Sewing Skills

In the past two days I have lost two buttons, one from each of my two spring-weather coats. (These also double as fall-weather coats, incidentally. Does anyone out there actually have separate fall and spring coats? I'd like to know.)

The good news is, I found both buttons and sewed them back onto my coats.

I'm moderately good at sewing. I can repair rips, fix buttons, and do minor alterations, like hemming. I have never owned a sewing machine, so whatever I do, I do it by hand.

For complicated jobs, I go to Mrs. Lee. Mrs. Lee has a little dry cleaning business in a store that's about 3 feet wide and 20 feet deep. In the back she has a tiny dressing room and a sewing machine. Monday through Saturday, from 9:00 am to 8:00 pm, you'll find her busy at the sewing machine. The woman has some mad skills. I have seen her creating evening gowns and woolen winter coats from bolts of cloth and her own patterns.

Mrs. Lee always seems to be cheerful. She hums along with classical music on the radio. I have never seen her looking sick, grouchy, or tired. I have never even seen her take a break. She's always puttering away industriously, busy with pins and a measuring tape.

I've seen less of Mrs. Lee this season, all because of skinny jeans. Well, because of skinny pants in general. All the new pants I've gotten since last fall have been of the skinny variety, so there's no real need to hem them. They can easily be cuffed, or, as is fashionable, I simply allow the extra fabric to ruche around my ankles. There's no danger of tripping on long pantlegs, or treading on the hem and making it dirty.

I hope the skinny pants trend doesn't cut too much into Mrs. Lee's business.

The Taker

Recently someone said to me "I'm more comfortable giving than receiving." They were speaking generally, referring to gifts, attention, help, love, etc.

When I was in group therapy, this was a common theme amongst the participants. It was especially pronounced because we were in a psychotherapy school; i.e. we were learning to be better providers of help, love, and attention to other people.

Me, I'm a taker. I have no problem at all receiving. I love attention, praise, gifts, affection, assistance, all the good stuff. If someone offers me something positive, whether it's a cookie, a cheque, or a friendly hug, I will never lower my eyelashes demurely and say "Oh no, I couldn't possibly." My stock answer is "Yes please!".

I figure if someone offers me something, it's because they would honestly like to see me accept the offer. On the other hand, if they're playing games and offering things they don't want to provide just to be manipulative, too bad for them. I'll still accept. It serves them right for trying to be so sneaky.

If someone gives me a gift, I don't feel guilty if I don't have a gift to give back to them. I mean, of course I always try to reciprocate. But if someone surprises me with, say, a Christmas gift that I wasn't expecting, and I didn't buy one for them, I don't feel bad. A gift, by it's very nature, is not meant to be reciprocated, necessarily. If I demanded a gift of equal value in return for all of my gifts, that's actually not giving at all. That's bartering. So if you want to do a Christmas thing-trade with me, I'd be happy to comply, but warn me in advance, please.

I do also enjoy giving. But, fundamentally, I'm a taker.

Bits

I met a dog called Taco. He's an odd breed that has just a few wiry hairs here and there. The rest of him is skin. Patting his head was like patting an old man's cheek. Even though he was a very nice dog, it was kind of creepy.

***

I was feeling cold at home, so I was all bundled up in three layers of sweaters and wearing my puffiest slippers. Ken was at the computer eating blueberry Eggo toaster pancakes. When I shuffled up to him and put my icy fingers on his bare arm to warm them up, he generously took his freshly toasted blueberry pancake and pressed it to my cheek, so that I might absorb the heat from it. It's small, thoughtful gestures like this that confirm his love for me every day.

***

Ken and I were having dinner out. We ordered a plate of french fries to share. At our favourite restaurant, the fry size varies from order to order. Usually we get long fries. But the time before last we got fry gravel. This time was somewhere in between. The average fry length was about 1". Ken deemed them to be "cigarette butt fries". In my mind's eye, the plate between us transformed itself into an overflowing ashtray. I don't know what it says about me that I was able to imagine the french fries as cigarette butts, and continue eating them. With ketchup.

Things I Think About

Toronto has recently converted some of its busiest downtown intersections to offer all-way pedestrian crossing. The traffic lights all turn red, the pedestrian signals all show the little walking guy, and you can cross the intersection diagonally if you wish. I always laugh to myself at these intersections, because I can't help expecting this to happen next: All pedestrians are signalled to stop, the traffic lights all turn green together, and all cars hit the gas simultanously. Then there is a terrific crash as several lanes of traffic from each direction pile up into a giant car pyramid in the middle of the road. Wouldn't that be great?

