And just like that...

It's funny how in the blink of an eye, everything changes.

You may have noticed my absence from writing lately (or perhaps not). I could provide a few reasonable explanations...

1) I am back to working crazy hours

2) I only write when I'm experiencing anxiety (as previously noted by a dear friend of mine) and of late, that is not my life. Happily.

3) No reason. Just no reason to write (although I think true writers would argue there's always a reason to write).

But today? Today there is most certainly a reason to write.

Today, I am able to formally, publicly, loudly announce that I am going to be a grandmother.

Me.

The person who is still coming to terms with being the mother of three adult boys.

The person who is still deciding what she wants to do when she grows up.

The person who does NOT feel like she it turning 50 in two weeks.

But that is exactly what is happening. All of the above.

There seems to be a cosmic message coming my way... My eldest turning 30. Me turning 50. Becoming a grandmother (albeit not for another 7 months). And person after person asking me "how am I dealing with all of this?" "Am I panicked?" I should be panicked according to all contributors.

My thoughts thus far?

This is my opportunity to redefine what it means to be a 50 year old mother of three and grandmother of one. Just as I redefined (for me if no one else) what it meant to be a teenage mother or a female in a male dominated field. The way I see it, grandparents get all of the benefit without any of the cost. Baby fun without the sleepless nights. Spoiling without the entitled brat behavior. Giving drum kits without the endless pounding. Ha.

This grandma (and to be clear, the official "grandma" name is, as of yet, undetermined) will be all love, fun and relaxation but she will also be the grandma in heels, a cocktail in hand and passport not far from reach. Her lessons will include the perfect macaroni and cheese as well as how to maximize your god-given assets (whatever they may be) and how to see all the important stuff in the Louvre without having to walk all those endless halls of exhibits. There will be no cardigans, knitting or reading glasses with the chain on them so you don't lose them. There is no reason to comply with stereotypes at this stage of life, in my humble opinion.

Baby, we're both in for a fun ride!!

What the Dongle Is That?

I recognized a while ago that I really don't watch a lot of tv; certainly not enough to justify my monthly cable bill. In fact the only thing that has kept me from calculating the estimated cost per hour of view time is how depressing the result would be. So when Netflix was recently recommended to me (and well after my youngest extolled its virtues based solely on his upcoming party for the release of Arrested Development) I decided to jump in and sign up to see what all the fuss is about.

Here's the thing... I don't have an XBox or Playstation or whatever other "device" they recommend to stream the feed through. But wait a moment... I'm sure I've seen the Netflix logo on my tv before, but from where? Turns out, my BluRay player shows that it's capable of playing Netflix (or so I think). So over I scroll, highlight the Netflix logo and wait in breathless anticipation. Only to be dissuaded by this message:

Install WiFi Dongle to continue.

I beg your pardon!?

Google, would you mind explaining what a wifi dongle is? And Google, as always, did right by me. Turns out a wifi dongle is an antennae. That's it. Which begs the question, who names this stuff? And why not just call it what it is?

I think the IT super-brains who create all the new toys that we can't live without like to name things by a name that means nothing to us just to further impose their superiority upon us. Yes. We love your product. No. I can't explain what a dongle is but if you say I need it, I KNOW I do. I should buy a few.

But wait again... I have a bin full of cables and plugs and spare accessories from IT purchases over the years. A big bin. A really big bin. A really big bin that I thought I was going to throw my back out lifting. A really big bin with heaps of tangled cables and wires, five old cell phones and yes, a wifi dongle! Who's the gal? I am.

Anyway, dongle installed and Netflix linked. I'm tired. I'll watch something tomorrow.

I do

Two former colleagues were married this weekend. Two more women declaring publicly their faith not only in their chosen partners but also in the institution of marriage.

In the face of growing statistics regarding the percentage of failed marriages and the attached string of broken hearts, they have faith that they will be happy. Ever after. Or maybe they have faith in being together with their partner is better being alone. I could agree with that one. Alone is certainly not for everyone (and I think I have stated many times here that I really don't think it's for me either but life carries on, right?).

But as I scrolled through the ongoing Facebook stream of wedding day photographs with smiles and loving looks and palpable support and love from those witnessing the declaration of vows, it seems like such a good thing to believe in.

Faith. It is a wonderful thing. Faith in love is the best thing of all. It's enough to make my cynical heart believe as well.

Adding Up

I seem to be fixated on numbers of late. Maybe because my job is increasingly numbers-focused. Maybe because I'm turning 50 soon (now there's a number for ya). Maybe there's no explaining it at all.

But whatever the reason, I think more and more of the sums of what I have made of this life. Today's number topic? Birthdays.

I was talking with my oldest son's partner earlier as she and I were making plans for "The Boy's" upcoming birthday.

Note to Christopher: Quit snooping to find out details! Geez!!

I made an off-handed comment about the number of birthdays I have been given the delight of celebrating because of my boys. Adding them up, 30 for the oldest (counting the one coming right around the corner), 24 for the middle and 22 for the youngest. That's 76 birthdays.

Seventy-six.

McDonald-Land Birthdays. Chucky Cheese Birthdays. Airport Birthdays. Bowling Birthdays. Sleep-over Birthdays. Superhero Birthdays. And more Superhero Birthdays.

That's a lot of parties and cake and presents and loud kids. And it's a lot of love. Throughout all, the smiles remain exactly the same.

Faster than you think...

I've written about karma before. I absolutely believe in the concept and have faith in its existence. I had a great conversation with friends over the weekend about karma.

We all have people who either are still in our lives or who have exited that we are less than fond of. Come on, admit it... You know you do. I know I do. But whatever my feelings about them, present or past, I always have faith that the universe will take care of everyone with the respect and love they have earned. Call it kismet. Call it fate. Call it whatever you want but I have absolute certainty that it's true.

So when the conversation turned this weekend to what happens to people who have been unkind or even cruel, of course I invoked the "karma works" provision.

What I didn't think of then and what has occurred to me since is that karma has already done its thing. If two people part, whether they be life partners, family, friends, colleagues, coworkers or whatever, after one has been heartless to the other, pay attention. From my experience, one person, the individual who has been unkind, remains in that place of darkness that allowed them to treat another individual in this way. And the other, the person who felt the sting of words or actions, now being free is also free to feel true happiness. Oh sure, once in a while one person will have to deal with the other but they are now inherently separate. Positive from negative.

Isn't that karma in its most simple application? Karma works faster than you think. And thank all goodness for that.

Inversely Proportional???

Today's math lesson: Inverse Proportion.

Take for example the beautiful day we have just enjoyed today. In most of south-western Ontario it was very hot (close to the hottest day this year, actually) and humid and sunny and perfect (insert editorial license here). As the number of days that we can enjoy this kind of weather slip through our fingers (in fact, we really don't know if this may have been the last such day for 2013) I, for one, become acutely aware and appreciative of days like this. And thus, today's lesson in math.

Love of Hot Weather = 1/Hours of Sunlight. We are in love with the heat in inverse proportion to the number of hours of sunlight we enjoy in a day (simply put, fewer hours of sunlight = more love of heat). Think of how you feel about a hot, humid day in spring or fall as compared to how you feel about the same conditions in the middle of July. We love it now. We love it in the spring. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the number of hours of sunlight. What else could it be?

Other examples of the principle of inverse proportion?

