I’ve been entirely too responsible, organized, efficient and dependable my entire life.  Through a number of events in the past few years I’ve found myself doing a full review of who I am, what is important to me and where I should be focusing my energy.  I’ll likely write about those events through time using that categories thing to note Life Changing Moment or something equally deep-sounding.

I’ve lived in the same community for most of my life short of a few departures for university and such.  Part of this reinvention of myself involves quitting my job, selling my house, abandoning 99% of my “stuff” and driving across the country to a new life that is full of unknowns.  Yes I’m single.  Yes I have no kids.  I made these life altering decisions without consulting anyone.

While as a kid I hated reading – every book report I did in junior high was a Stephen King book that conveniently had been made into a movie (I didn’t actually read the books).  Now I have a stack of books that I cannot go through fast enough and am adding more to the collection all the time.  I finally found what interested me to read about.  Woo-woo stuff.  There are a lot of stories.  I’m an odd duck.  We’ll get there.

That said, I also like surprises. During my first year of college I was attending school in Calgary, Alberta. I had pre-booked my return flight home for the summer back in August when I flew down to start the year. I didn’t know exactly when my final exams would be when I booked the ticket, but figured I could relax a bit after them if they finished earlier than when my flight was. I get bored easily, though.

When I found out that my last final exam would be some 5 days or so before my planned departure date, I decided to check into changing the ticket. Sure enough, there were seats available on the earlier flights and it would only cost me $50 to make the change. I had no money, but I wanted to go home. I made the change and started planning the surprise for my parents of arriving early.

There were a few problems with my surprise plan. Firstly, I hadn’t brought my house keys with me and my brother was also away at University at the time, I think. Suffice it to say that there was nobody for me to call to get a key into my house without alerting my parents to my arrival. The second problem is that when I left home, the weather was wonderful and I only brought a fall-weather jacket with me. The temperature in Yellowknife when I wanted to return was around -50C. I would freeze within minutes of stepping outside in the jacket and running shoes I had on.

The plan – I would arrive at the airport and call home. Back then, the pay phones in Yellowknife were a dime to use and you didn’t put the money in until the person answered. Once they answered, you could hear them, but they couldn’t hear you until you put the dime in. I arrived, got my luggage and called home. My mother answered and repeatedly said “hello?” until I hung up. I didn’t want to talk to her, I wanted to make sure they were at home so I could arrive and be able to get in.

I left the airport terminal, got in a cab and traveled to my parents’ neighbourhood. I had the cab stop a few doors down from their house in case they were looking out the window – so they wouldn’t wonder why a cab was arriving at their house. I was cold and there was a brisk wind and lots of snow. I dragged my suitcase to their door and rang the doorbell. My dad came to the door and opened it and his eyes lit up. I heard my mother call from the living room – “who’s there?” My dad responded – “It’s Charles!” My mother responded from the living room “no, it’s not”. My dad insisted, “yes, it’s Charles!” My mother, having just had someone (I wonder who?) hang up on her wasn’t in the best of moods for a joke and responded, “no, it’s not!” I came in and went to the living room and my mom began to cry, surprised and excited to have me home early. It was a great surprise and I enjoyed doing it.

My latest surprise is more drawn out, involves more people and is proving difficult to pull off. The plan is to not tell my parents about the whole free money grant I’m likely going to get to help buy a home. They don’t know the program exists, let alone that I’ve applied for it, what I’m likely to get and that I’ll likely be approved.

My dad is a Plan B kind of guy. He worries too much. Throughout my life he has always cautioned me to have a backup plan for whatever I’m doing…be ready for the worst and such. I’ve always bucked this advice – I buck most advice. My theory with this particular advice is that if I don’t focus 100% of my attention on my intended goal, in my brain – even a little bit of it, I’m admitting that failure is possible…which increases it’s chance of happening. I don’t know whether probabilities are impacted by me and my positive thoughts, but I figure every little bit counts. I figure that should things not go my way, which has often happened in my life, I’ll deal with it. I’ll figure out what to do and get on with it. I don’t want to have a whole, elaborately planned out backup plan, though.

My parents know that I want to buy a house. They know I’m saving for a down payment and that I hate paying as much as I do for my apartment. They know that my plan is to buy in March or so of 2003. Even with that little bit of information, every time I mention the house purchase to my dad he cautions of the negatives of owing a home – unforeseen bills and emergency repairs, property taxes, utilities, lawns, snow, furnaces, hot water heaters, etc. He seems to relish thinking about the possible negatives that could happen. I know that he’s simply trying to caution me – share his life experiences to save me some possible hardship. I know me, though and know that I’m incapable of learning from advice. I have to experience everything personally to learn from it…sometimes repeatedly before I actually ‘get’ the lesson.

I’ve chosen not to tell my parents about the down payment assistance plan because I know my dad would obsess about it. He would call and e-mail me constantly asking if I had heard anything about it yet…am I approved, when will it happen, are there houses on the market, how much do I want to spend, can I afford it, etc. I’m already asking myself all of those questions and more and am obsessing about the whole thing enough all by myself. That’s one reason I’m not telling my parents about this. The other reason is that I love surprises.

I think it would be absolutely too much fun to go through this entire process of being approved, finding and buying a house and moving in without them knowing about it. Then, I’d tell them by sending them a change of address card in the mail. The latest plan removes the change of address card and actually has me taking a ton of digital photos and maybe a digital walk-through video of the place, burning them all on a 3″ CD and mailing that to them without any markings on the envelope or CD other than “insert in CDROM and view” or something equally vague. Maybe the last photo would be a photo of a change of address card with my name and new address on it. I think that would be a ton of fun to do.

I also think it would be very cool should I ever meet a woman I want to marry that if she’s okay with it, to get married as soon as we’re engaged. I have no interest in “being engaged” forever. My friends and family live across the country and planet so that there really is no central place where I could get married and it not cost a lot. I think it would be much cooler, surprise-wise to get engaged, marry right away and rather than send out engagement announcements, or wedding invitations, to instead send out cards announcing my marriage. Finding a woman who not only tolerates me but also will agree not to have a big whoop-dee-doo wedding will be quite the challenge.

My main accomplice in these surprises is my brother. He understands that our parents don’t NEED to know everything about us and allows the person to divulge the information at our own pace. The latest secret was my purchasing of this ThinkPad. There’s a whole story behind me getting it through a work computer purchase program that is allowing me to buy it through pay cheque deductions over two years without any interest being charged. I know my parents would understand the advantages of the plan, but I know they would focus on “you can’t afford that” if they heard I had a new $3,000 computer. I kept my brother updated on how much/little I had shared so he knew what to/not to say. Eventually, I did tell them in a conversation that fit it perfectly. They thought it was a wonderful decision and weren’t remotely upset about it. If anything, they’re jealous of me and want it should I die in a horrible car wreck.

The latest of our ‘secrets’ is that my brother has been influenced by me…he bought a ThinkPad of his own. Keep in mind that this is the computer guy who already has I think eight desktop computers networked in his house…he lives alone. It is rather surprising that he never had a notebook before. His reasoning has always been that he can’t customize it…open it up and add/remove stuff at his liking. He found his ThinkPad on eBay for $1500 and has since ordered I think $300 worth of RAM upgrades for it. He is loving it and having a ball remotely controlling the other eight computers from this new little box in his living room. He doesn’t have a wireless network like I do, so he’s not taking it out on his deck and has yet another network cable stretched through his house, but he’s still enjoying it to it’s maximum potential. Although he hasn’t asked me yet, I know that it’s hush-hush from the parents until he officially says they know, or they mention it. They just don’t need to know.

