I'm sitting at Kinsey, my laptop, on the couch, in the company of one sleeping mother, a sleeping border, and a sleeping cat. What are we watching? Well, we were watching the Olympics on CBC, but the feed went. I don't know quite how it happened, but we're - well, just me - watching CSI: Miami, one of the worst television shows known to American TV. I'd get up and get the remote, but I'd hate to wake up the oldies. Anyway, it turns out, based on the truth according to CSI:M, which, as we all know is based on solid proof, reality, and apparently Intelligent Design, most bloggers like to hide messages in their blogs. In honour of this new factoid, I am going to hide text in this message. Are you excited? I'm excited.
I like cats.
Don't know how to read it? Highlight the text. Well, now it MUST be true !
John Fluevog makes fantastic shoes.
There are four days left before I climb into the airport shuttle limosine and leave Peterborough for... well, not forEVER, but for a long time. There is a fair bit of stuff left for me to pack, but I have confidence that it won't take too long. I know where the majority of my electronics are and I have the boxes and bubble wrap to put them away safely for shipping. I have clean laundry to be packed, and then it comes down to my carry-on goodies. Tomorrow I am driving (or taking the bus, depending on the weather) into Toronto one last time in order to enjoy lunch with Rick. This will be the last time I see him for a long time and despite the fact that we broke up in September, it still feels a bit weird that he - and all of my friends, really - will cease to be a tactile part of my life. In a similar vein, I'm carrying Chester around like a baby and he seems to be quite happy to let me do so. I don't think he has put the boxes and suitcases together yet, I'm not following a typical pattern in packing. He will sorely miss me when I go, though; we're good buddies. I will miss him, too. I can only console myself so much with the thought of getting a kitten when I'm settled up there.
Hey, that was a long paragraph, wasn't it?
And my mother? God, I'm going to miss her so much. She is my best friend, my confidante, my biggest fan and firmest supporter. She is my peanut gallery and cheerleader, minus pompoms and kilt. I almost miss her already. Heh. We've been through so much together, and it's very scary knowing that I'm going out on my own. Really on my own. This isn't an hour-and-a-half drive out of Toronto on my own. This isn't even an hour-and-a-half flight on my own. This is two plane rides and 5528km from Toronto. I try not to think about what leaving her will mean to us. Well, that said, I am utterly secure in her love and in the skills she's given me in 28 solid years of parenting. I couldn't ask for a more supportive mother. And as all my friends like to remind me, cool, to boot.
Okay, show's over.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
The thing about moving away is that the last couple of weeks before you go, you find yourself surrounded by social events. Sometimes they are of your own invention, for instance, the going-away party that I will be having on this coming Friday, but more often, they are activities (usually eating) thought up by one's friends and family. Yesterday, after a roaring migraine, I had to postpone my lunch with Rick, but following my dental appointment, I was by this time well enough for dinner with friends of the family. Mostly, I enjoyed it, but everyone was accutely aware of one person's absence, by his own choice, and for his own petty reasons. But, photos were looked at, Thai food was eaten, and generally, I had a good time with some of the people I love the most.
Today, or rather tonight, I went back into Toronto and enjoyed dinner with some of my favourite girls from the ROM. It's Winterlicious and so I got to enjoy a fancy restaurant's prix fixe menu. Where? Mildred Pierce Restaurant. If you click the link and enter the site, we were seated at the round table in the corner, which was perfect for lots of conversation and laughter. Even with the special menu, dinner was pricey, but particularly because of the two bottles of wine drunk. Including tip, dinner came to around $375 for five people. Honestly, the cost of alcohol in restaurants is ridiculous. I don't know how they can get away with charging what they do. BUT, nevermind - we had a good time and it was well worth it, at least food-wise. Even though it is Winterlicious, we were not rushed through our meal at all, because Tuesday just isn't a big night in dining.
