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03.27.2007 "Bully With a Blue Ribbon In Her Hair"
The other day I was hanging out in the afternoon sun on our front stoop with Sloane after our daily walk.  Across the street from our house is a park and between 12-1pm on weekdays the playground is full of kids from the nearby school (on their lunch break, no doubt).  I couldn't help but notice the group of kids who were closest to me.  It was a group of little girls (about 10 years old?), and within seconds I was able to pinpoint the dynamics.

The little blonde girl with a blue ribbon in her hair stood with hands on her hips and started yelling at a mousy-brown haired girl who seemed to cower under her wrath.  Then with a flip of blonde locks, the 'leader' of the group stormed off and instructed the rest of the girls to follow her and leave the poor ostracized girl to play by herself.  It made me cringe.

It also reminded me of a "Seinfeld" episode when Jerry and George ask how young girls deal with conflict and fights.  Elaine's response is something like, "Eh, girls tease each other until we develop eating disorders."  Sadly funny because it's true....

03.23.2007 "The First Step Is To Forget"
I've had lots of TV time these days (specifically Sloane and I are spending many hours bonding in front of the television especially late at night during feeding sessions).  I happened to catch a motivational seminar for menopausal women.  Now, I'm not exactly the target audience (yet) but I found the speaker very charismatic and interesting.  And one quote she said really stuck out.  It went something like: "A wonderful life awaits us as we grow and transition.  But the first step is to forget the life that we had planned."

As I sat there in my pajamas with Sloane clinging to my chest and we were surrounded by burp-cloths and nursing pillows, the words really struck a chord with me (even though I'm nowhere near entering the wonderful world of menopause).  Don't get me wrong - I don't need a motivational talker to convince me that my life is good.  I know it's good.  But earlier that day I had thought about my 'old' life and what it was like, and dare I say I couldn't help but miss it.  And suddenly these words really made sense at 3:13 am.

Life changes gears every so often, whether you're expecting it or not.  And you have to just go with the flow and roll with it.  If you can remember that, life will be grand.

03.20.2007 "Hemingway Wishes"
There are three blogs that I read on a regular basis.  I've mentioned Brian's Rant-o-Rama many times.  I find it biting, challenging, and eloquent (just like the author).  Then there is Janine's rant-blog.  Holy crap, it makes me laugh (again, just like the author).  And then there is Alejandro's schizophrenic, bilingual collection of blog entries and musings.

On this last one, I am reminded of an anecdote I read years ago in a Readers' Digest magazine.  Paul Gallico, the author of The Snow Goose was in a bar when he saw Ernest Hemingway.  Delighted to see the great Papa in person, his excitement soon turned to nerves as he agonized over how to approach the famous author and icon.  He did not want to make a fool of himself, did not want to appear too star-struck, did not want to be tongue-tied, etc.  As he wrestled with his approach, he suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around to see Ernest Hemingway standing over him who then said, "The Snow Goose - I wish I had written that."

And that's how I feel sometimes, especially about Senor Ramirez's writing.  I'll read something written by someone else and I think to myself, "I wish I had written that...."

03.19.2007 "Frankenstein Fruit"
We were at a nursery today looking at fruit trees to plant in our yard.  A 'modified' apple tree caught my eye.  Each branch was labeled with a different type of apple e.g. Spartan, Gala, Golden Delicious.  I guess they had grafted on various apple branches on to one tree.  It was a regular Frankenstein tree.  Now of course I've heard about genetic manipulation when it comes to fruit and vegetable production.  But it was just kind of weird to see first-hand and to imagine it taking root in our garden.

But we'd never get a tree that produced Golden Delicious apples.  We think those kinds are kind of gross.

03.17.2007 "Kelis Me"
Robin has a new nickname for me.  He's been calling me Milkshake.  Yes, because I "bring [Sloane] to the yard."  And of course he has to sing a few modified verses to me about a hundred times a day.  But I don't find it annoying.  Yet.

03.14.2007 "Coolest Mall Ride Ever"
Ivan tipped me off that there was a Lowlie the Worm children's ride at Kingsgate Mall.  I had to see it and since I don't think I'll be in that neck of the woods for awhile, I had my brother send me a picture.  It's the coolest thing I've seen in a long time.  The minute Sloaney-Baloney can sit upright on her own, you can bet I'll be taking her to East Van to ride in the red apple car with Lowlie.  I can't wait.

03.12.2007 "Sandman Visits"
It was 3 a.m.  I was sitting in the dark in our bedroom.  As Sloane lay sleeping in my arms and Robin lay sleeping beside me and the streets quiet outside,  I felt like I was the only person awake in the world.  But I didn't feel anxious and cranky about being up during this un-godly hour.  Instead I felt peaceful and calm.

I had been thinking about my 'old' life - the one before my time and thoughts were dominated by changing diapers, nap times and rigorous feeding schedules.  And the strange thing was I could barely remember what life was like before my daughter arrived.  I couldn't really recall a time when I could just pick up and go - out for brunches, out for dinners, out for anything without bringing along a diaper bag and stroller or car seat (and a baby of course).  But  I do remember there was a time when all that was possible....