I was trying to fall asleep, and as I lay there in the dark, I devised a collection of Christmas gifts for the man or woman who has everything. I'm not talking about electric shoe buffers or other such old-news items. These are brand new things that no one has ever invented before.

1) Dish socks. These are rubber "foot gloves", with separate toe pockets, worn over one's feet in order to wash dishes. Anyone who does the dishes with their feet, due to a medical condition or personal preference (to protect an elaborate manicure, for example), can now be protected from the drying effects of hot water and detergent.

2) The shower cape. This is like a shower cap, but in reverse. If you desire to wash your hair in the shower without getting the rest of your body wet, you cover yourself from the neck down with a shower cape.

3) A matched set: tooth brush and tooth comb. You know, like a matching pen and pencil set, but for your teeth. What would be the functionality of the tooth comb? I haven't got that figured out yet, but I'm open to suggestions.

Busy Busy Week

I have beautiful moles. So says the dermatologist who checked me out last Thursday. She had an intern with her, a timid girl who hadn't yet developed the confident, impersonal touch of health care professionals. I perched on the examining table, waxy paper crinkling under my butt. The intern gingerly picked up each of my bare feet in turn to check the soles. She spread my toes apart apologetically, as if she wasn't sure she had my permission to do so, glancing up at me to make sure I wasn't getting upset. I was fine and dandy. The dermatologist is my favourite doctor, because there is no poking, proding, injections, or other sharp instrumentation. The best part was when the doctor started quizzing the intern on mole facts. I felt like an extra on Grey's Anatomy. I love that show.

I spent an hour on Saturday pretending to be a car. Vroom vroom! I got down on the floor and scooted around with my friends' two-year-old. When I crashed, he was my toe truck. He grabbed me by my toes and dragged me to the service station. Then we ran around in circles until we were dizzy. At one point while I was sitting on the floor, he spontaneously rushed over and hugged my head, which totally made my whole week. This was at a birthday party with old friends. The rest of the time we sat around eating spaghetti Bolognese and laughing ourselves silly.

I stepped over the threshold into my new workplace for the first time. We won't be moving in for months. Right now, the space is still part of a health club. There's a pool, which will be filled in for us. My staff has been lobbying for a swim-up reception desk, but I maintain that they would prune very badly by the end of an eight-hour shift. There's also a wrestling ring, which I thought we should keep as a Conflict Resolution Area. Disagreement at a board meeting? Let's settle this with a piledriver competition! It was amazing to be introduced to this space, where I will spend the vast majority of my waking hours for the next five to ten years. The best part is there's a cafeteria in the building, so I'll be able to buy lunch without bundling up and trudging through snow in the winter.

And I helped a friend, who is feeling very depressed, to make some headway on her issues, and to feel a little hopeful. And I sang at a practice with my church group, feeling my heart swell and lift up on the wings of the spirit. And I went out with another good friend to see the movie Amreeka, which was very touching and thought-provoking. And and and... so much more. I had enough material to write a post every day, but not enough time.

My life is full, in the best possible sense of the word. I am full.

Holiday Hilights

Thanks to all who commented on my previous post with such genuine care.  I got all weepy, in a good way.  My heart overfloweth!

So much has gone on in the past three days that I know not where to begin.  Because I doubt my ability to organize it all into any kind of coherent narrative, I present to you: holiday highlights.

Christmas Eve:  

Birthday Party for my grandmother, at my mom's house

On account of the warm weather and rain, combined with snowdrifts clogging the storm drains, any dip in the street was filled with water.    On my way there I waded through ponds of over 100 square feet and four inches deep.  Passing cars tossed six-foot rooster tails of dirty spray into the air behind them.  I was lucky: only my feet got wet.  My mom loaned me a pair of dry socks.

I shovelled the driveway so my grandparents wouldn't slip on their way in.  The melting snow was ridiculously heavy, and I had to toss each leaden shovelful at least four feet in the air to get it on top of the existing snowpile on the lawn.  I must be tougher than I thought, because I managed to do it without screwing up my back.

Inside, there was roast brisket, homemade soup,  cucumber salad, green beans with mushrooms, sesame ginger roasted squash, pickled beets, and, of course, potato latkes with homemade apple sauce.  The best dishes and glasses, twinkling silverware, a bouquet of fresh flowers surrounded by colourful dreidels and silver-foil-wrapped chocolate coins as a centerpiece.  Happy people.  Lively conversation.  Homemade strudel, coffee, chocolate birthday cake.

The temperature didn't drop back below zero until after midnight, so we all got home safely.

