a chocolatety end
It was the worst traffic we have ever experienced leaving Toronto. Bumper to bumper. Inching forward. Waiting. Getting excited when the speedometer registered above 20 km/h. But we never found out what caused the denser-than-normal congestion. There were no accidents, and the weather was fine. There were just so many cars. Could it be possible that everyone just wanted to escape the city and spend Hallowe'en in the country, like us?
A drive that normally takes 1.25 hours maximum took 3.0. And in the homestretch, along the dark county roads with farmhouse porch lights reaching out into the night, it even started to snow.
But we made it to Fergus in time to catch a few trick-or-treaters before my Mom's light was turned off. With a smaller turn-out this year, there were lots of chocolate bars left in the box -- and I suspect that these will be shipped home with us on Saturday. Treats to end a tricky day.
31 October 2002, 22:10
the great debate
In my efforts to become more politically aware, last night I went with Trevor and his brother to a New Democratic Party (similar to the UK's Liberal Democrats and the U.S.'s Green Party) leadership debate. Before last night I have have never even watched a political debate on TV, let alone attend one in person.
I went into the windowless, heated room expecting to need a strong coffee to keep me awake; however I managed to stay interested throughout the 2.5 hour process -- despite the occasional punctuations of rhetoric that usually send my easily-distracted thoughts into a stream-of-consciousness, elsewhere. I actually paid attention.
Perhaps I paid too much attention. Halfway through the debate I realized just how easily persuaded I am. The goal of the debate was to allow the six candidates to put forth their views on various topics, in hopes of winning votes for the leadership race in January. However, as I listened to each one working the crowd into enthusiastic cheers over housing, health care, environmental, economic, and cultural issues, I found myself liking each of them. For the most past, I liked what they all had to say.
I left the debate thinking that if only all six could serve together as one leader -- provided, of course, that the NDP win the federal election -- Canada would be utopia on earth: everyone would have accessible health care, homelessness and discrimination of all types would be abolished, people would feel secure in their jobs and their retirement, the environment would be cleaned up, and we'd all be singing songs around a campfire sharing s'mores and beers.
Well, it sounds like a nice alternative to me.
30 October 2002, 18:10
walk
There is something about a brisk walk through the crisp last exhalations of October that can bring perspective. There is something about sitting on cold cement beside an unusually-calm lake, communing with something that you know is there, but can't explain how you know it, that gently shifts things into focus. There is something about a pier light silently dimming or lighting up as you walk by that offers quiet comfort.
28 October 2002, 20:10
thinking about the end
The human body never ceases to amaze me. We think that we are in control -- and to an extent, we are -- but when it comes down to the important things, it is in control. It knows how to live; it knows how to die.
When a terminally-ill person is dying, the body follows a process to shut itself down. Hunger and thirst begin to decrease in order to prevent excess fluid building up in the kidneys, or food remaining in the digestive system; the body knows that excess matter causes pain and discomfort in death so it stops asking to be fed and hydrated. With less food in the system, energy is conserved; therefore, body heat retreats to the torso. The limbs cool. Breathing slows. Senses weaken. Every organ, every cell works to gradually reach cessation.
I find some comfort in this. However, when I think of the brain and of its capacity to process, associate, rationalize, and remember, I wonder: how does thought cease? how do feelings teminate? how does existence fail?
I need to trust that the brain, as an integral part of the body, also knows what its doing. That it works together with organs and cells toward a final moment, plying itself with seratonin or other self-produced sedative and calming itself into nothingness. Slowing itself in prepartion for whatever happens next.
27 October 2002, 17:10
cranky crabs
Thanks to Alexandra, I am hooked on Orsinal, a site showcasing thirty-odd flash games that range from the stunningly beautiful to delightfully quirky. Right now I am addicted to Cranky Crabs. There is something uniquely satisfying about pinging off crabs with a yo-yo.
26 October 2002, 20:10
la cucaracha, the NDP, and me
From out of the corner of my eye, I saw it in the wastepaper basket: popping up from between the tissues, feelers swaying. It lingered a minute, then darted its shiny dark brown body back down into the confines of the white paper.
Earlier this week I had mentioned that I had never seen a cockroach before. And although my coworkers teased me about living a sheltered life, it was an honest admission.
Well today, in the basement bathroom of Jack Layton's office, after taking a break from some volunteer work, I lost my Blattidae innocence: for five seconds I witnessed a cockroach in the flesh.
So there.
24 October 2002, 21:10
the trick is to keep breathing
When my body and limbs are surrounded by water, I'm a happy person. I love floating face up and staring at the sky. And I love to swim -- well, if you can call my mad paddling around 'swimming'.
