Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…

The tome in all its glory ~click through for a closer look~

Which would you choose? This tome was waiting for me in the middle of my desk one recent Monday morning. I’d already been offered the promotion, but the spiral bound beast of a book made it suddenly real. Robert Frost’s poem – along with my life – flashed before my eyes. Was I really going to become a geophysical technician?

Almost everyone I surveyed pushed for “Yes!” Huge pay increase, new skill-set, broader career options… how could I say no? Not to mention give up the unprecedented honour of being the first Printing Supervisor (aka Paper Roller) to ever be given the opportunity to start training up the geophysical food chain. Flattered? Yes. Tempted? Sure.

But…

There’s a reason why people say they “fell” into their jobs. Do I want a passive, accidental future? Do you? We live in an incredible era of choice. While it’s true that such freedom can be crippling – the studies have been done -  we may as well take advantage of our post-modern culture while we can. For the first time in human history, there is enough flexibility, in terms of our basic survival, for us to pursue our passions. There is a cost, of course. Once one takes an active roll in one’s future, there is that heavy, inescapable pressure of having to back up words with work – hard work. What to choose?

I said no.    

What now? All I can do is keep listing to that little voice, the one that wants so badly. What’s yours whispering in your ear? Mine wants to write, to challenge, to design, to explore. I don’t know what happens from here, but I have faith in the future. And as long as I keep writing towards it, I’ll know I’m on the right road.

Note: Yes, that is Will Wheaton - aka Wesley Crusher from Star Trek TNG - straddling my office moisturizer. How does that intro go again? To boldly go where no one has gone before…  how apropos.

Prelude to a choice…

 

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood…”

- Robert Frost

What would you do if you found this tome in the middle of your desk on a Monday morning? Stay tuned...

A short note on the importance of context…

An inukshuk in Banff, Alberta - Larger than life?

How wide do you stretch your frame of reference? Not just in photography, although these Banff pics do make a snazzy allegory, but in how you see yourself. How close do you crop?

It’s really a matter of context. How much are you willing to let into the picture? One word on a page is black and white, but it’s funny how quickly the paper turns grey as you add to the story. It takes real courage to rip yourself out of a nice, cozy, swaddled reality. As we extend our frame of reference to include the motivations of other people, cultures, and histories, we are forced to surrender (albeit incrementally) the security of control – a hard sacrifice for those who prefer to direct their worlds, and be justified by them.

I’m not talking about abandoning yourself to some universal “flow”, but more about finding a way to exist as a secure self in an open, ever changing world. The first step is to allow yourself to be justified (validated) by an outside source – Gödel was onto something. I know I’m being biased here, but I highly recommend God. The next key is to give up a little of that control. Can you hear it? Yep, that’s the world, and it’s still  turning, a miracle, I know.

Get to know yourself, without judgment or regret. Just be honest for a minute, within the context of only you. Who are you? What do you really want? Ok, so maybe a minute is cutting it a bit tight, but you get the idea. This self-knowledge can take away so much of the questioning and vulnerability of “big picture” living. Once you’re ready to open your frame of reference, you’ll be amazed at how the scale of everything changes. Sure, in the grand scheme of it all, you shrink down almost to nothing, but you’ll be amazed at how many new, big, bold possibilities can squeeze into a big life.

Hmm... not so much. ~Special thanks to leg model G~

 

Somewhere out there a Vogue editor is crying…

I woke up to winter in Calgary today. Sure, there were heaps of snow on the ground yesterday, and the bow river was slate grey and seething, but there was still something missing. The season change became official at 7am this morning, when Mother Nature overheard me trying to describe my outfit over the phone:

“Um, ok, so picture me as a Christmas elf at the mall, but all they could find for me was some old man’s wrinkled elf costume from who knows when. Oh, and my lumberjack socks are pulled up over my pants, almost to my knees.”

I’d like to say I went straight back to my room to change, but I didn’t. I tied on my damp sneakers (boots are for sissies, not real Canadians) and trudged out into the wilderness. When the weather works its way this deep into your bones, this early, there’s not a whole lot you can do. Except maybe, and I suppose I’m right on time here, channel it for Halloween?

Why I don’t ride the bus to work…

I woke up to a grey morning today. The sky was grey, my sweater was grey, and my threadbare brown ‘cozy’ hoodie (because when the weather won’t make the effort, why should I?) has been verging on grey for years. I stepped out the door, already late, into a grey drizzle. It was a bus morning.

