Yukon Jen: A Series of Random Events

Hi Urban Yukon,

My dad called me up on Saturday night. He says: “Jennie, I’m in trouble.” I immediately get worried that something’s happened.

He says: “I lost some files. All the pictures of your mother’s quilts. We can’t find them. I even went back and did a system restore.”

Ugh..Ugh..

I get him to tell me more about what’s happened. But they don’t know. There was a folder in the Photos directory called Quilts. It was there. Then it wasn’t there.

That file had all of the pictures of every quilt my mum has ever made. AND THEY DIDN’T HAVE BACKUPS.

I got him to look in the recycle bin. Not there. I got him to install Picasa (because Picasa sees all the media on your machine). No luck.

They’re gone.

Does anybody know what we should do? Or who we can call if there is something we can do to recover those pictures?

Any suggestions or direction.

We would really appreciate it.

Really.

I’m having a conversation with my girlfriend in Yellowknife. I call her most Sundays so we can catch up and chat. We are just like we were in high school. We talk about our lives and what we’re doing and we talk about boys. Except, we’re a little older now. A little more experienced. We’ve had our share of dramas. We know more how to dress, how to act, how to use our feminine wiles.

NOT!!

And, I’d like to know what feminine wiles are exactly. I’m not aware that I have any. I’m not aware of how they work. When I had a husband, he’d get annoyed when I’d smile and talk to other guys. And that was hard, because I worked in technology. There were a lot of guys. He’d say: Just because you smile and talk to them–they get an idea. That’s all you need to do. Smile and talk.

So I guess after certain situations, I did learn that smiling and talking wasn’t a good idea. I stopped smiling. I stopped talking. And now I fear I’ve lost that basic social skill. Men aren’t interested in me lately. Maybe I don’t meet enough men, but really. Men don’t seem to even notice I exist.

My friend says it’s because I’m not putting myself out there. Well. I’ve had it with that. I’ve put myself out there. I’ve just been disappointed over and over again. I don’t think my heart can take it. I don’t ever want to feel that sushi raw feeling again. EVER. It’s taken me all this time to get this thin skin back…I wonder how long it’s going to take to thicken?

Anyway. Last week, we talked about what happens to our tongues when we try to talk to somebody we like. It’s like our brains just go into some sort of overdrive, and circuit to the tongue shorts out.

I dug this explanation up from an old email to somebody who mattered to me once. I thought it was a pretty good explanation of what happens when I’m trying to talk to somebody I think I might like.

…as soon as I see you, this is what happens:

My heart does this little flip-flop (at least I know it doesn’t stop.)
Blood rushes to ummm….
Then, because that happens, blood rushes to my face.
My face is now flushed and I’m all flustered because I know what is going on.

Then, I can’t concentrate on what I’m trying to say to the person I’m
having a conversation with. My tongue feels like I’ve been to the
dentist and it’s numb or frozen or whatever. It can’t finish what it
is saying and I stutter and fumble and in general just appear silly.

And I try to carry on the conversation, but my mind is just all over
you and where you are and what you are doing. And, in order to
maintain any dignity or composure at all, I have to leave the room so
I can focus on what I was trying to say to the other person and hope
that they didn’t notice any odd behaviour….

Here’s something else I wrote on not being able to speak when I know I like somebody (originally published in the story: How you know you might like a boy on TheLoveLetterProject.com):

And you go out to eat. And he talks. And you push food around on your plate
and try to focus on what he’s saying. But all you notice the sound of his voice and
the way that he talks.

And when you finally do try to take a bite to eat–you miss your mouth and the food
falls back on the edge of the plate and almost on your lap–because you are already
so nervous. So you just laugh and push the food around on you plate a bit more
and try to think of something clever to say.

So you just smile. And nod. And try to ask intelligent questions. And inside, you’re
completely mortified. Because you know you’re intelligent. And smart. And funny.
And you have opinions. And normally–normally–you can’t shut up (which is why
your nickname is Princess Donkey).

Here’s the question. How do you make any sort of smart, intelligent, witty, impression when your brain-tongue circuit is shorted out?

My friend would like to ask a fellow to go on a walk with her–so she could get to know him better. First of all, she’s just nervous and she doesn’t know how to approach him. Secondly, when an opportunity arises for her to ask, her brain-tongue circuit shorts out. Anyway, she’s nervous she’d end up asking him too many questions and it would appear like an inquisition. (I tell her that’s what her girlfriends are for!!). But, alas, she’s not in a situation where she has those kind of girlfriends. Mabye the story will change in the next few weeks.

