Time For More To Be More

I have a subscription to More Magazine, billed as Canada's magazine celebrating women over 40. Hey, great, I thought when sitting at a hairdresser's shop in Victoria. I liked the mag so well, in fact, that I tore out the mail-away card for a subscription. And promptly forgot about it.

Issues of More started coming and I wondered why until the bill came. Then I was angry as I had no memory of ordering this publication. After some reflection I did remember, pay the bill and read a few more issues, finding again what had attracted me about that copy in Victoria: it's about women's things, and unabashedly so, providing a new perspective for me.

So what am I writing about today? The April issue features a cover with a 50-year-old "super model". And she looks thirty. Well, that's nice. And she is beautiful so I know why she is on the cover. When I read the article, however, I discovered that the five finalists in More's 40+ model search are all drop-dead gorgeous, thin, svelte, muscular, with not a grey hair in sight. While I don't want to take away from these women--they sound totally comfortable in their shoes, which is way more important than their stunning looks--I can't help thinking how little they represent the bulk of us over 40.

And that leads me to wonder if More is really less in its respect for women and if it is just perpetuating that old myth that women have to be stunningly beautiful and look YOUNG to be worthwhile. Margaret Lawrence, one of my most favorite authors, was certainly not beautiful, but she stroked my thoughts for years with her real female characters. I could relate. Rita McNeil will not win any beauty contests but her soft, sincere voice singing her own music speaks to my heart as she explores real situations through that music. And Lena, my neighbour for many years in Shelburne where once we lived, holds a prime place in my heart. She was over seventy when we moved next to her and had lived a lot of sadness in her life but it didn't consume her. Her eyes twinkled as she tucked a stray white curl into her invisible hairnet and hobbled from stove to table with wonderful food for my husband and me. She had lived through rheumatic fever, lost several toes along the way, was told not to get married or have kids, did both, and had a loving, boisterous family who doted on her and her Elmer. She was a winner, and beautiful, too.

Why does being beautiful have to mean not looking our age? Isn't it time we struck a chord for what's inside no matter what is outside? Of course we all like to look good but I have learned that people see the outside first and then dwell on the inside the rest of their lives. I am more than a pretty face, I used to say, and today when I am well past forty, I am really thankful for my brain and my talents. Time for More to think of more than beauty. After all it is only skin deep.

Open My Eyes

Last night my husband and I decided to take in the Open House of Oxford County VON's almost open Sakura House, a hospice for terminally ill people. Below is the sketch from the Sakura House website but it is a pale imitation of the real thing.We had to park on the highway, there were so many visitors coming to take a peek but we are quite able to hike a few hundred feet. For those who are not, parking onsite was available. From the moment I stepped through the massive front door into the front hall, I knew this home had been stellar. A wealthy business owner whose property was part of the huge Toyota buyout for their new plant a few years ago called this his family home. The website says it is something like ten thousand square feet. Not many homes measure that!
To the left of the main hall is a stunning library with carved wooden ceiling and rich mahogany coloured shelves. I've no doubt they are mahogany or some other real wood. No MDF here! The tour continued with the main house built on the open concept and left like that for the hospice. A new two-pronged wing with about 8 suites sits to the left of the main building and is joined to it as though it were always there.
The rooms are not like hospital rooms. Each has its entrance off the hall but also a private entrance to the yard beyond. At the back of the house the view is of the stunning sunken garden with sitting space and lots of green space for idle contemplation. We were entranced. The single hospital bed in each room has a grained wood headboard and footboard and is made up with a colourful bedspread. A comfortable chair, television, lovely wooden wardrobe complete the room. The bathroom is modern, subtly coloured with an easy access shower which ambulatory or wheelchair patients could easily use.
Everywhere I looked I saw a gorgeous view, both inside and out, reminding me of the Sun Yat Sen garden in Vancouver which we visited many years ago. Some have the front sweeping circular drive and surrounding plantings. Others have the north where a very healthy field of corn looked like it had been groomed to best advantage just for the Open House. Still others have the lovely back gardens. Everyone has peace just outside the window.
I have friends who have been way more involved in the project than I and now their selfless giving has more meaning for me. What a wonderful place for terminally ill people to spend their last days.
For those who wonder as I did about the name Sakura House it comes from the Japanese word for cherry blossom which symbolizes "an annual spring celebration of the shifting seasons. [It] evokes the bittersweet undercurrent of past seasons and the fleeting nature of human existence." Pretty fitting for a hospice, I think, and also because it has come about because of the generosity of the Toyota company--a Japanese word and a Japanese company.

