Grandma's Meatloaf

It's not really an appetizing name for a dish. It deceives the ear because meatloaf is delicious. And my Grandma's recipe is the perfect comfort food.

"I'll wash the dishes and you two go to the living room and watch your show," I said to my Grandparents. My volume heightened because they're both basically deaf and too stubborn to throw a hearing aid on.

"No, don't be silly. We'll all go and watch Rick Steves. He's quite a traveller, you know."

"Who is this guy?" I asked.

He's a middle-aged man who brings the sites and sounds of Europe to living rooms across North America.

My sweet aging Grandparents haven't been to a majority of these places. But you can see the twinkle of intrigue in their eye as this Mr. Steves strolls through quaint villages of yet another European country. This week he was in the Netherlands. He explained that Medieval structures continue to stand here along side there open public urinals that line some streets.

These are places that my Grandparents still want to see. But their bodies just won't let them. They are both resigned to their stiff, oatmeal coloured, retro sofa to enjoy the pleasure of touring a foreign land.

This puts it all into perspective. I'm home and looking for a job for the month that I'm here. It's not going so well. But when it all boils down what does it all matter any way. It'll work out. It will, I can feel it.

And soon enough the stress of making enough money to survive my last semester at Ryerson will have faded into the dust, while I trek forward.

Like Mr. Steves and his open-aired urinals, I'm ready for adventure.

It's not the teleprompter I'll miss

I just woke up but my head is still foggy.

This morning I just couldn't roll out of bed when my alarm rang. My body and mind are both tired. This isn't good, they need each other to work properly.

The past few weeks have been a blur of endless phone calls coaxing un willing public citizens who're afraid to appear on camera. Hauling equipment on foot to the interviews and then back again. Capturing all of the footage and then splicing hours of it into 1 min and 45 sec, 2 min and 20 sec and 4 min packaged stories for our news show.

It's the best way to curb how I crave exhausting adventure. I love it. I love every moment of it.

Yesterday was another day full of shooting and editing. I crawled under my covers at 1 a.m.

Today is bittersweet. It is our last show of the school year and the last time I'll ever have the chance to work with my classmates in this capacity.

I've grown to know just about everyone very well. Of course there are the select few that groan when anyone asks them to do something. But the majority are take charge, push the envelope type people. I greatly respect this. They have something special to give and I wish them the very best in their future careers.

There is a healthy competition between us all that just makes me just want it more. I want a career in this field so badly I can taste it (cliche but true).

I just don't want to say adieu today. I do have a whole semester left to see them all but it just isn't the same.

We work together and play together.


The nerve centre. Our control room.



In studio (in our 3rd year)




This is how journalism students do Halloween up.

Quickened Pace

I walk too quickly. I think the only time my pace slows is when my boyfriend has my hand in his. Like on a sunny Sunday morning when we window shop.

There's a protection mode I enter into when alone. I'm wearing the thickest armour and nothing startles me.

Today I had errands to run and with my pace I really ran them.

I had money to put in the bank. It was a big day.

My university gives us the choice to opt-out of the health plan. Yes, I'm still dependant on my lovely parents. In the real world $295.00 is nothing, maybe a cell phone bill. But in my life, right now it's huge.

First the money had to be deposited. Then I headed South on Yonge, towards College St. a homeless man leaning up against a wall held his hand up for a high-five. By the time I processed this random gesture I think I may have chuckled and shook my head. Poor guy, I left him hanging.

I rounded the corner, heading West on College St., to a drug store. An officer who had his hands wrapped around a coffee was walking ahead. Stepping up to his right, I motored past. He calls out, "Are you in a hurry or something?"

I slowed down to turn and look him in the eyes, "No, not really. Why?"

"You're walking so quickly."

"Well why waste time walking slowly. I've got places to go." I smiled and wished him a good day.

Maybe I should slow it down a bit sometimes. I may be able to make more of the journey that way.

Droplets

Now back in Toronto I oddly find myself lost in the midst of pure contentment. There is a sense of admiration and love for the humanity that surrounds me

This love for life and those who are living it around me is unleashed on the community at large. This is when I'm solo and at one with my own thoughts.

Seated with shopping bags on my lap, I rest my head on the window pane of the streetcar that's jostling the human cargo back and forth. The rain isn't letting up. I look up to watch the droplets running down the edge of the glass.

A small, elderly woman stands in the aisle; her wrinkled fingers grip the steel pole for stability. The woman beside me motions for this sweet little gran to take her seat. But she won't have it. Our eyes meet, she winks and smiles. Her eyes explain to me that she's strong enough to handle the unexpected lurches that this spastic driver is making. This is fun for her.

On this dreary day she is my inspiration. I want to hug her. She's just so cool and unshaken by the unsettling crush of frustrated commuters. I want to be just like her.

Saying goodbye.

