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.