What I am doing

So I got my supplements. Already I feel a little better. The supplements I was missing were levocarnitine, taurine, tyrosine, and selenium. I also got a refill on my B12 shots.

I've also been taking glucosamine, coQ10, Cold FX, and a multivitamin.

I'm awake at 9 pm. For the past few weeks, I could barely remain upright this late. It was all I could do to shove some food at my child, and make it to bedtime. Now I actually stayed up and did all the tihngs I like to do at night to get ready for he next day, like laying out my outfit for the next day, laying out Garielle's outfit, doing a little pre-packing of her lunch, and so on.

And I'm back into stretching.

The next big hurdle is to incorporate walking back into my life. It's been so damned cold out that it's been just about impossible. But it's warmed up a bit, so I think I can start managing it again, especially if I can work it in during the work day.

And as for the house, I've decided that if I'm interested enough in pursing a friendship with someone and want to invite them over, I'm not going to worry about the ugliness of the house.

So I'm back on track.

Del McCoury has paid his dues

This past Sunday night, my husband and I had the treat of listening to the Del McCoury band in a concert setting, indoors, in comfortable seats. (I'd only ever heard them outside, at festivals, usually while I was sitting on the ground or leaning on a tree.)

The first time I heard Del, his band was called The Dixie Pals. It was the 80's and I was just beginning to learn about bluegrass music (one of the rare gifts from my ex husband). Del had already been in the biz for decades and was a permanent fixture in the bluegrass scene.

Although Del had a devoted core of fans, the general buzz seemed to be that he was just another of the "old generation" bluegrass boys who had worked with Bill Monroe. This isn't anything disparaging, mind you. This is a good thing. I remember the 80's as a time of tension in the bluegrass world. All these hot young kids were dabbling in "new grass," and all the old geezers spat on the ground and remarked "'Tain't bluegrass." Most of us walked the line. We loved and appreciated all the new stuff, but we didn't want the good ol' traditional bluegrass to get lost amidst all this new noise.

Anyway, I was getting a bit saturated with all this bluegrass information from my then husband and his bluegrass friends. I loved the music and I was quickly learning a lot about it. But there were a lot of people in bluegrass history to keep track of, and some of the people kind of ran together in my mind because there were just too many of them. It seemed that everyone who ever played with Bill Monroe instantly had enough credibility to run off and start his own successful band.

So we were at this festival in Ohio, and I forgot what we were doing or who we were with. When we got to the concert area, the Dixie Pals were in the middle of their set. We listened for a bit, and I recall liking the jaunty rhythm and great harmonies. We didn't stick around, for some reason - I can't recall why. We had somewhere to be or something. I recall a bit of regret as we walked away from the stage area.

I dug out one of my husband's Del McCoury & The Dixie Pals CD's and played it quite a bit. I jokingly referred to Del as "my pal."

Anyway, fast forward a decade. The marriage ends, and I anticipate a welcome break from a steady diet of nothing but bluegrass. I'm thinking I won't listen to bluegrass ever again as long as I live, if I can help it.

But I can't help it.

Probably the best thing that emerged from that marriage was an appreciation and understanding of this kind of music. I found myself replacing a lot of the CD's that my husband had gotten custody of. I found myself showing up at concerts and shows. Is it a coincidence that the man I fell in love with and eventually married is a total music-head and appreciates this kind of music?

So now it seems Del McCoury is all over the place.

Now, get this:

Bluegrass bands, especially the big ones, tend to tour the Southern states during the winter. Those in the Northern states don't usually get to see their favorite names unless it's summer.

Here we are, in Canada, for crying out loud, at the end of November.

Follow me on this.

It's 15 degrees BELOW zero. Fahrenheit. Can you imagine that kind of cold?

After plowing themselves out of a blizzard in Vancouver, Del McCoury & his guys made their way to Calgary. They arrived just an hour before the concert. Their instruments were still thawing onstage.