The West Coast beckoned my presence for only two days. I have a soft spot for my home and family and am not very good at saying no.

I had to return for the memorial service of my great uncle. It wasn't suppose to be a time of mourning; he lived a great life. But as I sat in a front pew studying the beauty of the stained glass window before me, I couldn't hold back the tears that needed to flow.

He was the younger brother to my grandfather and was always so young at heart. Of course he was deafer than a doornail and his heart was bad but those things aren't what you really remember about someone. He was a wonderful husband, father and grandfather and his laughter and spirit will be missed.

I glanced across the aisle and there was my own grandfather, nodding off. He's in his mid eighties and was never sick a day in his life, until now. I can't bare to think about what my life will be like when he's gone.

I love my family so much and since I was a small girl always thought that it would always be the same. I still want to naively believe that we can continue taking vacations with one another and that we'll forever and always spend every Christmas together.

I can't continue taking those I love, so dearly, for granted.

While at home I had only two days to sort myself out. I enjoyed the family dinners and the rocket style lunch with a close friend.

With my carry-on luggage in tow my mom and I embraced to say our goodbyes. Her eyes welled up, "Mom we're supposed to be good at this by now." I said. But, in all honesty I don't think I'll ever be good at saying goodbye.

Content

When I opened up my blog account I realized that I've been sporadic. I have numerous entries that I just didn't finish.

I feel this way about my experience here. I wanted to do so much but there wasn't enough time. It's all happened so quickly. I had to brace myself for all that I was going to learn. Despite the slower pace of this town both professional and personal lessons were still chucked at me on a daily basis.

Even though packed luggage surrounded me as I got ready for my last day; the morning began like any other.

The woman that I refer to as my Lethbridge host mom made the coffee and we sat and chatted. We both have the gift of the gab and are very similar. We were taking our time because this would be our last chance, I had to say my goodbyes.

I set off for work. Like every other day for the past six weeks I immediately hopped on my stories for the day. Before long it was lunch and the station was taking me out. Destination of choice, The Cheesecake Cafe.

Our tech, reporting and directing staff cozied up at the table. We are all content in each others company. The time spent with everyone has been a wonderful experience.

Back at the station my news director was giddy with excitement when he asked me to, 'Sign the wall.' He decided that he would from now on have interns sign a wall in the basement, to mark their territory.

As he came up with the idea at lunch I was the first to sign, "It's been swell. Thanks for everything. Robyn Burns Ryerson '07."

I left the station a bit early to organize myself for my flight tonight. It was a feeling of accomplishment and pride with a twist of melancholy.

My jumper flight to Calgary has just arrived. I'll miss Lethbridge it offered up everything it had to offer and I took advantage of every wonderful moment.

She'll be comin' around the mountain...

Anywhere there are mountains and crisp fresh air I'll be able to call home.

Okay, I'm not loyal to geography, but, I'm loyal to nature. Canada has numerous Provincial Parks that are so easy to boast about.

For the past three years I've told all of the friends I've made in Toronto that British Columbia and the Rocky Mountains of Alberta are breath taking. Now, for once I've been able to witness first hand a land-locked Ontarian's breath being whisked away by the beauty of this place.

Okay I'm being overly dramatic; it was more like a shriek as we raced West along the Trans Canada Highway in our bare bones rental car.

I've been interning with a girl from my program. She's been working on sports, while I've focused everyday on the daily news.

We were once, what I'd call, professional friends. But, now we're something more. When you roadtrip with someone with your eyes glued to the highway ahead as you drive forward to your destination you hear and say so much. We both love to talk and I really enjoy everything she has to say.

We're here now, booked in at the HI Alpine Lodge in Banff, which is an amazing facility.

My friend is downstairs at this moment drinking rum and coke, on special at $2.75, learning more and more about a family of adorably serious German tourists who speak just enough English to understand our corky Canadian sense of humour.

This trip into the steadiness of the mountains is so good for me right now. My head has been all over the place lately. I'll spend the next few days trying to fix it on straight.

There's nothing better than being able to share the gifts of my part of this world with someone who can appreciate it.

... stay tuned for pics.

No morning after regret.

My body is my temple. But, sometimes that temple makes a road trip to Partytown.

Okay, that was the lamest thing I think I've ever written; but it's true. Work is slow today and my head is pounding and isn't allowing me to think very quickly. I thought it was a great idea to go out last night.

A friend from my days at middle school was celebrating her 21st and I had to be there. It's hard to keep a sober footing while surrounded by people, like the birthday girl, who would continually utter, "I'm not drunk enough yet!"

I needed to celebrate. I've been living like an old woman these past few weeks and I'm sick of it. I'm young and outgoing with a mission to be the best that I can be. I love people and I love to experience new things.

My fears of repeating past mistakes got in the way. When I find myself in new settings and surrounded by new, exciting people I tend to get a little silly.

