During Earth Hour, I made soup. I had prepared the ingredients beforehand and had put most of them in the pot when I turned off the lights. The pot simmered in the dark until the soup aroma filled the house, then I turned off the stove. I took the lid off the pot to let the soup cool. When I turned the lights back on, I pureed the soup. This was a chicken-corn soup. I am now dubbing it the Earth Hour soup.
In my hour of darkness, I went outside to see what was going on. I was glad to see the overhead street lights turned off. Good on the City for taking part. But I was surprised that on our street, most of the houses were dark. Even my Clampett neighbours next door had no lights on. Our street was the darkest I have ever seen it, darker than when I come home at 3 am.
In some houses, candles flickered inside, so I knew the lights out was intentional.
I sent The Man an e-mail, because last year during Earth Hour, we were in Bali.
This morning, the newspaper reported that electricity use in Toronto during Earth Hour was down 15% from normal use at that hour, saving the City 2,545 megawatts of power, almost doubling last year's energy savings. The mayor announced that Toronto "gets it."
Even though Earth Hour is a symbolic call for climate change, it is a voluntary response. I am sure some businesses turn out their lights due to social pressure. But I am most surprised by the participation on our rough and tumble street of clashing political bents, sweeping spectrum of ethno-cultural origins, and wide socio-economic array of lifestyle choices. Who knew concern for the environment would be common to us?
So today, I am serving my Earth Hour soup for lunch to the directors of our environmental fund. We are reviewing applications to determine which environmental groups to fund.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Here We Go Again
Really, I think I have walked into the sunset. But I didn't plan to. Yet I can't bring myself to blog. I live in relative peace and resignation, blindly getting into a groove that passes time, annoyed that I am merely passing time instead of honing in on something more constructive, because the constructive thing for me to do right now is to be in Sudan with The Man.
The Man was home for six weeks this time. I loved many minutes of it. Let's face it, living with The Man is stressful. We approach life with different rhythms. His fast one drives me crazy, makes me physically buckle. My even demeanor and big picture approach yanks at his chain. He feels like I put a brake on his life.
It's not that we are oil and vinegar and don't mix. It's more that we are like fire and water - there is a delicate balance that keeps us each strong. In the past, there's always been time for us to unwind and relax into this balance. But this round, we spent most of our time getting ready for his next gig in a hurried rush. We court danger in each other - too much of one could extinguish the other so tread carefully. Beats me how two people so different should want to be together.
So now that he's gone, I try to get back into my activities. I try to steer The Boy the right way. I give him what for when he pushes me too far. The Boy wanted me to lend him my car this weekend so he could go to a party in London. He doesn't drive. He meant I should lend his friend my car so they can drive there. They wanted to be there Friday night to put in maximum party time. A third friend has a car but she couldn't go until Saturday and they didn't want to wait.
No, I don't want to lend my car no matter how responsible Butterfly Boy is. Then he wanted me to drive them to London with their band equipment so they can play at the party. No, he will never live it down dragging his mother to a frat party. And besides, it's a great inconvenience to me. I wanted him to figure out a solution without involving my car. I offered to pay his share of a car rental. But being under 25, the boys could not rent a car.
He said they had exhausted all options. I was their last hope. If I didn't help them, their band wouldn't be able to play, and it wasn't like I had anything important to do with my time, besides, Dad would have driven them. Boy, boy, boy, you don't get your mother to help by insulting her.
I said, Your wanting to get to a party is not my problem so don't make it so. I don't want to lend you my car, I don't want to drive you to London. I was one of the possible solutions to your problem. Now that you have exhausted this possibility, move on to the next.
In the end, he did come up with a solution. He would take a bus to London Friday night so he could spend time with his friends. Saturday, Butterfly Boy and their friend would pick up the band equipment and drive to London in the friend's car.
I knew he would solve this. I shook his hand and gave him bus fare.
The Man was home for six weeks this time. I loved many minutes of it. Let's face it, living with The Man is stressful. We approach life with different rhythms. His fast one drives me crazy, makes me physically buckle. My even demeanor and big picture approach yanks at his chain. He feels like I put a brake on his life.
It's not that we are oil and vinegar and don't mix. It's more that we are like fire and water - there is a delicate balance that keeps us each strong. In the past, there's always been time for us to unwind and relax into this balance. But this round, we spent most of our time getting ready for his next gig in a hurried rush. We court danger in each other - too much of one could extinguish the other so tread carefully. Beats me how two people so different should want to be together.
So now that he's gone, I try to get back into my activities. I try to steer The Boy the right way. I give him what for when he pushes me too far. The Boy wanted me to lend him my car this weekend so he could go to a party in London. He doesn't drive. He meant I should lend his friend my car so they can drive there. They wanted to be there Friday night to put in maximum party time. A third friend has a car but she couldn't go until Saturday and they didn't want to wait.
No, I don't want to lend my car no matter how responsible Butterfly Boy is. Then he wanted me to drive them to London with their band equipment so they can play at the party. No, he will never live it down dragging his mother to a frat party. And besides, it's a great inconvenience to me. I wanted him to figure out a solution without involving my car. I offered to pay his share of a car rental. But being under 25, the boys could not rent a car.
He said they had exhausted all options. I was their last hope. If I didn't help them, their band wouldn't be able to play, and it wasn't like I had anything important to do with my time, besides, Dad would have driven them. Boy, boy, boy, you don't get your mother to help by insulting her.
I said, Your wanting to get to a party is not my problem so don't make it so. I don't want to lend you my car, I don't want to drive you to London. I was one of the possible solutions to your problem. Now that you have exhausted this possibility, move on to the next.
In the end, he did come up with a solution. He would take a bus to London Friday night so he could spend time with his friends. Saturday, Butterfly Boy and their friend would pick up the band equipment and drive to London in the friend's car.
I knew he would solve this. I shook his hand and gave him bus fare.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Poconos
When I told Kid1 we're going to the Poconos for March break, he looked puzzled and asked, Why are we going to poke a nose? Whose nose are we poking?
So that's where we are now, in the little town of Tamiment, Pennsylvania in the Pocono Mountains. This morning, I met a family of deer in the parking lot. We are 1.5 hours from New York City and 2 hours from Philadelphia. We will spend time in both cities.
Where this blog is concerned, I feel like I had walked into the sunset without knowing it. Lots of interesting things have been happening. But I have been censored. Sooner or later, this seems to happen to many writers, whether they are creative, journal, or news writers. How do they deal with it? I have decided to respect my censor, mostly, because my relationship with my censor is more important than my ramblings in a blog. But here's where I have to poke a nose.
Somewhere in New York state yesterday, we stopped for food and Walmart. One of the things a doctor put my beloved on is a special mouth rinse, which you can buy from the doctor or order online and pay an exorbitant price, or you can buy it over the counter in the States at half the cost. So we went into the first Walmart we saw and bought all the mouth wash of that brand they had on the shelf. Only, beloved didn't want to be seen carrying thke boxes, so I walked around the store with my arms full of mouth wash. It was funny, you had to be there.
But not as funny as when a man I worked with told me about how he bought tampons for his wife. He liked deals and he looked and acted gay. There was a tampon special at Cosco when he went shopping there. He couldn't resist. So while his wife lined up with the cart to pay, he went back to get the tampons. He bought many boxes of them. So many that the boxes were spilling over his arms as he ran with them from the aisle toward his wife and the waiting cart, the whole time shouting, Excuse me, excuse me, because he could see his wife had made it to the cashier.
I just have a feeling this is going to be that kind of week. I mean it took us 12 hours to get here when I thought it would take 8.
So that's where we are now, in the little town of Tamiment, Pennsylvania in the Pocono Mountains. This morning, I met a family of deer in the parking lot. We are 1.5 hours from New York City and 2 hours from Philadelphia. We will spend time in both cities.
Where this blog is concerned, I feel like I had walked into the sunset without knowing it. Lots of interesting things have been happening. But I have been censored. Sooner or later, this seems to happen to many writers, whether they are creative, journal, or news writers. How do they deal with it? I have decided to respect my censor, mostly, because my relationship with my censor is more important than my ramblings in a blog. But here's where I have to poke a nose.
Somewhere in New York state yesterday, we stopped for food and Walmart. One of the things a doctor put my beloved on is a special mouth rinse, which you can buy from the doctor or order online and pay an exorbitant price, or you can buy it over the counter in the States at half the cost. So we went into the first Walmart we saw and bought all the mouth wash of that brand they had on the shelf. Only, beloved didn't want to be seen carrying thke boxes, so I walked around the store with my arms full of mouth wash. It was funny, you had to be there.
But not as funny as when a man I worked with told me about how he bought tampons for his wife. He liked deals and he looked and acted gay. There was a tampon special at Cosco when he went shopping there. He couldn't resist. So while his wife lined up with the cart to pay, he went back to get the tampons. He bought many boxes of them. So many that the boxes were spilling over his arms as he ran with them from the aisle toward his wife and the waiting cart, the whole time shouting, Excuse me, excuse me, because he could see his wife had made it to the cashier.
I just have a feeling this is going to be that kind of week. I mean it took us 12 hours to get here when I thought it would take 8.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Y
I joined our local Y last week. So far, I love going there. I missed the gym.
Renovations of this YMCA completed three months ago. All the equipment is spanking new. It's a bustling place. So that's what makes me want to go to the gym - a bustling place with new, working equipment and classes during the day in the middle of the week. Bonus: on the weekend, I ran into friends at the Y. Now this feels like a club.
But about those group classes... I went to a pilates class. The instructor was a petite, sensuous, toned woman who spoke little English. When she said, Sit like this, she showed us how her perfectly round firm buttocks perched on the mat. The rest of us settled in half-empty sacks that passed for our bums. When she said, Do this, she thrusted her perky bosom out and her T-shirt draped down the slope of her breasts in one graceful, concave swoop. The swoops on the rest of the us had lumps, bumps and spare tires in the way. On one man, it was definitely jagged and convex. When she said, Do that, she stretched her curvaceous leg out, which ended in the taut arch of her foot. Most of the class didn't have a straight leg and even lying on our backs, some of us lost our balance.
She was beautiful to look at. But she was a terrible instructor. I need more than, Do this, Do that, Go like this, Go like that, to know what to do with my muscles. I couldn't help but feel she was there more to show us her beautiful body than to teach us how to get one. I won't be going back to that class.
Then I attended a Kundalini yoga class. The idea for this kind of yoga is, you do stretches, poses, and breathing exercises to activate the chakras in your body, raise your internal temperature, and to unleash the serpent within. I don't know what all these things mean. It's a physical and spiritual thing. The instructor was a bearded man with skinny legs that you could see even through his pants. He's one of those people who wear all white with a turban. That's the costume of Kundalini practitioners.
He sat at the front of the class and gave specific directions, demonstrated the exercise for a second, then sat back down. But he was a mumbler. It took a long time for me to get used to the way he talked and to understand what he said. So most of the time, I mimicked what I could of him and others.
But something about these stretches and poses sat very well with me. I felt limber and strong at the end of the class. I will go back to this one as often as I can.
