Lisa loathes daylight savings time. Well hey, I don't exactly love it either, who does? Yesterday she noted to me on our way to a bible babble meeting that she was grumpy. The hostess this week put out a big bowl of Cadbury Mini Eggs, much to the delight of all, including Lisa.
Today Lisa texted me, "Ugh, I'm cranky again."
"But less cranky than yesterday?" I asked, thinking that there was perhaps hope to be found in the declining levels of foul feelings.
"Mmm, not really. Couldn't sleep last night."
"Eat a mini egg. Fixes everything", I said. "Someone should make a mini egg latte."
"We should invent that and sell it in our cupcake/natural cosmetics store."
I wash my make up off now with honey and a warm wet facecloth, by the way. Another great tip from CrunchyBetty.com.
I let my best gal pal know that David's Tea is now stocking a Jelly Bean tea, with real Jelly Belly jelly beans in it and then I added a PS that I KNEW would fix everything.
"Robert Downey Jr. on a miniature pony."
For us, this scene from the sequel of Sherlock Holmes will never get old.
On the topic of getting old, I went into Shoppers Drug Mart on Sunday to buy a $14 thing of magic potion lotion that would make my skin glow. I walked out, $91 with an entirely new makeup regime from Cover FX.
Yes, I am saving money on my cleaning products so that I can spend it all on putting fancy, skin-coloured dirt on my face.
I now get great coverage for my red, cranky skin in just a teeny tiny bit of liquid make up, but I must be doing something wrong in the application process of the coverup, setting powder and foundation because everything settles into the fine creases under my eyes, aka, wrinkles. Maybe I can Spackle some honey in there and make them go away. I'll get back to you on that.
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Friday, January 06, 2012
It Starts Sometime Around Midnight
Last night my phone rang just after midnight. I was in bed and figured the call had to be a wrong number, totally not worth getting up and stumbling to my purse for. I kind of wish now that I'd had a little birdie tell me to run, not walk to pick up the phone.
Before I went to sleep last night I was writing in my journal trying to express how happy I was feeling. I thought about all the good things I have going for me and how I just keep on putting checks beside things on my dream list. Happiness isn't something you can keep in a jar and look at on the shelf whenever you happen to think of it.
Remember the day
Cause this is what dreams should always be
I just want to stay
I just want to keep this dream in me
--Losing Your Memory, Ryan Star
I'm not about to take you off a cliff with me. This isn't that kind of story. This is actually one of those stories where things get even better than I knew my world had room for at the moment. See, this morning at 6:30 while I was waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, I picked up my Blackberry and checked my missed calls and a text message. They were from Kristin, not a wrong number. She had called me to tell me that she got the call from Ottawa. She was getting her heart.
Kristin has said that sometimes she would forget that she was waiting. Truthfully, I had forgotten too, even though just last week I was at her place to help her celebrate her second anniversary with her LVAD--the pump that was doing the work of her left ventricle. I've only ever know her as this girl who was the best, most inspirational example of how to wait for something big.
In November we were driving out of town for a school presentation and she told me about this guy she had started seeing. I was all giddy for her because like any twenty-eight year old she'd gone through her share and more of bad dates, mismatches and disappointments.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" I said with glee and then started gushing about ice skating dates, mistletoe and hot cocoa by the fire.
"Stop it! You're such a Charlotte!" She said, referencing the classic and romantic character of Sex and the City fame. I protested this because I fancy myself much more of a Carrie, and like Carrie, I saw the cute story unfurling in all of this. First she was getting her romance heart and then the physical heart would follow, I was certain of it.
When Kristin and I go out and do talks to high school students she tells the story about the time she got a call to go to Ottawa only to have to turn around and go home because the heart ended up not being good. Kristin says that when she got the call she started phoning everyone she knew. "I think I phoned my grade two teacher," she would always say. When I got the news today I felt the same way. I just wanted everyone to know that something really, really wonderful happened today. And yes, she does have a tough road to full recovery ahead, but this is a strong girl with a lot of love around her. And for now, we're just all so happy that the long wait is over.
Before I went to sleep last night I was writing in my journal trying to express how happy I was feeling. I thought about all the good things I have going for me and how I just keep on putting checks beside things on my dream list. Happiness isn't something you can keep in a jar and look at on the shelf whenever you happen to think of it.
Remember the day
Cause this is what dreams should always be
I just want to stay
I just want to keep this dream in me
--Losing Your Memory, Ryan Star
I'm not about to take you off a cliff with me. This isn't that kind of story. This is actually one of those stories where things get even better than I knew my world had room for at the moment. See, this morning at 6:30 while I was waiting for my oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, I picked up my Blackberry and checked my missed calls and a text message. They were from Kristin, not a wrong number. She had called me to tell me that she got the call from Ottawa. She was getting her heart.
Kristin has said that sometimes she would forget that she was waiting. Truthfully, I had forgotten too, even though just last week I was at her place to help her celebrate her second anniversary with her LVAD--the pump that was doing the work of her left ventricle. I've only ever know her as this girl who was the best, most inspirational example of how to wait for something big.
In November we were driving out of town for a school presentation and she told me about this guy she had started seeing. I was all giddy for her because like any twenty-eight year old she'd gone through her share and more of bad dates, mismatches and disappointments.
"It's a Christmas miracle!" I said with glee and then started gushing about ice skating dates, mistletoe and hot cocoa by the fire.
"Stop it! You're such a Charlotte!" She said, referencing the classic and romantic character of Sex and the City fame. I protested this because I fancy myself much more of a Carrie, and like Carrie, I saw the cute story unfurling in all of this. First she was getting her romance heart and then the physical heart would follow, I was certain of it.
When Kristin and I go out and do talks to high school students she tells the story about the time she got a call to go to Ottawa only to have to turn around and go home because the heart ended up not being good. Kristin says that when she got the call she started phoning everyone she knew. "I think I phoned my grade two teacher," she would always say. When I got the news today I felt the same way. I just wanted everyone to know that something really, really wonderful happened today. And yes, she does have a tough road to full recovery ahead, but this is a strong girl with a lot of love around her. And for now, we're just all so happy that the long wait is over.
Thursday, December 01, 2011
Run!
I am home, by the way. They didn't keep me at the border.
On the bus ride home they played chick flicks. The second one of the ride was The Lake House with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I almost turned to Amara and said, "Sandra Bullock always reminded me of X." X was a girl I went to school with, long before I met Amara. She would have no idea who I was talking about, but I had forgotten in that moment that she and I haven't known each other since we were small, it just feels to me like we have.
On Saturday night we went to Tucci Benucch, an Italian restaurant in the Mall of America. The dinner started off well, but our server changed her disposition halfway through the night and did a number of things to make Amara and me feel like the meter was up and we needed to move along. When we asked if we could take our desserts home in a box, the sour peach dropped a to-go box in front of each of us and walked away. Amara lifted and plunked her cheesecake into the box fairly easily, but we both looked at the glass dish containing my tiramisu and wondered how the girl expected me to make the transfer.
"I double dog dare you to just put the thing, dish and all in the box," Amara said. I grinned and swiftly boxed up the dessert, dish and all. As we walked through the mall on our way out I randomly broke out into a giggle thinking about the dish I'd swiped. I don't know why, it was just a deliciously funny thought for me.
Tonight Lisa and I went for a run before supper. When we finished she said, "you're ready to do a 5k." How did I get here? When did I become someone who can run 5k? So cool. Could come in handy next time I swipe something, huh?
On the bus ride home they played chick flicks. The second one of the ride was The Lake House with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. I almost turned to Amara and said, "Sandra Bullock always reminded me of X." X was a girl I went to school with, long before I met Amara. She would have no idea who I was talking about, but I had forgotten in that moment that she and I haven't known each other since we were small, it just feels to me like we have.
On Saturday night we went to Tucci Benucch, an Italian restaurant in the Mall of America. The dinner started off well, but our server changed her disposition halfway through the night and did a number of things to make Amara and me feel like the meter was up and we needed to move along. When we asked if we could take our desserts home in a box, the sour peach dropped a to-go box in front of each of us and walked away. Amara lifted and plunked her cheesecake into the box fairly easily, but we both looked at the glass dish containing my tiramisu and wondered how the girl expected me to make the transfer.
"I double dog dare you to just put the thing, dish and all in the box," Amara said. I grinned and swiftly boxed up the dessert, dish and all. As we walked through the mall on our way out I randomly broke out into a giggle thinking about the dish I'd swiped. I don't know why, it was just a deliciously funny thought for me.
Tonight Lisa and I went for a run before supper. When we finished she said, "you're ready to do a 5k." How did I get here? When did I become someone who can run 5k? So cool. Could come in handy next time I swipe something, huh?
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| I like the glass dish I swiped better than I liked the dessert it held |
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| Forgot to show you these shoes I got at DSW. I think they were $32. Not fit for running. |
Saturday, November 26, 2011
I apologize readers for not posting sooner, but the Internet wasn't working in our room yesterday, so we used the time to shop instead. I also apologize if this entry is mostly nonsense, as I am drinking cheap, cheap, duty free white wine. From a Styrofoam coffee cup. Class-y.
I dropped my first big bills at Albertville Outlet Mall. Some basics from The Gap:
The weather on Friday was BEAUTIFUL for walking around an outdoor outlet mall. At random moments I would break into a grin and say to myself, "you are walking OUTSIDE on NOVEMBER 25 in a light sweater, with shopping bags full of items you have legitimized purchasing because your 30th birthday is a week and a bit away." I was in my happy place.
