The Daily EO: July 6th, 2012

What an ironic day.  At least I think it was ironic.  It could be Alanis Morrisette ironic.  I am not totally sure.

I was in a toy store shopping for a gift for my nephew’s upcoming birthday when I received a call from a recruiter.  It’s weird to have a conversation like that in a toy store.  It was a recruiter I’d worked with before – he wanted to know if I would be “too angry” to talk to a certain company about a Materials Manager job (in Markham) and the company had asked for my résumé.  Yes, that is a funny question, but here is a back story:

About 6 weeks ago, a job posting come up on Workopolis.  The job requirements matched exactly to my education, experience and skills – with one exception, they prefered a candidate with pharmaceutical background.  But seriously people – I’ll tell you now:  Manufacturing is Manufacturing.   Good practices are the same regardless of what industry you are working in.  Obviously if you are making pacemakers versus inexpensive pens, your levels of quality control, government regulations and testing are adjusted.  But don’t let anyone bamboozle you into thinking the underlying principles are different.

Anyways, I applied to this position.  I got no response – which given how many resumes postings get when on Workopolis, I can understand.  It’s pretty easy to get lost in the crowd.  Later that week I received 2 calls from 2 different recruiters about the same job.  I told you my background matched the description!  Well, when the feedback came back from the company, I was told that I didn’t appear to have any “MRP/MPS experience”.  Huh??  I’m a Materials Manager!  If you are in manufacturing, you know what this is.  So, I’ll give you examples of what this means to say to a Materials Manager.

To a teacher:  You don’t seem to have child interaction experience.
Electrician:  You don’t know how current flows.
IT Technician:  You don’t how to put together a home computer.
Accountant:  You don’t know how use a spreadsheet.

MRP/MPS is the basis of any materials role.  If you have worked manufacturing, you would know that you cannot run your department without it.  MPS = Master Production Schedule.  MRP = Manufacturing Resource Planning.  That sounds fancy pantsy.  But really, it means having a plan, knowing what you need for the plan, and knowing what you’ve got for the plan.  If you have ever planned a dinner party, you have done MPS and MRP.

Anyways, I’m not angry – I just thought it was funny.  Their loss and I moved on.

But now, they are back. (And so you’re back! From outer space!  I just walked in to find you here! With that sad look upon your face!) And the recruiter thought I might be too angry.  Angry??  This is what all Richard Marx listening break-up victims dream of.  Ha ha!  Oh, I’ll interview alright, and you’re going to see I look fabulous, I’m thin and I so do know what MRP/MPS is!   Ha!

Later that afternoon, I got another call from a recruiter for another position (Mississauga).  One that I think they copied requirements directly from my résumé.  They want to know my interview availability.  What??

Why is this ironic?  Several reasons:

  • I haven’t received a call from a recruiter/company in about 6 weeks.
  • Emile has been working on landing a position in Orillia with his former company after deciding that perhaps Toronto is not the place for us.
  • We are leaving on Wednesday (or perhaps Thursday) for a long sojourn across Canada and the USA.  We have so much to do to get ready!
  • Our car needs an oil change and check-up before we head out.  The car will be out of commission in either Monday or Tuesday.
  • Emile is working Monday and Tuesday for a friend.  So he will not be available during the day to assist.

So needless to say, these two calls fly in the face of short and medium plans we have finally been able to put together.   And I’ve had ample time over the last couple of months to do these things – yet now I have to try to perhaps to fit in 2 city interviews and all the prep for being away into a short period of time.

July 6th, 2012  Extra-Ordinary:  Do I really have to say?  2 calls in 1 day?

PS – Yes, we are coming to a city near you, so you west coasters, we’ll be there soon!

The Daily EO: July 5th, 2012

There are 5 ice cream shops in Huntsville – The Nutty Chocolatier, Kawartha Dairies, Yog’s, Belly and The Purple House.

The Nutty is the oldest and most established – it’s been on Main Street for years and draws in the tourists with their huge selection of ice cream, chocolates, and candy.  It’s open until 11 pm in the summer allowing for treats after other events in town.  They carry Nestle Ice Cream.

Yog’s used to be located on the Main Street (across from Nutty) and had every inch of their shop decorated with photos of patrons enjoying their ice cream.  There were 1000s of pictures.  They tehn moved just off Main Street for a fresher look (read: no more pictures).  Yog’s also carries Nestle Ice Cream.

Kawartha Dairies is a recent addition.  They built a huge log cabin-ish building outside of town on Highway 60 (on the way to Algonquin Park or Ottawa).  They are part of Kawartha Dairies (obviously) which is a large dairy in the – you guessed it – Kawartha Lakes area.  Kawartha Lakes is not in Muskoka.  They obviously serve Kawartha Dairies ice cream.

