I have arrived

I am finally considered a wise old sage. Really, it happened overnight. The young people want to hear my stories. They want to know what life was like in "the old days". It's only a matter of time that I haul out my photo albums and people laugh and point at my hair, my clothes, my two-toned glasses (pink and blue, folks), the old Malibu Classic.

Sigh.

I have joined a group on facebook - Winkler Bible Camp Alumni. The last time I was at WBC? 1992, perhaps? The first time? 1980, maybe? I was an annual summer camper. I loved camp. Then I became a counsellor. In 1985. I spent a few entire summers at WBC. I learned how to ride horses, overcome (that's a bit of a stretch) my fear of heights in the ropes course, felt actual JOY when some accepted Jesus into their hearts, gained & lost summer loves.

Time marches on.

Now in "the group", I am asked to tell stories about the way camp was. In the 80's. Before they were born. There are two other names I recognize from my glory days in the group of 100+. TWO.

I feel oddly at peace about my new lot in life. People finally want to hear about my experiences, my life, the way things were. I am an icon. I LOVE it. I have arrived!

Question: Why would anyone ever need to go outside of the perimeter highway?

Answer: Because if I didn't, I'd miss this. . .

"Hey honey, I'm bored"

"Why don't you play chicken with traffic if you're so bored?"

Usually, my walks are relaxing, sometimes they're even downright enlightening. Last night I had a disturbing walk. I so wished I had taken my boss' offer of a ride.

It was after 6. I felt I needed a walk to clear my head before I went to teach yoga. I needed some space, some "me time".

I saw a "man" and a woman on the opposite side of the street. The man was pushing a stroller. He veered suddenly into the street as traffic approached with the stroller pushed as far in front of him as he could manage. He slowed down in every lane with the stroller in front of him, glaring at drivers, and (fortunately) forcing them to slow down. When he got to my side, I felt fear well up in me. I figured I'd just stay behind him and keep him in my sights. He waited for the light to turn, watched the traffic and again pushed the stroller in front of him into traffic. Same deal back to the other side. Now I'm almost in a near panic. Wondering what he'll do next. Wondering if next time he'll push the stroller into the street alone. Wondering why I chose today, of all days, to forget my cell phone in my car. Not that I'd know who to call anyway. "Um, excuse me, 911? Yeah, there's this guy and he's crossing the street. No, no accident. He's just got this really powerful strong negative energy about him. Hello? Hello?"

As he continued on the other side of the street, he ran the stroller over the grass, caught up with the woman (who didn't seem to care, mind, or even notice what he had done), and settled down.

I haven't forgotten it yet. I never did see a child. Perhaps this was his way of proving his manliness, you know, making people think he was playing chicken with a child when really there wasn't a child in the stroller. Hilarious. Why am I not laughing?

The plus is, there are no mosquitos

Kelly asked me last night if I was seriously going to walk to work today. Hmm. . .the stiffling hot outdoors or a stiffling hot and B.O.tastic bus? Not really a question, is it? And since I refuse to pay to park, I grabbed my water bottle (first time I carried one to work) and headed out the door. Definitely sticky but do-able. The crazies weren't out like the last hot morning I walked to work. "Hey, you Nancy's" wasn't heard once. I didn't see one person muttering to themselves or speaking up into the air. Not one. I even managed to get a few "good mornings" out of other walkers this morning. Nice.

I braced myself all day for the walk home. I knew it was plus-effin-insane (much like minus-effin-retarted, but slightly better). I prepared for my walk by packing my bag, preparing my already room temperature water, and changing into my tank top and long, tight, dark blue pants. I meant to put shorts in my bag this morning but forgot. I knew that Safeway (Starbucks) was less than 20 minutes away, and I figured I could handle it. As I stepped outside, my first thought was. . .

"It's actually not that bad!"

Now, if you know anything about me at all, it's this. I do not like heat. I do not like cold. I like 20 degrees, thank you very much. 20 DEGREES! 33 (42 with the humidex) is completely out of my league. Maybe the heat was addling my brain, playing with my thoughts, tricking me. Maybe I was already delusional with heat stroke. As I made it to Roslyn, I passed the gas station and saw the man laying on the floor while paramedics tended to him and the cashier kept serving customers. I wondered if he had succumbed to heat stroke. I wondered why I thought "It's actually not that bad!"

