My Life on Two Legs

The coin of the realm

2010-08-14T11:06:00.000-03:00

The 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.

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.

Each has its appeal to men. Which, I wonder, is better for women?

C

Ontario: the new black

2010-08-03T17:09:00.001-03:00

True story:

Overheard at Tim's in Truro last Tuesday.

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.

The woman smiles and tells him she'd love to meet this new girl. "Bring her in sometime."

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."

"Oh," the woman responds. "Well, as long as she's nice."

Is Ontarian the new black?

C

The Grand Gesture

2010-07-09T09:34:00.000-03:00

I'm a sucker for the grand gesture.

You know? That thing a guy does that sweeps you off your feet? Right. That thing.

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.

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.

Or years later when a guy surprised me with a weekend away and took care of all the arrangements including childcare for my child.

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.

Example: I've travelled all the way from XXX to see you but now I'm broke so can I borrow a few bucks?

Care to offer a guess as to whether the loan is ever repaid?

Moving on.

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.

This gets me into trouble.

Lots and lots of trouble.

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.

If you say so.

I mean, I've heard the rumours.

But, in my life, they are like unicorns.

Rare.

Just kidding. I know unicorns are extinct.

Colleen

Slow down you move too fast

2010-07-02T10:51:00.000-03:00

gotta make the morning last
just kicking down the cobblestones
something, something
feeling groovy

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.

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.

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.

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.

There was an interesting post on his blog about James Sturm, a cartoonist, who has decided to unplug for four months and write and draw about his experiences.

Carr quotes Sturm:

"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."

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.

Sturm says that he's noticing more moments of synchronicity -- magical thinking -- that is easy to dismiss.

"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."

I agree.

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.

Doesn't it make sense that we will begin to think differently as our experiences change? That our brains will begin to re-wire?

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.

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.

Take some time to enjoy your life.

C

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?

I'm still standing, yeah, yeah, yeah!

2010-06-30T11:57:00.001-03:00

OK, this isn't about standing but as I was typing "I'm still walking" that Elton John song popped into my head.

Anyway, I gotta say that I am pleased with myself today.

No, nothing spectacular happened.

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.

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?

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.

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.

So yay me for not getting lazy and missing what my city has to offer!

C

Provincial silliness

2010-06-29T22:46:00.000-03:00

Queen 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.

Sort of gives me the creeps. The demonstration of our ability to annihilate one another.

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.

Sigh.

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.

It was so more peaceful here than the events in Toronto.

The undertone was that it must be because Nova Scotians are more civilized than Ontarians.

Really?

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.

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.

Crappy service and this ongoing pissiness about Ontario are the two things that make NS extremely annoying to me.

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.

I'll be glad when the ships are gone and these silly comparisons stop.

Colleen

First the good news

2010-06-28T18:18:00.000-03:00

I am often at a loss as to how business in this part of the world operates.

This afternoon, I received a call from a building manager where I had applied for a three-bedroom apartment.

"You've been approved," she said.
"Great. I guess you'll want us in to sign some paperwork. What day is best?" I responded.
"The apartment's taken."
"You just said we were approved."
"Yes. We have a two-bedroom coming available in August. Would you like that one?"
"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?"
Shuffling of paper can be heard.
"Is your name Wilson?"
"No."
"What apartment was it? Number 111?"
"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."
"Was it 111?"
"I don't know the apartment number."
More shuffling of papers.
"Didn't you just call me to tell me that we were approved for the apartment we applied for?"
"Yeah, but that's taken. Do you want the two bedroom?"

I couldn't make this up.

C

Warning: Whining ahead

2010-06-26T13:43:00.000-03:00

I've been quiet of late... as the one's of sevens of you (phrase stolen from my son) who read this will know.

It's been a rough month. Hmmm, year, actually.

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.

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.

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.

It seems I can't.

At least not yet.

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.

I apologize to all of you. You know who you are.

I've even been to a guy who reads cards. I mean, really. This has become my method of a good life plan?

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.

I'll let you know what I've come up with.

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.

Colleen

The Big Republican Conspiracy

2010-06-16T10:19:00.000-03:00

I 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.

John Stewart

Colleen

Girlfriends Part Deux

2010-06-11T12:50:00.000-03:00

I went out to dinner last night with two dear friends, C and N. They were taking me out to celebrate my empty-nestedness.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

Good times, indeed. It was the first time I'd been out of the house in four days.

Yes, I know. You don't have to tell me. Hibernating is not a good thing when you're feeling mopey.

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.

Hopefully, this will kick me back into gear.

Thank you, dear C and N for getting me out of the house. I always have such a great time with you both.

And the sun's out! What could be better?
C

Girlfriends

2010-06-10T11:38:00.001-03:00

I've been hibernating over the past few days, eating ice cream and watching early seasons of Sex and the City.

I was never part of the SATC 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.)

What the heck is it about those four women that has us entranced?

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.

So why do women like them?

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.)

All of this has its appeal. Fantasy is like that.

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 lynchpin.

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.

The guy always comes first.

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.

When I watch SATC, the ultimate fantasy is about friends. Keeping your girls close and your time spent with them sacrosanct despite anything and everything else.

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.

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 everything.

Here's to best friends. No matter how far away we are or how long it's been since we've seen each other.

C

Empty Nest

2010-06-07T11:28:00.000-03:00

Hey there! It has been a while, hasn't it?

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.

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!

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.

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.

The next morning, we set out on the final leg of our journey to Toronto arriving there mid-afternoon.

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.

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.

That first night was dismal.

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.

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.

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.

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 the city for film. I hope I sounded sincere. The desire to be selfish and supportive were definitely crashing together in my brain.

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.

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.

On Friday, we hit a nearby WalMart and No Frills to buy the last of the essentials (like an ironing board and coasters) and groceries.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

They do come back, don't they?

C

Reminder: The Tavernier Stones Blog Contest!

2010-05-15T11:02:00.001-03:00

Gee, my feelings are hurt. No one has entered yet.

Check out this post for a chance to win a free copy of The Tavernier Stones by the talented Stephen Parrish.

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.

And please do, otherwise this will be too humiliating for words.

Happy reading!
Colleen

Experience being alive

2010-05-09T12:58:00.001-03:00

From Steve.

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.---Joseph Campbell

Thanks for this, Steve. It is exactly how I feel.

Colleen

Coming 'round the bend

2010-05-05T08:55:00.000-03:00

Every now and then , things get so busy, I have a hard time keeping the blog up-to-date.

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.

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.

As usual, I already know what I want to work on next so have to really focus to stay true to the current work.

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.

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.

I thought: Maybe I could be an interior designer. Wonder what classes are available.

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.

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.

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?

Focus. That's been my nemesis lately. If I have seemed a little scattered, it's because I am.

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.

Of course, that wasn't true. Scars there are aplenty. It is true, however, that, with the exception of love, I have been fearless.

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.

How about you? Do you know what's in your future?

Colleen

The argument for cars

2010-04-30T13:51:00.000-03:00

So, back to regularly scheduled programing: life without a car.

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.

I encouraged her to get to a doctor and we left on foot to the nearest walk-in clinic -- no pun intended.

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.

Swell.

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.

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.

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.

We were finally smiling. This was going to be a breeze.

A medical student arrived to give a preliminary exam and then returned for more mobility testing.

And then we waited.

And waited.

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.

"I had a chest," he offered by way of explanation.

And we got that. We were in emergency after all.

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.

I realize doctors aren't in the business of client service. They are in the business of healing.

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?

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.

In the end, it was sometime after 4:00 by the time we arrived back home. It had been a five-hour excursion.

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.

I was in a horribly depressed mood by suppertime.

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.

How sweet can you get?

So, thank you for making my day, Jason.

I still want a car.

Colleen

The Tavernier Stones Blog Contest!

2010-04-23T11:02:00.003-03:00

Ladies and Gentlemen!

To get your weekend off to a great start, I have a super-easy contest for you to enter.

I have in my little mitt a brand-new, fresh-off-the-press copy of The Tavernier Stones by Stephen Parrish.

If you'd like to make it yours, here's all you have to do:

Visit Stephen's blog at http://stephenparrish.blogspot.com/
Find your favourite blog entry
Post the link here in the comments section of this post
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.
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.)

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.

And the extra-super bonus is this: you will now have one of the needed tools to solve The Armchair Treasure Hunt and be in the running to win a DIAMOND!

How's that to add some excitement to your Friday?

Colleen

LEARN something, damnit!

2010-04-21T13:53:00.000-03:00

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.

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.

It pisses me off that I can't see what the opportunity is. I feel like I'm blindfolded.

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.

It all started when I moved to this province, thinking I'd find home. 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.

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.

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.

Neither has happened yet, so I can't prove my theory.

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.

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.

Those are now gone and have been replaced by this much more intrusive head bobble.

It makes life a little difficult. Embarrassing even. People either think I'm disagreeing with them or that I have some neurological disorder.

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.

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.

Where do I go now? Do now?

I wish I knew.

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?

Fuck.

C

Installment VI

2010-04-19T22:24:00.001-03:00

While 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.

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.

It was indeed a number for a Brick outlet, but not the right one. They had no record of the order.

I called my sales clerk back. Turns out she hadn't faxed the order in properly.

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.

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.

Great idea, son. Let's go.

We did. We got the confirmation of successful delivery. We paid. We walked back home.

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.

I shlep back to Kinkos, refax, reconfirm, repay. I call the store to ensure they have received it. They have so I leave.

This afternoon I get a call from the Toronto store. Where's the signed invoice? the woman asks.

At the Halifax store I say aloud. This is not what I was saying with my inside voice.

Nope, she tells me. Hali says they don't have it.

They do, I insist. Please call them back.

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?

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.

I'm really sorry for bothering you, she says. Delivery has been arranged with the landlady. Everything is right in the world.

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.

He'll be home by midnight and then the real countdown begins.

Eight days till the move.

He won't know if he's made it into the film centre for two weeks.

Keep sending those good vibes, gentle readers.

And thank you.

Colleen

Installment V

2010-04-19T17:13:00.000-03:00

I finally broke down and texted the kid.

Turns out he got lost somewhere out in Greek Town and had a long hike back to where he needed to be.

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.

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.

Anyway, he's checking in, going through security and calling me back.

He'll be home about 11 Atlantic Time.

And I have a going away party to organize.

Colleen

Installment IV

2010-04-19T14:40:00.002-03:00

I'm sitting at the restaurant that my son worked at until last week, using my blackberry to enter thism

I'm waiting.

I hate waiting. I do it poorly.

I'm waiting for my son's ex-boss to arrive so we can discuss his going-away party.

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.

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.

Could his interview have run one hour long?

I'll let you know.

Colleen

Installment III

2010-04-19T07:32:00.000-03:00

It's 7:20.

That's 6:20 in Toronto. Too early to send a morning greeting. And I probably shouldn't do that anyway.

I hop out of bed, not quite remembering the list of things I have to do today.

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.

Get laundry started. I make a mental tick against that chore as I shove dirty socks and towels into the washing machine.

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. Us, as opposed to them -- married parents.

She nodded. They're not just our kids, they become our social lives too.

I knew she'd understand.

This feels like a divorce.

I have to shower now and get on with my day.

There is a lump in my throat.

Colleen

Installment II

2010-04-18T22:34:00.000-03:00

My 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.

The goodnight text went like this:

Me: Night
Him: Night
Me: Are you out?
Him: No
Me: Hope you're not too bummed (about not being able to connect with friends) and you have a good night's sleep
Him: Oh, I'm fine! No biggie. Night!
Me: Do you want me to call you in the morning or do you want to keep to yourself?
Him: I'll keep to myself.
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!
Him: Thanks Mom! Will do.
Me. Night. I love you.
Him: Love you too.

My Son and the CFC

2010-04-18T21:31:00.001-03:00

Live blogging, eh Becca? Here's the first installment.

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.

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.

The CFC was established by Governor-General Award recipient and Academy Award-nominated filmmaker Norman Jewison. 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."

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.

I am ~~nearly sick-to-my-stomach~~ 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.

My feelings, as usual, are more complex than this.

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?

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.

"Don't worry. It's really casual," he tells me.

Sometimes the kid makes me nuts.

And I can't believe I just wrote that. I sound like my mother. ARGHHHHHHH!

Sigh.

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.

I've eaten four chocolate bars and half a bag of chips. I've eaten potato skins.

Seven months of dieting and a loss of 55 pounds and I've eaten all that crap.

I'm thinking of selling everything, getting rid of the apartment and going to volunteer in Africa.

Sound like a plan?

Colleen

Solve the puzzle. Win a Diamond.

2010-04-15T08:47:00.003-03:00

The Tavernier Stones is coming!

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.

I'll get back to the book in a minute because in conjunction with the book, Stephen is launching a puzzler's dream: The Armchair Treasure Hunt.

