August 6, 2010
In some countries, writing is forbidden. I mean you will die if you are caught writing forbidden.
To this day I can remember how this made me feel. How I had looked at writing as a taken-for-granted thing everyone could do if they wanted to.
I am in the process, the very long and drawn out process, of having my dissertation turned into a book. All the ducks were lined up in a nice, neat row: publisher's acceptance of the manuscript, formatting the manuscript to the publisher's specifications, indexing the manuscript (NOT something you want to do on a regular basis), sending in the final manuscript and then seeing my name in print.
Or so I thought.
Apparently, there were a few decoys messing up my nice, neat row.
A letter appears from the publisher indicating that the final step (where have I heard THAT one before) is to have the manuscript proofread by a professional proofreader who will sign an affidavit atesting to the proofreadiness of the manuscript.
Oh, and I have a month to complete this task.
Well.
Finding a professional proofreader in a city with two univerisities should be a relatively painless task.
It was a logical, if not realistic, conclusion.
It took me two weeks to find a proofreader who lived within the same geographic area and who I could sort of afford. One woman I was referred to lived in New Jersey and was charging $35.00 an hour (USD). Just a little too rich for my blood (and budget!)
And because proofreaders are in short supply, those who do this work are very, very busy, so finding someone was no guarantee that this person would take on my manuscript.
Luckily, she did.
WHAT a humbling experience it is to have a professional proofreader read my manuscript. Evidently, I'm not all that great of a writer. I never thought I was Steinbeck, or Atwood, or Laurence, or any other great writer, but I did think I could string together words to make a sentence that made some sense.
Of course, not many academics are good writers. Howard Becker wrote that "(Academics) will use 20 words where 2 will do." And I've read enough academic journals to believe this. However, academics tend to think of themselves as good writers and are not very gracious when it comes to being told that perhaps they are not all they thought they were.
I do not have the luxury of ignoring criticism. I want to publish a book that people want to read, so I need all the help I can get.
But I also want to finish the damn thing and move on to the dozens of other projects I have on my plate.
Title lyrics: She's Been Writing by Ocean Colour Scene
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I know that I've got issues, but you're pretty messed up too
August 5th, 2010
The Holy Grail of apartments is ours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mer's phone rang. It was Stephen letting us know that the leasing agent called to say my application had been approved.
The real question is where were we when said call was made?
Standing in the parking of lot the apartments-that-were-on-the-bottom-of-our-list-but-we-had-to-keep-our-options-open.
And the building manager was waiting for us in her air conditioned Hyundai Santa Fe.
So, I said to Mer that we were there, so she had to at least look at them, even though we knew that she wasn't going to be renting them.
Meanwhile, Em and I are in car, squealing with delight that Mer would be moving into the Holy Grail of apartments.
Hello pool, gym, mini-theater, social room, sauna and jacuzzi.
A job and an apartment in less than a week. Whodathunkit.
I actually managed to get some work done today. . .the work that brings in the income that sustains us.
Not the apartment/job hunting work that has taken over my life in this past week and made me virtually forget that there are other things I do.
I met with my former honours student/research assistant who is now my colleague because she is going to graduate school.
We're working on a paper we are presenting in Milwaukee this November, at the Film and History conference. The paper is based on her honours thesis, so she is the expert in the area of femme fatales.
But every.single.time we arrange to meet, something happens and I end up doing more crisis management than working.
So today I made it very clear to the girls that we had to have time to write, with no interruptions. Unless someone had limbs dangling, held on with a sliver of skin, bleeding all over the newly renovated mall floor, I didn't want to be disturbed.
And they didn't.
We managed to get the paper narrowed down to two films, with a question we wanted to answer, and the conclusion fleshed out.
This is good news because she is leaving for Ontario at the end of August and experience tells me that she isn't going to have a lot of time to work on this paper while she is in the midst of moving to a new city/setting up her apartment/being introduced to her graduate programme.
This coming from the person who can't manage to get anything done with one adult child moving temporarily into the house I have lived in for the last decade.
It is hotter than Hades today. . . .40 degrees Celcius with the humidex.
Counselling was enlightening. Lots of things were said and reflected upon. Tangible tasks were assigned.
No one wanted to kill anyone when we left.
Most importantly, we're not as dysfunctional as we seem.
Hurrah!
Title lyrics: My Life Would Suck Without You by Kelly Clarkson
The Holy Grail of apartments is ours!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mer's phone rang. It was Stephen letting us know that the leasing agent called to say my application had been approved.
The real question is where were we when said call was made?
Standing in the parking of lot the apartments-that-were-on-the-bottom-of-our-list-but-we-had-to-keep-our-options-open.
