more days that change your life

So just last week my baby boarded the school bus for the very first time, joining Ms. Wyllie's primary class at Shatford Elementary. Big Kid School. No more preschool. She was very brave. People kept telling me I'd cry when this momentous day came, and I was sure I wouldn't. I am a crier, but generally this is the sort of thing I take in stride, or so I thought. Then I found myself in tears holding on to Michael on our walk home from the bus stop, but not so much because my baby is growing up, but because I remembered how horrible my first day of school was. Luckily, history did not repeat itself, and she was just fine, and 8 school days later, she's still doing great, my young scholar.

The same day Naomi started school, so did Michael, having left his management position at a call centre (where he wasn't happy at all) to join the oil and gas sector. Soon he will be heading West to the Alberta oilrigs, and after 11 years together, we will once again be in a long distance relationship, like the year we started dating. So that would mark the first day of the rest of his life, joining the millions of generation X members who will go through an average of three or more career changes in their lifetimes.

And another day came along this past week that has changed my life forever. I have been diagnosed with Celiac Disease. Apparently 1 in 2000 people are unable to digest a protein found in gluten, causing the intestine walls to become inflamed, and making it difficult for the body to absorb nutrients. An autoimmune disorder, Celiac disease can cause anemia, B12 deficiency, and osteopenia (a precursor to osteoporosis), all of which I have. The only treatment is a completely gluten-free diet. I am experiencing the seven stages of grief for baked goods, the first stage being denial.

But I will not take this lying down. It's not terminal, just one more pain in the ass. So I have started an online petition asking President's Choice, a major Canadian food brand, to begin labelling its applicable products as gluten-free, a practice which a representative told me they have considered in the past, but opted not to bother with. You can add your name to the petition by visiting: http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/pcglutenfree/

days that change your life

I was watching an interesting documentary the other night about September 11, a conspiracy theory tale about the collapse of WTC 7, the third building to collapse that day. The documentary kept referencing a film called "Loose Change: Final Cut," which I am not endorsing, as I haven't seen it yet, but I will definitely be looking up. I have watched a lot of programs about 9/11 by now, and they all grab me in the gut. Seven years ago...still so hard to believe. More and more, when I see footage from that day, I feel like I am watching a movie, waiting for the action hero Bruce Willis or Ahnold to turn up and save the day. I find it harder to remember what was going through my mind that day, as I watched the second plane hit live on CNN, watched the towers fall, in disbelief. Now I am not a New Yorker, or American, but I was both directly and indirectly affected (haven't we all been?) by the events of that unbelievable day, spending the night into the small hours as a Red Cross volunteer helping settle some of the hundreds of stranded passengers in emergency shelters, using my linguistic skills to translate for a group of Orthodox Israelis who no one else could understand. Years later, I still believe the events of 9/11 sounded the death knell of the tourism industry here in Nova Scotia, as I watched my own business figures drop by 70%, although clearly many factors are at work, so I am still very affected by 9/11.

But what strikes me most about September 11, 2001 is that it may well be the single most defining historical moment which will occur during my lifetime. I've often thought a major difference between my mother's generation and mine was the moon landing. My mom didn't think they could do it (and I know there are some conspiracy theorists out there who think they didn't!), but for me, it was simply an historical fact, one more thing that happened before I was born. That reality dramatically impacted the culture of its time. As did 9/11. Not only can time be forever divided into before 9/11 and after, but the public consciousness has changed, in a way we are unlikely to turn back from for a long time to come. Living in a post 9/11 era is tangible in every sense: economic, social, political, cultural. How strange to think that for my daughter, September 11th is one more fact of history, like WWII, Vietnam, the moon landing - and will it be any more or less salient to her than those distant historical events? She started school a week ago, I think her school commemorates 9/11 in an age-appropriate way (whatever that is. On 9/11 preschool children in New York saw bodies falling from the sky. When are we old enough to witness such a thing?). I knew of a mother a couple years ago who was so disturbed by our school mentioning 9/11 to the children, she actually pulled her kids out of school to homeschool them. Facts are hard, death is hard, terrorism is hard - all these things are hard to explain to our children, when really, do we undertand them ourselves? But I do believe they have the right to share in the knowledge of their socio-political culture, in an age-appropriate way. Naomi's dad is a firefighter, like too many of the kids who lost parents, neighbours, relatives that awful day. This is part of her world. Children have a tremendous capacity for compassion, and love, precious qualities we all need to help heal our real and psychic wounds.