The other part of these secrets is RambleMan’s existence. A few of my close friends know about it, but my family doesn’t. I don’t bash them or anything, but I do feel more at ease knowing I can write without concern for what they might think of me. I can talk about the house and share prospective properties with you without worrying about receiving parental advice. My co-workers also don’t know about it…it’s very weird to have an online presence and not be able to tell people around me about it. The most bizarre part of that is that my account with www.powweb.com, my hosting service includes 250 @RambleMan.com e-mail addresses. There are many situations where I’d like to use them, but wonder if they’d track it back to me personally if I used one. I’m thinking that in time I may offer RambleMan up as an online journal place for guys to write online…give them free space and an e-mail address, and figure out how to grant FTP access to only their directory and go from there. Could be cool and would certainly make better use of all the space I have. I could probably even charge for the service and cover my own hosting costs. Let this posting serve as my offer to consider it if you’re interested in starting your own online journal through a sub-directory of RambleMan. I’m not saying it’ll happen at all, let alone quickly, but I’m willing to try to figure it out if you’re wanting to pursue it.

I’ve gone off on a tangent and need to get on with my day. Thanks again for dropping by.

Charles

It’s all good news, although after my meeting with the bank I felt like I had been in somebody else’s body for a while. I am, as far as I’m concerned, one of the most mellow, cheerful and friendly people you’d ever meet. When I got into the meeting with the banker guy about getting a pre-approved mortgage, I got damn close to being outright rude to the guy. I was certainly confrontational and louder than I normally get.

I know why I acted like a freak, but it doesn’t excuse it. My brain operates in really interesting ways that I find fascinating. I hate my bank. That’s at the crux of it all. I have only ever gone to them to borrow money twice before and they were pricks about it both times. Certainly, the last time was only about 6 months ago and my financial situation was dramatically worse than it is now, but the truth is that they didn’t treat me like a valued customer when I was in need, they treated me like scum who couldn’t be trusted to keep a plant alive. That all flooded back today, even though this new guy had nothing to do with that. The point where I almost lost it completely was when I saw he was putting down my available credit on my one credit card down as a liability. WHAT?! ARGH! I may as well have it maxed out if they’re going to count it against me!

Okay, I understand that they have to keep their best interests at heart…they have to assume that I’ll run out and max out the card, and they want to ensure I have available income to handle that – at it’s minimum payments, as well as regular living costs and this new mortgage I’m applying for. In the end, I was approved, of course – I knew I would be…I just don’t like how they do their math. Banks are evil, evil empires that don’t care about you and me. I am convinced of that and I have no idea what it would take to change my mind. In this meeting with Seann, all those pent up emotions of “die bastards, die!” came out. Ah well. Nothing I can do about it now. I did apologize for being abrasive. Do I really care what he thinks about me? Not really…but right now he has the ability to control the mortgage university for Scotiabank.

My next meeting was with Jason at the Housing Corporation. I liked Jason. I think you can judge a person largely on what they put on their office walls. They have only been in their offices for a week or so now and this guy already has a photocopy of a Far Side cartoon on his wall of a guy sitting on the edge of his bed looking at a big sign tacked to his wall that says “first pants, then shoes”. Jason is my kind of people…I could tell that right from the start.

The other thing I liked about Jason is that he’s a numbers guy. From the way he spoke, I could tell that he resents giving government money to people who always seem to be standing in line for yet another government handout. He made it very clear to me that he was the one that would be reviewing all of the applications once he’s finished and that need wouldn’t be the deciding factor, but instead it would be decided based on ability to pay a mortgage down. I like that. Also, my thoughts earlier about people living in low-cost housing was true. He said that he only has about 13 people left on his list that are in that category, and out of those, only about 3 of them will likely qualify because most of them either earn too little, as in they couldn’t afford a mortgage and NEED to be in low-cost housing, or their credit rating is horrid, or their monthly expenses are too high – car payments, etc. This all works in my favour.

Where this gets kind of scary exciting is when I found out that indeed, based on my household income, I qualify for the full 40% they’re offering. What I’ve realized now that I’ve gotten home and had time to think is what this means. I could actually buy a NEW place priced at $170,000 and have $68,000 given to me for the down payment – my mortgage would only be $102,000. Whoa. This changes everything that I’ve thought about so far. I need to think about this a lot and look at all the options. I would sooner still have a lower mortgage so my monthly payments are much more manageable than what I pay now. If I was to get a $130,000 place, they’d give me $52,000, meaning my mortgage would only be $78,000. Wow…I have to think a lot about this. The big plus of getting a used place is that they’re usually landscaped. A new place will have everything brand new, but it won’t come with a washer & dryer (I don’t think), and the yard would be rocks. I could pick the interior layout, though…but my payments would be higher. So many things to think about!

Okay…so I asked Jason how long it would take to find out if I was approved and would get the word that I would get the cash. That’s when I found out that this could take some time. The program is for 189 families over 5 years. They’re going to be approving about 9 families per month for the rest of this year. Jason thanked me many times for bringing all of the information they required for the application – he said a lot of people’s applications aren’t complete. He said that on Thursday and Friday of this week he would be reviewing the money they’d be giving out for this month and that while the cutoff for this month had already passed, because my application was complete and all looked good, he would try to include it in the immediate review/ranking process. Wow.

Next, I told him that my apartment lease expires at the end of August. I asked his opinion on whether he thinks I should sign another 6-month lease, or go month-to-month at $100 more per month on my rent, still having to provide 2 months notice because of how long I’ve lived here. He thought about it for quite a while, and suggested I sign another lease because if the $100/month is going to be a hardship on me – which it will, unless I know it’s only for a few months. I don’t even have the slightest thought that I’ll be approved by this Friday, because he said to get in touch with him in 2 weeks to check on my application’s status, but I’m going to not sign a new lease until Friday…may as well drag it out until the last day…just in case. You never know what could happen in 48 hours.

Once I’m approved, I have 90 days to complete the sale transaction. That’s 3 months. I’m thinking that once I’m into my 6 months, I am confident I could probably get out of my lease. Apartments are at a premium in the city right now. I would still give them 2 months notice…unless they’d let me get away with less. You never know…a new tenant that they could lock into a longer lease might be better for everyone involved. I could also talk to them about sub-leasing because if I’m handed that much money for a down payment on a house, I can’t say no because of an apartment lease.

So, now it’s a waiting game. I know I’ll be approved based on what Jason said, it’s just a matter of where I rate for priority. I’m looking forward to the day I get that call so I can seriously look for a house. Being about to look at places knowing you can, right there and then make an offer on it is exciting.

It’s a happy day.

Charles

First, though, an update on the whole getting 10 to 40% of the down payment for a house for free from the Government. When I first found out about this program I went to the Housing Corporation’s website and followed their direction and sent an e-mail to one of their people asking for more information and an application form. He told me that I’d have to contact their receptionist to book an appointment/interview for the application process…but, they were moving offices and she wouldn’t be reachable for a week. Good time to move – when you’re insanely busy with a new initiative.

So, I calmly waited until the day I was told she’d be accessible and called. I got the general government switchboard and was told they were still moving and should be available to call the next day. Okay. I can handle that…things go wrong sometimes. I waited. I called back the next day. Same operator. She offered to take a message for me. I asked if the person was on e-mail during the move and was told that yes, in fact that’s how she’d be sending the message I leave. I suggested I e-mail her directly, which she said would be a grand idea.

Now, I know how the world works. You have to be super pleasant to receptionists. Often, they decide who gets past them or not. You want to see the president of a company, don’t be a prick to the receptionist because even if you have the most important thing to discuss, they may not let you through. With that in mind, I sent this woman a pleasant e-mail asking if I could be scheduled for an appointment – at their convenience – for this program. I went out of my way to be understanding of moving offices and such things, without obviously sucking up (that’s sometimes just as bad). She responded that I should wait another few days and then I could call and make an appointment. Shiite. Okay.

