Here are a few pictures. I'll post more as I receive them!
Happy Anniversary Dave & Manda!!
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Happy Anniversary Amanda and David
Yesterday was Amanda and David's 6th Wedding Anniversary. We all celebrated by having some family pictures taken at Madsen's Greenhouse in Newmarket, and further by a renewal of their vows, dinner and dancing at the Mt. Albert Lion's Hall.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Yes, I Did Argue
In Evelyn's blog post today titled "Songs of Praise" she writes about all of the comments she gets on her blog. Some of them are fantastic. Just this week someone commented that she was of the 'same' vintage as my friend, and was very impressed with her computer skills. I can understand why Evelyn would be pleased with such a relevant comment. Heck, I'm impressed with the skills Evelyn's learned at this point. It all sheds a new light on the adage about dogs and tricks, doesn't it?
Some of the comments, though, are downright nasty. When the ugly ones start to roll in, I try to post them right away. They are the ones that provide opportunity for discussion - or I see it that way anyway. As much as the nice comments show praise and often indicate support, how does one respond to that? By saying "By Jove I'm good, aren't I?" ?
That is why I argued that ALL of the comments have their place. I think that the whole 'debate' side of politics is the part to which I'm drawn to most often. I like to hear both sides of the debate, and form my own opinions based on the information that's presented. And, as much as the blog is Evelyn's and she can post things exactly as she sees them - it's the feedback that leads to a discussion, and quite often a few emails back and forth on the topic - but only if you put your email address in the comment box.
Alternatively, you can email her directly from the link on the blog itself. Give it a try. I bet she responds immediately!
Some of the comments, though, are downright nasty. When the ugly ones start to roll in, I try to post them right away. They are the ones that provide opportunity for discussion - or I see it that way anyway. As much as the nice comments show praise and often indicate support, how does one respond to that? By saying "By Jove I'm good, aren't I?" ?
That is why I argued that ALL of the comments have their place. I think that the whole 'debate' side of politics is the part to which I'm drawn to most often. I like to hear both sides of the debate, and form my own opinions based on the information that's presented. And, as much as the blog is Evelyn's and she can post things exactly as she sees them - it's the feedback that leads to a discussion, and quite often a few emails back and forth on the topic - but only if you put your email address in the comment box.
Alternatively, you can email her directly from the link on the blog itself. Give it a try. I bet she responds immediately!
You're Only As Insane as They Perceive....
I just finished reading "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs. I've attached a link to the Chapter's page so you can go and read all about it. What an awesome story. I wish I'd thought to look up the author when Jaime first recommended this one to me, because there is a second book in the series, "Dry".
"Running With Scissors" was definitely, inexplicably weird. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else, when the lone review that I read before purchasing the book said that it was about a young boy who was 'given up' by his delusional mother. How could a child with a delusional mother not end up with some kind of eccentricities?
I was sucked in to the book right from page one. I only received the book on Friday, and I stayed up half the night reading, and continued for most of the afternoon today. As much as the strangeness of the storyline and the characters was surprising, by the time I was halfway through the book, nothing that transpired was particularly shocking.
The author and his 'sister' decided, on a whim, to demolish the drywall ceiling in the kitchen, because it was too low, and they both found it smothering and stifling. So, what did they use to remove the ceiling? A skillet and a rock, of course. And, at the time, that made perfect sense to me.
That in itself makes me see ever clearer that you're only ever as insane as other people think you are. It's not what you think of yourself that counts (well, it is on one level - the one you use to convince yourself that you're okay, you're not toothpaste sandwich nuts), but it's what OTHER people think that can really cause an impact. Or not, as in this book!
Within the circle of people who make up my 'family' (including a few non-related people who have become enveloped in with the rest of us), I'm pretty normal, I think. And, for the most part, my family all seems pretty normal to me. Look at us through someone else's eyes though, and our apparent normalcy fades mighty quickly.
Seems to me that a toothpaste sandwich wouldn't be a bad idea, provided there was water to rinse with afterwards. Then again, maybe not!
"Running With Scissors" was definitely, inexplicably weird. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else, when the lone review that I read before purchasing the book said that it was about a young boy who was 'given up' by his delusional mother. How could a child with a delusional mother not end up with some kind of eccentricities?
I was sucked in to the book right from page one. I only received the book on Friday, and I stayed up half the night reading, and continued for most of the afternoon today. As much as the strangeness of the storyline and the characters was surprising, by the time I was halfway through the book, nothing that transpired was particularly shocking.
The author and his 'sister' decided, on a whim, to demolish the drywall ceiling in the kitchen, because it was too low, and they both found it smothering and stifling. So, what did they use to remove the ceiling? A skillet and a rock, of course. And, at the time, that made perfect sense to me.
That in itself makes me see ever clearer that you're only ever as insane as other people think you are. It's not what you think of yourself that counts (well, it is on one level - the one you use to convince yourself that you're okay, you're not toothpaste sandwich nuts), but it's what OTHER people think that can really cause an impact. Or not, as in this book!
