tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-211606052024-03-07T22:09:36.444-08:00The Home FilesCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-86065116705885961142010-08-17T11:39:00.000-07:002010-08-17T11:39:35.447-07:00Thoughts on CriticismI read an interesting article in "The Walrus" today by Andre Alexis where he despaired the lack of critical book reviews in Canada. Honestly, I can't tell you the last time I've read a book, film or art review that was honestly critical (not mean, just taking the ideas apart) and not filled with anecdotes about the artist and why they are loved or not loved in general, or about the reviewers general thoughts as they looked or listened to the art at hand. However, I kept reading because he seemed to think that such a review could exist. Hmmm. He talked about the pendulum swing between a cold academic review that parses a work of art so finely it misses the pleasure that an art work can bring, and a review that really just doles out opinion alone...As you know I am trying to figure out where I sit on the continuum of art, myself, so he had me, lock, stock and barrel. Here was a line that I found to be well worth the thought, perhaps you will too.<br />
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Regarding a review by Philip Marchand where he stated that "anyone who does not appreciate the greatness of Tolstoy is "deficient in taste, period."<br />
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..."Marchand's statement is about himself, his belief in War and Peace's greatness. He offers no defence of his opinion, believing that none is required. And so, we have come to the point where the mere fact of an opinion is more important than the basis for it. This is neither criticism nor reviewing but autobiography."<br />
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Interesting.<br />
I would like to read more by this Andre Alexis fellow...Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-88190993010044677752010-08-10T18:05:00.000-07:002010-08-10T18:10:53.809-07:00crap at my parents house<div>Hey there all,</div><div>I just found a funny website that had me giggling away. I especially liked this one about absinthe...I'm pretty sure I have some really goofy stuff at my house too don't we all?... enjoy!</div><a href="http://crapatmyparentshouse.com/post/907991052/im-pretty-sure-my-mom-was-stacy-from-waynes">crap at my parents house</a><br />
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<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><img alt="tumblr_l6n1y0OAs31qcpqdu.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://58380205-7334-4E6E-A403-9A2355CA4214/tumblr_l6n1y0OAs31qcpqdu.jpg" /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Ah yes, travel sized absinthe. So you can lose your mind like a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toulouse_Lautrec" style="color: #6da856; text-decoration: none;" title="Toulouse Lautrec">19th century french painter</a>, on the go. </span></div></div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-52010721872683891322010-06-25T09:03:00.000-07:002010-06-25T09:03:17.235-07:00The Real First Day of SummerMany people believe that summer starts with a day on the calendar, hot sultry afternoons, and changing your wardrobe from black to white. I, for one, always need to be reminded that the calendar has turned. My sense of time has struggled to attach itself to a series of numbers and, while I get the whole clock thing from day to day, calendars seem to exist on a project to project basis, instead of year round like normal people. You'd think then that weather would be a good clue, but where we live strange weather can happen at any given moment, like snow in July or a heat wave in April, so that's no good. I have yet to change my wardrobe and acknowledge fashion in any sense of the word, so I have never really understood the whole white and black thing, or obeyed it, wearing whatever pants look comfortable and are relatively clean.<br />
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So I have developed another way to tell that the seasons have changed...the passage of children.<br />
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I think most parents and children know this: summer really begins when the last shoe has returned from school, when the first morning has arrived that you don't have to struggle to get everyone's lunch into their backpack, when your children beg to wear their pyjamas all day. That's summer.<br />
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I can remember how summer seemed to stretch into eternity. In a good way. My neighbourhood friends, my brother and I would play on our porch, make forts in the escarpment, and eat snacks at a different house every day. There was nothing like playing all day, living as far out of the adult world as possible...it was restful, relaxing and a great break from school. Quite frankly, I miss it, and I sometimes wonder if that is not the true experience we try to recreate on our vacations.<br />
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I hope to be able to find a way for my children to have that experience, but as most people know it's hard these days. We live in a time when children are hyper-supervised and highly programmed, set on various tracks for success in the hope that they will be the next world wonder...it is difficult to even find people to play with and there is always pressure to live up to the standard...and, I'm afraid of bears.<br />
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So lots of excuses, but I hope that starting today, as the last shoe has returned from school, we will be able to carve out a fun, relaxing summer. And I truly hope it will be fun and relaxing for me as well!<br />
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So it begins. Wish me luck, and happy first day of summer to you all!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-80882652852201545112010-06-11T06:16:00.000-07:002010-06-11T06:16:37.416-07:00See anything new?Ta DA! Oh, how I like to change things up once and a while. I just tried the new blog designer and it is not only easy, it's also fun. Now, back to work on a few things today...grant applications, and poetry writing. I have been neglecting my musical and for that I feel terribly guilty, but I did need some perspective. I just know that when I go back to it I will see it with a pair of fresh, honest eyes. I'm less likely to hate everything or love everything (which causes me to keep/trash at random.) So...less guilt right? More work done. Wish me luck.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-30860426902904308452010-06-10T07:44:00.000-07:002010-06-10T07:44:08.443-07:00Art vs. MoneyAhhh, one of the eternal questions, what makes something art? Does selling it or being popular "cheapen" art or cause the art itself to be lost?<br />
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This is one of a number of questions that I have been trying to work out for a long time.<br />