Regardless. Guys. Do you have any answers for us? How do we get to know you without being too forward? Or too direct? Or too silly? Or too flirty? Or too much of anything? What’s the right balance? So that we can just subtly show you we may be interested … in getting to know you–to start with….

Duck-Hunter, what do you think? Can you start off the comments?

Just a quick blog post this morning before I rush off.

One thing I’m glad I have access to outside of Canada is cbc.ca and radio3.cbc.ca. Thank you Canada for your Canadian Content regulations. This year, I’ve discovered Buck 65, Bedouin Soundclash, and now these guys:

I don’t know what I would do without you CBC. If there’s one reason to be proud to be Canadian, this is it for me.

It’s a little late in coming today, I know. AND I have absolutely no excuse. None what-so-ever (that the blog entry is late). But here it is…a blog entry for my Dad.

And now, I am just going to take this moment to tell the world I love my Dad. We had our ups and downs and for awhile in the late 1990s, and we weren’t talking. But we figured it out. And we are talking now. And we actually have a pretty good relationship. He’s a real person. That’s what I like so much about my Dad. He’s real. He doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not. He doesn’t apologize for who he is. He just is.

One summer when I was home for my parent’s 40th wedding anniversary, we were talking about what (and maybe who) people believe in. And he stood at the kitchen counter and looked over at me and said: “Jennie. Know what I believe in?”

He motioned outside at Golden Horn Mountain. “I believe in those rocks.”
He motioned out another window, “I believe in those trees.”
He motioned out to the back yard, “I believe in your mother’s garden.”

That’s one of my favourite quotes from my Dad. “I believe in those rocks. I believe in those trees. I believe in your mother’s garden.”

I think his quote means that his beliefs are more tangible than most. He believes in what he knows exists. He knows that the mountain will be there tomorrow. It’s going to be a mountain tomorrow, standing as tall and firm and as steadfast as it’s ever been. He isn’t expecting that the mountain will be anything more than a mountain tomorrow. And the mountain is not expecting him to be anything more than he is today. Can you have a more healthy relationship?

The same with the trees. Respect the trees and they will respect you.

My mother’s garden. Now. I know how much they both work on my mother’s garden–so I don’t just think that the garden just belongs to my Mum. As much as they attend to and nourish that garden, it nourishes and attends to them back. In the brief growing season in the Yukon, they will harvest enough vegetables to get them through the summer and a good part of the winter.

So here’s what my Dad has taught me: Believe in what you know exists. Believe in yourself. Know where your roots are and what you believe in. Be firm, strong, and steadfast in your beliefs. Don’t pretend to be somebody you’re not and don’t apologize for who you are. Have respect for others but don’t forget to respect yourself. And, give as much as you want to receive.

Oh. And laugh hard along the way.

Click here for all the blog entries about my Dad.

A note from Rach’s father this morning…

“Rachel won the CHUM Emerging Artist of the Month. Her new song “Stronger Than You Think I Am” is getting national radio play over the CHUM network. Other stations are beginning to add it. KISS FM Ottawa. Tonight “Stronger Than You Think I Am” is challenging “Disturbia” by Rihanna. That’s on Hot 89.9 at 9:00 our time. Listen Live at: www.hot899.com”

WAY TO GO RACH! I’m so proud of you.

So, if you’ve been reading my blog at all, you know a little bit about Rachel Ferguson. She is a 18-year-old singer songwriter from Alymer, Quebec (the greater Ottawa-Gatineau region). And, she’s kicking ass! I love it.

Visit her myspace page (myspace.com/rachelfergusonmusic). Become part of her community. Leave a comment. OR Better yet, call your local radio station and request her.

She was out in the bush for two weeks. I’d called last Sunday and we just chatted about how to feel feminine if you are out in the bush with a group of guys. She just said: “I don’t.”

Then she also clarified: “I don’t think I’d want to be a girl out here. Where would that get me? I have to work with everybody back in Yellowknife.” Then she said something interesting. She said that when you’re out in the bush for so long, people you’d never find interesting under normal circumstances start looking interesting. She giggled. And THAT’s when you know you need to get back to the real world.

Then we talked about a few things we do to feel feminine. “As soon as I get out of the bush,” she says, “I take a bubble bath. With wine and candles and aromatherapy and everything. And I clean up from being in the bush. I soak. I wash all the grub and smoke off. And shave.”