I wonder, can there be positive moments that define a generation? Everyone knows where they were when JFK was shot, MLK, and everyone remembers where they were on 9/11. Am I just a cynic, or are their universally beneficial moments that touch us the same way? It seems good grows more quietly and slowly, while bad can happen in an instant.

good sabbath

I am a bad Jew. And I find mostly it is because I don't have time to be Jewish, which seems a poor excuse. I don't go to temple, but it's has a lot to do with the fact that the nearest shul is about 25 miles away from my house. I was going to start Naomi in Hebrew school last year, but it would have meant commuting to the city one more day a week (not even including a commute to Saturday services, so really 2 days). Last year, Michael frequently worked weekends, so I would have had to borrow a car to take her, and with him commuting 5 days, me 3 days, and her already spending too much time trapped in her car seat in the back of the car, it just seemed like too much commitment. This year, she has started school, and although I have tried to keep it to a reasonable level of chaos, I have signed her up for music and gymnastics lessons, plus I am teaching children's art lessons, so I bring her along, which means she has a full schedule already, without adding shul and Hebrew school. But I do celebrate most of the Jewish holidays with her at home, I even led a Purim party at her preschool last year (so although Jews don't proselytise, I am ensuring Jewish programming in her class, which I will continue with her in grade primary). And we have started observing shabbat, the Jewish sabbath, in our own small way.

I had been meaning to do this for ages. When I lived in Israel, I usually lit the candles on Friday evenings to signal the beginning of the day of rest. My Israeli friends laughed at me, the convert, more observant than them. Now we aren't talking full observance here, I still went out and drank and smoked and partied all night long, but after my quiet time alone at home with my candles. Even upon my return to Canada, I used to make challah, the traditional Jewish sabbath bread, every Friday. But all that had long gone by the wayside, drinking, smoking, partying, and the candles too. But then last year at hanukkah, Naomi loved the candles so much I thought it would be a good idea to be a little Jewish every week, and light the candles on Fridays. Except I am so scattered and absent-minded, a lot of the time I am really unaware of what day of the week it is, so I would forget. But finally, over a month ago now, I remembered one Friday as I was setting the table, wiped the dust off the beautiful candlesticks I was given by a Jewish friend as a wedding gift, dug out some (kosher!) candles, and after some scrounging around, found a match, and we had our first sabbath candle lighting. I told Naomi she would have to help me remember to do this every Friday, and Wednesday morning, the first sentence out of her sleepy mouth was, "Don't forget to light the candles on Friday mommy!" And so together, we remembered, and the next week, and the next. Then I went all out, and baked challah, from scratch (but I did use a breadmaker to mix the dough), with Naomi's help:
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, we need a sabbath. There's a day of rest tradition for a reason. Our lives are so hectic, we need to remember to take time out just to relax, be present, and be with each other. Especially now, with the new routine of early mornings to make the schoolbus at 7:26, I go back to university next week, Michael is doing a training course this month - we can hardly find the time to find each other. So although I can't commit to the full day off from work and activities and errands (I really don't have the time), I can do my level best to sit down to a nice meal at the kitchen table at least once a week, and on Fridays, light the candles, as millions of others begin their Friday evening according to the very same tradition. And I might even put in an appearance at the temple for the High Holidays, which are fast approaching.

coins in the fountain...

So a couple of weeks ago I was having a bit of a bad day (okay, that's an understatement, but let's not relive the details), but luckily the meeting that really sealed my mood occurred just before I was to meet my friend Genevieve, who was visiting having time off from her job in Antarctica (no joke, this is one cool lady, in more ways than one). "Let's go out," I said, and so we first ventured to what was once the landmark restaurant known as La Cave in downtown Halifax, world famous for the best cheesecake in the universe. Over creme brulee and gingerbread with not-so-furtive glances exchanged at our fine waiter from time to time, Genevieve helped ease my mind over my mundane troubles. And I was further inspired to embark on another adventure. But let me first set the scene...

Back in my youth, more than 20 years ago, some older friends of mine initiated me into the tradition of scaling the fence of the Public Gardens and entering the night-time world of the park after dark, for the gates are locked at dusk. A lovely manicured Victorian park by day, by night the gardens become a whole other world. A place for lovers, a way to escape the bar culture, peace and quiet, and a place to get into a different kind of trouble. In the mid to late 1980s I would carry this large bag I had made, big enough to carry a bottle of wine and a ouija board in, always at the ready for a midnight adventure. I still have an old ouija board somewhere with a broken corner - the bag got snagged on the fence during one nocturnal raid.