I didn't want anyone to worry.

But, last night reaffirmed my ability to enjoy myself, with a drink in hand, while acting like a lady.

Unfortunately my stamina is not what it used to be. After a handful of drinks my body always announces in the morning that it officially hates me.

It's coming together.

The alarm on my cell phone sounds at 7:05 a.m. to the tune of Fuer Elise.

I roll out of bed with a different attitude than I had one month ago when my alarm would wake me every weekday morning. I pause for just a second on the edge of my bed; I wonder what today will be like.

By 8:05 a.m. I am dressed professionally with a clean slate of makeup on and my hair is straightened and just graces the tops of my shoulders. I throw my prepared lunch into my knapsack. Leaning down I tightly lace up my white and blue sneakers, function over fashion my friends (my heels are in the knapsack).

This is the part of the morning that I most look forward to, the walk to work. It's the 45 minutes I have to clear my head and smile at the strangers that might pass my way.

No one walks in this town. I mean they walk to their cars or down the street to the store. But they don’t really walk.

A Ford diesel truck might occasionally toot it's horn at me because I'm making such a spectacle of myself. My arms pump, reminding my every stride to keep moving fast. Some that know me well know that this is the pace my mother always keeps; you know, when your bum wiggles just ever so slightly.

In all honesty this is the only fast paced part of my day, despite working in a broadcast newsroom. Everything happens at a different speed here and I like it.

It's a break from the imagined power struggles of our school's newsroom. I know I don't want that anymore. I just want to connect with the people around me. Surrounding myself with the people and things that infuse my life with great contentment is all that I want.

Woman-to-Woman

Now 21, I consider myself a woman. Well, maybe a young woman. But still, the days of my carefree youth have drifted into being fond memories. Unless of course the latest Pixar film hits theatres; then I'm 11 all over again.

I started the day off with a bit of a hormonal stumble. I didn't believe in myself the way a woman should.

I woke up anxious and nervous about this new week at my internship. But with some strong, supportive words from a strong man on the other end of the phone I realized I was being ridiculous. Wiped those pity tears from under my eyes, collected my purse and marched on down to the studio for another brand new day.

The day picked up from the moment I sat my rear end down in the newsroom chair. The outlook on the day appeared to be positive and productive.

One of the tasks for the day was to interview a local woman about a recent announcement on the city's national status. I had interviewed this woman on my very first day (last Thursday) and had apologized for what I believed was a flustered interview.

With a much more relaxed tone on this day I was still nervous, but not that nervous. I greeted her with a smile in her office. Her tall frame matched my own. She came towards me with bright eyes and her arm extended, a firm handshake between us.

She followed me outside, where the cameraman had set up, and she asked how my first days had been. I answered her truthfully.

Before we made it to the camera in place for our interview she stopped me and looked me straight in the eye and complimented me on my style of reporting. She herself, years prior had been in the exact same shoes as I am today.

She said my questions were intelligent and that it was nice to meet a journalist who listens.

I guess she hadn't thought I was a frazzled, goof ball of a student after all.

My heart sung.

This is what all aspiring journalists want to hear. Especially ones who want to make it in the very superficial world of broadcast news.

It was a woman-to-woman moment and I couldn't be more grateful.

I'm becoming far to good at this.

Despite the chill in the prairie air the sun is blisteringly hot this morning.

I gently closed the passenger side door and lean down for one final face-to-face wave goodbye. To control the welling tears I let the saying, this is only a see you later wash over me.

For, I'll see my mom and sister again at Christmas. We're getting pretty good at this type of farewell.

One deep breath fills me. One, two, three steps forward. I face forward and one foot follows the other.

I momentarily forget my motor skills when I say my see you laters to those whom I love.

As I slowly stroll toward the station building for my first day on the job I'm reminded of a see you later I had not too long before this one.

With a backpack strapped around my shoulders I throw my arms up around his neck. He pulls me in. His arms tightly squeeze my lower back beneath my pack. I utter a breathy, 'Oh no,' and the tears quickly well, as they do right now.

I kiss him twice hoping that my lips will leave an imprint on his long enough to cover the weeks of my absence.

'Okay, okay I'm going,' I say.

He's such a good man. He's so strong and honest.

I turn before I enter the door to the airport security for one more wave. He has one hand in his pocket and the other one is sending me a gentle goodbye and he smiles. Once inside I sort out my belongings and load them onto the x-ray conveyor belt. I turn to see if he's still there. He is.

Through the security archway, there’s no beep. I reach for my bag and turn once more with the hope that I can smile and wave one last time.

He smiles right back and mouths as he points to his left, 'I'm gonna go now.' I laugh, nod and smile back.

I remind myself, one deep breath and one foot follows the other as I make my way to the gate.

See you later my love.

Here I am

The plane shook but my nerves shook harder.

