... and in with the new (year)

That's it.  Christmas is over and it is the last day of 2011.  Tomorrow the tree comes down, the decorations are put away and we return to our normal household rhythm. 

If only you could hear my heavy sigh.  I'm not quite ready to move on yet.  I haven't had my fill of the tree and its lights and ornaments.  I haven't had my fill of the dark red of the poinsettias mixed in with the bright green of the other plants that crowd my dining room and living room.  I haven't had my fill of Christmas music, even though the new CDs we each received for Christmas have now found their places in the CD changer.  And I haven't had relaxing days lounging around the house, nibbling chocolates and nuts and reading the new books I received for Christmas.  I'm not ready to move on.  I want more Christmas!

But Christmas is done and tomorrow is the first day of the new year.  I generally don't get terribly nostalgic about the year that's just passed or even all that hopeful for the year ahead.  January 1 is just another day on the calendar.   Tonight we willl have a quiet evening at home; Jim and I will probably head for bed well before before midnight and our son will make his way over to a friend's house for a party.  He's quite pleased that he will be able to get in on our traditional family new years eve and still get to party with his friends.  It's nice when you can have it all.  And then tomorrow we will enjoy our traditional breakfast and I will have to get ready to go to work on Monday.

While new years no longer holds a great deal of importance for me, there is something - a feeling, a buzz, a sense of anticipation - that has been teasing me for the last few days.  I can't quite grasp what it is, but I feel like I've been getting a glimpse of something great that could be just around the corner.  Could be around the corner.  But I don't know what I have to do - if anything - to get there and find what it is.  I have the sense that something has to change for me to find whatever it is, but what has to change and how it has to change are mysteries to me. 

I find it interesting that I'm getting this feeling just at the end of the year.  It makes me think, for the first time in a long time, that perhaps there is something special about the passing of the old year and the entry into the new.  Maybe there's something to the ideas about new beginnings and a clean slate.  Maybe a new year is more than just a date on a calendar.

Or maybe it's just hormones.

Whatever it is, I'm looking forward to the new year with more enthusiasm than usual.   Who knows what's just around the corner?

Best wishes to you all for the new year.

A White Christmas?

As much as I have bought in to the picture-perfect Christmas, the one part of the picture I can do without is the snow.  Snow means cold and I’m not a cold weather kind of gal.  I love a green Christmas.

Not green as in tropical; green as in leaves-off-the-trees, greenish grass, bare sidewalks and cool enough that you want a good fall jacket and a pair of mitts but you don’t need winter boots or a hat.  It doesn’t necessarily make for a pretty picture (although I do love that barren, somewhat bleak look), but it does make for a pleasant time to be outside and for safer roads for all the travelling that happens around the holiday.

From all accounts, there is almost no chance for a white Christmas in the Golden Horseshoe this Christmas.  The current forecast shows we may have a few flurries on Christmas, and that will make many people happy – what could be more perfect than light snow on Christmas?  I accept that this is the ideal for many and there will be at least two – possibly three – people in my house on Christmas who will think it makes the day perfect.  I have no problem with a little snow falling, as long as it doesn’t stick around.   Luckily for me, it’s also supposed to be mild, so the snow should melt as soon as it hits the ground.  That’s what makes me happy.

It looks like we can all have the Christmas we want.

For your listening pleasure

In the spirit of the season (and I am very much in the spirit of the season this weekend - the tree went up, the house finally got decorated after a few delays and Christmas music has been on pretty much non-stop), I would like to share two YouTube videos with you.

The first video is Matt Andersen singing O Holy Night.  We saw Matt on a different night of the same tour and were totally blown away by his voice and his rendition of O Holy Night.  It's a little different - a little bluesy and very stirring.

The second video is one that was sent to me by my brother, who received it from his son. It's Sean Quigley singing Little Drummer Boy.  I started watching it and wondered what the fuss was about. By the end, though, I really, really liked it - it's simple and it's sweet.  Not sickly sweet; just ..... sweet. 


I hope you enjoy.

Tis the season!

The first Sunday of Advent has come and gone, and for us that means the Christmas CDs are close to the stereo, the Christmas mugs have been put into use for our weekend morning coffee and it has dawned on us that we have a lot to do in the next few weeks. 

I just finished my "to do" list and it is frightening long.  Topping the list is "baking" and that's the thing I dread most each year.  I love to cook; I do not love to bake.  Everything has to be just so ... quantities are measured properly and I don't bake often enough to know what substitutions I can make or what I can just throw in for fun.   But it's Christmas and I follow the example set for me by my mother - I bake.  And because I started baking the first year we were married and set that as part of the Christmas tradition for my son, I'm now on the hook.

And then the "to do" list continues with shopping to be finished, what needs to be cleaned and polished, who's room is needed when, what appointments have to be accommodated and even what other lists have to be made closer to Christmas.  It's going to be a busy three weeks.

Yet it's going to be a wonderful three weeks.  In amongst all the chores that have to be done are some things I'm really looking forward to.  The kid will be home for a brief visit this coming week so we can put up the tree. Jim and I are going to a Christmas concert in a couple of weeks. We are going to a neighbourhood wine and cheese party tomorrow.  The day before my sister and son arrive for Christmas I have the day off and an appointment for a pedicure and facial.  And I have yet to shop for Jim, which usually entails heading for some of the smaller towns around us, with their neat little stores, to see what I can find for his stocking. 

Christmas is less than a month away and while I'm not prepared for the event itself, I'm more than prepared for the season.  I have totally bought into the North American ideal of Christmas - the music, the decorations, the lights, the tree, the gifts, the smells, the feelings.  I'm no Martha Stewart, but I do my best to make my surroundings as appealingly Christmassy as I can (without being tacky, of course) for my family and friends and for myself.  I love it all.

This intense focus on Christmas does, unfortunately, have a downside.  I love the build up to Christmas, but I have found myself disappointed on Christmas morning.  As of Christmas, it's all over.  The anticipation is gone and somehow everything after that is anticlimactic.  It's stupid, of course - I know that.  That one day is the reason for the entire season.

