When Not To Listen..

Much has been written about the differences between men and women and almost everything "said" has left each side more in the dark than before all this "saying" came to public attention. It has recently become clear that the only way for these two to ever develop any real sense of understanding and insight into the inner workings of each other, is through espionage. Espionage has sadly received too many bum raps when in actuality, it is the only thing that can and will work. Consider the obvious connundrum of a man who is constantly penalized for doing the "wrong" thing despite total adherence to the wishes expressed by his female counterpart. To help him make sense of this increasingly frustrating situation, enter the SPY, a good friend (without benefits of course) who is female. While her official title is Spy, she has been known to occasionally use the alias, Interpreter! She will listen attentively to a recounted conversation and will proceed to decode it using only basic uncomplicated language which goes a long way towards helping the male achieve clarification, as she confirms what he has only just begun to suspect; his gut feeling, male "reading" and ultimate response, was not even close to being what his lady was looking for and what's worse, way too far removed from her intended meaning. This new vein of espionage has thus far been enjoying great success and is growing rapidly in popularity which has begun to worry some self-help gurus and erstwhile authors who are scrambling to oust this new upstart from what until now has been their exclusive domain. Team Espionage has entitled their first book Never Do What They Tell you to Do, Do Only What I Tell You To Do!

Disclaimer (Conceptual Assistance, M.M.)

Due to the inordinate amount of responses received regarding the grandma post, I realize that I can either choose to send a bulk email denial, or address the "burning" question right here; so I have opted for here. None of my daughters are pregnant nor are the girlfriends of my sons pregnant. This is not to say that I am in any way relieved or smug regarding the obvious delay in my becoming a grandma, because if it was my time to join the club, I would definitely be the A type, 'over the moon' and in the throes of amassing an incredible selection of booties, mini nightdresses with the strings at the bottom to make sure teeny feet stay warm, infant undershirts that tie on the side, and a mini hat collection in those yummy pastel shades of yellow... until I learn from "technology" which hues to add; pale pink, or blue! I would be selecting various jazz standards and old opera favourites to play to my future grandchild and I would strongly counsel against any inappropriate readings the prospective parents might attempt to imput as a means of early religious indoctrination and/or early literacy intervention. My focus would definitely be on my becoming the PERFECT grandma, the best "keeper" of the baby that any baby could wish for because suddenly as Grandma I will have turned into a recognized and acknowledged authority on most things "baby"!! While the parents to be a.k.a. my "kids" try to show their superiority on the topic of who knows more about how to BE with baby and what it is that baby needs, I have only to dimiss that newfangled overrated swaddling blanket with a barely discernable roll of my eyes before my kids get it. Wedding or no wedding I intend to fall madly and permanently in love with this baby, and I expect to be allowed to raise it as I see fit, oops I mean of course the kids will do the raising and there isn't a single doubt in my mind that they will do a spectacular job with MY grandchildren! I know this is true because I know how they were raised and I know that they know it too, even if their initial joy at impending parenthood suddenly causes gaps in their memory, at the end of the day, they will surely remember that their parents and their GRANDPARENTS were their keepers, and because they know they've turned out just fine, we grandparents and grandparents to be, thanks to our extensive experience, get to have another go.

Thoughts on becoming "Grandma".

Now that I have reached that ripe old age where I could easily be a grandmother without prompting thoughts of "she must have been a "child bride", it has become quite apparent that chronologically I have arrived at that period where we tend to do the limbo between being or thinking we are still young (clinging??) and suddenly with increasing symptoms as proof, being old old old and not understanding how or when it was that we took the giant leap that brought us here. I wager that many of us actually try to take that giant step backwards to offset those incredible things that happen to us no matter how hard we try to fight them off! The one thing that seems inevitable is the continuity of our bloodlines, if we have been lucky enough to have had children that is. Having reared those wonderful self sufficient young people who have become responsible adults, how is it that when we learn about our impending grandmotherhood, we go into a shellshocked state of disbelief? We are either over the moon and ready, those of us who have been able to make peace with the fact that our ingenue days are long past and have been able to excel in the role of either mom of the bride or groom, or we become morose, and incredulous, how could WE possibly be about to turn into our MOTHERS???? ( especially because our moms are still beautiful and seem to have more energy than we do)We are far too young and besides,
whatever became of the ceremony that normally precedes this hatching announcement? We rebel not just at suddenly becoming a grandma but we don't seem at all able to cope with the "missed step", the wedding!!!! This is the true double whammy of the gestational 'grandmother to be' period. As with every situation that at first seems less than optimum, this hysteria about your "unmarried" child can work to your advantage when you consider how you are suddenly so preoccupied with having an out of wedlock grandson, that you have stopped lamenting your lost youth. Once you have had time to adjust to the changes that will certainly come, you will find to your surprise and joy that you have turned into an unselfish, generous, happy, advice-filled, rocking chair buying, babyname book browsing and childproofing expert Grandma someone that deep down you have always wanted to be.

Dressing up!

