Wow, happy belated holidays for my Christian, Jewish, and Pagan friends. I completely missed the boat on well wishing, didn't I? Unintentional though it was, it is a good indicator of just how caught up in the spirit of things. I was working at the museum, buying gifts at the last minute thanks to one client making good on an invoice, heading back to the Petes for tree decorating and party-attendance, etc. Was it a good holiday? Why, yes it was. Among other things, there was a lot of quite satisfying sleeping and napping and reading and eating. I also enjoyed an evening at my new favourite pub, St. Veronus, with Ryan and Tanya. Ryan managed to avoid being Mr. Slick Ottawa Politician for a few hours and we ended up having a really nice time.

Christmas television is often, in my opinion, rather lacking - substituting a good story for thick spreadable cheese. So, in order to avoid this messy fondu Mom and I spent not insignificant amounts of time watching classics from our own collection. The Muppet Christmas Carol was as weird and wonderful as ever. We originally were meant to go into Toronto for Christmas Eve in order to celebrate with Julie and Jerzy (pronounced Yeh-shuh), but they had come down with the flu so rather than lament this twist of fate, we watched our favourite version of A Christmas Carol, not the 1951 version, but the 1984 George C. Scott version. We also went to Church for the first time in a couple of years.

The choir at the little United Church we go to is not very good. Their soloists could use some vocal training, at the very least, and they did something with a little quartet that made my hair stand on end - not in a good way. They tried a jazzed up version of "The First Nowell" and boy did it NOT work. Mom and I worked very hard not to look at each other for fear of cracking up. It was gods-awful. That said, the service was very nice and there were plenty of opportunities for me to sing along with many carols. My mother actually sang one carol in Latin, which caused a couple of people to look at her, but it was neat.

We did our big Christmas dinner as usual with friends in Ennismore. We played many parlour games, including Charades (a perennial favourite) and a new game that I'm going to call Cops and Killers. There was also much smacking of balloons around the living room to the point of everyone breaking a sweat and laughing like children. It was a good deal of fun, as always. Boxing Day was spent in our bedclothes, reading the books we'd received and listening to music. Again, we were supposed to try for Toronto, but again we were thwarted by sickness. Ah well, such is life.

Rick had his 25th birthday on Saturday and Mom allowed me to borrow Bernadette so that we could drive out to his parents' in Stoney Creek for much celebrating. That was a good deal of fun - a huge number of his relatives were there and Shorty, the pit bull, was in fine and very happy spirits even though he spent a good amount of the night locked in the back yard.

Well, this hasn't been the profound entry that I might have written, discussing feelings and thoughts that come at this time of the year, but I'm not up to that kind of discussion today. I hope that everyone had a good holiday where ever you might be, and that 2004 is a good year for us all. Happy New Year, folks, and best wishes.

Ed Broadbent's back ! Whee ! Largely considered the greatest man behind social democracy in Canada, he's back to battle the Right. He's like an aging superhero - a little too old to save the day, but you're still happy he's back at it.

Anyway, I saw Return of the King last night once the convention was over. Nicole, Alana, Nora and I had special screening passes because of us being vendors, so not only did we not have to pay, we got to enjoy the film in a specially reserved theatre for those who attended the con. This meant that it was not completely packed (it was the final showing for the event), though it was very well attended, and there were many people wearing elf ears and costumes, and the vibe was perfect. I'm not going to talk about the film as many people have not had a chance to see it and I know that I certainly hate spoilers. Let me simply say that while I missed one or two things that had been changed from the book, many other things more than made up for this. I laughed and cried and Shelob scene caused me to clutch Nicole's hand like a child.

The convention was an interesting experience. It was unlike any other convention I've attended and many of the 'regulars' were not there. First of all, the people in attendence were very much out of one demographic: white, middle-class, and highly educated. The costumes were of a very high qualilty, especially a couple of the Legolassies (Nicole's word) and there weren't the same number of three-hundred pound Galadriels, as we say, as there are at sci-fi conventions. Actually, on the whole, these people were well adjusted and confident. There didn't seem to be the same level of needy people looking for acceptance. It's one of the wonderful things about conventions, that people are usually accepted for who they are, not how fat or ugly or weird they appear to be, but it was really nice to not fear residual body odour left on Nicole's gorgeous clothing. There weren't the same people hanging around the booth that seem so desperate for approval. I'm sorry if this paragraph is offensive to anyone, but it was impossible not to notice the difference in attendees. I've been to enough conventions to observe.

I didn't get a chance to attend any of the lectures or events, mostly due to the fact that I was working and had no disposable money, so I cannot say whether the panel discussions were well attended, or whether they were intelligent and stimulating. I imagine that they were good, though, simply because of the people attending. The convention was fairly well organised, though there were some failings, but I suspect it was the organisers' first convention. For a first, it was pretty good. They had good facilities for everyone, organised transportation to and from events and plenty of refreshment for all. The art show/competition was actually of more interesting content than I'd thought it would be, but, as usual, I took no prize. I do think that it was a failing of the art committee to involve so much artwork based on the films - there was so much that many people didn't even see the few of us whose work was based on the books and imagination. Another neat thing about the convention was the number of new vendors that were present. There was an entire contingent representing Quebec made up of costumers, jewellers, and weaponsmiths. They were VERY fun and when I'm next out at my cottage, I think it would be worth checking out their stores in Montreal, Drummondville, and Quebec City.