Across the street from the Public Gardens is a large graveyard, which used to be open all the time, until someone was murdered in there in the 1990s. Both Genevieve and I had lived in houses near the graveyard, and we had both used it as a shortcut home on numerous occasions, before the locking of the gates began. As it seemed a more attainable goal (less traffic, more trees to hide behind), we eased ourselves under the gates of the graveyard, and dashed inside. It was a very foggy night, making the cemetary beautifully eery. We found ourselves under a huge concealing tree, which Genevieve eyed with a view to climb, but we just weren't wearing the right shoes, reminiscing about the old days of Halifax, and other tales from our travels over the years. The jaunt into the cemetary was sufficiently emboldening for us to reassess our true goal: the Public Gardens. So we rolled back out under the graveyard gate, no one having noticed our traipsing and trespassing, crossed the street, and proceeded to case the joint. We searched for a good place to go under rather than over behind the cover of two parked tour buses, but no auspicious opening was to be seen. It was while Genevieve was admonishing the ducks for discarding an empty beer bottle she picked up on the grass that the cop car pulled over. And the crazy redhead calls out to assure the cop we hadn't been drinking (which we hadn't), but luckily he had taken no notice of us anyhow. Still, it wasn't exactly the right moment to hop over the fence while the policeman was inspecting the grounds across the street with a flashlight, so we did a loop around the park. On our second pass, the police car had gone. It was do or die. Genevieve had staked her spot, while I looked on not at all convinced we would fit underneath the wrought iron grate at all. But in a flash, she was through - there was nothing for it, so under I went, and there we were, like spies in the night, ducking behind the nearest tree in fits of giggles, and streaking across the open grass to a denser copse of trees further away from the street. And it was as awesome as ever, perhaps more so after a 20 year absence. Sure I've been in there by day, taken Naomi to hear bandstand concerts on Sunday afternoons, fed the ducks in the pond. But this was different. Although the place has changed, having lost many trees to Hurricane Juan in 2003, when we found ourselves on the other side of the fence, I felt like we had gone back in time. Never have I felt so much like I was fourteen years old again! All the worldly cares that had brought me down earlier that evening disappeared.

Genevieve and I imagined the news copy: "...officials were puzzled when breathalyzer and drug tests taken from the two middle aged women caught trespassing in the Public Gardens last Thursday were negative for any illicit substances..."

Now there is another tradition that goes hand in hand with trespassing in the gardens after dark. There is a fountain where passers by throw coins for wishes.

I have often let Naomi rummage through my pockets looking for spare change for this very purpose. But back in the day, it was something of a tradition to strip down to our skivvies, hop into the fountain, and scoop up the coins. Then we would roll our damp silver and pennies, and spend our ill-gotten gains on treats (well, cigarettes, but I have since quit). In the stillness of the park I realized this was most likely the last time I would find myself in the gardens after dark, so there was just one thing left to do: take off my pants and hop into the fountain. Genevieve was close behind. Now we only scooped out a couple of ceremonious, token handfuls, hardly depleting the waters of the wishes they concealed beneath the surface. Genevieve has a better eye for spotting shiny things than I, like 1 and 2 dollar coins (and even a fifty-cent piece!), while I went more for quantity, using a more Hoover-like technique. There is still a dish full of coins on my kitchen table, it contains about $12, which I intend to use to open an RESP for Naomi.

Genevieve is gone now, making her way indirectly back to the South Pole for the winter (well summer, there). Today I could already detect an autumn scent on the August breeze, and soon enough September will be here again. As I return to university Naomi will get on the yellow schoolbus and begin grade primary, and soon enough this one summer adventure will be just one more Midsummer Night's Dream. But for a few moments I laughed again like I was fourteen years old, just like it was 1985, only it was even better.

What Would God Wear?

So the other day Naomi asked me what kind of clothes god wears. Now we haven't really talked a whole lot about god. We have celebrated both Jewish and non-Jewish holidays, but god just really hadn't come up, and that was fine with me, as I'm really not quite sure what to tell her about god. She only noticed churches last week, and I don't think she really knows what they're for yet, and I have never taken her to a place of worship. So the other day I did tell her some people believe god made the world, but I'm not sure how much she was paying attention - but then she asked about the clothes. So I said I thought god(s) might not really wear clothes (but the idea of god naked was a bit too funny), but if they did, I bet they would be a lot like pyjamas, you know, like the togas of old. But as we gave this some more thought, we agreed maybe a god would like to wear princess dresses or fancy suits. After all, Naomi's favourite outfit at the moment is her Disney Cinderella costume (which is miles too big for her). So wouldn't god want to dress just like that too?

7 jobs and still underemployed...

Okay, so we have been around the world and back, or almost. We flew back to Belfast to visit Naomi's Northern Irish grandmother in mid-May, seeing old friends and family in the North, down South in Dublin and Waterford, with a weeks' holiday in Marmaris, Turkey (that's in Asia!), and a too-brief stop with more old friends in Glasgow, Scotland on the way home. We have been back for a few weeks, and it has been busy, busy, busy and really, just utter chaos. I mean, I haven't seen my kitchen table since last December, and we've actually gone and invited COMPANY for the weekend, which means I need to find the table! The tomatoes are out of the freezer, the kidney beans are soaking, preparations are underway for a vegetarian Mexican feast, but also I really must get in the clean laundry that's been hanging on the porch for at least 2 days before it rains, not to mention clean the bathroom, tidy the bedrooms, and find that darn kitchen table. I mean, there isn't even any room left on it to pile more stuff on.

