centre of the universe - the dreaming: Very little to say

Sunday, October 31st

Very little to say

After spending a miserable night with a migraine which, it turns out, was brought on entirely by stress, I learned today that there was, in fact, Nothing To Worry About. I got one of those ominous phone calls on Friday evening from my doctor's office. "Can you come in on Sunday morning?" They asked, "The doctor needs to see all his maternity patients."

Knowing my doctor's penchant for traipsing off around the world to do very cool doctorly things in places like Nigeria and Indonesia, I thought he must have planned a Jaunt for right around my due date, even though he told me months and months ago he wouldn't.

"Will you tell me what this is about?" I asked the kind Front Desk Ladies.
"Ahh...well, he has to reschedule you with another doctor." She said.
"Oh, he's leaving?"
"Yes."
"...Is he coming back?"

Long pause.

So I went to the appointment today convinced that I wouldn't be able to have this guy delivery my sprog, which would be exceedingly crappy as he is not only recommended by the midwives in town, but also the only reason I conceded to a hospital birth. I stressed out about this meeting all yesterday and most of this morning, worrying myself into a pain-filled stupor (I must add, however, that when Mike got back from the Vampire game and the after-game Cue, he did give me a lovely neck rub that helped immensely. And that was at 3:30 this morning. What a sweetie).

Turns out he (the doctor) is closing his practise but is going to still be around to deliver sprogs until the end of December. We just had to arrange which other doctor at the clinic I would see for my prenatal visits.

I worried for nothing.

We're getting geared up for Hallowe'ening, although His Nibs (The Captain) is in the middle of having a tantrum, so it might just be me going out tonight. He (The Captain) is upset because he had his game priviledges taken away because of a snotty attitude.

cenobyte on 31.10.04 @ 05:18 PM CST [link] [2 Comments]

Thursday, October 28th

A great website

So I was farting around last night, and I found this great website full of classic tunes (well, *I* think most of them are classics.

The image up there didn't hurt either. Normally I can't stand Geddes pictures. Some of them are nice, some even verge on profound, but for the most part I find fat babies dressed as pumpkins/bugs/body parts or whatever to be just too sappy.

That being said, I certainly wouldn't kick that trio up there out of bed for eating crackers. Or brie cheese. Or live puppies. Okay, well, maybe live puppies is going a bit far. And really, if you just put the smaller ones from that picture in a basket or a corralled area or something...ah...well, we'll just can that thought and shelve it for another day.

The point was that that image was on the classic music site (under "Wonderful World", which is one of the universe's best songs ever), and even though the dorky dangly hearts and floating butterflies were a bit much, the music and the image were nice.

So I don't really have much to say at the moment. Just look at the picture and enjoy. Um, well, okay, since *most* of you are guys, I'll, uh, find a different picture for you to enjoy.

cenobyte on 28.10.04 @ 11:22 AM CST [link] [3 Comments]

Tuesday, October 26th

Tuesday that feels like a Wednesday

:doze:

This is going to be a busy week. Jason has started his new tenure at the SPG - for those of you who don't remember, Jason is the fellow who left for Calgary shortly before I started working here. Which is to say, I took over for Jason, and now he's back as our new Programs person. It's going to be a hoot working with him, but I think we might be overwhelming him a bit with all the stuff we're throwing in his lap.

It has to be tough, because I know we're kind of expecting him to remember how all of this stuff is done and everything - it *has* been three and a half years...and add to that the fact that I'm going on maternity leave right away and the boss lady is taking some time off right away, and we're kind of expecting Jason to pull through the water with strong, confident strokes (which I'm sure he'll do) and we haven't given him any time to get used to the water.

He's a great guy, and I think we'll work well together.

Also, the alien parasite in my belly is officially at "term" now. I could go at any time. I have never, in my entire life, been this pregnant. And I have begun to waddle. Yay, me. But I don't waddle *all* the time (only in the morning when my hips are sore and in the evenings when my hips are sore). I don't even have swollen ankles. Or feet. I'm not out of breath, I'm not sick of being pregnant, and I'm pretty enthralled that the stretch marks on one side of my belly look like little footprints. I am, however, tired of people asking me if I know the sex of the sprog.

Maybe I should just start telling them strange things like: "We're hoping it will be *both* sexes; then we can retire on the funds we receive from selling our child's story to the World Weekly News. Better yet, if it's all *three* sexes, we can start auctioning the film rights to A&E within the first year!"

cenobyte on 26.10.04 @ 03:49 PM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

Friday, October 22nd

Open Letter

An Open Letter to the Designers and Manufacturers of Public Toilets

To Whom it May Concern:

There must be many difficult choices you face when you design public toilets. I understand many architects and engineers may think of toilets last when they design buildings, and while public spaces are usually designed for the use and enjoyment of as many people as possible, the issue of public toilets probably comes in third or fourth. You must have to worry about how to get the most people in and going and how to design the facilities so that turnover is easy and as unobtrusive as possible. You must also have concerns about hygeine and public safety. Nowhere is this more evident than in women's toilets.

