May 19, 2006

Well, the wedding is over and we survived it. Actually, we really, really enjoyed every minute of it. It was honestly one of the funnest days of my life. (Yes, I realize "funnest" is not a word.)

I'd like to attach a few photos to share a snipit of this event with you. These were all taken by our friends and family. We're still awaiting the professional ones, but in some ways these shots are more fun and give better glimpses into the day.

Oh, and if you've got any pics to add to the file, please send 'em our way!

The elusive bag

There are many versions of this story floating around, most with an element of error, so I though I would set the story straight. Some of the details are fuzzy in my mind, too, but at least there will be a record of this event.

Our honeymoon was a week-long all-inclusive vacation in the Dominican Republic, leaving Saturday at 6:10 am. So around midnight, I thought maybe it was time to pack it in and convinced my new husband that we should go. Leona helped me get out of my wedding gown (a 2-person job) and into my vacation dress. As I was removing my headpiece, I realized that the black MEC bag that I had hung with this dress was not on the hanger. So I went to the locked storage room where it had been and searched around a bit, to no avail. At this point, I interrupted Darren’s conversation (I have no idea who he was talking to, but I’m sure they’ve forgiven me) and told him the gravity of the situation: our carryon bag, the one containing our passports, was missing.

What happened next was a whirlwind for me. This is the only part of the day that I didn’t enjoy. The DJ announced that a black purse had been misplaced, the hall lights were turned on and everyone who was still there started searching the room. The next thing I knew, people were searching vehicles, others were looking through garbage cans and still others were watching surveillance videos trying to see whether the bag was in fact brought into and out of the AGH. After a short while, I went to my parents’ hotel where Alicia, Ben and the kids were asleep.

Somehow Darren found out that Canadians can enter the D.R. with photo ID and a birth certificate, so my dad and brother-in-law (Ben) drove to my apartment in St. Catharines to pick up those pieces of identification. Darren eventually joined us at the hotel and proceeded to take a short nap. Mom and Alicia sat up with me as I cancelled the 2 credit cards that were in the missing bag and rummaged through their luggage to find stuff that I would need that was packed in the aforementioned bag. When Dad and Ben got back, Darren and I got into his car and drove to Toronto. We had decided to keep our hotel reservation because at least we could leave the car there for the week. It might have been cheaper to park at the airport, but we weren’t in a state of mind to do any mathematical calculations just then. This was just before 3 am.

The trip to Toronto was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Our attitude pulling out of the hotel parking lot was, even if we don’t get to actually go on our honeymoon, at least we’ll enjoy the ride. So we started reviewing the day together. The conversation was filled with “remember when…”s and “I loved the part where…”s and “wasn’t it great that…”s. Before long I was in tears, having come to the realization that

• Our friends and family really love us.
• We had the perfect wedding.
• Darren and I really were made for each other.

I must have cried for 30 minutes straight, saying things like “It’s so unbelieveable that people care about us so much that they would do whatever they could to help us go on our trip!” and “My dad was right when he said in his speech that you really opened me up” and “You’ve earned the right to be Alex and Levi’s uncle!” and “I can’t believe that we each got to marry someone who is so right for the other; not a lot of people get that, you know!”

Once we neared the hotel, my focus shifted to reading the directions and that enabled me to calm down a bit. When we pulled up in front of the hotel, we both got out and headed to the trunk to get out the suitcase. As soon as the trunk door was up, I spotted THE BAG! Let me tell you: I’ve never felt such confusion, elation and embarrassment at once before! Darren and I stared at the bag for a few seconds and then hugged for a few more and then questioned how it ever got in there. To this day we’re still not sure who put the bag in Darren’s trunk, the one place that I had been wishing all evening that *I* had put it!

Anyway, we went to the Dominican with our passports in hand and had a wonderful time. But that experience, besides giving us a great story, really was positive in that it fostered some realizations that will help us through the difficult times that are bound to arise.

Thanks, everyone for your love and support!

Wedding time

Posts have been sparce recently, due to the chaos that has been my life of late. The real countdown to the wedding has begun...2 days to go. There are only details to be taken care of now, and then the big day.

So the next time you hear from me I'll be a Mrs. Until then, take care. And in the meantime, if you wouldn't mind joining me in praying for a beautiful, rain-free day, I would really appreciate it!

Packing Joys (?!)

I don't want to pack.

