The Brink

So I'm not going to Antarctica. I came close but no cigar. It was all so very exciting (i.e. besides the letdown ending). But I know all about letdown endings and, worse, letdowns that never seem to end but go on and on. So I was somewhat prepared. I think there's always something to learn from letdown endings and, if you consider carefully, hidden bonuses. I did get to spend oodles of time reacquainting myself with chemistry in a quiet and superb library that I love and, so nice, I got to speak with colleagues that I had lost touch with. All were so positive and supportive, pointing out skills and attributes I wasn't aware of and/or had forgotten I even possessed. Being bombarded with compliments tickles. I really need to spend more time with those people.

An aside: I think compliment therapy would be excellent. Someone sits in a comfy chair and their friends and family form a circle around them and remind them of everything they're great at until they can't take it anymore and beg "Oh Stop!".
(Note: Some family members might just stand there in silence, racking their brains. Oh dear.)

I thought, maybe, the final decision had come down to my (semi-) joking that I could build a mean snow-fort but, it turns out, knowing how to build a snow-fort really DOES come in handy in Antarctica. I kept quiet about my deep fondness for ice...though they surely must have sensed my cantaloupe-wide smile at the mention of an entire continent of it.

In my overboard way of preparing (like learning those % solution formulas again. Seriously, what was I thinking?), I happened upon a new and superb book on blue whales, "Wild Blue: A Natural History of the World's Largest Animal" by Dan Bortolotti. (The interviews with him on his site are fabulous.) And, O.K., blue whales really had nothing to do with interview preparations though the largest population of them was once (i.e. before whaling) in the Antarctic. So a question or two might have been thrown in and if it had been, oh indeedy, I was prepared.

One beauty of a great book. No doubt Dan is being showered with compliments. Yeah Dan!

Something There

Being several years behind in (among a multitude of things) movie-watching, I recently saw The Aviator and discovered Howard Hughes and I have/had a few things in common. I say had because, besides him being, uh, no longer with us, I got over a few of those commonalities...O.K. obsessions. That's a good thing I'm sure. I was perhaps mere days away from locking myself in my screening room* and peeing into milk bottles perfectly aligned in rows and my assistant pushing my lunch through the cracked door with a Kleenex. Besides all the planes I've designed**, there's our thing with peas. He liked his all the same size and not touching. I only WISH I had thought of the same size parameter but I was definitely on the same page as him in regards to not touching. Ditto with noticing specks of lint on others. This I haven't overcome yet but have it under control for the most part, wisely weighing whether or not to mention it. For example as I climbed the stairs at the gym this morning, wishing aloud that it was an escalator, I added to the woman in front of me "Hello! There's a long white fluff on your bum." In hindsight, I should have used the words "thread" and "shorts" but, ah well, she was most grateful. Really, she was. I'd never reach over and grab it. No, no. Too forward and intrusive.

I was having lunch with my mother a month ago and was about to remark on her beautiful amethyst-coloured necklace ~ a simple circle, mesmerizingly translucent. Then, in the same moment I realized what it was (a thin ring of red onion from her salad) she noticed it and quickly popped it in her mouth. It's always such a relief when the other person notices and takes care of things for me. Those fluffy white threads on the lady's bottom, so feather-light and wagging in the breeze? Impossibly undetectable by her but, on her black shorts, seen as a nice tail to everyone else. So I think bobbing her was a good call.

* No, I don't really have a screening room. I'd be up on movies if I did...or be a shadow puppet expert, at the very least.
** Planes? Mine are paper only and sail so very nicely across a room.

Fishy Fishy

There's a wall of photos beside my desk at home. Next to the really fetching photo of my grandmother fishing on the beach, tanned and in her glory days, there's one of me. I'm standing in the same position as her. I'm in a yellow bikini - the bottom a little skirt that's blowing a bit in the ocean breeze. I'm wearing a big smile and squinting into the sun, a white fishing rod in my hands, expectant. (That rod was magic by the way. I caught everything.) There's NOT A SOUL on the beach behind me...clear to the horizon. I'm seven years old.
A couple days ago I watched "49Up" . You may have heard of this series. I hadn't (fully). I suppose I've been on the moon as it's only appeared every seven years since it started with "7Up" way back in 1964. A young Michael Apted started by interviewing a diverse group of seven-year-olds from across the U.K., asking them about their lives and hopes.

