Go Bombers Go!!

Last night I had the pleasure of being a part of the Winnipeg Blue Bomber Legacy Dinner. As many times as I’ve played a role in the evening’s festivities – it remains a thrill. I try to never forget what an extraordinary event it must be for those inducted into the Bomber Hall of Fame. How can one help but reflect on all of the years, actual years, of sweat, ache and toil that brought them to this day? I have difficulty committing to an entire hot yoga class, never mind a lifetime. I’ve always found the discipline of athletes remarkable. I must clarify that I am referring to discipline in a strictly physical sense. I have spent enough hours alongside post game celebrants to know that many players have far from mastered discipline in a variety of other areas. But when it comes to hitting the gym – you’ve got to give them that.

Milt Stegall was brought in for the dinner last night, to help pay tribute to #97, Doug Brown, who took his place among the Hall of Famers. As I watched both of them be inundated with fans, all just wanting a personal moment and a quick picture, I couldn’t help but think about how exciting it is to be close to your heroes. I was awestruck my first year working the home games. I still couldn’t believe that I could ever be on the sidelines, that I had genuine friendships with actual Blue Bombers, that Milt Stegall knew my name! I realized last night that in all that time, I never asked him for a picture. I never considered that I would need one – there would always be another chance.  There is both comfort and folly in the delusion of endless opportunity.

As I stood behind the scenes in the lobby last night, the team lined up in their groups awaiting introductions, I was reminded how quickly time flies. It couldn’t possibly be 30 years since I went to the games holding my Grandpa’s hand, far more interested in the pretty cheerleaders and the prospect of an ice cream cone than anything to do with the fracas on the field. Could it really be 20 years since, as a U of M student, I became a season ticket holder in the legendary Section S? Has it really been 12 years since the most surreal of all things transpired, and I was brought in to work for a team I have always loved? Suddenly, standing before me last night was a group I barely recognized (with the exception of the wise veteran Cvetkovic), full of young men looking more like my friend’s children than my peers. Most of the players I considered friends have moved on to other lives, other careers, and I find myself in the familiar position of wishing I could go back. I promise I would remember more deliberately, I would pay more attention.  As always, the answer is no.

No matter what building they play in, or how the schedule unfolds, all I ever hope for is that the Bombers are in it right to the end. That they play smart, that they play hard, and a Grey Cup Championship would be pretty nice. Oh yeah – and could you please be sure to beat the Riders? Man I hate the Riders….

Go Blue!!

Serenity Now!!

For the first time ever I am at the cottage solo. This is a bit of an experiment brought on by the past few Monday mornings as I wake up, with my husband at work and wonder why exactly I'm not still at the lake? I suppose being a supportive spouse was the initial reason, but now that the sun is shining and our fleeting summer has begun, it seems a bit unnecessary for both of us to do the sad drive home on Sunday nights.

I have gone with "I'll really be able to focus on my writing" as a reason to pursue the endless lakeside experience. How could anyone argue with that? Well, my sweet husband didn't and here I am! I have come up with a few tactics to help buy me some time. I have stashed a variety of treats throughout the house. From ice cream bars to fudge filled cookies; delights that are usually banned will slowly be discovered as my time away from home drags on, thereby associating my absence with sugary goodness. It's a bit Pavlovian in design, but if it buys me a few days of serenity, what's the harm? I have also chosen weeks that are full of sporting news. The NBA playoffs, NHL playoffs and beginning of Bomber training camp allow me to fly under the radar at the best of times. I won't have any real trouble until the man gets hungry for something other than Subway.

So far my time alone at the cottage has been invaluable (you can't tell, but I'm winking...) I have watched the movies "Sex in the City", "P.S. I Love You" and a season of Gilmore Girls. It's a good thing we don't have cable so I can get away from it all and really become one with nature.

I did power up the laptop to do some writing, but instead played 47 games of Spider Solitaire. I wonder if I could convince anyone that that's my process!! It's all just laying the groundwork for brilliance and insight - oh look a deer!!

