Damn it’s hot! I know most of you out there are too hot and wishing for cooler weather. You're sweaty and sticky. As soon as you're out of the shower you need to get back in. Blow drying your hair is out of the question. Make up is even worse. You are constantly wondering if you swell, as your deodorant melted off just shortly after you applied it. Your clothes stick to you and laundry piles up as a result. You can’t sleep. Your fan is just blowing hot air around. Turning on the oven is not an option. You seek shade but that doesn't doesn’t even cool you down. It’s muggier than hell and you’re spending a lot of time in a cold shower. You're hot, tired and cranky and yes, you’re complaining about this heat.
I say let’s put this all perspective. We live in a place known as the "wet coast" where grey skies and rain rule our world about eight months of the year. Ya I’m hot, sticky, and sweat is constantly dripping out of every pore of my body. BUT…I say let’s enjoy this hot sun while we get it. How can we complain about the sun and the heat when we're usually living under an umbrella? You can find me sans umbrella down at the beach soaking it up!
Friday, July 31, 2009
This Is Your Body. This Is Your Body On Drugs.
Remember that old ad encouraging kids to stay off drugs by suggesting that if they did illegal drugs their brain would turn into a fried egg? And we've all seen today's commercials for prescription medications which provide a list of side effects, complications and reasons to not take said drugs that is longer than the benefits of actually taking them, leaving one wonder why anyone would want to swallow those pills. Ah, but sometimes one must take those pills which incidentally come with a short book of side effects, interactions, and allergic reactions. (Does anyone actually read all this fine print?). My lovely drug cocktail has all kinds of potential problems and side effects, some of which I just live with on a daily basis. More worrisome than tremours, memory loss, an inability to articulate myself and a general spaced out feeling however is the damage all these drugs are doing to my internal organs over the long run. And I recently found out just how serious this can be. So...this is my body and this is my body Epival (an anticonvulsant that also acts as a mood stabilizer).
Pre-Epival (or any other drug for that matter) my body was good. Good liver, good kidneys, good pancreas, decent enough lungs and heart for a smoker...as far as I know everything was working fine and in good shape. My body on Epival is another story. Recently I had my fourth episode in a year of high fever, chills, delirium, complete joint and muscle aches and pains, stiffness, headache, stomach pain, the inability to move (literally) first thing in the morning, ringing in the ears, weakness, loss of appetite, and swollen glands wherever there was a gland to be had. If its part of the body, there was something wrong with it. Literally. This was the worst episode, leaving me knocked out and completely out of it for almost 3 weeks. I was unrousable, delirious and so sick I warranted two trips to the hospital (one in an ambulance - big excitement!), work ups by multiple doctors and an urgent referral to internal medicine - the place they apparently send you there when no one else can figure out what is wrong. Words like "connective tissue disorder" and "lupus" were being tossed out at me. All I could think was "Just what I need, another chronic condition. F off - go pick on someone else!" Thankfully, at the end of the day it was determined that the Epival I take was shooting my Lipase level through the roof to 200 when it's supposed to be 65. Hence, I was immediately taken off said drug. The verdict: pancreatitis. It will eventually heal on its own, but I am left wondering how my body will withstand the cornucopia of drugs I still take over my lifetime. It only took Epival a year to start wreaking havoc. I'm only 37. And I am that person who will, if there is something to get, get it. The moral of the story...if you don't have to be taking any medication, don't take it.
So, that also explains my absence here. I'm recovering nicely now and hope to be writing regularly, as long as one of my other drugs doesn't create some other medical emergency!
Pre-Epival (or any other drug for that matter) my body was good. Good liver, good kidneys, good pancreas, decent enough lungs and heart for a smoker...as far as I know everything was working fine and in good shape. My body on Epival is another story. Recently I had my fourth episode in a year of high fever, chills, delirium, complete joint and muscle aches and pains, stiffness, headache, stomach pain, the inability to move (literally) first thing in the morning, ringing in the ears, weakness, loss of appetite, and swollen glands wherever there was a gland to be had. If its part of the body, there was something wrong with it. Literally. This was the worst episode, leaving me knocked out and completely out of it for almost 3 weeks. I was unrousable, delirious and so sick I warranted two trips to the hospital (one in an ambulance - big excitement!), work ups by multiple doctors and an urgent referral to internal medicine - the place they apparently send you there when no one else can figure out what is wrong. Words like "connective tissue disorder" and "lupus" were being tossed out at me. All I could think was "Just what I need, another chronic condition. F off - go pick on someone else!" Thankfully, at the end of the day it was determined that the Epival I take was shooting my Lipase level through the roof to 200 when it's supposed to be 65. Hence, I was immediately taken off said drug. The verdict: pancreatitis. It will eventually heal on its own, but I am left wondering how my body will withstand the cornucopia of drugs I still take over my lifetime. It only took Epival a year to start wreaking havoc. I'm only 37. And I am that person who will, if there is something to get, get it. The moral of the story...if you don't have to be taking any medication, don't take it.
So, that also explains my absence here. I'm recovering nicely now and hope to be writing regularly, as long as one of my other drugs doesn't create some other medical emergency!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
End of an Era
As many of you are pretty smart you may have guessed from the title change that there has been a relationship change as well. Don't panic...it's all good. Very amicable and we sill talk regularly. Without going into detail, let's just say that my and Dave's relationship had gone from romantic to best friends and along with that the dealing with my illness was taking a great toll. Dave and I have an incredibly strong bond as friends and I have no doubt that we will continue to be a part of each other's lives. We just need to figure out what it looks like. Sigh. So sad news. But like I said to Dave, "I'd rather end with love in our hearts than hate." Anyways, I figure this puts it out there for everyone and hence, the new title to my blog... I am off to find my own adventures!
And p.s. - I am doing fine thank you! :)
And p.s. - I am doing fine thank you! :)
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Vegas Road Trip In Pictures
Some photos of our Vegas Road Trip.... They just don't do it justice but at least there's something for you to see! :)
Valley of Fire State Park....
Valley of Fire State Park....
Red Rock Canyon (next 4 photos)...
VEGAS ROAD TRIP!
Have you ever been to Vegas and actually left the strip? I have been to Vegas numerous times and still haven’t even seen everything on the strip. The farthest I’ve been off the strip is to the Rio Hotel. Well, this time we had 5 whole days in Vegas and I wanted to see something different – I wanted to rent a car and just drive out into the desert. I had a picture in my head of driving in the middle of nowhere, just desert all around. I got my picture and more. Describing what I saw will be difficult to put into words, if not impossible. But it’s worth telling because I think it should be on everyone’s “Things I Must See Before I Die” list.
After picking up our car, stopping at Denny’s for breakfast (what’s a road trip without Denny’s?) we headed off to Red Rock Canyon, at 15 minute drive from the strip, which I’m sure you’ve all heard of…known for it’s outdoor concerts and of course its televised poker tournaments. Anyways, we think we are going to drive up to some beautiful vista, be amazed by the red rock, snap some photos and be on our way. Ah, no. This is a National Conservation Area that has a scenic driving loop through the canyon with about 10 stops along the way, all kinds of trails, rock climbing, etc. It is stunning. You stand and look at these red mountains, which began forming over 600 million years ago and it is awe-inspiring. Beyond anything we thought we were going to see. After a couple of hours and many snaps, we are ready to really hit the highway out of Vegas to our next destination – The Valley of Fire State Park.
I am anxious to hit open road and be surrounded by nothing, so I’m hoping the highway is going to lead us that way and that we are not going to be passing through sprawling suburbs. I am pleased to say that once we were out of the city limits, there was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see…no suburbs, only the rare other vehicle and not even a gas station. We did see eight F-18 fighter planes flying around, which was pretty cool, but other than that it was just nothing, nothing, nothingness along the 45 minute drive. Sooooo awesome!
Again, we had no idea what to expect here. We had pretty much randomly selected the destination, although we did know there was some sort of rock formations to be seen. As we drove off the highway and along the road heading to the park there was still no indication of what we would arrive at. We were figuring a few rock formations and some wonderful canyon vista again. Ah, no again. What we happened upon was truly mind blowing and words will never describe accurately what we saw. Pictures cannot even do it justice. We finally got to the park entrance, put our $6 park fee in the box and as we rounded the first corner we were pretty much stopped dead in our tracks.
A massive expanse of deeply red coloured rock with so many formations that I just could not believe what I was seeing. I could not believe this was a natural creation. I wondered if I was hallucinating and had to keep checking with Dave as to whether he was seeing what I was. I literally kept questioning Dave as to whether or not perhaps someone had come in here and carved all of these formations…people, faces (angels, ghostly faces and more), animals (elephants, eagles, lizards and more), beehives…well, really if you can think of it, there is probably a formation of it. At least that is what it felt like. At every turn we saw something new. And after turning again that same rock would morph into something else. I was in shock and awe during our entire drive around the park and we did not even see the entire thing, which encompasses about 36,000 acres of land and has about 20 miles of roadway to drive around! I must say if someone wants to argue God versus Nature this place is a damn strong argument on the Nature side!
Arriving late in the day, we were literally the only ones there. Me, Dave and an expanse of natural wonder the like of which I have never ever seen in my life. I cannot believe we had never heard of this place and really think it ought to be listed as one of the Wonders of the World. This was most definitely the highlight of my trip. The combination of exploring this enormous piece of the Mojave Desert without another person in sight and the vastness of the naturally created formations that we saw were just beyond anything I could have pictured when I originally saw myself out in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere. So it was here in the Valley of Fire that we sat and waited to watch the sun go down, surrounded by nothing but rock and sprawling desert and not a single sound.
If you have been to Vegas but never left the strip, well, there’s a lot more out there than the man made craziness of that one piece of road. Get a car, get off the strip and check out what natural beauty is so close to the unnatural bells and whistles of Vegas that draw all the tourists. And skip Red Rock – it’s cool, but nothing compared to the Valley of Fire.
(photos to be posted on a separate blog...)
After picking up our car, stopping at Denny’s for breakfast (what’s a road trip without Denny’s?) we headed off to Red Rock Canyon, at 15 minute drive from the strip, which I’m sure you’ve all heard of…known for it’s outdoor concerts and of course its televised poker tournaments. Anyways, we think we are going to drive up to some beautiful vista, be amazed by the red rock, snap some photos and be on our way. Ah, no. This is a National Conservation Area that has a scenic driving loop through the canyon with about 10 stops along the way, all kinds of trails, rock climbing, etc. It is stunning. You stand and look at these red mountains, which began forming over 600 million years ago and it is awe-inspiring. Beyond anything we thought we were going to see. After a couple of hours and many snaps, we are ready to really hit the highway out of Vegas to our next destination – The Valley of Fire State Park.
I am anxious to hit open road and be surrounded by nothing, so I’m hoping the highway is going to lead us that way and that we are not going to be passing through sprawling suburbs. I am pleased to say that once we were out of the city limits, there was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see…no suburbs, only the rare other vehicle and not even a gas station. We did see eight F-18 fighter planes flying around, which was pretty cool, but other than that it was just nothing, nothing, nothingness along the 45 minute drive. Sooooo awesome!
Again, we had no idea what to expect here. We had pretty much randomly selected the destination, although we did know there was some sort of rock formations to be seen. As we drove off the highway and along the road heading to the park there was still no indication of what we would arrive at. We were figuring a few rock formations and some wonderful canyon vista again. Ah, no again. What we happened upon was truly mind blowing and words will never describe accurately what we saw. Pictures cannot even do it justice. We finally got to the park entrance, put our $6 park fee in the box and as we rounded the first corner we were pretty much stopped dead in our tracks.
