It's Like a Whole Other Country

We had a simple task to take care of this morning. We needed to get some papers notarized by an American notary. Back in Texas, we would walk across the street to our neighbor's house to get it done and walk back five minutes later. Easy-peasy!

Greg asked a lawyer at his office where we could find an American notary and was told the only place he knew of was the American Embassy. It was within walking distance and we were able to get an appointment right away. Easy-peasy!

Yeah, well, no so fast! I got to the address five minutes early, jumped in the elevator and couldn't get the darned thing to work. I kept pressing "10" but the light wouldn't stay on and the elevator wouldn't move. Finally, it rose as far as the fifth floor and stayed there. I thought I was stuck.

My phone rang. It was Greg asking me where I was. "I'm stuck in the elevator!" I told him. He said, "You won't believe what they've got going on here. Come back down to the lobby." Hey- thanks for your concern, I thought. Lucky for HIM, the elevator responded when I pressed "L" for lobby.

It turns out we had to check all bags and electronic devices before we could go upstairs. Then we had to wait in line to go through a security screening similar to what we all endure at the airport, followed by a brief interview with a woman who wanted to know why we were there. Finally, we were told to sit and wait until our names were called.

It looked like everyone else in the waiting room was applying for a Visa because we were the only English-speaking Caucasians there. (That's not racist, is it? I don't mean to be.) It seemed odd that we all had to wait together when all we needed was a notary.

An officer called our name and we were told to wait in the hall. When about ten of us were lined up, he told us to follow him to the elevator. He used a special key to get the thing moving. We arrived on 10 and were instructed to line up once again in the hallway. One by one, we went through another security screening: shoes and belts off, paperwork inspected, the whole shebang.

"Go down that hall, make a left and take a seat until your number is called." Yet ANOTHER waiting room containing about thirty people. Our number was called on three separate occasions- once to check our passports ("please return to your seat"), once to pay the cashier FIFTY dollars PER notary stamp, for a total of $200 ("return to your seat") and lastly, to actually sign the documents.

We were pretty pissed. Greg pointed out that we could have driven to Montana (which is about 3 hours away), paid for gas, the notary, had a nice meal and still have change left over from the $200.

Most days living here in Canada feels very much like living in the U.S. But every now and then we're reminded that we're visitors in another country. It's a strange feeling. And frankly, a little scary.

A Day in the Life of an Urbanite

The strangeness of living in a city has worn off and I find myself walking around with that blase expression everyone else had on their faces when I first arrived. I cross the street sometimes even if the light is red because I know the rhythm of the traffic and that it's safe to do so. I know whether it's better to walk outside, hop on the train or take the Plus 15 (the tunnels) depending on the weather and how much time I have. I know where the best coffee shops are. It's official. I'm an urbanite.

This morning I had to go to a lab downtown for some routine tests. I allowed myself 30 minutes to walk there. I left my apartment, took the elevator downstairs to the garbage room and dropped off a bag. I took the elevator back up to the lobby and taped a note for the UPS man by the mailboxes, telling him to call me on my cell phone because our intercom isn't working.

I zipped up my jacket and headed out on to the street. Chilly air hit me in the face, but it wasn't too bad. I was glad I opted for shoes with good traction because there was still snow on the ground, though the sidewalks were pretty much reduced to little puddles of water.

Those two quick errands inside my apartment building took longer than expected, so I decided to take the train to save time. The nearest station is only a block away and within downtown it's free. FREE! We live on the edge of downtown, so there isn't much traffic. Still, I had to wait at the light on our corner to cross up to Seventh Avenue to catch the train.

I found the building easily enough, but the address for the lab indicated it was on the third floor. The elevator doors opened to a quiet medical facility with various offices. A directory pointed the way to the lab with a downward arrow. Naturally, I walked down one flight. All of a sudden I was in the middle of what looked like a mall food court, with people in business suits bustling around, buying coffee and crepes. (Crepes?)

