Me, me, me

And speaking of The Amazing Race...what an exciting episode this week! The footrace at the end was so great, especially because Ray and Deanna lost. If I had to watch that psychopathic hyper-competitive so-and-so and his bandanas for one more week... Does anyone else think there's some male-pattern baldness behind ol' Ray's stupid bluster (and underneath his bandanas?)

Now, if we can only be rid of Meredith and Gretchen...Actually, Meredith is fine -- Gretchen has got to go. Every episode I say to D, "Can you imagine her as your mother?" Unlike the old couple on the last TAR series, these two have nothing going for them. Push them both down a cave-hole and then send them home, please.

There's really noone particularly interesting in this series, and only Uchenna and Joyce who I'd like see as the winners. Counting on Boston Rob and Amber for interest may have been a mistake, tho' they do add some much-needed zest to the proceedings, and it's funny to see people recognize them everywhere they go. I just can't shake the feeling that the producer said to Rob, "Okay now, be scheming and nasty, cuz we got nothing else happening this time" and that he is just playing a part that has been set out for him.

But it's still the best thing on TV, apart from "Now" on PBS (Fridays at 9).

Wanderlust

I feel so much like travelling. This time of year always does that to me. It reminds me of previous visits to England, and it's the time when we start to think of summer vacation. We might actually take a real trip this year, to Sandbanks National Park. Of course that will involve camping, so my hubby says maybe I shouldn't come. I'm not the best camper in the world.

Watching Amazing Race always makes my feet itchy. So far from this series, D and I have added Peru and Argentina to our list of future destinations.

Aaargh!


I just wrote a long post about the Easter weekend then promptly lost it to the mysterious netherworld of Delete.

I refuse to repeat myself, so I will write about something else: Jarping.

Jarping is an Easter tradition in my family, one that my mom claims is ancient and specific to the North of England whence my parents came to this new world. I have learned that a form of it is also practised by the Greeks and apparently it is also a tradition to jarp on the White House lawn each Easter Sunday, tho' I have no independent verification of that.

What's jarping, you ask, feigning interest? Well, it is a contest wherein two combatants take their hard-boiled eggs (recently found in the traditional hunt), lie on their tummies facing one another and roll their eggs towards one another until they hit. The one that breaks is out, and the unbroken egg and its owner move on to another round. The victor at the end wins something. Last year it was a figurine, the year before it was an actual medal, engraved with "jarping champion 2003". This year the winner was the egg belonging to our sister in Botswana!! In her place, one of the grandchildren wore a crown and had a crazy wedding march song sung very loudly in her honour.

This year the jarping had an alarming and very funny difference: The eggs weren't entirely hard-boiled! Every time one broke, a frothy white goo would spurt out onto the carpet. It was very funny, eliciting a roar from the spectators each time. My sister J. would scurry out onto the field of battle with a damp cloth and wipe up, while I yelled "Swweeeep! Swweeeep!".

All very amusing and raucous good fun, as usual.

Want to share your Easter traditions? That's what commenting is for!

I'm so gooood

Yay me. The sun shining through my windows has had many beneficial effects on me and my family. However, it also points up the sore need for a thorough house cleaning. Well, that probably ain't gonna happen, but I did wash all the floors today while the baby was down for her morning nap.

Washing floors is one of those jobs I don't do often enough, so that by the time I determine the need for it, it really does need doing. The benefit of this is a true ense of satisfaction when the job is done -- a transformation through water and soap! (and elbow grease)

In other domestic news, the big beautiful tree in our front yard has been cut down. It was sick, and was condemned to death two weeks ago. It looked so sad wearing its orange ring like a rattling chain around its trunk, signalling its status on death row.

Now it's resting in pieces on our driveway. I asked the tree killers to give me a piece of the trunk so that we could make a bench for the children. Sadly, he cut me the piece with that painted orange ring on it. Oh well. As my 5-year-old son said to comfort me: "Everything has to die, Mummy." Now we will have that orange ring as a reminder of that fact.

I'm looking forward to nurturing the new baby tree that will be planted in its place. It will grow big along with my children, inshallah.