I waited…more days and called and actually connected to her. Turns out she’s not the brightest flashlight in the Disneyland light parade. She had trouble typing in my name and phone number, repeatedly asking me to repeat it and I could hear her typing – v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. Right. I type about 110 wpm and while I don’t expect people to go this fast, I expect a receptionist to be able to type faster than a high school student. Whatever…I wasn’t going to gain or lose points on how I treat her – that was obvious.

My appointment – their next available was the following Wednesday – tomorrow, August 28 at 2:00 pm.

I requested and received a letter confirming my employment and salary and sat back. I knew that I didn’t have copies of my 1999, 2000 and 2001 Revenue Canada tax assessments, but I figured I could bring in copies of the tax returns I filed instead…I figured they’d be enough. That said, I did buzz by the Government of Canada website, found the Revenue Canada section and found a place to send them a message/request and did submit a request to receive copies of the three years’ assessments. I never heard back from them via e-mail, so figured it was sucked into the big government void. To my surprise, on Monday (yesterday) when I checked my snail mail, I had a package from Revenue Canada with copies of my assessments! Bonus! I had everything I needed to qualify for this program. Okay…not everything. One of the requirements is that I be pre-approved for a mortgage. I knew I could get this within half an hour of sitting online, so figured I’d just leave it and deal with it after I get approved. Then, my brain woke up and said to me “you’ve got EVERYTHING they want except the pre-approval – it doesn’t cost you anything – get the bloody pre-approval so you have it in hand when you walk into the appointment”. For a change, I listened to myself and ventured forth to bank websites.

I started at my own. I went into their electronic pre-approval application section and started plugging in information about me, my financial situation and everything else they were asking. When I finally hit “submit”, it came back with errors that I had not entered Co-Applicant information – their name, address, employer, etc. Huh? There IS no co-applicant. Had I missed something?

I backed up and looked around – there was no yes/no question for co-applicant and in fact, there was no mention of co-applicant except space to enter a co-applicant’s financial information. I went through that entering “n/a”s and zeros and hit “submit” again. Same errors. I backed up right to the start to ensure I didn’t miss something. Nope. They never asked me if I had a co-applicant, nor asked what their name is or where they work, but they continued to fart back errors because I hadn’t told them that information. Bloody hell. I went into a “Contact Us” section and sent them a snarky e-mail about how I was now proceeding to another online bank application for my pre-approval and that I may or may not return for my actual mortgage because satisfying me is largely based on how convenient they made it. So far, they were losing.

Next, I was off to the Royal Bank. They seem friendly enough. I plugged in all the information, but, where they would normally ask how much you owe on your credit cards, they asked what my limit is. Wuh? My VISA people just increased my limit and decreased my interest rate because I’m being all responsible ‘n’ shit. Sure enough, the Royal Bank held it against me and told me I’d only be eligible to borrow about $92,000 because they counted my “available credit” as used credit. Fuck off. That’s not fair at all if I’m managing my credit responsibly and have a good credit rating. NEXT!

Okay…I’m to CIBC now. I have a thing against the CIBC because of a few experiences I’ve had in the local branch. My VISA is through them, though I never deal with the peons at the counters – I’m an online and telephone kinda guy. My big story with them is that it took me 40 minutes to get $200 in travelers cheques a few years ago…U.S. travelers cheques. There was a whole discussion because I actually wanted $50 cash and $150 in cheques. They only had $20 values sold in $100 chunks. I said fine, I’ll take $200 and cash in $60 immediately if they had American cash. They said they did and I could do that. I’m going way off on a tangent here. Welcome to my life. Anyway…40 minutes later I had the cheques, signed three $20′s and handed them back…and the girl asked me for identification. Fuuuuuck! The experience ended with me going into a customer service manager type’s office to tell them how unimpressed I was and how I would never bring my banking to them because of such events. The manager person didn’t seem to care, telling me it was their policy to treat me as they did. Wow…they INSIST I get treated like that…out of principle! Anyway, I called their toll-free number and shared with a woman there who told me the local branch were idiots and that I was completely in the right. I’ve since realized that I rarely if ever go into my own branch. As I said, I’m an online, telephone and bank machine kinda guy. It doesn’t really matter where I bank, as long as they don’t let the morons touch the machines I’m dealing with.

So…the CIBC online application. It actually went quite well until I got down to banking information. They wanted to know where my current bank is, account numbers and balances. I figured it wasn’t any of their goddamn business what my account numbers are, but I’d tell them the bank name and my balance since it’s relevant to the application. Then, they wanted to know my credit cards, their account numbers and balances. Again, mostly none of their business except for that I have my VISA with them. I figure they could bloody well look it up if they cared that much. I told them it was a VISA with them and my balance of squat.

The machine then told me a human had to look at it (oh…good thing I applied online!) and that they’d get back to me the next day – here’s your secret name and password to get the results.

Next…ING Direct. They’re a virtual bank that has amazing interest rates. Their mortgage rates were a few percentage marks lower than the big banks. Their online application was kinda fun – it was all pull-down boxes. Then, they asked me how much I wanted pre-approval for…I told them. After, they wanted to know the value of the property. Uh…what property? I’m going for pre-approval…not purchase. There is no actual property in play yet. Fine…I gave them the same amount. Later, they wanted to know the square footage of the building. What building?! Didn’t we make it clear already this is pre-approval in your own drop-down menu? Weren’t you paying attention? I picked a random number that would be about a house and hit “submit”.

You are not approved. Excellent. The fun part is that they didn’t actually say why, but gave suggestions like – you may not have provided enough of a down payment. Great…except that their application form didn’t ask me how much of a down payment I was going to provide. Other suggestions why I wasn’t approved referred to question numbers and the question that both didn’t match up with the application form AND didn’t even exist on the application. I don’t think I want to deal with them if they can’t get their own form right.

I went to bed a little deflated thinking I was going to have to make a real-live appointment at my bank which could take a week or more to get…but my appointment is on Wednesday. I called my bank this morning and they actually said they could take me today – this afternoon. That was a little soon – all my paperwork was at home and I was too busy at work to disappear. They scheduled me in for noon tomorrow. Then, of course I have my Housing Corporation meeting at 2:00 pm. Lookin’ good.

Tonight when I got home from work I had a couple of excitedly worded e-mail from CIBC telling me I was definitely approved for the amount I asked for…and I could have more if I chose to do so. I printed that pre-approval certificate and will bring it with me to the bank meeting I have tomorrow, as well as have it for the Housing Corporation meeting in case mine doesn’t go quickly enough. CIBC seems to actually be interested in my business. I don’t much care where I bank and will tell my mortgage interview person tomorrow that if CIBC gets my mortgage, they get all my accounts – I’m not flipping between banks to do different things. If my banks wants to keep me, they can bloody well work for it.

So…tonight I have all my papers organized and ready to go. I’m anxious about the whole process and have a list of questions ready for the Housing Corporation guy, the leading one being “when will I find out if I’m approved?” A driving factor right now is that my current lease expires at the end of August…days away. By the end of the month I need to either sign another six-month lease, or give my two-months notice that I’ll be moving out ’cause I’m approved and buying a home. I of course had to drive by the place I’m still watching on my way home to see if it’s still for sale. The sign is still on it…that’s good.

I’m preparing myself to know that there’s no way they’ll approve me and hand me a cheque for $40,000 tomorrow…but I also want to stay positive about the whole thing. I know this is all really boring for you if you haven’t bought a house yourself before, or borrowed money in mass quantities or anything like that. This is where my brain is right now, though.

