3 times unlucky

One of the places I travel to twice a year is a small reserve in northern Manitoba. We'll call it Yogi Berra. When the previous therapist handed over the files, she said something like, "It's always foggy there, so be prepared to get stranded. It's never happened to us, but just be warned."

Murphy's law: I have now entered the picture. My OT buddy and I got stranded our very first trip up there 2 years ago. (It's supposed to be a one-day fly in-and-out deal.) Off we went to the store, where we spent $20.00 on 2 toothbrushes, toothpaste, and a chocolate bar each. Next stop the local hotel. It was clean, they served us an excellent dinner, and we slept well. We got out on the second flight the next morning (the first one couldn't land due to fog.)

Because of the number of locations we all work in, we usually set our travel calendar for each school year by April or May. It's a dance to coordinate with various colleagues, to try to travel together as much as possible.

Take 1: Our first trip to Yogi Berra this fall should have worked out fine. We had it booked for a Tuesday, and off to another community Thursday. Everything was looking ducky, until I got my flight confirmation and noticed that we had been booked to fly on THURSDAY. Called Yogi Berra school - can we come Thursday? Well, no, we have no school that day.

Of course, the flights for Tuesday were sold out by that point.

Then, Thursday morning, as we are driving to our location for that day, we get a phone call saying the school burnt to the ground the night before. We drove back to the city and spent the morning out for breakfast.

Okay.

Take 2: Yogi Berra was rescheduled to this week Tuesday (Yes, the very day that everything ground to a halt thanks to the huge winter storm.) We went to the airport, but left when we realized that they might get us there, but would be very unlikely to get us out the same day. (I just heard today that someone who did go on the Tuesday flight didn't get out until Wed evening.)

Take 3: My OT buddy decided to go to Yogi Berra today. I couldn't join her, so I'll try in January. The weather is perfect. Bright, clear skies, sunny.

She just called me. Guess who's staying overnight at the hotel? With bright, clear, sunny skies, the airline cancelled the flight (a full one, I might add) because they didn't have enough planes.

Hmmmmm. Murphy and his law.

3 times unlucky.

Let's keep our fingers crossed for January.

Ste. Theresa's prayer

May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

94 Cents

I have a great job - 3 great jobs, in fact. Variety, flexibility, a chance to travel, lots of really great people to work with. My "main" job has quite a bizarre arrangement - we are paid by the hour for 41 weeks of the year, and laid off for all the school breaks - Christmas, spring break, and summer. So as you may guess, the level of income varies with the season. The time off, when I can manage it, is wonderful.

I have learned to plan, and have enough connections to pick up extra employment when the "planning" won't quite cover the summer bills. Nevertheless, the paycheques come at varying times, and in varying sizes.

I like my overdraft, the credit card with a low interest rate, and the credit card that lets me collect aeroplan points. These are my dancing partners in the great game of staying ahead.

This summer, things (financially speaking) all went according to plan. The cash flow was getting a bit thin by September, but this is all normal. I did a work trip in the dying days of August/early September, and was feeling quite happy about money flowing into the account once again. So paid various things and worked it down to being only 94 cents from the end of my overdraft limit.

No problem.

Being paid Friday. Thursday night, actually.

Friday came, and my bank balance remained the same. Called the employer. Oops. We'll fix that right away and it should be in your account early next week.

Oh. Okay.

Salvation came in the form of a cheque from someone who owed me money. Lovely. Put it in said bank account. Tried to make a withdrawal.

Money not available for 5 working days.

Oh.

That Saturday was the Pembina Valley Artist's Studio tour. The plan was to spend the day flitting from one studio to the next with a few friends, finding somewhere nifty to eat lunch, buying sausage in Winkler, checking out the pottery buys at a wonderful place we discovered last year near Plum Coulee.

94 cents. Hmmmmmm. Forget Tim Horton's. Actually, I didn't even have the 94 cents, because you can't withdraw anything less than twenty dollars.

The brilliant plan was to pay for everyone's lunch, then take their cash and have milk-money. It really feels wierd and helpless to have absolutely no access to any cash at all.

My friends, the kind souls they are, refused to let me pay for a thing all day. One even tried to sneak some cash into my bag when she thought I wasn't looking.

I forgot all about this incident until this morning. I paid for a friend's coffee. She thanked me, and laughingly said "I was having one of your 94-cent days."

