It’s blogshare time again. The following entry was written by an anonymous writer somewhere out in the WORLD WIDE WEB. And in turn, I’ve written an anonymous post on some other random blog, somewhere in the WORLD WIDE WEB.

So until we meet again, enjoy!

 

Cycles of Life

Teenagers are chronically embarrassed by their parents. It is a rite of passage to go from idolizing your mom and dad in elementary school, to wishing that they would simply disappear from the face of the Earth (or at least that they would stay indoors until you have finished high school) because their very presence makes you cringe. I remember it well. My father was young, good looking and athletic, or so I remember. I was always so proud to be with him. Similarly, my was young and pretty. I loved it when I had friends over to the house. Mom would make wonderfully exotic snacks and tea sandwiches, and Dad would tease my friends and I, and make us laugh until we were out of breath. Ah, it was bliss.

It was around the time that I turned thirteen that my attitude towards my parents changed. I wanted them to disappear. It’s not that I wished them harm, but the stress of walking on egg-shells, praying silently that they wouldn’t say something to make me want to dig a hole and crawl into it or otherwise die of embarrassment was unbearable. My father, who once seemed akin to Prince Charming, was suddenly a loud, hairy ape and my mother went from being a fairy princess to an utter clod, almost overnight. As far as I was concerned, they were a couple of cretins, incapable of surviving in polite society and completely out of touch. Everything they said, did or wore was utterly gauche and I lived in fear of one or both of my parents volunteering the chaperone the school dance or helping out with the social studies field trip. I pitied the poor kid whose parents came along on the outdoor education camping trip and I felt blessed that neither one of my parents were teachers. To me, that would be about as close to Hell as a kid could get without actually falling into the pit of fire.

Fortunately, my parents became cool again the year I graduated from high school. We did a lot together that year – in public and even on school property. My dad was once again a hero and my mother was interesting and had great taste in food, clothing and wine. I took them to my graduation and when it was time for the first dance, I left my date at the table and boogied with my dad. Friends had similar experiences to mine. We all became quite proud of our parents and we were not afraid to show them off. It was a relief to no longer be ashamed and to publicly acknowledge them once again.

We had some good years, but it was too good to last. The last few times we have been together, there have been a number of really, really awkward moments and I am finding myself both astounded and embarrassed, once again. I cannot help but wonder if there was something besides hormones that made me feel the way I did when I was a teenager. It could be, just maybe, that my parents really are that obtuse. It’s not as bad as the high school years, so I do not feel the need to shun them as I did then, but still, it’s not like I’m rushing out to invite friends over when they come to visit. Dad is sarcastic with my kids, who are very small, and after he leaves from a visit I have to explain to them that expressions like “dumb-ass” and “shit head” are not appropriate and should not be used, ever. Mom prattles on with intimate details of their friends’ lives, regardless of whether or not I know them. On a recent visit she and Dad told me about a nice “Negro” couple they met on a trip to Maui. They were both doctors. Negro doctors. Astonishing. Oh, and my parents are horrified at how native people in North America have been robbed of their heritage. They called me one night to rant about this new discovery. I sat silently on the other end, drinking wine, surfing YouTube and punctuating the conversation with the occasional “You’ve got to be kidding”, “outrageous” and “those bastards” until there was finally a logical place to politely end the call.

Despite this regression into “uncoolness” by my parents, I hold out hope that this is just a phase and that we will cycle back into them being interesting, funny, witty, people, and that it will happen before my own kids have written them off and before I, too, become “uncool”. After all, it happened once before and it lasted for a good twenty years.

I am such a bitch for writing this.

I’ll admit, I’m not the BIGGEST Halloween aficionado. I have only really dressed up once in recent years: last year Good Friend Nat, Porter and I dressed up as Mario, Luigi and the Princess (we were really into wii right around then). We made our own costumes, and the group-aspect was undoubtably half the fun.

Maybe I’m just cheap, maybe I don’t hang around the ‘right’ people, but I just have trouble getting into any event that requires me to spend money on something I will wear for one night and then never ever again. That’s why my overalls for Mario were actually fabric from an old bedsheet and my prom dress was the previous years model and a third the ticket price.

All that’s to say I stared incredulously at this article from the Globe and Mail’s Life section this Saturday.

Seriously? Costumes that cost over $3000?

Even the ‘cheapest’ costume they are featuring costs over a hundred bucks!

I would let this slide if it were called something along the lines of “High Fashion Meets Halloween” but the article is written like “just to pick up these $500 vintage Dior Sunglasses to complement your Lady Gaga ensemble!”

Unreal.

You want to know what my costume was for Halloween? I was a sad girl going to bed early wearing her PJs because the Rocky Horror Show event she was going to go to (that was advertised in the Kelowna Capital News) was in fact on Vancouver Island.

Today, I spent a lazy Sunday morning reading the Globe and Mail. This is not a common ritual for me, but may become one (already found a story idea for the week ahead).

