Another Father's Day

I remember never wanting to learn to drive. If you think about it, with Mom and Dad on call as able chauffeurs, who could blame me for my reticense? As with anything I did not want to do, I now recognize that my reluctance was always the product of an element of fear that multi-coloured my opinions and driving had the highest panic quotient of all the scary unknown realms that seemed to spread out endlessly before me. There was swimming across the lake, jumping off the high board at age 7, playing the piano for guests, (see major shyness here) staying home alone (as the token adult) at 16and being responsible for my three younger sibs,looking over my parents last will and testament before the trip that saw me left as the chief caregiver etc etc. Who wants to look at their parents' legal papers 'in case' something bad happens to them? Definitely not me as I always feared losing them and no not because I feared being left to raise a little sister and two brothers. I must have been fear-filled as a child which could not have sat well with Dad who was fearless personified. I think it is therefore quite understandable then that his parenting syle became more focussed on the bravery aspect of the child; and not just for me, but for my sibs as well. When force teaching my litle sister to drive the family motor boat he lulled her into a false sense of security by promising not to leave her alone in the boat, yet as soon as she took the wheel he grabbed his water ski and jumped into the lake. Baptism by fire, or she learned by necessity, it doesn't change the fact that she learned against her will, but she is now a confident ski-tower thanks to our father. I am sure that today, so many years later, she realizes that without his 'help' there would be one less item scratched off her 'fear list'. Now back to my driving dilemma...I tried really hard to avoid getting into the drivers seat of the old family station wagon, but one day my luck ran out and there I was. With Dad sitting by my side I was told to "DRIVE" and not just drive, but once my ability to navigate a straight line and simple turns was established, the command FAST was added to the mix of instructions. I remember arriving at my first red stop sign with a tremendous sense of relief; now I could stop and stop I did..for several minutes until Dad informed me that contrary to what my obvious perception of a stop sign was, it was "not a hotel" and I needed to move right along. So much for a reprieve from the rigeurs of driving fast. As soon as possible Dad had me on the highways where there were no stop signs so basically it was full speed ahead. I remember gaining confidence through the months that followed until the day of a hale storm when Iwas on my way to Vermont on my own. I pulled over to call Dad to say I couldn't see a thing because my wipers couldn't go as fast as the percipitation was pelting, thinking he would say good move, wait it out, WRONG! Dad's instruction was to get back on the road and drive through it". I couldn't have known then, how valuable that order would prove to be in the years to come. Somewhere deep inside I knew that Dad believed I could do it. So do it I did. In the eternity that has passed since those days the one constant that remains is Dad's conviction that we his kids could do anything we wanted or tried to do as long as the effort was there. The message was to try it all, and allow no fear to enter into the equation. I would gladly go back to that first day in Old Betsy, and to hear Dad say: :You can do it!"
Happy Father's Day Daddy. How could four kids be so lucky? You know the answer!!

The Pressure Is Off

What an odd sensation it is to finally be able to let go of something that has shaped our year in a not so good way. Funny how quickly we can learn to live with an elephant sitting on our ribcage and still somehow manage to get through the day to days undetected as a fraud; that is in the sense that while externally it appears as if all is well in our little world, the reality is quite the opposite. Then almost imperceptively the switch happens and in the final analysis it seems that that switch back from stress to non-stress occurs with a surprisingly seamless transition, so much so that it involves a major paradigm shift in order to realize and accept that the elephant is gone. Suddenly you can sleep unassisted by whatever vice you chose to get you through 10 months of Nuits Blanches. You can actually take deep breaths without feeling any elephantine protests. You now present your 'old' self, the truer more honest version of you to all you come into contact with, and strangely people are none the wiser.
All this goes to show that you can get away with misrepresentation after all and there is no recrimination involved. Furthermore, the ultimate reward is that you experience an incredible surge of power probably just like an actor must feel after turning in a brilliant performance.

61

I thought last year that turning 60 was at the very least, quite surreal but those feelings pale as I slide into 61. I am left wondering how this could have happened especially when I don't think I am ready for it at all. This being said, I must confess that all protestations are in my head not in my body which seems to be humming steadily toward SENIORHOOD!!I do not feel a waning in the energy department yet I do now have hearing difficulties which are at best extrememly annoying and which I believed were a direct result of riding in airplanes in the full throes of a sinus infection, but after a month..what if that is not the case? What if the truth is that my hearing defeciency is due to age advancement? Is it time to retire to Florida when my faulty hearing cannot even discern which elevator doors will open when I hear the ding announcing its arrival on my floor, ( seemingly from afar..) and have to move quickly up and down the corridor to locate the appropriate car? Is this then 61? Is not being able to respond to a speaker on my right side, or not sensing anyone's presence on the same side something I will simply have to find a way to live with? There would be no question in my mind if the title of this blog was 50, and it boggles the mind that a mere 11 years can totally alter my perspective on aging, but that is exactly what has happened. I also have doubts that a small birthday cake would be able to accommodate 62 candles nevermind the fact that blowing that many out on my own is most probably a pipe dream. Oh well, I can always use the excuse that I hate cake and avoid at least one of the pitfalls of growing up!