This always happens to me. Whenever I go on a long (or long-ish) trip, I get out my suitcases early and start to assemble the necessities I will take along with me. But I give up after a few minutes and then I have stuff all over my room, inhibiting me from doing whatever I'm supposed to do in there...like sleep.

Well, since I'm moving on Monday I thought I'd get an early-ish start at packing up my belongings this week but the same thing has happened, only on a larger scale.

So in an attempt to ward off the packing/moving blahs, I've compiled a small list of the benefits of moving. Hopefully this will help keep me thinking positively.

• It's a chance to rediscover hidden treasures. Any pack rat will know what I'm talking about - all those things that were so important when you recieved them and got placed somewhere and forgotten about. The thing is that I enjoy finding them so much that I want to stash them away again in order to have that joy next time I move. This kind of screws up the second point:
• It's a great opportunity to purge. How often do we really go through our closets and storage spaces and get rid of the things we don't use or need? Not often enough, I say. But although I would love to live in a house where everything I owned was something I actually used, I very rarely go through and purge.
  
• Moving from one place means moving to another. I love change and the adventure that comes along with it. I realize that while it's sad to leave an environment filled with memories, that going to a new one provides the opportunity to create new ones. This move signifies the beginning of the biggest adventure I've ever been on. How fun.
  
• Packing is a process with very tangeable, visual results. I love washing dishes because I can see the immediate positive consequences of my labour. Packing can be the same way. Closed up boxes, empty shelves an bare walls give me a feeling of satisfaction.
  
• It's a great workout. Boxes and furniture have to be moved from this basement apartment to the van and then from the van to the 4th floor apartment I'm moving into. That's more exercise than I get in a normal week. I think I may have to forgo rollerblading that day.
  
• It gives Darren a chance to make me feel loved. We learned at the marriage course that we're both multilingual when it comes to love languages, but one of the key ways in which I feel love is when someone does something nice for me (kind actions). Helping me sort, pack, carry...it's all kind actions to me. (It doesn't matter that he get just as much benefit out of this move as I do.)

Ok, hopefully that will help - tomorrow, when I get back at it.

Not a good time to be sick

I came home from work early today because I wasn't feeling good. On Sunday afternoon when I started losing my voice Chrissy attributed it to all the "Awww...that's beautiful!" I was saying at the shower (pictures pending). However, that raspy voice turned into a feel-aweful-kind-of-cold.

I don't really mind being sick. In fact, this would be a great semester to have gotten a cold or two because my benefits have just kicked in and I do have sick days now.

But it's a terrible time to get sick because this is the final week of classes for the semseter. Before the promotions meetings (sometimes called pass/fail meetings where we discuss which of our students move on to the next level and which do not) on Friday at noon, I have to have calculated final grades for each of my students, including tallying the final exams which are also happening this week.

Besides that, I'm moving on Monday. Consequently, this apartment has to be packed up before that. I think I was in denial about how much work that really is. Thankfully we don't have to move Darren's stuff for another 2 weeks.

And thirdly, Darren and I are going to Forest on Sunday to my parents' church because they're having a small luncheon in our honour. It's a nice gesture, but a long way to go on such a busy weekend.

And of course there's the ongoing wedding stuff, like the final meeting with our caterer tonight which I sent Darren to alone (sorry, baby!) and "Operation Get-rid-of-the-remaining-evidence-of-last-summer's-
sunburn-that-changed-my-life."

I'm done complaining, now. Actually, this is more of a personal to-do list than a complaint session (at least in my mind.) And I'm not really worried about anything; it'll all get done...but at a slower pace now that I have to take frequent 20 second coughing breaks.

Just to prove that I'm not in a completely negative state of mind, here are a couple good things about today:

One good thing: my landlord rescheduled the appointments he had set up for potential renters to view my apartment. I don't think a half-dazed girl in the bedroom would have helped sell this place.

Another: I took apart the gorgeous floral arrangement that Jacquie made for my shower today because I don't have a good place to display such a large work of art. But now I have beautiful flowers all over my apartment, which makes me so happy. My favourite is the pitcher of small lily-like flowers (astramaris?) by my phone. (But I also love the mum-related boquet on the toilet.) Wanna see?





Oh, and the ring fits. Now we wait to find out what happens in the summer.

The consequence of listening to experts

Every decision has a consequence. Unfortunately, a disproportionate number of those consequences are negative. Perhaps that's why I hate decision making so much.