And they gave us one hell of a show.

And I realized that Del McCoury is not just one of a cavalcade of ex-Bill Monroe associates, thumping on his instrument, trying to keep the old brigade front & center in our minds. It's probably because he has two sons in his band, two very, very talented sons who push the boundaries and who want to bring the element of their own musical generation into the mix.

Del McCoury embodies the entire history of bluegrass music. And he still looks pretty darned good onstage.

To see the Del McCoury Band website, go here: Del McCoury Band

What I'm not doing right now

I'm not being a good mother. My daughter is on her father's computer, playing games at Noggin and Treehouse TV. She's been on for a couple of hours, which is way too long. But it's freed her father and me up for loafing. (And yes, the correct word is "me," there, and not "I.")

I'm not doing anything particularly constructive. Now that I have my computer back, I'm compelled to surf. I'm looking at retro decor sites. I keep fantasizing that one day I really will do something about that damned living room. I know. If you're reading this, you're sick of hearing about it. I'm sorry. I'm obsessing again. You might ask why we don't just get off our butts and do something. Well, our butts don't have the money to replace the gold shag carpet, or to paint the walls, or to reupholster the furniture.

So I daydream - okay, if I must have gold shag carpet, let's just play to it. Let's just decorate totally retro and fun. But by the time we spend all the money on retro shit, we might have spent that on new carpet.

So I avoid the house. Besides, I have it in my head that I have to finish my daughter's bedroom first. What's stopping me? I don't know. Time. Lack of energy.

Which leads me to the next thing I'm not doing: taking care of myself. I stopped stretching in the morning. I haven't gone for a walk in weeks. (Of course, it's 24 below zero here. Okay, that's Celcius. In Fahrenheit, it's 11 below zero. I'm not exaggerating. It's 11 degrees below zero today.)

I digress.

I went to a physician who specializes in alternative therapies awhile back. He put me on all kinds of things - B12 shots, taurine, L-carnitine, some other things. All bloody expensive. But I began to feel really good & energetic. Slowly, I've been running out of these things, and I've put off spending the money on refills. And now I'm starting to feel it. The L-carnitine made my chronic achiness practically disappear. The B12 shots gave me a boost of energy. There was some other supplement that the dr said would assist with motivation, and it seemed to work. Anyway, maybe it was all psychosomatic. But who cares - if it worked, it worked. I need to find time to get to the dr. and get those refills.

But I hate to take time away from work. Which brings me to another thing I'm not doing . . .

I'm not keeping up at work the way I want to right now. It's been incredibly busy, but our office is really popular for some reason and we get a lot of visitors. I should tell people to leave, but I enjoy the chatting and the cameraderie. I talked to my supervisor about this, and she said I just have to be more firm and tell people that I have work to do. She's right.

I think I have to go back to the beginning, to where I was in the spring. I wasn't blogging then, so I'll fill you in. *your eyes glaze over*

Over the past few years, I've been getting more tired and, well, more fat. I couldn't find the strength to exercise because I was just totally depleted. I couldn't manage to eat healthily because I literally couldn't find 30 seconds in my day to clean a vegetable or to peel a fruit. It seems it took every ounce of energy to do what was mandatory, like going to work, taking care of my daughter, throwing some clothes into the wash so I wouldn't go to work in dirty clothes, and so on.

So I visited this specialist that a coworker had gone to. He ran me through a bunch of tests and determined that I was deficient in a lot of things. Of course, he was happy to sell me supplements. I tried them and I really did begin to feel quite a bit better.

Now I feel like I'm sinking back to where I started.

Here's the thing. It all begins with energy. Without energy, it doesn't matter what I want to do or what I dream about doing or what I intend to do.

So this week I'm going to find time to get back to that dr and get my refills.

So there!

And then there are real life concerns.

Well, not concerns, just the usual day-to-day bumps that remind us to get our heads out of the clouds.

