As a little girl, I remember the schoolyard seemed endless as I tried to run from one end to another. Hills seemed to tilt precariously as I rolled down them. Trees towered above me and I felt miles above ground as I climbed them. The world was a gigantic place to be explored and discovered.
When I came back to these places years later, suddenly everything was smaller, shorter, less steep. The magnitude and mystery of the world was reduced in the rational eyes of an adult.
One thing I'm learning with age - some things, like fine wine, do get better with time. Take, for instance cupcakes.
The cupcakes of my childhood were flat and dry with watery icing. Multicoloured sprinkles were about as exciting as it got. But in recent years, these flat excuses for cake in a cup seem to have gotten a face lift. All of a sudden, they seem to have morphed into these moist creations adorned with generous doses of buttery icing and all kinds of creative flavours I'd never dreamed of as a child.
Sure, most of the time these new cupcakes are more icing than cake. Actually, most of the time there's more icing than any of us would admit to eating in public. But secretely, I enjoy the excuse of being able to indulge in that extra little bit of sweetness - somehow what seems wrong when eaten straight out of the Betty Crocker jar seems right if it's artistically presented on a round dollop of cake.
Lately I feel like this new generation of cupcakes seem to have exploded into the popular consciousness of adults (primarily women - I don't think my husband would be caught dead eating a creamy pink cupcake). They're everywhere, with stores dedicated to them, local coffee shops selling them next to Nanaimo bars, cookies and muffins, cupcake-decorated pyjamas and even a reality show.
And they're not being marketed to children, either. Whereas cupcakes were once the stuff of kids' birthday parties, today's second generation of cupcakes is being purchased (or baked) by office workers as treats for colleagues. They're a snack to accompany a snooty coffee. Towers of cupcakes are now popular alternatives to wedding cakes.
Why?
Is this recent popularity of these newer, prettier cupcakes really just an excuse to eat more icing without the guilt? Is it a secret desire to return to that innocence of childhood, even if just for the fleeting moment it takes to eat those three or four mouthfuls?
Or is it just me?
Ever have that thing happen where you notice someone once, and all of a sudden they're everywhere? Or you notice a certain colour and suddenly you're surrounded by it? Am I doing this with cupcakes? Do I just like saying "cupcake"? And what do cupcakes have to do with my first blog on this site in four years (after a short hiatus on another blog because I forgot my password to this one ;) )?
Not a lot, and yet something.
Cause lately not only have I been noticing cupcakes everywhere, but blogs seem to be everywhere I look, too. And suddenly, I want to write mine again.
Perhaps it's just me, but perhaps it is indeed a growing trend. Maybe it's because I've finally run my marathon (more on that in a future post) and have time to write on my hands; maybe it's because I'm surrounding myself more and more with good writers who inspire me. Whatever the reason, now that my husband and I are married and Halifax is starting to feel like home, I've taken a hankering to writing again for writing's sake, and this blog seems like a great place to do that.
What will this blog be about? How do writing, editing, running, yoga and nature all fit together? I'm not sure. All I know is that these are themes that have defined my life for years. And although the communicator in me says, "know your audience," I admit - I have no idea who my readers will be.
All I can wish is that this will be a place for random musings, observation and discussion; not proselytizing. And I know there are other bloggers out there who have the gift of the gab in ways that I don't. But hopefully others will find things here that inspire them, or at least get them chatting.
Actually, now that I think of it, cupcakes really are a great metaphor for what I envision this reincarnation of my blog will be - pretty, yummy sweet indulgences that have you licking your fingers and coming back for more.
So welcome, reader, whoever you are. I hope you'll keep coming back for more than just the crumbs.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Poetry Thursday
Uncomfortable poetry.
Writing about my family, particularily my dad, has always been uncomfortable for me. Coming from a strict British household where the world "love" was rarely said, but often showed, it was difficult for me to show my dad how much I love him. Even worse was seeing him cry for the first time ever when he dropped me off for my first day of university.
This is one of the first poems I ever wrote where I was able to break down those walls and show him how much I do care for him. I'm just not sure if he's ever read it, or if he would ever feel comfortable reading it...
Daddy's girl
Every morning,
he tames her hair
into two ribboned pigtails.
In the evenings,
pink fuzzy creature,
flurry of fat legs
and shiny Mary Janes
races down the pravement
to greet him home.
His china doll,
he likes to say
sitting tickled in summer grasses.
The day he drops
her off at university,
she knows he can cry.
Writing about my family, particularily my dad, has always been uncomfortable for me. Coming from a strict British household where the world "love" was rarely said, but often showed, it was difficult for me to show my dad how much I love him. Even worse was seeing him cry for the first time ever when he dropped me off for my first day of university.
This is one of the first poems I ever wrote where I was able to break down those walls and show him how much I do care for him. I'm just not sure if he's ever read it, or if he would ever feel comfortable reading it...
Daddy's girl
Every morning,
he tames her hair
into two ribboned pigtails.
In the evenings,
pink fuzzy creature,
flurry of fat legs
and shiny Mary Janes
races down the pravement
to greet him home.
His china doll,
he likes to say
sitting tickled in summer grasses.
The day he drops
her off at university,
she knows he can cry.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Saturday morning yoga class
The studio is dimly lit this morning, from the windows at the end of a low-ceilinged room. All around, mats are unrolled with a “thwack” as students wander in, dotting the floor in rubber rectangles of grey, blue, and pink. To my side, a man in too-tight bicycle shorts (the kind that used to be fashionable in the eighties) and a blue tank top practices yoga poses. The skin on his spindly arms is stretched taught across muscles that are remarkably well developed for someone so skinny. Rolling onto his back, he raises his legs to the ceiling, arms propping his back up. His neck now tightly bucked into his chest, I hear him exhale, mouth closed. Crossing his legs, he lowers them into a reversed lotus position, bald head gleaming in the light of the window behind us. Inhales, exhales. Raises his legs, and lowers them to the ground. Beside him, a cluster of women stands around a mat, clutching water bottles and trading stories about their husbands and children. Other students lie in the relaxation pose, stretch or practice balances.
Diagonally across from me, an old Chinese woman, wearing a paisley blue sweater and light blue pyjama-like pants, has walked in. Every so often, she rubs her hair frantically and shakes her head with a twitch. Her breathing is sharp and shallow and she gulps air in like a grounded fish while clutching her chest as though she’s having a heart attack. As I watch her with growing concern, a man who I take to be her husband walks in and unrolls his mat next to hers, completely ignoring her erratic behaviour. She takes a drink from her water bottle, and mutters something to him in Mandarin. Beside them, another couple practices a pose and compare notes on how best to execute it.
Just then, another man walks in, burgundy yoga mat slung over his shoulder, tied at both ends with a white strap. His black hair is peppered with grey, and reminds me of a young Einstein in its manic unkemptness. Although he’s tried to tame it by pulling it back in a tiny ponytail, the sides still spray out from his head on either side like a poodle. Crossing the floor to the front of the room, his flip flops make light flapping sounds against the wooden floor. A black YMCA tank top marks him as the instructor, and as usual, his white boxers show through. For someone who is supposed to be a yoga master, he looks remarkably tired, and sports a five-o’clock shadow even though it’s early morning. As he weaves his way between clusters of students, he greets individuals with a nod and a low hello. Throughout the room, groups dissipate and people stand at the front of their mats, waiting in anticipation. The chatter dissolves into a low murmur. The instructor opens his mouth, and out croaks the voice of a Russian Kermit the Frog. We are invited to stand at the front of our mats, feet parallel, arms hanging down. Breathing in, we bring our hands to prayer position. Yoga class begins.
