Spencer makes me happy during a week of over-extension and Editorial Hell

Spencer thinks the cats - and my books - have had entirely too much attention in this blog. And so, as I caffenate for another long weekend of Editorial Hell (much of it self-inflicted, as I failed to read some small print...), a picture of my favourite doglet. (Taken this afternoon, with my new Blackberry. I didn't think I needed a new gadget, but I have to admit - kind of handy to have a camera!) Honestly, if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have made it outside on this beautiful February afternoon. It's not a great shot of him, but it gives you some idea of how bouncy and delighted he was to go out on the frozen lake. Seeing him frolic in the snow is just one of the many ways that he makes me happy.

Highs and Lows of School Trips

A picture from the trip:


...and a story to explain last week's comment about adult geeks vs. child geeks on school trips.

My first school trip was in January the year I was in grade 8. I went to a big school, with several grade 8 classes, so there was no way that the whole school could travel at the same time. Unfortunately, my best friends were not in my class, and their trip was scheduled for the beginning of the week, while mine was at the end. Consequently, I ended up rooming with another girl in my class who was immature in a "I'm thirteen but I still like playing Barbies with my ten year old brother" kind of way. Now, lest that sound judgmental, let me explain about my own situation. I was tall and awkward. I was the smart kid. I was not terribly interested in guys, or fashion, or wearing make-up. Maybe you could say that I was immature, too.

So we arrive at the outdoor education centre and discover that there are not enough rooms on the girls floor, and too many on the boys. Guess which girls got put downstairs? Yup. The ones the teachers trusted. I get that. I got it even then. No way would I have put the flirty impulsive ones down there. But still. It felt humiliating -- not as if the teachers were saying "we trust you" -- as if they were saying "you're not desirable to the guys". Ouch.

Predictably, the flirty impulsive girls tried to use me and my roomate, inventing lame excuses to "visit" our room.

I got through it. And you know what? By the time I got chosen as one of six students from our school to go on a Quebec trip five months later, one of the two boys who'd been selected – realizing that I didn't know the other three girls who were going -- said "Don't worry, Kim - you can hang out with me and Mike." I did hang out with Duncan and Mike. But I also got to know Cindy, Wendy and Andrea, (who you read about earlier in A Tale of Two Islands).

So why do I always remember the perceived humiliation of the winter trip, and not the triumph of Quebec?

Maybe because new research shows that

"Your brain preferentially scans for, registers, stores, recalls, and reacts to unpleasant experiences; it's like Velcro for negative experiences and Teflon for positive ones. Consequently, even when positive experiences outnumber negative ones, the pile of negative...memories naturally grows faster."

.

Too bad. Because my students spent way more time on the ropes challenges, the hiking, the campfire, and the games than calling each other "flat", but no matter how much fun everything else was, the name calling is probably what two of them will remember most.

Remembering my Dad

Today marks my mother's 73rd birthday. Hooray! It's also the twenty-fifth anniversary of my father's death. Sigh. I can type that fairly unemotionally because it's been so long, and I am practised. Apart from the first anniversary, I think maybe the weirdest one was ten years ago, when I realized I had lived as much of my life without a father as I had with one. I've just been building on the "without" side (and will continue to do so) ever since. But still - a quarter of a century. Wow.

Yes - I do think about how things might be different if he was alive today. He loved technology, and I believe that he would be crazy for digital photos and MP3 players and computing in general. It's safe to say that he'd still be eco-conscious (he was a pioneer in that area) but I hope he'd be a little bit more financially relaxed, and he'd spring for the good seats at the symphony, rather than waiting for intermission to move down in vacant ones closer to the front. Best of all, I'm pretty sure he'd still be super proud of me. I don't have him anymore, but I do have that.

Further Evidence of Geekdom...and winter fun awaits!

I sometimes lurk around the blog of Dystel and Godrich Literary Management. Not because they are my agents (I don't have one), but because they are very current on publishing trends (and someday I might want an agent). The other day, in response to author J.D. Salinger's death, they blogged about "The Need to Write", and quoted him as saying that "a real writer writes because he must” (as opposed to because publication awaits him/her).

This, I believe, is further evidence of my geekdom. I agree - because, (as I noted in response to their blog) when I'm writing - seriously writing - I actually get an adrenaline rush. At least, I think that's what it is. I get alert, and productive, and excited to keep working. I feel bouncy and agitated and if I do have to stop, and try to sleep, it's nearly impossible, because my mind races and my body almost twitches with energy. It's not glamourous, but it's awesome.

I'm told that other people achieve this same high through exercise.

Exercise is not as fun (for me) as writing. But I'll get some this week. I am taking a grade six class on an overnight outdoor education trip this week, in place of their homeroom teacher, who is sick. (This is a bit like my cheerleading days, when, as a "sub", I had to wait for someone else's asthma to act up so that I could don my uniform...I feel guilty, but I'm excited!) Outdoor education no longer fills me with fear, because adult geeks do not suffer the same ridicule on class trips as child geeks. Yes, I have a story to tell about that, but I want to be the cool teacher - not the crabby one - and so now, I must sleep.

