Has it really been ten years?

For some reason, until a few days ago, it didn't dawn on me that we were on the verge of a new decade. This, despite reading Decade in Review articles in the Tucson newspaper, and watching various broadcasts detailing the events of the last ten years. This morning, I realized that the year 1999 turned over to 2000 was the first New Year's Eve that Grant and I ever spent together. 10 years ago, I still lived in San Francisco, I was still (technically) married to my ex, my younger nephew was only 3 months old and my dog was a youthful 6 years. I was still working in sales and had never set foot in a classroom as either a volunteer or an employee. My computer was still dial-up and I hadn't discovered the WD.

My life has changed over the last ten years in ways I could never have expected, and all of the people reading this have been there somewhere along the way. I hope that we will be able to look back together in another ten years.

Happy New Year!!

Summer days and other stuff

• Last week we had three whole days of warm, rainless weather. Is summer finally here? One hopes.
  
  
• I am proud to say I have read all five of this years' Hugo-nominated novels. By far, my favourites were the YA novels, with The Graveyard Book edging out Zoe's Tale by a fairly slim margin. And it's not just because I stalk both of the authors, either. Little Brother is a great teen novel, with a likeable protagonist, realistic rebelliousness and some real tension. Anathema was a fascinating world-building novel but ultimately not as engaging as I hoped. Saturn's Children was not my cup of tea, I slogged through it just because I hate to leave books unfinished. They haunt me. This one may not have, but I still finished it.
  
  
• Lucy has been getting a bunch of tests this week. She hasn't been eating very much, and is drinking a lot of water. It could be kidneys, or diabetes, or nothing at all, but the vet is checking everything out carefully. She now takes four different kinds of medicine (one antibiotic for a limited time) and may have more before the week is out. I tell her that she is nearly taking as many pills as her human grandmother, which is appropriate as, according to the chart at the vet's, they are approximately the same age.
  
  
• This morning I decided to wear my former engagement ring on my right hand. It is a beautiful sapphire ring with channel diamonds on the band and I hate for it to just sit in a box. Grant has no problem with me wearing it, but I am not sure exactly how I feel about it. I figure I will wear it for 24 hours and then make a decision.
  
  
• See you guys in about two weeks. Yes, we are off on yet another holiday. Such is the life of a teacher Lots of vacation now, but full price for any travel over Christmas and March break, no long weekends except on statutory holidays and hence no great travel deals. Karma is such a bitch.
  

Ponderings and Posings

• Why is it so easy to read 30 blogs every day and so hard to write just one?
  
• Remember when Heroes used to be good?
  
• I am listening to Fields of Gold by Sting (shut up! I like Sting). Why is it so much sexier when someone kisses "her mouth" instead of "her lips"?
  
• Maybe if I refilled the bird feeder, the pretty birds would come back. Unfortunately, that currently entails navigating the sea of dog poop that is currently my backyard.
  
• You really didn't need that last bit of information, did you?
  
• I didn't give up anything for Lent. I never give up anything for Lent. Do you?
  
• I thought the Academy Awards rocked this year. I especially liked the groups of five previous winners doing the acting nominations. I thought it gave real power to the idea that it was an honour just to be nominated. Seemed to me that most of the actors really appreciated the acknowledgment. Since when did giving people compliments become boring?
  
• This is very nearly a BoQ, isn't it? Don't you miss BOQs? How do you write bOq?
  
• I had iTunes Genius make me some playlists from my music. It pretty much scored a home run.
  
• Are you looking forward to baseball season? Do you ever look forward to a sporting season?
  
• I have fingerling potatoes to roast for supper tonight. You envy me, don't you?
  
• What state would you most like to visit?
  
• After I wrote the last item, the Genius playlist just moved to New York State of Mind. It really is a Genius, isn't it?
  
• Have you watched Life on Mars? You really should. Trust me.
  
• Which reminds me: I am actually feeling somewhat nostalgic for the 70s. I blame Milk, The Pursuit of Happyness and the aforementions LOM. What decade do you feel nostalgia for?
  
• I think this one is done for now. Thanks for playing
  

The great Canadian pastime (as seen by an American)

This was a reply I wrote to a hockey post written by Wil Wheaton at WWdN: In Exile. I did not intend it to be so long, but that's how it ended up. I thought I would share it here.

I never played hockey. In fact, I never saw a hockey game until that guy I was cyber-dating came to visit from Canada and took me to see the Sharks in San Jose. About two years later, I found myself living in Ontario, Canada with him and his two teenage sons.

Both boys played hockey. The older played defence while the younger was a goalie. I quickly learned the special torture that is being the (step)mom of a goalie; agonizing over every shot, cheering like mad when he stood on his head. The first few years after I moved, I drove with my husband and either boy to hockey arenas all over southern Ontario; those trips are still my main source for remembering the geography of this area.

