Having just enjoyed a blueberry bran muffin and the remaining half of my (now cold) coffee, I feel extremely lucky that I can indulge in such simple pleasures. A coffee. A muffin. A lunch break during my day at work. A routine.

The tsunami's effects have been devestating, with an estimate of deaths well over 100,000 people. One Hundred Thousand. That is more people than live in Peterborough and Lindsay combined. One Hundred Thousand. It is so many, in fact, that I cannot even begin to wrap my head around it. It is utterly incomparable. Even my own fascination with catastrophic weather and geological events cannot persuade me that this is anything but horrific. Awesome, but horrific.

In my group of friends, over at Live Journal, they're all busy putting banners on their websites for donations to the relief of the countries hit by the event. They're also donating. But there is starting to be a resentment from those who cannot afford to make donations. Backlash at being told that even five dollars is worth it. Yes, it is worth it. But, I also know how it feels to not have enough to ride the subway, let alone donate five bucks.

Here's what I say to the people on either side of the argument. Let those who can donate NOW, do so. Let those who cannot be at peace because at some point in the future, maybe they will be able to make a donation. Aid isn't something that lasts for only a moment. In six months time, Indonesia and Sri Lanka will still need assistance. There will still be people mourning, people without homes, and people without what we consider the basic necessities of life. The victims of last year's earthquake in Bam are still struggling to rebuild after their impoverished city was demolished, sadly, this time next year we will be able to say the same for those affected by the tsunami.

So, remain calm. Do what you can. Give what you can. If you can't give now, give later. Offer a prayer. Offer your services to a volunteer organisation if you still feel guilt. It's okay.

A Christmas Verse

Christmas is over, the turkey's finished, too.

Everyone is suffering from the Christmas flu.

If you didn't like your presents

You can take them back today.

The consumerist bonanza

Will last 'til New Years Day.

It doesn't really feel as though I've had Christmas. In years before, December has been filled with sweet anticipation for a time of togetherness, friends and family, good food, and cozy warmth. All was going according to plan until Scott's death. Although, for me, the keeness of the pain has passed, his death and the suffering his family must be going through has hung over this holiday like a dark cloud.

Then there was Christmas dinner at the S--'s. Again, in other years, this event was something to be looked forward to. Since J--'s stroke; however, it becomes more forced and unpleasant. J--'s husband and my mother do not get along. They never really have, but they endure each other because of J--. The difference, now, being G--'s resentment that bubbles to the top at almost every visit. My mother struggles to come into Toronto to visit her dear friend, suffering her own chronic pain and illness thanks to fibromyalgia and G-- demeans her. He mocks her illness and makes her feel utterly unwanted. In this case, it was even worse than normal because she had cooked the turkey and cranberry sauce and stuffing and brought them in with her for the Christmas meal. Instead of gratitude (and really, is that so much to ask for?), she was brushed off and essentially told to do whatever with the food because she (and it) wasn't wanted. What made this even more offensive is that this, and the ensuing argument, occurred in front of J--.

The tension, as you can well imagine, was terrible all night. And even though J--'s son and daughter-in-law arrived with their little baby, the tension never really lifted. It was the most unjolly Christmas dinner I can remember, with the possible exception being my first dinner with Rick's parents, when I had to be hospitalised with a migraine.

All I've really wanted to do for the duration of the holiday was sleep. Sleep away the grief, sleep away the stress, sleep away the days. I haven't even had the time to watch The Box of Delights as I've either been too busy, or asleep. I'm looking forward to the week after New Years for the simple reason that I'll be able to enjoy some peace and quiet with my mother and finally do Christmas, if a little late.

I know I'm lucky. I know that terrible things have happened around the Indian Ocean and thousands of lives were lost in a matter of hours. I know that war rages and compared to the families whose lives are torn apart by strife, starvation, and anguish, mine is a charmed life. I know that the gifts I received were what I asked for. I know that despite everything, I am deeply loved. I'm thankful every day for these things. But that doesn't mean I can't want the magic of the season and, this year, the magic didn't come.