After the outlet mall, Amara and I returned to our hotel room and had a fashion show. Then we went to the Mall of America and made more purchases. Then we hiked it to Chevy's Mexican restaurant for our favourite guacamole and my free, Birthday Entree, which was big enough for us to share. I forgot to take a picture of me and my mojito, but I was wearing the same sweater I wore last year when we went to Chevy's, ordered guacamole and shared an entree, so I will re-post that picture:
After dinner we went back to the mall. I don't even remember this. I must have been in a shopping coma, but Amara remembers, and I probably have the receipts to validate her story.
Today we woke up at 7ish even though we had planned to sleep in until 8pm. Feeling wide away and raring to go, we went to the hotel fitness centre and made use of the treadmills. Oooh, Jill, you little bragger you, going to the gym on your holiday. Yeah, well, you know what? I forgot my running socks so my feet went commando and I grew a blister on my right foot, which is sucky when you are supposed to spend the rest of the day walking around a mega mall. Serves me right.
We grabbed breakfast and then hopped the shuttle back to the MOA where I had my eyes focused on shopping for others this time, but still managed to pick up 2 pairs of shoes and some pj pants.
For lunch Amara and I dined at our favourite frozen yogurt bar.
Lunch was followed by more shopping, then home for more cheap wine, fashion shows, dancing around and now here I am, talking to you. Okay, gotta go, I think I still have five dollars in my wallet.
I dropped my first big bills at Albertville Outlet Mall. Some basics from The Gap:
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| Rule # 1: When you find something you love and on sale, buy it in every colour |
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| Rule #2: Layer, layer, layer. |
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| Another layer piece and *surprise* a book of poetry, from *surprise* a middle-aged ladies' outlet store. It was 8 bucks and made me cry. |
After the outlet mall, Amara and I returned to our hotel room and had a fashion show. Then we went to the Mall of America and made more purchases. Then we hiked it to Chevy's Mexican restaurant for our favourite guacamole and my free, Birthday Entree, which was big enough for us to share. I forgot to take a picture of me and my mojito, but I was wearing the same sweater I wore last year when we went to Chevy's, ordered guacamole and shared an entree, so I will re-post that picture:
 |
| Original Posting date November 2010 |
Today we woke up at 7ish even though we had planned to sleep in until 8pm. Feeling wide away and raring to go, we went to the hotel fitness centre and made use of the treadmills. Oooh, Jill, you little bragger you, going to the gym on your holiday. Yeah, well, you know what? I forgot my running socks so my feet went commando and I grew a blister on my right foot, which is sucky when you are supposed to spend the rest of the day walking around a mega mall. Serves me right.
We grabbed breakfast and then hopped the shuttle back to the MOA where I had my eyes focused on shopping for others this time, but still managed to pick up 2 pairs of shoes and some pj pants.
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| I love the MOA at Christmas |
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| Frilly! Colours! Strappy! Love. |
For lunch Amara and I dined at our favourite frozen yogurt bar.
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| Mine: pumpkin spice, birthday cake batter, egg nog and coconut fro-yo with a few morsels of cookie dough, a dollop of whipped cream, a dousing of hot caramel, and a cherry. |
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| Amara's looks like a fancy trail mix, but trust me there is fro-yo in there. |
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Never a Doll Moment
Came home today from shopping for a Halloween costume with two options: Raggedy Anne or Sugar Plum Fairy.
I love the socks that came with the Raggedy Anne outfit.
I always thought I'd be cuter if only I had dimples
The outfit was fun but the skirt was super short. I wish the costume had come with bloomers. I tried on the Sugar Plum Fairy outfit next.
The package made me laugh. "Secret Wishes: Costumes for playful adults..."
My boobs don't look like the model's. I doubt that there is any ballerina out there with boobs like the model's. But she probably has different ideas about first and second position.
I love the socks that came with the Raggedy Anne outfit.
I always thought I'd be cuter if only I had dimples
The package made me laugh. "Secret Wishes: Costumes for playful adults..."
My boobs don't look like the model's. I doubt that there is any ballerina out there with boobs like the model's. But she probably has different ideas about first and second position.
Trick or Treat?
Monday, August 29, 2011
Go man, go!
Why did I buy two mangoes?
Last week I decided that I would cook my way through Peas and Thank You, my latest cookbook purchase that happens to feature all vegan recipes. I would dedicate 28 days in September to this challenge, trying on vegetarianism for a short spell. I don't expect it to be too hard, as already I eat a pretty meat-lite diet, simply because 1) meat is expensive and inconvenient for a single gal to purchase and cook in single serving quantities and 2) I am lazy and would rather pull a can of beans/package of tofu/jar of peanut butter off the shelf than plan ahead and remember to take out a piece of animal protein from the freezer the night before.
I sat down on Saturday morning and Post-It Note-d all the recipes that caught my vegetarian eye. Then I made a list of the ingredients I did not have and went out shopping to acquire them.
I ended up with a case load of chickpeas, some tofu, a jar of almond butter, something called nutritional yeast, some lettuce greens and a ton of fruit, including two mangoes.
On Sunday I decided I couldn't wait for September so I tested the Skinny Elvis Sandwich--an almond butter and strawberry sandwich grilled in the frying pan. Normally, almond butter on its own is rather blah, but the recipe tells you to douse the filling with cinnamon before closing the sandwich up and placing in the pan. With the first bite I discovered that cinnamon takes almond butter from gag me to gimme more. This sandwich is a new favourite I will be coming back to for breakfast, lunch or supper. I tried it today with just toast and it was equally yummy.
Because I have my third and final Dragon Boat practice on Thursday, Lisa and I had to reschedule our weekly dinner date to Tuesday. Had we been able to get together on Thursday (September 1) I would have served her something from the Peas and Thank You book. Instead I am letting my tongue have a final tango with meat: barbecued bison burgers. I'm still not sure what I had planned to do with the second mango (one was for a strawberry, mango, spinach and roasted chickpea salad) but I did have a recent bookmark on a mango caprese salad (change out the tomatoes for mango slices and garnish with fresh mint) so I will make that for the side.
Last week I decided that I would cook my way through Peas and Thank You, my latest cookbook purchase that happens to feature all vegan recipes. I would dedicate 28 days in September to this challenge, trying on vegetarianism for a short spell. I don't expect it to be too hard, as already I eat a pretty meat-lite diet, simply because 1) meat is expensive and inconvenient for a single gal to purchase and cook in single serving quantities and 2) I am lazy and would rather pull a can of beans/package of tofu/jar of peanut butter off the shelf than plan ahead and remember to take out a piece of animal protein from the freezer the night before.
I sat down on Saturday morning and Post-It Note-d all the recipes that caught my vegetarian eye. Then I made a list of the ingredients I did not have and went out shopping to acquire them.
I ended up with a case load of chickpeas, some tofu, a jar of almond butter, something called nutritional yeast, some lettuce greens and a ton of fruit, including two mangoes.
On Sunday I decided I couldn't wait for September so I tested the Skinny Elvis Sandwich--an almond butter and strawberry sandwich grilled in the frying pan. Normally, almond butter on its own is rather blah, but the recipe tells you to douse the filling with cinnamon before closing the sandwich up and placing in the pan. With the first bite I discovered that cinnamon takes almond butter from gag me to gimme more. This sandwich is a new favourite I will be coming back to for breakfast, lunch or supper. I tried it today with just toast and it was equally yummy.
Because I have my third and final Dragon Boat practice on Thursday, Lisa and I had to reschedule our weekly dinner date to Tuesday. Had we been able to get together on Thursday (September 1) I would have served her something from the Peas and Thank You book. Instead I am letting my tongue have a final tango with meat: barbecued bison burgers. I'm still not sure what I had planned to do with the second mango (one was for a strawberry, mango, spinach and roasted chickpea salad) but I did have a recent bookmark on a mango caprese salad (change out the tomatoes for mango slices and garnish with fresh mint) so I will make that for the side.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
You were always on my mind
I had a funny day on Monday where everyone seemed to have me on his or her mind. I got emails from people I hadn't heard from or seen in weeks and months. It felt like it was my birthday. One of the people who thought of me was my manager, who had some boots she needed to unload.
The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.
I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.
How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.
Brazilian leather.
Halston Heritage.
$47
The boots had been purchased last year on sale at The Bay. She never wore the sweet things because when she put them on they felt too high. Shopper's regret. It happens.
I drooled. I swooned. For freakin real? I put them on and made one of my co-workers hold up her 4 x 6 desk mirror so I could steal a peek. I claimed them. They will be best friends with the Betseys when they get home.
How in the world am I going to begin to pay back the good Karma that came to me this week? Lemme put on my thinkin' boots and work on that.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Heart Matters
A friend of mine is waiting for a heart transplant. She's 27, loves shoes, shopping, and going to the gym. I've heard her tell her story several times now about how she was a healthy, normal girl who went from a heart murmur and a mysterious fainting episode to heart failure and being in need of a transplant. Her story reminds me of my own, except hers went to life-threatening while I am still just a fainter with a beat-skipping heart.
I tell people it's my mission to find her a heart. Someone, somewhere will sign a donor card, become an organ donor and my friend will get her new heart.
The other day I was driving her home and we were chatting about hope, waiting and patience. My friend told me one day she saw a pink elastic on the ground that was bent in a way that made it look like a heart. She said she felt inspired at that moment that her heart was coming soon. Unfortunately, it didn't. I've been thinking about the symbolism of hope for my friend and decided to start collecting picture of hearts for her.
Last week on my trip we even saw an elastic heart on the sidewalk. It's hard to see, but it's there!
