...and just like that, there is news!
I didn't check my email until later in the evening last night, so I didn't see that I had been invited to a second interview (in person, this time) with the Mowat Centre in Toronto! I consider it to be a positive sign that the new policy director has requested this interview in person, and now I have to turn some attention to the contingency planning for any outcome from this interview.
Positive vibes...
...Wish you were here!
Sunday, October 21, 2012
October 17/12
...and it's back to work.
Booooo!
Today, despite my flu, I got up and trudged off to the office.
I don't enjoy going there these days; I've been "reorganized" into a new group with new responsibilities (in addition to my old ones), and it just so happens it's a coordination group. I'd be lying if I said this change was good for me. It's a group whose function irritated me when I was just a "client" and I don't feel I'm the "best fit" for this group. To be honest, the only reason I'm there is because I am now the department's sole policy staff on my program, and in the reorganization, my program was moved to this group. I don't believe it makes a lot of sense for this program to be moved to a coordination group with no experience in running a program, but certain strong feelings and behind-the-scenes activities are responsible for this change.
So I was not exactly walking into the office with the best of mindsets, and being sick means I might as well wear a sign saying I'm Typhoid Mary for all the looks I got as I tried to drain my face of the excess of mucus currently overstuffing my sinuses. If I didn't want to be there, and people didn't want me to be there, why did I go? Well, mostly because neither the illness nor my professionalism were bad enough not to. I might be unhappy, but that's no excuse not to show up and do my best.
I just have to hope that something in my vast job search turns up soon.
Keeping the hope alive...
...Wish you were here.
Booooo!
Today, despite my flu, I got up and trudged off to the office.
I don't enjoy going there these days; I've been "reorganized" into a new group with new responsibilities (in addition to my old ones), and it just so happens it's a coordination group. I'd be lying if I said this change was good for me. It's a group whose function irritated me when I was just a "client" and I don't feel I'm the "best fit" for this group. To be honest, the only reason I'm there is because I am now the department's sole policy staff on my program, and in the reorganization, my program was moved to this group. I don't believe it makes a lot of sense for this program to be moved to a coordination group with no experience in running a program, but certain strong feelings and behind-the-scenes activities are responsible for this change.
So I was not exactly walking into the office with the best of mindsets, and being sick means I might as well wear a sign saying I'm Typhoid Mary for all the looks I got as I tried to drain my face of the excess of mucus currently overstuffing my sinuses. If I didn't want to be there, and people didn't want me to be there, why did I go? Well, mostly because neither the illness nor my professionalism were bad enough not to. I might be unhappy, but that's no excuse not to show up and do my best.
I just have to hope that something in my vast job search turns up soon.
Keeping the hope alive...
...Wish you were here.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
October 16/12
I don't like to reflect on the sadness that this day bears every year. Eighteen years ago today, the community of Yellowknife, especially its high school population, was rocked by the deaths of two students in a terrible single-car collision that involved drunk driving.
Leading up to that point, I had lost a friend to a drug overdose, and my mother's cousin lost a son to disease, one of the tragic victims of the tainted blood scandal of the 80's. What I didn't know on October 16, 1994, was that I was just days from losing my favourite uncle to stomach cancer. He died on Hallowe'en. While both high schools grieved the loss of a student, I was hit with just a tidal wave of death. Of course I mourned the guys, Davey and Andrew; but I had just lost Jayson, and now a death of a second cousin. That day, I collapsed at school under the weight of the grief. Of course, almost everyone thought I was being a drama queen (comes naturally when you were, in fact, a drama queen), but almost everyone didn't know about the two other deaths in my life. Compounding this was my uncle's death days later. And it was decided only my father would attend the funeral in Fort Smith. So when I lashed the fuck out at my bio teacher who was riding my ass for something in class, it was shocking to everyone there, given that I was generally a good student, not prone to disruption. Once he learned about my uncle (which he could verify, as his parents lived in Fort Smith), he took it easy on me for a while.
Looking back over the years, other things have happened in October that give me so many reasons to truly hate and despise this month every year. I hate that in the span of 27 days in 1994, so many people died around me. I hate that a drunken friend's stupid, thoughtless actions led to one of my best friends being turned against me. I hate that October was always fraught with stupid drama leading up to Hallowe'en dances. I hate that in October 2001, my Gramma suffered a stroke which contributed to her death a month later, and I hated that I spent every day for three weeks in the hospital, watching her slowly deteriorate. Some wonderful things have happened to me in October, but they were overshadowed every year, like a curse, the months of October and November come upon me, signalling a long winter ahead.
Over the years, I've been learning to just shut up and stew in my hatred of October.
