Hi Hope

I saw Gus on Friday afternoon on the bus home. Normally he rides the bus before mine but he had stayed late at the office.

"Didn't you have your lunch today?" I asked him.

"Oh, yeah, we had to reschedule," Gus shrugged. "Something came up for her. But I told her about you. I said I had told you about us."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and she said, tell Jill we're not dead yet!"

I laughed. "So the saga continues?"

"Me and Kathy? No," Gus shook his head. "We're just..." he trailed off and turned his gaze out the window.

I nodded. I know the "we're just..." story. I know that place well. I don't place hope there, not for fairytale endings. Last week though Gus's story came when I needed to hear it. It did make my day and gave me reason to carry hope.

I came across a headline today though that made me look: Missing Boaters Clung to Thread of Hope. What resonated with me in this story was this one guy's definition of hope:

Even though hope had managed to thread down to a little bitty string, I mean, that little bitty string could be just as strong as the rope you hung on to the first time you got started.

I am forever trying to downplay my hope. When I write emails to people I find I often repeat the word "hope" a lot and I end up spending twice as much time thinking about how to remove some of the redundancy from the message before hitting send. Hope you are doing well, hope you have a good weekend, hope you found those shoes you were looking for. Why is there no other word for hope?

Some days I just don't know. Love shows up when I need love, and in the same way reason to hope comes in like a red balloon when it feels like I can't hold my hope up any more. How do I turn my back on that?

If you're reading this, this message is meant for you

I believe in you.

My Fairy Godfather rides the bus with me to work

I dedicate this story to my friend Marda.

I stepped outside today and discovered it was raining. I thought for a moment about grabbing my umbrella, but I realized I had no idea where it was and I wouldn't have time to look for it without risking missing the bus. So I walked to the bus stop in the unexpected downpour, taking shelter when I could under the trees. I was wearing my new outfit that I purchased last weekend in America and I had styled my hair to a coiffed mess of perfection. It's Thursday, my traditional day of dressing it up. I was going for a wow effect and hoped that the rain wouldn't leave me getting pitied looks instead of awestruck ones. Some days a girl just wants to turn some heads.

Thankfully, Dave was back driving the bus. He had been off for a few days which left us with random substitute drivers who had their own interpretations of the bus stop schedule.

"And where is your umbrella, Jill?" Dave asked me when I got on.

"I don't know," I laughed. "That's why I don't have it with me, I don't know where it is."

I walked to the back and found Gus sitting on one of the sideways benches. I sat down beside him and said good morning.

He told me he got a call from our old bus buddy Lauren last night. She's going through a rough time right now. She just kicked her boyfriend out of her house because she found out he had been cheating on her. I couldn't believe it when Gus told me. I had seen Lauren with her boyfriend a few times and I had been to their place. They seemed happy and good together and had been together for a few years. I guess things aren't always as they seem.

"I'm going for lunch tomorrow with a girl just like you," Gus told me. Gus and I have been riding the bus together for over a year now. Sometimes he says things that I just don't know what to make of. Like on a cold and rainy day he'll greet me by saying, "hello darling, don't worry, I'll have the Jacuzzi turned on and the champagne ready for when we get home tonight." He'll say this with a smile and a way that suggests he is just being funny, but it's kind of a hard joke to take from a man who is the same age as my father.

"Her name's Kathy. I've known her for years," he said. "I'll tell you a little story," he said.

"When we were kids we used to spend the summer up at the lake. Kathy was from Windsor, Ontario and her parents used to bring her every summer. There was a group of us kids who used to hang out all the time. Kathy was a year older than me. She was very quiet and shy, like you," Gus said.

I resisted rolling my eyes. I'm not shy, I'm introverted. There's a difference. It means I listen more than I talk, unlike Gus who talks my ear off some days. I told him he talks too much once. A guy on the bus was telling a story to anyone who would listen about his son in Newfoundland. Gus rolled his eyes at me and nodded in the storyteller's direction.

"What?" I had said. "You talk too much too." I hadn't really meant it to come out so harsh, but it was during the spring time this past year when I was in my "don't take shit from anyone" phase. Gus didn't say anything to me for the rest of the ride and for the next couple of days when I got on I'd find that someone else was sitting with him. It was probably coincidental that he had this new friend to sit with, but I felt really bad for snapping at him like that and I worried that I had really offended him. By the next week though things were back to normal.

Looking out the window as we sped down Portage Avenue I noticed that the rain had stopped, thankfully. My hairdo would be salvageable.

"Not a lot of other people really got Kathy," Gus continued. "She was so shy and quiet that she was hard to get to know. But I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I was 13, she was 14. We spent a lot of time together, you know, like boyfriend and girlfriend. We kept in touch by letters, handwritten letters. I have a stack of them. Kept each and every one. That went on every summer for years as we grew up.

