we are all settled in. lovely house. my computer is set up and running now, I'm always the last because I don't squeak as much as everyone else. my desk was being used to hold all the pictures that needed hanging, but we hung them Christmas Eve and then I could set up my computer. I have a corner in the dining room, with all my frogs and my pictures, I feel very at home here.

pictures coming. really.

I got a whole bunch more work in the mail today, recorded interviews from a recent murder, a recent armed robbery and subsequent standoff, and something new -- a cold case from 20 years ago! So I should be busy with that for a month or so.

Tomorrow we move! I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. One of the stumbling blocks is that we have to move ALL the food we ordered and had brought up on the barge. We have a room full of food. At least it's warm today, only minus 12, but we've only got about an hour or so of semi-daylight every day, so it will be a dark move. As we're moving into a single-family house (this is a fiveplex we currently live in) we will have to be more careful about the water and sewage. Permafrost makes underground water pipes impractical, so water is delivered by truck and stored in an inside tank, on the ground floor. Sewage is stored in a tank, usually in the same room, and pumped out by different trucks. We don't notice this in our current house, but I know that places I have worked and visited run out of water regularly with an ordinary-sized tank.

The garbage has leaked all over the kitchen floor. One of the dogs climbed on the table and strewed sugar all over the dining room. Packed and half-packed boxes are everywhere, and the kids keep wanting things that I've already packed. Miguel has gone to one of the other Kitikmeot communities, to work. At the moment, Roli is hiding under my legs and Joeby's trying to wrestle with him. I took Joeby out after he had his supper, and he spent the whole time digging something up on the tundra and then eating it. Don't know what, but I guess he thought it was tasty. So he'll probably be sick later. I have all the fun.

This post is really just to test the beta thing. I don't trust it...

It’s funny how we fill our lives.

When I first moved here, I felt as if I had gobs and gobs of free time. I had no commitments, nobody ever phoned me, and when I wasn’t working I could please myself.

It started slowly. I took Rachel to enrol her in Cubs, at the urging of my neighbour, and got talked into helping as a leader. So that’s Tuesday night every week, plus a planning meeting (where we giggle a lot and don’t plan very much) about once a month.

Rachel began sleeping over at one particular friend’s house every Friday night, and when I went to drop her off I would be invited in. Now I’m pretty much expected, over there, for ‘tea’ every Friday night.

When the man who cleaned the detachment left the community, I agreed to clean the detachment for a while. My boss was going on holiday, and didn’t want to deal with the lack of cleaning staff until he got back. When it went out for tender, I bid on the contract and got it. So now I’m committed to that. Which means I have to, when I’m working somewhere else as I am at the moment, either get up early or go in there after supper and clean bathrooms, wash floors etc.

I went for ‘tea’ one Friday night a few weeks ago, (and there was brandy, I think) and after two glasses I was persuaded to allow my name to be put forward for the District Education Authority. They needed seven members, seven of us let our names stand, and we were acclaimed. I should mention that I have a very hazy idea of what the DEA does-- but I guess I'm about to find out. I know that there are issues that need to be addressed in this town, but I don't know how much power we will have to make any changes.

And church. I have mentioned this before, the fact that since the minister left and the congregation’s been doing a lay-reader rotation, I’ve been a regular attendee. And then we all go for coffee afterwards. And today we finished coffee at one lady’s house and then went to another lady’s house for her Christmas Open House.

I can’t sleep tonight. The staff Christmas party for the detachment was tonight. I think it was really sweet of them to invite me, since (although I do the cleaning/ guarding/ transcribing) I had to relinquish the clerk job when the maternity leave girl came back. I ate too much. (It was all so good!) And now my stomach won’t let me lie down.

I accomplished a lot of packing this weekend. A bit too much, I think, given that we still have 10 days or so to live in this house. When I went to wrap the Christmas gift I was taking to the staff party I realized I had packed all the scotchtape, and had to rummage around in boxes looking for it. The kids have packed a lot of their stuff too, Ian didn’t get up this morning, because he’s packed his alarm clock.

We're packing. Our mortgage was approved, and if all the stars align there will be an exodus from this townhouse on the 15th of December. So, if things are a bit sparse on this weblog for a week or two, you will forgive me. I'm working very hard at the post office, too. (Dear Readers, we need to reconsider the idea of Christmas cards. Please.)

Rachel had a wonderful time in Disneyworld. But she's glad to be home, and we're happy to have her home. I missed her terribly...

I'm frightened of the new Blogger version. I think it will lose all my posts, somehow, or refuse to let me back in to put up new ones. I think it plots against me. I think the Blogger people are laughing behind their hands, waiting for me to fall for their evil scheme.

I've been out. There was wine. I'm home now. I should go to bed.

4000 pounds of mail arrived at the post office yesterday (where I currently work). I want my old job back. That's more than three pounds of mail for each man woman and child in town. There's probably mail for the dogs in there. I can't even begin to describe the amount of work I did today. (But in some ways it's satisfying. I like to restore order from chaos.)

When I was in high school, I wanted to be a vet. (And I knew who I was going to marry, and I'm 0 for 2). Life takes me strange places. I acknowledge that there are choices I didn't make. And choices I did. But I also would not take back ANYTHING that I've ever done. I cherish my memories. We were discussing that movie, the one where the machine takes away the memories -- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I would not want that done.

did I mention there was wine? maybe I did...

Joeby and Roli like each other. Joeby likes having someone to play with, they wrestle a lot. Roli's whole head fits in Joeby's mouth, a game they both enjoy, and in consequence Roli is often quite damp with Joeby-drool.

Rachel is at Disneyworld. I miss her terribly, but it sounds like they are having a fantastic time. So far the highlight of her trip has been meeting Tigger. Closely followed by the log and water ride that gets everyone soaked.

Kirsten baked me a cake for my birthday. Last year the cake the kids made me fell apart when they tried to get it out of the pan, so it ended up as a free-form glob covered in icing. This year it rose funny, all on one side, for some reason, but was very tasty.

We had a blizzard yesterday. Raging winds and blowing snow, I stayed home, did a bit of packing, all our spring jackets that we won't be needing again before we move, and did a jigsaw puzzle with Kirsten. Then we went to Patti's house, she made supper for my birthday and we sat around all evening and talked. A nice birthday, all in all.

Ed wonders: "how do you seem to have bought a house? Isn't that a little like being half pregnant?"

Well. We have made an offer. The offer has been accepted. The bank says we can have a mortgage, but the papers haven't come back yet as 'approved'. Then it has to go to Land Titles. So, in theory we have bought a house. In practice, we'll see. It's nice, though, four bedrooms and a view of the bay.

Things this weekend.

1. We seem to have bought a house. More about this later.
2. Roli ate Kirsten's Skype headset. Narrowly escaped with his life.
3. My grannie has been released from the nursing home, but is so confused now that she keeps asking my aunt when she can go home. My aunt keeps patiently explaining that she is home.
4. The bishop was in town. So we had communion.
5. The heat is working again in the church. Which means that all the flies dormant in the walls woke up, flew around, and died on the floor.

(Else, if thou wilt not let my people go, behold, I will send swarms of flies upon thee, and upon thy servants, and upon thy people, and into thy houses: and the houses of the Egyptians shall be full of swarms of flies, and also the ground whereon they are. Exodus 8:21)

This necessitated the ceremonial Vacuuming of the Flies in the three minutes prior to the service. Kirsten felt we should perhaps be standing for that.

6. Rachel leaves for Florida on Tuesday, so she's in a state of high anticipation.
7. We took the snowmobile across the bay, Ian fell off the komatik and we had to go back for him, and later we were chased by a pack of loose dogs.

This week, I've been working at the Post Office. I think I need a t-shirt that says "JobSlut". To recap, since August 2005 I have been:

Wellness workshop facilitator
Women's shelter worker
Materials management clerk
Health records clerk
Police clerk
Interview transcriptionist
Lockup guard
Custodian
Social Work instructor
and now postal clerk.

Good thing they didn't want a resume. It's kind of a mess. I don't know if this with the post office is anything even remotely permanent. The post office was closed earlier this week due to a general lack of staff, and the lady I worked for at the health centre told the postal people that I might be interested.

One thing about this, though, I've not had too many dull moments since I've been here. I should add that I'm still on call for guarding, I'm still cleaning the detachment, and I've still got ongoing transcription work. (sleep is nice too. sometimes I get a bit of that.)

So I went to the library today to tell the librarian that Roli ate a book. She just laughed, and said, "That's so cool that you told me, do you know how many people would just not say anything, and then when I asked, pretend they lost it?"

We drove off up the river today on the snowmobile, to our cabin. The drive was frosty, and the cabin even more so when we got there. For a while on the way back my mind was empty, as we followed the track and the land melded with the sky.

Today is Ian's birthday. He's thirteen. Hard to believe. He's a good two or three inches taller than me, and still growing madly. At the moment, about an inch a month, which I wouldn't think possible if I wasn't living with him. He goes off to school in the morning and comes back taller in the evening. Ok, maybe that's an exaggeration. But you get the idea.

