Ongoing Adventures in Semi-Conciousness

 It's amazing how a certain some thing along the way, a curve in the road, the look of a particular stretch of highway can initiate a memory. 

I was driving from work to the Eaton Centre today. And then back. And I took a certain route that took me straight through the neighborhood my dad used to work in, right past the K-8 inner-city public school where he spent the better part of my life working - 16 years. And I instantly remembered something I hadn't thought of in years. Maybe once or twice a year we would ask my dad, "Can I come to school with you," and he'd say yes. I don't remember him ever saying no. But we didn't go that much. So somehow, my brother and I asked little enough that it wasn't something that ever needed to be discussed much. Little enough that it was a special day for sure. My dad would pull us out of school, and we'd get to get up with him when it was still dark out. He would make us a piece of toast or two while he drank his coffee. Not like Mom who would make toast but also cereal or eggo's and oh my god, my mom let us eat pizza pops for breakfast. And then we'd take the GO train together into the city. Sometimes people knew him and I thought that was great. This was back in the day when teachers had to wear cufflinks and ties. He'd leave you alone in the woodshop while he went and grabbed whatever group of unruly 12 and 13 year olds he was expanding the polytechnical skills of. And I'd get nervous, because I would be the center of attention if only for a moment. But the kids were always super nice to me, and they liked my dad. And you got to have a special lunch together at the Berkley Bistro, just the two of you. And there it was, still in business.

The drive between Trafalgar Road in Oakville and the studio where I work, or vice versa. Specifically in rush hour traffic. Certain landmarks... I can't help but be reminded of a certain day or a certain moment during that year where I made the commute, my first year and my current job, my first career. Because that was where i was when I had a conversation on the phone, or had heard a serious piece of news on the radio, or been stuck in this stretch for a very long time that day the produce truck rolled heading eastbound. I think about how scared I was some days, or how angry. How late it was some nights, or how early. It was during that first year after mom had passed away, when I was still trying to figure out how to be independent and really just how to operate. It makes me think of the apartment I shared with Justin on Speers Road, big and bright and very high up. With the fireplace and bright yellow walls. It makes me remember that while we weren't right for eachother, Justin did an incredible job of creating a home for me. And that while there are some days and nights that year that I'd really rather not remember, we stayed as long as we did because we had great friends and a great view.

In a week or so, I'll get up at 6 (if I have not been too excited to sleep) and have a shower. And I'll have a slightly-bigger-than-normal purse all packed with my passport and my cell phone and a folder with laser printed maps and emails, with flight numbers and phone numbers. I'll make a big mug of tea and tidy up my place one last time before settling into the drivers seat and heading up Bathurst, west on Eglinton, up the Allen, and up and around the top of the city, and down down down all the way to the Buffalo Airport to pick up Eric. I'll listen to RadioLab and not the CBC because it's a weekday and much earlier than I normally listen to the CBC and thusly NOT The Current and something far less compelling. 

Conversely, if I'm ever out super late at night and then drive home in Toronto, I catch CBC radio one Overnight, I smile to myself and get the feeling of driving down to the Buffalo airport between 1:00 and 5:00 a.m. having not slept a wink.

And I'll be nervous and excited and maybe, even literally, squeal. Because I'll get to be loved like crazy for a few days or a week or a few weeks or whatever, and have hugs, because while Eric and I have a lot going for us, hugs are not in our 'strengths' column. And because I have never had fun in my life the way that I do when I'm with him, and it's his birthday. But as I see all the familiar landmarks I'll inevitably be remembering other drives. The skyway bridge over Hamilton. The ugly shipwreck. That restaurant (greek or something) that I've always been thinking of trying, you know, the one right on the lake off the 420. And I'll be thinking about times when the bag I was bringing was much bigger, times when it's been very snowy, very risky, very late, or a 2:00 a.m. time with my gullet full of cauterized stitches and my purse full of percocet. But these drives, when I'm excited and nervous and have been counting the hours for days and just ready to burst - these are probably some of my most happy times. Sometimes I'm bringing someone home to share my world with, to contaminate my normal with extraordinary. Sometimes I'm off to visit somewhere I've never been, or somewhere that's become as familiar and comfortable to me as a cottage, where someone who cares for me immensely will take the greatest of care of me. Before we meet the possibilities are endless, and I enjoy the feeling of not worrying about how much time we have left.

But that drive home... while it is occasionally unpleasant (about 33% of the time) it reminds me of something else altogether. August has always been a really funny month for me. It's my favourite as far as weather goes (September a close second) and the month as a child during which I was always happiest. Simple: August = camp, cottage, cousins. But I always had a really, really hard time coming home from our place in New Hampshire. I didn't connect with that part of my family often and when we did, I always felt such a strong sense of protection and belonging. I still do. And we had so much fun. We still do! I often cried on our way down the mountain, or up the dirt road from the lake. Still do that too! And I feel like crap all the way home because if I'm seeing these things, Bennington VT, Schnectady and Troy, Bob's Big Boy, then summer is definitely over.

But then you'd kind of resign to it. The day would wear on and on and on and after 7 hours, no matter what, you'd be totally ready to be home. You'd remember the cat, and the television, and the food you were used to, and the bed you hadn't slept in in a month. And you'd remember that you were kind of okay with going back to school cause you were 9, and had friends, or were starting juniour high. And for me, this always used to happen around the time you'd cross the Lewiston Bridge back to Canada. It's always late, and hot, the border guard is always cranky and you always have something to do tomorrow. But the look of that bridge heading north, and the border guards, they always bring me back to those long drives with my family and getting excited to see my hometown after sometimes six weeks away. Lying on my back on top of my sleeping bag across the bench seat of the Dodge Caravan, watching the way the light from the street lamps made shadows that pivoted and stretched as we drove home.

I have been lucky enough to have a few Totally Perfect Moments© in the last few months or so. I have never stopped having them, but they've been frequent in the last few months. I had one on Christmas Eve, driving up to my dad's place. Having just found a totally appropriate gift at Starbucks, while treating myself (I NEVER buy expensive coffee) to a huge choclatey coffee-y thing, an drinking it and listening to Otis Redding and encountering no traffic on the completely new-snow white drive to my dad's place, to spend a profoundly peaceful and simple evening with my closest family.

I had it in West Palm in February, for just half an instant - floating on my back in the beautiful pool at Will Shriver's place around midnight on a warm night, and noticing there was a ring around the moon.

I had it during the third at the Raptors playoff game, before they lost it. Just the right amount of stoned to be thrilled with the colours and the noise, and focused enough to remain involved. Just looking around at the thousands of people, all in red and white and focusing incredible amounts of emotion on to someone during a free through, all suddenly (mostly) wanting the same thing - realizing that as humans, we collectively do some very bizarre things sometimes.

And now they come faster.

I had it a week after that, on one of the first warm nights of the year. The days were getting so long, and I managed to get my shit together enough to remember to bring my rollerblades with me to the studio. And I skated all the way out to where the path ends, along the beaches, and came back again. The sun was just about to really go down, long, hot, hard light, and the beach and boardwalk were totally packed with people. Families and runners and couples and dogs all over the beach, volleyball teams not quite ready to quit yet. And everyone was happy. We had the most snow in like a bazillion years this winter, the second largest recorded snowfall ever. People were starting to lose it, I swear to you. I certainly was thinking about it and feeling so happy to have the warmth back, I felt connected to everyone there because I think they were all thinking about it as well.

And then just a few weeks later, I had many in Arizona: riding half-drunk through a dimly lit (light laws), cookie-cutter, mayonnaise coloured subdivision to pool hop on a hot night in my bare feet. Reaching the Robber's Roost easily in Sedona after being terrified I might not be able to hack the hike with all the gear, fresh off scaling around the most precarious climbing situation I'd ever encountered (adrenaline), to discover a perfect sunset. Sleeping on a hot rock by a cool river, in the shade of something at least 30 miles from anything.

And two weeks later, today, first significant period of time to myself in five days or so, forecast of thunderstorm but actually bright sun and lots of thick white clouds. Internal alarm clock functioning beautifully all of the sudden, up in time to throw on shorts and a tank top (because it's 22 degrees out) and get the bike my upstairs neighbor left me, the shitty old racing bike that is just somehow totally appropriate, out of the basement. Far more gracefully than I did when I last did this a week ago. Right music, right temperature, right route. Right song while on the right road, bright sun through huge patchy maple trees, a good buzz, fresh eggs waiting at home, and the pièce de résistance: a slight breeze and a huge shower of glittery green maple keys. The sudden recollection that I actually do live in a beautiful neighborhood in a beautiful city. And it's almost summer.

