8-Bit Holly

Shot Through the Heart, but I'm OK!

2012-02-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

Today we went for another round of baby immunizations. My doctor doesn't give them all at once, she spreads them out a bit so there aren't as many needles at one time. I'm not sure how much it helps, each time the needle jabs into the baby's leg, I can feel its icy coldness go straight through my heart.

I'm still smarting with the pain. His little red screaming face is burned in my mind. Nothing about the shot was fun. But even though it hurt him physically and tears me up inside, I will continue to take him for his shots as required. I will bring him home and nurse his sore little leg because of a scrap of paper I found in my grandma's files after she died.

It's a bill from the late 1940s sent from St. Paul's hospital in Vancouver. It has yellowed with age and every time I read it I pledge to vaccinate my children. The amount of $2.73 is less than the price of my morning coffee, but its not the number nor the the threats for non-payment it contains. The bill is for the care and disposal of Larry - her son who died at two years old of whooping cough. I don't know why she kept it for 60 years, but I can imagine how hard it would be to lose a child. How hard it would be to have two sons running around and then one day to only have one.

Whenever I think of vaccinations, I think of my grandma who moved to Vancouver with two babies and moved back to Prince Albert with only one. Why would I open myself up to repeating her experience? Babies die every day all over the world from diseases that could be stopped with a simple jab in the leg. Even if there is a risk of some side effects from a vaccination, I'd rather take that risk than the other one. The risk of not having a baby anymore. The risk of kissing my baby for the last time.

It's easy to forget how many children died of diphtheria and whooping cough and how many children had their lives changed by polio. I'm not a medical expert, I'm just a mom. But I'm a mom who doesn't want to go to the hospital with a sick baby and come home without a baby because I decided to tempt fate and not vaccinate.

Not a crybaby

2011-12-22T15:17:00.000-08:00

I think so far I've got an easy baby. He sleeps. I just put him down and he falls asleep. Sometimes he falls asleep before I put him down. Sometimes I put him in his bassinet and he falls asleep there.

When he was born, because he was early, we had to wake him up every three hours to feed him. Sometimes he'd fall asleep while enjoying a meal. But within a week the doctor told us to let him sleep until he woke up and then feed him.

He's two months old and he's kept a pretty consistent schedule, every few hours he wakes up, cries a little, has a diaper change and some dinner and falls back asleep. Sometimes he sleeps for an hour and sometimes he sleeps for four (that means I get to sleep for at least three hours in a row!)

It would be easy to complain about getting up for two feedings a night, but I know I'm lucky. I went for coffee with one of the other moms at the infant-parent group and she talked about having to cradle her baby's head while her husband ran a vaccum cleaner every night for the first two months. Now they just have to play a tape of a blow dryer and the baby falls asleep. It's still far harder than just putting him down.

The health authority gave us a DVD on purple crying -- formerly known as colic. PURPLE crying is apparently very common for babies between two weeks and three months. So far, we've hardly had any of that inconsolable crying. Yes, I'm knocking on wood that this lasts, rumour has it I cried for my first nine months.

Now, he's starting to wake up more and more. I have to learn that nothing is wrong with him. He's just awake and looking and thinking. He's started to gurgle and coo. He has a rattle that attaches on the side of his bassinet and he bats that with his hand. Sometimes he just stares at the ceiling fan or the bassinet's warning label. And now he's waking up....

Baby pile fears squashed

2011-12-02T17:27:00.000-08:00

When I had Baby W, I was worried that I wouldn't recognize him if we were separated. I admit, I've had little experience with babies -- I tend to look at them in others arms and not even offer to hold them myself.

Aside from birth videos, I don't think I'd seen a newborn in the flesh. My baby, though beautiful, looked like a baby. How could I tell him apart until he became more defined? I was worried if they piled all the babies in the hospital in a big baby pile (like they do with puppies) I wouldn't be able to tell mine apart. Though I'm sure Canadian hospitals don't routine make baby piles -- what if something happened when I wasn't looking.

So this week I went to two parent infant classes at the local health centre. There were babies of all ages, many around five months. As I looked the 10-week old on my left, I realized that my baby looked totally different from every other baby. His hands are bigger than that ones, his hair is thicker, his mouth is more... like mine. Much as I wouldn't mistake another man for my husband, so too will I always know my baby. A relief.

The classes were interesting. Ok, they weren't. They were horrid and boring presented by people who were reading off a piece of paper they picked up off the internet. I didn't realize so many parents were illiterate. But most parents had figured out the gig, it wasn't about learning about play or infant massage it was about looking at other babies and talking to other adults.

So when the presenters inhaled or took a break everyone started talking. Having a baby is like backpacking through Europe, when you are in the throes of it, you have something to talk about with everyone. "How old? What's his/her name? What was labour like? How's breastfeeding? Are you tired?"

W. lay on the mat with the other babies (very close to a baby pile) and slept after examining the other babies. In situations like this I'm always super nervous. I don't even know what I think people will think but I clam up. I get so mad at myself after I leave -- why didn't I ask that nice lady to go for a coffee after? Our babies are the same age, we can go for walks together or go for coffee or anything...

However, I made up for it after berating myself after leaving the first class. I saw the lady who sat next to me about to cross the street as I got ready to sit down for coffee alone. "Hey, E.," I shouted out the door, "Would you like to have a coffee?" So we sat and talked and it was lovely and I felt like I was doing ok.

No one expects the Spanish Inquisition -- or a premature baby!

2011-11-15T19:28:00.000-08:00

I wrote about writing a birth plan and turns out, I was almost entirely correct. I just missed the date. Turns out the baby was ready to come out five weeks early. In the middle of our renovations. Did I mention five weeks early?

C and I were both late babies. Most first babies are late babies we heard. We were both two weeks late so we assumed that the baby would be late as well. We were worried it would be a Christmas baby. I had sort of wanted a baby born on November 11, 2011.

As far as being pregnant I was starting to get uncomfortable. I felt as if there was a lever pushing my ribs up and arching my back -- but other than that I still knew the worst part was ahead. Or I assumed it was. But I liked being pregnant. I finally showed pregnant enough that people would give me a seat on the train and stopped pushing me on the platform. Pregnant was fun.

The day the baby was born we sold our washer and dryer. We went to Home Depot. We went to Costco and argued about what diapers to buy. I was in favour of buying the bigger ones only (for 10 pounds and up) because the baby was going to be big. I ctleaned out the cabinets in anticipation of having new tile laid in our apartment. I watched television. And we ordered delivery pizza. We never order delivery, little did we know what type of delivery we were getting.

I went to the bathroom. "Chris, I don't want to alarm you but there was a bit of pink in the toilet. Probably nothing but just thought I'd let you know." We talked and since it was 9 PM on Sunday night I thought I should call my doctor. I'd rather talk to her then than at midnight.

"Well," she said, "It's probably nothing, but we should just make sure your membranes haven't ruptured. Come to the hospital. You might want to bring your bag." Bag? What bag? I wasn't supposed to have a bag until the end of November. There was no bag. I grabbed a suitcase and threw in my toothbrush, a pair of socks and a bottle of water.

We went to the hospital. It felt like a joke. I hadn't felt anything like a contraction. I felt a bit funny but fine. We were walking in from the parking lot and I had to slow down going in the main door. That wasn't a contraction -- was it?

Then to the examining room where my doctor said, "Well your membranes haven't ruptured." Whew, I was ready to get off the table and go home. "But you are fully effaced and one centimetre dilated." I forgot what that meant -- but I knew it meant we had started the journey to having a baby.

Writing a birth plan

2011-10-12T17:34:00.000-07:00

I'm at 33 weeks and my handy pregnancy app tells me it's time to write a birth plan. What is a birth plan you might ask; well I'm asking the same question.

A birth plan is, according to babycentre.ca: "a way of communicating with the midwives, doctors, and nurses who care for you in labour. It tells them about the kind of labour you would like to have, what you want to happen and what you definitely want to avoid."

I thought most communication when I was in labour would be pretty old fashioned. "Does it hurt?" "Yup, it hurts." But now I need to write a birth plan about the type of labour I would like to have. Like to have? Do I get a say in the end?

It's pretty easy. I'd like to wake up in the morning and realize that I'm having gentle little contractions. I'd stay at home and hang out while that first stage of labour moves along. At some point, I'd call my husband and we'd head to the hospital. No dramatics. Maybe we'd stop for a hot chocolate on the way.

I admit that I know it doesn't work like that so at this point it would start to get slightly uncomfortable, but nothing severe -- like wearing high heels for an hour too long at a party. The nurse in charge would admit me right away and say, "Hey wow, you are eight inches dilated. You are going to have a baby in an hour or so. Here make yourself at home in your room."

Then, an hour later, everyone would gather around me, and 10 minutes later the baby would slip out like a banana from a peel and I'll have a happy healthy baby snuggled in my arms. No worry, no fuss, no drugs. They'd bring me my dinner in the hospital room and it would be awesome with no onion soup in sight. The baby would sleep through the night and wake up coo-ing when it was hungry.

Of course, if I get to write the plan, my baby will be perfect in every part and will never get a cold or get sick and will toilet train itself (much like the dog did). We'd discover some hidden genius at five years old or so, like the ability to play complicated Mozart concertos on the piano by ear. But other than some secret talent, there would be nothing too extreme, just something that would ensure the child a happy, healthy life.

You know, that's the way it works, because it's in the plan. Isn't it?

What is it?

2011-09-23T18:52:00.000-07:00

I think when my mom was pregnant with me, people might have started conversations asking if she was pregnant. Or perhaps when she was due. That must have snuck into modern etiquette as bad manners. But I'm not sure the alternative is much better. The only question I get asked is, "Do you know what it is?"

It's so odd. At first I'd look around in a bit of fear and wonder, "Oh god, what IS it? Where is IT?" before I realized they were referring to my expanding waistline.

I've gotten used to it, particularly as my thoroughly pregnant waistline says more than any clever t-shirt could. I'm so tempted to answer, "I hope to hell it's a baby, because if not it's a hell of a tumour!" Instead I usually say, "Oh, our parents don't want to know so we're not telling anyone until it's born."

I could lie. But why? Does anyone need to know? Really? What does it matter? The next question will be about names -- and frankly, I'm not willing to talk about baby names on the train, in line at Starbucks or anywhere else.

Then they might ask when I'm due -- which is invariably followed by speculation about my size and weight gain, "Wow, you are so small! I (or my wife/my friend) was your size when I (she) was three/five/six months along."

So? I find discussion of my weight and size also a strange comment. No one has ever once turned to me in the change room and said, "Wow, my boobs weren't that big until I was at least 18." I'll be honest though, no one has ever referred to my breasts and any word meaning "big" in the same sentence. But it's the idea of comparing two bodies and being surprised that one is bigger (or smaller) than the other.

But I can't imagine it happening in any other situation. At urinals, do men stand next to each other comparing penis size out loud, "Wow man, you are huge!" People accept variation in all bodies -- why on earth is it considered so normal to comment on it during pregnancy?

My baby is clearly going to be different from yours -- just as I'm different from you. Why would we look the same?

I guess I understand. People want to talk about babies. They want to acknowledge that something very special is happening with my body. It's sort of nice to have a built-in icebreaker, even if I can't zip up my jacket anymore.

While I can understand the questions they still feel very odd. But, on the other hand, I can't even suggest alternate questions, except perhaps, "When are you due?" or "Are you excited?" (For reference, November 30 and Sure.) It's also far better than a friend who seemed to get every scary labour story told to her. These often end with "And then she gave birth in the toilet."

To be honest, the whole experience of being pregnant is odd. I think they gave us too much sex ed in school. There was too much emphasis on how NOT to get pregnant. There were threats of having to carry around fake babies to see how much work babies were. Getting pregnant was a very very bad thing and no one talked about the day that you might choose to have a baby. I'm sure there's a great study in women delaying pregnancy and the depictions of pregnancy in early adulthood.

So sometimes I feel a bit like Juno. Like everyone looking at me knows I had sex and GASP got pregnant. Nevermind that I'm married and have been for three years. Nevermind that people have babies all the time. Nevermind that we're so lucky to have been able to get pregnant so quickly (because hey, I'm over 35!).

Perhaps that's why I'm a bit uncomfortable talking about being pregnant -- particularly to strangers. It feels a bit like they are asking about sex. I understand the ideas of "hiding" a pregnancy or the custom of prenatal "confinement" that used to be so common. It's hard to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary is happening when you're walking around with a beach ball in front of you. But maybe there's a better opening line than, "What is it?"

On Divorce

2011-09-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

I re-read my last post "Why Marriage?" and I felt I should add another post about divorce.

Because though I like marriage and think it's generally a good thing, I also know people divorce.

Heck, I think some people ought to get divorced. There's no use spending the rest of your life being unhappy or making someone else unhappy. My parents divorced when I was 11 or 12. It was pretty yucky. I coped by making mountains of shaving cream in the toilet and flushing it. (Honestly, it was a lot of fun, you should try it sometime).

We had to sell our house, give away our dog, and frankly my relationship with my father never quite got back on track. (I am really sorry about the shaving cream thing Dad! I'm also sorry for acting like such a teenager... but in my defence I was a teenager and was just as crummy to everyone.)

But four or five years out, everything started looking up. Both my parents remarried. Their partners were far more suitable to who they were becoming than they had been for each other. There was a lot of love and warmth between them and their new partners, it was nice to see. It was a good example for me of what healthy relationships could look like.

Since then I've had a number of friends who got married, and then got divorced. For the most part, the divorce made them happier. Having gone through both made them far stronger people and far less likely to take love and happiness for granted. It's true, there's nothing like a little misery to cheer you up.

(No, dear husband, I don't want a divorce. I'm very very happy I married you.)

A few years before I actually got married, I was engaged to a different man for four or five years. We just never quite made it to the "I do" part -- though we acted like we already had. There was always something we were waiting for. When we eventually broke up, I felt sort of cheated. People don't understand the heartache of breaking up with "just a boyfriend" but somehow they understand what it means to get divorced far easier. I was devastated. We had planned a life together. We had named our invisible children and decided on what breed of non-existent dog we were going to get. We planned out our vacations until retirement. One day it was gone.

Just being a "girlfriend" meant that those four years meant virtually nothing. There was no official "end" to the relationship, no forms to sign, no recognition that something had been started and broken. One day there was a phone call and then there was nothing but chocolate cake and daytime talk shows. I couldn't bear to take off my engagement ring until one day in yoga class I had eaten enough chocolate cake (and nothing else) it flew off my hand and never got put back on.

It sounds odd to say you are in favour of marriage, and marriage forever, while at the same time advocating divorce under the right circumstances.

Divorce gets a bad rap.

People want to use the fact that a divorce means one of the partners (or both) were somehow morally inferior or wicked. There was a poem I liked that said something like, "Must we say it wasn't love; just because it ended?"

But in the end, it means that two people changed in different directions. I said to a friend who was getting a divorce and trying to explain why he and his wife had broken up, "You are an intelligent person. You aren't evil. I wouldn't expect she was either stupid or evil either." Sometimes it just doesn't work -- and that's ok. But I still think seeing, finding out, is worth stepping off the cliff and finding out for sure.

But that was my choice, it may not be your choice. And that's ok.

Why marriage?

2011-09-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine put up a blog post asking why people should get married when couples can make financial and legal commitments that are the same as marriage without going through the whole white dress nonsense. I've spent the last two weeks thinking the question over. In fact, I've been thinking about marriage for a long time

The first time I got engaged, an ex-boyfriend of mine said, "You engaged? I never expected you to be the type to get married."

I wondered then what he meant. Of course I was going to get married someday, I thought. But why? Why wasn't a joint bank account and shared residence enough? (What are gay people in New York so excited about anyway?)

So I thought of the scene in The Graduate where the lead male character goes running to the church trying to stop the wedding. While this scene has been parodied endlessly you'll note no version ever features the couple getting stopped on their way to the bank to set up a joint bank account. No scene has ever featured our hero stopping his one true love on the steps of a lawyer's office as she went to sign a joint mortgage with the other man and begged her to stop and buy a house with him.

There's something different about marriage.

If I had told my grandma that the man I was dating left his wife to be with me, she would have strongly disapproved (or at least tsked her tongue). But if he left his girlfriend or even fiancee, she would have said something like, "Well a girlfriend isn't a wedding ring."

I'm not discounting the deep love that can exist between two people without any formal commitment. But there must be a reason people keep getting married -- a reason gay people want the right to take part in a ceremony that is steeped in a religion many of them don't abide by.

I think it's this.

I think marriage is the third leg of a stool -- the social leg. It used to be that the whole package -- financial, legal and social were bunched together, but now you can separate them out and pick and choose.

Marriage is about standing up in front of all the people you think are important enough to be there and saying, "This person. I'm going to stay with this person forever."

Marriage is a very public event. It isn't about you -- it's about this social commitment. It's about saying to your family and your friends and your ex-boyfriends, "I have made a commitment to this person. I love and will be faithful to this person -- forever."

Of course, marriages don't always work out, but the intention, the feeling on the day of the wedding is that it should. That it might. That as of this day, you love this person and intend to keep this promise.

That's why the hero shows up at the church and tries to stop the wedding. That's why people sometimes feel cheated when a couple elopes. That's why people to have parties to celebrate the wedding day. That's why the snowman in Winter Wonderland asks if you are married (and why you answer, "You can do the job when you're in town!").

Weddings aren't about white dresses and flower arrangements and guest lists -- they are about a social and emotional commitment that can't easily be undone. They aren't about joint bank accounts but about joint dreams.

And yes, eventually, I did get married. And I wasn't surprised in the least.

My September 11, 2011

2011-09-11T07:46:00.000-07:00

It's the 10-year anniversary of September 11, 2001 and everyone is sharing their memories. Some of it is really hard -- everyone saw the pictures and everyone went a little crazy for a few months. Now people want to tell their story. So here's mine.

I was living in Germany teaching English. It was fun. But on September 11, I went to work and started to feel really awful. Not the kind of awful like "something bad was going to happen" but something awful like I had licked the post in the subway and picked up every nasty germ on it.

I taught my morning classes, very badly. Then I went to the school administrator and asked her to cancel the rest of my day. I had about three more classes until I would be done at 9 pm.

I went home and went to bed. I felt horrid. My throat was dry and I had a fever. About two hours later, one of the other teachers at the school called me. I didn't know her well and always found her a bit dramatic. "Turn on the TV," she yelled.

"What? What channel?" I was trying so hard not to sound annoyed. When you live overseas and not many people speak your language it's good to stay friends.

"Any channel," she yelled breathlessly into the phone before hanging up.

I went to the living room and turned on the TV. It was scheduled programming with two angry women fighting over some loser guy. I changed the channel and there were the pictures everyone talks about. But the news broadcast was in German so I had no idea what I was seeing. The words "New York World Trade Centre" were on the screen.

The showed the pictures of people jumping. I was already so ill, it couldn't make me feel any worse.

I called my boyfriend at the time "There was an accident in New York, a bunch of people died."

He was working on a huge project deadline, "I don't think so, I saw the picture, someone just had an accident and flew into the Trade Centre."

"But there used to be two Trade Centres -- I saw one fall."

The line went blank. "I'm sorry I have to go back to work."

So the rest of the night I wandered around the darkening apartment -- fevered and confused. I wanted more information. I was leaving for Vancouver in two days, but I wasn't.

I tried to turn off the tv and read, but I was reading Lord of the Rings. And like the armies of Sauron I could almost feel the dark armies moving across the earth.

Almost Kidnapped

2011-09-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

When I was about eight years old I was in Thompson Park Mall in Kamloops by myself. I had my new Mickey Mouse watch on and was wearing a bright pink jumpsuit. It was brand new and I felt so pretty wearing it.

My mom was shopping in the mall too. At the time, kids were, or I was, allowed to wander the mall by myself. The rules were clear: don’t leave the mall, don’t cause trouble, and don’t talk to strangers.

This was about 1983. In 1981, Clifford Olsen had been arrested for the abduction and murder of 10 children, and we had been camping in the area when the Johnson Bentley murders had taken place. The world was starting to get a little scary.

So when two men came up to me and offered me $5 to come for a ride in their car, I knew better than to say anything. One of them grabbed my wrist. I twisted my hand free and ran as fast as I could to the cosmetic counter at Sears (or the Bay). Clearly my grandma had taught me safety could always be found in cosmetics.

I told the lady behind the counter what happened and she called the roly-poly lady security guard. I didn’t know women could be security guards. By this time I felt sort of silly. I told my story and they found the two guys. They stood in the hall while I peaked over the counter and identified them.

The man they talked to said that I looked like one of his sister’s friends and he wanted to give me a ride home. They told the security guard to tell me they were sorry, and that it was a mistake. Inside I had that dark icky feeling and when one of the men looked at me, I knew he was lying. I remember the cosmetics counter lady telling me I had done the right thing.

I don’t even remember what happened next – I must have met my mom and come home. I should ask her about it one day. It was never talked about again.

And so I left it at that. Last year the story of Jaycee Dugard, the girl who was kidnapped for 18 years came out and I remembered that afternoon. The two men could have been nice and thought I was a friend of their sister and wanted to give me money and a ride home. But I don’t think so. The thing I remember the most was the dark icky feeling in my stomach. I think I was very lucky.

The funny thing is that until last year, I had kind of forgotten how lucky I was. I kind of thought almost being kidnapped was one of those things that happened in the course of a lifetime. Something like a skinned knee, a broken heart or parents divorcing.

There's a little boy that has been kidnapped in Sparwood that's all over the news. http://www.news1130.com/news/local/article/274738--amber-alert-extended-for-missing-3-year-old-boy-in-sparwood . The man that might have kidnapped him is the age the man I met in the mall that day would be.

I keep getting this icky uncomfortable feeling -- like somehow I could have been one of the hundreds of missing kids and I was lucky. And I'm scared someone will grab my baby's wrist one day and I'll never see him/her grow up.

Offering up a seat

2011-08-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

I don't take well to the offered hand. For a long time I would choose the other chair when someone held out a chair for me. Yeah, ick. That was then and now I gladly sit, say thank you and even let people hold the door open for me.

Now that I'm a bit more visible, people have started offering their seat on the train. To be honest, at first it was strictly limited to middle-aged Asian women. Which was very sweet but also left me a bit puzzled. Don't people know that if you wonder if you should offer your "priority seat" to someone, you probably should?

But now more and more people are seeing the results of my current waistline expansion project and are offering up their seat. I often say, "Thank you so much, but I'm ok, I've sat all day."

For the most part, I don't need to sit all the time just yet, and to be fair, you got on the train first and I have but a seven-minute train ride. But I still watch and it still restores my faith when people do offer me their place.

But if a seat comes up and I'm close, I usually sit down. And before I was pregnant it was easy to think "Well my feet are tired too, I want to sit." But really, I knew that I should offer up my seat. And a little part of me feels that when no one does, it's because I probably wouldn't have either.

100 days left

2011-08-24T21:25:00.000-07:00

I got a text message today from my pregnancy app. It told me I've entered a new week of pregnancy.

So I checked the countdown and found that I have 98 days left. That's less than 100.

What can you do in 98 days besides grow the rest of a happy healthy baby?

I feel overwhelmed. Of course, I knew that a baby would come at the end of this process and I knew there was lots of things to do between now and then. But somehow in March, when one winter isn't yet gone, it's hard to imagine November 30, right before the next winter begins.

Spring and summer came and went. I froze strawberries and cherries and raspberries. August is almost done and my freezer has been further filled with blueberries. Now there are a mere 100 days left (more or less) until this little thing that keeps standing on my bladder makes an entrance into the world. It feels like there is still so much to do.

Can't buy baby clothes

2011-08-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

So I'm almost seven months along. I'm clearly pregnant. A baby is coming by the end of the year. Unlike the olden days when you could wrap your baby in a potato sack -- now babies needs clothes with all sorts of crazy names like "onesies" and "sleepers" and "sleep sacs." Everyone is all paranoid about SIDS and you want to stick your baby in a sleep sac? Really? Isn't that what we do to kittens when we don't want them?

I don't even know where I might get an assortment of potato sacks if I felt like going that route.

These are all facts.

Here's another fact.

I've never seen a newborn baby.

To me, newborn means something under a year old. Other than that. I've never seen a newborn human, never held a newborn anything, never touched a newborn. The closest I came was seeing kittens at 10 days just as their eyes started to open. However, I'm given to understand human babies are born with their eyes open so its not a fair comparison.

I don't believe that a baby can be as small as the clothes they make for them.

There is no way something that will grow into a full-fledged human being could possibly start life with a neck the size of my wrist.

I go to the store and I pick up clothes for babies 0-3 months and I hold them up. It looks like it could fit on a barbie doll (or ken). But there's no way a baby will fit into that. I'm sure it will choke because its too small.

I finally bought a few things. Mostly for three and six month old babies. Even then I wonder about the wisdom of buying clothes that will only fit for a few short weeks. And it all costs so much. There's barely any fabric and it's $15. None of it is hand-stitched or handmade. There's barely more workmanship in it than in a tea towel and there's far less fabric.

I gave up a little this weekend and because I felt I had to get something, bought a 0-3 month set with a litle onsie, a sleeper and a pair of pants. It's tiny. It probably won't fit and I'll have to bring home a naked baby with a diaper or find a potato sack somewhere.

I want to walk the Camino

2011-08-03T17:36:00.000-07:00

I've always wanted to do the Camino, the long walk to Santiago, Spain. It's about 800 kilometres and takes you through some beautiful country. It's also a historical and I guess spiritual walk. I like the idea of walking somewhere and doing something millions of people have done for hundreds of years before me.

I've actually been to this small town specifically because I wanted to do the Camino. I took the train. It was cheating. I arrived at 5 am and wandered the dark rainy streets followed by a Spanish police car. The driver kept trying to hide in alleys an watched me as I walked around. It was too dark to take pictures and skinny, foreign, young me looked pretty out of place. I felt like they expected me to be a terrorist or paint graffiti or something.

I went to mass at 7:30 am. The sun wasn't quite up yet. I sat in the church, before the pilgrims arrived, surrounded by Spanish grandmas in their Spanish babuskas. I'm not a very religious person, but it was very holy. The incense smelled wonderful and the smoke and light from the stained glass window made it look like a movie set. After the service one old grandma in black came up to me. She smiled at me so kindly. Then she patted my hand and patted my head and said something in Spanish I didn't understand.

I felt like she was the Ancient Mariner and she had "blessed me unawares."

Welcome Summer

2011-06-21T21:12:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but I keep relating this first pregnancy to being a teenager. It feels a bit like the summer between high school and university.

This is kind of my last free summer before baby comes along. And while life will be wonderful and exciting then -- I'm eager to really find pleasure in these last few baby-free, sunshine-filled months.

Of course Vancouver weather hasn't co-operated and on this, the first day of summer, it is finally sunny. It has been rainjacket weather since January and I yearn to wear open-toed shoes and capris. If I can fit my capris, which is another story all together.

Here is a list of all the things I'd like to do this summer:

Go camping
Swim in a lake
Swim at one of Vancouver's beautiful outdoor pools (this reminds me of my bathing suit suitability -- I probably need a bigger one to contain my bigger bits)
Go for a hike (or two or three) on the North Shore
Kyacking in Deer Lake
Have a picnic at the beach
Float down the channel in Penticton in a big inner tube
Eat lots of fresh local fruits (especially strawberries and blueberries and cherries and tomatoes and mint...)
Go to pitch and putt
Sit on my deck and drink iced tea and listen to music
Read a book and sit in the grass
Go someplace I've never been before (I think I'd like to see Molson or Winthrop)
Have a campfire
Start our renovations (finishing them seems too optimistic)
Go to outdoor concert (YAY! I have tickets to Blue Rodeo already)
See the fireworks
Take a ferry
Drink an iced drink outside on a patio with friends (sigh, no Bellinis for me!)
Relax
Read books
Spend a long weekend away
Take a prenatal yoga class
Get up really early one morning and take Bela the dog for a walk on the beach
Get a manicure and pedicure

Baby bulge

2011-06-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

I was getting worried last week because even at 15 weeks, I weighed 2 pounds less than before I got pregnant. It doesn't seem normal. And it's a bit daunting because I'm supposed to gain about 30 pounds.

