Not for the Faint Hearted

Bet you figured you could open that nice new book, Now I Lay Me Down To Reap, with verve and aplomb tonight in your bed.  Nothing's going to scare you.  Right?

Guess again.

To my gentle reader I give you words of warning:

Before you open even the first page, I suggest you surround yourself with every single monster defeating piece of arsenal from your earliest childhood memories.  Right down to that monster evading blue furry blanket you used to pull over your head.  Light up every lamp in your room.  Better still, check the batteries on all the flashlights you've stockpiled in your night table.  Fill up that monster-away atomizer and place it near at hand.  Close the closet door.  Tuck your feet up into your blanket so nothing under the bed can grab you and pull you down to monsterland.  Close your eyes for a moment and identify all the regular creaks and sighs of your domain, 'cause you won't be able to after...


See, we, the writers, want to take you down the scariest of memory lanes.  We aim to unsettle you, twist your dreams, hold you by that single strand over the abyss by remembering, through our words, those stories that scared the pants off you in your formative years.  'Cause those monsters of yesteryear still have the power to raise the hair on the back of our necks.

We'll walk with you, hold your hand for a little while.  And then, just as you reach the darkest hour of our campfire tales, we'll disappear, leaving you to calm your stomach, swallow that lump and face your worst nightmares all over again.

Enjoy!

You can purchase the book at any of the below sites:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.it/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.it/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.fr/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.es/dp/B008ZKA41M
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008ZKA41M
https://www.createspace.com/3937305
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/213699
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/now-i-lay-me-down-to-reap-christian-a-larsen/1112696992?ean=9780615683331

 

Still Healing After All This Time

Here it is September 2012.  Almost a whole year after the accident.  My family doc keeps telling me I will get better, maybe.  But it will be a slow process.

And yes, I am still feeling the effects.  No, I'm not still a whole-body after-effect.  I can function almost normally again. 

That's the key.  Almost!

August 26th saw my first day of waking without a headache.  The headache didn't come back until I'd been up several hours, so it isn't gone entirely. 

But it is a first.

And my poor right hand is slowly strengthening.  It doesn't cramp continuously anymore.  Now I can write for a couple of hours before it goes into full cramp mode. 

I did ask my doc about these cramps.  He told me that it is a muscle spasm connected to a nerve running through my shoulder that probably got damaged during the accident.

You think?

I never had my hand hurt like this before.  Not even when I suffered from mild carpal tunnel syndrome about 12 years ago.  That time I had numb fingers.  I did my exercises, rested my hand, kept my wrist, religiously, in the 'proper' positions and got better.  At least I thought I'd gotten better.  I hadn't had any numbness for years.

But my litany of pains stays.  Almost as if they don't want to heal.

My shoulders ache most of the time.  My neck cracks constantly.  My hand is useless after a period of time typing (getting longer though) and it has almost no strength - do you know how hard it is to use a can-opener without your right hand?  My neck still doesn't move properly.  So shoulder checking while driving is still a hit and miss movement.  And somedays, especially if I've been busy the day before, my head feels like it weighs a ton!

I have not gained any weight.  I check daily.  But my body tone is gone.  I look like a middle aged woman rather than the sleek, slim look I always had before.   The accident caused this!  I haven't the energy to go for my long walks.  I can't horseback ride.  Throwing the ball for my dog is no longer possible.  My backswing cannot swing, so golf is out.  And swimming?  I take a noodle into the pool now, as I don't have the strength to even tread water let alone swim lengths. 

My house is a disaster!  Vacuuming takes arm movements, which I no longer have and the noise exacerbates the tinnitus giving me a worse headache.  Dusting takes arm strength and movement.  Washing walls again takes movement I can't keep up with.  I can't even open the toilet cleaner container!

I act.  I think I've said that before.  When I have a day's work, I rest the day before so I have the energy for the day's work.  The day after I rest again.  I don't have any choice.  My body has used up its stored energy.

Cooking - one of my favourite chores - takes forever.  We've always liked stir fries.  Cutting up all the pieces can take all day now.  Not that I can chew it very well.  Cause yes, my jaw still aches.  I can chew a little so we aren't on pure invalid food any longer.  But I didn't have barbequed steak this summer.  Hamburger - without the buns - was the extent of my forays into summer foods.  And now corn on the cob is out at every parking lot.   And I can't indulge!
I'm glad it's almost fall.  We can go back to stews and chowders without the family complaining about wanting 'real' food.

I'm beginning to feel I will never get back to what I had before.

Hell on Wheels background actor

Yup, still part of the background on Hell on Wheels. 

We finally bought the first season CD.  And managed to watch the whole package in 5 days - a marathon, let me tell you.

Yes, season 1 is worth watching.  It's a gritty western - John Wayne style.  Anson Mount plays the heart-broken Southerner well.  He's a little understated, but I think he suits the role.

Colm Meany has the perfect twisted personality traits to play double-dealing, slimy Durrant to a T. 

The preacher comes off as a warped individual, perfectly capable of separating his personalities to preach and murder with impunity.  I loved his callous disregard of his daughter after she shows up.  And she plays the pious goody two-shoes well.

The Swede, played by a Canadian (and I can't remember who right now) is superbly played.  He has the OCD pattern down well.  He's confused by the western attitude, but tries to embrace it.  His is a very complex character.

I'm not a fan of Dominique.  I thought her acting weak during the Indian attack.  Just not enough emotion displayed for that gruesome a scene.  And I didn't think she played exhausted very well.  But her glances while Meany proposes an indecent relationship hit the mark.

All in all, I loved the first season.  And now, what I do know about the second season makes a lot more sense.

So last week I got a call back.  I'm not really sure which episode was shot, but I saw an intense main and secondary cast scene. 

Wonders upon wonder, the ground wasn't soaked.  I mean, I wasn't trying to keep my balance through mud puddles the size of Sylvan Lake. 

I only wore 1 petticoat - talk about being a hussy!  Of course, I still had about 30 pounds of clothing on.  And talk about hot!  Oh how the sun beamed down on an almost breezeless set.  Got to about 27 degrees Centigrade on set.  We, the poor background actors, sought shelter in whatever shade we could find between takes.  Course, once 'Rolling, Background. Action' got called, out into that sun we walked, dodging horses and their byproducts, wagons, and each other to walk through the rut-filled streets. 

See, we get told where to walk so the camera will catch sight of us in the background looking like the town is populated. And back and forth we got until we're told to stop.

We heard our call this one time, got into position and had to wait  - in the sun - for almost 10 minutes as a small, single prop plane circled overhead.  Guess the pilot saw action beneath him/her and wanted to know what was happening.  So nothing happened while we waited for it to go away.

In last year's season, I noticed the exec director used different directos for different episodes.  Makes sense, I guess.  This year, they're doing it again.  But this director!  Whoa!

Now usually we backgrounders have our own minders - 1-3 or more, depending on how many of us have been called.  This time I believe there might have been 3 background minders, our regulars Taz and Alex and some newer person I think called Matt.  But none near me and my walking companion or the guys near us.  Occasionally we'd have Matt come over and actually give new directions.  But he never asked if we needed water or a bathroom break.  And managed to walk away when we spoke up about them.

Cast and crew, of course was well taken care of.  Their water is kept cool.  They get offered snacks right on set.  We watched them take a bathroom break, never all at once.  But they did get to pee.

Several hours into the shoot, we got told where our water could be found.  But during the 5 minute break we got told to keep out of that building cause the cast was in there 'resting' between takes.  Great!  Water just out of reach and the only shade with chairs out of bounds!

Minders echo the director's calls so everybody knows what's happening.  But we rarely had anyone near us so we had to watch other background actors to see whether and when we needed to move.

And I watched the director have several hissy fits.  The plane caused one, but he couldn't blame that on anyone.  Another came after, remember we couldn't hear any directions, somebody on set was (horrors) talking!  I did hear him have a few others, but I wasn't close enough to know why.

That director rarely called 'Action!',.  He did call 'Cut!', but failed to say whether we should 'Reset'.  He mostly stalked around, dithering.

And he didn't bother about us.  To him, I guess we were truly 'Meat Puppets' as another director I know calls his background actors. 

As I stated, we didn't get monitored.  Not for water - remember it's scorching in that sun and we're wearing heavy 1850s' clothing and sweating like pigs - nor bathroom breaks. 

