Fire And Ice

All couples have "fires". They can flare up suddenly sometimes and things are said that are incendiary. Emotions are high. These sorts of fights are dangerous and sometimes what is said hardens into concrete and cracks a good relationship asunder. Other times, when the heat cools, regret and common sense enter, and arguments may be considered more objectively. It would be  good if this were always the case, but life isn't perfect. When the matter of discussion does arrive after a set to, the ashes have to be sorted through to find salvageable reasons to keep the relationship going. Or not. This is the crucial moment when parties have to give and receive so that matters can be solved and spirits calmed. Even if the discussion leads to a decision to part, both people have had their say and can move on without hidden issues that might fester and cause pain later. First come the rules for reviewing. These are taking turns, not interrupting, calling names or blaming and the last, negotiating a resolution.  Sounds easy. It isn't. Taking turns is worst. To sit quietly and listen to someone tell you what they feel about what you did and it being not at all what you thought, is hard. But wait. You will have your turn. Also to focus  on reporting your own feelings and not bringing in blame is tough. Here's where the give and take come in. The give is allowing someone to express their side freely. The take isn't much different. It means that you must take part of the responsibility when they report. Often times, in fact most of the time, there is a reason why someone else does what he/she does, good or bad, and you are, in some way, even a small one, part of it. (We are not speaking of abuse but only average quarrels in relationships. In abuse, there is only one side, and an unfair one.) After each listening to the other, each  states how they feel the issue should be solved. Again taking turns. Together, a solution has to be hammered out and agreed to.  Listening is the key. This is the negotiating period. You may have to make a compromise and not have matters all your way.  In the end, if you can do this, you will come out a winner. Best of all you may save your relationship while learning more about the true reasons why you entered it in the first place.

Fear of Truth

Most of us have a fear of truth. Not the little truths. They're easy to cope with, but the big ones that suddenly reveal something that had never entered your mind.  This kind of truth shocks and stuns and causes a lot of collateral damage. You know the kind. How do you get over this sort of truth? It takes courage that has to be fostered and nourished and grown. What constitutes this harmful kind of truth? It can be that you are fired from your job. Maybe your marriage is over.  Perhaps you found out a mortal illness is now in your life. Or your best friend has betrayed you. Those will do for a start. So how do you get past this? There seems no other answer than Time. No wonder Time is portrayed as a very old man with a long white beard and a worn and weary look on his face. The initial shock of learning the truth causes numbness at the beginning. It's a staring-into-space kind of reaction initially. Then comes the anger, next, sadness and finally, the realization that the clock ticks on and relentless Time stops for no one. He plods on with you dragging at his ankles. Letting go is too hard but being dragged isn't easy either. At some point, you have to let go and find your own way. That's when things can turn either negative or positive. Your choice. Others can't do this for you. Reality being what it is, there is little sympathy and the empathy crowd won't touch it either - unless gowned and gloved. What you are left with is yourself. You will have to get to know that reflection in the mirror and if you are a planner, now is the time.  You can walk along with Time but in your own way. Assess your state and soothe your wounds with a plan.  It should be about you only because it began with you. Revenge will complicate matters and give you added problems to work out. What are you going to do to turn something bad into something "okay". I didn't say good or perfect. Doesn't work that way. Perfection is seldom born out of disaster no matter what Pollyanna says. Make small steps at first to be easy on yourself. Maybe it is just taking a Time Out somewhere nice: a bench in the park, a cafe cappuccino or playing the piano. Start at the shallow end and work your way out. Before you know it, don't look back, you'll be swimming!

Widow World - Alone/Lonely

There is a difference between being lonely and being alone. Most widows suffer from aloneness and not always loneliness. When you've lived cheek to jowl with someone a good part of your life, day in and day out, the worst feeling is aloneness. No one can fix that. Your kids, your friends, your workmates cannot cure aloneness. The person with whom you shared almost every moment both awake and asleep, is not there any more. It isn't like breaking up or divorce where you might have contact with the missing individual perhaps. Nothing is going to bring your former partner back. It is another learning experience of the many widows endure. This kind of aloneness is not fillable with a band aid patch like joining a group or immersing oneself into an activity. Aloneness is like a deep, painful wound that does eventually, after a certain period of time, heal and while the scar remains, the pain will subside. At first, every time you come through your front door and stop yourself from calling out "I'm home", aloneness descends. And then comes the time when you suddenly realize you did come through the door and forgot to think about the "I'm home" and you have hung up your coat and put on your slippers and found yourself by yourself without pain. You have arrived. You find you can move about your space more easily and that you have discovered your own ways of doing things. When you assess how far you have come in your new life, you begin to feel a sense of being in a new place, yours alone. This is your home and you are the you that stands alone and does it rather well, you think.  If you have come to that state,  "a long way baby",  you may congratulate yourself. You have coped, you have returned to the woman you lost - in a nice way -  a long time ago.

Widow Aware - Learning Survival

There is a learning curve for new widows and it is one that heads upward, not down. If you are like me, you will have depended on your husband to do many things that have now landed in your lap. These matters are not choices, they are must-dos. You can hie off into a corner and weep about it and cry out for help but you will be happier if you try to do them yourself. I recall a co-worker whose mother was calling him constantly to come over and help her. "Help" is a misnomer. She wanted him to do it: call the roofer,  the mechanic,  the plumber. She pleaded that she didn't know how to ask. Frankly, I don't think she made a single attempt and each time that her kindly son went running off to "help" her, his mother prevented herself from learning. A wise son would have had her do the task while he stood in the cheering section. As it was, he found himself, a man with a wife and three of his own children, spending a good part of every weekend, working for his "helpless" mother. They ended up building a house for her next door. And guess who built it?  Of course, there are tasks that require a man but these days of electronics and communications networks, women can do most everything a man can if they put their minds to it. You, the widow, will make mistakes and feel frustrated but eventually you will  drive the city, do the finances, fill out the tax forms and learn how to get estimates. Each time you are successful, you are a winner. This doesn't mean you have to trade in your feminism but it does mean that you will become much happier being independent than standing around wringing your hands watching someone else doing the job that should be yours. I find that women are far more resourceful in their ways of doing things than men. Often a man insists he needs a specific tool to do a repair or it can't be done at all, while a woman looks around and improvises and finds a quicker way to accomplish the task. The result may not look as ideal at first, but it will improve with time and practice. I found screwdrivers mystifying, for example, but then I remembered that young boys have them put in their hands early in their lives by fathers in the workshop while girls are helping mom do the laundry. Most of the time, boys had all of their lives to learn  but you are just starting. Don't give away your man's tools. Keep them, you'll need them. Get a good all round handyman book. How do you caulk a shower or repair a leaky tap? What is needed to unclog a drain or fix a toilet tank that won't stop running? If you must hire, get recommendations and estimates. Select the best tradesman and not who is the "nicest".
When work is necessary, "nice" is not key. Get a price and make sure it includes everything. Taking the car in for service checks, ask beforehand if what they say must be done is necessary and why. Get a price. Then check that with someone who knows about these things before you have the work done. When it is finished, make sure it's satisfactory and if not, don't pay until it is. You will find some very "nice" people out there who see widows as golden geese. One doesn't want to become cynical but now you run the show, so run it right. It's a matter of survival.

Not Really Alone -Widow Paper Work

The paper work required after a death is not fun. It can't all be done on-line or by phone. Some of it needs to happen in an office where you may have to stand in line and then slap down one of your many certified death certificates (and get one or two more than you think you need) to complete your business. Few government offices are private. For some interesting reason, banks and other like places in which you do "private" business, think that the cute little dividers created of plywood between clients are sound-proof ! Amazingly blind concept. But, you develop a kind of armor and somehow get through the legalities. It's best to take along a friend or if they can stop telling you "what you should do is", a relative. (Sometimes relatives want to help too much and here you are trying to become your new independent self and they are, "for you own good", offering their "helpful" input. What they often do not realize is that too much help is worse than none at all.) You forge on and save your weeping breaks for when you have time. It all sounds perfectly awful to those who haven't had to do it, but the truth is always a tad ugly. The good part is that each time you get past one of these legal steps, you become stronger and more able to continue growing into your own self. Remember that woman you once were before marriage, the one with all of her spirit of accomplishment and hope? Of course, you can put everything into a lawyer's hands and pay for it, but the majority of people these days, prefer to learn how to DIY. You learn more. I found that most people behind business counters were more than helpful and patient. And speaking of time, take it. Allow yourself quiet periods not to grieve, but to look at how well you are doing and to enjoy your time with yourself, knowing that you are climbing over the hardest thing you have ever done in your lifetime and how proud your husband, in your "other life", would be of you. Way to go, girl!

