10 days on the Road: Random Observations

It is true. Every word of it.  People from "down east" are the friendliest people in Canada. I'm certain also that with this fuzzy friendly warmth one enjoys little privacy at the same time.  We would be having a meal and planning out the next leg of the journey, only to be overheard and joined in our conversation whether or not we had asked for any advice. It is endearing and alarming at the same time.

We went to a McDonalds in Vermont to have a coffee. Every person in the building was morbidly obese except one really old man and a little boy who looked to be about 2. Those Big Macs looked so tiny being consumed by such large people. My body image and self esteem skyrocketed for about 15 minutes.

Americans, as it turns out, are pretty nice people. I have come to realize that it is not their fault that they are so ignorant about anything outside their own borders. I realize now that it is really the big American machine that I don't like: "We're the world's super power and we don't really have to care about anyone or anything else". That trickles down to everyone who lives there but has not had the benefit of an education about anything beyond who and what they are.  Sort of like brainwashing. It is actually quite sad. And while bigotry and hatred manage to exist everywhere, it is easy to see why it can be so prevalent in the absence of education. Just smile, wave the flag, sing God Bless America and DON'T ASK ANY QUESTIONS! All that said, it is too easy to mistake a $20 for a $1 because their money is all the same colo(u)r! It was fun, but I'm glad to be on my own side of the sandbox again.

Everybody thinks Quebec drivers are the worst.  I beg to differ.  When one is barrelling at crazy speeds along the highway on two wheels with nothing beyond a millimetre of leather for protection it is also true that one becomes hyper-aware of the actions of those on four wheels with whom we must share the road. Ten days, three States, four Provinces and 5,000 kilometres later and the verdict is in: Ontarians are the most selfish and narcissistic drivers I have seen on the roads anywhere. In the States, the Eastern Provinces and even Quebec for the most part, everyone drives in the right lane on a two lane highway, and they use the passing lane for... get this... PASSING! It is a thing of beauty to watch how smoothly traffic flows.  Return to Ontario and everything changes.  On a two lane highway, EVERYBODY sits in the passing lane, including the blissfully oblivious moron who is doing 90 in a 100 zone.  Everybody behind him is road raging and getting angry, riding up his tail perilously close, flashing high beams and I can feel the temperature rising on the pavement. Finally giving up, everyone screeches into the empty right lane, racing up a few car lengths and cutting someone off to get back in the passing lane. It is the whackiest phenomenon I have witnessed.  I think "Canada's Worst Driver" should focus on Ontario.  When there was road word and one lane was closed in Nova Scotia, everyone merged nicely, each one let one in and the delay was minimal. The same lane closure in Ontario has idiots racing up the shoulder to cut in, because god knows they had somewhere important to be that HAD to be more important than where everyone else was going.

The Cabot Trail is a completely disappointing experience on the back of someone else's motorcycle.  Now, I guess I should be grateful that I was able to see this stunning little corner of the earth, but I did not have the opportunity to experience it. Unless you're a motorcycle rider this probably won't make sense, but half of the joy of the journey is experiencing the curves and turns. As I sat on back and mostly looked at my own reflection on the back of a big black helmet, I imagined how awesome the riding must have been, but I didn't experience it.  All that way, and I did not get to ride the Cabot Trail. This will count as one of the biggest disappointments of 2013.  On the bright side, fresh lobster and crab was an amazing experience! Repairs to re-build a clutch are, apparently, universally expensive.

Restaurants are over rated. I love eating out when I've been cooking all week, but I couldn't eat out every day.  I like my food the way I like it. When I want it. In the quantity I want it.  And, I don't care if I don't have french fries for the foreseeable future. Talk about an over rated food group!

Waterproof and water resistant sound very similar.  They are not at all.

For all the beauty I witnessed in three States and four Provinces, it occurs to me that Ontario, when seen with the fresh eyes of someone who has been gone for over a week, is about as beautiful as any place I've been. However, Bradford is as dumpy looking as the day I left. What's with our downtown? Can't anyone afford a few cans of paint?

I'm glad to be home. Until I am restless again.....

Signing off....

