Poison Pen Letters

It should come as no surprise that poison pen letters are ALWAYS written by poison people. These individuals have every intention of being provocateurs and absolutely thrive on confrontation via surprise attack. Unfortunately they are not too well endowed in the 'brain' department so they need time to plot their hissy fits and present them in writing. Being almost totally bereft of social skills/filters, means that these people are incapable of impromptu, off the cuff or logical responses so they have no choice but to initiate both parry and thrust on paper. Nothing these non Einsteins write can come as a shock, but if ever we feel our hackles rising we must remember the most effective way to deal with losers of such a high caliber, we must recall that especially in these situations, less is more.The poison pen authors expect a short tempered reply; they NEED us to cave and spew our 'supposed' poison right back at them in order to feel that they have been successful in their attempt to force us down to their level. A simple note thanking them for their "input" will be great cause for their dismay because you have not risen to the bait and it will guarantee that despite all their efforts, everything they've done is for naught.

Do I Detect A Note Of Something?

If you are an optimist and/or a happy person, it stands to reason that you will not lose patience like a Johnny On The Spot when up against any fallout from the aging process or a less than stellar phone connection. I refer to hearing challenges no matter what the cause. This means you will not stomp your feet in anger and/or frustration if when you are talking to someone you discover that either they did not quite hear what you said, or heard it incorrectly. You should be magnanamous enough to calmly repeat your words and not snap back an " I heard and answered your question!" Pausing even momentarily and opting for a non aggressive bite will prevent the person you are having a conversation with from being on the defensive and will alleviate any feelings of inadequacy they may experience due to a situation over which they have no control. Taking a deep breath and responding with consideration means that you will not ever have to pose that most condescending of questions; "Do I detect a note of something?" when they have no choice but to mirror your displeasure in their response to you.

Dishevelled

This word usually refers to physical demeanor but almost never is there a verb derivitive so it is quite odd to be accused of being a disheveller. Even stranger is the fact that when this moniker is given to you, it is a sure fire sign that you stand accused of repeatedly leaving the bed sheets in a dishevelled state, as simple as that. You awaken in the middle of the night to hear that the mess of sheets in which you are entangled is apparently your fault. You are called a 'habitual disheveller' when you know for sure that you had nothing whatsoever to do with the dishevellment of the linens, after all weren't you just blissfully? asleep ergo not consciously dishevelling the sheets? Well actually no according to the little woman who stubbornly maintains that it was ALL you and that you have a master dishevelling plan which you successfully implement even when you are in a deep sleep. There will be no trial and no verdict renderd by a jury of your peers. You are guilty as charged and the only good thing to come out of this false accusation, is the secret sense of pride that is yours when you really think about it all and realize she is right; guilty as charged, you are in fact a true but happy disheveller, but you revel in the knowledge that there is nothing unkempt about you, you may well be a disheveller but you ar NOT dishevelled!

Thoughts On Being Elsie

I have managed to live some of my life vicariously and thusfar this seems to have been a great alternative to actually doing things that deep down I know are not for me. I have been known to admire those who boldly jump out of planes aloft in the pale blue skies and for one crazy moment I too am freefalling but happily I never have to worry about pulling that string and it goes without saying that I'd look most ridiculous in the skyjumping harness, helmet, etc. When I watch those athletes making their way down the powdery white and steeply magnificent mountains, it is just fine with me to be able to reenter my body shortly after the launch; this way I get to take off to the accompaniment of all the bells, whistles and cheers for me in my bold spandex onesie, but I am back to being me long before my skis have even the slightest chance to cross or I meet a mogul that doesn't care for trespassers. When I become a mountaineer the short shorts with major leather belt and a host of incredible tools are great to have, again, only for a moment as I have never been good with tools and am loathe to wear high heavy wool socks with shorts almost as much as the hiking boot is not my foot covering of choice, and the ropes...I know better than to dally around copious amounts of industrial rope for reasons too numerous to list here. My fleeting interest in becoming a teacher seems to have been the shortest amount of time spent on any one of my many fantasy lives because of bad politics and way too many order givers, though shockingly neither of these pitfalls has anything whatsoever to do with the actual students! When it comes to wanting to be Elsie it's as simple as knowing someone who has managed to etch out a whole new life now that she is semi retired. Holidays whenever with no limitations or restrictive blacked out travel days, a vacation home in a historic niche on the east coast and then after one brief shining moment it all becomes crystal clear. I am happy to be me and the last thing I want is to become/be is Elsie. So not for me a touristy hamlet in the summer, overrun by every manner of visitor thus making me a virtual prisoner in my beautiful century vacation home. There are just so many careers that I could have had and/or pastimes in which I could have indulged but this way is so much better. I get to pick and choose and NEVER be locked in.

