Exercise is where you find it!

With the spring thaw, I've resolved to walk every day to compensate for the lack of dog walking to which I've grown accustomed. Today, downtown, was an icy, slush mess. Plus it was raining! Where to go?

Around the corner I find Place Bell, an office tower where lawyer types hang out [the court house is right across the street]. Sure enough as I enter, a lawyer with his funny robes and a coat over his arm is running in right behind me. License plates on nearby streets, start with LLB.

I decide Place Bell is large enough for me to walk around it indoors; I'll do the shopping concourse but keep my eyes straight ahead so as not to ruin the walk with looking at any window candy. I do two tours then realize there's a downstairs. Down the escalator I go only to find in one of the basement hallways, a very lively aerobic exercise class going on. I wonder if it's restricted to building workers. On my way back upstairs, I realize I can get a really good workout (à la Biggest Loser) by walking up the down escalator! I check for cameras, then hop to it. Yes, my dears: it is an aerobic workout. I step off periodically as ladies are coming down the escalator with yoga mats under their arms. I chat up one who tells me Marj welcomes anyone in the vicinity to her exercise classes around the corner and down the hall.

I go see Marj. True enough: $30 buys you a month of daily exercise or 3 months for $75 - what a deal! There are washrooms around the corner to change in and showers down the hall! Whooo! I take Marj's handout thinking I really should indulge - after all exercise deals like this one don't come by very often!

But on the walk back to the office, I rationalize. It's almost April. May is even better weather-wise and June even better. Why exercise in a basement hallway when the outdoors is calling your name? I decide to decline but if I'm working in this area come late fall or winter: Marj, I'll be there for you!

In your heart, time stands still

Officially, our wedding anniversary is tomorrow Mar. 31. That's how close we came to being April Fools 38 years ago! We celebrated with friends and a nice dinner tonight because of other commitments tomorrow.

It's almost unreal that we've been married for so long. I still feel 18, let alone feel married for 38 years! Umm, a 20 year time warp. But it's true. My man and I are still joined at the hip, still enjoying each other's company. He still spooks me when he articulates the thought I'm about to utter. He tells my own stories better than I do. He makes me laugh. He still makes my heart beat faster with a look from those dark eyes, and I love how he looks in jeans!

So, do I have a secret for a long, strong marriage? Maybe. Keep kissing, hello, goodbye, goodnight and for any old reason or none at all. Keep talking and listening. It doesn't matter if it's important or mundane - just keep at it. Share your thoughts, worries, yourself. Keep touching, keep spooning. Don't forget to...caress his bald spot, hold his hand, fondle his earlobe, stroke a cheek, embrace him with all your might. When you think you know his body as well as your own, think again. There's always more to learn. Respect and honour him - he's your life mate, your children's father. Keep your loud voice to a minimum; it helps with the respect. Don't laugh in the wrong places. Live together as fully as you can. Always be honest.

We celebrate differently and it amuses us. I say, "I have no card but I have this for you," and hand him a T-shirt that reads: "Gimmie my Timmies and no one gets hurt!" It's a joke between us how much he loves his Tim Horton coffee which I myself can't stand. He says, "I have no gift but I have this card for you," as he hands me this, his choice, from Carlton Cards:

For my wife:

Many anniversaries from now when we have been together for a very long time,

I wonder what it will be like...

Will we share extra blankets to keep warm?

Count the stars from our front porch rockers?

Dream older, wiser dreams, or be contented with the memories we've made?

Of course, I can't predict the future, but I'll tell you what I do know --

I'll still need to hold you close.

If we sit in our rockers, mine will be right next to yours.

And no matter how old or wise we become, I'll still want the feel of your gentle hand in mine...

I guess what I'm trying to say is,

I look forward to whatever the future may hold --

as long as my future holds you.

Wuss of a puss

Spring did arrive on time, March 21. How do I know for sure? Easy: Dolly, our cat, started that very day, caterwauling to be let out. Somehow, exactly on cue, Dolly intuited or her wild cat instincts kicked in: she knew it was Spring, and she knew she’s gotta get out!!! If she were wild, she’d be gonzo!

