Getting "The Call"

I'm eating lunch and my mobile buzzes crazily. Five texts, from someone who I have no idea, begging me to play goal for them. I am an on-call goalie for several leagues, so this isn't out of the norm, but this catches my eye, "need you to play for Edmonton in the Provincials in two weeks".


Echo: the Provincials... Provincials... Provincials...

Cue the choking on my lunch.

Those who aren't familiar with Women's hockey, the Provincials are a big deal. Women's hockey doesn't have the same exposure as Men's hockey with various pro-leagues. There's no Women's NHL but a mostly unknown Canadian Interuniversity Sport (CIS) league. In Women's hockey, to be a professional player, you're either on the National team or a CIS team or (most typically) both. The next level down is playing at the Provincials. So being on a recreational team and called to join a Provincial contender team is like being on a WHL/AHL team called to play in the NHL Stanley Cup playoffs.


My knee jerk reaction:

However, my first text response: You do realize that I'm a rec level goalie? (Hey, I have to be honest here, in case this was a mistaken identity)
Provincial team captain: Oh yeah! That's no issue with us. Besides you come highly recommended!
Uh, thanks... who recommended me?
Lynn (a league referee - thanks Lynn!). We're really needing an answer in the next 24h to make the carding deadline. Can you commit?
(Talk about pressure) I am very interested in playing, but there's also the issue of getting a release from my current teams. I need to contact my current rec team Captain to ensure everything's kosher.
Great! Let me know when you hear!


So my people talked to their people who talked to the Hockey Alberta league people, I'm feeling like a young guy on trade deadline day, and suddenly I'm in Banff suiting up for my first game.

We were able to win the first game (3-1, take that Calgary!), but lost the next two games (0-2 and 1-9...ouchie). The last game I felt horrible, but considering that we weren't discipline enough to keep out of the penalty box (note the penalty against us coming up in the last picture) and the opposing team was the team who won the Cup, it didn't seem so bad in the end. And besides, I kept my promise to myself that I would keep any game "goals against" score under 10.


Overall, the experience was fantastic! I never played at such a high level. Although I was very nervous, I surprised myself with denying some break-aways and great glove catches. I felt like a pro player with between period ice floods. A 15 min break/breather between periods in the dressing room, with fresh Gatorade awaiting us - imagine that! My body survived the 2 days, though the next week after I was kindly reminded that I'm not in my mid 20s.


Post game drinks with the team (as I was still trying to remember everyone's name) involved some wooing conversation that "You're not a rec goalie, you're a pro goalie. Your talents are being wasted at the lower level tiers! Come play with us full time next year!" My rec league team captain cornered me right after that weekend and said, "You're staying with us as long as you stay in this city." Nice to be wanted.


I must give a huge thanks to everyone who bought meat/cabbage rolls for this event's fundraiser. I do hate begging for money to something that people can't directly enjoy with me. With every save I managed to make (and I did have a fair share of them), I named each one after you guys.

Bucket listings...

Holy - May 2011 was my last check in here? So much for that 2011 resolution: one blog/month. Eh. It's not like there's a race going on here.

So 2011 is finito and onwards the 2012. Update of sorts:

Last blog post was about me discovering that I kinda like gardening/planting. Main thing I learnt about that: don't plant your strawberries under a clothes dryer vent. It wasn't even my vent, but rather my neighbour's vent that for some reason is on my side of the fence. So no berries to enjoy, but I did get the "tomato plant that keeps on giving". I never had so many tomatoes before. The flowers faired well on my front entrance. In the backyard, I found out "if you plant and forget it, it'll eventually grow in the future" as a couple plants popped up that I forgot I had.

The mice issue lingered far longer than it should've. Today was the first time I had a TOASTED bagel for breakfast. Yessiirreeee, I took out the toaster that I purchased 9 months ago and finally used it. Things learnt: toasted morning bread is a God-given thing. Cherish it.

Work wise, it's been a cat and mouse (ha) game of "we'll renew your contract". The good news is that I'm renewed til March 2012, giving me a full 2 years of official post-doc status. Bad news, I've yet to find the next job that HAS money. All current opportunities require me to find my own salary. So grant writing commences Jan 3rd and we carry on with job searching. My hope is that I can keep my current job until I have another position with money.

