Last Sunday my older sister had me and my younger sister (yeah, I'm the middle child; spare me the long, drawn out "ohhh's" of comprehension) over for dinner. In between yelling to be heard and screaming with laughter I remember thinking that I would love to be able to recount this story...or that story...but I can't. If I tried to transcribe our conversation it would look something like this "Beep beep beeeeeeep BEEEP beeep" because, you see, most of our conversations are like that. We make the Sex in the City characters sound like ladies at a church luncheon.
At one point we were one-upping each other on just how much we love Grandma; as in, "I love Grandma so much that...." and, as much as I do love my Grandmother, I lost. When it comes to out-grossing each other with imaginary things we'd do, I'm no match for my sisters. My older sister put me off spaghetti and raisins FOR LIFE because of her descriptions of what they 'really' were over the dinner table when we were kids and my younger sister? She's a gross-out master. Both of them, they're pro's.
I've been thinking about our Sunday dinner, the pictures my mother sent of Christmas today, an email from my father that I'd saved and, in the spirit of the game, I'd like to pass this message on to my family: I love you so much that I'd swim naked and covered in leeches across the ocean while tailed by boatloads of hollering yahoos to crawl on my hands and knees across a desert covered in shards of glass just to get to the other side to do unspeakable things to both the men AND the donkeys that accompanied me to prove my love to you.
But I hope I never have to.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
The front page of yesterday's newspaper carried a picture of Greenland. A green Greenland as opposed to an ice-capped Greenland which, I gather, is normally the case. The picture was to support an article about global warming and, I'm not necessarily a fan of melting ice caps and all the rest of it, but everytime I think back to the picture I can't help but think "Awww, it's so pretty!". Global warming: stable climate, no; pretty scenery, maybe.
On the topic of the temperature, I stopped into a hardware store to buy a thermometer yesterday so I could prove to my landlord that I live in an icebox. I've been meaning to track the temperature in my apartment since last winter so I was feeling very pleased with myself for actually getting around to buying a thermometer when I noticed that every one of them bore a different temperature - sometimes varying by more than 10degrees. If they're all thermometers, measuring the same temperature, in the same store just centimetres away from each other, shouldn't they all reflect the same measurement? I ended up leaving without one (although my sister later said I should have bought the one with the lowest temperature and used that to talk to my landlord. Good point).
And, finally, I absolutely swear that my horoscope in todays paper is the exact same one that I've read before. The earth's climate, thermometers, and now my horoscope - can nothing be trusted ;)
On the topic of the temperature, I stopped into a hardware store to buy a thermometer yesterday so I could prove to my landlord that I live in an icebox. I've been meaning to track the temperature in my apartment since last winter so I was feeling very pleased with myself for actually getting around to buying a thermometer when I noticed that every one of them bore a different temperature - sometimes varying by more than 10degrees. If they're all thermometers, measuring the same temperature, in the same store just centimetres away from each other, shouldn't they all reflect the same measurement? I ended up leaving without one (although my sister later said I should have bought the one with the lowest temperature and used that to talk to my landlord. Good point).
And, finally, I absolutely swear that my horoscope in todays paper is the exact same one that I've read before. The earth's climate, thermometers, and now my horoscope - can nothing be trusted ;)
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
my office
Today at work I was trying to explain just how horrible it is to be me, in Toronto, in the winter. That I feel like I spend 99% of my life in absolute poverty of warmth. Instead of the sympathetic noises I was expecting I was met with the mocking reply of "Eaaasy Gables"; as in Anne of Green Gables the melodramatic storybook character who is never bummed, she's in the "depths of despair", and she doesn't have a good friend, she has a "bosom buddy". Mocked.
