Thank you, little children and/or colleagues, for making me sick. I am particularly enjoying the rasping cough and sore throat. It makes being at the ROM answering the telephone that much more entertaining. Really, I do appreciate it.

So, yesterday, after working in the "Zone of Wonder" all day, I had dinner with Rick at Gabby's, which was alright, and then headed uptown to the Rogers Cable studios in order to work the phones for WNED. I did this last year and enjoyed it, so I thought I'd do it again. I had a very fun time with some of the Rogers Volunteers, a bunch of audio-visual kids who have grown into funny, mildly demented young men, and with whom I therefore get along. Much teasing occurred and it dawned on me that I should have taken away some phone numbers because they seemed like my kind of people, but I didn't so it doesn't matter.

On Saturday, I had the desire to go and buy some new shirts from Jacob, since one of my favourites is in the process of losing its shape and becoming quite unflattering. Or to go down to Fluevog to see what was on sale. However, I'm a good girl and held off. Despite my tax return, more shoes (even 'vog heels, of which I own none) probably isn't the best use. Even with the majority earmarked for tuition, bridesmaid gowns and the like. I do feel sort of grown up with priorities like that. Hah. But I still want some shoes. And shirts (or pants, or something). Anyway, it was just so damn hot and humid on Saturday that the only place I went was back to Rick's where I proceded to melt into the couch. Maybe tomorrow, I'll go to Fleming and pay down my tuition. That would be swell. Then I could get my student card updated, meaning I will be able to get an international student card, meaning I can go buy my Via Rail ticket to Winnipeg for a reduced rate.

Now, I just want a nap. And throat lozenges.

Another bridal shower under my belt, credit card fraud, and a movie star moment at the ROM. That sort of sums up the past week.

I'm feeling a bit down today, as I did yesterday, too; I miss my cat an awful lot. I have felt her loss quite poignantly lately, especially when my mother talks about losing Chester last summer and regaining him. I realise just how lucky we were to get him back, but at the same time, I can't help wishing I could have gotten Willi back, too. I really miss her. I miss her voice, her attitude, her being there when I needed my little friend. Last night, Chester came into my bedroom while I was working on the computer and for a split second I really thought it was her. Today, I can't stop thinking about her. Out in the garden, in the house. I miss her little dancy self. And there is nothing I can do to bring her back.

But, life goes on, and over the last week, it certainly has. It boggles my mind to think that Summer Solstice is upon us already ! It depresses me a little, because there is so much I had meant to get done at this point and it seems all I am doing is riding the bus back and forth to Toronto. Today, no matter what, I will sit down with Tracy's wedding invitation materials and really get to work.

Speaking of weddings, Tanya's bridal shower was on Saturday and was preceded by gown fittings. I have to say, I don't actually look that bad in the mauve, but then, I can wear purples, even light ones. I still think the sweep train is going to get in the way - I step on my clothing at the best of times - but generally speaking, I do like the shape of the top. I don't like the plastic boning. These gowns are not cheap and the plastic boning IS cheap. Reinforced seams and actual shaping of the garment would do a better job of giving form than the boning does. At least on a figure like mine. On a pencil girl, it probably doesn't matter, but the way I look at boning is, it might as well do something, you know? But, like I said, I'm surprised by how nice I look in the colour and all the multicoloured gowns do actually work nicely with the beautiful embroidery on Tanya's gown.

The bridal shower was okay, I guess, though I still don't see why people can't just give the bride money. I know that some people, especially those of British and North-western European extraction, frown upon giving money, but in this day and age, it just makes so much more sense when so many couples already live together or have been living on their own and therefore amassed a fair amount of stuff. And, when I'm talking about giving money, I don't mean gift certificates, unless they're for a location specifically requested by the bride. Now, I realise that many old women seem to enjoy these events, but when the brides don't actually want a traditional shower, why inflict one on them? Now, to be fair, we did have an awful lot of fun once the presents were opened. The cake had a picture of Tanya and Chris on it that many got a great deal of pleasure cutting up and eating. The food was good and conversation was easy and unpretentious. And, to the maid-of-honour's credit, the games we played were pretty fun, but probably mostly because of the silliness of several guests, myself included. Yet again, I was the 'jester' among the bridesmaids, but I realised that I'm not the only one. :)

Now, the night before this bridal hoopla, I checked my credit card online. I had planned to order something for Tanya for the wedding, and wanted to make sure the $300 I'd put on it was there for paying down the first of the gowns. Imagine my utter surprise when I discovered several transactions in EUROS based out of... France. That's right. My card apparently made several purchases based out of Chatillon, Villiers, and Versailles. I sort of blinked and boggled, laughed and then called up Mastercard to see what could be done. Unfortunately, I can't get my money back until I sign and return the afidavit MC will be sending me. The card, or course, was closed, which means that there might be some risidual payments that don't work, and I might get in trouble for. I'm not sure, since this hasn't ever happened to me before. At any rate, I've had to live rather tightly this week since my last paycheque kind of... well, when you only work three short shifts in two weeks, your cheque is going to suck.