But in-between reading about the Olympic torch relay and new X-ray machines at airports… I saw this article (A7):

I skimmed the text, much of it was a recap of the past couple years.

I turned the page, read a story about people dying from some rare disease not getting proper health funding from the province of Ontario… and then came across THIS article (A9):

Now I agree, Andre Picard is a good writer. He’s earned a special place in my heart after paying my Science Journalism class a visit in 4th year.

But was it REALLY necessary to publish his story TWICE IN THE SAME SECTION?

This is what happens when too many jobs are cut.

Because Kara demanded it…

A photo of my cute new raincoat! (Argueably the cutest raincoat in all of BC according to my twitter status.)

 

And as a bonus,k you get a sneak-peak of the new apartment. I’ve not put any real photos up because A.) I’m stealing a wireless signal and don’t want to push my luck and B.) We might as well wait until I actually have my belongings. Otherwise it just looks like an empty apartment and a couple suitcases.

I was watching CTV’s footage of the murder we had in town earlier this week (first day on the job = 16 year old cold case solved. Second day on the job = murder) and had to giggle at this little typo:

Oopsie!

I don’t know why I’m posting this. The reporter & videographer who did this story are super nice guys. And lord knows I’ve had my share of mistakes.

This one just happens to be online. And the blog has felt neglected this week.

I love the show House. I really, truly do. I love the witty banter, I love the science and I love that 3 years ago I had the chance to interview one of the staff writers. That was pretty darn cool.

But one of the downsides of shows like House and ER is they make you a little paranoid. A touch hypochondriac. And for me, a tad concerned that when a real problem comes up everyone will think you’re faking.

There was a time not too long ago when I refused to go to the doctor. At one point, in my final year of university, I slammed the door of our apartment shut on my finger and it hurt SO BAD I couldn’t write or type and it was of course right around final paper and exam time. I refused to see a doctor about it, didn’t want to be a wuss and doctors had for the longest time made me really anxious. Eventually my boyfriend at the time convinced me to go to a clinic. I had fractured the tip of my finger.

My how things have changed.

I had to go to the hospital tonite. Four nights in a new town and I’ve already seen the inside of its ER. I was having some strange heart palpitations/flutters yesterday during the workday. They went away when I got home and thought it was just first-day-of-work jitters. They came back today at work and only got worse when I got home (and today I found WAY less stressful). After trying for hours to get through the 811 number (dial-a-nurse – I didn’t want to go to emergency for something silly) my mom finally coerced me into going to the hospital.

I’m glad I did, but not because we found out what was wrong or anything. Every time they hooked me up to the ECG machine the flutters would lay dormant. It was so frustrating, and of course as I write this I’ve had at least 10 or so palpitations/flutters. But at least they believed me. They took blood to run some tests and referred me to the Electrocardiography department. They’re going to set me up with a little do-dad that will monitor my heart activity for a full 24 hours so at least that way SOMETHING will show up.

Hopefully this is just something minor. It likely is, the doctors/nurses didn’t admit me, so obviously that means something. And when I’m not getting those fluttery waves in my chest I feel fine. It’s just a little un-nerving to have to deal with this when everything is still so new and I don’t really have a support system built up yet.

But I guess that’s what the phone and email are for.

Me goin’ all “white chicks and gang signs” with my hot electrodes and hosptial bracelet. Who says sick ain’t sexy?

I’m amazed I’m even trying to write this post. My brain is SO fried and my thoughts flowing like cold molasses going uphill… but yet here I am. And some how I made it through my first day of work, alive. Which is no small miracle, I’ll tell you.

Let’s just say working news in Kelowna is a liiiitle different than working news in Rankin. And I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, and VERY VERY glad I’m teaming up with the girl who’s been filling in for me this first week.

Today we filed probably 4 or 5 different stories on a 16-year old murder case that finally had a break and a suspect was arrested this weekend. I’ve always dreaded writing my first murder case* and speaking with the family, but this one went remarkably smooth. The family actually WANTED to talk. But then, like I said, they’ve had 16 years to grieve. This was a positive turn for them, I suppose. Then we did a bunch of stories/debriefs and cut tape for the morning shown too.

I got home from work and was just so exhausted I didn’t even have the energy to boil a potato. So I literally threw a piece of salmon on a baking pan without any seasonings or salt or pepper or oil and took Sully out for a mini walk. When I got back, the fish was cooked and I was in a better head space. I was so hungry I didn’t even get out a plate. I tore it apart with my fingers, and somehow mustered up the drive to cook two more ‘courses’ and make it a real meal.

If every day is like today, I don’t know if my love of cooking will survive. But then again, sixteen-year-old cold cases DON’T get solved every day. And I am pretty rusty.

I’m sure I’ll get into the swing of things in due time.

Also? The new office has a whole CLOSET of CBC swag. And I do heart me some good swag!

