Changing Gears

As my loyal readers can guess, the PR card of my rambunctious three year old, Lanes, is still missing. I finally have a clue as to what happened to it, but I am not at liberty to say anything on a blog…for now (I have to figure out if I am allowed to). But if and when I can, it’s going to be an entertaining episode.

My tried and true spouse, P, has changed gears and downgraded his resume. He is no longer using adjectives like spearheading or stir frying or whatever it is he used to claim to do while executing tasks and he has moved from head hunters to temp agencies. We figured at least that way he might get a hold of that elusive brass ‘wring’ (as I call it) that is called Canadian work experience.

It seems the way to go because no matter how qualified one is, it means nothing without having had familiarity in the local workforce. Also, to know P is to love P, so whenever he does get a temp job, his employers will get to know how hard working (euphemism for anal) and dedicated he is to his job. Plus, the guy really knows his stuff. So here’s hoping things work out. It seems right now, getting him out of the house and gaining experience trumps actually earning a living in a steady job.

Meanwhile, the last two weekends have been gloriously sunny and we finally made our way to Stanley Park. My nutty sister and her family had come for literally 24 hours and we had a good walk in the great outdoors. Lanes had a lovely time jumping off logs and sliding on rocks with my brother-in-law, whom she affectionately calls “Big Daddy”.

It’s mildly embarrassing when she runs around in public screeching “Big Daddy, Big Daddy”. I feel like I should get “Big Daddy” a white suit with a pencil thin bow tie. I'd supply a bucket of chicken as an assessory. ‘Big Daddy’ is indeed from the south (of the US, so that might work, give or take a pot belly). I was so in awe of the beauty around me that I decided to ignore the antics of uncle and niece.

That night my nutty sister, or as Lanes calls her, (drum roll) “Big Mamma” (I strongly encouraged that nickname since I find it hilarious) babysat Lanes so that P and I could escape to have dinner alone for the first time since we got here. We had a lovely meal at an Indian restaurant with the really nice couple (and their daughter, who is close to my age but not P's) we know in Surrey. It was nice to have some 'adult' time with them.

I don’t know what went down while I was gone, but in the morning Lanes was calling me Aunty and my sister ‘mamma’. We had the usual drama when they left. Lanes burst out crying and insisted on going with them. She still doesn’t get the whole they live in another country thing yet. If she does, she finds it inconvenient. Crossing borders is apparently not a big deal to her. Pretty ambitious for someone who has no PR card.

Meanwhile we noticed mold developing in our apartment, probably an after effect of the great flood last week. Lanes has developed a cough and I’m really frightened that there is a correlation between the two incidents. I ferociously attacked the spots with bleach.

I put on my contacts after that and thought I had gone blind, only to figure out that I had put on P’s contacts instead. Whew. Nice to know that I haven’t sprouted any brain cells over the past few months. Must be due to all the interaction I have with strong cleaning supplies.

I must sign off for now. Lanes was pretending to be chased by a wolf and ran into our bedroom to slam the door just when I was picking up a sock that was stuck under the threshold and the door knob rammed me in the ribs. I am in much pain!! So adieu for now until next week…

Water Water Everywhere But Not a Drop to Drink

You will absolutely not believe what happened to me just after posting my last blog. All I have to say is that I never ever should have mentioned leaking ceilings. I went to the couch and vegetated after having my Blue Monday and a particularly rough night of begging Lanes to go to bed already. I was tired myself, but really desperately needed the ‘me’ time.

P had gone back online to feed his resume into cyber oblivion, the dishes were done, Lanes was gurgling in her sleep, and it was the perfect time to relax. A little after 1am, I was about to turn in when I heard a weird noise in the hallway.

At first I thought it was our colorful geriatric neighbor, Aunty G, messing with her plastic water bottles in the stroller that she keeps in the hallway, because that is what she does during the wee hours of the night. Don’t ask me why.

My instincts told me something was off, so I squinted and peeked out of the peephole, but couldn’t figure it out since it sounded more fluid than plastic bottles being squished together. So I opened the door and found that water was gushing out of the elevator and the ceiling above in front of the elevator doors was leaking so heavily a huge crack had appeared.

It was such a mesmerizingly eerie sight that for a moment I stood frozen in my doorway, half expecting to find a toddler on a tricycle murmuring ‘redrum, redrum’. What made it more spooky was that no one else had come out of their apartments despite the damp and noise, and this was my own private drama.