The sad part of it all was how much time I spent simmering with anger. The business of the City Hall Crew kept me on a low heat for the duration. It was too bad because I think I would have had more fun otherwise. At least the money I made at selling my cards allowed me to make a few purchases and pay for my expenses. I did make friends with the guys in the Print Three outside the hotel in the underground PATH. They enjoyed my changing wardrobe and glimpsed cleavage and I think they got a real kick out of the dragon bracers I wore on the first day. The business people moving through the PATH were quite taken aback by the costumes and upon my first appearance a fellow in a suit stopped dead and uttered, "Whoa," before shaking his head and continuing on. Sometimes it is a lot of fun to surprise those caught up in the rut of working existence.

Finally, I was just checking the Weather Network and it seems the long-term forecast predicts a warm, wet Christmas for Toronto and Peterborough. Oh well, it can't be white every year, and there's still enough time for the weather to change. Now I must go wrap some presents and have a shower for tonight I'm going to help Rick put up his tree.



You are Fantasy. You have an active and firey
imagination, and you love escaping into
strange, beautiful worlds. You're intensely
curious and dive in to new experiences with
vigour. As a result, you may sometimes be
dissconected to reality, or at least bored by
it. People see you as a dreamer, and they're
probably right. You spend a lot of time inside
your head.


Art Thou? -Your Art Style Personality
brought to you by Quizilla

EDIT. Original content removed in favour of a little tact.

You can get a brief glimpse here, if you care.
....

On a pleasanter note, I sold more Christmas cards today, which was cash in hand to, unfortunately, realistically only cover my expenses, and one present, but at least I didn't have to dig myself into a deeper hole. Tomorrow's the last day and I don't particularly expect to sell all my cards at this point, but hey, maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll pick up some money in the art competition. I've had a lot of feed-back about my stuff and apparently I even got 'fanned' today, but I wasn't at the booth when it happened. Darn. Thai food with the girls, rather than going to Medieval Times with the conventioneers, was nice and very healing, but what I really wish is that I had a big, comfy bathtub in which to soak. For, like, three hours.

In a tradition almost as old as celebrating Christ's birth at Solstice (about 1600 years, give or take), I have managed to miss one of my favourite seasonal TV specials. Tonight, I tuned in to the CBC just in time for the joyous finale of The Muppet Christmas Carol. However, I did get to traipse through the snow all over the place due to my being a dumbass. Between riding the streetcar several stops too far and opting to walk rather than commute, I did a lot of traipsing. I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank the bastard driving the black Lexus SUV who changed lanes for the sole purpose of showering myself and another pedestrian with buckets of salty slush. It boggles my mind that people can be so fucking rude. On a positive note, I was drinking a delicious Egg Nog Cafe Latte. Or Cafe Nog, as I call it. Yum.

All that aside, once all the foofahloo was done with, as in the getting of cars, the rendez-vous-ing of people, etc., setting up for the Gathering was remarkably easy. First of all, the loading dock was RIGHT NEXT to the DEALERS' ROOM. Inconceivable ! Hanging my art was also easy, since the artshow people decided that they would hang everyone's art for them. I am concerned that they will not hang my art nicely, and if that is the case, I shall rehang it when nobody is looking. All the stuff at the Sheridan Centre/Hotel went so smoothy, in fact, that all Nicole and I really had to worry about was how we ought to dress tomorrow.

I should pick up some more invitation sized envelopes, actually, since I'm out, and I should probably get a few more cards printed, too. I don't have enough to sell them individually, or to give a pack to Rick, who wants one. I will have to speak with Nick later to see if I can come by tomorrow after the convention to print more. Otherwise, all looks well and Nicole has okayed my wish to hang some of my non-Tolkien inspired art at the booth itself. I am not planning to have any of my miniature diaramas there, though, as I just can't shlep that much stuff on the TTC.

My weekend was great, if very busy and full of bus riding. I went to London on Friday to NOT hear Tanya sing the Messiah with the London Fanshawe Symphony Chorus. She is currently recovering from pneumonia, but I did have a great time staying with her nonetheless and the performance of the Messiah was actually the best performance I've ever heard. They were better, even, than last year's with the Toronto Symphony. I was very impressed, to say the least. I didn't get to stay in London as long as I would have liked because I had to make it back to Toronto in time to meet Rick and head to his family's in Stoney Creek. Plus, we had to poke around the Eaton Centre to find gifts for his parents. Dinner was great, as always, but this whole taking-the-bus business is cruddy. It's just another inconvenience I could live without.

