June 2012 – The Daily EO

The Daily EO: June 29th, 2012

My husband received a Yoda bobble head for his 40th birthday. He holds a bright green neon light sabre (Yoda, not my husband). It was kept in my husband’s office until recently, and now sits as one of the few decorative items in the master bedroom. (Everything else is still packed because this place was supposed to be temporary).

You know those Chicken Soup for the Soul stories and other heartwarming tales about married people never spending a night apart and never taking off their wedding rings? I’m coming up to six years married this year and I think I have taken my rings off as many days as we have been married. If it is too hot, if I am kneading dough, if I get the “hand rot” (sometimes I am not good about making sure I dry underneath my rings), if I am exercising, swimming (I am always scared they are going to come off and therefore I then swim with my hands in fists), or if I want to play with them, or for many other reasons. They are off a lot.

I was blessed with the Francis Fat Fingers (and thighs while we are on the topic). Thanks Mom, Thanks Grandpa. I do not have graceful, slim hands. I have the plump, stubby fingers. Could I not have inherited my hands from my maternal grandmother – who was rumoured to be able to reach 1.5 octaves on a piano with ease? No, I get these hands. But in their defence, they are working hands – strong, robust, and from what I can tell so far, not prone to arthritis (I’ll let you know). So, I’ll take them. Versus the alternative, I guess.

My husband takes his wedding band off all the time too. For many of the same reasons I do. And who gets to hold it? You know it! Yoda – on his sabre.

Quick aside here, one day my husband took off his ring to cut the lawn and left it on the sofa table in the living room. So he would easily be able to find it later, he put it on a business card that was also sitting on the table. I came down stairs to find him gone, and his wedding ring sitting in the middle of the living room on a lawyer’s business card. Lucky for him, the lawyer was a real estate one. Consider the messages you are sending out people!

Now taking off our rings. Could this mean that we are not a committed to each other as those who never spend a night apart or never take off their rings? Maybe. But I’ll tell you this – as I type ringlessly (it’s hot and I am about to go for a run) – my Francis Fat Fingers are deformed. There is a slight indent about 1/2 inch wide on my second finger on my left hand. And It’s lighter than the rest of my hands.

I like to look at my hand with this dint. I like the indent. I can’t take off it easily. And I do not want to.

June 29th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Rings do not make the marriage – rather the dints.

The Daily EO: June 28th, 2012

The first suit I ever purchased was in Victoria, BC in a beautiful cream colour, size 10. I bought it because I needed something for my MBA entrance interview at McMaster University. I purchased the suit (more than I could afford, but my BFF Lisa convinced me it was the way to go), broke up with my boyfriend (dodged a bullet there), flew to Ontario (thanks Mom), and convinced Mac I would be a good fit. I still have that suit actually, because despite it being 15 years ago, it’s classic. Not Jackie O. classic, but it wasn’t the 60s. Plus, at the time, I think it cost me 15% of my annual budget, so I can’t let go of it. And I got in, so it must be a lucky suit, anyways.

They say that clothes do not make the person, but I don’t know about that. I am woefully ignorant of fashion, do not read women’s magazines (they just try to make me feel inferior somehow, although I have considered a subscription to Chatelaine as of late), and am completely mentally handicapped in the application of makeup. But when I have made the effort to find good quality, well-fitting clothes that perfectly match the occasion, a sheen of confidence envelopes me. My 5’8″ stands tall, I walk confidently with my heels first and I want to shout “I belong here!” Wherever here may be.

Over the last three years, I have reduced from a size 14/16 (yes, I was occasionally a 16, nobody would ever believe me, and that is yet another advantage of being tall) to a size 12 (with an occasional 10). My closet is decimated. I can fit into all of my career clothes certainly, but they hang on my waist, they sag in the front, and generally go not look good. And no, a belt cannot fix ill fitting clothes. Please spread this around. I sorted through the closet a while back and created three categories: too big – donate, too big-put aside for altering, and wearable.

