Mostly Good News

There's just a little bit more bad news. I'm going to get that out there real quick, like pulling off a band-aid. Then we're all going to think Happy Thoughts together.

The bad news is that my mother's father is now in the hospital, due to heart failure. He was admitted on Sunday, and I found out about it on Monday. The good news is that his life isn't in imminent danger, he's not in pain, and he's being well-looked after. I'm not sure if he'll get to go home again or if he'll need to move into a nursing home, because he's awfully weak at the moment, but either way, it's not horribly shocking. He is 90 years old, after all.

Now onto some the Good Things:

1) I got a raise! Not only that, it came with a glowing performance review. As my Scottish nanny used to say, I'm chuffed.

2) Ken cleaned and de-cluttered our condo and now it looks like something out of Better Homes & Gardens. I feel that I should get dressed up to go and sit in the living room. It's very restful to exist in such well-cared-for surroundings.

3) I spent the weekend resting my body and my soul. I took time to feel my way through all the thoughts that have been overwhelming my mind in recent weeks. I feel more centered and grounded.

4) I've been escaping into mass-market paperback novels, something I haven't done much of since high school. Once I became an English major I absorbed some of the literary snobbishness that comes with the territory. Any softcover book with shiny lettering on the cover was off-limits.

During university I signed up for a week-long internship with Harlequin, the romance publisher. In order to prepare, I had to actually read some Harlequin romances. I remember sitting in Robart's library, hiding a bodice ripper behind my enormous, hardback translation of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. The shame associated with being found reading such "trash" would have been immense.

For the record, the most memorable parts of my internship were: a) reading unsolicited manuscripts sent in by all types of women, some of whom did not speak English as a first language. Judging by their manuscripts, it was a very distant second. Much as we chuckled over their terrible grammar, I felt bad that they had gone to the trouble of writing a whole novel and we were treating it as a joke. Writing a whole novel is pretty freaking impressive.

And b) The editor who was my mentor described to me how they determined how explicit to be when writing about sex in the various series they published. There was a line of very prim and proper romance; there was the middle-of-the-road stuff; and then there was a steamy, red-hot series. Apparently there was a major discussion in a meeting amongst the editors over whether or not they would allow use of the word "penis" in the red-hot line. That must have been some meeting. In the end they decided that "penis" was acceptable, and the first Harlequin novel containing that word was published shortly before my internship, in the early 1990's.

But I digress.

As it happens, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the published Harlequin novels I read for the assignment. I'm not so much into the romance genre for my own purposes, so I haven't read any more since then. However I have been enjoying a somewhat trashy thriller, and discovering the joys of Maeve Binchy.

I find a lot of "serious" novelists are morbidly depressed about life, and don't feel that their job is done until they've dragged the reader down with them. At this point, all I want is a good story with a happy ending.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

There used to be trouble in my friendships. They never seemed to flow easily. I felt it necessary to be a relationship accountant, keeping track of who gave what to whom, how much, and how frequently. If it didn't all balance out I had a neurotic compulsion to fix it! Fix it now!

The calculating approach was dictated by my fears. Fear of being alone, fear of being rejected, fear of people being mad at me, fear of giving too much, fear of getting too close, fear of being perceived as clingy, fear of being taken advantage of, fear of being perceived as distant, and some plain old-fashioned shyness to boot. There was a very small comfort zone between Too Much Closeness and Too Much Distance. It was like walking on a tightrope.

It didn't help that I gravitated towards socially awkward introverts like myself. They had many of the same fears as me. I knew that "normal" people experienced friendship as something organic and basically comfortable. My friendships were sometimes very rewarding, sometimes stilted and difficult. And no matter how often I saw my friends, I was always unsatisfied. I always felt fundamentally lonely.

This state of affairs went on for years. Hundreds of hours of individual and group therapy made some holes in my armour, but couldn't go much further than that.

Then I found faith and started going to church. And I can't explain why, because it's not that I suddenly have dozens of new church-going friends, but since then I've changed.

I only have a couple of new friends that I met at church, with whom I spend time less than once a month. They're not responsible for this change. All I can attribute it to is this: I prayed to God to come into my heart and make me a more loving, fearless person. And He did.

