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.

Reading one of the magazines I got suckered into because I wanted Macleans and it came as a package, I came across an ad for this event. I've been pushing it around in my mind ever since, because I was very curious about what a "life strategist" could do for someone. I went to Ms. Rubin's homepage and took a quiz. It seems I am not ambitious enough.

Strategy? For life? I think if I had to declare one, it would be like cooking spaghetti. Periodically I throw things at the wall to see if they stick, and go from there. Hence my current situation. If I had ambition, I think it might mean that I had to narrow my focus and could not be free to chase interesting opportunities. So, maybe a little bit of dog-in-field-full-of-rabbits strategy. Ooh, there's one, let's chase that for a while. Bigger one over there? I'm off with my tongue hanging out. There are too many interesting rabbits and pots of spaghetti to cook, I hate to limit myself to pursuing or boiling just one. Metaphors thoroughly mixed. My work here is done.

I figured it was only a matter of time. A young man who has been spending a lot of time at our house is coming to stay. His mother is working in Yellowknife and his grandfather is going hunting. I said, yes he could come stay with us. I'm not sure we really need another teenager of any description in this house, but oh well.

Tomorrow I'm going to a baby shower. While I was looking for a present this afternoon I started thinking about all those years of cleaning up... fluids... and other stuff that comes out of babies. My kids are all finally at the stage where if they need to barf they do it in the bathroom rather than all over the floor. For a while, having three kids in four years, I felt as if I would always be covered in kid guck. Not to mention the furniture.

There are other things, now. Like that Franz Ferdinand song and then some other one about 'you're so beautiful' that get played over and over again. And there's never any orange juice left and I don't know what they do with forks. Perhaps amassing a trousseau. And the stupid girl song, by Pink. I was told this afternoon that her name's Alicia something or other. I replied, "I never really thought her parents named her Pink."

I had a good week. Lots of projects, not too many intox callers. Just a few, and they were cheerful. Funny, even, we had some laughs. I should add that I laughed with them, not at them.

I've been thinking a lot about energy levels. I feel as if I'm in an energy-conserving cycle, as far as doing things outside home, right now. As in, I am very efficient and dynamic at work, and then I come home and lose all motivation. I think about how I used to work almost full time, go to school part time, do three different volunteer things (Crimestoppers and the prison workshops and Community Policing), and it just makes me want to go and have a nap. But on the other hand, after three years of doing that to try and get the education and experience to get a job in something related to criminology, I'm now working for the police and enjoying it immensely. So, really, what's my incentive to head out again when I get home from work? I don't want to go out in the evenings. I've been marginally involved in a volunteer project, that requires evening meetings, and I was surprised at the level of non-engagement I felt. I think the person who suggested I come along to the meetings was a little discouraged. Normally when I take on something volunteerish I am much more active and committed. Maybe the wanting to do that sort of thing will return, when I get more used to my new job.

However. One of the plusses is that I no longer have to explain why I feel compelled to do so much. Whenever someone found out how many things I did, they would often start to justify their own lives, and why they couldn't be involved. Except my friend Jane - she has always maintained that I was kept so busy because I was trying to hide from some truth about myself. Don't know if that's really the reason, but if so I think my truth will probably pop out and bite me sometime real soon.

So. I want to remember this, when I get back to my normal self and start doing things in the evenings again. Everything's just a phase. Energy comes and goes. Volunteer stuff gets on just fine without me. I am neither indispensable nor indefatigable.

Ian came second in the regional science fair... this means he gets to go to Quebec.

On the phone on Friday at work, a woman who gave me a large piece of her colourful vocabulary. Apparently her son was a ...guest... in our back wing (where the little rooms are with the doors that don't open unless we say so) and she felt that the guys were unfairly targeting her son. I had fielded a couple of calls from concerned citizens in his neighbourhood who felt that he shouldn't be engaging in his chosen behaviour, (driving an ATV) given his level of inebriation, but I told her that she would have to talk to the corporal who brought him in, that I couldn't tell her anything. During the barrage of abuse that followed this, I merely waited, I don't even think you could call it listening, and then cut in and told her again that she would have to talk to the corporal, but that I felt that if she told him exactly what she told me, the corporal probably wouldn't want to talk to her. She called again a few minutes later and I let the phone ring through to the mobile so that she could talk to him. We (one of the constables and I) sat and listened to her being very polite and deferential to the corporal.

While she was yelling, I was fine. Wasn't taking it personally, wasn't attempting to defend myself or the corporal. Managed not to let the call go on too long. Afterwards I realized that I was a little cold. I still can't help the physical responses sometimes. And yet, when I get the calls where someone's saying "He's hitting her" and there's screaming in the background, I can (as Ed says) be removed and calm. Be the voice. -- What's your name. Where are you. Who is hitting who. The police are on their way. Someone will be right there.

And I've been sworn at before, but mostly the swearing happens right at the end of the call, I tell the caller that their matter is not a police matter and they generally say "Thanks a whole fucking lot" or some such thing before they bang the phone down. But then I just laugh and tell whoever is sitting around with me "That didn't make him/her too happy." But, just like the clip Delia had linked on her blog, there are things that I know that if I go into the coffee room or the squad room and say to the guys, "Someone has stolen old Mr. So-and-so's bottle of vodka" they're going to say, "He probably drank it," and no-one will move.