I'm A Born Again Bitch..Sort Of

I believe that I have found an estuary leading to that elusive fountain of youth and it is so simple and subtle; revenge with class. No longer will I grin and bear the unbearable, no longer will I lie down and play dead as behooves those of my age because as everyone knows we MELLOW as we move ahead and apparently lose our ability to combat nastiness seeing as how we have by now(supposedly...) evolved and are much more accepting etc. what utter nonsense! I have found that allowing bad behaviour to roll off our backs as if we were ducks does not make us better it makes us weaker and despite being a newly minted senior, the weak part just doesn't sit well with me at all. I think there is a distinct relationship between acceptance and aging and I'd much prefer aging due to gravity and/or the elements than by allowing some idiot to force me down the primrose lane before my time. The trick is to get your revenge out there so quicky that it speeds by before the idiots even perceive it to be revenge. They are left shaking their heads in bewilderment knowing that something has happened but remaining in the dark as to just what that something was; they will no doubt be asking themselves the following; was it a bird, was it a plane,but they will never figure out that it was sweet and total vindication by sleight of mouth. You are now a master manipulator/magician and because you know better than to reveal your bag of tricks, all remains safely stored under your sleeves until the next time you need to perform. If you are a seasoned entertainer/bitch, each successful performance will leave you energized, young again and more than prepared for your next Grand Spectacle! Somehow, this is an awesome tool in the fight against aging.

Apparently...

Apparently too much of a good thing can sometimes definitely be too much. Take Indian food for example, you love love love it and everytime you indulge, you are made well aware of the fact that you have overdone it. Indian food unlike Chinese food does not vanish from your conscious stomach cavity to the point where you can re-eat a short time after your initial repast. Indian food does not go quietly into the night, in fact it NEVER leaves. (or at least the interminable time needed for full digestion feels like never)The next day despite the lingering aroma of curry you are not at all tempted to reoffend. It matters little how great the Nan bread (with garlic) is, you are not returning for seconds. Croissants however are totally different. Whether you have one or two a day, sometimes three, you can easily turn into a repeat flaky buttery offender without being aware that this is what has happened. It matters not at all that the patisserie is an hour from home. As you sit in gridlock the sea of cars that surrounds you seems to disappear because your focus is only on your important mission, getting to those croissants! You cannot relax until that bag of perfection is in your hand and when you finally get them, you cannot possibly begin that long trek home without a dip into the bag. Your drive transforms into a leisurely car cruise and when you do reach your final destination you will of course celebrate by yet another dip into the bag.
Apparently you are a croissant addict with absolutely no remorse.

Two To Twitter

For as long as you have been tweeting yours has been a single Twitter family. You have forged many incredible relationships and by now are solidly ensconced within your preferred Twitter clan. The ante is suddenly upped when your other half decides to join the fray and as you welcome her with love, encouragement and pride, do not lose sight of the possible pitfalls on the road to becoming bi/Twittererati! The sheer time factors this doubling will require boggle the mind. You may well rationalize, and say that between the two of you no neglect of house and home will ensue, but really, can you honestly prevent the changes that are bound to occur? That daily prepared gourmet dinner that has thusfar been a staple of your life may well disappear in a cloud of tweets or what's worse may crash and burn due to neglect of oven and /or stove in favour of computer/Twitter time. If you are a single computer family any increase in keyboard minutes may cause angst for the one who can no longer count on having a computer at the ready although in your case the iphone will probably alleviate that pressure. Perhaps it does take two to Twitter and if that is true for you, let's all sing like the birdies do, "tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet"!!

