sand in my toes.

work. play.

There's something to be said about really loving what you do. I mean, what you do for a living. That's just it: growing up means finding a job that you can do 'for a living', meaning for the duration of your life. And if that something is satisfactory - okay. If it's a bore - that's too bad. If it pays the bills - it sounds like you are working for something everyone works for. But, if you thoroughly enjoy it - it's a dream.

I think I'm working in the last category. The, "I have a dream job" category. Because it's true, I am. I work 24 hours a week (estimated) in a cubicle in an office with others who do the same thing, and I work for free. It's an unpaid internship. The reaction I get from most people after telling them that is, "Oh that sucks." But in truth... it's fantastic.

I research. I wrote a story about bootlegging in the 1920s. I've researched Al Capone and discovered he used to spend time in hiding in a small Saskatchewan town. I know that the liquor company that distributes Absolute, Captain Morgans, and all the other famous liquors, was actually in the rum running business, and rum running is what led to such a successful company in the first place. I discovered that dinosaur bones were just unearthed in Alberta, a huge bonebed of them. This is what I do for a living!

I don't hate what I do. I love it. I have to figure out ways to make a story flow, to make it sound appealing to readers. I develop a good lede (not the kind of lede you see in a newspaper - I've done plenty of those), but a lede with colour, a lede like, "The S.S. I’m Alone went down beneath the waters in the Gulf of Mexico, pelted with bullet holes and sinking fast thanks to the blast from four explosive shells that detonated near it’s hull. One crewman, Canadian Leon Mainguy, goes down with the ship. The others, including Captain John Randell, are chained and thrown into a New Orleans jail."

My job is fun. F-U-N. I have fun. When I write something, and my editor tells me I've done a great job, says that it's exactly what they are looking for, I feel so excited. And when I see in the production room that I have two bylines for the next issue, I get a lump in my throat, because that is my name and my piece of work. It may not be a very large piece of work or an in-depth story with a photo spread, but it's got my name on it.

It's unfortunate that so many people out their truly hate their jobs. That every day they dread going getting into their car and going to work, for fear it will be another bad day. And it is sad, because it is something they will be doing for the duration of their lives, for at least 40 years, or longer.

I have bad days too, days where I'm not inspired and that is entirely frustrating. But I don't hate coming here and I don't hate writing. I love it.

Nothing is really work, unless you'd rather be doing something else.

Photo of the week

I'm not doing a photo of the week. Because it's good incentive to actually go out with my camera, beautiful as it is, and take some photos.

"Well I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes. The rain's gonna wash away I believe it."

I want to ride my bicycle.

Before Green. After Orange.

Life is like riding a bicycle. In order to keep your balance, you must keep moving. - Albert Einstein

Bicycles get you from here to there and in the meantime make you aware. Potholes, rampant traffic, low-lying trees... all become a part of the journey you are on while riding your bicycle. And I am ever so excited to ride mine. Which I purchased for $10 at a garage sale.

In total, it must have cost me maybe $30 to fix up. A couple cans of spray paint, two new pedals, and dedicated time by my significant other and myself grinding down old paint and making new coats. But it looks fantastic - all shiny and new.

And it's neat to learn how it all works: leverage and washers and nuts and screws and gears shifting within the wheel. The bike has 3 gears. It's quite a unique machine. And I am the engine and the passenger. Fantastic.

kids at play

"The earth delights to feel your bare feet and the

wind longs to play with your hair."

Anonymous bike-cycle.

I bought this bicycle for $10 at a garage sale. It is missing a peddle, it's seat is falling off and twists, there is rust creeping all over the chrome and paint and in all the bike joints. So, I'm refurbishing it from scratch.

The brakes are stiff, but apparently it has three speeds. However, it only has one speed on the sprocket by the looks of things.

Ben is helping me sand it down and then I'm going to paint it - of which colour I'm not too sure. Suggestions are appreciated. But, I am learning to like the current flourescent green. So, we shall have to see.

The best part about the bike-cycle - it's huge basket. For groceries and shopping and puppies, oh my!

Hungry and restless and wicked and wild

On a day a lot like this
i was wandering, I was amiss
And the memories came back to me
They were bent, and they were broken and they were funny

I was younger, so much more innocent
I did not question what anything meant
There's a river, so we go where it goes
We get covered with dirt and rainbows

We're giving it up again

We're older, much less innocent
We start questioning what everything mean
There's a river, and we ask why
Well the light of the reason and the passing of the sky

You wave and I wave back
You pull my hair and I laugh
There's a word for it but you keep it hidden away
You feel safer and secret and ready to play

We're giving it up again

There's a light, and it's showing me a piece of love
And I'll be holding the hands
And if you go, I'll go, and we'll go together
And there's children covered in dirt
With songs from above
And they went out looking for a new kind of love

We're giving it up again

Like a child, we get hungry and restless and wicked and wild

New kind of love...

