Old Man

I applaud IKEA for their efforts at positive reinforcement. Drive a hybrid: less of a walk to the store for your purchases. Doesn't quite work, does it? I appreciate the thought none the less.

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We're approaching Stanley's 28th Birthday. He went to see Dr. Volvo yesterday for an oil change, new front struts, fixing the left ball-joint, and replacing a torn boot. He also got a bath and is all shiny. Taking him in makes me sad; it always leads to debate over how financially feasable it is to keep fixing a 28 year-old car. I am just too emotionally invested in this vehicle to make that kind of decision, so we just keep fixing him and driving him less and less, extending his life span. If he makes it to 30, we're having a party for him.



Stanley is much like an old beloved family pet. He has a name and a personality (crotchety old man). We feed him, and take him out, and occasionally have a hefty vet bill to pay. People ask how he's doing. One year he even got a Christmas card.

I love him and will miss him when he's gone.

Pants on fire

Right now I’m very much enjoying my new smoke-free home. Since we moved into the Hill our downstairs neighbours have all been heavy smokers. The first group were three roommates, and all of them smoked heavily and their friends would come over to smoke. Okay, maybe that isn’t exactly why they came over, but it seemed like that was all they really did. This meant that if we didn’t want our house to reek of cigarettes, we couldn’t have our windows or our door open, ever. They moved out (abandoned the place, actually) and new neighbours moved in. We had high hopes when we saw that they had an infant but those hopes were soon dashed. Not only were they smokers but they were also total pot heads. They smoked up on a regular basis, and even with the door and windows closed we smelled the sweet stench of Mary Jane at least once a night. For some unknown reason they always smoked pot in the furnace room. I’m still trying to get my head around that one.

I guess I’m sounding pretty unsympathetic towards people with an actual addiction. And I understand addiction; don’t get me wrong I do. I could easily be wearing a button that says, “I have a cheese habit.” What I don’t get is what makes people start in the first place. What makes a person say, “Hey, this thing smells really bad and is on fire. I think I’ll put it in my mouth and suck on it for a while”? That just doesn’t make any sense to me.

People always point to peer pressure, but I’ve only ever experienced the reverse. My friends have always been anti-smoking. Not that none of my friends have ever smoked, or that I would not be friends with someone who did (although I wouldn't date smokers), but it happened that the few who did were the kind that hated smoking, wished they could quit and were always very conscientious about it (asking before lighting up, holding cigarette away and blowing away, going outside, etc.). One of my friends in high school started smoking and eventually stopped hanging out with us because of the pressure to quit. From 1994 to 2003, I was in a large choir and most of my friends were from the choir. Singers as a group do not tend to smoke; I think we maybe had one or two smokers a year in a group of 180. This may have further skewed my views.

My co-worker told me today that when he smoked, which was years ago, he started because he didn’t like the smell of second hand smoke. First hand smoke, or smokes in his hand, didn’t smell nearly as bad. I kid you not. That might be the craziest and most strangely logical reason to start smoking that I have ever heard.

My massage therapist has thus far given me only explanation anyone has ever had that made sense at all. She said that both of her parents smoked her entire life so she just thought that was what you were supposed to do. Why don’t adults understand the impact of modeling on their child? More likely the issue here is that their parents smoked, probably going back to before there was any information on the health impacts and addictiveness of tobacco, back when the cigarette companies could say pretty much whatever they wanted to about smoking. Of course cigarettes will make you cool, liberated, skinny and sexy. Can you say 'pants on fire'?

Mary, Joseph, the cow, and maybe Jesus

The other day Kaley (my niece-in-law) was telling us about her Chritmas concert at school. She was so excited! "And the play is about Mary! and Joseph! and the Cow!...and maybe Jesus." Guess which part she had?

Paul and I got lost on the way to her school, which is out in Cooking Lake. The google map directions said to turn on Cooking Lake Road South/TWP 513A. Where we actually needed to turn was RR222A. Not the same thing. Paul's Dad called us:

Him: "Where are you guys?"

Me: "I don't know. Lost. There is a field and a field and fog."

Him: "Oh. When you get here, don't park at the fire hall, okay?"

Me: "Okay." (Thinking: Fire hall? If we find a fire hall I will kiss it. Where the hell is this place?)

Him: "Go back to the highway and follow these directions instead...."

His directions involved going straight through a stop sign and passing a green airport sign. They led to aimless driving around the town in Cooking Lake. We never did find the airport sign.

Eventually, in spite our two sets of directions, we found the place. We came in the main doors and Paul stamped the snow off his boots and got shushed by a fourth grader. We snuck into the back of the gym and were able to instantly pick Kaley out of the crowd of Kindergarden singers. She was the one right in front of the microphone hopping up and down in excitement at the joy of doing actions. She was not a cow yet. The cow came later.

