I like my life as a pessimist - I wouldn't trade it! When life is (insert adjective) hard, unfair, dreary, mundane, challenging, bitterly disappointing, as it often is, the expectations of a pessimist are exceedingly lower than those of the optimist, thus the outcomes of many situations are really not that bad, generally speaking. I expect the worst in a situation, and when something less than that is the the actual result, it is 'bonus; free game; play again'. Optimists have much farther to fall when it all falls apart.
Two weeks ago I was involved in a violent collision on a ski hill. The irony is that, while it was my first time on skis in over 22 years, I was in perfect control and looking pretty hot on my trick skis. It was the student, who, having lost control and rocketed straight down the hill like a bullet, hit me and sent me flying like a rag doll. I landed on my back, head pointing down hill, and didn't move for several minutes because I wasn't actually sure if I was alive or dead. It was not immediately apparent to me whether the bright light beckoned me to the great beyond, or if it was just the sun shining on me. Clearly by virtue of the fact that I have written this it turned out to be the latter.
So, the pessimist in me thinks this really sucks. My ski season is over. I had chosen to embrace a winter sport to pass the time until the return of motorcycle season. Now it is just going to be a cold, miserable winter wherein I will impatiently count down the days until spring.
However, I have also come to the alarming realization that as painful and slow to heal as the fractured and dislocated radius may be, and how cumbersome and restricting the cast is, and how slow and frustratingly onerous every normal task has become, the timing of the crash could have been altered by a split second and I could have snapped my neck instead of my forearm. I could be paralyzed. Or dead.
So in the grand scheme of things, the pain, this awful cast, and the excruciatingly long countdown to spring don't collectively seem so bad.
But please don't call me an optimist. I still believe life sucks and then you die. I just borrowed the optimist club jersey..... it is damned cold out there!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The "ish" factor - learning to chill reaches a whole new level!
So, it was my birthday last week. No big deal - it was relatively uneventful - just the way I wanted.
But something happened. It was one of those moments that made me go 'hmmmm'. Not quite a light bulb moment because it wasn't earth shattering or anything. But nonetheless it was significant enough that it made me stop and think for a moment..
Wait. This story requires a little bit of setting up.
First, MY schedule runs on a clock that is different than anyone else's. Sometimes it is Newfoundland time. Sometimes there's a time zone that is, oh, about 15 minutes behind the rest of the world. When I book appointments, they're done in half hour window, as in "I'll meet you between 3 and 3:30". That's smart for me. I aim for 2:50 and I'm pretty damn sure I'll arrive by about 3:20, which puts me right in the window of time I booked, thus saving me from dreaming up an excuse about why I'm late.
Second, there's my Dad. If he says he'll arrive at 3:00 p.m., he doesn't mean 3:01. He doesn't even mean 2:59 (although he's been known to arrive a minute early and throw me right off). And it doesn't matter if my watch has a different time than his. Only his watch counts. It's like he synchronises it directly with God himself every morning. "Tina-Marie, if you arrive at the train station at 7:31 to catch the 7:30 train, you've missed it." (Heaven help me, I've hear that a million times in my life, and the part where he annoyingly calls me by my real name could be the topic of a whole other post someday!) I've already told him that when he dies, we're going to schedule his funeral for 11:00 a.m. and then start at about 11:12, just so I can see if he makes the coffin rock back and forth in post-mortem agitation.
Now, about my birthday. Tuesday November 9th at 9:00 a.m. I received a phone call from my Mom (Dad can't hear on the phone so well anymore so he gets Mom to call and he just yells at her in the background if she diverts from the message he's trying to send me.
"Happy Birthday Tina." "Thanks Mom," I reply.
"Dad and I would like to take you to lunch today, but we're gong to a meeting this morning so it will have to be after 12:00."
"Ok, that would be nice" I replied.
We agreed on Swiss Chalet at Yonge and Green Lane.
And then it happened.
We're making our plans and I hear Dad in the background: "We think we'll be done by noon, but why don't we say 12:30ish in case we're running a little late".
Now, 12:30is coming out of my Mother's mouth would be no big deal. She and I speak the same language on this one. But.... DAD? 12:30ish?
The planets are no longer aligned and all of the absolutes in this world have been altered forever. Hell, I 'm left wondering if the earth is, indeed, round!
ISH has never been in my Father's vocabulary. I'm just waiting now for snow in July. Better yet, I should go and buy a lottery ticket!
Or, maybe, just maybe, he's learned to chill and enjoy retired life. Honestly, I think this behaviour falls into the realm of an anomaly. Or maybe its just one of those things that will happen on the 9th of November every year.
