My sister, the tooter

Sometimes I call Faunty by her given name, Little Fart.

Last night I was getting ready for bed when she knocked on the washroom door.

"Come in, Fart," I said.

She opened the door, came in and said something like, "I would think it would be better for you to summon your farts out. It seems healthier somehow."

Faunty is a funny fart.

Plastic secrets

(Today's post has been inspired by www.postsecret.blogspot.com.)



Sometimes I buy her things because I want to play with them. Sometimes she shares, but I don't think she'll let me keep any of these. I coloured the egg plant, the carrot and the apple.

Remarkably resourceful

Faunty and I are in the midst of a lovely evening. We went to a cheap-theater movie and hung out at Shopper's Drug Mart in the make up and hair dye aisles. We love to play with testers and we found her a poppin' orange lipstick.

After the movie, The Breakup, we decided to go for a little walk.

I had no hair elastics or other ponytail fasterners, so I took inventory of everything in my car. I ripped a plastic bag* handle off and put it in my hair. Faunty was embarrassed to be seen with me, but it did the trick.

(I couldn't fit my whole ponytail into the scanner, but you get the idea.)

*I hate throwing plastic bags out, so I've made it my goal to use as few as possible and recycle the ones I have. Now I don't know what to do with the rest of the bag. Perhaps I'll have to manufacture a matching headband. Faunty thinks plastic socks would be neat. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to our date.

** Apparently recycling makes one hip, artsy and smart. Have a look at www.littlebrowndress.com or http://articles.moneycentral.msn.com/SavingandDebt/SaveMoney/GetOffTheSpendingTreadmill.aspx?GT1=8307 if you don't believe me.

Learning from the pro

The lonely photographer (who is perhaps not so lonely anymore and has updated her blog as to why) has been teaching me a bit about taking pictures.

I showed her these shots and she said I'm getting better. Yipee.

P.S. Blogger won't let me post any pictures from my work computer, so don't be alarmed if a flood of photos appear over the weekend while I'm hanging out at my real home with my family.

Charming carnies

The fair left town but didn't take all of its trash with it.

I know this because I saw two of the carnies in court earlier this week.

One was there with a friend who was being charged for failing to report an accident, but he wasn't on trial for anything.

The other carnie was much classier. He showed up in court with these shiny silver braclets on his wrists. He is 20 and is charged with sexually assaulting a 13-year-old girl. She said she was attacked; he said she wanted to be able to go on all the rides for free and would sleep with him if he gave her a wrist band.

Court heard they had sex and then he refused to give her $40 -- enough to pay for the unlimited ride ticket.

So she complained to the fair customer service and they gave her a wrist band. What a great compensation package.

In other news, the two guys who were smoking pot while operating heavy machinery full of children are suspended from the fair for five days, but will be continuing with the fair unless they are caught again. (This is according to the public relations worker, who said the carnies have to go through regular drug testing. But if they had to take drug tests, why would they risk blowing their smoke right at the reporters they'd allowed on the ride to take pictures for the paper?)

Gruelling afternoon

I'm working really hard this afternoon.

I'm about to head out to work on two stories — one is on people having fun in the heat and the other is about the trails in a nearby park. Of course I'll have to walk them for an accurate and detailed description.

Don't you just despise me and my job right now?!

Almost time for a visit

I miss watching movies with Faunty and the Photographer.

I miss going to Shopper's Drug Mart and arguing about which $1 movie to get, whether we should get Whoppers or salt and vinegar chips, and why Faunty should pay for everything.

I miss fighting over the computer and watching the Photographer make magic happen with photoshop.

I miss having My Best Kid jump on me. I miss our Saturday night dates too.

I miss being in school with Faunty and having heated debates about Bambi and Charlotte's Web.

I miss the strange expressions the Photographer would get when I would dance around and talk in fake accents.

I miss having other closets to grab things out of when I don't feel like doing laundry.

I even miss being the shuttle that has to pick Faunty up from work. And I especially miss kidnapping her and the Photographer and making them hang out with me.

I miss jumping out at Faunty and the Photographer when they would get home and all the lights were off.

I miss how the Photographer always knew when would have my face pressed to the washroom door, waiting to startle her when she opened it. She would open it slowly, leaning in close, and I would always be the one that jumped.