Within seconds the water was collecting in our hallway, and I realized that if I didn’t act quickly, all the apartments on our floor would get flooded out. So much water as spewing out of the elevator doors, it looked like the Hoover Dam had burst. I was so stunned and my brain was still dead that instead of going upstairs to see what’s wrong, I looked out to see if it was raining. I’m such a bright spark.

I ran to the bedroom to tell P about the situation and he didn’t even look up from the computer, saying he had no idea what to do and he was sure the folks in the apartment would figure it out. Yeah right. Now I know what the saying ‘come hell or high water means’, because let me tell you, ‘come hell or high water’, P was going to crank out resumes.

Annoyed by P’s lack of interest in the situation, I quickly called the manager of the building but she didn’t pick up her phone (big surprise there). The only other numbers I was thinking of calling were Ghost Busters (the theme song was stuck in my head) and 911. The first choice was not practical (but three cheers for me for keeping my sense of humor in a time like this) and the second one seemed too drastic.

I was left with no choice but to knock on Aunty G’s door. Considering she is a night owl, I knew I wouldn’t be waking her up and also I knew that if anyone knew who to call, it would be her, having had to endure many a disaster having lived here for almost two decades.

Aunty G was really surprised to find me on her doorstep, especially at 1am, but she opened up the door happily. When she saw the unwelcome water feature in our hallway she sprung into ‘Aunty G’ mode. She lit up a cigarette, and fanned the flames of controversy over the upkeep of the building.

While she as fighting with an automated operator on the phone, someone had alerted the Fire Department, and a small congregation of neighbors had pooled by the flood. I had gone upstairs to see the damage and finally met the people who live right above us.

Long story short, someone on the floor above had a burst pipe. That poor sap had slept through the entire commotion and woke up to find his stuff floating around the apartment and firemen at the foot of his bed.

One thing I must say is kudos to the fine folks at our local Fire Department. They were genuinely concerned about us tenants,and spent a considerable amount of time cleaning (or should I say draining) out the mess. They even sucked up all the water on floor above us and came to make sure our apartments below were ok.

We were lucky, having sustained only a crack in our living room ceiling from which water drizzled down. Some water got trapped in the light fixtures of our kitchen, and the firemen jotted that down as well. They were highly concerned about mold building up due to the dampness.

Aunty G was reveling in the action, and all the neighbors were told about the great flood of 2004 (or was it 2008) when another pipe burst and how there is mold all over the premises. She told a stunned looking fireman (and me) about how some window snapped due to mold (I knew better than to ask for an explanation on that one) and nearly severed a major artery on some woman’s neck.

After having pointed out all the spots in the apartment where pipes had burst or mold had sprung, she pointed at the stairs by our apartment and said ‘oh and that is where that man was shot and he died on the spot’. I looked mildly ill (mostly because I was thinking of ghosts again), and Aunty G burst out laughing so hard saying how easy it is to traumatize me.

The last laugh was had by me when I informed her that one of the fire dept folks shut down the water and she wouldn’t be able to use her facilities so she should tone done the laughter a little (she was laughing so much she was crossing her knees together since she nearly had to go).

It was nearly 4am when I got to bed. Meanwhile P was working right through the drama, oblivious to his wife being missing and then subsequently having various folks from the Fire Department in our living room and kitchen from time to time.

He was glad things were patched up with Aunty G, and all he commented on was that at least I have material for my blog. To this day, he has no idea on how bad the situation was upstairs and on our floor. Two of my immediate neighbors had to move to another floor since their apt had to be gutted out. And believe it or not, as I type this, he is still doing resumes!!

I got to meet a lot of neighbors (in various states of dress—or undress rather). So that is the drama for the week…needless to say P is still unemployed and Lanes’ PR card is still mia. I guess we are nothing if not consistent: ) Will write more soon…

Blue Monday

Against better judgment I watched the news today. It’s something I try not to do in general because no one ever seems to report good news. It’s always something drastic, terrible, or literally earth shattering. If the whackos don’t get you, the weather will. So that is how I learnt that today, Monday the 17^th, is the most depressing day of the year. It’s so bad, it has its own name: ‘Blue Monday’.


I don’t know what scientific basis there was for this. The journalist relating the story seemed delighted, so I guess the weather was not brining her down one bit. According to the ‘experts’ she interviewed (who were in similarly good spirits), today was the worst day and apparently January in general is forecasted to be depressing.