But something happened. It was one of those moments that made me go 'hmmmm'. Not quite a light bulb moment because it wasn't earth shattering or anything. But nonetheless it was significant enough that it made me stop and think for a moment..
Wait. This story requires a little bit of setting up.
First, MY schedule runs on a clock that is different than anyone else's. Sometimes it is Newfoundland time. Sometimes there's a time zone that is, oh, about 15 minutes behind the rest of the world. When I book appointments, they're done in half hour window, as in "I'll meet you between 3 and 3:30". That's smart for me. I aim for 2:50 and I'm pretty damn sure I'll arrive by about 3:20, which puts me right in the window of time I booked, thus saving me from dreaming up an excuse about why I'm late.
Second, there's my Dad. If he says he'll arrive at 3:00 p.m., he doesn't mean 3:01. He doesn't even mean 2:59 (although he's been known to arrive a minute early and throw me right off). And it doesn't matter if my watch has a different time than his. Only his watch counts. It's like he synchronises it directly with God himself every morning. "Tina-Marie, if you arrive at the train station at 7:31 to catch the 7:30 train, you've missed it." (Heaven help me, I've hear that a million times in my life, and the part where he annoyingly calls me by my real name could be the topic of a whole other post someday!) I've already told him that when he dies, we're going to schedule his funeral for 11:00 a.m. and then start at about 11:12, just so I can see if he makes the coffin rock back and forth in post-mortem agitation.
Now, about my birthday. Tuesday November 9th at 9:00 a.m. I received a phone call from my Mom (Dad can't hear on the phone so well anymore so he gets Mom to call and he just yells at her in the background if she diverts from the message he's trying to send me.
"Happy Birthday Tina." "Thanks Mom," I reply.
"Dad and I would like to take you to lunch today, but we're gong to a meeting this morning so it will have to be after 12:00."
"Ok, that would be nice" I replied.
We agreed on Swiss Chalet at Yonge and Green Lane.
And then it happened.
We're making our plans and I hear Dad in the background: "We think we'll be done by noon, but why don't we say 12:30ish in case we're running a little late".
Now, 12:30is coming out of my Mother's mouth would be no big deal. She and I speak the same language on this one. But.... DAD? 12:30ish?
The planets are no longer aligned and all of the absolutes in this world have been altered forever. Hell, I 'm left wondering if the earth is, indeed, round!
ISH has never been in my Father's vocabulary. I'm just waiting now for snow in July. Better yet, I should go and buy a lottery ticket!
Or, maybe, just maybe, he's learned to chill and enjoy retired life. Honestly, I think this behaviour falls into the realm of an anomaly. Or maybe its just one of those things that will happen on the 9th of November every year.
Monday, November 1, 2010
61 Days...
For me the worst day of the year has arrived. I hate November 1st.
It signifies the beginning of the most depressing 61 days on my calendar and I brace myself. Its almost like inhaling deeply and preparing to hold my breath for the countdown to January 1st.
There is nothing redeeming about the month of November - not even my birthday. It is a dark, dreary, depressing month. It is not shocking that there are more suicides during this 30 day period than any other on the calendar. Christmas music starts playing in the malls and stores today and by December I'll even have to take my iPod to do the grocery shopping to avoid it. And ironically, the music means nothing - a clear juxtaposition to the throngs jostling for position in line, fighting for parking spots, and frantically engaging in consumerism in an empty hope of finding some satisfaction in it. Songs in which I once found solace like "O Holy Night" have been reduced to the status of a meaningless commercial jingle.
The days are getting shorter and my body craves the fleeting bursts of sunshine that will be rationed so sparingly.
There will be incredibly tasteless plastic decorations everywhere I look. My own family will clutter our house with trinkets and garland and lights and all manners of tackiness.
And the expectations! Which side of the family gets their Turkey dinner at our house on the 25th? Who will be left disappointed or angry? The visits, the parties, the big meals. People eating and drinking to excess and then providing the diet and fitness industries with their best time of the year in January.
There's such a frantic desperation to this time of year and I find it incredibly hollow and sad.
Yes, you're right. I sound exactly like the Grinch. The difference is that in Dr. Seuss' rendition that Grinch's heart grows five or ten sizes with the revelation that in Whoville "it" remains real meaning even without all the presents and lights and bling.
Toto, I don't think we're in Whoville any more.
Inhale deeply. Hold. Pray for January. May I find strength........