Anyway, I think that's all for now. I should go finish painting the ornaments so I can give them away and all. Tons to do, so little time in which to do it. Hurray for holidays !

Finally, for those of you who follow these things, remember that Roman Gaming die? It was estimated for sale at 4000-6000$ US. It ended up selling for $17,925. If you don't believe me, check the results page. It was lot number 189. Somewhere, there is a very wealthy, very HAPPY geek.

You might recall my recent post about the Roman gaming die.

I invite you to read this comic inspired by the very same gaming device.

In other news, tonight was the Membership Bowling Party and while I bowled not too badly in the first game, I got my WORST SCORE EVER in the second: 73. Go me ! It was a heck of a good time and I won the "Princess" award for owning my own, made-for-me, bowling shirt. This award consisted of a little fairy-princess-type-wand-sceptre-type-thing with beads and streamers. Whee !

I think that it's safe to say Willi missed me. Her initial glaring having passed, she's now up on my shoulders, happily snoozing, where she's been for about ten minutes now. I have no doubt as to the badness for my shoulders this causes, but it's just too sweet to stop. I could live without her washing my hair for me, mind you, and having seen what happens when long hair comes out the end of a cat, she could probably live without it, too. Anyway, her point is taken. I was gone and she missed me.

I came back from Peterborough at around noon and immediately went and purchased the discount ticket (one day advance purchase) return to London, ON. If you can believe it, even discounted, it cost about 55 bucks. I think that's disgraceful, really. That should be the everyday cost, but I don't run Greyhound, so, if I want to see Tanya, I have to pay. This is another moment of "I miss Scarlette". Taking the bus seriously limits a person and you just never know who's going to be sitting beside you.

Monday is the 15th of the month and I was told I'd get money on the 15th. I've been trying to confirm this with certain people, but they have a sort of slow response time. In the meantime, I have costs that need dealing with, including my frames, which I must have. I figure, I will have to pick them up on Sunday morning, if only to increase my chances of having some money. THIS IS BRUTAL. If I had known how freakin' hard it is to get clients to pay, I would have settled for one of those day jobs that I rejected nearly a year ago. Jeez.

Anyway, I had a nice time in the Petes, brief though the visit was. I was in good spirits and though Mom was suffering some stomach issues, she was in pretty good spirits, too. I bought hair for my sculpture and have since attached it. The figure looks grand. I've brought her back to Toronto so that I can exhibit her at the convention, but I have promised my mother that this is her Christmas present. It can't hurt to put a big, fat SOLD sign on it at the show, though, it always looks good. We also went shopping and sort of dawdled through Portage place. I showed Mom the secret of Ricki's, there, and their excellent array of plus-sized pants. We both got some. Me, a nice pair of aubergine cargos and Mom a smart and sassy pair of black boot-cuts. Whee !

We also ate dinner last night at this pub I'd never been to before. Called St. Verona's, it is a Belgian-styled tavern/restaurant and it serves a whole menu of fancy imported Belgian beers (and a few Dutch and German) and also Belgian-type beer from elsewhere. I experimented with one of their new brews, Barbar Winter Bok, and it was AMAZING. It was very dark, had a nice honey flavour, a wave of maltiness, and no nasty aftertaste. Not at all heavy like Guinness (my other favourite winter drink), it was a party in my mouth and it made my pee smell like grain. COOL. The dinners we enjoyed were also amazing. Beyond this, they played excellent jazz throughout the evening. I have a new favourite restaurant in Peterborough, yessir.

Finally, I would like to congratulate Rick on not smoking for 23 days ! I am soooo proud of him ! GO RICK !!

If it is not actively turning green and fuzzy, how do you know if yogurt is still okay? Technically, yogurt's already gone bad, right? I'm eating my cereal and yogurt and I happen to notice the lid. It seems it was best before five days ago. But, while there might be a slight change in flavour, I'm not sure I would have noticed had I not looked at the lid. It's not like milk where it's obviously chunky and stinky, this just smells... well, yogurty.

Last night, I went to Derek's place around the corner and after a brief dropping-in by his sort-of girlfriend, we watched something like three hours of Muppetty goodness. We started with one of my all-time favourite episodes: Harry Belafonte. We also watched John Cleese, Peter Sellers, Danny Kaye (my gosh that man was a nut), Carol Burnett, Edgar Bergen, and Gilda Radner (another personal favourite). I think there were a couple of others, but I can't recall off the top of my head. What kind of bowled us over was how many of the special guests have since died, not to mention Jim Henson, himself. I cried when Danny Kaye did his inchworm number with the Muppets... it's just so lovely. Derek made Stuff-In-A-Pot for dinner, which was MUCH better than the last time he tried cooking for me. In fact, this time I went back for hearty seconds !

I'm off to Peterborough for a night, but before I go, I am heading to Nick's place in order to print new cards. Exciting ! Ahead of me is a very busy week. It requires that I dip into the rent money, I'm afraid. *sigh* I am relying on being paid on Monday, so if I'm not, heads are going to roll. And I mean it.