But she’s not wild; she’s domesticated, poor little girl. And even when we open the door, she sniffs disdainfully as if to say “I only wanted to check the weather, silly. It’s still far too cold!” and turns her back on the sunshine. She knows she can soak up all the rays she needs in a sunbeamed hot spot in the bedroom without the frigid air. Her actual exit will have to await a far warmer day. Yes, she’s a wuss of a puss!

The Littlest Bed-maker

Dolly, the cat, used to be wonderful bed maker. Ok, not exactly a bed maker but a bed-maker’s helper. As soon as the sheets were being pulled, it was part of her routine to jump right in there, try to stay on the bed despite the sheets disappearing and to supervise the arrangement of the incoming sheets. This meant occupying the very centre of the bed in a proud lionesque pose as if to say “This is my turf – I ain’t moving!”

Of course, we would put on the sheets, corners and all and a very visible bump in the middle would start to cry pitifully. “Let me out; I can’t get out!” We’d pull the sheet up high enough for the “bump” to escape. And it would start again. She’d stake out the centre of the bed, while the top sheet was shaken out and allowed to fall around her like a collapsing parachute. We’d tuck it in, only to have the pitiful occupant sealed underneath plead again for help to escape. If you tried to push her off the bed prior to being sealed in, it was just no go. She was the mid-bed owner and that was that!

On it would go, with the layering of the duvet and coverlet. We couldn’t help but laugh at her and ourselves for indulging her. This was the routine for years. But over time, like any of us who gradually lose interest in a past-time that used to spellbind us, Dolly lost interest in helping to make the bed. We miss her “help”.

Lollygagging

Now that I’m working again, I don’t have time to walk Spencer daily but trust his master, Ron, will get him walking out to the mailbox and back. When my hubby and I pick him up tonight, the sun is settling in the West and Spencer is dragging along behind us. Definitely not in walk mode – most unusual! Normally, he almost pulls me along because he’s use to the faster pace of my being on skis. But today, you can almost see his spirit is down. He’s lollygagging along, not skipping along the tops of the snow banks as is his habit lately.

I run a bit and try to entice him with his favourite treats. Finally, as I release him to run in the summer park, he perks up a bit. But he’s still lollygagging. Then! He remembers a favourite scent spot along a line of cedars, and the energy level is right back up there! He levitates to the top of the snowbank and flies! He sniffs, rolls and cavorts with everything he has. Spencer is back!

We cut into a trail of footprints left in the crusty snow by someone daring enough to come check on the state of their summer trailer. Spencer skims over the snow; he’s light enough not to break the crust. We’re not as lucky. But Lady Luck does show herself when we find a crusty snowshoe trail to follow which leads us back to the main road without our sinking up to our knees.

Back home, we find out the problem: thirst. I guess the poor little guy hadn’t had his fill before we left and he was plain and simply thirsty! Lesson learned!

FREE Weight Loss Program!

1. Just say "no" to: ...well, you know exactly what you should "no" to... it's all those things you usually say "yes" to...chips, pie, cookies, big ole hamburgers, fried anything, pop...the list goes on and on and you know it by heart. SAY "NO THANK YOU" TO WHAT YOU KNOW CONTRIBUTES TO YOUR LOVE HANDLES! In my case, it's sweet things.


2. Just say "yes" to all those things you usually say "no" to...vegetables, salad, fruit, fish, chicken, anything on the lower GI list. Shop the outer perimeter of the grocery store. EAT FRESH, NOT PROCESSED!


3. Exercise! Walk the dog, walk yourself, take the stairs, bike, sign up for any kind of class or sport that gets you moving! GET MOVING! You'll enjoy it, and your body will love you for it.


4. Forget the pound or kilogram! If you must measure, then check progress by your waist measurement. Ladies: get your waist under 35 inches! Men, under 40 inches! USE THE TAPE MEASURE, NOT THE SCALE!


