Weekly Weigh-in

Weekly Weigh-in: 158

The Bloating Fairy came to me and waved her magic wand and "poof" ... lo and behold and it was gone. "Bloating be gone!" said she in her tiny little voice. Now I just need to look up the cell number for the Essay-Marking Fairy. She's damned busy this time of year though. I'd probably have to make a booking.

Office Blues/Jesuit Awareness Day

Currently reading: Graham Greene's The End of the Affair (1951).

It's been a long time since I read any Graham Greene, and I've seen the film of this one, so I'm looking forward to it. I'm only about 40 pages in and already I'm struck by the philosophical tone and dark vision of love presented in the novel. I've finished all those McLean and Goodkind books that sustained me through the tough times this semester, so it's time to get back to my massive list of ought-t0-reads. I'll be heading through the swamp of Greene, Faulkner, and Fitzgerald for the next little while...

I spent much of today in my office with students -- all of whom were in a panic about something. It's the last full week of classes and essays have been due in both my courses, so of course the world is crashing down around everyone's ears. Despite my own busy state, I was flattered, however, that a former student brought her questions about an upcoming Wuthering Heights essay in another class to me. I did the best I could to guide her toward a better thesis so she could proceed with confidence. It's good to feel relatively useful. I stand there in my classes these days, asking questions and hearing in return the silence of three dozen exhausted students practising the zen of non-being. I feel tired myself, so I understand, but I hate the feeling of spoonfeeding people answers they should be reaching for themselves.

There is an essential contradiction present in classes at the end of the year. We (the teachers) want to experience the "big finish", like an orchestra reaching a crashing crescendo, something to reassure us that what we have been doing all year has paid off, there is an answer somewhere, and it is all falling together for them. They (the students) are burnt out from late nights, too many last-minute essays, and the extent of their desire for knowledge is "Will this be on the exam?" So much for Tennyson's archway of experience "wherethro'/ Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades/ For ever and for ever when I move." I've been teaching "Ulysses" this semester, and every time I teach it it seems a potent argument for the need to learn, to always seek knowledge in every form:

How dull it is to pause, to make an end
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

Yup, Alfie had it right on there. I'll be begging for books in the nursing home, and, when my eyesight goes, I'll get books on tape.

P.S. On another note altogether, I saw a poster up at the university today. "Thursday 30 November is Jesuit Awareness Day". Is it just me, or is that not the most hysterical thing ever? Hug a Jesuit tomorrow! ROFL

Saskatchewan Book Awards

Last night we attended the Saskatchewan Book Awards gala. I am having a life crisis. A former student of mine won the First Book Award for his book of poetry. Sigh. I have an enormous "L" stuck on my forehead. Not that I was up for anything. To be up for an award you have to finish something. The thrill of the evening was listening to the wonderful Jane Urquhart speak. I want to be her when I grow up. Sigh.

Stuart and Harry

Currently reading: Stuart McLean's Secrets from the Vinyl Cafe (2006)

These books have been a wonderful antidote to what has been, all things considered, an epically bad semester at the university. Now if I could just stop having dreams about dead friends, me being dead, death in general...

I have been supplementing Stuart McLean with viewings of the Harry Potter movies. I'm going to finish watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets this evening. It's nice to be reminded of just how good those movies (and books) are.

Later: Just started watching The Prisoner of Azkaban. Boy, those Phelps twins grow up rather nicely, don't they? Tall, handsome, red-headed boys... Damn. How pathetic is it when a woman in her '40s starts admiring those adorable Phelps twins. Oh, and Sean Biggerstaff was rather dishy in those movies too...(slapping self)...

I Like This One Better

Next day's weigh-in: 159.5

Ha! See? So there!

Weekly Weigh-in

Weekly weigh-in: 160.5

Well, that sucks. Could it be the giant burrito sitting in my gut from last night? And at 5:00 I weighed the same, after lunch and a run, so.... OK, I'm just going to ignore this one. Chalk it up to a giant burrito. Again, the mysterious connection between overeating and weight gain. Hmmm. Could it be there is a parallel here?

