I was reading Eve's post about the 'Boycott American Women' website. There were some good comments made about it, and even I had something to say. I said that the reason I boycott women is because I am painfully shy. I am an introvert. I've always been an introvert, but the way I lived my life made it a stronger part of my character than perhaps it should have been.
My folks moved around a lot. In the 90's, I bought one of those books where you fill in your family history, and the pages that described where we lived were completely filled in. This was before I went to Korea. I need another book for those.
I had a couple of good friends in elementary school, when we were living in Deadmonton. After I had finished grade 6, we moved back to Calgary, where we moved a coupla more times. In junior high and high school, I was the new kid. A new kid who's shy is not going to be part of a crowd. I had a few friends (never at the same time), but they sort of petered out, and by the time I graduated, I was close to no-one.
And girls?
Forget about it!
In junior high, I was interested, but could not bring myself to let them know it. I was too scared of what might happen. I learned to build a wall around my feelings and bury them deep.
That's been the pattern throughout my life. I can talk to women upon occasion, but any attempt on my part to take it beyond a certain point causes a complete brain freeze and I turn into an incoherently babbling idiot.
I mean, more than usual.
So I've come to a point in my life where I know that it's just not going to happen for me. I'm learning to be comfortable with myself, because I know that that's all I will have.
A posting on Facebook alerted me to a book about the subject, called The Introvert Advantage by Marti Laney, PsyD. It's a pretty good description of what I'm like.
I don't talk until I have something to say.
I need a reason to talk.
I've given up on trying to find something to say, just to be part of the conversation. It has to come naturally.
I like having few friends, because most people aren't worth my time. I'd rather have one Flint as a friend than a hundred of them.
I'm happy in my Batmancave, because mooks can't figure out the entry code.
I can think clearer without their noise.
I'm not interested in what is popular, or hearing about it from other people. I've got my own shit to think about.
Like Popeye says, 'I am what I am.'
My mom is driven to despair sometimes, because I don't perform well (for her) when she introduces me to her friends. She thinks I'm rude. I tried to tell her about this book, and explain why I do the things I do, but she still doesn't get it. Most people won't, but I don't worry about them anymore.
Flint's post about how Korea prepared him goes for me, too. Learning to deal with the stress of living and working in the Land of Morning Calm (and Afternoon Confusion) makes that as easy as pie.
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Old History, Repeating Itself
I used to work in a restaurant in the late seventies/early eighties. It was an interesting time. The guys who owned the restaurant, located in downtown Calgary, were an Englishman and a Catholic schoolteacher. The Englishman, who I'll call "W," was custom made for the business. He could talk, and talk interestingly (and incessantly), about anything. He was the perfect host, who could regale customers with stories, make them feel comfortable, and make them feel like they'd visited the homiest, most welcoming place on earth.
The schoolteacher was more laid back, and offered a quieter presence that tended to soften some of his partner's rougher edges.
But behind closed doors...
W could be a tyrant. His temper was quick to explode if anything was not done just right. If you've ever seen Gordon Ramsay in an episode of "Hell's Kitchen," you will know what I am talking about.
For the most part, he was a good boss, and I enjoyed working for him. The work was pretty easy to do, even when we were busy, because I had been trained well and knew what to do. But everybody makes mistakes, and even I got yelled at every once in a while.
One of the things that used to irritate me was changing the tape in the machine that piped music into the restaurant. Every single goddamned time I was walking toward it, W would come around the corner and ask, "Why's there no music playing?"
He was like Sybil telling Basil to put that picture up.
I worked there until 1982, when the city took all the land in the surrounding area and razed everything on it to the ground in order to build a shiny new City Hall. I was sorry to see it go, even though the area was not what you might call "Park Row."
Eastern downtown Calgary at the time was fairly down-at-heel. In the next block from our restaurant were two hotels, the Queen's Arms and the Monarch. They sat on two corners with an alley between them, and there was only a superficial difference between the two. They were home to the less advantaged of the city, and the bars were usually full of blue-collar types drinking their fill and then some. It wasn't a place I would go to alone, but it was okay if you had backup.
Yeah, they're gone now, too.
Down the other way was the St. Louis Hotel, a favourite haunt of then-reporter Ralph Klein. He used to come to our restaurant when he was running for mayor, and even after he won. I've seen him in his cups after hours a few times.
Further down was (and still is) the King Edward, the King Eddy, which now hosts a blues bar famous all over the city. Good music and thirst-quenching drinks.
W was full of plans for a new restaurant, of course, and it seemed like the natural thing when he asked me to come along and help to say yes.
I was going to Mount Royal College (now University), indifferently studying journalism, and I dropped out to work in the restaurant business full time. I thought I was getting in on the ground floor of something big. W said he was going to open pretty much the same place, only bigger and better. Yeah, he could talk, all right.
He decided before he could open this big glittering palace of an eatery, he needed to build up his bank account by opening a fast food joint. We looked around and then looked around some more for a place to set up shop and settled on an old, abandoned gas station. We rented the place from Shell Oil, whose place it was, and set about turning the service bays into a kitchen and the customer service area into a dining room.
We did quite a good job, and we did it all by ourselves; W, myself, and a kid who used to cook for us in the old place. And what a long, back-and-heart-breaking job it turned out to be. In the old place, there were a lot of targets for W's anger, but now there was only two, and boy did we get it.
It seemed like every day or every hour something would set him off, and we'd have to suffer through a tongue-lashing describing in intimate detail just how stupid we were, and how dense we had to be to make whatever mistake we had just made.
We were all under intense pressure to complete the job, and to drive ourselves as hard as we possibly could in order to finish, and get the restaurant up and running as soon as possible.
It makes me tired now just thinking about it.
Somewhere along the line, I burnt out, and lost all my enthusiasm for the resaurant business in general, and W in particular. We parted ways soon after the burger joint (called "Big Dick's," after Big Dick Turpin. No really) opened.
I've had other bosses with tempers like W's, and I was able to examine them more dispassionately, after my previous experience and a little time to think.
