Like a Moth to the Flame

Ikea.
We've all been there. We all have stories. It's like we're comrades in the search for cheap deals and funky furnishings.

I hadn't been there since I was a kid.
We had Ikea stuff growing up, it was cheap, it lasted. Each of us had our room colour themes, Shannon was Red, Ashley was Blue, I was Yellow. I'm not sure if we picked those colours ourselves or if our parents just threw us into the ball room and picked stuff out themselves and then hopefully remembered to pick us up later on the way out. We  each got a lamp, a numbered cloth thingy with pockets that hung on your wall and a fold up chair in our respective colors. The lamps have long been disposed of, the chairs are still kicking around and we just received our numbered pocketed thingies back after our step brothers grew out of them. There are also some bookshelves and desk/drawer units that we grew up with still in the garage. This puts some of those items at around 25 years old, at the least. So you get a very long winded bang for your  Ikea spent buck.
I went back this weekend for the first time in 15 years. I was nervous. It was like seeing an ex after a really long time. Could I hold it together long enough to act cool? I had an idea of what I needed and an idea of what I wanted. Those things differ, a lot, all the time. I also had a budget for what I wanted could afford to spend. I was determined to not get carried away or distracted.

I arrived at Ikea with two of my old roommates. Trusted adversaries and confidants, ones I could say to "I have a serious table issue, do I need two side tables and a coffee table or just two side tables? But what if I move my bed and get a new couch?"
And they would get it, and answer like it wasn't a bid deal I was stressed out over tables.
So fine, I had my list, we travelled through the top floor with the displays fine and dandy, I stuck to my list and had my aisle and bin numbers listed and written down. Done and done.
Melody: Well let's go downstairs and see what's there.
Me: What's downstairs?
Melody: All the little things.
Me: Well, pfft, I'm set for that let's have a look.

What I didn't realize is that you can't exit Ikea without wandering through a million miles of plates, towels, sheets, cups, napkins, lamps and vases in every single different shade you can imagine, with 14 different patterns and sizes.
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
My eyes bulged, went different directions, everything they could do but focus and run for the hills. My carefully written list and budget were thrown to the wind as I spotted a bluish glass vase for. I didn't know what it's purpose was, or if it was also secretly a soup pot, I just knew I wanted it and it was 'only' 1.99.

Jars? Sure I need jars. I love jars so, so much. I need 4 for 2 bucks too, and a freaking bamboo holder for 'em too. Why the hell not right? I have shit lying around my house just waiting for the right jar. Ikea is the place.

Towels. Towels in every single color of the rainbow, cause that's how they have them displayed.

Pillows. In the display rooms upstairs they have entire rooms devoted to the colour of red. So now you immediately decide it's time to make that your colour too. Except you don't own anything red. Head downstairs, they have red baskets, red shelves, red kettles, everything will match, just as long as you place those items in the same room at home because really, in reality, you have nothing that is red, nothing that will go along with the twelve red pillows you have in your cart.

Oh look, more jars.
Shelves? I love shelves. And brackets. Don't need them, but let's spend sometime perusing this section for a while.

This place is like a hoarders nightmare. Or dream. I don't know. There is room, after room, after room of stuff. 600 tea-lights for a dollar? Okay. Thirteen thousand bug shaped multicolored lights? Sure, what the hell? Let's get starfish shaped vases while were at it, because we might never see them again selling anywhere ever and I need it now.
I witnessed a few domestic disputes while pondering whether or not I need a dolphin shaped cheese platter.
Wife: What do you think? Red or green napkins?
Husband: Well our house is pretty green already...
Wife: So you think we should get the red napkins?
Husband: No, I'm saying we don't need napkins.
Wife: But if we don't need green we should get red...
Husband: If we get red it'll look like Christmas honey, walk away from the napkins....

There are crazed families trying to get through there as quick as possible, flying down the aisles with carts full of children and cheap Swedish nappies, people wandering aisles holding whisks with great authority. Men curled in corners, women sitting in bathtubs with imaginary glasses of wine, couples holding measuring tape up to one another, wondering if they are worthy enough for a  back splash in Appalachian yellow.
It's a bit morbid how Ikea works. You walk in, happy and hopeful, the displays are bright and cheerful and full or promise and ideas.
And you're led downstairs like a fruit fly to (insert anything in your house, ever here), to the place where your happy little Ikea life will shatter. Suddenly there are proper decisions to be made and measurements to be known. And it will all come down to how much will power you have, how much stamina, and whether or not you've eaten or drank anything in the last two and half hours. Because that's how long you've been down there, and no you can't tell because the only thing that has a proper clock is your cell phone and it's shut down because it's out of range so I guess you'll have to buy a 3 dollar wall clock.
Happily I can report I didn't spend past my budget, I had money leftover for lunch. I got my LAIVA bookcase and my LACK side table because I had a SERIOUS LACK in BUDGET. So there Ikea, you didn't get me, I passed your test, huzzah!!!!
Except I'm totally coming back, bypassing upstairs and will spend my entire time collecting everything I dutifully ignored last weekend.

