My Project Supervisor popped his head around the partition and said in his casual but concise way – “There’s a suspicious package in the Mailroom, the Bomb squad is going to move it into the loading dock area and deal with it. If you don’t feel comfortable staying at your desk, feel free to evacuate the building.” His task complete, he strode off, no doubt to impart, in his matter-of-fact-just-another-day-at-the-office way, the same news on other unsuspecting workers.
Hmmm, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
Truth be told, I’ve realised how “far removed from Kansas” I truly am in my work-a-day world on several occasions.
I often find myself surrounded by uniformed men with guns – no, I am not being escorted away in handcuffs and no, it’s not some midnight fantasy of mine (hmmm, handcuffs…errr, where was I?).
Ah, yes, work; I work in at the City Police Headquarters (PHQ) so it has become commonplace for me to see Members of the Local Force replete with sidearm and handcuffs strapped to their waists; in the elevator, in line in the canteen, sitting in meeting rooms. It’s just another day at the office.
I have gotten used to being “M’am’d” in the halls by the recruits (who are instructed to acknowledge everyone they meet in PHQ with “Sir or “M’am”) which had been very off putting; especially the time when there were about 30 recruits heading up a staircase while I was heading down – every on every stair I was met with “M’am”, “M’am”, “M’am”, “M’am” – by the time I had descended three flights I felt about 30 years older.
I am not surprised to see the plain clothes or gang squad members with their holstered guns and their detective badges hung around their necks in NYPD Blue fashion. Though admittedly I was a little taken aback the day the riot squad was using the hall outside my office area as a staging area as they prepared to go on some advanced training. Decked out in their full body armour, helmets with face shields and carrying their body shields they were a bit intimidating (I think medieval knights would have been hard pressed to look as daunting).
And I have to admit to doing a double take the other day when I walked by an office and saw what appeared to me, the uninitiated civilian, as some sort of automatic rifle mounted on the wall – home décor ala Rambo, anyone?
But after being here for over 18 months and getting used to most of it, I have to admit to being a bit put out the day of the bomb scare.
My Project Sponsor's almost casual attitude was a bit disconcerting - I'm sure his training taught him to be calm when facing imminent death in order to avoid creating unnecessary alarm. So for me, being situated relatively close to where the loading dock area was, and not having the years of maintain-your-calm training, I began to wonder, should I leave?
I’m sure we have all experienced the unexpected fire alarm and have had the “I can't smell smoke, is it just a false alarm, or should I get the heck out?” reaction – do you heed the warning or just ignore the alarm and carry on?
The optional evacuation aspect of his comment perplexed me; should I be alarmed? Or should I only worry when he comes back shouting - "Get out! Get out now and save yourselves!", would he have time? Is the building truly built to resist bombing, as all outward appearances would lead one to believe? Yes, I work in a building that looks like to could resist the blast of a disgruntled pipe bomb, but really, I'd rather not have a "looks are deceiving" moment – thanks very much.
I wonder if my reaction would have been different if I was living somewhere else. Certainly, there are many places in the world where a potential bomb threat would elicit more than a calm “leave if you like” response. In this day and age of Al Qaeda and Anthrax is anyone immune from the paranoia around personal safety? I am, apparently. I sat at my desk and kept working, not honestly believing there was a bomb; why would anyone bomb PHQ in this small city.
I guess I feel relatively safe here in my quiet, non-threatening part of the world. I leave my apartment door unlocked when I go downstairs to do laundry; I’ve even accidently left it unlocked overnight. Also, given that I live on the 12 floor of a high rise, I leave my balcony doors open in the summer. Though my sense of security was shaken last summer when two apartment across the hall were broken into and vandalized, after about a month of extreme security paranoia, I reverted to my old, can’t-happen-to-me self and chose to think that what happened was a random act perpetrated by a disgruntled former resident who had keys to one of the two apartments in the first place. I was not in any danger.