Later this week, I anticipate the rescheduled lunch with Rick, a brunch with my "Cool auntie Karen" and of course there will be food at my party. Chances are good that there will be at least one other lunch had in Toronto next week, and at least one dinner here in Peterborough. It's a good thing I lost weight in Winnipeg, or I'd have no room to gain it back. ;)
Today, or rather tonight, I went back into Toronto and enjoyed dinner with some of my favourite girls from the ROM. It's Winterlicious and so I got to enjoy a fancy restaurant's prix fixe menu. Where? Mildred Pierce Restaurant. If you click the link and enter the site, we were seated at the round table in the corner, which was perfect for lots of conversation and laughter. Even with the special menu, dinner was pricey, but particularly because of the two bottles of wine drunk. Including tip, dinner came to around $375 for five people. Honestly, the cost of alcohol in restaurants is ridiculous. I don't know how they can get away with charging what they do. BUT, nevermind - we had a good time and it was well worth it, at least food-wise. Even though it is Winterlicious, we were not rushed through our meal at all, because Tuesday just isn't a big night in dining.
Later this week, I anticipate the rescheduled lunch with Rick, a brunch with my "Cool auntie Karen" and of course there will be food at my party. Chances are good that there will be at least one other lunch had in Toronto next week, and at least one dinner here in Peterborough. It's a good thing I lost weight in Winnipeg, or I'd have no room to gain it back. ;)
Saturday, February 04, 2006
It's been nearly a month since my last post. I have felt quite conflicted about continuing this writing, but after much time, and some not insignificant experiences occuring, I have decided to carry on. The reason is justified: I enjoy writing, and I enjoy sharing stories, and ultimately, I enjoy keeping this journal going. This ought to make my mother happy, though after all this time, she is probably the only person still reading it. Fair enough.
I suppose I should start with the little things that have happened recently. For instance, I am now the proud owner of snow pants. I honestly don't think I've worn snow pants since I was twelve years old. Never mind how long ago that was. I also have big, tall Sorrel snow boots, the kind I've secretly yearned after for a long time. I also got fancy new thinsulate gloves to keep my hands warm when it's terribly cold out and a puffy pink vest for when it's a lot less cold. Not that it's been terribly cold here - in fact, as of today, I saw the irises had broken the soil in the front flower bed, which is not good. Well, not good for the irises, anyway. Februrary is a pretty good time to buy winter clothing because everything is on sale, even though it's not so late in the season that they only have sizes XS and 2X left.
Okay, this 'small' stuff is in fact the lead-up to the 'big' stuff. For those of you that do not know, I will be moving to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory as of February 21st (with a two day stop-over to visit my friend in Edmonton). Let me give you a moment to close your mouth. Yes, the Yukon, as in the Gold Rush. It's true. Why? Well, back when I was living in Winnipeg and feeling quite pleased with myself for having gone far from home to a place that is beyond cold, I decided, on a whim, to apply for a position offered at the Yukon Arts Centre and Public Art Gallery. Advertised as Assistant Curator, it was essentially exactly the sort of career move I had been looking to make, but just the sort one doesn't actually land straight out of school.
Having applied, I promptly forgot all about it, though I was pleasantly surprised by the 'thanks for coming out' email I received from the gallery Curator the following day. Okay, so THEN I forgot about it. The final days of the internship happened, then it was home to the Petes, then time with friends, and then I got ridiculously sick. I lost my voice for over a week. This brings us up to the last post in my journal. It was during this time that I received an email from the Curator inviting me to an informal telephone interview. To be honest, I was more than a little surprised to hear back.
I prepped long and hard for the interview. While I didn't imagine being offered the position, I thought that I should at least impress them, because I was obviously interesting and qualifed enough for the position or else they wouldn't have called me, right? Right. So I prepped. And then, still sounding like a smoker of 40 years, I had my interview. I was terribly nervous. Irrationally nervous, even, but it was easy, fun even. We could have kept talking, I'm sure, but they were on a schedule and it was long distance, but nonetheless, an hour-long interview is impressive by anyone's standards, particularly over the phone.
