Sent to me by mm last week:
In this high-tech world, I have noticed that many who text messages and use email have forgotten the art of capitalization. Those of you who fall into this category, please take note of the following statement:
Capitalization is the difference between helping your Uncle Jack off a horse and helping your uncle jack off a horse.
I cannot stress enough that proper use of grammar can be most important!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
S
I can't tell you about my trip to Italy before introducing my friend S: without her, there would likely have been no trip to tell you about. S and Christine were my best friends in high school. The three of us were thick as thieves, figuratively and sometimes literally in heedless teenage fashion. For reasons I never understood, however, Christine became more and more distant after we graduated and finally disappeared from the scene altogether, even though she was the only one of us who never actually left the scene.
After high school S went to university in Montreal and I got a job at the Dorval Yacht Club. At some point I went to work in Jasper for the summer and fall and then moved to Edmonton. S came out and we shared an apartment there over the winter. We were both sick of the -40 degree temperatures after four months and ready for greener pastures. We got summer jobs in British Columbia as tour guides for Via Rail. (There was a certain degree (roughly 100%) of nepotism involved, as my father hired us.) S then returned to Montreal and I started university in Vancouver. Three years later I went on the trip that was supposed to be six months but lasted nine years. When I came back I settled in Kingston. S had moved to Ottawa, two hours away. We were physically closer than we had been in many years, but had never been farther apart in the details of our lives. S was married and had three children. She ran her own company and had lots of money. I was single, childless, jobless, and had decided to go back to school. Occasionally we went on yoga retreats together. Once we talked about how little we have in common. We asked ourselves whether, if we had met as adults instead of back in high school, we would have become friends.
That's a good question. I find S can be assertive to the point of aggression. Obstacles aren't negotiated, they're annihilated. It might sound racist coming from me, but it was S, who was born in Korea, who told me about a book called The Koreans. The book apparently goes into a lot of not always complimentary detail about the Korean national character. S says it describes her perfectly. As an example of that character, our mutual friend in Ottawa has a husband who works at the airport. He says that air traffic controllers hate it when Korean Air flights arrive. The pilots apparently ignore instructions and land on whatever runway they want. That sounds a bit far-fetched to me, but S laughed hysterically when she heard it. Oh yes, that's what Koreans would do, she said. A while ago she suffered a concussion while skiing and for about a year she had a different personality. I remember liking that S a lot better. She was less definite about things and definitely more gentle.
Then she reverted to the original S. I still joke with her about how one day I'm going to sneak up and bash her on the head to get the other S back. She laughs, which to me illustrates one of her best qualities: you can be honest with her. She's also the type of person who is there, for real, when someone needs her. S is the first person I would call in a crisis. And I have a feeling that, if she's still alive at the time and I have the opportunity to arrange my goodbyes, she may be the last person I see.
Someone once told me that they couldn't stay married to the person they had married because, even though they still loved the other person, life was too complicated with them. That's sort of how I feel about S. If we had married I would likely have asked her for a divorce long ago, but not because I had stopped loving her.
I realize that I haven't yet told you how Italy happened. A little over a year ago, I mentioned to S that I would love to rent a villa in Italy for my 50th birthday. Let's do it, she said. It was that simple.
To my dear friend S, and to all of you, happy 2011.
After high school S went to university in Montreal and I got a job at the Dorval Yacht Club. At some point I went to work in Jasper for the summer and fall and then moved to Edmonton. S came out and we shared an apartment there over the winter. We were both sick of the -40 degree temperatures after four months and ready for greener pastures. We got summer jobs in British Columbia as tour guides for Via Rail. (There was a certain degree (roughly 100%) of nepotism involved, as my father hired us.) S then returned to Montreal and I started university in Vancouver. Three years later I went on the trip that was supposed to be six months but lasted nine years. When I came back I settled in Kingston. S had moved to Ottawa, two hours away. We were physically closer than we had been in many years, but had never been farther apart in the details of our lives. S was married and had three children. She ran her own company and had lots of money. I was single, childless, jobless, and had decided to go back to school. Occasionally we went on yoga retreats together. Once we talked about how little we have in common. We asked ourselves whether, if we had met as adults instead of back in high school, we would have become friends.
That's a good question. I find S can be assertive to the point of aggression. Obstacles aren't negotiated, they're annihilated. It might sound racist coming from me, but it was S, who was born in Korea, who told me about a book called The Koreans. The book apparently goes into a lot of not always complimentary detail about the Korean national character. S says it describes her perfectly. As an example of that character, our mutual friend in Ottawa has a husband who works at the airport. He says that air traffic controllers hate it when Korean Air flights arrive. The pilots apparently ignore instructions and land on whatever runway they want. That sounds a bit far-fetched to me, but S laughed hysterically when she heard it. Oh yes, that's what Koreans would do, she said. A while ago she suffered a concussion while skiing and for about a year she had a different personality. I remember liking that S a lot better. She was less definite about things and definitely more gentle.
Then she reverted to the original S. I still joke with her about how one day I'm going to sneak up and bash her on the head to get the other S back. She laughs, which to me illustrates one of her best qualities: you can be honest with her. She's also the type of person who is there, for real, when someone needs her. S is the first person I would call in a crisis. And I have a feeling that, if she's still alive at the time and I have the opportunity to arrange my goodbyes, she may be the last person I see.
Someone once told me that they couldn't stay married to the person they had married because, even though they still loved the other person, life was too complicated with them. That's sort of how I feel about S. If we had married I would likely have asked her for a divorce long ago, but not because I had stopped loving her.
I realize that I haven't yet told you how Italy happened. A little over a year ago, I mentioned to S that I would love to rent a villa in Italy for my 50th birthday. Let's do it, she said. It was that simple.
To my dear friend S, and to all of you, happy 2011.
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