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Time for a Change of Scenery?

Parallel Universes

I received a phone call from the service dude at the bike shop today.  My motorbike is in for its annual spa day.  He told me that he was working on my bike and he had found a problem with the "front crank system".

Shawn (aka Service Dude):  "The front crank system is shot and needs to be replaced."

Me:  "Can you explain that one to me a little more?"

Shaun:  "Well, the rider would have noticed it for sure.  It would have been rattling all over the place.  The bolt that secures the front wheel to the fork was really loose and the steel shaft almost destroyed the aluminium sheath that it sits in."

Me:  "Well, I'm the rider and I haven't noticed anything.  Is this something that should have been caught on a regular service inspection?"

Shawn:  "You are the rider?"

Me:  "Yes."  I get that a lot; big bike.

Shawn:  "You should have caught this on a regular pre-ride check.  You know, ABC's.... air pressure, brakes, chains and make sure everything's tight?"

Me:  "Yes, I do all that.  Didn't notice anything.  How much to replace it?"

Shawn:  "$79.95"

Me:  "Seriously?  No brainer.  Fix it."

Shawn:  "Really?  I've tightened it up and it will be fine until it loosens off again.  Then you'll have to replace it for sure."

Me:  "Well, we don't need shit loosening off when I'm going 100 km/hr down the highway now do we.  Hellooooo.... lawsuit"

Shawn:  "Haha... 100... that's funny.  Well, I'll switch this thing out and you can pick it up tomorrow."

Me:  "Thanks.  Did the new faring come in?"

Shawn:  "Faring?  There's nothing wrong with it."

Me:  "You didn't notice the huge crack?  Are you sure you have the right bike?  2001 Suzuki Bandit?"

Shawn:  "Hmmmm.  This is Shawn from Gerrick's Cycle.....  I'm working on a Norco Bigfoot Mountain Bike.... Sound familiar?"

Pause, silence, my eyes gazed up and to the right.  I slowly lowered my hand that I had firmly placed on my hip (me being all self-righteous on the phone).  I felt a little dizzy as the blood rushed from my brain to my cheeks (wasn't being well utilized in the brain section anyway).

Shawn was talking about my son's mountain bike that I had also dropped off for a pre-season work up.

The salt in the wound?  Taryn-the-seventeen-year-old-girl was sitting across the table, witness to the entire conversation including my moment of realization, and the pathetic me as I stammered through the various excuses including English as a second language, growing up with fetal alcohol syndrome, my shoes were too tight that day, the usual.

That's right, meet the Sheepish me.

Things that Coil

The phone rang; I answered it.  It was Liam-the-thirteen-year-old-boy calling.... from the bathroom, on his cell phone.

"Hi Mom.  I'm taking a dump and there's no toilet paper in here."

We are currently renovating the bathroom so there is nothing in there except a toilet and a shower.  The extra toilet paper was out in the hall.  I looked for a Bic pen to disassemble (because that's what MacGyver would do) to pick the locked door knob.

I was quite surprised to find that most pens seem to have a thicker, ratcheting type system these days and they do not fit into a door knob.  Who knew?  So, found a nail.

Liam, waiting patiently, shouted from his post, "I can get up and come to the door."

"NO!!!  Keep your butt planted on the toilet."

"OK.... I've made a lasso!  You have to see this.  It's not quite long enough but it still looks cool."

Now, I have to ask, in the context that I have presented above, what do you think he was talking about?  I'll tell you what I thought.  I thought he was being a typical teenaged boy who was bored waiting for his Mom to break in and give him toilet paper and was, therefore, peering into the toilet to see what shape his poop had made in the toilet.  Similar to a wistful girl picking out shapes of unicorns, bunnies and Justin Timberlake in the clouds.

I did the predictable thing and threw the toilet paper at him through a six inch opening in the door and told him that he's disgusting.  Daily reminder.