So that is my challenge - to appreciate not only the Christmas season (which is, really, the cultural holiday that Christmas has become) but the day itself.  There is so much to enjoy if I could get over the feeling that it's all over just as the day is beginning.  

What was that walking down the road?

The wildlife in our urban community is getting wilder all the time.  In addition to the usual squirrels, rabbits, skunks, raccoons and occasional opossum, we also have foxes and, now, a coyote.  At least, I think it’s a single coyote.  I have read and been told that they usually travel in packs and if you see one, it’s the scout for the pack.  I don’t find that a particularly comforting fact, so I’m pretending it’s a single coyote – a one-off, an urban loner.

I don’t know quite what to think about this addition to our community.  I have seen him (I’ve nicknamed him Ralph) enough times to know that he hangs around often.  I have been told that coyotes are shy; they will go out of their way to avoid contact with humans.  Ralph doesn’t seem particularly shy – he walks down the middle of the road, moving onto the sidewalk if a car approaches, then back to the middle of the road.  The last time I saw him was just this past weekend; he was walking across front lawns, seemingly in search of something, and I was walking along the sidewalk in front of those same houses.  I don’t know if he noticed me or not – he was intent on something other than me.

I am not the only one who’s seen Ralph.  He has followed a friend when she was walking her dog – never approaching too closely, but keeping pace with them until my friend turned to face him and gestured and yelled until Ralph ran away.  Then there’s the acquaintance who will no longer walk past my yard in the dark because she saw Ralph lurking behind a large tree in our side yard, silently watching as she and her dog passed by.  We have checked and there’s no evidence that Ralph has taken up residence behind our tree; more likely it’s just a resting spot or a safe place to settle in to watch what’s going on.

There is no reason to be afraid of Ralph, from all accounts, except that I have an old dog.  If Ralph is, indeed, watching and looking for easy prey, my old dog is going to fit nicely into his dinner plans.  We are out at the same time Ralph would be out – just before or around dawn and just around sunset.  It used to be that I‘d be watching for skunks but they are now the least of my wildlife worries - I’ve switched to watching for signs of a lurking coyote.

I’m not used to being nervous about walking in my neighbourhood.  I used to feel safe walking at any time of the day or night.  Now, even if I am walking alone, I feel a little apprehensive as Ralph is a real wild card in my very urban environment.

There was a news story a few years ago about a coyote in another area close to us.  The gist of the story was that nothing could be done about it – no one is allowed to catch and relocate wildlife (which annoyed me at the time because we were trying to evict a family of skunks from under our shed), so the only option was to shoot it if it seemed threatening.  At that time, I was rooting for the coyote.  I’m a bit of a bleeding heart, don’t-hurt-the-animal type, and I prayed they wouldn’t shoot the animal.  Now there’s a coyote in our neighbourhood, and while I don’t want anyone to harm him, I really feel that Ralph has to go.  This really is a case of NIMBY - I literally don’t want a coyote in my back yard.

Poor Ralph.  I hope he finds our neighbourhood to be a poor hunting ground and heads back out to the country where he belongs. 

A Luddite's Lament - Part 2

Pretty soon I’m going to have to turn in my Luddite credentials … I am starting to use technology I previously shunned and mocked.  How could it have come to this?

Where to begin.  I guess I have to start with the new TV that will be coming into the house in the next few days.  It’s not huge, but it qualifies as a big screen TV.  I still say no one needs a big screen TV and heaven knows I wouldn’t have gone out to look for one, but this one essentially fell into our laps; what could we do?  We’ve been running around looking for furniture to accommodate the beast.  And what is a new TV without new speakers?  I will confess that our previous speakers were 30 years old and it was time to replace them.  Our music sounds way better now and I guess the new TV will sound that much better, too.  I love the new speakers.  At least they don’t count as caving on new technology – we need speakers if we want music.

And then there’s the book reader.  Jim received one awhile ago and started downloading and reading books on the reader.  He liked it.  He raved about one of the books and thought I’d really like it.  Problem was, it lived on the reader and there was no point in buying a paper copy.  So I started reading on the book reader.  And now I don’t mind it.  In fact, I think I may read another book Jim has downloaded before I give the unit back to him.

Is this the end for paper books and discrete TVs in our house?  No!  I can’t let it happen! I’ve got a few books lined up to read after I’m done with the book reader and I’m visualizing lounging on the couch, clutching a book and enjoying the heft of it.   As for the TV … well, when I’m in the same room as the big TV I’ll watch that.   I hope I’ll still be content to watch the smaller TVs after that.  I’ll make a point of being content – it would be embarrassing to embrace the big screen after I’ve noisily (and self-righteously, I fear) objected to getting one for so long.

Oh, who am I kidding?  I’ll be eating crow in no time.  But then what’s next?  A smart phone?  A book reader of my own?  A GPS in the car?  I shudder to think.  Is there a Luddite support group I can call?  I think I need help.

Just a little endorsement ...

Jim and I are just finishing up the last of our holidays for this year.  We like to take a week in the fall - it's our favourite time of year. 

This year we decided to check out the Rideau Waterway in eastern Ontario - a series of lakes and locks that make up the navigable waterway between Kingston and Ottawa.  The waterway has closed for the year, so we didn't see anyone on the water or in the locks, but it was impressive and beautiful nonetheless.  There's just something about water that mesmerizes me.

Don't worry - I'm not going to go into a lengthy description of our little getaway. I just want to rave a bit about one of the places we stayed.  It's Millisle B&B in Merrickville, about an hour away from Ottawa. 

Millisle is owned by Debra and Hugh MacLennan.  Debra and Hugh are wonderful hosts and Debra is an extremely talented chef.  I had read reviews that suggested arranging dinner at the B&B instead of going out.  We were belatedly celebrating our anniversary and it sounded like a good idea, and it turned out to be one of our better ideas. 

Debra sent some sample menus ahead of time and we were asked to choose what we wanted - we each had to have the same appetizer and dessert but could have different entrees.  We narrowed the choices for appetizers and dessert down to two each and left it to Debra to decide which would better complement the meals we chose (chicken for me, beef for Jim).  She made the right choices and made us the most wonderful dinner.  I can't say enough about it - it started with an unexpected nibbly in front of the fire while we enjoyed a glass of wine chosen by Hugh and went through three courses of expertly prepared and beautifully presented food.   Hmmm ..."food" just doesn't seem to adequately describe what we had - "gourmet delights" might do it.   We barely restrained ourselves from licking our plates.

