Armed and ready against the inevitable

Here we are in yet another new year. A wonderful holiday passed and I was very much spoiled by all my loved ones with affection and presents. It was busy, but it was one of the nicest holidays I've ever had. And I got a piano! And that makes me quite happy.

With the changing of the calendar, I had a chance to look back at my goals for last year and I was pleased to see that I actually got some things done. I had this To Do list in progress that always seemed to have the same eight things on it. There are only two items on it held over from last year: Look through the boxes in the garage and find a wire basket for the towels in the bathroom. Sure there are 11 items on the list now, but nine of them are new. It's kind of lame as accomplishments go, but I feel good about it.

I also have this list of hobbies and interests that I've been working on for years. It's a list of things that I find fun, interesting or have a passion for. And I am very happy to report that in the twelve categories of interests, I made progress in nine. Even nerdier is that I've set goals for this year too, like a Nitrox course for SCUBA, getting back into painting and learning to decorate cakes for real. It's always the cake decorating that falls off the list first...

I'm trying to keep happiness sustained as well as I can. I felt the first pangs of depression yesterday and I didn't like it. Not one bit. I shook it off, but I was coming from a really mentally strong place. What happens when I get tired and stressed? Crossing fingers and thinking positive.

HRH

The Iliotibial Band is playing at my house

Today I was confronted with an important choice. A choice that seriously tests my values. A true form versus function kind of deal. Because my chronic knee problems went from manageable to consistently gasp-inducing and mobility-impairing, I have returned to the kindly people who took my damaged back and made it all better to see if they can work some of their mojo on my loathed lower joints.

The absolutely wonderful news is that they can fix me. I just have to actually do what that trainer told me to do and teach my legs to work in a new and exciting way. An efficient one. I could go into the multi-factorial explanation of what's going on, excite you all with the mess I've gotten into with a tight sacroiliac (which I've learned is, like, a million times better than a loose one, though I really need to learn to let mine slide), bum muscles that wouldn't know how to fire even if they were given first chair on the firing squad, my new worst enemy and best friend the iliotibial tract (which apparently should slide over the quadriceps, but mine is actually stuck in some places, ew) and my quadriceps, which think that nothing can happen in my body without them flexing, which wouldn't be so bad if they would only do it in unison. Yes, if they did that, then my knees would actually slide into the track they're supposed to go on. That'd be keen and there'd be less swelling as a result I'll bet you.

A nice mess I am. But a mess that can be fixed through some hard work and, sadly, some sacrifice. It was more than gently suggested to me that my prognosis and long-term mobility would be dramatically improved if I stopped wearing high heels. I feel I must point out that I went to this physiotherapy appointment today wearing black, knee-high, three-inch, stiletto boots. Really, really pretty ones. Pretty ones I may not wear again.

I know, I know that high heels put so much pressure on my knees. They're also terrible for my hips and general posture. I know. I know. But my god I look fantastic in them. I have always been proud of the fact that I have worn high heels in spite of the fact that I'm tall. Clearly empowerment has it's costs.

I'll try not to whine about this too much and just get it out of my system now. Healthy joints are much more important than cute shoes. Even I know that it's a no brainer. I just don't need shopping for shoes to suck more. Not only do I have to find a size 11, but now it has to be of a sensible height. I don't know if anyone with normal sized feet can understand how hard it is to meet those criteria and actually wear a shoe that is attractive as well. *sniff*

Pity party over, it's a change I will make. I will do whatever I need to do to stay limber and mobile. I want to be able to run, jump and dance for as long as I can. Cute shoes just don't compare to how good those things make me feel. A least I can wear sneakers for hip hop.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Wake up call" by Maroon 5

HRH

Persona

Some people thrive on the spotlight and it's amazing to see them just turn it on. it goes beyond introvert and extrovert. I know incredibly shy people who become entirely different creatures the moment they hit the stage. There are also people who are always on. I am neither of those people. I am pretty much always me, all the time. This is why I am not an artist (I mean, there's also the talent and dedication thing, which I have a smattering of, but not enough to make it a career). There is nothing for me to turn on, as I have no switch.