Five minutes later, Liam came into the living room swinging a piece of string around above his head.  His lasso.

The voices in my head are now shouting, "Don't jump to conclusions, don't judge, don't be so cynical, don't assume............"

Movies for Valentine's Day - Contains Spoilers

With that fateful day representing love and passion quickly approaching, there has been a grand resurgence of lists on the internet stating what we should and should not do / wear / say / buy / watch to ensure that we exude the appropriate amount of romance to that special someone.  So much pressure.

I'm not going to get into my cynical opinion on how commercialism preys upon our insecurities surrounding social acceptance.  Not today anyway.

I do, however, feel a need, no, a compulsion to share a list of movies that are romantic enough to satisfy the requirements yet are tolerable.  The lists I have read on the internet are wrong.  They are filled with films that are old, cheezy, predictable and boring.

Here's the reel <pun intended> shit, in no particular order:

1. The Princess Bride - The best kiss ever and, a man who says "As you wish."
2. Practical Magic - A young witch casts a spell wishing for a man so perfect he couldn't possibly exist, so to never have her heart broken.  Midnight Margaritas; the best idea.
3. Ladyhawke - A curse keeps the two apart; she is a hawk by day and he is a wolf by night. Great action.
4. The Notebook - In the first 5 minutes, the now elderly man says, "I've lived as glorious a life as any other for I have loved another with all of my heart and soul; my life has been a success."  Dab a tear and toss him (or her) a loving glance after that line and you will get laid for sure.  And, you don't need to watch the whole movie.
5. Donny Darko - The ultimate unrequited love; after knowing the future, he allows himself to die before meeting her in order to save her life.  May need to watch it twice; it's a little complicated.
6. Labyrinth - Though David Bowie is an evil stalker, baby-snatcher from the Underworld, you have to melt a little when he sings, "Everything I've done, I've done for you. I move the stars for no one."

So, my apologies to Pretty Woman, Gone with the Wind, When Harry Met Sally and every other movie that makes my eyes roll until they hurt.

I choose to be awake at the end of the film to enjoy the spoils of my good selections.

2008

A little late, I know.

I don't do resolutions.  I believe that it just sets me up for certain failure.  If there is some thing that I have been unable to do effectively for the last 40 years, I would be an idiot to think that the changing of a year is going to grant me some super-power.

So, instead of discussing what I can change, which I have decided is an exercise in futility, I am going to list what I think other people should and should not change.

Please Never Change

1. Dentyne Ice Gum
2. Starbucks - well, feel free to diversify a little more.
3. Red Wine
4. My Friends' tolerance and sense of humour.
5. My Children's abilities to cope and grow despite my greatest efforts.
6. Nikon D40 Cameras

Must Be Changed by Somebody Else

1. Air Canada's customer service - can you say "oxymoron".
2. Cancer
3. CSI - Miami's lead "actor", David Caruso
4. Breast Implants - they're setting the bar just a little high, either get rid of them or give me the money to get some.
5. Avocados

That was way easier.

Learning Makes Me Crazy

I'm in Vancouver taking a course that my livelihood depends on and will take me about 7 months and a bit of classroom time.  I'm a little stressed and I have tried to post about the sights and smells of Vancouver and the surrounding areas but every time I try, they seem to be quite rambly.  Not a word, I know.

This is me in high stress mode.  Not so much that I would actually study or anything but there is a very large text book sitting open next to me right now.  I'm sure that there is something to the whole "osmosis" thing.  If I am in the vicinity of information and brilliance, something in my brain should be just absorbing it.

So as not to go into full digression mode, I will stop typing.  Pictures to follow.

When to Listen to the Voices

I believe that there is a large part of my brain that goes entirely untapped.  I also believe that the unemployed majority of my neural synapses are firing like crazy to try to protect me from myself.  (Like in most of my relationships.)  Although I don't directly recruit all of this extra activity, I still know that it is trying to work for me.  I simply don't pay attention.  I will call them the Screaming Voices of my Suppressed Mind or, the Banshees.

