My heartbreaks, my regrets, my joy.

A day of plot twists, it was. First was the pie, the birthday pie I was asked to make for Stephen's mom's birthday. I had made the pastry on Saturday in my mom's kitchen, under the supervision of my baking mentor, mama. I've made pastry maybe a few times in my life. I've made maybe four pies on my own. Cake I can do in my sleep. Pies are still a new challenge, and boy did this one set out to test my mettle.

I am constructing the pie in Stephen's kitchen and hadn't packed flour in my toolbox for rolling out the pastry so it sticks to everything, the rolling pin, the mat, me...etc. I have corn starch with me so I cross my fingers and make it a substitute for the flour. Unfortunately I have to roll it out twice, once for the failed attempt where the pastry refused to let go of the mat and then a second and final time. You need to be careful when working with pastry that you don't overwork it or it will end up tough and may shrink when baked. Sure enough, it shrinks in the pie tin. Plot twist number one.

I then set to make the lemon curd filling. This requires five egg yolks; the whites would be saved for the meringue topping. It is very important that no yolk gets into the whites or the meringue won't work. I bust a yolk on egg number 4. Despite our best tries, neither Stephen nor I can collect all the yolk out of the whites. They would make a lovely omelet, but are useless for meringue. Plot twist, plot twist.

Finished with the curd on the stove, I pour it into the crust and then we leave for my house. We had our first real dumping of snow the night before so I needed to get home to do some shoveling. I had also forgotten to pack my hair dryer and needed it to make something out of my goldie locks.

While Stephen starts on my driveway I retrieve the carton of egg whites from my fridge, my hair dryer and my snow brush for my truck. I go to find mitts so I can join Mr. Plow outside. I keep my winter things in a bag in my closet and this is my first time accessing it since March. I pull everything out but only manage to find three different mitts, no matches. I consider wearing a mismatched pair, thinking at the very least it would make Stephen laugh, but I can't even do that since I'd only found left hands.

Stephen had found my scoop shovel for pushing the snow off the driveway.

"That thing hurts my knee," I say.

"It works great, you just need to learn how to use it properly." Stephen proceeds to demonstrate pushing the scoop across the snow and then dumping it with a slight tipping action after pushing it up the newly established bank. He then offers the scoop to me.

"You learn by doing," he says. Right. I'm dating a teacher. The thing is, my dad had given me the exact same speech and demonstration numerous times. It's eerie, really, to hear the same words coming out of Stephen's mouth. He is a movember-stashed, splash pants and blue toqued version of my father. He's also recently taken to affectionately calling me JB, which previously only my dad had ever addressed me with. This starts feeling weird.

Back in the boy's kitchen, I get to work on the meringue. It turns out lovely. It's my new favourite part of lemon pie now. I spoon it onto the filling and put it in the oven to toast. It gets a bit over-toasted but otherwise is good. When we eat the pie, I am happy with the meringue, mostly pleased with the lemon curd, but know the crust would not pass the Barrott standard of excellence. I still have practicing to do.

At the end of the night I gather my weekend luggage in the kitchen and get ready to leave for home. I'd brought so much stuff this time I feel like I'd traveled hours from home. I loathe this part of Sunday nights. They feel sad, heavy and arduous on my arms and my heart.

I don't get very far down the back lane before I realize I'd forgotten my cell phone and iPod. I pull up to the front of Stephen's house where he is shoveling his steps and sidewalk.

"Cell phone and iPod," I say. He is not fazed by these Alzheimer's moments of mine. I still beat myself up about them but am consciously trying to be more accepting and forgiving of it all. I just don't want to come to terms with the fact that I forget and lose things because I think that it means my brain is smaller than everyone else's. I shake my head at the terrible insults I hurl at myself when I make a mistake, but when someone I love err's, I know I am good at smiling and forgiving. Why can' I lend myself the same level of compassion?

I go around to the back of the house and into the kitchen to retrieve my electronic devices. When I come back outside, Stephen is there to meet me. I am set to hurry back to my truck, but he stops me, smiling.

"Hey, where's my bonus kiss?"

