Friday, January 7, 2011

Where does the time go?

I've tried posting three times this week. And two of those posts are sitting in my drafts pile because I'm so limited on time. I've been reduced to posting first thing in the morning which would probably be okay except that I get caught up in checking my email, checking work email (yeah, I could do that at work), checking FB, checking the Pumpkin Patch and occasionally doing some banking and then when I get to the blog and start I look at the clock and see it's already 6:45 and I should be getting ready to leave for work.

So, you're getting two posts in one.

I joined the volleyball team at work. BAHAHAHAHAHA. First off, did I mention how badly I suck? Let's discuss.
I did manage to connect with the ball during warm up and I did get it to go where I wanted it to sometimes but when it came time to play I was on a team with a teacher who, for starters, I'm not particularly fond of, but is also highly competitive. This meant there was no room for l'il ol' shitty players like me. Can we say BALL HOG!

Anyhow, I digress because the fact of the matter is, I know the team is pretty competitive but there are two classes and I was playing within the none competitive class - just looking to have some fun. So I didn't let it bother me a whole lot.

And then it happened, halfway through the second game I fell and hyper extended  my knee. It hurt like a son of a  bitch but while I might suck at volleyball, I'm not a suck and to save face I stood up, shook it off and kept on playing. By the time I got home though, my knee was good and swollen and aching.  And now, I still can't do a deep knee bend on that side or kneel on it at all. Fabulous!

So much for saving face, I won't be playing anymore. I'm still without a union contract which means if I get hurt and have to take some time off....I ain't gettin' paid.
I gotsta get paid! 


There is a woman and her daughter who take piano lessons right before Emily. I know the woman, I know her daughter. Her daughter was in my class at a daycare I worked at 5 years ago. We had many conversations. And yet, it's clear she has no memory of me at all. There isn't even that faint 'hmmm, she looks familiar' flash in her eyes. Not a clue.
Clearly a family I made a deep impact on.

But yet the receptionist at my fertility specialist's office remembered me after 5 years despite a truly monumental patient load (ironically, the women from the piano lessons went to the same Dr...saw her in the waiting room shortly after I got pregnant with Connor....she didn't seem to remember me then either) My banker not only remembers me but she also remembers all three of my kids names even though we see her only once a year.

I've come across daycare kids who are all grown up now who don't remember me but I have others who gush about what an impact I've made on them.

It makes me wonder. What makes people memorable?

I tend to think I'm not memorable. I am honestly one of those people who will see someone I know but maybe haven't seen in years and won't approach them because I figure they won't remember me. Why not? I'm just as memorable as the next girl, aren't I?

Chances are, if we've had a face to face conversation, I'll remember you. I'll remember the details of that conversation too.  (my disclaimer to this would be since adulthood because in fairness I've been Facebooked by people from high school who I have to ask my bff who they are and how I know them....high school was a bit of a blur....)

I don't think being memorable has as much to do with the person being remembered as it does with the person doing to remembering. I don't necessarily strive to remember everyone (no offence intended of course but really, why is it necessary that I remember that the cashier at WalMart has twins who are slightly older than Connor and will start school the same time he will?) but I do anyway.

I think I'm more perplexed by the people who I feel like they should remember you (like someone who cared for your child, for instance!)

Oh well, I suppose in the grand scheme of things the ones who do remember you are the ones who really matter.

Don't forget me, okay? I won't forget you.

One final note. Look up at your browser address bar. Beside the URL there is a picture. See it? It's a little tiny Canadian Flag. Neat huh? I put it there. It used to be the orange Blogger 'B' but now it's a nifty doodle Canadian Flag.

On the Papa's Pride blog I've got one there too, only it's not a Canadian Flag, it's the Papa's Pride logo.

I gotta say, I'm pretty proud of my techno accomplishment. I can't take all the credit though, I got the info from a blog I follow.

It doesn't take much to thrill me these days. 

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