No fear

I do a core workout class twice a week at the gym. Thursdays are my favourite class day because I like the instructor. Today was her first time teaching the newest release and she asked if anyone had done it yet. I had, and another guy in the middle of the studio nodded.

"What did you think of it?" the instructor asked.

"Hard," he said.

"Hard! We don't say hard in this class! We say challenging."

I smiled at this. The other day when Stephen said relationships are hard I said I couldn't use that word. I didn't it like it. To me, hard is a word you use in exasperation. Hard is saved for things that are not only difficult, but questionable as to why you keep doing them. I don't want either of us to describe our relationship as ever being hard.

Maybe it's a girl thing to get so hung up on certain words. I like the word challenge. I can agree that a good relationship has challenges. I like a challenge. I think I have some version of that statement on my resume. Take on a challenge and your are ambitious, driven, confident in your abilities and a problem solver. That's who I am.

I can't remember the wording of it anymore, but I used to have a quote on this blog about how having a relationship with millions of people was easy, it's having a relationship with one single person that's difficult. It resonated with me when I found it because it was easy to make new friends with random strangers but trying to create a meaningful relationship with one special guy was har-d.

Now I see the wisdom differently. It's always been easy to bare my rawest thoughts and feelings here. Perhaps it's the comfort factor of putting words on a page. It's a release and they just flow out so much easier from my fingers than my mouth. My arguments make sense here. When I try to speak my truths to one person, even the simplest statement gets stuck in my throat and then, like I am actually choking, my eyes water. It's annoying. I wonder if it would be any easier if I knew sign language. Maybe I could just draw them pictures?

I never used to be so afraid. I would worry about things a bit, but they wouldn't shake me. I journaled, blogged, vented to my mom and it was all very manageable. Now, I have something new and special that I am afraid to lose and it's different. I can only guess it is kind of like being a new parent who says "Oh my goodness this little thing is so awesome and precious but so fragile. Please don't let me break it!" Kids are a lot stronger than we know, and really, so are we. Even when we are
fumbling around and feel more incompetent than a dust bunny, we still have instincts to guide us. And, I believe, if we have good, honest intentions, we can do pretty okay. People can generally forgive someone who is trying her best. Love does that.

I am afraid to say out loud that I am afraid, because I don't want to be seen as weak. I want to be strong, tough, confident and the one you can lean on. I used to be that girl. I had to be that girl. It was called being an older sister.

I am afraid that if I find my voice and get the words out about my fears and needs, there will be too many for any normal person to handle, and the camel's back will break. But I'm also afraid that if the fear doesn't come out, it will grow, like a cancer. It will make me ugly and eventually destroy me. I can't keep holding it all in.

I used to come here to share my story with the hope that if someone else out there in the world was going through the same thing, they wouldn't feel so alone. They could feel normal.

Being afraid is hard. It is exhausting. And what if I actually have nothing to fear? What if I could stand there, in all my imperfect messiness, release it all and lose nothing but the stress of carrying the fear around? What if I released it and someone said, hey, me too?

Whenever I find myself staring at a wall of fear that has paralyzed me, I remind myself that I will survive. I always do. The wall crumbles. I leap. And I haven't died yet.

Dear Jill,
You're not perfect. You're working on stuff. I get it. I love you anyway. You're worth sticking it out for. Let's go have some fun and eat some ice cream.

Love,
Jill

The relationship you have with yourself is the most challenging one and the most important. It sets the stage for all your other relationships. It needs to be nurtured.

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?

F*ing Perfect

Yesterday at 4:13 p.m. I was sitting at my desk spitting mad at myself. When I turned off my computer for the day at 3:30 and started gathering up my stuff to head to my after-work plans, I couldn't find my Truck keys. I dumped my purse, cleared my desk, nothing. I went down to the parkade where my Truck sat, waiting for me to jump in and get going to see if I could spot the shiny silver of my J-initial and Mickey Mouse key chain but no luck. I called lost and found and found no relief. I called my dad so he could bring me my other set of keys and I could get on with my Thursday evening.

I'd had a busy night planned for myself. I was to go to my gym class at 4:30, meet Stephen at the Forks for 6 and then head to my Writer's Fest volunteer job for 7 p.m. There was no room for scatterbrained mishaps.

My first disappointed thought was for missing my gym class. I've been very disciplined lately about doing a core training class three times a week and running three times a week. Although by the time I got to the gym the class was 3/4 done, I wasn't going to waste time pouting so I did my own thing on the machines and the floor. I could see the class from my spot at the glutes and hamstrings station though and I may have let a scowl escape.

Back in Truck, post workout, I turned the key in the ignition and was greeted by U2 singing I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For. I will use my last breath to argue with anyone who disputes the fact that God is a DJ with a wry sense of humour.