The rush hour bus is a grim way to start any day, stopping and starting and stopping and starting, all through downtown gridlock. But today, there was no way around it. I rolled up my torn cuffs as discreetly as I could in a bus full of business suits and shiny shoes, and stood by the back doors to wait for my stop.

I was well on my way to daydreaming myself out of my funk when the bus slowed and settled by the curb. I pushed the doors, but they didn’t budge. I pushed again, and jiggled the long handles… nothing. The bus hissed and I felt the jolt of the flyweel kicking in. Great, just great.

“Back doors,” I called out. The bus jerked forward. “Back doors, please!” I shouted over the crowd, who had all turned their heads to watch.

The bus driver glared at me in his mirror. I shook the doors again and glared back.

His answer came back biting: “Could you at least let me get to the bus stop first.”

This is why I walk to work ~ sigh.

Soap operas and sweet potatoes in the produce aisle

I was in the grocery store the other day, when I happened to overhear an age old human drama play out over the sweet potatoes. One of the two men stocking the vegetables flagged down a passing produce manager to ask her advice on a logistical problem – I’m assuming she was higher up the food chain since she was wearing a classy full-length Safeway smock instead of lowly green apron.

Logistics resolved, the three got to chatting about the ol’ days:

“…Now, Harry,” said the older of the two men, “there was one heck of a produce man.” He spoke wistfully, with respect and an obvious, long kindled awe, the way other men speak of Winston Churchill, or Elvis.

“Oh,” cut in the younger man, turning to the woman, whose androgyny was cut only by a tight blond ponytail, “isn’t that your husband?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear her whole body went tense under that smock. She suddenly had somewhere else to be and took off for the swinging doors behind the prepackaged salads.

“My EX husband,” she called back to the men, before disappearing into the bowels of the building.

I felt for her. How hard it must be to live in the shadow of a legend. Any man who can inspire such awe, such reverence, must pay a terrible cost. In choosing greatness, as Harry, and a hundred before him have done, our heroes must leave so many behind. A pickle any way you slice it.

The best advice for weight loss is right out in the open…

Sometimes in life, the writing's on the wall...

I couldn’t resist snapping a pic of this delightful dieting advice on my walk to work this morning. Finally, weight loss advice from someone practicing what he/she preaches! How many calories do you suppose one burns while practicing the yoga-esque art of graffiti? Good work out for the upper body, with lots of extended stretching. Hmmm, have we just found a new alternative to spin class?

A short note on the injustice of other people eating bacon at 7:10AM

My walk to work takes me through one of Calgary’s swankiest neighbourhoods. Wandering through The Better Homes and Gardens Theme Park so early in the morning can be pretty demoralizing to those of us not booked on a flight to Cannes this week. I can deal with picturesque window treatments and carefully landscaped lawns. Current model BMWs cutting me off on the sidewalk? No problem. But…

A line was crossed today. There is one house on the route so magnificent, so architecturally breathtaking in all its cedar shingled glory, that even its Home Depot outdoor potters transend our reality to honour the sublime. Anyways, that house, that family, was cooking bacon at 7:10 this morning! Is it really so much to ask that there be just a little pinch of justice for those of us with empty stomachs trudging by in beat-up sneaks? 

But then again, what a wonderful way to find out, at 7:10am, that yes, it is possible to have everything.

Grab a biscuit on your way out…

I cut under the entrance awning of the retirement home beside my office building on my way to work this morning. There was an ambulance parked in front, right outside the home’s dining lounge windows. I took a peek at the breakfast crowd as I darted by. I know the drill; an ambulance that early in the morning usually means only one thing: there will be one less tea biscuit on the tray.

There was a smattering of elderly residents in the lounge, some chatting, some alone, all nibbling on delights far more tasty than the frozen peas with cheese that were waiting for me next door (don’t ask). One woman was sitting close to the window, all by herself. She was looking past me absently, chewing on the end of a thick butter coloured biscuit. Her wrists were wire thin, and the dyed reddish curls on top of her head were politely spaced with plenty of breathing room in between each translucent twist.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of her table-mates who wouldn’t be making it down for breakfast. The woman didn’t seem all that concerned about the ambulance, or even all that interested in what she was eating. What did the scene mean to her, if anything? With mortality waiting just outside the window – I kept asking myself – why wasn’t she savouring the darned tea biscuit? There is so much I don’t yet know about life, but I can tell you one thing…

My frozen peas with cheese were absolutely delicious.