My professional closet – once a decent sized – now consists of 2 pairs of pants and 2 shirts suitable for interviews and three boxes of “for altering”. It just doesn’t make sense to purchase or alter clothes in potentially the wrong size. And spending the money when I don’t need to is folly. So, the alter boxes sit. So long in fact, I probably will have to re-sort them to check for fashionability again. Like I have any idea. Sigh. I am so hiring a consultant when I can afford to (Punch List addition).

But in this new life I am forging for myself, I have found confidence and a sense of power and ability to achieve more. And it flows when I put on running clothes. Often in the morning, I will rise and change immediately into workout clothes. This is two-fold – if I see someone they won’t think “Look at that unemployed bounder, she is still in her pajamas” and it is one less barrier to getting out the door for a run. It’s a public declaration of my intentions (for the cat I guess). One cannot take off work-out clothes, one must peel off sweaty work-out clothes.

And as I type this (not in my pajamas), I have in a racing back Lululemon purple top, a Running Room racing back sports bra, and Adidas Climalite black snug fitting shorts. And indeed I feel strong. And powerful. And like an athlete. And when nobody is looking, I will flex my bicep or admire the cut of muscle across my shoulder or sneak a peek at the curve of my waist to my hips. After a run or work-out, I want to stay in these stinky clothes for a while as a reminder of what I have achieved for that day.

Do clothes make the man? No, but the right ones match what you are feeling inside and help it come out.

June 28th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: I ran 4.0 km in 35 degrees Celsius (with the humidity). What potential will this racing back unleash today?

The Daily EO: June 27th, 2012

I received a postcard via Postcrossing from Germany today. Aschaffenburg. It’s a city in Bavaria. It is a fairly typical card – several pictures of city views and a fairly generic comment on the back. But I am thrilled! I have it on our fridge – which means a lot because my husband hates having things on the fridge. He doesn’t like the clutter. I think that why he insisted on a stainless steel fridge on the last go round. I had no idea stainless steel is not magnetic until that fridge. And my dad was a metallurgical engineer. How embarrassing for the family. Anyways.

I also sent a postcard to Germany 5 days ago (to a different person) – from Huntsville! – and it was received in 4 days! I think the Germans have a very efficient postal system – through experience I know the mail here in Huntsville can be a little dodgy. You know with that mail carrier storing 4 or 5 bags of mail at his apartment a couple of times.

An aside. I discussed Beowulf with my husband tonight. I explained what Mr. Dickerson explained to me in high school. Bragging in Norse culture is akin to making a public declaration. If you lose your nerve in the face of Beowulf, perhaps the thought of dishonouring yourself after telling everyone how great of a warrior you are, will steady your sword hand.

Why am I telling you this? I don’t really know. Perhaps I want you to know I know Beowulf. And that is enough for today.

June 27th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Mail excitement has hit an all time high around here. You just never know what is coming through the slot. (try reading that aloud out of context in a mixed company)

The Daily EO: June 26th, 2012

A couple of days ago, I railed to my husband about something that was not politically correct. On and on I went. I knew I was in a safe environment and I knew if I said something that sounded biased and unsympathetic he would clarify with me. It’s nice to talk with someone who knows you. With whom you can explore differing points of view without causing offence. I called my mom about the discussion to get her perspective, and after thinking and discussing all day, my opinion firmed up.

I do not think that Karen Klein should be getting money for being a sub-par bus monitor. I think the children who tormented her, behaved badly. I hope this is a kick in the pants to those who love these kids to intervene before the children become self-absorbed adults with no concept of considering the impacts of their actions on others. And unfortunately, I’ve met some adults like that. I don’t want more.

But what really pisses me off is that I didn’t share this opinion on this blog or in person or anywhere.. I was concerned about going in the face of public opinion. Afterall, to date over $650,000 USD has been raised for her through micro-financing. When people speak with their money, you know they actually mean it (or they are just rich and can afford to pay for “meaning”). I didn’t think I totally understood the situation – I hadn’t even watched the entire video. I also didn’t want to be caught up in the internet meme of the day, jumping on the bullying bandwagon so to speak.