This will be an ongoing project for me. I will keep adding new hearts to the album as I collect them. If anyone has a picture to add to the collection, send them to me at jill at ajillstory dot com.
I tell people it's my mission to find her a heart. Someone, somewhere will sign a donor card, become an organ donor and my friend will get her new heart.
The other day I was driving her home and we were chatting about hope, waiting and patience. My friend told me one day she saw a pink elastic on the ground that was bent in a way that made it look like a heart. She said she felt inspired at that moment that her heart was coming soon. Unfortunately, it didn't. I've been thinking about the symbolism of hope for my friend and decided to start collecting picture of hearts for her.
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| From A Heart for Kristin |
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| From A Heart for Kristin |
Last week on my trip we even saw an elastic heart on the sidewalk. It's hard to see, but it's there!
 |
| From A Heart for Kristin |
This will be an ongoing project for me. I will keep adding new hearts to the album as I collect them. If anyone has a picture to add to the collection, send them to me at jill at ajillstory dot com.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
It's just an expression
While getting ready for the gym today I noticed a multi-hued bruise just above my knee cap. I touched it. It hurt. Hm. When did I get that? Must've been recently. How? Mysteriously, as you often do, silly girl. I had a hazy memory of hitting myself with the heavy ramps I used to wheel my lawn mower into the back of Truck yesterday. My dad needed to borrow the mower, so if that was the cause of the bruise then at least it was in an act of love and not just poor coordination, as is the usual case.
The most unfortunate part of the bruise was that I was scheduled to do a portrait session with my photographer friend, Doug (affectionately known as Delores here). I worried about the bruise ruining the pictures. I made a mental note to check the rest of my limbs for unsightly blemishes. Later I would fret that the humidity would mean my hair would be limp and gross looking and that my workout would mean my face would be extra red. Gah. Pictures stress me out.
Last Sunday afternoon when NAF was here we were wandering around at the Forks. He snapped some pictures of the river for his blog.
"Wait, there's one more picture I need," he said and pointed the lens at me.
I made a face and groaned. "Not today."
"Why not today?" he asked.
"I was prettier yesterday," I said although I have no idea what that meant. If anything I was "prettier" on Friday when I was sporting my new frilly dress. On that particular Sunday I was wearing a typical weekend t-shirt with some black, easy-breezy, wide-legged pants and, the biggest fashion faux pas that I allowed myself to indulge in, my tired and worn black runners (the ones from New York that I cannot bring myself to toss. Not ever).
"You're one of those people," NAF said as we headed up the river bank.
"One of what people?"
"The ones who never like how they look in any pictures of themselves when really they take beautiful pictures." He showed me the image. Well if I hadn't have made such a "please don't take my picture now" face maybe the photo would have turned out lovely. Great. Now that is going to be his lasting image of me from this visit. You see? Pictures are so stressful!
When I was a kid, no, for my entire life I've wished that I could express myself physically through dance, gymnastics or figure skating or taking really great photos. I understand the concepts of beautiful and expressive lines and postures, but I am so freakin' awkward and uncoordinated, like a baby giraffe who has no awareness of the length of her limbs. That's why I am constantly bruised. I am forever flailing my arms out and getting my legs in the way of unyielding objects. If I can practice and go slow, sometimes I think I can look graceful, and then I feel beautiful. But that takes some work. It's not natural to me like the flow of words onto a page is. Meh, everyone has their thing.
I've always been good with words. I know how to place them to communicate what I want to say. I know how to play with sentence length, diction and imagery to create something for my readers or listeners to understand and react to. If I can make someone feel something, I have succeeded in my expression.
When it came time for goodbye on Monday morning, NAF and I didn't have much to say. All weekend we had traded stories and laughs but now we were both quiet.We'd look at each other and I'd search his eyes for something that would tell me what he was thinking. Perhaps he wanted to say something but the words were locked up in his head. Me, I had words, all kinds of words. But I didn't know which ones to use just then. Instead I hugged him and hoped that he could read in my eyes that I understood and I wasn't mad, hurt or feeling regret. It was a hard goodbye for me, harder than I thought it would be, but I wanted to show him my most beautiful self--a girl full of grace, poise and strength. That was the picture I wanted him to take with him on the rest of his journey.
At my photo session with Doug today I put on my favourite songs and my favourite outfits. None of them showed the bruise. I tried my very best to show my heart, the whole happy-but-scarred, beat-skipping thing.
"Let's make sure we get a real smoldering shot," I told Doug. I wanted to have evidence that I could tell a whole heartbreaker story in one, unblinking look. With the very last head shot he did he said, "your eyes are really blue."
I leaned over to look at the preview screen on the camera and smiled. That's the look that makes for hard goodbyes.
Now I know.
The most unfortunate part of the bruise was that I was scheduled to do a portrait session with my photographer friend, Doug (affectionately known as Delores here). I worried about the bruise ruining the pictures. I made a mental note to check the rest of my limbs for unsightly blemishes. Later I would fret that the humidity would mean my hair would be limp and gross looking and that my workout would mean my face would be extra red. Gah. Pictures stress me out.
Last Sunday afternoon when NAF was here we were wandering around at the Forks. He snapped some pictures of the river for his blog.
"Wait, there's one more picture I need," he said and pointed the lens at me.
I made a face and groaned. "Not today."
"Why not today?" he asked.
"I was prettier yesterday," I said although I have no idea what that meant. If anything I was "prettier" on Friday when I was sporting my new frilly dress. On that particular Sunday I was wearing a typical weekend t-shirt with some black, easy-breezy, wide-legged pants and, the biggest fashion faux pas that I allowed myself to indulge in, my tired and worn black runners (the ones from New York that I cannot bring myself to toss. Not ever).
"You're one of those people," NAF said as we headed up the river bank.
"One of what people?"
"The ones who never like how they look in any pictures of themselves when really they take beautiful pictures." He showed me the image. Well if I hadn't have made such a "please don't take my picture now" face maybe the photo would have turned out lovely. Great. Now that is going to be his lasting image of me from this visit. You see? Pictures are so stressful!
When I was a kid, no, for my entire life I've wished that I could express myself physically through dance, gymnastics or figure skating or taking really great photos. I understand the concepts of beautiful and expressive lines and postures, but I am so freakin' awkward and uncoordinated, like a baby giraffe who has no awareness of the length of her limbs. That's why I am constantly bruised. I am forever flailing my arms out and getting my legs in the way of unyielding objects. If I can practice and go slow, sometimes I think I can look graceful, and then I feel beautiful. But that takes some work. It's not natural to me like the flow of words onto a page is. Meh, everyone has their thing.
I've always been good with words. I know how to place them to communicate what I want to say. I know how to play with sentence length, diction and imagery to create something for my readers or listeners to understand and react to. If I can make someone feel something, I have succeeded in my expression.
When it came time for goodbye on Monday morning, NAF and I didn't have much to say. All weekend we had traded stories and laughs but now we were both quiet.We'd look at each other and I'd search his eyes for something that would tell me what he was thinking. Perhaps he wanted to say something but the words were locked up in his head. Me, I had words, all kinds of words. But I didn't know which ones to use just then. Instead I hugged him and hoped that he could read in my eyes that I understood and I wasn't mad, hurt or feeling regret. It was a hard goodbye for me, harder than I thought it would be, but I wanted to show him my most beautiful self--a girl full of grace, poise and strength. That was the picture I wanted him to take with him on the rest of his journey.
At my photo session with Doug today I put on my favourite songs and my favourite outfits. None of them showed the bruise. I tried my very best to show my heart, the whole happy-but-scarred, beat-skipping thing.
"Let's make sure we get a real smoldering shot," I told Doug. I wanted to have evidence that I could tell a whole heartbreaker story in one, unblinking look. With the very last head shot he did he said, "your eyes are really blue."
I leaned over to look at the preview screen on the camera and smiled. That's the look that makes for hard goodbyes.
Now I know.
Friday, May 06, 2011
And I thought I was lucky YESTERDAY
Note to self. When you think you have hit some kind of luck jackpot, do not blog it without the expectation that you will pay for it thrice when Luck's version of the taxman finds out what you scored.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Today I had a meeting with the workplace health and safety nurse to review my immunization records and see if anything was missing. Working in a hospital, they want to be sure employees are not at risk for contracting anything from exposure to patients.
"Did you have chicken pox as a child?" Her voice was soft and she was round with child. She had a spacious, bright office with a sink across from her L-shaped desk.
"Yes," I said, sitting in the chair beside the desk.
She asked me what I remembered about the chicken pox and how old I was when I had them. I told her I had the itchy rash and that I thought I got them when I was in or around grade five.
"I have the scars," I told her, ready to point out the one above my right eye if necessary. It wasn't.
She looked up my records on her computer and then turned back to me. "Your records show that you only had one dose of the measles, mumps, rubella vaccine. We require that you have two."
At this point I expected her to hand me a letter or direct me to a secretary to pick one up that I would then need to take with me to my family doctor.
"We do have that in stock here so I can give that to you today," she said. Oh thank you! A surprise needle! I am so pleased! I am totally not busy at work and had no plans to use my arm at all today, so that is fine that you will be sticking a needle into my arm, which, according to past experience, will render the appendage achy and tingly for a good 24 hours.
She presented me with a form that I had to sign to indicate my understanding of the risks of the shot. One of the questions asked me to disclose if I had any current illnesses or was feeling un-well at all. For some reason, perhaps a last ditch effort to delay the needle, I noted that I had a scratchy throat.
The nurse reviewed my sheet and asked me about the ailment.
