The (a?)Musings of Janine

Blast Off, Baby Luke!

2012-01-29T18:09:00.001-07:00

At the risk of having you all think that this has turned into an exclusively crafty blog, I want to post one more project that I worked on over the Christmas holidays. Last summer when Benjamin and I went to Spokane, I absolutely had to go to Jo-Ann's. I found all sorts of great fabric on sale and brought it home, even though I had no sewing machine and had no idea what I would do with the fabric. Once I got my sewing machine in October, though, I decided it was time to put the fabric to good use and started making a baby quilt with some adorable fat quarter bundles I got that had a little spaceman theme. Check out the patterns, aren't they awesome?

I especially love the one with the alien googly eyes and the little boy in the flying saucer with the three-eyed alien.

While I was working on this quilt, I had a phone conversation with my sister Katey, who is expecting. She already has three boys and although she and my brother-in-law insist quite truthfully that they would be ecstatic no matter what the gender of their next baby was, I kind of knew they both thought a little girl would be nice. I told her that if their fourth did turn out to be a boy, then at least they could count on getting an awesome spaceman quilt for him.

Katey found out that they are having a boy (with a delivery date coming up pretty quick, I'm really excited!) and I promised her the quilt. What was even more perfect is that they are naming their baby Luke. And his parents are big Star Wars fans (maybe Jason more than Katey, but I know at least that Katey likes Star Wars). They are very keen to point out that their baby will not be named after a certain main character from the movies, but I think it's appropriate that Luke have a space blankie.

They were going to be in town over Christmas, so I had to stop procrastinating and put the top together with the batting and backing and quilt it and bind it before they came. This is my first binding ever (the only other quilt I've finished was a simple turned inside out edge) and I have to say I really enjoyed it. It didn't take nearly as long as I though it would (probably more because of its size than anything else) and it turned out really nice. The backing and the border is a really nice soft flannelette that is so snuggly, I almost wanted to keep the quilt for myself. I hope baby Luke likes it!

Christmas Stockings

2011-12-23T12:04:00.001-07:00

Ever since I bought my sewing machine a few months ago, I've been dying to have a sewing day with my sister, Emily. She was the one who told me how great the BabyLock machines were and I totally covet her giant sewing room with built-in shelves for fabric and a cute little orange desk for her machine. Once I found out that I had a few extra vacation days from work, I figured that the best way to use one of them would be to go down to Emily's house and sew. I ordered fabric online to start some quilts and was super excited. However, by early this week, the fabric hadn't arrived yet and I had to decide on another project. Emily was planning to make a Christmas stocking for her youngest boy, so I figured that a stocking for Benjamin was in order.

Mum made this gorgeous stocking for me when I was a little girl and I love it. I love that it's Christmassy without being too childlike. I love that it's kind of sophisticated, but still fun. Even tough Benjamin says that it's too small, I think it's just the perfect size. I decided that I would make a similar one for Benjamin for out first Christmas as a family.

I found some perfect red velvet at Fabricland and also got some perfect gold rickrack and white edging with tiny pompoms. Emily refreshed my memory on chainstiching and french knots and by the end of the afternoon, I had his stocking finished. (Although halfway through embroidering his name on the top, I wondered why I had to marry someone with such a very long name.)

I've hung our stockings on the wall for now, since we don't have a fireplace or any kind of mantle-like place in our little apartment, but it'll do for this year.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas Candies

2011-12-13T20:13:00.002-07:00

(mine will not be wrapped in anything near such a picturesque manner)

Since this was my first Christmas with a family of my own (yes, I view Benjamin and myself as a family, not just a couple) I decided I should make some Christmas goodies. I've been collecting Martha Stewart Holiday Special Editions for several years, and there was a recipe in one of them for gingerbread caramels that I had been dying to try. Never mind that I've never made candy before and had no idea what soft ball stage was supposed to look like. All you need is a recipe and a candy thermometer, right? Right?

Turns out that although those will suffice, I'm sure, it helps to have someone around with a modicum more candy-making knowledge than oneself. When it turned out that my largest pot was too small for Martha's giant recipe (as the boiling sugar, butter and cream threatened to bubble over onto the stovetop), Benjamin was the one who warned me that taking it off the heat would only cause the sugar to "crystallize wrong" - whatever that means.

Despite having to move half of the boiling batch into another pot to prevent a sticky mess and only having one incorrect candy thermometer for two pots of caramel, the candies seemed to turn out ok. As long as you don't try to unwrap them when they're not freshly chilled in the fridge. Oh well, they taste good, and that's all that matters, right? Ok, maybe most of what matters.

No More Lonely Commutes

2011-12-04T20:12:00.001-07:00

It's a little late, but I have some great news to share - Benjamin got a new job! He started as a Materials Specialist at Fluor Canada two weeks ago and is definitely loving it.

Benjamin graduated with his Commerce degree back in April and started looking for work. We were incredibly blessed that I have such great work and that he had something waiting to keep him busy (his part-time employers at Rona were virtually ecstatic to have him work full-time hours while he looked for career employment) but we hoped that a job would come along quickly. Benjamin is a super hard worker and I personally believe any company would be lucky to have him (although I will admit to being a little biased).

Benjamin sent out resume after resume and contacted everyone he knew that might have a position open for him. No luck. So he visited the career centre at the university, sent out newly-updated-resume after newly-updated-resume and contacted everyone who was an acquaintance of an acquaintance that might have a position open for him. By this time, full-time work at Rona was starting to get really old. We were getting more than a little tired of the job search and were praying that an opportunity would come along soon, but still nothing. Benjamin had had only two calls back and two accompanying interviews after 6 months or more.

One Friday, Benjamin called me at lunch to say that he had heard from two companies. One of the previously mentioned interviews wanted him to go to a second interview, and the other wanted to set up a first interview. We were so excited, then when he picked me up from the train station that afternoon, he told me that he had just gotten off the phone with a third company that wanted to interview him. "When it rains, it's a monsoon." he wryly noted.

When he interviewed with Fluor, he was told it would take about 3-4 weeks for them to get back to him. Imagine our surprise when he received a phone call less than 24 hours after the interview ended, telling him that a job offer would be forthcoming. It was such a blessing to have this job come up - it's a perfect opportunity for him, doing exactly what he wants to do and learning from a great mentor. It even worked out that he'll be working from downtown instead of driving a 45-minute commute to their main south office. I know that our prayers were answered.

My favourite thing about this new job is having Benjamin coming downtown with me. It's so fun to have a buddy on the bus and meet up with him sometimes during our lunch breaks. Mostly, though, it's great to see how happy he is and how much he loves his new job.

Thoughts on the Flu

2011-10-23T15:18:00.000-06:00

This week the flu bug struck at our house. Now when most people say that, there follows a story about kids and husband getting sick and then mum getting sick while caring for all of them. I am thankful every day that I fell in love with a man with the constitution of an ox. Seriously. A few months ago, he was feeling tired and a little listless in the evening. I asked what he wanted to eat and he told me he had no appetite. Coming from a man who usually eats three helpings at dinner and then sometimes still has to make himself a pot of oatmeal to stave off "The Hunger" at 8 pm, I was worried. "I must be getting sick." he told me. In my frame of reference, getting sick means feeling like garbage for several days, trying and sometimes not succeeding to get into work, sleeping and dosing myself with copious amounts of vitamin C. Needless to say, Benjamin woke up the next morning raring to go and feeling perfectly fine. "That's about as sick as I ever get." he told me.

As someone with the immune system of a flea (please don't ruin this analogy by telling me that fleas are remarkably hardy or something) I was a tad jealous. Let's just say that I get sick more than a previous roommate of mine, and she was a preschool teacher. If something is going around, I'd better batten down the hatches, because I'll probably have it within 48 hours.

This week, I came down with the flu all of a sudden on Wednesday morning. Thank goodness for a company that lets me log in and work from home, otherwise my entire floor probably would have my bug by now - except for the guy who sits a few cubicles away, who I suspect was the one who gave it to me (shaking my fist in his general direction). After one day of complete misery, one day of alternating napping and working on Information Documents from my laptop, I returned to work Friday. I was well enough for work and for a ton of errands Saturday, until we went to chaperone the youth dance. After several futile attempts to convince girls that leggings are actually not pants and having to explain to two very angry mothers why their daughters were not allowed in the dance in their current attire, my voice was completely gone. So far today I have been speaking almost entirely in whispers, and not by choice.

Next time I start to feel better, can someone remind me of my current predicament and convince me not to extend the flu for several days by attending a youth dance? Much appreciated. Now, off to take some more vitamin C. Daddy will be so proud.

My New Favourite Toy

2011-10-15T22:06:00.003-06:00

I grew up with a sewing machine in the house. My mum was a handy lady who sewed her own curtains and lots of our clothes. Once I was old enough, I was also sent over to my Grannie's to learn to quilt. I've loved making little projects here and there, being able to mend things, and I especially loved sewing a few details for our wedding last February (that's right - Ben's tie and my jacket were just a few things that I whipped up during my two jobless months leading up to the wedding). Of course, any sewing I wanted to do necessitated a trip to my sister's house on the other side of the city or my mum's house, provided she had the church sewing machine signed out form the library. As fun as it was to squeeze projects into a day at someone else's house, I really wanted a sewing machine of my own. This desire was magnified after a trip to Spokane where I visited Jo-Ann's, which I have decided is pretty much the best fabric store ever.

I started to look online for sewing machines and because I didn't want to spend much, I was looking at Brother machines from Project Runway, which seemed to be a pretty good deal. The only problem was the shipping. My Mum and sister suggested that I go to Sewing World on Crowchild Trail to see what they had available. I promised Benjamin that I'd just look around, see what they had, then I'd come home and read reviews and compare prices online.

Imagine my excitement when they had a Baby Lock machine with even more features than the Brother I had been looking at online, on sale for about the same price I would have paid for the Brother with shipping. Not only that, but the Baby Lock is a way better quality machine (according to the friendly saleslady).

After a thirty-second call to Benjamin to let him know that I was coming home with a machine that very day, I was headed home with my brand new Baby Lock.

Thank goodness for supportive husbands.

On the Road Again...

2011-09-05T09:05:00.008-06:00

Benjamin and I decided to take a our first real holiday together over the July long weekend. We had originally planned to go to a family reunion of his in Seattle area, but when it was cancelled, we ended up keeping our plans for a Washington state holiday anyways.

We left Wednesday night and drove to Fernie, BC. We drove through several large rainstorms on the way, so we were not hopeful that our campsite would be dry or that we would be able to light a fire. When we arrived, the last rainstorm had been through almost an hour before and the sky was clear, so we had a lovely evening around the campfire (once Benjamin got it going with the slightly damp wood we had picked up – about an hour's effort).

The next morning, we drove to Spokane. I had offered to drive the first leg of this portion of the trip, since Benjamin had driven the entire way from Calgary to Fernie. This meant that Benjamin was in charge of getting the directions from my iPhone. After entering in the address of my cousin in Spokane, he directed me onto a highway heading south and we were on our way. It wasn't until we were crossing the border at Eureka, Montana that I realized that we hadn't gone through Yahk, BC, which my original trip research had indicated was the fastest way to Spokane. Turns out that the iPhone had confused Upriver Drive, Spokane with Riverside Drive in Eureka, Montana. We ended up taking quite the detour south through rural Montana to make it over to Bonner's Ferry and back to the main highways to Spokane, but it was a beautiful drive! We drove right along Lake Koocanusa for over 100 km and passed the huge Libby hydroelectric dam.

Spokane was great. It was so fun to see my cousin Karen and her family, Doug and Charles, again. Little Charles was adorable. We ate delicious food and had a fun Canada Day picnic in a park by the river. We also were very lucky and got to see my other cousin, Monica, and her husband, David (whom we had never met before).

Since the highway from Spokane to Seattle is fairly well-travelled and well-marked, we avoided a scenic detour on that leg of the trip other than to stop at the Petrified Gingko Forest site in Washington. It was so amazing! A really small little National Parks site where they've found some of the only petrified gingko trees in North America. I love stopping at random roadside attractions.

We spent the 4th of July in Lynnwood with Benjamin's cousin. I enjoyed visiting the temple in Seattle, one I've never been to, and it was great to meet so much of Benjamin's family.

Throughout our entire drive through Montana, Idaho, and Washington, I had noticed stands set up in parking lots everywhere selling fireworks. I love fireworks. I love watching them and have always wanted to be able to buy my own and set them off. We made a stop in a parking lot in Lynnwood and bought a ton of sparklers, Roman candles, and spinning ground flowers. Lighting them on Independence Day was one of the highlights of the trip. We attended a 4th of July party in a neighbourhood where everyone seemed to be competing over who could put on the best fireworks show. Everywhere I looked, there were fireworks, and they started at 8 pm and went almost constantly until 11.

After staying up late watching the fireworks, we had to get on the road before 7 the next morning to get home in time – a 12-hour drive. It was incredible to go for such a fun trip together and squeeze so much into 6 days, but we were glad to get home again. I almost wished I had left a day afterwards to recover from our vacation!

Graduation!

2011-06-15T20:37:00.003-06:00

In my last semester of school, I decided that I wanted to take an accounting course. Of course, I couldn't take it at the U of C, so I had to do a correspondence course from Athabasca University. I finished it and applied to graduate with my economics degree.

Benjammin was also set to graduate this April and was really excited to go to his convocation, so I booked a day off work to come. I decided that it wasn't worth taking two days off work for convocation, so I figured I'd have my diploma mailed to me.

Last week, I was in a team meeting and once we had gone over our various projects, my boss reviewed the upcoming time off, reminding the team that I was going to be off the following day for my convocation (somehow he had thought that I meant I was taking the day off for my own graduation ceremony). I piped up to tell him it was actually Benjamin's convocation and decided to add a funny story - I got an email about one week before convocation, telling me that I was one credit short of graduation and would not be able to receive my degree the following week. Really, University of Calgary? You tell me this one week before I had planned to receive my degree? Couldn't have pointed this out to me a month ago or something so I could remedy the situation? I mean, I did apply to graduate back in November.

After telling this story, my coworker Joe said in pseudo-disbelief, "WHAT? You didn't graduate? You don't have a degree?" Ha-ha, Joe. This was followed by my boss raising his eyes to heaven and wondering aloud, "What else in the interview was a lie? Oh great!"

I then spent the rest of the day being teased about being a college dropout.

Benjamin, however, graduated and received his Bachelor of Commerce degree on Friday. It was

great to see him in his gown and walk across the stage, even if the rest of the three-hour convocation was kind of boring. Congratulations, Benjamin! I'll catch up to you when they award the degrees in November. Although I think sitting through one covocation per year is probably enough.

Songs in My Head

2011-06-06T19:57:00.002-06:00

Sometimes I feel like my mind is like an iPod on shuffle. Today I had 8 separate songs in my head, most of them for no discernible reason – I didn't hear any of them or even listen to any music at all today.

I woke up to "Just Haven't Met You Yet" by Michael Buble. I don't wake up to a clock radio, otherwise I might have had some reason to have a song in my head very first thing. An hour into work, I suddenly was singing Backstreet Boys to myself – nothing that I do at work should remind me off "Backstreet's Back". As I microwaved my lunch, I tapped my toes to the background music of a Chevy commercial that always plays when Benjamin watches the hockey game on cbc.ca. As I settled back in after lunch, into my head popped "Zero to Hero" from Disney's Hercules. You start to see the randomness of the iPod in my head?

Oddly enough, within 15 minutes of my Disney singalong, I was listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir singing their hearts out to "I Believe in Christ" which actually did make sense. We didn't sing it in church yesterday, but we did sing the song right next to it in the hymnbook. Next came "YMCA", as I checked the online schedule at the Y. It was at this point I decided to start making a list of all the songs I'd had in my head that day, which prompted the DJ inside to switch tracks to Greg Hanna's "Song in My Head". Go figure.

After getting home, I was soon back to singing Disney tunes with "I'll Make a Man Out of You" from Mulan while I made dinner. However, soon, and completely without reason, I whistled the Beatles' "Come Together" (not even a Beatles song that I actually like that much!) while doing the dishes.

I'm torn between being curious about what's coming next and turning on some real music to stop the madness.

The Lights of Las Vegas

2011-05-25T21:17:00.002-06:00

My office is right across the hall from our floor's large conference room. Unfortunately, this conference room has only sliding glass doors that do nothing to block sound. I've been privy to the details of quite a few meetings, especially those meetings on which the door is not fully closed. Let's just say I've gotten used to pulling my headphones out when a particularly loud group takes over conference room 2923.

Sometimes, though, I get to hear little gems of conversation during my inadvertent eavesdropping. Like today: A group or market forecasters was in a meeting. While they waited for all the attendees to arrive, one was asked about his recent vacation. "I was in Vegas" he replied. Many others chipped in with their anecdotes about Sin City, one commenting on how bright it is to walk down the strip. Suddenly, one of the mused, "I wonder what the total electric load for Vegas is?" Another pulled out the relevant statistic. A third chimed in that each hotel on the strip averages approximately 8 MW. Suddenly, stories about wild vacations in Vegas had turned into dorky shop talk.

I work with a bunch of nerds – and it feels like home.

Reading List

2011-05-21T09:38:00.009-06:00

My new job requires a 30-minute bus ride every morning and every evening. During my first few weeks of work, I usually spent at least the bus ride home getting carsick, as I have done on buses for years. However, after consistently riding almost every day and learning at which stop I was most likely to get a seat at the front, I've been able to get to the point where I can read on the bus. This is great, because for the last several years, I've been so busy with school that my reading has dropped off a little (although not enough to stop me from devouring Stephanie Meyer's Host in the 24 hours before my Economics of Taxation final – don't worry, I still passed).

The past two months, I've read over 14 books (not quite back up to my high school level yet)

from such a scattered assortment of genres, the list looks like it was created by a butterfly with ADD. It's just reinforced what I told people years ago in high school: if it's got pages between two covers, I'll probably read it. Here's some of my favourites for those of you who are looking for a good summer read:

The Host, by Stephanie Meyer

The Host tells the story of the world after an alien invasion. These aliens are a completely peaceful race and have implanted themselves in our brains to prevent violence, war, and anything else nasty. The main character, Wanderer, has arrived on earth after the aliens' dominance is mostly complete, but is implanted in the brain of on of the last human survivors, a girl named Melanie. Melanie is strong-willed enough that she remains present even after the insertion and Wanderer begins to feel some sympathy for the human race and the remaining survivors. They go off on an epic adventure to find the rest of Melanie's family, who are still on the run. Yes, I know it's the same woman who wrote Twilight. I know that amongst my acquaintance, Twilight has gotten extremely mixed reviews. Let's just say that I do enjoy Twilight, but I'm under no impression that it's a work of fine literature. The Host, on the other hand, is much better written than Twilight. The drama that pervaded Twilight is still there, but feels less hokey and more believable. Even though I was reading it for the second time, I couldn't put it down.

Frederica, by Georgette Heyer

My sister Jaima got me into Georgette Heyer books after I got home from my mission, and I've been reading them whenever I can find them from the library since. Heyer started writing in the 1920s and most of her books take place in the Regency era, the same time as all the Jane Austen books. Frederica is my favourite so far. It tells the story of a girl in her mid-twenties, Frederica, who is left in charge of her family when her father dies. Determined that her younger sister will not waste her beauty on their insignificant country circle, she takes her siblings to London to attempt an advantageous marriage for her sister, who although beautiful, is rather stupid. She prevails upon their distant relative, the wealthy Marquis of Alverstroke, to sponsor them in society, which he does, mostly to spite his other scheming relatives. Adventure piles on adventure as the Marquis finds himself increasingly involved in the exploits of all members of the young family as they caper through Regency area London. As with all Georgette Heyer stories, the wit is plentiful, the characters sparkling, and happy endings abound for all.

The Firm, by John Grisham

I first read The Firm is high school, and for the following few months, took out every Grisham novel I could find at the library. Grisham has the ability to keep his readers glued to the page, throwing twists and turns and describing everything in compelling detail. The Firm is one of his earlier novels, from 1991, and has all the appeal of his very early stories without the dated feel that I've gotten occasionally from some of the very first. It tells the story of Mitch McDeere, a young Harvard Law graduate who gets an incredible job offer from a small sized firm in Memphis. They offer to pay off his student loan, arrange a mortgage, lease him a car, and pay him much more than any other offer he's received. It's only after a few months there that Mitch realizes that the offer too good to be true came from a firm that is really not what it appears to be, when he is approached by the FBI to assist them in an investigation of the firm and its number-one client. Caught in the crossfire and blackmailed from both sides, Mitch has to keep on step ahead of spies, goons, federal investigators, and lawyers to do the right thing and save his family.