Within the circle of people who make up my 'family' (including a few non-related people who have become enveloped in with the rest of us), I'm pretty normal, I think. And, for the most part, my family all seems pretty normal to me. Look at us through someone else's eyes though, and our apparent normalcy fades mighty quickly.
Seems to me that a toothpaste sandwich wouldn't be a bad idea, provided there was water to rinse with afterwards. Then again, maybe not!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Crazy Zany People - or - Maybe it's Me?
Not that one has anything to do with the other, but:
Part One:
There is a guy at work, let's call him Joe. Joe walks by my desk everyday and says "Good morning, Heather." In return, I offer up a hearty "Good morning, Joe."
A few minutes later, Joe winds his way back through our cubicle farm to the printer.
"Good morning, Heather."
"Hi Joe."
The next trip he makes is to the water cooler.
"Good morning, Heather."
"G'day, Joe."
Then, he wanders through again to the fax machine.
"Good morning Heather!"
"Mmmmhmmmm..."
And on it goes. By lunch time I'd be okay if he were sucked into the water cooler. At least watching the bubbles would be entertaining for a while, right?
Part Two:
I bought Mom a new blouse last week from a store in the mall. We both fell in love with a pantsuit, but they didn't have the top in her size in the colour she wanted. She tried on the right size in a different colour and we asked the sales lady, who said that she could order it for us.
I headed to the counter to pay for both pieces, the pants that we were taking, and the blouse that we were ordering. Saleslady asked me for my credit card. I told her I intended to pay cash. Her garbled response (spoken with obvious frustration, she's done this a million times before I bet) was that to order things in, they need to use a credit card.
"So my money isn't good enough?" I was willing to pay upfront, afterall. I figured as long as I got a receipt, I was good to go.
She said no... orders are credit card only. Then she proceeded to copy my Mastercard number out into a binder that contained everybody else's Mastercard number who'd ordered before me. Now bells are ringing in my head and I can hear my father lecturing "You should have.." and "I told you...", and "What's wrong with you....?".
I let it go though. That's a stink I'll raise at another time with the store manager. The sales clerk was just doing her job.
Today, Mom went to pick up the blouse that I'd lovingly paid for with my credit card. Get this.... I paid for two. Yes, there were two blouses there waiting for her... but we only ordered one. Why does anyone need two of the exact same tops? (Unless of course they're white tank tops, but that's another story altogether).
Mom had to beat up a few people... and after the tussle she emerged from the wreckage like a phoenix from the smouldering ashes, with ONE blouse in hand, and a credit card receipt showing that I was only paying for ONE beautiful blouse.
I tell you, this week I've had just about enough people exposure. If I could find a cave with a good reading light, I'd be in it, at least till Sunday!
Part One:
There is a guy at work, let's call him Joe. Joe walks by my desk everyday and says "Good morning, Heather." In return, I offer up a hearty "Good morning, Joe."
A few minutes later, Joe winds his way back through our cubicle farm to the printer.
"Good morning, Heather."
"Hi Joe."
The next trip he makes is to the water cooler.
"Good morning, Heather."
"G'day, Joe."
Then, he wanders through again to the fax machine.
"Good morning Heather!"
"Mmmmhmmmm..."
And on it goes. By lunch time I'd be okay if he were sucked into the water cooler. At least watching the bubbles would be entertaining for a while, right?
Part Two:
I bought Mom a new blouse last week from a store in the mall. We both fell in love with a pantsuit, but they didn't have the top in her size in the colour she wanted. She tried on the right size in a different colour and we asked the sales lady, who said that she could order it for us.
I headed to the counter to pay for both pieces, the pants that we were taking, and the blouse that we were ordering. Saleslady asked me for my credit card. I told her I intended to pay cash. Her garbled response (spoken with obvious frustration, she's done this a million times before I bet) was that to order things in, they need to use a credit card.
"So my money isn't good enough?" I was willing to pay upfront, afterall. I figured as long as I got a receipt, I was good to go.
She said no... orders are credit card only. Then she proceeded to copy my Mastercard number out into a binder that contained everybody else's Mastercard number who'd ordered before me. Now bells are ringing in my head and I can hear my father lecturing "You should have.." and "I told you...", and "What's wrong with you....?".
I let it go though. That's a stink I'll raise at another time with the store manager. The sales clerk was just doing her job.
Today, Mom went to pick up the blouse that I'd lovingly paid for with my credit card. Get this.... I paid for two. Yes, there were two blouses there waiting for her... but we only ordered one. Why does anyone need two of the exact same tops? (Unless of course they're white tank tops, but that's another story altogether).
Mom had to beat up a few people... and after the tussle she emerged from the wreckage like a phoenix from the smouldering ashes, with ONE blouse in hand, and a credit card receipt showing that I was only paying for ONE beautiful blouse.
I tell you, this week I've had just about enough people exposure. If I could find a cave with a good reading light, I'd be in it, at least till Sunday!
