If it's true that scars show character, I got to thinking I'm one hell of a character! Top to bottom, here's the shakedown:
Scar #1 - corner of my right eye from a little run in with an L bracket sticking out of a wall.I was actually very lucky I didn't take out my eye.
Scar #2 and #3 - incision scars from stitches behind my ear. Does anyone else just about pass out when they remove stitches??
Scar #4 - incision scar from mole removal.
Scar #5 & #6 - incision scars from Jaw surgery. Wow, I've had a lot of incisions haven't I?
Scar # 7 - burn mark on right hand from a bad episode of boiling water and maccaroni and cheese.
Scar #8, 9 and 10 - on hands...frickin' cats!
Scar #11 - scar on palm of hand from that time my friend Barb thought her dog Saturn WOULD NOT chase my cats in my apartment. EPIC FAIL!
Scar #12 - on stomach. Chicken pox.
Scar #13 - on left upper leg. Rollerblading accident in the coulees in Medicine Hat. Let's just say, it was all downhill....
Scar #14 - right shin. Continuance of rollerblading accident. It was a gooder.
Scar #15 - third toe on my right foot. Little run in with the bath tub. Don't ask.
Scar #16 - left food. Incision mark on side of foot. Scar from pin placement on top of foot.
I'm a marked woman it appears. If I ever go missing, you know what to look for now k.
Tia
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Funny Boob Story
It's October, and everywhere you turn there's pink this and that as we honor Breast Cancer Awareness month. I've personally encountered this disease in more ways than I'd like. I have a couple of Aunts who are survivors, the mother of the family I lived with in high school is a survivor, and my mother is also a survivor.
I remember getting my mom's call with the news. I was living in what we called "Chat Towers" in Medicine Hat. It was a difficult phone call as you can imagine. I wanted her move her to the Hat where she could stay with me, I could take care of her, and there was a Cancer clinic there as well. She chose to stay in BC and weather it out there for her treatment.
Her treatment was a difficult one. She had a full mastectomy, which was very emotionally and mentally hard on her. You hear tales of how long it takes for a woman to take a look at herself in the mirror and feel good about herself. My mom was no exception. But in true Carol style that she's so typical of, she turned a serious situation into one of the funniest stories I've had the pleasure of telling.
After her mastectomy, she was put on a waiting list for an implant and she was eagerly awaiting the procedure. You know that excitement that kids have on Christmas Eve? That was her. But after waiting and waiting for what seemed forever, she was getting frustrated. So she did some investigating and found out some shocking news! The boob she had on order, that was supposed to be her boob, got lost! They lost her fake boob! And boy was she mad! As it turns out, there had been a mix up, and they'd given her boob to someone else by accident. She was so livid she wanted to go find this woman and demand she get her boob back. Yup, that's my mom! Eventually they replaced her boob, literally, and she was a happy camper again. When it comes to the seriousness of Breast Cancer, it saddens me a little because of my personal attachment to it, but then I think of my mom putting out an APB on her boob, and it makes me smile. And her being a survivor, brings tears to my eyes. She's taken a lickin', and keeps on tickin'.
Tia
I remember getting my mom's call with the news. I was living in what we called "Chat Towers" in Medicine Hat. It was a difficult phone call as you can imagine. I wanted her move her to the Hat where she could stay with me, I could take care of her, and there was a Cancer clinic there as well. She chose to stay in BC and weather it out there for her treatment.
Her treatment was a difficult one. She had a full mastectomy, which was very emotionally and mentally hard on her. You hear tales of how long it takes for a woman to take a look at herself in the mirror and feel good about herself. My mom was no exception. But in true Carol style that she's so typical of, she turned a serious situation into one of the funniest stories I've had the pleasure of telling.
After her mastectomy, she was put on a waiting list for an implant and she was eagerly awaiting the procedure. You know that excitement that kids have on Christmas Eve? That was her. But after waiting and waiting for what seemed forever, she was getting frustrated. So she did some investigating and found out some shocking news! The boob she had on order, that was supposed to be her boob, got lost! They lost her fake boob! And boy was she mad! As it turns out, there had been a mix up, and they'd given her boob to someone else by accident. She was so livid she wanted to go find this woman and demand she get her boob back. Yup, that's my mom! Eventually they replaced her boob, literally, and she was a happy camper again. When it comes to the seriousness of Breast Cancer, it saddens me a little because of my personal attachment to it, but then I think of my mom putting out an APB on her boob, and it makes me smile. And her being a survivor, brings tears to my eyes. She's taken a lickin', and keeps on tickin'.
Tia
Thursday, October 14, 2010
For your Consideration
Out of all our human capabilities, it's probably the easiest thing in the world to do - be considerate! Yet it amazes how many people are completely inconsiderate.