I am totally in awe of the achievement that so many people have worked so hard to bring about. Thinking about it I've decided that the word sakura should mean selfless love.

Moving Week

Monday dawned at its dark December time this morning and I lay in bed thinking of this last week in our house. I thought I was great about leaving this spot where we raised our kids and spent so much of our married lives, but little niggling things poked at my thoughts as I watched the room come into focus with the first threads of dawn. The curtains parted ever so slightly as my eyes made out the romanesque pattern of my handmade drapes which I'll be leaving behind; the ceiling that we painted a shade or two darker than the walls to help us sleep longer in the summer months; the empty screw sockets in the walls where used to hang our joint pictures from 1965; and the burnished tones of our amazing dimmer light on the ceiling. All will be different in the new condo.

I blinked my eyes and tried to remember what the condo will look like. The great room is maple hardwood flooring, the kitchen has loads of cupboards just a little darker than the floor. The bedroom carpets are a soft shade midway between white and beige and the bathroom has a lovely ceramic tile. It is all very beautiful, but the first time in my life I have ever chosen beige in any of my homes. Who says we're too old to change?

My thoughts came back to this day, one of the last in our house, and I realized if I just got up and got started, soon I would be one day closer to being in the new place and I'd be unpacking and putting everything in its place, building yet another nest for my sweetie and me. We still have a lot of living to do and are pretty excited to be starting anew once again. Hold that thought, eh?

Why Don't They Ask Us?

How many times in the course of a week do you shake your head at the seeming stupidity of your fellow man (and woman)? Or at the lack of manners rampant today? Or maybe you cry a few tears at the sheer insensitivity of someone you know and love?

In the course of a week my husband and I see a lot of people, some we know and many more we don't. Now you have to realize we are both 'people' people, meaning we like those who share the earth with us, but increasingly when that green car pulls out from the sideroad right smack in front of us and we hit the brakes, we shout "Moron!"

Or on that famous 401 highway slicing Ontario from Windsor to the Quebec border one of the 5 million trucks thundering down it (the one you're passing!) puts on a signal and immediately cuts you off causing another brake pedal stomp. You sit there in the passing lane for five to ten miles while the truck gets up enough speed to actually pass whatever is its obstacle and you're doing the slow burn. "It's all about you!" we shout.

Maybe you're a singer, love to sing in fact, have sung since childhood, at almost every wedding in your huge family, and you do a concert at your local church. It's taken you years to get up the nerve to do this even though solos have been a lifelong joy, and here you are after the event, floating on adrenalin clouds, basking in the standing ovation, the hugs and squeezes, the flood of teary compliments, especially the one from your wet-eyed best friend, and someone in your family brings you down to earth, saying she liked your daughter's voice best. (She does have a great voice!) And you can't get that one negative (to you) thing out of your mind. All the great stuff recedes.

Of course we all have stuff like this and need to deal with it and many worse things through our lives. I do think, however, if we took a course in sensitivity or connectivity in this world we might think before we say or do careless things.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, we have reached the age when we recognize some of the mistakes around us, probably because we've been there, done that. Why don't they ask us? We say it often enough that now it's a joke. So I ask my readers. Can you relate to my ranting today? Want to write a how-to book for the rest of the world?

Now, I'll just go quietly back to beading, photo-taking and eating strawberries with whipping cream.

Three Awesome Things!

1. I broke down yesterday and used the Blogger Help Group format to ask a question and today I got my answer. My IS Provider had changed my email so all my comment moderation emails were going to the old address which will disappear shortly. A wonderful person showed me another place to go to change my email address to the new one. Hopefully the problem is solved and when you comment on this email, I will get notification in the right place. Aren't computers wonderful? And thanks to the smart blogger!