Monday, March 3, 2008
This Time Last Year
This time last year I wrote:
And, strangely enough, that's just how I feel today. I haven't had any major upheavals in a while. There's nothing particularly gruelling about being Heather Sisman, not right now anyway.
Since Christmas time I've successfully navigated my way through some bad weather, a couple of bad dates, a few business meetings, a couple of good dates and an old knee injury that keeps reminding me that it's there. For a couple of weeks I worried about a relative who wasn't well, and another who was. Things have finally settled down.
I spent eight hours in two airports on Friday. I had been in Montreal for a business meeting and stayed over on Thursday evening. My 7:45 pm flight was the only one I could book using our company's online travel booking tool. My meeting was over by 2:30, so the Ex-Lax man drove me to Trudeau airport where I changed my ticket for a 3pm flight. Apparently it was snowing in Toronto so my flight was cancelled. The lovely lady at Westjet did some fancy typing and got me on a 4pm flight that was subsequently delayed, then cancelled. Then there were rumours of a 6pm flight.
At that point I thought all was well, I'd still be home relatively early in the evening, and a little bit of snow had never stopped me before. My 6pm flight was delayed till 7:30 (fifteen minutes earlier than my 'later' flight) - but, due to some delays, we never boarded the plane till past eight o'clock and finally were airborne around 8:30.
I was safely on home turf by 9:30 pm. Sadly, my luggage never emerged on the baggage carousel till closer to 10:30. I rode home in an airport taxi wishing desperately that the man in the driver's seat would notice his own white knuckles and just let me drive the car already. He never took his eyes off the road, which is a good thing given the snow that was still falling, and I didn't walk through the front door till nearly midnight.
All's well that ends well. So why do I feel like there's still something I've forgotten? Last year's 'unsettledness' (which I doubt is a real word, but it's the perfect word for right now) never amounted to anything. I only hope that this year it's the same!
Have you ever had the feeling that you’ve forgotten
something? Well, for me, today, that’s how I feel - not that I’ve forgotten
something mundane like to brush my teeth or to turn the furnace down before I
left the house this morning – but that I’ve forgotten something of paramount
importance.
I have scoured my calendar, it’s not my mother’s birthday,
it’s not anybody’s anniversary. Today I didn’t have any appointments scheduled
at all. My office calendar is clear too. All of my bills are paid in full, and
there is still money in the bank for the next round.
Yet, I have this feeling in the bottom of my stomach that
at any minute someone will pounce on me, leaping out of the shadows waving a
calendar or an invoice and shouting “You forgot! How dare you?”"Well, the Ides of March are come. Ay, they are
come, but they are not gone."
And, strangely enough, that's just how I feel today. I haven't had any major upheavals in a while. There's nothing particularly gruelling about being Heather Sisman, not right now anyway.
Since Christmas time I've successfully navigated my way through some bad weather, a couple of bad dates, a few business meetings, a couple of good dates and an old knee injury that keeps reminding me that it's there. For a couple of weeks I worried about a relative who wasn't well, and another who was. Things have finally settled down.
I spent eight hours in two airports on Friday. I had been in Montreal for a business meeting and stayed over on Thursday evening. My 7:45 pm flight was the only one I could book using our company's online travel booking tool. My meeting was over by 2:30, so the Ex-Lax man drove me to Trudeau airport where I changed my ticket for a 3pm flight. Apparently it was snowing in Toronto so my flight was cancelled. The lovely lady at Westjet did some fancy typing and got me on a 4pm flight that was subsequently delayed, then cancelled. Then there were rumours of a 6pm flight.
At that point I thought all was well, I'd still be home relatively early in the evening, and a little bit of snow had never stopped me before. My 6pm flight was delayed till 7:30 (fifteen minutes earlier than my 'later' flight) - but, due to some delays, we never boarded the plane till past eight o'clock and finally were airborne around 8:30.
I was safely on home turf by 9:30 pm. Sadly, my luggage never emerged on the baggage carousel till closer to 10:30. I rode home in an airport taxi wishing desperately that the man in the driver's seat would notice his own white knuckles and just let me drive the car already. He never took his eyes off the road, which is a good thing given the snow that was still falling, and I didn't walk through the front door till nearly midnight.
All's well that ends well. So why do I feel like there's still something I've forgotten? Last year's 'unsettledness' (which I doubt is a real word, but it's the perfect word for right now) never amounted to anything. I only hope that this year it's the same!
The Newest Addition to the Blogosphere
This weekend Logan and I spent some time at Evelyn's house. In an effort to keep him occupied before our shopping trip, I gave him a pencil, some pencil crayons, and a whole bunch of paper.
Twenty-minutes later he had produced a whole group of comic book characters. Evelyn told him that he has a talent that should be explored (a phrase I've heard 50 times since then from Logan himself), and so this link was born:
Logan's Comics
Twenty-minutes later he had produced a whole group of comic book characters. Evelyn told him that he has a talent that should be explored (a phrase I've heard 50 times since then from Logan himself), and so this link was born:
Logan's Comics
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