tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60025334851059350822012-02-16T14:23:57.928+01:00ingridnoreply@blogger.comBlogger401100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-64659423922766406362008-04-09T13:30:00.000+02:002008-06-24T13:20:11.616+02:00

"I'm not affected by things like calendar days," she says, posturing, leaning back in her chair. "It's all about, how old you feel, not your actual age. At least that's what I tell myself. Let me tell you what I've learned over the past 40 years, I'm a wise old girl," she laughs as she slurps her coffee, then makes a face. "Eugh. I hate those fake sugar things, but they say that white sugar has

ingridnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-23249490460116478252008-04-09T12:00:00.000+02:002008-06-24T13:21:05.299+02:00

"I'm thinking about another home movie. This one features my older brother and me, playing chess. I'm only two years old in the movie, and unless I am a former child prodigy who's lost all of her prodiginess, I'm pretty sure that I didn't understand the rules.""But you're playing chess? Not just fiddling around with the pieces?""I think two things strike me about this footage. No three. (I can't

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-90604614603207310482008-04-09T11:59:00.002+02:002008-04-09T12:00:10.349+02:00

She stretches and sighs, looking out the window a little listlessly. "I'm not sure what I learned when I was three. Hmm. The only thing that comes to mind is, be cautious who you proposition.""Pardon? You were three. What are you talking about?""Well," she explains, blushing a little, "first it was my brother's best friend. My brother is 9 years older than me, and I told his best friend that I

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-9516087942978653392008-04-09T11:59:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:59:46.414+02:00

"On my fourth birthday, the one where my mom made hats out of dixie cups and ribbon, I learned not to sit on balloons.""Why not?""They pop.""That's it?""Pretty much.""So you're saying, don't destroy pretty fragile things. Enjoy them for what they are?""You're reading too much into this.""You started it. What were you thinking anyways? Sitting on a balloon?""Yeah, well... I was FOUR.""True. Did

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-85565114789988741562008-04-09T11:58:00.004+02:002008-04-09T11:59:18.621+02:00

"When I got too loud in the house, my mom would send me outside.""Probably a good idea."She sticks out her tongue. "Anyways, this one winter, when the snow was almost up to my armpits, I ventured into the backyard.""How old were you, five? The snow up to armpits thing sounds impressive, but you were probably really short.""You're missing the point, you know that," she chastises. "It was pretty

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-3108570560736419612008-04-09T11:58:00.003+02:002008-04-09T11:58:53.133+02:00

"I don't have much of a sweet tooth," she says. "Maybe it has something to do with the toothpaste?""Toothpaste?""Yeah, my mom was way into the health food thing before it became the craze it is now. She was buying organic flour before it had that name. It was all well meaning, but torture in the era of baloney, processed cheese, white bread and Oreos. I pretty much had whole-wheat everything with

ingridnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-62307434587539723462008-04-09T11:58:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:58:30.287+02:00

"Did you get into trouble a lot as a kid?""No, not a lot. 'A lot' is all relative anyways isn't it?""How did you get punished?""Other than spankings? I got sent to my room, which I didn't mind at all, or I had to write stuff.""So that fact that you are still writing is sort of a form of masochism... a replay of childhood punishment.""You're sick.""What did you write?""My mom gave me lists of

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-2130924368348770922008-04-09T11:57:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:58:04.714+02:00

"I'm getting a bit disturbed by the nature of your lessons. I'm not sure how genuinely useful they are.""Is that for you to judge?""Well I think so. You did put me into this situation.""What situation?""Of being your fictional interviewer.""Do you want to go? You can you know. Just go. I can make it happen.""Nononono... I'll stay. You're scary. OK. Fine then, so you learned about bribery. Explain

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-24951926808429183352008-04-09T11:56:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:57:38.528+02:00

"When we were in grade four, my teacher read us the book Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang. I loved it.""And what did you learn from this book with the odd title.""That stories can transport you and books bring moments of magic into normal lives, absurdity and imagination are great things, and that it is really nice to be read to.""Good lessons.""I agree."An old (1976) CBC interview with

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-3009251848409831182008-04-09T11:56:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:56:34.047+02:00

"What are you talking about?""At the age of 10 they are a source of ridicule and scorn. 'Developing' early was not a positive thing in my young life. Stupid little boys used to moo at me.""Oh, I'm sorry.""Yes, a group of girls decided to bully me into a bra, telling me that otherwise I would end up deformed.""Did you get a bra?""No. I specifically didn't because I was pissed off. I didn't (or did

ingridnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-21896187458209774412008-04-09T11:55:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:55:49.199+02:00