But this year has been different. For the first time, I had such excitement and joy as I traveled to Switzerland and celebrated a new beginning with Etienne's family. I saw fantastic places, I smiled, I ate, the sun was shining. It was a dose of Life in October that I hadn't felt in years.
Reasons to smile...
...Wish you were here.
Leading up to that point, I had lost a friend to a drug overdose, and my mother's cousin lost a son to disease, one of the tragic victims of the tainted blood scandal of the 80's. What I didn't know on October 16, 1994, was that I was just days from losing my favourite uncle to stomach cancer. He died on Hallowe'en. While both high schools grieved the loss of a student, I was hit with just a tidal wave of death. Of course I mourned the guys, Davey and Andrew; but I had just lost Jayson, and now a death of a second cousin. That day, I collapsed at school under the weight of the grief. Of course, almost everyone thought I was being a drama queen (comes naturally when you were, in fact, a drama queen), but almost everyone didn't know about the two other deaths in my life. Compounding this was my uncle's death days later. And it was decided only my father would attend the funeral in Fort Smith. So when I lashed the fuck out at my bio teacher who was riding my ass for something in class, it was shocking to everyone there, given that I was generally a good student, not prone to disruption. Once he learned about my uncle (which he could verify, as his parents lived in Fort Smith), he took it easy on me for a while.
Looking back over the years, other things have happened in October that give me so many reasons to truly hate and despise this month every year. I hate that in the span of 27 days in 1994, so many people died around me. I hate that a drunken friend's stupid, thoughtless actions led to one of my best friends being turned against me. I hate that October was always fraught with stupid drama leading up to Hallowe'en dances. I hate that in October 2001, my Gramma suffered a stroke which contributed to her death a month later, and I hated that I spent every day for three weeks in the hospital, watching her slowly deteriorate. Some wonderful things have happened to me in October, but they were overshadowed every year, like a curse, the months of October and November come upon me, signalling a long winter ahead.
Over the years, I've been learning to just shut up and stew in my hatred of October.
But this year has been different. For the first time, I had such excitement and joy as I traveled to Switzerland and celebrated a new beginning with Etienne's family. I saw fantastic places, I smiled, I ate, the sun was shining. It was a dose of Life in October that I hadn't felt in years.
Reasons to smile...
...Wish you were here.
October 15/12
AAAAAANNNNDDD cue travel.
It seems to be a tradition these days that when I travel, I come back sick. This spring, while in Phoenix, I caught the flu from hell, and had to fly back with a wicked-bad fever, aches, pains, and bad lethargy. Before that it was Vancouver and a cold, and before that Fort Lauderdale and a virus of some kind.
So it should come as no surprise that I woke up at 5 am this morning feeling slow. I put it down to being tired and getting up so early. We were off to the airport by 6 am, and our journey began. Through Swiss security and passport control, across France and the English Channel to Heathrow.
This time, we had a two hour layover, so the panic was not a factor, but this time we were traveling on American Airlines, which meant we had to check in again to get on our flight to Chicago. Change terminals, through security (AGAIN), on the flight for NINE hours, and this time, that rickety old plane only had four screens and played two movies (Men In Black III and Margin Call) which I wasn't interested in. I prefer being able to choose on my own personal in-flight entertainment system built into the headrest of the seat in front of me. But I had a bigger problem to deal with: a nasal drip and stuffed sinuses from hell! Nine hours of it! Those little barf bags the airlines provide? I filled mine with used tissues. So gross.
The worst part is that I had personally contacted the airline weeks ago to order the Gluten-Free meals for Etienne, but I had a bad feeling when I did, because the chatty girl at the other end of the AA call centre didn't know what Gluten-Free was, and spent half the call telling me about her friend who has an eating disorder. As I suspected, American Airlines fucked up, and Etienne was given regular meals, which he could only eat a small part of. HUGE fail, American Airlines. A nine-hour flight with almost no food? You'll be getting a complaint.
In Chicago, we faced only a 1.5 hour layover, during which time, we were supposed to get through customs, get our bags, check in (AGAIN), drop off our bags, change terminals, go through security (AGAIN), and haul ass to the very farthest gate possible. The only saving grace is that American Airlines has designed a fairly sophisticated system for shuttling passengers with fairly tight connections through all of this, but not without a few hiccups: we whizzed past the line-ups through customs, but had to wait 15 minutes for our bags; then we whizzed through check in and bag drop, only to be stopped by the wait for the tram that goes between terminals. Once at the new terminal, we are whizzed past the huge line up for security, but they only had two screening points open, so we had to wait and wait and wait our turn. After we get through security, we were on our own, so we race to the far end of the terminal to our gate, with about 5 minutes to spare. So well done American Airlines...sort of.