The Lock Out

When choosing whether or not to move into your new abode in a not quite finished building, it is always best to consider the worst case scenarios in order that your decision be an informed one. You might otherwise have to survive the following situation and in truth the humiliation (and annoyance) is not quite worth it.
It is 8:30pm and from the suite above you, there begins a unique whine symphony whose special sound can only be produced by an electric drill. Although you may well know the condo rules which clearly state that no construction noises be made after 5:30pm. it is obvious that your neighbour is not privy to this information or...he simply couldn't care less. You call the security guard who oblingly rides to your rescue (on his chariot..the elevator) but the drilling has taken on the dimensions of a phantom and what you heard only seconds before, is not anything that the security guy can hear now. This continues on and off for over an hour and when hammering sounds are introduced to the cacaphony you call for help yet again. You also decide to become somewhat of a Sherlock Holmes so you step out of your unit (barefoot) to meet the chariot..elevator. The door opens, another phantom experience this one for you as there is no sign of Mr. Security Guard. You return to your front door and turn the handle only to find that you have effectively locked yourself out! You have no choice but to lightly knock on your neighbour's door- another condo rule broken as everyone knows you are never supposed to need to connect with your neighbour in anyway other that the cusrsory nod hello should you happen to meet in the hallway or at the garbage disposal room- and ask for help. Luckily your neighbours are more than willing to place a phonecall to the front desk for you, and they even provide you with a small chair and magazine so that you do not look too forlorn as you sit alone in the corridor outside your apartment listening to the phone ring, a phone you cannot answer.
The lock out ends when your knight in shining uniform finally arrives and uses the master key to open the door. You knock at the neighbour's door once again to return the chair and magazine feeling the same level of embarassment that you did when you knocked the first time.

Kubota

Sometimes there really can be writer's block or at the very least, instances where the ideas simply do not flow and there is nothing to rant over. When this happens (today actually..)despite all my good intentions re: writing/blogging daily the fact that no bees are in my bonnet, seems not to augur well for my creativity. I look out the window and all is calm in the fading daylight. I have had my after work nap ( a new must) and am geared up to spend a quiet evening at home. Nothing controversial about that and nothing humourous either so what shall I do? Since I have never been a bemoaner and am loathe to become one, it suddenly occurs to me that now, right now would be an excellent time to ride off into the sunset on my trusty KUBOTA!!!

Hit By a Bus

Ever vigilant as a driver, you are perhaps a tad peeved but reflexes at the ready you come to a timely stop behind a city bus when it suddenly and with no warning slams on its brakes. You are gratified that the car behind you is also driven by an able person and just as you begin to exhale with relief the rear lights of the bus become almost blinding in their brightness as you realize the bus is in reverse on its way to a meeting with the front of your car. You frantically honk your horn; you honk loudly and then desperately, to no avail as you hear/feel the front of your car being pushed in. You remain seated in a state of disbelief until just as suddenly the bus goes forward a few paces and comes to rest. All this has taken a nanno second to happen, but the shock quotient makes it feel much longer. You continue to remain in place now finally..exhaling your eyes trained on the bus you see the door open and the driver hop down the steps to survey what his expert driving skills have wrought. He peeks around the side of his bus, gives your car a cursory glance then races back up onto his bus and DRIVES AWAY!!!!!
You of course are no longer a sitting duck, you are galvinized by the indignity and immediately notify the bus company. (yes, Bluetooth!!) The bus company tells you to call the police and you do. You are advised by the police that the ATC is its own insurer and surprise surprise; they have jurisdiction over their own which means no charges will be laid by the police for leaving the scene or for totally bad/careless driving. This means that we can all breathe easier knowing that the ATC will be DISCIPLINING their driver.
Doesn't the phrase 'hit by a bus' take on a different meaning now? So much for'it's better to take public transport' and so comforting to know how unconcerned the mighty ATC is with commuters both on their busses and in cars on the very same streets where they let their incompetent drivers roam/drive free.