When You're A Widow- Take Charge

For the next while, this blog will be about "when" you are a widow. Not "if" but "when". Most of us women, will be widows because nature provided that we, the stronger of a couple, will last longer because we are the half that will be able to handle it best. Widowers don't fare as well. They are more dependent upon having a woman "do" for them while we women whether we are career women or not, are copers. We cope with bearing and caring for children while taking most of the burden of running the household, plus a job or career, in most cases. And while you may run screaming around that it isn't so, that your spouse does equal time, that honestly isn't the way I see it happening. But I must admit there are some widowers out there who do take on the role of everywoman, so listen in guys if you are one of them. First there is a death and if you think you can hie off to some corner to weep all day long, the answer is no. There is just too much to do and it begins with day one of your widowhood. Whether you have  family that hovers over you, you are the person who must make the decisions about what to do with "the body". It comes down to the hard facts just like that term, "the body". Your man, the one who took care of you all those years and headed up the household for the most part or was your hand-in-hand partner is no longer there and the buck stops at you. Those are the facts. Reality sets in very quickly. There are papers to sign and send off. The dining table soon becomes the repository for all the paper work that must be done within a time frame. The memorial service or funeral are your decision along with that of your family but my advice is to grab hold of the reins right off. Take the advice "under consideration" and do it your way. You are the principal, not your kids or other relatives. It is your time, your grief and your responsibility. It is also a time when emotions run high and here you are the one most affected but it is your ability to hold it together that will carry all the others through. Let's hope that your close ones will respect your way of doing things because you are the one who will have to live with the results while they go on with their own lives when the dust settles. No pun intended.  Some women fall apart and that's okay, too, but when the tears stop for awhile, there is work to be done and it is your work. The tax department, the pension committee, the insurance companies, the land titles office, the credit card companies and on and on, all demand their due. If you have  a good funeral plan, the folks working there will help you with a kit they sell for a price that is worth every cent. They know what is required because they are the professionals, the experts. Make sure you can trust them, of course. So there is lesson one. Take charge, even if you have never done so previously. It is hard but not impossible. Millions of women have been right where you are. You are not alone.

In Other Words

The main matter of words is to communicate. While usage rules  make language meanings clearer, they don't necessarily need to be followed slavishly in order to get a message across.  There was a time when spelling was phonetic, thus however people heard a word, they wrote it down and no one worried whether it was the same way that anyone else did it or not. There must have been some confusion because scholars came along eventually and said, we have to apply rules, if for nothing else, safety. They didn't want a grocery list to be interpreted as a beheading. Thus came out a tome that insisted we all spell and use words the same way to be correct. Teachers of language and writing, finally had something solid to follow, and follow it they did. Remember the Spelling Tests of yore? Words of the week were dictated and went onto long strips of foolscap (interesting word in itself), neatly numbered down the side and what the teacher called out, you wrote next to the appropriate number. While this might seem ungainly, it worked pretty well since you studied the same old words five days each week to prepare for Friday's test. It seemed that writing out the word five or six times was the thing to do. Of course, we had to put them into sentences at some point. Then came the rules of usage or Grammar.  These were usually generated through Work Books in which you filled in blanks with the appropriate part of speech that was supplied on the top line.  Punctuation was supposed to assist one to make expression clearer. It took me a long time to determine the comma, the colon and the semi-colon and exactly where they should be placed and when, but the period was a cinch. Even today the best scientists or engineers are not necessarily great spellers. Then again, some of the worst folks are excellent writers. The bottom line is ideas and how to get them into someone else's head. Those who use sign language seem to have the best grip on that. Their whole body performs the task exquisitely while their mouths get into it as well. You have the idea and with dramatic expression to boot: something the written word doesn't always convey.

That Teacher Stuff

Nouns are words that name people, places and things while adjectives do the job of describing and telling how the former may appear. It is easy to remember, but sometimes there is a mix-up or just simple carelessness or ignorance and people use the name as a place. And that's okay if we are speaking of the vernacular that most of us use everyday. But that doesn't make language right. When you say, I am going to the doctor's, what you really mean is that you are going to the doctor's office or clinic and there, you will see the doctor. Doctor is a noun. The doctor is not a place, he/she is a person. The other word "doctor's" refers to a place and is an adjective describing where the doctor has his/her offices. The two are not the same. One is a person and the other is a place.Then there is the ever present misuse of don't and doesn't and so on and on. These kinds of usage often cause the corrected to become defensive and rant that pedantry is used while the corrector, pleads that while that may be so, it doesn't change the language. Some folks are more particular than others and that's okay either way. Becoming offended at being corrected or imagining that you are being corrected is another thing. Teachers hear this all the time even when they are not correcting someone, their own correct usage is fodder for the one who is in error and embarrassed, charges pedantry or worse. If you know someone well and want to help them correct their mistakes, you might tell them privately but even there, in my experience, you tread on dangerous ground. The safest tactic is to let them go on sounding blissfully ignorant while biting your lip! Ouch.

Extinction vs Distinction

Being unique can be dangerous. Schools of aquatic creatures know this. Swimming madly in their watery "balls" of fin and flipper, they hope not to meet the teeth of their predators by being part of a synonymous crowd, we call safety-in-numbers. But being a singularly identifiable member within, like a red herring, invites only trouble. The uniform came along to effect the business of keeping a low target profile in the military. No one stands out other than those at the top of that hierarchy. Destroying ones individualism is the first lesson on the first day of joining any "club". One for all and all for one - if you can find it. More and more are we subject to becoming non-unique. Keeping up with the Joneses, the must-have generation fetish of wearing labels inside out, ditto development structures with  rules of occupation for-your-own-good, uniforms of any kind, gang life, educationally  "brain" enhanced babies, no-stuff "clean" designer decor, professional terminology, business behavioral workshops, franchised stores, gymns with occupied rows of treadmills : the jump-on-the-bandwagon list goes on endlessly to prove that we are all mere small fish opting more and more to swim in big circles so that we don't "stand out" and have to explain ourselves as individuals.  Blend in, is the advice. Street people with their free wheeling baskets and carts of strange belongings and their choice of sleeping outside "the box",  are, alas, the last of the originals.

Back On Line

When you go to Europe you are delighted at the lines of laundry festooning every alleyway and side street. Poles of it, lines of it stretched from side to side in cooperation and racks of it on tiny decks or hung in windows makes for a romantic scene. Our photographs bear witness. And while it is an ethnic/aesthetic sight, it is also a hugely practical solution to reducing planet footprints. Dryers not only wear out fabrics, they use up energy unnecessarily.  Here in spoiled North America, we shun the almost extinct clothes line of yore. Neighbourhoods, apartments and condos ban laundry lines or racks. Oh my, oh my, one must not look upon the whites of others. Ugh! Some of us sneaks, hide our laundry drying racks where prying eyes cannot see and  smile when we bring in our outside dried linens with the wondrous aroma of fresh air. The germs hate it. Being environmentally aware includes using a combo washer/dryer laundry machine that takes small loads, uses 30 percent less water, poses no fire hazardous air vents because it condenses water taken from drying fabrics and sends it down the drain and is efficient power-wise. The unit, widely used in Europe but available here,  is apartment-sized and fits into a dish washer type opening using ordinary water pipes. Not much cheaper than a laundry pair, but very easy to install and a joy to use. Those who have property, should make an effort to make changes so that laundry may once again decorate our yards, be healthier done out in the fresh air and use far less energy than those big pig dryers. Also, it isn't what water comes into your home as much as what goes out and into the sewer treatment plant that costs tax dollars and affects the eco-footprint. Let's all get back on line!

Action Reaction

Things in life, just don't happen. Usually there has been an action of some kind and following it, a reaction. If you light a fire, there is flame. If you cook, there is aroma. If you hurt someone, it may come back and hurt you. That's the way life is. You have to be prepared to deal with the reactions to your actions. But when does it all begin? What begins it and who starts it? Perhaps your act, you say, is merely a reaction to the actions of another. It is easy to wriggle out of what you have done to cause the reaction you don't like and blame others for what you are doing. How dare this person do what he/she did? They deserve what they got. Oh no, you did something or there would be no reaction. The hard part is being honest about yourself and what you did to start the "reaction ball" rolling.  Okay, so you thought you were fixing something you didn't like and acted on that. You knew there would be a reaction but when it happened you said that what you did was justified. Unfortunately, the world doesn't care what you think; you are going to get a reaction. That's nature's law. All that being said, how do you stop this atomic sort of on-going Hatfield-McCoy business? Someone has to end the flip flop action/reaction momentum. Blaming will not stop it. Self-righteousness won't make it quit. So what is the answer? The answer is that someone has to opt out of the game. If you want to opt out of this kind of insanity, you must say to yourself - why does it matter what my enemy  does. I have my own life to live, my own agenda to serve and it does not include what others do or think or say or how they behave. I am me and I will continue down my pathway in life. I will ignore all the action/reaction "stuff" and just move on. Doing this, you have cleared your path and all obstructions and now you can go on with what is truly important to you in your life. Bon voyage!

That Feeling

You know that feeling. It emanates from deep within you and you flush with pleasure. The anticipation invades every cell of your body. Your step becomes lighter and an inner smile begins to insist upon surfacing no matter how you try to hide it. You are in a state of love and floating on a cloud of wonder about what is to come and the joyous possibilities that lie ahead. There is an intangible mysterious air that pervades and the solutions to questions and the small dangers that might occur come together as you enter that sphere.  Your stomach almost aches for the sensual gifts of that dream  and your fingers tingle to touch and feel the rich texture of them. You are flooded with peace and goodness and cheerful memories and colour and excitement. You start to prepare and gather together all the exotics and  golds and silvers, velvets and satins, sparkling jewel-like garments to don your environment and make this miraculous event ever brighter and better. You are filled with love, love of the season - Christmas.