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In University we were taught about "for profit" and "not-for-profit" models in theatre. Basically, these are two separate worlds, one, focused on pleasing share holders, has a tendency to look at work through the lens of profitability...will this show sell tickets...the other, strives to choose works based on how good they are, not looking at the bottom line. In theory there is a strong line drawn between these two groups one group is focused on money, the other on pure art. We often further divided these two groups by claiming that "for profit" was mostly entertainment (and by entertainment (imagine a sneer on the word) we meant poorly conceived slop designed to part people from their money with as little effort as possible), while "not-for-profit" was pure art. While exceptions were given there was always a connection between selling tickets and the absence of art. Not surprisingly, wanting to be part of the for-profit world in any form was looked down upon, and as a result a lot of the streams of theatre that were more "popular" were seen as second rate and "entertainment." So, comedy, musical theatre and even plain story telling were not encouraged. Also, many of us had serious guilt and problems when entering the work force. Did we sell out? Should we live more penitent, monk like lives? Why was our devotion to art not enough? And why, oh why, has our audience deserted us? As I see it, part of the problem is found in the practicality of art vs. money ("not-for-profit" vs. "for profit" models) and the resulting definition of art:<br />
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1) Making art, while you love it, is also a profession. You do this to live. You need to get paid in order to eat, sleep in a decent place and even keep the physical building that houses your art over your head. In either model this is a reality that must be dealt with. Art isn't penance. It's a profession. At some point you must consider making money on a show. If this is true than making money cannot in and of itself negate art, also not making money does not prove that you have made art.<br />
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2)We are assuming that we can define art by money.<br />
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3)You need an audience, so you need to sell tickets. Is theatre actually theatre without an audience? In my opinion I don't think so. The audience is, in a sense, the final collaborator. The show is not alive, it is still in rehearsal, until it is in front of those wonderful eyes. Guessing what they'll like is hard, you don't get to pick who your audience is, and frankly tastes change from day to day, but there isn't anything wrong with trying to please them. Maybe it's a bit like a marriage, you want to be there for them, laugh with them, cry with them, talk about important things, you want them to appreciate you, love you and, I think, you should want to love them. I don't think it would be good to pretend that you are only dating for the rest of your life (you know, spend big bucks on a fancy car, go out on the town, pretend that everything in the world is solved by having a good laugh and a little romance) it would feel fake after a while. When something important came along it wouldn't really matter. Just like something crafted <i>only</i> for entertainment. But a good marriage has a little of the "dating" moments in it, roses, date nights, vacations, romance, laughter. It's not wrong, it's necessary, sometimes the way you can deal with problems is to forget them for a while. That's ok. On the other side of the coin you want to talk about things that are important. Try to figure out how to solve difficult situations, sometimes calling them on a bad decision before they get hurt. After all, you love them, you want them around. But you wouldn't want to mope around all the time, only talking about terrible issues, yelling at your spouse every time they came into the room. A little fighting clears the air, sometimes shows that you care, but fighting all the time, ignoring their wishes, alienating them? That's how marriages end. That is, I think, what has happened with our modern theatre, we fight a lot, we push our audience around, we alienate them on purpose (don't believe me, check it out, there is an actual form of theatre called alienation) there's no fun, no romance and so our audience has left us, the only thing they are interested in doing is dating us because at least there they can find the possibility of caring.<br />
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4) Both sides must care about money and about the interests of their audience at some point. We need to live, so we need to get money, so we need to sell tickets, so we need an audience. All that is really left is deciding what priority each thing we need will get...and then deciding how we are going to make it happen. Clearly, these cold calculations aren't pure Art, in and of themselves. We cannot allow this process to define for us what art is.<br />
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Imagine my surprise when I discovered that this Art vs Money thing has been going on for quite some time, since the early 1900's at least. My husband bought me a book for my birthday (told you I was crazy about art) that has essays on theatre from an old magazine called "Theatre Arts Magazine". I wanted it because it had articles by Konstantin Stanislavsky, Lee Strasberg and Michael Chekhov but I discovered that it contained some insight into the roots of the whole art/money argument and even some insight into film vs. theatre. (And, for anyone interested in design, it was the start of lighting so lots of interesting back and forth on that.) It was interesting to hear those arguments at their genesis, given how, a century later, we are living with the results.<br />
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I'll likely talk about this a lot going forward as it has been rumbling around in my head for years now. For anyone interested I have found this particular book on Amazon (I know I'm always looking for such things.) I'll eventually get round to talking about a few others that have helped formed these ideas...but here's the first one.<br />
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<br />
<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=theh093-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0415774926&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Although...I have the paperback version of this book so it's not nearly that expensive! I'm sure you may find it around the site if you look, or there's always the library! (one of my absolute favourite places, I know, I'm a nerd.) If you want to borrow it from me you may have to wait. I'm still busy working my way through to the end...<br />