It was built in the 1920s as a Vaudeville house and was converted into a movie theatre in 1969. It was huge. It was successful. It was the last of my three favourite movie theatres to close. It was the Uptown. Not only has it been demolished, it refused to go quietly, taking at least one life with it and possibly another still lost in the rubble. When Warren and I passed it on Tuesday, the demolition had only just begun, there was a great big hole in the backstage area to the rear. It looked weird; not like any demolition I'd ever seen. Today, something went horribly awry when one wall collapsed into a neighbouring building.

The fact that the Uptown was allowed to be destroyed is horrible. It was an historic Toronto landmark. Everyone used it's huge verticle sign as a marker for directions. It was a grand theatre. Its loss is a great shame. Yet another showing of Toronto's typical idea of historic preservation.

"The Uptown, built by Loews in 1922, and subsequently taken over by Famous Players, was the first Toronto movie house equipped for sound. Although the main entrance was on Yonge Street, the bulk of the theatre faced on the less expensive back stree, Balmuto, where there was a unique backdoor entrance." -- The "Nabes" by John Sebert

The last time I was there was for Pirates of the Caribbean with Nick back in July. I called it my almost favourite theatre. My all-time favourite, the Eglinton, was also closed by Famous Players and is now a rental theatre. At least that one was saved from demolition.

Read about it here.

I am sitting in the living room of my apartment, the Stinky Bee bathing herself atop some rather crinkly plastic bags on the couch. On the television is The Fellowship of the Ring and it is nearing its end. The Uruk-hai are in pursuit of the hobbits, the fellowship is about to be broken. In the oven, making pleasant baking smells, are my latest batch of dough ornaments. I am working on Stew's laptop, which I have named Clowe (pronounced Klo) for lack of a better name. I'm having one of those moments where I realise that things are okay. In fact, they're more than okay.

Though my family is small and widely dispersed, I am loved. I have half-sisters whom I care about very much, a mother with whom I can share everything - and do. I have been invited, for the umpteenth time, to visit my Godmother and her son in California. Each time, she sweetens the deal, this time with the offer of a house to stay at in old San Fran where I might housesit and remain for an indefinite period of time. What my family lacks in numbers is amply compensated for by the friends I have gathered around me. True, some have lost touch, but others have regained contact, and many I am lucky enough to love and to be loved by them.

While sometimes the path is unclear, I have the skills and talents that will never fail me. I have an education and wisdom gained through living. Unfocused though I may be, something will come. I have good feelings about this coming year. I believe it will be a year of more than just healing, but true growth. I will take risks and I will branch out. Something is going to happen, and it will be good.

I am going to be alright. I am lucky, even when I can't see it, deep down, I know it. Here is hoping that all my loved ones feel the same way as I do and that their holiday season, whatever their faith or practices be, is a happy one.

Numenorean


To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla

It seems sort of fitting, even though on preview the picture isn't working, I suppose, since I am not enamoured with the Tolkien elves, that I come out Numenorean. Not too shabby. It's also a fitting introduction to this post since I've got the Gathering on my mind. Next Sunday is for vendors and artists to set up, of which I am both. At first I couldn't understand why, but then I remembered that the convention actually begins Monday morning and that wouldn't give us much set-up time. I have four pieces of art going into the art show/competition which means four pieces of artwork needing frames. I went into my favourite framing place and discussed at length, with the owner's wife, the best and cheapest way to have them framed. In the end, I was pursuaded to have them framed custom, because looking at the cost of the pre-fabricated frames and knowing that they would not be well matched to the actual size of the pieces, it just made more sense. This way, while they all match, the frames will actually suit the pictures. She waived the tax and gave me a discount as well, but it will still be a lot more money than I had hoped to pay. On the other hand, I was going to print my Christmas cards at Kinkos, but $45 plus tax is too much for what I wanted/needed. So, I called up Nick and he's going to print them for me for probably half that amount. Hooray for Nick !

If, by some very lucky chance, all my clients pay me this week, I will be very well off and will certainly be able to afford not only the masquerade ball and banquet but maybe even some goodies, too. Here's hoping. Still no word on the rent business or our new landlords, either. Aparently, Arthur, our old landlord, came around today and from what Stewart could make out of his conversation with the people downstairs, they don't want who ever it is that is living in the garage to continue living there. I also think that they haven't quite taken possession of the house because though the new people had taken Arthur's EZY-Bins sign out of the lawn and put it with the trash, he's gone and stuck it back in. Maybe it changes over on the 15th of the month. That could explain things at any rate, but it would still be nice to know for sure. Anyway, what this directly means to me is that in case of an emergency, I have most of this month's rent still sitting around waiting to be paid. And, since I have promises of payments by all my clients for the 15th, or so, this is very good. Heck, if I'm VERY lucky, I'll have enough to pay NEXT month's rent too. It's really too much to hope for.