As I felt Sloane's hummingbird breath on my chest I felt comforted, not resentful towards this dependent, demanding meatloaf.  And suddenly I recalled something from a "Sandman" graphic novel that Aaron had lent me years ago.  The story started off with Sandman's brother (or sister maybe?) who is Death, a.k.a. the Grim Reaper.  It showed Death visiting an accident victim, an elderly patient in a nursing home (you know, people whom you'd expect to be close to 'their time').  However one of the cells still haunts me.  It showed Death peering into a crib at a little baby.  The word balloon over the baby (yes, word balloon not thought balloon) said something like, "But it's not fair.  I just got here."  And Death's response was, "I'm sorry, but it's your time."

The thought of Sloane being taken away from me or life without her just seemed so horrible.  Suddenly these late-night feedings were a welcome event, not an interruption of my sleep schedule.  When I finally put her back in her bassinette I climbed back into bed and I think my eyes were closed as my head touched the pillow.  No Sandman visits for me though since I didn't have any dreams.  But I was woken up a couple of hours later to the sounds of Sloane's gentle cooing and squirming.  What wonderful sounds indeed.

03.08.2007 "The Old 10-Digit Me"
There are some small details in life that we never forget.  For example, I don't think I'll ever forget the first phone number that I got when I moved out of my mother's house and into my own apartment.  I had it for 8 years and I'm sure it's still with me in some capacity e.g. on my Save-On-Foods points card account.

I was thinking the other day that it's probably been re-assigned by now (I gave it up 3.5 years ago).  But I still think of it as MY phone number.  It's just like when I drive past my old apartment building on Cambie Street and I see the old space that I used to occupy, and I still think of it as MY apartment (even though it's obvious from the furnishings that peek out from the window that someone else occupies it now).

I thought: what if I called my old phone number, just to see who picks up?  Someone old, young, or male, female?  What if it's like that Twilight Zone episode where Bruce Willis accidentally calls his own home phone number and an alternate universe version of himself picks up?  What if the 'old' me were to pick up the phone when I called my old number?  Just a Twilight Zone thought.....

03.03.2007 "Nicknames"
We all have nicknames, or pet names.  Names that have followed us since birth, or maybe we acquired them in school.  Hopefully the nicknames aren't meant to be mean or malicious.  But for the endearing ones, there's usually a story behind the origins.

I've discovered that I rarely address my new daughter by her given name.  Hardly.  Instead, I'll call her a plethora of pet names that just pop into my head for one reason or another.  Since I was watching "Little Miss Sunshine" when I went into labour, I'll call Sloane "Little Miss Sloane-Shine" sometimes.  There's also "Sloane-Star" (like Lonestar) or "Shlomo" (this latter one being a favourite - I first used this name awhile back when I was illustrating a point to Robin.  I was imitating a stereotypical, racist comment that I've heard before e.g. someone might make a blanket statement and complain that s/he isn't fond of Jewish people but then s/he might find themselves proven wrong and say about a particular individual "Ah, but that Shlomo - he's ok."  For some reason it just stuck).

Then I was recently Googling my daughter's name and came across this.  Now she's the Sloane Ranger and maybe she'll grow up to be like one of those young, upper-class London ladies.  I also addressed her as "Pumpkin" once (the pet name that Robin and I use for each other) but Robin insisted that HE was Pumpkin.  So, I call her "Parsnip" instead.  But my favourite is "The Hammer."  When Sloane is hungry (especially at 1am), she's quite animated and aggressive.  It takes me some time to get settled before I feed her, and after a few minutes of frustrated squirming she shows her impatience by snorting and snerfling and then  throwing her head back and slamming it down (on my chest, chin, or whatever body part she makes contact with first) and demanding that she get fed.  It makes me laugh every time.

Ooops, I can hear her complaining in her bouncy chair.  Sounds like it's feeding time.  No, make that "Hammer Time."

03.01.2007 "(I've Got a) Good Mother"
On February 23rd, 2007 I became a mother.  I gave birth to our healthy baby girl - Sloane Yung Lemay.  Of course we think she's absolutely beautiful (and everyone else tells us that too).  And we love her.  We love her so much, and it feels so natural and right.

How do parenthood and motherhood feel?  How has Sloane changed our lives?  Oh, where to start.  Looking back at my pregnancy, I think of all the adjustments (emotional and physical) that I went through (and Robin too).  I gave up sashimi, soft cheeses and alcohol.  I worried about my unborn child's health especially during the first trimester.  I battled morning sickness (well, more like all-day sickness) for months on end.  I also endured excruciating back/hip/leg pain in my second trimester and spent many pain-filled, sleepless nights going out of my mind.  But the third trimester turned out to be the most pleasant.  I felt comfortable with my growing belly and I had a sense of calmness that surprised me.  In February, I felt ready to be a mother.

And then it happened on February 22nd.  We were watching "Little Miss Sunshine" at home and I felt very uncomfortable.  I thought the baby was just positioning so I thought nothing of it.  It was only when I went to bed and woke up with cramping pain that I thought I should maybe call the nurse's line for advice.  It turned out I was in labour.

The next few hours still play like a movie in my mind.  They say women often 'forget' about the pains of labour but I don't think I'll ever forget the experience.  I don't want to.  It was my experience, I lived through the pain and unpleasantness, but it was a defining moment in my life that I don't want to fade into the recesses of my memory.  My contractions were 15 minutes apart at home, 10 minutes apart at the hospital admitting desk, and then 5 minutes apart in the exam room.  By the time the nurse took a look at me, the contractions were 3 minutes apart and I was 9 cm dilated (only 1 cm more to go).  Within the hour I was ready to push my little baby into this world.