Til then!Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-58108279755402936542010-06-09T06:19:00.000-07:002010-06-09T17:48:02.675-07:00Elephant Poops Children<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">ACTION NEWS!</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">This just in. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Reports of a child eating menace have flooded our newsroom. A large elephant posing as a piece of playground equipment has been spotted around the city. It's appearance has co-incided with the modification of children at these playgrounds. Children, believing this creature to be an ordinary slide, have entered the elephant only to return to their parents completely altered. </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Mrs.Rowena Herfblocken of Littlesnoz had this to say, "My little Tommy used to be such a quiet boy. He always came home from school and sat in the corner, humming quietly to himself. Never was any trouble. Now, since the elephant...He has changed. I never know where he is. He's always running around, jumping on the furniture, wanting to go back to the "park" and "his elephant" and...worst of all... all he talks about is poop." </div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Citizens are advised to contact the nearest SPCA, keep their children indoors, and remain calm if they happen to see this creature.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">We will keep you updated with further stories on the hour.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/atimg/1486121/2010-06-badplay2_rect540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://s3.amazonaws.com/atimg/1486121/2010-06-badplay2_rect540.jpg " width="320" /></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=21160605&postID=5810827975540293654" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=21160605&postID=5810827975540293654" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>I saw this just the other day on one of my favorite sites, Apartment Therapy (which they received from <a href="http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2008/02/nightmare-playgrounds.html">Dark Roasted Blend</a>) and I just had to share. Check out the slide! Many of the other playgrounds were in serious disrepair but this one is just plain funny. I know a lot of kids who would love to be "pooped" out. (and a lot of parents who wish their kids were pooped before they were.) Anyway, here's the link.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
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</div><a href="http://www.ohdeedoh.com/ohdeedoh/outdoors/neglected-illconceived-and-just-plain-strange-playgroundsdark-roasted-blend-118671">Elephant Bum</a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-34734844489543313382010-06-07T06:42:00.000-07:002010-06-07T09:28:22.590-07:00New DirectionsEvery once in a while I look back on my little blog and think about posting again. It's a short thought because, while I did love doing it, I keep feeling like I don't have a lot to say, at least not a lot to say about my daily life. Some of you may know but I've been hard at work this last year writing a musical...yup....an actual honest to goodness musical, from scratch. The tricky thing about writing something that huge is that, if you are me anyway, you spend much of your time not liking the stuff you are churning out and wishing you could say it much better, which in turn does not lead to me writing other things. However, my first draft is finally done and I am a little more objective so I finally feel like putting together an average post. <div><br /></div><div>Also, I feel like I finally understand a few things...cottage cheese for instance. Salty, creamy, chunky and cold it just works on a hot day. Boy, am I glad I got that out of the way.<div><br /></div><div>Anyhow, back to what I understand. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have been poking away at some of my old writing and finally, after at least four drafts and much thought, I have figured out how to fix my old <a href="http://thehomefiles.blogspot.com/2006/03/wednesday-story-architects-tower.html"> An Architect's Tower</a> story. If you have read my old story you will notice that about half way through I went wildly off the tracks and veered straight into my old University mentality, namely, it isn't a story of importance unless it is about something "<i>Important</i>." A love story (which, like it or not was where I was going) was not good enough, I had to find somewhere else to go. You know.... abuse, horrific family life, race relations, war, sexuality or any other capital I "Ideas." If you got that far in my story you know exactly what I am talking about. </div><div><br /></div><div>Part of the problem was I had mixed up my themes. I started my story thinking it was about one thing, how Antoni Gaudi came up with the idea for his snail shell stairs in the bell towers, and it ended up being more about Antoni and Beatriz and a final chance at forgiveness. Maybe that happens a lot to other authors. Maybe it just happens a lot to me. All that matters is that I was, frankly, annoyed with my characters for moving out of the role that I had originally given them. (I only put Beatriz in so that she could give him a snail shell from his childhood. I never really intended that they would hang out and fall in love. The nerve!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, just few days ago the coin finally dropped. I understood how to fix it. How, you ask?</div><div>I'll try to explain:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I gave up trying to talk about something "<i>Important</i>" and focused instead on what was important to these characters. What did they want from the other people in the story? Why did Beatriz come to Barcelona that day? (It turns out, old dying women do not take their first day trip <i>ever</i> to the city just to deliver snail shells and make my life easy.)</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Ahh, the value of rewriting. I used to think that stories, novels, poems and plays were born on the wind of pure inspiration. Either they began life as perfect specimens or were utter failures. I really don't think so any more. The first draft, which you have read here, really just served as a blueprint, lining out the characters, giving direction to the themes, perhaps even identifying some useful symbols. Case in point; I thought I was writing a story on the theme of artistic revelation. But what I was really writing about, was love and forgiveness. I didn't want to talk about that! But apparently, in order to write <i>this</i> story, I had to. To get there I had to rewrite the whole last half...several times. I was shocked. I had always thought rewriting (if you had to do it) consisted of fixing your punctuation and rearranging moments. Apparently not. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. I decided to "preach to the converted." Perhaps you'll understand this, perhaps you won't but it helped me a lot. I read an interview from the playwright who wrote "Angels in America" and he said that as an artist you can't change anyone's mind about things, that's not your job, your job as a writer is to present new takes on old situations. You have to essentially talk as though everyone already agrees with you. You have to assume that readers or viewers will come along with you, not badger them to take the trip and clobber them with your ideas. (My words, he said it better.) Granted, you have to be clear in your descriptions and plot the ideas, just don't preach at people hoping to convert them to an opinion! (BTW, I wasn't actually trying to "convert" you, I just thought that this was how you write about "<i>important ideas.</i>" Turns out I was wrong.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Long and short of it is something I have known to be true for a while. For the record, I have never wanted to be a pastor. I have always seen what I do as being very different. Even so, many people have insisted that artists essentially do the same job. After all, we both have ritual and present things in front of a gathering of people which, presumably, are interested in what we have to say. I have never been really able to explain what the difference was but I think now I can put at least part of this concept into words. </div><div><br /></div><div>We both, at our best, deal with truth. Not opinion (even though I am very opinionated) but truth. Who really cares about opinions and advice anyway? I know I disagree with more than half of the stuff I hear and eventually I reject 3/4 of my own opinions. For instance, I'm not a big fan of Paula Abdul <i>now...