Gardening (again)

This is going to be a very short entry. I can barely keep my eyes open. Today we got delivered the garden soil, gravel and a metal container in which we'll dump the grass and dirt we dig out. We started right away and removed the grass from the area Maggie shaped for the future garden. It's a lot of work, the future garden will cover about two thirds of the front yard. I never knew grass could be so heavy! The 6 cubic yards container is already half full. Tomorrow we need to dig some more, then put on the gardening soil and plant a few plants Maggie bought last week. Providing I'm able to move at all, after today. We are both sore all over and can barely move. Maggie is pretending to watch TV, though her eyes are closed. I am struggling to type on my lap top, though my thoughts are really difficult to summon. Our gardening adventure is definitely exhausting. Will it be successful? We'll have to survive the weekend before we're able to tell.

Annual checkup

I finished the book Londonstani and, all the cursing and swearing aside, loved it. There are a few wicked plot twists--the best one at the very end of the book--which made the pain of going through the “rudeboy” British-Pakistani slang well rewarded. Without giving out the plot, it's a fine satire of the Pakistani immigrants in London. The characters are confused between the freedom of choice and following the tradition, which ends up in some bizarre and funny situations.

Maggie and I have the same family doctor: she's a female. And an Asian. It mattered to Maggie to have a female doctor, and I couldn't care less. Besides, it seemed convenient to have the same doctor who knows us both and knows the history of our aches, so she can compare how much pain Maggie and I inflict on each other. That's how our she-doctor ended having me as probably the only white patient--we never saw another Caucasian person in the waiting room.

Today we had our annual check-up. When she saw me, the doc was alarmed by my weight loss (some 15+ lbs since the last checkup). She was visibly relieved when we told her that I'm not terminally ill, but just regularly run, exercise and eat smart. Maggie gained 4 lbs (he he). We compensate for each other. As usual, we do the check-up together so we can discuss the doc's suggestions for improving and maintaining our good health. We were offered two new vaccines, blood work and a few other tests to consider. Then she checked Maggie's breasts for lumps or anything suspicious. All clear there. A little surprising how efficiently and fast the doc moved over those areas: squeeze here, nudge there and all done. An awkward moment happened when I was offered a palpating checkup of testicles for testicular cancer signs. It has been an ongoing joke between me and Maggie ever since we left the doc. Amazing how many things in daily life can be associated with testicles. We laughed so much, people must have thought we were nuts! (Nuts--see what I mean?)

The Canadian Dream

"It's called 'the American Dream' because you have to be asleep to believe it" - comedian George Carlin

The American Dream has badly devaluated in the last few decades. Although, compared to it, the Canadian dream is more in the realm of nightmares. The kind of nightmares from which you can't wake up into a sunny morning. Since yesterday, several of my colleagues complained about work, the way they are treated and the money they make. I was afraid that something was wrong with me, for being constantly disgruntled about my job. I thought that, maybe, I set my expectations and goals too high. But now I know it's not me. It's the company that stinks. Unfortunately, the people who complain are the ones I like the most. Soon, they'll be gone into the greener pasture and I'll stay to rot all alone in the stinker.
Maggie told me this morning on the way to work that I'm inert. I'm just sitting on my behind and waiting for a better job to find me. I hate to admit it, but she's right. I must wake up and become more pro-active in search for something better, or just something else. Maybe it's just a string of bad luck, but last couple of jobs felt like a quicksand: they swallowed me bit by bit. And just when I managed to pull myself out of one, I sunk into another. My former boss thinks I should be grateful to have a nice job in times when people are being laid off en masse. But, why should I compare myself with the less fortunate? Why not with those who prosper? Like those few higher editors and managers in our company, who could learn quite a few things from me if they'd bother to listen, yet they have the power to decide what my future will be. How could I be grateful when I found myself yesterday envying a truck driver on his freedom in his rig, crisscrossing the continent and listening to audio books? It's high time to move on!

