It seems that we’re now, almost inevitably, facing an election this spring. Boy, am I enthusiastic about that prospect. Which clown to hire for the party? Jacko, Harpo or…Bono? Citizenship aside, do you think Canadians would elect Bono if he ran in the next federal election? Not too much would surprise me — unless Canadians voted in an NDP government. Boy, that would surprise me — no offense JL!!
I would never want to be a politician. Talk about not pleasing many of the people most of the time.

According to statistics I came across today, the average life expectancy in Zambia is 35. I think it would be difficult for most healthy North Americans to imagine that their lives would end at 35. Gee, I would only have a year and a half left….Well, I’m still going to stay home tonight, but it does make me wonder one thing: How do you know when you’ve lived a “complete” life? At what point would you ever be satisfied that you had lived enough, loved enough, patted enough dogs and cats, eaten enough breakfast cereal, watched enough episodes of your favorite show?

There is such a huge imbalance in the quality of life that different people live in the world, in this country, in this city, even. The Toronto Star is currently running a series on education in fly-in reserves in Northern Ontario. You can bet the situation is the same in virtually every other province in Canada.

For no reason, I just tried channeling the spirit of Christopher Lloyd. It didn’t work. Guess he’s busy right now.

Ah, I ran out of sentences in my sentence-making kit. Good night.

Well, we can hope.

Today, a day I took off work so I could write my translation exam, was punctuated with howls from my mentally ill cat. It has not been a relaxing day. I had cookies for breakfast (thanks Kersten), did two loads of laundry, found out I got a C on my latest school assignment (which, for a perfectionist like myself is like getting an H-) and the black cat cried on. Went out to the vet to get the desperate feline his dose of Pro-cat-zac and then popped in at the local pub for a quick lunch and coffee (+ shot)…The pub was having their Customer Christmas party later that night, but I’m having to miss it. Short, yam-faced drummer came in to set up his kit for the evening. Turns out he’s from Winnipeg too. He says he likes we must have a lot in common and that he likes green — do I like green too? Sure, I like green. And black and dark red and white. Oh, I know a line when I hear it, though I haven’t heard many lately.

Talked to Neilio 5 times today. Absence makes the heart grow even fonder, n’est-ce pas? He’s busy catching up with students and old friends. I don’t think he can be missing the manic depressive cat episodes.

Looking forward to getting this translation exam sent off tomorrow. Will celebrate by going out for brunch, a nice relaxing yoga class, buying a bottle of Christmas cheer and renting a suitably fuzzy, heartwarming chick movie. Maybe Love, Actually, though I saw it last year. It’s worth it just for 2 minutes of Rodrigo Santoro in his skivvies.

Hot bath cooling off. Listening to the Stars right now. Missed the boat — I think both shows at the Mod Club sold out. Oh, well.

Good night.

Speaking of running, I figured it would be good to set myself the challenge of being able to run a 10 K by Christmas. Ooh, it’s going to start getting cold soon, too, so it will be an extra test of my staying power. Living across from a large beautiful park chock full of spry joggers is inspiring and the local running club averages about 70 people per outing. So what’s my excuse besides back-to-back episodes of CSI on Spike TV? Today I confess I’ve already skipped the first club run for the sake of a much-needed nap, but there’s always tomorrow, right?

Halloween is coming soon. Maybe I should give out candy this year, instead of lying on the floor with the lights off because I didn’t get around to buying any Kit Kats. Heck, I think I might even like to go trick-or-treating this year…There are some pretty swanky houses around here and they don’t look like they’re owned by people who give out that crappy paper-wrapped bat toffee. I’ve already told the black cat that he’s going to have to work the windows this year. He is so lazy the rest of the year!

Well, time to curl up with a warm blanket and a good book. I’m about a quarter into Richard Wright’s Clara Callan. It’s strange reading about characters living in the 1930’s talking about sex and abortions. I don’t know why…maybe I think of people back then being more innocent, which is a crazy notion. People have known how to make more people for thousand of years, right?

I’m actually not jealous of whales — they deserve plenty of credit. Actually I’ve actually gotten tired of watching the Olympics and Canadian Idol is on one of the only other channels we get. What a horrible, lame show. It makes Star Search look like a class act. Yuck. I really hope all these faux, bland music shows fall by the wayside soon, along with reality TV. But hey, other people like them, so OK….

In the meantime I am rediscovering the art of reading a real book. Right now I’m reading “Women and Men” by Richard Ford. I love his writing…

Ahhh, some guy outside keeps screaming “Jeremy” or “Eric” or “Jerry” or something like that over and over again. The cats are folding back their ears in bewilderment. Has he lost his son, his dog or his mind? There are many, many crazy people in this town. One of them likes to root through our garbage and our recycling on a regular basis. He has a ratty teddy bear or something strapped to his little white cart. When you ask him what he’s taking and tell him to help himself, he puts a bag of onions back in the garbage that you share with your neighbour. Take the onions, for Pete’s sake.

Having rejoined the full-time workforce, I once again am struggling to keep pace in the Great Hamster Wheel…The cycle of get up, eat, go to work, eat, watch TV, sleep and over again. It’s nice to have a job at the moment, although we will likely be going on strike in September. That’s a drag. I may have to picket. I have never picketed before. I would rather eat a pickle.

Speaking of pickles, it’s exciting to be back in Toronto and enjoy all the yummy ethnic specialities that can be found just a block away. Portuguese, Mexican, Eritrean, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian…you name it, you can get it. I think, finally, after two months, I’m almost Thai-ed out for a while, and I’ve over-Udoned lately as well. I’ve also had more than my share of Sicilian ice cream, but luckily yoga seems to be staving off any ill-desired consequences of my indulgence.

Aside from all the dizzing possibilities of activities and the numerous weekend festivals, I have to stay that Winnipeg does have Toronto beat as far as clean air and wide, blue skies. I miss the fact that life seems more personal in Winnipeg. I miss chit-chatting with my fellow yoga regulars. In the three times I’ve lived in Toronto (four and a half years in total), I’ve never managed to really start up a real social circle here. That being said, I do feel completely at ease with the city itself. It’s great to be able to walk around the city for an hour at a time and never tire of the walk: there is always something (or someone) to see…I haven’t seen the guy with the horns permanently glued to his head since I arrived back in town. Maybe he had them removed!

Well, that’s my post for tonight. Just trying to get the juices flowing again from what has been a very lazy pineapple.

What’s my excuse for neglect this time? Well, everything has been up in the air for the past X number of months. We were seriously considering moving to Montreal this September because we both wanted to live in a French-speaking city. I had been looking forward to it although I was worried about what I’d do for work out there. Teach English, I suppose, but I didn’t want to work in a low-paying private school and I heard it can be difficult to get work in a CEGEP (I haven’t finished my BEd) because the pay and benefits are so good that no one ever leaves. Still, I was kind of looking forward to it.