Renovations of this YMCA completed three months ago. All the equipment is spanking new. It's a bustling place. So that's what makes me want to go to the gym - a bustling place with new, working equipment and classes during the day in the middle of the week. Bonus: on the weekend, I ran into friends at the Y. Now this feels like a club.
But about those group classes... I went to a pilates class. The instructor was a petite, sensuous, toned woman who spoke little English. When she said, Sit like this, she showed us how her perfectly round firm buttocks perched on the mat. The rest of us settled in half-empty sacks that passed for our bums. When she said, Do this, she thrusted her perky bosom out and her T-shirt draped down the slope of her breasts in one graceful, concave swoop. The swoops on the rest of the us had lumps, bumps and spare tires in the way. On one man, it was definitely jagged and convex. When she said, Do that, she stretched her curvaceous leg out, which ended in the taut arch of her foot. Most of the class didn't have a straight leg and even lying on our backs, some of us lost our balance.
She was beautiful to look at. But she was a terrible instructor. I need more than, Do this, Do that, Go like this, Go like that, to know what to do with my muscles. I couldn't help but feel she was there more to show us her beautiful body than to teach us how to get one. I won't be going back to that class.
Then I attended a Kundalini yoga class. The idea for this kind of yoga is, you do stretches, poses, and breathing exercises to activate the chakras in your body, raise your internal temperature, and to unleash the serpent within. I don't know what all these things mean. It's a physical and spiritual thing. The instructor was a bearded man with skinny legs that you could see even through his pants. He's one of those people who wear all white with a turban. That's the costume of Kundalini practitioners.
He sat at the front of the class and gave specific directions, demonstrated the exercise for a second, then sat back down. But he was a mumbler. It took a long time for me to get used to the way he talked and to understand what he said. So most of the time, I mimicked what I could of him and others.
But something about these stretches and poses sat very well with me. I felt limber and strong at the end of the class. I will go back to this one as often as I can.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Restoration
Slowly, we are putting our house back in order.
The basement finally dried. We still don't know what caused the flooding. Maybe it does have something to do with the downspout and water draining into the house rather than away from it. The electrician is finished, leaving many holes in the walls where he drew wires through.
Immediately, The Man arranged for a drywaller to come in to patch the holes. The drywaller was done in a day. This morning, he came back to do a final sanding. While he was still sanding, The Man decided he would pull kitchen cabinets apart to clean out behind them. He saw that the electrician had put in external wiring behind the cabinet that prevented the cabinet unit from sitting flush with the wall. He wanted to take the cabinet counter off and move it back so the unit would look like it sits against the wall. He was clearly unhappy about how dirty the cabinet sides and floor were.
Then he started barking at me as to what needs to be done to clean up. I could see he was deteriorating into a foul mood because of the disarray in the house and my taking my time with my breakfast. I certainly didn't want to clean up with him if he was going to be nasty. And whatever we needed to do could wait till after the drywaller leaves. No sense getting in each other's way.
You can't expect to have wiring done without holes in the walls. You can't have the walls patched without dust everywhere. Was he going to take his mood out on me? When I didn't think the electric work was urgent or needed to be that extensive in the first place? So I said, "Why don't you go visit a friend or your brother. I am sure they would like to see you."
"I'm not getting kicked out of my own house."
"Or you could just go out and let me start the clean up." Really, I didn't want to clean up with him huffing and puffing, being foul, and barking orders at me.
He phoned a friend and left the house. That's one life line he's used.
So I pulled out other kitchen cabinet units and the stove and scraped out guck, cleaned the wall and floors and sides of the units, and put the kitchen back in place, more or less. I vacuumed and wiped down walls, ledges, frames, and surfaces. I started the laundry.
The Man came home too soon. Immediately, he complained I hadn't vacuumed properly downstairs. Deep breath. "Would you like to vacuum it again?" I called to him. So I handed everything over to him and took a rest.
The walls still need to be painted. Ha.
The basement finally dried. We still don't know what caused the flooding. Maybe it does have something to do with the downspout and water draining into the house rather than away from it. The electrician is finished, leaving many holes in the walls where he drew wires through.
Immediately, The Man arranged for a drywaller to come in to patch the holes. The drywaller was done in a day. This morning, he came back to do a final sanding. While he was still sanding, The Man decided he would pull kitchen cabinets apart to clean out behind them. He saw that the electrician had put in external wiring behind the cabinet that prevented the cabinet unit from sitting flush with the wall. He wanted to take the cabinet counter off and move it back so the unit would look like it sits against the wall. He was clearly unhappy about how dirty the cabinet sides and floor were.
Then he started barking at me as to what needs to be done to clean up. I could see he was deteriorating into a foul mood because of the disarray in the house and my taking my time with my breakfast. I certainly didn't want to clean up with him if he was going to be nasty. And whatever we needed to do could wait till after the drywaller leaves. No sense getting in each other's way.
You can't expect to have wiring done without holes in the walls. You can't have the walls patched without dust everywhere. Was he going to take his mood out on me? When I didn't think the electric work was urgent or needed to be that extensive in the first place? So I said, "Why don't you go visit a friend or your brother. I am sure they would like to see you."
"I'm not getting kicked out of my own house."
"Or you could just go out and let me start the clean up." Really, I didn't want to clean up with him huffing and puffing, being foul, and barking orders at me.
He phoned a friend and left the house. That's one life line he's used.
So I pulled out other kitchen cabinet units and the stove and scraped out guck, cleaned the wall and floors and sides of the units, and put the kitchen back in place, more or less. I vacuumed and wiped down walls, ledges, frames, and surfaces. I started the laundry.
The Man came home too soon. Immediately, he complained I hadn't vacuumed properly downstairs. Deep breath. "Would you like to vacuum it again?" I called to him. So I handed everything over to him and took a rest.
The walls still need to be painted. Ha.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Homeless And Dangerous
My book club meeting was at 7 PM last night. The Man and The Boy were going to a movie. He said, "Let me drop you off at your meeting so I can take the car."
I said, "No, I don't have to be there till 7:00. It's only a five minute walk away. And you want to start your evening before that."
"But I feel bad I'm taking your car."
"That's okay. We'll leave separately."
Half an hour later, The Man said, "Let's go. I'll drop you off at your book club."
"No. It's only 6:00. I don't need to go yet."
I don't know what happened. But after some argy-bargy-ing, I got my coat, hat, and gloves on and was ready to get in the car. The Man said, "Okay, wait, give me a few minutes to get ready."
What the hell? I said, "Never mind, I'll just go. I have lots of time. Besides, I have to get some food on the way."
"But I feel bad," The Man said, "You sure? Blah blah blah..."
Oh shut up.
So I went out and bought some carrots from the supermarket and rice wrap rolls from a restaurant. Those were my contributions to the night's meal. It was only 6:30. Darn That Man. I really didn't need to leave the house at 6:00. So I phoned my friend to let her know I was coming over early.
I got to her street and decided to stop by another friend's for a cigarette first. She also lives on the same street and is in the book club. I got on her porch and settled down. Then I phoned her. I said, "Look, I'm outside on your porch smoking a cigarette."
"Huh?"
"Are you home?"
"Ur, yes?"
"So I'm on your porch right now. If you see someone sitting out there, that's me."
"Who is this?"
"Oh, it's Sylph."
"Sylph? Well I get worried when someone phones to tell me she's on my porch and asks if I am really home."
"I was trying to not worry you by phoning you to let you know I'm perching on your porch."
"Wait there. I'll come out for a cig with you."
She did that. After, we both went inside to admire the new paint job in her house and to bake cookies. That was her contribution to the book club dinner. Then we both showed up at the meeting late.
I said, "No, I don't have to be there till 7:00. It's only a five minute walk away. And you want to start your evening before that."
"But I feel bad I'm taking your car."
"That's okay. We'll leave separately."
Half an hour later, The Man said, "Let's go. I'll drop you off at your book club."
"No. It's only 6:00. I don't need to go yet."
I don't know what happened. But after some argy-bargy-ing, I got my coat, hat, and gloves on and was ready to get in the car. The Man said, "Okay, wait, give me a few minutes to get ready."
What the hell? I said, "Never mind, I'll just go. I have lots of time. Besides, I have to get some food on the way."
"But I feel bad," The Man said, "You sure? Blah blah blah..."
Oh shut up.
So I went out and bought some carrots from the supermarket and rice wrap rolls from a restaurant. Those were my contributions to the night's meal. It was only 6:30. Darn That Man. I really didn't need to leave the house at 6:00. So I phoned my friend to let her know I was coming over early.
I got to her street and decided to stop by another friend's for a cigarette first. She also lives on the same street and is in the book club. I got on her porch and settled down. Then I phoned her. I said, "Look, I'm outside on your porch smoking a cigarette."
"Huh?"
"Are you home?"
"Ur, yes?"
"So I'm on your porch right now. If you see someone sitting out there, that's me."
"Who is this?"
"Oh, it's Sylph."
"Sylph? Well I get worried when someone phones to tell me she's on my porch and asks if I am really home."
"I was trying to not worry you by phoning you to let you know I'm perching on your porch."
"Wait there. I'll come out for a cig with you."
She did that. After, we both went inside to admire the new paint job in her house and to bake cookies. That was her contribution to the book club dinner. Then we both showed up at the meeting late.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Regulars
We are such regulars at our favourite Japanese restaurant on St. Clair. So much so that when we phone in an order, the waitress says, "Boy? Boy? Is that you? Don't forget the ginger ale, you usually have that."
We are also regulars at Mars, the greasy spoon on College. We walk in, the waitress automatically say, "The usual?" We nod. She brings The Man and me coffee, a strawberry milkshake for The Boy. Then The Man gets two toasted Westerns on rye, I get corned beef hash, The Boy gets a banquet burger with fries. Once, when we walked in, the waitress looked at us and called out our order to the cook before even seating us.
At our other favourite Japanese restaurant on Bloor, J Time, we order different things, more or less. An assortment of sushi for The Boy, an assortment of maki rolls for me, a bento box for The Man. But the staff is so comfortable with us that I can phone them, ask them to charge The Boy's meal to my credit card, then The Boy goes in for lunch without money and gets fed.
So you can understand how annoyed I get when I go shopping at Canadian Tire and I can't find anyone to serve me, nevermind reading my thoughts. I was cleaning out my junk today and needed storage bins. So off I trotted to Canadian Tire. I found the bins I wanted, on sale, at 50% off. Only, the bins were way up on a top shelf, stacked into each other.
I looked for someone to help me bring them down. It's like the staff saw me coming and ran off. I found a ladder near some stock. So I picked that up and carried that to the bins section. I got up on it, tugged at the bins, and looked around. From up there, you can see where the staff is hiding. One woman saw me and asked, "Do you need some help?"
"Yes, I would like that."
"Then please come down from the ladder."
I debated whether I should annoyed and blast her for the store's invisible staff. But I decided I just wanted to get my bins and go. So she climbed up on the ladder, verified some things, and tried to get the bins down. She called out to someone to help. No one came.
I said, "I can bring them down with you."
She handed me some boxes to get out of the way. Then she pulled the bins off the shelf and I helped her lower them to the floor. She muttered, "Those men are never around when you need them."