I have had one of those days that left me crying in the bathtub tonight. I feel like an utter failure in just about every aspect of my life. I have failed to meet every marking deadline I have set myself this semester, so my first-years didn't get their papers back this morning. Then I opened my file folder in class and had one of those moments that makes you want to work in retail: "Oh shit," says I to myself (silently). "That was what I forgot to do last night." Finish my Evelyn Waugh lecture. I stare down and realise I have only about a third of a lecture prepared. And the book I'm doing with them is a satire that seems to be leaving them quite befuddled. So I couldn't pull the classic rabbit out of the screwed professor's hat and ask brightly: "So, what do you think?" Well, I could, but I would be confronted by a mind-numbing silence and two dozen blank stares. (This doesn't mean that they couldn't answer any questions, but it speaks to a desire to be spoon fed that they won't let go of.) "Who's William Morris?" I ask brightly, since he is referred to in the text. Shoulders shrug. Later, "Have any of you taking psychology heard of Havelock Ellis? What is he well known for?" Dunno. And apparently nothing has impelled them to find out. So, I kept talking. You know: words coming out of the mouth, mind distanced and listening to the automatic pilot drivel. So it's 10:20 and I've already struck out twice. Or three times if you count my inability to stimulate discussion. I spend the rest of the day feeling very close to tears and very, very tired. I knock back five chocolate-covered espresso beans and wait for the river of caffeine to hit my bloodstream.

Two hours later, I am still waiting. Depressed and experiencing hunger as the only side effect of the caffeine, I have a bacon cheeseburger for lunch. With salad and a diet Coke -- ha ha ha. Second class looms. I might manage to get through Shakespeare, since he's generally easier for me to teach. Love dem dead white guys. And I am very fond of the students in that class. So fond of them that the inwardly vulnerable and tearful me would really like to kneel down before them and confess that I am not worthy. They deserve better than me. I am all too conscious that I haven't been giving 100% to my job this semester.

On my way back to my office I am cornered by one of my colleagues whom I like to think of as the Pretty Pit Bull. She is venomously political and speaks to me about current politics among our sessional lecturers with the fervor of a ... well, I had a metaphor to use, but it wasn't necessarily politically correct. She spoke to me with a patronising self-righteousness that sways many of her listeners, but which I find offensive. I was so offended I said nothing. God, I hate that. When I am upset, I wish I could find something equally venomous to say -- poisonous even -- something like "Go shit in your hat, bitch." But I can't -- I just want to get away from her. So I went to my office and had a little cry while I waited for a student who couldn't make it during my office hour.

Spent 20 minutes reassuring my student, a very bright Japanese student, that her essay was going in the right direction. Then I went to the fitness centre but only had time for a run of less than 15 minutes because I had to make it home for my daughter. Perhaps it was because I was so angry, or perhaps I just wanted to make the most of the 12 minutes I had, but I ran a mile and a quarter, shocking myself! I was fast for a change. If I'd had time to do a full run I could have gone over 2 miles. So at least that I was pleased with.

Coming home, I felt completely drained of all energy. I wasn't a very fun mother. I neither wanted to go for doughnuts, nor be the recipient of a "makeover". What I really wanted to do was sit in the bathtub and cry. So I did.

The DH just arrived home from work, let me sob all over him, and is now a nominee for the husband of the year award as a result of handing me a big glass of Californian Merlot. And bringing home Indian food -- chana masala, chicken biryani, and lamb rogan josh, with naan bread. Life is briefly worth living again.

Current mood: I suck.

Back to Running

I went for my last run the day of C's funeral, which was 9 days ago. After that, I just couldn't seem to find the heart for it. I found reasons to squirm out of doing just about anything, and felt draggy and tired. I don't find it hard to find a reason for that.

