the water and walk on land. It eats anything it wants. It grows to 3 feet and can survive U.S. winters. And it's freaking out people in Maryland.

28 June 2002, 12:06

reunion

The reunion was full of kids and older adults, with just a few 30-somethings in between. And while I was jumping on the trampoline with the jumble of arms and legs that were my second cousins, I was reminded of summer reunions of twenty years ago. The cousins always played in my Grandma's basement and backyard. We loved throwing crab apples from behind hedges, and playing with Grandpas "do not touch" jars on his workbench. We made trips to the variety store for Grandpa's cigarettes and ate ice cream at the Dairy Dip. And always for dinner we ate Kentucky Fried Chicken, then played 31 (for nickels) until it was time to go to home. And I really thought that even though they were grown-ups, my aunts and uncles were pretty cool.

Bouncing up and down on the trampoline I realized that my Mom had an 11-year-old and an 8-year-old when she as my age -- the ages of the kids I was narrowly missing with each plunge downward. I realized that I still feel like a kid. Did my Mom and Dad feel like kids at our reunions? I hope the kids had as much fun as I did. I hope that they thought that I was reasonably cool. Next year I am going to teach them how to play 31 -- for money, of course.

27 June 2002, 22:06

Poster child

Great, I also just found out from my doctor that in addition to aforementioned iron deficiency, I also have a B12 deficiency. Geez, I feel like I could be the poster child for being a bad vegetarian -- one that people could point at and say: Look, vegetarians are dizzy and sickly and they don't get enough nutrients. Well, you know what, it's just not true.

27 June 2002, 15:06

the verdict is in

Well, after 3 more vials of blood, the verdict is in: anemia. Gotta jack up my diet with molasses, baked beans, and veggie chilli.

I've heard that "Guinness is good for you". Does anyone happen to know if it has any iron?

26 June 2002, 18:06

for my orange room friend

All day I have been thinking about you, remembering what it feels like to have the anxiety stretch across your chest like a taut wire. What it feels like to try to balance the worry and the hope: earnest but unsteady, like a novice tightrope walker. I can feel the heaviness of possibility weighing you down, and the weightlessness of positivity buoying you up -- both constantly competing for your attention and your energy. It's a difficult balancing act moving from one end of it to the other.

Just know, my orange room friend, that you're not alone up there.

25 June 2002, 17:06

my hubby rocks

Yesterday, hot and weary from the smoggy and humid walk from where the bus let me off downtown, I opened the door to our apartment, took off my shoes, turned around and was met with a wonderful surprise: roses, a present wrapped in a special gift bag, and a freshly-cleaned apartment. It was such a wonderful (and unexpected) surprise! I really did snag myself the best husband ever.

24 June 2002, 18:06

the convict express

While Mom and I were waiting in the car for my bus to pull into the station, a police car pulled up to the curb. Two policemen got out, and one of them opened up the rear car door. Out came two green plastic garbage bags, a knapsack, and a clean-cut kid who looked like he was about 22. A minute later, two more police got out of an unmarked police car. All of the police went into the station. The kid was left behind on the curb, blinking, and looking slightly stunned as he tried to amalgamate his belongings into one garbage bag. The police emerged with a bus ticket, then all four got into their cars and left him waiting for the same express bus that I was taking back home to Toronto.

Perhaps he had just been released from the Guelph Correctional Centre, and had nobody to pick him up. Maybe the police decided that the best place to ship someone fresh out of the pen is to Toronto (not a good idea, in my opinion). Maybe he had nowhere to go and since he was offered a free bus ticket, he was able to choose his own destination. I guess that given the choice, I would have picked Toronto, too.

I didn't see him get off the bus. I wonder where he went.

24 June 2002, 18:06

btw, i'm fine

Oh, and in case anyone was wondering about those five vials of blood, the lab told me today that my tests were "fairly normal" but that I should have some more tests (iron, B12, etc.) "just in case". Could they not have just taken six vials of blood and tested everything at once? Geez. After I give blood next week, my arms are going to resemble those of a heroin addict.