"I know what you mean."
She inspected a bin to make sure it was not cracked and gave it to me. Her tone had completely changed by this time. She was much friendlier. I thanked her. She said, "You are most welcome. See you next time."
Next time? Am I going to be a regular at this store?
We are also regulars at Mars, the greasy spoon on College. We walk in, the waitress automatically say, "The usual?" We nod. She brings The Man and me coffee, a strawberry milkshake for The Boy. Then The Man gets two toasted Westerns on rye, I get corned beef hash, The Boy gets a banquet burger with fries. Once, when we walked in, the waitress looked at us and called out our order to the cook before even seating us.
At our other favourite Japanese restaurant on Bloor, J Time, we order different things, more or less. An assortment of sushi for The Boy, an assortment of maki rolls for me, a bento box for The Man. But the staff is so comfortable with us that I can phone them, ask them to charge The Boy's meal to my credit card, then The Boy goes in for lunch without money and gets fed.
So you can understand how annoyed I get when I go shopping at Canadian Tire and I can't find anyone to serve me, nevermind reading my thoughts. I was cleaning out my junk today and needed storage bins. So off I trotted to Canadian Tire. I found the bins I wanted, on sale, at 50% off. Only, the bins were way up on a top shelf, stacked into each other.
I looked for someone to help me bring them down. It's like the staff saw me coming and ran off. I found a ladder near some stock. So I picked that up and carried that to the bins section. I got up on it, tugged at the bins, and looked around. From up there, you can see where the staff is hiding. One woman saw me and asked, "Do you need some help?"
"Yes, I would like that."
"Then please come down from the ladder."
I debated whether I should annoyed and blast her for the store's invisible staff. But I decided I just wanted to get my bins and go. So she climbed up on the ladder, verified some things, and tried to get the bins down. She called out to someone to help. No one came.
I said, "I can bring them down with you."
She handed me some boxes to get out of the way. Then she pulled the bins off the shelf and I helped her lower them to the floor. She muttered, "Those men are never around when you need them."
"I know what you mean."
She inspected a bin to make sure it was not cracked and gave it to me. Her tone had completely changed by this time. She was much friendlier. I thanked her. She said, "You are most welcome. See you next time."
Next time? Am I going to be a regular at this store?
Monday, February 16, 2009
Barf On Your Face
In the Fall, at the cottage with my Fab5 buddies, I got some of the girls to put Pepto Bismal on their face as a facial mask. They fussed and doubted me. But I now have internet corroboration that the pink liquid works.
That's because the active agent in the liquid is salicylic acid, the same stuff that's in skin and acne treatment creams. If the stuff is safe enough to coat and sooth your stomach, it's good enough to go on your face. In fact, I read that Milk of Magnesia also works wonders. The over-the-counter drug treats heartburn but the magnesium in the liquid also deep cleanses oily skin, leaving it smooth and soft.
For the past while, I've been experimenting with homemade facial masks using ordinary kitchen ingredients. Whether the recipe is for dry skin, oily skin, acne skin, whatever, I love them all. The one I am currently using a blend of my own. I wanted a moisturizing, cleansing, soothing mask. So I put together:
- a dollop of yogurt for cleaning
- an inch of shaved cucumber for cooling
- a spoonful of honey to moisturize
- a spoonful of oatmeal to heal
I put everything in a small blender and whip up a sauce. Smear the stuff on your face and let dry, about 15 minutes. The only problem is, the mask is made of raw pureed food items. So when you have it on, it looks like you have barf on your face. But your face will look radiant and feel so soft when you wash it off.
That's because the active agent in the liquid is salicylic acid, the same stuff that's in skin and acne treatment creams. If the stuff is safe enough to coat and sooth your stomach, it's good enough to go on your face. In fact, I read that Milk of Magnesia also works wonders. The over-the-counter drug treats heartburn but the magnesium in the liquid also deep cleanses oily skin, leaving it smooth and soft.
For the past while, I've been experimenting with homemade facial masks using ordinary kitchen ingredients. Whether the recipe is for dry skin, oily skin, acne skin, whatever, I love them all. The one I am currently using a blend of my own. I wanted a moisturizing, cleansing, soothing mask. So I put together:
- a dollop of yogurt for cleaning
- an inch of shaved cucumber for cooling
- a spoonful of honey to moisturize
- a spoonful of oatmeal to heal
I put everything in a small blender and whip up a sauce. Smear the stuff on your face and let dry, about 15 minutes. The only problem is, the mask is made of raw pureed food items. So when you have it on, it looks like you have barf on your face. But your face will look radiant and feel so soft when you wash it off.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Polyandry
It's Valentine's Day. Which brings me to the subject of polyandry.
CNN ran a story a while ago about the practice of polyandry in Himachal Pradesh, a northern province of India. What is polyandry? It is the practice of a woman being legally married to two or more men at the same time.
All the men, usually brothers, marry the same woman. She bears children and no one cares who fathered them because the whole family is responsible for the children produced. It is a practice specific to poorer societies. It is simply cheaper for all the brothers to pitch in and keep one wife than for each to get his own. Like sharing a pair of shoes or coat.
I can only imagine the poor woman having to have sex whether she feels like it or not, and being pregnant all the time whether she wants to be or not. She is a sex slave, baby maker, and servant. Or does she feel more "protected" by her husbands? And do they engage in group sex?
Unlike men who have more than one wife. The larger the harem, the wealthier the man is deemed to be because he can afford to keep all those wives. No doubt the women compete for their husband's attention, like in the movie Raise The Red Lantern. In ancient China, being the favourite wife meant the husband spent more night with her, which increased her chance of becoming pregnant and birthing a son, which ensured her survival and protection.
How did it happen that women could be owned and the possession of them determines a man's status in society? How is it that women needed to service men to ensure her survival?
Thank god those days are mostly over. Or are they? Certainly not in Himachal Pradesh.
In the west, we imagine a woman who willingly takes on many lovers as a woman on top of her game, like Samantha in Sex and the City. Or she's desperate and goes with whoever will have her. What's behind those perceptions? Are we just projecting characteristics of the wealthy man onto the sexually adventurous woman or has time really changed so much that women with a stronger libido are simply freer to express it? Is the desperate woman simply looking for an owner?
What about men who have many lovers? We see them as virile playboys or jerks incapable of commitment. Is the playboy image a modern rendition of the sheik of a harem? If we see him as a jerk, is that because we really still value family above all even as we live in a sexually permissive society?
I am sure there is no single explanation for anything, especially when we have so many people and cultures coming together to express their personalities, histories, and values. I don't know. I lead a sheltered life.
CNN ran a story a while ago about the practice of polyandry in Himachal Pradesh, a northern province of India. What is polyandry? It is the practice of a woman being legally married to two or more men at the same time.
All the men, usually brothers, marry the same woman. She bears children and no one cares who fathered them because the whole family is responsible for the children produced. It is a practice specific to poorer societies. It is simply cheaper for all the brothers to pitch in and keep one wife than for each to get his own. Like sharing a pair of shoes or coat.
I can only imagine the poor woman having to have sex whether she feels like it or not, and being pregnant all the time whether she wants to be or not. She is a sex slave, baby maker, and servant. Or does she feel more "protected" by her husbands? And do they engage in group sex?
Unlike men who have more than one wife. The larger the harem, the wealthier the man is deemed to be because he can afford to keep all those wives. No doubt the women compete for their husband's attention, like in the movie Raise The Red Lantern. In ancient China, being the favourite wife meant the husband spent more night with her, which increased her chance of becoming pregnant and birthing a son, which ensured her survival and protection.
How did it happen that women could be owned and the possession of them determines a man's status in society? How is it that women needed to service men to ensure her survival?
Thank god those days are mostly over. Or are they? Certainly not in Himachal Pradesh.
In the west, we imagine a woman who willingly takes on many lovers as a woman on top of her game, like Samantha in Sex and the City. Or she's desperate and goes with whoever will have her. What's behind those perceptions? Are we just projecting characteristics of the wealthy man onto the sexually adventurous woman or has time really changed so much that women with a stronger libido are simply freer to express it? Is the desperate woman simply looking for an owner?
What about men who have many lovers? We see them as virile playboys or jerks incapable of commitment. Is the playboy image a modern rendition of the sheik of a harem? If we see him as a jerk, is that because we really still value family above all even as we live in a sexually permissive society?
I am sure there is no single explanation for anything, especially when we have so many people and cultures coming together to express their personalities, histories, and values. I don't know. I lead a sheltered life.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mess Mess
The Man is home. Snow is melting. The wind and rain came. Our basement flooded.
Funny that we didn't flood last summer when a rain storm came suddenly and flooded the houses down the street. We were untouched. But now we can't tell where the water is coming into the house. The basement floor in the back of the house just keeps getting wet no matter how much the Shopvac picked up. It's picked up at least 12 gallons (45 litres) so far.
The Man thinks it's ground water that's gotten into the back wall that is seeping in. I think the water comes from the river beneath us. If that's the case, we'll never get rid of the water. The Boy thinks it's the laundry drain that's plugged up. If the water doesn't stop coming in soon, we may have to bring in the disaster clean up people to find the problem.
What do we have a Shopvac, you ask. That's because we had an electrician in to upgrade our wiring so we don't blow the fuse, crash the computers, and blacken the room every time more than two kitchen appliances are plugged in. The electrician left his Shopvac till he returns next week to finish the job. I phoned him to see if we can use his Shopvac to suck up water.
The electrician punched holes in many rooms through out the house so he can pull wires through. We wanted more receptacles and pot lights installed too. When he's done, we will need a drywaller to come in to patch all the holes and repaint. Yes, we are living with a wet basement and holes in the walls.
In the midst of all this, The Boy invited three friends home last night. Of course they ended up spending the night in the basement. Which meant we weren't able to assess the damage in the basement till they left today. Then we moved everything from the back room out. Now the basement is in complete disarray too.
That's when The Boy asked why our house has suddenly turned into a dump. I said it's so we can experience how the other half lives. He didn't think that was funny.
Funny that we didn't flood last summer when a rain storm came suddenly and flooded the houses down the street. We were untouched. But now we can't tell where the water is coming into the house. The basement floor in the back of the house just keeps getting wet no matter how much the Shopvac picked up. It's picked up at least 12 gallons (45 litres) so far.
The Man thinks it's ground water that's gotten into the back wall that is seeping in. I think the water comes from the river beneath us. If that's the case, we'll never get rid of the water. The Boy thinks it's the laundry drain that's plugged up. If the water doesn't stop coming in soon, we may have to bring in the disaster clean up people to find the problem.
What do we have a Shopvac, you ask. That's because we had an electrician in to upgrade our wiring so we don't blow the fuse, crash the computers, and blacken the room every time more than two kitchen appliances are plugged in. The electrician left his Shopvac till he returns next week to finish the job. I phoned him to see if we can use his Shopvac to suck up water.
The electrician punched holes in many rooms through out the house so he can pull wires through. We wanted more receptacles and pot lights installed too. When he's done, we will need a drywaller to come in to patch all the holes and repaint. Yes, we are living with a wet basement and holes in the walls.