The L Word

There is a whole universe of angst over the L word in relationships. Over and over, I hear the complaint "he/she won't say the L word". Frankly, I would be concerned about the opposite - I'd want proof if I heard it too much! The famous L word between dating folk is perhaps viewed in the wrong light. Some believe that if they don't hear the L word,  the special feeling isn't present. One can love without having to say it constantly. It is admittedly, a wonderful word to hear and certainly adds colour to relationships, but some fear saying it. Their fears are well founded. Sometimes, the L word has certain connotations, perhaps arising out of romance films and novels. In these vicarious relationships, the characters' datings culminate in the inevitable L word and thus confirm true and eternal love between the characters. And that's fine for movies and books, but in real life, that kind of slant makes for a problem. First of all, saying you love something or someone doesn't mean you want to sign up for life. You might love for a certain period of time but not forever. Love, after all is a vulnerable state. To be fair, this is not to say that when someone makes an L word with  a promise, it shouldn't be kept.  Any promise ought to be respected. It comes down to filtration. The receiver of the L word has to consider all the surrounding factors.  Sounds cynical but perhaps being a tad cautious, might save a lot of tears later on such as "I thought he or she loved me". Love needs proving and time is of the essence. Take it. So how do you go about determining if the L is sincere or not? Hmmm. Then again, why not just take your chances and enjoy the moment?Complicated isn't it?

Ownership

We are one person. Who we are is just us and no one is exactly the same as we are. Even Siamese twins think differently. It is a matter of ownership. We own ourselves and that includes a lot of private stuff such as what we like and don't, who we love and don't and what we plan to do. Even small babies have minds of their own and while we as parents attempt to mold those little minds, eventually, they put what they see and learn and what they are told to learn come together and become what they think and do and are. They have ownership of themselves. And that is precious. Along with the good, they also own the bad and have to deal with that. There is good advice available and bad influences and professional assistance but in the end, it is left to our personal choices. Age and stage are no exception. Some take their problem and try hard to deal with it. Others fling blame about. I hear it. "The reason this happened is because you ..." or "if you didn't do ... this wouldn't have happened" or the famous, "if there was a God, He wouldn't have let this happen". Of course none of that is true. Life happens and it isn't always perfect. In fact, it seldom is. Around me, I see people who have horrendous problems, their personal hills to climb and conquer, and it doesn't always work out the way they wish. Like Sisyphus you have to start rolling that rock back up the hill. Not an easy task. And standing around watching some of these struggles that another person is going through, is hard, too. You consider solutions for them and thrash away thinking about reasons why it happened and you want to help  make it better to end the bad bits, but the situation does not belong to you. You alone cannot solve it.  What can you do? You can stand by and become a pillar, a backstop, a place of refuge for the one who is suffering. You can listen and understand, but you cannot "do". Ownership of ourselves while precious is not always an easy possession.

Not A Book

When is a book, not a book? When it doesn't have pages to turn. The current rage to make everything into un-realia: text conversation, i- photos, comp games and yes,e books  is tragic. I, a user, as most these days, have an electronic book, although it is not my preference. I like a "real" book to read. The e book is more practical to take along rather than fill my luggage with tomes that  make it a crucial choice between them or a pair of hiking boots. Otherwise, I much prefer the intimacy of a paper book. First, it has  character. It's size and how it feels in the hand, the font and illustrations, the heft of it and even it's vulnerability appeals. A book speaks of itself. My first school book was a reader in the days when children all read one volume and popped up in turn for oral reading. And while that method is shunned today, there was something magical about sharing the slender child tattered Jerry and Jane, Laddie and Snow. When we "took out" our readers, we were all on the same page! The pictures, in only blue, black and orange inks were unique.  The smell of those child-used books was unforgettable and the kids in my class dug their noses into them as soon as they were  handed out each day. Run Jerry go. See Jane run.  See Snow jump.  Run Laddie run. It took few words to make a story, one that was made clearer with minimal drawings. Books were revered in the days of great Carnegie libraries where you went for family entertainment instead of the Golden Arches.  In those brick halls with their awe-inspiring domes, and high silent stacks, you felt dizzy knowing that you could read any and or all of them. They were yours. Free! There on the round tables you spread out your books with the pictures you loved to trace: the prince's face, the horse's mane the fairy wings.  Each book had peculiar traits: their used pages, their texture: some smooth and silky like a satin gown or others rough like a the dwarf's coat. Still others were smooth and neat for the scientific reader.  The borrowed ones that were new carried a frightening responsibilty - the need to be protected from small siblings and the hazards of loose food. You hoped the librarian would never see you at home in your room with your apple and her book. And when you were a teen, steamy novels were skulked about and shared, with pages marked or with certain texts, the best notes and test material underscored and on the inside, with covers like archives, they showed the names of school basketball heros or friends of your sister's who actually used the same (shiver) books themselves (sigh).  Secret pages held jokes or added illustrations to giggle over and be flashed about when the teacher left the room momentarily. And when you became an avid college reader you took up theme books to exchange and  discuss with your friends on the way home from classes. Still later, you had a book with you wherever you went so that you were never alone. It was a good way to meet friends. And now, the technical age is changing it all.  But somehow the electronic book just isn't the same as the ones that had mysterious spots here and there, or a certain scent, scribbled gift greetings, dog earred corners or forgotten bookmarks. These, not screens, are the true books, the true friends.

The Bachelor Widow

Widowhood is different things to different widows. It isn't some kind of club where there are rules to follow and uniforms and lifestyle guides. Society, these days, doesn't have time to put up with a lot of grieving and hugging so a widow has to move on rather quickly and keep her woes to herself if she wants to function normally in a busy world. It is not to say that she is hard-hearted or ungrateful for empathies but all that fades after a year or two. Life is precious and she, the widow bachelor, of all people, realizes it. Or should. Young widows with children are apt to find a husband if they wish and older widows may, too, if they feel they want to take care of an older man but many of us are content to follow the path that karma has set before us and travel down that pathway alone. Life can be pleasant doing what we please how we please when we please. Once the adjustment to loneliness happens and it does, there seems no value in moaning since life is rather a short haul. The situation may be called freedom - of a sort. Marriage or its close kin is an honorable state especially when children are involved and "family" is operating. But when you are beyond that stage and on your own, widow bachelorhood can be very appealing. Your life is entirely up to you and suddenly you are not, as in your first experience on your own when you had a mom and dad overseeing all you did, or a room mate to contend with, or later, a husband with whom cooperation and compromise were necessary, beholden to another. All matters stop with you and it is quite a heady experience. Some widows do the Queen Victoria and spend the rest of their lives bemoaning their state while others use their time roiling about looking for a man to marry. Why I don't know.  Still others of us put our feet up with a cup of coffee in  hand and read until we feel like stopping or write until the ideas fade or fiddle with paint or fabric or flour. No one  says "let's go", "I need", "where's my" or "is that done yet?" and while the day may appear dull, there is something about a clear road ahead with the gloom fading behind, that makes it a non-stop holiday. For certain, there may be some male friendship and/or love interests but saying ta ta at the end of the date or visit and soloing into your own space again, inspires a sense of self unlike no other. Widow bachelors know it.

Sour Surveyors

Many of us are on a survey list and enjoy giving our opinions on products and practices. The survey companies who provide their clients with the information collected, tempt their prospective pollees with little contests offering cash or prizes of some kind. But merely giving judgements about experiences in the market place is enough to make it interesting and fun. I suppose, like the grocery chain receipts that are really more useful for the store's information bank than ours, these pollsters owe us something. We are the ones who shop. I don't know if contests are the way to go. Frankly, I prefer airmiles points. I'd rather have a sure thing than an outside chance. I do have a gripe with the survey folk, however pleasant their idea of fun might be. Being of a certain age, meaning beyond forty-five and working, one notes that survey companies seem to show little interest in older age groups. At the start of any survey, you are asked statistics: age, gender, location. And presumably, the poll will begin. If the polling people are aiming at a certain age group or status, they simply switch you ahead to the contest portion, saying that their poll has enough responders, thank you very much and then they enter you in the contest. Who is kidding who? This happens to all of us who are pollees"of an age", meaning we have joyously retired from the working world. Having approached the poll company about the matter, they patted me on the head and said that it had nothing to do with age, but that their clents were aiming at a certain age group. In short, it wasn't their fault. Yes, it is, in part. They advise their clients. My point is, that while I am not jarred much by this kind of stupidity, I am astounded that the client is ignorant about consumerism. Those working people today are so burdened with credit: cars, mortgages, monthly bills, that they do not spend as much time in the market place as the retired. Most of the money they spend is likely to be slammed onto the plastic loan card they poke or swipe. Retired people worked hard in their day and saved and invested and now it is time for them to spend it. The old idea that they will scrimp so they can pass it on to the kids is over. Most of the "kids" live in the basement anyway or are cared for by their parents. The retired are the people who have leisure time to shop. They are the folk who sold the family home and wisely moved into condos and apartments and without mortgages, are going cruising and RVing and flying off to exotic places on vacation. They are the ones who eat out frequently, sometimes daily, and want to look fashionable. They take the latest electronics for their entertainment and the best appliances for their new homes. They drive cars they actually paid for and drive them carefully during the daytime when all the other workers are plying their desks or conveyor belts or bossing others around. They are the consumers who count. They are not toothless old lions who know nothing and can't rub two thoughts together. They are retired doctors, nurses, teachers, professors,  business administrators and labourers all mixed into a crowd of people who don't believe that one has to look old to be old. The women are not all grey haired frizzballs in floral jersey house dresses (although that fashion has re-emerged) and the men are not all shuffling along in pocketed cardigans and droopy drawers ( and that fashion, too, is back or was). No, fashion for the older person has all the dash and pizzaz but with good taste. The retired have time to romance and dance and enjoy sport in a way they never did before. They buy, they use services, they travel, they dine, they spectate. Polling companies need to address the people who have the funds and who spend their money, if they want fully  to understand the marketplace.