Roli, the newest member of the household, is settling in. He ate a library book, for some reason, yesterday morning while I was at work. I'm thinking of taking in the picture I took of him, to show the nice librarian lady. Here's my new dog. Isn't he cute. Here's what's left of the book he ate. It wasn't a very good book, anyway. One of those that looks good on the cover but turns out to be horribly written. I don't even think it was that tasty, because Roli didn't finish it either.

Yesterday:

I went to my friend Patti's for coffee after church, and backed into a mini-van parked downhill from me in her driveway. Horrible scraping sounds, I swear (I've got a truck full of kids, mine and some others) and hop out. Kids all hop out too. We find that in fact I have not at all damaged the mini-van, and the alarming white scrape is DIRT that RUBS OFF. I am not joking. There is still a bit of a scratch. I go inside to tell the owner, I'm SO sorry, I just ran into your van, and she just laughs!

I agreed, after a 4pm phone call, to go into work at midnight. I dutifully nap in the evening and go in to work -- at which point I am greeted by someone else who was called in, because nobody told the evening shift guy that I'd said I'd do the midnight! I said to him, so what do we do now? He said, happy guy, Oh, I'll stay. You go home. So I did. Slept through the night and went in to work a dayshift after a 7am call. Much nicer.

(I don't know. I'm thinking all this luck can't last...)

This is Roli. His owners are away a lot, and he's lonely. So he's come to live with us. He's almost eight months old, he's housetrained and cratetrained, and pretty well-mannered other than he's a bit humpy with Joeby, being au naturel and in need of neutering soon.

I really wasn't intending to get another dog. I don't want to replace Jazz. But at the moment it doesn't feel like that. Cos Roli's his own dog...

On the radio, while I was at work:

"Terry Waite was a special envoy to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who worked as a hostage negotiator until he himself was taken captive and spent almost five years as a hostage. This Sunday on Tapestry, Mary Hynes talks with Terry Waite about how he survived it all."

He was talking about how in times of crisis your body has reserves you aren't aware of, that it continues to go on long after you think it should just stop.

He told Mary Hynes, when she asked him what his ordeal did to his faith, "My faith has been exposed for what it is -- uncertain, questioning, vulnerable."

He also said that his contact with his captors taught him that: "I was probably fairly narrow in my understanding of faith."

He said he learnt that one of the most difficult things is how to live creatively - with people of different backgrounds, and to find a common source.

The interviewer moved on to the question: How can A GOD allow all this?

He didn't seem to have issues around this. Amazingly, he asked her, "How do you view your own responsibility? Have you been a kid too long?"

Near the end of the piece, Mary asked him if he would contribute a song to her informal poll. She's been asking those she interviews, mostly on spiritual topics, to name a song that has touched them in some spiritual way. Waite said, very quickly, "Please Release Me." And sang a few bars.

Then he said no, he was just kidding, and picked, and I was very surprised: A Whiter Shade of Pale. Which has been, since I was about 16, one of my enduringly favourite songs. He explained his choice by saying that there's Bach in the background, and so I went looking for that, but it turns out it's only inspired by Bach. Or so Wikipedia says. (And you may know I have issues with Wikipedia, since they tried to ban me as a 'possible sock puppet')

Do I have any faith? I don't know. I think if I do, it's more than vulnerable. What do I believe? Certainly I know I err on the side of personal responsibility... And yeah, different backgrounds can be difficult. That the faith of another makes sense in their context, even if that context seems fake or contrived to me. Is the outward expression of grief ever not sentimental?

So many things that happen to me at the moment, I can't talk about. Not that I'm trying to be coy, or anything, but I can't discuss what happens at work. And I wish I could, because some of it is very emotional. It was court week this week, and we had folk on remand staying the week. Usually the lockup is just drunks or mentally unbalanced folk. Not much in the way of conversation. I'll never understand drunk people. I mean, if I've already said no you can't have any coffee until you're sober, and then you start insulting me (I get a lot of racial/sexual slurs) do you really think I'm going to go, "Oh, dear, I'd better give you coffee so you stop calling me names." I know the Innuinaqtuin for stupid white chick. So don't think you're fooling me with that either. I also know most of the names for sexual organs.

Anyway. This week, with regular sober folk, I actually had some conversations, and felt like I was actually doing something useful. At 4 o'clock the other morning, before a couple of them were due to appear in court, I was listening to their anxieties...

What I'm saying, I guess, is that it feels strange to be writing a blog that can't really reflect what I'm doing. When I was running the lottery booth, I used to be able to report on my strange happenings. But not now.

I'm so jealous.

Well, not so much as a regular thing, but certainly right now. I'm jealous of the young blonde pretty girl who has blithely reclaimed her job after maternity leave. I don't think she appreciates how good she has it. But, then again, maybe that's just me being old and petty. Because I feel old and petty. It doesn't matter that I've been approached about three or four other jobs. I want her job. I feel like a vulture. And I can't shake the feeling that somehow life is not being FAIR to me. Grmph.

On a brighter note, the class I'm teaching has been superb. I've had a wonderful time debating group theories and practices with them. Trying to come up with enough material to challenge them without overwhelming them. Too much fun.

Last weekend we bought a cabin. Out by Mount Pelly. So, if any of you want to come and visit, we can retire to the edge of civilization and hide. Come north. We'll fish. Or we'll just sit on the porch and watch the lake. (We have a porch! Near a lake!)

caribou, you may be happy to hear, possess effective cloaking devices. this according to my son who went hunting with Miguel and his friends today.

Sometimes I rise to the occasion.

I'm teaching -- a class in group counselling -- and enjoying every minute of it.

My head is spinning, though, because I had to design the course in three days, to last over nine full days of school (ending next Friday). Plus I have racked up full-time guard hours over the last week. I worked a midnight guard shift starting Friday at midnight after a full day of work at the college, and by Saturday morning things were very surreal.

Cubs tonight. We're making yarn turkeys. Thanksgiving was yesterday... turkeys are still topical, I think. Perhaps we could say we're making them early for US thanksgiving?

A funny thing -- used the word postmodernist today, and had to explain it to the class. It gives me a good starting point in undercutting the whole of the textbook...

Went to church today. It happens occasionally, when I don't do a night shift Saturday night or a day shift on Sunday. Rachel is a regular attender, she enjoys the Sunday School. She remembers her verses and feels very holy.

The bored minister has gone back down south, and so the congregation is taking turns to lead the service. We don't do communion, because we're all layfolk, but it's fun anyway. Somehow we are released from the need to be pious and attentive. The person doing the sermon today talked about Hell and Lazarus. And we all giggled a bit.

I've been away for ten days. Went to see my brother and his wife, and my mom and dad. This was tiring. But I went to see Snakes on a Plane. By far the high point of the whole holiday.

But I'm back now. To my motley collection of jobs (detachment custodian, lockup guard, statement transcriber) I will possibly be adding 'teacher'. I have to go tomorrow and meet a lady at the college who says she might have a course in group counselling for me to to teach.

Joeby is blowing spit bubbles. Rachel is wearing my new shoes. Ian's crunching Werthers and Miguel is yelling at him, because he can't hear the television program he's trying to watch. Kirsten is singing to her IPod and doing her homework. It's good to be home.

FarNorth Lockup Blues

4am witness statements and
instant coffee, he said
it's over and I tried to
give him back his
ring

drunks are snoring until
woken by coffee and
the arrival of those who
work in the
day

can I have a cup of
water and a blanket, needs
are few in the dark
and then he banged my
head on the steps and
I said grow up,
baby

a drunk with a few teeth
says he'll meet me at
the Lodge for lunch.

Sometimes my hand is shaken
sometimes, hugs.
cleaning cells I find my name
in one handwriting
and 'bitch'
in another
and I know it's a boy
who I wouldn't let
have a smoke

soon, snow. soon, darkness
one day I won't smell of cheap vodka
and unwashed blankets
I'll be asleep at 4 am, without the
voices in my head, and there will
be no instant coffee, no news
in Inuktitut.
Mamiana. such a shame

My neighbour's dog, Kaylar, died this week. The vet consulted on the phone said "deathly ill. probably dying". After some discussion, (her husband is out of town and I was being surrogate spouse, I think) we decided to end the poor dog's suffering humanely. I have dogsat her on occasion, the last time for five weeks, and I've seen her go downhill over the last few months. The vet said, liver failure. Poor sweetie.

thus, at 9pm on Monday night, another friend and I were out trying to dig a hole in the tundra (permafrost's not that far down...) and joking around about Six Feet Under. We buried Kaylar out near where Jazzy's ashes are, but Kaylar's in the valley behind the hill and Jazzy's up top.

Can't resist the urge... turns out it's Red Rider I want to listen to over and over.

I had you and my poetry to protect me
We were so much younger then

Well, things change.

Now I am a full-time lockup guard. Freak me green and call me frog.....

