Free Hugs

I am a hugger... I am fine in admitting that fact. I don't know when I became a hugger (probably right around the birth of my oldest boy, come to think of it) but I've been one for as long as I can remember now. Not a tree-hugger either (well, it's not that I'm not a tree-hugger, it's just that trees are not on the top of my hug list). I'm a people hugger.

In being a hugger, there are certain precautions one must take because not all people are huggers like me.

First of course, it's rarely appropriate to hug at the office although I have to admit, I have worked in my present job long enough, feel like I know and like my co-workers well enough that I have to remind myself not to hug when I see them in the office.

Second, as I mentioned not everyone is a hugger and it's important to respect others' boundaries above all. I learned during my work at the Women's Centre that hugs are not always welcome and they can in fact trigger some pretty awful, primal responses over which the recipient has no control. I am so lucky that I am not restricted by the pain unwanted touch causes a person but I am aware of its impact and respectful of the pain it causes in others. What I also learned at the Centre though is that it is perfectly fine to let a person who you know is in pain know that you are available to give hugs as often as wanted, one only needs to ask.

But when it comes right down to it, I'm a hugger... unabashed and unashamed. I am a true believer in the power of positive human contact. I know that when I give or receive a hug, I feel better, happier, lighter. There seems to be an exchange of happiness between people that at the same times leaves less room for troubles or worries and so they go... if only for a moment. And sometimes, even just a moment of less worry, pain, concern is a blessing.

So just so you know... when you need a hug, I'm here. Virtually if not in person.

Hugs to you all

*See the great Free Hug campaign commercial here....

Causes for Celebration

I am suddenly excited about stuff in general.

Today was the close for sales at work... don't worry, I will not be boring you with endless tales of the excitement that is my sales career (she yawns, stretches and takes a moment to re-focus as she has made herself nod off with the thought of it). It is the end of our quarter and first half of the year which means my deals are closed and my hands are tied for selling until the new round of prices and promotions come out in early July. That in itself deserves a big woo hoo!

But on top of that there is a holiday coming up here in Canada... July 1st is our country's birthday and that means (woo hoo #2) a day off on Tuesday. And with not much to do for work... that means a sort-of day off on Monday as well (woo hoo #3!!).

I have already started to fill my weekend, however you choose to define it - long or not, and so my excitement level is high and rising.... My work collegues and I are together on Friday for an extravagant celebratory dinner and night of dancing thanks to a well-earned prize our sales team won this month. A few of us are staying at a nearby hotel overnight to avoid the drink & drive question all together so I'm guessing half of Saturday will be spent getting myself back home and the other half is open for whatever comes up. Gay Pride is celebrated in Toronto like nowhere else and although I am not myself gay, I have wonderful friends who are and I am looking forward to the parade on Sunday and all the revelry that goes with it.

I am giddy with excitement. Fun all 'round.

Of course the problem with being so goofy about your energy level is the reaction of those around you. I am wishing people a good weekend as I visit them during my appointments at work which, on a Wednesday, has brought no end to the strange looks.

But that too is worth a laugh. So happy hump day to you as well and here's hoping we all get a few glorious days of fun.

Happy Endings

I was watching a movie on the weekend, which shall remain nameless because when it comes right down to it, the name of the movie is really irrelevant. It's about the ending though and it is a tale repeated over and over again on movie screens and in dvd's every single day.

I am wondering about Hollywood’s fascination with happy endings, specifically where relationships are concerned. Now don’t get me wrong, I love a happy ending as much as the next gal but sometimes they just seem to go overboard with the perfection thing. So I was wondering is the problem with Hollywood or with me?

After experiencing what I have over the course of my lifetime my faith in happy endings was at best greatly diminished and at worst, a distant memory… Depended on the day really. And yet the movies that I go to see, television shows that I watch continue to revert back to the age-old boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-gets-girl-back story line whether it is over the course of a couple of hours in a theatre or over a season in my living room.

I think of myself as an optimistic realist… I believe in something better but am always prepared for something worse. I lead a happy, full life… I have wonderful friends, my family is healthy and loves me as much as I love them. I want for nothing, I am blessed in so many ways and I pay attention to my blessings because I have lived without them and I want to drink them in every moment. But I also want the pleasure of sharing my happiness with someone who wants to share theirs with me just as much. And I don't think I'm unique in that regard either.