5. Remember the rule of opposites: if you say you're on a diet, you and people around you tend to try to feed you more! So don't say you're on a diet, just LIVE AND EAT AS THOUGH YOUR THINNER, HEALTHIER SELF DEPENDS ON IT...because it does!


6. Serve or order smaller portions. Look at your usual plate and half it! At a restaurant, take half home in a doggy bag. At home, use a smaller plate with no refills. It's that easy and is a way to say yes to your progress! EAT SMALL - BE SMALL!


7. Be aware of your posture. This may seem funny but if you stand or sit "tall", you'll work those stabilizing muscles. Hold in that tummy (it's exercise!). Improved posture = improved "look". STAND TALL!


8. While it's laudable to have a goal, what typically happens after reaching a goal is a celebration. Celebrations lead to falling off the wagon. This may go against everything you've been taught but why set a specific goal? Or else, let your goal be simply a new attitude. Now, celebrate your NEW ATTITUDE with something non-food related when and as you need it! A new piece of smaller-sized clothing, a piece of jewellry or art, a contribution to a wonderful charity, a call to a friend. LET YOUR MIRROR BE YOUR REWARD (not your punishment)!


9. Work on your self-esteem, not your weight. Treat yourself: a new hair cut, a new colour (for hair or wardrobe), a mani-pedicure, a new friend, a new spiritual experience, a new world. Focus on something beyond yourself. Throw out your cigarettes. CHANGE YOUR OBSESSION! and learn to accept compliments and attention because they're coming your way.


10. STAY ON THE 1-9 PATH. Never stop, never give up. This is your mantra: This is how I live now...not just for today or this week or this month or this year. This is my life, my journey, and I only pass this way but once. This is the rest of my long and beautiful life! I want to be the best I can be!

You'll be amazed at your own results, the change in you and your life, and the people around you. I know you can do it. Start now!

More Signs of Spring

As I sit in my sunny nook, Spring announces itself in the window…lady bugs – about 10 of them! – are ambulating hither and yon on the interior glass of my window. They’ve awaken from Heaven knows what little hidey-hole, and in the heat of the wonderful spring-warm sun, are cavorting on my window looking to escape. Some unfold their wings and fly-hop here and there, practicing for release.
It’s very Zen-like watching them walk about with no discernible path or destination. They don’t hurry, they amble and never in a straight line. They don’t collide.

Of course, here comes my moral dilemma: release, leave alone or…kill? If I kill them, I’ll feel bad and they’ll be dead. If I release them outdoors, they’ll die in the snow and cold, for despite the sun, it still is pretty much winter here. If I keep them, will I be inundated with a plague of lady-bugs?

Plus, I don’t know if they bite. When I was growing up, ladybugs were lady-like and did not bite. But since then, good old Canada has been inundated with a type of very UN-lady-like bugs who definitely bite!

Remember your childhood chant?

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
Your house is on fire and
Your children are alone!

What about mine?
Ladybug, ladybug, from where did you come?
My house ain’t your house so
Go back where you’re from!

Any solutions gratefully received!

Photo thanks to Jordan McClements, Portaferry County Down, Northern Ireland!

Happy Easter 08!

I am sorely falling behind in my commitment to blog daily. A couple of barriers: I've take a job so time is of the essence, and my service provider's service has been "tetchy" to say the least.

The job: am now working for the Canadian Association for Independent Living, a non-profit organization which seeks to provide the ways and means for disabled people to fully participate in life. They're a national organization serving as the hub for a series of 28 independent living resource centres across Canada. Be sure to visit their CAILC site and learn more!

We were happily surprised yesterday when Jan and the twins dropped in on their way to visit Jan's sister in Ottawa! The boys are taller than ever with feet the size of snowshoes! Unfortunately, Jesse had to work so he wasn't with them. We had a lovely visit and learned that Jan will be taking the boys to Cuba next year!

We dined with Lyn and Paul then while the guys reclined, Lyn and I got her laptop connected to her service provider so she could retrieve her email. We ended up consulting some teckies in Delhi who are wonderfully helpful once you get past their accented English and the phone line cutting in and out. E-mail will likely become Paul's job and I can envisage him sitting at the kitchen table, emailing the world and laughing maniacally at the all the jokes his extended family (most notably Jack and Sybil) will be sending. Welcome to the e-world, Lyn and Paul!