Love of Christmas shopping = 1/Days until Christmas

Patience for Puppy Training = 1/Cost of the Item Being Chewed/Peed On/Pooped On

Ability to Fall Asleep = 1/Time Until Your Alarm Goes Off

Grade 10 Math Teacher Mr. Hay would be proud of me.

Drawing the Line

Drawing a line in the sand. I'm sure we've all done it at some point or other in our lives; maybe when we're ending something... maybe when we're about to being something... Sometimes the line in the sand is to announce to others where you stand in no uncertain terms, sometimes it's to confirm it to yourself. Whatever their reasons or purpose for being created, they are hard to ignore once declared.

In my life I've drawn several lines in the sand. I've ended relationships when they've crossed that line and I've refused to do things because what was being asked went beyond the lines I had drawn for myself. I've also used them often with my children. I used to say to the boys when they were growing up, "we don't have a lot of hard and fast rules in this house but the ones we do have are absolute. Don't cross them." And when they did (which happily they didn't do it often), they knew the line had been crossed and an equal and opposite reaction was about to come (proof that physics comes in handy in real life... Thank you Newton).

Of course, lines in the sand don't have to be threatening in nature. It's not always about "if you do this, I am going to have to do that." Sometimes they are more like yardsticks... benchmarks. I am face to face with one of my classic lines in the sand these days.

Many of the lines I drew as a parent were created more as advise for my boys than direction; I was hoping to offer my perspective on life in tangible, measurable ways that were easy to absorb and hopefully follow. I have often shared my thoughts on relationships here (when it comes right down to it, I talk about little else) and I was equally communicative with the boys. It seems to have worked in one regard because my eldest has thrown one of those "perspectives" back to me recently and my how that came as a surprise. So what's come back to stare me square in the face?

"Don't get married before you turn 30." Something my eldest is about to do in 21 days. Three weeks. Actually, I told them they didn't ever need to get married because, as I used to tell them, "what matters is that you love the person you are with, treat them with respect and accept nothing less from them. But most of all, show them you love them. All the time." Marriages fail every day (been there, done that) and relationships with no legal proof of existence carry on. What matters is love. So my eldest happily reminded me of my "30 Rule" just a few days ago.

He is in a long term relationship with a beautiful gal who I adore as much as I could anyone who is not my own child. My son and I have talked about them getting married so if it happens this week, this month, this year or this decade it would come as no surprise. And of course I'm not so self-involved to think that any one of my three boys has not committed to marriage because of this advise I was always so happy to dole out.

But the reality is that as time marches on, so does the likelihood that my children will marry, have children, establish their own families to nurture and grow. So what's my latest line in the sand? Be happy. Love. Absolutely.

And this week in the front yard...

There are wonderful perks about living in a city core. I don't live in a huge city; smaller than Toronto but certainly much bigger than the small town of Woodstock I grew up in. I frequently comment to friends how lucky I feel to be able to park my car on a Friday night, and if I want, not have to start it up again over the course of the weekend because everything I could possibly want is within walking distance.

I've got a wonderful variety of restaurants, arts centres, grocery stores and I'm pretty sure I've mentioned Lake Ontario is in my front yard. Not too shabby.

Also in my front yard is a large community park and usually on weekends during the summer it is filled with festivals of all kinds... Music, arts, kids, crafts. There is something new to be found every Sunday as I stroll across for my visit to the lake. This weekend is "Canada's Largest RibFest."

Carnivores everywhere are salivating in jealousy. And of course we are grateful the event has never been protested by PETA. At this, like most of the festival offerings, there are musical acts scattered throughout the day and that coupled with the consistent drone of increased traffic, crowds, horns and vendors calling out about their wares means the next three days will be filled from 10:00 am to 11:00 pm with white noise. What it will also be filled with is the smell of ribs.

I love ribs as much as the next carnivore but trust me, after smelling them consistently for three days straight even the most die-hard rib addict may have had enough. I will have my one and only rib dinner on Sunday but the smell will make everything I eat this weekend have a "meat finish" to the flavour.

Next week, I shall be vegetarian. But only for a week.

Thank you, whoever you are

It's just a coffee & yogurt. I know.

I was the fortunate recipient of a random act of kindness this morning when the person ahead of me in the Tim Horton's drive through paid for my "Medium-cream-double-sugar-and-a-vanilla-yogurt, please" that is part of my morning ritual. $3.69. Not a big deal in the global economic picture but it elicited a squeal of happiness from me when I was told. And it put a smile on my face for the small remaining commute I had. And again when I told the story at three of my morning meetings. And again when I thought of it on my drive home. And again now.

How is that not a big deal? One giver, one act, one recipient, one squeal of delight and six separate smiles in the day.

Can you feel it? That's a shift in the global axis of happy.

Go do good. Trust me, it makes a difference!

Still Summer

It is almost the end... As the unofficial end of summer 2013 lurks around the corner (and by unofficial end, I am choosing our Canadian Labour Day Weekend as the notable mark) I am, like everyone I encounter, lapping up every moment that these days are providing me. With the sun shining and the lake breezes gently blowing I am going about my day to day activities drinking in the perfection while it lasts.

Yesterday, I walked the main street of my home town which was closed down for a classic car show. Families joined in the relaxed meandering, oohing and aaahing over the old, new, fancy, expensive array of cars. As I walked the path of the show, I was a conspicuous observer of conversations; Moms and Dads with their children, couples dream shopping. And more than a couple of times I laughed out loud at Dads as they encouraged excitement from their sons over the complexities of engine construction and varying horse power. Boys will be boys.

But universal in the crowd was the genuine appreciation of the beauty of the day. Everyone, I think, feels the same way right now... Summer is a fleeting thing and we are almost done with it for another year. Summers in south-western Ontario are lovely and temperate, sometimes hotter than what's tolerable by most but this year has not been like that. It's been lovely. What we seem to forget is that summer doesn't officially end until September 21st. There are still beautiful days ahead of us, for sure. I remind myself of this to hopefully avoid the over-eager welcoming I habitually provide to the seasons as they move from one to another. I am about to develop my seasonal twitch. As predictable as autumn following summer.

I blame this affliction on the back to school ritual. Every year growing up, I have happy memories of my Dad loading our small, dysfunctional family (come on, we're all dysfunctional in one way or another) into our car to travel the hour or so to the big city of Toronto and visit Yorkdale Mall for our back to school shopping. Now, I'm not sure if we actually did this every year, but the rose-coloured glasses that I view these trips with allow me to declare with great creative license and thereby certainty that it was an annual ritual. Every year my sister and I would come back home with a new outfit with which to proudly begin a new school year. And of course, since I now had a new back to school outfit, I of course was determined to wear it on the first day of school and many times after. Naturally though, this being late August shopping, the outfits were always cool weather materials and the weather was rarely compliant. The result? Me sweating through the first month of school with determined resolution to wear my new fall clothes.

I kept this odd tradition for years and even to this day have to talk myself out of the urge to wear fall clothes too early... the same in the spring... Equally awkward. Over the years, I've taken my boys to fall fairs in delightful fall outfits while the weather sweltered and most everyone was enjoying the late summer heat while I was feeling conflicted over the smartness of my outfit and how Mother Nature had betrayed the calendar to provide a summer day.