2. I had my hair youthenized this morning--ha, ha--and very near the end my husband walked in the door to pick me up. He looked handsome and I was so glad to see him. He saved me a walk home in the heat wearing my sandals.

3. Yesterday I spent eight hours with four friends from university in a lovely reunion of all five of us for the first time since graduation in 1968. I drove home thinking what great people I had met all those years ago. One of the girls I hadn't seen since graduation and another I had only seen a couple of times at funerals. This was a great thing to do and we had lots of girl-time before we each headed back to our own lives.

A Country Tradition

Once a month a wonderful, hidden little spot in Central Ontario hosts one of our favorite dance bands, The Royal Aires, and as often as we can, we get a gang together and dance the night away to the sounds of the Big Bands. Lakeside, Ontario, prizes its one and only Danceland, which has a tradition which going back many many years.

A couple of weeks ago we drove the hour trip to Lakeside with a couple of friends and had a great time as always. You might wonder what is so special about this place. It actually has a new building built over the old pavilion-style building which I remember from my teens. We went there throughout the summer, maybe swimming in the lake, buying a burger, and then dancing at night. I remember the sides opened up to form swing-out roofs over those looking inside, but most importantly letting out the summer heat from all those dancers. Once I went to the washroom and when I opened the door to the cubicle there was a panty girdle sitting on the floor, all scrunched up in front of the toilet as though someone had taken it off, sat down, done her business, and then walked away! Yikes!

But times have changed. The facility was updated several years back and now sports the new building right over top of the old with air conditioning, a kitchen, a fireplace and an extended area of tables to sit at surrounding the dance floor. why did the owners spend so much money to build over top of the old building, instead of tearing it down and starting from scratch. I haven't mentioned the floor. Beautiful, even, perfectly finished hardwood is laid over a proper wooden base so as to provide 'give' and thus make dancing fun instead of painful. (It's amazing how many places today advertise dancing and then give you a tired bit of parquet laid right on concrete! That stuff will kill your legs.) So the floor is Danceland's treasure.

If you check out the website you will see another charming bit about Lakeside's Danceland--the customers are all ages. We like the big band music, especially since sometimes we are the youngest ones there, and that music speaks to older people who danced to it in the 40's and 50's. I noticed a tall man, slightly stooped, dancing with his wife who was leading him around the floor. They looked so happy and yet I could see his struggles. Maybe he had Parkinson's or Alzheimer's because his dance steps were shuffles and his wife seemed to be in control. How wonderful that there is still a place for them to enjoy something that obviously meant so much to them.

That Saturday night we picked out several students from dance classes in nearby London, not because we know them, but by the lovely steps they were practising. Some did the tango, others the schottische, lots of us waltzed and flew around doing the polka, but the most prevalent dance was the twostep which you could do to almost everything the band played. We get really tired of that and often do a quick polka step or throw in some jive steps from our many years of dancing together.

Our band of choice is the Royal Aires, pictured below. The leader is in the centre and he and his brother have been doing this for over 40 years. Amazing.

Last visit they had a new trumpet player who, it turns out, used to play with them many years ago, went on to play with lots of the greats, and now has 'retired' to play local engagements again. He was great on trumpet and pretty good as a singer, too.

If you happen to think this all sounds like a good time, check out the website above and join us. Might be a bit of a commute for lots of you, though:-)

Decide and Then Just Do It!

The concert's over, this last week of practising is done, and I am glad. Oh, we sang well and we pulled it off, but I personally was way too stressed and I don't like that. I like to be confident that I know what we're doing so that I can relax. Those stiffening back and neck muscles just are not fun.

What do you do when you're in a quandary? Do you ruminate for days, weeks, months and never make a decision? Do you make the decision quickly and change it at will? Or do you never intend to decide and just keep going wherever the winds and the world take you? The worst, I suppose, is to make the decision and then keep second guessing yourself.