The tea biscuit circle of life

(image source)

Geologist Trapped In Calgary Tower!

“I would suggest going with Perrier or bottled rather than Calgary tap water,” implored our server, and I do mean ‘implored’.

The revolving restaurant atop the Calgary Tower is a swanky joint, don’t get me wrong, but upselling water? How uncouth! My friend and I were stunned. I would expect that sort of behaviour from a Subway Sandwich Artist (been there, done that lol), but from a debonair, expertly coiffed, professional waiter?

He continued to plead his cause, hand clutching tightly cuffed wrist, to us and to every one of his other tables, with phrases like “overly fluorinated” and “just like sucking on a penny”. We heard him give his well practiced speal a full three times within the space of ten minutes. I suppose I should mention that my lovely friend and I were the only holdouts – Calgary tap water all the way!

Of course, I had to ask about the ice cubes ~wink~

“Distilled water,” he said, and yes, he did use a Brita at home. I began to suspect there was more to our server’s story, especially when he went on to explain why we Calgarians find ourselves using so much lotion after the shower. And no, the conversation wasn’t headed in that direction ; )

Could there be, dare I say it, a “passion” behind his upselling? I’ve always been fascinated by what people chose as their “cause”, that connection to a part of the world that’s wholly theirs and theirs alone. What’s yours?

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” I said, “but you seem to be so…um…passionate about this whole thing. I’m just curious where it comes from.”

He smiled and confessed, rather sheepishly, “I’m actually a geologist.”

Elevators are treacherous in this economy

So… I happen to get in the elevator this morning with one of my office’s biggest oil company clients. I recognized her, despite red eyes and wild this-$34-a-barrel-is-killing-me hair, as Peggy-Ann, a charmer from the 17th floor. And I, as a dedicated and motivated employee, proceeded to make small talk. Groan - that’s when everything went so wrong…

 

“So I guess you’ve heard we’re moving,” I said.

 

Her eyes went wide with obvious shock and horror. “Matrix is moving????!” 

 

This is where yours truly entered panic mode. Ah yes, the full-on arm flailing, the sheepish grinning, the hopelessly hole digging sputtering… and it all happened so fast - ”just down the street…we’ll still be super close…you didn’t hear it from me…” Ohhhhh the agony!!! Did I just give out a corporate secret? Did I just somehow sabotage our company’s biggest contract? What does one do in this type of calamity?

 

Well…one fesses up to one’s boss in the office kitchen while trying to look extra “dedicated and motivated” by rearranging the pop cans in the bottom of the fridge. End result? Life…somehow…goes on. Turns out it was no biggie. And, as a bonus, now all the logos on the pop cans are lined up.  Um…wooopi?

Are you in the dark this New Years Eve?

“Do you find it dark in here?” The maintenance tech asked me, light-bulb in hand. He was perched on a red folding ladder, replacing the burnt out bulb over my office computer. 

“Well, ya,” I said. “This is the only office in the company without a window.” That fact has never bothered me before. Why would it? I have a sweet situation at my job, one that I could have only fantasised about while trapped in retail. Why on earth would I start complaining about the lighting?

“I can make it brighter for you,” said the tech. “I can put in all daylight bulbs if you’d like.”

I told him to “go for it.”

I can’t even begin to describe the difference it’s made! I have a sunbeam waiting for me in my office every morning : ) No really, it’s fantastic! My mood, and even my outlook for the new year, have been illuminated. So pease promise me, dear readers, that if someone comes into your life this year and offers to brighten your day… you’ll let them. Because you might not think you need it, or deserve it, but (and trust me on this)… it will light up more than you can imagine ; )

Happy New Year!

The one thing I will not wait for…

I wait patiently for traffic lights to turn, for water to boil, for my hubby to take me play-by-play through his latest round of golf ; ) Yes, willingly, even joyfully, I twiddle my thumbs through it all. But there is one thing I refuse to wait for, even for a matter of seconds. I will not wait for Porta-potties to be unloaded from a construction site pickup truck while I stand freezing on a snowy downtown sidewalk on my way to work. I was caught in just such a situation recently – hence the descriptive detail lol. My fellow pedestrians were grumbling and kicking at the snow, when someone finally spoke up: “Are we really waiting for Porta-potties?” The closest construction worker nodded sheepishly.

Well forget that! I took off for the nearest building entrance and made my way up to the +15 (Calgary’s raised downtown walkway), where, promptly, I got lost.

