A Jill Story, the pages turn again.

Well, did you really think I could stay away?

Whenever I take a blogging break I always come back refreshed and with a new sense of inspiration. I have found a new reason to write and it makes me so happy.

While on my hiatus this week I took a break from building stories of my own to tell and really paid attention to the stories everyone else was telling. One of my friends found romance, another got into a car accident (she's okay, but her little car is not), another one just told a really funny story of mistaken car identity. There were so many good ones that I briefly considered making my blog all about other people. But that wouldn't really fit under the title of A Jill Story, would it? I'd have to rebrand the whole blog and that would be quite the project.

I know you came here looking for A Jill Story, otherwise you would have typed in asomeoneelsesnamestory.blogspot.com. I'm not one to disappoint so here goes.

I learned that someone found my blog by searching "how long until egg explodes in microwave". (See my Brave and Crazy post). When I tried the search myself I found this other guy's blog detailing a similar experience. I left a "me too" kind of comment on his post and then looked around the blog a little more to see just who I was saying "me too" to. I get interested in reading blogs of people I don't know. I guess I just like to see how they write and find out if anyone else goes through the same life pains (which of course they do, and then suddenly the world feels a little cozier). I got really hooked by this guy's story. He seemed like a really good and sincere guy that anyone would be lucky to know, but he also recently came close to death just for trying to help someone else. I was completely amazed and moved to tears by his story. It was so human and honest and humble. I have to quote my favourite part

The next thing I really remember, besides being completely shocked that he kicked me in the head, was a group of people helping me up and walking me over to an ambulance. I was a bit spaced out at this point, having never have been in a fight before (not that this was much of a fight really, since I didn’t even see that guy coming). I remember feeling bad that I couldn’t take the names and numbers of the people who helped me to thank them later.

Throughout the blog there are a couple of pictures of the guy--post-op, graduation, with his friends, etc. I couldn't help but notice that even though this guy seems to have it all and a great attitude about life, he looked a little sad. I had to contact him. Random, weird, crazy, but that's what I do. I just wanted to tell him, "buddy, I don't know what it is that you're still looking for, but you deserve it, and I'm sure you're going to find it soon." And I think that's basically what I said, or attempted to say when I e-mailed him around 11:30 on Wednesday night.

He wrote me back and thanked me for the e-mail. He said it made his day. "You made my day" is my absolute favourite phrase. It is the most rewarding feeling when you know that you've made a difference in someone's life even with a small gesture. I strive everyday to make someone else's day a little brighter. On Wednesday I did it. To this guy I want to say, thank you, it was my pleasure.

The Way I See It #107
There is no end to a story -- it goes on indefinitely, into eternity. Every time a story is read, it's alive and it's different because the reader is different.

--Alice Hoffman

The end of a chapter

I've been thinking about this particular entry for a while now. I knew this day was coming although honestly I almost forgot about it today. January 14th, 2007 marks the first anniversary of the A Jill Story blog (I can't just say the first anniversary of A Jill Story, because that has been going on in some form or other for most of my life). Thus, I am presented with an opportunity now to reflect, celebrate, and possibly say good bye.

First, let me reflect. My first Jill Story was focused on my first attempt at Hip Hop class and how un-cool, un-coordinated, and unprepared I felt. I admitted to the world (which only consisted of Rob, and then Vince at that time) that I was really a dork, a rather ungraceful one at that who couldn't even find the right shoes to wear. This post really set the tone for the theme of my blog. I wanted to tell stories about my life experiences without hiding my insecurities or awkwardness. Certainly I believe that I am a confident and talented person, but how boring is that? I am sure that if I had used my blog only to celebrate successes I would have lost interest after a month. Real, messy and stupid moments just make for better stories. Period.

Okay, now let us celebrate. A toast to a great year! 2006 was awesome and I am so happy that I captured many of the highlights in a way that was easy to share with my friends. I see how I grew as a person by using my blog to reflect upon life and think critically about myself. I also believe I grew as a writer. In order to improve at something you have to be dedicated to practicing it. Before blogging I was not very disciplined at writing on a regular basis. I kept a journal and still do, but hey, when your audience is only yourself, it's pretty easy to slack off. I also always struggled with the idea of sharing my work with other people. I used to be very critical of my writing voice. Today, I feel better about letting someone else read something I created and I feel more confident about my voice.