A couple of them;
Lynn (7 years old and sounding like a puny Elizabeth II): I'm going to work in Woolworth.
Neil (7 and equally regal): When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut. And if I'm not an astronaut I want to be a coach driver...and I'll tell people what to look at out the window.
Loved it!

It was television's first experiment in recording people in their real lives. Huh, think that idea will catch on? Nah, me neither.
Something that's quite remarkably apparent in the films, and Michael Apted has been asked about it in many interviews, is that there seems to be a core personality that each participant reveals at seven that really doesn't go away.
At the beginning of the early episodes of 7Up, the Jesuit maxim is quoted "Give me the child until he is seven and I will give you the man."
So as I'm watching the film, I glanced over at that photo of me at seven. And, holy flip, yes, it clearly personifies me perfectly today. No matter what would have happened to desert a beach. No matter what warnings had been shouted my way. I would be there standing, gripping my magic fishing rod, smiling and ever-hopeful. "Here, fishy fishy."

Interview from NPR:

It Works

On Aamer Haleem's show The Point yesterday, one of the topics was the wisdom of (teachers specifically) handing out junk food to kids as an incentive for good behaviour/performance. I'm not sure what was concluded because I didn't listen to it. The radio was still on, yes, but as soon as I heard the subject, I was in a candy trance looking at pictures online of tempting licorice babies and shiny jelly beans.
Grade 5 was the year I learned more, academically, than any other year. It was all thanks to the teacher, Mr. Walsh. A wonderful, jovial, positive, brainard, giant of a man that *shocking* even seemed to like fifth graders. Why, he even liked sickly little Peter who couldn't ever keep his lunch inside of him so had a permanent shadow shaped like a janitor with a bucket of sawdust. And the girl that, when she pooed in her flared-leg checkered polyester pants (so chic), he drove - O.K., speeded - her home immediately in his giant faux-wood-paneled station wagon with all the windows cracked a good bit. No, don't ask HOW I know that he speeded. Or that the car seats were beige vinyl. Yes, he was very special.

I'm certain that if I tracked down any of my classmates from that year, they'd agree. No other supported and encouraged like Mr. Walsh did. Not even our parents. But one of the clever and effective elements to his methods; spearmint leaves, chocolate covered peanuts, bags of potato chips, or six packs of Coke (in the groovy little glass bottles).
That would never be allowed today. Child obesity! Allergies! Diabetes! Yes. Oh indeed. All very serious. But, at that time, me imagining my mitts on a small bag of spearmint leaves if I aced a test on the world map was ever-powerful.
Capital of Tunisia? Tunis! Hmm. Maybe a poor example of my skills. Largest lake in Mongolia? The super salty Lake Uvs!
Huh, what's that? Moldova? No idea. Was it officially a country when I was in grade five?

I think candy may still quite possibly be an incentive for me. If I complete a task well, maybe just maybe there will be a bag of blue whales waiting at the end. There hasn't been. Yet. But my optimism runs deep. (Unlike Lake Uvs by the way - it's very shallow for such a big lake.)

Photo credit: Charlie's Chocolate Factory Ooh! Gummies!

342 Others

My friends Barb and David are away in sunny Mexico. So smart, they are. I, on the other hand, found myself *surprise* shoveling the smarty-pants' driveway (again!) today. I really HAD checked the long-range forecast before volunteering myself up. I'm not that friendly, you see. And I have a very short memory. Or I block out traumatic experiences. It was to be bitterly cold (oh ho, and it has been) but yesterday, today, tomorrow and the day after: snow. Oodles. Ya. Hoo. Popeye arms.

It took me a while to make the hike over to their place as the snow that had fallen (deep and blowing around) was like walking on a deep sand beach. As I'm sure B'n'D are doing - but they're barefoot and without the 5 kilo's of snowsuit that I'm packing. Also, as I shoveled, my thermal long underwear worked their way down my legs pulling down on my over-all type snow pants. With three layers on top + my downy/puffy mitts, yes, I was somewhat like an astronaut about to take cookies out of the oven...or try to grab a tool box handle but have it escape and float away* into the cold beyond. Any adjustments were not an option. My legs became moveable from the knees down only. It's tough to heave scoop-fulls when your legs are unable to separate by more than a mitten-width. It became a bit comical. A penguin just trying to get the job done.

