Locomotion

dive

2010-07-10T17:21:00.000-07:00

So, we FIFA Paraguay fans were robbed. No whining, just totally violated.

For my family, a Paraguay semi-final game against Germany would have been bliss because it would be a win-win. Proud of Paraguay we are - a country of 6 million all told - a true underdog at FIFA and generally in the realm of the Americas.

The first time we discovered FIFA was when we first moved back to the city of Vancouver, off of the Drive a full four years ago. At the time, Italy won and our Little Italy exploded every game before they took the cup. Fans closed down the strip without city approval, including complete voluntary vehicle wreckage. Watching FIFA 2010 has been another experience of fun. Although this time around, the funeral procession was dreadfully silent early on in the tournament on the Drive as Italy was quickly silenced.

Anyway, Birdie has been taking it in to a certain extent. She's into soccer and got some footie moves going. Last time we played soccer, she did a dramatic fall with noises to imitate pain and build interest. I asked her, what was that about? She went on to explain a fractured story of how she missed the ball and someone tried to take it and so she fell like the soccer guys. Even Birdie has figured that there are some unneccesary dives in her limited and distracted viewings.

Hilarious.

Go Nederlanders! Espana robbed us and it's time for them to be put to bed.

je t'aime fa fa

2010-05-26T20:46:00.001-07:00

Midway on a two week blitz of work travel, I traveled to/from Montreal. My task was to meet with the Eastern Canadian arm of our department to collaborate on a massive project undertaking. Having never been to that office location previously, and only speaking with the department via email, I was given an introductory tour. It was perfunctory while rofessional as we prepared the ground for a day of cooperation and important work. After five routine introductions, I was presented to GG. Audibly, I knew her name immediately. And to see GG, my heart flipped rapidly over and over. I said, "Yes, I know you are GG. I've known you from a long time ago." She was quickly taking in our 20 second moment and then it registered, and she uttered, "O my Got!"

It was then that we blushed fiercly.

I completed the round of introductions and immediately darted back towards her. She and I just chattered away and iunveiled important pieces of catch-up. GG and I go back to the summer of 1993. Meeting GG changed my life and hers. It was a summer of discovery and wonder - when I met GG on her turf in Saint Laurent, Quebec we became fast friends for one week solid. The summer was earmarked by exploring self-awareness which included making lifetime decisions about values and identity within spiritual beliefs. After that week of wonder and emotion, GG and I never saw one another again... until now.

Throughout the day we spoke and laughed, enjoying one another's company, sharing more niblets of information as we realized it would be something undiscovered by the other. We marvelled at the fact that after 17 years of distance, we met again working for the same employer in the same department, even.

Meeting GG left me speculating about that formative time of my life, which was when we met. Did what I held true then find itself realized to date? These ideals and beliefs that we discovered and shared at that time - was I somehow accountable to her to answer for the apparent discrepancies or changes in my life since that time? And, what was her thought of me as a result?

This meeting has stirred up a great deal of emotion in me from a long time ago - while crystallized in my memories and emotional connection, a far cry from my life as it now plays out.

As I locomote through my inner reflections of this reunion, one thing rings true... GG, je t'aime fa fa.

collaboration

2010-05-04T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've got to be doing something right if my favourite coffee and my favourite shoe designer collaborate. In order to celebrate John Fluevog's 40th year in business, he partnered with JJ Bean to create a new blend - Tenango. *Of course, it involves this lovely shoe feature.

Both take a very seriously fun and crafty look at how to do produce a great experience, if not develop character. Both take pride in who they are and that they're not much like everyone else. Both, take their time to make something really good - tossing the dregs to be a lesson learned and an effort worth exerting. Both, delightfully based in Vancouver - even stretching it to be specific to East Van. Both, when in your space are fully aware that they are stealing the show - the most reliable sidekicks - forcing your audience to give pause and consider the reason you stand out. Cheers!

mad men

2010-04-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

Those fellas from Sterling Cooper are back in my schedule. Mr. Don Draper and wife, Betty, are upping the relationship ante this third season, rubbing up against the the likes of Little Children and Revolutionary Road. Joanie is proving to be super-compelling even though she has simply been a fixture-of-wow until now. Peggy Olson proves to be worthy of my favourite career trajectory, defining herself in a world of Mad Men, while coming of age at the same time.

Here's my attempt at Mad Men yourself. I'm not sure the nose was the right choice although I am delighted about my ensemble. The smoke was merely for Mad Men homage purposes.

This season substantiates the depth I thought was possible when I first started with the series. All said and done, it's the carousel of corporate crazy.

I'm in.

zoo state

2010-03-02T20:33:00.001-08:00

It's been a month now since A, Birdie and I went to the San Diego Zoo. We got a sweet deal to tag on a fun day to an otherwise busy work trip... to SD, California. The one day we got to venture out as a family in the relatively warm California winter sun, was super-fun.

Together A and I had made some definite plans to direct Birdie into a zoo state of mind. For Christmas, we bought a Lego Zoo scene (it is so fun). Then, we got her into the mindset within a month prior to our departure, that a plane trip was imminent and the Zoo was on the other side. She watched fantastic zoo cams and videos. Pre-trip the favourite, by far, was the panda cam.

You never know, is the kiddo going to want to sit in front of the panda for hours or is seeing each animal for five seconds the best its going to get. Well, our experience was pretty well a mix of each. A and I wanted to drink in the panda a bit longer than Birdie... but Birdie liked the turtles and alligator scene more than I did. Nevertheless, we did it all. Yep, the whole zany, wonderful zoo.

Delightful trail environments, replete with distinct flora and fauna from various parts of the world and as they related to the wildlife; with big open spaces including limited barriers to the animal habitats, made for a distinct memory.

After the work part, we headed home, ready for a whole lotta other kind of zoo... the Olympics. Birdie and A got to see the flame hit our neighbourhood the day before the games commenced. You know, I thought the entire affair was going to be a big gong show. It wasn't. In fact, it was the best controlled party carnival, full of a whack load of really happy people and really dynamic tourists, that made my city even better. We didn't drive and it didn't matter. The place was bustling with fun and patriotism - a rare and peace-inciting feeling. On Monday, people notably felt sad, like a family after planning the big wedding. What do we do with ourselves now? It all went off without a hitch and it was really beautiful and... someone's gotta clean up.

So, the zoo of our life is the only one that remains. Phew - that's enough zany for now.

olympic

2010-02-22T19:59:00.000-08:00

Lucky me, ended up playing hookey for hockey today. I was able to swipe a box seat to the women's hockey semi-final at noon on a Monday! And seriously, it felt pretty darn fun to join in the scene...

Canada decided that due to our bombedout performance with the men on Sunday, it was only legitimate to hurrah for the Swedes. Well, the US women were indomitable. It was fierce defense and unrepentant shots on goal... that it ended up USA 9:1 Sweden. The best goal was the Swedish one though, the tipper off the stick and the Olympic joy that followed was a real tear-sweller.

A bonus effect? The ticket is good for free transit all day... worked late to make it up and hopped on with the special smile upon my face.
I think the bus driver knew, I lucked into it... and it was sweet.

fo real

2010-01-22T20:24:00.000-08:00

You know those copshop shows that start with a bang and then draw you in and make you love people and hate their enemies that moves along with building conflict which wraps up all neatly in a bow? Solved! Yeah, those shows aren't for me. Give me something that's real.

Like 'Omar Little', in The Wire. This five-season series about the broken-hearted is beautiful because it's so ugly. I couldn't wait to kill 'Stringer' and find out if 'Frank Sobotka' really believed it all the way to his core. Yes, this show is unrepentant.

I've realized that if a series like The Wire or a film, like Up in the Air, leaves you hanging and going, "Yeah, that's about right", then I get really happy and recommend it to everyone that will listen. Remarkably, so few people have heard about The Wire. I guess it's a bit of a tough sell when your main character is such a SOB who all but disappears in season 2 and 3 and yet, you cheer for him because of his dysfunction. The best part is that everyone you get to know is corrupt - cops, robbers, dealers, or junkies. This is truth.

A and I rented the first season out of craving a new show. Post-no-cable, it proved to be a hit. Within a few months, we made it all the way to the end - season 5 finale and a whole lotta bodies.

Take a bite out of crime - indeed.

shhpecial

2009-12-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

It's almost a year since Opa died.

After a fun event as a family at Killarney Pool, we drove past the old family digs where Oma and Opa lived on Rhodes St at 41st Avenue. The massive Vancouver special - original colours of white with pasty evergreen trim remain intact - riled up a whopper of nostalgic moments for me. In fact, the frontage brought less memories forward than driving down the alley way. Looking up from the alley, I could see the brown pick-up with full cab on the back parked neatly along the left side of the backyard. Up the external stairs, where many a worker came by to pick up paycheques or simply chat about the day over matte or te-de-deh. Those steps, kept me connected to my young and vibrant uncles - up to mischief while learning early on about work responsibilities. Inside I see Opa, on a crappy stool, replete with a fake, white leather seat, at the end of the low bar along the kitchen counter, on the phone, boisterously chatting about a price, a place or a player who is involved in the madness of drywall contracting. A pencil, a paper, in a corner of the kitchen but somehow right in the middle too. I sit in the nook (bench seat) along table, white as well, and watch Opa talk shop while Oma deliberately lingers and interjects in the background. It's no mistake she is in the kitchen fiddling with food preparation while he talks business. Often, she adds commentary to explain a facet of drywall business to me, or talks over him to ask me about my interests or favourite food requests. He annoyingly tolerates the banter, nevertheless bouncing ideas and information off of her like a dance partner going along at a jitter-bug pace... hoping for a moment of quiet but welcoming the company. I never understood how business got done there, but I liked it... in amongst the singing, laughing and jokes - especially on Kojak the cat. Dead Kojie - ha.

The Special had an office with many items I particularly cherished. My favourite item to play with, without another person knowing, was the monetary punch stamp that Opa used for cheques. It had many levers with a variety of numbers and symbols, like a typewriter, that would stick out like the insides of a thick cable. Often, we would get a Christmas cheque with an imprint of this very stamp, which endeared me to them so much. This office was also the location of my first encounter with Great-Opa Toews and his reveal about wearing a wig. This memory is forever associated with the oddities of the office and the secrets that lie within it.

Opa's memories are neatly woven with memories of my Oma. Singing as background or grounding me after a silly joke I didn't understand. Her instinct to consider my feelings throughout any silliness or happiness is always present - and gracious despite tactless commentary. I view their pairing entirely different now that I have only one of them. I see her effort and care for a man we all loved more than we could bear or understand; as critical to defining ourselves.

I remain a granddaughter to him and my heart aches for a ringing phone with him on the other end. I miss his forgiving spirit although I love his partner more. I listen for wheezing or snickers in other peoples' laugh, Opa. And, of course, when a person orders a steak - detailed and enthusiastic, I smile.

up in the air

2009-12-17T20:17:00.000-08:00

To kick off my vacation right, A and I had a full day date. I like day dates, they are delighfully unpredictable and mimic the feeling of playing hooky.

After a delicious brunch at Sophie's Cosmic Cafe, we hung out in Gastown to check out the latest Vogs and local boutique shops. Hadn't been to Gastown for years and it proved to be an escape in our own city due to recent, classy gentrification.

We scooted over to see a matinee, Up in the Air. It's been a while since I've been delighted, entertained, moved, contemplative, laughing out loud and fully engaged in a film. Wow - this film is my tops for the year. George Clooney is brilliantly cast as Ryan Bingham, a well-established executive-type, who is retained as an uninvolved, third party whose job is to fire people most typically during massive lay-offs. He flys more than he's 'home', a relative term for Bingham. Home is in the airport, in the sky, and at the hotel. The place he reports 'home' to is a bare apartment that doesn't even have a real key, rather an access card.

I totally get Bingham. I almost regret to admit it, but his solitude while traveling is both comforting and relatable. In addition, his professional role although distanced from those he affects, is very much a cleaner-upper and again, I get that. The distance that comes from being at a distance is real.

My airport system is very controlled, if not a regiment. The away me seeks food, fitness and transportation beat by beat. All told, a stopover is the most disruptive event in my travel head. Never hungry or thirsty, only weighed down by carry-on as needed.

Rare scenes gave me some concern - like the one where he orders the maximum allowable airline or hotel voucher by virtue of entitlement. I do the same - it's not paid out of my pocket, it because of me (my use and requirement of their services) that these options require fulfilling. It's hard to explain, but I get it.

Being a loved wife and mother, and a valued, locomoting worker in my organization are two unrequited beings. Recent experiences on Skype with Birdie - while in my hotel room - give me great delight and sustenance to get through the work trip and scurry on home... yet, the experiences don't align themselves neatly in my head. I think, "I'm working now, in my routine, and hammering down to focus only on that in order to return home fully aware and available. So let's at least be productive." Right?

Watch the flick, you won't believe how authentic and unsexy it is. I highly recommend it.

2009-11-21T20:04:00.000-08:00

A bought me Marjane Satrapi's graphic novel, Persepolis, for my birthday a few months ago. I just completed the book. This book is insightful, funny, odd-ball, coming-of-age, idealistic and profound. Satrapi's biography is unusual because it takes place in Iran and it is unapologetic about the circumstances in which she is born since she is of the mind that it is absolutely normal. Reading it gave me pause since there are many moments in which I couldn't believe the circumstances in which she was being raised, while recognizing that she would think the exact same thought of my upbringing. The most refreshing component of the novel was it's authenticity. I'm not entirely sure how Satrapi does it, but her raw view of the world as she was raised is sincere while fractured. Death is normal, testing authority is required, survival is essential while risk is equally thrown into the mix. All this in a comic. She is also incredibly self-deprecating and downright funny.

Bottom line, stay true and damn the veil.

still cool

2009-11-11T12:00:00.000-08:00

A while back my parents got a hold of a Lego Duplo train set for Birdie. Along with lego train tracks, vehicles and people are pieces that can be made to act as bridges or stations. Birdie not only enjoys it but is enchanted by it. The first time after we set up the scene and later proceeded to dismantle the tracks, I thought her response would be complete meltdown. Instead her reaction was intruiged and curious. What could we build now?

It was then that I rediscovered... she and I are blood.

I love Lego. I could never get enough. You know how there are girls out there who play secretly with Barbies a bit longer than they should? With me, it was Lego.

I recall unusually cooperative scenes between me and my sister on Sunday mornings, playing Lego in the early hours after waking. We did so under the auspice of not waking my parents (because I imagine that we were their morning alarm on any other day) so as to avoid a trip to church. One out of three times, it worked. I think we could play Lego, building and rebuilding our hospital room set in a variety of ways for upwards of four hours. The occasions my dad figured our scheme out were not well received, but he had his reasons. We had ours.

So, we're back in Legoland and it's still way cool.

For that reason, I can't wait until Christmas.

careful, momma

2009-10-18T19:42:00.000-07:00

Apparently, momma doesn't know best. In fact, I may come up with some cool suggestions and be decent to play or dance a jig with, but I definitely don't know what the best option (or retort) is... Birdie does. This kiddo is well on her way to independence. For example...

Momma: "Time to go on the slide?"
Birdie: "YEAH! The big-un!" (kiddo well on her way scrambling up to it)
Momma: "The big one?" (arms up ready for anything knowing she's sure-footed)
Birdie: "Yeah, cuz I'm a big-girrlll!"
[Birdie swings from the top bar above the slide - smiling huge]
[Momma hesitant.]
Momma: "Yes, you..."
Birdie slides from letting go of the bar, swoosh.
Momma:"... are."
Birdie: "ag-gen?"

Birdie: "I wanna mic-a-mac (picnic)."
Momma: "Okay, let's get some tea."
Birdie: "No, it's not."...
Birdie pauses... "It's water, Momma."
Momma: "Right."

Later on, at the mic-a-mac...
Momma: "I'll take some more tea, thanks."
Birdie, observing my pour... walks over and gingerly touches my arm and then gestures a stop sign...eyes wide and right in front of my face: "Careful, Momma."

After Birdie obeys a direction given...
"Oh, Birdie, you're a gem!"
Birdie: "Thanks"

Okay, so she's really taking things on and chatting, but she's still a snuggle-bear that likes to hold hands and blurt out random valentines of love. Phew!

therapy

2009-10-03T16:35:00.000-07:00

The fall season proves to bring a few things into focus... which I really cherish these days.

If my calculations are right, I'll have spent 11 days at home in September... all told. So, when home is extra homey, I'm really pleased. Flying home for dinner on Friday evening and then heading to the garden centre this morning was a overwhelmingly welcome switch. A and I opted to purchase trees that would grow and 'shrub' along our fence instead of changing fences. The exercise of removing unwanted old, sad growth and inserting happy, fresh trees is nothing less than therapy. For example, my sore back and dirty-hands-after-washing are really yummy experiences to this fully mental work-brain. To give some ammo to the reason why it feels so good is that we're rubbing up against one year of owning our first home. Wow, it's a fantastic reward to come full circle on this decision to purchase our home - loving our community, planting our own seeds (or bulbs) and pushing some dirt around to prove our point that we're in...

To discover the personal meaning of home is truly defining.

FB

2009-09-13T18:56:00.000-07:00

In January, I joined Facebook. By mid-August, I threw in the towel.
I surrender... to be forever out of the FB world.

I have to agree with the NYT article, that I didn't like what FB brought out of me. Snooping on people that I became friends with but chose to never interact with. Writing proclamations of what I was doing that really were meant to solicit interest rather than identify my state of mind. The high school nature of the beast - be my friend, ignore a friend, and tag people on pictures that would otherwise have never been seen by anyone else - turned me off. The worst part? Learning about events that I could have easily been involved in and finding out after the fact - ouch. Better not to have known at all, if I hadn't been on FB, I'd be obliviously content.

I also had some real concerns with keeping my privacy. Work folks checking in to see my life was too close to be comfortable. Sure, some friends would be great to make with work but then that whole lot of worms is wide open... Again, if you invite so-and-so to the wedding, you have to invite you-know-who.

Just like a lint-roller, rip a strip off the roll and start fresh.

2

2009-08-30T16:38:00.000-07:00

Birdie busted munching her monkey birthday cake - thanks, Oma!

Bubbling the day away - dreamily happy.

Birdie girl on her birthday.

Big whopping 2.

2 is funner than 1.

Yep...

This girl is locomotion.

beep

2009-08-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

This is a test, it is only a test...

Cut off the cable about two months ago. It actually got cut off about two weeks ago. When the TdF started, we were questioning our decision - should we call Shaw again and tell them we have reneged? Nah, we can check it out online if need be. Then the cable kept going and we saw Contador go on to do his tappity-tap-tap happy climb to the Yellow Jersey podium. Went to the prairies for a reunion and came back to a blank screen. Nada.

It's good. I have felt very happy about the multi-layered savings although more importantly the principle of it. We simply cannot choose TV as an option to suck time. We now actively choose our activities and when inclined, our viewing is pre-selected, before the settling in for the evening activity.

Treehouse was already off-limits because of the banality of ninety percent of it's programs. Seinfeld was a comfort like a warm sudsy bath but, yeah, seen 'em all. And, what did we have to look forward to? Well, there is Mad Men, although with Birdie's sleepy-time turn-in of late, we likely would have missed part of that too - which would have been infuriating. I'm happy to check in in DVD when it comes out - and greedily anticipate these moments.

Thus far, it's novel. I find my spare moments - which are to be truly cherished - bring about things like organizing photos, reading an article or having a conversation over wine and chocolate with A.

Ask me in a year, how's that test going? I hope I forget what you mean.

some kind of wonderful

2009-08-09T20:27:00.000-07:00

John Hughes died on Friday. He put together my favourite movies of all time. The ones I love were typically written, produced and directed by him. He wrote loads and produced many that I enjoy over and over but my true happy filmic places are:

Pretty in Pink - because richies and wrong-side-of-the-tracks make for true teen love angst. And because of New Order and the raddest clothes ever. Most of all because Andy says "I just wanna let them know that they didn't break me."

Sixteen Candles - since being a teenage girl is really awkward and big crushes on hot older guys is excruciating and younger boys who have crushes on you are like, gag-me. Farmer Ted is the genuine article - permeating a full of potential, coming-of-age boy.

Ferris Bueller's Day Off - since playing hooky is a crazy thing to do especially with an off-limits car and a hot gal named Sloan. Matthew Broderick took the camera on, inviting us to a day of ultra-cool and no consequences, especially when Mr. Rooney is on your tail with a vengence. A sidenote scene I love catching is Charlie Sheen in the cop-shop with Jennifer Grey - grumpy-pants sister and strung-out addict on their way to their own drama.

The Breakfast Club - well, because it's the truth. The Hughes teen theme moment culminates in Big-brain-on-Bri's contemplation of Vernon's essay request to explain "Who are you?". The journey of identity in one room, all day, on a Saturday tells us that we're all a Basketcase, a Princess, an Athlete, a Criminal and a Brain.