Remember the movie "Full Metal Jacket?" If you haven't seen it, you should. The drill instructor who lashes the recruits into fighting men is a perfect example of what I am talking about. He mercilessly berates the recruits until they are quite literally crying.
But he doesn't do it out of enjoyment. He's trying to break down their resistance to his instruction in the swiftest and most brutal way imaginable. He doesn't want to destroy them completely, merely remake them in the Marine Corps' image, and make them into trained, efficient killers.
He does a pretty good job at it until one of the recruits snaps and shoots him through the chest.
So I can see W's (and other bosses like him) point of view. And once you've seen behind the curtain, it's hard to ignore the little man working the controls of the Great and Powerful Oz. The giant head and the fire and the smoke are just special effects, used by an ordinary guy to fool you into doing what he wants the way he wants it.
I became impatient with superiors who used the rant in an effort to cow me. I started to see them as petty and mean, without the imagination to see that I was an intelligent human being who could follow instructions and do the job without all the pyrotechnics. It was their failing, not mine.
I remember when I was working as a security guard at a large office building. For some reason, it was the night guards' job to stock the washrooms with paper, towels, soap, etc. The super would come in the morning and make a quick check before relieving you.
One day I got quite a dressing down for not refilling one of the soap dispensers. When I went to do that (and I couldn't leave until I did), I saw that it was over half full, but not completely full.
What the fuck?
When I got back from completing my arduous task, the super went on and on, and questioned my dedication to the job, and asked me just what I expected if I tried to get by with such ineptitude.
I quietly agreed with him and told him I would ask HQ to move me to another site.
I didn't see any point in arguing with the mook, who was in a postion of authority, and clinging to his little bit of power like a limpet. Pointing out that he was a fucking idiot might bring some personal satisfaction, but it would be professional suicide.
What was the point? What could I say to this person, who I had just lost all respect for, that would change his thinking that he was right and proper to treat me like shit?
I didn't think it would do any good at all to waste my breath. Over at "What The Kimchi?," Flint and I get comments from all kinds of fucktards. Arguing with them is like banging your head against a brick wall. You can't change their thinking, and all you get is a head covered with bumps and bruises.
My mother is a lot like those bosses. I love her because she's my mother, but I don't like the person she is. At this point in time, she is very disappointed in me, mostly because (like my father) I am a very quiet man. She doesn't like the quiet, and can be very cruel when she makes snide comments about it. I've taken to distancing myself from her, rather than arguing with her. And I try not to think of her as being too similar to those idiots I used to work for.
All of us in our family have had arguments and differences like this with her. My sisters have sometimes gone for months and years before they make up with her. I suppose my mom and I will make it up some day.
But until then, I'll have to stay away from "The Wizard Of Oz" and "Full Metal Jacket."
The schoolteacher was more laid back, and offered a quieter presence that tended to soften some of his partner's rougher edges.
But behind closed doors...
W could be a tyrant. His temper was quick to explode if anything was not done just right. If you've ever seen Gordon Ramsay in an episode of "Hell's Kitchen," you will know what I am talking about.
For the most part, he was a good boss, and I enjoyed working for him. The work was pretty easy to do, even when we were busy, because I had been trained well and knew what to do. But everybody makes mistakes, and even I got yelled at every once in a while.
One of the things that used to irritate me was changing the tape in the machine that piped music into the restaurant. Every single goddamned time I was walking toward it, W would come around the corner and ask, "Why's there no music playing?"
He was like Sybil telling Basil to put that picture up.
I worked there until 1982, when the city took all the land in the surrounding area and razed everything on it to the ground in order to build a shiny new City Hall. I was sorry to see it go, even though the area was not what you might call "Park Row."
Eastern downtown Calgary at the time was fairly down-at-heel. In the next block from our restaurant were two hotels, the Queen's Arms and the Monarch. They sat on two corners with an alley between them, and there was only a superficial difference between the two. They were home to the less advantaged of the city, and the bars were usually full of blue-collar types drinking their fill and then some. It wasn't a place I would go to alone, but it was okay if you had backup.
Yeah, they're gone now, too.
Down the other way was the St. Louis Hotel, a favourite haunt of then-reporter Ralph Klein. He used to come to our restaurant when he was running for mayor, and even after he won. I've seen him in his cups after hours a few times.
Further down was (and still is) the King Edward, the King Eddy, which now hosts a blues bar famous all over the city. Good music and thirst-quenching drinks.
W was full of plans for a new restaurant, of course, and it seemed like the natural thing when he asked me to come along and help to say yes.
I was going to Mount Royal College (now University), indifferently studying journalism, and I dropped out to work in the restaurant business full time. I thought I was getting in on the ground floor of something big. W said he was going to open pretty much the same place, only bigger and better. Yeah, he could talk, all right.
He decided before he could open this big glittering palace of an eatery, he needed to build up his bank account by opening a fast food joint. We looked around and then looked around some more for a place to set up shop and settled on an old, abandoned gas station. We rented the place from Shell Oil, whose place it was, and set about turning the service bays into a kitchen and the customer service area into a dining room.
We did quite a good job, and we did it all by ourselves; W, myself, and a kid who used to cook for us in the old place. And what a long, back-and-heart-breaking job it turned out to be. In the old place, there were a lot of targets for W's anger, but now there was only two, and boy did we get it.
It seemed like every day or every hour something would set him off, and we'd have to suffer through a tongue-lashing describing in intimate detail just how stupid we were, and how dense we had to be to make whatever mistake we had just made.
We were all under intense pressure to complete the job, and to drive ourselves as hard as we possibly could in order to finish, and get the restaurant up and running as soon as possible.
It makes me tired now just thinking about it.
Somewhere along the line, I burnt out, and lost all my enthusiasm for the resaurant business in general, and W in particular. We parted ways soon after the burger joint (called "Big Dick's," after Big Dick Turpin. No really) opened.
I've had other bosses with tempers like W's, and I was able to examine them more dispassionately, after my previous experience and a little time to think.