The doctor says it's ok and this week everything started to grow. I look much more pregnant now that I did. I tried on a maternity shirt and thought, "Oh, I've left the baby cushion on" and then realized it was me, not the fake cushion you put on to see how something fits. It's odd to think about looking pregnant -- I expected to "feel pregnant" more than anything.

Sure I notice things are changing. Baby brain means it takes me 15 trips upstairs to get ready to leave for the day (perhaps that's why I've lost weight!). I'm protective of my tummy walking in crowds with my hand out in front of me to swat away anybody who gets too close.
I'm tired, which is a relief after struggling to fall asleep during my first trimester. The dog is still weird around me. She's very concerned about strangers or unknown dogs getting too close too fast.

People are starting to notice. I've had one seat offered to me on the train and the owner of a Chinese restaurant told me that 1) his soup was very good for babies and 2) that I was having a boy.

Babies and Training Bands

2011-06-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

There's a stage between being a girl and being a teenaged girl. One day, modesty aside, you could take off your shirt and stand beside a boy of the same age, and no one would see any difference.

A month later, something has changed. Your body starts looking different. When it's cold and you are wearing a t-shirt; everyone gets uncomfortable. So your mom carts you off to the store, even on a Wednesday night and you try on "training bras."

For me at least, it wasn't anything to stop jiggles or bounce, just something to start covering things. Wearing your first bra is a bit exciting at first, it's a sign you are becoming a woman. But it's also uncomfortable, and hard to get on, and people might make fun of you. And all your friends have one already -- or none of them do.

And on the weekend, when you aren't going to school you don't wear it, and you feel just fine.

I forgot all about this until I went and bought my first belly band. It's like a training device for maternity clothes. I tried on my first maternity clothes and should have bought them, but for lack of a second breakfast and stupid check out girl, I left with only a belly band.

See I'm at the same stage with my belly that I used to be with my bra. I don't look pregnant -- at least not to anyone who doesn't know me really well. I'm almost 15 weeks pregnant and my pants don't fit, but that's the only outward sign. No one gives up their seat for me in the bus and no one asks me when I'm due.

When I got pregnant I lost about 10 pounds and am slowly putting it back on -- right where its supposed to go. My normal pants fit for a long time, and then I went through the pants that were a bit roomy. But now, nothing does up. I don't have any more fat pants to fit into.
So the belly band is the solution. It fits over your pants (where they don't zip up) and holds them together while covering your belly. But it feels a bit like the training bra all over again. I don't feel like I really need it. I feel like I'm pretending to be pregnant.

I went shopping at the maternity store and everyone was so much farther along than I was, I felt like an imposter. I felt like pulling up my shirt and saying "Here, look, I AM pregnant."

So now I'm figuring out this new contraption. It's hot and because it just fits over your pants, it wiggles around a bit. I really do need to go get maternity clothes -- to get over it and just go shopping. But somehow, aside from a few puke-y nights and a general feeling of malaise, I don't feel very pregnant. I don't feel like anything is going to change. I feel like this is as "pregnant" as I'm going to look.

Clearly denial.

Grandma's Eulogy

2011-05-26T15:22:00.000-07:00

When you get to a certain age, I guess death doesn’t take you by surprise. After Grandpa died, Grandma began writing and rewriting her funeral plans knowing that one day, this day would come.

In her papers she talks about how important it is that people knew she loved God and Jesus. She scribbled notes that said, “Remind them to be good to each other. Remind them to love each other. Remember to always walk with God.”

In her notes, it was also clear that I was to deliver the eulogy. It is an almost impossible task. I am blessed by having two great woman help guide me through life – my mother and grandma. I was grandma’s “special one” and her soulmate.

And so today, with you, we remember her.

I don’t want to remember her in care, when the things that made her Grandma had faded away. I want to remember the lessons Grandma taught us.

1. Always look your best

Grandma took great pride in always looking her best and had a great sense of style. At Christmas time, she would visit every mall in the Lower Mainland as she hunted for the perfect blouse, or purse or pair of navy slacks. In Prince Albert or Saskatoon, there was always something to return or to have altered.

Mom and I were at a wedding once and in the church hung a sign that wasn’t hanging quite right. It read, “God loves the mall.” I turned to mom and said, “Look at that sign. God is just like Grandma. Grandma loves the mall too!” She rarely left a shopping centre unvisited.

In addition to her colourful sense of style, Grandma was never seen without her face on and her hair done. When she first got sick, she was in palliative care and they gave her a few days to live. “It won’t be long,” the nurses told us.

I wrote her eulogy and read it out to her. And she woke up. Within two days, she was asking for her eyebrow pencil and her shaky little hands were straightening up her hair.

Ah, the hair. That beautiful head of auburn hair. Coloured, permed, teased and set, it was the first thing you might have noticed about her. She took great pride in looking her best every day and that started with making sure her hair was just right. Rain showers didn’t stand a chance against the magic of grandma’s rain bonnet.

Grandpa used to take her every week for a “blow job” and chat with her favourite stylists.

2. Love

Grandma didn’t just love shopping and looking nice. She loved Grandpa, her children, and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She loved bright pink and purple. She loved going to the cabin, and seeing her friends and getting up early to make a fire in the wood stove. She loved holding hands. She loved keeping things CLEAN. Your clean and my clean are nothing compared to a Grandma clean.

And sometimes the things she loved the most were the things she fought with the most. I don’t know if there is a person in the room that didn’t experienced at least a taste of Grandma’s strong convictions.

And she fought to stay with us until the bitter end. Every time I would visit, I would leave thinking “That was the last time I will see Grandma.” And just about every time I was wrong.

3. Find a place to be at home

Grandma loved travelling. She loved going to Hawaii with Grandpa and coming to BC to visit Stan and Laurie, to visit mom and Greg, to visit Sherry and Sharen. But both the cabin and the house and later the condo were her homes. She was never more happy or comfortable than when she was there.

She kept the cabin until she was 80, until she was too sick to take care of it. She didn’t just hold onto it, she visited, many nights every year. She raked leaves, she hauled water, she got up every morning and made a fire in the wood stove. She washed the floors, by hand.

When I was young and Grandpa was still alive, I spent much of my summers there with the two of them. We played Rummy (Grandpa cheated, but if Grandma won she would share her chocolate bar). We walked to the lake to check on the boat. We went for ice cream. We visited neighbours.

She’d point out her favourite path through the forest where the birch trees made the most beautiful colours in the fall. In the heat of summer, we’d cover up in old shirts with babuskas on our heads and go pick berries to turn into jam.

When she lay in bed last weekend, I told her I wished we could go to the lake. I wished we could go see Grandpa. I told her that in my mind I could see her and Grandpa walking down the road to the lake holding hands. I don’t know what happens after death, but her eyes widened and I hoped that somehow she could see it too. It was tough.

4. Just Keep Moving On

Grandma lived through some tough times. When her family came to Canada, they didn’t have a lot. She left home when she was 17 and moved to Prince Albert. She worked at the Sanatorium and lived with two roommates, one of whom introduced her to peanut butter – a revelation apparently. I love the picture of my skinny little grandma being so enthralled by the taste of peanut butter, a luxury she didn’t know existed.

She lost one husband and two sons. Before she re-married she was alone with little education, no job and four hungry mouths to feed. Every once in a while she’d tell a little story that hinted to a much bigger, much darker story – but she never dwelt in it.

5. Keep Smiling

She had a sense of humour and she found joy in life.

Grandma loved saying the improbable. She loved teasing and making people laugh. Her giggle was infectious. I’m not sure why it was so funny, but watching her giggle as she poured milk from a four-litre jug was better than any comedy sketch.

She seemed so prim and proper but sometimes, the things that came out of her mouth…were earthier than you might have imagined. And that was the joy in it – the unexpected mixing of proper with fun.

We were driving to Saskatoon a few years back and someone on the radio said something a bit naughty. Grandma said, “That’s a word from the dirty alphabet.” “I don’t think you’ve ever taught me the dirty alphabet.” She started at A. She made it all the way to N and then she paused… I teased her, isn’t there a word for O grandma? Then she let out the most passionate OOOOOooooo I’ve ever heard. And as I tried to keep the car on the road as tears came out of my eyes.

Grandma, you taught us so much. And in the end, I think you faded to teach us how to live without you. When the birds return after the winter, you will be there. When the leaves and fields turn gold in the fall, we will remember you. In my mind, you and Grandpa are in your little white truck driving around the backroads of Saskatchewan. You have grapes and carrots in your green cooler, your rain bonnet is tucked safely in your purse and you are heading out to your next adventure.

Thank you for sharing this part of your journey with us. Thank you for the honour of being your granddaughter. And know that all of us here, and those who can’t be here, loved you and love you still.

Grandma is Dead

2011-05-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

Grandma is dead.

The Queen is Dead, long live the Queen.

I feel like everyone should know my Grandma died. Like the world should go into mourning. And I'm so sorry. And I didn't want her to die. But I desperately wanted her to die.
She's been dying for six years. She first started during Hurricane Katrina. I laid on the couch in her room in palliative care and listened to every breath. I felt the ghosts gathering in the room. I'd try to flee and go watch TV and everyone was watching these horrible images of people dying in a hurricane a million miles away. I watched but I didn't care, I just wanted my Grandma back.

So I wrote her eulogy. I read it to her. Then she did the most amazing thing. She woke up. She started talking to the ghosts in the corner of the room. She made me open the door and let them go out. That was six years ago.

She moved to an extended care home. Four times in the past six years we've been called to say "Goodbye." We tearfully rush to her bedside. She looks at us and says, "So you're both here, I must really be dying." And then she stops dying. She starts talking and eating. Every time I think, you can't look much worse than this, you can't hurt much most than this. After six years of leaving suddenly because my grandma is dying, I could only say, "My grandma is dying more aggressively than before."

Every time I come back it is worse. This time, I wasn't sure I could do it again. I'm still not feeling 100%. It's such a hard trip. I arrived two days before she died. I told her stories, I told her about Prince William and Kate getting married. I told her about my life and my dreams. I was so happy sitting in that room you would think my best friend had returned from the dead. But she was heading off to die and I couldn't stop smiling and teasing.

I saw her the day she died. I held her hand and I sang her songs and we prayed. I told her stories, I told her how lucky I was to have her. She couldn't talk. She couldn't close her mouth. She could just manage a little hand squeeze. She weighed maybe 50 pounds, she looked like those awful images of starving people from the war. I wanted to pick her up and carry her outside one more time to feel the sun on her face. I could have too, she was so tiny. How can someone who made such a big mark on me shrink to be so tiny? How can those big hands that wiped my tears be so small.

As I left on her last day, I leaned over and said, "You've taken such good care of me. You've taken such good care of Grandpa. I wish he was here to take care of you."

The leaves have returned to the trees in the courtyard of her care home. The birds are flickering around, building nests. I looked out the window and I said, "I see both of you walking to the lake, holding hands. When you leave this life, I know you will walk to the lake with Grandpa and you will hold hands again. I wish he was here to comfort you."

Then I looked out the window, "Maybe he is here, maybe he's waiting for you to come. Maybe he's just outside the window." I told her I loved her, I kissed both her cheeks, what was left of them, and I left. She watched every move I made.

She died as I was boarding the plane after a layover in Calgary. She died as I was showing my ID to the lady at the counter. And I didn't feel anything when it happened. I expected somehow that her ghost would tap me on the shoulder or I would just know. I imagined the sky would become a bit brighter. But I didn't know.

Baby Gummy Bear

2011-05-06T21:10:00.001-07:00

So I'm having a baby gummy bear -- at least that's what the 10-week ultrasound shows. Even though I've felt icky and nauseous and my breasts are getting bigger and even though I've had a few positive pregnancy tests -- I was still so relieved when the technician said, "Yep, there's a little munchkin in there."

I don't know what I expected. I was so worried last night, I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 4 am and just laid there and worried. It wasn't even reasonable, "What if I'm not pregnant? What if there's something wrong? Why aren't I gaining weight?"

I'm not gaining weight, in fact I'm losing weight, I've lost about five pounds since I got pregnant. I'm not sure why, but I suspect my lack of appetite combined with a new found awareness of what I'm eating is probably contributing to it. But it still worries me.

Back to the gummy bear. It's 3.78 cm long and has two little arm bits and two little leg bits. It's heart rate is 169 bpm. I could see it's heartbeat. It was really kind of amazing. And of course, the timing we predicted is correct. (I wonder if the mis-dating of pregnancy is really common.)

My appointment was at 7:30 am. Husband is out of town, so I went with my mom. When I came in the ultrasound room the technician asked, "Do you have your id?" It seemed like a strange question -- but I said, "Yes would you like to see it?"

There was this long silence. A pregnant pause. I finally turned around and said, "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right. What was your question?"

"I asked," she said, looking at her chart, "Whether your period was regular?"

"Ah, yes. It is. I mean it was."

She turned the screen from me so I couldn't see what she was doing. It was so scary. I'm lying there with a full, full bladder and she's clicking and moving and I don't know what she's seeing. My mom was out in the waiting room and the technician went and brought her in.
I was so worried, I sat up and moved the screen. It was indeed a gummy baby. But it looked like it had a head. And in the column with all the problems marked, every one was marked no. Of course it doesn't mean there won't be problems, but for now, there's really a little baby swimming around inside of me.

It makes the whole thing startlingly real.

I started out white

2011-05-01T07:45:00.001-07:00

I think the real reason you shouldn't tell anyone you are pregnant for the first three months is that no one wants to hear how sick you are. I keep turning white.

Now if you know me, you might think that I was always white. But I've started turning this startling shade of white sheet meets ghost and spills bleach white. It's usually when I'm sickest. When I'm struggling to just hold a thought together and not fall on the floor and not throw up. After I've sat down for a bit and maybe had something to eat, I turn my normal shade of caucasian pale.

I used to see women on the train looking stricken, holding onto the pole with all their might, their eyes unfocused. If I had a seat, I'd look at their clothes and their stomach (to see if they were pregnant) and think, "That woman is having a tough day" and turn back to my book. It wasn't insensitivity, but really wouldn't everyone rather sit down. Now I'm the one on the train gripping the pole staring out the window thinking, "Please get off the train here, please get off here," to the person sitting in front of me. Or else I'm thinking, "Nice girls don't throw up on other people. You don't have to throw up. You feel fine," while my stomach does horrible threatening flips.

When I am not bright white, I'm often just light beige. I don't look like myself and I wonder how anyone looking at me doesn't guess I'm pregnant. Perhaps they do, and know they shouldn't ask.

Thanks, but I only puke on Thursdays

2011-04-29T17:31:00.000-07:00

At one of the doctor's appointments I was asked if I had morning sickness yet. "Not really," I answered. The doctor's face darkened and she started going into the details of an aborted miscarriage -- where the embryo isn't viable but just stays inside. Another reason I changed doctors. I don't want to not face facts, but somehow it didn't seem like the place.

Then I went home and the next night I puked up dinner. Turns out, I don't have morning sickness. I feel just great in the mornings. It takes me a minute to remember that I'm pregnant. The evenings are a different story. Five o'clock comes around and the room starts to close in. I see advertisements for food and my stomach turns. I feel like I've been reading in the car for too long.

I don't like to eat when I don't feel good -- so I'm missing dinner more and more often. We conceived on a Thursday and oddly enough on Thursdays I'm most sick. I've thrown up every week whether I've had dinner or not. I don't think my husband realizes why I'm getting paranoid about the sink being free of anything and the route to the toilet being kept clear. Particularly on Thursdays.

I've had a cold for over a month and it's stuck in my chest -- I'm Little Miss Cough's-Alot. I get into these coughing fits and then everything starts coming up. I wish I could get rid of the cold -- I worry that the baby will be hurt by my coughing.

10 Week Dating Ultrasound

2011-04-28T17:42:00.001-07:00

Next week I go for my 10-week ultrasound. They call it a "dating ultrasound" which is cute -- but I know it's a bit more serious than that. It's the bad thing about working in words -- all of a sudden you can see behind the words and understand the meaning.

By 10 weeks the baby should have a head, spine, elbows and even fingers. Sure it probably helps them date the pregnancy -- but they are really making sure the embryo turned into a fetus; that it has an amniotic fluid sac, that the placenta is placed properly, that the pregnancy is in my uterus and not my fallopian tubes. This is the "emergency exit" ultrasound -- when they can tell you sadly that the pregnancy didn't work before you decorate the room and pick names. And this is why you shouldn't tell anyone you are pregnant before 12 weeks.

It scares the hell out of me.

Because it is supposed to take place in week 10, the one week Chris is out of town without me, I was going to go by myself. My appointment is at 7:30 am and it's all the way across town. Normally I would drive, but Chris will have the car at his parents.

All sorts of other appointments depend on this date being keep so I didn't want to change it. I started thinking about it, and wondered how awful it would be if there was something wrong. Or what if there were two babies, or three? Twins run in my family.... And I felt a bit guilty for not sharing the experience with someone. So I thought of asking my mom.

It seems odd for my mom to go with me to a medical appointment -- I've been alone in the room with the doctor since I was 12 years old. (Except when I was dying of appendicitis, but that's another story). It felt right to ask her, but also a bit like I was using her for a ride.

So I asked. Of course, she was thrilled and excited to come. So next Friday we'll head down to the clinic and see this little thing inside that's making me eat too many Skittles, not wanting to eat anything that smells, and wonder at each bite how it will feel if I vomit.

Oddly slightly pregnant

2011-04-28T17:21:00.001-07:00

It's odd to be pregnant. I really haven't come to terms with the fact that I'm pregnant and in seven months or so I will give birth to new life. I've spent much of my adult life trying desperately NOT to get pregnant and now, after three years of marriage, my husband and I decided it was time to see what happened.

But somehow, having a baby didn't translate to actually getting pregnant. It's odd buying a pregnancy test and not trying to hide it under a package of cookies or a magazine. And then when we took it, it came out... inconclusive. There were supposed to be two pink stripes and there was one hot pink stripe and a very faint, almost not there pale pink one. Is it positive? We decided it was inconclusive.

So a doctor's appointment later and yep, it's a baby! Due December 1, 2011. The advice? Don't drink alcohol, don't take any drugs and don't drink too much caffeine. The question then became -- what next? I called a midwife and my family doctor. The midwife made an appointment for two months later. I went to see my doctor and felt somehow like I should get a secret handshake, or someone should take my blood pressure or something... Instead she took a detailed health history -- the same history she took 10 years ago. She was surprised by some of the health issues I've had that she actually should have had in her records. She sent me for blood tests. She doesn't deliver at a hospital close to my house so I decided to find another family doctor.

So I went to a second doctor and had my blood test results sent to her as well. Again, she took my history and told me not to smoke or drink and then... sent me home. She'll see me again after my 10 week ultrasound.

I know 10 weeks is the time the baby turns from an embryo to a fetus but I still feel like no one really believes I'm pregnant yet.

Do the Next Right Thing

2011-03-26T17:09:00.000-07:00

The power of humans to survive the most extraordinary happenings fascinates me. Stories of people like Hiromitsu Shinkawa from Japan who spent two days floating off Japan on the roof of his house, or the trio from BC who survived what should have been a fatal car accident. I’ve always wondered whether there are some of are built for survival or if some people are just luckier than others.

We don’t often have a chance to test out the theory (thank goodness). We get into a comfortable loop where everything happens just as we expect. But whether it’s an earthquake or a car accident or someone trying to steal your bag – it’s good to think about what you might do in time or crisis.

Yes, of course you should have an emergency kit in your house and you should buckle your seatbelt. But to really survive a catastrophe, I think it’s what goes on in your head that counts. Sometimes life and death is a matter of pure luck – but not always. Maybe that’s why I love true survival stories so much.

I will probably never rescue anyone from a horrible car accident, and I hope I never have to survive an earthquake. But I think that reviewing how people survive gives us a chance to prepare for the crisis, big or small, that occur in our own lives.

In August 2008, Laurence Gonzales published “How to Survive (Almost) Anything: 14 Survival Skills” in National Geographic Adventure magazine. He outlines 14 survival concepts that have nothing to do with mountaineering skills or emergency kits. In March, when my bag was almost stolen at the Ottawa airport, I kept trying to heed his advice (particularly “Do the next right thing”). When I finally boarded the plane, my bag had been recovered and was safely at my feet. I wanted to go back and review his list – and now you can too.

An Odd Little Hobby

2011-03-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

Once a week, but sometimes twice, I go to church. To be more specific, I go to the Holy Rosary Cathedral at the corner of Richards and Dunsmuir in Vancouver, Canada. I may be the most church-going person I know. I'm not religious mind you (not that there's anything wrong with church-going), but I spend a lot of time in church.

I love walking up to the building and knowing it has been there since the early days of Vancouver. I push open the front door and head to a little staircase to the left. I climb up stairs that seem impossibly steep, past the organ, past the old pews, past the stained glass window. But past all that, I enter the bell tower. It is quite possibly the most beautiful room in Vancouver.

The walls, originally whitewashed are now a bit dusty. Hanging from the ceiling are eight long ropes that dangle to the floor. When I first came up it looked at bit like a hangman's chamber. But it is what is at the end of these ropes that draw my attention. Bells. Big ones.

The biggest, the "Eight" bell is 1,800 pounds. I don't ring this bell often, we don't often have enough ringers to ring all eight bells and this one will wear you out. The lightest, the "One" bell is only 600 pounds. I call it the "Joy" bell because it has such a light and happy sound.

Vancouver's bells have been ringing since 1906. Our first full peal was July 1, 1911 to celebrate the coronation of King George.

The official name of this hobby is Change Ringing -- but that's a foreign term in Vancouver so I just call it bell ringing. Of course, that conjures up the image of old ladies with white gloves ringing little handbells. I sometimes delight in the juxtaposition of a dainty bell and the big loud bells I use.

The bells are hung on wheels so it is easy to pull the bell off the "balance" and have it ring again on the other side. In our tower, we leave the bells in the upside down position with the mouth facing up. When all eight bells are ringing, the stone tower starts subtly torquing and moving. You can imagine that the combined weight of 7,700 pounds causes quite the engineering challenge. The power is enormous. And like a choir, I love the moment when I feel connected to something much much bigger than myself.

We practice twice a week and ring for mass on Sundays. We also ring for weddings. These are my favourite. It's fun to sneak up to the choir and look way down at the wedding below. Watching a stranger's wedding is far easier than being involved -- no presents, no "his" and "her" side and no need to worry about Aunty Jane drinking too much again. It's also thrilling to know that I contributed something special to this special day -- and the bride and groom wouldn't recognize me if they passed me on the street.

We practice on Tuesday nights. When we are done, we often leave through the church. It's beautiful. The electric lights are off but soft light from the street streams in through the stained glass and comes from the votives under the various saints. Pierre, the organist is often finishing his practice on the large pipe organ, and we seem to leave during the most dramatic moments of his music. But when he's not playing, it's very quiet and very still and very special.

The church has a cat named Salvatore, or Chaz. Some nights, when I get lost in the rectory on the way out, Chaz comes and leads me to the door in hopes that I will let him out. Once out in the street, the magic of the tower fades away as people go off to the bar or cars rush home through the puddles.

But there is magic in the bell tower and that's what draws me back. The songs and patterns we ring date back hundreds of years. And these very bells were ringing when my grandmother lived in Vancouver, when my great-grandmother lived here. That's something special indeed.

If you'd ever like to join us, we're always looking for new learners. Visit the Vancouver Society of Change-Ringers to find out more about our bells, or about the hobby itself.

How Parents Get Divorced

2011-03-21T12:39:00.000-07:00

When I was girl the worst thing that could happen to your family was your parents getting, gasp, divorced. Alcoholism, sexual abuse or drug abuse weren't even talked about. It was divorce that loomed in our minds as the worst thing that could happen. In fact, relaying the details of parents fighting on the playground was a good way to have your friends share their home-made chocolate chip cookies.

I still kind of choke on the word "divorce" and often mention that I have two dads without mentioning that my parents got divorced when I was 12.

According to schoolroom wisdom and after school television specials, here's how you know your parents are going to get a divorce.

They stop fighting as much. (Or they have a great big fight the night before)
One day they come together to pick you up from school. They don't tell you why and they might have even told you your babysitter was coming to pick you up.
You go right from school to a restaurant for dinner.
You can order anything you want and no one makes you finish what's on your plate.
You might even be allowed to order dessert,
Your dad drives the family home and everyone is very quiet.
Your parents sit you and your sibling down in the living room and tell you that they love you very much but they aren't going to live together anymore.
Your dad takes his suitcase and puts in the car and drives away.

I remember one classmate and her brother getting picked up by their parents and we all stood around looking sad and waving. We knew what was happening. Or at least we thought we did, but instead of the "divorce" talk, they all went to Disneyland.

The script didn't work when my parents divorced. Their divorce was a bit atomic -- it seemed normal and happy then started going sideways and then there was one big blowout one night and I was sent to a friend's house while my dad packed his suitcase and drove away. I always regretted not getting that restaurant dessert.

Instead my friend's mom told me that my parents were getting a divorce and that I shouldn't think it was my fault because it probably wasn't. I stayed with my friend all weekend, we went Christmas shopping with her family and picked out a Christmas tree. I remember thinking, "We're never going to celebrate Christmas again."

My friend's mom made horrible spaghetti and filled my plate so full I couldn't see over it. Then she made me sit at the table until I finished. I couldn't finish so I sat there an hour later with a plate of cold slimy spaghetti while everyone else ate dessert.

That wasn't the worst part. My two good friends weren't allowed to play with me after that weekend. My friend said, "Your parents are divorcing. That means you are going to start taking drugs and run away from home and probably have a baby before you get married. My mom says you are a bad influence."

We had moved to the area only two years before and I had friends from my old school. I realized they probably wouldn't want to talk to me either, so I stopped writing them back and never sent my forwarding address.

But in the end it was a good thing. My parents were happier. I moved to a school and made new friends, who liked me even though my parents were divorced. I shared my cookies with girls whose parents had fought the night before. I didn't have to be scared when my mom picked me up at school. I got to go to restaurants and eat whatever I wanted and never clear my plate.

Last week I met Chris at the doggy daycare where our dog goes once a week. Usually he picks her up alone. As I walked in, I got this awful sinking feeling in my stomach. We were going out for dinner next.
Bela ran out towards him and then ran over to me. As I put her in the back of the car, I sat down and gave her a cuddle and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry. We're not getting a divorce."

Eight Things I Wish I Didn't Know About Bedbugs

2011-01-22T19:53:00.000-08:00

I've waited a long time to write this post, waiting for the day I could declare myself and my home bedbug free. In 2006, I went on a fantastic trip to Argentina (read about it here and here). The only thing I wasn't prepared for was meeting bedbugs. Now I've travelled a lot and stayed in a lot of places that might be considered less than clean (read about some of those here). While travelling, I've seen sewage flow under my bathroom floor, found mice in my purse, and in Argentina -- had bedbugs.

I didn't want to talk about it, because I didn't want people to think my entire trip was about bugs or that Argentina had a problem any worse than anywhere else. I also didn't want to jinx myself in case I brought some home. I did a lot of reading about them when I was there, and from that and experience, here's what I know. If you are wondering about that bite you woke up with this will either reassure you or frighten you. Here are eight things I wish I didn't know about bedbugs.

1. Bedbugs aren't mosquitoes
I found out I had bedbugs when I checked into a new hostel. I scratched a bite on my face and said, "Wow, the mosquitoes are really eating me." With a bit of anger and bit of pride, the guy at the hostel said, "There are NO mosquitoes in Buenos Aires in November."