Then, within a few days, everything changed. I got offered a job in Etobicoke (an opportunity that I didn’t feel I could pass up…Umm — not the Etobicoke part, the job itself, Silly!) so this past Wednesday I flew out on a moment’s notice to Toronto and found an apartment and am moving back to Toronto (for the 3rd time in 9 years) in a week and a half. I can hardly believe it. I’ve been quite comfortable in Winnipeg the past 3 years (how time has flown!) and have settled into a nice routine, teaching English to immigrants, taking courses at St. Boniface College, going to yoga down the street every day, meeting my mom for dinner every second Sunday, etc. I’m going to miss all that. And I’m going to miss the wide blue sky, the (relatively) clean air and the sense of space that we’re blessed with on the Prairies.

What am I going back to? Loads of people, warmer temperatures (yay), smog (boo), an efficient transit system, opportunities to do almost anything under the sun, an invisible/scattered French community (I didn’t find it last time), high rent (boo), Kensington Market (yay) and a fun city come World Cup 2006 if I’m still there then. Which I most likely will be. I found a place near Ossington Station that will be home for at least the first year or so while I settle into my new job, which is one long subway ride west. I hope to make new friends somehow (it seems hard in Toronto as everyone is so busy!), take up yoga and Spanish again and have lots of new adventures on weekends.

I’ll keep you (all three of you reading this) posted!

Oh, heck…I don’t feel like writing right now. Back to cozing up on the couch with a warm blanket.

What have YOU been missing? A lot less, I’d say. I’ve written a short story over the past few months, have had an important job interview (fingers crossed until May) and have watched the first spleen-splitting season of The Office (rent it! it’s hilarious!).

I really must go now, for I have to learn about 500 new French verbs in the next hour.

I’m walking with Neil on Lake Winnipeg — the ice is thin and broken in places, but, though I’m worried we’ll fall through, walking doesn’t seem to be a problem. Neil is on his way to work and is in a hurry. I’m stopped by a short, fat, angry man in a snowjacket who is looking for Jerry Lewis. He has heard that a film is being shot on the Lake (which, in the dream, was true) and he is bent on finding Jerry — the comic, that is, not the singer. (Personally, I find Jerry Lewis extremely annoying; I could never understand why people in France liked him…) Neil has continued on his way and is no longer in sight. I feel peeved that he has left me with this psychotic guy…I ask the man how he thinks he’ll get access to Mr. Lewis. He says something like “I have guns and a big mouth”.

The next thing I know, I’m in this man’s house and he’s showing me the mini-furniture that he collects. He shows me this miniature stove; the little clock on the stove has broken off which infuriates the man. Apparently he’s married, and he goes into a rage any time something breaks off one of his miniatures. I start to feel trapped in this man’s house and I wonder how I’m going to get away. I find a cell phone on the floor, and soonafter my dad appears in the dream. He tells me to run upstairs to the washroom and then to go to Gail’s house or something like that. (I don’t know anyone named Gail.)

Then I woke up and had to pee. Anytime there’s a washroom in my dream, chances are it’s a signal I have to pee in real life. But, what about the man looking for Jerry Lewis and why was he so angry?

I love how surreal dreams are…I find them very inspiring. What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had? Do you believe dreams carry messages or are they just trash cans for the soul?

1. Read more: literature, poetry, philosophy, foreign affairs

2. Stop wasting the few pennies I have on caf� salads and sandwiches I could make myself if I weren’t so lazy in the kitchen.

3. Stop eating red meat. I can’t bear seeing those poor cows on TV.

4. Give up shaving in favour of waxing.

5. Stop criticising myself so much.

6. Be more brave. Think less, do more.

7. 75 sit-ups a day. Still 925 less than Usher apparently does.

8. Keep in touch with friends. Being busy isn’t an excuse.

9. Let go of past hurts.

10. Organize or get rid of boxes upon boxes of paperwork.

11. Commit fully and lovingly to each moment, each task.

Riiiiiiight. I’d like to tell you what I bought today (you’d laugh), but in case a certain someone is reading this, I had better not. Not that Christmas is just about gift giving, but I must admit, I DO like buying presents once I get started. The problem this year is, I’m back at university and am only working six hours a week to boot, so I won’t be able to buy that $14,000 wooden canopy bed from Bali that I saw today, nor can I purchase the $3,000 five-foot tall Buddha statue or the gorgeous $2,400 aquamarine ring I admired. I love unusual things!

Actually, despite the fact that there’s plenty of stuff out there to dazzle my imagination if I dwelled on it, there’s nothing that I’ve asked for this Christmas. I’d like some new clothes. (People have even begun commented — haven’t you had that dress/shirt/skirt for, like, ten years now? Yes, yes, I have, as a matter of fact.) I’d like some underwear that doesn’t come up over the edge of the waist on my pants (I’m not a Granny yet for Pete’s sake), a yoga belt, the new Ian Rankin mystery (guilty pleasure), a donation to breast cancer research and the Humane Society and an Ashtanga tape. If we’re going to really stretch it, it would be cool to have a pair of tall black riding boots, some David Rice jewelry and a sparkling viola or a shiny trumpet that sounds like Chet Baker’s. Sure, and a nice house, a plane ticket to Europe and a car, but I’m not kidding myself.

I sure don’t want the holidays to pass too quickly. I’m still hoping to put up a tree this year, although that’s seeming less likely with every passing day. I had a very nice afternoon — read some material about Canadian foreign policy, went to yoga class (ooh, arm stand — too hard!!), looked at exotic furniture, had Greek salad and moussaka, wrote a few Christmas cards over a big bowl of mochacino (I just realized I don’t know how to spell moccaccino — hmm, looks like moccasin + espresso there…), bought a XX (mystery item), stood in line at the post office and typed a couple of pages of my story draft. I look forward to more days like this, in fact, so let’s cool down those hot little hands on the clock, shall we?

So, what’s on your wish list this year? Things tangible or intangible? Tangerine-scented? Something from Tangiers, perhaps? Something tangled? Tango lessons? Let me know — I like to hear about these things.

Anyway, I think I’ll give myself a break from writing and go and watch Frasier. Taddle-doodle-da, folks!

Instead, I’ve decided to write up a long-overdue post (funny how, when one is procrasting the lesser priorities suddenly float to the top). I’ve made myself the first hot buttered rum of the season (the perfect holiday drink, me thinks) to loosen the joints in my writing/studying/Christmas-wishing brain.

I don’t believe in making New Year’s resolutions, so I’ve decided to make pre-New Year’s resolutions instead. But I’m not going to tell you what they are at this point. If I can walk the walk, I’ll talk the talk. Walk before talk this year, OK?

In the meantime, I’d appreciate some holiday gift ideas, because, for the first year EVER, I’m truly COMPLETELY CLUELESS as to what to buy. I wish I were a craft-y type…I kind of feel like building a fabulous little house or something, complete with mini-furniture and lighting, but who are we kidding. I don’t know woodworking; I can’t sew worth a darn; I won’t go near power tools; I can’t make jewelry or pottery; I don’t paint or make origami. I’m really the Canadian anti-Martha. Sometimes this bothers me, though it doesn’t keep me awake at night. (Yet.)