Anyway, for those of you keeping count, today was the fifth migraine in as many days. I haven't had a series of clusters like this in years. Today was by far the worst, too, and I was stuck at the ROM, once more painting the faces of children. I had to take a twenty minute break after taking my medication in order to escape the screaming, cackling, joyous noises of the kids, parents, musicians, and other so-and-sos. I fled to the Membership office where I could sit in the semi-dark in complete quiet. Richard made me do it. He said, "Don't tell me you're alright. You don't look alright. Go lie down." At first I did argue, but as it got worse before the meds kicked in, I realised he was right. Joane tried to be helpful and went upstairs with me to Membership; I'm not sure why she did, perhaps to make sure I got there alright, I don't know. She proceded to tell me all about reflexology and told me to squeeze the bit of flesh web between thumb and index finger and do breathing exercises. Okay, I do the breathing, I have for a long time, but only a person who has never suffered a migraine would tell me to squeeze that bit of my hand. It does not work. It really doesn't. If I had a buck for everone who's told me to do this... Well, rent would be paid, let's just say. I've tried. MANY TIMES. Darkness, silence, sleep, a lack of stress: these are things that help. Oh, and medication. Anyway, I was okay to keep working once my painkiller kicked in.

The sky outside my room is very beautiful, or rather, was very beautiful for about two minutes, some fifteen minutes back. The cloud cover was an amazing cornflower blue with paler blue sky peaking through and there was a fading strip of salmon pink just above the roof-line. Rising over this salmon was a moon of sweet cream, a pale, pale yellow that slipped in and out of the clouds. Usually the eastern sky at sunset lacks for interest, but tonight it was quite lovely. I called Stew in to look at it but by the time he'd pulled on pants and come in, the moon had slipped away and the pink stream was diffusing. Now there is no hint of pink in the nearly dark bank of clouds and the moon has disappeared from view. It was a moment of sky magic.

I did not end up going to the ROM today. Instead, I suffered the fourth migraine in as many days. I think the cluster might be finished now as I haven't needed to take any pain-killer in several hours, but it's been a real pain - literally. None of the migraines have been severe, and with the exceptions of yesterday evening and eight o'clock this morning, Advil Migraine did a fair job of making them tolerable. Despite that, when you pile them up, they become very draining. So, obviously, I haven't gone out to either bake dough ornaments with Nicole, nor have I hung out with Rick, two things I was entertaining this time yesterday. This also means I don't exactly feel up to going out for Willi's cat food. She's out of kibble and while it's downhill to the Price Chopper from here, it's VERY uphill to come home.

Tomorrow, I have to go to the framing shop to have four pieces of work framed for the art show/contest at The Gathering of the Fellowship, which is rapidly drawing nigh. I don't think it's an art sale, per se, so I plan to post a sign with the pieces pointing people to Nicole's booth where I will be available to discuss sales and also have other non-competition art for purchase. I'm going to have all the frames built into standard sizes, with only the mattes varying. I don't know why I never thought of this before, but it was my Mom's suggestion and it means I'll be able to interchange the art with only new mattes being necessary. Run-on sentence, woo. It should be remarkably less expensive than getting them all individually framed, too.

In other news, both the CRAP party (that would be the Canadian Reform Alliance Party) and the federal Progressive Conservatives have voted to join together as a united right. The new name of the party will simply be the Conservative Party, and since the Alliance will be joining with the Tories, it's fitting that they drop the word 'Progressive' from the name. As most intelligent people know, there is NOTHING progressive about the Alliance. I am greatly disappointed by this. Aside from the obvious threat posed by the united right-wing parties, it means I'll have to vote pragmatically in coming elections simply to keep them from actually winning.

Wow, I've just spent the last three hours, or so, cleaning my room. There was some selective other house bits that I cleaned, but this was a bedroom kind of day. I am not actually finished this monumental task as a significant amount of miscellany is lying on top of my bed. I know that at least a quarter of it is made up of clothing, but as for the rest, it's up for debate. There's no question, by the end of the night, I will have cleaned that up and changed my bedding as well. All this business has been hindered by cats who when not under foot were digging through the bag of garbage and spilling the contents, rolling themselves up in the rug, throwing litter on the freshly swept floor, attacking the swiffer wet-jet, and trying to get into every possible place I needed to have my hands.

I'm taking a break now, considering what I should do for dinner. Stew walked into my room earlier today and handed me fifteen bucks saying, "Order some Swiss Chalet, or something." He is one of the few employees left in the world that still gets a Christmas bonus and his was pleasantly more than what he'd expected. Swiss Chalet sounds kind of nice, since I've really eaten more pizza over the last two months than any human ever should.

...

Okay, I just ordered Swiss Chalet's Festive Special. On-line. Whee ! The future is now ! Cool. Anyway, just on my computer desk, we're not talking about anywhere else in my room, I've found $2.25, which is subway ride. Hurray ! I'm sure that will come in handy. I've managed to put several books back on the shelves from which they were removed quite some time ago, and I've put all my convention sellables together. I sorted out my Christmas cards from last year and have begun designing this year's models. I'm pretty pleased so far.