Cheers to you, Mr. Hughes.

pc8000

2009-07-25T21:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, I got to hang out in one of these massive machines recently. My world of work has absolutely taken me places I never thought I'd end up. The PC8000 was pretty impressive - even for a girl from the city who likes to commute on the crazy-bus, eat tofu and wear Fluevogs. Three scoops of sand into the biggest dump truck you've ever seen in less than one minute is a complete load. WOW. The inside could hold 6 people standing up comfortably. The AC works pretty sweet and the 3 video cameras lined up along the massive window view cover the blind spots well. Oh, and a microwave for lunch isn't a horrible feature. Oh, and also, if the sun is too much then the blinds work real nice.

The 'dump truck' was neat too.

love thy neighbour

2009-06-28T17:29:00.000-07:00

A, Birdie and I have lived at our place for nine months now. Having moved in on Halloween, we had a one night extravaganza to meet and greet our new community via trick-or-treating. Since that time, we didn't truly get familiar with our neighbours until the gardening season commenced. Our place backs up onto an alley so there's a neighbour on each side and at our backs. A knows the folks quite well already - having spending an inordinate amount of time playing and wrangling our outdoor Birdie. The importance of making a neighbourly investment is one that I'm beginning to comprehend since we've literally invested in our living space now.

On one side, we have a family of three girls - the oldest ten years old and the youngest just five. On the other side, we have a house full of everything - grandma, mom, kids, dogs and loads of visitors of every age. On the back, we have two old widows as well as one big family. Down the way... well, you get the scene already.

The Sweet Gals are brilliant, playing with Birdie - on our 'side' or theirs at every waking moment. The Gals call over for her, often disrupting our dinner or morning mellows. Whatever... it's generally a welcome diversion for us all. On the other side 'Garden Grams' is extremely gracious, giving us tips (and plants) for gardening, borrowing us their electric mower, a talking Birdie through a tantrum and on occasion taking the dogs, Birdie inclusive, for a tromp.

Birdie's development is thriving among her community. Her social tendencies are blossoming - yes, a very social gal she is. I'd venture to say that our social inclinations around otherwise perfect strangers, are developing as well. I've noticed that sounds like that of the next-door dogs barking are sounds of comfort to an otherwise temporarily-sad Birdie or a settling-in-for-the-night Birdie. Funny how the unfamiliar sounds of our moving in days are now the lullaby of our home.

Our garden is a good example of our newfound community. We got pumpkins and beans and from Garden Grams, tomatoes from Coke-bottle Lenses (widow - who's garden is a window to his complicated mind), and a rhubarb plant from Self-deprecating Mom directly behind us. Many of our neighbours comment on our garden's progress, never failing to mention the previous owners' pride and success.

The only 'neighbour' we're not all that hot on is the crows, who are murder. Birdie calls 'caw caw' while I curse their preying, stinky existence.

pedal

2009-05-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

Through A's efforts entirely, Birdie has grown accustomed to biking in the chariot (trailer attached to his bike). I have come through a fog of cluelessness and come to realize that this city is brimming with bicycles and thus, I intend to be a part of it. On weekends, at this point, the three of us have been heading down from our home via bike lanes to False Creek. The bike lanes are streets in the city that have been designated as bike lanes therefore, vehicles are permitted but do not have the entitlements/preferences to drive like the bicycles do. It's sheer brilliance. Yesterday, some areas of the bike streets were clogged since there were so many bikes. Granted, it was a true sunny, summer day out.

Often Birdie calls out, "Mamma, eh-ah-you (where are you)?" It's more a hide-and-seek game than the fact that I'm that far behind, really.

We've ended up at playgrounds peppered along the route or recently, at the beach at Stanley park just beyond the Burrard Bridge. What a win - bike, often sans cars, beauty, and beach! Add to that a wee picnic and we're pretty much cured of any travel abroad. This new (but old) king of locomoting is pretty great.

vacation

2009-05-07T12:13:00.000-07:00

I had a post up about Palm Springs... I deleted it out of frustration. I've come to acknowledge, again, that life isn't like it used to be. I'm not ticked about it anymore. I felt the only authentic thing to do was to delete the blog and reevaluate.

So, between 60 and 65% of the time A, Birdie and I were in Palm Springs, we had a great time. For those of you that know me, that's a poor passing grade. That said, I give us 100% for effort and 110% for traveling the entire day yesterday (delays and all) like we are pros. Birdie fared very well yesterday. In conjunction, I expected it to all go to hell at any minute. That balanced itself out very nicely in the end.

Okay, so I've been authentic now and it feels... better.

PS was a good choice for our place in life - no need to make any big decisions, hot, wonderful hotel and pool and relatively inexpensive. Culturally, no shockers, but amusing of course. The economic downturn is palpable, maybe making people seemingly more eccentric. Speculating, of course.

Birdie liked her Dora swimmer diapers since everytime she put one on she would dance around and sing "Gaya gaya gaya". I guess she knew that special diapers meant that it was poolside time. She doesn't even watch Dora - I really don't know how that all came to be. She also likes cones, which we made a journey for on a daily basis - across the street.

I made some attempts to run in the heat and I'll say I made it. I locomoted through some really beautiful homes, landscaped in desert cacti, rocks and palms, of course. We found a wonderful restaurant nearby that was California vegan called Native Foods. This, too, was a highlight since we ate heavenly food in the nearest possible location away from the hotel.

For future reference:

- I will travel again,
- I will travel realistically,
- I will let myself off the hook
- I recognize that this stage of parenthood and my limited autonomy will not always be as it is now
- I like A because he is more compassionate than I
- I like Birdie because she forgives my grrr

draw the line

2009-03-23T20:38:00.000-07:00

Over the last month, I've noticed that Birdie has pushed my boundaries a bit. No, not in the sense that she's pushing my buttons or wreaking havoc on my absolutes, rather that she's put me in a position to question why I've allowed societal boundaries in the first place.

For example... there is this fascination that I have (along with many other parents, I'm sure and most definitely grandparents) about whether or not she eats enough nutritious food. Birdie is a grazer, hands down. So, when she sits down and chows, it's a mini-event. Well, the other morning, Birdie woke up and instead of scooping around a bowl of cereal like mom ('ee too! ee too!'), she asked for 'noo-nose'. She had taken note that my bag lunch included spaghetti and she wanted in on it. My first reaction was "Huh? Noodles for breakfast?". Within a minute I thought through it and realized, that's a decent lot of food... why not? Birdie couldn't get enough - she just went gonzo for spaghetti breakfast.

Seriously, when did spaghetti get ruled out of the breakfast line-up? That's not fair, it's all good for a morning munch.

There are so many Birdie 'sieze-the-day' moments that I could miss because they aren't the norm. Like playing night-night right after waking up, eating pickles before bed without brushing your teeth, wearing momma's underwear like it's the most fashionable sash around, squishing a worm till it breaks in two, saying hello to creepy strangers, burping mid-sentence, hugging brand-new friends on the playground, organizing kitchen cupboards to ensure that crawly-spaces allow for a good deal of sneaking in and out, screaming very loudly with frustration, looking through peek-a-boo hands unrepentantly, wearing pajamas all day and jumping into the dirty laundry like a pile of newly raked leaves.

I wonder, how am I going to break it to Birdie that spaghetti isn't meant for eating in the morning? Maybe I won't... come to think of it... life is already so complicated. *Sigh*

morning contemplation

2009-02-28T10:46:00.000-08:00

In an effort to resume my fave sport, running, I set my mind more deliberately to my hero, Terry Fox. For six weeks now, I have run once a week. Typically Saturday before lunch. It's something I enjoy even though it's barely fitness maintenance.

I am contemplating the idea of initiating 5 am runs mid-week although I have not got it together... yet. If Birdie is up by 530 (as per the new usual), 5 am is really not early enough.

Terry liked to start a run at 4:30 am. Apparently, he loved to see the day wake up. I must agree that early runs have an unusual wonder element to them. In my travel life, I equally loathed and embraced arriving in a new destination in the early hours of the day. There are moments that occur first thing in new places that comfort me. You know, people are quietly leaving their homes, sweeping the sidewalk store-fronts and considering their method of transportation to work, school or who-knows-where. As a tourist, I'm invisible to them while routining their way into the day. At the same time, I'm blatantly unusual in the scheme of things.

The smell of the beginning of the day is distinct, too. Once in a while at home on an early summer day, I get a whiff of that morning travel scent. Love it.

I think I'm struggling with the idea of letting go of sleep. Since having Birdie, I feel that I'm not caught up on all the sleep I need to function. I've got to bank some zzz's before I deliberately give some up right?

If I get Terry's way of makign decisions, I don't think he gave the time of day much thought. He just did it - woke up, slapped on the blue sneaks and ran. Running as much as he did - one marathon a day - the earlier in the day, the better.

Morning or not, the intent of the run is to get back to me. Clear the brain, focus on what's before me and get out the madness that bubbles just beneath the surface. Tfox kept it pretty simple - and that sounds good to me.

system

2009-01-24T13:34:00.000-08:00

I am so pleased to have a job I love in a city I love. I've recently transitioned permanently to my office downtown and love the commute - via transit. I'm feeling kinda transit savvy after a good long while of being a transit newbie.

I get on at my stop along with Business Buddy Soon-to-be-grandpa, Quiet Up-n-Comer always in the logical coat for the day, Overly-gelled Attitude-grl and Clear-ur-Throat. Driver says hello to me now, passengers meet my view in their regular spots and every stop after mine picks up the same folks every morning. I'm part of the crowd now- morning pick-up at 7:19, at the stop, on the line, heading downtown.

Exit off of the Rectangle and find Running-girl coming up toward me, then Senior-fellow reading the paper in the lobby to the left. At the first corner, Married Couple stop, kiss and Glasses IT-husband carries onward up Wasserman's Beat while Well-coiffed Fit-Wife turns her sneakered heels quickly past me. Two more lights. Without fail, every single morning, one person to the intersection starts walking out on turning green light. Honk, holler and curse - Oops.

Steam comes out of the city-covered hole one light before me, my office, downtown. Shop-man pushes out his newspaper stand and I line up for the elevator. Ding and up I go.

2009-01-18T20:01:00.000-08:00

Having been exposed to 'shows' like Big Comfy Couch and Franklin, I felt compelled to choose a quality show for Birdie. Treehouse has its limits and I've reached mine - no, I'm well beyond. It's about time I woke up and remembered the declarations I made about TV prior to Birdie's arrival. As I have mentioned previously, I have had to recant many of my pre-parent ideologies. That said I think I might have been right about TV. I really don't like plunking the kid in front of it. I don't like most of the shows she zombies into. I have a few exceptions - like Sesame Street and The Backyardigans - which entertain me as much as Birdie. Although in general the zombie-zoner separates Birdie from me, her innate nature to explore and her ability to communicate post-viewing.

In efforts to sort out the balance and control the content, I purchased The Muppet Show - Season One. We've worked through the first disc and laughed a lot. Birdie isn't sure why we're laughing so much but she's interested enough. The dialogue is snappy and fun. The muppets stand up (although Miss Piggy definitely got a do-over since this season) over the test of time. The only thing that leaves you a bit disengaged are the guests, most of which have disappeared over the last decades, and who are overwhelmingly gaudy in their costumes.

Until we find our way with what to do about the tube, we'll let Gonzo do his best to ring in the show.

finality

2009-01-02T16:13:00.000-08:00

Opa died on December 30th. I miss him a lot. That won't go away, I guess. I see this picture of him with Birdie at 5 days old and my heart breaks with pride and sorrow. He had met her the day she was born, but this was the first time he held her. He was a jolly fellow although in general not a big smiler for photos. Um, yeah... this was an exception.

Yesterday, the family got together to plan the funeral. It was an authentic process. In fact, I'm really thankful to have been 'stuck' in a big house going through the process together all day long. The truth is that Opa was all about family and to remember, respect and discuss memories together about his life made sense all the while the great-grandgirls were playing dress-up, the cousins were playing fusball and air hockey and sleeping off their NY eve, and as usual, innumerable cups of stellar coffee were being brewed and consumed by all above the age of 15. Like Opa who was larger than life, his family bursts at the seems with grief, joy and pride all at the same time.

Opa was always a big fan of A and me having a child. He cheerleeded us on throughout our marriage that our kids would be the Most Beautiful, but that we should do what's right for us. It never came off as rude or that we disappointed him by not having a child; rather that it would be a shame for this world that such a beauty would not appear! Ha! When we told him the news of Birdie, he was beside himself with gushy happiness. But when she flapped into the world, he fell absolutely in love with her. In fact, I believe it was mutual. Birdie never fussed with Opa. She always calmed for him, or slept while he held her - and he had one big voice. He already loved me and A so much but when Birdie came on the scene he loved us even more (is that possible?).

Tomorrow I will say good bye - as his first grandchild who could be calmed by being laid on his giant belly, as an adult who enjoyed his visits at the coffeeshop I worked at where he often made friends with lonely customers, as a fan who eagerly listened to his stories and poorly recounted them to others, and as a parent who will sorely miss his influence in Birdie's life.

Love you too, Opa.

snow days

2008-12-25T11:33:00.000-08:00

Last week Friday a big dump of snow came down. Travel to and from work was dodgy and transit was really slow. Late December 23rd and up until late Christmas Eve, the snow fell and stormed and blew and packed down the street. Our car has decidedly remained socked in after numerous attempts somewhere between our parking spot by the garage and skating in the alley.

A has nearly shovelled the entire alley by now getting the car unstuck merely to go back to our spot (phew!).

Christmas at home, snow-dumped-on inclusive, has been magical and fresh. Birdie loves the snow and enjoys the adventure in it. Our neighbour borrows us their sled when we feel so inclined and Birdie loves it, particularly on her tummy and going really really fast. A was smart enough to grocery shop early for all our favourite goodies and bevvies so we're having a ball together - and not working!

Merry Christmas to you all and a happy happy season to you and yours.

opa

2008-12-13T13:12:00.000-08:00

My Opa is dying. Like the rest of us, just sooner.

Not very far beneath the surface, he's a true cowboy. He didn't want to leave his home country of Paraguay but, he fell in love with Oma and... well since she was immigrating to Canada with her parents and siblings, Vancouver-bound he a-went. Opa loves to tell stories about his early years in the Colony living off the land, playing in the peanut fields, breaking horses, pranking his friends (and foes), hunting (out of necessity to survive) rogue jaguars and drinking ta-da-daah in the early evening shade. And, he's a stellar story-teller, his legs wagging back and forth with excitement, his convincing tone of dark moments, his quiet giggling-wheezy laugh when someone is about to get it, and the loud clap of his hands when the peak of the story is upon his audience.

Sheesh, I really don't know how to think of my life without this man.

He's fought a handful of cancers and asthma, openly overcome alcoholism, and proven to be the one unflinching source of unconditional love to me. Opa loves me a lot. He loves Birdie a lot. He loves A a lot. He loves each one of his own... a lot. Opa's best quality is his ability to make every single person around him feel as though he/she is the most special person in his world.

How will I refer to 'Oma' now since oma-n-opa is pronounced as one word?

I've let him go in my heart but my future feels incredibly tenuous.

For now I'll keep eating Smarties, laugh-cry at Sylvester & Tweety or Roadrunner & Coyote cartoons, look lovingly at a really big bbq steak (seriously, who knew a steak could be sentimental - particularly for this veggie-head), drive by the DQ on near Earles Street and this time, after driving around the block two times (another long story), I'll stop in and order a vanilla dip cone.

alone

2008-12-06T13:45:00.000-08:00

Following two very emotionally charged weeks at work due to an inexplicably unfortunate incident, and one week of catching up on the normal things at work and home - all the while dealing with the longest cold of all time - I've got the weekend alone at home. A and Birdie went to the Prairies for five days. A has cool documentary work going on that he's got to travel there for while Birdie gets to sneak a Granny/Papa/Auntie visit in. It's funny how the timing worked out after all the madness of November. It's like we all get a vacation from ourselves - our usualness.

I catch myself planning like Birdie is here. For example, I've got to eat this breakfast quick so I can... do what I want. Got to maximize this quiet moment on the computer so that... I can do what I want. It's very anti-routine while freeing.

It's 2:30 pm and besides sleeping in until 9 am - wow - I've cleaned the entire house, done a load of laundry, shaved my legs, took a shower, made plans with a friends, all the while I listened to some faves:like Radiohead In Rainbows, Arcade Fire Funeral, Depeche Mode Violator, John Coltrane The Gentle Side of John Coltrane, unpacked a few boxes, organized some closets and cupboards, written a blog, and drank a carafe of coffee. Yes, I have enjoyed my own distractions in between and rested a good deal as well. Not a worry there...

I do think this is therapy - being alone. Sometimes I forget how much I like me. I like being alone. I always have. I like being with A, and Birdie too. To tell you the truth I think they like me better when I have a little alone time though. Ultimately, it's good for us all.

Now, off to find a movie in the pouring rain with my umbrella. *Sigh*

a question of conviction

2008-11-09T08:21:00.000-08:00

I would imagine that many of my oldest friends and family are dumbfounded my decision to purchase a home. In fact they have every right to think I'm overly sleep-deprived, a hypocrite or a self-righteous nutter. You see, I have held for many years - in fact decades - that debt is something to be avoided at all times. Let me carefully synopsize my position on debt...

I saw my parents lose everything they had worked towards from the gut-wrenching recession of the 80s. My parents built their dream home which was sold for far less than it was worth a mere year or two later. We subsequently moved into a rental *gasp* and drove an older car. My sister and I shared a bedroom for the first time. This was the real extent of our travesty although the emotional rollercoaster of starting over was very real. Interestingly, I was content with what we had after our collective losses. That said, I knew my parents had lost a good deal of confidence along with the stuff that accompanied our 'safe place'. As a young girl, I concluded that if owning and owing on stuff equaled disappointment and an erosion of contentedness, I might as well adjust my expectations regarding the ownership of things. I figured out and developed a sense over time that wealth didn't mean the amount of stuff one projected, rather the amount of happiness and experiences one had.

I began to make this into a religion of sorts - as many of my older friends know, I preached this pretty hard. I still believe this to a great extent... although my idealism has had a forcible reality check.

As I've mentioned several times in this blog, I love where we live. Our decisions over the past 3 years are indicative of settling into a home, a community. For example, the concept of having a child wasn't entertained until we found our home - meaning our neighbourhood. Birdie flapped into our home and after being a lump for a solid half-year, she started to stretch and explore and fly about. Watching her grow forced me to reconsider our living situation and ultimately, my anti-debt mantra. Birdie didn't make me buy a house. Birdie caused me to ask myself why I wasn't.

And then, our living situation became... to be kind, untenable. I realized how altered our lifestyle has become by choosing Bird. Travel will happen in our future, but for now... not much if at all. Dinners and movies and pub crawls don't happen in synchronisity with each other, and rarely independently... and results in more time at home.

Home.

Anyway, I haven't shoved my entire anti-debt conviction out the door but I have altered what the reality of it involves. I cannot live in the reality of my anti-debt mantra and be content. Isn't that the true measure of sincere conviction anyway?

I recently learned of a very anti-brand, anti-logo family who would rather purchase non-logoed clothing for their child than take free, unlimited hand-me-downs. I'm convinced that this is counterintuitive, counter-conviction. Where's the brand-stance in taking free, recycled and reused with logos clothes... hmmm? I struggle with that. I'm an idealist in many ways, but the realistic and logical part of me has to be reconciled with the convictions I hold.

My reality in purchasing this home is that autonomy in parenting and marriage is of utmost importance. Our life experience is what matters to me and so, I've accepted that this now involves owning a home. I'm okay with that.

And yeah, for those of you that heard me bitch and moan about debt in the past, you're allowed to tell me so... but know that I'm just evolving... locomoting in this experiment of life and the pursuit of happiness. Nuff said.

house

2008-11-02T17:17:00.000-08:00

Since Fort Mac, I traveled to Kitimat and Calgary, packed up our place and signed mortgage papers. Yeah, I now have a mortgage. Strangely or not, I'm so happy.
Birdie has flapped her wings and landed... content and free as ever.

fort mac

2008-10-14T18:56:00.000-07:00

The percievably wild and inevitable work trip to Fort McMurray, Alberta finally came to fruition. I booked my travel plans with minor trepidation and volumes of genuine curiousity. The flight proved immediately interesting since the full plane contained the passenger compliment of business persons, tradespersons - notably rough-around-the edges - and a handful of women - who seemed to be on a visitor's pass to a correctional institution since they were giddy and reluctant to be there.

I arrived in Fort Mc and drove to town in my smoke-riddled, mid-size car - a sharp contrast to the dirt-lathered pick-ups all around me. Ft. Mc has a good number of the big brands of grocery, department stores and restaurants; it's fully equipped for the desired style of living including suburban style communities with many yet to come. It's also got beautiful forest... well, except for the part where those oil sands are being developed. Maybe you've heard about the tarsands economic development over the past decade or so? The main strip is quite short but traffic congested and poorly coping with the ever increasing transient populus. The presence of law is everywhere, in fact I witnessed a couple of arrests just cruising the drive.