Hmm. I guess I’ll go and study my Spanish verbs now. I’m not too bad at conjugating verbs. Too bad nobody wants conjugated verbs for Christmas or Hanukkah. Dear Santa, please send me the verb “to oscillate” in the subjunctive. I’ve been good all year.

hohoho merry merry and a hot buttered bum

(Where’s a muse when you need one? Not in chocolate; that’s a myth.)

I’m trying to figure out how to turn memories into fiction, real conversations into imaginary dialogue. I wish I had more experiences to draw on — adventures on pirate ships, on Scottish moors, in South Asian rainforests. How I would like to write real literature! Alas, my humble short story set on a Spadina streetcar doesn’t seem like inspired enough. But it has to be finished tonight. And, I have to pay attention to my punctuation this time. Did Heathcliff ever give a damn about where Bronte put a comma?

It feels like Christmas season. I feel like putting up the tree today. Actually, not once have I put up a Christmas tree since I moved out of my mom’s house eleven years ago. It’s probably time I started cooking proper meals, baking cookies and putting up a Christmas tree. Cultivating home. Maybe I’ll put on some holiday music before Neil gets home. There are only two CD’s to choose from: a Charlie Brown Christmas or A Swingin’ Christmas. Heehee, it’s November, but, because I’m alone, I can pretend it’s December if I want. The cats don’t care!

I have to finish my short story, though. And there can’t be snowmen or elves in it. Speaking of which, get a hold of The Santaland Diaries by David Sedaris, if you can before Dec. 25. I laughed out loud. If you can recommend more laugh-out-loud stories, please let me know. I like to make heads turn in coffee shops or on the bus. That reminds me, I was at Stella’s at lunch, as usual on Thursday’s, and there was a woman behind me who had a laugh like a vacuum hose trying to suck back something large.

Hmm. I just realized I don’t have a title for my short story. OK, back to my scrappy notes. Talk to you in the next post, whenever that will be. I’ve stopped making empty promises!

It’s really a moot question because it’s at that point when I stopped staring at the raccoon. Still, the experience made me aware of how little I understood my fellow creatures in my neighbourhood. (This includes the sobbing, blaspheming women and enraged men who use the payphone in front of the corner convenience store.) I want to read about raccoons now. I don’t think anyone has written a cultural studies book about people who use payphones.

Speaking of reading (is that like saying, listening of writing?), I would like to hear from the two people who will stumble accidentally upon this site in the next week (it’s my fault for not posting for four months) to recommend good reading, in particular short stories. Writing that features rich characters and/or an intriguing plot… And if the stories reveal any insight into the mind of the raccoon, all the better.

I have read 1/2 of about four books now (out of about 25 signed out), and there is little chance I will finish them before starting something else. As a conciliatory measure during my “study period”, I allowed myself mid-afternoon naps and visits to the local slummy bar, but it was like letting myself have cheesecake before a 5 K run, and then…not running. Know what I mean? Relax first, then…ah, forget it.

I’m 31 now (where did the time go?) and am surprised by how intimidated I feel in returning to university. I feel like a walking spool of stress, ready to unravel at the first assignment. Write a summary? Do a presentation? WAAAAH! (Drop my milk bottle.) Ridiculous, isn’t it? If I were a character in my own novel, I would laugh at myself. BUT I CAN’T VERY WELL DO THAT, CAN I? SINCE I’M TRAPPED IN THIS GREAT PERSONAL TRAGEDY OF PROCRASTINATION AND SELF-DOUBT! How horrible! I had hoped to be a genius, but now I just feel like a lazy loafer.

Bah, I hope I will soon tire of my own drama. That reminds me of the time (a few weeks ago), when I tried to teach one of my ESL students the meaning of “shit or get off the pot”. I’d be curious to know if this expression exists in other languages.

OK, I’m going to go do some hamstring stretches now.

CHORUS: Turkey kulbassa is quite tasty; my cat likes it, too.

Speaking of which, what EXACTLY is Crisco and how many uses does it have? How important is Crisco to your life?

Well, I taught my first class of the new term yesterday. I have 16 students so far — most of the students are from China, a few are from Korea, one is from Japan, one from Mexico and one from Nepal. We’re crammed into a little room with no windows and no oxygen tanks. I must admit to a strong feeling of claustrophobia. I told myself I would let myself have more fun this term and take on less stress, but I feel like I’m made up of nothing but good intentions.

If I were a character in a different version of the Wizard of Oz, I would go in search of more self-confidence. Then I could hold my head up high and follow my bliss (Joseph Campbell’s expression) and nothing would stand in my way — especially not myself. At this point, I really don’t know what to commit myself to; I don’t feel interested in anything in particular. My dad made a joke that people of my generation feel they need about 10 years to “find themselves” before they settle down, but I’m already past that mark. My soul needs a compass…

I suppose in times like these, it’s better to focus on a tree rather than on the forest.

Do you think it’s weird that water can’t be counted? I guess that’s why the above metaphor wouldn’t work with a lake rather than a forest.

I find such comfort in off-the-wall thinking. I hate being logical, unless it’s an exercise for it’s own sake.

Today’s post reflects a certain state of mind, and I make no apologies for the lack of organization.

Enjoy your weekend. It’s cold and windy in Winnipeg — from my window, I can see the trees shaking. Maybe I should bring them a sweater.

Since I’ve been “on vacation”, I realize how much I am enjoying the time not thinking, not worrying about anything, following my whims. Alas, my vacation is now over, and it’s time to focus again on concrete tasks. I had spent 10 days in Montreal just walking rather aimlessly around the city; this has made me restless. I have yet to start running again (my excuse is that I’m still fighting off the soggy traveller flu), but I vow that I will. I’m finding it difficult to stay inside now that the weather in Winnipeg is nice. Let’s do away with indoor work in the summer and privilege making the world a more aesthetically-pleasing place!

After a fairly brief caf� visit, I ambled down to Lilac Street (isn’t that charming) and popped into the Green Scene to ask about low-light, non-poisonous plants. Is it time to commit to botanical motherhood once and for all? Can I be trusted with a living green thing? I’m not sure, but plants sure would give my apartment a more nurturing air about it…My cousin St�phane, who works at a wholesale flower salesman in Montreal, has unintentionally rekindled my love of flowers. He gave me a bouquet of yellow and purple tulips that are just fascinating to look at. Unfortunately, the water in their vase evaporated without my noticing…Do I deserve a second chance at this plant-tending business?

Now that it’s spring, the runners along Wellington Crescent are out — there is a whole stream of them — old men, older women, young couples, high school kids…I think that more Winnipeggers would be inclined to ditch the car if this city were designed differently. Neil and I began a discussion of urban planning yesterday; he picked up the Jane Jacobs book The Death and Life of Great American Cities. I like a pedestrian-friendly city — Winnipeg is not one of them.

