Hard Knocks

I believe the one of the most dangerous things a person can become is complacent. It is possible to feel too safe, too sure, too secure. When that happens, the Universe invariably gives you a good swift kick. And, believe me, it hurts. A lot. What's worse is that those feelings of safety, sureness and security are like a rain puddle....shallow and easily evaporated. They're just gone and you are once again shivering in the cold of the world, naked and afraid. Getting that sense of safety back is a long, slow road. But, really, the question is: can you ever really get back there at all?

Quaecumque Vera

Quaecumque Vera. Whatsoever things are true. The motto of the University of Alberta, my beloved alma mater.

Today, as a member of the University of Alberta Senate, I had the honour and privilege of being part of the platform procession for Convocation. What an incredible feeling to come into the Auditorium to Pomp and Circumstance as part of a centuries old tradition. To come in as an established member of the academic community to welcome its newest members. I have come full circle.

The most remarkable moment was when we stepped on to the stage and turned to face the audience. In front of us was a sea of caps and hoods (the hood is draped over the shoulders; the colour of the satin identifies what department you belong to). I sat out there once. Now I was on the stage with the Chancellor, the University President, the Chair of the Board of Governors, my fellow Senators, Honorary Doctorate recipients and esteemed members of the University's faculty. It filled me with incredible joy.

In some part, I felt so grateful to have my graduate work so far behind me. It's been 15 years since I got my Master's degree. 15 years!! Even so, I remember the pain of it. The burden of it. The sinking feeling that I'd never get it done. The increasing resentment I felt towards my advisor, whose instructions and feedback required a cryptographer to decipher. The knowledge that my thesis was not nearly my best piece of work, but merely the only piece of work I was capable of producing at the time. I'd written far better papers as an undergraduate. Far better. Still it was done and I'd fulfilled the requirements. I was 28 when I got my M.A. 28. At the time, I thought I was a slacker. I should have been done when I was 26. I could have been. Easily. Apparently not so easily. Now, at 43, I realize how young I was to have a graduate degree.

It has made all the difference. People have asked me what on earth a person can do with a Master's degree in English. My answer: anything. It has opened doors. It trained me to be a respected and sought after writer. It taught me to think and to question, to wonder and to dream. And, perhaps most importantly, it has helped me impress women.

Most of all, though, my time at the University left me with one purpose in my life: to seek out, to the best of my ability, whatsoever things are true.

Congratulations to the University of Alberta's Class of 2007.

Tassimo

In an earlier post, I mentioned going out into the world to buy unnecessary plastic objects, thereby doing my part to contribute both to global warming and mindless, rampant consumerism. Okay. I'm a bad person. Let's move on. On Sunday, I bought a Tassimo beverage machine. It makes single serving beverages using these little 'pucks' that are placed into the machine, which then sends hot water through the pucks (which contain espresso, hot chocolate, or tea, etc) into an awaiting mug. I specifically got the machine in order to make lattes. I considered getting a 'real' espresso machine, but didn't see myself going to all the fuss. But, like my Roomba robot vacuum (yes, I have one of those, too), the Tassimo was a pleasant surprise. The lattes are yummy! Check it out: www. tassimo.com. Oh, and if you're wondering about the Roomba....it is remarkable and even a little loveable.

And the wind blows

I'm very grateful to have got in my run yesterday because there is a miserable, cold, north wind blowing today. When I woke up, I felt determined to do as little as possible today. For the first two or so hours, I managed nicely. Then I got bored...and felt a little guilty (I hope you're beginning to see a recurring theme in my posts). So, I had a bath, got dressed and headed out to do a few errands.

Tuesday is my dear friend Jane's 53rd birthday, so I picked up some things for her in honour of the occasion. What do you give the person who has literally saved your life. A gift card. Just in case you ever need to know.

I am making a lamb roast tonight for dinner. The taste of lamb makes me happy. The thought of lamb makes me sad. I'm such a hypocrite.

Speaking of lambs, I read that Japan is going to resume hunting humpback whales. There will be a special place in hell set aside for modern day whale hunters. I can, in a way, forgive the pre-nineteenth century whale hunt. People were stupid. They believed that there was an endless supply of everything and capitalism was heroin. Moreover, the whales were used for things that could not be produced in other ways...or at least...no one knew how yet. Today, it is slaughter for slaughter's sake. So, please, give money to Greenpeace, which is working to block the whale hunt. You can find the donation site here: https://secure.greenpeace.org/visitor/index.php?event_id=main.

Another Saturday Night...

I often sleep in on Saturdays. Sometimes until 11:00. Then I slog around for an hour or so. Read the paper. Start the crossword. Sometimes I go back to bed for a while. Sometimes I can sleep; guilt and anxiety usually keep me awake. So, I get up, shower, get dressed and go out into the world. By this time, it can be well into mid-afternoon. And, again, I feel guilty having, believing that I've wasted the day. Though, really, heading out in my climate altering SUV to buy stuff I don't need should be what makes me feel guilty and anxious.

Today, however, I got up at 8:30 to go walking with my friend Anne. She recently quit a job that was consuming her Saturdays. So it was the first time in a long while that we had our Saturday morning walk. It was mild for mid-November in Alberta. We solved each other's problems, then went for lunch. Following lunch, I went to that crack house known as Costco and purchased many unnecessary and unwise things. After that, I went to Starbucks (another crack house) to get my usual: a venti non-fat, sugar free caramel latte. Anne and I affectionately refer to this beverage as a "caramel why bother." I then took some time to map out a few running routes. One short one...only 3kms, and a long one: 8kms.