Throughout my life I've had opportunities to perform. It's been a long time since I've been on a stage, but for awhile there, it was a pretty normal place for me to be. Of course, 95 per cent of my stage time was logged playing double bass, comfortably nestled within an orchestra of 80. I stopped playing the piano just as I was moving into the part of life when I was becoming really self-conscious. There is evidence of me performing alone, but I was too young to really get it.

There was one foray into acting, which I was told I was good at, but that was only because I was personally attached to the narrative, so it was more like retelling than pretending. Singing in a choir is fine. Singing on my own, anywhere other than the car or a karaoke bar can be a vomit-inducing experience and an unintentional, terror-driven vibrato. I've done it and survived, and in my mind, I'd love to do it, yet do I ever? No.

Dancing has always been in groups. And while I've never been particularly good at it, it's always brought me out of my shell more than anything else. And that's not particularly far. Even now, where I'm just taking classes at a gym, with no possibility of anyone outside of my classmates seeing me dance, I've taken to dabbling in a pre-class drink, just to chill me out. Dancing in clubs doesn't even count as it was always part of crowd in the dark. I hate to admit that I fall into the category of that "dance like no one is watching" life affirmation phrase, but I am compelled to admit that it would be nice if I could do that.

I mentioned this to a colleague who is a Belly Dancer and she suggested that I create a performing persona so that I don't have to have a drink before I go to dance class. She recently did that and it really freed her.

So I'm trying to craft a persona. One I can put on when I'm out in a club or in classes when I'm taking things way too seriously. For when people are watching. For fun. Really, it's why I play music or move. Maybe if I have a performer-like identity I can show people the fun that I have in my head. Oh the joys of a rich inner world.

It's not that I'm unhappy with who I am and what it is to be me. It's just that sometimes, who I am is tremendously practical, kind of shy and prone to caring too much about what people think. There have been times in my life where I've been uninhibited. As uninhibited as I get. And I think the persona should come from there.

I think she will wear more hats that I do.

HRH

You have to crawl before you can walk

Before you read this post, try to get up from your chair. Or even better, try to do a squat. What muscles did you use? Your quads, your glutes, combo of the two? Think about it for a second.

I had a fitness assessment last night, and the results were actually very good. My BMI is good, my body fat is good, my weight is good, heart rate, all good. I was thinking I was ready to learn about how to increase my muscle mass (I'm hoping to lose six pounds of fat and trade that for six pounds of muscle in time), and then the trainer had me do some push ups.

Before anyone hauls out trainer conspiracies and personal training session pitches, he's very well qualified and he very effectively illustrated what is wrong and what needs to be changed.

So if I'm in as good shape as I seem to be, what would I need to do to improve? Let's go back to that getting up/squatting thing. When I do those motions, even when I walk or climb stairs, I am only using my quads and some muscles in my hips. Those huge glute muscles that are there to provide the strength you need for walking, squatting, an other good things, well they're doing pretty much nothing on me. Like nothing. They just sit there and wait with open arms for the sagginess of my age-related metabolic decline.

The trainer asked me to try standing up using my glutes and I couldn't do it. It wasn't like I didn't have the strength. There was just no ability to do it. It was like my brain sent a message to my central nervous system and all that was there was an Error 404 message. It feels a lot like it feels when I try to wink with my left eye. I can't do that either.

And what's worse is that the way I move now actually makes my knees worse and is causing my hip muscles to become over developed. Meaning I'm actually making my hips bigger because of the way that I walk.

So I'm hurting myself by doing this. He pressed down on the leg and hip muscles that were over-developed and I was actually yelping in pain. I'm pretty sure this man could have killed me with his thumb judging by his ability to find my weakest spots. Then he got me to stand up and posed me in a position where I was actually standing up properly, but because my glutes are so weak I almost fell flat on my face.

So how did I learn all this fundamental walking, standing up, sitting down stuff wrong? One theory is that because I didn't crawl as a baby that I didn't learn to use my butt muscles for that kind of movement. I just sat there for 13 months and then decided to stand up and walk one day.