And, seen as it’s spring, I couldn’t resist getting a Slurpee, even though I know they’re anti-nutritious. Apparently, there is now “Sprite Ice”, a mint-tinged Sprite. Where have I been? Why haven’t I heard about this? Not that I’m fond of pop, but I like to pride myself on staying relatively culturally-aware.

Well, here I am — back where I started. I’m going to prepare some reading questionnaires now for my yet unknown ESL students, rescreen a Frida Kahlo video and a video on the FLQ crisis. I may even attempt making Shrimp-Stuffed Tofu with Broccoli. All in all, not a bad Sunday….

Since returning from Montreal, I realize that the gourmet part of my brain is still expecting large bowls of steaming lattes and fresh croissants. Not the healthiest of diets, but there is something so appealing about indulgence nonetheless. Raisin Bran is so anglo, as is tea. Alas, I can no longer afford to live as if I’m on vacation anymore, although I hope to hold on to the free spiritness of the whole affair.

Last night I made a conscious decision to fluff away my time by watching American Idol (I can’t deny it resembles Star Search in far too many ways. I was always Pro-Solid Gold and Anti-Star Search as a young’un.) Neil Sedaka was the guest judge and NOT uncoincidentally, Neil Sedaka was one of the three singer/musicians my mom had tapes of when I was four/five years old (along with Neil Diamond and George Benson). So I confess to knowing all the Neil Sedaka “hits”. Luckily I had the apartment to myself so I didn’t even have to pretend I wasn’t really interested in the show. I was! Neil Sedaka is gay, yes? Not that I care, but this leads me to a tangent…I recently came across a chart in a magazine which put well known cartoon characters on a scale. (I’ll have to find the source again.) According to this chart, Bugs Bunny is gay, which I’m not sure I agree with. I think old Bugs is comfortable playing many roles — from a Sevillan barber to a viking maiden — He’s a very rabbit, and I admire his confidence. I don’t like the idea of pigeonholing Bugs Bunny in any way. Porky the Pig on the other hand, OK.

In characteristic fashion, I stray from my topic…which was?

I actually teach writing and stress the importance of keeping to the point, but no way am I going to observe that rule on my time off! I’ve just applying for a second writing instructor position — I’ll let you know how that goes.

Hope you’re enjoying the sunshine wherever you are. If not, go to a cozy cafe and ask for some honey.

Now I have “Solitaire” playing in my head. Any Neil Sedaka fans out there? No, I don’t expect you to admit to anything, although I would be interested in hearing about some guilty pleasures.

In fact, I have just returned from Montreal, which has nifty old-fashioned looking neon Dairy Queen signs. Do the terms “old-fashioned” and “neon” go together? Maybe I’m not as old as I thought. Yippee.

I would love to regale you with tales of my trek through the Himalayas and how I came to find personal enlightenment, but that will have to wait until I actually do these things. I would, however, love to hear what you’ve been up to, especially since I know none of you out there and we’re running out of time, quite frankly. You will have to take the kids to hockey lessons and then go to your Aquafit classes or tend to your potato plants or what have you…And I’ll be busy climbing the non-corporate ladder, which, until now, has been lying flat on the floor.

My trip to Montreal was meant intended simply to return me to a state of empty-headedness trust in the universe. I went to the Notre-Dame Cathedral, the oratoire de Saint-Joseph (I saw Brother Andre’s heart in a glass box!), about 14 bookstores, 3 movies, eight or nine coffee shops, two internet cafes, six bakeries and one bingo fundraiser for an art gallery. I had seven cafe au lait’s in a bowl, at least 5 or 6 chocolatines, 4 quiches, 2 Brasilian coffees and nineteen slices of bread. I watched one mass penguin feedings and spent twenty-two non-consecutive hours walking in the rain.

I have developed a fondness for penguins.

Having lived in Winnipeg for the past two years now, I realize that all the 20 to 40 year-olds are living in Montreal, except for the business-oriented ones who are in Toronto and the granola crunching bunch in Nelson, B.C.

I learned you can’t turn right on a red light in Montreal and there are 35 things you need to know before you even consider parking your car on the street in Montreal.

It’s easy to spend money on little things and it’s easy to waste time watching daytime television, even if you don’t think you’re tempted.

That’s it for today. For the next while, I shall make absolutely no attempt to organize my thought, for they are enjoyed their right to be scattered for now.

See you tomorrow.

Last night I drifted off and found myself on a winter automobile journey with a friend. I think we may have been driving through the north-central States, but, it’s hard to say. The landscape of dreams has no map. We ended up having to park the car - I think we decided it didn’t work anymore. We each sat in the front seat debating if we were within 9 feet of the stop sign or not. (One gets a parking ticket if one is too close to the sign.) This went on for sometime…My friend then mysteriously evaporated from the dream, and a tall police officer with shaved sideburns suddenly appeared and kindly said, “That’s perfect. That’s nine feet exactly.” From there, we struck up a conversation, and he offered to drive me into town (my friend and I had left the car in a campground or state park…). We talked all the way there, and we developed a real fondness for each other. I asked him if he had any kids, and he said “Two”; he seemed otherwise reluctant to talk any more about his family. He drove to the local ski resort/chalet, and we spent the evening sitting on bleachers (BLEACHERS??), drinking champagne and watching a spectacle of some sort. I don’t remember much after that, but, when I woke up this morning, I missed Bob. (His name was Robert, but he went by “Bob”.) Funny, eh? I pictured him so vividly in my dream, but I don’t think there is anyone in this world who could match his description.

This isn’t the first time I’ve created people in my dreams like this, and I’m sure it happens to everyone. It seems odd, though, to have met so many wonderful people this way. And it’s odd that these folks seem almost more real than some of the people I know in my waking life.

If this post makes me sound like I’m the kind of oddball who talks to 6-foot rabbits all day, I actually don’t. But if I met a big rabbit in my dreams, I’m sure we could chat for hours and have a grand ol’ time.

So, today, I’m trying to “buckle down”, despite the fact that it’s a GORGEOUS, SUNNY DAY. From our window, I can see people sauntering along the street, walking as if they didn’t have a care in the world, or a lesson to plan. There’s a music festival on, to boot, but, from what I can hear from our apartment, I may not be missing out on much on that one. Ah! For all of August, I had the “reap now, sow later” attitude…I’m now at least $350 down on Second Cup Chillatte’s, with nothing to show for it. (Did you know they’re getting rid of their Spend $40, get $1.45 off cards? IS NOTHING EVER FREE ANYMORE?)

But enough moaning. It is slightly refreshing to sit down and experience what mild productivity is. I do plan to get out in the sunshine as soon as schedule another 60 minutes of theoretical student activity.

What would you rather be - a goat living in the Appalachian mountains, a pot of geraniums on an old lady’s porch or a pistachio nut in any context you can imagine.

Talk to yous later. Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. Welcome, everyone who is visiting this site from another country. E-mail me! Entertain me!