I read some one's post on Facebook that Nelson Mandela died today. Hmm? Really? I mean, I'm pretty connected to the world by this iPhone of mine. Alerts sound when there is breaking news on CBC; I'm on twitter off an on all day... how could I possibly be so out of the loop?

OMG Nelson Mandela is dead, I said aloud sitting in the basement on the computer. Andrew, who spent some time in South Africa last fall, said "I have to call my friends there and see how they are". Lauren looked like she was going to cry.

But as soon as I said it I realized it didn't seem right.  So I checked cbc.ca. I opened twitter. Nothing. I went back and found the link on FB and clicked on it. It lead to a retraction on the Deutsche Welle website.  "Retraction: Nelson Mandela 14.06.2013 - We regret that due to a technical error our report of Nelson Mandela's death was unintentionally published. It has now been taken down".

It had not really occurred to me, but I guess it makes sense that every media outlet on the planet has the story ready to go save and except the actual time of death.

As often occurs, this indent caught my attention in the quirky way that things do, and I 'googled' the phrase "reports of my death...." to discover the misquotation of Mark Twain:"the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated", when in fact, he said, in response to the first inaccurate account of his demise in 1897: "the report of my death was an exaggeration". There would be a second report of his death in 1907, well in advance of his actual death in 1910. 

There is a website which lists premature obituaries and there are quite a few! Many people I have never heard of have apparently died before they died. As well, George H.W. Bush, Joe DiMaggio, Fidel Castro, Dick Cheney and Barrack Obama must have just about choked on their morning coffee when reading the paper only to discover they were, apparently, dead.

The most amusing to me was reading that text messages circulating of Baroness Thatcher's death almost had Prime Minister Harper issuing a statement of condolence, only to discover that  Baroness Thatcher was Minister John Baird's cat.  Lady Thatcher did not leave us until 8th of April this year.

So off my mind goes, taking this in two completely different directions:

First: It is obvious but bears repeating. Do not believe everything you read on the Internet.

Second: (This is the big one). Not that I'm well known, but in the event that my obituary was being written in advance, ready to go live on the Internet at the moment of my death, what would it say? In other words, am I living a life that I am content not to have to defend -  because I really can't  -  when I'm gone? Can I stand behind every word and every action? Was I true to myself? Did I have integrity? Lord knows I have not led a perfect life, and I have no illusions that there will be people who say "Oh my god, she's dead - that's terrible" as well as "Oh my god she's dead; hmmm what should we watch on TV tonight?"  If I wrote my own obituary and tucked it away to be found after my death, would anyone recognize me through my words? Or would my self perception be out to lunch? I have written about this from a slightly different perspective a while back, and it is amusing to me how the lessons I need to learn most keep making themselves obvious to me in the most roundabout of ways.

Self examination: It seems to happen every time I feel changes coming. It's almost like I have to keep checking on myself so that when the page turns to the next chapter, I have it all together and I move forward as a whole person, with determination and a clear mind. I have no idea what it is, but I feel it and it leaves me edgy, and needing to re-group.

When Nelson Mandela does finally leave us, the world will be a different place. It will be sadder, but better because he was here.

Will the world be a better place because I was here?

It has been a while....

I just realized that I have not written a blog entry for over a year. No wonder I'm messed up! I'm happiest when I'm creating and somehow, somewhere along the way, part of my creative being has atrophied for lack of use.  This isn't good. It must be addressed.
The challenge is that I'm sitting here staring at the ugly blank screen and I can't think of a single thing about which to pontificate in the way I love to do.
In the meantime, I'll just rant for a few minutes, perhaps inspiring me to come up with something worthy of the energy.
One of my greatest fears: atrophy - of my mind, my spirit and my soul.  I need to find passion again. I'll be back, better than ever. And then beware.
In the meantime, at least I got the juices flowing again.
Sooner than later.. may it be so ;)

Nothing!