Going South

Haven't gone away during March Break for years..not since the kids were small, and now unexpectedly I find that I am going to fly to the place of palm trees, sandy beaches, swimming pools and bright sunny days. I am thinking that with all our recent precipitation, I need to have a super duper powerful pair of sunglasses to prevent having difficulty when engaging in anything ambulatory. I will not need to avoid puddles anymore than I will need to beware of slush and/or black ice, all of which can be a shock to the eyes and to the feet as well. How foolish would I look stepping high to avoid the obvious and flat paved surfaces? My feet will have to feel their way around the sand and this will be done in the absence of the cloddy boots I have worn non-stop since December. I will need to leave the heavy parka, scarf, hat and mitts behind and get reacquainted with the lighter version of myself who can just walk out the door in jeans and a tee shirt. I wonder how I will fare with all those extra layers suddenly gone. I could easily blow away were a sudden sou'wester to come from out of nowhere and I am wondering how best to anchor myself so I do not feel out of my winter element. Flying into the same time zone does not of course result in any manner of jet lag, but what about jet 'perception'? The truth is that this is certainly a going concern when flying south from a home which is still under the thumb of Old Man Winter. I am going to do some research now to find out what to do to avoid this side affect, then I will be flying south better equipped to deal with the sudden shock of beautiful summery weather.

Say What You Have To Say

Yesterday a 'friend' at work decided to accept a position in another company. No, my friend wasn't looking to make any major changes in his life, but when he was given his assignment for 2011-12, he found that leaving was the only option, given that his new assignment was totally implausible and quite ridiculous. While you may be wondering if my friend had delusions of his own importance and if ego played a part in his decision, let me assure you that this is the farthest thing from the truth. The real story is that my friend, the voice of reason and sanity in our workplace has been a veritable thorn in our new boss' side. We his colleagues who while not utter buffoons, have nothing on our colleague's brain power and so it fell to him to be our conscience, to keep it all on the straight and for our boss, too narrow. When you work with a group of people who are easily divided ergo easily conquered, that old model of 'uber boss' is able to thrive and march on unchecked in her quest to ensure that her underlings tow whatever party-line said boss espouses and woe be to anyone who dares to point out even one single sensible,humane and palpable alternative. It matters not at all that the 'pointing out' is always done 'respectfully' the boss does not do well with any type of stop gap checks so now you will understand how my friend met his fate. Under the 'umbrella' of "there's nothing I can do" about your job, my hands are tied, my friend was effectively forced out. Talk about feeling powerless...it is interesting that my friend had no power to change anything anymore than his colleagues and I had any power to change anything. The only one with the power is our boss who absolutely did have multiple options available but chose instead to be cruelly 'creative' when offering my friend a position which was not only nonsensical, it was also nowhere close to being in his field of expertise. We all know that our boss has confidence issues but at some point even she needs to admit that she will never have enough digits to plug all the holes she perceives. The bottom line is the saddest of all. We lose an invaluable member of our crew, and I lose the joy of having him be part of my day to day life at work. Now that I am older, I see some things a little differently. I no longer believe that we can change every important outcome if we speak out and make our true and valid points. I do however feel the need to express what I feel and to make those true and valid statements. I am not afraid of fallout nearly as much as I fear not saying what in my heart I know needs to be said.

Never

Haven't we all at some point or other been advised against using the word 'never'? That almost over-used warning; "never say never" is all too often an admonishment, should we slip, and after years of brainwashing I know that whenever I dare to use it, I feel a tiny pang of worry. I do not worry about the actual use of the word, I do however worry that I will not be able to do it justice once it has left my lips. If I cannot redeem myself and stick to my guns then why bother to speak at all? I can swear off late night eating and say that I will never again have that last bowl of ice cream prior to lights out, but can I stick to my word? I can say that I will never be overly critical of anyone I work with but that is purely good intent and definitely not etched in stone no matter how emphatically I might have said it. I can say that I will not bother with anyone who has revealed themselves to be ultra selfish, but to say that I will never speak to them again is far from the sublime..it is in fact much closer to the ridiculous. I can say that I will never go to bed angry and never wake up still angry but everyone knows that upon leaving the heaviness of deep sleep there is too little control to make that 'never' stick. In short, after much reflection which I 'never' really like to engage in, there seems to be only a few 'nevers' in my life that are genuine and true and I am actually glad about this. I recognize that in fact I can say it and mean it when I say I will never climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, I can mean it when I say that I will never bungee jump anymore than I will dance ballet or sing opera, but I cannot say never to karaoke, as I may revisit that one although until recently, karaoke was well protected under the never umbrella. Now you've guessed it..my never realm is inhabited by a multitude of things which frighten me.They will remain there until/unless I can find a way back to fearless, when I NEVER said never.

