The Scourge that is Vanity.

I'd like to think that I am stepping gracefully and elegantly into my senior years, but I've come to realise that that probably means different things to different people.  From my perspective, it doesn't mean embracing matronly conservative pant suits, I won't be wearing polyester nylon anytime soon, and birkenstocks are far into my future.  On the other hand, baby doll sandals and spaghetti straps have gone the way of the dodo.  After all, there is reality to face... or is it gravity?  Those upper arms flap just a little bit more, and going bra-free would just scare the neighbours.  Still, I like colour - vibrant colours for some of my shirts, a great pair of red stilettos, rainbow scarves, hi-lites and colour to mask the gray, coral and aqua jackets.  Can't say that I have ever mastered 'chic', but I try to keep up.
A conversation that hardly ever comes up in genteel or regular conversations, however, is the topic of extraneous hair.  No-one tells us at 21 that at 51 or 61, the invisible down fleetingly seen in occasional sunlight when you're young, turns into black, wiry tensile cable visible from three yards (to all those under 40, with their pristine vision).  We stand, bespectacled and squinting, in front of mirrors that magnify, painstakingly plucking the offending wire from our chins and upper lips.  As hormones dwindle, we become frequent flyers at the local beauty parlor, where we willingly and desparately undergo the torturous delights of facial waxing, leg waxing and that other waxing in the nether regions - although most of us oldies usually forego that pleasure unless we are off on the annual vacation, where we can anonymously and inconspicuously don the ubiquitous full piece bathing suit, which hopefully rides low enough so that no eye popping may occur from the younger set. 

And woe betide that you should have daughters - at least they're honest and actually tell you that you have black hairs sprouting and curling from your chin.  Three growing close together allows you to contemplate braiding as a statement, but convention usually dictates otherwise.  Not to speak of the humiliation as she tells you to go get the tweezers and then proceeds to pull away, all the while lecturing about "you shouldn't have let it go this far!  But what is one to do? Even with glasses the little beggers are hard to see.

The aha moment swept me up with excitement - off to the electrolysis lady - who is sure to wave her magic wand and rid me of my problem forever.    Oh, the shock and terror when I finally lay down for my 30 minutes of 'problem solved'.  No fairy godmother waving her magic wand for me! She might as well have been dressed in leathers and carried a whip - does anyone know the pain of having a needle jabbed through seven layers of epidermis, down the hair follicle to the root, and at the end of which experience the hair-raising jolt as electricity buzzes the poor hair in such a manner so that it jumps right out of its skin.  The worst part - some of those little hairs have no intention of budging, so dominatrix lady zaps you a few more times for good measure.  Now that is one hair follicle - imagine another hundred of the little soldiers! 

Amazingly, I willingly submitted myself to this procedure and even paid for the privilege.  But it's kind of like the childbirth phenomenon - you forget about the pain once it's over.  I have to say that the end result was worth the effort and I will take myself off to the 'chamber' a couple more times to be finally rid of the problem.

The joys of growing old gracefully!

Backyard Bandits

For a garden that is far less than half an acre, we sure do attract a lot of wildlife.  Squirrels and chipmunks have set up apartments in the tree trunks.  We have blue jays, cardinals, juncos and chickadees who empty our bird feeders daily.  There are a few pigeons, and a duo of wood doves who had a pair of beautiful babies this last spring.  We have skunks who wander by, and bunnies who hop in for a munch every evening.  They all love the watering hole, the feeders and the fresh food we leave out for their dining pleasure.

By far our biggest residents are the two raccoons who have built their home in our pergola, well camouflaged by a flourishing wisteria.  These nocturnal animals swish down like firemen on poles in the evening, and waddle off to try their luck dining at our local restaurant.  Unlike the chipmunk who shoots up the vertical iron pole on which the feeding station hangs and successfully gobbles up seed, these lumbering creatures are destined to fail.  Pretty persistent though - they try acrobatics from the tree branches, only for gravity to kick in and head them tumbling to the ground.  Then they try climbing the 2 cm diameter pole, hanging on with fingernails locked - to no avail - they just can't make it to the feeder.  In the end, defeated and still hungry they climb the fence to, hopefully, greener pastures.  They must do ok, because they return to their perch to forage another day.   