I spent most of today sleeping off the last week - in excess of 70 hours of high-stress high-tension fast-paced clusterfuckery. I had the LAST holiday party to go to last night, and passed out fully on the couch while the tv flickered all night long. I woke up at 6:00 am, stiff and disoriented and have spent the day dozing in and out and eating and resting and chatting with all the folks I just have not had time to catch up with this month.

Tomorrow I will pack for West Palm. My flight leaves at 4:00 am from Buffalo, and my father the saint, is getting me there. I have my passport, my cheap JetBlue ticket, the phone number for the cat-sitter, and a new case for my laptop. Tomorrow I will clean the house and pack. I, of course, have an extensively detailed list of things to do printed on green paper - getting a cheque for the cat sitter. Buying razorblades and bubble gum and that sort of thing.

I hesitate to mention this because I hate to be happy when people I love are sad - but I will mention it anyways because maybe it will give some hope that although life is never the same, it does get better as time goes by. It is almost the 23rd of December. I am home all by myself and I feel great. I feel happy and pleased it is Christmas. I feel warm and comfortable and excited to be in the warm embrace of my family. This time last year I was a bundle of nerves and tears and hurt. I remember hearing River on the radio as I drove home from work past all the lights, pulling over in front of a house with big frosted coloured bulbs from the seventies and just missing my mom so much I couldn't breathe. And hating everyone else who was happy and loving the holidays.

I miss her still, but this year, I am just happy. I love my tree and I have it lit every night. I love the snow and I love driving around the city, always with a big grin on as I look at all the decorations and people shopping and just feel happy. And as soon as I booked my flight to florida, I started feeling even better, confident the next week would be a joyful one full of family and fun and love. For the first time since, I'm totally enjoying Christmas. Almost like never before. I'm comforted by the season instead of being hurt by it - despite all the things that are still unknown and uncertain. It's almost as if it's brought me more strength to hope than I had before.

Christmas Eve I will head up to Dad's place to visit with Marian and Kyla and Suz and Dolf and I assume Kate too. We will all head to Orangeville to Chuck and Kath's church for carols and bell choirs. It is the first time since I was a small child that I will be in a church at Christmas. I wish it was St. Jude's. Under the darkness of night, that church has a palpable energy to me. In that church, in the darkness, it is the only time that I actually feel my faith. Or feel the place it used to be.

I'll stay over at Dad's, hopefully watching White Christmas and drinking red wine and feeling happy with a big fluffy dog on my lap. The next day, we'll go to Grandmere's to see the whole family, and then, who knows? I wish I could have a substancial amount of time to hang with my cousins, but we'll see, I suppose. Between then and four the next day, who knows, but then off to West Palm. I'll be there my noon on Boxing Day if nothing goes wrong, and hopefully asleep by the pool when the sun goes down. I am so excited. This dose of sun and warmth (and it is crazy warm down there right now) comes at just the right time, right in middle when I need it the most.

My crazy network of e-friends extends all the way down to the Sunshine State, and I am excited to get to spend time with a few stranger-friends. We're hoping to go to Disney for a day with Cait and Ed - I have not been since I was ten, and Justin, never. He's in for quite a treat. I love that place, and I never thought we'd have the money to go back. Even if it's just for one day. I'm trying to find it within myself to treat us to a night in one of their hotels. They really are something to see - the most luxurious places I've ever stayed - but I don't know. It's $200 a night, and although it is Christmas, and we are not doing gifts, there are other things we could spend the money on, I suppose. But oh - how nice would that be? Stay late, see the fireworks... I still have time to think about it. And there are lots of other cheap hotels in the area.

Poolside reading: The Eric Clapton autobiography, the Animal Man trade paperback, The World is Flat, a Douglas Coupland novel I've been trying to read for months... i want to find a borders down there and get Naomi Klein's latest... ten whole days to sit by the pool and read and swim and be relaxed. Truly perfect.

It's late, but laundry needs to be folded. I'm going to put on Scrooged or maybe A Christmas Story and get to it with a glass of wine and some of the green stuff. I love Christmas movies again! Another change! Actually, this week I saw A Charlie Brown Christmas for the first time this year! I came home after a very hard day after a very early call time, on less than 4 hours of sleep. I treated myself to a bowl of sorbet and a joint and curled up on the couch before heading off to bed - and it was on CBC. The Vince Guaraldi soundtrack is my favourite thing in the whole world to play during the holidays and it was a nice way to "hear it". Cute animation. Anyways, there is this monologue at the end, and I was so sleepy, so overwhelmed, it actually made me cry!!





Dirtbike is draped over the old iron radiator in the living room gazing at the tree. We're doing good.

Justin was home for nearly three weeks. There just wasn't the work back in Florida, we were waiting to hear more about Dave, and we just got pretty comfortable! One-income financial hell set in a few days ago, and off he went this morning. We were a bit stressed about customs, he got through just fine.

He kept me busy while he was home. We kept eachother busy. The time apart was really good for us, and he managed to fit into my new routines (we managed to fit into each others) pretty well. He came with me to a couple of parties, we did some socializing with lots of friends and some family, and it was for the most part, wonderful. Some of the things I was worried about happened - I excercised less, ate more and less healthy, the house was less tidy. But it was worth it, and I finally felt safe enough to really let go of the things inside me and start to work through them.

The first night he was home, the Bigs took us out to dinner at our favourite restaurant, Allen's on the Danforth. We met Andrea, our top make-up artist and her husband Dave, and our finance guy here at the studio, also Dave, and his wife. The eight of us were loud and stayed late, ordering scotch after scotch from the list as long as my leg. We had bison steak and scallops and all kinds of amazing stuff and laughed a lot. We got home very late, and stayed up watching movies and drinking more wine. When we were finally in bed falling asleep together, the weight of the weeks prior just hit me all at once, and I burst into tears, finally able to be comforted and finally able to just be in the shit because I knew someone was there to help me stop weeping eventually. We talked about all the things that were going on - and there was a lot - and from then on, I started to feel better.

I didn't write this before because I wasn't allowed to, and now it's moot. Justin lost his job at St. Georges. And then got it back again. It's all very complicated, but to make a long story somewhat short, Justin and the other pros are not employed by St. Georges, they are employed by the Head Pro. Which was Cameron. Cameron had a budget, and with that budget, could hire who he wanted and spend what he wanted and it didn't matter as long as he stayed under the final amount, and the course ran perfectly. No small task, but that is why Head Pros make unconscionable amounts of money. In any case, Cameron failed at this miserably, and ran the course at a major loss, going far over budget under the vague assumption that "if he did a good enough job, the board of directors wouldn't care about the hundred grand he was over target".

Obviously this wasn't the case. He went over without permission my an incredible amount, then tried to hide it, then tried to excuse it. And then he got fired. Which meant Justin and all the other pros were fired, too. A new pro would be hired, and whether or not he would retain any old St. Georges staff would be completely their perogative. Often, new Head Pros bring their own apprentices. St. G's is the number one course in Canada - any asisstant professional would jump at the chance to follow their Pro there. Justin was going to have to finish up in Florida, come home in March, and find a new job. Which was not going to be easy.

Colin was the asisstant professional at St G's, under Cameron. He got fired too, essentially, but on a long-shot (he is underexperienced and young) approached the board and asked for one year to try to turn the course around financially, and to fix the problems with Cameron's management. No one thought it would happen, but it did, and we all think it was a fabulous decision. Colin announced at a Christmas party for last year's professional staff that he was giving everyone their jobs back. Colin and Justin and I and all the important people in our lives that work at St. Gs are very close to Colin - the boys sit in my living room and dish about work non-stop and I know they have the highest regard for his work ethic and ability to run the team. He's pruning young and inexperienced free-loading part timers, and giving the hard-working, experienced, mature staff better salaries and more perks - hoping that 5 happy full timers will be able to do the work of 3 underpaid full timers, cranky from picking up the slack of others, and 5 lazy and also underpaid high schoolers, looking for any way they can to cut corners.

But this had all yet to take place, and that night, I felt like we had completely lost control of our lives. But he's got his job back, and under a better boss. So that has been fixed.

We had dinner last night with Dad, Dave and Laura. The place Dave picked ended up looking a bit shit, so he insisted we go to a different Italian place across St. Clair, which was great. Laura is so lovely, in a Burberry scarf and pearl earrings - but with a loud voice and very clever. She is wonderful and surprising. I gave Dave an extra long hug and didn't mention the tests and trials and everything because he didn't bring it up. I just tried to love him from across the table, which is what I knew I'd have to do. I was scared and Justin was supportive.