The guy and I got married. For various sentimental reasons, we decided to get married in February, which happened to fall smackdab in the middle of the minor league playoffs. My soon-to-be husband, who was coaching the younger son's team in the playoffs, specifically told the convener not to schedule any games that day because we were getting married. She didn't. She did schedule a game the night before and the day after, though. Yes, I got married in-between hockey games.

The day I received my Permanent Residence status for Canada (Canadian version of a green card), my husband and I went to a game at the old, wood-beamed, cavernous community arena to watch our younger boy play. We were standing aisle of the old arena, my hand in the pocket of his jacket and his arm around me, when one of the players fired the puck over the glass. My husband instinctively did the hockey puck duck, which unfortunately pulled me directly into its path. I had a lovely bruise on my upper arm for days.

And so I was officially made Canadian.

The best Christmas present

When I was about 9 years old, some developer built 5 houses across the street from our property. Until then, nearly all the homes in the area were either small farms or orchards or the like. Our house was on an acre of property, tucked well back from the street and surrounded by trees. My mother despised the development, but I was secretly thrilled because into the 5 houses moved several children around the age of me and my siblings. The house 3 doors down had a girl exactly my age! Her name was Karleen.

Karleen and I rapidly became best friends. We weren't very much alike; she was brunette and pretty, I was blondish and gawky; she had not only Barbie, Midge and Ken, she also had the Dream House and the convertible, my Barbie was lucky if she still had her head; she had an immaculate frilly bedroom with a canopy bed, if I bothered to clean my room, you could see the old patchwork quilt that I had managed to shred in places. But we loved each other, fought at times, made up and played together nearly every afternoon.

When I was about eleven, I spied a nightgown, robe and slipper set that I coveted completely. I don't remember if it was in a catalog or if I saw it at Levy Bros department store; I rather suspect the latter. It was a bright yellow polyester knit gown with red strawberries appliqued on the bodice. The robe and slippers were poly red velvet. Hey, it was the sixties, okay? Don't mock my fashion choices.

At any rate, Christmas morning arrived, and one of the presents under the white-flocked artificial tree was the very nightgown set I so badly desired. I was ecstatic and promptly dashed upstairs to don my gay apparel. As I descended the stairs in a glory of red and yellow, my mother suggested that perhaps I would want to go show Karleen my finery, which seemed a brilliant suggestion to me.

I hurried across the street in attired only in my new gown, slippers and robe in the slightly chilly California morning and rang Karleen's doorbell in a frenzy of impatience. The door opened, and there stood Karleen.... in the exact same outfit!!!

The girlish shrieks of delight were probably heard throughout the neighborhood. Because to be best friends and to have matching outfits on Christmas morning couldn't possible be any better when you are eleven years old.

I don't know for sure which mother set up the presents, I imagine it was my own. This Christmas I think I will ask, and give thanks where thanks are due, because without a doubt, that was the best Christmas present ever.

I hope your holiday is filled with joy and happiness; best friends and wonderful surprises; and that your most important wishes come true.

In concert

Inspired by Pioneer Woman (I have to thank Annika for linking me there once upon a time), who asks "What concerts have you been to?"

I have been to many concerts in my day (why, yes, I am old, thanks so much for asking!), so I think I will just stick with two that stand out in my memory. Okay, maybe three.

The first concert I ever attended was Loggins and Messina at the Greek Theater in Berkeley, California. I was 16 years old and I thought that when Kenny Loggins, sans shirt, came to the edge of the stage, I would die from the hotness. The bearded, hippy hotness (this was long before Footloose). The Greek is an outdoor arena, modelled (as one might guess) on the Greek amphitheatres of old. We sat on stone (concrete) seats and sweated as the sun poured down on us. I have been to many other concerts at the Greek, but this one was the first and thus, worthy of memory.

Another concert at the Greek was the Indigo Girls. I remember this one clearly because it was when Bill Clinton was running for president. Emily wore a Clinton/Gore bumper sticker on the thigh of her jeans and when she sang the lyric "Well the world seems spent and the president has no good idea who the masses are", we screamed our agreement. Let it be me, indeed. The world was full of hope, the sun was hot, the womyn of Berkeley were half nekkid and the men were enlightened and we all rocked our asses off.

The best concert I have ever been to was Elvis Costello and the Brodsky Quartet performing The Juliet Letters at the San Francisco Symphony Concert Hall. If you haven't heard this album, I strongly recommend it. It is Elvis at his lyrical best and the influence of the Brodsky makes for a profound musical experience. In concert, Elvis and the Brodsky played the album in order, as a concert piece. It was brillant- Costello was in perfect voice and the power of the live performance resonated in a way a recording simply cannot.