Last night, Rick and I went to a Saturnalia hosted by my friend, Cara and her roommate. It was enjoyable enough, sans kink. Had we wanted to, we could have joined in the playing on the second floor, but when it comes down to it, sex with people that aren't us doesn't really blow up our skirts. Anyway, there was enjoyable conversation all around and the food was GREAT. Rick and I brought our veggies, pita, and various dips/spreads, which went over well as there was a general lack of vegetable matter. I'm afraid I ate a few too many brandy beans, but I stayed sober. I decided not to drink because of the emotional business with Scott. I didn't need the added pain of alcohol-induced depression.

Scott's on my mind constantly. I keep thinking about him and how good a person he was. What a devoted husband and father; I think about Megan's heartbreaking loss. It's so sad. I find tears coming to my eyes at random, unexpected moments, and my heart constricts. Life isn't fair. I can't help thinking that the Powers that Be simply made a mistake, or that Someone somewhere lost a game of dice.

There's been a lot of loss in my life, but this is the first time I've lost a friend. Yes, there was a friend in highschool who killed herself, but we'd grown apart and it didn't feel as close as this. And, her death wasn't really a great surprise, as sad to say as that is. Scott was stolen from a huge array of loved ones, yanked from a happy life that had not been easy for him. He was gentle and good and people took him for granted and treated him with less respect than he deserved. Though we lived far apart, he was a close peer and good friend.

As time passes, I know that his death will affect me less, but when I miss him, the feeling will be keen and deep. Life will go on for me, for his family, for his friends. But there will forever be someone missing.

Scott "Grishnakh" Wiggins
1974 - 2004
Sleep well.

This was supposed to be a happy fun post about all the things I did this week and how happy I am to be out of school for three weeks, but instead, I need to write about a dear friend of mine.

Scott (Tox) Wiggins died yesterday morning of an apparent heart attack. He was 30. I met him on-line, but came to know him personally when he visited Toronto and I visited him in Virginia. I introduced him to his wife and attended their wedding in 2001. They have a child, Jeffrey, who is three years old and has Scott's eyes. I haven't seen Scott in two years, or more, because that's just how things work, and now I won't see him again.

My Christmas card arrived in the mail to them just a few days ago and I just spoke to Scott recently. Things had finally settled down for him and his family. He'd had a hard time getting work after their decision to settle in Mississippi, and they moved to Tennessee not long ago and found life there much better. He'd gotten a job that he enjoyed and was living a loving life with his wife and son. It was a house full of love and happiness.

This is not how things should be, but as Megan, his widow (and also my good friend), said, "He's finally getting to meet my father... now I have two angels looking out for me." I can only imagine how she must feel. The heart ache must be profound. She has her mother looking after her, thankfully, and there will be a memorial held at Scott's mother's house in Virginia where she will be surrounded by loved ones.

I spoke to her last night. She says that she's numb. I know what that feels like. That I understand. I told her Rick and I would try to attend the memorial service on Wednesday, but I recognise that it's not very likely. The costs are prohibitive and in the end, I can give her support and love just as easily from here. It is a difficult decision, but there really isn't any other way that I can forsee.

Scott was a dear person, the kindest, gentlest, warmest person. I know I will miss him keenly and I won't be alone in that. He touched many people and positively affected their lives. Life isn't fair, but there isn't anything we can do. I thank God that he passed in his sleep, next to his adoring wife. The last words he heard spoken by her, "I love you, baby."

Scott, I love you, too.

I have stories, but for now, this:

My pirate name is:

Captain Mary Kidd

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

If only Rick had a fireplace, this would be perfect. We put up his tree tonight. It's early for me, but I know he comes from a Christmas house where the entire month is decorated so I can let it go. Anyway, it was enormous fun. I refused to let him play Tool while we did it. Last year I allowed Michael Jackson, but I draw the line at Tool - it's really a little too heavy. *laugh* We spent about ten minutes fishing around on different Christmas themed Internet radio stations and finally found a wonderful one - it might as well be MY collection. It features everthing from Bing to Sesame Street Christmas !

