Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

We saw Heart in Concert last week, and it seemed odd to be amongst the younger segment of those in attendance. In fact, it didn't feel like I fit the demographic at all.  There were "old" people rocking and shouting and singing with passion and excitement.

Even the mosh pit was old! Thankfully I didn't see any walkers or canes jockeying for position.

Ann and Nancy Wilson are 60 and 56 - but man, Ann can still belt out those notes and Nancy struts and dances with that electric guitar and kicks her legs in the air as well as any 30something rocker I've ever seen.  She was totally sexy and hot - the only tattletale exposing her well preserved secret being her hands when the jumbo tron showed a close of up of a wickedly intense guitar riff.

It seemed like everyone there was desperately hanging on to the past. Balding, grey haired men dressed 30 years younger in jeans and women in sexy rocker chick clothes and high heels.

Its ironic. I think all the time about never going gentle into that good night. Aging 'gracefully' is not in my game plan. But at the same time, I couldn't be paid to go back and re-live my 20's or even my 30's for that matter. I like right now, regardless of the fact that "that good night" looms constantly closer.

As a significant group of the population in general ages, there is something to the saying that "40 is the new 30" and "50 is the new 40". Everywhere I go I see "old guys" on motorcycles, driving sports cars and playing sports.  I have a couple of female acquaintances in their 50's who run marathons and have hot bods to rival any young thing I've seen.

Being the very youngest of the "baby boomer" generation, I love watching my older boomer brothers and sisters living like they are 30 somethings. They inspire me to stay young. I hope I'm still a rocker chick when I'm 60, and I hope I'll still be on my motorcycle when I'm 70 or 80! And because it seems like this generation never gets too old to do the things that "young people" do, I'm dying to learn to play the drums. You never know, I may get tired of real estate and want to run away to be in a rock and roll band.

Do not go gentle into that good night...... kick and scream and make noise all the way! I know that's what I'll be doing.

The Graduate

Lauren's going to kill me I just know it. It doesn't matter what she says, I AM going to cry on Thursday night when she gets up on stage at her Grade 8 grad to deliver her address as class Valedictorian.

It hit me today as we did a dry run with the dress, the shoes (the oh-so-grown up shoes at that!) to make sure no last minute alterations are required. Where has the time gone? My goodness she's so tall and so stunningly beautiful.

I will never forget that Monday night. Murphy Brown was on TV. I was restless and edgy - and probably a little cranky, but justifiably so. Our two little boys, Andrew-5 and Matthew-2, were tucked away in their beds. Lawrie was probably watching TV and definitely giving me my space. Then it was time. A call to my parents in Mississauga and they were on the way. Construction on the highway delayed them to the point that we had to leave for Southlake the minute they pulled in the driveway 3 hours later.

On the way to the hospital, I wondered, for the first time, whether I would have a boy or a girl. I was afraid to wish. But I really wanted a little girl to name Lauren. I had dreamed about her all my life. But I would have been content with another boy too.

When we arrived at the hospital, I remember dropping into a wheelchair like a ton of bricks because I was afraid I would bring a child into the world right in the parking  lot.  Please don't cringe - this is not becoming one of those too-much-information-labour stories.

I got upstairs, Lawrie foolishly went in search of reading material because he thought this might be hours long like the first two. By the time he arrived in the room the main even was almost over!

Heck, the Doctor didn't even make it for the final curtain call.

And there she was. Our beautiful Lauren - the perfect little girl I'd been dreaming about having since forever. I never cried so hard and with so much all consuming joy in my entire life, which now, was complete.

Fast forward 13 and one half years. I could not be more proud of the little girl who has become a beautiful young woman.

And she says don't cry! Honey I've already purchased the waterproof eyeliner and mascara. I think it'll be September 17, 1996 all over again!

I can't wait.

Dressed up in my Sunday best...

People suck. Well, maybe not all of them - there are a few good ones out there. But for the most part, yes, they can be very disappointing.

And, there are certain places where I've foolishly assumed that the people I know through that association would be of a certain moral character - silly me for thinking that belonging to a Church means that a person would operate with integrity and in a forthright manner. In fact, some of my worst experiences, particularly in business, have been with people who call themselves "born again" Christians. The term, and its implied sense of superiority, makes me shudder.