Although some tests are being done, MRIs and CTs, and although Laura's surgeon dad has pulled every string he touches, we still won't have any answers or information until as late as February. It will be hard going through the holidays in the dark, but Dad insists I should just go to Florida and be there and if anything goes wrong, I can come home. I will stay with him on Christmas Eve, I think. Play scrabble and watch It's A Wonderful Life and drink wine. I don't know who else will be staying there. I hope it's everyone. I hope I end up in a sleeping bag dogpile on the shag carpet living room floor.

And that's only 12 days away.

Tonight, back to the "me" schedule. Hour at the gym. NPR documentaries while I cook myself dinner. Glass of wine and reruns. A good long stretch and a hot shower. And sleep.

When we were much younger, in the middle of the summer and driving my mother insane, my father would sometimes take us on a walk. We would leave the house in the late late hours of a summer afternoon, before a 6:00 dinner, when the light comes through the trees long and yellow. At Hoch Hammer at that time of day, the warm sunlight reflects off the bark and off the wood of the cabin and off the orange pine needles covering the ground and bathes everyones faces in sparkling warm light and makes us all look and feel five years younger. In that last week of August, every year, it is my favorite time of day to be alive.

We would walk, David, him, and I, down to the bottom of Douglas, and across Pine - which is now the oldest part of Cornwall Road. It makes me feel old to say something like that. We would walk the driveway to the Humane Society, cut through the huge pet cemetary, behind the building and out to a stretch of railroad track. Far back enough was cleared and laid with gravel so that it was safe, of course, but there was no road interrupting the track.

There was (and still is) a huge CN railyard just east of that location, and this stretch of track is used for shunting cars. So if you waited long enough, something would go buy. And it might be carrying anything. Dad would put his head down and listen to see how far away the train was, and invite us to do the same. Then we'd all fish any change we had in our pockets out and lay the small coins out along the rails, and wait.

David and I always goofed around, patient at first, but dissolving quickly into riot, each trying to block the others view of where the train was coming from - Dad would have told us, having looked at the lights and explained what they meant, knowing we had not retained this information from the previous 62 excursions.  Sliding around in the gravel. Spitting contests. Pestering Dad until he set his CASIO watch to go off and play "Love me Tender". That sort of thing.

It was always fun to be the first to see or hear the train coming. It would roar by, blowing hot summer air into our faces, usually about the same time the sun set. Sometimes there would be animals in the cars. I liked that. It never occurred to me where they were going. When all the cars had gone by, we would run up to the track and pull off the nickels and pennies (once we did a loonie - an expensive experiment) off the track, now flattened, usually uniformly due to Dad's still-steady hands. They were always still warm.

We know nothing new and won't for at least a week. I don't know what to do with myself and don't know how to feel. The Bigs are being incredibly supportive and truly understanding, having seen their share of tragedy. It is taking every ounce of my being to continue living - to get up, to bathe, to go to work, to excercise, to eat. This is having an inexplicable impact on my ability to function and I feel totally crippled.

The not knowing is the hardest part, and that childish notion that somehow - what I feel or what I expect - has bearing on what is or what isn't true. Like if I hope too hard or not enough, I can somehow change what will be brought to light. This is not a cue for someone out there to try to sell me on The Secret.

David is a stone. How do you comfort a stone? Dad is paxil-numb, as he has been since I was a little girl. I am a bag of nerves, bursting into tears at one moment and on a runner's high the next. Justin is flying home this Friday.

We had a casting session last week and cast a beautiful woman. We tried to book her for the shoot today and discovered she had died over the weekend.

The world just doesn't make any sense.

David has a tumour in his brain. That's all we know right now.

Those of us that live in apartments and small houses with limited closet space, in parts of the world with winter (yeah I'm :argh:ing at you over there...) are familiar with the annual ritual of "getting out the warmies". Most of us don't have the room to keep all our winter coats, hats, scarves, mitts and boots on hand year round, and like us, pack them away gleefully as soon as it gets about 10 degrees on a reliable basis.

I don't know whether men are naturally better at packing small spaces, or if it's just that I am bad at it, and all the men in my life have always been very good at it. I have certainly known some women who are great at it. Mr. Big's ability to condense an incredible amount of grip and lighting and camera equipment into the back of that Volvo - it never ceases to amaze me, and is second only to my own father's incredible packing abilities. In any case, arranging and hauling stuff back and forth and inside of our storage lockers is something I have had no interest or desire to do, so I have always left it to Justin to decide where things need to be down there. I went straight down to the basement when I got home. I am the type of person who finds it hard to get started once they have stopped, so once I am off to work in the morning, I try to accomplish all the chores and tasks of the day before I put my butt down when I get home, before I sit down and do exactly what it is I'm doing right now. Both lockers were relatively clean, and it was clear that the stuff could only be in the newer of the two spaces. The bins were at the back of the locker, behind an Eames chair, an eMac, three full sets of golf clubs, a lot of artwork, 12 boxes of assorted paperwork, the cat carrier, and my snowboard. I cursed him for not putting the winter stuff in the top bin, but I took it back when I found he had put my stuff at least in the top of that particular container.

I happily found (I had been doubting it) what I was primarily looking for - my arm warmers. I absolutely froze at work today, it was unacceptable. We work in a warehouse space that is necesscary, but costly and inefficient to heat. We try to keep it at a good temperature, but it is a losing battle every year. We keep the security gates closed all the time to try to keep in some of the heat, it escapes from our garage door and through the front foyer so easily. When I get cold, I tend to feel it most in my fingers and toes, so in the winter, I usually keep a set of fuzzy arm warmers in my desk. Justin got me a pair of mohair Etnies arm warmers, that have hobo fingers, which are really the best. The whole point is that my fingers freeze and cramp up, and it makes it hard to use a stylus very effectively. This way, I keep warm, but can still use the computer easily.

It's been a very mild spring, but I think we can expect things to cool down very quickly around here. It'll snow any day now.

Despite myself, I am getting excited for Christmas. It's the same mistake I've made for the last three years, giving in to all my hopes and wants and sheer love of the season, and effectively ramping myself up for weeks of unhappiness and disapointment.  I will have more cousins around though, then I have had in years, and it makes my heart warm to think of the possibility of the kind of gathering we had when we were all kids. I am planning to spend a huge chunk of time down in West Palm with Justin, adding a week onto the almost three I already get. It will be very quiet down at Seminole, and it will be a nice long visit right in the midst of our seperation. But I won't leave Toronto until I have seen all the people that are coming to visit. I'm putting my foot down on that one. And if we can all be in the same place at the same time on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, I'll be there. And be hapy.

I have had so much to say, so many moments where I have said to myself: I need to write this in my journal, I need to get this down while it is still fresh. I really just haven't had the time. So, as best as I can remember, here is what is up:

I feel good. Really good. I can't remember the last time I felt so in control - at first it worried me, what did it mean? Did it mean I was somehow "better" on my own? I talked to Mrs. Big about it last week, and she put it all into context for me, to some degree. She told me how much more efficient and capable she feels when Mr. Big is out of town shooting, or just away for any reason - especially when the kids are gone, too. She put words to the ineffable stuff I've been going through - the spotless house, the fridge full of healthy foods, everything. She said that she finds it so much easier to do the things she knows she needs to do when she knows no one else is going to undo them. I am so happily and easily keeping the house so clean because I know it's going to stay that way until I mess it up. Justin and I had pretty incongruous work schedules, and I would often leave the house in one state, and come home to it another. It's not that I'm messy or Justin's messy or anything like that, it's just one part enthusiasm, and one part lowered traffic.

She and I had a good lunch, and decided that the feelings of stability and ownership simply have to do with the fact that I always know what to expect. I don't get any bad news when I come in the door. I don't have to coordinate my schedule with anyone else. I don't have to call when I work late. I don't have to get a call telling me he is working late.  And I agree with her explanations; they make sense. I do know, though, that these are temporary benefits. I know that all this ME ME ME, what do I want to eat, what do I want to watch, when do I want to go to bed "stuff", while totally refreshing and having it's advantages is no substitute for companionship, for support, for someone to tell everything to. I have never taken that for granted, and with good reason. I miss him so much, but he seems happy. I'll write more about their set-up tomorrow.

Thursday of last week, I drove out to my brother's new place after work and exercising. He and his girlfriend, Laura, live in the top story of an extraordinarily narrow house. I didn't get to see much of it, because we immediately all headed out for a lovely supper at an indian/neaplese restaurant. Dad paid for everything and we shared a huge variety of delicious dishes. Laura is beautiful, and incredibly intelligent. She is my age, which is strange. I was hoping for a clear explanation of who should defer to her in matters of... everything. I can't explain that any better. I hoped it would be clearer who... who would be answering to who? Who would - not look up to - but maybe? I don't know. It was just weird. He's my big brother, he is not my peer. And yet, she is. It's different. She works at St Clements, a local private prep school. She is a former classmate of Christina Markham from Camp Ouareau. She called St. Clements "the most lesbian of the prep schools", but I remembered Maggie Hidderley telling me that her school, the Linden School was the most lesbian of the prep schools, and Laura agreed whole heartedly.