A trip to site proved extremely fascinating. Once I arrived at the security gate and got clearance, I waited for a lift from a company vehicle since no personal vehicles are allowed. Entry provided me with a sharp contrast from town, from the trees lining Highway 63 - it's simply a picture of industry. It's man working the earth - pounding, grinding, driving - no cosmetic frills whatsoever, red muddy dirt, equipment of all shapes and sizes, snow-fenced smoke pits, marker flags, back-up beeps, radio dialogue and human worker bees in protective equipment. To me, the sound that defines the entirety of Ft. McMurray would be gutteral.

I'm not sure how I feel towards Ft. Mc just yet. I remain curious - what effect will this industry have on the long-term culture of AB, of the town, of the way we look at earning the big bucks? Ft. Mc is our country's Deadwood and I just can't help but look through hands while covering my eyes.

what i know and why not?

2008-09-27T16:35:00.000-07:00

Birdie is in an extraordinary growth spurt - jumping up and down on chairs, climbing every uneven level in sight, eating a vast array of foods and comprehending verbal directions (although not necessarily adhering to it, understanding nevertheless). It's marvelous to engage her unending curiousity, particularly during this period of time. For Birdie, in correlation to growth comes frustration and an increased determination. She exerts a lot of energy and desire to do or acquire things but simply cannot have them. For example, while pointing "I want this" she indicates that she wants a kitchen knife or a boiling hot pot. Her brain is injecting so much data that any restraint directly results in a total rejection and disappointment and I think... confusion. During these points in the day, Birdie can muster a good deal of drama including full-body convuslions of extreme displeasure. Wow.

I've been trying to figure out when learning and development and the correlating disappointments of missed opporunities comes to an end. Really, it's not anytime before the adolescent years. As I remember my teens, my opinions were strictly one way or the other - the issue was black or white - no shades of grey. I was passionately engaged or outraged at the concept presented to me that I either 'wasn't ready yet' (like Birdie with the kitchen knife) to digest the concept or too limited in my experiences to thoughtfully consider it wholly.

As an adult, I continue to have extreme swings between successful engagement and rejection. Even now, I can get so frustrated about limitations or another's judgemental position that I exert a good deal of teeth-grinding, fist-raising angst.

Birdie is primal in her displays of emotion - happy, sad, whatever variation it may be. I have manners which are learned - really that's all that distinguishes us. I can speak English while Birdie can express every language. I can communicate logic, Birdie just is what the moment brings.

So, do we really change in these emotional ups and downs as we age and grow?

sitcom

2008-09-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

I've been reluctantly wrangled into more TV viewing with Birdie lately. Trying to be conscious of the amount and content that she watches while I'm around although I'm usually balancing getting ready for work in the morning. I've got a confidence that watching Sesame Street is all good on both an educational and playful level, although I'm not sure about several other kids shows out there. Recently, Sesame Street got moved back from 6 am to 640 am (?) and so we got stuck with Caillou. Oh, the drama this four-year old, oddly-bald kid experiences from day to day. Actually, to be honest, there isn't much drama at all except a little Caillou-whining here and there.

Take the last episode I yawned through while cuddling Birdie, Mom and Dad sleep through their alarm and Caillou wakes them. Instead of rushing around to get to work, Dad says to Caillou, let's get breakfast! Yay! Then, despite a reference of Caillou not liking the rush (what rush, I wonder?) of the morning, Mom and baby sister (note: with hair) wait in the car for Caillou to join daycare drop off. Caillou doesn't want to go, so he stays in his pjs and waits in his room. Dad asks Caillou what the problem is and Caillou demands that they stay home and play. Dad says, let's walk to play group while working Mom and sister take off in the car. Yay - problem averted! Dad, in suit and tie, shows Caillou all the people that go to work while they walk, buying muffins and visiting along the way with different people. Then, Caillou ends up at day care and Dad says he has to go to work. Calliou is sad the he's leaving and Dad reiterates that, like all the other people they saw on their walk, he has to work too. Daycare lady says that she's glad people work so that, like her, they can do what they love, which is taking care of Caillou. Yay - everyone is perfect! Did Dad get written up at work for tardiness, I wonder?

Um, so not real or relatable. Although not a sitcom, it's pretty simialar to the TV shows adults watch and for some reason enjoy so much. Life is so great. My favourite example is a show I find really nauseating now - Friends - which purports 'We can have problems, be unemployed and live in multi-million dollar apartments and wear Prada in NYC. Yay! How interesting that a show like Caillou feel so similar to Friends maybe because he whines like Rachel.

I guess that's why I like Seinfeld - it's simply too inane to relate to but funny. Or 30 Rock - it's in NYC and it's a spoof of SNL and it's not in any way shape or form relatable. Or Entourage, it's in LA and it's about being a movie star so the biggest problems that the group deals with is how to get a pair of limited Fukiyama sneakers ahead of the queue.

Fluff or full-on drama... pullease - but I ain't for the sitcom style - kids, adults, what have you.

one mom

2008-08-27T21:32:00.001-07:00

Birdie's first birthday was a marker for me than it was for her. I mean, I didn't know what to expect for either of us. I realize now that getting through the first year as a mom is... something. In celebrating Birdie's birthday, I felt a sort of validation take place. There were no awards or cheques in the mail recognizing my 'accomplishment' but I certainly felt like I earned something.

A flapping arms, gleeful kid did that.

proof

2008-08-23T11:10:00.000-07:00

The D6R Dozer is being operated... drum roll... by me! It's worth just less than 1/2 a million dollars. Eep. The hard hat picture is just to make all of you out there wondering if I'm really truly working where I work... a reality. Just to assure you, I get good and dirty some days, but operating the D6R was a one-off (with plenty of supervision to say the least). No need to worry yourselves about my earth-moving, scaffolding, hammering, grading, blasting, drilling skills cuz i ain't got any. I just contribute my brain-power to the humanity (and legality) of it all. Nuff said.

long august

2008-08-09T21:09:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe how much we've fit into August already.

Turned our long weekend trip into a bit of a milk run - stopping in Calgary Thursday eve to hang with Trev & Candice and then a work meeting for me there on Friday morning. That went great - Birdie flew alright (extra seat is always a bonus) and it came together pretty well. Friday after my meeting, we booted it from downtown in a rental and got to the airport lickety-split. In fact, everything about heading home to the Prairies (Birdie's nap, check-in, security gate and lunch at the airport) was going swimmingly... until we began to board. I searched myself, casually at first, for my wallet. Hmm, not there. Maybe in the diaper bag. Nope. Maybe at the restaurant. Nope. Maybe in the family washroom. Nope. General boarding commences and starts wrapping up when I realize it's simply not with me.

Alas, I was left in Calgary, wallet-less and without A and Birdie (on they went, reluctantly, without me). With all the stress of my life of late and the pressure to make my destination by the end of the day so as to see my dear sister off the next morning to her wedding in AFRICA, I busted up. It was kind of a strange burst - feeling really good and really embarrasing not to mention justifiable and well-earned. For those of you that don't know me, I really hate crying. I'm not a bottler, but I'm extremely reluctant to do it in public.

Westjet proved to be extremely lousy (no rants on them, just a fact you should note) and so I was left to my own wits to sort the mess out. Contacted Avis to get them rolling on the location of my wallet. Of course, the car, en route to a detailing centre nowhere near the airport. Nevertheless, they were on it (btw, I got dream service from them) and got my number to keep me posted. I had to approach that damn WJ desk again to find out, if I'm not able to get on this flight then how would I get on the next. "With ID". Yeah, thanks, didn't figure that out the first time. "How would I go about doing that?" Blahblahblah, I went to the police at the airport for actual helpful information.

K, let me know if you want me to fill you in on all the details of this crazy-whirlwind-gongshow, but for purposes of a decent post, I'll cut to the chase... Avis located my wallet (a black wallet on the black back seat of the car, where I had been taking Birdie out of her seat amidst paying the valet) and got it to me before the next flight (which I got the last available seat). All told, I was at the airport for 7 hours that day. Five of which, were completely driven by getting to Lola, Birdie and A. I must admit, after the initial emotional burst, I kept it together. I even thought so far as to get back-up ID, if in the event Avis couldn't get the physical wallet to me in time for the flight, via the Police by getting work to scan my new hire ID to them by email. Nice. I even got out of the mess of how to get to the country from the city airport at my destination since all of the rentals were booked (for the long weekend). I called my dear friend, J, who offered before I had to ask, and we drove and blabbed all the way home.

I felt pretty good about my navigation skills within the mess not to mention within my very stretched brain of late.

We were all reunited around 11:30 PM. Birdie, asleep and oblivious of course.

And, a wonderful weekend together we had. It was timely, not only for sending Lola off, but also because Birdie's first birthday was coming up. Being with my other family was rejuvinating and as usual, comforting too.

I hopped on the plane back home on Tuesday morning at 7 am. Got in at 8 am (our time) and headed straight to work. Worked in the office for a few hours and then headed back to the airport. This time, for a work trip to camp. Nuts.

I took a float plane over the mountains and landed in the bush - okay no, I landed on the water, in the bush. It was a glorious day and I got to sit in front with the pilot! I met with the project management team at the camp offices and had an excellent meeting. Then, after a decent cafeteria dinner, I worked a bit more cuz otherwise I'd be out for a walk with the really active and mischevious bears. Then I went to my room, a wee one (sparse but clean) with a satellite TV tuned to SATC and a single bed and had the best sleep since I gave birth a year ago. Must have been a mix of my complete exhaustion and the mountain air.

I had a brilliant job site tour the next morning and even saw a drill and shoot (blasting rocks) happen. It was loud. Then, I took the 'runner' down from site all the way back to the airport. In and out. What took one hour by float plane took 6 hours by giant pick-up truck/bus/taxi and car.

A and Birdie got home the next day and the day after that... it was Birdie's first birthday! WOW. Yeah, so that might have to be another post. I am so totally full of pride and emotion at the marker of one year as a mom to Birdiegirl. Tomorrow is her little party, so after that it'll all come full circle. Count on a debrief on this biggie.

expectation

2008-07-27T21:32:00.000-07:00

If I haven't mentioned it already, life is really really demanding right now. A has a major contract to fulfill, which is essentially a full-time job, as well as his regular gig while I'm digging in on my new career position at a big company. It's been two months now and we've been scraping by with 5 minute quality moments. These quality moments are by far less than what I would honestly consider quantifiable by the word 'quality'. Sometimes, these moments are without words and simply snuggled in front of the tv in Birdie-ized clothes. Other times are when we talk in the bathroom together - one bathes and the other shaves while watching the monitor light steady-on (please, no blinking, please!).

For A's birthday, I decided that since I had no time to be thoughtful or actively pursue a real gift, I would consider giving an 'experience'. To accomplish this we would both have to compromise to make this gift happen - the gift being a weekend at Whistler so A could mountainbike ride while I hung out with Birdie. Along with the trip along Sea to Sky, we both had to get all our gear together, to leave on time from work and be okay to miss a weekend at home (which I must admit, I more often than not crave instead of activity). A had to commit to working twice as hard the next two weeks to make up for the lost work time on the weekend even though the trade-off was appealing. We made it happen, we made it work, we had a great time, we're still tired but very pleased.

Expectations of each experience we consider and engage has to be tempered. The 'what the hell' attitude has to be gauged against, 'are we nuts?' or 'are we being true to ourselves?' or 'are we making life too much work?'. On this occasion, we were being true. While on the weekend, we regularly had to remind ourselves of that, particularly when Birdie thought the only fun thing about the restaurant was crawling around the floor and eating... well, you can only imagine. That dinner got put in a take out carrier.

Now, we're heading to the Prairies on a trip for many reasons, most of which are well worth the effort. Sure, we've got to stop in Calgary for a meeting on Friday morning. Sure, we have to come home on different days to fulfil both work and family obligations. Sure, we've got to get ready for Birdie's one year party (k, that's actually really fun). Sure, we're tired - yep, still after one year. Sure, we're us... yeah, it's the new world we live it. Managing expectations of myself, my relationships and my abilities to do stuff is a constant mental effort. That being said, to live life - our life - without some element of risk, well now that would be a compromise.

cowboys

2008-07-20T19:32:00.000-07:00

Being back at work has given me opportunities to experience places in Canada that I haven't been before. At the beginning of July, I landed in Calgary for an important meeting. Yes, I've been to Calgary before... but not during the Stampede. It was nutty. I was in a two day meeting downtown Calgary but you wouldn't have known it since it was totally the norm for business attire to be tossed aside for the entirety of the event. Dudes and dudettes were on their BlackBerrys, flagging taxis and ordering their javas in the morning as per usual. It was a mildly disconcerting experience. In fact, the meeting agenda I received the day before I departed for Calgary invited such attire. Huh? I thought this was an important meeting? It was. Nevertheless, there were dudes. It was business as usual, just a bit of carnival or whatever going on.

Last week, I flew in a wee plane North. Northern BC. First stop Fort St. John. I arrived at the Best Western (barely) and shortly after I put the card-key in the door to my room, I heard a loud crunch on the wall outside my window. I overheard some cussing and realized that a serious brawl had been going on for some time right there. Bloody, drunken, shirtless messes were christening my northern experience straight-away. I promptly reported the skull-cracking to the front desk attendent. For some reason, I thought she would call the police. Nope. She headed straight for the two and yelled that it was time they stopped their fighting. It was actually quite effective. I said to her, I didn't expect you to go out there when I reported them. She simply answered, "I grew up here." The end.

Well, the end until the cops came by knocking on every door of the hotel inquiring if a bloody man was in the room. They just wanted to ensure that the 'loser' of the fight wasn't dying in the hotel room since he was identified as a guest at the hotel. Wow.

I won't even get into the Boston Pizza dining experience that same evening. It's just too surreal. I slept oddly that night - not necessarily because of the brawl or the BP in my stomach rather because the sun only set for 2 hours until it came right back up. I woke up at 5 am and the sun was well on it's way into the day. North Country.

Anyway, my road-trip North of Fort St. Crazy took me to the Peace Canyon Dam which is located in the glorious Peace Canyon Valley. I was in awe of the beauty of the nowhere. Deer escorted me right up to the dam - even a wee fawn with a speckled tush checked me out.

It seems that cowboys, costumed or not, comprise a good portion of my work travel adventures of late. Not sure I'm ready for Texas yet. Soon though.

o vancouver... canada

2008-07-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

A holiday like Canada Day is extra good. Why? Because there are absolutely no expectations around it. Spend it with family, or not. Dress up, or not. Get gifts, or not (I'm sure someone out there buys gifts). It's a day off (or a well-paid work one) and it's usually a fun scene.

We had a brilliant day out at English Bay in Vancouver, our city. It was a perfect day, sunny with a breeze. Birdie just loves the sand, she doesn't mind if it gets into her mouth (usually, without intent) along with some food or a bottle. She moves it from hand to hand or just crawls around in it, discovering sea shells, seaweed or garbage. Anyway, we did something we love, which is walking around English Bay, while we brought Birdie somewhere that made her happy too. Canada Day turned out to be about Vancouver. We all felt pretty patriotic about our glorious ocean-lined, mountain-viewed, glass-building city (in Canada).

Canada Day may be the best holiday we've got so far.

caterpillar

2008-06-26T20:50:00.000-07:00

The job is still being good to me. Despite being in the Human Resources department, I had the opportunity to operate some heavy machinery. Yep, cool stuff. The tomboy in me had no problem emerging at this moment in time.

My favourite piece of machinery to operate was the dozer. Of course, the excavator was really fun too, although it was a bit too complicated to learn in such a short period of time. Working long days and getting into a piece of equipment like the dozer made me really happy. The dozer was immediately gratifying. Seriously, how much fun is playing in the dirt? Really fun.

That reminds me, my Birdie is playing in the dirt an awful lot lately too. Actually, she's really into all things earthy... flowers, sand, wood, weeds and well, dirt. She's pretty keen on the whole exploring the earth scene. Having played in the dirt recently, I realize that the more I play with Birdie, the more we both let go of all the jazz that that we get hung up on daily.

So, I figure it's better to get dirty and play hard.

overnight

2008-06-12T21:16:00.001-07:00

I've worked nearly two weeks straight, including an overnighter away, and I'm doing well. Strange how well we're capable of adaptation. I must admit, the overnight stay away was pretty darn good - seriously, a whole night's sleep. Yes, I woke up at the usual Birdie-intervals, but I got back to sleep pretty soon after I realized I was on my own.

The 'being away' is new and a bit uncomfortable. I missed Birdie. Of course, I checked in regularly and when I heard that wee nattering in the background, I got a bit choked up. She is soooo adorable to listen to. Nevertheless, we had a sweet reunion and since, a good deal of mushing and giggling (and crying and whining, too).

The me in the job is different. I'm not sure quite how to explain that yet. I know that I am different about how I conduct myself and how I make decisions with my time. That too, could just be the resolve that comes with starting a new job and new set of expectations with co-workers and superiors alike.

I like coming home from work and seeing my Bird flap away to fly to me. I miss her loads when I leave her wee cutie face and wonder if it's all okay. But alas, she is in capable hands, with Daddy, flying around like the world is at her feet (it is, I think).

skipped post

2008-05-29T20:28:00.000-07:00

Didn't know that if you start a post one day and publish a different day that it posts the day you started and saved it. Here's the one I wrote today.

notable

2008-05-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

Just a few bits about the notable stops in Montreal...

Fairmount Bagel

This stop was brilliant since it was in the heart of the Richler district and hadn't changed a bit. When we entered the wee box of a store, fellas were rolling bagels and plopping the dough on long, thin planks into the open mouth of the hot, flaming oven. Smelled heavenly in there. We ordered a half-dozen to go and realized the sweaty bag within seconds and couldn't resist eating some despite the fact that we'd just had brunch.

Wilensky's, pictured to the left, was a few steps away from the Fairmount. If any of you are Mordecai Richler readers, you know the place. It's where Duddy Kravitz went to shoot the shit. A was pretty stoked to find the spot since he's a fan. The place smelled like it should and the regulars had their spots at the bar secretly marked. Nothing about it seemed to have changed in fifty years, with the exception of the worn-out posted pencil-drawn portrait of Richler.

La Main was a cultural highlight for us since it buzzed with locals and provided great window-shopping for items of all kinds... furniture, vintage clothing, shoes, hardware and art. For lunch, we sought out and relished the veggie haven of Casa del Popolo.

Of course, Old Montreal was beautiful and eclectic as we had remembered it. We found a few cute shops and some stellar food too.

Crescent Street was the first place we discovered upon our arrival to Montreal. The scene was primarily for fine dining and cruising. That said, we had a stellar pasta feast at Wienstein & Gavino's. This dining experience was especially great since Birdie made a point to dance to the booming music the entire time, while eating and smiling easily at anyone looking her way (which was a lot of folks).

we're going to the lake

2008-05-26T09:53:00.001-07:00

My back to work countdown is now down from 10+ months to one hand... yep, 3 full days left. Whoa, that is REAL. That means Monday morning, bright and early with hair brushed and styled, teeth brushed, and wearing clothes that aren't pajamas or covered in avocado or milk. Am I capable of accomplishing this feat?

Actually, I'm feeling enthusiastic and confident about entering this next stage in my life. I will miss Birdie tons since she's all I've been up to since August 8th last year. I'm nervous about starting my new job in my new position, but it's a nervous excitement. On Monday morning.

While hanging at my parents early last week, my Opa B. called to check in. He does this regularly to each and every kid and grandkid - which is a lot of calls. I love these calls; every one of us does. Opa is a cowboy at heart who incidentally knows how to love people deeply. I cherish him, particularly since he licked cancer for the third time this last year. It was a doozy too, and yet he's here. I guess taming a few horses in the old days taught him how to lick something wild. When he's not 'trapped' in the Valley, he and Oma travel home to Paraguay in the Winter and to the Lake in the Summer where they live in their cabin. Anyway, I could go on and on about Opa and Oma but the point is that while he was on the line, my sis and I spontaneously agreed to go up to the Lake to see them. This is with the girls, my two neices (who are 3 1/2 years old + nearly a year) and Birdie.

We totally just made the 'inspired' decision to go and a few days later, we met, loaded up in the her van and trooped up to the Lake together. It's a five hour drive.

For me, this decision was loaded with the desire to make the most of my time remaining before work. Chunks of time off to do stuff will soon be oh so precious. Now, did I fully comprehend the undertaking of the trip? I think so. No doubt, it was arduous. And, the kids all had their moments. Birdie did decent although she really got antsy-pants screamy in the car seat both ways. EM traveled well considering she had to be quiet when the babes were trying to or actually were sleeping and still have fun. BK got carsick on the way up and for that we all felt lousy... for her, I mean.