I won't sugar-coat it when I say it felt uncomfortable and absolutely exhausting.  I constantly relied on encouragement from the nurse and Robin, and all without the aid of pain-killers or epidurals (although they did give me some nitrous gas - but I think it only made me light-headed and caused me to ask silly questions over and over again e.g. "Aw, c'mon - let's use that suction thingy to pull her out!  It's no big deal."  That final push is still so vivid for me.  All my life I've been curious about what that moment feels like, the moment when I would give birth for the first time.  All I knew about the experience was from TV or the movies. But as I said, this experience was my own, and I'm so glad I was able to experience it first-hand.  When the doctor pulled her out and placed her on my chest, it was unreal.  I stared down at this squirming, shivering, slippery creature on my chest and I couldn't believe that she had come out from me, from my body.  This was my (our) baby, my little girl.  She made me a mother, and I am so thankful for that.  Then the first person I called (I waited until 6am) was my own mother.  I'll never forget her initial sleepy tone then ecstatic reaction of her voice when I told her, "Mom, you have a beautiful grand-daughter." 

Later that evening when it was just me and Sloane in the maternity ward, I had to ring the nurse for assistance because I didn't know how to swaddle her up correctly in her blanket.  The nurse said that if I wanted I could sleep with her in the bed.  The next thing I knew the lights were out and this little, bundled-up creature was lying beside me.  She smelled so fresh and soft and her little, round head was cuddled up in the crook of my arm.  In the darkness I could hear other babies on the ward crying and fussing.  But from Sloane all I could hear was the occasional sigh and the rhythmic sound of her tiny breath on my chest. We slept all night like that, mother and daughter.  I would wake up throughout the night and kiss the top of her sweet forehead.  It was absolutely magical and magnificent.  It was our moment to share, no one else's.  And I'll remember it always.

I look forward to growing into my role as a mother with Sloane.  I plan to be a good mother (just like what I am blessed to have).  And so far everything feels right.  Right as rain....

02.22.2007 "Intelligence, the Success Quotient and the On-Going Battle Between Street Smarts and Book Smarts"
Robin and I have an on-going joke at home.  He likes to point out that while I may be book-smart (e.g. university-educated) he is the one with street-smarts and he would thrive if forced to survive in a post-apocalyptic world whereas I wouldn't last 20 minutes.  And I don't argue with him.  It's true.  Of course I act hurt every time he brings this up, asking him if he would save and protect me in this inevitable "Road Warrior" existence and he just laughs and mocks me and shakes his fists triumphantly in the air: "Yes, street-smarts wins again!"

Yes, it's a small peek into our often-silly relationship banter.  But it does get me thinking.  How does one define intelligence?  Or more importantly, how do I define and perceive intelligence?  Let's start out with academia.  I hold a Bachelors Degree of Business from Simon Fraser University.  I went through on a full scholarship (and in fact had to turn down other entrance scholarships offered to me by other institutions *Blush*).  But I worked very hard to maintain my A- average and hence my fully-funded semesters.  When people find out about my university experience (Robin included, when I first met him) the initial reaction is, "Wow, you're so smart!"   Am I proud of my academic achievements?  Sure, of course.  Do I think I'm smart because of this?  Not necessarily.

I believe I was able to be successful at school by organizing my time, multi-tasking, focusing, and applying myself.  I don't really consider that being academically 'smart'.  To me, the academically intelligent and talented individuals were those people who could attend a theory lecture and then walk into the exam a week later without even doing the application exercises and ace the exam.  I might get an A or A- on that same exam but I had studied and done my exercise problems over and over again but they were able to grasp the complex theories and apply them with minimal effort.

But just because one is successful at school (i.e. high grades and test scores, multiple-degree holder) does not imply that s/he is intelligent in my books.  There are so many other ways to measure 'smarts'.  Let's rewind to the beginning of this entry and take me as an example.  Yes, I have proven myself in a classroom but if you were to drop me off in the middle of a forest with nothing but a compass, some string and a paper clip I guarantee that I'd panic and perish within hours, whereas someone like Robin would probably make a very successful go of the situation and maybe pull a 'MacGyver'.  Or even drop me off in the middle of a dangerous, inner-city ghetto 'hood in a foreign country and I know I'd struggle and stick out like a sore thumb and probably get preyed upon within minutes, whereas other people who are street-wily would be able to emerge unscathed.

In my industry (the high-tech world) some kind of post-secondary degree (or multiple degrees) is just expected and assumed.  And also maybe because I hold one myself, I'm not easily impressed by people's 3-letter degree acronyms after their names on their business cards.  When I peruse people's resumes, what catches my attention is a degree that may not necessarily directly pertain to their current career path.  I'm thinking about the Technical Writer who holds a degree in music.  Or the entrepreneur who barely graduated from high school but has 3 successful start-ups under his belt.  Or the draftsman whose resume reads like an A&E biography channel (police officer, monkey trainer, snake wrangler).  For me, someone with a varied background has a more interesting resume than mine and therefore I'm more impressed.

