Trivial Frivolities: A Year End Review

To continue on in the grand tradition, of shamelessly stealing ideas from other people's blogs, I present to you here a year-end review of my blog. I got the idea from Meghan, who got in from one of her friends who... you get the point. Anyways, what you're supposed to do is transcribe the first sentance from the first post of each month to create a kind of collage of the year. I'm adapting the form slightly -- since it turns out that I am very long-winded, sometimes I'll include the first few sentances if the opening thought is needlessly cryptic and/or useless.

January: It's been a funny sort of holiday. It's been really good, really relaxing, and really educational. For three weeks spent sleeping, reading, watching sports, playing video games, and attending Jesus Camp, I learned a lot.

February: Coming off of my second day of running around like a mad woman (a 7:30 am church service, three classes, three meetings, laundry, making dinner, baking bread, showering, running a book study, another class, doing readings, doing research, another meeting... and that's just since yesterday!) I have this tidbit of advice for others. Well, mostly me really.Don't panic.

March: My best friend graduated today.

April: I just handed in my last English paper of this year. Whoo! It was a pretty good one too (I think). In any case, I am now free free free this weekend! I'm so happy...

May: I've decided that my father is fascinating.

June: Some days, I don't see why my birthday should be so special.

July: Just came back from watching War of the Worlds as a Canada Day cool-down event with my summer housemates. Because it was bloody hot and we were in the mood for a summer movie.

August: And the winner for dumbest title for a literary article is....
"An Orange Stuff'd with Cloves: Bayesian Baroque Rehearsed"

September: My week, by the numbers
Beds slept in (Tues. night to Fri. night): 4
Locations visited: Halifax, Toronto, Newmarket, Kingston
Waterslide Visits: 10
Hilarious Log Rides: 2
Scary (but hilarious) Animatronic Beavers on said Log Ride: 1
Transportation methods used: 7 (Ferry, Bus, Plane, Streetcar, Subway, Car, Walking)Best Friend's Birthdays: 1
Hours spent awake: 23
Fun had: Immeasurable!

October: The CBC and the CMG have reached a deal! Wheee! I am giddy with the anticipation of the return of arts reports, Tom Allen, and actual Canadian news that doesn't suck/contain guys named Leslie.

November: I think I've realised why I hate literary theory so much, and why I'm so interested in writing sermons. I'm a rhetorician!

December: I am a co-dependant relaxer. I just spent a (long) weekend doing absolutely no work. Normally, this would be exceedingly hard for a driven person such as myself, but I was aided in my efforts to slack off by Biku, who visited for the weekend.

All in all, not a bad review, I think. Happy New Year!

Things I Learned From My Christmas Trip to Virginia

1. Canada really is a very cold place.
2. Boxing Day Shopping with my parents can not only be fun, but frankly hilarious as well.
3. Even Nuns shop at CostCo.
4. Nuns drink a lot of coffee.
5. Driving on the New York Freeway, crossing the border, and searching for a gas station on the QEW is a breeze compared to doing all that with both your parents backseat driving...at the same time.
6. I have discovered an entirely new kind of guilt -- the guilt I feel when I naturally act as a good, dutiful daughter in the presence of relatives who have only surly, spoiled, noncommunicative children.
7. When a 15 year old boy looks bored at his own birthday dinner while playing with his new text-messaging picture-taking cellphone as well as watching a japanese man prepare food hibachi style right in front of him, this is a good indication he is spoiled beyond all reason.
8. When driving to Williamsburg, Virginia, the border crossing at Niagara Falls is MUCH faster than the one at Kingston.
9. The best music to listen to on a long car ride, bar none, is The Postal Service. "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight", as heard through headphones while driving out of Washington D.C. on a foggy morning, is especially good.
10. Don't try and fry pork dumplings in a cast iron pan. It won't end well.
11. Sometimes Grandparents aren't hard to relate to because they are hard of hearing or frail or have medical issues -- sometimes they're hard to relate to because they simply have nothing interesting to say.
12. Home, even when sadly empty and cat-less, is a good place to be.
13. International smuggling is not only easy, but fun as well!