I took comfort in the cool Safeway, got some groceries that didn't have to heat up our already 81 degree main floor, purchased my Decaf-iced-non-fat-caramel macchiato, and headed home.

I'm not sure I'm ok. I'm thinking I've been possessed by a force greater than me. That my body has been inhabited by heat-loving aliens from the sun. I think I should call in crazy to work tomorrow.

If you drop your meat on the road, people will notice you

As I was crossing Roslyn today, a guy crossing from the other direction stopped right in the middle of the street and dropped his meat on the road. Just to hear it smack, I suppose. Then he picked it up and kept walking. The lunch meat (what kind of meat were you thinking of ?!) was no worse for wear and he probably had a nice sandwich for supper.

I actually laughed out loud. Crazy people do crazy things sometimes.

I dislike men in thongs (of all varieties) and other observations in the walk of life

1. Looking down when you walk is very practical.
2. Puke dries in the sun very quickly.
3. People like to hok loogies (I spell "hok" the way I did because I'm not sure how to spell it and because the guy on "So You Think You Can Dance" spells his name that way).
4. The "don't walk" to "walk" at Memorial & Broadway takes between 40 to 42 beeps to change.
5. The bridge is scary.
6. The most depressed man I've ever seen in my life lives in Winnipeg and walks by me on the bridge quite often.
7. People like to "do things" on/to the bridge - throw eggs, hok loogies, puke, allow their dogs to shit, steal the life saving device (twice). Which reminds me, if my worst fear ever comes true and someone (see #6) does pick me up and throw me over the bridge, what if the doohickey is gone? What will people throw to help save me? Eggs? Loogies?
8. Dog shit is very interesting to observe. One day it's a fresh pile, the next someone decides to step in it to see what their shoe print looks like, the next day it's HALF gone, the next day someone has cleaned it up.
9. Not everyone is friendly.
10. Smokers are mostly friendly.
11. Men who think I'm flirting with them should be happy about it (have I lost my charm?)
12. The guy at Starbucks loves Fruit & Almond Seed Bars too.
13. I love my daily walk. What should I do when winter comes?

When did hopscotch become so complicated?

The Customer Service Department is in the box just through those doors

Dillon works in a 6'x6'x8' box and yet he is a master of customer service. As soon as the doors open, he steps forward, smiles, greets you, invites you in the box, and takes care of you. He waits for you when you leave the box if no one else needs him right then. He laughs at jokes about Seinfeld. He is Customer Service.

Dillon is the security guard in a building I visited recently. Not only is he a security guard, he's the guy they want in the elevator that goes all the way to the top - you know, the Boardroom Elevator. Dillon spends meeting days travelling up and down, up and down, down and up, up and down, up and, well, you get the picture. Considering I have dizzy spells after one round in the elevator at work, this impresses me.

Dillon does NOT love his job in the elevator. When I asked him about it, he said he really didn't enjoy meeting days and working in the elevator. You'd never know that, though. He was the consumate professional, with an incredible attitude towards people. He didn't have to say it, you just knew that he understood his role as a customer service ambassador for his company.

Anyone who laughs at a Seinfeld reference is ok in my books. A man that serves me - well, that's just above and beyond.

Life's lesson for me today

Woman of the Street: "Could you spare some change?"
Me: "I'm sorry, I don't carry cash."

WofS takes a step, pauses, turns toward me again

WofS: "How about some cheques then?"

WofS grins

WofS: "Just kidding! Have a nice evening!"

How much better could life be if everyone approached it with a sense of humour?

Excuse me, have you seen my pants?

This isn't about the time that I had to ask my co-workers if I had my pants on in the cab when they dropped me off (a different story) or about the underwear I left in the Dominican Republic (a completely different story). It's interesting how many stories in my life end with me losing or leaving "bottoms" somewhere.

I heard something clunk behind me as I ran to cross the street where I was nearly hit earlier this month. I turned around and saw an item from my backpack on the pavement. I ran back to get it, crossed the street, took off my backpack, and realized only then that I forgot to close the bottom of it. What to do at this point? Walk all the way back to work (read 10 minutes) to find the pants that were likely already gone or head home and admit defeat? Score 1 - Commute; Score 0 - Me.