In the midst of all this, The Boy invited three friends home last night. Of course they ended up spending the night in the basement. Which meant we weren't able to assess the damage in the basement till they left today. Then we moved everything from the back room out. Now the basement is in complete disarray too.
That's when The Boy asked why our house has suddenly turned into a dump. I said it's so we can experience how the other half lives. He didn't think that was funny.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Sensitive Issue
Parking is a sensitive issue on our street; it makes or breaks neighbours. When fights erupt between houses, it's usually over parking. Even neighbours who are friends get into yelling matches over who has the right to park where.
There was The Man and the house across the street who used to drive a tow-truck with a handicap sticker. The Man got the police to crack down on handicap sticker abuse in the city because of their fight.
There is the neighbour who was in a hurry and needed to leave her home when her drive was blocked by an emergency hydro truck that her next door neighbour called in. She pounded on his door to tell him to move the truck, he punched her, she wacked him with an ice scraper, they both called the police, the police charged her with assault with a weapon, she sued him, they ended up in court, the police dropped their charges, his wife left him, neighbour moved away.
Further up the street, one neighbour's car blocked another neighbour's drive. A third neighbour happened to drive up and muttered, "Idiot." The guy who blocked the drive got off his porch to start a fight with the third neighbour.
Another neighbour went out with her mother. But she forget something so parked her car on the street, left her mother in the car, and ran back into her house. Just at that moment, the neighbour whose drive she was blocking came home. Oh the obscenities that young woman hurled at the mother in the car! And they say I swear like a truck driver.
Another neighbour doesn't have front pad parking. But he can squeeze his car into his shared drive. He came home one day to find no parking on the street. So he squeezed his car into the shared drive to unload his things. His neighbour who shared the drive immediately came out and told him he couldn't park there. Neighbour 1 said he was just unloading his stuff and will move the car when he's done. Neighbour 2 said but you aren't supposed to park there, what if there is an emergency and I need to get into my car? Neighbour 1 said is there an emergency and do you need to get into your car? Neighbour 2 said no but if there was an emergency, I wouldn't be able to get into my car right now because you are blocking it. The screaming match that took place after that!
Another neighbour screamed at her neighbour across the street because his car had blocked hers. I don't know the details. I heard about the yelling after. Her brother and mother are very friendly with that house across the street.
And then there is me. When we didn't have a car, I let all my neighbours park in our parking spot. They always asked first and I always said yes. Now that I have a car again, I use my parking spot. But we had an electrician in this week. He parked in my neighbour's front pad. I immediately phoned her to get her okay and said I would move my car down the street soon as a spot becomes available. She was okay with that. But then her son and his friends have parked on my pad before. I saw her the next day as I was going out. She had just parked her car on the street jutting half way out to the middle. We've lost many parking spots to snow piles. I said to her, Park on my pad, I won't be back till late. She said that's okay, I'll be leaving again soon anyway. I keep trying.
There was The Man and the house across the street who used to drive a tow-truck with a handicap sticker. The Man got the police to crack down on handicap sticker abuse in the city because of their fight.
There is the neighbour who was in a hurry and needed to leave her home when her drive was blocked by an emergency hydro truck that her next door neighbour called in. She pounded on his door to tell him to move the truck, he punched her, she wacked him with an ice scraper, they both called the police, the police charged her with assault with a weapon, she sued him, they ended up in court, the police dropped their charges, his wife left him, neighbour moved away.
Further up the street, one neighbour's car blocked another neighbour's drive. A third neighbour happened to drive up and muttered, "Idiot." The guy who blocked the drive got off his porch to start a fight with the third neighbour.
Another neighbour went out with her mother. But she forget something so parked her car on the street, left her mother in the car, and ran back into her house. Just at that moment, the neighbour whose drive she was blocking came home. Oh the obscenities that young woman hurled at the mother in the car! And they say I swear like a truck driver.
Another neighbour doesn't have front pad parking. But he can squeeze his car into his shared drive. He came home one day to find no parking on the street. So he squeezed his car into the shared drive to unload his things. His neighbour who shared the drive immediately came out and told him he couldn't park there. Neighbour 1 said he was just unloading his stuff and will move the car when he's done. Neighbour 2 said but you aren't supposed to park there, what if there is an emergency and I need to get into my car? Neighbour 1 said is there an emergency and do you need to get into your car? Neighbour 2 said no but if there was an emergency, I wouldn't be able to get into my car right now because you are blocking it. The screaming match that took place after that!
Another neighbour screamed at her neighbour across the street because his car had blocked hers. I don't know the details. I heard about the yelling after. Her brother and mother are very friendly with that house across the street.
And then there is me. When we didn't have a car, I let all my neighbours park in our parking spot. They always asked first and I always said yes. Now that I have a car again, I use my parking spot. But we had an electrician in this week. He parked in my neighbour's front pad. I immediately phoned her to get her okay and said I would move my car down the street soon as a spot becomes available. She was okay with that. But then her son and his friends have parked on my pad before. I saw her the next day as I was going out. She had just parked her car on the street jutting half way out to the middle. We've lost many parking spots to snow piles. I said to her, Park on my pad, I won't be back till late. She said that's okay, I'll be leaving again soon anyway. I keep trying.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Four Meals, Three Movies, Two Books, One Pedicure
This was a weekend of serious indulgence.
Winterlicious is on and The Boy decided he would like to be more familiar with Indian food. Friday night, we hooked up with Sis and had dinner at Jaaadu, an Indian restaurant midtown. This was an upscale restaurant. I should have known. That meant they catered to a more gentle palate. When they tone down the hot spices, the food was bland, which proves my point there is nothing subtle or complex about Indian cuisine. It's hot, or not, like veg or non-veg, without mind to name the kind of non-veg you might be consuming. It didn't help that we all ordered chicken in different sauces.
The next morning, I met my friends for brunch at the Gladstone Hotel. The Gladstone is a comfortable, refurbished grand place. You feel a sense of old, drunken Toronto cleaned up. I loved being there with some of my best buds. I liked the restaurant's no-nonsense food more or less on the healthy side, likes tofu scramble, frittatta with salmon and goat cheese, eggs benedict, all with a heaping side of delicious homefries and brown toast.
But that night, I had to turn down an invitation to go out for dinner with my neighbours. Two big meals in a row was too much for me, especially because I was anticipating another brunch in the morning with Sis.
Sunday brunch was at Lai Toh Heen, an upscale Chinese restaurant on Mt. Pleasant. Very good dim sum. But the mains were a bit disappointing. You pay twice the price of the being downtown to sit among the affluent Chinese uptown. After brunch, Sis, Kid2, and I went for a pedicure. Finally, sloughing the scaley, white detritus of winter.
Through some crosswires and re-engineering on The Boy's part, we hooked with Sis again for dinner. This time, we crossed town to Little India and had dosa, potatoes, and rice. Dosas are large crepes served with a smattering of vegetables inside. We chose potatoes. We had three deep fried or baked things stuffed with potatoes. And lemon rice. Very carby. To make up for the meatiness of brunch I guess. Bleh.
Between meals, I watched movies. It's that downloading trick The Boy showed me. I watched Frost/Nixon, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and Match Point. All excellent. The latter two gave me my Woody Allen fix for the moment.
Between movies, I read. I finished Stumbling On Happiness, a book about how the brain works (it makes best guesses and fills in missing info to complete a picture) and how we plan or assess the future (always based on inaccurate memories of the past and how we are feeling now). Then I launched into One Good Turn, my next book club book. One incident on the street and how it affects bystanders whether they got involved or not. So far so good. A book club friend read it, loved it, bought all the books written by the same author - Kate Atkinson, read them, and loved them all.
Thank god it's Monday. Now I need to recoup.
Winterlicious is on and The Boy decided he would like to be more familiar with Indian food. Friday night, we hooked up with Sis and had dinner at Jaaadu, an Indian restaurant midtown. This was an upscale restaurant. I should have known. That meant they catered to a more gentle palate. When they tone down the hot spices, the food was bland, which proves my point there is nothing subtle or complex about Indian cuisine. It's hot, or not, like veg or non-veg, without mind to name the kind of non-veg you might be consuming. It didn't help that we all ordered chicken in different sauces.
The next morning, I met my friends for brunch at the Gladstone Hotel. The Gladstone is a comfortable, refurbished grand place. You feel a sense of old, drunken Toronto cleaned up. I loved being there with some of my best buds. I liked the restaurant's no-nonsense food more or less on the healthy side, likes tofu scramble, frittatta with salmon and goat cheese, eggs benedict, all with a heaping side of delicious homefries and brown toast.
But that night, I had to turn down an invitation to go out for dinner with my neighbours. Two big meals in a row was too much for me, especially because I was anticipating another brunch in the morning with Sis.
Sunday brunch was at Lai Toh Heen, an upscale Chinese restaurant on Mt. Pleasant. Very good dim sum. But the mains were a bit disappointing. You pay twice the price of the being downtown to sit among the affluent Chinese uptown. After brunch, Sis, Kid2, and I went for a pedicure. Finally, sloughing the scaley, white detritus of winter.
Through some crosswires and re-engineering on The Boy's part, we hooked with Sis again for dinner. This time, we crossed town to Little India and had dosa, potatoes, and rice. Dosas are large crepes served with a smattering of vegetables inside. We chose potatoes. We had three deep fried or baked things stuffed with potatoes. And lemon rice. Very carby. To make up for the meatiness of brunch I guess. Bleh.
Between meals, I watched movies. It's that downloading trick The Boy showed me. I watched Frost/Nixon, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and Match Point. All excellent. The latter two gave me my Woody Allen fix for the moment.
Between movies, I read. I finished Stumbling On Happiness, a book about how the brain works (it makes best guesses and fills in missing info to complete a picture) and how we plan or assess the future (always based on inaccurate memories of the past and how we are feeling now). Then I launched into One Good Turn, my next book club book. One incident on the street and how it affects bystanders whether they got involved or not. So far so good. A book club friend read it, loved it, bought all the books written by the same author - Kate Atkinson, read them, and loved them all.
Thank god it's Monday. Now I need to recoup.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
So Then...
I like these paintings. Not because there is great artistic merit or vision. It's because I did them. I'm still working on techniques. But you know, something about these two exercises says, Look, that's the Sylph's hand at work.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wubba Wubba Wubba
As much as I am enjoying my pottery and painting classes, guilt sets in. It's as if I hear a voice saying, "Who do you think you are? What have you done to deserve this pleasure?"
Another voice rises to answer. It says, "What are you doing here? Where did you come from? Why are you saying these things to her?" I don't know where this voice comes from either. I secretly hope it's defending me, but I suspect it's just being contrary.
I told Dr. Noggins about this. He didn't say it, but he sounded puzzled by my feeling guilty. In my mind, I asked, Where is my voice of outrage? Outrage at my challenging whether I am entitled to have pleasure through art, outrage at my merely questioning where the challenge comes from and not quashing it in my defense. I am outraged by my not being outraged.
Then I stopped. I can see how multiple personality disorder sets in. I didn't want to call up voices in my head any more.