Much like inviting people to stay at your house, this idea won't seem very good for very long, but I'm riding it out for now. Thanks Subway!!

Stay Well....

I Can Do This......

Although much of my life is a bit unknown these days, one element is painfully familiar. I have once again embarked on a healthier lifestyle complete with working out and (fingers crossed) weight loss. I have chosen to mention the journey as a way to be accountable, even though I run the inherent risk of being invited to even more Body by Vi parties.

Becoming fit and healthy has been an ongoing challenge throughout my life. As much as I tend to think of myself as a colossal failure in this area, my pleasing husband is quick to point out that I have actually had multiple successes peppered with periods of backslide. He's cute - but come on! This is also a man that stands 6' 4" and requires about 47,000 calories a day to keep from feeling light headed.

During bleak moments I can really get myself into a state thinking about all of the broken promises and wasted years my issues with food have allowed. However, I am learning to be a little bit kinder to myself. The fitness/weight loss industry wouldn't generate a hundred bazillion dollars a year if it were simple. Also food is awesome, it's readily available, and creamy and gooey beats crunchy and healthy most of the time. I never carried out imaginary vengeance on a mean boy over steamed broccoli. That is strictly a job for Haagen Dazs.

So no matter what brought me here, I am at proverbial square one trying to get my increasingly creaky body to crave a better way. I have enlisted the personal training expertise of Sara (the spitfire). You can tell she's a trainer by her unbridled energy and enthusiasm. Sara celebrates my half assed push-ups the way new parents celebrate a gas bubble. It's a little off the charts, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't appreciate it.

As far as the food goes, don't all of us pretty much get the basics? If you really crave it - you probably shouldn’t have it. I am always amused when Sara tells me that I can have whatever I want; “just plan for it and watch your portions”. Ha ha ha ha ha ha - good one! I do get the concept though - and who knows - maybe this time's the charm.

So after a few weeks of tweaking the diet and hitting the gym, the scale still doesn't seem to care. Yeah, yeah, I feel better and my heart is stronger - big whoop. I want baggy pants! On a more positive note my husband switched from double cheeseburgers to single cheeseburgers and is down 7 pounds.

As if marriage wasn't hard enough already??

Stay well.....

That was fast......

Well – it’s been 6 months since I last uttered a word on the radio. The time has passed in an absolute flash. I know that at least 8 out of every 24 hours had been spent sleeping (yaaaa!!) – the remaining 16 hours are more of a question mark.

I had hoped by now I would have completed a thorough and exhaustive career search discovering some deep professional desires long lurking within me. That has not happened. I had hoped by now my inner Hemmingway would have leapt forth and spilled out over pages and pages of riveting text. That has not happened. I had hoped by now I would be a size six. Well…you can probably guess how that’s gone…...not happened!

Here’s what has happened; I have begun to understand that 3 years of discourse and stress takes a toll on you, and left unchecked begins to change who you are. I have recognized that no matter how much you do right, lousy people can end up holding some cards in your life, and you are subject to their own shortcomings.  I have also discovered that starting over is a small price to pay for choosing peace over chaos.

The other day I was at the dry cleaner and I ran into a friend of mine from the media world. She had this beautiful, warm smile and quickly congratulated me on my “new job”. I chuckled and asked where I was working? The truth is that I have not made one step towards finding employment just yet – but it’s nice to be talked about. After six months of doing laundry and trying out recipes even the notion that I could be relevant is exciting. I certainly haven’t ruled out a return to the media – but I haven’t ruled out anything else either.  I do know that I hope to be working somewhere, doing something, sometime this fall. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten.

It seems I seldom leave the house without bumping into a former listener with a kind word, and a desire to know where I’ve gone. I suppose to the naked eye I would appear to have gone nowhere. I can assure you though; the last six months have brought me miles from where I was.

Enjoy the sunshine, and thanks for reading!