No You Don't

"We know better than you, believe it. We do this only in your best interests." We all said it to our young.  Elders hear it far too often from their families. While the young know their own lives - such as they are - they do not fully "know" aging. Why? They're not on that part of the time line, that's why. The elder knows body pain, incontinence, dulling memory, loneliness, and losses both physical and emotional. He or she tolerate gradually failing systems that are merely doing what is natural and to accomplish that work, and it is work, they need  patience, love and support, not family judgements. "Mother, surely you're not going to wear that old sweater. Here is a  nice new one." "Dad you can't watch TV all day. Get out and walk. It's a sunny day."  Mom and dad don't have the strength to say, "Back off, or it's out to the woodshed with you", but they should. Not that they ever took their kids out to the proverbial "woodshed". Worse still, is the elder who is pressured emotionally. Telling an elder who he or she should associate with is cruel. It denys him or her the pleasure of choosing a support system of their own unique design. And really, whose happiness is at stake?  The elder who has limited time left, needs love and approval for his choices. Another pressure that is hard to tolerate is financial. I had an uncle who went to his wealthy mother whining about not having a new car or something to buy his pretty wife. My grandmother gave him tea and sympathy but no money. Over tea, she  reviewed the matter with me, saying that if she gave him all he wanted, he would be unlikely to come and visit her frequently to ask for things. Now, that's wisdom. Then there are those who rub their hands together waiting for their elders to pop off so they can collect what they didn't earn. They natter away about his or her needing to go to a "home" when staying at home is the best and often cheaper way to survive old age. Homes are places of routine out of necessity, what you might call kindly prisons. There are necessary time schedules such as events and the bus to the mall and meal times. Yes, there is hairdressing and book shelves and visiting entertainment but one's own home, whether it be an apartment or house is the best place to be as long as possible. Help can be shipped in. Choices should be what fits the elder not the family. The bottom line is love. Love the elder. You're looking at yourself.

Kitchen Cuts

You wouldn't think that working in a place of stainless steel, marble and oak wood could possibly be romantic. It is. Try it. One lovely dark, fall evening, go on-line and find a recipe that you both enjoy. A late trip to the market to buy the ingredients for your eating pleasure can be part of the joy of cooking. My charming chef and I poll the store aisles picking and choosing what we hope will end up as our delightful dual dinner and later, pop into the wine shop for something that pairs with it. There's a rich, tasty magic about shopping as a couple that makes for closeness. Back in the kitchen, we anticipate and discuss about how to enhance the printed recipe by adding our own touches and decide who will prepare and execute what. My dear chef is a measurer. Everything is meted out meticulously. He, therefore,  is elected to effect the main event of the show while I, trained by a grandmother who used her hands as the teaspoons, tablespoons and quarter cups, quell my historical bent to act as obedient sou chef. I chop and dice according to instructions, flit about washing the used utensils and bowls, fetch and carry. Someone has to do it! Our kitchen dance includes passing hugs as well as loving touches. Very nice but not in the recipe book. Movement about a small place, as my kitchen is, requires cooperation and guile. He goes there while I pass by here, he reaches high and I bend to find bowls low. He grabs the utensils from the stove-side basket while I snip the herbs ready to go into the pot or baking dish. We grate and slice and flavour and pluck and thus the dish is ready for the oven or for simmering stove-top. We two have created something together. It is called harmony as well as cuisine. The waiting for dinner to finish is living room time for a quiet chat or watching part of  a recorded game or movie. When, finally, the aroma from the kitchen proves to be our cookery vision come true - something fragrant, brown, crusty and inviting from the oven - the quilted mitts are put to use, lifting it out and letting it rest while the wine is poured and the candles lit. We serve, we sit, toast this duet of culinary arts and dine. Our kitchen dance began and ended warmly knowing we have created something shared and savoured and seasoned with love.

Mean Girls

Ignoring nasty remarks is a best defense. The world has mean girls like Regina George of the film world and and the best way to fend her off is to ignore her. Sure there is a nasty side of life out there and while it has its place, you don't have to let it rule your life. Responding to catty remarks is pointless. In a catty-like manner, simply leap over them and carry on.  The delete key is the best weapon we have for e mail nastiness and using it on unwelcome vituperation saves a whole lot of time. Blocking the sender is also effective in stepping over the ire. If only we had a delete key in life! Having recently been the target of some unkind remarks designed to offend  me, I learned a valuable lesson. The biblical advice "turn the other cheek" didn't make much sense to me, for one sore cheek should be warning enough. After expressing my point to this individual verbally, I walked away and carried on with my life. Immediately, I forgot the snarky remarks and became egrossed with what and who really matters.  Constantly sorting through our ills, is a waste of  precious minutes of our time. Out there, is fresh air and love and hope and beauty. These are what we all want and can find. For sure, speak up, but when the chips fall,  use them for compost or build a nice little fire to warm your hands.

The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

Blog comments are welcome: the good, the bad and the ugly. It means that someone read your stuff and reacted. It feels wonderful and makes your efforts rewarding. When a blog comment is clearly a cheap personal shot it is deleted immediately and forgotten at the same rate. The ones that are taken seriously are those that show maturity and thought. These allow for consideration no matter how negative. Writing is something inate. You are either a writer or you write. There is a difference. The former, cannot help writing and everything goes on the page: all feelings, all reactions. And while there is editing later, the core remains. The latter works too hard at technical matters and thus reports rather than expresses. An analogy is the difference between an artist and a draftsman but both are writing in its many forms and both are valid. The artist pays attention to creating for himself and others, an impression, while the draftsman attends to the rules. I have enjoyed all of the comments to my little blog or my "bloody blog" as one lady put it. At least she had the intelligence to offer reasons why the chagrin. There have been comments by the very young, unfortunately not well thought-out, but welcome nevertheless and the very old and the folks who keep on reading it. I happen to be fond of blogs and read them constantly myself especially the ones that are from-the-heart. Bloggers, let's blog on fearlessly!

Cantoo Cook

Cantoo cooking is not Chinese cuisine, it's for those who say they can't when they can, too. Getting right down to it, toss your one-serving of meat into a lightly oiled skillet and let it sizzle a bit with some chopped onion. Toss in the veggies sliced to compatible thicknesses, add water to an inch, any herbs and seasonings you like and plunk the lid on. Let it simmer or bake on low while you read a chapter or two or make a few calls. Poke or peek after ten minutes to see if everything is tender. When it is, shake in some garlic salted flour and stir to thicken. When smooth and done, pour  into a shallow table bowl and there's your dinner with a crusty loaf of French bread and a glass of red or white. Ingredients? Buy family packs of meats and fish and re-pack in small amounts to store in your freezer compartment. Have a selection. Buy  a small sack of veggies - the best quality and hey, simmered fruit is nice with meat, too. Scrub but you don't need to peel everything. Pick up a couple of pots of herbs for plucking from your window ledge: basil, thyme, parsley for eg. Nothing looks prettier on your table than a rosemary tree to prune at mealtime and the smell - oooh. A sack of sweet onions  and potatoes lasts long on your deck in a pretty basket and there, you're a cook. You can surprise your meal by adding a little of this or that: honey, brown sugar and vinegar for sweet and sour, maple syrup, even wine or beer to the mix. Experimentation is fun. And now that you cook your own good food, you're body doesn't have to deal with additives or fats and your wallet will thank you, too.