21 June 2002, 20:06

self-induced jetlag

Well, it's 8:00 PM and I've been awake since 2:30 AM (watching that damned England/Brazil match). After the game, I found it impossible to go back to sleep, so I did the sensible thing: went to the gym for an hour, had a shower, and went into work early. So now, after 18.5 hours awake with at least 3 more to go (as Trevor pointed out, I am really making the most of the longest day of the year), I feel completely and utterly jet-lagged. Might as well have been in a pub in England watching the game. At least then I would have had a few pints in me.

21 June 2002, 20:06

found

Now this is my kind of magazine -- a publication devoted to "found" things: audio, photos, poems, notes, and other abandoned treasures (via lightningfield).

20 June 2002, 19:06

awake

I have been tired for a week. And now that I want to be able to have a 4-5 hour nap so that I can get up at 2:30 AM to watch the England/Brazil game, do you think that I am even remotely dopey? Does even one small part of me feel a tiny bit sleepy? Not a chance. I don't think that I could be more awake. Looks like I am going to have to resort to a few glasses of wine. "Come on England!"

20 June 2002, 19:06

five vials of blood

Fo almost a week I have been feeling strange: light-headed, tired, thirsty, tingling feet, unable to concentrate, and ravenously hungry. So I hauled my sorry self to the doctor yesterday in hopes of determining what may be the cause of my mysterious ailments. Aside from not being able to focus on anything, my biggest concern is this hunger that I must get under control before I gain 50 pounds stuffing my face.

Not surprising, the doctor ordered a whack of blood tests. So, after the lab analyzes my five vials of blood, I can only hope that perhaps my doctor calls on Wednesday with the news that I am allergic to work and that I need to take the entire summer off to relax myself back to good health.

18 June 2002, 15:06

self-congratulatory announcement

I just received word from ululation.com's editor that not only are they going to publish some of my poems, they are generously making my work into a bit of a feature: here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. As always, thanks for indulging me.

15 June 2002, 17:06

Knitting activists plan a "knit-in" at G8

Well now I'm convinced that Canadians are capable of organizing the most peaceful and attention-grabbing protests out there. The Revolutionary Knitting Circle (RKC) are planning a Global Knit-In on June 26 to protest the G8 Summit being held in Kananaskis, Alberta, on June 27 and 28. People around the world are invited to take yarn and needles in hand to a place of corporate power and "create soft barriers of knitted yarn to reclaim spaces from the elite to the common good".

The Toronto Star reported today that during the protest the knitting activists will create banners that double as blankets, as well as "tree cozies".

I say, "knit on, RKC".

15 June 2002, 10:06

"Death just walked in, again"

Every night it is a different dream. But he is in every one. And I wake up every morning wondering why my subconscious insists upon reminding me of what's happened. Why it once allowed me to speak to him, but now I am only permitted occasional glimpses or a few moments of the sound of his voice.

15 June 2002, 08:06

"My country"

6:57 AM. Blurry-eyed and sweating on the crosstrainer. Cranky because the batteries have just died in my CD walkman, and I am forced to watch and listen to CNN. Between mopping my brow, reaching for my water bottle, and trying to coordinate my still-sleepy limbs, I have barely enough attention to devote to the breaking news about a suicide car bombing outside the U.S. Consulate in Pakistan that killed eight people and left 40 injured.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a thin, dark-haired security guard let himself into the gym, focusing intently on the TV. He stepped apologetically in front of the screen, offering a patriotic but humble few words: "my country". He then watched the update and left quietly at the end of the report.

I was much more awake after that.

14 June 2002, 21:06

making contact

Last night I was contacted by Barbara Fletcher (and no, I wasn't emailing myself) -- she's from California. A month ago I received an email from a Barbara Fletcher from Hampshire, UK. Both women were doing a vanity search, happened the site of their namesake (and obviously mine), and thought that they would contact me out of the blue.

During my own vanity searches, I've never come across either of these Barbara Fletchers. However, I have found an accomplished artist in Tewkesbury, UK, a paper sculptor in Massachusetts, US, a minister, and more. I've even been contacted on another Barbara Fletcher's behalf to see if I was willing to sell my domain name. The Internet is being overrun with Barbara Fletchers, it seems.