"I might be coming down with something," I said. She nodded, filed the form and went over to her mini fridge to retrieve my inoculation. "Left arm or right arm?"
I picked left as the lesser of two inconveniences and rolled up the appropriate sleeve.
The needle felt fine and less invasive than the flu shot. I don't think she had to put it into muscle. Maybe I wouldn't get the side effects after all.
A few seconds later I felt the cold touch of cotton ball soaked in alcohol and then the stick of a Band Aid. That wasn't so bad.
"As a standard procedure we'll have you stay here for a few minutes just to make sure you don't have any kind of adverse reaction to the shot. Since you've had the shot before and didn't react I'm sure you'll be fine."
I sat in the chair and twiddled my thumbs. Everything was normal for probably two or three minutes and then my head got light and my vision cloudy. I put up my right index finger and said, "um, excuse me? I'm feeling a bit light headed."
Just like the last time I fainted I had some wicked but unmemorable dream. I felt like I was having the best, deepest sleep ever. When I woke though there were three people in the room and I had no idea who they were or how I had gotten there. I thought I was still dreaming. I kept trying to wake up and get "home". I guess my head finally cleared and the nurse asked me if I knew my name and where I was.
"Jill" was my first answer. "At work," was the second. They told me to take deep breaths and put my head between my legs. Good Lord I felt awful. So awful in fact that I passed out a second time. Again, I woke up confused but this time also sick to my stomach. I was freaking out.
I had actually tweeted this morning that I had discovered when you make a peanut butter and jam sandwich with Melba Toast the jam reverses the "toast" status of the Melba. It was like a mini, soft bread sandwich. Well, delightful as that was for a ten a.m. snack, it was most certainly NOT delightful in reverse.
The three people in the room kept telling me I was going to be fine.
"The colour in your face is looking much better!" one said. I'm sure, with such close proximity to the grey tin garbage can I looked positively glowing. I was absolutely freaked out though.
"Is this normal?" I asked. Nobody answered that question.
"The ambulance is coming," they said. In retrospect now, I wonder just where it had to come from in order to pick me up and drive me literally around the block to Emergency.
I looked down because they again instructed me to put my head down. I noticed a puddle on the floor. At first I thought it had something to do with the wet facecloth they had brought me but then I noticed I was uncomfortably damp.
"Did I pee myself?" I asked.
"Yeah," someone said. Then the paramedics arrived, a blonde pony-tailed woman and two attractive guys. Perfect.
Still feeling nauseous I got onto the gurney and laid down as instructed. They asked me more questions. How are you feeling? Did you eat anything this morning? Have you ever reacted like this before? They wheeled me out into the hall and I had to close my eyes because the moving ceiling above me was not agreeing with my stomach which was now cramping severely.
"Can someone call my office please and let them know what happened?" I asked. This was my first thought. My next was that I wanted to call my mom. The nurse and her entourage assured me they would.
So they put me in the back of an ambulance and asked me more of the same questions. The Pony-Tail one asked if she could put an IV in me for fluids.
"What are my options?" I asked. I had just had a violent, freaky reaction to a needle, unless the IV was going to be a life-saving measure, I was not having anyone stick me with anything at that moment. She told me either she could put the IV in or that they would probably put one in me when I got to the hospital. The hospital. Where I had just walked over from forty-five minutes ago, upright, in heels and feeling super. Weird, weird, weird.
I arrived at Adult Emergency around the block and they parked me behind another guy on a gurney. A nurse came up and asked me for my next of kin. There were no beds open so there was a line up at triage. One of the paramedics asked the guy in front of me when he got here. Quarter to nine, he said. Good grief, it was now eleven o'clock.
"Looks like we're going to have a bit of a wait," my attending paramedic said to me. "You can go ahead and take a nap."
I watched the other paramedics checking their cell phones so I felt that it would be safe for me to pull out mine. I sat up as much as I could, buckled down to the gurney, and reached into my bag for my Blackberry, Assuming that someone had called my parents already I went to my email and sent The Doc a note. We were supposed to have a meeting today at noon.
"Don't think I will make the 12pm meeting as I am getting the first hand tour of the er. Stupid mumps and rubella shot reaction!"
I was really mad I was going to miss the meeting.
Finally, I got moved to the triage desk and they put me in a wheelchair.
"I know people here. Do you think I could drop some names and maybe get ahead in the line?" I half joked.
The paramedic wheeled me into the Emergency waiting room and parked me beside the security desk. Then she left and I was alone.
I decided to try phoning my parents. My mom picked up.
"Did anyone call you and tell you what happened?" I asked.
"No, what happened?"
So I told her about the shot and the reaction and the ER waiting room and I told her I was now sitting in a wheelchair in wet pants. And then I started to cry. So she said she and Dad would come for me with a change of clothes. The security guard, a young, attractive guy, approached me and gently let me know that I couldn't be on the phone in the waiting room and that he would wheel me to the back, by the vending machines. So he wheeled me in my pee pee pants to the back where I finished my conversation with my mom.
After hanging up I scooted myself back into the waiting room to watch for my parents to come for me. I was sitting beside a street person who had been brought in for intoxication. I sniffed and wondered who smelled worse, him or me.
Settling in for the wait, I started texting people. I saw that NAF was online, which struck me as odd since I though he would be peddling at that time. Still, I knew NAF would be a good distraction and could probably give me a reason to crack a smile.
Me: Are you really taking messages right now?
After a few moments I assumed he wouldn't reply. But then this popped up.
NAF: Depends on the message :-)
Me: Just looking to kill some time while I sit in the er (as a patient, not a work thing, oddly enough). Stupid measles mumps rubella shot knocked me out.
NAF: So sorry.
Then he added, I sorta want to avoid getting run over so I oughtn't chat long.
Well, who can argue with that? So I replied with a sign off.
Me: Keep ridin' upright. Talk later.
NAF added a few more words about the disappearing view of the rockies and then mentioned the package he was mailing to himself for pick up at my house next weekend.
NAF: And there may be some energy bars in the mail too. Please don't eat them all.
Finally, I smiled and forgot about being scared. Tongue in cheek, I replied.
Me: I will if you become roadkill from cycling and texting.
NAF: Deal. Good luck! Get well!
My parents arrived and were prepared to sit with me and wait but I was ready to go home (after changing). The nausea was gone, the stomach cramps a memory. I figured whenver I finally got to see a doctor there wouldn't be much that they could do for me at that point anyway. My dad was hesitant but followed me up to the admitting desk where I was stopped by security.
"Well I guess you're old enough to make that decision on your own," security said when I explained what I was wanting to do. I pointed back to my parents. "Yeah, and if not I'll make them sign me out."
I was sad to have to get my hospital bracelet cut off. It said "Holister" on it. I didn't know the sister store of Abercrombie and Fitch was also in the business of making medical equipment. "It's designer," I told my Dad when I pocketed the yellow band. It's going in the scrapbook: Jilly's First Trip to the ER
I led my dad back up to my office to retrieve my things and head home for the day. My team was back from lunch.
"It's take your dad to work day," I announced as we walked in. "Everyone, meet dad. Dad, meet everyone."
"Hi Dad!" one of my co-workers said. I told them what happened. Have I mentioned that my co-workers are all nurses?
"Oh, you should have called us, we would have come sit with you in the Emerg!"
"Make sure you eat something. Eat some protein. Drink something."
"Are you going home? Do you have someone to stay with you?"
They really are sweet people. I don't care, I'm going to say it, I'm a lucky girl.
So my parents took me home and my mom stayed with me for a bit. I had some lunch and some water. My appetite is healthy and I am feeling fine. I made an appointment with my doctor on the way home for Monday afternoon. Given my history of fainting I do want to be sure I get this all checked out. The other weird thing? My ankle, the bad one that I sprained two years ago which led to my first fainting spell, is very sore. I was sitting down the whole time so I don't know how I would have hurt it. Aliens. I'm pretty sure.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Winter in Winnipeg: Time to Write
I sat down to write on Friday night--old school style with pen and paper, a tall mug of tea beside me. I started with a sketch of a character and then put her in a setting and state of conflict. I got a page written before I reviewed it and frowned.
I needed something I could share at the writer’s workshop I had signed up for on Saturday afternoon. I considered backing out. It didn’t cost me anything and I had been so busy during the week and the week before that I needed some hours at home to catch up on laundry, recycling, alphabetizing soup cans, etc. It was so cold out too, ugh, did I really want to go out in that cold? Without another word written, at 10:30 I called it a night and went to bed.
I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Meg, this fourteen year old I had started writing about last year sometime. I love Meg. I’m not sure that I am keeping her name as Meg though, I seem to name all my girl characters Meg, Maggie, M-something or other. But anyway, I love this character, Meg because she is so smart, so wise and certain for fourteen. I looked at what I had written for Meg’s story (also done in pen in a notebook) and evaluated it for its readiness for sharing. I felt surprisingly good about it—surprisingly because it’s not often that a first draft like that feels ready for sharing with strangers. I typed it up, doing some edits along the way, and ended up with seven good pages.
I took the bus downtown to the workshop location. There were nine of us, which seemed like a smaller group than I remembered from last time, but is probably about the same. There was one white-haired guy amongst the group of women ranging from twenty-something to sixty (seventy?)-something.
Last time I had brought a blog post that I re-purposed for the workshop, mostly keeping the real story and “character” intact. I hadn’t let on then that it was a creative non-fiction piece. This time, all but two of us had brought pieces of memoirs. It was all good work. Many of the writers were struggling with how far they could stray from the truth. They wanted to tell an interesting story, but they also wanted to stick to the facts. Welcome to the challenge that is this blog.