The experts say to decide quickly and move on, knowing that the time saved will far outweigh the odd wrong decision, but how do you do that and live with the consequences of hurting people you love or closing doors you would have better left open? The business world is one thing but our personal lives are totally different--we need to live there!

So I am wondering about my choir commitments. Oh, I still love singing. I just don't like the nerves that seem to more and more go with it. This second part of the year I've been singing second soprano after having soared on the first all my life. To say that is a switch is understatement. I did it because my director needed more help in that section and my voice is not as high as it once was. I like to soar on those high notes and, if that's not possible, I don't go there. Switching to second seemed a natural choice. But it's too low for me. Oh, I love the parts singing and I really like the others in the section--great people--but after a night of singing my voice is scratchy and my speaking sounds low, not a good thing.

The thing that really got me going last night was having to constantly move from one place to another for different songs. In some I sang high soprano; in others second; and I did a couple of showcased solo bits, all of which meant I was moving between just about every song. Crazy! The end result is this: I'm going to go back to singing first soprano, and if a note is particularly high, I'll just let the other younger voices take it.

Okay, I've made the decision. Now I just have to put it into place. Help!

Memories light the corners of my mind......

Misty water-colored memories--so goes Streisand's wonderful song and so goes my day today. I've been working on my memoirs for my kids of the times from meeting my sweetie to somewhere when the kids were growing up--I haven't decided yet. I'll just give you one picture of my cuties as they used to be.




This is close to thirty years ago but they haven't changed too much. Our boy is still blonde and a happy person and our girl still smiles at life.

Writing is such a joy to me as a matter of course, but is especially so when I get to relive happy times and there are many of them. A few years ago I wrote the story of my life up to meeting my husband and self-published copies for my two children for Christmas that year. I'm not sure if their joy at receiving my work quite equalled mine at doing it but I hope in the future they will more appreciate it--when I'm gone!

And isn't that the hope of all writing? That one can leave a part of oneself to lessen the dreaded darkness of oblivion? I sure would like to be remembered, but mostly for good things. It really hurts me to think people might only remember the not-so-good things.

I guess the solution is to keep trying to do and say good things so that those memories of me will light my loved ones' minds after I'm gone.

Now I've been tagged!

Checking out my daughter's blog I learned about her being 'tagged', meaning she was asked to write about ten things that define her style. Wondering exactly what that was I read through the list, nodding my head at times and aha-ing now and then. When I got to the end I was thrilled to read her comment about her mother--me!--and that she has tagged me to do the same exercise. I love sharing this part of my daughter's life. So here is my list of ten things that define my style:
1. Hubby and I breathe pride when we think of our two children and the adults they have become. They are both really great people, loving the world and themselves. I like to think I had something to do with that; in fact raising them has been my crowning achievement.
2. Organizing my life is very important to me. I like things in their place and often borrow hubby's label maker thing to put neat, precise titles everywhere, although I haven't gone to Beth's level. She labeled their whole closet so every item has its own hanger and spot.
3. I am a singer and love to soar on the high notes. Having a special high part to sing in a choir anthem is joy to me. I thank my mother for my voice and my love of music.
4. Beading my pretties is my latest passion, another thing in my quest for creativity. I have often said there will never be enough time for me to try all the things I want to learn and so far I have learned knitting, crocheting, sewing, pottery, knitting by machine, plaquing, photography, composing music, and many different computer-assisted creative projects--the list is as long as my life will be.
5. I chuckled when I saw Beth's comment about being slow to accept a new idea. I am that way with gifts. My hubby is a very thoughtful gift-giver, taking great pride in ferreting out unusual things. I open them and wonder where he got that idea and what will I ever do with that, but soon I think about it and realize that he knows me better than I know myself and that gift is perfect for me.
6. I love people. I love to laugh with them and to study their uniqueness. And, as I've gotten older, I am much more patient with and understanding of their ways of doing things which might differ from mine but are still awesome.
7. I struggle with my weight. For the last thirty years I have put on and taken off those same 25 pounds numerous times, now realizing that food gives me life but I seem to lack the ability to keep my consumption to just eating to live, rather than sliding over into living to eat. It all tastes so good!
8. I married just before I turned 20 and am still married to the shining light of my life. He is my rock and I am his. We need each other but more than that we delight in each other. Lucky we are!
9. I delight in teaching things to people. Over the years I have taught high school French, English and Computers, along with a smattering of Business subjects. I have also directed choirs and taught adult courses, both things giving me a lot of pleasure. The latest thing I did was help my friend in Arizona learn a few new things on her computer--how to set up and use Messenger, how to import a recalcitrant email file, and how to use Windows Explorer for a few things. It was fun!
10. I am quick to answer and to suggest ways to do things. This has been good but I notice I am becoming much better at letting others speak first. Maybe I am more comfortable in my own body and don't need the rush of knowing the answer first. So maybe wisdom does come with age. I hope so. I'll be watching for it!