I should have known better. I should have known to turn to my family first for sympathy and understanding because, although they are absolute masters of mockery, at least they understand me while they're making fun of me. Must be something in that 'blood is thicker than water' stuff. Or maybe its just that my sisters and I were all raised under the same 'too cheap to turn on the heat' regime because my sister and I had the following conversation earlier this evening (with no prompting from me, mind you)
Sister: "I'm so cold my hands are shaking. I swear my landlord is ripping me off, it's freezing in here"
Me: [Some kind of commiseration about crappy, heat-sucking landlords]
Sister: "I swear, the only place I'm warm is in the bath"
Me: "ME TOO, I get home from work and head straight to the bath" [accessorised with splish splashing sound effects to emphasize that that was my exact location as we were speaking]
Yeah. I was in the bath.
Here's too much information (and an unwanted visual) for you: if you're talking to me or reading an email sent after 6pm, chances are they were sent from my cozy, oh-so-happy, perch in my bathtub. Where it's warm. Because that's how it goes. I get home from work, turn on the bath, feed the cat, gather my dinner/books/etc and retreat to the tub where I stay until its time to go to bed (at which point my electric blanket takes over). It's kind of like my home office.
Which got me thinking. Remember The Fonz from Happy Days? Remember how he used to call the bathroom at Al's Diner his "office" and he would order Potsy or Ralph to "Come into my office" all tough-like when he wanted to talk to them? And remember how we thought The Fonz was so very dreamy until we happened to catch the show in reruns as adults and realized that The Fonz wasn't dreamy, he was an aging mechanic who really shouldn't have been hanging out with high school kids and definitely shouldn't have been dating them. Seems like every woman my age had the same Fonz realization at some point in time - that the dreamy tough guy was really just a dirty old man in a leather coat. Now there's a life lesson.
If you want to discuss, you can reach me in my office.
I should have known better. I should have known to turn to my family first for sympathy and understanding because, although they are absolute masters of mockery, at least they understand me while they're making fun of me. Must be something in that 'blood is thicker than water' stuff. Or maybe its just that my sisters and I were all raised under the same 'too cheap to turn on the heat' regime because my sister and I had the following conversation earlier this evening (with no prompting from me, mind you)
Sister: "I'm so cold my hands are shaking. I swear my landlord is ripping me off, it's freezing in here"
Me: [Some kind of commiseration about crappy, heat-sucking landlords]
Sister: "I swear, the only place I'm warm is in the bath"
Me: "ME TOO, I get home from work and head straight to the bath" [accessorised with splish splashing sound effects to emphasize that that was my exact location as we were speaking]
Yeah. I was in the bath.
Here's too much information (and an unwanted visual) for you: if you're talking to me or reading an email sent after 6pm, chances are they were sent from my cozy, oh-so-happy, perch in my bathtub. Where it's warm. Because that's how it goes. I get home from work, turn on the bath, feed the cat, gather my dinner/books/etc and retreat to the tub where I stay until its time to go to bed (at which point my electric blanket takes over). It's kind of like my home office.
Which got me thinking. Remember The Fonz from Happy Days? Remember how he used to call the bathroom at Al's Diner his "office" and he would order Potsy or Ralph to "Come into my office" all tough-like when he wanted to talk to them? And remember how we thought The Fonz was so very dreamy until we happened to catch the show in reruns as adults and realized that The Fonz wasn't dreamy, he was an aging mechanic who really shouldn't have been hanging out with high school kids and definitely shouldn't have been dating them. Seems like every woman my age had the same Fonz realization at some point in time - that the dreamy tough guy was really just a dirty old man in a leather coat. Now there's a life lesson.
If you want to discuss, you can reach me in my office.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
initiated
Today I was counselling someone I've seen for a few sessions and, as she talked, something began to rise to the surface. Something really, really deep and buried and huge. Something that I don't think either of us were expecting. I really felt for her and this journey she was about to embark on, sometimes we have to let ourself feel worse before we can feel better (or as Rumi has, much more eloquently, said "the cure for pain is in the pain").
As I realized what she was starting to realize I looked at her with complete empathy and thought "Wow. She really should talk to a professional to deal with this". And then I caught myself - that's me - I'm the professional she's coming to to deal with this!