A massive expanse of deeply red coloured rock with so many formations that I just could not believe what I was seeing. I could not believe this was a natural creation. I wondered if I was hallucinating and had to keep checking with Dave as to whether he was seeing what I was. I literally kept questioning Dave as to whether or not perhaps someone had come in here and carved all of these formations…people, faces (angels, ghostly faces and more), animals (elephants, eagles, lizards and more), beehives…well, really if you can think of it, there is probably a formation of it. At least that is what it felt like. At every turn we saw something new. And after turning again that same rock would morph into something else. I was in shock and awe during our entire drive around the park and we did not even see the entire thing, which encompasses about 36,000 acres of land and has about 20 miles of roadway to drive around! I must say if someone wants to argue God versus Nature this place is a damn strong argument on the Nature side!
Arriving late in the day, we were literally the only ones there. Me, Dave and an expanse of natural wonder the like of which I have never ever seen in my life. I cannot believe we had never heard of this place and really think it ought to be listed as one of the Wonders of the World. This was most definitely the highlight of my trip. The combination of exploring this enormous piece of the Mojave Desert without another person in sight and the vastness of the naturally created formations that we saw were just beyond anything I could have pictured when I originally saw myself out in the middle of the desert, in the middle of nowhere. So it was here in the Valley of Fire that we sat and waited to watch the sun go down, surrounded by nothing but rock and sprawling desert and not a single sound.
If you have been to Vegas but never left the strip, well, there’s a lot more out there than the man made craziness of that one piece of road. Get a car, get off the strip and check out what natural beauty is so close to the unnatural bells and whistles of Vegas that draw all the tourists. And skip Red Rock – it’s cool, but nothing compared to the Valley of Fire.
(photos to be posted on a separate blog...)
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Letter to the Crows
I CAN. NOT. STAND. CROWS. I seriously believe there should be a cull of you, you loud, nasty flying rats. You are downright mean, attacking people, other birds and small animals. And you abound everywhere. Currently a large segment of your population has taken up living in the trees street on my street. The noise you make is both annoying and creepy. I’d rather hear motorcycles and sirens than your aggravating squawking. I admit, you do happen to scare me, as I was once attacked by one your kind. And I don’t mean it just swooped around me. I mean this thing got its claw on my shoulder and pecked me in the head – hard! I realize creatures you like to protect their young, but really now, if I’m not actually approaching your bloody nest to abscond off with your stupid little baby bird, they BACK. THE. FUCK. OFF! And stop trying to steal food from seagulls. Stop grabbing food right out of the hands of people on the beach. Stop attacking the little birds who are helpless against you. And stop making so much fucking noise! We hear you and we aren’t interested in you or your young in’s!
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Writing Spree
It was wonderful this morning to sit on my patio and actually be able to sit and write. My brain was not fogged in and allowed my ideas to flow onto the "page". So below you will find the results of this little writing spree. Enjoy!
Full Circle?
9 years ago to the date I left Abby behind and moved myself into the city. I didn’t know anyone and was here to make a fresh start by myself, for myself. It was exciting times for me. It did not take long to meet my first real friend, Kim, who remains one of my nearest and dearest today. Kim and I have been through it all in 9 years. Well, she’s probably been through more with me, but never waivers in our friendship (Thank you my friend).
When we were 28 Kim moved into the same building as me. I lived on the 10th floor and she lived two floors down on the 8th. We would literally call up and down to each other over our patios. So there we were, two young, hot, single girls, free as birds and always looking for fun (or as some may say trouble!) Yes, it was a good time in both our lives. The summer we were 28, also known to some as the “Summer of Debauchery” was probably the best summer I’ve ever spent. Although in retrospect I was probably running on a wave of hypomania, we wouldn’t have known that then. And so the summer was spent on many a patio, soaking up sunshine, flirting shamelessly in bars, dating randomly, and generally testing the waters (Is it legal to go topless at Kit’s Beach? Answer: yes). I was doing all the things I should have been doing when I was in my early 20’s (at which time I was instead married). Yes…that year was a great time.
But eventually Kim moved out of the ‘hood and we kept getting older, finding ourselves in actual relationships for periods of time and well, for the most part acting our age. As summer is now upon us, it is ironic – and exciting – that Kim and I find ourselves about to be living in the same building again. I’ve been here since February and she will move in July 1. It is going to be fabulous for me to have Kim living in the West End again (she’s been gone for so long). And though we are not 28 anymore we can’t help but be giddy and laugh at the thought of “The Summer of Debauchery” repeating itself in some way. (Don’t worry Dave, I’ll let Kim do all the shameless flirting!)
When we were 28 Kim moved into the same building as me. I lived on the 10th floor and she lived two floors down on the 8th. We would literally call up and down to each other over our patios. So there we were, two young, hot, single girls, free as birds and always looking for fun (or as some may say trouble!) Yes, it was a good time in both our lives. The summer we were 28, also known to some as the “Summer of Debauchery” was probably the best summer I’ve ever spent. Although in retrospect I was probably running on a wave of hypomania, we wouldn’t have known that then. And so the summer was spent on many a patio, soaking up sunshine, flirting shamelessly in bars, dating randomly, and generally testing the waters (Is it legal to go topless at Kit’s Beach? Answer: yes). I was doing all the things I should have been doing when I was in my early 20’s (at which time I was instead married). Yes…that year was a great time.
But eventually Kim moved out of the ‘hood and we kept getting older, finding ourselves in actual relationships for periods of time and well, for the most part acting our age. As summer is now upon us, it is ironic – and exciting – that Kim and I find ourselves about to be living in the same building again. I’ve been here since February and she will move in July 1. It is going to be fabulous for me to have Kim living in the West End again (she’s been gone for so long). And though we are not 28 anymore we can’t help but be giddy and laugh at the thought of “The Summer of Debauchery” repeating itself in some way. (Don’t worry Dave, I’ll let Kim do all the shameless flirting!)
Great View, But...
Living up on the 15th floor is fabulous…the view is worth every penny I pay in rent. However, it’s a REAL BITCH when the elevator is out of service, which it was over the weekend. So unless I didn’t plan to leave my apartment I was stuck hiking myself up and down 15 floors all weekend. Well actually it's 14 floors since there is no 13th floor, but whatever! Needless to say I thought this sucked! On a positive note however, my lungs can’t be that bad from all my smoking because I was able to do it without stopping. Mind you I was walking pretty slow. After two days of this, I woke up Monday morning with burning thighs. Yes, I am Out. Of. Shape! I thought maybe I should try walking up the stairs once a day as my workout! Thankfully it was fixed quickly and I haven’t bothered to walk up or down them since.
Summer Arrives
I have always loved summer in the city. I especially love being at English Bay, which to me is the hub of summer in the West End. There is a palpable change in the energy as the sun draws out crowds of people…strolling the streets, lounging at the beach, biking and blading the seawall. It feels to me like I’m on a permanent vacation, with the beach as my own backyard. As I have always said, it only takes one day of sunshine to make us “wet” coasters forget it has ever rained here a day in our lives. And it seems that the sunshine has announced its arrival, and with it summer is here. I have finally been able to pack away the scarves, mittens and toques. No more winter coats. Flip flops are the choice of footwear and my jeans hang untouched in my closet, traded for shorts and Capri's. Windows stay open and the heat is off. And I sit on my patio as I write this, with blue sky above, looking out to the ocean, the entrance to Stanley Park, the mountains now green in the background, and I think “Yes, this is why I live here. Why would one want to live anywhere else?”
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Simply Majestic
(Written while in Whistler May 22 - 28. Photos unavailable due to acting out computer!)
Although I haven’t travelled much and haven’t lived in many places, I do believe I live in “the best place on earth” the ads selling our beautiful province say. Urban legend says that the Inuit have hundreds of words for the snowflake. I believe the same may be said for the number of words we have to describe the natural beauty of my city and the many wonderful places so close to my home that I consider them to be my backyard
Case in point: Whistler. A two hour drive up one of the most scenic highways (whoever named it the Sea to Sky could not have come up with a better name!) puts me in a place people from all over the world come to enjoy, perhaps for only once in a life time. Every time I come here I sit back and look at the beauty of it all and think “I live here. I can come and admire this, be in this, any time I want. I can take advantage of all this place has to offer any time of year, either planned or just on the spur of the moment. This is my backyard. How incredibly lucky am I?”
Although I haven’t travelled much and haven’t lived in many places, I do believe I live in “the best place on earth” the ads selling our beautiful province say. Urban legend says that the Inuit have hundreds of words for the snowflake. I believe the same may be said for the number of words we have to describe the natural beauty of my city and the many wonderful places so close to my home that I consider them to be my backyard
Case in point: Whistler. A two hour drive up one of the most scenic highways (whoever named it the Sea to Sky could not have come up with a better name!) puts me in a place people from all over the world come to enjoy, perhaps for only once in a life time. Every time I come here I sit back and look at the beauty of it all and think “I live here. I can come and admire this, be in this, any time I want. I can take advantage of all this place has to offer any time of year, either planned or just on the spur of the moment. This is my backyard. How incredibly lucky am I?”
So, here I am spending a week up here amidst the stunning beauty of the mountains, a gift from my mom’s boss (THANK YOU KATHLEEN!!!!) in a gorgeous condo at peaceful, beautiful, right at the base of the mountain Creekside. Settling into a lounge chair by the pool the other day, the hot sun kissing my skin, I looked up to see snow covered mountain tops below which green grass surrounded by forest made up the ski run that appeared to end at the edge of our pool. It was somewhat surreal to look up to this picturesque scene while lounging in the hot sun. A stunning, awe-inspiring, breath-taking view for sure.
Yesterday Dave and I took my mom up the Whistler gondola to the Roundhouse. I have been up here countless times. My mom has not been to Whistler in over 20 years and although I have a memory of riding up the gondola, she really did not. It was during our ride up and the subsequent pause to take in the amazingly grand view offered 6,000 feet up that we agreed upon the word that truly encapsulates what the eyes take in. All three of us were finding words to describe it: incredible, beautiful, awesome, breathtaking, unbelievable, stunning, awe-inspiring, gorgeous…and on and on. But it was Loret who put it best: “It is majestic.” Yes. Truly, it is majestic. Looking out from atop the mountain the magnificence of the beauty before us was palpable. And I believe each of us thought to ourselves “How lucky am I to have experienced this moment of pure majestic natural beauty, and right in my own backyard!”
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Comment of All Comments
I started this blog for myself. I just wanted to write. I also wanted to break away from the vulnerability of having other people read my writing. Blogging seemed the perfect venue…I could put my writing out there for others to read without having to see their reactions. I thought that it would be read by the few closest people in my life… you know, my mom, my dad, Dave, maybe a few friends would take the time to read it. Time went on. I became aware of more people reading it and especially began to love receiving the comments people left. Yes, I realized I was perhaps a little more narcissistic than I had originally thought. More time passed and I became aware that people that I don’t even know were reading my blog. My head grew bigger. The thought that people that do not know me would take time out of their lives to read my posts was both humbling and thrilling. Really cool actually. I believe that for the most part these people have been told about my blog by someone I know, or someone who knows someone I know (you know – tell one friend, they’ll tell another and pretty soon everyone’s hair will be silky smooth and shiny!)