It signifies the beginning of the most depressing 61 days on my calendar and I brace myself. Its almost like inhaling deeply and preparing to hold my breath for the countdown to January 1st.
There is nothing redeeming about the month of November - not even my birthday. It is a dark, dreary, depressing month. It is not shocking that there are more suicides during this 30 day period than any other on the calendar. Christmas music starts playing in the malls and stores today and by December I'll even have to take my iPod to do the grocery shopping to avoid it. And ironically, the music means nothing - a clear juxtaposition to the throngs jostling for position in line, fighting for parking spots, and frantically engaging in consumerism in an empty hope of finding some satisfaction in it. Songs in which I once found solace like "O Holy Night" have been reduced to the status of a meaningless commercial jingle.
The days are getting shorter and my body craves the fleeting bursts of sunshine that will be rationed so sparingly.
There will be incredibly tasteless plastic decorations everywhere I look. My own family will clutter our house with trinkets and garland and lights and all manners of tackiness.
And the expectations! Which side of the family gets their Turkey dinner at our house on the 25th? Who will be left disappointed or angry? The visits, the parties, the big meals. People eating and drinking to excess and then providing the diet and fitness industries with their best time of the year in January.
There's such a frantic desperation to this time of year and I find it incredibly hollow and sad.
Yes, you're right. I sound exactly like the Grinch. The difference is that in Dr. Seuss' rendition that Grinch's heart grows five or ten sizes with the revelation that in Whoville "it" remains real meaning even without all the presents and lights and bling.
Toto, I don't think we're in Whoville any more.
Inhale deeply. Hold. Pray for January. May I find strength........
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
The First Ever....
So.... Calgary just elected its first ever Muslim Mayor.
So what!?
He was the choice of the people. Clearly he won the election for varied reasons: his platform, ideas, ability to engage the electorate and cause them to buy into his vision for Calgary, his effective use of social media. Did he win because he is a Muslim? Did anyone step behind the ballot box and say, "hmmm I think it is about time we elected a Muslim". Who cares that he's Muslim? Is Naheed Nenshi qualified to do the job? Time will tell whether the people's choice was correct but regardless of the outcome I can pretty much guarantee that Mayor Nenshsh's religion will not be a factor.
The Hon. Glen Murray, was the first ever openly gay Mayor of a major North American city, representing Winnipeg, Manitoba from 1998 to 2004. Did the people of Winnipeg decide it was time to have a gay guy running things or did they just chose the candidate with the best credentials?
George Smitherman kissed his spouse in front of a group of reporters "an action normally seen only by heterosexual politicians". So what? They're gay and they are married. Did we expect them to shake hands?
Kim Campbell was Canada's first ever female Prime Minister in 1993. This may be a bad example since her abysmal failure might have been, in part, due to her gender because lord knows the powers that be on the bible thumping religious right don't like feeling emasculated. But nonetheless, did Canadians say "we need a woman running things"? No. They were voting political right in Canada and she happened to be at the helm.
And of course, probably the most notable first ever was watching Barack Obama become the first ever black president of the USA. Did Americans decide it was time to elevate some poor descendant of slaves and give him a shot? Or did Obama actually win because, oh I don't know, he knew what he was doing?
Muslim. Gay. Woman. Black. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here? Not a white heterosexual male in the bunch.
And so why is it that anyone who, through ability, knowledge, character and sheer determination, earns a position of power, either politically or in the private sector, becomes some kind of freakish "wow check this out" kind of news story? Because anyone who isn't a white heterosexual male shouldn't attain such things?
You're right: of course that's a ridiculous notion. Why then is it that we as a society continue to make a big deal when it happens? The simple answer: prejudice, bigotry, and racism.
Harsh, I know. But I believe this to be true. And it continues to be perpetrated by the media, as well as by the formerly marginalized groups who now lay claim to the very bastions of power that they could only once dream about.
So this morning on Canada AM, the story went like this: "Calgary elected its first ever Muslim Mayor in a close race last night".
In my perfect world the story would have gone: "Naheed Nenshi, a 38 year old business professor, narrowly defeated two opponents to become Mayor of Calgary last night. Nenshi's platform included a promise to limit urban sprawl, and to make neighbourhoods more fun, safer, and greener. The mayor elect holds a Bachelor of Commerce degree from the University of Calgary".
Now, I'm not bashing white heterosexual males here: I happen to love white heterosexual males! But when was the last time we made a big deal about one's religion, or the fact that he kissed his spouse prior to the start of a press conference?
