shiz.ca

Is something wrong?

Yes. Do I talk about it on the internet? No.

Let's just say it's like someone's been hitting rewind/repeat with some of my older blog entries. History repeats itself.

I'm ok. Just frustrated. And kind of dead inside.

Onwards and, um, more onwards.

So my husband is getting tested for MALARIA.

MALARIA, which the internet assures me is "an always serious and sometimes life-threatening disease." See? Nothing to worry about.

Ugh.

He was sick in Africa. For a while he was bad-sick, and the symptoms are enough that his doctor doesn't want to fool around. So, testing. And waiting.

He's still tireder than usual and sleeping often. Last night he slept 12 hours, for instance, and that's less than most recent nights.

I suspect that David does not have Malaria. That the little bug that made him sick has passed. I am pleased that our doctor isn't taking chances and the result will prove what we've suspected all along, that his Malarone did what it's meant to have done and that he is fine, just needs to recover from jet-leg.

Still, I never thought it'd even be a possibility. Malaria. In VANCOUVER. By way of Africa.

Godspeed, my sickie.

Attack of the killer jet lag

My husband is jet lagged, and not, it seems, in an ordinary way. He's been sleeping 16+ hours per day since he came home and he's still not refreshed. Yes, it has only been 3 days; I do expect it to take longer. The poor guy tried to stay awake this afternoon but it was not to be; he was out at 5 PM, only about 6 hours since he got out of bed to begin with. He may be out all night.

When I look at him I feel a kind of sweet pity. He is so worn out that three days' worth of extended sleep has hardly made a dent in his exhaustion. It may be weeks before he feels fresh and newly accustomed to Pacific Standard Time.

The tales of his trip are extraordinary. The places he's been, the people he's seen, the things he's done -- it's all so exotic and different and surreal. His photographs, of which his online album are only the beginning, are breathtaking.

I'm proud of him. He's worked so hard. I knew in advance that this would be a demanding trip, and I was thankful from the start that I did not have to endure 24 hours of flights followed by three weeks of constant road-tripping across an area the size of Texas, covering dusty pathways that can barely be called roads, taking mountainous routes and hairpin turns the whole while, being exposed to Yellow Fever and Malaria and all kinds of parasites and unknown entities, getting up as early as 3 AM to ensure the photographers reached their destination by first light, staying in hovel-hotels and sleeping on floors. This was not an extravagant trip by any stretch of the imagination.

And he loved it. He ate the food and met the people, visited the churches and monestaries, he met lepers and pilgrims, children and elders, priests and merchants and took it all in. He was unable to visit the HIV/AIDS orphanage due to illness, but he took every other opportunity to embrace this strange land, culture, and people.

So it seems to me his exhaustion is well-earned, as opposed to the fairly spoiled travellers who dine on caviar in five-star hotels and come home "exhausted". It seems to me that his for now constant tiredness is a sign of what he has seen and done and even been. He is serving these people, giving his best to take the photographs that will showcase Ethiopia in a true fashion, compelling the sales of this future-book so that he can generate funds to send back to the same people and villages he's seen. I think it's pretty great. In fact, I think it's fantastic.

Ethiopia Photographs

Are here, reading is here.

I'm especially falling in love with #19.

If these links change, be sure to visit pixelatedimage.com and check out the Ethiopia gallery.

You must read this in sing-song. I am typing it in my sing-songy voice:

Daa-vid co-omes home to-moor-row!

Daa-vid co-omes home to-moor-row!

Daa-vid co-omes home to-moor-row!

Daa-vid co-omes home to-moor-row!

(repeat)

Later:

Daa-vid made it to Frankfurt!

Daa-vid made it to Frankfurt!

Daa-vid made it to Frankfurt!

Daa-vid made it to Frankfurt!

(repeat)

And I'm not in the least bit excited. Imagine that.

Tidbits from the Tuesday Random Tree!