Sigh. First time dignity’s ever made me late for work.

Heli-potty takes flight…a much better delivery method!

(Image source)

I’m so ashamed…

It’s finally happened. I thought growing up with a 13inch black and white, constantly snow screened, cableless TV would immunize me. No such luck. I thought only those poor souls black’buried’ under cellphones and laptops would be afflicted. Nope. I never felt the change – that’s the scariest part – of my brain and body slowly rewiring under constant sensory assault. I never felt it happening, only the horror of realizing it was too late. The damage is done. Our pace of life has been jacked up to max and our attention spans have petered out to mere milliseconds. Case in point?

It’s 8:02AM. Already late, I jump in the first elevator that opens (out of the bank of eight) in my office tower. I press ‘29′, and my eyes immediately search out the in-ride plasma TV. But it’s blank! And I, truly, no joke, the kid who used to be able to play with a bag of buttons for hours, make a dash for the closing doors. Somehow, in that instant, thrusting my body between two giant slabs of squeezing metal (not to mention being that much more late for work) was preferable to the agony of being without sensory input for 30 seconds. Luckily, I clued in to my idiocy just in time and pulled back.

Was the ride boring? Not at all. I had a good solid 30 seconds to contemplate my insanity. Which, as you can imagine, was about all the time my attention span could afford lol. What’s usually on the elevator plasma? Prices for stocks I don’t own, news I don’t follow, reviews for movies I’ll never see, and a small logo in the lower left hand corner of the screen – Captive Entertainment…wooops, my mistake, Captivate Entertainment. Guess it’s time for some new contacts, cause I sure ain’t seeing what’s right in front of me. Or maybe I am… ; )

Feelin down? Try this today…(but please look both ways first)…

Working in gray downtown in gray November can get one feeling, well, a wee bit gray. If the symptoms are left untreated, they can progress quickly into the much more dangerous condition of cog-itis (inescapable sense of personal insignificance in the dull gray gearing of this capitalist machine, accompanied by frequent misfiring of tear ducts and a mild throaty cough). What’s the quickest way to regain one’s sense of personal power in this grand ol’ gray world? 

Try this quick remedy next time you’re standing at a crowded intersection, listlessly waiting for the “walk” light to come on: LOOK BOTH WAYS, then confidently stride out into the crosswalk with dignity and purpose – a good few seconds before the light changes. You will be shocked at how many other cog-ites blindly follow you off the curb. Now that’s power. Slightly stupid, maybe, depending on the traffic, but real power.

People follow purpose, and what’cha know, they’re following you!

(image source)

To my dear readers (yep, I’m talking to you!)…

I’m currently on an other-side-of-the-country adventure

and will be back blogging your socks off mid October.

And while I’ve got your attention…

You guys are the best!

(yep, still talking ’bout… you ; )

UPDATE [Nov. 10th]: Did I say October up there? Er, the time change through me off (ya that’s it), by, um, about a month. Sigh… anyone else suffering from blogger’s-guilt out there?

Hop a Calgary city bus to…Tuscany?

A Calgary city bus cruised by me on my walk to work this morning, route number 30, destination Tuscany. Tuscany?? The bus was full of dreary fall jackets and grim faces. Imagine getting on a bus every morning promising escape, joy, sun and relaxation, and then being dumped off in some dark forsaken corner of the same city you woke up in. The cruelty of it. The inhumanity. That’s one joke I never want to be a part of. It takes almost an hour to walk my route to work, and an hour back, but I’ll choose sneakers over that kind of heartbreak any day! Note: I walk for a myriad of other reasons too, and yes, I know it’s crazy ; )

Why must riding the elevator always be so socially awkward?

Just asking.

I mean, am I missing something? Like the elevator etiquette handbook? Please let me know if anyone has figured out how to order a copy. Until then, I’m taking the stairs. Ok, maybe not on the way up. I am on the 29th floor. Hmmm, come to think about it, it’s almost time for me to go home and I’ve feeling pretty blah…so maybe I’ll start on my enclosed-space-social-ineptitude-motivated-exercise-plan tomorrow. Yep, wore myself right out just by trying to say that out loud.

Watch out Calgary, because tonight, just to make it interesting, I may leave one of my trademark unanswered-unappreciated-on-elevator-witticisms hanging in the stale air over our heads all the way down to G.

Think Chapters might have one of those books? Are they open late tonight?