I have on my refrigerator a great compilation of magnets and messages, photos and notes that is an ever-changing collage of how I view my life at the moment, but the one piece that you will always find there is this:

My Favourite Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, a girl asked a guy "Will you marry me?"

The guy said "no."

And the girl lived happily ever after and went shopping, to the theatre, dancing, traveling, drank martinis, always had a clean house and never had to cook...

And farted whenever she wanted.

The End

Having had some experience with being passed over as the girl of choice, I find solace in this happy little tale. And I have decided that I will embark on writing my own happy ending. I posted that as my status today on Facebook... "Sally is writing her own happy ending" and within in minutes I had messages from friends either asking me to write theirs as well or let me know how it turns out so they can do the same.

This is my story… No Hollywood ending but a happy one. My life. And my heart.

A Full Heart

My son came home from afar this week. He has been gone, living abroad since August of last year and I last saw his face, hugged him, heard his laughter, when he was home over the Christmas holidays.

I love my boys, oh how I love them. They are each kind, funny, smart, wonderful young men… unique in their perfections and imperfections and similar in their mannerisms and charms. It takes me aback at times when I consider who they have become and from where they have come… From little boys with skinned knees and tears, hospital visits and pet store acquisitions, giggles and games all on the road to becoming to men that I am so proud to know let alone have the privilege of parenting.

But it is my duty as a parent to, from the moment they enter my life, prepare them to leave me and succeed on their own. That is my duty and I owe them that and so much more. So I have done my best and loved them more than I imagined possible. And now, as they move forward with their lives, as they should, I am left to cheer them from way back on the sidelines. As I should. The cheering part, that’s always been easy… But the sidelines part… that is hard.

Our hearts at times seem independent spirits… it is without our will or consent how deeply they devote themselves to others and it is often a surprise to us how fully they feel love. It is a blessing in every way but it is equally surprising how deeply they feel hurt when the objects of our affections are not close to us.

Much has been written about distance between hearts but what I think is it’s the one distance you are most acutely aware of. It’s the one that wakes you up in the middle of the night or makes you think of that person in the middle of a busy day. It is distracting and occupying. When you are close, it feels like your heart beats stronger and that space in it, saved for that person, is filled.

I am so happy my boys are all near to me. I will drink up their love now and on into the future as they continue to scatter along the paths of their lives.

Breaking Free

Sometimes the elements of your life present themselves in a way that provides remarkable clarity… if you’re paying attention.

Since I have been “single” (separated really, not divorced but legal in its definition or so I’m told) I have had many moments like that; where because I am paying closer attention, I see things that were invisible or at lease well disguised to me previously.

When I separated, everyone told me the first year would be the hardest… the first birthdays, holidays, anniversaries… all of these spent for the first time alone would be the hardest. Well, in my humble opinion those people lied (not maliciously... just naively). Or at least set up a false expectation of relief that has not yet come.

Having said that, I can tell you that the way I define my special occasions now has certainly changed. But still, there are times that are more difficult than others because of the cluster of events. May and June are right up there. May has mother’s day, my parents’ anniversary and is the month my father died and June has father’s day, my wedding anniversary and the day my mother died (how about that for irony?).

I have crystal clear recollections of when I was growing up, sitting in my bed at night calculating how old I would be at the turn of the century (thinking it was such a far way off). I knew I would be 37… I was also certain, with absolute surety, that I would be dead by 40. For no particular reason. I just knew I would be gone from this earth by then. No shock. No sadness.

In my work at the Women’s Centre I learned that this is a common thought of people who have survived a difficult childhood. There is a feeling that they will die young and there is no sadness, remorse or regret in it. It is a statement of fact and requires no empathy or support.

As I celebrated the new millennium with my family and friends I gave this memory a passing thought but didn’t dwell on it. Until one night in June of 2000.

My family and I had been away for a few days and when we returned we found a series of telephone messages for me. In increasing severity and urgency I was being told that my mother was not well and was admitted to the hospital in the town where I grew up and she still resided. And it seemed she would not survive the night. Get there soon, I was told.

So I left my home and ventured out for what was one of the most remarkable drives of my life. As I drove the highway to my old home town, the sky in front of me was being lit with flashes of lightening behind mountains of clouds in the distance. I was acutely aware that I was driving into a storm in every possible sense.