"So were you popular?""No.""Ah. You were probably one of those geeky kids with glasses and big teeth.""I still have glasses and big teeth.""Yeah. Sorry about that. Did you have friends?""Yep.""You aren't being very helpful today. I'll be more direct. Tell me about some after school activity you did with your friends.""Well, I remember going to my friend Dee's house. We played a kind of weird game

ingridnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-70663475933374209362008-04-09T11:54:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:55:02.993+02:00

"Ohh... this sounds like a mushy one.""Yeah. Kinda.""So what happened.""Through middle school, I didn't really get any cooler.""Is this a poor me story?""Nope. Just to say that I wasn't uber nerdy or cool. I was in a middle ground that left me only semi-teased. I had weird clothes, the glasses, the teeth... Probably more kids were in this middle area than I know. Or at least this is what I tell

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-62091292914929535132008-04-09T11:54:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:54:39.655+02:00

"So, you're telling me you were basically this semi-nerdy kid with big glasses, big teeth, and boobs, and boys liked you.""Yah. I had the whole secretary thing going on. Get real. I was a kid/woman. No. Well, yes. Well...""Give. Story.""I was XC-skiing with my friend and...""For the uninitiated: define XC.""Cross-country...""Wow. Canada's pretty big. Impressive.""That's not what I meant... OK.

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-11009012221359245992008-04-09T11:53:00.004+02:002008-04-09T11:54:14.699+02:00

"Stop biting your nails. It's a bad habit.""But I don't bite to the quick. Look!" she says as she holds her hands in front of her."Why do you do that? It's disgusting.""Piano lessons.""What does biting nails have to do with piano lessons. Oh! I know, you were taught by nuns that rapped your knuckles with rulers if your nails were too long. Oh how you suffered.""No, but my teacher would clip my

ingridnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-87210074689646582622008-04-09T11:53:00.003+02:002008-04-09T11:53:50.232+02:00

"You've already established that fact that you were not a cool teenager, but what was the coolest thing you ever did?""Well, when I was growing up, we belonged to a gliding club.""Like, hang gliding?""No, glider gliding.""And you like, watched, right?""When we started going to the club I was only four, so no I didn't fly then. It was an awesome place to grow up though. As kids we really had

ingridnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-34441955077841522782008-04-09T11:53:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:53:24.141+02:00

"Ah, more bitterness and woe.""I'm not bitter.""Whatever you say. OK. So tell me about your traumatic sixteen.""No, not traumatic, just disappointing. There is all this hype around turning sixteen... As if something will suddenly change and you will somehow be transformed into a swan or your life will suddenly be better. It doesn't work that way.""Wow. You wanted to be a large white bird?""Yes.

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-27172315259322322682008-04-09T11:52:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:52:58.828+02:00

"I missed you yesterday.""Aw... Really. That's nice. I must admit I'm a bit surprised though.""I guess you weren't in production mode. You only did one lesson yesterday.""That's OK, as long as I hit the fortieth lesson by March twentieth, we're good.""And then what.""Then we're done.""Oh.""What's wrong?""Well what happens to me?""We'll see.""OK. I guess... So, we're at seventeen...""We are. It

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-69817370100955206052008-04-09T11:51:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:52:04.782+02:00

"Notes?""At school.""For classes? Of course you did. Who else would take notes for you.""Um, no.""Fooorrr... why did you write notes?""Uh. When I skipped school.""You wrote your own notes?""Yeah. I decided that adults don't need their parents to write notes. They can do it themselves. But my notes were always honest!""What, you wrote, 'Ingrid didn't feel like coming to school yesterday, so she

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-1335643834799668492008-04-09T11:49:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:50:11.333+02:00

"I didn't know what to take in University after I graduated from high school. I liked lots of stuff but couldn't narrow it down.""So what did you do?""I decided to take some time before I started, try some different things. First, I got this retail job at a toy store.""That seems appropriate.""And despite the fact that I had no previous experience in retail, I became the manager after only three

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-27986235591067223622008-04-09T11:49:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:49:44.900+02:00