But I don’t put myself in danger either, well at least not knowingly. I don’t wander around the rough parts of town; I’m not out alone late at night. When I travel I take along a healthy dose of travellers paranoia just to heighten my senses and if I start feeling uneasy as I slide off the beaten path, I hightail it back to where I feel safe again. As they say, I don’t borrow trouble.
Who knows though, maybe the next bomb scare will not just be a scare, but it’s not very likely.
I guess I’m lucky that I live in a city and country in which I feel as safe as houses. I know I’m fortunate and sometimes it’s good to remember and be grateful.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Life-Moment Mulligans
I wish I had a time machine and could go back in time and change certain things that I did, or said.
I know, I know, anyone who has even the smallest exposure to Science Fiction knows that going back in time and changing things is fraught with issues - the main one being, if you went back in time and changed something then the reason you had to go back in time is eliminated thereby making it unnecessary for your present self to go back into time in the first place. Ok, Time Paradoxes aside, there are still things that I would like to change, if it were possible.
I know I am not alone in having this wish, I am almost certain that everyone has such thoughts and past regrets – the "if onlys" that haunt us.
I have to admit, I have been watching a show on CBC called "Being Erica" which I think is contributing to my desire to have a “Life-Moment Mulligan”. Erica is a thirty-something woman who is single and without much direction in her life (I draw no parallels there, ahem.) and she blames her lack of direction on things that happened (or failed to happen) in the past. She meets a mysterious man called "Dr. Tom" who gets her to write down all her past regrets and then sends her back in time in each episode to re-write the past as it were.
Invariably, Erica's re-writing of the past doesn't have the intended outcome, instead she learns to put the past in a different context and that it's not as much about what we have done in the past, but how we deal with it in the present; what we learn from the experience and what we do in the here and now to prevent having a similar regret later in life.
I guess regrets are natural, just part of life. I know for some, there probably is a watershed moment – a definitive point in time where their life did alter irrevocably, but I think for most of us, it’s just a series of small course changes that we consciously or unconsciously navigate on our way through life. Sometimes, we look back on the course change and wish we’d gone left instead of right; but all we can do now is reset our sails and alter our course in the best direction we can find and hope for the best.
I think I have learned from most of my regrets, but I still catch myself from time to time wishing for a Life-Moment Mulligan to erase the regret from the board.
I guess the lesson I still need to learn is how to accept the “mistakes” I’ve made and let go of past regrets – maybe I could go back in time and teach my younger self that lesson – you see, I still think it would be fun to have a time machine – time paradoxes be damned.
I know, I know, anyone who has even the smallest exposure to Science Fiction knows that going back in time and changing things is fraught with issues - the main one being, if you went back in time and changed something then the reason you had to go back in time is eliminated thereby making it unnecessary for your present self to go back into time in the first place. Ok, Time Paradoxes aside, there are still things that I would like to change, if it were possible.
I know I am not alone in having this wish, I am almost certain that everyone has such thoughts and past regrets – the "if onlys" that haunt us.
I have to admit, I have been watching a show on CBC called "Being Erica" which I think is contributing to my desire to have a “Life-Moment Mulligan”. Erica is a thirty-something woman who is single and without much direction in her life (I draw no parallels there, ahem.) and she blames her lack of direction on things that happened (or failed to happen) in the past. She meets a mysterious man called "Dr. Tom" who gets her to write down all her past regrets and then sends her back in time in each episode to re-write the past as it were.
Invariably, Erica's re-writing of the past doesn't have the intended outcome, instead she learns to put the past in a different context and that it's not as much about what we have done in the past, but how we deal with it in the present; what we learn from the experience and what we do in the here and now to prevent having a similar regret later in life.
I guess regrets are natural, just part of life. I know for some, there probably is a watershed moment – a definitive point in time where their life did alter irrevocably, but I think for most of us, it’s just a series of small course changes that we consciously or unconsciously navigate on our way through life. Sometimes, we look back on the course change and wish we’d gone left instead of right; but all we can do now is reset our sails and alter our course in the best direction we can find and hope for the best.