 

*To be fair, there was one murder in Rankin while I was there, but the charges were dropped

I first saw it as I rounded the bend of a steep mountain incline. The rock had blocked my view of the water ahead for quite a distance, shielding the beauty beyond. As I turned the steering wheel to the far left, a sparkle caught my attention in-between the wiper blades; I saw a flash of colour out of the corner of my eye.

Curiosity prevailed over safe driving practises and I turned my entire head towards the lake. There, to the far edge of the Okanogan’s crystal waters a rainbow emerged and soared towards the clouds. Stealing glances out the passenger window, I watched as it glided its way across the water. Each time I checked the road in front of me and looked back at the colourful arch, it had moved closer to the middle of the lake.

Finally finding its resting spot, the mirage began to focus its energies on colour definition. I watched, transfixed, as the lines between red, yellow, blue and indigo solidified into clear stripes of orange, green and purple. Like a prism, with no room for hazy transitions.

Snapping out of a trance, I corrected the steering wheel of my car and looked back again through the trees… but it was too late. Spent from the effort, the rainbow had burnt itself out. And all that remained was the sun peeking through the clouds, a fine mist of rain, and the glistening, undisturbed, water.

Today I completed my very first DYI project. It’s funny, the refurb didn’t take too long, but it’s nothing I ever would have considered doing before. Not just when I lived up north (though admittedly, it would have been more difficult to do, and I probably wouldn’t have bothered) but at no point in my life had I ever considered taking something second-hand and altering it to better suit my tastes.

I wonder what changed?

Certainly a couple how-to blogs have inspired me (see here and here), but maybe it’s out of a desire to make what I have truly MINE. My apartment in Rankin Inlet was fully furnished, and none of it was my style. I’m not entirely sure what my style is yet, but generally it seems to be clean lines, earth-tones (with some burgundy/wine/ and turquoise/blue/sage shades thrown in for good measure) and practicality. I’m not big into knick knacks and I love geometrics and retro patterns. I’m still figuring out how all that will fit in my new place.

Anyways, on to the project.

I was on my way to Penticton today to pick up some coffee/end tables and made my maiden voyage into Westbank proper (three minutes from where I live, but in the opposite direction of where I’d been going thus far). It wasn’t long before I stumbled upon a Salvation Army and decided to take a look at what was in store. The first thing I saw were two magazine racks – something I had been looking for with little success. Both of them ugly as sin, but with potential.

The first one was an easy fix. It just needed a big of cleaning and some new (YOUNGER) fabric.

When I cut the old fabric off to make the new panels, I found dead bugs in the little folds and endless dust. So gross.

I found the perfect fabric at a little quilt shop in Penticton, and a couple hours watching Corner Gas, talking on the phone and a needle and thread turned that eyesore into…

Now the colour is a little off, but you get the idea. I’m not crazy about the heart cut-outs on the side, but it’s just a magazine rack for my bathroom. And for 4 bucks? I’ll take it.

• Kelowna is exactly what everyone says it is: beautiful. Even though it’s been raining off and on for the past two days, the view from my living room window is breathtaking, and I can even watch the sun rise over the mountains in the morning. Unreal.
• I’m in love with my apartment. It’s not very big (of course I’m comparing it to the GIANT apartment I had in Rankin) but it’s perfect for the pup and I. It’s a two-bedroom apartment, but less than 800 square feet. But frankly? I need a small-ish place. Too much room and my junk goes everywhere, and it feels like such a burden to clean. The extra bedroom gives a little ‘breathing room’ and after all, it’s really just me most of the time (unless I have visitors HINT HINT). Plus, I couldn’t have asked for a better location. 10 minute drive from work, right across the street from my bank, all the shopping I could ever need within walking distance (even though it’s kind of suburbia-land) and a golf course that I’m allowed to walk the dog on.
• Everyone is so nice here; both in the building and across the town. I’ve only been here a day or so but yet I have had so many pleasant encounters with people: from the cleaning woman for the complex to the woman I ran into on no less than 7 separate occasions in the grocery store (it became a running joke between us, haha) and even the girl I bought my new La-Z-Boy recliner from (only 300 bucks! I love Kijiji!). Between the two of us, we took the back off the chair, perched the bottom half in the trunk of my car, secured it with a couple bungee cords and a yoga strap and drove hillbilly-style across the city. She even helped me carry it into my apartment. What a sweetheart!
• Turns out I’ll have at least a bit of internet access over the next week or so after all, while I’m waiting for my own to get hooked up. I’m “borrowing” a wireless signal for the time being. It’s not all that fast, so I’m not sure if I can upload photos of the new place or anything yet (and do you really want to see JUST my recliner sitting in the middle of my living room?) but at least it’s something. I say “borrowing” because I’m being super strict about my internet activity until I get my own connection because I would hate to have my actions push someone over their bandwidth allotment. That’s okay though, I’m used to surviving on 2 gigabytes a month up in Rankin! I’m sure I can do it!

Well, that’s it for now. Plans for this weekend include driving to Penticton and picking up a coffee table/end table set and probably taking Sully to the dog park.

Have a good one…