Don’t go drinking beer before a yoga class…neither the beer nor the yoga end up sitting well.

What a freakily-Canadian dream. Jean, Jean - are you all right? I’m not clairvoyant, so I’m sure you’ll be OK.

Maybe I should write a Canadian mystery series…What next, poisoned pancakes? Sabotaged canoes? Lumberjack hijackers?

I hope CSIS doesn’t start tracking me as a terrorist suspect because of this. It was just a dream, guys and gallies.

1) Watching the goldfinch in my mom’s garden 2) Eating fresh raspberries for the first time this year 3) Going on a date with my sweetie, even if the movie wasn’t funny 4) Arriving home at 12:00 am, feeling starving, ordering yummy pizza from Tony’s and eating it right out of the box in front of the telly 5) Running along quiet, tree-shaded streets and feeling strong 6) Filling the fridge with fresh fruit 7) Spending time with my family 8) Biking to Assiniboine Park, bumping into an old acquaintance and having a spontaneous roadside summer chat 9) Meeting a former student on the street and getting a big smile 10) Having a quiet cup of jasmine tea on a Sunday night
11) Realizing that I took the time to appreciate all these things!

Ya see, I’m now among the barely-employed self-employed. As one who’s almost always had a steady job, I’ve finally decided to drum up the courage (or the foolishness, according to my dad) to leap into the world of teaching ESL full-time, which, when you’re a new teacher like myself, is hardly a full-time proposition. I feel like the gal who’s finally dove into the pool only to find the weekend is over and everybody has already towelled off and is back to work.

There’s a restless social butterfly fluttering inside me, and I hardly know where to begin with the start of a new day. It obviously takes a lot of discipline to structure a workday around eight hours of “endless possibility”. I will not watch daytime television, I will not watch daytime television…I repeat to myself, lest I fall between the cracks in the futon which aren’t there. Before the attack of version #2,405 of the common cold, I had started running for forty-five minutes in the morning to get a kickstart on the day. After running two mornings in a row, I thought I was on a roll…But what about the other seven hours and fifteen minutes??

I’d love to hear from those of you who have successfully made the transition from full-time employment to Happy, Productive Self-Employment. Tips? Suggestions? Is there a better way to get one’s daily social fix other than hanging out at Second Cups drinking $4.10 iced lattes (which is more than my daily wage at the moment…) Please write. I promise to check my e-mail. I think I’ll be able to find a few spare moments….

My Park: quiet and peaceful, except for the nightly beer bottle smash-up and mushroom trip at night. At two thirty in the afternoon, I had the pick of the benches! As the sun moved and shadows gradually overtook the bench, I moved to the next bench, and the next one…A man in a plaid shirt with green socks rode by on a red mountain bike, talking on a cell phone, laughing. A woman and her friend walked quietly along the path behind me. There was a heaviness to their conversation, or it seemed to me. A black and yellow butterfly fluttered around on the playground and I followed its flight as long as I could. A wasp hovered around my empty juice bottle. Wasps are a sure sign of August.

I read for a little while, and thought about not thinking for a while. Still, the thoughts crept over me like the shadows on my bench, and eventually I realized I wouldn’t be free of them this afternoon. So, I did what anyone else would do under the circumstances: I went to the corner store and got myself an ice cream sandwich.

In the meantime, I raise my bowl and spoon to you - salutations from my living room to yours.

Actually, July was a very busy month. I took my first real teaching job…a four week contract with one of the local universities. A great deal of thought and planning went into my lessons, and, I must say (� la Ed Grimley) that I was really pleased with how things went. I loved my students! Most of them were from Japan, but there were also students from Colombia, Peru, Turkey, Korea, Ivory Coast, Argentina and Brazil. Not that I’m surprised, but I felt very sad at the end of the program and cried when I had to say goodbye. Maybe in time I will become less sentimental. One of the things I’ve always found difficult in life is letting go of people who are dear to me. The child in me doesn’t understand why it’s necessary, and it feels like such a loss. I do, however, feel very fortunate for the opportunity I was given. I wouldn’t have traded it for a pack of Digestive Cookies and a handful of nickels.

With the way I’ve been feeling in recent days, I’ve picked a book which I’ve had for years (but never read) off my shelf and am slowly going through it. The book is Love and Loneliness by Krishnamurti. The author/spiritual teacher talks about all the things that love is not - love is not fear, anxiety, jealousy, a desire to possess. It is not ambition, a need for comfort and security, or physical or mental attachment to another person. As I reconsider my perspective on a number of things I’ve been recently yearning for, this book makes me realize that so many of the reasons I have wanted these things have hinged on my fear of not being secure, of not being “a success”, of being alone. Krishnamurti says we must look directly at loneliness and experience it. We will accomplish nothing of trying to avoid or suppress our fears (or our desires) for that matter. He maintains that it is not a matter of conquering our weaknesses; we cannot “overcome” them by discipline or thought. According to Krishnamurti, mind creates problems rather than solves them. Reading Krishnamurti has reminded me that my outlook on myself and others has been askew, despite my best intentions. To keep an open heart despite past hurts and anxiety about the future is one of the greatest gifts we can give to ourselves. To look upon every experience as new and to be constantly reborn in every moment…this is something to strive for. I can hardly imagine. Still, it’s an exciting possibility, one which will always be there for us, at least in this lifetime.

Maybe I should be reborn in Safeway soon…it’s been a long time since I cooked a nice meal. Am nursing a cold, and could use a few oranges.

I wonder if there has been a study yet linking hooliganism to premature bottle feeding. Not enough breast milk, too much beer as babies? I can’t explain it. May the best team with the most civilized fans win. Let there be celebration without annihilation.

Unfortunately, I’m not enough of a die-hard to get up at 2:30 am to head over to the Italian or Portuguese clubs in town to watch the games. I need my sleep too much, but I do manage to catch about 10 minutes of whatever is playing just before I leave for work. Usually a goal is scored just as I’m about to click off the TV and trot downstairs to catch my bus. This is enough to keep me going until the afternoon (like a Snickers bar, without the peanuts). One of my work colleagues is deeply perturbed at France’s rather disappointing results so far. I’m worried for his health; I thought maybe I should have taken away his car keys after the 0-0 tie with Uruguay today. So far, I’m not cheering any particular team. I hate that so many players are faking injuries and taking dramatic spills left right and centre. Bunch of deceitful sissies.

At any rate, I’ll be very sad when the WCup is over and I have to wait four more years…

Living in Toronto during the last tournament has made me a football (soccer) fan. I see the light. And it comes from a cathode ray tube…

Yeah, it’s been one of those weeks where one comes home and realizes that one feels like Samson post-haircut.

Fortunately, I’ve had plenty of opportunity this weekend to get back into shape for Monday…Lots of gab, a couple of drinks and some Boxercise. A evening at the Royal Albert watching some punk or thrash band may also have fit the ticket, but that didn’t happen. Neither did I have time for drag racing or sparring with Jackie Chan or winning Ben Stein’s money.