The cast was under tents for this scene - think shaded.  The crew could wander around and find enough shade when they weren't doing their crew jobs.  And both were supplied with COLD water as needed.

I watched this one crew, a large woman, eat several sandwiches and chug several water bottles, waving them around us.  But she's crew, and high enough up the ladder she can ignore any questions/pleading from us lowly background while she's teasing us with that water.  Didn't even forward on our pleas for water.

We did finally get water and sandwiches over an hour later than the cast/crew - and nothing appetizing like the cast or crew get - but we had to stuff them out of sight for another 'Retake', and never chew while the camera is rolling.

And to make matters worse, when we finally heard 'Wrap!' after 6+ hours, we were rushed over to the vans to ferry us up.  We get up there and...no drinking water and the bathrooms are already put away for the day.

Well, I had to cross my legs till I got to Airdrie, a good hour's drive.

I hope this episode is a good one.  Cause I sure didn't think much of the director's actions towards his low-paying background actors.

Ogle but don't touch

I try very hard to keep my fingers from writing anything about politics or religion.  To me, both are intimate pleasures, not to be paraded through the media.

I'm keeping my word about politics for now.

But religion.  Well.....

Being a believer in free thought and personal choice in religion (and other things, but that's another story), I have stayed away from blogging my thoughts about Islam teachings. 

Yes I have read a translated version of the Qur'an.  I'm not impressed.  But most religious myths don't do a lot for me. 

This street corner Islamic cleric in Toronto goes a little far. 

Just imagine Canadian females obeying some paternalistic law ordering us to cover ourselves to keep males from forming lewd thoughts about our bodies.  Might as well shave polar bears in the summer, eh?

So this Al-Haashim Kamena Atangana, a child of immigrant parents who wanted a better life for their children, failed at understanding Christianity, so embraced Islam as their immans spoon feed religious, well-watered pap in understandable bits to the masses, now hopes to enact laws demanding Canadian - no, make that Torontonian - women to stop dressing provocatively.  

I'm going to go out on a limb here.  I'll bet actual money he's been refused sex by more than one Canadian woman.  So converting means he has a great chance at getting married to some poor girl who doesn't have a whole lot of say in the matter.  After all, he's a born Canadian.  Just that Canadian citizenship means he's perfect mate material for a middle eastern girl whose family wants to get over here. 

I have watched these so-called enlightened Islamic religious males walk around in shorts in front of their gaggle of black-shrouded crones in Calgary's broiling summer.  He, unencumbered, walks proudly ahead of the sweating, fully black-covered, little woman, whose arms are full of shopping and babies.  What kind of chauvinistic idiot would do that to a loved one?  Not only does he insist she wear inappropriate clothing for the weather, but that she become his pack mule as well.

And in winter, again she's still clad in that shrouding burka, shivering, cause there's just no room for a good winter coat under that getup.

Oh, right.  This is probably an arranged marriage.  If it doesn't work out he can shout out loud that he divorces her.  There's plenty more where she comes from.

Gods, what a backward culture.

Canadians, well most of us, live in a climate where  it's usually bloody cold.  Freezing for 7-10 months of the year.  So in the summer we get those vitamin D deprived bodies out to soak up the rays.  That means we dress to show as much skin as possible.

So to hear this 'confused Christian' now Islamic convert , Al-Haashim Kamena Atangana, (read about his letter here for one http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/Canada/2012/07/16/19990461.html)

spouting that Islamic standard rhetoric  about 'female lack of clothing' making males wild with passion.  You offend me greatly.

Maybe, if Islamic men had a childhood of decent upbringing, like being held accountable for their temper tantrums, if it's not yours you can't touch and respect for women, we wouldn't see the acts of volient terrorism perpetrated upon free women in our country.

I used to see in news reports, that the upsurge of rapes in major cities is committed done by ethnic males - read middle eastern males.  I also know the police are no longer able to relay this info and the media is forbidden to print the ethnicity of the perpetrator.   

If our males knew the stats, you think there wouldn't be riots?  And vigilante-ism?  Wouldn't we train our daughters in martial arts, so they'd have a chance of escaping these thugs?

And it's not just our country that denies us the right to know who commits these violent rapes.  Great Britian, Australia and the Netherlands can't print this infomation either, I found after a great deal of digging.   Probably others, but I haven't been able to find the information.  I think I started digging too late, and that information got buried before I started hunting.

When I read Middle Eastern news, I see many instances of rape and violence perpetuated against their womenfolk.  Stoning for 'adultery' after a rape.   Or being forced to marry your rapist.  Minors married off and subjected to non-consentual sex/rape.  Honour killings, because she might have talked (horrors) to a boy outside of her family.  Slavery - daughters sold so the family can afford a son's education.  Unannounced 'group' marriages because a family can only afford one bride for several brothers.  Acid in faces for going to school.  That's just what gets published.  Most doesn't even get reported, so I've read.  These women don't have rights, so who'd listen.
 
They ain't pretty stories, folks.  Not a culture we want to get any foothold in this freer land.

When I read the Qu'arn, I never read anything about women being second class citizens.  I don't particularly like what I did read in that book, but it wasn't any more offensive than the Christian books of myths.  

But their 'learned' clerics have overbearing misogynistic  tendencies.  I personally think they are afraid of women.  All women.  Afraid to let them be educated or shop by themselves.

Once the Islamic society held a prominent place in science and philosophy - with respected, educated women contributors.   Think about their history - try to read it now before fundamental Islamics finish burning the whole of Timbukto and it's ancient texts of wisdom. 

Hey doesn't this sound a awful lot like Alexandria and the Christians burning the library of information, so we lost centuries of  advancements.  Guess we have to endure the dark ages again, this time for the Islamic sky fairy, Allah.  Brought to you by a pedophile by the name of Muhammed.

Maybe I'd think better of the immigrant Islamics, if they fought for change and peace in their own country.  Or stood up to be counted when one of their fellow escapees backslides into barbarianism here in North America, instead of applauding the viscious actions by their very silence.

Instead I see them come to my country for a better life, then try to instigate their backward culture and laws on our society.

I don't want to tell them to go home.  They deserve a better life than the war-torn one they left, don't they?  Our ancestors came here for that very reason.  

But maybe they should learn to live our way, before saying we should enact laws to 'cover women's bodies' or other forms of Sharia law. Maybe they should bring their boys up to be real men, not little boys in grown-up male bodies with no ability to stop grabbing what isn't theirs.

To have this street cleric, this immigrant's son, now converted to Islam as that religion isn't as 'confusing', spouting bullshit about Canadian women's clothing or lack thereof, just riles me.  If he wants to have the culture that he spouts, go somewhere where the law states that.  Don't try and change our laws.

There aren't enough of you to change laws to force us to cover up.

Yet!
 

Summertime Blues

I consider myself one of the lucky ones.  We have a summer place.  I'm not talking a home away from home.  No, we're not rich.  We have a little trailer in a cooperatively owned plot of land just inside one of Alberta's few lakes's borders - in fact we only became part of the town 2 years ago. 

This small development has 116 trailers, each on their own approx 2800 sq ft of land, a cooperatively owned clubhouse, back 'forty' where old trailers and boats go to die and a forelorn baseball diamond rests unused, a bathhouse, hot tub and pool. 

Therein lies the problem.  The Pool and Hottub.

Neither are very big.  The hottub holds 4 adults as per the rules.  The pool's deep end is 6 feet deep and maybe 20 x 15.  Maybe.  The shallow end starts at about 2 1/2 feet.  All told the pool might be 40x15.  It has a 10 foot chain link fence surrounding it.  There is no lifeguard on duty.  The pool has an access code panel at over 4 feet off the ground so the little ones can't get in on their own.  Supposedly.

The rules of the pool area are simple.  Adult only swim from 0800-0900.  No children under the age of 14 allowed in pool without adult/guardian supervision.  No children under the age of 4 in hot tub.  Take a shower before entering.  Take a shower if you've laid out in the sun with suntan lotion on, or just sweated during your tanning session.  No drinks or food allowed.  No large floatation devices.  Don't dive.  Don't run.  Don't swear.  Don't make undue noise.  Pool closes at 2200.

Fairly simple, right?

Wrong!