And it wasn't just the food - Hugh chose two quite different red wines to go with our meals and his choices were spot on.  We had earlier mentioned that we don't like to spend a fortune on wine, and he came up with mid-priced wines we might just have to add to our wine rack - they were definitely worth the price.  

Breakfast the next morning was better than your average B&B breakfast, and gave us a good start to the day.

Our room was very nice - not large, but it did have a sitting area in the "turret" and a huge bathroom (a nice treat after the miniscule bathroom we had in our room in Perth the previous two nights).  The common areas were lovely as well, and Hugh encouraged us to make use of them - right after we checked in and settled in, he urged us to come down for a (complimentary) glass of wine or beer.  We were joined by the only other guests staying that night, and we spent a lovely hour chatting before heading back to our room to read in our little turret before dinner.

Millisle would be the perfect place for two or three couples to stay and gather for a dinner prepared by Debra and served with such grace by Hugh.  With or without other couples, I'm hoping we can get back there reasonably soon.

And time gallops on

Again, it’s been a long time since my last post.  I mentioned to a friend the other day that the days just slip away, one after the other, and before I know it another week or month or – soon – another year has passed.  There always seems to be something to remind me just how quickly time passes and – sadly – how little I have to show for it.

It is easy to moan about the quick passage of time and the shortening of the days of my life – and believe me, I do moan and whine about it.   But it’s not all bad news.  Just think how quickly special occasions come around, or how quickly bad things pass.  It feels like I book holiday time and – whoosh – the first day of my holiday has arrived.  There are definitely some advantages to this middle aged problem of galloping time.

And speaking of galloping time, it’s almost time for that most wonderful time of the year – and I don’t mean the start of school* (although I have to say that the Staples commercial is one of the best around.  When my son was younger and the beginning of the school year rolled around, it was indeed the most wonderful time of the year).  I mean Christmas, of course – that most wonderful of seasons.   The music, the images, the trees, the lights … it seems to roll around faster every year, and I look forward to it as much as I ever did.  This year is no exception – I’m already thinking about how I’ll decorate the house. 

The music goes on and the decorations come out on Sunday, November 27 this year – the first Sunday of Advent.  I can hardly wait.  But then … the wait is never that long anymore.

* For those unsure of what I’m talking about – there is a television commercial for Staples, an office supply store, in which parents are dancing around the store, collecting school supplies for their sulky children, all to the strains of the Christmas song, It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

A lot to be thankful for

I just looked at the date of my last post and realized that it's been over a month since I added anything.  It's funny ... I've had snippets of things I intended to write running through my head for the last month but I've not taken the time or put in the energy to actually write them down.

What's happened is that I have been doing a lot - and I mean a lot - of writing at work recently.  Way more than usual.  I mean, most of what I do is write, with some occasional organizational stuff thrown in, but lately it's been days on end of writing and re-writing and re-re-writing and then - and perhaps this is the most difficult part - ending up with a finished product that pleases other people but leaves me feeling like there's something missing or that the piece is taking the wrong tone.  It's frustrating.  

There are, of course, lots of issues wrapped up in what's been transpiring - feeling that my work isn't valued, my opinon isn't valued, like I'm running around in circles.  The effect of all that writing is that I'm also feeling like I'm out of words, even for things I want to say. 

It's nice to have a weekend to recharge.  I feel like I'm recovering after only a day away from work. 

It helps, of course, that this is a long weekend and it's one focussed on giving thanks.  Our son is home, we'll be seeing other family and maybe some friends, and I have much to be thankful for.  The crap going on at work doesn't really matter that much.

It's good to change your focus every once in awhile.  I can very easily get caught up in the unimportant, such as the stuff I am doing at work.  That is not to say that what I'm doing at work is of no importance but, in the scheme of things, it's a lot less important than I allowed it to be.  Recently I let it take over how I functioned at home, how I felt about some people and how I felt about myself.  It's really not that big a deal.  That's easy to say now with even just a day's distance, but in middle of all the to-ing and fro-ing and re-writing and the time I took to be resentful it seemed bigger than it was.  Thank goodness for the opportunity to take a step back and refocus.

This weekend is Thanksgiving weekend.  As I already said, I have much to be thankful for - my family (I have to mention that Jim and I just had our 27th anniversary), my wonderful friends, my job (yes, despite my current frustration, I still love my job), my home, the ability to live well.  There's much more, of course, but I don't want to sit here and make a list.  The point is I'm thankful for it all.  It's amazing that I was lucky enough to be born in a time and place where all that is possible. 

May you have as much to be thankful for.

Getting my feet wet – part II

After my last post, I went on to post two additional comments before the discussion pretty much ground to a halt. 

My experience was no different by the end of the experience than part way through – because I offered an opinion contrary to the prevailing opinions on the page, I was the subject of rude, sarcastic, defamatory, nasty comments addressed specifically to me.  There was a lot of self-congratulation and mutual virtual back-slapping going on among the usual contributors to the blog for their superior knowledge and – they didn’t say it this way, but it was certainly intended – for putting me in my place.

However ….. when I looked back at my comments and the little thumbs up and thumbs down icons, I noticed that each of my comments had received more thumbs up than thumbs down, and generally received a good number of thumbs up ratings – more than most of the other posts received.  It appears that there were readers of the blog who agreed with me but preferred not to post comments.  It gave me a bit of a warm feeling, knowing that there were others who supported my position.  I wasn’t alone (although it would have been nice to have a little back up).

So what have I learned?  Well, I’ve learned that you have to have a tough skin if you are going to go against the prevailing wisdom on a blog.  One of the comments I received on my own blog was that many people seem to use their blogs and posts as their soapbox and are interested only in hearing from people who agree with them.  I guess it makes sense, but I would have thought a good discussion – done politely – would be more interesting.