I'm not keeping track of my friendships like I used to. I just let them happen. If sometimes I give more than I receive for a while, or vice versa, that's OK. If we go for months without speaking before we reconnect, that's OK too. I have the same number of friends as I ever did, but I never feel lonely anymore. I'm satisfied.

I'm not conscious of having changed visibly, but I must be giving off different cues. People seem to be more attracted to me than before. Friends who were once lukewarm are now enthused about spending time together. The kidoodles in Babyland are talking to me more and asking to be held. I've even noticed that I'm getting more flirty attention from men.

I look the same. I haven't been shopping for a new wardrobe. I'm not standing up straighter or walking with a wiggle. This change seems to be like a light that came on inside of me. I became more transparent, and people are attracted to the light. But even then I feel that it's not really about me. It's God. The glow is coming from that place in my heart where I invited God to come in and stay awhile. So I'd better stay humble. I don't want to ever lose this light.

The Cold Post

It's cold out, and I have a cold. Welcome to winter!

I fought the cold, and the cold won. On Monday and Tuesday of this week I did nothing but recline on my couch, feet up, remote control in hand, semi-conscious and re-discovering the gems of daytime TV. There's nothing like a low-grade fever to lay a shiny gloss of fascination over programs like American Justice and Dr. Phil.

Normally I get bored after two consecutive hours of TV. It was pretty cool to just relax and veg out for two whole days.

By Tuesday night I wasn't feeling a whole lot better, but in my mind's eye I could see the work stacking up on my desk, so I thought I'd better go in. The cold (illness) waited until I was back at work to morph from a general feeling of achiness and fatigue into typical, slow-torture cold symptoms. The delicate tickle at the back of my throat that cuts me off in mid-sentence, or wakes me up at five-to-ten-minute intervals all night. Epic sneezes. My face looks like an unmade bed.

I would love, LOVE to crawl back under my duvet and channel-surf my way through to the end of the week. But I'm not quite sick enough to justify hiding out at home. Blick. At least those crunchy sounds I was hearing in my right ear didn't come to anything. (Watch - now that I've written that I'll have a raging ear infection by this time tomorrow. )

There are some good things. I always like to remember the good things.

I bought new boots on sale: knee-high and lined with lambswooly stuff that makes them very cozy. I tested them out yesterday and today, taking 20-minute walks in the deep freeze, and my feet were toasty. Huzzah! I'm incredibly well-equipped for winter this year. I have layers like you wouldn't believe. Fleeces, hats, mitts, scarves, long-johns, over-the-knee-socks... in fact, I have to be careful not to overdress. I even have snowpants, which I haven't resorted to yet this year. If I wear them in anything warmer than -25 C, I broil.

I'm not letting the cold (weather) or the cold (illness) bully me out of having some social fun. I went out for a Japanese dinner last night with my super-awesome little sister, which was great. And I have a plan to go dancing with a girlfriend of mine for her birthday this Saturday. I have to get well by then! I can't think of a way of working Epic Sneezing into my Flashdance routine.

Two Day Break

I need to get away more.  I just had way too much fun on a work-related getaway, and I didn't even go out of town.

I signed up for an educational seminar.  My cheap boss didn't want to pay the tuition, but my generous boss approved the expense.  

(The two of them balance each other out.  If Cheap Boss had his way we'd all be working for minimum wage in a cave.  If Generous Boss had his way we'd all be out of a job because he'd bankrupt the business via over-generosity.  I appreciate both perspectives, but when push comes to shove I'm glad that Generous Boss is the senior partner.)

I was happy enough simply to be attending.  However, the seminar was being held in a hotel out by the airport, which is a fair drive from my home.  Keep in mind that I don't drive, so I figured I'd have to sit in the back of a cab for hours over the two days as we went to and from the hotel, battling rush hour traffic.

I mentioned in passing to Generous Boss how tough it is to stay awake during a lecture after waking up 1.5 hours earlier to get there on time.  You know how it is.  They dim the lights to put up a PowerPoint presentation... there's the soothing, white-noise hum of the conference room fans...  and then your head starts to nod and your eyeballs roll back zombie-style.  Zzzzzz...

