Well, I've done enough hands-on activities to know exactly what sort of things I hope never to have to do (or at least as little of possible) when I am employed in the museum sector. For instance, today, my partner Cat and I finished up our inventory project. The assignment: we are given a list of one hundred objects that live on four shelves at the Peterborough Museum and Archives, which then have to be examined in order to check off each object's accession number as it appears on a master list. Any objects that are missing get noted and any additional items found also get note on a separate list. Sounds simple enough. We were told to sign up for a two-hour slot that would normally be ample time for all those objects.

For those who don't know it, an accession number is that line of numbers (and sometimes letters) you see inscribed on objects displayed in museums. They should be unobtrusive and preferably somewhere out of sight should the object be on display to the public. Typically, this means on the bottom or somewhere at the back. So, our shelves turn out to be roughly 70% cameras and related equipment, 20% seal/stamp presses, and 10% miscilaneous office equipment.

It became painfully obvious within the first ten minutes that things were not going to go smoothly. First there was the adding machine that didn't belong. Never mind not belonging, it was the lifting and turning-over in order to locate the non-existent accession number that nearly killed us. Now, I worked in a barn for two years and that involved a lot of lifting and flinging of hay bales which generally weighed about sixty pounds, give or take. This adding machine required both Cat and myself to get it down off the chest-high (chin-high for Cat) shelf. I manhandled the thing back onto the shelf after we'd discovered its lack of number and when I got my hand stuck under it, I needed Cat to pry it up so I could get my hand out. We figured it weighed MINIMUMLY 85lbs. That is fucking heavy.

It only went downhill from there. You see, whoever was responsible for marking the majority of cameras with their numbers either didn't know the difference between unobtrusive and ridiculous, or they had a sick, sick sence of humour. We were dealing with antique cameras, so it isn't as simple as popping open the back or the battery door. These cameras extended, came in boxes, opened in three places, required pushing, snapping, twisting, whatever - they were ALL different. It became a puzzle to figure out how they opened. At the end of day one, we'd only managed two thirds of the inventory over the course of three hours.

Today went much better in that we left the camera equipment behind us and focused only on the presses and other odds and ends. In the end, our inventory took five hours and had about twenty objects missing and about fifty objects that didn't belong on our shelves. It was back-breaking and hard on our eyes (we spent most of our time hunched over a little card table under a single crooked flourescent light) and if we never have to do it again, it will be soon enough. And yet, it was also weirdly satisfying.

In other news, last night was the Pixies concert in Toronto (well, Mississauga - who knows why?) and I left school early in order to drive in. I promised my mother that I'd stay the night if the weather was bad, but it wasn't necessary. The drive in was spectacular in places. Between Fowlers Corners and Orono there had been freezing rain and since it was cold out, it hadn't melted. By the time I was driving through, the sun was bright, the road was clear, and the trees and fields were shimmering with silver. Had I my camera, I'd have pulled over in order to capture the gloriousness of the scene. It was enough I got to witness it, though.

I picked Rick up from his office and then drove to York Mills to pick up Nick and a girl named Maria, whom I'd never met before. We co-ordinated meeting up with Nick and Maria's friends, Ryan and Jessica and enjoyed dinner with them at Swiss Chalet near the airport. We headed to the International Centre, where the show was taking place, parked and went in. We met Nick's friend, Keith, whom I'm certain I'd never met before, but he says we had... Anyway, we caught the last song and a half of the second opening band (who kind of sucked), and then had about forty five minutes to hang out and get positioned for the Pixies.

The show didn't last long, only about 90 minutes, but believe me when I say it was the most intense, densely packed hour and a half of music I'd ever witnessed. They didn't stop between songs longer than about five seconds and half of the songs were totally bridged together so the concert just rolled along at a rocking pace. Overall, it was a good show, despite the drummer missing several cues and (possibly) spraining his hand, at least according to the hand gestures he was making at the end. I had a good time and the vibe was good, too. Lots of happy people. On a side-note, I have never seen so many people working so hard to look like they just threw on whatever was closest before leaving the house. It was kind of mind boggling.

Rick was a bit put out that I wasn't going to drop him at his house. I dropped everyone (and Keith) at York Mills in order to not have to cross the whole damn city, again. Nick pointed out that it was very nice of me to be dropping everyone off at the subway at all and Rick got over it. I did call my mother just to check on the weather in the Petes as it had begun to snow in Toronto. The report said clear so I headed home. It did snow, almost the whole way, but lightly in those tiny diamond-sparkling flakes that dance in headlights and drift gently over the road. It was pretty and an easy drive with hardly any traffic. It was a very good day.

Honestly, I didn't mean to neglect this journal, the host site was poopered, so I didn't bother. Anyway, things have happened, and time has passed. I'm a few days older and the holiday season is fast approaching. Americans are about to have their Thanksgiving, Toronto's had it's Santa Claus parade, and I put up the Christmas lights. Yes, I'm beginning to feel festive.

Putting up the lights is really when it all begins for me. I go out, do battle with some very sharp connifers and then magic happens. This year, Mom and I tested our lights before stringing them, as always, but were stunned to discover how many of them didn't work. The oldest strings worked the best, but the newer ones were totally defective, in some cases after only one season. Stupid, disposable Christmas lights racket. Mom invested in some LEDs that proport to be indestructable, so we shall see.

We pride ourselves on our tasteful light displays. I got a smack in the face with hideous displays en route to my friend's house tonight. Alana lives very near to where I used to live and there ain't nothing more, um, remarkable than the lights in that neighbourhood. I wasn't disappointed - there was a house with an entire nativity scene (light-up, no less), surrounded by glowing Frosty and Candycane wall ornaments, and the entire house was festooned with swags of mismatched multi-coloured lights. From the cab I was riding in, I missed whether the lights were musical. I wouldn't be surprised if they were.

So, what am I doing in Toronto tonight? Like I said, I was with my friend, Alana, with whom I attended the Royal Ontario Museum's "Magic of Indigo Blue" lecture and auction to benefit the ROM's textile department. Alana made her outfit, naturally, being the costumer she is (pictures to come), and also a long blue skirt for me (just for accompanying her). She made an incredibly gorgeous corset for herself and a matching skirt and shrug. Anyway, it was fun. We were clearly the best dressed. I actually made a last minute purchase at Le Chateau, buying a really nice, off-white sweater with a very flattering neckline. I also got to wear my new winter coat - though it wasn't really cold enough for it. Alana got compliments on her outfit (well, I got a few, too), and I got some great coat comments.

Babbly, me. New topic. Where's the snow? I demand snow. Christmas lights and my gorgeous coat demand snow. Okay, not much of a new topic. Hopefully, I'll have more to say soon.

I am content. Even happy at times. Things are good. I feel great and love school. My job frustrates me, but I still enjoy it. I have good friends and a wonderful mother, and the best cat in the world. I have a great boyfriend and his mom likes me.

Last night was a night of simple pleasures, but totally enjoyable. It began with dinner and a drink in the company of my friend Cheryl. We went to the Bedford Ballroom to vent about work and enjoy each other's company. The food there is always good and usually very well priced and the staff are cool but not so cool as to be aloof like at so many similar restaurants on the College Street strip (maybe because it's not on College, eh?). We parted ways and I headed to Rick's (my weekend home, I guess).

We listened to "Old Orc Radio", an Internet radio show hosted by a good friend we both met on the MUD (who's real life wedding we attended back in the late summer 2001). We submitted a bunch of requests, all of which were played including the Kermit/Ladysmith Black Mombaso African Alphabet Song. We danced around naked and then around 11:30pm, we settled down to watch my favourite childhood movie, The Last Unicorn. I don't think I realised it was so much a favourite until I watched it last night. Tears ran down my cheeks through much of it and despite not having seen it in about fifteen years, I still remembered a lot of the script and, of course, songs.

Today, I'm in such a joyous mood, I can't begin to describe it. I'm happy and in love and all that good stuff. Tomorrow, I might be in a lousy mood, even later today, but right now, the magic of last night still lingers.

*love*

My #2 result for the SelectSmart.com selector, Which Discworld Character Are You?, is Death

Scary, but my number one result was Captain Carrot. Huh.

So, the joys of being a bridesmaid are many, or something, except perhaps not included among them is dress shopping. Maybe it's fun when you're doing it with the bride, or with the other bridesmaids, or something, but when it's just you going into a bridal shop, it kind of sucks. Also, pastel colours kind of suck - no offense Tanya, for you I'll wear them. That said, at least I know my own body well enough to be able to say, "yes, I love that halter top, but my boobs are too heavy," or, "ah, that is not a good look," even when the saleswoman suggests it works. There is subtle saleswoman language that I know well enough to mean, "well, it's not bad," rather than, "Woo, sexy !" When they start pointing out minor features and parts of you that look nice, it's not the whole package. Anyway, I sorted it out. I picked my top. It's the kind of gown that I'm never going to wear again. Unless I turn it into something else.

Oh, and the other thing is that even though there's no price difference between a size 6 and a size 12, larger women are screwed because the price goes up by 30 bucks between a size 14 and anything bigger. I hate that.

That said, I am VERY pleased to be a bridesmaid - repeatedly - and look forward to further adventures.

Last week, I signed up for Weight Watchers. I found it to be quite successful the first time I went into the programme and now, thanks to forgetting about portion sizes and two meds that make people fat, I'm back. Nevermind how heavy I am this time around, it's not important. What is important is that this time, I'm going to take my time. I'm not looking for a quick fix. Averaged out over the two and a half years in which I've been gaining weight, I put on 0.3lbs a week. Of course, it didn't work uniformly like that, but the point I'm trying to make is that it took a while of steady gaining to put me at my current weight. I am keeping my goals realistic, now, and am looking at taking off only 1-2lbs a week. I lost weight much faster the first time, but now I am only interested in doing it in a healthy way that promotes keeping the pounds off, rather than quick results. There are a lot of studies out there demonstrating how people are more likely to stay in a healthy weight range if they lose the weight slowly, over a long period of time. Also, I refuse to become obsessed.