I think I have learned from most of my regrets, but I still catch myself from time to time wishing for a Life-Moment Mulligan to erase the regret from the board.
I guess the lesson I still need to learn is how to accept the “mistakes” I’ve made and let go of past regrets – maybe I could go back in time and teach my younger self that lesson – you see, I still think it would be fun to have a time machine – time paradoxes be damned.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Spring has Sprung
...or so they say.
Around here, it feels like Spring is just a technicality, a date, a mere mark on the calendar; rather than an actual seasonal alteration.
It arrived, apparently, under the cover of darkness at 5:45 Friday morning. I imagine it chose that time because it was too ashamed to come during daylight given how little alteration its arrival actually brings to this part of the world.
I wonder if the hardy inhabitants of this part of the world ought to adopt a "Springtime Savings Time" that will offset the spring equinox to about three weeks later in the year to allow for the onset of Spring to actually herald a change to the landscape. Nowhere on the planet (save the most Polarly of climes) should the radio host have to say "Happy first day of Spring" and "Heavy snowfall warning" in almost the same breath; which is what I woke up to on Friday, today we have a Winter Storm Warning - maybe Environment Canada should re-name it "Spring Storm Warning").
Snow should not fall in the Springtime, wind chill should be a thing of the past, and grass should be beginning to turn green and trees should start budding and showing signs of life, but alas, these signs of Spring are still about a month away, if I'm lucky.
One of my personal signs of Spring (is it a Freudian slip to keep typing sighs of Spring?) is how restless I get for some colour other than the monochromatic tones of winter, even when the snow goes (I predict that will be about 3 weeks from now) it will be brown - grass and street alike, dusty, gritty and brown (hence why I long for budding trees and greening grass; something a little less dead-looking would be nice).
Another personal sign is the need to get organized - I completely understand the desire to do spring cleaning. Not cleaning, per se, in the sense of washing floors and vacuuming, etc. but certainly the need to divest myself of clutter. Like shedding heavy layers after a long winter, I need to shed some excess baggage (no, I don't need to lose weight - well, um, YES, I DO need to lose weight, but that's not what this blog is about!). I need to reduce the clutter that has taken over my apartment; like the squirrel whose nest (they do have nests, don't they?) is now full of nut shells and moldy nuts, I need to rid myself of the bits and pieces I keep holding on to - the bric-a-brac and knickknack nut shells that are beginning to make my nest feel claustrophobic.
I'm slowly re-organizing my apartment; which I would describe as controlled chaos, on a good day and all out bedlam on a bad day. The trick is, I hide the chaos well; I lock it in cupboards and stick it in boxes and squirreling it away (if you will) and forget about it (well, almost forget about it). The problem is, it's still there, I know it's there but like how I imagine most parents of newborns feel about sleeping babies, if I disturb it at all, all hell will break loose. But I decided I need to throw caution to the wind and try to organize.
I am reminded of the joke about how to eat an elephant; one bite at a time. That is how I thought I would attempt to organize my apartment; one chaotic corner at a time. The phrase “Divide and conquer” and “once more unto the breach” also come to mind; the latter being more of a call to arms to rally my willpower that an actual attack plan. The line after the “Breach” line is even less inspiring – “Or close the wall up with our English dead” which really rather accurately describes the current state of my storage room.
The problem with reorg'ing storage areas is that you need to make a mess first, hauling out all the bits that have been carefully stuffed into places, before resorting and then re-stowing; all the more reason to do it in small chunks, if possible. Which I why I need to keep my loins girded, if I lose momentum, I run the risk of being overwhelmed by a cascade of chaos.
“Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.”
Shakespeare aside, I HAVE divided my apartment into several chaotic sections and have begun to re-establish order, after all, it's Spring, I can't hibernate so what else am I going to do until better weather arrives…
Around here, it feels like Spring is just a technicality, a date, a mere mark on the calendar; rather than an actual seasonal alteration.