A Close Family

We always say that our family of 5 is close and gets along with the minimum of fuss and/or angst. We supposedly do not meddle and have been known to be diplomatic when trying to offer support rather than speaking the words that oftentimes race across our minds depending upon the situation. None of us live in the same city, actually only 3 are in the same country but this does not prevent our consistent telephone connection no matter the time difference or price of long distance calling. After all, with family money is no object. This past year one of us has placed himself in what the others consider a precarious social condition. At first we did the diplomacy thing but it did not have the desired effect so little by little we became more succinct about our opinions and suggestions. We stopped just short of an all out FIGHT (anathema to our CLOSE family!!) and still we could not convince him to make the necessary modifications. We found ourselves in uncharted territory. What to do when all plans fail and the sib in question insists on wallowing in the mire? We find ourselves with no choice but to withdraw from the normal week to week sharing sessions and believe me, this is no mean feat given our familial norms. We do a complete rollback and we cease communications in Toto. Surprisingly, while this does not solve the problem for our sib, it is exactly what the doc ordered for us! Suddenly we are no longer feeling those pangs in the pits of our stomachs that are the by-products of worry. With each passing week of no 'new' information, we get stronger and the quilt of guilt (for not having been able to help)that we had become used to wearing, seems to be disintegrating. What becomes apparent as time goes by is that a truly 'close' family is one whose members rarely speak!

Wind

Well it seems that our high winds are a mere 19 clicks removed from a hurricane which doesn't seem to go with what I know as we are still in the midst of a full blown winter. I guess the piper needs to be paid if we suddenly have a 'balmy' sunny February day at +9. We get the water warnings, the thin ice warnings the squall and whiteout warnings but we do not get what I consider to be a proper wind warning. I am certain that no battening down of the hatches occurred in anticipation of potential wind damage, and so we are now the proud residents of this city where fallen trees are strewn across streets and snow swirls in tornado fashion wreaking havoc with our roads and highways though we are told to expect only a 2cm accumulation. How do you dress for this weather? Personally, I will not be leaving home until I am safely zipped into my wind tunnel repellent coat. It has many pipe like attachments which do a spectacular job of deflecting the wind and actually reversing it's attack. I do get that when viewed simply as a piece of clothing, the wind coat will never be up there with its more fashionable counterparts, the trench coat and parka but on days like these, no one will be noticing how you are dressed...The wind coat has its own special wind deflector goggles which are part of the hood, and the control panel (fashionably hidden) on the sleeve will allow you to easily deploy the metal rods that can instantaneously transform into a mini cell like structure, completely enclosing you and keeping you safe from blowing debris; the metal is uncrushable of course and the structure adheres to any surface, from pavement to frozen earth so you are well grounded with no fear. I LOVE my wind coat and the only concern I have is that the structure deactivator has been known to jam, leaving you temporarily 'stuck' and very much still 'out there' when the winds have long gone...then passersby do get to see you and you do look totally ridiculous.
Don't you just love the wind???

My OLD Friend (For S.G.)

It is absolutely untrue..I mean out of sight for me and my 'OLD' friend is definitely NOT out of mind. I have a very close friend and the fact that we have not laid eyes on each other for at least 23 years, has nothing whatsoever to do with altering/annulling our friendship. Granted, we may not be all that well informed when it comes to the minutiae of our day to day lives, but we still manage to remain solidly linked across the miles,and to somehow know all that is important, kind of like down to basics or no frills friendship.. Although having only this sporadic knowledge works just fine for us, its success defies reason, yet nevertheless remains our absolute truth. We have missed seeing each other, we have missed seeing our children grow up and we continue to be physically absent for each other as we march forward in time. Despite this, the tie that binds us is unbreakable. We still wishfully plan our reunion trips and dream about reintroducing our children who last saw each other as babies. We share so much history (approx. 33 years worth and the same birthday month!!) that even if we were to try to cut each other loose, we would surely fail in those attempts. Sometimes it can be challenging to maintain our connection. The computer can only do so much and eaddresses may change so we must be ever vigilant in our determination not to 'lose' each other. Once we resolve to 'know where we are' the rest is pretty much the icing on the cake. We get to keep each other as friends and I think that was always our intent even way back when when we first began.
My friend is still as beautiful as I found her to be when first we met. I do not need to see any recent photos or to see her in person to prove what I already know. She is my OLDEST and best friend who just happens to live very far away.

Am I Ready For Spring???