After we were finished school she'd come see me play in my band in the bars. I said to her one day, stay in Winnipeg, come live with me. But she said no. Went back and stayed in Windsor. She was seeing a guy, Phil. Got into some bad times with him. They broke up, but when she was in Winnipeg again I was married. We still kept in touch secretly. Nothing ever happened, but we did meet up. Later, when I was divorced, she was back with Phil. She got into problems with drugs and alcohol for a bit. There was nothing I could really do for her though. She said to me once, Gus, the biggest mistake I ever made was not moving in with you. She'd call me sometimes for advice or to talk. Every time we got together or talked it was just like when we were kids, you know? They say you never forget your first love, well, that's what this was."

"I've kept this for years now," Gus said as he reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He opened up and searched through the pockets. "Man, I hope I haven't lost it."

He pulled out an old wallet sized photo. The girl it in was in her grad cap and gown. She had long sandy coloured hair and eyes that matched with beautiful long eyelashes. I turned the photo over. Kathy's words to him were mostly faded but I could see at the bottom where she had written, "I hope we stay in touch forever".

"And we have," Gus said when I read the line out loud.

He put the photo away and then said, "So see, that's why I always tell you, your prince will come."

"But it's such a sad story," I said. "It didn't turn out."

"Well no, but like I said, Kathy was a shy girl like you but that didn't matter to me. Other guys passed her by, didn't take the time, but I loved her. Always will."

Gus has an earring in his left ear, a decent head of greying brown hair and a gravely voice from years of smoking and playing guitar in smokey bars. I had never thought about it until today, but in another wolrd, time and place he probably would be like the rough around the edges but soft on the inside kind of guy I fall for. And I guess I might have been like the girl he would have an undeniable attraction to, for whatever it is that I am other than "shy and quiet".

Gus has been divorced for a few years now. I know he's dated a bit but he's been single for most of the time I've known him. He has two daughters he gives the world to with seemingly little thanks in return. I never really understood why he found a friend in me, what made him try so hard to get me to talk to him. Certain people it seems do get it. They see me. They see through my quiet nature and they know there's something there worth getting to know better.

I don't know if I captured the story in the best way here. Listening to Gus tell me his story today really touched me and gave me things to think about. I can't really decide though if it is something that gives me hope or that simply breaks my heart. I guess everyone has a beautiful love story of some kind that doesn't come with the beautiful and happy ending. It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, they say. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about that either.

How does this apply to my thoughts on love? Well I guess it confirms for me that love, romance, passion are all parts of a beautiful relationship, the kind many of us dream about when thinking of our ideal mate. But love, just simple, pure, beautiful love, it doesn't disappear because of lost time, distance or circumstance. Just because you can't be with the person, even if you find yourself with someone else who makes you happy, true love doesn't ever completely die. As humans we can do a pretty good job of fighting it, pushing ourselves away from it and lashing out against it, but I don't think you can really ever break it.

I've loved a few in my life so far. Mostly unrequited. Some I now call friends, some I call memories. Some I've wished I would never have to think about again but they insist on popping up from time to time. I've always said the important ones, the ones that matter, they never really go away. Maybe I won't get to marry them or spend years of bliss with them, may not even get to kiss them, but they will always be there because they are written on my heart. I know they won't ever forget me either. It may not be a fairytale, but it is what it is.

If he doesn't tell me, I'll be sure to ask Gus on Monday how his lunch with Kathy went. The hopeless romantic in me would like to see him find his happy ending after all. Happy ending or not though, he already has something pure, sweet and beautiful.

so close no matter how far
couldn't be much more from the heart
forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters

--Nothing Else Matters, Metallica

Search your heart - search your soul
And when you find me there you'll search no more

--Everything I Do, I Do it for You, Bryan Adams

Customer service vs. lip service

I was in America on the weekend and of course found myself in a shoe store. I spotted an interesting looking pair of heels to try on--just to try on, because surely I wouldn't fall in love with them. Surely on my feet they would look just awful or be terribly uncomfortable. Surely.

The guy who grabbed my size for me was the same skater boi who helped me out the last time I was there. He sat down in the chair beside me and said, "hey, weren't you in here a while ago and you bought those grey Rocket Dog heels?"

"Yeah," I laughed.

"Whoa, that's crazy that I remembered that. Kinda creepy I guess," he laughed too but I thought it was nice. It's nice to be remembered. I mean wow, he even remembered the shoes I bought.

He helped me pull the tissue out of the "never-been-tried-on-before" shoes (it always gets me a little excited to know that no one else's foot has been in that shoe I am looking at taking home).
"I don't know how these work," he said, trying to figure out if he should undo the buckle on the side or the zipper on the top.

"It's okay," I told him. "It's not meant for you to understand." I guess I was seeing him as this friendly guy who wanted to help me out with a pair of shoes, not as a kid making four bucks an hour whose job it actually is to understand these things. There is something to be said for a sales person who can make you forget your are supposed to be playing the role of the customer.

"Oh yeah, those look good," he said as I checked myself out in the mirror. Then he called over to the girl who was working in the store with him, "hey look, she's trying on those shoes."

The girl came over to see. "Oh, those look good. When we got them in we didn't think anyone would like them. They just looked funny."

