This can't be right

My dog is addicted to slices of apple.
My little cat has a serious thing for chocolate sauce.
And yet it's the OLDER cat who vomits all over the house.

(and we can all thank Mario for the apples and chocolate.)

Not myself

I feel edgy, like I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall. There's nothing wrong, but something feels not right. My friend Kelz has the true gift/curse of Spidey-Sense; me, not so much, but I feel weird today. Something is going to happen, and something tells me I'm not going to like it one bit.

Rainy Saturday

It is 2:30 pm, time for me to actually do something useful, unfortunately. Turns out we both need to go spend a few hours at the office; this wasn't exactly what I was looking for when I asked if we could so something together today.

On the way in to work, we're going to drop off some pictures to be printed. I have several layouts "completed" for a theme album I've been working on without having the actual photos. Very weird feeling to scrap this way. I do have a 4x6 printer here at the house but I find the resulting prints dark so I use it sparingly. And for one of the layouts, I need an 8x10; when I worked on that one, I had to make room on the table for my open laptop, so I could refer to the photo from time to time. Still, it was an interesting excerise for me in that I had to concentrate on the bones of the page itself, without the photos to guide my decision making. We'll see how it turns out.

The other thing about this theme album is that I have abandonned my usual (time-and-stress-saving) habit of picking just a few papers and embellishments for the whole album. I have so much stuff here already that I decided to start using my stash (including some of the new things I got in Toronto earlier this month), rather than purchasing all new stuff. I can barely pick up my Cropper Hopper full of cardstock at this point, so it's time to start using it.

I am really, really proud of my opening layout. I would love to post it here, however the album is a gift, and don't want to risk the recipient seeing it before it's all done. Soon, though, you will see my Masterpiece...

Tired

Ugh, stressful week has ended. Well, kinda; I'm going to have to go in to work tomorrow for a few hours. And next week is shaping up to be more stressful than this one was. Excellent career choice there, Jenn.

All day I dreamed about finally getting home, being alone, and scrapbooking.

Instead, I am going to use every fibre of my motivation to drag my butt over to my DVD player so I can watch season one of House. I feel like this is somehow a waste of my precious Alone time, but hey, sometimes you just gotta veg on the couch.

Fifty Fun Things To Do With A Dead Guy

We have a very strange sense of humour in my family, and our own way of celebrating.

When Daddy died a year ago, we had him cremated. As a family, we thought long and hard about what to do with the remains of the person we all loved most in the world. What we came up with may seem disrespectful to some, but feels so incredibly right to us.

Fifty Fun Things To Do With A Dead Guy.

Daddy was dedicated to the Scouts movement, and his favourite part of the year was when they would get out the potato cannons. Last summer, Mum threw Daddy a birthday party, a chance for everyone who had mourned to come together in joy, and celebrate the person my father was. The climax of the night involved forty people driving to a nearby lake, where Mum poured everyone a miniature "Dark'n'Dirty", Daddy's favourite drink. We all raised a glass to David, and then we launched some of his ashes in to the stratosphere inside a hollowed out potato.

To us, and the people who loved him, this is respect.

That was The First Fun Thing To Do With A Dead Guy. Since then, we have taken him with us on family retreats, we have taken him kite flying (and oh my God, how that man loved to fly kites), we have spoken aloud to whatever container of ashes we had with us at the time, said ashes usually housed inside his Tim Horton's coffee mug. It seems completely normal to us.

When Carleton got married three weeks ago, Mum had a small container of Daddy's ashes with her during the ceremony. Carleton knew about this ahead of time, and was very glad to know Daddy would be at his wedding. Ai, on the other hand, was kept completely in the dark about this because, frankly, she had never met us before, and we didn't feel that on her wedding day, a good opening line would be, "And here's the dead person!"



Sadly, we are all dealing with the news that Ai's mother is in very poor health; very unexpectedly, Ai and Carleton feel the need to go to Japan in two weeks. Carleton is excited to meet his new family, but understandably stressed for Ai that it is under such circumstances. I can hear in his voice how much he already loves this mother-in-law he has never met, this mother-in-law who doesn't speak English. He just wants to Get To His Family.

Despite this valley of shadow we are all walking through, over a woman we have never met, he made my heart sing when he said, "Tell Mum to send me some of Daddy's ashes. I have to take him to Japan with me."

Rosie

Yesterday the speculation was finally put to rest: Rosie O'Donnell is leaving The View.