And now for a good-bye? I know it is obvious how much I enjoy blogging. AJS is important to me as a writer and as a person who feels she has only started to truly experience life. Blogging has also become a point of frustration in the last few months though as I realize its downfalls. I write about my life story, but my experiences involve a lot of other people. There are a lot of things I wanted to say on this blog but I didn't because it really was not appropriate to do so. Blogging has some therapeutic properties for me so imagine how frustrating it would feel sometimes when I wanted to express something but I felt that I couldn't out of respect of the privacy of others. I also worried that without safely knowing who reads my posts I could end up saying something that offends or hurts someone I care about. I know my stories are biased towards my views so I don't really feel it is fair to present someone in a light shaded by my own wild emotions. Still, I feel that my story has some rather large holes in it and that it is flawed by these omissions.

On the other hand, there are just some people who I wish did not read my blog. I get kind of possessive about it I guess and there are some people I don't want to share my life with. Call me selfish and immature but I'd just like to shut some people out.

Why does this mean good-bye? I realize that the more personal experiences I have, the less I will be able to share. I fear that soon my blog will be reduced to stories such as, "I found a purple paperclip at work today" and therefore lose all relevancy (when I confessed this to Vince last week he responded, "WHAT?! They make purple paperclips?!! Which I took to be his own way of kindly telling me that my posts will always be relevant). I guess I will always have something to say on the topic of "guess what stupid or adventurous thing I did this weekend" but those stories are such small pieces of who I am that I am growing a bit tired of placing such importance on them.

So what do I do? I know I'm getting pretty close to breaking some great stories. I'm sure 2007 will be another banner year full of blogging potential. At the same time I know that it will be full of unbloggable experiences too. I'm going to take some time to think it over some more. If I come back you know where to find me.

My fashion is not a statement

I was standing at the printer this morning when Kat asked me, "is it red day today?" She was referring to me wearing a red v-neck sweater.

"Oh, I don't know," I shrugged. Truthfully, it was the only sweater I had left in the drawer (thank God it was Friday) and it easily matched my black and white wool tweed pants. "Why, who else is wearing red?"

"No one, but isn't it if you support the troops you're supposed to wear red on Fridays?"

I had never heard of this before. Later, Joanna came into my cube and I noticed that she too was wearing a red sweater.

"Hey, you got the memo," I said. It's an office joke. Anytime there's more than one person wearing the same colour (in an office of 40, gee, what are the odds?) someone has to mention it.

"Kat says you're supposed to wear red on Fridays if you support the troops," I explained to her.

"Isn't that AIDS?" She asked.

"Oh yeah," I said, remembering the big RED campaign running at The Gap.

A few moments later, Kat e-mailed me the source of her supposition--one of those globe circulating forwards--which confirmed that those who support our Canadian troops are to unite by wearing red on Fridays.

I decided to pop by to discuss this with her.

"So Joanna reminded me that wearing red also shows a support of AIDS research. Although, the AIDS awareness campaign is a Gap thing, and I bought this sweater at The Bay, so if anything, I suppose I'm supporting the Canadian troops." I continued by adding, "Both are honourable causes, but I just wanted to wear this sweater today because it's cold. I have no intentions of making any kind of statement."

"So your fashion is not a statement," Kat concludes.

"That's right!" I agreed, really liking the way Kat put it. I can certainly put together a smart outfit, but my wardrobe is non-political. I avoid logo t-shirts because I think they are a stupid way to state your opinion, but apparently words are no longer necessary. I guess it's nothing new. Goths are stereotyped with the colour black while soft pink is reserved for those who support the fight against breast cancer. I suppose if I wore a green and white ensemble in public I might get boo'd for being a Saskatchewan Rough Riders fan. Heh, don't even get me started on the Liberal party's red thongs.

Well this is MY fashion statement. I like colours. ALL colours. Some days are pink, some are blue. No matter the colour though, I wish to remain neutral.