Most men's toilets, from what I understand, can be as simple as a trough in the floor all along the wall with drains every so far and little cakes of chlorine and some kind of substance that, while attempting to mask or overpower the scent of stale urine, usually makes the men's smell like floral pee. On the other hand, the men's toilet could be much more elaborate, with moving sidewalks, circus music playing in the background, and giant projection televisions broadcasting the lastest sporting event so that the gents have to miss nothing while they answer nature's call.

I should like to bring to your attention, however, the issue of cramming as many women in to the toilet as possible and what possibly may have been overlooked by what I can only assume is a majority of male architects and/or designers. First of all, most women are wider than the allowable door space alloted to each 'privacy ensured' stall. This means women must turn sideways while entering the stall. This would not be an issue but for the following:
1) Encumbrances.
a) Perhaps it is the case that most of the designers and manufacturers of public toilets live in balmy sub-tropical climates where no one ever has need of a parka, mitts, scarves, toques, and/or longjohns. Unfortunately, there are many people in the world who have been taught since sprogs to dress in layers. Many, many, many layers.
b) Many women carry purses, which add to one's width.
c) Many women also lead small children to the toilet; small children who not only decrease the amount of 'free space' within the stall, but who are also quite able to squip underneath the doors and walls and out into freedom whilst its mother is caught with her pants down around her ankles, holding up the parka with one hand and attempting to dig bits of toilet tissue out from inside a malfunctioning dispenser with the other hand.

2) Pregnancy
As a woman expands with growing child, it becomes increasingly more difficult to 'slip' between the door and the frame of a toilet stall that is barely wide enough to shimmy through in the middle of summer by scantily clad and serenely skinny young women. Once through the door, the pregnant woman must manoeuver herself between the wall and the dispenser and the sanitary napkin disposal unit while removing pants/skirt/shorts, holding on to a purse (one can't actually hang one's purse on the hangers in the stall, as Oprah explains, because it's so easy for someone to reach over the top and retrive said purse while purse's owner is...otherwise engaged), and trying to see if there's any tissue left in the dispenser.

3) Physiology
While some women are adept at the squat and don't mind using public toilets without fear of the contamination of one's nether-region by any number of unsavoury critters (microscopic or otherwise), the majority of women loathe the experience of having to sit where countless others have sat. Countless other nameless bums that have adorned the throne. Bums of unknown origin and, quite probably, nefarious reputations. God only knows how many of those bums are afflicted with scabies, psoriasis, or any other variety of cooties. Certainly, for toilets not equipped with thin paper toilet seat covers and/or sanitizing foam/gel, one can strategically place four separate lengths of toilet tissue over the seat. And many women do this. And it is incredibly disconcerting when you realise that the seat was wet *before you started*. A pitfall of the squat. The bottom line (if you'll pardon the pun) is that all of this manoeuvering is difficult at the best of times when one's attention is being drawn to one's insistent bladder, and very nearly impossible when one's movement is further resricted by any of the conditions mentioned above.

As you can see, all of these circumstances combine to make the woman's experience in the public toilet an unneccessary harassment. In the future, please have a female consultant on staff; preferably one of 'average' or at least 'normal' size and girth. A woman whose curves curve in the right places (even one who has a few extra curves, if need be), whose purse carries more than a single lipstick and three dollars in change, who has corralled small children with peanut-sized bladders through the public washroom gauntlet in the past - a woman who does *not* squat, and nor should she have to. Please ask this woman to have twenty of her closest friends test the design for quality assurance (thereby having a minimum of forty women testing).

Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Sincerely,
A concerned citizen.

P.S. If there are 14 stalls in the toilet, why are there only two sinks?

cenobyte on 22.10.04 @ 01:51 PM CST [link] [6 Comments]

Wednesday, October 20th

A Delightful Word of the Day

I am *so* glad this word is still used. At least in the word of the day mailings. This is one of those pseudo-onomatopoeic words...at least to me. It conjures up images of vociferous crows and cats like Fat Tau who have nothing to say, but who say it quite a lot.
Word of the Day for Wednesday October 20, 2004

popinjay \POP-in-jay\, noun:
A vain and talkative person.