At Least It's Not A "Man-Cold"

I had one of those nights on Monday that started out perfectly normal, and with each passing hour I seemed to develop a new symptom – which by the end of the night had turned into a full-on head cold. It has now consumed my life. I cannot fathom moving away from my Kleenex box, I have blankets and slippers scattered throughout the house as they are tossed off or grabbed onto depending on the fever vs. chill situation, and I look upon a hot cup of tea with the kind of awe and gratitude that would normally be reserved for a chocolate éclair. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had a cold – but this one is packing a punch!

That being said – there is always an upside. As lousy as I feel, there is a great deal of delight in knowing that I am not expected to make dinner. I cannot tell you how sick I am of making dinner! This is not true every night. There are times that I am genuinely pleased to try out something new. During my respite from the working world I have happily experimented with new marinades, rubs, frittatas and gleaned a great deal of comfort from homemade soup. However, no matter how satisfied I have been preparing a meal I know I am never more than 23 hours away from my husband hungrily re-appearing in the kitchen. I honestly don’t know how my Mom managed to make dinner night after night, year after flippin’ year, without losing her mind. I mean, how many things can you be expected to do with a chicken? This pressure is somewhat self-imposed – but without a job these days, I feel the least I can do is come up with something to feed my hard working breadwinner. If a raging fever gets me a few days off – maybe it’s not so bad.

I suspect my body may have conjured up this illness because it learned of my plan to start training again. I have touched base with an inspiring fitness loving Angel named Sara, and had planned our first session this week. It’s like when a dog hears you talking about the “V-E-T” and suddenly they’re hiding under the bed. My body must have caught wind of the impending mutiny and has come up with its own offensive.  It won’t last forever – but a couple of days in bed watching episodes of Toddlers and Tiara’s can only ultimately inspire me to change my life for the better.

Stay well – send Kleenex!

An Easter Purge

I have heard from a few of you that my blog has been missed as of late (although I’m sure all have managed just fine) and I appreciate it very much. I am also grateful for the lovely lady who chased me down in Safeway over the weekend, and pretty much begged me to return to my former employment. I have chuckled about that daily. It was both very funny and very kind.

I will admit to having indulged in spending the last 6 weeks “off the grid”. After years of being required to constantly plug in to the world happenings, I am rather enjoying the freedom that obliviousness brings. It has allowed me to confront the kinds of jobs that only get done when you are well rested and killing time until cottage season begins.

Although my husband and I combined households over 3 years ago, I still had boxes that were never touched, and closets in desperate need of purging. When I first began my “employment sabbatical “, I intended on tackling these tasks immediately. As it turns out, it took about 5 months. In keeping with my control freakish nature however, once I began the process of re-organizing the house, there would be no rest until I was completely finished. I have yet to develop any kind of propensity toward moderate behaviour. I approach all areas of my life like a bag of potato chips. It’s all or nothing – no reasonable portions here.

My closet was a veritable tribute to the stages of my life. I wistfully clutched some of the smaller sizes that seem impossibility at this point, I recalled wonderful evenings spent in various frocks that I had long forgotten, and I shook my head at a variety of questionable fashion don’ts that for some reason, at least temporarily, struck me as fashion dos. I tried to be ruthless when it came to the donation bag. The more I purged the more I wanted to purge. There is great relief in letting go, whether it is a grudge, a betrayal, or painter pants. My catharsis continues…..

On the Monday that I committed to the overhaul my husband returned to a master bedroom that no longer contained a single item belonging to him. Our closets simply don’t allow a leisurely dressing experience, so he was relocated across the hall. I tried to sell it as a luxurious, multi-room closet extravaganza – but I’m not sure he bought it. Then again, as long as he has a corner to throw dirty socks, and a place for his 467 Marvel Comics themed T-shirts, he’s a pretty happy guy.

I still let him sleep in the master bedroom – so that’s pretty good, right?

Happy Easter – I hope the Bunny finds you in great health and happiness!

Spring Please......

I understand that this has been an uncharacteristically pleasant winter (although terribly windy near the new stadium site) but I am none the less desperate for spring. I want to be outside in a light jacket. I want to stroll through my neighbourhood with no fear of slipping. I want to sit with girlfriends and judge strangers from a patio instead of a coffee house. Heck, I'll even take a mosquito or two.