All of that said, I'm so thrilled we went and were the first visitors since Oma and Opa re-established their home there. Opa's spirit was soaring since he wasn't sure he'd ever return to his beloved cabin since the last time he was there was a few days before his big cancer surgery. Oma was delighted because, she's an Oma and loves her kidlets. She taught EM to bake yummy strudel and sang to the babies... or was that to us? We played games and Opa got crazy telling stories about he and Oma's love-life. For real. Seriously, when do you get to feel grown-up more than when your grandparents divulge their love details? We all peed ourselves laughing over the classic Opa-Oma conversations about their 55 years together.

So, going to the lake was crazy yet fun. Like everything else for me right now, I'm enjoying every moment. Hey, did I mention that she's locomoting now? Yep, she's crawling this week - the flat is one happy disaster. Birdie's mini-tantrums are even endearing to me somehow. I know it's because I'm aware that I'll miss stuff and miss her and miss my 'freedom'.

trippin' en francais

2008-05-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

We arrived back in our lovely and shockingly warm Vancouver home late Saturday evening. Birdie was totally pooped. Of course. She fared incredibly well, regularly demonstrating her ability to learn how to travel and cheesing up every single stranger to our collective advantage; which made our experience unique to that of our previous trips.

When we plan an excursion that involves the airport, I forget that there are several accomodations that go along with having a 'half-pint'. For example, we are invited to jump the queue for security, boarding, and bathroom breaks. I find myself recognizing the humanity of others more as a parent by watching how fascinated complete strangers are by Bird and how quickly enamoured they are to her and she to them.

Montreal was a dreamy spot to be, naturally. A and I found several spots (by chance) that were familiar to us from our last visit there sixteen years ago - which was the summer when we met and became friends. Montreal beauty was constant. The people were fantastic. The food was great, especially our daily continental room service (part of the hotel deal we got) which included fresh croissants, muffins and yummy coffee. Above all, the city was approachable and that made it a real winner with a babe.

I can confidently and knowlingly say that we'd happily take another trip with Birdie. Yes, the extra free seat in our row, both directions, helped. Yes, the posh hotel with stellar service made each day and night much more manageable. Yes, the type of travel we did was a lot more basic. That said, we did it, and we're going to do more. And, we did everything we wanted to, and more! The more we travel, the more we love to do it.

Here are a few pics to keep you going...

On the plane... Birdie flies to Montreal!

Check out MY giftbag from the hotel!

On the Metro. Birdie quietly observed the experience. Not upset, not thrilled, just taking it in.

A family self-portrait taken in Outremont Park in the Jewish Quarter on our last full day in Montreal.

first day

2008-05-14T14:46:00.000-07:00

A, Birdie and I arrived safely yesterday early evening in Montreal. Birdie traveled extremely well and as a result, we were thoroughly joyed at the entire day. We sincerely expected a complete write-off of a day due to travel and potential nap-less-ness. Alas our low albeit optimistic expectations have proved to be a good mental point of reference.

Loews Hotel Vogue has proved to be an exceptional choice of accomodation. On their website they claim to love kids. And, when you get here, the claim is realized! Wow. We're loving this hotel scene.

Feeling happy about having made the decision to travel with BabyBird. Montreal, of course, is marvelous. Yummy food, gracious hosts and beautiful buildings all around.

C'est la vie!

coming of age

2008-05-02T09:12:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that I like movies?

A and I often talk about how the teen flicks of our generation had some real depth to them, particularly when compared to the most popular ones over the last decade. I grew up on John Hughes coming of age films and truly lived by them. I believe that those films comforted me at a time in my life that felt nothing less than confusing and frustrating. Even though A watched different flicks during his adolescence than I did, we still come up with similar feelings towards those 80's (and early 90's)flicks that played out teen spirit, struggle and triumph.

I most identify with The Breakfast Club since it encapsulates the five types of teens, extrapolated in Brian's (the Brain) monologue:

40. INT. LIBRARY - DAY
    We see Vernon pick up Brian's essay and begin to read.
                         BRIAN (VO)
              Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact
              that we had to sacrifice a whole
              Saturday in detention for whatever
              it was we did wrong.  But we think
              you're crazy to make an essay
              telling you who we think we are.
              You see us as you want to see us...
              In the simplest terms, in the most
              convenient definitions.
                                                 CUT TO:
41. EXT. FOOTBALL FIELD - DAY
    We see Bender walking towards us as Brian's monologue
    continues.
                         BRIAN (VO)
                   (CONT'D)
              But what we found out is that each
              one of us is a brain...
                       ANDREW (VO)
              ...and an athlete...
                        ALLISON (VO)
              ...and a basket case...
                        CLAIRE (VO)
              ...a princess...
                        BENDER (VO)
              ...and a criminal...
                         BRIAN (VO)
              Does that answer your question?
              Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.

Getting carried away here...

I think teen films that explore who you are and what your potential is are important. Seriously, who can turn away from a rerun on television of Say Anything? Even silly Ferris Bueller's Day Off provides some insight to parent/teen relationship issues (note scenes involving Cameron's reluctant agreement to use his dad's posh car to venture to the city with Sloan and Ferris).

Until Juno, I percieved the quality teen flicks of my generation were extinct. With such fluff like Bring it On, American Pie, and miscellaneous Linsdey Lohan types etc..., it was hard to believe that teens were identifying with any on screen characters anymore. I'm not just aiming at movie themes or plot-lines, but also the amount of money these teen characters have at their disposal. I think it began with Clueless,which is actually a decent flick, and spiraled downwards from there.

But, Juno is the new teen tone that I have been missing. Watching this flick was so refreshing! The title character, played by Oscar-nominated, Canadian Ellen Page, is fun, raw and a real teenager with a step-parent and a middle-class life. Taking this film in is delightful. I thought with all the hubbub surrounding the film that I would see it and be dissappointed. Nope, it's true blue. This film comes of age with pain and tears and adolescence and disregard for the system and of course, the ongoing desire and search for truth.

self help

2008-04-22T09:52:00.000-07:00

Two days ago, the fog lifted from our home. Birdie is no longer fighting us and we're no longer cursing our parenting status. What happened, you ask?

A and I sat down, completely drained, haggard, sad and frustrated and talked and talked. We analyzed all the self-help books we read (four or five?), analyzed Birdie's consistent stumbling points to going to sleep and rummaged through the not-dead-yet parts of our minds to find a way out of this thick fog. We opted to toss all of what we added to our 'system' of sleep (mostly gathered from self-help books) and simplified what we used to do to put Birdie to sleep and then see how things transpired. Of course, all of this in consideration with what clues she's leaving for us to pick up on during the go-to-sleep process. All of that said, we've got our Bird back and the bedraggled nest is on the mend.

PHEW!

So, maybe this book tells me I'm not teaching my baby how to self-soothe. While another tells me that I'm not committed enough to the teaching of sleep to my baby and she'll resultantly always have a sleep disorder. While another book tells me that I'm in this boat with other parents and they have found success to a sleep-easy or no-cry solution to put their baby to sleep. Well, I have too, I've self helped myself to tossing all the ideas and following my heart. If Birdie wants to be with me when she goes to sleep, okay. If Birdie wants to be sung to, that is sweet. She's a baby. She's needs us.

I'm telling ya, I sure won't go back to that look she gave me (oh how it makes my heart shudder to think about), mid-schnook, during those tough sleep times of "What are you doing? I'm sad about this situation. Can't we just be us?"

Yes, please. *SIGH*

S'il vous plait

2008-04-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

In light of my imminent return-to-work, my year off with Birdie, and our 15th anniversary - A and I have booked a our first real vacation with Birdie to Montreal, Quebec. We're thrilled about making the committment to a trip because our travel life must go on!

I realize now that it was a year ago that we traveled to Paris and Prague. Oh, what a delightful and dreamy trip that was... even if, no, especially because our luggage got lost and, now that I think of it, so did our train! That was the trip in which we started to really focus on the next stage of our lives - parenthood. That tour reinforced our committment to each other, our first baby and our lifestyle.

I anticipate that Montreal will be much of the same, only in a new direction. This time we'll be contemplating Birdie's future, our schedule(s) and again, revisiting our intentions for our lifestyle.

I love that we still get itchy feet, despite all the likely drama traveling with the babe. I must remember and repeat: adaptation, evolution, redirection, locomotion.

run for cover

2008-04-14T13:36:00.000-07:00

Lately, my scant moments of clarity have by far been outweighed by frustration and ear-covering. Birdie's screams - both ticked and 'happy' - are simply mind-numbing. I've been less than thrilled about my stunted conversations with A through this mad noise. A and I have improved on our body language though... it's deafening dialogue actually.

Suspecting more teeth and clearly, sleep-deprived, Birdie has been less than ideal to hang with. During the rants, hers not mine, I think and think. Yes, I think of my old life, when I had the luxury of choosing to run or not. I can't believe I chose not to run when I could have. What a shame. Tears well up at that thought now. I can't believe I watched that crappy movie, again (with commercials), when I could have been speedily reading through my course materials - which are actually really interesting. If I had done that, I would have my diploma by now. What a silly girl I was. I think about my relationships and how I didn't call as often as I should have and as a result, lost some opportunities to dig deeper and cherish my friends a little more. Because, I find that I have so little to give now.

Oh dear, if yoga isn't working, what will?

2008-04-10T13:59:00.000-07:00

Went for jury duty today and to my great relief I discovered that I had not only served my civic duty to show up, but also was excused. Apparently the parties arrived at a plea-bargain deal. I was promptly thanked for showing up and left. For some reason, that felt fulfilling.

As a result of the closure of jury duty, I have officially turned the corner on the count-down to my return to work. I realize now that I am going back to work in eight weeks! Wow. I feel quite thankful to have been excused from serving on a jury and thus have some extra time with Birdie.

So, in light of my return to work (which, incidentally, is a new job, not the old one) and my next stage of life in locomotion, I purchased a new pair of shoes.

John Fluevog, how I do love you :)

parent to teen

2008-04-07T17:27:00.000-07:00

Two teeth later and flights to and from the Prairies to visit Grandma and Grandpa, and I'm back at the blog. What a whirlwind.

Sleep has become the most unfavourable thing to get to for Birdie and as a result, for me. Admittedly, I dread the going-to-sleep process or whatever its called. And Birdie can really hold her own now... maybe the teeth have increased her resolve. But one thing is certain right now, going to sleep is no friend of Birdie's.

See, I never had that idea... I have always loved going to sleep and sleeping. When I was a girl, I would fall asleep anywhere and not for brief periods rather long and deep snoozes. I love sleep still and might add that I'm really good at it.

As a new mother I have come to realize that I'm not 'all that'. Don't be mistaken, I'm not saying 'woe is me' or 'I need a break'. What I am saying is 'have I always had this trait in me... and never realized it before? Because... ew, I don't like it.' Let me explain. Before I had Birdie, I had this idea that when a child would be added to my life (and my existing lifestyle) that new and unfamiliar emotions and undeveloped character within me would suddenly emerge. Okay, so new and unfamiliar emotions and character traits have shown themselves. Unfortunately, not the new emotions and 'strength' of character that I had hoped or imagined. Instead of beauty and grace I have discovered that I am impatient (particularly for the non-sensical) and frequently feel confounded. Again, not the characteristics and feelings that I had in mind.

I'm back in the emotional arena of an adolescent. Seriously:
- my body has completely betrayed me. What is this thing anyway?
- my emotions are in complete tumult
- my head is fuzzy. Some of it sleep deprivation, some of it is missing the me I used to 'get' and some of it is just processing input at a rapid rate
- my self-esteem is under constant self-scrutiny
- my accomplishments feel less than what I had hoped
- my superiors know all the answers
- my decisions are uncertain. One day, I have complete resolve on an issue, and the next its gone.

Sleeping should be my specialty and teaching it should be natural. But it's not. I'm not a natural at being a mom either. Birdie, forgive the drama of me. I'm working on it.

yogi

2008-03-25T16:43:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the tree pose. This is my favourite yoga pose. Admittedly, I'm really not that good at it. Maybe that's the beauty of ending up in my own version of it. I don't know how I look on the outside when I'm in it, but I sure like how it feels on the inside.

Yes! I'm back at yoga. This is a brilliant and happy reacquaintence. A encouraged me to return, to which I immediately went online in search of the next Hatha class at my local studio. For many reasons, my running life is not blossoming into much and so a weekly yoga class has become my meager, albeit wonderful and necessary, vehicle back to fitness.

I love the quiet of the practice and the awareness of my body throughout it. After my first class back since Birdie, I realized that I do like my body I just forgot why. Sure, I don't like the actual shape it is since giving birth, but that's the journey back to the new me... which I voluntarily signed up for.

All of this said, I will run again. Truly, my running heart and spirit have not escaped me in bright new Adidas sneaks... we will meet again. Until then, namaste.

work

2008-03-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

My parents gave me this stellar photography book for Christmas last year. I finally had the quiet and a cup of coffee to sit down and take it in, page by page, this month. This book is a wonderful collection of National Geographic photos that really get your mind swirling with questions and insights about how work is done in our world.

One photo was of a wee baby girl, naked and dirty, lying in a busy city street with a hat beside her for money. I was so moved (and horrified) by it that I had to close the book and returned to it a full week later. I figure the reality of that photograph of a baby, the same age as mine, working was just too close to home. Wow - I/we are so rich.

Other photos were not necessarily so poignant. Some are funny, others are informative, while yet others are relatable. Nevertheless, the viewing is brilliant and I highly recommend it.

goonie goes coen

2008-03-14T13:02:00.000-07:00

Most of the films I've been waiting to see are coming out on DVD now. We're catching up on the newborn baby haze period in which we would have gone to the movies, but alas, did not make the effort - rather, we did not have the ability of making such a plan. One actor who stands out as the 'it' guy of fantastic films of 2007 is Josh Brolin.

In the Coen brothers film and Best Picture win, No Country for Old Men, he shone as Llewellyn Moss, the tough and endearing veteran who happens upon a case full of money with the smarts and energy to keep it against the forces that seek it (or does he?). He's essentially the protagonist who is competing with scene-stealers like Javier Bardem and Tommy Lee Jones, most effectively. By the way, No Country for Old Men is a brilliant film. It is a signature Coen film and it is rather surprising that it was an adaptation of a Cormac McCarthy novel rather than their own script. Nevertheless, this flick is not for the folks who can't take killin' and quirky and strange and real hick. A and I saw it over a week ago and it's burned on my brain - content, pictures and characters. A big swirl of Texas crazy beautiful. Profound, actually.

In the Ridley Scott film, American Gangster, JB played Detective Trupo, the slimeball cop who is so slick, so creepy, so scary and convincing it makes you wonder what kind of person he is. He proves to be forceful against, again, very compelling characters played by Russell Crowe and Denzel Washington. As a film about mafia, it's right up there with the classics. That said, it's violent, disturbing, and harsh. Crowe was redeemed for me in this role and Washington is always great. I might add that JB gives Washington a push in the sense that JB is BAD, so Washington is REALLY BAD. Without the contrast of Trupo's character, Washington may have been too despicable to watch.

Finally, Brolin starred in In the Valley of Elah, which I recently praised. JB is strong in his scenes although a small role compared to the other two. His on-screen chemistry with Charlize Theron is tangible.

One more thing, Brolin is married to one of the sexiest ladies in Hollywood, Diane Lane. Seriously, this guy is hot!

Who would have thought that this guy would go from his first film as a 'goonie' to leading in a Coen film?

haggis

2008-03-07T10:01:00.000-08:00

Ever since Million Dollar Baby, people have been talking about Paul Haggis (not the stuffed pig intestines). People loved that movie. Hilary Swank won her second Best Actress Oscar for her performance as Maggie, who I must admit I cared for very much. Clint Eastwood was nominated for Best Actor and Best Director, and Best Picture of which he won two for three. Morgan Freeman won (finally) for Best Supporting Actor. Haggis was nominated for Best Writing. I found the film forgettable and schlocky and contrived. Entertaining, sure. Yet I kept running the scene - where the stool is put in the ring - over and over again, thinking "Seriously?". The film left me frustrated, annoyed and scoffing.

Shortly after MDB, Haggis was given his own film vehicle in Crash. I very much liked the idea of this film, synopsized wonderfully in a Don Cheadle monologue, which he says that people are so needy to feel something that they actually crash into something or one another. Okay, that's a film I want to see, and love. For me, Crash, although wonderfully acted and beautifully photographed, resulted in a write-off. The multi-protagonist plot was, again, contrived and undone. I felt like two hours+ was wasted on an idea rather than a story. After winning Best Picture, I felt compelled to watch it again and the second time around, I admit I enjoyed it more. Nevertheless, not a film I get excited about.

Of course, who am I to judge? Hollywood and fans of Haggis reigned supreme over not only the box office, but also the Academy Awards. There must be something that I was missing.

In the Valley Elah showed up at the Oscars this year with one nomination for Best Actor nominee, the brilliant Tommy Lee Jones. Because Tommy Lee Jones is always great, I thought I should see that. A reminded me that Haggis put this film together. Hmmm... But it's also got Susan Sarandon and Charlize Theron. Well, I'll give Haggis another go.

Thank goodness I did! Although the fans didn't show up to lavish love upon Haggis, this film was fantastic. If you can imagine it, no one wanted to watch a movie about Iraq. And, no one wanted to watch a great movie about Iraq that actually explores and confirms our greatest fears of the impact of this war on our families, our children, or our moral centre. And, no one wanted to watch a movie that would cause grief and sorrow and deep, deep breaths.

I talked to this movie. I don't often do that. I sighed with Jones. I felt nervous for Theron. I ached for Sarandon. Haggis wove a beautiful film together and finally, wrapped up each and every idea, character, and emotion so neatly. I felt proud of him. I like him. I now will partake of more Haggis, with confidence that he'll deliver the goods.

freedom

2008-02-28T16:18:00.000-08:00

So, Birdie decided to wean herself. I must admit, I wouldn't have caught on so soon to her signals had my sister not just gone through the process with my niece. Birdie had been becoming less interested in feeding over the last month. Then, one night she lost it, crying, inconsolable and sad. A suggested, out of complete desperation, that we give her a bottle. I got one ready for her and sure enough, Birdie took to it eagerly and went to sleep. Strange... she never liked the bottle until now. What can I conclude from this situation that will prevent further breakdowns? She WANTS the bottle... I can be freed from my nourishment role for her. Oh my. Oh yeah!

So, now I can schedule my life away from Birdie. Not that I really want to be anywhere else for all that long, but I can do it. It's like when my passport expired, I felt kinda locked down. I wasn't planning a trip, but if I wanted to go on one, I couldn't. Birdie gave me the passport to tfox-independence. She's been so great about the process too, very content to go with the bottle and never looking back, making my experience all-around positive.

I realize now that I haven't had my body to myself for 9 + 6 months = 15 months. It's strange to add that up between pregnancy and post-partum. Now I feel this overwhelming desire to get my fitness back to running-body (yes, my previous expressions of a return to running have been occuring rather infrequently - boo). I guess that's because running is for me and me alone. Odd, what I get excited about now, such as caffienated coffee, that full glass of wine, my old bras (which aren't necessarily that great but they're a hell of a lot better than the nursing bra for the past 6 months and the 'pregnancy-size' bra the 4 months before that), tops that I can wear again without considering how it will work away from home in a feeding situation, and of course, the assurance that I won't be ruining any more outings with the lovely 'spillage' that so often occurs as a breast-feeding mother.

Ah yes, me and my body, back together again. Hello, me.

jury duty

2008-02-24T06:49:00.000-08:00

We've all seen the movies about criminal court cases and wondered is this how justice is exercised? Typical of most Hollywood movies in this genre, a jury selection is involved. This sort of scene typically shows that both the Crown and the defence want different jurors for very specific and opposing reasons.

Guess I'm going to find out how accurate or far from the truth these movies are... because I got my jury duty notice! While going through my mail, I looked suspiciously at the envelope from the Sherriff's office thinking, "What did I do?" When I opened the envelope and read the content, I loudly announced to A that I've been served my jury duty notice! He looked at me and realized immediately that I'm pretty excited about it.

Seriously, I am so interested to witness first-hand the court justice process in Canada. I am required to show up for jury duty in April for a criminal court case. Now that I've received my notice, I feel as though I'm a real citizen; that it's my turn to perform my civic responsibility.

You'll hear no groaning from me - I'm going to court!

Movies that I like about the law that show court scenes in order of most loved: To Kill a Mockingbird, Miracle on 34th Street, ALL Perry Mason episodes (TV), The Verdict, 12 Angry Men, Suspect and A Time to Kill.

PS: I liked the stamp above for the graphic, apologies that it's not Canadian. Boo.

darn it

2008-02-12T14:28:00.000-08:00

I'm currently reading history content for a course called Women and Work in Canada. I'm in a position right now in which I can just take electives, which is delicious. This course has been particularly insightful since I'm at home with Birdie 24/7.