I never learned how to swim properly: face in water, lifting gracefully to the side to gulp air, as arms automatically reach ahead. This feels unnatural to me. When I was a kid, I always ended up missing half of my swimming lessons due to various respiratory infections, so I never made it past 'tadpoles' or 'dolphins' or [insert other marine mammal here]. But I always spent a lot of time in the water -- whether in my family's pool, in various lakes, or at the beach. So, even though I failed to advance to 'penguins' or 'sharks' or 'walruses', swimming came as natural to me as breathing.
Now in my adult life I can manage practically any stroke that allows for one's head to remain above water; however, any attempts to swim face-down and breathe sideways always result in a sputtering near-drowning.
23 October 2002, 20:10
running up that hill
I do some of my best thinking when an automated belt keeps my feet moving beneath me, or when my arms are pushing forward as my legs circle below. For some reason, clarity of thought arrives in the wake of euphoria, fueled by the expenditure of large amounts of energy. On the treadmill or ski machine, nasty days lose their edge; solutions find their way to problems; and perspective is gained.
I once heard that aside from the obvious physical benefits, exercise contributes to a more positive outlook and good mental health. I remember thinking that it must be rubbish -- or least a lame attempt by gym companies to increase membership. Get fit and be happier human. Whatever. How could sweating oneself silly make for a saner state of mind?
But it's true. I've noticed. A few days without a walk, and I start to get cranky. So, when I've a bad day at work, I feel that it's only fair to Trevor if I hit the bike for 45 minutes before I even open my mouth. Because after some serious cardio, I manage to have some strange kind of heightened awareness, some inner tranquility. Everything that really sucked suddenly sucks a whole lot less.
22 October 2002, 19:10
still employed
Just wanted to post that I made it through the nastiness, and remain employed. However, even more friends are gone. Even more bitterness exists. And there are especially more thoughts of changing careers.
Thanks for all of your well-wishes.
22 October 2002, 14:10
the irony is killing me
In my inbox this morning, the Buzzword of the Day:
CORPORATE ANOREXIA: A company's unhealthy obsession with cutting the fat. Instead of producing a "lean and mean" operation, the single-minded focus on cost-cutting frequently creates a death spiral resulting in bankruptcy.
22 October 2002, 08:10
Pack up your troubles... part II
The first time that I packed up my desk , I remember spreading out my "things" on the desk and taking a look at them. After considering each item, I decided what to give away, throw out, or place into one of two LCBO bags (affectionately known as my "layoff bags") to bring home. I wanted to be prepared in the event that I was the next person to get the tap on the shoulder and the boot in the arse.
With each tri-monthly layoff scare, I pack up my things into bags to ensure that they are ready to go at a moment's notice. Just in case. However, today was not a scare, but a warning; tomorrow is the day. To prepare I spent all of ten minutes this afternoon stuffing a few trinkets, some books and papers, a few favourite pens, and a stuffed monkey into one layoff bag. I was surprised by the amount of room left this time. I guess that I have learned to travel light.
Today I brought home three plants, leaving just enough at work to carry in two hands: four plants remain on a pristine, clutter-free plane of desk, and the packed layoff bag is resting comfortably -- but ready -- against my computer.
Waiting. Just in case.
21 October 2002, 19:10
higher than reason
The other day I was involved in a discussion where people related their encounters with various drugs. Everyone was able to contribute at least one pot story, and a few others talked about acid trips, doing mushrooms, and dabbling in cocaine.
I sat back and listened with intense interest, piecing together the descriptions into something I could visualize. Because I have never used any recreational drug before in my life. And sometimes it feels like I'm the only one left in the Western Hemisphere who hasn't at least tried marijuana.
I didn't mean to let my adolescence slip by without experimenting with various narcotic substances -- it just happened. Asthmatic lungs prevented me from smoking cigarettes, so I didn't even bother attempting to smoke a joint. I have a phobia of consuming foreign chemicals (and yes, this extends to prescription drugs), so I never tried acid or pills of any kind. That left me with alcohol, but even then, I would always allow myself to get just to the point of euphoria, but never beyond; that's one of the side effects of being a control freak.
So tell me, how does it really feel? How does it compare to the giddy high of a few pints too many?
19 October 2002, 21:10
me and a gun
I have held a gun and fired it. Just once, when I was fifteen.
