Ode to a Grande Non-Fat Tazo Chai

Ok, I admit it. I love Starbucks. I used to avoid the company at all costs, wanting desperately to step out of the cloud of consumerism but living in a place where the comforts of home are limited, I turned to Starbucks and found my own little "Hernando's Hideaway". Since then, I have developed a love affair with their Grande Non-Fat Tazo Chai. When I swallow that first sip of chai, I literally feel myself melt away into my own little dream world.

As a tribute to my part-time lover, I have written an ode...(ahem - just clearing my throat)

Ode to the Grande Non-Fat Tazo Chai

Oh Chai Latte, so warm and milky,

Filling me up and making me glow.

Your cinnaminy bite, and frothy hat,

make you my perfect companion at any time of day.

You make me forget the paper and emails,

the lack of sleep and the "to do" lists.

Your grande size is oh so grand,

and your sippy lid makes me spill less often.

Don't worry my little chai friend,

I will keep you warm with a stylish, cardboard sleeve.

And we will walk among the falling leaves,

cup and hand...

Until the time will come when tragically,

I shall toss you out, with your sippy lid and sleeve still on.

But fear not, my vanilla, nutmeg wonder,

we will cherish the foamy 82 degree memories,

and look forward to our next rendezvous.

Thank you...thank you very much...

The Unspoken Message

*Note - I originally wrote this post on Friday, Oct. 24. A little coincidental knowing what has taken place over the weekend.

I get frustrated with the verbal diarrhea that often comes out of people's mouths. Now, I speak quite often but I would also argue that I spend an equal amount of time quietly observing the people and things around me. When I am a witness to some verbal diarrhea, I listen first to what the person is talking about and then listen to everything else that is being said. The unspoken message. The unspoken message usually reflects people's insecurities and willingness to so easily believe the information they are handed without questioning the source and more importantly, without taking any real action toward change.

Allow me to provide a recent example:

Person #1: Well, I feel sorry for anyone who is going to get sick these days, with all of the nursing shortages and all. It's a mess and they'll be ignored and lying in some hallway.

REAL MESSAGE: I just recently read the paper and would like to state my very basic opinion based on the headlines in healthcare over the past fifteen years. I am retired but still feel the need to assert my authority by showing just how wise and knowledgeable I am.

Person #2: Yeah, they're saying they are cutting 9000 nursing jobs.

REAL MESSAGE: (This is actually incorrect information, as I too, read the headline. They aren't cutting jobs. They simply are putting a hold on creating 9000 new jobs). I will support your basic opinion with the rather large and obvious headline I just read on the front page of the paper that is sitting on this table.

Person #1: Well my sister was at a hospital in *some place* and she said the hallways were lined with beds and there was only one nurse in each hallway.

REAL MESSAGE: I will dominate over this conversation while further backing my basic opinion with an observation that may or may not be accurate from a family member. Quoting a family member will then strengthen my argument. (Insert insecurities that rest just under the surface).

Again, I do not claim to be perfect and have caught myself in this same situation (where insecurities guide my actions or statements). In these harmless examples, I simply sit back in silence, smiling and nodding in agreement.

A Fine Line

It's a fine line between being able to take unwarranted and incorrect criticisms with quiet dignity and standing up for what you believe in, even if it is based on a rather minor incident.

I was at a rehearsal today. A group I volunteer my time with a group that maintains a high calibre of performance. The conductor, known for his brutish comments and relentless criticisms, took aim at me today. It wasn't the actual incident that bothered me so much but the degree to which it was carried out by the conductor. If I was to maintain my own professionalism, I simply had to back down and take it all.

I am now in a very interesting position. Feeling absolutely insulted (both professionally and personally) for something I didn't even do, I am contemplating leaving this group. This decision is not new. It has crept up before on previous occasions of mistreatment and general negativity.

Here is the dilemma: If I leave, am I simply over-reacting to a crusty old man? If I stay, how long do I continue to feel played like a fool?

It is tough to figure out where my own personal boundaries are. I tend to surround myself with positive people and work very hard to keep the negative ninnies out. I refuse to volunteer my time only to treated with such ignorance and disrespect.