I brought my ornaments from last year (the ones I made from dough last year due to extreme poverty) and combined them with his ornaments and we have one festive tree ! I'm not into the multicoloured large lights like he is, I like my tree lights a little smaller, and generally white, but his tree is a nice combination of both our tastes. Now I just need to find him a real star for the top of his tree, although there's something quaint about the silver plastic thing we're using.

Anyway, in other news, I was in Etobicoke last night. Why? you ask. Good question. Well, for starters, I was at the Polish Consulate. I was there in order to take photographs of the PSO's music director as he received a medal from the Consul for his contribution to Polish culture abroad. I took MANY photos and some of them came out really well, especially the one where he's actually being pinned. There were delicious hors d'euvres following the ceremony and then we were invited to someone's house where there was some of the most delicious food I've enjoyed in a long time. I promise that nothing I ate there was remotely appropriate for someone doing Weight Watchers. Heh.

I have not had herring so delicious as what I ate last night since we were in Holland almost a decade ago. Fabulous ! Heerlijke ! There was also a cheesecake that was unlike any cheesecake I've ever had. I -think- it was made with poppy seed filling with a fluffy cheesy top and a honey soaked pound-cake sort of bottom. It was very crumbly but well worth the mess. I'm afraid to admit it, but I had two pieces. :)

Tomorrow, after work, I'm flying home again in order to attend the PSO's Christmas concert. That should be fun. I haven't seen them in a while so I'm due. Then I have another party to attend... THEN I have to write some policy for school. This is the last week of the semester and I'm running something around an 88% average, which for me is unheard of. Go me ! Anyway, I've got three or four assignments to deal with before it's all done on the 17th. I'm working that night and the following day, but the evening of the 18th, Rick and I are going to a party and you can bet I'll be celebrating.

Oh baby. It's so exciting ! And now, it's time for bed. I meant to go to bed half an hour ago, but I guess I had to take a moment to unwind with my weblog.

December 6th: Sinterklaas in Holland; a day of rememberence in Canada. Read my post here.

In other news: I'm sick. Willi is an irritating (though undoubtably adorable) cat. I desperately need a holiday. There is snow on the ground.

The holidays can't come soon enough - I am tired. Yes, tired of work and school and no days off, of commuting to and from Toronto, of scheduling social events three weeks in advance just to make sure they fit in. That said, I am very happy and ultimately in great humour. I had a very nice weekend despite the work and whatnot, because I saw friends, had a good time, and ultimately got to spend some quality time with...

eBay?

Oh shit, ya. Let me tell you a little story. When I was a kid, around seven years old through until I was ten or eleven, TVO used to air the television adaptation of John Masefield's Box of Delights. I watched this special every year, no matter where we were going for dinner or with whom. Then, suddenly, it stopped being aired. I never forgot it and I watched the TV listings year after year in the vain hope that I would find it. I knew it was based on a book, but I hadn't ever read it. When I entered my teens, I started to look for the book. These being the years before mainstream Internet service, I had to roam around in used booksellers and hope for the best.

Needless to say, this quest carried on into my twenties. I could find other books by Masefield, but never Box of Delights and no book shop ever called me back to tell me they had found a copy. A break through occured when I was near to finishing university, when Julie, my mother's best friend, scored a major coup. She had found it - or at least some of it. She had gotten her hands on the paperback version published at the same time as the television special first aired, 1984, which had been abridged to only what was in the film version. I was thrilled, and yes, it was just like the movie.

I hadn't known it was available abridged until that point. Thus began a new quest: to find the complete volume uncut. At the same time as this, I had begun to scour specialty video stores in the hope of finding the film version, too. I knew it was out there, but I couldn't find it. I started using the Internet a couple of years ago, but I had so little money that when I did come across it, it was either in the PAL format and would need to be transfered for viewing in North America, or it was simply too expensive. Also, I wanted to make sure it was complete, because, like the book, there seems to be an abridged film version, too.