Christmas Day:

Turkey Lunch with Ken's parents and brothers

Ken's younger brother had a bad cold.  He hunched over his plate, shoveling in food, then lay down on the sofa and fell asleep.  At one point he half-woke, opened one eye, announced loudly in a slurred voice: "Merry Christmas!"  And then fell soundly back asleep.

After lunch I felt restless, so I went for a walk while the others settled in for some tryptophan-induced drowsiness in front of the TV.  The path I took through the neighbourhood alternated slicks of glassy ice with mountians of frozen snowdrifts.  I picked my way carefully, at times placing each foot with studied care as I navigated particularly dangrous passes.  I kept my hands curled in towards my body, reminding myself not to catch my weight on a wrist if I should fall, but to curl and drop sideways like a ninja.  My ex-mother-in-law broke her wrist on a patch of ice just like these ones.  I didn't fall, but I saw a girl across the street go down on her butt.

Christmas Day Part II:

Turkey Dinner with my Father, Step-Mom, and Sister, and friends

The house was beautiful, filled with soft light, flickering candles, and designer bowls heaped with shiny christmas tree balls.  My sister was cute as a button in a red dress with white polka-dots.  She mixed up a batch of tasty pomegranate martinis.  Guests arrived, handing over their coats and plastic-wrapped platters of homemade desserts.  The dog hung around hopefully, wagging her tail and licking her chops in anticipation of someone dropping an hors d'oeuvre.

Hannukah candles were lit, and Christmas gifts were exchanged.   

I sat next to a fellow I'd never met before: a poet, whose most recent book won the 2008 Governor General's Award for poetry.  This is a pretty big deal in Canada.  It's the oldest and most prestigious literary award we have.   Jacob presented us each with a signed copy of his poetry collection. 

In person, he came across as a pretty average guy.  On my way home, on the train, I opened the book, expecting not to be impressed his poetry.  Let's face it, the world is filled with lacklustre writing by well-meaning authors, and some of it is hailed as genius by other well-meaning authors.  I don't always agree with the judges of literary awards.  But, this time I liked what I read.  That was some solid poetry.  Good poetry makes me happy, even when the subject matter is sad.  That was one of the best Christmas gifts I got, and it came as a complete surprise.

It was only thanks to my sister's yummy pomegranate martinis that I managed to get through that last event, capping 1.5 days of non-stop socializing.  My poor frazzled brain.  I'm just not wired to handle that much conversation, no matter how lovely and interesting my conversational partners are.  The following day, I lay on the couch, staring in the general direction of the television, dozing in and out of consciousness.  I feel almost back to myself.  A little more time spent comatose, and I'll be right as rain.

Interview

At my own risk, I volunteered to be interviewed by Ron. This is actually a really cool, customizable meme, which any of you may volunteer to participate in. Ron's interview is here.

Question #1:
How were you inspired to start blogging and how did you choose your blog name?

I've always loved to write. I wrote journals for many years, but eventually I got sick of being my own audience. With no one else to read what I wrote, I was prone to lots of complaining and being a Drama Queen. I was also not motivated enough to try to get any of my work published. When I learned about blogging I realized that it was the perfect solution: I can self-publish for free, get instant feedback, and participate in a community of other writers. How cool is that?

I can't remember how I chose my blog name. It was a passing whim that became permanent.

Question #2:
If you can only do one family tradition/decoration for the Holidays (Christmas or Hanukkah) what would it be?

I love decorating Christmas trees. I don't have one in my home this year, but next year I'll get on that.

Question #3:
What is your idea of a dream vacation?

My dream vacation would involve being instantly teleported to my destination, without any jet lag or lost baggage. I would like to go somewhere that's not too broiling hot, with tap-water I can drink without getting sick. I think being pampered half the time and touring beautiful, historic sites and natural landscapes the other half of the time would be a good balance. If anyone knows where I can get a package like this, please e-mail me.

Question #4:
If you saw a man that was obviously a criminal drop a big bundle of cash while running from other criminals and you picked it up, what would you do with it?

I wouldn't pick it up, because the other criminals would chase me down and beat me until I gave it to them.

Oh, you mean that the other criminals didn't see the bundle of cash drop? So it's just found money? I'd have to be a goody-two-shoes and either hand it in to the police or donate it to World Vision. I have a very sensitive conscience. I don't keep gifts like that for myself. I have to pass it along to someone who needs it more than me.

Question #5:
If you had a small thermonuclear device and it was counting down to zero (quickly) which wire would you cut the red one or the blue one and why?

RED! No, BLUE! No, BOTH! *snip* **KABOOM** Uh, sorry, I guess that was the wrong choice?

ummm.... #5 may be a little arbitrary if you want you can use this one instead

Question #5
Does your family know about your blog and if so are they supportive of you talking to strange internet type people?