Happy reading, and if you have any suggestions for my next book, let me know!

I love my job, I promise!

2011-04-22T19:31:00.002-06:00

I should probably clarify from my earlier post... I've had a few people ask me about my job with looks of sympathy, apparently under the impression that I trudge off to work every day with a heavy heart and tearful eyes. I actually really love my job. Sure, I have the odd day every now and then when I'm bored, and getting used to a new schedule always has its blips. But in case you interpreted my earlier post to mean that I was dissatisfied with my job and life in general, I promise that I'm happy. Especially with my job.

We actually had an offsite meeting on Wednesday this week, where our department booked meeting rooms and a gym at the Talisman Centre. We got fed a custom-ordered lunch from Jugo Juice, had two hours of presentations from our VP and directors, and then we were let loose to play basketball or badminton. They had even booked a yoga studio and hired a yoga teacher for those who weren't into getting body-checked under the hoop by their supervisors.

I was invited to join our group's basketball team, the Market Operations Hawks. Or, as we liked to call ourselves, the MOHawks. Despite an ill-fated attempt by the Market Design Dream Team, or M-DDT (apparently the only thing they could think of that would kill hawks was DDT – I know, how nerdy can you get?) the MOHawks were triumphant in the end, thanks to our lovely cheerleader, a co-worker who grew up in Ireland and didn't even know the rules of basketball, having never played sports at her convent school.

There are so many reason why I love my job.

The Racy Chart

2011-04-14T21:10:00.002-06:00

At work, a few members of my team are working on a system that outlines our project planning process. It outlines the different required tasks along the way and tells you who is responsible and accountable for each task, and who should be consulted and informed each step of the way. What can I say, I work for a large company with a very complicated approval process, but we do it to keep YOUR lights on.

On one of my first days, we had a team meeting where everyone gave updates on their projects. I was still adjusting to my new work schedule and, as usual, was drifting off in a meeting. Suddenly, I started awake when I heard a co-worker say, "... and the racy chart is coming along fairly well."

First, I should clarify that I work in an environment of very lovely, but fairly average people. Most are somewhat middle-aged with families and we don't work in the sexiest industry. Most of my days consist of separating authoritative and informational content in procedural documents that outline the Alberta transmission line system or trying to determine a satisfactory definition of the term "acceptable operational reason". Not the most glamorous job in the world, but I like it.

Now imagine my surprise when my colleagues start talking about some racy chart. I started wondering what I had gotten myself into.

Fast-forward through about three minutes of bewilderment. Apparently we have a RACI chart (Responsible, Accountable, Consulted, and Informed individuals), not a racy chart.

At first a relief, in retrospect, maybe a bit of a letdown. It would have really spiced up my workday.

How do you know when you've arrived?

2011-03-22T20:01:00.000-06:00

I've always thought that the epitome of being a responsible adult was having a security pass to a building that was attached to the waistband of your pants via a yo-yo cord, a health and dental plan, and my very own workspace. My sister Elena has always thought it meant having real business cards that you can hand discreetly to people, like they do on TV. I guess that although I've had some jobs that definitely had their perks (like the practically free clothes when I worked at The Gap and getting paid to take kids to the library as a nanny) and others that met some of my grown-up requirements (being a receptionist for Dad meant my own desk, while my internship last summer gave me a snazzy key card complete with yo-yo cord), I never had the full package, until now.

In late January, I got a call from my previous boss from last summer. I was hoping to hear great news about them having a full-time position available for me, but unfortunately that didn't pan out. However, she did have good news. Through some industry networking, she had passed on my information to the Market Services Division at the Alberta Electric System Operator (AESO), and from what she had told them about my summer internship with her, they were interested.

Over the past few months, I've had lots of opportunities like this come up. It seems like all over the place, people have leads for me on the job front. I've even had an interview come from them. But until recently, none of them came to fruition. I went to two interviews at the AESO and from what I heard about the position, it seemed like my dream job. I tried to stop myself from getting too excited about it, but it was in vain. I remembered my previous disappointments and prayed that this one, finally, would work out. Not only would it allow me to support Benjamin through school and pay off my student loans, it was a great job in the industry I loved. I got the call from HR at the AESO just a week before my wedding and started as soon as I got home from my honeymoon.

It's been an interesting challenge to catch up and try to learn everything that I need to know to function in this position, and I've gotten frustrated once or twice as I struggle to understand what exactly VArs standards are. Whenever I need a little pick-me-up, I look down at my security pass and for some reason it's so exciting to think that I'm a grown-up now! Friday morning I was having a particularly boring morning as I ploughed through technical and regulatory documents, trying to get some context for the work I'm going to be responsible for, and even my key card couldn't stop me from feeling like I was going crazy. Just then, I got an email from reception, telling me that my business cards had arrived. I went down right away to pick them up, and as I looked them over, I thought to myself, "That's right, you're Janine, Market Rules and Policy Analyst. Not just a student anymore!" And I knew I had arrived.

Get me to the Temple on time...

2011-03-10T20:25:00.005-07:00

Elena and I had a fun time singing that song from My Fair Lady in the car on the way down to Cardston. I had always looked forward to my wedding (I've got a box of wedding magazines that I've been collecting since I was maybe 13, that has now been passed on to Elena) and it was everything I could have wanted. The best part about it was of course my wonderful husband, Benjamin, and our temple sealing, but so many other parts of the day were incredibly special. Like taking pictures with all my sisters and making sure we caught Peter and I doing oursignature kung fu pose. Like coming out of the temple and seeing my best friend Aurora. Like trying to round up all the ibbi (most of whom were either waaay too tired or else sick) for a few shots. Like walking into the chapel in Leavitt and seeing how gorgeous all those paper lanterns looked, and watching Ben's cousins attack the candy bar. Like dancing with my prince to the Sleeping Beauty waltz and then groovign with Daddy to Frank Sinatra's Swingin' on a Star, and seeing tons of other parent-child duos join in (I especially loved seeing Karen andbaby Charles on the dance floor!) I am so happy to be married to my lovey, Benjamin.

Even though these photos aren't from the wedding day, they're still lovely. Enjoy!

Battle of the BBC Series

2011-02-03T14:21:00.003-07:00

I have been, for a very long time, a fan of BBC movies, especially those based on pre-1950s literature (I would say pre-1900 literature, but that would exclude Horatio Hornblower and early Agatha Christie, which will never do). I've seen the 5-hour version of Pride and Prejudice numerous times (and it IS five hours and not six, as everyone claims—there are six episodes of 50 minutes each), watched both old and new adaptations of Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, and my favourite, Persuasion. I had also eventually branched away from Jane Austen into the Brontë sisters, C. S. Forrester, and Elizabeth Gaskell. I loved them all, with the exception of a few of the later Horation Hornblower episodes. I will be the first to admit that I mostly enjoy the movies. The novels that I've read from the above list have tended to be somewhat dull and I can never get quite as invested in a book that leaves so much to the imagination.

Somehow, though, I had never discovered Charles Dickens. Well, I had seen Oliver! the musical and countless stage performances of A Christmas Carol, and even read a graphic novel of Great Expectations, but my exposure to Dickens was very lacking.

Last week, Elena took Little Dorrit out of the library. I had never even heard of it before, and suddenly there it was; over 450 minutes of miniseries there for the watching, most of it featuring Matthew McFadyen, which is never a bad thing. It was while watching this that I realized why Dickens has his very own adjective. The characters, settings, and plots were so very Dickensian that there was literally no other word to describe them. Every scene at the Circumlocution Office was brimming with satire and scathing judgement on the British civil service. Characters like Flintwinch skulked through narrow, crooked halls in a manner that can only be described as Dickensian, while Andy Serkis played a masterfully creepy Rigaud. In some movies, the side characters are so interesting that one loses sight of the main plot, but with incredible performances in the lead roles of Amy Dorrit and Arthur Clennam, I was riveted almost the entire 7 hours (minus a bit of a slow part in Italy towards the end of the movie). I would recommend Little Dorrit to anyone with either a weekend to kill, a series of boring evenings, or a love of BBC miniseries. I promise that once you start remembering who all the characters are, it gets really good.

The worst thing is, on every BBC production, there are previews for even more tantalizing movies. I've added several to my list, including The Way We Live Now, Bleak House, and Lorna Doone. At this rate, I don't think I'll ever be able to watch them all—every time I discover a new one, there's three more waiting.

Bless you, BBC, for your prolific miniseries making.

The Ultimate Daddy-Daughter Date

2011-01-27T00:36:00.004-07:00

My saintly father has six children, the first five of which are girls. For many years he has lived in a female-centric home and has had his own special way of bonding with each of us. For me, I used to love it when both he and I would be excused from cleaning the kitchen after supper to do some sort of fix-it job around the house. Fixing the broken washing machine? Sounds like a job for Super-Dad with his trusty assistant, Little Neen. The highlight of my Saturdays as a little girl was getting to go on errands with Daddy to the now-defunct Beaver Lumber that used to be in the parking lot of Market Mall to pick up nails and screws. I remember being in kindergarten and walking over to my Daddy's office at the Market Mall Professional building a few blocks away from our house to take him his lunch—what's even more surprising was that I seem to remember doing it once or twice on my own . . . either Mum really trusted the traffic on 40th avenue or my memory isn't what it should be.

The best, though, were Daddy-daughter dates. These were the special occasions when Daddy and one of his daughters would have a special outing, just the two of them. This outing might consist of ice cream at Lic's, a canoe ride at Bowness Park, or once when I was really lucky, dinner and a movie. It was always fun to have special time with Daddy.

The few days when Mum and Daddy picked me up from Finland felt like a long Daddy-daughter date, as Mum's health at the time kept her resting in the hotel a fair portion of most days. Daddy and I went for a run down Neitsytpolku to the ocean, went grocery shopping in Espoo for all the Finnish delights I wanted to bring home, and visited a street market in Leppävaara. We explored the tunnels of the old fortress at Suomenlinna and met some of my friends for strawberries at the harbour market. I loved sharing a part of my mission with my Dad—he truly understood how much that place meant to me and how hard it was to leave.

Last weekend, however, was the best Daddy-daughter date of them all. Daddy had lift tickets for the resort at Revelstoke, home to some of the best powder in existence. Originally, the plan was for him, Peter, and me to go, but when Peter bailed at the last minute, the trip became a Daddy-daughter date—the last one before I get married in three weeks.

Over those two days of skiing, we discovered powder up to our knees on almost every run. It was like skiing in a marshmallow. The whole time, we kept shouting to each other that the snow was unbelievable, that this was paradise. We found heavenly little chutes filled with powder and trees spaced just right. When I found myself on a section that seemed to steep for me, Dad coached me through the turn. Even when we got separated on our last run of the day and both lost skis on a 50 degree incline and were lost for over 25 minutes, we had the most incredible time. Well, I was worried to death that he had fallen headfirst into a tree well and he had the ski patrol searching for me, but that's another story—it was all part of the adventure that made this weekend the best Daddy-daughter date ever.

But the one thing that made this ski weekend the best ever wasn't the snow or the perfect hill. It was being there with my Daddy, one last time for us to have an adventure with him while I'm still all his, still his little girl.

graduation

2010-12-21T19:47:00.003-07:00

Last Thursday I wrote my last final exam at the University of Calgary. Given my long relationship with said institution, this really is a landmark occasion.

I started at the U of C in fall 2004, as a young, naive engineering student. I was planning to major in civil engineering and use it as my pre-architecture undergraduate degree. That lasted about two weeks, until I realized that I HATED engineering. I was able to transfer into the Faculty of Science, where I was technically a math major but actually a general studies student searching for a new purpose as I took general interest courses for a year. After a brief detour to attempt the Bachelor of Commerce at the Haskayne School of Business, I settled in to a cosy new department, the department of Economics in the Faculty of Social Science. It finally felt like home. I've loved my economics classes and my economics professors all the way through. I've micromanaged my schedule to accommodate classes with my favourite professors, like the amazing Dr. W who taught me Intermediate Microeconomics Level 1, Canadian Public Finance, and Economics of Taxation. I took two classes in a row from the incredible Dr. H, who not only taught me the fascinating intricacies of Industrial Organization and Regulatory Economics, but helped me discover my ideal career path in electrical regulation and find a great summer internship.

I'm really going to miss finding random, out-of-the-way places to study. I still remember the time when I hiked all the way to the top of the 14-story Social Science building for some exercise and then decided that the secret landing at the top, with a door leading to some sort of storage room, was a great place to sit and read Sallust's The Jugurthan War. While taking a summer course, I discovered that if I left for school at the same time as Daddy left for work, we could bike together and I'd have an extra hour before classes to study. I found an unlocked door to the roof of Craigie Hall, where I wiled away that early morning time in the sunshine. The amount of time that I've spent in the study carrels in the library tower is just despicable, but I did discover that the third floor and seventh floor are typically the least crowded.

On the days when I forgot my lunch or was running late, I'd run over to the Institute for a cheap lunch. The frozen burritos, pizza pops, and canned soup were a huge boon to a poor, hungry student. While there, I would do the crossword puzzle or the sudoku from the paper—although, once Jane my crossword buddy was gone, it wasn't quite the same.

There's a lot of memories for me on that campus, and I'll be sad to go. But I'm excited for new things and to discover a whole new world of the workplace, where I will undoubtedly be able to fill my life again with little quirks.

Victory!

2010-12-09T23:22:00.002-07:00

My paper is finished! After months of procrastination, I finally got started on it about 2 1/2 weeks ago and have spent time on it a hour here, an hour there. At times I was so excited and motivated about the topic that the paper practically wrote itself. At other times, I would sit staring at my computer screen for half an hour, type four words or so, delete a sentence, then take a break on facebook before repeating the cycle over again. The wonderful thing, though, it that it's done a day early and I can spend tomorrow preparing for my job interview and getting started on my studying for Monday's exam. Only 7 days left!

Engagement Photos

2010-12-06T08:14:00.003-07:00

In the middle of all the craziness, Benjamin and I knew we had to get our engagement photos sometime before we sent out our wedding invitations, which we want to get out before Christmas. However, you read the last post—you know how much other stuff I have to get done. Now to understand how busy Benjamin and I are, take the stuff I have to get done, multiply that by 3, and you'll get the basic picture. The added complication is that Benjamin has about five group projects that need to be done this week, so his schedule is not only filled with completing the work, but coordinating his schedule with seventeen other people to plan the projects.

By last week, between our busy schedules and the likewise busy schedule of our photographer, we had already rescheduled twice. We had finally decided on 2 pm this past Saturday when I realized, "Wait a minute! I have a piano recital for my eleven students and their families at the other end of town at 4 pm... how is this going to work?" Our photographer couldn't go any earlier, and I was worried about getting to the church in time to set up. My amazing fiance was able to take some time out of his afternoon to help me get everything ready for the recital, and so we squeezed pictures in at 2 o'clock anyways. They turned out great!

If you have some time and want to see more, they're at http://hopephotography.com/redd/index.html — But be warned, there's over 200 and it might take a while.

Almost There...

2010-12-03T15:54:00.002-07:00

Exactly 13 days from right now I will be finished at the U of C. Finished my undergrad. It seems so close... and yet so far. It seems so far because it's only 13 days, but in those 13 days I still have to accomplish:

One Christmas piano recital for 11 children under the age of 13
One personal finance exam on mortgages and personal loans
One finance assignment on risk management and insurance
One 15-20 page research paper on the roles of economics and policy in determining optimal wind penetration levels
One job interview
One energy economics final exam
One final exam on applications of Excel to economic data management
One essay on the evolving Senatorial attitude towards imperial successions in 1st century Rome

and one day of work as a dental receptionist.

But if I can only hang in there for 13 more days, I'll be free!

Engaged!

2010-11-06T12:11:00.002-06:00

If you haven't heard yet, I guess now the news is out. Benjamin and I are engaged and we're getting married in February! People have been bugging me for the whole story, so here goes.

Benjamin and I met in our singles ward last summer (August 2009) when I had just received a new calling as a Gospel Essentials teacher. He was the Sunday School teacher and had been told to give me a copy of the manual our stake uses. The way he tells it, he asked a friend of mine, Luke, who I was, and Luke said he would point me out. I'm really glad that Luke didn't just take the manual and pass it on to me. Luke pointed me out to Benjamin at the beginning of a Sunday School class, and Benjamin came over to give me the manual just as class was starting, so he took the seat beside me.

I remember him commenting at some point in the lesson something about learning Russian on his mission, so after the lesson was over, I asked him where he had served. He replied that he was in the Donetsk Ukraine Mission, a mission where several of my friends had gone (it's interesting to note here that I asked about an old boyfriend of mine who had served there—turns out that the old boyfriend was Benjamin's trainer). We talked about our respective missions and the difficult languages we had to learn and seemed to have a pretty good connection.

The quality of the connection was confirmed when he called me a little while later and asked if I would go to see "The Importance of Being Earnest" with him at the Pumphouse Theatre the following weekend. We had fun, but the way things were in both our lives that semester, we didn't go on another date for quite some time. I thought of asking him to Preference, but he got asked by another girl and we even ended up being part of the same group date.

During this period of time, we sat together at church most of the time. He liked to sing the hymns in Russian, and I love to bring my Finnish hymnbook to church, so it seemed to make sense that we would sit together and not distract everyone else with our foreign language hymns. I found out later that a lot of people in the ward thought we were dating then—nothing like a singles ward for gossip! I also remember the wife of our bishop repeatedly telling me that I should date him, to which my response was usually, "Maybe. He seems like a nice guy, but I'm not sure how interested I am."

By the time Christmas break rolled around, I was thinking that it would be nice to go on another date with Benjamin, who had turned out to be a good friend. I knew he was planning on a semester abroad in Hong Kong after Christmas, and I would be taking a trip to China and Thailand with my family over the holiday, so when my mum suggested that I propose an evening of Chinese food and comparing trip plans, I decided to go for it. That date ended up being a lot of fun, but he still just felt like a good friend.

When I got back from my trip, he called and invited me in my jet-lagged stupor to go see "Fiddler on the Roof" and eat Hungarian food with him later in the week. I wasn't super coherent due to the jet lag, but apparently I said yes, and we had a great time. At the end of the date, I was starting to think that I wanted to stay in touch with Benjamin while he was away, so I contrived to trade email addresses with him so that I could send him some of the information about my trip that he asked about, like the part of the Great Wall that we visited. We kept in touch for the whole five months that he was gone and I looked forward to his emails.

At the end of June, when Benjamin came home, I was excited to see him but wasn't really sure how things would go—we hadn't seen each other for so long and I was pretty nervous. The first day we saw each other at church, he asked me out on a date, but I was busy with work and visiting teaching every night that week. I was disappointed, but hoped that he wouldn't take it to mean I didn't want to go on a date with him.

When my tutoring fell through on Tuesday night, I decided to call Benjamin and ask if he was still free. I ended up driving to the other end of the city to play board games with him and his cousins. Despite the general exuberance of his cousins (one called me a deceiving vixen when I claimed what he deemed to be "his" route in Ticket to Ride Europe), I had a nice time and decided that I'd be interested in going out with him again.
All through the summer, we met for lunch downtown when he had a day off, we went for walks and other dates on the weekends, and in general had a wonderful time together. By the beginning of August, we had determined that we were interested in dating each other exclusively and had a very happy and fun relationship. About a week after we had starting dating, we were already getting comments on how tall our kids would be (with me at 6'1" and him at 6'6", it's a valid observation).

We had determined that we would be spending the weekend after Thanksgiving down in Cardston for his sister's wedding—I had already met some of his family the weekend before, and I was excited to meet the rest of them, but dreading a tiny bit the inevitable jokes about "You're next" and "So when are you guys getting married?" which we'd already been getting from our friends. Whenever we discussed putting up with the teasing, Benjamin always said, "We just look too happy together, we can't help it!"

The wedding was wonderful and despite the teasing, we managed to stay looking happy. The night before the wedding, we decided to go for a walk around the temple grounds and take some pictures. It was apparently then that Benjamin decided to go ahead with his planned proposal for later in the weekend, despite the fact that the ring hadn't arrived yet.

Sunday morning, Benjamin wanted to go see the sunrise from the temple grounds, so we bundled up, drove over, and waited in the car until a few minutes before the sun came up. We moved to a bench on the corner of the temple grounds and waited for it to come up. It was really cold, so we were snuggled together, trying to stay warm. We watched the sun come up and talked, I can't even really remember what about. I just remember as the sun came right up over the horizon, Benjamin turned to me and said,

"I have a question for you." after which he got off the bench and down on one knee. My reaction, in typical Janine fashion, was to blurt out excitedly, "Are you serious?!?"