Ever quick to worry about my skills as a therapist, I'm pretty sure that the only reason I'm not freaking out more about this is that just about every Counsellor I've talked to or read about has commented on having the very same thought process during their early years as a therapist. Guess I've passed that part of the initiation.
As I realized what she was starting to realize I looked at her with complete empathy and thought "Wow. She really should talk to a professional to deal with this". And then I caught myself - that's me - I'm the professional she's coming to to deal with this!
Ever quick to worry about my skills as a therapist, I'm pretty sure that the only reason I'm not freaking out more about this is that just about every Counsellor I've talked to or read about has commented on having the very same thought process during their early years as a therapist. Guess I've passed that part of the initiation.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Bookmouse
Yesterday at the bookstore I saw a teensy, tiny grey mouse running frantically through the bookstacks and I had a giggle at the thought that finally, after all these years of being called one, I had seen a real, live, honest-to-god bookmouse.
Then I remembered that the term was "bookworm", not "bookmouse", and I felt a bit cheated.
Then I remembered that the term was "bookworm", not "bookmouse", and I felt a bit cheated.
Pollyanna
Driving in this city can be kind of stressful (easy Finland, easy ;) so, provided I have nowhere pressing to be, the one hour bus ride home sometimes emerges as the nicest part of my day. I think about stuff, catch up on phone calls, journal, read, do homework, it's lovely. Today was an interesting ride.
A woman loudly, and with a great deal of anger, made sweeping, derogatory comments about people with my skin colour. For the entire ride. It was awkward. It was also interesting timing; her comments filtered through while I was reading about Buddhist meditation, about choosing to pause to check in with the emotions our knee-jerk responses want to protect before following through on them. I struggled with that tonight as the angry voice forced its way into my thoughts.
The bus ride to and from the university has become a time for searching, questioning thoughts; not exactly the kind of frivolous daydreaming I expected. This is the same bus where, very often, no one will sit beside me. The bus may be packed with people standing in the aisles but the seat beside me? Empty. The entire process of getting home each night has become an incubator for long, internal discourses about race, privilege, discrimination, socio-economic status, appearances, assumptions, fate, you name it.
Tonight I also thought about the clients we'd seen for intake that day. About the fact that no matter what kind of complaints I can fabricate about my parents, my upbringing, my siblings; no one abused me, no one forced themselves on me, no one let/encouraged their friends/partners to force themselves on me. And by 'force themelves' I mean have sex. I thought about the way in which the choice of just one person to abuse the trust and power given to them by a child can impact entire generations of a family. And I thought about the people who are coming in to talk about their experiences and the bravery and courage it must take to choose to deal with it. I'm not so sure I wouldn't stick with repression and denial.
As I write this, I feel a bit silly. I know bad things happen. I know racism exists. I know people live through all kinds of horrible abuses. And I know that some of those people include those in my very close circle - that there are no exceptions. I guess its just that when no one will sit next to me on a bus it hurts my feelings, and it makes me think about assumptions that may be made and the systems in place that support them. When I talk to my third person in a row explaining what their parent/sibling/babysitter/grandparent did to them with a straight face and matter of fact voice it feels very real and I'm again humbled by the absolute grace of fortune bestowed upon me.
A woman loudly, and with a great deal of anger, made sweeping, derogatory comments about people with my skin colour. For the entire ride. It was awkward. It was also interesting timing; her comments filtered through while I was reading about Buddhist meditation, about choosing to pause to check in with the emotions our knee-jerk responses want to protect before following through on them. I struggled with that tonight as the angry voice forced its way into my thoughts.
The bus ride to and from the university has become a time for searching, questioning thoughts; not exactly the kind of frivolous daydreaming I expected. This is the same bus where, very often, no one will sit beside me. The bus may be packed with people standing in the aisles but the seat beside me? Empty. The entire process of getting home each night has become an incubator for long, internal discourses about race, privilege, discrimination, socio-economic status, appearances, assumptions, fate, you name it.