Once upon a time I thought that I only had 2 favourite seasons and that the ones I didn't love were nothing worth writing home about. I even contemplated telling people who asked me, that we only really had two proper seasons and I loved both! My faves are of course spring and fall. The reasons should be clear but just in case; changing leaf colours, gentle wafting breezes, getting to go out in a tee shirt and sweater instead of being multi layered to stave off the bitter cold, eating on the street beside a favourite food truck, picnics in the park, long walks anywhere and an occasional bike ride, fresh fruit growing willy nilly, gardens in bloom in a full palette of vivid hues, loafers, flip flops, (I am obviously not differentiating in my reasons list)cool rain boots and funky socks..jeans and capris interspersed with skirts and the odd (very) dress, a leather jacket and that old standby, the trench-coat. I love that my scraper is safely stored in the boot of my car and my fat cumbersome snow tires are tucked away in storage along with an assortment of shovels, heavy parkas, scarves, mitts, hats and boots.
There is however one chink in my seasonal armor...I actually do love snow. There is nothing as beautiful as freshly fallen powder that gracefully blankets all ground surfaces as far as the eye can see. The sheer fluffiness of the 'look' is hard to describe in mere words. I know I would miss it terribly were winter not one of the seasons available to me so in a surprise move, I add it to my faves. I do after all have all the accoutrement needed to survive the coldest of the cold and remain nominally toasty. The only drawback would have to be the dirty snow that is all you can see after winter has perhaps overstayed its welcome. The brilliant white can turn to ashen gray in the blink of an eye and the vista is no longer breathtaking, instead it has become grim. I know it is said that we eat with our eyes but I think we feel with them too because on those dismally grim days no one feels a lightness in their step; they feel an incredible heaviness deep in the soles of their ugly but functional winter boots. This brings us to my other non favourite..summer. Yes I love the balmy nights with wonderfully warm breezes that can almost be called 'wind', yes I love to swim outdoors but only when it is possible to go into and exit the lake or pool without having to run for cover from the cold. For me towels should only be needed to dry off not as a portable tent to protect against the elements. What could I possibly have against what nearly everyone calls 'glorious' summer? Well it's actually quite simple; I HATE those heavily humid hot summer days when even the skimpiest of clothing is still too much...no relief from oppressive heat and dangerous rays unless one is lucky enough to be able to spend those hot hours in an air conditioned space. (at least until sunset)This is an especially challenging season for us ladies who cannot go about topless with the same nonchalance as our male counterparts. So with March breathing down our necks and masses of dirty gray snow everywhere, despite spring being the prelude to summer, I think I'm ready!

Edible Heart-Shaped Valentines

Every year for as long as I can remember, the weekend preceding the 14th was designated for Valentine baking. My daughter and I make up this stupendous dough (ancient family recipe for shortbread..no not our family but it's been so long that it feels like ours now!!)We double an already ample recipe and then refrigerate the mass of buttery fragrant dough. When we are geared up and ready to get busy, we flour up the work surface and the rolling begins. The dough is now perfectly thin and pliant, ready to be cut with the special once a year heart shaped cutter. The hearts are carefully placed on the cookie sheet and then we begin the jamming. Only sour cherry jam will do and only a dab in the centre of each heart to avoid filling overkill. More rolling and cutting results in the heart cookie toppers and then we are done; but that is only the first batch! We repeat the process until all the dough is done and aside from sneaking tastes in between baking shifts, the entire process takes about 4-5 hrs, time so well spent when all is said and done and we have a huge pile of heart shaped jam sandwich shortbread cookies. Only then do we dare to focus on the other aspects of the 14th. We seek out the cards, decide on the chocolate component (crucial) and divvy up the fruits of our labour. When my daughter was young, I did the dough and the rolling, but now that I am older, she doughs and rolls while I jam. This then is a true example of passing the torch when the time is right. The time is clearly right and there is no remorse on my part because Amanda is a true and excellent baker while her mom.... not so much.
Happy Valentine's Day.

A Pound Of Flesh

We are raised not to seek revenge even if it means having to turn the other cheek when the thought of not having our day in the sun is at its most unattractive. Some believe that cheek turning is synonomous with weakness thus making that option even more unappealing. Who after all wants to set themselves up to be seen as a wimp, when they can instead exact a punishment befitting the crime and ensure that their reputation remains untarnished. The trick here is to find the punishment that is deliverable with the packed punch required in order to assuage your feelings of hurt, anger, betrayal and any other which can temporarily (in the best case scenario)wreak havoc with your ability to react/respond sanely.Failure to unearth such a punishment leaves you fresh out of luck if it is a pound of flesh that you are bent on getting, the price for this 'meat' is simply way too high. Unfortunately you'll not ever be able to get that pound of flesh without losing a great part of or what's worse, all your integrity so you'd better put Shylock back to bed on those pages from whence he came.