Monday, February 20th. "Family Day" in Ontario. Another excuse for Civil Servants, Teachers and Bankers to have a paid day off.  Whatever. My family decided to go skiing today, and I gladly arose at 6:30 this morning to help them get out the door by 7:00. As for me, the human accident looking for a place to happen - they know me by name at Southlake's fracture clinic so I think I'll take a miss.
Then I crawled back into bed.  Something startled me - probably the bizarre dream in which I was  saving the world. It was 10:45. I fell in and out of consciousness and when the news came on at noon, I dragged myself to the kitchen to find something to eat, heated a bowl of last night's pasta and took it back to my room.  Oops there's spaghetti sauce on the newly washed sheets.  Oh well, I don't do laundry - wipe it up, keep eating, put the bowl on the floor. And fall asleep.

The phone's not really ringing today, and I can't think of a soul for whom I have the energy or interest to have a conversation.  I'm just fine with my own company thank you very much. I awaken and it is 1:30. I'm forced to channel surf because the most ridiculously stupid waste of television air time happens to be on - I thought most of the soap operas had been killed off - do people still really watch that stuff? Wow, no kidding huh?
I find a talk show re-run. And doze off.
I've been feeling guilty off and on about accomplishing nothing today, but obviously not guilty enough to do anything about it. Going full tilt 7 days a week can take its toll.  It was kind of nice to regroup, re-energize, and have no one looking for me. Who is really going ot notice if I don't save the world today - they're all goofing off too!
Tomorrow the war begins again, the battle against time to accomplish so much with so little of it. The demands, the phone calls, the making everyone happy.
But today was about me. I accomplished zilch. Zero.  Nada. Nothing. Guilt be damned. I had a great time!
I fluttered some more in and  out of consciousness. But now, it is suddenly 3:45. The family will be home soon and I promised them my famous meatloaf for dinner.
And so it begins again *sigh*... but it was fun for a while........

A Life Without Regret

It is an awful, feeling.  That terrible knot in the gut, the sinking feeling, the close-your-eyes-throw-your-head-back while taking a deep breath, holding it in and gritting your teeth while you think 'oh my god I was SUCH an idiot'. Those moments in life that you wish you could do over. We all have those. We beat ourselves up. In fact, I have little doubt that each of us possesses the inherent gift of being our own worst critic.

The moments of regret which punctuate life are as inevitable as breathing itself.  I'm no psychologist but I would say that it is just part of 'the human condition'. It is a personal shame suffered in silence, wherein a combination of pride an self preservation combine to keep it internal and intensely personal, regardless of the knowledge that every other being  on the planet experiences exactly the same phenomena.

But this kind of regret about which I have previously written and is not the topic on this particular day. Funny that it comes to life in my consciousness days before the milestone commonly known as a birthday. When one observes this yearly remembrance of his existence, it seems to be equally part of the human condition to spend some time in refection - looking  to and fro in self examination. The past and the future considered from one moment in time called the present.  But it is not static because one's perspective of his past can change as a result of both internal and external influences. My view of the choices I made in my 20's evolves as I mature, learn things about myself and my world, and accepting the fact that I merely played the hand I was dealt to the best of my ability.

Do I have regrets? Absolutely. Not at all. I'm not sure.

Andy Rooney, the American writer best known for his curmudgeonly way of putting words and giving validation to the thoughts of so many 'average people' has died at the age of 92.  He managed to squeeze every last bit he could out of life, and while 'retiring' a mere month before his passing, I have little double that he worked, as any real writer would be compelled to do, right up until his final day on this earth. His last on air interview managed to compact 92 years into 13 minutes and 7 seconds and of that, my 'light bulb' moment occured during about 30 seconds.  Asked what he would do if he had his life to live over, Andy Rooney replied, without hesitation: "If I had my life to live over, I'd be on television, I'd get on 60 Minutes if I could, and I'd do a piece every week of my own. I'd write it and I'd say it. And that's what I do best."

He lived his life, sorry, as in apologetic, for certain small moments, for certain errors in judgement, for mistakes he made which may have hurt or offended others as is the case for any person of conscience. But in the grand scheme of things he lived a life without regret.

Wow.  I have to think long and hard about whether I can speak the same way with conviction.  Better yet, I need to consider all that I do, beginning today, to live a life with purpose such that during my final interview,  I will be able to stand at that singular point in time where there is no looking forward, and look back on a life without regret.

