From Nat's Brain

Victories big and small

The Boy is mid-daycamp extravaganza. This week, he is at our alma mater, The University of Ottawa (U of Zero) attending the Junior Gee Gees Camp. One of the effects of being an only child is that if you want to have other kids to play with, you have to make friends fast, so new camps aren't much of an issue. Niether is making new friends.

What is intimidating to The Boy, however, is worrying about the swimming safety test. The pool, you see, is the Olympic-sized pool at Montpetit. It's deep! And the lifeguards, they don't want any injured or drowning kids on their hands. (Neither do I, really.) All kids need to be able to swim a half length of the pool without holding the side or touching the bottom. "It didn't matter how you did it, Mom, you could even kick with your legs all crooked." (He's not so much about the form my child.)

The Boy has been in swimming lessons all winter. But I must admit that I wasn't entirely convinced that he could do this. (Although he has developed a wicked dog paddle of late.) In fact, I was worried that I'd have to drag him kicking and screaming into camp for the rest of the week if he failed.

"But I did it Mom, and now I can go in the deep end and every thing," he explained excited. "But I'm not jumping off the tower."

And I am very proud. "Mom, I thought I would hate this camp, but you know what I really really love it." Part he loved the most. Lunch in the cafeteria. They have a set menu, he chose lasagna, potato wedges (and a turtle cookie.) And he got Fruitopia as a drink. "I like feeling like a college kid." Until you've navigated U of O with a hangover, my son, you ain't a college kid.

It's been a long time since I'd been on campus. I graduated in 1995. This morning I was struck by all the new buildings. Parking lots are now shining glittery new residences and labs. It's rather amazing to see. It's transformed. I suppose in 13 years, things are bound to change.

I have really fond memories of U of O. It was a good time (if not necessarily a great education.) We partied pretty hard core from 1989 to 1992. My memories of those years involved nursing hangovers, and wondering who would host the next get together (The Man held a few with his ex. Then R's parents went to Malaysia, for a long long time.) Amazing that you can still pull off a steady C+ drunk out of your gourd all the time. But now tuition fees are sky high, the students are younger and our bars are gone. A new residence on the site of one. Last I heard they'd turned 216 into the graduate students lounge.

This morning the gym's at Montpetit all the memories came flooding back. The smell of stress in the gym. They used to hold their exams there, and they still smell the same. There is a scene in the video for Wild Boys by Duran Duran, with kids being swept away from their desks. Exams in the gyms always felt that way.

I wonder if The Boy realizes that he began here in some way. This is where The Man and I became friends, then lovers. I looked at the degrees in the office, and I don't think about the courses (except for this truly exceptional one about linguistics of story telling -- which I still think about), I think about the people, the discussion and how much they help mold me.

But you know, over the course of two degrees, I don't think I ever once used that pool, and I never ate at the cafeteria.

Smells like fresh laundry

One of my favourite things about summer is that we get to hang the laundry out to dry -- we always use racks for drying out clothes. But there is something, about the smell of the clothing that has been cooked in the sunlight.

But this year has been a bit problematic. It seems the minute I decide to hang the clothing outside, clouds materialize out of nowhere. The temperature falls. And monsoon like rain falls from the sky. Drenching me and well, drenching the clothes. Last week was fun. I went to do groceries. The skies had opened, I got drenched. The clothes on the line -- so wet I had to run it through the spin cycle again. Alas. We've fucked up the planet. And well, my timing is off. I've rolled with it and moved on.

Yesterday, I pulled a pair capris off the rack. (They'd been out all day since they were damp the evening before.) I did the "No Rain" dance (yes, like the bee girl). I have broken the rain cycle! I pulled them need to look cute for my dinner date (with Kariann who totally rocksbtw.)

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooow!!!" I look down in horror... I have just been bitten by an earwig. The fates clearly aren't done with me yet.

I think I'm going to start using my dryer.

141!