She has something about her that makes me just know she is rich. She is cultured, refined. Grew up in Toronto. But she is the furthest thing from snobby, she is laid back, funny - doesn't take herself too seriously. She told a story about David that he found particularly embarrassing, we were all relaxed and laughing and his put-out expression, she rectified the situation by earnestly telling him "if he wanted he could tell the story about her having diarhea to make up for it". We had a really fun time.

She dresses better than me, but doesn't wear any make-up, and looks like she could beat up a fashion model in a fight. So could I. That is my new way of saying "normal body weight". She is healthy. The two of the deprecate each other just the right amount. He looks at her with a touching affection in his eyes I have not seen from him. He is uncontainably, unmistakably, happy. I do hope she sticks around. But David, he spoke animatedly and fondly on so many topics, things he was doing, how his friends were, things he and Laura had done.  He is as he was - actually, better - before Mum died.

I was worried about him so deeply, so completely. It broke my heart to hear about him or talk to him or see him, he was so defeated and listless and unmotivated all the time. He is like a different person, and my heart just burst with love for him as we walked back to my car. I walked with Dad to his truck after we had taken David and Laura home, and told him how lovely I thought she was. I told him how nervous I had been to meet her, wondering what she would be like, would she like me, what if I hated her? He laughed, and agreed that she was a wonderful and warm person, and exclaimed exactly what I was thinking - that he was just so happy.

Friday was fine, and after working a little late, and cutting off most of my hair, I parked my car in the distillery and started towards the Mill St. Brewery for Eric's big 2-5. As I approached, I saw two gigantic shadows under a streetlight, and was almost knocked over by Daniel's hug. They give what my friend Mikey D calls a carwash hug - they pick you up and kind of turn, so your legs sort of rock back and forth a bit. It's good to have giant family. Deb was there - I was so glad to see her and Brooke, glad Deb found the time and the energy to come all the way down. Daniel and Eric were so drunk, it was fabulous. I'm suprised Brooke didn't need to put a deposit down. The waitress was a good sport, and didn't even cut them off. It was funny being in a bar-bar with them. People give them a wide bearth, and no one asks any questions at all.

Eric was the perfect host - every time someone left, he walked them to the door, gave big hugs and big thanks for coming. Drunken thanks, but very sincere. As Brooke was getting his coat on to take him home, he remembered nothing of it, and got that Worried Eric look, convinced he had been an awful host, convinced he had not said goodbye to anyone, that everyone had just left without him getting to say thanks. He could barely believe it when I emphatically stated that he had walked every single attendee to the door, if not their car.

This was around 1, but Daniel still had legs - one thing led to another and we ended up in the club district. We got separated from the rest of the people we were with and Dan and I stood on the corner of Adelaide and Peter, waiting for twenty minutes, watching club kids run back and forth, cops on horses, cops on bikes, cops standing around looking irritated. The same Big Man phenomenon occurred, every man swung wide of Daniel, some exclaiming "that is a huge dude.... whoa." I just stood in his shadow, being reminded every few minutes why it has been so damn long since I set foot in that neighborhood.

On the way into the neighborhood, we stopped at a traffic light beside a street meat vendor. Daniel leaned out the passenger window, yelling at two guys buying dogs. They were wearing costumes with tank tops and shorts, Daniel drunkenly hollering things like "I don't wanna see that, put cher clothes on!!" There were lots of people around, and I felt terrible for these two - they took one look at him and knew they couldn't do anything about anything, and had to stand there and just take his silly, drunken abuse. "You look like such a tool, BRING ME A HOT DOG. WITH SAUERKRAUT."

I ended up cashing out my chips after we stood on the street corner for so long, I lost my drive and energy. I said goodbye and walked back to the car (sober, of course). I was propositioned no less than four times. One guy, in a zombie outfit (no makeup left though) stood next to me waiting for our pedestrian light. He swayed and leered, I just laughed, having complete confidence in my ability to control the situation. For whatever reason, though, he took that as his cue to hug me. I locked my elbow, put my hand on his chest, and held him at bay quite easily, laughing harder: "No, no.... I don't want you to touch me." He drawled on briefly, trying to convince me to take him home with me. I told him to just let this be a funny story tomorrow, and he didn't follow me.

The rest of the weekend was very peaceful, Saturday incredibly productive. I got up and cleaned the house, went grocery shopping all by my lonesome and got all the things that only I like to eat, came home and did the laundry, those types of responsible things. I rested all Sunday, cooking great meals and watching movies. I felt completely rested and ready to go back to work on Monday.

Work has been crazy this week, I'm getting home late late some nights, barely enough time to bathe, cook dinner, and hop into bed with my plate!! It is so late sometimes when I get to eating, I eat while I watch something on the laptop to wind down, it is often still after midnight by the time I finish eating. I could have more time in the evenings if I was willing to excercise less; suprise; I'm not. I'm owning that, too.

Lots more to tell, but it will wait until tomorrow.

Today was better. Last night was better. I slept right through the night and fell asleep quickly. A combination of chamomile tea, a hot shower, a joint, a little bit of chocolate, and some familiar reruns did the trick and I drifted off comfortably. Working out helped me to sleep, too. I still feel very strange. A friend once said that being away from his spouse made him "uncomfortable"; it's the right word. It's not sad, it's just emotionally awkward. But tonight I arranged dinner with my dad and brother for tomorrow, made myself a very healthy dinner and cleaned the kitchen, remembered to lock the door with a lighter heart.

Dirtbike won't sleep in the bed with me suddenly. He's sleeping in the dirty clothes basket. It's traitorous and I'm not speaking to him.

I've committed to going to my cousin Eric's birthday this Saturday. I know I will wake up that day and not feel like going. I'll have a great time once I get there, I have not seen Brooke in ages. I wonder if Daniel will be there. I hope so. I need family hugs.

Might get to meet my brother's cohabitant tomorrow at this dinner. Will at least get to see their place. At best will get to have dinner with them. If so, will immediately write a full and detailed report. My Grandmere-sense is sounding off full blast, telling me to take pictures of them, of her, of the place. I can't.

It would be a weird meal. We've done this with dad a million times, and he is always the single one.

Sitting here in Avalon, looking at the pouring rain
Summertime has come and gone and everybody's home again
Closing down for the season, I found the last of the souvenirs
I can still taste the wedding cake and it's sweet after all these years

Since I was 12, I don't think I've ever gotten through one drive home from the cottage without purposely listening to that song, without staring longingly out the window as we pull out of Bristol, without getting heavy-hearted as we pass first the signs for Squam Lake and the On Golden Pond tours, then Ruggle's Mine - beautiful Bennington, Vermont flips it's meaning in my mind, it goes from being the quaint chunk of small-town America that tells me I am getting close to my most treasured place, to being a "now leaving paradise" landmark.

There is nothing so gut wrenching as leaving a desparately "summer place", a cottage town which thrives on "summer people", on one of the last days of August. No feeling is more meloncholy - I know it will be only a year until I return, but where will I be in a year? A WHOLE YEAR? On that drive home, THAT day, THAT is the farthest away I will ever be from my most beloved spot.

I will never know what it is that makes that chunk of the country so perfect for me, what makes that view and that beach and that feeling pull so strongly. It has been harder than ever this week to come back to the city, to the complexities of my life, to the noise and the people and the work. I don't know why it was so much harder this year, perhaps because we had as much family there as we'd had in years. I can hardly describe to you the peace that I felt, every single night, as I drifted off to sleep in my tent. The glow of a lantern off in the distance. The crickets, a pinecone falling off a tree, the breeze blowing a handful of water droplets onto the tarp above me. The calm that was so deep inside me, the calm of knowing everyone around me loved me and cared for me, and was only a moment away. It was like being a child again, feeling so protected and strengthened. This summer like never before, I wrapped my whole family around me and immersed myself in comfort and completedness. I slept the sleep of a better person. A person with no cares, even if for a brief time. It was heaven, and I woke up each morning rested and happy.

A week is never enough, before you can blink it is Wednesday, and then there are only two more days to do all that needs to be done. This cottage week seemed shorter than most. That Friday, that last day of sun - enjoying the sensation of that frigid water closing in on my incredibly stoned body, the extreme cold of it not unpleasant... just unique and unbelievably clean. Pushing up onto the waterlogged raft, drying too quickly in the hot sun, making the inevitable re-entry perfectly shocking and unpleasant in the most of ways. I wish the sun had never gone down. It was like my last day in Mexico, I could not stop looking at my watch, knowing the day was disappearing too fast. I floated around in the lake that Friday, growing increasingly more frightened to open my eyes - knowing each time I did the sun would be passing farther and farther over the changing hut, inevitably disappearing over that  tall white pine, leaving the sand blue and cold again.