Mem rees

I've had a song in my head for the last few days. It comes from the old days of my youth, when I was a part of the whole hardcore/punk scene. It's by a band called Minor Threat, and its lyrics are pure genius. It goes (sung in a shouting voice) "I don't wanna hear it, no you're full o' shit -- I don't wanna hear it, no you're full o' shit" over and over, until the end of the song, which is the line "Awwwww Shut up!"

Isn't that perfection? I don't know how anybody got through their teenage years without getting into punk.

Misc.


Sorry it's been so long, dear readers, but I had a wee problem with my sad old computer that prevented me from starting Windows for a few days ('til I figured out what was wrong and smacked myself upside the head, saying aloud, "Duh!").

Not a lot of time to post today, either, but I just spoke to my sister in Botswana and I feel great. I miss her so much, and talking to her reminds me that we are still sisters and friends and our relationship doesn't end because she's far away. We even discussed the possibility of a little business venture, which I will look into on this side of the world. I'll be sure to let you know if anything comes of the idea.

Any book clubbers out there, take note: Our next meeting will be at the new home of our tallest member on the weekend of April 9th, unless I hear that that's not good for one of you.

I read that article about Mtl bloggers in the Saturday Gazette, and all I can say is that it sounds like fun! I don't consider myself a blogger, really, since this blog is so personal and only holds any interest for my nearest and dearest. More of a blahg, really. But I can say in all modesty that it's not the most boring blog I've read. Still, maybe some more intensive news, reviews, commentary and links would make it a more satisfying thing.

Got an opinion? Tell me what you'd like to see!

I remember so well the days when the St. Patrick's Day parade was the biggest drunken day of the whole year for me and my friends in the hardcore scene. Fun and crazy antics and usually some degree of sexual promiscuity could be counted on.

Yesterday the parade day barely registered on my consciousness as I lay on the couch with my eyes covered, feeling like a hurricane was raging through my head, washing filth and debris down my neck and into my churning stomach.

That feeling used to be reserved for the day after the parade.

There is an older fellow on our street who chats with us every morning as we stand at the kids' bus stop. He is about 70, by my guess, and he jogs and goes to the gym every morning. (He is returning home when we see him at 8 am) He is funny and friendly and obviously loves children. He is a professor at Concordia and he is from India. He once told me "I could drink a whole vat of E-coli and not get sick; I grew up in India! I was raised on E-coli!"

He lives alone in a slightly run down Cape Cod house with an overgrown lawn and he doesn't rake his leaves in the fall.

This afternoon I ran into him on the street and he told me that he is off to Vancouver next week. "Oh, I hope you enjoy it!" I said. Then he told me that he is going to Vancouver because his whole family was killed in the Air India crash, and he is going to be present in court as they finally hand down a verdict in the bombing case.

He lost his two daughters, 11 and 14 years old, his wife and his mother-in-law. His daughters knew everyone on the street, they used to call everyone "Auntie" and "Uncle" and they were sweet and everyone loved them. That's what he told me.

I've been better, thank you.

Yeesh. But I won't be a downer here. Someone told me that they worried about me after reading my blog, because I seem so down. That surprised me! I tend to think of myself as a fairly positive person. Well, I guess it just goes to show that writing can reveal things you didn't know about yourself. I hope this blog isn't sickeningly depressing though!

Last night as I was lying in bed I thought about a time in my life where D. and I did something that took substantial gumption, and how it paid off with totally unexpected and lavish benefits. Wanna hear about it?

When I went to Halifax to do my master's degree D. moved there with me (that took a lot of guts, and was a great adventure for both of us, but that's not the brave move I'm thinking about). Once there, we found that we were in serious financial difficulty because my fellowship money wasn't enough and D. couldn't find a job to save his life. Since we had moved all our possessions 3 times in the last few months, we decided "hey, why don't we hire ourselves out as movers?" This despite the fact that we didn't have a truck, I didn't have a license and only one of us was a strapping young man. But we made up some flyers and stuck them up around campus, basically saying "Need a couple of extra pairs of arms to help move your stuff? Hire us!" And we actually got a call a few days later! A young woman had moved from another city to work in Halifax, where her boyfriend was, and her bad back prevented her from moving any of her own stuff. So we told her exactly what we could offer and she said to come on by on the appointed day. She would hire a truck and D. would drive it, and we would do all the lifting and moving.