High Tea

You have a reservation for 'high tea' at a well appointed downtown hotel on a Sunday afternoon. Briefly, you consider getting all dolled up in case there is a dress code, but then you remember how comfy your old worn jeans are and seeing as how they miraculously remain rip free, you assume they are more then good enough to be out and about especially when paired with a respectable top.
You arrive at the reserved time (2:30pm) reassuring yourself that there couldn't possibly be a dress code...that is until you get to the outer lobby and see all the other high tea reservees. They are clad in what can only be described as Easter Sunday best/finery despite the fact that Easter has come and gone. From all mannner of florals; hats, blouses, skirts and dresses for the ladies, to full suit and FLORAL ties or boutonnieres for the gents, at first glance, the scene was not unlike what I imagine the inner sanctum of a Fellini film would be. The servers in tails, advised us on our options in hushed tones befitting the nearly pompous aura that filled the seating space. We duly sniffed the proffered humidor of scents and whispered back our orders so as not to break the spell. There was a general air of quiet dignity that even I in my old cozy jeans was able to feel. From cucumber sandwiches to clotted cream and scones, this high tea was just perfect.

Brief Intermission

The words 'brief intermission' usually call to mind a prescribed amount of pause time generally theatre or grand spectacle related so if you are not a patron of the arts you are not likely to cross paths with this phrase.There is however one other place where these words are perfectly apt, and surprising as it may seem, that place is in your very own bed. You go to sleep and for some reason you awake in the night. Although the causes of nocturnal wakefulness may vary; you might have had a nightmare, you may need to use the facilities or you may simply have woken up to the dicombobulated sound of your own laughter, the result of a funny rem moment, no matter the cause, the end is the same. You look over at the sleeping mass beside you and are overcome by an urgent need to share your impropmtu awakening. You decide to recount your dreams and are blissfully unaware that your revelation comes out in a steady stream of gibberish due to the heavy state of sleep you have just left behind, or.... you may simply decide not to be the only one awake at 2:00am and that means that the sleeping mass next to you must be woken up, pronto!
Whatever moves you, in the final analysis there are now two people awake, and they begin a magical yet comfortable waltz of any number of inane dances (dialogues) during a brief intermission in the night

Miracle Gro

You are sitting at your kitchen table gazing out the window at your spotty two toned (brown and green) back yard and you realize that you long to see that lush green colour that your lawn used to be. What to do is the dilemma du jour as you let thoughts of a personal gardner float about in your head. Your purse strings however are too tighly knotted to afford Mr. Green Thumb so you must find a more creative solution at an affordable price. You consider asking the hunky neighbour to mow your lawn? in the same state of shirtlessness with which he does his own thus killing two birds etc. and you even consider engaging in the barter system, baked goods in exchange for lawn care but for certain reasons this option quickly loses its viability and you are back to square brown patch number one...but only until an annoyingly familiar jingle drifts into your mind; (see music notes here..) You'll have the greenest finest grass to mow, when you give it up to Miracle Gro! (end music notes here..) You see yourself proudly accepting the blue ribbon for your prize winning begonia at the local village floral show and suddenly you are off your chair, car keys in hand and heading out to your local garden center. You will break down and purchase a vat of Miaracle Gro, that is unless you decide that the back yard is to big too handle and that your best bet is to buy a ChChCh Chia pet!