And why do these things never get done? Well, because I figure Naomi will only be 4 once, this is her last summer before she starts Big Kid School, so given the choice of doing the dishes or taking her to the beach, I generally opt for the beach (I sooo need a dishwasher...). Besides, the weather has been fairly poor, so you really need to go to the beach when the opportunity presents itself. The dishes will wait (Trust me!).

Oh, and because I have 6 jobs, depending on how you're counting. And none are full-time, and none will make me a rich woman. Here's the list: photographer with home-based wholesale poster/postcard business (summer tourist season only), research assistant at Dalhousie University, Assistant Client Services Manager for the tax company (but seasonally laid off 'til January), model for my friend Christian's art classes (starts next week, and before you ask, no, I will not be doing it nude, not just yet anyway. Thought I'd go for scantily clad.), and the latest: instructor of photography, yoga and active play for kids. I start teaching kids workshops next week through our local recreation centre - and I'm very excited. I have a huge pile of books I took out of the library to prepare myself. The funny thing is, the only thing I've ever taught anybody was sociology, and that was to university students (and frankly many of them were a bit bored I think), so this will be a bit of a challenge. But I took my first photography workshop at Woozles children's bookstore when I was 8 years old (I still have the pictures I shot too!), so I thought this would be a good idea. And job number six, writing my cookbook. Yet I feel like I'm forgetting something...oh yes! It is 7 jobs! I recently listed with a casting agency, and got called to work as an extra on the cable show "G-Spot" less than a week after I signed up! Hollywood (Bollywood?) awaits...And then there are the poledancing classes I've been taking, definitely not work, but cuts into my time.

So, busy as a bee. No time for laundry, toilet brushes, sock darning...

Still here...

It may appear as though I had abondoned this site, but I assure all that this is not the case. Rather, I have been so busy, I haven't found a moment to keep in touch (or to keep up with the dishes, laundry, general housework...). Classes have ended for the year (hooray!), but I have yet to finish my last two assignments - hopefully by the end of this week it will all become a distant, fading memory...

The past year has been a particularly challenging one. It had been 8 years since I last graduated university, and my currrent MSc program in community health and epidemiology has been a real change from my previous areas of study. I like a challenge, but many things made it hard that I wasn't expecting. Although the course work is both intersting and demanding, the most difficult part of adjusting to school life again was coming back as a 'mature' student. The majority of students I went to school with everyday are a posse of bright-tailed, bushy-eyed young 'uns that both individually and collectively seem to be lacking in two areas I find important in fellow humans: a sense of humour and a sense of irony. They also are rather self-absorbed and lacking in plain old-fashioned manners. Now I have lived all over the world, and come into contact with a wide variety of people in my time, making friends from all sorts of backgrounds and ages, both younger and older. I completely fail to comprehend why I don't seem to get along with anyone in my program, but I have decided, after much agonizing and self-punishment in the matter, that I don't give a shit, and who needs 'em. Now that I have completed 6 out of eight courses, this isn't much of an issue anymore. It doesn't help that I have had difficulties with members of faculty as well, and am in the process of filing a grievance against one of my profs. Yes, I'm sure I am well loved in the halls...but here's the thing: I let too many people push me around in my undergraduate degree, and even my last master's program, and I'm not having it anymore. I am here to stand up for myself (so deal with it!).

Surprisingly, the being a mom part wasn't the biggest challenge, but then I have the best kid in the world! She does wish I had more time to spend with her, but she's so easygoing and independent that she isn't too hard to work around. I do try to take 'quality activity' breaks with her as often as I can even when I'm in the middle of writing papers, etc. Hopefully by the end of this week my last assignments will be done, and I can finally relax (this term has really been hell), and take more time to spoil my little one. We start with a trip to our new favourite place on Saturday, the Spryfield Lions Wave Pool (www.halifax.ca/Recreation/williamspry.html). We went 2 weekends ago for the first time, and had the best family outing I can remember for ages, probably since last summer. And the flyer came in the mail that Jellystone Park (www.campjellystone.com), also known as Yogi Bear Camp in our house, will be open in a couple of weeks - Naomi's favourite place last summer. I believe we will have to become members this year.

