Ready for Santa

We just got our first-ever real Christmas tree! Yipee! But, for all the hoopla about getting it, with all the tinsel and lights and baubles on it now, it looks just like our old fake tree. It smells really nice though. Just remind me not to look down on the floor. We had so much fun picking the tree out from the u-cut farm, despite below-freezing temps.

We are so ready for Santa. All decorations are up, and as Jaden said last night, “we just need cookies and milk and carrots!” I made Phineas a stocking, and Jaden made a wee one at daycare for Fishy. Any ideas for stocking stuffers for a Betta fish?

Meanwhile, I had finished this chunky scarf that I knitted on impulse (read: walked through the dollar store shelves, found chunky yarn in warm green and yellow, dug out Jaden’s size-15 kiddie needles, and knitted away). It looks nice and keeps me warm, but I can’t wrap the scarf around my face because I end up with fuzz in my mouth!

Until then, take care everyone. I will be back before the holidays officially start.

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What's In A Name

I was christened Katharine, and my father was obviously a huge Katharine Hepburn fan. Now this is one of the many names that have a million spelling variations, depending on where you are but mostly depending on the whim and mood of your parent/s at the time of naming you.

I ended up learning to write my name as Katherine, the way I was taught by my teachers, and why my parents made no objection to that, I don't know. (I figured that was the commonest way to spell it.) And because nicknames were a part of life, I ended up being called Kat or Kathy (which didn't really sit well with me because it sounded so sweet and girly, all things I'm not). In junior high when universities and colleges started strictly requiring birth certificates for admission, I finally saw that I wasn't a common Katherine, I was an elegant, unique Katharine. (Apologies to all the lovely Katherines I know.) So I switched-I had to program my handwriting, had to explain to people, had a new nickname.

And then I came to Canada where the correct pronunciation of my name was Kath-rin, instead of Ka-te-rin which we did back home. And so people assumed my name was spelled Kathryn and when they find out that it's not, they got embarassed and apologized profusely! Kathryn is my mother-in-law, and she's appropriately nicknamed Kathy. My friends from home call me Kata and when they started calling me that, it was some sort of an honor because there was a prominent broadcaster with the same name. But try asking Canadians to call you Kata; you'd probably end up being Kah-tah. So I stayed a Katharine. New friends will initially write my name down as Kathryn. I don't mind. What's in a name after all.

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Gray Blurs and Frappes

I haven’t been this tired since setback night on the ship when everyone took the extra hour as an excuse for getting drunk and doing foolish things, usually lasting more than the extra hour and way into the early morning light. The kind of tiredness that makes you look at a printed page and discover the words flowing and merging into a gray blur. The kind that brings on a wispy cloud and wraps it around your head so you feel disconnected from the world in some ways.

Last night I was in a manic mode trying to do several things at once. I ordered more fabric online because I wanted to make a few more things, I downloaded videos from our camera and wanted to e-mail them to my parents and my sister-in-law (I did end up emailing Liz but it was to brag that I might get my boss’s job—big joke!), and put it up on YouTube and Facebook too. Did not have time to do that. I frantically looked at the clock and realized it’s 10pm, and I always try to be in bed before that. I quickly did my stretches (for pelvic upslip, which are not going away, by the way, and every day I’m getting more and more dependent on drugs!), counting faster than a second should go, while making a mental list to get more zippers so I could make more cushions, to throw away the old ones, to pack the spice rack—what the heck, I’m not making any dinners from tonight until we move in, what’s the number for Panago Pizza—and to remind my husband to get the wardrobe boxes. Oh wait, I said it out loud, “Need another zipper.” Andrew gently reminds me that there’s nowhere I could get a zipper at 10pm anyway, so I should just relax. I shoot him a glance through my legs that are twisted in painful exercise; darn, I lost my count. Grunt, grunt.

Seven hours is still too short for me. Especially many nights in a row. And more to come, as moving day draws near (2 days to go!). For now, I am seriously contemplating a fresh cup of cappuccino from the Finnerty Café; too bad Starbucks is too far—I wouldn’t mind a frappe either.

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Moving, etc.

In 5 days we are moving into our first house. Imagine that. A and I are homeowners! Last Saturday we finally found the entertainment stand we’ve been looking for-it’s actually just a shelf that’s wide enough to fit our PVR and Blu-ray player, but not too wide so it won’t fit in that very small space between the wall and the fireplace. I hope it works. We also got garden stuff and a can of paint for our accent wall (we’re going bold—we got tropical leaf green to hopefully calm our energetic 6 year old, good luck with that!) I’m thinking my conservative in-laws will need some time to get used to it. Meanwhile, our 3 feet-wide hallway has been reduced to 1 foot, so I can’t even carry J and go through it anymore. Apparently this morning J was close to tears because the sweater she’s been planning to wear has already been packed away, and the ones I left out for is NOT nice. I spent the weekend cleaning an apartment that somebody else will live in. I cut myself trying to buff and shine the dining room light, and my fingernails hurt from scrubbing the patio door tracks from two years of caked dirt. (We’ve lived in this apartment for two years, so that tells you the extent of my housekeeping skills.) I’m also trying to finish my new cushions done in playful blue, green, maroon and taupe stripes (and yey, I found a matching shower curtain!). I can’t have our old, sagging cushions on our brand-new beige microsuede couch and recliner. God I can’t wait to try out that recliner. It would be so cool!

So true to my personality, I waited till the last week to get all excited, and now I am just too wired!! I wanna try out my new kitchen, I wanna check out the gardens and if it’s not too late, plant some colorful blooms. I can’t wait to be able to do laundry whenever I want to. I can’t wait to make my own jam, and bake pies and cakes. My friend believes that I will convert that house into an arts-and-crafts home in no time, and I think she’s right. Mosaic house number, an art room for J and me, handmade drapes and cushions, hanging baskets on shepherd’s hooks… I could go on and on. This is the light at the end of my cardboard-boxes-filled tunnel.

Photos to follow!

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-- June 30, 2011

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Workplace Vent

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-- June 30, 2011

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Inspirations

Whew. Such a relief to have finally decided to combine my million and one blogs into one, and to actually do it—import all content into this brand-new online journal. (Well, sorta. I still have my Friendster blog, and I have no idea how to import to Blogger, and if it is even at all possible.) This time, I created a blog that will encompass my many interests and cover the Pacific Ocean and beyond to reach out to family and friends that I have left behind in the beautiful Philippine Islands. Now I’m free to talk about almost anything—my old town and the memories, my new home and my wonderful family, life at 30 and how I got here, what I do now, and what I think about the world and the little things that make it go round. I am interested in writing about being an immigrant in an immigrant-saturated North American city, about my never-ending quest for learning and creating, and about being employed and thankful for it but wishing to be a stay-at-home mom/crafti-st/entrepreneur/superwoman, and my BIG intention to get back in shape and activated. (Mind you, this did not come about because of weight, although my last shopping spree had to be spent in the 5-6 aisles, where before I would be smugly browsing the size 4 racks. Rather, I have been in chronic pain from Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction, or pelvic upslip, and my physiotherapist seems to think this is because of prolonged sitting. “What do you do?” “I work in an office.” “Ah, sitting all day. When you get home, what activities do you do?” “Knitting.” “Ah, more sitting.” I have to try and stretch some muscles back into shape, and also find something else to do other than sitting—hence, the intention.)

So, let’s end this post with hope that I will have another one tomorrow. Toodles!

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