A pathetic gardening post

Yasuhiro is firmly planted in our front yard. I also realized that gardening is not high on my list of favorite activities. It didn't help that the soil right underneath the grass is clay, littered with the construction debris: bricks, shingles, nails, rope, etc. The builder never really cleaned after the construction, they just piled more soil over all the garbage left around the houses. Later on the grass was planted on top--that was their permanent solution for the trash problem. Anyway, excavation lasted a couple of hours and produced more rubbish than soil. Yasuhiro got proper fertile planting soil for its roots. When the tree was finally placed in its hole, there was a huge pile of clay to get rid of. The problem was--we didn't really take in account so much residue and had no idea what to do with it. For now, we just moved it to the side of the house. Then we'll have to call the garbage collectors.

My back, forever tender after the herniated disk I suffered two years ago, is slightly stiff after all the hauling and digging involved with planting. I am actually amazed that it isn't much worse. All it took last time for the disk to pop out (and press the sciatic nerve, numbing my left leg for over a month) was to bend over the bathroom counter to take out the contact lenses...I stayed bent for the next two months. Hopefully, there won't be a greater price to pay for today's exercise in gardening. I have been working out faithfully, so with a little luck I'll avoid the health disaster this time.

Pathetic, I know, wasting so many words on planting a tree. Still, on a Sunday as boring as this, I'm happy to have at least something to write about.

Japanese Maple

Guys usually buy flowers to their wives. At least some guys do. Well, today I outdid them all--I bought my wife a tree! It is a part of a forestation project in our yard. It has been 18 months since we moved into our new house, watched the muddy construction site grow into pleasant neo-Victorian style neighborhood. Now that the snows are melted and the grass is growing and needs to be mowed, re-mowed and re-re-mowed, many of our neighbors have done little flower gardens in their yards. We are among the last few who yet have put the shovel to the grass. That's why we went to a nursery today and returned with the plant big enough to be called a tree, yet small enough to fit in our little Toyota: a Japanese Maple. I named it Yasuhiro, the first Japanese name that came to mind. Like Yasuhiro Yamashita, the best judo competitor of all times. Tonight, Yasuhiro is staying in the living room, until Maggie researches exactly how it's going to be planted and what we need for it all. Tomorrow, if everything goes according to plans, Yasuhiro will be firmly planted in our front yard.

It's a sad day for Croatia, a small country with a big football ambition. Today, that ambition is yet again put on hold. In the quarter final of the Euro Cup, the Croats and the Turks played scoreless and quite anemic game for 90 minutes of regulation time. Then they continued in the same uninspired manner for the next 29 minutes of extra time. I have to give credit to the Croats, they were much more skilled in diving and faking fouls. In the last minute of extra time, they scored, bringing the agony of spectators to the end, or so we thought. After mandatory hugging, fist pumping and chest thumping, with only a minute to go, it was supposed to be the game over. But the persistent Turks took the ball, kicked it and - scored! And the game went to the penalty kicks, where Croatia simply didn't have the nerves, guts, skills, heart, wind...call it what you will, they sucked big time, scoring only one of four kicks and giving the game and the pass to semi finals to the Turks. And all they needed to do after they scored the first goal, was to play the ball. But they stopped, jubilant and dumb, paid the ultimate price and are now going home with heads hung low.
I always believed into unpredictable justice of sports competitions, but this one has nothing to do with justice--this one was about smarts and hearts. The smarter and more persistent team, which is by no means a better team, goes on to face Germany in the semis. Go Turkey!

Fastest 10K

So, Tuesday I worked from home and on Wednesday I had a video shoot in downtown Toronto. For the first time since I stopped freelancing in 2004 I broke from the imprisonment of my tiny office-studio without actually being on vacation. I didn't even realize how depressing and confining that place is until I experienced freedom. There must be a way to do this more often!

When I finished my Wednesday's run, I was congratulated by Joan Benoit Samuelson (pre-recorded) on my Nike+ iPod running kit, for completing my fastest 10 km: 48:38. Go figure! I have been running 10+ km every Wednesday and Saturday for weeks, and now, all of a sudden, the fastest 10K! Although, I did feel great during the run yesterday, it went easy, not too hot, nor too cold, but it didn't seem that fast. But, who am I to argue with Ms Benoit-Samuelson?