A Life Reduced

I don't bother with my neighbours much. It really isn't all that friendly of a street, which is okay with me. I'm not sure I want to live in a real life soap opera anyway. I would assume that our commonality is limited to geography, but lack the interest and time to be proven wrong.

Likewise, I don't pay much attention to their comings and goings, unless of course, it impacts me directly. They go about their business and I about mine; a polite wave exchanged when we pass each other on the street(with the exception of the freak who lives next door in his parents' basement and who gives me pause to wonder if I could get away with "but officer I really didn't see him dart out from behind the car" after I've run him down) - but I digress - that's a whole other post.

Lately I've noticed something; or I should say noticed someone missing. The old lady two doors over has generally been pretty low key. I am acquainted more with her ex-husband who moved out a number of years ago. Because she is alone, my Matthew has gone over a few times to shovel snow or rake leaves in return for her signature on his community service sheet. Other than that, we hardly see her. Except in the last little while, it occurs to me that I haven't seen her at all.

Then there was the dumpster - the kind people put on their driveways when a massive renovation is taking place. It was quite impressive; I would think large enough to practically take the house back to the bricks in order to start again. At first I thought "how cool - I don't know any old people who would bother with such an enormous undertaking". I mean really, I have elderly family for whom finally hiring an electrician to replace 60 amp service because they couldn't use the toaster and the microwave at the same time just about pushed them over the edge let alone entertaining the thought of retiring the 1970's wallpaper in the bathroom (darn this newfangled technology!) But then, the dumpster wasn't there for more than a week, and I didn't see any tradespeople coming and going.

Then there was the garage sale this past weekend. Actually no, not the kind you see where people put out assorted odds and ends on the driveway. This has been the mother of all garage sales - two full days - with enough items, large and small, to fill a small store. It seemed to be a full blown contents sale.  And while I have never understood the concept of putting one's unwanted 'stuff' on display on the front lawn for total strangers to examine, haggle over and purchase, I was loath to ignore the volume of traffic and the number of cars double parked on the street as they impeded my comings and goings somewhat.


Fascinating.... and sad. A life reduced, at least in the eyes of others, to the contents of a dumpster and a yard sale. Then my sadness turned almost to horror at the thought of people rummaging through my 'stuff' after I'm gone. Certain things which are meaningful only to me for reasons no-one else will ever understand - the antithesis of 'one man's junk is another man's treasure' (the obvious, if not misguided, inspiration for the modern day yard sale) left behind to be examined and judged by family and the cast-offs to be rummaged through by complete strangers. It is all very sad.

I shudder at the thought. I'm off to de-clutter my closet now......

Blocked!

It's like a craving, a need. And not that I'm always the most articulate person on the planet, and not that I necessarily believe that I have anything to say that the world wants or needs to hear, but still I need to write.

I can't explain it. I can only liken it to people who HAVE to make music; people who MUST compete. It is a compulsion of sorts, this need for self expression.

Why?

I wish I knew.

But I'm blocked right now. I can't think of a single topic which compels me to share even a brief sarcastic comment or something bitingly witty. For all the dreams I have of being 'discovered' and asked to write a daily or weekly column or sorts, I panic and thank the stars that this lack of inspiration isn't going to mean that I'm out of a job.

It's like living in black and white. There is no colour, no joy, no real reason to smile. No inspiration. It is all as blank as the piece of paper just begging for some penned profundity.

It's like the name you can't quite remember; a date; an event. It's on the tip of my tongue but nothing comes out.  It's that agitated feeling of being exhausted yet feeling too restless to fall asleep.

The blank piece of paper is the cruelest, mot unkind and stark reality I can imagine. Only I don't have to because it haunts me now.

I'm screaming inside for inspiration. But even the black and white is melting together into the most bleak, nondescript shade of grey which is taking over my thoughts like a vine that grows out of control, choking and killing everything in its path, or worse yet, turning it to apathy.

I can only hope that inspiration will be mine again soon to flood my dark dreary soul with the bright light of optimism, hope and brilliant creativity.

Until then the blank white page taunts me........