All you have to do is travel to www.tavernierstones.com, have access to the book and solve the clues to find the prize: a one-carat diamond.

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.

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."

It's like being Indiana Jones without the threat of imminent death or the cost of travel.

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.

"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.

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.

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

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.

I am looking forward to reading my copy when it arrives -- by the weekend I hope!

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.

If you'd like to check out Stephen's blog go here.

I highly recommend that you swing by www.thetavernierstones.com and order a copy of your book today.

Colleen

Sexual piety as a mating strategy?

2010-04-14T23:25:00.000-03:00

Here's a new one... Sexual piety as a mating strategy or Why liberal atheists are smarter than pious conservatives.

From Psychology Today.

Colleen

Racism and Nova Scotia

2010-04-14T08:45:00.000-03:00

For anyone who likes to think that the issue of race has not been a problem in Canada, think again. We might not burn crosses on front lawns (although maybe we have, I don't know) but we certainly discriminate and did, indeed, have slaves.

Here, in Nova Scotia, the home of some who escaped via the Underground Railroad and Black Empire Loyalists, the divide between black and white is still intact.

This isn't a myth or my own meandering mind that says it's there. We have institutions trying to rectify the situation. The Black Business Initiative, the Black Educators Association, the Office of African-Nova Scotian Affairs.

These organizations are here because of the discrimination Black Nova Scotians face in the everyday world of ours. The bank loans that are harder to obtain than if they were white; the jobs that many believe are "white" jobs; the race-related violence in some of the high schools.

Sure, we Canadians pride ourselves on being polite. We don't utter ugly words in public. Usually. Yet they live on that side and we live on this side. If you're a white Nova Scotian, just try smiling and saying hello to a black Nova Scotian and guage the response. If you're like me, most times there is no smile given in response.

There are reasons for this.

In today's Chronicle Herald, a story ran about an apology that will be issued to Viola Desmond, a black business woman who, in 1946 was arrested, fined and jailed for refusing to leave the white-only section of a movie theatre.

Government refers to this sort of apology as a Royal Prerogative of Mercy Free Pardon.

I have no idea what that means. I speak English. I understand the words but what is mercy free pardon?

A mercy-free pardon? That sounds bad.

A mercifully and freely given pardon? That interpretation requires too much finagling.

Whatever the meaning, it won't matter a bit to Viola who is already dead though it might be welcomed by her family and may resonate within the Black community of NS.

If you're interested, the story is here.

Colleen

Recurring nightmares

2010-04-06T19:17:00.000-03:00

Recurring nightmares.

Do you have them?

I do.

Had one last night, actually. And now I completely forget it. Which is really annoying because if I could remember it long enough to figure out the message, it would vanish. That's the way it works for me.

I used to have one where bad guys were chasing me and various members of my family. Guns were blazing, bullets landing all around us. We were in serious danger of being killed. We had one thing in our favour, however, my ability to fly. Hang on to me, I'd yell at said family persons, and I'll get us out of here. They'd grab onto my clothing and I'd run and run but they weighed me down and I couldn't get off the ground. I'd get so tired trying to lift-off but I'd keep trying. It was a terrible dream because if we didn't get out of there, we'd be killed and it would be my fault because I didn't save them.

Not a hard message to sort out, you may be thinking.

Sadly, it was. Took me years but when I did, I never had that dream again.

Or the one where I kept trying to tell everyone that my dad wasn't really my dad. He was an impostor but no one would listen to me. They thought I was nuts and I couldn't believe they couldn't see the coldness in his eyes. At the end of the dream, he would turn into a witch on a broomstick and ride around the living room. It was terrifying and I'd wake up in a panic.

My dad wasn't a warlock (do warlocks use brooms?) but I was the kid that would point out the elephant in the room while the rest of my family would tell me I was being overly dramatic.

Am I dramatic? I suppose that's one way to describe me. I like to think of myself as being animated or passionate. Enthusiastic. But tomato, tomato.

Have there been some big elephants hanging out in corners? Yup. Though you'd never know it by the serious deniers in the crowd.

So, here I am trying to remember a dream that was so vivid to me early this morning so I can banish it forever.

One of these days, when I'm ready for the lesson, it'll come to me.

Colleen

After the novel is written

2010-04-05T12:42:00.000-03:00

The 12 Easy Steps by Eric at Pimp My Novel

A nice synopsis of the process that takes place after you finish writing.

Thanks, Eric!

Colleen

Does the Right ever get tired of looking stupid?

2010-04-03T08:42:00.000-03:00

Roger Ebert's blog on Texas school books.

Some ~~scientist~~ guy-in-a-lab-coat explaining away that wacky theory of evolution.

Sarah Palin's Real American Stories and the LL Cool J bungle. (Watch the video clip at the end of article.)

It's pretty nice when they make the argument for you.

Colleen

The real reason I don't get things done as quickly as I might

2010-04-02T08:06:00.000-03:00

And for anyone with really great eyesight, yes, that is Erica Orloff's blog open on my screen. As I read her mention of the state of her desk, it was impossible not to notice the disaster of my own.

Colleen

Why I Hate My BlackBerry

2010-04-01T12:29:00.000-03:00

I bought a BlackBerry in January or maybe it was December. I wasn't hankering for one, but my cell phone was on its last legs and I am impulsive enough that a sales clerk found me to be easy picking.

As with every new keyboard, regardless of size or device, you have to get used to the layout. QWERTY only helps you locate letters. The feel of the keyboard, where commands keys are located, the agility of the trackpad/ball are things the user has to acclimatize herself to.

I thought I had set up the software for my BB and was becoming increasingly frustrated at not being able to find a menu or to be able to save photos to my computer.

Turns out, I hadn't downloaded the software. How can this be?

I am no techie, that's for sure. I am used to using technology, however, and can usually figure out whatever I am using on my own. This morning I decided to sort it all out.

Stabbing my eyes with a pen would have been more enjoyable.

Because executing the file isn't a seamless process. You have to scan a screen of small print to locate the download button. Sure it's in red, but it's small, over to the side and I am not used to having to do this next step when I pop a CD into my computer for execution.

I had to try the reinstall three times before I figured out what my problem was, was led to online tutorials that I didn't want in hopes of finding a main menu, and the process takes way too long -- so much so that I am doing this on my laptop waiting for the damn softwear to install.

Next, the keyboard. The little keys have a divot at one corner to enhance accuracy, but there is no number lock key to help me key in numbers without having to hit the alt key before every number. The alt key is also located beside the number keys resulting in two thumbs trying to operate in a one-thumb zone.

The ring tone and vibrate don't always work resulting in missed calls.

The back light fades for no reason and only on occasion.

The application icons aren't distinct enough from each other to be really helpful.

Why didn't I hold out for an iPhone?

Colleen

Oh, my mother!

2010-03-29T08:39:00.001-03:00

In response to a previous post, blogging buddy Cheryl suggested I have a look at ancestry.ca to find out about my ancestors which I have done. It's rather addicting to say the least. Hours slip by as minutes.

I've managed to add many names to the little squares in my family tree. The one that has had the biggest impact on me to date was my paternal grandfather. His name was Emile. I'd never known that.

My father was born in 1917 and was raised by a single mom and her parents on a farm in northern Ontario. The story goes that grandmother married grandfather against family wishes and within short order, but not before becoming pregnant, she discovered he was a heroin addict and gave him the boot. Admitting defeat and returning to her parents' home must have been difficult for this woman who by all accounts was a force to be reckoned with. She never remarried and my father only met his father when he turned 21. They never formed a relationship, seeing each other only twice before Emile died.

The names of these grandparents were never spoken in our home. They had both died before I came along so I didn't consider not knowing about them to be unusual.

I did, however, miss having grandparents for my mother's parents had also died before I was born.

Being able to put a name to this disgraced grandpa was really something.

I was talking over the phone about this with my mother last night, once more lamenting that somewhere along the way Dad's family tree that he'd had done back in the 70s had been lost.

"Oh, I have that," she said.

Oh, you have those? I've only been asking for them for 29 years! Twenty-nine years. Plus she knows that I'm tracing the family tree now and never offered them up. Mom, geez!

"How many times have I said I wish I had them?" I asked her. "And you know what I'm working on and it never twigged with you to give them to me?"

ARRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

That said, it seems one of the trees has been lost as she only has the one from my paternal grandmother's side of the family and both sides had been done. I'll be visiting her at the end of next month and will hunt for the other.

To be fair to Mom, and some days that's harder than others, she is trying much harder with me than she ever has. Over the course of my life with her, she has been so self-absorbed that I can well believe she never once heard me regretting the loss of the missing information. Now in her 80s, we've come to a new stage in our relationship, at my insistence, and I can tell she makes notes when we talk so that she remembers to ask about things in my kids and my lives when we speak. Good for her. Really. It can't be easy to change after eight decades.

So way to go, Mom. I appreciate your effort.

Anyone have any family stories to share?

Colleen

An Open Letter to Americans

2010-03-26T09:19:00.002-03:00

I am begging you to explain your country's fear of universal health care. I do not get this at all.

With the passage of the health-car reform bill in the U.S., it seems the debate is far from over and the crazies are becoming even crazier than before. From Sarah Palin's website that paints cross-hairs over the states that supported the bill to people making threatening phone calls, it all seems surreal.

Even, conservative pundit David Frum was fired from a right-wing think tank for disagreeing with the conservative approach to health-care reform. This is the sort of thing he has said that got him into trouble.

“In a democracy, there are competing teams, and each team has to bring its best game to the table ... health-care reform is here to stay, it isn't going to be repealed, and it was within our grasp to help formulate it and we failed to do so. Instead, we decided to do whatever we could to make Democrats look wicked and evil.”(Today's Globe and Mail)

So he gets fired for being reasonable because that is not the conservative way, apparently.

Why are people so upset about this issue?

The U.S. currently pays more of its GDP for health care than does Canada yet it has worse outcomes. You pay almost twice as much per capita as France, almost 2.5 times as much as Britain. As a matter of fact, the U.S. pays a higher percentage on health care than any other country yet does considerably worse on basic measure of health performance (life expectancy and infant mortality.) As an example, the U.S. has the same infant mortality rates as Malaysia -- a country whose average citizen earns 1/4 that of an average American. Being born into an uninsured household in the U.S. increases the probability of dying before the age of one by about 50 per cent.

It's not that the Canadian system is perfect. It has many flaws. I don't think anyone would disagree with that. I'd like my country to look across the Atlantic to countries like Sweden and France to see how we could improve on ours. But I'd never want to lose what I already have.

Though I am no expert, I have lived with a government-lead system my whole life so I am at least semi-qualified to explain it. Here is the low-down on Canadian health care.

In Canada, no one loses his or her life savings for becoming ill. Our emergency care is second-to-none. If you show up in dire straits and need care, you'll get the best in the world. No one has to approve required tests or procedures. That's between you and your doctor.

If you require palliative care, you get it. If you require a transplant, you go on the list. You don't need to prove that you have $1 million in your bank account to afford the after-care needed before you can go on the list. You get to see your doctor whenever you need to. No one gets to approve or disapprove of your visit. Mammograms, checkups, blood work, etc. It's all covered.

Our health care does not cover prescription drugs however, seniors and those on welfare receive theirs free. Some provinces also have plans for the working poor. Our drugs are cheaper than yours. We can use generic ones which is why American seniors flock to Canada (yes, there are even bus tours for this) to buy their prescriptions.

In Canada, no one tells you which health care provider to see. We choose our own.

It is true that there are caps set on certain government-covered services such as eye exams that are paid for every two years. This doesn't stop anyone from electing to go more frequently. You would just pay out of your own pocket for more regular visits.

Again, no one tells you what you can or can't do.

Like you, we also have privatized coverage. Many employers offer additional coverage to their employees. Costs are often split between employer and employee 50/50. As with your privatized plans, this is where we run into the issue of someone telling us we can't have something because it isn't covered. Still no insurance company can tell us which health-care provider to see.

For anyone who is interested, here is a link to Health Canada. It's not the best website in the world, but it gives you an idea of what is covered.

There are two main downsides to the Canadian system as I can see. The first is cost. Unlike many, I disagree with the statement that we are spending too much. Between 1992 and 2006, spending rose from 10 to 10.3 per cent per capita. That's hardly the spending spiral we've been led to believe.

However, and this leads me to problem #2, we do need to look at better models of health care and avoid looking south of the border when we do. We have to shift our system to one that focuses on prevention and education. Shifting to a community-based model would be wonderful. We all know that if we decrease smoking and obesity, for example, our health outcomes would be better and cost us less. (The same idea as spending money on education decreases spending on prisons.)

So, according to me, the Canadian system needs some creativity applied to improve our delivery and results.

Now it's your turn.

Tell me why the American people are so frightened of having their less-than-stellar system modified? Why are they frightened of taking power away from HMOs and keeping it for themselves? Why don't they want to save a bit of money?