But before we can camp with Yogi, we will be off to Europe! Mid-May will see us fly across the ocean to visit Michael's mum and family, and of course our friends. It was a very spontaneous decision, but we need a break from our lives here so badly, especially now that Nepal has to be put off - that was what we had been focusing on since September, our Great Escape. It is a big disappointment that we can't get there just yet. A trip to Northern Ireland is not quite as exotic, but it has been 4 years since we were there, when Naomi was just 4 months old. There will be lots of great things to do, like go to the Zoo, Belfast Castle, the Botanic Gardens near my old office at Queen's University. We also plan to take a trip up north to Portrush and Giant's Causeway, where I have only been once, and without my camera! I am very excited, as I will be able to see a lot of old friends. My darling Susan has had TWO babies since I was last there (Natasha aged 21 months, and a very special welcome to Marcus John Joseph, born 13 days ago, 8 lbs, 8 ozs),and Sister Sarah has taken her vows in her Cistercian order at St. Mary's Abbey, County Waterford, where I will also be visiting. Sarah is one of several friends I missed on my last visit, making it 8 years since I've seen her. That will be a very special visit, and I am especially happy to be going down south to see her, while my other girlfriend has said she can travel from the South to Belfast to coincide with our visit. Hopefully I'll catch everyone from my days at Queen's on this visit.

How many more ways can my body fail me?

As if it isn't bad enough that I require 3 medications a day to control my migraines and chronic daily headache --and by control, I mean I still get maybe 6-10 migraines a month, sometimes daily for a week at a time, just less than before and fortunately less intense most of the time-- bad enough that I go through thousands of dollars' worth of prescription drugs for acute migraines and pain in general (thank god for health insurance), bad enough that I don't dare have more babies while on the meds I take due to potential harm to the fetus (which absolutely breaks my heart as I would love to have more children--I try and wean myself off the pills from time to time, but the headaches always get worse, and 3 neurologists have advised me to stick with them. I'm waiting to see a 4th neurologist to try out Botox migraine therapy...), bad enough I require treatment for ongoing bladder problems (a minor irritant in comparison to the migraines, but still)--in addition to all this we now add three additional problems: after a second infection in my left ear several weeks ago, I still can't hear properly (unless you count the very loud ringing sound), and am waiting for an appointment with a specialist who will likely have to surgically drain it (ew!); I recently went to the dentist and discovered not only that I need my wisdom teeth out, but that I have a load of cavities which may in fact be a side-effect of my medications; but last and best of all, last week I participated in a research study comparing bone density of "normal controls" to patients with multiple sclerosis. I was supposed to be one of the normal controls, when the researchers discovered that I scored in the bottom 3% for bone density, with a score putting me at high-risk for osteoporosis (the good news is I fell off my chair yesterday and did not break my hip). I have since been referred for additional testing and may have to take even more meds for the rest of my life. Great. I'm only in my 30s, what the hell?!! I take more drugs than most seniors, and apparently am developing a senior's body too.

As if to shame me further, everyone I go to university with runs, bikes, etc. Half the people in my class run marathons. Because I take beta blockers for the migraines, I don't do cardio or stairs very well, and my academic department is on the 4th floor. I'm the only one who takes the elevator (I refer to it as my private elevator)--but I always walk down the stairs.

So how can a woman with the health of a 70 year old be seriously contemplating a 3-4 month trip to Nepal, with its hills, mountains, poor health conditions, all the walking and climbing involved just getting around, even if you aren't there to trek? Because I refuse to be a slave to my failing health. I will not let my failing body get the better of me. I will visit Ayurvedic doctors, witchdoctors and any other Nepali medicine men that can offer me a snake oil cure for headaches. I vow to work on my weaknesses and prepare for the very challenging and different lifestyle we will be leading when we get there. I need to increase my yoga (Naomi likes it too!), and work on my walking/stairclimbing. I hate this wather, but as it warms up Michael and I promised each other we'd start hiking and walking more to get me ready. I need some support from him to do it too. I can be ferociously lazy. Delaying our trip may be a blessing in disguise, as it gives me the summer to get more active, in addition to the time we need to save and fundraise.

Sh!t happens

Of course date night was not to be. It did begin to snow, and the barometric pressure gave Michael a migraine, so we went home :-(
Once he felt a bit better we snuggled up on the couch and watched The Omen. He told me he first saw this when he was young, and it nearly put him off the idea of ever having children. Fortunately he changed his mind on that one.

Date Night (no I don't mean fruit)

Well, tonight is supposed to be date night, that rare occasion when Michael and I spend time together after dark outside the house together sans enfant. I can't actually remember the last time this took place. Quality time for us is generally an hour or two when our schedules don't collide spent in comfy clothes on the couch in front of the TV. Usually Naomi is laughing and tickling and crawling all over us. Sometimes we have a conversation of substance when driving together in the car, if we're driving together in the same car that is. Somedays we only pass each other in opposite lanes on the highway, with Michael working nights and my classes during the day. Poor Naomi has two very exhausted parents a lot of the time.