A very cool Majik trick

(Or, how The Great Catsby shared his innermost feelings and gratitude)

Tomorrow marks one month since Majik came to live with us, and he is fitting in beautifully. He's brave enough to play with Spencer, but he also loves to cuddle, and usually sleeps beside me at night. This morning, he got up a little earlier than usual, and began prowling around -- quietly -- off the bed, under the bed, up into the windowsill. And then, suddenly, I heard clicking, and it occurred to me that he might be playing with the bedside stereo. Seconds later, Burton Cummings was belting out these words:

'Cause I have you now
I'll never have to make it alone

Saved my soul
Taught me how to fly
You picked me up
When I was falling

Saved my soul
Came right along
You picked me up
At the bottom
Saved my soul, saved me...


Yes, it might have been a coincidence that the cat stepped on the right button during that lyric on that particular song ...but I'd like to believe that he was thanking Toronto Cat Rescue for getting him off of death row, and me, for getting him out of foster care, and into my home. Finding a cat that makes everyone happy? Awesome. Finding one who serenades me in the morning? Majikal.

O wha tagee kiam

Come on now - say it three times fast everyone! O wha tagee kiam...Owhatageekiam...O what a geek I am!

This week's proof, as if we needed it:

1. I based the title of my blog entry on a campfire skit that's at least 30 years old, if not more. I believe the line there actually makes you say "O what a goose I am", but it pretty much amounts to the same thing. There were so many campfire skits in my childhood...it's not the skits that make me geeky, but the fact that I can still remember so many of them!

2. I am reading The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin, and page 21 had a line that perfectly defines my approach to life: "My idea of fun has always been to lie in bed reading. Preferably with a snack." Clearly, this woman is my soulmate.

3. Last week, I attended the fifth annual "Movies, Manicures and Martinis" event at The Roxy Theatre in Uxbridge. It's a fundraiser where guests are asked to dress according to whatever movie is being shown - food and activities are geared around the movie as well. This year's film was "Dirty Dancing". Does the fact that I first saw it in the theatre TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO make me a geek? Not necessarily. The fact that I have seen it in both English AND French? Nope. The fact that I can quote most of it by heart? Kind of (who does that??? Oh yeah -- me, obviously). But most geeky of all is the fact that I didn't dress like "Baby" in a striped T-shirt and capri pants. I didn't put on a fancy samba dress like Penny, or even a sundress like Lisa. And why? Because it is January, and I DIDN'T WANT TO BE COLD ALL EVENING. Yup. I put comfort ahead of fashion. And I dressed like a man. I put on black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket (with black sunglasses) and went as Johnny Castle. He is the ultimate cool dude -- but me dressing like him so I wouldn't be cool clearly proves that I am, truly, the uncoolest of all.

How freeing it is to be at a point in my life where I don't care!

Goldfish dreams

I dreamt about goldfish last night. Not just any goldfish - a whole bunch of them, in a great big tank that was maybe 10 feet by 10 feet.

This is NOT a result of the huge tanks I saw in the casinos in Vegas. This is because I am stressed.

Goldfish are a recurring theme in my dreams, and it took me years to make the connection, but they always show up when I am under pressure. I'm not a psychologist, but I think the reason is pretty obvious: in university, I made the decision to euthanize a fish I'd had for over 8 years. He'd outgrown his tank, and outlived his peers, and no matter what I did, I couldn't get his water to stay clean and chemically balanced, which was making him sick. I felt terrible about it, but he (she?) was miserable. In those days, we didn't have the internet, so although I researched the best I could, I just couldn't find any solutions. And I didn't want him to continue to suffer with fin rot and ammonia burns. So on the advice of a pet store clerk, I put him in a bucket, and slowly let him freeze to death. (Not as cruel as it may at first sound, since fish are cold-blooded and don't, apparently, feel it). Still. I feel like a quitter when I recall the incident. And I feel like a failure.

So now, whenever I am facing a challenge, I dream about goldfish in distress. Goldfish that have leapt out of their tanks, and need to get back into the water. Goldfish that live in my basement, but whom I have forgotten about and carelessly neglected. Goldfish who have multiplied beyond reason, and now need to be re-homed.

Don't get me wrong - I LOVE goldfish. And, as I said above, that particular fish was with me from eighth grade, all the way through high school and into university. He lived (I hope) a pretty good life, as feeder fish go.

I also had these two lovelies -- Dasher and Blitzen -- with me for over five years, moving from pond to classroom with the seasons, until one day they just mysteriously vanished, without a trace. (A raccoon? A Great Blue Heron? Alien invaders?) The cat they're "talking" to is Sacha, my first "chat noir" and baby girl.



But regardless of my affection for goldfish, and my continued efforts to give them the best possible care, they haunt my dreams.

Often, I won't even consciously know that I'm feeling pressured until I have a goldfish dream, but it's obvious that my subconscious won't let me forget my guiltiest failure (I must have been able to do SOMETHING differently!) and trots it out again for me every time I'm potentially facing another.

The stressor today? A combination of things, probably. A presentation I'm scheduled to give to other teachers in mid-February. Some stuff I need to do for school. And, most likely, the revisions I got from my editor last night. I thought we were done. I was basking in the freedom of NOT having two jobs, not working late into the night, not having to negotiate for what I want to say.

But now, I'm back to stalling/blogging. It probably won't make the fish go away, but at least it gives the cat a chance to come and purr on my lap. And that is one of the greatest de-stressors I know.

P.S. As always, photo courtesy me, all rights reserved.