Furries have conventions... something to look forward to, Ed and Delia.

I have been working on a page from a medieval book of hours. Not the one in the picture, exactly, but similar. It's an invocation to Saint Catherine, in Latin, and I've been inscribing and illuminating it on a piece of paper I made that turned out a nice brownish aged color with a slightly grainy finish. (I know, this sounds like "I'm reconstructing the Battle of Britain out of shredded wheat", but I tell you, this quitting smoking does bizarre things to me) I've been comfortably plodding along, probably put in eight hours on the one page so far. I'm not happy with the size and spacing of my letters, but I've got the hang of making faint red lines to write on. And the illumination I like, I didn't get too fancy. Not sure why I felt the urge to start a book of hours, but there you are.

Ian and I walked across the sea ice to the stone church on the other side of the bay.

this does not surprise me.

Which internet subculture do I belong to? [CLICK] You are a Conspiracy Theorist! Holy cow! You actually did an online quiz? Little did you realise that the information you gave us is being sent to an unknown government agency for evil use against you! Don't try to leave, we are already watching. More Quizzes at Go-Quiz.com

In honour of my little brother in Australia who tells me he's booked a free fall jump for next month.... it's singalong time. This is one of the cheerful songs our family used to sing (with much enthusiasm and little in the way of tune-carrying) in the car on long trips:

to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic
(otherwise known as John Brown's Body)

They dropped him from an aeroplane
Without a parachute,
They dropped him from an aeroplane
Without a parachute,
They dropped him from an aeroplane
Without a parachute,

And he aint gonna jump no more

Chorus
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die
Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die
And he aint gonna jump no more

They scraped him off the tarmac like a lump of strawberry jam (3x)
And He aint gonna jump no more
Chorus
They put him in a chip bag and they sent him home to mum (3x)
And he aint gonna jump no more
Chorus
They put him on the mantle piece for everyone to see (3x)
and he aint gonna jump no more....

************

Ahem. No, really. Prayers requested for little brother's safe passage between sky and earth.

I liked this, from the local news....

The learning curve has been steep, at my new job. But I'm starting to get the hang of it. Some people who call, despite the urgency in their voices, are repeat callers. One particularly alarming man, who sounds as if he is mortally wounded, is usually just blind drunk and wants to chat. One elderly lady has a crisis every few days and needs everyone from the fire marshall to the bylaw officer to come down and take care of her. Yesterday she called with another urgent matter. But I'm getting wise. Later on in the day, one of the guys who knows her came in to start his shift, and I said to him, "I think Mrs. K's lonely, maybe you could go visit her later if you get time." I know he goes and has tea with her periodically, takes her fish or caribou if he's been hunting or fishing. I'm also learning that the folks who call and abuse me when they're drunk are likely to call back a few days later and be sweetness and light.

When I watch tv, I get a little jolt from seeing green landscapes. It has been white and flat for so long here. Admittedly, it's not going to get any less flat, but a bit less white would be nice. Also street/mall scenes full of white folks look strange now too. One becomes accustomed to being a minority.

Work continues to be challenging and interesting. Although I am still fighting a toothache. On Friday I went to the nurse to get another round of antibiotics, as the dentist isn't coming until the 3rd of April. And that's if I can get an appointment. Otherwise it might be me and a pair of pliers. I know, I'm not Tom Hanks on a desert island... I seem to be existing in one of two uncomfortable states. Either the pain medication is working and I'm stunned and can't bring myself to do much of anything, or the pain medication is not working and my tooth is sending shock waves through my entire head, rendering me incapable of doing much of anything. Argh.

Jazzy is a bit better, but not completely. She's finished her meds, and Miguel's going to email the vets. They had said something about doing a biopsy next, but I don't really want to send her to Yellowknife by herself. Poor old sweetie.

I have not had a cigarette in 35 days.

Friday was busy at work. A nasty snowmobile accident in the community, with casualties. Made for a long day. To end a long week. It was court this week, and that makes for a lot of paperwork and coming and going. I also had to use the police radio a lot, and at one point realized I'm no longer terrified of it. They call me and I answer, "go ahead" and when I need them I call them, asking them, "do you copy?" without even thinking about it.

I made some paper today with green tealeaves in it. I also made sushi for dinner. This last courtesy of one of the most amazing avocadoes I have ever purchased. Not a bruise on it, came away from the skin like a dream, beautiful firm yet ripe perfect green flesh. Amazing when you consider how far the avocado must have travelled to reach the Arctic. It was nicer than the last one I bought in Nanaimo. I ate too much sushi and am contentedly lazy this evening. Answering emails and tidying up my tax stuff to send to the accountant.

Jazzy seems a little better, she's a bit perkier, I'm still hopeful that this new course of drugs will help. I was pleased to read that the anti-depressant medication also relieves pain. If she was in any, she won't be feeling it these two weeks at least. I have been on the internet and found that if this doesn't work, with her symptoms we'll have to look at bladder cancer, which can be very excruciating. So, I'm praying for Jazz. I'm sure (if there is a God) he cares what happens to furry friends. He's probably got one himself. (Does God have a Dog? What kind?) Today -- in the wake of my avocado -- I'm more inclined than usual to credit God with existence.