Maggie is complaining that she doesn't have a husband anymore. See, I bought a really neat and cheap Linux lap-top, Asus eee PC. It's really tiny sub-notebook, very portable and ideal for a trip to Spain. The thing is--I know nothing about Linux and for a couple of weeks now my evenings are wasted in browsing the Internet to find out how to configure the machine. Now that the future of our marriage is at stake, I think I'll return to my wife and leave Linux for now.

Working from home

Today I worked from home. It was meant to be nice, work-in-pajamas kind of a day, but I ended up working more than I would in the office. There was a video I had to edit, the deadline is tomorrow, and by the time I was finished I put in more than 8 hours of work. I even worked through the time I'd spend commuting to and from work. After all, I'm not sure if I gained anything by staying home. Except being able to work in pajamas. And, of course, there was much less distraction and more comfort. Yeah, I think I'd do it again.

Lost souls

A friend I haven't heard from in years contacted me through Facebook. Like many of us involved in journalism in former Yugoslavia, he became a cameraman for a foreign news agency when the war started. Also, like many of us, he left the Balkans after the war and settled abroad. In his case, it was Washington DC, where he continued working for the same employer. Today I found out that he quit his job with the agency and is going back to Bosnia. He also is not with his wife any longer, a pattern I find common to many of us. It makes me wonder if we were all changed by the war so much that we wander the world eternally displaced. I could almost sense that familiar feeling of not belonging in him. Unlike him, I realized some time ago that going back to the Balkans is not a solution either. I could never feel at home there anymore, just like I don't feel at home in Canada or anywhere else. I wish he could settle down in Sarajevo and find what he is looking for, but part of me knows it can't happen. We may not have been injured physically, but some internal wounds were inflicted upon the little group of us who dared to fly high on adrenaline and who never found peace of heart since. On the outside we are all nice guys and gals, sociable and fun. But deep inside is an emptiness, a dark hole which consumes our self-confidence and makes it impossible to stay put. You know how sometimes you get jitters in legs and they won't stop shaking until you stand up and start walking? It's the same kind of feeling, only it comes from the inside and it affects not only the legs, but the whole body and soul. I was a lucky one, I found my anchor in Maggie, my little island of sanity in the strong current of change. She keeps my feet rooted to the ground and pulls me back when I start drifting. I hope she can keep pulling. Without her I'd be gone with the winds, like an old grey kite, ripped and scarred but somehow still flying.

Indiana Jones

Maggie wanted to go for a walk on Saturday evening, but I, lazy as I am, had a better idea: bicycles! We went for the first ride of the year, just around our sleepy little neighborhood, and enjoyed it. It definitely beats walking. Especially when my legs are still sore from the run.

Sunday weather was as moody as only the weather in Canada can be. The morning was beautiful, clear and sunny when Maggie left to do some shopping. She came back a couple of hours later, during the thunderstorm. By the time we ate it was sunny again, and warm enough to dry the roads, if not the muddy yards. At least we don't need to water the grass for now, Mother Nature does it for us. We went to see the new Indiana Jones movie in the gorgeous weather and returned under heavy showers with strong wind. I don't remember such violent weather changes in the same day in 10 years since I've lived in Toronto area.

Ah, the movie! I was a great fan of Indiana Jones trilogy of the past, so I used all my persuasiveness to convince Maggie that this is the movie to see. For the best part it resembled the movies of the past, with a car chase through the jungle, and even a nuclear attack on Indy Jones which he, of course, survived. Actually, it was watchable until the end, when Spielberg's ETism kicked in and destroyed the movie. He brought in the ALIENS who killed the bad guys, unearthed a flying saucer buried under the hidden Mayan city for 5000 years and left. I am not sure if it was supposed to be funny, a parody on ET, or Spielberg totally lost his marbles. Not that anyone would take such a movie seriously, but I prefer more believable plot twists. This time not even the computer animation and special effects could save it. Spielberg simply blew it!

A Spectacle of Lightning and Thunders

Last night we had a spectacle of lightning and thunders with a background curtain of rain. I can't remember if I've ever seen such a display: there was a flash in the sky every 2-3 seconds. We wanted to go on the porch and enjoy the light show, but at that moment the sky went brighter than at noon on a sunny day, followed by an earth-shaking thunder. We changed our minds and admired it from the window.