One popinjay shrieking from the left and another from the
right about last week's headlines is not the whole of
Washington's political dramas. Occasionally, American
politics is more complicated and more momentous.
--R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr., "Feds Go Drug Crazy," American
Spectator, May 26, 2000

A writer who appreciates the seriousness of writing so
little that he is anxious to make people see he is formally
educated, cultured or well-bred is merely a popinjay.
--Ernest Hemingway, [1]Death in the Afternoon

The dignified, high density of personality of [Clark Gable
and Humphrey Bogart] is completely missing from our
popinjay contemporary actors.
--Camille Paglia, [2]Salon, March 1998
_

Popinjay is from Middle English papejay, popingay, meaning
"parrot," from Old French papegai, deriving ultimately from
Arabic babagha.

cenobyte on 20.10.04 @ 09:20 AM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

Tuesday, October 19th

It's decided

Yes, it's decided.

The World According to The Captain:

If the baby is a boy, it will be called The Captain.
If it is a girl, it will be called Bonehead.

I swear to God I didn't have any say in the development of this idea.

cenobyte on 19.10.04 @ 08:17 PM CST [link] [5 Comments]

Political rant

Why, oh why does this not surprise me? I know there are a lot of people out there who voted for this fellow because they were so upset at a 'turncoat' running in their riding...but I just can't picture why that is okay. Sure, it's hard to choose between an idiot who can't keep his party lines from tangling with his clothes lines and a hardcore racist who promotes intolerance and fear-mongering.

...(sigh)...

okay, that's a little harsh.

It's no secret that Jim Pankiw scares the hell out of me. Especially because people keep voting for him.

I also readily admit I'm no right-winger. I have some good friends who *are*, and I don't begrudge them their opinions or their ideas. We simply see things differently. Fair enough.

It's not the fact that he's a right-winger that bothers me. I don't care that he thinks social programs are wrong and/or bad for the country. I disagree, but that's what being able to have your own opinion (and a very marginal choice of political parties) is all about. It doesn't really bother me that he thinks that funding the arts is wasting taxpayers' money. Again, I think he's wrong, but that's one of myriad reasons I'd not vote right-wingy. I just couldn't bring myself to support a man who is openly disparaging of non-whites. Particularly Natives. Especially someone who either doesn't know much about history or who got it all wrong (I'm referring to when he called members of the New Democratic Party and Canadian Alliance "modern-day Klansmen" for supporting the active hiring of visible minorities. The active hiring of visible minorities is not something even modern-day Klansmen would do, I think). I think he was invited to shut the hell up in the House of Commons after that one.

I was taught that people are people. I was also taught that if we don't *do* something about intolerance, racism, hatred, pick-your-title, it's never going to get any better. Voting for this idiot is probably a step backwards.

Granted, he may have been the only non-Liberal, non-NDP, non-Conservative candidate in the area. Granted, you might be the sort of person who doesn't like to "throw away your vote" by choosing an idependent or a different party candidate. I shouldn't be the one being critical of you. I'm just saying that I couldn't have done it.

And that I'm not surprised he couldn't make it through a single mediation appointment. I pity the man's family.

cenobyte on 19.10.04 @ 01:29 PM CST [link] [7 Comments]

Monday, October 18th

Happy Snow Day

1) This entry WAS complete, but then I bumped the side 'go back' button on my new mouse and erased everything. That's the second time it's happened to me, and it's starting to piss me off. :plain:

2) I've forgotten my tissues in the car and my lunch banana at home.

3) I had to open a window in the bedroom last night because someone had a really nasty case of the Incredibly Stinky Farts. They were REALLY bad. Bad enough to not only wake me up, but nearly to drive me from the room. I chose to open the window instead. I'll not mention who it was, in order to protect the person's identity.

4) Ever notice that sometimes the Word of the Day sums up most of your life better than you ever could?
Word of the Day for Monday October 18, 2004

maunder \MON-duhr\, intransitive verb:
1. To talk incoherently; to speak in a rambling manner.
2. To wander aimlessly or confusedly.

[T]wo drunken couples... maunder in an all-too-familiar
vein about love.
--Anatole Broyard, [1]New York Times, April 15, 1981

It is a play with melodramatic themes, but García Lorca has
put aside temptation to let it maunder, scream or otherwise
let the emotions take over.
--Richard F. Shepard, "Stage: 'Bernarda Alba' Produced in
Spanish," [2]New York Times, November 23, 1979

As in one of his earlier novels,... Kerr invents a
credibly grim scenario for our future: most of the earth's
inhabitants are infected with a deadly virus and maunder in
fetid cities.
--Charles Flowers, "Blood on the Moon (Really!)," [3]New
York Times, February 14, 1999
_

Maunder is perhaps a dialectal variant of meander (possibly
influenced by wander)

5) When did we all get so grown up? We have a bunch of friends who still lead a bohemian college-style life...they spend a lot of time in the bar, some have part-time jobs, they more or less come and go as they please, and this is fine. But most of our friends have finished school, got married, bought a house, bought a car, had children, got separated, got divorced, remarried, started planning for their retirement, work at "real" jobs, and some have even paid off their student loans. Or some combination of the above. Many of us seem to have "settled down". Some of us have resettled...or, um, unsettled...but that's a part of it too...