As a nearly lifelong Winnipegger I have no great aversion to winter itself. During my brief tenure on the West Coast I genuinely missed our distinct seasons and the vast blue prairie sky. As much as I believe shovelling to be a scourge on humanity and a danger to the health and well-being of us all, I never want to live completely without snow. I spent one Christmas Day in Hawaii, and Santa on a surfboard just doesn't cut it. I enjoy our brisk, white winters. They just last about 5 weeks too long. A winter season from mid-December to the end of February sounds pretty much ideal to me.

Many have tried to convince me that Winnipeg winters pass swiftly if you embrace something to make it fun. Skating (I look like a serious dork), Skiing (were we really meant to descend hills strapped to pieces of wood?) or Snowmobiling (just what the economy ordered; something else with a gas tank). Nope. There's nothing there for me. I come from a long line of hibernators. It's in my DNA to opt for cozy blankets, a PVR full of tear-jerker girl movies and a list of complaints until spring is sprung. I would hate to break from family tradition.

On the upside I already see some definite signs of spring; My cats whine, whimper and then refuse to actually go outside about 47 times a day; Every other news cast includes some kind of "flood forecast" that relies completely on the weather of the next 6 weeks which, let’s be honest, nobody has a clue about; and I received my first unsolicited paint company estimate outlining how much better my house could look if I only cared enough to do something about it.

Here's hoping unfortunate Red River Ex weather and massive BDI line-ups (the proven signs of spring) are not too far behind. I'm running out of girl movies.

With Love

I have been a bit conflicted for the last couple of days. What does a date really mean anyway? I think about you pretty much every day. I talk to you all the time, and if I try really hard I can still feel you in the room with me. You are woven into the fabric of my life, which the passage of time does not decay.

I sure do miss you though.

I remember when it was strange to go an entire weekend without touching base. You were my reality check.  Not only were we always able to tell each other the truth, we were also always willing to hear the truth. I trusted you with every decision, every step I took. I was always so grateful for you.

3 years have passed quickly. They have been the most difficult of my life. There were a lot of tough choices, a lot of things I knew I had to do but didn’t know if I had the strength. I consulted you all along – did you hear me?

Against all odds, there have been wonderful changes too. I’m not sure what makes me feel the loss of you more. The rough patches when I need your shoulder, or the joyful times when I miss your smile.

I have always known there would never be another you for me. The longer I live the more extraordinary I realize you were.

I do my best not to be sad – just as I promised you I would. It’s just that’s it’s been three years, and I can’t help but think about all that we had together. And I wanted to say thank you.

Forever and always - thank you.

xoxoxo

C.

Where For Art Thou, Inspiration?

I have now joined the ranks of those who loiter in Starbucks with a laptop, attempting to tap into an inner Hemingway and come up with something worthy of a publisher. So far though, I have responded to 4 emails, checked the weather forecast and looked at 9 different pictures of my cats. Literary inspiration may have to wait until my next visit.

On many occasions I have logged time at Starbucks commiserating with girlfriends about the state of a variety of circumstances. I have been intrigued with the tables occupied by a sole coffee drinker and a laptop. Many patrons are clearly students. I actually spent 2 hours sitting next to someone who was reviewing STD infection rates in Manitoba with many explicit graphs and details flashing across his computer screen. Talk about not being able to look away. However, being an accidental observer of such information made me feel much better about the situation I had shown up to bemoan. Suddenly a husband with a tendency toward insensitivity is a bargain compared to the infectious alternatives that are apparently so prevalent. Who knew?

I can't help but think of JK Rowling - who conceived the idea of Harry Potter over a cup of tea, and proceeded to spill out her inspiration long hand with a pad of paper. I cannot remember the last time I wrote out anything that couldn't fit on a post-it note. However, JK didn't have to deal with the temptation of a mean game of "minesweeper" looming just a click or two away.