When I arrived at the hospital, my sister was there with my mother and for the course of the night my sister and I sat by her bedside and talked about nothing at all. Our relationship, my sister and mine, had always been strained at best and this was not the best of circumstances.

My sister had been at the hospital for much longer than I when, in the middle of the night she said she needed to lay down and rest a while. Off she went to a room designated specifically for family members needing rest, leaving me alone in this sterile environment with the woman I called Mom. During this quiet time, with only my mother and me in the hospital room, I saw her for who she was... just a woman relaxing into her longest of sleeps. She wasn't my mother, just a woman who had lived her life and was about to depart this earth in the most peaceful of ways. I talked to her some of the time, sat and watched her for some of the time, walked around the room a bit and just waited.

In the middle of the night, our mother passed with both of us in the room. I was inches from her face, talking to her as I heard her draw her last breath, looked up at my sister as she was in the middle of a conversation with the attending nurse and announced that she was gone. I didn’t need the nurse to confirm what I already knew.

After the required conversations and meetings that we had with hospital staff, in the small hours of the morning, I headed back on the journey to my home. And I was driving into a bright, beautiful sunrise. I had come out of the storm and was facing a new day.

And what I knew then and there was that it wasn’t me that was going to part this earth before I was 40… it was the frightened, insecure, person that had lived inside of me all those years. I had said good bye to her and my mother in the same quiet breath.

My mother was free and so was I.

Summer Top 10 List

Friday is the first day of summer. I wish there were a way to convey in written text the sense of glee I have as I type this. I have said before that I feel that each season has its own personality; spring is freshness and optimism, autumn is comfort and reflection, winter is swaddling and kin ... but summer, sweet sweet summer...

Summer is lightness and happiness. Summer is being relaxed and laughing loudly. It's not caring if your hair is perfect, your clothes wrinkled... the summer breeze and heat take care of those worries and make them disappear. The biggest care in summer is whether you are stocked up with sunscreen.

So as we teeter on the brink of my favourite season, I've compiled my Top Ten List of things I want to do over the next glorious weeks (in no particular order)

1. See a movie at a drive-in theatre - There aren't many of these gems around any more but happily, there is one in my old home town of Woodstock (that little town does have its charm). Maybe I'll stop for a Bartley's Ice Cream too.

2. Go to a Blue Jays Game - I love baseball. I love the social aspect of the game... there is so much time between pitches and action it gives you a chance to chat up the fans around you and make new friends. What's better than that? Baseball and new friends. And hot dogs. And beer. Perfection.

3. Go to Fergus - This is a town not far away from where I live with a famous farmer's market... It's worth the drive and I haven't been in years. I love getting fresh produce and home-made wares. It's a delight.

4. Arbor Dogs - If you go back to my Friends on Bikes post, you'll read my comments on a little town of Port Dover, on the shore of Lake Erie. The Arbor in Port Dover has, in my opinion, the best foot-long hot dog in the world and I hope to be partaking more than once.

5. Day at the beach - Happily, this one can likely be accomplished with #4 but it's worth its own number for sure. Book... cooler... bikini... sunscreen. Perfection yet again.

6. Zoo or Safari - Toronto Zoo or African Lion Safari, two nearby attractions that, again, not having been in a few years, are calling me back (please refrain from the "animals shouldn't be in cages" speech... My boys gained far more respect and caring for animals from seeing them live than anything they got from reading about them in books and both of these organizations are open and well-run facilities)

7. Read books - Need I say more?

8. Kensington Market - A wonderful neighbourhood in Toronto. I have to admit to cheating just a bit here, because I am going this weekend with my youngest son and his friends. But I do love this treasure trove of vintage and unique clothing and accessories

9. AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario) or ROM (Royal Ontario Museum) - Fantastic museum and gallery that I adore. ADORE.

10. Friend's Cottage - I have precious few friends with cottages (you know who you are) but I have already been working at "invitations" for a visit. Almost secured one for this weekend but see #8... Time at a cottage is as close to heaven as I think you can get. Hello Walden.

That's it for me... Might I be so bold as to suggest you make your own list? It's fun just thinking of things to be doing over these next precious days. I'm not sure I'll be able to check all 10 off the list but I sure will try and that in itself is a great adventure.

Buckle Up

A conversation I had with a coworker today got me thinking.

He was talking about his daughter celebrating her birthday today and somehow that led to a comparison of how our children live today in contrast to how we lived growing up. And that got me to thinking...