Today, the Huffington Post published a editorial blog by Chris Kelly and he thought just like me. Just like me! Why the hell didn’t I say anything?

June 27th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Keeping my opinion to mostly myself. And that is very strange indeed.

The Daily EO: June 25th, 2012

It’s moving time again. I’m no stranger to it – in fact, I am very good at moving. I’m organized, well packed and pretty good about not holding to things I no longer want or use. My furniture is a bit weathered and carries the scars of moving people not caring about my stuff as much as I do. They try, but if you stuff a truck full, something is bound to get scuffed. We need to move by the end of August, and I already have half the house packed, and the packing supplies required to do the second half.

There is a plan for the cat; a system for labeling, packing and unpacking; storage units selected; and plans to review clothes, possessions and furniture for weeding out.

Yeah. I am really good at moving. How did I get this way? Well, a review of my mailing addresses in my first 38 years may help to explain:

Mom’s House, Cranbrook, BC (19 years)
University of Victory Residence (8 months)
Mom’s House, Cranbrook, BC (4 months)
Condo with roommate, Victoria, BC (1 Year)
Townhouse with roommates, Victoria, BC (1 year)
McMaster University Residence, Hamilton, Ontario (4 months)
Brampton, Ontario (4 months)
Hamilton, Ontario (4 months)
Mississauga, Ontario (4 months)
Hamilton, Ontario (4 months)
Toronto, Ontario (4 months)
Hamilton, Ontario (4 months)
First apartment alone, Toronto, Ontario (3 years)
Toronto, Ontario (2 years)
Comfort Inn, Huntsville, Ontario (2 months)
Grandview Resort, Huntsville, Ontario (2 weeks)
First Owned Home, Huntsville, Ontario (5 years)
Furnished Apartment, Penetanguishine, Ontario (2 months)
Midland, Ontario (18 months)
Grandview Resort, Huntsville, Ontario (1 month)
Current rental home, Huntsville, Ontario (8 months and counting)
??, ?? (??)

June 25th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: This is ridiculous!

The Daily EO: June 24th, 2012

It rained all day today. It started about 9:30 am and rained for the most part until 8 pm. I spent most of the day in bed watching TV, drinking mug after mug of tea, eating carbly delicious food, surfing the internet, and reading. It was so comforting. My husband did the same – although he spent most of the day watching study videos and reading for his Networks+ exam. He’s happy because nobody wants to study when you’d rather be outside in the sun.

There is something about spring that makes you want to throw open your doors and bask in the sunshine after a deep and dark winter. But just as wonderful as it feels to put on dry clean clothes after a day at the beach, a cool rainy Sunday in summer is a needed break. Closing the doors and snuggling in, eating soup and knowing that tomorrow back you will be in the sunshine. After a week of record-breaking temperatures that were indeed glorious, this rainy day focused us back inside as a reminder to enjoy the day that comes.

It was also filled with soothing events:

I read about this week’s CSA offering. I jealously thought of others as this is one of our off weeks. More strawberries. Too bad.
I received word that two of my postcards via Postcrossing were received! I requested two more addresses knowing now that two postcards are coming to me soon! The postcard I sent to a guy in the USA was marked as one of his “favorite”! Hooray!
We made one of my husband’s favorite comfort meals: Manwiches with mushrooms and onions. As a loving wife, I at one point made sloppy joes from scratch for him.. . well, I used seiten instead of ground beef. . .my efforts were appreciated, but not ever requested again. He prefers that Hunt’s can. Sigh. For compromise, we now use a mix of ground beef and TVP. It took me years to get him off cheese slices for grilled cheese sandwiches instead of old cheddar.
I pulled a Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Lentil Loaf from the freezer for snacks. I made it a couple months ago from Spilling the Beans and knew someday I would love myself for freezing one of them. The day came!
As the house is now sold, we didn’t have to clean, tidy, put things away or worry about cat hair gathering in the corners of the bathroom floor. We can go back to our normally clean, but slightly cluttery selves.
I read the latest PostSecret cards and secretly (not any longer, I guess) felt as always a combination of smugness, sympathy and voyeurism.
Skipped running with the valid excuses of sore calves/shins and concerns that I would melt under the steady drizzle.