So I sit here on a summer Sunday, slowing turning my mind to the week ahead... Determined to not look into my sweater drawer for at least another three weeks. For sure. At the earliest. No matter what.

Unless it cools down some. I can't halp that.

New Beginnings

I love a fresh start. They come along in the most predictable way every single day which is I think why so many people ignore the endless possibilities they present. You know another one is coming along tomorrow so squandering today's fresh start offering is perceived as no big deal. Don't think I'm getting all preachy here because I'm as guilty of this crime as the next person and when I become aware of my transgression I do feel a tinge of regret.

But once in a while life provides more significant fresh starts... The new job, new home, new relationship, new school, new year; they are big ones. Hard to miss them and hard to ignore the opportunities they inherently provide you. And there are less significant ones, they come along more regularly and although are not as life changing as a new job or new home, they still offer a new beginning if you choose to view them that way.

I picked up my latest new start yesterday, my new passport. Gone are the stamps, gone is any easily-portable governmental acknowledgement that I have been anywhere outside of my home country. And so of course, when I flip through its fresh, un-creased pages (and get over the shock of how tragically horrible the photo is) all I think of are the countries waiting for me to visit them. My Dad always said he didn't mind my sister and I missing school when we were travelling because we would learn far more from seeing the world than by reading about it and of course he was right.

If, for the rest of my life I had to choose between clothes and travel on which to allocate my discretionary money, I would choose travel (and those who know me know what an epic statement of commitment that is). There is a world of difference between reading an article about the Mona Lisa and looking directly into her eyes. And although I have been lucky to experience so many of the wonders this world has to offer there are countless more that I haven't and even more than that who's existence I am not even aware of.

So my blank passport will not be blank forever and until then, like every fresh start it holds for me a world of possibilities. Let's begin!

Who's Counting?

It's a funny thing when you are capsulizing your life in broad strokes to someone who doesn't know you particularly well... Skipping the details that make all of your decisions make a bit more sense, you tend to cover the highlight reel, hit the key points that are generally accepted as important but sometimes the story seems more odd than you thought. And you're the one who lived it.

This happened to me recently. Talking about the big relationships I've had in my life, I named three. Partner #1; short, tragic, painful, leaving indelible marks that although faded, pop up every now and again. Partner #2; longer, stable, generally happy relationship that ended in mutual, respectful agreement. And Partner #3; you know all about that one.

There are several ways to interpret this bird's eye view (relationship-wise that is). Some people say you get one true love in your life, someone who will sweep you off your feet and with whom you will, of course, live happily ever after (I blame Disney for this... stupid 'princess being rescued by prince charming' story lines setting little girls up with the notion that a man will take care of them and men with the equally twisted notion that their only role in the plot is to save the woman). Clearly I've messed that one up because after three tries, Disney and I have agreed to disagree.

In Sex and the City, Charlotte decided that we all get two true loves (a convenient conclusion after the failure of her first marriage). Although not a popular view of love, it's an agreeable perspective given most peoples' situations. Still not looking good here because clearly I've over-shot by one.

And then there's the sporting reference. Three strikes, you're out. And like everything sporting, this connotation does not work for me. At all.

So what's left? Am I done? Had my chance, roll up the rug, turn the lights out and start collecting cats? No. I don't buy into that either.

Four. Four leaf clover. Shamrocks. Luck of the Irish.

Now there's an idiom I can get behind!

Time Zones

We all go through phases in life and from what I can see they are pretty predictable. Sure, each life phase may arrive at slightly different times in any given existence and it does seem that some people skip a phase or two but for the most part, life's journey is common from a macro perspective.

And with that commonality of path also comes another predictable path... Time zones. I have become more acutely aware of the existence of different time zones as I now have more time to contemplate these relatively useless bits of human minutia (see Liberated Time Zone below).

Allow me to demonstrate:

Bundle Zone - commonly defined by eat, sleep patterning. Individuals in this time zone can be thrown into fits of anxiety or frustration by the absence of either component of the critical pattern. Also impacting mood is the state of "derriere aridity." Key to socializing with individuals in this time zone is recognizing that your social expectations or schedule have no bearing whatsoever on the Bundle Zoner's plans or timeline.

Tot Zone - this time zone requires little explanation as anyone who has ever been in a grocery store line-up, restaurant or movie theater where a Tot Zoner was exerting his or her expectations on activities and scheduling, knows the havoc wrought on a day-to-day basis by these individuals. Good thing they're so cute.

Moppet Zone - from what I can see, this may be the best time zone to be in. Moppet Zoners can find interest and adventure in the most mundane of scheduling activities and provided there is easy access to food and bathroom facilities, you are in for a good time with these munchkins. They are generally accommodating and will usually outlast anyone with whom they are socializing. Very portable and equally cute as the Tot Zoners, without all that drama.

Teen Zone - to this point, individuals passing through the previous time zones are generally unaware of both the impact of their own schedules on those around them as well as other's scheduling demands. Teen Zoners are aware of both of these things, they just generally don't care. It's not a malicious ignorance, rather a self-involved development of ego. Teen Zoners will generally accommodate your scheduling and social demands but you should be prepared to consistently run late (due to an overuse of sighing for emphasis, arm-folding and head tossing) and once out and about, to provide ongoing apologies for your Teen Zoner's morose behaviour.

Autonomous Zone - this is the time zone I know the least about since I skipped it but from what I can tell it is most easily identified by individuals following their own schedules with an acceptance of others' as long as they don't negatively impact their own agenda of fun and frivolity. If you are planning an event or get together involving Autonomous Zoners, be prepared for feigned interest and early departures as "something more fun" comes along. Also of note for Autonomous Zoners, their zone is often at polar opposites to Folks Zoners and Liberated Zoners; don't plan early morning activities... That's when they are just getting back home.

Folks Zone - days in this time zone are entirely dictated by everyone except the person living in the time zone. Schedules and availability are governed by children, work, partners, in-laws and extended family. The individuals within this time zone are generally unaware of their own lack of control and in fact would argue passionately about the level of their own control using as evidence their electronic calendars (more than likely colour coded) that are packed in a very organized OCD fashion with activities for everyone but themselves. When scheduling with Folks Zoners, be prepared for over-eager escapism and dinners to start at 6:00 at the latest. Approach Folks Zoners with support and empathy.

Liberated Zone - the only thing that makes this time zone less desirable than the Moppet Zone is an hyper-awareness of the passing of time, the impact of your life and financial constraints. Generally, Liberated Zoners have changed their clocks at least an hour or even two past where the Folks Zoners set theirs. Due to an absence of individuals in the Bundle to Teen Zones, the Liberated Zoner often dedicates longer hours to work and indulges in activities that stimulate interests long ago stifled by the presence of the other Zoners. Dinners are rarely begun before 8:00 in the evening, weekend mornings can be spent either sleeping in to whenever or getting up early to spend time doing the interest of the day. The OCD scheduling tendencies are abandoned and Liberated Zoners can even be found reverting to the scheduling habits of Autonomous Zoners (with better options and less social anxiety).

Bundle Zone - although the Liberated Zone can last for an extended period and can even be the final time zone experienced by some, it can also be followed up by a repeat visit to the Bundle Zone. Again, schedules and activities are dictated by food and sleep and like it or not, derriere aridity. Often viewed with disdain, this repeat time zone visit should be viewed with reverence, affection and above all love.