Our little cow is the one lit up on the lower right.



Here she sang a sweet little duet.



Below she is doing the actions for all she is worth. This is the part where they spin around and the only part of the song that the microphone picked up was a loud "OH!", which cracked me up. Later, Kaley got a bit behind in the song and we could hear her saying, "Wait. Wait. Wait!"



Everyone else is doing the actions. Kaley is rocking out because she likes this song.



The final note of the finale. She's singing for all she's worth.



And at the end while everyone else was milling about, Kaley took her bow.

Swiss Madness

I had a long nap after work, yet again, and am now wide awake in the middle of the night. Right now I can't write about any of the things that I need to process; they're not ready to be shared, for one reason or another.
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Today I discovered the final piece of proof that producers have gone insane. I present to you as evidence: the 4.5 kg Toblerone bar. 4.5 kg! Do you have any idea how big that is? Almost 10 pounds of 'Swiss Milk Chocolate with Honey and Almond Nougat'. This pyramidal chocolate log is almost as long as my arm and costs $80 CDN. (The photo really does not do it justice.) What on earth are they compensating for? The Swiss have clearly lost their minds.

I love chocolate as much as the next person, but that's excessive!

Up until this point I have had a soft spot in my heart for the Toblerone. Ira and I buy each other Toblerones every year for Christmas (although never one that big). It's a running joke that we've forgottened the punch line for; now it's just what we do. (I think the original was something along the lines of the discrepancy in spending power between him and an ex-girlfriend. You had to be there.) At any rate, our annual Toblerone exchange says, "I still love you, my dear friend." but avoids the involvement of our complicated history in our gift purchasing practices.


For those of you who are new here, Ira and I dated for 5 years, had a messy breakup (primarily my fault), he was justifiably angry with me for about a year, we spent a couple of years rebuilding our friendship and he was a bridesmaid (bride's guy) in my wedding. He is still one of my most favorite people in the world. His new girlfriend is a little...unusual...so I mostly only hear from him when she's out of town and also at Folk Fest, which we both volunteer for.

The photo below is from one of the Volunteer Parties last year. Both of us are very sensitive to the flash and almost always have our eyes closed in photos (in fact this is the last of a series of five photos, four of which have eyes shut). My photo for my FAC (Firearms Aquisition Certificate) is very similar to this one, again from trying not to blink. Ira calls it my "Give Me Gun" face. I was surprised to actually receive my license after submitting a photo where I clearly look crazy.







See you from the bell tower!

12 Days of Christmas Songs

Karen’s Tree-Topper Play-list for Christmas
- because every one needs at least one good Christmas song a day for the 12 days of Christmas (in no particular order)

1. Blue Christmas – Collective Soul
- because every Christmas playlist needs a little bit of rock

2. 12 Days of Christmas – Bob & Doug McKenzie
- because you can’t get any more Canadian than that

3. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen - Barenaked Ladies & Sarah MacLaughlan
- Barenaked Ladies are just amazing musicians, add in Sarah and it’s pure heaven

4. Christmas Is Coming - John Denver and the Muppets
- because it’s not Christmas without the Muppets

5. Snoopy’s Christmas – Royal Guardsmen
- It’s so weird that it’s a Christmas song that I have to include it

6. O Holy Night – UAMC (The massive version with the organ and split choir, which version is this?)
- This is the best carol we have ever and will ever do

7. Do They Know It’s Christmas? – Band Aid
- because I grew up in the 80’s

8. Mary’s boy child/Oh My Lord – Boney M
- don’t really listen to how they are mangling the English language and you’ll be fine

9. What Child Is This? – The Moody Blues (or any one else who does a decent version)
- my all-time favorite Christmas carol (love!)

10. Carol of the Bells – by anyone decent who doesn’t do it too slow
- sung properly this song has a "depth of snow covered night" start with a drive to a "frenzied shopping panic"

11. Hallelujah Chorus from Messiah
- if you’ve ever sung this piece, you’ll know why (and yes, you should stand)

12. You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch! - Thurl Ravenscroft.
- Classic Christmas Grinch

Impending Doom

This photo from last summer nicely summarizes my life right now: things were pretty shiny and bright, and then they got complicated, confusing, and worrisome, and now I am filled with panic and a sense of impending doom.

More parenthetical aside than not (with general punctuation abuse)

It seems that I spend every December running to catch up, not only with house cleaning, gift shopping and holiday decorating (my family traditionally puts up the Christmas tree at 10 pm on the 24th of December. Procrastinate much? This drives Paul crazy.) but in the past four years, to catch up in Holidailies.