Although there only a few people who regularly comment on my blog, I sometimes will receive an email from someone I know with a comment. I love getting comments – again, there’s that narcissist enjoying the attention. Every time someone comments, I get an email telling me so. So the other morning when I looked at my inbox and saw the name of someone I did not recognize, I was intrigued. Who the hell was Sharman King? And how did he/she come across my blog? Apparently by something called Google Alerts (which I know nothing about). Upon reading the comment about “The Moleskine Notebook”, I realized Sharman King is from the Book Warehouse. A comment from a bookstore?!!!!!! Talk about making my day! I got so excited you would have thought President Obama had taken the time to read my blog. For anyone out there who is confused about my level excitement, let me explain…
I love books. I mean I LOVE books. The crispness, the smell of new a new book; the different textures of the pages; the spine that has never been cracked. I have so many books I could probably open up my own bookstore. Unfortunately I would never be able to part with any of them so I’d end up losing my shirt quite quickly. So with my love for books comes my love of bookstores. I can spend hours in a bookstore. I love looking at the walls of books, the piles of books on tables. There is something extremely comforting about being in a bookstore. I could spend all my money in a bookstore. And I happen to love the Book Warehouse. I stare at the window frequently as I often pass it while walking down Davie Street. I often go in, even if it is just to look and touch all those new books and dream of one day owning all of them.
And so….to know that someone from my favourite bookstore somehow found my post about my favourite notebooks and actually took the time to let me know…well, I believe this really is the Comment of all comments for me! And yes, my head has swelled just slightly bigger.
Although there only a few people who regularly comment on my blog, I sometimes will receive an email from someone I know with a comment. I love getting comments – again, there’s that narcissist enjoying the attention. Every time someone comments, I get an email telling me so. So the other morning when I looked at my inbox and saw the name of someone I did not recognize, I was intrigued. Who the hell was Sharman King? And how did he/she come across my blog? Apparently by something called Google Alerts (which I know nothing about). Upon reading the comment about “The Moleskine Notebook”, I realized Sharman King is from the Book Warehouse. A comment from a bookstore?!!!!!! Talk about making my day! I got so excited you would have thought President Obama had taken the time to read my blog. For anyone out there who is confused about my level excitement, let me explain…
I love books. I mean I LOVE books. The crispness, the smell of new a new book; the different textures of the pages; the spine that has never been cracked. I have so many books I could probably open up my own bookstore. Unfortunately I would never be able to part with any of them so I’d end up losing my shirt quite quickly. So with my love for books comes my love of bookstores. I can spend hours in a bookstore. I love looking at the walls of books, the piles of books on tables. There is something extremely comforting about being in a bookstore. I could spend all my money in a bookstore. And I happen to love the Book Warehouse. I stare at the window frequently as I often pass it while walking down Davie Street. I often go in, even if it is just to look and touch all those new books and dream of one day owning all of them.
And so….to know that someone from my favourite bookstore somehow found my post about my favourite notebooks and actually took the time to let me know…well, I believe this really is the Comment of all comments for me! And yes, my head has swelled just slightly bigger.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
How Serendipitous!
This one's for you girlfriend...
For the past couple weeks I have been trying to get my work space to feel more inspiring. I have not been feeling it and have been struggling to create it. One of the things that enhances my creativity is a clean and organized work space, along with the visible tangibles that inspire me. This is a challenge with my lovely old antique desk, which I love yet hate for its lack of space. I am a visual person. I need to see the things that inspire me and at the moment the set up I’ve got is just not working for me. Yes, I look to my right and out the window see the mountains – a definite inspiration. I look directly above my computer and read a favourite quote: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” (So appropriate, isn't it?) However, the rest of my inspirational objects sit either low to my left or behind me on my bookcase and are not easily seen. I have considered moving my bookcase from where it now sits in my living room to beside my desk…full of things that inspire me: my globe, some of my favourite books, pictures of my niece and nephew, other inspirational quotes. But then a blank space will be left and I’m not sure how I would like that in my living room. So, after much playing around with my work space, I am still left unsatisfied. Until today…
I received a call from my very dear friend Michelle. A little background first. Michelle has a large map of the world that covers an entire wall in her apartment. I love this map. Every time I am in her apartment I can’t help but admire it, get close to it, touch it, dream of all the places I’d like to go. Yes, I love this map. Michelle also has the most comfortable leather chair and sofa. I mean, you sink into this wonderfully cozy chair and never want to get up. This is the seat I always try to get when I am at her home. So when she called today to tell me she had moved into a smaller space, one that would not be able to house either her grand map of the world nor her big leather chair and that she felt instead of putting said objects in storage, I should look after them for her, I couldn’t believe it! Firstly, she knows me so well and knows I am the person to care for these items until she can one day fit them back into her own space. Secondly, receiving these two items completely solves my problem of making my work space the inspirational area I want it to be. My bookcase can be moved to live beside my desk. The map of the world will cover the appropriate amount of wall space and the chair will take the place of the bookcase. How perfectly it all works out. Her possessions will be well looked after. It probably saves her storage fees and I get to savour, for however little or long a time, two truly beautiful and inspirational objects.
So, it is serendipitous that I need something to fill the space of my bookcase, while she needs a good place to store her stuff. How wonderfully it all works out. Only my friend Michelle would think of me when thinking about what to do with her stuff. Only she would think to offer these things to me (albeit on loan), knowing how much I love and appreciate them. I shall cherish and keep them in good shape for as long as they live with me.
Thank you so much girlfriend! You made my day today!
For the past couple weeks I have been trying to get my work space to feel more inspiring. I have not been feeling it and have been struggling to create it. One of the things that enhances my creativity is a clean and organized work space, along with the visible tangibles that inspire me. This is a challenge with my lovely old antique desk, which I love yet hate for its lack of space. I am a visual person. I need to see the things that inspire me and at the moment the set up I’ve got is just not working for me. Yes, I look to my right and out the window see the mountains – a definite inspiration. I look directly above my computer and read a favourite quote: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.” (So appropriate, isn't it?) However, the rest of my inspirational objects sit either low to my left or behind me on my bookcase and are not easily seen. I have considered moving my bookcase from where it now sits in my living room to beside my desk…full of things that inspire me: my globe, some of my favourite books, pictures of my niece and nephew, other inspirational quotes. But then a blank space will be left and I’m not sure how I would like that in my living room. So, after much playing around with my work space, I am still left unsatisfied. Until today…
I received a call from my very dear friend Michelle. A little background first. Michelle has a large map of the world that covers an entire wall in her apartment. I love this map. Every time I am in her apartment I can’t help but admire it, get close to it, touch it, dream of all the places I’d like to go. Yes, I love this map. Michelle also has the most comfortable leather chair and sofa. I mean, you sink into this wonderfully cozy chair and never want to get up. This is the seat I always try to get when I am at her home. So when she called today to tell me she had moved into a smaller space, one that would not be able to house either her grand map of the world nor her big leather chair and that she felt instead of putting said objects in storage, I should look after them for her, I couldn’t believe it! Firstly, she knows me so well and knows I am the person to care for these items until she can one day fit them back into her own space. Secondly, receiving these two items completely solves my problem of making my work space the inspirational area I want it to be. My bookcase can be moved to live beside my desk. The map of the world will cover the appropriate amount of wall space and the chair will take the place of the bookcase. How perfectly it all works out. Her possessions will be well looked after. It probably saves her storage fees and I get to savour, for however little or long a time, two truly beautiful and inspirational objects.
So, it is serendipitous that I need something to fill the space of my bookcase, while she needs a good place to store her stuff. How wonderfully it all works out. Only my friend Michelle would think of me when thinking about what to do with her stuff. Only she would think to offer these things to me (albeit on loan), knowing how much I love and appreciate them. I shall cherish and keep them in good shape for as long as they live with me.
Thank you so much girlfriend! You made my day today!
The Moleskine Notebook
I think every creative finds inspiration in the fresh tools of their trade. A painter may love the feel of new paintbrushes or a new canvas. A musician may love new strings on a guitar or the way the piano keys feel on their fingers. A gardener may love the scent of freshly cut grass and the feel of soil being moving between their fingers. A chef may love fresh ingredients and a particularly special pot or pan. A photographer may love a special old camera, a new lens or the process of watching film develop.
Ask a writer about the sorts of things that can enhance or inspire their writing and included in this answer will be things like new pens, new pencils, fresh notebooks or paper, new journals, the smell of new stationary, the smell of new books. Personally, I don't think there is anything better than a fresh journal and a good pen (medium point!). Albeit most of my writing is done on the computer, it is a different experience to record my thoughts and feelings with pen on paper. In fact, I have about 15 years' worth of writing in journals. And while I don’t journal as much as I used to, I still love having nice notebooks for both journaling and just general list making and notes to self.
Last Christmas my dear friend Kim gave me a set of Moleskine notebooks. These plain looking beige notebooks are just that - basic ruled notebooks. While they may appear to be “Plain Jane” wallflower journals, they are anything but regular old notebooks. From the texture of the cover (feeling both smooth and unprocessed at the same time) to the silky smooth inside pages, they were the perfect size to keep with me in any bag, allowing me to always have a book to record anything, anytime...things to do, thoughts, reminders, grocery lists, budgets, etc. Lots of lists for sure! Needless to say, they did not last me long. So recently, while stopping in at the Book Warehouse looking for blank stationary, I came across my newly beloved notebooks. This time in a new colour – red! I had to have them and so proceeded to treat myself to a three pack. How do I describe the joy it gives me to have nice fresh journals? It is even difficult to actually break down and write in them, so pristine they are having been untouched and unspoiled by the pen. But then, what are they for? So after opening the packaging, I found inside the below insert. It gave me an even greater thrill to think that I am writing in the same notebooks as some of the world’s greatest thinkers and creators once wrote in.
"The history of a legendary notebook"
"Moleskine* is the heir of the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Vincent Van Gough, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway and Bruce Chatwin. This trusty pocket-sized travel companion held their sketches, notes, stories, and ideas before they became famous images or beloved books."
To paraphrase now, Chatwin nicknamed the notebooks “Moleskine” in his book “Songlines”. In 1986 the original manufacturer closed down forever. Chatwin proceeded to buy all the Moleskines he could find, but it wasn’t enough. In 1998 a Milanese publisher brought the notebook back to life under the name “Moleskine.”
“As the reverent keeper of an extraordinary tradition, the legendary notebook once again began travelling the globe. Capturing reality on the move, preserving details, impressing the unique aspects of experience upon paper: Moleskine is a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perception without depletion.”
I am now even more inspired by these brilliantly simple little notebooks.
Ask a writer about the sorts of things that can enhance or inspire their writing and included in this answer will be things like new pens, new pencils, fresh notebooks or paper, new journals, the smell of new stationary, the smell of new books. Personally, I don't think there is anything better than a fresh journal and a good pen (medium point!). Albeit most of my writing is done on the computer, it is a different experience to record my thoughts and feelings with pen on paper. In fact, I have about 15 years' worth of writing in journals. And while I don’t journal as much as I used to, I still love having nice notebooks for both journaling and just general list making and notes to self.