Whatever time zone you're in, remember, it's just a moment, others are coming... If you're lucky.

The Same and Different

As my vacation continues (now five days down and five to go) today I happily spent the day heading back to my favourite summer beach, Port Dover, Ontario. I've been going to this beach for years now, from back when I used to pack up my three boys and their sun screen, juice boxes, snacks, frisbees, water bottles, ice packs, hats, flip flops, bug spray, books, blankets, towels, umbrella, lawn chairs and inevitably STILL forgot something and went out for our pilgrimage to the sunny shores.

I am happy at the beach, how can you not be? Today was a perfect day; not too hot, light breeze and because it was a weekday, the beach was very lightly populated. I stopped first for my favourite summer lunch, an Arbor Dog hot dog, fries and Golden Glow. I've written about this delectible treat before but suffice to say, it's worth the drive. It is NOT just a hot dog. I savoured every bite and while I did was amazed by the family who ate at the picnic table behind me.

It was a mom and her two children (at least I assume they were both hers, that may or may not be true). They too were enjoying their dogs and fries but what amazed me was the conversation... The two children were talking about collecting Pokemon cards. Way back in the day, my boys were avid Pokemon collectors. They saved every cent they could, did additional chores and regularly scoured the sofa and chairs for any available spare change so they could make the short trek to our neighbourhood convenience store and buy their latest fix. This may not seem a particulary amazing thing to surrepticiously witness but keep in mind my eldest son is approaching 30 years old. These are not particularly recent family transactions. And this got me to wondering...

Over the years families have come and gone from that beach and like mine, have grown up and changed only to be replaced by other families who by all intents and purposes fill the same mold. I lay on the beach, I closed my eyes and just listened... There was nothing I could hear that would differentiate if I were there in 2013 or 1993. I could hear no iPODs, iPADs, boomboxes, radios, walkmen or any other device belying the date. Only the sound of children playing, parents beckoning their children to "come back a bit closer to shore" and couples looking for the perfect spot to plant for the afternoon. I could just as easily have been at the beach with my boys back when they were little and I was more concerned about their sunscreen than my own.

Even when I opened my eyes, there was little to give away the date other than perhaps an increased frequency of tattooed bodies and purple hair. But it's when you pay attention, you feel the difference. My boys are grown and on their own. The children I hear are not mine. But there is surprising comfort to be found in the consistency of knowing I am walking the same path as I once did with my boys when they were young enough to still want to hold my hand, and that it is the same path that so many other boys walked with their moms before and will for years to come.

Halfway Checkpoint

So here I sit, mid-way through summer 2013. It is the tail-end of our Civic Long Weekend (for my readers outside of Canada, I have to tell you there are few things we Canadians love more than a long weekend) and I am contemplating what has transpired so far in this fast-moving summer.

I read a study which said essentially that weekends, vacations, summers feel longer if you fill them with new experiences. The study found that the mind needs unique impressions to create a distinct memory so if you go to the same places with the same people you are likely to blend all of those individual memories into one imprint in your recollection. Interesting theory, I thought. And a challenge.

I adore my girlfriends and I love doing the things we have always done together but now I'm thinking what new adventures can we find? It's an easier task with my boys because they are all enjoying new experiences as they continue their own journeys so as I follow along, it's natural to capture new memories with each of them. And of course, as I spend my time alone I am asking myself what can I do that remains undone? Small things, big things. Doesn't really matter.

So far this summer I've picnic-ed at new beaches, walked on new trails, danced in new venues; I've had drinks in a hot tub while rain poured down and rummaged through new antique markets searching for the perfect find. Do I have a companion for the big road trip ahead? Remember? Six months ago I cavalierly announced that finding a "date" for this adventure I was planning would be "no big deal"... Hubris, thy name is Sally... No. No I don't. But that's ok too. I've been on many an adventure solo and there is a special challenge found there. I'm ok with that.

We're half way there... Don't blink; the rest is going to fly by.

Summer Love

If you haven’t already guessed by my sudden reappearance, I am on vacation. Another 10 consecutive blissful days without the consistent presence of work pressure and worry inconspicuously furrowing my brow.

I, like most people I know, have certain preparations I make to ensure an enjoyable vacation. I am not travelling far afield choosing instead to stay close to home, recharging by seeing my world through my relaxed vacation eyes. My fridge is stocked with fresh food ready to whip up a snack for one, my beer fridge is equally well-stocked. I have a complete listing of local events and festivals but most importantly, I have my book for the week.

I have found a new love, new only to me. I am very embarrassed to say that prior to the release of the remake of The Great Gatsby this spring, I had never read anything by F. Scott Fitzgerald. But before the release of the movie I thought I should read the book (because as we all know, the book is always better). And now I have fallen deeply, irrevocably in love.

I don’t know what the writing process was like for Francis Scott Key but I’m pretty sure he must have found great comfort and inspiration and happiness in it. How could he produce such beauty if not purely happy while doing it?

I share few things in common with my new love other than we do both seem to like to overindulge in beverages upon occasion (ok, for him I realize that is a tragic understatement) and that he had a love of France, Paris and the French Riviera in particular, equal to mine (but of course with the means to partake regularly which I am, sadly lacking).

This week, rather than cruising the Riviera I will be found at road side farm stands and beaches, restaurant patios and drive-in movies. But no matter where I am, my new love will be with me just in case I need some impromptu inspiration.

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as all things grow fast in movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”

Shelter

I am writing this from my balcony, under cover during a summer thunder storm. As the rain pours around me, lightening sparks and thunder crashes I am safe surrounded by my concrete protector.

I am reminded of the many times when I was a child that I would do the same, sitting on our veranda at 223 Orchard Road and watch the storm swirl so close but not touching. My Dad would often sit with me and we would watch Mother Earth’s show together. We didn’t talk, we let the rain and wind speak for us and they said a lot. There was comfort in hearing the anxious, angry storm around us knowing we were peaceful and content regardless of its wailing.

And so I feel that way now… There is a storm around but peace is right here with me.

There Is Superstition

I have blissfully enjoyed the last 10 days, stretching every moment as far as I could.  Trying to be as present in every act and action as possible because as I have already noted, this time will pass. 

What is the source of my acute attention to the passing of time?  Vacation, of course.

As I sit here on a beautiful, summer Sunday afternoon my mind has already begun wandering to the details of my life that occupies the greater balance of my day-to-day existance not to mention head space.  And as my thoughts meander and as I begin to plan for the week ahead of me, I find myself performing tasks of preparation that can only be described as acts of superstition.

Mine is not a career filled with common superstitions.  I am not an actor; "The Scottish Play" to me will always be just plain MacBeth and "break a leg" seems to me to be a most odd wish for luck.  I am not an athlete (colossal understatement here) so I do not wear the same undergarments (I am trying to be polite) the entire time that I am enjoying a streak of success nor do I leave myself unshaven for extended periods during "the playoffs."

I am a simple gal working in a large organization taking care of my piece of the cog.  But I do, as I am now paying attention during the fleeting remains of my vacation, have my own personal superstitions. 

I pack my laptop bag before dinner, not to be better prepared for the morning but so I can enjoy the last evening of my weekend (or in this case my vacation) assured that the troubles and concerns of the upcoming week are securely tucked away without opportunity to disturb my peace.