In other news? I haven't had any assignments to do this week. It feels really weird, like I'm somehow shirking my responsibilities. Usually when I feel that way, it's because I -am- shirking. Huh.

Yet again, I've forgotten my weblog. Okay, it wasn't actually forgotten, I simply wasn't on my computer much. Reading week came and went and I was in Toronto and Peterborough. I did things like organise my crap in my mother's garage (with help from Richie and Leanne), rode horseback for the second time in a month, modeled in the Nocturnalia fashion show (that was neat), worked at the ROM, attended the Society for Studies in Egyptian Antiquities symposium on education in Ancient Egypt (yes, I'm a nerd, we already knew that), carved a pumpkin, did homework, rehoused some textiles, and spent a lot of time sleeping. That list is in no particular order and hopefully, I'll go into some detail about a couple things soon (like the fashion show, symposium, and maybe some other stuff).

If you recall from a couple of weeks ago, I wrote about seeking out the spider species belonging to the spider handed to me in a pill container while at the cottage. Now, for all posterity, here the link with two pictures of the exact variety. It's the pale Araneus orb weaver huddled in the window frame, roughly halfway down the page. Now, I've bookmarked it, saved the information, and can report back to Jean and Michael and even send them pictures and links to other similar orb weavers.

Not bad, for an arachnaphobe, eh?

In other news, I'm to be a bridesmaid. Again. First to Carrie, almost two years ago, and now to my old, old friend, Juliane, who lives near Hamilton. Her wedding slots neatly into the two months between Tanya's wedding and Tracy's wedding, both of which I'm bridesmaiding (can that be a verb?) in. I haven't spoken to Juli in months, but this isn't really terribly surprising. We go for long periods when we simply don't speak. Longer periods when we don't see each other. It's been a couple of years since I last saw her, I'm sure. We met at Camp Kemur riding camp near Cambridge, ON, almost two decades ago. Seventeen years ago, I think. I was ten and she was nine, or something like that, and we hit it off right away. Anyway, so today I was checking my email for the first time in a few days, which isn't like me, but hey, I had other priorities, and lo, there was a letter from Juli. In it, she mentions casually that she and her long-time boyfriend, Sean, are engaged (since the spring) and then it's onto other stuff. Naturally, I whipped open my phone book and called her. This is the abridged, but pretty accurate, dialogue that started the conversation:

Me: Oh my God, you're engaged.
Juli: So, I guess you got my email.
Me: Oh my goodness, yes, I'm so excited ! You think you took your time about telling me?
Juli: Ya, maybe. You know me and phoning. I did try to write an email about a month ago, but it bounced 'cause I had the wrong address. I actually got your email by googling your name.
Me: I'm all over [the Internet], if you know where to look. That sounds bad, but it's true.
Juli: Laughs
Me: You know, when I was reading your letter, I thought for a horrible second you were going to ask me to be a bridesmaid, because I'm already one in a wedding in July and another in October. I was kind of relieved.
Juli: voice softens So, you won't be my bridesmaid?
Me: Of COURSE I'll be your bridesmaid, are you kidding?!
Juli: Good, you had me worried !
Me: Wonderful, now I'm crying.

This, after I'd just been on the phone with Tanya, discussing dresses, and my mother teased me for being a multi-maid. Is there an addage about "four times a bridesmaid", because this time next year, it will have been four weddings. Okay, people, that's enough - you can stop asking me now, it's expensive and I've committed to quite enough... But it sure makes me realise how lucky and honoured I am to have so many people in my life that think I'm so special. I feel loved.

On a different note: as the results shift and bend toward the incumbent, I made my vote count. I am proud that my state spoke out and even though it was the original victim, its people will not be cowed by talk of terror and can still take a positive stand against the ruling insanity. At least they had the excuse for the first term that they never really elected him. This time, in the eyes of the world, they had the choice and they elected him for real. Maybe, a miracle will occur and I'll wake up in the morning with Kerry as the president.

Ya. Right.

What a great weekend.

Friday: Took the evening bus into Toronto. I hopped onto the Queen Streetcar and headed East to Rick's house. When I arrived, Spaceballs was just starting on his TV and Indian curry was imminent. Curry and cult-flicks go very well together. I don't think I've ever had delivery Indian food, either, so that was a fun change. I played Fable for an hour and then headed for bed. Rick joined me and together we conked out in under five minutes. Fridays nights are pretty boring for us. *laugh* Unfortunately, Rick's clicking and tooth-grinding woke me up repeatedly and even shoving him didn't work. I considered moving to the couch, but that's not so bright an idea when the alarm clocks are in his room and I have to get up for work.

Saturday: I worked at the ROM, of course, and had the coveted position of being principle Breaks-person. Hurray ! I like this position because you get to move around, you have a little responsibility, and generally, it speeds up the day. As it turned out, things have picked up a bit on the weekends now and most of the cashes were busy throughout the day. I went for lunch with Cheryl, something we don't get to do much of anymore, and because it was so bloody gorgeous out, we ate our crepes while sitting on a bench in Philosophers' Walk behind the museum. There was a little girl who was vigourously feeding the pigeons and a very ballsy sparrow (he even landed on Cheryl's shoe). She had no concept of invading our space in order to give muffin crumbs to the birds and we enjoyed her presence. She was a refreshing change from the stuffiness of the Rotunda.

After work, I zipped back to Rick's where I took a wee nap, had some greasy wonton soup and then dressed for Alana's birthday party. She lives in the same warehouse studio complex that Nicole lives at, in my old neighbourhood. I so enjoy that complex. I'd love to get a space in it. Her party involved a lot of alcoholic options and some very delicious dips. Good conversation was had and Rick ended up being quite social. I met her cats, Po and Twig (aka. Mr. Plumpers), and generally had a nice time. Rick and I left around quarter past eleven and came to the realisation that we're old now. I can't remember the last time I left a party before midnight. Man.

Sunday: We had the plan to visit a local school's haunted house and despite the weather being typical of mid-autumn - cool and drizzly - we headed out. This after a somewhat tasty breakfast at Rick's local greasy spoon. It's the kind of diner that has been around for ever. The tables and chairs are probably thirty years old, the chairs at any rate, and everyone knows everyone. It's the kind of place where a young middle-class family is enjoying brunch at one table while the mother breast-feeds, a working-class couple discuss the stupidity of the pit-bull ban at the table beside us, students fill another table, and an older married couple sit together by the window, each reading their own sections of the paper and not talking. Anyway, back to the haunted house.

Pape Avenue PS runs a hanted house for Hallowe'en where they have activities, food, raffles draws, and whatnot, and of course, the haunted house. For four bucks, we figured we'd go check it out and see what it was like. It was definitely worth four bucks. It was really well done, right down to a freaky hag eating rubber snakes, freaky low ceilings in pitch blackness, a creepy mime, and lots of great sets. It was peopled with students from the school, faculty (I think) and other parental types, and we left it with big smiles on our faces. I got some good jumps when things startled me, and I especially liked the girl portraying the mime - she was five feet nothing in height and followed Rick all over.

When we got home, I got to play a lot more of Fable, which is perfectly alright by me, because it seems Greyhound has stopped running the late afternoon/evening buses to Peterborough. I had a lot of time to kill before the midnight bus. It was really nice to do nothing all day, let me tell you. A welcome reward before I have to start working again, today.

Three years and a day. That is how long I've been keeping this journal. When I started, way back in October of 2001, I thought it would be temporary, something to fill the gap while I was busy learning computer animation and not having time to email everyone directly. The world was beginning to adjust to the "new normal" (I still hate that expression) after the tragic events of Sept. 11, 2001. I was working at Heretic, which had, at the time, a storefront on Queen Street West. I was living with Justin in my favourite apartment on Manning Avenue (with crazy Adeleina my landlady just downstairs, "I tell you, no boys !"). Willi had been with me for under a year. Rick had been with me for a year and a half. Al and Carrie weren't married yet, my mother was still working, and I thought I was going to be a computer animator for film or games.

I still have Willi. I still have Rick. I've lost touch with Justin. We're only days from the US election. Al and Carrie have been married a year and a half. Tanya's next in line for matrimony. I'm fairly certain I'll never work in film or games and I'm MUCH happier with my life now. Happy Anniversary, Meanderings !

In other news:

I've spent forty minutes or so, earlier tonight, researching spiders with my mother. You see, it's not just at the ROM where I'm called upon to answer questions about things I know little about, it is from near family, too. Over Thanksgiving, our friend Jean (who is something of a surrogate grandma), gave me a spider she'd trapped some time earlier. Unfortunately, it had been starving in a pill bottle for a while and was quite shell shocked when she gave it to me, but the idea was that I should look at it and tell her what kind of spider it was. I, being arachnaphobic, handed it immediately to my mother and off we went with our little friend. I promised Jean that I'd either determine what it was for her (the internet is a wonderful thing) or take it to the ROM to an entymologist.

Now, there was NO WAY IN HELL that I was taking it in the car and then in on a bus to Toronto to have anyone look at it. Mom and I did some preliminary research back at our cottage that last night - she has books about everything up there - and came away with some possible species. The thing is, the book was some forty years old and most of the pictures were illustrations or black and white photos. I needed some colour happening for me. Also, not all of the illustrations showed the spiders from all angles, and that meant uncertainty. We released the poor thing the following day having, at the very least, determined that although it was a large variety of something, it was nothing to be frightened of.