</i>but for about two weeks when I was fifteen she was the best song writer and singer in the world. Really. In the end there isn't anything worth talking about in a public way unless there is some honest to goodness truth to it. Truth in the absolute sense, not in a relative way like "it was true for me at the time." For instance, if a character lies in a story there are consequences to that lie. If you ignore that as a writer your story feels as though it has "holes" in it. You've ignored something (truth: lies have consequences) and it's obvious. I suppose it could work to your advantage if you meant to work against that rule but the rule still exists, it doesn't cease to be true. (In fact, you might be able to build tension that way.) Or, if a painter wants to paint a flower (and have it seen as a flower) they have to obey certain truths about line, form and the use of colour or it just won't work. We won't see the flower. (My old theatre professors used to urge us to find a "universality" to our stories...I guess truth isn't a cool word because what he was talking about is often the same thing.) However, a good pastor doesn't just chat about it, he dispenses Truth whole, tangibly, in word and sacrament. For instance, he doesn't just talk about forgiveness, he gives it. On the other hand, as an artist, I take truth apart, creating a vessel on paper, canvas or stage for some small piece of it and trying my best to represent truth (create it, craft it, imitating what I see and feel) so that others can see it. In a way I get to show the effect of truth, what it does. I can show forgiveness, and the effects giving or not giving forgiveness can have, but I can't give it. I can also show horrible things, consequences, but thankfully I can't give consequences either. So, I get to deal with all the truth in the world and it's effects....That is, if I manage to do it well. </div><div><br /></div><div> Long and short: You can see from my old story I was definitely trying to tell everyone my opinion, and even that got mixed up. I should just stick with truth and showing, not explaining.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, anyway what I would like to do with my blog going forward is to show some of the "first draft wobbles" so that people can see a little of my process. I hope that it might help someone else who is learning to write and I also hope that you can watch me grow too...although I have a feeling I will likely forget everything I've learned with the next story. After reading interviews with other authors I'm pretty sure that's how it goes. If I do, I hope you will refer me back to this page before I ride off into the sunset on my high horse. Please.</div><div><br /></div><div>On another note, I should have my finished story ready to go soon along with a book of poems. I hope to publish these as ebooks or through Lulu or some such thing...hopefully by the end of the month! We'll see. I'll keep you posted.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-56450410194349217182009-11-02T18:59:00.000-08:002009-11-02T19:03:48.161-08:00Hope, Time and Love<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Hi There,</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">Just something short and fun. Today I thought I would play with words. Three of them to be exact. Hope, Time and Love. Feel free to bend them to your will, it will be interesting to see what you come up with.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">On another note: Yay post #2!</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Hope is running amok. Time is making a break for hopeless wasters. Love is settling for the best that it can find and finding it is the best it can hope for. Time will wait for this Love the most.</span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-36017832471167215282009-09-18T08:46:00.000-07:002009-09-18T09:20:22.529-07:00New Lease on LifeHi All,<div>Well, I'm sure you've noticed but it has been quite some time since my last post. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you haven't noticed then you are probably not actually reading this at this moment. In that case, the point is moot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Assuming you're reading this let me explain a little about what has gone on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Kids. </div><div><br /></div><div>There, you have it. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure how or why but the last year has been extremely busy with running and jumping, and no-ing and yes-ing, and breaking and buying, crying and whining and well... you get the picture, not a lot else. Period. That explains a lot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Politics for example.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, as you might have guessed, the littlest of my family are off to school...all day...every day. What is a woman to do? I just realized I've spent eight years doing things for other people almost all day long (depending on the year) and now, I can do things for myself. Who was that again? Well, at least I kind of remember what I like to do. Sort of. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now, if I could just stop feeling guilty for sending the little ones on their way I could start partying. Maybe drink my coffee in sips instead of glugs, look into daily hygiene, and sit down instead of hovering protectively by the counter. There are some things I would like to work on that would help make the transition to the "normal" world a little less difficult: My hands could use some practice only holding one object at a time, and my brain will need to work on unmultitasking, and I'll have to stop saying "no" at regular intervals. It sounds kind of crazy when you're alone. It also sounds crazy when you say it to strangers. These are all goals that I hope to work towards in the near future. For now though, baby steps. </div><div><br /></div><div>There. I managed to do one post. Perhaps the future is a little brighter.</div><div><br /></div><embed id="VideoPlayback" src="http://video.google.com/googleplayer.swf?docid=-5261503238621000511&hl=en&fs=true" style="width:400px;height:326px" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-25042066099658537562008-05-30T22:18:00.000-07:002008-05-30T22:36:51.806-07:00My PersonalityHey all,<br />Well Pirates is now done and I'm finally back and running. Actually ... more like crashing into walls and wondering what to do with myself. Sadly, now that I have finished what I've spent a year of my life doing I'm not sure what to do!