Power of "The Ask"

Just when he was ready to pack it in... quit the group.
Just when he felt he had nothing to offer...
questioned why he'd joined in the first place, he asked us,
"Should I even be in this group, what do I have to offer?"

His humbleness told me we had the right guy leading the group.
I rallied to his side. You have something I want...
the ability to be vulnerable... the ability to risk...
the ability to ask. I was impressed with his bravery.

There is huge power in "The Ask", and I am learning
to ask in every aspect of my life. At work I ask a collegue
"what skills do I have that can benefit this project?",
I ask another "Can you help me with this powerpoint presentation?"
In my personal life I ask a friend "can you help me organize
my basement?"

In his book The Success Principles: How to Get from Where
You Are to Where You Want to Be, Jack Canfield talks about
"The Ask". In his chapter Ask! Ask! Ask! Jack says, "You have nothing
to lose and everything to gain by asking. To be successful you have
to take risks, and one of the risks is the willingness to risk rejection."

The old saying goes "Don't ask if you're afraid of the answer"
I guess I was always afraid of the answer.

There is a feeling of exhileration and hopefulness when I do
"The Ask". And I'm learning that people like to be asked.
People like to contribute, teach and support others. Like the thrill
of finding a Purie on the ground while collecting marbels as a kid,
I am now revelling in the joy of collecting yes-es to my asks.

Since I have been doing "The Ask" (five months now), I have not been
turned down once. Am I taking advantage of asking? Definetly not.
I treat it like special underwear that I only take out for special occassions.

Start asking today. Tell me how you make out with "The Ask."

Downtown

 
Today while walking back down Ouellette after lunch with Pat
at Basil Court, I saw a man slap himself in the face seven times
hard. He tumbled out of the TD Bank, wigged out, then jumped
on his bicycle and took off in the rain. Many times I have wanted
to slap myself in the face after coming out of a bank too.

Downtown Windsor has become a place where all the sad souls gather;
a concrete island of misfits. Sometimes I feel like I am only
one screaming fit, one anti-depressant, one paycheck away
from being there too.

What is happening in your downtown?

I Wanna Be Evil

I've posed for pictures with Iv'ry Soap,
I've petted stray dogs, and shied clear of dope
My smile is brilliant, my glance is tender
But I'm noted most for my unspoiled gender

I've been named Miss Perseverance year after year,
And I'm the person to whom they say, "Your sweet, My Dear."
The only etchings I've seen have been behind glass,
And the closest I've been to a bar, is at ballet class.

Prim and proper, the girl who's never been cased,
I'm tired of being pure and not chased.
Like something that seeks it's level
I wanna go to the devil.

I wanna be evil, I wanna spit tacks
I wanna be evil, and cheat at jacks
I wanna be wicked, I wanna tell lies
I wanna be mean, and throw mud pies

I want to wake up in the morning
with that dark brown taste
I want to see some dissipation in my face
I wanna be evil, I wanna be mad
But more that that I wanna be bad

I wanna be evil, and trump an ace,
Just to see my partner's face.
I wanna be nasty, I wanna be cruel
I wanna be daring, I wanna shoot pool

And in the theatre
I want to change my seat
Just so I can step on
Everybody's feet

I wanna be evil, I wanna spit tacks
I wanna be evil, and cheat at jacks
I wanna be wicked, I wanna tell lies
I wanna be mean, and throw mud pies

I wanna be evil, little evil me
Just as mean and evil as I can be

When do you wanna be evil?


www.earthakittfanclub.com

Writing is Hard

Some days it's easier to write than others...

Not only The Crux, but several writing jobs I am working on. I finished one and it was tough. It was sell copy written for a shopping mall leasing team. Client loved it. I was pleased with a good feeling of accomplishment. I need to bask in that feeling more. My writing partner is teaching me a great deal.

I should be working on a press release right now, but instead have just woken up from a long afternoon nap. This past week I felt like I was running a marathon. Work full time. Freelance full time. I'm exhausted.

Looking at the blank page of a writing job is much like when I was a junior designer looking at the blank page. I know now, from my 15 years of experience as a designer, I just need a process. I know the writing is good.

Love to hear your process.

Chocolate Helps

First week of the new job under my belt. Happy it was a short week. A complete roller coaster ride inside my head trying to sort out the personalities, the changes and my emotions. Been carrying my
Enhancing Emotional Intelligence book with me and reading it faithfully at lunch and breaks.

Have come to the realization that I don't handle change very well, at least change I haven't any control over. I've been journalling and talking with Frank and friends. Talking has helped tremendously... Talk is a new thing for me.

After weeks of stress about the move to the new position and an intense desire to take flight instead of fight, I feel exhausted.

Usually I crawl into a hole and keep digging down and down and down... Attempting to do things differently this time. It's a hell of a lot of work. I am equal to this challenge.

...and chocolate helps.