I'm still not sure how to feel about this. On one hand, I can literally COUNT on one hand how many times I actually saw The View (all of them since she joined, by the way) as I'm not usually home during the day and still consider VCR's to be one of God's Unsolved Mysteries. When I did have the opportunity to watch, however, I tuned in only because of Rosie. Will I watch after she's gone? With no disrespect to the other ladies, the answer is a clear no.

I am a huge fan of hers, but my admiration is centred on her blog, www.rosie.com . Her prose-poetry, her honesty, and her passion inspired me long before I saw The View. And the Questions & Answers? Who else DOES that? That's the best part of the whole thing, listening to her speak to unmet stranger-friends, making her so so so real.

I actually heard the news while I was still at work last night. I was writing a contract when I received an email from Kathleen alerting me that The Decision Had Been Made. As psycho as it sounds, I immediately powered down my computer so I could get home and power up here. (In my own defense, it WAS 8:30 pm)

I am sad she is leaving her mainstream forum, a forum where she was able to speak out to so many Americans. But I am happy in the knowledge that the blog won't be going away.



Dear Rosie,

thank you for always having the courage to speak your mind. You weren't always right, but at least you were honest. Thank you for your tireless work for the forgotten in society, thank you for what you did for the children of Katrina, thank you for screaming about the 9/11 first responders, thank you for decrying the immoral war, thank you for helping people see that a gay family is no different from any other, thank you for making me laugh, thank you for making me cry, thank you for making me THINK. Yellow to you, stranger-friend. Because of you, I know the world won't be same same same.

Peace out.

No real reason

I just want to say this to my family, my friends, and any assorted strangers who may pop in.

I love my man.

No, really, I seriously love this guy. I remember the first few months I knew him as a work acquaintance....he was always friendly but his Portuguese accent was so heavy (added to the fact that he is a Low Talker) that half the time I literally had no idea what he was talking about. But he would smile so charmingly that I would say, "Oh! That's so interesting!" with ZERO idea what he had just said.

He was always friendly, always interested in my day, always ready with a compliment in a non-creepy way.

When the Queen visited in 2001, we were still only work acquaintances. He was the Banquet Manager, I was the Executive Housekeeper. And when he called me with several seemingly unsurmountable problems at the last minute (it was Friday afternoon before Thanksgiving) , I told him, "Relax, I'm ON IT."

A Royal visit is always exceptionally stressful. I had my issues to contend with, he had a million more. And when Her Majesty left the hotel, everyone literally collapsed emotionally. I started to leave the banquet floor with my staff, when I heard, "Jennifer! Wait!"

Mario came over, put his arms around me, and kissed my cheek in front of everyone. "Thank you for everything."

This was a very powerful moment for me, a moment when we really Connected as co-workers. I had NO idea we would soon fall in love; at that time it was all about supporting, encouraging, and comforting someone after a stressful time. One of my favourite memories.

For months, he and I had said we should go out for a drink sometime. By this point, I could understand what he was saying 75% of the time and had grown to really like him as a person. I was married, he had been living with someone for five years, but I just really liked him, you know? So one Monday evening a month after the royal visit when I worked late, I called him and said, "Hey, let's go for that drink."

Mario is a very, very private person who would rather die than talk about himself. So I was amazed and perpelexed when he told me his life story, from his beautiful, cherished bride who died of brain cancer, to raising their two children alone, to breaking his back in a car accident, to nine days in a coma and the fact he was never supposed to walk again, to finding love again, immigrating to Canada and having three more children, to the pain of the second marriage disintegrating and his youngest children returning to Portugal with their mother.

I was STUNNED. This was not the person I knew from work. Finally I interrupted him and said, "WHY are you telling me this???"

He said, "I have no idea."

Then he reached across the table and took my hand.

And even though I didn't know it, it was at that moment we started to fall in love.


What with both of us being in committed relationships already (and me with a five year old son), What Happened Next is too messy and terrible to discuss. But eventually came the night of May 31st 2002, when he worked until midnight and then drove to my parents' house. I was waiting for him outside, at the end of the driveway with my suitcase. He got out of the car, picked up my suitcase, and said, "Let's go home."

And so we came home.

These last five years have been magical, romantic, and delightful in every way. And they have been frustrating, stressful and full of those every-day-moments when you look over at the person you are spending your life with and want to murder them. We have a ten year old boy, and we also have grandchildren. We have three pets, three cars, three different kinds of cheese in our fridge at this moment, and more than three months of no sex due to his back injury. We have Real Life.
And after almost five years, I am so so so so in love with this man that I make myself sick.

Go forth and do likewise.



(PS. Mario just read this post, and it made him cry. I'm telling you, we're in love.)