Slower Lane

When you no longer work, whether it be part-time or full, you find yourself in a slower lane. There is no need to rush. There are no time schedules other than those you set for yourself. Your days off are those you choose and no one is "the boss". Before you get to that point, you fear it. What will I do with myself all day? There will no goals to meet. I will be bored. Who will I be when I am not a -------? All of us who once worked, felt the same way before we quit and while we told everyone how great it would be to be free again, we worried about it during those last few weeks. But we soon learned that being out of the work force, is a constant holiday and
 time soon becomes so precious that anyone or anything plunking you into a gridlock of tasks, is to be avoided. Other than missing the bigger pay cheque, there are delights to be rediscovered. And even the former pay scale that required you to spend on appearances and transportation and all the little expenses that your job demanded, is not the same issue. Your favorite jeans, shirts and sweaters are your new work clothes and you may relegate the high heels to the far end of the shoe rack. It's not that you are going to let yourself go, but you can go casual during your new working hours. When you are going to lunch out or on a shopping tour, that's when you might dress. And just think, when you do, you can spend time to look your best. No more of the get up and take ten minutes of prep before out the door as it once was. You have time to dally thinking about your date with that guy or the gals and what to wear and where to go. Furthermore, your togs don't wear out as quickly and you have time to steam the wools and press the shirts and shine up the shoes. Also, when you do get out and about, you are rested and at peace and all ready to fully enjoy your new life. All this doesn't take a huge retirement salary either because even if you are a Second-hand Rose sort who haunts the retro racks, you will have hours to re-model and search and select. Those of us who live alone and have only ourselves to pamper begin to appreciate our own time and rather jealously guard it while others who have a man or family to take care of too,  will have more time for planning how to use their hours best. The hobbies you once indulged in, can be trotted out: arts, reading, writing, games, crafts take on new interest. Learning and volunteering are sharing your time in  valuable ways and spending family time can be revived. Boredom does not happen and if it does, no one is to blame but the gal in the mirror.

Baring Fall

We've all see the movies where there lies a trail of garments, lacy and delicate, leading off screen. The suggestion is there. Something secret and private is happening, something primal and to do with love. We are  embarrassed, but at the same time, we are flushed with happiness. Fall is the same. We all love autumn. While every season has its beauties, this season is unique. Hers is a passing loveliness, a kind of grandiose funeral of what was, now arrayed in the splendour of her undress. The promise is seductive, that of a Spring and new life, but we must trust and wait through a long, cold, wet winter. Fall. It is, of all seasons, the heart of resurrection. A weekend drive, or as he calls it "a drift",  with a dear friend, resulted in finding, accidentally, ourselves on an isolated uphill drive, twisting and turning through forests of maples and alders, evergreens and tall, yellowed grasses that turned out to be Sumas Mountain. Glimpses of a valley, with a seemingly slow-moving  Fraser River, plied only by a single boat making a V of white , lay stretched out, as we passed corners with bare branches allowing us to see what was below. A flirtation of views through screening limbs of black, made the way only more enticing as we found ourselves wondering if the road, now and again gravelled, would simply end. But on it went, and no matter how the car displayed in what compass direction we were headed, the titillation of what was around the next bend, kept us intrigued and proceeding. On one side, the stony hill rose wetly high above and on the other, the road  threatened with its soggy sludge, to fall away down the steep cliffs. But we kept on in anticipation. Anticipation of what? Old rock quarries, now wrecked in mossy piles of rejected granite, and glimpses of homes once hidden at the ends of narrow roads playfully revealed by  bare, betraying trees, were the only evidence that this brilliant array was shared. But just in case we strangers forgot, the camera preserved for us, the  glories of an ancient, pristine beauty.

Family Feuds

All families have them. Often times caused by a personal stress manifested in an uncalled for outburst that is harsh and viewed as unforgiveable, one that is  hurtful, however, is just part of the family way. Life happens as they, whoever that is, says. What to do when it happens to you? First, attempt to quell the wrath that emanates rather than answering the nasty accusations. They are not meant seriously. They are merely old wounds re-surfacing and maybe they are better out in the open rather than festering away. Always they are curable but if the issue is too hot at a given moment, give it a rest until things cool down and later try again. As my cousin tells me repeatedly, "blood is thicker than water". You cannot disown a relative no matter how hard you try. DNA doesn't go away. Stresses also disappear after a time and then regret is sure to replace it. Leave the door shut but unlocked. You have your own life to continue and worrying about mean things that someone close says, has only the worth you give it. Give it none. It was said in haste and uncontrolled emotion so let it lie there until the "hot coal" spends itself. Your job is not to fix. That belongs to someone else. Family always comes first.

Real State

We've all enjoyed the old TV show and movies called The Beverly Hillbillies. Not long after, another show called Moving On Up came along. While the two were based on nouveau riche themes, each took a different slant. The hillbillies struck oil, became rich and moved to up-scale Beverly Hills. Their re-location didn't change them. The Moving On Up family took on classy, or so they thought, digs but it took a young nephew  to keep them from the dangers of pride. These days, particularly in big cities this happens. Ordinary or common folk are selling their homes for exhorbitant prices and "moving on up". Or so they think. Most of them have some balance and find a place that fits their former lifestyle but a few foolishly throw in their new-gained lucky money to buy  high-end homes in "better" neighbourhoods where the truly rich abide in a social realm that is unknown to our new-found hillbillies. While new found bucks have purchasing power, this kind soon learns that you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Not that there is anything wrong with a sow's ear.  These types soon find out they are the same as they were before with a bit more icing on top. Top of the roof, that is. It is sad to see this happening. Sometimes they drop their old friends thinking that NOW they have made it and there is a need to rise up and above and leave their former lives behind. And the illusion works for awhile. The part that doesn't work is that tragically they don't fit into their new sphere socially. No matter how fancy schmancy the surroundings, it simply doesn't change people. Often these naive sorts go out of their way to become part of their new environment but somehow they are out of sync. The result can be that they are soon found out and are patronized but not wholly  included. Many are disappointed and move back to their old neighbourhood realms where they don't have to try so desperately to keep up with the Joneses or the Kents down the block with all of their style, position and elan that is borne only of blue blood and not a thin coat of blue paint.

Cyber Snipers

Cyber snipers or bullies,  are those who attempt to harm others using e mail or similar electronic abettors to hide behind while "spreading negative news" they aim to be trouble. These perps of little thought, often teens, are not above misconceiving text and fabricating nonsense out of it to circulate malicious gossip for the purpose of gaining status and  attention. These sorts of cowards think spreading bits of infamy about someone else will elevate them to higher places in their society.  It doesn't work that way. First, gossip while originally often received with enthusiasm, will eventually cause the receiver to "shoot the messenger". In short, the messenger becomes a purveyor of dirt and is thus soiled.  Another form of cyber sniping is the Dear John or Jane letter via e mail.  Doing something so serious as leaving someone requires  discussion. Stomping off electronically in anger  backfires.  Talking it out works best no matter what the outcome. Being a writer is also an interesting place that opens one to the cyber sniper. One writes from life but not  directly unless in non-fiction. What happens first, is an idea and then the writer extracts from a kaleidoscope of personal experiences and imaginary scenarios a way to express a point or tell a story. Readers on the other hand have the responsibility of realizing what writers do and are. When a piece of writing is taken out of context and used maliciously, as happens many times in the paparazzi, it becomes both a dangerous and often, a legal matter. How do we stop this chicken-hearted form of meanness? Cyber bullies should be sent out to solitary pasture and forced to leave all hand-held devices at the gate. Contemplation may see them eventually become human once again.

Book 'Im Dano

The old TV cop series, Hawaii Five O, was one of the great escapes of an evening. Dano was the sidekick of the star and at a crucial moment, Dano, the newie, got to read the perp's rights as the hero sauntered off to the tune of the theme. But some fiction authors, including some award winning ones, ought to be booked. There are three kinds of writers: first, the poor ones who have something important to say and are forgiven colourless language or the second kind who haven't much to say but write so beautifully no one cares. Third, are the best writers, often unrecognized as "best sellers" who do both. Language in fiction and even non-fiction, is all important. It should resonate, it should excite thought, it should delight, it should be the music of the brain. If it doesn't do that, it is either a report or a waste of time. A week ago, I found a new book on the shelf in the library, one of the seven-day-loan kind. It had won a prestigious award. I opened the pages and anticipated something I couldn't find. Where was the plot? Where was the delight? Where was the intelligence? The usage was perfect. The theme, contemporary: family secrets out, rape, incest, religious issues, murder - but where was the kick, where was the thing that made me want to say mmmm or even be eager to turn the next page? Blah, blah, on it went until during breakfast coffee on the book's seventh day, I gave up and closed it, reaching, instead, for a button to turn on the TV lastest news. Being a secret book critic has its advantages. You can return your best sellers and no one cares to ask whether you finished it or not. The retribution was that the first two-thirds of the pages had food stains and goodness knows what other kinds, while the last third that I actually got into, were pristine. It made me wonder how many pages the judges of the award read. The tale dragged on and on until all of us potential readers gave up in utter boredom. I wanted to plead with this writer: give me a clue as to where we are heading, check back with me once in a while,  despite the little meanderings keep me on the road to the end, and thrill me once in awhile before bidding me a mutually sad goodbye. As I dropped the "best seller" into the library slot, I yearned for Sheilds and King and Atwood and yes, Poe, all true story-tellers.