My cold came back this weekend, but it's fading. My dear husband is ill in Ethiopia. He comes home on Thursday. We jet out to a gorgeous-looking B&B on Saturday for a lengthy day's retreat. He's basically told me almost nothing of his trip and I gather it's because it would take so long to describe. I think he's waiting to see me, talk face-to-face and show me some pictures. They've had a really great time but are worn out. Good thing they're staying at a nice hotel (don't worry; they got a hefty discount and are sharing a room; they aren't partying it up on charity-donated funds) so they can finally get some proper sleep and not have to live in cramped quarters. They can rest a bit.

Theye were resting today, actually, and are spending their final day (Wednesday) at the large open market in Addis, the Merkato. They hop a plane Wednesday evening to Frankfurt and then Vancouver.

I'm doing fine. I'm in the home stretch of missing the guy, and I have a few "before he gets back" errands to keep me busy.

That's it for now, netties! Take care and I'll write again soon!

Hey Internet, I have an announcement

I may never fall asleep again.

Last night - er, this morning - David called at 2 AM from Addis Ababa, which is what I was hoping for, and I was up hoping he would call but really expecting he'd get in around 4 my time and not call until later. But he DID call! And earlier than I'd anticipated! We spoke for 15 minutes and then I tried to sleep, finally drifting off at FOUR FOURTY-FIVE IN THE MORNING.

Yeah, so, yay.

I was exhausted today and did nothing. When I tried to lay down for a much-needed nap no sleep came, and I was out of bed 45 minutes later.

I bought sleeping meds for tonight. I've taken the dose quite a while ago and I do not feel sleepy. I feel exhausted, but not as though I'm going to drift off. This is insomnia at it's worst; you feel so tired you hardly feel human, yet your body (or mind) will not drift off.

Is there anybody out there who can sing me a lullaby?

To the Husband in Africa

I am coming to get you at the airport.

International arrivals on the 19th. Will have cell phone. I'm bringing Sara with me.

I love you. See you soon.

Tire Trauma

For the record, my tires were apparently spiked with some kind of ice pick while parked in the alley by my house. Which makes me feel a whole lot safer.

Who exactly is bringing an ice pick with them on a stroll? Someone who imagines he or she will need to be picking some ice later on that day -- perhaps setting out on an arctic mission? Or maybe stabbing a corpse? Or spiking random people's tires? Or maybe we were intended targets; people recognize our car. It has decals for my husband's business on it -- oh, and the Mac logo. Maybe our perpetrator was a Dell man.

Maybe pepper spray is a good idea. For me. And an ax.

Welcome to one side of a telephone conversation with Mr. Shiz's dad

Because all I had to say was "yeah," "cool," or "uh-huh":

Hello, Shiz. Oh guess what? I got a shredder today. Do you have a shredder? I just went down to London Drugs and spent x bucks on it.

Our shredder says you aren't supposed to put envelopes in it. Is yours like that? I guess they're all probably like that. And paper clips. It says it will take paper clips but you should try to remove them anyway. They dull the blades.

We don't use too many staples, some sometimes, not always, not a lot of staples.

Now if I write out long division with some big numbers I can just thow that in there too, and shred it.

I've joined the technological age. I've come up in my technology. In the 21st century.

The news is all politics now. And of course with the election coming up. I don't like Paul Martin. I think he should get the boot. He's had his turn and now we shout boot him out.

That's one thing you can say to someone if you don't like them you can say "Why don't you put an egg in your boot and beat it?"! (Laughs) Oh, that's a good one "Why don't you put an egg in your boot and beat it?" That's funny. I should tell that to David, maybe he can put it in his act. I should copyright it first before I tell him. I know what I'm doing.

Ok, I think I'm going to go now and shred some more stuff. Actually I want to have something to eat, too. That's the good thing about retirement, you can eat a little bit here and a little bit there. You don't have to eat big meals. I don't like big meals. I've never liked eating big meals. Okay, I love you. Goodnight.

