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Anorexia.

What did you picture when I said that word?  A shrunken version of an average body size?  A runway model?

The word refers to a lack of appetite.  Nothing more, nothing less.  It’s when you tack on the word ‘nervosa’ at the end that the word anorexia refers to a disorder.  ‘Anorexia’ alone is just a symptom.  I am anorexic frequently.  On vacation, that milky looking meat stuff they serve as a buffet dinner option has this effect.  At work, a lovely wound might set me back a minute or two on the tummy grumbles.

Anyway, it bugs me when this word is misused.

Taco vomit.

…now you’re anorexic too.

Yesterday I woke up feeling like Christmas.  Which might sound strange to all of you south of the Arctic Circle.  But there is snow here, lots of it.  It snowed for 36 hour straight and as I worked, I regularly peeked outside to see what kind of snowy merriment I was missing out on.  A problem I intend to fix today with my snowpants and a day off.

Last night while leaving work I was invited to a feast held nightly for the past while in our cafeteria by people who work at the hospital who are celebrating Ramadan.  It was so nice to sit down and try out some Sudanese food…and some Sudanese dessert.  YUM.  Anyone who puts pistachios in their dessert is OK with me.  Anyway, I learned a few things, and ended up walking home stuffed (and sufficiently spiced).  Outside, I snapped this picture of the visitors center across from IRH and took a leisurely walk home walking through the crunchy snow.  My ipod was set to a great Eluvium tune and the mood was fantastic.  Hopefully this snow lasts now…I am so tired of mud.

Maybe this weekend I’ll arrange a visit the Arctic Chalet and do some walking with the huskies there.  I’ve only done it in the summer…and am looking forward to some great winter shots with the pups.

There is something about the smell of play dough that takes me back.  I see two little girls with fuzzy blond hair playing in the sunshine.  My sister and I spent a lot of time together in those days (when we weren’t living thousands of kilometers apart).  We had a great time.  Our home sat on a big hill that was big fun in the winter with a crazy carpet strapped to our bums and in the summer provided endless opportunities to plaster our knees with grass stains.  She was the type to save worms from imminent peril and I was the type to get hung my my shirt collar in a small tree.  With her compassion and my goof-ball behavior we made an interesting team.  One always seeing the world from a slightly different angle than the other.  She called me Don because she couldn’t say Becky when she was really little.

Spending plenty of time in the craft room, we created popcicle stick buildings and styrofoam angels until our finger tips were glue-gun burnt.  Then we’d play house in the play room wearing old clothes our mom and grandmother had used decades prior.  It’s amazing how much time children can spend lost in a dream world; dinner always came so soon.  We had a swing set out the back - in front of the picture window where grandma would sit and watch us play.  When we were tired of climbing and swinging, we’d play in the sand pit.  Undeterred by kitty poop, we’d build sand cities with working waterways and plant life (sticks doubled for trees and gave the sandy landscape some much-needed dimension).

A mullberry bush that had grown into a small tree was the only deciduous tree in the long line of pines that seperated our property from the neighbours - and was an easy climb.  It was the only tree on our property small enough to get into.  We spent hours in it.  Once, I managed to slide down the trunk and give myself a ginormous (think wood chip) sliver in one of my butt cheeks.  Later, I recall leaning on the hamper in my parents bathroom as dad removed it.

I remember my grandparent’s cottage and the mint green chairs.  I remember making my sister pretend she was my evil sidekick as I practiced science in the sand by the dock and called myself ‘blood vessel’ until she cried (clearly not realizing she was full of them).  I remember looking back at my dad on the dusty road and realizing I was riding my bike on my own for the first time.

I remember eating merengue from the oven and sitting outside on the deck wrapped in blankets from the living room awaiting long-weekend fireworks.  I remember Leah getting her round brush caught in her hair on the bus ride home one day.  I remember mom losing it trying to pry it out of her fuzzy curls.  I remember grandma throwing rocks at the squirrels who tried to eat the bird food out back.  I remember dad losing it when he cut the grass back there and ended up cutting rocks.

I remember the dramas of childhood; friends coming into my life as fast as they left it.  I remember kitten heels, crushes and graduation songs; the simple becoming a little more complex as each year passed.

But it can’t be that bad.  Because all it takes is a bit of play dough and I’m back on the hill chasing after my sister with my magic fairy wand.