The portion that I just completed described women who were working in factories, interestingly most of which were munitions manufacturing, and once the war ended they were expected by society to return to their homes and resume their roles as homemaker. You see, the culture at the time was of the mind that women were merely recruited to fill the gaping holes in the economy which men had left in order to join the war. To my surprise, after the war many women were more than happy to leave their paid work and return to their homes. Of course, some wanted to stay on and earn, particularly those whose financial situation had changed (widowed, estranged or disabled spouse). Nevertheless, society responded to the war's end by presenting women with a pat on the back and an urgent message 'to go home'.

As a current stay-at-home-mom, the reading for this course so far is cutting pretty close to my situation. I go between reading feminist articles and feeling like women at home should be paid to be there to reading objective statistical articles and reevaluating that those feminists really take things too far. Ultimately, it's been a very interesting collection of readings for me during this time in my life. I am very confident about my decision to be home for Birdie's first year. No doubt, I am facing a whole lot of questions with my imminent return to work both personally and professionally. And, as a result of this course, my reflective moments have most certainly been rich.

Oh, the movie poster, The Rainmaker... right.

The premise of the movies is that there is a family of three men and one woman, Lizzy (Katherine Hepburn), one of the men being her father the others her brothers. Lizzy is a spinster. She takes care of the house on the ranch and is a tough woman although deep down desires love and an escape from her situation. Lizzy had been sent away to another town to stay with family there and unfortunately returned without a beau. The men are convinced that Lizzy is no longer able to be pawned off for marriage. Their resignation about her situation devastes her spirit and infuriates her as well.

In the meantime, Starbuck (Burt Lancaster) is roaming the countryside, looking for desperate folks to belief in his claim that he can bring rain on the drought-ridden town.

Oh, the sherriff is single and is approached by the 3 men to come to dinner in a desperate attempt to set him up with Lizzy. Prior to the men swarming in on the sherriff, the sherriff tears his shirt accidentally and is reproached by his superior that he needs a wife. Sherriff isn't that cool about the comment and attempts to mend his own shirt when the 3 men enter his station. And, darn it... the men are convinced their hopes to hook up Lizzy with the sherriff aren't all that far off.

Anyway, Starbuck ends up at the ranch, inspires the family that living in dreams and hopes isn't all that bad in fact that it's good for you. The Sherriff, although initially turns down the invite to dinner, ends up at the ranch and coming onto Lizzy. Lizzy, initially repelled by Starbuck and his dreams ends up in his arms and comes alive to her wonderful femaleness. Starbuck, works on the rainmaking and... (well I won't tell you). And guess what? Lizzy gets a man to validate herself and put her to use!

Anyway, my apologies for the long recap but the premise of this film just got my emotions going crazy! A woman so desperate and a man so needy. Both caught up in a societal expectation of their roles and are messed up because of it!

Thank goodness for Starbuck, the hero, the rainmaker, the dreamer. The only character who is completely redeemed from my point of view. Why? Because he dreamed and dreamed and expected the most amazing things and above all else, was completely unconventional.

half way

2008-02-08T10:41:00.000-08:00

Phew... we made it to six months! Birdie continues to be a bundle of sweetness, surprise, character and of course, joy!

A and I have been chatting about it, thinking has this six months gone by faster or slower than usual? I think we agree that it's just been six months, not fast or slow.

There are moments in the day that go in slow motion. Like sleepytime, those moments take long, slow minutes. That's okay though, sleepytime can be lovely... and occasionally disasterous. Being a very good sleeper, who knew it was so hard to put oneself to sleep? Ah, I still think of myself as a good sleeper although I wonder now, can I be that yet again? I chat with my sister, mom of 2 beauties, and learn over and over again that sleeping is not an element of that ever truly reflects the life one had prior to children. *not one but two big sighs*

The moments that go fast are the development moments. For example, when placed on her stomach, Birdie now scrunches her little legs beneath her and tries to move up and forward. Wow, that happened fast. Did she just get the hang of trying to sit on her own? No, didn't she just start eating veggie mush? No, didn't she just start noticing shadows? Those cumulative development spurts really zoom by.

Anyway, we've made it half way to a year now and although we often long for sleep we are so, so mushy and in love with our little Bird. Happy half way, IF.

once

2008-01-21T21:05:00.000-08:00

Haven't posted about a film for a long, long time. By the way, I really love cinema. For those of you out there that wonder who I am besides a new mom, I love films. In fact, I proudly know names and films of both famous and lesser-known stars from all Hollywood eras. Seriously, my poor sister never knew what hit her when she purchased a Movie trivia game for Christmas one year. I think I ended up without a team-mate and still won by far. I don't recall exactly, but there was certainly a tone of "Don't ever play that game with tfox again!" in the air. It was a bit tense.

Anyway, being a new mom and being a film fan are a tad difficult to reconcile. I've learned to watch a movie in bits and pieces. Reluctantly so, I must admit. Nevertheless, I refuse to not watch movies that pique my interest despite my environment - with the exception of new releases in the theatre of course. An actual movie experience is just waaaay to abstract for me still - 2 hours plus travel and parking? Eep, that might be a while.

I heard great things about this film. Once. I've always been a fan of musicals (thanks, Mom) and figured whatever the content, with the rave reviews, it was worth a viewing. We rented it the other night and I must say I was in the entire time. The Irish film is solid for several reasons: the characters are poor and live that way (I hate that Friends live in Manhattan on jobs like a waitress, an unemployed chef and an unknown actor - it is simply ludicrous!), the music is brilliant and doesn't tell what's happening presently rather the entire backstory of the Guy (refreshing angle), the Girl is enchanting and authentic and so someone I'd love to hang out with (basically, not a tart!), Guy and Girl perform their own music and as a result the film is raw and brilliant, and the emotions of the film are true to life. The film quality is not all that. The music is raw, yet not polished. The story is simple. Once is a lovely experience of film storytelling which I had been craving but didn't even know it.

This song has been in my head ever since my Saturday viewing and I hope it's doesn't get out anytime soon.

*Update: As of today, the song "Falling Slowly" from Once has been nominated for Best Original Song at the Oscars. Yes!

toys

2008-01-21T10:01:00.000-08:00

Over the past few weeks I've noticed that Birdie engages better with items that aren't toys than actual toys. Of course, Birdie is playing with toys too, but her occasional and lovely unidivided-attention moments are with items that are not. For example, the top five items to play with of late are a blanket, tissue paper, pre-ground coffee bag, remote control and her soother.

The blanket game is certainly tops with Birdie right now. It's a version of peek-a-boo, I guess, when we throw the blanket over her head and lift it up and off with a wee gust of wind brushing over her face throughout the process. She gets really excited when this game begins and tires of it infrequently, even when she's right exhausted.

Birdie is a fan of the soother and yet, when she's not into sucking on it, she's into chewing on it and trying to get it in and out of her mouth accurately. She'll often chatter while toying around with this item leaving me free for all of five minutes. Hey, that's a teeth-brushing and a hair-combing. Pretty good.

I'm not really surprised by this non-toy fascination. In fact, I find most toys quite overwhelming. I think what I find interesting about this is that she's really just mimicking us. All of the items mentioned above are items we use every day. She makes great efforts to get tactile with the items that we use. At times, she wants to play with our cell phones or pens. I don't often go around playing with the crinkly book that doesn't really tell a story, or the shaggy dog that squeaks. (Okay, once in a while the crinkly book that doesn't tell a story.) At any rate, she's into what we're doing and so, I'm reminded of two things: 1) Who needs toys? and 2) she's watching me and copying me!

Be good, Mom!

blur

2008-01-13T13:34:00.000-08:00

One month and not a post. Wow, must have been busy.

Birdie's first Christmas proved to be eventful. She did exceptionally well considering the overwhelming amount of Christmases that occured in the month of December. Unfortunately, both Birdie and I got ill during Christmas week. She fared better than I, albeit with a high fever at one point and a nasty little cough, since it took me nearly two weeks to really feel like I could go out and look presentable.

As we all know, being sick sucks. Being a sick, breast-feeding mom sucks even more. I realized that I recovered so slowly since I never got to sleep more than 3 consecutive hours (okay, there were a handful of 4 hour dreamy-sleeps peppered in there) at a time. Nevertheless, we all got through it alright.

Birdie is in blissful, development chaos right now. She never agreed to the bottle really, but took to a sippy cup with an expression like, 'Duh, Mom, this is easy'. So, that's a relief. Birdie is also really stoked about eating some real food, that is, if you want to call rice cereal real food. I think, as a result, she's become more dense. Seriously, my arms are yelling now when she wants to be walked around for a while. Ah, soon enough she'll be wriggling out of my arms and I'll be appropriately sad, so I'm happy to do it.

I must admit that the whole Christmas experience was a touch richer with the babe. I haven't been able to put a finger on why, but it is. For many years, I've felt that Christmas gifts for adults is frivolous and silly. Of course, I enjoy receiving gifts, but deep down, I struggle with accepting them since I don't need them. I enjoy them and am grateful for the generousity of my families, although I'd love them just the same if they didn't give them. I also struggle with the purchasing of gifts since I'm perpetuating that same feeling I struggle with. Anyway, all of that said, I was able to 'get over' those feelings this year since Birdie was on the scene. I certainly think that we'll be considering our approach to Christmas with the kiddo more sincerely as she grows older and becomes more aware of what's going on.

Anyway, the blur of the season is officially concluded. Gifts are in designated spots in our place, tree is off and chipped, colds are gone, and all the chocolates and candy are, unfortunately, consumed. Happy 2008 to you all!

good baby

2007-12-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

What's all happened since my last post? Birdie is growing and developing at such a quick pace now that blogging has been sadly neglected. Blogging, what about my journal? Oh, dear.

Briefly, she's done her first roll over from back to tummy. She's talking like a person who has had a whole lot of thoughts and experiences pent up for a long while (guess that makes sense) and needs to discuss them. Birdie is starting to show her character too, which I think is a mix of quirky, charming (in very specific circumstances), contemplative, determined and honest. This is where my title comes in.

Most certainly, every mother is asked the question of their new child, "Is she/he a good baby?". I encounter this question with some frequency. In fact, at Birdie's second round of immunizations (ouch) recently, the question was formed as "Is she a good-natured baby?" to which before I could respond the lady who asked it said, "Of course you'd say she is, what a silly question." No kidding!

Seriously, what is this question? What is the meaning of it? I've been throwing 'the good baby' term around in my head for some time. The concern I have with this common question is that it isn't as casual as "How are you doing?". People ask that all the time without even listening to the response since it's part of our way of saying hello. Yet, with a new mom, the good baby question is one that comes up to initiate a conversation. Granted, people want to engage the mom on their new babe and so, I hope only out of nervousness, they ask this question.

Okay, the opposite of good is bad. No mother is going to respond that their baby is bad. A baby can't be bad anyway. Frankly, I'm not sure a baby is capable of being good either. Good is defined by behaviour, babies behave like babies and that is, particularly in the early months made up entirely of reflexes - to feed, to poop and to sleep. People, this is an obvious reason to toss the question altogether.

The other stigma attached to the question of a good baby is that it ultimately comes off as a judgement rather than a colloquialism which sounds to me like: "Tell me, do you think your baby is good to you?". People want to know. Strange people.

So, when Birdie squawks loudly at overly-stimulating gatherings of more than 2 people? She's overwhelmed and may be not so into socializing. When Birdie is quiet and not smiling at you albeit content, she's observing her surroundings and likely pre-occupied with sorting it out. If Birdie is cooing like a pigeon she's pontificating about her adventures in the day. If she's smiling like crazy, she's happy. But, she's never good or bad, I can tell you that.

Couple

2007-11-25T13:43:00.000-08:00

It was a real treat to have A's mom visit this weekend. She came for three luscious days to drink in our wonderful Birdiegirl - who of course, has Granny wrapped around her wee finger. As a result of Granny's visit, A and I went out for our first time without the babe.

A had been making subtle suggestions to get out sans Birdie prior to Granny's arrival. I responded with agreeable mumbles although never really processed the idea nor committed to it entirely. Maybe it's strange for some to hear, but I simply had no burning desire to get out, feeling completely content to hang as a family since she's arrived on the scene. Okay, maybe there were a few occasions in which I'd long to go out with a friend for coffee or to sit at a pub without any limitations. When Granny arrived, I was just happy to have her around to chat with, watch her enjoy Birdie and alleviate some of the responsibility of caring for her.

On day three of Granny's visit, A mentioned it again that we could get out for a short date. Granny was certainly up to the task and so, we did it. As soon as we descended the stairs of our place, I realized I was excited to be alone with my hunny. We walked down to our favourite spot and I felt really light.

I like being with my husband alone, my best friend. I like that we still feel like us. I like that we couldn't help talking about Birdie throughout our date. I like that we were without the preoccupation of what Birdie needed at every moment. I like that we did something we like to do. I like being a wife to A.

Truly, I love my life.

waddle on

2007-11-15T10:57:00.000-08:00

Throughout my pregnancy, I received my monthly subscription to Runner's World magazine. I stored them away since I made a decision not to run through this pregnancy and instead focused on yoga and walking. I've begun to dig into that pile of mags since I'm starting fresh on the running thing.

One columnist that I read and enjoy in every issue is John "The Penguin" Bingham. He writes from the perspective that for a runner, it's more important to run than anything else. Race results, gear and other things are not what matter. The November issue was exactly what I needed since I resumed my running post-partum. He included an article titled "I am not a jogger" in which he lists the reasons why he runs. I could relate to several of these points. Briefly, and to quote:

I am a runner because I know what effort feels like, and I embrace it. I know when I'm pushing the olimits of my comfort and why I'm doing it. I know that heavy breathing and an accelerated heart rate - things I once avoided - are necessary if I want to be a better runner.

I am a runner because I run. Not because I run fast. Not because I run far.

There are several other points, many of which I relate to. I like the simplicity of the Penguin's running mantra.

I can think of an unmentioned reason that I run, which is that it requires little to no gear. Sure, there's something to be said for having skookum shoes and techy tops. That said, it's still just clothing. If I want to run, I don't need anything except sneaks. Come to think of it, the runs I'm doing lately involve the clothes that used to be too big on me that fit nicely right now (insert mild 'grrr' here).

Thanks for the support, Mr. Penguin. And yes, I will 'waddle on'.

Soul

2007-11-07T15:41:00.000-08:00

It was just a year ago that Birdie was conceived. It's hard to believe that she was just beginning, especially since she's here and is a massive (despite her wee-ness) part of our lives. I know, I know, that's what everyone says when they've had a baby..., "You just can't imagine life without her, right?" Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Maybe because I remember sleeping as long as I wanted, going out whenever I wanted and exercising whenever I wanted and... I could go on.

Ah, I'm not complaining, just being real.

Recently, we ventured to Tofino. I would suggest it was our first family vacation. Our trip to the prairies early on in Birdie's life was to visit with family and friends not to get away. The Tofino outing was delightful, particularly since we had (*gulp* in embarrassment) never stayed on the westernmost edge of our beautiful province before. We lodged at a wonderful spot called Ocean Village Beach Resort and met up with old friends there.

Tofino is undoubtedly a spiritual place; A put it well, "Being here is good for my soul". The setting facilitated personal reflection and an appreciation of life. Being there with A and Birdie, along with our friends, reminded me what a rich life I have. Birdie didn't love the ocean wind in her face, but she did like the cozy naps in the sling under my jacket or A's hoodie; which, truthfully, we loved too. The food tasted extra good and the bed was extra comfortable.

On both nights we were in Tofino, the moon was full and the weather was absolutely clear. As a result, I might have to say that my favourite part of the trip was when Birdie was chirping for milk in the middle of the night. Huh - you say? I fed her, watching the white waves crash in on the shore from the couch, absolutely bright, crisp and clear. The scene was glorious. On once occasion in the middle of the night, I fed her, put her to sleep and then snuck out for more of the dreamy ocean experience. No need for flashlights to drink in this scene - just me, the ocean and the moon. Thanks, Birdie.

Sure, it's not easy doing a vacation with a new baby, but it's not hard either.

From the Beginning

2007-10-21T16:08:00.000-07:00

So I went for a run today. It was a terrible run. A delicious run.

I ran in the rain, which has been the landscape for the last week, and drank in my first run post-baby delivery. Wow, that was weird, I'm starting from the beginning. Weights were added to my ankles and pieces of me were moving around off-cadence that I didn't know I had and don't want to get to know. So, I'm officially out of running shape. Okay, more like out of shape - full stop.

For some reason, I fully expected to be running regularly by now. It's been eleven weeks, right? Maybe I looked at this stage of me a little too unrealistically.

Although I must admit, now that I've done that run, I feel like I can run. Before going on today's run, I thought "I'm not running yet, so I'm not running". Since this run, it's like a switch clicked over when I picked up the pace, "Yes, I run". I'm really glad I got through that and am now in the next stage, despite the timelines.

In other news, my conversations with Birdie are now two-way. I really like the chatter that has me guessing what she has to say next. She's quite the chatty gal, sounding more like a lion cub than a gurgly baby. Often she'll lead the discussion and I'm looking to get a word in edgewise. I forsee a very full roster of discussions to come. I have occasionally thought of the Simpsons episode in which Homer's brother invents a baby interpretation machine. Finally, we get to know what Maggie's thinking! I gotta get me one of those.

Loco Motion

2007-09-26T10:34:00.000-07:00

If you hadn't figured it out already, I have quite a thirst for travel. Being married for 14+ years, A and I have traveled a fair bit. Now that Birdie is here, we have continued to travel, albeit so far just shorter trips and much closer to home. I've quickly discovered that my travel ways are quite deeply entrenched and as a result adapting to travel of 2 plus infant is... interesting.

Recently, we visited A's home and family in the prairies. I had a brainwave prior to delivering our baby in August that we should road-trip it there since (at that time) we had more time than money. We were packed up and ready to go and then, after a particularly tough day with Babe, we opted to check out flight prices. What luck, a Seat Sale! Yep, we flew and boy, were we relieved about that decision. We had done a couple of road trips with Babe of up to 500 kms and found that she traveled very well although it really took a long time with feeding and what not. There were many times in the following days that either A or me sighed out loud with relief that we were not driving. It was an unsaid understanding.

We loaded up the three suitcases and the car seat into the cab. Yeah, three full suitcases and a car seat. That is a lot of luggage for us. We have regularly done the trip home with only carry-ons. I tried not to think about it too much, commenting irregularly that with the kiddo, I wanted to be prepared for... whatever.

The flight there went extremely well. Birdie ate on departure and arrival, preventing the nasty ear-popping that babies (and adults) battle. We were warmly welcomed by Mom, Dad and Aunties and three suitcases minus the carseat.

Seriously, we already dislike the carseat (that's an entirely separate post), the last thing we needed was to need it and not have it. Westjet offered 'Smurfette' (a old school navy blue cuddle seat) as a loaner until our carseat was located and arrived at the airport. They did right by us by delivering it to our home in the country, where we did the exchange from Smurfette to our long-lost carseat.

While we were visiting, we were spoiled by friends and family and as a result, we got loads and loads of gifts. So, we needed... more luggage to get it home. A bought a MEC duffle bag to pack our loot and we were again, after 10 days, off to the airport. We had three exploding suitcases and a duffle bag and a carseat to check.

I swear it's the most luggage we've ever checked. We've travelled over 3 months at a time with less than what the duffle bag held. Ay-yaiy-yaiy. I got really annoyed with the packing of these bags, imagining where all of the stuff would go once we got home. *Sidenote - we arrived home 3 days ago and I'm still unpacking.*

Birdie had a rough time on this flight when we were landing, along with the chorus of babes going through the same unfamiliar ear popping saga. You know, I remember being a passenger prior to having a baby - I dreaded being seated by them. Ok, not because I didn't like babies, but because of the crying drama. Furthermore, A and I always checked in on the aisle and middle seat as close as possible to the front of the plane. Now, with a babe, we don't have the option to check-in online and we get put in the window near the back. Sure, we get on first, but we also get off last. What was that scriptural passage about the last being first? Is that going to help me somewhere in the scheme of things? Haha.

We got all our luggage - the three suitcases, the duffle bag and the carseat - and loaded up into the cab. The cabbie commented that he may not be able to take us because his trunk was only so big, but it all fit and were finally on our way home.

Two loads up the stairs later, we got home.

To me, travel is now loco motion. FYI, in Spanish, loco is "crazy". I'm admitting that my life, whether it be travel, excercise or otherwise, is now crazy-motion. Loco-moting from here to wherever, sleep-deprived, luggage-loaded, milk-drenched, half-sentences-speaking and... happy!

Recant

2007-09-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

So, our little Bird is now four weeks old. I marvel at how fluid that amount of time has been - sometimes it feels like she's been here so much longer and other times, it's so fresh and new. She continues to surprise us each day. Like yesterday, she started to cry distinctly and I think I figured out that one of the cries is that she's hungry (it's more mellow and whiney) while another cry is to tell us she's dealing with a nasty burp (that cry is angry and hurt). Today, she's in the mood to hold her head up and check things out. It's neato.

