Road Block

"None of this looks familiar, I don't think this is the way we came". I could hear skepticism and uncertainty in her voice.
"It isn't. We didn't come this way". I said knowingly. About 10 minutes ago, she turned right when we needed to go left. I noticed, but it never occured to me to mention it to her.

The bluntness of my comment that was dripping with know-it-all affirmation, caused the two of us to erupt into a fit of laughter.
She didn't have to ask, I gave her the answer I knew she was looking for.
"I thought you knew a faster way back".
Again we laughed. Now that I had said it out loud, it didn't seem as logical.
"Tracy Lowe, Have I known where we were going at all today?"
"Nope, but i didn't know either. So i thought I should just trust where you were going".

A Muse is a Must

A muse (det + N): someone to entertain
Amuse (V): To be entertained
Amused (V conj): entertained
Amused by a muse (V + det +N): mission accomplished.

Chronicles of the Romantically Challenged

There is something about being half naked and between sheets with someone's hands all over you that can really make you open up. Things you normally wouldn't say can be said.... why is that? Thank God for massage therapists. Maybe it's the 'therapist' in them.

So I'm getting a massage the other day and the therapist and I were talking about how we need to go out, have fun, and meet new people. More specifically, men. Unfortunately, Prince Charming isn't going to come knock down my door and whisk me away. That's too bad really. I even learned to ride a horse -- just in case.

Apparently, there is a 31 year old Mormon in Utah that's single. Apparently that is also scandalous and heavily frowned upon. So his friends sought out the personal ad to end all personal ads -- a billboard. I found a picture of it. It's someone else's blog, so just scroll down till you find it. Or you can also check out the Official Date Lance Website. It's kind of funny. Doesn't tell you a whole lot about him, just the basics. I do think it's a big marketing publicity scam. Read some of the comments from people who know him. He works in marketing. Nonetheless, it's entertaining. If i lived in Utah, and were Mormon (two things that will never happen), I'd be tempted to request a date, just to say that I did.

Maybe If I'm still single at 31, I'll get a billboard too. Maybe.

Piracy

Today has been a very Pirate day. I watched Pirates of the Carribean. And I ate Pirate cookies. I wish Pirates would come to Halifax. Real live Pirates. Or Johnny Depp as a Pirate.

Halifax is not Europe

I just wanted to clear that up, in case you were confused.

I'd explain. But it would be slightly rantish. Just slightly.

The Grape Escape!

Tonight, I went to the Superstore. But this isn't the usual story of the boy I'm infatuated with. Not even close this time. Except for the fact that I really didn't feel like seeing him today. I had that groggy post-nap look and feeling, the pink accents on my pants clashed with my red polka dot rainboots. Today's trip to the grocery store was for purely practical purposes. I was hungry.

As per usual at this time of day, there were no shopping baskets at the front entrance. A cart is far too excessive for my needs, so instead I decided just to carry everything in my hands and pick up a basket for it when I walked by the checkouts, on my usual route of surveying the premises. In my arms, I was carrying, Grapes, Okra, a containter of TVP, some onions and some bananas. I should of taken the basket first. I find a very accessible basket, and as I bend down to pick it up, the Grapes escape. Not sure what to do, and looking for the way of salvaging what is left of my pride and my juggling skills, I quickly pick up the large bunches of the grapes and return them to their bag. The rest of them were EVERYWHERE. Grapes were on sale, i was buying about 2 pounds. I think i must have lost one pound on the floor. They went in various directions.

Now my grapes are contaminated by the floor of the Superstore.... GROSS. But I don't want to put them back. What if someone who doesn't wash their grapes comes along, and buys that very bunch that i dropped. Or what if someone tastes one to see if they're good before they buy them. Not wanting to inflict that upon everyone, I bought them.

As I write this, my grapes are soaking in a solution of Green Apple Dish Soap and warm water. I'm gonna leave them there for a while. A long while.

if only Stolzy could see me now

The day we met, I was not expecting big things to happen. And truthfully they didn't.
He was the third academic advisor I would be visiting that day. The previous two weren't able to help me. Or so they said. I walked slowly towards his office, planning in my head the rebuttal I deemed necessary for whatever argument He was about to present me with.

He was not a man of many words. But he listened intently and made the necessary phone calls to help me in my situation. By the end of our meeting, I was set. I had been given the official okay to double major in both Linguistics and Sociology/Social Anthropology. There was still one obstacle.

It was September. Classes were starting next week. Most of the classes I needed were full. Again, Prof Stolzman helped me out.