I can't say this is my favorite way to spend time. But in some ways, it's like being the night desk clerk at a very strange hotel. Like the Hotel California, you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. I sit and amuse myself while drunks sleep in the cells. The regulars know my name now. I even found my name in dispatches on the cell walls -- apparently I'm a bitch. I know who wrote that, though, and it was a young man who was trying to convince me that having a cigarette would be a good idea. I disagreed. Especially since it sets off all the fire alarms if I let people smoke in the cells...

I'm fighting the urge to listen to the same songs over and over again. It seems that that is the doorway to manic. Either it's a symptom or it's a cause, but either way listening to OUTKAST doing "Roses" or whatever repeatedly seems to trigger something. I suspect that all of it revolves around lack of sleep but I have no proof....

I'm off tonight. I called (I'm so STUPID sometimes) and volunteered to go in at 6 am . don't ask me why... All I know is that *I* like it when I know when I'm going to be able to go home, so I called and told the person who's working right now that I'd be in at 6...

Apologies for absence. I had not intended the quote from Gnarls to be the only entry last time, but the planned sequel didn't get done.

I've barely been home since the afternoon of the eighteenth. Miguel said to me on the phone today (while I was down in the guardroom yet again) "These long-distance relationships are hard." At this particular moment I should be phoning my mother and responding to emails, but I feel a need to explain my silence.

On the afternoon of the eighteenth of August, I took a call at work. For this. Some calls stop your blood from circulating. I think I handled it ok. The aftermath was time consuming. Somehow I found myself sitting in the morgue for 18 hours guarding the body, and then doing overtime guarding the suspect over the next few days. The paperwork was immense, and Major Crimes were here, big burly guys using our office space.

However, the upshot was that Major Crimes needs someone to transcribe all the interviews they conducted in town while they were here. As in all small towns, I imagine, everyone knew something and wanted to talk about it. So I'm going to be doing that over the next few weeks. The lady I was replacing came back to work this week, too. I found that hard, to give up the job, but it's all done now. And this weekend, due to a guard shortage, I've been working midnights. And while all this has been going on, I've been ill, first with a cold contracted in the draughty morgue, and then yesterday with a killer flu.

So. Crazy, yes. But it's a good kind of crazy.

I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind
There was something so pleasant about that phase.

I am enjoying my new camera. It is allowing me to chronicle the oddities of the north. Such as this. I'm wondering who decided that this sign was needed, and why?

Other people have laptop problems. In fact, according to CBC, who we all know to be a bastion of truth and non-sensationalism, it is the Summer of the Exploding Laptop.

In other news, today I met a wonderful man. So wonderful that I invited him to dinner on the spur of the moment and then had to explain what I'd done... to Miguel. I also offered to lend my boss' daughter our truck to take her drivers license test in, and I forgot to tell Miguel that, so he was a bit surprised when she showed up to get the keys.

I digress. The man I invited to dinner has been canoeing solo in the Back/Baillie/Aramark river system since July 1st. Some of my neighbours are canoeing enthusiasts, and so I invited Bob the canoe man, three neighbours, and two of their children. Suddenly we were eleven for dinner.

I should really start at the beginning, because Bob is an amazing man. In June, I received a letter at work informing me of his trip. I sent back an email, asking for his date of birth, and when the email was answered, by his wife, she told me he was born in 1936! So there's a seventy year old man out canoeing around in the middle of nowhere... Yesterday he phoned me on his satellite phone, from somewhere up the coast, because he was trying to reach people to come and pick him up, he was done. I was a bit worried, because one of the outfits he was trying to phone called me, too, and asked me if I knew what he wanted. I made a call in the afternoon to make sure that someone had in fact gone to get him. They had.

Bob came to check in with me this morning, in person, as he had promised in his letter, and I was instantly enthralled. I could have sat there all day listening to him. My boss was bugging me, after he left, saying, "Are you in the habit of inviting total strangers to dinner??? He could be an axe murderer." (Policemen can be soooo cynical...).

But it was a fantastic dinner, lots of great stories and my neighbours were just as enthralled as I was. Too much fun.

I've only got just over two weeks of work left. I'm sad about that. They will continue to employ me, as a guard, and probably to do the cleaning, but I won't get to do all the fun stuff I have been doing. We're very busy right now because of this... and other midnight activities of the more adult variety.

I worked all weekend. Not on purpose, so much, as I went on Saturday at lunch time to wash the floor in the main building (Friday was a muddy day... when it rains in this place the mud is like concrete) and was met by a panicked guard who had been working since 4am and REALLY wanted to go home. Her relief had failed to show. I arranged for someone else to come in at 4, the next shift change, and he stood me up too. So by the time I got home I'd been away for almost nine hours. The problem with doing impromptu guard shifts, that I've found in the past, is that you are stuck either reading old Reader's Digests or watching the one channel on the television. All the drunks in the tank were sleeping, so no entertainment there. I like it better when I know I'm going and I can take my writing or reading or crocheting. Or all three, in case my mood changes halfway through.

Well, my laptop is still limping along. However, Miguel brought me a beautiful digital camera back from his trip. I've never had a digital camera. Haven't even had an old-fangled camera since before the kids were born.

My laptop is dying. About every third time I start it up, it just goes through the motions but won't let me do anything. It gives me the desktop and all, but the icons are just pretty pictures, can't click on 'em. And yesterday Mozilla disposed of all my bookmarks. Argh.

It is HOT here. 22 degrees today. Not very Arctic, as such.

The National is here today. A helicopter buzzed me while Joeby and I were walking on the tundra. My neighbour is hoping we'll be on tv.

Yesterday I went off up the coast by myself. Drove the ATV up to Long Point and fished for a while. Didn't catch anything, as usual. But it was a beautiful afternoon, just enough of a breeze left over from our windstorm to keep the bugs away. So I sat on the beach with my thermos of tea for quite a while, thinking about things. The sky was blue, the water was choppy, and I saw a herd of muskox on my way back.

Today Joeby and I went for a walk on the tundra. He went swimming. I didn't. He's tired tonight. And jealous. The dog from next door is staying with us. She's very quiet, and no trouble other than a bit of nervous peeing on the rug, but Joeby seems to be feeling a need to be right next to me at all times to ensure his favoured dog status. It's funny, because I thought he missed Jazzy, and would be happier if we got another dog, but I'm beginning to think that wouldn't actually be the case. He has settled in to his only dog life.

It's been ten days that Miguel and the kids have been away. I've enjoyed the solitude, but I'll be happy when they're home. Not for another week, however. A week tomorrow. I haven't seen Ian for quite a while, as he was at cadet camp before they went on holiday. I'm looking forward to hearing all his adventures, and Kirsten's from her trip to Ohio. I think I'm starting to get a bit bored. Good thing I've got to go to work tomorrow.

One big factor in my boredom is the fact that I tried to go to the library AGAIN today and it was closed. I wish they'd just give me a key. I swear I'm the only person who takes out books with any regularity. Sometimes I come in to return books and put them in the box right on top of the last books I returned.

It looks like I'll be working until the end of August, anyway. After that, who knows. I'm going to miss it. Best job I ever had....

It's like this. Ed linked to an article about being bored by kids.

I've read the article twice, and gone through a fair number of the attached comments, and I think I've got some things to say.

I was bored by some of the more tedious bits of child-rearing when my kids were younger. The videos that got played over and over. The Berenstain Bears. Hated those books, they are so saccharine, but my kids loved them and I was forced to read them out loud. And my girls always wanted me to play Barbies.

Rachel and I (she's 11) went to babysit for a friend of mine recently. We were watching Terra (she's 3). Rachel was really doing the babysitting, but it was her first time, so I went along to provide moral support. Rachel was in the bedroom playing Barbies with Terra, and I was watching TV, and after about an hour she came out and said to me, "Mum, you go play with her. I can't any more." I sprawled on the floor as best I could with Terra, and played Barbies. It was fine, because I knew it was only for an hour or so. But I remembered the endless appetite of three-year-olds for your time. How they'd suck it all if you let them. Which I often did. Because I loved them. But Barbies, seriously, they get boring. Their stupid little clothes that don't fit over their pointy hands. Slutty clothes. On their cold plastic bodies. And the games that get played consist mostly of a running commentary from the girl 'playing', while I put different clothes on them. "Barbie's going to a dance. She needs her purple gown. Now she's going to the beach. She needs her bathing suit."

When we got home, I said to Rachel, "So. When I say I'm done playing and I go do something else, is it because I don't love you?" She replied, "NO, it's because you're getting bored."

Watching kids do sports can be boring, too. Depending on the sport. Watching a beginners gymnastic class, especially if the kids aren't paying attention, is painful. If it was interesting, on a basic level, we wouldn't bother with major league sports. We'd just show home movies on ESPN. School plays and things like that are good for the three seconds that my offspring are featured, and yawn-making the rest of the time. All the other parents are just there to see their own kids, too. Otherwise the principal wouldn't have had to remind parents not to take off home after their little darlings performed. The last Christmas production I went to, they didn't announce it, and by the time the grade sixes were performing the final song, there were about seven people left in the auditorium. Which tells me that not even all the parents attended in the first place, since there were 20 students in the class.