I was pretty quiet during the discussions but I tried to make up with it by nodding in agreement or sometimes saying yes or an emphatic mm hmm. Often someone would say the same thing I was thinking. I find it hard to contribute feedback in a group setting like that. If I was working one-on-one with another writer I believe I’d ask more questions to first get a sense of what they wanted comment on. I would have felt more comfortable sharing some insight into what I do to make a true story more interesting to an audience.
I volunteered to read first after we came back from a break. I explained that I feel description is my weakest part of my writing and that I worry when I do make the effort to include it, the description sounds forced or cliché. I chose a few different sections of my seven pages to read out loud as I had more than enough material to read from in my fifteen minute time limit. After reading I looked up and waited for someone to say something.
Oh my gawd, no one is going to say anything. They don’t get it, they can’t relate, they think it’s totally not plausible. Crap.
I’m sure that’s what every writer thinks when they look up from their reading and wait for the feedback to come. It feels like forever before someone breaks the silence. In that long moment after my initial panic while the hum of the elevator out the door and around the corner was clearly audible, I reminded myself of being in the creative writing class I took at the university in 2009. Sometimes I’d find myself without anything to say simply because I didn’t think I had anything helpful I could offer; the piece was just plain good.
The feedback, when it came, was all very positive. The moderator asked me questions about where the story was going and then compared it to Catcher in the Rye. It was agreed that my dialogue was strong and believable and the story felt authentic. Eight people confirmed that I had a story to tell and I was off to a good start. I really should get over myself and just write already.
I regretted the decision to take the bus on the way home. Of course, the bus was late. I stood in the bus shack on Main Street shifting from one foot to the other trying to keep my toes from freezing while simultaneously being paranoid that someone was going to demand my purse and iPod, or worse, my down-filled parka . I’m sure I must have looked like I was doing the Potty Dance. I didn’t get to start my laundry until I got home last night, and I don’t know when I will ever get around to alphabetizing those soup cans, but I’m glad I got myself to the workshop.
Other highlights of the weekend…
I needed something I could share at the writer’s workshop I had signed up for on Saturday afternoon. I considered backing out. It didn’t cost me anything and I had been so busy during the week and the week before that I needed some hours at home to catch up on laundry, recycling, alphabetizing soup cans, etc. It was so cold out too, ugh, did I really want to go out in that cold? Without another word written, at 10:30 I called it a night and went to bed.
I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Meg, this fourteen year old I had started writing about last year sometime. I love Meg. I’m not sure that I am keeping her name as Meg though, I seem to name all my girl characters Meg, Maggie, M-something or other. But anyway, I love this character, Meg because she is so smart, so wise and certain for fourteen. I looked at what I had written for Meg’s story (also done in pen in a notebook) and evaluated it for its readiness for sharing. I felt surprisingly good about it—surprisingly because it’s not often that a first draft like that feels ready for sharing with strangers. I typed it up, doing some edits along the way, and ended up with seven good pages.
I took the bus downtown to the workshop location. There were nine of us, which seemed like a smaller group than I remembered from last time, but is probably about the same. There was one white-haired guy amongst the group of women ranging from twenty-something to sixty (seventy?)-something.
Last time I had brought a blog post that I re-purposed for the workshop, mostly keeping the real story and “character” intact. I hadn’t let on then that it was a creative non-fiction piece. This time, all but two of us had brought pieces of memoirs. It was all good work. Many of the writers were struggling with how far they could stray from the truth. They wanted to tell an interesting story, but they also wanted to stick to the facts. Welcome to the challenge that is this blog.
I was pretty quiet during the discussions but I tried to make up with it by nodding in agreement or sometimes saying yes or an emphatic mm hmm. Often someone would say the same thing I was thinking. I find it hard to contribute feedback in a group setting like that. If I was working one-on-one with another writer I believe I’d ask more questions to first get a sense of what they wanted comment on. I would have felt more comfortable sharing some insight into what I do to make a true story more interesting to an audience.
I volunteered to read first after we came back from a break. I explained that I feel description is my weakest part of my writing and that I worry when I do make the effort to include it, the description sounds forced or cliché. I chose a few different sections of my seven pages to read out loud as I had more than enough material to read from in my fifteen minute time limit. After reading I looked up and waited for someone to say something.
Oh my gawd, no one is going to say anything. They don’t get it, they can’t relate, they think it’s totally not plausible. Crap.
I’m sure that’s what every writer thinks when they look up from their reading and wait for the feedback to come. It feels like forever before someone breaks the silence. In that long moment after my initial panic while the hum of the elevator out the door and around the corner was clearly audible, I reminded myself of being in the creative writing class I took at the university in 2009. Sometimes I’d find myself without anything to say simply because I didn’t think I had anything helpful I could offer; the piece was just plain good.
The feedback, when it came, was all very positive. The moderator asked me questions about where the story was going and then compared it to Catcher in the Rye. It was agreed that my dialogue was strong and believable and the story felt authentic. Eight people confirmed that I had a story to tell and I was off to a good start. I really should get over myself and just write already.
I regretted the decision to take the bus on the way home. Of course, the bus was late. I stood in the bus shack on Main Street shifting from one foot to the other trying to keep my toes from freezing while simultaneously being paranoid that someone was going to demand my purse and iPod, or worse, my down-filled parka . I’m sure I must have looked like I was doing the Potty Dance. I didn’t get to start my laundry until I got home last night, and I don’t know when I will ever get around to alphabetizing those soup cans, but I’m glad I got myself to the workshop.
Other highlights of the weekend…
- Bought a new Cooking Light cookbook—every recipe has a coloured photo and detailed nutritional information.
- Bought a Timex heart rate monitor at Costco for $69.99. I went straight to the gym after purchasing it to test it out. Nothing makes working out more fun than a new gadget or a new outfit to try.
- Went with Lisa to see True Grit. Warning, if you are considering seeing this movie, be prepared for snakes and horses getting shot. I’m okay with people dying, but I hate to see an animal go down, except for snakes, which I’d rather not see at all.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Heat: Part 2
Don't sweat the small stuff. (And it's all small stuff).
Yesterday I called my dad to ask if I could come to their place for supper tonight.
"I'm going to hot yoga with Amara and I'm picking her up at six forty-five," I said.
"So you'll be here at five-thirty?" he asked.
I agreed and went about the rest of my evening.
Today I came home from work feeling about 80 per cent burned out. The candle inside of me close to the base of the wick, the light dim. I had seventy-five minutes to myself before I would have to leave for my parents'. I stepped into the shower to wash the day away. I tried to squeeze more heat out of the water, completely closing the cold water tap, but there was no more to be had. I stepped out and drew the big citrus orange towel around me for a dry hug. I was clean again.
On my way out I checked my phone and saw that my parents had called, twice, and left a voicemail. I only had one bar of power left and didn't want to spend it on retrieving the message when I was going to be seeing them momentarily. I tossed the phone in my bag and headed out.
The roads are like curling rinks this week. This is my least favourite road condition because Truck performs so very poorly. LOW TRACTION flashed above the odometer as I spun my wheels. Brake lights flashed intermittently in front of me. Spin, go, stop. Spin, go, stop. It took me twice as long as usual to get to Charleswood.
"Who called and what did you want?" I asked my mom when I got inside.
"It was me, I wanted to know what time you were coming," she said.
I hung up my jacket in the closet, dropped my keys and mitts on the table. "Dad told me five-thirty," I said and headed to check my email.
I was getting caught up in checking my mail, Facebook, the news, when Dad came in and asked me if I wanted garlic butter on my toast. I imagined first the resulting stink of garlicky sweat and then the blah-taste of plain buttered toast. I chose garlic and hoped Amara could forgive me.
I emerged from the computer room and saw that it was six twenty-four. My eyes bulged because I was supposed to pick Amara up at six forty-five. The lasagna was just coming out of the oven, steaming.
I cut through the cheese and took a small bite. Hot. I was hungry though. Beggars, choosers. Lord I love them, but don't put retired folks on a schedule, lesson learned. The whole day boiled up under my skin again. I put a forkful of hot cheese, noodle and beef in my mouth and it blistered the roof of my mouth, numbed my tongue. My parents tried to inject cheer into the situation but I was having none of it.
At six thirty-five I left for Amara's. When I pulled up to her house Little boy B was dancing and laughing in the window. My heart lifted and everything else melted away. Thank goodness for little boys.
The yoga class began with lying down. I could feel the hot, heavy air pressing on my face, enveloping my limbs. With my eyes closed I imagined I was in India.
It didn't take long for the sweat to start dripping. Depending on the pose the water rolled down to my lips or up my nose or into my ears. I was swimming within myself.
A few times I felt dizzy so I took a pause. I struggled a bit with the tree pose, especially on my weak ankle. I just kept thinking, don't sweat the small stuff. Just enjoy the glorious heat.
Life does not seek to punish us, only to give us opportunities to learn and grow. Don't let the small stuff burn you out; enjoy the heat.
Yesterday I called my dad to ask if I could come to their place for supper tonight.
"I'm going to hot yoga with Amara and I'm picking her up at six forty-five," I said.
"So you'll be here at five-thirty?" he asked.
I agreed and went about the rest of my evening.
Today I came home from work feeling about 80 per cent burned out. The candle inside of me close to the base of the wick, the light dim. I had seventy-five minutes to myself before I would have to leave for my parents'. I stepped into the shower to wash the day away. I tried to squeeze more heat out of the water, completely closing the cold water tap, but there was no more to be had. I stepped out and drew the big citrus orange towel around me for a dry hug. I was clean again.