I have prepared my lucky suit.  Knowing what I do about the upcoming week, I feel the need to don the suit that has seen me successfully through challenging times at my workplace in the past.  It provides me a small but significant boost of confidence and even if things go badly, I know I will manage with surety and serenity cloaked in my linen armour.

So as I finish my pre-work superstitious preparations, I am off to enjoy my Sunday night dinner out and to drink a toast to a hopefully, successful week to come.

Knock on wood.

Wind Swept

Wind is an amazing thing, I think. 

I am a big fan of driving with the windows down, sunroof open, radio blaring and me singing as loudly and proudly as possible.  I feel it exercises my demons and worries, clears the head, provides perspective.  On days when I am blue, a good drive with the wind blowing around me in my Mini is all it takes to make me at least a light shade of pink.

If I were a braver woman, I would probably invest in a motorcycle but the problem with them is once you encapsulate yourself in the required helmet, jacket, gloves and whatever else seems de-rigeur really, what's the point?  You may as well be in a car because at least then you can have your hair blowing freely.

I think my charmed adoration of this ritual stems from two key pieces in the puzzle that is my life...  When I was a little girl my Dad used to take me on drives in the country, just to look at the countryside and enjoy each other's company (although I'm not sure what conversation I would have offered in my tender years).  As time carried on, I would squish myself beside him so I could reach the steering wheel and "drive."  Of course at this point I could actually peek over the dashboard so you can see this tradition lasted quite a few years.  To this day, I find driving an exercise in relaxation (most of the time; rush hour on the QEW is a distinct exception).

Also influencing my love of driving with the windows down is the indelible image of Grace Kelly driving Cary Grant in the convertible in To Catch A Thief... Scarf flowing behind her, her white gloved hands gripping the steering wheel and hair impeccably in place.  A girl can dream...

When I drive with the windows down and sunroof open it is a decidedly different picture... Hair blows wildly, clipped only at the front so I can still see the road ahead of me.  Skirt is carried up and any hope of retaining decorum lost out the window.  And of course there is music, loud enough to make my singing sound perfectly in tune.  I miss these days in the winter and am usually seen driving "in the open" as early in spring and late in fall as my Mini Cooper heater will allow to make up for their absence from my life.

Wind swept is an apt description.  Cares, worries, insecurities, tedium swept away with the dust and cobwebs.  How can you not have a smile?

A Rose By Any Other Name...

I have an uncommon name.  Sally is not a name you often hear.  When I was a girl in school, right from elementary school through high school and beyond, I was always the only Sally.  Even now at work, if you type Sally in the email address, mine is the only name that populates... In a company with 5,000+ employees in Canada and the US.  Those are some pretty good research samples, I think.

According to the website "Our Baby Namer," the name Sally peaked in popularity between 1947 and 1952.  What twisted form of persecution did my parents intend to impart upon me for my entire life attaching a name that would forever brand me with an association to the peak baby boom years?  How old did they want to make me seem? 

Whenever anyone says I look like a Sally, I wonder what could they possibly mean?  I was told I looked like a Sally on the weekend so I came right out and asked, "What does a Sally look like?"  This is what I was told... "You look like the girl next door... freckles... friendly"  Not too bad, I suppose.

Probably better than looking like a Jezebel, Pandora, Bertha, Eloise... And my most sincere apologies to any readers with those names. Truly, so very sorry!

And so equally curious is when someone saddles you repeatedly with a name that is not yours... Again, this has happened to me in the past couple of days.  A person in my building who I have just met repeatedly calls me Patty.  I correct him every time and every time he says, "I guess you just look like a Patty."  So what does THAT mean?  Apparently, the same thing... "Friendly."

So forget Mustang Sally, Long Tall Sally, Lay Down Sally or Sneakin' Sally Down the Alley.... They are all misguided interpretations of what the name means apparently. 

So let's make this easy.  You can call me Al. 

The Rest

There are few things as purely pleasurable as a simple, restful sleep. 

I am not, generally, a peaceful sleeper.  I lay awake at night, sometimes for hours, thinking (brooding, really) about mistakes made, tasks left undone, unsolved problems.  I have tried countless remedies to relieve this anguish.  Meditation; clear your mind, Sally... but the thoughts creep back in.  Mind games; count backwards by 3"s from 5,00 and the preoccupation of your mind will allow you to fall back asleep.  Ummm. No.  It won't.  Herbs; passion flower... Nothing.  Lavender... Smells pretty; still nothing.  Valerian... Really?  Nothing...  Tea; chamomile... nice but nothing. 

But tonight I feel sure that a full, restful night awaits me.  Why? 

Blissful exhaustion.  Exhaustion from spending a packed 24 hours with a dear friend.  Dancing, laughing. sharing, talking, shopping, eating and yes, drinking.  A day full of sharing our worries and cares; sharing what frightens us and what excites us.  We are both now single although she is newer to her single-dom than I, it provides us even more common ground that we previously had.  And we already had a lot.

Sharing the weight of our worries and fears makes them easier to carry, that is for sure.  Today, my load is light and my heart is filled with contentment.  I am reassured that whatever mistakes I have made or will make in life, whatever oversights or errors I make at work, there are people who understand and recognize the anxiety.  That even if I spend the rest of my days as a single gal, I will not be alone.

And with that peace comes the rest.

Things left behind

I forget things.  All kinds of things... Keys.  Sunglasses.  Jackets.  Hats.  All kinds of things.

Most people would just write this off as general forgetfulness, even (frighteningly) early-onset Alzheimer's.  But not me... No, not this gal.

I know I'm not the only person who has this forgetful streak.  I know there are others of you out there; I see you when I'm at the grocery store and you are looking for where you put your shopping list.  I see you in restaurants when you are wondering where your glasses are.  I see you in coffee shops when you come back in to grab the umbrella that you left behind.  We Forgetters are everywhere.

My mother used to say to me "You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached."  She attributed my forgetfulness to a constant state of hurriedness to move on to the next thing, see the next person, do the next activity.  I'm not so sure if that's it at all (especially considering this was also the reason she assigned to my generic clutsy nature, constantly tripping, falling or bumping into things... It can't be the reason for everything).

So what do I think is the source of this absent-mindedness?  I've given this a lot of thought...

Bread crumbs. 

I think (and I can only speak for myself here) that I am leaving a trail of immaterial possessions along my travelled path to provide proof of passing through.  To give reminder of a presence hopefully felt and enjoyed.  To set an automated reunion to retrieve the goods left behind.  I'm not so sure leaving things behind is truly accidental. 

I think we all are just looking to leave our imprint, however small, wherever we go.  It's in our nature, the need to be seen, acknowledged and remembered.

And there's nothing wrong with that.  Besides, it sounds better than just "I fogot."

It's Not Like You're Danielle Steele

I've said this before and I'll say it again... When writing, especially a blog (not that I have experience writing in any published format other than blog), you write in the hope and awareness that someone, somewhere may read it. 

You send your thoughts and feelings and hopes and worries out to the universe with the faith that they will connect with the other souls who are sharing in this journey of life, be they near or far.  Residing in the hope that your journey will parallel another's where you connect and share the challenge or the triumph.

Once in a while I have conversations (actual conversations, not just comments left on the blog or emails or Facebook comments  - which I love as well!) with people who have read my blog.  And today I had an epic one. 