June 25th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Perfect, Ordinary Rainy Day.

The Daily EO: June 23rd, 2012

There are 1000s. . . millions? even of halls and church basements in North America. And each year community groups gather for bake sales, dinners, Christmas pageant planning, piano lessons, service club meetings, teas, dances, lunches, bazaars, wedding receptions, book sales, and anything else you can imagine. Almost all of the basements seem to have similar design and layout. Almost always support poles, a kitchen off to the side (stocked with mismatched dishes and dull knives) and stairwells that are just low enough you feel the need to duck coming down. The hall walls have historical information in there – plaques for former presidents of this or that, newspaper clippings, thank you certificates, etc. And in my experience, all seem to be just slightly cluttered in the closets, kitchen and storage area with items from previous events – one offs that someone deems useful one day.

My husband and I volunteered at the Lioness/Rotary Lobsterfest on Saturday evening. 150 lobsters and about 15 Roast beef dinners. We started at 1 pm, but other volunteers decorated the hall the previous evening with shells, nets, lobster traps, etc. We set up the bar, tables and chairs, decorated the tables, and set up serving stations. We were smart enough to stay well away from the kitchen where several family matriarchs battled for kitchen leader status.

The lobsters were from New Brunswick and had arrived via plane that morning. Each was at least 1.5 pounds each. The roast was rare and in a wonderful rosemary garlic. Both served with coleslaw and potato salad. The scones were homemade and then served with fresh Ontario berries.

I sat in my Lobsterfest apron in the basement of the hall during the predinner lull and thought of the basement of the Anglican church in Cranbrook, British Columbia. I remember I played Mary in the Christmas pageant one year and we did some rehearsals down there. I remembered the basement of St. Mary’s Catholic Church of the Assumption in St. Catharines, Ontario. I hid down there when my now sister-in-law got married (I didn’t want to be in family pictures just in case) and a church pig roast dinner for the congregation. I remember craft shows and Stag and Does, engagement parties, Maple Syrup festivals. All held in these aging halls and basements.

Community halls are the vehicles. Right now as I type, many are planning events to raise money for good (or questionable, I’m sure) causes. People will volunteer, people will gather and memories are created. We are linked in these basements.

June 23rd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Part of the traditions in hall basements.

The Daily EO: June 22nd, 2012

I’ve been fortunate normally in my roommates that I have lived with. There is only a 4 month spurt with a crazy woman named Rosemary that was really pretty difficult. The people I’ve lived with have at least been tolerable and at best become exceeding excellent friends (or a husband). I’ve also lived in some pretty nice places – several even during university that had a dishwasher (and waste disposer).

Dishwashers – are they not the most fabulous inventions? You can stow dirty dishes quickly, you can leave the clean ones in there and just grab things from it as you need, you can run it as much as you want. They take a chore that requires scrubbing, rubbing, getting dirty, drying and worst above all the gathering of the sink gunk at the end of the job. Granted, I normally hand wash my good dishes and silverware (despite NOT learning from example from my mother).

Beyond the major things – like thief, boyfriends moving in, destruction, etc – I can live with some annoying habits of roommates (as long as I have my bedroom to disappear into). But here it is. Here are the two related things that takes me from calm to NASA hot in 3 seconds: Dirty dishes in the sink and dirty dishes sitting above the dishwasher. (exceptions only if you are a guest and the dishwasher needs to be unloaded)

Honestly, if you have made it far enough to the kitchen to bring your dirty dishes – take that extra 2 seconds and put them in bloody dishwasher. Do NOT pile them in the sink where they get all sticky and wet. Do NOT pile them on top of the dishwasher where they just get in the way. FINISH the JOB! Is there a teleporter going to move the dishes for you? Do you think we should attract mice/ants/stray dogs with rotting food? Should my food preparation areas be contaminated and cluttered with your dishes? Are we unionized here – it is contractually my responsibility to put the dishes in the dishwasher? And don’t tell me “you were getting to it when you finished X”! Do it when you finish eating!