And that brings another angle into this entry.  Just because one may be 'intelligent' (however you want to define that), there's something called the success quotient.  A stereotypical example of this is the person with a freakishly high IQ who can never remember to turn off the stove or pay the bills on time and whose life is chaos.  They may be a Mensa club member but day-to-day life is in shambles and they just can't organize themselves to progress through life.  Or, another example I've run into a number of times in my industry is the extremely talented computer programmer who is also pompous and condescending and doesn't understand why people don't want to work with him or her, and has a 'Why haven't I been promoted to manager yet?  It must be because everyone's jealous of my talents or the company needs me to stay at this level because I'm the only one who could possibly to this job' attitude.  These people may be (book) smart but their intelligence doesn't translate into a success quotient in the real world.

And that finally brings me back to my original question or how I define intelligence.  Out of the various ways that one can measure intelligence, I put the most weight and value on what I call the emotional quotient.  This is the ability to read and relate to people, to have successful relationships (with partners, family, friends, co-workers, superiors).  It's being self-aware and socially-savvy in order to get along with others in group settings or one-on-one and picking up on sometimes subtle behavioural cues and reacting appropriately and making others feel comfortable around you.  Of course there will be interpersonal conflicts along the way (inevitable in this world filled with individuals) but how we choose to handle them is a window into our emotional quotient.

We don't live in a vacuum; instead, we're constantly interacting with so many different kinds of people in our daily lives.  And to me it's the 'smart' people who have figured out a path to a happy and satisfying co-existence with other human beings while navigating through the many (and sometimes challenging) types of personalities and nuances of the people around us.

02.20.2007 "Life As a Happy Homemaker"
I've been off work for just over a week now and it's been glorious.  I don't miss the 9-5 grind at all.  Not one bit.  In the morning when I'd normally be commuting, I'm now normally rolling over in bed to check the time on the clock.  No need for an alarm to jolt me out of a perfectly-executed REM session because there is no agenda day-to-day.  There are mundane things to do like apply for EI (that took the better part of one morning), go to the post office, go to the mall to buy a new pair of pajamas (because I felt like I needed some more).  But because I'm not rushed I can take the time to ease into my morning (yoga, toast, cereal, some TV).  And then everything after that just falls into place and at the end of the day I realize that I have in fact accomplished things.

Today I made a soup.  I didn't follow a recipe, I just created it in my head.  It's kind of a meatball-minestrone soup.  I shopped for the ingredients fresh this morning then came home and it's been simmering for the past couple of hours.  I can't wait to eat it with the crusty bread-rolls that I also bought.  I love being creative in the kitchen and then enjoying the fruits of my labours.  And earlier today I had a doctor's appointment.  And on my way home I decided to stop at the do-it-yourself car wash station and I whistled and hummed while I rinsed-sudsed-rinsed my filthy car.  Now it sits shiny and clean in the driveway.  And next I think it's nap time.  Yeah, what a great idea.

Life is definitely a different pace.  No meetings to rush off to, no calendars to juggle, no software schedules to manage and execute.  I've traded in my business attire for comfortable lounge-wear.  My leftover, re-heated Tupperware lunches are now made fresh that day in my own kitchen.  My skytrain commuting seat is replaced by my bed and couch.  Who knew life at home could be so rewarding and cozy?  I look forward to the next year with great enthusiasm for a mellow and domestic existence.

02.17.2007 "A Tasty Touch of Class"
I arrived at Tio Pepe's on the Drive last night a few minutes before Farshad.  I was promptly seated and before I was even completely settled (suddenly my jacket, scarf, purse and umbrella needed to find resting spots) then bam - a basket of salsa and tortilla chips was placed on the table in front of me.  I observed this speedy deposit with a smile.  I removed my arms from the confines of my jacket and dug in because I was famished.  The chips were warm and a bit oily (in a good way) and the salsa was spicy and freshly made (no Pace Picante here).  A nice touch.  Very classy.

For me, this is just one of the small touches that a restaurant can do that sets it apart from the rest.  Of course the efficiency and friendliness of the service, food quality, atmosphere etc all contribute to a positive dining experience.  But getting a little something-something at the beginning of the meal is a way to make your establishment memorable.  One of the things I really like about brunch at the Locus on Main is their fresh bread basket.  There are 2 types of bread (one has raisins) and 2 types of butter (a garlic whipped and a sweet one).  And I love the platter of little Korean dishes that comes to your table when you sit down at Mi Jong Rib (I think that's what it's called?) on Robson.  You get kimchi, bean sprouts, seaweed, turnip - and refills are free (I always request more kimchi).

The nibbly treat doesn't have to be substantial.  It's also a good opportunity to be original.  Kei's on Davie gives you a glass filled with what seems like deep-fried pasta noodles.  They're thin and crunchy.  You certainly don't get filled up on them, but they're sassy and different.  But my all-time favourite was when I was in Ecuador (years ago).  Various eateries in the small inner-cities would hand you bowls of popcorn when you sat down (turns out you could also put these popped appetizers in soup - a food combination that I still exercise today).  And on the coast each table would have a basket of fried banana chips (not hard and crunchy, but rather thick and soft in the middle and covered in salt - so good!).

Anyway.  I could go on forever, but you get the idea.  I like food.  And I especially appreciate free food, no matter how small or inexpensive the offering may be.  It's the gesture that counts.