I had a tight deadline today so I decided to jog back and see what I could see. About a block later, I felt that my walk was futile. I stopped a woman walking my direction and asked her if she had seen my pants. She didn't look at me like I was a complete idiot, which scared me a little bit, to be honest. We had a lovely chat about where she had walked from, my open bag, how I would have to post this on my blog. End result? She hadn't seen my pants. I decided to abandon the search, admit defeat (see score above), and head home. Funny, I can get total strangers to talk to me when I'm searching for my pants on the street but I can hardly get anyone to say hello in the elevator in the building where we all spend 8 hours a day together.

By the time I got home, I had gained some perspective about my lost pants. Sure, it would have been better if it had been my shirt - I don't really like it that much any more. Yes, it would have been much worse if I'd have dropped my wallet, or day timer, or cell phone, or security pass. I decided this would be one of those great stories - like the time I threw up and one of my lenses fell into the toilet and I was too grossed out to reach in for it so I flushed it down. Yeah, it would be one of those stories.

With my newly gained perspective on people who talk to you when something bad happens to you, and how I was thankful it wasn't the pants from my new expensive suit, I got in my car and drove back the way I came, this time to school. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a piece of grey fabric on the sidewalk - untouched and in an unceremonious heap. I did a quick u-turn and retrieved my pants. No worse for wear and now back in my closet (I guess I should wash them, now that I think about it. I'm pretty sure nobody tried them on and then left them, though.) So, the commute didn't defeat me after all. Score 1 - Me; Score 0 - Commute.

Now I only have to wonder where my socks went.

First Impression Deception (Drunken Chatty Charlie)

I could tell from a few steps away that he was in a very "happy" place. Then, when he turned in to our row, he gave a little wiggle to prove that point to me. He reeked of booze and BO and talked non-stop, and all I could thing was "this is who I have to sit beside for two hours?!" I couldn't believe they'd let someone so obviously drunk on the plane and as he started chatting me up about where he had been, where he was going, someone he met in the terminal, blah, blah, blah. I started thinking of ways that I could graciously exit the conversation and ignore him.

A few minutes later, the pilot made a vague announcement about how he could only start one engine so we'd have to do an air start. This makes me freak out. I'm picturing us halfway in the air and then starting the second engine, which of course would fail, plunging us to our ultimate doom.

Then something extraordinary happened. Drunk Man started to explain what was happening and it was only the engine that ran the generator that starts the motor to run the auxiliary services. He went through the procedures item by item and as we approached each procedure, he turned out to be right. That's when it hit me how often my first impression of others gets me into trouble and how later some people I really dislike end up being great friends and how others I've really liked turn out to be, well, not so much friends. Apparently, I never really learn to stop pre-judging people.

He also gave me a good tidbit or two - one was to count the rows of seats to the exit door in case of an "emergency landing". "Three rows and hang a right", he said. Bet I do that on every flight now. Yup, Drunken Chatty Charlie is the one person I'd like beside me if the plane goes down.

Maybe he thinks I’m flirting with him – and if so, why doesn’t he like it?

Day 1
Me: “Good morning”
Random Guy on the Street: Mumbles something incoherent – I assumed “good morning” but now I think maybe “FO”

Day 2
Me: “Good morning”
RGotS: Shrugs, mutters, keeps walking

Day 3
RGotS: Sees me coming, stiffens his back, looks forward, braces himself
Me: “Good morning”
RGotS: Not even a flinch, stares straight forward

WTF?

Making Peace with Drivers - the commute experience

I have enjoyed walking to work for nearly one month now. I love the sights, sounds, smells, and feel of walking to work. Generally, it puts me in a really good mood.