Speaking about my job, we did move into a shiney new building. Things learnt here: new doesn't mean working condition. The first two months were spent talking to maintenance folks with water/flooding issues, autoclave issues, and the automatic blinds issues (whom I've appropriately named HAL - HAL decides when my office needs more light; thanks HAL, now I can't see my computer screen).  I call my building a trophy wife: great to look at, but does crap all.

I'm just coming off a huge high from the recent holidays; no, Santa bring me a new job, but rather I crossed off item #3 from my bucket list: to hug and thank my Grade 7 teacher face to face.

Being a deaf kid had its obvious obstacles with learning how to communicate within this world. But being the sole deaf kid in a regular school system - that just add that much more strife to my upbringing. I was bullied daily and even at an early age was falling into a deep hole of hopelessness that it wouldn't get better.

Enter a teacher named Sandi.

Grade 7 was my last year at elementary school before the deep plunge into scary highschool. I found myself dreading five more years of being picked upon. Sandi somehow sensed my angst and encouraged me to chat with her about things. Soon it became a ritual after school chat with her, which quickly became my daily solace. Within these talks, Sandi encouraged me to attend univsersity, "Highschool will be difficult, but university all that crap about being different falls away. You'll be great in university! Don't worry, it gets better!"

Me? University? A deaf kid finally fitting in? Riiiiiight.

Fast forward to my first undergrad year, I found myself being inspired with the course material and meeting people who had the same interests as me. After that first year, I found myself saying, "She was right, it did get better."

Because of her extra effort, it was high on my bucket list to find and thank Sandi. This also included to write a letter of recommendation about her positive influence on me. Her kindness and encouragement needed to be known, needed to acknowledged, needed to be shared. But she disappeared on me. I had no leads for two decades on where to find her... that is until this past fall.

Google is a wonderful thing at times.

Suddenly I had her email address and we were exchanging emails. The letter of recommendation letter was written shortly after and sent to her superiors. People were soon asking me whether I won the lotto because I had this crazy huge smile on my face for weeks.

"No, but I crossed off a high bucket list item. To me that's a huge huge win."

Things lead up to this past holiday season, where we found ourselves in the same city at the same time and arranged a breakfast meetup. As soon as eye contact was made, warm hugs were instantly exchanged, followed by a 6h chat that ended much too soon. Although my memory of Sandi was from the eyes of a 12 year old; the warm, caring, enthusiastic, positive person who gave me hope so long ago still shines. Her life journey has been incredible and she continues positively influence people in the education system today, both provincially and nationally. She'll always be my dear mentor and now my close friend.

If you have a teacher(s) who inspired you, I encourage, no, challenge you this year to seek them out and let them know about the impact they made on your life. When the right teacher and student connect, everyone wins.

Encore, merci beaucoup Sandi!

My Green Thumb & I

Something shocking happened over this weekend: I found myself in a garden center getting excited over which annuals I'll bring home with me.

Now despite the mice ordeal (which I just realized that I've yet to blog about that... soon people, soon), I've been thoroughly enjoying my townhouse. Yes, it's a rental, but it's been amazing how much my mental state o' mind has improved with windows and greenspace. I enjoyed the wood burning fireplace over the winter months. Last summer I indulged in hammock naps. And year-round, my hockey gear dries out in the basement in peace without smelling up the entire place. It's not that I'll be living here forever (I do want to own a place), but even mice can't stop me from enjoying my townhouse.

Apparently living in this place has tapped into the gardener in me. Growing up we had gardens, and every spring/summer I'd watch my mom attempt to tackle every weed and plant what would call herself "beautiful" plants. As a kid, I could care less. It was beyond my logic why would people spend hundreds of dollars for plants that don't really grow well in Canadian environments. Fruit/vegetables I understand, but trying your darnest to grow some orchid or lilly in forever sun (no shade) or forever shade (no sun) conditions, plus the neverending "chance of overnight frost" never resulted in successful gardens.

But my mom seeing my distaste in gardening would kindly tell me: when you're older, you'll develop an interest in all of this. Standing for 3 hours in the greenhouse debating on several flowers and legumes to grow in my tiny garden space in my townhouse probably means that I'm officially now older.