My computer is acting up. It boots, and then immediately logs itself off. It doesn't even give me a chance to intervene during the boot process, so I can't get in to figure out what's going on. After numerous attempts to reboot and numerous attempts to flip it to DOS during the boot, I gave up. I took the computer to a repair shop nearby.

So I'm on Eric's computer. The thing is, my daughter likes to get on the computer sometimes too, and it's hard enough for 3 people to use 2 computers. Now we're down to one. Oh, life is so hard, what ever did we do to deserve this??? (I hope you can see my tongue protruding from my cheek here. I realize that we're damned lucky we're of the set that can afford a computer at all.)

And I'm trying to get some clothes washed, and Eric came by and said "I'm going to need to wash some clothes." "Me too!" I cheerfully responded. The thing is, we finally agreed to do our own laundry, because I was getting buried when I was trying to do it all myself. But at least when I did all the laundry, I got to ensure that my own clothes got done when I wanted them to! But now, it seems every time I get a window of opportunity to do laundry, Eric wants to do laundry too. Damn him. Who does he think he is that he has a right to clean and fresh clothing? (Again, tongue in cheek. We're lucky we're not of the set that washes their clothes in the local creek.)

Well, I guess I'd better go check the clothing in the dryer and see if they're done!

Bizarre inclinations (again)

I hum merrily along in life for weeks or months at a time, and then I go through periods where I'm certain I'm supposed to be doing something else. I'm as certain as certain can be, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is how I will feel forever, so firmly rooted is the feeling.

And then it passes, and I think "Whew, glad I didn't follow that inclination!"

But sometimes some of the same inclinations resurface.

I quite often believe I'm supposed to be a public speaker of some sort. But as of yet I have no idea of what I'd say.

I sometimes believe that I'm supposed to be a motivational speaker, with books and CD's.

And I sometimes believe that I'm supposed to be a stand-up comedian.

And still other times I believe I'm supposed to be a writer.

Or a writer of music. Or a producer of music.

Or a screenplay writer, or film producer.

I never have the feeling that I'm supposed to be a fundraiser, for some reason, and that's what I do for a living. And I'm quite good at parts of it. I'm quite good at the parts where I go out and meet donors and prospects. I'm quite good at the parts where I have to stand up in front of large groups of people and talk about why their support is critical. I'm quite good at anything that involves writing, or idea generating.

I'm not so good with the minutia or the numbers or the results analysis. I'm told these are critically important in my field as well. I don't argue with that. But dang it, I'm raking it in - let someone else count it.

Anyway, I'm going through one of these periods again. This time, unlike previous times, it's not motivated by extreme job dissatisfaction. In fact, as far as jobs go, this one is a plum. It's probably the best job I've had to date. And I'm earning a decent and stable income that my family relies on.

It's time for me to move forward on some of these things. I think in 2007 I will either enroll in this comedy class I've heard about, OR arrange to go to a public speaking course or seminar, OR join Toastmasters. (The problem with Toastmasters is they have a once-a-week commitment that they take very seriously. I don't have that kind of time. I'm fairly convinced that once a month would do very well for me.)

Too bad I only have one lifetime. Of course, maybe I have more than that.

There's this spiritual theory that appears in many of the world's religions that says that we live multiple lives, and in each life, we're supposed to learn lessons that we carry into our next life, and so on.

The problem I have with this theory is that if this were the case, we should be able to remember the lessons learned in previous lives. I'd sure love to remember what those lessons were, and I sure wish I could take the lessons I'm learning here into the next life.

I wish I could leave myself a memo: "Next time, don't forget - be a singer/songwriter!"

Romanian villagers are not amused

Residents of a remote Romanian village have joined the backlash against Sacha Baron Cohen's hit movie Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

Villagers in Glod, Romanian for "mud," are threatening to sue the film's producers for paying them a pittance to stand in for a Kazahk village in the movie.