Don't say it didn't go like that: You weren't there.

I was able to have the tires replaced with used ones at a reasonable cost, though it took up precious sick-time hours that I'd hoped to have spent sleeping, but there was no way I could have slept with that hanging over my head, not unless I was out for the count.

Time to sleep now, though. Or shred something.

He really did start like that: Hi Shiz, I got a new shredder today!

That's my dad.

So Long, So Wrong

So my husband, my best friend? He is in Africa.

Africa? I mean, really, who actullay GOES to Africa?

David went to Africa. For THREE WEEKS.

See, he's all "Brilliant Photographer" guy, and "Sensitive Humanitarian" guy and PUH-LEASE, of course it means he's going to try to HELP people, which gosh already, isn't trickle-down economics enough?

Sorry about that. I just beat that girl senseless with a stick.

I'm so proud of him. He's trekking around Ethiopia with a photographer and a chef, a guide and a LandRover, looking for stories and recipes and culture and history and photographs to make a cookbook that will give money back to these people. They aren't making ANY money from this. ANY. They don't want it.

So it's day 10 of 19 (YAY HALFWAY MARK!) and I was doing pretty great (even spending my 30th birthday alone, sans husbandido) until, say, yesterday. I'm running his business, our household, and working full-time all at once, all by myself. And it's ok. I figured out where the missing ebay-in-transit-shoulda-been-here-Christmas-Eve camera lens is, have kept his clients happy and even wrote and mailed cheques for earlier-than-expected business expenses. Because I rock! I can SO run this business.

But yesterday, oh yesterday the OVERWHELMING began. I had to do this and this and this and then some of this and some of this and when was I going to get it all done and gosh-dang-it, I MISS MY HUSBAND ALREADY.

I miss his presence and his demeanor, his smell and his style. I miss waking up to find he's had a diabetic snack mid-night and done it all without waking me. I miss him reading in bed. I miss kissing him on the top of his head while he edits photographs. I miss having tea together, talking about our dreams together. I miss his ability to take care of things, to have it all under control. I miss his smile. I miss finding his glasses in the bathroom when he's gone off to do a show. I miss watching the cats talk with him and for him to talk back. I miss his hugs. I miss him warming up half of the bed, even if he won't let me put my cold feet on him. I miss being able to share things with him, like our friend who was hospitalized by putting her back out, the other friends who had a baby, the ones who got engaged and the ones who just found a great new home. I miss his voice. I miss his kindness. I miss him.

I miss him.

I wept. I wrote Mary a long freak-out email and iChatted with Dawn and she talked about cheesecake and make me laugh and cheered me up all round. That is, until the baby needed her.

Selfish baby.

And this morning? I woke up sick. Sore throat, big turquoise bumps all over, exhausted, and generally felt like I'd been hit by a truck.

I slept until 3:00. I did a few afternoon errands and decided to do one last errand because my husband's company mouse went wee mouse toes up, if you know what I mean, but it was raining horribly, so I decided to drive the one mile to the geek store.

The car felt funny to drive. It felt like the parking brake was on, but the parking brake wasn't on, it felt like, OH NO, NO, NOT THAT! It felt like I was driving on a wheel rim.

I got out in the rain with my emergency lights flashing, about 30 feet from where I started. Slashed. Two tires, both on the drivers' side. They could not deflate any more. I found a parking spot right there and looked again. Totally slashed. And we're giving up the car in 2 months when the lease is up. I hope to God I can find a steal on used tires. And towing and labour.

So there you have it. It's FUN to be the head of the household. FUN! Fan freaking fun tastic!

Also, why is there never any vodka when you need some?

COUNTDOWN TO THE RETURN: 9 DAYS. HURRY UP ALREADY.

The good, the bad, and the unfortunately profane.

So as an employee in the customer service field it's only natural to assume there will be the occasional unhappy customer, and of those some that may be irrational or volatile, or cat-lady crazy or even all of the above.