I do not miss the time the Photographer hid in the basement and terrified me though. The basement is off limits. That's where the snakes and the homeless bums hang out.

I miss the Photographer saying, "Get me a creamsicle" and Faunty saying, "I'm so busy."

I miss all my sisters and can't wait to see them this weekend. Faunty, I want some dill rice chips and Reeses Pieces and ice cream waiting for me.

Children's chewables

For a few brief moments yesterday I was terrified I was going to die.

Usually I eat children's chewable vitamins because grown ups' vitamins are gross. But I wanted to be healthier, so I bought a new kind of vitamin that seems to have everything in it. The problem is it's huge — it's about the size of the tops of one of my fingers, knuckle and nail included.

I prepared myself, took a big drink of water and tried to wash that pill down, but it turned sideways in my throat. I couldn't breathe. I was afraid I was going to die there in my kitchen and no one would find me.

So I'm working on writing my will and am chewing up a candy-flavoured kids' vitamin right now.

The rough draft (you can pretend to be my editor if you'd like)

Const. Robin Cameron's life was as big as her funeral.

Hundreds of RCMP officers and police joined her family, friends, community members and Canadian dignitaries, all of whom gathered to celebrate a life well lived. So many people attended her funeral at Beardys and Okemasis First Nation that rows of vehicles were directed to park in a field next to the arena where the service was held.

Cameron was only 29 when she and her fellow officer Marc Bourdages were shot responding to a domestic dispute on July 7. Cameron passed away the evening of July 15 and Bourdages died early into July 16.

Throughout her funeral those who gave eulogies and those who paid tribute to her life mentioned how often she smiled and how proud she made them.

Her father worked as an RCMP and ever since she was a little girl, all she wanted was to follow in his footsteps protecting others. But it was no small feat for Cameron to achieve her dream of becoming an RCMP officer.

Being a woman and being aboriginal were two of the obstacles Cameron had to overcome to become an RCMP officer. Another difficulty she faced was not having graduated from high school.

But when Cameron, a single mother, gave birth to her daughter Shayne, 11 years ago, she wanted to make her baby proud of her.

She went back to school and got her diploma.

Then she went to university and applied to be an RCMP officer. When she was rejected, Cameron refused to give up.

The next time she applied she was accepted.

FSIN Grand Chief Alphonse Bird recalled her talking about being turned down and saying, "I was stubborn and nobody tells me no."

She had been serving with the RCMP for six years before the tragic shooting took place.
The eulogies made it clear that Shayne was very important to Cameron and Cameron to Shayne.

Cameron succeeded in making Shayne proud of her. In a letter Shayne wrote to her mother shortly after her death, Shayne called her the "bestest person in my life."

During the funeral, one of her aunts read the letter, trying to hold back tears. "I know I saved your life once, but I don't think I can do it again," Shayne wrote, aware that her mother transformed her life to be a good role model for her.

"I love you. You'll be with me wherever I go, whatever I do."

"I know you'll be there for me. You'll see me graduate and have my own kids. And my daughter will be named Robin to know that her grandma was a hero," Shayne wrote.

Cameron was a hero, and not only because she sacrificed her life in the line of duty. Those who spoke of her continually mentioned her commitment to her job and to keeping her community safe. She was also doing everything she could to help First Nations people and the RCMP understand and trust each other more.
Cameron wanted to help aboriginal people change their perspective of the law-enforcement officers and to bridge the gap between aboriginals and the RCMP.

Cameron's life made a difference and her gifts to society continue through her death.

Her funeral was filled with those in red coats and those with darker skin.

Her coffin was carried out to traditional tribal drumming and singing. The funeral procession was followed out with bagpipes - an RCMP tradition. Even in her death she was able to bring two cultures together and to teach each one more about the other.

Cameron was stationed out of the Spiritwood, SK detachment, but a month before she died she had applied for a transfer so she could work closer to her home, the Beardy's and Okanosis First Nations. In that transfer note, the assistant commissioner Darrell McFadyen said she wrote, "I love my job. I love the RCMP. I love putting on my uniform for every shift."

That love of her job, her daughter, her community and her life was evident through the ceremony and will continue on as her legacy.

Bourdages funeral took place on July 25 at the RCMP Training Academy in Regina. There will also be a memorial service for him in his hometown of Saint Eustache, Que.