So I said to Dr. Noggins, I can never criticize anyone for listening to bubblegum music any more. This internal process is too much for me. All I can think is I am glad I am going home to listen to my lighthearted fun diddies from the 60's. Maybe it's all those people who appear so air-headed and listen to pop tunes who are trying hardest to escape their complex, mind-boggling issues.
Does escapism feed our entertainment and art industries? I think that's one of the feeds.
Another voice rises to answer. It says, "What are you doing here? Where did you come from? Why are you saying these things to her?" I don't know where this voice comes from either. I secretly hope it's defending me, but I suspect it's just being contrary.
I told Dr. Noggins about this. He didn't say it, but he sounded puzzled by my feeling guilty. In my mind, I asked, Where is my voice of outrage? Outrage at my challenging whether I am entitled to have pleasure through art, outrage at my merely questioning where the challenge comes from and not quashing it in my defense. I am outraged by my not being outraged.
Then I stopped. I can see how multiple personality disorder sets in. I didn't want to call up voices in my head any more.
So I said to Dr. Noggins, I can never criticize anyone for listening to bubblegum music any more. This internal process is too much for me. All I can think is I am glad I am going home to listen to my lighthearted fun diddies from the 60's. Maybe it's all those people who appear so air-headed and listen to pop tunes who are trying hardest to escape their complex, mind-boggling issues.
Does escapism feed our entertainment and art industries? I think that's one of the feeds.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Am I Really Me?
It's ID theft season.
A little while back, I received a phone call from my bank - credit card fraud services. They received a report about my card so they wanted to verify recent transactions. But I hadn't used this particular card for over two months. But just to be safe, they verified all my information and said they wold cancel my card and issue a new one.
After I hung up, I thought, Wait, what if that was the fraud? The woman asked for a lot of private information and I just gave it to her. So I phoned the customer service number on the back of my card and verified that my card had been flagged. Now that I have received my new card, I feel better.
Then I received an email from myself! offering to sell me Viagra! C'mon, I am not in that business and I don't need the stuff. How did this email happen, that I am the sender and recipient? Are others receiving emails from me with Viagra offers?
This week, I received an email in my Bell account from Windows Live saying they want to confirm my request for password change to prevent fraud. But I don't have a Windows Live account and I made no such request. When I clicked on the link the email provided to cancel the request, the display looked like a Windows Live window. But when I clicked on the cancel button, I received a "link is no longer valid" message.
I sent Windows Live an email asking them about the email they sent, and to advise that if someone did try to create an account using my Bell email, to not let them. I have yet to hear back.
A little while back, I received a phone call from my bank - credit card fraud services. They received a report about my card so they wanted to verify recent transactions. But I hadn't used this particular card for over two months. But just to be safe, they verified all my information and said they wold cancel my card and issue a new one.
After I hung up, I thought, Wait, what if that was the fraud? The woman asked for a lot of private information and I just gave it to her. So I phoned the customer service number on the back of my card and verified that my card had been flagged. Now that I have received my new card, I feel better.
Then I received an email from myself! offering to sell me Viagra! C'mon, I am not in that business and I don't need the stuff. How did this email happen, that I am the sender and recipient? Are others receiving emails from me with Viagra offers?
This week, I received an email in my Bell account from Windows Live saying they want to confirm my request for password change to prevent fraud. But I don't have a Windows Live account and I made no such request. When I clicked on the link the email provided to cancel the request, the display looked like a Windows Live window. But when I clicked on the cancel button, I received a "link is no longer valid" message.
I sent Windows Live an email asking them about the email they sent, and to advise that if someone did try to create an account using my Bell email, to not let them. I have yet to hear back.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Up Over?
I can't believe The Man is having a good time in Australia without me. Sure sure, I turned down the opportunity to go with him and he phones to say he wishes I was down under with him. But it still feels like he's galavanting around the globe instead of being home with me.
This winter, Toronto is three degrees colder than last winter, according to Environment Canada. The temperature has been in the -12C to -16 range. With the windchill, it's been -20C to -28C. When it gets warmer, like today - it's only -4C out, it snows. We are expecting 15 cm to 20 cm of snow by evening. My luncheon with a friend is cancelled because she can't get off Toronto Island where she lives. Now she sent a note to say her French class tonight has been cancelled due to the weather.
All my neighbours and I seem to do is shovel the snow and complain about the cold.
Meanwhile, down under in the land of Oz, The Man's been to the beach. It's hovers around 30C during the day and 20C at night.
These opposites in our temperature and locale made me wonder where the hottest and coldest places on Earth are. This is what I learned.
The hottest air temperatures recorded were:
- Iran's Lut Desert at 70.7C in 2005
- El Azizia in Libya at 66C in 1922
- Death Valley in California occasionally reaches 56.6C
The coldest air temperatures recorded were:
- Vostok, Antarctica at -89.2C in 1983
- Oymyakon, Siberia at -71.2C. People apparently live here.
It's all relative, isn't it, how hot or cold a place is? -4C and snow in Toronto. Not so bad.
This winter, Toronto is three degrees colder than last winter, according to Environment Canada. The temperature has been in the -12C to -16 range. With the windchill, it's been -20C to -28C. When it gets warmer, like today - it's only -4C out, it snows. We are expecting 15 cm to 20 cm of snow by evening. My luncheon with a friend is cancelled because she can't get off Toronto Island where she lives. Now she sent a note to say her French class tonight has been cancelled due to the weather.
All my neighbours and I seem to do is shovel the snow and complain about the cold.
Meanwhile, down under in the land of Oz, The Man's been to the beach. It's hovers around 30C during the day and 20C at night.
These opposites in our temperature and locale made me wonder where the hottest and coldest places on Earth are. This is what I learned.
The hottest air temperatures recorded were:
- Iran's Lut Desert at 70.7C in 2005
- El Azizia in Libya at 66C in 1922
- Death Valley in California occasionally reaches 56.6C
The coldest air temperatures recorded were:
- Vostok, Antarctica at -89.2C in 1983
- Oymyakon, Siberia at -71.2C. People apparently live here.
It's all relative, isn't it, how hot or cold a place is? -4C and snow in Toronto. Not so bad.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Don't Bank On It
A few years ago, my bank offered me a line of credit. I didn't want it but the bank teller talked me into accepting it. I haven't used the line of credit at all. Now I receive a letter from my bank telling me that due to the costs of lending in this economic climate, they will starting charging a fee for unused lines of credit.
That means, if I have a line of credit and I don't use it in 365 days, I have to pay the bank an inactivity fee! And the charge is retroactive to 2006!
Whoa. They talk me into taking a line of credit I didn't want and don't need, and now they want to charge me for it? That's just like they talked me into having overdraft protection on an account I never write cheques on. You don't get charged if you don't write cheques, the teller said, You only pay in the month that you need the protection. So I said okay. Now I am seeing a monthly charge of $3 for overdraft protection.
This is the same bank that years ago we had our mortgage with. They were supposed to take payments every second week. But one time, they withdrew two weeks in a row. That made all my cheques that week bounce, for which the bank charged me $25 for each bounced cheque. I complained. But they would not reimburse me. A few months later, they did the same thing. So as soon as our mortgage was up, we switched banks.
I phoned the bank to cancel my line of credit and kill my overdraft protection. I am tired of this bank's unscrupulous practices.
They are quite incredible. Before cancelling my line of credit, the phone rep said, You have a balance. I felt my blood stirring. But I could tell he was reading from a script. He summed up with, You have a balance of zero so we will be paying off your line of credit from your chequing account with a transfer of zero dollars.
I took a deep breath and said with gritted teeth, Okay.
Then I asked him to take out the overdraft protection on my chequing account. He transferred me to another department.
This new phone rep offered to change my overdraft protection to a different kind, one where I get charged only if I use it. I said, That's the one I thought I had until I started seeing the monthly charge. He said, No, but that's what I switched you into now.
Thing is, on the phone, these reps are very helpful, so you can't get too mad at them, especially because you know they didn't make the policies and administer the errors. And I can't quit them because I hold joint accounts at this bank with Mom. But do you think I would seek out this bank if I actually needed credit? Not on your life.
That means, if I have a line of credit and I don't use it in 365 days, I have to pay the bank an inactivity fee! And the charge is retroactive to 2006!
Whoa. They talk me into taking a line of credit I didn't want and don't need, and now they want to charge me for it? That's just like they talked me into having overdraft protection on an account I never write cheques on. You don't get charged if you don't write cheques, the teller said, You only pay in the month that you need the protection. So I said okay. Now I am seeing a monthly charge of $3 for overdraft protection.
This is the same bank that years ago we had our mortgage with. They were supposed to take payments every second week. But one time, they withdrew two weeks in a row. That made all my cheques that week bounce, for which the bank charged me $25 for each bounced cheque. I complained. But they would not reimburse me. A few months later, they did the same thing. So as soon as our mortgage was up, we switched banks.
I phoned the bank to cancel my line of credit and kill my overdraft protection. I am tired of this bank's unscrupulous practices.
They are quite incredible. Before cancelling my line of credit, the phone rep said, You have a balance. I felt my blood stirring. But I could tell he was reading from a script. He summed up with, You have a balance of zero so we will be paying off your line of credit from your chequing account with a transfer of zero dollars.
I took a deep breath and said with gritted teeth, Okay.
Then I asked him to take out the overdraft protection on my chequing account. He transferred me to another department.
This new phone rep offered to change my overdraft protection to a different kind, one where I get charged only if I use it. I said, That's the one I thought I had until I started seeing the monthly charge. He said, No, but that's what I switched you into now.
Thing is, on the phone, these reps are very helpful, so you can't get too mad at them, especially because you know they didn't make the policies and administer the errors. And I can't quit them because I hold joint accounts at this bank with Mom. But do you think I would seek out this bank if I actually needed credit? Not on your life.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
It's Some Kinda Groovy
I've been listening to Jay and the Americans. They were a group popular in the 60's...cuz I'm on this retro music nostalgia kick. I listen to the voice as an instrument and marvel at the range and mood a human voice is capable of conveying.
Jay and the Americans is on their third Jay. There really is a Jay. The first two had to change their names to Jay and now they finally got a lead singer whose real name is Jay. Of course these guys are in their 60's. But they still sing. In some of their earlier songs, I can't tell the difference between the band's Jay singing and Roy Orbison. Roy did not record with them. Only in some of the high and fast notes that Jay hit could I detect a difference. Their songs are so much fun.
And there is The Animals. A truly marvellous performing group because of Eric Burdon's voice and expressive stage presence. Again the voice! In some of their songs, I can't tell the difference between Eric Burdon and Mick Jagger. They both produce that gravelly baritone howling sound when they want.
My favourite Animals song is Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood. The lyrics are so human.
Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel
When things go wrong I seem to be bad.
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that, all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do
'Cause I love you,
Oh
Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
I have thoughts like any other one
Sometimes I find myself, Lord, regretting
Some foolish thing, some little simple thing I've done
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
The song was written for Nina Simone and I'm trying to find her version to hear how she sings it. But I love how Eric pleads he's only human in a love song. There's such strength, self-awareness and vulnerability at the same time.