Sacha Baron Cohen, as Borat, is being accused of duping Romanian villagers in Glod when he filmed his hit movie.(Matt Sayles/Associated Press)

They say they are horrified and humiliated after learning the movie ridicules their abject poverty and simple ways.

The residents say filmmakers got them to put farm animals in their homes and perform other crude antics.

For the full article, please go here: http://www.cbc.ca/arts/film/story/2006/11/15/borat-glod.html

UPDATE: Perhaps the joke is on Borat

Here's another viewpoint. For the most part, the Americans upon whom Sasha is trying to pull pranks respond with the utmost politeness. And as the author of this article points out, the rodeo crowd did stop cheering when they realized Borat was going too far, the gun seller didn't sell him a gun, and the genteel Southern dinner guests and hostess went very far in their politeness and tolerance.

Borat exposes "crassness" of America? I think not. Borat exposes its extreme politeness.

Read the article here:

http://www.slate.com/id/2153578/?GT1=8805

Mel Gibson name change!

I hadn't looked at my husband's blog in quite some time. Today I looked and found this entry from a few month's back:

I have decided what Mel "Mad Max" Gibson has to do before I could forgive him for his anti-semetic outburst. He must change his name to Shlomo.

So today I emailed him this "news" article. Ha! I kill me! (If you'd like to see my husband's blog, it's at http://ericsfrozenblog.blogspot.com.)

Mel’s name change has fans in uproar

HOLLYWOOD - Stan and Carla Haney spent their first date at Mel-Fest, the film festival dedicated to the works of Mel Gibson.

On their 10th anniversary, they'll be watching Shlomo Gibson in a one-man play entitled “Anne Frank: What Happens In The Annex Stays In The Annex.”

They are none too happy about the name change.

"It's a cumbersome name and to me he will always just be Mel," said Carla. "I appreciate his motivations, but I think it’s unnecessary. Maybe we're just anti-Semitic."

The new name came about Friday when Internally Blond, Gibson’s agency, announced the name change at a Los Angeles fundraiser.

Gibson’s legal name will remain Mel. He was originally named after his great-grandfather, Melvin Schlechte.

"That helps," said Stan. "At least his legal name will stay the same. After all, his own grandkids might want to name their kids after him."

"And not only that," added Carla, "It's a Jewish tradition to name a child after a deceased loved one. Someday Mel’s going to croak, and it would be a nice nod to the Jewish community if their grandkids named their own children ‘Mel’."
Alex Regis and friend Jennifer Hofner had one word to describe the name change: Horrible.

"People are going to boo whenever his name appears in credits or anything," said Regis.

For one of Hofner’s friends, the pain may have been even deeper.

"That's my name," said Shlomo Gibson Goldblum with a hint of sadness.

Andy Kauffman LIVES . . .

. . . as Sacha Baron Cohen.

When my husband brought my attention to Borat and suggested that his creator, Sacha Baron Cohen, was Andy Kauffman all over again, I thought he was referring to similarities between Borat and Kaufman's character, Foreign Man.

Yesterday, we went to see Borat: Cultural Learnings of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan.

At several points during the movie, my husband said "Now THAT was set up." I finally said "The whole thing is set up - it's a movie!" He said "No, a lot of these people didn't know they were going to be in a movie."

What the hell does that mean? Was not the presence of camera people a give-away clue???

My husband explained that many people were misled with regards to the kind of movie it was going to be. They were told that it was a documentary about a Kazakhstani man traveling across America.

Some of the scenes were so outrageous, such as the photographs of the genitals of Borat's son being shown to the etiquette coach, the singing of the Kazakhstan national anthem to the tune of the American national anthem, and so on.

Apparently, most of the participants of the movie had no idea what they were doing. For instance, members of the Veteran Feminists of America thought they were being given an opportunity to further women's rights for third world women.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/6071486.stm

Here is Borat's website: http://borat.tv

The movie was a lot funnier when I believed the participants were all actors. But now that I know it was just mean humor, it's not funny. There was a line in "Man On The Moon" in which Danny DeVito's character (Kaufman's agent) says Andy's humor isn't funny because Andy is the only one laughing.