Diagonally across from me, an old Chinese woman, wearing a paisley blue sweater and light blue pyjama-like pants, has walked in. Every so often, she rubs her hair frantically and shakes her head with a twitch. Her breathing is sharp and shallow and she gulps air in like a grounded fish while clutching her chest as though she’s having a heart attack. As I watch her with growing concern, a man who I take to be her husband walks in and unrolls his mat next to hers, completely ignoring her erratic behaviour. She takes a drink from her water bottle, and mutters something to him in Mandarin. Beside them, another couple practices a pose and compare notes on how best to execute it.
Just then, another man walks in, burgundy yoga mat slung over his shoulder, tied at both ends with a white strap. His black hair is peppered with grey, and reminds me of a young Einstein in its manic unkemptness. Although he’s tried to tame it by pulling it back in a tiny ponytail, the sides still spray out from his head on either side like a poodle. Crossing the floor to the front of the room, his flip flops make light flapping sounds against the wooden floor. A black YMCA tank top marks him as the instructor, and as usual, his white boxers show through. For someone who is supposed to be a yoga master, he looks remarkably tired, and sports a five-o’clock shadow even though it’s early morning. As he weaves his way between clusters of students, he greets individuals with a nod and a low hello. Throughout the room, groups dissipate and people stand at the front of their mats, waiting in anticipation. The chatter dissolves into a low murmur. The instructor opens his mouth, and out croaks the voice of a Russian Kermit the Frog. We are invited to stand at the front of our mats, feet parallel, arms hanging down. Breathing in, we bring our hands to prayer position. Yoga class begins.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Simply because I should post something...
Haven't been feeling too inspired through PT or SS lately, but I figured I should probably post something, so here goes: a meme pinched from Orange Blossom Goddess's blog:
1. FIRST NAME? Christine
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Not my first name. But my middle name, Dorothy, comes from my grandmother on my dad's side, because we shared the same birthday. I only met her when I was a baby, because she passed away the day before my second birthday (the day my brother was born), but she is a legend in my family - she sounds like she was a wonderful, strong woman.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? I'm not really sure, actually. It's been a while!
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Well, it's mine...Full of personality and quirkiness! So, although it's not neat, I like it.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Prosciuto or Kelbasa.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Yes, because I'd understand my quirky sense of humour and crack me up :P
7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Yes. It's striped pink and brown - my two favorite colours, although I don't write in it often.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? I think so :P
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Never. I have a huge fear of heights (which made me a terrible gymnast, but there you go...).
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Reese Peanut Butter Cereal (when I do have cereal - it's a treat).
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends..If I'm tired or have to dash to the loo, no...
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes, both physically and emotionally.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Um...that's tough. Chocolate chip cookie dough, or something with toffee in it - Ben and Jerry's or Hagen Dasz (is that how you spell that?)
14. SHOE SIZE? 6 1/2 (heels), 7 (flats), 8 (runners)
15. FAVORITE COLOR? Right now, I'm in a brown phase, but I like pink too.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My knack for getting all worked up about nothing sometimes.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My parents and brother.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO POST THIS MEME ON THEIR OWN BLOGS? Sure, if they want to...
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? No shoes. Pink velour jogging pants (it's Saturday, after all, and see 15).
20. LAST THING YOU ATE? Two chocolate chip-pecan-toffee cookies from Tim's (it's Saturday, after all).
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The stove cooling off after boiling potatoes for gnocci, and She's All That on City TV (it is Saturday...).
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Pink or brown. Or maybe marble of both!
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cologne on a man's neck...
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My boyo :)
25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes, lips.
26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I took it from Orange Blossom Goddess. She's pretty cool :)
27. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DRINK? Red wine.
28. FAVORITE SPORT? Tennis (to play. I don't have the attention span to watch it).
29. EYE COLOUR? Depends on my mood...Green or brown (haven't figured out what coincides with what).
30. HAT SIZE? Um...I dunno, small?
31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I wear glasses and contacts would come in handy when boyo's around :P
32. FAVORITE FOOD? Fondue, four-cheese pizza (at the Reservoir Lounge).
33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Both.
34. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Pink (ok to be fair, not EVERYTHING I wear is pink :P)
35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Spring or fall.
36. HUGS OR KISSES? Both.
37. FAVORITE DESSERT? Cheesecake, ice cream, chocolate...
38. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Undomestic Goddess, Anna Karenina (not sure if I'll ever finish that one...)
39. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Trackpad. Don't have a mouse.
40. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? What Not to Wear and something else I don't remember.
41. FAVORITE SOUNDS? wind in the leaves, water running over pebbles or on the belly of my canoe
42. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Depends on my mood. Both are cool.
43. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Japan
44. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I'm fairly "bendy" and pretty good at yoga...
45. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? North York, Ontario, Canada
46. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? How many times do you have to ask that question? See above.
47. NEWEST THING YOU'VE TRIED? Port with blue cheese and walnuts. Yummy! Thanks boyo!
48. WHAT ONE THING WOULD YOU CHANGE ABOUT YOURSELF? To worry less.
49. WHO DID YOU LAST SEND A LETTER OR CARD TO? Um...I sent a thank you note to a photographer at work who donated us some images...
50. WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT IN THE WORLD IF MONEY WAS NO OBJECT? Spain, Italy, Greece, Australia, Costa Rica...
1. FIRST NAME? Christine
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Not my first name. But my middle name, Dorothy, comes from my grandmother on my dad's side, because we shared the same birthday. I only met her when I was a baby, because she passed away the day before my second birthday (the day my brother was born), but she is a legend in my family - she sounds like she was a wonderful, strong woman.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? I'm not really sure, actually. It's been a while!
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Well, it's mine...Full of personality and quirkiness! So, although it's not neat, I like it.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCHMEAT? Prosciuto or Kelbasa.
6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Yes, because I'd understand my quirky sense of humour and crack me up :P
7. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Yes. It's striped pink and brown - my two favorite colours, although I don't write in it often.
8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? I think so :P
9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Never. I have a huge fear of heights (which made me a terrible gymnast, but there you go...).
10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Reese Peanut Butter Cereal (when I do have cereal - it's a treat).
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Depends..If I'm tired or have to dash to the loo, no...
12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Yes, both physically and emotionally.
13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Um...that's tough. Chocolate chip cookie dough, or something with toffee in it - Ben and Jerry's or Hagen Dasz (is that how you spell that?)
14. SHOE SIZE? 6 1/2 (heels), 7 (flats), 8 (runners)
15. FAVORITE COLOR? Right now, I'm in a brown phase, but I like pink too.
16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? My knack for getting all worked up about nothing sometimes.
17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My parents and brother.
18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO POST THIS MEME ON THEIR OWN BLOGS? Sure, if they want to...
19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? No shoes. Pink velour jogging pants (it's Saturday, after all, and see 15).
20. LAST THING YOU ATE? Two chocolate chip-pecan-toffee cookies from Tim's (it's Saturday, after all).
21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The stove cooling off after boiling potatoes for gnocci, and She's All That on City TV (it is Saturday...).
22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Pink or brown. Or maybe marble of both!
23. FAVORITE SMELLS? Cologne on a man's neck...
24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My boyo :)
25. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU'RE ATTRACTED TO? Eyes, lips.
26. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I took it from Orange Blossom Goddess. She's pretty cool :)
27. WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE DRINK? Red wine.
28. FAVORITE SPORT? Tennis (to play. I don't have the attention span to watch it).
29. EYE COLOUR? Depends on my mood...Green or brown (haven't figured out what coincides with what).
30. HAT SIZE? Um...I dunno, small?
31. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? No, but I wear glasses and contacts would come in handy when boyo's around :P
32. FAVORITE FOOD? Fondue, four-cheese pizza (at the Reservoir Lounge).
33. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDING? Both.
34. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Pink (ok to be fair, not EVERYTHING I wear is pink :P)
35. SUMMER OR WINTER? Spring or fall.
36. HUGS OR KISSES? Both.
37. FAVORITE DESSERT? Cheesecake, ice cream, chocolate...
38. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Undomestic Goddess, Anna Karenina (not sure if I'll ever finish that one...)
39. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Trackpad. Don't have a mouse.
40. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV? What Not to Wear and something else I don't remember.
41. FAVORITE SOUNDS? wind in the leaves, water running over pebbles or on the belly of my canoe
42. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Depends on my mood. Both are cool.
43. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Japan
44. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I'm fairly "bendy" and pretty good at yoga...
45. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? North York, Ontario, Canada
46. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? How many times do you have to ask that question? See above.
47. NEWEST THING YOU'VE TRIED? Port with blue cheese and walnuts. Yummy! Thanks boyo!
48. WHAT ONE THING WOULD YOU CHANGE ABOUT YOURSELF? To worry less.
49. WHO DID YOU LAST SEND A LETTER OR CARD TO? Um...I sent a thank you note to a photographer at work who donated us some images...
50. WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT IN THE WORLD IF MONEY WAS NO OBJECT? Spain, Italy, Greece, Australia, Costa Rica...
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Sunday Scribblings: Skin
Skin...
Wow...I've been away from this for far too long. I hate the verbal constipation!
Getting to know you
we've only met twice
but already,
I want to write about your skin
skin that I've only just touched
only just smelled
explored furtively
stolen kisses
hands grazing hands
fingers sneaking in between the buttons on your shirt
with our second kiss goodbye
but my mind has already
traced the scar you told me about
above your heart
a constellation among fine chest-hairs
waiting for the day I do know you well enough
to know you through your skin
Wow...I've been away from this for far too long. I hate the verbal constipation!
Getting to know you
we've only met twice
but already,
I want to write about your skin
skin that I've only just touched
only just smelled
explored furtively
stolen kisses
hands grazing hands
fingers sneaking in between the buttons on your shirt
with our second kiss goodbye
but my mind has already
traced the scar you told me about
above your heart
a constellation among fine chest-hairs
waiting for the day I do know you well enough
to know you through your skin
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Trouble afoot at the Walrus
Oooh, things are getting interesting on D.B. Scott's Canadian Magazines blog. In particular, see a conversation that's happening about The Walrus (a Canadian magazine much like Harper's). Last week, most of the board quit, as did the publisher. Now, things have gotten so heated on D.B.'s blog, that the editor himself has started posting comments. If you're interested in Canadian magazines, you'll be interested in this:
Canadian Magazines: We're OK, it's OK, say Walrus principals
I have to say, I met Ken Alexander, the Walrus's editor, once, and I wasn't impressed.
Ceebie
Canadian Magazines: We're OK, it's OK, say Walrus principals
I have to say, I met Ken Alexander, the Walrus's editor, once, and I wasn't impressed.
Ceebie
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Will things ever calm down, and AAARGH!
Ok, I rephrase that. It's Saturday morning and in fact, I have nothing to do. Everyone's busy...It has been such a weird summer, with friends getting divorced, moving out of boyfriends' houses, getting new jobs, taking care of baby...To tell the truth, it's been fairly boring. Now, I don't want to complain, but I have to say, I'm getting pretty tired of entertaining myself and the cats. I'm actually thinking of joining the local running and hiking clubs. They do say that they are effective means of meeting people. But enough of feeling sorry for myself. The point is, it's a grey Saturday, and I finally have time to blog again.
Work has been crazy busy, and I'm pleased to say, I survived h-e-double hockeysticks week: four projects, all with competing deadlines, all of which were due this week. Craziness. But I survived, and I'm looking forward to November, where I can actually plan out my critical path and sit down with my boss to put together some goals and achievables, rather than just reacting to the next crisis and deadline.
As for the love life, well, things with e-harmony dude didn't really work out. It's amazing how 'into' me he seemed, yet he never called or wanted to make plans to get together. The lesson learned: ALWAYS trust your instincts - I didn't have a good feeling about this one, and actually cancelled our first date, but he convinced me out of it. I ended up breaking up with him for exactly the reasons I cancelled our first date. How empowering to actually be the breaker-upper!
So now, the door is wide open for me to explore other possibilities. And who knows what may come of it?
That's about as personal as I'm going to get on my blog. And now, for something completely different:
A friend just sent me this from the BBC site, and I couldn't believe it. What does this mean for Rachel Carson's legacy? I'm going to have to do some serious thinking about the implications of this WHO decision. Just when you think you have things figured out, life throws another twist at you:
WHO backs DDT for malaria control
Malaria, carried by the mosquito, kills more than a million each year The World Health Organization (WHO) has reversed a 30-year policy by endorsing the use of DDT for malaria control.
The chemical is sprayed inside houses to kill malaria-carrying mosquitoes.
DDT has been banned globally for every use except fighting disease because of its environmental impacts and fears for human health.
WHO says there is no health risk, and DDT should rank with bednets and drugs as a tool for combating malaria, which kills more than one million each year.
"The scientific and programmatic evidence clearly supports this reassessment," said Dr Anarfi Asamoa-Baah, WHO assistant director- general for HIV/AIDS, TB and Malaria.
DDT presents no health risk when used properly Anarfi Asamoa-Baah "Indoor residual spraying is useful to quickly reduce the number of infections caused by malaria-carrying mosquitoes; it has proven to be just as cost effective as other malaria prevention measures, and DDT presents no health risk when used properly."
Teams of sprayers typically visit endemic areas once a year, spraying the chemical on the inside walls of houses; mosquitoes landing there absorb it and die.
Global ban
A potent insecticide, DDT fell into disrepute with the publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring just over 40 years ago.
The book showed that widespread, indiscriminate use of DDT and related compounds was killing wildlife over vast tracts of North America and western Europe.
Spray preparation, BBC
Africa battles over DDT
A number of countries banned it, and in 2004 the global treaty on Persistent Organic Pollutants (POPs) made the prohibition global - except for a clause allowing its manufacture and use in disease control.
Some African countries have continued to use it, though most have either switched to other kinds of insecticide or pursued a strategy of issuing insecticide-impregnated bednets. Some aid agencies have policies of not funding programmes involving DDT.
South Africa was one country that switched, but it had to return to DDT at the beginning of the decade after mosquitoes developed resistance to the substitute compounds.
"Of the dozen insecticides WHO has approved as safe for house spraying, the most effective is DDT," said Arata Kochi, director of the WHO's Global Malaria Programme.
Richard Tren of the pressure group Africa Fighting Malaria has been campaigning for DDT's rehabilitation.
"All development agencies and endemic countries need to act in accordance with WHO's position on the use of DDT for indoor residual spraying," he said.