"So, eventually you started University.""Yep. And it was more than what I hoped for. I loved it.""Did you feel... older than the other students.""Kind of. I think that the time I spent working made me really want to work at better jobs so it made me appreciate why I was there. Of course now I know that there were some misguided notions associated with this assumption... but yes, I really loved

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-12521698420762158362008-04-09T11:47:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:48:24.167+02:00

"No kidding.""Yeah well, it took me longer to figure this out than most.""What happened?""Oh I was moaning to a friend about a heartbreak when I was in my early 20s and that is what she told me.""That sounds pretty heartless.""It actually wasn't. It was the best piece of advice I've ever had.""What? Only a heartless bitch would tell you that when you're down.""Nah. The reality of the situation is

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-1028547387930404672008-04-09T11:47:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:47:46.406+02:00

"What, is this back to the 'poor me wahwahwah' thing?" "Nope. It's all about Revenue Canada.""What?""Well, I had a job working at taxation in Revenue Canada.""Ew.""Nah, actually it was a good summer job. But we were registering Canadian companies for a new tax. So some unpleasant conversations ensued.""I can imagine. So what did you do?""Outside of calling people who regarded my calls as pleasant

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-29190095908648347652008-04-09T11:46:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:47:05.626+02:00

"I was just going to ask you about that.""Don't bother.""Aww. But I'm sure that all of your readers would enjoy the juicy details of your failed affairs of the heart.""Oh, that motivates me. Especially your assumptions of failure.""Yeah well, you aren't married, *and* your almost forty.""Are you someone's mother? This is just wrong. My imaginary interviewer should definitely not resemble a mother

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-1223608940177174122008-04-09T11:45:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:46:22.815+02:00

"Well, you are well rounded.""Thank you.""I meant literally.""Thanks. And I'm cute. Total bonus.""So, how does multi-majoring and otherwise trying on lots of topics of size make you well rounded.""Well, it means you have to read lots of text books, write lots of papers, and otherwise pursue a degree that keeps slipping through your fingers because all of your course work doesn't actually go for

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-56589600128246990242008-04-09T11:44:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:45:20.384+02:00

"Love, love, love, love, love.""You're just being antagonistic.""Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love!""I think that you are proving my point.""Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love!""Um. Can I tell my story?""Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love,

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-35896201843915933332008-04-09T11:43:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:44:28.858+02:00

"I guess it all depends on what kind of basement, like, it could be a dank, smelly, basement with mold growing on the walls and loud drainage pipes. I'd challenge you to make that cozy.""That really wasn't what I had in mi...""Or they could have large cages and skulls and stuff. That would be pretty hard to make cozy too.""What I meant to say was...""Or they could have super low ceilings and

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-29059232810350646092008-04-09T11:43:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:43:41.085+02:00

"Bet you screamed.""Maybe. A little.""How'd they get in?""I had a fireplace, didn't close the closey thingy.""Thanks for using the technical term. I do believe that is called the damper.""You're just showing off. Plus it is pretty obvious you just looked up the answer on the internet.""Wait a minute. I think we're changing roles here. Let's go back to me being the only antagonistic one.""Fine.""

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-13348671116710430312008-04-09T11:42:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:43:04.741+02:00

"Nuff said.""Aw come on. You can't drop something like that and not explain.""Yes, I can.""That just isn't right. On the cusp of a juicy story and no details. You tease.""Yep. What are you gonna do about it?""I'm going to keep bothering you about it is what.""OK. I'll give you one word, and that's it. Wallpaper.""Oh, that was helpful. What you got so drunk you started removing someone's wallpaper

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-10462611591499443502008-04-09T11:41:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:42:23.265+02:00

"You were sad?""I had just had knee surgery and couldn't really leave my apartment. I wasn't very mobile.""That sounds boring.""Unspeakably. For the most part I was OK since I had some good pain killers, but everything was awkward and slow. I was very bored. Very. And it was hot and I couldn't shower. And I was lonely.""So you went on the fire escape. All smelly and bored?""My dear wonderful

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-803462652166877142008-04-09T11:40:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:40:54.336+02:00

"My best summer holidays ever were when a group of friends and I started renting cottages for a week or two every summer.""Oh! Marshmallows!""Oh yeah baby. More s'mores that you can shake a stick at.""Why would you want to shake a stick at s'mores? Wouldn't you want to eat them? What did you do while you were there other than wave sticks at pseudo-food items?""The days just drifted by. It was

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-72718615030244622092008-04-09T11:39:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:40:09.988+02:00