I eventually found the lab (upstairs!), had unspeakable things done to me (ha) and returned to the "food court" to feed my poor, starving body. (I had to fast for 12 hours before they took blood.) There were the usual coffee shops and a Wendy's, but I was curious about those crepes, so I got in line behind a man whose computer bag keep poking me in the leg.

Sadly, it was too late for a breakfast crepe (whatever that is), so I settled for yogurt and fruit. I had to hurry home to catch the UPS man, so off I went, sipping my coffee and clutching the yogurt concoction in my other hand. I wanted to walk it, but holding my hands out in front of me, trying not to spill coffee as I worked my way around people was...well, frankly, it was pissing me off. I headed for the train station.

Every now and then you'll pass a busker on the street or inside the Plus 15 in Calgary and it always breaks my heart a little. There are so many talented, musical people in the world who can't make a living at it. I always hope they have a paying gig at night and are just picking up extra cash on the streets during the day. Just let me believe that.

None-the-less, I like to give them some spare change when I see them. No way could I do that with my hands all full of morning sustenance. I gave this day's musician a weak smile and continued on to the train platform.

I needed to get on the right train, the one that takes the tracks straight to the end, a block away from my building. If I get on the wrong one, it'll curve around a corner and head over the river. (Been there, done that.) The correct train arrived, full of empty seats, so I smugly walked on, leaving the rest of the poor, cold bastards waiting on the platform for their own correct train.

(You know what? I didn't really cop an attitude, but I couldn't stop my fingers from typing that. I thought it sounded funny. Haha!)

We arrived at the end of the line and an announcement was made that we all had to get off. We dutifully did. The train would sit for about five minutes as it filled with new passengers and then finally, it would head in the opposite direction.

Two crosswalks later and I was back in front of my building. The whole outing took about two hours. I was pleased about that. That unpleasant chore was behind me and I picked up "restaurant food" along the way. (Yes, in my world yogurt and coffee is restaurant food. ha!) Not a bad morning.

P.S. I missed the UPS guy. :(

10 Worst Cities for Spring Allergies

Here are the cities at the top of AAFA’s Spring Allergy Capitals list for 2011:

1. Knoxville, Tenn.
2. Louisville, Ky.
3. Charlotte, N.C.
4. Jackson, Miss.
5. Chattanooga, Tenn.
6. Birmingham, Ala.
7. Dayton, Ohio
8. Richmond, Va.
9. McAllen, Texas
10. Madison, Wis

http://www.aarp.org/health/conditions-treatments/info-03-2011/worst-cities-for-spring-allergies.html?cmp=NLC-WBLTR-CTRL-041511-F1-1&USEG_ID=14567551284

Stephen Colbert: "Please Don't Blog This"

The Internet is all a-buzz about Stephen Colbert’s latest act of brilliance: a performance of Rebecca Black’s “Friday” on the Jimmy Fallon show. It began as a challenge when Colbert’s BFFSM (Best Friends For Six Months), Jimmy Fallon, announced that if $26,000 was raised for donorschoose.org by Friday, Colbert would be on his show to sing what Fallon called, “one of the most important songs of our time.”

According to Wikipedia, “ ‘Friday’ is a song written by Clarence Jey and Patrice Wilson, and performed by Rebecca Black, a 13-year-old American singer. The official video became a viral hit due to criticism of the song's lyrics, the use of Auto-Tune on Black's vocals, and the content of the video.”

In short, the song sucks. Here’s a sample of the ridiculously bad lyrics:

“Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday
Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’)
We-we-we so excited
We so excited
We gonna have a ball today

Tomorrow is Saturday
And Sunday comes after … wards
I don’t want this weekend to end”

Colbert’s rendition begins on a dark stage, a single spotlight on him. He’s wearing a tux and crooning the lyrics as if it were a ballad. But then the lights come up, the tempo changes and Fallon’s house band, The Roots, plays behind Colbert as he bounces to the beat. Absurdity mounts to a fever-pitch when "American Idol" winner Taylor Hicks bursts through a giant calendar, singing and playing harmonica.