Missing the most beautiful place on Earth

Sigh… Everyone has a spiritual homeland, and mine is hidden deep in the back woods of Quebec. I’m not able to go home this summer. And it hurts. I’ve been walking down unpaved alleyways with my eyes closed (probably not the safest thing to do), so I can pretend I’m crunching down the gravel road to my cottage. I’ve also been getting up close and personal with dewy pine trees so I can convince my nose I’m not so far away. To think, so much of the time I was there in body, my heart was pining for some boy. And this is what saves me. The best of those boys is now my husband, and my heart’s new home. I just wish I could enjoy them both together. What can I say? I’m greedy with my bliss. And I wouldn’t have it any other way ; )

City’s tallest building shortest on humanity

Searching for signs of humanity on my daily 8:02AM elevator ride up Calgary’s tallest building…

First hope: News of a Pakistan suicide bombing flashes up on the elevator’s plasma screen. In a crowd of freshly creased dress pants, a woman’s skirt twitches. Her hand goes to her mouth to cover her horror. I’m touched by her honesty. She feels it too, the sudden sharp sadness, the helplessness. Her hand falls back to her side, and I see that she was only hiding a yawn.

Second hope: Two heads nod in recognition. A comment, a joke, then laughter. The elevator fills with the unfamiliar sound. The two heads have short, perfectly coiffed, fruit scented hair. But the perfume quickly turns the trapped air sickly sweet, and their laughter sharpens into a piercing cackle. I look down. Two pairs of pointy black leather toes. I should have guessed.

Third Try: The elevator fills to capacity. Everyone wants a different floor, and mine’s the highest. I groan. I always get motion sick on amusement park rides. Someone has to do something. So I stick a banana in the door. Technically speaking, I wedge one end in the doorframe, so it’s jutting out beside the number pad in all its bright yellow banana glory. Nobody said anything. Nobody smiled. No one even acknowledged that there was a big banana sticking out of the door! Oh the humanity!!

Maybe I’m asking too much from a crowd of drowsy businesspeople, who are already late to wherever they’re going if they’re on the 8:02. Sigh. When not even a banana will jazz up your office workday, there’s only one more thing left to try… (click here to get noticed on the elevator to your next job interview!)

The spider plant monologue revisited

Remember the pledge?

I made a commitment three months ago to our office spider plant. For the first time, I allowed myself to become emotionally involved with a plant and to take on primary responsiblity for its care. That’s a lot for a professed brown thumb to take on!

I’ve always been to plants what Lucrezia Borgia was to her relatives. Yes, that poisonous! They’ve always been a complete mystery to me, just like babies. I water them; they die (oops, not the babies!). I water them less; they die. I water them more; same ol’ same ol’. Can you believe I actually spent a summer working in Home Depot’s Garden Center? Don’t even ask! Pure irony. Putting on the orange apron every morning was terrifying. I was a fraud, a joke. My cash register was the stocks and, man oh man, did my customers ever let the fruit fly!

All the panic and anxiety of that summer came rushing back as I turned my cart into Walmart’s Garden Centre last week. But there was no turning back. I was on a mission of love. After finally establishing a working watering routine (months of trial and error), my adopted charge had gone and outgrown its pot! It was also time for one of its babies to start on solid food. They grow up so fast lol. I found Walmart’s potting soil, and everything else I’d heard I might need for the task, and got out of there as quick as possible.

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was when it came time for the actual operation. My heart was racing as I gently knocked the plant loose of its old green plastic pot. I turned the ball of roots over in my hands, and ever so carefully…

…I screamed and threw my precious spider plant across the desk.

No one ever told me roots can look just like gross white maggot worms! When the dirt settled, so to speak, I finished the job. The smell of the potting soil, and the feel of it under my nails was a delicious novelty. After patting down the soil and blowing the dirt off the leaves, I felt a fierce and entirely unexpected sense of accomplishment. I’d seen the same emotion on my Home Depot customers’ faces a hundred times, but I’d never understood it. So this is why people spend their weekends on their knees in the dirt?

Yes. And I discovered something else. I never knew how much life energy is held in a plant. With both my hands in the dirt, all my senses were drinking in pure chlorophyll scented “life”. I felt powerful, generous, and connected – a thrilling combination. My original goal had been only to keep my spider plant alive, and even that was asking myself to do the unprecedented. I want to do so much more for it now. I want it to grow and thrive and be as brilliantly green as it can possibly be, and I want to line up its babies in a rainbow of bright tiny pots along my kitchen widow sill at home.