It's time for those of you who want health care reform to get vocal. Write and call your representatives. Make sure that the only voices heard aren't those of the opponents.

Lucy! You got some 'splaining to do.

Colleen

Ann Coulter Uncovered

2010-03-25T09:11:00.000-03:00

I promise this is my last post about Ann. I just had to share an epiphany I had this morning about her.

The CBC introduced a piece on the furor (fuhrer?) Coulter is causing in Canada by calling her a performance artist.

Now I get it. I guess I've been a little slow on the uptake. I could not fathom her shtick, how anyone could believe the things she says she believes, how hate-filled one person could be.

But it's performance art. Like that woman who made a dress out of meat.

Just you wait. In a couple of years, she will unveil herself as a left-wing provocateur and dash what is left of the right.

Brilliant.

Colleen

Ann Coulter Kicked Out of Ottawa

2010-03-24T08:45:00.001-03:00

Well, my, my my.

Ann Coulter was kicked out of Ottawa.

I never would have guessed that it was possible. Not that people would want her gone, but that Canadians, renowned for our apathy, would be so bold.

Here's what happened.

Coulter spoke in London on Monday and the Globe and Mail reported she said things like this:

There are two things gay men can’t do – “get married to each other” (She knew she was in Canada where this is legal, right?) and “throw a baseball without looking like a girl.” (I wonder how girls who play ball feel about this one?)

And that she thinks feminists, gays and illegal aliens all want to be black as they complain their rights are being attacked in the same way the rights of African-Americans once were.

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks, she had joked that Muslims denied air travel should take “flying carpets.” When the student challenged that remark, Ms. Coulter told her to take a “camel,” adding that, “I thought it was just American public schools that produced ignorant people.”

When she showed up at the U of Ottawa yesterday, there was a very boisterous crowd demonstrating against her. She cancelled her speech when organizers decided it wasn't safe for her to speak.

Not safe to speak in Ottawa?

Anyone who knows Ottawa would find that comical. (Right, Becca?)

Her response?

“It's at the absolute bush league, bottom of the barrel schools that you get the worst treatment and yet and still I've never seen this before,” she said.“I'm guessing the scores to get into the University of Ottawa are not very challenging.”

According to the daily newspaper:

Riding a wave of controversy over her speaking tour of Canada, Ms. Coulter told CTV news earlier yesterday that she’s being treated unfairly here because she’s conservative.

No, Ann. You're being treated this way because you are a bigot. There are lots of conservatives who could speak freely. I am happy to report you aren't considered to be of their standard.

Colleen

A rant about your fave and mine: Ann Coulter

2010-03-23T13:07:00.000-03:00

I usually have a rule about ignoring the ravings of the insane, but today I am making an exception.

You see, Ann Coulter is appearing on my home turf for a series of speaking engagements this week.

Why, Canada, why?

I believe in a fair and intelligent exchange of ideas. I believe that people who disagree with me should be heard. I also believe that Ann Coulter does not contribute to the former and is too headline hungry to represent the latter.

At $10,000 per engagement, our universities could have selected a better speaker to represent conservative views. What about Meghan McCain, for example?

Do we have to give a platform to every nut out there to ensure freedom of expression? Sure, you may be saying, but who will make that decision?

Given that the provost of Ottawa U, where Coulter is appearing tonight, felt the need to write a letter to encourage Coulter to brush up on Canada's free speech laws, I suspect this one speaker might have been an easy call.

According to today's Globe and Mail:

"After mentioning the Charter of Rights and Canada's free speech laws, Mr. Houle invited Coulter to 'educate yourself, if need be, as to what is acceptable in Canada” and noted, by example, that “promoting hatred against any identifiable group would not only be considered inappropriate, but could in fact lead to criminal charges'"

This apparently led Coulter to email newsmax.com (a conservative online news site) that “The provost of the u. of Ottawa is threatening to criminally prosecute me for my speech there on Monday – before I've even set foot in the country!”

Coulter is known, at least in my country, for saying Canada is: “"lucky we allow them to exist on the same continent' after the Canadian government refused to join the 2003 invasion of Iraq." (G&M)

The Globe also prints two other Coulter bons mots:

'“not all Muslims may be terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslims,'

and

'the government should be spying on all Arabs, engaging in torture as a televised spectator sport, dropping daisy cutters wantonly throughout the Middle East, and sending liberals to Guantanamo.'"

Aside from the obvious inaccuracy of the first statement, in Canada, both could be interpreted as propagating hate, which is against the law.

I wonder if the guy who flew his plane into a federal building a few weeks ago would even stand a chance at not being labeled a terrorist if he was Arabic or Muslim.

C'mon Ann. I know you like to stir the pot, but would a bit of accuracy hurt now and again?

And to Canadian Universities: yes, we must promote discussion. Is this our best attempt to do so?

Colleen

Uncovering roots

2010-03-19T22:50:00.001-03:00

I've been watching Lisa Kudrow's new show Who Do You Think You Are? with fascination. There is something about tracing family roots that I find compelling. I think it has something to do with finding a sense of history, of continuation. A sense of home.

I imagine this is because of my feelings about my own impermanence.

It may have something to do with the fact that my family moved every few years as I was growing up. It may also have to do with my own loss of family when I was five and again when I was 12.

My older siblings and my younger sister and I do not share the same mother. Our lives have been completely different from each other. The oldest three were raised French-speaking and Catholic. My sister and I were raised English speaking and atheist. They were poor. We were middle class. They didn't have a father around because we had him.

Before I was born, the three of them came to live with us. It had to have been a strained situation for them, to say the least. My mother was the Jezebel who had stolen their father away, or so they had been raised to believe.

They lived with us after I was born and for the first five years of my life. At least the boys did. My older sister had gone back to live with her mother sometime during that period. Exactly when, I am not sure. I have no recollection of her although she was the one who picked my middle name.

My older brother was the next to leave for work and then marriage.

It was my other brother, Gilbert, whom I idolized.He was the middle kid of the first family. Born with a club foot, he spent years in and out of Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. Back then, there were no accommodations for parents to stay near their children so his mother couldn't visit. Although Mom and Dad went to see him, it wouldn't have been the same as things are today for hospitalized kids. He must have been so alone. He was the one who struggled the most in school. He was the kid who grew to love my mom. That couldn't have been easy for him either.

While most little girls go through a phase when they want to marry their fathers, I wanted to grow up and marry Gil.

When I was about four, he bought me a white bathrobe. It had three-quarter length sleeves with layer upon layer of white lace from the elbows down capped by a single band of red velvet. The belt was a piece of red velvet ribbon. It made me feel like I was a fairy princess.

When I was three or four at dinnertime, Gil noticed that I was fiddling with my peas. I hated them and he knew I did. He also knew that if I didn't eat them, I might be at the table for a long time. He promised that if I ate them all, he would take me on his ship. I wolfed them down and he was true to his word. When the day come for my parents to take me on board, I was excited and hopped around his cabin waiting for his shift to end. After some time, a tall black man entered and laughed when I didn't recognize him.He showered and there he was, my big brother. While I pictured him as a captain, he worked in the engine room shovelling coal.

When I was five, my older siblings had a disagreement with our father and vanished from our lives. In a second, they were gone. I didn't know why. I don't know if I ever asked.

I was, at some point, instructed not to talk about them. In grade two, when the class was given an assignment to write a story entitled All About Me, I began by listing the names of my siblings. My mother made me erase it and start again leaving them out. She said that other people won't understand divorce or step-families.

It was a few years before I saw them again. Contact was first made with my oldest brother. Some time later, as we were en route to our new home in northern Quebec, we stopped in northern Ontario to see my sister. She pleaded with us to call Gil. My father acquiesed but when Gil asked us to visit him, my father refused.

It was the last time we spoke with him.

He killed himself the next year. His funeral was on September 4, 1971, my twelfth birthday.

I remember people saying how awful he looked in his casket. That his skin was blue from asphyxiation. I thought he looked beautiful.

I remember too that I felt guilty for not having argued with my father that day when we talked to Gil on the phone. I remember wanting to, but holding my feelings inside. That's what good girls do.

It was a long time before I stopped looking for him. Watching for him in crowds, behind the wheel of a big rig (I'd heard he'd been a trucker for a while), walking down the street. I still think about Gil almost everyday.

So, tracing family roots is a project I have slated for my retirement years. Names filled into squares that connect to other squares that let me know that I am a part of something. To be able to run my fingertips over the names and know that I belong somewhere.

And that no one can take that away from me.

Colleen

Wy people go postal

2010-03-18T10:58:00.000-03:00

I just got off the phone with Bell Canada. What a frustrating experience it was. Here's what happened.

I signed up for e-bills two months ago thinking it would be better for the planet.

My first bill notification arrived on February 4. I logged in and was astounded to find a charge of $185 -- double my regular bill. I had recently changed my service but had not expected an increase. I clicked on Bill Details to find out what the new charges were. I got a message telling me that no details could be found. I hunted around the site clicking on different options trying to get a detailed account of the charges. No luck.

I paid the bill so it wouldn't be late and nagged myself to make a call to Bell to get it sorted out. Why didn't I just make the call in the first place? Because I knew it would be a hassle. It always is.

March 4 arrived and I received my second email notification of my second e-bill.

Knowing I'd have to check into it sooner or later, I procrastinated till this morning when I sat down for the monthly bill paying exercise. Always fun in itself.

Same deal as last month. I logged in and still couldn't find a detailed account of the charges. I made the dreaded call.

I spoke with Molly or whatever they call the irritating voice that guides you through the automated menu of choices until I was finally connected with a real, live person.

I told her of my problem and that I wanted to switch back to paper bills.

She told me there would be a $2/month charge to get a paper bill.

Two bucks a month to get a bill to pay for a service I already pay more for than the rest of the developed world.

(Standing next to a woman from NY at a cell phone provider's counter one day I heard her tear the guy a new one when he told her how much her new Canadian service would cost. "I could make a mortgage payment with that!" she freaked. That was when I realized how much more we pay than US customers.)

She tells me the charge is to encourage people to go paperless. I wasn't happy and expressed that it was outrageous to pay for such a thing.

She explained how I could get help to access my bill. One of the options was to email Bell and have a techie walk me through the process. I told her that too was ridiculous. You shouldn't have to work to see your bill. It should be a simple and transparent process. Who should be expected to pay for something when they don't know what that something is?

Seriously Bell Canada?

I can't just create an online account, click on a link and see an electronic version of the old paper bill I used to get? I have to link accounts or call a help desk to get a bill?

If Bell was seriously trying to help the planet, this would be an easy system. As it is, it appears the company is trying to hide charges by making the process too cumbersome.

Get with it, B.C.!

(Or maybe those initials stand for something... like your antiquated way of providing service perhaps?)

Colleen

A snippet of dialogue

2010-03-14T09:13:00.001-03:00

I like home design shows. My favourite designer is Sarah Richardson whose new series started this week. Since I was going to be away, I recorded it and watched it yesterday. The following is from the show and was delivered without irony or sarcasm. Just two friends talking. It made me smile. A lot.

Tommy (co-designer): You expect me to jump over that? [small trench dug in yard]
Sarah: Do you want me to hold your hand?
Tommy: I can do it. I took ballet when I was a kid.

C

Publish Post

The Truth About Toronto

2010-03-13T09:12:00.000-04:00

Having just returned from the city of my birth, I am struck by the bad rap Toronto gets. It is true it is not a pretty city. While there may be pockets of beauty or areas of stunning architecture, as a whole what we saw was rather shabby.

That said, I appreciate its patchwork construction.

Toronto is really an umbrella for a grouping of smaller communities. Little Italy. Chinatown. Little Portugal.Greektown. Kensington Market. The Beaches.

A person could live her life in Toronto feeling that she lived in a neighbourhood. An actual neighbourhood. The sort of place where people get to know you. Where you have your favourite coffee shop and the servers say hello. Or chat and wave goodbye as ours did on our last day there. Or buy us an espresso as ours did at a restaurant we ate at.

I was struck also by how friendly everyone was.

Sure, no one thinks twice about colliding with you in heavy foot traffic. I was the only one hollering 'sorry" over my shoulder.

But -- like most places -- if you take the time to extend a greeting or make a comment while waiting in line, Torontonians will chat with you. On different occasions, strangers offered assistance without being asked.

I was on an elevator with a young man wearing the most colourful sneakers I'd ever seen. I told him that I liked them and his grin was as big as the outdoors. He made polite conversation by asking me about my plans for the evening. It was a lovely interchange.

The downtown core is built for walking. Streets run on a N/S & E/W grid so newcomers will find it easy to make their way around. Just look for the CN Tower. That's south. Go any further and you'll get wet.

Those who don't want to hoof it or who have to travel further afield (and this city sprawls!) will love the public transportation system is.