I went today to the Fitness Centre at the University, since there was a thin film of ice in places on the pavement and I had visions of messing up further my calf (which still bothers me a bit). I made it through 20 minutes (10:1:9), but it damn near finished me. I felt slow and was sweating like a fiend. Only made 1.92 miles, which is not an improvement, so I really was going slowly. I am going to try to run at work again tomorrow after my office hour before I go home.

I feel so sluggish. My dieting has stalled slightly, though my appetite is diminished somewhat since the Halloween/post-C binge. Yesterday I tried to be a June Cleaver mum by making cupcakes with my daughter after school. Caramel pecan cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Then I was a Roseanne Barr mum by eating some of them. Gave half a dozen of them to our neighbours for safety's sake.

Current Reading

Currently reading: Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe Diaries (2003).

From the cover: "VINYL CAFE DIARIES: A golden opportunity to invigorate your reading skills! Scores of pages filled with alphabetical symbols which when deciphered offer hours of pleasure!... Good Natured Humour Guaranteeed!"

Bad Dreams

I have had terrible nightmares for the past couple of weeks. Last night was no exception. First I was yelling at my parents for butting into things that were none of their business, since they were griping about the size of my VISA bill (not fully paid off) and various other things. During the rest of the dream, I kept encountering my dead friend C. She was visible to some people, and solid when you touched her, but occasionally would disappear. At one point I kept running into her on a street where she was handing out pieces of buttered toasted raisin bread from a plate to anyone who passed her. It troubled me that she was clearly moving around, not at peace, and I wondered if she was looking for her boys. I felt so much sadness and anxiety for her. I would really like to have a banal, non-descript dream some night. My dreams are often strange, but lately I awaken feeling so troubled and disturbed by them.

Retraction

After a truly miserable week, I feel compelled to retract my previous statement. I am, in fact, really a Merlot person. A Stone Valley Californian 2004 Merlot is better than tea...

It's described as a "crowd-pleasing fruit bomb... loaded with classic blackberry and plum". Yum. Gosh I'm glad we bought a case of it. Tonight I could be convinced to open a second bottle. That's how bad this week has sucked.

Gingerbread Latte .... mmmmm

I am a tea person. I am fussy about steeping my tea properly and generally won't order tea in restaurants unless I know they use ceramic pots. (Metal ones steep too quickly and make the tea harsh and too strong.) I feel a horror akin to the breaking of an orthodox dietary law when I see people dipping teabags in their cups to make tea. (I have learned to hide this, out of necessity. They no longer notice my gasping intake of breath.) I set a timer to tell me when my tea is steeped, having been traumatised by memories of my grandmother's Pyrex tea pot on a stove burner visibly boiling the tea during dinner while I was growing up -- boiling it until it was, as we like to say in the Maritimes, "black as the inside of a cow". When I want a hot drink, tea is my beverage of choice.

Being a tea person, I seldom finish a cup of coffee. I might like it for the first third of the cup, but then I am repulsed by the flavour quite suddenly and can't bear to finish it. (This is much like the infrequent urge to eat a chocolate bar -- I am completely disgusted by the sweetness as soon as I'm done.) On the other hand, my favourite chocolates are coffee cremes, my favourite chocolate bar Coffee Crisp, I adore coffee ice cream, tiramisu, and chocolate-covered coffee beans. Go figure. I can occasionally make it through a cup of coffee if it is tarted up beyond all recognition and is essentially dessert in a cup. Iced coffee or Vietnamese coffee -- excellent -- I'm all for it. Those frappuccino/iced cap things are just dandy. Real coffee I can only take black with two to three sugars, depending on how strong it is. And even that I can only drink late in the afternoon -- not for any physiological reason, but simply because that's the only time I can enjoy it. If offered coffee by someone, I will accept it, but, as I said, seldom finish it. I fully admit I am weird about this. I submit as further evidence: I find the smell of bananas almost makes me nauseous, but I adore banana bread.

