tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71598767385336038972024-03-13T07:56:36.080-03:00My Life on Two LegsWherein a sedentary 50-year-old learns to live without a car.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-11687211512894153502010-08-14T11:06:00.000-03:002010-08-14T11:06:40.881-03:00The coin of the realmThe evolution of language is an interesting thing. It gives us such insight into our culture and how our perceptions, etc. have changed over the years.<br />
<br />
A hundred years ago a woman who was well-endowed had a good dowry. Today, one who is so described has large breasts -- today's coin of the realm.<br />
<br />
Each has its appeal to men. Which, I wonder, is better for women? <br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-57897356558308375462010-08-03T17:09:00.001-03:002010-08-14T10:58:29.808-03:00Ontario: the new blackTrue story:<br />
<br />
Overheard at Tim's in Truro last Tuesday.<br />
<br />
A young guy approaches the order counter and greets the server whom he obviously knows. He proceeds to tell her that he has a new girlfriend who is pretty and very nice and he's happy with her.<br />
<br />
The woman smiles and tells him she'd love to meet this new girl. "Bring her in sometime."<br />
<br />
The young man drops his gaze to the floor which he examines with sheepish intensity. "Uh, well..." There is a long pause. "She's from Ontario."<br />
<br />
"Oh," the woman responds. "Well, as long as she's nice."<br />
<br />
Is Ontarian the new black?<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-70533516236297371042010-07-09T09:34:00.000-03:002010-07-09T09:34:47.794-03:00The Grand GestureI'm a sucker for the grand gesture.<br />
<br />
You know? That thing a guy does that sweeps you off your feet? Right. <i>That </i>thing.<br />
<br />
Like when I was in elementary school, a guy who liked me did all my yard chores -- while making his friends wait for him to play baseball.<br />
<br />
Or in high school, a guy I'd met only once walked six miles to give me a birthday present. It was the Led Zepplin IV album -- the one I really, really wanted.<br />
<br />
Or years later when a guy surprised me with a weekend away and took care of all the arrangements including childcare for my child.<br />
<br />
The problem with the grand gesture is that it isn't necessarily a knight's errand. It can be an empty display meant to camouflage any of a number of sins.<br />
<br />
Example: I've travelled all the way from XXX to see you but now I'm broke so can I borrow a few bucks?<br />
<br />
Care to offer a guess as to whether the loan is ever repaid?<br />
<br />
Moving on.<br />
<br />
Because I am such a sucker for the grand gesture -- it fills me with ridiculous girlhood thoughts of true love -- I try to overlook the obvious self-interest of such a not-so-grand gesture.<br />
<br />
This gets me into trouble.<br />
<br />
Lots and lots of trouble.<br />
<br />
I know. You're saying that I should smarten up. That there are plenty of nice guys out there who are a little less flamboyant but who would offer love, dedication and stability.<br />
<br />
If you say so.<br />
<br />
I mean, I've heard the rumours.<br />
<br />
But, in my life, they are like unicorns.<br />
<br />
Rare.<br />
<br />
Just kidding. I know unicorns are extinct.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-74033056346027599852010-07-02T10:51:00.000-03:002010-07-02T10:51:54.219-03:00Slow down you move too fastgotta make the morning last<br />
just kicking down the cobblestones<br />
something, something<br />
feeling groovy<br />
<br />
This morning as I was finishing the lengthy process of straightening my hair, I caught part of a CBC interview with Nicholas Carr. He has written a book entitled The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains.<br />
<br />
Research suggests that those of us who multitask (i.e. tweet, check email, etc while doing something of importance) over time lose our ability to focus for longer periods of time and our multitasking skills worsen.<br />
<br />
Carr explained that as we surf the net, our train of thought is interupted by the region of our frontal lobe that has to make decisions about where to click, which link to follow and so on.<br />
<br />
I believe his premise is that as this interuptions become part of the way we train our brains to work, we are less able to sustain deeper connection to our thoughts, personal experiences and what we are reading.<br />
<br />
There was an interesting post on his <a href="http://www.roughtype.com/archives/2010/06/the_pleasure_of.php">blog</a> about James Sturm, a cartoonist, who has decided to unplug for four months and write and draw about his experiences.<br />
<br />
Carr quotes Sturm:<br />
<blockquote>"Whether it's a sports score, a book I want to get my hands on, or tuning into Fresh Air anytime of day, I can no longer search online and find immediate satisfaction. I wait for the morning paper, a trip to the library, or, when I can't be at my radio at 3 p.m., just do without."</blockquote>This has also been my experience in having gone without a vehicle for 11 months. Life slows and you learn that all that stuff you once deemed necessary, simply isn't. That you don't really need that new dress, that you can go another day without something you're running low on. You begin to make decisions about which things (and people) are important enough to walk 40 mins or travel two hours by bus to see, do or buy.<br />
<br />
Sturm says that he's noticing more moments of synchronicity -- magical thinking -- that is easy to dismiss.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>"Are meaningful connections easier to recognize when the fog of the Internet is lifted? Does it have to do with the difference between searching and waiting? Searching (which is what you do a lot of online) seems like an act of individual will. When things come to you while you're waiting it feels more like fate. Instant gratification feels unearned. That random song, perfectly attuned to your mood, seems more profound when heard on a car radio than if you had called up the same tune via YouTube."</blockquote><br />
I agree.<br />
<br />
There is something to living slowly. To not having everything at your fingertips the instant you want it. To walking a couple of kilometres to meet a friend for coffee or to stroll home after a dinner out.<br />
<br />
Doesn't it make sense that we will begin to think differently as our experiences change? That our brains will begin to re-wire?<br />
<br />
If we are going to change our thinking -- not always such a bad idea! -- we need to at the very least be aware of what we're changing, why we're changing it, how it will impact us and whether we want that change.<br />