We are all guilty of prejudice, bigotry and racism. Every race, every gender, every sexual orientation. I guess it is too much to ask that we can all be judged only by our individual merits. Or maybe my ideal world is far too simple a place! I can dream though......
So what!?
He was the choice of the people. Clearly he won the election for varied reasons: his platform, ideas, ability to engage the electorate and cause them to buy into his vision for Calgary, his effective use of social media. Did he win because he is a Muslim? Did anyone step behind the ballot box and say, "hmmm I think it is about time we elected a Muslim". Who cares that he's Muslim? Is Naheed Nenshi qualified to do the job? Time will tell whether the people's choice was correct but regardless of the outcome I can pretty much guarantee that Mayor Nenshsh's religion will not be a factor.
The Hon. Glen Murray, was the first ever openly gay Mayor of a major North American city, representing Winnipeg, Manitoba from 1998 to 2004. Did the people of Winnipeg decide it was time to have a gay guy running things or did they just chose the candidate with the best credentials?
George Smitherman kissed his spouse in front of a group of reporters "an action normally seen only by heterosexual politicians". So what? They're gay and they are married. Did we expect them to shake hands?
Kim Campbell was Canada's first ever female Prime Minister in 1993. This may be a bad example since her abysmal failure might have been, in part, due to her gender because lord knows the powers that be on the bible thumping religious right don't like feeling emasculated. But nonetheless, did Canadians say "we need a woman running things"? No. They were voting political right in Canada and she happened to be at the helm.
And of course, probably the most notable first ever was watching Barack Obama become the first ever black president of the USA. Did Americans decide it was time to elevate some poor descendant of slaves and give him a shot? Or did Obama actually win because, oh I don't know, he knew what he was doing?
Muslim. Gay. Woman. Black. Am I the only one seeing a pattern here? Not a white heterosexual male in the bunch.
And so why is it that anyone who, through ability, knowledge, character and sheer determination, earns a position of power, either politically or in the private sector, becomes some kind of freakish "wow check this out" kind of news story? Because anyone who isn't a white heterosexual male shouldn't attain such things?
You're right: of course that's a ridiculous notion. Why then is it that we as a society continue to make a big deal when it happens? The simple answer: prejudice, bigotry, and racism.
Harsh, I know. But I believe this to be true. And it continues to be perpetrated by the media, as well as by the formerly marginalized groups who now lay claim to the very bastions of power that they could only once dream about.
So this morning on Canada AM, the story went like this: "Calgary elected its first ever Muslim Mayor in a close race last night".
In my perfect world the story would have gone: "Naheed Nenshi, a 38 year old business professor, narrowly defeated two opponents to become Mayor of Calgary last night. Nenshi's platform included a promise to limit urban sprawl, and to make neighbourhoods more fun, safer, and greener. The mayor elect holds a Bachelor of Commerce degree from the University of Calgary".
Now, I'm not bashing white heterosexual males here: I happen to love white heterosexual males! But when was the last time we made a big deal about one's religion, or the fact that he kissed his spouse prior to the start of a press conference?
We are all guilty of prejudice, bigotry and racism. Every race, every gender, every sexual orientation. I guess it is too much to ask that we can all be judged only by our individual merits. Or maybe my ideal world is far too simple a place! I can dream though......
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Thankful for Thomas Edison
You know, I hate swimming in the same direction as everyone else. I've spent most of my life swimming up stream, either because it is my nature or it is by choice, and I'm just determined not to be the same breed of fish as everyone else. (Interesting topic for another time!)
Either way, it kind of bugs me when I fall into thinking about "what I'm thankful for" on Thanksgiving. Ideally, I would do that every day of my life. But for many varied reasons, it is impossible not to fall into step with the rest of the world on this particular weekend.
So, I'm thankful for Thomas Edison. Yes, I mean THE Thomas Edison - of phonograph and motion picture camera fame. He also invented something that seems to have become a recurring image and theme in my life of late: the light bulb.
During the past 13 years I have experienced euphoric highs and devastating lows. Being diagnosed with Lupus in 1997 was a defining time in my life, even though I was determined that the diagnosis would not define ME. But in some ways most surprising, it did.
As a result of this diagnosis I have made some fabulous choices and I have made many that were on the verge of cataclysmic. Being faced with one's own mortality has a funny way of bringing about profound change: Challenging everything that was once the norm; examining my interaction with the world around me; being forced to look deep into the core of my very being and coming to the devastating realization that mine has not been a life of purpose, but rather of reaction fuelled by anger, hate and hurt.