A few days after having come back to the Petes, I did some internet research and narrowed my possibilities down to three, though I was leaning much more heavily to two of them. I decided it was probably some sort of orbweaver at the very least. Tonight, Mom asked me if I'd ever found out what kind of spider it was and I updated her. We came upstairs to check out some sites and my favourite one was down, http://www.whatsthatbug.com . Poop. The Internet is vast and far-reaching, but most of the links we called up came close, but no cigar. Then I had a brainwave. I have them sometimes. I recalled that a long while back, I'd had a dream about a spider and ended up looking for it on the 'net. I remembered that I'd posted a link in this very journal about it. And what do you know, but that very page provided me with an answer ! We found an a spider almost identical to the one at the cottage. It was an Araneas orb-weaver. This was one of the two possibilities I'd highlighted in my notes.

I am most proud of my Internet research skills. Really, I do rock. Good thing, too, since I have to make use of them over the following week. This reading week is NO slack week. Phew. I'll have as much work to do as if it were any other week, only no classes to get in the way.

I had forgotten what it's like to live from project to project. I have trouble thinking more than a few days ahead because I have so many school assignments due. For instance, when I'd presented my project on Thursday, I started to think about my assignment due on Friday (yesterday). Now I'm thinking about the project due on Monday. Happily, there's not much that I need to do for that one, so I'm able to think ahead to Tuesday's report. That's a bit of a biggie. I'll spend most of tomorrow working on it. After Tuesday, I get to think about the next project due on Friday. If you ask me to hang out, get together, or anything, I usually can't say whether I can or not. If I forget my agenda, like I did this weekend, nevermind, I can't make any plans at all since they have to be worked around my projects.

It was nice to be at my cottage for four days over Thanksgiving, but to be quite honest, it already seems like an eternity ago. The weather wasn't terrific, but neither was it bad. It got progressively cooler each day and night and by Sunday, we had the stove going all day long. That wood stove keeps the cottage nice and toasty and fills the air with the wonderful scent of woodsmoke. Combine that with the smell of roasting turkey and mulling cider and it's olfactory heaven ! Of course, we left Chester behind with a babysitter and neither Mom nor I felt much guilt about that. The girls behaved very well and enjoyed having doors opened and closed at most hours. Melody divided her time between Mom and me, while Willi slept with me exclusively. Willi and I took a little walk together - it's very cute the way she does that. She rarely lets me get more than twenty feet away when we go walking and she talks to me regularly as we explore. When Mom and I took a long walk down the road, we had to make sure Willi was distracted with something else or she would come along and we don't want her near the road.

Speaking of roads, I do have a bit of bad news. The highway that so long ago was intended to serve Mirabel Airport from Montreal (a useless airport) is finally going through. We've been saved for twenty years from its arrival. Mirabel failed to generate much traffic and money has been tight for make-work projects. Now, however, as Mont Tremblant is built up and built up, the powers that be want to put a direct route from Ottawa to Tremblant and therefore they're extending Highway 50, stalled for a decade or more, through our hills. So, now it's really happening. We'll hear it, of course, but not as badly as it could have been. Once, it had been planned to go in just below our camp, but now it'll be nearly a mile down the road. They plan to build an over pass for our road so we won't need a service road to get down to the old highway, which is good, but the construction will be awful. As I understand it, the road is slated to go in in 2007 or 2008. Here's hoping that there are further delays.

Another week of class down - two more to go until Reading Week. Gone are the days when a week off from class meant slack time. Looking at my planner for the coming weeks, it only gets worse from then on in. As it stands, I'm already taking about 10 hours of homework with me to the cottage. This is one of the few times I've ever wanted to have a computer up there. I took one, once, and tried to write my 'novel' but there are just so many other things to do... This time I have no choice. The work has to get done. And, the day after I come back, I have to do a presentation. Hee. Yikes.

We all got our marks for the first group assignment. My group did very well, scoring 86.4%, which is not to be sneezed at. With two marks of four back from my first class, I'm running about 89%. Hopefully, that can be upped. I really want to do well. Really well. This is kind of exciting, since previously, I didn't care so long as I didn't utterly disgrace myself.

Yesterday, before going to class, I did something I haven't done in about two years; horseback riding. I went for a lesson with Kerri, rode a nice gelding named Kid, and realised that I am totally out of shape. At least out of riding shape. My body was willing and remembered what to do, but my muscles simply couldn't maintain it. I'm so weak ! Also, since I've put on weight without riding at the same time, I hadn't adapted to it and found myself terribly off balance. By the end of the ride, I'd regained some balance, but it was sooooo uncomfortable. I've pretty well committed to at least one lesson a week - I need it. I would like to be in good enough shape that following school and internship, I can spend a week riding with Christopher Todd. I mean to take him up on his invitation and if I can do it, I'd like to so sometime before I embark on my career.

Needless to say, I'm bloody sore today, and I'll be extra stiff tonight after the drive out to the cottage. We're leaving Chester behind - I can't recall if I mentioned in this journal that he'd come back, but he has. Friends of ours used the cottage for a week halfway through September and started calling him as soon as they got there. He turned up on their second day, dishevilled, skinny, and exhausted. Anyway, we're leaving him in the Petes where he can be babysat and we don't have to worry that he'll end up lost again. We'll take the girls, Melody and Willi, since they pretty well stay close to home and Melody needs meds every day. Despite the homework and shorter days, I'm looking forward to the cottage so much. It'll be a bit chilly in the outhouse in October and swimming will be pretty much out of the question, but there will be walks to take and books to read and, generally, it will be good. I really need this break from class.

Have a happy and safe Thanksgiving (Columbas Day, if you're in the States).

There is something incredibly satisfying about finishing a paper. Unfortunately, tonight I get to have that feeling twice, which means the usual collapse at the end of one is followed... by another. I'm having a difficult time embracing the bigger (and unfinished) of the two. I've been working on it for a week now and was granted the blessing of an extension, but it's due tomorrow and it still isn't finished. I have a low-grade migraine - I've been getting a lot of them lately and I fear that I'm going to have to get a new prescription for the heavier hitting drugs if the Advil stops working. That's a topic for another night. Now, I'm just concerned I get this paper done. So why am I writing in my weblog? Well, I never said I could do it without procrastinating, did I? Actually, part of the reason I'm writing here instead of in Microsoft Word is just to get the juices flowing and hopefully allow myself the time for a 'eureka' moment.

Maybe I should take a bath.

Other than working and writing papers over the last few days, I've also been watching Mt. St. Helens like a vulture watches a kill site. I'm waiting. I'm hoping to catch something exciting on the volcano cam. Yes, they have a webcam directed at the mountain and it updates every five minutes. Four days ago, there was a little steam and some yellow-tinged gas and for a few hours all was calm. Then it started to rumble again and has been letting off steam and a bit of ash at irregular intervals. Now, after not having checked the cam for a day and a half, there's a dome in the centre of the crater. A lava dome, I guess. For those of you who don't know what that is, here's the lay person's description. Basically, the volcano sealed itself after its last erruption, lava hardening in the crater when it stopped spewing. Now, the gases given off by magma (lava while it's in the earth) are building up, forcing the seal to bend. Something like a rock pimple, the dome can do either two things. One, the gases can escape from a side vent or slowly and the event will be minor or, two, it can rupture the dome and blow its top. You see, despite bending as it is, that dome is made of rock and rock can only bend so much. "Booma booma !" as they say.

Naturally, I hope for the latter because I'm a weirdo who gets a high from geologic and climatic events. It could be worse, I could get my highs from drugs. I'd love to go on a storm chasing holiday, but with real scientists, like a grad student would. Research is cool, see? Anyway, Mt. St. Helens is exciting because it is active and close, at least psychologically speaking; it's on the same continent as me, unlike, say, Etna or Mauna Loa. One day, I'm going to climb an active volcano and peer down inside its crater and marvel at the heat radiating up through the special protective soles of my shoes.

But, today is not that day. Today is for finishing papers. The Advil is starting to take effect and the juices are flowing. Flowing like lava.

In the great, grand scheme of things, I'm pretty insignificant, but working register four at the ROM really makes me feel it. I'm all the way at the back. No one looks down here at me, or hears me when I'm calling for the next in line. On the other hand, it's a very pleasant, stress-free post. Good thing I'm wearing my awesome harlequin socks. I bought them last night, the two last pairs of them at this neat store on Queen Street that specialises in accessorising feet. They're both red and yellow diamonds, but one has blue and the other has black. They're super funky and they actually make it most of the way to my knees. Wow.

In other news, I spent the last half hour discussing museum policies and principles with a co-worker. She's one of the recent hires and I really like her. She did the Arts Education Masters programme at Concordia with a special focus on museums - you can see how we have stuff to talk about. We had a rather animated conversation about what the ROM should be, and more generally the purpose of museums. We argued a bit about how to make Thorsell's ideas into something workable, and basically, we're on the same page, but our approaches differ a bit. We should probably get a drink and discuss it properly when we're not interrupted by patrons, in the place we're discussing. I shall email her and invite her out. Hurray for thinking !

I'm going to walk down to the bus terminal tonight, stopping somewhere cheap for dinner. My bus is at 7:30 since I will miss the 5pm. Annoying, but there's nothing for it. It will give me a bit more time to work on my projects, I suppose. I'll pop into the Pearls exhibit again to further develop my ideas and then I will be all set to write my review tomorrow. Tonight is for finishing my paper (if I can) that was extended to Tuesday.

Before I settle down to write my first research paper of the year, I am going to take a moment to write an entry. I am a busy girl now, moreso than I've been in a while. I am in school every weekday and, with few exceptions, I am also working every weekend in Toronto. These last couple of days, I've been somewhat lax in my attitude to homework, but that changes as of today. Beginning Friday, my intense assignment schedule begins. What had been one project a week is now something closer to two or three and for the first time in my post-secondary life, I realise that I will have to study over Reading Week. My plate is full. This is not to say that I won't make time for other things, only that I'll have to use that time sparingly. Random art projects will have to give over to reviews and reports and TV time will probably be shared with writing time.