Yeah, we have a few of those.

It's always a thrill to come in first thing in the day, the glorious day bright and promising and some coffee in my Seattle's Best chubby mug to open a dozen or so voice mails that use language that rhymes with "luck", "clucker", "truckers" or "chuckin'", and uses a variation of these words in rapid succession. It does a heart so GOOD. It makes my DAY!

Really. It sets me on the right track.

And then Thursday morning I got called one of the most pleasant morning greetings ever. I won't say it here, but I will say the salutation rhymed with "Chalk-Hucker", "Clock-Mucker", "Rock-Pucker" or "Lock-Plucker", and it was delivered with GUMPTION, people, plosives emphasized and EVERYTHING.

Now here's a secret that not a lot of people know about me: I DON'T REALLY LIKE BEING CALLED A COCKSUCKER.

Alright, I know I said I wasn't going to say it, but coming in to a voice mail that says, "ALL RIGHT YOU COCKSUCKERS .... " .... it .... it ....

.... well, if you must know, it really warms my heart.

Honey, the company may have screwed you royally, but there is a nice woman who happens to have a job here because she needs to feed her poor orphan cats and keep them from a life on the the streets. And when she listens to your message calling the recipient a chalkhucker and saying "Get the TRUCK your TRUCKING email out of MY TRUCKING email" (which doesn't make any sense but at this point why split hairs?), it's as though you are insulting this poor woman to her face, unless you consider "cocksucker" to be a compliment, in which case the woman in question would most certainly like to meet your mother.

Anyhow, back to the nice people reading this post. Shall we bet on what I get called this week. "Stupid," "Incompetant," and "Cocksucker" have already made appearances as well as the phrase "So (blank) it's not even funny," which is overused and ENOUGH ALREADY.

Let's take bets on what I get called this week. I think it might be "asshole" this week. A drink says it's "asshole".

Also? Damn.

What were they thinking?

I stopped at a favourite hamburger place tonight on the way home and ordered a burger to go. While I was waiting I saw an ad for ... something that looked like a big piece of fried cheese: a long, breaded and deep-fried stick with about the circumfrence of a quarter. But something was ... wrong .... with it. Oh yes, in the picture there was a set of mysterious hands breaking the stick open and out came goo the colour of a strawberry milkshake, only much worse.

I read the caption: Blah Blah Strawberry! Cheesecake! Blah Blah and DOESN'T it LOOK DELICIOUS?

Ok, sure. Maybe. If you like deep fried Pepto Bismol. What is wrong with these people? They think we would LIKE this? They think anyone would eat this? Don't they know that I'm morally opposed to eating any food that looks like pus?

I searched the internet in vain for a picture, so I'm going to try to "borrow" one to scan for you all. It is too priceless.

Well, priceless in a disgusting way.

I was doing so GREAT.

Until my husband called.

I love him so much.

I miss him.

He's having a fantastic time in Africa.

They say it's your BIRTH-DAAAAY ....

Well it's my birthday, too!

No, really: Me! Too!

And I am Thirty.

But I hear thirty is the new eleven.

Thank you everybody who has well-wished me, and some of you multiple times. THANKS!

I feel special.

You may now recommence ordering my Hello Kitty birthday cake.

Of course!

The apple password reminder page is called iForgot.

So my husband? He is in Africa.

Like, for real. He's in Ethiopia. In the Rift Valley. In Harrar. He's there taking pictures like mad and bopping along on his keester for the next three weeks in a Land Rover, along with two friends researching an authentic Ethiopian cookbook.

The cats sleep with me when he's gone. Last night they slept with me all night.

So I'm determined not to get boredy bored while he's away. I may be so busy that I cannot even blog for a while. Or actually, maybe too disinterested.

But if I can't entertain, at least I'll point you in the right direction. Have you checked this or this out yet? You haven't? What about this?

Corn chips are after all, no place for a mighty warrior.