When did this happen? Sometime between lounging on my purple velvet bedspread reading books not necessarily because I wanted to but because they were *required* reading, and parking my car in my stall at my office this morning, my life has changed from a daily sitcom to a weekly "drama". Which is still better, I suppose, than it being a pseudo-realistic bug-eating game show....which, come to think of it, is probably a better description of where I've come *from*.

It's more than just the arrival of The Captain, although for me that *was* a catalyst. Even before that, though, I remember the moment when I started thinking about what was to come, and realising that I wanted certain things out of life. It was much more than just angst-filled maundering, more than knowing that you'd go to University...not only because you love learning but because it was simply the next step. It was even more than the realisation that now that you have a $30,000 piece of paper, there should theoretically be something you can do with it. Or because of it. There has to have been a moment, doesn't there, when you can look back at your life and pinpoint the precise moment you were a 'grown up'?

Maybe not. Sure, there are things about my life now that demand more attention, more responsibility. But am I a 'grown up'? According to what I tell The Captain during his long and disturbingly well-thought out arguments about bedtime, bath time, supper time, etc., grown ups get to make the rules, and since I'm a grown up, I get to make the rules. Granted, sometimes that little gem is accompanied by "and the rule is that we have to eat ALL of these cupcakes before Daddy gets home", but more often than not it's about discipline. Aren't grown-ups the ones who dole out the discipline? What's the correlation between being a grown-up and maturity? I know lots of non-grown-ups who are far more mature than "people who should know better". Is it even worth pigeon-holing?

It just surprises me, is all, that suddenly when I look at the people around me, I realise two things. One, I still feel the same way about them and in most ways they've not changed at all. Two, there has been a subtle shift in their lives, in our lives, that has propelled us not toward mediocrity, but toward some kind of 'same-ness' with one another. Some kind of culmination of the searching and confusion that seemed to hang over us for a number of years. It's as if we've emerged from a miasma of wondering and into a new clarity of wonderment.

I guess that's okay, then, if that's what 'growing up' is.

cenobyte on 18.10.04 @ 09:48 AM CST [link] [5 Comments]

Sunday, October 17th

sigh

:plain:

One
Bloody
Point.

(sigh)

At least we won; and I think a 24 point difference *does* officially count as a 'trounce'. Personally, I think if all the folks on the one side of the stadium hadn't been holding their breath, McCallum's kick would have gone straight through "the big aitch".

:plain:

cenobyte on 17.10.04 @ 05:23 PM CST [link] [4 Comments]

Halftime

Are you *watching* this game? If not, you should be. SK is *trouncing* the Eskimos. So far. We scored 31 points in the 2nd quarter. Now, as has been the case in some Roughrider games, that huge 30 point lead *could* conceivably dissapear in the 3rd, but man. Back-to-back touchdowns...

...as God is my witness, I never thought I would be posting excitement about sports on a web journal. Or any other kind of journal for that matter...

cenobyte on 17.10.04 @ 03:40 PM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

Saturday, October 16th

Friday AND Saturday

My father is going on a cattle drive. He's never been on a cattle drive before. He heard about this experience on "the CEEBEECEE" yesterday. I was listening too. Claude-Jean Heurel often does these "Great Excursions" (that is, in fact, the name of his tourism company); usually in the Cypress Hills or a more 'touristy' place in the province. But he's worked out a cattle drive deal with some folks from right here in Lumsden - they get to herd the cattle then separate the bulls from the cows. Apparently when they get the animals back to 'home base', a vet is going to come out and show everybody how to do a pregnancy test on the cows.

I don't know how much you know about bovine examination, but pregnancy tests involve shoulder-length gloves and a lot of lubricant. No little 'just urinate on this strip please, Bessie' here. Nope. You literally dive right in to the exam.

ANYWAY, my father's pretty excited about it, and I really wish I could go with him. I drove cattle a couple of times when I was dating a fellow from Gladmar. It was really fun...especially if you're the sort of person who likes horseback riding to begin with. And it would be *spectacular* to ride through the valley. When baby comes, maybe sometime in the spring, I'll take the kids on a trail ride out here.

Well, my house is a mess and I should probably vacuum. Or just go have a nice, hot bath and not think about that. Either way, I'm off.

cenobyte on 16.10.04 @ 08:46 AM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

Thursday, October 14th

Money

I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that it's not right what the government is doing because they should have been able to predict we'd have this much extra money, and they should have told us that in the first place and at the very least they should have told us during the election that they were going to spend surplus money on paying down the national debt.