It arrived, apparently, under the cover of darkness at 5:45 Friday morning. I imagine it chose that time because it was too ashamed to come during daylight given how little alteration its arrival actually brings to this part of the world.
I wonder if the hardy inhabitants of this part of the world ought to adopt a "Springtime Savings Time" that will offset the spring equinox to about three weeks later in the year to allow for the onset of Spring to actually herald a change to the landscape. Nowhere on the planet (save the most Polarly of climes) should the radio host have to say "Happy first day of Spring" and "Heavy snowfall warning" in almost the same breath; which is what I woke up to on Friday, today we have a Winter Storm Warning - maybe Environment Canada should re-name it "Spring Storm Warning").
Snow should not fall in the Springtime, wind chill should be a thing of the past, and grass should be beginning to turn green and trees should start budding and showing signs of life, but alas, these signs of Spring are still about a month away, if I'm lucky.
One of my personal signs of Spring (is it a Freudian slip to keep typing sighs of Spring?) is how restless I get for some colour other than the monochromatic tones of winter, even when the snow goes (I predict that will be about 3 weeks from now) it will be brown - grass and street alike, dusty, gritty and brown (hence why I long for budding trees and greening grass; something a little less dead-looking would be nice).
Another personal sign is the need to get organized - I completely understand the desire to do spring cleaning. Not cleaning, per se, in the sense of washing floors and vacuuming, etc. but certainly the need to divest myself of clutter. Like shedding heavy layers after a long winter, I need to shed some excess baggage (no, I don't need to lose weight - well, um, YES, I DO need to lose weight, but that's not what this blog is about!). I need to reduce the clutter that has taken over my apartment; like the squirrel whose nest (they do have nests, don't they?) is now full of nut shells and moldy nuts, I need to rid myself of the bits and pieces I keep holding on to - the bric-a-brac and knickknack nut shells that are beginning to make my nest feel claustrophobic.
I'm slowly re-organizing my apartment; which I would describe as controlled chaos, on a good day and all out bedlam on a bad day. The trick is, I hide the chaos well; I lock it in cupboards and stick it in boxes and squirreling it away (if you will) and forget about it (well, almost forget about it). The problem is, it's still there, I know it's there but like how I imagine most parents of newborns feel about sleeping babies, if I disturb it at all, all hell will break loose. But I decided I need to throw caution to the wind and try to organize.
I am reminded of the joke about how to eat an elephant; one bite at a time. That is how I thought I would attempt to organize my apartment; one chaotic corner at a time. The phrase “Divide and conquer” and “once more unto the breach” also come to mind; the latter being more of a call to arms to rally my willpower that an actual attack plan. The line after the “Breach” line is even less inspiring – “Or close the wall up with our English dead” which really rather accurately describes the current state of my storage room.
The problem with reorg'ing storage areas is that you need to make a mess first, hauling out all the bits that have been carefully stuffed into places, before resorting and then re-stowing; all the more reason to do it in small chunks, if possible. Which I why I need to keep my loins girded, if I lose momentum, I run the risk of being overwhelmed by a cascade of chaos.
“Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.”
Shakespeare aside, I HAVE divided my apartment into several chaotic sections and have begun to re-establish order, after all, it's Spring, I can't hibernate so what else am I going to do until better weather arrives…
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Strange, but true.
I'm in a good mood today. I was in a good mood yesterday, not to mention the day before yesterday. Actually, I've been in a reasonably good mood since coming back from my trip (despite the cold, miserable, crappy, winter weather that makes me want to hibernate for the foreseeable future in the hopes that it will be green and alive the next time I open my window blinds). Yes, aside from the weather, I'm in a good mood.