Normally, I would have heckled and jeered, but I was really feeling the blues myself. I momentarily put my pity party on hold to listen to the news piece. If anything, it made me feel better to know that others out there are miserable too. No wonder they say misery loves company.


Why so down? Well between the usual woes of being unemployed, Lanes’ PR card being missing in action and general apartment issues I was feeling a lot like I was sailing into a sea of despair while perched precariously on a tiny iceberg which was suffering from the effects of global warming.


I know now what we learnt at the orientation before coming to Canada is true. At first one is euphoric, then depressed/homesick, (then I think you settle down and all is well—I didn’t take very good notes—I was distracted by the fabulous Chinese meal they gave us as part of the orientation). I’m not really homesick, thanks to the wonderful invention of Skype, but I am depressed about not knowing what the future holds. I heard that happens to us control freaks.


I can also see why it is prudent to move in with your third cousin twice removed and proceed to work in your grand uncle’s neighbor’s nephew’s grandmother’s store until you can find the job of your dreams. It seems that is hard to move onwards and upwards when you come in with a blank database since who you know really helps in the job market.


We are slowly meeting some really nice genuine folks, and it’s a comfort to know they are out there. P is still sending out tailor made resumes, Lanes is pinning for my nutty sister, and I don’t know how to solve either one’s problem, and that is my problem. Other than that I really really super like it here and I’m depressed because I really want it to work out.


Other than that the apartment issues continue. Just when I thought we were done for a while (yea no ceiling leaks this week), a drawer in the kitchen collapsed, nearly taking out the few nice pieces of china we shipped. By nice I mean cute, not fancy, so in other words, I would have been in a flap if anything broke.


P and I tried to put the drawer back but it just wouldn’t since some part (made of plastic—top class) on it had broken. I just tucked the drawer in P’s closet because I couldn’t be bothered and went about doing laundry. Who flutters by the laundry room? My friend the maintenance man who made a mess in our apartment.


Against better judgment, I thought I’d ask him to come take a look at the drawer (I was too lazy to go in the cold to write a work order in the office). I figured nothing too bad could happen while fixing the drawer. Eager to redeem himself after he messed up the entire apartment last week, he quickly agreed to come to the rescue (after offering to clean the apt up again).


Well he showed up almost immediately and even insisted on going to a store to find a replacement for the broken piece. I felt really bad and told him there was no rush on it and to have the apartment folks figure it out. He came back in a jiffy beaming at our good luck since there was one spare piece he found in the bowels of the apartment.


He took a good while to fix it and I thought not watching would probably be best for both of us. When he was done, Lanes was highly interested in testing out his wide array of tools and he was fussing in the sink. I peered in to see what he was doing and turns out he has cut himself!!


The finicky part of me (92%) nearly felt faint and the blood was just oozing from his finger. He began a detailed explanation on how his skin is not that great and that this sort of thing happens all the time, and for some reason I started to feel mildly woozy as more blood kept bubbling up (must be since I was on cold number 102). Lanes decided to express a great interest in his tool box so I used that as an excuse to pack him off quickly after thanking him profusely.


Soon after that the lights went out in our kitchen and he was back again, but resolved the matter with no harm to himself or the apartment (or my sanity). So I guess we are ok for now in that department.


The rest of the week turned out to be better. I got over cold number 102 (but gave it to P) much quicker than the 101 that went before it. My nutty sister’s mom-in-law’s brother, our beloved yet slightly chaotic Uncle Rhondo (that’s the name he picked for himself, don’t ask why) came up for the weekend.


His arrival catapulted me out of the doldrums and Lanes was over the moon as he is in her top five of favorite people. He was quickly captured (and I was mercifully released) into her little world of madness. Many times he fell asleep while she was reading him stories and I would find her sitting cross legged staring adoringly at him while he slumbered.


It rained most of the weekend and I cooked up a storm. Everyone survived both the weather and my culinary delights, I’m happy to say. Uncle Rhondo headed back down south on this ‘Blue Monday’, and I was down in the dumps because the party was over. Lanes had cried a little in school about it. On the bright side, she articulated her feelings about it really well.