It's the same reason I don't like Rick Mercer's "Laughing At Americans." It's just mean.

Books as a substitute for action

I just love buying books about things I'd like to do. I have books on finance, home organization, weight loss, strength training, polymer clay, home decor, sewing, painting, time management, cooking, meditating, creativity, entrepreneurship, self-discovery, sex, creative writing, voluntary simplicity, music industry, and so much more!

When I start to feel motivated about something, I run out and buy a book about it. I might buy ten books about it. Then the feeling passes, but I still have the books. The books indicate that the project du jour is not off the table - it's just parked for awhile. The books are evidence that I still may get around to pursuing it one day.

Here are some of my favorites. I'd like to say they're motivational. They feel motivational and they always make me feel like I'm moving forward with things. Of course, reality conflicts with these pleasant delusions. But perhaps you're a more disciplined soul than I am, in which case these books could possibly be of value to you:

(By the way, I'm not an affiliate nor am I enrolled in any programs to make money off of these books. I'm just providing links for informational purposes, and if you check the link address, you'll see that they're just straight links.)

Sink Reflections by Marla Cilley, otherwise known as "Flylady"
The Complete Tightwad Gazette by Amy Dacyczyn
The Magic Lamp by Keith Ellis
I've Been Rich. I've Been Poor. Rich Is Better. by Judy Resnick
Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui by Karen Kingston
Writing Down The Bones by Natalie Goldberg
The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron
Awaken the Diet Within by Julia Havey
Body For Life by Bill Phillips
The Success Principles by Jack Canfield
Eat That Frog by Brian Tracy
Inc. Your Dreams by Rebecca Maddox
Three early books by Wayne Dyer: Your Erroneous Zones, Pulling Your Own Strings, and The Sky's The Limit. These books really do go together to form a trilogy.

I posted earlier that I've been reading Make Your Creative Dreams Real by SARK. I borrowed it from the library. I'm halfway through it, and now I want to go buy it to have for my very own. I'm not happy just reading books. I need them to take up permanent residency in my home.

Crafty Chica inspires me, but not enough to actually do anything!

I love going to this woman's site! Crafty Chica

Everything about her is bright and fun. She has a definite Chicana style that is also fresh & funky. She's also a mother of two, and apparently works a full-time job, in addition to maintaining her website, promoting her stuff, and so on.

I emailed her once and asked her to post something at her site about time management! She never responded. Maybe she didn't have time.

Well, now I'm off to rinse the hair colour out of my roots and get on with my life of unfinished projects.

Why we still love Barry Manilow

I think my husband & I were on our first date, and we were looking through a music store for some reason. He was pulling out this or that CD that interested him, and I found a CD version of a Barry Manilow album I had when I was probably twelve or thirteen. I was excited about that.

Years later, my husband teased me and said that it was almost a deal-breaker. He just didn't know if he could date a woman who likes Barry Manilow.

There was nothing about Manilow that indicated he would be such a hit with the barely-post-pubescent female crowd way back in the 70's when he hit us over the head with "Could This Be Magic" and "Mandy." For one thing, he was waaaay old - my god, he was 30 years old! He was also terribly skinny. And (apologies to you, Barry), he didn't really have the cutie-pie face that girls go for. And we were also dimly aware that he evoked something a bit, shall we say, homosexual. ("Not that there's anything wrong with that!")

But we didn't want to smooch with him or even hold hands. We just wanted to discuss our deepest feelings with him. Deepest feelings were new to us at that age, and very exciting. The boys our age either hadn't hit puberty yet, or if they had, just wanted to grope our budding boobies. They didn't give a shit about our feelings. But Barry Manilow did, and he sang about them.

Who among us didn't sob "Yes, that's me!" when we heard "All The Time"?