I am surprised that most of The Animals' songs are more bluesy than rock. You wouldn't know they were a British band.
So here's my unsurprising confession I hope. When The Boy is not home, I turn up the music and sing along with all these old bands. But here's the surprising part. I told my next door neighbour what I've been listening to. She said on nights when her husband is away, her daughter is asleep, and she knows I'm out, she goes down to the basement and cranks up music from the 70's and dances to it!
Jay and the Americans is on their third Jay. There really is a Jay. The first two had to change their names to Jay and now they finally got a lead singer whose real name is Jay. Of course these guys are in their 60's. But they still sing. In some of their earlier songs, I can't tell the difference between the band's Jay singing and Roy Orbison. Roy did not record with them. Only in some of the high and fast notes that Jay hit could I detect a difference. Their songs are so much fun.
And there is The Animals. A truly marvellous performing group because of Eric Burdon's voice and expressive stage presence. Again the voice! In some of their songs, I can't tell the difference between Eric Burdon and Mick Jagger. They both produce that gravelly baritone howling sound when they want.
My favourite Animals song is Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood. The lyrics are so human.
Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel
When things go wrong I seem to be bad.
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that, all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do
'Cause I love you,
Oh
Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
I have thoughts like any other one
Sometimes I find myself, Lord, regretting
Some foolish thing, some little simple thing I've done
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
The song was written for Nina Simone and I'm trying to find her version to hear how she sings it. But I love how Eric pleads he's only human in a love song. There's such strength, self-awareness and vulnerability at the same time.
I am surprised that most of The Animals' songs are more bluesy than rock. You wouldn't know they were a British band.
So here's my unsurprising confession I hope. When The Boy is not home, I turn up the music and sing along with all these old bands. But here's the surprising part. I told my next door neighbour what I've been listening to. She said on nights when her husband is away, her daughter is asleep, and she knows I'm out, she goes down to the basement and cranks up music from the 70's and dances to it!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Got It!
First time in my painting class and I learned something. In all the drawing classes I attended, I never understood what the instructors meant when they said you have to darken the background and lighten the foreground to bring out contrast and give your object depth. I muck about my drawings and sometimes come up with something not too bad without ever knowing what I did right.
So in Painting today, the instructor said the same thing - darken the background and lighten the foreground, highlight the object and work in the details, etc. I said, "I don't know what you mean. I don't see details. I see everything in 2-D."
He said, "Let me demonstrate. If you don't see the details, make them up." Then he put dark colours around my objects and white dabs where the light reflects off the object. I stood back. It was amazing. My bottles and balls suddenly popped off the canvas in 3-D vitality.
"My god, that's a completely different painting," I said.
"No, that's your painting. I just showed you the technique to give it depth," he replied.
I love my painting class already.
So in Painting today, the instructor said the same thing - darken the background and lighten the foreground, highlight the object and work in the details, etc. I said, "I don't know what you mean. I don't see details. I see everything in 2-D."
He said, "Let me demonstrate. If you don't see the details, make them up." Then he put dark colours around my objects and white dabs where the light reflects off the object. I stood back. It was amazing. My bottles and balls suddenly popped off the canvas in 3-D vitality.
"My god, that's a completely different painting," I said.
"No, that's your painting. I just showed you the technique to give it depth," he replied.
I love my painting class already.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
They're Out There
My friend and I went to a Reggae Fusion dance class this week. I liked it much better than the Street Ballet class.
When we arrived at the studio, a group of squeegy kids (although some of them surely can't be kids any more) hovered at the entrance to the studio stairs. That's where they keep warm between traffic light changes.
We were early. So we stood in the stairwell at the front of the building where there was a big window and looked out onto the corner of Queen and Spadina. The squeegy people had a routine. One of them always stayed in the shadow. Only one went to work on a car at a time, while the others hovered over a little brown puppy wrapped in a coat. They cleaned a car's windshield whether the driver wanted them to or not, even if the driver waved no to them. Despite that, almost all of the drivers gave the squeegy kids something - usually money change or cigarettes.
Today, I went to my pilates class. Parking is always a problem at the pilates studio. I nabbed a parking spot and rushed into the building to evade the wind and cold. Then I looked out the glass windows and saw a man ride up on his motorcycle. He parked and came running into the building too.
As he hurried, he took his helmet off. He had short, white cropped hair. It looked like he usually shaved his head but hair was coming in now. He was roundish, but in that way that doesn't look fat on older people. He must've been over 60. Then he took his leather jacket off. He had on a dark T-shirt under and his arms were fully tattooed. I couldn't make out what was on them as I didn't want to seem too intent on examining his arms in the elevator.
The man could have been a film producer, an artist, a window washer, or a bike gang member.
He followed me into the pilates studio. There in the foyer, he greeted several people and took his pants off. Whew, he had a pair of stretch shorts under. I went into the pilates class after I got changed. The man came in too. He was in my pilates class!
When you don't work during the day, you meet all sorts. But good on him.
When we arrived at the studio, a group of squeegy kids (although some of them surely can't be kids any more) hovered at the entrance to the studio stairs. That's where they keep warm between traffic light changes.
We were early. So we stood in the stairwell at the front of the building where there was a big window and looked out onto the corner of Queen and Spadina. The squeegy people had a routine. One of them always stayed in the shadow. Only one went to work on a car at a time, while the others hovered over a little brown puppy wrapped in a coat. They cleaned a car's windshield whether the driver wanted them to or not, even if the driver waved no to them. Despite that, almost all of the drivers gave the squeegy kids something - usually money change or cigarettes.
Today, I went to my pilates class. Parking is always a problem at the pilates studio. I nabbed a parking spot and rushed into the building to evade the wind and cold. Then I looked out the glass windows and saw a man ride up on his motorcycle. He parked and came running into the building too.
As he hurried, he took his helmet off. He had short, white cropped hair. It looked like he usually shaved his head but hair was coming in now. He was roundish, but in that way that doesn't look fat on older people. He must've been over 60. Then he took his leather jacket off. He had on a dark T-shirt under and his arms were fully tattooed. I couldn't make out what was on them as I didn't want to seem too intent on examining his arms in the elevator.
The man could have been a film producer, an artist, a window washer, or a bike gang member.
He followed me into the pilates studio. There in the foyer, he greeted several people and took his pants off. Whew, he had a pair of stretch shorts under. I went into the pilates class after I got changed. The man came in too. He was in my pilates class!
When you don't work during the day, you meet all sorts. But good on him.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Musically Challenged
I am on a nostalgic music row.
I caught a tune by Hall and Oates recently and couldn't get it out of my head. I came home and downloaded a file, hoping it contains that song in my head. It contained all their songs! All 16 albums of them. Now I can't stop listening to them and I think, Yeah, they're really good, even though one of the guys can't sing. And I would go see them if they ever come up my way, 'cause apparently, they are still touring. I bet they've been to Casino Rama.
I'm like three decades behind in music. When Hall and Oates was popular back in the 80's, I didn't care much for them. Snappy tunes, I thought, no substance. Can't even dance to their beat. Never mind that I couldn't dance and was not in the habit of going to dance parties, or that I liked Abba because they were even snappier. But they also were savvy business musicians who never pretended to produce anything but bubblegum music. And look how popular their songs are now.
Being stuck in time must run in the family. I mean, like Bro, who tries to show me how he still rocks it with John Denver when we are in his car. Or Bro Bro, whose fondest memory of a concert is still the one of Jerry Vale at the Royal York Hotel when the Royal York was an exclusive place to go. I wasn't at that concert, but I heard that even back then, there were only senior citizens in the audience. Or Sis, who made me download her favourite song one day. It is still Charlene's I've Never Been To Me, which first reached the charts in 1977.
So I have to admit that The Boy didn't inherit his musicality and rhythm from my side of the family, just his good looks and brains.
I caught a tune by Hall and Oates recently and couldn't get it out of my head. I came home and downloaded a file, hoping it contains that song in my head. It contained all their songs! All 16 albums of them. Now I can't stop listening to them and I think, Yeah, they're really good, even though one of the guys can't sing. And I would go see them if they ever come up my way, 'cause apparently, they are still touring. I bet they've been to Casino Rama.
I'm like three decades behind in music. When Hall and Oates was popular back in the 80's, I didn't care much for them. Snappy tunes, I thought, no substance. Can't even dance to their beat. Never mind that I couldn't dance and was not in the habit of going to dance parties, or that I liked Abba because they were even snappier. But they also were savvy business musicians who never pretended to produce anything but bubblegum music. And look how popular their songs are now.
Being stuck in time must run in the family. I mean, like Bro, who tries to show me how he still rocks it with John Denver when we are in his car. Or Bro Bro, whose fondest memory of a concert is still the one of Jerry Vale at the Royal York Hotel when the Royal York was an exclusive place to go. I wasn't at that concert, but I heard that even back then, there were only senior citizens in the audience. Or Sis, who made me download her favourite song one day. It is still Charlene's I've Never Been To Me, which first reached the charts in 1977.
So I have to admit that The Boy didn't inherit his musicality and rhythm from my side of the family, just his good looks and brains.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Blast From The Past
My goodness. Today, I relived my youth. I found on YouTube videos of some of the songs that I liked in my teen years. I've never seen them performed before. But YouTube had clips of the original bands singing those songs. Here they are. Most of these guys, in their sixties now, are still touring.
The Archies doing Sugar Sugar
Ron Dante is the singer for The Archies. How adorable he was. He also sang for The Cufflinks, which churned out a hit song called Tracy. He sang commercial jingles in his day. He went on to produce Barry Manilow tunes and the broadway show Ain't Misbehavin'.
Vanity Fare doing Hitching A Ride
This band is touring for sure. But I think the singer struggles a bit now to sing.
Edison Lighthouse doing Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)
Here's tidbit I didn't know. The singer for this "band" was a session singer. He fronted five hit songs under different bands all within five years. These were all one-hit-wonders. When he appeared on TV with the band, he looked completely different for each one!
Climax doing Precious and Few
Sonny Geraci was the singer for Climax. He too was sort of a session singer. He sang with The Outsiders before Climax. Precious and Few was apparent written especially for him to showcase his vocals. But he quit the music business after Climax.
Shocking Blue doing Venus
I didn't know the singer of this song was a woman!
The Doors on Ed Sullivan doing Light My Fire. The band was told just before they went on, to change the lyrics from "Girl we couldn't get much higher" to "Girl we couldn't get much better". The show felt "higher" sounded like an endorsement of the casual drug culture. Jim sang "higher" anyway.
I see why The Doors have such staying power. Jim Morrison was young, good looking, a cool cool dresser, had a powerful voice, and wrote most of the lyrics to their songs. Apparently, he was charismatic too. They really were something. Their sound and lyrics are relevant even today.
The Archies doing Sugar Sugar
Ron Dante is the singer for The Archies. How adorable he was. He also sang for The Cufflinks, which churned out a hit song called Tracy. He sang commercial jingles in his day. He went on to produce Barry Manilow tunes and the broadway show Ain't Misbehavin'.
Vanity Fare doing Hitching A Ride
This band is touring for sure. But I think the singer struggles a bit now to sing.