At the Forks I took at seat on an aluminum chair in front of the coffee shop where Stephen and I had agreed to meet. My phone rang, on its last bar of power and Stephen's mug came up. A flutter of worry stirred in my stomach.

"I just turned onto St. Mary's and traffic is insane. I guess because of the Jets game tonight. I'm not sure if I'll make it to see you," he said. "I'll call you in 10 minutes to let you know where I'm at."

Stupid Winnipeg hockey traffic messing with my date night. It's pre-season people. Calm the hello kitty down.

I sat by the window waiting for my phone to ring or die. I went over in my head all the places I'd been with my purse and keys and decided that most likely they would've fallen out of my purse at Starbucks. I plotted to call them as soon as I could find their number.

While deep in my plotting and stewing, a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders from behind and lips pressed to my left cheek. Now, I was downtown so I did gasp at first and felt a shot of adrenaline prepping me to fight or flight, but then I quickly melted when I realized I wasn't being assaulted but actually rescued from my mourning by that guy who has a strong like for me.

In the lounge I indulged in a pretty martini called a Blue Eyed Blond. I needed the irony and the booze equally.

"Stephen you can run now," I said. "It's not going to get any better. It's probably going to get worse," I said, in reference to me and my losing things.

He just smiled at me and said, "Oh Jillian, don't talk like that."

I keep saying that if there was a pill or a shock therapy I could take that would help me not forget and lose things I would go all in. My brain failures cause me so much stress and grief. My parents are used to it and have had to rescue me numerous times but I was always nervous about someone like Stephen having to deal with this mess. Stephen is neat, right down to his penmanship. I've never seen him lose anything. Not even his patience, which is the key quality someone should have to spend time with me.

On the other hand, my brain of fluff kind of ignited his affection for me. On our second date he picked me up and took me mini golfing and then for gelati. I remember that I had put on my best outfit and was feeling like I was going to wow this guy with my mini golf or at least my good sense of humour. But for some reason when we were out I felt like I was struggling to hold up conversation which was super frustrating and made me feel really shy. At the end of the night he pulled into my driveway and all I could think was how I wasn't going to see this very cute and funny guy again. I was surprised and elated when he asked if I wanted to do dinner with him later that week.And then I couldn't find my mitts. I looked on the floor, in my purse, under my seat, under my bum, nadda. I was trying not to show panic or concern about losing my favourite, pink leather gloves given to me as a birthday present by my grandmother a few years ago and then I found them between the seat and the door.

I admitted to feeling rather embarrassed about the whole incident.

"Why? It's cute," Stephen laughed.

"But it happens all the time!" And then I laughed too because all night I'd been trying so hard to be the perfect date that it felt so relieving to be not-perfect and still have this guy's eye on me. Stephen used to remind me of this story all the time. Except when he tells it he also reminds me that he ended our night by leaning over for a kiss and I gave him something with the level of affection one would use for kissing a dignitary, or, as he calls it, a "toast kiss". Six months later though he's still buying me ice cream. When we do breakfast together he puts me in charge of toast.

I went home last night and put all my angry energy into cleaning my house. I find cleaning very therapeutic. This morning I was going to leave for work early and zip down to the lost and found. I packed up my purse and then noticed something I hadn't seen there before. Keys. Were they my spare set? No. They were my usual set with the Tigger house key and the Mickey Mouse key chain. Hidden in a tiny pocket, I had put them there yesterday morning, thinking they would be safe from falling out of my outside pocket and safe from getting lost in the very bottom of the main purse area. This is what aggravates me almost as much as my mush brain. I do try to be pro-active with my scatterbrained-ness. I know myself so I do things thinking I will prevent loss, stress and frustration but more often than not it just makes a mess anyway. I have no workaround!

I texted Stephen to tell him the news.

"Awesome! Good start to your Friday," he said. And I loved him for it. I lose my keys, no big deal. I find that they were in my purse the whole time, still no big deal. If we were bodies of water I would be a meandering river and he would be Lake Placid.

"Every river has an ocean it runs to
And I knew if I kept going
Someday I'd find you" 

Johnny Reid, Dedicated to You

I feel bad for making my dad come out to deliver my spare set of keys and I feel bad that I was a glum date last night, but at least two good things came out of the whole fiasco.

1. I missed my regular gym class and did my own workout which, according to my sore muscles, was probably more effective than the class. Maybe I should do my own thing more often.
2. I got my house cleaned up.

You're so mean
When you talk
About yourself, you were wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look how we all make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game

Pink, F-ing Perfect

Wherever you go, there you are

I wrote this post weeks ago, meant to go back and do a proof-reading/edit, never did. Today, I have some time, so instead of going for a run I am dedicating an hour to my craft.


Wednesday night was my last class for Level 1 Interior Decorating. Our instructor handed back our final projects and sat down with each of us to explain our marks. I was last to get mine back.