On my way out I checked my phone and saw that my parents had called, twice, and left a voicemail. I only had one bar of power left and didn't want to spend it on retrieving the message when I was going to be seeing them momentarily. I tossed the phone in my bag and headed out.
The roads are like curling rinks this week. This is my least favourite road condition because Truck performs so very poorly. LOW TRACTION flashed above the odometer as I spun my wheels. Brake lights flashed intermittently in front of me. Spin, go, stop. Spin, go, stop. It took me twice as long as usual to get to Charleswood.
"Who called and what did you want?" I asked my mom when I got inside.
"It was me, I wanted to know what time you were coming," she said.
I hung up my jacket in the closet, dropped my keys and mitts on the table. "Dad told me five-thirty," I said and headed to check my email.
I was getting caught up in checking my mail, Facebook, the news, when Dad came in and asked me if I wanted garlic butter on my toast. I imagined first the resulting stink of garlicky sweat and then the blah-taste of plain buttered toast. I chose garlic and hoped Amara could forgive me.
I emerged from the computer room and saw that it was six twenty-four. My eyes bulged because I was supposed to pick Amara up at six forty-five. The lasagna was just coming out of the oven, steaming.
I cut through the cheese and took a small bite. Hot. I was hungry though. Beggars, choosers. Lord I love them, but don't put retired folks on a schedule, lesson learned. The whole day boiled up under my skin again. I put a forkful of hot cheese, noodle and beef in my mouth and it blistered the roof of my mouth, numbed my tongue. My parents tried to inject cheer into the situation but I was having none of it.
At six thirty-five I left for Amara's. When I pulled up to her house Little boy B was dancing and laughing in the window. My heart lifted and everything else melted away. Thank goodness for little boys.
The yoga class began with lying down. I could feel the hot, heavy air pressing on my face, enveloping my limbs. With my eyes closed I imagined I was in India.
It didn't take long for the sweat to start dripping. Depending on the pose the water rolled down to my lips or up my nose or into my ears. I was swimming within myself.
A few times I felt dizzy so I took a pause. I struggled a bit with the tree pose, especially on my weak ankle. I just kept thinking, don't sweat the small stuff. Just enjoy the glorious heat.
Life does not seek to punish us, only to give us opportunities to learn and grow. Don't let the small stuff burn you out; enjoy the heat.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Coming to you by request for the lady in the Hope T-shirt
Amara was bugging me today for a post-Christmas post. (And when I say bugging I mean she said I've been waiting for a Christmas post, not, Get on that blog and update us already lady, your readers demand to know what Santa brought!) So just moments ago I plugged in my Christmas tree and thought I would snap a picture of it and maybe one of some gifts nicely placed around it. Well, the the intention was there, but the camera, sadly, was not. I looked all around the house and I can't find that gall darn thing. I last used it on Christmas Eve or Day or something, I remember seeing it uncharacteristically outside of it's case a few days ago and thinking, hm, I should really put that thing away. I think I ate a cookie or made a cup of tea instead.
So I guess I'm going to have to do this the old fashioned way, sans photo. I'm not much of a photographer anyway and I can never get a good picture of the tree all lit up. The flash takes away the dazzle of the rainbow mini-lights and without the flash the picture just becomes a blurry mess like a pre-schooler's finger painting.
The tree is green. Short needles, many of them on the floor but the majority still hanging onto the branches. It's got to be the biggest tree I've had yet. For ornaments I use baubles in Tiffany blue, cream, silver, blue-green, mauve, red hearts. Like one of those I Spy photos there's also a few random sparkly ornaments--two gold shoes, a party frock, a skate, a green martini glass, a blue mask. Near the top is my newest ornament, a peacock with a real peacock feather tail.
What an odd tradition. Fresh flowers all year round in the house sure, but an entire tree? And then to add lights and colourful orbs and whatnot? It's like an "as seen on TV" product that can be yours for two easy payments of $19.95. But wait! Order now and we'll throw in a Snuggie, and one for your tree too!
If there was a theme for the gifts I received this year it would be warm and cozy: Ikea's warmest duvet, polar fleece sheets(!), polar fleece pajama pants, wool socks and lots and lots of Davids Tea. P.S. Amara, I wore my Hope T-shirt on Christmas day and thought of you. "Hope" your day was merry.
The outlier gift would be my new upright Dirt Devil vacuum. I assembled it on Monday and took it for a spin around the house. It's bagless and has a removable canister instead. I was shocked at how much dust it picked up. I wonder if they stuff the inside tubes with lint so the first few times you use the thing you get this dramatic visual. My floors are all laminate and linoleum, where did all that stuff come from? I could've made a Chihuahua with what it allegedly picked up. Given the power of the machine though, I think it should come with a warning to keep a wide berth around small pets and children.
I got an Xbox360. Not exactly for Christmas, don't ask, it's not a story for publication, No, I didn't steal it. Anyway, this is the first step toward Lisa and I becoming gamers (one day we, and I think I mean I, got this idea and blurted out, we should become gamers! to better understand and relate to the opposite sex, of course). The second step will be for me to actually get some hand-eye coordination and develop my gamer's thumbs. The system sits nicely above my fireplace. It came with the game Halo and this little combat action figurine, which I have sitting on top of the Xbox as official "Gamer Decoration".
Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. I'm generally not a big fan of the holiday, although just once I'd like to spend it all dressed up for a fancy dinner and dance or something. No dice this year. I doubt I will have a chance to blog tomorrow night, but I'm going to withhold from making any commentary today on the year that was or the year that will be and give those musings their own post sometime this weekend.
So I guess I'm going to have to do this the old fashioned way, sans photo. I'm not much of a photographer anyway and I can never get a good picture of the tree all lit up. The flash takes away the dazzle of the rainbow mini-lights and without the flash the picture just becomes a blurry mess like a pre-schooler's finger painting.
The tree is green. Short needles, many of them on the floor but the majority still hanging onto the branches. It's got to be the biggest tree I've had yet. For ornaments I use baubles in Tiffany blue, cream, silver, blue-green, mauve, red hearts. Like one of those I Spy photos there's also a few random sparkly ornaments--two gold shoes, a party frock, a skate, a green martini glass, a blue mask. Near the top is my newest ornament, a peacock with a real peacock feather tail.
What an odd tradition. Fresh flowers all year round in the house sure, but an entire tree? And then to add lights and colourful orbs and whatnot? It's like an "as seen on TV" product that can be yours for two easy payments of $19.95. But wait! Order now and we'll throw in a Snuggie, and one for your tree too!
If there was a theme for the gifts I received this year it would be warm and cozy: Ikea's warmest duvet, polar fleece sheets(!), polar fleece pajama pants, wool socks and lots and lots of Davids Tea. P.S. Amara, I wore my Hope T-shirt on Christmas day and thought of you. "Hope" your day was merry.
The outlier gift would be my new upright Dirt Devil vacuum. I assembled it on Monday and took it for a spin around the house. It's bagless and has a removable canister instead. I was shocked at how much dust it picked up. I wonder if they stuff the inside tubes with lint so the first few times you use the thing you get this dramatic visual. My floors are all laminate and linoleum, where did all that stuff come from? I could've made a Chihuahua with what it allegedly picked up. Given the power of the machine though, I think it should come with a warning to keep a wide berth around small pets and children.
I got an Xbox360. Not exactly for Christmas, don't ask, it's not a story for publication, No, I didn't steal it. Anyway, this is the first step toward Lisa and I becoming gamers (one day we, and I think I mean I, got this idea and blurted out, we should become gamers! to better understand and relate to the opposite sex, of course). The second step will be for me to actually get some hand-eye coordination and develop my gamer's thumbs. The system sits nicely above my fireplace. It came with the game Halo and this little combat action figurine, which I have sitting on top of the Xbox as official "Gamer Decoration".
Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. I'm generally not a big fan of the holiday, although just once I'd like to spend it all dressed up for a fancy dinner and dance or something. No dice this year. I doubt I will have a chance to blog tomorrow night, but I'm going to withhold from making any commentary today on the year that was or the year that will be and give those musings their own post sometime this weekend.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Not Weird Just Neurotic
"I hope this movie isn't weird."
That's what Amara said last night just before the previews started in advance of the feature presentation we'd come for, "The Black Swan". A ballet horror film five days before Christmas. Nope, not weird at all. (Actually, I thought it was well-done and entertaining.)
I looked up and saw my sister's boyfriend. He was in the Canada Post area of Shopper's Drug Mart where I was just leaving.
"Oh hi," I said.
"This is my brother," he said, introducing the doppelganger beside him. I held back the urge to make any fuss about them looking like brothers since the observation could only be returned with some similar comment about me and my sister. We don't think we look at all alike and I'd guess that C and his brother might either have the same opinion of themselves or just hear it all the time and are rightfully tired of it.
"What are you doing here?" C asked.
"Mailing cards," I said.
"Me too."
"Oh, do you have mine in there, we can trade!" Haha, so funny, so cute, Jillian, please don't let him say yes. Why? 1. I had already deposited my mail into the mailbox. 2. I actually hadn't made up a card for my sister and C. Why not? What is wrong with you? You won't send a Christmas card to your own sister? Well I looked last week for a card, a NICE card, like one that actually made reference to our blood relationship and not just the warmth of the holiday season, but Hallmark failed to supply anything remotely heartwarming or funny or even cute. Also, now that C lives with her, isn't it kind of rude or weird to send a card only to my sister and to completely ignore him? They aren't married or even engaged or even being teased at family dinners about not being engaged yet. What section of the bank of cards do I find that one in?
