Nothing quite embodies my childhood like the Peanut’s Christmas and Halloween specials. Linus believed in the Great Pumpkin and Charlie Brown believed in the frail Christmas tree…even when no one believed in them. I love the simplicity of the drawings, the repetition of music, and that every time I watch them, they feel new. Then, the other night I was flipping channels and saw a documentary on Charles Schulz and how he was a man who never grew up, was a stifling husband, distant to his children, sarcastic and not very nice. What you just heard was my bubble bursting. How is it that something so innocent and beautiful can come from a man who was a lousy husband and father? I guess we all have our shitty sides…yet good things come of all of us…but SNOOPY?!!!
It’s odd how people who are REALLY good at something usually REALLY suck at other things. Van Gogh was good at painting but lousy at keeping his ears attached to his head. Rodman was excellent at rebounding but exhibited/exhibits extremely poor fashion judgment. Einstein was brilliant but had such bad hair. Clinton was good with the saxophone and sucky (probably literally) at keeping his man parts to himself. Santa brings joy to the world but probably sweats and breathes very heavily when it comes to physical exercise. Martha is very good at everything, except not cheating. Many people who are extremely successful in their careers are train wrecks when it comes to home life. There have been many deeply troubled musicians who had incredible impacts on the world through their short lives and deaths. Highly successful/rich actors and actresses are notoriously flaky when it comes to marriage. Extreme bad and extreme good seem hand in hand…
Forget excelling…from now on I’m going to try to be just ‘pretty good’ at stuff.
Today I had an unexpected day off. I was ‘on call’. The reason being, there is one single solitary inpatient. Our census fluctuates quite a bit, usually hovering between busy and busier; this is the lowest I’ve seen it since I got here. On my last night shift we were all sitting around reading - there were three of us to take care of two patients. Talk about great patient-nurse ratios! However, I will say that things get missed when there’s nothing to do. Funny how that works…
After going back to bed and sleeping a few more hours, I went grocery shopping. I wore one of my new sweaters (bought some great winter-wear in Calgary last week) and had my hair up in a headband. And if I do say so myself, I looked cute. (Honey it’s too bad you’re still in Calgary, I looked goooood). First I went into the ‘walmart-ish’ section of Northmart (now this is a stretch because nothing compares to Wallyworld…right mom?) to locate some hangers and take a boo at the housewares. Turns out there were a few GREATLY reduced items - even cheaper than at home…but with inches of dust on the boxes (does pyrex go bad?). I brought ONE pyrex baking dish with me thinking I should give simplicity a try. In the future…simplicity doesn’t count when it comes to kitchen or wardrobe. Everything else, fine. Anyway, there was a great 10 piece set of pyrex (five dishes five lids) for ten bucks. A steal. Done.
All the while, this one local dude kept showing up in my aisle…and at the carts…in the tool aisle…and finally at the cash register. At one point our paths crossed and he uttered a nervous ‘hi’ but he was walking so fast that by time I looked up he was past me. Note to single guys trying to talk to a girl…it’s obvious.
After I checked out, ready to go to the grocery side, another local (much older…and more intoxicated) recognized me from the summer. He was one of the dudes who sat, day in and day out, on a small deck by the main street sucking back the booze all day and night. Pretty funny to walk past every day…at least for the first week. They say the oddest things ‘hey I want to cook you a fish’ (Northern pick-up line???) or ‘you’re awful’….unnaturally long pause….’pretty’. He tried the same fish line then wanted money for cigarettes. Um no thanks but have a nice day.
After I finish my shopping and have way too many heavy cans to walk home, I call a cab. Waiting at the back of the Northmart, a group of teenage boys pass by and I get whistled at…with eye contact and everything! Back when I was 13 no one had the balls to whistle at a woman! Either my generation needed to grow a pair or this one needs to take a cold shower. Perhaps both…
Honey you better come home soon, I’ve got some solid prospects up here. I’m thinking the drunk is the best shot - at least he can cook me fish.
Fun words add spice to otherwise bland conversation. I’ve been trying to keep my ears open for wacky additions to my vocabulary over the past months for this reason. Distinctive words make the difference between coffee with milk and coffee with a jigger of Bailey’s. After my first years of university I felt as though my mental state was in a slow decline…I’m pretty sure I USED to sound smart. Now I stutter and confuse my tenses. More often than not I can’t think of the word I want to use. Blaming my inarticulate moments on mini strokes isn’t working anymore (sad, because it also doubled as an excuse for my unimpressive limb strength).
I surmise that at 25, it’s all downhill from here. My intellectual peak will be book-ended by two ‘goo-goo/gah-gah’ phases (one in infancy…the second, invariably, is where I am headed now). In light of this terrifying evidence, I vowed to listen to the CBC more often and to read more. My mood improved slightly at the prospect that I may have the ability to control the speed of my descent. Nevertheless, I wonder if Harry Potter (my current reading selection) will compliment my lacking linguistic options. Likely not…but perhaps these books will, at least, wake up that part of my mind, long napping, that controls creative speech.
Further, I try to spend time with smart people and improve my vocabulary through conversation… convermosis… speakmosis? External support is necessary to make these important changes stick. Accountability is key.
And truly, there is no better locale for making self improvements than the Arctic (in the winter) where there is little more to do than obsess over details on gelid days where snow and wind keep even the keenest indoors.
Hore frost. A captivating addition to my Southern Ontario repertoire of weather phenomena. The day I flew in from Calgary the trees and bushes were coated with what looked to be snow. I imagined a glue and feathers process by which the snow stuck to the bark. The Arctic landscape was transformed and I stood in an ocean’s reef. Sparkling white corals grew from the frosty ground everywhere I looked. Nighttime made the scene especially striking. Cherry on top was the green lights out in early morning above the white trees. Even at –18oC I wished my walking commute was longer and led me past more reefy trees.
Funny how I felt the other day going to the mall with two stylish young Calgarians. Them in their leather boots, cute jackets and pretty sweaters, me in my jeans, hiking boots, grubby fleece and backpack…I stopped using a purse months ago, because it just doesn’t hold heavy groceries like a backpack does and if I wore pretty shoes up in Inuvik they’d get caught in some bootgrille and I’d require the volunteer firefighters to rescue me. I suppose I have traded in style for sensibility. I feel a kinship with Pigpen who went about life with a wee dust trail in his wake. Living his life with snappy dressers like Sally and Lucy…or even Snoopy (who had fashion minimalism down to an art form) must have been difficult at times.
Time to shave my legs, refresh the nail polish and work on my hair for longer than five minutes.
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