Valentine's Day Revisited

My dad was the consummate romantic and while I so admired the many ways he chose to show his adoration of and love for our Mom, it never occurred to me that for a young impressionable child, this was not perhaps the thing to see on a daily basis, at least not without the caveat; "do not think that every couple is like us", but we would not have understood or necessarily bought into that so.... I never really knew that in my friends houses there would not be a 'mom' who was literally swept up off her feet by her returning from work husband as happened daily in ours for as long as Dad worked...many many years. I remember being amazed that the parents of friends were nearly never to be seen together in the same room let alone dancing cheek to cheek like mine, whenever any crooners voices came on the radio. My parents held hands everywhere they went and instead of getting how special they were to each other, we were sometimes embarrased because of course none of our friends parents did that...we believed that hand holding was for us teenagers not for our 'old parents' who at the time were so much younger then I am now as I write this. The truth about romantic Mom and Dad is that once glimpsed through the eyes of a child it becomes the norm of expectations even though for me, unfortunately, these expectations were not at all rooted in reality, except of course for those rarified couples like my parents. We grew up not giving credence to what most other homes had, despite having born witness to those lives through time spent away from our home visiting friends, instead we ended up fixating only on what we saw in ours, purely and simply the "L" word at the height of all its perfection. Valentine's Day in our house was cause for even more hearts and flowers than on any other 'normal' day and so it is only natural for me to want at least some of what Mom had in such abundance. I wanted the long stemmed roses in vivid red, I wanted the huge satin padded heart shaped box of mediocre chocolate (pre Belgian)to share with my kids and I wanted the poetry that only a man who truly loves his other half, is capable of composing. It's funny that I have no recollection of Mom's gifts to dad beyond those carefully selected and perfectly chosen cards that seemed to fit Dad to a tee.I do however recall the cards presented to the four of us every Feb.14th by our parents, always the perfect choice. Cards and words played a huge role on our Valentines Days and somehow it is this, that I have chosen to pass on to my own babies even as they grow too old and/or too cynical to want or care about them. I think what is left for me to pay forward is more in sync with the reality of life today, yet part of me will always wish it were otherwise and I could have passed onto them the full blown Valentine's Day that I knew and loved.
Thanks Mom and Dad.

How To Be Supportive At Superbowl Fest

It happens every year but thankfully only once... Superbowl Sunday. Whether you get roped into hosting or pressed into attendance at someone elses party, the angst is pretty much the same if you carry that terrible secret deep inside; that would be your total indifference not only to the outcome of the big game, but to football in general. In an ideal scenario, you host, because then you can busy yourself in the kitchen, prepping and heating with only periodic appearances in the t.v. room when you have to be there for serving purposes. Trust me, as host, no one will notice that you are not glued to the edge of your seat on the sofa, biting your acrylic nails and whooping it up with the guys, as long as you keep the real fans well fed and hydrated.If (unfortunately) you are a guest, you must deputize yourself- immediately upon arrival- to the kitchen crew. If you fail in your mission, the consequences are sure to be pretty harsh. You will be relegated to a seat that will be yours for the duration. You will have to know which teams are playing, have some knowledge of the key athletes and be ever vigilant so that you can cheer and toast at exactly the right time so that no one will be able to know that you are a follower. If you are revealed as a follower the cat will be out of the bag, and this cannot be a good thing. You will be outed as someone who has absolutely no knowledge of how the game is played, how long the quarters are, what the 'downs' really mean etc. etc. In short, you will be like the Emperors New Clothes revealed which will not be pleasant. That sense of camaraderie that prevails at Superbowl house parties will be lost to you and what's perhaps even more punitive, you may well be asked to forefit your seat. The food served to you will not be warm but worse than tepid chicken wings,your beer will probably be the one that never made it into the cooler. In order to carry off this tremendous deception, you must be able to turn in an academy award winning performance, but I believe in you. You CAN do it. By the way, one of the teams is the Steelers!

Comparison Writing

I love paper and pen. Even in this high tech age give me a stack of ivory or ecru coloured vellum, many yellow legal pads, a few leatherbound journals along with a selection of pens from fountain (peacock blue ink of course) to rollerball,(fine tipped only!)and I am blissful. If my dream was a burnished wooden rolltop desk, it was in great part due to my secret wish for a suitable depository for my writing paraphenalia. I always loved to write and for years I blamed my nonwriting exisitance on the stars not being perfectly aligned,which in my case meant that without that desk, there would be no writing. On my 50th bitrhday there it was, my very own deep reddish brown wooden rolltop. As if that wasn't enough, somehow it came fully equipped, all dressed!! The drawers and hidden nooks and crannies were filled with almost everything I had requested in my dreams and it even came with a green library/desktop brass lamp. After the initial shock of this most amazing gift wore off, I decided to at long last get down to the business of writing which I was certain was my destiny, A funny thing happened. Although I tried to fill the legal pads as well as the journals not much was forthcoming in terms of measurable actual words on the page. I thought I had beginners writers block but the problem was actually of a much more simple nature. It is interesting that I can only today, YEARS later. self diagnose the reason for my non productivity. Through retrospection I now get that writing does not just occur, no matter how ideal the surroundings, unless the writer makes a conscious decision to write. Wanting, hoping and planning are only intentions, and do not allow for any real progress, in fact they are more like cement shoes in terms of keeping us rooted to the same spot with no forward movement possible. If I am being honest I have to admit that for me there has always been an element of fear that was intrinsically bound to my writing dreams. Fear of failure was the first of many, and this was by far the toughest one to conquer. Maybe old age makes us bold but today I couldn't care less about potential failure because I finally see that that old adage is true: (at least for me)you know, the one about fear and fear itself etc.. I don't even fear paraphrasing badly now. Today, I understand that I am not in a competition, and that if I engage in ruminating about comparison writing it will have no negative impact whatsoever. Aside from loving to write, I love to read. I will always appreciate a great read. I will always be awed by those words that serve as paint brushes on auto-draw in my head. I will always feel respect and admiration for those craftmasters who spin their yarns on a magic loom, but I will never again let comparison writing stop me in my tracks. The proof? I write this not DESPITE but BECAUSE of an incredible post I have just read!