Hi Ho Hi Ho

It's off to work I go. Yes, am biting the bullet and returning to ye olde worke force tomorrow morning. No telling how this will affect my intent to blog daily. Time (available time, that is) will tell.

Getting up in the dark will be an effort, I admit. But that will be offset by travelling with my dear hubby every day instead of lying in bed worrying about him on his hour-long commute to town.

Starting a new job is like a mystery tour. What will it be like? Will I succeed at my work? Will I get along with my co-workers? Will it be rewarding or fun or just plain hard work? Tomorrow I'll know some of the answers or at least have an inkling. Stay tuned.

Today, the sun gave us a glimpse of spring as snowbanks sagged and icicles dripped. A friend says the sap is already running in the maples. He knows this for sure as his buddy had him out tapping what trees they could in thigh-deep snow. Good old dog, Spencer, noticed too as the roads are slushy interspersed with puddles and gobs of mud. He's so fastidious about where he puts his paws he has trouble deciding where to walk. So, yes, Virginia, Spring is real and is on her way.

Who the heck is Suzi May Blackfly?

I grew up in a very tiny closed Northern Ontario community "Abibiti Canyon" whose people served Johnny Hydro (aka Ontario Hydro). It was a horse-shoe shaped town which, at the time I lived there, comprised approximately 100 families and a few single men housed in the staff house. Thanks to the muddy brown Abitibi River coursing through the dam, our product was electricity. Our role? Feed that electricity to Ontario, and anyone else willing to buy it, e.g., the States.

Before a road was built connecting us to the real world, we were connected by rail -- a spur line at Fraserdale abutting the main line of the Ontario Northland Railway, also known as the (misleading) Polar Bear Express, that connected Cochrane to Moosonee on the shores of James Bay. In other words, we were smack-dab in the middle of northern scrub bush, on top of our portion of the pre-Cambrian Shield. Yup, we're as Canadian as moose.

My dad was an operator at the dam; my mom a stay-at-home, keep-it-all-together-at-any-cost woman supporting her man and her family. My family were 6 other siblings, 3 boys, 3 girls and a numerous assortment of animals, domestic and/or wild depending on my brothers' adventures: dogs, cats, crows, flying squirrels, snakes, crayfish and even, yes, even a baby bear. But that's a story for another time.

I was only 4 or 5 and there was no kindergarten at that time, so I occupied myself then as children do, outside the kitchen door, in a sandbox where mom could keep an eye on me. My biggest problem in life was thinking up a response to Mr. Vern Riddell who sauntered by me daily, swinging his lunchpail, greeting me with a big smile and a "How are ya today, Suzi May Blackfly?" It drove me nuts. First of all, my name is not Suzi May Blackfly, and second, I didn't have the ingenuity or vocabulary to give him the verbal blast I so ardently wished. I was a very frustrated kid. At that age, you're pretty much limited to calling someone a boogey-man or some such inadequate insult that certainly didn't do justice to what Mr. Riddell was calling me!

In hindsight, I view little old Suzi May Blackfly with great affection. She's a little piece of the "Canyon" who still occupies my being. I think of her and I think of the Wade Hemsworth's Black Fly song which Miss Glendinning taught us in public school. I think of the black fly hats mom made me wear which consisted of making two knots in either corner of dad's handkerchief, slipping it on my head and tying the other two ends under my chin. The blackflies made a feast of any exposed skin!

I'm still gullible, easily non-plussed and never have the right vocabulary at hand when I most need it. Hence the change to my blog name...I'm reverting to type. Or maybe it's simply regression.

Daytona, Florida: Pix 2

Some abstract shots...balcony, plant, wall mural at the Peabody (like our NAC).

View from our balcony: the strand and the strip...

Octopussy...and Den doing his Forrest Gump imitation:

The Bubba Gump Shrimp Co Restaurant is a must-go!


T-shirts targetted to bikers...(try not to be shocked).