Being up there high was an incredible experience, I know now there are a million more places to see in that state of mind, a million more experiences to appreciate and indulge in. That cold lake - I don't know what to tell you. It was something, as well, to stand in that road - all shutting off our headlamps and realizing what a thing it was to be in total darkness, how rare that was for all of us now living in the city. What a big deal it was to suddenly be silent and hear only noises of nature and noises of the earth - no cars. No music, no fans or air circulating devices, or refrigerators, or toilets filling, or computers clicking their cooling systems on or off.

I couldn't tell you what it is that has given that place such an idylic spot in my mind. It's not just the view, or the property. It's perfection and comfort certainly is a lot of it. It's simplicity and lack of amenities forces me into my sweatpants and away from the internet and my real-self just comes flooding out in this rush of emotion. It's everything I need in the best way, and nothing more. It's the warmest, most comfortable bed under a gently glowing blue pool of light, with a cool breeze flowing through. It's the darkest night and the brightest morning. It's hot tea by a warm fire, snuggled close as close as one could get to the rainstorm and never getting wet. It's delicious meals when I needed them most, it's lake-water washed hair. My skin a million times better out of the smog. Spring water. The crummy old sign at the Italian Farmhouse, the accent on the girl at the hardware store, that parking in Plymouth is free, everywhere. That their bank has a walk-up window, that the used bookstore has been there for 20 years, that there is always some clueless teenager and no good liqcour at the Newfound Grocery. That we've never even tried to get a pizza delivered, that if you ask kids what they do for fun they talk about a swimming hole, the serious attendance rates at square dances, watching 250 motorcycles go by... all of it, every iota, even the stuff I bitch about while I'm there makes it this picture perfect retreat that lasts long into my dreams, lasts long into October.

It is the hardest place to be when summer ends. It is painful there to watch the days growing shorter, because it is in it's prime for me. It signals the end of my time with everyone I hold dear. It is the hottest it will be for a year, things will only get colder from here on in - for me, at least. It is still, even in adulthood, a return to work and business and routine. Everything will be harder soon. And I've been depressed about it all week. And all this weekend. I lay on the roof, staring for ages at the thick, lush, leafy maple trees blowing in the wind, glowing a beautiful warm glow in the hot sun. Thinking of how the sun would look, beating down on the ashphalt dock at wee-bit, or coming in those many panes of glass.  Gently blowing the curtains at the head of that long dining table.

I miss all of you, so much. Already.
Only three-hundred and something days to go.

Ugh. UGH. It was a long end to the week.

Wednesday, it finally began. It's funny, we'll shoot for a month straight, three to four days a week. Just a constant stream of photography; corporate, studio portraits, promos, everything - yet no one will order a single file. And then they all need them at the same time. It kind of starts like a huge wave. At first you just hear it in the distance, you realize that in order to come through and deliver for the last two clients that called you need to start working right away and not stop until five. And then you see the wave, it gets bigger, more people start calling "by tomorrow morning, by friday, as soon as humanly possible," and you start frantically calling everyone and reminding them: "WE JUST WANTED TO REMIND YOU ALL POST-PRODUCTION REQUIRES A TWO-BUSINESS DAY TURNARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" and then it's washing over you and you are so, completely screwed and it's too late.

I frantically photoshopped file after file, pre-press and retouching at least a hundred images with varying level of complexity while I listened to Mr. and Mrs. Big booking us for all the work they had worried for years would never come. Everyone is completely afraid to say it still, but we're going to be fine. We're making money again. The slump started to die a few months after I got there, and we are actually starting to turn down jobs because we are just too busy.

I worked non-stop from 9 - 6 or so on Wednesday, worked out, and came home. We hung out here for a while, and then headed out for Chris Connor's birthday. Chris and Nick are brothers, and two of our favourite friends. Nick started at St. George's the same time as Justin, and they have been great friends ever since. Chris is his brother, and a welcome addition to every situation. We head out to see the LMT Connection at the Orbit Room with them at least once every six weeks, and that night we went for Chris' birthday. It was an incredible show, as always. Leroy knows us all at this point, and always comes over to shake hands with the gentlemen and give me a kiss. We had reserved tables, and Nick and I had a great time, just blissed out on the banquette, listening to him play an incredible solo on Stormy Monday. Blunts off the back roof-top patio with the rest of the regulars between sets, and a good time had by all. We made a night of it, cabbed there and back and I even booked off Thursday morning.

It's such a good night out to have, and you can spend as much or as little as you like. It's 8 bucks to get in, and if that's all you want to spend, you're fine. Drinks are moderately priced, and it's enough to just sit and listen to them play. But I love it because it's an excuse for everyone to get a little bit dressed up, and to let loose in the middle of the week. The first set is usually so bluesy, but Leroy Emmanuel is probably one of the most talented local guitarists, and it just rips. The crowd is incredibly mixed, but is almost completely made up of music industry folks: producers, session musicians, the odd recording artist (while we try hard and silently in the corner to not freak the fuck out), even staff from schools like Juliard, and from as far as Detroit. Everyone else is either from the television and film industry, or with people who are. Everyone is super friendly and laid back. The second and third sets are always much more funk/motown based, and the dancing is so incredible. Anyone from out of town who comes to visit us mid-week, or like Justin's little brother, who came for his first real exposure to Toronto, gets taken and the jaws always hit the floor. I was devastated when I took Katie - Leroy was out that night. Joel Parisienne on the E3 played instead, but he is not a 65 year old black man on a '65 Gibson 335. He's a 25 year-old white boy on an organ and although he does the funk well, and can beat-box like no ones, it just doesn't have the same soul. He's pretty hot though.

So I slept in until noon, threw on some sweats and rolled myself into the office for 2:30 and it was back to the grindstone. Same story with the files, more photoshop until 9 or so. Friday was more of the same, and a bit of pre-production. Pulling together scheduling, catering, and some other elements for Monday/Tuesday's shoots. I'm still only 2 years into the industry and have adapted pretty well to the change in workload, I can step back for a minute and go "oh, THIS is the way it's supposed to be" and shift into high gear. The extra money helps. But the Bigs, oh man... they are having a tough time adjusting to it after all these years of semi-stagnation. They need to just get a housekeeper or a regular nanny or both but oh MAN. Owning a business is a full-time job on both ends, and no matter what goes wrong, it's all their responsibility. There was a fuck-up with accounting (NOT my problem) so they are both spending the weekend sorting it out. They are always choosing one over the other, (family or business) because they have such a vested interest in both, obviously. They want to spend time together and with their kids, but the business supports their family, and sadly, until we grow into more employees (which might happen soon, you local folks who are looking for some work) the onus to clean all the messes falls on them. And that is a 365 day a year job.

So I was pretty glad by the time Friday evening came around. A gal I went to college with, Keri, had contacted me and we are both pretty steeped in work right now. She's freelance, but is really good at what she does. She does a lot of long-term contracts with various photographers and has done some good travel gigs in the last year or so. She came up to our place after we both finished at around 7:30 (see, she gets the hours, too!) with a bottle of wine and a quiche (knowing our fridge was as empty as hers because honestly who has time to shop) and a plant. An awesome, beautiful plant. Kristen and Grant came up later on as well, with MORE wine, and we went through two big bottles and dished about the photo industry, from very different places. We all reminisced about school, where various people were at, etc. It was a lot of fun, and everyone took of at around 12:30, leaving us to wind down a little bit.

Justin got up at like, balls o'clock this morning to help move a set of drums (?!?) and get together with Bryan, James, and Colin. The dream team and I are heading out to see The Golden Dogs at the Horseshoe Tavern. Why is it that everywhere I go, it is from 3-8 huge guys, and me. It never fails that I am the only girl. They'll land here at the condo in about 45 minutes, make a shit-load of noise, fuck with dirtbike until he snaps, eat all our food, play all the guitars, play my piano, it will go on for three hours before they finally GET THE FUCK OUT.

I kid; they come over and my stomach always aches from laughter. James loves to get under my skin, he knows exactly what fucking bothers me. For instance stand in the corner letting each song play for twenty seconds and then skipping to the next, watching me in the kitchen struggling between wanting to scream PICK A FUCKING SONG YOU DONKEY RAPING SHIT EATER and trying very hard to be a good sport. Regardless, it seems I am forever destined to have "boys" not girls - I will always have one or two female friends, but for the most part, I am doomed to almost an exclusively male social life.