I went out after class yesterday to visit my friend Kerri, who has the horses and with whom I used to ride, and could only visit briefly because I'd already had a full day and was tired. I set up a horsey date for today, but thanks to coming down with something last night, I got to cancel it today. I managed to get to school this morning for our first meeting about the exhibit my section will be planning and building for the Peterborough Museum, but had to leave prior to the following class because of dizziness. It was my first sick day, which is pretty good for me. The thing is, I don't want to miss anything - it's so exciting. Well, alright, I could live without Care of Collections, but not if I plan to graduate. Anyway, I slept from 11:30am straight until 3:30pm despite having had a decent night's sleep. I'm still a bit woozy now, but at least I've roughed out my plans for this paper. Anyway, my point was that I'm so busy that getting sick will seriously interrupt my schedule. Well, I guess that's the real world for you.

I've now met all my instructors with the exception of the man who, starting next week, will be teaching us Archival Management, and generally, I am satisfied. Ken has been the most fun and probably the most flexible. Deb is very nice, patient and genuinely interested in our well being, but she's extremely task oriented and I suspect she's not quite sure how to handle those of us who take the tangental path through life. Gayle is... tiny. She's nice and chipper, but she has a tendency to talk down to us or, alternately, expects us to know all about science. I think she forgets that most of us come out of an arts background and few of us actually went all the way in the maths or sciences in highschool. Regardless, highschool was a long time ago. I'm still not sure exactly what we're meant to get from Care of Collections, but I'm taking copious notes and participating - if for no other reason than to stay awake.

Yes, I'm still very happy to be back in school. I'm enjoying it and I know I've already made new friends. My peers are an eclectic bunch who come out of varied social strata, but whose values are basically the same as my own. As one student said, "I had no idea there were so many nerds like me out in the world. I'm happy to know I'm not alone." Amen.

I don't know where the time has gone. This week has flown by as I never would have expected. Whoosh ! gone. I can flip through my agenda (one of those chunky, ugly types you get in highschool and at UofT they make you pay for - this one came with the college so I can't complain too much) and literally plan my entire semester around projects. Back in university, a whole month could elapse without any major work followed by two weeks of brutal essay/exam writing. Part of that was cause because none of the professors communicated with each other or cared about schedules for other classes. At Fleming, at least in the Museum programme, which is small, all the faculty know each other and they clearly set down their evaluation/project dates so that no week is particularly brutal. Instead, when I flip through my agenda, I am faced with an on-going stream of red ink through the entire term. One thing that this allows is appropriate time management. And, because so much of the work is team-based, you can't really fall behind. I say this now, but so far, so good.

I got my first assignment back, the one where I had to write about a profound museum experience. I kind of mocked the project at the time, but when I read it aloud to my mother, I realised just how much I managed to say in 1200 words and how well I'd said it. The instructor of that class informed us that he very seldom assigns marks above 90% so imagine my pleasure at discovering I'd earned a 93%. He said, "It was a real pleasure to read," and I kvelled. The marks for the two group assignments (from last week and today) should be in next Friday and hopefully we did well on those, too. I really do plan to rock this course. I am not the competitive person I was when I was younger, but I think I've learned to value doing well.

Anyway, Yom Kippur begins tonight, the Jewish day of Atonement. This is, as for many other religions, a season of reflection and contemplation, a time to look back on the year and set the tone for the year to come. It is harvest time. We reap what we sew. Though, generally speaking, I feel I've lived the past year with more compassion and generosity than I have in previous years, there are always situations or moments that slip through cracks. I may have hurt people, or undervalued someone. I know that I've certainly been hurt. I do not mean to cause pain and have worked hard to let go of the things that upset me, that I cannot change. I believe I am a better person and hope to continue into the new year on the same path. Shana Tovah, happy New Year, happy harvest, blessed be, etc., etc. As this year has marked a wonderful change for me, may the new year do the same for many others.

I have decided that there are some things I want to do before I'm thirty. I want to finish my programme at Fleming and get a decent job doing something challenging in a museum - NOT work a register. I want to go back to Europe, specifically to the UK, Holland, and visit Italy. Also, I want to be beginning (if not already enrolled)in a post-graduate degree when I'm thirty. This seems do-able. Three years isn't so long that you can lose sight of the short-term, but it's also not so short as to be impossible. Anyway, first things first. Tomorrow, I begin my real schedule of classes.

Riding the Queen/King St. streetcar (the 510) to work on Sunday mornings from Rick's house is really nice. It's quiet, usually with fewer than ten people on it (sometimes I'm the only passenger), quick, and pretty. Downtown Toronto is so interesting and at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, the sidewalks aren't cluttered with people so you can actually look at the gardens and buildings. The St. James church (I don't know what denomination it is, though I want to say it's Anglican) is on that route and when I pass it, it's bells are ringing. There aren't a lot of churches in the city that still have functional bells, or if they do, they don't often get rung, so I really enjoy its chorus. A tiny part of me always wants to disembark and go inside, which is kind of bizarre considering, well, I'm not christian. At any rate, I love the sound.

Tonight, after work, Rick's coming to pick me up at the museum so we can have supper at Red Rose - I think that's where we're going, since we're planning on having curry. I do like that restaurant so much. I haven't tried the Indian in Peterborough, and I understand there are a couple of places, of which at least one is pretty good, but there's just nothing like going to a favourite restaurant where you know exactly what you're going to get and it's going to be delicious. Following dinner, I have to catch the seven-thirty bus back to the Petes. I have to admit, much as I don't enjoy fasting, the day off that Yom Kippur will afford me will be very much appreciated.

The Word of the Day for Sep 16 is:
shofar \SHOH-far\ noun : a ram's-horn trumpet blown by the ancient Hebrews in battle and during religious observances and used in modern Judaism especially during Rosh Hashanah and at the end of Yom Kippur

Example sentence: The first blast of the shofar echoed within the sanctuary, announcing the beginning of the High Holy Days.

Did you know? One of the shofar's original uses was to proclaim the Jubilee year (a year of emancipation of Hebrew slaves and restoration of alienated lands to their former owners) or the anointing of a new king. Today, it is mainly used in synagogues during the High Holy Days. It is blown during the month of Elul (the 12th month of the civil year or the 6th month of the ecclesiastical year in the Jewish calendar) until the end of Rosh Hashanah and again at the end of the last service on Yom Kippur as reminders to attend to spiritual matters. The custom is to sound the shofar in broken notes resembling sobbing and wailing followed by a long unbroken sound.

And with that, let me wish you all a very happy new year (the year 5765 !) that is healthy, happy, and prosperous. We had our Rosh Hashanah dinner tonight, rather than last night, as I was at a field trip to Petroglyphs Provincial Park. I don't feel too bad about it since Petroglyphs is a very spiritual place. It was a fantastic field trip ending a day of field trips (Lang Pioneer Village as well as the Canoe Museum). The Canoe Museum was pretty moving, too, but for other reasons. I've never seen an institution so desperate for financial donations and volunteers as it is. If I had millions of dollars, I would give them a fat donation so that they could give their substantial and important collections (not just of canoes) a proper facility. That said, I think I've been inspired to volunteer there.

I don't have much else to add. Go to Chabad online to read more about Rosh Hashanah if you're interested.

I am in the process of finishing up my homework for class tomorrow. It's bizarre to have homework again after all this time. It's a "brief" assignment, but despite that, it is a thinking assignment and has taken me much longer to write than I'd anticipated. I am writing of a museum experience and the effect that it has had on me, at the same time observing its broader implications within the parameters laid out by the instructor, based on the programme of study. Phew, that was an awkward sentence. Initially, I had intended to write about the Degas exhibition I attended as a kid at the National Gallery in Ottawa, but in the end, I've decided against it. You see, I have written about it in the past, and when you get down to it, the "Eternal Egypt" exhibition at the ROM this past spring afforded me many more fresh, interesting experiences and a very new outlook on the place of museums in our society.

I am specifically discussing the visit early on in the exhibit's run of the special needs group. They were a group of downs-syndrome sufferers and high-functioning autistics. And they were wonderful. At any rate, they make a fascinating experience to discuss, especially when putting it in the context of just who exhibits are meant to appeal to and the prejidice inherent in such judgements. Or something to that effect. And also how it changed my outlook on the exhibit, my role as an educator, and exactly what a museum ought to be.

There really only need to be one or two paragraphs in order to conclude this assignment, but for some reason, despite seeing the conclusion in my mind, I'm having a terrible time putting it down in words. This is what happens when you have been out of school for two years. My highly pollished thought process has become rusted and stiff through disuse. Arg. It is terribly frustrating. I really feel the effort involved in synthesising my ideas and getting them down on paper in an ordered way. No rambling allowed, tangents are to be avoided, if possible, and please, no more than 1500 words ! 1500 words?! In university, that could be the equivalent of two paragraphs ! How am I supposed to say everything I want in such a short assignment?!

*thunk*

How much furniture can a woman assemble? Well, that's a good and completely relevant question that I have attempted to answer this week. I put together three different units for my bedroom. You see, I am transforming (with the help of my mother) my room from that of a girl to that of a studious adult. Or something. The conditions could not bear my computer, printer, scanner, stereo, etc. and the dresser was simply incapable of handling my substantial wardrobe. As it is, I have already weeded out about ten items that can be given to charity and there's plenty remaining for me to dig through. My computer, Natasha, will be very happy and well kept in my new and beautifully made computer armoire. It took nearly four hours to put together last night, but it's gorgeous and more than satisfactory. Installing her into it is another story and will probably wait until Monday night.