So the plan is to go to the movies in an actual theatre, with movie theatre popcorn and everything (oh how I love that neon yellow stuff that is movie theatre popcorn!). I think the last movie I saw in a theatre with Michael was...I'm thinking...we saw Sicko on video...nope, it's not coming to me. We definitely went to the movies with friends on New Year's Eve, 2006! That's also the last time we did anything as a couple with other people. Pretty sad indeed. We have no life. Or we have very solitary lives for a married couple, which is a big reason why we need to get to Nepal. Now at least we have a shared dream again, and even that is already bringing us closer together when we were starting to drift apart. It's just so important to have something to look forward to. When everything becomes day-in, day-out, hum-drum doldrums, you have to find a point of light shining on the horizon, and focus hard to get you through.

This is all in the event that it doesn't snow again, of course, as it did last night, causing me yet another NDE (near death experience), as a truck lost control and nearly hit me on the drive home.

Still dreaming Nepali dreams...

I know, I know, it seemed I had abandoned my post, if anyone out there was keeping tabs. It has been quite a difficult time. Winter is never the best time of year for me, and this one has been no exception. Our fundraising efforts have had to be set upon the back burner as we have simply been confronted with too many more pressing matters. I am very sorry to tell you, we have had to postpone our trip to Nepal. Not cancel, just postpone, but still, we are so looking forward to it, it has been constantly in our hearts and minds since we began planning back in September, that the idea of waiting even a few more months was a hard conclusion to come to. We need more time to save, to fundraise, and to organize ourselves. Our new departure date will depend on my summer income prospects--either we will leave in late summer and spend Christmas in Belfast with Michael's family on our return, or we will begin our journey in December in Belfast, and keep on towards Nepal. We have never spent Christmas in Ireland with Michael's mother and relatives before, so this in itself is pretty exciting. Naomi is sure to be spoiled rotten, her grandmother can't wait to get a hold of her and buy her all her wee heart desires. Sadly, Naomi and her Irish grandma have only met each other twice, and it has been two and a half years since the last visit.

I am continuing on with my graduate studies, but somehow I seem to be having a harder time keeping on top of things, but then I am working now too. School often has me so unsure of myself and so stressed out and frustrated that I wish I worked more and went to achool less. I'm content at work, I work with good people, and best of all, it ends as I leave the door. School is neverending--there's always more studying to do, upcoming assignments, worrying about grades (but mine have been excellent so far, dammit, I can do this science stuff too, even if everyone thought I was an arts-brain!). I keep telling myself the end is in sight:6 more weeks until end of term. Just 6 weeks.

On the homefront, the most exciting news is that I registered Naomi to begin school in September (we will be pulling her out to go to Nepal, although she will be going to school with Nepali children when we get there). Oh my big girl. Everyone tells me as a mom I will cry on that first day, but I don't think I will. But I just know she'll light up her classroom. She is pure light and love, my girl, she keeps me going.

Perhaps due to crazy stress levels or schedules that have us passing like ships in the night, or a lack of sunlight, or some misfortunate planetary alignment, everything else seems to be falling apart. My clothes dryer broke (you have never met a family with worse luck vis a vis appliances). It was a piece of shit to start with, but we can't afford to replace it. But that's hardly relevant anymore, as we are now having plumbing problems. The other day Naomi stuck half a roll of toilet paper down the toilet, and it took a professional 2 hours to unclog it. The upside was that since he was there anyway, we finally had someone look at the bathroom sink Michael has been promising to fix for over three months (I am so sick of brushing my teeth over the bathtub!). Our hundred-year+ plumbing was too much for him, the plumber needs to come back to sort out the sink. But it doesn't even end there, oh no. The day after he left the water started running, which means it has to be shut off except to occasionally flush the toilet or take care of an overgrowing pile of dishes. Now the water is the colour of mud. Great. Can't wash the laundry in that. Our house is now quickly being overrun by dirty clothes and dishes.

So perhaps for these reasons, it is understandable that Michael and I have had some bad days as husband and wife. Why is being a grown up so hard? Remember when you were a kid and thought all your problems would be solved by growing up?

having a down day

Nepal is seeming far, far away, and back here in the real world I have to get up early tomorrow (have I mentioned that I am NOT a morning person?) so I can drive an hour in the cold to work. Although the homework for university still isn't massive, I have a stack of articles to read, and an obligation to report on malaria surveillance methods for Monday morning. There is laundry to do, dishes waiting, food growing scary science experiments in the fridge (I have a terrible phobia of bad food, so I make it worse by not dealing with it, so the mold progresses even more, adding to my phobia of cleaning it up...), and the kitchen table is once again being lost inch by square inch under junk mail and bills. Poor Naomi has been sick with a fever and respiratory infection (lucky for her, she was too ill to receive her 2 scheduled shots on Wednesday)for a few days, although she seems pretty much back to normal today. Michael is working late, so my only company is the voice on the speakerphone telling me, "Thank you for continuing to hold, your call is important to us..." -bet I eventually get disconnected, or told the business is closed until Monday. Oh, yup, prophetic indeed, it just cut me off, this very moment. Yes, I feel very blah today...

so much to do...