And right then and there in minus seven degrees I start to melt. He kisses me once, then again, and then again. The weekend that had zipped by is suddenly on pause as he and I become the couple of the moment to share a tender kiss with the snow softly falling around us. I think about that moment the whole drive home. I think about it so much that I miss my turn off and have to drive an extra six kilometres. Never mind twist, this is a plot detour.

If I hadn't forgotten my phone and iPod tonight, I wouldn't have had that sweet moment that I will replay in my head when I need a warm thought. I forgave myself tonight for my brain of fluff.

My Puzzling Experience

I've been beating myself up a lot lately for being a mess. It's exhausting and it's burning me out. I'm not a mess. I'm just a puzzle with many pieces of odd shapes and spaces that need some filling in.

I have spots where I reach out and spots where I pull in. I'm not even around my edges and not perfectly symmetrical.

Sometimes I think my life looks like this.

There are pieces here and there that I know belong somewhere but I haven't figured out where or don't feel like I have the time to put into place. Most likely there is a piece or two missing. It's probably under the couch or stuck to the bottom of my foot. I love the colours of my puzzle though and I tell myself I will get to finishing it soon.

And then along comes Love.

And those places where I am pulled in, Love reaches toward and fills up the void. Those places where I stretch out, Love accepts gratefully for giving what it needed.

Figuring out how the pieces go together and accepting the joining of those pieces isn't always easy. They are all different but they do all belong. Sometimes I fight it. Sometimes I try to force together pieces that don't actually fit. Sometimes I have to step back and take a break for a while or spend time looking at the big picture to understand what I am trying to put together, The tiny details I contribute to the beautiful thing I am a part of.

I have a beautiful puzzle. Even when I feel jagged, upside-down, completely odd-ball and like I don't fit in anywhere, Love has always grabbed me and guided me into place.

And really, how amazing does that feel when you're all warm and safe, in that place where you belong perfectly, with Love?

How can we make this day more manageable?

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.

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.

What 30 means to me

Finally I have some time for blogging. This also means I have time for catching up on the two weeks of PVR'd TV programs. I apologize if this post starts trailing off on quotes from House.

I'd wanted to say some words on my birthday to my family, but I ran out of time to pull my thoughts together so all I could muster was a story about how I had been singing along to a favourite tune on the radio that afternoon (That Song by Big Wreck, a tune of nostalgia if there is one), feeling great until the announcer came on and said "hard to believe that song is 15 years old now". I have favourite songs from high school that are now 15 years old. I am an oldie, moldy crust of bread.

So you crank that song
And it might sound dumb
So just leave the room
While I sit'n stare
Cause yeah that's rare
I really love that tune
Man I love that song
I love that song
I love that song
--That Song, Big Wreck


Turning 30 didn't really cause me any pain. Yeah, it's kind of a big number and yes, it means I have closed the door on the 20-something category. But really, the best thing about your 20s is that you're young. And the worst part about your 20s is, well, that you're young. I won't miss the days of being another recent grad with a generously spaced resume and limited awareness of my own strengths and talents.

At 21 I was a college/university graduate, at 22 I was seven months into my first career job and at 24 I was in the world of corporate communications at a large Canadian company. I also bought my first vehicle, brand new, and started blogging--my first public act of writing since grade school. A year and a half later I bought a house.

So many big and exciting moments happened in the first half of my 20s but 29 was probably my favourite year of that decade because in that year I believe I found my own two, very well-shoed feet. Some of my most frustrating, upside down and lost moments happened in that year, the year that my mom had to come to my house to scrape me off the floor where I was drowning in a puddle of my own tears. But even in that moment when I didn't want to open my eyes or for my mom to stop holding me, I had inside of me a flame I'd never sensed before. It's my pilot light that never goes out, even in the darkest moments. My fire in my belly is the small but mighty voice of wisdom that either took 29 years to grow or 29 years for me to finally hear it and believe when it says no matter what, everything will turn out and I'll be okay.

In mid-November I went to a craft show and spent probably 45 minutes reading all the fun and inspirational quotes a girl had printed on magnets, coasters and plaques. The most basic magnets were only a dollar. I bought a stack of them. One of my very favourites featured a quote from contemporary poet, Maya Angelou:

“You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated. In fact, it may be necessary to encounter the defeats, so you can know who you are, what you can rise from, how you can still come out of it.”