Through the banter, my reader conveyed the thoughts my blog conjured up and in a meandering way (which obviously, if you've read more than one of my blogs, you know I will relate to) the reader said that a connection was felt... The confirmation came that although we are all on different journeys, there are times where we share the same path.

"If nothing else comes from this, my mission here is accomplished", I thought.  What a great conversation to share... Then came the follow up...

"But, you know... It's not like you're Danielle Steele."

I haven't heard a funnier line in ages!!

We are all trying our hardest as we carry on and I think the best thing we can do is support each other along the way.  And check our egos as we go.  This was the very best of both worlds and who could ask for more than that?

Thanks, friend.  And please... Keep reading. 

Alone together

Crowded solitude is an interesting thing.

I have been travelling for work for about six months now.  Not regularly but in sporadic fits of exhausting, short-lived trips across my country I love.  I have visited cities that I had not previously seen and so for this and so many more reasons, I am luck to be in the position I am.

Having said that, there's an interesting contrast when a single person travels.  Maybe it's just me but I can be very acutely aware of my single-dom, depending on the occasion.  Valentine's Day (stupid day, really).  New Year's Eve.  Dinner parties with only couples and my notible exception.  Eating alone in restaurants.  I've gotten used to it (for the most part.  No, really.  I have) but travelling provides a curious perspective on my relationship status.

In my travels I usually at some point grab a cocktail at the hotel bar.  Hotel bars come in all varieties.  Shwanky places with crisp white linens and servers who are the picture of proper manners and etiquette that my parents could have only dreamt I would become.  There are dives where the distance between the arcade games and game hanging on the wall (antlers and all) is one easy dart throw away.  Now don't get me wrong, I love a dive as much as the next girl and I'm pretty sure my first high school crush took shape over a pinball game so, it's all good to me.  And of course there's every bar in between.

But there is a unique magic that happens at hotel bars... People from diverse backgrounds and equally diverse places come together as strange companions.  Perhaps with nothing in common beyond a shared outsider's perspective of your current location but more often than not, that's enough for some pretty interesting conversations. 

I've learned about fishing, hunting, physics, hair dressing, finance, stocks (nothing worth investing on so far as I can tell, sadly) and had remarkably calm but riveting conversations about politics and religion.  I've been at bars where the end of the evening came way too soon and only because an early day awaited me.  And I've been at bars where I couldn't drink my single cocktail fast enough to high tail my way out.

But I always come away with a story to tell and another great memory to add to the bank.  And that's a great investment.

Yada yada yada

I fear my life has digressed to become a never-ending episode of Seinfeld.

On the upside, there is lots to laugh at, friends abound and I rarely go a week without having a great story that's worth sharing (good or bad... and bad usually is very laugh-worthy so not so bad after all).

Having said that, one of the most notable things about the "show about nothing' was the ease with which Jerry dismissed girlfriend after girlfriend for the most ridiculous reasons.  She had man hands.  She laughed like Elmer Fudd.  She wouldn't laugh.  She ate peas one by one.

How picky can one person be?  I'm asking myself that question with increasing frequency.

I date pretty regularly.  Lots, actually.  Lots of first dates.  So many first dates that my new dating modus operandi is that I really don't take an inordinate amount of time getting ready; save the good stuff if a second date becomes an option (perhaps this could be problem number one).  Now don't get me wrong, I'm clean, I smell good, I spiff myself up.  I just don't pull out my super-nice, looking-to-impress dress until I know for sure I want to impress.  That dress has been hanging, unworn, for months.

So what's the issue? Clearly, these guys are not bad... They're good guys, honest (as far as I can tell), sincere, hard working fellas.  But time after time, there is something that tweaks with me to say "nope, leave the dress in the closet."  What are my Seinfeld-inspired reasons for not pursuing date number two?

He told me he was glad he met me so he could save me from the life I was living.

He sent me 28 texts (27 of them unanswered) the day after our date (one of them being, "Is this thing on? LOL").

He forgot my name.

I honestly don't think I'm being unreasonable here but if the tables were turned how would I stack up?  Probably not so well.  I too have my special idiosyncrasies.  Clearly.   I like communication, but not too much communication.  I talk in meandering sentences that, if you're not paying attention, are hard to follow (probably why writing is my favoured form of communication; it gives you the opportunity to read things a couple of times to try to follow my train of thought).  I don't like to exercise. 

Deal breakers?  Maybe.  But it seems we all have them.

I'm finding all of mine, one guy at a time. 

"I am aware!!"

Top Ten Rules for Dating at Almost-50 (or shopping end of season sales...)

I have noticed that dating at this stage of life is remarkably similar to shopping sales at the end of any season... Allow me to illustrate:

1)     Only go to your favourite spots.  Picked-over at the places that you only sort-of like will leave you with way less than you would consider any other time but picked over at your favourite place could leave you a diamond in the rough you'd be proud to take home.
2)     Don't skip the "gently used" or "returns".... Great stuff can be found here!  Having said that, broken is broken.
3)     Packaging and marketing can be deceptive.  You really need to completely check things out to make sure everything is as promised
4)     You really need to look around.  A lot.
5)     Be honest with yourself first... Know what you'll accept and what you won't.
6)     At the same time, go in with an open mind... Maybe you would never consider a button-down shirt with pinstripes but sometimes you have to try things on to see how great they are.
7)     Remember, this has to fit with your lifestyle and who you are... You're not about to change that now, are you?
8)     Carefully consider the whole package.  If there are "also comes with" included, only go for it if you're sure the "also comes with" work for you just as much what you had your eye on in the first place.
9)     Window shopping doesn't get you anything at this stage of the game... You have to just jump on in!
10)     Caveat to all of the above... Don't settle.  Ever.  If you're not sure when it's new and shiny (even if it's just new and shiny to you) you'll never be sure.

And, so I will carry on.

The night's best...

There are simple diversions to every day normalcy that make life fun and interesting and notable.  Not that there aren't fun, interesting and notable things that happen in day-do-day life, of course there are.  And most certainly a true gift is noticing those moments when they come and go so quickly.

But today is not about that... It's about the unique stuff... Special, once-in-a-while things that are the pretty pink scarf tied to an already fabulous vintage purse. 

Today is about the Oscars, sort of.  I have, for very many years, hosted an Oscar party for my girlfriends.  I have done it every single year for as long as I can remember, with the notable exception of the year I gave birth to my Middle Son when I watched the Oscars from my hospital bed.  He's 23, almost 24 now so that gives you an idea of the scope of this tradition.  The guests have been transitional but for more than a decade it has been the same steadfast, consistent, solid epic foursome of me and my three girlfriends who now create the four sides of the feminine foundation upon which I build my strength.  So this year was no different.  There were only three of us this year, with girlfriend number four down and out with the flue.  And of course she was missed but we carried on in her absence with true aplomb. 

What made this year extra-special was that the gals were able to stay overnight and we all took today off work. No rush out the door immediately after the Best Picture Award... No worries about how much not to drink.  No easing off on the fun part-way through the night as we each independently start gearing down on a Sunday night in anticipation of the Monday ahead of us. 

And to top the fun off... Grilled Cheese Monday!! Today, we enjoyed a smoked salmon with herbed goat cheese grilled cheese.  It was yummy but we all agreed that it would have benefited from either arugula or apple slices.

If that's the only room for improvement (and it is), than a perfect night it was! 