The Ewok goes home

On Monday I mentioned that my mom and my sister rescued a little lost dog by bringing him in off the cold street into our home. He spent the night with us and by Tuesday afternoon he was reunited with his own family. Yes, this story has a happy ending!

The Ewok was not in fact an Ewok, but a Lhasa Apso named Sam who lives on our street with his family, mom, dad, and a little boy. My mom spoke to Sam's mom over the phone on Tuesday afternoon. The poor woman was very upset that she had lost her little dog and of course over joyed to learn that Sam was safe. She explained that she was having a frazzled week with her little boy starting back to school. She had let the dog out in the evening and honestly forgot to let him back in. When she realized what she had done, she feared that she had killed her dog. Her five year old son was also quite upset and did not want to go to school on Tuesday morning. My mom offered to bring Sam home but the woman said no, that she would come by as her son would like to send a gift over.

The gift, completely unecessary but so very sweet, was a lovely arrangement of Gerber daisies. My favourite part was the accompanying card that the little boy signed in wobbly five year old penmanship:

Thank you for finding Sam, my pet and my best friend.

My eyes still get a little teary when I read those words. It wasn't until that moment that I really appreciated how that funny little creature was somebody's world. After I read the card I went over to the couch where Elmo was sleeping. I rested my cheek against his spotted ear and listened to him snore softly. I knew I could only do this for a moment before he would get annoyed with me and move. I held one of his paws in my hands and kissed the top of his head. My world is full of hope and love.

I love you, Schmo :)

Not-so-foxy boxing

We had been planning it since before Christmas. Amara, Abby, Kat and I were going to try a boot camp boxing class. Amara had been before but was looking for company to get back into it. Abby was excited about it, Kat was looking to get into something and me, well, you know I'll try anything once.

Abby bowed out today because she was still recovering from her bronchitis. Kat took a look at the website and got scared but she talked herself back into coming. Class started at 7:00 and lasted 75 minutes. It's $10 for a drop in.

It's advertised as "the toughest workout in the city" and I just might believe them, although I haven't tried the boot camp in the park program that starts at 5:30 am.

As part of the warm up we had to do two reps of stairs--that is, four flights of stairs, up and down twice. Challenging yes, but for me, terrifying. I should have noted this yesterday in my News of the Odd post; I have an irrational fear of stairs, specifically going down stairs. I am afraid of tripping down them. My thought is this has something to do with the whole Jack and Jill and Jill came tumbling after thing.

After the warm up and some shadow boxing we got to put the gloves on and hit the bag. Kat and I paired up. I grabbed the gloves. I cringed as I slipped my hands inside. The gloves were cold and damp. As in, soaked. With sweat.

"Just tell yourself they spray them with disinfectant," Kat told me. For the first drill one person punches while the other jogs on the spot, knees high. I held my hands up high, close to my face and nearly lost my lunch. Imagine your nastiest, sweatiest sports socks. Now imagine putting them on your hands and holding them half an inch from your nose. It sure makes you want to put some speed into your jab.

Later we got to practice jabbing at each other. One person hits, the other tries to catch you. Kat was better than I was so I let out a few surprised shrieks. I was embarrassed at my girliness.

"I never fought on the playground!" I told her in defense.

Aside from the icky feel and smell, I liked punching the bag the best. Shadow boxing was boring but really hitting something was great. Too bad you can't get that smell out of your hands though. I think I may have to spray my hands with a bleach mixture.

Near the end of the class we were on the floor for crunches and push ups. Kat and I were tucked away in a corner sharing a mat. We were crunching away, glad to have the smelly gloves off when someone totally let escape some rank and horrible odour that litearally hung around like a bad smell. We couldn't help it and we just started giggling like high schoolers. Okay, truthfully we were pretty much rolling on the floor.

I don't know if boxing is my thing, but it was a good workout. Especially all the ab work from the giggling.

When I got home I was greeted not only by Elmo, but also an Ewok. Apparently my mom and my sister found one wandering around the street. They took it to the animal hospital to see if it had a microchip or tattoo so they could find the owner. It has a tattoo and licence but the licencing office was closed so we have to keep the little guy over night.






See the resemblance?