Three bedbug bites

I walked away wondering what might have bitten me, if not a mosquito. The bites were big and welty like mosquitoes and followed the same pattern of very itchy until another spot itched more. I went to the pharmacy and asked for some cream. They gave me a funny look and gave me some calamine lotion. It only slightly took the edge off.

2. Bedbugs like biting three times

Apparently, the way you recognize bedbugs, is because they often bite three times in one area. One theory was that because they bite when you sleep you move, so they move to the next part of the vein.

I read this at 11 o'clock one scratchy night and looked at my hand. Three bites. I looked at my thigh. Three bites. It was like the holy trinity of bedbug signs. Sure there was the odd single bite, including a monster on my cheek. But most of the time you could see the three bites, usually just about the vein.

3. Bedbugs are very hard to kill
Whenever an expert comes on the radio or TV to talk about bedbugs, they talk about how hard it is to get rid of bedbugs. Because the "traditional" chemical cure of DDT has been outlawed, new chemicals aren't as effective. I can appreciate that. Another scratchy night I woke up and found a bedbug on my arm. I squished it between my fingers and ran to the bathroom where I could turn on the light.

I was a kid who played with bugs. I'd pull their wings off and squish them and do all sorts of experiments on them. So I tried to kill this one. I squished it as hard as I could and put it down. It crawled away. So I picked it up again and folded it in half. I set it down upside down and it flipped over and crawled. So I tried to tear it, and I couldn't. So I went to my pack, pulled out a little travel knife and stabbed it. It kept crawling. I filled up the sink and put it in while I went out to check the Internet. I came back half an hour later to an empty sink. It was like a horror movie.

4. You can't 'see' if a place has bedbugs

The beautiful view from the first bedbug hotel

When I was doing my research, the guides often suggested looking at the sheets and the mattress. The idea was to find blood stains that the bedbugs left or even to see them hiding along the side of the mattress. When I checked into my first bedbug hotel it was spotless. It has just been through major renovations and there wasn't a speck of dust under the bed. The mattress and pillow were both used, but not old and there were no marks of any type. I'm sorry to say it was the same with every place I got bedbugs (about five hotels/hostels in all). Reading more, it turns out bedbugs can fit anywhere the edge of your credit card can fit. So don't think your apartment is safe if a bedbug comes wandering down the hall.

The only way you'll know if you have bedbugs is if you are bitten or see one. What do bedbugs look like? Didn't take a picture of the one I tried to kill. But they look like an apple seed but a bit browner and a bit bigger. Five years ago, they were just making it on the media radar so it was harder to find pictures, but now looks like Googling bedbug will give you a good idea.

5. Bedbugs are attracted to carbon dioxide
Do you remember your grandparents always wanting to leave the window open just a bit? Lying in bed scratching, I thought about that a lot. It turns out scientists think that bedbugs are attracted to carbon dioxide. It seemed to strike true in the hostels I stayed in. What would smell better to something attracted to the smell of human than a tightly sealed room full of sleeping healthy people? Since then I've slept with the window open.

6. Bedbugs can live a long time in hibernation
According to the stuff I read, bedbugs can live up to a year without a feed. You can put them in an air proof container without any hard-doing. They go into hibernation until they start sensing carbon dioxide. So if you bring one home and leave it in the garage for a year and then bring it in the house, it can just reawaken. Are you getting a bit freaked out yet? Worried about that "free" couch you got off Craigslist? Yeah. I am. Still.

7. Bedbugs can't easily be killed by heat or ice
I didn't bring any bedbugs home with me, I don't think. It's been five years and I've moved and nothing. So I think I'm out of the wood. When I would find my room had bugs (possibly that I had brought) I would take everything in my backpack to the cleaners and ask them to "boil it." They would boil and dry and iron all my clothes and they'd come back (hopefully) clean. When I got back to Canada, I took my bag right to the laundry room and washed everything on "hot" and ironed what couldn't be washed. The few things I couldn't do this with I covered in plastic wrap and put in the freezer -- for a year.

When I was reading how to get rid of them, this seemed to be the most common suggestion. Because they are so thin and small and dark, it's hard to see them. The idea was that the heat would loosen their grip and the movement of the water would dislocate them from their grip. Apparently, people had tried using freezers to kill but couldn't get the temperature cold enough unless they used dry ice. I heard on the radio the other day that some companies are using a frost machine that takes the temperature down to minus 80 to kill the bugs.

Only one of us is really itchy.

8. Bedbugs are not considered a health risk -- but they should be
No health organization considers bedbugs a health risk. They don't spread disease, so they aren't dangerous. But I would argue that the emotional toll they take on victims needs to be considered. Having had them, even just as a traveller, means I can never travel the same again. I lie in hotel rooms and start to itch. I obsessively check myself the next morning for any sign that I've been bit. I can't imagine not trusting my bed and home the way I don't trust hotel rooms.

Sure, the bites are painful and distracting. Scratching mine gave me a little scar on my hand. But it's more than that -- it's the mental toll. It's comparable walking down the street and being randomly beaten up , or having a dog who looks friendly turn around and maul you, twice. You just can't trust the same again. It's an experience I still can't forget.

Thirty Great Things About Turning 30 (I'm not 30 anymore)

2011-01-22T18:40:00.000-08:00

There's another big birthday on the horizon and I stumbled across this great list of the 30 reasons I was happy to turn 30. Maybe I'll make another one soon!

It looks better on banking applications
I now have a real job, a working car, a pension plan, and a university degree
My teens are LONG gone
At least I’m not 42
I can dismiss silly things I did last week as “That was when I was in my 20s”
I travelled the world before I discovered the joy of hot showers and private rooms
I can now afford real hotels with private showers and heated rooms
I still look 29 (or 12 if you ask Maggie)
I’ve got another 10 years to enjoy being “in my 30s”
I’ve learned to savour wine
My mom still loves me
I’ve got enough experience to understand, but not too much to be cynical
I’ve got more than 30 friends
I still know who I am
I don’t look like a poseur when I go to the opera
There are still cute unmarried guys my age and they have real jobs, working cars etc etc
I am sure I don’t like tomatos, onions, or peppers
I am not going to “grow out of” laughing hysterically at Monty Python or stupid jokes
I can talk to people in their 20’s with a look of wisdom
I can pretend to have wisdom more convincingly
I’m in the same age bracket as my cousins, but I’m still THE YOUNGEST
I don’t have to let my thong underwear hang out of my pants in an attempt to look sexy
I don’t feel obliged to wear thong underwear
In 30 years I’ve read hundreds of books and watched just as many movies
I know how to dance: swing, waltz, tango, foxtrot, rhumba, bellydance, ballet, and samba.
By the time I’m 31 I will have visited ALL the inhabited continents
I have a long list of things I want to do with the rest of my life
I can cook lots more than the French Toast I learned to make when I was 20
I can go out for dinner alone and don’t feel weird
I’ve got 30 things to be happy about regarding turning 30!

Eight Other Things to Pack -- My Essential Non-Essentials

2010-12-20T17:03:00.000-08:00

Lost in Beijing -- no map

When I was a teen, I spent quite a few weekends packing up and going to my dad's house. Then, after university, I moved to Germany and spent quite a few weekends doing short trips to all the great cities Europe has to offer. Then I had a job that, at one point, had me staying at a hotel one or two nights a week.

So, I've done a fair bit of travelling -- and packing -- and forgetting sundry items. Of course, you know the basics: clothes, a book, a credit card, your passport, money. But then there is the other category of things that if forgotten, make life harder. Here are eight "easy to overlook" things I make sure are always in my suitcase when I leave home.

1. Nail clippers
Do you know how hard it can be to find good nail clippers -- or any nail clippers when you need them? Too hard. This isn't vanity, it's about the little hangnail that's catching on everything every time you put your hand anywhere. That hangnail or torn nail will hound you and irritate you and drive you crazy. And why? A nail clipper takes up a teeny tiny bit of your suitcase and makes life so much easier, and less painful.

Bathing suit = fun

2. Bathing suit
You just never know when you'll need one, and they are a pain to try to replace (at least for girls where there are a multitude of styles and sizes and colours). You think you are going on a business trip and you find out your hotel has a fantastic hot tub and you have to sit in your room watching re-runs of Mike Holmes because you just didn't think to bring that tiny bit of fabric. Or you go to someone's house and everyone is going outside for a swim and you have to either (a) go in your underwear and an old t-shirt and feel self conscious or (b) sit on the sidelines.

3. Underwear
Have you ever gone to the neighbourhood WalMart 15 minutes before closing and tried to find one pair of underwear that might fit for a decent price? I have -- three times. It's not fun. It's not fun to buy underwear and then put it on the next morning, desperately hoping it is in somehow clean. I used to work in the lingerie department and I know more about why you should wash underwear from the store than anyone in this room. But enough about dirty people returning things and dirty sweatshops manufacturing things. Just double check, and take an extra pair, just in case you have to stay the night. And if you don't wear underwear -- bring extra socks. Not quite a personal but just as troubling.

4. Pen

Some hotels have them, some don't. But travelling always brings more need for a pen than any other time. How else will you capture directions to the restaurant or that 18-digit reservation number you'll need to quote for the airline? Yes, you can tap something into your iPod, but isn't a pen a little more tactile? Instead of waiting for the waitress to find a pen so you can sign your bill and get going, you can just pull your own out of your pocket.

5. Change of clothes

Could have used a dry change of clothes!

When I travelled on business, I twice made the mistake of just bringing in my formal work clothes. Once I got stuck in town through Friday night and Saturday because of a snowstorm and had to wear my vaguely uncomfortable suit for far too long. The other time, I was invited to join some co-workers for a picnic in the park. I went to the picnic in my suit -- wearing heels -- because I didn't think I'd need some casual clothes. As for a sweater, even in the hottest climate, it can always get chilly -- be ready!

6. Paper copies
I love my iPhone. And I know I can pull up my airplane ticket and car rental information on it. Except when I've run down the battery. Or when I'm on the airplane. Or when I'm sitting in my hotel room and the cellular reception is horrid and the WiFi is $13/day (seriously hotels, what is it with you and WiFi!??). Bring copies of things just in case. In case you go missing with your phone. In case you can't find what you are looking for. When I was daytripping around Europe, I'd also take photocopies of the city I was in so I didn't need to carry the whole Germany Rough Guide when I just needed to know about Bremen.

7. Chargers

Can't take pictures with power!

Under the category of always be prepared; chargers! Cell phone, camera, laptop -- whatever you bring with you that may need a charge. Flights get delayed, batteries run down too quickly, and all of a sudden the important thing you brought with you turns into a battery-dead albatross hanging off your wrist. If it's worth bringing -- it's worth bringing the charger.

8. Toothbrush

Sure you can replace your toothbrush. Sure you can go to any pharmacy and get one. Many hotels will even sell you one or have them in their vending machines. And realistically no one ever intentionally forgets their toothbrush but just double check -- it's yours, it's already paid for, and it's annoying to replace.

I guess for me, it's all about being ready. I want to be ready to enjoy something outside of what I've planned. I also want to be comfortable. I can't prepare for every possibility, but I can bring the little things that have snookered my plans before. I used to be cavalier and joke that all I needed to travel was my credit card and a pair of underwear. Then I tried to find a nail clipper in a little town in Oregon and ended up spending $7 and swore I'd never do that again. Then I tried to find a bathing suit in Prince Albert and ended up spending too much for too little.

So bon voyage!

Eight Essential Books for my Desert Island Library

2010-12-15T22:23:00.000-08:00

I love stories. I spent my entire childhood not really understanding that stories were often very different from real life. I mean of course there weren't princesses and magic fish here and now, they were out there, just waiting. I still tend to think that stories are more real than unreal and I feel bad when I abandon my favourite story friends mid-action and close the book. I don't tend to read as much as I once did -- but when I do, I still lose track of time and place and am surprised to find myself on a bus or in a doctors office. Perhaps that is why I don't read enough, I'm so annoyed when I'm interrupted.

If I was travelling through space; or stuck on a desert island, or going to live in the wilds of Namibia; I would need to take books. These are the eight fiction books that would have to come with me. Sure, some of them are geared for a much younger audience, but I have found joy and meaning in these books in a way that would compel me to bring them to a desert island or into space.

1. Remembrance of Things Past -- Marcel Proust

"The reason may be that the lover, too impatient from the very excess of his love, does not know how to wait with a sufficient show of indifference for the moment when he will obtain what he desires."

This is a crazy huge book, thousands of pages. The edition I have has five volumes. The first 36 pages are a description of how difficult the author found it to to go to sleep when he was a child. This book is so rich with description and so engrossing that I have to remind myself that I have never been a boy/teenager/man at the turn of the 20th Century. I never loved a girl named Albertine and I never lived through the Great War. He tells the story the way real life goes. You never know who is going to leave your story and who is going to come back. He reveals his own life and the back story of so many of his characters. I went to France inspired by his descriptions and somewhere near Cap Ferret, tasted madelaines and bought my own pan to make them at home (still need to do that!). It took five years to work my way through these six volumes and when I finished the last volume, I put it down and picked the first book back up again. Just thinking about this story takes me away.

2. The Last Unicorn -- Peter S. Beagle

"We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream."

Chris has a Freudian theory that girls fall in love with unicorns as an expression of their sexuality. It may be true but this particular book is pure magic. It deserves treatment in the order of Lord of the Rings, and not the corny 1980s cartoon version that was made. Where is Peter Jackson when you need him? It has a unicorn, a bumbling magician and a talking cat. So really, it ought to be a lame send up of every "fantasy" book ever written. But instead it's funny, fumbling, enchanting and laugh-out-loud funny. I quote it often, but no one notices. I recited parts of it on my wedding day.

3. The Life of God -- Franco Ferruci

"From the first moment of creation, I've never known what to wear!"

I love religion though I'm not a religious person at all. I like all of them, like many things, religions fascinate me. They have such superb stories. Ruth crawling in and sleeping at Boaz's feet; speculation about what Jesus might have meant when he predicted the meek inheriting the earth (a base place and the source of much evil); whether Ganesh lost his head from looking at his mother in the bath, or guarding the door. I often joke with my religious friends that I'm the only person I know who goes to church twice a week but never prays (another long story involving 1,600 pounds of bell). Regardless, this is the funniest send-up/examination I have seen of god and religion. It tells the story of the world and creation through the eyes of a god that is a form of the traditional omniscient/omnipotent/omnipresent god. I've lent it out three times, and each time it has taken years to get back. I don't lend it out any more but suggest you get your own copy.

4. Julie -- Cora Taylor

"She wondered, as she climbed into bed that night, if she would someday be able to handle things like ships as easily. Next library period she would sign out a ship book she'd seen on the reference shelf. There might be something that would help her understand."

My uncle was a school librarian and I was always a bit sad we didn't talk more about books. This is the only book I remember him giving me -- he said he read it and it reminded him of me. I read it and it reminded me of me. In fact, I hid it under my bed because it was so much like me I didn't want anyone to read it and be able to tell what was going on inside my head. I was a bit too old for it, but it feels like the story of me as a little girl. Of course, I wasn't psychic, like Julie, the main character. But I sort of thought I was, and I sort of thought that maybe it was a result of my absolute dislike for my Grade Five teacher that she cut her finger off and missed class for weeks (though I was already in Grade Six when it happened). It's the story of a dreamy little girl.

5. As Far as My Feet Will Carry Me -- Josef Bauer

"At the moment, Grigori was in a communicative mood. After his pent-up emotion had spent itself in a final barbaric act, he had suddenly become calm and lucid."

I used to work at an outdoor magazine. It paid next to nothing, but it was fun. And we got lots of outdoors books like How to Cook Salmon and 20 Uses for an Extra Compass, but when this one came in I scooped it up. The subtitle grabbed me "The extraordinary true story of one man's escape from a Siberian labour camp and his 3-year trek to freedom." Three years? 8,000 kilometres? Across Siberia? I furtively started reading when I thought my co-workers weren't looking. I couldn't put it down. I tried to get back to work, but page after page, I became more enraptured by the story. Apparently all true. This guy WALKED across Siberia to Persia, in the snow, by himself. Would anything in my life every be as difficult? Probably not. Then I did the stupidest thing possible, I told my co-workers how good it was and brought it back (it wasn't mine after all) and I never saw it again. I reordered a year or so ago and even now can't open it for fear it will be 3 am before I can finish reading the story. It isn't clever, it isn't philosophical, it's just a damn good story.

6. Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town -- Stephen Leacock

"Anybody who has listened to certain kinds of music or read certain kinds of poetry or performance on the concertina, will admit that there are some lives which ought not to be continued, and that even suicide has its brighter aspects."

If you are looking for a book I need on my bookshelves, this is it. Do you recognize the name Stephen Leacock? Now dead, a prestigious award in his name is handed out for Canadian comedy. He deserves it and though CBC personalities like Stuart McLean are fantastic, they are a shadow of his talent. (Sorry Stuart!) This is the story of a little town, not too far from here where people are people, in a sunshine-y little way. He shows us their warts and foibles and follies and we laugh along while we recognize ourselves and our friends among the crowds. The stories are surrounded by the lovely glow of sunshine and by the end you feel like you know unfortunate Peter Pumpkin, hopeful Jefferson Thorpe, or romantic Zena Pepperleigh.

8. The Paperbag Princess -- Robert Munsch

" 'Your clothes are really pretty and your hair is all neat. You look like a real prince, but you are a bum.' They didn't get married after all."

The book every little girl should read (and probably memorize). Doesn't every girl imagine she's a princess, or a princess in disguise? And what a better way to be a princess than to defeat the dragon and save your prince. But the best part, the most important part, is finding out who the prince really is. And at every point in a girl's life she will meet a boy, think he's a prince, and find out he's a bum. And if only every girl learned Elizabeth's lesson and walked away we'd all be better off. (Even the prince who got called a bum might decide to act more princely next time). This isn't about clothing, or crowns or even how to outwit dragons. It's about learning to stand up for yourself when it counts. You go Elizabeth! You find a real prince, or marry the dragon.

Eight Non-Fiction Books that Changed the Way I Think

2010-12-09T21:51:00.000-08:00

I've always loved reading. I can't remember going to the library and not being overwhelmed and excited by everything that it contained. All those stories! All that knowledge! I was never one to swoon over designer shoes, but give me something to think about and you'll need to hold me back.I've read and enjoyed hundreds of books but these are the eight non-fiction books I'm really glad I took the time with, and the ones I turn back to again and again.

1. As a Man Thinketh -- James Allen

"Cherish your visions; cherish your ideals; cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind, the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts, for out of them will grow all the delightful conditions, all heavenly environment; of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will be built to last."

I read this book when I was about 12. It was brilliant and changed my view of my world. It underlined my responsibility in my experience. Now modern science has shown us that our feelings are controlled by substantially more than just our thoughts, but being aware that your thoughts have some role in my life gave me a lot of responsibility to start thinking differently at an age where the role of thinking isn't talked about much.

2. Napkin Notes on the Art of Living -- Micheal Durst
"Your life works to the extent that you're willing to tell the truth about how you set it up."

If As a Man Thinketh is the theme, Napkin Notes on the Art of Living is a sonata. It's a fantastic book and at one point was selling used on Amazon for over $700. I have two copies, a copy I don't share and a copy that I hope will come back to me. It's an incredibly easy read with lots of fun illustrations.

3 and 4. How to Win Friends and Influence People and How to Stop Worrying and Start Living -- Dale Carnegie
"No one ever kicks a dead dog."

These books ended up in my bedroom when I was about eight years old. I think they got misplaced. They looked very adult with their black covers and gold letters embossed on the spine. I read them when I was about nine or 10. I was way too young to understand the problems they outlined, but they made a profound impression on me. I re-read them when I was 25 or so and was shocked to find that so much of what I thought was here, in these books. Smile. Show genuine interest in people. Do something you love. The quote about no one kicking a dead dog was a story about how people didn't pick on people who were really down. I was the picked on kid in school, and somehow this reassured me that the other kids were being mean to me because I had something they didn't (though I still had no idea what that might be). I think it lead to my belief later in life that "a life well lived is the best revenge."

5. The Language Instinct -- Stephen Pinker
"The workings of language are as far from our awareness as the rationale for egg-laying is from the fly's."

How do we think? Why do we speak? How do we speak? When I lived in Germany and was trying to simultaneously learn German while teaching English, I loved the thinking in this book. It made me reexamine my beliefs and understanding of language. I still think back to the lessons in this book and wish I could find someone as enthralled with this topic as I am.

6. How to Cook Everything -- Mark Bittman
"An almost unbelievably sweet and wonderful side dish. The sugar in the beets caramelizes, and the flavours of the rosemary, beets and butter meld beautifully."

I didn't learn to cook at home really. I learned to open cans and use mixes. When I moved to Germany and the supermarket had NO familiar looking packages, I was screwed. I boiled eggs and ate fresh buns with honey as long as I could then I got on the phone and begged my mom to send me this cookbook (and a pair of jeans -- long story). It taught me how to cook and how to love cooking. I would go to the market and buy the freshest stuff there -- be it seafood, meat or vegetables. I would then go home and get my German-English dictionary and find out what I bought. Then I would get out this cookbook and find a recipe. I learned to make pie shells (badly), pasta sauce, cook mussels. I have a whole cupboard full of cookbooks -- including the second edition of this one -- and I still open this one first, every time.

7. The New Purity Cookbook
"Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Sift together: 2 cups PURITY flour; 4 teaspoons baking powder; 1 teaspoon salt."
The tea biscuit recipe is burned in my mind, but I still check the temperature in this book. This is pretty much the only recipe I get from this book. This was my first cookbook and still provides amusement when I want a recipe for a pineapple butter frosting or any old school circa-1970 recipes. There's no date inside, but if I want to give one to a friend it will only cost $1.25 including shipping and handling. One coupon has dutifully been cut out. The first time I used this book, I used one cup of salt, instead of one teaspoon. It was horrid. The second time I used this book to make tea biscuits, I used baking soda instead of baking powder. I was about eight, so can be forgiven. My tea biscuits are much better now!

8. The Rough Guide (Argentina, Germany, Europe, Japan, India)
"Two and a half blocks west, at Avenida de Mayo 829, you'll find the Cafe Tortoni. The cafe has been going for over 150 years..."

I've travelled a bit and found that without a guidebook I'm lost. I hate finding out that the oldest sari in India was in a museum just two doors down from where I had lunch. Guidebooks also tell me where to have lunch -- not that the food will be good, but that someone ate there and lived. Now in Europe and Japan, you can get away without a guidebook, but in a place like India you can be totally screwed without one. I've had a variety of types, and often travelled with two, but my Rough Guide always has what I need. It gives me hotels and hostels in my budget and points out both the commercial places but also the smaller corners of the world that ought to be explored. And there are some places that ought to be explored and celebrated. Particularly when I lived in Germany, it gave me destinations within a short train ride to visit. There's nothing more addictive, or dangerous than a guidebook -- once I have one, I'm ready to go, today! (Want to read stories from Argentina? Visit October and November 2006 on the right side of this page. For stories about Europe -- the few I posted, visit anything before 2005)

Eight Fashion Faux-Pas

2010-12-05T14:57:00.000-08:00

I am not necessarily a very fashionable person. I often think I am lucky if my shirt goes with my pants and I love dresses because they leave me with little room for mistake. But working Downtown I see lots of people -- many of them very well-dressed and some not. More and more I'm bothered by the well-dressed person with the one fatal fashion mistake. It makes everything look bad. I want to go up to them and fix them. So next time you head out check for any of these eight things so I don't have to accidentally open your vents. Yes, closed vents are number one on my hit list.
1. Closed vents
Vents are those flaps of fabric to overlap at the back and bottom of a jacket. They are lightly stitched shut when the jacket is made so one side doesn't get pressed facing the wrong way. It makes it hang better in the store. But vents are made to be opened. You can see it by the lose stitching used to close them. They want to be opened. It usually takes one finger to break the stitch that holds your vent closed. Open your vents people and let your jacket hang the way it was made to be used. Pick up your jacket, turn it around and look at the vent. If it is closed, open it. Let in the air.

2. Short pants
I'm not talking about shorts, or capris. I'm talking about pants that went through the dryer and lost an inch -- a good inch. The only good inch. If your ankles feel the breeze, your pants are probably too short. There's nothing you can do to save them. It's too late. In the 1800s men would swoon at the sight of a woman's ankle. Now everyone just feels pity for your poor cold little ankles.

3. Bare legs in winter
Winter can be the time for skirts and dresses. Tucked away under a lovely wool jacket you can paint quite a pretty picture walking down the street. But you need to wear nylons or tights. It's December. It's cold out there. Your chicken-y, cold, pale legs don't look sexy. You look cold and sad. You look like the little match girl, that's snow on the ground little girl. Put on some leggings or tights or anything to keep those knees warm. You'll be more comfortable, thus more confident, and quite possibly more sexy because you don't look like a frozen waif.

4. Tight buns
No. Not a tight bottom which tends to make any outfit a bit nicer, but a tight wet bun. I am so guilty of doing this. When I was in my 20s, I used to take a shower and then whip my hair back into a tight little bun and pretend I looked like a ballerina. I didn't look like a ballerina, you don't look like a ballerina -- you look like a circus performer who lost her wig. Don't get me wrong, buns can be quite sexy. Just let your hair dry a bit first and give your scalp a chance to wiggle. If you take down your hair and you can feel the follicles relaxing and tingling, your bun (or ponytail) was too tight. Your hair is going to fall out.

5. 100% Pure Wool. Made in China.
Some coats, and most men's suits (I'm lead to believe) come with a tag on the sleeve that says who made it, what it is made of, and where it was made. This is for reference in the store. When you leave the store, take the tag off. And take off the four little strings that hold it in place.No one needs to read your label.

6. Wrong belt
I saw a guy last week, going to an interview. Wearing a great grey suit, nice ironed shirt, clean fresh haircut. He looked like an absolute winner. Until I glanced at his waist. SCREECH.... like a needle coming off a record. He was wearing this old, ratty, brown, casual belt. It looked terrible. Why? Why ruin a perfectly good outfit like that? Go and get a good dress belt, or a cheap dress belt. Get a proper dress belt. Ask your mom for one for Christmas. I don't know what your belt should match, but when someone looks at you they should see a package, all together. Don't mix your casual and your dress belts.

7. Tags on the bottom of your shoes
A problem for both sexes, but mostly in women with high heels where the price tag doesn't wear off. When you buy shoes, even if they aren't on the shelf, they are often tagged. When you take them home, after you've walked around on your carpet (to make sure they fit), after you've admired them, and before you wear them out, look at the sole of the shoe. Unlike the Paul Simon song, you won't find diamonds there, but a price tag. Take it off and repeat on the other side. I used to work retail and I remember staring at a woman's shoes in a coffee shop and seeing that the tag had been there for a full year. She'd walked around for a year with a tag that identified her shoes as BRN, and costing a royal (in those days) $84.99.

8. Lack of care
Of course the last thing is all those little careless things we can sort of get away with. Snip off any lose strings; sew on any missing buttons; be honest about your need for an iron; don't wear shirt with sweat stains under the armpits; don't wear clothes with any stains; polish your shoes; get a haircut now and again; don't let your coloured hair grow out naturally; brush your hair before you leave for the day; get your teeth properly cleaned; floss. Get rid of any clothes that don't fit, or stretched out, or have faded too far from their original. If you are wearing something you bought more than 10 years ago, take an honest look in the mirror and make sure it's still "right" for you.

Eight Things to Do in December

2010-12-02T16:29:00.000-08:00

Once again, it's almost December. December is matched by February for unpleasantness. It's the dead of winter, the shortest day of the year, darkness coming into work and going home. The holidays and all the stress they bring are almost. Everyone gets intense, the weather is awful, all you want to do is sleep. Everyone on the bus is sneezing and coughing. Just when you thought the list of things you needed to do couldn't get any longer, here are eight great things to do at the end of the year.