What I feel compelled to post below is something that I believe many of my friends and family have been curious about. So, does tfoxfan have to recant any of her former statements of parenting? The answer is yes. Let me be clear, it's not all of the statements I made that I must recall, rather these few that I have identified over the recent days and weeks.

1. "Why do we always have to wait around for 'them' to be ready to see us? We're always accomodating their nap scheduling or feeding schedule."

This one was quite obviously insensitive of me. I get annoyed now at the thought of someone dropping in and I may not be completely together and Birdie may have a fit because of food needs and so, I get the struggle to schedule hang time with others.

2. "Why do parents often wear unlaundered clothes? Don't they have any dignity left to just change their pants and look decent?"

I do struggle with admitting this one, but I must say that I get it now. I happen to have a baby that regularly pukes up milk versions - liquid, curd, what have you. I have soiled clothes on me which I make attempts to clean and yet, we all know, people can see it. And, I understand now that doing laundry isn't the easiest task to accomplish with a babe in arms.

3. "Why are parents unable to carry a conversation with other adults while their children are present?"

I must distinguish that this is more about being able to multi-task versus ignoring the current conversation a parent is in with another adult to rather talk with their child. I do understand the difficulty of carrying on a conversation while the babe is crying. I can't do both at the same time. I never expected to, but I get the challenge of it now. I may get better at this though, right?

Well, you only get three recants for now, there's likely more out there. Most importantly, I want to apologize to those of you that know the look I gave that screamed these statements prior to my newly minted parenthood. I just really didn't get it. And now - when I catch myself in these little parental nuances, I laugh and think, "Ah... this is what that is.".

2007-08-23T16:56:00.000-07:00

So Baby is here. Now the question is, what to blog? Or, what not to blog? My brain is a blur of thoughts, questions, curiousities, fascinations, and mush.

Nevertheless, I am content. Baby is so darling - okay, she's got a good set of pipes on her, but that just endears me to her more. I like the idea of her cry indicating strong feelings or emotions (instead of drama, of course).

My mind is swirling about, sometimes just lazily coping with wee sleep shifts, but most of the time, in awe of the way in which our world has been completely transformed. I got really emotional on Day 3 (was it that long ago?) about how I will cope with loving her more than I do already. I can hardly bear the thought of loving both A and Baby so much that my heart just does crazy kicks and fits to comprehend it all. Can I be capable of that much love?

Baby is seemingly getting used to us - as we are to her. I sometimes look at her and think that she knows more than she lets on and is just really gracious, letting us fumble our way to help her out. Yeah, I love her but I like her a lot too.

Imogene Finch

2007-08-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

And, two weeks late (according to a silly due date) but arrived precisely at 3:00 pm on August 8th, 2007 is... Imogene Finch. We're doing well, at home, being spoiled by family and friends and sleeping when it works...

More details to come, for now, pictures.

3 days old, dressed up to me Grandma and Grandpa Eidse.

Shortly after she was born, Daddy gets to hold her for the first time.

Me, a mom, at home on IF's second day. Thanks for the yummy pink roses, Mom.

Definition

2007-08-07T08:23:00.000-07:00

Being 41 weeks 6 days pregnant now, it's fair to say that due dates are completely arbitrary. In my humble opinion, a new definition of full-term pregnancy should be promoted as a due 'month' versus a date. According to the books, full term pregnancy is 37 weeks to 42 weeks. Okay, I'm coming up on that week in one day and believe me... I'm feeling it.

What's interesting to me about this entire process is the mental challenge of pregnancy and imminent birth versus the physical one. As a runner, I felt the task I really had to prepare myself for was the physical endurance of labour. I'm confident that I have physically prepared myself for labour. And maybe, once I go through labour (it will happen, it will happen, it will happen) I'll feel that I've just amply prepared physically for it. But, the real battle of endurance for me is the mental battle of labour itself.

Let me explain further, I've had two full days of early labour. Meaning, contractions occuring five minutes apart for a full eight hours and then stopping outright. In between these eight hour shifts, was 32 hours of nada. So, I'm actually in a labour stage even though I'm not labouring. My brain hurts at trying to comprehend the mental stamina of this situation. This, I was not prepared for.

In addition to these quirky nuances of labour and an ongoing pregnancy, there is the mental battle of due date obsession - and not necessarily by me but everyone who knows it. Those that are expectant of this baby's arrival are evidently as concerned and obsessed about this situation as I am, making for some unecessary tension between me and them and each other. People fear for picking up the phone to say hello and I must admit, rightfully so. I'm sooooo bored of telling about my status. It's really all very boring in the scheme of the globe.

Then, there's the battle of letting nature do what it will (which apparently my body is doing, at a very slow pace, mind you) and what medical practitioners from all points of view believe should be happening. "Cut it out!", "Leave it in!", "Induce", "You're normal!", "Monitor every day at the hospital!". *Damn*

Having this mental mess to stir myself up in, *ohh, the drama*, I wonder if the real curse of labour placed upon Eve was the mental curse of labour and not the physical one we all believe the story to mean. Hopefully in short order, I'll eat my words and say that it's definitely the physical one and not the mental one.

2007-08-01T16:08:00.000-07:00

With all this leisure time on my hands, I have finally been able to dig in to this massive book given to me by the Eidse' family at Christmas. I have been itching to read it and to soak up the tons of previously unseen (to me) pictures of my Irish boys. The book is a really interesting format, written like a conversation between the four, that intermittently includes cameos by heavily involved U2ers such as their manager Paul McGuinness. It is laid out chronologically and I'm at the point now in which Boy was released, they've toured outside of Ireland and England to promote it, and are heading (with intrepidation) to the studio to record what will become October. I've decided that in order to fully enjoy the book, I must play the album they're relfecting on at that time during the read. This has been essential to establish the tone and spirit of their musings.

I cannot believe the journey these four have made for themselves. What I marvel at is their blatant vulnerability throughout the process of becoming not only a band but more basically, musicians. Each person is completely honest about not really knowing a thing and yet willing to step in to either screw up or be triumphant in the effort. This is a characteristic, or way of making decisions, that I admire. When I do things in that same vein, I never regret it.

I also like getting to know the strengths of each player within the band. Now reading about them from their point of view, I can see why they have lasted as a band these nearly 30 years.

I've been a U2 fan for about 20 years. I continue to struggle with their global massiveness and how that correlates to my loyalty, for some reason bristling at their popularity. That said, I get why so many fall so hard for them - they are magnetic in their approach to live life with complete abandon and they always make honest music.

TDF

2007-07-29T15:58:00.000-07:00

What a blast it was to watch le Tour roll into Paris. Having been there so recently, I felt very enamoured with the entire scene.

This feeling, a fresh one, since the tour has got me yo-yo-ing pretty good this year. I know I posted a few weeks ago about my enthusiasm for the Tour and the progress of Canchellara in the first week. Mid-tour, I got pretty down about the whole event because of Vinokourov. The Kazahk rider, who I had heartily believed was all heart, all man, all determination proved to be blood-doping. Shame on you, Vino. As a result of Vino's doping, his whole team was pulled from the race in disgrace. Seriously, man, Bobke called you Vinoshtompenzie... how can you be so cruel?

I didn't watch the stage the next day. I felt completely down about the whole thing. Of course, I felt I needed to hear from Liggett and Roll before totally shutting the TDF off. I'm really glad I did. Versus' didn't prohibit their commentators from laying down the law and reinforcing that cheaters will not be tolerated and that cycling must go on.

Shortly after that, Rasmussen was pulled, while in the maillot jeune! WTF! He failed to report his whereabouts during training, which is required by the professional cycling association, and when he finally did report about his training location, he said he was in Mexico. Nope, turns out he was in Italy. Liar!

Liggett again, unguarded and convincingly said "May he never ride again". I was astounded by the authentic comments made by each commentator, three of which are prior le Tour riders. These commentators, who should feel the most betrayed by the news after commentating on how brilliant, brave and astounding these very riders had ridden, plowed on even more in love with the sport. I had to concede that I too would love the race, this after contemplating a complete abandon of supporting the event.

So, I love that Contador won. I love that Evans was second (only 23 seconds behind Contador). I love that Leipheimer (a mere 31 seconds behind Contador) won third position and Stage 18. I love that Popo is such a workhorse. I love that Solar gangled his way to the King of the Mountains. I love that crashes don't always mean defeat (Casar on Stage 18 hit a wandering dog, crashed hard, and still won the stage in the breakaway). I love those riders that 'dug deep into the suitcase of courage' to do the race clean and true (Liggettism).

All of that said, I thought I'd finish le Tour with babe in arms. Oh well, vive le Tour!

D-day

2007-07-27T11:02:00.000-07:00

So my due date - July 25 - has come and gone. The few days before d-day, I felt somewhat antsy about baby's arrival, like I could will my labour to commence or something. I quickly identified that my angst (although very minor, I might add) about baby's arrival was more about my character than my circumstance. Quite frankly, I am a punctual person. In fact, I consider being on time arriving ten minutes early. It drives me crazy when I have to make a call, albeit very infrequent, to say that I will be late. Usually, in the event I make that call, I arrive on time anyway. So, I felt that baby would be... you know... on time. It just goes to show that this kid is going to test my character. Haha on me.

I had a great d-day, hanging with my sister and my neices at Harrison Lake. We drank in the sun, ate yummy summer eats and licked plenty of ice cream, for me, with full knowledge that at some point my ice cream eating days are soon to be over (my one prego indulgence). I escaped the d-day panic completely, later hanging with the whole family at my sister's eating more good food and celebrating life, imminent change and sunshine days.

On d-day and since, my energy levels have been high. I enjoy long walks, picking up daily groceries (the cashiers anxiously awaiting my absence from the daily check-out), reading great books and, of course, watching movies.

I just finished Richard Russo's Pulitzer Prize winning novel Empire Falls. I love it when I find a new writer to read. I can see myself consuming the rest of his work quickly over the next while. I have to learn to pace myself though, more often than not I read all a writer's work and then feel annoyed that I'm waiting around for their next piece. I do this with films too. Or, I o.d. and tire of their writing voice, which is so silly of me to do. Or, even worse, the writer dies! Then I'm s.o.l..

Empire Falls is the kind of book you settle into. The title of the book is the town in which the characters live and where the reader lives for the duration of the read. Russo knows how to love his characters, even the nasty, crusty and insecure ones. In that love, Russo gives the reader an opportunity to choose to love the characters too, while being completely authentic about their flaws, their sins, their despicable betrayals, and their imminent mistakes. I felt that Russo didn't have to twist my arm to love Jimmy Minty, a small-town policeman with a chip on his shoulder and who ain't all that bright, or the Silver Fox, a wannabe-lothario who is actually really cheap and really old despite his constant verbal jousting with other men in the room. These are annoying characters! But, each of these Russo characters live in a reader's life somewhere, if you look close enough, they're there.

By chance, the film Nobody's Fool played on the telly a few days ago. This film is based on a Russo novel. Paul Newman is glorious - isn't he always? - in this film. I really enjoyed watching the film again, like eating dessert after Empire Falls. EF is one of the best reads for me in a very long time... and I'm reading good books!

38+

2007-07-12T09:57:00.000-07:00

*Sigh*

It's hot... I'm hot. Surprisingly, I'm quite content albeit hot. I can't complain really, because my first week off of work has been scrumptious so far.

Monday: I had a massage which definitely decreased the swelling in my feet and ankles. I also accomplished quite a few pre-baby errands which made me feel productive (a novelty at this stage of pregnancy).

Tuesday: I went to the pool for several hours... an outdoor pool nearby. The scene was straight out of Little Children, and I drank up every minute of sun and splashy, cool water. A and I attended our bi-weekly birth program and to our delight, a couple had given birth since our last meeting to a healthy and wee baby girl. Seeing the babe and the parents really choked me up in a happy way. It was also reassuring to see a wee newborn (six pounds nothing) because my sister gave birth to a nine pound 13 ounce (by caesarian section) babe recently. Meeting my lovely, yummy new niece was unforgettable, although visualizing me birthing a baby of her size got my heart rate up a bit.

Wednesday: Did a few more errands, watched Mystic River again (wow, Sean Penn is the master actor) and drank a lot of mint and lemon water on ice.

Each one of these days has been accompanied by a nap, le Tour, and reading books that tickle my fancy. I really am having a wonderful time.

Interestingly, I'm not in a hurry to have my baby. A lot of people look at me lately like "Poor you, in this heat". I appreciate the concern yet I'm really not unhappy about the whole situation. Every day is full of potential, you know, the arrival of my child is imminent. How can the sun spoil such a beautiful day with such massive wonder? I also love the anticipation of baby's arrival. I'm not one for surprises, but this labour won't be one because I've been expecting it for well over eight months now. Yeah, this part is fun.

2007-07-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

To me, today feels like the first day of summer after the last day of school. That's probably due to the fact that I finished work yesterday and the weather is screaming summer days. Yeah, I'm pretty excited about the fact that I'm done work until baby arrives. The urge to nap in the middle of the day has been one I've battled quite a bit over the last two weeks of work. Although I didn't always feel it while working, I'm really glad I pushed through and worked until now.

The bonus of that summer holidays feeling is that Le Tour de France started today! Oh, how I love le Tour. I have to admit I've been annoyed with the fallout of last years tour because I had enjoyed the race so much. That said I'm into giving this year a 'clean' bill of health. I've got a special place in my heart for Oscar Pereiro for his valiant efforts last year. I know the jury is still officially out on Landis' win, but I see Pereiro as the winner. I just like him, he's a scrapper, a chachi and an underdog.

Today, Fabian Cancellara rocked the prologue time trial followed by a stellar second placement by Andreas Kloden. Cancellara may be podium bound this year, Phil Liggett has only been a fan of his for the last few years.

I love the sound of Phil Liggett in the morning. Who wouldn't love hearing Liggettisms every day?

volcano

2007-07-01T14:34:00.000-07:00

In recent days, I've thought fondly of the evenings A and I had along the Seine in Paris. It was during those times we delved into deep discussions about our imminent life change of having a child. Like I mentioned in those posts (April/May), to me that travel time was critical for us to switch gears and eventually head back home with a clear outlook at what lay ahead of us.

One of the questions I posed to A was, "Who do we want to be in baby's life?". This question was not intended to target the obvious folks in our lives - like moms and dads and so on. Rather, the questions was to identify who in our lives influence, inspire, encourage and challenge us and as a result who we want baby to know. What's interesting is that we didn't answer the question. Instead, we trailed into a discussion about whether or not it's people or events that shape a person.

Naturally, to answer the first question thoughtfully, we made attempts to identify people who had influenced our lives and why. This was a difficult task. I found myself naming people I never even met who influenced me - like Terry Fox, Anne Frank, or Nicky Cruz.

Then, we drifted into the idea that events were more significant than people. Testing this theory out was fascinating. Here are a couple of examples of events early in my life that formed my idea of the world and ultimately, the way in which I react to it.

In 1980, Mt. St. Helens erupted. Although the event was about 200 miles from our home in Abbotsford, the sky went black in the middle of the day and stayed black until the next morning. This historical volcanic eruption profoundly altered my understanding of the world. I was six years old at the time and faced thoughts of mortality, the end of the world, the magnitude of greater spiritual powers, and ultimately that there are many things that could happen in my life which are beyond my control.

The economic recession of the early 80s was a critical time for me. Although I was very young, I was well aware of the financial chaos that my parents were enduring. As a result of the economic downturn it was a painful and exhausting period in their lives. I know they did their best to protect me during this heartbreaking time in their lives. Nevertheless, the external factors that changed were obvious to me - my dad had to struggle to find work that paid him fairly (at the time he, a building contractor, in the declining construction industry), my mom returned to the work force with some reluctance I imagine, we moved away from our lovely home which my dad had built for us (only a few years earlier) in a great neighbourhood and into a rental (gasp!) in a not so awesome neighbourhood, sold a vehicle and got a used one (oh, 'the Beast' as we fondly referred to it as), and so on...

What the recession forced me to consider is what impact unforseen , unmanageable debt has on a person's life. I wondered if we had lived with less from the beginning of our family's formation if this period of our lives could be less devestating. I made a choice at that age that material things were of little importance to me. In that same vein, I made a conscious decision that I would not incur debt over any other important person or experience in my life. In my own way I made a committment to not follow 'the American/Canadian dream'. The long term impact of that decision lives with me every day. In rare moments, I dread this absolutism because it's so not 'normal' and more often than not it causes others to bristle at my comments and decisions about - for example - not having any interest to own a home. That said most of the time I'm well aware and grateful about the direction that this personal, lifestyle value has formed me.

These are two events that distinctly and certainly shaped me, prior to age eight.

So, events form a person - that is for sure. In that though, I imagine that the influence of people within those events shape the event itself. I'm not quite done mulling this thought through although I believe that a parents' role, my eventual role, is to facilitate life events in my child's life. And when unforseen things happen - like a recession or a natural disaster - it's my role to respond to the impact of those events on my child.

*Sigh* I really am glad I waited so long to have a babe.... this is all just so major.

vanity fair

2007-07-01T11:14:00.000-07:00

At the time this photo (1991) was published, I was shocked by Demi's brazen move to pose nude while pregnant. I was 16 years old at the time. I remember that I couldn't stop looking at it - not judging or offended, but drawn to it. Of course she's a beautiful woman who was at her peak of stardom with the blockbuster that year, Ghost, and married to Bruce Willis. It was the era of Planet Hollywood and glamour was at its finest.

Being highly pregnant now, I think I have finally made up my mind about this photo - no longer in my teen starry-eyed head. I believe it's confident and staggeringly beautiful. What a gutsy move.

Knocked Up

2007-06-23T13:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, A and I went to see the wildly popular and well-reviewed film Knocked Up. This film is created by writer/director Judd Apatow, who did 40-year Old Virgin and was a regular contributor to the Larry Sanders Show. The latter being a series that we recently rented on DVD and just got so many laughs from. Jeffrey Tambor, Gary Shandling and Rip Torn make for a trio to be contended with. If Seinfeld had three players (such blasphemy, I realize) instead of four, there would be some serious competition with The Larry Sanders Show.

Getting back to Knocked Up, we had a blast watching this film. The relevance to our current circumstances made our laughs all the more hearty. The tale follows two people who meet at a club, have a one-night stand and... oops, she gets knocked up. It's nine months of intensity (from all angles) and laughs and learning. The two, unknown leads, Heigl and Rogan, meshed and found an authentic rhythm in their relationship that is rarely seen on-screen.

The film, like 40-year Old Virgin, is a pure story. In Virgin, the lead guy wants to remain a virgin until he meets the right one. In KU, a guy and girl want to make right by the baby that they made and in the process give each other the benefit of the doubt to get see the thing through. It's refreshing to watch a film that is relevant while not contrived.

I highly recommend this film for anyone - knocked up or not. It'll be hard to miss Apatow films from hereon in... he's got two in the can since KU and has five more lined up for production in the next three years.

34

2007-06-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

No, I'm not 34 but this pregnancy is, weeks that is.

It feels real now - this belly has a baby in it. A babe that likes to do backflips, somersaults, warrior-poses and handstands with frequency. I've got the weird symptoms happening now and that's okay. I'm just grateful that I haven't had to endure so many to-be-expected strange things throughout my pregnancy.

And so, I miss my ankles. I miss running - a lot. I dream about running - it's like a slow motion picture, with my hair billowing with each stride, getting glassy eyes from the wind and the flowing motion of slow albeait deliberate movement. I miss driving with awareness of what I'm doing. Who knew driving needed so much concentration to accomplish?! It may sound odd, but I find driving one of my most difficult tasks while pregnant. Sure, it doesn't help that each sitting position is just really awkward, but driving takes a lot of concentration and effort to do now. I miss sleeping on my stomach.

Okay, enough mushy-head-woe-is-me stuff.
I am fascinated by the versatility of my body throughout this process. I love the motion of this babe inside, cocooned and cozy although autonomous somehow. I like the way that strangers act shy or coy around me, like they have an in on my secret. They smile and nod and get dozy-eyed... become dreamers or something. I like the adventure of what is ahead of me. I like that I can eat ice cream and not feel icky afterwards (non-pregnant, ice cream is of no interest to me). I like that no one at work can be mad at me for taking a year off - they're all just too mushy about the whole thing to get worked up about it.

Yeah, it's all good.

2007-06-01T18:08:00.000-07:00

In between reading stuff about pregnancy, birth and post-baby life, I'm having a delightful time crossing off books from my list of what I've been wanting to read for several years. Miriam Toews' a complicated kindness is a book that I gobbled up during our Europe trip (specifically on our train tour - hey, I had the time).