And poorer - spending $110 on plants. I bought a variety of flowering plants including asters, salvia, and others which I forget the names. I'm also trying a mini vegetable garden of peas, green beans, tiny tom tomatoes, blackberries, and strawberries. I'm not expecting to reap anything. But the chance of it growing in my lil' niche I'm looking forward to.

And sorer - after an afternoon on my knees in the dirt and lugging around potting soil and mulch, I found I had new unused muscles. Apparently goalie knees aren't gardening knees.

So it's all weeded, tilled, and planted. And now the water & wait game commences. I probably did everything wrong in planting and choosing the best combos to plant together. But I think that's part of the fun, an experiment if you will - the trial and error of gardening. If I eat three beans or a half of a strawberry or just witness tomato flowers, I'll consider it a success.  (I'll post pictures soonish... blogger is being silly slow with uploads atm).

I spy with my DSLR eye...

It's a given that I already have a hobby (*coughs* hockey), however I've been wanting to expand into the world of photography for ages. My first love of snapping pictures started well before I hit double digits. My mom had an artistic streak in which I inherited (tho my analytical side apparently won the career direction). Where she played piano/organ, painted, drew, and crafted, I found myself behind her old Kodak flashcube or Canonet 19 cameras. Of course she never let me use actual film back in those days, but I went about my summer days with an unloaded camera in hand snapping pictures that were forever developed in my mind.

Fast forward to my 8th birthday when I received my very first camera to call my own: the Kodak disc 4000. Yessiree, a disc film camera - the future of cameras! Just like 8-track cassettes, BetaMax VCRs, and New Coke! Needless to say I was unimpressed, but made the most of that camera and its flower-like negative discs that were cumbersome and clunky to store. The cost of photography lessons and owning a decent camera (plus film developing) was never in my budget, so I was stuck on relying on crappy birthday cameras (all of which came from my father, go figure). The next camera I received launched me into the digital world with a Canon Powershot S50. It spent more of its time eating batteries than taking pictures. I was able to "upgrade" to a Powershot SX100, which I enjoyed its extra features to play with. But unPhotoshoppable grainy stills and blurred action shots plagued me and I found myself yearning a "real" camera.

After much window shopping and rubbing pennies together to make nickels, I recently took the plunge into DSLR world. The first debate was which name brand to invest in. I was able to narrow things down between Nikon vs. Olympus. Nikon cameras are incredible but scare the hell out of me with their bulkiness and "oh-there's-another-button-for-that" features. Plus, I didn't want to be toting around a small child on walkabouts. Olympus cameras offered "back to basics" models, with their retro style and their Micro Four Thirds lenses which compacted the camera size. Though my photography friends chanted Nikon is god, I listened to my inner child summer days of wandering aimlessly in the fields and down the back alleys and bought an Olympus E-PL1 camera (with the promise that my 5th year anniversary of "real"camera ownership, I'll bow to the Nikon peer pressure).  Of course buying the camera was just the first step. Lens filters, cleaners, cases, shoulder straps soon followed, but I felt giddy taking my first set of pictures just as I did as a kid in those lost summer days.


I'm far far faaaar from being a professional with Ollie (yep, I named him), but I've been having a great time already. I'm committing that each week (mostly weekends), I'll wander somewhere and snap up my surroundings. I'll also be taking a few classes over this summer to learn the finer points of using available light and fun with apertures. I have a few photo projects already in mind that I've started on my flickr account.


Two projects already underway:


Sign Language
No, this isn't what you think it is regarding the world silence, but rather the world of advertising. I appreciate a good ad slogan/campaign. The creativity behind the ad is often amazing or quirky to get the message across. Other signs are just: why did you waste the ink? If it turns my head or makes me smile/smirk/cringe/groan, Ollie shall capture it.


Tombstones Talk
This taps into my morbid side a bit. Although graveyards are probably the last place for most people to wander around, I find them fascinating. So much history and art laid before you. Every tombstone tells a story. For example, in my wanderings in Banff, one tombstone had 4 names inscribed with all deaths occurring in the year 1918 only months apart. Since car crashes weren't *that* common back then, one could surmise the Spanish Flu was the culprit. 


I have some other projects in my head, but unsure whether they will take flight. For one I need to review the laws of photography in public. I know the general rules regarding individuals and private property, but the line becomes fuzzy for other areas. Time shall tell. Maybe my next blog entry will be from my lawyer.