And the building manager was waiting for us in her air conditioned Hyundai Santa Fe.
So, I said to Mer that we were there, so she had to at least look at them, even though we knew that she wasn't going to be renting them.
Meanwhile, Em and I are in car, squealing with delight that Mer would be moving into the Holy Grail of apartments.
Hello pool, gym, mini-theater, social room, sauna and jacuzzi.
A job and an apartment in less than a week. Whodathunkit.
I actually managed to get some work done today. . .the work that brings in the income that sustains us.
Not the apartment/job hunting work that has taken over my life in this past week and made me virtually forget that there are other things I do.
I met with my former honours student/research assistant who is now my colleague because she is going to graduate school.
We're working on a paper we are presenting in Milwaukee this November, at the Film and History conference. The paper is based on her honours thesis, so she is the expert in the area of femme fatales.
But every.single.time we arrange to meet, something happens and I end up doing more crisis management than working.
So today I made it very clear to the girls that we had to have time to write, with no interruptions. Unless someone had limbs dangling, held on with a sliver of skin, bleeding all over the newly renovated mall floor, I didn't want to be disturbed.
And they didn't.
We managed to get the paper narrowed down to two films, with a question we wanted to answer, and the conclusion fleshed out.
This is good news because she is leaving for Ontario at the end of August and experience tells me that she isn't going to have a lot of time to work on this paper while she is in the midst of moving to a new city/setting up her apartment/being introduced to her graduate programme.
This coming from the person who can't manage to get anything done with one adult child moving temporarily into the house I have lived in for the last decade.
It is hotter than Hades today. . . .40 degrees Celcius with the humidex.
One thing that is critical to know about me: I.HATE.HEAT.
I become agitated, cranky, miserable and those are the good things.
Physically, I feel like crap. Nothing works that way its supposed to, or, everything that is only supposed to happen maybe once every two days happens every 15 minutes.
Finally, my hair looks like I am trying to facilitate a revival of 80s big-bar-hair, or that poodles have taken up residence on my head.
So, we I mentioned to Stephen that I might like to spend my evening in the comfort of the air conditioned theater, he reminded me that we have to drive an hour outside of town to look at some sort of stained glass fronted hutch he found on kijiji.
I understand his need to find a hutch, or something that can be construed as a hutch. My grandmother, his parents, his grandparents have inundated us with dishes: entire China dish sets complete with serving dishes, Waterford crystal, novelty mugs, and any other form of dish you can imagine.
Not including, of course, all of the dishes we received when we got married.
And us with absolutely no where to put any of it.
Consequently, we have dishes in boxes all over the house: in the basement, under our bed, in the office, in trunks, in cupboards next to the cat nip and dishwasher pellets.
We need a hutch.
I just don't want to go get it.
I want to sit in an airconditioned theater, eating popcorn and watching movies until at least the middle of September.
Or at least until reasonable temperature return. Something like 15 degrees Celcius.
And I'm going to the theater when we get back. Granted, Em wants to see Charlie St. Cloud, but at this point I'd watch almost anything so long as it there was air conditioning.
Counselling was enlightening. Lots of things were said and reflected upon. Tangible tasks were assigned.
No one wanted to kill anyone when we left.
Most importantly, we're not as dysfunctional as we seem.
Hurrah!
Title lyrics: My Life Would Suck Without You by Kelly Clarkson
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning. . .
August 4, 2010
Last evening Stephen and I went to a movie.
For most couples this is not a monumental event. For us it is. There is almost nothing Stephen would rather avoid more than seeing a movie. He can't stand crowds and he is loath to sit still.
I still don't know why he agreed to go, but I was glad. I love the movies. The week he was in Montreal, I went to the movies five nights in a row. I teach a film class. I know more about movies than I do my own mother. (Only because she won't tell me anything.)
Of course, having two children who work at the theaters and therefore can take their Mama to the movies for free doesn't hurt.
We wanted to see Inception but it was sold out. . .5.99 movie tickets prices on Tuesdays really draw a crowd. We settled for The Sorcerer's Apprentice, which I had already watched, but knew Stephen would like it.
He did. We had a nice evening. After all of the chaos we've been dealing with in the last week a nice evening is a rare thing indeed.
Nothing lasts forever.
4.45 am Stephen is shaking me awake from a deep and most deserved slumber to tell me that Meredyth is not home. Did I know that?
Well, I did now.
Does she not know that she has her first-day-on-the-new-job at 9.30 am, and that she is not really doing anything to establish a trusting relationship with us?????
I don't know. I'll have to ask her.
Stephen always wants me to do things I cannot do and exert a control I do not have.