I can see now why a transit strike is so calamitous. Everyone uses it. Not just those who can't afford a vehicle. Everyone. And it works well. Streetcars, buses, the subway. They blend seamlessly and without the long waits I am used to.

Union Station is a wonder. Its subterranean level acts as a hub for commuters from other cities and the 'burbs. Filled with fast food outlets, dry cleaners and other shops, the Station is home to the GO Train, VIA Rail and the Greyhound Bus. Doors swoosh open and hordes poor through, rushing purposefully this way and that. Here, there is no time to greet a fellow traveller though the staff are helpful and will take time to explain how to find one's way around.

After walking my niece to her platform, I turned back to find a group standing with bowed heads waiting for a train to arrive. For a moment, I thought they stood in prayer. Until I saw the ubiquitous Blackberries in their hands. A Norman Rockwell tableau for the new milleneum.

I'm still not sure that I'd ever be comfortable living there and I still have to deal with the idea that my son will someday soon be on his way, but I can see some of the charm of this somewhat grubby, bulging place.

Colleen

He's ready

2010-03-08T08:40:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow we leave for Toronto, my son and I along with his best friend. We are going to find the two of them an apartment for their move in May. He hopes to get into film school; she is going for the change of environment.

I have woken today with a heavy heart. My boy is leaving.

I want to cry. I feel the tears well inside me but I fight them down. He can't see them.

I want to tell him he can't go. That Toronto is too far. We won't see each other often enough. Every day isn't often enough for me. But I don't say that.

It's his time. This is the right thing for him.

I can't look at this as him leaving; instead I must see this as a new phase of our lives. But letting go is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do.

It's stupid, maudlin, yet I can't stop thinking of the day he was born and the days leading up to his birth.

It had been a terrible period of my life. His father left the house one day for a few hours and never came back. Vanished. He'd run away. I was left penniless and alone with a seven-year-old and this unborn child and what was I going to do? How would I support them? How would I get through this?

As my belly grew, I tried to rouse myself from my depression. The only thing that got me out of bed each morning was having a seven-year-old to take care of. I despaired at having another one.

On the day my baby was due, I ran some errands at the nearest mall. While there, I noticed a young couple with a newborn. A wrinkly, pink, mewling newborn.

It was like the clouds parted. "I'm going to have a baby!" The idea struck me with such joy. I was ready.

Three days later so was he and we never looked back. I have loved every minute with him. Literally. We are so similar. We share the same sense of humour, the same logical approach to tackling problems, The same sensitivity to other people's vibes.

And now, he is a man, though barely, and he is ready again. Ready to see what the world has for him.

This time I am not. It came too fast. I should have been more vigilant. Against what, I don't know. Against him growing up? Yes, it's silliness. I know. I know. But I want a do-over.

Instead, I'll be my most encouraging because that's my job now. That's what he needs from me. And I'll look to the universe to keep him safe, to keep him happy, to bring him back to me once in a while.

C

Writer's Digest Articles

2010-03-05T14:13:00.000-04:00

A nice article about the Purpose of Scenes from Writer's Digest and another about Showing and Telling.

Have a great day.

Colleen

Slow life

2010-03-02T16:09:00.000-04:00

The interesting thing about living without a car is how much slower life gets.

I can no longer "just zip over" to wherever I want to go. I have to plan where I'm going, my route and how I'm getting there and back. If I want to go to the mall to shop for something, it takes an afternoon not an hour.

The Halifax Shopping Centre which is less than a 15 minute drive away from my place takes 30 minutes to bus to. Bayer's Lake -- home of every box store known to man, or almost -- is also less than 15 minutes away by car. It's one hour or so by bus depending on how much time I have to wait for a transfer. That's at least two hours of travel time to, say, buy a pair of running shoes like I had to do last week. Add the walk to and from the bus and shopping time and half a day was shot.

This means that 1) I rarely head to the mall and 2) when I do, it's for a reason.

I can no longer run a series of errands on one day so anything that isn't really necessary doesn't get done.It really takes a lot of stress out of daily living.

You might want to try it. Just imagine the money you won't spend and the insignificant busy work that you'll cast off. It might be fun.

Colleen

How to kill a short story

2010-02-26T15:40:00.000-04:00

I am pathetically bad at figuring out how to share info using proper technology so am reproducing a recent post by Zachary Petit of Writer's Digest....

The link is here. The post is below.

Friday, February 26, 2010

3 ways to kill a short story (plus, write an awesomely bad ending and win a book)

While working on a short story last night, I was stumped. Everything was written, edited and good to go, except the ending—or, more specifically, the five endings I had written, ranging from the literary drop-off (an esoteric and potentially cheesy musing about losing things) to the genre-style kick (dead body in the piano?).

Which got me thinking more about endings—what works best, and why? Here, courtesy of WD's Chad Seibert, is an excerpt from the WritersOnlineWorkshops.com course “Focus on the Short Story," on what definitely doesn't. (The next course starts March 11; click here to learn more about it.)

* * *

So how does a writer know when and where to end her story? Former STORY editor Whit Burnett says to use "pure instinct"—easier said than done. There are as many ways to end a story as there are to start one. If you want to learn how to end a story, the best thing to do is study examples. But there are at least three basic problems that you'll want to avoid:

The story that simply stops 
You don't want the ending of your story to send an editor back to the envelope in search of more pages, scratching his head and wondering if he dropped part of the manuscript on the subway that morning.

Usually, when a story seems to "stop" rather than "end," it's because the story lacks a sense of resolution, of wholeness. The reader doesn’t feel like she's "gotten anywhere." She wonders what the point is.
It's useful to think of your story as making a set of "promises" to the reader. Have you raised any questions or issues that you've failed to answer? A good story does not trick or tease (at least not simply for the sake of tricking and teasing). A good story keeps its promises (which is another way of saying that a good story plays by the rules it establishes for itself).

You, as the author, will have to determine whether or not the logic of your story requires that you answer any particular question or address any particular issue. Unlike the average Hollywood movie, short stories usually aren't obligated by issues of plot so much as by issues of character.

Too much falling action 
"Falling action" (also known as the resolution, or denouement) is the part of a narrative that comes after the climax, after the story's main problems have been solved—those sometimes leisurely pages where the author ties up any remaining loose strings.

As Rust Hills (Writing in General & the Short Story in Particular) points out in his chapter entitled "Ending," most short stories (unlike novels) don't require much detail about what happens "afterward." Once you've done what you need to do, don't linger. Get out of the story.

Still, sometimes we don't seem to know when enough is enough. Maybe we become attached to the worlds of our stories and don't want to leave. Maybe we're worried the reader hasn't gotten the point. Or maybe we're just putting off the daunting task of starting a new story.

Whatever the case, the problem of too much falling action is usually easy to fix. At STORY, we frequently suggested that authors snip a line or a paragraph off the end of their stories, sometimes an entire scene. More often than not, the ending was in there somewhere; it was just buried.

The atomic-bomb ending 
Perhaps no part of a story invites melodrama so much as the climax (which, in contemporary stories, usually falls near the end). You want this moment to have the maximum possible impact on your reader, but the line between "maximum impact" and "fatal impact" is sometimes hard to judge.

An ending that's too "light" (one that doesn't capitalize on the story's dramatic and thematic potential) can leave a reader disappointed, not quite satisfied. But an ending that's too "hard" (melodramatic, over the top) can do even more damage, leaving a reader in disbelief, turned off, disgusted.

Err on the side of restraint. Don't treat your ending like it's your last chance to drive home the point of the story. If the rest of your story has been doing its fair share of the work, the ending needn't detonate a bomb in order to succeed.

* * *

WRITING PROMPT: Self-Destructive Actions
Feel free to take the following prompt home or post your response (funny, sad or stirring) in the Comments section below. By posting, you’ll be automatically entered in our occasional around-the-office swag drawings. If you’re having trouble with the captcha code sticking, e-mail your story to me at writersdigest@fwmedia.com, with “Promptly” in the subject line, and I’ll make sure it gets up.

Take a short piece you've written (or whip up a new one), and hack the ending off. Then, write the most awesomely bad ending you can—and see how easily you can derail the piece. I’ll choose one random commenter to win a copy of The Weekend Novelist Rewrites the Novel and the latest issue of WD magazine.

(Image: Danilo Rizzuti)

Former Prom King lives among the Peons

2010-02-25T14:44:00.002-04:00

I love The Onion.

Enjoy!
Colleen

Foot versus Brain Power

2010-02-22T08:41:00.000-04:00

In a competition between foot and brain power, which would win?

Try combining getting around on two legs with a 50-year-old's tendency to forget what they've doing while they are in the midst of doing it and you have an ideal situation for getting a lot of exercise.

Yesterday, I awoke at seven ready to get the house in order and start something special for Sunday dinner with my kids. I swept and dusted and washed floors. I did laundry and examined The Joy of Cooking for something fun to do with a pork roast.

I settled on pulled pork and needed a few things from the grocery store.

But first, I had to return a movie rental.

I bundled up, grabbed my shopping cart the DVD and headed out the door. Halfway down the street, I realized I hadn't checked the case to ensure the DVD was inside. It wasn't.

I returned home, got the movie and successfully returned it the struck out for the nearest grocery store a few blocks away.

At the deli counter, I ordered some coleslaw and broccoli salad and remembered that I hadn't brought my wallet with me.

I returned home again, retrieved my bank card and, since I'd overdressed, was overheated and pealed off some clothes before the return trip to the store.

I managed to complete my trip successfully this time while doubling the distance I was originally set to walk.

I am losing my mind.

The one good note -- aside from extra exercise -- is that this would have been even more annoying had I been in a car and had needed to park it each time I'd stopped.

Power to the feet -- if not to the brain!

Have a great Monday! I know I will... I'm off shoe shopping with my daughter.

(Oh, and I've finally broken through my weight-loss plateau and am down another three pounds. Yay!)

Colleen

Wanna be Canadian?

2010-02-05T14:48:00.000-04:00

Jut to make ya smile...

I know you want to be Canadian!

(Watch it with captions to read the lyrics.)

Colleen

Not sleeping and happy thoughts

2010-01-28T02:11:00.000-04:00

Sleep, sleep... perchance to dream... or however that went. I'm up. It's 2 a.m. and I'm tired but can't sleep. I tossed and turned for two hours and then decided to get up and do something to take my mind away from the fact that I'm not sleeping. I suppose writing about it isn't the best tactic for that goal.

Thinking happy thoughts...

I'm still losing weight.
I started a workout routine last week and am still with it.
I'm going out with my daughter tomorrow -- dinner and a movie.
I'm going out with my son on Friday -- movie and maybe dinner.
(We have 2 for 1 movie passes.)
I just bought some new clothes in a smaller size because everything I own is too big.
I have a whole year to discover a wonderful job.
I have the courage to tell my mother when she is really hurting my feelings and she actually listens and tries to do better.
I am reading a good book.
I am halfway done my first edit of my manuscript.
I have kicked my sugar jones. It took a whopping 4.5 months.
I think that vanilla yogurt with mixed berries is the most decadent snack ever and I can have it whenever I want!
The servers at the tea shoppe downstairs let me hog a table for hours and while I write they bring me water flavoured with cucumber or lemon or canteloupe.
We've had some sunny days or some days with sun on the menu -- a nice break from our standard grey.

And now I'm getting sleepy so am going to try that bed thing again.

Good night!
Colleen

Books and other stats

2010-01-19T10:23:00.000-04:00

I have two things to share with you today. The first is a short article from the Globe and Mail: Not Anticipated: A preview of 2010's worst books. It's not only amusing but there is a link to another article about how huge advances for celebrity-written books are impossible for the publisher to recoup. Here, though, is my favourite bit on Mitt Romney's release.

No Apology: The Case for American Greatness
By Mitt Romney
March
From Wikipedia: "The Dunning-Kruger effect is a cognitive bias in which ‘people reach erroneous conclusions and make unfortunate choices but their incompetence robs them of the metacognitive ability to realize it.’ The unskilled therefore suffer from illusory superiority, rating their own ability as above average, much higher than actuality; by contrast the highly skilled underrate their abilities, suffering from illusory inferiority."

The next stats are from Harper's Index, February 2010:

Education:

Price last fall for which a North Caroline middle school allowed students to buy extra credit points on any test: $20.
Factor by which the average time a 15-to-19-year-old U.S. girl spends dong housework each day exceeds that of a boy: 2
Percentage of the California state budget in 1979 that went to higher education and prisons, respectively: 15, 3
Percentage today: 12, 10

Health care:

Estimated number of U.S. veterans under 65 who died in 2008 because they lacked health insurance: 2,266
Factor by which this exceeds the number of U.S. soldiers who died in Iraq and Afghanistan last year: 5

Poverty:

Percentage of all food in the U.S. supply chain that is wasted: 40
Chance that a child in the U.S. will be on food stamps at some point during his/her upbringing: 1 in 2.