I also learned that even though people are silent, they are still watching and will quietly provide their support with a thumb up.  It’s nice to know, although a little creepy that, out there in the blogosphere, people can watch and you don’t even know they are there. 

I also learned that there is a real blogging community, and people in it take it very seriously. 

Nothing that happened will deter me from getting more into checking out other blogs and participating.  It was kind of fun, actually, being the fly in the ointment and changing the direction of the discussion.  I didn’t do just for amusement value – my comments were made in all seriousness and as an attempt to provide a different side of the story.  Yet it did become a source of amusement.  That was a nice by-product.

I've gotten my feet wet; now I'll jump right in

I’ve been going through a very interesting exercise over the last few days, and it may change how I view social media and how I participate in it.

I was made aware of a blog post that had to do with the industry in which I work, and there were a number of comments made that I felt were misleading, misguided and self-serving.  I decided to post a comment myself, anonymously (because what I said may be seen to conflict with the work I do), and see what happened.  My comment was one of two that didn’t agree with the original opinion expressed.  What happened was interesting. 

In my comment, I offered a lengthy, fairly detailed explanation of why I thought the blogger – and those supporting his opinion – needed to look at things differently.   I was not rude; I was not unkind.  At worst, I was blunt. 

It didn’t take long before there was a comment on my comment – it came from someone I’ll call Commenter #1.  Commenter #1 was condescending  –  he or she pretty much said that I should run along and bother someone else – my comments weren’t valuable or valid. 

I couldn’t help myself – I replied, and offered a fuller explanation of where I was coming from and what my experience had been.  I also said that some of his or her arguments didn’t hold water because they were irrelevant to the topic and the conversation.   Again, I wasn’t rude, I wasn’t unkind and I most certainly wasn’t condescending.  Okay, I was blunt.

Then there were three comments to mine.  The first was actually reasoned and articulate and appropriate.  I appreciated that.  I still didn’t agree with what he/she said, but whoever it was presented his or her case very civilly.  The second response was less reasoned and appropriate – the writer suggested I was lying, that I was uninformed and that until I knew what I was talking about I shouldn’t be making any comments.  I should mention that I know more about the subject than I was letting on.

And then there was a response from Commenter #1.  He or she was condescending in the first message; they were downright rude and insulting in the second.  Suggested that I was totally wrong, I was lying and I had no credibility whatsoever.  Hmm. Really? 

And I couldn’t help myself – I posted another comment to respond to the last three comments, noting my appreciation for the first, and then explaining to Commenter #1 in detail why my credibility was just fine, thank you very much.

So … I am now waiting to see if there is any further response.  I’m not sure if I’m getting tired of this game or not.  It’s not like I’m invested in this particular issue – I just thought it was interesting.  I wanted to be part of the blogging community beyond writing my own little blog.  And for my efforts I was called a liar and told to run along home.

Part of what is so interesting is how the anonymity of the blogging process – no one used their names, just initials or descriptors – can take away people’s desire to filter what they say.  I doubt that some of the comments that were made to me would have been made to my face; they probably would have been worded differently if we were all identifying ourselves. 

Once I started thinking in that vein, I wondered how much I filter – or don’t filter – what I say in my own blog.  There are friends who read my comments and they know me – they know if what I’m saying is true to who I really am.  So I obviously filter a few things.  What would I say, though, if this was totally anonymous and I just wanted to blow off steam? 

It’s been a fun experience to contribute to someone else’s blog.  I’m glad I resisted getting angry or hurt by what others wrote to me in their comments – and there is no mistaking that they were writing “to” me – because I can see where that would lead to saying things that are hurtful in response.   

Up until now I’ve been afraid – for what reason I don’t know – to participate in other people’s blogs; I believe that now I’ve gotten my feet wet, I’m ready to jump in further.  I have identified some blogs I find interesting, and I think I’ll feel freer to comment – good or bad – and see where it leads.

Vacation is over

We've just gotten back from a two-week vacation.  What a treat to have two weeks away from home responsibilities, dog responsibilities, work ... all the things that require routines.  It comes to an end tomorrow when it's back to normal and back to work.

I had forgotten how refreshing holidays can be.  Through all the years I was unemployed or underemployed, vacations were pleasant and a wonderful time to be together as a family; I always enjoyed them.  And I've always enjoyed the short breaks I've taken with my girlfriends or with Jim - they are a nice little change of pace from the everyday.  But now that I'm back at work, vacations are more than enjoyable - they are a necessity, and I didn't realize that until I actually took one.  This vacation has made me feel like I now have more to offer; my batteries are recharged. 

A few weeks ago, I had to formalize a plan for how to approach multiple projects that are underway and will continue til the end of the year.  Before I even left for holidays, I was dreading going back because I knew what I will face when I return.  And then the magic happened - the whole reason why vacations are important.  The total break from routine and a bit of travelling and visiting with family and old friends has given me a new perspective and a fresher outlook on everything.  I had a chance to think about what's ahead at work and how I want to do it, and now I'm looking forward to going in and moving in a slightly different direction than I originally intended.

Tomorrow I will groan when the alarm goes at 6 a.m.; I will look at the clothes in my closet and wish I had something different to wear.  That's part of my routine.  And then I will - with more enthusiasm than I've had for awhile - go in to the office and move forward with what awaits me there. 

The baton is passed but the race isn't over yet

Is anyone else who is, like me, a woman of a certain age (I love that phrase.  It’s so much nicer than middle aged or older) surprised when they look in the mirror?  And I don’t mean surprised in the best way.

When I look into the mirror each morning, I expect to see my former face – the one I saw when I was in my 30s.  That expectation is based, I think, on how I often feel – like I can do anything and the future is waiting for me.  For the most part, I still feel young.   And then I see my face, realize that it’s 20 or 25 years later and that future is now.

I see my mother’s face.  I’m not an exact replica of her, but the general shape of my face is the same and my (real) hair colour – which makes itself apparent annoyingly often – is hers as well.  It’s always a big surprise to see her staring back at me.

The bigger thing for me, I think, is that I not only see my mother in the mirror, but I feel like I’ve turned into her.  It’s like we were running a relay and now she’s passed the baton on to me.