Some of my family (a minority) know about my blog, and read it regularly. That would be my sister, my biological father, and my step-mom (Hi Guys! I love you! :-). They are supportive of my writing, and let me know that they're missing it if I go through a phase of not writing much. This gives me the warm-n-fuzzies, and keeps me motivated to write even when I might otherwise get lazy.

The rest of my family hasn't been introduced to my blog, and for now I'll be keeping it that way.

Oh, and Ken reads my blog. He's very supportive. His only condition is that I'm never allowed to post a real picture of myself because he thinks I'm so gorgeous that weird cyber-strangers will stalk me. Then I'll unwittingly give away too many clues regarding my identity, and they'll show up one day and kidnap me. Or something.

Dear Ken, I love you! Thank you for believing that I am so irresistibly attractive that the mere sight of me might drive the men of the internet crazy with unwholesome desires. And thank you for referring to Milla Jovovich as "that girl who looks like you". You really know how to flatter a woman.

End of interview. That was fun! OK, who wants to be next? Here's now to participate:

According to the rules I must link back to the post I got this from.

1. Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” (And your e-mail address, please.)
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

The Seminar

It's amazing how tiring it is to sit still all day.  

Today was Day One of a seminar on Health and Safety in the Workplace, which I have to attend as part of my job.  I'm learning about important regulations, such as...  let's see...

*consults handbook*

Oil and Gas Offshore Rigs, Regulation 855, Section 81, Clause a),

"A cathead shall be operated by a competent person."

Ah.  Yes.  If only I'd known that last week, when our offshore oil rig's cathead was being operated by an incompetent nincompoop!  So much trouble could have been averted.

*flips to the section on logging*

Reg. 851 - Industrial Estab., Section 109, Clause c)

"A tree shall be limbed, bucked, or topped only when the logger is in a position so that the limb, log, or top, when severed, cannot roll or drop on the logger."

Next week, when that big logging project starts, I will be SO READY.  It's great that this material is relevant to my workplace.  It really makes getting up at 5:30 am to get there on time and wading through all the legalese totally worth it!

Anyway, when I wasn't overcome by the struggle to keep my eyelids elevated, I did learn a thing or two that might be useful.  I also enjoyed a spectacular view from the seminar room windows. It was the prettiest view I've ever seen from a classroom, let alone that most conference rooms don't even have windows.

Ironically, this room with a view was located within the building which is entirely devoted to serving Toronto's blind and visually impaired community.  In fact, the whole building was gorgeous.  If I ever lose the rest of my vision (I'm close to being legally blind without my prescription lenses), I'm not sure if it would make me feel better or worse to know that the organization providing helpful services to me was so visually pleasing.  It could be construed as adding insult to injury.  Maybe I'd rather have an ugly facility, so I could comfort myself with the thought that I wasn't missing anything.

Actually, I hope if it happens that I don't end up that bitter.  It's just one of those things I can't help thinking about.

*All regulations quoted above are from the Ontario Safety Association for Community and Healthcare's 2008 pocket guide to the Ontario Health and Safety Act and Regulations.  I didn't make them up. You can see them for yourself if you like.

Permission to Ramble

Usually, I hold myself to a high standard of blog-writing. I like to plan my piece ahead of time, maybe spend a few days mulling it over. When the idea has ripened inside my head I type it out, and then I subject it to a review process. If I'm not 100% happy with what I've written, I let it sit as a draft for a while until I can figure out what I need to change.

This week, I don't have it in me to be that mentally organized. I'm maxed out. There's been so much going on in my life that my brain has reached its processing limit. My immediate consciousness is floating on a sea of STUFF.

Some of the stuff is good. Some of it is not so good. It's all interesting. My life has certainly been rich with experiences lately. There are numerous things I'd like to write about, but I'm so fried that I don't think I could do any of them justice. I could easily write a full post or more about any of the following, if my brain was working better:

I've done a couple of shifts in Babyland, my church's nursery for the 0-3 years age group. The experiences I'm having there would come as no surprise to parents, but for me it's like taking a trip to an alien planet. I haven't babysat in around 20 years, therefore it's been approximately that long since I've had any meaningful contact with babies. Let me tell you, the babies are blowing my mind.

Last weekend, on the same day that I shot a gun for the first time in my life, I went to a giant Christian song-and-dance extravaganza in Toronto's domed stadium. People were jumping up and praising the Lord! The teenagers in front of me were dancing and clapping. The man two seats down from me wept. The woman on my other side sat primly with her hands folded in her lap the whole time. It was a huge, bizarre, unprecendented... I don't know how to quantify it. I can't explain how I felt. Glad that I went, and other than that, many mixed feelings. It was a trip down the rabbit hole, that's for sure.