Generous Boss, true to form, immediately advised me to take a room in the hotel where the seminar was being held.  He wasn't worried about the cost.  He wanted to make sure I was rested and ready to maximize my education.  See why I will never leave this job, even though it makes me crazy?

So I booked a room.  I can't even remember the last time I used my suitcases for anything other than packing for a move.  Maybe eight years ago, when I went to Ottawa for a few weeks to teach, in my old career as an I.T. trainer.  Fun times.  Anyway, I did manage to locate my suitcase, in the cold-storage nook where all the spiders live.  I pulled out the suitcase, then waited a few minutes for all the spiders I'd disturbed to scuttle back to their dark corners.

(I keep the suitcase wrapped in plastic to prevent critters from stowing away on my trips.)

I was TOTALLY EXCITED to check into my hotel room.  King Size Bed!  Nine Fluffy Pillows to recline upon!  in front of the Flat Screen TV!  OK, so I have a bigger flat screen TV at home.  Still, it's not In My Bedroom!  

I got to my room pretty late on the night before the seminar.  Too late to get in much lounging before lights-out.  My plan for night #2 was to flop back onto the bed, on my nest of Nine Fluffy Pillows, order Ridiculously Expensive Room Service, and spend five hours or so watching TV, in Complete Control of the Remote!

I did have some trouble sleeping.  At first I struggled to organize a liveable temperature by way of an unfamiliar thermostat, and then once that was sorted I was rather distracted by the Enormous Jets going 

FFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!

directly over my head at three minute intervals.  I swear, some of them weren't going to make it to the landing strip.  I wanted to yell at the pilots:

"You're coming in too low, man!  Pull up!  For the love of God, pull up!"

Eventually, sleep prevailed, and fortunately no planes crashed into my room in the wee hours of the night.

The next day, the seminar started, and it just so happened that one of the women at the round table where I was seated was a natural social organizer.  So much for my plan for night #2.  Neither of the two books I brought with me ever made it out of my suitcase during my stay, either.  The good people at my table (six of us in all) became the equivalent of my cabin at summer sleepover camp.

We went for lunch together.  We went for drinks together.  We went for dinner together.  We talked late into the night.  We ignored the [Canadian] election almost entirely.  (I voted in the advance polls.)  By the time the two days were over, I felt like I'd known them all for months at least.  One woman in particular spilled out most of her life story over all-you-can-eat ribs at Tony Romano's restaurant.  The ribs were frickin' amazing, but they didn't even come close to this woman's stories.  She was truly inspiring.

Night #2 I tumbled into my nest of fluffy pillows with earplugs firmly embedded and the thermostat set to a happy medium between chilly and stuffy.  I think I would have had a perfect sleep, had my dinner not been so salty.  I woke up every 90 minutes or so with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and drank huge volumes of water to quench my monstrous thirst.  Finally, after draining the hotel's water tanks singlehandedly, I slept.

I even learned some good stuff at the seminar.  The facilitator was a dynamic young guy with a sense of humour and a knack for engaging his audience.  I am now slightly wiser in the ways of De-escalating Potentially Violent Situations.  

Throughout each day the hotel staff would slip quietly into the conference room to provide us with a steady stream of beverages and snacks.  There was coffee waiting by 8:45 am, muffins and tea arrived at 10:30, and at 2:30 there was cold pop or juice and big, gourmet cookies.  I don't think I have ever been so spoiled or well-fed at a seminar.  

Before 2:30 pm on the last day, the facilitator mischievously instructed us all to applaud when the afternoon snack was delivered.  A well-groomed young man slipped in discreetly, almost tip-toeing behind the facilitator so as not to interrupt.  A couple of people yelled out "Yay, cookies!" and then the room burst into a rousing and prolonged round of applause.  The hotel employee didn't quite know what to do.  He got bashful, but it was all in good fun.

In the end, I was sad that the two days were over.  I packed up my stuff, and said goodbye to my hotel room wistfully.  I even got a little emotional parting from all my cabin-buddies.

But I'm super-glad to be back at home with my sweetie, and it'll be wonderful to sleep in my own bed tonight, without airplanes flying through the room or a mouthful of salt overload.  One pillow will be quite enough for me.

Goodnight!

