Why I want a "real" job

At work they've started to ramp up talk about post-2010 planning. My job, and the jobs of most of my colleagues will be done by the time cherry blossoms hit the streets of Vancouver.

Knowing that mass suicides, a spike in depressions or just shocking unemployment in the city will be bad for business and the corporate reputation, they've started a campaign to help us plan our lives after we leave.

It started with workshops to figure out what we wanted to do with our lives, where we wanted to go with our careers and moved into understanding how we might feel the day after we are done.

The whole thing, working here and having the luxury to think about my next steps has been great. The question that comes up again and again is whether I will go out and freelance after I'm done here.

Without fail, I usually answer and far too seriously, "No, I'd like a real job." I usually then make some joke about pensions or a solid income. But what it really comes down to isn't money at all, but my hair and colleagues.

I have freelanced. In fact, even though "employed" in Germany, I was really more freelancer than employee. I set my own hours and could leave clients when and if I wished. I could raise my rates, I could go on vacation for weeks or never take vacation at all.

As I took the bus from job to job, I would look in the windows of the buildings I passed and see women, like me, sitting at desks. They had pictures of their kids or friends on their desk and I'd see them working or talking to workmates. I'd see them at lunch meeting with their friends and at the end of the day as they headed home.

After Journalism school, I went to work at the magazine and met great people like Kelly and Lisa and Kyla and Tracey. I loved learning from them and working with them. It was a great atmosphere -- and I'm happy that they are still friends.

I left, to freelance, forgetting that I had wanted to be at work in the morning and be done and home for dinner. I tried to work from home, just from home and was lonely. I struggled to find clients and when I did get clients, I struggled to organize my time. It was a weird time in my life and I was very alone. I got a job as a teleworker for a company in Montreal and was still challenged. I can work without supervision, but working in my pyjamas, in my kichen was different.

Eventually, I figured out what was wrong. I wasn't connected to anyone or anything. I could have shaved my hair, and no one would notice. I could have walked around naked and gained 500 pounds and no one would say a thing. On a bad day, there was no one to get that perspective and on a good day there was no one to share good news with. By your late 20s, you shouldn't call your mom three or four times a day with "news."

I got a fortuitous phone call from an old manager who had moved to a new company and had a great job that she felt I'd be "perfect for." It was great and though I got a thrill from seeing results, I also enjoyed the security guard or a colleague saying, "hi" in the morning.

Yes, I'm married now. And I have a much stronger social network (of real friends, not just virtual ones). But I know that I want a desk, somewhere else. I want to put pictures of Chris or Bela or vacations on my desk. I want colleagues to bounce ideas off. I want people to go for lunch with some days. I want to put on my work clothes and go to work. I want to accomplish things that my co-workers help with and understand.

So I have made plans for when my current job is done. I am volunteering for a bit on a really exciting project. I'm going to some Paralympic Games events. I'm going surfing with a friend. I'm going to Japan. And then, hopefully, I'll find another job that I love.

Interestingly, I still freelance in my free time. I love it. It gives me new skills my current job can't. In 2009, I edited some material for a university as well as a book on how to romance your wife. Most jobs don't have the scope of freelance. As a freelancer, I can chose my clients and the projects I work on. I take the work I enjoy -- because I enjoy it, not because I need to pay the rent.

So, yes, after my current job ends, I will freelance. But I'd also like a real position, with a real company, so I can buy new clothes to go to work in and so that people notice when I change my hairstyle.

Ringing for a change

So I've got a new hobby. I like learning new things and learning different things. Things that stretch your mind. I've taken all manner of courses, academic and otherwise. Tai Chi, fencing, marketing, law school prep, ballet, belly dancing, knitting.

It's being able to do something and think in a new way that appeals to me. A reason, I guess that doing the same job again and again would never suit me.

So in June, I took up "Change Ringing" or bell ringing. It seems to only be done in England this way but they don't call it English Bell Ringing.

While this might seem out of the blue, a couple years back I tagged along with a friend to a bell tower in Bristol and watched them ring. The thought of actually ringing the bells myself made it onto my 43things.com list. I was looking to make some room for more things on the list and decided to contact the Vancouver ringers and try it.

My intention was just to ring once or twice -- just to pull the rope and nothing more. But it's fascinating. The patterns they ring in are mathematical, but in a way that I want to sit down and write them down. It's really physical too, pulling the rope.

The people are very educated and intelligent and patient and are really passionate about bells. They travel to England and around North America visiting other bell towers and ringing other bells. Today at the tower, we had a whole whack of people -- from Victoria and Seattle and Norwich. They were going on a trip to Mission to look at the bells there.