I will wait on the decision for now, as I must return to play a concert tomorrow with that same group (note that I'm doing this out of my own professionalism) but will need to make this decision soon.

Kelry

Ahhh...the memories

Carne Station. Quite possibly the best restaurant in South Korea.

There are many things that remind me of my time spent overseas. While I try not to spend too much time living in the past, it is still difficult to shake what I still consider to be a vibrant time in my life.

I was leafing through the Canadian Tire flyer today and came across this. It brought an instant smile to my face and I knew what I had to write about. This is the EZ Pull 6 - drink server. You simply put your glass under the bottle and push up and voila, out comes exactly one shot of alcohol. How do I know this? Read the following excerpt below!

"Carne Station was a restaurant where, for about twenty dollars, a person could indulge in all-you-can-eat meat and all-you-can-drink alcohol for as long as it was open. This place had taken traditional Korean barbequing and had combined it with the magic of a US style buffet. To visit this place was more than a meal. It was an experience. Because we were seated at large tables, it became very clear that we had to divide duties in order to get all of the necessary ingredients, utensils, plates and sauces for us to get started with the cooking. One person would grab a plate and immediately start piling on the raw meat. Another person would be responsible for the rice. Yet another person would get the various kinds of lettuce and some sauces and a fourth person would be required to gather all necessary utensils and individual plates. Although this seemed like a communal way to enjoy a variety of traditional foods in an American setting, combining alcohol with this only proved to be too much for us foreigners. The alcohol station consisted of upside down bottles of liquor in a carousel type contraption at the ready for our double and triple shot drinks. Simply raising a glass to this contraption (almost as if you were toasting it) provided you with a perfectly measured shot. This seemed like heaven! Needless to say after shoving our faces full of meat and our guts full of hard liquor, we inevitably got loud and always had to be asked to leave as we always shamelessly shut the place down! Since the restaurant closed at ten oclock, it was never a late night but was always a night where we were left with complete gut rot from the gluttony."

The Smoke Alarm Mishap *By request

By request, I will share another story involving my smoke alarm.

One night, I arrived home from work and began my usual routine of changing into comfy clothes and starting dinner. As I was upstairs changing, I heard a beep coming from downstairs. It was one of those things you don't admit at first that you've just heard so you ignore it. About a minute later. I heard it again. This time I went downstairs, hoping to find the source of the beep. I hung around down there until sure enough, it happened again. I immediately looked up at my smoke alarm. I had been having problems (see post below!) and figured the battery was low.

Knowing I didn't have the right kind of battery, I went downstairs to the convenience store and purchased an overpriced 9 volt battery. Once back upstairs, I heard the beep again and quickly got back up on the chair to change the battery. As I unscrewed the smoke alarm to find that it in fact, did not even take a battery and was hooked up to my building.

Lesson #1: Never purchase an overpriced battery based on an assumption.

This was most distressing. With every beep, I was continually perplexed. I did the next logical thing. I called my brother to ask him what it could be. Being the calming force that he is, he suggested that perhaps it was a hidden carbon monoxide detector and I may find myself poisoned before finding the source of the beep. I then called my parents.

I was literally standing on the chair peering up at the smoke alarm while speaking with them. Indeed, this was a mystery. It always seemed that when I got off the chair, I heard the beep. I got back on and fiddled some more with some wires.

Then it happened. I heard the beep again but this time it seemed further away. While up on the chair, the sound seemed to come from below. I looked down and suddenly realized the source of the beep.

It was my new cell phone beeping because I had a voicemail message.

Perhaps I need this device.

The Smoke Alarm Saga

The story of my smoke alarm is an interesting one. Interesting, not because of the predictable nature of what smoke alarms do but more because of how long, drawn out and ridiculous this saga has been.

It began shortly after I moved in. I can't remember what I was baking at the time...perhaps just a frozen pizza or maybe chocolate chip cookies, but upon opening the oven door and putting the food in, the smoke alarm went off. I didn't really understand it at first. I mean, there was no smoke and not even steam. The only conclusion I could come to was that it was the heat that was setting it off.