When I'm in a hole at the depths of despair, I can't climb out of it fast enough. But once I am in the warm sun again I have an enormous appreciation for the challenge and the opportunity to use strength I didn't realize I possessed.
 
I learned so much about myself in the last year and a half or so. This knowledge is what made turning 30 so easy breezy. I'm sure I don't know it all, but I feel like I at least finally have a grasp of the territory. For now. Which brings me to the other favourite magnet I picked up:

"Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten"
--Natasha Bedingfield

I took the day off on Monday so I could enjoy a full day of celebrating. I wanted to spend time with as many people I love as I could. It started off with a free, birthday coffee from Starbucks that I drank while visiting with my senior citizen friends from the mall that I used to walk through on my way to work. Brownie and Emil gave me a box of chocolates along with their good company.

After that visit I went to the Urban Oasis Spa. (Thank you, Manitoba Blues Club, for that gift certificate parting gift.) I thoroughly enjoyed the steam room and the mineral pool before receiving a wrap treatment. My sister met up with me after the wrap and we got our nails done together, which we've never done before. After that we went to the bridal salon and Sister selected her wedding gown with big nods of approval from me and Mom. After that I rushed home and put on my party frock for dinner with the family. I'll let the pictures tell the story from here.

Sweet Sisters!

Birthday manicure and birthday glass o'wine

I told my sister, who planned my special night, that the most important thing of all for me was the Birthday Cake. She nailed this.

What a slice looks like

What the whole inside looks like. Cake, then cream, then cake, cream, cake, cream, fruit and chocolate garnish topped by a smattering of candle wax.

When I got home that night, alone with me, myself and I again, I lit one more candle, sat down in front of it, and unleashed all my joys, gratitude, and heart-bursting hopes for the future. When I was about done I said, "God/Universe, I don't know if you heard--" and before I could finish the sentence with "any of that" and the rest of my not-really-so-eloquent-yet-full-of-passion-and-conviction speech, the candle went out. Poof. No draughts and plenty of wax and wick left to burn. Spontaneous de-combustion* I guess. Or, a simple message reminding me to not worry, sit tight, drink lots of fluids and go to bed so I can get plenty of rest for the ride to come. I went to bed a little before midnight but I woke up on Tuesday feeling like I'd been hit by a truck and have been battling the sniffles all week. Ugh, this has been the most unpleasant welcome to a new era I've ever encountered.

Last magnet of inspiration, I promise (I have a very inspiring refrigerator):

If I'm not happy
in this time,
in this place,
I'm not paying attention.
--Jodi Hills

*un-combustion? anti-combustion? None of these is a word, according to Webster. Whatever, 30 means you are old enough to write your own dictionary.

Someone got a new camera for her birthday

This means I can blog pictorially again when words just won't do or I am short on time, like tonight.

I'll also share with you my birthday roses:

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Born this day

Last weekend when it was looking like I was safely in the lead in a Facebook Words With Friends (knock-off Scrabble) match with NAF I smugly asked if he was going to let me win for my birthday. This was before I got stuck with the point heavy (if you can find a place for it) QUEEN. I was not happy about the loss in my near future.

Yesterday, after he played his last letter and left me holding 15 unplayable points he wrote me: Happy Birthday and challenged me to another game.

I laughed. "Every year you try to age me earlier. Or this is you ending that game so as to spare me the blemish of a loss on the actual special day?"

"Aargh dammit you ought to be born on the third."

I emailed him a note with the subject line: Facebook is good for two things: playing Scrabble and keeping track of birthdays.

Last year NAF thought I ought to be bore on the fourth of the month. Do I mind? No, it makes me laugh and even though he would never admit it, his heart is in a good place for trying to get it right. There are only 31 days in the month of December, maybe by my 60th birthday he'll have it figured out. I kind of hope he never does, it's just more fun this way.

I went out with five of my girlfriends last night. Got dressed up and ate some cheesecake.

Today I got a message that my mom and dad had posted on my Facebook wall.