Now, to you Polly Anna types out there this might not seem like a big deal. I am certain that there are a lot of people in the world that go through whole stretches of time being in a good mood; but I am not one of them. It's not that I consciously run about in a bad mood (nor, conversely, have I consciously woken up the past few days and said "Today I will be in a good mood" - as far as I know, that doesn't work), it's just that, normally, I let things bother me; I stew on things that annoy me until they become seething pots of malice (maybe too strong? Well, some-such ugliness at any rate) and since my return from NZ, I've been less stew-y and more do-y (please forgive the BIG degree of poetic license there).
I'm not sure what I can attribute my good mood to. Usually, after a trip I'm in a bad mood, having nothing to look forward to, having the trip just over, coming back to my "normal" life I fall into a "Post-Departum Depression". But this time it's not so bad. I'm back in the swing of things, enjoying work and enjoying life! How odd; is this really me blogging?
Is this really me? - YES!
I need to capture this in print, I need proof that I have days of feeling awesome. Sad, to think that I need to remind myself of the good times when I can easily recall any number of bad times in excruciatingly painful details... I wonder if optimists are the other way around, they easily remember the good times and are infrequently and unpleasantly reminded of the bad times.
I think failing to remember or recognize the good is how most people get depressed. Stewing and dwelling on the bad, colours the good. Maybe that's why it's called stewing - you marinate your life with anger and sadness and then wonder why depression is the "flavour of the month".
Is it possible to stew on happy thoughts? What would that be called? It's not dreaming, it's potentially more tangible than that - maybe the fact that I don't know what to call it is a good indicator that it's something I haven't done a lot of - if I had done, maybe I would have named it by now....
Maybe I could call it basking; “I’m basking in a happy glow…” a bit silly maybe, but as someone famous once said “What’s in a name?”
Though I realize my life is far from perfect and there are a lot of things going on right now in my life that I’m not happy about, still, in general I’m happy. Better than that; I’m in a headspace where I can begin to deal with the things I’m not content with. I can tackle life’s issues with a clearer head and calmer heart – strange, but true.
Now, to you Polly Anna types out there this might not seem like a big deal. I am certain that there are a lot of people in the world that go through whole stretches of time being in a good mood; but I am not one of them. It's not that I consciously run about in a bad mood (nor, conversely, have I consciously woken up the past few days and said "Today I will be in a good mood" - as far as I know, that doesn't work), it's just that, normally, I let things bother me; I stew on things that annoy me until they become seething pots of malice (maybe too strong? Well, some-such ugliness at any rate) and since my return from NZ, I've been less stew-y and more do-y (please forgive the BIG degree of poetic license there).
I'm not sure what I can attribute my good mood to. Usually, after a trip I'm in a bad mood, having nothing to look forward to, having the trip just over, coming back to my "normal" life I fall into a "Post-Departum Depression". But this time it's not so bad. I'm back in the swing of things, enjoying work and enjoying life! How odd; is this really me blogging?
Is this really me? - YES!
I need to capture this in print, I need proof that I have days of feeling awesome. Sad, to think that I need to remind myself of the good times when I can easily recall any number of bad times in excruciatingly painful details... I wonder if optimists are the other way around, they easily remember the good times and are infrequently and unpleasantly reminded of the bad times.
I think failing to remember or recognize the good is how most people get depressed. Stewing and dwelling on the bad, colours the good. Maybe that's why it's called stewing - you marinate your life with anger and sadness and then wonder why depression is the "flavour of the month".
Is it possible to stew on happy thoughts? What would that be called? It's not dreaming, it's potentially more tangible than that - maybe the fact that I don't know what to call it is a good indicator that it's something I haven't done a lot of - if I had done, maybe I would have named it by now....
Maybe I could call it basking; “I’m basking in a happy glow…” a bit silly maybe, but as someone famous once said “What’s in a name?”
Though I realize my life is far from perfect and there are a lot of things going on right now in my life that I’m not happy about, still, in general I’m happy. Better than that; I’m in a headspace where I can begin to deal with the things I’m not content with. I can tackle life’s issues with a clearer head and calmer heart – strange, but true.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Where North is South, East and West Remain Constant
I was recently in New Zealand for just over three weeks and in that time I slowly got to terms with the fact that South is cold and North is warm (NZ being in the Southern Hemisphere). Winds from the South are cold there - which is counter-intuitive for a North American who expects cold winds to come from the North and that Southern winds are a warm and welcome change.