<br /><br />I thought I would take a personality test though to fill in the time. No surprises here ... I am pleased to note that I am the same personality that I was in high school. I must just be a crankier more sleep deprived version that's all. And for those of you who are "up" on the the personality lingo I am a INFJ and yes, yes, I know have joined the 1% of the earth's population with my personality (that explains a lot. It at least explains why people tend to think I'm a little weird. That's my excuse from now on!) Also, if you take a look at the second part of the test ... the multiple <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">intelligences</span> section ... you will notice some very high scores. I could lie and tell you that I am simply <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">intelligent</span> and extremely well rounded... but the fact is they were asking my opinion of things and being a very optimistic person I answered almost every question in the most enthusiastic way possible. Yes sir! I love the outdoors 9 out of 10. Do I think logically, sure I do! But some may beg to differ so 8 out of 10. Do I like parties? Oh boy, good ones are 9 out of 10. Do you get tired after social events? Do I ever! 10 out of 10. Are you kidding? My whole day is a social event and I'm tired! And so it went. Yes, the score looks amazing ... see the glass is half full people, think and become, think and become ... now if I could just get potato chips out of my head I'd be on my way.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-59724004668760524092008-02-18T12:55:00.000-08:002008-02-18T13:26:54.334-08:00Once more into the breach my friends...Yes, the delinquent is back.<br /><br /> I've been working very hard at my Pirates of Penzance production of late so it has not left me a lot of free time. Although I am practicing a lot of piratey skills like swashbuckling, gun slinging and the singing of elaborately wordy songs, I have not been working on my blogging expertise. As you may have noticed. Ahem. Sorry about that.<br /><br /> Today I am sporting a new and improved cold virus. How do I know? I am a complete medical novice but frankly anything that has been kicking around since December deserves to be new and improved, up for a virus medal, winner of a virus prize etc. etc. How do I know it's a virus then? Because all the doctor's I've seen keep telling me it is one. I keep grossing them out with all the meuchousy, feverish, down right pathetic symptoms and they keep telling me the same thing. It's just a virus ma'am. Nothing to worry about. <br /><br />Makes you want to invent symptoms, just to prove you sat three hours in the walk in clinic for a good reason. Gooey green scales on your elbow, flame throwing breath, or a weird hankering for fresh metal, for instance. I don't think it would help though. They'd probably just shrug their shoulders, pat me on the back and say. Nothing to worry about ma'am. All the colds this year are going that way.<br /><br />Doctors are just too hard to impress.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-24697148664027432092007-11-21T12:49:00.000-08:002007-11-21T13:05:06.648-08:00Snow Makes Me Shovel (My Way Out of SnowbanksHi there all.<br />I've decided to enter another contest. I know, I know, I'm just a tad obsessive. Hey, you never know, perhaps one day I could win a couch, or unlimited toothbrushes, I'm not picky. This one looks like fun. I've been challenged to rewrite the words to Carole King's "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman." Here's my version:<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Lookin</span>’ out at the falling snow,<br />I should be so inspired.<br />Many places have no where to go,<br />to ski, or sled, or buy snow tires.<br />But lately I’m so droopy,<br />can’t open up my eyes,<br />I just wish I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">didn</span>’t live where snow flies.<br /><br />‘Cause snow makes me shovel,<br />Snow makes me shovel,<br />snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmm</span>...<br /><br />Driving home just the other day,<br />Dreaming of sweet Tahiti.<br />Passed a bus going the other way,<br />Made me skid and lose my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">peepee</span>.<br />And now I sit and wonder,<br />how life is so unkind,<br />I’ll have to shovel with pee frozen to my behind!<br /><br />‘Cause snow makes me shovel,<br />Snow makes me shovel,<br />snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Hmm</span>...<br /><br />And now you’d think I’d be content at home,<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">sittin</span>’ by a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">roarin</span>’ fire,<br />sipping coca, talking on the phone,<br />while the snow drifts down ever higher.<br />But I can hear a rumbling,<br />see a blinking blue light,<br />Guess what I’ll be doing up before first light?<br /><br />‘Cause snow makes me shovel,<br />Snow makes me shovel,<br />snow makes me shovel my way out of snowbanks.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Hmm</span>...<br /><br /><br />If you like it and want to vote for me or even if you just want to rate the other entries go to:<br /><br />http://www.cbc.ca/canadawrites/<br /><br />or just click on the title of this post above for a direct link.<br /><br />Next click on Nov.21 Song and vote for me!<br /><br />It makes me feel so much better about the snow.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-6902662928361759512007-11-16T07:15:00.000-08:002007-11-16T07:31:54.183-08:00Funniest Ad of the Year?Hey all,<br />Just a quick post while I adjust my bunny legs. I had them installed to keep up with the kiddies. Don't ask.<br /><br /> I was taking a brief search around the net and I found this:<br /><br />http://www.veryfunnyads.com/<br /><br />Now, in my humble opinion, none of them are very funny. Yet, they are all competing in the "funniest ad of the year" <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">category</span>. So go ahead, peruse and tell me what you think. The Hydro Energy Train is the most funny ... if you can stop being scared of the train long enough to laugh. But perhaps that's just the mood I'm in.<br /><br />Why Bunny legs? Alright, alright. Suffice it to say that one of them, who shall remain nameless, but was born as a twin and has always been, oh, a little adventuresome, is climbing ... all over. Mt.<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Vesuvius</span> here we come! Yesterday I found her climbing over the <span style="font-style: italic;">back</span> of her chair, standing on top of the piano bench, and stuffed inside the storage compartment of a bench (she had help for that one!) Not only that, but she locked herself in a dark room yesterday for about five minutes while I searched frantically for something to pop the lock. When she was finally released ... she was laughing. Yes, that's right. Laughing. She's only two years old folks. I should call Richard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Branson</span> and book her apprenticeship.<br />Bunny legs. See what I mean?Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-701613143219025652007-10-22T05:42:00.000-07:002007-10-23T20:16:38.784-07:00And now, for something completely different!I'm directing "The Pirates of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Penzance</span>" by Gilbert and Sullivan for our local symphony this year. As I've been working my way through the various scenes and looking at what the history books say a few interesting things have <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">occurred</span> to me:<br /><br />1. Gilbert is pretty funny. (Seeing as it is a comedy it should be an obvious conclusion, but have any of you seen an actual production?)<br />2.Late Victorians were modern day Hippies ... without the head bands.<br />3. Monty Python's "Brave Sir Robin" and "When the Foreman Bears His Steel (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Tarantara</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Tarantara</span>)" are essentially the same song. Different words of course. But the same. I'm not sure even I can follow that.