"How do you feel about 8:30 in the AM"
The question caught me off guard, and was it really appropriate to tell him that the only time you really liked 8:30 am, was after a particularly satisfying all nighter. Eight-thirty meant the building was undoubtedly unlocked. You could hand in the paper then fall in bed having earned the right to take a day off from the world. Sometimes it backfired and vim and vigor kicked in. At this time, the world is your oyster. And quite frankly, you already have the string of pearls.

I went with the simple answer. Silence. He explained himself further.
He was teaching the second year class, and was willing to accept me into it, although it was full. The catch was that it met twice a week, at 8:30 in the morning.
Grateful for his help and guidance combined with my determination to complete my double major degree, I took him up on his offer.

More often than not, by the time I strolled in to his class his lectures were already underway. I quietly took a seat in the least obtrusive place. What I remembered most about his class was the way he knew the name of every person in that room. All 85 of us. More often than not, he greeted us and addressed us by name.

Years later, I would continue to keep in touch with Professor Stolzman. He would help me plan the rest of my degree, reminding me which courses to take. Encouraging which electives he thought was best suited my interests. I'm pretty sure he was one of the few professors that even knew what my interests were.

In what was supposed to be my final year, Stolzy launched a new capstone class. The class was designed to tie up the loose ends of theory with practicum. The class was an adventure for both the students and the teacher. Without a clear roadmap, we stepped lightly over uneven terrain. We didn’t know exactly where we were going, and how we were going to get there. We just knew that we’d know when we got there. And sure enough we did.

He encouraged us to work through social agencies, meeting needs of people and helping their situation in one way or another. Sociologists look at the world and pick it apart. If we can understand what forces are controlling people, maybe we can better understand how to help them.

In three weeks time, I will be starting a new job. I will be the IWK Associate for a program called Read To Me. The program is targeted at educating parents on the benefits of reading to their children from birth. Evidence shows that a program such as this one can help to improve the literacy rate among Nova Scotians. I will be delivering the program and information to new parents. I will also be helping co-ordinate, train and schedule the volunteers. As per usual, this program would not be half of what it is without them.

As I get ready to begin my first job that is directly related to my BA in Linguistics and Sociology, I’m thankful. Without the guidance, support and encouragement of professors like Stoltzman (who a select few call Stolzy) I don’t think I would have made it. Thanks Stolzy…..

--Spiffy T

So Much to Say, So much to say, so much to say, so much to say

That's the chorus of a Dave Matthews Song. I love Dave, but I've always wondered if he has so much to say, why doesn't he just get on with it. If you listen to the rest of the song it makes more sense why he just likes to say there is so much to say.

Wow, I think I'm saying without saying anything.
Yesterday, I had so much to say. This morning I had so much to say, but there was also some sleeping to be done. Today, I had some to say, but I was still waking up. Then it happened, I broke the spacebar on my laptop. You can't type without a spacebar because what you have is one heck of an agglutinating sentence. Us linguists, if I may be so bold as to call myself that, tend to look at those through weary eyes.

Now, I'm using my roomate's computer, as Greggory King attempts to reattach my spacebar. And yes, I have taken it off before and put it back on without difficulty, but this time I couldn't get it back on. That's the biggest probelm with a laptop, you have to send the whole thing away to get fixed.

That's a lot of background. So much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say (do do do do do do -- if only i could notate the rhythm of that for you)

So if I had to pick a theme song of yesterday, it would have undoubtedly been "The flight of the bumblebee". I haven't heard it in ages, and it is probably better as it would be stuck in my head. But it's how I feel.... energy and chaos running through me. It was a good day overall, I think. Full of excitment and anticipation. Mix that in with an unhealthily huge dose of overthinking, and tada.... it's a day in the life of me!

So I've gone from having so much to say, to having nothing to say. I started this post earlier in the evening. Just finished it now. I've realized it's still rambly and semi-unfocused. Welcome to my world. I'll post something new tomorrow.

A basket case without a basket

His cheeks glowed pink. You would have thought that he was the one who put on blush this morning, not her. She didn't know if it was the embarrasment of dropping several boxes of cookies as he rearranged the shelves, or the embarrasment of her catching him. It goes without saying which one she hoped it was.
"Need a hand?" She said, both of her obviously occupied. "You look like you do."
A laugh, combined with that smile that makes his eyes just a little bit greener. "Hey, how's it going?"
The greeting sounded sincere.
"That was a good catch", she said.
He sheepishly replied "thanks".

Before she left the house, the conversation was preplanned in her head - just in case. But as usual with him, it didn't follow a pattern. There was no roadmap neccessary. It was spontaneous and free. It was the way he makes her feel.