My friend was a bit of a strange boy: an angst-ridden loner, a periodic troublemaker, a magnet for suspicion and scrutiny, a wannabe actor, a poet. He felt that he had a wealth of life experience to share; he enjoyed sharing his stories of the street, parlaying them into parables for the blissfully innocent and naive. And although I was a close friend, I was often a candidate for his "life lessons".
One day he thought that I should experience the sensation of feeling steel in my hands and pulling a trigger. We ventured into one of fields of his parents' farm where he demonstated how to hold, aim, and fire -- blowing off the heads of daisies. Then it was my turn. I remember my awkwardness, the weight of the weapon in my hands, the stiffness of the trigger. And I remember the way the shot rattled through my bones like an earthquake.
One shot was enough. Life lesson learned.
18 October 2002, 20:10
guarding the gates of hell
The only time I have come close to experiencing what it feels like to have a migraine headache was in 1995 when Trevor and I were in York on our honeymoon. In the early evening it arrived unannounced: a throbbing, searing pain that clenched either side of my head. We thought that I might just be hungry so we walked into town to get something to eat. But the car lights stabbed into the back of my skull. I felt weak and dizzy. And once the aroma of pizza hit my nose, I was extremely nauseous. We went back home where I took two Tylenol 3 tablets and went to bed. When I woke up at 3 AM it was gone, and Trevor found me ravenously scarfing down pizza in the dark.
When I told this story to my friend at lunch today she nodded her head knowingly. She has had a headache -- sometime debilitating and severe enough to cause nausea -- every day of her life since she was thirteen.
She had heard that Botox injections -- which are usually administered to smooth out unwanted facial lines between the eyebrows -- in some cases have lessened the severity of migraine headaches. So, after researching and considering the treatment for some time, she decided to go ahead with the procedure. And, last Friday, after a "a few tiny injections of purified protein", her life changed.
Now when the headaches begin, they don't move into the spot between her eyebrows -- the place where the pain usually becomes intense enough to induce nausea. She can feel the headache stop at the perimeter of the Botox site, restricted from moving any further. For her, Botox is essentially guarding the Gates of Hell.
It probably doesn't matter so much that she has lost the abiltity to furrow her brow, or that her facial expressiveness has lessened for the next four months. I suspect that these are small sacrifices in light of such remarkable benefits.
17 October 2002, 15:10
poem alert
As promised: a poem was published today in Pierian Springs.
16 October 2002, 22:10
Ten things I would miss about living in toronto
Living near the lake.
Weekend walks through the city.
Something on (shows, concerts, exhibitions, galleries, events) every day/night of the week.
Endless choice of bars and clubs.
A quiet apartment. Finally.
Thai, Indian, Chinese, and any other kind of food available at all hours.
Walking through through Exhibition Park, Ontario Place, Coronation Park, and the Music Garden.
Grocery Gateway (grocery delivery service).
Walking through the city streets at night.
Streetcars, subways, cabs.
15 October 2002, 23:10
the great thanksgiving turkey
One Thanksgiving my creative Dad and inventive Uncle Bud took my brother, cousins, and me into a small patch of woods known as Lover's Lane at the edge of town. We were told the Great Thanksgiving Turkey had visited overnight with an assortment of candy and treats -- and that we were to find them. So, we bolted into the trees, leaving no leaf unturned, and looking beneath every fallen branch, plucking up a multitude of confection and other delights. The thrilll of the hunt, plus the leaf fights and skidding through the mud was great fun.
I was young enough then to believe that the Great Thanksgiving Turkey might somehow exist, but was confused that I had never heard of it before. I'm sure now that he came into existence sometime the night before during a late night card game, and after a few cases of Black Label.
Good times.
14 October 2002, 22:10
it ain't "turkey day"
Being a vegetarian at any holiday always draws attention. Some people assume that you will eat turkey at Thanksgiving; this is thanks to those who refer to themselves as vegetarians but in fact eat poultry and fish, resulting in confusion and misunderstanding. Note: fish and fowl are not vegetables; if you eat them, you are not a vegetarian. Other people panic and wonder what on earth you are going to eat if no turkey will be grazing your plate. And no matter how much you convince them that the mountains of other food will be plenty satisfying and you will still roll away from the dinner table with a stomach ache, they still wring their hands with worry. And with the increased focus upon what's on or not on your plate, eventually the dinner conversation ends up revolving around your "lifestyle" and what you eat each day.
Thankfully, at the Thanksgiving dinner that we will be attending tonight this won't be a problem; there have been vegetarians present for years and years. As usual, a vegetarian meal is being provided for those who don't wish to partake of turkey. And this year there are even more people in the group who have become vegetarian -- even one who was once a devoted carnivore. Gradually, we may even begin to outnumber the non-vegs.