I'm thinking of one incident in particular:

Last weekend Darren, Chuck and I went to Toronto to visit the boys' friend, Erika. On the way we stopped at Spence to look at the wedding band that matches my engagement ring. While there two things happened: (1) we purchased a ring for me and (2) the sales lady convinced me that my ring - which I have been wearing without incident since November - was 1/2 a size too big. We ended up leaving there with less money and no rings because one was being ordered and the other shipped away for sizing.

Now this woman (who is much more of an expert in ring sizing than I am) is probably right. The ring has always had a lot of freedom to move around on my finger. However, I thought that was how rings were supposed to fit, so I didn't consider the fact that it might, indeed be too big.

But there's one thing that this sales lady doesn't know: my fingers get fat in the summer. It doesn't even have to be summer; as soon as it gets warm, my long, lean fingers turn into long, fat sausages. In fact, I used to gauge my internal body temperature by how many times I had to switch my rings to smaller fingers.

I did mention this fact to the woman at Spence but somehow she got me to leave my ring there to be made smaller. But as soon as we left the store I was afraid that I had made the wrong decision and that whenever the weather got above freezing I'd have to walk around looking "unattached."

Of course, on Saturday when we go and pick up the ring we may discover that all my worrying was a waste of energy. So I guess I don't really believe that most consequences are negative. It's that I fear that most consequences are negative. What I need to do is decide that my decision, once I've deliberated over it and finally, painstakingly made it, is the right one and put it out of my mind.

Hmmm...I wonder how many more decisions I'll have to fret over before I learn to do this.

The equation for a good weekend

Both Darren and I commented today just how great a weekend this past one was. Here's the interesting thing, though: we didn't do anything extra special or completely out of the ordinary.

The schedule included a Casino party (no money exchanged) for our ESL students, a bit of standard driving, the watching of a movie, a dinner out, registering at Walmart, a church worship service, lunch with Darren's family, the buying of Darren's wedding band, the booking of our honeymoon, a little zuma-action (of course!) and the sixth installment of our marriage course.

We didn't get re-acquainted with any long-lost friends or visit any new, fascinating places. We didn't complete any major projects or beat any world records. We didn't take up a new sport or solve any world issues. But it was a wonderful weekend.

I think, at least for me, the definition of a great "down time" is one which has a healthy balance of productivity and relaxation. It's easy and natural to do nothing (by "nothing" I mean lay around watching TV, reading a book and eating) when we're not required to be somewhere or produce something. Many a reading week or Christmas vacation is "wasted" by such activities that we think will help re-energize us for when "real life" starts again.

But whenever I have days like that I always find myself more tired and drained than when I began. Part of it could simply be the drained sensation that comes with guilt of having been so lazy.

So now I think that the body requires a bit of activity and pro-activity in order to be healthy and to truly relax. It's funny: I don't feel particularly tired at the end of this weekend even though we lost an hour. I think it's because Darren and I took the time to do "nothing" (I'd definitely consider watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind doing nothing) in between taking care of some important things (making significant and vital purchases for our upcoming festivities) and enjoying the company of others in a fun environment (without losing a cent on blackjack).

Well, at least that's my latest theory.

The magic number

About a month ago I decided that this spring I would go rollerblading by the canal (about 5 minutes from my house by car) each day

• in which the temperature was 10 degrees or higher
• which was not raining (or threatening rain).
  

It was clear that my motivation wasn't high enough at that point in time because there have been a couple of days that fit that criteria so far in 2006. So my new criteria is this: I will go rollerblading each day

• in which the temperature was 10 degrees or higher
• which was not raining (or threatening rain) and
• which comes after March 27, 2006.

That should do it!

I have a feeling that date would have kept being pushed forward until the part of the year that is too hot for rollerblading and I'd be forced to make up a new goal. Fortunately my landlords were showing my apartment to potential tenants today between 5 and 6 so I had all the motivation I needed to get out of the house.

Once I got to the recreational path, I learned that 10 degrees isn't as hot as one might think. I'm not complaining about the weather, don't get me wrong, but I was sure glad that I still have my winter layers in my back seat because I soon realized that I hadn't really dressed appropriately. Besides the 3 sweaters I was wearing, I also needed a toque and gloves, which aren't so easy to wear with wrist guards. Good thing my arms are so small!

I must say that it was nice to get out and be active for a change. I couldn't go very far, and I'll probably feel it in those muscles reserved only for rollerblading, but it was great! I came home will all kinds of motivation which lasted until I turned on the computer. I guess the next decision I make should be to related to avoiding things I know will make me sedentary, lazy, tired, and mind-numbed.