The tower is easily the most beautiful room in Vancouver. It's in the Holy Rosary Cathedral near the BC Hydro building downtown. It's stone, painted white with gorgeous stained glass windows. From the ceiling hang eight ropes with about three feet of plush red velvet (for the handstroke).

You ring two strokes, it's hard to explain and I"m just figuring it out. The bells face up, to the sky. One of the strokes brings them back to the other side and the other stroke brings it back to the starting position. They ring when they turn up-side down.

Then, because there are eight bells, each person rings in a particular order. The easiest is from treble up -- called ringing in rounds because you follow the person before you and they follow the person before them. Because you can balance the bells upside down for a long time, you can adjust when you ring and who you follow -- you regularly change the person who rings first. Hence change ringing.

Well, I'm just starting to ring rounds -- only the backstroke while my teacher rings the handstroke. But it's a start, and I love it. If you're ever downtown on Saturday morning and hear the bells ringing like crazy -- that's us!

The Man (not) Breaking into My Car

So I went to Oakridge today and I drove, which was my first mistake. I came out to my car after I was done and two young (18-ish) guys were standing beside it. One was fiddling with his keys and looking around and the other was just standing there. I watched from across the parking lot.

I walked toward the car and unlocked it so it would make a sound and they'd move but they stayed right there by the driver's door. I wondered if they had hit my door or something. Why were they just standing there? Then the second guy leans over and looks right in my window like he's seeing what type of stereo I have.

I'm thinking to myself, I'm standing right here. And my car is nice, but it's not THAT nice. I finally decide to head for the door and coming around the back corner of my car I see a pretty lab. With one of those harnesses that blind people have on their dog. I realize of course he wasn't checking out my stereo or casing my car, he was trying to find the handle.

And I was really glad I didn't say anything.

Why 'United Breaks Guitars' is a great complaint letter

I like complaint letters. I believe that if you get crappy service or merchandise, you should tell someone. The same if you get great service.

I worked in retail and customer service for almost 10 years, and even had the stunning title “Customer Service Manager” for The Bay.

My latest complaint letter love is the song United Breaks Guitars by Dave Carroll, the lead singer of the Sons of Maxwell. The band went on tour and in Chicago they heard a passenger point out that the baggage handlers were disrespecting their valuable guitars. The song chronicles not only the breaking of one of their Taylor guitars, but also the frustration of dealing with indifferent customer service people.
It’s the perfect template for how you should write your complaint letter and here’s how.

1. It tells a story. Let’s face it, whoever listens to your complaint is human. And humans love stories. You can feel the story when you listen to the song. Listen to the language, “We looked at each other, with something like terror...”
   
2. It gives specific details. It’s one thing to say, “I took a flight and my guitar got broken.” No customer service rep can follow that up. Instead we know the lead singer told three people when they landed about the possible damage and wasn’t listened to. A service rep can check if he was on the flight, they can call the person behind him, they can check with Ms. Irlweg.
   
3. It doesn’t make United a horrid villain. People want to blame companies for everything — this song personalizes United, but they aren’t all bad. My favourite line is “I won’t say that I won’t fly with you again/to save the world I probably would/but that won’t likely happen/and if it didn’t I wouldn’t bring my luggage/cause you’d just go and break it.” People love the threat that they will never come to this business again. At The Bay, people would say it to me and I’d roll my eyes. I’d heard it a thousand times, and each time the person would come back the next week or month and get their bra at 50% off. I also love his follow-up statement where he defends the honour of Ms. Irlweg -- it shows class. This isn't a personal attack.
   
4. It tells a truth people can agree with. On the radio, Dave Carroll doesn’t sound like a psycho freak, he sounds like someone with an honest complaint. If you have a complaint, bounce it off a few people and see if you are going overboard. He can show genuine damage to the guitar and people can hear his story and say, “Yeah, that’s not fair.” Sound reasonable when you complain — don’t write angry letters at 3 am.
   
5. It’s funny. If you can make someone laugh, you’ve got them on your side. After this went “viral” United wanted to talk about compensation.
   So keep these in mind the next time you complain. My only suggestion to Dave would have been to write to Glenn Tildon, the President of United directly. Send him a letter marked “Personal” so it doesn’t get weeded out by zealous executive assistants.

Looking forward to the next two songs Dave!

Eight reasons I have a puppy

In October, 2008, we adopted Bela, an 11-week old Springer spaniel-border collie cross. The nickname for this cross-breed is "sprollie." She's been a great puppy; I've had a puppy before (that my parents gave away because it was a handful) and know how hard it can be to raise them.