<br /><br />Interesting. I never expected that I would reach those conclusions (especially the hippie part, given the corsets that was a real shocker), but now that I have they really fit. We like to think of the Victorians as terribly repressed and horribly backward but a lot of what we currently hold dear, our love of technology, our reverence for science, our championing of the underdog, equality for all, and even our concepts of love, rebellion and peace all come from that period. Talk about weird. Now I'll have to rethink everything I thought I knew about everything I thought I knew before.<br /><br />Thanks a lot. "I say <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Nee</span>! In your general direction", Gilbert. I know you'd appreciate it.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-56123604025724942922007-10-15T13:37:00.000-07:002007-10-15T13:39:48.852-07:00Attack of the Lucious LinensWhere are those people who get all their moving boxes unpacked in a week? You know who I’m talking about. You’ve probably heard of them too. I want their number. I’m even willing to pay commission.<br /><br /> It has been six years since we moved in, and while we have unpacked most of our boxes I am still putting pictures up on the wall and moving clumps of linen, nicknacks and “things I can’t let go” around the house. Sad, I know, but true. It’s like a grand scavenger hunt every time someone comes to visit. Oh, I’ve read all those articles on home organization. I’ve heard about deep storage. I’ve even clipped a story about a family who moved into their new home bearing one box of personal items each. That’s right. One box, folks. Call it a personal goal, if you will. Or a far of dream if you are more of a realist.<br /><br />How on earth did all the nick nacks and linen get out of control? Why am I having so much trouble? They likely spend far too much time unsupervised. You know what I mean.<br /><br />I would give up but I am afraid the whole mess will take over. It is only a matter of time before the linen and nicknacks team up with the take home school papers and then they will rule the world! I just can’t let that happen. True, it’s a small sacrifice but I like to do my part for human kind.<br /><br />So, if you happen to run into any expert unpackers, super organizers or just someone with a lot of free time, feel free to send them my way. You never know, the safety of the world could be at stake.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-72173955744783962772007-09-30T06:00:00.001-07:002007-09-30T06:19:37.463-07:00The Death of a MimeIf a mime falls on his death bed does anyone hear? I know most people can't stand mimes. After all, they usually stand on a street corner,performing inane things and unable to give proper directions! Those people also never saw Marcel Marceau perform. The man was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">truly</span> amazing. He was able, through simple motion, to express the infinite. I had the pleasure of watching him on video in one of my acting classes. There we all were, struggling to look like we were drinking out of a mimed cup, with most of us just looking like we were chewing our fists. So many observations were needed. What is the right weight of the "cup"? How big? What was in it? Meanwhile Marcel the master of the craft was able to show the range of humanity, from birth to death, in a matter of ten minutes, all clearly. I got the feeling that he could give excellent directions too, if <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">necessary</span>. We were lucky to have one of his students teaching our class. He was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">truly</span> amazing. The sheer <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">athletic</span> prowess was something to behold and the very fact that Marcel Marceau, in his twilight years, could continue to do moves that a twenty year old would weep from, was enough to endow him with super status!<br /> At any rate, the artistic world has lost a great leader and mentor. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Farewell</span> sweet prince.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-45092422713603695562007-08-26T17:38:00.000-07:002007-08-26T17:56:48.139-07:00Favorite Actors and Actresses: Angelina JolieWhat? I can hear you say. Yes, it is true. I think she's great. sigh. I was so prepared to not like her. After all she looks as though she is just another young, pretty thing who does enough dangerous stuff that she manages to stay in the spot light. Admittedly with some pretty strange additions to that little formula. Clearly, she is not. Anyone who can take some of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">vacuous</span> scripts that she has been given and find nuance deserves to get an academy award. I'll admit she's been in a few decent movies too. Watch her closely, she never stops acting in the movies, she reacts to what the other actors are saying and finds detail and emotion in the smallest moments. Personally I would like to see her try something that would actually showcase her talents so that everyone could see it, but likely she will just keep doing more of the same. She's good, that's all I've got to say.<br /><br /><br />http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001401/Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-86317722485200167122007-08-20T06:23:00.001-07:002007-08-26T17:57:11.585-07:00Favorite Actors and Actresses: Helena Bonham CarterOk, ok. I realise that this is another English actor, but I can't help it. She may be a little quirky but when she is on her game I really enjoy watching her. I first saw her during high school in the movie Lady Jane ... which for a very long time was my absolute favorite movie. Room with a View was next, a movie which I still do not understand but all the same is enjoyable (figure that one out), Howard's End was much better as the script gave her some interesting moments to play and finally Mel Gibson's Hamlet ... which she was brilliant in. She captured Ophelia in a way that I had never seen before and, I believe, her performance comes as close as it could to the truth of the matter. I have seen many of her later movies but, call it adolescent glow, these ones still reign in my heart.<br /><br />Here's the link:<br />http://www.tiscali.co.uk/entertainment/film/biographies/helena_bonham_carter_biog.htmlCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-57072265974433999602007-08-19T07:11:00.000-07:002007-08-19T07:24:06.667-07:00Favorite Actors and Actresses: Ben KingsleyI've been meaning to put up a post for a while. Finally, I've come up with a compromise ... instead of revealing my already addled brain and creating something that makes no sense whatsoever ... bunions ... I will just let you know some of my favorite actors and actresses. First of all Ben Kingsley:<br /> I first came to appreciate him in theatre school. He made a stellar performance in "Playing Shakespeare" from the BBC television program. A number of the other male actors huffed and puffed their lines, but when he spoke I felt as though everything was very clear. It was strange, I didn't feel as though he was speaking Elizabethan <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">English</span>, but simply communicating the lines, the emotion, the character. It was really something. Sadly, not many of his movies have demonstrated his full artistry, however I really enjoy watching him just the same.