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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.