Nota Bene

Can we talk?

Seriously, I want a dialogue on this because I’m so fed up that I can’t stand it anymore. and I’d like to hear from other people on this.

Lately I’ve been getting more than my fair share of well-intentioned emails on personal safety. I suppose that as a women (and a fairly small, not completely unattractive one at that), some could consider me more susceptible to personal attacks. Fair enough. I appreciate your concern. The fact that I live, work and play in a heavily populated city does put me in contact with a variety of people every single day, and no, they’re probably not all nice.

BUT (and you knew there was a but in there, didn’t you?)

I’ve come to the conclusion that all those well meaning personal safety emails are not appreciated.

Now before I go any further, I’d like to point out that I don’t necessarily fault the ladies who send them along. Without fail they’re doing it because they’re concerned, because they want to do something. Because they care. I have no issue with them. My issue is with the tone and language and method of the emails themselves.

I am tired of being made to feel like I am an idiot for not being afraid for my safety every time I leave my home. I am tired of having it pointed out to me by some faceless authority figure that I’m somehow being stupid because I don’t fear for my life constantly. I am tired of receiving emails that basically tell me I should give up hope, lose the optimism and view every possible human interaction through suspicion and fear-tinted glasses.

With subject lines like “IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead)” and “Through a Rapists’ Eyes”, it’s obvious they’re meant to induce an instant fear reaction, or even better, panic. (Just in case I didn’t catch on to the urgency, the first email was a designer’s nightmare in all it’s underlined, bolded, siren red, 72-pt, over-exclamatory glory.)

OK. I get it. Be aware. Be vigilant. Consider how you’ll do things before you do them. Be prepared. Consider the consequences. Nothing my mamá or abuelita didn’t already teach me.

But emails telling me that the only way for me to be safe is to never be alone, to always have a male companion, to not go out at night (or too early in the morning), to basically curtail my freedom to move or have to deal with the (sometimes graphically described) possibility of assault?

From here on in, they’re getting deleted. Unread.

Thoughts?

I’m sneak-posting from work.

On a good day (when the planets are aligned) I get to enjoy a lovely view of the north shore and its mountains.

Today, they may have magically migrated for all I know, as the clouds are hanging so heavy over the water that the north shore isn’t visible ‘tall.

Argh.

Dear weather gods - it’s JUNE. Get with the program please. My cats are due at least two solid weeks of sunbathing on the balcony.

Why?
(more…)

Did I mention we were in Shawnigan Lake last weekend for the triathlon?

Did I mention I took 200+ photos and got to see some Olympic hopefuls break tri records? Or how awesome it was that they started the half-iron with a freakin’ howitzer (Yes, I like guns. And Nascar. Gotta balance the love of most things girly with something!)

OK, well I’m mentioning it now. But I’m not posting any other photos until Ironhead has done his post-race post(s). Then I’ll share how absolutely gloriously beautiful it was. I promise.

Ironhead’s birthday is coming up.

Incidently, there’s a rock concert the same day.

Iron Maiden.

Yeah, I’m hooting aloud.

Even better? I saw it advertised on a huge banner as I was passing The Loose Moose earlier this week.

Yup. The Loose Moose.

It’s got Moose decor. Gotta love it.

I’d planned on being cranky this morning. Über sullen.

But then the sun was shining…

… and the top was down on the car so I got to gaze at blue sky…

… and I got to work and some wonderful creature brought me fresh caffeine exactly the way I like it because they just knew…

… And I knew that my Plan witha capital Meh was about to go sideways.

So. New plan.

1. Enjoy the day.
2. Appreciate people.
3. Consider options for the weekend.
4. Dream of a balcony garden.
5. Smile.

So - what are your plans?

We need to teach the highly educated man that it is not a disgrace to fail and that he must analyze every failure to find its cause. He must learn how to fail intelligently, for failing is one of the greatest arts in the world.

Charles Kettering (American Inventor)

Lovely Miss Meliss has had me singing this all morning, and I’ve got to share it with you too.

Do me a favour? Go give her some love, just ’cause you can. She’s spreading joy, and that’s worth so much.

This post is about a doily, and the battles it has caused. No, srsly.

See, living with a professional perfectionist trained interior designer means we can have deep meaningful conversations about lighting & colour, but it can also be a tad daunting. Especially when ten dollar words like vision and aesthetics are bandied about.

It’s not that we don’t see eye to eye on things. Yes, my love of ye olde Victorian and Edwardian bits is strong, but I prefer my living space simple & serene, almost stark, which is how he likes it too. But every once in a while scuffles break out over small things. Like the doily. Especially after Ironhead got into the habit of tucking it in my chest of drawers when he cleaned, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

I did.

I’ll admit, I got irritated round about the 4th time this happened, and whipped up a snit. After all, said the self-righteous little voice in my head, it’s one teeny tiny thing that makes me happy because it’s from my grandmother. It’s in the bedroom, so it’s not like it’s on display to the world at large. I live here too dammit…

End result? Accusations lobbed, rants about cohesion volleyed. Both sides laid claim to victory. But the doily remained.

After a while, I opted to let the doily ‘rest’ while I came up with some other way to display it and keep the peace.

But now he’s tri-ing my patience by turning our bedroom wall into his personal triathlete’s focal point. There’s a huge calendar. An Orca shirt. and now that the wetsuit has been purchased, there’s a hint of neoprene in the air.

I totally get that he needs to keep his goals in front of him, and I wouldn’t dream of asking him to take this all down - not if it helps him stay focused.

But there’s a part of me that’s tempted to not only put out the doily, but to go out and buy a couple dozen and put them all over the apartment, just to see the look on his face…