I took a risk three months ago. It was touch and go for a long time, but my spider plant is alive and (as you can see below) multiplying. I’ve let a part of my identity go, the running joke is over. And I’m more than ready to move on. Goal met: I, Cymbria, can take care of a plant.

So go ahead… set a goal. Just don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty ; )

We've come a long way baby!

(photo source: Cymbria (ps.check the view!)

Risking it all to get down

I pressed the “down” button and waited for the chime.

“Ding”

The red arrow lit up over one of the doors.

I made a mad dash for it, the furthest elevator of our floor’s bank of eight, and got there just in time to jam my arm in between the doors as they were closing. There was one long terrifying moment when my arm was in the guillotine, past the point of no return (aka the elbow joint), before the door sensors kicked in.

This moment was so long, in fact, that I had plenty of time to wonder why we so blindly put our faith in technology. I came up with the answer, ruminated a bit about it, thought of some alternative arguments, all while placidly watching a giant metal vice close around my arm. At the last second, (isn’t it always the last second?), just as it caught hold of my flesh, the door released and I squeezed though.

What did I come up with? You ask. I’d love to tell you, but I was in such a hurry that I promptly forgot all my musings the second I pressed ‘G’.

*wink*

Happy Canada Day!

SavingCymbria wishes you an incredible Canada Day with lots of fun and fireworks!

We Canadians can’t help taking a bit of our country with us wherever we go. It’s all well and good when those “bits” are our laughter, our compassion, or our friendliness, but the last time George and I left the country we shared a “bit” of our weather with our southern neighbours. We ended up snowed in at Myrtle Beach!! Next time we head over the border, we’ll just have to remember to pack some skies in with the golf clubs ; ) 

Top 10 rules for the checkout line (+bonus!)

Dear customer,

This is a letter straight from the trenches, from a poor cashier who spent years chained to a register. Despite the fundamental flaw in our relationship – I want your money and you don’t want to give it to me – I propose a truce. You and I have an amazing opportunity to improve each other’s day! To guarantee smiles on both sides of the counter, just remember to take these ten rules with you the next time you go shopping.

1-Please be PATIENT. The scanner will only read one barcode at a time and the computer will only take one keystroke at a time. Remember this: the cashier hates that you have to wait even more than you do. We know what waiting does to people, and those are the nightmares that wake us up in the middle of the night!

If you do find yourself in a line:
-get your money ready
-group your items and expose their bar-codes
-do not under any circumstances make any kind of repetitive noise (tapping, clicking, gnashing of teeth, etc.)

Note: The speed of the line should in no way be taken a function of the cashier’s competence or intelligence. Even geniuses have to pay rent! Grab a magazine, grab a breath, grab a pack of gum, and deal with it.

2-When you bring me a product with no barcode and no identifying marks whatsoever, there will be an inevitable delay. No, I do not know the code for 26″ by 45″ alabaster mini blinds off the top of my head. If I did, both you and I should be very worried.

Note:Telling me the price is not a substitute for the inventory sku code, and throwing a drawer pull in my general direction while grunting something about two dollars just isn’t going to cut it. And then when you accuse me, indignantly, of not trusting you, well, now you’ve gone and made it personal!

3-If the item has no barcode it is not free. If it has a barcode, but doesn’t scan on my first try… it is not free. Second try… nope, still not free. Third… not free. Fourth….let me check…NOT FREE!

Note: I know you thought you were being clever and funny with your “must be free then”, but so did the other 10 000 people who tried to get it for free before you. And no, despite what you may have heard, I didn’t let them get away with it either.

4-I know this news will come as a shock to many of you, but in this great country we have something called tax (pronounced taks). Deep breath, let this new information sink in. Now, when you get to my cash, and before you open your mouth to ask what you’re going to ask, stop, and remember the new word you’ve just learned.

5- Yes, that is the terrifying total. I know it’s an awful shock to get up to the cash with 3 items that are $2 each and hear a total of $6 (plus that crazy tax thing). Accusing me of any number of devious ways I must have manipulated my scanning to rob you will not change the total. It will only make me want to use my apparent criminal genius to plot your untimely demise.

6- “I exist.” For the 30 seconds we are part of each other’s lives, you are my whole world. Every move I make, I do it for you. When you ignore me or, worse, spend the whole time on your cell phone, you (sniffle) break my heart.