Pyrotechnic Emotions

Pyrotechnic emotions or explosions of feeling pent up are usually the result  of a bundle of unsaid things. You know the elephant under the carpet tale. Strangely, these gripes are not the result of what has been done but of things one thinks have been done that cause the collateral damage. And often what one thinks has been done is actually what one does all by oneself to oneself. If you've been the receiver of an "explosion",  it is big surprise and an unpleasant one to be sure. Why are we inclined to allow inner feelings to fester away inside rather than get them out there early before they become a volcano that erupts? How much better it is to talk it out rather than to hide behind pride and the fear of facing the truth. Truth requires looking frankly at oneself and that isn't easy. Yes, looking at oneself, not at others. Personal jealousies, envies,  sore spots and all sorts of other internal flaws roil around inside because we  fear having to look at our own weaknesses. "See what you made me do?" is a famous very bad excuse. No one makes you do anything. You choose to do or feel it, all by yourself. Your insecurities are not the fault of others causing them. They are your "kids"; you "birthed" them. Okay, so how do you pick up the pieces and fix the problem?  First, admit to yourself what is bothering you and why you reacted inappropriately. Second, find out how you can fix yourself in order to heal this problem that you have. Third, if you exploded, go to the victim and apologise, then report what happened and how you plan to change the situation. Don't tell them what to do but what you will do. This might include discussion about what is bothering you. Their forgiveness and understanding may be the first step to cure. But your understanding of yourself is tantamount. These are very hard jobs in clearing up the mess, but that's the only permanent way. Burying the issue just makes that elephant grow bigger. You have to respect yourself and hope that others will reciprocate. If they don't, they're the ones who have work to do.

Tilt And Toss

There are many gambits to flirtation, but the most charming sort is the hair and head "tilt and toss". While some use merely the tilt and not the toss, usually due to over-shortness of hair-supply in spite of clip-in extensions, there is nothing quite as effective as both T and T. The tilt can be used by the neatly trimmed sporty sorts while using the eyes as a complimentary enhancement. This is done by waiting for an appropriate moment and then coyly bending the head to one side and peering promisingly into another's eyes.  While it is adequate during flirtation, it is only a temporary measure to the ambition of full engagement. And then we have the hair-toss without the tilt, that is practiced mostly by tanned blonds on sunny California sidewalks and beaches. The toss is best displayed in full sunlight for it causes the tresses to glisten as the rays playfully cavort amongst the strands. However, combining the two stratagems, both tilt and toss, we witness the epitome of perfection. Here not only does the performer use the means of the angle that defies normal gravity, he/she adds motion as well.  Asymmetry does have its methods of intrigue. Of course, these ploys must have accompanying aids. Being in the right place at the right time is not all. One must add the necessary accoutrement's to give the full effect to the T and T, to "bring home the bacon", so to speak. A good shampoo and hair style are essential. Add shine to the hair and make sure it is long enough for the toss and then practice regularly until the strands fling out and far. Curly-haired folk need to invest in hot irons to get this right. Caution: always take care with the neck movement. You need the neck for the tilt portion of the exercise. Once you have the correct stance and hair, the right kind of tilt comes next. Again, the mirror as abettor works best, especially the full-length variety - the mirror, that is. This is a whole body endeavor. After perfecting the T and T to a maximum degree, you are ready to enter the real world to try out your new-found talent. At first, you may be regarded as odd but gradually you will, with practice, find your own level of competence. Warning: this advice will not be responsible for damaged vertebrae or incomplete relationships.

Just Too Too

Everyone likes nice people and everyone wants to be nice. But there are some who are just too too nice to bear. You know what I mean. We had one  at work who was so nice we wanted to run when she approached.  She was like sticky toffee. She would ooze up and coo compliments on you about everything and anything. She'd force on you her gooey home-made-just-for-you cookies and send you memos with  i's dotted in little hearts. She'd put smiley faces on  documents and teddy bears on the staff room table. The huggings instead of good mornings were the last straw. We were tired of sneaking our coffee down to the furnace room to escape Ms Niceness. It wasn't the sort of thing you could readily report to the boss. "Mr. Boss, we don't like the niceness that's going on around here." It was a complaint hard to put into words. One of the staff elders, a very nice lady, volunteered to do the job. When she returned to the furnace room to report her success, she hung her head and told us she hadn't been able to do it. Ms Niceness had offered to adopt the kitten her cat had just birthed.  It was like belling the cat! Our last desperate attempt was to be accomplished during a staff meeting. The union head, a rather gruff but loveable guy, would bring up the topic at the end of the next staff meeting. He had the gift of saying the right thing at the right time. At the  meeting's end, he cleared his throat and began to rise to do the  deed.  But just at that moment, the boss, grinning from ear to ear, stood up. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to announce that I am being married and transferred next week to head office. My fiance ..." and he gestured to Ms Niceness herself who waggled the diamond on her left hand.  The sound of our loud cheering must have been heard right down to the furnace room itself.

Why Wise?

One of the most human and most difficult questions to answer, is "why". The who, what, where, when and how are simple compared to "why"? Around three years of age, the first five are answered easily by parents but when the "why"s begin about the fourth year of their kids' lives, they have trouble being so glib. The reason is that Why - we'll give it a name -  brings in all sorts of complications. On the query, there are many reasons along with the answers, some complex and elusive, that would or could take hours to define completely. Answering Why also brings in personal impressions and judgements. Someone might ask Why about a friend or relative and suddenly you are forced to plunge into your own personal trunk of feelings, thoughts and experiences to give a proper answer. Often times you have to expose your own prejudices. "Why doesn't Daddy like Uncle Julius?" asks your five year old. Because he's too smart? Because he drinks like a fish? Because he hoards money? Because he's jealous of him? We all know that sort of question and it's seldom answered openly simply because there is no definitive reason, as in this case. Why does the car squeal when it is in reverse, might have an answer that makes sense.  Not that my mechanic has discovered it to date, but it is an example of a Why question that dealing with it might  make proveable sense. Most of them don't. Why does Uncle Joe have no hair? Why does Aunt Mamie's apple pie taste like fuel oil? The imagination soars. Fortunately, four year olds are content pretty much with whatever answer rolls out. "Just because" sometimes works. And if you have the time to expound, most four year olds are off to their WiFis about the time the last word in your long explanation is spoken anyway. Some wise Why-solvers of difficult queries, merely blurt, "Sorry dear, can't do it now, gotta take this call. Catch you later."

THE

The other day, I was called The Widow by a clod who had the sensitivity of a rock. Who wants to be a "The"? Maybe it's okay for dogs and cats, but we humans are individuals and seldom want to be named for what we are and not who we are. I guess doctors don't mind being called The Doctor or royalty, The King or Queen, due to those much honoured stations. In my case, it was an overheard remark meant to be demeaning in the back ground during a cell phone call."Ha ha, it's The Widow." But after thinking seriously about the matter, I found it even more disturbing due to the fact that my widowhood was not my choice and had been something I worked at diligently for two years to get over. I assumed that I had the widowhood designation behind me. Apparently some others didn't.  How long does it take for death's shadow to follow one around? Does the world continue to see some women as The Divorcee or The Spinster? It seems to fit into a discrimination category where all persons of one culture become one appellation such as The Martian. I suspect that even amongst Martians, there are different shades of green and luminosity of eyes. And while a Martian might be proud to be one and revere its planet's colour and fame, a widow is put into her position through no fault of her own and it's one she hopes to conquer. Helen or Julie or Alice and all other women once widows are unique women. They are home makers or business folk or artists or service people and they, like everyone else, have names! Please, in the name of courtesy, use them.

Cell Injuries

The cell phone has become the new way of communicating. Who doesn't have one slipped into a pocket or purse? What we used to think of as demented folk speaking to themselves, has become normal behaviour. The other day while walking in the park, a woman approached jogging and having a conversation. It was a hands-free device because both of her own were pumping iron as she ran. I was trying to listen to the birds of Fall, but she was muttering to someone about her tyrant boss. I doubt that she needed to use the park with its natural beauty if all she intended to do was talk on her phone. A gym would have sufficed since everyone in them now uses cell phones and treadmills simultaneously. And while these cell devices can do just about everything useful but wash the car, they can also cause self injury.  Yesterday, I phoned a so-called friend who accidentally pressed the open button when answering and I heard the unflattering unintentional comment. When I called again to confirm that I had indeed got the right number since I thought the person to be loyal, there was no answer and later the comment was denied. This accidental revelation about my now former-friend confirmed to me that cell phones have their down and dangerous side. I knew about the rudeness of filtering calls or rejecting them via the display, but having experienced my associate discovered in this unplanned way, made me realize why someone developed a gun-like holster for carrying cell phones. This time, the cell weapon backfired!

Walk The Talk

"She talks too much" I hear this comment frequently but the men who say it, don't hear themselves "talk". Some speak non-stop about their accomplishments, real or imagined, or sport scores and teams that they enjoy vicariously but they have trouble knowing how to communicate with ladies. Some are flatterers who think that women want to hear that sort of thing. Women will tolerate it for awhile but that game is temporary. What most women want is someone who talks about feelings and/or experiences other than things that involve balls being kicked, thrown, rolled around or hit. There is more to life. Life is about feelings and experiences that connect one human being to another. When a man says "come help me choose a shirt that you think is right" or "let's bake and cook together": now you have communication and participation! That's an invitation to romance. Sure you can go to games and enjoy them together and perhaps afterward talk about it briefly while gazing over a candle at the bistro. That satisfies both the guy and the gal. It's all about sharing life and talking about what you have shared. The "strong, silent" man is hiding behind his inability to communicate. He needs help to stop fearing that he can't speak coherently enough to feel successful with you. If your efforts to bring him out of his word prison fail, move on. A relationship isn't about curing someone and furthermore, lack of interaction verbally doesn't make the future of a relationship look very bright. When the hearts begin a regular cadence and the flowers fade, reality enters and you may need something more to cling to than "strong and silent". Questions such as "how do you feel about that"  or "I'd love to hear your opinion on" may work. When he does speak, listen.