PS. I'd like to tag Trish to write about 10 things about her style. She is a world traveller, a seeker of answers, a student of the world and I know she will have wonderful things to write. Here's to you, Trish.

Teaching Again

Yesterday I took a flying leap...well, actually I taught the first session of a three session course in Word. Not having taught for almost 8 years I was slightly nervous but I only had one student and we did the class here in my office so stress was greatly reduced.

To add to the stress, though, we had loaded Office XP on her machine and I am used to using Office 2003. Not to worry. There were very few noticable changes and we got along famously. The old pro teaching skills are still there, the love of people alive yet, and the pleasure in helping very much in the forefront. Mairi and I had a great time as we worked through the materials, with me gradually leaving her more and more on her own to figure things out. (I learned a long time ago teaching computers that you have to be able to work out your own problems.)

This is yet another affirmation that getting older doesn't have to mean losing anything--well, sagging and blotchy skin aside! The important thing, though, is the mind. Mine is purring along nicely, thank you very much. Here are some of the things I do to keep it active:
1. Sudoku. There is almost always a book of puzzles by my chair in the TV room.
2. Computer Games. Mahjong is currently my fave, so much so that I am thinking of buying the Online version.
3. Reading. I have just finished Deepak Chopra's Grow Younger, Live Longer which has opened my mind to new ideas.
4. Exercise. As I work my way around the weight machine circuit, I am always trying to memorize my regimen.
5. Singing. I constantly exercise my mind in sight reading new choir songs and memorizing page turn problem parts--only a singer will get that!

Of course I do much more but you get the idea. Stepping out of my comfortable box is the hardest, though, and I am pleased to have done it yet again with teaching a stranger. I have also advertised a beading class to be held in the winter so hopefully that will be a go and I can do more teaching. Meanwhile my oven is calling me to clean it!

Positive Feedback

Yesterday I had my three-month checkup at the gym, an appointment I had been approaching with anticipation and a little trepidation. I wanted to know what my numbers were. Had I improved or had I stayed the same.? I knew my weight hadn't changed but I also felt better.

I went early and Deb, my awesome and friendly trainer, was ready for the appointment. She brought up my profile on screen and I could watch it as she measured me and punched in the numbers. My predominant losses in inches were my waist, down 2.75 inches, and my buttocks and right calf, both down 1.25. I wasn't sure why my right calf was down but apparently I've been doing a super job of treating left and right the same so my numbers are evening out. Bottom line? Down 10.25 inches overall!

And I was so happy. I just loved getting that positive feedback from an independent source and I have been musing about my need for it ever since. Why is it we feel validated when someone else says "Well done!"? And then I realize it's a learned response. From the time we are born we are coddled and encouraged with positive (and sometimes negative!) feedback. No wonder we grow to rely on others' opinions. Hence the wifely question, "Do I look fat in this outfit?" (For the record, I've never asked that. Afraid of the answer?) and husbands sucking it up to show off their muscles. We all want positive feedback.

So when we go out in the world today, let's remember to be positive. Let's sink negativity in a tide of encouraging comments. Oh, and by the way, I'm now going 5 days to the gym, hoping in three months to get more of that positive feedback!