Ok. So I've said how I agree. But -- there are so many ways kids are not boring. There's Plasticine. I can play with that for days. There's making really messy crafts. We did lots of that. In fact, Rachel and I spent an entire evening last week making crazy collages with the pile of magazines in the living room. And there's poker. And swimming. And reading Roald Dahl out loud. And I LOVED going to the park. That was one thing that kept me sane when they were younger, (I had the three of them in four years) was just getting them out into nature and letting them run around.

I hope the woman who wrote the article is being a bit tongue-in-cheek. I'd like to think that she's not always bored silly by her kids, that she's somehow trying to be ironic, to question the motivation of the sort of people who talk to their kids in silly voices and pretend that everything the kids do is fantastic and interesting. I remember being in the grocery store one time and the cashier said to Ian, in a sickly sweet voice, "Isn't it nice that you're helping Mommy to shop. What a good boy." He was about four, and he turned to me and said, "Why is she talking to me like that? I'm not a dog."

Terra's mom said to me, when Rachel and I were leaving her house the other night, that another friend of ours who has a three-year-old boy, David, had phoned her the day before and said, "You have to bring Terra over. I'm home alone with David and I can't play Spongebob Squarepants for one more minute."

I'm all by myself at home. Miguel and the kids have gone to Edmonton and Nanaimo. And I think I might be out of work again real soon. The lady whose maternity leave I'm filling has decided (I've heard) that she needs to come back to work on Aug. 7th. Which presumably will mean I'll be out of a job. I'm sad, I had a hard time not crying when my boss told me what he'd heard, because I've been thoroughly enjoying the work. And even though I've kept trying to remind myself that it's not 'my' job, I've bonded with it anyway. However, no-one has officially told me that I'm laid off or anything, it's just all office gossip at the moment. Until I see a piece of paper, I'm gonna continue going to work.

We are having a storm. When I took Joeby out on the tundra for a walk, the wind was incredible, I could hardly walk in it. The rain is coming sideways. When I've been walking towards the Distant Early Warning Station sometimes I've come across strange things -- plastic bags and diapers and cardboard boxes way out there, and I wondered who would have brought garbage so far from town, and why. Now I know. As I was coming home, I saw three large pieces of fiberglass and a red-and-beige tarp go by, on their way to the open tundra. Fast. And high up in the air. The tarp entangled a man and a small child who were walking along the side of the road. The fiberglass just sailed. Probably a good thing I had Joeby on a leash, he's pretty skinny.

Polar bears, it seems, like lettuce and radishes.

I've been helping an older lady of my acquaintance, Jess, with her Canada pension application. The government keeps sending her demands for documents, most of which she doesn't have. I've called Ottawa three times for her so far. Once I got a snarky bitch. Who insisted on talking to poor Jess. "Well, is Jess there?" the S.B. demanded, when I had explained why I was calling. When I said yes, she said, "I have to talk to her." Jess listened with a bewildered look on her face for a minute or so, and then said, "I don't understand", and handed the phone back to me. Another operator, on another day, was super-helpful and patient but didn't have a clue where Nunavut is located. She guessed northern BC at one point.

We've been trying to track down documents -- but Jess and her husband were married, she tells me, "Eskimo-style". No certificates. She didn't know him, when they got together it was because her family and his family decided it between them. In fact, she was away at school when the plans were made. I asked her if she was ok with that. She looked a bit confused, and so I said, "Was he cute?" She giggled at that point and said, "Oh, yes, very cute."

One of the forms Jess was sent, a declaration of common-law relationship, required his signature. As he's been dead since the early eighties, this meant another call to the pension office. When I explained to Jess that the pension office had helped me to find and print out a different form, because we'd never be able to get his signature, she laughed and put her hands together as if she was praying, and then looked up at the ceiling, saying, "Please come down and sign my form."

But anyway. We got talking about polar bears. Jess says she has lived in the Arctic all her life, sixty years, and she's never seen a polar bear. And when she was a girl, her family lived out on the land, down at Bathurst Inlet.

Paper I made. Letters are a bit askew, I notice.

I emailed a friend about a month ago, and told her about my trip to Iqaluit. I told her how wonderful it was to fly across the Arctic in the small plane. She didn't write back until yesterday. And then her email said that she hadn't answered because I made her feel that her life sucked...

Envy's a funny thing. And friends are too. I've hesitated over time to give my envious friend my weblog address, and I've never been entirely sure why. I mean, I know that people read this, people I've never met, and yet my parents and my best friend don't. I've been writing an online journal of one sort or another since 1999 (it used to be Diaryland but they kept locking me out) and yet I'm selective about my audience. Every now and then I need to complain about my mother, and I can't do that if she's reading my journal. And my friend, although she's my closest friend, needs to be exclusive. She wouldn't like me having a readership... (all six of you)

What am I trying to say?

There are some people whose attention makes me edit what I'm saying. These people, I email or phone them, and the messages are geared towards them. Because they would read things into the content that I'm not putting there.

What if you could write a novel and stipulate on the front cover: Only people who understand me and can read this work objectively, without finding hidden messages to themselves, can purchase this book?

We took our ATV and borrowed our neighbour's, and headed off for Starvation Cove. Me, Miguel, and Rachel. Kirsten's in Toledo visiting a friend and Ian's at cadet camp in Whitehorse.

It was a great trip, although kind of long. In the picture above, we are waiting for the tide to go down so that we can ford a small river without drowning the ATVs. That's me in the red hat.

We were sitting around having coffee about 1pm, waiting for Miguel's friend Allen to decide whether he was coming with us. I should add that the trip was his idea, as he claims to have caught 10 huge char at Starvation on Friday. The phone rang. Thinking it was Allen, we let Rachel answer it. It was my work. Asking if I could come in for 4. I said yes, because I hate to say no, but we weren't happy. We ended up going and driving around to find a guy who sometimes guards but doesn't have a phone. In the course of looking for him, we found a girl who also sometimes guards, and she said she'd go in for four. If I promised to go in and take over from her at midnight. So by then it was 2:30 -- we had about nine hours for our trip.

Although I drove a snowmobile this winter, I've only driven an ATV once. With Miguel on the back complaining. I don't think he should become a driving instructor. It turned out that without him sitting behind me it was a lot easier, but I still wasn't terribly fast. So it took us quite a while to reach the river, and then we had to wait an hour or so for the tide to go down. Four hours all told to reach Starvation Cove.



At that point I told him he had an hour to fish, because if it was going to take us four hours to get back, we needed to leave at 8pm. On his last cast, at 7:55pm, he caught a nice-sized char and then we packed up to head back, in a light drizzle.

However. The tide had continued to go out, and we thought it would save some time to cut across the first bay.



At the end of the bay, the mud got us. We were stuck, both ATVs and when I got off I sunk in the mud to the tops of my rubber boots. Put Rachel on the red machine and got her to press the gas while we pushed. It was just like Wile E. Coyote, the mud came splashing up from the wheels and covered us from head to toe. And then when the machine started to move, I found my feet were stuck and I fell face first into the mud. Came up spitting mud, but that one was out and on the shore.

The yellow one was harder. It's heavier, I think, and was probably deeper in. We were still struggling with it when two guys roared up on their ATVs and said to me, mildly, "Having fun?"

"Oh, yeah," I replied. I think I must have looked like the swamp thing, but they didn't laugh. They just got out a rope, and we got out our rope, and we pulled the yellow machine out. The older of the two told Miguel he had gotten stuck in just that spot once, when he was alone, and it took hours to get out.

The mud hardened, as I drove home. But it was a quicker trip, the return journey. Rachel and I arrived home at 10:15, (Miguel had put his camera down at one point and had to go back for it, so he was about ten minutes behind us) and I set about having a shower so that I could go to work.

And then, the miracle. The girl who was guarding called and said she was GOING HOME and I wouldn't be needed for the night shift, as the detainees had been let go. And I think for the first time this year, it was Saturday night and there was no-one in cells. I figured I'd go to sleep and they'd call me out, but at 7am I woke up in bed.

Some Bob Dylan for your evening... Personally I think the line about "Nobody can get no sleep" is apropos.

Also you have to go read my little brother's story of how they baked his skates.

And this suggestion for how to solve Iqaluit's dog problem.

Ian is in Whitehorse at cadet camp. 200 teenage boys. Kirsten's leaving on Thursday for Toledo, to visit her friend. She's a bit paranoid about the travelling aspect, being only fifteen, and going by herself (with various folks helping out at different airports) but I'm sure she'll rise to the occasion. She's packed already. Don't know whose kid she is.

A phone call today: "Hello, I'm calling about the turbo beaver you guys are looking for."

My brain was doing pictures of beavers equipped with jet propulsion, speeding across aquatic habitats (Gee, look at how fast that beaver swims, Dad. Yes, son, that's a turbo-beaver.)

Turns out it's a type of float plane. That isn't so much lost as misplaced. It was flying around with the wrong set of call letters, or something. I don't know.

There's a certain type of caller (that Ed will probably be familiar with) who feels the need to unload whatever they have to say on the very first person they encounter on the phone. Phones are such strange things. In the absence of a human face to read, some don't know when to pause and allow things to sink in.