As far as I can tell, it's a miracle that any of us are still alive. We rode with no bike helmets, in cars with no seat belts, no car seats. For those who had parents with vans, take the seats out and sit on the floor so you can stretch out and play... even better. If they had a pick-up truck, well yee-haw, jump in back and let the wind sing to you for the ride. Our parents let us play in dirt all the live-long day and except for the obligatory before meals wash-up and end-of-day bath, we were never clean. We lived in rooms with lead paint, had mercury in our fillings, and I for one spent countless Christmas holidays driving to and from Florida with my two chain-smoking parents in the car... windows rolled up... without my seatbelt on. Not to mention the other 16 years in the smoke-filled house.

We left to "go outside and play" first thing in the morning, checked in at lunch (sometimes) and came home right after the street lights came on.

We didn't have cell phones, pagers, BlackBerrys or anything of that nature to check in with home or have them check in on us. If we were really lucky we had walkie-talkies that reached around the corner of the house on a good day with fresh batteries.

Look both ways before you cross the street... Don't talk to strangers.... As far as I can recall, those were the nuggets of safety-based wisdom that were drilled into us... Oh ya, and that wacky "don't do drugs" movie in grade seven health class that had those crazy kids thinking the burner on the stove was really a flower. That didn't end well.

And yet here we are... no worse for wear (well, maybe a little bit but really not much).

Knowing all we know now about the dangers that surround us, and what we used to "pull off" when we were younger, no wonder we've become so protective of our children and aware of our surroundings. How could we not be? I can't imagine, as a parent, not worrying constantly about my boys... and I know in their own ways, our parents worried constantly about us (although I'm not sure what about).

But oh how I loved having the whole day to fill with adventures.

Open Dialogue

I have had a number of conversations recently revolving around being open, opening up to people. I don’t consider myself a closed person, but I have the distinct impression that those around me might say otherwise.

I have a number of thoughts on the matter and being the open person I am I will share them with you (ha!).

First, it’s been my experience that when someone asks “how are you?” generally speaking the answer is either presumed by them or irrelevant to them so if you ask me “how are you” I will give any number of versions of the same thing… but they are, reflecting my desire to always stay positive regardless of how negative things may seem, always of a positive nature. Fine, good, dandy (things are really good), great (self-evident)… At worst I will offer an “ok” which is to say, not. If, on a rare occasion you hear me say “I’ve been better” or “not great” hide sharp objects and take stock of over-the-counter pharmaceuticals.

Second, it’s not that I’m not open, really I don’t think so. I just don’t talk about myself much. I find other people fascinating and love to hear stories of their families, adventures, partners, children. I love conversations and I can think of about a billion things more interesting to talk about than myself. But that is not to say I’m not open. If someone asks me a personal question, about anything, I will answer. I often hear people say “do you mind if I ask…?” and I never do. I always figure if a person is interested, they’ll ask. And then I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But otherwise, honestly, it’s not that I’m hiding anything, it’s just that I think there’s other stuff to chat about and it would never occur to me to include myself in the list.

I made the comment to someone recently that I blog all the time, clear evidence of opening myself up. The response I got back was as simple as my claim… “You said it yourself… you’re talking to everyone and no one. Easy to talk openly in an empty room” Jerk.

“Look at your photography” this person said. “You never show all of yourself in the self-portraits. You are always hiding something… keeping something out of sight.” Double jerk.

Well… the other aspect of my personality that I am happy to be open about is a ridiculous level of stubbornness. I’ll show you, yes I will.

So… hmm… what to say? I am going to make coconut shrimp for dinner then take a long soothing bath and exfoliate.

Give me a break. It’s a start.

From Dad

This past Mother’s Day, as a mother myself, I reflected on the lessons that I learned from my mother and the lessons I had tried to pass on to my sons. Now, facing Father’s Day without my own dear dad and as my sons enjoy it with their own dear dad, I am reflecting again.

I have been without my dad since I was 21. I was young and in a very unhappy place when he died and I felt then that I lost him when I needed him most. As the years and decades have passed, I realize now that I was almost right then. It was a huge loss to me when he died, but at the same time, it was the only way that I could have moved forward in a way that would ensure my happiness and that of my wonderful little boy. So move on I did, in the absence of the one form of support that I could always count on.

My dad taught me a lot.