The assignment had a few components: develop a furniture layout for a given floor plan, draw four elevations for the living room and dining room and one elevation for the bedroom, do a furniture and accessory collage for those rooms and write a profile of the imaginary client, demonstrating how the plan met the client's needs.

I was disappointed with my mark on my last assignment, a 71, given that I knew I'd put a lot of time an effort into it. My weakness is in my drawing. Everything must be measured and to scale. I take my time to measure no less than twice before committing my pencil to the paper and I line things up on graph paper to avoid lines with an undesired angle. Still, accuracy eludes me.

I didn't look at my mark when I got it back this week. I still haven't. My instructor pointed out to me where I'd missed details, how my dining room chairs were not consistent in size and my end tables in the drawings did not match the photos I'd selected. With every error she pointed out I grew more frustrated and more certain that this was not the class for me.

Floor plan, left. Furniture and accessory collage, right.

Furniture and accessory collage, left. Fabric and materials collage, right.

"You just need to take some more time and care with your drawings," she said.

More time? I spent all my free time, every weekend, for four weeks, working on the project. I don't have any more time or energy to give to this.

"But your client profile is the best profile I have ever seen. Absolutely. You have a great deal of potential," she told me. "Your furniture and accessory selection went along so well with how you described the client and her needs. You achieved a very sophisticated look that you don't see in any of the other students' projects. I really hope that you do take some time with practicing your drawing and continue on in level two. I think you have a very fun and modern design style."

I was touched by the praise and encouragement. Even in writing it can be hard to get someone to see the potential or merits of a work in progress.

"I don't know if I can give that much time to working on my drawing," I confessed. "I did spend a great deal of time on them, it wasn't like I left it to the last weekend."

"How long did you spend on your client profile?" she asked.

"Fifteen minutes," I said.

My instructor blinked. "Wow. You should be in marketing!"

When I told Lisa this story she laughed and said, "so you basically confirmed that you chose the right career path from the start."

I took the class because I got spooked in 2010 when I found myself miserable in my job and feeling like I had no out until something better opened up. I decided to try taking up something new that I could flip over to if I ever needed to make a quick exit to save my sanity. There is no easy path. Even when you put yourself on the path that you have a natural sense of direction for, you will stumble. You will meet great challenges. Trying to minimize the frustration of those challenges by finding other paths will open you up to finding more road blocks. There is no easy path. And really, how much fun is a never ending stretch of easy street anyway?

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.

Baby Baby

Kristin sent me a text last week saying that she had been invited to do an interview on a local cable station. She asked me to contact one of my other volunteer speakers, a liver recipient, to join her. I did, but when this girl got back to me she said she was sorry but she couldn't make it as she couldn't line up a babysitter for her six month old son.

I quickly verified and found out that her baby would be welcomed on the set. "You can do the interview with him on your knee or I can hold him off camera but close by." I told her. This speaker is great, she had a great story and great chemistry with Kristin so I wanted to do everything I could to get her to come, even offer up my very limited babysitting talents.

The interview was yesterday afternoon. As it got closer I got nervous. Not about possibly being asked to join the interview panel, but about having to mind a small child, which I am not known for getting excited about. Also, this wasn't just any old baby, this one came from a young woman who is living on a donated liver and had to go off some of her meds in order to safely carry it.

Kristin and I arrived to the studio a few minutes behind due to me driving around the parking lot six times while having a bird about the lack of available spots. All flusteredness disappeared though when I saw The Baby. He had bright red hair, lots of smiles and even a dimple in his right cheek. The first thought that entered my head was, "oh good, he's cute. Really cute. This will make things much easier." 

The two gals got mic'd up and positioned at the interview table. The Baby was relaxing in his stroller/carseat/carrier thingamajig. When the lights dimmed and the tape started rolling I wheeled The Baby over to give him a better view of his mama, which hopefully would lessen chances of panic and tears.

The Baby didn't seem to mind at all that Mom was not nearby though. He smiled and looked around a lot. I noticed he was looking squirmy though, so again, in the name of ensuring an interruption-free interview, I decided to attempt picking The Baby up.

I got him into my arms without too much difficulty and he immediately latched on to my necklace and poked at my collarbone with his itty-bitty fingers. It tickled. He drooled and spit up a bit on my dress, sucked on the sleeve too but I didn't mind. He was quiet and happy so I was happy.

I walked around the room with The Baby and pointed out anything that might be remotely interesting, since he didn't seem to have the need to keep his eye on Mom. Sometimes I rocked him side to side, sometimes we bounced. As I did this I found myself talking to him. My voice was hushed, but the words and tone were entirely unrecognizable to me. I think I was cooing.

Where was this stuff all coming from? I didn't think I had any of this in me. Should I be concerned? It's not going to get all up in my brain now, is it, this baby-liking stuff? I don't want to be on the clock. I've heard about those ticking maternal clocks and how they can make a woman mad for offspring. Please Lord, do not send me any dancing baby hallucinations. I've got stuff to do yet.