Last Christmas my dear friend Kim gave me a set of Moleskine notebooks. These plain looking beige notebooks are just that - basic ruled notebooks. While they may appear to be “Plain Jane” wallflower journals, they are anything but regular old notebooks. From the texture of the cover (feeling both smooth and unprocessed at the same time) to the silky smooth inside pages, they were the perfect size to keep with me in any bag, allowing me to always have a book to record anything, anytime...things to do, thoughts, reminders, grocery lists, budgets, etc. Lots of lists for sure! Needless to say, they did not last me long. So recently, while stopping in at the Book Warehouse looking for blank stationary, I came across my newly beloved notebooks. This time in a new colour – red! I had to have them and so proceeded to treat myself to a three pack. How do I describe the joy it gives me to have nice fresh journals? It is even difficult to actually break down and write in them, so pristine they are having been untouched and unspoiled by the pen. But then, what are they for? So after opening the packaging, I found inside the below insert. It gave me an even greater thrill to think that I am writing in the same notebooks as some of the world’s greatest thinkers and creators once wrote in.
"The history of a legendary notebook"
"Moleskine* is the heir of the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Vincent Van Gough, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway and Bruce Chatwin. This trusty pocket-sized travel companion held their sketches, notes, stories, and ideas before they became famous images or beloved books."
To paraphrase now, Chatwin nicknamed the notebooks “Moleskine” in his book “Songlines”. In 1986 the original manufacturer closed down forever. Chatwin proceeded to buy all the Moleskines he could find, but it wasn’t enough. In 1998 a Milanese publisher brought the notebook back to life under the name “Moleskine.”
“As the reverent keeper of an extraordinary tradition, the legendary notebook once again began travelling the globe. Capturing reality on the move, preserving details, impressing the unique aspects of experience upon paper: Moleskine is a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perception without depletion.”
I am now even more inspired by these brilliantly simple little notebooks.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Burger Heaven
I must make note of the best burger joint I have ever been to. Starving hungry after settling into our room upon our arrival in Vegas, and looking for something quick, we saw a sign for "BLT Burger". Figuring it to be a take out burger place, we followed the path and hit the most amazing burger joint EVER. And I do mean EVER! Not a take out place. No, this was a restaurant specializing in gourmet burgers all the way. "BLT" does not stand for Bacon Lettuce and Tomato. It stands for Bistro Laurent Tourondel (I believe him to be some famous chef). Anyways, I have never had a burger actually melt in my mouth. Seriously. My“Shaft’s Blue” burger was freshly made to order with blue cheese (I’m talking real good blue cheese here), caramelized onions and mushrooms. Did I say it literally melted in my mouth?! I never though a burger could taste so good. I think I could have eaten burgers every night. BLT Burger people - if you come across one (Vegas, NY and Washington DC) you must try it. Oh, and the onion rings are to die for as well.
Metal Freak and Piano Bars Just Don't Mix
After settling into our room and laughing at the mishaps of the day so far, it was time to get out and play. We had a couple stops to make -Wild Bill's for Dave and the MGM to pick up our tickets to Ka, but the ultimate plan was to hit the Bar at Times Square at NY NY for some duelling piano action. I knew it would be a challenge to get Dave into the groove of what I consider to be the best duelling piano bar ever. I remember when it was the only one in Vegas. Now there are many, but none compare to the Bar at Times Square. My plan: ply Dave with alcohol and hope for many heavy metal songs to be played.
First stop - Wild Bill's, where Dave does a repeat of our last trip, quickly winning $300 at Texas Hold 'Em. In Dave style he knows when to walk away and we walk on to the MGM to get our tickets, only to find out Monday the show is dark and the box office closed. More laughter at our luck. Over to NY NY we go, where Dave picks up another $300 at Hold 'Em. Yes, this guy has horseshoes up his ass. I have lost my money to the slots and am ready to see if I can get Dave into the groove at the piano bar. I have decided to ease Dave in, so we stand back a bit, although I'm dying to be front and center. I try to be casual. I get drinks - part of my plying with alcohol plan. I am thrilled when they play a Metallica song - "See, I told you they play anything!!!". He is trying but I can tell he's not there yet. I decide more alcohol is in order so I get him a shot of tequila (the damn expensive good stuff he likes too!). The alcohol plan doesn't seem to be working. I plead with him to request any metal song and I'll pay to get them to play it (as one of the players said, holding up a request form "this is a suggestion" and holding up a request form with money, "this is a request".) He doesn't give me a song, despite my persistence. As I am slowing pulling us closer to the front it is becoming apparent that a metal guy just isn't into the duelling piano scene. Well, I tried.
With me having no plans whatsoever to leave (I have already told him I'm spending the entire night at this bar!) Dave is happy to leave me to my own devices and heads off to the casino. I quickly make friends with a girl (also named Angela - how serendipitous!) that was there alone. I told her I was going to be at the front all night and she was in with me immediately. So there we were front and centre, singing and dancing the entire night away. I believe we provided entertainment for the people around us, as I left momentarily to get a drink and was asked by the person behind me not to leave as she was having fun watching me (I am not sure if this was a compliment or not!!) I got to sit and sing with one the piano guys (very briefly as I am sure he quickly realized how horrible I sounded.) I had him get all the Canadians very excited and cheering loudly. And for the first time (I have been to this place a number of times and never paid for a song) I paid to get a song played and it got played immediately, which I loved! (I felt that one Tom Petty song really needed to be followed by another.)
To top off this most fun and fabulous night that I was having, I had two separate people tell me they thought I was 20. Yes, you read that correctly - 20! That is 17 whole big years less than my actual age! Although I wonder if it was more that I was just acting like a 20 year old. Hmmm. Anyways, after 41/2 hours of dancing my ass off, singing my heart out and working up quite a sweat (I consider this to be my workout for the month of April) Dave returned to find me and I was ready to make the long trek down the strip back to the Mirage.
You have to love Dave...he walked away with over $600 that night. He took breaks (unbeknownst to me) to walk by the piano bar to make sure I was okay (or more likely to make sure I wasn't making too much of an ass of myself - ha ha ha). And most importantly, he let me enjoy the one thing that I really wanted to do on our trip - spend at night at the Bar at Times Square. Not many guys leave their girls alone in a bar without any worries. And not many couples can let each other do what they want to enjoy on vacation, even if it means they are doing it without each other. This is the best thing about me and Dave and why he's the best person to go on vacation with. Our first night in Vegas, despite the many little mishaps here and there, which we both could only laugh off, was perfect!
First stop - Wild Bill's, where Dave does a repeat of our last trip, quickly winning $300 at Texas Hold 'Em. In Dave style he knows when to walk away and we walk on to the MGM to get our tickets, only to find out Monday the show is dark and the box office closed. More laughter at our luck. Over to NY NY we go, where Dave picks up another $300 at Hold 'Em. Yes, this guy has horseshoes up his ass. I have lost my money to the slots and am ready to see if I can get Dave into the groove at the piano bar. I have decided to ease Dave in, so we stand back a bit, although I'm dying to be front and center. I try to be casual. I get drinks - part of my plying with alcohol plan. I am thrilled when they play a Metallica song - "See, I told you they play anything!!!". He is trying but I can tell he's not there yet. I decide more alcohol is in order so I get him a shot of tequila (the damn expensive good stuff he likes too!). The alcohol plan doesn't seem to be working. I plead with him to request any metal song and I'll pay to get them to play it (as one of the players said, holding up a request form "this is a suggestion" and holding up a request form with money, "this is a request".) He doesn't give me a song, despite my persistence. As I am slowing pulling us closer to the front it is becoming apparent that a metal guy just isn't into the duelling piano scene. Well, I tried.
With me having no plans whatsoever to leave (I have already told him I'm spending the entire night at this bar!) Dave is happy to leave me to my own devices and heads off to the casino. I quickly make friends with a girl (also named Angela - how serendipitous!) that was there alone. I told her I was going to be at the front all night and she was in with me immediately. So there we were front and centre, singing and dancing the entire night away. I believe we provided entertainment for the people around us, as I left momentarily to get a drink and was asked by the person behind me not to leave as she was having fun watching me (I am not sure if this was a compliment or not!!) I got to sit and sing with one the piano guys (very briefly as I am sure he quickly realized how horrible I sounded.) I had him get all the Canadians very excited and cheering loudly. And for the first time (I have been to this place a number of times and never paid for a song) I paid to get a song played and it got played immediately, which I loved! (I felt that one Tom Petty song really needed to be followed by another.)
To top off this most fun and fabulous night that I was having, I had two separate people tell me they thought I was 20. Yes, you read that correctly - 20! That is 17 whole big years less than my actual age! Although I wonder if it was more that I was just acting like a 20 year old. Hmmm. Anyways, after 41/2 hours of dancing my ass off, singing my heart out and working up quite a sweat (I consider this to be my workout for the month of April) Dave returned to find me and I was ready to make the long trek down the strip back to the Mirage.
You have to love Dave...he walked away with over $600 that night. He took breaks (unbeknownst to me) to walk by the piano bar to make sure I was okay (or more likely to make sure I wasn't making too much of an ass of myself - ha ha ha). And most importantly, he let me enjoy the one thing that I really wanted to do on our trip - spend at night at the Bar at Times Square. Not many guys leave their girls alone in a bar without any worries. And not many couples can let each other do what they want to enjoy on vacation, even if it means they are doing it without each other. This is the best thing about me and Dave and why he's the best person to go on vacation with. Our first night in Vegas, despite the many little mishaps here and there, which we both could only laugh off, was perfect!
Monday, May 04, 2009
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS IS WRITTEN HERE
I believe there are some readers out there who are just dying to hear about our adventures in Vegas. These blogs are dedicated to you.
OFF TO A SHAKY START
Despite arriving at YVR in plenty of time, our names were almost crossed off the flight list, with our bags almost being taken off the plane because by the time we arrived at the gate, we were late. Dave was actually asked if he would go on without me! I actually think he might have ditched me at YVR to get to Vegas. This is all because we had to have one last smoke before we headed through Customs and Security. We had LOTS of time, but then entered into the SLOWEST lines possible at both Customs and Security. Oh, and I had to stop at the store just before our gate to get a snack.
The flight was a breeze. No medications were consumed to sedate me. No one was harmed. I did not get agitated (although Dave was concerned about my foot and pen tapping, not realizing I was grooving in my seat to my Ipod). Chalk one easy flight up for me!
We arrive in sunny, hot Las Vegas. Of course, our first mission upon retrieving our bags was to get out and smoke before getting a cab to the Mirage. Instead of finding our way to the cabs and the big line up there, we opted to pay $10 more for the town car that was right in front of us. So excited was I about riding in a town car, I had to get out the camera. The driver took a picture of us in front of said town car and we were off, never to see said camera again. Apparently in all my excitement (I know - it’s just a car!) I left it behind. Did we get the company name? No. Did we get the driver’s name? No. Did we get any information that may help us locate lost camera? No. There is a camera out there somewhere with one lonely picture of Dave and I in front of a town car.
Arriving at the Mirage, we again pick the SLOWEST line to check in. Our room isn’t ready (expected since we were a few hours early) so we change, check our bags and hit the pool. This is where I realize I have left the camera in the town car. I decide Pina Coladas are in order to help numb the pain. Did I mention this camera actually belongs to Dave?
After soaking up some sun it is time to check into our room. Dave goes to do something (I don’t know what) while I gather our things. I clean up our area and while doing so throw away Dave’s full pack of cigarettes. The pack was all wrinkled – wouldn’t you think it was empty? Actually, if I had thought at all I would have realized that he could not have possibly smoked an entire pack of cigarettes between the YVR Duty Free and the Mirage pool. But who really does much thinking in Vegas?