I laughed out loud regularly while reading Toews' coming-of-age novel which insightfully explores growing up Mennonite in a small, prairie town. Although I didn't grow up in a small town, I can definitely relate to the Menno-isms captured by Toews since I am, in fact, a Mennonite gal. Toews captured the Breakfast Club richness of teen angst and meshed it together with my own reality of growing up Mennonite. To set the tone, here's an excerpt early on in the book:

"We're Mennonites. As far as I know, we are the most embarrrassing sub-sect of people to belong to if you're a teenager. Five hundred years ago in Europe a man named Menno Simons set off to do his own peculiar religious thing and he and his followers were beaten up and killed or forced to conform all over Holland, Poland and Russion until they, at least some of them, finally landed right here where I sit... Others ran away to a giant dust bowl called the Chaco, in Parauay, the hottest place in the world. ... Imagine the least well-adjusted kid in your school starting a breakaway clique of people whose manifesto includes a ban on the media, dancing, smoking, temperate climates, movies, drinking, rock 'n' roll, having sex for fun, swimming, makeup, jewellery, playing pool, going to cities, or staying up past nine o'clock. That was Menno all over. Thanks a lot, Menno. There's also something annoying about a man who believes in complete humility naming a group of people after himself. And using his first name. "

I must admit I always thought it odd that the faith wasn't called Simonite vs. Mennonite.

While reading the book, I contemplated how I was raised and identified which values and Mennonite-based principles I felt I would share with my child. Although I have distanced myself from the 'religion' of Mennonites, there are certain aspects of being Mennonite that I identify with still culturally or via my heritage.

An example of this is that I am a pacifist.

Another example of Menno-me is that I believe that meeting a person's present physical need is essential in order to address or even contemplate a spiritual need.

Alternatively, I rail against the well-captured synopsis made by Toews of the angry God or the intolerant God. I was raised on the angry God, which included horrific B-movies which depicted being left behind on earth while family and friends were swept away to heaven.

a complicated kindness triggered interesting emotions for me and caused me to ponder the approach I'll take to raising my little Mennonite.

2007-05-30T18:51:00.000-07:00

Just as I had imagined, the post-vacation reality of the imminent changes ahead are sinking in. We're having a baby. ETA - 8 weeks from now. I'm getting big too, a bit clumsy and finding it difficult to maneuver around. Gotta love it when I leave a meeting (usually for a useless albeit urgent tinkle) and have to ask several people to move their chairs forward... no, a little more... and a wee bit more... thanks (grunt). I'm having fun with the size though and I am not bothered by it really. In fact, the shape of my body right now is simply fascinating - it just demands attention because seriously...how does the baby grow so much while the skin, muscles, organs and fluids shimmy around it so effectively?

Anyway, I've got a few cool pregnant activities going on amongst all of this development, sighing and strange movements. One of these regular activities is being a part of the South Community Birth Program. The SCBP is one I was referred to by my doctor since she doesn't deliver babies. I really lucked into this program, which is comprised of both doctors and midwives to support women and their families to deliver healthy babies with as little intervention as possible. The combination of these professionals makes for a comprehensive approach, a comforting mix of education and experience, and an amusing 'love-in' factor. Part of being in the program is to participate in a twice-monthly support group of 10 women who are approximately at the same stage of pregnancy (and their partners/friends) to discuss specific topics that relate either to pregnancy, labour or after baby arrives. These topics are introduced by the doctor in an open facilitation style which is meant for educational purposes and are all up for discussion. For me, this group have proven to be really approachable and fun.

It's really strange to admit it, but I feel normal there. Before we attended the first session, I was nervous and apprehensive because I typically get that dreaded youth group feeling... that I'm going to be weird in the group. It's not an insecurity feeling, its an inability to relate feeling. Thankfully, I don't dread attending group every Tuesday night, in fact I look forward to it.

The other thing I'm doing right now and loving a lot is prenatal yoga. Yet another forum for me to feel normal, which I also feel there. I'm hopeful that I'll be able to hook up with some other mom-to-bes who live in my area of the city to hang with. The most delightful thing about yoga is the quiet of it. I'm greedy for the weekly practice and extremely protective of that time of the day. Between working and processing the baby's arriving, I feel forced to find quiet in my head. Yoga does that so completely. Although, the prenatal massage doesn't hurt either.

2007-05-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

At the end of January, I wrote a final exam and opted to not sign up for another course until post-baby. Though I miss the studies, I know I made the right decision to focus on health, work and rest. What I don't miss is the reading... oh, you know... required reading. Despite the fact that most reading in my studies interests me, it's a great relief to now have the luxury to read for FUN!

I started and finished a book this week written by Michael Ondaatje titled Coming Through Slaughter. I had purchased this book with Christmas money from 2004 but forgot about it among the home mini-library. I enjoy Ondaatje and now, having read another of his pieces, I remember why. His fiction reads like poetry (which he does publish half the time) since he gets away with not finishing sentences and yet somehow, those sentences don't feel incomplete. I wonder if he is more choosy about his words and as a result just eliminates them completely from the sentence. I also wonder if Ondaatje is really fantastic at leaving wads of characters and places to our imagination by being vague and elusive in his word decisions or or if he tells it so clearly and concisely that I can smell, taste, touch and see the image he's created.

Anyway, the book is luscious. It's a story about Buddy Bolden, a legendary cornet player and apparent barber by day who also publishes a gossip rag called The Cricket. Buddy is a loud man, a hard-living and hard-loving man who exudes the spirit of the city in which he lives, New Orleans. The story takes place in the late 1800s - early 1900s, and smells like sweat, cajun food and cigarettes. Having been in New Orleans, I enjoyed the flavour of the book because it's so unforgiving to the town that just has a deep dark hole of a soul.

What really got me is that the book is fiction but isn't entirely fictional. Apparently, Charles "Buddy" Bolden was a legend in New Orleans jazz at the turn of the 20th century. Ondaatje simply opted to build the story of a legend with some truths to it and some imagined. Ondaatje experiments with Bolden's demise and comes out apparently controversial. At any rate, the joy of the crude read, which has little in the way of redemption, is the art of the writing. As for me, Michael Ondaatje continues to demonstrate his skills as an exquisite wordsmith. Even though it's hard reading of content that is typically less than beautiful, it's always worth the effort.

Praha

2007-05-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

We arrived at Frankfurt at 1:30 AM, completely blasted from the train excursion although curious about what would happen next. We departed the train, along with the handy Prague guidebook and our things, and went to the Frankfurt station information centre. Within moments the teacher was off to her destination via taxi and we were in front of the desk with these options so as to continue our journey to Prague:

1. Wait around and attempt to sleep in the station for four hours and get on the next train to Prague or
2. Sleep in a good hotel a mere 50 metres away from the station, get a buffet breakfast at the hotel in the morning at our leisure and then choose which of five trains departing from Frankfurt to Prague we'd like to hop on to next day.

All of these lovely options at no cost to us, which was meant to make up for the first class sleeper, seriously... was there a choice? We'll take option #2 please and thank you.

The sleep was solid, the shower was delectable, the buffet was scrumptious and the 9:30 am departure with Starbucks coffee in hand was... well, ideal. Oh, and the day was bright and glorious (like all of the other days in this tour)... so we got to see our way from Frankfurt to Prague. And what a lavish landscape it was.

And Prague, otherwise known as Praha, welcomed us warmly at 5 pm. We departed the train, hopped on the Metro, went two stops and then ascended to the cobbled street a mere 3 minutes from our hotel. The scene was mellow while bustling at a low hum.

U Tri Bubnu is a sliver of an old hotel that corners Old Town Square (Staromestske), which is the heart of the city of Praha. The Old Town Square is marvelous in the morning, in the afternoon, at dusk, during sunset and at night. Yeah, it's a place that when you close your eyes and just listen to the horses clip-clop along the cobbles you can put yourself in any other historical era. The square is for foot traffic only and is just really big. The fronts of each building is coloured and bordered with green or pink or yellow or cream. One lavish, 2-dimensional dollhouse stands at attention and is attached to another with no space in between. Then, the astronomical clock takes one corner up with it's hourly show which is neat, but a tad overrated considering the crowd that huddles around it and chokes the pathway completely. Our favourite building in Staromestske is the Church of our Lady Before Tyn. This building caused me to question if fairy tales are actually fictional. I swear that Rapunzel was about to let her hair down at any given moment for Prince Charming to come up the tower to save her. The glowy lights on these towers came on when dusk was just past and the sky enveloped the blackened exterior of the church. It was a yummy and unbelievable experience we anticipated each evening.

Praha is easy to navigate, accessible, a city with small town vibes, engaging at every turn and very old. We took our pace to a very mellow dawdle in Praha and as a result, drank in all of the gorgeous subtleties of the city. The Czech people are warm while reserved, embracing tourism with a fresh approach of grateful while prideful of their dreamy city.

Our first day took us to the Prague Castle - simply magnificent. I enjoyed this highly touristed spot immensely. The stature and spirit St. Vitus Cathedral encroached on my Notre Dame idealism, challenging me to consider it the most glorious church I've ever encountered. Seriously though, St. Vitus Cathedral is in a castle fortress with a moat around it, which is in pristine condition, and has the best view of the city. Mind you, that view was work though - not just for preggy, but each and every person to climbed the 235+ shallow steps up the tower - it was literally like climbing a ladder in a counter-clockwise,circlular motion until you got to the top. Huffing and puffing, we reached the top and drank in the city views.

St. Vitus Cathedral view down from the tower. These spires are black, old and have seen a heck of a lot of rain and snow and yet are pristine somehow.
Praha from one of point of view at the top of the St. Vitus tower. The St. Charles Bridge is in the far left corner. The red rooves are the landscape from every angle atop the tower.

St. Vitus Cathedral sanctuary. One view of many impressive views. The light is terrific in this place.

One of many diverse windows at St. Vitus. What I love about these windows is that the theme changes from each one to the other and with that, the art and style changed too. Not every window is a crucifixion, rather a spiritual story peppered with interpretive nuances that, I believe, reflect Czech history somehow. We've never been able to capture stained glass pictures like these on any prior trip. But, again, the light was just magical.

Moving from the St. Vitus Cathedral into the Prague Castle ballroom. The room is massive. That's me, resting along the back wall, drinking in the mad balls that likely raged on into the night with lavish dresses and silly traditions and gossip.... oh the gossip.

This is not a fabricated picture! The astronomical clock is on the left side facing left. The moon is winking at our luck to get the picture. I just get giddy about the pink building sidled up against the stone clock tower.

Here we are in Old Town Square just after sunset. Seriously, can't you tell we've become experts at relaxing and day-dreaming about fairy tales? Praha does that to you, it entices you to take it easy and just be. Yes, that's the point.

Locomotive

2007-05-05T11:51:00.000-07:00

Prior to the trip, A and I advertised broadly our enthusiasm for the train that we had booked from Paris to Prague. Our intinerary was to travel from Paris to Frankfurt and then switch trains there to continue on to Prague. The first train was to be a five hour journey in the early evening through until 11 PM. The second train, leaving Prague 45 minutes after our Paris train arrived, was a first class sleeper train. A and I had talked numerous times about the sleeper train. Visions of old movies, like North by Northwest and White Christmas, included slick diner cars and roomy sleeping quarters were sprinkled throughout these anticipatory chats. It also is important to note that we've taken a few trains in our travels - some of you may recall two famous train trips in India; one of which stopped completely mid-trip (never did make it to Jaisalmir) and another that got us from Agra to Varanasi but shaking at the sleeplessness and stench and horror of the beaten up thief en route. And so, we allowed our imaginations to run wild, if not romantic at the idea of a train trip, first class, in Europe.

It all started so well... departed Gare l'Est Paris terminal at precisely 5:03 PM as outlined on our Austrian tickets and moved at a fantastic pace through the suburbs of Paris and then onto the countryside. We even made a few acquaintances in our train car. Two American women were quite friendly with us - one of which lived in Germany since her husband was stationed there, the other, a Tennessee tourist named Roxanne who thought French bread was just too crunchy and that WonderBread, which you don't have to use your teeth on, is real bread. These two American ladies were starkly contrasted by an older lady who was a French-American German-resident teacher who chose to tell us about an intolerable student in her class who actually ordered pizza and got it delivered to the classroom (Anyone else thinking of Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High?). The car was largely empty and I had finally taken the opportunity to rest and settle into my Prague guidebook occasionally looking out the broad window to enjoy the delightful tour, delightful that is until Metz.

Metz is a French train stop and merely that. It's not a place one stops to take in the sights or to make major transfers to other destinations. We had stopped for 20 minutes at Metz, which wasn't scheduled, and so the teacher inquired about the delay. She returned with information that the French engine on our train was not compatible with the German rails ahead of us. The French conductor was waiting for a locomotive change and once that occurred, we would be on our way. Fifty minutes passed and then and hour and a half had gone by. We noted that our connection to the Prague train from Frankfurt would be missed. Slightly disappointed but optimistic about an alternative solution, we sat in the hot train car waiting for updates on the engine change. I was actually quite calm about the situation, enjoying my guidebook, noting places we were going and processing tips for our visit in Prague. I put the guidebook in the pouch in front of my seat and settled in for a chat with the Americans and the teacher. During the delay, the teacher checked in for updates every 20 minutes or so getting more and more frustrated with the negligible news although somewhat proud of being the messenger to us non-bilingual Canadians. At the end of the hour and a half, she returned from another check-in, harried and grabbing at her luggage. A had joined her and other travellers for this last update and came back on the train car shortly after her saying that the train was not going to be moving any time soon and that we had to change trains. The train we were changing to was leaving at any minute (four platforms away, mind you) and was heading to Saarbrucken. We all moved quickly to the Saarbrucken platform, up the stairs, down the stairs, luggage bumbling and found seats on the slick commuter train. The train left the platform a mere three minutes after we boarded it.

While on the train a DB (Deutsch Bahn) train agent visited our car and explained that from Saarbrucken, we would have to take a train to Mannheim and from there we might be able to get to Frankfurt so as to continue on our journey. The DB agent was less than polished and of course blamed the French for the inconvenience and said that DB was doing their best to deal the problem which wasn't really their problem. It was shortly after this that I realized our not-nearly-loved-nor-utilized-yet guidebook to Prague was back in Metz. Quite a tragedy, but out of our hands at this point.

We arrived at Saarbrucken at about 1030 PM. Now what. The American ladies were in luck, since a train was waiting at a nearby platform for their desitnation. The reluctantly left us, despite their ticket onward, feeling as though the adventure we had all signed up for was too soon to end. We 30+ passengers, without a train. huddled on a platform that apparently was going to be bringing us somewhere yet in the evening somehow. In short order we heard news that a train was coming to meet us on that platform to get us to Frankfurt. I didn't really buy it because that would just be silly. Sure enough within 5 minutes, a DB locomotive pulled up with a group of French train cars to "Frankfurt" which looked an awful lot like the cars that got us to Metz. Yep, it was the very train with a German engine on it.

We laughed and laughed - the teacher less than impressed but pleased at herself for having led us all to this point like herding sheep to the pasture or something. We got back on our train, even our previous train car. I sat down and then went directly to find our Prague guidebook. No luck. A then sorted out that we were driving in the opposite direction and went the other way in the car to claim it. And sure enough... there it was, neatly stowed in the seat pouch for us to reclaim. Ahhh... Prague, here we come.

The Seine

2007-04-28T10:08:00.001-07:00

To me, the Seine is where the heart of Paris exists. Once we properly oriented ourselves from Le Marais in relation to the rest of Paris, we encountered the Seine each day - whether we crossed it or we walked alongside of it. The Seine is most inviting at dusk, when everyone is winding down and settling in for an evening along the river.

Here, you can get a glimpse of the scene, Notre Dame looming to the right and a group of folks seated to the left along the broad promenade. This picture is taken from the Latin Quarter, opposite to Le Marais. We sat here on our last night, contemplating life, culture and our history. More often though, we sat on the Il St. Louis side. The Notre Dame Cathedral is located on Il de la Cite. These two islands are connected to the hub of Paris by the Seine and the ponts (bridges). The islands are unique to the city but certainly part of it. I couldn't get enough of the Seine at dusk and night since we were equipped with baguettes, cheese, and wine (for me, Badoit - a sparkly mineral water). At times, A would make a glaces run for us both. Many chats about our life changes occured along these banks. You can't beat it, especially when Quasimodo is peering down on it all from the bell tower.

More of the grandeur of the Notre Dame Cathedral. Being near ND was a highlight for me. I read The Hunchback of Notre Dame in grade 7 or 8 and often imagined it. To see it and hear the bells ringing was marvelous. Each side of ND is distinct from the other - I wonder if that's because of the length of time it took to build.

Here we are at the Centre Pompidou - the Museum of Modern Art. I like this pic and the piece too - the premise of it was a hitman fleeing the scene of the crime. The 'Pompidou', which I really like saying out loud and often, is a strange piece of architecture since all the insides of it - such as heating ducts and stairs and stuff are on the outside of it so as to apparently maximize the space on the inside of the building. Not sure I buy it. We had fun there, especially when we 'had to' say Pompidou.

And, here's our entry point to Montmartre and you'll notice - to Moulin Rouge. It was skanked out, meaning commercialized, and by far less enticing than I had imagined. That said Montmartre from this point on was unique and lovely. The twisty-turny cobbled streets and hill-side views were fantastic. Montmartre is as far away from the centre of Paris that we traversed. We had some really good food at an artisanal boulangerie there.

To conclude Paris, I loved the Seine and cafe life more than anything else I've ever encountered. The shoes did not surprise (much to my dismay) and the fashion was not as I had imagined. I approached Paris with arms wide open and I don't think Paris embraced me back. Of course, it is gorgeous and full of romance - an experience that I'll cherish throughout my life. Hey, it's hard not to compare great cities to one another, but I'd rather keep chomping at the Big Apple any day.

Paris moments Part 1

2007-04-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

Ah, le Arc de Triomphe. A rare moment in which no cars obstruct the view of this grand site. Eleven bustling rues (roads) meet le Arc intersection in the roundabout, making for a crazy beautiful experience. We got to le Arc from an underground pathway. We saw a few tourists attempt to cross from le Arc to the other side and gasped audibly when each one of their lives' flashed before the entire crowd.

A beautiful Paris cafe moment - A's cafe and my citron glaces, served with a water, mint leaf and a vanilla wafer. Can 4:00 PM in the afternoon get any better?

Eiffel Tower at dusk. This is a truly magic moment for anyone in Paris. I like the guidebook reference to it as 'the ultimate Iron Maiden'. The Eiffel Tower paired with the ponts (bridges) in Paris equals pure romance.

I've attempted to describe the wonder of le Louvre's pyramid entrance before. I don't know why the pyramid excites me so. I guess the backdrop of le Louvre and the innovation of the pyramid marry the qualities of Paris that endear me to it. At any rate, it puts the entrance of the Taj Mahal to the test and in my opinion, it wins.

A and me among the French sculptures. Talk about happy.

We've talked often about why we visit museums abroad (and for some reason not so much at home). They just make us feel happy. I can make numerous attempts to try and understand why one artists' work just looks ridiculous at one moment and violating the next but in the end, allowing the art to simply wash over me leaves me very content. There are very few pieces I can remember, but those days - like at le Louvre - are just really really good.

contemplative

2007-04-22T09:43:00.000-07:00

Oh, don't worry, I will continue the tripping out blog from Paris to Prague in the next weeks. That said, I felt it important to comment on the contemplative heart and mind that this vacation has provided for me. On this, our last day in Prague (mushmush, fairy-tale dreams and marker of my last trimester), I acknowledge that this trip was as essential in preparing for the next stage of my life as I had imagined it would be.

Je t'aime, A. Je t'aime my life.

Locomoting from one place to the next, certain that at whatever the pace, I'm moving forward... deliberately and embracing each moment for what it's worth.

Louvre

2007-04-22T09:12:00.000-07:00

Wearing fresh clothes, which were long lost treasures, we croissanted and cafed up for a day at the Louvre. The pyramid entrance although controversial, is just dreamy(and hot like an atrium), since it is framed in by the vast courtyard and the overwhelming U-shaped mansion. We didn't explore the entirety of the museum, but most. My personal highlights include La Presentation au Temple, Liberty guides the people, Captifs and the Mona Lisa. Leonardo da Vinci's bullet-proof piece was swarmed but with good cause. Mona Lisa is enchanting, she knows something we don't and her face is relatable and so what happens is that when looking at her, she becomes familiar. Truly, I'm so delighted to have met the woman.

From the Louvre, we ate a fantastic French lunch at a brassierie called Le Royal. I had my favourite French dish, which I'd never ordered before, called 'eggs on mayonnaise'. Yum. Just in case you didn't know, I love a few condiments very much. Of these few, mayo and mustard are included. And, "eggs on mayonnaisse" had both - which were made in house and had their own lovely texture, taste and character to them. Happy palate, happy preggy.

From le Royal, we tromped back to the entrance of the Louvre and made our way to the Garden des Tuileries. This grand channel led us to Place de la concorde and then onto Champs Elysees and le Arc de Triomphe. By the end of that big long promenade, I was just tired, albeit inspired.