It started when I had a child of my own and started using the phrases and not-so-subtle guilt trips my mother used on me.  I always swore I would never use those phrases or guilt my son into doing anything the way my mother did me, but – lo, and behold (one of my mother’s phrases) – there I was, as exasperated by my son as my mother was by me, and saying to him exactly what my mother said to me.  At some point I realized what I was doing, and I mentally gave myself a piece of my mind (another of my mother’s phrases).  It didn’t stop, though … what I heard and learned as a child I passed on to my own. 

The next step of the transformation was turning into a domestic ... I was going to say “goddess”, but that would be pushing it.  I was a stay at home mom who cooked real meals every day, had baked snacks waiting for my son when he came home from school, organized the household  … everything that my mother did. I started thinking that her weekly cleaning of our house – a thorough, spic and span cleaning – wasn’t such a bad idea, even though I had pooh-poohed it throughout my teens and twenties.  (I even tried doing it for awhile, until I realized that I was the only one in our house who cared what it looked like, so gave it up.)  I often visualized my mother doing the same things in the kitchen and around the house where I grew up.   Even though the days of my own domesticity have long gone, the images of my mother remain. 

And now I look in the mirror and discover that I’ve taken on not only my mother’s face but her body as well.  Gone is the shapeliness of my youth; instead, I have the thicker-set middle aged body that looks remarkably like my mother’s.

The baton has been passed.  I never even knew we were in this race until I realized the baton came to me.  But now I get to choose how the rest of the race will be run.  Will I continue in my mother’s course or will I get off track and find my own way? 

Dog Days

It would be most un-Canadian of me to not even mention the weather.  I'm not sure if today's heat of 38 degrees with a humidex of 49 broke any records or not, but either way it's hot.  Darned hot.  Ridiculously hot.  Stiflingly hot. 

No one is outside, not even the usual groups of kids in the neighbourhood.  The grass has passed brown and is now crunchy yellow.  The dog can't do much beyond lay on the cool floor and pant.  The air conditioner can't keep up with heat and will be chugging away into the night before it cools things down enough to shut off.  I am whining about the heat as much as I whine about the cold in winter, but at least I'm not the only one - this heat is the topic of choice everywhere here in the Golden Horseshoe.

It's shaping up to be a long, hot summer.  I expect I'll complain through most of it, but I expect I'll also be sorry when the cold of winter imposes itself on us at the end of the year.  When that happens, I'll be fondly remembering these as the good 'ol days of summer.

How low can we go?

Before I get to the substance of what I want to say, I will fess up that I watch some pretty cheesy TV shows.  I religiously tune in to The Bachelor and The Bachelorette, Dancing with the Stars and sometimes Idol.  I like competition shows like Hell’s Kitchen, America’s Next Top Model and Battle of the Blades. I like “reality” shows like House Hunters and Location, Location, Location (which has the added attraction that it’s British – I’m a bit of an Anglophile) or other shows that have to do with house buying. 

I don’t watch most of these shows all the time – I make a point of taping a few of them and watching weekly, but for the most part I’ll watch if I run across them when I’m flipping through channels or have some time I want to waste.

So, then, now I’ve got my little confession out of the way – over the last two evenings, I have tuned in to what must be the bottom of the barrel of what’s offered on TV.  It will come as a surprise to no one that they are both on TLC, the network that seems to have a policy of pandering to the basest instincts in humanity.  The shows?  Toddlers and Tiaras and Hoarders. 

What is there about the train wrecks of other people’s lives that we find so fascinating?  I watched at first because I was curious and then I continued watching because I was fascinated with what I saw, and not fascinated in a positive way.    

The first – Toddlers and Tiaras – follows the lives of, you guessed it, children in beauty pageants and the parents that push them there.  What I saw was appalling – one young girl, maybe 6 years old, saying that losing makes her feel really, really, really bad about herself.  A mother who says that her daughter doesn’t have many friends because the other little girls are jealous of her beauty (you have to have seen the little girl in question to realize how ludicrous the statement was).  A mother who kept saying, ad nauseum, that her little boy liked dolls, sparkly things, dancing and participating in pageants and that was just fine with her and her husband (over-compensation, anyone?). 

This show is wrong on so many levels.  Why are these children being told that how well they do depends on how they look or dress?  They aren’t being judged for themselves but for how they look with makeup and styled hair (and it’s *big* hair) and skimpy costumes.  Inflated but fragile egos are pitted against other inflated but fragile egos, and more come out losers than winners.

And the parents … well, I’m almost speechless.  (Almost, but not quite.)  They feed those little egos and take proud parenthood to a whole new level.  Yes, we all think our children are the cutest/prettiest/most talented/most worthy, but pageant parents take it further.  They convince their children that because they are pretty or cute or talented they are better than others with those same traits, and if they just dress up like little adults and pout and strut they will be deemed to be the best and win a prize. 

Are these mothers beauty queen wannabes?  Failed pageant contestants?  Faded pageant contestants?  What makes them even start their children on this road?   It’s expensive, time-consuming and gives their children an unhealthy preoccupation with themselves.  It’s just … it’s just … so wrong.

I’ve read the pageant coordinators’ views that pageants and competition are healthy and help boost children’s self esteem and self confidence, but what I saw on Toddlers and Tiaras suggested just the opposite.  I didn’t see any honestly-come-by self esteem in any of them – it was all based on others’ judgement of them. 

I am not so naïve that I don’t recognize that this show is edited to show the worst or most controversial moments in these children’s lives.  That only serves, however, to make me wonder more about why the parents are even letting their children be filmed at all.

As for Hoarders … well, the hoarders I saw were just sad people who need help, and where is the entertainment in that?  Yes, we are appalled at the filth and worse-than-clutter that surround these people in their homes, but they deserve better than cameras filming their every misstep, outburst or feeling that we cannot understand.  Please … just get them help and leave them alone.

Will I watch these shows again?  Not likely.  I was surprised that I watched at all.  Next time I have time on my hands and want to sit in front of the TV, I’ll tune in to the Food Network or property hunting shows on HGTV … those are shows I can enjoy.