So that’s what’s been happening this week. Here’s hoping for a ‘Sunshiny Yellow Tuesday’ and I will enthrall you with our adventures next week…

Big Wheel Keep on Turning

Again I have to start out my blog by announcing that Lanes’ PR card has still not arrived!! And P is still unemployed. And I am still bats. Three cheers for the status quo. Not.

So the situation is that we are apparently supposed to wait for a letter in the mail regarding what we should do about Lanes’ card. We only have to wait up to two months for said letter. Considering we have been waiting since November, what of a couple of months here or there I suppose? Again, not!!

I just wanted to hit my head on the wall when P told me the good news. The only reason I opted against it was that with the luck we are having in this apartment, I’d probably bash a hole in the high quality plywood that are our walls, thereby starting another whole series of misadventures with various maintenance folks.

Speaking of which, there has been some progress on our ceiling though. Before we left for Seattle, one of the maintenance guys caught up to me in the parking lot and announced that he would come and fix our ceiling anytime, and I don’t have to wait for the other contractors.

His exact words were ‘you nice lady. You speak nicely to me. I help you anytime. You upset? You must be upset about ceiling. It very ugly. I come anytime. Shall I come now? I no want you to be upset’. Considering most of the time I usually just nod when he says anything, I was confused to how I could possibly be nice, but as our apartment manager said, folks get really nasty and colorful with their language when their ceilings’ leak!!

After insisting I was not upset, in fact I couldn’t less anymore, I promised to let him know when we came back. Which I promptly forgot about. However, he saw me in the laundry room on Monday and got me to fix a day for him to sand and paint the ceiling, thereby concluding the ceiling saga. In my gut I had a bad feeling since although he is really sweet, like a giant panda, he has more muscle in his arms that in between his ears. No offense, I think he is a sweetheart.

Any old how, he came sharp on time, but I was on the phone and P was doing some mad thing with a resume (probably now upgrading his choice words to ‘slaying’ and ‘exterminating’ from ‘executing’ and ‘spearheading’). I took the call to the other room because I was on the phone with a friend and when I opened the door it was like someone had launched a vendetta on a couple of bags of flour.

The air was thick with fine white dust, and the furniture, rugs, blinds, cushions, couches, everything was covered with a lovely coat of dust. I had a really exhausting day and was looking forward to the time Lanes was in school to catch a break and when I walked in on this I had tears in my eyes. I was beyond consolable. My mouth was shut, but I was screaming on the inside.

What made it worse was that I could not have my drama queen/prima donna balling my eyes out, ‘woe is me’ crying fit because the maintenance man looked like he was about to cry!! It was ridiculously ludicrous to see his large frame all hunched and apologetic as he explained that he was so eager to fix the ceiling he forgot to tent up the area. I almost had to comfort him, thereby robbing me of my ‘moment’ (aka the mother of all hissy fits).

I could barely hear the apologies as I walked around in a daze, surveying the damage. I was so close to crying I almost laughed manically. Meanwhile the maintenance man was still almost in tears himself, offering to vacuum and clean for me because he felt so bad, and that didn’t help either!! Last thing I needed was for him to be so darn nice. I needed to have my tantrum and get it done with.

I quickly sent him on his way, nicely of course, and then burst into a hysterical tirade. P had to come out abandoning his resume work (which he was not thrilled about but it sure beat having to take me the hospital when my dust allergies/asthma kicked in). Unscheduled hospital visits are not really good for us unemployed folks.

In the end we were both screaming and after that we just cleaned like two lunatics because we had to be done before Lanes (who has inherited my allergies) had to be picked up. The maintenance man came back again, armed with a toilet paper roll, but we turned him away. I have not seen him since, but I’m assuming he recovered.

I buckled down, and told myself there is no use in complaining when I had a job to do (in the words of my dreamy aging Canadian rockstar). When we were done, I had about 20 minutes of me time before Lanes came home. Poor P had to pull an all-nighter with his search as a result of all of this.

Lanes was also adding to my issues this week. After we got back from Seattle she was particularly badly behaved—worse than she has ever been in her entire existence. P took to researching parenting books on the web and I took to pulling my hair out (metaphorically, I still have some vanity in me).

She claimed she was missing her cousins and her teacher from her old school. I had to have a ‘profound’ talk with her about her issues, and thankfully by Thursday she perked up and shaped up—for now. With Lanes no one knows what tomorrow brings (but you can find out next week: ) ).