Now again, I am not so naïve to think, even with the fading of the sharpness of my past to believe that my dad was without faults. He, like all of us, had his share. He was an alcoholic, he worked hard and spent very little time at home with his family except, as the good Catholic he was, on Sundays. He kept his feelings deeply hidden except when he was angry with my sister or me, or our mother for that matter. He withheld affection and even communication when he was angry and he could be angry for days at a time.

But despite all that, I feel my dad was a wonderful man and I’ll tell you why. My dad saved me. I have mentioned before that I was adopted at the age of two and for as long as I can remember my dad would sit me on his knee (or anywhere nearby when I grew too big) and tell me in great detail the story of how he found me. Keep in mind that I was a two year old, cross-eyed, uncoordinated little girl… hardly high up on the adoptability scale. But he would tell me how he walked around the place where I Iived, looking at all the pretty, perfect little girls that played there, and chose me. I am sure that it didn’t actually happen that way, but he let me believe it did.

And that gave me an enormous sense of being wanted in a home that gave all indications to the contrary. That was the one lesson that was the most important of all; that I was loved. He told me so, often. He would not let me leave home without kissing him on the cheek and telling me he loved me (unless, as I said he wasn’t speaking to me… this I can forgive).

And he told me, in the most embarrassing of ways and at the most embarrassing of times, that no guys I knew were good enough for me. Not a lesson that stuck unfortunately, but a lesson worth repeating by any parent when you see your child going down a path that you know will end in sorrow.

So, my dear dad, in the relatively short time we had together, gave me the best gifts, taught me the most important lessons.

And as it turns out… he was there when I needed him the most. He found me and saved me, that cross-eyed, uncoordinated little girl, and that made everything else possible.

Friends on Bikes

This morning I was aroused from my slumber by the sound of hogs… of the Harley Davidson variety.

Today is Friday the 13th and around these parts that can mean only one thing… No it’s not a foreboding of trouble to come, a call to stay away from work or remain indoors out of fear of something bad happening. No, around here it’s a call to Port Dover, especially, particularly if you have a motorcycle.

Really, Friday the 13th is created for and by bikers, the rest of the folks attending are just crashing their party. And let me tell you, this is no small party. There are a precious few Fridays the 13th in any given year and this event is held rain or shine, spring, summer, fall or winter. This year we have only one such Friday and it is today, what is starting out as a beautiful sunshiny day. Granted, there is some rain predicted for later but that will do nothing to quell the spirits or dampen the enthusiasm I am sure. From what I can tell, bikers are a lot tougher than that.

I have known three bikers in my life (that I am aware of anyway). Right now I work with one, Cam, a wonderful guy who I am happy to call a friend. He has a slick Honda motorcycle that reflects his personality perfectly. It’s a shiny bright blue machine that looks like it goes way faster than should ever be allowed. It’s sharp and so is its owner so they are perfectly matched I think. As far as I know Cam and his bike are probably on the road to Port Dover as I am typing this.

Then there is Mike… Mike on a Bike as we affectionately called him. Mike used to live next door where I used to live (follow me?) and he was new to motorcycle ownership. Words can’t describe the pride in his face the day he brought home his new hog. He was thrilled. It wasn’t a big bike but it was his and it looked good. He took me out for a ride on the back once, around town and out in the country. I decided then and there that I am not a Bike Bitch unless it’s one of those big comfy ones with really padded seats. I couldn’t walk properly for hours after my butt hurt so bad from the bumps on the road. Besides, I always prefer to be in the driver’s seat anyway.

And then there was Grizzly, Griz for those who know him well and I would never presume myself to be one of them. Grizzly is actually Mike on a Bike’s father-in-law and the most remarkable character you could imagine when sitting atop his bike. He has a three-wheeler (he would kill me I’m sure if he ever read this because I’m sure there has to be a cooler way of putting this but that’s what it is… it’s a three-wheeler!!) and he sits low to the ground with his arms up in the air grasping the handlebars. Grizzly wears only black and his ZZ Top beard hangs down and blows back in the wind has he roars along the open road. I have said barely 10 words to Grizzly in my life and all with my eyes lowered in deferential respect. Grizzly scares me just a little bit but has given no reason to draw this emotion out of me other than his imposing façade.

So as our little neighbour town swells from its normal 6,000 population to the anticipated 150,000 today (I told you it was big), I’m sure there will be lots of Cam’s and Mike’s and Grizzly’s (well, there’s only one Grizzly) and I hope they have a fantastic day and an Arbor Dog or two.