As I grew and my knees got bad, I would try to walk in a way that would make them as quiet as possible. I also try to walk as lightly as I can. I basically walk on my toes all the time as I don't want to make a lot of noise. So that didn't help either.

I have been told that teaching my glutes to do the work will actually improve the condition of my knees and anything I can do to improve that while staving off orthopedic surgery is a totally worth a try. Also once my hip muscles aren't having to compensate so much, they'll stop that particular outward expansion and maybe I'll be able to fit back into my first pair of sevens, since they fit everywhere except for the hips and quads.

So 29 years after learning how to walk, I need to learn how to do it again. Which is kind of amusing in it's own way. Hopefully there will be less falling over this time around.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Walk the line" by Johnny Cash

HRH

Getting out of the groove

This is insane. Five minutes ago there was a full package of wasabi peas on my desk and now I have nothing but an empty bag and a spinning head. Why do they make something so potentially painful (yet sinus clearing) so addictive?

I'm having a terrible case of writer's block and here I am, writing about it. So I'm in part doing the right thing as all the great authors always say, just keep writing even though there are no words. I guess I have words, I just can't get them into the right order and the right order only seems to come to me when I'm in the shower or on the treadmill. And frankly, that's just not fair.

I've come to think that different types of writing are like different muscles in your body. Keep writing in one style and you'll develop a big, bulgy brain muscle for it. Write only in that style for, say about, four years and you'll find that your ability to write in other styles has completely atrophied. And all you can do about it is eat wasabi peas and feel inadequate.

I guess all the scientists weren't kidding when they talked about keeping your brain challenged with a variety of new activities to keep it elastic and young. I think I've been driving my brain in the same patterns for awhile now. Doing writing for work, writing my blog and that's about it. I haven't been creative and now I feel like I'm falling short of my potential. My brain is like a record. Start it and it just follows the grooves.

Perhaps it's time to upgrade to a rewritable DVD-R.

HRH

Evolving into an adult

Today was a very exciting day in my life. It was the first time that M and I had guests over to our current apartment for dinner and we were all able to sit at a table and eat like civilized human beings.

Living in a attic apartment creates all kinds of design challenges. The biggest of which has been finding a kitchen table that more than two people can sit at. Inspired by the success that Dooce had in finding a dresser on ebay, I decided to see if I could find a modern kitchen table. Just to get an idea of what was out there. Lo and behold when I typed in "modern kitchen table" I got a table and chair set, inspired or knocked off from the Harry Bertoia wire chair design. It looked perfect.



The glass table would give us a space to eat on, but wouldn't eat up all the visual space in the room, same effect with the wire chairs. Best of all, the seller was based in Toronto and offering local pickup only. Oh and the price. While this was a knock-off, it still would retail for up to $2000. The seller got it for half of that and we got it off the seller for more than half of what he paid. Super score.

After we bought it on ebay, M and Mike drove out there in two cars and collected it for us. Sadly, because life has been crazy, but good busy, we haven't had a chance to actually sit down at our mid-century modern table and see how it works.

So this evening we had Dawn and Chris over for dinner (as their spouses are both out of town), saved them from another night of toast for dinner and had them test everything out.

I am proud to report that the test was a success and, to make it even better, I got to use many of the plates and dining accessories we got from the wedding in the way in which they were intended. On a table, looking lovely.

More and more this house is starting to look like actual adults live in it. It's all rather cool.

Today's sing-a-long song: "When I grow up" by Garbage

HRH

Dangerously inspiring

Every time I see one of the new ads for the Canadian Armed Forces I literally have to restrain myself from jumping off the couch to enlist. Yes I know it's a brilliantly constructed ad, that it's made to look like a video game, but that's not what draws me.

I have admitted before that if I were an inch or two shorter I would have perused a military career (imagine my dismay when I learned that I was too tall to be a fighter pilot, totally oblivious to how hard it can be for anyone of the proper height, let alone a woman to be able to fly jets in the Canadian Air Force). For a long time in my teens I was going to RMC and that was that. But things change with time and research.