Stupid zuma!

Intentional Stress

I'm a little ridiculous sometimes. Ok, I'm quite ridiculous a lot of the time. The specific reason that I'm referring to now is in relation to placing onself under intentional stress.

Yesterday when Darren asked me what I did with my afternoon the answer included some lesson planning with a colleague and Zuma, to which he replied, "I can't play Zuma; it's too stressful."

He's right. It's a very stressful game. The balls keep coming and a simple mistake screws everything up. There's definitely no relaxing involved in this game, but somehow I love it!

It's strange because I don't particularly like high-stress environments. Some people thrive in stressful situations. I remember back in high school Alicia saying that she intentionally would put off writing and essay because she wrote better under pressure.

I think there's an element of truth in that for all people. When there is a time limit or deadline, we lose the ability (not necessarily the desire) to procrastinate because we're forced to focus. Focus doesn't necessarily equal quality, but it does make production easier.

While it is true that I'm more motivated to get stuff done when I'm nearing "time's up," I can't say that I like it. Ideally I'd like to work at my own pace, enjoying the process of whatever it is. This often backfires, though. In the morning, for example, no matter what time I get up or how much time I leave myself to get ready for the day, I'm always rushing at the end.

Anyway, like it or not, I am intentionally putting myself in a position of great stress when playing Zuma. It's funny...I don't even understand the game, really. I don't know what the deal is with the frog or why the balls keep coming. In terms of rules and points, I have only been inferring (that sounds better than guessing) the way to score big and finish the level. As for strategy, well that's even more hit-and-miss.

Perhaps I enjoy the feeling of triumphing over the pressure-filled level. Or maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. Who knows?

Warm at last

It's amazing what a nice foot bath will do for one's entire state of mind.

Usually when I come home from my morning ventures I'm generally cold all over but not incapacitatingly so in any one area. Today, however, I honestly couldn't feel my toes.

I think I may have been wearing a faulty pair of foot warmers because after the first hour I took them out and rubbed them together in hopes that they would get reactivated. But it didn't work and by the beginning of hour 3, there was no feeling left.

So I hobbled in the house, took off my boots, socks and top layer of pants and got the foot bath ready. A five-minute soak not only took the edge off, but it also gave me the motivation to begin the day's tasks. Well, it at least removed the dread. That's a big deal.

Thanks to my cousins for their thoughtfulness!

Free money

Tax time is a wonderful time of year for many people, or at least for me.

Each year around this time I get a warm feeling in my heart toward the government - whichever party is in power at the time. You see, it seems as though each March the government gets generous and sends me a small chunk of free money.

I usually have a good idea what to do with that money. Last year, for example, it was my champaign-birthday-eye-surgery fund. this year it has more to do with wedding/honeymoon expenses.

I don't think I'm alone in this thought process. On my way to work this morning I saw a sign outside an electronics store that read TAX REFUND = PLASMA TV. Isn't it nice that our national leaders buy us high definition televisions?

I do understand that the money I receive is actually the government returning the excess money that I paid them earlier in the year. But somehow it seems like a generous act to me each year.

I don't know why elections aren't held in the spring, right after tax overpayments have been returned. I think it might create greater sympathy toward the current party...at least from those who got refunds.

The joy of dwindling food supply

I think I've blogged before about how I enjoy it when my cupboards are getting slightly void. I know it sounds strange, but as much as I get excited about food preparation right after finishing a grocery shopping trip, I think I might get just as excited when another trip to No Frills is in order.

There are a number of reasons for this (or at least theories as to why I think this might be):

1. I am a terrible artist. I can't paint, draw, sculpt...visual arts and I simply do not get along. Or maybe I should say, the world prefers it if the visual arts and I stay away from each other. However, I am a creative person. In fact, I am an inventor (or an aspiring one). You see, I love inventing songs to help me remember things, I enjoy inventing fun new activities to help someone learn or practice something, and I get much pleasure out of inventing new foods. Ok, they're not really new foods, but new variations on foods. I think that's why soup is my absolute favourite thing to make - it's all about mixing stuff together and playing with the proportions until you come up with something that tastes good.
   