Bela is also a city dog. Raising a dog in town means you have to do a lot more training in manners and obedience. We can’t just open the back door and let her go out and play. We are always walking her and we are always running into people and she has to learn not to jump up, how to walk on a leash, and not to pick up garbage. She’s still learning all of these.

There has been lots of research done on how dogs (and pets in general) are good for your health. While there are some days I'm ready to give her to the highest taker, these are the eight reasons we keep her.

1. Having a dog gets you outside. A lot. If it's raining, snowing, sleeting or a sunny day, I'm going to spend at least an hour on both ends of the day outside with my dog. I can't tell her to hold her little bladder until the rain stops (which could be days in Vancouver). Being outside and getting a little exposure to sunshine in the winter is supposed to cure the winter "blahs."
   
   More than this, I genuinely like being outside on a regular basis. Before dog, we would go for a walk on a regular basis but having a puppy forces me to get up every morning and head outside. I get to watch the daffodils slowly grow and bloom. I come home twice a day smelling fresh like outside.
   
   
2. Having a puppy doesn’t mean going outside, there’s lots of exercise too. We walk, we run. In fact I spend about an hour or more a day “exercising.” Oh it’s not going to get me set for a marathon, but walking up stairs is a bit easier!
   
   
3. Some people are dog lovers, some hate dogs but most people fall somewhere in between. Particularly with a puppy most people want to stop and say hi. They want to pet her. They ask all sorts of questions about her. She loves the attention and will happily roll on her back for a tummy rub (to just about EVERYONE). I’ve met more of my neighbours and people in my neighbourhood than I ever would just out and about.
   
   I walked outside this morning with puppy and group of locksmiths were standing outside waiting for the shop to open and smoking. They were big, tall and grizzled. They were the people who normally would intimidate me. Bela ran over as the biggest guy got a big smile on his face, “There she is,” he said leaning down to pet her. “There’s my Bela.” It was so cute. Everyone has an excuse to stop and talk to you and smile. I like being smiled at, even if it just for my puppy.
   
   
4. Having a dog is always something to talk about. Need a topic for uncomfortable small talk in the elevator? She’s eight months old, yes she’s very cute, and no she doesn’t do a lot of tricks yet. It’s a great thing to talk about when there is nothing else interesting to say. She’s like my little hobby!
   
   
5. When Bela goes to the beach, she doesn’t ask, “Why aren’t we at the park?” She enjoys being on the beach. She loves everything about that moment. She finds a stick she can drag around or runs with another dog. She doesn’t worry about when we are going home, or if she’s going to get lunch or where the car is parked. As long as we are there, she lives right in the moment and experiences everything. She pays attention to everything. She’s teaching me to do the same.
   
   We were on Long Beach in Tofino yesterday. Bela ran from place to place sniffing and digging things out and picking them up. She didn’t need the 13 kilometres of beach that Chris and I love so much. She could find a million stories just by paying attention to what was right in front of her. It’s a lesson worth remembering. She forces us to live in the moment with her. What is she eating? Where is she? Is she going to jump on that construction worker? I’m sure as she gets to be more dog and less puppy, these worries are going to lessen, but in a way it’s nice to live right here in the moment with her.
   
   
6. Before puppy we had to plan less. But planning, we’ve discovered, has a good side. Going out for dinner used to be our default. Got home late? Go out for dinner. Forgot to get groceries? Go out for dinner. Great day at work? Go out for dinner. Don’t feel like cooking? Go out for dinner. Now we need to have a routine. We can go out for dinner of course, but sometimes it feels like “why bother” when we have to come home anyway and walk the dog.
   
   Our routine involves far less going out for dinner or doing things to fill time. Puppy needs to be walked, she needs to be played with, and she needs our time. Having a puppy means you need to have more of a routine. You can’t spontaneously go out after work and go to a movie and for a drink and walk home at 11 pm. But the anticipation of planning something and then watching it happen is nice too.
   
   
7. A puppy gives you something to take care of, to love. It doesn’t care how you look how or how your day was. When I hear teenage girls on talk shows talk about wanting a baby so they have something to love, I want to get them to an animal shelter to adopt a pet. I think a puppy is like “training wheels” for being a parent. You can’t lock your baby in a crate and go to work and your baby isn’t going to jump on someone on the street. But you get to learn that everything you do, they copy. Every minute you spend with them, they learn something and their behaviour has a lot to do with how you raise (train) them. You pick up poop, you worry about them, you need to plan, you have to get up in the middle of the night to check if they are ok – and sometimes they aren’t and sometimes they are. She accepts you just the way you are.
   
