How’s this for a random event:

A new colleague of mine told me in the hallway the other day that she had a treadmill for her dogs. I thought that was odd enough–until she told me that she’d sold the treadmill to a lady who wanted it for her sheep.

This really is California.

I couldn’t believe you would put your dogs on a treadmill. She said that is was pretty common practice. Undoubtedly it is. There are even special doggie treadmills. I found jogadog.com.

What’s more, I can’t believe somebody would put sheep on a treadmill, until I found this article on sheep treadmills.

Apparently, there are many, many types of treadmills. Here is a video from YouTube about a shrimp on a treadmill.

When I first used a treadmill, I had nightmares about walking and walking and walking and never getting anywhere. Just walking with no particular purpose and thinking I have a million other things to do. I’ve come to realize though, whenever I am walking, I have a purpose: either to get somewhere, to get some fresh air, or simply to exercise. And now, I take the time to walk because it decompresses me after my day. And yes, every so often, I do use a treadmill.

Mrs. Halleberg was my grade two teacher. On parent’s night, each student had to make up an individual star made of construction paper. Mrs. Halleberg would then write adjectives to describe her students and put them up on the bulletin board in the hallway. She wrote ‘Chatterbox’ on mine and ‘Motor Mouth’ on my friend Lorraine’s. I guess your individual development really doesn’t change much after your first five years–hence, thirty years later I am nick-named Princess Donkey.

I’ve kept this character sketch that a fellow classmate wrote of me in Mrs. Halleberg’s grade two class.

The great thing is: thirty years later, I still have friends from Grade 2: Lorraine and Michelle.  Lorraine is my first close long-time friend to have a baby (Baby Betty). Michelle lives in or around Wakefield and is studying to become a nurse. We had another friend, Winnie Wong. I don’t know where she is now though. I think Lorraine says she is in Toronto.

I did, however, say hello to my former classmate who wrote my character sketch this year when I was home at Christmas. I found out that he and wife were living just up the road from my parents. They’ve had a baby too. I had three weeks to kill in Whitehorse this year and them up–out of the blue–and asked if they wanted to go skiiing. I didn’t think they would remember me–but they did. I told them that I had this character sketch that he had written about me–and that I am positively horrified that in grade two, my hobbies included doing chores around the house.

On the cbc.ca homepage the other day, I saw this advertisment:

MAN!! A few years ago I went to Alberta to visit family and my cousin NIK had a version of hockey night on her phone. When I got back to California, I told a few of my fellow Canadian geek friends about it. Joe immediately made his own and put it on his phone.

I still haven’t figured out how to make my own ringtones, but when I saw this one–I wanted it. I texted the word Canada to 311311, but my request gets lost going across the border. When I tried to text my vote for Rach when she was in the Battle of the Beats on Hot 89.9 FM in Ottawa, I got the same message. Maybe there is a country code I have to prefix the message with or something.

I love it. It says–descretely enough–that I am Canadian–without having to run around being obnoxious about it. That’s what nobody likes–an obnoxious Canadian (that could be an oxymoron–an obnoxious Canadian–ha!). It would be like a secret code–only other Canadians would recognize it when it rang. It would be like wearing my CBC t-shirt in LAX or my Tabarnac t-shirt when I’m pissed off. It would say: I am Canadian. I may live in the States for awhile–but basically–my name is Jennifer and I am Canadian.

These last two months I’ve been watching the entire six seasons of Sex and the City episodes from my NetFlix queue. I’m fascinated that a writer can write one column a week, live in her own apartment in New York City, and afford all those designer shoes, clothes, friends, restaurants, and night-clubs. (Yes, I know it’s fictional.) But I do think the writing is great. Simply fantastic. In my dream world, I’m a writer living in New York City writing for a smash hit series TV show by day, collecting a signature wardrobe and a small fortune worth of shoes, and being smitten by hunky investment bankers by night.

Cut to

My life. Significantly less dramatic. Significantly less fashionable. Significantly less interesting. Significantly less everything. I’m pleased actually. It’s taken me a long time to arrive here in this relatively undramatic, calm, inviting place. And, I’m enjoying it.

I haven’t been writing on my blog lately because I’ve been busy. I have a new job–granted it’s only a three month contract, but it’s a good start. I’ve made some decisions about where I want to go in my life and I’m making huge efforts to get there–and that’s exhilarating and exhausting all at once. But, I finally realized my priorities–and once I did that, it seems easy to make decisions.

I realized that I made some people in my life bigger than they are. I was waiting for them to make decisions–so I could make my own. That’s me–or was me. Accommodating. Directionless. Slightly delusional. Thinking that I actually was important. A week after my birthday–I had an epiphany–or as other people might call it: a-slap-in-the-belly-with-a-cold-wet-fish. Basically though, I realized that I was waiting for other people to do things that they just weren’t going to do. And given my track record, I was going to be waiting for a long time. As I watched these back-to-back episodes of this revolutionary TV series, I couldn’t help but wonder– if I am holding on, what am I holding on to?

Now, I’ve decided my life is a script. I’m the main writer, producer, director, production coordinator. I am even my own assistant production coordinator! Basically, I’m finally the one calling the shots. And my script can be dramatic, comedic, classic,…what the hell! It can be whatever I want it to be–as long as it’s starring Jennifer C. Burke, as herself.