Yesterday, however, I discovered Starbuck's Gingerbread latte. I generally argue that ginger makes everything better anyway (even men) and I use huge dollops of it when I'm cooking whenever possible. Now, I was cautious, and only ordered a tall latte (read: small), but I finished it! And finished another today! Do you think there is hope for me? Will I someday look like a grown up who actually goes out for coffee like the rest of the world?

P.S. Yes, I expect my friends will snigger about the ginger men comment. I confess I am a helpless victim of my addiction.

Currently Reading

Currently reading: Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe Unplugged (2000)

Just finished his set of short stories entitled Home from the Vinyl Cafe, which contains the now-famous "Dave Cooks the Turkey". That's a great story, indeed, but I think it is surpassed in some measure by the infinitely funnier "Polly Anderson's Christmas Party", which contains the almost-tragic punch bowl mixup (which results in the kids in the basement having a fantastic time while the adults' party seems oddly ... stiff), parental wisdom about how to get a crying baby to sleep (wave a hairdryer over them a couple of times), and alcohol's release of Sam's inner Niles Crane. In our house we adore Stuart McLean. His CBC radio show, The Vinyl Cafe, is a weekend favourite.

Weekly Weigh-in

Weekly weigh-in: 159.5

What? Surely not? You mean the pasta and cupcakes have CALORIES in them? Why didn't they tell me? "Grab for my wine glass again, buddy, and you're gonna have to learn to write with the other hand!"

November has been a stressful month. On top of that, as soon as it turns cold, pasta and yummy hot chocolate start calling to me. Add a full-blown case of girl-agony and water retention and I am trying to not feel despondent about the weight-gain. Excuse me while I take a swig of my nicely-breathed Barolo... "BACK OFF, ASSHOLE!" I find wine very soothing, don't you?

Currently listening to: Telemann's "Concerto in F major" from Tafelmusik

Icy & Dicy

It's cold and icy with a freezing wind out there today. I am finding it hard to convince myself even to get in the car and go over to the fitness centre to run. Before the funeral yesterday I did manage to run for 20 minutes and even made it through 1o minutes straight, and then another 9 minutes after a minute's walking break. I made 1.92 miles. I was sweating like a pig by the time I finished, but pleased I managed it. Problems with my calf still persist, so I am a little concerned about trying another run today, but I have been stretching more (which, I suspect, is the key to my problem).

Current reading: Stuart McLean's Home from the Vinyl Cafe (1998).

P.S. Darn. Darn. Darn. My car locks have iced over and I have no way to open the car. Guess I will have to forgo that run... Darn. Darn. Darn. Better make another hot chocolate. I am so completely without motivation today. I'll wait until the DH gets home and ask him to do the hairdryer/extension cord magic trick for me.

C.'s Funeral

I went to C.'s funeral service yesterday. I tried to write about it then, but found the whole idea too exhausting in my state of mind. The church was packed with family, friends, and colleagues. The church they chose was not their own; they had to find one a good deal larger because they knew it would be such a large turnout. Unfortunately, it was a church which piped cheesy "pop" Christian music through its speakers at the beginning and end of the service, and the minister himself pulled out what was clearly one of those generic funeral sermons that you do for people you don't know. Our college chaplain, fortunately, conducted most of it, and she is not only a lovely person -- completely sincere and warm -- but one of the most extraordinary, gifted speakers I have ever heard in any setting. People who knew C. got up and spoke about her, but none amazed me more than her husband, who showed extraordinary composure and such gratitude for having been given his wife for even a short time, that I watched in complete awe and admiration. The most difficult part was watching the slide show of photos of C. and her family. I could hardly bear to watch it -- it was incredibly painful to see her in such hopeful stages of her life: marriage, pregnancy, playing with her boys, on holiday with them and her husband. One photo of her and her husband kissing, with the Arizona mesas as a backdrop, will stay with me as terribly poignant. It was taken in the spring on holiday while she had a brief reprieve from her cancer. Some of us questioned the wisdom of this photo display, since it wasn't particularly comforting -- only a raw reminder of life's brevity given to people already wounded by her loss. The best part of the ceremony for some of us was the inclusion at the end of two aboriginal songs, sung accompanied only by a traditional drum. The sound was powerful and raw and seemed a better expression of our grief than any hymn. I couldn't bring myself to stay for the luncheon I had helped prepare. My eyes welled up every few seconds, and I didn't want to be around a lot of people trying to compose myself or rummaging in my purse for kleenex every five seconds; so I went to my car and cried for a few minutes, before pulling myself together sufficiently to go pick up my daughter at her aunt's.