This week has had me not only constructing furniture and moving it about, but also at school. Despite the relative frustrations that accompany the return to school (any school, really), such as having every single book on the list sold out, photo ID office closing at 4pm (the same time class ends), hour-and-a-half waits for the financial aid office, and the ever tedious 'introduce the new students to every frigging staff member at the college' presentations, it has been very enjoyable. The first two weeks are an immersion into the programme, and held at the Centennial Museum and Archives. We already had an introductory fieldtrip to the Trent University Archives and Hutchison House today. "Death by Slides" wasn't nearly so deadly as all that, and for the most part, my classmates seem like a really interesting bunch. Thirty-eight students, only two of them male, all of them, but the Trent linkage students holding at least one degree. We've already been thrown into groups and our first piece of homework is due Monday. Our first project (a group presentation) is to happen on Thursday, and then there will be two more projects due the following week and the one after that.

Whew ! There's going to be a lot of work and the days might seem long - one of them beginning at eight in the morning - especially on those that require a commute from college campus to museum site, but I just know it's going to be awesome. I only hear great things from past students and the faculty are zealous and more than qualified.

As for the living with Mom? So far, so good. I stunned her by going out and buying groceries. Next, I'll have to cook. :)

Well, I've moved. Despite taking three hours longer than I'd anticipated, which made for some chaos at the Peterborough end, everything ended up running smoothly. (Smoothly. Think about that word - it's kind of weird. Say it slowly to yourself.) The whole moving process, from the time I picked up the van to when everything was emptied out of it, took about thirteen hours. First, we moved Stew. My friend Megan helped in the morning - she's so reliable for things like that. I happened to have found the Christmas gift I bought for her three years ago (and then lost) so I was able to give it to her, as well as the Sesame Street underwear I bought for her in New York in June. "I love New York in June, how about you?" She remarked on my lack of organisation, but in fact, I was a lot more organised than she thought. Everything was sorted, it was just kind of hodgepodge all over. And, I reminded her, that though it was easier to move her back in May, at least she didn't have to wade through cat vomit to help me.

Derek helped out in the afternoon when Stew and I returned from his storage space. We'd had fun cramming his stuff into the unit, and with the exception of smashing the glass cover of his clock's face, it was pretty uneventful. I even spun him around while he was sitting on the dolly. At one point, while we were loading the van full of all my frigging heavy art books, Derek and I rubbed our sweaty heads together and I thought Stew was going to vomit he looked so disgusted. Just to be sure, I asked the landladies if I could leave some of my stuff and they said yes. So, following my Birthday outing on Saturday with Tracy and her mom, I'll load up Mom's car with the last of it.

I'm sorry this entry is so disjointed, but it's the best I can do today. I'm thinking in tangents, I'm afraid. Let's blame exhaustion. In fact, I went to bed at a quarter past eleven last night. Rick was surprised to find me already dozing under the covers. He was very good to me last night, running out after the hockey game to get me some wonton soup and an eggroll. I wouldn't go with him as I'd fully sagged into the couch and did not think I'd be able to move until after I'd eaten.

I don't know how I'm going to manage turning myself into a lovely lady for tonight. Rick's taking me to see The Last Empress and dinner at Penelope beforehand. I forgot my shoes at my old apartment, so I'll dash over there to get them, then back to Rick's where I will change. Then off to the restaurant. Whew.

That's it. I can't type anymore.

On Monday, I move. This may be the last entry as a resident of Toronto, at least for now. Peterborough, my mother's house, and school all await me.

The art is off my walls now, with the exception of two small pieces that need careful wrapping - one a Chinese symbol of love, I think (it was a handpainted wedding favour from a friend in Virginia), the other a faux stone carving of the Mayan god of wisdom. I'll probably place these two items into the same box as my great dragon mask (helm) and the half-mask I made for Rick. It's hard to remove the art on my walls as each piece is part of what makes the place my home. With the walls bare, now, I can really get down to the nitty gritty and pack the rest of my stuff. The house is empty of cats, Willi being up at the cottage with Mom, Tobe and Wiskers living with Stew's father for the time being. It's a bit lonely, but with the current state of humidity, I was more than happy that no cat was on my chest or stretched out alongside me.

Of course, Chester still has not come home. Slowly, I'm getting used to the idea that he really is gone. Mom believes he may have actually gone into the bush to die. He had been suffering from what looked like a kidney attack at the cottage. Sometimes it's hard to tell, especially when he was outside so much of the time. We will never know for sure, of course, but neither of us have dreamt of him since that one night and for us that seems like proof enough. He is gone.

As I said to Mom while I was still up at the cottage, it is a place haunted by the ghosts of many cats. Each cat we've had up there has left an impression in memory. I see Snowshoe, a cat of my early childhood, hollering from the shore at Mom and me as we paddled out in the canoe. We still slow down driving on the road at night by the hunting club expecting Misha to peek out of the field (now long overgrown) before disappearing only to be waiting for us at the door. On the big rock at the outhouse, Placi still dances, his tail held high and quivering. And now Chester will join them, sleeping in the depressions behind the house and on the blueberry rock.

Packing up house and moving away, no matter how near or far, is hard to do. Losing a loved-one, either two-legged or four, is very painful.

It's hard to say goodbye.

I have returned from my cottage - a year older, well fed, slightly tanned and with the unbelievable sense of loss. I don't usually return from my cottage feeling like this. Yes, I often feel disappointed or depressed at having to return to my humdrum existence in the big, smelly city, and there was that vacation two years ago when I discovered that I was suffering from chronic depression and anxiety, but that was very different. We lost Chester. For those of you who do not know Chester, let me briefly explain. He is very much my mother's cat, though I fit into his idea of family, though no one else does.

He came to my mother as a feral animal, watching her from the bushes around the house, looking in at her for an entire winter, but never letting her near him. Eventually, she gave in and began to put out food for him. Eventually, in the mid or late spring, he let her touch him. One day, while she was sitting on the recliner, he jumped up and lay down between her feet. She was so stunned she dared not move a muscle. By the end of the summer, he had joined the household. He didn't engraciate himself on us or the other cats, he simply found us to be so curiously odd, and yet also comforting. For a long time, simple actions all cat owners know, like a raised bum and tail in answer to a stroke down the back, were utterly foreign to him. He had never been socialised and when he finally began to mimic the other cats, he looked terribly confused as he did so. I remember once, lying down on the floor in the living room (for what purpose I can't recall) and Chester sneaking up as though I was behaving in a completely abnormal way - as far as he was concerned, I was. In his experience, lying on the floor was something people did NOT do.

He came a long way over the five years he was with us. I sort of feel like he's been living on borrowed time since he was poisoned by anti-freeze three years ago. He almost died twice, each time the vet managed to reinflate his kidneys, but his buddy, Spike, a neighbour's cat, didn't make out so well as Chester. Ever since, Chester has had a closely monitored diet, and not infrequent boughts of diahrrea and/or vomiting after consuming even tiny portions of things on the "Bad food" list. He is a comical cat, though few would be able to agree as he has always eschewed the presence of visitors, often slinking away upon their arrival and then frolicking about once they'd left. His bond to my mother was incredible and she returned it with a huge love.

We knew we were lucky that he deigned to join our family. We knew he was a special cat. We knew we'd never be able to make him an 'indoor' cat and on Saturday after dinner when he agitated to go out, we let him. When he struck off in the wrong direction, heading for the very wild beaver creek, my mother tried to call him back. He stopped, turned and looked at her, but would not come back. He went with purpose. Anything could have happened in the wilderness - more than likely that he was caught by a fisher - or else his kidneys could have failed. He'd been showing some symptoms leading up to his departure. We won't know. I went to try to find him, walking all through the broad territory of the beaver creek and swamp, south of our property, but found no trace. After two days, we knew something was wrong.

It was the dreams that Mom and I had on the same night, two nights ago, that made us truly suspect he'd died. Hers was simple: he came to the window of the cottage, peeked in, looked at her with a calm and unworried expression, and then went away again, out into the night. Mine was a little more symbolic. I dreamed that I came out the front door of the (city) house and found on the ground at my feet his red collar. The collar, still done up, as though he'd simply slipped it, lay perfectly round on the cement and the tag faced up, showing the phone number at our cottage. As I bent to pick it up, Chester came out of the bushes at the side and rubbed my hand, then circled my legs rubbing them, too, his tail held high above him. Then, before I can get my hands around him to pick him up, he slips away into the bushes again and is gone, leaving me with only his collar in my hand.

My mother is still up there, not quite able to bring herself to let go, even though she knows he isn't coming back. Willi, my little girl, followed him around in the bush, like a small, bouncy shadow, and has spent the last three days, searching for him in all his usually spots. The little depression in the ground behind the house. Up on the blueberry rock, where she even dragged me up as if to say, "This is his spot, but I can't find him, can you find him for me?" It is incredibly sad. I have always wondered what it must be like to lose a cat and never know what happened, and now I know.

...

And now, in other much happier news, the rest of the holiday. For my birthday, my mother bought me some canvas board, turpentine, linseed oil and a palatte knife to go with the oil paints I had inherited. Then, she also gave me painting lessons. In my whole artistic life, I have never used oil paints, and of course, as some of you know, my mother had been a prolific artist. When I was a teenager, I'd never have wanted or appreciated her helping me with my art, but I'm older and wiser and realise now that there's no better teacher for me. And she's a good teacher. I did two landscapes, each of a similar view, but from two different approaches. The second one involved her taking all my thin detail brushes away leaving me only my broad brushes. That was really neat.

There was a birthday dinner at Jean's place with her son Michael and that was delicious. It also allowed me one final lesson for Mike with his new computer. I spent three nights working on his system, trying to get it to work. In the end, I had to wipe everything and reinstall Windows because he'd managed to get his computer infected with a worm (in less than a month of owning the damn thing). I set up his email acounts and reinstalled everything and generally made things work and I only had to call Rick once for help. *laugh*

My mother managed to break her foot the day before I arrived, which wasn't really a good thing, but it actually turned out kind of okay. The special cast she was given was one she could take off at night and while it was on during the day, it gave her much-needed ankle support so, in effect, her mobility was increased. It meant I did a lot of shlepping on her behalf, and when we walked together, we had to go slooooooooow, but it didn't impede her greatly.