Tomorrow night, my Mom has lined up a vegetable pastry delight for us, plus stuffing that she doesn't cook inside the turkey (she's so thoughtful). This is our contribution.
13 October 2002, 09:10
thanksgiving
Tomorrow we pick up a car and drive to Erin to celebrate a Thanksgiving tradition celebrated by Trevor's family since his Dad was in university. We will be greeted by faces that I have grown to know and love for the past fourteen years. We will have lunch, then a hike, and then dinner at a local restaurant. Lots of wonderful eating, drinking, laughing, remembering, and catching up.
And of the things that I am looking forward to tomorrow, "catching up" is not on the list. Of course I want to know what's been going on in everyone else's lives this past year. I just don't want to talk about my own life. Not now while my thankfulness is peppered with traces of bitterness, selfishness, and sadness connected to the first holiday without Dad.
12 October 2002, 21:10
tripped up
No post yesterday. But don't think for a second that I had no material. Suffice to say that the days' events were focused on some puzzling announcements and sensitive documentation left lying about for unintended eyes. The day ended on a positive note, however, with a bar crawl along College Street for Toronto's first annual Night Tripper: "a showcase of the best psych, hammond, groove, mod, northern soul, and R&B". Not normally my cup of tea, but it was a bright and fresh ending to otherwise sour-tasting day.
12 October 2002, 10:10
why so many buff guys?
My gym is on the second floor of our building. This makes life easy. Five minutes after I am wiping off the treadmill, I am in our living room stretching.
I used to go to the gym after work, but then I realized that if I managed to crawl out of bed in the morning and go before work, I suddenly had an extra hour to my day (I know, the math doesn't work out, but don't tell my brain, because I have it fooled). And, better yet, at 6:30 AM the gym is nice and quiet.
Lately, I've fallen back into the after-work slot. But not for long. For my past three sessions, the weights and weight machine have been constantly dominated by incredibly fit men. I can't get near a set of free-weights because there is too much muscle in the way.
Now, being around a bunch of buff dudes doesn't usually matter to me; I've grown to not feel self-concious about my less-than-buff physique, less-than-stylish T-shirt and bike shorts, and less-than-perfectly-coiffed hair. In fact, I flat out don't care; I'm there to sweat for an hour. But for some reason, when I am the only female in a room full of bench-pressing, grunting guys, and I am patiently waiting waiting waiting for them to finish their 200th rep so I can do my precious 30, I begin to feel just a teensy bit self-conscious.
It's definitely back to mornings for me.
10 October 2002, 21:10
yeah... it was amazing
I have just one thing to say before hauling my tired body, smokey hair, and ringing ears to bed: Haven are brilliant live.
10 October 2002, 01:10
four good reasons to be happy today
09 October 2002, 18:10
the morning after
It is a lazy sunrise. The street outside is quiet, and there is an unexpected loon mixing in with the usual ducks and geese in the basin below. There are no traces of the ambulances and police cars that lined our side of the street last night, nor of various uniformed people in semi-circles looking up towards one of the top floors of our building.
We at first wondered if someone was threatening to jump. Thoughts turned to a stand-off between a tenant (or intruder) and police. But the lack of fire department and the presence of just three police cars suggested that the situation wasn't that serious. What then? A domestic dispute? Someone threatening to harm themselves?
It was over by about 1:00 AM. No speeding vehicles tearing away with sirens wailing. No emergency lights slicing into the darkness. Everything was left quiet. As it is now.
09 October 2002, 08:10
What are you doing here?
Almost every night I dream about my Dad. I suspect that it's pretty normal. Surprisingly, most of the dreams do not involve horrible, emotionally-explosive situations.
Usually I am back living at home. Sometimes the dreams begin with us all knowing Dad is going to die, and we discuss what we are going to do about it. Sometimes everything is normal, and Dad just disappears one day -- overnight, through a doorway, or down a tunnel, and at some point we all just realize what's happened.
Once he called me on the phone and before the static swallowed up the conversation, he told me excitedly that being dead was ok because he was seeing parts of the world he had never seen before.
Sometimes I am in the house getting ready for work, and run into him coming around the corner from the bathroom. It is then that I outright ask him -- almost accuse him -- what are you doing, being no longer dead, and how are we going to go through all of that again?
08 October 2002, 16:10
i like my bbc and brit tv
I manage to watch about 4 hours of TV a day, so one would think that I would have a reasonable familiarity with the primetime shows that everyone flicks on night after night. The truth is, when my coworkers are sitting around the table at lunch discussing last night's West Wing, Everyone Loves Raymond, or ER, I can offer no input to the discussion.