Makes you think, doesn't it?

Colleen

The miracle of man

2010-01-18T10:26:00.000-04:00

By scholar Robert Ardrey and one of the most inspirational things I ever read:

But we were born of risen apes, not fallen angels, and the apes were armed killers besides. And so what shall we wonder at ? Our murders and massacres and missiles, and our irreconcilable regiments? Or our treaties whatever they may be worth; our symphonies however seldom they may be played; our peaceful acres, however frequently they may be converted into battlefields; our dreams however rarely they may be accomplished. The miracle of man is not how far he has sunk but how magnificently he has risen. We are known among the stars by our poems, not our corpses.*

A wonderful tribute to art and dreaming the good dream.

*Excerpt taken from The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs.

And here is a two-minute video clip on what Jacobs took away from reading the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica. It's worth a listen.

Colleen

Two of the fallen

2010-01-16T20:40:00.000-04:00

I've just heard the sad news that another former colleague from the RCMP has been found dead in Haiti. Earlier this week, Sgt Mark Gallagher's body was recovered from the rubble. Today, that of Supt Doug Coates was discovered. Mark had been the media relations officer for the Force here in Halifax before heading to Haiti; Doug was acting commissioner for the UN Mission.

This is such sad news. Both men were great guys. although I did not know them well, our paths did cross and they were just terrific to work with. I can't imagine what their families are going through right now.

For many years, the RCMP and other Canadian police agencies have been involved in Haiti, training the local police force to help stabilize the country. Officers volunteer to go for nine-month stints. Those I've spoken with -- who have travelled there or to other countries like Bosnia -- said the experience changed their lives forever.

But I think that to volunteer to take on a job like that and to leave your family and friends behind takes a special type of person from the outset. How sad that we have lost two such men.

My heart is with the Gallagher and Coates families and my wish for them is that they have the love of family surrounding them and wonderful memories to sustain them.

My deepest sympathies,
Colleen

The thrill of the written word

2010-01-16T11:24:00.001-04:00

I am reading The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs. It is about one guy's year-long journey through the Encyclopedia Brittanica -- no small feat. Reading the book is like reading the Cliff Notes for the EB. I'm trying to remember a few facts as I go along.

In the M section, Jacobs tells about Montaigne a 16th-century French writer who coined the term essay: to try. So, writing an essay is to try to explain or expound. A nice idea that. That one can make the attempt and that is enough.

But what I really loved about this passage was the story of Marie de Gournay -- a French intellectual of the same time period as Montaigne -- who "fainted from excitement when she read Montaigne's work for the first time."

Imagine that. To pass out from the thrill of the written word.

When was the last time that reading something had that sort of impact on you? Ever?

Colleen

Stephen, you did good

2010-01-15T09:40:00.000-04:00

I've never been a big fan of our prime minister but this time he did a good thing and kudos to him.

According to a report on Canada AM, Mr. Harper was in the air flying home from Quebec City when the news of the quake in Haiti arrived. Before he had landed, he had ordered Canada's resources to that tiny island. When a senior bureaucrat reminded him that Canada had not yet received a request from Haiti for help, Stephen retorted that the phone lines were down. A request could not be made.

Following the tsunami five years ago, when Canada did not own cargo planes to get our aid to the stricken region, it was weeks before our response.

In this latest disaster, Canada may well have been first on the ground. The government -- if I heard correctly -- has offered to match Canadian's donations to help Haiti and has earmarked $50 million for this commitment.

In addition, Canada has foregone the need for Russian planes to obtain a visa before landing in Gander for re-fueling on their way to Haiti.

Thank you, prime minister.

Colleen

Two things

2010-01-13T10:29:00.000-04:00

Tow unrelated items today... the first: a question.

Why do drivers of service trucks keep their roof lights flashing in the middle of the night when they are parked in a legitimate parking spot in a parking lot surrounded by those of us who are trying to sleep?

Second, for your entertainment and provided by Becca.

Kate Miller-Heidke and Are You F*cking Kidding Me?

Cheers!
Colleen

From the sublime to the ridiculous

2010-01-12T17:58:00.000-04:00

Having never seen the movie A Streetcar Named Desire, when I discovered it was available on television last night, I leapt at the chance to watch it.

Partway through, my son entered the room and asked what I was watching. "You look disturbed," he said.

I was.

Endless drinking and ongoing violence tends to do that to me. Knowing of Vivien Leigh's bi-polar disorder made watching her portray a character with mental illness that much more poignant.

Of course, it was brilliantly acted. The setting was perfect. The movie deserves every accolade it has received.

And yet it disturbed me on many levels -- as it is meant to.

The brutality of Stanley, his and Stella's tacit understanding that it was acceptable for him to knock her around; the belief of Mitch that Blanche is "dirty" and can therefore be treated however he chooses to treat her; and Stanley's rape of a mentally unstable Blanche is all horrifying.

As the movie came to a close and I turned off On Demand, The Bachelor appeared before me. Women were discussing the apparent fling of one of these wedding contestants with one of the show's producers. One said something to the effect that she couldn't believe how this woman could fool around with one guy while professing to be vying for the affections of The Bachelor.

Hello? Hello? Earth to moron.

What is The Bachelor doing to every one of you every single day?

And why is the producer not in the same "slut" boat as the dallying contestant?

I realize that I've gone from the sublime (Streetcar) to the ridiculous (The Bachelor) and yet catching a glimpse of the later on the tail end of the former did make a strange connection for me as I wondered why it is that we continue to find ways to vilify women's sexuality on one hand while taking advantage of and subjugating it on the other.

I can't help but wonder if we really have "...come a long way, baby."

Colleen

Editing Letter

2010-01-11T18:07:00.000-04:00

Lara Zielin's video about editing her manuscript to the tune of Corey Hart's Never Surrender. It's a must see. It's also brilliant marketing.

Here's her second video celebrating National Donut Day.

Her debut novel Donut Days was released August 2009.

Enjoy!

Colleen

Canada Games Ho!

2010-01-11T11:02:00.000-04:00

I am now, officially, the communication lead for the culture side of the Canada Games. Yes, I know. You're thinking: "Canada Games. Isn't that sports?" It surely is. But there is a parallel and equally important culture side to the games. As Nova Scotia is the host province for the 2011 winter games, we have a great opportunity to showcase NS talent without forgetting about the rest of Canada. (The Canada Games alternates each two years between summer and winter games. We are hosting the next winter games.)

In addition, three young artists -- across all genres of art -- from every province and territory will come to the province to create for two weeks and then present their oeuvres at a grand gala. There is also a nightly festival, the opening and closing ceremonies, and whatever else we can come up with.

This opportunity is both exciting and terrifying.

HERE is the link for the 2011 Halifax Canada Games website.

Colleen

Read the labels

2010-01-09T10:01:00.000-04:00

I purchase items from Melaleuca because I like using environmentally-friendly cleaning products around my home. Today, as I was perusing the website, I stumbled across these in the diet and weight-loss section. They are not available for resale in Canada.

Just look at that label. 160 calories. 60 calories from fat. 23% of your daily recommended saturated fat based on a 2000 calories a day diet. I can't imagine many who would lose weight eating 2000 calories a day.

I guess that keeps the customers coming back longer.

Geez.

Colleen

The transition home

2010-01-08T12:04:00.000-04:00

Okay so I can't sleep. I was sleeping and for a fifty-year-old woman that is amazing. To awake feeling refreshed instead of like a stray sock that's gone around the wash cycle nine times. It was back in the fall. Before I quit my job or rather didn't renew my contract, and before the ex tried to weasel his way back into my affections and then continued to date other women. (Here's my head; go mess with it.)

So I am now tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable in a too-warm apartment with a bedroom window that opens over a noisy parking lot, and dragging my behind out of bed like said sock. Not only that, I am having a darn difficult time trying to get back into writing. I've finished draft one and am supposed to be tackling a first edit before I trundle the pages off to my writing group.

Yet, I wander around the apartment like a lost puppy. Sure, you're thinking. You're not on a schedule. Rushing out the door to work, filling your days with meetings and work, work, work.

True.

But shouldn't I be enjoying this slower pace? Taking advantage of a few extra weeks to myself? Going gangbusters on my manuscript?

I don't want to give you the impression that I've curled into the fetal position and am sucking my thumb. I've gotten query letters out, edited a few chapters of the WIP, been cooking like a good mom, meeting with friends. I even met with the Canada Games folks on Wednesday to see if I want to take the lead role on communication for the culture component of the games.

Sounds not too bad, eh?

So why do I feels so gloomy?

Yes, yes, it's been a rough few months. But I feel like I should be over it and back to my old self. I thought I was actually. About a week ago. But today I'm not and am thinking that this phase is taking way too long.

I've also decided that I hate my apartment and believe that it should be considered my transition home. If the next person you date after a break up is your transition person then the same should be true for your home. I mean in the middle of a split, when you're in the land of "what's mine and what's yours?" more affectionately known as "that's mine and that's mine" who can rationally locate the home of their dreams -- even short-term dreams -- and on a tight deadline?

So, I hereby move for a change to the Landlord and Tenant Act to allow newly-separated persons to sign a clause allowing them out of their first lease at any time after the relationship ends.

All in favour?

Colleen

Fugitive Pieces

2010-01-06T16:19:00.000-04:00

I was given Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels for Christmas and have been plugging away at it ever since. The winner of numerous international awards, the book is less than 300 pages yet I am slogging through it two or three pages at a time so am reading it in the same time it would normally take me to read two books.

The writing isn't dense and the words are woven together beautifully. This beautiful phrasing, however, sometimes interferes with the story at hand. I understand the goal of literary fiction is not the arc of the plot and this characteristic holds true with Fugitive Pieces. I also find it distracting to have Greek terms with the English next to it used as abundantly as has been included in this work. A few foreign words are fine for flavour. Too many and the narrative is too often interrupted for my taste. This holds true for the scientific terms as well.

The book tells the tale of a young Jewish boy who flees his family home after his parents are shot and his sister is dragged away by Nazis. He is rescued by a Greek geologist and spirited away to Greece and then, after the war, to Canada. The boy grows into a somber man unable to free himself of his tragic and horrifying past.

I have difficulty reading stories about the Holocaust and other acts of human hatred and cruelty, though read them I do. The imagery it brings haunts me as is the case with this book.

I read for a bit before bed last night then was kept awake by the horrors in the pages. I think I'll have to put the book aside for now.

It may be that in some future time, I will have more appreciation for -- and ability to finish -- it.

What books have you been reading?

Colleen

My Sugar Jones

2010-01-04T22:17:00.000-04:00

So getting back to the diet has been fun. My goal in December was to maintain the weight I had lost which I more or less succeeded at. (Yes, okay, I went up about a pound but it's already gone, so I'm not counting it.)

But now let's get to what the real issue is... my sugar jones. Holy crap! I primed the pump with a tiny -- and I mean tiny -- piece of cherry pie and by the next day was eating every brownie in sight. Made me realize that when people talk about sugar addictions, they aren't making it up. (Waaaa! I've got an addiction.)

I had sort of realized it before Christmas as I white-knuckled my way through days of healthy eating, dreaming about food. I keep only healthy stuff in the house for a reason. Geez. I wouldn't last a day with pie. Although I have. And it's made me feel very self-righteous. But I have become one of those people who concentrates on food intake. What have I eaten? What can I eat? What will I eat? The kind of person that I would have wanted to slap silly only a few months ago is now me.

The only advance I think I've made on the psychological front is that as I was gorging (and by no means did this year's food-fest come anywhere near to what I would have eaten say last Christmas) the junk didn't taste as good as I thought it would. And it made me feel kinda gross.

Not that I stopped eating. I kept right on sampling hoping for that wow-this-tastes-amazing chime to ring in my brain's pleasure centre. Didn't happen.

Once the holidays were over, all the left over treats were given away or thrown out and the fridge is back to it's pre-Christmas offerings. Non-fat yogurt and low-sodium V-8 are my saviour foods. If I want something sort-of desserty I go for the former; if I'm hungry but it's after supper or mid-afternoon, it's V-8.

When's the next celebration? Valentine's Day? At least that won't be an issue for me this year.

But when does the habit/craving stop?

Anyone? Anyone?

Colleen

'Cause the Cards Say So!

2010-01-02T11:09:00.000-04:00

On-line tarot readings! Don't laugh. I heard that titter from here. And wipe that smirk off your face. You... you anti-new-age intellectual you.

I will have you know that my year is going to be a good one. I have a nine-page print-out to prove it. That is if I don't do something to screw it up. And, of course, I can change my course. Oh, never mind.

Here's my future according to the Great Karnak or someone.