All the time I thought there's only me
Crazy in a way that no one else could be
I would have given everything I own
If someone would have said "you're not alone"

All the time I thought that I was wrong
Wanting to believe but needing to belong
If I'd've just believed in all I had
If someone would have said "you're not so bad"

All the time,
all the wasted time
All the years
waiting for a sign
To think I had it all
All the time

And he sang about that mysterious and exciting realm of adult love, and gave us a picture of what that might be like.

And he did it with big, sophisticated chords, and shiny backup vocals. There was nothing patronizing or bubble gum about him.

And for someone like me, who wrote piano pop tunes prolifically, he was an unknowing mentor. He was a musician's musician. I recall reading that he was trying to clean music up a bit. What a noble philosophy - it thrilled my thirteen-year-old heart.

I commented to my father that I wanted to marry someone like Barry Manilow.

"He wouldn't marry you," my dad said. "He's Jewish. Jewish people only marry other Jewish people."

"Could I be Jewish?" I asked.

"You can be whatever you want to be!" he said. "Go ahead and be Jewish."

As we grew older, some of us learned to hide the fact that we were Manilow fans. It provoked teasing and jeering among our so-called friends. It classified us as musical nerds. Couldn't we at least worship one of the many he-men of music of the day? Couldn't we get on the bandwagon of someone a little more rebellious or subversive? After all, there was nothing about Barry Manilow that would piss our parents off, for crying out loud.

And as we got older, and as we heard Mr. Manilow in interviews and heard him in concert, we learned that he wasn't exactly a rocket scientist. He was a hell of a songwriter and a hell of a singer. But he was just a bit transparently manipulative, just a wee bit hokely dokely, and embarrassingly corny.

So we moved on.

My tasted broadened considerably through high school and into university, where I was a music major, into my first marriage, where I became of fan of bluegrass and other acoustic genres, and into blues and reggae and mbwbwe and a million other forms.

Years later, after I married my second (and hopefully final) husband, I emerged nude and dripping wet from the mikvah during my conversion process. Out of the blue, it occurred to me.

"I could marry Barry Manilow now," I said to my husband.

Recently on a whim, I bought every CD available of Manilow albums that I had when growing up. And I listened to them. I listened to them through new, adult ears. And I have to admit that I really had good taste when I was thirteen years old. As a thirteen-year-old, I understood enough about music theory to "get" a lot of what was happening in his music. And I also "got" a lot of it intuitively.

And of course, I went on to get his CD of Sinatra covers and a few other gems.

The other day, I saw him on a daytime talk show - Megan M . . . whatever her name is. (Sorry Megan. I don't watch a lot of TV, but I do know you were on Will & Grace.) He looked a bit like a gay Rod Stewart.

And he said he can take it when people make fun of him, but not when they make fun of his fans. So once again, he gives a shit about us.

And he has a new CD out - cover tunes from the '60s.

It's in my tote bag now. I haven't opened it yet. I'm typing this from work, and I think I'll play it in the car on the way home.

Sorry I left you, Barry - I guess I'm back!

On expressing creativity

I seem to be one of those people who are always on the verge of creativity, but never quite get there. If you've read previous entries of this blog, you know that lately I'm obsessing about decorating this house. That's just one example.

In my life, here are the things I've done:

- I've written music quite prolifically, but only during certain periods of my life. I could devote an entire blog entry to that one. Maybe some day I will.

- I've written poetry, even had one poem published, and have read my poetry at coffeehouses and nobody threw tomatoes.

- I've created tons and tons and tons of drawings and paintings. True, the bulk of this work occurred before I was eleven years old. But I did take some art classes at University, and I didn't suck.

- I've written a lot of short stories, and have started writing several books. Oh, well, okay, I did finish one book - it's an ebook. Does that count? It's for sale at the website of my alter-ego, Holly Zenith, at hollyzenith.com.

- I've designed and made clothing for myself.