The kids came back to school today. I’m finding myself going to bed earlier and earlier each night to build up the energy I need. I’m having to keep up with 700 students that all want and need individual attention and 60 teachers who equally need my attention. I cannot tell you how many times today I said “no problem!” in a cheerful and happy tone while being interrupted AGAIN from whatever I was trying to accomplish. They all start classes tomorrow, so hopefully things will calm down. I’ll be gone for 2 hours of the day for my financial meetings, so I’ll miss a good part of the afternoon excitement.

I’ll let you know how it goes. I’m hoping I’ll have amazing news and can call the owners of the house I’m stalking to ask for a viewing. I don’t want to waste their time unless I’m approved for everything and can actually afford to buy it. My dream right now is to be assured I’m approved, give two months notice and take possession of the new place in mid-October…or even the start of October so I have plenty of time to move in. I know I have to remain patient…not easy for me. Things will happen in their own good time.

Off to bed I go at 9:30 pm.

Charles…the wild man

I’ve had two cats since I was 22 years old. The first two were Dave and Bailey. They’ve all been SPCA cats, so who knows their lineage…I’ve never “gotten” people who spend their hard earned money on purebred cats. They’re CATS, people!

Dave was an amazing guy. He chose me. I’m convinced of that. I originally decided to get A cat because of my stressful work life at the time. I lived at work and had very little time to do anything else but sleep. I found myself getting more and more depressed by the day, though I loved my job. A good job isn’t always enough. Anyway, I decided to visit the SPCA in Calgary, Alberta and while in the cat room, was looking at a cute kitten in a cage at about eye level when a paw reached out from a cage at knee level and touched my leg. I knelt down and felt fate smack me upside the head. I probably never would’ve gotten down to Dave’s cage if he hasn’t chosen me.

Dave was named before I even walked into the SPCA that day. A friend actually named him in a conversation years earlier when we realized that in our lives, in every circle we had – work, friends, etc. there was ALWAYS a Dave, David, Davey, or such variations, but that we had never known an animal to be named Dave…common for humans, not for animals. I decided then that when and if I got a pet, it would be Dave. Dave suited the name perfectly, being a true and loyal friend. In what was probably the most difficult three days of my life, back in 1999 (I find it interesting here that I’ve paused for quite a while to count back in my brain to verify this year and my mind has wandered instead to thinking about Dave rather than care about the accurateness of this) while living in Cranbrook, British Columbia, I took him into the vet for a checkup, found out that he had a huge cancerous tumor under his tongue and had to have him put down. This all happened in one long weekend. I cried. A lot. I’ll never forget him.

Backing up 6 years, three months after I got Dave, I realized that now HE was bored to tears being alone at home all the time because I was still working all the time. I realized that Dave needed a playmate and made another trek to the Calgary SPCA. There were very few cats in the shelter that day, but I noticed a dark blob in a cage on the floor. A mother cat had been found with her three kittens at Spruce Meadows, a horse racing facility outside of Calgary. The mother had died. There were these three, barely alive little brown things curled up together. I decided to adopt the one boy, who fit in the palm of my hand. When I brought him home I had to bathe him in the bathroom sink a few times before his fur wasn’t matted. His health wasn’t the greatest and we had many trips to vet and I was up all hours caring for him, giving him medication and watching to make sure he stayed alive. That was Bailey. He was originally a very angry kitten, I imagine from his early rough start, but he quickly became Dave’s best friend and my stalky-walking, runt-sized guy.

Last year I discovered a lump on Bailey’s back, took him to the vet and found he had cancer as well. I had the lump removed, but within a couple of months it began to grow back and then one day, he appeared to be paralyzed on one side of his body. Many, many trips to the vet and many many tests couldn’t figure out what was causing it. Bailey was clearly in pain, unable to eat, get into his litter box or walk properly. He would drag himself to the bed at night, I would lift him up and then later when he decided to leave, he would fall off the bed with a thud, rest a while and then slowly drag himself away. I cried. A lot. This lasted about a week while my vet continued to hold hope that we could figure out what was wrong, but ultimately, over a weekend I decided that Bailey’s quality of life was no longer good. I had him put down that Monday morning after an emergency call to my vet. I cried. Bailey was a true friend for 10 years. When at his prime, he used to let me use him as a pillow, not moving when I laid down with my head on him. I miss him a lot.

Wow…this isn’t turning out to be a fun ramble at all. I had this great idea, inspired by what’s happening in my apartment right now and now I sit here, crying and going in a completely different directly.

Backing up to 1999 again, after putting down Dave, I visited the SPCA in Cranbrook and found a kitten they had named Flint, because he’s grey. I brought him home and decided Flint was a stupid name that didn’t suit him. For a few days I named him RC – Replacement Cat. After getting to know him, I realized that his name was Jackson, or, as my brother said to me when I told him the kitten’s name was Jackson – “okay, Jax it is”.

Jax is a great guy. Spastic and snuggly all in one. Jax loves to lay on me, regardless of where I am or what I’m doing. When I’m in bed, although the entire bed is available for him to lay down, he’ll climb on top of the covers which are on top of me, and lay down there. Usually, as soon as I move, he jumps off and settles next to me, but he always starts off on top. What I’ll always remember Jackson for is his love of being under blankets. He often comes to the top of the bed and pushes his nose and pulls with his paws until he can get under the covers…then he goes under and rams his nose up to create a bit of a tent for a millisecond. He’ll do this until he’s found where he wants to lay down.

After Bailey was gone, I had only Jackson. Jackson was still a kid at only 3 years old. I decided that I didn’t want another cat…not right away, anyway. I waited about a month I think it was before I ventured back to the SPCA, now in Yellowknife. I had always thought that I should adopt a cat and not the kittens I kept getting. I found a pure white, 6-year-old, de-clawed, long-haired female named Sasha and decided to bring her home. That lasted a week. Sasha was the biggest psycho bitch cat that I’ve ever seen. She hated to be touched, wouldn’t come near me, hissed at Jackson non-stop and ate more food in her week here than Bailey and Jackson used to eat combined in a week. When I had adopted her the SPCA stressed – emphatically stressed to me that if it didn’t work out I could bring her back as long as it was within two weeks. I was clearly not the right home for Sasha, so brought her back. She did end up getting adopted, successfully, by someone else some time later. I wish them luck with her.

I figured Jax and I would go it alone for a while. I knew that I had to start with a kitten again and wasn’t sure if I really wanted to do that again. My commitment to my boys, when I adopt them is that I’ll keep them for life – theirs or mine. When I told that to Dave and Bailey back in the early 1990′s I never really thought about the day they would be gone.

The day I brought back psycho bitch Sasha, my vet asked if I wanted to get a kitten – born 5 days earlier there at the clinic – nobody knows they’re here yet – you can jump to the top of the waiting list for an SPCA kitten. I insisted that I was in no rush and that those ahead of me could have them. They asked again. I repeated. They asked if I wanted to at least see them. Geez. Okay. You know I was sold right there. I chose a little brown kitten with tufts of white hair on his chin and belly. Trouble was, I couldn’t take him home until he was about 7 weeks old.

For the next 7 weeks I visited twice a week, taking pictures and keeping my friends and family updated on his development. He was, of course, the smartest and cutest of the four siblings and remembered me when I would visit. Of course he could! He’s my boy!