Tonight I also thought about the clients we'd seen for intake that day. About the fact that no matter what kind of complaints I can fabricate about my parents, my upbringing, my siblings; no one abused me, no one forced themselves on me, no one let/encouraged their friends/partners to force themselves on me. And by 'force themelves' I mean have sex. I thought about the way in which the choice of just one person to abuse the trust and power given to them by a child can impact entire generations of a family. And I thought about the people who are coming in to talk about their experiences and the bravery and courage it must take to choose to deal with it. I'm not so sure I wouldn't stick with repression and denial.
As I write this, I feel a bit silly. I know bad things happen. I know racism exists. I know people live through all kinds of horrible abuses. And I know that some of those people include those in my very close circle - that there are no exceptions. I guess its just that when no one will sit next to me on a bus it hurts my feelings, and it makes me think about assumptions that may be made and the systems in place that support them. When I talk to my third person in a row explaining what their parent/sibling/babysitter/grandparent did to them with a straight face and matter of fact voice it feels very real and I'm again humbled by the absolute grace of fortune bestowed upon me.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
meow
Whenever he sees bags being packed, my cat becomes a twitchy, skittering little creature that, quite frankly, is irritating to have around. For that reason, it's always a relief when, having confirmed that he is seeing correctly, there ARE bags being packed, he goes into hiding from what he assumes comes next - getting tossed in the car to be passed off onto a well meaning friend for a few weeks.
Today he was right, there were bags being packed, but it had nothing to do with him - my Finnish touristi was leaving. I think if the cat had realized that he would have panicked even further because this visitor, this beacon of light from across the ocean, he did something never before experienced in this apartment - he PLAYED with Mannix. Red dot game, play fighting, falling for the old 'cat under the rug' trick - oh - it was glorious. And now he's gone.
Another thing this visitor did? He talked to Mannix and Mannix talked back. Great conversations were had, very long conversations were had, and my cautions that the cat would get used to this and I'd be left with a fuzzy, white ball of meowing irritation when the touristi departed? Those cautions were ignored. And now we're alone, just me and the cat. And some meowing. Lots and lots and lots of meowing.
Thanks Mikko. By the way, the cat says meow.
Today he was right, there were bags being packed, but it had nothing to do with him - my Finnish touristi was leaving. I think if the cat had realized that he would have panicked even further because this visitor, this beacon of light from across the ocean, he did something never before experienced in this apartment - he PLAYED with Mannix. Red dot game, play fighting, falling for the old 'cat under the rug' trick - oh - it was glorious. And now he's gone.
Another thing this visitor did? He talked to Mannix and Mannix talked back. Great conversations were had, very long conversations were had, and my cautions that the cat would get used to this and I'd be left with a fuzzy, white ball of meowing irritation when the touristi departed? Those cautions were ignored. And now we're alone, just me and the cat. And some meowing. Lots and lots and lots of meowing.
Thanks Mikko. By the way, the cat says meow.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
nyc photos
Having been teased by my sisters for my tendency to visit NYC, the city that never sleeps, to do exactly that - sleep - accompanying my touristi there on his North American tour could have been disastrous. But it wasn't. Luckily he joined me in my penchant to ignore NYC nightlife in favour of exploring NYC early-morning-yoga-life.
While Mikko was astounded by the questions put to him by US Customs, I was nearly brought to tears by the customs officer who threatened me with court for failing to declare my morning coffee under section 11a on the customs form - yeah - I'm serious. The trauma of being "educated" by the VERY mean American Customs man was quickly eradicated by the cutest observation, coming one hour into our visit, when my Finnish touristi noted that "I've never been in a place with so many Americans all at once".
We were joined in our yoga-bum tour by Leo who came up from DC and, so, there we were a Canadian, a Finn and an American-Russian in the big apple. Some walking was done, some yoga studios were visited, some pictures were taken. You can see them here.