(I have yet to experience people speaking in tongues or rolling on the floor. That is something I really want to see for myself someday. I am very curious.)

I'm still helping my parents, mostly my mom, with their divorce. I had to write a letter to my mom's lawyer outlining my step-dad's business interests. I don't know how to feel about that either. Stuck in the middle, I guess.

Ken and I are more than halfway through packing up my step-dad's stuff. That's good news: progress. But I'm getting burned out on the process, so we're going to take a break from it for a few weeks. I haven't even told my mom yet. It' s just too hard, all the emotions that come up while we're going through his things, and how upset my mom gets, even though she tries not to show it. We only pack for around 2 hours each weekend (time limit imposed due to Ken's allergies combined with my mom's cats), but even that has become too much. I just can't face it right now.

Work has been insanely busy. On top of that, there are multiple emotionally intense situations going on at work that I'm involved in. Staff quarrelling and I need to facilitate a solution. Pressure from the doctors. Major protocol changes. Significant physical reorganization of the workspace.

On top of that, someone, with the best of intentions, outted me to my colleagues. By this I mean: I had only spoken to one person in my workplace regarding my new faith in God, and church attendance. Something happened that is a very long story, and it was the right thing at the time, but events transpired that revealed my new faith to the people I work closest with, all on the same day. I felt like I was walking around work naked, it was that exposing.

Is there more? Probably. There's always something. But I'm writing this on a lunch break and my time is now up. You get the picture.

Please pray or cross your fingers for me to get my marbles back into my head as soon as possible. Thank you!

A Hierarchy of Chores

My favourite chore is washing dishes. I never want to do it, but once I've gotten started I find it strangely satisfying. I like taking the kitchen from chaos to order. I like the feeling of hot water flowing over my hands, and soapsuds squeezing through my fingers. I love how shiny the warm, clean dishes are when they're all lined up to dry in the dish rack.

My least favourite chore is cleaning the bathroom. I don't believe this needs any elaboration. If anyone enjoys this task, I would be interested in hearing your perspective, but I can't guarantee that I'll be able to understand.

Vacuuming used to be very unpleasant. I like to vacuum on a regular schedule, but it drove me crazy. By the time I was done I felt aggravated almost to tears. One day I had an epiphany. I put earplugs in before I turned the vacuum on. And hey! What a difference! Turns out I was hypersensitive to the incredibly loud whine of my crappy old vacuum. Now I have a fancy vacuum. It purrs like a kitten.

Laundry, in my current setup, almost doesn't count as a chore. Throw the clothes in the washer. Turn it on. Go do something else for 30 minutes. Come back and throw stuff in the dryer. Turn it on. Forget about it for an hour. Folding gets done in front of the TV - what could be easier? I'm not a big fan of ironing, but whatever. I can cope.

Which are your favourite and most loathed chores?

I can has coffee?

As I have mentioned before, I've recently started drinking coffee for the first time in my adult life. Hurray! It tastes good and I get to play it cool and sophisticated as I sip.

Well, sort of. Because this delay in coffee consumption has left me coffee-retarded. I'm almost middle-aged, and I'm completely intimidated by the process of ordering anywhere where there is more choice than just caf or decaf.

The other day I was in a bakery that had a board as tall as me covered in two columns of complicated coffee choices. What, I ask you, is a steamer? I assume it has something to do with the big, shiny machine that goes "WHOOOOSH!", but that's where my expertise ends.

I also have a sense of self-consciousness around complicated coffee orders, after hearing so many jokes involving barristas and half-caf-cappucino-grande-soy-blah-blah-blahs with a shot of mint. I used to sneer, smug in my coffee-free status. Now I'm like "Um, can I have a decaf latte regular?" Which to me seemed incredibly complicated.

When I said "Can I?" I meant it literally. That wasn't my passive aggressive translation of "I want a..." I'm still so insecure about coffee that I didn't know if I could have one, or if the girl behind the counter would laugh at me and go "Everyone knows that lattes are never decaf!"

In fact, as it turns out my order wasn't specific enough. I had neglected to mention what type of milk I wanted. (Skim is standard, and I was happy to go along with the girl's suggestion.)

Finally, frothy mug in hand, I settled in at my table, ready to show off my coffee habit. Look at me! I'm drinking coffee! I'm so mature.

Oblogations

I've made it through four whole months of Blog365 without missing a single day of posting. Huzzah! As time passes, sometimes I feel symptoms of Blog Fatigue, but it passes.