While talking to my parents who are the classic examples of those "Snowbirds" who make their hasty departure from the north to the south just before the first snowfall even thinks of hitting town, I learn upon inquiring as to their plans for the day, that they are "dressing up" to go and enjoy the sunshine and warmth by the ocean. I tell them when they ask what I am up to, that I am in fact "dressing up" to enjoy my day out in the sunshine too, only my day includes SNOW! I advise them that my ventures forth from home involve serious preparation of apparel-both inner and outer- and therefore going out here is definitely the dressier occasion. To comprehend the seriousness of recognizing when to dress up and how, you would have to have grown up with my mom who was ( and is ) always the exemplar of the perfect dresser and instinctively knew just what was required for all occasions, making sure we were always appropriately attired, and then there's Dad who was a fashion designer and who knew not only how Mom should be turned out, but also had a good deal of input into how we children were to be allowed out for public viewing! The irony here is that depite our father's great sense of style, Mom was Dad's personal fashion consultant and no matter what he knew, she was his dresser from those first "pink" (before anyone had them) shirts, to dreaded pleated uncuffed dress pants etc. etc. So it is not surprising to hear today that Mom is getting "dressed up" for the beach! This will undoubtedly include that stunning bathing suit, flowingly attractive serape, matching high-heeled sandals, designer sunglasses, beautiful earrings, that perfect shade of lipstick and that ever present must, the MATCHING sun visor! My mother always stressed the importance of dressing up as needed so in honour of her I am wearing silk long underwear, silk turtleneck, cashmere sweater and socks, matching hat, scarf and gloves (cashmere again!) and voila! I am dressed up to Mom's specs.

Dust Bunnies/Rabbits

It would be interesting to conduct a poll regarding housecleaning rituals if only to feel reassured that I am not alone in relegating all tasks pertaining to the physical maintenance of my humble abode, to the much awaited weekend. Friday Euphoria, upon closer inspection, will probably turn out to be somewhat of a precursor to getting down to those wonderful chores that I do not want to face during my busy work weeks, and may account for the almost manic obsession with "cleaning" the place once Saturday dawns. Every Friday night without fail I make sure to lay out my trusted dust cloth so that it is the first thing I see when I wake up. This does not guarantee that I become a mad duster after my toast and juice, it only means that from nearly wherever I am inside these walls, I have only to look up at the counter and there it is. Whenever we make eye contact my dusting cloth and I, we share looks of accusation and explanation. It is obvious that the cloth is saying J'accuse, while I appear to have become an encyclopedia on the reasons for the delay in attacking the dust that dances gaily throughout my inner sanctum, hiding under furniture, lovingly embracing the television screen and somehow managing to multiply with each passing hour. I am an excellent rationalizer and although I know that the best dusting results are achieved during the daylight hours, I tell myself that it's just fine to save up on my arm energy until the evening and I further convince myself that late in the day "exercise" will help me sleep more soundly. It is now definitely way past the daylight hour and I THINK I can finally go attack those dust-bunnies who while I have been busy procrastinating, seem to have grown into
full-blown dust rabbits!

Friday Euphoria

It has become clear that I suffer from a rare disorder called "Friday Euphoria". Without fail no matter how much I love my job or how the work week has gone, by 2:45 in the afternoon on the last day of a 5 day week with almost no warning the full impact of F.E. hits, and I am ready for the weekend to begin despite the fact that there are still "officially" 60 minutes left to be on the job. There is a sudden rush of light-heartedness /headedness and that incomparable feeling of your feet barely touching the ground as you walk. This oddly does not translate into a lackluster performance of duties because that shift to overdrive doesn't negate staying on task in all the ways necessary to be considered a viable employee. You might assume that the onset of F.E. will result in an antsy feeling kind of like chomping at the bit by the exit doors, when it is actually the opposite that occurs. Despite the initial feelings of a racing heart, you downshift into a laid back gear, and find yourself standing by the very same doors you race through each evening, only now you are lingering , saying your goodbyes to colleagues, wishing them a great weekend and having that last impromptu chat of the week with a friend when suddenly without your having noticed it, you and your chatty friend are the last two in the building and still there is no sense of urgency about leaving. This does not signify a reluctance to leave work, it is in fact the best part of F.E. You have begun to slow down which is a complete change in your inner time mechanism. F.E. allows you to kick the pace of your life back a few notches until it is where it should be all the time. For those of us who cannot help but be rushed through the week, this "disorder" is vital.

Embryonic Imaging

How many prenatal photoshoots must be endured by unborn babies before the photohungry parents to be are satisfied that A. there are ample photos to fill that first album or B. there is definitive determination of sex as evidenced by the lack of a "thingy". We are inured to first time parents with their videocams attached to their bodies to be certain they miss not a single breath of their newly arrived darlings, but this photolust seems to have shifted its timelines and has now entered the inutero domain thanks to increasingly advanced electronic equipment. It is easy to become enraptured with the fact that the new arrival can be plainly seen to be "tall" thus eliciting sighs of relief from relatives who had harbored secret fears that "she" would be SHORT like Aunt Bertha's side of the family, phew!!! (Aunt Bertha has clearly not been shown these latest DEVELOPMENTS!!!) Through the wonder of technology we are also able to "see" how quickly development is taking place so that we have scientific/photographic proof that our hatchling is no shrinking violet. All this info prompts the obvious question: How long before we can engage these teeny wonders as models of the work force of the future, or better still how long before they figure out how to use the not yet invented 'micromicromicro'-"INNY"cam' so they can turn the tables/shutters on us?

Too Early To Tell

I'''''''''m Back! This will be an interesting foray (for me anyway) into multiunknown topics most probably to be selected willy nilly but the mere fact that they have been chosen makes them at the very least chooseable and therefore perhaps worth a glance after all. I am considering accepting suggestions for future ramblings (from time to time) to alleviate any backlash from disgruntled or confused readers but for the mostpart it'll just be me, that is unless I rethink my stand on "guest" bloggers. To avoid the obvious ramifications when opting to go the "guest" blogger route, I have had to design an appropriate LITERACY test which I know you will concur, is a must have before allowing this to proceed any further