I hope to have a more Zen week…Meditation, green tea, maybe a haiku poetry reading and walking barefoot in a light rain shower.

We’ll see.

In the meantime, check out Anil’s site, specifically the link to Triumph, the acid-tongued, cigar-chomping Rottweiler from Late Night…Good for a laugh, unless you’re a Star Wars fan who takes himself too seriously.

My next post will either be about World Cup soccer, the Liberals, a documentary I watched on Vancouver’s Boystown or something completely different. It will dependent on what mood I’m in….

Be brave and be ready for sunrise. Sleep in your soccer jersey so you won’t have to change in the middle of the night.

Yes, I haven’t forgotten about telling you about the nuns, but it will have to wait….

It’ll be in the country. What to expect, what to expect….

Tap-dancing, yodelling, knife-throwing, sheep shearing? I’ll let you know later this week.

Is it a sin to gong a nun?

Speaking of resume, I had soup for lunch today at the bookstore, and a Mocha Gelati Shake. Good Girl/Bad Girl. My plans to go back on a no-sugar, no-alcohol diet have never really gotten off the ground this year. In addition to a lack of personal willpower, I blame the onset of warm temperatures. Summer makes me crave slushy drinks and sangria and martinis on patios and ice cream. I’m the kind of person who can live without Pepsi and chocolate bars and candy and potato chips…but Good Lord, do I love cold slushy drinks. I think there are books out there that analyse what kind of person you are, based on your like/dislike for hot and cold, salty and sweet, etc. etc. People sure like to analyse things, don’t they?

Managed to convince Neil to come out with me to the Teddy Bear’s Picnic. I get so restless on nice days; I can’t bear (ooh, unintentional second use of the word bear) to stay inside and just sit around. I think this cramps Neil’s style. He’s mellow and I’m not. I do like ferris wheel rides, though. That’s a fairly mellow ride. When I was a kid, and I rode the Sizzler, I would always choose the glittery raspberry-coloured seat. Maybe that’s gender-typical of me. If I seem extra-tangental with this post, it’s because I’ve just succumbed to a desire to buy Aliz� liqueur (a passion-fruit juice/cognac liqueur), that mixed with Vodka and lemon juice and a little grapefruit juice, is very satisfying indeed. There are no ice cubes in the house. Since I moved in with Neil, we’ve never had ice cubes. It’s not a policy of ours; I’m pro-ice cubes, generally, though ICE CUBES SHOULD NEVER BE GIVEN TO BABIES. And babies should never be put in the freezer, NOT EVEN FOR A MINUTE TO COOL THEM OFF; you will likely go to the T.V. in the next room just to check the score of the hockey game or to see who won Iron Chef and you will forget to take the baby out. Don’t assume you’ll remember everything.

This made-up nonsense reminds me of a story of a local man who was convicted of killing two of his relatives. He said his wife died when she crawled into a freezer to check a gauge. That’s one of the worst lies I’ve ever heard. I made up a truly pathetic lie about 11 years ago, but it didn’t involve death or criminal proceedings. A transparently bad lie is one of the hardest things to live down. I’m sorry I just remembered this…Yikes. I’ve never lied much since; thank goodness.

What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told? Any great ice cube stories?

Tomorrow is a work day. Yahoo!

And please please please might I be enveloped in a sensual experience sometime soon…I am craving an experience which will touch all my senses - give me something new to look at, listen to, feel, taste, smell. Riding the 47 bus doesn’t cut it; the stench of burning flesh/tires going over the Nairn bridge every morning isn’t novel anymore. Not what I had in mind anyway.

I’m thinking of borrowing a camera for the weekend; it’s a good way to reawaken oneself to one’s surroundings. How many subtle happenings do I miss on my way to and from Tranconnania every day (the mystical section of the city in which I’m presently a serf)? Today I found out that the fellow who drives the #17 bus likes Cinnamon Hazelnut coffee best of all coffees and the evening guy at work with the tattoos and piercings is named Dave. It seems I’ve learned more today than usual…Maybe I should start keeping, in ironic fashion, a Book of Daily Secrets. May 22/02 - Secrets 1 & 2…Cut down on the dried cranberries and try to think before speaking wherever possible. Secret 3…Make sure I’m looking at the right spot when getting my driver’s license photo taken. Four years until the next one…

In the meantime, I would be happy to hear from anyone living in a different city. Tell me about yourself and what’s going on in the place where you live. Perhaps this will help to ease my overwhelming sense of Wanderlust for a little while…

P.S. Went to see About a Boy on Saturday night. Very entertaining, but you will end up with a Roberta Flack song in your head for about 8 hours after the viewing.

In my dream, I received a refund on my income tax. A few weeks later, I came across a notice typed at the bottom of a vegetarian Cuisenart cookbook that advised me that I’d have to send back the money I had received as a return plus I owed the government an extra $57.02 due to my left ovary. The government had given my left ovary a B+ instead of an A and had determined that I owed them some money since it wasn’t in top shape. Apparently, the right one was OK and I wouldn’t have to pay any extra tax on it.

That was it.

I’m not going to send in the money.

I have no idea if I actually have A or B+ ovaries. I don’t think about them very often.

What if men had to pay testicle tax? Would it be lower than ovary tax? Women always have to pay more for everything…clothes, haircuts, personal products.

I’m facing (and am grateful for) a three-day weekend. I don’t have any set plans, but I reeeeeaaaally feel like driving and getting out of town. Alas, no car. I’m not into camping at all; more of a bed-and-breakfast girl. I like hot baths and warm blankets.

The problem with living in Winnipeg is, you can’t just hop in a car and travel to another major city in a couple of hours. Unless you count Brandon as a major city and are in the mood to go to a hog or tractor exhibition. I’m glad that Manitoba isn’t overpopulated, but it would be nice to be near another major centre or a quaint seaside town for vacation purposes. We’re watching lots of travel shows on TV to keep us semi-appeased.

The cat is tearing up something…I’d best go and check if he’s destroying something off-limits.

P.S. The web wizard is working on the technical problems with my site. Sorry about the inconvenience.

People are odd. I would say the majority of people who call seem like decent folk. But you have to wonder about certain individuals masquering as members of the human race. A fellow I spoke to on Monday claimed he sent his correspondence to us at Tampon Road. I couldn’t tell over the phone if he was serious or not…

At the same time I’ve been noticing that the intellectual vacancy rate in certain areas of the city (my bus stops, for instance) has risen to dizzying heights. A dopey spikey-haired guy at my stop yesterday evening was deliberately trying to summon all the mucous in his body and horking in messily on the sidewalk. Then he’d smirk and look around at all the really unimpressed bus-waiting folk and do it all again. About ten times in a row. He seems to find this strangely amusing. Go rent a Jerry Lewis or a Phyllis Diller video and eat fifty jars of dill pickles and throw a big blue flannel blanket over your head and release all your Hork-Demons in the privacy of your own tinfoil-littered bachelor apartment, you freak.