Bits and Pieces:

I saw a restaurant offering a lunch special called Afternoon Delight. I'm not sure if the restaurant owner understands the connotations of the phrase. I'm tempted to order it just because of the name, but the photo doesn't look all that appealing.

I was out and about on a Friday evening at the intersection of Yonge and Eglinton, which has been nicknamed "Young and Eligible" because of all the hot singles who congregate and socialize in the local clubs and pubs. On weekend evenings, the 20-somethings are dressed in their best. Except this one guy I saw. His friends weren't super fancy, sporting jeans, sneakers, and hoodies. But this guy took it down a notch. He had on jeans, sneakers, and a dark-green-and-blue plaid terrycloth bathrobe. Shin-length. Belted at the waist. I have to say, it wasn't a good look for him.

There is only one reason why I'm sorry that winter is over. I find nothing cuter than dogs wearing boots. Most of the dogs where I live are tiny little things, and many of them have wardrobes. Personally I think that boots are the best dog accessory, as they are both ridiculous and practical. But for the spring season I'm not totally out of luck. Last time it rained I passed a terrier going for his walkies in a very fetching yellow slicker with a matching hat.

And finally, there is a business I pass frequently that has this sign posted at the entrance:

WOULD YOU PLEASE PUSH THE DOOR

It always makes me think that the owner is fed up with all the stupid door-pullers who never learn. If he's told you once, he's told you a million times... PUSH!

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.

Dating Personality Profile

A little while ago, whatigotsofar posted the results of his dating personality profile test.

I'm not planning on dating in the forseeable future, but of course I had to know my results. Without further ado...

The Maid of Honor
Deliberate Gentle Love Master (DGLM)

Appreciated for your kindness and envied for all your experience, you are The Maid of Honor.
Charismatic, affectionate, and terrific in relationships, you are what many guys would call a "perfect catch"--and you probably have many admirers, each wishing to capture your long-term love. You're careful, extra careful, because the last thing you want is to hurt anyone. Especially some poor boy whose only crime was liking you.
We've deduced you're fully capable of a dirty fling, but you do feel that post-coital attachment after hooking up. So, conscientious person that you are, you do your best to reserve physical affection for those you respect...so you can respect yourself.
Your biggest negative is the byproduct of your careful nature: indecision. You're just as slow rejecting someone as you are accepting them.

ALWAYS AVOID: The False Messiah (DBLM), The 5-Night Stand (DBSM), The Vapor Trail (RBLM), The Bachelor (DGSM)
CONSIDER: The Gentleman (DGLM), someone just like you.

The full results with pictures are here.

There you have it. Very flattering. I'd like to declare that I'm shocked by the accuracy. I'm a Love Master! This explains why I haven't been single for more than a couple of months since I was 14 years old. Or is it because I've always been terrified of being alone? That's probably closer to the truth. Fortunately I have sufficient charms to attract men without much difficulty. Then I hang on to them for dear life. Ken's the first one to consistently deserve the amount of devotion he gets from me.

My first boyfriend barely counts (poor guy). He was in grade 13 and I was in grade 9. He asked me to the prom because he was such a geek that none of the older girls would give him the time of day. I didn't like him all that much, but I sure did like the idea of going to the prom. He had sweaty hands. He kissed me once, but I wasn't into him. After the prom we went our separate ways.

That means that I've had 3 serious relationships, spanning the past 20 years. Call me Ms. Long-Term Commitment. It's a testament the the strength of my co-dependency.

The link to the test is up there, embedded into the results. Go ahead, take it! You know you want to. And I want to know your results!

Incidentally, my mother now has a brand new iMac sitting in a box in her study, all ready to be plugged in next week. The internet won't be hooked up for a few days yet. Our outing was successful and uneventful enough to be almost unblogworthy. There was one moment of panic, when my mom lost grip on her side of the printer box, and almost dropped it on the driveway. However, her cat-like reflexes prevailed, and with a bit of wrangling we got all the boxes safely inside.

Now we just have to figure out a way of hiding the cables so that the good-for-nothin' cats don't get it into their fool heads to chew through them once it's all set up.

I take it all back

After all my whining, yesterday turned out to be a gorgeous day.

I took a 2-mile walk, past quirky retail stores, over bridges, and along the edges of ravines. The sun was brilliant; the snow was melting. I knelt to pat a patch of emerald-green, velvety moss. I was sorry that I hadn't brought my camera.

I love this enormous, awkward, mixed-up city, with its generous network of untended parkland interwoven with the streets, homes, and skyscrapers. All I want to do in good weather is get out on foot to appreciate every inch of it. 1 degree Celsius in full sun is good enough for me. I don my parka and my hiking boots, and off I go.