<br /><br />Here's a link for his movies, TV appearances and bio:<br /><br />http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001426/Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-15143505648497579642007-07-17T12:50:00.000-07:002007-07-17T13:01:19.948-07:00Under the EavesHere is a short poem I wrote the other day. I hope you enjoy it:<br /><br />Under the Eaves<br /><br />If I sit long enough<br />I can hear<br /> the rain dance on a thousand rooftops,<br /> splish in fierce torrents under passing cars,<br /> drip, a high ping from an eave to the ground.<br />And to this wild concert of sound<br /> the tin pitched gush of the drainpipe,<br /> the low murmer of the gutter,<br />I add my breath in soft circles<br />passing the sweet tang<br />of rain blessed air<br />into my world.<br /><br />All is very quiet, All is still.<br />For who would be out here?<br /> Watching the earth drink?<br /> The heavens open?<br />You'd get soaked.<br /><br />Ah, perhaps there is memory yet to be guided by<br /> Little ears,<br /> little toes,<br /> little eyes<br />and I know<br />if we sit long enough<br />Shhhhh.<br />Magic still happens.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-7959793554608364092007-06-30T10:40:00.000-07:002007-06-30T11:37:56.450-07:00Cara Cleaner and the Forty ThievesIt's a sad comment on the state of our house lately ... well, ok, maybe not just <span style="font-style: italic;">lately</span>. Alright, since I was old enough to fold laundry and shut a drawer ... Except for a brief period in University, when, my room was not only clean, but sported different phases, including pink (I mean entirely pink), blue and white and the infamous twinkie light from the ceiling phase. It was relatively clean, and relatively tidy, but then, I only had one room.<br /><br />Anyway, as I was saying, sad comment. Thursday was the last day of school for my oldest and so Friday I celebrated by cleaning the counters of any and all paper. I don't know about you but it feels like the school sends home half a boreal forest full of paper every year, each one inscribed with a little love note, precious drawing, or ominous "important message" so that I am either too cutified or terrified to throw most of it out. It would be fine if I had a whole other house to load the paper into or even some sort of paper station that would sort, toss and properly archive each treeling as it arrived, but the international brain bank has yet to come up with a solution for me. As it is, my counter space has been rapidly eaten up by paper. Report card replies and mortgage forms conveniently lay by the coffee maker, stacks of magazines in the bread box, lovely and generous offers to "cruise the Bahamas" and "win one of five $1,000,000,000 homes" as well as a few dozen bills that I need to pay sit stacked in the middle of the table with the centerpiece, candle and all, perched on top so they won't run away, and five or six books are strewn around just for good measure. I knew it was getting bad when I couldn't find a spot to put my spoon down and had to balance it in my teeth!<br /><br />So, getting back to the story at hand, Friday I cleaned. Wow, it looked good. I felt like a pioneer, clearing the brush off the last twenty acres. The counter top was mine, all mine. I could lay out a recipe book, take out a bowl, or make a five course meal! Well ... at least, I could open a can of fruit without sticking a "return to the principle" form permanently to the counter. In my frenzy I even cleaned the kitchen floor. After supper we all went out for a drive. When we arrived home my son looked into the kitchen with big round eyes. Ah, I thought, he must be admiring mama's work.<br /><br />There <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> a curious glint in his eyes. "Wow," he said, "did someone break into our house?"<br /><br />"What?" I said, quickly scanning the room behind him to see if there was anything missing. There wasn't. "No."<br /><br />He looked amazed,"Well, someone must have come in and cleaned it." his eyes locked mine seriously.<br /><br />Now, this would have been a good moment to teach my son about the fine art of domestic engineering, and a prime time to lecture him on the principles of appreciation and observance. Instead, I just sent him into the kitchen.<br /><br />"Take a look," I said, "if you find them, give me their number."Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-35008163270488720982007-06-26T19:57:00.000-07:002007-06-27T18:03:47.359-07:00Englehart DerailmentI recently started doing some editing and writing for a company newsletter up here. I thought you might be interested in this story about some pretty heroic people. Who knew that civilians could also work as a first response team? Here it is:<br />Derailment <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Heroes</span><br /><br /> It could have been a disaster. A few months ago, terrifying pictures flashed across our TV screen and appeared on our front pages. A spill of sulphuric acid had occurred when an Ontario <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Northland</span> train had jumped its tracks. The nation gasped. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Englehart</span>’s townspeople had been warned not to drink the water, or even use it for their livestock.<br /><br /> Out of the focus of the camera lenses, a brave and determined team from our site worked a marathon schedule in difficult conditions in order to make things right. “When there is a spill of our product in Canada, the closest site sends a team out right away,” says Perry Harvey, head of our team members during the cleanup. “It’s part of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Xstrata</span>’s ‘Responsible Care’ program. When a spill occurs, we are the first ones on site.” <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Timmins</span> was given the call and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">leapt</span> into action. Two key members of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">HSMAT</span> team were sent right away to assess the damage and begin planning, while the remaining members prepared to send eight more to battle the spill. When the team arrived, they discovered that fifteen S.A. tank rail cars, and seven box cars of zinc and copper, all our products, as well as sixteen other cars had derailed. A daunting 1.78 million pounds of acid needed to be transferred or otherwise dealt with, but this was no easy task as the terrain and the weather conditions were dangerous. The train had jumped the tracks far into the bush. If any member of the team were to become injured, it would take at least twenty minutes to get to where the ambulance was stationed. Since the acid had flowed into the Blanche River there was no potable water on site to maintain the emergency showers which would have to be used in case someone became contaminated. There were no roads into the area so all tools and supplies would have to be carefully planned. The team and their tools would need to be shipped down the rail directly to the site, and since the weather had fluctuated that weekend, the slope down to the river was treacherous.