Every year in November, amidst the chaos of NaNoWriMo, I solemnly swear via the click of a button that I will update my blog every day from December 1 to January 1, without fail. Almost anyone who has ever done NaNoWriMo, and definitely anyone who has done it as an ML (the folks in charge of each region) will know that it’s extremely difficult to write anything coherent on the first day of December. Especially if they operate like I do (see chronic procrastinator, above) and finish their 50,000th word at 11 pm on the 30th of November. This is the first year that I finished earlier (6 pm on the 29th, thanks to my running dare with Wolfe) but since our TGIO party was scheduled for Dec 1st, there was no hope of any time to myself on the 30th or the 1st. (More on both the dare and the TGIO later, with photos! Actually, photos are to blame for some of the delay too.)

On Thursday night, the 13th, I finally caught up in Holidailies with my 13th entry. On Friday night, the 14th, my chronic sleep deficit caught up with me and I fell asleep at 5pm and slept for 14 hours. Now, for the first time in several months, I don’t feel like my eyeballs have been rolled in a sand trap and the rest of my head packed with cotton balls. In summary, I feel better. But now I have guilt. I will have to break the new “don’t post twice in one day” rule yet again (guilt!) to catch myself up to the standard. If I don’t catch up I will break my vow by not having 31 posts by January 1 (guilt!). I may even disappoint my readers (more guilt!) if I have any left after my year of near silence (which is an entry in and of itself: the year in which I ‘logic-ed’ myself into a depression. I have issues.)

Really, I have enough guilt for any ten Catholics (thanks, mom). I’d say I should be Catholic, but having married a Catholic man in a Catholic church believe me when I say that I explored the option thoroughly and determined that it is not, and will never be, a good fit for me. There are too many beliefs that I either fundamentally oppose, that make no sense to me, or that are just too gross for me to say I believe, and there’s no way I’m going to lie about any of it. (Don’t worry; I’m not wandering around denigrating his beliefs. There are points we agree on, points we disagree on, and an agreement to respect those areas of disagreement. Religion is all about interpretation and marriage is all about compromise.)

There you go: an entry for the 14th. I solemnly vow to return with an entry of greater substance, likely tomorrow morning as tonight will be spent drinking Butterscotch Sundae Martinis with Paul’s extended family. Hmmm, maybe it won’t have greater substance after all.

Spam, spam, spam, spam...

I like that my gmail gives me suggested links based on the content of my email (I try not to think about what that means in terms of confidentiality). I must really enjoy it because it's the second post I've written on the subject. My current favorite feature is that my junk mail folder helpfully suggests recipes for the spam I have received, the most recent of which is "Spam Swiss Pie". I think my gmail is fundamentally an optimist of the "if life gives you lemons, make lemonade" variety.

It runs into a bit of a clash in definitions though; it's using SPAM (canned, precooked luncheon meat product made by the Hormel Foods Corporation (key ingredients: chopped pork shoulder meat and sodium nitrite to help "keep its color") as spam (the abuse of email systems to send unsolicited bulk messages).

If you put that into practice, you end up with some very odd recipes, for example:

- Penis Enhancement Pie
- Replica Rolex Ratatouille
- Casino Winner Casserole
- Viagra Vichyssoise
- Phish(ing) Fricassee
- Hot Naked Single Teenage Meatloaf

Isn't it funny how spam solicits you to enjoy things which are otherwise difficult to obtain: sex, drugs, money and time, but only in their basest forms. If only purchasing a Rolex bought me more hours in a day! The sleep would do me some good. Yay sleep! That's where I'm a viking! (Spam, spam, spam, spam. Spam, spam, spam, spam. Lovely spam! Wonderful spam!)



(With apologies to both Monty Python and the Simpsons).

Virtual Still Life

(Thank you to who ever nominated this for a "Best of Holidailies". I appreciate it.)

On the radio the other day there was an article on some kind of art work that had been destroyed, and my first thought was, “At least they have a photo catalogue of it, don’t they? It’s not like things that were lost 100 years ago, is it?” I was a bit surprised at my own reaction, which led me to the question, “Are historical/art objects now less precious because we have the technology to preserve them in another form?”

Does a photograph of the Mona Lisa have the same value as the painting? If so, how far does this rule apply? What about sculpture? Is the line then drawn at 3-dimensional? Is the actual entire piece of art integrated as a whole the most thorough experience, including the knowledge that it was pained by whom ever X numbers of years ago, and that this is the original texture and framework, and this is how it smelled? Would we feel the loss of the original less keenly if we had a perfect replica? What if we didn’t know that it was a replica? Does it retain its value as artwork when it is created by a lesser hand?