I've never been very good on planes, but I love to travel. I love to find myself in the most random of locations.

And this is where I am right now, somewhere random.

Lethbridge, Alberta isn't necessarily a travel destination for many, apart from avid golfing enthusiasts. But, I decided on a late February morning back in Toronto that it would be where I carried out my internship for CTV.

I arrived a week early so my mom, sister and I could make a mini holiday out of it. Yesterday was the day we were to rendezvous. We all flew in from different directions: Seattle, Vancouver, Toronto and met up in the Calgary airport. Mildly drugged (this is how I have to fly) it felt so good to embrace in the jovial family group hug. I hadn't seen my sister in so long and we haven't had a family getaway in forever!

My mom, as she is so good at doing, took the reins and plopped my sister and I into our pre ordered rental car. This woman is the most organized human being on the face of this planet. I kid you not.

We flew off down the highway, at the speed of an Albertan driver, to Canmore for the night.

This is where we would come through all seasons when I was small for a weekend getaway when we lived in Calgary with my dad. This place has changed so much, but it still holds so many memories for me.

This morning we were up early and heading out onto the open road with our choice Starbucks beverage in hand.

An overwhelmingly intense thunderstorm showered us throughout the two-hour duration the whole way south. But, there was a clear sky over Lethbridge (was this a sign?).

I've never been here before and didn't quite no what to expect. It's a mid sized town with all of the amenities. It's arid with wind that would mess even the most shellacked 'do' and so far the air smells like manure, maybe it's the season.

At this moment I'm settled into the lobby of the golfing resort we're staying at. I needed a short break from the estrogen packed condo. I love my family. But man, we all make such a big deal out of nothing.

But we're set for a great week together. There's a plentiful supply of wine, groceries and a stack of movies and books awaiting my attention.

Adieu sweet feline, adieu.

I always promised myself I would never become the crazy cat lady. Well, I have come close.

In January of this year I had, had enough of the mice who thought it was more than okay to run freely about my apartment. With the okay of one of my room mates and a shrug from the other I set off to adopt my cat.

It was one of those cold sleety days in late January. But, it was the day that my family would grow.

The Humane Society smelt of diarrhea and the dogs never stopped barking. Over and over I checked and rechecked the small steel cages. I knew I wanted an adult, female. I knew what I wanted but I just couldn't find it. I had almost given up and they were closing soon. I hadn't checked the cages that were hiding behind the open door. I crouched down and there she was. A beautiful brown tabby that looked terrified with the entire noisy goings on.

She looked like the cat I had grown up with. She was perfect.

She was called Mia but I changed it to Mayah. She was mine now.

My roommates and I brought her home. I fussed over her every need for a good few weeks afterwards.

Almost immediately she settled in and promptly became herself. No more shy humane society kitty, no, no.

She squawks when she tries to explain or converse with you. The sound is more along the lines of a baby with bronchitis. Mayah emits this noise when she's hungry, looking for you, bored, curious or when she's hunting.

She claims at least one of my pillows every night and sleeps at the head of the bed; a location she feels more than justified to sleep in.

She sleeps by the door and refuses to move when you're trying to leave. Looking up at you with a look of disdain.

For some strange reason I always feel possessed to leave the television on for her comfort.

She also always sits by my laptop (as she's doing right now) and stares at me as I write, slowly pushing her back end into the photo frame of my mom and I, until it collapses.

All of this will come to a standstill tomorrow. Mayah is making the big journey westward to move in with my grandparents. I'll be away on my internship and I want her to have the attention she feels she deserves (please note the ounce of sarcasm).

The taxi arrives at 6:30 a.m. to take us to the cargo hold for her flight.

She'll probably be squawking as I walk away with tears flooding my eyes and my heart breaking as I move quickly to exit the building.

We'll be reunited at Christmas. But for now sweet feline, bon voyage.

Cleaning out my closet

I’ve been feeling stifled by stuff.

With too many clothes stuffed in every which way, my closet was beginning to appear like some sort of Robert Munsch character. It had a beastly identity and we weren’t getting along anymore.

Something had to change.

I’ve always held onto the saying, ‘If you haven’t worn it in a year, chuck it out.’ Unfortunately, I haven’t always put this saying into practice.

With the house to myself these days, I was free to blast Alanis Morissette’s, ‘Jagged Little Pill’ and attack that growing monster of mine.

It was so refreshing to pull out clothes that were visibly no longer my style or that I had worn to rags. A breath of fresh air uplifted me.

I moved on to cupboards and drawers that were crammed with paper. One by one I collected assignments from these past three years in school. I was proud of most of these but also ashamed of a few.

Carefully compiling the articles and essays I was proud of and chucking the ones I was ashamed of having my name attached to. I was embarrassed of these marks and of my lack of interest in some of these assignments.