1. Get a massage
Do you have an extended health plan? Good. Now look it over and see if you have any space left in your massage budget. Go out and get one, a full hour. Find a nice RMT and let someone help get rid of all your stress. The benefits of massage are well known -- increased circulation, relaxation, feeling of well-being.

2. Plan a getaway
If you live in the northern hemisphere, it's cold, dark and rainy. And familiar. Face it, you can only spend so much time in the familiar walls of your home and office before you want to start tearing off the wallpaper (a la The Yellow Wallpaper). And no one wants to renovate when you can't have the windows open to let the fresh air in and you can't paint after 3 pm because the light isn't right. So plan to go somewhere -- else. Find a hotel special in a new city (even if it's the next city over) and explore. Go to a new coffee shop, walk on the (cold, windy) beach. Go to Mexico or Hawaii and get some sunshine. Even if you can't go this month, plan now so May's sunshine doesn't feel so far off.

3. Chose a charity and donate
You have 30 days left to make a tax-deductible contribution for the year. Instead of dumping a few coins in every random donation jar, spend a bit of time finding a charity that really speaks to you and donate an amount that really matters.

I don't like Christmas much, but I like donating to my Christmas Bureau so I know that kids that don't have much will get something under the tree. I used to donate presents, but I think that they can get better prices on gifts than I can, so now I give money. If you don't want to give money, go to your blood bank and donate some blood -- it'll save someone's life and make someone's Christmas a bit brighter.

4. Check your RRSPs
If you don't live in Canada, this refers to our retirement savings fund. If you do live in Canada you probably make that last minute dash to your bank in February and decide what to put in and take out a loan. It's crazy and the guy at the bank doesn't have time to talk because everyone is doing the same thing. Why? Didn't you know how much you would make by the end of most years? Admit, you probably have a pretty good sense, even if you don't have your T4 (tax form) yet. In December, if your "investment advisor" is in, she or he will have time to talk, to work out your options. They'll probably even have cookies or chocolates to share.

5. Get outside
December can be so miserable. It's cold, it's dark, it's wet. But even if you just have 20 minutes, slip outside and get some fresh air and some exercise. Ski, snowboard, snowshoe, go for a walk, anything. Studies have found that being outside reduces stress, aggression and boosts confidence. I could handle some of that right now!

6. Review last year's New Year's Resolutions
Did you write down your resolutions from 2010? Go back and take a look -- anything you can complete now? There's still time to call your Grandma, lose 10 pounds, and try out that new coffee house. I love looking over my resolutions, they keep me on track. It's possibly the explanation for my obsession with 43things.com. In December I start obsessing to complete them (or give them up). Last year, I promised to read 25 books. December hit and I had only read 17. I had a great time finishing up the last book (12 minutes before the year ended). For example, this year I planned to write 50 blog entries. Including this one, I've written 36. So expect a lot out of me this month!

7. Plan next year

Once you start looking back, you need to start looking forward too! This is the time to start planning for next year. Don't wait until the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve when you feel fat, broke and tired of your family. Start thinking now about things you really want to do. Don't run into a resolution that isn't reasonable and that you will probably fail at -- spend some time thinking and planning. Buy your new running shoes now, because goodness knows they are all sold out come Jan 10!

But don't get too hung up on January 1 as the "start of your new life." I often celebrate Ukrainian New Years' Day which takes place two weeks later. If you miss that, Chinese New Year happens in February.

8. Catch up with friends
December is the time of social obligations. Everywhere you turn there's a new stupid holiday party to go to. I don't like thinking about going to parties, I like it when I'm there, but I hate thinking about going. But face it, you are spending more time with your clients, fellow volunteers, and co-workers than friends. And hey, while everyone is important, don't forget to connect with your real friends. Find out about their year, their holiday party stories, their plans for next year and tell them yours. It's not OK to talk about your smashing successes and embarrassing failures with acquaintances, but that's really what friends are for (isn't it?)

Five ways my professional organization can save itself

2010-11-29T22:00:00.000-08:00

So how do you save an organization that just might be doomed? In my last post, I talked about the problems I see with my professional organization: poor communication, lack of information about members, lack of strategy, fear of technology and waiting for a techno-saviour among other points.

I quickly got feedback from a number of people that really helped me see the challenges, and reshaped my ideas on how to reshape the organization. It was considering this feedback that delayed further posting. Here's my list of things the Editors' Association of Canada, my professional association, might consider to save itself.
1. Focus on what's important
At the beginning of the year, I have all sorts of plans and ideas and things I want to get done. I have to sit back in the first week of January and ask myself, "What's my end game? Where do I want to be at the end of this?"I can only really do one or two big projects at a time, and though I can dream big, I need to ground myself in the two or three things that really count.

As an organization we need to ask ourselves the same questions. As an association, what is our end-game. What would success look like by the end of 2011? Instead of trying to be all things to all members and all interested stakeholder groups, we need to chose those two or three things that really count and pool all our resources there. Certification? Re-organizing the association? Getting new members? Creating job opportunities by liasing with potential clients/employers?

2. Talking to each other
Next we need to talk to each other. The whole association needs to start talking. I'm not talking about email lists or the list-serv forum or surveys. The executive needs to go out and talk to the members and find out what is really on their minds. They don't have to make and carry the decisions by themselves, they can, and need to, ask people what they think. We need to start having an engaged and open dialogue. Not corporate-speak, not top-down. Just, "Hey, here's an idea. What do you think?"

It would be great to engage members in a discussion about what they thought our priorities should be and what they thought about different decisions that were being made. The Editors' Association LinkedIn group could be a great place to have these discussions and let people respond to the decisions that are being made.

3. Ask for help
I volunteer at the local level, work full time, ring bells, and am too busy to take the time to be a committee of one. But here's the thing. If you need me to man a booth at an event for a day -- I'll sign up. If you need me to proofread something -- I'm there for you. So as an association we need to be willing to ask our members for help solving specific problems, for a specific period of time. "Can anyone help write a Twitter code of conduct for the EAC?" -- Give me a day and you'll have it! As a volunteer executive, it's easy to feel overwhelmed with all the tasks that are asked of you -- but we've got a lot of members to help. If our goals match their interests on a project basis, I think you'll have a lot of success getting things done. Have a National EAC Volunteer Day where you work through a bunch of projects that need doing with everyone working together online and actually getting something done.

4. Change the executive structure
I said it last month, and I'll say it again. I don't think the current organizational structure works. We have 23 committees, many with no members and the only voting executive members are representatives from each province. I don't think the reps from each province have vastly different editing needs from each other. This goes back to focus; once we decide what we need to do, we need to decide how best to do it.
I think 23 committees is too many -- particularly if many of them are "empty" positions.

5. Be like Yoda. "Do or do not. There is no try."
Someone emailed me that I needed to understand the Editors' Association was set up for book editors who don't realize the book publishing industry is undergoing massive changes that will leave traditional book editors out of work. The writer suggested that perhaps, the best choice for me was to step away and let the EAC die and form another association of "Content Specialists" (who are really editors but don't claim the label).

That may be the right choice. But I still want to try. I still think there is hope. I was thrilled that after I published my piece, the EAC announced their Twitter feed and Facebook page. It's a step in the right direction. Organizations can't change overnight -- and neither can we. Maybe talking and engaging with each other we can find a way to move us from snarky comma keepers to stalwart keepers of language.

After I wrote my post, the EAC launched their Twitter feed (@eac_acr) and posted their Facebook page on their website. I certainly don't think I had any influence moving them into the 2000s (much less the 2010s) but it was nice to see they are moving on their own. I also got some more information about who the membership is, and understanding the demographic I can predict for myself where everything is going to send. I also had the chance to meet with the incoming president -- and he gave me hope that some people on the EAC "get it" and that things will change because they need to.

Eight Reasons my Professional Association is Doomed (is yours?)

2010-11-02T21:59:00.000-07:00

I am a member of the Editors’ Association of Canada. I have been for five years. I understand the value of editing and enjoy belonging to a group of professionals that have the same interests as me. Since September 2009, I’ve been a proud member of the BC Branch executive as Professional Development Chair.

Yet, the greater organization drives me nuts. Everything is spelled right, but it just doesn’t connect with me. Last month, the President of the National Branch came and presented some proposed changes to the structure of the EAC. She is an incredibly nice and smart woman, and this is in no way an attack on her, or on the other National executives. But, after our meeting, I understood why this organization has maybe eight years before it enters every hard period that I don’t think they can survive. And I don’t think anyone sees it or sees the way out of it.

The end is near for editors in Canada. We are going the way of the urban farrier, the candlestick maker and the data entry clerk. The EAC is doing nothing to change this trend. My editing certificate will become a quaint souvenir, much like a typing proficiency score or calligraphy set.

It makes me sad. Because now, more than ever, the world needs editors. Bloggers need us, eBook publishers need us, webmasters need us, and big companies need us. But as it stands, it’s up to each of us alone to sell our value. The value of a group is that each member can represent and speak for the larger group -- but I don't think we have. Here are the eight things that are killing the EAC, but if we could solve these eight fundamental problems, we might have a chance.

1. Poor communication
Being editors, everything published needs to go through three readers. This doesn’t however mean that anyone actually checks that the message is on brand or on strategy or speaks to the reader. Everyone thinks, “I’m a member of this association, so I’m the one the message is intended for.” But we can’t keep talking to our belly button. I’m not entirely convinced we have a coherent communication strategy. The organization, like many, makes the mistake of thinking of themselves first, and not the reader or member. It is the fundamental communications mistake. It’s what makes the difference between a Stalinist publishing house and a successful website. The question isn’t, “What do I want people to know?” the question is, “What do my readers want from me?” It’s a fundamental shift and crucial to the success of any organization’s communications plan.

Here’s a great example. In 2000 or so the organization apparently did a reorganization that was quite unpopular. They are doing another one, but this time they’ve called it “Editing the EAC” — presumably, they figure it is better to have a cute name than a useful one. Except I thought it was about the group’s mission, you know editing, and not about changing the structure of the organization. Oops. Everything seems to be locked up in perfect grammar and spelling than in meaning and proper communication. It’s a recipe for disaster. We are word people; we need to use the best words we have to talk to each other.

2. No idea of demographics or membership.
As a local board member I said in a meeting with the national president, “Surely we know what our demographics look like. I’d love to know who our members are: how many men/women, their ages, their location, the platform they work on, their employment status.” It turns out this information is sitting in paper files waiting to be processed, even though every member fills this information in every year. The National office honestly don’t know. No idea. The information exists, in paper format. But they just don’t know how to access it. I can give you a way and in a year you’ll have all the demographics you need.

Now they are toying with the idea of breaking up the big branches into smaller “twigs” (cute huh?) or mini branches that are more specific to the area someone lives in. “How are you collecting feedback?” “How are you making sure the people who are affected are actually engaged and informed?” “If you struggle to get people involved at the National level, how can we be assured they will stay involved at the local level?” There was no answer.

The strategy seems to be attending meeting at the bigger branches and telling people who can make it to meetings and are obviously informed about this plan. But they have no way of knowing if they are reaching the people they want to talk to, the people who might be interested in forming twigs. Again, they’re going about this backwards. First, you ask if there is a problem. Then you ask them how they would to solve it. Then you work with them to find ways to put their solutions into action. The old world was about directing people to a path, the new world is about working with them to find the best path. Even more disturbing is that many branches have already split into "twigs" -- can you put this genie back in the bottle or is consultation really just about telling, not asking the membership?

3. Fear of technology
The National association knows they need to redo their website. It’s ugly and dated. Nothing changes, nothing is new. They want to create an “online community” of editors. But they are too scared to get on LinkedIn or own their page on Facebook. Everyone in the room just about shuddered when I said the scariest word “Twitter.” The truth is, there is an online community of editors out there, but the organization is scared to join. They think that somehow they can magically create their own online community — but we’re not experts in this, let’s leave this to the experts. Building online communities is not what we do, at least not yet. But online is the future of editing. Newspapers are on life support, magazines are dying and printed text is going the way of the butler. The job of editor as we know it is moving strictly online. Editors need to follow. The Editors’ Association needs to own its online presence.

4. Lack of strategy
I have no idea what the Editors’ Association of Canada’s goals are. I know if I pass their written text I will become a Certified Professional Editor. If this certification were promoted, having my CPE might even help me get my next job. But I don’t count on it. I belong to my local chapter because I know what we do. We host monthly meetings and we put on professional development sessions. I don’t know what guides the organization or their communication. Even as a local board member, I have no idea how I fit into the bigger picture.

Worse, the year after I joined, I joined the National executive as the PR Chair. I had all sorts of ideas and questions, “What’s our strategy?” “What are our communications objectives?” “What are our key messages?” Finally it came down to, “What do you need me to do?” A scary silence came from the former executive director back east. Until the day she needed a press release and media coverage — tomorrow. I quit the executive the next day. (The executive director quit a few months later!)

5. No business acumen
A professional organization needs to be run professionally. The answer seems to be, “Well, we are a volunteer, member-run organization.” Did you know that we have 23 National Committees? Did you know many of these committees are vacant? This is in addition to a board member from each provincial or regional branch. That’s not an efficient organization, that’s a kindergarten class! I recognize that we only have four full-time staff members. But we need to set up the organization in a way that is both responsive and reasonable. We need to ask ourselves if the needs of editors in Alberta are fundamentally different from those in British Columbia, or the Maritimes.

We need to build expertise both within our association and hire the expertise we don't have but need. We don’t have a volunteer bookkeeper and I doubt if we had any legal problems we’d wait for a volunteer editor-lawyer. But somehow, it makes sense to have a volunteer webmaster, someone expected to take care of the technical and strategic part of the website. If the website is the way most people are interacting with us, doesn’t it make sense to do it professionally?

6. No understanding of evolving employment trends
One of the most frustrating things to me is that the role of editor is being swallowed up by people who don’t want to be associated with us because we seem so quaint and dated. Content managers, user experience directors or even web editors aren’t welcome at our club and don’t really want to join anyways. But what are they doing out there in the World Wide Web? Editing text to make sure it meets the end users’ needs? Check. Setting publishing schedules? Check. Working with in-house and freelance writers to develop meaningful content? Check. Sound familiar? I would say all these jobs should be necessary tools for most editors.

The Certification exams are a great start. They demonstrate an understanding to prove that you have some qualifications beyond a university degree. They allow me to show that I take the job and craft of editing seriously. But if we don’t change these to keep up with what the industry desires, editing might as well be a hobby. If you are going to edit for more than a few years, you will need to know about Search Engine Optimization and website usability as well as a whole host of other skills that probably haven’t been invented yet. There doesn’t seem to be a way to quickly update these exams. I’m not talking in a month; I’m talking in two or three years. I’ve been told the exams are extremely time-consuming work and very difficult to update. I can see how they would be, but still... still... what's more important, today's newspaper or a perfect version from five years ago?

7. “We tried that, it didn’t work.”
I’ve heard this more than once, both in my branch and at the national level. It doesn’t work. Edison tried to make a light bulb and it didn’t work, and it didn’t work and it didn’t work. And then it worked. What about now? When are we going to start taking control of our destiny and looking for solutions instead of defending what we are doing based on what was done. The economy, the publishing world, the employment world is changing on a yearly basis. We need to start looking for the best solution for now. Because next year, it’s going to change. And that’s ok. But we can’t be stuck to also-rans and has-beens when we clearly need to move ahead.

8. Waiting for Godot (or Godeditor)
“You don’t need to reinvent the wheel. You need to use the web tools that already exist, even if they aren’t totally under your control,” I said. “Well, we’re hoping to find some young, hip editors who can help guide us [on the web].” “If there were young, hip editors out there, I think they would take one look at our site and move on.”There is no magic person or group who will step forward to save the organization. It’s up to us, here now.

But I’m not going to just leave you with all the things that are wrong. My next post will be the ways, I think, we can fix some of the problems. Consider this my part of the member consultation process. Dialogue is always hard, particularly when you feel misunderstood. I know that I don‘t know everything about the organization. And I’m thrilled to work with my dynamic team at the BC Branch. I know that equally dynamic people are working at branches across the country, and this is why we still exist.

I think these issues are something that everyone in the organization should care about, but hasn’t cared about for a long time. I think many of us, like me on most days, just let it ride and worry about the next board meeting or the next professional development seminar. I would love to see the work of editors profiled in the business section of the Globe and Mail. I’d love more companies to find out what we do and say, “Holy smokes, we need an editor in here.” I’d love students to see a future in editing. There is a huge need for our services and we need to either organize ourselves to meet the future or let the future make us obsolete. I have hope.

In which my princely hotel chain turns into a pimple-faced boy

2010-10-28T15:46:00.000-07:00

There’s a hotel chain I really like. Their properties arefantastic, they have an evening cocktail hour, they love my dog. Staying withthem is always a treat. Once they gave us a credit for the in-room snack bar.How fun, $20 to pick out the treats of your choice.

When you like a brand, you start to trust them. When theysay on their website that they have a best price guarantee, you stop shoppingaround. At least I stop shopping around. These people bring my dog cookies –surely they wouldn’t lie about always having the best rate. They spell it out:

Wewill match any rate you find for a ___ Hotel on other travel websites.* Guaranteed. Why? Because we want you to enjoythe special benefits of booking directly with us.

I read that and I get a little fuzzy inside. Awshucks. I want to enjoy the benefits of booking with you. I don’t want to shoparound, I just want your best rate. I want to stay with you. And notice thestar. The star is important because it means there is an exemption. Here’s theexemption:

*The rate must be available on thethird-party website at the time of booking. The offer does not apply to ratesfound on bid-based websites such as Priceline.com and Hotwire.com.

And I can respect that. I don’t want to bid onPriceline.com – I want to be guaranteed a dog-friendly hotel and Pricelinecan’t guarantee that. And last time I stayed at this hotel, they gave us acoupon for a bottle of wine at the restaurant and we had so much fun.

I’m making a special trip to their city, andcoming with another couple, to stay at their hotel and go shopping. Seriously, staying here is a highlight. Likeeveryone, I have a budget. We had talked about going to Vegas for the weekend but felt it wasprobably too expensive. Iemailed to make we were getting the best rate. I also tweeted the TouristBureau to see if they had dog-friendly hotel recommendations in case ours was full.

The next day they had a special only for theirLoyalty Club members. Hey! I’m a Loyalty Club member, I want a special rate.And I know it’s going to be the best rate I can find. So I booked.

Then I got a tweet from the Tourist Bureau. Therate for a room at my favourite hotel was slightly more, about $30. BUT itincluded parking ($33 a night), free breakfast every morning, AND a specialdiscount coupon book. But I was sure my favourite hotel, the hotel thatpromises great service, that guarantees their rates would match any other ratewould match this rate. But here’s where the story gets sad. I called their number, “I saw your best rate guarantee and found a better rate. Will you match it?”

“Oh, well you’ve already booked and paid for your room.”

“But then, minutes later I found a lower rate. You say your rate is the best rate, so I thought you might match the lower rate.”

“Didn’t you see that your rate is non-changeable and non-refundable.”

“Yes, but that was when I thought it was the BEST rate. When I thought it was a guaranteed best rate. Now I’ve found another lower rate.”

“But you’ve already paid for the room. It’s non-refundable. That’s the rate you chose to pay.”

Do you remember breaking up with your high schoolgirlfriend/boyfriend and there was that moment you saw that far from being thefuture father of your children he was simply a pimple-faced boy that farted. Andafter you broke up you hoped that you’d see that he really cared, but thenrealized he didn’t love you after all. I had that sinking feeling.

“Is there a customer service email I can use, or can I talk to your manager?”

“Yes. Please hold.”

The manager was even less patient and polite thanthe clerk. “You paid for the rate. It’s non-refundable, didn’t you read that.We don’t guarantee rates. I’ll transfer you to the hotel and they can helpyou.”

So I was transferred and talked to someone elsebefore talking to Logan. Logan told me that they don’t guarantee the lowestrates. “But, but, but…” I said, “It’s on your website.” I told him I’d behappier paying more if we could have the parking and breakfast. “But you’vealready paid for this room. It’s non-refundable. Didn’t you see that when youpaid?”

“But I thought when you guaranteed your best rate, you meant it was the best rate. And it isn’t the best rate. It’s a bad rate. I could have got a better rate, today, moments later.”

“I can cancel your reservation and refund your money. Would that make you happy?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

By the time I went back to the tourist website tobook, the special rate had disappeared. And I don’t have a reservation anywhere.And I feel like a twit. And I wonder why no one asked me what the price difference was -- if the difference was $5, wouldn't this be an easy problem to solve?

But, even more, far from being a bastion ofservice, a paragon of things both best and guaranteed, I find that the greathotel chain is human after all and they don’t really care. And you shouldn’tbelieve companies that say their best rate is their best rate. And there areother, dog-friendly hotels in Portland that offer free parking and breakfast. Andmaybe I don’t want to go anyway.

The Eight People I Hate on Transit

2010-10-25T19:07:00.000-07:00

I take transit every day, twice a day. And everyday, without fail, I wonder at the manners of some people. Some things that drive me nuts are universal, silly things people do everywhere. But some things are just found here. One can only assume that since the Canada Line in particular but SkyTrain in general is relatively new. I also think that once people get used to riding the train on quiet days, they have problems adjusting to busier times and see “the rest of us” as an intrusion on what has previously been their space.
But here are the eight habits that drive me to distraction. I won’t deny that I’ve probably done these things, but I try really hard not to interfere in other people’s enjoyment of transit.

Pole Dancers
So buses and trains have poles. These aren’t terribly clean things but they are meant to be shared. If you would like to live out your fantasy of wrapping yourself around a pole; take a class don’t take the bus.

There is nothing worse than standing on the bus with someone hanging onto the pole as if it was the only thing between them and impending death. They lean against it, wrap their arms and legs around it. They position the pole between their butt-cheeks to balance themselves or wrap a breast on either side of the pole and squeeze. I’d love to be exaggerating but I’ve seen far too much pole cleavage on my daily commute. All I can say is those are some dirty germy breasts. Here’s the thing, this isn’t such a sin, in non-rush hour transit. But in rush hour, you get one hand worth of space. I don’t want to touch you, but it’s important to hang on. So I have to reach past you and grab the bar, please move out of the way.

The Turtle
You might think I mean people who wait too long to get off the bus. But I’m really talking about the people who carry their life on their back in gigantic backpacks. Now you face forward so you might think that there is no problem behind you. But your enormous bag is knocking people and taking up lots of space. Space that people need to stand in.

I’ve seen old ladies jostled and sitting people frantically defend themselves against your heavy, bulky bag. And you, Turtle-man, might think to yourself, “What can I do?” You can take off your backpack and place it between your feet. Just put it down. Or hold it in front of you, like a baby. This way you can control it and you are taking up room that none but the closest close talker wants to be in. How to control a turtle? People turtles are like real turtles, they don’t like to lose control of their shell, and they can’t control their shell as well as you and I can control our backs. I usually, subtly, keep moving their bag out of my way until it stops bothering me.

Beavers
Dam you! Move into the train or let me pass. Beavers are the people who stand in the middle of the aisle, refusing to move further into the bus. Now, just standing there is one thing, but Beavers often, very aggressively, block anyone from moving past them. You see it on the bus as it passes you with a “Sorry. Bus Full” message. You can see one person, in the middle of the bus, holding on to the handles on both sides while everyone else struggles to breathe. Behind the beaver? Nothing but space and empty seats. When faced with a beaver, particularly a determined one, I suggest treating them as you would a semi-aggressive dog. Just make eye contact, keep your poise and walk towards them and in quiet, yet firm tones, ask them to move out of your way.

Seat Warmers
I can only imagine the inner dialogue, “I was here first and I got TWO seats. This one is mine and that one is for my shopping bag. My shopping bag is very important and though you’ve been standing all day and probably want to sit but my pretty bag is too pretty to sit on my lap.” Here’s the thing. I’ve been a seat warmer and when there are a million empty seats on the bus and you are at the back, fill your boots. Spread your legs, scratch your balls and take up two seats. But the minute the train gets full, you need to move your bag. It needs to sit on your lap.

My favourite cure? I point at the bag and say, “Excuse me.” If that doesn’t work I just reach over and either sit on it or brush it onto the floor. Wow. People move quickly when they think you are going to crush their iPod. But is my behaviour necessary? It shouldn’t be. It’s not really anyone’s seat. Go back to kindergarten and learn to share. Please.

Nose pickers and cough non-covers
Dr. Oz says that everyone picks their nose about five times an hour. Not sure if that’s really true, but he sounds like he knows what he’s talking about. But if you do need to pick your nose – wipe it in a napkin. Don’t flick it across the bus. Even if it doesn’t land on anyone, it’s still really gross. Also, as a reminder from your local public health authority, if you need to cough or sneeze, cover your mouth. It’s really gross to be coughed on. My only comfort is hoping they don't wash their hands before they pick their nose and catch some horrible infectious disease and have to stay home.

Loud Talkers
“So I said, ‘If you want me to do that, you are going to need to buy me dinner first. I’m not even talking about a fancy dinner, but a burger and milkshake would be nice.’”Really? Would it? Do I need to know about the hair on her ass, what a jerk your boss is, or that your mom asked you about Daniel. No. I don’t. And it seems to me that the worst offenders are people who really shouldn’t be talking at all. I hear more sex talk on the bus than I’ve heard in my life. Vancouver, you may wear Gortex, but you have some crazy relationship stuff going on! I had no idea a boyfriend might ask for that or a girlfriend might really suggest doing that. Wow. Here’s the thing, no one minds a quick call. No one minds hearing, “Yeah, I’m on the train. I’ll be home in 15 minutes, can you take the meat out of the fridge.” I don’t really have a cure. I’m so fascinated by what people are saying I just stare at them and start nodding my head or making thoughtful expressions in response to what they are saying. Occasionally the call ends and they look in surprise as if they didn’t know they were providing free performance art.

Seat pigs
If you get a seat, particularly for a long ride, that’s fantastic. But if there’s a pregnant lady or an old person or someone who obviously needs a seat, you need to get up. Don’t pretend you don’t see them and stare at your lap —just get up. If you are sitting by the window and need to climb over someone to give up your seat, lead by example. One day it will be you — and hopefully people then will have learned the lesson you didn’t.

Door blockers
Someone needs to get out of the bus or train and someone needs to get in. Much like elevators, it makes more sense to let people out before you get in. Just step back from the door, you’ll get on, promise (well probably). The other problem is some people think to themselves, “I need to get off from this door, so I’m just going to stand here until my stop comes” and block the door for the entire time they are on the bus. If you are standing by the door and you aren’t getting off, take a look around and move out of the way.

Here’s the truth of all this. People aren’t intentionally trying to be jerks, no one wants to make a stranger’s day harder. When people get on transit they are thinking of themselves, and not of the impact their actions have on others. These problems would be solved if people genuinely asked about the impact they are having on the people around them.

But there’s also a problem with the way transit in Vancouver is designed. The new Canada Line trains are packed to capacity most of the time. There aren’t enough safe places to hold on, so people are forced to notice other wrapped around the bars. There isn’t enough room for people to get out of the way of doors, and unlike other major subway systems, there isn’t an indication of which side of the train the door will open next so people are suddenly surrounded by a rush of people getting off on the space near them, when for the past 10 minutes everyone got off on the other side. There is major room for improvement but until then, if I come in the office muttering about beavers and turtles, don’t think I’ve just experienced the latest in Canadiana.

Four Reasons You Need to Take Charge of Your Online Self

2010-10-17T20:07:00.000-07:00

There was a time in the 1990s when people were making big money buying internet names and selling them to the highest bidder. I remember hearing an expert on the World Wide Web (that’s what we called it then) talk about buying your own domain name.

I thought he was crazy. Why would I need to have my own name? The internet was a way for single guys to surf porn and pedophiles to talk to children — I didn’t fall in either category.