<br />
I'm not advocating a boycott of the internet. I love being able to find information when I want it. I am, however, suggesting that we give some thought to how we want our lives to unfold. Take a breath every now and again. Cook a meal from scratch, walk around your neighbourhood, check a book out of the library. Heck go to a music store and buy a CD just so you can look at the liner notes and read along with the lyrics.<br />
<br />
Take some time to enjoy your life.<br />
<br />
C<br />
<br />
P.S. In keeping with today's theme, I didn't check the internet to find the lyrics that I'd forgotten. Instead, I'll turn to you, dear reader. Can you remember the missing words?Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-66405207898554142022010-06-30T11:57:00.001-03:002010-06-30T12:08:32.513-03:00I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah!OK, this isn't about standing but as I was typing "I'm still walking" that Elton John song popped into my head.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I gotta say that I am pleased with myself today.<br />
<br />
No, nothing spectacular happened.<br />
<br />
It's just that I'm trying to continue walking as much as possible rather than being lazy and grabbing the car every time I have to head out.<br />
<br />
As you, dear reader, know, I picked the car up on Friday, ran some errands out in the boonies then returned home and the car stayed parked all weekend! Of course, that would not have been the case if the weather had been nicer because then I would have driven to a beach. But that's the sort of excursion the car is for, right?<br />
<br />
Today, I had errands to run downtown and I walked to them all. Bank, bank, post office, drugstore, video rental place. A total of 2.6 km. Not far, I realize, and it would be a bigger pain to drive everywhere and have to search for parking, but still. <br />
<br />
Not to mention -- but I will -- that I almost walked right into a guy with a walker urinating on the sidewalk. It was outside Starbucks at the corner of Spring Garden and Queen, for anyone interested. It's that sort of quaintness I'd miss if I'd been in a car. Sort of like walking around with an iPod permanently attached and missing the sounds of life around you.<br />
<br />
So yay me for not getting lazy and missing what my city has to offer!<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-11370135745018742592010-06-29T22:46:00.000-03:002010-06-29T22:46:00.600-03:00Provincial sillinessQueen Elizabeth is here for an international review of warships resulting in dozens of them being anchored in the harbour. It's so weird seeing all those grey ships just sitting there with smaller boats zipping around between them. The tourists line the roadways and shorelines snapping photos while RCMP guard the bridges, the LG's residence and protect Her Majesty's motorcade.<br />
<br />
Sort of gives me the creeps. The demonstration of our ability to annihilate one another.<br />
<br />
On the way home, after dropping my daughter off at work (which I can now do thanks to new, shiny car) the afternoon announcer on CBC was comparing the security in Halifax for the Queen's visit to the security in Toronto during the G20.<br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
They just can't help themselves. If there is a comparison to be made with Toronto, they have to make it no matter how lame it is.<br />
<br />
It was so more peaceful here than the events in Toronto.<br />
<br />
The undertone was that it must be because Nova Scotians are more civilized than Ontarians.<br />
<br />
Really?<br />
<br />
It wasn't more peaceful because say, it's the Queen and no one much cares that she's here? That there isn't much to protest about with the Queen other than the use of fur in the guards' hats or the redundancy of the monarchy. That issues like poverty, labour issues and women's rights aren't going to land on Her Majesty's doorstep.<br />
<br />
No one gives a damn that ships were inspected by an octogenarian highness. Many do care that the environment isn't top of the government's agenda.<br />
<br />
Crappy service and this ongoing pissiness about Ontario are the two things that make NS extremely annoying to me.<br />
<br />
Nova Scotians: You have a terrific little province. Be happy that such beauty surrounds you and quit knocking everyone else. You don't need to compare yourself to others. Travel once in a while. See the world. Enjoy it. Enjoy coming home again. Be generous in your compliments and sparing in your slights. Ontario is a beautiful place, a large place. It exists beyond the boundaries of Toronto and, believe it or not, people there are just as friendly as you are.<br />
<br />
I'll be glad when the ships are gone and these silly comparisons stop.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-53086273250738368702010-06-28T18:18:00.000-03:002010-06-28T18:18:28.764-03:00First the good newsI am often at a loss as to how business in this part of the world operates.<br />
<br />
This afternoon, I received a call from a building manager where I had applied for a three-bedroom apartment. <br />
<br />
"You've been approved," she said.<br />
"Great. I guess you'll want us in to sign some paperwork. What day is best?" I responded.<br />
"The apartment's taken."<br />
"You just said we were approved."<br />
"Yes. We have a two-bedroom coming available in August. Would you like that one?"<br />
"No. I want the three bedroom. Didn't you just tell me we were approved? Are you sure the apartment hasn't been takem by us?"<br />
Shuffling of paper can be heard.<br />
"Is your name Wilson?"<br />
"No."<br />
"What apartment was it? Number 111?"<br />
"I don't know the apartment number. It was the three bedroom on the first floor. The one you just told me we were approved for."<br />
"Was it 111?"<br />
"I don't know the apartment number."<br />
More shuffling of papers.<br />
"Didn't you just call me to tell me that we were approved for the apartment we applied for?"<br />
"Yeah, but that's taken. Do you want the two bedroom?"<br />
<br />
I couldn't make this up.<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-74995732405334633542010-06-26T13:43:00.000-03:002010-06-26T13:43:42.076-03:00Warning: Whining aheadI've been quiet of late... as the one's of sevens of you (phrase stolen from my son) who read this will know.<br />
<br />
It's been a rough month. Hmmm, year, actually.<br />
<br />
I've been flailing about, trying to figure out my life and what to do with it. Ideas are plentiful, yet it seems that as soon as I reach for one, my fingers fasten around nothing more substantial than a puff of air. Ability to create something concrete eludes me. Most certainly, my innate fear of commitment contributes to this lack of direction.<br />