The end of the standoff...

Jazz is still sick. Vets weren't much help. We have some different drugs to try but still no diagnosis. One of the things we were given is an anti-psychotic, because ti acts on the bladder somehow, and it seems to be making her a bit stoned.

I'm trying to decide how far I want to go. I really like my new job, and now I wonder if I need to pursue a Master's, or try to get any further ahead in any kind of a hurry. Strange shift of perspective, though, after having worked so hard in school over the last few years. I'm here. Now I just have to work. Don't necessarily have to break my neck to do anything else right yet.

I have, however, been learning how to make paper. Which is very satisfying. I love paper and stationery and pens and all the accoutrements of writing, and I've produced some lovely speckled paper, and made some cards. Experiments galore. I'm getting the hang of how the deep dark hues of wet paper dries to a sort of pale imitation. A beautiful periwinkle blue wet sheet turns into a muddy blue-gray when it dries. It was funny, when I told my neighbour what I was doing, she said, "Did you read The Time-Traveller's Wife?" and I said, "that's how I got started." And we talked about who we would want to play Henry when the movie comes out. (NOT Brad Pitt. Maybe Johnny Depp.)

All right. My brain hates me. So, just for a bit of background, some news items from our widespread and sparsely-populated area. (and, just for fun, the backstory that goes with them).

Friday there was an armed standoff in Igloolik.

I ended up being involved in this a bit at work, fielding phone calls back and forth between the airport and Igloolik... didn't know air traffic control was in my job description. (I had more story here, but I'm still pretty nervous about talking about my job...)

Second news item has to do with the muskox harvest around here.

I saw the posters in the Coop a few weeks ago, asking for applications from hunters to be part of the harvest. I was joking around with Miguel, saying to him that I was going to apply.

Anyway. I'm told that there is a 45 minute window between killing and cutting the animals, which has to be done in the abattoir, rather than on the land as traditionally. All wonderful intentions aside, the problem with the new rules is that the time limits and the need for the abattoir have made it very difficult, given that the timeline requires a very early start that the hunters don't like. (I don't blame them one bit, it's bloody cold out there...) So the hunt is going very slowly and the folks manning the abattoir are bored. The best laid plans of muskox and men. (I personally don't understand the 45 minute thing, I'm pretty sure that in these temperatures the meat's not going bad in a hurry.) People have killed and eaten these animals for thousands of years. I think I'd rather eat a caribou that I can see was healthy and running around millions of acres of clean land than a cow that was stuffed into a feedlot in the Fraser valley within breathing distance of Vancouver's pollution. Who knows.

I went for dinner next door with the lawyers last night. I got to ask a lot of the questions I've been wondering about, to do with cultural differences and my place in the scheme of things. Although my brain still hates me, my emotions are a bit calmer. I love it here. Strange. Miguel's already starting to talk about wanting to go back to the real world. Not yet, but he's thinking finitely. I can understand that. But I'm in no hurry.

Hey Delia,

I didn't get Crow...


Badger


What Is Your Animal Personality?
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Miguel's comment when I showed him was: "That's you all over." Grmph.

Early Sunday morning the phone rang. I lurched to grab it on the first ring, as I'm supposed to at the police station. At the last moment I thought, "Hmmm, I seem to be in bed", and said, "Hello," instead. The voice on the other end said, "Uh, hi. Who is this?" I replied, "This is Kate. Who is this?" There was a pause, then the voice said, "Oh. Sorry. Wrong number," and hung up. I was telling the corporal about this, at work today, and I said to him that I was all ready to say, "Where are you calling from? What's going on? Is anybody hurt?" And he laughed and said I must be learning something...

This not-smoking thing is ok, I guess. Really I've gotten to the stage of things where I don't want to smoke because I don't want to have to quit again and I know I have to. If that makes sense. I am enjoying the re-threading of my brain. There are definite changes in how I see things when I'm not smoking. I have to fight through the moods, at first, and try to sort out whether everyone really does hate me and is out to get me. I get a bit more selfish than usual, and want to get people to do things for me. Especially, it always seems, as I mentioned last week, I want someone to make coffee for me. It doesn't count as a treat, an alternative to cigarettes, unless someone else produces it. Don't ask me why this follows, but it does. And I don't want people to stand too close to me. This passes, but if I remember correctly it takes a long time. If someone stands too close it makes me dizzy, and I think I'm going to grab them to keep from falling. Like a sort of proximity-induced vertigo.

Jazz is going to Yellowknife next week to the vet. She's been peeing blood and we're worried about her. We got antibiotics sent from the vet, hoping it might be a bladder infection, but the vets said they need to do more tests as the drugs didn't help. We were thinking we might have to send her by herself in her crate (poor sweetie) but it turns out Miguel's going to meetings in YK next week so he can take her. I'm really hoping that it isn't kidney failure, and that she gets to come home again........