For some reason some of the owners of this little slice of heaven feel they don't need to obey any of these rules.   They send their >14 year old children down without any adults, to run, scream, jump on whoever's in the pool, don't insist the darlings go through the shower, blow up the monstrous floatation devices and insist their darlings get to use them to the detriment of all other swimmers.

Now the mommas who are most flagrant in their flouting of these rules will call any adult who asks the kids, reasonably, to shower, take the float out of the pool, stop screaming, stop running, leave the hot tub (especially if there is 10 of the darlings jumping around in the hottub), a bully.

The worst of these mommas are what I'd call the ex-cheerleader set.  All mouth, no brains.  I'm not sure they can actually read - maybe to do with Canada's 'no child left behind' school policy whereby the unable-to-learn/refuse-to-learn child advances through the system to keep up to with age-peers.

My husband and I were in the pool late yesterday afternoon, just idly floating and bobbing around.  By ourselves.  About 7 children, none over the age of 16, entered the pool area, in swim suits.  Without showering.  I asked them to leave and shower.  They muttered more than a few obscenities.  So I asked who might be the adult  supervising the group.  Now I've had trouble with one of these kids' mothers last year over a large float  the kid kept throwing on my head while I was in the water along with 25 others.
 
Well, low and behold, not one of the darlings was over 16.  Five were under 10.

So I sent them back to their trailers to get parental supervision.  I mean, yes I could have supervised.  Would you after the response I got asking them to follow one rule?   I'd rather watch the darlings drown at this point.  Happily.


I knew what the end result was going to be here.  But hey, if one of their darlings drowned or caught a bad infection, we'd all lose the pool.  And the ex-cheerleader, nasty-mouthed momma would probably blame me!


Enter dragon bully ex-cheerleader - the bitch momma from last year that none of the other mommas (whose darlings were following the rules) wanted to have any confrontation with.  She stalked into the pool area.  Her >8 year old child managed to get his hair through the shower, but she didn't say a word.  Just clamped her teeth around that righteous smirk.  My husband asked if he'd showered as he got set to jump into the pool.

She almost ran to the pool edge to defend the brat.  "We all pay the same fee.  Leave my child alone.  I will not allow you to bully him any further."  Oh so sweetly spoken through her clenched teeth.

Ok, a mother can and should defend her child.

But lets look at facts here.  My husband asked a question.  He did not bully anyone.  If anyone was in bully mode, let the mother of Unit 10, the obviously over 40 dragon lady, wear that shoe.  Her son did not follow the rules.  She validated his refusal to follow these rules.  Rules set out by the Public Health Department for everyone's health safety.

As a parent myself, I believe that children should follow rules.  Sensible rules or not.  And if they don't like the rules, find a way to change them.  Don't just flout them.  I've taught my kids to learn all the rules, and then, if they don't agree, go to someone with enough authority with a reasoned argument to request a change.  I'll back them in that endeavour.

Yesterday (and last year many times) this child learned that rules are for others - not him.  He learned that even if he is wrong, his momma will bully even other adults to defend him in situations where he knows he is wrong.  Hey, I watched and saw the look in his eyes and that gloating trimphant grin. 

Now, maybe she can't read.  She certainly managed to miss the very large yellow and black 'Shower Before Entering Pool Area' sign on the entrance door.

I do consider her one of the ex-cheerleader type.  She's got a big mouth and very little used grey matter.  I'm going by the conversations I overheard here.  At least that's the face we see here at our resort.  Maybe she just allows her real self to show here and she's normally a reasonable adult.  But I have my doubts.

I can only feel very sorry for the rude awakening her son will one day soon experience.  I can imagine the yellow rap sheet growing on this kid from the time he's 12.  His momma will never believe he could possibly in the wrong - oh no, not her angel!  By the time he's 16, he'll have done time in juvie and be ready for the big time penalities. 

In the meantime, I will enjoy my pool.  I will swim during the adult only time, insisting that only adults enter at that point.  I will follow the rules.  And I will insist those rules also be followed by everyone who comes in when I am present.

If that makes me a bully, so be it.

Breathing Room

I am a social creature.  I love to wander through shopping malls to watch the people.  I crave human contact.  Ok, I don't like being touched by strangers, or even acquaintances, but I want to be out there among you, listening and watching.  Building characters for stories and books.  Where did you think I find the characters to people my stories?

Alas, I have a problem.  A big one. 

I am scent sensitive. 

I find most popular scents obnoxious to the point of stinging my eyes and nose, constricting my airway, sometimes bringing on a major headache. 

I'm not trying to say I don't like perfumes or colognes.  I do.  I love the smell of attar of roses, the musky hint of jasmine or magnolia.  Just not everywhere!

For some reason, scent has exploded. 

We freshen our rooms with plug-in air fresheners rather than just open a window.  We shampoo our hair with scented shampoos and conditioners, then add scented hair gel or spray.  Make-up is scented.  Even our clothing has detergent scents and dryer scents.  

So unless I go out in a full hazmat breathing mask - and believe me I have done it - I can't join humanity often. 

I shop at off hours, usually really early in the morning before the perfume wearers are even out of bed.  I can't go out for dinner, because even if I tell the restaurant about my sensitivity, invariably either my waitress or a fellow diner will be wearing a healthy dose of her/his favorite scent.  In eye-watering overdoses. 

Movie theaters are off-limits to me now.  As are post office kiosks, which, ever since Canada Post allowed to be housed in drug stores, are totally inaccessible to me.  Think about it.  Drug stores now display their all their scented products right by that In Door.  You realize they put the perfumes and colognes right there to garner extra sales, right?  How can you resist that heady bouquet, that redolent balm?  Somehow the odds of it going into your basket are best if you smell it coming into the store, when you can't resist impulse shopping.

Needless to say, I don't buy any of my prescriptions at a drug store.  I cannot get to the pharmacy counter to hand in my prescription, let alone stay around to have it filled.

Shopping for detergents, laundry, dish or hair, has become fraught with danger.  Yes, there are unscented products available.  Usually I find the few smack in the middle of an aisle of scented products.  Wouldn't you think markets would put those products on the aisle ends just for people like me?  Not a chance!  I have to take a really big breath of semi-scented air, hold my breath and scurry madly down the aisle, bend to the bottom shelf, grab my item and run back.  All before I run out of air. 

Do we really stink that much?  Are we so embarrassed by the essence of unadulterated human that we must always cover it up with artificial chemical elixirs?

Recently I had a pulmonary function test - I'm getting older and I had a cold that settled in my chest and wouldn't go away.  I arrived at my appointment at LDCI, a lung diagnostic center.  I entered, reading the many large signs forbidding scents, being hit with an overpowering scented atmosphere.  Not some patient's perfume.  Way stronger than that.  The manager (I found out later) had a plug-in air freshener to sweeten the office air.  

I filled out the questionnaire outside and waited for my appointment outside.  My technician escorted me through the sickening miasma into his office where he tried to test me.  I could barely breathe, let alone be examined for any lung functions.  We rescheduled and I escaped.  The very next day I started a complaint procedure.  I complained to anyone I thought might just be able to explain to the business that scent meant every type of scent, not just perfume.  I mean, really.  How can any private company touting themselves as a Lung Function Diagnostic Center, use any form of air fresheners?  Their patients have compromised breathing functions!  They don't need more abuse by air freshener contamination.

I've since been back, to a medicinal scented air, managed to take my lung function tests and escaped again, back to my country world, where the strongest smell I encounter is manure.  All natural and self-decomposing. 

But I will confess.


I too have a special French perfume.  I indulge in a fine spray when I want to feel especially exotic or sexy.  Never everyday.

Nor would I waste that expensive potion if it had to war with those 'never before smelled in nature' over-the-counter liquids consumers call perfume these days.  Why waste my money?  My essence wouldn't stand a chance against those cheap imitations whose alcohol-based pungency pollutes square meters rather than square centimeters.

 I know the world has changed greatly since I was a little girl.  I remember expensive perfumes used for dressup occasions.  Just a tiny dab or two for those special nights that only someone hugging you could enjoy.  I remember burying my nose in my mother's good coat, sniffing the faint bouquet that always held memories of special times: family gatherings, weddings and grand parties.

Can't we go back to using good old soap and water, vinegar for rinses, and cornstarch for powders?  All unscented believe it or not.  And they do the trick quite well.