Canada Day

While I was walking the dog early this morning, I noticed a few Canadian flags here and there in people's yards - in planters, in a window, on the very rare flagpole.  We don't wave our flag much here, and it was kind of nice to see a few more flags than normal - it reminded me of why I got to sleep in a bit today.   

As Canadians, we tend not to wave our flags much.  We don't have to display our patriotism to prove it exists; it's just there, running deep within us.  But give us an occasion like the Olympics, or the sad return of one more fallen soldier or a celebration like Canada Day, and the flags will be out. 

Happy Canada Day to one and all.

Miscellaneous

Purple Paws
It's mulberry time and that means purple pawprints throughout the house. 

Our neighbour has a mulberry tree that overhangs our garden shed, and there is always a bountiful crop of mulberries on those branches.  When the berries drop, they provide a feast for our dog, who walks and eats his way through the juicy berries on the ground.  Purple lips and purple paws are the order of the day.  Even though we give his paws a thorough wipe when he comes in, there is always some residue that remains and becomes obvious after he takes a few steps. 

I keep saying I'm going to cut back the overhanging branches before the berries appear each year, but each year I forget until the berries begin to drop, and then it's too late.  I've already made myself a mental note for next year.

Signs of middle age
I was looking for a new crossword puzzle book in the magazine section of our local grocery store.  There weren't many there; it appears that sudoku has taken over as the favourite puzzle.  When I located the only two crossword books on display, I was horrified that they were both large print, and the fact they were in large print was emblazoned across the front cover.  I take it the crossword-solving people are aging and this is supposed to be a selling feature - presumably I wouldn't be straining my eyes or needing my reading glasses to work on these puzzles.

I picked up the two books and tried not to feel like the middle-aged woman I am.  Not only am I old-fashioned enough to be doing crosswords instead of sudoku, but I need all the help I can get to read the clues.  Thanks a lot. 

Road Rage

One evening this last week, while driving home, I was cut off by a truck.  I was tired, I was in a hurry and I spent a good few minutes plotting how I was going to make the driver know what a jerk he'd been.  And then I took a deep breath. 

I have been trying very hard in the last few years to take a minute, before I react to something that makes me angry, to ask myself a question:  in the whole scheme of my life, from the time I was a baby til the time I die, how important is this incident?  Will it change my life?  Will it affect my well-being or that of anyone else?  If the answer is "no" - as it was in this particular incident - I have learned to let it go.  For the most part.  I'm no saint, and there are times I don't get around to taking that moment to ask the question before I let fly with an angry response.

The whole idea behind taking that moment is to let me decide how I want to spend my time and energy.  Yes, the guy who cut me off was a jerk, but that's his problem, not mine. It would have been my problem if he'd caused an accident, but he didn't.  He wasn't weaving in an out and endangering other people so he wasn't anyone else's problem either.  He was just a jerk.  Why waste my time even thinking about it?  There are so many others things that are more worthy of my time, my energy and my emotional involvement that I'd rather invest in those. 

The problem with no problem

Question:

When you thank someone for something they've done for you, would you rather hear a response of:
a)  No problem.
b)  No worries.
c)  You're welcome.

I've been hearing a lot of a) no problem lately. Does anyone else have a problem with "no problem"? 

What exactly does that mean?  To me, it says that "it was no problem for me to do what you asked", which leads me to wonder what the response would have been if it *had* been a problem to do what I asked.  If it was a problem, would they have declined to help me?  If it was a problem, would they have let me know that I inconvenienced them?   "No problem" is all about the person who did the good deed and leaves the thanker feeling lucky they received help at all.

b) no worries ... how did that creep into North American usage?  It's a distinctly Australian phrase that sounds strange coming out of the mouths of over-wound North Americans.  Still, it is a better response to a thank you than "no problem"; it says don't worry about it, don't give it another thought.  Still not the greatest response, but better than "you haven't put me out" that "no problem" conveys.

Then there's c) you're welcome.  Now, isn't that a nice response?  It says "I was happy to help you out; you are welcome to my time and efforts.  It was my pleasure to perform that service for you."   It doesn't say anything about the peson who did the favour; it is simply a gracious acknowledgement of a heart-felt thanks.

Obviously, I prefer a nice "you're welcome" ... it is the most gracious response.  I like to hear it when I say thank you to someone, and I like to say it when someone thanks me.  I have a warmer feeling for the person who tells me I'm welcome than for the person who offers that it was no problem to help me. 

Am I being too picky about this?  Should I just be grateful to receive whatever help I've asked for, or a gift I've been given, and assume that the giver of the help or gift was happy to do it, regardless of the words they use? 

A little w(h)ine ...

I like a glass of red wine.  There may be a case to be made that I like a glass of wine just a little too much, as that glass has become a daily glass of wine and it doesn’t always remain just one glass.  My defense is that I subscribe to the Mediterranean diet for heart health, which suggests that red wine and olive oil are the secrets to a healthy heart.  I may be paraphrasing just a bit and over-emphasizing the value of the wine, but it’s my excuse and I like it.

In our house, we have set a price point of $10 for a bottle of wine and we can buy some surprisingly good wines for less than that.  (I won’t say that these are great wines or fine wine – they are very good house wines that we enjoy.)  There is terrific value in some Chilean, French, Italian and South African wines.  We can occasionally find something in that price range from the States and, less frequently, from Australia.  What is much harder to find is a Canadian wine under $10.

It’s a shame.  I live reasonably close to the Niagara wine region and it’s a fun afternoon to go and taste the wines from our local vineyards.  There are a few wines we like, but they are almost all priced at $12 and up.  That doesn’t seem like a big enough difference to avoid buying them, but when we compare that $12 or $13 or $17 bottle from Niagara against a similarly-priced - or even an under-$10 - bottle from Europe, there really is no comparison – the cheaper wines are the ones we prefer.

Now, you might be thinking that we just don’t appreciate a good wine or know what a fine wine should taste like.  I would have to disagree.  While I will never claim to be a wine connoisseur and I have not studied wine, we have friends who are oenophiles and because of them I have tasted some pretty fine wines.  I do know how fine a wine can be. 