Belly is a new gourmet ice cream shop this season and all of their ice cream is blended in Huntsville.  They are located also on Main Street, but in a small gazebo in a tiny park.  They serve local and seasonal flavours like rhubarb or Tall Trees Butter Tarts.

The Purple House opened after River Mill Park did – it’s now located just off Main Street directly across from the biggest children’s play area in Huntsville and the waterfront.  It is a tiny purple house.  The serve Kawartha Dairies Ice Cream.

So if you are a consumer in Huntsville looking to purchase an ice cream cone – you are in luck, you have lots of choice and a decision to make.

Do you go with Nutty Chocolatier – the original?  Yet the tourist trap?  Do you want the originality and quality of Belly?  Two things that you pay extra for?  What about Kawartha Dairies?  It’s a bit of a drive out to Highway 60 and it drags people away from our downtown core but they have a huge selection.  Or The Purple House?  Across from the park and the waterfront?  Or Yog’s that serves exactly the same ice creams as Nutty just around the block?  Yet also a tradition?

It’s a hard choice. But it is the little things that make the difference to me – I don’t want Kawartha Dairies because they are a new interloper is from Lindsay or the like.  Go back to where you came from with your fancy store away from the centre of town!  And if I am only buying an ice cream cone – I have to stand outside – I can’t purchase in the store.  Telling me as a consumer what to do never bodes well for you.

Yog’s never got past their tiny little dingy store with me.  Even now that they moved, I have to wonder why they aren’t doing something to differentiate themselves from the competition.

Belly – I haven’t been to yet.  It’s next on the list though.  I’ve heard it is very expensive and the portions are small – but isn’t anything that claims to be gourmet?  It will be an occasional treat – but I need to find a less pricey regular place.

The Purple House.  Brilliant location.  Supported the “Band On the Run” by giving two for one ice cream cones to racers on race day.  Kawartha Dairies Ice Cream, but it’s not like Nestle’s is local.  And also a frozen yogurt machine that you can make your own.  So love that.

For years, our choice was The Nutty – but the portions have been shrinking, the prices rises and there is a feeling that perhaps you are not valued as a local consumer as you should be.

The Purple House welcomed us warmly when we returned to support them for supporting us in Band on the Run.  Fair prices, solid selection, excellent service and good portion size.  Sorry Nutty.

July 5th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  A dumped supplier.  A new place.  And another important decision in my life made.

The Daily EO: July 4th, 2012

I’m not a hunter.  It’s just something that I don’t want to do on many fronts.  Nobody in my family ever hunted and nobody in my husband’s family either.  I am not against hunting – in season, for purpose (that doesn’t include trophies) and within guidelines that protect people and the species hunted.   Removing all ethical considerations, I can understand the satisfaction found in the successful challenge of tracking and accurately hitting a bullseye.   So, I sit in the middle of the fence – it is not something I want to do, but I respect responsible hunters’ right to hunt for food  – especially if it is part of their culture – such as in our Inuit and Native communities here in Canada.  I just don’t want to myself.  Just like I don’t really want to know where bacon comes from.

I am a bit squeamish.  I don’t want to see death or blood, or know that my actions caused the death and blood.  You’d think this would carry through to my “family” as well, but frankly when Beavis shows up with yet another chipmunk in his teeth – I am really proud of him.  After all, he started out as an indoor condo cat – who didn’t go outside willingly until he was 8 years old.  And he is tied up on his leash – a long one granted – but restrictive.

Beavis doesn’t even eat the chipmunks – which I am really thankful for because I don’t want to have to clean up the guts (see squeamish above).  I really think he thinks that they are playing together.  (if you can consider sharp teeth sinking into your abdomen “playing”).  The play date eventually becomes less fun.  So then he tosses the poor fellows in the air assumingly for resuscitation purposes.  Bored, eventually Beavis just wanders off in search of new cat chores to perform.  But not before he sits near his kill for a while with an aura of smugness.  I am sure that it is smugness.  It couldn’t be shame.  I should condemn him for it, but I seem to be just proud

July 4th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  Reduction of the chipmunk population in a 20 metre circle in our back yard.  Excuse me now, I have to go bury a chipmunk.

The Daily EO: July 3rd, 2012

I wear contact lenses.  I’ve corrected my vision since Grade 2.  The first time I wore my glasses, it was for the Christmas pageant at school.  My classmate Caroline – yes, I remember her name – said to me “Angels don’t wear glasses” and that line has lived in infamy in my life since then.  I was originally diagnosed as near-sighted with an astigmatism, the latter I seemed to have grown out of as no optometrist has noted it subsequently.  I wore glasses from that fateful Christmas pageant until I was about 25.  Playing softball is difficult if your depth perception is off.  So, you either miss the ball every time, or you correct your vision and deal with the sweaty lenses.

By that point, contact lenses were moving into the daily types and so much more comfortable and affordable.   I figured I would correct my vision AND avoid the inconvenience of glasses.