Birthday Wishes

Two days ago was my 60th birthday. You might think that was a cause for second thoughts and wish-I-hads but not so. The celebrations started the day before with a car trip to Lake Huron with my best friend, to whom I've been married for 40 years. I think I might have mentioned him before. Ha Ha. We left about 9 in the morning and wound our way over back roads--paved, of course--to one little village after another. We discovered Seaforth's quaint main street and lovely sunken lawn bowling green, searching out where my brother lives at the moment. Our plan to surprise him was thwarted as he wasn't there but his girlfriend was pretty surprised to make our acquaintance. The neat thing was how we found her. We knew her name was Liz, that she had a store on the main street and that she lived above it. A couple of queries in stores and we knew exactly where to go. Joys of a small town!

Then we went on to Bayfield, renowned for its shady main street of shops set back from the road, overhung with lovely trees. Even the walks are not city sidewalks but are gravel paths wandering from one shop to another. And the soft lake breezes keep it pretty cool. There are many different shops there from eclectic clothing to china to antiques but our favourite is one which has lovely glass in it. The two floors are a trip to a glass art gallery with beautiful pieces at every turn. I particularly liked the human body ones done in different muted shades and stretched this way and that. Beautiful. (But I don't want them! Gone are my days of buying everything in sight. Now I just look and love but don't buy.)

We had packed a lunch which we took to the newly renovated park. Lovely to munch away on fresh ham and cheese sandwiches and lots of melon and blueberries. Yummy. Amd as we ate we could watch the action. There was a family playing catch on the ball diamond, a mom was helping her little one learn to use the slide, and the band shell was sitting waiting for its next concert.

After finishing our lunch we did the rest of the shops and then headed for Goderich to their unique museum. From the selection of toilets through the years to the real-life steam engine around which the museum had been built, the display was excellent. I so like seeing things displayed how they might have been used. The Victorian home was one such display with its parlor filled with furniture and fittings of the day. That kind of museum makes history much more relevant to me.

We continued our journey up the Blue Water Highway towards Kincardine but had to take a detour around some road construction. This took us off the main road and added some miles to our journey but we were happy to get a close-up of the huge windmills constructed for hydro-electric purposes and the farms not normally part of the trip.

Once back on the highway we watched for the turn-off to the lake road and found it after a few mistakes. Of course the mistakes were the best part as we got to drive by many lovely cottage properties, new and old, and to soak up that relaxed cottage life. Finally we reached Kincardine and got reacquainted with hubby's old house where he lived as a boy, the 'new' school built after the fire he remembers running from in the old school, the movie theatre where he saw so many Saturday afternoon matinees--it's still running!--and the main street with its welcoming flower baskets and variety of shops. We decided not to stay for the traditional Saturday night pipe band parade as we have done this a few times already. It was time to turn the car south and head for home.

We made for Stratford and had a superb Chinese buffet, well worth waiting for. Then it was off again for the last hour home over lovely empty paved back roads, through the greens and golds of an Ontario farm summer, all the while talking and planning as we always do when we're in the car. It was a great day.

And, yet, my birthday celebration wasn't over. On Sunday morning hubby gave me two very thoughtful gift certificates: one, a membership to the local gym, and the other, a trip to a relaxation spa nearby. Some people might think the gym membership was a bit of a slap in the face but hubby listens to me and knows that I really want to shape up this 60-year-old body of mine. Gotta love that boy!

As the actual day progressed many phone calls came in wishing me well and I had a lovely time. Son and daughter-in-law came for barbecued chicken and a swim. A great day. But I haven't mentioned the most interesting part of the day. In the morning my son sat with us and we brain-stormed ideas for revitalizing our Classroom Puzzlers business. I was very excited by the ideas we came up with and even more blown away by the fact that on my 60th birthday, we were still going strong. Great stuff!

And so, you think, the birthday is over. Not so much. Monday, the doorbell rang and we opened it to a little girl standing on our step with a card. When I looked at the car, there was my very good friend who had brought her granddaughter. What a pair of sweeties!