"Happy Birthday Dear Daughter!"


I can only suspect that my dad saw "Jill's Birthday" in the upcoming events section of FB and without thinking decided to click and post, because I know my parents know when I was born. Or maybe they are in cahoots with NAF to drive me crazy. I did check a calendar first to make sure I hadn't lost a day before I emailed NAF with this image attached.

"I stand corrected" I wrote.

"So there." he wrote back.

I know tomorrow, my real birthday there will be many well wishes--in person, by email and on my wall, and I will be grateful for the good thoughts, but they will not be able to make me laugh as hard as I did today and yesterday.

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?

I like the glass dish I swiped better than I liked the dessert it held

Forgot to show you these shoes I got at DSW. I think they were $32. Not fit for running.

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:

Rule # 1: When you find something you love and on sale, buy it in every colour

Rule #2: Layer, layer, layer.

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.

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:

Original Posting date November 2010

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.

I love the MOA at Christmas

Frilly! Colours! Strappy! Love.

For lunch Amara and I dined at our favourite frozen yogurt bar.

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.

Amara's looks like a fancy trail mix, but trust me there is fro-yo in there.

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.

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.

Trick or Treat?

Hockey lives here and I do too

Went downtown to The Forks last night to take in the NHL Faceoff party with Lisa. We walked from her place in the Village, stopping for lattes along the way to go with the cookies I'd packed. Yesterday at one point I'd heard an estimated 70,000 people were expected, (really? 10 per cent of Winnipeg?) but today I read that turnout was still an impressive 15,000.

Photo: Bryan Scott

With temperatures in the high 20s this week, Winnipeggers are enjoying every minute of the last gasps of a perfect summer. I playfully kicked the crunchy, yellow leaves on the sidewalk of River Avenue, the anguish from being stuck inside a windowless, over air-conditioned classroom on Wednesday night forgotten.

I chatted along almost non-stop about my ballet class this week, work stuff and my new favourite cookies. Hockey was actually the last thing on my mind. I really was hoping  I could stand close to Canada's boyfriend and that evening's host, George Stroumboulopoulos.

By the time we got on location the sun had set but the energy in crowd that had been building throughout the afternoon had not gone down a bit. The Leafs and Habs game was playing on two screens on either side of the stage. Montreal was losing, much to the disappointment I imagined of their biggest fan, George.

"Where is he?" Lisa asked as we moved further into the crowd. When we saw him on the live TV feed he was on some kind of platform, but we saw nothing like that where we were.

I forgot about my personal goal for the night and turned my focus to the crowd filled with Jets jerseys, logo'd shirts and red, white and blue light-up pom poms. People haven't stopped chanting the "Go Jets Go" cheer since they made the announcement we were getting a team again. I can't say I've ever felt attached to the movement, hey, I've never really felt that attached to Winnipeg (only the convenience of living here). Standing amongst 15,000 of my neighbours full of pride for their city and team, under the lights, between the office towers of downtown commerce and the waters of the mighty Red, in a place where people have been meeting for over 6,000 years, graced by the gift of an unseasonably warm night I thought, I feel at home.

There are things I want to do, people I want to see and words I want to say that may not happen here, but I can't deny how much of my life experience has happened here already. I have spent my entire three decades of existence living in the Peg. I have no affection for our notoriously frigid winters, I hate when a beautiful outdoor excursion is marred by mosquitoes, I wish we had a population that would throw their support behind public transportation over parking passes, and mostly I think The Forks is best left to the tourists, but once in a while this place wins me over.

We never did find George. But he was here, in Winnipeg, and he ate at the vegan hotspot, Boon Burger Cafe 'cause he's cool like that.

This one's for you and me
Living out our dreams
We're all right where we should be
Lift my arms out wide
I open my eyes
And now all I wanna see
Is a sky full of lighters

"Lighters" by Bad Meets Evil Featuring Bruno Mars

Everyday is Mother's Day

My mom made me veggie burgers (with no hidden agenda cheese) and a vegan apple pie today. Even though I am 29 and far beyond my temperamental, experimental teen years, she goes along with my whims. It is because of her that I can keep my youthful curiosity and spirit. The Grand Canyon filled ten times over could not hold my gratitude for this gift.