02.13.2007 "Just Call Me Little Ms Muffet No More"
I was getting ready for bed the other night when I noticed a medium-sized spider scuttling across the floor.  His (or her) brown body was an obvious contrast against the white tiles.  Now, a few years back I would have run screaming from the bathroom and only returned armed with my vacuum cleaner.

But my fear of spiders seems to have evolved into a manageable phobia.  I don't necessarily get that panicky fight or flight instinct when I see one nearby.  I'm generally able to watch a spider as it makes its way across a surface or spins a web without breaking out in a cold sweat.  That said I still can't look at a close-up image of a spider's face (it's a real-life monster ladies and gentleman!) nor can I tolerate those really large, hairy, wolf-spiders that tend to hang out in basements (but in our house the tenants have to deal with those).

So last night I just calmly watched the spider as it made its way in the general direction of the bathtub.  I stepped over it, turned out the light and went to bed.  But when I got up a few hours later to use the bathroom in the middle of the night I couldn't help but think, "I wonder where that spider got to?"  As I sat there in the dark I wondered where it was hiding (if still in the bathroom): in the tub?  Behind the soap dish?  On the side of the toilet?  It reminded me of the gecko that shared my and Trevor's hotel room in Mexico a few years back.  I didn't mind little gecko-sita as he hung out on our walls but the minute I couldn't see him anymore was a time to panic a little.  I had images of him clinging to the back side of the toilet bowl and scurrying across my bare lap at the most inappropriate times.  Eeek!

So I've come to the conclusion that seeing spiders isn't really a big deal.  It's when you can't see them but know that they're around - that's the creep factor.

02.12.2007 "Urban Slang Credit"
I've recently started calling Robin 'Jerkhole'.  I'm not being mean or serious.  It's actually a term of endearment.  It's a combination of 'Jerk' and 'Asshole.'  And naive me - I thought I could take credit for it.  Not a chance.

And Robin has been trying to take credit for 'Suckass' for awhile.  Again, dream on.  Sigh.  All the good 'street terms' are already taken, have already been thought of.  It's not fair.

02.10.2007 "Young Adult Bedroom Artwork"
On the weekend I was telling Dru about how I was such a "Twin Peaks" fan when I was a young adult.  I told him how in my bedroom at my mother's house I had 2 posters from my favourite TV show at the time:  one of Sherilyn Fenn (Audrey Horne) and another of Madchen Amick (Shelly Johnson).  I hadn't thought about those posters in years.  And suddenly, just for a brief flash, it seemed a bit bizarre to think that as a young, 20-year old university student I had pictures of these hot women hanging above my bed.

It's not a big deal and nothing too out-of-the-ordinary.  Just an 'Oh yeah, that was kind of interesting' kind of memory.

02.08.2007 "Tofu Kind of Day"
I was tempted to write about this entry in my Dreamlog, but instead I'm putting it in my journal (it's related to a dream but I don't really feel like analyzing it today).  In my dream the other night I was talking to a friend.  When I asked him how his day was, he seemed kind of nonchalant and there really wasn't much for him to update me on because nothing was really new.  Then he smiled and joked that it was 'a tofu kind of day.'

I woke up and thought at the time that it was a really clever thing to say (I assumed he was comparing his non-exciting day to a package of bland, uncooked tofu - as a side note, please be aware that I love tofu in waking life) .  In fact, as the dreamer, I took full credit for the words that came out of my friend's mouth.  I went back to sleep and when I woke up again and remembered the dream all over again, suddenly it didn't seem so witty or charming the second time around.  Oh well.

I'm still going to try and use the saying at least once, to see if it flies.  Maybe, maybe not.

02.06.2007 "A Little Worm in the Apple Car"
Brent gave us a wonderful gift that snowballed a bit (in a good way).  He bought us a Lowly the Worm doll from a craft store on West 4th Avenue.  You can see him here chilling out with the ever-cool Ice-Bat and our other fluffy friends.  Lowly is the smiling, slender gentle-worm with the fancy green cap and the saucy bow-tie.   Then once Ivan saw how much we adored the friendly, polite worm from our childhood days, he bought us a Richard Scarry book starring who else but the dandy worm fellow and his apple car.

Just like Ice-Bat, Lowly often magically travels around the house (thanks to Robin's unseen hands) and pops up behind doorways and peers into shower curtains.  I get a tremendous kick out of looking up from the computer, my chores, my sudsing, etc and seeing the innocent and perpetually happy expression projected by the simple felt creation (as Robin's niece likes to refer to him - the 'covered stick').  And then when I received the book I couldn't wait to read it that evening in bed.  All the Richard Scarry stories were so familiar.  Once again I could appreciate the simple story lines and intricate scene diagrams (e.g. cross-section of a cruise ship with all its bits and pieces labeled) and the many happy animal creatures who drive funny-looking automobiles (e.g. Lowly's apple car, the hyena and the Banana-Mobile) and wear practical clothing and function as a working society (e.g. Humperdink the Cat is the town baker).

Seeing and reading about the many misadventures of these familiar, colourful characters brought me back to a time and a place where everything was uncomplicated and I could just lose myself for hours in the pages of a book that seemed way too large for my then-small hands.  We asked Robin's young niece if she knew about Lowly and the other Richard Scarry creations.  She just shrugged and said she didn't watch it on TV anymore. Oh right.  It's now a television show too.  I guess the magic just wasn't there for her.  But the magic is still there for me.  And I'm glad I can still enjoy and appreciate the warm feelings that started from my childhood as I curl up in bed with my book and suit-wearing, 'covered stick' Lowly doll close-by.