Can't we save our pennies to buy oil-based distillates, using them sparingly so only our loved ones catch the whiff of good times? 

Just think how special we'd feel then!

PVR Fu

I have to admit that we broke down and got a PVR.  All for that chance to record the second show that always seems to be on at the same time as a favorite - and no other time that you can find in the foreseeable future.

It's taking some time to get used to being able to pause a TV show.  I'm used to waiting for an ad to get up and pee.

And fast forwarding, whether for a live show which I've paused, or a recorded show, is an art in itself.  But, some of us - not me really - are so good now that they manage to get it back to the show just as the show starts.  Now that's PVR Fu.

Let me tell you how this all started.

We signed up for satellite 14 years ago, after our rotational antenna started to have difficulties.  Up to then we had 3 channels, the fourth fuzzy channel on still nights or during winter.  We succumbed to child-pressure and bought into satellite when Canadian satellite became available.  Being good Canadian viewers and trying to stay as legal as possible - we'd heard horror tales about US satellite 'police'.

We didn't get the biggest package, but we suddenly had so many channels we purchased a VCR, mainly to tape shows we'd be sleeping through.  But, inevitably, we'd find we had '400 channels' (not really) and nothing much on.

The PVR came after much discussion and many whines while the commercials showed on TV.

 The Telus Saga
We even switched providers - ok I gave in to a high pressure (Telus) sales phone call.  The sales person misrepresented the deal, although we didn't find out until we did the switch.  I complained.  No problem, a customer representative said.  just try it for the month, at no charge, and if you still find you'd prefer to go back to your old company (Star Choice) it hasn't cost you a nickle.  So, from February 15th to March 12, we tried.  Hated the new set up, loved the search function.  Hated the fact we didn't get the music channel (CKUA) we listened to religiously ever Sunday morning.

That channel was the deal-breaker.  That and one of my science channels - my favorite viewing every Monday night.  We'd been promised.



The next surprise came with the phone bill.  Yes, because we're in rural Alberta, Telus is the best provider - wish it weren't so.  Remember the whole 'free' for a month to try it?  So did I.  Even then, the monthly charge was supposed to be $87.00.  Weren't supposed to be charged for anything else - like the installation, the PVR itself.  Nope, just $87/month.

The bill came to $683.29.  That's telephone and satellite.  Needless to say, I called and complained.  'No problem.  We'll fix it."  So I paid my regular phone bill and waited. 

And the next bill came.  Lots of adjustments showing.  Now I only owed $172.67.  All but $45 (telephone bill) overdue.

Can I say I was livid.  So of course I called.  And was promptly put on hold.  I hung up, angrier than I thought good for me.  I called again, remembering what my youngest son told me about swearing and yelling while on hold.  Something about software that can hear an angry customer.

Works like a charm.  In less than a minute, even though my holding message had told me there was an hour wait for customer service, I had a real live operator.  She switched me over to customer appreciation immediately who listened to my tale of utter woe, looked up my service record to see we'd been good customers for over 20 years, and started to fix the problem.

Now, when the satellite was installed, for some reason, Telus mandates a grounding wire.  That ground wire went over our flat roof to the telephone box.  The flat roof we'd just spent a fortune fixing with a 5mil covering that can melt if a charge ever goes over it.

We live in a lightning area, being the tallest thing around out here in the prairies.  We've been struck before - that was exciting, I'll tell you about it one day.

So we knew, even at the time of installation that a ground wire over our flat roof was asking for trouble.  I'd even talked to the insurance company and had it registered.  I had told Telus to remove it, several times, including when I first told them I wasn't happy with their package, again when I insisted they remove the satellite service, and again when I screamed about the bill.

Can you believe, the customer service person tried to talk me into a direct withdrawal from my bank account.  Unsuccessfully I might add - imagine trying to get back the $683.29 they'd taken from my account?  And try to explain to the bank that Telus didn't have the right to take that much to begin with, while covering an overdraft so other bills didn't bounce.

Wasn't until I talked to them finally in May - livid about the bill - and promised to make sure this did hit the Web/Internet, that the service desk promised, finally to remove it at the earliest date available - as if I hadn't been promised that many times already - along with the dish itself, which sat on our patio collecting bugs and dust.

I had actually been eying the dish as a nice birdbath for the yard.

Back to Star Choice / now a subsiduary of Shaw
We switched back, paying for the PVR rather than getting it 'free' for only a 3-year contract.

I will say I did like the Telus search function better.  And the way it would look two/three weeks into the future for all available dates/times/channels.

But we have CKUA back.  We have the old setup back - though that took a bit.  And we got a much better package than our previous Star Choice package - one not offered unless you bitch about the high price and have been a good customer for 14+ years.

We don't have all the channels we used to have, and we have no real say in the program, but for $40 less?month, I can't really complain.

You know, we wouldn't have left Star Choice in the beginning if their customer service rep had told us about the better package deal.  

Live and learn, eh?

Still Background Acting

Well I must not have come off as too inexperienced.  I got a call back for Episode 2 & 3. 

Now I really hope all the shots I'm in won't end up on the cutting room floor.  I want to see me, abet deep in the background, in a scene I helped create.  Guess the acting bug bit, and hard.

It is exciting to hear the phone ring late in the evening now.  Used to be, I'd cringe, count my kids, then wonder which relative might be calling with bad news.  Now, I run to the phone praying its the casting director.  And hoping if it is her, I won't have a 6:30am set call.

I know, as this isn't steady work, that my being available last minute is a boon for her.  So many of the background actors have day jobs.  They can't just phone work and say they can't make it that day. When I got the call late Wednesday and agreed, the poor Casting Director sounded relieved I could turn up Thursday morning.

My set time was 8:15.  Unfortunately that takes me into rush hour traffic.  And, surprise, even though I leave in plenty of time, there is an accident on my route.  But I make the set only 6 minutes late.  And Sign-In knows all about the accident, so she doesn't say a thing about my tardiness. 

We can get docked pay for being late.  There is a minute-by-minute schedule for filming.  And filming costs thousands of dollars a minute.  So a late, lowly background actor, holding up production is a detriment to the whole production.

But my tardiness accepted, I signed in, work my way into my many layers of costume, hit the makeup and hair trailer and waited my turn to get dirtied.  Yup, that's what I said.  Dirtied.  You come in freshly showered with clean  hair.  You sit in the makeup chair and you get powdered and smudged.  Even under my nails got a good portion of grime.

 Because there were so many men scheduled to act Thursday, the hair ladies wore gloves.  Taking them off to braid my hair in those wonderful 1850s hairdos would take precious minutes.

I want to commend those ladies in Hair and Makeup for the job they do transforming regular people into characters from another era.  Last week I nodded to a few fellow actors before makeup got them.  Not that I recognized anyone in their street clothes, but they did look familiar, sort of.  I managed to get done and shipped down to set holding before I'd seen many of the men transform.  So when I stepped out of the holding trailer at our call, I halted, unnerved.  Afraid, even.  All around me were these swarthy, grimy, dangerous looking male strangers.  I tell you, I truly wanted to go back into that trailer and just shiver.  Thankfully one of the men I'd played with the last week came over to talk to me.  Relief swept through my whole body and I felt protected.  Of course, once I starting talking to these dangerous looking males, I realized hair/makeup had veneered 2012 civilized men into 1850s pioneers.  Well done ladies!

Anyway, I was sent to the Casting hair/makeup trailer.  A whole new world, with bright lights, mirrors and comfortable chairs.  I sat, totally silent, listening to the kibitzing between main actors as they were transformed into their grubby characters for the 1850s setting.  This hair lady played with my long hair for a few moments, rubbing in the dirt laden conditioner, checked the location of my hat before braiding my hair into an intricate creation before pinning my hat into place. 

Usually, in background hair and makeup, a minimum of pins go into any creation - just enough to keep the hair and hat in place.  Not in Casting's hair and makeup.  I swear there were more than 50 pins keeping my hair in place.  And 8 pins to hold that hat.

Back to holding, then on to loading, down the trail and we're near the set.  Another hurry up and wait.  We didn't wait long, though.  Just enough time to greet familiar background actors, grab a tea, sip it twice, hoist myself into the pee trailer before the 'Background on set' call came.  Our keeper, Alex, told us where to go what to do. 