The Colbert version of “Friday” is much more fun, fun, fun than the original video. In fact- dare I say? - I kind of like the song now. All it took was some clever mockery. Colbert has shown us once again his comedic genius.

The thing is, I have a hunch the only thing Colbert cared about was raising money for his charity. There’s a very sweet side of him the public rarely sees.

Last year, on April 28, I went to an event in Manhattan celebrating the 50th anniversary of the book, To Kill a Mockingbird, where Colbert was a featured reader. It was held at Symphony Space and hosted by Thalia Book Club. A panel of Mockingbird experts sat on stage, took turns reading from the book and had a discussion about the impact the book had on their lives. Colbert seemed on odd addition to the group, but we were curious to see what he might add to the evening.

Colbert was late due to the taping of some little show of his (The Colbert Report) but when he arrived, he took a seat in one of the folding chairs on stage and was asked to tell the audience the role Mockingbird played in his life.

“I was assigned the book to read in the eighth grade, so naturally, I didn’t read it for the first time until I was 23.” Colbert went on to say that the book had such an impact that he rereads it every year or so. In fact, his copy is in such bad shape it’s held together with a rubber band.

When asked to read from the book, he went to the podium and remarked “I cannot read any part of the book aloud without crying, so please don’t blog this.” (I waited a year, that’s not bad!) He didn’t choke up; he read a passage from chapter 22 clearly and reverently.

After some discussion, the event came to a close and all the participants wandered off stage. While waiting for my mom to return from the restroom, I was lightly bumped in the shoulder by someone working their way through the crowd. With only minor interest, I looked up and saw that it was Stephen Colbert. He was talking to three people next to me.

I heard him make his goodbyes and decided on the spot that I needed his autograph for my son. (I thought it would make me some points.) “Excuse me,” I said as he turned towards me. “Can I have your autograph?” He said “sure” and as I fumbled for paper I realized all I had was a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. I opened to the first page and handed him a pen.

His hand hovered over the book. Finally he smiled and said, “I’m sorry, I just can’t sign the book.” I nodded in understanding and he was gone. That was impressive. Frankly, I felt like an ass for asking in the first place.

I’ll close with some random facts you may not know about Stephen Colbert: 1. He’s more handsome in person than he is on TV. (He has beautiful skin.) 2. He can be very humble. During a Q&A segment that night, he was asked about his show. He apologetically replied that the evening wasn’t about him and that he didn’t want to talk about that. 3. He’s a Taylor Hicks fan. No, I didn’t find that out that night, but it is a random fact you didn’t know, right?

Note: We watched The Colbert Report that night and he was wearing the same clothes he had on at our event. cool.

Mick Jagger Grammys Rehearsals

Extreme Home Makeover: The Non-TV Edition

Have you ever watched the show, "Hoarders" on TLC? It's fascinating to see the way hoarders live and to learn why they keep what they keep. And after the professionals leave, it's interesting to see how some hoarders can dramatically turn their lives around. But what if a hoarder dies before he/she can get the help they need?

That's exactly what happened here in Calgary. There was a story on the news about a family who needed help getting a fresh start after the father died suddenly in a car accident. The man had been a compulsive hoarder, bringing things into the house and backyard while his wife was at work. A neighbor decided to organize volunteers to help clean the house out and solicit donations from various stores so that the house could then be renovated and redecorated. I can't completely explain why, but I wrote down the contact info and signed up to be a volunteer.

I received back an e-mail from the woman in charge, telling me to wear sturdy boots and to be prepared to work at 9am, Saturday morning.

Driving through the neighborhood that morning, looking for the correct street, I was surprised to see that it was fairly nice and quite ordinary. I'm not sure what I was expecting- maybe a house in the middle of nowhere? I don't know. I found the street, the house number and a parking spot and asked myself one more time what the heck I was doing.



A very large dumpster filled the driveway. Cars lined the street in front of the house. As I approached, a woman stepped out from the front yard to greet me. I was invited inside to 'register.'