<br />
If it wasn't for the realization that I'm running out of cash and racking up credit card debt, I'd love my life. I get up when I want, go to bed when I want, write almost every day, walk, do volunteer work, and hang out with friends and my kids -- actually, one kid now, but we have established long-distance family chats on Sunday nights to replace Sunday dinners.<br />
<br />
<br />
This week, I thought I'd finally made two decisions. I leased a car (goodbye car-lessness!) and met with a broker who seems to think I'd make a good real estate agent. He and I had chatted over a year ago and he's kept in touch since. I attended one of his staff information sessions on new construction and got a good feeling, so thought I'd take the plunge.<br />
<br />
It seems I can't.<br />
<br />
At least not yet.<br />
<br />
And so goes my thinking... I'll do it. No, I won't. I will. I won't. Ugh! I'm driving myself -- and likely those around me -- nuts.<br />
<br />
I apologize to all of you. You know who you are.<br />
<br />
I've even been to a guy who reads cards. I mean, really. <i>This </i>has become my method of a good life plan?<br />
<br />
He did suggest that I take stock. It seems like good advice so that's what I'm doing. Right now. Today. As soon as I sign off.<br />
<br />
I'll let you know what I've come up with.<br />
<br />
And for anyone wondering where my weight loss progress is at: Over the past five weeks, I've lost and regained -- thank you, Ben and Jerry's -- three pounds three times. I finally smartened up and have lost an additional two, bringing my weight loss total to 61 pounds. And, even though I have a car, I remain committed to walking anywhere within a reasonable distance. <br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-57999987024500551152010-06-16T10:19:00.000-03:002010-06-16T10:19:32.518-03:00The Big Republican ConspiracyI love American politics... hilarious. The Dems are blaming the GOP for the selection of the SC Dem candidate for Senate -- an unemployed and uncommunicative guy who lives in his father's basement.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://watch.thecomedynetwork.ca/the-daily-show-with-jon-stewart/full-episodes/the-daily-show-with-jon-stewart---june-14-2010/#clip313187">John Stewart</a><br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-53278613101802129472010-06-11T12:50:00.000-03:002010-06-11T12:50:33.551-03:00Girlfriends Part DeuxI went out to dinner last night with two dear friends, C and N. They were taking me out to celebrate my empty-nestedness.<br />
<br />
N is an empty-nester herself as well as having been widowed; C is a partial empty-nester and is in the process of completing her Empty Nest badge.<br />
<br />
It was great to talk about the unexpected heart-break of it with two who know what it is. I say unexpected because the heart-hurt is exactly the same hurt as the end of a relationship. The sudden welling of tears, the ache in the middle of one's chest. I though there would be a different quality to it but pain is pain, I guess.<br />
<br />
Once we finished discussing my son's move, we too moved on. From dinner and margaritas at Mexis to dessert and coffee at Salty's on the harbourfront to drinks and gambling at the casino. We had so much fun in spite of the fact that I've never been a fan of gambling. The morose faces of the denizens remind me too well of the seriousness of their game.<br />
<br />
But we three with our penny and quarter slots played our $20 or $30 and cheered when we won $1 like it was a fortune. (I played with $30 and with only 20 cents left won back $20 making the evening feel quite successful.)<br />
<br />
Good times, indeed. It was the first time I'd been out of the house in four days.<br />
<br />
Yes, I know. You don't have to tell me. Hibernating is not a good thing when you're feeling mopey.<br />
<br />
So, tonight I'm having dinner with another friend, Sunday is an Amnesty International workshop on the Demand Dignity campaign and on Monday afternoon my writing group will meet at my place.<br />
<br />
Hopefully, this will kick me back into gear. <br />
<br />
Thank you, dear C and N for getting me out of the house. I always have such a great time with you both.<br />
<br />
And the sun's out! What could be better?<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-89456441701920142602010-06-10T11:38:00.001-03:002010-06-11T12:34:39.872-03:00GirlfriendsI've been hibernating over the past few days, eating ice cream and watching early seasons of Sex and the City.<br />
<br />
I was never part of the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">SATC</span> herd. I only watched the movie (the first one) after it hit cable. It was lame yet oddly compelling. I began watching the seasons in reruns and then bought the seasons that I'd missed. I've now gone to see the second movie. (Save your money -- it's pretty bad.)<br />
<br />
What the heck is it about those four women that has us entranced?<br />
<br />
With the exception of the lead character, the women are largely one-dimensional. They fall in and out of relationships with an alacrity that astounds even me -- a serial monogamist. They fall in love with fashion with greater intensity than with the men with whom they have sex. (Maybe not such a bad thing.) They drink too much, don't do a thing to improve their community, are often selfish.<br />
<br />
So why do women like them? <br />
<br />
There are the fantasy angles: the ability to have access to and to afford high fashion along with the unending stream of men who are attracted to them and the cool jobs they have that never seem to affect their social lives. (This seems particularly unrealistic given that one is a lawyer and one is in PR. As a long-time PR practitioner, I can attest at having had nearly every vacation or night class and many dinner hours cancelled due to work.)<br />
<br />
All of this has its appeal. Fantasy is like that.<br />
<br />
But I like to think we are drawn to the story line more so because of the women's friendships. Through thick and thin -- men, arguments, divergent points of view -- they remain best friends. This is the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">lynchpin</span>.<br />
<br />
We've all been there. We start seeing a new guy and the girlfriends fall into secondary importance; we stop seeing the guy and, suddenly, swoop back into our pals' lives, hoping they'll pick up the pieces of our damaged hearts. We swear we won't do it the next time, but we do.<br />
<br />
The guy always comes first.<br />
<br />
I think this is changing with younger generations, but for mine, our lives were never considered as important as they would be with some man's attached to it.<br />