It's hard to blog without mentioning the vacation: Maggie got a book from a colleague about Gaudi's architecture in Barcelona. I think something was seriously wrong with the guy, he simply couldn't draw straight lines. Lucky for him, the modernism movement swept in and his wobbly curved shapes became a trend. Jokes aside, I can't wait to experience his masterpieces first-hand. Or, rather, first-eyed.

I have been watching a lot of football lately, with Euro Cup 2008 going on and everybody wearing colors of their ancestral countries. Although, there are a few odd ones, like a couple of Korean girls from the second floor in Italian jerseys, one can easily match co-workers with the part of Europe they re coming from. Unless, of course, they are Brits, who didn't qualify for this Euro 2008. You can tell them apart by the sullen faces.

There are some significant improvements in the game in the last few years. Tougher penalties for faking fouls and injuries brought the pace up. Still, there are players who, when an opponent challenges, spectacularly fall with a scream and roll on the grass holding their shins. And it doesn't matter if there was a contact made at all, nor if it was actually with his shin. Shin seems to be the most popular body part to hold on, while screaming like he's subjected to a surgery without anesthetic. What happened to the manly competition, to out-dribbling and out-playing an adversary? That said, there's noticeably less faking at this years Euro Cup. Even the fakers keep an eye on the referee while rolling on the grass, or simply playing dead. If the ref doesn't buy the act, they spring on their feet, miraculously cured. I guess it's all a part of the game. The part the game can do without.

After last night's rain, Saturday morning was cool, cloudy and seemed so inviting for the morning run. There was humidity building though, and 1hr 20min and 15.7 km later my shirt was drenched, but the feeling was fantastic.

It's Football, sucker!

We finally booked a hotel in Barcelona! Yeah! I was getting worried that there'd be no rooms available by the time we got around to do it. We found some nice inexpensive hotels last week, but they all seemed to be in rowdy parts of Barcelona. So, today, after some more searching and browsing, we settled on Ayre Hotel Gran Vía. Maggie is still a little worried about the area around the hotel, although all the travellers reviews are positive. It really is a shot in the dark, booking a hotel through the Internet. We've never been to Spain and are not in the slightest familiar with Barcelona, all we can do is trust the reviews written by people who'd been there.

The Incredible Hulk movie starts playing today. I'm not sure I'm willing to pay the theatre ticket for it, but I'd definitely see it on DVD, when it comes out. Apparently, Toronto's Yonge street is being ripped apart in the movie. I wouldn't miss that for the world!

I'm not a die-hard football (yes, that's the soccer kind of football) fan, but today was a don't-miss game: Germany vs. Croatia. I am a realistic person, and expected nothing but Croatia's defeat, but some kind of national pride made me watch the game and hope for a miracle. And, what do you know! The miracle happened, the Croats not only won, but completely outclassed the Germans. They looked every bit like a heavy favorite in the match. The only thing that concerns me now is the mentality I know so well: now that they beat the Germans, they'd just lay back and think they're unbeatable. Some lesser team will knock them from the competition and that'll be the end of the fairy tale. The Croats are the best when they are underdogs, then some kind of spite combined with pride makes them very dangerous. So I wouldn't jinx them, I'll never mention them as favorites for high placement, though secretly I'll wish for it. I think a team which eliminated England from the qualifiers for Euro Cup deserves it!

Speaking of soccer--I understand that north Americans needed a word to distinguish their football from the-rest-of-the-world's football, but why does that word need to be so similar to sucker?

Picture says it all

Some days there's nothing really interesting to rant about here. Today was one of those days. So, instead of words, here is a picture taken on the way home after work.

Makes you wonder where is she...

Football and thunderstorms

A colleague of mine shows up in a (way too) tight orange shirt. He’s Dutch. And the Dutch are playing Italy at Euro cup. He’s also stocky (is that a polite way to say chubby?) and the Dutch-orange shirt is stretched to the point of bursting over some of his ungainly curvatures. The shirt has been through many previous Dutch sports endeavors, judging by its fading colors and stains of drink and food prominent on the belly area. Comical or not, he’s bouncing all over the office, beaming a victorious smile at fellow Italians, when the Dutch embarrass Italy 3-0. I’d be joyous too. I love seeing the cocky Italians brought to the ground, or rather buried under it. But the sight of this human example of the Dutch anti-propaganda running around the office spoils my evil anti-Italian football sentiment. I almost feel sorry for the Azzurri.