And, finally, the only other thing of note occured at the ROM on Sunday afternoon when Antonio Banderas came in with Melanie Griffiths and one of their kids. *I* got to serve him and let me tell you, he IS as attractive in real life as he is on film (she, by the way, is not - cosmetic surgery has not been her friend), and he was extremely polite. He started talking to me with his sunglasses on and relised this and hastily took them off for real eye-contact. He said 'please' and 'thank you' several times, smiled through the entire transaction and wished me a good afternoon when it was over. I was, of course, professional and pleasant, smiling and offering directions like a good little museum worker should, though I'm sure my excitement was probably obvious to him. And yes, ladies, he really isn't all that tall, but he's polite and that makes up for it. ;) Star factor doesn't wow me, but when famous people are polite and pleasant, I am VERY impressed. Antonio now sits among the ranks of other polite, friendly famous guests of the museum such as John Malkovic, Tim Curry, and Peta Wilson, all of whom I've served.

In other news, the planning of my internship at the Manitoba Museum is going well, with several opportunities available to me. I am very excited about it. Now I will begin making arrangement for accomodation and travel. Once I've paid tuition (soon, I hope), I can go and get my international student card for delicious discounts on train tickets. I'm only asking for a couple of things for my birthday, the main item being an upgrade from a basic seat to a sleeping berth, which will allow me into the dining car and scenic viewing car. I can't believe I've only got two months before I go. Wow.

Also, I am very likely going to be competing at the CNE in the hunter/jumper competitions. I can't believe it. *laugh*

Ahhh, Bush, you and your cronies make me ill. Read this article from the Washington Post and from MoveOn.org:

Subject: This time, it's for real: Save NPR and PBS

Hi,

You know that email petition that keeps circulating about how Congress is slashing funding for NPR and PBS? Well, now it's actually true. (Really. Check the footnotes if you don't believe me.)

Sign the petition telling Congress to save NPR and PBS:

http://www.moveon.org/publicbroadcasting/

A House panel has voted to eliminate all funding for NPR and PBS, starting with "Sesame Street," "Reading Rainbow," and other commercial-free children's shows. If approved, this would be the most severe cut in the history of public broadcasting, threatening to pull the plug on Big Bird, Cookie Monster, and Oscar the Grouch.

The cuts would slash 25% of the federal funding this year—$100 million—and end funding altogether within two years. The loss could kill beloved children's shows like "Clifford the Big Red Dog," "Arthur," and "Postcards from Buster." Rural stations and those serving low-income communities might not survive. Other stations would have to increase corporate sponsorships.

If we can reach 250,000 signatures by the end of the week, we'll put Congress on notice.

http://www.moveon.org/publicbroadcasting/

Thanks!

P.S. Read the Washington Post report on the threat to NPR and PBS at:

http://www.moveon.org/r?r=745

Bridal Event #2 now complete. This would be Juliane's bridal shower held in Oakville on Sunday. It was a Tea party, with two themes, the main one being Hats (silly or pretty), the other being gifts beginning with the letter 'T'. Okay, I'm down with hats. I have a lot of them. Of course, I'd wanted a propellor beanie, so I left my hats in the Petes, but could I find one? No. I walked from Avenue Road and Bloor (yes, the ROM) to Yonge Street. There I left Cheryl, with whom I'd been walking, and headed south, hitting every souvenir and joke shop on the strip. I found cowboy hats, leather hats, baseball caps, crazy wigs, fez (what's the plural of fez, anyway?), antenna hairbands, dewrags, and tophats, but no beanies.

So, by this point I'd reached Queen Street and there were forty or more people waiting for the streetcar. With no transit in sight, I headed east on Queen. I figured, I'll just walk until a streetcar catches up to me. Then, after about ten minutes, I start thinking about taking a taxi, but I have seven dollars in my purse, which isn't going to be enough. My plan became: walk until I find a bank machine, withdraw some money and then catch a cab. I continued walking and found only three ABMs - two inside locked stores, one out of order. One streetcar passed me by at Parliament, but was so crammed full of the people who'd been waiting half-an-hour or more, there was no more room. By the time I reached the Humane Society, my feet were crying out in pain, I was soaked through with sweat, and the seven dollars I had would be sufficient to take a taxi the rest of the way.