We check into our room – amazing. Beautiful room. 20th floor with a view of the pool and the strip. I open my suitcase and find my hand mirror is shattered. And I do mean shattered – into a million tiny pieces. This seems a sign of bad luck to me.
So, between 8:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. I have chosen every slowest possible line ever, have almost missed my plane, lost my (I mean Dave’s) camera, thrown out a full pack of cigarettes that do not belong to me (smokers will appreciate this), and found a shattered mirror in my suitcase. Keep in mind about 3 of these hours were spent sitting on a plane where very little damage can actually be done! And this is just the beginning….
OFF TO A SHAKY START
Despite arriving at YVR in plenty of time, our names were almost crossed off the flight list, with our bags almost being taken off the plane because by the time we arrived at the gate, we were late. Dave was actually asked if he would go on without me! I actually think he might have ditched me at YVR to get to Vegas. This is all because we had to have one last smoke before we headed through Customs and Security. We had LOTS of time, but then entered into the SLOWEST lines possible at both Customs and Security. Oh, and I had to stop at the store just before our gate to get a snack.
The flight was a breeze. No medications were consumed to sedate me. No one was harmed. I did not get agitated (although Dave was concerned about my foot and pen tapping, not realizing I was grooving in my seat to my Ipod). Chalk one easy flight up for me!
We arrive in sunny, hot Las Vegas. Of course, our first mission upon retrieving our bags was to get out and smoke before getting a cab to the Mirage. Instead of finding our way to the cabs and the big line up there, we opted to pay $10 more for the town car that was right in front of us. So excited was I about riding in a town car, I had to get out the camera. The driver took a picture of us in front of said town car and we were off, never to see said camera again. Apparently in all my excitement (I know - it’s just a car!) I left it behind. Did we get the company name? No. Did we get the driver’s name? No. Did we get any information that may help us locate lost camera? No. There is a camera out there somewhere with one lonely picture of Dave and I in front of a town car.
Arriving at the Mirage, we again pick the SLOWEST line to check in. Our room isn’t ready (expected since we were a few hours early) so we change, check our bags and hit the pool. This is where I realize I have left the camera in the town car. I decide Pina Coladas are in order to help numb the pain. Did I mention this camera actually belongs to Dave?
After soaking up some sun it is time to check into our room. Dave goes to do something (I don’t know what) while I gather our things. I clean up our area and while doing so throw away Dave’s full pack of cigarettes. The pack was all wrinkled – wouldn’t you think it was empty? Actually, if I had thought at all I would have realized that he could not have possibly smoked an entire pack of cigarettes between the YVR Duty Free and the Mirage pool. But who really does much thinking in Vegas?
We check into our room – amazing. Beautiful room. 20th floor with a view of the pool and the strip. I open my suitcase and find my hand mirror is shattered. And I do mean shattered – into a million tiny pieces. This seems a sign of bad luck to me.
So, between 8:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. I have chosen every slowest possible line ever, have almost missed my plane, lost my (I mean Dave’s) camera, thrown out a full pack of cigarettes that do not belong to me (smokers will appreciate this), and found a shattered mirror in my suitcase. Keep in mind about 3 of these hours were spent sitting on a plane where very little damage can actually be done! And this is just the beginning….
Monday, April 13, 2009
Walk With Me
GET OUT NOW AND WALK FOR AUTISM!Why should you walk? Autism is one of the most common developmental disorders in the North America affecting one in every 150 children born today. Maybe you know someone with Autism. Maybe someone you know will be diagnosed with autism. The cause of autism is unknown and a cure does not exist. Research is crucial. More children will be diagnosed with autism this year than pediatric cancer, diabetes and AIDS combined!
Why am I walking? I’m walking with “Team THX” for my nephew Markus and the thousands of other children and adults who fall on the autism spectrum. Markus is an incredibly endearing five year old who happens to have autism. He has the sensitivity and tender heart of an old soul. His laid back and easy going personality make him a joy to be around and his smile and laugh easily fill one’s heart with delight. One can’t help but to feel the love in his presence. He is an extremely intelligent, observant, and creative youngster. This combined with his amazing perseverance, focus and attention to detail will no doubt someday see him incredibly successful in some area of interest to him.
So what is Markus interested in? While Markus, like many children with autism can be fixated on a single object or subject, his interests are as varied as any other child. He especially likes the movie logos THX, 20th Century Fox and DreamWorks and enjoys singing along to these openings. He likes all Pixar movies, his favourite being WALL-E. He loves dogs, sea life and of course his pet fish Billy. Some of his favourite activities include going to the beach, bouncing on just about anything, singing and dancing and using Lego or Tinker Toys to create the THX logo. He’s also a whiz on the computer, finding his favourite videos on YouTube. Markus’ big dream is to one day visit the George Lucas Ranch.
Walk Now for Autism is a chance to make a difference in the autism community by raising money for autism research and heightening public awareness. I am asking everyone to please join me in supporting my nephew on September 26 at Nat Bailey Stadium by GETTING OUT AND WALKING NOW FOR AUTISM. Donating money to find a cure is important. However, for Team THX, what is even more important is raising awareness. How do we raise awareness? We GET OUT AND WALK. We make our voices heard. The more people who come together to raise their voices, the more awareness we can create. Please join me and Team THX and WALK WITH US on September 26. Help us be the LARGEST AND LOUDEST VOICE there!
For information on autism, how to donate, register to walk and join our team, please go to http://www.walknowforautism.org/ You can search for Team THX on the right side of the page under “Team Rank”.
Pass It On
I believe that our world would be a better place should we all take more time in our lives to perform random acts of kindness.
Finding a parking spot in Vancouver is like trying to find Waldo. Finding a FREE parking spot is akin to winning the lottery. What few free spots exist on the street are inevitably always taken. The rest of the streets are saved for permit holders only. What are left are parking lots. Pay parking lots. Want to park at the park? Please ensure you show your paid ticket stub on your dash. Want to park at the grocery store? Please pay. Want to park at the movie theatre? Don’t forget your stall number before going to the machine to pay. Want to park pretty much anywhere for any purpose for that matter? Feel free to park in the lots of all such places – just don’t forget to pay!
Okay, so you park and pay a ridiculous amount of money, usually for some ridiculous minimum amount of time that you will not use up. You go about your business and return to your car, ready to leave, still in possession of a paid spot or parking stub that’s good for a few more hours, maybe even the rest of the day. Before you drive off, take a moment to look around. Someone will be driving into that lot and a great opportunity for a random act of kindness presents itself. Pass on that parking stub. Or, in the case of the numbered parking spot/no dashboard ticket situation, have the person follow you to your spot.
This idea is not something I’ve just made up. This happens to Dave and I all the time! And it has become my most favourite random act of kindness. We have been both the recipient and contributor of the “parking pass-pass on” and every time it happens – whether someone gives us a free parking spot, or we give our paid spot to someone –I am totally struck by how great such a simple thing can make me feel. I just simply think this is one of the coolest ways to do something kind and selfless for a complete stranger. Especially because parking is such a bloody rip off!
Finding a parking spot in Vancouver is like trying to find Waldo. Finding a FREE parking spot is akin to winning the lottery. What few free spots exist on the street are inevitably always taken. The rest of the streets are saved for permit holders only. What are left are parking lots. Pay parking lots. Want to park at the park? Please ensure you show your paid ticket stub on your dash. Want to park at the grocery store? Please pay. Want to park at the movie theatre? Don’t forget your stall number before going to the machine to pay. Want to park pretty much anywhere for any purpose for that matter? Feel free to park in the lots of all such places – just don’t forget to pay!
Okay, so you park and pay a ridiculous amount of money, usually for some ridiculous minimum amount of time that you will not use up. You go about your business and return to your car, ready to leave, still in possession of a paid spot or parking stub that’s good for a few more hours, maybe even the rest of the day. Before you drive off, take a moment to look around. Someone will be driving into that lot and a great opportunity for a random act of kindness presents itself. Pass on that parking stub. Or, in the case of the numbered parking spot/no dashboard ticket situation, have the person follow you to your spot.
This idea is not something I’ve just made up. This happens to Dave and I all the time! And it has become my most favourite random act of kindness. We have been both the recipient and contributor of the “parking pass-pass on” and every time it happens – whether someone gives us a free parking spot, or we give our paid spot to someone –I am totally struck by how great such a simple thing can make me feel. I just simply think this is one of the coolest ways to do something kind and selfless for a complete stranger. Especially because parking is such a bloody rip off!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Escape From Hostage Situation
Well, not sure if anyone is even bothering to check this anymore since it's been over two months since I've written anything. If you are reading this, well either thank you very much for your patience and continued support or perhaps you have too much time on your hands and should find something better to do than continually check my inactive blog! Okay, I don't mean that...please keep checking...we all know my ego needs to know someone, anyone is reading this!
I would like to report that my absence has been due to the fact that I've been too busy travelling the world and getting up to all kinds of fabulous and interesting adventures. Unfortunately, no such luck. It's the usual excuse - my brain and it's ability to be creative in any kind of way, has been held hostage drugs. The good news is I've made my escape from their clutches and I'm pretty sure they've lost my trail. And not to worry...I was treated fairly, there was no torture and I am in one piece. One skinny piece. They did deprive me of food, although I wasn't hungry anyways, so it didn't really bother me. Except now my clothes are all too big. Not really a problem when I was being held hostage, but now, this really poses a problem as I prepare for a trip to Vegas in a couple of weeks. I can't very well be hanging around Vegas in my baggy hostage clothes. After going through my summer clothes I was dismayed to find only two pairs of pants and one skirt that fit me. Okay, I do have some jeans as well (too big but they will do). And I guess enough shirts to make due. But I'm there for 5 days...and while Dave doesn't see the problem in only having a couple pairs of pants, (not to mention no shorts!) I feel that I can't very well wear the same things over and over. Not to mention we all know how messy I am...the likelihood of me not spilling stuff on myself is very low. And on top of that I have Dave, Mr. Fashionista, who has more clothes than most women I know. I don't want to look like a fashion mishap beside his hip fashion ensembles! Sigh. I will stop there as I imagine you all telling me to shut the F up and just start eating!
So now that I have escaped my captors, what are my plans? Well, I do indeed lead a charmed life. Having moved into an apartment with a million dollar view of the mountains and the ocean, I should be inspired to write more. I do have to go to Whistler for 3 nights next weekend...tough, but someone has to do it. Not having been able to ski too much this year I am stoked to end the ski season there. I will let you know how that Peak to Peak Gondola is. I will then return from Whistler, spend a week at home before heading to Las Vegas for 4 nights. Again, it's tough, but someone's got to take Westjet up on their killer deals! Hopefully I'll win a huge jackpot with which I can then outfit myself in a whole new small, hip wardrobe, which I could then wear on fabulous and interesting travels around the world. (Nice how that all ties in, isn't it.) :)
I would like to report that my absence has been due to the fact that I've been too busy travelling the world and getting up to all kinds of fabulous and interesting adventures. Unfortunately, no such luck. It's the usual excuse - my brain and it's ability to be creative in any kind of way, has been held hostage drugs. The good news is I've made my escape from their clutches and I'm pretty sure they've lost my trail. And not to worry...I was treated fairly, there was no torture and I am in one piece. One skinny piece. They did deprive me of food, although I wasn't hungry anyways, so it didn't really bother me. Except now my clothes are all too big. Not really a problem when I was being held hostage, but now, this really poses a problem as I prepare for a trip to Vegas in a couple of weeks. I can't very well be hanging around Vegas in my baggy hostage clothes. After going through my summer clothes I was dismayed to find only two pairs of pants and one skirt that fit me. Okay, I do have some jeans as well (too big but they will do). And I guess enough shirts to make due. But I'm there for 5 days...and while Dave doesn't see the problem in only having a couple pairs of pants, (not to mention no shorts!) I feel that I can't very well wear the same things over and over. Not to mention we all know how messy I am...the likelihood of me not spilling stuff on myself is very low. And on top of that I have Dave, Mr. Fashionista, who has more clothes than most women I know. I don't want to look like a fashion mishap beside his hip fashion ensembles! Sigh. I will stop there as I imagine you all telling me to shut the F up and just start eating!