Remember the movie "Full Metal Jacket?" If you haven't seen it, you should. The drill instructor who lashes the recruits into fighting men is a perfect example of what I am talking about. He mercilessly berates the recruits until they are quite literally crying.
But he doesn't do it out of enjoyment. He's trying to break down their resistance to his instruction in the swiftest and most brutal way imaginable. He doesn't want to destroy them completely, merely remake them in the Marine Corps' image, and make them into trained, efficient killers.
He does a pretty good job at it until one of the recruits snaps and shoots him through the chest.
So I can see W's (and other bosses like him) point of view. And once you've seen behind the curtain, it's hard to ignore the little man working the controls of the Great and Powerful Oz. The giant head and the fire and the smoke are just special effects, used by an ordinary guy to fool you into doing what he wants the way he wants it.
I became impatient with superiors who used the rant in an effort to cow me. I started to see them as petty and mean, without the imagination to see that I was an intelligent human being who could follow instructions and do the job without all the pyrotechnics. It was their failing, not mine.
I remember when I was working as a security guard at a large office building. For some reason, it was the night guards' job to stock the washrooms with paper, towels, soap, etc. The super would come in the morning and make a quick check before relieving you.
One day I got quite a dressing down for not refilling one of the soap dispensers. When I went to do that (and I couldn't leave until I did), I saw that it was over half full, but not completely full.
What the fuck?
When I got back from completing my arduous task, the super went on and on, and questioned my dedication to the job, and asked me just what I expected if I tried to get by with such ineptitude.
I quietly agreed with him and told him I would ask HQ to move me to another site.
I didn't see any point in arguing with the mook, who was in a postion of authority, and clinging to his little bit of power like a limpet. Pointing out that he was a fucking idiot might bring some personal satisfaction, but it would be professional suicide.
What was the point? What could I say to this person, who I had just lost all respect for, that would change his thinking that he was right and proper to treat me like shit?
I didn't think it would do any good at all to waste my breath. Over at "What The Kimchi?," Flint and I get comments from all kinds of fucktards. Arguing with them is like banging your head against a brick wall. You can't change their thinking, and all you get is a head covered with bumps and bruises.
My mother is a lot like those bosses. I love her because she's my mother, but I don't like the person she is. At this point in time, she is very disappointed in me, mostly because (like my father) I am a very quiet man. She doesn't like the quiet, and can be very cruel when she makes snide comments about it. I've taken to distancing myself from her, rather than arguing with her. And I try not to think of her as being too similar to those idiots I used to work for.
All of us in our family have had arguments and differences like this with her. My sisters have sometimes gone for months and years before they make up with her. I suppose my mom and I will make it up some day.
But until then, I'll have to stay away from "The Wizard Of Oz" and "Full Metal Jacket."
Monday, July 25, 2011
Family Weekend
Our family assembled at the hospital in Red Deer at 9:00 a.m. for a meeting with the various therapists helping rehabilitate my mom, to hear their assessments of where we are and where we're going from here.
In order to get there for the meeting, I got myself up, shat, showered, and shaved, and then fixed breakfast for my dad and brother. I guess we were kind of late, because dad was shoving us out the door before we could even clean up from breakfast. I didn't even have time to put makeup on my infected areas.
We met my sister there in my mom's room and went round to the conference room. There was a supervisor, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a different kind of occupational therapist.
The physio guy said mom was making good progress, but would like to work with her for another month (at least). The occupational gal talked about her mental progress, and mentioned a previous test done just when she'd been moved out of ICU. It had a fairly low score. We think it was because she was still fairly disoriented and full of drugs. This o.g. said mom still wasn't 100% and wanted to get her doing tasks like cooking and so on to make sure that she could operate at home okay. There was some talk of how my mom tries to do too much, which I can see. She's always on the go, always thinking about what needs to be done, what needs to be done next, and what needs to be done after that.
My dad said later that he didn't like this woman or her assessment. He thought she was too negative. I was willing to defer to her judgement, and didn't find too much wrong with what she had to say.
The third therapist just talked about getting mom involved in the various activities they did on the ward as a way to help facilitate her re-entry to the world outside.
So, as far as the hospital goes, mom is about a month away from coming home for good.
She did come home that day, just for the weekend. She wasn't up to doing a lot, as she was just too physically handicapped. She could wheel herself around in a wheel chair. She could walk with a walker. She could climb stairs but slowly.
She wasn't feeling too good the whole weekend, and slept a lot of the time, or laid down on the couch and watched TV. We tried to get her to maybe come outside onto the deck or maybe take a walk, but couldn't entice her.
My sister went to pick up our oldest sister that night, and they came back on Saturday. Friday, I barbecued steaks, and my older sister made a curry on Sat and then a pork roast for Sunday dinner. We all ate well.
Mom and dad slept in their room, I continued to sleep in my room, and my brother has been sleeping in the Batman-cave. My sisters slept in a cabin at the golf course which a friend of my dad's leant us. My sisters said it was a real nice place.
There was a lot of laughter, tomfoolery, and reminiscing about old times.
But now it's over. My sister's went to visit mom in the hospital (she returned there Sunday night), and from there, they'll be heading home (one to Vancouver, and the other to Lloydminister).
I've been cleaning up and doing laundry this afternoon, while my brother gets ready to sell some barn wood and my dad does yard work.
It was all right, as family weekends go. They don't happen very frequently these days, so we try to enjoy them as much as families who know where everyone's buttons are can.
In order to get there for the meeting, I got myself up, shat, showered, and shaved, and then fixed breakfast for my dad and brother. I guess we were kind of late, because dad was shoving us out the door before we could even clean up from breakfast. I didn't even have time to put makeup on my infected areas.
We met my sister there in my mom's room and went round to the conference room. There was a supervisor, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a different kind of occupational therapist.