"They look good on," the guy said. I always knew I had a gift for spotting a good shoe. I felt so special. So of course I had to take them home. (Better image here)

Later I met up with Amara and Christian who were in town for the day. We had dinner together at the Boardwalk Bar and Grill which was not terribly busy but surprisingly impressive. They give you free bowls of homemade potato chips. I asked the girl, "do we get refills on the chips because I see here that one of the side options for the wrap is chips."

"Yes," she said. "I can bring more chips. We serve them whenever people order drinks." Yum. Amara was also happy when they left snack sized chocolate bars with the bill. No cheapo mints here!

Back home on the range after a wonderful weekend of rest and retail therapy...

I had called the U of W Department of Continuing Education last week to get more information on that New Media Marketing program I was considering throwing my life away for. The contact people listed were on holidays or out to lunch so I talked to the janitor or whoever it was that answered the phone that afternoon. He told me he would leave a message for someone there and that I would hear from them shortly. Shortly--does that mean in the next 15 minutes or the next five days? I wasn't sure and I didn't bother asking for clarification. The guy was helpful enough though to tell me that the program would not be starting in the fall 2009 term as they didn't get enough people signed up. I didn't take this as a slight against the program at the time as it hadn't really been advertised much as far as I could tell. It only appeared to be on the website, not in the information booklet I received earlier this summer.

Today I got a call back not from the New Media Marketing contacts or even the janitor I spoke to before, but from someone else from their Public Relations program wondering if I would like more information on those courses.

"No thank you," I said. "I already have a diploma in public relations. I was calling last week because I wanted to talk to the person in charge of the New Media Marketing program to get more information about it."

"Oh, so you were only interested in the New Media program?"

"Yes." Yes. That is why I called the two people listed as contacts there only to have some other dude answer the phone and promise me a call back from one of them when they got back to the office. If I had been interested in the PR program, I would have dialed the number for the PR program contact person. Passing my number on to some other person so they can call me about something I did not request information on is a little close to being phone solicitation. I believe we have privacy laws about this kind of thing.

"I can transfer you to the person you need to talk to then," the woman offered.

"Hello, Ashley speaking," the next person to take my call greeted me.

"Hi, I am looking to talk to someone about the New Media Marketing program."

"Oh sure, let me transfer you."

Seriously?

I immediately recognized the name of the final person to greet me as being one of the two listed on the information page on the website. Good, I had finally made it through. I found out that the program wasn't being offered this year as planned because not enough people were interested in the theory classes, they just wanted the technology classes, so they decided to just offer those as individual classes starting in the winter term. Completion of the set of individual classes would likely result in a certificate instead of the diploma. The full diploma program may be offered next year. This appealed to me because it would mean I could take the courses and not have to quit my life as I know it. Sweet.

I then got into my questions. I wanted to know who they were aiming the program at--people who already work in the industry or people who want to get into it? I am not about to take a $15,500 program just so I can start at the bottom again. The woman told me it was targeted toward people already in the marketing field looking to develop more practical skills in the world of e-media. Good, this sounds like me. Then I asked about the work placement program and who they consulted when developing this diploma program. This is where she started getting a little vague. She mentioned one place that was interested in the program--the Chamber of Commerce--but she wouldn't give me any other places. I explained to her that if I was going to participate in the program I wanted to know who would be ultimately offering jobs at the end of it. Yes, there were certain names I want to hear on that list, but she wouldn't budge.

I asked a couple other general questions but hung up from the conversation not feeling very excited at all. I don't know if the person I was talking to was some summer lackey just answering phones or if she had a real invested interest in the program's success, but shouldn't she have been trying a little harder to sell me on it? I figure she should have been telling me how this is where I want to invest $15,500 in the name of my future and meanwhile I got the phone runaround and a half-interested sounding contact person who cannot or will not give me key information to help me decide to go through with this. Um, people, Customer Service? Promotion? This is Marketing 101. Even I know that and I haven't paid a single penny for your fancy pants classes yet. Don't try to tell me you don't need to market the program, you already told me you couldn't fill your quota to hold the class. You also apparently built an entire curriculum without doing your market research first. Gawd people, really? Will I be getting a charitable receipt for that 15 grand you want from me? Yes, I realize I am probably expecting way too much out of a post-secondary educational institution that is somewhat notorious for this kind of thing.

I'm starting to re-think this going back to school thing though. I don't think education is ever a waste of time or money, and yes, there are definitely some things I want to gain practical skills in. However, do I need to spend big money on school, or just get more practice with being interviewed and presenting myself well? Maybe just do some networking? (She waves now to her potential employers who can't help but fall in love with her as a person and a talented writer...)

I wasn't in a good mood on Thursday night when I got to my mom's and dad's for Tracy's birthday dinner. I had to fight traffic to pick up my grandma who then nattered on about an accidents she saw earlier in the day on her way to the church. Tracy is really good at listening to her but I usually can't even fake interest in the random stories she sometimes shares. I feel awful about this, so on top of general crankiness I was also battling guilt pains. When I got to mom's and dad's I didn't say hi to my mom and I didn't even greet Elmo like I usually do. I just headed for the back door to stand outside and take a few deep breaths of fresh air. My dad was out there barbecuing and taking work calls on his cell. He was in between calls when I stepped outside.