Ha, ha, ha. Feeling too hostile for my own good at the moment. Yes, I’m still intending to take up yoga…Or maybe I need to wipe out the mood spiders by way of a weekend punk rock concert.

Beethoven had his moods, too. Did he ever have to ride the bus?

I must say, it does take a lot of patience and caring and hard work to be a good mom. Whatever “maternal instincts” I may have are buried deep under layers of selfishness, indolence and reluctance to take responsibility for a sustaining period of time. Imagine changing all those diapers and mashing up all those peas and all that bedtucking and button sewing and sneaker shopping and that puberty talk and all that car-key lending and furniture lending….Amazing. I still haven’t come out on the adult side yet and I’m thirty. Neil and I are talking about getting a few plants, but I’m nervous about the commitment…

It’s been a lovely weekend - very carefree. Friday night I went for a short, token workout at the Y and then we went to Edohei (a downtown Japanese restaurant for dinner. A very loud and etiquette-oblivious woman behind me was describing with gleeful horror the unhappy fate of a half-eaten, half-alive pigeon on the steps of her house…Not a suitable conversation to be having with earshot of other diners. I was becoming increasing unable to involuntarily listen to this woman that finally I had to reach under her table and pull her up by her ankles and stuff two huge globs of wasabi up her nose to distract her. In my view, wasabi should not be eaten - only used as a deterrant or, if necessary, a repellant. I had planned a chick movie as the evening topper, but we ended up going to see Spiderman, which was even better. Great casting. And now I want to go over to my best friend Tobey Maguire’s house for milk and cookies and wall climbing. I don’t think we’ll let Willem Dafoe carve the turkey next time…Boy, do I miss Prestomagix, speaking of cartoons. Does ANYONE remember Prestomagix, other than me??

Hey, Tobey, if you’re reading this, send me an e-mail. Let’s go for pomegranate juice and yoga.

Lots more weekend dining to talk about, but I’ll save it for later. It’s going to be a lean week of more “duty”, less indulgence. But I’m still going to watch the finale of the Amazing Race this Wednesday.

Talk to you soon!

Speaking of mammoths, I have been on a fruitless search for a bathing suit for two months now. I’m not a terribly big person, but somehow there seems to be a lot of (pardon me) old woman suits with padded breast inserts in the upper sizes. And stop me if I ever, ever, ever reach for a bathing suit with a belt or a big cloth flower on it. Who designs these hideous creations? All I want is a sleek classy sports bathing suit, like the one I have now, that doesn’t require me to get a life-altering bikini wax and that keeps my breasts from bobbing over into the other lane. Too much to ask?

Speaking of bikini waxes, are airline ticket prices ever going to go down? I’m longing for a European vacation; the bus trips out to the suburbs aren’t cutting it these days.

This month’s milk recipe is Apple Custard Crumble. Hopefully, it doesn’t call for raisins. I like raisins, but not in apple desserts.

My worst New Year’s? Probably 1993. I was madly in love, spent a very romantic evening with my fella who, at the stroke of midnight, suggested that we each see other people. Just as my heart and the Big Apple in New York, dropped 100 ft.

Need I say more?

My best New Year’s? Probably 1990. I was visiting my friend Sanna Mansikkaniemi in Hevoniemi, Finland (where are you now, Sanna?), which is a WONDERFUL place to spend Christmas holidays. We had the traditional Finnish New Year’s Eve dinner, complete with pudding, and then we enjoyed a sauna and flagellated ourselves with the traditional broom of leaves and herbs. We ran out to the lake naked and rolled in the snow and then dashed back to the sauna. Very invigorating. And no heartbreak! Finally, we topped off the evening with the traditional (lots of traditions, no?) New Year’s Eve fortune-telling ritual. We melted down some metal (they sell it in the supermarkets there) and poured the liquid into a bucket of ice-cold water. My metal ended up in the shape of a sperm (tadpole, maybe?); I forget what Sanna’s was. The head of Elvis? I have very fond memories of that night.

Do you remember your best New’s Year’s? Your worst? What is your idea of an ideal New Year’s?

This year we’re going to my friend Christine’s to play Pictionary and eat Chinese food.

Bye 2001.

I realized that over the past few years, I have gradually lost the nerve to look strangers in the eye and I don’t laugh heartily like I used to… Since when did I become a rabbit? No, no, this is not me.

This is life, this is now, this is the time for anything and everything wonderful. I wish my inner censor would get a sense of humour and join the party. Together we would belt out tunes however cringeworthy, recite Shakespeare at the top of our lungs and practise the violin unselfconsciously. We would playfully karate chop dour businessmen and make them giggle like schoolchildren and pogo-stick across newly waxed floors. We would say exactly what we meant and would do exactly what gave us joy. We would not inherit the earth; we would inhabit it - fully, rightfully, delightfully.

Yesterday my mom and I had breakfast at Zellers (yes, I, too, was skeptical - very “uncool” and all that, but the Zellers diner was cheaper than those hip breakfast joints like Perkins and Denny’s. Unlike at Perkins, the eggs didn’t taste like space turkey with cranberry garlic sauce.) The server was a very nice lady with a French accent. My only beef was that things became incredibly complicated when we ordered the All Day Breakfast without the meat. I was so bold as to ask if we could have a pancake instead of the bacon and sausages…”Do you still want everything that comes with the breakfast? Do you still want the eggs? Do you still want hashbrowns? Toast?” “Yes…” we replied. “Well then, I’ll have to charge you extra for the toast.” “Whaaat?” Since when does a measly instant pancake cost more than some unfortunate pig’s sacrified loins? Why charge more for toast, when it was already included in the original breakfast? Aaaah…

I’m normally not one to kick up a fuss, but I just don’t understand some things in this world. If people can order a low-fat, no-foam, decaff, non-sweet Caramel Cappucino with two java jackets and three napkins, is one humble pancake too much to ask for?

Sigh. That’s my petty rant for the day.

Yet again, I was fortunate enough to have a lovely Christmas with people dear to me…and I truly felt grateful this year. I wish I could preserve moments like these and relive them whenever I wanted, but then I would probably spend ALL my time living in the past…

Every Christmas, I miss our wonderful friends and neighbours, Enid and John Keillor. They were originally from Scotland and lived two doors down from my mom’s house. They were both so important to me; I miss our holiday glass of sherry together at this time of year. Here’s a toast to John and Enid tonight!

I hope everyone had a safe and cozy holiday. I stayed home on Boxing Day, out of harm’s way!

Since all my energy since Tuesday night seems to be channelled into digesting the Christmas meals (plural), you must settle for this humble offering. So - voici my mediocre thought-custard for the day…

So, here is what I wish for this Christmas and New Year. After a year of upheaval and uncertainty, I wish for peace, security, warmth, love, happiness, health, courage, inspiration, creativity, joy, celebration, dance, commitment and delight.