Knowing that I was not going to deal with this problem immediately, I got into a routine where I would swing the oven door open, practically throw whatever it was that I was baking in there and slam the oven door shut, all in about 1.5 seconds. Sometimes, if my timing was a bit off, I would follow the above routine with a quick sprint over to the smoke alarm, armed with a magazine and would frantically wave the magazine in hopes of warding off the gods inside the smoke alarm. Most times, it would work and during the times it didn't, I would simply wave that magazine with all of my might and hope the incessant beeping would stop.

I finally addressed this safety concern with my property manager who, although admitted that many people had these problems, it would be my responsibility to pay to have the smoke detector people come in to look at it. I don't think so! I told her I would simply wait until the next building inspection came along and wait to see what they found then.

When the next building inspection came around, I told them what the problem was and they confirmed what I had suspected and mentioned that many others in the building were experiencing the same thing. They then suggested that I "clean out" my smoke alarm because the dust could be triggering the alarm but aside from that nothing was wrong. None of that made any sense to me so I didn't bother doing anything.

I was then informed by letter that upon inspection of my smoke alarm, it was determined that there was a malfunction and that I would have to replace it by a specified date with my own money. With steam coming out of my ears, I marched downstairs to speak to the property manager. She informed me that not only was it happening to others in the building but also to her in her own unit!! She then told me I didn't have to pay anything and that the inspectors would come back to look at the smoke alarms of those who had problems.

I didn't hear much about it until one day, there was a knock at my door. I was on the phone but answered it to find a repair guy who simply said "smoke alarm" to me, walked in, set up his ladder and changed the alarm within 5 minutes.

Fantastic! My problems were solved! I still had difficulty of shaking my frantic habit of whipping the food in and out of the oven in record time. Finally, last night, I decided to take my time (like a normal person). I opened the oven door, and slowly removed my pizza. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Ah well! Better super safe than sorry!

Kelry

My Oxford Comma

Ever since first listening to 'Oxford Comma' by Vampire Weekend, I can't help but ask the question: What are my Oxford Commas? You know...all of those things we do and all of those things we have that aid us in keeping up appearances.

We've all been caught in the game playing that goes on with keeping up certain appearances and I guess that a part of figuring out life is finding a way to live your most truthful and honest life among the many Oxford Commas that surround us. I admit that while I view certain Oxford Commas with disdain, I still find myself embracing others.

Massaging me into therapy

I was visiting a friend in my building last night. She is a fellow teacher but is also a registered massage therapist. Knowing that I have had some recent back pain (and having done some emergency work before I could get an appointment), she asked how my back was. I told her it was a little better. She then asked me about my last massage. I was trying out a new massage therapist.

My old massage therapist was great however, it was located near my old work and I wanted to find one that was closer. This brings me to how one shops for a new massage therapist. I immediately went on the internet and simply looked up some massage therapy places. I usually would take more time to shop but my back was so bad, it was keeping me up at night. What can I say? I was desperate!

On the day of my appointment, I entered into the massage therapist's office and was greeted by a ten-year old boy who sat behind the desk. Correction. I greeted a ten-year old boy who sat behind the desk and who responded with complete silence. It only took me about two minutes to realize that the only two people in the office were me and this boy. Awkward. After about 15 awkward minutes of waiting, the boy finally called the person I can only presume was his Mother to come back.

The 40 something hippy that walked in greeted me abruptly and kept walking. A few minutes later, I was asked to follow her to the back. In the massage room, I was asked to sit in the "throne", a large wicker chair straight out of "Three's Company" (or was it a wicker shelf in the show?...) I sat and we chatted about what the problem was and I told her my friend had suggested I have a full body relaxation massage. That massage wasn't so bad. Nothing stellar but the experience didn't weird me out enough to turn me away. I booked an appointment for the following week.

My second appointment was a slightly different experience. I opted for another full body relaxation massage. Again the massage was fine and nothing stellar until the end. I was on my back and the massage therapist was behind my head, massaging my shoulders and neck. I often keep my eyes closed during a massage so I suppose it was the sense that something was off that woke me out of my half slumber. The therapist was massaging me but every so often, she would slow down or stop massaging and, with her eyes closed, would appear as if she was falling asleep. You know when someone does that head bobbing thing when they are falling asleep while sitting up? She was doing that right over my head! I was afraid she would fall right on top of me. I wasn't sure at that point whether she was actually falling asleep. I mean, she's a bit of a hippy so perhaps she was doing some weird energy thing. Maybe she was sensing my aura (is there such a thing?!)