   
8. Joy. Plain old joy. Puppy brings us joy and happiness. She runs around and tries to teach her other toys to squeak. She tries to carry two toys in her mouth at once. She snuggles up to your leg when you open the crate. She licks her lips when you bring out her food – but doesn’t lunge for her food dish. She lies on her back to be petted by anyone. She gives you an enormous “wiggle bum” when she sees you for the first time in a while, wagging her tail so hard you think it’s going to fall off. She sighs in dismay when she’s bored or ready for something new.

Quiet desparation

When my grandmother dies, I won't come back here. It's odd to think that I won't come back here at all.

Prince Albert is filled with a quiet desparation. When I tell my mother that, she grew up here, she doesn't see it. She sees how much it's changed.

But I see it in the faces of the people who all seem trying to be happy. It's strange though how on the flip side, the people here are also very, very REAL.

There's a sense that there is a lot going on just under the surface. But it feels like a swamp: dark and boggy.

I have two reoccuring dreams. In one of them I find myself near a "dead lake" a lake with no incoming or outgoing water. But despite that, perhaps it is spring fed, the lake is clear. I can see down and there are trees, big trees under the water. There are snags, birch snags in the water but standing out of it. Like dead little Christmas trees. The sky is blue and it's very bright around. And I'm all alone.

It feels like somewhere I've been before and I wonder, looking at the birch trees outside my grandma's window, if it isn't something I've seen around here.

My grandma's room is in the wing of a nursing home that looks like every other wing. If you were trying to navigate by looks alone -- you'd never find your way back. Her room faces a little courtyard that has one skinny white birch tree. It's a bit unfair to people with dementia to make every common area look the same.

A few months after she moved into the nursing home, on a blustery fall day, a plastic bag got stuck in that tree.

It's too high to get out without a ladder. It drives me crazy. Who would have thought when they abandoned that bag, that for three years I'd stare at it and hate its very existence?

But last year some birds built a nest in the crook of that tree, right under the plastic bag. So my grandma stares at the nest all day and wonders if the birds will come back.

The bag, in her estimation, is good because when it rattles it tells the birds when someone is coming.

Other fun Prince Albert facts:

They don't call it Prince Albert, people in Saskatchewan call it PA.

One of the main streets is called Marquis Drive. Now being any sort of French speaker, you might be tempted to call it "Mar-key" like the old pervert of Sade. But none of that jiggery-pokery here -- the proper way to pronounce it is "Mark-kwis" -- with the double k.

They use so much sand and salt that all the lines have worn off the roads. It's fine for locals who can tell the four-lane roads from the two-lane roads but for me it's a bit intimidating to turn left. Whose lane am I in anyway.

It is the home of John Diefenbaker -- Dief the Chief. And I have his curtains in my closet at home in Vancouver. They are green and gold.

Can I tell you a story?

"Can I tell you a story?" Grandma asks. She looks sly and shy at the same time.

"Sure."

"It's a little scary and gross," she says.

"Go ahead."

I'm a little worried. Grandma has the early stages of "Lewy Body Syndrome" a type of dementia and gets things wrong often. Last year she was convinced she went out with her then-boyfriend and they had shot my grandpa and left him in the woods. Of course, he died in a nursing home after three years, where she visited every day.

"It's about snakes, you know how scared I was of snakes.
Anyways, we were watching them on the hill over there and there was a big snake. And they, the two of them were hunting for him."

She checks to make sure my eyes are following her pointed finger pointing at the building across the street.

"And we were watching and we saw these two birds come. And the big one was, like, he was training the little one, to be a bird. And they found the snake before the hunters and they plucked his eye out. They plucked it out and ate it."

She seems to understand that this is a "story" and not reality, but I'm not sure.

"They ate it and they knew he couldn't do anything because he had only one eye. So then they went back and the birds, they plucked the other eye out.

And the hunters, they saw this and we were all scared. And so they packed up because they knew he couldn't do anything. The snake just had to go to his little hole and he couldn't see anything. So he would be hungry but he couldn't get any food.

And the birds ate the other eye. And the snake. He was a big snake, he was like a grandpa snake. But there weren't any smaller baby snakes on the hill. Strange."

I don't know what to say, "Well I guess the grandpa snake needed a grandma snake to have babies."

She chuckled into her handkerchief. OK, its a tissue, but she snuffles into it.

"He can't see the hole now because he doesn't have any eyes. He can't poke the grandma snake."

She smiles as she stares out the window. In this story, did she conquer snakes, her biggest fear after her fear of looking silly or doing something inappropriate?