Eating In Bed

At some point in time, all parents teach their children not to eat in bed, and this teaching usually begins once the bottle stage has passed. This is also probably baby's first exposure to the fickle authority of the parental units who initially were fully supportive of in crib meals that were liquid and dispensed via sterilized drinking vessels... (baby bottles) Unsuspecting Baby hasn't been around long enough to have twigged in to the fact that eating/drinking in bed is only allowed for that brief period of time when it is convenient not so much for baby but for Mom and Dad who profit from this cribside service by getting to spend a bit longer in their own beds. The switch from permissive to prohibitive where in bed eating is concerned is not unlike mach speed and babies grow, never quite understanding how languishing 'acrib' could have turned so quickly into being strapped into a highchair in the upright position. The erstwhile pleasant 'laissez faire' style of eating is now rife with rigidity and from toddlers to teens mealtimes seem to be all about discipline. Eating and drinking has evolved into a series of more unwavering rules then a new army recruit can expect. T.V. tables set out in front of the sofa notwithstanding, all food must be consumed while seated on a chair in either the kitchen or dining room, and good manners are non negotiable. Where does this leave those who have never quite gotten over the shock of no longer eating/drinking in bed? It leaves them longing for a return to the cradle of course, where they felt peaceful and entitled to enjoy their consumption of choice. Some groups of people have managed to bend the rules and have found it possible to reintroduce eating in bed. The first group is the passive agressive in bed eater who selects one fruit each night before going to sleep. They know they cannot engage in any repast that will result in even the slightest bit of muss or fuss so they never choose grapefruit, oranges, cherries, watermelon or other juicy treats, more often than not they go for the banana which is duly peeled in the kitchen leaving no debris, and if they are slightly daring they may go for an apple but that means there is always that telltale kleenex folded over by the bed and this of course contains the pips, core and an occasional stem. Let's call the next group the Romantics. They simply invest in a beautiful wicker breakfast tray and voila! They eat croissants and jam while drinking their Tassimo Lattes or Bodem press and the tray catches any and all crumbs. The final group is the largest by far. Pregnant women who suffer from morning sickness don't even bother with the tray pretense. They use the common knowledge that crackers alleviate this nasty condition, and simply keep a box of Saltines on their night table. This works out quite well because the box is easy to reach and they are way too queasy to worry about catching any of the crumbs. Eating in bed is actually an excellent and much needed way to return to those lofty days of yore.

Early To Work/Anti Social??

For as long as I can remember I have been a morning person. It dates waaaay back to growing up in a home where carpe deium was a way of life and sleeping in was frowned upon for being a total waste of time. Although I am not required to be 'on the job' until 9:00am I usually make my entrance around 7:00am which may appear to lengthen my work day by two hours but in fact it actually increases my productivity so in this scenario it is best not to take the accumulated minute count into consideration when deciding how many hours I actually spend at work. It goes without saying that part of the 'avant' work time is spent with those who like me prefer to jumpstart their days. We do not always engage in professional chitchat because we recognize that fine line that divides our lives at work and our lives at home and we tend to choose to blur those lines not just because we can but because there is something magical and mystical about the early morning hours. We take this option for many reasons not the least of which is because we recognize the advantages of sharing when it comes from the heart and not from a mandate. We are not exclusive nor are we members of the 'good old boys club; it is much more elementary than that my dear Watson. In the final analysis, early mornings at work need never be fraught with angst or woe when they can (if you're REALLY lucky) be like droplets of dew, only available at certain times which in the end makes them even more precious then you ever imagined they could be.

Equity in Food

There are Snap, Crackle and Pop (male) there is the Quaker Oats guy, there are the cops on Cookie Crisp and the ever resilient Tony the Tiger, only male names are visible on cereals with nary a sign of a feminine presence. Until now, those who select the cereal monikers have not been receptive to female names on the cereal boxes that grace our tables most mornings. When pressed as to `why`they would probably attest to the fact that Special K cannot be called Special Kendra anymore than Raisin Bran can be called Brandy Raisinette. Granted, Sara Lee is highly visible in the frozen baked goods coolers but in cake mixes, Betty Crocker notwithstanding, we also have Duncan Hines..yet another male!I submit to you that Dr. Oetker is probably male, the President of President`s Choice is most assuredly male and I know for certain that Oscar Meyer is too as is his good friend Jimmy Dean so it would appear that male celebrity is prevalent in an incredibly wide array of food products.
For some reason, the gluten free products appear to have more of a feminine side- Mary`s, Donna`s, Renees etc. etc. but the same cannot be said for most of the food we purchase.Things may be about to change though on a small scale at first beginning with that humble staple, cereal!. It is evident from recent marketing surveys, that old products can be made new again with a different name and at the same time reduce the male influence glut that currently exists. Oatmeal Almond Crisp may soon appear in stores as Oatmeal Almondine, Corn Flakes may soon be called Cornelia Flakes and Betty`s Best Bran Buds is yet another name you may soon find in your local supermarket. I personally have submitted a few name changes that I am hoping to see on shelves in the not too distant future, you should too if you care about equity in your pantry and fridge.