Donations to the Cameron and Bourdages families can be made through the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce.

Guess where I am this fine Saturday afternoon

Not counting what I'm typing up today and the assignment I'll be doing on Sunday, I've worked 60 hours this week.

I'm working on things I really care about, so it all seems worth it.

Older and wiser

I feel like I have gotten older today.

I went to Constable Robin Cameron's funeral and am grieving for her and wishing I could have known her. I will post more about the funeral once I finish writing the story for the paper. I had two options tonight: go home and cry, or come to the office and poor everything I have in me into the story. I picked the second choice and there isn't much that I'd rather be doing.

I deleted the post I had written about the premier. I thought it was funny before and all I really meant was that I like the premier and feel secure knowing my province is in his hands. Thanks for the criticism Lindsay. You were right that it was inappropriate.

I'm also going to take off the things I wrote about my dispute with a professor I had. That is over.

Funeral attire

This may seem like an inappropriate thing to be concerned about considering the somberness of the issue, but I'm having a terrible time trying to figure out what to wear to the RCMP officer's funeral tomorrow.

I was thinking a suit would be respectful, but the funeral is in a First Nation's community and I don't want to be conspicuously overdressed. Maybe a black skirt and a dark-coloured dress shirt would work.

Perks

In a free and democratic society, it is fundamental for the media to be able to access and report on whatever events or issues it deems imperative for the public to hear about.

As such, it follows that reporters, by the nature of their jobs, should be able to access fair grounds free of charge, cut ahead in lines, and research the rides by trying them out at no cost to the individual or to the media outlet for which said employee works.

Some days I can't believe I'm getting paid for this.

My match

Yesterday I was wearing a black tank top and light gray pants. (Do people still call dress pants slacks? What about trousers? I think I'll just refer to them as pants.) I had on black heeled shoes and black glasses and my hair was up in a high ponytail.

One of the other girls in the office was wearing the exact same thing. The only differences were a clip she had in to hold her hair up and that she was wearing black sandals.

It felt like one of those can-you-spot-the-differences-in-these-two-pictures games.

Robin Cameron

I am going to the most amazing woman's funeral on Friday. She was an aboriginal police officer who went to residential school, dropped out, had a baby and raised her, but didn't let anything -- not racism, not sexism, not other responsibilites, not the huge costs of tuition -- keep her from following her dream of becoming a police officer. Her name is Robin Cameron, she was 29 years old, and she is one of the two RCMP officers who were shot and killed by a deranged man who is likely now living in the woods.

Robin was a single mother and it's unclear what will happen to her 11-year-old daughter.

It's such a tragic ending to such a courageous life and I'm so glad to be able to go to her funeral and let others know more about the life she lived and the people who love her.

I love my job today

I've had the most insane day today and even though it's after 5:30, it's no where near quitting time.

So far today I've been in a parade and taken pictures it, written a story about the two RCMP officers who died in Saskatchewan after being shot last week, took more pictures, and interviewed a kid whose dad died so she's helping raise money for those suffering the same type of illness as her father had. I've also been using photoshop and been doing layout for the paper that gets printed tomorrow at noon.

Tonight I'm going out to ask people what they think about a fun event that's going on, and then it's back to the office for more photoshop and layout and panic. I love it. It's just the right amount of pressure and running around and it's so much better than being bored.

Update:
It's just after 9 p.m. now and I'm still at it.

Updated update:
It's 11:28 p.m. on Tuesday and the entire paper is written, photoshopped and laid out. We made it just before the deadline. Phew.

Presents etc.

I suppose since I announced my arrival in town in the newspaper, it should come as no surprise that the welcome wagon lady found me.

She brought all sorts of treats from dog biscuits to chocolate (it's already gone) to a coin pouch to a tiny bottle of lotion. I love getting presents, no matter how small.

My birthday is on Sunday, so I'm considering all these little gifts as pre-birthday presents.

Speaking of my birthday, I'll be 24 and I need to have a big adventure to commemorate (sp?) a fabulous year of being 23. I have only today and tomorrow to come up with and do something spectacular.

I heart not working

I'm quite sure I haven't done anything useful today. I tried to go to the farm, but got lost. Then I should've written about the farm, but instead had to write about being lost.