After reassuring me that he was, indeed, entirely serious, he asked me to marry him and I said yes. I was so happy! And still am, as a matter of fact. We could hardly wait to go home and call family to tell them the good news.

There you go, the story of Benjamin and me. Sorry it took so long.

Another Reason to Love the iPhone

2010-10-11T14:44:00.002-06:00

Today I'm spending a lovely day off in the business library, studying for my Finance midterm tomorrow. After going through a ton of review questions in the textbook, I decided it was time to tackle the practice midterm. Our professor was very clear that we should time ourselves when we try it, to make sure we would finish the exam on schedule. He has written the exam perfectly so that it should take us 3 hours to write at five minutes per question. He was very clear that if the practice midterm takes us more than five minutes per question, we are not sufficiently prepared. I was sitting here thinking what would be the best way to time myself as I write the exam and then thought, "I could put on a stopwatch on my iPhone." When I turned it on, I realized that I could do one better. I could put it on stopwatch and hit the "Lap" button every time I finished a question. That way, it would seem like a race. And I would have the added bonus of being able to calculate my average time per question. I'm doing the exam in ten-question intervals and so far, have scored 10/10 with an average response time of 3:23.47. So far, so good.

Adventures in Boston... Part II

2010-10-01T09:03:00.000-06:00

I realized that I should probably tell you all the rest of my adventure as a victim of Bostonian crime, so that you can all learn from my mistakes and NEVER keep your passport and wallet:

a. in the same place

b. in the coatroom of a Stake Centre

and also, if this does ever happen to you, then you can learn from my exciting experience the process of getting your new travel documents. Trust me, it's not all fun and games.

We left off in the previous post with me spending a lovely evening and night with a sweet older couple in suburban Cambridge. Well, I woke up on Monday morning, ate some cornflakes, and headed off for the Cambridge police station to get my police report. I was feeling chipper and looking forward to getting home later that evening. My plane ticket had been changed, Benjamin had been called to update my pick-up time from the airport, and all was well. I approached the friendly-looking officer at the reception desk and asked what I needed to do to file the complaint and get my report as soon as possible.

"When do you need it by?" he asked.

"In time to get to the consulate, get emergency travel documents, and get to the airport by 3:30." I replied.

The look on his face sent my heart plummeting down to about my knees.

"We usually can't get a report approved and ready for release until the day after." he said. "Why didn't you do it yesterday?"

Because Officer Callinan told me I could do it today! I wanted to yell. Instead, I got a terrified look on my face, told him that I had no money, no place to stay, and needed this report as soon as possible. I tried to stop from crying and looking like some crazy hysterical girl at the police station, but I couldn't help it. In the end, I think the tears were what really saved the day.

"I'll see what I can do." he mumbled.

Ninety minutes later, I was out the door and on my way to the consulate.

Unfortunately, the consulate didn't have good news for me, either. Apparently, the emergency travel documents that I had been told about no longer exist. The only way to fly from Canada to the US when one's passport has been stolen is with a fancy white temporary passport, which takes anywhere from 24 hours to three days to process. So now I really was stuck in Boston for another night, and tears weren't going to get me anywhere.

The people at the consulate were super helpful, they contacted my family and told them how they'd have to take my birth certificate over to the Calgary passport office and how they could wire me some money to tide me over. They lent me money for lunch and found me a charger for my cell phone. I was especially grateful for the latter when I got a phone call around 2:30 pm (while still waiting in the consulate lobby).

It was a Bishop from the Stake Centre from the previous day. His wife had helped me look for my back pack and had written down my number in case anything turned up. He told me that the missionaries had been at the building that morning when a woman showed up with my backpack, claiming that she had found it on a nearby dumpster. It was still missing my wallet, my money, my travel snacks, and the few souvenirs that I had stuck in there, but my journal was back, safe and sound. I couldn't believe it. That kind Bishop even offered to drive the bag into Boston from his home in Cambridge during the rush hour so that I could have it back as soon as possible. There were so many kind people that helped me out during this whole process.

Another one was the Generous Restauranteur. I met him in the consulate lobby, where he was also waiting for an emergency passport. He had overheard my discussions with the consulate staff about how I had no money and was without any form of ID. we chatted a little while we waited, and just before he left, he turned to me and asked,

"Are you ok for money and everything? Do you need any more help?" I assured him that I was ok, that my parents had been able to send me sufficient funds. He then persisted, "I still want to help if I can. I own a restaurant here in Boston, so I'm going to call my secretary and have her call the restaurant and leave a giftcard at the front desk for you. You can eat there as long as you're stuck in Boston." I thanked him profusely and then spent the next day - until I was eventually able to leave - eating the tastiest food at the Elephant and Castle.

Since I had been told that my passport would take anywhere from 24 hours to three days, I was prepared to wait a while. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the consulate the next day and was handed a shiny new white passport, ready for travel. I called Delta, got my flight rebooked for later that afternoon (for free!) and had enough time to stop at the Elephant and Castle for lunch before heading home, after a very exciting adventure.

A Long-Awaited Photo

2010-09-27T15:32:00.004-06:00

Ok, ok, so I've heard enough people bugging me to see a picture of Benjamin that I finally insisted on taking one yesterday (I realized that I didn't actually have one). Here's Benjamin and me when we went for a walk on the bluffs above the Bow River by our old house in Varsity. It's not super flattering of either of us, since we're both squinting, but it gives you the general idea.

Adventures in Boston: Part I

2010-09-15T09:25:00.004-06:00

I'm pretty sure all of you have heard about my mishaps and adventures on the way home from Boston, but I figured that some people might enjoy a full account.

I was scheduled to fly out on Logan airport on Sunday at 6:30 pm, so I figured that I had time to check out, go to a 1:00 sacrament meeting in Cambridge, and get to the airport with plenty of time. I lugged my luggage (I just noticed that those two words are remarkably similar - can any English/linguistics majors illuminate me on that?) to the Stake Center in Cambridge and arrived about an hour early. Since I had three bags including my backpack, I searched the building for the always-present cloakroom that one finds in Mormon buildings. The one I found was kind of hidden behind some walls and so I figured that it was a safe enough place to leave my bags. Since my backpack contained my wallet and passport, I debated bringing it in to sacrament meeting with me, until I remembered how awkward I had felt with my big bulky backpack last week at sacrament meeting in Washington DC. I ended up deciding to put it under my other suitcases and calling it good. Besides, I was at church! Churches are safe! Luckily, I decided to take out my phone so that I could work on typing up an email to my missionary cousin while waiting in the foyer.

When I came to get my bags a little over two hours later, my backpack was gone. I looked all over the cloakroom and everywhere I had sat. Not finding it in any of those places, I went to both Sunday School classes and asked if anyone had seen of moved it. No one had. I think it was at this point that I first called Daddy in a panic. Then I enlisted the help of the Bishop and a few people helped me look. When we didn't find anything, I called the Canadian Consulate to see what my options were. A helpful man named Mark told me that we should probably cancel the passport and that I would be able to get an emergency travel document the next day. So I went ahead and rescheduled my flight, canceled my passport, and got all the necessary information to go to the Consulate the next day. Mark told me I would need a police report as well, so we called the Cambridge police.

When officer Callinan arrived, he told me in a great, classic Bostonian accent that since I needed a copy of the police report ASAP, my best option would be to go to the station first thing the next morning where they could take my statement, get it approved in person, and print out a copy.

Faced with the prospect of an extra night in Boston and no wallet, I was eternally grateful when a retired couple from Cambridge offered me their spare room for the night. I was able to use their wireless and their phone to finalize all my arrangements to leave the country. They also fed me a delicious dinner made with fresh vegetables from the farmer's market and washed down with the most incredible fresh Massachusetts apple cider.

People have asked me what i was able to do with my extra two days of vacation. Mostly, it was spent at the consulate and running from one official to the other, but the one extra touristy thing I was able to get in was with this older couple, and ended up being on of my favourite things in Boston.

The couple I stayed with both had PhDs. His was in chemical engineering and he taught at the university of New Hampshire and then I think at MIT before he retired. Hers, finished after their children were in school, was in American History and she currently teaches at Harvard. After dinner, they asked me if I wanted to go for a walk, since they live only about 5 minutes away from the main Harvard campus. They showed me around Harvard and she was the best tour guide I could have! She knew the dates of all the buildings, who the architects were and whether they were actual Georgian, revival Gothic or revival Georgian. She had interesting facts and stories about each building, for example, in the freshman dorms (which are mostly buildings from at least the early 1800s) they keep a list of who has lived in every room and when you arrive, they tell you which famous people lived in your room as students. A freshman might write home and tell their parents that they're living in the same freshman dorm room as John F. Kennedy. The tour of Harvard was amazing and one of the best parts of my trip.

I was so grateful to the ward in Cambridge for all their help. The couple who had me to stay were so kind and thoughtful and accommodating. One theme of my whole experience with theft (which I think I'll finish in another entry) was the kindness of people that I met.

The Lone Wolf on Vacation

2010-09-10T16:49:00.002-06:00

Sorry that there's no pictures on my vacation posts. I realized en route to the airport that I had forgotten the cable that plugs the camera into the computer, so you'll have to wait until I get home for photos.

I've always wanted to go on a vacation by myself. I'm not really sure why, but I just thought it was a cool and grown-up thing to do. Well, it's gotten me some weird looks since I've been here, from most people who are not Australian/German backpackers at the hostels. It started with the US Customs lady in Calgary. She asked me who I was travelling with. No one. Who was I meeting there? No one. Do I have any family there? Nope. Then she gives me a very suspicious look and asks dubiously, "Why are you going to Washington DC and Boston?" The even more suspicious look she gives to my answer "for vacation" leaves me thinking that unless I elaborate, I might be put on the terrorist watch list and then it's goodbye to passing through the border ever again.

I hot similar looks from most Mormons I've met on my trip, other than one girl in the Washington singles ward that seemed to think I was some sort of Mormon hippie just travelling through the states ojn a prayer and a song. Which I fully am not.

It's been nice, though. I've been free to do exactly what I want every day. If I feel like getting up early and being in line for the Bureau of Engraving and Printing for the first tour of the day, I do it. If I feel like sleeping in and then wiling away the morning in the antique shops and boutiques of Beacon hill, I do it. The only downside is that I don't particularly like being out alone when it's dark and getting late, so pretty much after dinner (which I've been eating late to maximize my time), I don't have much to do. I've mostly been reading and going to bed early, which is also nice because on the hostle mattresses and with 5 roommates in the hostel room, I'm never going to have a great sleep, so it might as well be a long one.

The trip alone has been great, but I can't help wishing every once in a while that there was someone to share my giggles when the tour guide said "the Hahvahd Yahd" for the twentieth time in five minutes.

Greetings from the Nation's Capital!

2010-09-06T18:27:00.002-06:00

No, I'm not in Ottawa. I'm actually in Washington DC, which is not my nation's capital, but I've seen enough "the Nation's Capital" signs to make me think that this is the capital of something larger than just the USA.

So far, I have managed to take the plane by myself, check into the youth hostel, make my way out to the suburbs for the biggest singles ward I've ever seen, ride a bicycle from the Capitol building to the Lincoln Monument and back, eat two cans of tuna for two separate meals today and yesterday, visit the Holocaust Museum and the National Museum of American History, and take pictures by the White House, all without serious injury or mishap. Which is good, because I only recently (read: today) acquired health travel insurance. Tomorrow it's off to the museum of Crime and Punishment and then the Washington DC temple - if I can navigate two jurisdictions' worth of transit systems, that is.

You'll hear from me again in Boston!

A Gentleman's Game

2010-08-24T20:39:00.002-06:00

I remember golfing as a little girl with Grandpa at the Lee Creek golf course in Cardston every summer and fighting with my siblings over who was going to drive the golf cart. And when I say "golfing" I really mean driving the cart and putting every green, maybe once in a while trying to play a par 3. I did the same with Daddy a few times at Elbow Springs.

I even worked at a golf course for three summers in high school and was entitled to free golf, but never used it. I think I went to the driving range a few times with my employee free discount, but everyone was always shocked when they heard that I had the option of free golf and didn't take advantage of it. I've always enjoyed the driving range and mini golf, and even took a golf unit in high school phys ed, but had never played a full nine holes until a few weeks ago.

When my boyfriend Benjamin asked me if I wanted to go golfing to the par 3 course on a Friday night, I wasn't super excited right away. I thought it would be fun, but was kind of nervous since I'm not much of a golfer. Imagine my surprise when my first drive was right down the middle of the fairway (what little of a fairway there was on a par 3) and within two shots, I was on the green. I managed to do pretty well, even keeping my score always three strokes below Benjamin's until the last hole, when I got stranded in a sand trap that added those three strokes on and tied our scores. Sad day. I got this close to beating him at golf. It was really quite a surprise–I never knew I was passable at golf.

We're headed out to the same course again this Thursday, I'll let you know how I do this time around.

The Dark Side

2010-08-12T21:59:00.002-06:00

Ahhh! I keep reaching for the control key! Anytime I want to cut, copy, or paste anything on my home computer, my finger keeps reaching way too far to the left for the PC's apostate control key! I'm constantly looking for the right delete key!

My work computer had seduced me to the dark side.

A Summer of Concerts

2010-08-10T18:34:00.004-06:00

Since I have friends that go to concerts fairly regularly (as in a few times a year or more) I always thought that I hadn't been to that many concerts. I went to a Great Big Sea concert in Grade 11 and then during my country music phase I went a few more: Aaron Pritchett & Chris Cummings, Rascal Flatts, and Emerson Drive. In total, before this summer, I'd been to four concerts.

This spring, I heard on the radio that one of mu favourite bands, the Barenaked Ladies, was coming to town. I was so excited that I bought four tickets that very day. Elena and I took some friends and we had an amazing night. The Barenaked Ladies exceeded all my expectations by playing all my old favourites. We sang along to "If I Had a Million Dollars", "Lovers in a Dangerous Time", "Testing, 1, 2, 3", and "One Week".

Playing my favourite song from their new cd, "Ordinary"

The this past weekend, two of my roommates and I went to see the Backstreet Boys in concert at the Saddledome. Funnily enough, I was never one of their screaming teenage girl fans back in the nineties when they were bigger than Twilight, but when I was in high school and they had become a bit passe, I latched onto them. They were now kind of retro and cool. I loved singing along to "Shape of My Heart" at the youth dances. Seeing them was a sort of unfulfilled dream that I never knew I had. The three of us had a riot at the BSB concert. Instead of the twelve-year-olds that monopolized their concerts in the nineties, this concert was swarming with twenty-something women who needed a throwback to junior high. When Howie, Nick, AJ, and Brian burst out of the screen singing "Backstreet's Back", the screaming was deafening. And there I was, screaming along at the chance to see Brian in real life. They sang all my old favourites and I loved their dance routines.

Jess and I show the shape of our hearts... for Brian...

Now I only wish that I had bought those Michael Buble tickets for next week after all...

Janine the Felon

2010-08-05T22:20:00.004-06:00

Today I discovered that there is a warrant for my arrest.

It all started back in my second week of work. It was still May, and my U of C bus pass ran out at the end of April. I didn’t want to buy a May bus pass when I’d only be using it for a week and a half of work, so I found some bus tickets around the house, and when those ran out after a day or two, I bought another book. I had exactly enough to get me through to the end of the month, when I’d buy a June bus pass. It was all organized and perfect. Then, unexpectedly, I had to use two of my bus tickets on the weekend and didn’t give it much thought. BIG MISTAKE.

On May 31, I was running to the ticket validation machine and scrambling through my pockets when I realized—I had no tickets left. Running quickly through my options left me no better off than before. Since I also had no money on me, my only choice would have been to take an extra 5 minutes to run to the bank across the street. But wait, unless I wanted to pay $20 for a single ticket worth $2.75 (the ticket machines don’t give change) I would have to find a store willing to give me change for a twenty. Did I mention that this is all taking place at 7:20 am? I’d have to walk quite a way to get change.

This all puts me in quite the dilemma. You see, I’m an honest person. I don’t like riding the train without a ticket. In fact, on the days where I’ve forgotten my ticket, I’ve been known to buy an extra ticket on the way home to pay for the morning’s free ride. One time I even got to my destination, bought a ticket, and threw it in the garbage. Today, my choice is either take half an hour to somehow get a stupid ticket and be late on my 5^th day of work, or else ride without one, get some cash at lunch, and buy two tickets for the way home. I naively picked the latter option.

Just as I passed University station, three ticket-inspectors revealed themselves and started making their way down the train. They came in from all the entrances and I was trapped. Dang. They gave me a ticket despite all my protestations.

Now, foolishly, I totally forgot about the ticket until I saw it in my wallet early this week. It was due on Tuesday. I read over the back of that smug little pink piece of paper and I saw the words “deadline”, “court appearance”, “overdue” and “warrant for arrest”. Dang, dang, dang! All I could picture was transit cops busting in to my office, looking like the characters from Flashpoint (although I wouldn’t mind Spike or Sam coming to visit…) yelling things like, “Everyone on the ground! Nobody move!” I was suddenly glad that I haven’t officially changed my address yet. If they tried to bust me at home, they’d find Mum and Dad but I’d have flown the coop to my new place. I decided that it was high time I paid my fine and so I headed over to the courthouse at lunchtime. It was surprisingly easy, they didn’t even blink when I handed them my late and unpaid ticket. Perhaps the real surprise and/or miracle, though, was that they didn’t even slap on a late fee. It was still just the original $150 (still a difficult sum to part with). Feeling a little gypped and let down (why weren’t they reading me my Miranda rights and slapping on the cuffs?) I asked about this warrant. “Oh, there’s probably one” the girl replied. “It’ll take 2-3 months for this payment to show up in the police and RCMP databases, though, so keep this proof of payment on you at all times in case you get arrested.” That’s what I’m talking about!

Then the thought occurred to me, “Wait a second… I’m leaving the country in just a few weeks. When they scan my passport, I’ll come up as a wanted fugitive.” I’ve been planning my trip to Boston and Washington DC since, well, June when I impulsively went online and bought myself a ticket on my lunch break. And NO ONE is going to take that trip away from me. So I googled “Calgary Police” on my iPhone and headed over to get things taken care of.

Ten minutes later, and thanks to the nice semi-retired cop who mans the front desk at the Police administration building (apparently where the police go to do union stuff, not issue arrest warrants) I was eventually on my way to the right spot. The kind man acting as both receptionist and security guard wrote me the information I’d need: “316 – 7^th Ave SE, 3^rd floor, Arrest Process Unit”. Yikes. They wouldn’t really arrest me, would they? I decided to chance it.

The Arrest Process Unit was decidedly less intimidating than it sounds. I showed up, talked to a lady behind glass, showed her my ID and the receipt of payment from the courthouse, and then she delivered the verdict: the warrant hasn’t even been officially issued yet! Here I was cowering in fear that the Flashpoint team would be busting into my office any second, and I’m not even officially a wanted person! Unfortunately, she tells me, the warrant is in the process of being issued, so if I don’t want to get arrested whilst returning from vacation, I’ll have to come back when the warrant actually exists to get it cancelled. Until then, she says, “Hold on to that proof of payment for dear life.” Apparently, if I don’t have it on me and I get pulled over for speeding or something, the cops can take me in.

Guess I’ll be driving carefully the next few weeks.

Overall, my brush with the law was exciting, but not everything I ever imagined. I probably watch too much Flashpoint, CSI, Law and Order, Criminal Minds, and Monk for my own good—be warned: real crime is not like tv!

2010-07-27T22:35:00.001-06:00

Read today as the opening line in an academic paper on tacit collusion in the UK electricity market:

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an electricity market with high prices is in want of a remedy."
- Joanne Evans, in "Why did British electricity prices fall after 1998?"

All on my own

2010-07-13T21:30:00.002-06:00

Tonight is my first night in my new house. I started paying rent here on July 1st, but since I went away the past two weekends, I didn't have a convenient Saturday to do all my moving. Hence, I've spent the past week's worth of weeknight evenings taking one load at a time in the back of a minivan from Tuscany to Varsity. Luckily, I have a wonderful family that

a) helps me lift heavy things

b) gives me free rein over their minivan

c) has extensive experience assembling knockdown furniture

d) apparently has a great deal of patience

Daddy and I came over exactly one week ago with the major pieces of furniture. The idea was to get it all set up and in place, so that the boxes could get unpacked as they came. Unfortunately, the bed was not quite as cooperative as one might have wished, and although I'm currently laying on a comfy mattress, it's on the floor, surrounded by a mostly assembled bedframe. I feel like a baby in a crib.