Also, my dad fixed my heaved patio blocks today so I let him drink the beer in my fridge.

(If you filled the Grand Canyon 10 time over with beer, you'd just have a lot of drunk dads.)

I got new shoes today

First class is September 13. If I make it to the recital, you are all invited.

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.

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.

First Paddle

I plunge my paddle in the water and draw it behind me with all my left bicep, trapezius and deltoid muscles can give. My confidence about my paddling abilities have sunk to the bottom of the river. This is hard work, but I can't frown. I'm on the water again, in an over-sized canoe and the sun is lazily sinking below the trees. I'll hurt tomorrow, that is a certainty, but it's the good pain, the kind that's part of the perfect picture on a postcard from a wicked trip with a mix of old friends and new. The soreness and the high feelings will fade and be impossible to have back again in the same way, because you'll never have another first paddle in a dragon boat.

True Love Never Dies

I haven't had much luck with growing roses at my house. I've been here for four years now and have lost two rose bushes to the harsh climate. Last year I was at a garden centre with my mom and happened upon a lonely little rose bush that was on sale at mid-season price. The name tag on the rose said "Love". I took it home with me and planted it in the back yard against my house. In the fall my dad carefully trimmed it down and covered it up to protect it from freezing over the winter. Winter came and went and I hoped for the best for my Love plant.

Y'know what? It persevered. It survived. Love came back and blossomed this year. Don't question the tenacity of love. Yup, think of every cliche and quote about love and drop it here. I love Love.

"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. And as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 21st year. If he could learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken."--Beauty and the Beast

I sure hope it blooms again next year!

Livin' the America Dream

Hello all, I am in America again.

On Thursday I was all pumped up for my extra long weekend. Even better, I was so busy that afternoon that I'd forgotten to take a lunch break so I was going to leave early for a change. Then I got a phone call from my dad.

"We've got a problem," he said. "The motor home just died. We aren't even out of the city. Don't think we'll be able to go away this weekend."

And just like that my dream long weekend that I'd been waiting for all year was gone in a puff of engine backfire smoke. I had been researching flights to Toronto for a possible business trip all morning and actually went back to see if there was something affordable to get me out there for the weekend to see Vince.

But a couple of hours later my dad phoned back to say they were on the road again and were limping along to the border. Woohoo! A Forth of July miracle! God bless America and one girl's pursuit of a spectacular fireworks show (and Independence Day Weekend sales).

I got home early, finished packing and hit the road, music up and windows down all the way. Hello summer heat, hello wind in my freshly cut hair, hello bug guts on the windshield.

I got to the border and proudly handed over my brand new passport. (Thank you Doug, the photo turned out lovely and I got it to Passport Canada just in time!)

"Where's home?" the mustached border guard asked.

"Winnipeg."

I gave him my destination and my reason for travel--shopping and camping. I waited for him to ask me how long I planned to be in America or when the last time I was there or if I had any food on board but he went in a different direction with the questions.

"Camping by yourself?" I've had this question before, actually. Don't know what's wrong with a girl in a pick up truck going camping solo, but sure, I suppose in a day I'm maybe only the fifth one to make such a claim.

"I'm meeting my parents down there," I said.

"When did your parents go down?"

"This afternoon," I replied. This time I was certain the next words would be "have a good trip", but no, the next question was one I had not ever heard before.

"Why didn't you go down with them?"

Maybe it was the plus 30 degree heat, maybe it was the fact that I was only an hour away from my destination, or because I had not had anything to eat since my desktop lunch, but I had to bite my tongue. It's because you're so pretty, Jillian, and that lovely new passport photo doesn't help your cause. He can't believe a pretty, 29 year old girl would be driving a shiny pick up truck solo to meet her parents for a weekend of camping. You silly blonde thing, trying to pull the wool over the eyes of this poor ol' US Customs officer. Clearly you have stolen this vehicle and are making a run for the California coast to become an actress or something.

I released my tongue from the grips of my front molars and replied, "because I had to work."