I respect people who are the same - 7 days a week. I don't know a lot of them, but I find myself drawn to those who are "the real deal". Maybe its because I am, that I can sense it in others. And because I am consistently the same, flaws, positive attributes and all, I find that people love me or hate me. That works really well for me as long as they have the strength of character to be honest about it.

One can be all prayerful and religious all day every Sunday, and fail to realize that  the rest of the world really judges the thoughts, actions, and attitudes which manifest themselves through every day living during the other six days. A million hallelujahs, hail Mary's or whatever on one day of the week just doesn't cut it.

I think this applies to every extreme form of religion. And here's the funny thing - every single "religion" in the world was formulated by people.

Whether you believe in God, or some kind of supreme being; whether you just chalk it up to "karma" or "the universe", what it really boils down to is making the choice to operate from a place of being genuine. And maybe a touch of honesty thrown in for good measure.

I guess that once I got past being so disappointed and angry with all the religious people I know, I started feeling sorry for those who wear their religion like some misplaced badge of honour, only to behave in a way which would repel others from ever wanting to join their ranks.

Where's God in all that? Nowhere. Just as I suspected. The building's real pretty though!

Lest we forget

On May 15, 2010, Private Kevin Thomas McKay was set to ship home after his first tour of duty in Afghanistan. Unfortunately, he never made that flight, and instead ended up with a free ticket to ride the Highway of Heroes.  He died on the 13th May serving our Country by helping others who do not enjoy the democracy and freedom that we take for granted.

I sat on the edge of my bed watching TV that day and I cried. My daughter came into the room and asked me what was wrong. Barely able to contain myself, I nodded towards the TV and she sat with me to watch the rest of the report. Lauren, hating to see me upset, looked at me with her wondering eyes and asked "mummy did you know that soldier?"  I shook my head to indicate no, and she looked at me puzzled and asked why then, I was crying.

I was crying because I could picture Mrs. McKay cleaning her home in Richmond Hill, planning a welcome home dinner, and possibly even stocking the fridge with her young man's favourite brand of beer in anticipation of his return. This is not entirely different from my anticipation when Andrew, who is only a year younger then the youngest soldier to die, came home from college a few weeks ago. My heart broke for that woman because only a mother can understand the anticipation turning to relief that comes when her children are home safe, whether it be a school trip for 6 hours-30 km away, 8 months in college 3 hours away, or 10 months on the other side of the world. A relief that she will never experience.

And let's even suppose that my imaginary scenario is completely wrong and a little too "June Cleaver".  Consider for a moment that Mrs. McKay is a senior partner in a prestigious Bay Street law firm, and she had the housekeeper clean, her favourite caterer prepare a lavish meal, and a delivery service stock their bar with the finest liqueurs and imported beers.

Either way, she'll never have the opportunity to embrace her son and tell him how proud she is of him. An even though her little boy became a man a long time ago, she will never again share in his accomplishments and beam with pride at his successes in life.

And when I explained all of this to Lauren, she cried too and gave me a big hug and said "mummy please don't be sad". But it is hard not to be.

146 mothers have experienced a pain that no parent was ever designed to endure.  The youngest soldier to make this supreme sacrifice was 20 years old (I could be his mother) and the oldest was 45 (my age). And whether their mothers are 45 or 70 their pain is unfathomable.

To the 144 men, and 2 women who have died in combat roles since April 2002; to the sole female in Afghanistan in a non combat role to have her life taken; to the male civilian and the female reporter who also served and died: Thank you.

It is at times like this that I am happy to leave the political arguments about Afghanistan to the politicians, at least for a moment, while I pause to shed a tear for the human tragedy, and share in the agony and grief of 149 mothers across our great nation, while at the same time I selfishly pray that I will never totally understand how they feel.

Because they are there helping others find some kind of workable democracy, I am free to pursue my dreams and goals without fear of oppression, discrimination and persecution.  Because they are there promoting peace and teaching others to become self sufficient I am free to dress as I wish, express myself freely and and participate in my country's democratic process.

We do not need to wait for November 11th to remember.  In fact, we must not relegate our gratitude to one solitary day of the year, preceded by two weeks of wearing poppies on our lapels. It is only when we take our freedom for granted, that we risk losing it.

I will never forget.

And the Oscar goes to.....