94 cents. It'll take you a long way, in the right company.

My sister is worth.........

A recycled card:







Joyce first gave me this card in 1999. I found it a year or two later, and it's been going ever since. It's a beautiful card, and has been meaningful every year.





A trip across town to the Salvation Army to take advantage of their half-price sale so I could nab this beauty for 2 dollars.












Here's a close-up of the lovely horse motif.












Happy ugly sweater day sis!

A correction

Please go to http://sarahwimperis.blogspot.com/ and read her post on "20 years ago."

I like all of her writing, but I really like this one. She's the Muddy Red Shoes lady I referred to in the Grey Cup post.

Just a little pinch

Why don't people ever say "This is going to HURT?!"

I like to think I am a model patient in the dentist's chair. I don't scream, don't flail with my arms and dislodge those sharp weapons from the dentist's hand, don't kick and thrash to express my true feelings.

I lie back politely with my feet crossed. The foot on top is making the bottom foot behave. My hands are politely clenched on my stomach.

I believe the dentist when he says "You'll just feel a few little pinches." So why does it feel like he is sticking red-hot daggers into the most sensitive areas of my mouth? My body politely stays still, though I have to remind myself to breathe. My forehead involuntarily twitches as I imagine that large stainless-steel needle probing around for the best spots.

Then we wait, and I feel a tap on my chin. "Getting numb there yet?" Well, no, actually I'm not. So we wait a little longer. Then open the mouth and scrape that really sore tooth with one of those sharp things. Body stays still but face is sending definite messages. The needle comes out again. This time I feel nothing. This is how it should be.....

The dentist, trying to be sympathetic, tells me that he went for dental work that morning. Then proceeds to say that he passes up the freezing altogether, and that the experience was really painful.

Why on earth would you say this to a Mennonite?! Guilt immediately floods me, followed quickly by sarcastic things like "good for you buddy, but I'm not that sick." Fortunately my mouth no longer belongs to me, so all thoughts stay nicely contained in my head.

I really don't mind going to the dentist, but just a little pinch? How about some honesty here?

Fortunately, the gold crown at the end will make it all worthwhile.

The big game

It was all supposed to be arranged. Kick-off was at 5:00, so fellow Grey-cupper (FGC) would appear at my place around 4:00, and my neighbor would drive us to the stadium.

Except that I continued to believe fervently that kick-off was at 6:00, and completely forgot that I was going to ask neighbor to drive us to the stadium.

So I had plans to cook dinner, sit and relax over hot and cold beverages, chew the fat. Fortunately neighbor was at my house drinking coffee when FGC arrived and promptly changed into her multi-layered Grey Cup outfit. I changed gears quickly and leaped into action.

What to wear?! Lots, is all I could come up with. Long underwear (top and bottom,) then long-sleeved shirt, fall jacket, winter jacket, hat, scarf, made-in-Nunavut-mittens, pants, windpants, socks, huge cushy additional pair of socks, winter boots.

The backpack was filled with:
- a thermos of coffee - since the tickets were free, who says we have to pay for really bad coffee?!
- one bottle of beer
- snacks (salty ones, and some Christmas oranges to add some nutrition)
- camera
- binoculars
- all the clothes from the above list that I couldn't stand to wear for fear of spontaneous combustion

The most important peice of luggage was the blue "camping mat" that I used to think of as a "mattress" before making the leap to thermarest. Insulation for the delicate bottoms to sit on.

We surruptitiously drank the beer before heading into the stadium (I hid it inside the blue rolled-mat. I'm sure NOBODY suspected what was inside.

The backpacks were confiscated, so many of the layers went on, and all the contraband snacks went into the pockets, along with camera, binoculars, large socks, mitts, scarf, and hat.

The lines were long, and snaking around the entire parking lot. People were seperated into male and female lines (Wait - is this a PRAIRIE football game?!) and we got frisked. I was following all the instructions as FGC had to open every zipper in her jacket and tearfully gave up her winegums. I quickly unpeeled a Christmas orange and offered some to the frisker. It must have worked; I got through with my salty snacks and another orange.

We picked up the first beverage on our way up up up the ramp to our nosebleed seats.
By that time, my two jackets were off and stuffed under the seat.