Yesterday we took some time for a family outing to Ross Farm. It was a bright, sunny and mild winter day, neither Michael nor myself were working, and my studies are still pretty light as term has just begun. Of course Naomi was more enchanted with the ginger cat than the farm animals (despite the 3 cats we have at home), but we did enjoy the roosters' ruckus and the geese getting all riled up.





There will be few occasions like this between now and our departure for Nepal in mid-April, as we will be very busy between now and then. I can't believe how soon April is coming, less than 100 sleeps! I am in school full time, while returning to my winter job, not to mention the time I spend promoting our cause and fundraising. And Michael works full time, with a long commute, and he usually works overtime too. Naomi stays with Grandma a lot, but she may even spend a few more days at daycare this term - luckily she loves it there -when I was a kid, I hated daycare. For me, the same kids who picked on me at school for wearing glasses and dressing oddly (even at 5 I had my own sense of style, although I must say it has improved), got an extra couple of hours to torture me at daycare. Fortunately, Naomi is a happy, extremely social kid, and she doesn't need glasses (thank god for her father's eye genes)so she remains unteased and well adapted.

This week I should start hearing back from a number of organizations who are looking over our project proposal, and hopefully any day now I will have good news to report regarding our potential benefactors. In the meantime, I dread telling Naomi she's getting 2 more needles on Wednesday the 3rd for Hepatitis A/B, and 1st of three for rabies, with still more to come. She's going to hate me, isn't she...

I do have some news to share today: www.ppdconnect.org, a site for women with post partum depression and its survivors, has posted my story. There is link a the left.

We Did It! Another hurdle out of the way

I'm so happy today, we met our goal of receiving 100 votes for our project at www.givemeaning.com, and we did it in less than 2 weeks! This means we will soon be eligible to receive contributions with their assistance, enabling us to give our donors tax receipts. This has been an all-consuming task for me, and for a while I really didn't think we'd get the votes - extra special thanks to Julia Drew Watt for spreading the word and starting the facebook group, and to Kate Venson, with her extensive networking abilities! And of course to everyone who voted! Spacibo bolshoi! We beat Hillary, Barack, Mitt Romney and the rest to the punch! For anyone keeping track, we are able to receive donations at this site, and it won't be long before our sisterlink is up and running and offering receipts. We aren't quite there yet, but I am growing more and more confident. And let me just say I am so impressed with givemeaning.com - I call their toll-free number with a few questions, only to learn that Tom, the head of the organization himself, had picked up the phone to answer my call. What's more, when I mentioned which project I was representing (there are thousands) he said, "oh yes, I remember this one." We had a very pleasant conversation, and afterwords I felt like I had just called Microsoft and spoken with Bill Gates.

I have approached several local organizations for their support of our work with Info-Nepal, and have been getting positive feedback from most quarters. Hopefully I will have some good news to report with sponsors starting next week.

What I dread most at this moment is letting Naomi know she is due for yet another injection on Monday. I intend to bribe her: I bought her a cute little mermaid doll, for my little girl who wants to be a mermaid when she grows up.

Nepali Lessons

Naomi and I had our second Nepali 'lesson' yesterday, using the only Nepali Language program we could find, other than books, of which I have also ordered one that has not yet arrived. Now this may help us pick up a few words, but I am quite doubtful as to how much of the language I can really learn this way, Rosetta Stone it is not. And just who designs this stuff anyway? Some of the words in the vocabulary are truly absurd: do I really need to know how to say sailboat (Nepal is mountainous and landlocked, hello) or igloo in Nepali? Is anyone living in an igloo up there on Everest? I can now say things like "the rabbit is in the hat," and "the gorilla is on top of the car," but have yet to get to the important stuff like "where is the bathroom?" or "Do you speak English?" But you can play the memory card game with Nepali picture and word cards, which Naomi enjoys. Thanks to http://sharad325.blogspot.com you directed me to Nepali lessons on youtube, which I will definitely be checking out. I have studied 8 languages already, never by computer, so I remain skeptical.

Sock Monkeys and Fuglies for donations!

Hand-made fuglies and sock monkeys for donations! Fuglies for $25 or more, monkeys for $35 (incl North American shipping).

Watch Out! Here Comes Jenny From the Block!