So, flush with paycheque and no longer living on my own and paying rent, I signed up for eBay, a thing I'd carefully avoided until scant days ago. You see, I found not only the movie, but two versions in print - one a fairly recent imprint illustrated by Quentin Blake (hooray !), the other the first edition hardback imprint from 1935. I'd entered a bidding war over the latter and never expected to actually win it. And, in the mean time, I won both the video AND the other book.

In other news (continued at 1am Monday morning): My very good friend, Nicole, and her beau threw a party to celebrate their love and announce their betrothal. Yes, they'll be handfasted with flowers in the Spring, so now I'll be attending three weddings and a handfasting in the space of five months. Thankfully, I don't have to be a bridesmaid. The party was a very good time and I let my hair down for the first time in months and months and got drunk. Actually, I can't recall being -drunk- since He Who Shall Not Be Named's victory party last November. Damn, I am so responsible. Anyway, it was a great time for me with merry-making and socialising and was fine for Rick, until the taxi ride home. It seems not being able to drink responsibly in social situations runs in the family. Poor kid tossed more than cookies.

I purchased my gift to the couple at "Christmas Street" at the Bay. It is a terrifying place. I plan to take my camera in and get pictures in the freakier themed sections (like "Peter Pan and his Fairy Friends" - I kid you not). I wish them a life of love and respect for each other and happiness and other important and positive things.

And now... to bed.

Without a Trace is one of those television shows that I watch mostly because my mother likes it and that way it kind of counts as quality time. That's not entirely fair, I actually do rather like the show. It has good characters, it's well acted, and the stories can be quite gripping. Last night was one of those stories. The plot concerned an eleven year old boy who went missing from his elementary school. It wasn't really about his disappearance, though, but about the bullying that went on in his school, principally the bullying doled out by the girls in his class. It was very well handled, and very honest.

And it was very powerful. Years after my own experiences with classroom bullying, experiences that I have never burried, nor forgotten, that have remained with me in everything I do in life, this story affected me deeply. I don't wallow in the past, and I have risen far above the abuses to become a strong, able, beautiful woman, and those experiences have helped make me who I am. What I did not expect was bursting into tears at the close of the episode, my body wracked by convulsive sobs. This took me entirely by surprise, having, for the most part, watched the show through a veil of detatchment (I had been painting dough ornaments).

It was a long time ago, as my mother said. It was. A long time ago, but sometimes still pretty fresh. I don't doubt that the abuses I suffered (and it was abuse, no question there) made me who I am today, or at least influenced me. I deeply value honesty and integrity, fair play and kindness. I look for those things in my friends and I try to be a good person. Bullies are both boys and girls, though sometimes I think that the attacks made by girls are far more subtle and venomous, therefore more vicious than the black eyes and hazing by boys. I don't know. With boys, I knew where I stood and a well placed fist usually did the trick. Anyway, I commend the writers of Without a Trace for taking on a subject more often brushed aside or totally mishandled by adults and the media.

As for the bullies in my life, I tried googling them and came up empty handed, which, no doubt is for the best. And I know that if they haven't been paid back in karma yet, one day, they will be. Even if I never know about it, and frankly I don't, I have the satisfaction of knowing that in the end, I am the better person and despite all their attempts, I have won.

You know what would have been nice? What would have been nice would have been Georgie Bush coming to Canada and thanking Canadians for sheltering all the stranded American travellers after 9-11 maybe a little closer to the time of the event. Three years later is TOO FUCKING LATE. What an assmonger.

In other news, I have good news. School continues to be great, my lowest mark remains an A- and I just got two grades back, including one on an assignment I had thought we'd kind of blown. The first one was an incredibly tedious assingment that had myself and my partner sitting in on a pair of board meetings and then writing about. Okay, so we nailed it with an 88%. Not bad considering we thought our critical thinking was a little lacking. The other assignment (with the same partner) was for the class we both dislike. We had thought, after the fact, that we'd done a shoddy job of wrapping our textiles, but apparently it wasn't too bad. Not too bad with a 91% ! Woo, baby, a nice A+ ! Sweet.

That's all I had to say, so I guess I'll sign off, for now.