The Laundry Room

When I moved into my condo, I was so happy to have a stacked washer and dryer all to myself. No more dragging baskets of laundry downstairs to the laundry room! No more disappointment, finding that none of the machines are free! No more running into that crazy old lady who cornered me and talked endlessly about her medical problems!

But seriously, I kind of miss my old laundry room. For one thing, it was a place to meet my neighbours. I lived on the second floor of an 8-story building. There were lots of people around, but I rarely met any of them because I never bothered to wait for the old, slow elevator. Most people in the building got to know each other that way, through sharing elevator rides and waiting times. My only opportunity for socializing was in the laundry room. With the exception of the crazy old lady, I rather enjoyed those opportunities to chat.

The laundry room also served as an ongoing swap meet. Anyone who had stuff they didn't want anymore would leave it on the laundry room table for someone else to pick up. Over the years I gave away a lot of things that way, like my old vacuum cleaner and a slow but still-functional computer. The superintendent was an immigrant, and I have reason to believe that a lot of the stuff went to her even-more-newly-arrived friends, to help them get established. It was a good system.

But mostly what I miss from the laundry room was the supply of top-quality books. Someone in the building was either an avid reader or may have even worked in a position related to the publishing industry. I would regularly find heaps of expensive, brand-new hardcovers laid out on the table. To me, it was like a kid finding free candy. Just before we moved out, almost 2 years ago now, I found an extra-big stack of fabulous books. I've read all but one now. I'm saving it, because it'll be a sad day when all the laundry room books are gone.

I scream You scream

Yep, it's spring alright.



Condotropolis is abloom.

The weather outside is within a few degress of room temperature, and has been all week. I'm not compelled to bundle up or dress down to go out. The distinction between indoors and outdoors has disappeared. It's almost as though walls and doors have ceased to exist. Everything opens up to everything else.



San has been kind enough to award me a "Big E for Excellent". Thank you so much, San! If you haven't yet been to see San's blog, I urge you to do so. She's got a quirky sense of humour, unexpected turns of creativity, and a positive tone that always gives me the warm'n'fuzzies.

It wasn't so long ago that I gave away some Big E's. However, there are a couple more bloggers who I feel should have a Big E to their name. These are:

Claire at Country Mouse Tails and
Nilsa at SoMi || Learning::Exposing::Sharing

Come on down, ladies, and get your Big E's!

For the first time in 12 years, I have chocolate ice cream in my freezer. (Backstory here.) For twelve years, I pretended not to see the ice cream section of the grocery store. I turned a blind eye to my favourite Baskin Robbins flavours: Jamocha Almond Fudge and Chocolate Mousse Royale. Sometimes I substituted the soy stuff, which wasn't bad, but it's nothing like the real thing. Sorry, Toffuti Cuties - you served me well in my time of need, but now I'm done with you!

I went through the freezer and picked the smallest tub with the shortest list of ingredients. When in doubt, keep it simple.

At home, standing at my kitchen counter, armed with a soup spoon, I dared my first taste. And almost swooned to the floor. Be still my beating heart! Ice cream, you are mine!

I just had a few mouthfuls, as a test, to no ill effect. I feel confident enough to try a full scoop next time. Maybe on a waffle cone. Man, this is going to be a great summer!

Lazy Sunday

Sunday was a pleasantly uneventful day of hanging out with old friends. These are the kind of friends that don't require constant conversation or any kind of ceremony. We can just kick back with some junk snacks and the TV, and we're good to go for hours.

We were summoned together for the 37th birthday of an old friend of mine. Let's call him Chuck. He was my first serious boyfriend in high school, back when he was tall, blond, and 17, and I was a naive, over-emotional 15. I had been a geek/outcast in middle school, so I can't tell you how excited I was to have a handsome, older boyfriend. It was a super-intense first-puppy-love affair.

Funny how, after all the teenage drama, we managed to stay friends. I eventually married one of his friends, and when I got divorced, Chuck drove my stuff to my new place in a rented van. Of all the friends I had in high school, including the girls, he's the only one I still hang out with.

Ken and I regularly spend time with Chuck, his wife, and their 8-month-old son. They're our best couple-friends. Zach, the creator of Oonis , is Chuck's younger brother, and also a good friend. In fact, they really feel more like family than friends, I've known them so long.

I always come home from these gatherings feeling blessed.