We were driving back from the HBC Run for Canada 3K family walk/run and I saw a woman who was wearing the Canadian flag as a hijab. I thought it a bold choice and quite the comment on our society as a whole -- flaws and all. But today really wasn't about that. Not really.

When I first moved in with The Man, my mom made sure we established some of our own family traditions. Canada Day has been one of them. My parents who are all about celebrating most secular, religious and Hallmark events do not participate in two things. One is Halloween, the other is Canada Day. The Man's two favourite days: Halloween and Canada Day. Go figure. Some traditions are easy.

As such, in the 16 years we've been together. (God it's odd seeing it there.) Canada Day has always involved two things: A trip to downtown Ottawa to see the throngs of people, the buskers, the bands on the Hill and a greasy chip wagon lunch, and, fireworks.

Since we are both trying not to drop dead suddenly from excess FAT. I have radically reduced my poutine consumption. Effectively I have poutine once a year on Canada Day. (Poutine -- a Québecois dish consisting of french fries, gravy and cheese curds. ) The Boy had his first real poutine today. (He'd had designer poutine and a symphony concert, which while good, was not poutine! It was Lamb gravy, sweet potato fries and expensive mozza.) Note all the cheese curds are gone and he has that "Please sir may I have some more" look in his eye. If only we could get him to like curry this much we'd be gold. We started with the food because it encourages the walking and reduces the whining.

Then it was off to the War Memorial. We saw new statues around the War Monument including Laura Secord. (Apparently she's located along Valiants Memorial. Who knew?) Then we took a moment at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

(Not sure how the Foot Guards do it in the blazing heat.)

The Boy loved the Buskers (specially the guys on ladders and the drummer who used his body for beats.) If he likes the act or it tickles his fancy. He'll just wander up to the front and sit down. Then we, the parents, are committed. It's rather charming. (If it does cost me a fortune in tipping the entertainment.) I love that he likes live shows and theatre so much. Love it.

And as the popcorn has been popped, and the blankets for sitting have been folded. It's been a good day. This tradition, we'll have to hang onto.

Ghost of summers past

It's been a really hot pre-summer summer weekend. Dumb hot. The kind of hot that makes me miss winter. (I think I have polar bear in my blood.) But I must admit my new guilty pleasure is blogging from my deck (by candlelight no less). Wireless internet is better than sliced bread.

The deck is like my perch on the world. The house is really three storeys. It's a half basement which gives out into the backyard. Then there is a deck off the kitchen. The result is that the deck is raised up over the world and I can see into the other neighbours' yards (good to have a chat that's for sure). And I can watch the sky. Right now, the clouds are rolling in big fluffy cotton ball clouds. It's supposed to rain tonight. (I'm not entirely convinced it will.) It's 10 p.m. and there is still some residual sunlight -- but it's mostly dark now.

But it's been a good weekend though, a lazy summer weekend. The Original Milo's fourth birthday party on Saturday turned into Drink Club for the four hardcore moms who straggled on (The men kindly handled the brunt of the post party parenting solo, while we finished up the beer and the munchies.) I feel like I made some new friends. Kindred spirits of sorts.

I must admit crawling into bed past-midnight made morning a tad harsh. (Not as bad as I thought though.) But I suppose if you spread the booze over eight hours the first one is pretty much out of your system by midnight. Still feeling a bit green around the gills today. The heat, well, it's really not helping. But back to the women.

One of the women was Milo's aunt K. She lives in a haunted house. It's just up the hill from here. A few years ago, there was a massive house fire. The family was asleep when their 16 year old came home (he was supposed to be staying at a friend's house overnight.) As 16 year old boys do, he started fixing himself something to eat. He then fell asleep with food still on the burner. That's how the fire started. Mom and the other child (a girl I believe) got out of the house with no problem. And when the firemen asked her if anyone else was in the house, she said no. They found him in his room in the attic, where he died from smoke inhalation. (That poor woman, how do you live with that.)