Then the world kept changing. Now I spend the majority of my day online and I don’t know how people did work or research before the internet and Google were invented.

Searching on Google changed everything. Suddenly when I Googled myself I found not only information about me, but about other Hollys. There were more of me? It had never occurred to me there might be another person out there with the same name. Someone in Nova Scotia was on a woman’s football team. Another girl in England seemed to have a good time. Neither was me.

I started to publish articles and get online. I started to Google everyone I met to find out where they came from and what they had done. It became clear that I needed to own myself online, everyone needed to own themselves online. Even you. Here are my four reasons you need to take control of your name.

1. Own your brand

You. Imagine your high school yearbook with someone else’s picture beside your name. Or worse someone else’s message beside your picture. It’s an even bigger shock when you find out someone else has your online brand. Or worse, if the only record of your online brand is an archery contest you won in the eighth grade. There are people every day with the same name as you. Imagine if one of them was a pedophile. An abortionist or an anti-abortionist. You need to own your message as much as possible. And it’s not always possible. There is, after all, another Justin Beiber. But as much as you can take credit for who you are and what you do.

I didn’t want people to think I played football, or partied too hard and lived in England. I wanted Google searches to reflect me as much as possible. So I’ve consciously tried to get anything in my name as much as possible. I don’t mind people knowing I have a Twitter account or that I’m on LinkedIn. I’m not the only me on the first page of Google, but if you know me, you’ll recognize the links that relate to me. You can’t hide from your online self. Everything you do nowadays leaves a fingerprint.

2. Always a chance for imposters

I did a project recently for a company worried about bad publicity over a project. I bought the Canadian domain name for their CEO and recommended their executive team go out and buy their own domain name in both .com and .ca and set up a Facebook page and Twitter account. Why? Because it would be so easy for the other party to start sending out negative messages pretending to be our client. Even then, I could only get the .ca name, as the .com name was already taken by someone posting his resume. If this came to a head, it might be our CEO looking for a place to put his resume online.
Imposters can happen. It happened to BP, it could happen to you. Yes, Twitter and Facebook do have ways of fixing imposter situations, but do you want to waste time proving you are you and not someone else. And you might think, “Oh, it doesn’t really matter. I’m just a clerk at a department store, or a manager. But you don’t know what might come. And if fame does find you, how much are you willing to pay to get your identity back.

3. Your online profile shows you are real

I sometimes find it funny that with a day’s work and a few dollars to buy a domain name, people think a business is real. Particularly if you are looking for a job, prove you are real. Your online identity is yours to shape — start shaping it. If an employer looks for you, they should find the real you on the first page, not your evil twin.

4. It gives you a chance to prove you are current

I keep talking to people about social media and seeing on resumes that people are “social media experts.” So I look for their Twitter account — nothing. I look for their webpage, nothing. I look at their Facebook page and see they have 15 friends. Having the tools gives you a chance to play with social media, to find out what works and what doesn’t. I’m no expert, but owning my name gives me a chance to play and see how my real-life network interacts with virtual me. In Vancouver we have a Social Media expert called “Miss 604”. While a pseudonym might work for her, use your real name. Yes, there are security concerns you should be aware of, but draw on your network and your name to become, virtually, real.

The Eight Reasons I Defriended You on Facebook

2010-07-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

You might be wondering why I don't show up in your friend feed anymore. I like the idea of "Dunbar's number" and try to keep my friend count around 150. I've got a lot of family as "friends" so I'm not such a stickler anymore. I don't usually friend people I don't like, so if I've defriended you, it probably because I don't like you anymore. Here's the eight top reasons you may have been defriended.

1. I don’t really know you.

I’m not sure why you friended me. I don’t remember meeting you or going to school with you or working with you. I think we’re friends by accident. It’s ok, I’ve friended people and found out that I was wrong. Or maybe you're a Facebook Friend whore with 500 "friends" and you added me to up your count. You probably won’t miss me.

2. You aren’t my friend yet.

I know you, but we’ve never had a coffee together, talked about the meaning of life. I don’t know your husband/wife’s name or if you have dogs or kids. It’s not personal, but I would like to have a real friendship with you before we become Facebook friends. I don’t want to hurt you and maybe we can be friends, but we aren’t there yet.

3. You aren’t my friend anymore.

We were friends, 20 years ago, or 12 years ago, but it’s been a while. You played great Barbies and that talk we had about sex in 1984 still sends terrified shivers down my spine. We became friends on Facebook but I wanted a little more. I sent an email asking about your life now and months later, I still don’t know if you are married, what you do, if you have kids or pets. I don’t want long letters and don’t need another best friend but I thought we might re-connect. We haven’t. But hey, you can still find me online if you want to catch up.

4. If you have to lock down your profile that tight, I’m not interested.

Why are you my friend if the only part of your profile I can see is your hometown and favourite movie? That’s not friendship, that’s Linked In! I want full access, I want to write on your wall and see who your other friends are, I want to see things from you in my feed. Why should I share with you if you won’t share with me.

5. You invite me to play too many stupid games.

I don’t Farmville, Scrabble, Zombie or Mob Wars. I don’t want to play. I don’t want to know that you play. I know the updates are posted on your feed and it’s hard to turn off, but I’m not going to play. I’m sorry, I'd rather spend my time connecting with people, not playing games.

6. You update so much, all my other friends are knocked off my newsfeed.

Control yourself. Give me one or two updates a day — max. Do all your friends need to know you walked the dog, ate at Japadog, have a headache and aren’t going to the gym on the same day? That’s Twitter. Give me one or two great updates and I’ll try to do the same.

7. You post stupid things on my wall.

My dad is on my Facebook account, so is my aunty. Don’t make stupid jokes on my wall, don’t tell inappropriate stories, don’t post anything that would make me (or my grandma) blush. If there's something personal you need to share, send me a message but don’t share with the world.

8. You dropped out of Facebook.

If you haven't been on Facebook in six months, you are taking up space on my list that might be best filled by other friends who will contribute to my life. Does that sound awful? But if we weren't close, aren't close, I'm probably going to defriend you. If you come back, hey add me back!

I like Facebook and I love keeping up to date with old friends and new ones. I love getting a better picture of who my friends really are and seeing who they are with their mom and boyfriend. I love developing those deep friendships that are hard to maintain when you work full time. I love the votes of confidence and the “likes” I get when I share good news. And if I defriended you by mistake, let’s try again. Just don’t invite me to play Caketown, write about inappropriate flatulence on my wall, or lock me out.

I'm breaking up with Starbucks

2010-06-18T18:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Starbucks,

I was one of your first fans when you opened in Richmond, BC, Canada. In fact, my first real introduction to “good” coffee and not the dark brown plonk my parents drank was at Starbucks in about 1993. It was the last year of high school and Starbucks was a great place to go and drink coffee and hang out. It smelled like coffee beans, the stores were chic and modern, the staff were cool and incidentally had some of the first facial piercings I had seen.

I liked being with you. I liked hanging out and sitting on the comfy seats and talking with my friends. We never played checkers, but it was nice to know we COULD. There was only one in Richmond and it was the place for after-date coffee or after-school gossip. But I’m starting not to like you, Starbucks, anymore. I still visit but I feel bad about myself when I do. Like a boyfriend you broke up with and then got back together with, I see all the things I don’t like about you. Secretly when I’m in Germany or Hong Kong or Australia, I have another choice place for coffee. Just like the boy I dated who worked at the neighbourhood arcade, I think you are the next old-fashioned thing in town.

What happened Starbucks? You’ve changed, Starbucks. I’m not sure I want to be your consumer partner, anymore. I’m not sure this is a healthy place for me to be. I’m just one little person. I can’t make you change. But here are the things that drive me nuts, if you could change, you could win back my heart and wallet.

SLOW service
It takes forever to get my coffee. And the barista never smiles anymore, never asks how my day is going. In fact the barista is now a slushy maker and coffee maker and floor sweeper in one. Getting my coffee is never quite the priority. And getting it right never crosses their mind. It used to be they would grind the beans and steam the milk just right and I could wait for that. Now, they push a button and pour warm steamed milk that’s been sitting on the counter into a cup and slosh it onto the shelf that’s just too high to reach. “Is this mine?” I often ask. They look at me and repeat half the order. I ask, “But is it decaf?” Blankly, they agree it is. I stay awake all night cursing you and your caffeine.

Inconsistency You might not remember doing this, but often the barista would look at me and ask, “Would you like an extra shot?” Or they’d just add the second shot without asking. So your tall would have two shots. The machine makes two shots. Now, instead of making my coffee special, you dump the second shot down the drain or charge almost a $1 for an ounce of coffee. It used to be one hazelnut latte at Starbucks was EXACTLY like the one at the Starbucks across town — now, each Starbucks seems to have a different taste (and different temperature.)

Horrid food
A friend’s husband used to work at Starbucks in 2002. Every night, the staff would dump out the leftover food or give it to a neighbourhood food kitchen. The food was made locally — providing fresh tasty local food. I can see how this would be a huge waste of money if you didn’t get your food costs right, but it meant that the food was fresh. Now, Canadian pastries are shipped from Dallas, Texas. I walk past a Starbucks, every night after your ridiculously early 9 pm close, and see the food just sitting in your little cooler. Every night. Your ginger cookies used to be fresh and soft and sweet. Now I could hurt someone if I threw my cookie at them too hard. I want to throw my cookie at you Starbucks with your promise of fresh food. Every time I try some Starbucks food, I’m more than disappointed, I feel mistreated as a friend. When was it ok to serve friends sandwiches made a week ago? When I fly, I wait for the food on the plane because it will cost the same and taste better.

Competition
It used to be that you, Starbucks, were second only to Little Italy as the only places in town to serve great cappuccino. Now there’s a coffee shop on every corner with an owner and free Wi-Fi. There are great coffees to be had in every city (even Prince Albert). Here’s the thing that should scare you Starbucks — McDonalds. In Europe and Australia and Asia they have these places called McCafe’s. I know it is a stupid name but their coffee is GOOD. It’s mouth-watering good. And it comes in a real mug. They have treats, fresh ones. And the independent ones often have real, homemade treats and real wood floors and those checker boards I liked. Here’s the other thing, none of them “smell” like Starbucks. They smell like coffee and fresh baking — even the McCafe smells like coffee. Starbucks, you don’t smell like coffee, you smell like sour milk. I’m sorry to tell you, but you need to wash your mops better. And you need to provide free internet — to everyone, everywhere just like all the other coffee places do. And a loyalty card...

You’ve gotten cheap
You used to make decaf drip coffee in the morning and if anyone ordered outside of that, you’d make them a decaf Americano. It cost a little bit, but hey, decaf really is a healthy choice for people who both love coffee and love getting to sleep at night. Now, you use a weird little drip thing. It makes the coffee taste like a napkin and takes up to three minutes to brew. Are you saving that much? You are charging me so much for coffee. I remember when a coffee at McDonalds was 75 cents (1989 to be precise, the year I was employee of the month for December) and included a free refill. I don’t think you are paying the Columbian/Kenyan/Ethiopian coffee growers so much more than you used to.

Not a place to relax
I think I remember reading that Starbucks wanted to be that third place in our lives, the place between home and work. It was. I used to go there and read a book, or meet with friends or watch people and drink my coffee and eat my local and recently made muffin. Now, after I get my coffee, I want to leave. You’ve replaced semi-comfortable chairs with functional chairs. It’s louder as you shuck music at me. Your stores often smell (I’ve mentioned that, but really). And, in my town at least, you close before 9 pm. I can’t go for a Starbucks after an early movie anymore. I can’t go after I’m done shopping because you are closed. It’s not only that you close your doors at 9 pm — by 8 you start packing up the outside seats, mopping the floor, picking up the inside seats and putting them on the table. The staff tell you when you order, “We’re closing in ½ hour.” They don’t add, but should, “So don’t start enjoying yourself.”

Loss of atmosphere
Starbucks used to be filled with the sounds of milk steaming, beans grinding, happy baristas calling drink orders out to each other. It smelled like coffee and freshness. It was like no place I’d ever been before, but I think that Starbucks is a place that is never coming back. Do you remember the original Starbucks in Pike Place with the wood trim? I do. It now looks cold and dirty and just like all the others.

Lack of loyalty
The truth is, I do go to Starbucks, and I have a registered Starbucks card. And I know you may be thinking, “If you dislike it so much, why go?” And I go because it’s familiar. It’s a habit. Sometimes Starbucks, you really are the only decent place to get a coffee. In Paris or Beijing, I have a pretty good idea of what I’m going to get. But here’s why I’m pulling my hair out today. I went to one Starbucks right by my office and it was lined up out the door. There was one little tiny harried girl working behind the counter and another guy standing at the coffee machine looking confused. So I turned and went to the “new” Starbucks in the Hyatt in the same building. I used my card, which is registered. This should mean that I get a free “flavour shot” in my coffee. It’s like 50 cents, not a lot but enough that I registered my card. But the cashier charged me full price so I emailed Starbucks and they sent a standard response that, “The card has to be registered for 24 hours and it has to be a flavour shot, not an extra espresso shot.” I emailed back that the card had been registered and it was just a “flavour” shot. The response was so indicative of everything that’s wrong with Starbucks. Eric N. Wrote back, “Hello Holly, The reason you were charged might be because of the store itself. Only standalone retail Starbucks stores honor the Rewards program. Licensed stores that are generally located inside of bookstores, grocery stores, etc. do not have to honor the Rewards program.” But there isn’t a sign anywhere that says the Rewards program is Starbucks optional — it says register your card and get a free flavour in your coffee. This is another great example of you thinking that people don't notice when their loyalty card doesn't keep them loyal.

So, think back to the glory days Starbucks. They're gone. You act like a 40-something fat guy with slicked back hair and an old leather jacket, who still yearns for high school. The days of cool, engaged, tattooed baristas who were so passionate about coffee you thought they were born on a plantation. I’m going to think back fondly to the day when I sat in your comfort chatting my boyfriend or the place I went to calm my nerves before your first day of work.

The glory days are gone I guess. I’m waiting for my neighbourhood McCafe and the $2 latte to come to my neighbourhood. I’m sad that such a great place is gone. Starbucks, you just don’t love me the way you used to. I’m ready to say goodbye. I’ll see you around, I guess.

Best of luck

Holly

Eight Things I Know about Internal Communications and Employee Engagement

2010-06-08T20:26:00.000-07:00

I was lucky enough to attend the IABC Asia Pacific Hong Kong conference. There was lots of talk about employee engagement and how internal communicators can do things better. Some of the presentations, like Steve Crescendo, really inspired me. Others made me think, sometimes even frustrated me. But in the end, here are eight things I believe about internal communications and employee engagement.

Even without an “Internal Communications” plan or staff, companies are always communicating something to their staff.
One of the biggest fallacies of internal communication is that the internal communicators are in charge of the message. Have you ever worked at a job where suddenly everyone starts scurrying around like rats from one closed room meeting to another? You know there is a problem even before you get the email. Internal communicators and senior management can fool themselves into thinking that no one will notice a change until something goes on the intranet or an email is sent from the president’s office. Unless you have a strong relationship with executive and the trust of the employees, you are just the official bearer of news.

Just like in a marriage, engagement is indicative of a relationship between two parties.
“If your employees are engaged,” engagement-boosters say “they are willing to work longer hours and they put in their best work every day. If they are engaged, they don’t stay at your firm for money, they stay because they care about your business.” Now, these things are true. So then employers go to their staff and say, “You need to be engaged. If you are engaged, you will work harder, stay longer, and not leave to work somewhere else.” Does that sound like a healthy relationship? Employees ask themselves what’s in it for them. Employers forget that being engaged at work is like being engaged to be married. Engagement takes the “I-work-you-pay” transaction out of work and replaces it with an “I-love-this-place” feeling. Look at what you need from your staff and give it to them, knowing your loyalty and concern for them will be matched by their loyalty and concern for your business. An engagement is a relationship, how can you, as employer, be a better partner?

Engagement also means getting rid of the people you shouldn’t be in a relationship with. Take a look at your staff. If they are actively disengaged, unhappy or unqualified, maybe it’s time to break up. Don’t love someone who won’t love you back. “It’s not you baby, the company is changing and you just don’t fit in anymore.” Just like battered wives, some people feel ill-used but are too scared to leave. Help them find a place that makes them happy. Don’t think their attitude isn’t rubbing off on the people around them. Getting rid of people who don’t fit will make everyone happier.

Having a good friend at work is a key measure of engagement.
If your staff has someone to talk to about their problems or concerns, work is much less stressful. If you want to get engaged at work, find a good friend. But I would argue even more that if you want to create an engaging workplace, you need to create the type of place where people can make good friends.

Why do we tell people to engage staff by using stories, but we use boring charts to try to get senior executives to care?
As an internal communicator you know that Sally X in admin wants her information in a different way than Sally Y, the Vice President of Finance. Senior executives want facts and proven information — but don’t underestimate the power of a story. “We lose 20 minutes of productivity a month per person because people can’t find the benefit information they need on the intranet.” It’s a good fact, but even better, “I asked the IT team to find the answers to Human Resources’ three most commonly asked questions. It took them all at least 45 minutes to find the information on the intranet. Right now, we have two full-time people who answer staff questions that could be answered online. If we could make the intranet more accessible, we could focus our HR resources on training.

Don’t believe that if people are engaged you can reach 100% productivity.
Brain work is like physical labour, people need to take breaks. Some people equate productivity with a workplace where no one checks Facebook or YouTube and works every second. This productivity is a myth. I used to work at a company with a librarian. He smelled bad and sat at his desk and played World of Warcraft all day, every day. But since no one knew what he was supposed to do, no one could tell that he wasn’t getting his work done. It took months before his gaming subscription ran out and he quit. Of course he got his annual bonus first. No one could prove he wasn’t being productive. Could this happen where you are? Probably. On the flip side, when there is a crisis and everyone starts to worry about being fired, they get much more productive. Does this mean they are engaged and enjoy work more? No, they are scared. If you want to improve productivity, start finding ways to measure it and start measuring. People need water cooler time and, yes, maybe even Facebook time at work. If you find work is not getting done, don’t blame Facebook. Productivity is a management issue as much as it is an engagement issue.

Employee turnover is not necessarily indicative of engagement and doesn’t necessarily lead to loss of productivity.
The employees that leave usually aren’t your most effective, particularly if they have been thinking of leaving long enough to get a new job. I went to a talk that put a price on employee turnover and the high cost of replacing people. It’s my experience that while, sometimes, the best and brightest do leave, often the people leaving are actively disengaged. It’s probably more productive to get rid of people who aren’t happy than to let their negativity spread through the organization. If you are hiring right, isn’t it possible the new hires will not only bring new energy but new knowledge as well? Employee turnover isn’t inherently bad.

Engagement itself doesn’t make people act any safer on the job. People don’t chose to be unsafe or do things that might hurt them. However, in an engaged culture, people feel comfortable talking to their managers and pointing out things that are unsafe. If they have a best friend, they look out for dangers too their friends. It’s when companies make it harder to be safe than unsafe that accidents happen.

So internal communicators, over to you. What are some of your truths about the relationship between employee engagement and internal communications?

Lost and Found -- Eight Things to Love about Prince Albert, Saskatchewan

2010-05-25T16:17:00.000-07:00

When I was little, visiting my grandparents in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan on the Canadian prairies was the best thing about summer. I picked ladybugs off Mrs. Casgrain's caraganas on 13th Street West, went for ice cream at Dairy Queen in the evenings and spent long days swimming, fishing and scratching mosquito bites at Emma Lake.

But as I got older, I fell out of love with Prince Albert. Coming from the very different city of Vancouver, on Canada's west coast, I couldn’t understand why people lived there. Yet, every year I’ve gone back and I’ve often written about it here, here, here and here.

This year was no different. I had two weeks off before I started a new job and decided to get away -- to Prince Albert. I didn’t really want to go. My grandpa died years ago and I don’t like seeing my grandma sick. I didn't think I liked Prince Albert. Period. It's dusty, flat and dirty and there is NOTHING to do.

After landing in Saskatoon, the nearest "big" airport, I drove north in the golden evening sun, dreading the trip. I was trying to understand why the people who live there like it. People in Prince Albert are proud of their town.

The further north I drove, the more I realized I needed to understand why. So I gave myself an assignment — to find eight things to love about PA (as Prince Albert is called by locals). I knew I wouldn’t find the love by myself, so I decided to consult the experts. I talked to anyone who would tell me what they loved about the city. I chatted to people at Carlton's Bakery, at Gateway Mall, at the Hillcrest Inn Bed and Breakfast and the clerk at Zellers. I also was lucky enough to get some time from Mayor Jim Scarrow, MLA Darryl Hickie and Debbie Honch, Executive Director of Prince Albert Tourism.

I'm not moving to PA anytime soon, but I understand why someone might want to and I understand why my grandparents loved the town so much.

Big city, small town

Until she got sick, Grandma didn't enter the kitchen until her hair was fixed and her make-up was on. I didn't realize those weren't her real eyebrows until I was a teenager. Everytime we went out, we needed to make behave or people might "talk." But when we did go out, we would meet a few people we met, but there were many strangers too. It wasn't the type of place where when you went out you wouldn't know everyone, but you would certainly know someone.

When I'm in PA, I stay at the Hillcrest Inn Bed and Breakfast and in the morning, I told Dalelene, the owner and host, about my little project to find out why people loved the city. She didn’t hesitate before answering that the reason she loved PA was that it had the big city amenities with a small town feel. She wasn't alone, this was the first reason on many people's lips. What I had felt as having spies on every corner as a child, had been transformed. Even here, at home, I get a little thrill every time I see and say hi to a neighbour. When you are in your twenties, anonymity is a great way to find out who you are, but now, it's nice to feel community.

But for comparison, how big is PA? Well, the population of Prince Albert is officially 34,000 people but Mayor Jim says there are more like 44,000 people in the area. As for “big city” shopping it has Boston Pizza, Sears, Zellers, Wal-Mart, Sobeys, a Starbucks, two malls and a casino.

The glory days of John Diefenbaker, Prime Minister of Canada from 1957 to 1963, and resident of Prince Albert are everywhere. His house is on the museum circuit and I imagine his time as one of wealth and prosperity in the town. I always felt sad that I missed what must have been a great time by 20 years or so. My only connection to him, besides disliking his statue in the square by city hall, is that I have his curtains in my closet back in Vancouver. When I tell Mayor Jim about this, he confides that he has a chair that was one of John D’s favourites back in the day. I wonder suddenly if there are little bits of Deifenbaker’s life scattered through the town from garage sales and donations. It makes me kind of happy that people have held onto bits of his life, and I forgive his statue in the square in front of city hall for seeming overbearing.

Spirit of volunteerism and caring

Mayor Jim talked about Prince Albert's financial situation and ability to fund the extras in town, “For a long time, we've had money for amenities, but not for things like recreation. So people organized in their communities and set up arenas and dances.” I remember my mom telling me that her neighbourhood had a weekly dance where every week the organizers would buy a new record and play it over and over again. We walked past the building the dances were held at a few years back and she could list all the records and b-sides that had been played.

It was this volunteer that helped raise money for the EA Rawlinson Centre for the Arts, a huge sports, entertainment and cultural centre. The centre cost a whopping $12-million but the city government only paid $300,000. The rest was raised by the residents and businesses in the city. “Prince Albert people,” says Mayor Jim, “understand their social responsibility. This is really a centre of volunteerism and fundraising for the local community.”

Community spirit is easy to overlook, particularly when you are passing through. It’s easy to think many towns have a similar commitment to community; but the number doesn’t matter. Not every city cares this much -- what's important is that Prince Albert does care.

Close to recreational properties

Going to Prince Albert always meant going to the cabin. Even though Grandma sold it five years ago, I still have the urge to keep driving north to "the lake." I don't think I'm alone. As I eavesdrop and walk through the mall, every second family is talking about going to the lake for the May long weekend.

The Prince Albert National Park is one of the farthest destinations from PA and is a one-hour drive from town. I love Vancouver, but a one-hour drive from my house might get me to exciting Fort Langley, if traffic is smooth. I've been to Fort Langley and looked and assure you there are no buffalo or elk there. The only wildlife you’ll find is in the Fort Langley pub. But in PA everyone seems to either have a cabin or know someone who does. According to Darryl Hickie, the MLA, people often go out to the lake for the summer and just commute into work when they need to. And the lakes are great — full of jackfish (northern pike to you) and pickerel for fishing. One of my fondest memories from Emma Lake is going swimming as the sun was setting and watching little minnows swim underneath me. Or getting up before dawn and taking the boat to the third lake to fish with Grandpa.

But it's not just me that likes the idea of "the lake." I met Jonathan Eschun at a Green Expo in the South Hill Mall, near my Grandma’s place. Two weeks ago he moved here from Toronto and is working as an Economic Development Coordinator. When I asked what he liked about the city, he didn’t hesitate, “It’s so close to the outdoors, you can be out in nature in 15 minutes.”

At the time, I was pushing my grandma in her wheelchair, but after I dropped her off at Mont St. Joseph, I took a drive north over the bridge. Ten minutes across town, and I was in the parking lot of Little Red River Park. My family had a cabin at Emma Lake, so we never visited this place. What a pity! With 12,000 acres of outdoor space, nature is rarely closer. I get out of my car and can smell the fresh air and hear the breeze rattle the trees. I’m a chicken at heart. I don’t get farther than the parking lot when I realize I’m alone and don’t really want to experience nature, get lost and meet a bear.

Affordable
In Vancouver, the talk of the town is often mortgages and house prices. Looking through the real estate prices I see another obvious reason Prince Albert might be a choice -- it's incredibly affordable. The average house price is $78,911 — compare that to a Vancouver west side bungalow for $1.17 million. The Hillcrest Inn has seven bedrooms, five bathrooms and is set up as a functioning business. Oh, and it’s for sale for $469,900. By PA standards this is expensive, but I can’t help noticing you couldn’t buy a condo in my building for that price.

The average family income for nearby Saskatoon is $56,540 not much less than a Vancouver family’s after-tax income of $60,885. So if a family put all their income into their house it would be paid off in less than two years in Prince Albert and in Vancouver would take over a decade!

I almost fell off my seat when Mayor Jim talks about the 2006 closing of the Pulp Mill where my grandpa used to work. He says, "Many of these jobs paid $50,00, $60,000, $70,000 or $80,000 a year. That's enough for a man to raise his family, own his home, send his kids to university and on vacation every year." In Vancouver $50,000 would be enough to pay rent and own a used car! Money isn't everything, but the choices it provides may well be worth a little snow.

Local Recreation Activities
The thing I loved about working for the Vancouver 2010 Olympics, was the legacy we were leaving for the community. When I worked at the Athlete Village in Vancouver I chatted to a police officer from Peel, Ontario who was admiring the Village. I said to him, "The best part will happen in six months when you are long gone and the athletes and banners are gone and I will come here and work out. And when I have kids, they can go to the daycare and look out at False Creek." Recreation makes up the part of the city that tourists never see but locals don't want to live without.

While I waited to meet with Mayor Jim, I talked to Renee, his secretary. She started talking about the Alfred Jenkins Field House, a new indoor soccer field that opened that weekend. “We went last weekend with my son and you should have seen how many kids were running around on the field. People weren’t sure about it, but once I walked in I was so impressed.” I wish I had time to visit, the field house has a gymnasium, a climbing wall, an all weather walking track.

Debbie from Tourism PA waxed poetic about the Rotary Trail, another place I didn't know about until this trip. This 15-kilometre trail paved trail is open and maintained year round and will be soon be completed and provide a 23-kilometre circuit around the city.