I wish I knew if Canadian wines are priced as they are because it’s the cost of production and building the industry, or if they are comparing themselves against some of their pricier competition from elsewhere (and not comparing well, in my opinion) or wineries are trying to establish themselves as producers of an upper-scale product.  Whatever the reason, it’s hard for us to justify the extra money.  I will confess that there are some Canadian wines for which we’ll splash out $17 or $18 a bottle – we really do like them - but we wonder afterward if it was the best value for our money.  Probably not, but those particular wines have something we haven’t found in any other wine we’ve tried.  For that reason, it’s worth it those few times we indulge.

I would like to be more supportive of the Canadian wine industry, but right now, it just doesn’t make a lot of cents … er, sense.

Veggie Burgers

I love a good veggie burger.  For me, a good veggie burger isn’t one that is pretending to be a beef burger; it is proudly not meat and doesn’t try to taste like meat.  Instead, it will taste of beans or rice and seasonings and maybe even some veggies.   

There used to be a restaurant in Winnipeg that had a great veggie burger, and when I lived there I’d make sure I went periodically to enjoy one.  Alas, the restaurant is gone and so am I, so that’s no longer an option. 

I’ve been looking for a good recipe for awhile now so I can make my own, and I finally found two – count ‘em, two! – one online and one in a grilling magazine.  I am thrilled.  I tried the recipe from the magazine last night and it was everything I look for in a veggie burger – very slightly dry, lots of wonderful seasonings, beans, and a certain something I can’t put my finger on.  It reminded me slightly of falafel (that must have been the cumin and garlic) without making me think I was eating falafel. 

For anyone who is picky about their veggie burgers and is looking for a good recipe, I offer the following.  It is taken from Better Homes and Gardens Special Interest Publications Grilling, Spring, 2009.  I have left out an accompaniment for the burgers because I didn’t try it.

Cracked Wheat Burgers

1 cup chopped onion

2 tbsp. olive oil

3/4 cup cracked wheat

3/4 cup water

2 tbsp. soy sauce

1 cup drained and rinsed canned pinto beans

3/4 cup walnuts, toasted

1/2 cup tightly packed cilantro sprigs

3 cloves garlic

 1 tsp. cumin

1/4 tsp. cayenne

1/2 cup soft (fresh) whole wheat breadcrumbs

In a medium sauce, sauté 1/2 cup onions in olive oil for about 5 minutes, or until tender.  Stir in cracked wheat and water; bring mixture to a boil, reduce and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes or til water is absorbed.  Transfer to medium bowl. Stir in soy sauce.

In food processer, combine beans, walnuts, remaining onion, cilantro, garlic, cumin and cayenne.  Process until mixture is combined and pastelike.  Stir walnut mixture into wheat mixture and add breadcrumbs.  Stir well til combined.

Shape into 6 patties; cover and chill for 1 ½ hours.

Brush patties with a bit of olive oil; grill over medium heat about 4 minutes per side.  Serve on thin burger buns.

While I was making these burgers, I learned two important things:

1.  When you are cooking the cracked wheat in that little amount of water, the wheat absorbs the water really, really quickly and it all sticks to the bottom of the pot.  When that happens, it’s really, really hard to clean the pot.

2.  When toasting walnuts in a pan on the stove and a walnut jumps out of the pan when you are stirring, don’t pop it into your mouth … nuts hold heat very well. 

Next week I’m going to try the mushroom burgers (which are more than just portabello caps.  If memory serves, they have mushrooms, chickpeas and …. Well, there goes the memory) and if they live up to my expectations, I’ll pass that recipe along as well.

Girlfriends

Aren’t girlfriends great?  The older I get, the more important my girlfriends are to me.  They are my sisters, my confidantes, my playmates and are way up there on the list of life’s greatest blessings.

Let’s be clear here.  I’m not talking about girlfriends in any romantic or sexual way.  I’m talking about the women with whom I have a bond that goes beyond just friendship.

Girlfriends do for me what no one else can – they cheer me, support me, chide me when I need it, listen with their hearts and love me.  They encourage me to dream and reach for those dreams.  They challenge me and make me think about what I am saying and doing.  They give me a different point of view and make me look at my own values and ideas.  Best of all, they accept me for who I am. 

Girlfriends are the women with whom I laugh hysterically over some small, remembered mutual mishap, and cry with over some hurt or even just a silly, touching moment.  They are the women for whom my heart aches when they hurt and with whom I celebrate when something great happens to or for them.

Not surprisingly, my girlfriends are all woman I have known for a long time.  They come from different times and stages in my life.  Unfortunately, I don’t live close to many of them anymore; the closest is a two-and-a-half hour drive away and the furthest … well, I don’t expect to see her anytime soon because she lives on a different continent. 

One of the wonderful things about these kinds of relationships is that they survive almost anything – neglect, interruption, distance.  Distance has become easier to deal with because of the ease of communicating by email, cheap telephone rates and the relative affordability of travel (especially when you can use airline rewards!).  Neglect and interruption are higher barriers to overcome, but I have proof that they aren’t insurmountable – I wouldn’t have the girlfriends I have now without having climbed those hurdles.  And maybe they just serve to make the relationship stronger.

What is it that creates the kind of bond that we feel with only some of the women in our lives?  I have friends I’m happy to meet with and talk with, but it’s not the same as the enjoyment I get from spending time with girlfriends.  What‘s the difference?  Shared experiences?  Time and place?  Something in our personalities that just click?  It’s hard to put a finger on just what it is and when I think of each of my girlfriends, it’s different for each one. 

My life is richer for having such wonderful girlfriends.  I hope everyone can say the same.

The Perfect Job

What’s your perfect job? 

It all depends, I suppose, on what you consider perfect.  Nothing, of course, is perfect; everything is flawed in some way.  When it comes to a job, there are so many facets to consider that it would be hard to describe what perfection might be. 

Despite its flaws, I had what I considered the perfect job.  It had almost everything I could have wanted in a job – flexible hours, a great work environment, fun work and it was a time of personal growth.  What it lacked was an opportunity to have a say in how the business was run, and a hefty paycheque.  There wasn’t even a decent paycheque.  Yet it was the perfect job.