And he often violates my own personal motto: don't tell me something is a problem unless you have a solution.
He is fabulous at pointing out the problems. Less fabulous with coming up with solutions.
In fairness, when Stephen and I met he was a 42 year old bachelor, living in an obsessively neat two bedroom apartment, looking after himself and himself only.
I was a 36 year old single parent of three children, one dog, four cats, teaching part-time at the university and working on my PhD.
Culture shock knockin' at the door for Stephen.
Most of the time we make it work, in part because of lots and lots and lots of counselling. Our biggest issue: parenting styles. Mine: the seat of my pants. His: reproducing the rigid Eastern European parenting style of his own parents. The "over-parenting" approach. The you-will-do-what-I-say approach.
This approach worked very well with Stephen; too well if you ask me. Less so with his younger sister. She Who Is Very Similar To Meredyth.
At 5.00 am a car pulls into the driveway and Meredyth emerges. Stephen, being Stephen, wanted me to address this situation RIGHT NOW, and tell Mer that this behaviour WON'T BE TOLERATED.
Thing is, the girl is almost 21, she has lived on her own (well, with the Evil Ex) for a year and Keith has spent the odd night or two out away from home.
How was I going to possibly tell this child that she can't stay out when its okay for Keith?
Hello, double standard.
Needless to say my early morning attempt at trying to get Mer to see Stephen's side of things, and vice versa didn't go very well, at all.
Stephen wasn't willing to back down. He'd been up all night waiting for her to get home. Cranky, out-of-sorts, and unwilling to even consider that she may have a point.
Mer, equally stubborn, with the I-have-lived-on-my-own-and-am-almost-21-years-old argument.
Me: caught in the middle. As usual.
I kept them separate. Finally, around 6.00 am Stephen went to sleep.
When Stephen sleeps, you would dynamite the bed and he wouldn't wake up, so I knew that, for at least the moment, things would be calm.
Action Item: Tonight's counselling appointment. All players will be present and accounted for. Things are going to get messy. I just know it.
Too, too soon, the alarm went off.
8.00 am alarm. Trevor Doyle talking about depleting water tables and how we should be happy for the rain.
I stumbled out of bed at 9.00 am. Mer and Em, ready to go. Me, threw my clothes on, and left without so much as a sniff of coffee. At least I brushed my teeth, but, I missed the big spot of dried dog drool in my shirt. Hello, yes I am a doctor who wants to rent an apartment for my daughter and its just accidental that I look like I slept in my clothes, covered with large dogs, and just crawled out of bed.
But, Mer made it to work.
Em and I went to Great Canadian Bagel. Weak coffee, but enough to get me through looking at even more apartments.
There is a subtle panic pushing forward this apartment search . . .the students-are-returning-to-university-in-the-next-couple-of-weeks-and-there-will not-be-an-apartment-anywhere panic.
The first apartment, a one bedroom. Not in this lifetime. Just because the outside of a building looks nice, you can't assume the inside will be the same.
The second and third apartments, bachelors, reasonably priced, being painted, a possibility.
Across the street is a graveyard, but are we really in a position to be picky??????
Right now, at this very moment, yes. We can afford to be picky.
We are waiting to hear about THE apartment we want. A bachelor, new, click-laminate flooring, balcony, lots of natural light, secure building with a pool, mini-theater, gym, etc. This is the one . . . the Holy Grail of apartments.
But they're taking their sweet time getting back to us.
Why?
Because they can.
When you're the Holy Grail of apartments, you can do whatever you want.
Tomorrow, maybe not so picky.
Title lyrics: Independence Day by Martina McBride
Last evening Stephen and I went to a movie.
For most couples this is not a monumental event. For us it is. There is almost nothing Stephen would rather avoid more than seeing a movie. He can't stand crowds and he is loath to sit still.
I still don't know why he agreed to go, but I was glad. I love the movies. The week he was in Montreal, I went to the movies five nights in a row. I teach a film class. I know more about movies than I do my own mother. (Only because she won't tell me anything.)
Of course, having two children who work at the theaters and therefore can take their Mama to the movies for free doesn't hurt.
We wanted to see Inception but it was sold out. . .5.99 movie tickets prices on Tuesdays really draw a crowd. We settled for The Sorcerer's Apprentice, which I had already watched, but knew Stephen would like it.
He did. We had a nice evening. After all of the chaos we've been dealing with in the last week a nice evening is a rare thing indeed.
Nothing lasts forever.
4.45 am Stephen is shaking me awake from a deep and most deserved slumber to tell me that Meredyth is not home. Did I know that?
Well, I did now.
Does she not know that she has her first-day-on-the-new-job at 9.30 am, and that she is not really doing anything to establish a trusting relationship with us?????