- I've written plays. Heck, I've been in plays, if you count high school.

- I've written humorous essays, and even wrote a stand-up routine that I performed for my colleagues at our awards dinner. Nobody threw tomatoes there either. (Of course, tomatoes weren't on the menu that evening.)

- I've invented numerous culinary works of art that have never again been duplicated because I never write down the recipes or remember what I did.

And here are the things that I've never actually done but have fantasized about to the point that I have fleeting notions that I could actually do these things if I pursued them:

- decorate a house. Ha ha ha! Oh, I kill me.

- write and/or edit and/or produce and/or direct films.

- do pottery

- actually finish a book (except for the ebook - does that count?)

- be a choreographer. Does it matter that I can't dance?

- be a stand-up comedian.

- be a motivational speaker.

- be hilarious on a TV sitcom

So, WHY, pray tell, am I a fundraiser for United Way? I suppose it's because I'm pretty good at it, and because I'm passionate about the cause. And perhaps it's because I amuse my colleagues enough that they hesitate to fire me.

Anyway, so there are two things that I'd like to just mention about all of this.

First of all, I brought home a book from the library by SARK. Don't know who SARK is? SARK

This is the book:

So if you've checked out this woman's website, you see she actually sells memberships to her sites! What does she offer? Camaraderie for those who are pursuing creative dreams, a niche, a place to post about one's dreams, and so on. See Society of SARK.

That's brilliant!

Secondly, the book is making me consider whether or not I've been making time for my creative pursuits. Well, I guess I didn't need to consider that. I know that the answer is "No, Chandra, you have not been making time for your creative pursuits."

I put the book aside because I didn't have time to read. I had mail to go through, forms to fill out, and so on.

And in that pile of paperwork, I found our synagogue's newsletter. We've only joined recently (and in fact I'm not 100% positive my husband has even sent our dues in, so maybe we still haven't joined). I flipped through the announcements and flyers that come with each newsletter, and noticed one in particular: CABARET NIGHT! Wanted: TALENT!

I went on to read that "proficient" musicians are sought. But at the bottom, it said "Don't be shy! ALL are welcome!"

Hmmmm.

What I haven't blogged much about is that I want to get back into making music again. And I have this bass that I hardly ever play. I can't say I'm "proficient" at it, but I'm enough of a musician to know that I could be pretty quickly if I spent time on it.

My bass is an Epiphone replica of the Hofner bass that Paul McCartney played in the Beatles.

It looks like this:







So I picked up the phone and called the contact person on the sheet. He wasn't in, but his wife took a message.

Hmmm. What am I getting myself into? Looks like I'm about to get better on that bass!

That's what I need. More things to do. More "spray" in my life, less "stream."

On coming to Canada

Haven't blogged for several days. Really crazy busy, at both home & work. No "give" in my schedule.

However, sometimes the body takes over, which mine seems to be doing. I'm feeling just slightly under the weather, so I'm hanging at home today, while my husband & daughter gallavant about the town.

This morning, my daughter asked me to sing that Canada song to her.

"What Canada song?" I asked. "You mean 'O Canada'?"

"Yes, that one!"

So I sang:

O Canada! Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide, O Canada,
we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

And it occurred to me that I need to dig out that book they sent me to prepare for my citizenship test. They might call me any day (week, month, year) to come and take that test.

So how did I come to be on the list for pending citizenship? Did a love for Canada pull me out of the States?

It started as a purely pragmatic issue. I met this wonderful man and knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. Of course, I've felt this way about other men before (which explains the previous marriage), so why was it different this time? I couldn't tell you. Maybe it wasn't different. Maybe I recognized that I needed to be different in order to make it work out this time.

Anyway, he seemed to feel the same way about me. But he was cautious too. I had been married before. I was just a bit bitter about commitments, especially ones that turn lukewarm.

He said he just couldn't see himself living in the U.S. and besides, he was settled in his job. I was the one itching for a change, so it made sense that I should make the move.