TGIF

I NEVER say things like TGIF despite the fact that nearly everyone I work with all week seems to break into one happy Friday dance or another. I always smile and nod in agreement with their varied "phew, it's Friday" remarks but I am not the one to initiate any pre weekend celebratory statements. I think this is because my Friday joy is absolute, precious and something I prefer to keep private, for me alone. Why share my 'little' joy when it is more of a quiet personal thing and besides, since everyone has 'theirs' it seems to me that voicing my euphoria might be construed as pre weekend overkill. Instead, I am a supportive bystander to the cartwheels, high fives, excessive snacking in the common lunchroom, broad grins and humming upbeat nameless tunes that gather speed throughout the day and last all the way to quitting time.I am fine with not being an active participant and thoroughly revel in my own thoughts as they pertain to the next 48 hours. I ruminate about many important things. For example; how late might I stay up knowing that for the next 48hrs my alarm clock is mercifully on OFF! What time will I schedule dinners without fear of eating too close to bedtime? How late will I sleep in, just because I can? How much time will be spent lolling about catching up on my reading? Where will I choose to take a leisurely stroll to enjoy this cold winter of ours? Who will come to visit and what movie might we go to see in a real theatre? Which music will I listen to -as loudly as I want- from my playlist? Who will I get to catch up with on the telephone? While I fully recognize that for me, the raptures of weekends are mostly about time, I never get annoyed at all the things I don't get to do throughout the week. I just really LOVE my weekends and Friday being the start, remains my favourite day of all!

Eggs For Dinner

On a stormy cold winter evening after a long day at work and a longer drive home, perhaps the top choices of possible dinners all come from that much loved category: comfort food!
Comfort food is synonymous with coziness and that general feeling of warmth and inner satisfaction, but to me it is also synonymous with too much kitchen work. Too much peeling, chopping, dicing slicing, baking, boiling, oven time and worst of all too much tasting, supposedly to root out any spice deficiency but in reality the need to taste is simply a compulsion born of impatience and being too hungry to wait for the thing to be ready. You may entertain thoughts of crock potting but that does nothing to alleviate the necessity of rinsing, slicing, dicing and the like and besides, there are only so many soupy dinners one can handle.
I decided to have eggs for dinner, along with bacon, cherry tomatoes, cheese and rye toast. I cook my eggs in a small casserole pot which takes about a minute as does the toast, cheese and veg slicing and voila! In under 5 minutes my own personal favourite comforting meal is ready to be eaten, no tasting needed until it is full on assembled. Once plated, a pinch of salt and pepper and I'm good to dine.

Addicted To Text Twist

I have always loved words and all games involving word puzzles. Up to now Scrabble was my all time fave. Crosswords were a fine stand in if a game of Scrabble was not possible and I was satisfied...until.. a friend at work purchased an IPad and introduced me to Text Twist. The addiction began slowly and caught me totally by surprise. In the blink of an eye we were playing throughout our lunch breaks and all too soon we were playing at every single break we had. We began to widen the gaming circle and in no time flat some of our colleagues joined the fray. Now we have become a veritable vocabulary army united in a common cause, to find all the words and fill all the grids. We seem to be in a marathon of letters trying to amass a ridiculous number of points and we are ruthless in our quest to complete our mission . Due to the fact that we cannot move to the next level until we have decoded all the letters and rather than remain stuck, we have finally crossed the moral code line and now resort to online assistance.I thought that this 'help' would lessen the sense of accomplishment as we overcome the hurdles of letters we cannot order and that we cannot help but twist and twist again, but no,honestly, I've checked, and not an ounce of self loathing or remorse is felt. We breeze along frantically typing words and actually spelling them out loud for those who are momentarily masters of the mouse. We have dispensed with the 'timer' no guilt there either...So it seems safe to say that my guilt free addiction is not anything I need counselling for, I will continue to seek help as needed, but that's about it.