Blogger only publishing my title (no text). Argh. Grandma is fine, if somewhat boring. Am back in land of internet and kitchens. Hurrah!

Home Again?

This is so very bizarre. I'm in, of all places, Kingston right now. After having set out on our great Virginia adventure, we stopped for dinner in my town. At this point Daddy decided he was too tired to keep driving, so rather than press on to the border and some random motel, we ended up at my apartment for the night.

So it's the Christmas holidays, and I'm in my apartment, with my parents. Tomorrow we will get in the car and drive away from Kingston -- east.

All these things are just plain wrong. I know I shouldn't be freaked out by this, but it's just all so non-normal.

In other (non)interesting facts about me, I have discovered I am an internet junkie. As we were driving away from home, I was considering the fact that I wouldn't have access to email for four whole days and was becoming quite worried.

Of course, that was before I realized I was simply leaving home to go... home.

Idealism vs. Reality

When Mum and Dad get done their work today, we're driving down to Virginia to spend Christmas with my grandmother. As with nearly everything in my life, I am of two minds about this.

On the one hand, I know that North America treats its elderly in an abominable fashion. We ignore them, patronize them, stick them in homes where we forget about them for most of the year. The general thought (unvoiced, of course) is that old people are a burden, are just holding us youthful people back from doing what we really want to do. My own grandmother has felt the brunt of this neglect -- she is bipolar, and despite the good intentions of my uncle (who lives a three-hour drive away) my mother has twice visited only to find her in a terrible state because she'd stopped taking her lithium, eating, or even getting out of the bed to go to the bathroom. My grandma needed the concerted effort of all her children to convince her to move into an 'assisted living facility' where she can get care if she needs it. Having grandma move in to live with one of us was never considered. Part of me feels like this visit to Williamsburg is only a token effort to assuage guilt, a "Hi Grandma, we love you, really!" flying visit that doesn't actually deal with the day-to-day problems of being an 80-year-old divorcee with bipolar disorder.

On the other hand, my grandma is exasperating. She doesn't hear very well, she gets what Mum calls 'wooly' sometimes, and she doesn't have the wicked sense of humour that many grandparents have. Simply put, she's boring, and that prospect makes me think the next week of visiting won't be very much fun. It will be filled with many slow conversations carried on at a high decibel level, inane comments about how old I am, and discussions of the weather and home decor.

It's hard, because I have all these ideals about how senior citizens should be treated, and yet I don't have much time for my own grandmother. Similarly, as much as I would like to stop the cycle of neglect by having my own parents live with me in their old age, part of me thinks they'd never agree to such a thing, and the other part of me doesn't want them to.

So I don't know. I'll see how this week goes, and then proceed from there as best I can. I have a feeling that as my parent's generation ages (oh, those loudly complaining boomers!) the issue of senior citizens rights will become much more important, and much better researched. So hopefully I'll find a way to treat old people with respect and prolonged attention without becoming miserable while doing it.

Lobo the PoMo SoMo

The whole present-giving part of Christmas is, for me, the main reason why people hate the season. Money worries, the stress of trying to find 'the perfect gift', crowded malls, ungrateful recipients of something you slaved over for hours, etc. Some people may dispute with me that having to spend enforced 'happy time' with one's family over Christmas is the worst bit, but since I actually like my family I'll have to rate presents as #1.

And yet, I keep doing it. Why? Because, when it goes right, it's really really good. You get to have that moment when the person (you, your giftee, whomever) opens the package and their eyes light up. It could be socks, it could be money, it could be cookies, it could be a handmade sock monkey (more specifiically, Lobo the POstMOdern SOckMonkey (Pomo Somo) who plays the oboe and lives in SoHo) -- whatever it is, it makes you happy.

Of course, sometimes (as I've discovered in the past couple of days) the best way to make youself (or someone else) happy is not to give something, but to give some time. Cooking food together, playing, talking, figuring out puzzles, laughing, relaxing... it may not come wrapped in shiny paper, but I'll take new memories over new CD's any day.


[previous post brought to you by the warm fuzzy feelings brought on by the season. I apologize for any gagging that may have been caused.]