K and her family a girl 15 and a boy 12 toured the house. Living in a town this size, they were well aware of the history. But it's a rental, and it's completely remodeled. Spacious. But she brought the kids by to make sure they weren't freaked out. Her boy picked the attic room. But she said she feels him in the house. The toilet flushes by itself. Drawers open. He's just hanging out she said. It's never malevolent, but something is there. If just hangs around. As if at 16, maybe the spirit needs to wander in the place he called home. Could she have a ghost? I must say the idea is appealing.

I guess it's a spiritual question of sorts. When asked to define my spiritual beliefs, I just don't know what to say. I don't believe in a creator-God (a la Christianity) but the idea of a greater cosmic consciousness is rather appealing. To leave behind some sort of footprint that people can pick up on. The cynic in me thinks it's just our wishful thinking that the departed aren't really ever gone. But part of me really wants to believe. What do you think?

Memories and culture...

I was reading Rude Cactus's weeklies and learned of Harvey Korman's death. Perhpas best known at the part of the crew on the Carole Burnett show.

Carole Burnett, Sonny and Cher and even The Osmonds were popular fodder at my house. My dad being a big fan of the variety show. (He still is really, his latest thing is with French-Canadian entertainer Gregory Charles who does a show complete with impressions. Not my thing but I have to respect it.) I remember being allowed to stay up late and watch Sonny and Cher and our favourite Carole Burnett. Maybe Mr Korman's passage has me reminiscing a little bit tonight about all that. (Go check out the dentist sketch. That stuff is gold.) Seriously. I must say that I do enjoy sketch comedy though very little has ever lived up to the Carol Burnet show. It made me fussy. And I'm ok with that.

Comedy sure isn't what it used to be that's for sure.

I have read all over the place about the cash grab new Sex and the City feature film. I was never a Sex in the City fan. I watch the show once staying at friends house, I thought it wasn't bad, which is to say I didn't think it was good and it certainly didn't blow my mind. So I'm a bit shocked at the to-do about the movie. Given the number of women who are out there doing cocktails and a movie, I'd say it's a big deal to them for sure. I just don't get why. Shoes, clothing and skinny self-obsessed women seeking men who will be as obsessed with them as they are with themselves-- I know, just like me right?

But it got me thinking. I spent a lot of time escorting a photographer for our annual report last week. I have been trying to pin point what it is about him. But I can't quite figure him out (not good or bad, maybe a bit too into himself in that artsy kind of way). In the scheme of things, I suppose it doesn't matter. Still he intrigues me -- the way many artists do. (Although, I was shocked how many people came up and claimed they were photographers. Standing next to him, I am pretty sure I just take pictures. I'm not even sure I'd call myself an amateur photographer. The man understands light.)

I suppose we are fundamentally fascinated by the same thing. The need to tell a story. My way just takes a lot of words, it's a painful arduous drawn out process at times. He does it with his images, and is far braver than I will ever be. Maybe it's the bravery in making a complete ass of yourself in comedy, or taking the perfect shot, there's a bravery there, think of any number of striking images you've seen, the Art. The perfectly executed sentence. Think art that speaks to you. (Even if it doesn't connect with everyone.) In my mind, great art, television, books should rise above and confront -- you may not like what you see, but it's there. It's not a comfortable place. I think to a certain extent both Korman and the photog share this.

Perhaps it's my problem with SATC. It doesn't do that. It's just four chicks in high heels getting laid. Been there, done that (in much more comfortable shoes.) I understand that's it's not suppose to be high art, but maybe I'd like it to make a bit more of a statement about the world I live in. The conspicuous consumption fashion at all cost somehow selling it as right. And well, I think it's this lack of decent real narrative that bugs me about the show. It's glamour with no substance.

While I can, on the surface see the appeal, I am just not sure it's worth the fuss.

Hot docs and new ideas

Ever feel like you need some sort of interface which would allow you to quickly and painless dump all the great blog ideas you had during the week in places far far away from the computer and dump them point form to be tweaked. Too many posts, so little time. Yet I sit here and stare at the curser.