Besides, I was ready to leave my job. It was a good job, but I felt as if I had run my course there. I wanted to try something else, and I was ready to leave Northwest Ohio. Before I met this man, I was eyeing other cities: Atlanta, Denver, Chicago, anywhere a little more dynamic than where I was living. And then I met this man from Canada . . . . hmmm, Canada! New options to consider - wouldn't it be fun to live in Toronto??? Or how about Vancouver?

Well, the item on the menu that day was Windsor, Ontario. But it was a start, and say what you will about Windsor, it's still more interesting than the little town in which I was living. Besides, who knew what the future might bring?

So our original discussions were around just moving in together. I was ready to start graduate school, had my portfolio all together and so on, so we talked about living together in his apartment - he would work and do his best to support both of us while I embarked on my journey to become an academic.

He worried about that. He had previous experience sharing an apartment and a bed with a woman who was going to grad school. He didn't wish to re-live some of that angst. However, if that's what he had to go through to get to the other side (the two of us living happily ever after), he would staunchly trudge through it.

Well, my application didn't pan out. Apparently they loved my portfolio, love my almost 4.0 GPA (only one damned B on my record), loved my GRE scores, loved my references, but didn't feel that my undergraduate coursework was enough in alignment with the course of study I was applying for. They cheerfully recommended I take a year or two of undergraduate courses to prepare for their program.

On to plan B.

We'll just shack. I'll fill out whatever paperwork I needed to fill out to become a landed immigrant in Canada, and I'll just live with him and find something interesting to do. Hell, maybe I'd go back to school and pick up those damned courses.

When we looked into it, it looked like the easiest path for me to get to Canada was to marry this man.

There was no formal proposal that I can remember. It was more of a mutual admission that we each wanted to spend the rest of our lives with the other one. So I immigrated on a fiance visa, meaning that I had to marry him within 90 days of arriving to Canada.

In preparation for his household population doubling, my then fiance bought a house. It was a splendid house - two and a half storeys, brick, hardwood floor throughout, very tastefully decorated, fireplace, french doors dividing all the rooms on the main floor - quite a dream house. I still really miss that house.

My landing date was June 30, 1999. I like to say that it was July 1, since that's Canada Day and it's my birthday.

We filled a huge moving truck and my van with all my stuff. We hired my young strong nephew, his young strong friend, and two young strong university students to help us make the move.

I can't even remember what we did after everything was moved into the house and the kids left. We probably went out to eat. We did a lot of that those days.

So one must wait five years after landing in Canada before applying for citizenship. I wasn't sure if I was actually going to proceed down that road or not, but quite a few things happened since moving here that sealed the deal for me.

The death of my mother seemed to weaken whatever anchor I have to my old stomping grounds. I dearly, dearly love my family. But they would agree that my mother was the fixture, the matriarch, and the magnet that pulled us all together. If my mother had not passed away, we may not have moved to Calgary.

The events on September 11, 2001 had a profound impact on everyone. I was 9 months pregnant, waiting for my baby to arrive, when I saw the events unfold on television that morning. I spent the final 12 days of my pregnancy weeping and watching the border between myself and my homeland tighten.

After the birth of my daughter, I realized that I never, ever wanted any border to potentially keep me from my husband and daughter. People say reassuring things such as it's almost impossible to deport a permanent resident, and blah blah blah. Well, times change. Things we take for granted disappear. It's a whole new order.

So now my citizenship is pending.

This past summer, my daughter and I spent 3 wonderful weeks with my family in Ohio. My husband wasn't able to join us. I know he was beside himself the entire time we were away. It's a little scary when there is a border separating you from those you love most. And while we were in the States, I prayed that nothing would happen to screw up our return to Canada.

I will always be an American, unless I'm forced to renounce my citizenship in order to remain Canadian. Because as long as my husband and daughter are here, I choose Canada.