An Excess of Testosterone

In an effort to escape my quiet house with it's many distractions in the form of bed and tv and books, I'm at the school where my Dad works right now. It's a private boy's school in downtown Toronto. So here I am, a 22 year old girl wearing jeans, surrounded by boys in ties and blazers. One of these things is not like the other...

What's interesting, actually, is that no one's stopped me to ask what the hell I'm doing here. Maybe they just all assume I'm a supply teacher. But really, all they do is stare at me for a second, then ignore me. Not that I'm particularly annoyed at this -- private school boys, I've discovered, are either exceedingly snobbish womanizers, or are so wholesome they're boring. Also, even the oldest boys here are four years younger than me.

However, being ignored does mean I've got to amuse myself, which means I'm actually getting lots of work done on my thesis. Other than the first pangs of worry (can I actually write this thing?), it's going pretty well.

So far, the hardest times have been when I forget that he's not there anymore. I'm cooking, or reading, or watching tv, and I expect him to poke his head around a corner, or meow at me for treats, or settle down on my lap. That's when it's hardest.

I cried yesterday. I will probably cry again today. I will always miss him, my little cat who was the first non-human animal that I recognized as having a real personality and a will of his own.

The house seemed so empty yesterday when I was making dinner.

Well, Here I Am.

Having decided to come home a week early to say goodbye to Spooky, I now don't know how to act. Do I rage? Do I rail? Should I be strong and make jokes? Should I retire morosely to a corner and monopolize my kitty? My upbringing tells me to be Stoic (as does Dad's forced calm), but I don't think I want to be...

My Cat.

I've just got an email from my mum saying they're probably going to have to put down my cat. Spooky's had diabetes for a few months now, and he's never really stabilized on the insulin. He just got thinner and thinner, and never really sleeps anymore, but just sits in his chair (or, oddly, in the bathtub) and stares.

I wasn't sad when I read the email. I mean, I've known this was coming for a while, and the rational part of me just filed this news away along with any other bit of family dynamics. But typing the reply made me cry. I've known Spooky for most of my life (fifteen years), I've grown up with him and clipped his nails and gotten scars from him and been comforted by him. Part of me, very unworthily, suspects my parents of not really trying to save Spooky. A very tiny, cynical part of me thinks that they're not comfortable with the sight of their cat all rickety and emaciated, and putting him down now means they don't have to find someone to board him when we go away for the Christmas holidays.

But that's unfair. Mum and Dad both hate needles, and yet they've been injecting Spooky with insulin twice a day for months now. They've taken him to the vets innumerable times, and most of all, they love him as much as I do. But I had to say the bad thoughts that were in my head, if only to get them out.

Oh God, I love my cat. I don't want him to die. But he was suffering when I saw him last, and I don't want him to suffer. But Oh God, this is hard.

I am a co-dependant relaxer

I just spent a (long) weekend doing absolutely no work. Normally, this would be exceedingly hard for a driven person such as myself, but I was aided in my efforts to slack off by Biku, who visited for the weekend. I really won't let myself take time off normally -- I must always be doing something productive such as cooking or doing homework or reading or having enlightening conversations or spending quality time with friends. But within that last notion is my salvation, for it means that I can happily excuse sleeping in until 10:30, reading for an hour, making pancakes, watching tv, and then playing card games and taking a walk all afternoon as long as there is a friend over to justify it.

I remember when I was younger and very involved in high school activities, my mum used to get worried about me and how much work I was doing. She once tried to say that my near-weekly visits to Biku's house (or her to me) should be curtailed because they meant I sometimes struggled to fit in my clarinet practice and homework and job. But really (while she meant well) she had it all backwards. While my work always expanded to fill the time, it was only with Biku that I could really relax. This was (and still is) partly because seeing her was enough of a special occasion that I could throw all my schedules out the window, and partly because she (with her fabulous sense of knowing when to just laze about) reminded me that there's more to life than work and efficiency.

That said, my life as an efficiency fiend isn't all that bad. I do enjoy keeping busy, and get a great deal of satisfaction from looking at my list at the end of the day and knowing I've done everything on it. That said, it's good to know that I have a foolproof way to relax.

Or perhaps I should say, co-relax?