It happened to me yesterday and is probably one of my biggest pet peeves in the world, but I decided to actually gauge it a little bit for once. Don't you hate it when you're walking behind someone, approaching a door, they walk in, and don't even hold the door open for the person behind them, being you? How hard is it to hold a door open for two seconds for the person behind you? So over the course of this experiment, I found that only 1 of 3 people on average held the door open for others. Sad isn't it?
I've been accused of being annoyingly considerate, so I always hold the door open for the person behind me. Even if there's no one there, I always look back and check to be sure. Another interesting note from my experiment - many I encountered were a little surprised at having someone hold the door open for them. Have we become such a null and void society that we're surprised when someone does something nice for us?
Geographically if you go someplace like Toronto or Vancouver, don't expect many people to hold the door open for you. But here in Regina, where we're a little more in touch with our fellow man, I expected different. I'm disappointed.
Moral of the story, it's a small gesture, but it's a thoughtful one. Hold the door k?
Tia
It happened to me yesterday and is probably one of my biggest pet peeves in the world, but I decided to actually gauge it a little bit for once. Don't you hate it when you're walking behind someone, approaching a door, they walk in, and don't even hold the door open for the person behind them, being you? How hard is it to hold a door open for two seconds for the person behind you? So over the course of this experiment, I found that only 1 of 3 people on average held the door open for others. Sad isn't it?
I've been accused of being annoyingly considerate, so I always hold the door open for the person behind me. Even if there's no one there, I always look back and check to be sure. Another interesting note from my experiment - many I encountered were a little surprised at having someone hold the door open for them. Have we become such a null and void society that we're surprised when someone does something nice for us?
Geographically if you go someplace like Toronto or Vancouver, don't expect many people to hold the door open for you. But here in Regina, where we're a little more in touch with our fellow man, I expected different. I'm disappointed.
Moral of the story, it's a small gesture, but it's a thoughtful one. Hold the door k?
Tia
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Writer's Block
Now that the long weekend is behind us, I thought I'd better catch up on some blogging. Sadly though, I have no idea what to write about today. Must have been an eventful weekend huh?
I could write about how 2 years ago for Thanksgiving, I went through my entire Facebook friend list and wrote a personal Happy Thanksgiving message on each of their walls. Sadly no one seems to appreciate that kind of effort and I have triple the amount of friends now, and I'm lazy, so that's never going to happen again.
How about the fact that as I type this the tips of my fingers are frozen because someone in the office keeps turning the air conditioning on. Slowly but surely I'm getting closer to 20 degrees. If I live that long. Cough cough, sputter sputter.
I'm sure you'd love to hear about the fact that I made all that food for Thanksgiving, when I rarely cook, yet forgot to bring lunch today.
I'm also debating texting Carolyn Dawn Johnson. I'm supposed to pick her up tomorrow and don't know which hotel she's staying at. I should tell her to just start walking and I'll come find her. No?
In less than a month, I'm going to hit up Toronto for a few days, but am getting impatient waiting for a decent seat sale. Why did they have to change the whole "seat sale" concept? It's just not the same. I want to feel like I'm getting a deal, not the real price. Boo. Maybe I should follow my advice to CDJ above and just start walking.
Alas, I should probably get to work. You've been saved by the bell from any further dribble and babble.
Tia
I could write about how 2 years ago for Thanksgiving, I went through my entire Facebook friend list and wrote a personal Happy Thanksgiving message on each of their walls. Sadly no one seems to appreciate that kind of effort and I have triple the amount of friends now, and I'm lazy, so that's never going to happen again.
How about the fact that as I type this the tips of my fingers are frozen because someone in the office keeps turning the air conditioning on. Slowly but surely I'm getting closer to 20 degrees. If I live that long. Cough cough, sputter sputter.
I'm sure you'd love to hear about the fact that I made all that food for Thanksgiving, when I rarely cook, yet forgot to bring lunch today.
I'm also debating texting Carolyn Dawn Johnson. I'm supposed to pick her up tomorrow and don't know which hotel she's staying at. I should tell her to just start walking and I'll come find her. No?
In less than a month, I'm going to hit up Toronto for a few days, but am getting impatient waiting for a decent seat sale. Why did they have to change the whole "seat sale" concept? It's just not the same. I want to feel like I'm getting a deal, not the real price. Boo. Maybe I should follow my advice to CDJ above and just start walking.
Alas, I should probably get to work. You've been saved by the bell from any further dribble and babble.
Tia
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The Name Game
Tia is not a common name, I'll give you that. As to my namesake, my mother did like to dip into the Tia Maria every now and then, although I hope it was not when she was pregnant with me. That would explain a lot of things I suppose. The actual meaning however is this: Tia in Spanish means "Aunt". My middle name is Marie and I have an Aunt Marie. Are you doing the math here? I'm named after my Aunt Marie apparently.