So, back to the shower. Or rather, back to the hats. I returned to my plan B, which was to make one. A tinfoil hat. Or aluminum, or whatever. You know, to protect me from the alien thought rays and mind control devices. I can't just wear any old tinfoil hat, mind you, no, mine must be fancy. I cut up an old cereal box, made the headband, affixed two cross pieces in the shape of a dome to rise over my head, built up the shape a bit with some painters' tape (I couldn't find anything else), and covered the whole thing with tinfoil, gathering it into 'pleats' around the headband. I secured it with a lovely band of green painters' tape and taped a curly ribbon dingle to the top. At the party, I discovered it was very hot, but since I was there early, I took the time to poke some holes in the crown as vents. I am a dork, but a practical one.

Now, onto the shower. It ... well. Hm. I really don't like bridal showers - they've lost their meaning in the face of consumerism and one-upmanship, but I love Juliane and her mother, too, so really, this is the only reason I felt compelled to attend. It was held at the house of a friend of the family, who had a dear, sweet, fifteen-year-old (fox?) terrier. The hostesses were very nice, fun, interesting ladies, and the house was very nice (if a bit precious) with a beautifully landscaped garden. Unfortunately, because it was a "Tea", there was more than an element of Trisha Romance done in pinks. That said, it was beautifully put on and the food and drink were top notch.

Unfortunately, I don't handle feigned pretenses very well, and I particularly dislike being written off by ladies who don't know me OR my field of study just because I chose to attend the practical programme of Museum Mgt and Curatorship at Fleming, rather than the Museum Studies programme at UofT. I can say that Juliane, her mother and grandmother, as well as the two other bridesmaids (there are five in total) were good company and lots of fun. And, I got the cool job of decorating the Ribbon Hat, which involved selecting the choicest of the package trimmings and stapling them to a cheap broad-brimmed straw hat. I did a marvellous job of it, I might add. Now, what were the presents? Well, remember that the second was things that begin with the letter "T". I have never seen so many Teas, Tea sets, Trays, and Towels. Honestly.

So, you want to know the history of the bridal shower? No, you probably don't, but suffice it to say, the version we know and love/hate is only slightly younger than the introduction of white wedding gowns. Here you go. Read on and be edified.

It is rumored the Bridal Shower began during the 1800s in Holland. There a young, wealthy maiden fell in love with a poor miller. Her father, unhappy with her choice, refused to pay her dowry, believing it would thwart the marriage. The maiden's friends decided to "shower" her with many gifts to use for her dowry. She was able to use these bridal shower gifts to set up housekeeping after she married the poor miller. In present day, this bridal shower tradition continues as friends and family gather to shower the soon to be bride with wedding gifts to begin her married life. (Source)

A beautiful tradition grew from the townspeople's generosity and continued for decades. Over time, the old-fashioned dowry a young woman typically received from her family to set up her home grew into a bridal shower given by her "family of friends." Gift giving, as we know it today, was not common until the late 19th century. In fact, early bridal showers were focused on strengthening the bride's friendship with her peers, offering moral support, and helping her plan for her marriage. These traditions are often forgotten at modern bridal showers, where gift giving tends to take center stage. Today, it isn't uncommon for a bride to have more than one shower before her wedding. (Source)

In other news, unrelated to weddings, but still on the theme of parties, my mother will be hosting the annual Peterborough Symphony Orchestra end-of-season garden party. I plan to ask, very nicely, if anyone has seen my beloved and extremely important (to me) malachite and gold ring that was stol- er, went missing at the last PSO party she hosted back in March. And, also, the forecasters are predicting a day of rain for the event. Huh. We'll see.

For some reason, today I have camp songs in my head. I imagine this is because of the weather, which is more than just a little reminiscent of those mornings when I used to load onto a school bus and head down to Harbourfront. There, hundreds of children would converge and board the ferry to Ward Island. I used to love Island Camp (with the exception of one councilor who told me I had "huge" earlobes). But it was the bus ride that was full of singing. And, of course, there was also sleep-over camp at Kemur where we'd sing around the campfire. Each camp had its own selection of songs, but there were some common to both. For instance, "The other day (I met a bear)", and "My eyes are dim" (the latter being one of my favourites). Island camp had "the Aardvark song" and a particularly long and harmonious version of "Ship Titanic", while Kemur had "Whooping Cough" and the rudest versions of "Ain't no flies" I've ever heard. I can stun people with my raunchy rhymes.