Finally, hubby was waved down at the end of our street by people we know who gave him a card for me. It was looking a little the worse for its trip to me. These folks had found it on the road, obviously run over, opened it, seen my first name and the first name of my friend who had written it, and figured out the card was for me. Small town living at its best!

My birthday is over for another year but what a great time it was. I am reminded of people who care about me, from those closest to mere acquaintances. Life is great. Here's to another sixty, just like the first.

Hello, how are you?

These are the words I say many times a day as I go about my life. From fitness to groceries, getting mail to biking the 'route', cruising the back roads to getting the car fixed I meet many people and that is a huge plus. Some of the folks I've encountered in the last week will give you the idea.
We decided to cruise some of the back roads of our township to get digital photos for hubby to use in his current project. Lucky for us we saw an Amish buggy approaching and decided to try and get a picture, not of them,(we know they don't like that) but of the horse and buggy. We got out of our car and as the buggy approached we could see a young man, maybe 35-40 and a young boy riding with him. As he came up to us, he stopped at my hubby's wave. "We're doing some pictures for the township and wonder if we could get one of your horse and buggy?" hubby ventured.
"You're not taking a picture of me!" the man countered and we hastened to explain we just wanted the horse and buggy. We talked a bit with him and I thought he was okay with the idea as long as I didn't get him in the picture. Suddenly he said, "Well, I'll be going now," shook the reins in his hand and clucked the horse to a trot. I looked at my camera, which I hadn't even turned on yet, and realized I had no time. I stood for a moment watching the buggy bump away from me, thought of my options--I had none!--and dropped my camera to my side without even turning it on. Okay, well I guess we're not getting that picture.
We pushed on to another spot we had in mind to take a shot of an historical octagonal house now under the care of the historical society. I got a couple of angles and headed back to the car. Meanwhile another car approached hubby and wanted to know what we were doing there? Hubby explained as I got back in and I thought we'd be off in a sec. Not so. As soon as the lady heard that hubby was working on a project for the township and mentioned the mayor, she began to spout all her problems with the council, who did what, who said what, what her beefs were, ad nauseum. Hubby, sweet man that he is, told her that his project was not political at all and tried to steer her away from her diatribe. No such luck. I could see she wasn't going to quit until she got all her anger out. I thought of reaching over and turning on the ignition but couldn't bring myself to do it. Eventually hubby did just that. As we were driving away, I said, "Well, I guess you don't want her on your volunteer committee!" and we had some words to say about glass half empty people.
Now just when you think this is going to be really negative, I'll tell you about this morning. We went to the gym, me for the first time, and started exercising. Deb the trainer was quite nice and I felt really comfortable with her. Imagine how sweet it was for me to learn she is a word person, too! I felt that Deb was very good at putting me at ease, getting to the heart of things I needed to do, without actually pointing out my physical deficiencies. Quite a feat, when you think about it! While there I met friends I've known for 30 years and my comfort level went up again. I chuckled along at Helen's jokes, and was delighted when Chris shouted across at me that he got his wife an appointment at the migraine clinic which I had suggested because of her terrible problem. He was so excited to tell me that I felt happy that I had been able to help. The sad thing is the appointment is not for 9 months!
I also met a girl there who told me my husband had taught her and we chatted a bit. Of course she had loved him as a teacher--no surprise--so that was fun. After an hour and a half I was done and hopped on my bike to ride home. The muscles seemed a little stiff but nothing too tough to handle.
When I got home we decided to bike the six miles to the garage to pick up our car. We loaded up the water bottles, strapped on the helmets and headed out. We took it easy in the heat and stopped often under shady trees to take a swig of ice water. In half an hour we were sliding off the bikes and propping the kick stands. Jim stood outside the old-fashioned garage telling us that a simple tire rotation solved the problem which we thought was going to cost five or six hundred dollars. As hubby went in to settle the bill I talked on with Jim. His eyes never actually settle on you so that you might think he isn't interested in you at all. This is totally wrong. He is a Lion who quietly (not roaring) goes about the community doing good things. He is a good guy. We'll be back to him again, for sure.
We hopped in the car, jacked up the air conditioning and headed for home, bikes hanging out of the trunk. We were home in ten minutes, car in the garage, ready to face the rest of the day. And it was still only 10:30 a.m.
So. In case you haven't got the message, "I'm fine!"