Arts Community
I know that Saskatchewan people love Saskatchewan landscapes. The beautiful colours of the sky, the white birch, the waving prairies. I'll be honest, all that white space isn't my thing, but until I looked, I didn't realize how popular art was here. There galleries in town include the Art Gallery of Prince Albert, the John V. Hicks Gallery and the new On the Avenue Artisan’s Gallery. More than that, it seems every little coffee shop or bed and breakfast (Hillcrest included) has art on display for sale. Even though there are a few big theatres that host plays and musicals, performing arts are everywhere. Someone tells me about the plays Carleton High School puts on every year. “Oh, is your son or daughter at Carleton?” I ask. “Oh no, she graduated from Regina, but the plays at Carleton are great.”

When was the last time someone told you about a great high school play?

Beautiful Architecture

Downtown Prince Albert looks like something out of the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life.” The brick buildings line the streets, with rows and rows of trees. When I walked down the streets, I used to see empty storefronts that held Grandma’s favourite stores. The storefronts lined up like missing teeth. But this time, I looked at the bones behind the storefronts and saw the possibilities. I drive down residential streets and down to my grandparents old house. It reminds me of neighbourhoods in Vancouver before the monster houses came and ate green lawns with square footage. The houses are cute and well maintained with white picket fences and caragana hedges, just like Mrs. Casgrain’s.

The streets are dusty and the sidewalks need repair, but above the streets are large, mature trees. Mayor Jim said that he didn’t realize how special this was until someone said that Prince Albert was covered in a canopy of trees. Coming from Vancouver, it’s easy to overlook how pretty the trees make the city. But on the way back to Saskatoon, I see what an oasis this has become.

Opportunity and Optimism
Darryl Hickie (the MLA) says, “The best days are ahead for Prince Albert.” It makes me wonder if it’s a marketing line when I see a television ad that says pretty much the same thing later that evening as I sit with Grandma. But looking around me, it seems like things are looking up for Prince Albert. It’s got two great ingredients: love and hope. People really care about the city and they work to bring new ideas to the city and to their lives. Beside the Wal-Mart, someone has posted a sign for the building of a new Prince Albert Brewery. The mall’s have websites now. Maybe it’s just me trying to look on the bright side, but it seems that everything in town is a bit cleaner and newer than it used to be and everyone looks happier than I remember. The city seems more prosperous. In December, the province became a “have” province after decades of being a have-not province.

About Prince Albert
After all this talking and finding out all these things about the place my Grandma and Grandpa and mom called home, what did I learn? I guess the things that make a city great to live aren't necessarily right on the surface. I'm not leaving my Vancouver anytime soon, but I can see what draws people to Prince Albert. The best parts of a city are often hidden in small things like community dances, sports fields and a house with a white picket fence.

The best days aren't behind the city as I had felt. Like many other places Prince Albert is hoping and growing. It's still figuring out what it is and what it can turn into. I hope it finds its way -- and I'll come back to check next year. As I'm leaving I realize I forgot to ask one person why the city is great, so I ask Grandma. She gives me a funny half-smile and says, "Yes. The city is pretty good." She looks out her window at the willow tree in the courtyard. For two years there has been a plastic bag stuck in the tree -- I notice it is gone. Everything is changing.

Eight Ways to Work with Grumpy

2010-05-17T10:33:00.000-07:00

So let's talk about working with Grumpy. Not just a dwarf in Snow White, this grouchy co-worker can drive you wild! You've probably seen them, maybe worked with them. The one who doesn't want to work here, who doesn't ever leave the office, who thinks everyone else is an idiot, the one who sits under a personal rain cloud while everyone else enjoys the sun. Chances are you have or will work with one in your career, so here's how I've taken people I was sure hated me and turned them into friends. If I couldn`t turn them into friends at least I turned my perception of their emotions into something neutral.

I've worked with grumpy people who really intimidated me, at first. The interesting thing is how many of them have turned into really good friends and some of my favourite co-workers and bosses. I think it's important to know how to work with people that come across as grumpy -- particularly for me. I tend to deal with grumpiness by overcompensating with friendliness, which isn't always the best option.

Here are eight ways to deal with grumpiness now:

Ignore it
Don't take it personally
Things go wrong in everyone's life. It may be you, but it may not be. If you are new, your involvement in the team may have caused the grumpiness and in a couple weeks they will get used to you. They could dislike women, or men, or people who play softball. They could struggle with depression or be going through a divorce. Let it go.
Check in: Did you cause the problem?
Talk to someone about it
Continue to include Grumpy
Look for the humour in it
Stay professional
Do a great jobIn the end, your job performance is based on how well you perform. Some grumpy people get frustrated when they think other people don`t take work as seriously and don`t work as hard as they do. Make sure you are bringing your best to every day at work. To be honest, I`ve solved grumpiness a few times by proving to the Grumpy that I wanted to do a great job. Once we established that, they respected me and we started to build a relationship from that point.

So take a deep breath and get ready, this person might still be uncomfortable to work with, but they may end up as a great friend and ally.

Eight Things to Do After a Conference

2010-05-13T14:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve gone to quite a few conferences in the past few years including The Surrey International Writers' Conference, two IABC Conferences, The World Summit on Salmon and most recently Northern Voice 2010. Usually I finish the conference and am exhausted. I’ve gone to all the talks, taken copious notes and collected brochures out the wazoo. I put my notes down in a pile and leave them. Six months later I find my notes, read through them and think that I should do something with these. A year later I throw my notes out. I remember a few things, but I could do it so much better.

Here are my new post-conference rules:

Let the ideas sink in. After I leave a conference, I’m mentally exhausted. There are so many things I need to consider. I find I can be swayed by fantastic speakers to believe things that won’t work for me. And I sometimes ignore great ideas from not-so-compelling speakers. I’ve tried coming home and diving into what I learned, but I’m so close to my immediate reactions, I don’t get it right. I need some time to digest what I’ve learned. So, give yourself a week at the most, and then get ready to open your notebook.
Tell people you went. Going to conferences shows your passion and interest in the topic. Let people know you went and share your passion. You’ll be surprised at how many people are interested and want to know more. Whether it’s a communications conference or a dentistry conference, put yourself forward as someone with a passion.
Organize and share your notes. You’ve waited a week and you look in your notebook and ... what next? Share what you learned. Comfortable with your co-workers? Ask to make a short presentation at your next team meeting. Not comfortable? Write something up in your blog or send an email to someone who might be interested. To really learn something you need to engage with it a few times. Listen, take notes, and re-purpose those notes. Here are my notes about social media from one of the sessions and my notes on the keynote address from the IABC Global Conference.
Apply what you learned. If you are passionate about something, most of a conference on that topic should be interesting but not necessarily new. But there will be a few lightening rod moments of inspiration where you say to yourself, “Yes. We need to do that!” You need to follow up on those, as soon as possible. If you don’t, someone else will and you’ll regret it. Here’s my story. I went to the Surrey International Writers' Conference in 2005. Someone said, “Write a page a day and in a year you’ll have written a book.” I thought to myself, “Ha, what does he know. When I get the muse, I can write 20 pages in an hour.” I went home and didn’t write anything of value for the next six months. Fast forward a year and I meet a girl who says, “I followed the advice from last year, wrote a book and am going to present my book proposal to an agent.” I had my own book proposal (but no book) to present to an agent. I sat down, showed my first two pages and the agent asked me a few questions. Her last was, “When will this be done?” I answered, “In two months.” She said, “I want it on my desk by January 15 next year.” I could have written a page a day and sent her something. But I didn’t and never sent her anything. Fast forward two years and the girl who presented her book and wrote a page a day was now presenting at the conference having signed a big book deal. I could have done that, so could have the other 1,000 people in the room. But she did it, and I didn’t! Apply what you learned or you will regret it!
Email the people you met. Email the good presenters and tell them how much you enjoyed their presentation. Email the people you exchanged business cards with and give them your contact details. If you promised to send someone something, do it. Do you have a blog or Twitter account? Pass it on. I think everyone suffers from the same post-conference laziness — don’t let it be you! You go to a conference to meet people — so now keep in touch!
Decide what your next steps are. Will you go back to the conference next year? Do you want to learn more about an area of the conference? Look for other events or opportunities to stay involved.
Fill out the conference survey. Let the organizers know what was good and what was awful. Help make the conference better, even if you aren’t going next year, make it better for everyone else.
Did you sit through some of the presentations and think, “I could do that”? Well, get on it! What do you need to do or have done to present next year? Look at the presenters’ credentials; even if some are traditional “experts” there is often room for people like you to present what you know. If you are at the conference, you must have some interest and probably expertise in the topic. If you’ve never presented at a conference before, you may want to call someone on the planning committee and tell them you are interested in presenting. You never know what might happen!

Eight Ways to Deal with Difficult People

2010-05-10T13:53:00.000-07:00

Today I was going to write about going to traffic court. I got a ticket a year ago for running a yellow light. The problem was I didn’t run a yellow light. So I contested the ticket and today was my day in court. There were about 35 people scheduled to be seen at the same courtroom at the same time. Only six people showed up. Before you go in, you meet with the officer who wrote the ticket. We talked and he agreed to withdraw the ticket, so I didn’t even have to testify.

Talking to him took me back to my last days working as a Customer Service Manager for The Bay, a Canadian department store. My job at the time was to solve disputes, so when I was the person who talked to angry customers who yelled, “Give me your manager.”

Here are the eight things I learned about dealing with difficult people back in 1999, that I used in traffic court today.

Be respectful. I understand his authority and I respect his right to give me a ticket. I called him sir and spoke only about the facts of the ticket. He was doing his job and doing what he thought was right. I respect that, even if I believe he was wrong. When I was in customer service, I used to remind myself that if I was respectful, no matter how crazy the customer was, no one could come back and say I was rude.
Be calm. The more you let your emotions get the best of you, the less control you have. Stay calm and people are much more willing to negotiate and work with you. I did a lot of self talk to reach a place where I wasn’t angry or frustrated or emotional when I got to court.
Be prepared. I had filed a Freedom of Information request with the Minister of Transportation to get access to his files, they told me I had to ask him. I didn't have enough time to send him a letter, but I had their letter and mine to prove I had tried to get more information. I had my papers neatly in a folder and was ready to go to court. I was dressed professionally. I was 20 minutes early. I had taken notes and brought them with me. I had my key messages written down.
Have a key message. This is a communications term, it basically means the one thing you want people to know when you have made your case. For today, I wrote down four key messages, my main one was, “I did not run a yellow light.” I repeated it four times at different points in our discussion. A key message keeps you focused so you don’t get tangled into a discussion you don’t want to have.
Agree to as much as you can. The police officer and I agreed that intersections are dangerous places; we agreed that running yellow lights was bad; we agreed that I was driving eastbound and he was driving westbound. We did not agree that I ran a yellow light. But by finding things to agree on and talking about them, you can start to move from an oppositional position to a productive one.
Thank the difficult person, before you come to an agreement AND afterward. I thanked the officer for being so diligent in his job. I thanked him for talking to me before court. I thanked him for making intersections safer and told him I knew people who had been seriously injured in intersection accidents. I told him I wished the Vancouver Police were as diligent in my area, because it can very dangerous at intersections. But I stuck to my key message that “I did not run a yellow light." After he told me he would withdraw the ticket, I thanked him again.
Know what you want, and what you will give up. At The Bay, I knew what items I could exchange for a customer and which I could give a discount to. I knew what my discretionary limits were to make customers happy. In the traffic ticket case, I didn’t want to pay the ticket and was willing to give up my time. But in any negotiation with anyone, know what you want. I didn’t want him to admit he was wrong or that I was right. I just didn’t want to be found guilty of that ticket.
Let the other person have the last word. When the discussion is done and you’ve found a solution, let it go. Let the other person feel like they’ve won. You don’t need to be the bigger man by “telling them what’s what.” It’s a no-win situation. At The Bay, so many people said, “I’m never shopping here again.” I knew, as they did, that they’d be back the next big sale. So after the officer agreed to withdraw my ticket, he said, “But you still ran a yellow light.” I shrugged my shoulders and repeated, “Thank you for withdrawing the ticket.” I didn’t need to repeat my key message; I didn’t have to make him wrong.

Eight Tips to Get Ready to Attend a Conference

2010-05-06T22:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I’m going to Northern Voice 2010. It’s a blogging/social media conference and looks like it will be lots of fun. I’ve been to lots of conferences and have started to set some guidelines for myself. Here are eight things to do to get ready.

Eat a good breakfast first. Thinking takes a lot of calories and conference food generally doesn’t hit the spot. Don’t let your stomach rumbling at 11:00 am interrupt the speakers. At work you can go out and grab lunch when you get hungry, but don’t miss a great chance in a session because you need a muffin, go in contentedly full.
Bring business cards and a sweater. Going to a conference is half about listening to speakers and half about meeting people. I would love to attend a TED conference, even though I can watch almost everything online. I’d love to meet the people who are there. There are going to be fascinating experts at the conference you are going to, keep in touch. You can have business cards printed in an hour. Your cards don’t need to be fancy; they can just have your name and contact details. One tip though, make sure your card means something to the people who are there. If you are a plumber attending a writing conference get different business cards that say “Writer” or “Poet” so at the end of the day people can remember why they have your card. Finally, rooms can always get cold, so bring a sweater.
Don’t plan any activities after the day is done. It is tempting, particularly when visiting another city, to make plans immediately after the conference. Here’s the dream, you meet your mentor and ask them a great question. They say, “Hey, let’s go for a drink.” Do you want to say, “Actually I promised my mom I’d meet her in the hotel to watch CSI reruns in Cantonese?” No. You want to go and keep talking. So keep your schedule open.
Know what you want to get out of each day. Look at the program and decide which sessions you MUST attend and make sure to get to those ones, and go early. More than that, plan who you want to talk to or how many people you want to meet. Keep yourself on track so you don’t go home and regret missing something.
Drink water. Water feeds your brain, why let it get dry and shrivelly? It’s easy to get caught up in thinking, so bring water with you.
Take notes. Do you remember what happened to you a week ago Thursday at lunch? No. So why do you think you are so smart that you don’t need to take notes at a session. If you attend more than one session you will forget important things you learn, so bring a pen (or two) and paper and take notes. Even if the presenter promises to email their presentation, make notes that make sense to you.
Talk to people at any chance. Well, don’t talk during presentations, but talk to people at lunch, when you register and before sessions start. I know everyone hates networking and everyone hates going to conferences alone. But everyone is there and you might as well make some friends so you aren’t alone anymore. So go make it easier for everyone else. The best part about conferences is they are usually spaced so that if you meet someone you don’t like, you don’t need to talk for long. But take the chance to talk, and then give out your business card. You never know.
Take a 10-minute time-out. It’s hard to think and smile and take notes and hand out business cards at once. Conferences can be an entire day full of activities one after another. By the end, my mind is usually spinning. But I’ve learned to take a 10-minute time out. I walk outside, alone. I find the nearest bookstore and duck in for a couple minutes. I reset. Plan to take time to reset.

Will I see you at Northern Voice? If not, enjoy these tips and see you at a conference soon!

The Eight People You Should Talk to When Considering a Change

2010-05-04T09:23:00.000-07:00

Whether changing companies or careers, change is hard. It’s often frustrating because you do a lot of the changing inside without realizing it. Your change can drive everyone a little nuts. I think of hermit crabs. They pick shells up and put them on, carrying the borrowed shell around until they outgrow them and need to find another one.

Our careers (and lives!) give us challenges like this all the time. But it’s not even as easy as finding a bigger shell, or a more challenging or prestigious position, we also have the ability to totally change careers altogether. I often forget that communications and editing are my third and fourth careers. I started out in retail and worked my way up the retail ladder for eight years! Then I moved to Germany and started teaching Advanced English Grammar at a university and privately for corporate clients. Then I came back to Canada to take journalism school and start working at a magazine, then freelance, then in corporate communications, then for the Olympics.

I love both communications and editing and would love a job in either. I may end up consulting for myself again. But I’m lucky that I know my strengths — I’m good with people and words. Working with people without writing bores me, and writing without people makes me lonely. But put them together and I’m on fire.

Because you are changing, and considering a change, it’s good to keep talking. It’s good to look for clarity on what you really want and know that you are making the change with true knowledge and insight. There are tons of people you might talk to depending on where you are in your change, but here is my list of the eight people I’m talking to, and you should talk to, if considering a career change.

Someone who is more senior than you in you industry and whose work you admire. Tell them you admire them. Ask them about what they do. Ask what lights their fire. Ask them what they love about their job and what drives them nuts. Ask yourself if you think you would enjoy being in their shoes. Ask them if they think you have what it takes. Telling them about the change you are thinking of, gives you a chance to sell it to someone. This is NOT a job interview; it’s a chance to see if you can be in their shoes.

You as a child. Look at pictures. Look at the things you saved. Who were you? What did you want to be then? When I self-published my first book (ok, I hand wrote 10 copies for family and relatives) I wrote on the back that I either wanted to be a writer or an actress. I tried being an actress, and it wasn’t me. But I love writing. I always have. I’ve never had the job title “Writer” but I’m close enough. Checking in with “little Holly” reminds me how much fun writing has always been. If I’m not having fun writing, I need to write something else. What did you love and how can you get more in your life?
Someone you used to work on the same team with. Don’t necessarily look at the job you are leaving, but look earlier than that. What can this person tell you about you? What do they remember about you? Would they still recognize you at work? Were you the life of the party, but now you are the downer? What changed? If this person is still in the industry they might have a good lead on another job, but even if you don’t want to bring that up, just talk about how you can stretch your wings. Find out how they are growing. Talk about the challenges you are facing. Ask what they are missing in their job. If they are gloriously happy, find out WHY? If they’ve made a big change, ask how that went.
Someone who has no idea what you do, but thinks you are great! Take the pep talk, champ. Whether it’s from your mom, your four-year old, or the lady you volunteer with. What do they know about you? What do they see when they work with you? Why do they think you’ll do great? Are you full of unbridled enthusiasm? Dry wit? Are you a hard worker? Reliable? Find out. Repeat these adjectives to yourself. Ask others if these perceptions of you are true. Hey, you shouldn’t have to beg for compliments from your friends! If they don’t match up with what your friends or family sees or with what you feel, check in and see where you aren’t being authentic.
Someone who has already made a big change. It could be a change to the industry or job you want, or they could have left everything and decided to raise chickens or become a nurse. Ask how they got the courage to make the change. Ask how they knew it was the right move. Ask them about their second thoughts. Ask them what type of safety net they kept for themself. Ask them how they told their family or friends.
Someone who needs your help. You should always take time to talk to anyone who is interested in what you do or who needs your help. I’m lucky enough to have a job that lots of people who like writing want to do, so I’m often asked to talk to someone’s niece, husband, friend or co-op student. Every time I do, I leave more enthused about the path I’m on. You are an expert to someone — pass on your knowledge. I also often talk to people who want my professional help in an informal way (and physiotherapists and lawyers think they are the only ones being asked for favours!). I’m happy to talk for an hour or so and just let them know some easy things they need to do and who they might talk to if they need more help.
A neutral professional. This is scary. I’m talking about a career counsellor, therapist, career coach, minister or other “talking” professional. Find out what drives you. Find out how you can find more peace or less stress from someone who doesn’t have a vested interest in your life. Maybe you’re just fine but think of this like a mental tune-up. Before you make a big jump, make sure your most important tool, your mind, is in great shape. If you are brave talk to people about this visit and don’t be surprised if you aren’t alone in consulting a professional.
Someone with your dream job. Ask around and find this person. Be prepared to be inspired. But also let yourself see, with open eyes, what the dream job really looks like. Moving to Germany to teach sounds amazing. It was great, but it was lonely and I often felt isolated and sad. I struggled to learn the language and do simple things like find toilet paper in the store. Would I recommend it? Absolutely, but I don’t think I would go back today. But when I talk to editors or communicators, I get thrilled about the work they are doing, the challenges they are facing. I go home and think about their problems.

Who do you talk to when you are making a big change?

An Unwilling Visitor to the Bell Tower

2010-04-30T15:40:00.000-07:00

Older people usually like me. In fact, since I was a child, I found that the older a person, the nicer they would be. It causes me all sorts of trouble because I really want to help them.

Yesterday I was standing outside the cathedral waiting to go in and ring some bells. An older lady, with a dyed bouffant and painted-on eyebrows saw me try the door. She asked me, in Spanish, if I could speak Spanish.

I did speak Spanish, about 15 years ago. Since then I learned German, and forgot most of my Spanish vocabulary. Except out of my mouth came the words, “Si, yo hablo un poco espanol.”* (Yes, I speak a little Spanish).

Then she asked me about the bells that were ringing. “Yes,” I said, in English, “The bells. People ring the bells.” And I mimed bell ringing. I don’t know how helpful it was because without a rope it looks like I was poking a hole in the ground with a big stick. Then she asked, in Spanish, where the door was. We went to the side door and then the front door and finally someone came and let us in.

It’s a long way up to the tower. The stairs are steep and seem to go forever — she wasn’t in the best of shape and huffed and puffed her way up the stairs holding onto the rails in pure fright. I should have wondered longer about why she wanted to come in. Most bell ringer visitors are English and have some idea what the practise entails. But I guess I just like it so much, it strikes me as odd that everyone doesn’t want to climb up and see the bells.

Once you are up in the bell tower, you can’t see any bells. There are just ropes hanging down and beautiful views out the stained glass window. She started asking another question, one that was beyond my “Spanish” understanding. No one else spoke Spanish. We all looked at each other and somehow she had become my responsibility.

Finally, we all realized that there had been a mistake. She was probably aiming for the Spanish women’s prayer meeting at the rectory next door. So I took her down the stairs and out the door and offered to show her where that door was. “NO, NO, NO...” she motioned, breathless from coming down the stairs and then she wandered off into the night.

She really did miss out on something special. But if you can make it up stairs and would like to watch us ring and maybe even try ringing, let me know or contact the Vancouver Society of Change Ringers.

Even Editors Need Editors

2010-04-29T10:21:00.000-07:00

I got the great news last month that I passed a very important exam and can now call myself a "Certified Structural and Stylistic Editor." This is one of the hardest exams offered by the Editors' Association of Canada and this year the exam will be split into two separate exams. After this, I need to pass two more exams to become a Certified Professional Editor. But even passing all these exams wouldn't solve my biggest challenge.

The hardest thing about being an editor is the perceived "perfection" that you surround yourself with. "Oh dear, faulty parallelism -- we couldn't say that!" we want to chuckle. Or, "Let me introduce your subject to your verb. Hmmm... like two mismatched socks. You just can't say, 'We needs to go to the store.' "

It is expected an editor will be perfect, even when the "rules" are unclear. I received two emails recently from editors that I admire. One was from an editor who was looking for the verb of surveillance, "I can't believe," she wrote, "that the only word I came up with was surveilling. When I figured it out, I started to laugh. Now everyone who sits near me thinks I'm mad."

The other was from an English editor working for a big firm in Florida. He had used the word medalist (the American spelling) instead of medallist (the UK/Canada spelling). I emailed him and asked for the change and he said, "I'm so embarrassed, particularly because I sent it to you. Would it help if I said someone else at least wrote it!"

It's an editor's job to find mistakes. Period. We get paid good money to save people from their own words.

Sometimes I find it hard to write anything, particularly about editing. I set up an editing blog almost two years ago and I have only written four entries. I'm scared that I'll make an error that a client will spot and not hire me. I'm scared of looking stupid. I'm willing to tell a story about falling up stairs, but when it comes to my opinions on using words, something I'm passionate about, my mind freezes.

But I remind myself that while I do deliver high quality of work to my clients, I have to allow myself to make mistakes in my first drafts. It is hardest to edit yourself. As a writer, you write the words you hear in your head (see my post An Editorial Metaphor: Amputated Fingers and All). So when you read your own text, it makes perfect sense. When I read my own work as an editor, it is hard to focus on the words and not the broader issues. I know what I meant.

So if you find mistakes in this or any post, I apologize. This is me as a writer. Like you, I need an editor sometimes. I hope I'll re-read it next week and find the error, but maybe not. I had a boss once who wanted to change something in every document -- so sometimes we would insert an error for him to find so that he would leave the rest of the text alone. We called it the "nugget", so when you find a mistake, consider that you've found the golden nugget.

Stuck in Vancouver? Eight things you can do when you are done with the tourist sites

2010-04-19T15:53:00.000-07:00

For your first trip to Vancouver, be sure to go to Stanley Park, Gastown, the Aquarium. Walk down Robson Street, take the SeaBus to Lonsdale Quay and hang out on Kits Beach. But if you are done with that — go where real Vancouverites go to get away from it all. If you are stuck in town because of volanic activity and think you have seen the highlights try these eight places!

Go to Steveston. Located at the far end of Richmond, this is one of my favourite places to be. Particularly on a sunny day. It’s a cute little fishing village with lots of little coffee shops and fish and chips restaurants. There’s a great park where you can walk for miles and watch planes taking off to destinations that probably aren’t yours. It’s away from it all — but not too far.
Visit Asia in Richmond. I just came back from Hong Kong and am always surprised at how non-foreign the city feels. I do love Richmond’s Asian shopping malls. Aberdeen Centre has a great light/water show every half hour, a food fair of exotic treats and some great shopping and is right beside the new Canada Line skytrain stop.
Shopping in Metrotown. If you like shopping as more of a North American experience visit Metrotown Centre. On one of the other SkyTrain lines, this is one of the largest malls in Vancouver. It’s huge, it has tons of stores and you can find just about everything you need there. Oh, it’s busy and crazy but that is part of the fun.

Canyon Tours for FREE. Now you may have spent the $30 per person to see the Capilano Suspension Bridge — but there are lots of nicer, quieter and more natural hikes on the North Shore worth checking out. My favourite is Lynn Canyon, an equally scary suspension bridge but without the ticket booth. In fact, this hike is completely free and while trendy Vancouverites scamper up the Grouse Grind, this hike will give you a great workout and leave you with a smile on your face.

Deep Cove. Another great piece of Vancouver waterfront particularly nice on weekdays. There are hikes with great views as well as a kayak rental shop. So don’t just look at the water, get out on it. And when you come back go for sushi or grab one of the famous doughnuts.
Commercial Drive. Vancouver prides itself on being multicultural. I think I’m just in it for the food. Commercial Drive is the place to get some great Italian coffee and a toasted Panini. The home of a more alternative group of people, it makes for some great people watching. Oh, and it’s also on the SkyTrain line (Commercial Drive and Broadway stops).
Wander around UBC. Our university isn’t just a centre of higher learning; it’s where Vancouverites go for fun. You can let it all hang out at Wreck Beach (Trail 4), go to a Japanese tea ceremony at the Nitobe Gardens, relive your youth and hang out in the pub or check out the new Museum of Anthropology. Just look for a bus that says “UBC” on it.
Walk around the city. I love Vancouver and my favourite way to enjoy it is to go for a walk. Start at the Maritime Museum and walk east to False Creek. Stop a Granville Island for coffee or lunch then walk through the Athletes’ Village towards Science World. Keep on along the seawall and when you get tired, spring for a ride on one of the cute water boats and head back to your hotel.

Social Media makes me Anti-Social: How to Get Your SM Strategy Right

2010-04-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

Social Media is the new “buzzword” for communicators. Everyone hears about the “tweets” that were heard around the world and the industry can see the benefits and downfalls of social media. Now, with a convincing campaign, you can change your marketing strategy from high-priced ads to getting brand fans to talk about you. Or your entire line can (theoretically) be sunk by complaints from bloggers and twitterers. But is that the way it works?

Even the phrase “social media” is interesting. No one I know ever says, “I really want to improve my social media life.” They may say, “I want more friends on Facebook or more followers on Twitter.” The question still remains whether social media is anything different from regular media? Word of events and embarrassing mistakes can certainly reach an audience faster, but is it as effective are regular media? I wonder if the speed of social media doesn’t mean that the length of a “social” crisis becomes shorter as so much information is coming through to consumers. Once you’ve seen the really tacky and slightly offensive “Chia Obama” and forwarded it to your friends, do you remember it?