We set ourselves up in our starting spots, in the rain, and wait for the 'Background, Action' call.  Because background always starts their action first so the scene looks like it naturally unfolds.  I think the cameras roll just after we start to move, but who can tell.

Last week my group was pantomiming a group gossip and comments - silently of course - of the happenings right in from of us, when the camera appeared between us, from behind me.  Talk about being startled.  There's this bright orange cage along the side, so no-one can accidentally fall into the camera, that almost touched my shoulder.  And I'm supposed to act like it wasn't there.  I tell you, they could have warned me.

Well, we acted through the rehearsals, listened to the dialogue we could hear trying to figure out what was happening and waited for the 'Reset' call that tells us to go back to our starting position.  If the director wants more action, or different action, he tells our handler through the radio.  Alex comes to us to move us, give instructions or tell us we're doing it fine.  Then we do it again.  And again.  Until the director likes what he sees.  We all wait for that 'Cut.  Wrap.' bellow.  Then we find Alex to see what we do next. 

Yesterday, we walked and we stared and walked some more, like busy-body townfolk anywhere.  And watched, after 4 hours on set, while the goody trolley carrying drinks and warm snacks wended its way through the Cast and crew.  None of that for us.  Not even a bathroom break.  We acted some more before, finally, we heard 'Background to Holding'.  And through the mud we traipse back to the trailer hoping for warm liquids and a not too big a lineup to the potty trailer. 

See background must always give way to Cast or crew.  They get first dibs on the two stalls in the trailer.  Or if those are busy, the port-a-potties (4) nearby.

Back to set after a quick nibble - we got tuna sandwiches.  Just tuna, nothing warmed like the whatevers the 'real' members get in their tinfoil wrapped packages.

Six hours total on set in scattered showers, cold weather and a creeping damp cold wind before we finally hear "Background Holding'.  We know it's lunch now, so we slip our way to holding, pick up whatever we need from our bags and shiver at 'Muster' for the ride up to the food tent.

Background arrived first yesterday.  Usually we have to wait patiently at the end of the line for warm food, then pick through the Cast/Crew's leftovers on the 'sides' table before trying to find a place to sit down.  We stood in line, ushering to the front any 'real' members as they appeared.  We got through the buffet fairly fast and had our choice of seats. 

Now they say they give us an hour for 'lunch', but usually we don't get much more than 15 minutes because we aren't first up to muster.  Yesterday we had time to sit and digest, enjoy that warm cup of coffee, and in my case, a cigarette (out in the specially designated area).  Wasn't too cold, we didn't get relegated to the seats no-one wants in the food tent - the seats in front of the heaters, where you burn for however long it takes to eat.

The food is good there.  Full meals with salads, fruit, choice of tea, coffee, lemonade, water, hot chocolate, several desserts and ice cream.  They do feed us well.

And back to set holding we go, waiting for our call to get our butts on set, for another round of  'Action.  Reset.  Action.'

I used to think acting looked like a fairly easy job.  Not anymore.  I've gotta admit, I am now truly impressed with the skills a main actor must possess.  Scenes are rarely shot in order - sequentially.  So though the actor may have learned his part that way, it is up to the director which scene follows which.   We watch the actors study the scene script just before a shot, probably refamiliarizing themselves with that particular part.  I guess the director puts it all in order after all the shooting is finished. 

Whenever the director is shooting a close-up or an enclosed scene where extras aren't needed / won't be seen, we're sent back to holding - another trek through muddy streets - to wait.  we're waiting there when Taz, one of our Herders, totally out of breath, rushes up and yells for me.  'They need you on set, right now,' she yells at me.  'Taz, I can't run in that mud,' I grumble following her.  I get to the building where the scene is taking place and realize I'm still wearing my glasses.  Off they go, popped into my sleeve, and in I go.  And yes, unless they cut that scene, I'm standing there preforming my pantomimed scene right in the camera's lens.  Ok, the camera is on the Actor, but I'm there in a major scene!  For sure this time! 

So now that I've been in 3 episodes, and hopefully more, I will watch this TV program  And get all my family to watch it too, just to hunt through the scenes and see if they recognize me. 

I'm having a great time doing this background acting.  Think I'll stick around for a while.

Driveby Email Mining Attack

Here I was, with email minimized, just starting to upload my dream-driven new chapters, when my email notification rings.  Well, I'm expecting an answer to one of my questions to a friend, so I pull the thing up.

To my surprise, I have 20 irate friends and acquaintances telling me NEVER to send junk like that along again.

'Junk like that,' I wonder.  I pull up my sent mail and sure enough somehow I've been scammed by a driveby piece of malware that's mined my address book.

'I didn't send anything,' I type back to my friends, 'not a blessed thing.  I haven't sent anything in over 24 hours.  And I never even open that kind of crap on my own computer, let alone pass it on.'

So, rather than the anticipated morning of writing, I have to email everyone on my email address book to apologize and warn them not to open that piece of crap, but I have to change passwords and run scans.  And I worry about what else that malware might have gotten into. 

Having offspring, I have heard about kiddie script and how those who aren't able to actually build anything worthwhile will try to tear down others' works.  But I've never actually been invaded.

The attack is not a pleasant experience.  I truly wish anyone who dreams up and then uses these attacks could experience kismet in the shape of complete computer meltdown - every time they try to operate their computers.

I'm not sure exactly how I got infected.  I don't go to porn sites or e-buy sites.  I'm usually very conservative about the sites I'm willing to open.  I don't even have an MSN chat account.  The only site  I opened yesterday was to research a mythology stream I wanted to write a story about.  OK, it was a site I've never been on before.  And now, I will never go back there - just in case.

So all my thoughts are all ajumble, scrambled too much for writing fiction.  Whoever rifled my email account left me unable to earn my living for today.  I hope you grow up someday, take a 12-step program and feel guilt when you can't apologize to all the people you've harmed in your immature pathway of destruction.

Thank you for that.

May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.  May the lice of tomorrow crawl through your pubes for a month.  May bedbugs bite tonight and you be bereft of shoes to beat them off.

And may you never have the ability to actually build that which you strive so avidly to dismember.  May you always be jealous of that which you can never achieve.

Research as Background Actor - Hell on Wheels Season Two

Research for writing material has led me through many avenues.  I've sat through court cases, boring and exciting.  I've taken jobs as clerical labour help, clerical medical help, bakery labour thumbing butter tarts, camp counselor, camp cook, long distance operator, waitress, executive secretary to managers and VPs, research assistant and the like.  I've written stories using the materials I've seen in many iterations.

I want to write a script for a movie or television show.  It's a dream of mine.  So...

Last year I signed up to become a background actor.  I got casted for one episode of Heartland.

This April I tried out for an open casting call for Hell on Wheels; a show I'd only seen two episodes of last fall and wasn't sure I liked the level of violence portrayed.  But, beggars can't be choosers.  There is a dearth of shows or movies in Alberta right now.  I'll take whatever comes.

Now I signed a waiver whereby I wouldn't disclose the whereabouts, take pictures of the actors, disclose anything relevant about the series.  All that.

But I do have bragging rights to being on the set.  Maybe I'll even see myself on TV.  That all depends on the cutting of the film.  I could very well end up on the cutting room floor.

I can tell you I have a new respect for actors.  All actors.  I couldn't believe the number of retakes, new directions, replays with different camera angles or lens settings, replays with different lighting.  And just plain retakes.

Maybe the director has some undefined desire and he's going to keep on shooting that one scene until he sees it.  Who knows - he doesn't say why, just 'let's do that again; roll, action and cut'.

And those of us have to sit, stand or move in exactly the same way we did for umpteen times, until he is satisfied.


Let me take you through my day.  I got my set time call the night before, after wrap up of that day's shoot.  I was lucky that the call came before 10pm, for an 11:00am start.  With instructions on how to get to the location.

I drove forever, deeper and deeper into the country watching for the signs - not obvious let me tell you - I'd been instructed to follow.  Several times I pulled over to review my notes on the way.  Finally, after a scary hike through field after field, and thanking my 4-wheel drive as it had rained hard the night before and was still drizzling so parts of the track were starting to wash out, I crested a hill and saw about ten industrial trailers.  I pulled into the crew and background parking area, traipsed through mud to the sign in trailer and started the process to turn me into a 1800+ woman.