"It's more fun to receive them in the mail," C said, giving me great relief that he'd turned down my empty offer to save a stamp. When I got home I signed one of my best boxed Christmas cards to Tracy and C. I spent a considerable amount of time deliberating how to address the thing--should I put it to Tracy? Should I put it to both Tracy and C with their respective last names? How the heck does C spell his last name? What if I don't list any names at all, will Canada Post still deliver it? Okay, how about just Tracy and C? Good enough for me! I put it in a mailbox tonight on my way home from dinner so it should still make it to their place by Friday. Fun to receive mail, yes, fun to go through all the hoops to send it though, not so much.
That's what Amara said last night just before the previews started in advance of the feature presentation we'd come for, "The Black Swan". A ballet horror film five days before Christmas. Nope, not weird at all. (Actually, I thought it was well-done and entertaining.)
* * *
"Hey Jill,"I looked up and saw my sister's boyfriend. He was in the Canada Post area of Shopper's Drug Mart where I was just leaving.
"Oh hi," I said.
"This is my brother," he said, introducing the doppelganger beside him. I held back the urge to make any fuss about them looking like brothers since the observation could only be returned with some similar comment about me and my sister. We don't think we look at all alike and I'd guess that C and his brother might either have the same opinion of themselves or just hear it all the time and are rightfully tired of it.
"What are you doing here?" C asked.
"Mailing cards," I said.
"Me too."
"Oh, do you have mine in there, we can trade!" Haha, so funny, so cute, Jillian, please don't let him say yes. Why? 1. I had already deposited my mail into the mailbox. 2. I actually hadn't made up a card for my sister and C. Why not? What is wrong with you? You won't send a Christmas card to your own sister? Well I looked last week for a card, a NICE card, like one that actually made reference to our blood relationship and not just the warmth of the holiday season, but Hallmark failed to supply anything remotely heartwarming or funny or even cute. Also, now that C lives with her, isn't it kind of rude or weird to send a card only to my sister and to completely ignore him? They aren't married or even engaged or even being teased at family dinners about not being engaged yet. What section of the bank of cards do I find that one in?
"It's more fun to receive them in the mail," C said, giving me great relief that he'd turned down my empty offer to save a stamp. When I got home I signed one of my best boxed Christmas cards to Tracy and C. I spent a considerable amount of time deliberating how to address the thing--should I put it to Tracy? Should I put it to both Tracy and C with their respective last names? How the heck does C spell his last name? What if I don't list any names at all, will Canada Post still deliver it? Okay, how about just Tracy and C? Good enough for me! I put it in a mailbox tonight on my way home from dinner so it should still make it to their place by Friday. Fun to receive mail, yes, fun to go through all the hoops to send it though, not so much.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Minnie Trip: Entry 6: the one where she returns home
We got to Fargo and had 2.5 hours to do as we pleased. I took the drop off at Wal-Mart and hiked it over to the liquor store on the same parking lot to pick up my two bottles of wine. I was hoping to get another bottle of J wine but settled instead for Cupcake (it's not only cutely named but tasty too) and a German Riesling that I picked purely for the label--Fünf 5. Fun and my lucky number, how perfect for upcoming birthday celebrating.
From there I carted my bag of liquor to Kohl's and then to the mall. After buying my brown printed skirt and my creamy white skirt at the MOA I had spent the rest of the weekend looking for white or cream coloured opaque tights. At the MOA the best I could do was some cream, polka-dotted nylons. At the mall in little ol' Fargo I found tights in every store I popped into. I bought them all which means I came home with about $25 worth of tights in various shades of beige.
Before heading home Amara and I got someone to snap this picture of us. Notice we are sporting the same t-shirts. These were $5 specials at Old Navy. It was Amara's idea for us to pick out identical items as mementos of the trip. The shirts say Hope in sparkly lettering and the O is made to look like a diamond ring.
For the ride home Amara and I snacked on the second bottle of $4.50 wine, $3.50 cheese from Ikea and some Naan bread and olive hummus. The border was mostly uneventful. I claimed $409.31 and passed. The second bus in our convoy had some problems though that delayed us a bit.
And now I am home. I loved this trip. I remember feeling so happy and relaxed (the mojitos may have helped, sure). I purposely ate my steak dinner slowly on Saturday night to help extend the evening a bit more. I am glad I paused to take those few pictures of holiday decorations in the mall, but I wish I'd stopped to enjoy the atmosphere a little longer. I remember at one point dodging shoppers on my way to Lady Footlocker, just past Godiva Chocolate where I'd sampled something scrumptious, and hearing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria--one of my very favourite Christmas songs--and wishing I could stop to catch the singer perform on the stage a level below. Did anybody else realize how fortunate they were to be in the mall that day and have the opportunity to take in the sights and sounds of the season? I have most of my Christmas shopping done now, my baking done, perhaps that means I will get to pause, listen and see the season unwrap here at home. I hope so.
From there I carted my bag of liquor to Kohl's and then to the mall. After buying my brown printed skirt and my creamy white skirt at the MOA I had spent the rest of the weekend looking for white or cream coloured opaque tights. At the MOA the best I could do was some cream, polka-dotted nylons. At the mall in little ol' Fargo I found tights in every store I popped into. I bought them all which means I came home with about $25 worth of tights in various shades of beige.
Before heading home Amara and I got someone to snap this picture of us. Notice we are sporting the same t-shirts. These were $5 specials at Old Navy. It was Amara's idea for us to pick out identical items as mementos of the trip. The shirts say Hope in sparkly lettering and the O is made to look like a diamond ring.
For the ride home Amara and I snacked on the second bottle of $4.50 wine, $3.50 cheese from Ikea and some Naan bread and olive hummus. The border was mostly uneventful. I claimed $409.31 and passed. The second bus in our convoy had some problems though that delayed us a bit.
And now I am home. I loved this trip. I remember feeling so happy and relaxed (the mojitos may have helped, sure). I purposely ate my steak dinner slowly on Saturday night to help extend the evening a bit more. I am glad I paused to take those few pictures of holiday decorations in the mall, but I wish I'd stopped to enjoy the atmosphere a little longer. I remember at one point dodging shoppers on my way to Lady Footlocker, just past Godiva Chocolate where I'd sampled something scrumptious, and hearing a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria--one of my very favourite Christmas songs--and wishing I could stop to catch the singer perform on the stage a level below. Did anybody else realize how fortunate they were to be in the mall that day and have the opportunity to take in the sights and sounds of the season? I have most of my Christmas shopping done now, my baking done, perhaps that means I will get to pause, listen and see the season unwrap here at home. I hope so.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Minnie Trip: Entry 4: The one where she goes to the biggest mall in America and buys a lot
When Amara and I were talking about the itinerary for this trip we didn't think we'd spend much time at the mall. I figured I'd do all my shopping at the outlet shops and would have no money left for full-priced mall purchases. WRONG-OH! Um, it's Black Friday weekend, it's America, and specifically it's Minnesota, the land of zero sales tax on clothing, so yes, Jillian, there is a Santa Claus at the Mall of America. You know what else was a treat? Walking around sans jacket. Go figure, just eight hours south and you can find near tropical temperatures. Let me give you a visual of what we left behind in Winnipeg:
Today's high in Minneapolis was -3 Celsius.
Here is the Mall of America dressed up for the holidays. I've seen it on TV and always wanted to see it in person. This was a dream come true! Happy last days of 28 to me!
And here is Amara enjoying her custom made Freeziac frozen yogurt sundae, or as we called it, lunch.
Here are my treasures. Two skirts for about $30 a piece, a pair of $25 shoes, and yes, no trip to America would be complete without something from Abercrombie. Mmm.
Here's a better look at the cute white skirt and white nylons I picked up. Also included is the black sparkly sweater tank I got at the Gap outlet yesterday.
And another pair of runners. These are by Aisics. They were on sale for $60 cheaper than I could ever get them at home so I said yes.
After the day at the mall and a trip through Ikea, we came back to the room, cracked open a bottle of $4 wine and package $3.50 Ikea cheese (super yum).
We dined at the Outback restaurant attached to the hotel. Amara ordered another big beer.
I ordered another mojito. Today's was tastier than yesterday's.
After dinner we dressed down in our jeans and t-shirts again and hiked over to Wal-Mart where I found the birthday cakes I wish I could cart home and toss into the freezer until Sunday (my birthday).
Today's high in Minneapolis was -3 Celsius.
Here is the Mall of America dressed up for the holidays. I've seen it on TV and always wanted to see it in person. This was a dream come true! Happy last days of 28 to me!
And here is Amara enjoying her custom made Freeziac frozen yogurt sundae, or as we called it, lunch.
Here are my treasures. Two skirts for about $30 a piece, a pair of $25 shoes, and yes, no trip to America would be complete without something from Abercrombie. Mmm.
Here's a better look at the cute white skirt and white nylons I picked up. Also included is the black sparkly sweater tank I got at the Gap outlet yesterday.
And another pair of runners. These are by Aisics. They were on sale for $60 cheaper than I could ever get them at home so I said yes.
After the day at the mall and a trip through Ikea, we came back to the room, cracked open a bottle of $4 wine and package $3.50 Ikea cheese (super yum).
We dined at the Outback restaurant attached to the hotel. Amara ordered another big beer.
I ordered another mojito. Today's was tastier than yesterday's.
After dinner we dressed down in our jeans and t-shirts again and hiked over to Wal-Mart where I found the birthday cakes I wish I could cart home and toss into the freezer until Sunday (my birthday).