There are groups saying the money should go to ranchers and farmers, to social programs, to free national daycare, to tax rebates for Canadians to decide what they want to do with their own money, to the military, to the health care system, to the education system. Those are all great ideas, I'm sure.

When I was a student and a recent post-graduate, I paid my debt first, my bills second, and the rest went to wine, women, and song. Or at least wine. Um. And song. Uh, okay, and women.

Our national debt is over five hundred BILLION dollars. Five Hundred Billion. That's a lot of zeroes. I can't conceive of that much of *anything*. I doubt we'll ever pay off our national debt. But can you imagine what we could do if we *did*? Once you're debt free, you can start saving money to buy flashy sports cars, or a lifetime supply of silly putty. Or an endless current pool. You can send ALL of the children to university. You could probably even afford to keep more than one baseball team in the country, if you wanted to. You could even......reduce taxes.

And just what are we spending our money on? I am the first one to admit I know very little about federal politics and even less about federal finances. I'm horrible at arithmetic and probably could very easily get a jorb working for the federal finance budgeting department. But how do we spend FIVE HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS!!?? Is this money we owe other countries? Money we owe to advertising companies?

What, are we buying truckloads of little expandable bamboo umbrellas for exotic drinks? They make those in Taiwan or something to that effect, and I think they cost about a buck for a bag of a dozen. Maybe we've invested millions in "Buy Canadian" sweatsocks made in Guam. Grain from China. Money from Lichtenstein. French underpants for every man, woman, and MP in the country. GIANT BALLS OF TWINE!!!!

And, if you'll pardon my forwardness, what the hell is the military thinking, buying submarines from England? Don't they know that the Brits have been a little upset with the colonists ever since King George III? OF COURSE THE SUBS DON'T WORK. We wouldn't want all the little Canadians firing ballistic weapons off the West coast of England at the Queen, now, would we? Shouldn't the Canadian military have been a *little* suspicious when the subs didn't come with a guarantee, a service agreement, and a lifetime warranty on all parts (5 years or 50,000 knots)? Didn't they see the 60cm high letters on the side of the bloody things that say "DO NOT IMMERSE IN WATER"!!??

What the hell does Canada need submarines FOR, anyway? Playing war games with the Yanks? Hanging out in the St. Laurent Seaway selling cigarettes and cheap prescription drugs? Sneaking around Gaspe Bay watching mollusks? The helicopters I understand. We need helicopters. We have lots of uses for helicopters. Like saving people whose submarines have gone on the fritz, for example. And if there *is* something we'd need submarines for, don't you think we'd need more than HALF A DOZEN!!??

"Gee, I'd really like to come and help do something about all those Italian fishing trawlers fishing illegally in Canadian waters, but our Submarines are off of Cape Cod playing "monkey in the middle" with some American ships."

If it's a question of national security, I'd like to know who we're securing ourselves against. If the Yanks really wanted to invade Canada, all they'd have to do is basically walk. I doubt the Australians are going to take up arms against us - we share each other's beer.

I am firmly convinced that the only reason we bought the damned things is because our prime minister still plays with submarine toys in the bath. And probably when in office, too, for that matter. That's what REALLY goes on at 24 Sussex Drive.

Hey *I* know. Let's settle this softwood lumber thing with the Yanks once and for all. We'll tell them they can have all the lumber they want; we'll just ship it via the HMCS Justshootame. Better yet, we can tell the Federal Government they can have all the tax dollars they want; we'll just send all of our returns to folks stationed on formerly British submarines.

Oh, *I* know. We spent several billion dollars on three cans of paint a few years ago, didn't we? Or was that millions? Because everyone needs a painting that Jeff Healey could have done, with or without his guitar. Never mind the thousands and thousands of artists in Canada who work their asses off at crappy minimum-wage paying jobs so they can afford to eat oriental noodles (just $.37 for three packs) and live in substandard housing while trying to create their art, write their novels, play the next gig, or audition for the next show. Yes, it's important to show that we appreciate the arts, but couldn't the government have bought a *print* of "Fire" for, say, $50,000 and spent the rest on arts grants?

Couldn't the government have had someone INSPECT the submarines to see if they worked? I can't buy a car in Alberta and bring it back to Saskatchewan without getting an SGI inspection; where the hell was that little troglodyte who looked over my Tercel with a fine-toothed comb when we were shelling out hundreds of millions of dollars for them. That miserable little man noted every speck of dust, every scratch, every loose hose on that car, and just kept walking around and around it saying "hmmmm....ooohhhh....mmmmm." What'd our government do with the subs? "Oh, just send us a three-line pencil sketch; I'm sure they're fine."