"Not again!""Well not literally.""Oh... I thought...""Yeah well. I'm going to make this one short. I'm tired.""Boohoo to you.""Don't be mean. I'm not in the mood to be clever. And before you say anything more I'll go on with my story.""Fine then. I won't say anything. I'll just glare at you. Silently judging your every word.""Fine.""Fine.""You said something about silent? So by the time I was in

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-60790980188757868612008-04-09T11:38:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:39:27.513+02:00

"I had this neighbor who used to work a night shift at a local bar.""That's the story?"She sighs, and raises an eyebrow. "Nooo. The thing is, he got home about 2 a.m. He lived right above me, and he used to pace when he got home. Right above my f*cking bedroom. It used to drive me crazy.""No kidding. I'm getting that vibe from you." "Weeks went by and I started waking up automatically around the

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-16625725271261236372008-04-09T11:38:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:38:42.057+02:00

"When I was thirty-three I had a mental image of myself, working behind a desk, seeing the same context all of the time, in the same city, following the same routines, slowly widening in my chair, entering into middle age wearing nubby polyester sweaters and becoming nondescript and completely ... bored, having never seen or done anything but what I knew, surrounded by those who thought they know

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-19059399606203510872008-04-09T11:37:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:37:56.658+02:00

"As opposed to...""What are you talking about?""Of course mothers are girls.""I don't mean fe-male.""What do you mean?""I mean, there's a lot there outside of their roles in our lives. There's the one that replaced all of my thong underwear with practical grandma underwear, who tells me that I am either to skinny or too fat every time she sees me, the one that while telling me I'm too fat/skinny

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-36101737146406759662008-04-09T11:36:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:37:10.605+02:00

"You mean in dark alleys? Leather bars? or...""Nooo.""Well you said 'unexpected'.""I meant with unexpected people.""You mean like politicians or gangsters?""I meant people that you don't necessarily click with right away.""Ooohhh... well that's much less exciting.""One of my big fears in changing towns was that I'd be lonely. That I wouldn't meet good friends like I had left.""Which begs the

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-42798819630475688952008-04-09T11:35:00.002+02:002008-04-09T11:36:23.624+02:00

"I think you covered this topic in a previous blog.""Yeah well. I'm tired. And grumpy. And I don't feel very good." She pouts and nestles into her blanket so that only the tip of her nose is poking out of the front."Boohoowoohoohoo.""Thanks for the sympathy. I don't know if I learned anything from 36 to 40." She pulls the duvet even higher so only a few strands of hair are showing out of the top.

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-21215493392739032802008-04-09T11:35:00.001+02:002008-04-09T11:35:43.266+02:00

"Touching. But I don't really know if that's a lesson.""I'll work on it.""OK then. Tell.""When I see older men that resemble my dad, especially if they are alone, I want to weep. I want to hold their hand and talk to them.""Sweet... but...""I think, but don't know, that there is a deep sadness in my dad. A loneliness. And it cuts me to the core. I project all of this emotion and interpretation on

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-52740455769103747262008-04-09T11:34:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:35:02.912+02:00

"Is this another stuck in the snow story? So high it covered the house?""No, this is when I quit my job and went back to school.""Aren't you a little old? And didn't you already do way too much of the education thing?""That's not the point. And no I'm not. I lived a little less luxuriously, but I am way more equipped for school now than I was at twenty. I loved it... and...""...and are you going

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-80097871164905500532008-04-09T11:33:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:34:16.264+02:00

"Oh you think so do you? Is this one of those drippy self-acceptance posts.""It is. To end this pilgrimage of the last 40 years, I'd have to say that I'm still learning that I'm OK.""Am I OK too? Oh my. I can't believe you just said that. A bit pop-psychology like isn't it? Don't you hate that stuff? Well, we're almost near the end of this so continue.""Thanks. At the risk of complete narcissism

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6002533485105935082.post-85870334626010479452008-04-09T11:31:00.000+02:002008-04-09T11:33:09.395+02:00

"I find that hard to believe.""Plus, I've just started 40. How can I possibly comment on it?""You do have a point.""And I'm really really sick of talking about myself. Very.""You could have fooled me. You seemed to enjoy this whole little 'look at me' exercise.""I did. But in a fun kind of 'this is a cool construction for a series', and 'I can make something of this' sort of way.""Are you saying

ingridnoreply@blogger.com0