How I perceive myself: 8 of Wands -- the change I am creating in my life is challenging me to keep up with it. (Really? Me, changing? Again? No kidding!)
My situation: 6 of coins -- there is an imbalance in my social or family situation.
Challenges/Opportunities (sounds like one of the communication plans I write for a living): page of swords -- I have the opportunity and position to influence those around me. (Well, I am Empress of the Universe.)
Personal history: 3 of coins -- pass on my craft/knowledge/understanding on to others
Recent past: 8 of swords: I have passed a test. The worst is over. (Yea, me!)
Higher power: knight of coins -- I am in a position to infuse a situation with energy and optimism.
Near future: 10 of coins -- I am supposed to relax knowing that abundance is mine. Mine, I tell you! However it will only last if I follow the advice card that follows below.
Blocks and Inhibitions: 9 of coins -- Now is the time for me to stop questioning my worthiness and get moving. Stop being rudderless.
Allies: 9 of coins -- put my work aside and focus on interacting with others. Take time to confer with talented people I admire who can support me. (Rather self-serving!)
Advice (here's the card we've been waiting for): page of cups -- Make myself fully available for whatever is needed. Find the best way to be of service to others (You're fucking kidding me. That's been my whole life. No way. It's Miller Time, baby! So what's this mean? That abundance with only be mine if I "Look at individuals around me as the embodiment of the Divine and try to fulfill each one's needs." The explanation goes on to say that I should be unconcerned with the outcome of my efforts. That I will, at some time in the future, understand why I needed to be in this position. UGH!)
Long-term potential: king of wands -- my foundation is firm, a growth trend is established and the future is abundant.Take some risks with an eye to the future.

I could certainly deal with some abundance. And as funny as this is, much of it sounds right. I am learning new things, I am sharpening my craft, I am entering a period of service to a couple of non-profits including a local hospital, and a potential volunteer arrangement with the Canada Games 2011. And I am at a fork in the road. Well, many forks actually. But I like change so that's not a bad thing. I just have to make some decisions. That's the tough part.

What about you? What do you want for your year?

Colleen

An Epiphany at the Dawn of 2010

2010-01-01T09:47:00.000-04:00

I think I just figured something out.

About forgiveness.

I was ready Sarah Hampson's Generation Ex column in the Globe and Mail wherein, apparently, she writes about her divorce. I'd never read it before. Didn't know it existed. In today's paper, she writes:

"People often talk about forgiveness as a crucial part of healing. The culture likes the idea of it – a warm, white blanket we lay out to smooth over bad feelings and events. But I don't think you can forgive everything. And there's an element of superiority in forgiveness that I don't like: You are somehow above the one to be forgiven, more generous, morally above it all. If you are to do forgiveness well, to make it more about catharsis and less about your own attempts to take the high road, it has to be co-operative, I think. The person whose actions you want to forgive has to be willing to listen to how you feel, to the impact they had on you. They have to know what they did, in other words."

I've never really understood our cultural push to forgive. Wouldn't that mean to forget? And how can you forget? So if someone's done something awful, how can you forgive the pain they've caused. And isn't forgiveness weak? All that turning of cheeks.

My way has always been to lick my wounds, strap on my breastplate, grab my sword and move on. Usually quickly. Usually without much thought. As I get older, I try to do a bit more thinking and it takes me longer to jump the chasm because of this contemplation, but I still maintain my forward motion. It's what saves me. The feeling of racing ahead to the next thing.

Yet, as I read Sarah's column, an idea hit me. Forgiveness is possible.

I don't agree with her about the one doing the forgiving as being somehow superior although I would have thought that yesterday. Nor do I believe that forgiving has to be co-operative.

Quite the contrary -- it can be humble and it can be onesided.

I never understood that before.

Could it be that forgiveness is as simple as accepting things for what they are -- regardless of the reasons or outcomes? That forgiveness is accepting the current state of affairs (no pun intended) without casting blame and saying: "Here I am. Right here. Doesn't matter how I got where I am because here I stand. And it's a new day. Sunshine or gloom. This is the day I've got in front of me."

I've never understood the notion that forgiveness has nothing to do with the other person. I've always been a warrior, ready for battle, insistent on personal survival, ready to mow you down. (Not YOU personally.) One of my exes with whom I remain friends used to call it my Rambo-esque approach to life. I rather liked that. It made me feel strong.

But today -- quite suddently -- I think I get the idea that forgiveness is only about me. It's about me accepting who and where I am, and accepting the other person for who and where he is.

Could it be that simple?

I think it might be.

That's a pretty powerful thing when you think about it.

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope you have just enough of everything that makes you happy this year.

Colleen

The New Year and a Case of the Waffles

2009-12-31T10:00:00.000-04:00

Do you make resolutions at the start of the new year?

I don't. The sort of resolutions that come to mind at this time of year are of the self-denial sort -- quit eating, smoking, drinking, over-spending, etc. In the words of Charlie Brown, or was it Lucy, "Blech!" Not that these aren't worthy of pursuit. They are. But they are also, often, short-lived.

Despite this, setting goals and working toward them does evoke an inspiring sort of resolve. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can... Like a Hollywood movie where each of us plays the underdog facing the ticking clock, the tough exam, the evil fascist, our own fears. If only we can prevail, we will be redeemed.

I'm looking for a few goals of my own. I have some biggies to sort out: singledom, job, empty nest. My son concludes that I should follow along with him to Toronto. "You hate it here," he tells me. "I think you'd find more people like you in Toronto."

He may be right.

Yet, I waffle.

I waffle with everything. What sort of job do I want? What sort can I get that will interfere as little as possible with writing? Is the writing worth pursuing? Should I just get back into consulting, make some money and forget about writing? Consulting is time consuming, intellect consuming, effort consuming. There would be little time and no brain space left for creation at the end of a long work day. The money part certainly has appeal. Saving enough to not live on cat food in my senior years has its merits. But to give up the writing? Now that would be sad.

I tell myself that this is just a phase. I've faced a lot of changes over the past -- has it only been five? -- months. Wow. It feels longer.

So, waffling for a bit is okay, right? It doesn't indicate mental disability, does it? Some decline of will? It is acceptable, no, laudable, that I take my time to get the next few years of my life sorted out without the deadline of the start of a new year. Right?

I hear they've come a long way with cat food.

Colleen

McNally-Robinson closes two stores

2009-12-30T09:16:00.000-04:00

McNally-Robinson Booksellers has been forced to close two of its bookstores. This, after being named bookseller of the year for 2009. Yes, 2009. This year.

Sure, the independent retailer faces stiff competition from what McNally calls the reckless discounting of the big box stores (and I agree with him) but was opening two stores this year a great business move? Did they even research whether their formula of nightly writer chats that worked well in Winnipeg would work in Toronto -- a market where even Lawrence Hill couldn't muster more than half-a-dozen readers?

The good news is that two of McNally-Robinson's stores remain open. I hope they are able to rally from this setback and carry on in the face of the large discount stores.

The Globe and Mail article is here.

Colleen

Post-holiday stuff

2009-12-29T11:34:00.000-04:00

My head is muddled today. Post holiday let down, I suppose.

For anyone wondering, I did finish up the albums for the kids and wrote little stories to go with the photos. The kids really liked them.

This was the first holiday that my son is working full-time and had to work on Boxing Day. My daughter was off work but left Christmas night to return the next day for breakfast out and then left again. We were supposed to go to a movie but she forgot and made plans with friends. The holiday lasted one whole day.

One day... for so much planning, anticipation and, let's be honest, work. It just doesn't seem worthwhile.

Maybe it's me being single for the first time in a few years.

I am bummed.

The ex has a role to play in my mood too. A few days before Christmas, he invited me out for dinner and confessed his lingering feelings for me.. his newly discovered concern and caring for me... absent during our relationship. He wondered if there might be a chance for us in the future. I haven't heard from him since with the exception of a 30-second call on Christmas Day.

It seems the future comes and goes faster than one might think.

Ah, well. Enough whining. Back to the joy of sending query letters.

How was your holiday?

C

My photographic legacy

2009-12-21T00:19:00.000-04:00

So, Christmas this year is going to be quiet. Nice, but quiet. I am one of those who prefer a boisterous three-day extravaganza. I like snow and cold weather in the days or weeks leading to December 25 although I have learned to do with mild and green. And I am quite happy to see the cold dissipate after January 1.

This year holiday planning has gone so smoothly that I decided I had lots of time to start a project. It'll only take a couple of days I thought.

I thought wrong.

I am going through 25 years of unsorted photographs to create life histories for my kids as a special gift for them. I am writing stories and anecdotes about the photos so they will know as much about the family and their childhoods as I do -- well almost. Some things are better left under the rug.

I have been at it for about five days now. After a marathon 10 hours today, standing at the kitchen counter on hard ceramic tile, I can say with confidence that I am halfway through. Better than half. I think. Yes, 10 hours of standing at the counter with package upon package of black card stock, plastic page protectors and those little corners to anchor the photos in place. Did you know those little corner things are now peel-and-stick? I had no idea but thank you to whoever decided it would be a good idea.

Rather than do the albums chronologically ('cause that would be too easy) I'm going by theme. Ancient family, me (There are no dads. They were virgin births. Honest.), their births, school, activities and minor trips, Disney World, Christmases, birthdays, etc. Each section has at least one write up. I pick the most representative shots, crop them, place them on the page, and write/print the stories.

My son's album is complete although now that I've sorted the photos for my daughter, I've found a few more for him and am not sure if I have left space for them. The photos for my daughter's are sorted. I think I can have hers done in two days. Go, me!

My shoulders are killing me from hunching over. I have a headache.

But I think these gifts are going to be really cool. Who doesn't like reading about themselves? Plus, when I'm dead I don't want them having to try to figure out who various people are. And did I mention the amount of space these pictures take up? I've already thrown lots out, but four large plastic tubs is nuts.

So here's to a not-so-smooth Christmas.

If I don't get back here before the big day, look for me in the corner under a mountain of the leftovers from my cropping frenzy and wipe the drool from my chin, would you?

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Solstice, Joyous Kwanza, Happy Eid.... Merry, merry holidays!

Colleen

A Day in a Life

2009-12-18T09:09:00.000-04:00

Here's another story. It's a blast finding them. I hadn't remembered that I wrote much back then. Too many other crappy things going on, I suppose, for writing to have made an impact on my memory. I do recall one story that I entered in The Permanent's National Writing Competition. I received an honourable mention for that one. I wonder if I am soon to find a copy of that?

This one is typed out calling to mind a typewriter I received one Christmas. Blue, plastic, electric. I thought it was pretty swanky as I recall.

Today's trip down memory lane is something I wrote in grade 12 (September, 1975, I'd just turned 16 the week before). My teacher gave me an A and wrote: "Excellent -- reminds me of The Fire Dwellers by Margaret Lawrence." Pretty heady stuff. Especially when you read what follows. Do you think teachers do children an injustice by being overly encouraging?

I can see that I've modelled the kids after my own nephews and niece. I have left the spelling and punctuation as written. Was today ever written as to-day?

It cracks me up that I have the MC whining like an old lady but for relaxation she plays Led Zeppelin. And why I've given the kids Swiss/Germanic names, I do not know.

A Day in a Life

The kids are gone. The house is a horrible mess and here I am left to clean it all up. Never before have I prayed for peace as I have this week. Lord love 'em but those kids seemed an awful lot louder this visit than last. How can their parents stand it? I can't be getting that old, can I? I'm sure I'm not the only one that they annoy, am I? Heavens no!

That Hans! He's into everything! Scribbling here and scrolling there. He takes things and hides them and breaks things and hides them. What a little terror! He gets into food and all my candy. That Hans -- how I'd like to give him a good spanking!

Why he gets into mischief just for attention. Never have I seen a child like that. Ach! Look -- he's put ink marks on my white dresser! It's a good thing that I have the stain remover with me. A little rub here and -- mmm -- it's all off. Now to vaccum the sand left by those huge beach towels and little bathing suits. I'm going to have to wash all the floors because of these mud tracks. Off come the dirty bed sheets -- on go the clean. Now on to the next room. The two boys in one room, Krista in another.

Speaking of Krista -- that little flirt. Why she gets away with murder! (Hmmm -- her mother left one of Krista's tops. I'll have to mail it This won't be the only thing they'll have left either I'll bet; and I'll have to gather it all and mail it to them.) At least Krista isn't as messy as Hans. But Hans on one hand is honest -- it makes it hard to be mad at him for long. Krista on the other hand is deceitful. She whines and cries for attention -- and usually gets it too. She pouts and uses her big brown eyes; no wonder she has everyone wrapped around her little finger. This room's done now, I'll come back to do the mirror and the dusting later.

It's a good thing that my sister decided to leave to-day. I've got all of Sunday to re-cooperate before work Monday. I'll probably wish I had a week though; oh well. I better start washing these sheets. I don't have any more clean ones to put on the remaining beds.