Anyway, my vacation was nice, but really sad, and despite that, I still wish I were up at the cottage rather than here. I'm sitting surrounded by the mess of a half-packed room and knowing I need to take down my art ASAP. Once the art is off the walls, this place stops being 'home' and I can get on with things. So, I shall sign off and get on with it.

"Good morning, Royal Ontario Museum. Bonjour."
Uh hi. I was wondering if you could put me through to the entymology department."
"I can, but I have to warn you that, because it's a Saturday, there is probably no one in the office. Is this an emergency?"
"Well, let me explain. Okay, so I caught this spider and I've got it in a cup. It's over two inches long - I measured it. And I never seen such a big spider inside a house before. You know, usually they're those small black ones that run really fast. So I was wondering if this spider is unusual."

And so began my day at the ROM today. I am isolated in the phone dungeon and I know it's highly unlikely that I'll get a call more interesting or enjoyable than that one. I talked to the guy for about five minutes and suggested to him that if he wanted to feed it, he should probably go catch some ants. "Like the little garden ants in my back yard?" I also suggested that since he hasn't got Internet access, he should go to his nearest library and look it up. Chances are, he's just got himself one of those cream-coloured house spiders that hang out in the corners between walls and ceilings and it's probably a male, because they're bigger thanks to longer legs. But, I wasn't about to ruin his enthusiasm by telling him we don't care about his little critter. I wish him and the spider the best of luck.

A few nights ago, I went with a friend to see the Driftwood Theatre's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Trinity Bellwoods Park. I have seen them perform in Peterborough and they're pretty good. They travel around to various communities in South/Central Ontario with the intention of providing accessible theatre for all. Normally, I go to Dream in High Park, but in recent years, I haven't been entirely impressed with their shows - they've been interesting and alternative, but not really solid productions. Anyway, Driftwood's version of "Dream" was excellent and easily one of the best performances of it I've seen, and I've seen it at least eight times. While acted in modern dress, they kept very close to the original text and performed it with minimal distraction. Puck was outstanding as was Oberon, but what stands out as a first for me is that the entire cast was very balanced and meshed perfectly with each other. NOrmally, someone's performance irritates me either because it's weaker than the others or because the actor's voice grates, but not this time. It was super.

Tomorrow, Rick and I are heading to the wedding of my highschool friend, Liviya. She's marrying her boyfriend of five years and it should be an interesting event. His family is Italian Catholic, hers Ashkenasi(sp?) Jewish, but the wedding is actually being held at a wedding 'factory' owned and run by... Italian Jews. Wacky. The groom has taken the step of converting, which is pretty impressive, so it will be a full Jewish ceremony. I haven't been to a Jewish wedding in something like 15 years and I'm looking forward to it. Rick asked, "It's a casual wedding, right?" and I burst out laughing. "Noooooo, definitely not. It's suit and tie at the least, babe." I've never heard of a casual wedding either among Jews or Italians. They must exist, but this is not going to be one of them. Unfortunately, it is all going on up north of the city in Richmond Hill or something so our TTC ride is going to be very long. We'll leave from Rick's place and I'll spend the night following there as well because it's a nearly direct bus route from his house to the wedding.

And, finally, I'm heading to the cottage on Tuesday, but travelling from Peterborough. My intention is to take a huge pile of my clothes and whatnot to Peterborough on the bus and leave them there in order to get them out of the way. At the rate my packing is going, I'm not sure it's going to work out, but at the very least, I'll get to take a long, hot bath. From talking to my mother, I understand she's going quite mad thanks to the terrible weather. Stir-crazy, she said. Hopefully I will bring the good weather back for the final eight days up there. Anyway, I've tried to get things packed up, but I've had a box deficit. The only boxes I have are the ones I've gotten from the ROM. I have packed up all of my books, though, and half of my CDs. I'm going to take down my art tonight and sort out a couple to loan to Rick. The rest I'll stack against the wall until I get my hands on some newspaper.

Sometimes, the world is a truly bizarre place. There I am, stumbling through life and something thumps me and I can't help but blink and look around. Sometimes these things happen after a strongly felt impulse or craving. Two days ago, while working at Nicole's store, I succumbed to the urge I'd been feeling for over a day. I just had to draw a My Little Pony. Those of us of a certain age remember them and no, I don't mean the new ones that are on the market that are meant to appease us in the hopes of buying them for our children out of nostalgia... Anyway, I have never drawn a My Little Pony. Well, not one that was meant to look like the copyrighted image, at any rate, because I'm sure that as a little girl, I drew them and wrote stories to match, but they weren't copies of the design. As I was saying, I broke down and drew one. Not just any MLP, though, no, I created a Hippogriff. Hippogriffs are the offspring of a griffen and a mare - a truly rare occurence as mythology states that griffens prey on horses. Today, I was back at the store and brought with me my trusty greyscale markers and shaded her in. I put a vaguely Scythian symbol on her rump because hippogriffs turn up in Greco-Sythian mythology and I gave her the somewhat lame name of "Scythia". I am deeply proud of this weird bit of fanart.

Here's where the weirdness of the world comes into it. Like I said, I was really feeling the need to draw this. Today, not long after I set down my markers, finished with the drawing, two women about my age walked into the store. One of them popped her head through the beaded curtain to ask the price of the Hello Kitty Tarot and our eyes locked. Instant recognition took place and in stunned babble embraced. Krissy, a childhood friend with whom I'd lost touch with easily 18 years ago, was in Nicole's store, where I just happened to be. We had not seen each other since I graduated from highschool - er eight years earlier - and had not actually had a real friendship since we were little girls in elementary school. With Krissy I had played My Little Pony for hours on end. We used to get scolded by our grade one teacher for bringing our ponies and combing their manes and tails on the carpet when we were supposed to be listening to story time. Until fairly recently, I hadn't thought of a My Little Pony in years, and until she walked into the store today, I hadn't throught of Krissy in easily twice as long.

Naturally, I whipped out the picture and showed it to her and she squealed with delight and admitted that just the other day, she had her ponies out of their box and was looking at them. She was contemplating taking them back to Australia (where she now lives with her husband and has for two years) but wasn't sure if she should. It's amazing the roads our lives travel on. Ours diverged so many eons ago and got tossed back together seemingly out of the blue, and yet we both had a simultaneous urge to revist our favourite childhood toys...

Initially, Krissy and I bonded out of mutual segregation. The girls ostracised us as only little girls can because we came from Somewhere Else. In both our cases, that other place was the USA. Sure, I came from Brooklyn and she from Seattle, but it didn't matter - our US commonality gave us a bond. I don't really remember how our friendship began to fall apart. I think she was held back a grade and if I'm remembering correctly, I was really mad that she was - I thought it was unfair. Then I went into the French programme and like all of my friends, she kept in the English track. French Immersion broke up all but my most powerful friendships and we lost touch. Even though we went to highschool together, ours was a massive school and with never a class together, leading completely different lifestyles, we never reengaged.

Life is strange.

Thank you, Meriam-Webster, but I beg to differ about this one...

The Word of the Day for Aug 06 is:
goober \GOO-ber (the "OO" may be pronounced either as in "food" or as in "good")\ noun : peanut

Example sentence: Gerald has been trying to cut down on salty snacks this year, but he still can't help stealing a few goobers from the candy dish.

Did you know? We're just nuts about the word "goober." It's a regional term, used mainly in the southern and east-central part of the United States. But the plant didn't originate in the U.S.; it's actually native to South America. It was taken from there to Africa, where the local people gave new names to the high-protein legumes. Peanuts traveled back to North America with slave traders, and there English speakers adopted a term from the Bantu languages of central and southern Africa to form "goober." But "goober" isn't the only name for "peanut" that has stuck with us. That snack staple is also known as the "groundnut," "earthnut," and, more rarely, the "pinder," another term that originated in the Bantu languages.

In other news, I've had a few days off in a row, which is terribly exciting, and though I had every intention of using this time to start my packing and whatnot, I haven't, and instead have found myself doing such things as sleeping, reading, playing video games, eating freezies, and walking around downtown. And enjoying myself. However, now I have pretty well used up my dawdle time and cannot put off the inevitable any longer. Thus, this afternoon, in but a few minutes, really, I am going to do some laundry. When I return, I'll have an hour or so before needing to head over to Rick's. We're going to spend a low-key evening watching Hellboy and chillin'. Tomorrow it's Taste of the Danforth, and then I'm coming home to do some sorting. I've got a whole pile of boxes waiting for me at the ROM, which on Sunday, I will flatten out and stuff into a bag to bring home.

On Monday and Wednesday, I'm going to be filling in for Nicole at Nocturnalia while she is at Pensic. That will be fun, because I'll be able to dress in clothes that I can't wear at the ROM. In fact, that's one of the things I am looking forward to about starting school in the fall. I won't be required to wear business casual every day. Woo ! Of course, that's not all I'm excited about. Heh. I'm just not excited about physically moving home. I don't want to rent a truck or van (I'd prefer a van), but them's the breaks. I'm busily examining different moving truck rental prices. I will be able to split some of the cost with Stew, who needs a van, too, but I need a package that won't burn me on the kms because I will have to drive to and from Peterborough. I was so impressed with Discount when Rick and I went to the cottage in their rental car that I am seriously considering renting from them again. I think that the van will be big enough - I've moved with one of them before, and a number of things (books, for instance) will be stored at Rick's house. Anyway, I have to book that soon.

I'm kind of thinking we should have a garage sale, as there's so much crap here, mostly belonging to me, but I dunno. That's more work than I think I have time for. Oh well, more junk for Mom's garage. Anyway, now I'm off to do laundry.

This just in. Plans have to change. I'm now working tomorrow, not Sunday. Hopefully, Rick will be ammenable to this and not mind too much postponing tonight until tomorrow night.