I've also toyed with the idea of being a Navy Diver, but floating around a ship wreck on vacation is dramatically different than what that job really entails. Search and rescue also looked pretty cool, but again, another exceptionally hard job.

The challenges of these jobs aside, I mostly lacked a vitally important skill, one my father told me was the reason he left the forces. I'm not particularly good at taking or giving orders. And that is rather key.

My point I guess is that the idea of being in the military has always interested me in some way. Something about it keeps drawing me in, though not enough to actually enlist. We had the RCMP at work awhile back and I swear I almost ran off with them like a kid running off with the circus.

Back to the ad. It isn't the first-person-shooter style of the ad that gets my adrenaline going. It's one brilliant headline and, I think, mission statement that distills what excites me about it all. Fight chaos.

I'm going to try to write this without sounding like a cliche-ma-ton. I think that everyone wants to do something that matters with their life and what matters is intensely personal and subjective. I like having an effect. Carving up a piece of something, sorting it out, making it work, making it better, knowing that I was the one that did that thing. I know I could do that in a greater capacity than I do, but I am what I am and I do what I do, so I try to have an effect in the ways I know how.

At the root of it, I love the idea of making less chaos in the world. Maybe I don't need to be flying through the sky or submerged in the water to do that. It just seems a lot more interesting than fighting chaos through better institutional communication some days.

HRH

Raising the bar

At the gym today I was overcome by a spell of ambition. The probability of wearing a strapless bridesmaids dress increased a great deal this weekend. As such I determined that the state of my arms and shoulders just is not going to do. I still run a few times a week and I'm pretty dedicated to my abdominal workouts, but I have let my work on my arms slide dramatically. I don't really want to have to hold my arms in that "I totally havent' done any arm work, so I'm just going to hold out my arms in an unnatural way" pose for an entire day.

After my run and my ab workout I gathered up my courage and made conversation with the group of guys at the gym who seem to dedicate their workouts to their arms and backs. They're nice guys, not your typical gym jerks, but kind of intimidating because they have arms the size of my thighs. One of them was doing chin ups and I commented that if they wanted a good laugh they should see me try to do one. Remember that one time I was trying to do a chin up in the park and an older women riding a bicycle laughed out loud at my feeble attempts as she passed by.

So, I anted up to the bar and tried to hoist myself up. I managed about a centimetre of height and was pretty much just stuck there, flailing, hearing the woman's laughing echoing in my head. I was trying really hard though and one guy actually grabbed me by the rib cage and hoisted me up so that my chin was level with the bar. He let go and then I managed to hold myself there for a couple of moments, laughing. Partly out of embarassment that I needed to be helped up, partly because it was actually pretty neat to be at that point of a pull up (as I'd never been there before) and partly out of the fact that when you're the size that I am, you're not used to people lifting you. It kind of freaks me out and makes me heart pound in an unhappy way. I always figure that laughing sounds better than screaming.

Once I let myself down the large armed people showed me a bunch of exercises I can do to develop the strength I will need in my arms and back to be able to pull myself up. My gym is part of a hospital, so most of the people using it are involved in medicine somehow. My lesson in upper body development also turned into a lesson in physiology where I learned what parts of my arms and back are responsible for the various parts of the pull up.

Some of the exercises I couldn't do and they told me that actually most people can't do them, as they're really hard, but if I keep trying to do them, I'll be strong soon. I had some respectable first attempts mind you, but I'm just not strong.

You all know that I love plans. As such I have a new one. My plan is to be able to do a pull up by September. M thinks that I'm going to have to develop really big arms muscles for this. But I honestly can't see my arms being anything but chicken flabby. Guess we'll see in September.

HRH

The owls won't see us in here

On Sunday I decided that action would be the best solution for fighting off the SAD. SO while M was out freezing his tail off looking for owls, I threw on season 1 of Twin Peaks (saw some owls of my own - the owls are not what they seem) and painted a nature scene on the canvas that as sat blank in my living room for the last three years.