Once the interview was finished, my nerves really began jangling. I called my academic advisor for his sage knowledge and talked to him for not quite as long as the interview lasted. We went through questions I would need answering before I accepted, and what kind of requirements I would like to have met to turn my indecision into a 'yes'. I mean, seriously, it's Whitehorse, you know? That's damn far away, and nevermind the 'challenging' weather.
When the position was offered to me, it was my turn to ask the questions. I called back the Curator and asked him about things, explained circumstances that could not be altered (for instance, I'm going to the UK in April - there's a museum studies conference). One by one, he met all of my requirements. I told him I would look into the cost of relocation and would get back to him within two days. Even as I hung up the phone, I knew in my heart I was going to say yes. How could I not? How many people, fresh out of school, get to land an Assistant Curator position at an A-rated gallery? Only a very slim number. And an even slimmer number of people are willing to pick up and move themselves across the continent, to a place they've never been, where they know not a single person.
So, now I'm going to Whitehorse, in the middle of the winter, when it's cold, snowy, and still very dark up there, to start a new life for an indefinite period of time. I'm not as scared as I was; now, mostly, I'm excited and proud of myself.
I suppose I should start with the little things that have happened recently. For instance, I am now the proud owner of snow pants. I honestly don't think I've worn snow pants since I was twelve years old. Never mind how long ago that was. I also have big, tall Sorrel snow boots, the kind I've secretly yearned after for a long time. I also got fancy new thinsulate gloves to keep my hands warm when it's terribly cold out and a puffy pink vest for when it's a lot less cold. Not that it's been terribly cold here - in fact, as of today, I saw the irises had broken the soil in the front flower bed, which is not good. Well, not good for the irises, anyway. Februrary is a pretty good time to buy winter clothing because everything is on sale, even though it's not so late in the season that they only have sizes XS and 2X left.
Okay, this 'small' stuff is in fact the lead-up to the 'big' stuff. For those of you that do not know, I will be moving to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory as of February 21st (with a two day stop-over to visit my friend in Edmonton). Let me give you a moment to close your mouth.
Having applied, I promptly forgot all about it, though I was pleasantly surprised by the 'thanks for coming out' email I received from the gallery Curator the following day. Okay, so THEN I forgot about it. The final days of the internship happened, then it was home to the Petes, then time with friends, and then I got ridiculously sick. I lost my voice for over a week. This brings us up to the last post in my journal. It was during this time that I received an email from the Curator inviting me to an informal telephone interview. To be honest, I was more than a little surprised to hear back.
I prepped long and hard for the interview. While I didn't imagine being offered the position, I thought that I should at least impress them, because I was obviously interesting and qualifed enough for the position or else they wouldn't have called me, right? Right. So I prepped. And then, still sounding like a smoker of 40 years, I had my interview. I was terribly nervous. Irrationally nervous, even, but it was easy, fun even. We could have kept talking, I'm sure, but they were on a schedule and it was long distance, but nonetheless, an hour-long interview is impressive by anyone's standards, particularly over the phone.
Once the interview was finished, my nerves really began jangling. I called my academic advisor for his sage knowledge and talked to him for not quite as long as the interview lasted. We went through questions I would need answering before I accepted, and what kind of requirements I would like to have met to turn my indecision into a 'yes'. I mean, seriously, it's Whitehorse, you know? That's damn far away, and nevermind the 'challenging' weather.
When the position was offered to me, it was my turn to ask the questions. I called back the Curator and asked him about things, explained circumstances that could not be altered (for instance, I'm going to the UK in April - there's a museum studies conference). One by one, he met all of my requirements. I told him I would look into the cost of relocation and would get back to him within two days. Even as I hung up the phone, I knew in my heart I was going to say yes. How could I not? How many people, fresh out of school, get to land an Assistant Curator position at an A-rated gallery? Only a very slim number. And an even slimmer number of people are willing to pick up and move themselves across the continent, to a place they've never been, where they know not a single person.
So, now I'm going to Whitehorse, in the middle of the winter, when it's cold, snowy, and still very dark up there, to start a new life for an indefinite period of time. I'm not as scared as I was; now, mostly, I'm excited and proud of myself.