If it had not already ocurred to you, almost-seven-year-olds are active and exhausting. Just playing with Sierra for half an hour at the park two nights ago made me sweaty and pooped. She refused to believe that I am too big to play on the kiddy jungle gym and as if to prove my point, when she had me go down the fire pole, I banged my head really hard on the overhead bar. It was very exciting, though, because she'd never gone down the fire pole herself and initially with some coaxing, I helped her and when her mother came to pick her up, she was able to show off her new trick and even did it all by herself.

When I was her age, I refused to go down the fire pole at my school's playground, but that was because it was twenty feet high and I had to lean way out to reach it. Playgrounds nowadays are pretty wimpy. They've reverted to what they were like in the 60s. My school had one of the first wood apparata in Toronto with three levels, a huge tube slide, two tire swings (I think they've since been banned because they're kind of dangerous - though I never remember anyone getting seriously hurt on one), and a whole plethora of other neat things. In this world of ever increasing desire to protect kids from the 'dangers' out there, playgrounds have returned to short open-air slides, canvas-seated swings (if you're lucky), fire poles that don't get higher than eight feet, and monkey bars that you'd have to be totally inept to fall out off. And I say that as a kid who took a MIGHTY fall from her school's monkey bars that required me to go to hospital.

Anyway, in the end, kids will still get hurt and over protective parents, school boards, and children's charity groups will freak out. If they could have their way, kids would all be put in sterile bubbles and rolled around on soft, grassy surfaces with no chance for interaction. I mean, come on, I managed to break my ankle at a baroque recorder practice. Children will always find a way to hurt themselves. Sure, maybe I'm saying this because I don't have kids and don't understand what a parent feels, but there is a level of over-protection that I hope I never reach. Touching the hot burner is part of growing up, folks.

Anyway, in other news, I went with Nick to the Democrats Abroad event last night at the Duke of York. The idea was that all the local Democrats were to get together to watch John Kerry's acceptance speach, only after two hours of talking, eating, drinking, and television watching, he still hadn't come on, so Nick and I left. Whatever. It was fun, even though I had to share the table with the Crabbiest ROM Volunteer ever. She's a condescending, irritating, self-righteous old woman who never has a pleasant word for the staff. Her husband was quite nice, however; if a little cowed.

Hanging out with Nick did provide me with one insight that I truly appreciate. We were talking about the US elections and how someone he knows is running as an independent Libertarian candidate and I mentioned that not a single self-proclaimed Libertarian that I knew was actually able to explain what a Libertarian is. I remarked that they're always trying to demonstrate themselves with that damnable quadrant diagram that is so facile an explanation that it says nothing at all about what a Libertarian actually believes in.

Nick's explanation is perfect for me, as a fairly literate individual: "A Libertarian is someone who's read too much Heinlein and is too timid to admit liking Ayn Rand." He further elaborated: "You know, they want to take a few 'good' people and colonise the moon, doing it the 'right' way from the beginning." Ahhh, Nick, finally a concept I understand.

I had a really super time at Kristina's wedding this past weekend.  The wedding was on Saturday and the weather could not have been more perfect - not terribly hot, gloriously sunny and it got nice and cool when everyone was up on the dance floor.  The wedding was held in the vicinity of my cottage, about an hour away, at a place called St. Hipolyte, near St. Jerome.    It's right in the midst of Montreal Cottage Country, so it's a heck of a lot more built up than I'm used to, or like, but the view of the lake was really gorgeous.  It's the family cottage of the groom and it was neat that some of the neighbours turned out to watch from various watercraft on the lake.  Neat.

Rick learned that it really is true, lots of people do know how to dance and we were seriously put to shame by all the old (and young) rug-cutting couples.  That said, he really loosened up and actually danced, with me and alone, to all sorts of music (with a heavy bias going to country).  I was, once again, disturbed by how I know so many of the lyrics to all those country tunes, it's not like I listen in the solitude of my room, or something.  In truth, the DJ played the perfect mix of music for the crowd in attendence and I think most people were pleased with the choices.

The food was really good and the DJ made each table choose a song in order to sing for our suppers.  The only rule was that each song had to have the word 'love' in it.  Ours was the first table to go so we chose I love rock 'n' roll.  Following each table's choice, the DJ then would play the selection as the table went up to get their food.  The table where the priest was seated thought they'd stumped the DJ with Jesus loves me (this I know) but he came right back at them with a version of the same song.  Typical, a country DJ would have music suitable for a bible camp.  *laugh*

I should probably mention the service, itself.  Kristina was dressed in a traditional, empire wasted gown, sleeveless with thin straps, and a scalloped, though tastefully short, train.  Her hair was loosely piled with a flower in it and all over curls.  Derek (the groom) had grown out his hair and what with his chubby cheeks he looked just like a hobbit.  Though, with the goatee, perhaps he looked like a hobbit who'd gotten lost and wandered onto the Black Pearl.  He wore a simple black tux and sandals.  It was great.  Kristina's bridesmaids were her best friend, Shannon, and her sister, Anna.  The flower girls were Anna's two daughters and Kristina's adorable two-year-old daughter, Emma.  The Priest gave a simple, moderate, and really nice service and with the exception of when little Emma wanted her daddy's arms, everything went really smoothly.

Many people were very happy to see Mom and me and for a lot of them, it had been since Leo's funeral a few years back that we'd seen each other last.  Leo, of course, was Kristina's grandfather, and something like a surrogate grandpa for me.  People got very drunk, but Kristina, ever mindful of the rampant alcoholism that runs through the hills of the Laurentiens, had organised shuttle buses that would take people from the venue to the hotel where a lot of people were smart enough to book rooms.  Needless to say, with all the alcohol freely flowing (there was a canoe full of beer, vodka coolers, and ice, as well as an open (donation-based) bar), people got very sentimental and started to tell me how wonderful my mother is and how long they'd known her and how it was great that I was so much like her. 

I know a compliment when I hear one.  :)

Anyway, other than the wedding, I spent a few days generally doing nothing and actually getting some sun.  I went canoing one evening and bonded with the beaver, and on one particularly hot afternoon, Rick and I enjoyed a very nice swim.  The water was warm and the sun was nice and hot to dry us off afterward.  The cats, including Willi, were having a very nice time.  Willi loves it up there.  She loves it the most when I am outside and readily accesible, so I suspect she's going to start to miss me quite soon.  We left her up there with Mom and the other cats.  Finally, renting the car was a good experience.  Discount more than made up for the shitty time I had with Thrifty.  The car, while not a Kia as it states on the webpage, did the job and we had a very easy and affordable trip. 

 

I can't believe how busy I've been and just how busy I will remain until I get to the cottage (which won't be all that relaxing, what with the wedding taking place and all). It hasn't been my favourite kind of busy, either, what with the stress of putting together a wedding outfit and being built the way I am. Anyway, it's all been settled, now, but man, do I ever dislike pressured clothes-shopping. Originally, I had figured a white knee-length skirt to contrast fancily with the black corset I bought, but upon consultation with "Mildred", I decided to opt for a black skirt with black and white striping from the knee to six inches lower. Neat. After much disappointment, Jacob saved me from having to go topless by having the perfect top; and on sale, even. Huzzah. Plus, I'll be able to wear it all again for another wedding in August.

Speaking of weddings, my dearest friend in the whole wide world has finally set a date for her wedding. This after being together for ten years and getting engaged back around Christmas. Yeesh. Anyway, it's set for the 15th of October, 2005. I love autumn weddings. Anyway, it's being held at the Rosedale Golf Club (about which my feelings are mixed) so it will have a lovely view of the ravine. They plan to have a high-noon wedding and then serve a late lunch rather than a dinner, which sounds really charming to me. All these weddings. I think I have a few months off, before I'm a bridesmaid in July of next year and, of course, maid of honour, at Tracy's in October.

I had so much other stuff that I'd meant to write about, deeper stuff. Stuff that engaged my brain. Oh well, another time.

This quiz says absolutely nothing about your personality. Take it!

I was swept with the most wonderful wave of nostalgia as I walked up the street to grab a coffee from the Second Cup.  It's hot and hazy out, kind of muggy, and there was a sort of gritty hot breeze blowing up the street.  I was assailed by the scent of hotdogs and suddenly I was ten years old again attending the YMCA's day-camp on Ward Island, fishing-bucket hat on my head and my sport shorts on backward.  I loved that summer camp.  I did so many interesting things and learned such neat stuff.  The same can be said for almost all my camp experiences, though; summer was a wonderful time when I was freed from my typecast role as the gawky, loser kid at school.  Suddenly I was transported to the long grasses on Snake Island, the rickety clubhouses where we changed into bathing suits for canoeing, the smell of burning weiners on the overnight campout...  It was a brief flash of memory, but a happy one.
On Wednesday and Thursday I was at "Union School" learning how to be a negotiator on my union's bargaining unit.  I kind of thought it would be dull as these things sometimes are, but it was really interesting and even fun.  We did many exercises and workshops to help develop strategy, to break down the negotiating process into manageable pieces, and to alleviate any anxiety we might have.  I'm a little disappointed that I might have to resign from the unit, though, as negotiating will certainly conflict with my schooling.  If it only takes one day a week every other week, I might be able to swing it.  That's something I need to figure out.  I hope that I can swing it, because it will be such an excellent opportunity to learn about the process and really come to understand all that goes into it.
This coming Thursday, Rick and I will be driving up to my cottage because my friend, Kristina, is finally getting married on that weekend.  Of course, Kris lives up near my cottage and she's my oldest friend, with whom I'm still friends, having bonded when we were still in diapers.  I believe we were introduced and seconds later we were sitting fully clothed in the wading pool on my cottage's deck.  Charming.  Anyway, she's marrying her long-time boyfriend and the father of their wonderful daughter.  More exciting news regarding coupling (I can't believe I just typed that) is that a friend of the family and his wife have a new baby !  This would be the man that, when I was a little girl, I wanted to marry.  So, I am now something of a quasi-aunt, which is pretty darn keen.  I must make a visit to their house in order to meet Baby Kai and welcome him into the world.  I'll see if I can do so on Sunday evening as they live fairly close to the museum.
Anyway, getting back to the wedding, we've rented a car from Discount for a very reasonable rate and we'll be packing up my cat, who will remain with Mom up there, and probably some of my art supplies (I'm working on the assumption I'll be back up there for a week in August).  We'll come back on the 27th - Rick's miffed since he was planning to get his license on that day, but I told him not to complain since he's been talking about doing it for over four years.  Then I reminded him that people do drive in Hawkesbury and he could probably get it while we're there.  I'm really looking forward to going, both to my cottage and to the wedding.  I'm bugged, however; by not having anything to wear.  I might have to sacrifice my day off tomorrow for dress shopping.  That ought to be depressing.  I'm hoping to find an inexpensive little number that I can dress down for this wedding, as it's informal, and that I can dress up for another friend's more formal wedding in August.  I know, it's a toughy.  I'm going to be optimistic, though.  Halfway through the summer as it is, hopefully I'll find something on sale. 
 