I did a survey of friends and family for name suggestions. I took their suggestions and of course immediately ignored them all. I decided on the name Harrison and knew it was right. Nicky, from Australia, now living and working in London informed me one day that Harrison’s nickname should be Hazza. Right. How does that work? She related some soccer player’s name in Australia who’s nickname is a similar “azza” name and so, that’s just what it should be. So…should Harrison happen to grow up, move to Australia and become a soccer player, he’s got a name for himself already. I’ve told you that Nicky insists “there’s always wine”, right? I’m thinkin’ the night of that conversation that there was no more left.

SO! Why did I start writing this in the first place? Entertainment value! I decided this evening that Jackson needed a bath. Trouble is, when I bathe him, he makes noises that sound like I’m trying to drown him and he’s calling all the cats on the planet to come save him. I decided to take a different approach tonight and filled a bucket of water, put Jax in the bath tub and scooped cups of water onto him, then lathered him up, then scooped cups of water on him again to rinse. He was never immersed and could clearly see he wasn’t going to drown. He still attempted to alert other cats, but the volume this time was probably only calling those in Canadia. I think my neighbours think I kill cats for a hobby.

Anyway, so shortly before I started writing this, Harrison suddenly appeared, having been hiding from the now wet Jackson and Jackson saw him, so went to visit. Harrison decided that Jackson was evil somehow and started hissing up a storm at him. Jax is an absolutely wonderful guy, but not the brightest feline on the planet and began chasing Harrison around the apartment, wondering what was wrong with him – wanting to help, I suspect. Meanwhile, Harrison would turn around every so often, jump up on chairs, run into other rooms and hiss constantly! He didn’t want a wet Jackson near him! This went on for about 5 minutes until I think Jackson decided Harrison is just insane and finally let him be. It’s cheap entertainment for me, but I thought it was funny.

The other cheap entertainment tool for you cat lovers, or friends of cat lovers – a laser pointer. I swear to you that you’ll enjoy it more than the cats. Get a laser pointer for someone who owns cats and you’ll be entertained for hours…days…months! They chase around the little red dot like it’s going to taste like something when they catch it. Harrison follows it all over the apartment while I have it shined on the ceiling. I don’t know if he thinks he’ll catch it when it comes down or something. Jackson has spun himself dizzy a few times chasing the evil red dot in circles until he finally fell over.

Was there a point to this ramble? I probably could’ve simply said “buy a laser pointer if you have cats”, or “my wet cat is chasing my other cat”. That wouldn’t be like me to be succinct, though. I ramble, therefore I am.

G’night.

Charles

I’ve done pretty well with this, being mellow, taking it day-by-day, establishing a plan, putting money away…being patient in general. My brother has always been a patient person and things have always come to him. I’m trying to use him as an example.

My plan, as of a month ago was pretty solid. I’ve got enough saved now for a down payment – the minimum 5% required for a first-time home owner. What remained was me to save enough for the closing costs – lawyers and such, as well as moving expenses and all the other things that come up when you buy a place. I was planning on signing another six-month lease beginning in September, and buying a place to move in in March of 2003.

The other glitches in this whole game is that because of my salary, I don’t earn enough to qualify for a mortgage because of my car payment. The good part of this is that my car lease comes to an end in October, so I figured I’d turn in the car and then be in a position to qualify for the mortgage. There are other issues abound like my job has been in reclassification hell for the last year, which, once it’s done will increase my salary by probably about $5000 to $7000, as well as provide retroactive pay for last school year…though I know that’ll be another fight, but my boss is on my side, so it’ll happen. Really, what matters here is that I’ve got a plan, it’s realistic and I think if everything ticks away the way I expect, it should all come together. A reasonable plan, I thought. You should know as well that the main reason for me to want to buy is that my psycho landlord raised my rent last year to $1000/month for a one-bedroom apartment. I’ve done the math and know that with my mortgage I would be paying about $800/month, including utilities…and be in my own place with payments going somewhere useful.

Now the good glitch that this entry is truly about. My brother claims that his patient, let things be and they’ll turn out for you is that when opportunity does knock, you have to be ready to pursue it full-force. I’ve never had such a loud knock on my door as came last week and am working to pursue the opportunity with anxiousness and fear.

The Housing Corporation branch of the Territorial Government here occasionally has assistance plans to promote home ownership. The big break my brother got years ago when the Nunavut Territory was formed was they were giving away – and I mean as a gift, no strings attached, $10,000 for new home owners. They actually were giving away I think $15,000 or more in Nunavut, and made it $10,000 in the Northwest Territories. My brother jumped on it and used that $10K for his house down payment.

This past week the Housing Corporation started a new initiative, primarily aimed at people in low-cost housing, or those on waiting lists to get into low-cost housing. Low cost housing, for those of you who don’t know are government-subsidized housing for those who fall below the poverty line. I probably could qualify, except that I’m too proud and I’m single, white, and male. I’m not their key focus.

I qualify fully for the new program – 5 years living in the Territories, the last of that in Yellowknife, I’m over 19, I don’t currently own a home, I earn less than $79,500/year and it goes on and on. I have to provide proof of income for the last three years as well as provide proof of current income, and, of course, I’m not their first priority, but I feel good about this. The only real catch to the program is that the money they’ll be giving out is in the form of a forgivable loan. I haven’t received confirmation yet, but I believe the term of the forgiveability (is that a word?) is 15 years. So, if I keep the house for 15 years, I don’t have to pay it back at all. I have no plans to leave Yellowknife. I’ve already lived her 25 years. This isn’t a great catch for me.

Alright…the deal. The maximum purchase price is $180,000. This isn’t a problem – I’m looking at $110,000 to $120,000 maximum. How much could I get? Get this…it’s a sliding scale, based presumably on salary level of 10% to 40%. That’s right, they’re willing to “give”/lend up to 40% of the purchase price towards the down payment. Because my salary is so far away from $79,500, it’s quite conceivable that I’ll qualify for the full 40%, and even if I don’t, the worst-case scenario of 10% would still be double the amount I was planning on putting down personally, plus of course I would get to keep the money I’ve saved for other house expenses. Are you seeing why I’m freaked out by this?

There is a possibility – best case scenario that I could buy a $120,000 home and immediately have 40% of that – $48,000 given to me for the down payment, leaving my mortgage to only be $72,000. Wow. As my brother says, you have to be ready for the opportunities when they knock and pursue them.

There are a few time restrictions as well. I have to have the purchase of the house complete within 60 days of being approved for this program, and my possession date be within 90 days of the closing day of the sale…so 5 months from the day I’m approved is the maximum time I have to complete the whole process.

This past week I contacted the Housing Corporation people for more information. They said that to apply for it, I must make an appointment for an interview, but that their offices are moving and they don’t want me to request an appointment until after the 20th of August. I’m going to start gathering my papers this week so I’m ready whenever my appointment is.

The other glitch of sorts is that I have to make a decision to renew the lease on my apartment by the end of August. If I don’t sign another six-month lease, my rent will go up to $1100/month and I’ll still have to give 2 months notice to move out because I’ve lived here for so long.

To add fun to the excitement, before I traveled to Ontario this summer, I drove around town looking at different neighbourhoods in the city to find a place that I’d LIKE to own and live that I figure is also in my price range. I found a nice little court that happens to have one of the places for sale – a private sale. The owners don’t seem in a huge rush to sell – all they have is a little orange & white hardware store-type sign stapled to the front of the place that says “House For Sale” and their phone number. Our city hall is quite advanced technologically, so I went to the city’s website last night and looked up the property to find out what they’ve valued it at for tax purposes, as well as see how much their taxes are and whether they’ve been paid this year. The city has it valued at $106,000 and their taxes have been paid for the year, so that wouldn’t be another expense I’d have to pay by the end of the year. I looked up my brother’s place and they have his place valued at about $10,000 less than he paid for it three years ago. This makes me think the sale price of the place I’m looking at it is likely in my $110,000 to $120,000 range.