Moooooosic. As one big on Canadian music bands, I don't think I've posted anything yet from Barenaked Ladies (le gasp!). This group was one of the pivotal groups of my highschool days. Today I found myself humming to Brian Wilson on the bench. I need to go to a concert of theirs again real soon. Enjoy peeps.

A Charlie Brown Blind Date

One fateful evening whilst talking to my mom about the upcoming plans to my trip homeward for the holidays, my mother suddenly says, "I think I should warn you about this..."

My mom isn't an overly dramatic person, so when she starts a sentence like this, I'm expecting something bad, "Oh? What's up?"

"You remember Dianne?"

I think for a second and go down the very large list of people my mother knows (which is about 1/4 of my hometown), "Your house keeper?"

"No."

Thinking more, "Oh that lady whom I met this past thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Well, she REALLY likes you."

"I'm a likable person... what's up?"

"Well she has this 35 yr old UNMARRIED son that you're going to go have coffee with when you're here visiting."

(Silence for 20 some seconds...)

"You did WHAT?!!"

"I have nothing to do with this. It's Dianne, she loves you and feels that you just HAVE to meet her son."

"Because....? I mean asides the fact that we're similar aged and unattached, why would this be a match? What's his name? What does he do?"

"Uhhh, Steve? Stephen? And he may work at Safeway (a grocery mart)? I'm not sure."

".... You haven't even MET him?"

Grrrreat. I felt so betrayed. Granted it's been awhile on the dating scene. I don't mind the chance to meet someone new, especially if a common friend believes that we may hit it off. However admitting that she hasn't even MET the guy, that doesn't sit well in my book. My mom is single and should know, like every other single girl on the planet, that this scenario is a taboo.

Sensing my utter dislike of the situation my mom played the guilt card, "Well I really like Dianne as a friend and it would be impolite for you to say no."

I don't protest knowing that there's nothing that I can do to stop not one, but TWO mothers with an agenda, and hung up the phone to ponder my fate.

Of course this becomes a hot topic among my friends upon hearing the news. I debated letting people know of this blind date, but figured that it would be at the very least a funny story to relay. My thoughts first rounded the prospect that Steve works at a grocery. My fear was that he was a cart boy in which translated to "low ambitions". It's not that I'd only date professionals, but guys whom I'm interested in usually have some sort of ambition. The next is looks of course...why hasn't my mother seen this treasure of the human males? I was not expecting the Hugh Jackman or George Clooney type. But still, if his mom is pimping for him ... what does THAT say? Someone mentioned, "Well he could be absolutely RIPPED!"

"How you figure that?"

"If he is a 35 yr old cart boy, think of all the years he spent pushing long lines of carts through snowy parking lots?"

Ha ha.

So I go home and while eating the first family meal, "Oh the date is set for next Tuesday."

"I see. He'll come pick me up for dinner?"

"Well, not exactly," my mom says nervously.

Uh oh. What now?

"They are coming over with Chinese food."

"Wha? They?"

"Yeah, Dianne is coming over bringing Chinese food and you'll meet Steve then."

Ok, I lost it right there and threw a laughing fit. WTF?!

"Since when is it called a blind date with BOTH mothers are present? Aren't we going to have the pastor over that week too? Why not ask him to come Tuesday? We'll make it an arranged marriage package deal!"

This whole scenario was passing the stratosphere of being surreal.

Tuesday night arrives. Apparently Steve had some smarts and talked himself out of the dinner afterall. He would pick me up for coffee later on in the evening. The dinner with his mom was still on tho. She arrived on time with food in hand. The tension was sooooo thick, you'd could stand a spoon in the air. After some pleasantries, Dianne said to me, "I hope you don't think this is weird."

Me deciding to be just me as always, I put my arm around her and chirped back, "Dianne dear, we're waaay past the point of being weird."

Forced laughter.

Later on, while I'm serving the table, Dianne gushed, "Oh my, you're just like Cinderella."

She's flirting with me? I looked around the table seeing uncomfortable faces everywhere. Oh well, I said in full glee, "Why? Is Steve picking me up in a pumpkin?"

More forced laughter.