A Tourist In Miami

If you are under 60 years of age (terrific random digit don't you think??) and happen to find yourself visiting Miami Beach,
please be aware of the following: 1. Everyone drives very large cars
2. Most restaurants are fully booked by 5:00pm
3. Golf carts abound

It is a well known fact that people tend to shrink in stature as they grow in age so it makes more sense to them to drive the largest automobile they can get, there is clearly something about the sheer size of the vehicle that seems to lull them into a false sense of height; of course it's best not to tell them how they really look to us as we drive behind them; little heads that can barely be seen above the headrest.
Golden agers as a group become more cautious regarding their entertainment expenses and while they do not wish to waste money they also do not want to deprive themselves of the social outings that are integral to their social sense of well being so restauranteurs have created something called the Early Bird Special; this is actually a stroke of entrepreneurial genius. Seniors continue to gather en masse for resto dinners but they do their congregating at 5:00pm. This entitles them to meals from the regular menu at a reduced price. Clearly a win win situation because the golden agers get to go out and be home in time by 8:30pm for their nightly dose of t.v. and all this allows eating establishments to clean up and prepare for the real/average dining times of 7:00pm and onward. The staff doesn't mind this extra work in view of the increased pay/tips that an entirely new dinner shift will bring. Everyone knows that seniors have a 'thing' about condo living and how better to enhance this living experience than by introducing the senior condo special; the golfcart! This handy dandy little moving device is easy to hop on and off even with walkers, canes and assorted shopping bags. Before it became the new standard mode of transportation from the car to the elevator, the golfcart was relegated to golf course use by players and tournament officials. Thanks to the boomers who have joined the ranks of the largest retirement contingency in history, the cart has a brand new life. Just think of the gleeful handrubbing that goes on behind closed doors in executive meetings at the manufacturing plants as they do the happy increased productivity dance while counting their dividend cheques.
Once you stop feeling like a voyeur into Miami's special senior strata and if you can ward off the panic that seems to well up as you project yourself into this category (time waits for no man) you can relax, sit back in your Muskoka chair and enjoy being a tourist in Miami.

Les Macarons For Breakfast

I never thought I'd use the phrase "I've earned the right to..." but today that is just what came to mind as I stood in the kitchen at a most ungodly hour doing my daily breakfast self quiz; 'what shall I eat today before I dash out the door, what's quick, healthyish, not messy and good tasting. Today, in contrast to the normal silence that responds to that querry, clear as a bell I heard the answer, chocolate! Chocolate which is totally nutritious is more than likely a unique and satisfying first meal! The thing is, not just any chocolate will do if it is to herald the beginning of a new day and be the barometer by which you measure the success of your daily culinary intake; the chocolate of choice must elicit multiple oohs and ahs even before that first bite.
I believe that I have previously referred to 'les macarons' and confess to needing to mention them yet again because I cannot find words to properly express how amazing they are.
Rather than racing to consult the nearest thesaurus, I think if I simply admit that they have recently become my most favourite food???, enough said!

End Of The Russian Wedding

Well here it is, Sunday birthday is finally here and this is the first day I get to officially wear the 60 mantle; it actually fits just fine in case you're wondering...nothing oversized and no new wrinkles (at least none that I can see). Began my day with croissants, pain au chocolat and chocolate macaroons, a most auspicious start if I do say so myself.
The weather is very cooperative and after typing this brief missive it's out to walk the old broad around the neighbourhood so that I not only get to enjoy the sunshine, but I also get to walk off some of those notorious birthday calories.
I think my 6o is the new REAL 60 if you're lucky like me and the overall total of regrets is minimal. It also helps not to put too much import on the external and eyesight that is not 20/20 is a most valuable plus if there is more than one mirror at home.
Some people expect to feel an instant difference after they marry, just as some expect to feel an intstant difference after they turn 60.
I am happily not one of those!

Still My Birthday

I wasn't sure about the Sunday designation of my bday this year, but thusfar it's turning out way better than I could have imagined; instead of the usual one day, my
'60' has turned into a weekend affair which means it actually does last longer. I expect not to experience the blues that normally set in as my day ebbs because I will have had better than seconds and thirds. Birthday Sunday is clearly a panacea for the 'I wish my special day lasted longer than its mere alotted 24 hours' syndrome that has always ailed me. From tulips to even more tulips
(vase availability a concern..) another spring to embrace along with another chance to rejoice in having family intact and friendships on solid ground; who could ask for more?...not me, don't even need more bulbs.