Blockage

Blockage, tends not to be a very attractive word despite the fact that I have not deliniated my intended meaning..at least not yet. If only blockage was used uniquely to refer to the structural wonders created by toddlers wherever there are blocks. I'd much prefer to hear the word bandied about as it pertains to the act of building rather than the act of dismantling. If a medical agent uses the word blockage it is usually not happy news nor is it good news when used by your car mechanic just before he delivers his latest too expensive estimate..If potential chokers could have the power of articulating just one single word it should be blockage, the perfect battle cry to spur on potential Heimlich manoeuvre suppliers. Unfortunately there is just no getting away from the neagtive connotations. Many have tried and many have failed, particularly writers, but we can't expect too much from them because the word blockage when used to describe a writer is the worst of all. There have been no studies done which warn a writer of potential symptoms, and what's worse no documented cases that might be able to let a writer know that with hope and a lot of hard work, one day he/she could well find themselves blockage free. Clearly we need to establish a non-profit orzanization to help treat and cure writer's Blockage.

Baptism 101

We receive the invitation to baby grandsons christening and on the designated day we make our way to the church at the appointed hour. As we are not regular church goers we are surprised to see a full house at what we thought was simply a small family affair. We managed to squeeze into the last pew and there we stood and sat, stood and sat, stood and sat throughout what turned out to be a full mass and not a baptism at all.With no sign of our 'baby' and assorted kin, we joined the long line of people edging way too slowly towards the exit. As we finally approach the door, imagine our surprise when we see 'our' baby along with his parents,numerous godparents and assorted guests. They smile at us and suddenly the proverbial light bulb turns on. The invitation said 12:30 and we the dimwitted grandparents took the invitation quite literally never suspecting a ruse, a baptismal scam, a trick to get us to sit through a mass while everyone else involved, was 'in the know' and got to spend an extra 90 minutes relaxing at home. The church is now virtually a ghost town except for 3 babies -dressed to the nines in assorted bonnets, satin booties, bloomers and flowing capes..all in white except for 'our' little guy clad in elegant black pinstripes; pants,vest and wee black shoes- and their retinue. We sat on yet another wooden bench as baby was absolved of the "original sin" and dabbed with 'holy' water, we were moved...
We learned some excellent lessons that are sure to serve us well should we ever receive any other invitations to celebrate such an auspicious occasion in the future;
the most obvious being that punctuality is without a doubt verboten. For me it was an old adage/lesson revisited; "haste makes waste". Having had just about enough of organized religion with all its rituals, I planned a speedy sneaky exit, hoping to steal away unnoticed. I hastily grabbed my coat, shrugged my shoulders into it and made a beeline toward the exit. Just steps from gaining my freedom I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found myself face to face with one of the 'lacey' babies held in his father's arms. The father told me that he had noticed me gathering up my belongings and realized that the green wool coat I had selected from the 'coat' bench was in fact not mine, but his!! Same colour, wrong coat and a definite scene played out in full view of the baptism attendees my plans for a quiet exit were foiled.
Finally outside despite the frigid temperature, now in my own green coat, safe in the conviction that there would be no more baptisms for me..at least not anytime soon, I felt warm inside.

Everything Goes Better With Frank

Growing up our house was filled with the music of what our parents called 'The Crooners' those singers with the dreamy voices who sang us through our early baby dance steps first with our dad and then our brothers. Years ago my younger sister, a standup comedian, told me that all performers even those who do not sing, must warm their voices up before stepping out onto the stage. One evening while I drove with her to her gig, she popped in a cassette (told you it was years ago!!) of Frank Sinatra and began to sing along. This happened on several more trips to the comedy club and one day for some strange reason-because heaven only knows I had no need to warm up my voice- I joined in and so our pre show duetting began and continues till today whenever I am lucky enough to see her do her shtick. It matters not at all that neither my sister nor myself is in possession of a voice that can ably carry a tune. We sing anyway and everytime we do I am grateful for Frank and even more thankful that he cannot hear us. My sister explained why she chose Frank as her pre-show warbling buddy, informing me that with Frank one was guaranteed excellent timing which anyone who cares for the quality of their voice knows is a must. Fast forward to today, an unusually stressful day at work for me. I chose to begin my 8 hours in front of a computer housed in a colleagues room at first for the good company and counsel but then most definitely for the quadruple album of Franks that he wisely selected for our background music. From the first notes of Chicago to the final moments of The Tender Trap my old normally tortoise like computer fingers virtually flew across the keyboard and made light of my heavy work. I thank my Dad for the intro to Sinatra, my sister with whom I learned all the lyrics, and my friend at work for helping me get a huge chunk of my work done with the least amount of pain, but mostly I thank Frank.