Oh, and Seth was pretty good too.

Six Months and Counting

I love music.  Most kinds of music really except that crazy kind of jazz that sounds like everyone in the band is playing a different song.  Now before you start hating on me for hating on jazz, I know it's incredibly complex and takes remarkable talent to play that kind of jazz.  I get it.  But it hurts my ears.

Anyway, I have always had music around in one way or another.  I used to lay awake at night growing up listening to the local radio station CKDK hoping that maybe the next song would be a good one.  Maybe.  And that's why I spent my youth falling asleep in a state of frustration.

I played music loudly in my room and sang unabashedly as if performing before the most grateful stadium audience, cheering wildly.  And I attempted to learn the guitar.  Less successfully as a teen (but that was the instructor's fault... What 15 year old in 1978 wanted to play Bobby Vinton songs???) and slightly more so now as an adult.  I know that musical talent is not a gift I possess but I don't enjoy it any less because of it.

So it was with a great sense of glee that I found out (via text from my Youngest) that my latest favourite band was coming to a very nearby, small venue to play in the summer.  Yes, Mumford & Sons is playing Simcoe, Ontario.

I'll wait here while you Google Simcoe, Ontario.




Small, huh?  Wouldn't that be a great show?  Fantastic band and true grassroots venue; I was thrilled.  Until I logged in to purchase my tickets and found it was sold out within 30 minutes. 

And disappointment ensues.

But wait... This is a tour... There has to be other stops nearby, right?  So off I go a searching and lo and behold, Troy.  Ohio. 

I'll wait here while you Google Troy, Ohio like I did.  Small, grassroots venue.  SOLD!  I can picture myself now, regardless of weather, dancing and singing with the rest of the crowd to songs that have brought strangers together and made them instant friends.  It is an amazing thing to stand in the midst of former strangers sharing something you all know and love so completely.  I can't imagine ever getting tired of that.

Now, here's the kicker.  Two tickets.  Bold for a single gal, no?  The way I look at it.  I have six months to find a date.

Hey, it could happen.

Hey You!

Dear future Love:

So, how are you doing tonight?  It's that classic day that is universally recognized for love.  We, of course, are not there yet but that's ok.  I'm fine to wait, I'm a patient gal.

A few things to keep in mind for later, if you don't mind me saying.

Preferably red but white is nice in the summer.  Beer when we're playing pool or around the pool, at the game or at the pub.

No horror, slasher, nightmare inducing movies please.  Not big on sci-fi either so sorry, the Star Trek marathon is definitely a guy's night thing.  I'm out.  Just about everything else is good.

Not big on punk, heavy metal, hard-core jazz (how's that for an oxymoron?).  There will be dancing. 

And I'll sing all the time; sometimes very badly, often with the wrong words but it will be a good show. 

I will sleep in every chance I get. Of course, at this stage of the game, that usually means 9:30 so really, that's not too much of a big deal.  Oh, and I arbitrarily switch sides of the bed.  Not really sure where that came from but it's a thing.

I love cooking so you don't need to do much in that department but don't leave me in the kitchen alone... Hang out, have a chat, refill the glasses.  That's all I need to be a happy gal.

Roses are overrated.  Peonies, lilacs, tulips, hydrangeas... Now those are flowers.

You look great... Remind me I do as well once in a while please.  I promise to do the same.

Make me laugh... More than anything, even if you forget everything else make me laugh. 

So, if you don't mind, get on with the introductions would you?  Or declarations. Or advances.  I'll take it from there (oops; sort of blew my "patient gal" cover, didn't I?).

I Heart Whatever

It's that infamous week.  I would say infamous day but the mega-marketing, all-consuming, like-it-or-not global "day" that is Valentine's Day has been blown up into at least a good week of advertising enticements that if you truly loved your partner, sibling, child, neighbour, mail carrier, pet, you would show them by buying some sort of Valentine memento.

Do I sound jaded?  I don't mean to.

But what is it about this non-holiday "holiday" that makes singles feel so badly?  I Googled "holiday" and chose the Wikipedia hit.  This is what Wikipedia defines as a holiday:

"... a day designated as having special significance for which individuals, a government, or a religious group have deemed that observance is warranted."

First off, if I had known I could designate my own holidays, my life (and that of the whole entire world) would be so different!

But really, what are we now defining as holidays or days worthy of global (or at least national) recognition?  Again, back to Wikipedia, "Types of Holidays; Religious, Northern Hemisphere, National, Secular, Unofficial."  And included in that list? New Year's Day, Passover, Independence Day, Earth Day (familiar to us all I'm sure).  But also in the list?  Monkey Day (December 14th), Talk Like A Pirate Day (September 19th, this one I know and have personally observed) and get this, Blasphemy Day (September 30th... WTF?!).

So why don't I feel badly about not celebrating any of the other individually, governmental-ly or secular-ly recognized holidays?   No good reason, I'm sure.  But you can bet your life I'll be celebrating Monkey Day this year.

And FYI, February 12th is Buy New Shoes Day.

Enjoy!

Swim that way

We all have books that inspired us growing up... Seminal works that shape who we become, allowing us to recognize within ourselves that which others may see at first glance or may never see at all without well-timed encouragement.

My book was Arty the Smarty (Faith McNutty; Grosset & Dunlap Easy Reader, 1962).  I kid  you not.

It's a gripping tale of a little fish who swam a different way, who refused to follow the crowd (or should I say school?).  I remember laying in my bed at night with my little night light on reading this story over and over. It stuck with me as I grew and I find myself even now searching out a copy of it every time I visit antique shows (I know I could order a copy on-line via kijiji or eBay or any other of the increasing number of "buy it here" websites but that eliminates the thrill of the search and what's the fun in that?)

In my recollection, the script said "when all the little fishies swam this way, Arty swam that way.  And when all the little fishies swam that way, Arty swam this way."  In doing my research I see that this is not exactly as it appeared in the book.  It is a manipulated version tattooed on the memory of a six year old girl which followed her and stood beside her every time she had to muster the gumption or courage or even stupidity to go in the opposite direction of the crowd. 

My most recent Arty the Smarty moment came when I attended my company's annual direction launch. Big business at its glorious, proud, self-congratulating best.  I sat there, anonymous in the sea of black and grey and navy suits, one of the estimated 10% of females present, wearing my orange suit.  One can't always be so blatant as to swim in the opposite direction of the school but being contrary comes in many different forms.

I think Arty would be proud.

Kids and psychics and art... Oh my!

There are a multitude of activities that can occupy your time.  This weekend I've had quite the diverse mix that called up a wide range of emotions.

The weekend started in the usual way, with a late arrival home and a quiet Friday night (I find that by the time I get home and divest myself of a week's worth of stress, anxiety, late nights and early mornings, the best I can muster on a Friday night is a great glass of wine and the hope of a peaceful sleep).  Saturday morning (after the blessing of that peaceful night sleep) I got up, made my coffee, grabbed my laptop and caught up on the world.  I have to admit, part of me misses the days where I collected my newspapers and readied myself for my relaxed ritual of reading through, article by article, while I refilled my coffee as many times as was necessary.  But technology wins this race so on-line I go.  After getting sufficiently caught up, I begin to get ready for the day ahead and embark on my Saturday fun.  And that is where the "average" ends.