Senior Moments

As I edge that much closer to the big 60 I think that I have found a cure for those niggling times when my short term memory fails and the thoughts that only seconds ago were ready to be shared suddenly vanish without a trace. The trick is; at the beginning of all my telephone conversations,I interject a number of random topics that I might want to address so that when memory fails, (and it will) the person I am speaking to has only to parrot those very same topics right back at me thus allowing me to regroup and simply carry on from there. This will not assist those in the age-induced time warp when it comes to a higher order of thinking, but it will definitely keep us safe within the parameters that we initially set out for that particular conversation.
I had decided to keep my impending birthday a secret from most of the people with whom I spend my working day hours. This excellent plan went forward swimmingly until lunch time when to my great surprise, a vat of tulips (my fave) was delivered to my place of work and then it was pretty much game over. When you think of Tiny Tim and Tiptoe Through The Tulips- light years removed from Tom Waits- you may envision a hazy path of tulips in a beautiful garden but at no time can you even begin to imagine the sheer volume of 61 elegant purple and shocking pink blooms all gathered together just for me. Thanks to my children there'll be no tiptoing here;
I'd need a sickle to cut a swath through these!

Rain

Some people are bothered by those drab gray days that the rain usually brings but not me! I always find rain to be cozy no matter what colour the day. There is something magical about a steady rainfall that seems to soothe with its pitter patter melody. I almost never mind the torrential downpours either as long as there is no accompanying dampness. If I was ever concerned about a hairdo I would surely stand beside the minions who decry the showers accusing them of being at the root of all really bad hair days but I seem to have those with or without the rain and it's not my way to shift blame especially where Mother Nature is concerned. In a world where there is much talk of rain shortage I feel fortunate that we have what others might see as an overabundance of rain. Those who are concerned with always making a fashion statement may opt for those readily available and oh so adorable yet trendy rain boots and a well constructed designer raincoat. When those infamous April showers make their entrance, and if fashion is not that high on your list of priorities, there is always the oversized but sturdy golf umbrella and in a pinch, KNIRPS!!

60

I expected to have many different thoughts regarding the aging process as I begin yet another decade, but the thoughts I feel I must conjure up on this auspicious occasion appear to be playing possum and I find myself unable to get sufficiently riled up to properly vent on the subject.
It is way too much work to conjure up and record the stepping stones that my feet have trod on my way to the place I am now, so in order to give voice to how I REALLY feel as I stand at this precipice, I will simply say that I am thankful, more than I could ever have imagined I'd be.
It has indeed taken a village to get me here and as I reminisce, my thoughts are with those who make up my very special village. Each and every inhabitant is special to me in their own inimitable way and because they have individually and collecively left their footprints on my heart, I cannot name them here as that would be way too trite even for me.
I expected to rail at the injustices of aging and instead if I am being perfectly honest I must admit to not caring at all. Age has always been just a number to me and today I find that that remains my truth. I am fine with 6o and still looking forward to my most favourite day in April with the same excitement that has accompanied all my birthdays of the past. 60 has not been able to dampen my love of my birthday anymore than I wager 70 will but if things should change, I'll be sure to do the birthday/age rant that will no doubt ensue.

Family and Money

Maybe the old saying about money being the root of all evil isn't as far off the mark as I thought; While in the past, I found it hard to believe that familial fractures could simply be relegated to the dollar sign column insofar as blame goes, but now I fear that there is some element of truth to the matter. What amount are we talking about? $1,000.000? $2,000,000? more? Do the same rules apply if the amount is $100,000? In fact I fear it is any and all amounts that take an active role in creating the fissures that seemingly appear out of nowhere and threaten the once tight weave of the family make-up. The sudden Pot of Gold syndrome can strike at the heart of every family no matter how closely knit you believe your personal unit to be. Is there an insurance policy to cover any of the devastating destruction that this sudden sweep of money leaves in its wake? Sadly to my knowledge, no there is not. This leaves me to wonder why and to consider how I can PROFIT from this obvious niche in the market!