Usually one weekend night, The Man walks down to the Videoflicks and gets two DVDs. (1) Family friendly fare (please submit your suggestions) and (2) a movie for him. Not us. Him. I'm not so much into movies, so you never can tell what I will watch. Well, actually, he probably can tell. Horror, senseless action, war, dumb comedies -- aren't my thing. However, bring home a documentary. I'm all over that.

Now this marked a clear departure from the film three weeks ago, Sweeny Todd (which was not nearly as good as it could have been, specially with actors like Rickman, Depp and Bonham-Carter -- I love JD.) I expected films with blood and guts to come home for the next little bit. Not so. Art-filled docs. Love it.

Manufactured Landscapes: An National Film Board sponsored film about how humanity has changed the world and created these new landscapes. It's a visually stunning film. Simply beautiful. Gives you pause, and made me think about the big picture. Reminiscent of Koyaanisqatsi and about getting the perfect shot, the repressed photog in me gets it -- wishes I had that kind of vision into projects. Worth seeing just for the opening sequence in the factory.

This week's grown up feature: Helvetica All about the typeface that changed the world, how it came to be, and what it means. Fascinating on so many levels, including a few people saying things that meant absolutely nothing to me (pretentious art snob that guy was). (Not sure it takes itself nearly as seriously as some of the graphic designers and typographers who are interviewed.) Definitely a new perspective for me on designers and how some view their work. Worth seeing if you are into art and design.

Last but not least, we do a lot of kid friendly fare with The Boy. This week was Young Sherlock Holmes, as written by Chris Columbus. As the title suggest about a teenaged Holmes and Watson solve a crime. The young sleuths meet at a boarding school in London. One can't help but notice that the hall where the boys eat bear a striking similarity to the Great Hall at Hogwarts and that a shot in a church looks a heck of a lot like the room at where Harry meets Voldemort for the first time. Just saying...

Anyone have any suggestions for films for 7 year old boys? (Ok, older than 7, we sort abide by the PG-13 rule. So Indiana Jones, or the Mummy is ok. Well, the mummy was a bit scary.)

Confession of a former print junkie

I know it's the right thing to do. For the last few months, our newspapers have sat, still in their rubber bands only to finally make it to the recycle box. I'd look at them all and feel guilty. The effort in layout, the effort in writing and photography. All those trees felled. But still they would sit.

The Man turned to me last night and said "You know, we should cancel the subscriptions."  He is right. Sigh. I've been putting off the idea. I love the idea of newspapers. I love the idea of sitting down and taking a few hours to peruse a good one. Heck, we are both trained as print journalist. The fact is,though, of late none of our local rags having enticing enough for me to pick them up. In fact, lately I have fallen totally and madly in love with my Google reader. I can get through a hell of a lot more information, a hell of a lot more quickly.  Instead of just The Citizen, Le Droit, and the Globe, I can get news from all over the world, set up in such a way that I can see it all quickly. (And how much do I love the BBC?)

It blows my mind how quickly things change. If the die-hard paper readers like us, are switching over to digital media, I expect that over the next few decades more and the newspaper as I grew up with it will cease to exist. And I wonder what significance it has. Is it simply akin to going from vinyl, to CD and now to digital? Or does it signal a more profound shift in the way news is reported?

I do think it means more timely reporting, and with blogging people now have a variety of ways to get analysis. Still it's sad in a way, change is difficult but sometimes necessary. Sort of like sitting back and taking a look at your life. The money we'll save (about $800a year) will be well spent on other new and wonderful luxuries. Family time and our trip to Newfoundland.

So who are you?

I suppose it would happen eventually, I would end up getting tagged in a meme. Lilly asked me draft my six word memoir meme.

I'm not so much about the tagging. So if you want to play please feel free.

Love. Laughter. Compassion. Beauty. Strength. Adventure.