"I'm grumpy," I told him. My dad is the only one who seems to understand what I mean by this. I think it's because we have the same temperament, though I have often cursed that fact and do everything possible to try to control it better than he does.

"How come, Kid?" he asked.

"Traffic, Grandma nattering," I mumbled with my arms across my chest. Dad gave me a hug. It truly was the only answer I was looking for. I never tell him this. I never say thank you when he makes me feel better or does exactly what I need him to do to fix things. If he in some way asks for feedback to know if I am feeling any better I might mumble, "yeah, sure," and completely avoid eye contact. I can only laugh at my ridiculous attempts at being an emotionally reserved man. I have no idea why I am like this with him, but I think he forgives me anyway.

My dad is pretty happy these days because he is a bit over 200 days away from retirement. Yes, he counts every day. My dad isn't unhappy with his job though. I do believe he enjoys what he does, even when he's crazy busy and it cuts into his holiday schedule.

I've been admiring my dad as a career role model for some time now. He has been with the same company for over 30 years working his way up the ladder. He didn't have any prestigious paper diplomas to move him along though. He got where he is today because of who his strong work ethic and who he is as a person. If you think I'm a hard ass about customer service you just have to meet my dad to get a sense of where that comes from. I get annoyed with him a lot because it is impossible to take him out to dinner anywhere. Bad service plus Dad's temperament equals an unpleasant evening for all at the table. Maybe he expects too much some times, but I know that he always gives 110% to his customers so he only expects the same out of everyone else.

I want to be like my dad. I want to be recognized as someone who is knowledgeable not from a book but from experience. I want to be known as the person to go to to get answers and to get the job done. I want to be commended for my dedication to excellent customer and client service. So yeah, I can pay $500, $5,000 or $15,000 for some profs to lecture me, assign me some reading, test me, and then give me a pretty piece of paper with my name printed on it in script, but I know that the best lessons I've learned have come from personal experience. It's a different world now than it was when my dad was building his career, but surely there's still some value in life experience.

Legs

It's day two of me being the boss lady again. Michael is on holidays. I had no one to grumble to today when the client was biting back and the designer was telling me I wasn't trying hard enough. Normally I just cope by sucking it up and swallowing the criticism. You can't take anything personally in this field of work; you do and you will die a slow, spirit-crushing death. Put all your heart into your work and then hand the product over to the people with the money that talks. Believe it or not, it will make you better and then one day you will be the one with the money and power. I'm developing a thick skin to handle the disapproving feedback, but today I was struggling.

I'm working on a testimonials project these days. Let me see if I can explain this without compromising the strict "do not talk about the company" policy. Good-Wooden Leg (an alias Vince came up with for me) is a manufacturer of "wooden legs". Sometimes things happen to people and they lose their legs. Good-Wooden helps its clients in their times of need by giving them new legs to stand on. So for this project I interviewed people who got legs from Good-Wooden when they needed them most.

At first I hated the assignment. I get really anxious whenever I have to do an interview. I'm always afraid I won't get enough material out of my subject to write a good piece, and then once the interview is over, the opportunity to get the right quotes is over too. That being said, I can't really remember anyone ever being less than impressed with a story of mine, some how I always manage to make it work.

Talking to these clients has been a wonderful experience. They all have amazing stories, the kind that make you go, "I had a bad day today, but that's nothing compared to the stress they went through". I also talked to someone who wasn't a client of Good-Wooden when he lost his legs to stand on. On top of that, he advised his wife to become a client of Good-Wooden, based on his own experience and regret, but she didn't listen and then she lost her legs too. It was a heartbreaking story on paper, but this guy had an amazing, optimistic attitude about life. If he can still see the bright side, surely I can get through a rough day at the office or a ho-hum Saturday night.

I always hand my articles over with reluctance to Michael. I am terrified inside of my work not being good enough, but I'm getting better at shrinking that fear. Like most fears, it's irrational (Michael thinks my work is good and usually only has minor changes to clean up the piece) but based on bad past experiences. These articles have turned out to be some of my proudest examples of what I can do. Telling someone's story, whether it is mine, someone else's, or a character I've created, is one of the things I do best. It's the commas that I struggle with.

It was raining outside this afternoon when I looked out my cubicle window. I could see the neon red cross on the top of the Misercordia Hospital, standing out against the dark sky. The darker the sky the brighter it shines. I'm sure this is a typical Christian metaphor that has been described before.

My sister phoned me. She was upset. It's her 25th birthday tomorrow but it's not turning out to be the party she'd like. As she told me about her woes all my own stress and worries floated away and I found myself wishing I could fix everything for her. I wouldn't want what she's dealing with right now.

She called me again later and things were looking up. "I felt better after I talked to you," she told me. I felt better too.