In two short hours, we were finally back in Ottawa, but the long flights played havoc with my knee, which swelled up and stiffened so much I couldn't walk properly. We were through customs quickly and on our way home to be reunited with our precious baby kitties!
Coming home to Max and Princess Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
It seems to be a tradition these days that when I travel, I come back sick. This spring, while in Phoenix, I caught the flu from hell, and had to fly back with a wicked-bad fever, aches, pains, and bad lethargy. Before that it was Vancouver and a cold, and before that Fort Lauderdale and a virus of some kind.
So it should come as no surprise that I woke up at 5 am this morning feeling slow. I put it down to being tired and getting up so early. We were off to the airport by 6 am, and our journey began. Through Swiss security and passport control, across France and the English Channel to Heathrow.
This time, we had a two hour layover, so the panic was not a factor, but this time we were traveling on American Airlines, which meant we had to check in again to get on our flight to Chicago. Change terminals, through security (AGAIN), on the flight for NINE hours, and this time, that rickety old plane only had four screens and played two movies (Men In Black III and Margin Call) which I wasn't interested in. I prefer being able to choose on my own personal in-flight entertainment system built into the headrest of the seat in front of me. But I had a bigger problem to deal with: a nasal drip and stuffed sinuses from hell! Nine hours of it! Those little barf bags the airlines provide? I filled mine with used tissues. So gross.
The worst part is that I had personally contacted the airline weeks ago to order the Gluten-Free meals for Etienne, but I had a bad feeling when I did, because the chatty girl at the other end of the AA call centre didn't know what Gluten-Free was, and spent half the call telling me about her friend who has an eating disorder. As I suspected, American Airlines fucked up, and Etienne was given regular meals, which he could only eat a small part of. HUGE fail, American Airlines. A nine-hour flight with almost no food? You'll be getting a complaint.
In Chicago, we faced only a 1.5 hour layover, during which time, we were supposed to get through customs, get our bags, check in (AGAIN), drop off our bags, change terminals, go through security (AGAIN), and haul ass to the very farthest gate possible. The only saving grace is that American Airlines has designed a fairly sophisticated system for shuttling passengers with fairly tight connections through all of this, but not without a few hiccups: we whizzed past the line-ups through customs, but had to wait 15 minutes for our bags; then we whizzed through check in and bag drop, only to be stopped by the wait for the tram that goes between terminals. Once at the new terminal, we are whizzed past the huge line up for security, but they only had two screening points open, so we had to wait and wait and wait our turn. After we get through security, we were on our own, so we race to the far end of the terminal to our gate, with about 5 minutes to spare. So well done American Airlines...sort of.
In two short hours, we were finally back in Ottawa, but the long flights played havoc with my knee, which swelled up and stiffened so much I couldn't walk properly. We were through customs quickly and on our way home to be reunited with our precious baby kitties!
Coming home to Max and Princess Purrball...
...Wish you were here.
October 14/12
...or, otherwise known as "October 13th: Part II."
The thing about Quebecois/European wedding receptions is that they tend to be structured differently than North American ones. My experiences of wedding receptions is that we eat, speeches happen, there's cake, etc. and then we're on the dance floor by 10:00 or 10:30 for the first dance. Not so in the experience outside of Anglo-North America. They have all five courses and do games or show slide shows in between. So you literally can sit there all night eating. If there's dancing, it usually not started until after midnight.
But whatever the format, in all experiences, where it is had, the alcohol flows freely! I stopped drinking by about 2 am, but Etienne, who was quite drunk, kept on going until nearly 4 am, when I finally hauled him off the dance floor, away from the 20 or so people still left partying (very drunk bride and groom included). We had to check out of our room by noon, so when we woke up some 5 hours later at 10:30, Etienne was still drunk (as were several people, I found out). We packed our sorry, tired selves back up in to the car, and headed across the border, back to Onex for much needed sleep.
When we finally stirred at close to 4 pm, I started the daunting task of packing, as we're leaving Switzerland tomorrow, and we had a lot more stuff than we arrived with. All of this while tired and hungover.
But it was a great party...
...Wish you were here!
After the wedding, everyone headed to the apéritif in the next town up the coast of Lake Geneva, Coppet. For those not familiar with this event (a common event in European weddings), it's like a cocktail hour for everyone, preceding the wedding reception which is for a smaller crowd, usually at a different location. Once there, I awkwardly alternated between listening to the conversations of Etienne's friends, and wandering off alone while the wedding photos were being taken. Everyone chattered on in French, German, and Italian around me, and I just quietly fell back to observe.