<br />
When I <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">watch</span> <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">SATC</span>, the ultimate fantasy is about friends. Keeping your girls close and your time spent with them sacrosanct despite anything and everything else.<br />
<br />
I guess that's why I've been indulging in some couch time with the four girls. I think it's fulfilling some need of mine to have my closest girlfriends with me when they are, in fact, very far away.<br />
<br />
So, to my best, best pals, B and L: this week we're being played by Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, as I fantasize about hanging out with you and drinking too much and eating too much and talking about <i>every</i>thing. <br />
<br />
Here's to best friends. No matter how far away we are or how long it's been since we've seen each other.<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-76506450932484966702010-06-07T11:28:00.000-03:002010-06-07T11:28:04.837-03:00Empty NestHey there! It has been a while, hasn't it?<br />
<br />
I returned home on Saturday after helping my son, L, move to Toronto. We stopped in Eastern Ontario for a few days to visit family and friends. It was so good to see everyone -- or almost everyone, but I digress.<br />
<br />
We left at 4:15 am on the 30th and arrived in Cornwall at about 6:30 pm. It was a long though surprisingly agreeable drive. I'd been afraid of driving through Montreal -- anyone who has been through there will know why. Think bumper cars on speed with construction and off-ramp vagaries thrown in. It turned out to be simpler than I'd remembered and I gained a new appreciation of drivers who leave the passing lane for people passing. Imagine!<br />
<br />
We spent a day with my Mom and then we were off to Ottawa to meet up with friends. I, of course, remembered none of the reasons why I'd wanted to move from there in the first place as I sat in the park with a good friend, inhaling the scent of mowed grass and listening to the breeze in the leaves.<br />
<br />
Although we moved almost eight years ago, most of the restaurants were the same. Certainly, the buildings hadn't changed. It was just how I envisioned it. And I got nostalgic.<br />
<br />
The next morning, we set out on the final leg of our journey to Toronto arriving there mid-afternoon.<br />
<br />
L's apartment was a bit of an oddity. A basement apartment in Little Portugal with a separate entrance that was built for gnomes. The interior floor was almost a foot lower than the exterior walk so bending was required to turn the door knob. Low ceilings, uneven floors and some missing construction (like rods in the sole closet) greeted us not too happily.<br />
<br />
The bachelor apartment had been cleaned so the kitchen and bathroom were spotless, but the floor was a disaster, covered with fine dust from sanding the walls. Three washes later, it's still not great. The screen and filter over the stove required two-and-a-half days of scrubbing to rid them of years of grease build-up and the washer smelled of old water. Only one window had a screen and none of them had been cleaned in some time. I screamed as an arachnid resembling a dock spider scuttled past.<br />
<br />
That first night was dismal.<br />
<br />
Sears had delivered two mattresses instead of a mattress and box spring combo, most of the furniture needed assembly, and we couldn't unpack clothes due to the missing closet rods. And, despite paying $100 for a five-block delivery, the bed frame had not arrived. We ended up walking in the rain to fetch it.<br />
<br />
After at least an hour on the phone with Sears, trying to get their mistake straightened out, I wanted to go to a hotel and tackle the mess in the morning. L talked me out of it. He came up with the brilliant idea to keep one mattress in its bag and to lay the other on top of it to create a temporary bed.<br />
<br />
I was delighted to have washed the bedsheets at home so we could make the bed and have something clean and fresh to sleep on.<br />
<br />
L was feeling anxious about his move. His eyes were larger than usual, his mouth tight. Was this going to work out all right? God, how I wanted to hug him to me and encourage him to move back home, but I didn't. I told him this was his time to try it out, to follow his dream, to be in <i>the </i>city for film. I hope I sounded sincere. The desire to be selfish and supportive were definitely crashing together in my brain.<br />
<br />
The next morning we started work early and by the end of the day had a rather funky looking bachelor pad to our credit. It's amazing how furniture placement changes the look of a place.<br />
<br />
L had a job within 24 hours of arrival. He is back to working at Cora's Restaurant after the recommendation of a former co-worker who had moved to TO ahead of him. He is happy to be able to work three days a week only to cover bills, etc, while giving him time for his writing. Gotta love the service industry, so much more lucrative than retail.<br />
<br />
On Friday, we hit a nearby <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">WalMart</span> and No Frills to buy the last of the essentials (like an ironing board and coasters) and groceries.<br />
<br />
That night we played cards something that we usually do with much hilarity but I was somber knowing in the morning I'd be leaving my baby behind. L admonished me to relish my new, independent life which made me snappier than I wanted to be. Of course, I will enjoy it. I just have to get through the grieving part first. What kind of a mom would I be if I was happy to get rid of you, I asked him. I think he got it then.<br />
<br />
I welled up a couple of times that night and in the morning, but am proud to report that I didn't lose it, didn't make him feel bad for his decision to move.<br />
<br />
And then, with a final hug, I was on my way to drop off the minivan and grab a cab to the Toronto Island Airport.<br />
<br />
With the exception of some knee-weakening turbulence over Ottawa, the trip was fine and dear friend N picked my up at the airport so I wouldn't feel alone.<br />
<br />
My daughter, H, is staying over most of this week in part to babysit me, in part because she's picked up a second job which is easier to access from my place than hers. After leaving for work this morning, she sent me a text saying that she'd forgotten how nice it is to wake up and find me there.<br />
<br />
So, although I am missing my son and there is a lump in my throat and my eyes are moist yet again, it seems that the empty nest mightn't be so empty after all.<br />
<br />