The day came, pouring with the kind of sideways rain that only Halifax can offer. D. and I showed up at the woman's place on our bikes and wearing our best raingear. She looked at me and laughed, and said " I knew you were a girl, but I thought you might be a bit bigger!" I rolled up my sleeves and showed her my bulging muscles and said "trust me". We all laughed and got to work.

Well, she and her boyfriend were totally cool, totally nice, and quite taken with this couple of weirdos grunting and sweating on their stairwell. After the move we had pizza and beer and hung around talking, and as we left they asked if they could call us sometime and hang out. Of course we said yes.

This led to the very satisfying adventure of friendship with them and with two of their friends who hired us to move stuff in a redecoration. We were invited to parties, hung out and drank martinis and dissected Blade Runner from an architectural and literary perspective. All four of these new friends are among the coolest people I've ever met. The six of us even went out to a secluded beach in mid-winter for my first (and only) winter picnic, looking out at the ocean from a deserted gazebo, drinking hot chocolate and smoking a joint and talking about deep things, love and sex and religion and life and politics and architecture.

When our school work ratcheted up we spent less time with these two couples, and when we left for Montreal we lost touch completely. But I think of them often, and the vibrancy of my memories of our times together has the tinge of romance. D. and I loved our adventures that year, and of course we've had many since, tho' never with quite the same reckless feeling of "why not?" that we shared then.

Have you ever done something gutsy that led you in wonderful new directions? Do tell!

I know, I know, blogs with infrequent posts blow. Mine probably blows more when I do post, but what the hell, here goes...

I have had a hell of a time lately with very little sleep (resulting in a meltdown of epic proportions on Saturday night. My poor hubby!) and a sick baby (again!) and a very very very sick 7-year-old. My poor girl has a raging infection in her right ear and throat and sinuses. Her suffering is tortuous to watch, and I count the hours until I can give her her next dose of antibiotics.

At the doctor's clinic this morning, she looked so pathetic that total strangers were trying to help her. An old Iranian lady gave her a massage, taking her legs onto her own lap and stroking her feet and calves and speaking to her in, um...Farsi? Anyway, it was sweet. Nevertheless the wait to see our beloved doctor was awful. God how I wish doctors made house calls.

She has taken to saying the rosary, a little thing her grandma taught her during a sleepover last week. Her diligence about it is very cute, and I believe in prayer, even when you're not sure what it is you're saying. The rosary thing was totally lost on her younger brother, but he loves the crucifix. In fact he chided me recently over our move from our local Catholic church to the United church. He loved seeing Jesus on the cross and the stations of the cross. So did I as a child (still do, truth be told). One of my favourite movies ever is still Jesus of Nazareth. Have you seen it? An oldie but a goodie, especially at Easter.

But I like the United church. But, alas, that is a topic for another post. Farewell, friends!

Work and Work

This article was interesting to me, and encouraging. It also reflects my own experience at work. While I have missed out on full-time job opportunities because of my insistence on maintaining my part-time status, I don't think that it has diminished my chances of growing and experiencing interesting work, and I don't feel as though I am any less respected and well-thought-of because of my part-time status. Sometimes I think it works in my favour, because I don't have to take whatever work I'm offered and get locked into a job I don't want or that doesn't advance my career in the direction I desire.

I have made the choice to make much less money for the years when my children are little. It is a very pleasant surprise to find that I haven't had to sacrifice interest and at least some kind of advancement because of my decision to be a part-time worker and full-time mother. I am very lucky, and recognize that fact every day. I am grateful, and hope to give everything I can to both roles.

It can work, but you've got to be lucky and accept the fact that you are not going to have a lot of the material things that people tend to take for granted these days. That's not for everyone, but it has been good for us.