Documentaries

 I've watched so many documentaries lately and I feel need to tell you to watch them too so when we hang out we can talk about them and discuss.There are a ton I haven't seen yet but are on my list (Gasland, Inside Job, The Cove to name a few) Here are some I've watched recently:

One Day in September, winner of the Oscar in 1999 for Best Documentary. Powerful, harsh, and blunt: about the 1972 Munich Massacre at the Summer Olympics. 11 Israelis were kidnapped by Palestinian extremists. One of the extremists speaks about his role in the hostage. Footage is incredible.



The Tillman Story
Pat Tillman, a football player for the NFL drops everything he knows and enlists in the U.S. Army after 9/11. He is killed in combat and his death is twisted and used by the army to improve it's image and it's role in the war. The real reason for his death is covered up by everyone from his buddies to the president.

About A Son

Basically a story about Kurt Cobain's life by Kurt Cobain, with his voice essentially narrating his life story, taken from telephone interviews over the years, with visuals from Kurt's hometown (Aberdeen, Washington, Seattle etc) playing while he speaks.  The last interview that was conducted was about a month before he was found dead.

Dear Zachary: A letter to a son about his father.

 Absolutely heartbreaking and maddening at the same time. A friend decides to make a movie for a little boy so that he will know who is father was (who was murdered).  Don't look this up on the Internet because it will ruin the ending for you. This one will stick with you for a while.



As I've written this post I realize these movies are all kind of dark or depressing subjects. But people don't generally make documentaries about sunshine and flowers do they? Shit happens, people make movies in order to get knowledge out into a world otherwise preoccupied with Charlie Sheen's latest rant or Lindsay's latest theft.
However, if you do find any documentaries about sunshine/rainbows/puppies let me know, or any other films you've loved, let me know!

Snow Day!

So Victoria had some snow last week. Quite a bit in fact, for an island located in a southerly direction. Victoria is a place where, during the winter, I pack away my snow boots until I need them. So this was exciting for pretty much everyone whether you were 5 or 50.
As I walked to work that first morning I couldn't help but think of my childhood, as I often do apparently. My sisters and I used to wait at a bus stop on the middle of a hill, a very long winding hill. This was 'The West Side Road' and we were the only stop on that side of Whistler, so us 3 small children stood at the stop every school day, alone, except for the times we had bear cubs wander by and the one time we saw a pair of glowing animal eyes hiding behind a tree which we decided was a cougar stalking us. No big deal.
Anyway, when it snowed, as it did in Whistler, the school bus had trouble making it up the hill, so to get a head start the school asked our parents if it was okay for us to walk to a pre decided stop at the bottom of the hill so the bus could get a 'head start'.
The decided new stop was across the street from the 'yellow train track sign', and yes, that is the technical term. Often times this second stop was used when my sisters and I finally stopped fighting long enough to ask : "is it icy enough that we have to walk down?" We'd test the it(can you slide on the road?) and come to a group committee decision. Then we'd trot down the hill to the second stop.
 Down the road with no sidewalk, covered in snow, with a steep cliff on the other side. So safe.
Once we got to the stop we'd wait hours. Hours I'm telling you. (It probably wasn't hours, it just felt like that because of how much we got done)
There was so much snow that we'd build forts, snowmen, snow thrones, stomp down an area large enough to make an actual "stop". Things got really exciting if the snowplow came along, cause then we had to dive out of the way so we wouldn't, you know, die.
Now seems like a good time to tell you that I was really good at annoying people as a small child. I took pride in how good I was at it actually.
So the time I pissed Shannon off enough that she punched me in the nose was especially memorable because there was snow. A lot of it.
And my nose bleeds.
As soon as she punched me (it doesn't matter why, I can't remember anyhow) my nose exploded and Shannon realized what she had done and she came running at me to help. Except I was sure she was going to punch me again so instincts told me to duck and run, leaving a blood trail with Shannon chasing after me.
By the time our bus pulled up with our driver Klaus behind the wheel it looked like a scene out of Gangs of New York. There was blood all over the snow, all over Shannon, I was hysterical.
Klaus brought the bus to a screeching halt with a horrified look on his face, sure he was witnessing a massacre, as Shannon got on and tried to explain the situation. Klaus searched around for something useful, found some paper towel. He tore some off, paused to take a look at my nose and then just handed me the entire roll.
I don't remember the rest of the bus ride or the day at school but I do know that when my sisters and I bring this story up, we have a good laugh over it. No one remembers why I was punched, but we all agree I deserved it. We drove past our old bus stop a couple of summers ago on a mini nostalgia trip. There was no snow, but the trees had grown,(shocking!) and the spot across the street from the train track sign was still there as we slowed down to look at our 'ghosts' playing in the snow.