There really is no cute story to this entry…it’s just dumping my thoughts on the page so I can stand back and look at them. If I qualify for the Housing Corporation program, what I’ll have to do is pay off the two months left in my car lease so that I can apply for a mortgage without the car lease payment being on the list of expenses and then go approach a real estate agent as well as call those people making the private sale. It freaks me out to consider that this could actually happen within a couple of months…simply because I’m listening to opportunity. I also don’t want to get my hopes up because I am quite comfortable with the plan I already have in place. The reality is that the Housing Corporation likely does HAVE to give away money and while I may not be at the top of their priority list, I likely would jump to the top pretty quickly if they don’t have any other active applications ahead of me.

I don’t want to judge those in low-cost subsidized housing, but my belief is that the majority of them likely don’t consider buying a place, mortgages and such long-term financial commitments. I know this sounds like I’m judging them as individuals; but really, I don’t think someone who has a few kids who can’t afford to pay their own rent thinks 15 years in advance. Sure, I acknowledge that they could be a family that has come upon some hard times, but I don’t think the majority of them are that pro-active with their thinking. What this means is that they likely won’t be applying for this program, increasing my chances of being approved.

Something else that entertains me with this process is that if it all does happen this quickly, I’m thinking that I won’t tell my parents about it. I’m certainly not going to tell them about the Housing Corporation program unless I qualify for it and am approved. I love them dearly, but I don’t want any more advice on this. I’ll be hiring a lawyer to do the paperwork for me and I know enough people who’ve bought houses in the last few years to find out the ups and downs and what to look out for. Ultimately, my parents can’t help me choose which house I want to buy. If I like it, and it passes the home inspection I’ll have done, and it’s in my price range, I’ll go for it. I think it would be a fun surprise to simply send my parents a change of address card along with some photos of the new place. That’s my kind of fun.

This home-buying thing will get transferred into the Obsessions section. I’m going to go out and take some photos of the place I’ve got my eye on – the outside only, of course – mainly for me to stare at, but also for you to see what $120,000 buys in Yellowknife. It’ll be a mobile home/trailer/manufactured home (whatever name you want to use for it) built in about 1984. It’s brown, has a deck (I want to be able to barbeque!!), and a small, sloping yard. It also looks as though nothing will be developed behind it with the way they city is adding new streets in the area. They’ve got a refrigerator on their deck, so that could possibly mean they’ve recently replaced theirs (or they’re hick types that has an extra fridge on the deck) and they’ve got bunches of kid play things scattered in the yard and on the deck.

As things go along in this process I’ll put updates in my rambles…good news or bad news. I’m staying cautiously optimistic. Oh…if I do qualify for the full 40% and it’s on a $120,000 home, my mortgage and utility payments will drop to about $700/month combined…$300/month less than what I’m paying now…plus my increase in salary – I’ll be doing much better financially. Patience and listening for opportunity. I’m learning.

I’ll have room for you to come and visit if this actually happens!

Charles

One of my projects today was to go shopping for supplies to replenish the first aid kits we have spread throughout the school. I opted to go to Wal-Mart, figuring I’d get the band-aids and rubber gloves reasonably cheap, and also it being the middle of the day, there likely wouldn’t be very many people there letting me pop in and out of the store quickly. Then, Andrea entered my life.

Let me start off by telling you that if you’re ever in the Wal-Mart in Yellowknife and see a young cashier named Andrea, run away. As fast as you can. Seriously.

My story starts as I stood in line at Andrea’s register. There were a couple of people in front of me and I was watching Andrea drag each item of theirs across the light in a staggeringly slow manner. One thing I do know is that Wal-Mart registers – the local ones, anyway, aren’t cable of doing multiple items – quantities of – you know what I mean. I found this out years ago when I saw someone buying a box of Kool-Aid crystals. I have no idea how many of those little packets are in those boxes, but that day I saw the poor cashier having to zap each individual packet. Wow. Talk about inefficiency.

In my line today, the person two people in front of me was buying yellow plastic tent pegs…I think five per package. She was buying 8 of these packages. I’m thinkin’ she owns a summer camp or something. Anyway, Andrea decided to zap each one of these packages individually, turning them around to find the bar code and waving them in front of the light a few times, then cramming them into a plastic bag facing in opposite directions so that they were poking through the bag. I knew then that I had chosen the wrong line, but there were people behind me and I figured I was committed to this adventure.

My turn arrived, and Andrea started dragging the boxes of band-aids across the light. I was buying about 20 boxes of them – all the same type, size, price, etc. Andrea decided it was most efficient to once again take them individually, finding the bar code and drag it across the light multiple times until she got it to beep. Then, the excitement began…the latex rubber gloves. I was buying two boxes of them.

Andrea dragged the first box of gloves across the light and her register gave her a negative beep – it didn’t recognize the item. Andrea started to argue with the machine – and I mean argue – “I HATE this! Aarrgh! I already pushed the cancel button!” she said repeatedly as she tried over and over to scan the box of gloves. Her argument with the register got louder and more bizarre every time she did this and her slamming the buttons down on the register got more and more violent. This was becoming entertaining to me. I was on the clock and wasn’t in a rush, so decided to ride it out.

I decided to try to help by saying “I got them in pharmacy – why don’t you call them for a price?” Now, you have to understand that not every register has it’s own telephone, so she had to go to the empty register next door – away from me – and paged for someone from pharmacy to call her. She stood there for probably about 3 minutes waiting for them to respond. While she was waiting I looked to the woman standing behind me in the line and said “I think we got a good one!”. She smiled back.

Finally, Andrea decided to come back to her register, frustrated as ever. I tried to help again by saying “do they have a phone in pharmacy that you could call them at?”. Her response was “I already paged them – they didn’t respond – they must be busy”. Now, I would expect that people counting pills that can cure/kill you probably don’t have muzak playing above them – I highly doubt that they have a public address speaker in their area…but I know they have a phone because they page customers to come back and pick up their prescriptions.

Andrea then decided that maybe the computer had changed it’s mind, so she tried dragging the gloves across the light again a few more times, getting louder and louder as she argued with it. I tried to help again by suggesting, “is there someone you can call for help?” Andrea wandered over to the register next to hers again and picked up the phone, paging a manager or customer service person to come to her register. She stood there another 3 or more minutes waiting for a reply…even though she didn’t page them to call her. Finally, she came back, frustrated as could be. I tried again – “Do the managers have names? Could you call them by name?” Andrea’s response – “we’re not allowed to call them by name and we don’t know who’s working anyway – we just have to wait for someone to show up”.

Andrea finally showed a sign of intelligence. Seemingly in an argument with herself, she blurted out that “someone will have to go and check the price of the gloves”. I smiled and said “whatever you think is best”. She then turned and took BOTH, IDENTICAL boxes with her and headed towards the pharmacy department. While she was gone, I turned to the woman, still patiently waiting behind me and said “run away now, while you still have the chance”. She smiled back.

Eventually (I’m guessing about 3 minutes later), Andrea walked back – okay, she had a bit of a jog going on and arrived at the register, the two boxes in hand. She seemed to know what to do – even I’ve seen this before and knew what to do – scan it, acknowledge the error, clear it and tell the machine you want to do it manually. She started this process – the machine asked her for a department – no problem. Then, it asked her for a description of the product. Andrea didn’t think that was a good idea and both said aloud and hit the “clear” key at the same time. For the next 30 seconds or so the machine, having not received the information it had asked for gave her, in as many messages it could muster and in as negative beeps it could create a message that, translated into English was “no – no – no – NO – no – NO”. Andrea stood there, angrier than ever, convinced we had to continue waiting for a manager of some sort to show up – from her call some 10 minutes earlier.