Costume came first.  Layer upon layer I was helped into.  I finally understand why women back then needed help to get dressed or undressed.  I'm talking two petticoats of what felt like heavy canvas - but I know it was just heavy cotton with layers of ruffles - a heavy wool skirt, a flannelette high buttoned blouse, a wool jacket, a wool knit shawl and a bonnet.  We are talking, I swear, of about 35lbs of clothing.  Oh right, and boots that didn't quite fit - close, but after 14 hours no shoes or boots feel good.

Hair and makeup was the next stop.  I carried my bonnet over to the next trailer, taking precautions of lifting my skirts up enough that they didn't drag in the mud.   As my bonnet wasn't a full affair, my hair was elaborately french-braided and upswept with many hairpins before the bonnet was firmly affixed to my head.

Makeup got me next.  Not to add makeup.  Nope.  This is 1800+ after all.  Only loose women would be caught dead wearing any makeup.   I was dusted with dirt; face, neck and hands.  Debate was held over my hands, as to whether they needed to cut my nails - not polished nails by any means, but longish.  I know I cringed before they decided the nails could stay.

Now all this took about 3/4 hour before I was ready to be ferried down, with others of the background group, to breakfast.  Yeah, I know, it's almost noon.  But it's called breakfast.  And it's good, hearty food that we were instructed to eat well of.  No-one could tell us when the next meal might come, so we filled our plates and ate.  And the set call came.

Remember that it's been raining.  There's mud everywhere.  Slippery as all get out.

Loaded again into the vans, we made our way down a switchback mud trail at I believe about 45 degree angle to get to set.  After about 10 minutes of hair-raising driving - no way would anyone have gotten me to drive that course, even in a 4-wheel vehicle - we rounded the final corner and the whole set unveiled itself before our eyes.  Track, train engine, passenger car, more rails stretching back towards a settlement just upgrading from a tent city.  Civilization, up many steps from the whole tent city of last year's episodes I was told by returning background cast members.  I never got to see the town up close as the train was well away from those buildings.

We waited in a heated industrial trailer, just us backgrounders and our keeper.  The trailer had lots of goodies to nibble on, drinks aplenty, cards, newspapers and magazines to keep us busy while we waited for our calls.

As I said I hadn't seen the pilot film, nor many of last year's episodes, so I was amazed.  The prop department has done a fabulous job on the train set.  I now have a new appreciation for my ancestors riding the rail out to the opening west after the hours sitting on a reproduction train bench for the bum-numbing hours of taking that scene.  The 2 foot wide center aisle had to be maneuvered by the actors, the cameraman, the mobile lighting, the sound man with boom and the cord man who made sure nobody tripped over that camera cord.  We, the background passengers sitting on those uncomfortable slatted seats ducked and moved so the crew didn't fall into us.  The other women and I had to keep those full skirts and petticoats out of the aisle, but still stay in character.  And for 4 hours at a time, we filmed in that train car.

We got told the bare basics of the scene and were to act, silently, as if the scene really happened all around us.

We never sat in that car for more than 4hours.  Someone would call out 'background return to holding' and off we'd go.

We wended our way between expensive cameras, crew and director in the dark, trying desperately not to touch any of the equipment, and hold our skirts up from the mud tracked in by all and sundry.  Then we had to navigate the steps down to ground.  I know I can step down in regular clothes.  No problem.  But you try going up or down steps with ankle-length skirts and petticoats.  Not an easy feat.  No wonder women back then didn't stray far from home. Those outfits are heavy and unwieldy.  Winds can unbalance you with one strong gust.  And they needed as many helping hands as they could find for any uneven ground or rises.  I can't imagine trying to walk up a hill.  Or down for that matter.  And then we had to walk the 700 yards or so back to the holding trailer across an uneven muddy former animal pasture.  Going to the bathroom was another experience I've got to hand to my female ancestors.  We at least had a trailer for our evacuation.  Getting your skirts in before you closed the door was interesting.  Lifting said skirts up enough to squat, then pulling up any under clothing with skirts and petticoats in the way is not just interesting - it's hard.

So the day progressed with all of us backgrounders putting in miles of back and forth with the ground getting muddier and more rutted as wheeled equipment got moved around.  No part of the day was sunny, and of course the day grew darker.  Now we are in God's country.  There are no power lines to be seen.  So no lights except what the generators powered.  That power was mainly needed for the filming equipment.  Lights out in the field might detract from the atmosphere of the shot.  So we walked in the dark.  Still trying to keep relatively dry.

Don't get me wrong.  The shoot was fun.  The people with me awesome.  The crew helpful and funny.  Even the main actors kidded with us whenever they weren't busy with script rehearsals, reshoots or listening to the director's edicts.  Not that we were allowed to talk to them first, but we could answer.

We played any part the director ordered.

Oh, yeah, lunch - at supper time - came at 7pm.  We got ferried up to the food area where all the backgrounders had to wait till everyone else - and by that I mean the main actors, the director and all the crew, the important people - got served.  Another hurry up and wait.  We had an hour, of which we had about 15 minutes to actually eat,  In a warm, dry tent before being herded back into vans and ferried back to the set level.

And I'm back on Monday for another shoot.  I'm hoping that I'll be picked for a season actor.  I don't need any lines.  I'll be happy being in the background watching those graced with real acting abilities, admiring their stamina and memorization skills.

I'll be taking notes, too.  Because my dream is to write a script that's good enough to make it's way to the screen.  I'm not greedy.  I'll take a TV spot.  I'd love that.

So wish me luck.  Though this playacting background is hard work, it's fun too.  And I consider it research for my script writing education.  Who knows.  Maybe my dream of writing a script that's good enough to be filmed will come true.  That'd be awesome!  Otherwise, I'm having a great time, meeting some really wonderful people I'd never meet any other way and getting paid enough that I'm not out of pocket for this experience.

Consequences

Whew!
Some weeks are just busier than others.  And not in a good way.

This week started with a 1 1/2 hour MRI on Sunday night, and physio on Tuesday and Thursday, a visit with my GP and a subsequent x-ray on Tuesday, a specialist app't on Wednesday, with a therapeutic massage thrown in on Wednesday, all in the middle of the day. 

Ok, I did have Monday off, and I did write for several hours before my back and hand complained.

Now I write.  Or I'm supposed to.  But I find these necessary medical appointments not only disrupting my writing time, but also my thought processes.  Writing is a long involved process, where the writer (me) needs to develop the scenes in her head, like drawing a series of stills, then try and sort timelines, action and flow of words to make a cohesive picture in the mind of the reader.

But...
Since my accident on November 26th, I have had little downtime to reflect and build my scenes.  I find the necessity of stopping everything to drive to whatever appointment is hamstringing my abilities.  Not only do I spend at least one hour convincing myself I won't get into another car accident, I drive now in fear of my fellow motorists.  And because I don't live in a city, or even a town with bus service - I live in the country - I have no choice but to drive to these appointments.

My beautifully constructed life of a published writer, sitting for hours in front of my computer, wending my way through poetic prose to bring my characters to life, has been shattered by that one moment of inattention by another driver - the one who rear-ended me.

I wonder if her life changed, if she quivers as she gets behind the wheel of her car to go out.  has her world, as she planned it, come to a screeching halt?  Can she follow her planned life path without the many interruptions I now face?

I never heard how her car responded to the accident.  Nor if she is suffering from complications of whiplash or concussion.  Has she spent the last 5+ months traipsing from doctor to specialist to x-ray to physio for hours on end?  Or can she sit at work or home and plan a day without taking into account all the places she has to attend just to function?  Maybe I would feel a little better if I knew her life grew a series of disruptions from her moment of inattention.

Dammit!  Just before the accident I mentioned to my son - my passenger - that the car following me was too close for comfort.  And I continued to drive along my planned route to finish my shopping.  I stopped for a loaded crosswalk between a park and residences.  Maybe if she had left more than 15 feet between my car and hers, she would have been able to stop.  She should have been paying more attention.  Children have been known to press the crosswalk button and run across the street from the park to get home for lunch.  And it was just 12:15, so lunch hour.  She could have pushed me into a child!  Just that thought makes me cringe every time I replay the accident in my head.  Not that I remember all of it.  I remember stopping.  I remember looking in the rearview mirror and stiffening as I realized she was gong to hit me.  I don't remember getting out of the car, but I do remember being extremely dizzy leaning against the car almost talking to her.  I remember her saying we'd meet in the street beside us to exchange information.  I remember talking to the witness, sort of.  Thank goodness I got his name and address.  I do not remember finishing shopping.  I got told I laid down when I got home, but I don't remember it.  But I do remember calling my insurance company several hours later.

