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.