The room is full of boxes, some empty, some half full, and others not even opened. I have a grand total of 2 litres of milk, a box or Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and a box of Wal-Mart brand Special K to live on until I get to the grocery store for real. This is the life!

Another Off the Bucket List

2010-07-08T22:13:00.002-06:00

Last weekend I completed a goal that I'd had in the back of my head for almost 12 years– I biked the Jasper-Banff highway. It was something I tried when I was around 12 or 13, and that time I didn't make it. Ever since then, I've had a little inkling to try again someday, just to say that I had, and this was the year.

The first time around, my Uncle was taking his Young Men's group to do it and my family decided to join them. I had an old mountain bike that had cost $200 from Costco and all the go get 'em spunk of someone in the seventh grade. I got about 37 km the first evening, but then my cousins arrived and all I wanted to do was hang out with them. I think I ended up biking about 80 km total that weekend.

This time around, I figured I'd do a lot better. I remembered through my rosy-hued glasses of pre-teen memory that while it had been hard, it hadn't killed me, and heck, I've been riding a lot more in the past year than I ever had at my tender younger age. I also had a wonderful road-mountain hybrid bike that would make the long ride less of a chore. His name is Sibelius and I love him more than one really should love a bicycle. Anyway, I was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing.

Until I hit about 75 km on the first day. We were supposed to ride a total of 102 km, ending with a long hill up into the Columbia Ice Fields pass. Right around kilometer 75, when we passed our campground, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice to just wrap up now? There's a van at the campsite, and it would still be an impressive ride."

Then I realized that stopping at kilometer 75 would just mean that I'd have to try the whole 285-ish kilometer ride again another year in order to gratify my long-buried goal. So I pushed on.

Right around kilometer 94, as I grunted up a steep incline for kilometers on end, I decided that it would be prudent to create a will. Since I was pretty much planning on dying at the top of the hill and never moving again, someone should know who gets dibs on my many assets (in particular, my shoes and my iPhone).

As I rode into the headwind across the final flats, I started to feel sick. Only copious amounts of Gatorade sustained me until I saw the sign saying "Icefield Visitors Centre, 1 km". Then I just wanted to cry. Another whole kilometer? Who were they kidding?

Suffice it to say that when I got back on the seat the next morning, it was a great test of willpower., not to mention the part of my rear that felt like a bike seat had been branded into it, padded shorts and gel seat notwithstanding.

The next two days, although difficult, were less near-death than that perilous first day. The included a lot more downhill and much less headwind. One of the best parts was the last 40 km, riding along highway 1A through the Bow Valley Parkway. By then, songs by The Script and Uncle Kracker, and Barenaked Ladies had gotten me as far as they could, and I needed some new inspiration. It was time to bring out the big guns. My old-time radio shows came on.

It was kind of weird to ride through the beautiful woods and mountains while listening to Relic Radio's The Grove of Ashtaroth, but it did the trick. If those last three hours didn't fly by, at least they didn't drag on.

At the very end, as we rode the last few kilometers into Banff, I was suddenly hit by my 20th wind and I was able to fly into Cascade Park triumphantly, to find that my brother-in-law had been there over an hour already. But do you know what? I didn't even care. It may have felt like death while I was doing it, but now in retrospect, it's an experience that I'm glad I was able to check off while I'm alive.

So what exactly do you do?

2010-06-27T15:29:00.005-06:00

Well, I guess it's been a while since I was on here– my wonderful job is keeping me pretty busy, but I love it. So far, whenever anyone asks me what I do and I explain, most of them give me look of sympathy that I have a boring job where I read regulatory documents all day, then I tell them how much I enjoy it and the next look I get from them is more a look of, "Stay away from the crazy person" but I figure there's got to be someone who enjoys this kind of thing.

Earlier this week, I was reading a decision issued by the Alberta Utilities Commission. I came across a little gem of random vocabulary that I though some of you might enjoy. This is all on the public record, available on the AUC website, so I can be absolutely sure I'm not in breach of any of my confidentiality agreements.

"In the view of the MSA this will help to ensure fulsome* and rigorous discussion, in furtherance of the ultimate determination by the Commission.

And later on down the page: *Although the word ‘fulsome’ could mean characterized by abundance and copious supply, this meaning of the word usually connotes a situation of excess. The word’s other meanings, and the most commonly cited ones in any dictionary, are: offensive to the tastes generally, either morally or aesthetically, and exceeding the bounds of good taste. The Commission, however, assumes that the MSA did not intend any of these meanings, but rather meant more complete or comprehensive."

I thought it was hilarious that the AUC had to clarify that the MSA was calling the rigorous consultation progress neither morally nor aesthetically offensive, but rather complete. Kudos to the MSA for using the word 'fulsome' in the first place. MSA, you rock my world.

The Regulator

2010-05-25T23:10:00.003-06:00

Today was my first day at my new summer job. For those of you who were unaware, I got a position as a summer research assistant at an Alberta electricity company about two weeks ago. As has been every first day at a new job that i have ever had, today was the longest day of my life. From experience, however, I know that this feeling will pass and soon I'll be passing normal-length days in my spacious cubicle. That's right, spacious cubicle. It's honestly about the same size as my bedroom. I'm trying to figure out which pictures I should bring to add a slight touch of homeyness (I know I'm only there for 3 months, but who wants to look at those grey upholstered walls for 8 hours a day?)

So far, I'm loving the job. I'm assisting in the regulatory department, so already today I got to read over about 70 pages of AESO briefings and industry responses to sum up a brief for the VP. It was kind or a nerve-wracking experience, writing an e-mail brief for the higher-ups on my very first day, but my supervisor seemed to like it and I enjoyed the material I got to read (which may or may not fall under my employee confidentiality agreement, so I'll be refraining from mentioning subjects on my blog for the next few months– I don't want any of you accused of insider trading)

Keep your ears open for further news about fun work stories!

Skiing

2010-05-08T13:49:00.004-06:00

One of the things I thought about a lot while in Finland was cross-country skiing. It seemed like my last 5 months were a continuous tempt-fest of kids hauling their skis out after school and skiing all over the woods while I tracted. I was so jealous of these lucky Finnish preteens who lived in a place where impeccable ski trails and virgin snow in the forest was halfway between their apartment and their neighbourhood school. I couldn't wait to get out to the mountains when I got home.

Of course, by the time winter rolled around this year, I had forgotten about my deep yearning for skis on my feet and was ridiculously occupied with five university courses and two part-time jobs. I didn't make it out on cross-country skis until February, when I visited Jaima in Edmonton and accompanied her to Chicks with Sticks, the local ski group. I loved it so much and was finally reminded of my love for outdoor snow sports.

It wasn't until yesterday, however, that the circle was complete. Dad and I made it up to Sunchine for an afternoon of downhill skiing, which I haven't done for over three years. He's been bugging me to go with him all season, but I've either been busy or not feeling like it. Truth be told, it's been so long since I skied that I forgot how much I love it and how much fun it is. Every time Dad suggested a ski day, I would groan inwardly and think, "Why would we drive all that way for a day of sliding down hills with sticks?"

I have repented of that great evil. Yesterday, while cruising down my favourite run at Sunshine, Bye-Bye Bowl, during a moment of bright sunshine, finding patches of soft, white snow, I was reminded of the reasons why I love skiing. Why I've been doing it since I was three years old, why I have up snowboarding after that one lesson, why I am scared of heights and fast speeds with any gear other than skis on my feet and poles in my hand. There's nothing like being in the mountains when it's cold and white and the flakes are flying in your face. Even better is when the sun is glinting off the fresh snow and there's not a cloud in sight, especially if it's -30 degrees and the resort is like a tomb.

Here's to skiing, whether heels strapped down or not.

Free Time... What?

2010-04-28T18:07:00.003-06:00

I wrote my last exam almost a week ago and spent my first few days catching up... I had a piano recital, got a few things done that I've been putting off all finals season, and slept. Then yesterday I woke up and said to myself,

"Janine, what are you going to do today? For the first time in weeks you have an empty day with no textbook readings tugging at the back of your brain, papers hanging over your head, or pressing Sunday School lesson deadlines. You don't even have any back episodes of Flashpoint left to watch. What are you going to do with yourself?"

I know that at one point of my life I had hobbies. I used to have things to do in my spare time. There was a time when I loved to make projects out of scrap wood in the garage and would set up a little workshop out there. I also seem to recall enjoying gardening a few years ago. I know that I love to bake and cook, and I even had time for knitting during this past semester once in a while. But a full day's project that I would be able to do without running out for ingredients, supplies, or any other sundries? It seemed a tall order. Mum had also commandeered the island in the kitchen for some flower arrangements, so I had to find something constructive that would allow me to be in the kitchen for company, and yet keep me confined to the table.

I found the answer in a big bin of fabric scraps, my mum's old sewing machine, and a shoebox full of crazy quilt squares that I've made over the years. With my favourite Old Time Radio Shows going on the stereo, I happily knocked off 6 quilt squares, bringing me up to 68– only 13 more needed for my giant 9x9 picnic blanket! I had completely forgotten how much I love my old hobbies. Maybe next week I'll bring out my old chisel set and some scrap wood.

Some Movie Reviews

2010-04-24T11:53:00.004-06:00

Last night I celebrated my 24th birthday by writing a test, baking my brother's birthday cake, going out for Thai food, and watching two movies. When we stopped by Blockbusters on the way home from Thai Boat, we weren't really sure what to get, but ended up coming home with two movies placed in the Victorian era. Not really sure how that happened. That, however, is where the similarities between these movies ended.

The first movie was The Young Victoria, with Emily Blunt. I really had no idea what to expect with this one, as I don't recall seeing the preview or anything. It looked good, so we got it. It ended up being a wonderful movie! The costumes were incredible, the characters believable, the story very sweet. It's not a huge dramatic story like so many love stories are these days (Nicholas Sparks, anyone?) but when the movie drew to a close, I was left with a wonderful, happy feeling and was touched by the love between Queen Victoria and her husband Prince Albert. I remember reading in my London guidebook that she wore mourning for forty years after he died and that all the iron-wrought fences in downtown London were painted black for his funeral, but to see their story portrayed so well was a real treat. I would give it five stars.

With our happy love story out of the way, we turned to our next Victorian movie. When I heard a while ago that Sherlock Holmes was being made into another movie, I was apprehensive. You see, I'm a bit of a closet Sherlock fan. I've read most of the Sherlock Holmes short stories and novels, listened to the Sherlock Holmes radio show from the 40s, and devoured lots of old Holmes movies. My favourite portrayer of the occupant of 221 B Baker street is Basil Rathbone, the voice from the radio show and star of several old films. He plays the perfect dry, sarcastic, condescending Holmes from the books. I love following the dance of crime and detection between Sherlock Holmes and his nemesis, Professor James Moriarty. The preview made the current Sherlock Holmes sound a little too supernatural for my taste and I wasn't sure if I liked their portrayal of a sloppy, badly dressed Sherlock. Last night, though, I figured I'd give it a try. I was not disappointed. The whole movie was full of little gems from the books– references to previous cases from the short stories, constant use of characters from Sir Conan Doyle's writing, and a wonderful (though slightly reinvented) portrayal of the world's most famous detective. I was pleased with the attention to detail that came out in Holmes' final expose of the criminal and in the way that this movie didn't replay all the classic Holmes' eccentricities to death. The way they treated the violin set this movie apart. This one is a gem, especially for detective fans. It's not BBC's Hercule Poirot, but it's pretty dang close.

The Non-Author

2010-04-21T10:37:00.003-06:00

It seems like lately I am the only one of my sisters that is not writing a book. Between one's work of historical fiction, another's planned series of fantasy novels for 8-12 year-olds, and another's constant children's stories, I feel woefully unartistic when it comes to my writing skills.

I did, however, recently finish a work of shocking non-fiction. It is a tale of scandal, intrigue, and underhanded government operations. It reveals the truth unvarnished and exposed in all its ugly complexity. It has a nasty villain– the one and only Alberta government, headed by the shadowy figure some call "Ed Stelmach". Along with its accomplices– Altalink, Atco Electric, and the dangerous gang nicknamed "the Northern Electricity Generators"– it has conspired to regulate the Alberta transmission market according to their own evil plan. Seizing control of previously independent regulatory processes, this formidable foe plans to build unnecessary transmission lines to the tune of $14.7 billion and the worst is yet to come... they plan to make the Albertan consumers pay for it! Ominous music here.

This ghastly and woeful tale was all foretold many years ago by the visionary predictors of markets, sometimes called "economists". Almost 50 years ago the great and wise pair of Stigler and Peltzman tried to warn us against the approaching calamity, but Alberta took no heed.

But there were those who fought against this malignant medley of evildoers. A last alliance of academics, think tanks, engineers, economists and a lowly Calgarian electricity provider would not be silenced! They fought the machine of bad regulatory policy with words, with brilliant papers and studies, and with public awareness campaigns! They fought bravely and well, but alas! Their victory was not to be. The cartel of wrongdoers had one last weapon on their side: the great sword of CONSUMER APATHY. They wielded that great weapon with deadly force and with deadly accuracy, until the papers were buried for none to see or care about. In November of last year, despite the efforts of these valiant warriors, Bill 50 was passed, another great victory for the majority-generating function and shockingly bad legislation.

So yes, I finished my paper. It was fun.

Utah by the Numbers

2010-04-07T09:37:00.002-06:00

Number of kilometers travelled in a single day: 1,517

Number of Finns seen: 12

Total tanks of gas used: 5

Conference sessions in which I dozed at least once: 4

Conference sessions in the conference centre: 1

Heart attacks of joy from hearing that Sister Julie B. Beck would be speaking in that session: 2

Calories consumed at Cafe Rio: at least 1000

Number of mission buddies seen: 12

Number of Elders hugged (and it didn't even feel weird!): 8

NIghts away from home: 5

Proportion of those nights spent in an actual bed: 40%

Proportion of those nights spent on a couch 2 feet smaller than me or the cushion thereof: 40%

Total hours of sleep: maybe 20, if I count the half hour accidental nap I took during Sunday afternoon session

Servings of Wooz and Syd's delicious ham and scalloped potatoes: 2

Number of times I was exhorted to "Move to Zion": 12,897,348,623,857,029,749,023,493,014,901,284.

Dollars spent at the BYU bookstore: $36.45

Awkward and compromising pictures taken: 1

Winks from an apostle: 1

Showers taken with zero water pressure and a showerhead that's 5 feet from the ground: 4, every time I was taking a shower in a BYU apartment

How much I wish I could see these awesome pals every weekend: pretty much 100%

Almost a Year

2010-03-28T16:18:00.002-06:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about the time that's gone by since I got home from my mission. People often ask me how long I've been home and it was an odd feeling to say last week that is has been almost a year. I've been counting the months since I got back, so that I'd be able to tell people how long it's been, and as I went from saying the number of weeks to the number of months, that was an odd milestone as well. Just a few weeks ago I was telling people that I'd been back ten months, and now all of a sudden I'm using the word "year" to describe how long ago I left Finland.

I miss a lot of things from my mission, some of which are spiritual and meaningful, others a bit more trite, but I miss them all the same:

I miss having the ocean nearby– I loved seeing the sea in both of the cities where I served.

I miss eating delicious rye bread every day, especially with lingonberry jam.

I miss saying "lähetyssaarnaja" and "Myöhempien Aikojen Pyhien Jeesuksen Kristuksen Kirkko" and having people understand me.

I miss having 3 hours set aside in the morning to study the scriptures, practice Finnish, and prepare my lessons and tasks for the day.

I miss Finnish dairy products. Yogurt most of all.

I miss wearing holes through all my winter tights and repairing them with a needle and thread five minutes before I leave the house in an attempt to be thrifty.

I miss tracting and street contacting. Those are the things I never thought I'd miss, but I miss the opportunity to just come out and tell people what I believed and testify to them right there.

I miss the Finns and their reserve. North Americans are so noisy and rude sometimes.

I miss salmiakki.

I miss Finland.

Lumberjacks, Carousels and the GST

2010-03-25T22:56:00.003-06:00

Today I learned how to participate in a tax fraud scheme that could easily earn me millions of dollars. Yep, that's just how we roll in the Economics department.

Today's Economics of Taxation class was one of the best ever. It started out with Dr. W announcing excitedly,

"Today we're going to learn about Carousel Fraud. This is actually a really profitable fraud scheme that is hard to detect, so you can scam millions of dollars from the government with it."

Wouldn't you be excited if that's what your prof told you at the beginning of a 75-minute class on taxes? It got even better when he began explaining the necessary theories we had to have under our belts before we could tackle Carousel fraud.

We were learning about Value-Added Taxes and how they work compared to Retail Sales Taxes and our professor gave a great analogy using furniture manufacturing. We started with a lumberjack cutting down a tree and selling it to a lumber mill, who then sells the boards to a furniture factory, who sells the furniture to Wal-Mart, who then sells it to you. If you're the kind of person who buys furniture at Wal-Mart, that is. I've heard that there are people who scorn it. We then proceeded to dissect the impact of the GST on all the different transactions within this tree's life cycle. It started out with this gem of a quote from Dr. W:

"To simplify this model, we're going to assume that the lumberjack has no inputs. He never bought a saw or anything. I guess he just went into the woods and tore it to the ground with his bare hands. Or maybe he used his teeth, I don't know."

It was with this image in my head that I heard his question a moment later, "So how much GST does the burly lumberjack pay?"

And if this wasn't the best class ever, Dr. Wen then proceed to tell us how all we need to do is move to Europe, buy a large shipment of cell phones (computer chips work as well), and set up three dummy companies in two different countries, then we can be scamming the government out of millions of dollars each year! All said with a straight face!

I feel like I got my full tuition's worth out of the Economics of Taxation in today's lecture alone.

Citation

2010-03-24T10:14:00.003-06:00

Apparently some people were under the impression that I made up the term "IFF". I definitely did not. It is a completely valid scholarly term, as you can see below:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/If_and_only_if

Iff

2010-03-19T15:13:00.002-06:00

I have discovered a new term this semester, and that term is "iff".

It means "if and only if" and I'm contemplating using it in everyday language. I'm just working on how to pronounce it so that everyone will know that I'm saying "iff" and not plain old "if". Because let's face it, my newfound "iff" will lose all of its panache and I'll look less determined if it comes out "if".

So do I say "if-f"? Or "if-if"? What about some sort of "if-uh"?

To see why I'm so excited about this term, play out the following circumstances in your mind:

Scene: A dinner table. Young five-year-old is refusing to eat his asparagus. Miraculously, this child has taken either advanced math classes or else introduction to logic at the local university and so is familiar with the implications of an extra F.

Mother: Theophilus, IF you eat your asparagus, Mummy and Daddy will let you have some ice cream!

Theophilus: (thinks to himself) Mummy is trying to bribe me... so maybe if I eat a bite or two, I'll still get my ice cream...

Father: Theophilus, IFF you eat your asparagus, you may have some ice cream for dessert.

Theophilus: (thinks to himself) Uh-oh. Daddy means business. The only scenario in my future which includes consuming ice cream necessarily includes eating asparagus as well. Better start chowing down!

The implications of "iff" are endless. Say "aye" iff you agree.

Triathlon Update

2010-03-08T21:39:00.004-07:00

Here's the update on my triathlon status: I've registered in the Foothills Charity Triathlon, taking place in Okotoks on July 10. I figure that by then, the lake where I have to swim 500m will be slightly more warm than it is now.

So mark your calendars and come to cheer for Daddy and I as we swim, bike, and run our way to victory!

Or more accurately, as we swim, bike, and run our way to the finish line, hopefully ahead of the 75-year-old competitors.

Book Review

2010-03-06T15:10:00.003-07:00

As an economics major, whenever a book about economics makes it onto the New York Times bestselling list, I am morally obligated to read it. Such was the case with Levitt and Dubner's first work, Freakonomics.

I loved that book because I could identify with Steven Levitt. I, too, am mostly only interested in microeconomics and couldn't care less about global interest rates or the monetary system. Whenever I tell people that I'm an econ major, they respond with, "So what do you think about the recession?" or "How's about that hike in interest rates?" I typically respond with some comment that I remember from the bare minimum of macroeconomics classes that I was forced to take, like "Well, that'll have ramifications on the savings/spending ratio." while actually thinking inside, "Don't know and don't care!"

My interest in economics lies mostly with Game Theory, Industrial Organization, and Economics of Regulation. My focus is on individual firms and why they make the decisions that they do. I'm intrigued by the idea of natural monopolies in the electrical transmission industry and how we can change their incentives so that they want to give fair prices to consumers. I get a rush out of finding Nash equilibria and calculating ideal price discrimination schemes. So few people understand that there is more to economics than Adam Smith, John Maynard Keynes, and Milton Friedman. There's an entire world out there about how people act and why.