The only thing worth noting at all was that Eric Hawkins called today. We do try to stay in touch, living in the same city and all. We get together every few months, and talk every month or so about the state of the union in our relationships and work on the phone. I am so proud of him. He really loves his job, and is making good money doing it. I like Brooke too, and we always have a good time with them. She is a smart girl, and I hope things work out between them. He told me he did something stupid to help out a friend - he took a second job. He already works from like, 7 - 4, and then he started going somewhere to work from 5:30 to 12:30. He said he lasted three days, and then on the fourth day, he couldn't get out of bed. Poor Eric. He smartened up and quit the second job though, and feels much better. He was on his way up to help a buddy who had returned from a business trip to find his live-in girlfriend gone. (With his home theater equipment, I gather.) So Eric was bringing him what he needed most, beer and a subwoofer. He says Chuck is doing O.K. and that Kath hasn't "been driven totally insane yet."

There is one more thing to tell everybody, and that is about my furious anger regarding the general public being fucking retarded in their opinion towards developing countries, and what I can only write off as a lack of faith in my common sense and general intelligence level. The point is, we've planned our holiday in Jamaica, and I suppose most white middle class Canadians were told that Trench Town grew and covered the entire country in extreme amounts of crime and murder or something. And think that I need to be schooled on the "proper" way to handle yourself there, which is to lock yourself in a five star resort and not speak to anybody who isn't wearing a uniform. Which is, totally false, and even so, it's not like I didn't spend three weeks in the murder capital of the fucking WORLD.

Basically everyone we've told that we're visiting Negril has first, had no idea where or what Negril is. And they think it sounds totally awesome until we tell them it's in Jamaica, and then we are promptly told we're "stupid" or "ignorant" or "going to get shot - you're staying in a nice hotel, right?". So I've essentially stopped telling anyone where we are going, because I am really tired of parrotting to every single person "well we did a lot of research and aren't really in the habit of visiting cities we haven't learned a great deal about and it actually is much safer than Havana and yes, I DO know Dominican is really cheap and yes, you are right is pretty safe isn't that funny considering it's attached to fucking HAITI well I guess places can be in proximity to a dangerous place without being that dangerous but in your books that doesn't apply to us so we might as well just go to Bermuda where everyone is white and rich and have a mild accent because I'm far too stupid to stop myself from climbing into an unlicensed taxi and pulling out my thousands of american dollars."

To make a long story short, Negril is a lovely little town that consists of two things: tourists, and tourist industry. It's a ways away from Montego Bay, and our decision to go there was based out of a lot of discussion with my aunt (who was born there) and Justin's employer (who just moved from there). Our decision to go to Jamaica, period, was based on a few factors. They speak english, which is obviously not a requirement or something we dislike about anywhere else - but I am the type of person who starts to feel stupid and guilty when I don't speak a local language. After three days in Mexico I felt like a filthy capitalist jerk who needed to prove to all the hotel staff that I knew I wasn't any better and got all stressed out and bought a fucking phrase book and talked like an idiot for the rest of the week. Plus, I think the dialect comes out of an interesting and unique mix of European and Asian languages and that shit interests me O.K?!?!?! The food was an issue too. I know all about Cuba. I know all about their lack of spices and I will not be tricked into going to a country that will not offer me CUMIN OR HOT SAUCE WITH EVERY MEAL. We don't have a lot of money, and will be doing this on a budget. And the "budget" islands will not delight me gastronomically speaking. But Jamaica. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. In Negril we can eat for like, 10$ a day. The last factor, was of course, price. And this made it so easy. I'm not the kind of person who needs any amount of luxury, and for less than 35$ a night per person, I think I can handle this just fine. (When I re-read this the sarcasm didn't come through. Seriously, that is the nicest looking cabin I've ever seen!) Because the accommodations (once you take BEACHES, SANDALS, COUPLES, CLUB, or RIU out of the name) are SO cheap, it's possible we might change out booking and stay for two weeks. The flight is the most expensive part, and the fact that we can subsist for about 50$ a person a day makes it extremely tempting to stay there longer. I guess if we can stop ourselves from getting into any unlicensed taxis or making eye contact, right? Morons. Get outside once in a while.

I just woke up. It's around 12:30 or so. And it's snowing. We got a bit about a month ago, but it just dusted the trees and moved on. This is coming down lightly and quickly and covering everything completely. It looks beautiful. We'll see how long it lasts. I'd like to go for a walk later, maybe we will.

I haven't updated in a really long time; I used to so often. I want to try to get better. It's nice to have the written record.

The holidays were better. The week leading up to them left me more burned out and bitter than I have ever felt in my life. I've never been so close to my breaking point. I was consistently at 60 hours a week through the month of December and totally lost my patience with it. I felt little gratitude and a lot of resentment. But we got through it, and I had two paid weeks off. It seemed to just disapear. We left for my father's place on the 23rd, and stayed with him until Christmas Day, when we went to Orangeville. We drove home that night, and our friend James arrived quite late on Boxing Day. He stayed on our couch until New Years eve, on which we stayed at home. We drove out to visit some of Justin's family on New Year's Day, and brought Justin's little brother Jamie home with us. We drove him back to London on the 5h, and stayed there until the 7th. I went back to work on the 8th.

We were never alone, nothing was ever quiet. I couldn't veg out on the couch and do what I'm doing right now - there was always someone living on it.

It was tough going back to work, but things are much slower. I'm out the door at a reasonable time, working only 9-10 hours a day instead of 15. Things are super busy still, a major change from last year, where in January we worked almost never. We have quotes going on in St. Louis, back to Halifax, and some heavy duty international stuff for a major resort hotel chain. Exciting stuff, we'll see if it comes to fruition. Our huge snowball is totally picking up some major speed - the Bigs are excited. I'm excited for them.

We didn't spend a lot or get a lot for Christmas. But I did get a nice cheque or two from grandparents. I plan on heading out and spending some of it today - iPod armband, new running shoes, new gym bag, new yoga pants. I was out on Friday night picking up some major drugs (did I mention I have the plague right now?) and found PharmaPlus selling off all their holiday gift sets at like 70% off, so I treated myself to some expensive stuff. So I shouldn't have to buy toiletries for, like a year.

I had my three-month asessment at the gym. I've lost about 16 pounds, 4% body fat, and an inch to two inches off everything. So I'm moving and doing something right. I fell off the wagon over the holidays and put on some weight, and got out of the gym, but I hit back very hard last week. I missed a day because I was sick, but I plan on going on a run this afternoon.

That's all I can really think of right now. I don't plan on moving far for a little while, just curling up with the falling snow and some delicious nightime antihistamines.

We're two days before Christmas, so of course I'm a big bag of depressed and feeling sorry for myself, but I guess that's just how it's going to be for a while, and I think I'm starting to be O.K. with all of that.

The last week of work crawled by as slowly as anything could, and by the end of the work day yesterday, I was so completely and terribly burned-out. I've been feeling burned out for about two or three weeks really. One can only work average-ish 60 hrs. a week for so long, before they start to lose their cool. I was leaving the house at 8:15 or earlier every day, and getting in between 9-10 pm. When I couldn't get to the gym, I was heading straight back out the door and along the 3 km route I've figured out for myself, sometimes so exhausted it just didn't even hurt anymore.

DID I MENTION I'VE LOST 16 FUCKING POUNDS??!?!?

A lot more work-related partying kept on going, and our annual work party was a week ago. It was such a success - from my point of view, at least - and it is always fun to bond with the people I work with on a more personal level. It's hard when one doesn't work with anyone their own age, but I like to think that I bring something fun to the lives of all these old fogeys, and that they like having me around sometimes.

This week, as I said, crawled. Mr. Big had some travel shooting to do, and mercifully spared me the trip to beautiful Barrie and Penetanguishene. Honestly, there is nothing fun about those small trips. You are there to work, and see pretty much only the inside of Hotels. Only when we are anywhere for more than a day does the fun actually start to happen. So it was a good thing I didn't have to be away, the cat would have been dead when we got back.

But being a producer on travel shoots is always a bit more complicated. How many people are going. How are they getting there. Who rents a vehicle large enough to store a 48" stand bag horizontally in the trunk? (Avis) What city can I put everyone up in so they don't have to share a bathroom, as Penentanguishene only has B&Bs? (Midland) Does my Aeroplan business Visa automatically provide auto insurance for the rental? (Yes.)