See? Just writing about it gets me worked up.

June 22nd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Fondly remembering university thanks to my husband. It’s good thing I have other desirable qualities, otherwise he might take the cat and head for the hills.

Hmmm…. as I was adding tags, I found that I already mentioned this. So, you can see that I am at least consistent.

The Daily EO: June 21st, 2012

Okay. Something for you mothers out there. You know when you are off doing something on your own – say gardening, reading a book, watching a movie, cooking dinner, talking on the phone? And invariably you can hear the noise of those you share a house with? And then with a start you realize you can no longer hear the sound of your kids? Which of course leads you to the over used cliché of “it is too quiet” and you need to investigate?

That happened to me today. I was watching yet another episode of The West Wing in the bedroom, while Emile watched something loud and violent in the living room. With the door closed, I could only make out the bass of the crashes and booms, and the shouting voices. It wasn’t really bothering me – but I could hear it.

And somewhere in the middle of a CJ Cregg press conference, I realized that I couldn’t hear punches and blood splatter any longer. (An aside . .while I type this, I can hear these things now. It lends a sense of authenticity to my writing, don’t you think?) I paused and went out to see why my husband – who doesn’t do a lot of quiet things except fix computers – stopped making noise at 9:45 pm.

You have to understand – I spend much of my free time imagining the horrible things that could happen to him. Car accidents, electrocutions, bad cat scratch, hand caught in a car door, severe eye injury leading to eventual blindness, MS, cancer or constipation.

This invariably leads to me saying “Drive Slowly – precious cargo”, “Wear safety glasses”, “Is the power off?”, “Be Careful!” and handing out vitamins, acai berries and chia seeds with admonishments to Live Forever.

He was missing! Despite being in my pajamas, I wandered outside to check the garage. I looked in the basement, checked the backyard. Checked the other bathroom. Looked for his car (still there). Called his cell phone (here in the house). I was stymied. Where is he? Could someone break in here and take him without me knowing? And it’s not like he knows anything about off shore bank accounts. So why would they take him? This scenario seems unlikely. And if he wasn’t taken by force, why didn’t he tell me he was leaving? Maybe I missed a note! No.

I’d better keep my hands occupied so I can stem the panic starting to gurgle up. I’ll unload the dishwasher while I consider the facts. He is not here. He has not taken his car. Hmmmm. Surely he hasn’t gone running. It’s almost dark – a car wouldn’t be able to see him! He could trip and twist his ankle and need help! If he is running, I don’t know when he is left, so I don’t know when he should be back! I don’t know which route he took! Oh My God! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!

Door Slam.

“Oh, Hi Sooz, just running. What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you hear me getting ready for a run?”

Honestly, man. I need to lay down. . . .

June 21st, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Who needs exercise? Just have your spouse disappear to run late at night to get your heart rate up.

The Daily EO: June 20th, 2012

I’ve been crazy excited about my first CSA basket. I don’t really know why. Last night I was cutting the strawberries for an arugula salad and I found myself chanting to myself “I’m saving the world”. Now buying a CSA share from a local farm is probably not saving the world, but it feels like it. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel like I am supporting the little guy. I’m a good person everyone! A GOOD PERSON! (please tell your friends and neighbours)

Our First Box (we have a half-share):
– 4 liter heaped basket of strawberries
– a head of bok choi
– bunches of arugula
– a bag of lettuce mix

Is there anything better than ripe Strawberries fresh from the farm? They just melt in your mouth and provide so much flavour and kick off summer.

June 20th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Proving my worthiness with reddened lips and fingers.