While Mikko was astounded by the questions put to him by US Customs, I was nearly brought to tears by the customs officer who threatened me with court for failing to declare my morning coffee under section 11a on the customs form - yeah - I'm serious. The trauma of being "educated" by the VERY mean American Customs man was quickly eradicated by the cutest observation, coming one hour into our visit, when my Finnish touristi noted that "I've never been in a place with so many Americans all at once".
We were joined in our yoga-bum tour by Leo who came up from DC and, so, there we were a Canadian, a Finn and an American-Russian in the big apple. Some walking was done, some yoga studios were visited, some pictures were taken. You can see them here.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
toronto pics
I love Toronto and think it's one of the best places to live as is, seeing it through a tourists eyes has made me appreciate it even more.
Mikko's Toronto pictures below (with more to come)...
Toronto pics
Mikko's Toronto pictures below (with more to come)...
Toronto pics
stuff
So, there was a vacation in Helsinki. That was nice.
Then a quick stopover in Cambridge to visit the lovely Reena where I gained a new appreciation for poor ex-boyfriend G., a Cambridge alumni that I tormented mercilessly for his love of all things Cambridge. Hmm. I stand corrected. If I'd studied there I too would wear my scarf, not walk on the grass, and agree to whatever other nonsense those very smart Cambridge people prescribed. Luckily I fulfilled the necessary tourist requirement of observing out loud that Cambridge "looks just like a Harry Potter movie" within the first hour of my visit so I was permitted to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.
Then I snuck back to Canada to surprise my family with the only present I could afford to give this poverty-stricken-student Christmas: ME. My return ticket was for December 24th, not December 26th as I'd led everyone to believe, which resulted in months of guilt tripping over my missing ANOTHER Christmas at home. The only thing that pulled me through was the knowledge that I would be home for Christmas and they'd feel like asses for the abuse they'd heaped upon me - well, that and the anticipation of surprising them Christmas morning. I ambushed them while they were opening their stockings in the family room and, finally after 30-odd years of Christmas celebrations, we had an honest-to-god movie moment. It was great.
The rest of Christmas day was wonderful. Some presents were exchanged. Some siblings' physiques were mocked (with love, with love). Some siblings drank buckets of champagne while others were mocked for bringing their own soy milk and taking vitamins (*ahem*).
And now it's over. Sort of. There's a Finn touristi in Toronto and tomorrow we're off to NYC. There's some fun to come yet.
Then a quick stopover in Cambridge to visit the lovely Reena where I gained a new appreciation for poor ex-boyfriend G., a Cambridge alumni that I tormented mercilessly for his love of all things Cambridge. Hmm. I stand corrected. If I'd studied there I too would wear my scarf, not walk on the grass, and agree to whatever other nonsense those very smart Cambridge people prescribed. Luckily I fulfilled the necessary tourist requirement of observing out loud that Cambridge "looks just like a Harry Potter movie" within the first hour of my visit so I was permitted to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.
Then I snuck back to Canada to surprise my family with the only present I could afford to give this poverty-stricken-student Christmas: ME. My return ticket was for December 24th, not December 26th as I'd led everyone to believe, which resulted in months of guilt tripping over my missing ANOTHER Christmas at home. The only thing that pulled me through was the knowledge that I would be home for Christmas and they'd feel like asses for the abuse they'd heaped upon me - well, that and the anticipation of surprising them Christmas morning. I ambushed them while they were opening their stockings in the family room and, finally after 30-odd years of Christmas celebrations, we had an honest-to-god movie moment. It was great.
The rest of Christmas day was wonderful. Some presents were exchanged. Some siblings' physiques were mocked (with love, with love). Some siblings drank buckets of champagne while others were mocked for bringing their own soy milk and taking vitamins (*ahem*).
And now it's over. Sort of. There's a Finn touristi in Toronto and tomorrow we're off to NYC. There's some fun to come yet.
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