They do come back, don't they?<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-66297389315327594492010-05-15T11:02:00.001-03:002010-05-15T11:18:31.096-03:00Reminder: The Tavernier Stones Blog Contest!Gee, my feelings are hurt. No one has entered yet.<br />
<br />
Check out <a href="http://mylifeontwolegs.blogspot.com/2010/04/tavernier-stones-blog-contest.html">this post</a> for a chance to win a free copy of The Tavernier Stones by the talented Stephen Parrish.<br />
<br />
I'll also have to delay the announcement of the winner as on June 1st, I'll be on the road. So you have until June 10 to enter.<br />
<br />
And please do, otherwise this will be too humiliating for words.<br />
<br />
Happy reading!<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-73774084017261603842010-05-09T12:58:00.001-03:002010-05-09T12:59:27.167-03:00Experience being aliveFrom <a href="http://stephenparrish.blogspot.com/">Steve</a>.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><i>People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.</i>---Joseph Campbell</span></div><div style="color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Thanks for this, Steve. It is exactly how I feel.</span></div><div style="color: white;"><br />
</div><div style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;">Colleen </span></div>Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-33062869082193442122010-05-05T08:55:00.000-03:002010-05-05T08:55:54.363-03:00Coming 'round the bendEvery now and then , things get so busy, I have a hard time keeping the blog up-to-date.<br />
<br />
My writer's group has been especially prolific of late, five manuscripts (including mine) for review within the past two months; the IWK Auxiliary Kermesse for which I handle the promotions is three weeks away; and my son, L, is moving to TO next week.<br />
<br />
I am beginning the final MS edit today -- a paranormal story by a dear friend -- and once I'm finished that I can get back to editing mine based on the helpful comments of the writing group.<br />
<br />
As usual, I already know what I want to work on next so have to really focus to stay true to the current work.<br />
<br />
<br />
Add to this, the ongoing need to market my previous MS, job hunting, and the beginning of a brand-new chapter in my life (one in which I could completely re-invent myself, if I so choose) and there is an awful lot buzzing around my brain.<br />
<br />
To give you an example of my over-active brain, a few nights ago I was contemplating which life-path to choose while watching my favourite design show.<br />
<br />
I thought: Maybe I could be an interior designer. Wonder what classes are available.<br />
<br />
I got online to look. This led me to think about other summer classes and whether I might take a credit course at any of the local universities.<br />
<br />
Which got me thinking about a writing sabbatical abroad which got me wondering about working for aid agencies and traveling the world through this line of work.<br />
<br />
Do you have periods in your life when you feel like there is so much potential, so many options that they send you into mental paralysis?<br />
<br />
Focus. That's been my nemesis lately. If I have seemed a little scattered, it's because I am. <br />
<br />
I've never been indecisive before. Never. My second husband used to laugh at my Rambo-esque approach to life -- charge ahead, take the hits, charge again. He complained that my inner core was made of Indian rubber, that no matter what befell me, I'd bounce back with nary a scar.<br />
<br />
Of course, that wasn't true. Scars there are aplenty. It is true, however, that, with the exception of love, I have been fearless.<br />
<br />
I find this inability to make a decision is wearing on me, but I can't help but wonder what's around the next corner.<br />
<br />
How about you? Do you know what's in your future?<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-49031768749228169252010-04-30T13:51:00.000-03:002010-04-30T13:51:25.333-03:00The argument for carsSo, back to regularly scheduled programing: life without a car.<br />
<br />
The day before yesterday, my daughter, H, arrived, laundry in hand and with a stiff neck and aching shoulder. As a hairdresser, sore muscles and joints are cause for concern. She has to do what she can to ensure these issues don't persist. Let's face it, if she can't lift her arm to blow-dry a client's hair, her career could be in trouble.<br />
<br />
I encouraged her to get to a doctor and we left on foot to the nearest walk-in clinic -- no pun intended.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was a 20-minute hike -- no big deal except that she was in pain. When we arrived at 11:20, there was a sign on the door that said they were backlogged and would not be accepting anyone until after 1:00.<br />
<br />
Swell.<br />
<br />
Since H was scheduled for work at 3:00 and that without a car there was no way she could wait the 100 minutes, be examined and catch a bus in time for her shift.<br />
<br />
We opted for another medical centre, a 15-minute walk back toward home. As it turned out, this wasn't a walk-in clinic. Neither was the next one we tried at the IWK Health Centre.<br />
<br />
In desperation, we travelled back, past the first clinic we'd tried en route to the emergency room at the QEII complex. The emergency room has been revamped with a better triage and registration area. We were whisked through to an examination room in minutes. It was 12:50.<br />
<br />
We were finally smiling. This was going to be a breeze. <br />
<br />
<br />
A medical student arrived to give a preliminary exam and then returned for more mobility testing.<br />
<br />
And then we waited.<br />
<br />
And waited. <br />
<br />
At about 2:10, a doctor arrived with the student. As he walked into the room, his cell phone began to buzz and he excused himself. More than an hour later, he returned to a couple of pretty angry faces.<br />
<br />
"I had a chest," he offered by way of explanation.<br />
<br />
And we got that. We were in emergency after all.<br />
<br />
But what a difference that bit of knowledge would have made while we were waiting. We would have understood that he hadn't simply strolled off to take a call but was attending to someone in a worse situation than we.<br />
<br />
I realize doctors aren't in the business of client service. They are in the business of healing. <br />
<br />
Still, how difficult would it be to recognize that patients who are isolated in closed-off rooms without access to information -- or distractions -- are going to be less cranky if they're given a smidgen of info?<br />
<br />
In our case, H -- who had taken two muscle relaxants and was valiantly fighting sleep in order to be coherent when the doctor arrived -- could have napped. I could have gone in search of a magazine or crossword puzzle.<br />