The physio guy said mom was making good progress, but would like to work with her for another month (at least). The occupational gal talked about her mental progress, and mentioned a previous test done just when she'd been moved out of ICU. It had a fairly low score. We think it was because she was still fairly disoriented and full of drugs. This o.g. said mom still wasn't 100% and wanted to get her doing tasks like cooking and so on to make sure that she could operate at home okay. There was some talk of how my mom tries to do too much, which I can see. She's always on the go, always thinking about what needs to be done, what needs to be done next, and what needs to be done after that.
My dad said later that he didn't like this woman or her assessment. He thought she was too negative. I was willing to defer to her judgement, and didn't find too much wrong with what she had to say.
The third therapist just talked about getting mom involved in the various activities they did on the ward as a way to help facilitate her re-entry to the world outside.
So, as far as the hospital goes, mom is about a month away from coming home for good.
She did come home that day, just for the weekend. She wasn't up to doing a lot, as she was just too physically handicapped. She could wheel herself around in a wheel chair. She could walk with a walker. She could climb stairs but slowly.
She wasn't feeling too good the whole weekend, and slept a lot of the time, or laid down on the couch and watched TV. We tried to get her to maybe come outside onto the deck or maybe take a walk, but couldn't entice her.
My sister went to pick up our oldest sister that night, and they came back on Saturday. Friday, I barbecued steaks, and my older sister made a curry on Sat and then a pork roast for Sunday dinner. We all ate well.
Mom and dad slept in their room, I continued to sleep in my room, and my brother has been sleeping in the Batman-cave. My sisters slept in a cabin at the golf course which a friend of my dad's leant us. My sisters said it was a real nice place.
There was a lot of laughter, tomfoolery, and reminiscing about old times.
But now it's over. My sister's went to visit mom in the hospital (she returned there Sunday night), and from there, they'll be heading home (one to Vancouver, and the other to Lloydminister).
I've been cleaning up and doing laundry this afternoon, while my brother gets ready to sell some barn wood and my dad does yard work.
It was all right, as family weekends go. They don't happen very frequently these days, so we try to enjoy them as much as families who know where everyone's buttons are can.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Thursday, July 21st
It's been an interesting week here. On Monday, my brother arrived from Texas. He drove from there to here in four days. He is a driving machine. He travelled from San Marcos to Salina, Kansas (about 800 miles) his first night of driving. I say night, because it was too damn hot to drive during the day, so he would wait until mid-afternoon, and drive until 3:00 the next morning.
I remember driving down to Texas with him a few years back. We took a little more time, because I wanted to make some stops along the way. We visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield site, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, and Dealey Plaza (my second visit). One night, he drove about 500 miles in one shot.
He is up here to do a little business. he takes down old barns and sells the wood for people to make rustic decor. My brother also uses some of the wood to carve artworks or make boxes. He took up carving about eight years ago, and has gotten quite good at it. Right now, he's in a mermaid phase, but he also does rattlers, buffalo, and these kind of fishhook type necklaces.
This year, I'm helping him market his stuff by offering it for sale on Kajiji and maybe Craig's List.
On Tuesday, my mom came home for the first time since her accident. Her glasses were broken in the crash, and she's been seeing double, so she came in to see an optometrist. She then spent the night before going back to the Red Deer hospital the next day.
She's been slowly improving. She was even able to climb the stairs into her house. She has to walk with a walker, of course, and spends most of her time in a wheelchair, but she is definitely improving.
Mom has expressed a lot of frustration at the slow rate of her recovery. When we try and tell her just how far she has come, sometimes she sits still for it, but she can get pretty low at times. It's a job to keep her spirits up.
Today I mailed the last bit of paperwork I needed to turn in for my application to university. I just need a letter of reference and a description of my work in the classroom from a colleague in Korea. He's taking his time about getting it in, so I may have to prod him a bit.
I may be foolish trying to get my Education degree since Alberta has been firing teacher's left and right, but I guess we will see once I have it, eh? Maybe European employers will find me more attractive. I sure hope so.
I watched a movie called "Ironclad" this evening. It was recommended by a friend in Korea. It's set in England just after King John signs the Magna Carta. Pissed at having to kowtow to the barons, John (played by Paul Giamatti)raises a mercenary army and begins slaughtering anyone who signed the charter.
One of the barons, played by Brian Cox, hires some mercenaries of his own, including a Templar played by James Purefoy, and holds a strategic castle until the French arrive to drive John and his mercenaries off.
In reality, the castle fell to John, and the struggle raged across England for another year before John died of dysentery while fleeing the French. It wasn't until much later that John's son Henry finally succeeded in driving the French out and claiming the throne for himself.
But the movie was fairly entertaining, not the least for it's gory battle scenes, in which limbs are chopped off, blood sprays everywhere, and one man is nearly split in two by a broadsword. The movie's depiction of the savagery of battle, the mud and the blood prevalent during those times, and the struggle between people fighting for freedom against a tyrant was well done.
Tomorrow, our family is meeting with the doctors to discuss our mother's future. The whole family will be together for the first time in four years.
I remember driving down to Texas with him a few years back. We took a little more time, because I wanted to make some stops along the way. We visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield site, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, and Dealey Plaza (my second visit). One night, he drove about 500 miles in one shot.
He is up here to do a little business. he takes down old barns and sells the wood for people to make rustic decor. My brother also uses some of the wood to carve artworks or make boxes. He took up carving about eight years ago, and has gotten quite good at it. Right now, he's in a mermaid phase, but he also does rattlers, buffalo, and these kind of fishhook type necklaces.
This year, I'm helping him market his stuff by offering it for sale on Kajiji and maybe Craig's List.
On Tuesday, my mom came home for the first time since her accident. Her glasses were broken in the crash, and she's been seeing double, so she came in to see an optometrist. She then spent the night before going back to the Red Deer hospital the next day.
She's been slowly improving. She was even able to climb the stairs into her house. She has to walk with a walker, of course, and spends most of her time in a wheelchair, but she is definitely improving.
Mom has expressed a lot of frustration at the slow rate of her recovery. When we try and tell her just how far she has come, sometimes she sits still for it, but she can get pretty low at times. It's a job to keep her spirits up.