I wish everyone on Earth a share in these things. Let us embody these values this year and not be afraid.

Merry Christmas and a happy, peaceful New Year. Wishing flamingoes everywhere bright plumage.

Love,

Renee and Schubert’s Nose

Well, I’ll pretend that you do…It was a modern dance show (thus I had to go alone…does anyone out there like modern dance?); the dancers were accompanied by a very funky Winnipeg band called The Hummers. A lot of good musicians come out of Winnipeg - Chet Baker, Jose Carreras, Elvis Costello, The Chipmunks…Well, a lot of good musicians don’t come out of Winnipeg, actually. Nonetheless.

My little excursion was enough to take the edge off for the evening, but I continue to seek outlets for this burst of energy. Where is a jousting tournament when you need one? Where is a tango-ing Al Pacino? Where are the sapphires and smouldering glances across a crowded room? Where are flaming peaches?

This week, I dedicate my site to all those who like to tango…

Someone has been spinning the hands on the clock awfully fast these days. I wake up, do a few little errands, and suddenly it’s dark! Our appreciation of time depends so much on our state of mind, doesn’t it?

I apologise for my apparent absence yesterday. I didn’t cease to exist, however.

Someone has been spinning the hands on the clock awfully fast these days. I wake up, do a few little errands, and suddenly it’s dark! Our appreciation of time depends so much on our state of mind, doesn’t it?

Speaking of time and warps (that’s warps, not warts…although that would be a good title for a bad sci-fi movie - TIMEWARTS!). Ja, ja…shut up, Hans. Anyway, as Neil of Nicked Beets fame mentioned on his site, I attended my mémére’s (that’s affectionate French slang for Grandma) ninety-first birthday party on Saturday. Her birthday is actually December 18, 2001 for those of you out there who collect data on grandmothers. She was looking lovely in lavender. She’s a fantastic woman with twinkly blue eyes and lots of laugh lines. She never complains, despite life’s knocks, and she works tirelessly at making quilts one after the other. My pépére died five years ago today, the day before her 86th birthday, so I imagine this time of year brings back a lot of memories. Pépére and mémére were married for over fifty years and had nine children.

Saturday night, I felt like I had just watched 20 years of sand pass through the family hourglass in the blink of an eye. Was it not only a few years ago that I was the little girl tossing packs of cards down the laundry chute with my many, many, many cousins in my grandparent’s house in Aubigny, Manitoba, lamenting because there were only Reader’s Digests to read at mémére and pépére’s, grabbing the star-shaped iced ginger cookies out of the jar? (Mémére never ran out of cookies…never.) But, last Saturday, I found myself looking around the game room at my mémére’s apartment at all the red-cheeked children, none of whom I recognized. It seems in the last few years my many, many cousins found the time to grow up, get married and have kids while I was busy taking time for granted.

For me, the year 2000 has felt like one great cold shower. I hope someone has hot pancakes and a cup of fresh coffee ready for me on January 1st. Hopefully I will have towelled off by then.

Saturday night, I felt like I had just watched 20 years of sand pass through the family hourglass in the blink of an eye. Was it not only a few years ago that I was the little girl tossing packs of cards down the laundry chute with my many, many, many cousins in my grandparent’s house in Aubigny, Manitoba, lamenting because there were only Reader’s Digests to read at m�m�re and p�p�re’s, grabbing the star-shaped iced ginger cookies out of the jar? (M�m�re never ran out of cookies…never.) But, last Saturday, I found myself looking around the game room at my m�m�re’s apartment at all the red-cheeked children, none of whom I recognized. It seems in the last few years my many, many cousins found the time to grow up, get married and have kids while I was busy taking time for granted.

For me, the year 2000 has felt like one great cold shower. I hope someone has hot pancakes and a cup of fresh coffee ready for me on January 1st. Hopefully I will have towelled off by then.

This is all to say: This is just the beginning. After all, Rome wasn’t built in 86,400 seconds. We’re hoping to reorganize the writing section and add new features and more images. Your comments and contributions are always welcome, of course. Especially if you send them from Scandinavia. Today, I feel particularly warm towards Scandinavia. Don’t ask me why.

A group of us went out last night to Edohei. We sat at a traditional Japanese table and ordered 4 litres of sake. I love hot sake. Funny how the word for salmon in Japanese is also sake. I studied Japanese for about a year and a half, but I fear I’ve forgotten everything I learned. Anyway, back to the dinner. Our friend Bart ordered for everyone - he knows sushi. I chose my own dishes, as I was the only non fish aficionado (or should I say, afishionado). I had tempura and agedashi tofu (no Bonito flakes!) Bart is well-known at the restaurant, so the owner/head sushi chef sent a couple of complimentary dishes over to our table: monkfish liver and a big fishhead. Hmmm…I hate to think of what he would have sent over had he NOT liked Bart. Mike and I discussed the possibility of a Japanese version of The Godfather, with a fishhead in the bed instead of the horsehead, but perhaps the effect would not be so startling if the film producer character just exclaimed “Yum!”

It was a wonderful meal (the sushi arrived on a big wooden boat), and I was feeling very pleased with the world after 2 bottles of rice wine and a bowl of green tea ice cream. I love going out to dinner and drinks with friends. It’s one of the few urban pleasures left to singles in their thirties. Aah, two months ago I was still in my twenties. There is no going back now.

Anyway, let’s get to the cigars. After leaving Edohei, we went to one of the few truly classy places in Winnipeg - the Palm Room in the Fort Garry hotel. The waiters are wonderfully snobbish, but do appreciate the odd witticism. A bowl of nuts is complimentary, providing you order a fine scotch or brandy. I don’t think they bring you the nuts if you just order tap water or a glass of Pepsi. The waiters would definitely shrink you into a shrivelled worm-mass with their withering glances if you tried. The atmosphere makes me long for days which I have never seen, a long cigarette holder and a white silk gown - something like Kristen Scott Andrews would have worn during the ballroom scene in The English Patient. A piano player was tinkling away the night (not once did he plays Feliz Navidad or Mack the Knife - that’s class!!). Two table over, there was a fascinating, staggering drunk Mordecai Richler-looking lawyer with baggy eyes, wearing a red sweater vest, jacket and tie, hanging his head over his table and later kissing his companion’s watch. Very maudlin, he was; at times, angry. Katrina and I called him Morley. He was drinking red wine.

I confess I have exaggerated the importance of the cigar in this story. There was a big man smoking a cigar at the table east of me. That’s about it. I can’t remember if he had his legs crossed or not. (I doubt it.) Cigars are smelly; I will never be able to appreciate them. They remind me of dirty Chevrolet Winnipeg cabs more than expensive suits and fine whiskeys. Context, my dear, everything in context.

Do you remember the best night (or day) of your life? Did it involve a cauliflower and rollerskates? The letter “W” and a bobcat? Coloured drinks and someone with a Norwegian accent?

If you care to share your story/stories, send them to me.

More on this later.