She's got legs, she knows how to use them
She never begs, she knows how to choose them

--Legs, ZZ Top

So you think you can dance?

"You're very poised," he said.

"Thank you," she said with a gracious nod to pay honour to the compliment as well as acknowledge the exhausting pas de deux that her heart and head had just performed. At the very least, she had made an impression.

2000 reasons to laugh out loud

I was going through some old papers on Sunday while looking for my final marks statement from the University of Winnipeg. I came across a lot of interesting stuff: unfinished writing projects, old emails, newspaper clippings and report cards from junior high. I found things that made me wince, made me cry, but there was one thing in particular that made me laugh out loud.

I immediately recognized the handwritting on the page ripped out of a notebook, but I had no recollection of the piece itself. It was some kind of profile on me that Michael M. had done, dated March 26, 2000. This is how he, one of my closest friends in that era, described me:

--Jillian B@rr0tt
--December 5th, 1981, Winnipeg
--Younger Sister (Tracy)
--Graduated 1999
--Attending University of Winnipeg 1st yr.
--Lives with Mom, Dad, Sister, Elmo (Dog)

--Easy Going--> Serious
--Humourous, Sincere
--Planning on entering Advertising @ RRC

--Life means becoming well educated, getting a good job
--Friends, Family
--Always happy--> in a good mood
--Lot of friends
--School days--> Friends, Computers
--Single...& loving it!
--Dates...see above

Future
--> Advertising Specialist
--> Family, Kids
--> Married
--> Successful

My favourite part that still has me laughing is, "Life means becoming well educated, getting a good job". Aside from that, apparently Mike had me pinned even nine years ago. I guess my future is still yet to come since I am not yet married with children, although I like to think I have found some success.

I turned the paper over in hopes of finding some explanation for the assessment, but instead I found my own description of myself:

--Quiet yet daring
--Counsellor for my friends
--Love my friends and family, everything else comes second
--I appreciate people who are mature, humourous and understanding
--Enjoy the simple things in life, sunshine, fresh air, friends, pen & paper to record it all.

I have no recollection of describing myself this way. It's weird, I thought I only recently figured those things out about myself. But nope, I am exactly the same person that I knew I was nine years ago. Dammit. I've not grown an inch.

Life these days has been busy and full of interesting surprises. More on those things later. Those stories are still in the oven.

James McAvoy, Clueless Emma, Med School and Love

On Friday night my sister came over and we had a James McAvoy double header movie night--Becoming Jane and Penelope. My sister works shifts at the hospital as a respiratory therapist but she was off all weekend and her boyfriend was in Chicago for Lolapalooza. I was more than happy to be there for her to help pass some time.

When Tracy arrived I was on the computer. "Whatchya doing?" she asked.

"Finishing a blog post," I said.

"Do you ever write about me?"

I smiled. "Sometimes."

"What do you say?"

"Oh I just mention when we've gotten together and stuff." I couldn't actually remember the last time I mentioned her. The first post that was coming to mind was one that I did in 2006 on her birthday where I talked about our sisterly ESP joke. The next one was about when she came over on Valentine's day last year. It's one of my favourite posts but I'm not sure what she'd say about it.

For the second movie I made us buttery popcorn. We attacked a few of my stale fortune cookies (the cookies have gone soft, but the fortunes are still as ambiguous as ever) and she bugged me about cleaning out my fridge (she found some rather old orange juice in there...)

On Saturday night we got together again just to watch some episodes of Sex and the City. Tracy lamented about her dude not being able to phone or text her while he was away because he lost his cell phone a while back. Oh to be so in love.

She told me about her boyfriend's brother proposing in a restaurant a few weeks ago.

"Where would you want to be proposed to?" she asked.

"I don't know, I don't really think about it," I said. It's one of those things, like babies, that I just can't fathom at all until I actually have the person in place to fulfill the dream. "I used to want it to happen at a football game," I confessed.

Tracy scoffed. "I'd never want that." Well, to be perfectly honest I don't think I really want that anymore either. When I was 15, which is when I think I had this dream, I just liked the idea of a grand public declaration of love. I pictured it thinking, this man loves me and now 22,000 other people know that too. I guess now I'd look at that idea and say, people really should be so fortunate to witness such love. It doesn't come around every day you know.

During commercial breaks we also talked about her developing dream to go to med school. She's really getting serious thinking about it now. She told me about the costs and the requirements to get in. She just got her house last year and has another year left on her car payments. Aside from making a good 10 grand more than I do, she's in a similar situation. However, she also has this boy of hers who could move in and help pay the bills while she does her four years of study and four years of residency.

On Sunday afternoon we were talking about her plans some more while we sat poolside at our aunt's place.

"You're inspiring," I told her. I've been having serious doubts about this e-marketing program I have my eye on. It's the cost that really scares me. For med school Tracy figures she'd be looking at about $10,000 per year but of course she knows she's guaranteed to make back her debt quickly once she starts practicing.

"I'm scared," she said. "What if I don't make it in?"