Work has been crazy busy, and I'm pleased to say, I survived h-e-double hockeysticks week: four projects, all with competing deadlines, all of which were due this week. Craziness. But I survived, and I'm looking forward to November, where I can actually plan out my critical path and sit down with my boss to put together some goals and achievables, rather than just reacting to the next crisis and deadline.
As for the love life, well, things with e-harmony dude didn't really work out. It's amazing how 'into' me he seemed, yet he never called or wanted to make plans to get together. The lesson learned: ALWAYS trust your instincts - I didn't have a good feeling about this one, and actually cancelled our first date, but he convinced me out of it. I ended up breaking up with him for exactly the reasons I cancelled our first date. How empowering to actually be the breaker-upper!
So now, the door is wide open for me to explore other possibilities. And who knows what may come of it?
That's about as personal as I'm going to get on my blog. And now, for something completely different:
A friend just sent me this from the BBC site, and I couldn't believe it. What does this mean for Rachel Carson's legacy? I'm going to have to do some serious thinking about the implications of this WHO decision. Just when you think you have things figured out, life throws another twist at you:
WHO backs DDT for malaria control
Malaria, carried by the mosquito, kills more than a million each year The World Health Organization (WHO) has reversed a 30-year policy by endorsing the use of DDT for malaria control.
The chemical is sprayed inside houses to kill malaria-carrying mosquitoes.
DDT has been banned globally for every use except fighting disease because of its environmental impacts and fears for human health.
WHO says there is no health risk, and DDT should rank with bednets and drugs as a tool for combating malaria, which kills more than one million each year.
"The scientific and programmatic evidence clearly supports this reassessment," said Dr Anarfi Asamoa-Baah, WHO assistant director- general for HIV/AIDS, TB and Malaria.
DDT presents no health risk when used properly Anarfi Asamoa-Baah "Indoor residual spraying is useful to quickly reduce the number of infections caused by malaria-carrying mosquitoes; it has proven to be just as cost effective as other malaria prevention measures, and DDT presents no health risk when used properly."
Teams of sprayers typically visit endemic areas once a year, spraying the chemical on the inside walls of houses; mosquitoes landing there absorb it and die.
Global ban
A potent insecticide, DDT fell into disrepute with the publication of Rachel Carson's Silent Spring just over 40 years ago.
The book showed that widespread, indiscriminate use of DDT and related compounds was killing wildlife over vast tracts of North America and western Europe.
Spray preparation, BBC
Africa battles over DDT
A number of countries banned it, and in 2004 the global treaty on Persistent Organic Pollutants (POPs) made the prohibition global - except for a clause allowing its manufacture and use in disease control.
Some African countries have continued to use it, though most have either switched to other kinds of insecticide or pursued a strategy of issuing insecticide-impregnated bednets. Some aid agencies have policies of not funding programmes involving DDT.
South Africa was one country that switched, but it had to return to DDT at the beginning of the decade after mosquitoes developed resistance to the substitute compounds.
"Of the dozen insecticides WHO has approved as safe for house spraying, the most effective is DDT," said Arata Kochi, director of the WHO's Global Malaria Programme.
Richard Tren of the pressure group Africa Fighting Malaria has been campaigning for DDT's rehabilitation.
"All development agencies and endemic countries need to act in accordance with WHO's position on the use of DDT for indoor residual spraying," he said.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
SRC weeks 12? 13? where did I drop off?
Wicked
Well I have no idea what week I'm on, since Anna Karenina swallowed up about three weeks. But let's say it's week 13. Wicked was...all right. I don't know if I hyped it up too much cause of the reviews it got from others, or it's simply a poorly written book, or just not my genre. It started off great, it ended ok, but in the middle was about 200 pages of loosely-strung out and vague adventures that I had to force myself to follow. Glad I ticked it off my TBR list, but don't think it deserves the accolades it's received.
The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency
Well, I can't say I've met my challenge. But I CAN say that SRC inspired me to read much more than I would have in the past. My final book (which I'm just wrapping up now) is _The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency_. I have to say, I've been pleasantly suprised thus far. It's quite a different, non-western take on the detective novel, and as the jacket flap says, it's also a pretty inspirational book. Thanks SRC for inspiring me to read more!
Well I have no idea what week I'm on, since Anna Karenina swallowed up about three weeks. But let's say it's week 13. Wicked was...all right. I don't know if I hyped it up too much cause of the reviews it got from others, or it's simply a poorly written book, or just not my genre. It started off great, it ended ok, but in the middle was about 200 pages of loosely-strung out and vague adventures that I had to force myself to follow. Glad I ticked it off my TBR list, but don't think it deserves the accolades it's received.
The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency
Well, I can't say I've met my challenge. But I CAN say that SRC inspired me to read much more than I would have in the past. My final book (which I'm just wrapping up now) is _The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency_. I have to say, I've been pleasantly suprised thus far. It's quite a different, non-western take on the detective novel, and as the jacket flap says, it's also a pretty inspirational book. Thanks SRC for inspiring me to read more!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Sunday Scribblings
Argh it is so hard to keep up with my blog these days! I've been busy launching our new website at work and doing tons of overtime (though in a non-profit I'm learning that OT really isn't counted) and seeing my guy in the evenings, or just plain crashing. Now that our website is up and running, I am moving on to getting our newsletter to art, and then working on our annual report and calendar. There certainly isn't a shortage of work, but every time I walk by the sign for our organization, I do a little cheer in my head each morning, because that's how much I love my new job :)
Anyhoo, this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is about fortunes or fortune cookies. I generally don't believe in that whole fortune-telling thing (or maybe I'm too superstitious to try it out), but I do love fortune cookies. And although I am not feeling very inspired by this prompt (sorry, SS peeps), I will write a little sum'n-sum'n just to get the creative juices flowing.
Fortune cookies always remind me of my best friend Lenya and our highschool days. In grade nine, we had to take the bus from our school to the Sheppard Mall (a ghost mall then, and a ghost mall today) and then transfer over to another bus to get home.
Lenya and I would occasionally take public transit together back from school, then instead of heading to our transfers, trek down to the mall, and hang out. Now my parents had always said that they didn't want me to become a mall rat, and dear reader, I must assure you that we were far from that. But anyways, Len and I would meander over to the food court, sharing notes about our favorite guys in science or typing class (yes, typing class - I think we were the last grade to actually learn typing on typewriters, and thus I date myself...) still dressed in our burgundy and grey Catholic school uniforms, and make our way to the Chinese food stand.
We'd wait in line, often for a few minutes at a time. Then, when our turn came up, we'd step forward, and brazenly order...
a fortune cookie.
No lo-mein, no chicken balls, no barbequed beef. Just...
a fortune cookie.
Lord knows what the teller thought of us as we doled out our 15 cents (or was it 25) in order to purchase that crunchy sweet morsel wrapped around a sliver of a fortune. But we didn't care, and the purchasing of the fortune cookie became a little ritual of ours.
One day, late in the school year, we headed over again to the Chinese food stand, full of gossip about a guy we called "suspenders" (because he had an endearing way of wearing suspenders with his uniform), who had looked especially cute that day and had sat next to me in typing class. Len and I had shared numerous poorly-typed notes back and forth comparing notes on dear suspenders during class, and were chatting away about what tomorrow would bring. Our turn came in line. I fished out my change, and found that I only had 10 cents in my wallet. And Len had none.