The ornaments went very well, with the exception of Sierra balking at doing her homework and being sent to bed early. Had we thought about it, we should have had her do her reading homework right away when she got home and then the ornament painting could have been a big reward. Instead, we did painting with the intention of taking a break and then finishing our project. Oh well. I finished them by myself and I think it's fair to say they came out really well. I tied ribbons on them while watching last week's CSI in Stew's room and various Simpsons episodes. He's very good about letting me infringe upon his privacy. I think he's the best roommate I've ever had. I'm probably going to make a new batch of ornaments tonight, too, and paint them over the weekend. These will be the ones for giving away.

Speaking of Christmas ornamentation, I was out on the front porch, shaking my bedroom rug, and could hear the pathetic strains of some electronic musical ornament somewhere. I noticed that neighbours had put up fairly tasteless lights and made the assumption that the music went with them. Unfortunately, it turns out I was quite wrong. Stew came in from doing his laundry and said, "You know that ugly fake tree the downstairs people put out on the porch? Well, not only have they put lights up in it, but it plays Christmas music, too." So, it seems their bad taste extends to seasonal festivities as well. A shame. But, since they haven't asked for money yet, I'll let it slide. At least it's not so loud that I can hear it through the sliding door.

I still haven't met our new downstairs neighbours, who also happen to be our landlords. They moved in over the weekend and the most I've seen was a woman shoveling the snow (sort of unecessary considering there was less than half an inch, but I guess she was keen) who said hi to me. Stew and I expected to have to pay them rent, but as of yet, the money hasn't moved from its place at the top of the stairs. Maybe they think we paid Arthur for November, our old landlord, or maybe the deposit given to Arthur has been transfered to the new owners, as I think it's supposed to have been, and they simply aren't planning to ask for money. We have no idea. We haven't heard from them.

What we do know is that they have terrible taste in decor. First they painted the entry foyer a sort of green that reminds me of an avacado with stomach flu, and then they put a plant stand in it. With hideous fake flowers on it, with fake drops of dew on the fake petals. Yeee. They also mounted some ghastly ceramic sconces and ornaments on the wall above the fake plant. These lovely pieces of art (this is sarcasm, by the way) are white and gold, I think, and in the shapes of putti (cherubs) and garlands. On top of that, a couple of them hold individual matching fake flowers. Good God. It's horrible.

Stew should be here shortly with Sierra. We're going to be painting dough ornaments tonight. I bought craft paint and sealer yesterday and I have some paint brushes we can use (since I forgot to pick up some new cheap ones) and there's a pile of ornaments ready to go. I shall put down some newspaper or something on the floor and we will each paint one side of the ornaments in whatever colours we want. It should be fun. I also have an advent calendar for Sierra so she should be in a good frame of mind.


You're Most Like The Season Winter ...

You're often depicted as the cold, distant season.
But you're incredibly intelligent, mature and
Independant. You have an air of power around
you - and that can sometimes scare people off.
You're complex, and get hurt easily - so you
rarely let people in if you can help it. You
can be somewhat of a loner, but just as easily
you could be the leader of many. You Tend to be
negative, and hard to relate to, but you give
off a relaxed image despite being insecure -
and secretly many people long to be like you,
not knowing how deep the Winter season really
is.

Well done... You're the most inspirational of
seasons :)

?? Which Season Are You ??
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There is some stuff I really must get off my chest. A pot that had been slowly simmering for a number of months has finally boiled over. After the initial scorching burn faded, I was left with the unmistakable feeling of a numbing chill. The chill of, for lack of a better word, betrayal. It was deception, whether intended or not, it does not matter. I made a promise several months back that I wouldn't talk about certain things. A remedy is in order, now, and while it doesn't truly matter who the specific people are, the story is overdue for telling.

A promise of work was made. Freelance employment that would pay and provide amazing opportunities for growth, experience, networking, and the ultimate: real work at the end. It would be challenging and absorbing, and it certainly was those things, but the original five criteria were not quite fulfilled the way I was led to believe. At first, all seemed to go well. I did work that was fun and exciting and it led to a victory and the assurance of further work. In fact, I was so persuaded that I turned down a very good opportunity with a growing company in order to pursue this. Placed on the central strategic team, I expected further work in communications, both written and graphic. I was even given a title: Director of Visual Communication. It was fabulous.

Some of you might recall that I was enthralled with the notion of working on a team made up of several highly talented, articulate, progressive-thinking people, roughly the same age as myself, where I really felt that my opinions mattered and my skills would be used to their best advantage. A communications team was created, a pool of talent with many different work experiences, and I was at its core. Somewhere along the way, someone decided that two people would specifically be responsible for the writing and I would create the 'look' to match the content. That I wasn't going to be directly involved with the text did not matter, I was being handed an entire complicated project to design for. Meetings were discussed, to pin-point the structure of the project.