You can’t hide from shame by shoving it into a dark little drawer. No, no you simply have to throw it out!

There is still more to do. But at least I can breathe properly again.

Taste the city

The best place to meet was at Pape Station, in front of the Tim Horton’s. I quickly called my friend to confirm just as I was descending into the underbelly of the subway. I was late.

I hadn’t seen Anne in so long. We have opposite work schedules. She finishes work just as I’m waking up, it couldn’t be more opposite.

But today we made a date for this sunny Saturday afternoon. The Greek food festival, The Taste of the Danforth was in full swing and we both love, love, love food.

Meeting up with friends can be a tricky thing when a festival is on in this city. But, she stood waiting, beside the scruffy looking coffee shop, with her back to me; just as she said she would. She was mesmerized by the parade of strollers and hungry festival goers who were making their way to the strip.

I was so excited to see her. I had to refrain from jumping on her back or pinching her butt; because I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure this was her and wouldn’t that have been embarrassing if it wasn’t - whoops.

I called out her name and she turned; a big hug was definitely in order.

We strolled down the street maneuvering around the kamikaze mommies with their buggies and wagons.

Then there were the masters with fire and meat; dozens of men with thick, black, well manicured moustaches hunched over their open aired grills.

We ate spanakopita, corn on the cob and sipped away at freshly squeezed strawberry smoothies.

There was just so much to see. A large stage was set up at the far end of the street festival. As we neared it three women floated to the stage with smiles wide and bellies bare. They shook what the good lord gave them and we all enjoyed every second of it.

Everywhere you turned people were rejoicing. Patrons at a cafe were dancing and calling out Opa! as they threw hundreds of paper napkins in the air. Passersby didn't know what to make of this, but the owners didn't even give a second look.

This was a perfect summer day in the city and as close to Greece as I'll come for at least another year.

Just about there

It hit me, straight across the face, I have to make the most of this experience.

So much of my time at university has felt like a waste. Not that attending has been worthless but that I’ve taken it all for granted.

I have one more year to make it happen, to push myself to exhaustion. I’ll squeeze every drip of experience I can out of this time.

In just over two weeks I’m off to Alberta. I’ve been dreaming of this time since I was officially accepted into Ryerson University’s Bachelor of Journalism program.

Now I must clarify, I haven’t been dreaming about Alberta that much is for sure. It’s the required, un-paid internship that I’ll be carrying out there that has been humming away in the back of my mind.

The options were great. I could have gone anywhere. But I knew that I wanted to be in a small news station; so any hands on experience wouldn’t be considered taboo.

It all fell into place. The way things are supposed to when it’s the right fit.

But at this point I’m feeling a bit of anxiety and apprehension. Hopefully this all fades away quickly, because I’m supposed to enjoy this time.

Although, I have been counting the sleeps until my departure.

Summer Shower

Torontonians are afraid of rain.

But, then again I don’t blame them.

I found a grassy court yard today. I sat out on a cement block with a purchased bowl of soup.

The mix that surrounds me is so diverse.

Corporate sharks waddle about in black suits, frantically sucking back their lunch hour nicotine fix; they obsess over the latest message on their black berry. The mommies sit huddled with their salad and diet drink. They discuss their latest plan to lose that god forsaken baby weight or how their teenagers have no respect. Now, the disgruntled employees are my absolute favorite. They look like they dressed themselves in the dark and loudly bitch, bitch, bitch about what their psychotic boss did to them that morning.

These people are my entertainment.

With my soup finished and the clock running out it was time to head back to the reception desk.

As I gather my belongings up the dark clouds over head blacken and just as suddenly, crack open. I felt just one large droplet on my shoulder. I hear the spackling downpour on the hot cement just seconds before I see it.

The sharks, mommies and hate filled employees scatter in every direction, they flee the open space. I have to laugh at this dramatic scene.

The rain here behave like the people, wasting time is never an option. Just as shelter was found the rain shower intensified. It was a wall of liquid falling from the sky.

Where I come from rain doesn’t fall like this. At home a summer shower is something to enjoy. It has never been something to fear or flee from.

The rain, like the people are just different here.

No jackpot

Bright lights and loud noises have never excited me.

I’ve always been frightened by fireworks and I’ve also always hated large crowds.

One town that has both of these is Niagara Falls, Ontario. This is where I spent my weekend.

My Mom flew in last week and whisked me away to this tourist hot spot.

Niagara Falls is a very confusing place; it doesn't quite know what it wants to be.

It is the location of one of Canada’s natural wonders but it is also home to cheap tourist attractions, which advertise themselves with overwhelming neon strobe lights.

Business owners here uphold the motto, ‘Why ask for a dime when you can charge a dollar.’

We did, however, spend most of our time outside of this tourist trap. We sipped locally made vino at various wineries throughout Niagara On The Lake (Niagara Falls' charming neighbour).