All I wanted to do was hold my daughter. I gave her a long, tight hug, and heard her say, "It's OK, Mum". My sister-in-law supplied me with a much-needed cup of strong tea. I felt completely drained and exhausted. Thank heavens I remembered to wear my glasses, or I would have been peeling my contact lenses off the backs of my eyelids.

Afterward, I took my daughter to see Flushed Away, since I certainly felt like I could use some diverting. It was charming, but best of all was to spend time with my girl after a morning spent reminding me that anything can happen.

Rest in peace, C. I still remember how much you laughed.

Give This Joke a Punchline

I forgot to add that while we were making the funeral lunch, one of my colleagues (who leaves me in stitches every day) realised that he and another colleague were like a joke in the making. He's Jewish, and his colleague teaches Islamic Studies. There they were in the college kitchen, on a Sunday, making ham sandwiches... My friend I. said, "You know there has to be a great joke here:

So, a Jew and an Islamic scholar were making ham sandwiches together on a Sunday, and the Jew says to the Islamic scholar..."

Academics: Will Cater for 500

Spent an hour and a half at the college this afternoon with 20 colleagues making sandwiches and trays of "dainties" for C.'s funeral tomorrow morning. I discovered a hitherto unknown talent for saran-wrapping trays. We reckon we should all put on our academic CVs: "Can make lunch for 500 on short notice."

Everybody Copes in Their Own Way... Or Not

Went into college today feeling a bit more angry than sad about C.'s passing, not so much for her as for her family being bereft of her so unjustly. Fortunately I work in a wonderful place where the staff all truly care about each other. The Christianity of my college expresses itself in the most positive of ways, and embodies all the good things about the faith (true caring, concern, and warmth), not the bad things (like bigotry, intolerance, and smug self-righteousness). Lots of hugs amongst us in the hallways today. I imagine the students wondered a bit at us. I don't think C's death is general knowledge among them yet. She hasn't been at work for a year.

I felt able to deal with it until I entered my office and there, with the door shut, unexpectedly broke into tears. This might be a good thing, all things considered, but not when you have to teach less than 5 minutes later. I went into my class red-eyed, but teaching grammar is fairly unemotional. It's hard to get teary-eyed over commas. So I made it through, and was OK for the second class after lunch, though I heard myself talking in circles. Several of us said we had trouble focussing when we taught today. But it was good to teach. One of the great virtues of teaching is that you really can't bring your problems into the classroom. Early on you learn, quite unconsciously, to put on a teaching persona, which takes over like automatic pilot when you start to teach. (There's a lot in common between teaching and acting.) This isn't to say that we are false when we teach, merely less vulnerable or exposed. It's a bit like armour, I suppose. All I know is it got me through my classes, and I'm grateful for that.

As I went to get into the elevator to my second class, I noticed the corner of the elevator was occupied by a young girl (university-age) sitting on the floor playing a Gameboy. So intent was she that she neither rushed to hold open the door which started to close on some of us, nor did she ask us to press a floor button for her. Four of us got on, all eyeing her and each other with wordless smirks of disbelief. Quite clearly this girl was just planning to keep on riding the elevator and playing her Gameboy. What to make of her, I really don't know. It's a stressful time of year at the university. I know I love to absorb myself into a good game of Sims2 when I'm under stress, but I really can't imagine squashing myself into a corner of an elevator to do it. To each his own...