- Plants and Animals.

....

This photo brings about so much sadness. There are so many animals: birds, fish, bugs, that are dying because of the oil spill. And yet we sit here, cozy in our AC cars and use our plastic and don't change the habits that lead to the use of oil in the first place. It makes me very, very sad.

See Boston.com/bigpicture for more.

A couple of black swans.

In all my years as a love-struck child, I was under the impression that swans were white. The Swan Princess Disney flick had a white swan, and The Ugly Duckling was about a chick that grew up to be this beautiful - again - white swan.

Such is apparently not the case. There are black swans, and two of them reside on the Rideau River in Ottawa. Donated by the Queen herself.

Best high of my life.

<-- (me before the race began)

All the runners stand in the corral, their numbers pinned to their shirts, their shoelaces tied up tightly. Some have music playing in their ears - in just a few minutes the bell will sound and they will all begin to run.

Me? I'm dancing in my shoes, unable to contain the excitement, the nervousness I feel, knowing that in the next few moments I will begin something I've been waiting in anticipation for since the beginning of the year: a half-marathon.

9:00 a.m. hits the clock and everyone runs. I say to Ben, "I can't believe we're actually doing this," and then we smile at each other.

(Standing in the corral right before the race started. All nerves.) --->

Off I go, music playing. The first song pumps me up as I run up the hill, along with 10,900 other athletes, and past the Parliament buildings. Everyone is amped, the first few kilometers are the fastest, adrenaline pumping and a burst of energy that you never expected you'd have, knowing you still have 21 kilometres to go.

We run over the Portage Bridge into Gatineau, Quebec, and already people are stopping along the side of the road, on the pathways and sidewalks, to cheer everyone on. The first part of the course is a bit hilly - weaving in a tiny neighbourhood in Gatineau, I notice an old lady standing outside her house in her apron watching all of the runners race by. She must be wondering, "Why are these people doing this?" And I'm sure many people wonder that - I did when I first contemplated doing the run.

I make my way through Quebec, and the crowd gets bigger - a lady is holding a sign that reads, Toenails are for sissies! and I know exactly what she means. I dropped a plate on my big toe a few days before the race... it's certain to either fall off or continue to cause a lot of pain after the race yesterday.

It was so amazing, to turn around and look at all the people behind me, in front of me, running as hard as I am, if not harder, all heading to the same destination for - as I'm assuming - the same reason. To finish something, to complete a goal that is not easily attained. And they were of all sizes and shapes: tall and lean, short and round, big and small, black and white... but it didn't matter.

Heading back into Ottawa on another bridge, the runners were all in tandem, one after the other, supporting one another. A man behind me tripped on my foot while running. He was a big man. He fell onto the pavement. And I turned around to watch him get right back up and keep running. It wasn't his or my fault, it just happened. But he got up. And that was amazing to see.

Onto Wellington St. (a main street downtown) there were people lining the race pathway and cheering, holding out their hands for high-fives from the runners. It gave me such a boost in energy that I kept going. Signs reading, Runners, you're heros today and The miracle isn't that you finished, the miracle is that you had the courage to start. The support was incredible.

When I made it to the 12 km mark, I nearly died. Not out of exhaustion. Out of pride - that was the furthest I had ever run in training, and I had never gone any further. I had never succeeded in running 12 km without stopping to rest at least a few times. But on the run, I didn't stop. And then I reached 13 km, and 15 km, and I couldn't believe my body was still moving, still running and my heart still pumping.

The last 3 km was the hardest. I had stopped running and walked for a moment to drink water/gatorade at a drinking station, and my legs began to hurt immediately. My knees, my feet, my hips, my joints, everything I hadn't felt because I was running I could suddenly feel. I knew that if I stopped again, I wouldn't be able to start. So I didn't stop again. I kept a steady pace and even though I wanted to give up and lie on the grass, I didn't.

And I crossed the finish at 2 hours, 13 minutes, and 57 seconds. I competed against myself, against my head saying I couldn't do it, against my body telling me to stop, and I finished. It was truly amazing.

(Finished! We each got a medal and the satisfaction of running 21 km!) --->

This half-marathon was... unbelievable. I am not sure that my trying to explain will even do justice to what it is that I felt during the run. Excitement, pride, nervousness, fatigue, adrenaline, happiness, exhaustion... all of it. I had goosebumps throughout the race, because I actually committed to it, for myself. You should try it.

"I have met my hero, and she is me."