Anyway, the whole experience creeped me out a bit and I think it just may be worth the 35 minute drive to go back to my old place.

Crazy is as crazy does.

I was on my way home from work yesterday and stopped at a light. I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed the car behind me come up quite fast and have to stop at the last minute. It wasn't a dangerous situation by any means but this person was obviously distracted.

True, since getting T-boned by a woman two years ago who chose to drink her coffee, smoke her cigarette and look through pictures on her camera rather than stop at a stop sign and since getting rear-ended very badly on the highway by a 17-year old I have been a little more aware and perhaps sensitive to these things.

As the light turned green and we continued along, I looked again and saw that she was on her cell phone. This made me very nervous as traffic began it's stop and go pattern for the next 50 metres. Every time I stopped I looked back and I began to notice that each time, I stopped a little shorter. That would teach her a lesson! It's like I was hoping to catch her...hoping to make her run into me just so I could say "I knew it" or "I told you so".

We approached the on ramp for the highway and the OPP were checking cars. I always assume they are checking for seatbelts but this time, I hoped they would pull her over to bust her for her heinous crime!!

Suddenly, the clearest thought ocurred to me. It was like I had actually listened to my own thoughts. What was I doing? What was I trying to prove? True, people do annoy me on the road and I do like to utilize that lovely horn I have to remind them of their wrongdoings but there must be some line that can be drawn. I smiled to myself as I realized that I probably looked like the 'crazy lady', always stopping short of the traffic!

Ah well...crazy is as crazy does I guess!

My Slant

Upon learning about this blog and what it is supposed to be about last night, I was told I should have a slant. A theme, a general feel or a specific purpose for the blog. What if I don't know my slant? Well, apparently, it is ok not to know your slant. It will just appear over time.

I ignored my slant for the meantime but as I had yet another conversation tonight with another friend and began catching her up on my dating life, I felt a slant begin to emerge. Is my slant supposed to be my dating stories? If so, is my purpose to inform everyone out there that it is not for my lack of trying that I am single but due to various other factors? - my own baggage not being one of those factors!

I'm not quite sure I'm ready to divulge my dating life through this public domain. I mean, is it really fair to the guy with the weeping eye or the uninvited kisser to share their shortcomings over the internet? Should I really retell the story of the guy who tripped over his tapered jeans while he named every breed of dog we came across in the park?

Perhaps it will be more of a general slant, showcasing my cynicism of all that surrounds me.

I'll guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Kelry

Running With Scissors

Like most things I've done in life, I typically jump in with both feet and deal with the consequences of those actions afterward. I was speaking to a friend on the phone tonight and was telling him about my weekend. It went something like this:

"So, before I knew it, I was out until almost 3:00am and then after all that had to meet my family for dim sum for brunch. Can you believe that? I mean, all I wanted was a big, greasy breakfast. Here people were offering me sticky rice and dumplings and all I wanted was bacon and eggs."

Ok, so out of context, it clearly isn't that funny but as he pointed out to me on the phone, I have a unique way of viewing the world and the otherwise mundane things that happen during my experiences within it. He said I should start a blog. I told him I didn't really know how to do it but as you can see, I've gotten this far so I suppose that is not too shabby.

Now, this is where I may need an audience. I don't know the rules of a blog. Are there rules? I think there are. Here are some imagined (or real) rules:

1. Each post must have some witty, quirky title that may or may not have anything to do with the actual post.
2. Blog posts are better if they have pictures, links and sound bytes attached to them.
3. Blog posts must not be too long or people won't read them.
4. Although I may actually be writing about mundane events, there should be some deep, meaningful message about my philosophy of life hidden in the depths of my writing.
5. A blog is not an online diary.

The above rules reflect my perception of what I think most blogs are. The real truth is that we all know there are no rules. That being said, I will most definitely be breaking some (if not, all) of the above rules.

Kelry