The house was small and not as cluttered as I expected it to be. But then I remembered the news story that said a large dumpster had already been filled and taken away. I signed in as more volunteers crowded into the tiny living room. Almost immediately, the men hauled all the furniture from that room out to the dumpster. I didn't realize EVERYTHING was going.

I heard someone say we could head out to the backyard, so I made my way through the kitchen (also full of people), passing this door:



Rita is the owner of the house and had been introduced to all of us at some point. She was standing nearby so I asked her what the sign meant. She told me the basement was off-limits to us. Everything she wanted to keep was down there. Apparently, all the rooms on the main and upper floors were being completely emptied. I noticed they were starting to pull up all of the carpet in the room I had just left.

I bundled up and continued out to the yard. Here was evidence that a hoarder once lived in this house:




Mostly old car parts. We were told we could move only the junk from a certain area to the dumpster. The rest would have to wait until Spring when all the snow and ice was gone.

I felt sad for the man who had died. No one seemed to be grieving for him. I heard no condolences being offered. No one said they were glad he was gone, don't get me wrong. But seeing what he left behind made me sad. He seemed so exposed.

Soon an announcement was made that it was time for a break. Coffee donated by Starbucks and pastries donated by Safeway had arrived. We'd been working for only an hour but the entire living and dining rooms were stripped down to the bare floors and the pile in the yard we were told to move was gone. We were making great progress.

While we stood against the walls of the now-empty living room, enjoying our snack, the woman who organized the event told us it was time for a drawing for door prizes. This was unexpected and completely unnecessary. "I got such a great response to my request for donations that we've got a prize for every one of you," she told us.

Restaurant vouchers, tickets to hockey games, baskets of candles, and many, many other prizes were given out. I won a Calgary Flames sweatshirt (Calgary's hockey team). It was fun! Then it was time to tackle the upstairs.

Somewhere in the midst of all the activity, a cameraman from the local TV station arrived. I pointed him towards the woman in charge but he told me he was just going to take some random shots. He set about to do just that while I headed in the opposite direction. ha.



Later, one of the news anchors showed up. He conducted interviews with the principal players while we all looked on and tried to stay quiet. At one point, after I sent a text to my husband, I looked up and saw that I was in the shot. No, I don't find that exciting! I'm mortified. Still, I'll be watching the news later to see if I make my TV debut.


(The Boston Pizza sign is up because they provided lunch!)

I was able to leave around noon. They didn't get the turnout they were hoping for (200 people). Still, the 30 of us all worked quickly and steadily- at one point passing items down the line, person to person, from the second floor all the way out to the dumpster- and met the goals for the day by the end of the morning.

The whole experience was a little surreal, tramping around a stranger's house and throwing away everything in it. But everyone was very nice and certainly appreciative. We even had a few laughs. During lunch, the woman in charge hurriedly passed out napkins, thrusting one into the hands of the bewildered man next to me. I told him, "she gave you that cuz you look messy." Thank goodness he laughed!

I'm hoping the media will do a follow up after the house has been made over so I can see how it turned out. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying my new sweatshirt!

Calgary Tower

I'm afraid of heights. You hear me? Scared shirt-less.

I had a couple of bad experiences as a kid, being dragged around to Niagara Falls, the Empire State Building, ski lifts, the Statue of Liberty and one of these towers in San Antonio. An awful, panicky feeling would come over me as I looked down from these great heights, imagining what it would be like to fall.

And what gets me is that my fear is usually poo-pooed by my friends. They laugh at me, tell me to get therapy and make me feel like an odd ball. I think everyone should be afraid of heights, it should be a basic, primal fear. You're in a life-threatening situation. If you fall, you'll die.

Have you ever been to The Grand Canyon? When you watch people dancing along the edge of the canyon, climbing trees that hang over the canyon, walking down trails in high-heels into the canyon, it's obvious that most people have no fear of heights. That just doesn't make sense to me.