2. I hate making decisions. I am one of the worst decision makers that I know. I think there are a number of factors that come into play here: I want to make everyone happy, I don't want to be associated with failure, I can see the benefits in most options and I hate to miss out on anything. When there is less food to choose from, there are less options that answer the question, "What should I have for dinner?" That helps me greatly.
3. I am a poor judge of distance. What I mean is that my sense of distance changes according to my state of motivation. There are times when I'll suffer with light shining in my eyes because the light switch is just too far away. Or I'll curl up in a little ball because the blanket is on the other side of the room. Or I'll "hold it" because going to the washroom would mean walking across the entire apartment. In terms of food, the grocery store that on a nice, sunny day is only a 5-minute walk from my apartment suddenly moves to another city when I'd rather stay indoors. That's simply too far.

Whatever the reason, I'm getting a kick out of meal times this week! Hopefully they don't taste too bad, either. Darren's coming over tonight...we'll see how he likes the bare cupboard special.


Oh yeah, once I start getting paychecks again, I have a sneaky suspicion that Food Basics will return to its rightful location.

Dress for success

I have a new respect for all those who work outside. Mailmen, construction workers, meter readers...they're all amazing!

With the extended amount of time that I'm spending outside these days, I've become very interested in the weather. To be more specific, I've become very interested in how to dress appropriately for the weather.

I have no idea how I spent 3 winters in Saskatchewan without a warm coat. Ok, let's be reasonable - it's not like I endure the winter months in a sweater. I have outerwear that keeps me warm from car to building or building to building, but nothing to spend extended periods of time outdoors in. No ski jacket or pants, no good winter play boots. It baffles me.

Neither do I have rain gear. I know once upon a time I did have a pastel green/blue rain coat, but I suspect that sometime in the late 90s it was donated to the Salvation Army.

Anyway, I am surrounded by kind folks who have taken pity on me. It's understandable; I would feel compassionate toward a stick-girl huddling under her umbrella in pouring rain with water running from the bottom edge of her wool coat, or that same girl walking on her heels on a frigid day because her toes have frozen. Anyway, thanks to the generosity of my fine compatriots, I have been sporting the following of late:

• borrowed hot paws mitts, men's large size
• borrowed yellow plastic rain pants, securely duct taped in the crotch
• a borrowed white down-filled jacket with purple fabric with cartoon Inuit characters on the inside, including the hood
• hand and foot warmers, purchased regularly at Canadian Tire to help my once-fashionable (circa 1995) Thinsulate boots protect my feet
• all of this is covering the 3 shirts, 2 pairs of pants and knee-socks, and complimented by an unmatching hat/scarf ensemble

I'm quite a sight!

It's amazing what a difference being properly dressed makes on one's morale...and also physical wellbeing. Once I have money coming in again, I'm going to seriously consider investing in a good pair of snow pants and a winter coat - you know, the kind that keeps one warm.

It's raining gifts

The week that spanned the end of February and the beginning of March was Spring Break at the college where I work. So I decided to take advantage of that time and get a few wedding things accomplished.

The first major task was to make and send the invitations, which we did assembly-line style over a period of 3 days. By "we" I mean my mother, her friend, my sister and I...each helping out when she could.

The second task was to finish the scrapbook that my sisters had started for me. For my birthday, Alicia and Alaina (with Leona's help) took the pictures of Darren and I that had been blown up for the engagement and scrapbooked them. It was a wonderful idea and a wonderful gift, but the problem was: it was incomplete. I am not a scrapbooker but I was determined to finish the project, which we did...in only 2 days.

Now, I didn't have to travel so far to complete these projects; I could have found some people around here who don't mind cutting and 'ribboning,' but the real reason for the trip to Forest was the shower that Leona threw me. She and her friend Stacey invited over 60 ladies from the church - and my favourite cousins from London - and then (with my mom's help) hosted them all in their house. They took out pretty much all the furniture that wasn't appropriate for sitting on in both the living and dining rooms and then brought in another 25 chairs for the evening.

It was amazing to me how many ladies showed up, and how many gifts I received. I am now the owner of enough bakeware to make anything I ever wanted, enough towels to have guests over and even some items to make our new little apartment look like a home.

When I showed Darren the treasures, he was as blown away as I was. I still can't believe that people who don't even know Darren or me would bless us in such a huge way.

Of course, this generosity sparked a third project for the week: the making of thank-you cards. That task, although it did take 2 days to complete, was one that I was very happy to do, remembering the way that these people had given Darren and I a nice start on our new journey.


(On a related note: I have updated the wedding blog again. I make mention of this here because it's so rare an occurence that one may stop checking.)

