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.