NZ also challenged my North American brain by forcing me to try to remember that I need get into the “passenger side” to find the steering wheel, I need to have oncoming traffic to the right of me and that I need to be left of a centre median when driving. Not to mention that I can't signal with my windshield wipers so I ought to remember which side of the steering wheel the indicator lever is on - all things that can perplex a person from North America.
But the one thing I can take some solace in is that East and West are still East and West. The sun still rises in the east and sets in the west and dawn comes around about 0630hrs and dusk is around 2030hrs.
It's funny that the entire time I was away I was busily comparing the exotic and distant New Zealand with the familiar and (dare I say) common Canada. What is it about people that they feel compelled to find the familiar in the unfamiliar? Does it help them to relate, acclimate, accept? I know for me it did.
People have asked me since my return - what was it like? My answer is usually a bit vague but invariably I say something along the lines of "There are things that remind me of Canada, and there are things that are completely different. Mountains and oceans, like Canada, but more exotic trees and a milder climate. Similar but different."
We all need a frame of reference to work within, it comforts us, assists us. With out it it's hard to describe things to someone else. How would you describe a snowy and pine-covered mountain to someone who has only ever seen the flat and grassy plains where it never snows?
The familiar is comforting, like an old sweater whose fashionablity and structural integrity have both long past their wear-by date but which still gets worn "around the house" because it's comfortable, familiar things offer a sense of continuity.
Though I was disappointed to have to leave NZ and was not looking forward to the three flights and over 20 hours in-transit, I was comforted by the fact that waiting for my return, at the airport, was a good friend of mine. A familiar face, welcoming me back to all things familiar helping me slowly adjust to the fact that even though I'm still sitting in the right-hand seat in the car, I no longer have a steering wheel in front of me. My friend also brought me an extra jacket – the wind from the North is awfully cold in these parts these days!
NZ also challenged my North American brain by forcing me to try to remember that I need get into the “passenger side” to find the steering wheel, I need to have oncoming traffic to the right of me and that I need to be left of a centre median when driving. Not to mention that I can't signal with my windshield wipers so I ought to remember which side of the steering wheel the indicator lever is on - all things that can perplex a person from North America.
But the one thing I can take some solace in is that East and West are still East and West. The sun still rises in the east and sets in the west and dawn comes around about 0630hrs and dusk is around 2030hrs.
It's funny that the entire time I was away I was busily comparing the exotic and distant New Zealand with the familiar and (dare I say) common Canada. What is it about people that they feel compelled to find the familiar in the unfamiliar? Does it help them to relate, acclimate, accept? I know for me it did.
People have asked me since my return - what was it like? My answer is usually a bit vague but invariably I say something along the lines of "There are things that remind me of Canada, and there are things that are completely different. Mountains and oceans, like Canada, but more exotic trees and a milder climate. Similar but different."
We all need a frame of reference to work within, it comforts us, assists us. With out it it's hard to describe things to someone else. How would you describe a snowy and pine-covered mountain to someone who has only ever seen the flat and grassy plains where it never snows?
The familiar is comforting, like an old sweater whose fashionablity and structural integrity have both long past their wear-by date but which still gets worn "around the house" because it's comfortable, familiar things offer a sense of continuity.
Though I was disappointed to have to leave NZ and was not looking forward to the three flights and over 20 hours in-transit, I was comforted by the fact that waiting for my return, at the airport, was a good friend of mine. A familiar face, welcoming me back to all things familiar helping me slowly adjust to the fact that even though I'm still sitting in the right-hand seat in the car, I no longer have a steering wheel in front of me. My friend also brought me an extra jacket – the wind from the North is awfully cold in these parts these days!
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