A number of years ago I fulfilled a longtime dream by taking lessons in stained glass.  Turned out I am pretty good at it, and I was hired by my instructor to work part-time in her studio.  It was great.  I made whatever I wanted in stained glass.  I could order glass I wanted to use but which we didn’t carry so my pieces were somewhat distinctive.  I followed whatever pattern caught my interest, then went on to create my own patterns.  I found my creative outlet and reveled in it whenever I was at “work”. 

Regular customers and I used to joke about what a horrible job I had, working in a small, hot studio, but we all knew that I had the greatest job in the world – I could make stained glass all day long, provided I also took care of customers in the studio.  That was great, too - I could help other people with their projects and help them pick out glass – it seems I also have a decent eye for colour and how it can be used in a stained glass panel.  (I confess to a personal preference for using very little in the way of coloured glass for my own pieces – I love putting together different textures of clear glass and then adding splashes of colour.)  That job allowed me to work at something I became passionate about.

For awhile, I even made money from the pieces I created – my work was for sale not only in the studio where I worked, but in several stores and galleries around the Golden Horseshoe.  I even had repeat customers for my panels.  It felt wonderful to know that my creativity was not only being indulged, but appreciated.  And paid.

It all came to an end when the recession hit a couple of years ago and people stopped buying unnecessary things like stained glass.  I was the biggest expense for the studio, so I was out the door. 

It’s been a couple of years now since that perfect job came to an end.  I’ve moved on to a full-time office job doing something totally different, but creative in its own way.  I love my job, but I can’t say I consider it the perfect job. 

Do most people get to work at their dream jobs, their perfect jobs?  I hope so.  Loving your job is great; having your perfect job is the best.

Options

One of the things I have been thinking about lately is options – options for future employment and future lifestyle.

When I was in my twenties and thirties, I had lots of options; the world was waiting for me to choose what I wanted and where I wanted to do it.  I had always found it easy to land a job; Jim was the same way.  We would dream and talk about what our future held and how we anticipated retiring early.

That was then, and this is now.  We are at the age where we had expected to retire.  Now the dreams are more realistic, the options fewer.

Somewhere along the way, options began to disappear  Once we both hit 50, we realized that we weren’t prize candidates for new jobs anymore; for me, it was even worse because I couldn’t find a full-time job at all.  It wasn’t until about a year ago that I really lucked out and was hired at what I call a real job – meaningful work in an industry I know, doing work I really enjoy and for decent money.

But where do we go from here?  We’d like to travel, we’d like to have more time to volunteer, we’d like to have more time to work at our hobbies.  Retirement isn’t an option for us in the near future.  Do we continue at these same jobs for the next 8, 10 years and try to position ourselves for some sort of retirement afterward?  Do we try to move to where we’d prefer to live, knowing that any jobs we get would be a real backward step?  Can we even expect to get different jobs that we’d half-way enjoy?  Could we scale back our lifestyle and make the sacrifices we’d need to make to semi-retire? Should we? 

The lack of options concerns me.   It’s no longer a matter of choosing where to live, where to work and how long to work; now it’s more about whether any of those are choices we can make.  To some extent, of course, they are; we always have a choice.  But the practicalities of real estate values, lack of employment for mature folks like us and family circumstances are at work as well, and they can’t be ignored. 

Lots of questions; very few answers.  Time continues to slip away and so, seemingly, do the number of options open to us.  Are there things I’m not seeing; opportunities that I’m missing?  Maybe it’s time to think outside the box and see what else there is out there for us.

It's Sunday, and all's well on the earth

Here it is, Sunday, May 22 and I believe we aren't missing three per cent of the world's population due to a general bodily rising through the air.  As much as I found the whole Rapture thing very interesting, I'm just as glad it didn't happen - I'm apparently quite attached to my life as it is, and, however things went for me, everything would be vastly different.

I guess mathematics isn't the answer to everything.

Two stories

There were two wonderful stories in the news this week that I think are worth mentioning.

The first is that the end of the world is supposed to begin tomorrow, May 21.  I believe it is to happen sometime around 6 p.m., but I’m not sure about the time zone – it could be a few hours either way.  Imagine that – the beginning of the end.  It’s a phrase we use so cavalierly in other contexts and here is someone using it literally.

The calculations that have been made for this event are mind-boggling.  Magic numbers from the Bible have been multiplied and then multiplied again … I still don’t understand why those, of all significant numbers found in the Bible, have been used while others weren’t, but I guess that’s a matter of study and understanding.  (And convenience, I suspect.)   I read through an online tract that explained it all and I can tell you that that I know just as little after reading it as I did before. 

I don’t believe for a minute the biblical Rapture is going to happen, but I have some admiration for the people who not only believe it is going to happen but are out there spreading the word.  The ones I have read about or seen on TV are not crackpots or lunatics, but sincere people who have a concern for other people’s souls.  They have given up everything and want to bring as many people as they can into the fold to enjoy eternal rewards.  It’s an act of selflessness rarely seen, and it seems sincere. I’m sure they will feel differently when Sunday rolls around and they and everyone else are still here, but still, it’s a nice gesture.

The second story was one I read just this morning, where a parishioner of a Florida church has asked that Osama Bin Laden be placed on a prayer list.  It seems a ludicrous request and it apparently hasn’t been well-received by some of the other parishioners. This request is a wonderful contrast to the pictures we saw of people dancing in the streets at the news that Bin Laden was dead.

The parishioner is right.  Christians who believe in praying for the souls of the departed should pray for Bin Laden, as the Bible teaches – and the parish priest pointed out - that we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.  It’s going to be a hard sell in this particular case, but isn’t it great that someone has seen what their faith requires and is willing to act on it? 

Why my interest in these two stories?  I think it’s because it’s so easy to knock Christians and point out the hypocrisies and inadequacies that exist in Christian churches that these two stories point out the goodness that exists as well.  Yes, it’s a little odd to predict the Rapture and believe in it, but the reaction among those who believe it is a reaction of love, not fear and fear-mongering.  And yes, it’s hard to have sympathy for a terrorist who plots the downfall of your nation, but it’s an act of love and faith that makes a man pray for that terrorist.