Update

Things have been crazy lately. Here's a very fast update:

• I spent all of last week in Forest.

• Darren collected all the documentation for his MA application in 2 days.

• My Internet is not working.

• I'm on strike.

• There are still straggler invitations being dealt with.

• We've pretty much finalized everything with the hall.

• My TO DO list is intimidating.

That's it...that's enough.

Not enough time

I have a lot of dreams about work. I don't know why, but my students (both past and present) and coworkers seem to pop up in my dreams on a regular basis.

But this weekend I had my first dream that involved my future family. I think it was a combination of 3 facts: (1) there have been a number of "family birthday gatherings" in February, (2) Darren's and my great apartment search has officially begun and (3) I had just shown the movie Cool Runnings to my class on Friday. Let me describe the dream.

The scene is an island somewhere in the tropics.

Darren's sister-in-law and I were walking out of a house (presumably his parents') in which we had just finished a meal. "We" in this case means Darren's immediate family. Now, I don't actually remember seeing all of the members of th is group in my dream, but I knew they were there nonetheless (you know how dreams can be.)

Apparantly Darren and I were looking for a house to buy, but at this moment Christy (that's Darren's sister-in-law) and I were just walking. We stopped at a little vendor shop and without exchanging a single word, the desired package was handed to her and the money for it was handed back. Then they struck up a conversation like you might with a good friend. I thought we were simply stopping at a random shop.

Then we continued on our way and Christy pointed to a house and said, "You should buy that one." Here's the rest of the dialogue:

Larissa: I wonder how much it is.
Christy: It's got to be reasonable if it's on this street.
Larissa: Can I ask how much you paid for yours? (Apparantly Chris and Christy - yes, Darren's brother and his wife have pretty much the same name. One of their cousins thinks that's very courteous so they have less names to remember - own a house just down the street)
Christy: Practically nothing. Chris built it. It's not hard, if you have the time.

My immediate response was, "We don't have the time." At that comment Christy and I exchanged knowing looks and the conversation ended.

You see, time was not an issue for us, but because I knew that neither Darren nor I had the knowledge or skills to build a house...even a simple one made entirely of concrete. That's not to say we're skill-less; give us a month and we'll be bartering with the locals in their language.

But building a house is best left to professionals and those who read technical manuals for fun.

The invitations are coming

Vellum, what a funny word, but I know what it is...now.

I'm getting married in less than 3 months. Darren and I have slowly been getting things arranged. We've got a hall, church, attire, limo...but no guests. That is, we haven't invited anyone yet. So my task over the spring break, which incidently is next week, is to make invitations.

To that end, my friend Chrissy and I got together on Monday afternoon with an agenda: figure out what to do and how to do it, in terms of getting invitaitons put together.

There are so many possibilities when it comes to making invitations. That's bad for a terrible decision-maker like me. Darren's only input was, "Make it look like our reception: elegant and simple." (gee, thanks. As if I would 'ok' something gaudy or busy?)

So we went to a fabulous little store that sells custom rubber stamps and card-making supplies. The couple who runs it was so helpful and patient with me, a novice. I learned how to weave a ribbon so as to avoid tying a bow, how to invisibly adhere transluscent materials and what vellum is. I now feel prepared to get right at it...next week.

Thanks Chrissy, and thanks Duffy's.

Olympic confusion

I just discovered that the Olympics are on. Let me clarify that: The fact that the Olympics are on has just made a difference in my life.

I haven't been keeping up with the lastest from Torino. This is partly due to the fact that I don't have my TV on much of the time, and partly due to the fact that I simply am not crazy for the Games.

For the past few years, the Olympics haven't been sitting well with me. There's just something about them that bothers me. I'm not sure that I can explain, but it has to do with the general population claiming victory or loss for individual achievement.

I hear commentators talking about how a 4th place finish is a let down to Canada and that "we" should have placed in such-and-such a sport today. Who is this "we"? How is the failure of an athlete who worked for years (granted, with some financial support from "us") disgracing the country? Is that athlete trying to win a medal so he can show how great Canada is? Isn't it more likely that he's doing it for himself?

I don't understand why is it that no one (and by no one I mean the general population) cares at all about obscure sports like skeleton and speed skating until an event like this and then all of a sudden claim victory thr0ugh them. OK, what I actually don't understand is why this is considered normal. I know there are fairweather friends in all areas of sporting, (I will watch the NHL playoffs, for example, but not the regular season play) but can they really speak of victories or losses in the first person? I say no.

