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.

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.