Dinner at Mom's. The Dude says "Hi" to y'all, from his favourite cubby-hole by the kitchen table. Officially, it's the storage spot for my mom's placemats, but they don't get much use anymore because they're always covered in cat hair.



My mom got him going by scratching the outside of the cabinet near his rear end. He got a little over-enthusiastic turning himself around to find out what the noise was all about, and fell out, butt-first, onto the floor, taking a placemat with him. The placemat landed on his head.

I'm off to enjoy more quality time outside in the sun.

Happy Easter weekend!

Hurray!

The new bed is here!






I slept in it for the first time on Wednesday night. Or, more accurately, I lay in it for two hours, from 4:30 am to 6:30 am, after I got snored out of our mutual bed. It's a comfy mattress, but the sheets were too new and stiff, and the pillow is still off-gassing smelly chemicals. I fetched my old mushy pillow, which helped, but not enough for me to actually sleep.

I was even tempted to take my duvet and go back to sleeping on the couch!

On Thursday, to acclimatize myself to the new set-up, I spent the whole night in the new bed. This time I did actually sleep.

In case you're wondering, I don't have a 5' x 8' guest bedroom. (Although that's only slightly smaller than some of the bedrooms I've seen in the tiny condos they're building these days.) The bed is in a nook attached to the computer room (which, according to the floor plan, is the master bedroom, but we don't use it as such. We use the smaller, windowless bedroom for our mutual bed. Why waste one of our two windows on a room that's used only for sleeping?).

Did you notice that the alarm clock is on a djembe? I think it looks cool. It's not great for the drum to be used as a table, so I'll replace it with a proper night table soon enough.

Snowy Saturday

7:30 am: Wake up. Huh, what do you know? It's snowing.

10:30 am: Go meet my friend Zach for brunch. Wow, it's really coming down.

I walk to the subway station through ankle-deep snow. It's pretty, so white and quiet. There are hardly any cars on the streets. I enjoy the tingling cold of snowflakes on my face.

11:00 ish (OK, so I was a little late) to 1:20 ish: Brunch with Zach at the Pickle Barrel.

Just so you know, Zach is awesome. We've been friends since high school. In my tenth grade yearbook, he glowers at the camera from behind a curtain of hair. He signed it: "When I rule the world, I won't enslave you."

Zach made these guys for me many years ago. They are: Red Squid, Oonis, and Sammy the Snake. Oonis has a hole in the top of his head and so doubles as a pen holder.




Yes, Ken is cool with us being friends. He trusts me. The value and rarity of this kind of trust is not lost on me.

You'd think that at a restaurant called "The Pickle Barrel", you'd find the best quality pickles available. It may only be a garnish by the side of the plate, but it's also their corporate emblem. Zach and I agreed that in fact, these were the WORST pickles we'd ever had. They tasted like they'd been bottled in flavourless oil, instead of brine. Slimey and tasteless. Feh!

2:00 ish: Meet Ken at the bookstore. Take the subway downtown to the Eaton Centre Mall. It's still snowing, but I don't care much because I've been indoors since I got on the subway at 10:45 am. I love malls that are attached to subway stations.

2:30 to 4:00 ish: Bum around the mall. At one point, we ventured outside, but the wind threw such a flurry of cold, wet snow into our faces that we turned around and went right back in.

4:00 pm: Take the escalators up 8 floors in The Bay department store to the Cityview Cafe.

This is a quiet cafeteria with enormous plate-glass windows that look down onto the historical building that used to be City Hall. You can also see Queen St. (a main thoroughfare) and the skating rink at Nathan Philips square.

We chose a plastic-wrapped slice of pumpkin pie to share, and sat by the plate-glass windows, watching snow pour down heavily from an undifferentiable sky. A few brave souls were skating, although the snow must have been pretty thick on the ice. We watched traffic creep along. Tourists stopped to take photos of each other in front of Old City Hall. A pack of skinny teenagers waiting for the streetcar tried to have a snowball fight, but the snow was as packable as dry flour. They threw handfuls of it at each other, and it just blew away on the wind.

5:00 pm: Take the escalators down 8 floors. Bum around the mall some more.

6:00 pm: Take the subway to Yonge and Bloor. The shoe store I wanted to look around in was "Closed Due to Extreme Weather. Sorry for the Inconvenience." We went to Ginger for dinner.

Ginger is a Vietnamese, cafeteria-style restaurant. We sat at a table for two pushed up against a wall papered with a mural of a tropical beach. As we ate, the wind picked up outside and snow blew in a furious dance outside the windows. Whenever the front door opened, the wind gusted in so aggressively that it blew snow right onto my dinner plate, as I shivered under the image of a paper palm tree on a sunny beach.