The Giving Elm

When you are many things to many people you may delude yourself with thoughts that you are like a symbolic elm tree, massive in your capacity to provide shade and safe harbour to those you care for without batting a single leaf or branch. The truth however,is not quite so simple nor is it stately as is that fine tree.
In actuality, the more you give, the more you begin to strongly resemble an over pruned shrub. As others increase their expectations/demands,your self preservation instincts decrease, almost like tit for tat and this happens at mach speed so that you don't really get to see yourself during the transformation period.
As an 'elm' you may have delusions of granderur, so it doesn't occur to you that you have become an endangered member of the forest family. You do not see that the constant heaviness born by your branches has taken a mighty toll on your outer frame. Yet you are a happy tree even as you give more and more and you have no regrets when you finally get a good look at yourself after years of standing tall.
What you see is an older tree whose exterior is much changed. To the unknowing eye you may appear to be the same old elm, but in fact you are not. You continue to stand when it would be so much simpler to bend and sit for awhile, and you do this because you are after all a giving elm right down to your very roots.

Fisrt Born

As my son sits firmly on the border of his 20s while at the same time marches steadily towards his 30s I take a minute? (not really a minute!!) to reflect back, waaaaay back to that 3rd day in April when thanks to him I became a MOM. Time is still an enigma to me and I continue to be amazed at its steady progression despite our strong desire for it to stand still, especially on momentous occasions. Granted, I did not wish to prolong the length of the actual delivery, but that first sighting and actual holding of the most beautiful baby ever, well that one certainly could have lasted longer. All the milestones notwithstanding, I can see now that is is those small seemingly inconsequential moments I most wish I could have held onto just a wee bit longer. Holding him up to the living room window as our fingers traced the patterns made by a sudden rain, talking to him (non stop)as he lay captive in his pram and we circumnavigated the gardens at Bellevue, I used huge words so not baby friendly yet somehow they seemed just right for him and perhaps this was the beginning of his love of language. (I think it was there that he also acquired his patient listening skills) Singing to him with my awful non tune carrying voice always made him smile, and this was probably the start of his great tolerance for the imperfections in people he had yet to meet. Being a mother saw me morph into something that heretofore was anathema to me; I became a personal cheerleader! From his first steps to his first sentence (bilingual of course)it has been beyond an honour to be in his corner whenever he allowed me to be. I hope that he knows newbie moms sometimes make big mistakes while flying through those parenting years by the seat of their pants, and that he forgives what he has not forgotten in the knowledge that there was only love as a motivator even if that did not appear to be the case at the time.
Today on his birthday I see that the joy of being his mother continues to grow as it walks hand in hand with time. Pride and gratitude can never contained anymore than time can be expected to stand still.
Thanks Dan and Happy Birthday, Love you always, Mom

Leap Of Faith

When I was much much younger and my innate sense of competition was at its peak, I thought nothing of challenging myself in many unfamiliar arenas and was never in any way concerned that I might possibly fall from my lofty perch atop that proverbial branch. I liken my total disregard for possible failure as a byproduct of youth and parenting; I was an exteremy cocky young person who had been raised to KNOW that maximum effort would breed maximum gain.
Not to sound smug or to rest on my laurels, I must confess to achieving whatever it was I set out to do which as we all know, does wonders for the confidence quotient. The years passed without me taking stock of exactly how challenging my life has been yet today it is only as I glance back (better than peering intensely back!) that I am able to recognize that the youthful cocky me has at some point been replaced with an older version that just might be reticent when it comes to challenges and or new things beyond the 'senior' comfort zone. Clearly this does not please me and while I may rage against the injustice that time has (supposedly) wrought ( silently or at high do as needed) within the confines of my own mind, if I were being true to myself I would have to take the blame for allowing the passing years to whittle away what once was as natural as breathing; my sense of adventure, discovery,mind growing, and a veritable cornucopia of things too numerous to list here. The question now is can I begin a sort of backwards march away from the abyss and back towards the core where things are new again, ever-changing and growth is sure to occur.
I am thinking yes, but at the same time considering a 'maybe' panic button.