Then I took a picture of an old lady in her garden.

I also suggested doing a celebrity gossip column, but the publisher didn't think it would be appropriate. Instead she wants me to write about local celebrities. As in the guy that owns this restaurant or the woman who made the fanciest quilt at the fair. All I wanted was to be paid to do "research" on perezhilton.com. Is that too much to ask? I think not. Anyways, I can't write coffee row gossip until I know the town better, so that idea has been delayed for a while.

Also at work I've blogged, figured out how to use the scanner on a stupid old apple computer and looked at the hot-off-the-press paper and felt smugly proud.

I really should do some work, but it seems like working isn't necessarily part of my job description.

Luna Lovegood

My new friend doesn't like me anymore.

That or she's very busy, her phone fell in the toilet and she can't get her messages, or there was some kind of terrible emergency.

We went to the beach and she had a little party to introduce me to her friends. She and I stayed up talking until 4 am and it seemed we would never run out of things to say.

But then, just before I went home for a week, I said to her, "Thanks for sharing your friends and being so nice to me." That was the fatal error. When I said that I felt like Luna Lovegood -- the crazy socially-inept character in the Harry Potter books who always says things like, "Thanks for letting me hang out with you. No one else wants to spend time with me. They all think I'm weird or smelly."

In case of an unequal power balance in a friendship, neither should acknowledge it. If the one with all the resources (friends, connections, a big tv, etc.) knows the other is lacking, that's fine. But if one says, "here, borrow my friends" or the other says, "I don't have anything else to do besides hang out with you" it's all over.

Actually I think the real problem is that I have far too much time to analyze the few human interactions I have outside of work.

I need to find somewhere to fit in. I'm looking for somewhere to volunteer. And I'm going to go to church and the bar to do stories while hopefully also making some friends.

Paid field trips

I went to court this morning. There weren't any big trials or anything, but it was still cool to be getting paid to watch the justice system at work. There were a few drunk driving charges, a vandalism fine and other assorted small things.

Being in court reminded me why I don't want to be a lawyer. I've thought about being a lawyer now and then because I like having debates and I like being right.

But there's so much paperwork and the first hour or so is usually spent asking to delay specific cases. It would be exciting to do the big cases, but not to shuffle through all the papers and to keep postphoning everyhing.

My next little adventure will be tomorrow morning. I'm going to a farm. Really going to a farm to help with chores and everything. Tomorrow I think I'll feel like that girl from Little House on the Prairie. I might even have to braid my hair.

I love getting paid to dive into other people's lives and to have all the adventures I can dream up.

Superstitions

I'm not afraid to walk under a ladder (thanks for the spell checking) and if I say I've never had a broken bone, I don't immediately knock on my desk or a wall.

But when it comes to breaking mirrors, I can't help but feel like something terrible will happen. I've broken two mirrors so far. One was an accident, but the second one I used to hit Faunty -- either in a fit of rage or for a joke. I hit her with the nice, non-shardy plastic back, but the glass shattered on the impact.

Breaking two mirrors should mean 14 years of bad luck following me around. But I dropped a hand mirror on the floor this morning and it didn't break. Perhaps I'm lucky afterall...

Plus and minus

One good thing about living in a small town is that no one has a problem with me wearing old clothes that were in style back when I was in Grade 11.

There's only one chiropractor in town and I find him creepy. Maybe it's his sweaty hands.

Hi

Good morning my darlings. I've missed you so much this weekend that I considered sneaking into work to check up on you all.

It's lonely in my new town. The people here are nice, but there aren't many I've seen that I would pick to be my good friends. Even though I'm gone, it makes me value my real friends back home even more.

But speaking of the nice people in town...

I went to the grocery store when the sky was grey. I was only in the store for about 10 minutes, but when I looked out the window I saw a raging storm.

I made a little joke to the clerk about having a fun walk home, and the woman in line behind me insisted on driving me home.

People here are sweet like that.

In other news, I burned my porridge today. I burn it every day and each time I do it makes me annoyed. I cook it on the highest heat so it doesn't take as long.

This may be a situation where I could use a little more patience. Hmmm.

Free adventures!

After spending eight days at the paper, I have my own column.

I pitched the the idea to the new editor yesterday and he really liked it. Then he talked to the old editor and the publisher and they all thought it was a good idea.