I don't know. I'll have to ask her.
Stephen always wants me to do things I cannot do and exert a control I do not have.
And he often violates my own personal motto: don't tell me something is a problem unless you have a solution.
He is fabulous at pointing out the problems. Less fabulous with coming up with solutions.
In fairness, when Stephen and I met he was a 42 year old bachelor, living in an obsessively neat two bedroom apartment, looking after himself and himself only.
I was a 36 year old single parent of three children, one dog, four cats, teaching part-time at the university and working on my PhD.
Culture shock knockin' at the door for Stephen.
Most of the time we make it work, in part because of lots and lots and lots of counselling. Our biggest issue: parenting styles. Mine: the seat of my pants. His: reproducing the rigid Eastern European parenting style of his own parents. The "over-parenting" approach. The you-will-do-what-I-say approach.
This approach worked very well with Stephen; too well if you ask me. Less so with his younger sister. She Who Is Very Similar To Meredyth.
At 5.00 am a car pulls into the driveway and Meredyth emerges. Stephen, being Stephen, wanted me to address this situation RIGHT NOW, and tell Mer that this behaviour WON'T BE TOLERATED.
Thing is, the girl is almost 21, she has lived on her own (well, with the Evil Ex) for a year and Keith has spent the odd night or two out away from home.
How was I going to possibly tell this child that she can't stay out when its okay for Keith?
Hello, double standard.
Needless to say my early morning attempt at trying to get Mer to see Stephen's side of things, and vice versa didn't go very well, at all.
Stephen wasn't willing to back down. He'd been up all night waiting for her to get home. Cranky, out-of-sorts, and unwilling to even consider that she may have a point.
Mer, equally stubborn, with the I-have-lived-on-my-own-and-am-almost-21-years-old argument.
Me: caught in the middle. As usual.
I kept them separate. Finally, around 6.00 am Stephen went to sleep.
When Stephen sleeps, you would dynamite the bed and he wouldn't wake up, so I knew that, for at least the moment, things would be calm.
Action Item: Tonight's counselling appointment. All players will be present and accounted for. Things are going to get messy. I just know it.
Too, too soon, the alarm went off.
8.00 am alarm. Trevor Doyle talking about depleting water tables and how we should be happy for the rain.
I stumbled out of bed at 9.00 am. Mer and Em, ready to go. Me, threw my clothes on, and left without so much as a sniff of coffee. At least I brushed my teeth, but, I missed the big spot of dried dog drool in my shirt. Hello, yes I am a doctor who wants to rent an apartment for my daughter and its just accidental that I look like I slept in my clothes, covered with large dogs, and just crawled out of bed.
But, Mer made it to work.
Em and I went to Great Canadian Bagel. Weak coffee, but enough to get me through looking at even more apartments.
There is a subtle panic pushing forward this apartment search . . .the students-are-returning-to-university-in-the-next-couple-of-weeks-and-there-will not-be-an-apartment-anywhere panic.
The first apartment, a one bedroom. Not in this lifetime. Just because the outside of a building looks nice, you can't assume the inside will be the same.
The second and third apartments, bachelors, reasonably priced, being painted, a possibility.
Across the street is a graveyard, but are we really in a position to be picky??????
Right now, at this very moment, yes. We can afford to be picky.
We are waiting to hear about THE apartment we want. A bachelor, new, click-laminate flooring, balcony, lots of natural light, secure building with a pool, mini-theater, gym, etc. This is the one . . . the Holy Grail of apartments.
But they're taking their sweet time getting back to us.
Why?
Because they can.
When you're the Holy Grail of apartments, you can do whatever you want.
Tomorrow, maybe not so picky.
Title lyrics: Independence Day by Martina McBride
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Just another day for you and me in paradise
August 3, 2010
My relationship with Meredyth is complicated. She is my oldest child, she remembers the breakup of my marriage to her father the most, and she was forced to grow up quickly when we left. It was just her, Keith, me, and the unknown-baby-on-the-way (later to be known as Emily.)
No one has ever seen me at my worst more than Meredyth. And that has had lots of repercussions. The biggest was when, after eleven years of begging and pleading to move back to Ontario, I let her.
Whether or not that was a good decision is water under the bridge. What happened has happened and if I could do it all over again, I can't say that I wouldn't do it again.
She is so angry with me. I don't know what to do with this, except hope that with time, patience and maturity, that anger will dissipate. Or at least we'll be able to figure out how to deal with it.
But for now it's there, and sometimes it's hard to avoid it.
She's been here since Saturday, so today was just about the right time for some of the novelty of being home to wear off.