6:30 ish: Time to get going. Outside it's snowing so hard that I laugh in disbelief. There are so few cars on the road that it feels more like 4:00 am on a weekday than Saturday night at the heart of the city.

7:00 ish: Walk home from the subway through calf-deep snow. The wind won't let up, and it's blowing a constant stream of cold, wet snow in my face. I am so over the snow by now. I am not enjoying the sensation, no sir, not one bit. Not the stinging of snowflakes landing directly on my eyeballs, nor the cold melt-water that's trickling down my neck.

10:15 pm: Draft a blog post about my day in the snow. It's STILL freakin' snowing!!

Not Knitting

My last few posts have been very sombre. My family issues are still at the forefront of my mind, but I refuse to let my Blog365 project become Sob365. So to take my mind off things and to be a more interesting writer, I will be breaking up the drama with other topics. Like this...

I wish that I had the patience to knit. I love hand-knit sweaters, scarves, socks, you name it. I love strolling through yarn stores, filled with gorgeous colours and textures. Generally, hand-crafts appeal to me.

But apparently this isn't enough to motivate me. Over the years, I have started three scarves and one sweater (knitted "on the round" with two colours of yarn), and finished nary a one of them.

The planning stage is exciting. Shopping for yarn, likwise. But sometime after row number 47 I start to get bored. My mind wanders. I try knitting while watching TV, and then I screw it up because I'm not paying attention. Eventually the project is laid aside on a handy surface, where I'm sure I'll go back to it in good time.

Time passes. The knitting project is eventually shoved to one side of the table/desk/bureau. When I can't stand to look at it anymore I stuff it in a drawer. From there, it eventually disappears. I don't even know where it goes. Maybe yarn gremlins come in the night to rescue it.

I keep knitting books on my bookshelf, even though I'm 99% sure I won't be attempting any new projects. My favourite is called Knitting Without Tears, by Elizabeth Zimmermann. Here are some examples of her distinctive writing style:

"Soft wool from the silly sheep can be fine as a cobweb, tough and strong as string, or light and soft as down."

Regarding celluloid knitting needles: "The famous old fire hazard, but why sit so close to the candle? Extremely brittle; not to be sat upon."

"The human being is so constructed that it can be completely covered by a series of shaped tubes... and we could, if he desired them, make long-johns for an octopus."

And finally, most applicable in my case: "If you hate to knit, why, bless you, don't; follow your secret heart and take up something else." And so I do.

A Few of my Favourite Things

When the dogs bite,
When the bees sting,
When I'm feeeeeeling baaaaaad,
I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel
so saaaaaaaaaad!




Spoon Guy is always in a good mood.





My plants. The Azalea is blooming!





My grandmother knitted this afghan that perfectly matches my living room. It's super-cozy.





The Neurofuzzy rice cooker sings Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star when you start the cook cycle. When the rice is ready, it plays some other song, which I like to call the Triumphant Rice-Is-Ready Anthem. Even if it didn't sing to me, how could I fail to love an appliance called "Neurofuzzy"?





Raggedy Ann was handmade for me when I was born, and was my constant companion throughout my childhood. She's wearing a dress that I used to wear. She's threadbare, half her hair has fallen out, she's yellowed, and she had a double foot replacement when I was in grade school, but she's still my favourite of favourites.

Because Resolutions are Made to be Broken

I am making one resolution this year, and you're looking at it. I have no idea if the Powers That Be are going to allow me to post every day, but by gum, I will try. If you would like to join Blog 365, you can sign up here. Last time I checked there were 500 nutbars on the list, and counting.

I usually don't wait until a new year to make resolutions. Once I decide that I need to make a change, I go for it right away. Putting things off gives me too much opportunity to worry and get bogged down in self-doubt. So I try to get everything done as soon as possible.

I call my strategy Anticrastination. See, it's the opposite of Procrastination. I don't condemn Procrastination. I am open to all philosophies of life. However, some procrastinators have taken offense when they hear how I do things. Any hard-core Procrastinators out there, may begin hating me.... now!

As for New Year's Eve, I'll be spending it on the comfort of my sofa this year. I am having some kind of issue with my sinuses. My face feels tired, like it just ran ten marathons. My eyes want to droop and my jaw wants to hang open. I don't think I could put on enough makeup to make that look attractive, and I also doubt that I'll be feeling very perky by midnight. We'll see. If I'm still awake by then, I'll be toasting the new year with Orange Crush.

Happy Celebrating, and Best Wishes for 2008!