So on that note, I have had an emotionally exhausting week. The weekend was less chaotic and more relaxing. P is still feverishly churning out resumes, but no one is calling. If not for my mother calling twice a day, I would wonder if our phone was working.

Lanes is asleep, but that could be temporary as she has decided this week that waking up at 3am to have discussions is a fun thing—yea for me. So I guess I must sign off since I have to go make lunch for tomorrow and hopefully have that invaluable ‘me’ time before bed, especially if I have to wake up again at 3am. I am determined that there will be good news in the next blog….

Jolly Days

Hi everyone, sorry for my long silence. We have finally returned to Canada and I was so tired at the end of each day in Seattle to even think of blogging. Between three bouncing children, two travel challenged parents and one nutty sister in a pear tree, I did not have a moment.

It turns out my mystery appointment was not with a doctor as I has feared. Regardless, when my sister drove me to it, I went to it with one hand on the seatbelt release button and one on the door handle to make a quick escape just in case  (Lanes was being supervised by her father and the rest of the clan so I did not need an escape plan for her—in general she appears to prefer my sister’s company to mine though).

My appointment was for a facial, a Christmas present from my parents. That really was a treat (because I got babysitting with the deal). I had been longing to tame my eyebrows (and some pampering sweetened the deal). Eyebrow taming was something I did almost religiously in Sri Lanka. 

The esthetician (that’s what you call a person who does facials—I had to look it up) tsked at me and said she really hates to be rude but she can’t stand when women, especially Indian women, come in with eyebrows that are too thin. I felt like I was three years old getting told off by a kindergarten teacher.

I was also slightly annoyed that several times she referred to me as Indian even though she knows I am Sri Lankan on account of my mom being a long standing client of hers. No offense to India, mostly I was just aggrevated that the esthetician was borderline rude--considering I was supposed to have a relaxing experience and all.

I wanted to retort that my pet peeve was culturally insensitive folks who don’t know geography, but she came at me with hot wax and I figured furrowing my brow at that moment might prove fatal to my apparently already flawed eyebrows. After that, a huge interrogation room style lamp was flashed into my face and I braced myself for more comments as I heard her taking some sharp intakes of breath.

However, she complimented my skin and said I obviously didn’t eat fried and fatty foods. I had to do a quick wiggle to see if I had left my behind outside the door, because anyone sane who took a good look at me would know that those foods are certainly friends of mine!!

I wanted to say ‘have you seen the rest of me lady?’ but I thought it best not to annoy someone who has easy access to tiny sharp instruments while I was strapped on a plank in a skimpy outfit. Any old how, after that she made disapproving noises about my beauty regimen, or rather, the lack of one thereof, and she strongly urged me to buy beauty products from the salon (only $78 etc.) instead of the local grocery store.

Seems to me that the grocery store products were serving me just fine, according to her assessment, but I didn't point that out either (out of respect for my mom--or fear that I would be told off for being argumentative with her esthetist).

The rest of the facial was pleasant, although it felt weird sometimes when I felt her plastic gloves my on my face. I enjoyed the cheesy relaxing music and being snug, and delighted in the fact that my eyebrows no longer looked like they belonged to a mad scientist. Most of all, I treasured the 'me' time.

My long suffering brother-in-law picked me up and when we got home P and the three girls (Lanes and her cousins) were screeching with delight while decorating a gingerbread house. Lanes discovered she loves the icing and P discovered he rather loves being the foreman when it comes to constructing cookie houses.

The rest of the holiday was spent hanging out together. It was really nice to spend time with my nutty sister. She left for college when I was ten  and after that we never really had time to spend together. Lanes thoroughly enjoyed playing with her cousins 24/7. Her bedtime was pushed back more and more each day. P was not job hunting, and I discovered giving him a whiskey at 7pm really made him jolly.

We left on the 1st, so that Lanes has a few days to get back into the scheme of things and P can start anew on his job search. So it turns out you can indeed come back to Canada with no PR card if you drive up in a private car. It’s a good thing we went because Lanes’ PR card still has not arrived!! This is like a bad joke.

I’m feeling rather exhausted after this weekend, Lanes was packed off to her first day in her new school, and P is back to the job hunt. No news on that front either. I had gone a little insane cleaning the bathroom two days ago (at 1am no less) and I think I inhaled too much bleach. Been dizzy since (not in a good way). So that’s about it for this week…catch up soon!!