Thinking about Island Camp makes me want to visit the Islands again. I recently saw someone's photographs of the hedge maze and it's actually TALL now. For years, I could see over it and find my way so easily. The fact that it's over my head is very exciting. I just need to find a day to go do it. If I weren't going to Juliane's bridal shower tomorrow, I could do that. Oh well. I signed on for this wedding business - it's too late to back out ! Actually, it's a shower with a hat theme, so I'm going to see if I can find a propellor beanie after work, and if not, I'll just make a tinfoil hat to keep out the alien mind-reading/controlling rays. I'll certainly, um, stand out.

In other news, utterly unrelated to camp songs, I've been perusing the City of Winnipeg website, which has some really interesting census information about it and what not. I've heard things about Winnipeg's downtown and north end that aren't charming, and the maps pretty much spell it out. So, since the Manitoba Museum is, I believe, located in or around the downtown, the key will be to find a place that is close but not in rough shape. Happily, I may have a contact (if not a potential landlord) so hopefully this won't be too much of a challenge.

First of all, a lot has transpired in the last ten days, and I am guilty of ignoring this journal in favour of, well, doing other things. I shall endeavour, now, to talk about a few things of note. Before I do that, I would like to boast that I updated my operating system and ... Natasha is seemingly fine. I will have to download a new driver for my digicam card reader - the other was specifically for Windows 2000. Also, now I can use a couple of the programmes I installed a few months back that couldn't work with my old OS.

Last week, my friend, Cat, from the Fleming course, came and spent the night. She was back in town for her (un)Convocation. Technically, she isn't allowed to graduate until she completes her internship, which won't be until December, but it was important to her to cross the stage with her friends looking on, so she crashed the ceremony. Once in the room, the organisers couldn't really tell her to bug off, especially with her parents in the audience. So, she got a robe and crossed the stage with her classmates and friends and was awarded a piece of paper that said, "You will receive your diploma when you return your robe," or something to that effect. The temptation to take the robe was potent, though, since technically there was no diploma for her to collect. Of course, Cat is a good girl and did not give in to her base instincts.

Having her here was fun. Usually, time we spent together was for various projects, so anytime we got to just futz around and have fun was a real bonus. We watched some Ghost in the Shell: Stand-alone complex, talked about nerd things like Star Wars, D&D, and such, and generally had a nice time. She did offer some rather disturbing news; however, which has caused me to ponder the appearances of people and how we really cannot tell what goes on inside a person's head.

One of her roommates, who I will leave nameless, a fellow with whom I've spent several evenings, conversed with, is facing charges for kiddie porn. His girlfriend, who works with troubled children of all things, was using his computer and stumbled upon a single image of child pornography. She told him that she would report it to the police and he went with her. I guess he figured it would make him look like it was an accident, like the file had been piggy-backed among others and hidden until she found it. Instead, his computer was seized and the police found over 53,000 pornographic images of which "a significant portion" were child pornography. Needless to say, she left him immediately, and everyone else in the house has been wiping their computers in case he downloaded material onto their systems, too.

This bit of news has really been troubling to me. The guy in question is an average guy in his early twenties who, from all accounts, had a typical relationship with his girlfriend and an amicable relationship with his housemates. Aside from being a vile slob, he just seemed like any other guy. Now, I didn't know him particularly well, but his ex says that once she found out about his stash certain things he'd done or said began to trigger alarm bells, which at the time they occured, she dismissed. So, for the first time, I am aware of how insidious pedophilia is. I have a couple of friends who were molested as children, but I've never known someone who was on the other end of things. Sure, these were pictures and not real children, but how do I know whether he ever molested any? And, regardless, in these images, children are being abused - real children - and in my mind, there is very little difference between being the molester and getting off on someone else's child abuse.

In other much happier news, I am now riding horseback regularly again. Once or twice a week as time allows. It is a pleasure and I feel much healthier of both mind and body. It is my form of meditation. My mother gardens. I work with horses. Making that connexion with another being is so important - not as a pet, but as a partner. Yes, I felt that way with Willi, too, so maybe riding horses again is helping to heal the scar. At any rate, I am loving it.

As well, this past Saturday, I was an usher at my friend Nicole's betrothal. She was committing to her partner, Dan, whom I like very much, and the event was really lovely. I'd never attended a Pagan wedding/betrothal before and I don't think I could have had a better example. The ceremony was held at Guildwood Park, by the lake, in Scarborough. The setting was gorgeous and strangely romantic in a pre-raphaelite sort of way. Birds were singing and the weather was fine. The guests were all part of the ceremony in a much more harmonious way than any other service I've attended. There was no preaching at, no feeling of holier-than-though, like we were lucky to be invited to something above us... No, here we were all welcome, all encouraged, and invited to wrap ourselves in the mantle of love and respect.

Whew. Heady stuff, that.