More suspicious questions followed, he did a walk around Truck and even opened the tailgate before handing back my passport and waving me on. Level two complete. On to the destination!

I arrived at the state park to find the gates closed. This was not entirely a surprise. The State of Minnesota is in some kind of budgetary crisis. The governor wants to raise taxes and some people are opposed to that. Go figure. So he said okay then, I hereby shut down all state parks and even the Zoo, starting on the Canada Day/Independence Day long weekend. How do you like them apples?

Still, my mom was able to make reservations at the park, so we figured vigilantes would be there keeping it open and running.  I pulled out my phone and was going to text my parents to see how they managed to get into the campground but instead saw that I had missed five messages from their cell phone.

"Made it across the border but motor home stalled. Waiting for tow."

"Getting a tow."

"Are you on the road yet?"

"Towed to Lithia Ford on 32nd, east of the mall. Meet us there."

"Call me. I will pay for the phone bill when you get it."

I pulled into the parking lot of Lithia Ford and found my parents and the dog, looking happy and relaxed in their lawn chairs.

The problem with the motor home would later be chalked up simply to the strains of the heat. The good people at the dealership had no problem with letting us park on their lot for the weekend since we did not have access to the state park. We have a place to plug in (so as to power the air conditioning) and free wi-fi from the service centre center (this is America, yo'.) While at the park we would have been looking at grass, a firepit and large, old trees, here we have a view of the Fast Lube garage and the Happy Harry's Bottle Shop at the other end of the lot.  Walmart is a mere five minute walk and open 24 hours.



The only true downside of this all is that poor Truck, of Chevy pedigree, is parked amongst a sea of shiny Fords. Truck is holding his own though and even tolerated his first ever tailgate party: beer and hotdogs with the Ford service and sales guys who drop in to say hello. They are all kind  and friendly folk so Truck and I make the best of it. I have promised him a special car wash before the weekend is done.

Purchases this weekend include a heap load of unmentionables, a very cute and colourful dress and a clearance special: skirt and short sleeved sweater for under 10 bucks.  No shoes yet. Might not happen.

I picked up a book at Target called One Day by David Nicholls. I had gone into the book section looking for a different book but picked up this one and took a chance on it. So glad I did. I am loving it. I'd forgotten what it felt like to actually enjoy a book. I haven't read something so delicious in so long. I pack it in my purse and pull it out whenever I have a chance. I'm sure it's love. I will be so sad when the last page has been turned and the romance is over.

Pretty, please, with sprinkles on top

First day of Summer 2011. It was a mostly cloudy day but the temperature was okay. I promised myself an ice cream cone. There was no line up. Had everyone forgotten what day it was?

I took my chocolate and sprinkle dipped cone outside and sat alone in the middle of the patio, facing Portage Avenue. I gnawed at the chocolate shell. Rainbow flecks of sugar hit the grey cement tabletop. I was making a mess but leaving the world a brighter place. That's the magic of ice cream.

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.

Five/Five/Eleven

Just 45 minutes left of this lovely, lovely day. The date stamp on this blog will be logged as May 5, 2011. Every year I look forward to what this day will present because it is the fifth day of the fifth month and I like fives a lot.

What did Five o'Five deliver me this year?

An email from Adam--aka, OAF, NYF, etc. (I am thinking he could be NAF--Nomadic Adam Friend since he is currently peddling his bike across Canada.) Anywho, he wrote to let me know that he thinks he will be rolling into Winnipeg next weekend. I am considering a plan for a backyard barbecue with all the Manitoba fixings for an appropriate welcome and refueling event. Stay tuned.

A pleasant, sunny, dry, low-volume traffic drive into work, followed up with a prime parking spot right beside the stairwell. I never get those!

Payday

News that one of the TV stations will be running my awareness PSAs for a few extra weeks as a friendly bonus

Enough hours in the day to get done what needed doing

Another prime parking spot for my evening at Lisa's

Cheesy, homemade macaroni goodness at Lisa's

Vampire Diaries, the penultimate episode of the season (I don't get the channel that shows VD on Thursday nights so watching it at Lisa's is always a treat.)

And, with the blessings of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, I hope, a very excellent and restful sleep