I don't really mind the international competition aspect of the Games - you know, the idea that countries are competing against each other in order to show their "supremacy". You'll notice that I never rant about the World Cup or World Hockey Championships - probably because such competitions involve only one sport and it's more likely that the folks who stop everything to watch are people who follow that single, well-televised sport year-round.

Don't get me wrong: I like the idea that the Olympics are televised so people can watch their friends, family or even acquaintances compete. I even like that fans of a particular sport can watch how the international competition is progressing. My problem comes when somehow, magically, I am in 5th place in terms of number of medals or I have had a disappointing day on the slopes. I'm not even competing!

Having said that, I did enjoy watching the glimpses into the women's figure skating competition that were shown on CBC this afternoon and I checked the score of the hockey game each time I walked past the library at work where the Olympic coverage is being broadcasted all day long. See? I'm not a complete humbug.


As an aside: Today's post on Darren's blog gives a whole new meaning to urine tasting...I mean...testing.

Sleeping is not always restful

Dreaming is exhausting!

Thrice in the recent past I've woken up tired. It's not because I didn't get enough sleep; I went to bed at a good time in both instances. The problem is that I had very long, intense dreams that seemed to use up my daytime energy.

The most vivid of these experiences was about a week ago. In my dream I was in a parking lot and witnessed a man drive away, leaving behind a credit card-looking pass that would allow me access into the parking lot at U of T. I proceeded to complete a number of sneaky events before I realized that I had to get the card back before the owner returned for it. But many obstacles presented themselves. (The details are a little foggy now...this was a week ago!) In the end it was revealed to me that the entire thing was a set-up by some people who wanted to kill that man. I woke up angry and embarrassed for being duped.

The first of this series of exhausting dreams involved my meeting a co-worker of mine in a mall with her two children and boyfriend. This dream took us to a number of locations in which much dialogue was exchanged, while all the time the question was burning in the background: "What happened to her husband?" I woke up concerned for the wellbeing of this family that I like so much.

The most emotionally tuckering of these dreams came most recently and - can you believe it!?! - I can't remember what happened. I have no frame of reference for the dream at all, but I do know that I woke up thinking, "If this keeps going on, I'm going to have to stay awake all night in order to have the energy to make it through my day!"

I know science will disagree with me (aren't dreams only fragments of seconds long, for starters?) but I know how I feel...regardless of how it actually works. I'm not sorry that I am remembering my dreams, but I wish that at least there was something that I could learn from them...besides don't take parking passes that don't belong to you!

Yes, I'm pathetic

I have a lot of issues. I know it. I admit it. I won't pretend to have it all together. If you and I ever have a conversation that goes beyond the surfacy acquaintance stuff, I'll reveal my crazy (well, as much as I think you and I can both handle.)

While I have come to terms with the fact that I have a long way to go before I can call myself fully functional, I'm not content to say in this place...usually. Darren tries to help me out, and he does a terrific job. I've come a long way in the past year, thanks to key events and key players in my life. But whenever we try to get past the next hurdle, it seems the same conclusion is always reached: I need a friend.

Don't get me wrong; I don't live in a people-less bubble. But it seems that scheduling issues always get between me and the women I know whom I love and connect with. We used to see each other at least once a week - for a greeting and hug, if nothing else - but that was before I started going to church in another city, a decision that I almost always think was the right one.

I realize that I've pretty much done this to myself. I also realize that if I did have a real, good friend that my problems wouldn't disappear, but somehow it seems like the best way to make progress along the road to "normal"-- whatever that is.

Sometimes I am surprised by the consequences that come with particular decisions. Who knew that deciding to get married would actually make me lonelier?

Home sweet relaxing home

My apartment is a life-sucker. It seems that the moment I walk in the "front" door, any hint of motivation leaves me.

My workplace is wonderful, but there are far too many interesting people there and I get easily distracted. Somehow it's always better to talk to them than prepare for class. So I got into the habit of coming home to work. That's fine in theory, but I always forget to factor in the life-sucking quality of this place.

Don't get me wrong; I love my apartment. (Especially the past couple of days -- my landlords have been gone!) I don't blame this lack of energy on these walls or this address. Rather, I think it's more of a "the day has come to an end" mentality or a "I'm now in the relaxing place" mindset.