With a small sigh, I stepped to turn away from the counter, when a kind lady standing next to us opened her wallet and offered to pay for my fortune cookie. I've never truly gotten over the embarrassment of that moment, and I can't quite imagine what she must have thought of us...Perhaps she thought we were starved (though I never was the skin and bones type). That didn't stop me from accepting her offer, and taking the cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie with me, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment. I can't remember what my fortune said that day.
The next year, our school moved to within walking distance from my house, so Len and I no longer took the bus together, but instead met at school. The gossip was never quite the same, although we've stayed life-long friends. But I often think back on our little ritual of purchasing a sliver of hope, when our whole lives still stretched before us, and it makes me smile for the optimism we shared back then.
Anyhoo, this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is about fortunes or fortune cookies. I generally don't believe in that whole fortune-telling thing (or maybe I'm too superstitious to try it out), but I do love fortune cookies. And although I am not feeling very inspired by this prompt (sorry, SS peeps), I will write a little sum'n-sum'n just to get the creative juices flowing.
Fortune cookies always remind me of my best friend Lenya and our highschool days. In grade nine, we had to take the bus from our school to the Sheppard Mall (a ghost mall then, and a ghost mall today) and then transfer over to another bus to get home.
Lenya and I would occasionally take public transit together back from school, then instead of heading to our transfers, trek down to the mall, and hang out. Now my parents had always said that they didn't want me to become a mall rat, and dear reader, I must assure you that we were far from that. But anyways, Len and I would meander over to the food court, sharing notes about our favorite guys in science or typing class (yes, typing class - I think we were the last grade to actually learn typing on typewriters, and thus I date myself...) still dressed in our burgundy and grey Catholic school uniforms, and make our way to the Chinese food stand.
We'd wait in line, often for a few minutes at a time. Then, when our turn came up, we'd step forward, and brazenly order...
a fortune cookie.
No lo-mein, no chicken balls, no barbequed beef. Just...
a fortune cookie.
Lord knows what the teller thought of us as we doled out our 15 cents (or was it 25) in order to purchase that crunchy sweet morsel wrapped around a sliver of a fortune. But we didn't care, and the purchasing of the fortune cookie became a little ritual of ours.
One day, late in the school year, we headed over again to the Chinese food stand, full of gossip about a guy we called "suspenders" (because he had an endearing way of wearing suspenders with his uniform), who had looked especially cute that day and had sat next to me in typing class. Len and I had shared numerous poorly-typed notes back and forth comparing notes on dear suspenders during class, and were chatting away about what tomorrow would bring. Our turn came in line. I fished out my change, and found that I only had 10 cents in my wallet. And Len had none.
With a small sigh, I stepped to turn away from the counter, when a kind lady standing next to us opened her wallet and offered to pay for my fortune cookie. I've never truly gotten over the embarrassment of that moment, and I can't quite imagine what she must have thought of us...Perhaps she thought we were starved (though I never was the skin and bones type). That didn't stop me from accepting her offer, and taking the cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie with me, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment. I can't remember what my fortune said that day.
The next year, our school moved to within walking distance from my house, so Len and I no longer took the bus together, but instead met at school. The gossip was never quite the same, although we've stayed life-long friends. But I often think back on our little ritual of purchasing a sliver of hope, when our whole lives still stretched before us, and it makes me smile for the optimism we shared back then.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Sunday Scribblings
This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt is to imagine our pet's inner life. I've decided I will tell you about little Annabelle. She was one of the sweetest kitties my parents had ever adopted; a stray from the Humane Society. Although I try not to anthropomorphize my pets and imagine them as individuals in their own right, what happened with Annabelle made me wish I could have understood her inner life and communicated with her...
Tiny Annabelle joined our family last year, and quickly became a central part of my parents' household. Their older cat, Caramel, loved her. They used to lie together in exactly the same way in the same chair; groom each other; play together. They quickly became inseparable friends, which so rarely happens with cats.
She was such a sweet little cat. For a while, we thought we'd call her Ewok because up close, that's what she looked like. But there was something always wrong with her front paw; the way she held it up like it was botherng her and stepped gingerly on it.
One day, Annabelle started having difficulty with her breathing. Lying on her side, her flank rose and fell like a bellows in the heat. After a week at the vet's, she came back home, but Caramel didn't seem to recognize her, and the problems resurfaced. Her eyes turned grey and glazed over. She started walking into walls, tables, chairs. She spent hours lying on the rattan chair in the front porch, because it seemed to be the only place she was comfortable anymore. We took Annabelle back to the vet's.
While my dad and I were on a four-hour drive back from Sudbury, caught in the tail end of the huge storm last summer that washed out the Finch Avenue bridge, my mom got a call from the vet: he'd had to make a decision and put Annabelle down. Her body had systematically shut down due to a parasitic infection. She lost her sight due to hemorraging in her eyes; her fur lost its shine; her liver and kidneys shut down. She started having seizures.
When my mom went to see Annabelle for the last time, her beloved kitten didn't recognize her. She backed away into the corner of the cold metal cage when mom reached her hand out to pet her. Mom came home and cried for an hour while she waited for us to arrive.
We cried together in each other's arms while dad put Annabelle's lifeless body the ground next to a weeping birch tree, branches swaying above her. We placed a bird bath in the grass above her, because she'd been so thirsty in her last days and couldn't seem to get enough water, mom said. And she'd also loved to watch the birds.
Why did I weep so deeply for a cat I'd known for such a short time? Because all I could think of was that she couldn't have known what was happening. Everything around her was foreign - the sterility of the vet's cage, the shutting down of her body. And she couldn't call out to us to tell us something felt wrong in that front paw. It must have been completely disorienting and frightening to her. And in the end, I'm not sure she knew how much she was loved, or how much she'd be missed.
Caramel walked around the house for days calling out for Annabelle in the middle of the night. Looked for her in empty nooks and crannies but never found her.
~ Ceebie
Tiny Annabelle joined our family last year, and quickly became a central part of my parents' household. Their older cat, Caramel, loved her. They used to lie together in exactly the same way in the same chair; groom each other; play together. They quickly became inseparable friends, which so rarely happens with cats.
She was such a sweet little cat. For a while, we thought we'd call her Ewok because up close, that's what she looked like. But there was something always wrong with her front paw; the way she held it up like it was botherng her and stepped gingerly on it.
One day, Annabelle started having difficulty with her breathing. Lying on her side, her flank rose and fell like a bellows in the heat. After a week at the vet's, she came back home, but Caramel didn't seem to recognize her, and the problems resurfaced. Her eyes turned grey and glazed over. She started walking into walls, tables, chairs. She spent hours lying on the rattan chair in the front porch, because it seemed to be the only place she was comfortable anymore. We took Annabelle back to the vet's.
While my dad and I were on a four-hour drive back from Sudbury, caught in the tail end of the huge storm last summer that washed out the Finch Avenue bridge, my mom got a call from the vet: he'd had to make a decision and put Annabelle down. Her body had systematically shut down due to a parasitic infection. She lost her sight due to hemorraging in her eyes; her fur lost its shine; her liver and kidneys shut down. She started having seizures.
When my mom went to see Annabelle for the last time, her beloved kitten didn't recognize her. She backed away into the corner of the cold metal cage when mom reached her hand out to pet her. Mom came home and cried for an hour while she waited for us to arrive.
We cried together in each other's arms while dad put Annabelle's lifeless body the ground next to a weeping birch tree, branches swaying above her. We placed a bird bath in the grass above her, because she'd been so thirsty in her last days and couldn't seem to get enough water, mom said. And she'd also loved to watch the birds.