So I found a kindred spirit in Steven Levitt when he wrote a book about sumo wrestlers who have disincentives to win one match relative to another, about strategic naming of children, and why people are more scared of guns than pools. The original Freakonomics was full of little economic gems that made me wish I actually understood econometrics so that I could analyze similar exciting data.

It was with great anticipation that I purchased my copy of Superfreakonomics. I was hopeful for another engrossing read full of nuggets of humour, well-applied econometric skills, and insightful conclusions, all organized into a cohesive book that would fill my need for fun economic applications.

My hopes, while not dashed to pieces, were let down.

Superfreakonomics is a clever book, and it has it's moments of sheer brilliance. The introduction about walking drunk showed skillful use of statistics, dashes of humour, and well-phrased conclusions, while the conclusion about the applications of consumer theory to a monkey experiment made me laugh out loud and identify concepts from all my micro classes. A chapter near the beginning analyzes the effects of the sexual revolution on the real wages of prostitutes (which, had they been any other industry group, would have had great success in lobbying the government for a compensating bailout) was extremely well done.

However, many of the chapters were glued together pieces of hodgepodge, unsupported by conclusive data or sound econometrics. The chapter on global warming seemed to me to have little relevance to economics and jumped from issue to issue like a kangaroo on a pogo stick.

In conclusion, it's worth a read, but definitely a selective one. And probably using a copy from the library. My copy is also available for loan. If you want a really entertaining book that will teach you something about economics, borrow my copy of Games, Strategies, and Decision-making by Joseph Harrington instead.

A New Take on Tradition

2010-03-04T22:12:00.002-07:00

My best friend Aurora and I have a great tradition– we love to make homemade doughnuts. I think it started when we were in about grade eight and we've made them many times. The first time, we pulled out the cookie cutters to find the doughnut shaped ones (that have a pre-made hole in them) and realized that there were a lot of doughnut possibilities in that tupperware of cookie cutters. We tried making a gingerbread man doughnut with the two different-sized men that we had, but it mostly just burned. Our best outcome was without a doubt the star doughnut. We had two perfectly sized star cookie cutters that made fun shaped doughnuts and little poky doughnut holes. It's a fun tradition that I've loved doing throughout the years.

Fast-forward to last weekend. Aurora got married last summer and she and her husband have a nice little basement suite. We decided that her home hasn't really been broken in until it's been blessed with the smell of deep-fried food as we whip up a batch of doughnuts. When her husband, John, heard that we were planning to turn his house into a fast food joint for the evening, he made a special request: one of his favourite things is Boston Creme doughnuts.

I'd never made filled doughnuts before. It always seemed like a really daunting task that was for kitchen experts, not lowly aspiring cooks like myself. Aurora downloaded a recipe off the internet and we got started. It surprised me how easy they were and how delicious they tasted!

Our next doughnut making plan: mini filled doughnuts in varying flavours. All the puddings at the grocery store looked so tempting!

My Favourite Econ Prof Moments

2010-02-26T17:31:00.003-07:00

Yep, they mostly look something like this.

The economics professors at the University of Calgary are a wonderful bunch. Somehow, in my entire degree, I've had exactly 2 professors who weren't middle-aged, dorky men. But luckily for all of us in the field of economics, nerds are back in.

Over the past several years, I've had some interesting interactions with my econ profs, starting with the first economics class I ever entered. I walked into the first lecture of Introduction to Macroeconomics on a Monday at 8 am, only to find my instructor (in this case, not a prof, but a PhD candidate) blasting "Don't cha" over the giant lecture hall's stereo. You know, that really annoying song that was cool in 2005?

I've had all kinds of econ prof moments over my career as an economics major, the crown of which took place yesterday. there was supposed to be a midterm in my "Economics of Taxation" class at 2:00. The whole class was there waiting at 2:05 and there was no professor in sight. We sat nervously, thinking that any minute, he'd walk in and we'd start our exam. He finally walked in at 2:27, did a second take at all of us sitting anxiously, and asked, "When does this class start?" Turns out that although he's been teaching us twice a week at 2:00 pm, for some reason he thought that the class started at 2:30. The exam has been postponed until Tuesday. The thing is, he's such a good prof that I can't even get mad about it. He's an incredible instructor, just prone to a little "econ prof weirdness" like all my other beloved Economists:

"Oh, there's no substitute good? Well, then, I guess we'll just kill you." Dr. H, referring to the ethics of price discrimination based on elasticity of demand.

"So this picture looks good, right? We're all happy with the Ricardian model of international trade? WELL, IT'S WRONG. I've been lying to you, and it's time to confess." Dr. G, telling us that our beloved idealized theories have no real-world applications.

"So if you want an allocation that's efficient AND fair, you'll just have to take someone's endowment away." Dr. W, on the futility of welfare policies.

"Goods are normally normal– it's why we call them normal goods!" Dr. G's thoughts on normalcy.

"With the kinds of prices we see in our world, we could live happily ever after, if only our equilibrium would behave itself!" Dr. W.

"Let's consider non-basket case economies..." Dr. G, on why we can never get good conclusions from African data.

"Agriculture tends to be a sacred cow everywhere." Dr. G's thoughts on Hinduism in relation to the EU's Common Agricultural Policy.

"... and so even though he might be better at both, I specialize in being a university professor and Bill Gates specializes in being a CEO, and we're both better off! Well, maybe him a little more than me..." Dr G's explanation of comparative advantage.

Oh, economics. The fun times never stop.

One Step Closer

2010-02-17T13:26:00.004-07:00

I'm not sure how many people I've told about my goal for the summer, but for those of you who weren't around during my post-mission goal-setting frenzy, I've been training for a triathlon this summer. Last semester, that took the form of riding my bike to school as long as the weather held, going for a run every few weeks when I wasn't sick, and going to the gym maybe four times.

This semester I decided to really get serious. In Thailand (after New Year's, when my will to exercise was string) I got on a treadmill at the hotel and ran three miles. This pushed me to my limit and I felt like I was going to die. It also took over 40 minutes. Since I've been back, I've been going to the gym at least twice a week and can tell the difference. Today, I set my best time ever– I ran the entire 5 km required for my triathlon, and I did it in 30 minutes! Now I just need to start swimming. I should probably get on that, since I need to work up to 500-700m (depending on the race) by the summer and I haven't been lane swimming since high school.

Another Valentine's Survived

2010-02-14T23:57:00.003-07:00

Valentine's Day was so much cooler when I was in the third grade. You had a ton of fun making the mandatory cards for everyone in your class, and then you got to spend an entire afternoon at school decorating envelopes to be your Valentine mailbox, eating cupcakes, and playing various red-and-pink themed games. You chugged cinnamon hearts and got to scarf down those yummy jujube hearts, all the while telling funny jokes with Necco conversation hearts (whoever came up with the "fax me" one is my hero).

However, the older one gets, the more one realizes that Valentine's Day is kind of a pointless holiday. And no, I'm not just saying that because I'm bitter and single–in fact, I'm actually quite happy and single. I have a friend who referred to it as "Singles Awareness Day" and while I am reminded of my unattached status on February 14th, that's not what gets my goat about the holiday.

The thing that I think is retarded is that mass media and the big firms have decided which will be the most romantic day of the year and has dictated to couples when they will celebrate their relationship with something extra– whether it be a simple bouquet or a fancy dinner out on the town, or expensive jewelry. Then, they jack up all the prices to deal with the increased demand and prey on people who feel the need to show their affection through cheesy teddy bears.

As an economist, I cannot support this kind of price discrimination. Why should my eventual lover have to fight through crowds to get flowers on an arbitrary holiday that originated from a feast day for a saint from a religion I don't even believe in? What makes February 14th more special than any other day besides convention? I therefor present what I call "The Informed Consumer's Valentine":

Do not celebrate Valentine's Day on the 14th (unless you are a third grade child with your required 25 cards).

Instead, go to the stores on the 17th, when things are dropping down to half price, and buy that special someone a sweet teddy bear or a box of chocolates and keep half of the cash in your pocket to put towards the mortgage payment.

Because that's what real love's about.

Economic Applications

2010-02-11T23:45:00.003-07:00

If this guy had taken a game theory class, he would have known better.

And people say that economics isn't applicable!

Most Exciting Mail of the Year

2010-02-10T23:30:00.002-07:00

I was about to title this entry "Most Exciting Mail Ever" and then I remembered my mission call. Not much tops that. But it definitely wins for most exciting of the year.

So far this year, my mail has consisted of: Student Loan documents, a copy of the Electrical Statutes Amendment Act from the Alberta Queen's Printer, a friend's wedding invite, and a thank-you card from a wedding shower I attended a few weeks ago. Now, you must understand– I love mail. Mail is one of the most exciting things ever and I love getting it in any form. Even bills are fun when they arrive in the mailbox. Being a missionary only made my condition worse. As a missionary, you're so dependent on mail and every little envelope that drops through your mail slot is a little slice of heaven. Even when it's from the Nordea Bank.

Basically, I check the mailbox on a more frequent basis than anyone else in the family.

Today, it paid off! A fat envelope was sitting in there, with my name on it! Stamped with with a return address from Manitoba, I had no idea what it could be. I couldn't even wait the 15-second walk back home to open it. Standing in front of the mailbox, I tore open the brown paper and saw nestled inside four tickets to a Barenaked Ladies concert this April.

I am so happy.

Procrastination

2010-02-10T00:31:00.003-07:00

Ever have that feeling where you know that you should go to bed, and you should do it an hour ago, but you just can't? When there's nothing actually worth doing to stay up, but since you just can't go to bed yet, you end up looking for the smallest excuse to stay up? I thought I'd get over that once I turned 10.

Nope, apparently not.

Why I am not on Game Shows...

2010-02-08T22:59:00.003-07:00

Tonight's FHE was Valentine's Day Jeopardy. I was pretty excited, because I'm good at trivia games. It's like my one claim to fame, other than the time I beat a bunch of nerdy guys at ZombieTown on my very first game, or the time that I accidently beat my date at President enough times straight that we never went out again.

(In case you missed it, that was my subtle way of telling you that I'm a fairly competitive person, under the best of circumstances).

I went into the game thinking, "My mission has mellowed me out– I'll be able to be chill for this game." Then they announced the teams: boys versus girls. That already got my competitive spark going.

I sat in the front row because everyone else was still putting finishing touches on their heart-shaped cookies. That was my first mistake. It is next to impossible to be chill or mellow about a trivia game when one is sitting in the front row. However, I passed my next task: when our Alex Trebek-esque host asked for a team captain, I sat entirely still and did not submit my name for consideration, even when one of the girls said, "What about you, Janine?" I humbly waited for another to be appointed.

"Yes!" I thought, "I've conquered my competitive instinct that made me the laughing stock of all scripture mastery games in early-morning seminary!"

Then they started asking questions and I knew I was lost. As much as I tried to stop myself from hollering out, "Who was Albert Einstein?" in answer to Who said it? for $300 ("Gravitation can't be held responsible for people falling in love.") it came out of my mouth without conscious thought. Apparently I am incapable of keeping quiet when there is a chance to prove my random knowledge.

This trait has made me the coveted teammate in all forms of Trivial Pursuit, but take warning: we may win, but you'll have to put up with at least one outburst where I correct the host's Google-obtained answer. Or reprimand the other team for not answering in the form of a question.

What can I say, it's an addiction. But I'm doing my best, and I think that one day, in 50 years or so, I may be able to sit through an entire episode of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire in silence.

A New Era

2010-02-07T20:02:00.003-07:00

Today I walked in to church and the first thing I thought was, "There are a lot more old people here than usual." (I go to a singles ward, so when I see people over 30 that are not: a) in the bishopric or related to a bishopric member or b) our ward's high council representative, it's a novelty). I spied an old seminary teacher and her husband and wondered to myself, "Do they have a relative in my ward who could be speaking today?"

Since Elena and I were about 15 minutes early for church, I spoke to our Bishop for a moment. He asked me which lesson I was teaching today in Sunday School, and in the course of the discussion, I reminded him how much I had loved teaching the Mission Prep class. He took a pondering look around the room and said,

"We may be having that again sometime." to which I responded,

"PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE CHOOSE ME AGAIN. I loved that calling more than any other EVER." He gave me a little smile and replied,

"I'll pass that on."

I thanked him and walked away, not understanding the meaning hidden behind his choice of words. It was approximately 45 seconds later that I noticed the entire Stake Presidency sitting on the stand.

*Hint: Stake Presidency + married adult couples randomly attending the singles ward + subtle hints from bishop = a new bishopric.*

That's right, we've got a new bishopric in our ward. We'll miss the old one lots, especially the awkwardness that came from suddenly getting a YSA as a second counsellor late last year (What do we call him? Brother Wood, or Jordan?), but I'm sure the new one will be just as great.

Quite Literally

2010-01-27T19:58:00.002-07:00

This story begins about a month ago, on my trip to Thailand. It was late in the evening and I was sitting on the floor of my beach bungalow with my brother, sister, and dad. We were playing Oh Heck, one of the greatest card games known to man. For those of you who are unacquainted with Oh Heck, let me educate you. Seven cards are dealt to all players and they each place a bid on how many tricks they'll take. Taking a trick involves playing the card that is higher than all others in a given round, within a certain suit. The key to Oh Heck is not winning as many as possible, it's getting your bid. Hence, it is possible to win all seven tricks and yet get negative points in total if your bid was for zero tricks. Fewer and fewer cards are dealt with each consecutive round until a round is played with only one card, then rounds are played dealing more cards until the final round is played with seven cards again.

On that particular evening, Elena suggested that we play only from seven cards down to one and then stop. Aghast at this heretical suggestion, I insisted that we play the whole game, as "Playing up is half the fun!" I realized the double meaning in this statement and then followed it with "... quite literally!"

For some reason, Elena found this hilarious and asked me to say it again, this time with one index finger raised to strengthen my point. Thus was born the phrase of the trip, "Quite literally." It was repeated whenever circumstances made it amusing.

Fast-forward to yesterday's Economics 425 class (the Economics of International Trade), where Dr. G is explaining to us the virtues of globalism versus localism. Using an apt example, he demonstrates that although parsnips are tasty and we can produce lots of them in our Albertan climate, some of us like pineapples as well. "Unfortunately" he says, "when it comes to the production of pineapples, Alberta has been left out in the cold... quite literally."

You can imagine the immensity of my desire to burst into laughter and the odd looks I got from my classmates as I tried to hold it in. Especially since none of them seemed to find the pun that amusing.

Quite literally.

Note Update

2010-01-24T22:21:00.002-07:00

Oh, and guess what? Someone missed class this past Wednesday and had to borrow my notes. Namely, Eric the famous note-giver. I figure we're even.

Words to Live By

2010-01-24T22:15:00.003-07:00

Tonight I attended a YSA fireside given by a really nice, funny couple. Predictably (as when a large group of mixed-gender Mormon singles gets together to hear a lecture of some kind) the subject dealt with marriage and dating. Now, I'm not complaining. The marriage talks are some of my favourites. Speakers know that we've heard it time and time again, so they always come up with some new and fun way to tell us to get cracking on the dating thing.

Tonight's golden nugget of wisdom, referring to women's role in the Mormon dating scene:

"She who has a plan, will get a man." I think I'll stitch that one on to a throw pillow.

Public Domain

2010-01-20T21:47:00.003-07:00

I started work on my research paper for Regulatory Economics today! I spent some time this afternoon tracking down regulatory documents regarding electrical transmission in Alberta. Turns out that most of them are available as pdfs and I download a ton. The glitch comes when I want a copy of the updates made to Bill 50, the Electric Statutes Amendment Act of 2009. This is a piece of legislation by the provincial government and the only way to read what it says is to pay $5.00 and have it mailed. Maybe it's just me, but I think that citizens should be able to read legislation for free. Even if there's only one of us who actually cares about the updates to the Electric Statutes Amendment Act of 2009.

Should I Take Note?

2010-01-18T22:12:00.002-07:00

I have this friend. I met him in a mathematical economics class where we were both sitting in the front row like the dorky keeners that we are. Said friend is double-majoring in economics and applied math, so he's a really good friend to have in a mathematical economics class. He also takes really good notes, a fact that I have exploited once or twice. Okay, three times exactly. Whenever I have to miss class, he's good at explaining the missed lecture to me or letting me copy his notes, and he used my notes once to get some missed material.

I was sick last Friday and missed class, so today, I asked if there would be a time in the afternoon when the two of us could meet up with a photocopier on campus. We arranged a time and parted ways, him to his next class and me to the gym. When we met up at Bound and Copied, the copy centre run by the Student's Union, we got started on the four pages of meticulous notes from which I would be reviewing the applications of lambda values in Lagrangian functions. Our first copier turned out to be completely bereft of paper, as did the second and third. The only copier currently not empty was being used to photocopy an entire textbook by some freshman too cheap to buy a book that he could probably sell to someone else next semester for the same price he paid for it. This was frustrating to both me and my friend. The funny thing is that it prompted him to tell various stories of all the annoying people who have asked him for his notes throughout the ages, some of which were pretty funny.

One was the girl who ran into him in the hall and, upon recognizing him from her class, asked if she could get notes from him for an upcoming lecture, as she would be getting her wisdom teeth out. In a rush, he said to ask him again in class. He never saw her again, as the semester was almost over. However, six months later he got a facebook message from her, asking why she had never gotten the notes and telling him that she thought they had a connection that day in the hallway and was he interested in going out with her?

Another was the girl who didn't speak English and kept asking him to explain concepts. After this had happened numerous times, he asked her if she had the textbook, to which she replied, "I no need textbook. You explain for me." He politely asked her to stop using him as a textbook for the course, especially since he didn't know all the concepts perfectly anyways.

I commiserated with a few stories about people who have asked me in advance for the next two weeks' worth of notes, since they'll be going away on holidays. People seem to think that when one sits in the front row, as we do, that we're really smart and know everything the professor is talking about. What they don't realize is our ulterior motives: I need to see the board, and my friend is borderline anti-social and so sits in the only place that isn't full of other people.

It took me this long to remember what we were doing as we complained about sharing notes with people. That's right, I was borrowing his notes. This must have occurred to him around the same time, because he hastily threw in,

"I knew you'd know what I'm talking about. That's why I don't mind sharing my notes with you."

Sitting on the front row makes me the exception to the rule.

Numero sata!

2010-01-17T20:03:00.002-07:00

For all you non-Finnish speakers out there, the title means "Number 100!" Having this be my 100th post makes me feel like it should be something special, but unfortunately I've got nothing. Sorry.

Oooohhh. Idea just came. Here follows a list of hundreds in my current life:

Song on my iTunes that has been played exactly 100 times: Slide by the GooGoo Dolls

Number of goals actually written on my list of 100 life goals that the guest speaker told us to make last summer: 53

Hundreds of pages I have to read for my classes this week: 1.5

Mark out of 100 I scored on my last-minute heart attack Game Theory exam last semester: 78

Hundreds of dollars I spent on textbooks last week: 2.5

Hundreds of dollars I recently qualified for in student loans: 60

Score out of 100 that I would give my trip to Thailand: 110!

Number of people who actually read this blog: Nowhere near 100, but who cares?

What I'm Going to Be When I Grow Up

2010-01-13T10:08:00.002-07:00

Remember how I've been whining for the past 9 months that I don't know what I'm going to be when I grow up? How a large portion of my blog posts were about my lack of purpose and direction and my wavering between one option and another?

Well, that's over, at least for the next month. I've come to a semi-decided conclusion about my future career path. I'm feeling really good about it (at least right now- hopefully I'll feel the same after a few weeks) and am very excited about the possibilities.

I'm going to be a regulatory economist.

This in essence means that I have two career options. I can work for the Competition Bureau to regulate industries that are taking advantage of market conditions to exercise market power. Or, I can work for a large company to help them find loopholes in the regulations so that they can keep exercising market power. Doesn't it sound exciting?

This all started last semester when I got interested in my Industrial Organization class, the one where we learned about conspiracies between firms to rip us off. I found it quite intriguing, so when my professor announced that he would be teaching a follow-up course next semester on Regulatory Economics, I pondered the possibilities. My first class was yesterday, and I'm already in love. We get to write a research paper on regulation in Alberta, choosing a specific industry- I'm pondering postage-stamp pricing in electrical transmission or the allocation of water rights. The Competition Bureau is coming in to the class in two weeks to hold a recruiting session, and the Department of Economics organizes a summer internship program that is only open to students who have completed this course series. But the best part of this class? There are only 7 students. I know this a regular occurrence for some of my friends who major in Byzantine Studies or take senior-level Russian classes, but I have never been in an undergraduate class smaller than about twenty people. I'm super excited and I think it'll be a great course.