Everything is going to be alright

Oh Happy Day!

The forces of nature, are reorganizing themselves. Not quite to the degree I would like them too, but close enough. Close enough to make me grin from ear to ear. Close enough to make the extra 2 minutes to add jewerly, a spritz of new pefume and one coat on the top lashes of black mascara entirely worth it. ENTIRELY.

Why I love this city

Halifax was very fortunate to see the sun today. As per usual, I walked down Spring Garden Rd for my lunch break. The streets were colourful with Haligonians and tourists alike who gratefule and appreciative for a break in the monotomy of the uniform grey. The standard array of buskers lined the street : The saxophonist, who dresses like he is from downsouth, matching hat and suit-- in a wide array of colours. A couple of fiddlers, street people. These are the people in my neighbourhood.

As I walk down the street, I'm usually ingorant to the noise which surrounds me. I usually have my music up loud enough to block everything out. Today, I turned it off. Only because I was intrigued.

I crossed the street and approached the square in my usual fashion -- briskly. I got caught up in a shoe store and had to hurry back to work. There was an older couple sitting on fold up lawn chairs. A man, in an electric wheel chair, turning round and round. The couple in the lawn chairs where bouncing spoons on their knees. And it is only when I turned my music off, was I able to hear theirs. It was traditional Nova Scotia style music. It played from a small portable stereo which lay at their feet. The spoons served as an extra rythmic accompaniment. The trio was smiles and laughter all around as the man in the wheel chair, danced. No doubt it was to the beat of his own drummer.

Gratitude

Tonight I rediscovered Jiffy Pop. Thank you, Fantastic Four.

Song of the Day: It's not easy being green. Thank you, Kermit the Frog.

If I owned those white sneakers with the Green racing stripes and green soles that I tried on when I was in Scotland, then I would have had shoes to match what i was wearing today. No thank you, excessive spending.

Today, I had a beaded bracelet and matching earrings, that coincidently matched my new name tag string at work that all matched my new Green T-shirt. Thank you, beading addiction.

I hurt. Thankfully, tomorrow I get to go for a massage. Thank you, in advance, Gina.

Even though I haven't been playing guitar (partly because of the sore shoulder and partly because of laziness), I miss seeing Evad Indigo in the corner. Yesterday I went to visit. Thank you, Gregg and Jon, because I know you're taking good care of her.

I found the DVD case I lost for a rental movie. Thank you Megan, for taking that back for me.

Tommorrow I get to go to a meeting because I was selected to be on a Health Records committe. Thank you, keener sense and wanting to make it a more effiicent progress.

Someday, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight. Thank you, Frank Sinatra. You really are lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft.

Sometimes I chuckle out loud because I think funny thoughts in my head. Thank you, oh overactive imagination.

Adam is in Mexico. Thank you Adam, for the new post and new stories.

I want to buy wedding magazines to help my friend plan her wedding. Thank you, Meghan, for asking me to be part of such a special occasion.

Holly is in Ontario, I miss having her around. Thank you, Holly, for having the courage to move back home to help your mom.

Someone at work told me I was doing a great job. Thank you, for letting me know how appreciated I am.

I like to sing, and maybe even dance a little, while I walk down the street. Thank you, Epod, the Ipod.

Finnigan is playing with a popcorn kernel I dropped on the floor. Thank you, Finnigan, for saving us money on toys.

I love comments on my blog. Thank you, Everyone.

I wish when I woke up it would be a Chelsea Morning. Thank you, Joni Mitchell.

I have to be awake in 6 hours. Thank you, and Goodnight

Safe Haven of Sleepless

Do you ever look at the time and imagine what you'll be doing 12 hours from now? Twelve hours is my favouirte to calculate because of the simplicity. Even I am capable of switching AM to PM and vice versa.

Twelve hours from now, I will be thinking, in 50 mins, I can go home, take a nap, go for a jog and do some beading. And maybe even take a trip down to the craft store.

Unfortunately, 4 hours and 50 minutes from now, I am expected to breeze through the doors of Health Records, bright eyed, bushy tailed and ready to work. I'm not sure that in that short of time that I'll be ready. Fingers crossed.

Now I know what you're thinking, Why on God's Green Earth is Tracy writing a blog at this hour of the day. Simple. Insomnia strikes. I stayed in bed for the regulation hour before I thought I would get up, eat some peanut butter toast and OJ (if you can't sleep... why not eat breakfast?) and now write a blog. Just be glad that even I have enough common sense to know that now is not an appropriate time to bead a new necklace or earring set, practice knitting or even wash the dishes.

hmm, 4 hours and 45 mins. Thank God for Tim Hortons. Or maybe I'll find some Gummy Bears.