Edison Lighthouse doing Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)
Here's tidbit I didn't know. The singer for this "band" was a session singer. He fronted five hit songs under different bands all within five years. These were all one-hit-wonders. When he appeared on TV with the band, he looked completely different for each one!
Climax doing Precious and Few
Sonny Geraci was the singer for Climax. He too was sort of a session singer. He sang with The Outsiders before Climax. Precious and Few was apparent written especially for him to showcase his vocals. But he quit the music business after Climax.
Shocking Blue doing Venus
I didn't know the singer of this song was a woman!
The Doors on Ed Sullivan doing Light My Fire. The band was told just before they went on, to change the lyrics from "Girl we couldn't get much higher" to "Girl we couldn't get much better". The show felt "higher" sounded like an endorsement of the casual drug culture. Jim sang "higher" anyway.
I see why The Doors have such staying power. Jim Morrison was young, good looking, a cool cool dresser, had a powerful voice, and wrote most of the lyrics to their songs. Apparently, he was charismatic too. They really were something. Their sound and lyrics are relevant even today.
Friday, January 16, 2009
La Fin Du Debut
Now I remember. I was a browner at school. When I wasn't distracted, I did well in all my classes. But when I was pre-occupied with finding my way in life, I floundered and failed at school. That happened in later years. But I did find a life and got pretty good at it.
Now in French class, I am a browner again. I am on time, I understand the lessons, I do my homework, I am keen. I even talk to the teachers in French! during break time. I make mistakes and I am glad I make them, because those are the grammatical points and vocabulary that I remember.
So today ends my week of being a French student full time. It was exhausting and I am glad to stop. I need to absord and practise all that I've learned. But I miss the class already. As the class ended today, we sat there waiting for our homework assignment. The teacher shooed us out of the room.
Before we left, he said our school uses the new language methodology established by the European Council to set the language requirements and levels for our courses so that we can be assessed on an international academic standard. Our class has undoubtedly catapulted into the intermediate level no matter where we continue our French from this point on. We are no longer beginners.
Coming home today, I had trouble adjusting. I had to sort out my English words to ask the TTC server whether trains were running. When he answered, I tried to translate what he said into English, only to remember English is my best language and I understood him fine. But for about an hour after, I expected people in the street to speak French, and I did catch two people speaking it! They wondered whether they should walk or wait for the bus that wasn't coming!
I feel like I have a secret superpower.
And I lost four pounds this week. Yeah, French is good for me.
Now in French class, I am a browner again. I am on time, I understand the lessons, I do my homework, I am keen. I even talk to the teachers in French! during break time. I make mistakes and I am glad I make them, because those are the grammatical points and vocabulary that I remember.
So today ends my week of being a French student full time. It was exhausting and I am glad to stop. I need to absord and practise all that I've learned. But I miss the class already. As the class ended today, we sat there waiting for our homework assignment. The teacher shooed us out of the room.
Before we left, he said our school uses the new language methodology established by the European Council to set the language requirements and levels for our courses so that we can be assessed on an international academic standard. Our class has undoubtedly catapulted into the intermediate level no matter where we continue our French from this point on. We are no longer beginners.
Coming home today, I had trouble adjusting. I had to sort out my English words to ask the TTC server whether trains were running. When he answered, I tried to translate what he said into English, only to remember English is my best language and I understood him fine. But for about an hour after, I expected people in the street to speak French, and I did catch two people speaking it! They wondered whether they should walk or wait for the bus that wasn't coming!
I feel like I have a secret superpower.
And I lost four pounds this week. Yeah, French is good for me.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Audacity!
I am in French class all this week. We finished a lesson on making inquiries after a new born baby. The very next day, I received an email from a friend in France who had a baby a few months ago. So I immediate put my lesson to use and made inquiries after her baby in French!
I made mistakes of course, but she was too polite to point them out. She just answered my questions in French and told me more about her new baby.
Now I have signed up for another French course. Not an intensive full time one. They are not offering them again till July. So starting next week, on Fridays, I will be a full time student for the day. French in the morning and painting in the afternoon!
I made mistakes of course, but she was too polite to point them out. She just answered my questions in French and told me more about her new baby.
Now I have signed up for another French course. Not an intensive full time one. They are not offering them again till July. So starting next week, on Fridays, I will be a full time student for the day. French in the morning and painting in the afternoon!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Old People
A friend and I decided we didn't want to go into a gym for our exercise. We wanted something more fun, like modern dance. So I found us the Street Dance Academy at Spadina and Queen.
I phoned the dance studio before going in. Yes, they said, even around 50, we are not too old to do their dances. True, most of their students are university students and working adults, but some of their students, though none as old as the two of us, have even given birth and they still come to class.
So my friend and I thought, What the heck, let's give it a go and see what happens. Tonight, we showed up for a class called Street Ballet.
The instructor was a pretty young woman and a good dancer, obviously classically trained in ballet. There were ten of us in class. Except for my friend and me, all the students were in their 20's. Half were men, which is unusual. Men don't usually take dance classes. Not that the students were particularly graceful or coordinated dancers. It was just that my friend and I were particularly bad.
Physically, there was a huge difference between us and the others. I mean huge. We had visible, round, blubbery middles and chests. The others had none. There were moves we just couldn't do because of our knee pains. The others mimicked all of the instructor's moves. There were step sequences that didn't register with us. The others followed through. I did every move with one hand on a wall. Everyone else could balance on their own. At one point, I took a long time to get off the floor for fear of snapping a bone. Everyone else was up and moving. My friend fell. No one else did.
Every time I looked in the wall mirror, I said to myself, There are the dancers and the two old people.
At the end of the class, my friend and I rolled out of the studio and collapsed laughing into a couch. We decided that because physically there is more of us to turn, it just takes us longer to turn than the others. And the other thing is, if we could actually do some of the moves, we would have less trouble doing several of those moves in sequence.
You'd think after an experience like that, we'd learned our lesson and keep to people our own age. But nope. We are going back on Monday for a class called Reggae Fusion.
I phoned the dance studio before going in. Yes, they said, even around 50, we are not too old to do their dances. True, most of their students are university students and working adults, but some of their students, though none as old as the two of us, have even given birth and they still come to class.
So my friend and I thought, What the heck, let's give it a go and see what happens. Tonight, we showed up for a class called Street Ballet.
The instructor was a pretty young woman and a good dancer, obviously classically trained in ballet. There were ten of us in class. Except for my friend and me, all the students were in their 20's. Half were men, which is unusual. Men don't usually take dance classes. Not that the students were particularly graceful or coordinated dancers. It was just that my friend and I were particularly bad.
Physically, there was a huge difference between us and the others. I mean huge. We had visible, round, blubbery middles and chests. The others had none. There were moves we just couldn't do because of our knee pains. The others mimicked all of the instructor's moves. There were step sequences that didn't register with us. The others followed through. I did every move with one hand on a wall. Everyone else could balance on their own. At one point, I took a long time to get off the floor for fear of snapping a bone. Everyone else was up and moving. My friend fell. No one else did.
Every time I looked in the wall mirror, I said to myself, There are the dancers and the two old people.
At the end of the class, my friend and I rolled out of the studio and collapsed laughing into a couch. We decided that because physically there is more of us to turn, it just takes us longer to turn than the others. And the other thing is, if we could actually do some of the moves, we would have less trouble doing several of those moves in sequence.
You'd think after an experience like that, we'd learned our lesson and keep to people our own age. But nope. We are going back on Monday for a class called Reggae Fusion.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Sobering Up
The new year is a sobering time. One of my neighbours is clearly depressed. He shovels the snow and says hello to me. But I detect a distracted grimness in his greeting. Another is honing in on her chores. She shovels the snow too and says hello when we see each other. She seems tired. Her movements suggest if she didn't focus on her shovelling, she'd forget what she was doing outside. That's how I meet with my neighbours, shovelling the snow out there.
Most of my friends seem focused on work, or are nesting.
I don't feel sober. I feel...ill. Not because of gluttony (maybe just a little) or hives (sure, a little of that too), but because I am so disappointed in The Boy. He didn't get the grades he needed to get into downtown U of T. Despite being told if he showed up for class everyday and handed in all his assignments, he would do well, he didn't. Now he will be in school again next semester.
With his current grades, he can be accepted into other universities or colleges, but he's determined to get back into downtown U of T.
The second school semester hasn't started yet. He's already talking about loopholes. I'm thinking outside the box, he said. He figures that if he gets 90's in the new courses at the beginning of the term, he will be accepted at U of T. The stipulation for acceptance is he must complete high school. But since he's already completed high school, he can drop out of school after the first term grades are submitted, without completing the courses. That way, he can still spend the rest of the semester and the summer doing other things.
What things, I asked. Whatever, he said. I am all for thinking outside the box and the entrepreneurial spirit. But The Boy sometimes borders on snaky behaviour in my mind. I can't help but ask, Where did I go wrong as a parent?
I have to keep reminding myself, nothing, I did nothing wrong. There are parental expectations and there is what one has to learn for oneself in the process of maturation. Aren't the things I value most the things I fought hardest for?
But as a parent, I still feel it is my duty to issue advice and warn him about the potential pitfalls of his plan. I told him he would be cheating himself out of learning, creating a bad record, setting a pattern of looking for loopholes and shortcuts, forfeiting his chance at being an Ontario scholar, and disqualifying himself from scholarships to fund his university. What not maximize the benefits of this fifth year in school? Maybe I am sober after all.
He said what I say makes sense, but he still has too look for that loophole and know that it exists. Whether he goes through it will be another issue. I can't nor do I want to quash his outside the box thinking. And he may have to learn the hard way that he actually has to apply himself to get what he wants in the adult world. Life has been too easy for him. Maybe he will sober up if he fails at what he wants a few times. But how can I wish for failure for my son? I don't. But he's a young man now. His successes and failures and how he sobers up are his to determine.
Most of my friends seem focused on work, or are nesting.
I don't feel sober. I feel...ill. Not because of gluttony (maybe just a little) or hives (sure, a little of that too), but because I am so disappointed in The Boy. He didn't get the grades he needed to get into downtown U of T. Despite being told if he showed up for class everyday and handed in all his assignments, he would do well, he didn't. Now he will be in school again next semester.
With his current grades, he can be accepted into other universities or colleges, but he's determined to get back into downtown U of T.
The second school semester hasn't started yet. He's already talking about loopholes. I'm thinking outside the box, he said. He figures that if he gets 90's in the new courses at the beginning of the term, he will be accepted at U of T. The stipulation for acceptance is he must complete high school. But since he's already completed high school, he can drop out of school after the first term grades are submitted, without completing the courses. That way, he can still spend the rest of the semester and the summer doing other things.
What things, I asked. Whatever, he said. I am all for thinking outside the box and the entrepreneurial spirit. But The Boy sometimes borders on snaky behaviour in my mind. I can't help but ask, Where did I go wrong as a parent?
I have to keep reminding myself, nothing, I did nothing wrong. There are parental expectations and there is what one has to learn for oneself in the process of maturation. Aren't the things I value most the things I fought hardest for?