I've been thinking about an encounter I had with a visitor, at work, ever since it happened. Here's how it went.

There's a barge down on the waterfront that needed to be inspected. The inspector was on his way from Ottawa, and I began to receive a series of phone calls inquiring about arrangements for the inspector and keys for the barge, which were allegedly in our possession. Keys were located, arrangements were made, most notably between me and a man named Will who was to escort the inspector onto the barge. I know Will, we were on a course together for three weeks last year, and we are on first name basis. And we spoke a few times in the days before the inspector came.

The inspector dude comes bouncing into my office, and I give him the key I have put aside. He introduces himself (I promptly forgot his name, but I believe his first name was Roy or Ron or something). He says to me, "And you are?" I say, as I always do, "I'm Kate."

Then I phone Will. "Hello, Will," I say, "It's Kate. I have your man here, to inspect the barge. Do you want me to send him down to you?"

I have to tell you, I went out of my way to locate these keys for this man. It took quite a few phone calls, as no-one initially knew what sort of a key we were even looking for. And so his next comments surprised me.

When I got off the phone with Will, Mr. Barge Inspector said to me, "I'm going to give you a tip. When you talk to people, always give your last name. That's why women aren't getting ahead in this world." And then he said, "You have to show people that you take yourself seriously. Kate will always be the under-parlourmaid."

I laughed, because I wasn't entirely sure what else to do. He tried to impress upon me his seriousness. Asked me my surname. I told him, and he said, "Well, you should be proud of that, it's a good French name." I replied, "It's my husband's name. He's French. I'm not."

I don't know what to think of this. Should I be offended? Or is he right? I should add, I think, that Kate is not a common name in this town. And I always say, when I phone on business, "It's Kate at the RCMP." We're a first-name sort of town. When people call to talk to the constables, they use first names.

Some twenty years ago, someone told me (Phil Litke) that "Katie" was a girl with pigtails and I should make everyone call me Kate. So I did. And when I went to Iqaluit last week, after this latest conversation, and had to introduce myself to strangers I told them my full name.

However. I'm inclined to think that women will never get ahead in the world while some men feel free to give them hints like that. I can't think of a situation in the last few months where I was made to feel more inferior. Oh well.

Sleep is all screwed up. At 11:20pm we decided to go for a drive. To take pictures. We were gone for an hour. At 12:42am, now, it is still broad daylight. Rachel, who got up at noon, is reading Garfield in her pajamas. I think Ian might be asleep, I haven't seen him for a while.

What seems to happen, mostly, is that you go to bed and can't quite manage to get to sleep. So maybe every three or four nights you crash and get a good night's sleep. Other days you nap. Somehow the body is aware that it's light outside, even with tinfoil on the windows, and refuses to fall asleep.

Sometimes the North is a very strange place.

Social Services called me today. I had printed them out a document and sent it over. It had printed itself on legal sized paper and I'd chopped off the bottom couple of inches. Which usually turns out ok but today it made the edges kind of ratty. The social worker who called me was asking in a concerned way if he needed to send me over a ream of paper, as perhaps we had run out. I said, no, and explained about the printer settings and how I'd tried to cut off the excess with scissors, and then I realized he had me on the speaker phone and some other people were laughing at me in the background. I will get my revenge. I just haven't thought how yet.

I have to tell you that, in the aftermath of court, we have been making bets on who will last the longest on their probation.

Also, did you know (I had to go look) that there is a town in Newfoundland called Dildo? My boss was talking about it today. He says that it's just down the road from Come By Chance.

I have done Iqaluit. And survived. Passed the course I was taking, and am now even more qualified to run police computer systems. Cool stuff.

Went hiking at the Sylvia Grinnell River, with some other visitors to the region and a local lady. It was raining like hell, but we were all pretending that it was just lovely. My feet got soaked really quickly, after a misstep into a boggy bit, and after that it was just a question of getting through it.

Next morning, when I'm being driven to the airport, the radio is talking about the polar bear that was seen the previous evening. Down by the Sylvia Grinnell River. Just out of town. I said to the cab driver, "Hey, I was there last night." He was an Eastern European fellow, and he started saying to me, "Well, you know, you never hear that the polar bears eat people."

Anywhere you want to go in Iqaluit is five dollars, in a cab. Per person. And if you're taking a cab, it will keep stopping for more passengers. To fill the car. So you could be stuffed in with random drunken strangers.

But, to my mind, the coolest bit of the trip was getting to fly back in the copilot seat of the Pilatus, and the weather was clear so the pilot was pointing out settlements and landmarks to me. And he gave me a headset, so I could hear all the air traffic chatter all over the Arctic. He said that the commercial airline flights go from Europe to North America in the morning, and then fly back later in the day. So in the morning all the traffic's going in one direction. There's miles and miles and miles of ice and rock out there.

It was good to get back home. Funny that I've started to think of this place as home...

Got home Friday at lunchtime, and went back to work. Then after work I went to proctor drivers' examinations. After excavating the kitchen enough to make dinner for kids and feeding them, I got everything squared away and went to bed at 10. At 11:30, they called from work -- they had people in cells and couldn't find a guard. So I went and worked the midnight shift. Yesterday turned into a bit of a write-off, I got some cleaning done but also napped a lot.

Today Patty called (she's got five kids) and we all went out to the beach. (No. We did not swim. There's still ice in the bay.) We made a fire and sat round it in our coats and toques, but we were at the beach dammit. Kids flew kites. Miguel's in Iqaluit now, I left on Friday morning and he got there on Friday afternoon.

I just miss her.

I'm off to Iqaluit for a week. To train on the occurrence reporting software. I'm looking forward to it.

Also we seem to be in the process of buying a house. Offer has been made, banks alerted, lawyers consulted. It's five bedrooms, and I swear at least ten people have pointed out to me that I'll have room to take in foster kids. We had a small boy at the office the other day, accompanied by social services, for a statement, and I said to the corporal, "I can resist the stray dogs right now, but I want to take in the stray kids."

In Iqaluit, the sun still goes down, I think. aaaaaahhhhhh.

I was in the kitchen at work making coffee. Dave, the Staff Sergeant, and Russ, one of the constables, were rummaging through the chocolate bars in the cupboard, and we were talking in a desultory way. So desultory that I can't even remember what we were discussing. Suddenly Russ said, "We've had this conversation before, in a dream I had. And I had the dream before I even started working here." I told him that things were strange right now, that someone else I'd talked to had been complaining of deja-vu. Also, my son asked me that morning whether I thought it was a problem that his hand was a computer cursor. An arrow.

Dave said, "You should have just told him to run it over a link, it would have turned back into a hand." Then he said, and this was the thing that surprised me, because he's generally a pretty prosaic guy, "They must be changing something in the matrix."

So, beware. If Dave can feel it, it must be big.

This 24 hours of daylight thing is killing me. I can't sleep properly and yet I'm yawning all the time. We're short on guards at work and last weekend they called me at 6:45 am on Sunday and got me to come down and watch 12 people. In 5 cells. Crazy.

However, it is warm. 15 degrees today. People are out in shorts. Not me, I should add. But people.

Because I wanted to read this tonight, I thought I'd share it with you all. In the 17 or so years since I first read this poem, I have never come across another that I've uniformly kept on wishing I had written. I have liked others over the years, but this one continues to apply. Probably goes to show that I'm not the cheeriest person, but oh well. It's a good poem.

Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
- The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Philip Larkin

Miguel bought me a jigsaw puzzle. 750 pieces, a sort of pastoral scene of a stone wall with a wrought iron gate in it, and trees behind. So lots of stone pieces and lots of leaf pieces. I've been working on it every spare moment since the weekend. It's done now. He says he won't buy me any more because I was obsessed with this one.

I've been working on compiling our domestic violence statistics, at work, for a community plan intended to address family violence. The research makes for depressing reading, on the whole. I had to plough through a lot of cases, because the statute for assault (sec. 266) includes all kinds of assaults. So in some cases I had to ask around -- a man assaulted a woman but are they partners? Although jealousy seems to be a common flashpoint, most of the reports are also linked to over-consumption of alcohol. And then I found a statistic on the StatsCan site, to the effect that if your partner is a drinker -- that is, drinks five or more drinks at least once a week -- you are SIX times more likely to be a victim of domestic violence.

One thing that surprised me with the cases here is that although some of the women who were assaulted eventually refused to cooperate and no charges were laid (the Crown will not support the police going ahead with charges if there are no co-operative witnesses) all of the men who were assaulted by their partners were co-operative and charges were laid against the women. Granted, more men were still charged than women.

So I don't know if this is just a Nunavut thing? We've got such huge rates of personal victimization in the first place. Statistics are interesting... (really...)

Rachael Ray. In the sink.

I don't know exactly what she's up to. But it kinda looks like fun.

For Ed, the story of my fist-fight.