So now that I have escaped my captors, what are my plans? Well, I do indeed lead a charmed life. Having moved into an apartment with a million dollar view of the mountains and the ocean, I should be inspired to write more. I do have to go to Whistler for 3 nights next weekend...tough, but someone has to do it. Not having been able to ski too much this year I am stoked to end the ski season there. I will let you know how that Peak to Peak Gondola is. I will then return from Whistler, spend a week at home before heading to Las Vegas for 4 nights. Again, it's tough, but someone's got to take Westjet up on their killer deals! Hopefully I'll win a huge jackpot with which I can then outfit myself in a whole new small, hip wardrobe, which I could then wear on fabulous and interesting travels around the world. (Nice how that all ties in, isn't it.) :)
Friday, January 30, 2009
Conquering The Beast
One more about crazy before moving on to lighter topics...
Now, I don’t want to sound too cocky because I know Bipolar can always take me off guard and show up with a vengeance, but after six long years of wrestling with the constant cycling of my brain, I think I’ve finally gotten the upper hand on him.
After years of trying every medication and every combination of medications out there, me and my most fabulous shrink seem to have found the right cocktail. And after years of resisting taking copious amounts of said psychotropic medications that wreak havoc with my mind and body (have you ever checked out the side effects of these things?!!) I have relented, no not relented, I have recognized that without my psychotropic cocktail, I would not function as well as I do. So I accept that my mind and memory don't function to the full capacity that I would like them to and faithfully pop my pills knowing that this is my ticket “stability” and my insurance against hospitalization.
I have stopped waiting to get better, to be fixed, to be “cured”. I have accepted that Bipolar isn't going away and that I need to get with the program and learn to manage it the best I can. Last summer, sitting in my shrink’s office, feeling depressed, angry and sorry for myself, he said to me “I don’t think you are clinically depressed. I think you need to change your thinking.” Ah. Yes. I immediately knew he was right. He continued “You need to accept that you have good days and bad days. When you wake up feeling good, take advantage of it and do things on those days. When you wake up feeling bad, accept it and just allow yourself to feel bad and accept that you aren’t going to do things those days.” These last words have become my mantra. I now live by these words.
I left that appointment determined to do the work to change my thinking patterns, to come to a place of real acceptance about my illness and the impact and limitations it places on me (despite the fact that I have thought a million times over during the past six years that I had come to this place!) I also continued recognize and embrace the gifts it gives me. Months later, I think I’m there. Well, maybe it’s a work in progress. It’s certainly a lot of damn work managing this thing. And I mean daily, never-ending work.
The important thing is that I have come to accept and manage my day to day, week to week cycles. I enjoy and take advantage of the good days. I accept the bad days without guilt. I set limits. I say no when I have to. I cancel things when I have to. I listen to my body and do what it tells me. I have started to recognize that my big cycles come every two to three months. And although I have always recognized them coming (for the most part) I no longer ignore the signs. It always starts with a high and instead of joyfully riding out the bliss for as long as possible, only to crash down hard, I reluctantly cut it short by increasing the dose of my most hated medication. (If you know me, you know this is BIG!) Cutting short the highs has been the most difficult part of the process. Understand - I live for those highs (see previous post). Those highs are to me my “normal”. They are the only time my mind feels clear and I feel “normal”. However, cutting them short results in a shorter mania, and seems to curb the low that follows. So, left with shorter "big” cycles of hypomania/depression, I have more time to just live with my regular cycling, which at this point is just normal to me. Score 1 for Ange and flip the bird to Bipolar! HA!
Now, I don’t want to sound too cocky because I know Bipolar can always take me off guard and show up with a vengeance, but after six long years of wrestling with the constant cycling of my brain, I think I’ve finally gotten the upper hand on him.
After years of trying every medication and every combination of medications out there, me and my most fabulous shrink seem to have found the right cocktail. And after years of resisting taking copious amounts of said psychotropic medications that wreak havoc with my mind and body (have you ever checked out the side effects of these things?!!) I have relented, no not relented, I have recognized that without my psychotropic cocktail, I would not function as well as I do. So I accept that my mind and memory don't function to the full capacity that I would like them to and faithfully pop my pills knowing that this is my ticket “stability” and my insurance against hospitalization.
I have stopped waiting to get better, to be fixed, to be “cured”. I have accepted that Bipolar isn't going away and that I need to get with the program and learn to manage it the best I can. Last summer, sitting in my shrink’s office, feeling depressed, angry and sorry for myself, he said to me “I don’t think you are clinically depressed. I think you need to change your thinking.” Ah. Yes. I immediately knew he was right. He continued “You need to accept that you have good days and bad days. When you wake up feeling good, take advantage of it and do things on those days. When you wake up feeling bad, accept it and just allow yourself to feel bad and accept that you aren’t going to do things those days.” These last words have become my mantra. I now live by these words.
I left that appointment determined to do the work to change my thinking patterns, to come to a place of real acceptance about my illness and the impact and limitations it places on me (despite the fact that I have thought a million times over during the past six years that I had come to this place!) I also continued recognize and embrace the gifts it gives me. Months later, I think I’m there. Well, maybe it’s a work in progress. It’s certainly a lot of damn work managing this thing. And I mean daily, never-ending work.
The important thing is that I have come to accept and manage my day to day, week to week cycles. I enjoy and take advantage of the good days. I accept the bad days without guilt. I set limits. I say no when I have to. I cancel things when I have to. I listen to my body and do what it tells me. I have started to recognize that my big cycles come every two to three months. And although I have always recognized them coming (for the most part) I no longer ignore the signs. It always starts with a high and instead of joyfully riding out the bliss for as long as possible, only to crash down hard, I reluctantly cut it short by increasing the dose of my most hated medication. (If you know me, you know this is BIG!) Cutting short the highs has been the most difficult part of the process. Understand - I live for those highs (see previous post). Those highs are to me my “normal”. They are the only time my mind feels clear and I feel “normal”. However, cutting them short results in a shorter mania, and seems to curb the low that follows. So, left with shorter "big” cycles of hypomania/depression, I have more time to just live with my regular cycling, which at this point is just normal to me. Score 1 for Ange and flip the bird to Bipolar! HA!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Rose Coloured Glasses
I originally wrote this about two or three years ago. The piece I am working on now will follow it nicely, so thought I'd post it now. Better late than never!
I have a pair of stunning rose coloured glasses. Well, they aren’t actually mine to keep, but when I find myself seeing the world through them, I am lucky to experience a short period of absolute bliss. It is as though I suddenly find myself with these glasses on and my entire world changes. Everything is seen though a pink haze and blazing sunshine. Every sense is enhanced. Perhaps it’s like switching from regular TV to HD TV. Only way better!
Rose coloured glasses make everything bright, happy and amazing. I am invincible, on top of the world and there is no stopping me. Life is grand. My mind is filled with grand ideas and my creativity is at its height. The world is my oyster. I can do anything I want with no fear of consequence. Everything is glorious.
These rose coloured glasses literally give me the feeling of seeing the world through a rose tinge and nothing can make anything bad or negative or grey. I am fabulous. The world around me is fabulous. Everything is better and better. I only see good, positive, exciting, thrilling. My mind swirls with brilliant ideas. I long to have my rose coloured glasses on for more than a week or two or three. The thrill of rose coloured glasses makes everything I know is coming (all the grey) seem utterly worth it when I am in that moment. I would never, never, never trade my rose coloured glasses by choice.
But rose coloured glasses are like red ruby slippers, they aren’t mine to keep permanently. Just as suddenly as I find myself wearing them, they are suddenly and instantaneously taken away, replaced by a grey coloured filter than dampens down every sight I see and every feeling I feel.
Depression, irritation, crankiness to the nth degree, loss of any emotional feeling, loss of desire, loss of anticipation, loss of motivation, tremendous guilt and enormous self loathing replace the grandiosity I was just feeling. There is no escape. Here I am drowning, suffocating. I am stunned. Inertia sets in. A decision cannot be made, no matter how simple. Each step, each conversation, each act requires a tremendous amount of energy, only encouraging the downward spiral. The simplest task becomes the challenge of climbing Mount Everest. It is easier to stay in bed. Just perpetuating the cycle.
And then I am angry, tired, exhausted, sad…it’s not fair and I feel like I’m being punished. I think I’m a good person and don’t deserve this, but I also see the truth…that when that deep grey cloud follows me around, I am evil, wicked, mean, rude, selfish, unthinking. I hurt people I love and even people I don’t know. I hurt myself. I hurt each experience I have. I long for control over these emotions and behaviours in the moment. But I can only stand aside or above and watch myself behave in ways that do not coincide with the person I believe myself to be.
And hurting others only leads to tremendous guilt and an inability to truly express apologies and ask forgiveness. There is no free pass. While I am able to accept that my behaviours can be forgiven with an apology, I continually struggle to find the right way and words to truly express how sorry I feel at times. It always seems impossible. A simple sorry is not enough. Expressing my deepest humility and feelings of guilt never feels enough. Finding what I believe is a good enough explanation to excuse my behaviour is hopeless. So guilt hangs on and on until eventually I begin to see clearly again and I can forgive myself and see that my behaviour is a result of my illness and not my personality.
Such a cycle it is. Even though I must pay for the rose coloured glasses by the grey cloud that follows, I still yearn and wait for the moment when they suddenly appear, savouring every single moment of experiencing life in an enhanced state of glory.
I have a pair of stunning rose coloured glasses. Well, they aren’t actually mine to keep, but when I find myself seeing the world through them, I am lucky to experience a short period of absolute bliss. It is as though I suddenly find myself with these glasses on and my entire world changes. Everything is seen though a pink haze and blazing sunshine. Every sense is enhanced. Perhaps it’s like switching from regular TV to HD TV. Only way better!
Rose coloured glasses make everything bright, happy and amazing. I am invincible, on top of the world and there is no stopping me. Life is grand. My mind is filled with grand ideas and my creativity is at its height. The world is my oyster. I can do anything I want with no fear of consequence. Everything is glorious.
These rose coloured glasses literally give me the feeling of seeing the world through a rose tinge and nothing can make anything bad or negative or grey. I am fabulous. The world around me is fabulous. Everything is better and better. I only see good, positive, exciting, thrilling. My mind swirls with brilliant ideas. I long to have my rose coloured glasses on for more than a week or two or three. The thrill of rose coloured glasses makes everything I know is coming (all the grey) seem utterly worth it when I am in that moment. I would never, never, never trade my rose coloured glasses by choice.