Why did I weep so deeply for a cat I'd known for such a short time? Because all I could think of was that she couldn't have known what was happening. Everything around her was foreign - the sterility of the vet's cage, the shutting down of her body. And she couldn't call out to us to tell us something felt wrong in that front paw. It must have been completely disorienting and frightening to her. And in the end, I'm not sure she knew how much she was loved, or how much she'd be missed.
Caramel walked around the house for days calling out for Annabelle in the middle of the night. Looked for her in empty nooks and crannies but never found her.
~ Ceebie
Saturday, August 19, 2006
I'm back
Finally, a Saturday morning in which to enjoy a cup of tea, catch up on my reading, blogging, yoga, and household chores!
I'm a little late, but since this week's PT prompt was "free", I thought I'd post two of my favorite poems that I wrote about ten years back. Granted, they still need some work, but the yellow is something that has stuck with me.
Sunflower Queen I
Round the bend in the bike path, under a bridge, is where she brings her treasures. She has a mattress -- torn and flat, but it does the job. Every day, she wanders in fields and gathers fallen sunflowers. On your way home from work, you can see the yellow walking down the street.
The gossips say she dated a doctor so handsome, when he smiled, his teeth gleamed. Now, nurse cap flops on her head. Parents call her the "Bayview street nurse". If you're bad, she'll give you a needle so you will never wake up.
I've seen her down the street at Loblaws: she hides out back and waits for people to chuck their receipts, or collects empty banana boxes. Then she scurries up to shove them in her bags or grocery cart with the floppy wheel.
Tonight, a cyclist finds her on her mattress, surrounded by rotten sunflowers. Love letters and poems scribbled on receipts and cardboard scraps with banana stains have been stored under her mattress.
I keep them, in a shoe box under my bed.
Sometimes, I can still smell the yellow in my dreams.
sunflower queen II
in the calm,
cool grey of morning
I lift myself
from dewy grasses
split silver paths
to stand where the petals burn
damp earth clinging between toes
reach up
tilt faces down
and breathe fire
~ Ceebie
I'm a little late, but since this week's PT prompt was "free", I thought I'd post two of my favorite poems that I wrote about ten years back. Granted, they still need some work, but the yellow is something that has stuck with me.
Sunflower Queen I
Round the bend in the bike path, under a bridge, is where she brings her treasures. She has a mattress -- torn and flat, but it does the job. Every day, she wanders in fields and gathers fallen sunflowers. On your way home from work, you can see the yellow walking down the street.
The gossips say she dated a doctor so handsome, when he smiled, his teeth gleamed. Now, nurse cap flops on her head. Parents call her the "Bayview street nurse". If you're bad, she'll give you a needle so you will never wake up.
I've seen her down the street at Loblaws: she hides out back and waits for people to chuck their receipts, or collects empty banana boxes. Then she scurries up to shove them in her bags or grocery cart with the floppy wheel.
Tonight, a cyclist finds her on her mattress, surrounded by rotten sunflowers. Love letters and poems scribbled on receipts and cardboard scraps with banana stains have been stored under her mattress.
I keep them, in a shoe box under my bed.
Sometimes, I can still smell the yellow in my dreams.
sunflower queen II
in the calm,
cool grey of morning
I lift myself
from dewy grasses
split silver paths
to stand where the petals burn
damp earth clinging between toes
reach up
tilt faces down
and breathe fire
~ Ceebie
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
I've been AWOL
...because of this new job, and this new man in my life (we met on Eharmony, actually!) :)
Things are great, but hectic! So very little time to blog and catch up on everyone else's blogs. But hopefully I'll be able to carve out some time this week to do so...Plus I had a drive-by visit to celebrate my nephew's first birthday in Ottawa this weekend. He is just at the age where you can see his personality emerging and his sense of self. It's so cool, and he's so cute! I'm a very proud matante :)
Anyhoo, I promise I will stop by everyone's blogs to check them out. And I hope to be able to contribute to PT and SS this week. I'm missing my blogger community!
Ceebie
Things are great, but hectic! So very little time to blog and catch up on everyone else's blogs. But hopefully I'll be able to carve out some time this week to do so...Plus I had a drive-by visit to celebrate my nephew's first birthday in Ottawa this weekend. He is just at the age where you can see his personality emerging and his sense of self. It's so cool, and he's so cute! I'm a very proud matante :)
Anyhoo, I promise I will stop by everyone's blogs to check them out. And I hope to be able to contribute to PT and SS this week. I'm missing my blogger community!
Ceebie
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Poetry Thursday supplement
Ok...I've been thinking about it, and one of the most romantic times of my teenage years was on a first or second date with a boy I was head over heels with... I'd had my eye on him for two years since we were camp counselors at the same camp, but never imagined he'd be interested. Until he asked me out. He used to drive his dad's light brown pickup truck, which for some reason I thought made him soooo cool. And he was hot. Smart. And he was interested in me!
So on this one particular evening, we were driving back from who knows where. Most likely dancing. We did a lot of dancing that summer. He drove us downtown, right across from the harbour at Harbourfront, to an abandoned parking lot. Turned off the ignition. Turned on the cassette deck (now I'm REALLY dating myself). We got out, and danced to "November Rain" by Guns & Roses....Funny how perspective changes everything!
first love
harbourlights twinkle across the way
head on your chest
we slow dance
body leaning into each other
your hands fit so nicely
on the small of my back
hoping you won't feel my heart
beating a mile a minute
breathing in your Drakkar
the guitar twang solo
Guns & Roses, November Rain
blares from the cassette deck
of your dad's brown pickup truck
I left the $3.99 cellophaned roses lying
on vynil seats
this empty parking lot
a perfect backdrop for first love
and a night I'll never forget
Ceebie
So on this one particular evening, we were driving back from who knows where. Most likely dancing. We did a lot of dancing that summer. He drove us downtown, right across from the harbour at Harbourfront, to an abandoned parking lot. Turned off the ignition. Turned on the cassette deck (now I'm REALLY dating myself). We got out, and danced to "November Rain" by Guns & Roses....Funny how perspective changes everything!
first love
harbourlights twinkle across the way
head on your chest
we slow dance
body leaning into each other
your hands fit so nicely
on the small of my back
hoping you won't feel my heart
beating a mile a minute
breathing in your Drakkar
the guitar twang solo
Guns & Roses, November Rain
blares from the cassette deck
of your dad's brown pickup truck
I left the $3.99 cellophaned roses lying
on vynil seats
this empty parking lot
a perfect backdrop for first love
and a night I'll never forget
Ceebie
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Poetry Thursday rough cut
This week's Poetry Thursday prompt is to write about a song or music that inspired you...Although I am a dancer and love music, it's always been more about the beat than the words for me. Then I remember the day my brother and I were going through my parents' LPs and threw on Pink Floyd. I remember thinking "what kind of stuff were my parents ON?" and looking at my brother in mock horrror. In the days of early 90s music, Pink Floyd was an amazing discovery for me...The way the songs bleed into one another...The metaphors that grab you, like the dark side of the moon...The guitar chords that reached deep into me.' In highschool, Pink Floyd became our unofficial mascots - we all sort of spontaneously rediscovered their albums, and they played in the background in the dimly lit basements of our parents' houses at house parties.
The other album which has stuck with me from those days is Harmonium - it's a classic Quebecois folksy kind of band.