C is gone

My friend and colleague C. died last night around 7 pm. She was surrounded by her friends and family who "prayed her out" with prayer and drumming. Her end, I am told, was peaceful. Her husband will have a fire going in their backyard for the next four days and nights until her funeral and we are invited to drop round with food, wood, sage, sweetgrass, cedar, or any other herbs significant in the aboriginal tradition -- or just bring ourselves. I am filled with loss and a confusing sense of the rapidity of her decline in the past few weeks. If anyone reads this, I hope they will pray for her husband and two boys. C. was 34 years old.

Dad's Ill, C is Dying

My mother just called and said cancerous polyps were found in my dad's throat today. Actually, we're not 100% sure where they are from (throat or sinus) since he sneezed one out the other day. That in itself qualifies as peculiar, I should think. We don't know enough yet to know the extent of the cancer, so we just have to wait until he has further tests later in the month. This will be my father's third bout of cancer. In '98 he had colon cancer, and in '02 the same type of cells were found in a tumour in his lung, and he had cancer in both the lung and the lymph nodes. He's very healthy otherwise, and has always recovered incredibly well. Now, these polyps contain those same kind of cancer cells that were in the original colon tumour. He was resting when I spoke to my mother, so I will call Dad later today and wish him well. I approach this with trepidation since we don't have the easiest of relationships, despite our love for one another.

And today C.'s husband sent around an email indicating that C. is now dying, fighting for her breath with every tooth and nail. We knew it would happen, but never dreamt it would be so fast. I don't really have any words for this. It all seems such a testament to the utter randomness of events in the universe. I almost wrote "randomness of the universe" but find that idea too difficult to contemplate. I still want to believe there is a controlling force to the universe. I still believe goodness is the essence of God, but evil itself may be utterly random. Order and chaos, the eternal opposites.

10 Minutes!

I have reached a running goal I never imagined I would -- I have run 10 minutes straight! I remember distinctly thinking 5 minutes would be an impossible goal several months ago. This is proof that just sticking at it and pushing myself a little each week has had results. I am having calf trouble this week, so I didn't make it through a second set of ten minutes, but I will when the muscle is feeling better. I am paying for not stretching my calves enough beforehand.

Weekly Weigh-in: 157.5

Junk Food Blow Out!

Everyone has their moment of weakness. Mine was yesterday. Well, to tell truth, it started late last week when I succumbed to a colleague's flogging chocolate covered almonds. (Our daughters' ballet school uses them as an evil fundraiser.) Saturday night was a do at the dean's house with totally yummy finger food. And today, coming back from classes, exhausted from lack of sleep, I let my inner food troll go to the local 7-11 and bought (and snarfed down):

1 Coffee Crisp chocolate bar
followed immediately by
1 small bag Ruffles All-Dressed potato chips
and
half a package of strawberry Twizzlers
all washed down by an irony-laden Diet Pepsi.

Yuck. Why? Why? WHY?

Randomness

A friend has inspired me to do a blog with six random facts about myself. Careful, it won't be pretty.

1. I can tell you which number of the alphabet each of the 26 letters is, even out of order. (For example, L is the twelfth letter, and so forth).
2. I wear contact lenses. I started with glasses when I was 9.
3. I usually wear solid coloured clothes - patterns feel too loud.
4. I talk to imaginary friends... still. But only when I'm alone. (Or am I?)
5. I went through a long phase as a kid where I only drew horses.
6. My initials are carved on a rock on a beach along the Northumberland Strait in Nova Scotia. (If you know where Anne Murray's cottage is, you're getting warmer.)

Weekly weigh-in

Weekly weigh-in: 156