I had had enough, so I wandered down to the customer service booth thing and said “the girl on till 6 doesn’t know how to use her register – could someone please come and help her?” One of the girls there acknowledged and followed behind me reasonably quickly. Once there, she quickly saw what had to be done – the whole scan, clear, department, description, price, tah-dah! She quickly described the process to Andrea and was about to leave again. I stopped her and said, “could you stay and do this please?” Her response was “I’m in customer service – I have people waiting for me”. HA!

Okay…you know me well enough now to figure out what I did, right? I pointed at myself and said “customer!” and then pointed at the gloves and said “service!” in a reasonably cheerful, but slightly demeaning tone. The girl stayed and rang in the gloves. As she hit the final enter key, the woman behind me quickly said “times two!”, then she and I looked at each other and smiled.

Remember that Wal-Mart registers won’t allow quantities to be rung in? Andrea motioned that she wanted to try this on her own, so the customer service lady turned to go and I said “thank you” – I was sincere. Andrea was on her own again. She did okay – she got as far as entering the description again and then we were paused for about 2 minutes as she tried to spell “gloves” on their key pad. When she finally finished and hit enter I loudly said “Hallelujah!” which got a cheer out of the lady next to me and smiles from the rest of the line.

Total, credit card, print, sign. Uh…”can I have my card back please?” Yup…she’d not returned it, concentrating instead on ensuring she got her pen back (she actually yanked it away from one of the women in front of me earlier).

So, diary, today it took me about 20 minutes to buy some band-aids and rubber gloves. The adventure didn’t cost me anything and you know, I kind of want to go back tomorrow and buy another box of rubber gloves… but only if Andrea is there again.

Welcome to Wal-Mart!

Charles

I’ve been in Calgary, Alberta for the last four days. I wasn’t able to quickly and easily get an internet connection, so gave up and enjoyed not being ‘wired’ for a few days. That doesn’t stop me from writing, though…not me! Not the RambleMan!

This is a true story. My apologies for the boring bits, but well, get to know me and you’ll realize they’re par for the course. Another sports reference without evening trying! I stayed with Joan, a college buddy, while in Calgary. During my stay she flexed her super power networking muscles and managed to get us free tickets to a football game – Calgary Stampeders vs. Toronto Argonauts. Without knowing anything about either team, I’m voting against the Argos simply because I had a shitty experience at the Toronto airport on my way East to visit the parents. In all likelihood the football team had nothing to do with the constant construction and horrid organization and layout of the place, but I believe in guilt by association when it’s convenient for me to use, so the Argos must burn in hell.

Oh! The free tix also came with free beer, Mike’s Hard Lemonade and a “smokies” – big honkin’ hot dogs. Have you noticed that I haven’t oozed about my excitement for the game (it’s tonight as I write this)? Have you noticed my lack of guy-esque rough & tumble excitement for the impending game? The best way to summarize my knowledge of and exposure was nicely summarized by Joan when I reminded her she would have to teach me the rules of the game by saying to me, “you’re such a girl”. I’m sure she meant it in the most manly way possible.

Remember that I grew up in a small, isolated Arctic town. Football doesn’t exist up there in any form. Hockey exists in recreational form – mainly for kids and in our very short, but always-sunny summers, softball leagues come to life. I’ve never really had exposure to the “big” sports and so (this is my defense) I know little about them and certainly don’t have favorite teams (which seems to be a necessity if you’re a man of any sort).

I did my college/university thang here in Calgary, so made a point of attending a few hockey games – I decided the Calgary Flames were my favourite team because I probably would’ve had the shit beat out of me if I hadn’t. I’ve attended a few other live sports since then and have realized that while I didn’t grow up watching sports on television, I love ALL sports live. Okay, probably not Golf, unless they serve beer and let me play on the golf carts. I think miniature golf would probably be more entertaining to watch what with the colourful windmills and other interesting hazards.

So…this entry will be the first that I write in two parts. Usually I sit down, bang out a ramble and post it without proof-reading/editing it to ensure I don’t sound like a total moron. I figure you’re getting the real Charles through these entries…why improve on perfection? Shuddup!

I’m going to finish this entry after the game tonight. Right now I’m all academic and interesting in the game in an intellectual way…understanding it, watching for the thinking that goes into it and the plan being exercised. I’m sure it’ll probably turn out like hockey where, as long as you’re whooping and hollering at appropriate times and can spot the puck when everybody stands up and makes an unhappy, disapproving tone, you’re set. See ya later tonight…but of course this won’t be posted until I get home on Saturday night and get online again.

Alright! It’s the next day. What a great experience last night. Sure, there were drunk people in front of us having loud conversations about how they were too far from the action on the field to see what was going on, but they could see better than the referee dudes when it came to disputing a call against our home team. There were also cheerleaders there. Real, live cheerleaders. This is a first for me as well (I’ve been very sheltered). First, I was disappointed that they didn’t do cheerleading like you see on TSN/ESPN with jumps and pyramids and such. After my disappointment subsided, I noticed that they were doing a damn good job of shimmying and shaking to whatever music was blaring over the stadium’s sound system. There were two sets of cheerleaders – one on either side of the stadium who moved up and down the side depending on the quarter of the game we were in. They also were on the field during half time to lead some junior cheerleader-type girls in their choreographed thing.

Right…there was a football game going on as well. At this point I can confidently say that I understand the rules of football – or Canadian football, anyway. Joan took the time to explain what “downs”, “yards” and “possession” mean. It’s really quite simple. Before this game I understood that each team was frantically trying to get “the ball” from one end to the other while the opposing team did everything in their power to stop them. What I didn’t understand was how they decided who got the ball and when their turn was over. Did I mention there were cheerleaders there too?

It was a good game – the Calgary Stampeders stomped the Toronto Argonauts 31 to 11. The stamps were great…and Toronto really did suck. The crowd was wonderful with Joan seemingly friends with about a quarter of the stadium of 30,000 people. Every time she turned around someone else was waving at her or coming up and saying hello. It was quite frightening in a cosmic-connection kind of way that these people would all end up going to the same football game and end up sitting in the same section…without pre-arranging it. I just think that Joan knows everybody in Calgary…that’s easier to rationalize than the probabilities she’d run into these people. Damn…the lottery draw for tonight is something like $17.5 Million dollars…I’ll have to get her to buy a ticket for me!

We didn’t cash in our free tickets for smokies and suds because of the trek out of the ozone-layer height of our seats all the way to the long line up for the food. I was too focused on watching the game and Joan of course had set up a living room for all of her friends to visit by this point.

In the end, we left with 9 minutes remaining in the game…which of course lasted another 20 minutes or so. It was clear that Calgary was going to win and we didn’t want to get caught up in the mass exodus of over-excited and intoxicated fans. You have to remember as well that the population of my town is about 18,000 people and that there were about 30,000 people at this game. Whoa fuck. The logistics of traffic flow in and out of this stadium make my brain melt. They did host the Olympics in 1988, though, so they must know what they’re doing.

Once in the car and on the drive home we turned on the radio to hear the end of the game. I didn’t understand any of that part because they were actually telling us WHO had the ball and what they were doing with it…like, their names! All I knew was that I was rooting for the guys in red…who gives a shit what their NAMES are! The radio also didn’t mention the cheerleaders at all…boy, have they got their priorities screwed up. I imagine myself doing the commentary. The red guys have the ball and are going in the right direction. Oh! The white guys stopped them. There they go again. The cheerleaders are doing a shimmy dance to My Sharona. There are a dozen of them dancing in unison on either side of the field. Their names are…oh, who are we kidding – who cares what their names are. Something must have happened on the field because the cheerleaders are jumping up and down…look at them jump up and down. Go Stamps!!