And it's not like we've had good *luck* with submarines: Not according to CBC, anyway.

DOES ANY OF THIS MAKE SENSE TO YOU!!???

Dear Canadian Government,

I support your decision to pay down the national debt with the surplus you have discovered in the Canadian Federal Government's budget. In the future, please ensure that nobody with signing authority has access to the Sears catalogue, Wireless, Lee Valley Tools magazine, or eBay. I'm sure you remember the program "Live it Up"? It used to run on CTV. There was a segment on that program called the "Watchdog"; it was a consumer/buyer beware segment similar to Dale Goldhawk's investigations. The reason I mention it is because it would maybe be a good idea for the Canadian Government to be a little more careful in its purchases. I understand that, for example, you trust England inherently because as we all know, everything the English do is cultured, proper, and good. But I think you may have been hornswaggled over the submarines. I don't mean to be overly critical; I just want to make sure you're really thinking through your investments.

Sincerely,
A Concerned Canadian Citizen

cenobyte on 14.10.04 @ 03:32 PM CST [link] [14 Comments]

Wednesday, October 13th

Swimming and Flying, flying and swimming

I dreamt last night I was at the lake. I don't know which lake. It's a lake I don't recognise. The cabin we were at was similar to one I've dreamt of before in an 'our pink and round cabin at Candle Lake combined with Sarah's family's cabin at Emma Lake' sort of way. But the family I was there with was mutable; I'm not even sure who all they were. The water was warm and silky, and the sand was smooth under my feet. Just off the end of the docks, there was a drop of maybe two feet or so; a sharp drop so's one could dive off the end of the dock and swim out and out and across the lake.

The dock that belonged to the family I was with was odd; it appeared to be covered in crude oil, and the ladder that hung off of it was somehow hydraulically operated. I'm not sure why. It was the thing to do at the lake, I guess. They had a nice boat, not a great boat, but a nice one, but it wasn't well taken care of at all. Parts of it were also covered in crude oil.

The Captain and I went boating and canoeing and swimming, and then he was grown old enough to run off with his friends and do kid stuff that doesn't involve parents. I returned to the cabin to warm myself by the fire. But instead of going in where it was warm, I went out to the back which was very much like the back 40 of Sarah's family's cabin.

There I found Michael. He was reading a Foucault book. I'm sure I've spelled Foucault wrong. He had the pipe I gave him for Christmas one year, a Meerschaum dragon's claw pipe. He was smoking a honey blend, and the scent was sweet and lovely. Then we were holding hands, sitting together in a glider flying high enough above the ground that the province looked like a satellite image.

We rose choppily in updrafts, dropped down in cool winds, and flew silently over the still green fields and rivers. Then we arced back toward what I thought would be the cabin, but instead he landed the soundless airplane in what was my back yard. Apparently I lived in an A-frame with a balcony AND a loft, with huge oak trees lining both sides of the yard, a plush green lawn, and a water garden in the back. Come to think of it, I must have either been squatting or selling crack to have that house.

Michael and I rushed inside, bade a cursory hello to my mother, who was reading on the couch, and ran upstairs to talk about a wedding. Our wedding.

It was a sweet and melancholy dream. Sweet in its innocence and the melancholy of missing him; just missing being with him...I haven't seen Michael in over a year and I do miss him.

cenobyte on 13.10.04 @ 11:28 AM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

Tuesday, October 12th

mini-hiatus

I cooked a FREAKING HUGE turkey, made the world's best gravy and some pumpkin pies, took them to Outlook and had planned to take Thanksgiving dinner out to my father in the field. But he foiled the plan when he came in just as I was mashing the potatoes. The Captain was a little disappointed; he wanted a 'picnic', and I thought it would be cool for Mike to experience a harvest meal in the field.

All in all, though, it was nice.

Except for the inevitable headache I get when I spend any amount of time at my grandmother's house. :crazy: Don't get me wrong; she's a nice woman and I love her, but there are some things that drive me nuts. Not just the 'eat eat eat' attitude (she actually exhibits several kinds of OCD behaviour - the food thing is one of them. Checking to see if the garage door is locked seven times a day is another)...we have some incredibly different ideas about family and family obligations.

My grandmother seems to believe (and, according to people who aren't her, always has) that the sole reason for family, whether it's siblings, extended family, or your own offspring, is to cater to her. Not just 'take care of'. Cater. It's tiring. Especially when it's expected of a five-year old in the throes of a sugar rush (my father and grandmother don't respect my wishes to not feed my child crap...AND I had to explain five times why he's not to eat snacks just hours before supper) to come and sit quietly in gram's lap and suffer through mooshy sloppy wet kisses, uncomfortable hugs, and other things too ghastly to mention.