Me, I’m more of a Vespa kinda gal.

We Will Return To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

I am having technical difficulties...

A few weeks ago I dropped my BlackBerry in a puddle. It goes without saying that my BlackBerry didn't like that and rebelled in the most interesting and annoying ways. It would jump into the telephone screen without prompting, the screen would come on and stay on until the battery drained down, it wouldn't put spaces in my emails or texts (bless my friends for.tollerating.two.straight.weeks.of.conversations.that.looked.like.this.all.the.time...).

It dried out right around the time we had a near tornado (well, it sure felt like it) in my neighbourhood pouring buckets of water through my open living room window and onto my computer. That took another couple of days to dry out. (I would add a photograph here to show you how extreme the weather was but read on to technical difficulty number three and you'll see why I didn't)

Now, with my computer up and running and my BlackBerry with spaces a-plenty, my internet and cable have gone out in my apartment.

I do a fair amount of work at home at night that requires me to use the internet and without the addition of this ridiculous inconvenience, my work is sucking right now. Huge. I am trying and trying and getting nowhere fast in the biggest month of our year. My boss is on me relentlessly about my lack of success making me more miserable than I would normally be about the situation.

And so I am reduced to doing my on-line work at my local cafe that has wi-fi then the rest at home later... Of course having said that, I should be working right now but look what I am doing...

I find when I feel bombarded by coincidences like this, events over which I have little or no control but which have defined and sometimes profound impact on my day-to-day existence, it's easy to get dragged down by the undertow of problems. And I admit, I am certainly more sensitive to the pokes and jabs that I get these days... And I'm getting plenty of them too...

But what is making a far greater impact, what is helping me glide through this turmoil feeling relatively unscathed is the support and kindness of the people around me. Even as I am writing this, I received a text from a co-worker reminding me that my colleagues all know how hard I am working and don't let the boss get me down. Such a simple thing but that is exactly what allows me to get back up tomorrow and face the day with genuine optimism and hope.

And an umbrella just in case.

Mental Merry-Go-Round

I’m trying to figure out how I’m feeling today. I think I’m fine. But at moments I think maybe not. But not that I’m not fine, just not quite normal. But that’s just the day, I think.

This is why I’m so ambivalent.

Today would have been my 20th anniversary if my husband and I had stayed together. We have been separated for two and a half years now but dates like this one have a way of staying in my consciousness whether I want them to or not. And so there it is… floating around my head… June 10th… 20th Anniversary…. Ooooh.

When I was living with my husband he used to joke that if we were still together on our 20th (note the “if” even back then) we should either renew our vows or get divorced (in literary terms, I believe this is called foreshadowing… ha!). I have not submitted divorce papers and to the best of my knowledge neither has he, but the day isn’t over yet.

So I guess I am wondering if I should be feeling worse than I do? Or better? I’m really feeling nothing more than a sense of awareness, certainly with an underlying note of sadness. But not regret. And I suppose that is why I’m not worse off than I thought I might be as this date came closer and closer.

Honestly, I’m feeling worse about posting this round-in-circles blog that really confirmed nothing more than my own confusion.

Maybe I’ll go do something decisive… That will make me feel better. I will… I will….

I will take myself out for dinner and cocktails and celebrate today for what it is now, not what it once was.

SATC.... WTF???

I apologize in advance to my male readers (I know you’re out there, we’ve spoken… don’t be shy). This blog entry may, at first glance seem more relevant to my female readers but hopefully you will carry on for the few minutes to see if there isn’t something in here you can relate to…

Last night I went to see the “Sex and the City” movie with my girlfriends. Before you anxiously jump ahead in the hopes of a spoiler or stop reading entirely in fear of one, I assure you… no such reveal is forthcoming.

The theatre was not even one-quarter full and of the few seats that were occupied only five men, to my best count, were in them. I admit it, no big surprise there. And in surveying the few men joining us, it was my estimation they were on maybe a second date… third or fourth tops. And they frequently got up to get drinks, go to the washroom, anything to ease their own pain. Good on you, guys. “A” for effort. Having said that, my girlfriends and I were anxious to see what the next chapter for Carrie and the girls held. What’s next?

As I said before, I will reveal none of what happens to the gals in this two and a half hour dramedy but I will tell you this… Samantha celebrates her 50^th birthday. Fifty. How on earth did that happen? The problem with joining our old friends four years later is that they, like all of us, have gotten older. And I’m not sure I liked that part.