I'm not sure where exactly inspiration comes from. I suppose that's part of the mystery and part of the journey.

Stephen King says that if you are a writer you feel compelled to write. It's as if you don't have a choice. The only things I'm ever consistently compelled to do involve snacking and napping - often in close succession.

It's so scary to be taking a shot at the one thing I always thought I was meant to do, and having to accept that maybe I'm wrong. I suppose that's what keeps so many of us from ever taking a shot in the first place. Than again, what if I'm right?

It's far too early to tell, and I am giddy with the opportunity to try. However, my quest for inspiration will have to wait until tomorrow. According to the forecast flurries are coming, and I kind of miss my cats.

Time Well Spent!

For the first time in my life I am without an official “job”. Not even looking for one. I have the odd little gig or two on the side but in terms of a place to show up at for a specific time period, 5 days a week – nada. I was briefly without a job in 1995 as I transitioned from the Women’s Television Network to what was Mix 103.1 – but even that was just a week or two at most. Otherwise I have had at least one job – often more – since 10^th grade. No need to calculate just how many years I’m talking about. Suffice it to say, I am used to being a bit of a “worker bee”.

However, 2 and a half months after pulling the plug on a situation that clearly didn’t work for me any longer, I am discovering the strangest things to be true;

1.  The days will pass (often rather quickly) whether I accomplish a great big to-do list, or spend it catching up with all of the Real Housewives (very few of which are actually by definition “housewives”)

2.  I now get the same sense of complete and utter satisfaction from having a pot of homemade soup on the stove as I used to get from landing the lead singer of a bar band. (On the plus side I never regret the soup).

3.  My house is not cleaner or better organized than it was when I worked full time, however I have recovered 17 Power Stars in Super Mario Galaxy.

4.  If you don’t take care of yourself – no one else will.

I’ve heard discussions so many times on a variety of talk shows about the power, if not necessity of “putting yourself first on the list”. It seems in theory to be so selfish. I am starting to see that it’s absolutely true.  There are always going to be people who are more than happy to let you continue to accept less than you deserve – I was surrounded by them. What do you believe? What will you accept?

The other night I told my husband that this is the happiest period of my life. I never dreamt that could be true without some fancy job or title, but it is. I'm not sure the bank agrees, but I'll worry about them later.

Stay Well.

All This For A Buck??

I love the dollar store. Okay – perhaps love is a little strong, but I have a definite appreciation for what a dollar can actually buy you in these places. This has not always been my approach to the “buck” store. There was a time that I was a bit of a hold-out. A buck store snob if you will. I initially had a bit of judgement regarding the bargain shops. I believed them to be a bit dank, dusty and contain nothing that was of any real use to me. As sure as I can admit my folly, I also believe that the enterprise has stepped up a bit. The selection and presentation of such stores has grown in leaps and bounds. Well, at least in leaps – and I am more than happy to denounce my former judgements. The buck store is alright with me.

In fact – don’t you just love the feeling of being on a spree? Of shopping with reckless abandon? Feeling almost Trump like as you realize you don’t have to choose between the lime green and hot pink micro-fibre duster. You can have them both! Are you certain that you have at least 672 hair clips misplaced somewhere inside you house and car, and therefore really shouldn’t buy anymore…who cares?? Just throw them in the basket. Splurge as you have never splurged before! And at the end of it all; $18.92. I’m no Kardashian, but tell me that ain’t living?

A recent trip to my guilty pleasure did cause me some concern. I actually stumbled upon an “Ovulation Detector” at the buck store. Ummmm – no judgement – but I’m thinking if you’re tossing one of these bad boys in with your gum and batteries, you probably can’t afford the kid. Okay, I guess that’s judgement – but come on! Can we not agree that the buck store should have absolutely no role to play in the propagation of the species? Let’s stick with what made the dollar store great; bungee cords, toilet brushes and little plastic bins. By the way, if you find yourself drowning in a sea of plastic organizers and containers are you still considered a hoarder? Can you be an organized hoarder? My rainbow stack of microfiber dusters suggests you can.