The only mar in a perfect performance was the woman behind us. We came to call her "the dying swan" because she consistently honked out her pleasure with moans of "Elllllllllllllvisssssssssssssssss!" Her enthusiasm became even more heightened when The Juliet Letters ended, and Costello performed some of his other songs. Her pleas for certain songs soared over the audience in loud volumes. We shook our heads and sighed. But even with swan lady, it was the best concert ever.

So, tell me about a concert that you remember, for better or worse.

The way to face a midlife crisis

...is probably not with all the bitching and moaning I have been doing,

My friend Carl, on the other hand, is tackling his mid-life crisis head on: by taking part in the AIDS/LifeCycle from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Carl has been one of my closest friends since way back in the late 70s. He has always been one of the lights of my life, someone I knew I could always depend on, someone who always makes me laugh, a port in any storm and the reason I am a published writer. But this is not about me, it's about him. If you are interested in donating to the San Francisco AIDS Foundation and giving the credit to a fabulous gay guy who doesn't look a speck older than 35, then go to Carl's site and donate.

And as an added bonus; if you make a donation, I will send you your choice of a Smelly Stuff Bath Salt or Candle. Just think: you can actually do good things and smell good things too!

Remember

It's interesting being an American in Canada on Remembrance Day. It's such an entirely different experience than being in the U.S. First off, the States doesn't have Remembrance Day (or Armistice Day, as those of you across the pond call it). We have Veterans Day, which is observed on the same day, but unless you actually are a veteran or the family of one, this day is largely ignored. We also have Memorial Day in May, which was originally Decoration Day commemorating the veterans of the Confederacy and now is mainly the last day of a three-day holiday. When I was in elementary school, we recognized many holidays; Columbus Day, Washington's and Lincoln's birthdays and of course, all the "big" holidays, but I can't remember any kind of acknowledgement of either Veterans or Memorial Day. Many people blame that kind of oversight to the disenchantment of the U.S with the Vietnam War, but the bitterness over that conflict really didn't start until the late 60's. I was in high school when the most serious of the protests occurred. But even before Vietnam, Veterans Day and Memorial Day were just not that important.

Compare that with Canada. Remembrance Day is a big deal. Every school I have taught at has a special assembly with students speaking and honouring those who served and those who gave their lives. We make wreaths to honour the dead. We stand silently for two minutes and listen reverently to the notes of "The Last Post". On Friday, over 600 middle school students sat without a sound for nearly an hour, understanding the solemnity of the occasion. Trust me when I tell you: that is remarkable.

Today I attended the ceremony at the cenotaph at City Hall. The crowd was a mix of young and old and several hundred strong, all wearing red poppies on their coat lapels. I got tears in my eyes as the parade of present Armed Forces personnel marched down Main Street along with veterans. I thought of my father, who served in World War II and my stepson, currently serving in the Canadian Navy. I am proud of them both and of the others who defend Canada and the U.S.

This day is not about honouring war. It is about honouring those who fought for their countries. Some conflicts are not easy to support, but the young men and women who are fighting them are not the ones making the decisions. They are simply doing the best they can. They are (and were) very young. They make mistakes and some may not have met the high expectations we have of our armed forces. But, I think the majority of them have. And, if you haven't already, why not take two minutes to remember their sacrifices.

Nicknames

Let's start with a quick shout-out to the other Alyson who visited yesterday. She got me remembering why I named this blog "Allison_Wonderland" and I thought that I might share it with you.

I am Allison. Allison; not Ally or Allie or Aly. My family and a few select friends called me "Al" (and you may do so, particularly if I call you bettie), but I generally prefer my full name and did, even as a child. I had a few other nicknames that I tolerated: Alley Cat and Alan Pencil were two given to me by some very staunch friends. The first was a bit too cutesy for me, but I adored the twins who christened me with it.The other was my "Major League Baseball" name. Yes, I pretended to be a ball player at one time in my life. Not that I was even a bit good at the game, but it was fun. Plus, my very own nickname!

One name I definitely would not answer to is Alice. EVER. I don't know if other Allisons (or Alysons or Alisons or however you might spell it) feel about "Alice", but I hated it. No, I loathed it. When I was growing up, Allison was not a particularly common name. It enjoyed a brief spurt of popularity in the 80s and 90s, which often caused me to turn around when a frazzled young mother called out my name. But when I was younger--not so much. So, people often tried to call me Alice, instead. Ick. It wasn't that I really loved my own name--quite the contrary.I longed to be Cassandra or Alexandra or Josephine, anything but Allison. Except Alice. Alice particularly rubbed me the wrong way.

I was not terribly popular as a child, and kids quickly picked up on my hatred of Alice, so of course, they nicknamed me "Alice in Wonderland". At the time, it drove me crazy, but as I grew older, I started to appreciate the pun. "Allison Wonderland" actually is pretty advanced language usage for a third-grader. Or at least, that's what I tell myself now. So, when I started this blog, it seemed appropriate to co-opt my hated childhood nickname and make it my own. It only took me 40 years.

But I still hate being called Alice.