Not even 10 minutes into eating - ding dong. Steve made an early appearance. He entered the room as I'm mid mouthful of chow mein. My mom decided to introduce him as if she's known him for years and he looked blankly at me. I swallowed and smiled. Ok... now what? I asked him whether he'd like to join us. He said "no". There's little conversation, as if everyone was waiting for me to start the date. AWKWARD much? So I resigned to quickly finishing my food and getting my coat while Steve watched a bunch of women talk about crafts.

Just before we leave, "Oh where are you guys going?" quipped Dianne.

"Why? Would you like to join us there too?" I answered back.

At this point we were all experts on forced laughter.

We get into the car. Steve has said nothing other than "Hi" to the to dinner group. I turned to him and said, "Well, I must admit. Usually I wait til' date 8 or 12 before having dinner with the mother."

Forced laughter is a familial trait in Dianne's family.

So onto the date itself. In which was (as I predicted) anti-climatic. To my relief, Steve wasn't missing a body part or sported a clubbed foot, however no sparks flew for physical attraction on my side. Steve was just average in my sights. That's not a turn off - I'm not a model myself. He had a kind face, but no weak knees effect (again, as expected).

He took me to the nearest coffee place - a sign to me that he didn't want to go all out to impress for this epic date. We ordered our drinks and the "fun" began. I took the mostly-silent-car-ride as an indicator that I would have to be the initiator of the conversation, so I started in with the general questions. No cart boy, but cashier... for almost 18 years. I tried to put a positive spin on this: Steady job FTW? But in the back of my mind: we don't like challenging ourselves do we? 

His mom told me in that 10 minute supper that he LOVES science. Shows promise, let's move to that. He asked me about my job and was really really really interested that I used to wrangle worms for my Masters. Bacteria were dull, but worms - WOW (and I'm the opposite). His love of science really was from reading Popular Science magazine. I have read a few issues in my day. For me the mag is about hyped science gadgets and far out theoretical ideas. Kinda like reading a magazine from the 1950s that everyone in 2010 will drive flying cars. Possible, but waaaay out there. I tried to chat about the latest buzz of NASA (in)famous recent release of arsenic life. He hadn't heard of it. Back to goats being able to milk spider silk. Riiiight. 

Onto hobbies, which he had none (and didn't want to add to that fact). Oooook, I volunteered my own hobby: hockey, natch. "Oh, I hate hockey." (BUZZZER) It's not that my Person Right requires a DIE HARD passion of hockey. He doesn't have to like it. But "hate"? And no follow up about why? How long? Not an inkling of interest that he wanted to get to know my sport. So I soon asked, "Well do you like any sports?"

"I'm not a sports person."

"So I take it that you're not a Rider fan either." (see my last blog entry)

He shook his head in disgust, as if the mere idea to support the Green n' White was laughable. (BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZZZZZZZER)

I was waiting for him to ask me more about myself, my family, anything that remotely would show that he was interested in getting to know me. He was interested with how long my folks were divorced (great date question!), but I understood the inquiry as "unhealed wounds" with prior knowledge that his own folks recently divorced... 5 years ago. Nearing the end of the date, I found myself listening to him complain about the 101 ways to piss a cashier off. Even my jokes about servicing crazy customers fell flat. At the end of 112 minutes (yes, I was the counting minutes!) I was grasping for straws on topics regarding all-about-Steve. If this date showed me anything, it's reaffirming that deaf people make fantastic listeners.

Finally the shoppe was closing and Steve asked me "When are you in town next?" with the tone like he had to ask. I mentioned that the next visit I would busy due to my granny's surgery, to which he only said, "Ok." No phone number, no email, no facebook friend request. He took me back and I chalked the date as all hype and no finish. One for my books.

Five days later, my mom nods to her computer screen. An email! From Dianne! (of course):

I finally got to talk to Steve about his date with Nancy. He said that she was nice but far too "with it" for him. Please tell Nancy that I'm so sorry for putting her through this ordeal. She's such a nice, funny, smart, good looking girl. Steve is just stuck in his ways and won't see the forrest for its trees.

A nice rejection letter - FROM HIS MOM. 

One for my books indeed.

Edit: One of the BEST comments prior to the fateful night was: So he's your blind date and you are his deaf one? LAWL! Thanks Tiki!