Finally, when all the photos were done, we were back in the car again, on our way to the reception at a hotel in Divonne, France. I didn't know what to expect other than eating all night. The seating chart called for me to be seated at the head table between a friend of Etienne's who turned out to be a shoe designer, and a young Bulgarian who didn't speak French. The idea was that the two English-speakers would be able to talk to each other, but as I learned prior to the wedding, this guy was 24. I had my doubts; even if we did speak English, there was no guarantee we'd have anything to talk about, with a 10 year age gap. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about, because this guy was in the same field as my ex-husband (Management and Information Systems), working at CERN. Yes, That CERN. We had plenty of pleasant, intelligent conversation, much to my relief. Whenever we weren't chatting, one of the two little girls, Lila, kept commanding my attention (and my iPhone), so her mother got to enjoy a couple of courses instead of eating and managing a four year old AND a two year old. Before I knew it, it was midnight!
The thing about Quebecois/European wedding receptions is that they tend to be structured differently than North American ones. My experiences of wedding receptions is that we eat, speeches happen, there's cake, etc. and then we're on the dance floor by 10:00 or 10:30 for the first dance. Not so in the experience outside of Anglo-North America. They have all five courses and do games or show slide shows in between. So you literally can sit there all night eating. If there's dancing, it usually not started until after midnight.
But whatever the format, in all experiences, where it is had, the alcohol flows freely! I stopped drinking by about 2 am, but Etienne, who was quite drunk, kept on going until nearly 4 am, when I finally hauled him off the dance floor, away from the 20 or so people still left partying (very drunk bride and groom included). We had to check out of our room by noon, so when we woke up some 5 hours later at 10:30, Etienne was still drunk (as were several people, I found out). We packed our sorry, tired selves back up in to the car, and headed across the border, back to Onex for much needed sleep.
When we finally stirred at close to 4 pm, I started the daunting task of packing, as we're leaving Switzerland tomorrow, and we had a lot more stuff than we arrived with. All of this while tired and hungover.
But it was a great party...
...Wish you were here!
October 13/12
The bride was stunning in a lace dress, the groom looked fashionable in a light grey suit, white vest, and white cravat; but it was Etienne in his new suit, looking so handsome, who I had my eye on. Today was it: Wedding Day!
The whole house was up relatively early, eating and starting all of those last minute preparations: Andre and Denis washed the car and adorned it with white ribbons; Anne gathered everything that needed ironing and set to work; Etienne...he tried to handle me as I ran into small disasters getting ready: my nail polish kept getting ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired; and my curling iron broke, leaving me upset that I would have to have flat, dull hair all day, or else do my hair in one of its all-too-common twists or ponytails which I do for work only because I'm too lazy and inept to do my hair. I opted for flat and boring because the dress was too nice for my usual hair "style."
We all dressed, and once more I waited for the feeling that Etienne looked like a stranger in a suit (I seriously had trouble ever thinking of him in a suit), but this time, it didn't happen. This time, he looked so handsome and, well, powerful, if I'm completely honest. He looked confident and elegant. I felt plain next to him.
We all set off to Versoix for the wedding, and I was seated with one of Etienne's stepsisters and her family: a cool Australian husband and two pretty, adorable little girls who had slowly been warming up to me over the past couple of days. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the two and a half year old was not okay with sitting quietly for an hour, but she was quite sweet, so I didn't mind.
It was time for the entrances. Etienne was escorting his cousin down the aisle, ahead of the bride and her father, and while I looked forward to finally seeing the dress (always the one thing I look for when a wedding is involved), I was stopped short by a sight that made me forget everything and just feel so much love: Etienne was nearly in tears. I've never seen him cry before, but on wonderful, special days filled with meaning for him and a sister he loves, I guess Etienne is just a big, tender, softy. Turns out the whole family are criers, as I learned when Andre tried to discretely pass Shanti (the bride) a tissue.
The ceremony proceeded, and I was nervous because all of the members of the wedding party had to make a short speech. I had an idea of what Etienne might say, but now I was wondering if he'd be okay to do it, as I watched him tear up from time to time. He was the last to speak, so I had to wait...and watch. When he finally came to the microphone, he composed himself and starting to tell an amusing story about how Shanti, his baby sister, and Laurent, his best friend, became a couple. But when he opened up to talk about the joy of this event, this wedding, he briefly broke down again, which pretty much made him steal the hearts of everyone in that church. You couldn't help but applaud! It was beautiful, loving, and tender...everything you would want from a loving brother on your wedding day.
Heartfelt love on your wedding day...
...Wish you were here.