We talked about shaving for a minute and discussed that we both like clean-shaven men. We also talked about who should get a hair cut and a shave and how a trim and a shave takes a guy a long way (from being non-interesting to making us do a double take–quite literally).

We also talked about tips and tricks for shaving. Girls know what I mean. We all talk to our girlfriends about what works and what doesn’t work and we recommend beauticians who treat us well. And we’ve all had a terrible, horrendous experience at one time or another. So we talk and laugh. And I guess, we just bond. We bond over girl talk.

Then I asked her: “When you are just one of the guys, at which point are you a girl in a group of guys?” and, “Do you talk girl-talk to a guy friend?”

I don’t. Well. I don’t anymore. I’ve had to learn what is girl-talk and what is girl-talking-to-a-guy talk. And–well vice versa. And believe me, I had to learn the hard way. I now I like to think I have a better filter.

My friend did some research on her own.

If you are a group of girls and there is one guy, it’s ok to talk about things like bubble baths, bikini lines, and shaving legs.

If you are one girl and one guy (and he is not gay), that’s a borderline conversation. It’s a flirty conversation. Because it gives him a visual. Because if the guy is spending time with you and you are both single, there is a HUGE chance that he’s hoping that he won’t be single for too long. Or minimally, he’ll get to hook up with you.

So basically girls, beware if you are talking one-on-one with a guy friend. Know if you think he’s a friend or if he thinks he’s a potential boyfriend. Be careful you don’t say anything that will give him a visual (unless you want to of course). Because…you’ll know when he brings it up again that it was a HUGE mistake. You’ll know by the way he mentions it. You’ll know by the look on his face. You’ll just know. And you’ll feel betrayed. You’ll feel ick. You’ll feel like you lost a friend.

Which is usually exactly what happens.

We did wonder though–Do guys need girl talk? How do they figure things out–if they don’t talk about it?

She did research the other way too. Girls, if you’re just one of the guys–don’t talk about body fluids (yours or theirs). That is apparently TMI.

The other day, I was having lunch with a friend. I can’t remember what we were talking about exactly, but then he said something about the state of mind and I remembered a poem my friend Yvonne gave to me before I left Whitehorse to go to university. It’s called

The State of Mind

If you think you’re beaten
- You are
If you think you dare not
- You don’t
If you’d like to win and think you can’t
It’s almost a cinch
- You won’t
For out in this world you’ll find
Success begins with a person’s will

It’s all in the state of mind

I like that. I can’t believe I remembered it after all of these years, but I know it’s got me through some hard times. I like that she gave me a poem and not just a gift.

Would I still have a gift all these years later? Probably not. But I still have that poem.

I went to the movie Sex and the City on Friday evening. I’d been planning to go all week but didn’t try to make plans until too late. I called a local girlfriend, but she had accepted last minute tickets to the Giants game. I called another girlfriend, but she’d accepted another invitation somewhere else.

Was I the ONLY girl who knew that Friday was the first day the movie was in theatres?

I decided to go anyway. If you can’t be single and to a movie about being single–you might as well give it all up right now.

I dolled myself up with a new pink satin dress and the highest heels I have ever tried to walk in. (Good job I only had to walk from the car to the theatre.)

I bought my ticket and went to find a seat. The theatre pretty crowded already. I found a seat right in the middle of the second row and settled in and waited for the previews to begin.

People kept arriving. The woman on the end of my aisle started directing people to seats and negotiating with people already seated to move one or two seats over so a group could sit together.

The theatre was packed with women and cosmopolitans. Actually, the cosmos were packed in the women and the women were packed in the theatre. I wished I’d had one or two myself.

I won’t give it away if you haven’t seen it. But I will say, when I got out of the movie, I felt a bit sorry for myself. I wasn’t able to go with my good girlfriends (who are now randomly spread throughout the world). And it was that kind of movie–the kind where you want to go with your girlfriends so you all realize how much you appreciate one another. And then you would go for a few girl drinks afterwards and talk about the movie and about your lives and what’s going on in your lives and … well…girl things. Girl things.

Sigh. I’m going to call my girlfriends this weekend and catch up.

Back to the movie. It was sort of like four episodes of the TV series…in one two-hour or so marathon. I liked it for that–because I like the TV series. There was a Carrie story, a Miranda story, a Samantha story, oh…and another Carrie story. There was a Charlotte story, but there wasn’t really a cataclysmic point to her story—it just a story.