Although on our last night there I made the executive decision that I wanted to experience the night life at the Falls. This meant a casino. I’ve never been in one before and they’re in plentiful supply here. But, I never fathomed wasting my money on nothing would make me feel the way it did.

With my non-gambler of a mother by my side we climbed two sets of escalators from the entrance. A weathered looking middle aged woman was gliding down the opposite direction, swigging a bottle of Canadian.

Despite the frantic pulse of the place, my heart slowed a little. I had no idea how to take it all in.

We slowly strolled the perimeter, peering into the sea of slot machines, not knowing where to start.

A cashier, who looked like someone's grandmother, broke the 20 dollar bill I wanted to dedicate to the ‘cause’. She explained with a patient, motherly tone just how these money grubbing monsters work.

“A machine has to speak to you,” she explained pushing forward four 5 dollar bills underneath the cage.

There was one machine that caught my eye a little earlier. Its theme was ‘Phantom of the Opera’ and I saw that show recently with my boyfriend. So, I suppose that machine had spoken to me.

So I settled in and saddled up. There wasn’t much to it and it was far less exhilarating than I had originally imagined it to be.

I kept winning credits, which kept me playing longer. But, in actual fact I just kept losing.

At one point a haggard, middle aged man stepped up to the machine beside mine. He released a 20 and played one round. He spent every cent of that green bill on one spin, lost and walked away.

This sight depressed me. I was finished losing, so we left.

I can’t see this ever becoming a favorite past time.

What is it about wine and cheese?

By no means is my office unfriendly.

But many who work here want to be somewhere else, somewhere with their feet up and a Corona in hand.

Yesterday, a leap was taken and unconventional office behaviour brought the Coronas to work.

It was the first ever Wine and Cheese Social. This was a social innitiative put together by the executive. They wanted to ensure everyone on all three floors had an opportunity to shake eachother's hand.

Being not from this 'world' I thought it would be one of the most awkward experiences I would ever have to face. But a glass of white wine in my left makes everything alright, it's like a green camoflauged helmet. It allows myself, the imposter to comfortably mix in.

After glass three the camoflauge couldn't hold up to my true colours. This of course is a good thing. I realized as the suits swelled their wine and nibbled on crab cakes that I'm more or less pretty interesting to them.

My education and hometown maybe nothing they've heard about but that makes it something to talk about. And their lives of weekend golf games, 4 bedroom homes and brand new cars (with room for their babies of course) is hardly a bore to hear about.

They're somewhere my life may or may not bring me to. The not knowing is what makes it exciting.

Forever

I'm a passionate, over thinker.

As I was jostled back and forth in the subway car this morning, travelling from Yonge to High Park, I let my mind wander.

I once gave a gift to someone who at the time meant the world to me. Yes, my world at this time consisted of 900 people, four classes per semester and daily lunch breaks. Highschool was an interesting time for me and he was there with me the whole way through.

He'd never owned his own Swiss Army Knife. So, for a special occasion I bought him his own with all the trimmings.

I had the blade engraved, 'Forever'. I explained to him when he opened it that it meant that we might not always be together the way we were right at that very moment. But, that we would always have our friendship and our history together.

Today, we speak occasionally and it's generally a brief, friendly exchange. But, it's not as I thought it would be at the time of the gift.

So, now when I say, 'Forever' what I really mean to say is, ' No matter what, I'll remember you forever'.

I have someone new in my life and he too has his own history, which at times can be hard to accept because I'm not apart of it (This is only a problem because at times I'm extremely immature). But, I'm apart of his present and together we'll create our own history.

Life begins at 4:30 p.m.

It's interesting working in an office, temporarily.

It's just that, temporary; I'm temporary.

This is how I start my day.
At 8 a.m. with a coffee in hand I turn on all of the flatscreen t.vs and lights in the reception area. I just 'open' the office and sit on the phones until the receptionist arrives.

I'm at my desk beside the window at 9 a.m. and I work on spreadsheets. But honestly they end up working on me; they test my patience. And then at other times I feel like the computer and I are one; is that healthy?

Throughout the day I make frequent and strategic bathroom visits. This I find breaks up my day.

And then there's lunch and that's always a treat. I generally sit in the same place reading another chapter in a library find. Settling onto the staircase beside the only fountain in the city with no change, used bandaids and hypodermic needles floating about.

At 4:29 p.m I trade my black heels for flipflops and slip the heels into my desk drawer. The sandals are more me.

It's time to push myself through the crowd of sweaty humanity on the subway (boy I sound dramatic). Everyone on the train has one thing on their mind - home!

I'm instantly revived as I make my way up to my second floor apartment. My day can finally begin.

A city that sizes me up.

This city makes me feel small.

This city can make me feel tall.

What a simple way to phrase the complex feelings of a woman, especially this woman.