Talk about stress.

I no longer have my sweet little part time job.  I lost pay right before Christmas - money we were counting on.  More casualties of this accident.  And although I had worked for the firm for 14 years, because I had recently transferred to a new department I was on probation for 3 months - a standard practice in my field.  The accident disabled me, my GP sent me home on sick leave for 8 weeks and the day I returned I was fired.  No reason was given at the time, because no reason had to be explained - I was under probation.  I've never been fired before!  Not from any job.

And I'm not well enough yet to work for a new company.  Who is going to hire an older woman who needs time off for hours of physio, doctors' appointments and medical tests?  And who will pay me at the rate I've worked up to in the 14 years of service I gave my previous firm?  Or even the 5 weeks holidays I earned through my long loyalty?

So, in pain, discomfort, under stress, driving everywhere even though I quail whenever I get behind the wheel of my car, I struggle to regain my life.

Now, here at the end of April, I find my insurance company will no longer fund my physio and therapeutic massage.  I have to pay out of my own pocket for any future treatments.  Necessary treatments, I have to say.  Treatments to get my body to again function at the same level it was before this accident.

More stress.  Almost insult to injury now.

And I have a subpena to go to court about the accident.  Just for her ticket, which I gather she is refusing to pay.  I just hope she pays it, so the court date is cancelled.  One less thing I would have to drive to, one less appointment I have to keep.

You know, some days all I want to do is hide.  Lay down for a whole day, relax and try to heal. 

But in order to prove you have been injured, you have to attend appointments.  My opinion of my body's functions doesn't count.  My words about my pain, stress, agony, stress, aches, stress just don't matter in the long run.  I have to have proof.  Proof to show the lawyers that I'm not at the level I was before the accident.

And I get told I might never get back my full mobility.  Does that count?

Seriously, even if I get a decent settlement, the money will never compensate me for my pain, my lost writing time or my stress. 

Please drive carefully! 

A Car Accident's Victim Log

July end, 2012
Back at the trailer, with daughter for a weekend.  Ok, 3 days total.  My main mistake was not having a down day.  See I background acted on the Thursday, household shopped Friday morning and drove up to the lake Friday afternoon, with a short stop at our 2nd favorite dollar store - now going out of business.  I made it there almost absolutely exhausted.  I got in an hour's float, managed to eat some mushy slop we'd brought from home, and fell asleep by 9:30.

Saturday I didn't do much.  But still a little too much.  We needed to shop.  Saturday shopping can be hell.  Especially for a nervous driver.  Gee I didn't used to be!  Far too many people, too much traffic, and of course, the summer heat.  And I don't have air conditioning - I prefer opening the windows.

So Saturday night, rather than attending the yearly Texas Hold'em social function, I rested.  My daughter went and had a great time, I heard Sunday morning.  I didn't even have enough energy to go to the pool that evening.

Now Sunday I managed to float in the pool during the adult swim hours (0800-0900) and get some hot tubbing relaxation.  I wrote for a few hours, ate mush again, rested, floated to cool off, napped and ate again.  And then I did something totally stupid.

See, on Friday, at that dollar store in Innisfail, I bought, with my daughter's encouragement, a cheap neck/chin/jaw exerciser.  Really just a set of housed springs you flex you neck.jaws up and down on.  We put in the lightest spring - a 1 pound force - and I tried to compress the spring. 

Now I know my neck is weak after the car accident.  Still!  Cause I still have problems holding my own head up all day.  Let's face it, some days I still can't hold my own head up at all!

I managed to compress the 1 pound spring down less than 1/3 of its length.  It hurt.  But I persevered and forced myself to do 10 reps.  I am an idiot!  I managed to stay up, in agony, for dinner - more pap - then I lay down.  My daughter folded a pillow for full support under my neck and head, managed to lift me up to put it under me properly.  I couldn't move myself.  And I finally fell asleep, soothed by my heating pad and the pillows.

Goes to show me just how injured my neck muscles still are.  I promise I won't try more than 3 reps every second day until I can push it down all the way.  And I'm going to take it real slow. 

I sincerely hope that the woman who hit me has suffered some pain from her moment of inattention.

July 2012
We, hubby darlin and I, escaped on holidays June 30.  Left two adult, non-driving, children behind and took off to open the holiday trailer.  He drove, I napped.

No, the first couple of days weren't the best of holidaying weather.  But the trailer came through another winter just fine.  Which is really great to see, as there is no way yet I'm able to climb around, above or under that trailer to set things right.  Hubby darlin hasn't been in shape for that for years.

Nobody even stole another of my rose bushes, and they have bloomed.  My peonies blossomed spectacularly, even.

I managed a bit of dusting, on the obvious places before calling that a halt.  Dust will always be there.  So whenever tomorrow comes....

Time for swimming.

Ok, nix that.  Time for floating with a noodle holding em up so I don't have to work my shoulders.  Let me tell you what a blissful episode I spent in the hot tub.  Ummm, yes.  The heat on my whole body, the jets bubbling down my spine.  Yes, blissful.  I wanted to stay there all day and night.

And the heat rolled in.  Blazing hot days.  No clouds.  Little breeze.

Yes, I floated every morning during adult swim time.  Sometimes I entered the pool during the afternoon to cool off.  And got in during the evening for a definite cool-off period. Just so I could sleep comfortably.

And I managed to write.  Not ever day.  Too hot to think some days.  But the days I managed?  Yes, nirvana state.  Total immersion into my stories.

I finished my cookbook.  Completely.  Even edited it.  Now I just need a cover.

But I paid for that immersion writing.  For every day I managed to write for more than 4 hours, I spent the next day in pain.

My hand would cramp for hours.  I couldn't even cut up veggies for our stir fries, let alone turn on the stove. 

My shoulders and back burned.  And I tried the hot tub.  If the day had been over 30C, he evening was still too hot to sit for long in the hot tub.  Really.

So no real relief.

But, hey.  I got away from the kids.  I got away from home.  I swam - ok, I floated in the pool.  And I relaxed for 14 whole days.

I'm back home now.  Cooking for 5.  Writing at my usual spot.  And enjoying being back here.  See, the trailer is a little cramped.  And I'm used to lots more room than we get up there.

But I'll go back often this summer.  To enjoy the pool and the hot tub.  And just to get away from home.

I'm healing.  Slowly.  But I refuse to let this accident keep me from living my life.  So I strive, every day, to push myself a little more.  To get me back where I used to be BA (before accident). 


mid-June 2012
Epiphany!  I actually found myself fully immersed in my writing.  To the point where the world around me - that mundane world I live in, didn't exist. 

This is the state I try to achieve when I'm writing.  Note that operative word - try!  Since the accident, I have not been able to reach said state of nirvana, of poetic prose in mind-held scenes where I trace interpretive dance to unfold the visions onto my screen for others to read.

Yes, this Wednesday June 20th, I finally climbed back to my ideal writing state.

Know how I knew?  Well...

I immersed myself, who knows exactly when, deep into my own world, writing great sentences, when someone from that 'real' world touched me.  I jumped a mile, bruised my legs on the desk as I tumbled back to reality.  My daughter wished me a good morning.

I looked at the clock, and yes, she'd made it by 2 minutes.

But she'd dropped me out of my stratosphere, up in the Wheel, building a set of characters.

I snarled, poured out a cold cup of tea, made new, nibbled a bit of tuna salad (invalid food) and retreated back to my world.

The very next late afternoon, hubby darlin opened the front door, which causes the inner door to slam.  Again I jumped, doing further damage to my already bruised legs.

But, think about it, do I feel sorry for myself?  No, not really.  See, I look at this as indicative of the healing.  I'd achieved, finally, for the first time since the accident; my ability to immerse myself into my made-up world and write.  Write for hours!

Can we say victory is on the horizon?  The horizon might be months away still.  But it's there!

Sure, I paid dearly for those hours of writing.  My hand cramps, did cramp and is cramping.  I didn't sleep well because of that pain.  My shoulders and neck ache from my position and my hours of typing.  And I spent the next days 'resting' - more like laying prone and napping to get my energy back.