7- Only you can decide if you want the green one or the blue one. Go on, revel in your freedom and independence. Just please make up your mind before you get to my cash.

8- When it comes to change, two heads are never better than one. When I’m half way through counting out $13.86 in change, the quarter you just found in your back pocket does not help in the slightest.

9- There is no __________ (insert random word from dictionary) special discount. No, not even on Wednesdays.

10- Being in a hurry does not make you any more important than the person you’re trying to butt ahead of. Being late does not make you special. It only makes you late. This is not communism, just plain good ol’ customer service!

Most of all, please recognize the awesome power you have as a customer to change my day for the better. It certainly doesn’t take much, a smile, a joke, a “someday you’ll get out of here” bit of encouragement. I guarantee not only I, but my next customer will thank you!

Bonus- If you insist on telling me step by step how to do my job, that’s wonderful. Come on back behind the counter and I’ll give you my apron, while I get the heck out of here!

(condensed from my “Ten (+4) Rules” article in New Writing)

Does a Thursday dipped in chocolate become a Friday?

Do you believe everything you read in print? Well, if you do, pay attention. Today is a Friday. Oh sure, the weather network (and even a few newspapers) may be planting Thursday’s flag at the peak of noon, but I assure you it’s all one big terrible mix up.

What’s my evidence? You’re looking at it!

What other day but a Friday could one run into a “Free Chocolate Dipped Strawberry“ offer on the way to work? One minute I was trudging past the storefronts of 7th Ave, sullenly resigned to yet another so-close-but-yet-so-far Thursday. The next, there I was with a chocolate capped, palm sized jewel of a fruit being handed to me for free. I nibbled on it all the way down the sidewalk, up the elevator, and right into the office. It was, quite honestly, the best breakfast treat I’ve had in months - ripe and juicy, with a smooth milk chocolate helmet thick enough to take its yummy charge through battle.

So keep your eyes peeled for too-good-too-be-true advertisements on your way to work tomorrow. If a Thursday served up this kind of treat, imagine what a real bonified Friday might have in store for us!

Want to make today a Friday for you too?

(photo source)

My only advice to you…

~Make sure you’re living a life worth washing your hair for~

Remember this one little secret…

“It is astonishing how much you can enjoy almost everything” – Agatha Christie

Yes really, it’s true. Wherever you are, just scroll through your senses until you find the one delivering pleasure. Doesn’t have to be off the map bliss, mind you, but it’s amazing how the simple sensation of a cool breeze on your cheek during your commute or your favourite music in the background of a waiting room can change your perception of reality. This “tunnel vision sensing” takes you out of your brain for a moment and lets you experience life as a blank canvas, with no history or future to colour your judgement.

Important note:“Everything” does not include doing the dishes. They fall in the “almost” category.

Mars + Val Kilmer + A Car Battery = Peace Of Mind

Having an award winning poet as one’s mother is sensational. You grow up knowing a special secret: the world is wholly abstract, yet interconnected, and far more open to interpretation than most people realize. Life is a game of picking out signs and assigning them meaning.

My mother recently told me she had made up her mind about moving into a larger apartment. What clinched her “yes”?

Mars, Val Kilmer, and a car battery.

It’s a long story, and you’d have to have poet blood to understand any of it : )

STOP! (yes you) STOP!

Stop whatever you’re doing, wherever you’re doing it. Take a moment and appreciate the simplicity of your life: the next few hours are mapped out with (mostly) achievable tasks; you’re comfortably dressed, in warm (dry) clothes. Go ahead and smile. Breathe deep and savour your bliss.

I was once like you, young and innocent, so happy and carefree. I never stopped to appreciate how darned good I had it. Until, just mere moments ago, I turned on the tap in our office kitchen and sent a 360 degree deluge of turbo charged spray out into the room. Yes, life was so much simpler back when napkins were plentiful and clothes were dry. sigh.

So you thought you were immortal?

Pop in the plate. Set microwave for 30 seconds – on high. Press start.

You keep your eyes glued to the glass. “It’s only 30 seconds,” you say. “It’ll go by so fast.” And it does. Congratulations, you’ve just spent 30 precious seconds of your life watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. Way to go. And here you thought TV commercials were wasting your life.

Ah, man. And here I am writing about watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. But suddenly, I don’t feel so bad. You’re here reading about someone writing about someone watching infinitesimally small….

sucker.

(I jest, I jest, please keep reading)