I have two strong memories of vision:  when I first got my glasses, your brain needs time to adapt the new distorted images and although you can see properly for the first time, my brain had spent almost 8 years adapting the images for me.  So when I first got my glasses, I could see the TV better, but I my brain also interpreted my height as being significantly higher than I was actually tall.  That was pretty disconcerting for a kid.  I remember running across the street from my house, looking down and wondering how I got so high up from the road.

The second was when I was 25.  For those of you who do not need corrective lenses, you will not be able to relate.  When you cannot see properly without glasses, it’s something of an anchor.  You have these things on that dint the side of your head, leave red marks on your nose, and that get so filthy you wonder how you could see through them.   And after spending about 1/2 hour trying to jam lenses into my eyeballs that my reflexes just weren’t having, the first drive home without the glasses anchor was miraculous.  I could see, I couldn’t feel the lenses, it was like normal people.  It was amazing.

Now that I am old, my eye doctor has informed my that my vision is changing yet again.  And that would explain why I cannot see to pluck my eyebrows with my lenses in.  In fact, I have to be correctionless to be able to see about 50% of the hairs.  So, every two weeks when I remove my lenses for a 12 hour rest, I also pluck my eyebrows.

July 3rd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  If you cannot see to pluck, you cannot see you need to pluck.  When life taketh, it giveth.

 

This week’s CSA half share:

  • Baby New Potatoes
  • bunch of tat tsoi
  • bunch arugula
  • a bag of lettuce mix
  • small heads of bok/ joi choi
  • snap peas
  • green peas

 

The Daily EO: July 2nd, 2012

Huntsville is built around lakes, leaving our downtown core as one of the most charming, picturesque areas I have ever been in.  The new Riverside park runs along part of it, and it a perfect place to sit and watch locals and tourists alike.

I spent most of the weekend consuming oh so delicious calories, and yet some how I was able to find room to agree with my husband on a trip downtown for treat.

Downtown was bustling, it was warm but breezy.  And an old standby caught my eye.

July 2nd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  Pralines and Cream Ice Cream and watching the boats float by.

The Daily EO: July 1st, 2012

I don’t really understand what it means to live without, to generally be concerned about my safety, or need to protest in the streets to get basic human rights for me or my fellow countrymen.  I don’t know what it means to not have EI to turn to, worry about getting sick because I cannot afford the bill, or face the workings of a corrupt police force.  I do not like Stephen Harper much – he’s is a bit of a stuffed shirt – but I don’t have to worry about him eliminating the Québécois in massive act of government-sponsored genocide.  And I will not be taken from my home for voicing a negative opinion about him.  I don’t have to bribe a government official to receive a licence.  And I can log into Facebook any time I want (which I do not want).

My generation – and the ones that are coming after me – for the most part don’t get it.  Those who came before us fought – both literally and figuratively – so we didn’t have to understand it.  So suffering and misery were replaced by hope and opportunity.

I know some of you would point out the challenges we face here:  many Canadians living under the poverty line, social issues prevalent in our Native populations, the erosion of our Peace Keeping reputation on the world stage, the underfunding problem in healthcare, cheap imports devastating our manufacturing base, and conservation of our generous nature resources.  There will always be problems for us to solve.

But we have the basics of the basics down.  And today – despite it’s predictability – I am thankful.

July 1st, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  Celebrating my Canadian Citizenship.

The Daily EO: June 30th, 2012

It was my friend’s 50th birthday party today.   Not her birthday – that is in August – but her surprise party thrown by her husband.  He did a great job keeping the secret, but it is a little easier when it’s a month early.  Why a month early?  Well, because a bunch of friends were already planning to be up wouldn’t be here in August.  So, 50 is 50.  Celebrate when you want, right?

The party was held in “the shop” – which is a 3 bay garage that by day is used to make paint repairs to cars and boats.  That’s funny right?  Sounds hokey and kinda  like “Really?  The shop?”.  But it wasn’t.  It was fun – it was neat and it it didn’t matter if you spilled your drink.   Now this shop isn’t like your mechanics shop with oil and stuff all over the place – it is more like an upscale garage.  Complete with decorations, a DJ, and a huge pig roasting BBQ, we were pretty set.   It wasn’t white linen napkins – but it shouldn’t have been.  It was exactly how you wanted to kick off a long weekend in Muskoka.

That’s the wonderful thing about Muskoka – come as you are.  In the summer, you can easily tell the shiny, primped tourists from the wrinkled, comfortable locals.  We’re a little smug about it really – laughing at the traffic heading North on Friday evening and again heading South on Sunday night.   I suppose they laugh at us idiots trying to make a living in a town increasing dependent on tourism.

June 30th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary:  Drinking Bacardi Pina Colada Coolers in a paint booth.  Weird, but perfect.

 

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?