Sweet Blood

2009-12-28T01:14:00.002-07:00

I feel like Bella in Twilight. Remember how the smell of her blood was irresistible to Edward? Well, apparently the bugs on Koh Lanta feel the same way about mine. I am covered with little red bumps that itch- on my toes, knuckles of my fingers, behind my knees, and about 30 individual bites on my lower left leg alone. Yes, I really counted them.

The funny thing is that when I first started noticing these bites, I asked the rest of the family whether they had noticed a similar appetite among the little critters. The universal response was, "Bugs? Well, I think I might have a bite or two..." with an unconcerned shrug.

I have come to the inevitable solution that my blood is tastier than theirs. Ha! I win! Somewhat of a hollow victory, but I'll take what I can get. Fingers crossed, hoping there's no vampires about. Unless they're as cute as Robert Pattinson.

Exams are my life

2009-12-18T14:55:00.003-07:00

Exam 1: Saturday Dec. 12, 8 am

I walk into my Religious Studies exam two minutes before it's supposed to start, still yawning, as I got out of bed about 45 minutes previous. I turn to my friend, Lucas, and ask, "So, is this your first one?" to which he replies, "Nope. I already wrote two. In two hours, I'm free for the semester." I am instantly overcome with a jealous rage. I knew I should have become an Ancient History major and rarely write exams! Then again, I'd have to write term papers. Shudder. I take one of the chocolate chip cookies that our instructor has so kindly provided to take away some of the injustice of the early hour and begin work on my exam. Luckily, my choice of questions is based heavily on the two readings that I had time for the day before and one of the essay-style choices is related to my term paper. Whew. Crisis number one averted as I walk out of the exam 30 minutes ahead of schedule. However, now it's straight to Dad's office to spend all day Saturday studying for Exams (aka Crises) number two and three.

Exam 2: Monday Dec. 14, 5:45 am

I roll out of bed in a panic– I didn't miss my alarm and my exam, did I? A glance at the clock tells me I'm exactly on schedule and I'm off to the University by 6:45 to do some last-minute cramming. By 7:50 am, I'm feeling pretty confident about the Nth-derivative test, total partial differentials, and the Maclaurin series. Unfortunately, my professor has decided (in light of the high average on the second midterm that we all worked our butts off for) to make the final a hard one. When there are only 10 minutes left in the exam, professor walks over to me and asks me how far along I am. Honestly, I've done about half the exam and there's an entire third of it that is indecipherable to my limited mental capacities and I tell him so. This statement prompts a kind gesture on his part to extend the exam time one half-hour. "Blast!" I think to myself. "I needed that thirty minutes to review my Marketing before my exam at noon!" In the end, I hand in an exam which has 6/11 questions completed to my exacting standards, with 3/11 showing some attempts before a hastily scribbled "Not enough time to finish this question" and the remaining 2 questions completed, but with what I'm pretty sure are incorrect answers. It's all okay, though, because I talked to my friend in the class who is a math major and even he had no idea what was going on. Ride the curve, baby!

Exam 3: Monday Dec. 14, 12 pm

I rush out of my morning exam with 1.5 hours until my next one. The back story of my Marketing class is this: I spent the last week of classes working feverishly on my group term project and missed the last two chapters of material because of sickness, term papers in other classes, etc. so I wanted to do lots of studying so that I actually know the material. Inevitably, I end up even more worried about my 8 am Mathematical Econ exam, so I spend my entire Saturday studying that instead. Which leaves me with the (supposed) two hours between exams to learn chapters 12 and 13 from my marketing textbook and review another 5 chapters. I can feel the fun. Fast-forward back to Monday at 10:30 when I rush out of my extended Math final. Forget the textbook, I've only got time for the slides on Blackboard. For the next hour and a half, I create snazzy acronyms and finger games to remember the zillions of theories and steps of marketing process that we have to regurgitate. One of my favourites: to remember the 5 stages of the product life cycle, all I have to remember is that I "DIG MDs" (aka I love doctors...?) and that this stands for Development, Introduction, Growth, Maturity, and Decline. Then I just have to remember what IMC, PMR, SMR, and MRA stand for and I'll do fine. Why does it seem like every class I take from Haskayne involves memorizing an unhealthy number of TLAs (Three Letter Acronyms)?

Exam 4: Tuesday Dec. 15, 3:30 pm

Lucky for me, I have a study group for this one. Big Slacker, Awesome Football Guy, Smart Mouth, Has Read and Memorized the Whole Textbook, Skinny Kid With Hemp Necklaces and I all meet in an empty classroom to draw pretty charts of Cournot and Bertrand Best Response Functions, talk about the predatory behaviour of American Airlines in the Dallas Fort Worth hub, solve Stackelberg equilibria, and bemoan the current job market that means that all of us Economics majors will be working in fast food. Smart Mouth and Has Read and Memorized the Whole Textbook, as the lucky ones among us who are graduating in a week, tell us all how inebriated they're going to get this weekend in celebration, and then we work out some critical discount factors to maintain collusion. Eventually, our professor walks into the room, writes "It's just an exam..." on the board, and goes to the back of the room to sort out our examination booklets. Luckily the test is all covering material that I know well and I walk out 30 minutes early, feeling confident.

Exam 5: Thursday Dec. 17, 3:30 pm

This one starts on Tuesday, as I walk through the cafeteria during a break from my entertaining study group. I spy Dr. Game Theory, one of my favourite professors, enjoying his lunch. "Hi, Professor!" I say as I go by. He looks up, asks me how I'm doing and how my studying for his exam is coming along. Chagrined, I admit that I've been pretty swamped with other exams and haven't cracked open my Game Theory notes or textbook yet. "You'd better get started." he replies. "It's going to be a hard exam." Thanks, Dr. Game Theory.

Fast-forward to the day of the exam. It's 1:30 pm and I've been studying for a few hours. I decide to take a little break and in doing so, double-check the location of my exam. Good, it's in SA 106, just like I thought. As I glance away, something catches me eye- the time of the exam. Does that really say 12:00?!? Blast. REALLY?!? After a few moments of stunned disbelief, I realize the implications. I'm screwed. (I ask for the forgiveness of all those whom my language may offend. I'm just trying to give an accurate picture of the words going through my mind.) I quickly make calculations on my head of various natures. I currently have an A in the class... what will happen to me if I can't fix this? If they started at 12, how much time is left in the exam? How long will it take me to book it to SA 106? How much of a mark can I squeeze out of 15 minutes of writing time? And the overlying question... how much does Dr. Game Theory care about one student in his class?

I decide to wait outside the door of the classroom until most of the other students have left, pointedly ingoring anything and everything they're saying about the exam. As I walk to the front of the classroom in which the exam was written, Dr. Game Theory looks up and says, "Louise!" (yes, I go by my legal name at school) "Where were you ? Is everything okay?" Hmm... things are looking better already. I explain my predicament- the somewhat embarrasing fact that I got the exam times mixed up. He looks around at the one or two other students in the room and explains the procedure for deferring an exam and promises his full support in my dealings with the registrar on the matter. As I leave, the last student from the room, he calls, "Wait, Louise..." I turn around and he continues. "Hmmm... I really don't want to have to write another exam. What are you doing right now?"

After confirming the TA's availability and clearing all the papers off his desk, Dr. Game Theory installs me in his office with an exam and two pencils, accepting my profuse thanks. He instructs his TA to look in on me every half hour or so, as "She's not a really a student that I worry about cheating." He wishes me a Merry Christmas and says as he walks away, "We don't have to tell the registrar about this." with a wink, firnly cementing his already somewhat secure status as my favourite professor ever.

And now I'm finished exams, at least for another semester. Let's hope my next set of tests follows a bit more of an orthodox pattern!

Hiatus

2009-12-09T21:46:00.002-07:00

I just had my first relaxing day in a month or more. Yesterday was my last day of classes and the day when I handed in my last two assignments for the semester... now all I have left is 5 exams! Joy! My favourite class of the semester has been my Religious Studies class, "Councils, Canonc, and Creed– the Christian Church 200-800 AD". Even as I registered for it, I affectionately dubbed it "Apostasy 101". It has not been a disappointment.

I wrote my paper on the evolution of the four-gospel canon and had such fun reading papers and books on canonical and apocryphal gospels, Marcion, Tatian and the Diatessaron, Irenaeus, and Athanasius' Thirty-ninth Festal Letter. Did you know that there were three main categories of apocryphal writings and that the third, Supplementary Gospels, is made up of mostly Infancy Gospels? Starting in about the 4th and 5th centuries, people were fascinated with the childhood of Christ and made up the most fantastical narratives about it. Did you know that the first major attempt at creating an official canon was by Marcion, who denied the concept of the Hebrew God and therefore cut out huge portions of the Gospel of Luke and denied the validity of all the other gospels?

I know, fascinating stuff.

While I was on my mission and was only allowed to read certain books, I became quite interested in the early church after reading James E. Talmage's Jesus the Christ. When I found out that the university was offering a course on early Christian history, I had to take it. Overall, it's been one of the best and most interesting classes I've ever taken.

The Way The Kids See It

2009-11-08T15:41:00.007-07:00

I finally found my camera the other day and downloaded my pictures from the roadtrip that Elena and I took to Edmonton and Slave Lake 2 months ago. One of my favourite things about the trip was little Ben and his obsession with my camera.

One of the first times that I took it out to take some pictures, Ben was fascinated. He asked if he could hold it, and because I thought it was so cute, I showed him how to hold the button down and take pictures all by himself. Little did I know that I was kissing my camera goodbye for the next few days. Ben walked around the living room for about twenty minutes, snapping the shutter every few seconds (luckily for both my battery life and my memory card, he didn't press hard enough to take a picture every time). The only way that Ben let me have my camera back was if I promised to take pictures of him, which I was expected to show him on the screen within 5 seconds. Everytime I told him, "Just one more picture, Ben, then Auntie needs her camera back." he would wheedle another five minutes of photography bliss.

I ended up with some very cute photos, though–

after I deleted the 30+ pictures of light brown carpet and a selection of books. I especially love the one he took of Brigham.

Live Long and Prosper

2009-11-04T22:18:00.001-07:00

For the past few weeks, I'd been trying to figure out what I could be for Halloween. For my piano recital last Saturday, I ended up just wearing a black cape over my jeans and t-shirt (luckily most of the kids thought it was cool anyways, since I'm their awesomely cool piano teacher) but I wanted something better for the young adult party last night. Our family went to London Drugs mid-week and I was browsing through the costumes when I saw the perfect one: A Star Trek Outfit.

Unfortunately, the outfit was in a size more suited to a three-year-old boy than a 23-year-old girl who's 6'1". But who wants to buy their Hallowe'en costume anyways? I figured that I'd go to Old Navy, find a v-neck shirt in one of the Star Trek colours (rusty red, mustard yellow, or the classic dark blue), wear it on top of a black shirt, and make myself a little badge out of tinfoil.

Fastforward to Friday. I realize at school that I don't own black pants. Oh well, I've been needing some anyways. I'll just have to drive to the Tall Girl store in Sunridge on the other side of town after school and buy some black pants.

When I get home, I start working on my comm badge. One granola bar box, some skillful work with glue, scissors, and tinfoil, and 30 minutes later, I pressed it to my chest and said "Beam me up, Scotty." It was exhilarating.

Elena and I decided that the only time when we would be able to squeeze in the trip to Old Navy would be on our way to the party, so she got into the car dressed as Pippi Longstocking (braids pointing straight out, mismatched socks and all) while I was clad in black from head to toe. Let's just say I got waaaay less weird stares than she did.

When we finally arrived at the party, I was in full form. Elena made me say "Redd to Enterprise" and "Beam me up, Scotty– there's no sign of intelligent life here." about every fifteen minutes. It was great.

Final calculations:

New black cords with a 38" inseam: $79.99

1 roll of tin foil: from Mum's pantry

Red v-neck: $7.50

Black turtleneck: $7.50

My new reputation as a Trekkie: priceless

Conspiracy Theories... Part II

2009-11-04T11:47:00.002-07:00

I'm taking an Industrial Organization class this semester. For those of you without the Economics vocabulary, that means a class where we study the behaviour of firms in various markets and analyze their potential for market power.

Don't leave! Don't fall asleep! I promise it'll get interesting!

So far, we've looked at firms in the competitive market, monopolists, and oligopolists. We're working right now on the concept of cartels and oligopolies and using game theory to determine their motivations to collude with each other to raise prices. It's actually quite fascinating to see how people get away with this stuff. And to learn how to do it ourselves. I've pretty much mastered the art of maximizing profit and getting away with it (at least on paper) so beware if I go into business as a monopolist. Or join a production cartel.

Today, my professor asked us to think of ways that members of a cartel can enforce their illegal collusion and destroy free-market America as we know it. Other than mob-style tactics, we came up with the idea that if information about different firms' prices and quantities are commonly known and generally accepted as reliable (which will only be true in the case of some third party like the government reporting them), then other members of the collusion agreement will be able to detect and punish deviants.

Now comes the best part. Our prof opens up the Alberta Energy System Operator website and shows us how the government has so kindly posted the daily data of the bids of individual energy generators and suppliers in Alberta– so that "consumers can be informed". How many people get a kick out of reading the daily, even hourly, changes in bids for electricity provision? Well, besides my professor. Then he goes on to tell us that this is exactly the information that all the firms need to be able to run a giant oligopoly of electric providers and to effectively find out which firms are cheating on the agreement and giving us cheaper power!

Yes, you heard me right. The government is assisting possible the illegal exercise of market power by cartels of power generation companies.

That's not all– ever since I started this class, I've been on the lookout for the tactics I've learned in class. I've spied firms creating artificial homogeneity in their products to raise prices. I've heard ads that promote price discrimination through created market segmentation. It's everywhere! Sometimes I feel a little paranoid about it all. But I swear it's REAL!

Maybe in Friday's lecture we can make some tin foil hats. I think mine is about due.

My BA... Be Anything!

2009-10-29T11:02:00.003-06:00

Due to my current midlife crisis (I have no idea what I'm going to be doing next year) I decided to meet with my career counsellor today. I e-mailed her last week to set up the appointment and told her a little about what I'm interested in:

Marketing Research Analysis (I've just recently learned a little more about it and think it would be something I'd enjoy), Commercial Brokerage (arranging the buying and selling of businesses? Maybe sounds like a good option). I originally wanted to go into financial analysis, but early on in my economics degree learned that I prefer microeconomics to macroeconomics and would be better suited to something more related to the micro aspect.

I've thought about going to grad school for economics after finishing an honours degree, but part of me wants to just be out of school. The problem is that I have no idea what I want to be when I'm out of school. The way I explained it to a friend of mine is "When your main life goal is to have five kids and make homemade bread every Wednesday, it's hard to fit into the commonly accepted schooling and career system."

Suffice it to say, however, that I've been looking into lots of options. I'm not ruling anything out. I've looked into the pastry chef program at SAIT (cool, but would just require more school), commercial brokerage (no one from the one Calgary company that accepts recent grads as trainees will return my emails or calls), marketing research analysis (actually quite fascinated by this one, information has been a little tricky to gather but I'm not giving up yet), and even applied for an internship with the Bank of Canada (I have yet to hear back from them).

I love my subject, I really do. I like economics and find it intriguing. Nothing gets me through my mid-university crisis like going to my Game Theory class. I just wish that I would have listened more carefully when I asked people 4 years ago "Are there jobs for people with Econ degrees?" and they responded "You can do ANYTHING with an Econ degree!"

I hope that includes being a pirate. Or a spy.

Nerd Points

2009-10-20T23:37:00.000-06:00

Today I was working on a big assignment due tomorrow with some other people from my class. I let slip one of my signature big words– I think it might have been emporium, although I can't quite remember– and there was some confusion among my fellow students as to my meaning. It reminded me of a game we played when I was a missionary in Oulu, the "Nerd Points Game". It all started with a game of pseudo-Balderdash played in the Outreach Centre. In one round, I used some fun, exciting, and unusual words. Although my entry wasn't the official winner, Elder Taggart honoured me with the bestowal of a "nerd point" for my trouble.

Thus began the Nerd Point Game. Whenver any member of our district used particularly large words or a complicated turn of phrase, they were awarded one nerd point. I'm not really sure why this came out in a blog right now, but suffice it to say that I've been studying game theory for 3 hours and copying out a good copy of my calculus for the past hour. I think I'll go to bed now.

Greetings from Purgatory

2009-10-20T09:16:00.003-06:00

In a desperate attempt to break free from the outer darkness known as "midterm week" ( I know it sounds harmless, but that's how they get you!) I send this message out into the blogosphere and wait for help to arrive.

Save me! I've sunk so deep I don't know if I can ever get out! It all started so innocently... I singed up for five classes at the U of C in the fall semester and I thought to myself, "Just once won't hurt... I can handle this... moderation is for wimps." Then came the readings, the little assignments here and there. I thought they would make me cool, that everybody's doing it. Well, we all know where those kind of rationalizing thoughts get you. Soon I found myself holed up alone in the library for 7 hours on a Saturday, with calculus, game theory, and marketing strategies coming out of my ears. Then I was skipping FHE to memorize the Boston Consulting Group Growth Share Matrix. Next thing you know, I'll be (gasp) a full-on KEENER.

I know that I've gotten myself into this deep hole of purgatory by my own agency and I'll have to write the four midterms this week whether I want to or not (I guess there are a few remaining options, like faking my own death, fleeing the country, or maybe just failing the class, but I'm not sure that even those would succeed). So wish me luck, and if you don't hear from me by Sunday, know that I failed and that I've been lost in the depths of midterm hell for all eternity.

Smoked Turkey

2009-10-12T10:03:00.003-06:00

It all started a few weeks ago when Mum and Daddy announced that they were going away for Thanksgiving. They had received a weekend in Windermere as a gift and went for their anniversary. They broke the news to us as gently as they could. After the shock of realizing that we would be on our own for the holiday (gasp!) and after Peter shed a few tears for the turkey that would not be this year (at least until American Thanksgiving, when we're having the missionaries and possibly my old companion), I thought to myself, "Well, I could make some kind of roasted fowl..." I got really excited and thought of a few roast chicken recipes that I'd seen throughout my years of cookbook perusing, Elena had grand plans for pies galore, and we planned to eat our very own festive meal on Sunday.

That is, until the dishwasher broke. After washing our own dishes for two weeks, suddenly the reality of hand-scrubbing a roasting pan and a zillion pots kicked in (aided by the memory of Christmas '06, when we had 15 people in the house for the holidays and our dishwasher decided to go on the fritz just in time for our turkey dinner). Suddenly I was thinking more along the lines of, "Let's have a frozen pizza on paper plates" seemed more my speed.

All in all, when a member of Mum and Daddy's ward heard that we were alone for Thanksgiving and invited us to join them, it was a welcome invite. Especially since the furnace has also been acting up and the house has been sitting at a cozy 16 degrees since Friday night.

Elena went ahead and made her pie, which we took to our hosts, and we set off for Peter's friend's house, where we would be enjoying this year's Thanksgiving dinner. Our hosts warned everyone that this year, they had smoked their turkey, and so everyone should try it first to see if they liked it before heaping their plates high with meat. It was so delicious! Every single bite was moist and tender and tasted like applewood (in a good way). The gravy made from the smoked meat had a delicious flavor and Peter and his friend started inventing ways to eat more of it even when the potatoes were all gone. The incredible meal was topped off with pumpkin, lemon, and sugar pie and a game of Star Wars Battlefront (which I lost spectacularly!).

The only problem with that turkey dinner is that now the leftovers are at their house instead of in my fridge! What I wouldn't give for a smoked turkey sandwich today at noon...

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-10-11T09:33:00.002-06:00

In the spirit of the season, here are some thing that I'm thankful for. In no particular order.

I'm grateful that Calgary seasons finally decided to get their act together and the +30 September ended. Now I can wear my cute cool-weather clothes that I brought home from Finland!

I'm grateful for General Conference- one of the best weekends of the year.

I'm grateful for the old-fashioned radio shows that I can download every week that bring me such joy and entertainment while I ride my bike/the bus to school.

I'm grateful for Friday Forum.

I'm thankful that my scuba diving course ended last week so that I only had to swim in 13-degree weather and not the stuff we're having now.

I'm grateful for my little ibbi and the way they call me "Auntie Neen".

I'm thankful for a temple close by and one being planned even closer. That really came into perspective yesterday when, at the temple, I thought about the saints that would travel to Helsinki from Russia, the Baltics, and Belarus and do sessions 24/7 for a week.