Not make it in? In my mind, not even a possibility for my sister. She definitely has what it takes to do this. Hearing my smart and confident sibling admit to this fear was both surprising and comforting in a way. Even people like my sister get nervous about failing.

"Well, whatever happens, you'll get your answer." I told her. "If you do all the prep work, write the exam and go through the interview but don't get accepted, you'll know at the end if it's something you really do want to achieve and try for again, or if you're okay with continuing on doing what you're doing. You can't lose for trying."

I got kind of tickled thinking about us both going back to school, going for our dreams. If Tracy goes for it, why shouldn't I?

My sister is two years younger than I am, has a steady boyfriend she's know for four years, lives in a swankier part of town than I do, wears teeny bikinis to the beach and is thinking of applying to med school. Some days, yes, it is enough to make me want to bang my head against the wall. I also however remember staying up late at night with her to help her write essays on books I never read and papers on lung diseases I've never heard of. I love her to bits and pieces but maybe one day, just for a small moment in the sun, the pen will be mightier than the scalpel.

On Sunday night Tracy had pulled the New York Times crossword puzzle out of the paper. When she had given up on it I asked her to hand it to me. Right away I got two answers she didn't--Novel that the movie Clueless was based on was the downward clue and fictional character who lives in The Plaza was the across clue.

"You didn't know that Clueless was based on Emma?"

"No," she shrugged.

"And you've never heard of Eloise?" She shook her head. Somehow I don't think either of those questions will appear on an MCAT exam. They may however come up in a marketing class.

Tracy and I have always been close as sisters but this year I feel like we managed to get even closer which means so much to me. She has been there for me when I needed a hug and a Kleenex and she's even let me into her world a bit more which she used to keep locked up pretty tight. I think I touched upon it earlier this year, but it came to mind again this weekend that my relationship with my sister is really a good example of one of my most successful, loving relationships. Tracy and I are obviously very different. We don't always agree and we can get sick of each other. But we do love one another anyway, even now when mom and dad aren't there to tell us we have to. I think this is an interesting way to look at compatibility. Although it can make things feel easier, more comfortable and help keep conflict down, love isn't about loving the same things, the same music, the same food or even the same people. Maybe similarity can get you in the same room, but I think it's all that other stuff--respect, compassion, understanding, loyalty, along with a good helping of admiration and fascination, demonstrated over a significant period of time, that keeps you coming back to the same table. I have known Tracy for 25 years and I'm just now realizing the depth of my love for her. True love takes time.

In the hour of the setting sun and mosquitoes, outside on the backyard patio in St. Vital, Tracy, my aunt and her husband and I ended up working on the puzzle together. I had so much fun. Everyone had something to contribute from our varied pockets of trivial knowledge. It was a perfect summer Sunday in August.

A change for good

Sometimes when I think about it I can just feel a smile growing into a grin on my face. I feel all warm and bubbly inside.

It starts in my toes
and I crinkle my nose
where ever it goes I always know
that you make me smile

Colbie Cailat, Bubbly

And sometimes when I think about it, I feel like my head is swimming and I need to just slow down and focus on one thing at a time, one day at a time. While the dream seems in reach, I must remember to keep things in perspective and keep my feet on the ground.

Yes, it does feel a lot like love. But this isn't a boy story.

I told you a few posts back that I had some big plans for myself that would occupy my time. I'm exploring the idea of taking some more schooling. I got a pamphlet in the mail a few weeks ago for the University of Winnipeg Division of Continuing Education. I'm a U of W alumni and I took my french classes a few years ago through the Continuing Ed school. For the fall I'm looking at taking a creative writing class. It will be one night a week for 12 weeks. I'm hoping it will force me to put aside some time to work on my writing and actually produce a complete piece that I can send to get published in a magazine. It's a baby step, but it's a step.

When I went online to investigate a bit further I found two other programs that got my head in the clouds. The first one I looked at is for a Marketing Management diploma. I'd have to attend evening classes twice a week each term for about a year and a half to complete it. It would be intense but hopefully it would get me what I need to get my foot in the door for more marketing based jobs. I got pretty excited looking at the course list but then I stumbled upon the second program that really captured my heart--New Media Marketing diploma. It looks at social networking, blogging, podcasting, pay-per-click advertising, web design, search engine marketing--need I go on? I mean, the marketing management program looked good, but this, this looked like Matthew McConaueghey hot. The catch? The sexier program is a one-year full time program, meaning I'd have to quit my life as I know it to become a student again for 12 months.

I told my mom that I was selling my house and moving back home so I could go to school.

"Absolutely not," Dad said.

"Well, Dad will be retired next year so hopefully we wouldn't be home much," Mom said. She has this magical way of making anything sound possible.

I talked to Lisa about it all too.

"You could sell your truck," she suggested.