Today I mailed the last bit of paperwork I needed to turn in for my application to university. I just need a letter of reference and a description of my work in the classroom from a colleague in Korea. He's taking his time about getting it in, so I may have to prod him a bit.
I may be foolish trying to get my Education degree since Alberta has been firing teacher's left and right, but I guess we will see once I have it, eh? Maybe European employers will find me more attractive. I sure hope so.
I watched a movie called "Ironclad" this evening. It was recommended by a friend in Korea. It's set in England just after King John signs the Magna Carta. Pissed at having to kowtow to the barons, John (played by Paul Giamatti)raises a mercenary army and begins slaughtering anyone who signed the charter.
One of the barons, played by Brian Cox, hires some mercenaries of his own, including a Templar played by James Purefoy, and holds a strategic castle until the French arrive to drive John and his mercenaries off.
In reality, the castle fell to John, and the struggle raged across England for another year before John died of dysentery while fleeing the French. It wasn't until much later that John's son Henry finally succeeded in driving the French out and claiming the throne for himself.
But the movie was fairly entertaining, not the least for it's gory battle scenes, in which limbs are chopped off, blood sprays everywhere, and one man is nearly split in two by a broadsword. The movie's depiction of the savagery of battle, the mud and the blood prevalent during those times, and the struggle between people fighting for freedom against a tyrant was well done.
Tomorrow, our family is meeting with the doctors to discuss our mother's future. The whole family will be together for the first time in four years.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Planking, Again
We all know what planking is. Mooks take a picture of themselves lying prone on top of something, and then post the picture somewhere. It was just something stupid for mooks to keep themselves occupied with until an Australian man fell to his death from a seventh story balcony.
You would think that death would put the kibosh on a fad, but planking has resurfaced in the form of some players on the Winnipeg Blue Balls of the Canadian Football League doing it while celebrating a touchdown.
The TSN comooktaters were nonplussed. They had no idea what the celebration meant. It wasn't until later that they explained what had happened to us viewers.
Duh, hello! My name is Stig!
I guess some research gnome, or someone who was awake and aware and alive on this planet, told the comooktaters what it was all about.
The teeth and hair who do news, sports, opinion, etc. are not really reporters in the original sense of the word. Reporters used to do research on a topic for a story, and usually knew what they were talking/writing about.
My parents watch the news on Global Calgary morning, noon, and night. When I question the need to see the same goddamn story over and over again, my mom tells me she's waiting to hear the weather report.
Weather reporters are even more unreliable than the ones who do the news. To be wrong that percentage of the time while doing your job... well, I should be so lucky.
I tell my mom that I could do their job just by looking out the window.
But I digress.
One Global newsreader was commenting on a Youtube video. They play one as a regular part of their newscast. Yes, Youtube videos (especially ones about kitties) are news.
The newsreader made an off the cuff comment about the video, and then said that what he said might be true, he didn't know.
I thought, you're a reporter, and you don't know? And then I remembered, ah, teeth and hair. He doesn't report the news, he just reads it off a teleprompter. It's too bad his ad-lib showed his ignorance.
So the Blue Balls players and the TSN comooktaters were probably not aware of the death that had taken place when they decided to go ahead and air their ignorance.
I thought what the players were doing was not really planking, as they were laying on the ground. If they really wanted to plank, why didn't they climb up onto the goal posts?
Planking has even shown up in the comic strip "Betty." Her son discovered it and tried it out for himself.
I guess his research into the topic didn't extend to the dying part, either.
Well, it was a lot of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh.
Until the next death.
You would think that death would put the kibosh on a fad, but planking has resurfaced in the form of some players on the Winnipeg Blue Balls of the Canadian Football League doing it while celebrating a touchdown.
The TSN comooktaters were nonplussed. They had no idea what the celebration meant. It wasn't until later that they explained what had happened to us viewers.
Duh, hello! My name is Stig!
I guess some research gnome, or someone who was awake and aware and alive on this planet, told the comooktaters what it was all about.
The teeth and hair who do news, sports, opinion, etc. are not really reporters in the original sense of the word. Reporters used to do research on a topic for a story, and usually knew what they were talking/writing about.
My parents watch the news on Global Calgary morning, noon, and night. When I question the need to see the same goddamn story over and over again, my mom tells me she's waiting to hear the weather report.
Weather reporters are even more unreliable than the ones who do the news. To be wrong that percentage of the time while doing your job... well, I should be so lucky.
I tell my mom that I could do their job just by looking out the window.
But I digress.
One Global newsreader was commenting on a Youtube video. They play one as a regular part of their newscast. Yes, Youtube videos (especially ones about kitties) are news.
The newsreader made an off the cuff comment about the video, and then said that what he said might be true, he didn't know.
I thought, you're a reporter, and you don't know? And then I remembered, ah, teeth and hair. He doesn't report the news, he just reads it off a teleprompter. It's too bad his ad-lib showed his ignorance.
So the Blue Balls players and the TSN comooktaters were probably not aware of the death that had taken place when they decided to go ahead and air their ignorance.
I thought what the players were doing was not really planking, as they were laying on the ground. If they really wanted to plank, why didn't they climb up onto the goal posts?
Planking has even shown up in the comic strip "Betty." Her son discovered it and tried it out for himself.
I guess his research into the topic didn't extend to the dying part, either.
Well, it was a lot of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh.
Until the next death.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Why I Live Alone
I like Jerry Seinfeld. I think he's very funny.
In one of the bits I really like, he talks about the difference between living alone and with another person.
When you're alone, you're the president, the king, the dictator-for-life. You do what you want to do, when you want to do it. But when you live with another person, you become part of a vast decision making body that examines the issue from every angle before tabling the discussion for further review at some point in the distant future.
Since coming home, I've had to live that difference.
When I was in Korea, I became used to a certain schedule, one that did not involve getting up early and attacking the household chores with a will.
It's not that I won't help out around the house, but I'm not a mind reader. If somebody wants me to do something for them, all they have to do is ask.
And then when I do go ahead and do something, do you think it would kill a person to say thank you? Well, I guess it would.