The day started with me taking Keith and Em to the optomestrists to get their new glasses. Then, I had to take Keith to work for 10.30, and pick up my research assistant. We are going to Milwaukee this November and we wanted the paper written before she leaves for graduate school in Ontario.
Home next, because Stephen needed the car. He was asleep. I had to wake him up, and then had took all of us to the mall. My research assistant and I like to work at Starbucks. Mer was going to get her eyebrows done (whatever that means) and Em was going shopping.
Then the first crisis: Em had money in her account, but she wasn't able to pay for her purchases. The reason: she paid for her glasses, which put her over her limit for bank card purchases for the day.
So now the fun time at the mall shopping became not so fun. No means of accessing money and her mother working. Then Mer came in with newly tweezed eyebrows. She, too, had no money. And we were stuck there until Stephen came to pick us up.
Needless to say, my research assistant and I didn`t manage to get much writing accomplished.
And I completely forgot about an apartment viewing and barely made the other one I had scheduled.
Mer was getting herself ready for a job interview. I interpreted this as she was getting ready to drop off her resume to as many places as we could before I had to pick up Keith from work.
And this is where the carefully constructed house of cards I had built came tumbling down.
The interview went well. And when we got back to the car, I asked her where she wanted to go next.
Apparently, if she had known she was going to drop off her resume in more than one place, she would have dressed differently.
And then every wrong thing I had ever done was laid before me. The girl has a temper. This wasn't pleasant, but I wasn't completely surprised. Four days usually does it for the two of us.
But, aware of what was coming or not, I was tired. The child gave me a week`s notice that she was moving back. I dropped everything I was doing and started looking for apartments. I started laying the foundation for possible employment (translation: asking my friends who owned businesses if they were hiring). Then was trying to keep everyone at home calm pending the return of Hurricane Meredyth.
Her quick temper has left some scars. I just need some of that British cream to rub them all away.
Title Lyrics: Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins
My relationship with Meredyth is complicated. She is my oldest child, she remembers the breakup of my marriage to her father the most, and she was forced to grow up quickly when we left. It was just her, Keith, me, and the unknown-baby-on-the-way (later to be known as Emily.)
No one has ever seen me at my worst more than Meredyth. And that has had lots of repercussions. The biggest was when, after eleven years of begging and pleading to move back to Ontario, I let her.
Whether or not that was a good decision is water under the bridge. What happened has happened and if I could do it all over again, I can't say that I wouldn't do it again.
She is so angry with me. I don't know what to do with this, except hope that with time, patience and maturity, that anger will dissipate. Or at least we'll be able to figure out how to deal with it.
But for now it's there, and sometimes it's hard to avoid it.
She's been here since Saturday, so today was just about the right time for some of the novelty of being home to wear off.
The day started with me taking Keith and Em to the optomestrists to get their new glasses. Then, I had to take Keith to work for 10.30, and pick up my research assistant. We are going to Milwaukee this November and we wanted the paper written before she leaves for graduate school in Ontario.
Home next, because Stephen needed the car. He was asleep. I had to wake him up, and then had took all of us to the mall. My research assistant and I like to work at Starbucks. Mer was going to get her eyebrows done (whatever that means) and Em was going shopping.
Then the first crisis: Em had money in her account, but she wasn't able to pay for her purchases. The reason: she paid for her glasses, which put her over her limit for bank card purchases for the day.
So now the fun time at the mall shopping became not so fun. No means of accessing money and her mother working. Then Mer came in with newly tweezed eyebrows. She, too, had no money. And we were stuck there until Stephen came to pick us up.
Needless to say, my research assistant and I didn`t manage to get much writing accomplished.
And I completely forgot about an apartment viewing and barely made the other one I had scheduled.
Mer was getting herself ready for a job interview. I interpreted this as she was getting ready to drop off her resume to as many places as we could before I had to pick up Keith from work.
And this is where the carefully constructed house of cards I had built came tumbling down.
The interview went well. And when we got back to the car, I asked her where she wanted to go next.
Apparently, if she had known she was going to drop off her resume in more than one place, she would have dressed differently.
And then every wrong thing I had ever done was laid before me. The girl has a temper. This wasn't pleasant, but I wasn't completely surprised. Four days usually does it for the two of us.
But, aware of what was coming or not, I was tired. The child gave me a week`s notice that she was moving back. I dropped everything I was doing and started looking for apartments. I started laying the foundation for possible employment (translation: asking my friends who owned businesses if they were hiring). Then was trying to keep everyone at home calm pending the return of Hurricane Meredyth.
Her quick temper has left some scars. I just need some of that British cream to rub them all away.
Title Lyrics: Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins
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