I clutched my hands to my heart and shook my head. "No! I most certainly could not!" Sell my house? Sure. Roommate? No, I am pretty sure no one could live with me. Sell Truck? No, absolutely not. I know most people would look at it and just see a large gas sucking piece of orange metal. But no, that Truck is my first born. My first love. It will take me further than any diploma will. No, Truck stays with me. Besides, I probably could only get 10 or 15 grand for it, helpful, but certainly not enough to live off of for a year with a mortgage and tuition.

"I think if you want to do it badly enough you'll make it happen," Lisa said. I believe in that too. Still, the idea seemed exciting but it was also really surprising me. I didn't really think I'd go back to school for a whole program, and certainly not full time. I couldn't help but think, is this really me we're talking about here?

I did some more looking into the program and found my heart sinking a bit when I found out that the tuition was $15,000 (I'm still not selling Truck). Fifteen grand is a lotta money for me, and a lot more money than I was anticipating when the dream seemed in reach. But I still believe in what Lisa said, if I really want it, I'll make it happen, I'll find a way. I told Michael about my school dreams today. He said I just need to find a Sugar Daddy. I've only been working for him for six months and already he can read my mind. I'm going to miss him.

I have about seven months left working with Michael. I know I want to move on to something else rather than going back to my old job, but there is no telling when I will find that something, and if I do find something, will I still feel like I need to do school right now? This is what makes my head feel like it is treading water. But it's exciting. I feel really really excited about it all. This is the kind of change I can embrace and celebrate. Even if it does mean some sacrifices.

I'm a customer and it is Tuesday, appreciate me dammit!

Last night I went grocery shopping for 10% Tuesday. The first Tuesday of every month Sobeys and Safeway offer a 10% discount on a minimum $35.00 purchase. They call it "Customer Appreciation Day". Most of the time I shop at Superstore because it is usually cheaper than those other stores with the mood lighting and fancy displays.

I am a single girl carrying a large mortgage and making payments on my Truck. Yes, I would love to belong to that elite crowd who can afford to pay extra to shop in a place where they have on-site butchers, free samples, shorter lineups, relatively clean floors and parcel carryout, but for now I save those special experiences for days when things are a little cheaper.

So yesterday I took Truck out to the western edge of St. James (which smelled like cows, by the way) and browsed the offerings at the Unicity Sobeys. I picked up two pints of blueberries when normally I would only take one, grabbed a box of Ritz crackers because in combination with the Nestea crystals and the Kraft salad dressing it meant I would earn 250 bonus Sobeys points.

I admittedly wasn't paying much attention as the young man rang up my items. I don't really remember where my mind was at. I had already pulled out my Visa and my Sobeys card and placed them on the counter. The cashier did not, to my recollection, tell me my total before taking the cards, but I happened to look up and noticed that my grand total was $34.89.

"Oh," I frowned. "So I didn't make the 35 dollar minimum?"

"No, looks like you were short by like a buck," the astute bagger concluded.

"So I could have made it if I added a pack of gum or something?" I asked.

The cashier just shrugged and handed me my bill to sign.

"Thanks." I said tersely while picking up the pen although the terseness was not caught by the young man cashier.

"You're welcome!" he replied.

I headed home mad. I turned up the volume to sing along with Papa Roach.

"I'm a reckless goddamn son of a bitch!" I sang at the top of my lungs and slammed my hand on the steering wheel. "God save me from this madness!" I didn't look, but I can only imagine the colours my mood ring was turning.

I unpacked my groceries and took a closer look at my bill. The total before taxes was $34.65. I was 35 cents short from being a customer worth appreciating! Would it really have been so hard for the guy to let me add a pack of gum to my purchases? Sometimes they are even so kind as to say, "hey, you're just shy of meeting the minimum requirement, is there anything else you need today?" Yes, I realize the onus is really on me to keep track of these things, and yes, I know I only would have saved $3.50 but I could buy a whole ice cream cone for $3.50! I could go to two cheap seat movies for $3.50! I probably spent $3.50 in gas driving the extra distance to visit that fancy pants store! I was not about to take this laying down. So I opened up Mac, found the Sobeys website and sent them a "comment". I assure you, I explained my complaint in a respectful and calm manner. I have had success before with complaint letters. Why, just last year I believe I wrote to Oral B to complain about my electric toothbrush and they sent me a $10 voucher in the mail for replacement heads.

Today, the manager of the Unicity Sobeys called me to explain how the computer system they have makes it difficult for the cashiers to tell if the discount has been taken off. However, to make it right, he offered me a $10 Sobeys gift card for my troubles.

Thank you Sobeys. That was the right thing to do.

Just call me Jillian B@rr0tt, the Couponed Crusader.

I can almost put my finger on it now

Now that is how to spend four days off.

Friday was a bit of a let down due to the monsoon that passed through Winnipeg. I had an appointment with the bank (met the lovely banking officer named Kurt who enjoys Starbucks, lists, travel and family, but alas, had a girlfriend. Would it have been inappropriate to ask him to direct me to the branch with the hot single men?). I am looking at possibly spending some big money in the next 12 months and I'd really like to get into the whole responsible adult thing of buying RRSPs and such. Oh look how our little Jillian has grown up, my oh my.