Such an enormous heat as we have since Friday has to end up with a bang. So it does! Thunderstorms roll in and knock out the power and we have a very romantic nightcap under candlelights. Of course, we can’t remember which lights were left switched on, and try as we might to switch them all off, I’m woken after midnight by the light of our alarm clock, which always comes on full blast when the power returns. Its digits stare at me from the bright display and chase me out of the bed to survey the other lights which came on around the house. Turns out we were too eager switching off the lights in the dark, and now there are a few on the ground floor shining happily for no reason. When I’m back in bed, I’m properly awake. The alarm clock gets a whack that dims its grinning display. If only the sleep would come over me soon…

Feeling the heat

We are real wimps here in Canada. At least here around Toronto we are. The whole winter we were complaining about cold and snow and slush. Well, this weekend was quite the opposite: hot, sunny and humid. So, what do people do? Complain about being hot. Temperatures in high 20s and low 30s C sound just as bad as the -20s C temperatures did. And, instead of crowding out in this gorgeous weather, Canadians crowd in air conditioned malls. To chill in good weather or to warm up in cold. Aren’t we lucky to have the malls all over the place!

To add to the heat, gas prices jumped to $1.35/liter. This summer we’ll have less cars on the road. With our families overseas, Maggie and me are worried if we’ll be able to see them at all, if the cost of travel, which is so tied to the fuel price, continues to rise.

The Euro cup in football has started. It’s easy to tell by the number of cars driving around Toronto with the full range of European flags on the windows. Like before, as the teams are eliminated from the competition, their flags are taken from the cars and in a month only the winning country’s flags will be driven around even after the Euro cup is over, all ripped and faded. For now, they are all new and bright.

Yesterday we were invited to a spontaneous get-together with a barbecue at the neighbor’s yard. It was delicious (the bbq) and fun (the gathering). Hope there’ll be more of those during the summer. We’re planning to fix our yard, build the fence and the patio at the back, so we can return the favor. Maggie, as our chief architect in the household (I’m hopeless in that regard, good only for heavy lifting and physical work) is sketching and scribbling her ideas on papers all over the house, each new one looking better than the previous.

Anniversary #8

Today's our eighth anniversary and the temperature has risen significantly. No, really! Although, the heat has nothing to do with our celebration. The weather simply decided to hit over 30 C and made me sweat even though I didn't forget the anniversary.
It reminds me of an equally hot day exactly eight years ago in Las Vegas, when we ran into the coolness of the County Clerk's office and exchanged the vows, directed by a large black clerk-woman who gently rocked to the music of her own words. We didn't do it in Vegas to show off. Simply, we wanted to get married, and to do it in Toronto would take from 3 to 6 months. So we flew to Vegas, landed shortly after noon and were married a couple of hours later. And, no, Elvis wasn't there!

Friday is the garbage collection day in our neighborhood. I know it doesn't sound like the topic for a blog. The thing is, the neighbors all along our street take their rubbish out a day before--on Thursday. Alarmingly, some of them started trashing out on Thursday morning! Now, if you calculate in the daily temperature I mentioned, you'll understand my anger. The garbage simmers in the sun for the whole day, spreading all kind of foul aromas throughout the otherwise lovely neighborhood. To add to the pain, wind has plenty of time to blow the loose papers and stinky food wraps all around. We take our bins out just before we leave for work on a Friday morning, but we may be the only one with a bit of consideration for the neighborhood, the air we breath, the cleanliness of our street and mother Nature. Sometimes feels really lonely to be right among the wrongs.

After work, we celebrated in air conditioned atmosphere of Alice Fazooli's superb Italian eatery with a small bottle of Chianti and some really delicious food. And now I'm wasting our time together on this blog entry, so I will cut it short right here and pay attention to my lovely wife.