When I was eleven, I was a small, quiet girl with a pigtail. I think I was about 4’9” and maybe 70 lbs. I didn’t talk much in class, because I had an English accent and kids often mimicked me. Something I still hate to this day. When I was eleven, I moved to a new school, in a small town in Southern Alberta, and in my new and strange classroom, I sat in front of a larger boy named Kevin. He called me flat-chested and skinny (both of which I was) and he would pull my braid, hard, and poke me with pencils, when the teacher was out of the room. Which was a lot. (As a side note, the boy’s name was indeed Kevin, but I’m not putting his last name, because I don’t want him reading this.) He would sometimes try to bug me on the playground, but mostly I could run away. It was while I was stuck in the classroom that his teasing and torturing was a problem.

I told my dad that this boy was bugging me, and dad said I should just hit him a few times and put a stop to it. To facilitate this, dad taught me how not to punch like a girl. Don’t tuck your thumb into your palm, he said, and keep your wrist flat. Dad let me punch him a fair bit, until I was good at it. I liked how it felt, but I didn’t think it was a good idea to start punching Kevin, so I didn’t.

However, while I was internally debating the ethics of defending myself, Kevin escalated his tactics. One particularly scary day, he put his hands around my neck while the teacher was out of the room, and strangled me. I could feel myself starting to pass out, and it hurt. When he stopped, I was angry. I said to him, from the bottom of my anger, “I’m gonna get you.” I don’t remember what he said exactly, but it was something sneering to the effect of, do you want to fight me after school, little girl, and I said yes.

Word got around. I don’t know how. But after school there was a crowd on the little kids’ playground, waiting for me and Kevin.

I remember the exhilaration. The feeling of acting out my anger, as I hit him, my self-righteous tower of anger at my own helplessness and Kevin’s cruelty. I think I hurt him. He went running inside, and later I heard he went to tell the principal that Katie was beating him up. It was said that the principal, a retired farmer, said, “What do you want me to do about it? You’re getting beaten up by a girl?”

I have to say, though. I have told this story a few times over the years, and the consensus among those I tell it to is that nowadays, if one of my daughters beat up a boy, something would be done about it, at school, because of the panic over violence among girls. There were no consequences, for me. Nobody was scared of me....

Ian's back. He very kindly password-protected my computer, while he was away in Quebec, but neglected to tell me the password when he returned. So tonight while he was out at cadets, I started it up for the first time since he got back, and spent some time guessing passwords. When he came home from cadets I greeted him with "Please tell me you know the password for my computer." He did. He says he didn't want anyone to play with my laptop while it was unattended at the science fair, which is fair enough, and thoughtful of him. He seems to be back in one piece, and I can use my computer again. I missed my blog. And my boy. He grew while he was gone, I swear. He says he had a great time, and he won 700 dollars and a 1500 dollar scholarship to Western University in Ontario. Yay Ian!

Jazzy's ashes arrived yesterday, and are now on top of the fridge. I think we'll probably go scatter them somewhere, when it warms up and the land's a bit less soggy. I miss her so much. Joeby's still lost. Kirsten pointed out to us that he rarely gets treats now because he doesn't know how to ask for them. That was Jazz's job. She went and stood by the treat cupboard and barked meaningfully, and then they both got treats. She was also the one who told me when they needed water, by flipping the metal bowl around on the kitchen floor, making a godawful noise. And she'd keep doing it until she got results. I have to remind myself to keep checking his water bowl. Poor boy. I also don't know when people come to the door. Jazz always barked, but Joeby just coughs politely once or twice. He doesn't go pee when we let him outside, either, now, he just stands there and stares at us. I guess he only knew that's what they were doing if Jazz did it first, I don't know. Either that or he's waiting for her to come out too and doesn't understand. Dumber than a bag of hammers. I'm trying not to be angry with him for being the stupid one who is still alive, and my sweetie's not...

Miguel's been away too, for two weeks, he just got back on the weekend. I've been interested to observe in my own behaviour that I cope really well while he's away; I take care of everything, and I don't whine to him on the phone or anything, I look after children, dog stuff, shop for food, feed people, while he was gone this time I even cleaned out the storage room and went to the dump, and did a whole bunch of baking for an open house at work, but when he gets back... (as a side note, the dump was an adventure, it's a half-charred wasteland featuring piles of caribou heads, empty liquor bottles and stinky diapers. Interesting place.) When he gets back I tend to fold, and stop making any decisions for a week or so, and let him do all the cooking. Fortunately he doesn't seem to mind. I make sure to give him a few days to rest before I abdicate responsibility. It used to be when he travelled (his jobs have required this for a few years now) that I would be so looking forward to him coming home (so that he could carry his weight again) that I would be really impatient when he needed to rest for a few days after his trip.

The sun now does not go down. At all. I have been having trouble sleeping. Although, the amount of coffee I drink might have something to do with that.

Somewhere we are walking together on a beach. We don't talk much. There's no need. I have never known another companion as loving and unconditionally loyal as you. I know that I will stop crying, because my memories will always be full of you. The god that cares for furry animals has charge of you now. I hope that he has a cupboard full of treats, some small stuffed animals that he won't mind if you chew, and that he lets you sleep on his bed. I know I have to let go. It's just hard.

Thank-you to everyone who has reached out, here, in email, and on the phone. It means a lot.

My son is off to Quebec for the Canada-wide science fair. He's taking my laptop, because he runs his robot software off it, and for some reason I can't ever manage to post to my weblog from any other computer. So it might be quiet here until the 22nd.

The vets phoned at 10:15. They put me on the speakerphone in the operating room, and told me that they couldn't do anything for Jazzy. I've got an enormous lump in my throat and I wish so so much that I could have been there to say goodbye. They didn't bring her round from the anaesthetic, and they said it was peaceful. I don't feel peaceful. I want my furry friend. I want to go upstairs and find her waiting for me on my bed. I want her to come and steal my chips. Bark at me in the mornings until I provide milk-bones. Flip her food dish around when she's hungry. Bite visitors.

They are sending me her ashes.

xxxxxxxx's -- I stole the questions from Kirsten's friend Kelsey - but the answers are mine.
HAVE YOU EVER:

(x) smoked a cigarette (mmmmmmm cigarettes. five packs a day mmmmmm)

(x) crashed a friend's car (Miguel's. backed it into a parked car.)

( ) stolen a car

(x) been in love

(x) been dumped (he said "I think you're too immature." some things don't change)

( ) shoplifted

( ) been fired

(x) been in a fist fight

(x) snuck out of your parent's house (um, yeah... let's hope they don't read my blog.)

(x) had feelings for someone who didnt have them back (AND he had to get someone else to tell me so. hmph)

( ) been arrested (but been picked up by cops and taken home, after sneaking out of house - see above)

( ) gone on a blind date

(x) lied to a friend (I was a professional liar. told you what you wanted to hear)

(x) skipped school (every single Monday-morning-8-am class in my university career)

(x) seen someone die

(x) had a crush on one of your internet friends (Oh always.)

(x) been to Canada (live there.)

( ) been to Mexico

(x) been on a plane

( ) purposely set a part of yourself on fire (no but a propane explosion took my eyebrows and all the hair on my arms...)

(x) eaten Sushi (mmmmmm sushi. then cigarettes.)

(x) been skiing (tons when we lived in Lake Louise)

( ) met someone in person from the internet (and there are some I've known for ten years.)

(x) taken painkillers

(x) love someone or miss someone right now

(x) laid on your back and watched cloud shapes go by

(x) made a snow angel

(x) had a tea party

(x) flown a kite

(x) built a sand castle

(x) gone puddle jumping

(x) played dress up?

(x) jumped into a pile of leaves?

(x) gone sledding

(x) cheated while playing a game

(x) been lonely

(x) fallen asleep at work/school (got kicked out of Film Studies for sleeping through Citizen Kane)

( ) used a fake id (no, but I did drink in bars in Edmonton and Vancouver when I was sixteen and seventeen)

(x) watched the sun set (although not recently, it's given that up)

(x) felt an earthquake (my mother yelled at me - she was downstairs and she thought I was throwing things)

(x) touched a snake (NOT on purpose - I hate snakes)

(x) slept beneath the stars

(x) been tickled (however am no longer ticklish)

(x) been robbed (at gunpoint)

(x) been misunderstood (oh endlessly. because I'm abrupt.)

(x) petted a reindeer/goat (goat.)

(x) won a contest (I won windsurfing lessons in grade nine)

(x) run a red light (and crashed the car I was driving. hmmm. trend?)

( ) been suspended from school (no, but been on academic probation)

(x) been in a car crash (see above)

( ) had braces (no, just have crooked teeth.)

(x) eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night (only a pint?)

(x) danced in the moonlight (at my brother's wedding)

(x) liked the way you look (for about three days in 1985)

(x) witnessed a crime (see above)

(x) questioned your heart (but it has few answers)

(x) been obsessed with post-it notes (not only obsessed. Entranced.)

(x) squished barefoot through the mud

(x) been lost

(x) been to the opposite side of the country (and the top!)

(x) swam in the ocean (swam in the Pacific, Atlantic, Mediterranean, and fallen in the Arctic Ocean)

(x) felt like dying (but I got over it)

(x) cried yourself to sleep

(x) played cops and robbers

(x) recently coloured with crayons? (yes, with my small visitor at work.)