But, like all buzzwords, it’s worth knowing what the talk is about. Recently at the IABC Global 2010 Conference in Hong Kong, David Ketchum, the president of Bite Communications (Asia Pacific) and author of Big M, little m Marketing: New Strategies for Asia, gave a presentation on social media. Here are eight interesting things you might find interesting from his presentation:

Social media platforms are changing all the time and will continue to change.
Do you remember Friendster, Tribe.net, LiveJournal, Yahoo Geocities and Classmates.com? I think I had profiles on each of these at one time. Eventually, like many people, I found something else. These sites were passed up for Facebook, WordPress and Blogger.com. I’ve heard people say that Twitter is a fad and will soon fade away. That might be true — but it might not. So yes, Twitter will probably become irrelevant, but for now, it’s worth understanding how the tool works until the next big trend.
The building blocks of social media are, not surprisingly: communities, conversations and content.Ketchum advocates having a point of view. To an English major like me, point of view means “who tells the story” but what I think David means is closer to opinion or personality. When I stay at the Kimpton, my experience matches the friendly, inviting tone they use on Twitter. A Facebook page can’t just say “Stay at a Kimpton” — it has to engage its audience. So as a communicator when you match communities and content you can create the point of view. When communities match conversations, it creates an opportunity to share a point of view. The intersection of conversations and content helps support a point of view.

Think about community before platform. Of course this isn’t surprising to passionate communicators, but it’s often forgotten in the rush to get things done. I keep hearing from people who want to podcast. My first question is always, “How often do you listen to podcasts?” I personally have 439 unlistened-to podcasts on my iPod and every person I ask either has no podcasts downloaded or downloads them and doesn’t listen to them. An important question for communicators is to ask how often your audience listens to podcasts.
Give content people want to share. Been forwarded a funny commercial lately? Or been forwarded coupons for a free dessert at your favourite restaurant? These are things your friends think will add value to your life (humour, a discount). I think this is why things like United Breaks Guitars get more attention; with their irreverent and funny nature, they make people laugh. When was the last time your company put out something intentionally funny that actually made people laugh?
Measure the best you can.
The tricky thing with social media and the internet is that it’s sometimes hard to know if what you do has an outcome. Do people visit your site to see the big purple gorilla dance or are they actually engaging with your product? How do we know if our work has any effect on the audience? It’s hard! I once had to define what “success” based on metrics for a website I had designed. I ended up sitting down with my boss and talking through every metric — and showing how I could get the result required by breaking the functionality of the website. We ended up doing an online survey. I wish this presentation would have given me some great advice beyond simply “monitoring engagement.” But I know, however you do it, measurement needs to be done!
Ketchum’s six steps for building a social media program are: Research your audience; develop your content; build your platform; engage your audience; optimize your program; measure the business outcomes.
How do you keep it up?
Keep developing, building, engaging and measuring! One of the weird things about the Vancouver 2010 Olympics being over is that the whole social media program is finished as well. As an Organizing Committee there was this huge push to connect. In fact, we estimate that something like 75% of Canadians went to vancouver2010.com. There was this push to engage and be relevant to an international audience. We had teams tweeting and Facebooking and “engaging” but now that the Games are over, no one is left to keep the momentum going. I get it, the Games are done, but part of me feels an incredible opportunity was missed.
Communications firms and companies trying to get social media attention have stopped giving freebies to journalists, but to online people they see as influencers.
I think this is another death toll for traditional journalism. Part of me bristles at the idea of my friends getting free mascara for simply telling me how great it is. Journalists have codes of ethics against taking free stuff without disclosing it to the audience. But it also speaks to the importance marketers are placing on you — the consumer.

Is social media new for you or is it just another part of your life? Do you use Facebook or Twitter to decide on purchases. Are you more likely to check a recommendation from a face-to-face recommendation or from Facebook or Twitter?

Eight Great Things About Working for the Olympics

2010-04-12T20:44:00.000-07:00

The Vancouver 2010 Olympic and Paralymic Games are over and real life is starting again. At the party to celebrate the end of the Games, we commiserated over having to clean up our lives after months and years of neglect. In the end, there were (at least) eight great things about working for the Vancouver Organizing Committee for the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games (VANOC).

The feeling of working on something way bigger than you and your community
Hosting the Olympic Games isn’t easy. It’s not something any community can take lightly. It’s a huge undertaking that takes the time and dedication of hundreds of thousands of people all over the world. I had the honour of researching and writing a volume for the International Olympic Committee documenting how Vancouver won the bid for the 2010 Winter Games. It was one of the best parts of the Games for me and a great experience. I learned so much and really understood the scope of what had been promised to the athletes, to the city and what was promised as a legacy of the Games. One of the best things about Vancouver 2010 was that we were part of something monumental and every day you were aware that the work you did would have a huge impact not just during the Games, but for years and years to come.
Learning to deal with constant public criticism and pressure
When we got our uniforms and read that we were expected to wear them to and from our shifts, our eyes widened a little bit. “Are they crazy?” a co-worker asked, “Someone is going beat me up, or throw hot coffee at me.” There were times when VANOC was in the media that I felt like admitting I worked there was the equivalent of admitting I worked at a seal-clubbing factory. I’ve had some interesting jobs, but none that people were so passionately against. But I knew that it was going to work out and every time I told someone where I worked I braced for the inevitable questions. Often though, I could answer people’s concerns and if not change their mind, I could open it just a bit. Next time you hear of someone working for the oil sands, tobacco companies or any other “demon” industry, remember that they have a story too.
There is an end date
Every job has elements that can drive you insane. Things you can't stand, that when you think of happening every week for the next 20 years make your hair stand on end. One of the great things about Vancouver 2010 was the end date. I knew the day I started that after March 2010 I would no longer be employed with them. I knew when the leaves fell last autumn that I would never see the leaves fall again as a VANOC employee. I talked to my manager about some challenges we were facing and said, “If we were going to be here in three years, we would need to fight this battle but we’re done in 19 days and it’s just not worth it.” There was so much you could just let go because in the end, everything was going to end. It’s an interesting lesson to take forward — end dates let you let go.

Connections matter
At my desk, I usually have E.M. Forrester’s words “Only connect” in front of me. In the end, the quality of work I produce matters, but the thing that helps me do great work is the connections I make with people. Anyone can proofread a text, but by connecting to my clients, I had the chance to add expertise and direction. I became appreciated as more than a person who could check spelling. That mattered. By today, my old desk is probably packed up. My computer files are erased. My email is gone. The only active things I have left from my time at Vancouver 2010 are the friendships and connections I have made. Before the Games, being connected to various people and departments helped me do my job better. During the Games, my friendships kept me sane. And now that it is all over, these relationships will help me move forward.
Passion creates heat
One of the neat things about VANOC was the passion. If you didn’t work there, the passion you saw was on the faces of the athletes. It was the tears in Joannie Rochette’s eyes or the excitement when Alexandre Bilodeau won gold. But for us, behind the scenes, every day was a gold medal event. So often everyone knew what we needed to do in theory, but totally disagreed on exactly what that meant. But it mattered. It mattered so much that tears were shed, more often than anyone would like to admit. I’m sure I’m not the only one who went home at the end of the day to a partner and poured my heart out. It was amazing to work somewhere where everyone cared so much about doing a great job. The passion you saw on the athletes was matched behind the scenes and it took years to develop — not a thousandth of a second.
Chair warmers not welcome
You needed passion to work at Vancouver 2010, which meant there weren’t many “chair warmers.” What are chair warmers? You know, that 10% of totally disengaged employees. They are the ones waiting another two years until retirement, the ones who say, “We tried this in 1992 and it didn’t work.” Don’t get me wrong, we had staff with lots of experience who might otherwise be retired. But each employee I worked with came to work with passion and enthusiasm.
A million opportunities
Soon after I started, VANOC announced that it may have problems making the budget it had set. As a result every division took a careful look at their budget and cut. This sounds like it could be a bad thing, but for me, it was fantastic. It gave me, and many other employees, a chance to say, “I can do that!” I was lucky enough to occasionally be lent to other teams to fill in — positions that might have been filled by short-term contractors.

A golden legacy
When Vancouver bid for the Games in 2003, John Furlong talked about having a Canada vs US match in Canada Hockey Place with Canada winning gold. The hockey game on February 28 felt destined, as did the result. But it wasn’t just Canadian hockey that won gold — it was Vancouver. Even though we started as the “glitch games” we ended with golden moments. And if you stay in Vancouver, once we get over actually paying for the party, we’ll get to enjoy the legacy. In its day Expo 86 seemed like a huge waste until 20 years later when you look back and recognize all the infrastructure it brought to the city. Though it isn’t all part of the VANOC budget, what’s come about because of the Games? Let’s see: Canada Line, Sea to Sky upgrades; new Convention Centre; the Vancouver and Whistler Athlete’s Villages; Hillcrest Community Centre; Richmond Olympic Oval; Pacific Coliseum upgrades. Let’s not forget the hours and hours of international coverage that earned (or maintained) Vancouver’s place on the world map. But for me as a person who worked on a little tiny bit of these Games, I feel like I helped bring that to the city and that’s nice.

Do you have any great Vancouver 2010 memories?

Eight Lessons on Leadership from Robert Swan

2010-04-10T03:52:00.000-07:00

I had never heard of Sir Robert Swan, OBE but he was the first person to reach both the South and North Poles on foot. More importantly he was the keynote speaker at the IABC Global Asia-Pacific Conference in Hong Kong. I think the best keynotes give you a good story and good ideas. They should inspire and motivate. They aren’t usually full of ground-breaking material but they remind you of things you know and should do — but usually aren’t doing. I know I’ll never walk to the South Pole, I hope I’ll never experience ice crystals in my underpants, I’ll probably never plan an expedition, but one day I hope to be a leader. And Robert Swan’s keynote on leadership was riveting and not just on the subject of “shrinkage” in ultra cold temperatures.

Here are the eight leadership lessons I learned from Robert Swan:

Show commitment.
When Robert Swan wanted to go to the South Pole so when he finished university he set out to raise $5 million US (this was in the early 1980s) to set up an expedition. Raising money wasn’t as easy as he expected as he had never been on an expedition before (heck he hadn’t even gone camping), but every day he got up and went out and worked at it. After five years and four letters to the great Jacques Cousteau, he finally got Cousteau’s support and an expedition was borne! But Swan didn’t just commit to raising money he had a promise to keep. Jacques Cousteau’s support was based on the agreement that Swan and his team would take back everything they had brought and would leave no garbage. It sounds easy, except when Swan’s ship sank. His message, “If you say you are going to do something — do it.”
Pick people on your team who aren’t easy.
Swan talked about how fun it would have been to go with his four best friends but knew that the whole crew would have been dead in a week. His friends, while easy to get along with didn’t bring the skills the team needed. The crew he assembled included a man who didn’t speak and wore a tie every day (even in the Antarctic), a doctor who liked to experiment on his fellow team mates, and a man who seemed to be an eternal pessimist. If you think your co-workers are strange, this team would drive just about anyone mad. His point was, and we all know this, it takes different ideas and sometimes difficult people to make things work.
Tell the truth and hear the truth. So these five men went to the Antarctic. They were left by a ship that wouldn’t return for a year. In that year, three of them would walk to the South Pole. Robert talks about how the team needed to be honest with each other because there just wasn’t the space to deceive either yourself or others. If you don’t admit the truth about yourself it is hard to move forward in any relationship.
Listen to each other.
Truly. Swan talked about being in this tiny room with five people who were from very different backgrounds and were going to be together for a year. If a hotel room in Tokyo is small, imagine putting five men and a year’s worth of gear in it! “Too often,” he said, “We stop talking and listen for a few seconds, but then go back to thinking about what we are going to say next. To be a leader, you need to LISTEN.”
Laughter holds a team together.
Swan showed a picture of two men on two mountain bikes all decked out in survival suits. He said that, in the dead of winter, in the deepest darkness, his team, on a lark, rode their bicycles 300 km over to the US scientist station. The scientists at the other station were completely unaware that anyone else was even on the continent, when they got a knock on the door. After the confusion was sorted out the two teams shared some laughs. Teams that work together of course have room for discussion and debate, but I’ve noticed the teams that get the most done, also find ways to make it fun.
Follow the leader.
The point of the mission was to walk to the South Pole. The way wasn’t marked with street signs and it wasn’t only covered in snow and ice. The inconvenience wasn’t that temperatures were minus 70 degrees Celsius — the real challenge was the 6,000 crevices in the snow any member could fall into. “And if you fall in one,” Swan said, “you die.” How do you make it through with a team of three? “You follow the route set by the leader. You don’t have time for feedback sessions or the opportunity to call in a consultant; we had to cover 20 kilometres a day. So you trust the leader.”
Don’t rush.
Swan’s team made it to the South Pole and in addition to taking pictures, they tried to make the time to sit back to enjoy having been there. Swan said, “We tend to rush through all of life. But at the end what do you get? The end! Think of the people you listen to, they don’t rush. They are calm. They take time to listen.” It’s not just a great leadership rule; it’s a great rule for being human.
When things go wrong — control what you can.
So the kicker of the story is that Swan’s ship sank five minutes before the expedition team arrived at the South Pole. “Of course you want to do everything in a crisis,” says Swan, “There’s this giant cloud of things to worry about. But I chose to just focus on the things I could control.” It reminds me of the movie Rescue Dawn or this great article by Laurence Gonzales.

What next? After all this hardship and after body sores and ice in his underpants, what did Robert Swan do? He went to the North Pole. After he fulfilled his promise Jacques Cousteau gave him another mission — a 50-year mission. Cousteau asked Swan to help save the Antarctic when the treaties protecting it expire in 2041. Swan accepted, and that takes commitment. If you’d like to find out more about Swan’s mission visit http://www.2041.com/.

And you? What are your lessons of leadership?

Memoirs of Maiko Me

2010-04-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

When was the last time you looked in the mirror and saw the absolute picture of you? When did you last sit and look at yourself for five minutes without make-up or a hairstyle or nice lighting. And after taking a good long look at yourself, can you imagine being transformed into someone so different your parents wouldn’t recognize you?

I can.

I had heard that in Kyoto a new touristy thing to do was dress up like a maiko, or apprentice geisha. It sounded like a lovely adventure, akin to putting on an Empress costume in Beijing and posing for photos.

As we sat in a restaurant eating noodles for lunch we saw a geisha toddle past the window, past a crowd of people and down an alley. Wow! A real geisha! As we walked through old Kyoto near the Kodoi-ji temple and I saw a picture that looked like it might be advertising this maiko service. We went in without hesitation. Through my non-existent Japanese and the receptionist's basic English we figured out what I wanted and how much it would cost and I was ushered into the change room.

First, I changed into a light cotton robe that covered slightly more than a hospital gown. I pulled on the tabi socks (socks where the big toe is separated from the other four). Then I walked up three flights of stairs where a wall of mirrors and salon chairs sat. The first flight felt like an adventure but opening the door and seeing four beautiful young Japanese girls staring back at me as I sat down was another story. One of the attendants pulled my hair back in a tight hair sock and gave me a cloth with make-up remover and mimed wiping my face.

So in the bright lights I took off my make-up and sat and watched as they put everyone else's make-up and wig on. It was very odd because not only was I taller, but felt bigger in every way. I sat there and stared at myself until every part of my face that had looked familiar became odd and foreign. Without my hair around my face, without my clothing, without any make-up I felt the girl in the mirror wasn't really me.

Finally the lady came over and started painting me. Painting is the right word because she used a margarine tub and a paintbrush. My neck, my back, my face were pure white, except for the bits they leave at the nape of your neck. I had to close my eyes through most of it and then voila I was finished. She spent what felt like hours painting my lips just so. When I opened my eyes, I looked so weird! The make-up hid my whiteness, most of it.

Next I went into the kimono room where you pick out your kimono. I have no idea what to look for in a kimono. Everyone else had their friends or their mom. When people wear them, they look beautiful. Made for tourists and not "real" maikos these gowns weren’t silk but polyester and the patterns reminded me of the top fashion in the retirement home. I chose a subtle purple one with a few little flowers embroidered on it. I sat and watched everyone get dressed. The plain kimonos like I had chosen looked awful — I wanted a bright one.

Have you ever gone to the hairdresser and after she cuts off a big chunk of hair and it falls to the floor you turn around and say, “I don’t really want short hair?” You know it is probably too late. I had that sinking feeling as I looked at the horrid purple lump of a dress on the floor. I didn’t want a stupid plain kimono. This could very well be the first and last time I put one on and darn it, I want it to be big and brash and beautiful!

So I asked and changed it for a one with a bright peacock pattern. Again I sat and looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled — and was scared. My teeth were weird, they were covered in lipstick. I looked like a vampire when I opened my mouth. I kept rubbing it with my tongue and surreptitiously wiped at it with my finger. Ah, but then I realized they were intentionally covered with paint so you couldn't see my teeth. A geisha with a white smile would look odd indeed!

With the kimono and wig on I looked — funny. It occurred to me that I was probably about five years older than anyone in the room. I wondered what it meant to dress up as a 14-year old courtesan. To be honest, being a geisha wasn’t me. I mean it clearly wasn’t me. Because my hair is brown and not black, they couldn’t work my natural hair into the wig so it just sat there on my head looking kind of like geisha hair and kind of like a stuffed cat. My brown hair meant you could see the extra wig bits and it looked like I had some scalp ailment. And my eyes were wrong. I don’t often think of my eye colour but they were definitely grey — not the lovely brown of the other maikos.

The next step was the photo studio. Japanese girls probably practice being geishas as much as Errin and I once practised being movie stars and fairies. I have never considered what a maiko should do. So the photographer gave me a lesson in maiko posing — smile with your lips not your teeth, keep your shoulders back and down, don’t look at the camera straight on.

Then to the back door where I was ushered out into a lane. I was in the real world and Chris, my favourite photographer, was waiting. We had an hour to walk around in the high wooden flip flops. The rules? No eating, no drinking and no shopping. Chris’s eyes widened when he saw me, he took a step back... “You look so... soo....”

“Different” I added helpfully.

“No, so macabre,” he said. “Are you still alive? I want to touch you.” He gently touched my white face and my black wig. “It’s so wrong but... huh.... Have you seen yourself? You look kind of like a cadaver. I mean it with love but it’s just so...”

It perhaps wasn’t the reaction I was looking for. So I took a picture of myself and yes indeed, I did look very very odd. We walked up and down the alley taking photos and then, after I worked up my courage and with Chris’s hand in mine (a very non-maiko pose), onto the main streets Everyone gasped. A real geisha in the streets of old Kyoto. This is very rare. Alas, it still is. I am not geisha. The cameras came out. Everyone thought I was real and kept saying “Kwaii” which means cute or pretty. People followed me around for the next half hour just taking photos and video. People asked to pose with me.

This is a very busy section of town and it took a while before we realized why I was so novel. The tourists move through the neighbourhood even quicker than the never ending chain of faux maikos like me. I didn’t know what to do or say so I just smiled my non-teeth maiko smile and wandered around. And OK, I fell a few times which must have been awfully funny because from a distance, I really did look real. Luckily I have falling in Japan experience so I didn’t hurt myself this time!

We went to a temple and a couple of white tourists stared at me and Chris till finally he said, “Yes, I know. She’s not real.” The lady gasped, “Not real.” “Well I am real,” I said, “Just not a real geisha.” “Really?” the lady asked. The genuine shock sounded authentic, not sarcastic. As I turned to leave she told Chris I looked very Asian — ah the things make-up can add!

And so, on my two-inch platform wooden flip-flops, I toddled back to the maiko parlour passing all the other little maikos on the way. The taking off of the make-up was far less dramatic than the dressing up. It was odd to go back in the same streets and see the same tourists who just moments ago were clamouring for my picture. As I waited for my gown to be removed, a 14-year old Australian girl sat beside me looking scared. I leaned over, “You’ll have fun.” She nodded, but she didn’t believe me. “It’s like playing dress-up but with more make-up.” She still looked scared. It was fun, but what did I learn? I guess that you can dress up as something you are not, but you will always be who you are.

Eight Favourite Things about Hong Kong 2010

2010-04-08T07:50:00.000-07:00

I love Hong Kong. I love lots of Asia. Here are the eight things I love about the city right now.

Star Ferry across Victoria Harbour. Day or night, the view can’t be beat and it’s the cheapest harbour tour you’ll find. I love the green colour of the ferry and the smell of diesel and the jewel-toned water.
The JJ Hotel. Thanks Gavin, what a find. Perched on the ninth, tenth and eleventh floor of the Happy Tower in the Wan Chai Road it is so easy to get to transit and in such a great space. Tired of the custom suit and copy-watch hawkers in Kowloon? Come to this side of the water. I’m even starting to love the see-through bathroom but I already loved the prices at rates less than $130 a night for the fanciest room.
Shopping! Hong Kong is famous for its discount shopping. I don’t have any particular favourites but Giordano is always great and the little stores carry tons of neat stuff.
The weather. Humid, wet, warm. Except for the humidity it feels just like Vancouver!
The IABC Global Asia Pacific Hong Kong conference. So I might complain about the oddness of not using social media to connect in a conference that seems to be hugely about social media — but later. Right now I’m really enjoying the inspiration and ideas I’ll walk away with.
Roman characters! Don’t get me wrong, I really had a great time in Japan, but in Hong Kong they also use Roman characters (not Bruno and Ceaser but the letters we use in English/French/German) as well as Chinese characters and it makes it so much easier.
The food. Dim sum yesterday, Peking Duck at Peking Garden tonight and who knows what culinary goodness tomorrow. It’s lovely to be in a place that makes so much food I like with hardly any onions or tomatoes. Even the IABC conference has fantastic food all the time. What a better way to feed deep thoughts from Thomas Crampton than with mango crème brulee.
Tailoring. So I HATE the guys who stand on the corner and ask you to come in and get a suit made. But thanks to the great Warren Bickford, we went to Andy at Express Custom Tailors who is taking my favourite dress and remaking it in a different fabric. It’s my first custom clothing and I can’t wait.

Holly in Hong Kong

2010-04-07T01:18:00.000-07:00

I don’t speak Chinese, any dialect. But arriving here from Japan and hearing the taxi driver make a call to his dispatch made me sigh with comfort. Though I didn’t know what he was saying just hearing Cantonese was enough to make me feel at home.
I curled up my nose again thinking of the mole-on-eyelid Brit we met in Hakone who complained about Vancouver’s Asian invasion after 1986 and how it would “ruin the city”. My city is quite happy finding a way to be "a little Asian" thank you very much.

I like Hong Kong. I really do. I did love Japan and Tokyo but since this is my fourth time in the city in the past two years, Hong Kong feels pretty familiar.

Leaving Japan was a bit of a trek. Even though we booked our trip months ago, the only connection we could get left Narita, stopped in Shanghai and then came to Hong Kong. We left the Narita hotel at 6:20 am to catch our 8:55 am flight. On the way, the bus gave an announcement that we would go through an identification check to get into the airport. So I pulled out Chris’s passport and mine was... mine was... where was mine? It wasn’t in my bag. It wasn’t in my jacket. I couldn’t imagine putting it in my suitcase so that left it missing in action. I wanted to jump off the bus and run back to the hotel but we used my driver’s licence instead and pulled apart my bags on the sidewalk in front of the airport to find that it was tucked in some souvenir bags! Whew, a hard start to a hard day.

Though our flight was scheduled to leave at 8:55, we started to taxi off the runway at 8:47 am and actually touched off at 8:55 am. Take that Air Canada. I shouldn’t be so mean, we were flying Air China and tough it was a non-smoking flight, I don’t think the detectors in the bathroom were working as well as they might. Either that or the pilots were smoking in the cockpit. I have been on a smoking flight and still can’t imagine how you can manage eight hours with little fresh air.

We landed in Shanghai without visas; this was another area of grave concern when we checked in. You need a visa to go to China — period. We hoped they would issue a transit visa but my secret fear was that they would lock us in an interrogation room and let us on the plane at the last minute. Of course, that wasn’t realized. Shanghai will host Expo 2010 in a few months and their airport is gorgeous and their staff friendly and efficient. After we got our visas we pushed the “super smiley satisfied” button on the customs agent desk. Can you imagine Canada customs agents with a survey asking how your service had been?

We had to claim our luggage and check it through again, this time for our flight to Hong Kong with Shanghai Airlines. Because of a mix-up on Air Canada’s end when we booked with our points, they upgraded us to business class. I’ve never flown business before and I wished this flight was more than just 2.5 hours long! We got to sit in the super comfy lounge full of cake, wine and a fridge of other beverages. We slept in the sleeping lounge.

Our flight was supposed to leave at 3 pm but left at 4 pm instead. It was full and there were four business class seats. We got champagne before take-off and a snack and then right away “lunch.” It was odd. Here are the dishes:

• a plate with cold fish, mortadella ham, daikon and a big piece of lettuce

• a plate with a whole wheat tuna sandwich with processed cheddar

• a very hot plate (empty)

• a plate with two slices of orange, a slice of melon and a slice of pineapple

• a cold crepe filled with cool whip and a papaya.

It was all served within 20 minutes of taking off and then....nothing. I guess we were the only ones who got lunch so the stewardesses just sat at the front of the plane and talked for the next two hours.

We landed in Hong Kong at about 6:30 but still had to get our luggage and get on one of the super-efficient trains into town, then to a taxi and then up the nine floors to our hotel. That morning, I had started reading “The Other Boleyn Girl” and by the time we got off the last train I had finished all 669 pages of it! So the trip for me is a mix of gowns, kings, queens and jousting and transportation hub after transportation hub.

Our hotel, the JJ Hotel is in a tower near Central Hong Kong. It doesn’t take up the whole tower so the floors below are filled with mah-jong parlours and restaurants while above us (I gather) is a high-class karaoke establishment. We’ve got quite a view of the street below and other buildings. It’s incredibly affordable (particularly compared to other Hong Kong hotels) and probably the nicest hotel we’ve stayed in while in the city. The only funny thing is the see-through bathroom. It’s all totally open to the room: shower, sink and toilet. The neighbours must get quite a show as it is right across from the window.

We’ve enjoyed enough cuisine while here so we didn’t feel bad going to McDonald’s for dinner. I’m dying to try their freezie float — soft serve ice cream on a slushy. Doesn’t that sound delightfully bad for you? This morning we got up and went to Kowloon — home of Marks and Spenser’s which carries the best underwear in the world. So I stocked up. We went to our favourite dim sum restaurant off Hai-Phong road and filled up for only $12.75! We went to Giordano which has far better prices than the one in Richmond and bought a few things and then poked in a few other stores.

Now we are back in our room and getting ready for the IABC Global Conference. It looks really interesting and it will be fun to get inspired to go back to work. I’m excited to see what type of conference participants are here. The IABC is expanding in Asia and I think many Canadian firms are continuing to understand the market potential that still exists on this side of the world.

Rocking it Ryonkan style

2010-04-03T22:47:00.000-07:00

So an Onsen is a Japanese hot springs. A Ryokan is a type of hotel. Often Ryokans and Onsens are at the same place. And so it was with the Senkai.

We arrived the walking wounded. Four days before we were leaving, I slammed my pinky toe into my suitcase in the middle of the night. The doctor thought it was broken, my physio thought I had just strained it. Either way my foot turned purple and it throbbed like mad. To complicate matters, when I was a teenager I tore all the ligaments in my knee and it still troubles me. Like when I walk 15 hours a day for two or three days straight — like this week for instance!

Chris, in showing me his athleticism three days before we left, did a little kick and hit the door. He wounded his... pinky toe and really shared my pain.