This week has really been a rollercoster for me. I've been job hunting in a city where I feel I have minimal connections. The feeling of being sized up and judged has been constant.

Unfortunately, I can't work in the field in which I'm studying because it doesn't pay. Sure, media outlets love to have interns for the summer but none are equipped to help me bring home the bacon.

So an office job it is. Hunting for one has become a full time occupation.

Tragically, the week started off with a tainted chime. My phone kept ringing, but no good news was to be received. I've been working through a recruitment agency who's supposedly trying to find me a longer term contract as an office administrator. This hasn't been going so well.

I had a one day contract last Friday. I was to simply answer the phones for a government office. Strangely enough, the phone never rang. I was paid for it sure, but I need to be challenged. Blankly staring at a white, chipped, wall all day will not suffice.

So, after the string of bad news phone calls I decided it was time to hit the streets. Don't worry I don't own the right shoes for 'that' type of work.

I hit the streets with my resumes, silly.

So, I've been handing them out left, right and centre, mainly at restaurants. There were a few mistakes as I strolled through Little Italy. I guess I didn't notice the skeezy, grease ball owner as I introduced myself to the bartender. Yeesh I'm not going back there for the interview he gave me.

I really wanted to find this job all by my big girl self. But, by mid week I began to feel like my options were running out. The call to the family had to be made.

My uncle has worked in this city for years and is now the head of the IT Department for a company in the Financial District. I just wanted to know if he knew of anyone looking for summer staff.

The day after I forwarded my resume on to him I received an interview from another department within his company. I really couldn't believe how lucky I was.

So, I'll find out tomorrow, hopefully, if the job is mine (fingers crossed).

Has Hallmark invented an, 'I love my Uncle day' yet? Let me know. If so, he's getting a card and maybe even a box of chocolates.

Summer's here and I'm ready to play

I was patient. It finally decided to arrive and now that it's here I couldn't be happier.

It's been a day where Spring feels like Summer. And I lived it like it was my last. I adore those days where you get up and just want to feel every moment.

I fully realize that within my few posts I've mentioned the weather quite a few times. But don't you find it has great bearing on how productive or how enjoyable your day turns out!?

I felt like a pretzel. Random, yes, but, oh so delicious.

So, I made my way into the shopping village that comes complete with the sweetest bakeries and mom and pop type shops. Everyone and their dog was out and about and they all seemed to be sporting a smile, even the four legged ones.

I too had a lot to smile about. My lumberjack and I were permitted an evening together, finally. With work and school there haven't been enough hours in the day. As I walked along I felt like bursting; I'm so lucky to have him.

I basked in the sunshine on a bench that appeared to have survived several, hard decades. Unfortunately, the warmed pretzel and grande americano were not as lucky, only surviving mere moments.

The day also permitted a snooze beneath a winter stricken bare oak tree in High Park. The blossoms are there, just awaiting their queue.

Little India was the destination for dinner. The street was flush with vendors and sidewalk sales that sparkled. The sequins and vibrant saris were elegantly flowing in the evening breeze.

Our dinner was just as colourful. Although Gillian pointed out the food was too mild, she wanted to feel the burn. Glancing around the packed buffet house it was clear that they were cooking for a specific clientele, people like me (whimps).

Everything seems to be thriving again.

The blossoms have the right idea; it's just about the right time to come out to play.

With just one word at a time.

I'm afraid to write.

I used to love the freedom of writing. Sadly, this is why I moved across this great country.

I wanted to make my writing a career, a tool I could use to change the world. Yes, at this time I was an optimistic teenager who thought she knew EVERYTHING, she had the world by the tail.

With moving to Toronto I figured as soon as I learned the tricks of the trade, journalism would be my new passion. Tragically, this was not to be.

I've been working towards my degree in journalism for the past three years now. So far, all I've truly learned is to fear what I have to write. Not because I'm blunt or mildly offensive, no, quite the contrary. Many of my instructors have labeled me whirly and unfocused.

It's been only recently that I've come to voluntarily move myself towards a keyboard.

I came to the decision quite recently that these 'instructors' love themselves and their work far too much. So what if I'm whirly - deal with it!

I suppose I'm just tired of paying an institution thousands of dollars each year for them to tell me, 'We're sorry you suck."

There's only two more weeks left to this semester. I'm grinding away at the remainder of my assignments. It's an uphill battle, but I'm almost there.

My bones are weary. This isn't my flamboyantly dramatic side coming out to play either - I'm just dog-tired.

I’m ready and willing for something new to challenge myself with.

"Push me higher!"

Not only was today the warmest it's been, I spent my afternoon with two rays of sunshine.

It was the third time I've looked after these two little ladies. I say ladies, not girls because boy do they pack a lot of attitude, the good kind of attitude of course.

I was a little apprehensive to accept the commitment of sharing every Tuesday at 5.30 p.m. with a 4 and 7-year-old. But, I'm glad I accepted the challenge.