Friday, November 26, 2010
Minnie Trip: Entry 3. The one where she goes to a big outlet mall but only spends $155
First day of shopping. I was left feeling uninspired mostly, but I did pick up a few things I had on my wish list. My first purchase? Underwear. How guy-ish of me.
At the Adidas store I found the runners I needed along with a new workout top and the traditional Adidas sports bra. I am Sporty Spice for a cool $77.
And at Nine West Amara gave me a nudge to go ahead and buy these black boots for $53. I just realized now that I forgot to capture a photo of the sparkly sweater/tank I picked up at the Gap. It wasn't a bargain, but it looked good.
For dinner we went to Chevys for Mexican. Yum! Amara and I ordered drinks and got ID'd.
Here's Amara and the $4.50 beer that was the size of her head:
And here's me and my not so bargain-priced mojito:
Okay, my eyes are drying up like raisins so that's all I'm posting on today.
At the Adidas store I found the runners I needed along with a new workout top and the traditional Adidas sports bra. I am Sporty Spice for a cool $77.
And at Nine West Amara gave me a nudge to go ahead and buy these black boots for $53. I just realized now that I forgot to capture a photo of the sparkly sweater/tank I picked up at the Gap. It wasn't a bargain, but it looked good.
For dinner we went to Chevys for Mexican. Yum! Amara and I ordered drinks and got ID'd.
Here's Amara and the $4.50 beer that was the size of her head:
And here's me and my not so bargain-priced mojito:
Okay, my eyes are drying up like raisins so that's all I'm posting on today.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Minnie Trip: Entry 1
It’s ten pm*. We are on the bus, just past Grand Forks and due to arrive at the hotel at four am. Just thinking about that makes me cranky so let’s move on. In about an hour we’ll stop in Fargo at a truck stop for a gas and go—the third stop of the evening already. I’m pretty sure there will be free Wi-Fi which will allow me to post this entry.
Amara and I have cracked open a bottle of wine and snacked on cheese and chocolate and have not yet run out of topics of conversation.
Tomorrow the bus will leave at 10 am for the outlet mall. We’ll have about six hours there—not enough for me, but Amara is confident we can do it. I need new runners, a brown skirt and Christmas presents for the family. People would be disappointed if I did not bring home at least one pair of shoes so I am hoping Nine West has something.
We are on the old people bus. Wow. These ladies don’t get out much. They talk like truckers when away from the hubbies.
*It's 11:26. We got off at the trucker stop so the driver could gas up. People were instructed to grab food and go, but most people are pretty leisurely. I anticipate further delays. Boo.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Point me to the shoe sales
Over the river and thru the woods to the Minneapolis area I go...
I've got my clothes packed, my American money bought and snacks for the ride. Tomorrow my Fashionista Friend Amara and I are getting on a bus and travelling to America for the Good-Wooden Leg Ladies' Shopping Trip. Outlet Mall. Mall of America. Black Friday. Bring it on, America, show me your discounts.
I may not sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be able to sleep even on the 8+ hour bus ride. I'm bringing Mac and my unreliable camera in case I have the time and energy for some blogging updates on the super buys. Also, I may pretend it is my birthday on Saturday so I can get a free piece of cake when we go out for dinner. Let the countdown to 29 begin!
I've got my clothes packed, my American money bought and snacks for the ride. Tomorrow my Fashionista Friend Amara and I are getting on a bus and travelling to America for the Good-Wooden Leg Ladies' Shopping Trip. Outlet Mall. Mall of America. Black Friday. Bring it on, America, show me your discounts.
I may not sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be able to sleep even on the 8+ hour bus ride. I'm bringing Mac and my unreliable camera in case I have the time and energy for some blogging updates on the super buys. Also, I may pretend it is my birthday on Saturday so I can get a free piece of cake when we go out for dinner. Let the countdown to 29 begin!
Monday, October 11, 2010
What a turkey
Wow. Oh my. Really? Did that weekend just happen?
All the best parts of this Thanksgiving long weekend are un-bloggable. Stupid, I know. It's becoming so that it's hardly worth to pay the rights for the domain name anymore.
On Friday I found myself with free tickets to the football game. I knew someone, a guy someone, who likes football so I took the chance, at Amara's urging (thanks Amara), and asked him if he'd want to go. He said no, but only because he already has season tickets with his dad (aww).
Sunday was thanksgiving dinner with my family. I still can't believe it's that time of year already. Next time we get together like this it will be all snow and mistletoe. Mmm I love pumpkin pie. And turkey. And wine. And coffee and Bailey's (cheers to you, Uncle).
Today I had pumpkin french toast with my mommy--yummy. I made more pumpkin goodness and then I headed over to Judy's for some wine, girl talk and a trip to the football game.
"And maybe after the game we can have some more wine with Frère Jacques," Judy suggested via text message when we were setting up the plans. Frere Jacques would be my Jillstory name for this Quebecquois guy she's trying to set me up with.
Judy had one of her guy friends over when I got there, but it wasn't FJ. It was this other guy I'd met two years ago when I went to his place with Judy for a Grey Cup party. Apparently he remembers me. Apparently he's going through some kind of mid-life crisis and wants me to, ahem, join him. (Would you believe this was the second such invite I had this weekend? Really weird stuff the Universe is throwing at me these days.)
"Here's my number," he said, and rattled it off to me to enter into my phone. "Now send me a text message."
Duh, he wanted my number. Judy rolled her eyes. "I'll send you a message after the game with the final score," I said. I'm too young for a mid-life crisis.
Judy and I went to the game and sat waaaay up where the airplanes fly. When it looked like the home team was about to log yet another loss, we decided to start the trek down to ground level and hike it back to Truck so as to beat the mad rush. We heard the crowd get all excited as we left the gates but I didn't think to turn around and look at the jumbotron for the replay or the score. We got in Truck and all of a sudden we had a football game on. We were tied. We were in overtime. We were handed a huge advantage when BC lost their cool and took yet another stupid penalty. I pulled up to Judy's place and we listened to the last three minutes of the game on the radio (which equalled 10 real time minutes). I wanted to turn it off so many times because I get very anxious when I'm watching or listening to close games, but I had Judy there with me so I endured my nerves. And then we won. It was the most amazing game of the season and we left early! How I am going to explain myself to Super Fan Season Ticket dude I don't know, but that's a concern I will put aside for now. No, I did not send a post-game text to Mid-Life-Crisis dude, he's got enough problems on his own. His girlfriend kicked him out of the house that afternoon.
All the best parts of this Thanksgiving long weekend are un-bloggable. Stupid, I know. It's becoming so that it's hardly worth to pay the rights for the domain name anymore.
On Friday I found myself with free tickets to the football game. I knew someone, a guy someone, who likes football so I took the chance, at Amara's urging (thanks Amara), and asked him if he'd want to go. He said no, but only because he already has season tickets with his dad (aww).
Boo indeed. But feel good about being cool enough to ask him.Saturday I spent baking a variety of pumpkin-flavoured goods with my mom. I missed getting to the gym that day so I went for a jog outside instead. It's October but this weekend felt like July with the warm daytime highs and even some warm, summer-like evenings. I think that's the reason I had my best outside run ever. That or pumpkin is a super-food with anti-inflammatory and oxygen-enhancing properties.
He's thinking about you right now, you know! I'm sure of it.
--Amara via email on Friday afternoon
Sunday was thanksgiving dinner with my family. I still can't believe it's that time of year already. Next time we get together like this it will be all snow and mistletoe. Mmm I love pumpkin pie. And turkey. And wine. And coffee and Bailey's (cheers to you, Uncle).
Today I had pumpkin french toast with my mommy--yummy. I made more pumpkin goodness and then I headed over to Judy's for some wine, girl talk and a trip to the football game.
"And maybe after the game we can have some more wine with Frère Jacques," Judy suggested via text message when we were setting up the plans. Frere Jacques would be my Jillstory name for this Quebecquois guy she's trying to set me up with.
Judy had one of her guy friends over when I got there, but it wasn't FJ. It was this other guy I'd met two years ago when I went to his place with Judy for a Grey Cup party. Apparently he remembers me. Apparently he's going through some kind of mid-life crisis and wants me to, ahem, join him. (Would you believe this was the second such invite I had this weekend? Really weird stuff the Universe is throwing at me these days.)
"Here's my number," he said, and rattled it off to me to enter into my phone. "Now send me a text message."
Duh, he wanted my number. Judy rolled her eyes. "I'll send you a message after the game with the final score," I said. I'm too young for a mid-life crisis.
Judy and I went to the game and sat waaaay up where the airplanes fly. When it looked like the home team was about to log yet another loss, we decided to start the trek down to ground level and hike it back to Truck so as to beat the mad rush. We heard the crowd get all excited as we left the gates but I didn't think to turn around and look at the jumbotron for the replay or the score. We got in Truck and all of a sudden we had a football game on. We were tied. We were in overtime. We were handed a huge advantage when BC lost their cool and took yet another stupid penalty. I pulled up to Judy's place and we listened to the last three minutes of the game on the radio (which equalled 10 real time minutes). I wanted to turn it off so many times because I get very anxious when I'm watching or listening to close games, but I had Judy there with me so I endured my nerves. And then we won. It was the most amazing game of the season and we left early! How I am going to explain myself to Super Fan Season Ticket dude I don't know, but that's a concern I will put aside for now. No, I did not send a post-game text to Mid-Life-Crisis dude, he's got enough problems on his own. His girlfriend kicked him out of the house that afternoon.
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