On the way home, some amazingly huge icicles stopped me in my awkward little tracks. Probably three metres long and a half metre wide hanging from a church's metal roof. Giant crystal stalactites. I LOVE ice!
Besides me, there are 342 others with an interest in ice in the profile section (though some list it as ICE which probably means something totally different...and not Immigration and Customs Enforcement - because who would be interested in THAT?)
My favourite was "Kitty", who enjoys ice and also "glitter, popcorn, and wind".
But (I'm guessing of course) maybe never at the same time. Am I right, Kitty?
Conchita, a Capricorn from Toledo, Ohio lists ice and nothing else as an interest. I understand, Conchita. Ice could be all-consuming.

* It really wasn't the puffy gloves. Probably more the zero gravity thing. Heidemarie noticed that a grease gun she was using to lubricate a solar panel joint had exploded in her tool bag. As she tried to clean it out, the bag slipped away and drifted off.

Photo: Because the photos of the tool box in deep outer space are a bit fuzzy, Yves Saint Laurent's Mondrian dress at his retrospective haute couture fashion show at the Pompidou Centre in Paris in 2002.

Fade To

This kind of thing may come as a surprise/shock to people who let their towels hang unevenly from the bar (i.e. normal people) but I've organized the books on my shelves by spine colour, then tonally fading from left to right (of course). Alphabetical order, by author or title, makes more sense but would create a chaotic mix of colour and height.

With this set-up I've learned that white is used with surprising frequency in the world of art book publishing. I even double-checked this when I went to the National Gallery bookstore. LOTS of white covers and spines. This doesn't really make sense though considering the topic, does it? Or is it...brilliant? Thanks to Penguin Publishers, I also have half a shelf of orange. There's quite a lot of blue and green. Hmm...to collect books by spine colour alone. Crazy? I'd rather like a red to pink section.

It was from my block of black, which I really adore, that I pulled a notebook last night. A diary from 11 years ago. Imagine! Yes. Writing with a PEN on PAPER. Oh, the world was a different place.

January 14th '98
I went to visit Joe at the hospital today. Ken told me Joe had been away on a cruise and tripped while disembarking and broke both his knee caps. "What?! Mafia?" I asked. (An aside: Ken and Joe were both in their late 70s. The old guard. Boys that had been Y members for 50 years - since it was a Men's Club - talking guy things, building fires maybe, steaming together in their towels. I loved this crew. Still active, all smart/witty, always positive. Joking around with them was so much fun and they've all disappeared now.)
So there I was with a pot of happy gerberas standing in the doorway of Joe's room. There was an older gentleman in the bed beside him with a visitor. I waved to them and shrugged a bit as Joe was asleep and snoring, his legs slung up in this awkward-looking immobilizing super-contraption. The room mate motioned enthusiastically for me to come in.
"I'd rather not wake..."
"JOE!" the man hollered, "There's a girl here to see you!"
Joe moaned a bit but didn't wake-up.
His room mate was now thoroughly enjoying this, the visitor looking somewhat concerned.
"JOOOOOOOOEEEEE!" he yelled.
In a sleepy fog, Joe opened his eyes. His head rolled around on his pillow as he tried to focus, his eyes finally coming to rest on the empty bottle on his side table.
"Heh. Who drank all my Listerine?" he slurred.
Silence then...everyone burst out laughing.

Added two days later Jan 16th '98: Ken and I visited Joe. Endless ribbing of poor Traction Boy then presentation of a new/full bottle of Listerine on departure. Cheers!

Photo credit: Leader Collection. Mentone Police Boys’ Club 1961.

Fly Away

New Year's resolutions. Do you make them? If you do, I won't ask you what they are. To me, it's like asking someone what they wished for. I suppose some people might find public announcement and the resulting being held accountable by others a reason to do something.
So there I was this morning in a spin class - the regular Saturday morning group collected for a special one on this first day of the new year. A small percentage were a bit hung-over but, heh, there - so gold star. It was mostly yapping for the full hour, talk of where might be the very nicest place to live. Note: it's -25°C here today. Enough said? Thought so - oh, except Jill may not agree of course. New Zealand and Costa Rica got the most votes.