After determining which team was which, we settled in for our Grey Cup experience. This included hotdogs, mini-donuts (I passed on those; had a few too many a few years ago!) beer, bad coffee, and conversation. Oh, right, football. I think I did see one of the touch-downs, but I did get distracted by everything there was to look at, and I'll confess I didn't always know why people were cheering.

We alternated between cheering for Montreal and BC, depending on who needed the support more. We are sensitive football fans.

We ate the contraband snacks.














When it was all over, and we headed back to retrieve the confiscated backpacks, I spied this nice Saskatchewan lady eating poutine and shivering. Ah, what a great way to round out the evening, thought I. Deep fried food covered in gooey yummy fat of several varieties. She graciously allowed me to take her picture.








Now lest you suspect me of making this all up and simply doing the pictures in someone's garage, here's me in the nosebleed seats with the football field in the background.

I rounded out the evening by watching a movie in bed, sipping the contraband coffee, and polishing off the rest of the contraband "baked not fried" salty snacks.

Grey Cup

I was there.

The Grey Cup

Grey Cup fever has hit Winnipeg. Now let me just share with you that I am pretty oblivious to all events associated with professional sports, and am deliriously happy that I do NOT get invited annually to a Grey Cup party where I would have to feign interest in the game, not just linger at the snacks table and sample all the lovely offerings.

I didn't even know, until Thursday or Friday of last week, that our lovely city was hosting this wonderful event this weekend. I figured it out during a 3-hour drive back to the the city. Counting on CBC for interesting listening, as I usually do, I was treated to non-stop GREY CUP talk! I switched to CD's instead and drove to the tunes of KD Lang and the Fairfield Four, my latest favorites. (No, you won't find them in the top 40.) I love being past the point of caring whether or not I "fit in" to the current rage. For a very well-written post on that topic, check out Muddy Red Shoes post entitled "20 years ago." I don't know how to do those fancy hyperlink things, so you'll just have to find those shoes the old-fashioned way.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Yesterday was the Grey Cup parade. I actually wanted to go, as they were combining it with the annual Santa Claus parade (You can't actually expect Winnipegers to loiter outside for TWO winter parades!) and I have very fond memories of our family making the trek to the city to watch the parade from the top of The Bay parkade.

But alas, not knowing this event was the main attraction this weekend, my friend Valerie/Dalerie/Zalerie and I had tickets to see the stage production of Summer of My Amazing Luck at the Warehouse theatre. The fortunate thing about parade traffic is that it actually caused Valerie/Dalerie/Zalerie to be EARLY - this is worth celebrating. Our main concern was finding a route around the closed-off streets and finding a spot to park. All was well, and the play was wickedly funny and well done.

Big sigh of relief - the Grey Cup has not caused any inconvenience to my life thus far.

So imagine the comic relief I got when the phone rang last night and I was offered a FREE TICKET to go to the GREY CUP! Sure it couldn't actually be anything resembling the truth, I laughed and laughed, and made it absolutely clear to my friend how little I actually care about this game.

Well, it turns out she shares my sentiments, didn't even know which teams were playing, but was given these 2 tickets. Mulling through the possibilities of who to share this experience with, she came up with me! Mostly because she suspected I cared about as much as she did about this incredible honor.

My apologies to all of you who will be sitting on your couches (warm and cozy, no doubt) and wishing fervently you could be at the game.

I will be. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Me.

At the Grey Cup.

Hee hee.

Lost in translation

For the past four years, I have hosted a number of foreign students who come to Canada to learn English. It's been an interesting journey, and a way to "travel" without spending all the money.

Living with people from other cultures, whose primary languages are not English, who have different ways of doing things, has been interesting on a lot of fronts.

The written messages. It took me a long time to realize that life would be a lot easier if they were released from the agony of taking phone messages. "Please call again and leave a message on the answering machine." is what I recommended they tell people who called for me. Now I just tell my friends to call me on my cell phone.

In the meantime, my friend Valerie was renamed Zalerie, Ballary, and Dalarie. Elaine became Rainy, Edith was Idias or Iedas. Mary morphed into Malanie. I got an invite to a fearfowl party. Another invite read, "Nov 30. She'll play the violin who live in the house opposite to ours. If you want to go. You should buy ticket." Phone numbers would only slightly resemble the real thing, and it would be like a puzzle to try to figure out the mystery name and match with the mystery number.