I have only one issue (today, that is). Have you ever tried to communicate with someone in a vehicle while you're walking? Try it some day. It is nearly impossible to see into a vehicle window when someone is flying by you. One exception - when someone is stopped and has their window open. Drivers are usually in such a hurry that they forget basic things like stopping at crosswalks, watching for pedestrians, etc. You may say that because you're a driver, you have another version of the story. Yes, I get it. I too am a driver (and a damn good one at that). I am now, however, a ped-driver - I do both. So, I think I am uniquely qualified to say STOP AT THE CROSSWALKS YOU IDIOTS. I do understand that sometimes you don't see people, the lights aren't working, and various other excuses that I myself have been known to utter a time or two. But when for nearly one month everyone (with the exception of one cyclist) drives through the crosswalk that you cross twice daily, it becomes a pain in the ass.

Yesterday as I headed out the door, I could feel something different in the air. As I walked I noticed, yes, it was the actual feel of "peace" in commuter travel. I had one man even apologize through his open window for driving up a little too far and blocking about 10% of the walking lane. Wow. I told him it was fine and I was ok as long as he didn't hit me. He laughed like it was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard (no accounting for sense of humour, I suppose). Drivers were courteously letting other drivers merge, there was actual signalling happening. It was a miracle. My test was coming up on how good the day actually was, though. THE CROSSWALK. As I approached, I could feel myself tensing up. The anticipation of the event was building. I stopped at the crosswalk. One car passed. Two cars passed. The third car stopped and let me cross. I gave a quick wave and smile to the woman that I could barely see in the windshield and was off. For one brief, shining moment, all the world was right.

Then again, don't get me started on the walk home. I was just about hit by a car turning left as I walked through a just changed "don't walk" sign. Don't really know whose fault it was but as a ped-driver, I'm sure it wasn't me.

The Suit That John Made Me Buy

I have a new job where I feel I have to make a good impression on high-ranking people so I decided I needed to purchase a new kick-a%# suit for my first out-of-town meetings this week.

I went to a new store and instantly fell in love - with the clothes, of course; with John, most definitely! John was the kind of salesperson one dreams about. Attentive, helpful, knew exactly what would fit my body type. Sigh.

John made me try on a $550 suit. Teenflo. I have never tried on anything that has felt as good. John extolled the virtues of the suit. "You can wear the jacket with jeans or over a cute little white sundress. You can wear it with tall brown, tan, or black boots OR stilettos would look really hot with it. It fits you like a glove, I love the detail on it. . ." and on and on and on. I have never spent that much money on a suit. I figured $500 would cover the suit and a new pair of shoes.

John made me buy the suit. Rather, John sold the suit. I think all salespeople should be brought into a boutique store to see how it's done. Those salespeople who score 0 in communication skills and anticipating needs should see how a real man sells a woman clothing.

The best thing about my purchase is that John has me so convinced that I feel absolutely no guilt. Now THAT'S a salesperson!

The Wave Lady & The Helpful Homeless

The Wave Lady was half a block ahead of me this morning, so the first time she turned around to wave, I thought she was waving at me. I didn't recognize her so I resisted the urge to wave back. That's when she turned and waved again. And again. And again. At someone (thing?) in an apartment building. She had a big smile on her face and the waves were somewhat excited, somewhat flirtatious, somewhat something such that I couldn't figure out who she was waving to.

I made up a few stories in my head. Maybe she had a torrid one night stand that was so passionate that she hated to leave to go to her extremely boring job at (insert unfulfilling employment here). She tore herself out of bed, away from her newly found lover because she knew if she called in sick once more, she would lose that horrid job.

Or maybe she was on her first day of work or school. Something exciting and meaningful. She certainly did look happy. Maybe it was something she just couldn't wait to get to.

Or maybe it was her first day away from her young child and she regretted leaving him/her so she kept turning around to wave. The kind of look you give someone when you don't want to forget them.
In any case, her continuous turn-and-wave routine made me smile.

I hope she had a good day.



It was a rather beautiful morning after weeks of grey sky and rain so I was naturally feeling pretty good.

As I passed my local drug/grocery/lottery/anything-under-the-sun-you-can-think-of-store, I noticed an employee cleaning up the area around the dumpster. It was rather unremarkable until the Helpful Homeless showed up to lend a hand. He stood beside the employee, bent over, and started picking up garbage to throw in the dumpster. Employee was scared. I was moved. He gave what he could as he was able.

Morning walks are very enlightening. . .