02.02.2007 "The Kickass Ladies of the Discoball"
I've been recently introduced to the coolest eatery stand in the Bentall food court concourse.  It's called 'Fresh' but at my office we affectionately refer to it as 'Discoball.'  When you come up the escalator to the food court in Bentall III they are a welcome sight for various reasons.  Two giant discoballs slowly spin and cast sparkly, night club lighting on the appetizing food.  Their food is indeed fresh and the menu changes frequently enough to keep you coming back to discover new tastes (yesterday I went with Janine and Teresa and I had the tomato mac 'n' cheese and Alberta chili - to die for).  The portions are huge and the female servers are super friendly (young, laid back, refer to you as 'Hon' or 'Sweetie').  And you can always hear some wicked tunes playing in the background (yes, I enjoy perusing the menu and inhaling the wonderful aromas while reggae or funk-beats plays overhead).

Sometimes food courts can be stuffy, greasy, boring, etc. But Discoball is a breath of fresh air amongst all the downtown suits as they scramble to make the most of their 12-1pm lunch hour.  Fresh indeed.

02.01.2007 "Quote of the Day Part 9: Exhausting"
I was talking to Ivan the other evening.  He had just woken up from a nap and feeling a bit non-productive.  Nonsense!  Naps are always a good thing, I reminded him.  Even if one is lazing about the house all day, he/she should not feel guilty about laying down for a mid-day rest.

As he told me the events of his previous evening (going to the Genie nomination awards, socializing, eating, drinking, doing karaoke later, etc), I kept reminding him that he had ample justification for feeling a bit tired today.  Then he brought up how this woman kept 'giving him the eye' at the Genie event and he felt a bit awkward about the whole situation, and I teased him further that "See, there you go!  No wonder you're tired!"  And he responded with a laugh:

>Yes!  Heterosexual attention is so exhausting!

Well, I thought it was hilarious.

01.30.2007 "Kissing An Old Fool"
Have you ever noticed that often when you see footage of an elderly (hetero) couple kissing (e.g. maybe they're being shown celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary or something), the man and woman often look like they're kissing strangers instead of their lifelong partners?  I mean, I'm not expecting full-on tongue action or anything.  But the kiss often seems lacking in any spark or intimacy altogether.  They may as well be giving a quick peck to their mail delivery person or dog-walker.

Mark my words: when I'm old and wrinkly and someone with a video camera asks me to plant one on Robin, you can bet that even though I'll be senile and loopy I'll still embrace and smother him with affectionate kisses for all the world to see.

01.25.2007 "The Doctor is OUT"
Since I became a self-aware individual (I'd say in my early or mid-20s), I've gotten in the habit of regularly analyzing my feelings, talking about them, communicating them (as appropriate, of course).  In general I think it's a good thing, a healthy habit to have (constantly checking in with myself, figuring out why I feel the way I do about certain situations, expressing dissatisfaction with various situations and on the flipside ensuring that I pass along positive feedback, etc).

That said, I had an emotional breakthrough last night and going forward I've decided to modify how I deal with things.  I've come to the conclusion that there are simply some people in this world that I just will never like or get along with, or certain behaviour patterns that will just make me cringe.  And try as I may to figure out 'why' I feel negativity towards these people or their actions and then try to address it in some self-healing way, I've decided that sometimes it's best to just move on.  Time to get off the psychiatrist couch that exists inside my head and try my best to ignore these aggravators and pretend they don't exist.

Easier said than done, I know.  And not always appropriate (sometimes situations need to be addressed head-on).  But for certain things in my life that have caused me grief time and time again, I'm going to save my 5-cents and tell Lucy that I'm going to skip the routine of analyzing my emotions and just invest my efforts and energies into more positive situations.

01.23.2007 "Be Careful of the Eight Ball"
I received a Magic Eight Ball years ago as a gift.  As with many fun, interactive gifts I receive I usually end up taking them to work and I find a home for them on my desk.  They make great conversation pieces, they give my co-workers something to do with their hands while they talk to me, and they generally fit into the casual, social environment.

The Eight Ball indeed became a quiet attraction for many co-workers over the years.  Many people would ask questions (and they still do to this day) to the Mighty Eight Ball.  Inquiry topics would range from sporting event outcomes (Will the Canucks win tonight's game?), to work-related (Will the release ship on time?), to unspoken questions of a secret nature.

But I stopped asking my own questions.  My reason: the little plastic device had an eerie way of predicting the future.  Time and time again.  And when this trend became apparent, I couldn't resist the dark urge to ask it increasingly more serious and insightful questions.  But it got to the point that I would pose the question in my mind and then experience mild heart palpitations as I gently shook the plastic orb in my hand and turned it over to reveal the answer: it could be a variation of "Definite Yes" or "My Sources Say No" or the wishy-washy "You will have to wait."

So now it just sits on my desk and provides amusement to my co-workers.  I haven't touched the thing in years, I haven't posed a serious question to its ominous liquid eye in ages.  It's too powerful and accurate.  I wonder if the people at work understand its awesome powers when they play with it and pose it seemingly innocent inquiries?  Probably not.