I know we all are aging. I sure know I am… As I sit here with my glasses on so I can actually read what I am writing, I know very well I am getting older. I know it every time I tell people how old my “children” are… 17, 19 and 24. How did that happen?

But as I sat in the theatre and the lights dimmed, I was unprepared for the fact that while I was getting older in reality so too were my SATC friends in the fantasy world Hollywood had created for them. Their problems reflected my own and those of my friends. There was no sense of escapism in this story on this night (with, I admit, the notable exception of the fashion… oh my goodness the fashion!!).

We are at this point in our lives (speaking for myself really but I’ll lump you in with me if you don’t mind) who we are going to be. There can always of course, be twists and turns… in fact you can usually count on it. We can chose different paths and accept or reject what we have built for ourselves but our selves, I think, are defined. And in that definition comes the clarity of what you can and cannot allow for yourself. And in that clarity and surety of self comes the ability to accept nothing less.

But that’s just me thinking.

So, I’m not sure what to do with all that. Probably nothing at all. Maybe later on today I’ll mix myself a cosmopolitan and think some more… In my highest of high heels…

Good Dog...

It is a spectacular weekend here in southwestern Ontario... The sun is shining, the temperature is warm and climbing, the breeze is blowing gently, the forecast is more of the same for the whole weekend giving us our first real taste of the summer that is ahead of us. And as I sip my coffee and talk with the collective "you," I am surrounded by sounds... Lawn mowers whizzing... birds chirping and dogs barking in the background. Dogs.

I love dogs and for most of my life I have been a dog owner, sometimes of more than one. When I was a little girl we had dauchands... Don't bother with your criticisms, I have heard them all. "That's not a dog." "What's that, a wiener on legs?" I know, I know. But for a little girl with little courage or self-esteem, it was the perfect dog I thought. Ours was named Dunkel (German for dark... I have no idea where that came from being of Irish descent) and we had him for years until he passed and we got Dunkel 2.

After I left home it was a few years before I enjoyed the company of a dog again but once our children had arrived and we had settled into what could loosely be called a routine (very loosely), we had dogs steadily. There was Porsche the dalmatian (my advice on owning dalmations is just don't unless you really know what you are getting yourself into) who we ended up giving to a widow on a farm who knew dalmatians and was thankful for the company she provided. After Porsche, there was Fred (yes, the choice of name was significant). We had gone from a pure bred to a wonderful, happy mut and wanted his name to be as simple as possible. Fred was my boy and he was a great dog (if you could forgive him the habit of bolting out the door and down the street at every opportunity, which I could because I loved him). Soon after came Wilma, a black lab who Parker found by accident. And a perfect accident it was because she fit into our home and our lives perfectly. But Wilma was most definitely my husband's dog and she was devoted to him.

When Fred finally passed at the ripe old age of 13 I waited a while to try to get used to him not being around but found I couldn't. So I started the search for another family member to join us. I ended up finding Bugg, a boston terrier, pug cross whose personality was much bigger than his little size conveyed. And he was my boy again. When my husband and I separated, in the continued efforts to keep things as "normal" for everyone as possible, the dogs too, stayed at the house. I wasn't sure what my schedule was going to be like and at the time, my apartment would not allow pets.

That changed, unfortunately right around the time that Bugg died from a very unfortunate but pug-typical malady. I was, again, heartbroken and I am, again, wondering about getting a dog. Or a pet. Or something.

It's times like this, when all is quiet except the sounds of the world outside my doors and windows that I most want to have someone or something to talk to. I am not a cat person... I have nothing against cats, I don't dislike them... I just believe you are either a cat person or a dog person and I am a dog person.

So I have been looking at animal shelters, here in my home town and on-line to see who is out there needing someone to come rescue them. I don't want to rush this and I really don't want to bring a dog into my home when things might be changing, as they might be...

But I will keep looking and when the time is right, I will find him or her and she will find me.

'Til then, maybe a goldfish.

Je Me Souviens...

One of the things I enjoy about my job is the people I get to meet day in and day out. Being in sales, you just never know who you’ll run into and the sunshine they bring into your life. Of course, not all is flowers and rainbows… for example there was the fellow yesterday who told me to leave and send someone else back in to talk with him because he doesn’t do business with women. Ya, you can imagine how well that went over with me.