Then F started to ask everyone what their resolution was, starting at the opposite side of the room. Everybody had something. "Spend more time with the kids." "More yoga." "Learn the piano." "Sell my house and move into an apartment so I never have to shovel again. Seriously!"...and on and on.
As it neared me I thought about what I *could* say. Examples: "Avoid getting in a car. Not just this year but forever." (Maybe too extreme/extremist? But I plan to as long/often as possible.) "Overcome my fear of jumping off high precipices." To be honest, even from atop a short fence spooks me. It's true. I developed this phobia after seeing a film earlier this year, Enduring Love, which I saw ONLY because Daniel Craig was in it. It showed a very graphically-disturbing image of how legs might shish-kebab a body if the person were to jump from a hot air balloon. Oh and, I'm sorry to say, I can't recommend the film...and not only because of the balloon scene but for everything else. I understand there are some that, somehow, enjoy things like the balloon scene but, to them, I predict that will be the only part they enjoy.
And now *poof*, I'm thinking about being shish-kebabed again! Ach! If I don't get over it, it may torch my Amazing Race dreams. There's sure to be leaping in that. I'll freeze, afraid to jump, and all the other teams will speed by.

The question arrived at me and I made a big zero with my hand.
"None? No resolutions?" asked F.
"No, the opposite. Too many to mention." I said.

✈✈✈

One of the latest additions to the collection at the main branch of our (the nation's capital) library;
"How to Fly a Plane" by Nick Barnard. "It truly is a magical experience. With more than 120 colour photographs, this practical little book shows you everything you need to know to fly a plane, from the basics of aerodynamics, to a step-by-step training flight, to contact information for training schools that will literally get you off the ground. So you can strap yourself in and prepare for takeoff!"

O.K. New Year's Resolutions (in this order obviously): Read book. Get pilot's license.
Happy New Year! Whatever you plan to accomplish ~ all the best. X

Big Bin

Sesame squirrel. Not to be confused with Scaredy Squirrel. The market near my (lucky me) place gets regular deliveries from a bagel shop in the west-end of the city. Delicious Montreal-style beauties ~ doughy perfection that are rolled by hand, boiled in honey water, then baked in a wood-burning oven. A man from the bakery arrives in a white van and unloads his sesame-covered haul into a big bin. If you time it just right, you can be the first with the tongs, digging in. I began noticing the beach of sesame seeds that always collected at the bottom of the bin. Thinking of the tweety birds in the park (and hearing my bird-lovin' sister L's voice in my head, encouraging), I had been scooping the tongs in and dumping them in the clear bag with my bagel(s). When I walked up to the cash I would assemble and adjust, jiggling so the seeds would sink to the bottom. High on my crime, I'd place the bag on the counter to deceptively appear as bagel(s) only. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I was helping myself to the seeds but, then again, I wasn't sure. I suppose this might say oodles about my personality.

Luckily, this seed deception didn't weigh heavily on me for long. I was discovered. I had been too greedy for my feathered friends and, when I placed a bag that contained one lonely bagel atop a small (O.K. sizeable) mountain of sesame seeds onto the counter, the store owner Peter asked with a laugh "A little bagel with your seeds?". So we got to talking and, oh how everything works itself out so beautifully when the truth is revealed (uh, sometimes), now they save the seeds for me. They keep them in a box in their walk-in fridge which I now have access to. This little story just gets better and better doesn't it?
There's only one thing. Bagels really shed A LOT of sesame seeds. I never knew! I almost can't keep up!

I found a spot I thought birds would surely adore. One that I know my bird-lovin' sister would approve. An expansive flat patch (now snow-covered) tucked beside a huge maple tree facing an outdoor Chasmasaurus dinosaur display at (surprise! not the muffler shop) the museum. And, yes, it's well away from traffic (thoughtful of me, no?).
Well, the last time I left a small load of sesame seeds, I ended up passing the lovely spot again about an hour later and, lo and behold, a squirrel was going...well...nuts. You've probably seen a dog find something wonderfully (to them) stinky on the ground and roll around on it? This is what the squirrel was doing. Seeds were flying everywhere. He/she was eating and rolling. Eating and rolling, sinking deeper and deeper into the snow/heaven.
He/she had attracted a small gathering of museum visitors too. The Chasmasauruses were not amused. But I was. The squirrel ate the equivalent of 30 Sesame Snaps. Oompf. He/she is now set for the winter.

Oh, Ernestine

A useful tip. Here it is: DOUBLE-CHECK YOUR PHONE BILL.
Last month I noticed a new charge on mine. First Rate My Province: $2.95. WTF? Our phone bills have a very long list of "services" down the left side of the bill and a very long list of charges on the right. Within the services list, the company includes ones that you may not subscribe to. For those there's, supposedly, a corresponding "0.00" in the right column. And, no, there's none of those handy "..........." to connect the two sides (because then you may easily discover something).
There's also that blinding strobe light that mysteriously and suddenly appears and attacks your eyes when you open your phone bill. But squint and focus, people.