The highlight of the weekend was most certainly the art opening that featured the work of my youngest son.  It's an amazing thing when you can separate yourself from the moment and take a snapshot of what it means in the broader landscape of your life.  As I watched my boy move about the crowd, answer questions, accept accolades and take moments from the fray to hang with his "Ma" I knew that whatever mistakes I had made in raising him, whatever challenges had presented themselves to him, he had the wisdom, strength and compassion (which he would not admit to save his life) to overcome them all.  He had become a man and the man he became was good.

Before that I was lucky to enjoy what is becoming a more and more regular dinner at my girlfriend's home filled with laughter and love and antics involving her own quirky, comical and charming son and daughter who is becoming a wonderful, smart and accomplished young woman before our very eyes.  As we share stories and jokes I wonder who these young people will become.  What lies ahead of them?  There are so many paths open to them but the certainty for me is that I look forward to being friends with them when they are adults too.

But the most unusual piece of the weekend by far was part one... My visit to the Psychic Fair.  Now before you make your judgements and condescending remarks, know that I believe there is something in all of us, that when listened to with regard, can make positive impacts in our lives.  Call it intuition... gut feeling... whatever, there is something there and I know that whenever I have ignored that, I have been worse off.  Maybe not right away but always.  At some point.  Worse.  My oldest son's partner was hosting the event and in support of her and out of pure curiosity, off I went.  After walking around for a while, I settled on a numerologist (what could be made up with numbers, after all?) and gave her my full name.

After she did her analysis and provided me the results, this is what stood out.  I'm not good at relationships.

I didn't need a psychic to tell me that.

Of course, she said a lot more than that.  Past life stuff... Current life stuff... But the big one was, despite what may seem contradictory in my other "gifts" relationships are not my thing.

Note to self.... No more numerologists and work on that relationship thing.  In no particular order.

Saturday Night. Live.

The greatest time of a night out has to be the moments of anticipation before the festivities actually get under way.  It's when the events of the evening have yet to be revealed, when anything is possible and even the most mundane evening has a world of possibilities.

Last night I was out with friends, new and old.  They had invited me out with the lure of "wanna see a band at a bar?"  That's all I needed.  It was a great opportunity to catch up between sets and enjoy good music over a couple of pints.

It doesn't take much to get me excited these days... My life, as I have mentioned repeatedly, is quite filled with work and work (but that shows very positive signs of easing up lately, ya for that) so a diversion is welcome.  I noticed yesterday as I made my ritualistic Saturday morning coffee and reached into the fridge to the cream, that this was the first time since the last weekend that I had opened my refrigerator.  How can this be possible, you ask?  Simple.  I work and work so when I finish I usually grab a bite of something on the way home.  And I have a bar fridge where I keep beer & wine.  Easy peasy.

So, as mentioned, a diversion is most welcome.  I called a taxi and when I jumped in, the driver had an 80's music station tuned in.  Interesting choice, I thought since my initial assessment would have pegged him more of a Motley Crue or Metallica type of fellow.  Shame on me for judging.  Imagine my surprise when the majority of the ride was spent with me smiling in the back seat as he sang Gowen's Strange Animal.  Word for word.  Start to finish.  Strange animal indeed.

The evening delivered all good things that were hoped for; great conversation, lots of laughs and the bonus of (my most favourite) dancing to some great funk soul tunes.  Who could be happier?  And as I sit here writing this, drinking my ritualistic Sunday morning coffee I make a mental note... Cream is almost gone... I should go shopping this week.

That'll shake things up.

Snap out of it!!

What on earth is wrong with me???

After declaring publicly and clearly that my focus was changing, that I was redirecting my attention and energy away from a non-stop work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep rhythm that would drive the most sane person in to a state of instability, here  I am in the middle of the third consecutive week of work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep.

I exhaust myself. 

Added new New Year's Resolution... Accept invitations.

Ok... first new New Year's Resolution, behave in a way that encourages invitations but then, accept invitations.

That sounds like a good thing to put on the "to do" list.

Workaholic is starting to ring too true.

Must fix.

Table for One

Back to the grill I went today (well, to the panini press to be exact but grill sounds so much more poetic).

I love to cook, love it.  But I rarely (I would say never but that would be at least a slight exaggeration) cook for myself.  Cooking for one is no fun.  Cooking, no matter how inspired and delicious it is, requires an audience for appreciation.  I can tell myself as many time as I want that the dish I took the time to prepare was yummy but is that enough?  Don't we all seek confirmation and congratulations from others, even if it's for the more mundane things in life... In fact, don't we need it for the mundane things more than anything else?

But today I decided to shift the focus just a bit.  I thought, why put off what is becoming a delicious and joy-filled tradition, just because I am alone?  In fact, maybe I should savour the moment alone so I can appreciate it even more when it is shared.  And on top of all that, I deserve a yummy grilled cheese on a winter's Sunday afternoon.  Absolutely!

So create I did...  Inspiration this week came from my favourite granny smith apples, tart and sweet at the same time.  Coupled with aged cheddar and caramelized onion jam with egg bread as the host of the epicurean party, this was another delightful combination.

I enjoyed every bite at my table for one.  Lucky gal I am.

Wake up whispers

Life has a funny way of giving you a nudge; the proverbial wake up call... Whether it comes in a soft whisper in your ear as you are still groggy in your realizations of who and where you are in your life or an amplified message, delivered via megaphone to break through your complete obliterated fog of non-reality-based reality.

Today I had a couple of them... I would call them more whispers than megaphone calling cards but wake up calls they were.

The first came unexpectedly from my oldest son.  We were just catching up on the phone this morning, sharing the experiences we had during the week and commenting on the minutia of life when this came through the phone to me...

"So... Big year this year, huh?"

I stopped cold.  What could he be referring to?  And in what was probably a split second, the following passed through my consciousness...

Is he talking about buying his house?   No, realistically that happened last year so that's not really a "this year" big thing.  Me finding love?  No.  Definitely not something my oldest (or any of my sons) would say... What son would ever have that kind of conversation with his mother of all people. Hmmm.... What could it be???

Wait.  A.  Minute. 

50

I turn 50 this year.

And there it was... On a beautiful winter Saturday morning with the sun shining and a fresh pot of coffee brewed and waiting for me.  Smack.  50.  It's like we may as well skip the formality of living this year out, you are already 50.   My dad used to say "If I died now, they would say he died in his [enter year of choice here]th year."  And if I died today, my obituary would say, "In her 50th year."  But it would also say, "she looked fabulous and acted not a day over 35" so I guess you take your victories where you can.  My boy seemed to find great glee in my angst and laughed and laughed at my ranting.  Then he said, "It's ok Mama... I'm old too... Remember I'm turning 30."

Oy.

The other wake up call came from, ridiculously, Facebook.  As I scrolled through my news feed catching up on what my friends and family are up to, there in the middle was a "recommended link" for meeting "mature men in your area."

Really?  First, how does Facebook know I'm now single?  And second, who are they to say I'm interested in a "mature man" or for that matter, a man of any kind (I know I know, that part is a bit obvious but allow me to vent would you?). 

Mean spirited.  That's what that is.

So, there they were.  Two cosmic whispers from the great out there reminding me of where I am.  So what to do?

There are two options, as I see it, when life gives you any kind of wake up call... One is to hit the snooze button and the other is to get on up and get going.

So, up I go.