Too Old To Suffer From Wanderlust

Today a friend of mine mentioned wanting to travel to Thailand and I realized that while long ago I may have had a similar desire, I no longer wish to go there; in fact I confessed to not wanting to go anywhere exotic or too far away. I chalked it up to being old and this caused my friend a sense of dismay, although for me it is really no big deal at all. When I was younger I did suffer from acute wanderlust and the only way to deal with it was to travel. It made no difference if the trips were work related or a combination of work and play, I was compelled to travel and travel I did. I was lucky to be able to work and play abroad for many years so now I seem to be pretty blase about the whole thing. This is really not about a lack of interest in being patted down by over zealous customs guys and gals,but it may well be- at least in part- due to my realization that the 'carefree' travel I was lucky enough to do way back when, simply does not exisit anymore. I cannot imagine recapturing those euphoric feelings in today's changed world and I cannot imagine going too far away from home without(at the very least) the promise of those feelings. When I think of going anywhere in the world, I think of revisiting only those particular places that I always loved and feel the need to see again in general, and the people I miss who still live there in particular. I think that in my youth my destinations were selected based on location while this newer older me will only contemplate leaving home if it means a reunion with a person that I badly want to see again. This rare condition is also known as friendlust and while it is way less frenetic then its more popular polar opposite, it is definitely a condition that requires action and/or displacement.

From Underpants To Pasta

It seems to be fact that as parents we come to the realization that our offspring remember precious little of the day to day minutae of their growing up years while we can't seem to shed any of what passed before probably because we were the orchestra leaders and pretty much directed the whole show. This does not mean that our children were not the co-directors, it just means that we sometimes forget to share the credit when we reminisce. As a small little boy my son hated clothes shopping so on those rare occasions when he had to come along, the challenge was to make it at least somewhat exciting. One of the most boring items that we purchased was underwear and would you believe socks? I was fortunate, luckier than any mom I know to have been blessed with a little boy who was the king of imagination and I do not use this term lightly. I was also a fortunate consumer who got to shop in an era when any number of cartoon heroes were depicted on boys underpants. This made the act of choosing a painless prospect for my son and it taught him the importance of variety as somehow instinctively he just knew it would be wrong to limit his underwear to He Man or Voltron. He wisely shared the wealth by strutting about in Batman and a vast array of others, and so he learned to be an equal opportunity consumer way before the term became popular. I know that I can never again be the mom of that most amazing little boy, but I'm good with that because I am the mom of a totally incredible man who knows just how happy his 'old' mother will be when he tells her that he is making 'Spiderman" Zoodles for dinner!!

Socks VS Slippers

When I was little, one of the signs of impending winter was a new furry fuzzy pastel coloured pair of slippers. I practically wore them out during the first few months I had them, and I remember that the last thing I did at the end of each day was park them neatly on the floor beside my bed. As I grew older it occured to me that slippers were for babies so no more slippers for moi and I moved on to bare feet or socks which was probably the start of my obsession with socks. I definitely have my preferences and while these are not limited to any particular type, I do have those I don't care for at all. In the same way that I hate country music, I hate frilly and/or lacy socks. Ankle socks hold no appeal whatsoever and are at their least attractive when they have 'busy' fold down cuffs. By busy I mean appliqued with flowers,embroidered with lace or affixed with buttons, bows or ribbons.(these should only see the light of day on very tiny feet!!) I am not a fan of pantyhose for obvious reasons and will continue to avoid them until they no longer threaten to "run!!" Thicker 'tights' with any manner of ridiculous patterns that come in a wide variety of icky colours are verboten but those that are monochromatic are acceptable in a pinch. The socks that I absolutely adore are modern takes on the old sweat sock. They are either thick cotton, thick wool or cashmere. The colours vary but I seem to gravitate to darker hues for winter and lighter for spring. I own several pairs of thin cotton mini socks which fit perfectly into my golf shoes and the thicker cotton minis are ideal for my Converse. The funny thing is that I now possess 2 pairs of fuzzy slippers and shockingly one is a pale yellow bootie. I make no apologies for this unexpected return to my youth because while I still rely on my bare feet during those hot humid summer months-air conditioning not withstanding- on cold nights nothing is better for maintaining cozy feet then my slippers and if the night is particularly frosty, socks AND slippers are the ticket. The only negative is perhaps the chest of drawers that sits prominently in the bedroom crammed with socks!

The Snow Is Back

I have never been motivated to get my moneys worth where snow tires are concerned. Unfailingly at the first threat of the white stuff, I make a beeline for my garage where the tires are installed but this is simply due to an irrational fear of the slip'n slide that awaits cars not suitably 'tired'. I wish I could say that I am an active/compulsive? tire changer in part to give my all weathers ( meaning all weather except for snow) a longer life, but the truth is, I am totally afraid of finding myself stuck with little or no traction, driving sideways with no control and /or being unable to stop despite the wondrous ABS brakes. The fact that I was prepared initially inspired confidence until the realization hit; my having the proper tires has little or no effect on the others who are on the roads with me. They do not necessarily think or fear as I do which results in their loss of control and crazy careening thus striking terror in my heart despite my snow tires!
I find myself with no other option but to tail any and/or all salt trucks otherwise I'll have to stay home.
I am not known for bursting into song warbling the lyrics of "Let It Snow" for obvious reasons not the least of which is that I can't carry a tune.