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.