Vanity Is Fair

So you want to look more attractive? Why, doesn't matter. That's your business but puhleese ladies, try harder. That doesn't mean you have to slap on so much make-up you look like something from a circus. It simply means, try harder. I do not want to hear " but that's not me". The you of you isn't working too well so it's time to try something new. I look at some older widows who appear sad and lonely and the first thing I think is, go shopping. Shop for brighter and livelier in whatever you choose and put a smile on your face. You can't change the past. This is a new day. Fix your hair. Tone it, lighten it, give it some life other than a blue rinse. And for goodness sake, don't cut it like a man and do not ever get a perm ball on your head. Perms, especially the ones with the tiny old lady curls all over make you look like a ball of bad wool. Soften up with highlights and gentle touchable curls if you must. Leave some length so it looks like hair and not a beard looking for a chin.  If you've always dreamed of being a blonde, now's the time. At least put in some highlights. Tone the grey to a nice ash blonde and forget dead black or brown dye. If you want brown, add some chestnut lights. Throw out the bulky suits and bag lady dresses. Chuck the clumpy shoes and thick stockings. Get  yourself something with a waist line and silky movement. Find shoes that have a little heel for comfort and ones that do the job but don't look like gramma's bed sox. Put on some make-up that glows and lipstick that is light and get your nails done.  Pluck, depilatory and perk up with underpinnings that make you feel young again on the outside. Use a scent that makes you feel light and pretty. There is no sin in feeling good about yourself. All it takes to lift your life is a good attitude and a full length mirror that says, hey girl!

Naggery

One of the worst phrases a woman can inflict on a man is "you should ...". Wives may be able to get away with this, but not lovers. It's called advice -giving and a man turns cold at those words. It is, unfortunately,  a rare girlfriend who doesn't gradually fall into wifely habits the longer she has been in a relationship, common law notwithstanding. It makes one cringe to see certain girlfriends, rattling off instructions and directions to the man she once admired at a respectful distance. Where this miserable flaw originates is mysterious. Could be from other women relatives or friends or merely the old "familiarity breeds contempt" place. Whatever it is and wherever it came from, it doesn't work. First, no one wants advice unless asked for and second, even then, it has to be doled out sparingly and tactfully. Sometimes it can be introduced with "May I make a suggestion?" There are times when the purple sock and the striped red one he is wearing, cry out for a piece of advice. Or when the turn-signal on his car has been clicking for half and hour and he doesn't hear it. Or when he is wearing part of his dinner-out on his beard. These sorts of times, advice is a kindness if not a duty. What makes me cringe to hear, is advice such as "you should wear this" or "you should not eat/drink that" or "this is how your place should look ". Those are personal choices that are what he is, and though they may drive you up the wall, that's where he came from when you found him and if you change him too much, even you might not like the new-and-improved version. I know there are desperate women who see their almost ideal man, one that needs just a-little-tweaking to become perfect, but that effort may be the very thing that sends him packing. Every woman has her limits fortunately, but take my advice, never, never should she accept The One who needs changing. Men might go underground with their annoying habits, but they never change.

Wonder Women

Wonder why women in film are either under the age of twenty something or well over fifty? In between, there are hosts of female talents that go to waste or their plastic surgeons depending upon their budgets.  Men don't have this problem. They can keep on being Mr. Desirable and Foxy right up to their wattle years. Anyway, who in Hollywood sports wattles? Men hang on until they are in their eighties and their wrinklesseem to  become only girly bait. Apparently. In the movies, the older man is a retired spy or super cop or past hit man, thus the target for Miss Youthette who is all over him with her spiky hair, well placed tattoos and cleverly exposed body parts. And we are all convinced that Mr and Miss make the most romantic couple on earth as they cavort about the screen: tires screeching, guns blazing and  chase scenes up and down hallways and stairs at a run. Oh puleeze, Hollywood. What old guy over sixty-five can do what Mr Antique Hotness does on the silver screen? None that I know or have ever heard of. So why is it that a female over twenty-five and no fan of the knife, can find only character roles such as villainesses, British queens or crazy old bag ladies? Men well over that category including all of their wrinkles continue to draw the crowds simply because Hollywood says we should love them. Our brains need lifting, not our faces and rears! Enough! the older woman actor should shout, we are desirable just the way we are and you had better let the world see that we are. In fact our wrinkles are softer and prettier than those of elder males and like your ingenues we don't need training - been there, done that. Consider patina, consider fine wine, consider wisdom and taste born of experience not that applied by expensive professional coaches for the newbies. Here we are world! Bring it on Hollywood!

Finding You

Widowhood is like nothing else, not even male widowerhood with offers of casseroles, comfort and dinners. People expect widows to be able to go it alone. After all "they" were the ones who "took care of everyone else" when they had their mates around. Most of the latter is true simply because the widow did take care of everyone else then. She had to. Now is something different. Her partner was around to share the burden, if not physically, at least in spirit. That support has gone and gone forever. It's not like breaking up with someone who was a longtimer, it's like losing gravity. You can't just call up and say, hi or would you help me with this or gosh, I'm down, I need to talk with you, please. No. It's like stepping into emptiness and solitary confinement. There is no one to call or write or cling to even in imagination. All you have is you. But, you might protest, you have family and friends. While that is true, it is not the same and anyway who wants to foist burdens on those you love. And often you find that the "love" you had in those areas, is not the sort of thing you thought it was. Family and friends have their own lives and here you are, stuck with just yourself. Hello self, you say one day, who are you? In the past, you were part of someone else. All your important decisions were shared. All of your activities depended on, not only your needs, but those of someone else. All that taken into consideration, now it is time to find the you that is you. I call it My Second Life. The First Life is over and the next one is just forming. How do you begin? I have yet to find a manual. For me, it has been a solitary journey that evolves day by day, need by need and event by event. I don't get it right always, but by golly, it's my life. Not the family, nor the friends nor the kindly professionals can do this one for me. When I look back at the path I have trodden, one of my own making, I am happy. It isn't perfect, but it is mine, directed and produced by me, and I love it. All respects to Life One, Life Two doesn't make a bad sequel.

In Trust

Trust is something we all need but it is the one thing we can't hold for ourselves. All we can do is hope that those to whom we give it, will not fail. It's a delicate thing, trust, perhaps key to our very lives in some cases, and yet, we have no control over its care. Those to whom we give it, in whom we trust, hold what is often, our very destiny. It's like the most delicate glass: beautiful and clear, but so thin that all it takes to damage or destroy it, is one look, a stray word, a tiny touch, an omission and it can be instantly gone. Most of us, have had this happen and while it is painful to have a trust that's broken, it's cautionary. We become wary of giving our trust as easily as before. We think before handing it over and even then, with trepidation. We learn to become selective and testing regarding those we choose. We may allow very few to take on the gift of our trust. Some give up on trust altogether and give it to no one again. Or, if they do, apply stipulations before doing so. Rare others, trust everyone and anyone and are rewarded with  accolades of "openess" and generosity.  These fortunate beings, possess the skill of  bouncing back after betrayals to simply move on, while handing out more trust. They seem to be able to do it with great ease. Their opposites, resign from trust and give it away nevermore to become sad and lonely folk. It's a search for balance. Who can you trust? What are your needs? How much trust will you give? Trust is a joy but also, a burden. You have trust also to hold.  What about the trust you are given? How caring of it are you? Do your requirements apply to you, too? Makes you wonder if trust isn't the most difficult burden in life, we have to carry.

Little Cuties

The Little Cutie is usually a woman, middle aged or beyond, and single. She hangs out in bars. She is one of the "good buddies" of the older guys  and sits amongst the group joshing with them while imbibing in her girlie pink drink or what the boys are having while laughing at their ribald jokes.  You ask yourself why? Why isn't this woman trying to find someone her own age? Why is she with a bunch of old guys? She has reasons. First, she can't get a man her own age. Or her former relationships went bad. That's why she is where she is. Second, she enjoys the role of "child bride" to these men who are past the handsome and virile stages. She imagines herself more than the mirror tells. She knows she is less than plain, beautiful or desirable to her contemporaries. Thus, she sits fantasizing along with the older men, their wattles and bellies, balding heads and real loves at home. Third, the Cutie, if she is lucky, might rate from her table buddies, a burger out or little gifts on her birthday or special occasions besides a raft of attention.  But her main motive is to feel young again, however momentary and silly it looks, even if it means being old in a group that is older than she.  For awhile, she can feed on the attention and rewards of elder admiring glances with her peekaboo attire and batting mascara.  She offers rewards: little touches, hugs, cheek kisses, jabs to the arms, pats on the knees and toesies under the table. That's all the old guys want. And what is the harm? It is all a game and everyone goes home at the end of the day. The sad part is that The Little Cutie goes home alone.