My Weekend in Five

1. First actual spring weather has finally arrived. Last weekend: massive blizzard which cancelled flights. This weekend: 15 degrees Celcius and sunshine which woke my Inner Gardening Demon from a long, cranky sleep.

2. Yesterday, Brian and I cleaned up last year's mulch out of my flower bed, and then looked long and hard at the garden lighting. Said lighting was installed long before I entered Mario's life; it doesn't meet my design needs, and half of it doesn't work any more. Brian and I therefore decided it needed to GO, and were not deterred by the fact that the electrical cable had been buried beneath the front lawn. So, now I have a ragged trench across my front lawn that Mario is ready to murder me over...but at least the old fixtures are gone. Hee Hee.

3. This morning Brian and I went to the park up the street to play frisbee. We both suck. But we both laughed a lot. Mission accomplished.

4. I just waxed my legs.(TOLD you it wouldn't last four weeks.) Ended up with all these little blobs of blue goo left on my shins, however the kit helpfully provides these little wipes to deal with just such issues. Huhm. WIpe is now long gone but my legs are still tacky. Instead of marvelling at their smooth, shimmering loveliness, I am amazed by exactly how much dog hair can be adhered to the human leg. Nasty nasty NASTY.

5. Kelly implied that tonight may be the final episode of The Amazing Race. Remind me to never listen to her, because, CLEARLY, if that show ends I will die.

It all comes down to the chowder

As of today, I am officially entering A Stressful Period at work. I have many, many, MANY high profile events coming up in the next six weeks, and, despite the fact that I try to work a month out, I also have a surprising number of clients who feel that telling me their needs a whole 48 hours out is unrealistic. I am FREAKING OUT. I have international conferences, I have world famous musicians, I have social galas, I have multinational AGMs complete with press rooms staring me in the face. And no one seems the slightest bit concerned about this except ME. In each client's nonchalance I can see that they truly believe they are My Only Client, and that I sit around in a bored trance waiting for them to provide sacred nuggets of INFORMATION and holy GOD are they wrong.

The thing I find interesting about this particular StressFest is how much I actually adore my clients. They are usually interesting people I'd like to know under other circumstances. I really do like them, otherwise I wouldn't do what I do. But this is business, bitch, so how 'bout YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT??

In the midst of all this, I received an email from a former client, a client who was a rare joy to me. (In an effort to protect the somewhat innocent, let's call her Mary.) During my professional relationship with Mary, she fell in love with our clam chowder... and man, I don't BLAME her, we make one mean chowder, the kind of chowder that would make you re-examine your religious beliefs. And everytime we had the chance to shove some down her throat, we were ALL over that.

When her conference ended, I had the kitchen make some, vacuum seal it, freeze it, and then pack it in additional ice packs so she could put it in her checked luggage for the trip home, therefore enabling her to whip some of this Liquid Love out of her freezer at a moment's notice.

She and I have resumed corresponding in the last few weeks, no longer because she's my Client, but because she's just really cool. And tonight she sort of half asked whether we would send her more chowder, if she had a colleague travelling to her city.

I almost cried, I was so excited. Here was a Person, a Person who Knows Me, a Person who Knows Our Hotel, asking for some soup. Sweet Jesus, girl, tell me how many GALLONS you want and I will get the kitchen on it.

This is the true reason I Do What I Do. Mary and I may never set eyes on each other again, but I will always make sure she has chowder.

Please send money

Remember that (much loved) part-time job I quit at the end of February? Two weeks later, I got my last paycheque for something like $400 and closed the books. Then the next week I got a cheque for $89. Clearly my last shift hadn't been included in the previous payroll, I get it. Closed the books again.

Two days later, I got a cheque for $20 or so. I had forgotten my hourly premium for being bilingual, which was always paid separately.

Then the following week, I got a cheque for $2.60. I AM SERIOUS. Clearly, this cheque was the shift premium from my Second Last Paycheque, which was actually nowhere near being My Last Paycheque, because by this point I was up to Four Last Cheques.

Then they stopped sending me money. Whew.

Then last week I received a cheque for $2.50. And today I got a cheque for $11.89.

I have NO IDEA why they keep sending me money, but I'm pleased that I'm on the upswing again.

My Lost Weekend

First things first, I do need to point out that my beloved Kelly is truly the sweetest girl in the world. She actually spent time on some message boards, asking strangers how to fix my Cricut issues, and sent me the resulting answers. God bless her scrapbooking soul. That being said, I have not actually tried any of these possible solutions yet, as there simply isn't enough alcohol in the house at the moment to expose myself to that kind of frustration again.