Half-way through the interview I could see that The Baby was getting ready for a cry, a big one by the look of pain on his face. I quickly checked to make sure I wasn't pinching him in my belt or pinning his arm in some awkward position. I wasn't. On came the tears and the wails. I wanted to cry myself.

The Baby was just hungry. Nothing I could do. I handed The Baby over to The Mom so she could give him a bottle, which quietened him immediately.

I thought about The Baby today. Remembered the fun we had, how soft his skin was, how big his green eyes were and how cute his little dimpled smile was. Good times.

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.

And miles to go before I sleep

I am in America. Hello, Black Friday weekend. Just a quick note, mostly for Gwen, to say that we are in Fargo at the truck stop. Dinner tonight for me is Puffcorn (popcorn twists in Canadian) and chocolate milk.

We expect to be in our hotel room by 1:30 for a few winks before we have to get on the bus at 9 am to depart for the outlet mall. I have no game plan, no lists, just $500 American, a pile of coupons and my walking shoes. Wish me luck.

My body tells me no, but I won't quit

My day started at three a.m. when I woke up in a sweat with Young the Giant's "My Body" stuck on repeat in my head, among other things.

I had a full day of presentations with classes of grade 11 biology students ahead of me. This day is going to be brought to you by Starbucks, I moaned when it was time to get out of bed.

After nearly leaving the house without my laptop I found my way to pick up one of my speakers--of the people variety, not the audio kind. (My head is still foggy and I couldn't figure out how to make that differentiation in a simpler manner than that.) The Creme Brule latte was helping.

I had three speakers talk today about their experience with organ donation. All of them have amazing, inspiring stories that I love hearing over and over, like a favourite TV episode (which is good when you have to make the same presentation with them five times in a row in one day).

I came home with a heavy heart though because one of my speakers, a kidney recipient, is facing kidney failure again a year and a half after transplant. He is 72 and would be the first to tell you that he has lived a full, good life and that dialysis and transplant gave him time to enjoy retirement from his career as a school principal and spend time with his grandchildren. But the odds of him getting a second transplant are not great and dialysis is not fun. In the next few months he will have to decide if he wants to go back on dialysis or let the kidney failure take its course.

This guy has so much life experience and wisdom in him and I have seen only a small part of it. He has a cute sense of humour that gets the students from high school to med school laughing along with him. I don't let my mind think about my 28-year-old friend Kristin not getting her heart transplant because she has so much life to live, but I also can't imagine the lights going out for this gentleman who continues to inspire, teach and affect people. His transplant only gave him 18 months or so free from dialysis. Was it worth it? Absolutely. If it had only given him an extra week it would have been worth it. I am so grateful it lasted long enough for me to get to know him.

I love this job but I know it is going to break my heart.


My body tells me no
But I won't quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more
My body tells me no
But I wont quit
Cause I want more
Cause I want more

It rides out of town

Oh, it's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road
It's my road

And it's my war
It's my war
It's my war
It's my war

His eyes are open
His eyes are open

--Young the Giant, My Body Tells Me No

Book dumb?

I have a problem, it is called book-buyingitis. That is the inflammation of my book buying arm. It acts up whenever I see used books for sale.

Today I went to a sale put on by the Winnipeg Public Library. I rode my bike. Brilliance! Really, was this me trying to keep the book-buyingitis at bay? Because when you ride your bike 7km to a book sale with a small backpack on, just how many books do you think you'll be carting home with you?

It didn't work. I gathered an armload and a half of the old, the dog-eared, the hard cover and paperback. A kind woman offered to take the stack for me and put them in a box at the cash desk so I could continue shopping, which I did.

Upon coming to terms with the situation of too many books, too little carrying power, I texted my sister, who lives nearby the school where the sale was being held. She and I were supposed to be going to my aunt's house today for a visit so I asked her if she had left yet, thinking that if she had not, perhaps she could come by and take the books off my arms. She had not, but lucky me, her fiance was out and about and could come by to help me out.

My box of books came to a meager $16.50. Everything was on sale for half-price, since today was the last day of the sale. You can hardly buy ONE book for that price, so I felt pretty happy with the finds.

Earlier in the fall Chapters Indigo came out with this flyer that featured the covers of 50 Books That Will Change Your Life. Oh yeah? Let's see about that. Since many of the books on the list are classic and/or massively popular, I've been having a great deal of luck finding the titles at these used book sales. I haven't exactly been limiting myself to only the books on the list though...

My latest picks (from my last two sales)

I realized tonight when I was setting this photo up that I have twice purchased Moby Dick and it isn't even on the list (which of those mistakes is the bigger crime? You tell me.)

Right now I'm reading The Great Gatsby. It's been a bit of a slow start, maybe not the best book to read before shutting the brain down for the night. Last week I got to the top of page 29 and I stumbled.