Sad, Bad Sport

Lingerie football is not cute. Women with sport talent do not belong here. Well, maybe if they are masochists. Why would young women with evident interest in any sport want to be seen trotting about in their underwear to amuse males and/or others who aren't looking to score on the field but somewhere else? This kind of exhibitionism is something that sets back the cause of women who want to be taken seriously as athletes and have dedicated much of their young lives to this interest. Of late, a young woman who has great talent in her field, rugby, has chosen to don a lacy push up bra and skimpy underdrawers to perform in an arena to the cheers of people who obviously are not there to watch football but a travesty that ridicules both the game and women - all women. It saddens me that someone who has sacrificed countless hours of practice, enduring the rigors of a game she excels in, wastes her time, running around making a fool of herself. The question is, why? Is it a joke? Is it a dare? Is it temporary relief of bordom? What? Since I don't know the answer, I will try to remain non-judgemental for the moment, but beyond me, her reasons to spoil her self-respect in this way are a mystery. I hope, for her, this is a passing phase. So-called football of this nature is work for strippers and clowns, not  women with serious sport achievement in mind. Or perhaps they have simply gone mad.

Writer widow: Sad, Bad Sport

Writer widow: Sad, Bad Sport: Lingerie football is not cute. Women with sport talent do not belong here. Well, maybe if they are masochists. Why would young women with ev...

Just Friends?

Men and women cannot be "just friends" if they were once together. An ex often has a tenacious dependency on a former relationship, one that he or she can't leave alone. The excuse is  "but I am just being friendly with my former and there's nothing wrong with that". Sadly there is.  It is wanting to bookmark oneself, to keep the hope going subconsciously, that perhaps there will be a rekindling of the old relationship and everything will fall back into place once again. The tragedy is that it will not happen for all the reasons that caused it to end in the first place.  So why, you ask, why do the former partners allow it? They do so, if they do, out of guilt and pity. It is hard to be cruel to someone who was formerly in a relationship with you. Most people can't just say, leave me alone and get on with your life, even if they want to. All relationships old or new have something memorable and those memories are not always easily erased. But like so many other things we meet, good memories do not a lifetime make. Some people stay together agreeably all their lives and others can't stick to one relationship without faltering. As life changes, some people do not and the couple begins to drift apart slowly. When the relationship finally ends, the break-up pain doesn't go away easily. Most people move on eventually but some cling any way they can because they fear a new beginning. They have been yoked for so long, they have lost themselves. Instead of finding out who they are, they keep their old attachment open by saying, I miss you and I need to contact you - just to be friendly. It doesn't work that way. Until each one of us moves on and cuts the "cord" there is no re-birth, no new life.  Keeping in contact keeps the wounds open.  It takes great courage to dive off the ten foot board and plunge into the deep waters of the unknown but like the brave diver, one can come up after doing it and feel cleansed and ready to celebrate a victory of self- discovery. Worth a try because you matter, not what you were but what you are.

Altogether Now

Having occasion to go to the lab where they take blood samples, I noted today that here we had a perfect United Nations. It was a busy lab and being in a culturally eclectic neighbourhood, there were Muslims, Sikhs, Jews, Protestants, Catholics, Haldeman Dutch, Americans, Orientals, et al. We took our numbers and sat. No one read the tattered Health Care Pamphlets or the three year old Vogue. We sat together and waited and watched.  The longest wait would be thirty minutes and the shortest, the same. A Babel of languages were muttered into the air along with the periodical loud electronic female who announced, Number Sixty One May Now Come To Desk One. At the desks for customers, sat an attendant East Indian woman who was likely the office senior. She was courteous and thoughtful. She did the office routines but she also took blood just as all the other clerks who came and went. These women were fully rounded medical technicians who seemed happy on the job and interested in what they were doing. When children came in, it was comedy relief. They used the chairs are a gym, they hopped and crawled and went here and there into the hallway and back. They played and we smiled. Children's games are universal. Bonka bonka, bonka said one yellow tee-clad little Indian boy as he bounced up and down on a cushion in a chair. His mother stopped him but he went on to find another game venue. Various languages could be heard and costumes from shorts to saris, on the fat, the thin, the old, the young and on all the colours of skin you could imagine. We sat in the large room on black leather arm chairs waiting our turns to give blood. We had order, we had a place, we served our time period without complaint. It was a fair system. No one came before anyone else. It didn't matter if you were older or more ill, you waited and you knew it. There was little conversation other than the necessary kind: that's where you get your ticket, I'll move to the next seat so you can sit with your child, excuse me, thank you and so on. We sat in meditative silence comfortable being in the company of all. We watched with veiled interest as each person got up and went to his appointed station when his or her number was called. The desks were open so everything anyone said was heard. We knew where the individual lived, the phone number and the date of the birth and sometimes more. Our thoughts ran to: hmmm he doesn't look that old, she must have a very bad complaint to come in every week, that is brave child knowing what is coming. It felt good being among my fellow human beings - all with blood like mine for the most part, all with some reason for being there, all waiting, all orderly because we had a turn. Our ticket number said so. This was a rare place that had one goal for all and no one was better or worse than another. Here there was perfect peace.

Sneaky Petes

Some women complain that their lovers, I am not speaking of marriage here, are Sneaky Petes (no offense to those named Peter, please) and that they cheat. Okay, it happens. Some men can't seem to help themselves and yes, it hurts, but let's take a closer look. It's always good to ask the question, Why. Why do men do it? First, ladies, it isn't your fault and don't let anyone tell you that. The men in question have to take the full and entire blame. But why oh why do they do it? First, for excitement. Does this mean, ladies,  you have to run off to a lingerie shop and stock up on teddies? I don't think so, although it never hurts - but as a booster to your own ego not his libido. Second, they do it because they were - here comes the age-old story - inebriated and didn't know what they were doing. Oh please. Third, it's her fault, she came on to me. That reason has everyone rolling in the aisles. But seriously, why do they sneak around? My idea is that they don't want you to know that they are. That's a no brainer but actually it is true. If they didn't want you around any more, they would simply say bye bye and be gone. They must still want you, therefore, think about it. The ball is in your court so run with it. Honesty is the ref in this game. Go for it and get the truth out there so you can understand what you want and state to Sneaky, what your boundaries are. The fact that he hasn't left altogether means that the door is still open and you, according to the answers you hear, may slam it or leave it open until you know if what's inside is worth keeping. These days, disease is a big concern with having Sneaky Petes who don't seem to think about it. Even such a minor thing as Cold Sore Herpes is of concern, one that is often overshadowed by the scarier ones such as AIDS etc.  Mouth kissing on greeting, instead of hugging, could create a perfect field for that form of Herpes. Faithfulness has other rewards too and it is unfortunate that Sneaky Petes can't see it. They are masochists. They expose themselves to burdens of guilt, of lying as an occupation and the intense ire of those they offend. Talking and thinking about it may not work but it's worth a shot.

Laughter Cures

There is something curative about laughter. There are the hee haws that men do with other men. It avoids real conversation. This kind of laughing can be heard on the golf links and especially in the clubhouse after the eighteenth. Then we have the giggling female of the bar kind who tinkle away while batting false eyelashes and protruding plastics. This kind either drives away the prey or attracts it. The latter usually buy the gal a beer simply to stop the din. We have the heeh heeh of the sewing circle or knitting club who have needles in their teeth. Brave ladies and very few, to date, have swallowed their tools. Of course, the book club has its own special brand of heh heh rising to haah haah as the evening pages ebb and the wine bottles empty. I love the wedding har de hars when the mandatory speeches, chicken and fish have been consumed and the much anticipated bad dancing begins. It's a chance for a squeeze and chuckle with the babe or hunk you eyed in the church awhile ago. My favorite is the baby laugh, the only genuine one, when dad blows a burble on baby's tum tum or mommy makes silly faces. The baby laugh is the pure one, the one that makes everyone else laugh. One laugh that is born for no reason at all is when the audience, excited by the guy holding the sign that says "laughter and applause",  pops up during the performance. The bleachers and I don't mean the ones you sit on, but the costly mouthful of caps and crowns that defy stage lights with whiter than white choppers to widen to let out a kind of laughter that no one feels and the jokes aren't funny but they can't stop the moment from happening. There is bad laughter and that's the sort that emanates from the corners of the teenaged adult mouth on hearing naughty jokes that really aren't nice, but one has to do something to hide the embarrassment of the stupidity and continue to be one of the group. A laugh that feels good is the one that issues forth when you are alone watching television or reading a book and something genuinely hillarious happens. It kind of explodes in the most natural way like the letting out of carbon dioxide after broccoli for dinner. All natural, no additives. Yes, there is laughter and they say it is good for what ails you. At the hospice they have shelves of humorous movies to accommodate the theory that laughter is the best medicine. Unfortunately, there,  it doesn't cure anything but it makes everything feel better.  My dentist who used to have laughing gas, now has television in the ceiling. He let's me watch old Seinfelds while prowling around in my mouth. Ever tried laughing while having a root canal? A hated laughter even by the user is the guilt-inspiring kind while watching programs that show someone flying through the air after a close encounter with a banana peel. It isn't funny. But laugh we do. I am sure there are other laughs, but that last one is the best. Ha ha ha ha ha.