(x) sung karaoke (at new years)

(x) paid for a meal with only coins (in Europe)

(x) done something you told yourself you wouldn't do (ah, yes.)

(x) made prank phone calls (in grade nine. we called boys and left messages for them to call cool girls.)

(x) laughed until some kind of beverage came out of your nose (grape pop. ewww)

(x) caught a snowflake on your tongue

( ) danced in the rain (don't think so, anyway)

(x) written a letter to Santa Claus

( ) been kissed under a mistletoe

(x) watched the sun rise with someone you care about (most notably on the west coast trail

(x) blown bubbles (this was daily at our house when the kids were little)

(x) made a bonfire on the beach (Long Beach.)

(x) gone roller skating (oh, rollerskating. in the arena in Vulcan.)

(x) had a wish come true

(x) worn pearls (my grannie's, she left them to me)

( ) jumped off a bridge

(x) ate dog/cat food (milk bone someone put in my locker in high school)

(x) sang in the shower (always)

(x) had a dream that you married someone else (Prince. Don't laugh.)

(x) glued your hand to something (staircase from a doll's house)

( ) got your tongue stuck to a flag pole

( ) kissed a fish

(x) sat on a roof top

(x) screamed at the top of your lungs

(x) done a one-handed cartwheel (my one gymnastic accomplishment, never did get the backflips)

( ) talked on the phone for more than 6 hours? (hmm. may have come close once or twice.)

(x) stayed up all night (especially when I worked midnights.)

(x) didnt take a shower for a week (again, West Coast Trail)

(x) picked and ate an apple right off the tree (our back yard in Nanaimo)

(x) climbed a tree (lived up them when I was a kid)

( ) had a tree house

(x) are scared to watch scary movies alone

(x) believe in ghosts (maybe)

( ) have more then 30 pairs of shoes (I have three pairs.)

( ) gone streaking

(x) gone doorbell ditching (this is turning into 'sign of a misspent youth)

(x) played chicken

(x) pushed into a pool/hot tub with all your clothes on (well, a bathtub. In residence at University.)

(x) been told you're hot by a complete stranger (a biker guy on the street in Nanaimo. Made my day)

( ) broken a bone (nope. just teeth.)

(x) been easily amused (as with this quiz....)

(x) caught a fish then ate it (yes! last summer)

( ) caught a butterfly

(x) laughed so hard you cried (watching Beavis and Butthead's movie, when he's being cornholio. goes with the easily amused thing, I think)

(x) cried so hard you laughed

( ) cheated on a test

( ) have a Britney Spears CD

(x) French braided someones hair (small girls. I love doing their hair.)

( ) gone skinny dippin in a pool

( ) been threatened to be kicked out of your house (but I fought with my mother and left of my own accord before they could threaten me.)

Jazz is in Yellowknife. The vets have her, and she's having biopsy surgery tomorrow morning at 9:30 am. I spoke to the vet clinic a couple of times today, they are very sweet, and they said she had 'tried' to bite someone but they didn't think she really meant it. She doesn't like the cage they'd like to keep her in, so they've tied her up to a table leg and they say that seems to make her happy. I imagine that what they're saying by that is that when they lock her up she barks incessantly.

I only knew on Friday that she was going on the plane to Yellowknife on Saturday. I didn't sleep much Friday night, I kept waking up to look at her. She starts her night on the bed with me, lying between my feet until we both get too warm like that and she gets off and lies on her blanket, on the floor next to my head. Saturday morning it was a bit windy but I took her for a walk. Her ears were flapping in the wind but she bounced along for a while.

We called the airport at 2 and were told to come right away. Miguel wasn't quite ready and had to scurry around packing. When we got there Miguel just had to check in and they said bring Jazz back at 3:30 so she could get on the plane. We sat outside in the truck for quite a while, she sat on my lap and I stroked her, and we watched the airport staff going about their business.

I'm not ready. I think they're going to call tomorrow and tell me there's nothing they can do for her, and then I'm going to have to decide what to do next. I don't want her to suffer. But she's been my friend for so very long and I can't imagine life without her any more. It's so hard with dogs, because although she knew I was sad, she didn't know why, and she was excited about going with Miguel on the plane, and wouldn't sit still for me to hug her when he said it was time to go. I don't want to know. I want her to come back, I want them to fix her, I want us to be able to snuggle and go for walks and sleep on the couch on Sunday mornings. I've walked so many miles with her, more than I think I could ever count, eleven years of walking all over Alberta, BC, and Nunavut. She's climbed mountains with me, walked through rain forests and run about madly on beaches, chasing seagulls. We even met a bear, once, just outside Lake Louise. (She didn't even bark). She was hit by a gravel truck when she was about three, and got away with just scratches. Joeby misses her. He keeps wanting to go outside to see if she's there.

Ed says that he lit a lantern for Grannie. Thanks Ed, that means a lot.

A million thank-yous to Sarah from Blogger, who rescued my blog from the accidental "delete this blog" that I performed on Sunday........

I don't follow hockey. I'm a terrible Canadian, I know, but I can't be bothered. But at the moment all the men I work with are in a hockey pool, so a lot of the talk around is about hockey. Because they know I'm ignorant, every so often they will pretend to pull me in on their side -- "Right Kate?" and I'll agree to whatever. However, unlike some I have worked with, they see no need to educate me. For which I am grateful.

Sears sent me an email yesterday, saying that the shirt I ordered was ready to be picked up. In downtown Toronto. I wrote back saying "The blue shirt I ordered was delivered already. To my house. In Nunavut."

Drove the snowmobile tonight, for the first time. I think I like driving better than passengering. This weekend I might take Rachel out to West Arm, where there are hills, and go sledding with her. She's been bugging me to go.

I'm at a loose end tonight. It wasn't very busy at work today, just cleaning up files after court, and I feel as if I have energy that could be put to use but I can't think of anything to do. I'm hampered by the knowledge that if I start something tonight, tomorrow is Cubs night and I'll be out, and Wednesday night I'll probably be tired again. So what am I doing? Reading weblogs and my email, and listening to the kids bicker about what to watch on tv.

They've settled on music videos. Gwen Stefani singing "It's My Life". Commenting on whether or not one should wear lipstick when being executed in the electric chair. Consensus is -- not. It's interesting to live with folk who have only been alive and cognizant of their surroundings for the past decade or so. Most recently I have found myself explaining Watergate, ABBA, Liza Minnelli, West Side Story, Tang, Fiddler on the Roof, and hysterectomies. I worry that they will have a whole lot to unlearn when they realize that I am not an expert on US presidential scandals, Scandinavian supergroups, Broadway, powdered drinks, or surgical procedures. But I've found to my chagrin that they only listen to short explanations, and will not sit through anything I research to present to them. A longish explanation is likely to be cut off by non sequiturs. "Is she holding a pig? Yeah, whatever, mom."

Sampling is also problematic. Playing Stevie's Edge of Seventeen the other day while I was doing housework prompted some comments about "I hate that song. Isn't it supposed to be a Destiny's Child song?" No, it is not. It's Stevie Nicks. "Is that a man? Girls aren't called Stevie." Yeah, whatever.

I had to go and look up what ABBA song Madonna was sampling in Hung Up. As in, I knew I knew it and that it was ABBA but the title was buried somewhere in my subconscious.

I called my parents tonight, and mentioned that we were buying a truck. Dad said, "What kind of truck?" I replied, "Uh, it's black." He called me an unflattering name. So, to put the record straight, it's a Dodge Dakota. And yeah, that's as much as I know. Theoretically it has an engine. It seems to drive around, at least. That would indicate engine-possessing. I don't know what kind. It seats about five if you don't mind squishing. We have no seatbelt laws here, so we can squish. There also don't seem to be any laws against hauling people in the back of pickup trucks, so we can probably 'seat' about seventeen if we need to...

Broke down today and hung curtains in the living room. The sun is nice. But it's ALWAYS and ETERNALLY shining in my eyes while I'm trying to watch tv.

I also made a slightly deformed piece of pink paper. And hung Miguel's paintings that he has done since we've been here. And pried all the used candles out of the holders and replaced them with new ones. (A bit of a pointless exercise as it NEVER BLOODY WELL GETS DARK) but oh well. They look better.

I'm told that the summer is the time when family violence is most prevalent here. I'm beginning to think I can see why.

The stone church. Angaatdjuvik uyarak -- nutakat ikipkaqtaa.

I think we may have arranged to buy a truck. Which is very cool as it will make it easier to go camping this summer.

Ed's in the Relay for Life... go give him some money.

And Ed -- please just carry whatever you want. Or just run/walk/limp/follolop. Or carry Delia's sign a bit further. I'm shy.

someone burnt down the old church... sad.