But as a parent, I still feel it is my duty to issue advice and warn him about the potential pitfalls of his plan. I told him he would be cheating himself out of learning, creating a bad record, setting a pattern of looking for loopholes and shortcuts, forfeiting his chance at being an Ontario scholar, and disqualifying himself from scholarships to fund his university. What not maximize the benefits of this fifth year in school? Maybe I am sober after all.
He said what I say makes sense, but he still has too look for that loophole and know that it exists. Whether he goes through it will be another issue. I can't nor do I want to quash his outside the box thinking. And he may have to learn the hard way that he actually has to apply himself to get what he wants in the adult world. Life has been too easy for him. Maybe he will sober up if he fails at what he wants a few times. But how can I wish for failure for my son? I don't. But he's a young man now. His successes and failures and how he sobers up are his to determine.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Into January
So that's it. It was a whirlwind stay. The Man came, we feted, he left. Immediately, the house feels empty.
The Man spends two weeks in Kabul to wrap up his work, then heads to Australia to visit his cousins. I would love to go with him, especially since he can get me there on points. But I said no to it. I feel it's more important that I stay put and tend to some of the activities I had put in place for this new year. It's not often I look forward to doing something. Right now, I look forward to my activities and I don't want to be derailed.
Next week, I start another full time French course. I also start painting. I am giddy about this. My pottery class starts the week after. I missed it so. Several times over the holidays I wanted to go into the studio to get my hands dirty. My pilates classes have already started though I have yet to go to one. Now that I have ready transportation again, exercise will be a regular part of my week again. Sis put the fear of morbid obesity in me.
Tomorrow, I have a book club meeting. I have yet to read the book. This weekend, I am visiting a friend up north but I have a compulsion to clean the house and take down the Christmas tree before doing anything. Maybe I am more of a Befana than I thought.
The Man spends two weeks in Kabul to wrap up his work, then heads to Australia to visit his cousins. I would love to go with him, especially since he can get me there on points. But I said no to it. I feel it's more important that I stay put and tend to some of the activities I had put in place for this new year. It's not often I look forward to doing something. Right now, I look forward to my activities and I don't want to be derailed.
Next week, I start another full time French course. I also start painting. I am giddy about this. My pottery class starts the week after. I missed it so. Several times over the holidays I wanted to go into the studio to get my hands dirty. My pilates classes have already started though I have yet to go to one. Now that I have ready transportation again, exercise will be a regular part of my week again. Sis put the fear of morbid obesity in me.
Tomorrow, I have a book club meeting. I have yet to read the book. This weekend, I am visiting a friend up north but I have a compulsion to clean the house and take down the Christmas tree before doing anything. Maybe I am more of a Befana than I thought.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Power Of Drugs
One night after dinner, my face broke out in welts. The next morning, my face started itching. I was having an allergic reaction to something, though who knows what.
In the afternoon, I went to the pharmacy. The druggist recommended I took a 24-hour non-drowsy dose of antihistamine, then follow up with another dose at bed time. Because I'd be double dosing, I would sleep through the night, plus get a stronger treatment for my allergy.
So at 2 PM, I took my first pill. At 11 PM, I took my second. I slept like a baby through out the night. But in the morning, I was groggy. I stayed in bed. Then at 1 PM, I woke up refreshed. It was exactly 23 hours since my first dose of antihistamine. The double-dosing effect was over.
It also reminds me of years ago when I fell skating and broke my wrist. The Emergency doctor said he would knock me out for half an hour and reset my wrist. He gave me a shot. I looked at the time. In the blink of an eye, I woke up, exactly 30 minutes later. My wrist was in a cast and I had no memory of the 30 minutes that passed.
I marvel at the exactness of drug dosing.
In the afternoon, I went to the pharmacy. The druggist recommended I took a 24-hour non-drowsy dose of antihistamine, then follow up with another dose at bed time. Because I'd be double dosing, I would sleep through the night, plus get a stronger treatment for my allergy.
So at 2 PM, I took my first pill. At 11 PM, I took my second. I slept like a baby through out the night. But in the morning, I was groggy. I stayed in bed. Then at 1 PM, I woke up refreshed. It was exactly 23 hours since my first dose of antihistamine. The double-dosing effect was over.
It also reminds me of years ago when I fell skating and broke my wrist. The Emergency doctor said he would knock me out for half an hour and reset my wrist. He gave me a shot. I looked at the time. In the blink of an eye, I woke up, exactly 30 minutes later. My wrist was in a cast and I had no memory of the 30 minutes that passed.
I marvel at the exactness of drug dosing.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy New Year!
This round, The Man took a bit longer to adjust to being home and I have not had much alone time with him. I know he left an intense work situation in Kabul and he's in the process of giving up his house there. From that to home, where he is completely cut off from the things that occupied his time, energy and thought.
But now that we've had Christmas (several times), he's gone to the gym, and we've been out with Outrageous and Red, he's settling in. He told a neighbour today it feels like he went to Kabul for the weekend and now he's back. Well, that's better. This is where his home is, not in Kabul.
This being New Year's Eve, I can't carry my crime into the New Year. So here's where I unload my secret. I arranged many appointments for The Man through his doctor. Regular check up stuff. His doctor had clued in that he's over 50 so suddenly sent him to all kinds of screening tests. The Man went to an 8 AM abdominal scan on December 24. But the clinic sent him home. They never received a requisition for the scan from his doctor. On December 30, he went back to his doctor. It was an appointment to review the results of his scan. But because he didn't have the scan done, the doctor didn't see him. The receptionist said, "I'm sure I faxed them the requisition but I guess I'll fax it again."
Meanwhile, cleaning out my things today, I came across the requisition his doctor's office sent for the scan. They had mailed it to me. I forgot about it. I thought the receptionist had phoned me to tell me about the appointment. So The Man went to two appointments for nothing because I forgot he had received the appointment in the mail.
Is this my way of telling The Man? Maybe. But he doesn't read my blog when he is home, so maybe not. But I'm not going into the new year alone with this burden.
May 2009 bring you peace, prosperity, and happiness. May we take better care of the earth so she can take better care of us. May we tap into our inner goodness so we can be good to each other. Peace out.
But now that we've had Christmas (several times), he's gone to the gym, and we've been out with Outrageous and Red, he's settling in. He told a neighbour today it feels like he went to Kabul for the weekend and now he's back. Well, that's better. This is where his home is, not in Kabul.
This being New Year's Eve, I can't carry my crime into the New Year. So here's where I unload my secret. I arranged many appointments for The Man through his doctor. Regular check up stuff. His doctor had clued in that he's over 50 so suddenly sent him to all kinds of screening tests. The Man went to an 8 AM abdominal scan on December 24. But the clinic sent him home. They never received a requisition for the scan from his doctor. On December 30, he went back to his doctor. It was an appointment to review the results of his scan. But because he didn't have the scan done, the doctor didn't see him. The receptionist said, "I'm sure I faxed them the requisition but I guess I'll fax it again."
Meanwhile, cleaning out my things today, I came across the requisition his doctor's office sent for the scan. They had mailed it to me. I forgot about it. I thought the receptionist had phoned me to tell me about the appointment. So The Man went to two appointments for nothing because I forgot he had received the appointment in the mail.
Is this my way of telling The Man? Maybe. But he doesn't read my blog when he is home, so maybe not. But I'm not going into the new year alone with this burden.
May 2009 bring you peace, prosperity, and happiness. May we take better care of the earth so she can take better care of us. May we tap into our inner goodness so we can be good to each other. Peace out.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Music On Steroid
For our Christmas concert this year, we went to see the TSO on Boxing Day. No, not the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
The last few Christmases, radio stations have been playing one song in particular by this group - Carol of the Bells. It's a fast, metallic, exciting rendition of the carol. I downloaded other songs by the group and liked quite a few. I surmised this TSO specializes in Christmas songs but puts a rock, metallic spin to the tunes.
I expected to see incredible instrumental and percussion musicianship. I expected the musicians to do incredible things with traditional orchestral instruments to give a new sound to traditional music. They did a bit of that.
The Man had never heard of the group before. He expected cossacks and fur hats. They didn't do any of that.
The Boy had heard of the band and their music but he knew nothing about them. He didn't know what to expect. The band surprised all of us.
By surprise I mean while the occasional play of a metallic carol was fun, a whole bunch within a short time was hard on the ear. Plus, we didn't expect a light show. The Boy joked that he expected to see in the headlines in the morning, Seizures Abound With Trans-Siberians. Really, I am sure the light and metal triggered many epileptic fits in the audience.
Despite all the noise and lights, we were bored by half time. It wasn't so much a music concert as a light show of retro glam rock, lots of poses and hair, raising of the violin, and fire. The vocals were mostly country and western with metallic instrumentals. They used every kitschy tactic and cliche in rock performance. It was like someone told them long hair is cool, so all the band members had long hair. I like this review of the show from 2004:
The whole production seemed like a Christmas pageant organized in 1978 by two 14-year-old boys with money to burn. It's easy to imagine their thought process:
So here are some pictures of the band in concert.
The last few Christmases, radio stations have been playing one song in particular by this group - Carol of the Bells. It's a fast, metallic, exciting rendition of the carol. I downloaded other songs by the group and liked quite a few. I surmised this TSO specializes in Christmas songs but puts a rock, metallic spin to the tunes.
I expected to see incredible instrumental and percussion musicianship. I expected the musicians to do incredible things with traditional orchestral instruments to give a new sound to traditional music. They did a bit of that.
The Man had never heard of the group before. He expected cossacks and fur hats. They didn't do any of that.
The Boy had heard of the band and their music but he knew nothing about them. He didn't know what to expect. The band surprised all of us.
By surprise I mean while the occasional play of a metallic carol was fun, a whole bunch within a short time was hard on the ear. Plus, we didn't expect a light show. The Boy joked that he expected to see in the headlines in the morning, Seizures Abound With Trans-Siberians. Really, I am sure the light and metal triggered many epileptic fits in the audience.
Despite all the noise and lights, we were bored by half time. It wasn't so much a music concert as a light show of retro glam rock, lots of poses and hair, raising of the violin, and fire. The vocals were mostly country and western with metallic instrumentals. They used every kitschy tactic and cliche in rock performance. It was like someone told them long hair is cool, so all the band members had long hair. I like this review of the show from 2004:
The whole production seemed like a Christmas pageant organized in 1978 by two 14-year-old boys with money to burn. It's easy to imagine their thought process:
"Hey, why don't we get a metal band to do Christmas songs?"
"Cool, and let's add a storyline about an angel who saves the spirit of Christmas. That'd be wild."
"And get someone who sounds like Darth Vader to narrate it!"
"Yeah, and a sexy, red-headed singer -- in a short skirt!"
"Lasers?"
"Strobe lights!"
"Power ballads?"
"Wicked!"
So here are some pictures of the band in concert.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas
A Merry Christmas to all!
Thanks for the note, Fryslan. Lots of snow and rain in Toronto. Hope you have beautiful weather for your festivities.
How many feasts can one consume before one implodes? I'll tell you after New Year, if I haven't imploded or exploded. Here we go to our first one.
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