Tomorrow is my last day of freedom from reality, I will be forced to rejoin the harsh, cold, winter world of commuting, classes by day, and work by night. Let there be no confusion about this, I don't actually permit anyone to call me Jenny, but it is something of a self-referential in-joke that come tax season, I become Jenny From the Block. So as not to get Dooced here, I'm not actually naming the company I work for, I'll leave that to your inquisitive minds, but rest assured, I don't actually prepare anyone's taxes, although since I passed biostatistics last term with what I consider to be flying colours, even my husband has agreed to stop making fun of my math skills. No, have no fear, I am Tax Office Hostess Extraordinaire! I am not dissing my employer, I had a great time as Jenny From the Block last year (believe me, I am the most shocked of all), and look forward to a continued run. But I am worried about managing a full class load and a job, while still having time for my kid (I guess Michael will just have to manage). As biostatistics was my enemy last term, this semester infectious diseases will likely cause me the most grief, but I find them far more interesting. We already have ebola virus and black plague plush toys at home.

Mission Statement

Did you ever want to lend a helping hand? Did you ever just need to get away?

For any new readers who aren't familiar with my story:

Four years ago I had a beautiful baby girl, Naomi. Then I got sick with constant migraines and post-partum depression, which continued for over 2 years. I started having a kind of mid-life crisis, disappointed that I hadn't reached goals I had set for myself. I always wanted to work in the developing world, doing some small measure of good. I have degrees in international development and sociology, and yet I never found an opportunity to put these to use in the field. Four days after Naomi turned one, on my husband's birthday, the Tsunami happened, breaking my heart even more. I could no longer sing lullabies to my daughter at night without starting to tear up, thinking of all those children, washed away. I clung tight to my baby girl, blessed that we are so fortunate to have her.

I couldn't work, I was on as many as 9 medications at once (some of the side effects were truly fantastic: eating too much, eating too little, exhaustion, facial twitching, and my personal favourite, hearing voices), I could barely hold myself together, while also going through a painful family crisis with my long-lost father. Financially, things were tough, as my husband and I had worked from home for years, in a business now failing. He got a job in a call centre, where he has quickly risen through the ranks to management, but that too has taken its toll. He suffers from severe headaches, insomnia, and burnout. Partially for the fear that Michael's job might not be enough security for us, after 2 years of trying to find a job myself that pays more than $10/hr, I went back to university last September to do a second master's degree, this time in the field of community health and epidemiology. I hope this leads me closer to my goal of working in the field of health in the developing world. Now between my class schedule, part-time job and Michael's shifts, some days we see each other for as little as 15 minutes a day. We've had a harder and harder time keeping things together, despite nearly 12 years together. We fight more, he becomes more withdrawn, I become more frustrated.

But then we had a revelation, out of the blue. We'll quit this First World, Pop Culture Lite Uncivilization, at least for a little while, and live our dream: we'll volunteer for an NGO called Info-Nepal near Pokhara, Nepal. We'll teach our daughter about compassion; that there is more to life than tv, computer games and Barbie dolls; show her that there are very different ways of living this life. We'll be able to make some small difference working in a village clinic, teaching English and computer skills to local kids, work in an orphanage in one of the poorest countries in the world. And maybe, hopefully, we'll find some personal renewal, strengthen a marriage that really needs a boost.

Party Cat

Here is Zoro, the Party Cat sporting one of Naomi's tiaras and posing for Naomi's new Little Tikes digital camera, on which Naomi has taken nearly 200 blurry photos primarily of the living room rug.

I spent New Year's as I spend many evenings, the only one awake past 10 pm (Michael, who is sick, was up later than usual), watching CSI reruns. Very thrilling. At midnight I wished Gary Sinise, Melina Kanakeredes, Anna Belknap, Hill Harper, hottie who used to play Rachel's boyfriend Tag on Friends, and my fave, Carmine, a Happy New Year before popping a couple of Advil Liquigels and toddling off to bed at the crack of 1 am. Before I became such a homebody I would no doubt have found myself dancing and drinking the night away at Reflections Cabaret, the gayest spot in town, where the drag queens may be more beautifully dressed than the women. I love gay clubs, less chance of dull straight men hitting on you, more chances to dance with sexy men who don't actually want anything from you.

But today Michael doesn't have to work, and he's feeling somewhat better even if his voice somewhat resembles Freddie Krueger's. It's family day. We are making crafts. Naomi got a dreamcatcher and book about Native traditions from her grandma, and so today we are set to make her a mask. I have also been making kooky stuffed dolls for a couple of days (3 completed, 2 more cut out) for Naomi and some of our friends' kids. They are awesome looking. Then I will continue playing the role of the perfect wholesome mom and wife by preparing a homemade meal of corn chowder with chipotle chilis and cheese and onion bread.