But rose coloured glasses are like red ruby slippers, they aren’t mine to keep permanently. Just as suddenly as I find myself wearing them, they are suddenly and instantaneously taken away, replaced by a grey coloured filter than dampens down every sight I see and every feeling I feel.
Depression, irritation, crankiness to the nth degree, loss of any emotional feeling, loss of desire, loss of anticipation, loss of motivation, tremendous guilt and enormous self loathing replace the grandiosity I was just feeling. There is no escape. Here I am drowning, suffocating. I am stunned. Inertia sets in. A decision cannot be made, no matter how simple. Each step, each conversation, each act requires a tremendous amount of energy, only encouraging the downward spiral. The simplest task becomes the challenge of climbing Mount Everest. It is easier to stay in bed. Just perpetuating the cycle.
And then I am angry, tired, exhausted, sad…it’s not fair and I feel like I’m being punished. I think I’m a good person and don’t deserve this, but I also see the truth…that when that deep grey cloud follows me around, I am evil, wicked, mean, rude, selfish, unthinking. I hurt people I love and even people I don’t know. I hurt myself. I hurt each experience I have. I long for control over these emotions and behaviours in the moment. But I can only stand aside or above and watch myself behave in ways that do not coincide with the person I believe myself to be.
And hurting others only leads to tremendous guilt and an inability to truly express apologies and ask forgiveness. There is no free pass. While I am able to accept that my behaviours can be forgiven with an apology, I continually struggle to find the right way and words to truly express how sorry I feel at times. It always seems impossible. A simple sorry is not enough. Expressing my deepest humility and feelings of guilt never feels enough. Finding what I believe is a good enough explanation to excuse my behaviour is hopeless. So guilt hangs on and on until eventually I begin to see clearly again and I can forgive myself and see that my behaviour is a result of my illness and not my personality.
Such a cycle it is. Even though I must pay for the rose coloured glasses by the grey cloud that follows, I still yearn and wait for the moment when they suddenly appear, savouring every single moment of experiencing life in an enhanced state of glory.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Above The Clouds
(View from the top of Sky Chair towards Bowen Island)Lately Vancouver has been experiencing a weather phenomenon called an inversion. Now, I know this term and had an idea about what it meant (especially since I had just experienced both sides of it), but having forgotten the lessons of Mr. Barron’s 9th grade Earth Sciences class, I thought I should consult Wikipedia to refresh my memory on the subject before defining it here for everyone to read! Basically, when colder air is closer to the surface of the earth and warmer air is above it (the opposite of what is normally going on) it is called an inversion.
(View of the city...the "island" is Burnaby Mountain)So last Wednesday while the city was blanketed with clouds and fog, Dave and I spent the day under nothing but sunshine and blue skies on Cypress Mountain. Looking down to Vancouver, all one could see was the layer of cloud/fog that covered up any trace that the city was even there. I guess it was sort of like being in an airplane, where you lift off and fly through the clouds and then reach a certain altitude beyond any cloud coverage. But it was really quite surreal and even somewhat discombobulating to not be able to see the city at all. I mean Burnaby Mountain poking out of the top of the clouds looked more like and island!
Even more surreal was that it was like we experienced a completely different weather day than anyone who wasn’t on the mountain. It was sunny, warm, and not a cloud in the sky. Driving down at the end of the day, we hit a certain point and that warm sunny day disappeared in an instant to be replaced by the cold grey day that had been occurring all day below us. Who knew weather could be so interesting and mind boggling!(ABOVE: View of Vancouver - no that's not more snow on the other side of the ridge, it's the city's skyline blanketed in clouds)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
ATTENDION READERS: NEW BLOG
Dear loyal fans,
As you may have noticed, the blogs have not always been coming as fast and furiously as they once did. Nope, they have definitely become more sporadic (last few days aside). I believe I've gotten myself into a conundrum. My narcissistic tendency of seeking out praise and then receiving same from all you fabulous readers has now left me feeling the pressure to perform. Yep, I think I may have a bit of stage fright.
This whole blog started out as just me writing whatever was on my mind, not really thinking that anyone would really read it. Well, okay, I expected a few people would read it, but didn't think there would be much response in the way of "love the blog" "why haven't you written" "when are you going to write?", etc. I certainly did not expect that people that I don't even know would take the time to read it (although I of course LOVE that this has happened). Now I find myself writing with the knowledge that I have an audience. And of course, Ms. People Pleaser Perfectionist that I am, I don't want to let the audience down. It is much more difficult to write to an audience than to just write. So often I don't write. Not good. I need to write.
So, in need of a new plan to get inspired to write more frequently, I've have come up with a new blog. Now don't panic people! I will still be sharing the stories of my crazy life with you on this one. But I will also be writing a new blog that is somewhat less personal, although will hopefully be equally thought-provoking and entertaining. It is in it's infancy, but I shall let you explore it yourself at http://whatififwhat.blogspot.com/
I hope you enjoy it as much as you enjoy this one and please, keep reading!
Your grateful and always praise-seeking blogger,
Ange
As you may have noticed, the blogs have not always been coming as fast and furiously as they once did. Nope, they have definitely become more sporadic (last few days aside). I believe I've gotten myself into a conundrum. My narcissistic tendency of seeking out praise and then receiving same from all you fabulous readers has now left me feeling the pressure to perform. Yep, I think I may have a bit of stage fright.
This whole blog started out as just me writing whatever was on my mind, not really thinking that anyone would really read it. Well, okay, I expected a few people would read it, but didn't think there would be much response in the way of "love the blog" "why haven't you written" "when are you going to write?", etc. I certainly did not expect that people that I don't even know would take the time to read it (although I of course LOVE that this has happened). Now I find myself writing with the knowledge that I have an audience. And of course, Ms. People Pleaser Perfectionist that I am, I don't want to let the audience down. It is much more difficult to write to an audience than to just write. So often I don't write. Not good. I need to write.
So, in need of a new plan to get inspired to write more frequently, I've have come up with a new blog. Now don't panic people! I will still be sharing the stories of my crazy life with you on this one. But I will also be writing a new blog that is somewhat less personal, although will hopefully be equally thought-provoking and entertaining. It is in it's infancy, but I shall let you explore it yourself at http://whatififwhat.blogspot.com/
I hope you enjoy it as much as you enjoy this one and please, keep reading!
Your grateful and always praise-seeking blogger,
Ange
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Mattress Warranty?
I have a whole new appreciation for mattresses. Well, actually not the mattress itself per se, although the new mattress I scooped up for myself ROCKS and I may never leave my bed again. But it’s the warranty that come with the mattress that leaves me dumb founded. I’ve always thought that once you buy something it’s your responsibility to take care of it and if you wreck it, well, too bad, so sad. Ah, but not with a new mattress.
First of all, I didn’t even know mattresses came with warranties. Second of all I couldn’t imagine what the warranty was actually for. Well, let me tell you. My new floor model mattress (hey – I’m looking for deals in any shape or form!) comes with a crazy 10 year warranty basically letting me off the hook for any damage, minor or major, that occurs. If I fall asleep while eating ice cream and it soaks through to the mattress (yes, this has happened) they will come to my house and clean it. If I pee my bed, they will come to my house and clean it (not that I pee my bed). If I burn a hole in it with my cigarette, they’ll come and fix it. If I knock over a bottle of nail polish on it, yep, you got, they’ll come clean it. If I rip it they will come and fix it. If I gouge a big hole in it, it’ll get fixed. If I dump my tea all over it, it will be cleaned. Oh the possibilities are endless! Basically, if I do anything to this mattress that makes it look imperfect, they will come and either clean, fix or replace it. This is a warranty made for someone like me…a clumsy, spilly, sleep eating and not always too careful girl. And what about when I’m in a manic rage? Well damn, I can take out the scissors and knives and go to town on the mattress and then call them up when I’ve come down from my insanity. It’s perfect! Whoever came up with this mattress warranty concept is both genius and obtuse.
First of all, I didn’t even know mattresses came with warranties. Second of all I couldn’t imagine what the warranty was actually for. Well, let me tell you. My new floor model mattress (hey – I’m looking for deals in any shape or form!) comes with a crazy 10 year warranty basically letting me off the hook for any damage, minor or major, that occurs. If I fall asleep while eating ice cream and it soaks through to the mattress (yes, this has happened) they will come to my house and clean it. If I pee my bed, they will come to my house and clean it (not that I pee my bed). If I burn a hole in it with my cigarette, they’ll come and fix it. If I knock over a bottle of nail polish on it, yep, you got, they’ll come clean it. If I rip it they will come and fix it. If I gouge a big hole in it, it’ll get fixed. If I dump my tea all over it, it will be cleaned. Oh the possibilities are endless! Basically, if I do anything to this mattress that makes it look imperfect, they will come and either clean, fix or replace it. This is a warranty made for someone like me…a clumsy, spilly, sleep eating and not always too careful girl. And what about when I’m in a manic rage? Well damn, I can take out the scissors and knives and go to town on the mattress and then call them up when I’ve come down from my insanity. It’s perfect! Whoever came up with this mattress warranty concept is both genius and obtuse.
Hi. I'm 36 and I Live With My Mother
For Loret...
Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that suppose to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.
Grown don't mean nothing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown? What's that suppose to mean? In my heart it don't mean a thing.
~Toni Morrison, Beloved
*************************************************************************
"Hi. I’m 36 years old and I live with my mother." A sentence a fiercely strong willed, independent and proud young woman such as myself shudders to utter. Given the fact that I’m also unemployed and my hair falls out at an alarming rate, visions of that Seinfeld episode in which George does the opposite and Elaine suddenly realizes with horror “I’ve become George!” come quickly to mind. However, such is life; sometimes you just have to suck it up and do what you need to do. What does Jagger say again? “You can’t always get what you want; well if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need”.
The Coles Notes preface (can I actually give a Coles Notes version of anything??!!) to “I’m 36 and living with my mother” goes like this. After deciding to get separate apartments it quickly became apparent that 1. The ratio of available rentals far exceeded the number of needy renters (a gong show that is a blog of its own) and 2. There was no possible way I could afford any of said apartments anyways. Stressed out about the process of apartment hunting – showing up to a bachelor apartment with 50 other people (I am NOT exaggerating) all viewing the suite simultaneously and feeling despondent about my prospects (I’m pretty sure most of the other prospective renters actually had jobs and a real income!), I didn’t know what I was going to do.
One night while visiting my mom, lamenting about my situation and generally feeling paralyzed about the situation, she, God bless her, offered to take me in temporarily until we could sort out social housing or something. It felt like a huge warm hug and more importantly gave me my breath back. I applaud my mother for never severing her role as my parent and the responsibility that comes with that (in this case doing whatever she can to ensure I have a roof over my head). My mother does not see her responsibility as a parent ending when her children become adults. She strongly encourages our independence and holds us accountable, but would do anything she possibly could to help her grown children in times of need. I am thankful every day for her.
Okay, so where were we? Oh yes. For the past 3 months I have been living at Chez Loret. Chez Loret is a fabulous one bedroom apartment in the heart of the West End. Bright, 10 stories up, a block from the beach and views to the north, west and south. She graciously gave up her bedroom, leaving me with a view of the water and North Shore mountains – wonderful inspiration for writing. In my defense, I did try to insist that we trade off who sleeps in the bed, but she insisted she always sleeps on the couch anyways, and we all know you can only argue with your mother on issues such as this so much before giving in. I turned the bedroom into my own space, Loret insisting we pack away all traces of her belongings. Again, so important for me, especially in this situation that was so difficult for me to swallow.