The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapes-
tried furniture entirely too large for it...

I sat there and wondered, what is tapes-tried furniture? Well actually, first I mistook the hyphen for an em-dash and pictured a crowded room with a set of tapes and "tried furniture" (I don't know, furniture that someone placed with an honest attempt to make sense in the room, but obviously missed the mark?)

 

Finally, my sleepy eyes did see the furniture for what it was: tapestried. (It still looks funny to me.) I laughed and wondered what my interior decorating instructor would think if I were to ask her next week what 1920s tapes-tried furniture looks like.

A Fat Free Food (before you add them to your fat-laden whatever)

Okay, so I like browsing used books, but I truly love collecting cookbooks. I cannot stop myself from purchasing them, new or old. I have a preference for the ones with pictures, second priority is for nutritional information. Today I wanted to make Rice Crispie cake with some mint chocolate marshmallows I picked up the last time I was in the USA. I vaguely remembered that the recipe called for 1/4 cup of margarine/butter, 6 cups of Rice Crispies and the bag of marshmallows, but I wanted to verify the amounts for the margarine and cereal. I pulled out my go-to cookbook for all things basic and important--no recipe for Crispie cake. I pulled out an issue of Cooking with Kraft, which seems to feature some seasonal variation of the marshmallowy stuff in every issue--not this time. Argh! I didn't have the recipe on the back of the cereal box either because I had purchased the No Name brand box. I gave in, turned on Mac and Googled. Recipe found in 1.21745 seconds. Whatever, I still love my cookbook collection.

Sooo, the recipe was also not featured on the back of the marshmallow package, as it often is. Instead they offered some other rather no-brainer suggestions like, adding to a mug of hot chocolate, or melting over a pan of brownies. Yawn.

Add some tasty delight with Chocolate Mint Marshmallows!

Turns out, they might've been on to something. Do you know what melted brown and green striped marshmallows look like when mixed with Rice Crispies?

I was going to take this stuff in to work tomorrow as a Halloween treat, but my "fancy pants" Rice Crispie cake (made with faux Rice Crispies) looks more like Caca Cake. I decided to sample it tonight. You can hardly taste chocolate, but can get a bit of the aroma of the cool mint, so mostly it's like eating regular crispie cake after you've brushed your teeth. Caca cake indeed.

Also, don't buy the No Name brand crispy rice cereal. It doesn't look or taste like regular Rice Crispies. Splurge the extra 75 cents and buy the name brand stuff that also comes with the recipe right on the box, and probably fun, seasonal modification options that don't involve minty-fresh marshmallows.

Last Saturday: Good and Crumby

Last weekend I participated in the mock traveller experience at the soon-to-be-opened new Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson International Airport Terminal. I thought it might be fun. It was not. Here is why:

1. Instructions were explicit about where to park and when to be there, but did not mention that we would be spending time standing in an outdoor parkade. Wearing a skirt and tights with no jacket was a chilly mistake.
2. Experience was running behind schedule.  I was wave #8 of testers, but they were still trying to get waves 6 and 7 through. The poor volunteers seemed overwhelmed and stressed with no leader in sight to guide them.
3. I forgot my camera. The only photo I have of the experience is the one that happened to be snapped behind me by a friend I didn't know was going to be there.--> bottom right!
4. Free lunch was promised. I picked mine up upon completion of the tour, handed in my survey and headed back to Truck to go home. I reached over to the passenger seat to gently drop the packaged lunch on it. I missed, it hit the floor and broke open, sending pieces of a veggie delite sandwich and cut veggies everywhere. Boo hoo. (My bad, I know)

The new terminal looks spiffy though, it actually looks like an international airport now.

After the airport tour I had an appointment with the Genius Bar to get Mac fixed. The inside case had cracked in numerous places and was being held together with clear tape. I mentioned this to a Genius when I was in there one day and he told me that I could get it replaced for free. I like that price, especially when Mac is a ripe four years old, so I went for it.

Mac had to stay overnight (so sad!) but he came back with a new inside and keyboard. This was awesome because I didn't know how I was going to get the toast crumbs out of the keyboard.

Ready, set, go

Call me Sign Up Sally because life is about to get busier.

This weekend was the Dragon Boat Festival. I don't know yet where my team finished, but we had a good final race. I'm undecided if I will join again next year.

After we finished racing in the two heats on Saturday I had a writing workshop on freelance travel writing that I'd signed up to attend. Why? Well, why not? Sometimes I travel. I think I can write. Maybe there's something I can do with that.

Tuesday is my first ballet class at the School of Contemporary Dancers. Why ballet? It's been a dream for years. Will I love it? Will it be a disappointment and ridiculously hard to pick up? Don't know, but excited to try, if only because it means I get to wear the girly, pink ballet slippers.