Ugh! This bathroom -- what a mess! It's no great wonder why they left this morning. All these towels go in the laundry. This toilet gets unclogged -- whew! I probably have the only nephews in the world who go through five rolls of toilet paper a day. Last but not least, the vanity gets cleaned. Ahh! a toad! I bet it was Johann. The little devil! One of these days -- oh never mind. I must be crazy, here I am talking to myself. Eh well, as long as I'm listening -- self, control yourself.

Hey, I know what I need, some music. Music is the greatest invention since... since... oh never mind that too. Led Zeppelin, here I come! Nieces and nephews are o.k., so are brother-in-laws, and sisters, but nothing beats peace of mind a good old music. Can you imagine the nerve of that kid to put a baby toad in my bathroom sink? Some people's kids just don't know when to stop. Now I ask you, what do I am -- I ask you: I ask me: how do I stand this? I'll answer: I don't know.

Geez, my back's killing me. I deserve a coffee break. I'm all finsihed the upstairs and the downstairs shouldn't take long.

Look at all these dishes! There not a clean mug anywhere. Oh well, I'll have to do the dishes before my coffee break. Now I realize what's bothering me -- it's the music. It's like a piece of gum: you don't know what's making you so tense until you throw it away. There aren't as many dirty dishes as it seemed. I'll be done here in ten or fifteen minutes.

This is what I call perfect timing, the dishes and coffee done, both at the same time and I'll be able to wateh "The Pink Panther" while I drink my coffee. I don't believe that I'll actually be able to hear atelevision show without kids yelling in my ears and crawling al over me. I'm so glad that they're gone. This peace is soothing.

Hey, what's this? One of Krista's drawings with her typical house and flowers. It's rather a good drawing for a seven-year-old. She's a cute kid too. So are her brothers. I really miss them. Oh well, I'll see them at Christmas."

How's that for a trip down memory lane?

And now back to getting the family photo albums in order. You'd think that once in twenty years I'd have done this, but no.

Hope you're having a great day.
Colleen

Childhood

2009-12-17T11:26:00.000-04:00

I am pulling together photo albums for my kids with stories of their childhoods as a special Christmas gift. In my digging, I came across a diary from my early teen years. Oh, to read the meanderings of my boy-crazy thirteen year old self. It appears that I was "in love and would be forever" with a new boy on each page. Boys who I now, of course, can't picture, whose faces I can often not place with the names. Reading my entries is, to say the least, a cringe-inducing experience. I wonder how I'll feel about these posts in a few years.

I also came across a story written when I was thirteen. Or part of a story. The beginning is missing. Page seven begins:

"It was a prefect night for a runaway. The heavy clouds covered the misty moon and the stars gave her all the light she needed.
"She slipped down a secluded alley and gropped [sic] her way through it untill [sic] she came to an abandoned cottate. It was approximately ten feet squared and had a little thatched roof that, with another storm, would give way. Tere wasn't any glass left in the windows and the rickety door hun on by one rusty hinge.
"Raven slipped into the bare, one-roomed house and was surprized to find no rats. She was most astonished with this fact -- until she glanced up and saw a huge -- no -- massive cat glaring at her hrough wicked green eyes, as though she was another mouse to dispose of.
"Raven wanted to yell -- to scream, to get help but that was impossible under her conditions.
"She reached for her pack-sack, slowly ever so slowly and slipped toward the open door. When she reache saftey she ran with all the force her powerfull frame possessed.
"Raven headed straight for the Bristol docks where she could smell the mingling scent of fresh fish and salt sea air."

Our young runaway heads for a ship, The Fancy Free -- a pirate ship, I believe -- where someone named Jake is threatened with "a taste of the capt'n's friend, his pussy-cat, the cat'o'nine tails!"

Ah, youth.

What do you remember about yours?

Colleen

And yet...

2009-12-15T09:21:00.000-04:00

We just met our next-door-neighbours at a holiday get-together organized by our building managers. Turns out the couple are from Texas and studying at one of our universities with dreams of being dentists. We've invited them, and they've accepted, to join us for Christmas dinner bringing our numbers up to seven. Not a large group, but respectable. Me, my two kids, two of their friends and our neighbours. Our invitees are all here without family.

Even with our growing group, it's been difficult to get into the Christmas spirit this year. The break-up; the move; the damp, grey, mild weather. My age. (Doesn't fifty sound almost frightening?) Entering menopause. Even quitting the job has had an impact on my mood. Sure, it was my choice to leave but it's made fiscal restraint take on a whole new meaning. It's the first year that I have not been able to afford whatever I've wanted to buy. Yes, the kids are getting what they wanted. They asked for very little so that was easy to do. But I haven't bought the extra things I usually do.

I realize that mine is an emotional reaction rather than an intellectual one. The kids will enjoy their gifts; we have friends to spend the day with; we will have a wonderful meal.

And yet...

In my finer moments, I recognize and feel great about my shucking off. My great shedding of all things negative. My bravery to forge a life that works for me. I realize and can even muster some sympathy for my ex who must jump into another relationship, not as a negation of what we had, but because he is unable to build a life on his own.

And yet...

I even welcome the loss of things as a precursor to welcoming good things. Life might take away, but afterward, what she gives is always better.

I've finished the first draft of my manuscript, received great feedback on it and my grant submission. I'm getting together with friends for martinis and dinner this evening.

So why am I so blue?

Agh, it's just a phase, right? Transition? My mood will crawl out of the cellar soon. Yes, I know it will.

And yet...

Colleen

One of the things I wonder about

2009-12-13T13:45:00.000-04:00

I am wondering why it is that whenever a woman does something (nearly anything -- doesn't even have to be particularly nasty) to a man it is labeled as emasculating yet when a man does something really hateful to a woman it just is. Is there even a female version of emasculate? Efemulate?

C

Grant Proposal

2009-12-08T10:00:00.000-04:00

Just got back from meeting with the province's program officer for the arts grants. He reviewed my submission and said I had a unique story, that it was very intriguing and well-written -- that I presented information coherently and showed character and story development by "lifting the veils off one by one."

I know, I know this doesn't mean I'm getting a cent, but for right now I am encouraged.

And now I'm on my way out for coffee with a friend.

Zippity do dah!

What a great start to my day.
Colleen

When Friendship Ends

2009-12-05T21:44:00.000-04:00

When do you go from being in love to not being in love? From being friends to not being friendly?

In my life, the former is something too difficult to judge but I can tell you when the latter happened. It was about 10 or 12 days ago. Apparently.

I've been trying to stay on friendly terms with the ex for a number of reasons including: the fact that he has not a single friend and I don't want him to fall into deeper depression; that we were once in love and should be nice to each other; and finally (and this is hard to admit) because there is a part of me that really, really wants him to step up and be the man he should have been.

We had been in the habit of getting together once a week for coffee or to run errands together (he has the car, I am a foot soldier). Once we went out to listen to a blues band.

So, after the last time I saw him he said he'd call in a couple of days and didn't.

Today is the first time I've heard from him in two weeks.

As soon as he said hello, I could hear it. The end of our friendship. It was the same tone he uses with his ex-wife, a woman he hates.

What happened between gabbing over coffee and today? Nothing except that he has become infatuated with someone else.

This is a small town and I've heard what he is now saying about me. And it hurts.

He says that our relationship ended a year ago and that we stayed together for purely financial reasons. (I wonder how couples therapy fits into this theory? Or the long, slow, painful good bye?)

Why he's being this way with me, I do not know.

But I do know that our friendship is finished.

Colleen

Best books of 2009

2009-12-04T08:02:00.000-04:00

Here is the Globe and Mail's picks for the 2009 Globe Books 100. I've chosen the link to Canadian books, but the list has the links to foreign, poetry, biography and more.

Here is the New York Times Most Notable Books for 2009. The list is broken down by fiction and nonfiction.

Whether you buy ebooks or pbooks, buy books!

Happy reading!
Colleen

Adam Lambert

2009-12-03T13:42:00.000-04:00

Okay, so my fave on last year's Idol (the U.S. version) Adam Lambert is being banned from a number of television shows because of the simulated oral sex act during a recent performance.

I have to say, I don't get the furor.

How many music videos and performances (live or televised) are there where a male singer simulated anal or doggie-style sex with a female dancer? This has even been on main-stream shows like So You Think You Can Dance. No one says boo. Haven't there been instances where a female dancer will drop to her knees in front of a male star?

So, what's the difference?

I'm not saying I like any of it. As a matter of fact, I don't.

I don't think it adds anything of value to the music and is often very degrading.

But that isn't the point.

My question is: if it's okay for some, why isn't it okay for others?

Oh, right. He's gay and it was a guy down there not a woman. 'Cause if it was a woman, it would never have been worthy of canceling bookings. So it's both homophobic and sexist. Bravo, television networks!

Colleen

Exes and clones

2009-12-02T09:38:00.000-04:00

So is it weird that the last two guys I have had serious relationships with are now dating women who look like me? Me, that is, with my hair straightened, not the naturally-curly-headed me. It feels weird.

The guy-before-last ran into my daughter and showed her a photo of his new wife. My daughter said she almost choked when she saw it. "It was like looking at a picture of you, Mom," she said.

The last guy is also in pursuit of a me-clone.

Perhaps I should be flattered, but I'm not. I feel like yelling at them. If you wanted me so badly, why couldn't you be the men that you are no doubt going to be with these new women? Why do I say no doubt? Because now they're trained.

Some years ago, my sister ran into an old beau and his new girlfriend and the woman actually thanked my sister for making the guy into such a great human being. They are now happily married.

And I know it's the same with these guys. Guy #1 was married within a year of our break-up. Even though he still owed me money and was a real prick when we split, he was the one who found what he wanted and got married. Guy #2, who I have been emotionally supporting because he suffers from depression, is now out and dating. Guy # 2 -- whose bills I paid and who offered to help me through a rough financial patch of my own, but didn't and now has the family car while I walk -- he is out there dating!

So, here's the lesson ladies: get them post-season not pre-session. It's a lot of hassle and heartache and you avoid the constant accusation of wanting to change them.

Have you met you? I've wanted to ask. If you had, you'd want to change you too.

Ugh! As I write this I see the old saw about accepting people for how they are which leads me to the new saw: If you can't accept them the way they are, tell them to fuck off. There's someone better coming down the road that you won't be available for because you're too busy trying to pretend that the guy you're with is a wonderful human.

Step away from the fantasy or you'll be watching your exes with clone-yous on their arms as you try to fix the next one.

Blech!
Colleen

Let the season of returns begin!

2009-12-01T13:11:00.000-04:00

As I write this I am on hold with Sears. My mom, who lives in Ontario, sent Christmas gifts for my kids. She ships them, I wrap them, It's a fine agreement.

This year, however, Mom purchased clothes for my 26-year-old daughter in size small. My daughter is lovely and beautiful but a size small she is not. So, I have offered to attempt to exchange them for a larger size. Did I mention that Mom has lost the receipt?

I decide to call to find out the best course of action.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Ah, six minutes and the bleat of a voice interjects over the insipid and static-filled Muzak.

And I'm disconnected.

I dial again. This time I am lucky to get through to someone who offers to help. I need the receipt she tells me. Yes, I explain. But I don't have one and neither does my 81-year-old mother. I am put on hold.

When the woman returns, she tells me to call another number to locate the receipt.

But how, I inquire, can they find a receipt for a couple of items purchased in another province and not on a credit card?

That's what they will tell you, she says. Is that okay with you?

Sure, I guess so. I mean if you think it will help.

I dial.

I, of course, am on hold and a recording tells me something about return policies and that maybe I might want to send my query via email.

I do not think so.

I hold.

This Muzak is at least clear. An electronic piano with a popcorn-sounding back beat. Shoot me.

I have to pee.

Oh, glory. Latin-inspired Muzak. Where are my dancing shoes?

I wonder if I can -- oh! a voice!

And I've been given the wrong number. I have to call retail returns not catalogue returns.

At least I can pee. And grab the cordless phone.

Now, for the fourth time, a recording tells me that Sears is most interested in making me a happy customer.

I guess we will see whether that is the case, won't we?

I wait only seconds and am connected with a woman with a bad cough and a heavy accent. French of some sort, I believe. Between the coughing, however, she is able to tell me that I have to contact my local store and that the decision to let me return/exchange something is up to the store.

I tell her that it has taken four calls to get this information. She laughs and tells me that I finally found the right person.

She made me laugh too. There is something in the French attitude of "everyone else is an idiot and I am the only one who can do anything right" that can crack me up.

Of course, the reason I called in the first place is because there is no one at the local Sears store who I have dealt with who I consider the least helpful. Or maybe that's exactly what I consider them to be: the least helpful.

Tomorrow. I'll think about it tomorrow.

Mom, you owe me.

But it's snowing. I can't be mad when it's snowing. Not the early snow. Not before Christmas. Later in the season, yes, but today, no.