Then there was the time when we had our graduation party at someone's parents' barn. It was probably the last time all of us were together as a group. My boyfriend and I had stolen to the loft for a 'moment' and when we came back, I remember my friends sitting around a makeshift table, playing poker, slightly drunk and Dominique singing "ne pleure pas" over and over again in the most monotonous voice. Can't remember who the singer was. All that's stuck in my head is the droning of Dom's voice as he threw down another card, looking as though he was about to cry any minute himself.
Now if only I could turn these thoughts into a poem! Maybe the other great PT writers will inspire me, as they do every week :)
Ceebie
The other album which has stuck with me from those days is Harmonium - it's a classic Quebecois folksy kind of band.
Then there was the time when we had our graduation party at someone's parents' barn. It was probably the last time all of us were together as a group. My boyfriend and I had stolen to the loft for a 'moment' and when we came back, I remember my friends sitting around a makeshift table, playing poker, slightly drunk and Dominique singing "ne pleure pas" over and over again in the most monotonous voice. Can't remember who the singer was. All that's stuck in my head is the droning of Dom's voice as he threw down another card, looking as though he was about to cry any minute himself.
Now if only I could turn these thoughts into a poem! Maybe the other great PT writers will inspire me, as they do every week :)
Ceebie
Sunday Scribblings
This week's Sunday Scribblings prompt asks, "who else might I have been"? Last year, I attended a lecture by Nicole Brossard, author of Hier (Yesterday at the Hotel Clarendon), and posted about her musings on what it might be like to live and breathe in another language, an excerpt of which I am reproducing here:
Nicole's work has been translated into several languages. While she writes in French and is a native French speaker, she read to us in English from a text that had been translated by someone else. She spoke to us about the idea that you are a different person if you grow up in another language. Who, she asks, would she be, what kind of a woman would she be, if she had grown up in English, Italian, Spanish? Each language has a different way of breathing, and of being...
I have grown up sandwiched in between Canada's two solitudes - French, and English. Never completely at home in French while surrounded by a culture that is predominantly English, and where my mother tongue (the language first spoken to me by my mother) always felt like an uncomfortably big sweater where the sleeves had been rolled up. And at the same time, I am never completely whole in English alone - I feel as though a part of me is missing somehow when I live my life entirely in that language. So how do I then construct my subjectivism, in the spaces between these two languages? How do I breathe in this space between two silences?
Who would I have been if I'd grown up entirely francophone, or entirely anglophone? Would I have felt more at home in Toronto, or Quebedc? My bilingualism is a core part of who I am. Sometimes it serves as an extension of my thoughts, if one or the other language happens to fail me momentarily. If I'd been Spanish or Italian, would I have been more hot-blooded? Who would Christina have been, rather than the quiet Christine of half British roots who often has extreme moments of extroversion tied to her Quebecois roots?
Ceebie
Nicole's work has been translated into several languages. While she writes in French and is a native French speaker, she read to us in English from a text that had been translated by someone else. She spoke to us about the idea that you are a different person if you grow up in another language. Who, she asks, would she be, what kind of a woman would she be, if she had grown up in English, Italian, Spanish? Each language has a different way of breathing, and of being...
I have grown up sandwiched in between Canada's two solitudes - French, and English. Never completely at home in French while surrounded by a culture that is predominantly English, and where my mother tongue (the language first spoken to me by my mother) always felt like an uncomfortably big sweater where the sleeves had been rolled up. And at the same time, I am never completely whole in English alone - I feel as though a part of me is missing somehow when I live my life entirely in that language. So how do I then construct my subjectivism, in the spaces between these two languages? How do I breathe in this space between two silences?
Who would I have been if I'd grown up entirely francophone, or entirely anglophone? Would I have felt more at home in Toronto, or Quebedc? My bilingualism is a core part of who I am. Sometimes it serves as an extension of my thoughts, if one or the other language happens to fail me momentarily. If I'd been Spanish or Italian, would I have been more hot-blooded? Who would Christina have been, rather than the quiet Christine of half British roots who often has extreme moments of extroversion tied to her Quebecois roots?
Ceebie
First three days, first three weeks, first three months
Phew! I have made it through week two of my new job, and I'm still standing (barely)! I am loving my job but it is a HUGE learning curve for me. More of a vertical rock climb, really. The people are very nice, my team is really laid back and fun, and the work is exactly what I have always wanted to do.
I sure was thrown right into the fray, though. On my first day I had a conf call with our CMS provider who is going to help us relaunch our website. They provide this really cool database system that allows you to do all kinds of neat customization and track info, etc...We're going to be one of the only, if not the first, charity in Canada to use this stuff. As a data geek, I'm excited.
Following that meeting, I had a briefing meeting with our designer on my second day to discuss our design needs for our newsletter, annual report, calendar and certificates. I'd prepared a creative brief for him, and he couldn't believe it was my second day.
By the end of week one, I'd talked to all of my regional contacts and put together a fairly detailed editorial lineup for the newsletter. By middle of week two, I'd chaired a meeting and helped redesign our site flow and page titling on our website.
There certainly isn't a lack of work, but this is justification that this is my dream job. I'm actually getting to the point where I'm excited to go in to work - something I haven't felt in years! Of course there will be personality conflicts with a few people, and I'm still figuring out my level of decision-making power and the lines of reporting, but otherwise, things are good :)
So that's it for my update. It's also why I neglected to post for Poetry Thursday this week. I've simply been tooooo tired, even to post someone else's poem! But I will definitely post next week.
Ceebie
I sure was thrown right into the fray, though. On my first day I had a conf call with our CMS provider who is going to help us relaunch our website. They provide this really cool database system that allows you to do all kinds of neat customization and track info, etc...We're going to be one of the only, if not the first, charity in Canada to use this stuff. As a data geek, I'm excited.
Following that meeting, I had a briefing meeting with our designer on my second day to discuss our design needs for our newsletter, annual report, calendar and certificates. I'd prepared a creative brief for him, and he couldn't believe it was my second day.
By the end of week one, I'd talked to all of my regional contacts and put together a fairly detailed editorial lineup for the newsletter. By middle of week two, I'd chaired a meeting and helped redesign our site flow and page titling on our website.
There certainly isn't a lack of work, but this is justification that this is my dream job. I'm actually getting to the point where I'm excited to go in to work - something I haven't felt in years! Of course there will be personality conflicts with a few people, and I'm still figuring out my level of decision-making power and the lines of reporting, but otherwise, things are good :)
So that's it for my update. It's also why I neglected to post for Poetry Thursday this week. I've simply been tooooo tired, even to post someone else's poem! But I will definitely post next week.
Ceebie
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Musings on internet dating...
Ok, I had to blog about this topic eventually. My ex bf and I met on Lava, and to be quite honest, we had great chemistry, and many things in common, but in the end it didn't work out. When we broke up a few months ago, I was devastated, but have come to terms with it now and am ready to move on - I know he's not the only one out ther for me and am curious to see who else is out there. Plus, to be honest I just want a summer of fun where nice men take me out for dinner and make me feel nice. Here's hoping.
Anyways, since most of my friends seem to have gone AWOL for the summer, I've decided to try my hand at internet dating again. So far, I haven't met anyone, but here's the low down on Lava vs eHarmony:
A) Lava
To be honest, this one is much like going to a supermarket, strolling through the aisles, and picking up the box of cereal which looks most attractive. If you were to read the ingredients on the side of each box, you'd see that they are all pretty much the same.