Wednesday night is my first Residential Interior Decorating class at Red River College. It's a Continuing Ed certificate program that I think I can do in two years if I decide to purse it to the end. Why interior decorating? When I was in high school I wanted to study interior design and architecture. At the last minute I applied to Journalism/PR/Ad school and was filled with bliss when I got accepted. I still love my job, but felt ready to study something again, y'know, because I'm a geek and I think learning is invigorating. But the idea of working all day in a communications role only to go to a class and study and talk MORE about communications or marketing stuff left me nauseated. So after much humming and hawing and some encouraging words from my mom I decided to explore that part of my brain that gets tickled about floor plans and paint chips.

Photo credit: Wonderlane

I think the most exciting part of this is that I'm not really worried about how well I do. It won't help me get a promotion and I don't need the credentials to fluff my resume. I am free to try and fail and learn from the experience. I've never had that feeling before.

I'm about to start week 8/10 of my learn to run program and would like to continue the practice to work my way to a 5k run. I'm not really interested in marathons or half marathons, but my interest has been piqued at the challenge of doing a duathlon--run and bike race. Maybe next summer if I can do some serious training in the winter. I've also signed up for an afternoon intro to the weight room class. I like doing weights but I have no idea if I am using the machines properly or what weight I should be lifting, so going to the gym started to get frustrating. I'd seriously looked into working with a personal trainer, but the cost ($7,000 for a year) gave me pause and resulted in me trying the Running Room Learn to Run program and this weight room class.

Last weekend Lisa and her friend were talking about this challenge to read the entire holy bible. Apparently if you read 15 minutes a day, you can do it in two years. They're going to get a small group together to meet every couple of weeks to talk about what they've read. I was baptized in the Anglican church, have attended a number of sermons in my life, but haven't really spent any time reading the bible. I remember this was especially frustrating in high school and university when every piece of literature we studied had some big reference to something that had happened in the bible and everyone seemed to know it but me. Today, it is still the one of the most widely read books in the world (comes second after the Quran, I believe). I saw the light of opportunity and told Lisa to count me in.

Photo credit: The Pumpkin Papers

My sister's wedding is July 6, 2012 in Kelowna. On Friday the wedding party got together to start talking about the social (March 31, 2012) and the plans for the big day. I'm maid of honour so that also means dress shopping, shower planning and shoulder-to-cry-on lending.

So yeah, life is about to get pretty full here for me. I'm kind of scared I will burn myself out, but excited too to be doing all these dream come true things. You don't need to win the lottery to live your dreams, you know.

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star
This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

--The Impossible Dream, lyrics by Joe Darion

I got new shoes today

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

Do you like ice cream.

I attend a thirty-minute reiki session on Wednesday. I have a coupon but come Wednesday, no stress. I stress about not having stress to release. This feels better.

When I meet the therapist she lets me know that she is very intuitive. if I receive a message from Spirit as I work, can I pass it on to you, she asks.

If she is so intuitive, why are we having this conversation. Is this a test to see if I will answer her truthfully. Should I say the opposite to what I want to say. I nod and say yes. She does not seem to suspect anything.

The first ten minutes of the session I have to practice meditative relaxation guided by a man on a CD recording. Am I being charged for this part of the session if I and the faceless, recorded-voice man are doing all the work. If so, and if I fail to relax, who would I demand a refund from.

After the the relaxation the CD changes to birds and a harmonica. Does the therapist know I want to be a harmonica-playing cowgirl constantly followed by bluebirds.

The therapist covers my ears with her hands. The music changes to ocean sounds. Can she hear my heart pouting. I feel her hands pull away. I hear a pen scratching on paper. The music does not change.

It is the end of the session and so the therapist notifies me that time is up. She invites me to have a seat in the chair. She leaves the room and returns with a tall glass of water. I wait for her to invite me to it. She takes a long sip and hands me a clipboard with paper and pen. There is no second glass.

You need to take fish oils. You need to take a vitamin supplement that is long and difficult to pronounce and that I am not going to spell for you but instead direct you to find out more about on the Dr. Oz website. You need to eat more fibre. You need to walk more. You need to drink more water.

Does she know that I ate one half cup of beans at lunch today and that I am a freak about checking food labels for fibre content. Does she know that I go on epic, two-hour walks regularly and run three times per week now. Does she think that I believe Dr. Oz is a wizard, the kind with a big head, a lot of smoke and sparkly mirrors. Does she know what intuition is. Will she bring me a glass of water.

She stops telling me things. Does she feel bad because I am clearly not amazed. She asks a question. Do you like ice cream. I cannot help but laugh and, shock, tear a little. Do I like ice cream. Is my name Jill. Does anyone who loves me not know my particular affection for sweet, colourful, iced-dairy products.

Am I a fool for wanting to believe her when she says, Spirit gave me that message to show you that you can trust me.