I'm thankful for the mountains. When I lived in a flat country for 18 months, I didn't really realize how much I loved the mountains until I got back to Calgary. The first time I went hiking after my mission, it felt like coming home.

I'm grateful for the smell of Elena's pie still lingering in the house- I can't wait to have a piece!

I'm thankful for pretty much everything to do with Finland.

And I'm grateful for my family full of loveys.

My semester has purpose! And meaning!

2009-10-05T21:56:00.002-06:00

Today I had about 10 minutes between eating lunch at the institute and leaving for class, which, as anyone will tell you, is not sufficient interval to crack open a textbook and do any real work. I got talking to my friend Becky about the story of Leon the frog, an epic tale of an innocent green frog searching for greater meaning in his life by pursuing the unattainable light at the top of the stairs. This journey of self-discovery and wonder is written, line by line, on the stairs of the Social Sciences building– all 13-plus-basement floors of it. I've read portions of the story as I've walked up to the fourth floor, where the economics department and all my lovely professors have their domain, as well as a snippet here and there whenever I find myself going from one floor to another in Social Sciences. Becky and I wondered how it had gotten started, and more importantly, whether the chapter written on the stairs from the basement to the first floor, now faded, had been lost to us forever.

After a quick google, search, we realized that the original story was written in the early 1970s by some students with a mission. Over time, it's been rewritten as the indelible ink fades, with new editing and additions by each generation. Becky and I figured that it's time for the original tale to be restored to its former glory– that is, if we can track down a rare first edition in time for Leon's prestigious 40th anniversary. So far, I've got plans to look up the archives for the Gauntlet, the campus newspaper, and contact the original author to see if she's got it written down anywhere.

I've got a mission! Before I leave the U of C campus for good either this spring or next, Leon the Frog deserves to be re-written in its original glory.

What'sa matter? Are you... chicken?

2009-09-30T20:47:00.003-06:00

Being a pedestrian in Calgary, especially on campus, has become a most interesting sport... that is, if you get a thrill out of wondering whether you'll have to run, jump, or dive out of the way to avoid a broken leg, like I do. Get a thrill, that is– I have yet to actually experience the broken leg. But every time I come to a crosswalk on the U of C campus, I get the fun of playing a game of chicken with a 4000 lb. vehicle approaching at 30 km/hr. Granted, not that fast, but still...

Here's how the game plays out: I walk happily through the fall weather on my way to my Industrial Organizations class. Luckily for most drivers, I am already above the average alertness for a university student because my ears are headphone-free. As I approach one of the drives that meanders through campus, I see a vehicle coming my way. Just to make sure that they've seen me, I slow down. Not that I'm forfeiting my pedestrian's entitlement to the right-of-way, I just would prefer to arrive at my class in one piece. Some vehicles, however, take my hesitation to mean that they can start to speed up in an attempt to get through the intertsection before me.

Not so fast, bucko. I'm still walking.

All the cars eventually come to a halt at the crosswalk, the aforementioned speed demons with a bit of a screech and all the others to a gentle stop. But they all watch me crossing with an impatient glance to their car clock, assumably thinking to themselves, "Gosh, why can't this girl just fly, or apparate to class or something? It would save me sooo much time!" The speed demons also give me a look that says. "Silly, why did you stop walking when I sped up? Obviously I was going to stop and not run you over. That's what accelerating the engine means!"

I'd rather arrive late than dead.

Or chicken.

Needless to say, I have yet to lose.

My Continuing Love Affair

2009-09-15T09:50:00.002-06:00

Remember 2 years ago when I wrote of my roller-coaster relationship with a certain office at my university? That's right, the registrar. I don't know why I consent to be in such an abusive relationship, but it's one of those "can't live with you, can't live without you" situations. Every school year, the registrar helps me get into the classes I want (via my long-term student status and it's attending early registration date and my fake minor in business) and I feel happy to have such a considerate friend in the registration business.

Then the school year hits and I remember why we have this love-hate relationship.

This year's complaint: why on earth can't you release the exam schedule before the middle of November? This concern arises from the fact that my dad bought me a ticket to go to Thailand at Christmas. Our tickets are for the 18th of December and the University of Calgary's exam period runs from December 11th to the 21st. Unfortunately, I won't know until approximately a month before my plane leaves for China whether or not I'll have an exam on that same day.

Grrrrrrr...

Hiking... or, Why I Love Alberta

2009-08-21T17:43:00.009-06:00

This summer, a friend and I have been trying to go out hiking a few times. On my suggestion, we went to Galatea in July and had a great hike. When I got an email from him on Monday with the title "Hiking", I was excited for another nice trip out to the mountains– then I read the message: "It will be a fairly intense hike: ~25K round trip, includes some scrambling/quasi-rock climbing and fording a river, and we will likely be leaving Calgary around 4:30AM."

Hmm... maybe I'll rethink my excitement to go to Lake of the Horns.

As I pondered the state my legs would be in after such a hike, as well as the amount of sleep I would get the preceding night (I already had plans for the night before that would prevent an nice 8 pm bedtime), I thought, "Well, if my friend thinks I can do it, I sure as shootin' am going to try!" so I replied to the email with a response that I would see him bright and early Wednesday morning.

We were on the trail by 6:30 and despite my slight grogginess from a nap in the car, got a good start. In the parking lot, we were able to see our final destination, a waterfall coming downa cliff in a dip between two mountains, off in the distance. The sun was slowly coming up behind the mountains to our backs and I've never seen Kananaskis look so beautiful. The river crossing hit at kilometer 1 and the chilly water was a very refreshing wake-me-up.

After about 8 or 9 km of gently rolling hills and gentle sunlight through the trees, I was thinking, "This is not nearly as bad as it sounded, and look how close that waterfall looks!" Than we hit the incline. My friend and his dad kept up a brisk pace as the incline went from slight to gradual to somewhat steep to grueling. I started taking breaks here and there to keep my heart rate in healthy limits, gratefully joined by my friend's mum, who (luckily for me) doesn't share her son and husband's competitive intensity.

My legs aching and the trail becoming less and less followable in the shale, we suddenly hit the "quasi-rock climbing" that had been promised. My friend, already at the top of the ridge, was kind enough to wait for us within view before going to the lake. As I scrambled up the cliff, sweating like a pig in the sun and my legs feeling like spaghetti, I thought, "This had better be the most beautiful lake I've ever seen, with the best view of the valley, or else it wasn't worth it." when suddenly, I came over the crest of the ridge and saw a pristene blue-green lake tucked into a bowl just behind the cliff. Little scrubby pine trees grew in the soft, heathery turf and when I turned around, I could see the mountains reaching out for miles.

At moments like this, all of my desires to get away from the place I've lived my entire life melt away. I get tired of Calgary sometimes and wish I could live in faraway, exotic places, but when I go out to the Rockies, I know that I could never, ever, leave for good. I'll always have to come back to be near these mountains.

So, aching legs, sunburnt scalp and all, once I had a belly full of trail mix and my friend suggested scrambling up the sides of the valley for a view from the upper ridge, I knew it would be worth it.

A Baking Binge

2009-08-06T14:53:00.003-06:00

For the last few weeks, Mum, Elena, and I have been taking a cake decorating course at Michaels. I've wanted to learn how to decorate pretty, fancy cakes since I got my Martha Stewart Baking Bible and salivated over the various recipes. After buying a gigantic kit that includes everything from a cake leveler to 15 different icing tips, I started out. There were some hitches on the way- a circus cake that looked like various birds had flown over it with indigestion, for one- but it was all worth it for my final cake (above).

You see, this course required us to make cake every week to bring and decorate. This meant that there were up to three cakes in our home at any given time. Plus, Elena and I threw a baby shower for a friend and I had to make cupcakes for that. Our house was chock full of baked goods. With the leftover batter and icing from the shower cupcakes, I made the strawberry cake of goodness featured above. Here's the recipe, as requested:

(For a cake, fill the space between the layers with the leftover jam instead of icing. It's way better)

Makes 2 dozen (or, as I found: 80 mini cupcakes + three petit-fours + one 7-inch layer cake)

3 cups cake flour (not self-rising)
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
2 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup milk
8 large egg whites
Strawberry Meringue Buttercream
24 small fresh strawberries, washed (hulls intact), for garnish

Directions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line two standard 12-cup muffin pans with paper liners; set aside.
In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, and salt; set aside.
In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat butter and 2 cups sugar until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes, scraping down sides of the bowl as needed. Beat in vanilla. With mixer on low speed, add flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the milk and beginning and ending with the flour; beat until just combined. Transfer mixture to a large bowl; set aside.
In the clean bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites on low speed until foamy. With mixer running, gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar; beat on high speed until stiff, glossy peaks form, about 4 minutes. Do not overbeat. Gently fold 1/3 of the egg-white mixture into the butter-flour mixture until combined. Gently fold in remaining egg-white mixture.
Divide batter evenly among the muffin cups, filling each with a heaping 1/4 cup batter. Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until the cupcakes are golden brown and a cake tester inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out clean, 20 to 25 minutes. Transfer pans to a wire rack. Invert cupcakes onto rack; then reinvert and let cool completely, top sides up. Frost cupcakes with strawberry meringue buttercream, swirling to cover (I like to put the frosting in an icing bag and give them swirls, like at Crave). Cupcakes may be stored in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to three days. Garnish with strawberries just before serving.

Strawberry Meringue Buttercream:

Ingredients

Makes 5 cups

4 large egg whites
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, cut into tablespoons
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups (12 ounces) strawberry jam, pureed in a food processor

Directions

In the heatproof bowl of an electric mixer set over a saucepan of simmering water, combine egg whites and sugar. Cook, whisking constantly, until sugar has dissolved and mixture is warm to the touch (about 160 degrees).
Attach the bowl to the mixer fitted with the whisk attachment. Beat the egg-white mixture on high speed until it holds stiff (but not dry) peaks. Continue beating until the mixture is fluffy and cooled, about 6 minutes.
Switch to the paddle attachment. With mixer on medium-low speed, add butter several tablespoons at a time, beating well after each addition. (If frosting appears to separate after all the butter has been added, beat on medium-high speed until smooth again, 3 to 5 minutes more.) Beat in vanilla. Beat on lowest speed to eliminate any air bubbles, about 2 minutes. Stir in strawberry jam with a rubber spatula until frosting is smooth.

The Easy Button

2009-07-27T22:32:00.004-06:00

Yesterday in church we had a lesson about prioritizing and putting important things first in our lives, and the teacher asked us to share some of the more trivial things in which we get caught up. I figured that in a room full of YSA Relief Society sisters, someone had to say the one that no one really thinks of... and even if they do, they're too embarrassed to say it, especially with the 28-year-old single member of the bishopric sitting in the back.

"Sometimes it's easy to get distracted with worries and concerns about whether we'll get married. Or our lack of dates."

Some girls looked awkward. Some nodded and smiled, agreeing completely and happy to know that they were not alone. Some looked around confidently, as if to say, "I NEVER worry about that" but you know that they secretly do. Because they're girls.

This experience reminded me of an event that happened soon after I returned home from Finland- one that sums up this eternal search for a potential spouse that all of us YSA embark on.

My Dad's calling is as a Family History Consultant. This means that he's an expert in setting up accounts on FamilySearch.org. When I got home, he lost no time in helping me get started on the new FamilySearch.org. After entering in all the pertinent details about myself, I was presented with a fascinating view of my family tree, showing my parents, grandparents, and ancestors all the way back to the 1600s on some lines (kudos to my Daddy for his stellar Family History skills). I kept myself fairly amused for about 20 minutes going back on various family lines to see where everybody came from.

Upon returning to my home page, where it showed me on the left-hand side and the two generations directly preceding me, I noticed a fascinating button right under my name. There, under the link of "Janine Louise Redd" was a handy button called "Add/Find Husband".

Apparently it's that easy!

Hats off to Anne

2009-07-23T09:57:00.006-06:00

On my little sister's blog, there has been a poll for the past several weeks: "Who is your favourite 18th century novel heroine? Yes, you must pick just one." Ever since it's been posted, I have scanned the list of various Jane Austen, Brontë Sisters, and Elizabeth Gaskell characters, thinking, "How can anyone expect you to pick just one?" and yet, at the same time, thinking, "They're all pretty good, but none of them is really that good that I would single them out as my favourite." Until this week, that is.

Since I started school again, I've had a renewed interest in audiobooks. When I ride my bike to school and back at least once a week, I like to have something to listen to (it's a long ride). I tried music, and it was kind of boring after a while. There's too much room for your mind to wander, which is not really what I need right now. Audiobooks, on the other hand, keep you completely engrossed, but just alert enough to be aware of the cars passing you as you ride down Silver Springs Boulevard. I got a bunch of cds from the library: short stories by Agatha Christie, some works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle about Sherlock Holmes, and a Jane Austen classic, Persuasion.

Now, I had always known that this story was my favourite Jane Austen novel- we own two movie versions, I've read it, and I love it more every time. But I didn't know that Anne Elliot was my favourite 18th century novel heroine. Well, she is. As I've listened to the audiobook on my bicycle this week, I've fallen in love with her- the real character, not the modernized girl-power one they show in the most recent movie. The book is kind of tragic at the beginning, everything is hopeless, Anne is twenty-seven and quite sure of her remaining single for the rest of her life. We follow her through a story of doing everything that He's Just Not That Into You warns us against: reading something into every single little action of Captain Wentworth and throwing over Mister Elliot (who is really into her) because of the tiny hope that the Captain might one day change his mind (but it's okay, Mr. Elliot turns out to be a jerk anyways).

But in doing all this, Anne finds that like Gigi in the movie version of He's Just Not That Into You, she too is the exception to the rule. Love can find you after an eight-year hiatus, men can forgive you for breaking their hearts, and they'll even sometimes prefer a twenty-seven year-old with good sense and a kind heart to an eighteen year-old with spunk and good looks.

Anne Elliot is an inspiration to us all.

Dorky Me... Part II

2009-07-22T22:54:00.002-06:00

I had a great day today. Kind of busy and stressful, but I really enjoyed it. Why, you may ask? What happened that was so much fun? Did you get free balloons or candy? Was there a circus on campus today?

No.

However, something did happen that gives me the same kind of elation and delight as the aforementioned pleasures... that is, if I've studied enough. I had two exams today.

The first, a final exam for Art History, was multiple choice- not my favourite kind of exam, but I'll take what I can get. Tackling each question, with it's four possible answers, gives me a kind of thrill as I eliminate wrong ones and try to decipher all the little tricks that the professor has slipped in. True, the figure of Christ does refer to the painting on the opposite wall in Da Vinci's "The Last Supper", but the statement for option D is quite obviously true as well. Ahah! They've cleverly tried to tell us that the painting on the opposite wall is a Last Judgement, when it is, in fact, a crucifixion! Foiled!

The second, a midterm for Religious Studies, was much preferred. The entire exam was short, essay-style questions in various sections: choose 10 from Part A, 3 from Part 2, 1 short essay from Part 5, and so on. It's much easier to display one's own perceived intelligence on such a test. One can pick and choose- perhaps, for example, I've spent my study time on the Hellenistic period of Judaism and not on memorizing the various Yiddish words for synagogue. I can choose to answer the question I please! It was quite fun. I found myself running out of time because I was enjoying giving my answers too much.

You see, for someone as much of a competitive show-off as I am, tests are great. I can prepare and study and, if I've done so well, I can show off to the whole world (or at least my professor) how much I know. Then, when I get my mark back, there it is in black and white: how smart I am. For a mind that attaches numbers to everything, grades are essential. How else can I measure my intelligence (or lack thereof)?

I'm getting better at this, though. I no longer sneakily peek at everyone else's grade to see how I did in comparison. I just like looking at my own number in satisfaction. Or horror at my apparent stupidity for forgetting that in the compass rose, up is always north. Yes, it's happened.

10 Reasons I LOVE Being Back In School

2009-07-09T22:26:00.002-06:00

1. Call me a dork, but I love learning new things.

2. I like to pretend I'm cultured and knowledgeable about high-class things like art and politics. My current classes (Art History and Religious Studies) assist me in this. Now, thanks to my Art History prof, I can answer that quintessential party question, "Who was the patron saint of gravediggers?" and everyone will think I'm soooo cultured.

3. Campus just feels good.

4. I recently discovered that I can ride my all the way from my home in Tuscany to campus and it's a delightful ride through old treed communities the whole way. Plus, I feel hardcore when I pull up to campus in my bike shorts.

5. I need the structure in my day. The relaxed break from regimented missionary schedule was nice for a while, but it was starting to drive me bonkers.

6. I've missed the quest for cheap used textbooks. Anyone who's scoured the bookstores and finally found the one awesome copy that's highlighted and falling apart (but only $20!!!) can identify.

7. It's fun to meet new people.

8. Now, when people ask me what I'm up to in post-mission life, I finally have a decent answer.

9. I get to write a RESEARCH PAPER!!!

10. It finally feels like I'm out of the weird post-mission bubble and real life has started again. Although I'm not sure that's necessarily a happy thing.

Michael Jackson is DEAD?!?

2009-06-29T23:55:00.003-06:00

This evening I was checking my facebook (I've spent the whole day in bed with the 'flu and I'm going out of my mind) and saw an invitation to a Michael Jackson memorial party. I was a little confused. Was there some kind of anniversary- 20 years ago this week that the video for "Thriller" was released? Maybe the exuberant YSA of Calgary just felt the need to throw a party and this was the best theme they could come up with? After a few more subtle hints (including an ad for the Michael Jackson Estate Sale), I figured that a google search was in order. First I tastefully typed in plain old "Michael Jackson" and came up with a few more tantalizing hints. Then I threw tact to the wind and did a search for "Michael Jackson Death" and came up with much more promising results. The beauty of the story? He's been dead for 5 days and I didn't even know. Ahh, the beauty of disconnectedness.

Shuffled Around

2009-06-28T20:18:00.002-06:00

Today my Sunday School Class was a bit of an adventure. It started when I walked out of Relief Society (we have our meeting block backwards) and ran into an acquaintance who served a mission in the Ukraine. After the standard, "We miss our missions! How are you adjusting?" talk, I told her that I needed to go get ready for my class. Upon hearing that I taught mission prep, she immediately said, "I'm coming! Can I tell you that you have my Dream Calling?" and so we headed off together to the room where mission prep has taken place the majority of the time that I've been the teacher. I say the majority of the time because we get shuffled around a lot. During 6 weeks in this calling, the class has taken place in no less than 3 separate rooms around the institute building. After arriving in aforementioned room, someone arrives and tells me that I don't get that room today. So I walk through the halls, eventually locating our Sunday School President. He doesn't know where I'm supposed to be, either, but suggests the gym and tells me that the first counsellor in the bishopric knows for sure. Unfortunately, he's not in town today.

I start setting up in the gym when I turn around and realize that the crowd in front of me is all unfamiliar and looks suspiciously large for mission prep. They inform me that they are here for Gospel Doctrine. Hmmmm. Now I've got a problem. I have no classroom and the lesson should be starting... well, a minute or two ago. I lifted my eyes to the sky and wished that my co-teacher, Scott, were here. He knows where the class is supposed to be held!

Finally, I go back to the original classroom and discover that it is completely empty and I can use it after all. I start setting up, but by this time, my usual class has all apparently given up in frustration and gone to Gospel Doctrine. I'm left teaching a class of two returned missionaries and a curious onlooker, who wandered in from the hall.

Once we got past all the rigmarole, however, it was really a wonderful lesson. The comments were insightful and I found myself wishing that we had a few more post-mission students in the class regularly. I may just get my wish, though- the Sister who served in Ukraine made the observation that although she can't teach her dream class, she can still attend it!

The Daddy Dilemma

2009-06-24T14:59:00.002-06:00

As is indicated in the previous post, yes, I still call my Father "Daddy". This has made me occasionally the brunt of jokes since Junior High, when the cool thing to call your dad was more along the lines of "that dude who cramps my style" or "(insert first name here) who doesn't understand me".

On my mission, I recall riding in the mission van with the assistants and office elders on Mother's Day at the appointed time for the call form my parents. Right on schedule, our cell phone rang and the screen lit up with "unidentified caller". I quickly pressed the answer button and shrieked, "DADDY?!?" After asking him to call back in a few minutes when we were at the mission home, I hung up to a silent van. After five seconds Elder Deru asked semi-incredulously, "Daddy? Really, Sister Redd? How old are you?"

In my defense, the family tradition of us daughters using the term Daddy has a long and storied tradition going back to the early childhood days of Standin' Tall story tapes (a staple of every 80s Mormon childhood) and an unhappy princess who wandered the halls of her palace calling, "Daa-ddy! King Daa-ddy! Where aaare you?" We thought it was hilarious and often referred to our Daddy as "King Daa-ddy".