<br />
In the end, it was sometime after 4:00 by the time we arrived back home. It had been a five-hour excursion.<br />
<br />
In addition to this frustration, was my feeling of impotence at not being able to properly care for my family. That we had to spend so much time walking and walking while my ex had the car that I was, in theory, supposed to be able to access whenever needed. In practice, this doesn't work. I'd have had to be able to somehow get it from him while he was at work. And then there is the fact that we're no longer in touch.<br />
<br />
I was in a horribly depressed mood by suppertime.<br />
<br />
And then I received a message from an acquaintance of my son's. This guy works at a car rental place and offered to give us the "friends and family" plan that will allow us to take a van for my son's move to Toronto at a savings of $1,000! Plus I can drop it off there for $100 rather than the $1,600 that some companies charge allowing me to avoid the two-day solitary drive home no doubt made while bawling my eyes out over my empty nest.<br />
<br />
How sweet can you get?<br />
<br />
So, thank you for making my day, Jason.<br />
<br />
I still want a car.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-70600338653714926852010-04-23T11:02:00.003-03:002010-04-23T11:16:49.912-03:00The Tavernier Stones Blog Contest!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4CGchlp_daY/S9Grtio1i5I/AAAAAAAAAGo/_25o1rxRNkE/s1600/web+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_4CGchlp_daY/S9Grtio1i5I/AAAAAAAAAGo/_25o1rxRNkE/s400/web+cover.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br />
Ladies and Gentlemen!<br />
<br />
To get your weekend off to a great start, I have a super-easy contest for you to enter.<br />
<br />
I have in my little mitt a brand-new, fresh-off-the-press copy of <b style="color: orange;">The Tavernier Stones</b> by Stephen Parrish.<br />
<br />
If you'd like to make it yours, here's all you have to do:<br />
<br />
<ol><li>Visit Stephen's blog at http://stephenparrish.blogspot.com/</li>
<li>Find your favourite blog entry</li>
<li>Post the link here in the comments section of this post</li>
<li>On June 1, 2010, I'll select my favourite of your favourites et voilà! someone will own a free copy of a great, new book.</li>
<li>I'll announce the winner on this blog and be in touch to get your address so I can mail your prize to you. (Yes, I will cover the cost of postage.)</li>
</ol>Odds of winning? I'd say they are pretty good. It's not like 1000s of people follow me. The bonus is that you get to read Stephen's posts. They're good reads.<br />
<br />
And the extra-super bonus is this: you will now have one of the needed tools to solve <a href="http://tavernierstones.com/index.html"><b>The Armchair Treasure Hunt</b></a> and be in the running to win a <b style="color: orange;">DIAMOND!</b><br />
<br />
How's that to add some excitement to your Friday?<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-331742286460375992010-04-21T13:53:00.000-03:002010-04-21T13:53:44.521-03:00LEARN something, damnit!I am in such a pissy, sorry-for-myself mood today and I hate that. I hate feeling woeful and whiny. If I could remove my own leg, I'd boot meself in the arse.<br />
<br />
I'm usually a very optimistic person. At least that is how I see myself. When something goes wrong, I know things will eventually get better. They always do. While I don't subscribe to the theory that "things happen for a reason" I do believe that opportunity abounds in challenge.<br />
<br />
It pisses me off that I can't see what the opportunity is. I feel like I'm blindfolded.<br />
<br />
If I wasn't so fucking flounder-y, if I hadn't been so fucking flounder-y for months now, I'd be okay. As it is, I still don't know how to dig myself out of this hole I so aptly dug for myself.<br />
<br />
It all started when I moved to this province, thinking I'd find <i>home</i>. I didn't. Nova Scotia has never seemed to fit me comfortably. But I did find space to write. Space that I carved for myself with little or no encouragement from my significant other. As long as I had money to cover my kids and myself for the year I was going to take away from work, he was fine with it. Taking time away from a paycheque was a bold step for me as I have long carried the mantle of being a sole-support parent. I felt brave. I felt that I was setting an example for my kids that it's important to follow your dreams. To take a chance on yourself.<br />
<br />
After some time off -- which turned out to be needed as I'd reached burn-out -- I returned to work, having found a job that would cover the bills while taking only half of my day. It was to allow me time to write.<br />
<br />
Then, over a year ago, I started getting these neck tremors. They seem to have no biological basis and, in the past, I have developed physical manifestations of unhappiness. That said, I thought they'd go away when I figured my life out.<br />
<br />
Neither has happened yet, so I can't prove my theory. <br />
<br />
The tremors aren't evident when I am walking or being physically active but when I am still. On the computer (like now), watching television, chatting with others. Sometimes I can control it; sometimes I can't. All that jerking around can make it difficult to read.<br />
<br />
I used to get tremors in my right hand making writing impossible so I learned to use my left. After seeing different specialists, it was determined that they were caused by some over-firing in a section of my brain.<br />
<br />
Those are now gone and have been replaced by this much more intrusive head bobble.<br />
<br />
It makes life a little difficult. Embarrassing even. People either think I'm disagreeing with them or that I have some neurological disorder.<br />
<br />
I thought they might vanish after my partner and I ended our relationship because ending it was a good thing to do. Of course, losing half my meager fortune to him was not. <br />
<br />
Shortly after the split, I quit a sucky job when they changed the terms of my contract without being willing to negotiate my rate. When I quit, I had no idea that I'd be this long out of work. I've never, ever been unable to find a job. In the past, with only one exception, when I've had an interview for a job, I've landed the job. It's what I do.<br />
<br />
<br />
Where do I go now? Do now?<br />
<br />
I wish I knew. <br />
<br />
And I wish I could figure out this big life lesson because I'm sure that is what this is: life screaming at me to LEARN something. But what?<br />
<br />
Fuck.<br />
<br />
CColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-20036961648923748632010-04-19T22:24:00.001-03:002010-04-19T22:25:32.578-03:00Installment VIWhile I was waiting for the boy's text message this afternoon, I had a call from The Brick. We'd been to a local store and ordered some furniture for him to be delivered to his apartment in TO.<br />
<br />
Should have been simple, but when I hadn't heard from the TO store to arrange the delivery, I called the number the sales clerk here had given me. <br />
<br />
It was indeed a number for a Brick outlet, but not the right one. They had no record of the order.<br />
<br />
I called my sales clerk back. Turns out she hadn't faxed the order in properly.<br />
<br />
The Toronto store and the Halifax store called me later to let me know that the sales clerk had forgotten to have me sign the invoice and asked me to go in.<br />
<br />
Now, those three or four loyal readers will know that I no longer have a car. (Long story.) It would take me over an hour to travel to the store by bus. My son had a brainwave. Let's go to Kinkos and fax it over.<br />
<br />
Great idea, son. Let's go.<br />
<br />
We did. We got the confirmation of successful delivery. We paid. We walked back home.<br />
<br />
The next day, I get another call from the Toronto office. They don't have the signed invoice. The Halifax store claims they didn't receive it.<br />
<br />
I shlep back to Kinkos, refax, reconfirm, repay. I call the store to ensure they have received it. They have so I leave.<br />
<br />
This afternoon I get a call from the Toronto store. Where's the signed invoice? the woman asks.<br />
<br />
At the Halifax store I say aloud. This is not what I was saying with my inside voice.<br />
<br />
Nope, she tells me. Hali says they don't have it.<br />
<br />
They do, I insist. Please call them back.<br />
<br />
She does. They do indeed have the invoice. The TO sales clerk explodes. My god, she says. How slow can they be there in Halifax? How long does it take to send a fax?<br />
<br />
Welcome to my world, I want to say, but I don't. I've become so used to crappy service since moving here that I barely notice it anymore. The high blood pressure and spewing of vitriol wasn't worth it. <br />
<br />
I'm really sorry for bothering you, she says. Delivery has been arranged with the landlady. Everything is right in the world.<br />
<br />
Back to real time, I have just checked the virtual flight view monitor on the Halifax International Airport's website and my son's plane is now over Bangor, Maine.<br />
<br />
He'll be home by midnight and then the real countdown begins.<br />
<br />
Eight days till the move.<br />
<br />
He won't know if he's made it into the film centre for two weeks.<br />
<br />
Keep sending those good vibes, gentle readers.<br />
<br />
And thank you.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-2941756552609672892010-04-19T17:13:00.000-03:002010-04-19T17:13:58.441-03:00Installment VI finally broke down and texted the kid.<br />
<br />
Turns out he got lost somewhere out in Greek Town and had a long hike back to where he needed to be. <br />
<br />
I've just gotten off the phone with him. He is already at Porter Air's lovely airport on Toronto Island for his flight home, proud of his budgeting for meals and transportation and tired.<br />
<br />
He thinks the interview went well although can now barely remember what was asked or said. He does remember that at least two of the panel were impressed with the quality of his script given how little training he has. He was also asked if his script was made into a movie which director would he chose to direct it. He said Mike Nichols.<br />
<br />
Anyway, he's checking in, going through security and calling me back.<br />
<br />
He'll be home about 11 Atlantic Time.<br />
<br />
And I have a going away party to organize.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-87879215746603409662010-04-19T14:40:00.002-03:002010-04-19T17:08:01.555-03:00Installment IVI'm sitting at the restaurant that my son worked at until last week, using my blackberry to enter thism<br />
<br />
I'm waiting.<br />
<br />
I hate waiting. I do it poorly.<br />
<br />
I'm waiting for my son's ex-boss to arrive so we can discuss his going-away party.<br />
<br />
I'm also standing by to get a text message from junior to let me know that he's out of his interview so I can call him.<br />
<br />
My legs are twitching. My hair is a ball of frizz from running my fingers through it. Hair product can only do so much. I'm not drinking decaf. That is a mistake.<br />
<br />
Could his interview have run one hour long? <br />
<br />
I'll let you know.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-53786984511623728472010-04-19T07:32:00.000-03:002010-04-19T07:32:48.882-03:00Installment IIIIt's 7:20.<br />
<br />
That's 6:20 in Toronto. Too early to send a morning greeting. And I probably shouldn't do that anyway. <br />
<br />
I hop out of bed, not quite remembering the list of things I have to do today.<br />
<br />
I'm alone. I think about this, feeling the quality of the apartment's stillness. Even though I often wake alone on the days that my son leaves early for work, today's solitude is different. I have to get used to this.<br />
<br />
Get laundry started. I make a mental tick against that chore as I shove dirty socks and towels into the washing machine.<br />
<br />
I had coffee with a friend a couple of days ago. She's another single mom. When our kid's leave, it's different for us, I told her. <i>Us</i>, as opposed to <i>them </i>-- married parents.<br />
<br />
She nodded. They're not just our kids, they become our social lives too.<br />
<br />
I knew she'd understand.<br />
<br />
This feels like a divorce.<br />
<br />
I have to shower now and get on with my day.<br />
<br />
There is a lump in my throat.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-15935016726571437712010-04-18T22:34:00.000-03:002010-04-18T22:34:58.737-03:00Installment IIMy son has been to see the apartment he rented over the Internet. It's nice and in a nice neighbourhood. Still needs cleaning and painting and the ceilings are ridiculously low, but the first two things will be done before he moves and the latter he can live with. Good thing we aren't a tall family.<br />
<br />
The goodnight text went like this:<br />
<br />
Me: Night<br />
Him: Night<br />
Me: Are you out?<br />
Him: No<br />
Me: Hope you're not too bummed (about not being able to connect with friends) and you have a good night's sleep<br />
Him: Oh, I'm fine! No biggie. Night!<br />
Me: Do you want me to call you in the morning or do you want to keep to yourself?<br />
Him: I'll keep to myself.<br />
Me: K. Text me when you're done (the interview) and I'll call then. Good luck. Not that you need it. They'll love you. All my friends on Facebook are sending you good vibes!<br />
Him: Thanks Mom! Will do.<br />