Pathetic Canadian sports scene

The hockey season is finally over. Detroit won the Stanley Cup, beating the Penguins in Pittsburgh 3-2. Since there was no Canadian teams in the final of the Canadian game, the media focused on the Detroit’s player who happened to be a Newfie: Daniel Cleary from Harbour Grace, Newfoundland. Pathetic, how desperately we try to find a Canadian connection in the sport that degenerated and is now americanized out of control. Unfortunately, it’s still being covered so much in the media, there’s no room left for other, arguably more exciting, and in the rest of the world definitely more popular sports: football (and I don’t mean the glorified version of rugby which is unimaginatively being called “football” only in North America), basketball (not only NBA), tennis, athletics (track and fields), etc. Being a sport addict, I feel really trapped in the narrowness of Canadian sport scene. And, although “diversity” is a huge world Canadians use often when boasting about their country, it does not apply to sports. Over here it’s hockey. Period. Oh, there’s a touch of interest in baseball too, though insignificant. Then, there’s that funny CFL—Canadian Football League. It has 8 (and I’ll spell that, in case you thought it’s a typo: EIGHT!) teams. That’s it. Players are the guys who never made to NFL, or the ones cast out by the big league, so they came to play in the neighbour’s backyard: the guys way past retirement age, the ones under suspension in NFL, or the ones simply not good enough for the real game. The media always makes it sound big, a true Canadian football experience, and from all the hype one often forgets that there are only 8 teams, which kind of makes the word “league” questionable. My neighbours bridge Fridays have more competitors, and they don’t call it a “Canadian Bridge League”. Maybe I should suggest that.

We spent last few evenings browsing the online reservation services for a hotel in Barcelona. Just when we thought we found the one we like, Maggie went to an independent review site where people were complaining about being mugged or pick-pocketed around the hotel. So, we are back in search… Torn between a hotel on the beach out of town and a hotel in the noisy downtown. By the time we make up our minds, there’ll be no rooms available.

Planning trip to Barcelona

I’m trying to focus on small things that make me happy. Planning our trip to Barcelona, checking hotels, leafing through the guide-book and fantasizing about the places we’ll go, things we’ll do, food we’ll try, etc. We really do need a vacation, and I think we both deserve it.

Today we woke up with a thunder! No, really! There was a thunderstorm this morning, which always turns getting out of bed into a real challenge. As a result, we were both drowsy the whole day, doing our daily routine like a couple of sleepwalkers. It got better when we went for run after work—Maggie got so carried away with the music from her iPod, she started singing aloud while running. Funny thing, she didn’t even realize she was singing out loud (and slightly out of tune) until I told her back home.

Other things to remember this Tuesday by:
Rock legend Bo Diddley died at 79; The Pittsburgh Penguins stayed alive in NHL playoffs final defeating the Detroit red Wings 4-3 in triple overtime; Barrack Obama officially captured enough votes to become Democratic presidential candidate

Haircut

Maggie gave me a hair cut yesterday, and fittingly, the weather turned almost Summer-like to match my sporty short hairdo. I think I look younger with the hair cut short. Guys my age usually grow hair (if they have anything to grow) to look younger. It doesn’t work for me. Besides, with short hair I felt so much lighter during the run on +26 C (78.8 F).

Tomorrow Obama and Clinton are facing off in Montana and South Dakota, the last two states remaining to cast their votes. All I can say is—thank God it’s almost over. What started as an interesting competition, degenerated into a naughty fight. There’s a lesson buried underneath it all, but I’m afraid fellow Americans are not wise enough to read it: it’s important to persist in a fight, but it’s just as important to know when to stop. The time to stop for Hillary is long gone. All that’s left now is defeat and shame.

The man whose perfume I often spray on my neck has died: Yves Saint-Laurent, fashion wizard who never applied his talent to replace his atrociously ugly glasses, died yesterday of a brain cancer.

Still no word from Dubai. I think it’s fair to say there’s very little hope left that something may come out of it. It has been exciting and unnerving three weeks, and now it’s time to go on with life. Maggie is talking about doing some gardening around the house. I am very careful not to promise I’d get involved. I’m not a gardening type. I can help her lift heavy objects, rocks and whatnot, but can’t be bothered with planting ‘n’ stuff.