<br /><br /> Our team took it all in stride. Working with the utmost concern for safety and in extreme caution, they began by hosing down the area to dilute the acid so that the team could work on it. They also built safe working platforms and made a ramp and ladder to improve the footing on the slope. They were soon supplemented by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sudbury</span> crew who worked with them in gruelling twelve hour shifts, twenty four hours a day. Using a special pump to take the acid out of the overturned cars and into new cars, they laboured to save the product, and clean the area, all the while avoiding contamination. A few times they needed to cut new holes in the overturned tanks to retrieve the fluid. They also covered the acid laced ground with soda ash in order to neutralize it. The ash turned the acid into harmless water, heat, and carbon dioxide. Meetings took place every morning and evening to assess the progress.<br /><br /> It took six full days of painstaking work before the site could be declared clean and ready for the next set of workers to come in. Grateful <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Englehart</span> citizens opened their stores and restaurants early and kept them open late every day just so they could serve these tired workers.<br /> In the end our team had done an amazing job. They had transferred eleven tank cars of acid in rough terrain and poor weather conditions with no injuries and no exposures. The news was right, it could have been a disaster, but thanks in part to the work of our very own <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">HSMAT</span> team it was simply a job well done.<br /><br />Thanks in acknowledgements section to:<br />Perry Harvey and Tim Miller for interviewCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-61852803450531695442007-06-25T18:51:00.000-07:002007-07-17T12:50:37.462-07:00Let's Go High TechAh, the age of technology. Basking in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, eating a gourmet five course meal re hydrated moments before by my robot servant, sighing deeply as "work minute" arrives and I will have to push a button.<br /><br />Ha! My robot appears to be late. My printer died last week. It was having communication problems with my hard drive and, instead of opting for therapy, it decided to crash and burn. Though not before printing off a ream of half of garble containing the mysterious message to wa---ch you-- bac---k.<br /><br />The modern dream is hardly a reality. Hands up those of you who work longer than nine to five and spend half that time erasing email, printing copies of memos and rewriting important documents that disappeared in a "crash". You know what I'm talking about. So, now, I am attempting to get my new, oh so much faster printer to "talk" to my computer. Make friends, be buddy, buddy, at least exchange a curt "hello". No dice.<br /><br />"I don't really need you," I threaten, "Shakespeare wrote lots of plays, really good ones, and all he had was parchment and a quill. If you won't cooperate I'm sure they still sell pencils at Staples."<br /><br />Ominous silence.<br /><br />The machines mock me. Ah, yes, there may be a day far, far off in the future where man and machine will live together in harmony, it working, me sipping a sweet soda, but not today. Today, they are in therapy.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-43205985865528973602007-06-21T19:57:00.000-07:002007-06-23T13:15:51.920-07:00Open Sesame!Yes, as promised I am jotting down another crazy adventure here in diaper land. They can completely undress, that's right, snaps, buttons, velcro, even clips are not a problem for these girls. We often find them first thing in the morning looking like they are auditioning for the role of Pat Benatar, one arm out of their shirt and hair flying in all directions. And yes, we have even found them minus their diapers.<br /><br />The first such morning I awoke to hear my husband shouting, "Oh, no you don't" Which was quickly followed by a "Get in here!" and a "This is the grossest thing I have ever seen in my life!" Our beloved daughter had not only discovered the wonders of taking her diaper off, she was enchanted by what was in her diaper!<br /><br />The day then proceeded as follows:<br />"Don't take your pants off!" "Oh, no. Where's your diaper young lady?" Get out of that ... Where are your pants?" "Just leave them on!" "How is it possible to be tied to a chair and still get your pants off?"<br /><br />Finally, after chasing our daughter around the house like an escaped convict, and watching me nearly fall over from exhaustion, my husband did the only sane thing possible at that moment. He threatened her. "Keep those pants on or we're going to use duct tape!"<br /><br />I really didn't believe him, but the next time I went by the change table there he was placing the the bedtime diaper on our little wriggler, duct tape in hand.<br /><br />"There," he said with delight as the silver tape gleamed in the glow of the setting sun, "you'll never get out of that!"<br /><br />She was suspiciously quiet.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21160605.post-27899277562413122692007-06-19T14:32:00.000-07:002007-06-19T14:52:32.431-07:00Toddlers 'R UsThey can chew through anything.<br />Yes, if you get low enough to the ground they may even eat you alive.<br />It's true. Don't let their cute little smiles lull you into false security.<br /><br />Even so, I press on. This morning, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">serenaded</span> by the tuneful calls of "Mommy, bottle!" I rose, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">traipsed</span> out to the kitchen and filled two bottles for the hungry little nippers who were now so sweetly jumping up and down in their cribs. Now, as I gently explained to them the other day they are "so close to losing your bottles, so help me!" so keep that in mind for the following story...<br /><br />An ordinary baby, when presented with a bottle after a long and hungry night would simply lie down and sip the sweet <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nectar</span>, not these ladies. I reentered the room to find the first of the ladies merrily dumping said bottle on the wood floor. Not to be outdone by her sister the second of the ladies took a slurp of milk and promptly spit it on her bed sheets. "No,no, no!" I wailed, grabbing the bottles and attempting to stem the tide of flowing milk, which, had there been honey available, would have resembled Canaan, the land flowing with milk and well... you know. "This, ladies, is not what we do with our bottles."<br /><br />Now. Clearly, these babies are smarter than they look. They may be all googly eyed and chubby <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">cheeked</span>, but fools they are not. "Bottle." said the first opening and shutting her pudgy little fist. "Bottle?" Said the second batting her cute little eyes.<br /><br />"No way" I said,"I know what's going on. I know what you're going to do with it." A statement that was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">greeted</span> with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">piteous</span> wails all around.<br /><br />"What's going on," My husband asked reaching toward the crib, "have you given them their bottles?"<br /><br />"Not too close," I whispered, "they'll eat you alive."<br /><br />It's true, they will.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17356879925222338630noreply@blogger.com4