Canadians are Stupid for Maple

Canadians are stupid for maple.
Tim Horton's advertising tells us so.
Canadians donned in toques, iceskates,
Hand-knit sweaters; (always winter
when we want maple) doing nonsensical
acts in the name of maple.

Am I supposed to know something
about maple syrup?
Can you believe it's made from
tree sap? Why isn't it green, sour?
Why aren't ants, dog-paddling through it?

Do they?

Why does Winnie the Pooh
eat honey from a tree?
Why not maple syrup?
After all he was named for the
Canadian City Winnipeg.

What do you do with maple syrup?
Pancakes and... ?
Canadian Marketer of the Year: Tim Horton's.

England Comes to Canada

Lee Baker represented the English side of the family by visiting us this weekend.

He was in Detroit for Wrestlemania 23 and skipped across the border Friday night to meet up with us. With my connections to local media, an arrangement was made for interviews with the Windsor Star newspaper and AM800 Radio. They couldn't believe he came all the way from the UK for Wrestlemania; Lee was a smooooooth interview.

Lee's great-great-grandmother Sarah Ann JARVIS and my great-great-grandfather Harry JARVIS were brother and sister. Lee's mom Dawn and I have traced the JARVIS's back to the 1600's in the Leicester area.

Harry and his wife and his ten children, (most adults at the time) immigrated to Canada. Sister Sarah Ann stayed at home, where war broke out a year after Harry's leaving.



Harry JARVIS was a shoemaker in Lesicester England (is this where I get my shoe obsession)? In fact, there is a school in Leicester that still teaches shoemaking. Would love to do the workshop. Look out Lee, I'm coming to visit you!

We had a good time. Went out for dinner with the family and then Lee, Frank, my sister and I did a bit of bar hopping. I really like him. He has a wonderful dry sense of humour and tells a great story. He is an amazing writer and knows the proper way to perform a "pile driver".

I hope we see him again... soon.

Bringing up Jamie

I want to routinely shave my legs, and have sex at least 3x a week. I want to make my bed every morning. I want to recycle, and get it to the curb on the correct day.

I want to ride my stationary bike. I don't want to pay interest on my credit card, or eat limp lettuce. I want to have healthy food in the house and pack such a lunch every day.

I want to have a clean basement and an uncluttered mind. I want to be nice to my boss, and my mother. I want to be good.

Monday Never Goes Away

Monday never goes away. It just keeps coming
with the excitement of a visiting out-of-town relative.
Bringing with it a bounty of things you don't want.

Lingering hangover from the pinot of Saturday night,
stupid drivers, wrong coffee order from Tim Horton's
(later spilled on your shirt), Monday morning meetings,
coverage for a "sick" co-worker, something forgotten
to be done from Friday.

On vacation, I laugh in the face of Monday.
Telling it that it can't get me down.
I stay up late Sunday, I sleep in, drink chai,
eat scones.

On vacation, Monday is a beautiful thing.

What do you take in your Timmys?

One Night Stand

I have one night stand and a ka-billion books on it. Here is what I am currently reading... Have you read any of these books?

Undoing Depression
by Richard O'Connor.

The Success Principles
by Jack Canfield.

The Quantity Theory of Insanity
by Will Self.

Colour
by the Pantone Ink Company.

Shame and Guilt
by Jane Middleton Moz.

Complete Book of Walking
by Prevention Magazine.

E-Business a book for my school course.

Writing Research Papers
by Spalding.

Little Gold Book of Yes Attitude
by Jeff Gittomer.

The Millionaire Course
by Marc Allan.

Ask and It is Given
by Abraham-Hicks.

Somerset Studio Magazine.

Scotland Magazine.

My Monkey

I just pulled a monkey, out of my bathtub drain.

At least that's what my brother called it a few years back,
when he pulled one out of my bachelorette-pad sink.

I was single for those 5 minutes,
and didn't have a man to unclog drains.
He was reeling from a life askew
and needed somewhere to go.
We laughed until we cried
each time he said "Monk-key",
and I think we re-connected that day.

So I hold my monkey high in the bathroom light,
marveling at its suspended soap scum,
and hairy slime, and I smile.

Descendants of Depression

There is a stream of thought that says we can inherit depression. Our ancestors may have suffered in the same way that we are suffering today. If we can inherit eye colour, artistic talent, or a sad shaped mouth, why can't we inherit depression too?

I'm starting to get the muppet mouth of my Irish ancestors.
A horizontal line of a mouth that stretches ear to ear.

At times, I hold my mouth closed without lips, excentuating the line.
Then I catch myself doing it; in the morning showering half awake,
or at work, while thinking hard, or while reading or writing The Crux.

Once when I hadn't seen dad in a long time. I gave him the grade school photo where I looked pretty. He said, "nice lips."

I saw the muppet mouth on Nana and Bumby's faces in their caskets. Maybe this is the what they call "The Irish Poor Mouth."