Helena Guergis! In what has to be the most impressive theatrical piece I've seen on television in quite some time, Ms. Guergis managed to skillfully blend a number of personalities into one slick PR package with the ability to elicit reactions ranging from sympathy to sexual arousal from every male in the country, all within the span of 20 minutes. And the contrived little emotional breakdown during which no mascara was ever smeared - nice finishing touch!

I mean, who wouldn't  be turned on by those beautiful brown eyes, wide in disbelief, straight out of some schoolgirl fantasy porn flick, saying "what did I do, please, please tell me. I don't know what I've done". I can just picture her boss walking into the room telling her she's been a bad girl and has to be punished. But I digress, and that imagery is beyond disturbing.

Peter Mansbridge asked her if perhaps, in spite of being in and around politics all her life, she might have been a bit naive? Ok, that's one word for it. Personally I'd say the chick just doesn't get it. Exactly when did she think she's smack her pretty little head on the glass ceiling of the Conservative Corporation? Never? Honey in that misogynistic world, your charming personality and that sexy little girl voice gets you a ride for as long as the big boys aren't tired of you. Flavour of the month.

The sad part is, throughout the interview Ms. Guergis asserts that she's just been completely engrossed in working hard and doing a good job, yet the media and Ottawa have no interesting in examining her record and accomplishments. And beyond the titillating tales of airport temper tantrums, sex, drugs and hookers, the rest of the country doesn't care. How sad.

And ultimately this three ring circus serves to divert attention from the real issues. Issues like the treatment detainees who are tortured in undemocratic nations, the choice by this government to take women's reproductive health a step back, by, oh 30 years or more globally, the cessation of funding for women's groups, gay groups, and a list of other offenses as long as my arm.

Helena Guergis is an interesting woman. She's stupid and brilliant at the same time. Stupid for believing that a bright, attractive, sexy, successful woman in a bi-racial marriage would ever go places in an ultra right-wing social conservative political party, and brilliant for realizing how to use those same attributes to get even when it got ugly. Her political career doesn't have to be over. She should run against the Conservative candidate in her own riding and show them all.

Who knows who is telling the truth here. We may never know. But the diversion sure creates one helluva screen behind which Mr. Harper can continue to do his dark and dirty work, out of the spotlight, dismantling  the rights and freedoms of those of whom he, in is infinite right wing wisdom does not approve.

Be very afraid.

Flat on the Floor

I own a pair of flat shoes!  Yes of course, I have running shoes for physical activity, but I'm talking about actual flat shoes, actually sandals - as in something to wear 'dressed up' going out in public.

Its crazy how these things happen. I'm 5'1" and long ago vowed that I'll do my best to avoid being the shorty in my family for as long as possible.  With 4 or 5 inch heels I may make it to Christmas if I'm lucky.  So it is actually surprising that I bought flats! Tracey doesn't like them... oh the sandals are hot enough, but when I walked into the office she kind of wrinkled her nose and said... hmmm I'm not sure I like you short! Oh god, she doesn't like me short? I AM short - I just hide it well!

But really, this is a two part story - first the fact that I ended up with flats, and second, how it came to be....

Doing my part to ensure the success of Lauren's grade 8 year, I found myself in a shoe store last week. Actually not just any shoe store but one that I frequent on a regular basis. 

But I'm telling it all backwards. On the weekend, I was informed that a large papier mache project was the focus of the weekend's homework, due Tuesday. Required items included a whole lot of white glue and two shoe boxes.  Hmmm no glue. No shoe boxes. No really... no shoe boxes! ALWAYS hide the evidence is my motto!

So off to Staples in Newmarket for a huge tub of white glue. And, rather gratuitously located a mere 200 metres across the parking lot is The Shoe Company. I hadn't been in for a while, and well, I DID need two shoe boxes.

In less than 3 minutes, I had found a very hot pair of black platform shoes - zipper, open toe, to die for sexy with a pair of jeans. I found my size. Done! One down....

I found a second pair, candy apple red, and beyond the first pair in sex appeal into the dimension of 'these definitely look better in the air'. Oh baby! And guess what - they didn't have my size.  I am, to this day, disappointed beyond belief.