If I had a name like Sara, or Emily, or Jen, perhaps people would get my name right more often. I have been called many names over the course of my life. When I was a kid, other kids would call me Pia. Yes, kids are cruel. Then there were certain associations of rhyming my name with diarrhea. Again, cruel world.
As an adult, the wrong names are at least kinder. I had a meeting once with a guy who for the first half hour until someone corrected him, called me Tracy. He was trying to sell himself to me to get me to utilize his business. Needless to say, his wrong name impression cost him dearly. I had a listener call me up one day and call me Lisa, which is the name of a morning show co-host on a competitors station in town. A record company person recently called me Rustie. A lesson in proof-reading your emails before you are "re-generating the same email template" to everyone on your list. Men often just call me Bud because Tia is apparently hard to comprehend. I feel very Urban Cowboy-ish. And the most common mis-step on my name: people who call me Tina. The name Tina (no offense) reminds me of freckle-faced Cabbage Patch dolls, which I detest. Please don't ever call me Tina. I thank you in advance.
Tia
If I had a name like Sara, or Emily, or Jen, perhaps people would get my name right more often. I have been called many names over the course of my life. When I was a kid, other kids would call me Pia. Yes, kids are cruel. Then there were certain associations of rhyming my name with diarrhea. Again, cruel world.
As an adult, the wrong names are at least kinder. I had a meeting once with a guy who for the first half hour until someone corrected him, called me Tracy. He was trying to sell himself to me to get me to utilize his business. Needless to say, his wrong name impression cost him dearly. I had a listener call me up one day and call me Lisa, which is the name of a morning show co-host on a competitors station in town. A record company person recently called me Rustie. A lesson in proof-reading your emails before you are "re-generating the same email template" to everyone on your list. Men often just call me Bud because Tia is apparently hard to comprehend. I feel very Urban Cowboy-ish. And the most common mis-step on my name: people who call me Tina. The name Tina (no offense) reminds me of freckle-faced Cabbage Patch dolls, which I detest. Please don't ever call me Tina. I thank you in advance.
Tia
Monday, October 4, 2010
Am I a Local?
What is it about a person's appearance that instigates another person to geographically profile where you are from without even knowing you?
A few weeks ago at the CCMA's in Edmonton I was riding the elevator with this woman who I struck up a conversation with pretty much as soon as she got in the elevator. Within 30 seconds, she asked me if I was from Alberta. We continued to chat as we walked through the lobby and out onto the street where we went our separate ways. As I continued on my way, I began to analyze the conversation and found it interesting that she asked if I was from Alberta. She could have asked if I was from Edmonton, or generically asked where I was from, yet she chose that specific question. Did I not look like I was from Alberta, and if so, what constitutes looking like you're not from there? I grew up in Alberta, so it's not like I dress like I'm from Europe. Do I have an accent? It was one of those things that made me go hmmmmm.
Then on Saturday I was hosting a Songwriter's workshop in Regina. During intermission, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman who again, within a minute of us talking, asked if I was a "local". Again, this made me raise my eyebrows with amusement. Yes I was there with a handful of Toronto people as guests, but among them, you'd think being from Saskatchewan, I would stand out as being from here. What defines the profile of a "local"? Apparently I don't fit the profile.
I'm going to assume I've assimilated a Hamilton accent and leave it at that. Otherwise I'm going to drive myself crazy trying to figure out why prairie people think that this prairie chicken isn't from here.
Tia
A few weeks ago at the CCMA's in Edmonton I was riding the elevator with this woman who I struck up a conversation with pretty much as soon as she got in the elevator. Within 30 seconds, she asked me if I was from Alberta. We continued to chat as we walked through the lobby and out onto the street where we went our separate ways. As I continued on my way, I began to analyze the conversation and found it interesting that she asked if I was from Alberta. She could have asked if I was from Edmonton, or generically asked where I was from, yet she chose that specific question. Did I not look like I was from Alberta, and if so, what constitutes looking like you're not from there? I grew up in Alberta, so it's not like I dress like I'm from Europe. Do I have an accent? It was one of those things that made me go hmmmmm.
Then on Saturday I was hosting a Songwriter's workshop in Regina. During intermission, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman who again, within a minute of us talking, asked if I was a "local". Again, this made me raise my eyebrows with amusement. Yes I was there with a handful of Toronto people as guests, but among them, you'd think being from Saskatchewan, I would stand out as being from here. What defines the profile of a "local"? Apparently I don't fit the profile.
I'm going to assume I've assimilated a Hamilton accent and leave it at that. Otherwise I'm going to drive myself crazy trying to figure out why prairie people think that this prairie chicken isn't from here.
Tia
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