Allow me to illustrate.

A week ago, I was scheduled to fly from home to Vancouver for a one day course on the following day.

Sign #1:

That morning, Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl was doing her best Linda Blair impression.

Banshees, "Don't go."

Sign #2:

I had procrastinated the hell out of my assigned course pre-read.  The two shifts in which I intended on cramming were, instead, filled with sick people and ambulance calls.  I was on page 17 of 234.

Banshees, "Don't go."

Sign #3:

The weather was the epitome of what our local carrier's pilots do not fly in:  clouds below the tops of the surrounding mountains.

Banshees, "Different approach.  You're not going."

The skilled pilots found a hole in the clouds somewhere down the river and made it in to get me.

Sign #4:

When I tried to check in at the airport, I was told that only half of my ticket had been paid for by my employer:  the return half.  The employer is already into me for a billion dollars in yet unpaid travel claims and I was not going to put another dime on my credit card.

So, Sunday afternoon at 4:00 pm, I called my supervisor (on a cell phone that never gets a signal at the airport) to tell him that I would be unable to leave my daughter at home alone to attend a course that I was not prepared for because the department had not paid for my ticket to get there.

He answered the phone, of course, and dealt with the ticket issue.  I got on the plane.

Banshees, "How many times.....seriously."

Now, since I had not heeded any of the Banshees warnings, this is what happened:

About 15 minutes from landing in Vancouver, I was wistfully gazing out the window, down the wing and into the clouds with my MP3 player on and my course pre-read opened in front of me (best of intentions).  I then watched the left engine (two engine plane) slow down and stop.

I looked around to see if anyone else noticed.  Apparently not.

I leaned across the aisle to the newspaper-reading dude on the right side, "Is your engine still running?"

He looked at me, looked out his window, looked back at me, "Yeah, yours?"

Me, "No."

I looked towards the front to see that our stewardess flight attendant, Miss Smiles-Alot, was on the phone with the pilots.  She leaned over to get a view of the left engine, still smiling, nodded lots, hung up the phone and then turned to address her audience.

"Hi, Everyone!  I was just talking to our Captain and he told me that they have chosen to electively shut down the left engine because of some warning lights.  I didn't even notice since our ride has continued to be so smooth.  I can tell you that we are already over Vancouver and we were just about to start our descent anyway.  This airplane is totally safe to fly on one engine and we are totally keen to do our descent and landing on one engine.  This is sooo normal."

And the proletariat totally bought it.  They all smiled back at Miss Smiles-Alot and went back to their reading and chatting and snoozing.

Idiots.

I checked to see if I had cell phone coverage, of course not.  Not sure who I would have called but I would have liked to have had that option.

After a couple of sharp banks, we landed to great fanfare consisting of fire trucks and ambulances at every runway entrance along the way.  By time we came to a stop, we had an entourage of emergency vehicles surrounding us and fire fighters at the bottom of the exit stairs.

Normal, my ass!

Banshees, a little louder next time, please.

"Whereas Canada is founded upon principles..."

I have made many critical parenting mistakes over the years.  I'm not proud; no one told me the rules.  Most of these errors in judgement can be traced back to my idealistic thoughts on how one should raise a human being which, to be honest, were developed prior to me actually reproducing.

That's right, I was the perfect parent until I actually had a child.

One of these stupid ideas was that a child should be able to, with respect, express his or her opinions in any circumstance.  Yes, children should be able to share their opinions:  translation; talk back.  I'm an idiot.

I thought that by encouraging this free flow of perspective, I would be raising the next Nelson Mandela or Rachel Carson; encouraging the flourishing of their self-worth so that they would always be able to stand up for themselves and their beliefs.

Or, more realistically, I would fail to curb the inane, self-righteous rantings of an egomaniacal teenaged girl.

Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl is currently grounded; for life.

A brief overview of the circumstances will most certainly justify my position.

At times, I  have to leave town for work, to teach, learn, participate, have a date, whatever.  I have been a shift worker forever and single-parenting for years.  With some fairly strict guidelines rules, my children are quite adept at staying on their own for a few days at a time.

Rule #1:  No one will be in the house except those who live here and any required emergency service personnel, at all, ever.

Misinterpretation of rule #1 resulted in six of Taryn's close, personal friends and their friends in my house post-hot tub party around one in the morning, slightly inebriated.  Things went missing, Taryn told me that someone had broken into the house while she was innocently sleeping, I called the police, the truth trickled out over the subsequent two weeks.  That's the Reader's Digest version and much less painful than what I went through, trust me.

Children who were raised appropriately would be scuttling around under the radar; housecleaning, doing homework,  getting along with siblings, sucking up.  Not my girl!

Taryn has vehemently cited human rights and freedoms, fair retribution according to a jury of her peers and statistics addressing incidents most likely to destroy  mother-daughter relationships.

My life is so unfair.

Somebody Dropped This Off at My House

Taryn agreed to babysit this.  The planned rendezvous was at 1600 hours, my house.  The package was dropped prematurely; at 1550 hours.  Taryn was not yet home.  I asked Liam to stay and play with it.  He laughed at me and said he had to go meet a friend; he told me that "Dylan" (not Damian) was a good kid and that I would be fine.

You see, despite the fact that I have two offspring who have successfully made it to their teen years, I'm really not a "kid person".  I love the two that I have, don't get me wrong, but I have always thought of those two as people whereas all the others seem to be aliens that want things from me that I can't possibly give them because of a language barrier.  It's kind of like that nightmare where you are in the middle of a room, naked, and everyone around you is speaking Kazakh and waiting for you to respond brilliantly.  OK, my nightmare, all of you have your own demons to deal with.

In 1990, when the first offspring was put into my arms and the nurses thought my Demerol had worn off, I was sent home from the hospital.  Their parting words were, "You have a pediatrician appointment in two weeks."

My response, "What? .... If she lives that long?"

My so-called friends had a pool forecasting The Boy's first sutures and/or fracture.  FYI; eighteen months.  The CT scan that he had at nine months came back normal.

I was the parent doing cartwheels down the hallowed halls of their educational institutions on their first days, yelling, "WooHoo!  I'll be at Starbucks!"

I offered Gravol (Dramamine) to a parent at the airport terminal because I had left-overs after "calming" my kids.  Hell, she was getting on the same plane as me, why should I have to listen to her kid when I had mine sleeping?

Anyway, I could go on, probably shouldn't.  Children's Aid Watchdogs' search engines are going to be all over this.

This kid did fine.  I had Liam put on a cartoon before he abandoned me and, in the ten minutes that we were left alone together, his only demand was that he needed a toy.

I gave him tape, it was yellow.

Confessions of the Non-Fiction Reader, Part 1

Hello.  My name is Kim and I have not read any of the Harry Potter books.

Pause to allow for the cries and gasps to subside.

I am not the anti-Potter or anything that dramatic.  I have appropriately funded the empire of J. K. Rowling by purchasing, at full price, all of the books for the children, we have seen the movies and we own the videos DVDs.

Taryn-the-16-year-old-girl has just finished The Last Book.  I, quite mistakenly, thought that it was perfectly reasonable to ask her how it ended; who died, who converted to The Dark Side (oops, wrong literary empire), who fell in love.  The usual.

"Mom, I can't tell you that.  You haven't even read any of the books."

"But, I've bought them.  And, I've seen the movies."

"You're still like three books behind."

"I can just look it up on the internet you know.  I don't need you to tell me."

"I guess you'll have to do that then."

Tramp.  Give me my book back.  There must be a spot on the bookshelf somewhere between the unopened books of Grimm and Homer.