While it hurt the ego to move "home", the situation has worked out wonderfully in many ways. Financially it has helped us both, as Loret gave me a good deal on rent and said rent was extra income for her. I’ve done the cooking and provided laundry service while Loret will always do the dishes and insists on doing the majority of the housework! I try to help, but it’s like I said, some things can’t be argued. I have even trained Loret to recycle so the earth is happier now! I think it has also been good for my mom to see what I am like day in and day out and perhaps this has given her more insight into my illness (not that I think she needed it). Most importantly, we have managed to maintain our boundaries as both mother and daughter and as friends. For that I am so thankful because I know it is my mom who respects those boundaries and knows how to ensure they remain intact. Living together, we have been roomies. She has only been my mother when I needed or wanted her to be my mother. She is incredibly gifted at taking care of the boundaries in relationships. I learn so much from my mom in this area.
So, while it is all good, ultimately, “I am 36 and living with my mother” is not rolling off my tongue with any more pleasure. We are two women living in a one bedroom apartment. I need my space. I am that person who likes to be alone. If I go long periods of time without at least 24 hours straight to myself, my sanity starts moving towards insanity. I treasure my personal space as if it were a rare antique – worth millions or billions but never worth enough to give up. I’m a girl who likes to be in control of her surroundings and ultimately in charge of what it all looks and feels like. Space equals freedom. And for me, having my own apartment is probably one of the few things I have left that makes me feel “normal” in comparison to my peers. And so it is that while living at Chez Loret has been good, and I am ever grateful to my mom for coming through for me at a time when I really needed a hand to pull me out of something I couldn’t pull myself out of, it is now time to think about moving on.
"Hi. I’m 36 years old and I live with my mother." A sentence a fiercely strong willed, independent and proud young woman such as myself shudders to utter. Given the fact that I’m also unemployed and my hair falls out at an alarming rate, visions of that Seinfeld episode in which George does the opposite and Elaine suddenly realizes with horror “I’ve become George!” come quickly to mind. However, such is life; sometimes you just have to suck it up and do what you need to do. What does Jagger say again? “You can’t always get what you want; well if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need”.
The Coles Notes preface (can I actually give a Coles Notes version of anything??!!) to “I’m 36 and living with my mother” goes like this. After deciding to get separate apartments it quickly became apparent that 1. The ratio of available rentals far exceeded the number of needy renters (a gong show that is a blog of its own) and 2. There was no possible way I could afford any of said apartments anyways. Stressed out about the process of apartment hunting – showing up to a bachelor apartment with 50 other people (I am NOT exaggerating) all viewing the suite simultaneously and feeling despondent about my prospects (I’m pretty sure most of the other prospective renters actually had jobs and a real income!), I didn’t know what I was going to do.
One night while visiting my mom, lamenting about my situation and generally feeling paralyzed about the situation, she, God bless her, offered to take me in temporarily until we could sort out social housing or something. It felt like a huge warm hug and more importantly gave me my breath back. I applaud my mother for never severing her role as my parent and the responsibility that comes with that (in this case doing whatever she can to ensure I have a roof over my head). My mother does not see her responsibility as a parent ending when her children become adults. She strongly encourages our independence and holds us accountable, but would do anything she possibly could to help her grown children in times of need. I am thankful every day for her.
Okay, so where were we? Oh yes. For the past 3 months I have been living at Chez Loret. Chez Loret is a fabulous one bedroom apartment in the heart of the West End. Bright, 10 stories up, a block from the beach and views to the north, west and south. She graciously gave up her bedroom, leaving me with a view of the water and North Shore mountains – wonderful inspiration for writing. In my defense, I did try to insist that we trade off who sleeps in the bed, but she insisted she always sleeps on the couch anyways, and we all know you can only argue with your mother on issues such as this so much before giving in. I turned the bedroom into my own space, Loret insisting we pack away all traces of her belongings. Again, so important for me, especially in this situation that was so difficult for me to swallow.
While it hurt the ego to move "home", the situation has worked out wonderfully in many ways. Financially it has helped us both, as Loret gave me a good deal on rent and said rent was extra income for her. I’ve done the cooking and provided laundry service while Loret will always do the dishes and insists on doing the majority of the housework! I try to help, but it’s like I said, some things can’t be argued. I have even trained Loret to recycle so the earth is happier now! I think it has also been good for my mom to see what I am like day in and day out and perhaps this has given her more insight into my illness (not that I think she needed it). Most importantly, we have managed to maintain our boundaries as both mother and daughter and as friends. For that I am so thankful because I know it is my mom who respects those boundaries and knows how to ensure they remain intact. Living together, we have been roomies. She has only been my mother when I needed or wanted her to be my mother. She is incredibly gifted at taking care of the boundaries in relationships. I learn so much from my mom in this area.
So, while it is all good, ultimately, “I am 36 and living with my mother” is not rolling off my tongue with any more pleasure. We are two women living in a one bedroom apartment. I need my space. I am that person who likes to be alone. If I go long periods of time without at least 24 hours straight to myself, my sanity starts moving towards insanity. I treasure my personal space as if it were a rare antique – worth millions or billions but never worth enough to give up. I’m a girl who likes to be in control of her surroundings and ultimately in charge of what it all looks and feels like. Space equals freedom. And for me, having my own apartment is probably one of the few things I have left that makes me feel “normal” in comparison to my peers. And so it is that while living at Chez Loret has been good, and I am ever grateful to my mom for coming through for me at a time when I really needed a hand to pull me out of something I couldn’t pull myself out of, it is now time to think about moving on.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
FOLDER OF LOVE
For Dave..."Our love is so real."
Okay ladies, I know you all think that men aren’t as sentimental as us women are. That while we save all the mementos of our love in a little box somewhere, our men are carelessly tossing those same mementos aside somewhere, possibly even just chucking them out! Being the eternal love optimist that I am, I just don’t buy it. I think men are just as sentimental as us gals, they just seem to feel the need to be more covert about it. Perhaps it is part of their cave man genetic make up. I’m not sure. But, over the years, over the past relationships of my life, I’ve found cards and notes I’ve showered on my loved one, along with other relationship memorabilia, in all kinds of places. Glove boxes (seriously!), underwear drawers, bathroom drawers, the backs of closets, laying around on desks with completely unrelated materials…well you get the picture. Maybe they don’t always keep it together, maybe they don’t always keep it all, but they do keep this stuff. Proof, I say, of male sentimentality. (I refuse to believe it is proof of male laziness or carelessness!) Maybe they don’t need a little box. Then again, you never know. Maybe they do have a little box full of mementos that you just don’t know about.
Yesterday, while Dave was re-formatting my computer we suddenly couldn’t find the Office software disc. While we “debated” where it was - Dave insisting I had it, me insisting he had it, I took it upon myself to start searching his place, since I knew I did not have it! In my search, I pull open a filing cabinet drawer and there it is, with all his other important files (work, taxes, etc), a file folder marked "FROM ANGE". My heart skipped a beat. I took a cursory peak and there it was…all the cards, notes and mementos of our relationship. I think he even had all the little notes that I tuck in his suitcase when he travels. It was a Folder of Love! While I’ve always known that Dave keeps that stuff, and while it’s no secret he’s an openly sentimental guy, it filled my heart with love to see that amidst work and taxes, the mementos of our relationship were important enough to warrant their own folder. It might not be as pretty as the box I keep all my mementos in, but the sentiment of that folder is the same.
So ladies, you just don’t know…your guy may have a file folder of mementos that you don’t even know about. And by the way, Dave did have the software at his place, proving yet again that I am always right!
Okay ladies, I know you all think that men aren’t as sentimental as us women are. That while we save all the mementos of our love in a little box somewhere, our men are carelessly tossing those same mementos aside somewhere, possibly even just chucking them out! Being the eternal love optimist that I am, I just don’t buy it. I think men are just as sentimental as us gals, they just seem to feel the need to be more covert about it. Perhaps it is part of their cave man genetic make up. I’m not sure. But, over the years, over the past relationships of my life, I’ve found cards and notes I’ve showered on my loved one, along with other relationship memorabilia, in all kinds of places. Glove boxes (seriously!), underwear drawers, bathroom drawers, the backs of closets, laying around on desks with completely unrelated materials…well you get the picture. Maybe they don’t always keep it together, maybe they don’t always keep it all, but they do keep this stuff. Proof, I say, of male sentimentality. (I refuse to believe it is proof of male laziness or carelessness!) Maybe they don’t need a little box. Then again, you never know. Maybe they do have a little box full of mementos that you just don’t know about.
Yesterday, while Dave was re-formatting my computer we suddenly couldn’t find the Office software disc. While we “debated” where it was - Dave insisting I had it, me insisting he had it, I took it upon myself to start searching his place, since I knew I did not have it! In my search, I pull open a filing cabinet drawer and there it is, with all his other important files (work, taxes, etc), a file folder marked "FROM ANGE". My heart skipped a beat. I took a cursory peak and there it was…all the cards, notes and mementos of our relationship. I think he even had all the little notes that I tuck in his suitcase when he travels. It was a Folder of Love! While I’ve always known that Dave keeps that stuff, and while it’s no secret he’s an openly sentimental guy, it filled my heart with love to see that amidst work and taxes, the mementos of our relationship were important enough to warrant their own folder. It might not be as pretty as the box I keep all my mementos in, but the sentiment of that folder is the same.
So ladies, you just don’t know…your guy may have a file folder of mementos that you don’t even know about. And by the way, Dave did have the software at his place, proving yet again that I am always right!
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Happy Boots Not So Silly
I have wanted a pair of gum boots for some time now. They are adorable with all their pretty patterns and designs. Never being able to justify spending money on them, I have only eyed them shoe store windows. This year, while in a blissful hypomanic state and rationalizing that it does rain a lot, I decided that I must have a pair. I had in mind exactly what my gum boots would look like – loud and happy. As I searched shoe store after shoe, I was beginning to think my perfect gum boots just weren’t out there. And then one day as I was trying focus on shopping for more needed items for my sparse wardrobe, but actually purchasing things that were most definitely not “needed” (but oh who doesn’t “need” an adorable pink satin pea jacket?!!) I passed a window where I saw them. Gum boots that absolutely screamed out my name. Blue, bright, covered in daisies – these were definitely loud and happy boots. Filled with elation and excitement I went in, ignored the price and immediately purchased my perfect pair of gum boots. Between my fabulous new boots and pink jacket I was on top of my shopping world that day and may have actually been skipping down the street.I laughed to myself knowing that Dave would think them utterly ridiculous. And he did. As did my mother. However, I knew they were cool and could not wait for some rain so I could wear them. And wore them I did, every chance I got (getting many, many compliments from total strangers by the way!). Still Dave and my mom thought I was a geek. In fact, I think Dave shuddered every time he picked me up and saw them on my feet.
Then came the snow. While they aren’t meant to keep your feet warm, they do keep them dry, not to mention your pants. So while Dave and my mom were manoeuvring through deep snow getting their feet wet, trying to avoid big slush puddles at intersections, I was happily tromping through it all without a care in the world, my happy daisy gum boots keeping my feet and pants completely dry. At some point both Dave and my mom admitted that perhaps my silly boots weren’t so silly after all.
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