The whole house was up relatively early, eating and starting all of those last minute preparations: Andre and Denis washed the car and adorned it with white ribbons; Anne gathered everything that needed ironing and set to work; Etienne...he tried to handle me as I ran into small disasters getting ready: my nail polish kept getting ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired, ruined and repaired; and my curling iron broke, leaving me upset that I would have to have flat, dull hair all day, or else do my hair in one of its all-too-common twists or ponytails which I do for work only because I'm too lazy and inept to do my hair. I opted for flat and boring because the dress was too nice for my usual hair "style."
We all dressed, and once more I waited for the feeling that Etienne looked like a stranger in a suit (I seriously had trouble ever thinking of him in a suit), but this time, it didn't happen. This time, he looked so handsome and, well, powerful, if I'm completely honest. He looked confident and elegant. I felt plain next to him.
We all set off to Versoix for the wedding, and I was seated with one of Etienne's stepsisters and her family: a cool Australian husband and two pretty, adorable little girls who had slowly been warming up to me over the past couple of days. Unfortunately, as is always the case, the two and a half year old was not okay with sitting quietly for an hour, but she was quite sweet, so I didn't mind.
It was time for the entrances. Etienne was escorting his cousin down the aisle, ahead of the bride and her father, and while I looked forward to finally seeing the dress (always the one thing I look for when a wedding is involved), I was stopped short by a sight that made me forget everything and just feel so much love: Etienne was nearly in tears. I've never seen him cry before, but on wonderful, special days filled with meaning for him and a sister he loves, I guess Etienne is just a big, tender, softy. Turns out the whole family are criers, as I learned when Andre tried to discretely pass Shanti (the bride) a tissue.
The ceremony proceeded, and I was nervous because all of the members of the wedding party had to make a short speech. I had an idea of what Etienne might say, but now I was wondering if he'd be okay to do it, as I watched him tear up from time to time. He was the last to speak, so I had to wait...and watch. When he finally came to the microphone, he composed himself and starting to tell an amusing story about how Shanti, his baby sister, and Laurent, his best friend, became a couple. But when he opened up to talk about the joy of this event, this wedding, he briefly broke down again, which pretty much made him steal the hearts of everyone in that church. You couldn't help but applaud! It was beautiful, loving, and tender...everything you would want from a loving brother on your wedding day.
Heartfelt love on your wedding day...
...Wish you were here.
October 12/12
After nearly two years of planning, it's finally the night before the wedding!
Etienne and I spent the afternoon in town, running final errands required for both the wedding and the end of our trip. His suit was ready for pick up, and I needed to find a stylish, last-minute jewellery solution for my Medic-Alert medallion. Once that was done, we took advantage of the last few precious hours available for indulging our Geneva tourist urges. Etienne took me for a walk through the city's venerable Parc de Bastions, home to the tributes of the founders of the Reform movement, as well as prominent intellectuals, scholars, and citizens of Geneva, with the exception of Jean-Jacques Rousseau...he gets a whole island to himself at the confluence of Lake Geneva and the Rhone river.
We raced to the train station to catch the train to Versoix, afraid we'd be late for the wedding rehearsal, but we made it to the church on time (somewhere, someone is probably breaking out into the chorus of 'Get Me to the Church On Time' from My Fair Lady; I know this because I did it!). We had a good time at the rehearsal, followed by a nice Italian dinner in Versoix before Etienne, his uncle and I caught the train to Geneva, then the tram to Onex to settle in for the night. We have to get to bed somewhat early because the big day is tomorrow!
The night before...
...Wish you were here.
Etienne and I spent the afternoon in town, running final errands required for both the wedding and the end of our trip. His suit was ready for pick up, and I needed to find a stylish, last-minute jewellery solution for my Medic-Alert medallion. Once that was done, we took advantage of the last few precious hours available for indulging our Geneva tourist urges. Etienne took me for a walk through the city's venerable Parc de Bastions, home to the tributes of the founders of the Reform movement, as well as prominent intellectuals, scholars, and citizens of Geneva, with the exception of Jean-Jacques Rousseau...he gets a whole island to himself at the confluence of Lake Geneva and the Rhone river.
We raced to the train station to catch the train to Versoix, afraid we'd be late for the wedding rehearsal, but we made it to the church on time (somewhere, someone is probably breaking out into the chorus of 'Get Me to the Church On Time' from My Fair Lady; I know this because I did it!). We had a good time at the rehearsal, followed by a nice Italian dinner in Versoix before Etienne, his uncle and I caught the train to Geneva, then the tram to Onex to settle in for the night. We have to get to bed somewhat early because the big day is tomorrow!
The night before...
...Wish you were here.
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