Living with a life altering health challenge that's here to stay has forced me to face issues head on which have deep roots in my childhood and have profoundly affected my past, to a lesser extent my present - but I have determined, not my future.
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at the hand of an extended family member. It is not something that I ever planned to parade for the world, but my need to close a dark chapter in my life once and for all precludes my silence on the subject any longer. And the fact that I was, at last, recently able to share this with my parents 30 years or so later allows me to finally turn a corner and be free.
Over the past year and a half or so, I've done some very difficult, painful, intensely private, introspective work in order to be well again. Where my personal demons consumed me and caused me to behave self destructively at times, I'm finally learning to live with purpose; I'm learning the meaning of forgiveness, and I am realizing that the journey we know as life is much easier when one doesn't have to carry such heavy suitcases filled with remorse, regret, anger, hate, and self loathing.
So back to the light bulb. Sometimes over the past while, I've struggled to get my head around certain concepts as I focus on building a future of fulfillment, joy and peace. And I want the answer for something in particular to come so badly that my brain hurts. Sometimes I wait for what seems like an eternity. And then, it happens - a light bulb moment, and its brightness fills even the darkest reaches of my being with a sense of calm understanding and and the light of knowledge. And the joy and delight in these revelations is that they just happen, sometimes at the least likely of times and in a manner that seems completely random, even though I know it can't be.
I wonder if Thomas Edison understood that his invention, while important to modernization of the world, would also provide strong symbolism to our quest for deeper knowledge and understanding of the universe and the supreme being that created it.
I have so much more work yet to do. But I continue to be thankful for Thomas Edison, whose invention shines light on the fledgling seeds of all the good things I hope will grow and help me become the best person I can be.
"Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
May I never give up.
Either way, it kind of bugs me when I fall into thinking about "what I'm thankful for" on Thanksgiving. Ideally, I would do that every day of my life. But for many varied reasons, it is impossible not to fall into step with the rest of the world on this particular weekend.
So, I'm thankful for Thomas Edison. Yes, I mean THE Thomas Edison - of phonograph and motion picture camera fame. He also invented something that seems to have become a recurring image and theme in my life of late: the light bulb.During the past 13 years I have experienced euphoric highs and devastating lows. Being diagnosed with Lupus in 1997 was a defining time in my life, even though I was determined that the diagnosis would not define ME. But in some ways most surprising, it did.
As a result of this diagnosis I have made some fabulous choices and I have made many that were on the verge of cataclysmic. Being faced with one's own mortality has a funny way of bringing about profound change: Challenging everything that was once the norm; examining my interaction with the world around me; being forced to look deep into the core of my very being and coming to the devastating realization that mine has not been a life of purpose, but rather of reaction fuelled by anger, hate and hurt.
Living with a life altering health challenge that's here to stay has forced me to face issues head on which have deep roots in my childhood and have profoundly affected my past, to a lesser extent my present - but I have determined, not my future.
I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse at the hand of an extended family member. It is not something that I ever planned to parade for the world, but my need to close a dark chapter in my life once and for all precludes my silence on the subject any longer. And the fact that I was, at last, recently able to share this with my parents 30 years or so later allows me to finally turn a corner and be free.
Over the past year and a half or so, I've done some very difficult, painful, intensely private, introspective work in order to be well again. Where my personal demons consumed me and caused me to behave self destructively at times, I'm finally learning to live with purpose; I'm learning the meaning of forgiveness, and I am realizing that the journey we know as life is much easier when one doesn't have to carry such heavy suitcases filled with remorse, regret, anger, hate, and self loathing.
So back to the light bulb. Sometimes over the past while, I've struggled to get my head around certain concepts as I focus on building a future of fulfillment, joy and peace. And I want the answer for something in particular to come so badly that my brain hurts. Sometimes I wait for what seems like an eternity. And then, it happens - a light bulb moment, and its brightness fills even the darkest reaches of my being with a sense of calm understanding and and the light of knowledge. And the joy and delight in these revelations is that they just happen, sometimes at the least likely of times and in a manner that seems completely random, even though I know it can't be.
I wonder if Thomas Edison understood that his invention, while important to modernization of the world, would also provide strong symbolism to our quest for deeper knowledge and understanding of the universe and the supreme being that created it.
I have so much more work yet to do. But I continue to be thankful for Thomas Edison, whose invention shines light on the fledgling seeds of all the good things I hope will grow and help me become the best person I can be.
"Many of life's failures are experienced by people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up." - Thomas Edison
May I never give up.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, June 18, 2010
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.
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.
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