I couldn't believe that in one day I'd seen the Mona Lisa, walked through the massive and legendary garden from the Louvre, or experienced the very route of the last day of le Tour de France. Paris is like that of NYC since you know so much about it before you land on the tarmac. Paris an integral part of our global identity.

ramble

2007-04-21T07:27:00.000-07:00

We slept for four hours, woke at 3 AM Paris time, but not really awake, and then fell back to sleep. At 11 AM we got up and inquired about our luggage at the front desk. One bag had arrived at 12:30 AM... the one bag we didn't really care if it arrived or not because it was the bag that is intended for the shopping - the extra bag. Hmmm... One for three.

We explored our area and rambled through Le Marais. Croissants and coffee (espresso) are everywhere. Not just in our area, but all of Paris. We stopped in for both on occasion throughout the day and the entirety of our stay. In Paris, the cafe experience is remarkable. There are so many wonderful patios at boulangeries (bakery) and brassieries (cafe/restaurants). The remarkable part of these cafes is that one can have a coffee, or a wine, or an ice cream at any time and more often than not, without ordering food (although that is more difficult during the dinner hours). I loved that A could order a beer while I had a citron glaces (lemon ice cream) and we could just linger as long as we liked. We often pulled in for a break from rambling around and did just that. In Paris, the waiters (a completely distinct part of French society) do not bring the bill until you ask for it. This is lovely when all you care to do is sit. The client controls the duration although they do not control the transaction - that the waiters do. The waiters are overworked methinks. I must do some research on their union effectiveness/influence. Waiters were not always patient with us lame-o English-speaking orderers. To order...sometimes, it was agony, sometimes it was pleasant and very rarely was it delightful.

Did I mention that the weather was HOT? Yeah, really hot. Sweaty hot. The French were not impressed by it either. In our plane clothes, rambling, hot and hopeful that next time we touch base with our room, a bag would be waiting. At 3 PM, A's suitcase had arrived. Mine had not. Two for three...

We opted to check out the Latin Quarter, arrondissement 5, across the Il de la Cite (home of "my" lovely Notre Dame Cathedral). We rambled up towards Hemingway's former residence in which he wrote a good portion about in A Moveable Feast. We love Hem and just drank in his surroundings. I read that book again while in Paris, picturing his inspiration for writing, his circle of writer friends such as Scott Fitzgerald and Ezra Pound, and eating some of the same food he did at some of the same cafes (maybe).

Exhausted and well-fed, we headed back from La Contrascarpe and Rue Mouffetard toward the 4th arrond. and I tried not to focus too much on wanting my suitcase so badly to be there, waiting for me. I bet that it wouldn't be just to get over the disappointment before the fact. It had been 24 hours... watev.

11 PM, tired, sweaty and a little bit ill from my plane-head clothes, my big suitcase met me in the room. Yay... Paris will now know how darn cute I really am!

2007-04-20T07:13:00.000-07:00

Where to begin... at this time, A and I are in Prague. We're near the end of our 'last hurrah' trip pre-baby's arrival which is flying by so quickly. My head is full of weird languages, my tummy is full of yummy food, and my heart is soaring with delight at it all.

Our flight via British Airways from home was quite good and efficient. We had a stopover and plane change in Heathrow, London for a mere hour. Forty minutes from when we departed Heathrow, we landed at Charles deGaulle in Paris. Unfortunately, our luggage did not. It's one of those rare occasions in which I packed a lot - likely because of my preference for comfort lately. Also, I find that options of clothing while pregnant makes for a much happier day since feeling pretty is a must with all the other crazy stuff going on in my head.

Sans luggage, we cabbed it to our Hotel, a little nugget in the 4th arrondissement (district), Le Marais, called the Hotel du 7e Art. We were prepared for a wee room in a prime location and that is certainly what we got. It was clean, quiet and the staff were very friendly and helpful.

It was 7:30 PM and we settled into our room, which took all of 30 seconds without our luggage, and decided we wanted to experience the Eiffel Tower on our first night. In our typical travel style, we want to get out jet-lagged and rot-gutted, to explore our new surroundings. We began to tromp it and realized that we were a ways off from getting to the tower before dusk. We opted for the Metro and in 2 trains with one transfer in 20+ minutes, we walked up the stairs to the street at Champs de Mars and saw the familiar, giant tower in front of us. We walked to the park surrounding it and found a bench to rest. It was about 9 PM by this time and nearly dusk. The yellow glow of it was just as I had imagined it. Then, came the light show - at exactly 9 PM - and WOW!.. we're really in Paris! The innumerable white lights glittered for 10 minutes. After that, the strobe on the top of the tower turned on and for the rest of the trip, we knew where the tower was in proximity to us.

We hopped back on the Metro, dog-tired and starved and found a patio table in our area by 10:30 PM. We were very quiet, waiting for the food, when conscienceness hit us we laughed at our jet-lag and keener adventure tour. We ate and dawdled back to our room to find not a bag to meet us. It didn't really matter though, because we're in Paris and it sizzles!

2007-04-01T11:37:00.000-07:00

Arcade Fire's Neon Bible has tickled my senses. And for those of you that don't know... I'm not ticklish.

I fell in love with Arcade Fire's debut album Funeral about a year ago. I love the mess of it like the steaming tea kettles, layers of strings, triangle chiming, big fat piano chords and above all, the thematic LP. Funeral has a theme of home, mortality, familiarity and mourning. Sound depressing? For some reason it isn't.

Neon Bible is delightfully intoxicating. Many of the same components of Funeral are present but the theme is different. In fact, I haven't quite sorted it out yet, but I get the impression that the theme is that of disillusionment with faith. Listening to it is like reading a stranger's personal journal.

To me, this album feels very Bowie-esque. It shouldn't be surprising since Bowie is a major fan of Arcade Fire. Check out this performance of Bowie joining the group for a show a few years back (apologies for Heather Graham's enthusiastic camera shots - it is midly distracting). At some point, Bowie declared Arcade Fire's Funeral the best album of the year in 2005. I don't know about you, but if Bowie said he was a fan of mine, I'd be really happy.

To sharply contrast the Bowie sound, there is one song on Neon Bible that sounds like Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run' album. I don't know how that happened but it works for them.

For a sneaky peek of a Neon Bible single, try Black Mirror.

2007-03-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

Just to keep those itchy feet in check, A and I are going on a trip in a couple of weeks to Paris, France and Prague, Czech Republic. We are doing each city for one week. I'm thrilled to discover Prague since it's been on my list of places to go for several years now. Don't ask me why, I tend to set my sights on a place which are usually more difficult ones to get to. I have to admit, I like going places that most people I know have not yet been. It's not motivated by a competitive spirit, rather a desire to experience something unknown to me. I'll just blame it on itchy feet because there is no real explanation for it.

Contrast to my desire to visit unexposed areas of the world, Paris is the number one tourist spot on the globe. Over 36 million tourists travel Paris each year. No wonder Parisians get so hauty towards tourists who can't speak French, like me. I'm hoping the pregnant state I'm in will provide me with reasons for Parisians to be gracious.

For some reason, I've often imagined living in Paris, even though I've never been to it. If I think back far enough, that was more than likely established when I read Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. I adored the lifestyle depicted by Hem and his entourage, which included Ezra Pound, Scott Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein. In a 1964 NYTimes article, writer Charles Poore wrote the following observations about A Moveable Feast:

"The importance of beating Ernest, someone once said, gave a hopeless target to industrious lit'ry careerists. How cheerfully Hemingway was aware of that--and how early--appears quite clearly in this memoir of what I can only call his brilliantly obscure emergence as a man of letters. Here is Hemingway at his best. No one has ever written about Paris in the nineteen twenties as well as Hemingway. Thousands, of course, have given their own bright versions of that unaccountably perpetual springtime, but too many lost parts of their own identities in taking on some of Hemingway's. And they could not precisely share his astounding fugue of interests, which wove Tolstoy out of Sylvia Beach's bookship with days at the great race tracks, skiing expeditions to the Alps and the study of CÈzanne, noticing that F. Scott Fitzgerald was wearing a British Guardsman's tie and boxing with Ezra Pound, forays to Pamplona and living above a sawmill at 113 Rue Notre Dame des Champs.

It made a very movable feast. The feasting was sometimes pretty Spartan. Yet Hemingway and his first wife, Hadley Richardson, and their infant son, lived high on low amounts of money. Wages were precarious for a writer trying to get on paper, in his phrase, "the sequence of motion and fact which made the emotion," trying to create rather than describe."

I've got to read that book before I go, or while I'm there. Between laughing at references that remind me of Bumby and drooling over what to order from each patisserie, I think I'll be just fine.

2007-03-19T20:24:00.000-07:00

Birds' nest = tfoxfan's home. Yep, we're in a stage typically referred to as "nesting". Funny, someone pointed this out to me when I was discussing our intention to furnish our place. I balked at the suggestion simply stating that we've been married nearly 14 years and felt that, in light of baby's arrival, we would be better served to have furniture. Hmm...

K, let me back up here... yes, we've refrained from furniture purchases for 14 years. I don't necessarily take pride in that, but I do find it somehow endearing (can one be endeared to their own marital quirks?) and most amusing. We started out young and idealistic. I remember our first kitchen table was a large camper cooler. We used that for a while and although we knew it could be awkward in the event we would host guests, we didn't worry about it much. Soon enough, someone offered us a neglected card table to eat off of. I remember thinking it odd that the glass wouldn't rest all that evenly on the surface because card tables are puffy. Ah, it worked with a wee bit of jostling. We had our futon mattress on the floor for well over five years and never worried for a bed. Didn't have a TV until four or five years into our marriage and when we got one, we put it on two overturned milk crates, swiped from my mom's cafeteria with a flashy Guatemalan throw over it. And, a sofa? Well, there was 'the worm' - a hippie-built, (really, my parent's friends sewed it in the late 60s) cordeuroy "U" that had a separate long tube in the middle of the U that served us for eight years or so. The list goes on. Believe me, if you ask my parents, they'll be more than inclined to say they never felt all that 'comfortable' coming over to our place. I don't blame them, it's hard to get out of a worm or any variations thereof.

And now, with mini-tfox on the way, we're feeling like it's time to grow up - you know... be adults. I must admit that over the 14 years of making up living 'sustainable' environs, we're pretty clear about what it is that we need. Much to our parent's delight, we purchased a sofa they can get out of without asking for a hand. We also got a kitchen table that we love and have begun to eat food at. How civilized - no more food in our laps or on our shirts, burning the insides of our thighs.

We have come to recognize that we're going to be home a good deal and should be comfortable, practically. No, this does not include end tables or light fixtures from the ceiling or coat racks or welcome mats, but it does involve microfibre and clearcoat.

Oh, baby we're nesting.

2007-03-14T18:50:00.000-07:00

I read and included below an interesting article from The Economist titled "Happiness (and how to measure it)".

"Happiness (and how to measure it)"
Dec 19th 2006 From The Economist print edition

Capitalism can make a society rich and keep it free. Don't ask it to make you happy as well.

HAVING grown at an annual rate of 3.2% per head since 2000, the world economy is over half way towards notching up its best decade ever. If it keeps going at this clip, it will beat both the supposedly idyllic 1950s and the 1960s. Market capitalism, the engine that runs most of the world economy, seems to be doing its job well.
But is it? Once upon a time, that job was generally agreed to be to make people better off. Nowadays that's not so clear. A number of economists, in search of big problems to solve, and politicians, looking for bold promises to make, think that it ought to be doing something else: making people happy.
The view that economics should be about more than money is widely held in continental Europe. In debates with Anglo-American capitalists, wily bons vivants have tended to cite the idea of “quality of life” to excuse slower economic growth. But now David Cameron, the latest leader of Britain's once rather materialistic Conservative Party, has espoused the notion of “general well-being” (GWB) as an alternative to the more traditional GDP. In America, meanwhile, inequality, over-work and other hidden costs of prosperity were much discussed in the mid-term elections; and “wellness” (as opposed to health) has become a huge industry, catering especially to the prosperous discontent of the baby-boomers.

The things you never knew you wanted

Much of this draws on the upstart science of happiness, which mixes psychology with economics (see article). Its adherents start with copious survey data, such as those derived from the simple, folksy question put to thousands of Americans every year or two since 1972: “Taken all together, how would you say things are these days—would you say that you are very happy, pretty happy or not too happy?” Some of the results are unsurprising: the rich report being happier than do the poor. But a paradox emerges that requires explanation: affluent countries have not got much happier as they have grown richer. From America to Japan, figures for well-being have barely budged.
The science of happiness offers two explanations for the paradox. Capitalism, it notes, is adept at turning luxuries into necessities—bringing to the masses what the elites have always enjoyed. But the flip side of this genius is that people come to take for granted things they once coveted from afar. Frills they never thought they could have become essentials that they cannot do without. People are stuck on a treadmill: as they achieve a better standard of living, they become inured to its pleasures.
Capitalism's ability to take things downmarket also has its limits. Many of the things people most prize—such as the top jobs, the best education, or an exclusive home address—are luxuries by necessity. An elite schooling, for example, ceases to be so if it is provided to everyone. These “positional goods”, as they are called, are in fixed supply: you can enjoy them only if others do not. The amount of money and effort required to grab them depends on how much your rivals are putting in.
Some economists think the results cast doubt on the long-held verities of their discipline. The dismal science traditionally assumes that people know their own interests, and are best left to mind their own business. How much they work, and what they buy, is their own affair. A properly brought-up economist seeks to explain their decisions, not to quarrel with them. But the new happiness gurus are much less willing to defer to people's choices.
Take work, for instance. In 1930 John Maynard Keynes imagined that richer societies would become more leisured ones, liberated from toil to enjoy the finer things in life. Yet most people still put in a decent shift. They work hard to afford things they think will make them happy, only to discover the fruits of their labour sour quickly. They also aspire to a higher place in society's pecking order, but in so doing force others in the rat race to run faster to keep up. So everyone loses.
Yet it is not self-evident that less work would mean more happiness. In America, when the working week has shortened, the gap has been filled by assiduous TV-watching. As for well-being, other studies show that elderly people who stop working tend to die sooner than their peers who labour on. Indeed, another side of happiness economics busies itself studying the non-monetary rewards from work: most people enjoy parts of their work, and some people love it.
As for capitalism's wasteful materialism, even Adam Smith had a problem with it. “How many people ruin themselves by laying out money on trinkets of frivolous utility?” he complained. It is hard to claim that pyramid-shaped tea-bags (developed at great expense over four years) have added much to the sum of human happiness. Yet if capitalism sometimes persuades people to buy stuff they only imagine they want, it also appeals to tastes and aptitudes they never knew they had. In the arts, this is called “originality” and is venerated. In commerce it is called “novelty” and too often dismissed. But without the urge for material improvement, people would still be wearing woollen underwear and holidaying in Bognor rather than Bhutan. Would that be so great?

The joys of niche capitalism

If growth of this kind does not make people happy, stagnation will hardly do the trick. Ossified societies guard positional goods more, not less, jealously. A flourishing economy, on the other hand, creates what biologists call “a tangled bank” of niches, with no clear hierarchy between them. Tyler Cowen, of George Mason University, points out that America has more than 3,000 halls of fame, honouring everyone from rock stars and sportsmen to dog mushers, pickle-packers and accountants. In such a society, everyone can hope to come top of his particular monkey troop, even as the people he looks down on count themselves top of a subtly different troop.
To find the market system wanting because it does not bring joy as well as growth is to place too heavy a burden on it. Capitalism can make you well off. And it also leaves you free to be as unhappy as you choose. To ask any more of it would be asking too much.
________

The article points clearly to the concept that people now need what they didn't know they wanted before and have since attained. More poignant are the stats which indicate that happiness has not increased in correlation to accumulated wealth, but more specifically because a new level of wealth continues to rise up in place of the previous wealthy measure.

I can relate to this concept on a basic level. I recall a time when I only shopped at Value Village. The choice to shop VV was two-pronged; I liked old school and quirky clothes and I liked the prices. VV started to 'up' their prices because they caught on that gals and guys like me could spend more (though we prefered not to). Okay, so we usually bought ten items for $18.00 rather than 2 quality items for the same price elsewhere. VV was most certainly not about quality rather quanity. Anyway, when VV price tags went up (and dot-day sales were pulled - still a little bitter), I went to the Gap.

I never loved the Gap, but the clothes fit me well and I needed to get a bit more mature in my style. I only bought off the sale rack and to this day rarely buy a "new arrival". Gap quality has declined significantly over the last few years albeit their (sale) prices remain decent.

Now, I troll the Banana Republic stores because they're professional, well-built clothing which looks simply darling on. I've only ever bought one item (on sale) from there, which I wore to death. Having said that, I can see a trend forming here, you know... hanging out there, picking the items I like that are new and then going back a month later in search of that item for a heavily discounted price in my size. Yep.

My point is, I shop for Gap clothes, but I want BR. Funny, they're the same company and likely the same manufacturing shop somewhere in Asia. For me, to justify to afford BR, I have to make more $ and work in a job that demands that look. Is that aspiring for a more desirable "pecking order"? Likely. Man, that grinds on me to admit. Would wearing BR make me happier than Gap or VV? Nope. In fact, I know I'd have buyer's remorse the moment I had to figure out how to wash it - oh the agony of a failed launder.

Okay, so I don't have any mind-boggling finale for contemplation regarding this article. What I do like about tossing capitalism and happiness in the same handbag is that the dumping out of contents will end up a mess. I'm fascinated by the fact that the intent to form a capitalist society was to make a lot of money for a few people while the majority, who are great fans of the concept and structure of it, are poor or middle-class. I can't offer a meaningful alternative to a capitalist society although I'll be sure to keep you posted if I find one. Believe me, I'm looking. Happiness and sustainability surely has a practical application somehow, somewhere over the rainbow.

2007-03-10T17:35:00.000-08:00

I've just passed the half-way point in my pregnancy. It's surprised me a bit since I thought that nine months (or 40 weeks for those that understand the calculation thing) would feel quite long. The first 12 weeks went slowly, the last five weeks went fast, and the ones in between were a blur.

Of course, this whole process has given me substantial cause for reflection. A question that has provided an insightful answer is "How did I/we get here?". Meaning, how did I finally end up making this decision? My close friends and family would likely echo this question, begging for answers of any kind from me.

I've ended up with one concrete answer which carries a lot of history. The answer is that I am settled - for the first time. Historically, I'm a restless person. If not restless, then a girl with a severe case of itchy feet. The only cure for itchy feet is to travel or very simply, to explore. Prior to owning a car, I had a list of places I wanted to go and where I wanted to live.

Before A and I got married, we traded in our cars for the Pumpkin, which was a 1983 VW getaway van. In the course of a year and a half (inclusive of our honeymoon), we drove south and then north and then east and then west. When we weren't stopping over for extended periods of time at family's places we were in the van or living somewhere other than where either of us grew up.

I could go on, but the first year of our lives together crystallizes the way that I felt all of the time - restless to experience places and cultures. I don't know if I ever hungered to find a particular place and settle there although I was certainly open to find the right 'fit' for me in each place we parked ourselves. Seven apartments, four retail jobs, 15 Starbucks stores, 1 year of university and a related career job later, I end up here. Oh, that's not including a cumulative of nearly one year of total travel time in 10 countries peppered throughout those 14 years of marriage... and that's not including roadtrips. At any rate, we moved around a fair deal and each time we moved it was by being compelled to do so.

So, I end up here, in East Vancouver. It makes sense, really. The more I learn about this spot, the more I understand why I live here and more importantly, why I love it. Now, if you followed my blabla above you'll notice that I've parked myself now. Therefore, the answer to my initial question is that I found my home. Itchy feet and all, I'm content to be at home. I swear I never knew the meaning of home until now. What I marvel at is how the sense of belonging and correlating settling-in of home equals a new level of decisions being made. Once I sorted out the fact that I didn't have to think about where to travel to or where to move anymore, I got into a 'new head'. This mindspace included a whole bunch of decisions that were never very seriously considered before; one of which included whether or not I wanted to start a family.

So, how did I get here? Blame East Van.

2007-03-05T09:53:00.000-08:00

Whatever happened to Dolores O'Roirdan?

I popped The Cranberries first album everybody else is doing it so why can't we? in last week. I couldn't believe it had fifteen years since that album was released. I only got into the band in 1994, when no need to argue was released. Driving to work and listening to the all-too familiar songs made me quite emotional - even to tear up. Okay, there may be some extra hormones involved here, but it was somehow poignant when Linger came on. The years of 1994 and 1995 flew through my mind like when you watch a movie of when a character is about to die and memories are displayed quickly like over-exposed postcards on the screen.

I remember when we went to see The Cranberries at GM Place for their third album tour. Not a stellar album, but quality nonetheless. Dolores was mesmerizing.

Listening to her, I realize that she was the last female vocalist I truly fell in love with. Previous to her, was (and remains on top of the list) Annie Lennox. Apparently, Dolores is about to release her first solo album since the Cranberries dissolution. I'll probably take the chance to hear her voice again, particularly in light of my recent trip down memory lane.