Earlier this week. Caller reports, "someone stole my kalvik." Call meanders on, yeah, we usually leave it in the porch overnight, forgot and left it outside, it was gone this morning. I'm taking it all down, but I'm a bit hazy on what a kalvik is. Kamiks I know, that's boots. So I say, "ok, so someone stole your, what did you say, your kalvik?" And the response is, "that's right, someone stole my good wolverine." I've been wandering around saying that to myself. (ok, and other people.) Stole my good wolverine. I had visions of an angry, toothy little carnivore being subdued and spirited away, scratching and nipping, perhaps stuffed down the front of someone's coat, but clarification came later, when I was explaining it to those on duty -- it was a wolverine pelt, stretched on poles. Its owners were displaying it. Anyway, all's well that ends well, the good wolverine was found. Case closed...

It is WARM!!!! It was 0 degrees Celsius today and there were puddles. I was out without toque, gloves, or snowpants. This weekend I may go for a longer walk. The days are very lengthy, now, it's fully light by 4am and it stays light until 11 at night. I've woken every morning this week at 3:30 and thought, "must get up, it's getting late."

I am still, for anyone who cares, not smoking. Soon it will be three months.

Jazzy's no better, but she's no worse either. Miguel's going to Edmonton the second week in May and he's going to take her with him. That way he can be with her at the vets while she has a biopsy done. Poor sweetie. She's still eating well, and playing with her furby, I just don't want to believe that she's REALLY ill...

this time last year we were in England... the Tate Modern.

I'm still up. That's always the problem with working until midnight, I can't unwind and go to bed immediately I get home. I'm starting to get tired now, though. I'm moving into that stage of things where I think I'm craving things (food, drink; something unspecified) but I'm actually just winding down, I think.

Stevie Nicks has been playing in my head all evening:

Somewhere out in the back of your mind
Comes your real life and the life that you know...

Well lately I've been thinking
That the rooms are all on fire
Every time that you walk in the room

I downloaded it off limewire the other day, and it has set itself comfortably in my Windows Media playlist between Simon and Garfunkel and Sting. I was looking for Bruce Springsteen's I'm on Fire because I'd been quoting the lyrics to Ed, and Stevie popped up in the search. Somehow her lyrics are not stellar, I can't tell you I think she's a fantastic poet, a wordsmith -- it's in how she sings it.

Somehow I ended up guarding this evening. There's a beer dance in town tonight and no-one wanted to work. I had another one of those "How the hell did I get here" moments as I was walking down the hallway to check on folks. We actually had some laughs, tonight, as there were two sober weekend sentence servers and then a drunk got brought in midway through the evening. He was very voluble, and spent some time trying to persuade me to marry him. He talked me into singing him a lullaby, because he said he couldn't go to sleep without music, and once I had sung to him he actually went to sleep. The sober guys just thought all this was hilarious. They were ribbing the drunk guy because he hadn't even made it to the beer dance, got arrested before it started, but he took it pretty good.

It was funny, too, because when they first put him in the lock-up, he poked his head out the little window and said to me, "What side are you on?" I said, "Do I have to pick a side?" He said, "yes." I said, "What side are you on?" This stopped him cold, pretty much killed his line of questioning, as he didn't have an answer for it.

I was thinking about it later. Am I on any side? What sides are there? I used to think I had to pick a side, but somehow the boundaries get blurred. I have no objection at all to taking care of the folks who are staying in cells. I made coffee for them and talked to them. Fed them their dinner. Listened to their fears about their children. Basically acted as if they were at my house. Even pushed the tv over so they could watch the hockey game. I can do the job without being mean or nasty. The other day I answered the phone and the person on the other end was complaining about somebody I know. (She's drunk and she won't leave) I said, "Put her on the phone." Then I said to her, "Hey, it's Kate. You don't really want the police to come down and pick you up, do you?" She said no.

For Ed -- on teaching up North. (or should it be Up Norther? relative to that town you say is officially north. We're north of north.)

three additions to the last post:

1. the man in question is merely 'alleged' to have threatened half the town.

b. my father-in-law sent us a huge bag of jelly bellies (44.00 postage) which we hid in our bedroom and have been snacking on their multi-coloured wonderfulness all day in secret, so sugar overload may contribute to my maudlin mood.

q. Miguel is watching Bob Ross if you don't know what this dude looks like you gotta go see...

I had a third one, but I can't think of it.

Yesterday, at work -- a small girl of about five or six came in with her mother. Her mother was in the interview room, and the small girl was lurking in my office. At first she just grinned at me, but then she spied the foam polar bear on my desk and came to investigate. Then she turned big brown eyes on me and announced "I like to draw." So I pulled out pens and paper, she pulled up a chair, and we drew pictures. We drew ourselves, and puppies, and houses, and she wrote both our names and the name of the support worker who was helping her mother. It tears at my heart to know that the situation at home that brought her mother to us will affect this little person...

Later on a woman I know came in to fill out a criminal record check, as she's a new foster parent. She brought along her foster child, who I recognized. I know her mother, and I know that her mother has been trying to get her life together so that she can keep her daughter. I only hope it's not too late, and the foster care will be temporary, just while my friend finds her feet.

Court starts tomorrow. The circuit only comes about every six weeks or so. We have, in a town of 1300 people, some 100 matters on the docket. (Although one guy is responsible for a whole whack of them because he threatened to kill a lot of people...) All my files are ready, but I'm well aware that each file contains someone's life, their hopes and dreams, as well as the details of "what they did."

You will forgive me for my sentimentality today. Put it down to lack of reading matter. Although, as soon as Dustin gets here to start his new job I'm sure it will be just fine..........

My mom is sending me a book. I am considering B&E at the library if they don't reopen soon. My nice librarian, the one who allowed me to take more than my quota of books, went back to Devon. I miss him. A new librarian is advertised for, but no applicants yet. If anyone reading this feels like a radical move, please let me know. I need books.....

Today, in foodmail, we got French bread. It was semi-frozen and the crust was a bit chewy but we had it with spaghetti and it was wonderful. Funny how I always took for granted the accessibility of fresh bread, oh, pick up a loaf for dinner. Here it's Wonder Bread. White or brown, your choice.

Last night when we went for dinner with Miguel's coworkers, they asked me, "What do you do now?" I was working at the health centre for a while, but then I got offered a position with the police, to fill a maternity leave. I do just about everything, really, that they'll let me, lots of paperwork, talking to anyone who comes to the door, helping people with pardon applications and criminal records checks and drivers licenses, chatting with lonely people and drunk people and people who need the police. I'm working on organizing all their files, they've only had someone in the position I'm doing sporadically over the last few years and there's a lot to do. And I've been updating all their contingency and emergency plans, and their contact lists. I feel useful. And, I've found, that the constables and the sergeant genuinely care very deeply about the inhabitants of this out-of-the-way little community, and do everything they can to help.... they are very gentle, and they work very hard. They let me deal with a lot of things on the phone, making it so that sending the police is not the first response, if a little bit of listening is really all that's needed. I'm learning a lot...

Dinner with the neighbours was good. Food was eaten, they brought wine, we talked about art and life. The kids played upstairs.

I'm very much enjoying my time off. I needed a long weekend. Don't even really want to go anywhere, just decompress. Rachel and the neighbours have gone off tobogganing, Ian is still in Yellowknife, Kirsten amuses herself well, with the occasional need for snacks and to impart random pieces of information about her complicated online roleplaying game. So I have been able to please myself today. Had leftover dessert from last night for lunch. In a while we'll make pizza for supper. It's all good.

This week at work was interesting. The corporal has gone off to Arviat, one of the constables is on holiday in Nova Scotia and another one went on a prisoner escort, so that left the sergeant, me, and a constable we borrowed from Toronto for a month. So, suddenly, I'm the one with the most recent knowledge of who's on probation, who's been picked up for what in the last little while, and what stage court cases are in. I guess I almost didn't realize how much I've learned until I had to start explaining things to someone new - ever since I've been there it's been me getting things explained. Me asking a million questions. And the sergeant is leaving soon, his rotation's almost over, and the new sergeant called wanting to know about the community and living up here.

I am off work today. I forgot that I would be off today, yesterday, and so I didn't do something yesterday that I normally do on Fridays. (with me? yeah, it was hard to explain to my boss, too.)

I called my boss to tell him, I usually schedule guards for the weekend on Friday afternoon, because they have to start work at 6pm, but that I hadn't done it yesterday. He seemed confused, said to me, "So there's no-one there now?" Turned out that he thought, since he was at home, that it was Saturday and the 'spend-the-weekends-in-jail' folks were over in the lockup without any guards. (not that that would have happend, the guards don't leave without a replacement, but still) Once we got all that straightened out, I felt better. But I really hate having to admit I've forgotten something. I want them to think I'm infallible. And I hate that feeling when I remember something I forgot. Like an elevator in your stomach suddenly plunging to the bottom of the shaft. Oof. I forgot.

Then, for some reason, I invited the neighbours for dinner. Now I hafta cook. But my son and my honorary son have gone to Yellowknife to shoot guns with the other army cadets, so the house is devoid of teenage boys. Maybe there'll be food left for the rest of us. (why did I invite the neighbours????)

Fun thing today, though, being guest contributor on Ed's blog.