Other parts of the game that were memorable is that whenever the Stampeders got a touch down the sidelines helper people would throw/slingshot little foam footballs into the crowd. None came my way, unfortunately. Also, with every touchdown a blonde woman in a silver top wearing a white cowboy hat, carrying a red & white Stampeders flag would ride a white horse from one end of the field to the other at top speed. Then, after they got their one point kicking bonus thing, she’d zoom back the other way. The Stampeders emblem is a white horse…and this is cowboy country.

There was also a guy dressed in football duds with a dog head on him who, I imagine was their mascot. Joan claimed his name was Harvey the Hound. I choose to call him Darryl the Dog and in the end we found out neither of us was right – his name was Maurice, or something. Darryl would lead us in cheers and managed to get the wave going round and around and around the stadium for a few times. I was part of a wave! The cheerleaders were too! You could say that I shared a moment with them.

In summary, if you have a chance to go to a football game, go. If it’s free, like my first experience was, all the better. Choose your seats based on where the cheerleader do their dances. You won’t be disappointed. Touchdown! (finally, I remember the football phrase!)

Go Stamps, Go

Charles

Do you live alone? I do…usually. The last time I had a roommate was in my early 20′s – so we’re talking probably about a decade since I’ve had to consider other people in my living environment, or not get things my way.

Let me preface this by saying that I love my parents. See where this is going? I know that I am the interruption in their house, regular schedule and lives. I know that they’re tolerating me much more than I am tolerating them. I know that. That doesn’t make it any easier.

This evening we watched Life As A House. My uncle down the road had the DVD, so we borrowed it and I played it from my computer to their TV (I must say that the whole S-Video thing is very cool). Very good movie. I definitely recommend it to anyone who has a family and functioning tear ducts. It stars Hayden Christensen in a pretty lead-type role, though the “star” is Kevin Kline – who does an amazing job. The yellow sticker-type advertising thing on the front of the DVD case pushes the movie as “starring Hayden Christensen from Star Wars 2 – Attack Of The Clones”.

ANYWAY (tangents are my favourite thing), prior to the movie starting I closed all of the blinds, turned off all glare-producing lights, angled the TV so it would provide the best viewing angle for everybody watching, trying to set a good movie watching atmosphere. Part way into the film, at a critical spot, of course, my dad decided to get up and offer to make popcorn. I love him. He thinks of others. It drove me nuts. The acoustics of their main room are horrid – if anybody is talking it drowns out the TV, stereo, piano, etc. We plowed through that 10 minutes in the movie with my dad banging dishes around in the kitchen, the sound of popcorn popping in the microwave, my dad eating something…loudly.

I think I’m just irritable and know that it’s time for me to leave. Monday is my last day here – we drive out of here at 4:00 am so I can be at the airport in Ottawa by 6:00 am for my 8:00 am flight. These things always get on my nerves when I visit my parents…they did growing up as well, even when I didn’t live by myself. I eat quite quietly and slowly. I generally don’t talk during movies or TV shows. Sure, I live alone and don’t have anybody to talk to, but what has that got to do with it? I’m generally, in my mind, anyway, a quiet person. I frequently walk up behind people at work, not in any way trying to sneak up and they are shocked to see me standing there when they turn around saying “Where did you come from? You’re so quiet!” I’m venting…this doesn’t have to make sense or come together in a neat package!

I remember wondering a few years ago how married people do it. Not THAT “it” – I know how they “do it” do it! What I mean is the whole co-existing thing. I’m thinking I must be an extremely selfish person because I don’t think I could handle leaving some ice cream in the freezer for later (yeah…that’d happen!) and when I come back for it…ice cream being the only thing I need right now to continue functioning on this planet, and it’s gone! GONE! Who would take it? Your loving wife, of course! For a brief moment it would flash through my brain how well it worked in college when my roommate and I had divided the fridge into two sides so we didn’t write things on the food itself. Could I convince my wife…whom I’ve sworn to love “in good times and bad” not to eat my cookies? Yes…MY cookies. I wrote my name on them with my imaginary marker when I put them in the cart in the grocery store. I didn’t say “LET’S get some cookies”. You don’t see me delving into her brussel sprouts, milk or pickles! ARGH! Clearly this is one of the “and bad” they were talking about when marriage vows were written.

Theoretically, I’m in love with this person and that “in love” feeling will make everything else not matter. “Living on love” is a phrase I’ve heard used many times to describe couples that are new to their in-love state and they seem obvious to any hardships thrown their way…nothing happens, because they’re in love. I’ll probably think it’s ‘sweet’ that she likes the same types of cookies or ice cream that I like and consciously buy more…for her. If she speaks during a movie, I’ll probably ignore the story and plot and $12 that I spent to get in and focus on what she thinks is so important to say to me right then…then tell her I love her for it.

That’s what it all comes down to. I know that. Love. My parents tolerate me, I tolerate them, we accept our friends and families’ foibles because we love them. We know that at the end of the day, we can count on them to be there “in good times and bad” even if we haven’t walked down an aisle with them or bought them a pretty rock to wear on their finger.

I’ll miss my parents when I leave for Calgary on Tuesday, the next and final leg of my holiday. They’re wonderful people that I do feel honoured to be related to. Life is not always rosy, but there’s an inner feeling that you know no matter what happens, they’ll be there. I’m also looking forward to watching TV by myself.

Adios, Ontario.

Charles

I have good and bad news that I’m trying to balance out in this ramble. Whenever someone faces me with “I have good news and I have bad news, which would you like to hear first?” I always pick the bad news so that at the end of our conversation I don’t feel so down. Let’s start with the bad news.

I received word that the high school friend whom I told you about it my July 4 and July 8 rambles passed away on Friday, July 26th in Edmonton, Alberta. Glenna would’ve been around my age – her early 30′s. The photo at right is of Glenna in our high school days. I don’t believe she was married or had kids, or at least nobody has said anything about them if she did. In the end, I think she was blessed to have her family and close friends around her throughout the ordeal. Everybody feels comfort in knowing they had a chance to see her and share their thoughts and prayers with her. I told my grad class in a late Saturday night e-mail about her passing and have heard back from a couple thanking me for continuing to provide them updates as well as having provided them the opportunity to write to her and her family, letting them know that they were in our prayers. Glenna passed away on my brother’s birthday. From this year on, every year on his birthday, a part of me will think of Glenna and remind me how fortunate I – we really are.

A strange segue here could be to tell you that I continue my readings and work on my intuitive and psychic abilities. I can tell you without question that something visited me on Friday night, waking me enough to feel its presence. At the time I wasn’t aware of Glenna’s passing, nor did I feel prepared to deal with whatever was happening. I chose to request whatever it was to please leave me until the following day when I would be more conscious and aware. The next day I got the news of her passing. I don’t suggest they’re connected. I do feel like I’m making progress in my endeavours, though.

Alright…the good news. You may notice that I pimp a friend’s online journal from time-to-time, as she does the same for me. Tomorrow – July 30 is a celebratory date in my circles. It has been declared Nicolamas. Nicky turns the dark old age of 31 tomorrow. If you’re thinking about buying Nicky a gift, she conveniently builds a “wish list” on her frequent drooling trips to Amazon.co.uk. She claims that she doesn’t want anything, but also ensures she gives us at least a 30-day countdown to her annual celebration.

So, happy birthday, Nicky. I know you’ll celebrate in style, ensure everybody in your office knows the significance of the day and buys you drinks after work.

To quote the reason for the season herself, “there is always wine”.

Cheers to a long & happy life!

Charles