Does the replica of a dinosaur skeleton have the same meaning as a 150 million year old bone because it looks the same? What about a captive endangered species? Genetically it’s a dodo, but is it really a dodo if it's taken out of its original habitat and lies in a cage eating what it’s provided and has no other dodos to frolic with? In that case, is a dodo-shaped robot just as good? What about a video of a dodo? What about a photo? A drawing? Where do we draw the line on preservation, or is it a sliding scale?

What is our future going to look like in this preservation scenario? I’ve backed up my computer files, writing, photos, and music, now how do I store this information? Are we going to end up with towers upon towers of backups of DVDs of all the experiences that we've lost? Are the catalogues of our lives going to be retained on an external hard drive? What value does that have as “your life”? Is it just something you want to keep for your lifespan or is it an entity that lives on after your end in support of your practical goals? Or are we just generally retaining history because we can? And can that truly be considered "living on" if all of what you produced is altered by the image you want to present to the rest of the world? Is what I choose to post from the selection of my thoughts thrown out here onto the Internet really a reflection of who I am? Or is it some distorted copy of myself? If that is all that is left of me after my life, is that who I retroactively become? (Are we getting into Orwellian territory here?)

Does video replace life experience? What happens when everyone is plugged in to the same video lifelines? Are we all then living the same life? Will nature, art, music be divided into castes, based on scarcity, limits of what you are allowed to experience based on what level of authenticity you can pay for? Will only the rich get to experience life first hand, and the rest of us will just drink down a cheap photocopy, fuzzy at the edges? Is a recording the same as a concert? A movie the same as a play? When did the lines get so blurry between living and observing? Are we already starting to live a virtual life in a virtual world? Is that still life?

Farewell Sweet Cuba!

Earlier on in the week we caught a few of the shows, which varied widely in the quality of entertainment. We were especially impressed with the acrobats, but the boys went back to the rooms to play a board game.



At the end of every show the performers would do the "Iberostar Dance", which was actually quite catchy. It's kind of fun to yell, "One, two, three, TOMA!" and kick your leg in the air, especially when, for all you know, you could be yelling, "Nosehair!" or "Pinch me!" or "Hot Sauce!" (Okay, I googled it. The free Spanish to English translator says it means "It takes", which makes no sense. I'd rather be yelling, "Hot sauce!")



We spent as much time as humanly possible playing in the ocean waves. The last couple of days it was very windy and the waves were enormous and incredibly fun.





I am having the time of my life here. I love the ocean!



Paul and I decided that we wanted a photo of the two of us jumping up into a huge wave. We waited carefully for a good one and jumped for it. It turned out to be a much bigger wave than we'd anticipated and it tumbled us both head over heels through the water for a pretty good distance. When I came to a stop my legs and arms were out of the water, my head was underwater and I was sitting on something solid. I was just starting to get my bearings when something poked me rather insistently in the right hip. It turns out that I had come to a stop on top of Paul's head! The resulting photo:



One day we decided to go into Varadero and visit the Art Market. We got instructions for the big red double-decker bus but a passing taxi driver convinced us to go with him for the same price and half the time. We didn't realize that half the time was double the speed! (I have made this mistake before. "Earl's size" does not mean double the glass size.) The limit was 60 mph and he turned off his spedometer (yes, turned off, along with all other accessories) at 120 mph while passing a bus in oncoming traffic. I just gave up and closed my eyes. We bought some paintings, Paul got a shirt, I got a bandana, and we all bought Che hats and many gifts for our families. Unfortunately, but as planned, our cabbie came back to retrieve us. There are no photos as I was busy staring in horror at the speedskater on the road roughly an inch ahead of our bumper.









I adore this carving of salsa dancers. Later that night Paul and I did some salsa dancing at the disco (I love that they call it "The Disco").



Kristy gets a little closer to Juan Alberto.



There were SWINGS at the disco! That would never happen in Canada.



I went up to get a drink and suddenly two people came dancing down the bar, followed by two more. The lead guy stopped in front of me and, still gyrating to the music, took off his shirt. The bartender handed me my drink between his legs. They danced up there for a while then partied back down the bar and hopped off.



Things got a little crazy at the disco.



We certainly had a good time.



Amanda and Paul smoked their cigars on the beach. (Bleh.)



Sunset on our last night in Cuba.



The message on our bed the night before we left Cuba.



One last photo, in the airport. So last minute that Leslie and Mark have boarded the plane already.



Adiós Cuba; le faltaré. Espero volverme otra vez para visitar un día.