One day I came home to the following message: "tomorrow for camp at phyfio 5 o'clock." Translation: your 5:00 physio appointment is cancelled."

The one that took the cake was a verbal one. My friend asked me one day if I had seen Helly Poppta. It sounded a lot like helicopter, and try as I might, I could NOT come up with another possibility. The translation? Harry Potter.

When she headed back to Japan, I got her an ice cream cake with "Helly Poppta" written on it. We all got a good laugh out of it.

Lost in translation.

The way things turn out to be

8 cousins, from 5 families.

2 grew up with parents who struggled with mental illness.

5 grew up to become parents themselves.

There are 2 stay-at-home moms, a lawyer, an English professor, a building contractor, a realtor, a physiotherapist, an administrator, a daycare provider, an office manager.

5 inherited the mental illness genes.

2 grew up urban, 6 rural.

As adults, 4 were rural, 4 urban.

One has lost both parents, another a mother.

One has died.

This is the way things turned out.

Happy Anniversary

My parents celebrated 56 years of wedded bliss yesterday. When asked how "today" compared to their wedding day, my mom laughed and said today was much better. "Now I know how it all turned out" was her response.

I hosted the party. Planning for it was even more lame than usual. I invited people, then spent three days (with a perpetually dying drill) putting up a railing so my dad could walk up the stairs. If you look closely, you will see the white blotches where I drilled lots of "extra" holes looking for the studs lurking behind those lath and plaster strips.

Sunday morning, I started wondering about food. Some family members offered to bring stuff, so I predicted that mom would bring bread and Kathy would bring a salad. Opened the fridge 1 1/2 hours before leaving for church. Not much there. Found enough ingredients to throw together beef and barley soup in the slow cooker. A loaf of sourdough bread. Plenty of beverages. Pickles. Veggies for munching on. Decided that an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen would make a great dessert. It all worked out. Mom brought buns, Kathy brought a cheesecake.

We hung out, the kids played, we headed outside to make some snowmen. I wouldn't normally sacrifice olives for snow creatures, but these were destined for the rubbish bin. (Much to the dismay of 2 of the snowpeople builders; they were relieved to learn that the raisins and carrots were okay to snack on......)






The carrots and raisins weren't the only appealing snacks available outside.....

I'd have to agree that things turned out pretty well.

Happy anniversary.

The perfect Saturday

Awake at 6:10. Happy, knowing that the crossword puzzle is waiting for me on the front steps. Some people think this is a "newspaper" but no, it's a crossword puzzle wrapped in the Saturday Globe and Mail.

Make the super-duper-strong coffee before dashing down to get the puzzle.

Drink 3 cups of jolting java while making the first pass through the puzzle.

Glance through the paper. Chortle at the dinner party section and decide I MUST post on it before this thought leaves me.

First stop at the computer is email. A note from my cousin entitled "Wake-up call." She's up, drinking coffee, wants to chat but doesn't want to wake me up. I call her laughing; we make a breakfast date for 9:30. I make a mental note to eat lightly; I have a brunch date at 11:00.

Breakfast with cousin and her lovely hubby at The Nook - a greasy spoon nearby that has been serving happy customers breakfast for years and years. They brew their decaf. We laugh and talk and I have to tear myself away at 11:00. Efforts at eating lightly survived as far as the one egg and toast; I couldn't resist the heaping pile of REAL hash browns on my plate......

Phone rings enroute to brunch. I answer with a meek "yes, I know I'm late!" Carolyn isn't dressed yet, but promises she's on her way. All is well. Time for a quick walk, a trip to Safeway, and multiple perusals of the menu. I want fruit and cottage cheese, but there's no such thing on the menu. End up with a quesadilla and salad.

Brunch goes til 3:00. I may never need to eat again. I feel sated with good friendships and food. Multiple more cups of decaf.

Stop by another friend's to pick up a drill. My drill battery is only capable of holding a charge strong enough to put in 6 or 7 screws at a time. This makes the projects take a veeeeeerrrrrry long time.

Out for a walk in the brisk but lovely cool November air with my cool and lovely neice. Home and happy at 5:30.

It's 9:00 and the stair railing is finally in place. That only took 4 years of thinking about it, 2 trips to Rona, and 3 evenings of work.