If I cut the grass, I get shown the single blades that I missed.
If I dust, I'm told that a person could write their initials on the surfaces.
If I iron, the wrinkles I missed are catalogued and added to the list.
I remember once getting all excited and cleaning my house from top to bottom because my folks were visiting. My mom straightened me out when she got there. It was so dirty (in her eyes), I should've been ashamed to allow anybody to see it.
Sheesh.
I guess I should've expected it. My mom cleans the house to get it ready for the cleaning lady.
So I like to live on my own, go at my own speed, and live by my own rules.
Now, as to why I've never married, that is another series of posts.
In one of the bits I really like, he talks about the difference between living alone and with another person.
When you're alone, you're the president, the king, the dictator-for-life. You do what you want to do, when you want to do it. But when you live with another person, you become part of a vast decision making body that examines the issue from every angle before tabling the discussion for further review at some point in the distant future.
Since coming home, I've had to live that difference.
When I was in Korea, I became used to a certain schedule, one that did not involve getting up early and attacking the household chores with a will.
It's not that I won't help out around the house, but I'm not a mind reader. If somebody wants me to do something for them, all they have to do is ask.
And then when I do go ahead and do something, do you think it would kill a person to say thank you? Well, I guess it would.
If I cut the grass, I get shown the single blades that I missed.
If I dust, I'm told that a person could write their initials on the surfaces.
If I iron, the wrinkles I missed are catalogued and added to the list.
I remember once getting all excited and cleaning my house from top to bottom because my folks were visiting. My mom straightened me out when she got there. It was so dirty (in her eyes), I should've been ashamed to allow anybody to see it.
Sheesh.
I guess I should've expected it. My mom cleans the house to get it ready for the cleaning lady.
So I like to live on my own, go at my own speed, and live by my own rules.
Now, as to why I've never married, that is another series of posts.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Tuesday, July 5
I didn't do a whole hell of a lot today, other than follow Flint and AnonyJohn through several blogs.
My mom went to University Hospital in Edmonton to see her surgeon and find out what he had to say. There were a lot of x-rays taken, and an ultrasound to make sure no blood clots were lurking in the shadows.
My nephew and my sister met her there. Dad and I gave the trip a miss. Me because mom and I are still having... differences, and dad because he was ordering new glasses.
It's about a two and a half hour trip from here to there (one way), and we still didn't get answers to some questions we have. About a month ago, he told us that my mom's left shoulder socket had been fractured in three places. He said it needed replacing, and then the surgery got put off. At first, we were told because it was her blood pressure (too low), and then we were told something else, I forget what.
This time no discussion of what might or might not be done at all. He came in, said his piece, and was gone as soon as my sister turned around.
He's very good (we're told) but he's also very busy.
At least my mom got the go ahead to start walking on both legs, and supporting herself with her arms. They told us when this happened two months ago that she would be flat on her back for six months. Shows how much they knew about my mom. She is one determined lady.
So it looks like she'll go to Red Deer hospital for rehabilitation as soon as a bed opens up. They say this Unit 35 that they have there is pretty good, and mom was happy for the couple of weeks that she was there.
My sister is down here visiting her. It's always nice to see her, though she does sometimes act like my mom, especially when she's grilling me about why I don't have a job yet.
Sigh.
The trees are shedding that white fluff this week. Every time I go outside, I can feel a tickle on my nose. Those fluff are attracted to it like bees to nectar. I used to be quite stuffed up in spring, but I have a good nasal spray that keeps my nose clean.
It's been raining a lot, and I was interested to see a yellow residue left behind when the puddles dried up. Ah yes, the dreaded yellow dust. The Communist Chinese plot to poison us all.
I know I'm being selfish by staying away from my mom, but sometimes I need a break. And at least I'm aware I'm being selfish. There was a great scene on "The Big C" last week. The main character, Cathy, finally blurted out to her friend that she has cancer, and the friend's response was to think about how this experience was going to change her.
My mom went to University Hospital in Edmonton to see her surgeon and find out what he had to say. There were a lot of x-rays taken, and an ultrasound to make sure no blood clots were lurking in the shadows.
My nephew and my sister met her there. Dad and I gave the trip a miss. Me because mom and I are still having... differences, and dad because he was ordering new glasses.
It's about a two and a half hour trip from here to there (one way), and we still didn't get answers to some questions we have. About a month ago, he told us that my mom's left shoulder socket had been fractured in three places. He said it needed replacing, and then the surgery got put off. At first, we were told because it was her blood pressure (too low), and then we were told something else, I forget what.
This time no discussion of what might or might not be done at all. He came in, said his piece, and was gone as soon as my sister turned around.
He's very good (we're told) but he's also very busy.
At least my mom got the go ahead to start walking on both legs, and supporting herself with her arms. They told us when this happened two months ago that she would be flat on her back for six months. Shows how much they knew about my mom. She is one determined lady.
So it looks like she'll go to Red Deer hospital for rehabilitation as soon as a bed opens up. They say this Unit 35 that they have there is pretty good, and mom was happy for the couple of weeks that she was there.
My sister is down here visiting her. It's always nice to see her, though she does sometimes act like my mom, especially when she's grilling me about why I don't have a job yet.
Sigh.
The trees are shedding that white fluff this week. Every time I go outside, I can feel a tickle on my nose. Those fluff are attracted to it like bees to nectar. I used to be quite stuffed up in spring, but I have a good nasal spray that keeps my nose clean.
It's been raining a lot, and I was interested to see a yellow residue left behind when the puddles dried up. Ah yes, the dreaded yellow dust. The Communist Chinese plot to poison us all.
I know I'm being selfish by staying away from my mom, but sometimes I need a break. And at least I'm aware I'm being selfish. There was a great scene on "The Big C" last week. The main character, Cathy, finally blurted out to her friend that she has cancer, and the friend's response was to think about how this experience was going to change her.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Sunday, July 3rd
Got up at 7:00 to get ready for church. My dad gives me a lift, and he has to be there by 9 to open the door, so...