She tells me she has a message from my grandmother. I tell her both my grandmothers are alive, perhaps it is a great grandmother. She says the grandmother spirit is showing her the colour pink, which means love. Oh good. Long-departed Great Grandmother still loves me. This was a stress I had not thought of until this very moment, dead people still loving me despite me not sending a Christmas letter.

Her final message to me is that she saw Jesus. Jesus wants me to know that I am one of them and he loves me. Jesus says I need to love and accept myself and not be so hard on myself.

Has she read the bible. Does she know that this is the general message of Jesus and not exactly a personal hello. Does she think that I will not mind this since Jesus is the world's oldest rock star and probably does not have time for personalized greetings. Does she see SUCKER tattooed on my forehead. Does she make enough money at this to live in a nice home in the suburbs and drive a Mazda convertible. Is she hiring.

She wants to know if I will come again. I am sure she does not need her special powers to see that I am being polite when I say I would have to think about it. Does she cry as I drive home because gosh darn it she has lost another one. Does she have bad credit card debt that she needs to pay off and this is how she is doing it. Does she call out to Jesus, or Spirit, or my un-dead grandmothers for some mercy please so she can stop pretending to be a medium and go live on a beach somewhere with her hippie lover who left her two years ago because her chakras were killing his chi. Am I intuitive here. Do you like ice cream.

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.

There's always a higher mountain to climb

I didn't blog right away when I got home from my trip to the mountains because I thought that if I waited a few days a real good post would brew in my head. I've been home for three days now. Nothin' but a bunch of pondering.

My trip to Kananaskis was wonderful. Perhaps one day I could call it life changing.

I learned that my heart felt a strong connection to the mountains and icy rivers when before I thought it was happiest on the plains and at the beach. Saying goodbye to the sublime geography was hard.

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

I challenged my anxiety about horseback riding and can say I'd ride again, but my favourite part of the activity is still just standing in front of the horse and looking into its soulful eyes. You lose that connection once you're riding, and that's my favourite part about being with an animal.

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

I found a new activity that I could love: rafting. People can white water paddle in Manitoba but they do it by canoe and that just doesn't seem like as much fun. No bounce. We had a really cool guide, Heidi, from Inside Out Adventures. How do I describe her? If you were to draw a cartoon character of an outdoor adventure girl, you'd draw Heidi. If you were to give that cartoon a Disney Princess voice, you'd use Heidi's. Heidi told us she used to work at a fitness club as a receptionist until one day she decided she'd had enough of sitting behind a desk surrounded by athletic adventure seekers and wanted to be one herself. I didn't take my camera rafting with me, so you'll just have to trust me that it was beautiful and splashy. I do have a picture of the view from the meeting point. More mountains, more pretty water.

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

I read Nothing Too Good for a Cowboy, the true story of Richmond P. Hobson Jr., a real cowboy who built a cattle empire in the unexplored wilderness of the B.C. interior in the 40s. The story is another example of how love draws people together in profound ways. (But mostly it's about horses and cows and life in the wilderness.) Will my love story be an adventurous journey or a happy surprise?

I spent time with familiar family and unfamiliar family, and I spent time with myself.  Balance is key here.

I don't know if it was the mountain gazing, the fresh air, the 17 hour drive, the chats with the family or the day of outdoor adventure, but I came home feeling that my perspective had been widened and my potential pencil-sketched out. I thought I knew every corner of my desires and dreams and that I was cruising along putting ticks in all the boxes.

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

Now it seems there is a fork where I contentedly thought there was only a straight path.

From Kananaskis Trip 2011

I thought I had all my answers. Now I have new questions. Can I go back and start my 20s over again?

On Thursday I went to St. Boniface Hospital thinking I was going to an appointment to get that bomb-like device wired to me again. Remember? The thing that monitored my heart for 24 hours and came back to tell me that I had the fifth Teletubby, Wenkebach, messing up the rhythm of my heart? Well, it turned out I was getting assigned a different monitor this time. This one was an event monitor, one that I was supposed to wear (with only two electrodes instead of five) for TEN DAYS and push the button on the attached pager-like thing if I ever felt faint.

"But I only pass out as a result of pain," I said to the tech assigning me the thing. "Like a needle or if I sprain my ankle."

"Oh, well then this thing won't record anything probably," she said. "It only records for 30 seconds when you have pressed the button." Well at least we agreed that this was a dumb idea. Not her fault though. I made a note to call my doctor when I got back to verify that he had checked the right box.

I got back to the parking lot and climbed into Truck. I went to retrieve my parking card from my purse, the one that the machine had spat out when I entered the lot. I couldn't find it. I pulled out every piece of paper in my bag, cursed myself for keeping so many random pieces of paper in the damn thing, but still couldn't find it. I got out and began retracing my steps. Perhaps I had dropped it on the way in. Perhaps I had put it down at the information desk when I stopped to ask for directions.