I should get another massage, and soon.  But my favorite masseuse is booked solid, and my friend's daughter - the one in massage therapy classes, left for her summer job.  She'd been massaging me on the sly, cause she isn't supposed to practice on real people until she has her license.  And I can't afford the physio masseuse's prices.  Seems my accident fund dried up - you only get a set number of massages to heal you from an accident.



May 2012
Will this ever be over?

I no longer have pain all over.  But I'm not out of pain.  Now I have areas where I burn continually - neck, shoulders, jaws.  I cannot reach over my head with ease and must think about which hand to use before I pull anything out of the fridge.  I cannot stretch without spasms shooting up and down my neck, back and arm.  And I still tire so easily that I must plan my days carefully, realizing that I will not be able to do everything I want to, no matter how well I feel first thing in the morning.  And I still wake up every morning with a headache that just won't go away.

I want to recoup my life as it was BA - before accident.  I am striving to that end.  So I push myself, ignore some of the pain to get on with life.  For each day I manage a full day of BA activities, I find I spend 8 hours or more in down-time the next day. By that I mean either sitting for a short time then laying down and napping or laying down for a full day. 

My doctor/specialist appointments are not as often now, so I no longer have to spend hours of my day just driving.  And I no longer spend an hour quivering in dreaded anticipation before getting behind the wheel of my car - just minutes now.  Not that I'm not incredibly aware of everything on the road around me when I drive anywhere now.  Hyper alert I would call it, and ready to pull over if I see any suspect behaviour around me. 

The accident has imprisoned me in ways I didn't expect.  I am a prisoner of pain, though I try to manage my days to minimize activities that might cause me pain. 

I no longer enjoy a good-weather Sunday drive to nowhere just to see the scenery.  I probably won't plan picnics to some bucolic park this summer.  Because I'd have to drive.  And I won't drive now if I don't absolutely have to.

I cannot ride, I'm talking horseback, any longer as the movement of the horse under me jiggles my back and arms which heightens my discomfort and my right hand can no longer control the reins.  I do not have the energy to take long walks, nor to carry a backpack with snacks and water.  My golf swing has been severely compromised, so I will no longer enjoy a round on the greens.  I worry about swimming, something I only partake of in the summer, because I'm not sure I will be able to putter in the water for any length of time.  Water-skiing is no longer going to be considered as I don't think I would have the strength now in my right arm to hold my body upright.  My fine work (knitting, crocheting, lacemaking, embroidery, quilting, sewing, cutting out) can be done only for finite periods of time now.  And my books are too heavy to lay and read, so I must sit up when I decide to indulge in a period of escapism. I cannot draw or sketch because my hand cramps so severely after only a few minutes.

Even my passion, writing (that's typing on the computer), can only be indulged in for short periods of time, as my shoulder, arm and wrist ache after a fairly short period.  And, again, my hand cramps badly.  No longer can I spend a whole day immersed in one of my worlds, writing my stories.  And even if my body could handle the work, my mind shuts down with fatigue after short periods.  My words no longer flow as I experience what my doctor calls 'brain fog' and I call mind stuttering, when I can't find the word or synonym I need.

My house is a disaster.  The vacuum cleaner noise hurts my ears and causes my headaches to get worse.  Bending and pushing to vacuum is painful after a very short time.

Cutting up food for meal preparation is very painful.  My fingers cramp almost as soon as I curl my fingers around the knife.  And chewing - well I won't go into how much that hurts.  I just wish I was losing weight too.  But my invalid food, and my lack of exercise aren't letting me lose any weight.

I truly wish my hitter could experience some of the suffering she has made me go through for her moment's inattention.

It would be only fair, wouldn't it?



Feb 2012
Just a moment's lack of attention - by someone else - and I'm paying.
Not just financially, but physically.

It was a beautiful sunny day, just past noon on a Saturday.  Sure it was winter.  But...No ice on the roads, no snow, few clouds.
I stopped at a crosswalk, with a park on my left and houses on my right.  I've stopped before at that crosswalk.  Kids push the button and run across the road.  Kids do that all the time!

The driver behind me, the one I'd told my son I thought was following a bit too closely just minutes before, didn't see the crosswalk lights, my brake lights, or even the cars stopped on the other side of the road.

Her moment of lack of attention.

I got rear-ended and pushed almost through the crosswalk.  Thank the gods for small mercies - there wasn't a kid running across that street.

My son and I received whiplash injuries and I ended up with a concussion.  I don't remember hitting anything.  But I found bits of my hairclip in my hair hours later.  I know I was very dizzy when I got out of the car to see the damage.  My car had a bruised bumper.  Hers fared less well, with a broken bumper and crumpled side panel.  Both of us could drive, we didn't think anyone had been injured, so the police weren't called.

I kept getting dizzier as I finished my shopping after the lady and I exchanged information.  By the time I hit home, my head was pounding and my neck felt like someone had stretched it while punching it.  I blew my stuffy nose and found just a drop or two of blood.

By Sunday (the accident happened on a Saturday), my back burned, my neck barely held my head up and a headache walloped my brain and skull.  A ringing in my ears drowned out almost all voices and my jaw swelled.  I did what any accident victim would do and called my insurance company with as many details as I had or could remember.  I realized as I read off the name, address and phone of my assailant, that she had not included her insurance information, nor her license number.

By Monday I felt so bad I headed into my doctor's office, where I learned that I had whiplash and a concussion.  The whiplash needed physiotherapy, and the concussion needed rest and maybe 6 months to forever to heal.  Wonderful! 

My passenger son also got diagnosed with whiplash.  The doc recommended we start physiotherapy immediately.  So we took ourselves off to book appointments.  Which coincidentally, started almost immediately.

I call these treatments physio-torture.  I know the theory is to try and regain full range of movement as fast as physically possible.  But when you are experiencing dizziness, massive headache and mega-pain up and down your spine, full range of motion is little more than barely moving.

My friend recommended hiring a lawyer - so between her and her friends, they found one someone's sister-in-law's brother's friend received a decent settlement through.  I called him made an appointment and drove the 56+km down to see him.  See, we live in the country and everywhere is a car trip.

The lawyer recommended a number of appointments to specialists.  As he informed me, whiplash can be severe and you won't know how bad it is for months.  And a concussion can be deadly.
So the trips to specialists began.  After only 6 weeks I'd logged just over 2010km - just to see these docs, have x-rays, CTs, physio appointments.  And the police called.  Seems she had gone to report the accident after my insurance company called her to get information.  So another trip to fill in the form at the RCMP detachment.

Two weeks later, my insurance company called to tell me she and her insurance company had admitted fault 100%.  At least something started to go right.

And I lost my job.  Right after Christmas.  See, I'd just transferred from a nice casual position with occasional hours, to a permanent part-time position with regular hours.  So I went on probation, even though I'd been with the same company for 14 years.  Just 7 days into the job, I had no paycheque, no benefits and no protection.  As I had no sick days banked, I received no expected paycheques right before Christmas as the accident left me unable to work until the concussion reaction subsided.  Then the company, Alberta Health Services no less, where I worked for 14 years, waited until the medical leave finished - 8 weeks - and fired me!

I believe I have no recourse.  Not only that, but my lawyer informs me I must hunt for another job.  All this while I'm still going to all these medical appointments, physio and still not really feeling well enough to put in any 8 hour day.

So this accident - another driver's fault entirely - has cost me time, a nice job, thousands of kilometres travel, with gas costs and wear and tear on my car, out of pocket specialists' bills and parking charges.  Which I may see restitution for eventually.  But in the meantime, I'm severely out of pocket.


Now I tell you, this is the first time I've been able to think straight enough to write anything coherent!   I can't function at my previous level at all!  My head is way too heavy for my neck most of the time.  My shoulders and back burn.  I always have a headache.  I only have enough energy to do one thing a day, and that one thing can't be strenuous.  I find myself prone - laying down - at least once per day.  My house is a disaster.  I can't cook because it not only involves standing for long periods of time (more than 10 minutes) it also requires me to cut food up, and my right hand is not cooperating.

But I'm supposed to apply for a job!  Drive myself to doctors' appointments - which always take at least an hour.  Everything outside this house takes driving!  Something I'm very nervous doing right now!

And all from another driver's moment of inattention!!