Riding out the Winter

In the prairies today, the temperature is -50 degrees with the wind chill. On the news they showed pictures of vacant playgrounds and broken-down cars on empty highways. Authories in those provinces are asking people to stay at home until the weather system passes. Schools have been closed.

I can't imagine how cold -50 would feel and, quite frankly, I would prefer not to know.





I keep telling myself that there is probably only about 5-6 weeks of winter left to endure. Of those 6 weeks, 3 will be dedicated to the celebration of Ottawa's Winterlude Festival. I can't wait to go downtown and take more pictures of the ice sculptures.


Here's a picture of the kids sledding on a beautiful winter day.

Booger Check

Today I thought I would dedicate a post to the value of the "Booger Check." For those of you that are not familiar with the term, it is simply a tool to avoid the embarrassment of an unwanted...um...uh...shall we say...nose buddy.

Today at breakfast, a waitress came to the table with a...ahem...nose buddy. After a quick first glance, I thought it was piercing because of where it was positioned. She seemed a little old and a little conservatively dressed for a piercing but, hey, I'm not the fashion police so I didn't give it much attention. I asked for a green tea and suggested that she return for my husband's order when he joined me at the table. She came back with my tea and I looked up from my menu to thank her which provided me with the opportunity for a long second look. I realized then that I had mistaken her nose buddy for a nose piercing. I quickly scanned the data banks for any lessons I may have learned on how to effectively yet discreetly address this very personal issue, but she was gone before I could come up with anything useful. I checked my pocket for a Kleenex but found none. What to do? What to do?

At this point, I felt the blossoming birth of curiosity. My husband is a germophobe and is repulsed by anything less than the sterile treatment of his food. I suddenly felt as though I needed to see how he would respond to this particular situation. I had my chance only a few moments later when he came and sat down. He began looking at his menu.

Our waitress came over and asked if he would like some coffee. He looked up to respond and quickly fixed his gaze upon her nose buddy. He looked at me and I gave him "the caution look." (It's kind of a quick widening of the eye followed by a short eyebrow rise served up with a clenched jaw. ) He looked at her, he looked at me, he looked at her nose buddy, then at me again. It was all I could do not to laugh. "I'll take a decaf please," he said. Did he know that his nose was turned up when he said that? I was certain that he was going to suggest that we leave, but all he said was, "the other restaurant is where the 'old boys' hang out," as though we really had no choice but to be served by the waitress with the nose-buddy.

I won't trouble you with the conversation that followed but I can assure you that there was no laughter, no rude comments, no inappropriate remarks. We were just two people every bit as embarrassed by this situation as this poor woman would be as soon as she caught her reflection in a shiny pot.

Again, this long, sordid tale is intended only to promote the Booger Check. You can use a mirror, the studious gaze of a good friend or a discrete co-worker. Children make the best booger checkers though because they take that opportunity to assess your entire facial area. They identify boogers as well as blemishes, stained teeth, tooth-buddies, red eyes, and eyebrows in need of plucking. Remember, if you don't want to know, don't ask.

CAUTION: Beware of the little trolls that decide to exploit their trusted position as your personal booger checker to capitalize on this entertaining situation at your expense. They are evil, evil people.

Not everyone is built to be a booger checker.

Ready...

set...

blow.

4 am

I was up again at 4 am today. That's three days in a row. I've been wrestling with a decision about work and it's screwing up my sleep.

My best friend and I have long talked about working together and the time is upon us. My worry, as I have expressed to her, is how this might strain our friendship. Above all else, I told her, my interest is in protecting our friendship.

What is making this decision particularly difficult is that I really like the job I have now. I wear jeans to work, listen to music all day long, sip coffee, and work for the most wonderful couple I have had the privilege of meeting. My feeling is that I am at risk of losing a great job and a great friend. How pessimistic is that? (I really need to cool the drama, I think.)

I talked to the wonderful couple earlier in the week to let them know that I would need to make this decision. They were...well...wonderful. They said that though they had big plans for me, they would support me. They were concerned for my well being and their advice was to follow my heart and find my peace.

My peace, I believe, will come in the decision; the commitment; the plan.

In the end, I decided I would rather be a good friend than a good employee.

The Week the Women Left

Tonight I watched the first show in a series called "The Week The Women Left." It is a reality show about a social experiment conducted in Hardisty, Alberta in June 2007. During one week in June, this small Canadian town of just over 700 people saw 85% of its women embark on a week long vacation.