01.19.2007 "I Cry for the Elephants"
I have touched on this topic before and today I will explore it further.  There is something about animal suffering that pulls at my heartstrings like nothing else in this world....

We were watching a nature show last night.  Before I get to the main story of the elephants, I want to mention a few words about the segment that was aired about animal rescue in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.  Heartbreaking.  Emotional.  Painful.  As the camera showed countless animals (mainly dogs, some cats) that paced about skittishly on rooftops, who were confused, anxious, with  ribcages visible and heaving under scab-ravaged fur, I was pulled into their sad, chaotic lives.  Their owners were forced to evacuate the city in the previous days, not allowed to bring their beloved family companions with them.

How on earth do you explain to your Cocker Spaniel, "I love you, but I have to go.  There has been a natural disaster and I am being forced against my will to leave this place and leave you behind.  I promise I will come back when I can and I will find you.  I am so sorry."  And you are met with that blank, furry, adorable stare that doesn't understand and pleads silently with you: "I love you.  You love me.  Where are you going? Why are you abandoning me?  Why are you hurting me?"  When the TV screen showed a large passenger bus shutting its doors and pulling away from the sidewalk and the small, blonde, curly-haired dog pawing desperately at the glass doors trying to get in, well - I just about lost it.  There were some pet-reunion stories with happy endings, but you know there were many sad endings too....

But on to the elephants.  I've always thought elephants are beautiful, magical creatures.  We humans sometimes tend to project emotional qualities on to animals, to humanize them, and I think I've definitely done that with elephants.  They seem wise, sensitive, intelligent, caring, and after seeing last night's program I believe they are capable of love and intimacy that in some ways transcends what we mere mortal homo sapiens are capable of experiencing....

Shirley is a 50-year-old Asian elephant who has lived in captivity almost all her life.  She started out as a circus elephant (note - I will NEVER bring my child to the circus) and spent many years being carted off to city after city to perform in endless shows.  She was rescued at sea during one of her many transports when the ship she was on burned and sank.  Then, as if that wasn't enough trauma, she was attacked by a bull elephant and left with a crippled hind leg. What to do with Shirley?  Too injured to continue performing, she was put up for adoption to any zoo in North America that would take her.  The Louisiana Zoo took her, but they were small and only had room for one elephant.  She would spend the next 20-plus years by herself in a small grassy knoll tethered by a chain (there wasn't room to build a large pen) while zoo patrons passed her by.  And to add to the heartache, Shirley would never lay eyes on another elephant during her entire time in Louisiana. Her only friend was her care-taker, a middle-aged man who fed and bathed her every day.  He sensed her loneliness, knowing that elephants are extremely social creatures.  He would pet her and stroke her and just be with her day in and day out in hopes of alleviating her isolation.

Then one day there was an opening in a nearby elephant sanctuary (2-states away in Tennessee).  It was decided that Shirley had paid her dues at the zoo and now she was officially ready for retirement.   Loading Shirley into the trailer proved challenging as she dug her large feet into the ground in defiance.  They say elephants never forget, and Shirley definitely recalled her traveling circus days and the many grueling cross-country transports she endured.  But with her caretaker's patience and help from a winch, they loaded her in and drove the 14 hours to the sanctuary.  Her caretaker said his last good-byes, tearing up as he expressed how much he would miss Shirley, how she was his friend, but he was elated that she would finally be with 'her own kind' and she would not have to wear her chain again.

The sanctuary staff were nervous, not knowing how Shirley would interact with other elephants.  Had it been too long?  Would she be aggressive, anxious, confused?  No, it was exactly the opposite.  As soon as Jenny (a younger elephant) entered the shed, the two elephants immediately approached each other and embraced with their trunks through the metal gate, trumpeting and gazing into each other's eyes.  They stroked each other lovingly, 'pawing' through the metal bars.  Elephants don't forget - in a previous life Shirley and Jenny had performed together in the circus and now 20 or so years later they were reunited in the sanctuary.  All through the night, in their desperation to be near each other, they pushed against the metal barrier until eventually it bent.  Confident that they wouldn't be aggressive towards each other, the caretakers removed the barrier.  From that moment on, they were inseparable, behaving as protective mother (Shirley) and daughter (Jenny).  They roamed the grounds together, constantly touching and nuzzling and bathing each other.  Their relationship was one of pure intimacy, driven by the desire to touch and care and love and comfort.

It was a beautiful thing to witness, and I think there is something we humans can learn from this.  In our lifetime we should share our feelings for whoever we want to and feel comfortable to express ourselves around our partners, our parents, our children, our friends.  We would be so much happier if we just 'felt' and not 'thought' so much and tried to intellectualize our feelings and emotions.  Life would be so much happier and simpler if we were more like our pachyderm friends.

01.15.2007 "The New Ugly"
My brother bought Robin and I an Ugly Doll.  It was one of my favourite gifts that I received over the holidays.  He had no idea how much I loved them.  I've seen them around town at all the trendy baby-boutiques. 

Why do they appeal to me?  They're so simplistic (basic round shapes and curves) and their appearance is so anti-traditional stuffed animal (e.g. no classic teddy bear wearing a ruffled skirt and holding a heart that reads "You Need a Bear Hug" or something like that).  We have Ice-Bat at home.  I'll be in the bathroom brushing my teeth or something and I'll notice his crazed, blue face peering at me through a crack in the door.  Then I smile as he swoops in with his wings flapping (thanks to Robin's magic fingers) and then I laugh as his soft, felt form is pressed into my belly.  It works every time.