I'm just happy that I registered my name back in 1997 when I did. I'm also glad that I have it registered for a very very very long time (apologies to all other Barbara Fletchers out there).

13 June 2002, 20:06

yellow card for condescension

Two days later it is still bugging me: the email exchange that ended badly. At first it was just a conversation about a movie review. Back-and-forth we argued our stance, maintaining a healthy, pointed discussion. And then it happened: he pulled the pseudo-intellectual routine, claiming to have special knowledge in the matter, but "accepting" my lesser-educated opinion. Obviously he felt cornered, and felt it necessary to resort to cheap measures to win the argument. It took all my strength to refrain from pounding back a response, refuting his empty case against my education and qualifications, but then I realized that it didn't matter. Yes, too days later, it gnaws at me. But my dignity is intact, and I didn't earn myself a yellow card for being a condescending jackass.

12 June 2002, 08:06

gym vanity

The past week or so I have changed my daily rountine so that instead of going to the gym after work, I go before work -- and, thus, before my breakfast, tea, and shower. I've convinced myself that it's better for me to exercise first thing, regardless of any activities I may have indulged in the night before.

It's amazing how vain a person can be in a in a blurry-eyed state of semi-consiousness at 6:30 AM. Even though I know that it's early morning and that other treadmillers, bikers, and crosstrainers will be half-asleep and tousled-haired, I still find it necessary to pop in my contact lenses, cleanse my face, and ensure that my hair is reasonably coifed.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but even during ungodly hours of the day, in a place where people go to grunt, groan, and sweat rivers, I am concerned about whether my hair is too unkempt. Pathetic, really.

11 June 2002, 23:06

graveyard shift

Ever since my Dad died I try to call my Mom every day, usually in the evenings after supper. We exchange stories about work, co-workers and bosses, chat about the weather, and discuss whatever else seems to be interesting at the time.

Tonight when I called she was out. I expected that she was walking the dog, but when she called me back she told me that had been at the cemetery cleaning up graves: her mom, her dad, her aunt, my Dad's father, and my Dad. After work she had spent hours trimming hedges, picking weeds, and scrubbing sap and dirt from granite slabs.

She seemed fine and was almost matter-of-fact about it when she told me (as she would). But to me, it just sounded sad.

10 June 2002, 20:06

on driving and snot

I was reading this blog entry, and it reminded me of being a child and driving around with my Dad.

Sometimes when we drove the few blocks up to my grandparents's place, he would let me sit on his lap and steer, allowing me to engage in the little-kid fantasy of being a grown-up driver. It backfired on him a few times, however. Once, as my family was sitting in the idling car waiting for my Dad to get in, I decided that I could drive us home. So I jumped in the front seat and shifted the car into reverse, causing the car to roll backwards. Then I remember my Mom yelling "You've hit your father!" and slamming the car back into park. Luckily, there was just a few bruises and a few angry words. I don't know if I got to drive much after that.

Dad and I loved thunderstorms. When thunder began rumbling, he and I would jump in the car and drive ten minutes out into the country so that we could get a better view of the lightning or see just how heavy the rain could pour down on us. Hail was always an added bonus.

And Dad also liked to follow firetrucks. Our town had volunteer firefighters; they were summoned to action by an air-raid-like siren that could be heard all across town. A few minutes later, car keys in hand, Dad would listen for the firetrucks heading up the highway; if they came wailing in our direction, we would jump in the car and follow them to the source of the fire. A bit morbid in retropect, but damn, it was really exciting as a kid.

Dad believed that it was important to the health of a car to take it out on an open stretch of road and press the gas pedal to the floor just to "blow the snot out of 'er". I remember thinking that our Plymouth Duster must have had a lot of snot.

09 June 2002, 13:06

three facts

1. I can't stand raw onions, whether Spanish, green, red, spring, or otherwise. I don't like them and they don't like me. If they're cooked to a mush, I accept their presence with open jaws; however, if they are raw, my stomach protests for 24 hours afterward.

2. My legs are bald. In the rare instance that a hair appears on my legs, it is so miniscule and blonde that I need the right light to see it. I do get out the razor every three or four months -- but it's just for show, and makes me feel like less of a freak.