I was supposed to be there. It was an oversight that I was not informed of the date, time, or location. It wouldn't happen again.

It happened again.

Still lacking any text, from which to get a feel for the design work I believed I was charged with, I began to get a bit uncomfortable. Not exactly nervous, only slightly anxious, really, I picked up the phone and explained my concerns to the two people who should have solved the problem - the people heading this whole project up. Assured that my concerns would be looked after with further promises that this would not happen again, I returned to waiting for the text. When another week had passed and I had not heard anything, I got in touch with the guy who suddenly seemed to be running the communications team. What had begun as a committee of five or six now seemed to be a threesome with a boss. I called him up. "Hey, where's the copy? It would be really useful for me to read it, get a feel for it, since I'm supposed to be laying it out." New assurances were made - it's coming, we're just touching some stuff up, give us a week.

I waited.

You can imagine my surprise when I discovered at a general group meeting that the whole communication plan had changed. And I had not been informed. It was at about this time that it dawned on me that I was the only woman still on the team. The others had been entirely removed. I didn't let that bother me, though, since these were progressive young people who spoke out for equity, equality and the rights of women. Add to this the fact that I was informed that money for work previously completed would be slow to come because of buget problems, and could I wait a little while longer for it?...

More time passed and timelines were becoming tighter, solid, no longer loose suggestions of a vague future. It was summer and I suddenly found that I had been totally cut out of the communication loop. The communications team seemed to have stopped communicating. I discussed this with another who had been involved and he did not understand why I was being left out. I discussed it with those who were supposed to be on top of all this. I was told that certain things had been taken in hand by he who was now in charge of the team and I would have my work filtered to me from him as needed. My first official unranking. I was demoted. I was irritated.

To assuage my ire, I was given a new task to fill time until my design skills would be called to task. Being game, and let us not forget, utterly devoted, I accepted this. "It won't take too long, some letters need writing is all..." I discovered that I was now suddenly clerical staff and these 'some' letters were being written on a letterhead that I had definitely not designed. It was a hint that I ignored. Then a pamphlet was created with text I had not seen and imagery and lay-out that I had never conceived, or even vetted. And there were a lot of letters, not just some, and they certainly showed no sign of ending.

My response to this was abrupt. I went away for a week to my cottage. I had to clear my head. When I returned, it became clear that the communications team now consisted of two, and neither of these guys were me. And what was worse was that none of the men who could have kept this from happening seemed to see any problem. I saw a problem, though, and spoke up about it. Once more I was placated, this time with a new promise of an office management position. I accepted it. Despite tight purses, there would maybe be money in it, and regardless, it was still a lot of responsibility and would look swell on my resume. Office Manager.

Now it is September. Having recovered some pride with my new job, I set about organising the office in the manner that I saw fit. "It's your baby," I was told, "Set it up the way you think it should be." Great ! In the meantime, I was still working on those letters. They had progressed from some, to lots, to hundreds. I was diligent. I wrote them. After all, I was devoted to the cause. I believed.

Note now that September saw things come apart on a personal level. I told Rick that I needed a break, in part because I simply couldn't handle my life, the work I was doing, and a relationship. So I thought. I knew it would suffer, at any rate, as I began to spend more and more time in the office. You see, I am at heart a selfish person. I'm a good person, kind and generous, caring and compassionate, but ultimately selfish. Where normally I was devoted to myself, offering some of this to Rick and other friends, I was now putting most of my energy into a new vessel. Let's call that vessel Politics. I let my personal life slide; housework stopped, personal projects stopped, socialising ceased, and this also meant my time with Rick. I needed time to think. But I had not time.

Robert died, ushering in the Autumn season. I left everthing and went to New York for the funeral and to look after his father, my mother's very close friend. "Take as much time as you need," I was told. "What you're doing in New York is more important than anything we have going on here." Thank you, I thought. Support came when I needed it. I promised to return for the big fundraiser, I wouldn't miss that, it was too important, I said. So I returned in time and once again fell back into work. I helped prepare the event, completing last-minute tasks and running necessary errands. It went off beautifully.

Returning to the office, immediately settling back into the work I had left off (that had not been carried on in my absence). There was a new face in the office. I spent a day working with her without actually knowing her name. It seemed she owned the place. Things were in different places than where I had put them. Well, offices are not static places and I had been gone a week. As I was working, I overheard an introduction that stood my hair on end: "Hey, have you met so-and-so? She's our new Office Manager. How great is that?!" These words were spoken by the very same man that told me the office was mine - My Baby.

Keeping silent this time, I carried on. I was devoted. The larger picture was what mattered. The end results were what counted. Not the fact that I had been demoted again. I began to look around me, to assess the roles of others, to determine where they had begun on this road and where they had ended up. It seemed I was not the only one who had been left at an inn along the way. No, indeed not. I and every other woman that had begun as a core team member had been utterly marginalised. We began to compare notes.