But that is most definitely the exception rather than the rule… more often than not, I get to spend time with lovely people like Susan today, who chatted with me about a trip she had taken a few years back to Paris and surrounding area. It brought to mind my own trip to Paris I had taken years ago…

As it turns out, many years ago. When I left Susan, I sat in my car and thought back…. Could it be that trip was 11 years ago now? Yes it can be and yes it was. I have proof in the photographs I shot of the Eiffel Tower (some of the 12 rolls of film I ran through) , which at that time was counting down the days to the millennium. I can tell you, to the day, when I was there and it was 11 years ago right now.

I traveled there alone… I was married at the time but this was my trip of a lifetime that I had always wanted to take and received in exchange for my husband taking three weeks in Australia to visit a friend. I have no troubles traveling alone and felt totally comfortable while I was there.

While I was in France, I spent the majority of my time in Paris and took a few days to head down to Provence and spend time in Nice. It was an amazing trip that made me fall in love with Paris and all the beauty, history, culture and charm it has to offer. Say what you want about the French (and I know lots of people who have lots to say), I respond with “don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

When I travel I always write a journal and since I was writing this today, I thought I’d pull the journal of this trip out to refresh my memory of this amazing time in my life.

What I remembered, I remembered well… How “friendly” French men are… I recall taking up the habit of not looking anyone in the eyes because that seemed an invitation for conversation and although I can speak French, responding to pick up lines is not my strong suit. But thanks anyway. I remembered being totally taken aback by the army presence in the main train station, complete with open display of machine guns. I fondly remembered the ease of life, the joy with which meals were enjoyed, the relaxation of reading a paper sitting at one of the many fountains that dotted the city while watching the people pass by.

What had slipped my memory surprised me… The pungent smell of urine that popped up out of nowhere in the subways, the starkness of rabbits and other assorted meats hanging in the markets for the shoppers to take home and prepare for supper that evening. And most of all, the closeness of everything and everyone. Paris does not have the wide open spaces we are spoiled with and enjoy so much here in my home town and other cities I know and visit frequently.

But it is a city of beauty, a city of lights. And some day, one never knows, maybe a city I will call home.

Until then, I have my memories. And I am grateful for them, and for Susan for stirring them in me.

Wisdom from the Bowling Green... Or Someplace

I was out today on my way to get groceries (that is a story in itself... I have come to believe that you can define a person and the life they live solely by what is in their grocery cart... Mine is the definitive single-gal assortment... cocktail mixes, olives, microwavable dinners and snacks. Done.) when I passed my local tennis club which, on Sundays, is transformed to lawn bowling central.

And what I have noticed about lawn bowlers (I'm sorry for the upcoming stereotyping and welcome anyone who would like to reeducate me) is that they are all of a particular age bracket about a generation past my own. The sight of them all, about twenty or so, smartly dressed in their whites, made me miss my parents.

Not that my parents were lawn bowlers... Just the thought of that makes me laugh. No, far from it. But what I do miss is that parent/child relationship that, even when a dysfunctional one as mine was still for me provided a steady constant of insightful and wise life commentary.

I have now lived almost eight years with out my mother and more of my life has been spent without the support of my father than with it. And there are occasions, like today, where I deeply miss the opportunity to call them up, visit, listen to their stories and apply the lessons they had learned to my own experiences. I miss knowing that there is someone out there who knows me so intimately well that I don't have to explain why I am approaching things in the way I am and with that knowledge, can provide insight into what about me is leading me down this path.

Parents or grandparents (again, which I have none) provide that element of support and wisdom and guidance that cannot be replicated or replaced. Their opinions are sometimes hard to hear because, I think, in having the breadth of knowledge of your existence that only parents and grandparents can have, they are generally bang on in their assessments while at the same time having the boldness that age provides them in really not caring how delicately (translate not at all) they frame their thoughts. They are truth stripped naked. Take it or leave it. But even in their most harsh of criticism is the core, the seed of love from which the desire to help has sprouted.

And that is what I miss. As a parent and a friend and a co-worker I find myself often in the position of providing whatever wisdom (don't take that too literally) I have gained to offer alternatives for individuals seeking help. In taking on a role of supporter there always, at some point or other, comes a time when that the person giving support needs some as well.

Maybe I'll join a lawn bowling league.

Quit laughing.... It could happen.