The Perfect Job

Will this new job bring all things I’ve set my intentions on?

Renewed career excitement... a new direction.
Realistic responsibility. Respect.
Independence coupled with sensitive support...
and strong mentoring.
Learning... constant learning.
It’s okay when you don’t have all the answers.

Will there be a click-click-click of personalities?
Understanding, acceptance,
and usage of the creative process... intuition.
Resourcefulness, networking, professional community...
connections encouraged.

Will there be a non-accusatory measurement stick
for successes... and failures?
Collaborative problem solving... creative solutions.
Abundance... remuneration. Perks that run rampant.

Will there be a mint green metal desk with a faux wood
top that lifts and locks into place when pushed up
at a right angle?

The Groovy Desk

In grade one, I had the grooviest desk in the whole class.
Mint green metal with a faux wood top that lifted and locked into place when pushed up at a right angle.

The desk was a monster, and sat a good five inches taller than the teal-coloured-press-board-sans-lift-top-desks
of my classmates.

It and me sat at the back of the last row. The bowed legs crowded the aisle where Miss Brown liked to pace.

Sometimes kids would come by to borrow an eraser or a black crayon and say...
“You have the grooviest desk in the whole class.
You’re so lucky.”
“I know”, I would reply smuggly, my leotard legs dangling down from the molded, metal seat.
It was obvious to me that I was a very important kid.

One sunny, spring morning in April, when all seemed right in the world, I entered my grade one classroom to find my teacher, the janitor and a few kids standing next to my desk.

“I don’t even know where the thing originally came from” said Miss Brown.
“It might have been brought here from the high school,
it’s a monster” said the hateful janitor, taking a step back in order to get the entire desk into view.
“Well, let’s get it out of here, get the new one in its
place. All the desks should be exactly the same.”

I let go of my lunch pail, an apple bounced and rolled across the floor. I ran to my desk and dropped onto the cold seat.

“It’s my desk” I said.
“Jamie, we are getting you a new desk, then you can have the same one as everyone else, said Miss Brown. Please get out of the desk so it can be moved.”

“I don’t want the same desk as everyone else. This is my
desk and I only want this one.” I refused to move. I laid my head down and stretched my skinny arms out to the corners of the faux wood desktop that lifted and I hung on.

What did I do wrong? Had they forgotten I was special? Why was I being punished? Why don’t they like me anymore? Why was this happening to me? My classmates were probably happy my desk was being taken away. They were probably laughing at me.

I felt embarrassed and ashamed until anger started to bubble to the surface. In the end Miss Brown won and my desk was taken away.

Yesterday, I was told that I am moving offices at work.
The mint green metal desk and all of the same feelings came flooding back.

A feeling of shame is what I felt that day and today. In a form of self preservation, my feelings of shame quickly move into anger, then pessimism, hoplessness and finally depression.

Shame I have recently learned can be connected to depression. Shame can grip your psyche and your very soul. Have you experienced shame? Have you noticed a connection to your depression?

On Being Invisible

I often think about being invisible. As a child, I was entranced with the 1960's movie "Invisible Man... loved the romantic sitcom "The Ghost and Mrs Muir.”

First thing I would do if I was invisible is I would visit the queen. Mom used to say, "the Queen sits on the toilet just like everyone else”...
I'd have to see that for myself.

I'd take the train to Toronto (Via first class of course)... wander in and out of tall office buildings, boardrooms, hotel rooms, men's bathrooms... see what people are up to. Move their belongings about, whisper in their ears.

The freedom would be liberating. I'd be travelling naked of course... something I just don’t do often enough.

What would you do if you were invisible for a day?

Pending Eviction?

Phone has been ringing off the hook. Local art organizations notifying artists... a rally of sorts... picket signs, press conference... today 4pm in front of the Capitol Theatre.

The Theatre dangerously in the red, looks like either the city will take it over or it will declare bankruptcy.

“The evils of government are directly proportional to the tolerance of the people.” - Frank Kent

D’Studio, my wonderful little home away from home is situated upstairs at the Capitol... wave hello... I’m in the second bank of windows from the right... for now anyway.

The Capitol Theatre opened New Years Eve 1920. It was designed by Thomas W. Lamb, who also designed the Pantages and the Elgin Winter Garden Theatres in Toronto.

Will the Capitol Theatre be added to the list of lost Windsor landmarks? Will I be evicted from D’Studio? Can Underdog save the day? Stay tuned...

Far End of the Sofa

Worked on the website for three days straight... drank copious amounts of Yorkshire Tea and ate whatever food was presented.

It occurred to me after peeling off my pjs worn since Friday and finally getting into the shower... that this weekend was not unlike periods of depression I’ve experienced... sitting on the far end of the sofa in my own stench.

Difference now... the sense of hope and excitement I have about this project... But always aware of the black dogs that hover around the clearing, bounded by thickets. Need to pace myself.