(Aside: Every time I watch Twin Peaks it strikes me just how much I completely adored that show and what an indelible impact it made on me)

I then baked a pie for the first time in my life. From scratch. Crust, everything. It was a pumpkin pie. My family's much renowned pumpkin pie recipe, hand written out for me by my grandmother. And while I ended up making the crust twice because I rolled out the first one too much and because I didn't have powdered ginger or powdered cloves and instead used whole ones (doh), it wasn't perfect. The crust was really good, but the filling wasn't quite right. Edible, yes, but not amazing.

Still painting and baking are much healthier uses of my weekend time than sitting on the couch feeling crappy. And maybe, with practice, I will one day be able to make a pie that will be worthy of a place in pie heaven with the ones from the Double R diner.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Dance of the dream man" by Angelo Badalamenti

HRH

Glamour and Glitter, Fashion and Fame

In the line up at Starbucks a colleague of mine confessed that she'd be spending a lot of time on YouTube recently, watching episodes of Jem. My reaction to this was delight in knowing that I could see the cartoon that shaped my girly psyche (for better or worse) and also dismay that I could see the cartoon that shaped my girly psyche (for better or worse).

Like most girls of my time I LOVED Jem. Loved the hell out of it. Whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was almost 100 per cent of the time "singer." Who ever thought up the show was a frickin' genius. I'm sure my entire family was scarred for life by my repeated (aka perpetual) listenings to the tapes that came with Jem dolls.

After a conversation with Tash (one who totally surpasses me in diehard Jem fandom) today, I decided to have a look at the shows. Would they live up to what they are in my memories? The plots themselves are terrible, the animation dated, but one thing continued to strike a cord with me; the Jem music videos.

They were each about a minute and a half long, silly as all get out but completely awesome. I managed to find my favourite one, from the episode "Stiches" where Jem and the band are trying to inspire their drummer Shana (also their clothing designer) to create something amazing. The result The Mood I'm in:



Oh it makes me want to dye my hair pink. Bless you YouTube.

Update: It would be unfair if I didn't unclude my favourite Misfits song as well, We're off and runnin'.

Today's sing-a-long song: "The Jem Theme Song" by Jem and The Holograms.

HRH

Finely filtered

Geez! We're well into December and I'm just getting around to the first blog of the month now. Something is truly amiss. I don't know why, but I haven't had a lot to say for awhile. Blog posts occur to me only when I am as far away from my computer as time and space allows. It would be really lame to have this fizzle out when I'm a mere six months away from this blog being a whole five years old.

I suppose because I've been at this for some time, I'm less inclined to just blather about all the things I've blathered about before. I suppose I could talk about all the cooking I've been into of late, or how I find it perpetually annoying that hand lotion bottles always develop a crust around the spout and I invariably cover myself in hand cream when I try to use force to get it out of the way. I mean, isn't that just the most fascinating thing EVER.

Indeed, I could regale the public about my latent fears of pregnancy and home ownership (though both seem to be ultimately positive and inevitable things), my growing problem with buying clothing at Lululemon, how I'm trying to learn all the choreography to the Thriller video, about my recent experiments (and total failure) in do it yourself home hair glossing, how totally fucking gorgeous the Christmas tree is this year and how I could actually send out the wedding thank you cards if my husband would just finally print the darn labels.

Stuff is going on. I'm good. We should really get together for tea sometime. I'm finding the Chelsea show is better in person these days than online.

Today's sing-a-long song: "I don't feel like dancing" by the Scissor Sisters

Preamble

Does it strike anyone else as strange that you have to do so much work in order to be able to take time off of work? And not just the work you work so hard for the money for, but everyday house and life work.

Ahh well. At least I had a lovely Thanksgiving weekend with my parents. On Saturday, I flew a plane (with my father's aid and supervision) and drove a boat! If only every day could be filled with such amusements.

One day, when I finally find that mountain money that will enable me to do what I really want to do in life, my pilot's license is way up there on the list. Way up there.

Until then, I will consider myself very fortunate to have a father that will take me up whenever I'm home to visit. It's funny how you never truly appreciate how cool your parents are until you're largely independent of them... and I thought mine were pretty cool back in the day.

Today's sing-a-long song: "Learn to Fly" by The Foo Fighters

HRH