I know, I know. Grams love kids. That's great. I get that. I also, however, remember what it's like to *be* a five-year old in that situation. It was AWFUL. Being told I HAD to give someone a hug or a kiss, then trying to squirm away under scolding from my parents that "that isn't nice; sit nicely. S/He loves you!" I remember thinking, "great. It LOVES me. I'm not allowed to hold the cats when THEY want to get away..." So I go to bat for my boy, telling the family that "he doesn't want to cuddle right now, and even if he did, he couldn't sit still because he's had tons of sugar".

Which is, I think, fair.

But.

There's always a but.

While some family members will just feel a little sad and say, "okay..." or something, my grandmother sometimes proceeds into a full-blown *snit*. Luckily, not this weekend. But she does say things like, "you be good or your Papa won't want you here," and "You didn't wash your hands good [sic] enough. Your Papa won't want to play with you now". I think that's awful. (sigh)

Anyway, the actual dinner was nice, aside from having to explain for the millionth time that I don't feel sick, the rest of the family is fine, and The Captain is allergic to solid chocolate. We didn't sleep well (Dad and The Captain played outside long enough that we decided to stay overnight) and I don't like having to wear the same underpants two days in a row, but it was a nice Thanksgiving.

We're damn well having Christmas here, though.

cenobyte on 12.10.04 @ 08:13 AM CST [link] [4 Comments]

Friday, October 8th

advice

My father told me once that it is a good idea to defer to the male ego. I wasn't sure exactly what he meant at the time, but since he was offering praise, I thanked him and went about my business without giving it much thought.

I think I'm beginning to understand.

It's not necessarily to do with men in particular. It's to do with the "male ego" (and yes, the air quotes are intentional and required there). Traditionally, the "male ego" has been portrayed as one that is aggressive, goal-oriented, and fast-paced. I guess, what we think of as an 'alpha' personality. That's not to say that all men have egos like this, and it's not to say that no women do. I've met some pretty aggressive, goal-oriented women who stop for no one unless it's to walk over them on their way to success.

But it's the concept of deferring to that attitude that my father was talking about. You don't have to compromise your own beliefs, you don't have to compromise your own self or your own ego; you just have to figure out a way to let the other guy feel right and justified and in control.

That's tough sometimes, but if you're creative enough, I think it's doable. As my boss would say, you should never have to say "no"; you probably don't even need to say "yes, but...". It's as simple as saying "yes, and". And it has a lot to do with simply learning negotiating skills (which one learns when one has to deal with children...um...and LARPers).

F'rinstance. You don't want your kid (or your LARPer) to jump in puddles BEFORE daycare (or the game), because you know they'll be damp and miserable for the rest of the afternoon (or evening). So when they ask if you'll jump in puddles with them, instead of saying "No; you're not to jump in puddles", you can simply say, "Yes, I'll be happy to jump in puddles with you after daycare (or the game). Let's both wait until then so we're not damp and miserable."

Sure, sometimes the puddles get jumped ANYWAY, but the point is, you're not being negative, and you're still deferring to the other person's desire.

Now, what my father was talking about had much more to do with corporate/professional stuff; basic listening and dialogue skills that many people don't care to learn. But I think, as is the way with advice from one's parents, what I've taken from that advice is much more broad-based than he had intended. Knowing my father, he probably *did* mean "since you're a woman, it's a good idea to let the man talk, even if he makes no sense, because you can just let him sound like an idiot, then you say what you need to, and hopefully make yourself sound more intelligent to the people who are listening".

But that's not what *I* mean by it.

And I don't know if any of what I've just written makes sense (except for the children/LARPers comment; that was pretty straightforward), but it makes sense to me.

cenobyte on 08.10.04 @ 12:37 PM CST [link] [5 Comments]

Tuesday, October 5th

Post-Ministry

I'm *pretty* sure I was the only 7 1/2 months-pregnant woman at the Ministry concert last night. It was a great concert. Well, the first band was...um...interesting. The second band kind of sucked, and Ministry was very, VERY fine. I'm disappointed that I can't go to the KMFDM concert coming up, but Mike says the club it's at is one of the smokiest he's ever been in, and I can't handle smoke. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to, at the moment.

Things have a way of falling apart, don't they? Call it what you will; fate, entropy, or the Term of Your Choosing.

The Captain is very excited to be turning five on Thursday. He has been telling us over and over again that he's "almost five". I remember how exciting it was when I was a kid - I remember my Aunt asking me what it was going to feel like to be a double-digit...and later, a teenager. I'm quite sure I came up with some smartass reply, but I'm pretty sure I was sleepless the night before my 10th birthday. I can't say the same about my 13th; but I remember 10.