At the bus stop, minus the snow. My first day of kindergarten.

One Hot Chocolate Please

So it's Christmas time and at work we have a lot of our patients drop us off goodies. Candied nuts, Purdy's Chocolates, Roger's Chocolates, Poppycock( ya heard me) and chocolate truffles.
Mm mm, truffles.
So I sampled a morsel of truffle today, delicious and dusted with cocoa powder, which takes away from the yumminess but won't deter me from devouring many many many of these treats.
But the cocoa got me thinking about being a kid again in our house in the winter and having a nice delicious hot chocolate, piping hot with marshmallows and sprinkles and all the love in a cup that you'd ever need.

Except my childhood cocoa dreams are just that. Dreams. Because in our house we never had marshmallows cause we weren't allowed them, and sprinkles were unheard of.
And the hot chocolate was made with Fry's Cocoa powder and dehydrated milk.
That's right. Mmmm. (pause to let sarcasm linger)

We never had any of that Bisquick nonsense or the Carnation Deliciousness(that's what it's called right?) We had lumpy gross tasting hot chocolate that congealed in your stomach. I think some of it is still in there actually. Add water and stir were the directions but no matter how hard you stirred that milk never dissolved and no matter how much cocoa powder you added it was never sweet enough. But at least it was healthy? Or building character or something.

All this and much more was acquired at Famous Foods, a bulk food store in Vancouver.

Every year, once a year, special occasions only, we'd make the trip from Whistler to Vancouver. The drive would take anywhere from 2 hours to 4, depending on how many times I had to stop to pee. The trip was designed to stock up on stuff we needed for school, the pantry or outdoors clothes. Therefore we had 3 main stops. Mountain Equipment Co-op (been a member since I was 2!), Famous Foods, IKEA(3 cheers for the ball room!). Sometimes we'd hit up the aquarium on the way home if we felt like it.
Anyway, all I remember about Famous Foods is that the food wasn't packaged like it was in normal stores. all bright and cheerful. These were all in plain clear plastic, bulk, boring, blah. It did have 17 different kinds of chocolate chips though, this aisle you'd usually find me drooling in. But what did Dad get? Carob chips. Yaaaaaaay. So yummy those are.
We ate very healthy growing up. Dad made homemade granola. We'd have countless bowls of split pea soup with the countless bags of split peas we bought at FF. There was so many oatmeal raisin cookies. The buckwheat/wholewheat pancakes were endless, all of the ingredients bought at Famous Foods. Dad still shops there, in fact all trips are centered and timed around that place.
Ironically, now that I'm a grown up, or like to call myself one, I have cravings for nothing but, yup, you guessed it...dad's homemade granola, the oatmeal raisin cookies, the split pea soup, the pancakes. Cause it's a reminder of home and the memories of the special trips to the big city, the fighting for space in the backseat with your sisters.The dinners out to Trolls for fish and chips in Horseshoe Bay which deserve their own blog entry.
But I will never, ever, not once, desire a Fry's cocoa  hot chocolate with powdered milk.



Death and all his friends

I met her twice. Through a friend of a friend at that friends' birthday party and then we became facebook friends and that's how I learned she had died.
I can't tell you her middle name, her favorite color or type of food she preferred. I remember the night I met her and her partner and thinking how lovely they both were and how much we had alike. You know when you meet those people and you just click no matter who you are with or what you believe in? And I never saw her face again.

And then her heart stopped. And it never started again and although I didn't know her well it gets me to stop and think for a minute about how the wrong people get chosen by death all the time.
Because I think about her wife and her kids-her son and daughter, her little boy and girl who were just at the Santa Parade dreaming about presents under the tree and warm gooey cookies from the oven and snuggles from their two mommies. I hurt for their hurt and their loss and for my friends loss and heartache. The sudden. The shock. The 'I'm sorry for your loss' like we want to take some responsibility for this problem we can't fix. We want to help.
Death is there. All the time. And sometimes, he shows his face.
When it comes to death there are no words that can fix. The tightest hug won't heal the wound that ripped open your chest when you heard the news, the one that now swallows your tears that just won't stop.
But it's the comfort of the loved ones still here and the little snuggles from your kids and the memories and laughter from still fresh hours ago.
And you have to know it's okay to laugh. It's okay to remember those giggle fits and happy memories because that is what will get you through this.
So you make sure to appreciate the people around you and tell them you love them and you wake up every goddamn morning and you realize how lucky you are and you're thankful for what you have, no matter how little or big it is, or who or what is in your life.

And you appreciate that you had the pleasure of knowing her at all.