We had checked in earlier in the morning and were walking back at about 6:30 after a full day touring the mountains. We weren’t staying in the hotel proper but in the “annex” a few tiny little tatami cottages on the grounds of the hotel. As we walked down the street this little lady waved at us. We went over and said “Senkai?” She gave us a piece of paper with times for bathing written on it and started showing us around the grounds. But we didn’t even know if this was our hotel. What was going on? She was talking in Japanese, and even without knowing the language, context is a huge help. But we weren’t sure if she was selling us a trip to the baths. Finally she said, “Come come come” and slid open a door. She motioned for us to take off our shoes and we did. Lo and behold, there were our suitcases! I don’t know if I’ve described sufficiently our bewilderment. How did this stranger recognize us out of the many tall white tourists in town? Or had she taken a few people in and sent them out again?

“Dinner at 7?” she asked. “Yes,” we answered.

Soon after another woman came in. She too was wearing a beautiful kimono. She took one look at Chris and said, “Ah, XL. Yes.” She made lovely conversation, unfortunately smiles only convey so much. She quickly came back with cotton robes (whose name escapes me). I wasn’t sure if we were to put them on before sitting for dinner or if I should just sit at the lovely low table.

The little room had the most remarkable heating system. On the floor was a low table and few low-backed chairs with cushions. Under the table a whole new world opened up with a recessed area you put your feet in, it was heated and so toasty. There were blankets under the top portion of the table that covered your lap giving you a warmth that can’t be matched.

Anyways I slipped in the robe and the top robe and tied it with a cute little box knot. I also put on the little toe socks. The woman came back, took one look and tried to hide her smile. I could almost hear her think that I must come from a strange country that I don’t know how to tie a robe. Don’t get me wrong, she was most kind and quickly taught me how to retie the robe the correct way. Then she fixed Chris’s robe as well. We read the “How to stay at a Ryoken” book while we waited.

From sitting on a pirate ship to sitting in traditional robes on the floor with our toasty feet in an hour. What a strange world it is!

She brought dinner, and brought dinner, and brought dinner. I’ve never eaten so much in one sitting. Sushi and pickles and sweets and sashimi and beef cooked in a little pot beside you and fish and daikon and melons for dessert. And sake and tea and soup. It seemed every time you thought, “I’m too full” she brought more. Oh, I am still full thinking about all the food we ate.

When we rolled out from under the table blankets we decided to go for a little walk to see the onsen. The ladies outdoor bath was up a 100 stairs and open at night (and in the morning for men). We also looked at the regular onsen which were clean and neat. We went back to our room and reviewed again the procedure for an onsen and headed off into the cool, misty evening. Chris went into the bathhouse and I went trippingly up the stair.

I even thought it, “I’m running trippingly up the stairs.” That was the last thought I had right before I tripped up the stairs. Tripped UP the stairs. You see I was wearing those tabi socks and they are worn with those big wooden slippers. If that’s not enough, I was wearing a yukata (robe thing) and it was long, too long. And the robe got under the slippers and I might have made it but the stairs were stone and so big and down I went. It was one of those things where I wanted to cry and have someone tell me it was ok. Chris was already gone but I could have called him back. Well, what could he do? I wanted my outdoor bath! So my foot looked ok, and everything hurt but oh well.

I got to the bath, washed off and sat in the beautiful hot water and looked at the shadow of the mountains while the hot waterfall tinkled into the pool. I looked at my foot and saw that not only was it bruised, I had scraped it through my socks and made a mark that looked surprisingly like the islands of Japan with Mt Fuji in a little scrape.

It wasn’t until that night that I felt the damage and this morning until I felt the bruising. My hip has a bruise the size and shape of a Coke bottle and my wrist, knee and elbow are also going to turn black. My foot looks much purple and bigger than normal. Alas, that’s what happens when you think a word like “trippingly.”

The outdoor bath was wonderful and it wasn’t so different being naked there than in the saunas of Germany. No one is there to look at each other so you give and create privacy around yourself. It was quite lovely.

Back to the lovely little tatami house in the middle of the garden. The rain and the waterfall outside the window made lovely noises. Our room also had a private onsen, the big deep tubs the textbooks claimed every Japanese family had. So we filled that up and sat together and looked at the leaves outside the window shake back and forth. The room was lit only with natural light and since it was dark, the only light was from a beautiful lantern outside the window — how lovely!

After that we slept on the futons that had been carefully laid out on the floor while we ate dinner. It was like camping but way nicer, maybe like the “glamping” trips my friends have been on. The morning came cool and clear and I made my way, once again, to the public onsens, this time inside to the bathhouse. I scrubbed off and sat down. God it was hot!

My bruises from the fall the night before were getting huge and turning a deep shade of purple. On the way back, the sunshine lit up the cherry blossoms and the rain fell in one of those rain/sun showers. I called Chris and as he came out the ladies saw us.

I’m not sure what happened, perhaps guests aren’t supposed to get up before breakfast, because moments later they were knocking at our door with the beginnings of breakfast. And again with the food, but this time I don’t think they had been waiting for us so there was time between the six courses. Fish and fish and more fish and rice and tofu in soup and in a hot pot. Oh breakfast was just as good as dinner. My hair was still wet when I sat down, so I kept sneaking off to the bathroom to dry it.

After we were done breakfast and packed and ready to go, the old lady picked up our biggest and heaviest suitcase and started carrying it. “No, no, no,” Chris and I cried out in unison. We helped her with it and when we got to the door of the room she was surprised to find it rolled. Oh dear, the two old ladies must have carried our (rather heavy) suitcases by hand when they could have rolled it.

Though the train station was a pleasant 5-minute walk, they were concerned that we were walking and not taking the bus. They carefully wrapped our (very waterproof) suitcases in plastic bags. We set off rolling them down the road as the two ladies and older gentleman waved goodbye. Our next adventure? Sakura season in Kyoto.

Happy Little Hakone

2010-04-02T02:40:00.001-07:00

Hakone is about an hour train ride from Tokyo and is a fun little day trip. On the way there, if you are lucky, you might see Mt. Fuji. I saw Fuji but is was WAY over there. When we got to the city we walked to our little hotel, over bridges and past cherry trees. We checked in and left our luggage and feeling much lighter and more optimistic headed back to the train station. The whole trip goes like this: train ride, funicular ride, gondola, pirate ship and bus or hike home. It starts with a toy train ride up the hill. The hill is very steep so there are lots of switchbacks and quite a few stops. It is lovely to look out the windows, though truth be told, it often looks very much like the area around Salmon Arm.

We stopped at the open air museum which is full of sculptures outside. It is very scenic. My favourite sculpture was a three-storey round building made of cement and stained glass. Hard to describe but imagine being in a Marc Chagall painting. But the highlight of the day had to be the outdoor hot springs foot soak. Ahhh... water at 65 degrees filled with oranges and lemons so it smelled wonderful. The only charge (aside from getting in the museum) was a $1 fee for a towel.

Back on the train and to the top of the track where we stopped for lunch and sat upstairs with all the Japanese tourists in big family groups. It’s funny, even when you don’t speak the language you can understand what is being said. Grandpa sat there and pointed at the table and the walls and you could hear him say (though we don’t understand a word of Japanese aside from sake, ebi and arigato) “When I was a little boy, I lived in a house just like this...” The little kids, in the tradition of children everywhere rolled their eyes as this was probably the hundredth time they had heard the same story.

I had soba soup but was concerned as to what it might actually contain. The English menu promised both “bracken” and a “Jew’s ear.” I didn’t know Jews had ears to spare, but think it might be an odd translation of a type of mushroom.

When we first booked the ticket for the Hakone experience in Odwara they told us the gondola was closed today because of the storm. It was very disappointing. But we decided to take the funicular (second railway) anyway. The girl who told us the gondola was closed also said there would probably be a bus that would take us to Owakundani.

And I really wanted to go to Owakundani — it has the notable attraction of being at the top of a sulphur mine. It is so hot they cook eggs there that turn black as night and eating one is said to add eight years to your life. I can handle eight more years!

But when we got to the top of the funicular it turned out the gondola was open. Just like one of the lifts at Whistler, you get on and sit down. It is quite big, but interestingly is attached by two cables, not one.

Two cables? Whatever. Or so we thought until we crossed the first peak and came to the “pits of hell.” At least that is what the guidebook called it, without explanation. Seriously, it looked like something out of Lord of the Rings — the scary parts! The earth was stripped bare and steam came out of holes all over. There were tunnels and chimneys. The scariest thing wasn’t what was down there but the sound effects up here! It sounded like a rabid dragon had taken hold of the car. The wind screamed and moaned and worked its way through every crack in the gondola. Together it was quite a sight!

We got off at the top, and far from the hike described in the book, we ran for the gift shop/egg seller. It was clearly identified by the Hello Kitty dressed as a black egg. The black eggs are sold in a set of five and we shared them, so I figure Chris and I each get 17 extra years each. We didn’t see a hike and I was quite certain my eyelashes would get blown away. It was wild and creepy and we left, off to the second big attraction.

The next attraction was the pirate ship. Now you may ask yourself how a faux-Spanish galleon made its way to middle Japan. We asked ourselves the same question and found no convincing answer. Either way, it is basically a converted ferry decked out in pirate splendour and full of happy screaming children and adults with cameras.

We got to the other side and walked through the Hakone Checkpoint. It was closed so we didn’t see the diorama (which I’m sure would have been a thrill) but we also didn’t have to pay the admission fee. It was getting late and was getting colder so we decided instead of being heroes and walking home the 11 kilometres in the dark down an old cedar forest in a windstorm, we would take the bus.

While waiting we met an Englishman who was quite lonely and wanted to talk. He said he was checking to see if the bus to Odwara stopped here. He had been to Vancouver in 1985, before they let all the Asians in to change it so dreadfully. “It is different Vancouver,” said I, “but not a bad change after all.” He said he was from London which was a lot safer before they let the “wogs” in. It’s got so you can’t safely walk down the street at night, so he’s moved to Spain. He had a hearing aide and moles on each eyelid. I’m not sure what a “wog” is, but I don’t think it is a nice word. Chris was tempted to say that he heard the Spanish had similar challenges with English immigration, but decided that wasn’t polite. Instead we studied the bus schedule while he told us of the fantastic French train system (which three times stranded me in Bordeaux! I didn’t even want to go to Bordeaux!)

Finally we got on the bus and took it around the corners and through the hills back to Hakone. The bus was full of non-Japanese tourists and an announcement came on to tell us how to get off the bus. Just to prove that people are people wherever you go, the driver didn’t stop at the station but turned around at top speed and raced back down the street we came from. I pushed the button (marked in Japanese) and finally the driver slammed on the brakes and we had to walk an extra 20 minutes down the road! A silly end to a lovely day and the only time we haven’t felt like welcome guests in this beautiful country.

But a reward was in store as we would soon be at the onsen!

Eight Reasons Tokyo Bathrooms are Better than Yours

2010-04-01T05:09:00.000-07:00

Heated toilet seats
The best idea ever. Who likes sitting on a cold toilet seat? You think you do, but you may never have discovered the joy of a nice warm seat, particularly when you are assured it is part of the seat, not leftovers from the person before who clearly needed to sit way too long in one place.
A place to shower, a place to bath
The shower is right beside the bath. How to take a bath in Japan was seriously one of the first things I learned about the country. In Grade 6 we did an international section covering Japan and Peru and I learned about taking a shower before a bath. It is fantastic, you can even sit on the side of the tub. It sounds like you would get water all over the floor, but it slips into a drain and is gone. One of my favourite Japan stories is about William Adams who was shipwrecked in Japan and ended up staying there until he did like 30 years later. Anyways, the English were horrified when they finally made contact with him because he had “gone native” and was taking regular baths, ever y week at least. Compare this to the English habit in the 1700s of never bathing or only bathing every week or so.
Full basket of hotel goodies
You don’t need to bring anything to a hotel here (at least the two we’ve been to so far). They have not only a shower cap and soap but hairbrushes, toothbrushes, q-tips, body scrub clothes, razors and shaving cream. Oh, and they have real blow dryers. No charge.
Ball stopper on bathtub
The bathtub has a big rubber ball instead of a bathtub stopper. It is quick and efficient and gets my two thumbs up!
Urinals in the ladies rooms
Not in the hotel, but in public restrooms they often have a small urinal or two in the ladies room. How smart is that? No longer make your son feel uncomfortable in the bathroom or hoping he doesn't meet a scary man in a raincoat -- just take him to the little urinal and let him go.
Squat and sit toilets
So there is often a choice of toilet type in public toilets. Of course, as North Americans we are far more used to the sit variety. But the squat toilets have such great things to offer — like no dirty toilet seat to contend with. While I like my seat artificially warm, I hate using one that has been pre-warmed by someone’s enormous pimply bottom. What’s worse is that uncomfortable feeling that the person before you squatted and didn’t sit (ewww, wet bum!) For the right occasion, squat toilets are quick and convenient and I wish we had more in Canada.
Facecloths come standard
The hotels have facecloths, unlike Beijing or Hong Kong (or the Athletes’ Village for that matter). Facecloths have a place in the world and I regret bringing my own.
Flush sounds
Can’t get enough of the toilets here. They are super-fantastic. One great feature is the “flush sound” button. It makes a sound like a flush so no matter what sound you want to/need to make, no one will know but you. Of course this can cause trouble when, like me, you keep using it to try to flush the toilet and stand there staring and thinking, “I hear flushing, but that toilet isn’t flushing.” But once figured out, the genius of the idea became clear to me. No more coughing to cover “bathroom noises.” Brilliant I say, brilliant.

Vancouver Sushi vs Tokyo Sushi. The Battle is On! Ding!

2010-03-31T02:43:00.000-07:00

What else could you do in Tokyo on your third day but go to the Tsukiji fish market? It is, after all, an attraction that hits the top-8 list in the Tokyo section of my guidebook and is full of... fish. Not just your run-of-the-fish-farm salmon, this features fish from around the world: octopus, urchin, eel and lots of giant tuna.

It is a sight to behold and is at the same time awe-inspiring and mouth-watering (creating reactions ranging from: “Look at this fantastic seafood” to “That would be so good in soup”) to horrifying (how could so many fish be in one place and there still be some in the ocean?)

The market fills a warehouse easily the size of BC Place with three other, slightly smaller warehouses nearby. It is incredibly huge and just packed with all manner and species of fish.

Outside, after a few puzzled visits to maps, we found the “sushi stalls” and balked. Yes, we balked. All this time we have been feeling quite at home in Tokyo. The prices are almost what you would pay at home — nothing seems out of the ordinary. Alcohol is way cheaper and everything else is Vancouver priced.

Except for the sushi stalls. I couldn’t fathom not only waiting in line for what looked like hours for sushi — but paying $36 for eight pieces of fish. I mean this could be the best sushi in the world but still... it can’t be three times what I would pay at home. The fish market is right there, they certainly aren’t paying for shipping costs.

What was worse was the lines were full of determined-looking white people, guidebooks in hand. Where were the Japanese if this was indeed the best place to get sushi in the city? This reminded me of the Italian restaurants with bilingual menus along the canal in Venice — not worth the price of admission.

So we left the sushi stalls and walked down the street until we found — sushi stalls for non-foreigners. Full of Japanese people eating from lovely bowls full to the brim of tuna and salmon and everything yummy you could want. Sure the menu wasn’t in English but if you don’t know your kappa from your ebi, particularly when you have a picture, then this might not be the place for you. The giant bowls of sushi were a mere $11 and, I must say, were pretty darn good.

We kept up our tour on foot and went to “the most Indian influenced Buddhist temple in Tokyo”, at least according to the guidebook I keep buried in my bag. It didn’t look that Indian too me, but perhaps I missed the cows too much. There was however, and very intriguingly, a life-sized white elephant tucked into a back stairway.

Out to the sunshine and a real deep-fried McDonald’s apple pie before stopping in the park to pet a statue honouring the first therapy dog in Japan. I do miss my puppy. I don’t miss picking up poop, but I do miss her enthusiasm. I also miss real deep-fried apple pies at McDonalds, what are those soggy “baked” things anyways. They aren’t really healthy at 600 calories a pop — at least with the deep-fried ones I KNOW they aren’t healthy.

We found a reflexology walkway and took off our shoes and reflexology walked back and forth. Then with refreshed feet we went shopping in Ginza, one of the hot shopping centres in the city. The Swatch store is entered through a glass elevator. But this is no ordinary round elevator; the sides were covered of watches hanging down like a giant, accurate, Swiss movement shower curtain.

Then the Lladro store, the Omega store and Kiddieland. Of the three, my vote is for Kiddieland where on the fourth floor, for only $2 you can race your car on a giant raceway. So much fun packed into four floors it shouldn’t be allowed.

Across the street to the Sony store where on the eighth floor we saw the digital TV 3-D revolution. It was not really a revolution, it was just called that. It looked like those Viewmaster 3-d slides you had as a kid and the “concert” was sad, an Asian man rapping while everyone in the audience waved their hands and looked very bored. As were we though the two girls in the front row bopped their heads to the beat.

We went to Hibya-Koen where I wished for a sake festival to happen — and it did. The sake samples were wonderful and free but we left with two of the most amazing sakes I have tasted. One tastes just like fruity, tasty, slightly alcoholic Fresca and the other which was plum flavoured will keep me happy as it is drunk.

Then we walked to the Imperial Palace. I hurt my knee ages ago and it was acting up so I was hobbling a bit. Poor Chris and I, every vacation we seem to injure something we need to walk with. The Imperial Palace is mostly closed, but we saw the samurai sculpture and the famous view of the bridges. If going, you need to go the same way you need to visit Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris — because it is there, not because you are going to see much.

So now we are at the Sheraton Miyako. It is a nice hotel, a bit dated and in a residential neighbourhood, but we got an upgrade so we get an extra 400 square feet and a king-sized bed. Tomorrow our next adventure in Hakone begins and will end only after a funicular ride, pirate ship and soak in an onsen.

Eight things to do when you get the call for a job interview

2010-03-24T15:25:00.000-07:00

You've applied for the job and crossed your fingers and now someone is calling you for an interview. It probably isn't your future boss but some specialist in Human Resources. What do you do when that phone rings?

Thank the person coordinating the interview for contacting you
Don’t forget your manners. I used to take in applications when I worked at The Bay. I was shocked that half the time people treated me like a janitor and just tossed their resume at me. They’d come in wearing flip-flops and drinking coffee. They’d interrupt me if I was talking to someone else. If they were rude, they got a minus at the top of their paper and were never called for an interview. If they were polite and friendly (and clean), they got a plus and often moved the top of the pile. If someone calls you, thank them, it costs nothing and means so much!
Say yes
“Yes, I would love to meet you.” “Yes, I can bring a portfolio.” Even if you aren’t sure about this job, go to the interview. You never know when an OK job can turn into a winner. Yes, yes, yes.
Give yourself time to do a great job
How many times have you heard about an interview that went sideways just because the interviewee showed up late or had to leave early? Though the right answer to an interview is, “Yes” remember that you have some control, particularly over the time of the interview. If you are working and MUST be at work for an 11 am meeting, don’t arrange an interview at 10:30. Ask for a later start, or an earlier one. If you are driving out from the suburbs and know that making a 9 am appointment is tight, ask for 9:30 or ask to meet in the afternoon. The last thing you want is to get there and be all anxious and flustered or just as bad, to have to leave. You want to give yourself enough time that if the interviewer says, “Hey do you want to meet Bob?” you can say, without hesitation, “Sure.”
Ask, “Is there anything I should bring or prepare?”
I’ve had two interviews where the interviewers asked me for something I had, but didn’t bring because no one mentioned it. It wasn’t a list of my references which you might bring anyway; it was a copy of my university degree! The interview is a bit of a simulation of work — how well you express yourself, whether you can follow instructions, whether you show up on time. If you start asking your boss this question at work, you’ll start getting some interesting results!
Remember why you are a great catch
Look at your resume. You’ve probably done some great stuff. Talk to people who know your career path and see where you’ve grown. I’ve been so lucky with my job ending because my managers could give me an honest and realistic evaluation of my skills — and they told me not only that I did a great job (yay!) but HOW I did a great job.
Make sure your hair is clean, your shoes are shined, your clothes are clean and pressed
You need to look good. Rather, you need to look like you fit with the other employees. Don’t screw this up with smelly armpits, lettuce in your teeth or an un-ironed shirt.
Review the typical questions as well as what you know about the company and the interviewer(s)
Just Google “Interview questions” and start reading and mentally answering them. Particularly for a first interview, these don’t change much — pay attention to the harder questions to answer. Go in knowing the answers to, “What are your weaknesses? Why are you changing jobs?” Now Google the company and the interviewer. If they just signed a big government contract (or lost it), drop that into your conversation. If she loves boats and you know port from starboard, see if you can include it in your talk. Just like work, the more you know the better you can do.
Get a good night’s sleep
Ha ha! Easier said than done, particularly the night before. But if you have a few nights, start catching up. Go for a long walk before bed. Take an aspirin to help you sleep if you need to.

Good luck!

Eight Things to Do When You Have FIVE Days Left at Work

2010-03-17T21:24:00.000-07:00

Finish up any great projects
Enjoy your last few hours at work
Start a blog to keep you busy after work
Take your lunch hour and go to a party
Call your mom
Take pictures of your workplace
Make lunch plans for post-job
Drink lots of water

Eight Ways to Deal with that Uncomfortable Feeling

2010-03-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

I’m in a strange situation. I’ve been hired back to do the same job for the Paralympic Games that I did for the Olympic Games. I jumped at the chance. I would seriously travel around from Games to Games doing this if I could.
But it’s very different this time. I’m basically working alone. I sit in an office alone and no one else here is working on the same project. I’m working from Whistler and staying at the Village which is really great — but also foreign. Getting here was a challenge and at first, I kept having this overwhelming uncomfortable feeling for the first few days. So here’s what I did to move past it.

Acknowledge it
You can’t fix what you don’t know. On my first night, I wandered around the real village and feeling more and more uncomfortable. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I don’t really know anybody here and my team was busy working. I finally stopped walking and thought to myself, “I’m feeling very uncomfortable.” Somehow naming my feeling cut the discomfort in half.
Find out what is causing it
Next I asked myself what was making me uncomfortable. This might sound obvious, but too often I walk around uncomfortable and don’t ask why. I realized I was cold, and kind of hungry. I felt odd in my uniform blues and felt that all the tourists and people in the Village were staring at me wondering what I was doing. I didn’t have any specific thing I needed or wanted to do. I felt like I should be out enjoying myself but I wasn’t in the mood for it. I was tired of walking.
Fix the easiest thing first
The first two things that popped into my head were the easiest to fix. I was cold and hungry. So I found a nice little, uncrowded cafe and sat down for a bit of dinner. Immediately, I felt better.
Sit quietly and drink a cup of tea
In the cafe, I sat facing the booth behind me and read a magazine. I tuned out everything around me, ate my dinner, read and sipped my tea. I went to a comfortable place and forgot I was wearing my crazy neon uniform. I felt like I was alright.
Ask questions
Sometimes dinner or a cup of tea isn’t enough. Keep asking. As I left, I still felt vaguely uncomfortable. After thinking about why I might be uncomfortable, I realized all the things that were running through my head. I’m worried about a lot of things. Coming back to work for a short time, more than being unemployed, worried me more than unemployment.
Smile at three strangers
When I’m feeling uncomfortable, the last thing in the world I want to do is smile at strangers. I don’t want small talk, I don’t want eye contact, I just want to be left alone (don’t leave me alone). There’s this great book called Napkin Notes on the Art of Living. In it, the author says, “The thing you least want to do, is the thing you should do first.” The statement seemed like poppycock, until I realized the truth of it. So now, especially when I feel uncomfortable, I try to tackle the thing I least want to tackle. Somehow it makes everything a bit easier.
Tell someone
Pick your most positive cheerleader. Sometimes just telling someone who cares about you, helps you move beyond it. It’s hard to feel uncomfortable when you are with a person who makes you feel comfort. What’s the phrase, “Trouble shared, is trouble halved”? Sometimes opening up to someone starts forming a deeper bond. That said, try to pick someone who isn’t going to say, “You really are stupid, and everything is awful. Life sucks.”
Accept it and keep going
The truth is, everyone feels discomfort at some time. It could be your shoes not fitting right. It could be a lack of sleep or too many worries. It could be a fear of social situations. It could be your instincts. I think the important thing is to accept this is how you are feeling and let yourself move onto the next phase — either fixing the problem or moving on. Sometimes the temptation is to sit still and contemplate and try to dissect every bit of the "discomfort", but sometimes the best thing is to just keep moving.

Eight habits to cultivate when you are unemployed

2010-03-07T18:14:00.000-08:00

When the cauldron went out on Vancouver 2010, I faced unemployment for the second time. The last time I quit my job and freelanced. This time, freelancing is in the plan but until that gets started or until I get a real job, I'm unemployed.

The last time I was unemployed, I spent far too much time in my pyjamas watching television and not enough time actually doing something. This time I'm going to manage my unemployment better.

Here are the eight habits I think are worth cultivating when unemployed:

Get up, get dressed, brush your teeth
Keep the lines of communication open

former colleagues

Limit your "time wasters"

At the end of each day, write down one thing of value you accomplished

Zen Habits

Keep a to-do list, and keep adding to it
Get daily fresh air and exercise

Exercise

fresh air

Exercise cuts the risk of depression

Keep up on the news, real news not TMZ

New York Times

Globe and Mail

The Economist

Stay ready to work

your first day

Eight things to do when you are unemployed

2010-03-02T18:51:00.000-08:00

So, today is my second official day of unemployment. I haven't been officially unemployed since I left my job at the magazine to be a freelancer. I didn't like unemployment then but learned a lot. Here’s my list of things to do when unemployed.

Take time to relax
Tell people

Vancouver 2010

Connect with people you like
Remember that you are not your job (or lack of a job)

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

Editors’ Association of Canada — BC Branch

File for Employment Insurance
Look for a job every day but not every hour
Read books and magazines
Do something. Anything!

Consult or freelance

Volunteer

So to all you post-2010 VANOC-ers and everyone else who’s looking — good luck! Here’s to not turning into a crazy cat lady!

2010-01-07T15:39:00.000-08:00

Try this experiment. Go up to someone you know and tell them you are going to tap a tune and ask them to guess what it is.

With your fingers, tap out the most recognizable song you know. Try "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" or "Jingle Bells." Chances are the listener won't guess the tune and you'll be left wondering how they could be so deaf to something so obvious. This is a great metaphor for editing and communication from Made to Stick by Chip and Dan Heath

The reason for your listener's confusion is clear -- when you tap, you can hear the music in your head. All your listener hears is random sounds and pauses. It's the same principle with most communication.

My job as an editor is to figure out what your fingers have been tapping on the keyboard and making sure your reader hears your tune. I'm not the grammar police. I'm not Little Miss Chicago Manual of Style. I'm the translator between your thoughts, your words and your readers.

To do this well, I need to understand what your audience expects. Often the difference between my understanding and the writer's understanding is the source of great discussion. So the choices that are made in spelling, grammar and style can be different for every assignment. There is a time and space for each of:

U R Gr8
You're great
You are great.

In the same way, if you tapped out a traditional German song like Alle Meine Entchen to a Canadian, it's likely, even if you sang every word, they wouldn't recognize the tune or be able to name the song. The editor is the voice of the reader. I think we have a responsibility to tune in and use terms a reader will understand and not be stuck in a rut of what's grammatically "right" or "wrong".

An editor also has to figure out what the writer is trying to say. This sounds obvious, but it's easy to send things back to a writer and ask them, "What do you mean by this?" Sometimes sending a text back is the right answer -- but most of time, after careful thought, an editor can figure out what was meant and can send it back with a note asking, "Is this what you mean?"

A great example of this was a sentence I edited last week that said something like, "On her lap were her two amputated fingers." Ewwww.... After a bit of reading in context it became clear that far from being the victim of a rogue food processor, the woman in question only had three fingers left on her hand. We found a much nicer, gentler way of describing her missing digits while still acknowledging they were missing.

So tap, tap, tap -- what do editors do? We help writers take the tune from their head and make it into real music.