Tom Thompson came paddling past

When Three Pistols by Tragically Hip plays on the old iPod, The Boy will say to me "You know they aren't sure how Tom Thompson died." The famous painter took off for a paddle on Canoe Lake in Algonquin Park in 1917 and was never seen alive again. At the time, they said he'd drowned. But, as with all artists there has to be a bit of drama eh? There was talk of suicide, love affairs and business deals gone bad. (Heck even a crazy neighbour.)

The Boy knows this because his favourite show is called Mystery Hunters and they explore whacky and unusual stories of the world to try and debunk some myths. (Area 51, ghost stories, all sorts of pretty cool stuff.)

As an aside, From what I can tell only three seasons of the show were made. Which means that since we started watching it every week night, I have seen every single episode at least five times. (Doubting Dave makes it all worth it.) The Boy insists on watching it with one of us, lest he get completely freaked out.

We were watching Mystery Hunters tonight (episode in India. The Boy wants to go ride an elephant), I was going through the (unmanageable) feeds in my reader. Imagine my surprise when I came across a story about Tom Thompson's death and a new website about Canadian Mysteries. Now the Chief Coroner of Ontario is not so sure they can conclude that Tom Thompson drowned.

Looks like I found an entirely new way to waste a lot of time. Maybe I'll let The Boy read over my shoulder this time. ;) And I've been humming the Tragically Hip song ever since.

Dancing in the dark...

Let it be known that I am very concerned about the state of the environment. Very. But this Earth Hour, to me seemed to be all marketing with very little real long last impact. (And it might have given the very wrong impression that turning the lights off for an hour is going to solve the dirty mess that is this planet.) The Man heard about it and decided this was a great idea. The Boy got very excited.

We played by the rules here folks. No light, no screens, we did leave the fridge on, the heat, and I wasn't resetting all those clocks. We turned all the computers off. (All four of them, the computers outnumber the people in this house.) Candlelight only, no lanterns. 8 p.m. is dusk in our neck of the woods (almost dark) pretty soon our little family of three was sitting around the kitchen table playing board games. Great fun. In fact, The Boy was so excited that we started a bit early.

It was actually really nice to be sitting there the three of us all cosy around many many candles. I am impressed how different the light from different candles were. (Long tapers for romantic dinner... lots of light, big thick pillar candles not so much.) It's gives the house a much softer look. Reminiscent of that big power outage.

We decide on UNO. The problem is that it's getting pretty damned dark. And as we all know, in order to play UNO you need to be able to distinguish colours. Blue and green by candlelight look the same. Boy manages to burn himself on a candle. Damn. Still we have a good time. I won.

The problems is that The Boy is very afraid of the dark. So when The Man went outside to smoke. I needed to pee, the little man followed me. The candle in the bathroom went out which freaked him out even more. "MOM! Now what are we going to do." So I picked up the candle not realizing how much wax there (it's one of those big thick ones.) The Boy is in the way. I don't want to get wax on him, "Boy, Move!" but I think he is practicing his tree at night impression. "Go now -- back to the kitchen" "But mom it's dark." (Poor kid) But now there is wax on the carpet, on my foot and the stuff on my hand REALLY burns. We stomp back to the kitchen.

I realized that pouring hot wax on my body is never one of those fetishes I could get into. I also realize that if I lived in the 1800, if I would no doubt burn the village down. God it's only 8:20 and look at the mess by 9, I expect the paramedics and the fire department. (Mmmmm... firemen.) I wonder what the carbon impact of the house burning down is.

The Man thinks Scrabble might be a better game (no colours). It was fun in the dark. Nine rolled around and we just kept sitting by candlelight. The Man won the game. The Boy beat me (he was getting a bit of help from his dad and I but he did come up with a few words himself.) Good tiles. No vowels. Honestly, he did very well (with a little help from his parents.) And then almost fell asleep at the kitchen table. (We kept him up a bit late. We're his parents.) My ego is bruised.

Kind of sad when it was over. Nothing like healthy competition between family members to get the games going. I'm thinking, maybe we'll have to do another candlelight game night soon.