They were all strikingly similar. And every one of us had begun with extremely important tasks set before us and every one of us was now stuck in an administrative role with little real content. We also noticed something else. Things were beginning to tear at the seams. As momentum was building, the end in sight, our ship was being pulled apart under stress and none of the men who had usurped us noticed. They were much too busy building up each other's egos. It was awful to watch. So, from the sidelines, four women, including myself, made a desperate attempt to pull our ship together. Duct tape wasn't going to be strong enough.

Crazy glue was though, and we knew that what we were about to do was verging on the insane. With two weeks to go until the end and no one at the helm (I'm rather enjoying this naval metaphor). Schedules were not being adhered to, important events were being skipped, bad decisions were endangering the cause to which we had all devoted. We had no choice. We had to take over, but in a way that would not cause a mutiny, to implement a coup d'etat with gloves so soft as to be imperceptable.

One took over the running of the office. One became the shedule co-ordinator, not just of one man, but of everyone. One became the den mother, literally keeping the boys happy and encouraging them as only a mother can so that they would not notice what was going on. I became... I became the Handler. I made sure that things were not missed or skipped and did so simply by always being there to remind, to chauffeur, to escort, and in some cases, to calm down. I became an additional voice at public events, a familiar face, an assisting pair of hands. It was bloody brilliant. It was so bloody brilliant that no one noticed. Except us, because we were responsible.

Behind every great man stands a great woman, it is said. In this case it was four great women. Victory had a man's name, but we knew that we'd won it every bit as much.

The story does not end here. If you are still with me, I am not only impressed, but very appreciative. We now come to the point where I have to remind these same men of my existence, of my skills and talents, to remind them of promises that had been made and forgotten. There was a frank discussion about staffing concerns in the New Role post victory and opportunities within the new team make-up. Part-time work (with benefits) was suggested as the full-time positions were to be filled by, thankfully, very excellent people and generally to be divided equally by men and women. The better route might be to look for openings in other offices where I might fit, something I was not opposed to at all.

Money, finally.

Yes, I thought, this is good !

Yesterday, I discovered a different truth. Somewhere between a positive discussion and a phonecall a bit more than a week later, everything had changed. "Come check out the new digs," I was invited, "You can pick up some of the money I owe you, too." Half of it. Half of a very small fraction of what is owed me, in fact. Then I was put on the phone with another. Wait. That other wasn't supposed to be at the office, he had not been on the list, this very same person who initiated my utter severance from the communications team. I was stunned. Wait, what about the woman? Nope, she's not on the team. What about the other woman?! Working for another office, replaced by a man.

I was hit by a tonne of bricks. Poor Carrie, with whom I was at the time of this phonecall, had to bear witness to my wrath. No women?! NONE? No, I did not think I would come by the office today, actually. But, my overwhelming need to make rent reared its head and a tiny fraction of money received was better than no money, so I gave in and we set out. Carrie did a wonderful job of calming me and I put on a brave face in the new digs. Despite feeling like a poor relation, as one hundred dollars were folded into my hand, I was up-beat. I was not; however, going to miss out on the occasion to find out if there was any new about work.

"I don't think there's any part-time work, really, we have to be careful with how we're seen to spend our budget." Well, that sounded familiar. "It will probably be a situation for contract work." Right, like all the contract work I had previously done and was still waiting to be paid for, or the following contract work that went to someone else altogether. The heat began to rise in my cheeks once more and decided it was time to leave. I spared everyone of my fury because I did not want to make a scene. A scene is what they needed, but men have the uncanny ability that allows the words of angry women to simply bounce away unheeded.

I fumed. There have been few occasions in my recent lifetime when I have so truly fumed as I did on Monday. Not only was I not going to get work, or even solid proof that I was at all valued, not only had they revoked every responsibility I'd had up to that point throughout the previous months and strangled my ego, not only had they fallen short of every promise made and allowed me to be degraded, but to have NO women on the staff...

It would have been enough for us ! And it certainly was enough for me.

The shock and anger has been as palpable from the other women that had been on the initial team, the same women who came together at the end to save the sorry necks of men who would not give us gratitude, not look after us, not even thank us properly... The optics of it are appalling. Even the least progressive leaders can bring themselves to hire a woman, if only as a token gesture. I learned a valuable lesson, a hard fact that I had never would have believed would hold true in this day and age. My mother, THEIR mothers, faught hard for equity and equality, and still I was not allowed in to the club. The Old Boys' Club.

Perhaps I overstate the broken promises, the betrayal. I got amazing opportunities for growth, experience, networking, and the ultimate: real work at the end. I grew in that manner that people like to call 'character building'. I had the experience of a lifetime devoting myself to a cause I believed in, seeing it through to the end, and getting screwed the entire time. I networked. Oh yes, I have built a network of at least three other very strong women who once again are banding together, this time to help each other to fulfill the ultimate. Real work at the end.

Oh, and the pay? I'm still waiting.