But with his enlarged pupils and fangs, I don't know how a young baby might react to Ice-Bat peering over the side of a crib?  I guess we'll find out....

01.11.2007 "Pastry Sounds for Cats"
Talking to Tom today I was reminded of an article that I read awhile back and how it impacted my communications with kitty-cats....

The article details are a bit fuzzy but the gist of it was that certain words (sounds) were displeasing to cats, and pet-owners should remember this.  The examples they used: the word 'Bagel' contains some harsh sounds when perceived by cat ears, but the word 'Croissant' sounds gentle and soothing for our feline friends.  So, whenever I was displeased with Calvin (my beloved, deceased cat) I used to communicate my dissatisfaction with his behaviour by yelling "Bagel!" at him.  On the flip-side, often when I was enjoying his company (the majority of the time) I would pet him and rub his chin and coo "Croissant" over and over again.

It drove my family nuts.  Understandably so.

01.08.2007 "Random Childhood 'Playing with Food' Memories"
Today I walked past the Purdy's shop that's near my office and I inhaled deeply.  The delicious aromas of their chocolates remind me of my childhood.  My mother used to buy us the really small boxes of Purdy's in their signature purple and white boxes.  There was only room to hold about 6 chocolates (I'd say the boxes measured 6"x3"x2").  When I was done with the sweets, I used to hold on to the empty boxes.  Every once in awhile I would open them up again and smell them, inhaling the lingering smells of chocolates.  I vaguely also remember taping a string to the bottom of the box and pretending it was a microphone (it was the perfect size for a child's hand).  Ah, good times.

Then I remembered my childhood times at White Spot.  Everyone who grew up in B.C. surely remembers getting Pirate Packs - those children-only menu items that came served up in a cardboard box shaped like a pirate's ship.  I would insist on bringing the empty shell home with me after eating my meal (1 piece fish, fries, gold-foil-wrapped chocolate coin, etc) and sticking it in my closet to play with it later.  However, my mother always found my (same) hiding spot the next day and promptly threw it out.  It was dirty and greasy and she didn't want it sitting on the bottom of my shag-carpeted closet for the next month (wise on her part).  But I had fun with it for at least 1 day after each White Spot visit....

01.05.2007 "Typing On a Toilet Seat"
I'm sure many of you have read articles that have circulated in the last couple of years that claim the average office computer keyboard contains more germs than a toilet seat.  Yuck and gross.

Well, I work in an office.  And I use a keyboard.  This morning I happened to notice that some of my keys had a lot of dust on them.  That's normal and expected.  So I whipped out my handy keyboard brush (it's shaped like a bird with a crazy, bristle crown - a Christmas gift from my mother years ago) and started 'cleaning.'  I was horrified to see little dust bunnies and crumbs getting whisked away from between the keys.  Upon closer inspection, I realized the whole underside area (the tray underneath the keys) was filled with various food bits and filth.  O-M-G.

Without hesitation I proceeded to dismantle my keyboard (i.e. remove all the keys by using a pen lid) to expose the tray of germs and horrors that lay beneath, so dangerously close to my  busy fingers. I was sickened.  I like to think of myself as a clean person.  But this was inexcusable and disgusting.  It took about 15 minutes to dismantle, clean, then re-assemble.  And now I can rest assured that I'm not handling a toilet seat-like environment for 8 hours a day, Monday to Friday.

And no more eating at my desk during lunch hours, I think.  I need to start going to the lunch room more often.  It's more social that way, anyway.  And simply more hygienic.  Either that or I'll have to wash my hands with Mr. Clean and a scrub brush after a working lunch at my desk.....

01.03.2007 "Post-Holiday Blues Cured By a Childhood Book"
I go through this every year it seems.  After the holidays, I feel a sense of 'blahness', I feel emotionally flat.  I've nicknamed this phenomenon the 'post-holiday blues'.  After all the excitement and commotion of the holiday season, one would think that life on January 1st should automatically and suddenly be filled with new hopes, new resolutions, new plans, etc.  But in fact, life is often exactly as it was before.

And this year the feelings were amplified even more so than usual.  I just finished a most amazing December off from work and suddenly I found myself back on the skytrain at 9:00 am (I would normally be just rolling out of bed then!) and back in a stuffy office while basked in the glow of my computer monitor.  Maybe it's psychosomatic, but by the time I got home I was nursing a headache as well.

So, needless to say, Tuesday evening I found myself unmotivated and borderline-cranky on the couch.  I felt dissatisfied with the day's events.  It just felt so pedestrian, so ho-hum.  Robin told me that if I was going to be in this mood, then why not go to the bedroom to read.  "But I just finished my book!  I don't have anything to read!" I whined.  He responded by pointing in the direction of the bedroom.

I scanned the bookshelf hoping to find something that I hadn't read before.  My gaze fell on a book that I hadn't read since I was a child:  Roald Dahl's "Danny the Champion of the World."  Remembering that this used to be my favourite book for many years as a young tween, I decided I would read it again to see if it stood the test of time.  I read 5 chapters that night, and I was immediately engrossed in the story and the gentle, warm writing still made me smile.  Suddenly the world seemed magical again and not-so-ordinary. What a great cure for the post-holiday blues.