The Carrie story reminds me of how people (especially women) get carried away with the bigger-is-better mentality—when it comes to weddings. Planners. Dresses. Cakes. Dinners. Guests. Entertainment. I see it all the time here in wine country. Me—I believe in small weddings. Personal. Intimate—with meaning for the two people involved. (And now I’ll channel Samantha here and say: Honey, bigger is better, but I’m not talking about weddings—wink!).

The Miranda story was difficult—especially for the woman behind me. I’m guessing she must be going through something similar herself right now. It is so painful to see your own personal hell being played out right in front of you on the big screen. I wanted to comfort the woman behind me with something like: It’s alright darlin’. We’ve all been there. You’ll get through it.

I liked the Samantha story. She’d eat so she wouldn’t cheat. Bascially, she was eating emotions and burying her own needs. Ladies, who out there hasn’t done that?

I didn’t get too emotional or teary during the movie or anything. I did choke at one scene though. One scene. When Charlotte gathers Carrie protectively in her arms (after Carrie beats Big with her bouquet) and she screams: No. No (with that indignantly fierce look on her face — Don’t you dare come any closer. You’ve hurt her enough).

How could you possibly ask for anything more in a friend?

Oh, PS: the fashion was over the top. OVER-THE-TOP! More so than the series. Some of the wardrobe was good (belts for example). Some was normal (Miranda-wear on the Brooklyn Bridge). But there were a few gross outfits. Just gross. What happened SATC?

PPS: He should have whispered: I will love you always, Carrie Bradshaw. I will love you always.

I’m such a romantic.

We talk about our lists for a bit.

I want one of yours. She says.

Really? I wonder. Which one?

“Likes to dance in the living room.”

Yeah. I say. I like that one. Although, in my head, my guy is not only dancing. He’s dusting, and vacuuming. To music. Our music. Whatever feels upbeat and lively–motivation to get moving.

Although, he would also like classical. Classical. Upbeat. Something that gets us going. One of my favourite songs (BTW) is Ball from the Plunkett and Macleane soundtrack. Composed by Craig Armstrong. That’s one of my favourite movies too. But the song also is a good beat to run to.

I’m just remembering this conversation tonight. I don’t think I got to tell her that I like some of her description: “My man knows what’s important to him and how he would define a successful life; the love of friends and family, and knowing that life and love are not in the things we buy but in the people that love us.”

I’m going to add that to my list. I’m definitely going to add that.

The topic last week was work boyfriends…no…not boyfriends who work, or boyfriends that do work—boyfriends at work. When I called late Sunday evening, it was almost too late. My friend has one of her friends over and they have already been talking about boys.

I’m cleaning my house like mad, trying to get it ready for the renters arriving on Wednesday. Steve and Ana are painting trim and finishing off the bedroom. I take the phone to the other end of the house and start on the laundry room.

So? I ask. What’s up?

She’s giggly and admits there’s already been a conversation and a bottle of wine and I just wish I’d been there myself.

Work boyfriends. They were talking about boyfriends at work. The pros. The cons. The possibilities. Guys–you know who I’m talking about. You’re the guy at work we talk to, flirt with, spend our working hours thinking about…then…then we go home. And life goes on. Some of us have husbands or partners at home. Some of us don’t. I guess you could call us your work girlfriends.

Somebody I knew once said: “I don’t care where he gets his appetite. As long as he eats at home!” I have seen different perspectives. I have personally experienced different perspectives. I don’t have an answer to that. I guess whatever works for each individual.

So, the topic was: If you have a boyfriend at work, do you let your colleagues know about it? We’re just going to stick with a safe topic and assume that both parties are not attached to a separate third party. (That topic came up too. And I can only say that if you decide to get involved with another person who already has a significant other, know exactly – EXACTLY—what you’re getting yourself into. Be prepared for heartache, heartbreak, and disappointment.)

So. Do you let your colleagues know? We all decided it would be better for the relationship if you didn’t let them know. There’s somehow more excitement in your clandestine activities. However, I pointed out: Your colleagues will figure it out—eventually. They’re not blind.

We talked about what was attractive to us. Her friend is attracted to guys with degrees and higher education. My friend swears by the pheromones. Me—add an accent to that mix, and some witty banter, and well—we all agreed that if you had that combination—and you worked with us, you would likely become our work boyfriend.

They both had been flirting that week. I asked how that worked for them.

My friend scored some nookey.