Same with Lava: it's primarily driven by people's attraction to your photo, followed by their impressions of your profile. Most people don't write anything remotely original which sets them apart, so it's pretty much just about "smiling" at the person who you think you could stand to be seen with and are attracted to. If they smile back, you might begin chatting, and take it from there.
Or, they might smile at you, or try engaging you in an online chat. To be honest, apart from my ex, most men I've talked to on Lava pretty much assume it's open season to begin seriously flirting and making suggestive advances almost immediately.
This can make one feel quite vulnerable, flattered (if you're getting a lot of "smiles"), or down on yourself (if you're not getting smiles or messages - which for me, seems to be the case these past few days).
What, really, do you know about someone after chatting with them for a little while, or engaging in an exchange of smiles? Not much. Plus, who knows if their online photo is recent, and really reflects them!
on to B), eHarmony:
To tell the truth, I hadn't even intended on going back online until a friend of mine suggested I try eHarmony's free personality profile quiz. This is a 20-page quiz that tries to give an accurate picture of who you are. I think mine went a little overboard on the social butterfly thing (I am social, but have my introvert moments too), and ended up saying I'm quite spiritual (I'm agnostic).
Somehow, I ended up clicking a box that triggered the next step, which is to have matches sent to you based on your compatibility with their personality profile. In theory, this is an interesting concept (which reminds me a lot of the old video dating days, though I was too young for that when it was en vogue). So the system started sending me matches.
Matches are a description of a person's personality and commonalities with you, with answers to a number of questions. It's a lot more detailed than the Lava profiles. Matches can: ignore your match, close your match (it's funny how insulted I've felt when men closed the match without even knowing them!), or open communication.
If you open communication, you then go through a series of steps before beginning "Open Communication". You each have the opportunity to send each other (and respond to) questions about your likes/dislikes and other behavioural questions. In theory, this is to help you get to know the person better. But the 'net is such an impersonal mechanism, it's difficult to read responses properly.
Anyways, I've been engaging in communication with a few men, and am now at the "begin open communication"stage, but I'm nervous. After going through all of the stages, it suddenly hit me that this man is 7 years my elder, and my parents might not appreciate that. Plus, I had a look at his second photo, and it seems he looks much older than the first one suggested. I'm not ageist, but I don't want to be dating my father!
ARGH. So, the struggles of a single gal living in TO continue.
I'd be interested to hear your internet dating woes or successes...Have any?
Ceebie
Anyways, since most of my friends seem to have gone AWOL for the summer, I've decided to try my hand at internet dating again. So far, I haven't met anyone, but here's the low down on Lava vs eHarmony:
A) Lava
To be honest, this one is much like going to a supermarket, strolling through the aisles, and picking up the box of cereal which looks most attractive. If you were to read the ingredients on the side of each box, you'd see that they are all pretty much the same.
Same with Lava: it's primarily driven by people's attraction to your photo, followed by their impressions of your profile. Most people don't write anything remotely original which sets them apart, so it's pretty much just about "smiling" at the person who you think you could stand to be seen with and are attracted to. If they smile back, you might begin chatting, and take it from there.
Or, they might smile at you, or try engaging you in an online chat. To be honest, apart from my ex, most men I've talked to on Lava pretty much assume it's open season to begin seriously flirting and making suggestive advances almost immediately.
This can make one feel quite vulnerable, flattered (if you're getting a lot of "smiles"), or down on yourself (if you're not getting smiles or messages - which for me, seems to be the case these past few days).
What, really, do you know about someone after chatting with them for a little while, or engaging in an exchange of smiles? Not much. Plus, who knows if their online photo is recent, and really reflects them!
on to B), eHarmony:
To tell the truth, I hadn't even intended on going back online until a friend of mine suggested I try eHarmony's free personality profile quiz. This is a 20-page quiz that tries to give an accurate picture of who you are. I think mine went a little overboard on the social butterfly thing (I am social, but have my introvert moments too), and ended up saying I'm quite spiritual (I'm agnostic).
Somehow, I ended up clicking a box that triggered the next step, which is to have matches sent to you based on your compatibility with their personality profile. In theory, this is an interesting concept (which reminds me a lot of the old video dating days, though I was too young for that when it was en vogue). So the system started sending me matches.
Matches are a description of a person's personality and commonalities with you, with answers to a number of questions. It's a lot more detailed than the Lava profiles. Matches can: ignore your match, close your match (it's funny how insulted I've felt when men closed the match without even knowing them!), or open communication.
If you open communication, you then go through a series of steps before beginning "Open Communication". You each have the opportunity to send each other (and respond to) questions about your likes/dislikes and other behavioural questions. In theory, this is to help you get to know the person better. But the 'net is such an impersonal mechanism, it's difficult to read responses properly.
Anyways, I've been engaging in communication with a few men, and am now at the "begin open communication"stage, but I'm nervous. After going through all of the stages, it suddenly hit me that this man is 7 years my elder, and my parents might not appreciate that. Plus, I had a look at his second photo, and it seems he looks much older than the first one suggested. I'm not ageist, but I don't want to be dating my father!
ARGH. So, the struggles of a single gal living in TO continue.
I'd be interested to hear your internet dating woes or successes...Have any?
Ceebie
SRC week 9 - I Capture the Castle
This week I started my new job, to which I am subwaying it instead of driving. This, coupled with the fact that I don't know anyone at my new job yet, means that I've had a lot more time to read this week (although I still haven't finished Ana Karenina - 1/4 of the way there, though).
This book was actually in the teen section, possibly because its main protagonist is a teenage girl, Cassandra. Cassandra lives in a medieval castle in England, in the 1940s/50s. This seems romantic, but since her family is poor, they've had to seel alll of the furniture, and have very little to eat, no electricity and very few amenities. The novel is written in the first person, as though they were Cassandra's journals. It's quite well done, although in my opinion it's probably a little more well-written than a 17-year old would write. However, that may just be because with the rise of television, etc, we've all become more and more illiterate and have set ourselves lower standards of literacy.
Anyways, this is a good book, which I recommend.
Ceebie
This book was actually in the teen section, possibly because its main protagonist is a teenage girl, Cassandra. Cassandra lives in a medieval castle in England, in the 1940s/50s. This seems romantic, but since her family is poor, they've had to seel alll of the furniture, and have very little to eat, no electricity and very few amenities. The novel is written in the first person, as though they were Cassandra's journals. It's quite well done, although in my opinion it's probably a little more well-written than a 17-year old would write. However, that may just be because with the rise of television, etc, we've all become more and more illiterate and have set ourselves lower standards of literacy.
Anyways, this is a good book, which I recommend.
Ceebie
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Poetry Thursday
This week's PT prompt is poetry about food. Since this week was my first week at my new job (more about that in a future post), I haven't been particularly creative when I get home. I can say however that for years I had a very ambiguous relationship to food. My family isn't one that is crazy about food, and as a dancer and gymnast I had huge issues with eating for some time (not anorexia, but close enough). It wasn't until I took a cultural production workshop around food in grad school that I began to unpack the other cultural meanings food has for me...One day I may find a poem I wrote for the workshop and post it here, but for now, here is a poem I love by Joy Harjo:
Perhaps the World Ends Here
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
fallling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at th ekitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.
- Joy Harjo
The gits of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table
Perhaps the World Ends Here
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
fallling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at th ekitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.
- Joy Harjo
The gits of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table
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