For my 2nd birthday, I planted my face in the middle of my Raggedy Ann cake.

My father spread two huge tarps out and covered the front lawn for my 8th birthday. He had a 5lb bag of peanuts he tossed out into the air, and our job was to recover as many as possible. I don't remember what our prize was, but I do remember that was the year there was still snow in our back yard.

On my 13th birthday, I got a Chubby Checker record from my mother. And a Muppet Show collection from my grandmother. And a card from my father that said "Happy 12th birthday!"

On my 16th birthday, my mother insisted on buying a flat of beer for me and for my guests. I hated beer. Didn't drink. But my friends thought it was cool. I don't know what *their* folks thought of it, though. My father sent me 16 long stemmed red roses and a gold charm for the charm bracelet he'd bought for me when I was born.

For my 19th birthday, my mother took me out to the pub, got three sheets to the wind herself, and my gift that year was an answering machine. And as many drinks as I could handle, which wasn't any since a) I was driving; b) I didn't drink, especially around my mother; c) my boyfriend at the time was there and he was an asshole whom I didn't trust at the best of times. I got a blank answering machine tape and a Rod Stewart tape from him for my birthday that year. Wrapped in a McDonald's fries packet. I worked at McDonald's that summer. He thought the wrapping 'paper' was funny. I thought he was a jerk. Apparently he hadn't noticed that I came home miserable every day and dreaded working there every morning. Or he didn't care, which is a more reasonable explanation.

I got myself a cat (Leviathan) for my 20th birthday.

I'm beginning to see why the younger birthdays cause so much more excitement.

The day I turned 25, my father asked me, "how does it feel to be a quarter of a century old?" and he grinned. I grinned back and said, "twice as good as it must feel to be half a century old". I was more impressed with my quick math skills than I was with my quick wit.

The past few birthdays have caused almost as much excitement as those younger ones, partly because The Captain gets so excited, and partly because Mike has this incredible talent of always being able to pick out the most perfect gift. My friends often come all the way from Away for my birthdays, which means an awful lot to me. My father comes from Away as well. The gifts I get are always thoughtful and unique, which I love, and I am fortunate to have so many people to remember me (even if it *is* because I remind them, with an air of excitement and goofy anticipation) on my birthday.

Thanks, guys.

cenobyte on 05.10.04 @ 12:36 PM CST [link] [3 Comments]

Monday, October 4th

Fallout

The party was great. The Captain had three friends his size and about six grown-up friends. Unfortunately, some of those grown-up friends hit a deer on the way home. They're okay, but shaken up.

I'll put up some pictures of the party later on.

Right now, I have a more pressing issue. The smoke detector in our garage/loft starts going off when the weather gets cold. Last year I think it went off for a week or two straight. It's about fifteen feet in the air, and I can't get at it - it's difficult to get the extension ladder up there. We don't know why it's going off, but when we turn on the fans upstairs, that seems to help. I think it's a battery-run one, but I'm not sure.

Sigh.

Thanks to everyone who came to the Pirate Bash, and I think next year we'll have a vampire party. Then I will have almost exhausted the repertoire of ready-made costumes I already have at home to contribute to the party theme.

cenobyte on 04.10.04 @ 07:22 AM CST [link] [5 Comments]

Saturday, October 2nd

Almost time!

Mike thought 'pin the bustier on the wench' was too risque for five-year-olds, so we're doing a 'pin the eyepatch on the pirate' game instead. And probably a 'sink the paper boat' game in which we give the kids bunched up newsprint balls covered in tinfoil and have them try to sink the paper boats floating in the kiddie pool by hucking their 'canon balls' at them. Then possibly a 'walk the plank' contest in which they have to walk across a board suspended on two stools, spanning the pool.

I'm baking the cake now - it's going to be a very keen 3D pirate ship (complete with pirates!).

I've finished the treasure chest gift boxes (we bought some little wooden boxes at one of those handicraft stores, and I painted them with glow-in-the-dark jolly roger flags on top. Inside each one is a sticky squishy monster (they appear to be made out of flubber), a parachute soldier, pirate stickers, and pirate tattoos. Oh, and some 'booty' - gold coins.

I still have to make a treasure map or organise a treasure hunt, but I won't know where to hide the treasures until tomorrow. We're going to have each kid find 5 or 10 gold coins, then they have to each give their coins to the thieve's guild (that'd be me) to get the treasure map, which shows them where their gift boxes are.

Man.

Mike has asked me if I'll do a pirate birthday for him.

And there WILL be a wench at that party. With AND without a bustier. And grog. We'll have real grog. not just apple juice with weird food colouring in it.

cenobyte on 02.10.04 @ 10:27 PM CST [link] [Come away, O Human Child]

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