Moko Saves the Day

No doubt you read, heard or saw the video about Moko, a little dolphin who helped saved 2 stranded pygmy whales down in New Zealand yesterday. If not, check out the details at Stuff !

What I found interesting was a CBC radio listener who called in to explain the dolphin's behaviour: "Do you want know why she helped the whales? Well, the two whales were male and as everyone knows, males won't ask for directions so she showed them the way!"

Winter Weenie Roast

Not to be outdone by our neighbours enjoying southern climes, we got together for a weenie roast and street slide party. Yes, it was cold as Hell, fun as Hell and the beer never got hot!

Who's got the lighter?







Lyn: I've got a camera!












Ready, steady, go!













Every race needs a flagman.










Pierre doing the up-ended turtle.

Sports-fan, for sure!








Van's behind.








Den thought it was a luau.








The whole gang....









Man, those hotdogs were great!

We've come home to this! Let the clean-up begin!

Neighbour Bob's place...

We start the clean-up...thank Heaven for neighbours!

I can't even see my kitchen window!

Where to begin?

Dolly says: "There's a hot tub here somewhere..."

All done! But...where's our newspaper?

Bike Week 2008 Pix

Main Street...up...and...down

The Flight Down

I envy pilots their cockpit view. No doubt they're busy with screens, controls and navigational systems but surely they take in the view piloting gifts them.

We're flying at 39,804 feet, going 465 mph. I like measurements understandable to me (not metric).

Out of my foolscap-sized window, I view the topography of clouds. Their variety amazes; there are rifts and swirls and hills and valleys. It is the land of fluff, bubbled, wavy. Wave-tips catch the rays of the descending sun. Off the horizon, a silver dart, another plane like us, heads opposite: north. We fly over a disintegrating contrail, leaving our own mark.

Predominately white and gray-blue, the clouds are wispy horse-tails as the little map on the back of the seat fronting me indicates we're sliding over Pennsylvania.

I like this ethereal realm where the insubstantial looks substantial, where the colours calm, and the horizon is clear and unsullied.

Bike Week 2008

Daytona Beach, Bike Week 2008, reeks of testosterone. The colour black is de rigueur as are leather, t-shirts, chaps, and vests. Main Street reeks of sex. It's a circus of young, old and inbetween, everyone there to see or be seen. Firm young things turn heads and flash cheeks barely adorned in white lace thongs and fishnet stockings in the parenthesis of open-bottomed chaps. Old guys in braids and pony-tails parade their peroxided old gals, long tresses streaming behind them. Young studs cruise by on crotch-rockets, their chicks barely seated, bottoms and backs curved unnaturally up, their bare legs scissored like frog's, supported with platform heels or wrapped around the driver's waist. Few drivers wear helmets; freedom and fag rags reign. Grammas and inflatable "dolls" ride by in sidecars. Dogs sport doggles.

The airbrushed art, inset lights, variety, and colour of the bikes and trikes is staggering as is the sheer volume of machinery. Main Street is a lined north and south with parked bikes, space is at a premium. Our bodies and eardrums vibrate to the trademark Harley rumble that echoes night and day off the man-made canyons of resort walls as the bikers trawl the North Atlantic strip to Main Street where it's happening.

In shop windows, the messages on t-shirts and skimpy panties don't border on pornographic; they are. If you want to sport an f-ing message, this is the place for you. The mannequins out-do Dolly Parton; people pose for risqué photos beside them. Blasts of music compete with the bikes' staccato; beads are exchanged for bared breasts. It's a Sodom and Gomorrah-kind of world and the local soul-savers know it. They stand bravely amongst the throbbing throng forcing Jesus flyers into any open palm. A red-neck trucker, outdone by the biker invasion, yells peevishly at us "Where y'all from, aye?" with heavy sarcastic emphasis on the "aye". Clad in golf attire, we must look like Martians, Canadian martians, that is.

It's an exciting, Disneyesque world for the different, revelry for the rebellious, and a time-warped place for those who wish they could turn back the clock. See it at least once in your life.