Papers of Life

Life has its passages and its papers and, though I spent a lot of my life thinking I was very unique, life has taught me how similar I am to everyone else. Look at my 'Certificate' from my wonderful helicopter ride. They didn't even put my name on it! If I want it personalized, I have to fill it in.

Everyone has a birth certificate of one kind or another. My original I received in a packet of things my mother had sorted out to give me. The tiny four-line entry of my newspaper birth announcement was there as well, yellowed and brittle. Both things were special to me as they took me back to the time of my bursting into the world. Surely the stars must have jumped and the world clock must have missed a beat on that amazing day? Why is there is no mention of such a cataclysm in the history books on my special day?

Since then I have collected many official papers. I still have my Grade Eight report card filled in by the hand of my special teacher. What it doesn't mention is the day he was teaching our class the Science lesson, talking about insects fertilizing eggs, and I stuck up my hand. "My Dad puts fertilizer on the field but I don't understand how insects can fertilize eggs." Mr. Smith glowed red and proceeded to explain what was meant by his terminology. His red face became mine as I realized I had stepped in a big one and the class laughed. I took some teasing on the playground at lunch, you can be sure!

My Marriage Certificate reminds me of a hot day in June, my groom literally dripping at the front of the church, me laughing the whole day, and my mom kissing me goodbye as we left on our honeymoon. Well, we didn't get away quite that easily as my brothers blocked the laneway with a tractor and wagon so that we couldn't get on the road. We sat in the sweltering car, windows rolled up and started to kiss each other in front of the masses outside our haven. When the windows started to steam, the wagon was cleared and we were on our way, Mr. and Mrs. at last.

And there are the mountains of photo albums neatly organized and holding our treasures for the last forty years. Many people in there are gone now but the memories still linger when we thumb our way through. I am planning to have those books to fondle in my old age when I can't get around anymore. Each time I look for a specific picture I am slowed to a crawl as I rediscover the memories of our lives so far. The pictures of our boy and our girl growing up mark out our lives and, like the height measurements penciled on the doorway in the basement, are things to be treasured more and more as time passes.

And so I think that I am not totally individual. Everyone has these mementos and everyone has their papers of life. Of course today many of our things are plastic cards in our wallets but still we all have them. We are born, we go to school, we play sports, we win trophies and awards--we step one life step to another, moving down a similar path to a sure end. So I guess I'm not unique. And yet, and yet...................

A&W Memories

Yesterday my hubby and I were having a root beer at the new A&W on a nostalgia trip down the road to our combined past. This restaurant has recently opened in our area and we have made two journeys there so far, the first on a wind-whistling frigid February day and the second yesterday in the 33 C heat. We looked forward to the frosty mugs, the tinkling ice and the cold crackling fizz of the root beer in the throat yesterday far more than in February! We sat at our diner-days table and sipped on the root beer, cold but, regrettably, not in a frosty glass, and remembered the night we went to the A&W in our pj's many years ago.
We were living in London in our first apartment, just newly married and learning how to live together. For the most part this was easy but occasionally problems would come up. On the night in question we had some kind of falling out as we were getting ready for bed. I can't remember the cause and I probably wouldn't write it if I could but we quarrelled, I cried, my sweetie consoled and we made up. So there we were lying in our pajamas, wide awake, and wanting to end the night on a happier note.
"Let's go to A&W!" hubby spouted.
"We'd have to get all dressed again," I answered.
"No, let's just go like this."
And we did. We put on our coats and hopped into our '61 second-hand Pontiac Laurentian and drove downtown to the A&W, pulled up to a parking spot and the carhop appeared at the window. We giggled as we gave our order and laughed out loud when she disappeared. Apparently she didn't notice our attire. Soon we were sipping from frosty mugs and eating burgers and fries, happy again with each other and delighted to be sharing this small joke.
As we approach our 40th wedding anniversary we both still remember that night and our funny way of settling our argument at the A&W in our pj's!