Tracy sings quietly ** Two thirty in the morning, gas tank will be empty soon, neon sign on the horizon, rubbing elbows with the moon, safe haven of sleepless where the deep fryer is always on and the radio is counting down the top 20 country songs....**

disheveled

I don't know what I noticed first. It must have been the way he showed up everywhere.

If I was at work, I seemed to notice him in the hallway or the cafeteria.
If I was at school, he often appeared in the library.
Once, and maybe just once, I even spotted him at my Superstore.

He never looked put together. Infact, he always looks slightly disheveled. His white hair is longish and constantly tousled. His dark skin is smooth, but worn. It looks too big for him. With every lesson learned another line upon his face.
The tails of a white dress shirt often peak out from under a long sweater. His pants look like they've been around for just as long as he has. The small pilly balls of lint on his sweater is a testament to time. The clothes are always slightly too big, especially the pants. It looks as if he is swimming in them.

At first, I dismissed him with my short glances. He wasn't interested in making eye contact, and quite frankly, neither was I. I came to recognize him from a distance. It was hard not to. Eventually, I would offer a smile as we crossed paths, but never has the smile been returned.

Today, we sat face to face in the cafeteria. From a boundray of about 15 feet, I looked at him and smiled. The gestures and arm movements I had noticed out of the corner of my eye came to an abrupt halt. He looked at me as if he was paralyzed for a brief second, and then he quickly turned his head. I didn't want to stare, so I too, turned my head.

There seems to be a lot of mystery surrounding him. I've heard several different stories, and I don't know which one to beleive, or if any of them are even true. One day, I"ll ask him

Stalking the Stocker

I'm not a good stalker. I wonder if I'd be a good stocker. Whenever i worked in Retail, I think I did a decent job. What does it matter though? At this point I need to be a good stalker. Before I loose my nerve.

Gummy Beary Juice

Snap shot in my mind:

Saturday morning cartooons. There is nothing like seeing your favourite candy come to life to save the day. If only I could get my hands on that juice, I thought. Then I too would come to life.

Today, I got a hold of that juice.

Someone thought it would be a nice treat for the office. So this morning, in the designated treat area, there was a container of Gummy Bears. It didn't take long before the seal was broken. After the first bite, there was no going back. Once that sweet juice was running through my veins, I was hooked.

Throughout the morning, I continued to munch on Gummy Bears. Miraculously, I was pretty energetic for the entire day.

**Gummy Bears, bouncing here and there and everywhere, High adventure that's beyond compare, They are the Gummy Bears**

Tomorrow, I'll switch back to coffee

Shopping List

As she brushes her teeth carefully, she glances down at her watch. 6:27 pm. That's about the time I went last time, she thought, although truthfully, she doesn't remember. Close enough, or was it?

She leaves in a hurry, making a mental note that the shoes she is wearing this time are different. "I probably walked faster in the white and pink sneakers. But it's hotter today, and that calls for the hot pink slightly wedged flipfops with sequins, of course." This is only said out loud in her head, of course. It's now 6:29 pm.

As she waits for the crosswalk light to change, she realizes that she is later than she was last time. Does that mean the plan is foiled? As she pretends not to care, she secretly hopes that it wont. Why does everything have to align on her end? Does everyone plan like this, or just her? "Standing at opposite poles, equal partners in a mystery." Maybe she is trying to hard to be true North.

As she steps into fluorescent lighting, she realizes that everything is different. Exactly two weeks ago, give or take 7-10 minutes, she stepped in this exact same spot. However this time, the faces are different, the accessories are different. The shoes are different. And the familiar face she looks for is not to be found. Silently, and defeatedly, she breezes through the crowd remembering the reason and necessity of the trip to begin with. She scans the aisles with a sneaky smile. Quickly forgetting her purpose other than tofu, juice and soy milk.

43 is the new 42

Or is it?

So a while ago, I was pointed in the direction of a website called 43 things.

Basically, people log in and list 43 things that they want to do. You have the option of adding entries and updates about your goals. Others who have accomplished the same goal as you have set will be linked based on the fact of whether or not they found the goal worthwhile. It's an interesting way to keep track of people and priorities... whether they be your own or someone else's.

It is organized by both city and goals, very handy indeed.
I've watched the people in Halifax grow. I wonder if they're friends of the people who have already signed up. I'd say likely, so in that case... go sign up! And check me out.... you'll know which one is me!