The television crew filmed the cocky husbands (please excuse this unfortunate pun) talking about how they would do just fine provided that they remember how to sweep up the crumbs and work the washer and dryer. Maybe one honest fellow admitted that he was going to miss his wife. This, of course, is the irony of reality TV.

The people who film, edit and choreograph the lives of these unwitting actors have much more creative control of real life than they are willing to admit. Consider your family's version of Uncle John or Aunt Jane who acts like a complete moron as soon as the video-cam captures them in its viewfinder. It is the rare person who acts normally on the other end of the camera. You can bet that I don't walk around every day with a hand in front of my face trying to shield myself from the glances of innocent strangers, yet see me on tape....

The women were a little more honest in their vulnerability. They appeared much more insecure than the men. More worried that they wouldn't be missed. Worried that their roles were, at best, supporting actors to their husbands. Worried that the most valuable contribution to their household was as the family's own private maid service. It was sad...no...disappointing how few men seemed to verbalize the importance of their spouse.

I recognize that this town is cowboy capital of Alberta. I sense too that machismo is the prodigious bullfrog in the family gene pool flicking its tongue at the pesky flies of sensitivity and compassion. Surely these men must understand how much currency they would earn from telling their life partner how important she was and how much she would be missed. There seemed to be little evidence of that. I'm not certain whether that is more a reflection on the men of Hardisty or the filmmakers. I'll choose to blame the filmmakers because I really dislike reality TV.

I'm looking forward to next week's episode.

I don't know

I have so few answers these days that even I am tired of hearing me say, "I don't know."

I lack the capacity and the confidence for making big decisions so I simply don't. (I suspect that it is the perfectionist in me that prevents me from making a bad decision by making no decision at all.) Hardly a recipe for success, though these days survival seems to be the more pressing objective than long range personal, professional or financial success. There are many decisions to be made these days and I've been avoiding most of them.

I was accused today of being dishonest and wishy-washy and it hurt me deeply because I have long enjoyed a reputation for being honest and forthright. At some level I know that I must admit to being wishy-washy and I believe that it is due largely to the constant struggle between my heart and my head. They have, for many months, been wrestling over the trophy of my future; I sense now that they are beginning to align towards an inevitable truth. The truth (as I have mentioned elsewhere in this blog) is that I have no place being in a relationship.

I understand that I will be meeting with a counsellor on Wednesday who is going to ask me (I expect) deep and probing questions. I am anxious about being put on the spot and having no real answers. I doubt that "I don't know" will carry much weight with her. That said, "I don't know" in itself, is an answer of sorts. It means, I can't arrive at a decision. It means, I can barely figure out what to wear in the morning, how can I expect to know how I will feel in a day, a week, a month, a year? It means, I cannot and will not make guarantees because I always keep my word and I don't feel comfortable making a commitment at this time. It means, that I don't know my heart. It means that I don't trust myself.

I have said all this to the interested party but because this isn't the "correct" answer, I am asked to consider and reconsider my position. I am being asked to make more sacrifices by someone who has made none in all the years I have known him. I am being asked to ignore my feelings and put my faith in someone who lost my trust.

Truth is, I know what the counsellor will say on Wednesday.

She'll say, "Oh well now, I think you do know."

and I will say,

"Yes."

Wake Up Call

My wake up call came at 6:15 am. I didn't answer. I got another at 6:45. I picked it up and listened. "I don't want to start my days like this." My protests go unheeded so I lay the handset down and go about making myself a coffee and pop some bread into the toaster. I sip my coffee, butter my toast and listen for handset noises in the background. Can't hear any. I go into the living room and watch a few minutes of Canada AM (morning news) and catch up on news in the rest of the world. I grab a warm-up for my coffee and listen for handset noises in the background. None. Back to the TV to finish my coffee and toast. When I return with my dishes I pick up the handset. Nothing. No talking. No dial tone. Nothing. I return the handset to the cradle and return to the television.

I'm blogging these days just to get rid of these thoughts (which is why I'm removing my comment fields from these blogs.) Sorry if it makes anyone uncomfortable but I started this blog so that I could process what is happening in my life. Right now, this is all that I can focus on and I'm hoping that I can stuff it away here so that I can find some peace in my day. Laying down my burden, so to speak.