Other than yesterday's scrapbooking debacle, the only other thing I have done this weekend is read Dooce.com . Her blog starts in 2001, I have made it to mid 2005, and I can't stop reading it. On Friday night, I was happily reading along and I came across a Brand New Swear Word (comprised of normal swear words but put together in a stunning new way) that struck me as so freaking funny I literally sat on my couch crying for 15 minutes while big ugly laugh induced gasps for air came out of me. I mean, I lost it. Can't remember laughing that hard in a long, long time.

Too bad I forgot the Brand New Swear Word when the Cricut wouldn't work.

Motherfucking Cricut

Yes, there is it is, finally. The F Word. We all knew it would show up eventually, but I don't think any of us suspected it's Grand Debut would be in a post about scrapbook tools.

When I saw the advertisements for the Cricut, I fell in love. And when I saw all the potential fonts, I fell in lust. Must have, MUST HAVE.

So, with the trust of a True Believer, I shucked out not only $300 for the machine, but an additional $80 for my second font. Plus tax. Neither of which I exactly told Mario about.

I hate this fucking machine with a passion previously unknown.

It claims to be engineered for cardstock (and cautions tenderness regarding light weight papers like vellum). So I load in my industry standard Bazzill cardstock, set the machine's cutting blade for MAXIMUM depth....and it just sort of gently kisses the surface of the paper, leaving a vague blush-ish outline of my text.

Believe me, if I WANTED to spend three hours cutting letters out with my X-acto knife, I would have bought a pencil and a $3 stencil to guide my letters, alright? But to spend almost $400 to end up exactly where I began is criminal.

Shame on you. Shame on you.

Oops, I did it again

My friend Mare, aka Watermelon, called me today and shouted, "What have you done to me?" I was shocked, what in hell was she talking about? "You told me to read Outlander and now I CAN'T STOP."

Oh. That. Ok, you're right and I apologize for stealing your life.

About three years ago, I convinced my father to try the Outlander novels by Diana Gabaldon. My father loved to read even more than I do, but I also knew this type of story may not be his cup of tea. I loaned him the first two books in the series (about 1,000 pages each) and hoped he would at least give the first book a reasonable try -- say, two hundred pages-- before making up his mind.

Four days later he called me, completely frantic. "Jennifer, you've got to get over here. I only have 300 pages left in the second book and I'm afraid to run out. You have to bring me the other ones!"

I'm telling you, the story is that good.

And now poor Watermelon is caught up in it as well. I think I can safely assume she'll have read the whole series before July 28 rolls around....which is important, because she & I have Harry Potter issues, too!

1 day or 1 year... when will it feel different

I am one miserable little girl tonight. But I am so inspired by the ad beneath the memoriam.

What you take with you is love.

I love you, Daddy.

Ai

I don't know her friends.
I don't know her favourite colour.
I don't know if she ever had a pet.
I don't know if she prefers trousers or skirts.
I don't know what kind of beer she drinks.
I don't know her favourite movie.
I don't know what kind of music she likes.
I don't know her favourite subject at school.

But I do know
she is my sister.

As promised, wedding pictures

I have been to many weddings in the past. But I have never seen anyone, man or woman, look at their betrothed the way Carleton looked at Ai, and I have never heard truth the way I heard it when they said their vows. One of the most extraordinary days of my life.

My favourite part of the service was the blessing, a traditional Apache wedding prayer.

Now you will feel no rain

for each of you will be shelter to the other

Now you will feel no cold

for each of you will be warmth for the other

Now there is no loneliness for you

for each of you will be companion to the other

Now you are two persons

but there is one life before you

Go now to your dwelling place

to enter into the days of your togetherness

And may your days be good and long upon this earth

Off I go

Time for me get my butt off the couch and go pack for my trip tomorrow. No matter where I am going, and no matter how excited I am about the destination, I hate packing. My ideal trip would involve some socks and underwear thrown in to the bottom of my backpack. Instead, I will be rounding up my makeup, moisturizer, hair products, general toiletries, two outfits for the wedding (because I still have no idea what to wear), a total of three pairs of shoes, two pairs of jeans, some tee shirts, some blouses, a sweater, a different jacket, my camera, extra batteries, blah blah blah blah BLAH.

Blah.

Hopefully I'll remember the socks and underwear, too!

Be back on Friday, with pictures to share.

Fado

In a little over an hour, Mario and I will enter the Capitol Theatre for an evening of Quinteto de Coimbra, Portuguese fado musicians touring Canada.

I suspect that, other than the musicians on stage, Mario and his son Corey may be the only Portuguese there.

I myself am completely ignorant of this music, and looking forward to my crash course.