I knew one day when someone came for a visit I'd have to brave The Calgary Tower. And so when Mom arrived just after Christmas, I took a deep breath and asked her if she'd like to check it out. Of course, she did.

I got online to find their schedule and came across a few facts that didn't help assuage my fears:

"Officially opened June 30th 1968, the 'Tower' has become the City of Calgary's most famous and identifiable physical landmark. One of the first Towers of its kind."

What's that now? The tower is 43 years old? Sounds like it's about ready to come down! And then there was this:

"Dare to try something that will take your breath away? Visitors to the Observation Deck are able to virtually 'step out into' space on the glass floor experience. Imagine standing 525 feet above the ground in the heart of Calgary and being able to look straight down...you will be treated to the unusual experience of literally being suspended in mid-air."

Um...what?


(From the Calgary Tower website)

I wanted Mom to have this experience but I was hoping I wouldn't die in the process. I weighed my options and decided that showing my mother a nice time in the city was worth the possibility of having a heart attack. So off we went!

And as you all may have expected, it was no big deal. I didn't die. The glass floor of horrors was only a small section of the observation deck where little boys horsed around as if they were on terra firma. A baby waddled out there. Young lovers asked Mom to take a picture of them standing on it. Giggles and smiles- that's what the experience was like.

Did I walk out there? Hell no! A person could die doing that.

But Mom did:

I Love This City

Whenever I have some thinking to do, I like to get out and walk around the city. I feel safer going out for a stroll here than I ever did in the suburbs. That weird, eerie quiet in all the neighborhoods I lived in was unnerving. I was sure people were watching from behind their carefully chosen drapes.

But in the middle of the city I can be invisible. I can walk and get completely lost in my thoughts, knowing I'm just another stranger among strangers.

Hmm...that may have sounded paranoid and sad. Hold off on your intervention. When you're a woman walking around anywhere alone you have to be aware of your surroundings. It's been drilled into our heads. As a result, in certain situations, my safety consumes my thoughts. I've found that isn't the case here in Calgary. So when I have a decision to make or a problem to solve, I hit the path along the river and let my brain go to work.



Sunday I was in the mood for a new route while I tried to figure out why I'm having so much trouble writing lately. I headed over the river to the section of Calgary called Kensington. It's a very cool, youth-oriented area with consignment shops, tea parlors, restaurants and head shops. Lots of skinny jeans, eyeliner and jacked-up hair. And that's just the guys. It's an active, interesting, vibrant place to walk around where I always feel COMPLETELY out of place. ha.



I put the deep-thinking on the back burner, determined to explore Kensington Avenue without turning around after one block due to my glaring uncoolness. "That's right! I'm old, but you will NOT drive me away with your hipper-than-thou attitude!"

I looked in the windows of a cupcake shop, a furniture store and browsed around a resale clothing store. The prices were unlike what I'm used to seeing in the states. A pair of (gorgeous) used gloves were $20. Purses were forty and fifty dollars. Still, I enjoyed running my fingers over these gems and peering at the vintage jewelry in glass cases.

Back on the street, I spotted a Starbucks on the corner that made my heart leap a bit due to its familiarity- an oasis in a sea of strangeness. Alas (why am I suddenly writing like the author of a Harlequin romance?), the interior was dark, so I assumed it was closed. Someone pushed open its door just then and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Yay!

This had to be the coolest Starbucks I've ever been in. I expected someone to stand up and begin reciting poetry at any moment, followed by the finger-snapping approval of the audience. Nothing unusual happened, though. I ordered a latte, couldn't find an empty chair and left. I plan to go back when it's not so crowded.

I felt good. Sipping my Starbucks booty as I crossed back over the bridge, I stopped to admire the ice sculptures the river had created all by itself and wrote, in my head, the first few lines of a new story.



This city seems to be good for me. I love it.



And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to pack up my laptop and head over to my new favorite Starbucks. I'm in the mood to do a little writing.

Grace Potter and The Nocturnals

Beautiful