The most difficult thing to deal with has been my own behaviour. I wanted to live my life every day by being the kindest person I know. I have said and done many things that are very un-kind and it fills me with such self-loathing that it fuels negative feelings that are later expressed through more bad behaviour.

I have absolutely no business being in a relationship at this time.

Painful Irony

He said, "for all of those years, I wasn't happy with myself and it kept me from finding happiness with you and the kids. I've spent the last year working on myself and I like the new me. Now all I want is to find happiness with my family."

All of those years, I was happy with myself and I tried to find happiness with him. I've spent the last year without him but I have failed to move forward because I remained committed to a dysfunctional and damaged relationship against my better judgement. I don't feel very good about myself these days and I suspect that it will prevent me from finding happiness with my family.

Ironic don't you think?

Breakfast at Tiffany's

It was classic movie weekend at our place last weekend. Little girl rented Hitchcock's The Birds and I grabbed Breakfast at Tiffany's. The young man grabbed Safe Men featuring Sam Rockwell, Steve Zahn, Mark Ruffalo and Paul Giamatti. I tried to explain that Safe Men didn't qualify as a classic, however I could not sell the idea and so out we walked with two classics and some brain candy.

I love the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's where Hepburn's Holly Golightly gets out of the cab in front of Tiffany's at daybreak. She crosses the deserted sidewalk to peer into Tiffany's window display and stares at the jewelry as she dines on her pastry and coffee. The moment is perfect in its simplicity. I watched it a half dozen times at least.

I didn't read the book by Truman Capote but I'm thinking that I may. I am much better at grasping plot lines and subtleties in the written form. Authors use narratives to thoroughly explain things that are not always as easily conveyed through movie dialogue. I say this because ....

...I had NO idea that Holly Golightly was a prostitute. I have long considered myself to be naive but, once again, I was shocked to learn that this fact totally escaped me for 111 minutes and not less than 3 viewings of this movie over the years. Blake Edwards was kind enough to enlighten me during his interview in the DVD's Bonus Features. He explained that Audrey Hepburn had serious misgivings about playing a prostitute and I'm like, "What? Say again." "A whore," said Blake Edwards. Hey, the cover said a socialite. What the heck?

I mean, sure, the fact that she was paid $50. by her date for each visit to the washroom wasn't entirely lost on me. I thought she was a little loose for 1961. I mean she did crawl up the fire escape and slide into bed with George Peppard after all. She had only met him a couple of times in the hall. Cheeky sure, but c'mon. Yeah, yeah, her dates gave her money and expensive gifts but isn't that a benefit of being the focus of a rich man's attention? That's still quite a stretch from whore, isn't it? The cover said socialite.

I'm not sure how I feel about the movie now. It's changed my perspective and the way I feel when I watch the movie. I guess Breakfast at Tiffany's was the 1961 version of 1990's Pretty Woman.

Regardless, the opening scene is magic. The three minutes spent on Fifth Avenue at daybreak as Moon River plays in the background are well worth the cost of admission in my opinion.

A Little Blue Friend

A beautiful little blue bird formally known as the Blue Jay. At my Granny & Grandpa’s house in front of their kitchen window they have a bird feeder and a basket with bones and a bit of left over meat in it. I’m not quite sure about a left over meat eating and bone chewing bird though. Didn’t know they existed. Mom brought a bag of birdseed home from town the other day and we filled up the bird feeder hoping that we would have some visitors. Every time a bird comes to the feeder, we try to find its picture in Grandpa’s Northern Bird book. So far we have seen the Common Redpoll (only two), Evening Grosbeaks (lots), Chickadees, one Cardinal and plenty of Blue Jays. Oh yeah, and a squirrel.

During the winter while they are in Florida we watch their house for them and since Mom bought the seed, they’ve got visitors at their bird feeder and still no birds at their bone and meat basket. Right now I am looking at it and there is a pile of snow in their basket while there are Blue Jays in the bird feeder.

From about 12:00am. - 12:30am. I was watching a group of Blue Jays while taking pictures and there were about 8 of them but they wouldn’t come to the feeder while I was standing in the kitchen except one of them decided that it didn’t matter he was getting too hungry to wait so he flew over and I managed to get some pictures. Here’s my favourite picture.

I hope you like it too and I'll try to get pictures of the other birds.
Wordpecker jr.