So what if I am, as the Elders teased, a "Daddy's girl"? I like it , and I love my Daddy. Yes, maybe sometimes when he's absorbed in a book I may have to call him Jim to get his attention, but he'll always be my Daddy.

Happy Father's Day!

2009-06-22T22:17:00.003-06:00

Well, Father's Day posts seem to be the norm right now, so I thought I'd join the gang. I recently had great experiences with all my paternal figures that deserve a tribute.

First of all, my Daddy. From geocaching to long bicycle rides to shopping trips (anywhere from the Chinese market to the purse extravaganza that is Marimekko) my Daddy is alwasy there for me and I love the time we spend together. I loved it when he came to pick me up in Finland- I remember seeing him and Mummy coming out of the hotel where the Assistants were dropping me off and as I ran to give mum a hug, the first thing my Daddy did was take a lovely snapshot to preserve the memory forever. It's probably the least flattering photo ever taken of me, but it's the thought that counts, right?

My Grandpas also have a special place in my heart. Today I got to go on a walk with Grandpa Young around Bowness Park and it reminded me of all the times as a kid when he would drive us to school and back- sometimes we'd stop at the park on our way home or he might even take us to Lic's if we were really good. I also loved camping trips with Grandpa and Grannie out to Banff. My Grandpa Redd is the master of networking. He knows everyone and loves them all, too. Case in point: when we visited him at the hospital on Saturday, our ride back to Calgary came in to pick us up. Upon learning the boy's name, Grandpa immediately asked about his parents and passed on his love and greeting to them. I'm always amazed by how many people that meet love and respect my Grandpa.

Here's to my Daddy and my Grandpas. You've raised the bar for all prospective suitors.

Locked Out

2009-06-13T17:11:00.007-06:00

As I'm going through pictures and movies from my mission in preparation for the slide show that I've been promising Daddy for two months, I've had a riot seeing them and remembering those amazing 18 months. One of them, I think, deserves a blog. Deserves to be seen.

Those of you who attended either of my homecoming talks heard the story of being locked out of our apartment. Well, to be honest, that happened several times. In fact, I think that the best ones should receive some exposure before I share the one that has a matching video. Please keep in mind that this is by no means an exhaustive list of all the times that I was locked out of places on my mission... only the highlights.

Episode 1: A Dark and Stormy Night

My trainer and I were out contacting one Saturday afternoon. We were headed home for dinner and on the way, we stopped to buy some ice cream that we were bringing as dessert to dinner with one of our investigators the following day. As we walked up to our apartment building, both of us realized that neither one of us had grabbed the keys from the hook beside the door and we were locked out. Fortunately, the assistants had a spare key. Unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to make it for another hour. Despite the wintry weather (it was only March) the ice cream was starting to melt and we were stranded on the steps outside. After we finally got in and had dinner, the day continued to be... shall we say, interesting? We talked to a young man named Stefan on the train and followed him all the way out to Luoma (Boback), a stop literally in the middle of nowhere, to get his number so that we could meet with him again. As we got out in Luoma at 9:10, we realized that the next train would not come until 10:15, forcing us to miss our 9:30 curfew. A quick call to our Zone Leaders got us a ride home, but not before we got some fun pictures.

Episode 2: Abandoned... and Tracting

Fast-forward to the end of April, when, due to emergency circumstances, I am in a foursome. Sisters Nelson and Neilsen have taken the two train passes that we have to the mission office, where they are going to be all evening, working on some projects for our mission president. That leaves Sister Murphy and I, the two greenies, with the opportunity to do some tracting within walking distance of the apartment. After about 6 straight hours of mental strain to understand what people are saying to us, we head back to the apartment, hoping that the other sisters are already there, as they have our one and only key. Well, they're still at the office. And probably for a long time- their project needs to be done now, if not yesterday, and they've got permission to stay out late. The Assistants will drive them home. Which leaves us... well, out on the steps, unless we can get in through the porch. Good thing we live only on the first floor above the ground. And lucky that a) I'm six feet tall b) Sister Murphy is small, light, and agile and c) I've been working out.

Episode 2b: A Climbing Challenge

A short time after the aforementioned incident, our now threesome finds ourselves locked out again and forced to go in through the porch. This time, though, we took pictures. And decided that we don't want the assistants to know every time we lock ourselves out, so we ask for our spare key. Now we each have a key, and we surely won't both forget it- right?

Episode 3: A Series of Unfortunate Events... or Encounters

With my new companion, Sister Johnson, I believe that we went a whole three weeks without getting locked out. This lucky streak ended with our first official encounter with "The Tea Man". Just as we leave our apartment, we realize that we have no key. As we try to figure out the possibilities (our porch door is locked this time, but Sister Johnson is taller than Sister Murphy and may be able to reach the open bedroom window if she stands on my shoulders), an upstairs neighbour wanders down- we've seen him before, but never had an opportunity to talk. He's an older man with a long, graying, red beard. And he dresses head to toe in baggy khaki clothes. After giving us some advice, he asks us a strange question, "Are you friends to tea?" (it makes more sense in Finnish, I promise!) He then proceeds to tell us that he he collects herbs out in the woods and makes his own "special tea" and sells it for €6 a bag. Um, thanks, but no thanks. From now on, every time we meet the tea man, it's a sure sign to us that we're locked out of our apartment. He knows, uncannily, when to show up and try to sell us tea when we're breaking into our apartment. It was during these episodes that we gave a spare key back to the Elders, this time, the ones that live two blocks away.

Episode 4: The Mother of Them All

This brings us to the original event that gave cause for a blog: the lock-out that occurred right before Christmas. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I figure that the movie does this account greater justice than I could.

The dang movie is not working. I've tried a million times. Any tips?

Just in case you were nervous, we survived, no creepy serial killers tried to break into the apartment in the middle of the night (although we did have the Elders convinced for a few minutes that they were supposed to come sit outside our apartment door all night, just in case). Through a miracle, we found the key the next day, took our address of the keychain, and all was well. Once we paid the €40 fee for building maintenance to let us in.

I'd like to say that I've learned my lesson about carrying keys, but I know that it's just a matter of time until I get locked out of something in Canada. So here's hoping it'll be on the bottom floor!

UTAH: A Nice Place to Visit, But...

2009-06-11T21:20:00.002-06:00

I wouldn't want to live there.

Now, before all you citizens of Utah get in a snit, let me explain. I love Utah. I was down there visiting two weeks ago and really enjoyed it. BYU is a fun campus, each city block is its own ward, and you have better Mexican food than anywhere in Canada.

It's just not a place I see myself living. There are too many Mormons on Utah.

Case 1: I'm walking throught he BYU campus with an old mission companion. We walk past a guy on his cell phone, talking to someone about booking tickets "for the honeymoon". The next 6 people we pass are couples holding hands. Then comes a girl talking on her cell phone, discussing colours for bridesmaids' dresses. Surreal? Perhaps.

Case 2: Remember all the John Bytheway stories and youth conference dating workshops where they talk about frisbee golf as a fun date idea? Yeah, people actually do that in Utah (it's actually amazingly fun, I'm thinking of importing that idea to Calgary).

Case 3: At the BYU bookstore (as in the university bookstore, where you buy all your textbooks) you can check your course list for supplies, go buy your temple clothes and then pick up The Work and the Glory in a boxed set on your way out. Talk about one-stop shopping!

Case 4: My old companion's apartment complex. The first floor is one ward, the second floor is another, and the third floor yet another. They practically have a stake in their apartment complex.

And I know that I don't even live in a place where the church is small. Calgary and southern Alberta is the Canadian equivalent of Utah. But I was still one of only 5 members of the church in my graduating class.

And yet, there's something irresistible about it all- the school where a Book of Mormon class is required to graduate, having your entire Relief Society Presidency right around the corner, and being able to count 17 different LDS meetinghouses on your flight descent into Salt Lake City International Airport. Like I said, a great place to visit- just not the place for me.

The Grande Tour of Janine

2009-05-25T14:02:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was one of the busiest Sundays of my life, and definitely the most high-profile.

It all started out three weeks ago when I reported on my mission to the High Council. One of the members asked me to visit the Bow Valley Ward to speak there with him on May 24th. Ok, I thought, that sounds fun! A few days later, I finally got in touch with the Young Womens leader in Tuscany Ward who had been calling me for a while.

"We were wondering if you would speak at a fireside for the youth in Tuscany Ward." she asks me.

"Sure, I'd love to" "Does May 24th work for you?"

Well, I thought, I'll be speaking in the Bow Valley Ward that morning, but that's not a big deal. It's not like they're at the same time or anything. So I committed to that as well.

Two weeks ago, I got a call from a member of the bishopric in my own YSA ward. "We've been wanting to ask you to report on your mission in the singles ward." he says. Of course, I'd love to do that as well. Then he mentions which date would work best for the Foothills ward. Care to guess, anyone?

Indeed, May 24th. But if that's the date that'll work best for them, I'm sure I can make it work for me. It's not a big deal. Then, last week, I finally got a calling in the ward. I now co-teach the missionary preparation class in Foothills ward. And I'm so excited about it that I volunteer to help with the lesson right away... as in May 24th. It's right after that when I realize everything that I've committed to on May 24th. Two sacrament meeting talks, one Sunday School lesson, and a fireside. Well, I can make it work.

Then, at institute class, it's announced that there will be an regional fireside this Sunday, May 24th. At 7 pm. It's our institute director's last fireside and I really want to go. A few phone calls later and I've moved up my own fireside to accommodate a quick drive to the Bow Valley Chapel to catch the last part of Brother Zemp's fireside.

Well, everything went well. Except that by the end of the day, I was completely tuckered out. I went to bed at 10 pm, right after I got home, and slept for 11 hours. Who knew that the church speaking circuit was so exhausting?

A Trip to the 50s

2009-05-23T00:07:00.003-06:00

Tonight I was in the enviable position of serving as chauffeur to my little brother and his friend in picking them up from a late-night party way in the south side of the city. I was already out, so it made sense. As we drove back from Sundance, I searched for some hood music on the radio when suddenly it came to mind... at this time of night, the only station to listen to was QR77 and their "Olde Tyme Radio Shows".

As we listened to the adventures of Sunny, Jack, Hermy, Doc, and Rich as they crashed their plane in Nicaragua and came across the TEMPLE OF VAMPIRES, I remembered Daddy always tuning into QR77 when he picked us up from the Saturday night dances. Our run to Peter's Drive-In was always spiced up by tales of betrayal, mystery, dark sinister figures, and maidens in distress. And don't forget the theme music- "He threw off his hood to reveal... the face of the murderer!" DAAA-DUUUM!!! Classic. I love those shows. Is there anywhere I can listen to them at a more civilized hour?

A Foray to the Movie Theatre

2009-05-16T23:16:00.002-06:00

My little sister Elena and I have a little tradition between the two of us- we love to go to movies together and then hit up the Denny's right beside the theater for a quick snack. Yeah, I know, the food's not that great, but it's close, convenient, not overpriced, and I kind of like it. Anyhow, that was not the point. The point is that we haven't had one of our beloved "Denny's Dates" for quite some time.

Traditionally, movie portion of the Denny's Date has always been either a chick flick or a cute family movie. Previous viewings have been She's the Man, Ella Enchanted, The Nanny Diaries, and Night at the Museum (we're planning a date already for the sequel!) These dates have sometimes become an excuse to see movies that no one else wants to see- unnamed teeny-bopper movies, for example. Because, you see, my sister Elena has remarkably similar movie tastes to me. We watch movies with Hilary Duff and Amanda Bynes for a guilty pleasure, and every once in a while we also watch "serious movies"- but we usually rent those ones. Movie dates are for frivolous girly movies. I watch my artsy movies with Aurora.

Until last night. When we decided that we wanted to have our first reunion Denny's Date, we started scanning the movie listings. Well, once we ruled out the higher rated ones, we were left with Planet Earth (not exactly my first choice, no matter how many rave reviews it gets), Star Trek (which Dad and Peter were already going to- and this wasn't a date with them), Seventeen Again (Elena's already seen it) and State of Play. Well, after viewing the trailer, we figured that State of Play wouldn't be such a bad choice. Not a chick flick, though. But I figured it would be fun.

FUN?!? To say the least! I had forgotten how much of an experience the movie theatre is. Even though the movie was pretty good, the real fun was in the dark theatre, hearing the shocks and gasps from the rest of the audience as plot twist led to plot twist and being on the edge of my seat as Russell Crowe got chased by a freaky guy with a gun through a parkade.

You see, everything is better on a big screen. I even watched two hours of Al Gore showing graphs and spouting data about climate change when it was in the theatre. There's something about a movie theatre that is totally different from watching a movie on your couch- although both have their advantages.

So here's to Big Screen, Big Sound, Big Difference. Although with my income, it might have to be at the dollar theatre.

Adventures in Stupidstore

2009-05-14T18:03:00.002-06:00

Today I realized that my little brother never got a birthday cake two weeks ago because he was sick on his birthday. I thought to myself, "Hey, I haven't had a fun baking extravaganza for about... 18 months! Why not?" I pulled out my favourite baking book and dug up Peter's favourite cake recipe for Lemon Curd Cake. Since the baking of this cake requires the use of approximately one million eggs... ok, maybe only 20... a trip to the grocery store was required. I figured I'd run over to the store and grab the eggs, as well as the lemons and sour cream and so forth. Of course, then I remembered that we could use some milk. And I'd been meaning to get rubber gloves for cleaning. And we were all out of flax seeds.
By the time my mum and I got down the list of everything we could think of that we needed from the store, this list was not looking like a little neighbourhood grocery store list anymore. No, my friends, it had become a SUPERSTORE LIST.

Anyone who has shopped for a family's worth of groceries in Canada can appreciate why those words are in block capitals. Superstore is a thing that you can't do halfway. You're either in or you're out. Superstore requires you to commit your time, money, and full concentration if your visit there is to be void of frustration and if you are to find the organic bulk flax seeds. The combination of low prices, an abundance of organic items, aisles full of ethnic ingredients, and its very own clothing line, Superstore has lured many innocent shoppers into its grasp, but only the brave escape and only the truly brave (and foolish) go there again. The trip requires preparation- if you forget your loonie for the cart, your green bins, and fabric shopping bags, your trip will be in vain. One can easily spend 40 minutes wandering the aisles looking for a staple such as all-purpose flour and eventually find that they are all out (of flour?!?).

This trip was no different. I had shopped at the abovesaid Superstore before my mission enough that I have a general idea of where everything is located, but it still took some time to locate all the items on my list. I finally got my giant cart to the till, where I was stuck behind a lady who had printed out the entirety of coupons.com and wanted to use them all. After packing everything up in my green bins and fabric bags, I suddenly realized that I had never found the eggs. Great.

Well, anyone up for a quick run to the neighbourhood grocery store?

Grown-up Tastes

2009-05-13T14:21:00.002-06:00

I've noticed a few things about myself over the past few years. Somehow, without noticing, I turned into a grown-up.
It all started with the cheese.
At some point in college, I found myself liking fancy cheese. No, not the special flavours of cheesestrings, but the really smelly, yucky kind with mold all over it that looks like it died. Somehow, it's quite delicious. No one can tell me that a blue cheese grilled sandwich is not a finger-lickin' good treat.
Then came the music. The mission may have helped with this somewhat, but I'd much rather listen to CBC radio 2 or bring along my iPod (which is still loaded with mission-appropriate hymns, ballets and opera) than listen to anything on the top 40 list.
But the real indicator was this morning, when I went down to the storage room to find something for mum. I came across a bottle of sparkling mineral water and pretty much thought that it was the most exciting beverage ever. It's been chilling in the fridge and I can't wait!
Sheesh. Being a grown-up is so weird.

Our Princess Party

2009-05-10T18:07:00.003-06:00

Yesterday our family had what we like to call a "Princess Party". When we were little girls, this involved dressing up in fancy dress-up clothes or dresses, sometimes wearing tiaras, and eating dinner without the boys. (Well, all two of them. Actually, this was usually before Peter was born, so we just kicked Daddy out.)
Since then, our "Princess Parties have become decidedly more adult. Usually we go out to dinner and then come home and try out various beauty routines while my Daddy, brother, and brethren-in-law watch hockey. But it was great fun. Some highlights included:
- Ivy's chocolate face mask. Her little brother Blake came up, looked at her, and said, "Why is your face brown?" Then turned to his cousin Ben and snickered, "Ivy looks goofy!"
- Ben coming up the stairs and getting his fingernails painted, much to his father's chagrin. Cut him some slack, he's three years old! Although, they were bright red.
- Ben coming up again and telling me, "Your face is all white, you skunk!" (Apparently "skunk" is his new pet name of choice)
- Kylie's princess cake- what a masterpiece!
- Seeing all the old princesses after 18 months- priceless

Back to the Meat Market

2009-05-04T20:13:00.003-06:00

So...yes. My first Sunday in the Singles Ward. That was fun.
First of all, I haven't really been nearly as homesick for Finland as I thought I would be. It's almost like things are so different here that I'm not often reminded of Finland (other than the odd moment in the yogurt aisle- American yogurt is yucky). I've had relatively few moments of Finland missing-ness. Until Sunday.
I was really nervous to go to church. I just wanted my nametag and my companion and some investigators to worry about so that I wouldn't be left to my own devices in church. Needless to say, I arrived at church, sat down in Relief Society and a wave of homesickness hit me. Why were the hymnbooks so thick?!? Why are we praying in English?!? Don't look at me weird when I sing "Me Sisaret Yhdessä" instead of "As Sisters in Zion"! Where is Eva-Jo? She should be teaching the presidency message this month! I miss Sisar Mäkilä's comments! To make things worse, I didn't know anyone except for the Bishop's wife. (But she's probably the most fun person to sit with anyway).
Somehow, I made it through church. And I'm glad I did, because after Sacrament meeting, I ran across the best part of the day: THE MISSIONARIES! They were probably really weirded out by how excited I was to see them, but now they've got my name, number, and know that I will go teaching with them anytime. And to make things better, there are Sisters in our stake!
I figure once I get over the English hymns, English prayers, and complete lack of adults, I'll be semi-comfortable in the Singles Ward. For a while, at least. But as the bishop's wife said to Elena, "I want to introduce him to Janine!"
Yup, that pretty much sums up the Singles Ward.

Tervetuloa Takaisin

2009-04-28T22:06:00.002-06:00

Yes, yes, I'm home from my mission.
Why yes, actually, Finnish was quite hard.
Indeed, it can be rather cold up there.
Yes, I did meet Santa Claus... twice!
I am happy to be home, but I miss Finland a lot.

If you have questions more specific than that, I'd love to be in touch!
Love, Janine

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wedersehen, Adieu...

2007-10-16T15:05:00.000-06:00

I am taking this opportuinity to bid goodbye to my readers. That's right, all four of you. Two weeks from yesterday, I'll be leaving for Provo, Utah to begin my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints in Finland, and I'm pretty sure that blogging is not a sanctioned activity for missionaries. It is entirely possible that I might post again before that, but don't count on it. I think that you should all send me letters in Finland, so let me know if I can e-mail you my address. Also, if anyone's interested, I'll be giving my talk on October 28 at 2 pm, Royal Oak Chapel.
Tune in again April 2009. The musings will continue.

*

2007-09-17T13:11:00.000-06:00

I spent some time this weekend remembering fondly my favorite comic books that I haven't read for some time, the Asterix Series. I remember them mostly because of their immense cleverness and prolific puns. And the fact that they take place in Ancient Gaul during the Pax Romana , which is unusual for a children's comic book. Some of my favorite bits are the names of the characters, as you'll see...
Asterix is the little one on the left. He's the smallest, most fierce warrior in the village. Obelix, the larger one, is a menhir salesman. Look up menhir and think of a synonym to see why his name is funny. Dogmatix, Obelix's little dog, is very stubborn and loves trees.

Getafix is the village's druid. He brews many magical potions, the most famous being one that gives the drinker "a fix" of superhuman strength.

Vitalstatistix is the chief of the village; the bureaucracy, if you will. His nosy and slightly controlling wife in named Impedimenta.

The village's bard is named Cacofonix, the only bard in ancient comicdom whose singing induces violent thunderstorms.

Also among the lovely cast: Fulliautomatix, the village blacksmith, Unhygienix, the fishmonger (whose wares are typically less than fresh) and his wife Bacteria, and the fat Roman centurion Gluteus Maximus.
For the full effect of these clever comics, read them yourself. The wordplay is astounding. Meanwhile, I'm off to the library to take out some of my old favorites.