Me. Night. I love you.<br />
Him: Love you too.Colleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-60309083883068956772010-04-18T21:31:00.001-03:002010-04-18T22:35:34.878-03:00My Son and the CFCLive blogging, eh Becca? Here's the first installment.<br />
<br />
I was up this morning at 4 to bid my son adieu. He has made it to the interview round of the admissions process to the Canadian Film Centre. He has applied for the screenwriting program.<br />
<br />
He had to submit an original, full-length screenplay, two letters of recommendation and some other information to make it this far. Being shortlisted is such a big deal.<br />
<br />
The CFC was established by <strong style="font-weight: normal;">Governor-General Award</strong> recipient and <strong style="font-weight: normal;">Academy Award-nominated</strong> filmmaker <strong style="font-weight: normal;">Norman Jewison</strong>. It is located in Toronto in what I believe is Jewison's former home and lays claim to having "trained an incredibly disproportionate pool of industry leaders whose enormous impact on Canada’s contemporary media environment is immeasurable."<br />
<br />
The school foots the bill to fly the short-listed, out-of-town applicants to TO and puts them up at a bed and breakfast in The Annex, a trendy area of the city between Yonge Street and Little Italy.<br />
<br />
I am <strike>nearly sick-to-my-stomach</strike> very excited for my son. Attending this school doesn't guarantee success. No school can do that. But it does provide lots of opportunity to learn your craft and make industry contacts.<br />
<br />
My feelings, as usual, are more complex than this.<br />
<br />
I am also rather annoyed because, having just come from his bathroom, I can report that he didn't bring his shaving stuff. I mean why shave just because you have what is the single most important interview of your life up till now? Just because you're more than a little hirsute? Just because I said that you should?<br />
<br />
And his attire? Well, rather than wear anything nice, he is set on wearing second-hand clothes that he purchased two weeks ago. A rather hideous orange plaid shirt and a kelly-green and brown striped pullover.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry. It's really casual," he tells me.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sometimes the kid makes me nuts.<br />
<br />
And I can't believe I just wrote that. I sound like my mother. ARGHHHHHHH! <br />
<br />
Sigh.<br />
<br />
<br />
So, here I sit fretting and wondering and blowing my diet because this is the first night he is away and in 10 days, I'm going to have to get used to this really fast and I'm not ready. Not ready. Not ready at all.<br />
<br />
I've eaten four chocolate bars and half a bag of chips. I've eaten potato skins.<br />
<br />
Seven months of dieting and a loss of 55 pounds and I've eaten all that crap.<br />
<br />
I'm thinking of selling everything, getting rid of the apartment and going to volunteer in Africa.<br />
<br />
Sound like a plan?<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7159876738533603897.post-64057162010918072392010-04-15T08:47:00.003-03:002010-04-15T08:50:12.441-03:00Solve the puzzle. Win a Diamond.The Tavernier Stones is coming!<br />
<br />
A first book by author Stephen Parrish is about to be released on May 1st and pre-orders are possible via Amazon.com, Amazon.ca. and other online retailers.<br />
<br />
I'll get back to the book in a minute because in conjunction with the book, Stephen is launching a puzzler's dream: <span style="color: #660000;"><span style="color: #e69138;">The Armchair Treasure Hunt</span>. </span><br />
<br />
All you have to do is travel to <a href="http://www.tavernierstones.com/" style="color: orange;">www.tavernierstones.com</a><span style="color: #f1c232;">,</span> have access to the book and solve the clues to find the prize: a one-carat diamond.<br />
<br />
Does this mean you have to buy a copy of the book to solve the puzzle? No. You could get your local library to order one. I must say though that I want my own copy clenched in my tight fist as I work my way through to winning that prize.<br />
<br />
According to the rules, the diamond's clarity is SI2 and its colour grade is h. Stephen retains the right to replace the diamond with one that is "larger or of better quality."<br />
<br />
It's like being Indiana Jones without the threat of imminent death or the cost of travel.<br />
<br />
Not only does the hunt sound intriguing (Not to mention that it gets my heart pumping. I mean, c'mon a diamond for the taking?) but the book sounds gripping. I've already ordered mine.<br />
<br />
"When the well-preserved body of 17th century mapmaker Johannes Cellarius floats to the surface of a bog in northern Germany, and a 57 carat ruby rolls out of his fist, treasure hunters from around the globe race to find the Loast Tavernier Stones of popular European folklore. <br />
<br />
<blockquote>According to legend, Jean-Baptiste Tavernier was robbed of a priceless hoard while returning from his final voyage to the Orient in 1689. The hoard reputedly includes some of the world's most notorious missing jewels. Among them the 280 carat Great Mogul Diamond and the 242 carat Great Table Diamond, the largest diamonds ever unearthed whose whereabouts are unknown.<br />
<br />
John Graf is an Amish-born cartographer who has never ventured out of Pennsylvania, let alone embarked on an international treasure hunt. David Freeman is a gemologist who had done his share of prospecting, but little of it within the boundaries of the law. Between them they have all the expertise necessary to solve the mystery. They also have enough differences to derail even the best of partnerships. And ahead are more obstacles: fortune seekers equally qualified and every bit as determined<br />
<br />
The race spans two continents. The finish line is in Idar-Oberstein, the gemstone capital of Germany. There, in chambers beneath an old church, where unspeakable events took place in centuries past, winners and losers alike find answers to age-old questions about the Lost Tavernier Stones.</blockquote><br />
I am looking forward to reading my copy when it arrives -- by the weekend I hope!<br />
<br />
I expect that Stephen's background as a cartographer, gemologist and soldier will allow him to add a degree of authenticity others would not be able to.<br />
<br />
If you'd like to check out Stephen's blog go <a href="http://stephenparrish.blogspot.com/">here</a>. <br />
<br />
I highly recommend that you swing by www.thetavernierstones.com and order a copy of your book today.<br />
<br />
ColleenColleenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16467261140757042179noreply@blogger.com2