I like to give myself a couple of hours to get ready in the morning. Shit, shower, shave (well, I am going to church), and 20 minutes to put ointment on the infected areas. Then it's time to get the coffee organized. I can't understand people who get going without coffee, like my dad. And I can't understand people who are ready to go as soon as their feet hit the floor, like my mom (before the accident).
I like to have a bit of music to listen to first thing, but my folks like to have either news or daytime TV screaming at them at the top of their lungs. Way too much, way too early. I set my desktop up in the basement in order to get away from the noise. I now have a Batman-cave.
Sweet.
But I digress.
After breakfast, we're off to church. I took my laptop along so I could check my e-mail and facebook while I waited for the service to begin. I asked my dad what the password to log on to the wireless network was, and he didn't have a clue. He's had a laptop at the church for over a year, and he's never logged on to the internet. My folks are computer-illiterate. I used to ask my mom for help with this and that, but now I do all their 'puter stuff. I have to restrain myself from sighing heavily whenever I hear them wail for assistance.
My dad's brother and his wife showed up for the service, as they were visiting mom later. My aunt sat way too close to me. There's such a thing as "personal space" and she was ignoring it.
I used to play with their kids quite a lot when I was little, but we've all drifted apart, and now I'm lucky if I see them at Christmas.
My aunt has this voice that is difficult to describe. I think of it as unctuous times ten. It takes her hours just to say "How are you?" it comes out so slowly.
My uncle takes a long time to say anything, as well, but that's genetic. I have it, too. My uncle entertains you while you're waiting for his side of the conversation by showing you all of his teeth in a big wide grin. He just grins and grins and then makes a manly type of joke about your muscles or something.
Sigh.
After lunch, we went out for lunch to the local golf course. We sat out on the deck, but a rainsquall forced us back indoors. This year has been the wettest and coldest I've experienced in a long time. One of the local town bigwigs is worried about how high the river is, and what havoc it will wreak on the greens if it breaks its banks.
After lunch, I got my dad to drop me off at home. I didn't want to go to the hospital partly because I would be bored stiff by their conversation and partly because mom and I are having a bit of a disagreement at this point in time. These things happen, and have been occuring more often of late. This time it's because I don't hide how bored I am at their conversation.
My mom hates how quiet my dad and I are. She likes to talk, and I can see that it's sheer torture for her to be alone with us. Eventually it gets to her and she snaps. It's not pretty, and I tend to absent myself rather than actually try to take her on.
My sisters say I should try to distract her or turn it back on her by laughing or something. It's something they can do because they're both extroverts. My brother, as well. But me, I'm quiet. I go quiet and stay quiet. I withdraw into my shell like a turtle.
So me and mom won't be speaking for a while.
I got home and finally did my e-mail and facebook, watched a few movies, had dinner with dad, and watched my Sunday shows, "Treme" and "Top Gear."
I like "Treme" which I think just finished its second series. It's about New Orleans after Katrina. Much of the focus is on the music that the city has to offer, but there's also a lawyer chasing down crooked cops, and a chef who had a restaurant, lost it, and is just getting back on her feet. Anthony Bourdain is credited as one of the scriptwriters, and there are a lot of celebrity chef cameos.
"Top Gear" is just fun to watch. Sure, there's a lot of car talk, but it's done with a lot of British wit. These guys know their cars, and they have a lot of wit, so it works out well.
Tomorrow my mom visits the surgeon to see if she will be allowed to put weight on her broken leg. Not sure if I'll be going along.
We'll see.
I like to give myself a couple of hours to get ready in the morning. Shit, shower, shave (well, I am going to church), and 20 minutes to put ointment on the infected areas. Then it's time to get the coffee organized. I can't understand people who get going without coffee, like my dad. And I can't understand people who are ready to go as soon as their feet hit the floor, like my mom (before the accident).
I like to have a bit of music to listen to first thing, but my folks like to have either news or daytime TV screaming at them at the top of their lungs. Way too much, way too early. I set my desktop up in the basement in order to get away from the noise. I now have a Batman-cave.
Sweet.
But I digress.
After breakfast, we're off to church. I took my laptop along so I could check my e-mail and facebook while I waited for the service to begin. I asked my dad what the password to log on to the wireless network was, and he didn't have a clue. He's had a laptop at the church for over a year, and he's never logged on to the internet. My folks are computer-illiterate. I used to ask my mom for help with this and that, but now I do all their 'puter stuff. I have to restrain myself from sighing heavily whenever I hear them wail for assistance.
My dad's brother and his wife showed up for the service, as they were visiting mom later. My aunt sat way too close to me. There's such a thing as "personal space" and she was ignoring it.
I used to play with their kids quite a lot when I was little, but we've all drifted apart, and now I'm lucky if I see them at Christmas.
My aunt has this voice that is difficult to describe. I think of it as unctuous times ten. It takes her hours just to say "How are you?" it comes out so slowly.
My uncle takes a long time to say anything, as well, but that's genetic. I have it, too. My uncle entertains you while you're waiting for his side of the conversation by showing you all of his teeth in a big wide grin. He just grins and grins and then makes a manly type of joke about your muscles or something.
Sigh.
After lunch, we went out for lunch to the local golf course. We sat out on the deck, but a rainsquall forced us back indoors. This year has been the wettest and coldest I've experienced in a long time. One of the local town bigwigs is worried about how high the river is, and what havoc it will wreak on the greens if it breaks its banks.
After lunch, I got my dad to drop me off at home. I didn't want to go to the hospital partly because I would be bored stiff by their conversation and partly because mom and I are having a bit of a disagreement at this point in time. These things happen, and have been occuring more often of late. This time it's because I don't hide how bored I am at their conversation.
My mom hates how quiet my dad and I are. She likes to talk, and I can see that it's sheer torture for her to be alone with us. Eventually it gets to her and she snaps. It's not pretty, and I tend to absent myself rather than actually try to take her on.
My sisters say I should try to distract her or turn it back on her by laughing or something. It's something they can do because they're both extroverts. My brother, as well. But me, I'm quiet. I go quiet and stay quiet. I withdraw into my shell like a turtle.