Hi, how are you today?

Fine, thanks for asking.

Which is the normal response one gets when asked that question.
I, however, work in a dentist office, and I can't decide if people are actually grumpy all the time, genuinely hate life, or just hate the dentist office.

Patients walk in and I greet them with a smile and ask them how they are. They usually grimace, roll their eyes, nod, or have lost their hearing and reply with: 'No, it's not raining yet, but it's threatening to."
All right then.

Other responses I've received:

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Fine, until I walked in" (how nice)

"Alive"

"None of your business" (fair enough, I guess)

"The right side of Tuesday" (what?)

"I'll be honest with you, I drank some whisky before coming here"

No one is ever happy to see you at the dentist office. And when they leave they usually have a frozen mouth and can't talk or have taken 3 Valiums and a little left of center.

Outside of the dentist office, a lot of people ask how you're doing and don't actually listen to the answer, or on the flip-side, they ask you and REALLY want to know. They want to get in deep with you and talk about your childhood  or their bowel movements (both painful) and you're all "thanks but I don't really know you that well and you have some mustard on your chin and that's all I can focus on right now"

I worked in a grocery store once where the first rule was DON'T ask how people are doing because they will tell you, and this will cause a line to form. But it's my first instinct to, so I would always end up saying "Hi, how are you...uh, your potatoes, they look real good, um, that will be $4.67, here's your receipt...erm, kthanksbye"

So no matter who you ask or how they are be prepared for any kind and length of answer. Be prepared to listen, ignore, or get distracted by the errant piece of fluff on the bridge of their nose. (How do they not know it's there??)

On Reading

I have a serious problem. I have had this problem for years and it's a habit that has never wavered or changed over the course of these years.
I, Dawn MacLeod, cannot put a book down.
I know. I told you it was serious.

Since June of this year I have read around 20 books. For a really long time I couldn't find a book that would hold my attention or capture my interest, which is very strange because I will read, and have read, just about anything. A list of books I've read this year:

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen
The unauthorized biography of Axl Rose
Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Lost Dogs by Jim Gorant
The Hunger Games Trilogy
One Fish Two Fish by Dr. Seuss
The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo and it's sequel.
The Runner's Rule Book
I am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (secretly James Frey. Remember him?)
One Day by David Nicholls
Russell Brands My Booky Wook.

Clearly, I'll read anything.
As a kid I vividly remember the bedtime reading sessions with my Dad. He'd sit through many a Babysitters Club book just to hear me read and learn new words. I'm so sorry about that Dad, I'm sure it was painful and you probably nodded off more than a few times.Often when I was hyper about something or had big plans coming up (like visiting cousins!) and I couldn't sit still mom would tell me to get a book. One because I was pissing her off, two because she knew it'd calm me down. This is where the problem started. Because as soon as I opened up a book I'd dive in to that particular world with abandon. I get lost in the story and the places and the time and I have an insatiable drive to know what happens in the end, and therefore I stay up late reading until I either a) finish b) pass out with the lights on. I have this problem with red wine as well. I need to finish the bottle so that a) I know what happens at the bottom and b) I pass out with the lights on.

I happen to have 3 books on the go right now, and 4 books on hold at the public library. Good lord, what happens if all the books on hold suddenly become available? I'll be buried underneath the novels and I'll have to fall asleep with the lights on cause I won't be able to reach the switch!!!
Speaking of public libraries. These institutions are the greatest. Go in, sign out a book, walk out. You don't even have to pay. It's kind of like stealing. Okay, borrowing I know, cause generally you'll return the book in a couple of weeks, which is why people say the sentence "I just borrowed a couple of books from the library" which means they will return it. I went many years NOT going to the public library, preferring to build my own library at my house. I like collecting books I'll read again, and I like knowing that people will one day peruse my shelves whence they visit my house and comment something such as "oh, you've read 'The Origins of the First World War' aren't you just so smart and knowledgeable." Yes, yes I am.
And I kept my study books from my college days too, thinking 'well, I'm sure one day I'll skim through the pages of Psychology 101'. Eventually my collection got too big, I moved one too many times and books got too damned expensive, so I rediscovered the free wonders of the Public Library.
I also have a habit of walking and reading. People used to laugh at me when they saw me walking around town with my nose in a book. I can actually walk a fair bit without injuring myself, and I get to plow through a couple of chapters. Win win.
I'm so glad I have a love of books and reading in general, and an active imagination so that I can create the authors world in my own head and I can't wait to pass this on to my kids. I'd gladly sit through a hundred sittings of "Green Eggs and Ham" just to hear my kid read it to me.
I have a weird thing I do when I've moved houses in the past: the first thing I pack are the books, and the first thing to get unpacked in the new place are the books, cause it's not really home until you have a shelf full of books.
Enough blathering. I have a book to finish reading.