I can't say what it's about without worrying someone in the office will stumble across my blog and know it's me, but I can tell you it has to do with me having a lot of adventures and getting paid at the same time!

Basically writing my column will be almost like blogging.

Bugs

There are bugs in my new apartment. One of the windows had been left open before I moved in and it didn't have a screen.

My dad custom-made a screen to fit, so no more bugs are coming in, but for now there's a little problem -- being a vegetarian and a squeemish wimp, I have a really hard time killing them.

I was able to justify swatting the fruit flies because they have babies fast and I'd rather kill a few than a whole colony of them.

But moths and regular flies an ants and mosquitos are a different story.

Sometimes I will wash bugs down the drain because then I don't have to hear the sound of their tiny bodies breaking, and that has evolved into a great fear of mine. I am terrified that if I wash a bug down the drain, it will climb back up, invincible and furious with me.

Gross.

Last night I caught a moth and took it outside, not out of mercy as much as out of fear.

At least my apartment is on the second floor, so I don't have to worry about mice.

Whining

I have two years more education than my new editor and the other reporter combined.

I think I'm becoming a snob in this place where most people haven't completed more than their high school degrees.

I'm the only reporter left in the office. The old and new editors and the other reporter have been gone almost an hour now. It's hot in here and I'm writing a grocery list.

Back in my wheel-y office chair

My week-long holiday was lovely, and I'm now back at work.

Even though it was the long weekend and everyone got a day off, we still have to pull the papers together in the same amount of time. It's hectic.

The first paper's done, but we have no content for the second. It's going to be hard to fill it up, so I think we'll be playing with font sizes a little this issue.

After all my scandal and intrigue on assignment last week, today I'm writing a story about a new construction project. All it is basically is a new gas station.

I should not be bored already.

Budding botanist

I came up with a solution to make my sunny apartment less lonely.

Obviously a pet is out of the questions as I would probably end up killing it -- maybe accidentally or maybe in a fit of rage if it's bird cage stank or if it pooped on my floor.

Instead I've decided to go with plants. At least if they die I won't have to bury them and have little funerals.

I have aloe vera plants, three cute tiny greenish-white plants that didn't come with a card telling me what they are, spider plants and two trees.

One tree is a house plant and is about as tall as me.

The other is a cotton-tree seedling that I dug up out of my parent's yard. It's cute now, but I'm a little worried it could grow so big that it could be impossible to get it out of my apartment unless I chop it down.

Perhaps it's not a good sign that I'm already wondering how long I'll be able to keep them alive.

The perfect solution

My eight-year-old sister is having a hard time with me moving away.

Yesterday she gave me a note, warning me that: "it's a little bit funny and a little bit mean."

The note says:

"I miss you, geeksters. I wish you lived with us still. I hope you get fired from work."

What a brilliant problem solver she is. If I got fired I'd be back home with more time than ever to play with her.

Part of me, the part that misses her, is also hoping I get fired.

Peebles

There's a town in Saskatchewan named Peebles. The Photographer and I drove past it weeks ago and had a little laugh.

Now anytime we're driving and need to use the facitilies we say, "I have to Peebles."

What a funny word.

It sounds to me like a condenced version of "pee dribbles."

July 1

Happy birthday, dear country.

You're pretty great to me, although you do have quite the shady past when it comes to people with other skin colours.

The occassion of your birthday might be a happier event if it weren't also the anniversary of the time all the land -- from sea to shining sea -- was stolen from the people who'd been living here for thousands of years before your little pilgrims arrived.

And it's pretty neat that you have a railroad from coast to coast, the very railway system that solidified the agreement for the west to latch onto the rest of the country.

Too bad all those Chinese people died building the tracks through the mountains, because you wouldn't let them become citizens unless they agreed to risk their lives for you. And too bad that once the train tracks were finished you decided to charge the other Chinese people that wanted to immigrate two-years wages just to be allowed to live here.

Too bad those living in many aboriginal communities didn't have access to public education beyond the Grade 9 level until five or 10 years ago. Too bad also that you decided to hide them away from the rest of the population, segregating them and creating a racial conflict that is so hideous it may be beyond fixing.

I don't know whether to celebrate or morn your birthday. Hopefully your wisdom and kindness is increasing along with your age.