So me and mom won't be speaking for a while.
I got home and finally did my e-mail and facebook, watched a few movies, had dinner with dad, and watched my Sunday shows, "Treme" and "Top Gear."
I like "Treme" which I think just finished its second series. It's about New Orleans after Katrina. Much of the focus is on the music that the city has to offer, but there's also a lawyer chasing down crooked cops, and a chef who had a restaurant, lost it, and is just getting back on her feet. Anthony Bourdain is credited as one of the scriptwriters, and there are a lot of celebrity chef cameos.
"Top Gear" is just fun to watch. Sure, there's a lot of car talk, but it's done with a lot of British wit. These guys know their cars, and they have a lot of wit, so it works out well.
Tomorrow my mom visits the surgeon to see if she will be allowed to put weight on her broken leg. Not sure if I'll be going along.
We'll see.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
My Mom
My Mom had a serious car accident a couple of months ago.
She had been visiting my sister at her farm, and was on the way home when it happened. She had just left Camrose, where she was going to stop for coffee. The accident happened about 15-20 minutes south of there, just past the road to Duhamel.
The road was curving to the left, and according to the witness, she just went straight. There were no other vehicles involved, and the witness saw no animals on the road. There weren't even any skidmarks, just a track from the right wheel going down the embankment for about 5 metres, and then pits and divots where the car began to roll. It rolled down the embankment, through a barbed wire fence, and on into the middle of some field. I'm a lousy judge of distance, but she must have rolled about 50 - 75 metres.
If you Google "Single vehicle rollover near Camrose," you can go to the Camrose paper's website and see a couple of pictures of the car where it finally came to rest. The pictures don't really do it justice. The RCMP showed us some pictures that gave some idea of the distance and severity of the accident. Going to the site was a sobering experience, as was crawling around inside the vehicle retrieving my mom's things. Her cell phone survived the accident. The EMS had found her bottom teeth, and we found her top teeth under the front seat. The bottom teeth had a small crack that was repaired.
She's wearing them now.
The RCMP officer figured she must have gone to sleep, but I don't really believe that. She must have been distracted by something in the car, like changing a CD or spilling the coffee. Maybe she had a blackout or a stroke. Probably we'll never know.
The witness talked to her while she was still in the car, and so did the EMS when they pulled her out.
She gave them my dad's phone number, but we didn't get a call until almost four hours after the accident. By then STARS Air Ambulance had already taken her to the University Hospital in Edmonton.
My nephew lives in Edmonton, so he was the first to arrive. We got there a couple of hours later, and got the list of injuries from the doctor. Her left shoulder was broken three times. Her right elbow wasn't just dislocated, it was smashed. She had two ribs on her left side and six ribs on her right side broken. Her pelvis was fractured three times, and her right leg was broken in two places.
There were also a variety of cuts and cruises. When we first saw her, she was covered from neck to toe with a kind of blowup cocoon. There was a breathing tube in her mouth, and all kinds of wires and tubes attached to her body.
It's a miracle she survived.
She has a personal directive that states the sort of life-saving procedures she received were not to be performed. She would have died without them. The directive was not with her, and all the procedures completed by the time we got there. The doctor told us that everything was fixable, but it would be a long journey back.
She has come a long way since the accident, and we are anticipating that she will be given the go ahead to put some weight on the right leg next week, and begin to walk.
She did have some low periods where she questioned whether she should have survived the accident, but now she is looking forward to that first step so she can come home.
She had been visiting my sister at her farm, and was on the way home when it happened. She had just left Camrose, where she was going to stop for coffee. The accident happened about 15-20 minutes south of there, just past the road to Duhamel.
The road was curving to the left, and according to the witness, she just went straight. There were no other vehicles involved, and the witness saw no animals on the road. There weren't even any skidmarks, just a track from the right wheel going down the embankment for about 5 metres, and then pits and divots where the car began to roll. It rolled down the embankment, through a barbed wire fence, and on into the middle of some field. I'm a lousy judge of distance, but she must have rolled about 50 - 75 metres.
If you Google "Single vehicle rollover near Camrose," you can go to the Camrose paper's website and see a couple of pictures of the car where it finally came to rest. The pictures don't really do it justice. The RCMP showed us some pictures that gave some idea of the distance and severity of the accident. Going to the site was a sobering experience, as was crawling around inside the vehicle retrieving my mom's things. Her cell phone survived the accident. The EMS had found her bottom teeth, and we found her top teeth under the front seat. The bottom teeth had a small crack that was repaired.
She's wearing them now.
The RCMP officer figured she must have gone to sleep, but I don't really believe that. She must have been distracted by something in the car, like changing a CD or spilling the coffee. Maybe she had a blackout or a stroke. Probably we'll never know.
The witness talked to her while she was still in the car, and so did the EMS when they pulled her out.
She gave them my dad's phone number, but we didn't get a call until almost four hours after the accident. By then STARS Air Ambulance had already taken her to the University Hospital in Edmonton.
My nephew lives in Edmonton, so he was the first to arrive. We got there a couple of hours later, and got the list of injuries from the doctor. Her left shoulder was broken three times. Her right elbow wasn't just dislocated, it was smashed. She had two ribs on her left side and six ribs on her right side broken. Her pelvis was fractured three times, and her right leg was broken in two places.
There were also a variety of cuts and cruises. When we first saw her, she was covered from neck to toe with a kind of blowup cocoon. There was a breathing tube in her mouth, and all kinds of wires and tubes attached to her body.
It's a miracle she survived.
She has a personal directive that states the sort of life-saving procedures she received were not to be performed. She would have died without them. The directive was not with her, and all the procedures completed by the time we got there. The doctor told us that everything was fixable, but it would be a long journey back.
She has come a long way since the accident, and we are anticipating that she will be given the go ahead to put some weight on the right leg next week, and begin to walk.
She did have some low periods where she questioned whether she should have survived the accident, but now she is looking forward to that first step so she can come home.
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