Wandering the rest of the store it occurred to me that, with summer pretty much here, I could use some cute footwear to pair with shorts. And then it happened, an adorable pair of Steve Madden gladiator sandals jumped off the shelf and right into my path, making it impossible for me to continue walking. They were my size! I stopped, set the first shoe box on the ground and tried them on. It was at this moment that the very store manager who was witness to a two year old incident which has made me legendary in the store, happened down the aisle and almost fainted. Luckily I caught him and stopped him from hitting the ground and grievously injuring himself.  As he regained both his balance and his composure, he looked at me and, shaking his head in disbelief, said "honey, you are in the wrong aisle!"

I bought the sandals! I have no clue whether I'll wear them often, but they're just one of those things worth having in the closet.

The rest of the weekend was very busy, and Lauren was left to her own devices to finish her model of the Grand Canyon (I've never been one of those moms who does the kids' homework). Monday night, after a long brutal day at work, I came in late, kids already in bed. There in the kitchen was a spectacular paper model of The Grand Canyon. And I smiled, knowing that I had done my part to assist with my daughter's education, and that Steve Madden helped save the day

Sleepless in Simcoe County

I hate these kinds of nights, and boy am I grateful they are not a very regular occurrence!

Stupid me, for falling asleep at 9:00 p.m. 

12:30. Wake up from a crazy dream and look at the clock. Ouch, I was SO sure I had been asleep a lot longer than 3 1/2 hours.  I think it could be a long night.

1:00. Downstairs to watch TV for a bit.

1:30. Back up to bed.  1:40. Have I only been laying here for 10 minutes? Isn't it amazing how slowly time moves when I can't get to sleep.  1:45. Send a message to Tracey to see if she's awake too!  Cool, she is, so we message back and forth on Blackberry messenger for a while, but she's tired and tells me to go to sleep.

My brain won't turn off, and I wish I would just stop thinking about thing. Work, money, my health, the kids, how busy this week is going to be, how much I need a vacation, the fact that my real estate license is up for renewal on Tuesday and I still need 13 more credits.... and other thoughts of people, places and events that are not suitable for public consumption.... The noise won't stop!

2:15. Log onto face book and see if anyone is online to chat.  Of course not-everyone else is in bed - like I should be.  2:27. Fix up my profile on Linked In and see that a fabulous client has written a wonderful recommendation for me - read it over 3 times and feel gratitude....make a mental note to ask her if I can also publish it on the website.  2:42. I get this brilliant idea to set up a new twitter account for real estate - Tracey's gonna love this, although we both know I'll be the only one who will keep it up and running.

3:10. Go grab some orange juice and pause for half a second to consider whether adding a shot of Grey Goose will help me get to sleep.  Better not... bad idea....

Walking back down to the basement to resume my night prowling on the computer and the stupid cat jumps on me and scares me half to death -man, if it wasn't for Lauren this cat would be dropped off at the back door of a Chinese food restaurant.... (get over it Tracey, I'll never be the animal lover you are!)

3:42. It occurs to me that I could have been making good use of this time by completing some of those credits that have to be finished by Tuesday so I don't temporarily lose my real estate license like I did two years ago. Hmm... I'm noticing a pattern here, and beginning to wonder of my ability to procrastinate to the point of peril may just kill me some day.....

4:28. I wonder if any of my early bird friends are awake. Notice the talk about procrastination and how easily the ADD kicks in and I'm off to something else.

When I was really sick and taking lots of terrible medication that kept me awake almost around the clock, I used to bake every night. My family was stuck in the cross hairs of mixed emotions: feeling bad that I was so ill, but loving that they were waking up to fresh muffins and bread every morning.  Mmmmmmmaybe not.  It was a good thought tho, which, fortunately passed almost as quickly as it came into existence.

4:37. It occurs to me that if I publish this blog, that all the people on the distribution list might send me a nasty note and ask to be removed. Or maybe not. You all know I can be quirky and off the wall right?

My I-pod died so I can't even sit here and groove. Nobody to message; I think either Paul will kill me if I call them this early....It's almost 2am on the west coast so Matthew won't be impressed. Tracey needs some sleep so I won't bug her. I've talked about having a very short list of friends in a past blog, and it seems the list of friends I can talk to at 4:43 is even shorter.

The birds are chirping... omg they are annoying. I have a headache - the kind I get when I know I should have been sleeping for the past 4 hours.

I think its gonna be a long day, and an even longer week.....

4:45 If I try now I can maybe get in 2 hours. Goodnight!