I wonder if this is something experienced by the masses or if I'm especially vulnerable. Either way, I've got to either train myself to focus and get more done at work or not allow my home-mode to kick in until the evening.

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Addendum - Feb. 9, 2006
Darren said he used to experience the same thing...until he designated a certain spot in the apartment the work area. There's now a mental assiciation between that space and productivity. The problem with me, though, is that all of my apartment is "lazy space"...except the kitchen counter/sink. That's where I'm most productive - washing dishes, making dinner. I guess what I really need is a to make the kitchen counter my work space. Man, do I wish I had registered for a bar stool!

The Art Gallery

Relief has come to me at last! After a very stressful week that began with a less-than-desired incident (which you can read about on the wedding blog), we've finally found the perfect place to hold our reception. I haven't been this relieved since...oh...November 25.

When Darren and I first got together, I distinctly remember commenting that there was nothing beautiful about Hamilton. He told me that there certainly were beautiful places and that he would show them to me. Slowly but surely he has kept that promise. As you can see from many of our photos (pretty much all taken somewhere in the city), there are lovely places.

Downtown itself, which I'm sure was once a spectacular cultural centre, is now pretty run down and scary. But amidst all that, there is a fabulous jewel which we have rented for our party! We love it, our parents love it, and our guests will be blown away. Darren actually saw it first because I couldn't make it at the time when we could have an appointment last week and he left thinking, "This is where we're going to hold our reception." I'm so glad he was right.

Things aren't finalized; we're still negotiating menu and budget issues, but I'm just so glad to have chosen (not settled for) a hall!

Bakin' a batch of frosted flakes

I learned how to make frosted corn flakes today.

We spent the last 2 days in listening class watching a program that explained how items are made and it caused me to realize how little I actually consider the steps and processes that go into the stuff I use on a daily basis. I've never been one for taking things apart to see the mechanics inside or for trying to understand the inner workings of...well... anything. I did pass grade 12 physics, but it's only because I'm an excellent regurgitator of information.

Incidentally, I am now also the proud owner of the knowledge of how to build a kayak, but that's a story for another day!

Back to Frosted Flakes: I don't know how I thought this cereal was made, but it's rather quite simple. Kernels of corn are taken, mushed up a bit, and rolled. Each kernel, now flattened, is baked until it becomes a flake. Then the sugar solution and vitamins are sprayed on and taa-daa! Frosted Flakes!

It reminded me of the Rice Krispies commercial a few years ago in which a man was interviewing people asking them if they realized that the cereal was made from rice. The question at the end was "What did you think it was made from?"

I knew Frosted Flakes were made from corn but I always figured it was a corn-something hybrid. It's a good thing we have the Discovery Channel!!

Incidentally (again), when I told Darren about my new knowledge, he just happened to be glancing at his box of Frosted Flakes. And you thought sugar cereal was only for kids. (I wish you were right!!)

Superficiality and photos

Saturday Darren and I had an appointment at the Bay in Niagara Falls to complete a gift registry. What became an all-afternoon task was a very trying, exhausting, and revealing experience.

It seemed by the look on the face of the registry woman that we are very disappointing. For our 3 hours of walking around the store scanning items, - after she explained to us that we would need about 180 gifts on our registry, give or take - we came up with only just over 2 pages of "stuff" that we need or want.

Darren said he guesses we're just not superficial enough for such a task. It's also that we don't need a lot of things. The registry's main job is to help us avoid getting duplicates of items and having to either regift or return.

Anyway, before heading to Niagara Square, we decided to go to Denny's for breakfast. This is where my day started to go south.

For those of you who don't know, I have a hard time making decisions. No decision is worse than (probably) choosing what to eat at a restaurant. It's not that I'm picky; it's that everything sounds so good that I can't make up my mind.

It's even worse when I see a picture. In fact, 9 times out of 10 I end up ordering something that I can see simply because I can see it. I can't really remember a time recently in which a trip to a restaurant didn't include a "Gasp! I want that!" (pointing to a menu picture).

It works with real food, too. If the wait staff brings food to a nearby table before taking our order, the chances of me changing my mind double.

So the reason that the Denny's experience was so difficult is that they have a fabulous, large colour menu with the most delicious food pictured. Even after placing our orders (not an easy task on my part), we kept the menu to drool over it a little more.

Incidentally, the food was excellent and despite the over-pricing and over-filling of the plates, I was able to finish my meal! Of course, it was enough protein to last me 3 days, but that's what eating out for breakfast is all about, isn't it?