One of the ways I make sure everything gets done and stays in order is that I create a document, a large document with many pages and sections and tabs. It becomes a book, but I'm very good at laying everything out, and all the information is very easy to find. It goes with whoever on the shoot is most responsible, or the producer if there is one on set (so usually me.) So this time, that person had to be Mr. Big. This document contains literally everything to do with the shoot. Maps to all hotels, locations, and car rental facilities, a list of 3-4 star restaurants around each hotel, a list of take out places and coffee shops within five miles of each location, car rental contracts, emergency numbers for road-side assistance, each location, sub-contractor, and each client, hotel contact info, reservation numbers, layouts for the actual job, a list of all the gear that is going and which bag it's in (that's a big fucking list I tell you), the estimate for the job, the contract for the job, fill-in-the-blank contracts for extra on-set changes, it's a BIBLE for the entire job.

I've started ONLY purchasing handbags and purses that a full 8.5x11 inch binder will fit inside, because I keep it on me and me alone at all times during a job. Mr. Big is a different person and to each his own - Mr. Big chose to put it on the roof of the rental van while he was gassing up halfway up the 400 on the way to the first hotel, late night before the day of the first shoot.

Somehow (and I don't want to know how) the emergency courier beat them to Barrie, and a second copy that I printed around 8 p.m. (45 minutes after they left) was waiting there for him. (I'm good.) That one never made it home - he managed to lose that binder also, at some point before getting home on Wednesday night. He looked only mildly sheepish, and I can forgive him. Mrs. Big found it more difficult, as personal contact info of our clients and exactly what a certain government agency is paying us are now floating around the abyss somewhere.

Thursday we had a studio shoot. Good food, of course. Justin's cousin is here from England, and drove out to Toronto from his mother's place in Dundas. We went out for a pub meal at The Pour House, right near katrijn_noelle 's old co-op. Had a very mediocre scotch.

Which brings me to yesterday. Mrs. Big continued her 2-week long streak of finding a reason to not show up. But we had some last minute emergency files to deliver to the client from earlier in the week (beautiful stuff), and I had to tear down yesterday's terribly complicated set. (6 heads, four packs, 8x8 shooting surface, 9 foot umbrella, 8x8 scrim and frame, seemingly endless piles of the crap that seem to appear when you shoot finicky product stuff... 2.5 hours later!

And finally, I got my bonus. At about three p.m. I was sent to the mall to buy myself (on the company card) whatever - honestly, WHATEVER - phone I wanted, brand new. I was instructed to get everything. Case. Bluetooth headset. And to change the billing address to the studio, because for as long as I work there, they are going to pay the bill. I HAVE NOT HAD A NEW PHONE IN LIKE 6 YEARS, PEOPLE. And to get it, I've always tied myself down to some ridiculous contract length to afford it. I can be the ultimate asshole with my stupid bluetooth headset!

So that was exciting. ALSO, earlier in the week Apple put a bunch of hella cheap refurb ipods up on their website, so I've ordered a new 30gig video for 149$!!! FTW! So I'm gadgeted out.

Dad called (on mah new phone!) last night, and asked what time we were coming today. He of course, wants to work up at the train. I told him we'd show up for supper. I still haven't gotten his gift! If it's open, I'm going to pop into Deb's Home Hardware tomorrow, and have a look around. We'll be at Dad's for three days - Today, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day. We'll head into Orangeville to Chuck and Kathleen's for dinner on the 25th - all the boys will be there with their respective lover ladies, and ems of course. Hopefully, we'll have some laughs and good meal. And then head home.

I'm not back to work until the 8th of January, so I am basking in the glow of a long vacation (albeit very well deserved).

Where oh where to begin.

Work has been insane for the last few weeks, as usual. We're still riding this never-ending wave of work. It just doesn't end. We'll have a day where nothing new is coming up on the horizon, but never more than 24 hours after that, there is something new on the go. Always interesting, always exciting.

The last couple of weeks have been an equally never-ending wave of parties. But the kind of work-related party at which you must be very careful to drink just enough to be casual and un-awkward but not too much, so as to make an ass of oneself. Every ad agency has a party, every printing house has a party, every industry has it's own party. I went to a marketing awards show and afterparty at the ROM - drank good scotch under that huge T-Rex.  I went to a Unisource sponsored event at the Carlu - annual reports design/photography awards. Very un-exciting content concept, but a great party. Amazing food, free booze, some of my favourite clients - and I got to sample craploads of paper stock which is so nerdy but very fun for me. The swatch booklets get more elaborate every year. Die-cut, metalics, special custom containers - all using stunning stock photography and some of the most cutting-edge graphic design in the business. Beautiful swag (and yet another canvas tote to carry it all home in).

Regardless, it's a huge part of the business. Art directors and creative directors never hire someone they've never seen the face of - that recognition (oh yes, we met at NUARS last month) is so strangely essential. Practically every client I bumped into said something to the effect of "God, seeing you reminds me I should get you guys to quote on that new job...". This is the first year I've kind of been "trotted out" so to speak, paraded around to some degree. Mrs. Big is particularly proud of me, for some reason. She says she has a lot of fun introducing me to people, and apparently my subtle we're-not-working-but-oh-yes-we-are sales techniques are pretty spot on. Funny, I thought I was just there to get hit on my inappropriately older men and eat oysters.

Can you believe we're here at Christmas again? Third times a charm, maybe. I had a flash memory of something mom used to do. Maybe our whole family did, I can't remember. Anyways. Mom always bought these advent candles, these special tacky tapered candles that had one to twenty-four down them, staggered down a long, narrow and tall christmas tree. At the bottom of the "tree", under "24" was a big fat cartoon santa. The point is you burn them for about 30 minutes or so every night, and the "days" melt down. These were really ugly candles. I remember there were only a couple of stores in Oakville that had them: To Set a Table, and The Added Touch.

To Set a Table is gone I think, but The Added Touch is still there (albeit moved down the road). The Added Touch is ridiculous. In amongst the knick-knacks that grandmere has bought us ALL (cedar pillows, giant thermometres, lap desks, crossword puzzle kits, scissors permanently mounted inside a jar for cutting blooms underwater) are the REALLY ridiculous things like electric slippers and brick-making-kits. And the candles. I looked online for them elsewhere, no dice.

So I have an appointment in Oakville later this week (my only real excuse to make the time to get out there right now amongst all the insanity) and I will pop into the Added Touch and pick some up. Maybe if I make a point of doing something small every day to remember Mum on purpose, I'll be able to stop thinking about her all the time during the holidays. I'll trade 30 minutes of reflection for the permanent place she keeps in the back of my head constantly during December.

I can never remember whether her birthday was the 7th or the 11th. Or was it the 10th. The first time it passed, Dave and I felt awful for forgetting. But he hugged me and said "Honey, we could never remember when she was alive - and she never ever cared." And we laughed and just let it go.

Health/weight wise everything is still well. Working out is such a habit now. It's just part of my weekday routine. The only thing that is still new about it is that I'm still stunned at what a positive effect it's had on my mood and outlook. I feel fantastic when I get home. I feel lifted and proud. I feel like I've made a permanent change in my lifestyle, and I'm so happy with that. I'm looking forward to spring - I can get my cardio in the evenings by rollerblading to the beach after work, while the sun sets. I'll still have rainy days, weight trainging, and classes to keep the gym membership worth it.

It's amazing how my food tastes have really changed. If I stop eating it, I don't crave it anymore. It's hard for the first couple of weeks, but I don't miss the stuff I really can't have anymore. It's been hard at these parties to avoid eating an entire wheel of brie for dinner, but I know if I have just a bit that I won't be able to stop. But the things I love, I've been able to find healthier versions of - less fatty, sharper tasting cheeses, etc. My stomach seems to have shrunk - I can't eat as much as I used to. I'm full much faster; with actual correct serving sizes. It's amazing. And if I eat the shit now, if I have greasy stuff, I get sick. I haven't had it in months, and it hits my gut like a ton of bricks.

I suppose I should be doing before/during/after pics, but oh man did I/kinda still do hate the way my body is feeling. But it would still be fun at the end to watch my amazing shrinking ass.

Anyways. I'll try to update with a bit more frequency. These long entries are exhausting. But I can email them (the text, not a link girls - keep your pants on) to the parents and they seem to like that.

QUICKLY while it is all still in my head.

Foo Fighters were great - a really beautiful acoustic set that really showcased their talent; Pat Smear was with them which was really cool! Taylor Hawkins sang a bit which was cool. Dave Grohl did a slow and fat harmony heavy duet of Big Me with a woman who is playing violin with them, which gave me goosebumps. Dave did Best of You on his own, sang it to death. The chorus and bridge sections were just in the best strangled scream I've heard in a long time. He kinda said "This is actually the first time I've played that on this tour, I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream at you guys, you know?"

They finished with a nice really nice version of Everlong which was just Dave for the first two verses, but in between words singing the bass line which was sort of fun. They brought it back to the second verse with the entire band.