Last Tuesday was not a good one. The youngest announced she hated me during dinner. It's interesting how quickly a person less than half my size with an even smaller vocabulary can crush me with three simple words. My big girl guts came tumbling down.

Today, was much better than the last. All of the kids in the neighbourhood were out on their bikes, including the girls. The youngest still has training wheels; but is most proud of her accomplishment in speed. The next-door neighbour's youngest boy cried to me about how training wheels are for losers and he's still got them, he's 6. Poor little lad.

After mom left there was a un-sauced spaghetti fight over dinner and then 2 hours of park play time fun. Where on more than one occasion I was instructed, "Push me higher Miss Robyn!! Push me higher!"

I suddenly felt like I heard the bells of the ice cream truck that always drove through our complex in the summers. And the taste of Tiger Ice Cream suddenly flooded my senses. This was my inner child bursting out, ready to play.

Once finally home there were popsicles before bed and then four stories read in the funny voice that they love so much.

I'll never be ready to put that inner child to bed. She’ll always be apart of who I am and who I grow to be.

Sunshine on Sunday

The alarm sounds, so what, I decide to sleep some more. It's Sunday and I don't have to work. I'm going to enjoy every sweet moment that I'm granted until my guilt for wasting the day kicks in.

Then it's my cell phone. I pick it up to see who has decided to disrupt my slumber, my lovely 'Lumberjack'. I don't mind anymore. I like his wake-up calls they're never a bother to receive.

He's just calling to check in.

The night before had been one of indulgence, indulgence in copious amounts of alcohol (as most individuals who recognize Commonwealth celebrations would know). Along with my Lumberjack's Engineering buddies he'd been indulging since noon. His night ended a fair bit earlier than mine. But, I made the executive decision to stay out longer as Carla was traveling down to meet up with me.

By the end of the night when you scan the room or bar hall or club wherever you might be on St. Paddy's day do you ever think to yourself - what the hell is going on here?

How did an old English bloke who somehow became an Irish patron saint, umpteen years ago manage to get so many people drunk?

In the spirit of Western consumerism there are also an array of St. Patrick's Day products on the market. Which I might add are probably sold in dollar stores owned by new Canadians who have no clue what all of the excitement is about (don't worry friends you're not missing out on anything).

Well, this was a year I didn't buy into it. I didn't even wear green. But, in the end my roommate brought me a green shirt from home to wear because I just felt like such a party-pooper. Although, I'm sure the party didn't notice.

Last year was different, I busted out the cloverleaf sweater -classy- and I ended up having a tragic night. Line-ups equal no fun. Maybe my reluctance to dress the part was a subconscious move to ensure I had a super sweet party night:)

Maybe next year I'll buy into it again. I might even pick-up a ' Who's your daddy? (Front)- St. Paddy's your daddy!(Back)'. A friend of mine who looks like a giant Leprechaun wore one just like it last night.

Please don't fret with fear at the image of me drunkenly stumbling about this big bad city. It wasn't a night of debauchery. It was a fabulous night with great friends. I was sure to not over do it; Sunday was set to be a well-paced productive day with a planned sleep in.

Oh and it was glorious.

I made my cup of coffee, dressed and then strolled through the bustling Bloor West Village. Everyone wrapped in sunshine. I couldn't hide the extra little bounce in my step. Spring is coming, I can feel it.

I bought salmon coloured tulips to celebrate!

Mama's in town.

Nothing beats a mother's love.

I've had the privilege to have my mom spend a few days with me. To spoil me and of course to knock some sense into my big head over this past weekend.

Over time, the lights of this city begin to blind and confuse me. I forget what I want and where I want to go because all I see is the here and now. When I stand in a tight crowd of strangers I can only stare at my feet to ensure I don't trip over myself; I don't have the time or the energy to look up to see beyond where I'm at right at that exact moment.

But, Toronto has given me so much all of my experiences here because they've taught me more and forced me to move forward, one foot at a time.

My mom also leads a stressful life. She has a job that demands every bead of sweat that collects on her brow. Some of her stories of clients forces me wonder if people just like to be miserable. On top of her 8-5 (sometimes 8 to 10 poor mommy) she has the challenge of a teenage daughter (my younger sister) and aging parents. I know that these challenges await me someday. But, she handles it all in stride.

We've had this time to pamper each other with the other's company. She's the only person on this Earth that has even come close to understanding me. I'm strange, I'm telling you -I wouldn't lie about this.

Tomorrow is our last day to just chill out with one another. After my classes are over for the day we'll explore the wild and sometimes woolly Queen West and then she'll buy me groceries. In the evening I'll cook for her (I continue to try and impress her with the culinary knowledge that I've attained over the past few months) and then we'll sit and just continue what we've been up to all weekend - girl talk!