Happy, happy day!

Colleen

Writers' Trust Awards Announced

2009-11-25T12:01:00.000-04:00

And here's another nugget for today... The Writers' Trust Award winners were announced yesterday with Annabel Lyon taking the Rogers Writers' Trust Award for Fiction for her book, The Golden Mean.

How about buying books for whatever holiday you are celebrating this year?

Colleen

Man Defends What He Supposes the American Constitution to Be

2009-11-25T11:57:00.002-04:00

Gotta love The Onion. This had me laughing out loud.

Enjoy your day.

Colleen

I just don't get it

2009-11-23T10:05:00.000-04:00

I've already posted today (see below) but have just been listening to a report on The Current (CBC Radio) about the ongoing battle to ensure proper health care for First Nations children.

A law was passed two (?) years ago after a little boy died having spent his entire 2.5 year long life in hospital rather than living at home because the federal and provincial governments couldn't agree on who was responsible to pay for the child's care.The law states that the needs of the child should come first, that the child should received whatever care is required and that governments must haggle later.

Although this law was passed it hasn't been put into practice and the government is now trying to change it so that it only covers children with complex medical conditions.

According to the interviewees, Native families will sometimes be forced to put their kids into foster care because the kids are fully covered when they are in such care. White kids living on reserve are also fully covered.

There is to be a human rights tribunal in Alberta about this as it is a gross human rights violation.

That is, there was to be one. The feds are now fighting to say that there is no jurisdiction for such a case to be heard.

I'm sitting here writing this and I can't stop crying. I know this is true. I know that my fellow Canadians are allowing this to happen.

But it can't be true. We can't be like this.We cannot be a nation of people who turn our backs on the suffering of our brothers and sisters, no, who actually perpetrate this suffering through our bigotry and apathy.

I put myself in the position of a mom whose child is ill and in need of medical attention and my choice is to have my child go to live with strangers in order to get health care. To send my child away.

My tears aren't going to help.

But we all can. What is the difficulty in writing letters to government officials? Blogging? Tweeting? All we need is the tipping point.

I have a couple of links to post below but haven't yet found a link on the CBC site. As soon as I find it, I'll post it.

Edmonton Sun

Turtle Island

Colleen

Missed deadlines

2009-11-23T08:28:00.000-04:00

It's deadline day today. One of my students from my first class two years ago has till today to submit outstanding assignments and receive her diploma. (I am using she as gender neutral rather than as a statement of which gender this person is.) I have a feeling this isn't going to happen despite my emails of encouragement and a final extension.

Whether the student does or does not hand them in, the situation that got her here in the first place is most unfortunate. She is capable, has great attention to detail and always produces professional-grade work. She was top of the class or top three until the month before the end of first semester when she became ill. Although I do not know the exact nature of her illness, she was hospitalized. The work that wasn't finished that semester was never completed and deadlines continued to be missed throughout second term.

As time progressed, I began to believe my student was suffering from anxiety and/or depression and I had a few discussions with her about her tremendous abilities and the need to let things go. To do the work to the best of your ability up to deadline and release it onto the world. Eighty per cent right and on time is better than 100 per cent if the 100 per cent misses the deadline and the client walks away or the crisis boils over.

After more than a year of trying to get the assignments, this student was told that the 13th was the last deadline. She asked for and received an extension to the 20th and was supposed to contact me last week to discuss the outstanding work. By Wednesday I hadn't heard from her so sent and email again encouraging her to contact me.

She responded and outlined her many work deadlines that were swamping her. I asked for and obtained another extension to today. I also reminded her that, at this point, she could do no better marks-wise than a pass so not to agonize over doing work that would garner a top grade.

I have still not received that phone call.

It's really a sad situation though I am still holding onto hope that she might come through.

Colleen

Wish list for the holidays

2009-11-21T10:42:00.000-04:00

In my house, it's not Christmas unless I get a book under the tree or in my stocking.

This year, I've requested (and I do have to request them as my bookshelves are crammed and no one could possibly know what I already have):

Fugitive Pieces by Anne Michaels
Fall by Colin McAdam
The Disappeared by Kim Echlin
Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving

I've been thinking about e-readers but am not ready to take the plunge. The idea of being able to cart numerous books with me without the excess weight is appealing but reading from yet another screen is not. (Just wait my friend, someday you too may need bifocals! I am beginning to see the appeal of large type on my computer screen already.)

What about you? What's on your reading/wish list for the holidays? Are you or have you gone electronic?

Colleen

When you lose your dreams...

2009-11-20T07:55:00.000-04:00

I've been in a funk over the past two days about my writing. Here's what a friend wrote me:

"You have to love putting words on paper, believe a little bit in your own karma as a writer, plug away, throw your product out to the universe and let it find its place, then start all over again. Oh, and you have to laugh and find humour every day, and you've got to have a dream... When you lose your dreams, you die."

That's now hanging in my office.

I have pretty smart friends, don't I? And generous too.

Colleen

Sears and body Image

2009-11-19T09:14:00.000-04:00

Having to find the name of those one-piece winter suits for infants (not the iconic snowsuit), I perused the pages of Sears catalogue this morning to discover what I wanted was called a pram suit. Lovely. Thank you.

I flipped through the pages of said catalogue and came to the undergarments section which I perused -- always on the look out for a good bra.

In the ultra-support section, I came across those draconian-looking girdles along with less-restrictive body gloves. Keeping in mind that these things are made to suck in fat, I was surprised to come across one that came in two sizes only. A small and a medium/large.

Guess what the waist measurements are?

Small: 28"
Med/Lg: 30"

Thirty inches is not only the largest size this body-shaping, breath-restricting, fat-holding onesie comes it, but, apparently, someone or ones actually think(s) that 28- and 30-inched waisted women need this type of garment.

Sears, are you kidding me? In my books, the only time 30" would be considered large and in need of drastic reduction would be something seen only in a porn movie. And 28" needing a girdle? Who is your audience?

We wonder why women have serious body issues.

Colleen

Why is it just when you're falling asleep...

2009-11-18T08:59:00.000-04:00

Nearly every night, as soon as I turn out my reading light, ideas for my manuscript pop into my head. I never, ever remember them come morning so now keep a notebook and pen on my night table. Sometimes my thoughts are "fix it" things -- something I've written that's missing the mark and my brain has somewhere registered this without my conscious knowledge and then -- viola! -- the light goes out and the "fix" appears. Other times, a scene will appear to me and I have to do some extensive scribbling so I don't lose it.

Such was the case last night and I can't wait to tackle the new scene this morning; I'm so energized.

Colleen

P.S If sometimes is one word, why is other times two words?

P.P.S. Down another three pounds for a total of 29! How cool is that?

What is it with those vegetarians?

2009-11-14T09:28:00.000-04:00

Overheard at a coffee shop...

A middle-aged man and woman, each with their own newspaper. The papers are not the same. They chat about what they are reading without looking away from their pages or worrying about interrupting the other.

Man: What is it with these vegetarians?
Woman: I don't know. They don't eat meat.
Man: Some of them eat fish. Fish is a meat as far as I'm concerned.
Woman: There are different kinds. Some don't eat anything with eyes.
Man: Harrumph.... Black-eyed peas have eyes.
Woman: Well, yes.
Man: Or is it black-eyed susans.
Woman: Black-eyed susans.
Man: Ah.

I don't know. This just cracked me up.

Colleen

Love, Handbag

2009-11-13T13:34:00.000-04:00

The mall downtown sent me a rather clever postcard yesterday.

The photo is of a purse on a pink background. It is a lovely purse. Just the kind I'd love to own.

The message reads:

I hope you remember me.

I'm the handbag that held your gaze when you passed by, not long ago, on the Lane. In those brief seconds I could see our life together like we'd already lived it. Long strolls in the city -- weekends in the country -- always holding each other close.

I'm still here -- waiting for your return. I hope we meet again. Who knows what wonderful things lay in store for us.

Until then, I'll remain an empty vessel, alone and unfulfilled.

With love and anticipation,
Handbag

I'm old

2009-11-12T14:15:00.000-04:00

I am officially old.

While in the kitchen, I thought of something to add to my latest go at a manuscript. I raced to the computer to get it down before I forgot. When I turned on my screen there were a couple of emails waiting for me which I answered. One asked for information about tickets for a play which I found and sent off. I then got some lunch, sat down to watch tv while I ate, chatted with my daughter on the phone, checked my son's schedule for the day, got a drink and then wandered back to work and remembered I'd had a wonderful idea for my friggin' MS.

An hour ago.

What was it?

I have no idea... oh wait! Something about the flu.

The flu.

Hmmmmmm.

Nope. Not coming.

Sigh.

Colleen

Navajo Code Talkers to Walk in NYC Veterans Day Parade - Local News | News Articles | National News | US News - FOXNews.com

2009-11-11T12:48:00.000-04:00

Navajo Code Talkers to Walk in NYC Veterans Day Parade - Local News | News Articles | National News | US News - FOXNews.com

Posted using ShareThis

Since it's Remembrance Day and all, how about recognizing those who are sometimes forgotten, even on this day.

Colleen

The BBT interview on Q

2009-11-11T09:43:00.000-04:00

Stumbled upon this this morning and it pissed me off all over again. Especially given Billy Bob's following interview on Jimmy Kimmel. Canadians are like mashed potatoes and gravy. Really?

Jian Ghomeshi's Interview with Billy Bob Thornton

Colleen

Oh, Pachelbel!

2009-11-09T20:58:00.001-04:00

Taking the low-road from Maya, here's a rant on a piece of music that I love -- like everyone else: Pachelbel Canon in D Major.(the actual version)

The Amazon Wal-Mart price war: newyorker.com

2009-11-09T18:20:00.000-04:00

And at the end of the day, who pays? Not the big stores, that's for sure.

The Amazon Wal-Mart price war: newyorker.com

The 10% Factor

2009-11-09T18:04:00.002-04:00

I've done it! I've done it! I've dropped 10 per cent of my body weight! Yea!

To my heart: You are welcome.

Colleen

Dreams and Goals

2009-11-06T20:30:00.000-04:00

Bad Writing Contracts

2009-11-06T18:00:00.002-04:00

http://www.badwritingcontracts.ca/

Bad Writing Contracts is a consortium urging writers to boycott Transcontinental. Info was sent out today by the Nova Scotia Writers' Federation along with info about how to have your contract reviewed if you do enter into one with Transcontinental.

The link is above.

Colleen

Teaching boys about condoms

2009-11-05T12:37:00.000-04:00

My son was home-schooled through high school. Not because of any problems but because he was miserable and bored.

I give you this background not for any political reason but so you understand that the logistical part of sex ed has been denied him.

Oh, we've talked about sex. Responsibility, pleasure, safety. He knows the score. (I hope.)

When my late bloomer announced that he was finally ready to date, however, I realized that, at some time in the foreseeable future, safe sex and condom use would no longer be relegated to the realm of academic discussion. And then I wondered: What if he was too shy to purchase them?

When my daughter was in high school, the health office had a bowlful of them that kids could nonchalantly walk beside and scoop up as needed.

What resources would my son have?

None. Just me.

So, I bought a box of them and brought them home and told him to pay attention. I proceeded to show him how to use one by slipping one over my fingers. (What can I say, we didn't have a banana in the house.)

He was, in a word, mortified.

He told me that I had scarred him for life.

He announced that he'd be in therapy for years to come.

And then, last night, in front of a friend and me, he told her all about it, laughing. It has become one of those things we share and tease each other about -- like we do about almost everything.

It seems my presentation is no longer mortifying and, because of it, he has no excuse not to be safe.

Sometimes, as a parent, you have to do something risky to get a kid's attention. Another discussion about safe sex wouldn't have had the same impact.

And I feel pretty good about this.

Colleen

Calorie burn calculators

2009-11-05T09:55:00.000-04:00

I walked to Clay Cafe yesterday to meet my daughter for a few hours of clay painting. When we were done, I walked back home.

It's a 3.3 km walk in each direction.

Today I tried to find an online calculator to figure out how many calories I burned. Each calculator gave me a different number and spanned the range from over 200 calories to over 1000 calories. Really?

I wouldn't have thought it would be that difficult to figure.

Anyone know of a reliable source?

Colleen

There's coffee all over the friggin' place

2009-11-04T09:42:00.000-04:00

Can someone tell me why the makers of coffee machines are incapable of creating a carafe with a spout deep enough to enable the pourer to fill a mug in under 15 minutes without leaking all over the counter?

C'mon people.

At $130 you should be able to provide an adequate spout.

Colleen

Second Circuit Affirms Dismissal of Arar—By Scott Horton (Harper's Magazine)

2009-11-03T16:18:00.000-04:00

Second Circuit Affirms Dismissal of Arar—By Scott Horton (Harper's Magazine)