They sat most of the set but they still rocked-out pretty hard core which was amazing. I really must see them headlining, Dave Grohl is such a fucking TREAT as an entertainer. He gets this awesome dialogue going and it feels so unique and intimate.(in an arena?!??)


Bob Dylan was really enjoyable. He played an electric keyboard on either piano or organ, and his harmonica the whole time. He played a pretty good mix of old stuff and stuff from his new album. He played everything in that deep south blues style, which was cool to hear on tracks like Positively Fourth Street. He planted the keyboard facing perpendicular to the crowd, and never moved from there once. He never addressed the crowd or acknowledged them in any way.

A song I didn't recognize but my dad called "an old one", he put into a sort of augmented 12-bar blues which was really interesting.

His voice sounds really good, but he seems to have lost his range and therefore the melodies on Rolling Stone and All Along the Watchtower are totally different now. He crammed all the lyrics to Watchtower into the first measure of every bar - saying each line very very fast on the first downbeat of every bar.

I was really stunned he didn't have a real piano or organ (CSNY had real), but I can agree as a pianst that I would rather have my own electric keyboard than play a different piano every gig. But as a musician I detest playing electric keyboards; it is impossible to be subtle. But I bet a piano is difficult to deal with, audio engineering in mind.

Most of my enjoyment came from seeing how elated my father was with the whole thing - he said it was almost depressing, only seeing now how wonderful live music can be, and realizing how many people he could have seen and how he regrets not seeing more musicians he really respected. It was nice to see him so pleased and engaged with something.

He told me a really sad but touching story on the way home - something I don't like to think about but I still have to - it's complicated. I'll try to explain it tomorrow. It's kind of like I don't want to think about my dad greiving or being lonely, but if I DON'T see that at all, I think he never cared or something. Anyways. To bed.

Eric is so hilarious, his party was so fun. Brooke is a fantastic hostess, and they had really gone the whole nine yards. They got a pony keg, set up a bar with all the necesscary kinds of liqour and juice, boxes of wine. There were lots of fun people there; including Jeff, who's latest job is reading hydro meters. He gets 20 cents per home, and on a "bad" day, makes about $75. Upwards of $200 on a good day.

We had some drinks and some snacks, Eric was all over the place by 10:30. I got to meet the foreman he admires so much; whose lifestyle he aspires to. He told me he traded in his leased truck for a sexy new Fusion. We were in Chuck's down in New Hampshire, and that car has pretty decent pick-up for a sedan! It's got a luxury feel to it, and Eric says he kind of likes that. He misses being able to be "helpful" with his truck, which is so typical of him.

Anyways, he was really touched we could make it and we all exchanged long hugs. We were all dismayed by how we had not managed to get together since NH, Justin and Eric had such a great time, and we had all promised to take advantage of the close proximity. We're all going to try to connect over the next week, go out for dinner or something like that.

Lots of work going on at the moment. I don't have much of a social life to speak of at the moment.

Everything is fine at home, we are both healthy (for the most part) and focusing really hard on work at the moment. I'm averaging about 13 hours a day here at the studio, and am very proud of the fact that I am at the gym five nights a week, without fail. I'm murdering about 350 calories a night, and trying to get in as much resistance training as I can. I want my body back so badly it's ridiculous. I'm totally comitted and driven. I wasn't feeling this into it, but I did my BMI, and am officially in the "overweight" zone. Not for long bitches!

I remember asking my doctor - how did my mom have cancer for long and no one ever knew? It's because she was so heavy, and she tried to make her lifestyle changes far too late in her life. I won't go down like that - I won't go down because of something I can change. I can fix it now, it'll be harder when I'm 30. It has to be now.

I've been rowing and running like mad, and I'm of course changing my diet too. Our favourite make-up artist told me about a different way to percieve it - she called it "shopping the perimeter" - staying on the outer walls of the grocery store. Eating only fresh unfrozen vegetables and fruits, eggs, dairy, real meat. Besides dry pasta and the odd canned vegetable, I'm trying to "avoid the aisles" - stopping buying and eating novelty and prepared foods. They're so bad for you.

I got pulled over by a cop yesterday. I couldn't afford to renew my plate sticker around my birthday, and just totally forgot. I never got a notice in the mail, because my car ownership has the old address on it (I had changed my Driver's License address, thought it was enough?). And my glovebox is a mess, and I couldn't put my hand on my pink-slip.

Failure to present proof of insurance: $110
Failure to display current registration sticker: $110
Failure to notify change of address: 85$

Oh YEAH that feels good. No, no... give me some more, I like it like that. FUCK.

The cop was awesome though, he was terribly funny. "Happy Belated Birthday, but did you forget something?" I did a total headsmack on it, and everything just went downhill from there. He kind of sighed and said "I have to write you these tickets. I'm so sorry. But this is what you're going to do."

And he flipped the tickets over, and showed me the three options:

"One, you can just pay them. I really don't reccomend this." he said (I totally balked). "Two, you can go to the DMV and get this done, like NOW. I mean, like YESTERDAY. Like go there NOW. When you do that, take all the paperwork to Edward St. You can talk to the Crown directly, and they'll probably dismiss them for you, or most of them. Three, you can book a court date. It'll be in eight months, but I'll be there, and we'll get them thrown out for you. Or, I will be busy or bored or won't care and I WON'T show up, and they'll get thrown out. OR you won't get a court date for over a year, and that's an automatic dismissal."

I looked at him, running over in my head how I would ever pay these in any timely manner. "So it's going to be O.K, right?"

"Oh yeah, kiddo," he looked like he had eight children. "You'll be fine. What are you doin' down here anyways?"

"I work right there." I said, pointing accross the road. He pulled me over as I was about to turn into the parking lot.

"Oh jeez, you ALMOST made it. Sorry - but you can get rid of this,"

TOTALLY opposite to my first traffic pull-over, in which I recieved no tickets, but both cops came to my car at once and screamed at me, and I sat there crying for like ten minutes after they pulled off.

Regardless. I still felt like I had swallowed a basket-ball. I get this feeling so often, anxiety. When a cheque bounces. When I get a parking ticket. When I get a note from the Board of Directors at the condo "can you get this out of your parking spot". When I waited so long to get the mailbox fixed, and they finally sent me a very official looking angry letter. Total shame, anxiety, embarrasment - complete emotional chaos until I fix it. This shit keeps me up at night, it's so ridiculous.

It was so bad, my initial instinct was to just pay the tickets, find a way - beg borrow and steal - and just MAKE THEM GO AWAY and PRETEND THEY NEVER EVER HAPPENED. I got some good advice though "No, you're not nuts for thinking that. Doing something about it will help, get all your papers ready, make your photocopies, book the court date. That way you've done all you can."

The Big's greeted me this morning with a "You turn your stupid ass around right now and go straight to the DMV. Go. If you can't pay, put it on The Card." (company expense visa.) So I did. 75$ later I feel much better. I came in with a thick sheaf of documents, which Mrs. Big helped me go through and copy and highlight. We put all the stuff that needs to be in the car in a small envelope. She sent me out with a roll of tape and said "Tape that in the glovebox. Don't touch it. Ever." While I was gone, she stuck all the copies into an 8x10 envelope and tacked it to my office bulliten board. In huge pink hi-lighter letters, it reads:

"KATE'S PENANCE: aka Traffic Tickets and Court Stuff"

They're so great to me like that, they take good care of me. When I got the nasty letter from Canada Post, they were similar. I was so upset, I called the locksmith the morning after I got the note - 140$ flat to fix it, double for the weekends and evenings - and Canada Post was going to start charging me to hold my mail if it wasn't fixed the next day. This was the best quote I got. I said I'd get back to them, and went to work. My car instantly started making terribly ill noises. I was practically in tears when I got in - Mr. Big of course, "Hey Kate, how you doing?"

"SHITTY."

"What's wrong?"

"I have three problems and I don't know what to do."

"Well, tell me what they are, and we'll fix them." It sounds SO Mr. Rogers, but this is actually what the man said. I told him about the locksmith and the mailbox, the car, and the fact that I was totally broke. "Call the locksmith back. Book it for this afternoon. Take the time you need, get it done. Put it on The Card if you have to. Pay us back when you can. Give me the keys to your car, while you're calling the locksmith, I'll drive it around the block and let you know what I think. And if you can't pay for it, put it on The Card. Pay us back when you can."

I booked the appointment for mid-afternoon, and told Mrs. Big I'd be back around 4 o'clock to finish the day. She laughed. "Enjoy the afternoon. Go home. Have a glass of wine. You need it."

Best bosses ever.

Cousin Eric's birthday is this weekend-ish. Going to a party at his and Brooke's place, then out to the bars. I've missed that boy! Pictures to come for you family reading.