Ever since we have been able to catch British shows (which are probably at least a year or two behind England) syndicated on various networks and digital cable (BBC Canada), it's all that appears on our TV. To me, British TV production quality, humour, acting, and storylines are much more interesting than the commercial-heavy, tiresome crap served up on this side of the ocean.
Yes, I do watch some North American TV -- my favourites comprise the big three reality TV shows: The Amazing Race, Survivor, or the The Mole. Call me crazy, but I really enjoy watching real people putting to use their brains, brawn, and skills to the test, while allowing their snarky and catty sides to blossom on national television. But alas, not many people that I know share my affinity for reality TV, so again, I am unable to participate in the lunchtime TV show comaraderie.
I'm holding out for the day when a new person is going to start at work, and at lunchtime he or she blurts out, "well then, does anyone here follow Coronation Street, Eastenders, Night and Day, Ground Force, What Not to Wear, Changing Rooms, Cold Feet, The Office, How to Be a Gardener, Royale Family, [insert various BBC dramas, documentaries, or news programs here]...?"
07 October 2002, 19:10
thinking of wendy
Right now she is probably stretching and warming up for the run under a partly-cloudy sky in Waterfront Park. I wonder if how cold 13 degrees feels without hair.
Although I've never been to Kelowna, I am picturing her, striding along Sunset Drive, quietly connecting with all the people whose faces smile back from the poster she has attached to her shirt -- the many people for whose memory she is running (my dad being one of them). I like to picture her rounding Okanagan Lake, sunshine warm on her shoulders, air cool against bare skin, as she completes one of the most important goals of her life.
It's not just that she raised over $2000, or that she had her head shaved allowing her to donate enough hair for two wigs, that makes it all so incredible. It's that she decided to do something so selfless and important, and that she carried it through beautifully.
I am just so proud of her.
Update: news coverage on Wendy.
06 October 2002, 12:10
another one?
And another acceptance today. How happy am I?
Update (October 6, 11:50 PM): Two more acceptances have arrived in my inbox. What's going on?
05 October 2002, 23:10
friday night's alright for writing
It is very dark. The wind is whipping rain around the basin, flinging it against our freshly-cleaned windows. Downtown is shrouded by heavy clouds, and the lit floors of skyscrapers pass in and out of fog like ghost ships. The rain-sheeted streets are deserted except for the occasional empty streetcar lumbering over the bridge or the wet slap of taxi tires. What a perfect end to a Friday.
Did I mention that within a week, two of my poems have been accepted for publication by two separate journals?
04 October 2002, 23:10
falling short
After thirty seconds and 10 steps from the building, the group I was with decided that we should eat our lunch indoors today. To them the air was too damp and cold, the wind too upfront and familiar with its hands. I went with them to the warm, but sterile surroundings of the second-floor food court to eat my heated-up leftover curry. And although I enjoyed our discussions about tv shows, movies, and food, I was half-distracted by thoughts of a low sky of burgeoning grey clouds, damp wind, and the flirtations of the season I have waited so long to wrap myself up in.
03 October 2002, 16:10
Italy in the backyard
Sitting here and looking through the window, the light is still there: blue-white and bright, reaching between the buildings on the harbour. When I walked home from work, it was aimed at various actors and crew on a foreign boat that must have appeared in the harbour overnight. As I walked along the promenade and right through the middle of the set, I had to be careful not to trip over cables, props, and set designers. No one stopped me walking past the activity on the boat where huge microphones dangled above a dozen people talking over each other. Everywhere, Italian flags replaced Canadian flags. At the end of one pier sat a small car with "Polizia" written in blue letters across the hood, and a boat cruise kiosk had been converted into a "gelato" booth. On the the other pier a warehouse had been transformed into an inviting and cosy Italian café. Leaving the set, strolling past orange pylons and craft services, wardrobe, and washroom signs, I saw a white piece of bristol board hand-lettered with the title Honeyland. Doesn't sound like an Italian film to me.
02 October 2002, 18:10
"Maybe he's found the answer 2 all the April snow"
Six months ago today it was snowing, and all day long I coudn't get the song Sometimes It Snows in April out of my head. We spent the day making plans and phonecalls. Not thinking. Not feeling. All on a day of snow, when it should have been Spring.
Today, six months later, it should be Autumn, but Summer will not relinquish its grip. It's sunny and humid and hot. Another stubborn season refusing to pass. Refusing to die.
01 October 2002, 12:10