3. I am addicted to club soda / soda water -- and it has to be Schweppes. I drink about two litres a day. My addiction has spread to most of the people in my office. When the pop is delivered, the club soda cases now outnumber all other beverages 10:1. I've taken to hoarding some of our cases in stategic areas of the office so that when the supply runs low, we have back-up. I always need back-up at home, too. When we get down to 12 cans, I start to get nervous.

06 June 2002, 21:06

oil tanker bastards

"As many as 15,000 marine iguanas died on a Galapagos island" in the year after the Petroecuador oil tanker ran aground, spilling 170,000 gallons of fuel.

05 June 2002, 17:06

a bit of flare to an afternoon

The air was a strange shade of opaque pink, and as I walked further along the harbour, it become coral-coloured and milky, as if I was viewing everything through tinted glasses. Then I heard the sounds: a sizzling gunshot, a pause, then a airy whistle. And then, a small and red glowing orb falling from the sky. Then another.

As I moved closer to the area where boats are moored, I could smell the smoke, and like the others, I suspected that a boat in the harbour was having an emergency and was firing off flares.

Finally upwind, I rounded the Marine Police building and expected to see a rescue operation in progress. Instead, I saw a row of blue uniforms lining the lakeshore, listening and watching attentively as each practice flare shot up into the air, thick clouds of orange smoke billowing up. Like flames.

05 June 2002, 16:06

side "walk"

I have a tendency to walk down sidewalks completely immersed in thought -- and thus, often oblivious to my environment. I like to walk and think; not only does it help me to work things out and mentally prepare myself for work, it also distracts me the traffic buzzing past. Inside my head, it actually can be quite peaceful at times.

So, the worst thing that can happen to me as I walk distractedly and thoughtfully along the sidewalk is having a bike silently fly up behind me and then whiz past in a blur of metal and wheels, cutting in front of me and hurtling onward. It's startling. It's dangerous, especially to older people, children, and people hard of of hearing. And it really pisses me off.

Bikes are vehicles. And in my opinion, vehicles belong on the road. I understand that the road can be a hazardous place; however, the potential dangers of the road do not justify cyclists endangering people on the sidewalk -- especially when there two lanes and/or a bike path.

Yes, I would rather see this city full of cyclists than cars. But even in a city full of bicycles, there should always be a safe place for walkers.

(Am I getting old and cranky or what?)

~ end rant~

04 June 2002, 20:06

little cars

North American cars are big, honking, polluting, noisy. bulky, ugly hunks of lumbering steel. European cars are small, fast, streamlined, sexy, curved bits of shining metal. I love their compactness, their compressed beauty.

And I love the fact that when two Canadians walk up to the Alamo agent at Manchester airport to pick up their rental car, the only car available is a Mercedes. Wow, sucks to be us.

03 June 2002, 22:06

memory tree

We pulled up to the little field dotted with saplings, evenly spaced by cushions of greenness, and marked with a small plaque. We walked up and down each grassy pathway, reading the names of people we knew and didn't know, looking for the tree I wasn't sure that I wanted to see.

We found my grandfather's tree, and then our old veternarian's tree, and those belonging to other members of the community. And then, right beside my other grandparents' tree, there it was.

"In memory of Ron Fletcher. Friend of the Fergus Lions Club".

For all of his volunteer work building playgrounds and gardening in parks around town, they told my Mom.

And as per usual, the tears fell in great flowing rivers onto Trevor's shirt. But it was really good to see it.

02 June 2002, 21:06

drive down memory lane

We're just back from a weekend in London (and no, not the good one). There was a surprise 30th birthday party for one of my former co-workers. So we rented a car, booked a hotel room, and went back to the place where we lived for three years but haven't visited since we left there in May of 1999 for Toronto.

We toured the city, visiting old haunts, checking out our old apartment buildings and new developments. A lot has changed, but really, nothing has changed at all. This feeling remained with us as we detoured our trip home through Kitchener-Waterloo, where we lived for 5 years. A few new buildings but the city was basically unchanged. I don't know what I was expecting, but it felt as though time had simply continued along, laterally slicing through each minute of monotony.

And then, we drove into Fergus.

02 June 2002, 21:06