When I got home, I realized I was eager to 'try out' my new 8km route. So, off I went....without my dogs, who I'd walked with Anne in the morning. Running with my dogs is often a trial. They poop constantly, interrupting my pace. They sometimes become aggressive and pull when they come upon other dogs. So, to go without them (and be guilt-free about it) was a real treat. I felt a bit intimidated by the distance in front of me. Even though the route was only 1 km longer than my previous longest distance, there was a long uphill section. Not significant, but noticeable. I have to run quite slow on long runs in order to be able to finish (I truly believe that anyone walking briskly would certainly keep up with me, or pass me!), so this hill would test me.

I found it hard to find the right pace for the first third of the run. Sometimes it's difficult to slip into a comfortable slow gear. Usually, my body just sets the pace it wants to run at for the day, and I usually judge my distance accordingly. If I pop out of the gates like a Lab puppy, then I run a shorter distance because I still do not have the stamina to keep that pace up over more than 3kms or so.

As I ran downhill toward the turnaround point, I felt that I'd finally clicked into a groove. I was just the right temperature too. I turned at the entrance to Rundle Park and headed back 'up' to Ada Boulevard. Surprisingly, I didn't feel the incline nearly as much as I thought, but did hear the effort in my breathing. When I reached the zenith, my body moved into the most comfortable rhythm I've ever felt at this point in a run. It was effortless. All I could hear was the sound of my jacket as my arms moved. I could have run like this for miles. The last half mile or so was tough. My pace tends to quicken significantly when I am aware I'm in the home stretch. I was just running too fast and didn't have enough in me. But I finished. 8 kilometres! Or roughly 5 miles. This represents the farthest I have ever run. My next long run will take me out toward the outer edges of the planet. Wonder what's out there?

When I got home, I had to quickly get organized to go to Pat and Sal's. It has been so long since I've spent time with them and I've been chiding myself for my neglect. I got the dogs all bundled up along with everything I was hauling over to their place. Going to their house also means changing into clothes I intend to put in the laundry as soon as I get home. They smoke non-stop. They are both very ill with chronic obstructive lung disease. Sal also has emphysema and is on oxygen...when she's not smoking. It is hard to tell which of them is more ill. Pat coughs almost non-stop now.

They just had new, beautiful, expensive furniture delivered. It is magnificent and essentially ruined already. Since its arrival yesterday, the furniture has been smoked on and around continuously. So, I'm sure the furniture store would never consider taking it back if something were wrong with it.

Pat was in poor health tonight. I have watched the steady decline of this powerful, active, vital woman for almost 20 years. Visits to their house used to be full of laughter, cards and non-stop talking. Now both Pat and Sal are seriously out of breath after the slightest amount of activity, such as picking up one of their dogs, walking across the room or placing a bag of garbage outside. I did a few chores for them while I was there. Pat faded considerably during the three hours I was there. It is not at all like her to leave company, but she was too sick to sit up and chat. So, our visit was brief and, for me, a little sad. I accept the choices they make and love them regardless. It is just so hard to see them dying slowly before my eyes.

I was home again and in front of my computer by 8:30 p.m. 12 hours after my day began. And I realized that no matter how much or how little you pack into a day, they are all the same length. And, no matter how much or how little you pack into a day, eventually it's time to go to bed and start another one.

An embarrassment to bloggers everywhere

I know. It's been ages since I posted. I'm one of those people who's contributing to flotsam on the Internet. I look back at my previous posts and I realize how bloody dull I am. Did I actually post about cookies??

I've been inspired by a couple of bloggers, however. My friend Jade has a great blog at chinamusing.blogspot.com. Also, check out the open book that is comfortingwords.blogspot.com. Both of these are blogs done right.

I had an interesting weekend. I actually went on a blind date. My motto is that I can keep on complaining about being single and receive the sympathy from friends as long as I go out and try every now and then. It turned out to be a very pleasant evening with a smart, funny (that includes laughing at my jokes) person. It was refreshing not to be quietly horrified, waiting for the rescue call from my friend Anne.

It was Remembrance Day on Sunday. I feel Remembrance Day deeply as it reminds me of my dear father and lovely, late Uncle Ted, who spent time in a Polish prison camp in the Second World War. Like many ex-POWs, he didn't speak of his experiences much. In fact, the only story I remember him telling me was about turnips. All the Germans gave him to eat were raw turnips. He lived on them for two years. After he returned home, he couldn't bring himself to even look at a turnip. In fact, I don't think he ate a turnip again for the rest of his life. My Uncle, like my father, was very swarthy. The Germans called him "Schwartzie," which essentially means "Blackie." Schwartz is German for black. Interestingly, though my Uncle could never again eat turnips, he ended up naming a beloved Dachshund "Schwartzie."

My Uncle grew into a terrible xenophobe and racist. I gave him a lot of rope on that account, partly because of his generation and because of his experience as a POW. Ironically, he and my Aunt Mary travelled extensively in their retirement. And no matter what country they were in, my Uncle was always disgusted when people did not speak English. He told a story about being on a tour bus and the person in the seat next to him was speaking Japanese or German (I can't remember which). At any rate, appalled, my Uncle got up and moved. He also hated Americans with an irrational vehemence. My Aunt and Uncle holidayed frequently in the US. They never seemed to make the connection between the country they were visiting and the people that lived there. They should be able to visit and not be made to feel uncomfortable by people speaking their native tongue, eating un-Canadian things or smelling unfamiliar. I never understood why they travelled at all.

Still, I loved my Aunt and Uncle because they were kind beyond measure. We are all more than our worst traits. And, on Remembrance Day, I remember that my Uncle lied about his age so he could enlist and serve his country. He went for the noblest of reasons; he paid a high price. He would have done it again in a heartbeat. He loved being a Canadian. He loved the flag and the national anthem. He was the best patriot he knew how to be. And, I suppose, he enlisted and fought for the freedom to be a racist and a xenophobe. Thank you, Uncle Ted. I will never forget.