I had grown accustomed to the look and length of those lists on my phone bill - i.e. exactly what the phone company peoples, with their devilish grins, want and wait for. I don't use them for long distance as I long-ago discovered the wonders of the long distance phone card (I'm sure you have too). With a five dollar card I can talk to a friend in Kuala Lumpur for three hours and still have $4.00 left on it. Or Dubai and have $4.50 left. If I made those call using the phone company, I would pay 500 times that. O.K., probably more. Seriously.
Why, I could even call Charles way back in 1880 and tell him how very tall the buildings are now and all about The Copenhagen Interpretation (I'll have notes) and STILL have a few bucks left. I'm certain.

I flipped back through my stack o' bills quickly (my hair blew a bit) and noted that the $2.95 charge had started appearing in March of last (!) year. But *insert sound of more flipping here* for 5 years before that it had been listed as $0.00. The sneaky devils!

I took a deep breath and called the phone company. Surprisingly (not), I was put on musical hold ~ music that would have driven the lesser-committed/cheap away after 30 minutes. Max. I hit speaker-phone and was in a nice bubble bath when I heard a female voice come on.
She asked, among a motley assortment of other questions, my middle name AND if my dwelling was an apartment, a house, or a unit. I answered "deux-nit" because the question was so ridiculous, she deserved it.
"Deux-nit?" she asked.
"Yes, there's two of them." I answered somberly. I could hear her typing this information into my file.

She told me that they had sent a notice that they would start charging for that service several months before it went into effect. "What month did you send it?" I asked. She couldn't answer this question.
"It was probably in a little pamphlet included with your bill." she offered. Or maybe it was written in the adhesive of the envelope - there, plain as day, beneath the flap, I thought.
"So you're charging me for something I never agreed to and never have or will use?" I asked.
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"That's negative option billing you know. That's illegal here" I said.
Silence and then "I'm sorry." she said. Indeed.
Playing the very irate customer to full effect, I ended up speaking to a supervisor and getting a full refund for all those months and bargained a better deal on my phone. Worth every minute of those two hours.

So my latest phone/internet bill arrived yesterday. After the blinding strobe light, what's this? Super-duper-fast-maximum-high-speed for 20 bucks more a month? No, I never asked for it...because all the packages are the same speed. You know that too, right?
This call should be fun.

Photo credit: LIFE © Time Inc.

Chip Away

"And what's the baby's name?!!" S asked me excitedly.
I scanned my memory banks. "Parsley" flashed but I knew that (probably) wasn't it. I thought for a moment, replaying meeting new mom, A, pushing her colourful chariot towards T and I. We had done a big trek over the bridge into la belle province (c'est magnifique!), over hill and dale, back over another bridge and then into the liquor store to warm-up. Heh, it was just THERE. So handy. How could we not go in? And ogling all the handsome bottles in that particular monster outlet was rather irresistible. Oh, and then there were the Tangueray samples too.

It had been a couple of months since I'd seen A and now there she was (ta da!) no longer pregnant but with a teeny-tiny sleeping wiggle under a pink blanket in one of those groovy running-stroller-things. She mentioned it was their first walk outside together and they were headed to the liquor store. A fine first outing!
"We just came from there! There's gin samples!" T and I heralded. Then we all checked to make sure we didn't wake-up...uh, the little person.

We had stopped there on the sidewalk beside an Italian restaurant and talked. I remember the restaurant's name, what everyone was was wearing, the smiling old man that nodded and passed, the license plate numbers on the cars that drove by (O.K. not those). But the baby's name? Total blank.
Usually when I meet someone I am likely to meet again, I add a rhyming word to their name. Bread Ted (his daughter, Square Clair, owns a bakery. Eclair didn't come to me at the time). Defense Attorney Bernie (he was). Space Grace (She's full of it - uh, Grace of course - so it's easy but she also asked if the shuttle launch happened the day we met). Sedimentary Rock Jacques (a geologist and his hair was layered too. Helpful.).


Parsley flashed again in my head. Then a sprig of rosemary. Then, out of nowhere, a loaf of linseed bread.
"Kimberly I think" I said.
"Isn't that a lovely name!" said S.
Well, it turns out the baby's name is Lindsey. So close! Nuts. If only I had followed the course a bit further along, I perhaps would have arrived at Lindsley. Which is how someone might pronounce it after a shot of booze.
But, maybe, in the future I should go the full poem mnemonic route. Or use a camera and notepad. Or take a pass on the gin.