"What do I do if I've lost my parking ticket?" I asked the woman at the info desk.

"Go see the cashier around the corner and to the right."

"What do I do if I've lost my parking ticket?" I asked the cashier.

"There is a lost ticket button. Press it."

I went to the machine inside the hospital and located the "Lost Ticket" button. The machine laughed at me and asked me to give it twenty dollars. Considering I'd parked there for only about an hour, that meant it was asking for essentially the same net wage I make, and the damn thing didn't even go through university. I reached into my purse to grab my phone to make a call up to the Cardiac Centre to see if I had left my ticket at the front desk there when I checked in.

I didn't have to make that call though, didn't even have to pick up my phone, because right there was the parking ticket. Ta Da! Wasn't that a fun game?

I fed the card to the machine. Machine wrinkled its nose and spat the thing out. "Unreadable" it said. I tried again. Same results. FINE! I took the card and headed back to the parking lot knowing I could try the machine out there. Apparently the machines are in some kind of cahoots with one another because it wouldn't take the card either. I pressed the "Assistance" button.

"Hello?"

"The machine won't take my card," I said.

The voice inside the box asked me what time I came in and said a few other muffled things that I could only guess were somewhere along the lines of, "would you like to Super Size that?" I just kept repeating myself until finally the voice said, "the gate is open". I looked. So it was. I was free! Literally, free; I didn't have to pay for the parking at all.

I wore the device all day on Thursday, right up until about nine thirty when I changed into pajama pants for the evening. I set off with making Friday's lunch, a salad, with lettuce, chunks of cucumber and yellow pepper, and a tomato. I added half a can of tuna mixed with some salad dressing for protein. Finished with the preparations, I started cleaning up. I grabbed the red handled can opener and cried out when somehow the pinkie finger of my right hand got caught between the handles, up near the business end. I released my finger from the grips of the tool and looked at it. A small cut. A bit of blood. A lot of pain. Oh wait, I was feeling kinda woozy. SHIT! I thought. I'm not wearing the device!

I ran around the house looking for the gizmo. Not on my bed, not on the chair. My finger was now dripping. I ran to the bathroom to put it under cold water. Still feeling weird, I wrapped some toilet paper around it and skidded to the living room to lay down on the floor with my feet up in the air. I felt better. I got up and saw the monitor on the table, in a different place than where I had glanced the first time. I grabbed the pieces I needed to stick to me to stick to the wires, hooked myself all up, took a breath, stared at my bloody finger and waited to see if dizziness or nausea would over come me.

Nadda. I felt fine. Of course.

I'm not wearing the thing. It's stupid. I realize, as one who is forever smacking her limbs into hard surfaces and breaking her skin open by way of knives and other sharp objects being in the right place at the wrong time, I could very likely have another episode, such as I did on Thursday night. But the thing is a pain in the tuckas, and I'm still quite self-conscious about walking around in public looking like I'm wired to explode. I'll happily wear it the next time I go for a needle or blood work, but this is just plain dumb.

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.

From A Heart for Kristin

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.

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!

True Blue, Baby I Love You

Whenever I'm out and about in Winnipeg I can't help but notice all the vehicles sporting the new Blue Bomber licence plate. The team has given us a fair bit of heartbreak over the years, but this city still bleeds blue. I love that the team has chosen to dust off the old logo and jerseys--still my favourite look, probably because it was what the team wore when I was being introduced to the game.

And the Jets are back. I remember them leaving and not really understanding the big deal of it all. I'd only ever seen a couple of games from up in the nosebleeds courtesy of some free tickets that got donated to school patrols.

But oh how this city has pined for the return of that team. They told us for years that it would never happen, that the Winnipeg market was just too small to support a team anymore. I'll admit I shook my head at the ones who clung to hope. It was a long wait, but all the stars lined up, and now after a 15 year absence our beloved team will play for us again. You want to talk about patience and believing in a dream? Ask a Winnipeg Jets fan. Or an Ikea fan, 'cause we're getting one of those next year too.

Winnipeggers are notorious for being quiet about their civic pride. I know I don't chirp about the place. (Funny, I have the radio on right now and they're replaying a spoof PSA to Jets players about the wonders of Winnipeg. Most restaurants per capita in North America!) Modesty is an honourable trait.

Around the city now I feel a definite change in energy. I imagine if Canada was to have a reunion of sorts with all of the capital cities, Winnipeg would show up and people would drop their beer. Little Winnipeg, who used to be so shy and awkward, has finally grown into herself. She's looking hot.

I never really felt that Winnipeg was part of my identity. My home is here. My work is here. My family is here, but I can still be me anywhere else. I wouldn't lose part of myself if I left. But I identify with this city's recent blossoming and the step up into the now. It fills me with energy and determination. If Winnipeg can reach for her dreams, endure the bumps and challenges along the way and come out shining in the prairie sun, so can I.