Now it's time to snuggle into bed with a book. What a perfect Saturday it's been.

The Dinner Party

Today's Globe and Mail dedicates its entire Entertaining section to advice on how to throw the perfect dinner party. Oh dear oh dear. This is just too perfect fodder for a cynical sarcastic soul like me. Cannot pass this opportunity up. Between feeling nauseous looking at the pictures and imagining the pain of the cocktail hour followed by hours of conversation that I may or may not have energy or interest for, I cackled inwardly at my own special version of a party and how THAT might go over for the haute couture crowd.

The newspaper section begins with something like:

Want in on the sexiest soiree of the season? Want to meet the hautest host? Our columnist and photographer crash the party of art maven "someone very important" to get the inside dish on everything from the guest list to the playlist, the flowers to the food. With the the "right" recipes, "right" wines, and "right" fashion tips - plus a full Web package - you'll have all the ingredients to make your own dinner party pop.

This is followed by pages and pages of pictures and advice. The next-to-last page has the five "top tips."

1. Mix it up. Mulim, Jew, young and not so young, art and commerce, - stimulating and interesting people have common ground. Seating people is an art: Think through well in advance who might enjoy whom and how they'll interact, and you'll have a great table.

My version: Decide 4 days before birthday that it's high time to celebrate being 40-something. Fire off emails to everyone you know. Post an open invite on your blog, just in case someone else might be interested. Hope that the "right" number show up, because your house really isn't that big.

2. Have a schedule. People need to be led. In your head, have a plan and envision how the evening should unfold: when drinks are over, when everybody should be seated and when each course should be served. A laissez-faire attitude only makes your guests nervous.

My version: Have a hazy idea of when to start. Tell people they can bring food if they want to. Buy enough plastic cups to make sure they can access the beverages. Go out a few hours before the party to buy the beverages. Drink lots of coffee all day so you can remain conscious past 9:00 p.m.

3. Create an atmosphere. Think candles, flowers, appropriate seating and serving arrangements. You may need to move - or even remove - furniture to make your rooms more comfortable. Set the music at the right level with the right tone for each moment and design it to progress with the action.

My version: Make a sign with scrap paper and a crayon that invites kids to hang out on the third floor, but keep the food downstairs. Thank people who show up with candles and flowers. Find a place to put them. Wonder if people care whether or not there is a place to sit. Hope the plywood under the cushions of the sagging couches doesn't choose tonight to break. Put a CD on at 5:00 p.m. Play it 3 or 4 times, then realize hours later that there's been no music at all for quite a long time.

4. Keep food simple. If you don't work with a caterer, plan a menu that can be prepared well in advance. "I don't like parties where the hostess thinks they should be in the kitchen," important person says. And share the credit: "When you entertain as regularly as I do for business, what you find is that if you have a group of trusted pros you can rely on, then you are able to do your real job, which is being the host." Simple fresh uncomplicated dishes are best, and presentation is key.

My version: Make it a potluck. Do everything in the kitchen, since it is part of your living room/dining room/main room. Buy a barbeque the night before. Grab a guest who looks like they might have barbequeing skills, and put them in charge of charring the char on the cedar planks. Ignore the advice on the cedar planks, and decide that your cedar planks are NOT going to burst into flame, so the spritzer bottle is unneccesary.

5. Cultivate graciousness. As a host, it's you who is responsible for connecting people. Ease the conversation along, particularly if your guests are introverts or meeting each other for the first time. This is almost as important as putting together the right mix of people. Consider the food preferences and allergies of your guests and if they are smokers, set up a comfortable area for them outside (in winter, consider renting heaters.) Most of all, smile, enjoy - have fun! It's a party, after all.

My version: As an introvert, I hope people will find each other and talk about interesting stuff so I can join in. While they do this, run around your house checking disorganized Rubbermaid bins to find the spritzer (the cedar planks are on fire.) Pour yourself some more wine. Put it down. Wonder where it is. Pour some more. Rely on your more together friends to keep track of your wine glass. Go outside to check on the charring of the char. Discover that there is lively conversation among the smokers, who are sitting on the front steps. Stay for a while.

Most of all, have a great time and wonder who'll show up next year if it happens again. Decide that a procrastinator's 40th birthday party would make a great annual event.