On Saturday afternoon I decided I wanted to cook. Not just cook, but cook for other people. So I started working on a plan to have my parents and my grandma over for dinner when I heard a loud knock at my door. Hoping that it was opportunity knocking I put aside my planning thoughts to open the door.

Behind door number one was an attractive young man who promised me he wasn't selling anything. Oh Lord, why do they tell such lies? I didn't see the Publishers Clearing House crew standing behind him so I figured I could safely assume he wasn't giving away anything either, at least not something I had any interest in. He was also wearing a wedding ring so I was already completely bored but let him do his spiel anyway. I don't like to slam doors in peoples' faces. They're just out there trying to make an honest dollar (well, quasi honest, since the opening line is always, "I'm not trying to sell you anything") so would it really do any harm to let them say their piece before I politely shoo them away?

I began to get quite tired of this guy after a good five minutes of nodding along and was hoping that he was on his way to wrapping up when he asked, "did I get you out of bed?"

Um, thanks dude. Now not only am I irritated by you taking up my time, but you have now drawn attention to the fact that my hair is messy, I'm not wearing any makeup, and my boredom is clearly showing. Good luck with that sell job now.

"The football game is on," I said, suddenly really wishing I could go check the score.

"Oh, yeah, I know. I wish I could be watching the game too, but I have to be out here," he smiled and then proceeded to continue with his "I'm not here to sell you anything" sales pitch for another five minutes. Actually, I'm guessing on all these windows of time. It felt like I stood there for twenty. I started to notice that his finger nails were disturbingly long. Perhaps they had grown in the time he had taken to try to convince me of the merits of his product.

I had lost my passion for cooking and entertaining for a while but I was happy to discover it all over again on Saturday night. I bought myself flowers at the same time that I picked up the ingredients. I like that I can make myself so happy.

On Sunday Lisa and I drove up to Gimli to see Judy and check out the Icelandic Festival. The day was lovely and Lisa said later that she really enjoyed herself, but I found that we spent most of the day waiting for something. When we got there we had to wait in line for the washrooms. Then we waited for Tonia and her friend, Britt, to join us. Then we waited in a line up to grab lunch. Then we sat on the grass and waited for a viking fight show to start. First, half of the fighters took their places and then we had to wait for the other troop to sail in from the lake in their viking "ship", dock the boat, possibly pose for pictures with tourists on the beach, and then join the rest of the show. The fight took about five minutes.

At one point during the day, while waiting for something I am sure, I browsed a jewelery kiosk set up on the main drag. I found a collection of mood rings that caught my eye. I suppose there isn't really anything more tacky than a mood ring, never mind the one that I picked up which had the word "LOVE" circled in the band. Something about it appealed to me though. Maybe it was the idea of having love wrapped around my finger or maybe it was the fact that when I put it on it immediately turned a deep royal purple, which, according to the key, meant I was actually "in love". It was four dollars so I made it mine. Who says you can't buy me love?

We walked the pier a bit. Britt wanted to go all the way to the end to take photos. The rest of us were not feeling into it and were ready to turn back.

"Maybe there is a pot of gold at the end of the pier," Tonia suggested with a smile.

"No," Lisa shook her head. "I've been to the end. Mostly there's just used condoms." I guess a few someones have found their own pots of gold out there, but I had a strong feeling that that was not the place to find mine.

More lines and waiting ensued and just when there was nothing left to stand for, it was time to go home.

And today? Today I let my mom talk me into buying another pair of shoes. They are for dancing in. I can hardly think of a good argument against buying a pair of shoes meant for dancing.

As I type my eye catches the ring on my finger. I have monitored it closely since putting it on, watching it change color from the blissfully happy color of love, to the uncertain yellow, green and orange hues of anxiety and mixed emotions. When I took it off last night before washing my face, I put it on the sink counter top and it turned black--which means "nothing" according to the key. Yes of course I know it is completely bogus. Still, it crossed my mind that perhaps I should have my next lover wear one. "Your lips say I love you, but the ring says fear, do we need to talk?"

In Canada engineer graduates receive their iron rings. According to Wikipedia, "The Ring is worn on the little finger of the working hand, where the facets act as a sharp reminder of obligation while the engineer works". For as long as I wear it (which may be a week or a month or so before I honestly get tired of wearing something on my finger again) my LOVE mood ring will serve to remind me to continue my personal pledge, my mission, to fill my days doing things in the name of love. I will think of this as I type out my words, prepare food or rest my head on my hands before sleep. Kasia sent me a link to an article she had found a while ago when I first committed myself to being a student of love. The article is titled, What would love do? It's a short article but the idea it proposes is simple enough. When going through your day, whatever it is that you are doing, try asking yourself, what would love do?

Love may crumble in apology, love may weep with humility and grace. She may run into burning buildings. He may genuflect.
Love knows what's best for every situation.
Love transcends policy and history.
Love innovates.
Love is everything we've been asking for.

I'm going to go make my lunch and then dance to sappy music in my pajamas in my living room now.

I am so happy.