Last night, I went to the the Toronto Fiesta (St. Clair street party), not to be confused with the Summerlicious street festival happening at regular intervals on Yonge Street. It was a very welcome break from working on my signage commission. Rick came over and Derek joined us, which is pretty amazing since they haven't been known to get along in the past. Last night went very well and Rick even took the extra step and payed for us all at dinner - I think he was making up for past experiences. There was a lot of street entertainment that included Italian and Portugese singers and bands, as well as some jazz and funk bands, and we took in a very strange one-man puppetry act that included a puppet who danced with its feet on fire. It was fun, not the greatest, but uniquely entertaining. We went into Sushi Century for dinner and Derek and I enjoyed some of the best baklava (not from the Japanese restaurant) that we'd picked up from a stand on the street. All too soon I had to head home again and get back to work.

I've almost finished the sign. The lettering is esentially done, though I am thinking of highlighting the main heading "Scorcerer's Apprentice" as it's kind of dark and uninteresting. The fonts I've chosen reflect a sort of faux antique type of script to fit nicely with the theme of the Ontario Renaissance Festival. I've also surrounded the text with ivy. I was going to do more traditional scrollwork but the ... oooh, patron... pointed me to some links with ivy designs he liked. Anyway, the ivy is kind of pretty - prettier than I had intended for his sign, but it looks really nice. Rick was startled by just how nice it looks. It's real graphic art - from the days before computers. I set the letters down as stencils, I measured with measuring tape and eye-balled the rest. Having a light projector would have been useful as stencilling is kind of labour intensive. Also, a drafting table would be useful, too, so I don't have to hunch over stuff. Even setting the board up on my little table-top easle didn't allay the hunching.

Today, at the ROM, it is really quiet. So many things are happening around town that almost all the people coming in are tourists and those are few and far between. I went outside for my breaks and sat myself down in the sun. It's such a shame that I'm working almost every day because I can't take advantage of the marvelous weather. It has only just gotten hot, but it's not humid yet and I'm really loving it. Even yesterday when I was able to be home working on the sign, and I was doing it outside on my porch, I still didn't get any sun because the porch has a roof. But it was nice to be outside, working, listening to the CBC on my little portable radio, nonetheless. My next day off - and this time it's a real day off, with no work planned for it - is on Tuesday. I don't know what I plan to do, but I plan to do it outside if the weather is nice.

Speaking of nice weather, sometime soon, I have to hie me to High Park for As You Like It. I haven't ever seen that play, though I read it a number of years ago. Maybe Friday. I will look into it.

I get the feeling that I have some sort of house fairy who is set upon mussing things up and discombobulating my life. Now, I am not referring to the cats, as they have similar habits (we call it "helping"), I mean an invisible something or other that has but one desire - chaos. Generally speaking, this isn't a problem as I lead a life that must be satisfyingly chaotic for the little bugger, but what with my very 9-5 existence of late and how little time I spend hanging around at home (and I don't mean when I'm asleep), this is obviously too much. So, no matter how I seem to set my alarms for the morning, something messes me up. This morning, my clock did not go off and neither did my stereo. My stereo goes off -every- morning. So, I woke up when a colleague called me asking if I was planning on coming into work today. Of course, said I, confused as to why she'd be phoning. Duh. When I hung up, it hit me and I glanced at my stereo. It was flashing *7:10* every other second and I realised that the fuse or switchbreaker had gone... again. This is the third time in less than two weeks that the power has failed in the five minutes before my stereo was set to go off. While I could continue to blame my pleasant, but slightly inept landladies, I feel that it's hard to accept three outages like that so close together. Besides, it's neat to imagine that I have a house elf of some sort. I'd leave it some treats if the cats could be relied upon not to eat them. One can never rely on a cat.

With school looming on the end-of-August horizon, I have found myself daydreaming about my future. I've pretty well spent the last two years thinking no further ahead than a week or two, especially this past year. Living hand-to-mouth really cuts into plans for the future as it is incredibly difficult to imagine a time when you won't be poor and could actually afford things such as an education (or even paying rent on time). It's nice to have something to work toward again. Back in highschool, I was working toward getting into university. Then, in university, I was working toward a degree (though, mostly toward getting OUT of university again). I like having goals. Granted, I'm not always very good at finishing the things I start, and I have been known to screw myself with a deep-rooted sense of failure, but now that I've lived hand-to-mouth and generally devoid of purpose, I think it's safe to say I WANT to go back to school. I WANT to have plans for my future.

So that rambling paragraph is really to introduce my new understanding of self. Right? Sure. I've felt that things have turned around for me. The changes haven't been on a grand scale, but they have been very positive and have really reminded me of the possibilities I have open to me. Working in Eternal Egypt was one of the best jobs, most fulfilling jobs I've ever had. It was brief and the hours were not very long, but it was almost entirely an exciting learning experience. It reminded me that I like to learn. It highlighted that I learn best when it's experiential and when I get to confirm it by imparting that knowledge onto others. Working at the ROM, I see the plans for its future and I cringe. I can look back and know what worked in the past and have a pretty solid idea of how to make things work once again. It took a lot of waffling in the Arts for me to finally decide where I'd like to go, but I think I've figured it out. I've moved through interests that ranged quite broadly, but in the end, I always end up trying to point them to the Arts. Well, duh. It's hard to apply art history to horses. Let's look at these interests - Archaeology (specifically Egypt, Greco-Roman, western historical... the very arty of the field), Art History (enough said), computer animation (for game and film ART), illustration, antiques, auctions, galleries and museums... Need I go on?

Right, so what do I want to do with myself (considering my dream of being an Olympic Equestrian has been put on indefinite hold)? I would like to make museums and galleries, public arts institutions, if you will, accessible to everyone. Theoretically, they usually consider themselves accessible, but often this idea doesn't go past wheelchair ramps. Then there is the problem of museums dumbing themselves down in the erroneous idea that this will make their institution more accessible to the masses. My desire is to work as a consultant in the museum field where I can help the different institutions structure their exhibits (travelling, rotating, permanent, hands-on, etc.) to engage all different types of audiences without appealing to the lowest common denominator. It's lofty, I know, but there is not only a niche that should be filled, many museums are in desperate need of sensible restructuring, not to name names... I have my eye on the education I will need to attain in order to reach this goal and I think I have a good idea of the steps that I'll need to take. It's exciting. It's like being on the cusp of something...

Cuspy.

Today it is cloudy and muggy and the sky threatens to repeat last night's stormy performance. "Did you wake up last night?" was the question most asked this morning in regard to the thunder and lightning that blasted through Toronto. I was awake as the storm began, the rumbling at first distant. The thing about me is that I really enjoy storms. I fell soundly asleep as it gathered strength and when my colleagues were being woken up, I was blissfully unaware. I imagine that this opposite response must stem from my childhood memories of my cottage and New York. The first because the storms were so dramatic and exciting and my cottage was so cozy and apparently safe; the second because of the wild colours the lightning used to flash, thanks to the strange light and particulate pollution in the air over New York. Even though I have very little memory of thunder scaring me, it must have. It scares all young children for a while.

I had an eventful weekend, sort of, at Toronto Trek. I was there working for Nicole who was down East. Our fear that her groupies (the ones who only ever want to speak to her, get measured by her, or give their money to her) would refuse to do business with me were somewhat alleviated as after initial disappointment, they latched themselves to me like they were some large, humanoid lamprey. For Nicole, the show was very bad. Sales were well below average, but I got the feeling that attendence was down, too. For me, on the other hand, the convention was quite exciting. My teeshirts were a great hit and I scored a wee contract to provide a dozen of them to the Hairy Tarantula, one of Toronto's better loved gaming shops. I also could net a contract to provide shirts to a huge group of fen so that they can wear them down at a big convention in Georgia. If that one goes through, I won't have a choice but to have them printed professionally. Beyond this, there is also a possibility that I'll be doing some wedding invitations for friends of Nicole. We shall see. Nothing is for sure except the deal with the Tarantula.

I spent last night working on Zoltan the Adequate's sign for the Renaissance Faire. I sealed the wood so it's now ready for painting and I have enough sealer left over (plus a different kind, as well) for when I'm finished. I started playing with fonts in PhotoShop and have settled on a very nice design for the main text. Tonight, I will set up the smaller text. Rather than free-hand all the writing onto the wood, I'm going to make stencils to apply so that I don't muss up the proportions. I don't want to lay out a grid because I'm not sure if I'll be able to erase the guidelines when I'm done. Anyway, it's all an exercise in creativity and I am confident that I will have it finished, at latest, on Sunday.