Let's hope they don't become pesky pests.

Thanksgiving

Here we are at Thanksgiving again.  What a wonderful long-weekend we had.  Temperatures up in the mid-twenties giving us an extravagant excess of summer.  Children back in the fold for a warm family get-together.  Friendships renewed around festive tables of plenty.

I am thankful for:

My children and our continuing relationships

A husband who cares

Friendships old and new

Health - ours, our family's, and our friends

Then jobs - at least we have them - when I see gray haired old men with placards round their necks pleading for work... I am happy we have ours.

A roof over our head ....even if it is mortgaged.

Plenty of food on the table - imagine being a child in Haiti, a mother in Sudan.

I am grateful for:

The opportunities that have presented themselves  

A thinking brain - the ability to question, debate, recall, inform and listen

The ability to read

I appreciate:

The birds who visit our feeders

People who help me

Vacations that come round every year

Warm summer evenings outside on the patio and cosy winter nights round the fire

A car that doesn't break down - touch wood

A sense of humour

A caring attitude

Thanksgiving - lots to be thankful for.

Think Pink

 October has become known as the month for communities across Canada to get into the swing of raising money for cancer research.  We have the annual Terry Fox Run - a wonderful human being who set across Canada on one good leg and one prosthetic to raise awareness and cash for research in the 80's.  Unfortunately, he died at about 20 years old, but left a legacy that has continued to raise millions in donations each year. 

And then we have Run for the Cure - this one is especially for breast cancer - for the survivors and for the fallen.  It's an annual event in towns and cities across Canada.  Participants run or walk 5 kms on a brisk and early Sunday morning in early October.  Their faces mirror everyone in our midst - young and old, male and female: infants in strollers, exuberant 10 year olds, competitive runners in the front of the pack, grannies huffing along and all of us in between. 

Over the years, I have always stood on the sidelines - donated to others to do the running and then watched the newsrooms tot up the money total at the end of the day. This year I took up the invitation to do the real thing.  

And it was fun - dressed up in the gear, the runners and a pink boa, joining the throngs to walk 5kms.  Everyone wore the uniform: white t-shirt with bright pink Run for the Cure writings.  Instead of a runner's number, we wrote the names of those who we were running for - past and present.  It was inspiring to see the names: for 'mom', for 'aunt Sarah', for Granny.  Runners and walkers as far as the eye could see - thousands in each town.  Wellwishers along the way waving us on, waterbowls set out for dogs and bottled water for us - just like the real thing.  The finish line came all too quickly.  All very exhilarating and such a wonderful cause.

Till next year.  
We run in remembrance and in hope.

Turning a New Leaf

It has rolled around once again - the autumn season of 2011, or more appropriately here in Ontario: the fall.  I watch the changing of the guard from green to all the hues of yellow, orange, amber, red and brown, as trees clothe themselves in the colours of the new season.  As they shrug off la mode outre and don the new, it makes me aware of possibilities. 

That crisp fall air smells like apples, pumpkin pie, and rain-splashed gardens.  It is a portent of events to come.  It means winter snow and Christmas are not far away and serves as a warning to get your house in order for year end.  Birds ready themselves in a flurry of activity, swirling overhead in great flocks practicing for their run to hotter climes.  Paris fashion models strut their stuff with the new lines of the new season.  Farmers markets are stocked with colourful, fat, fresh off the farm produce. 

The autumn wind whips up waves in Burlington Bay, spraying cold drops in the hair and faces of unsuspecting passersby on the boardwalk.  In great gusts, it does its best to denude the trees of their foliage as quickly as possible.  It too is a portent for change.

Fall is, appropriately, the start of a new school year for students all across North America.  Schoolchildren and their teachers have the opportunity for the renewed verve and energy that comes with new books, sharp pencils and new clothes.   I am glad to be part of that phalanx.

The cycle of the seasons reminds me that autumn does not necessarily represent the end in absolute finality, but really a beginning - a chance for renewal and rebirth, and a chance to change. It reminds me to be flexible and to be hopeful.

All of us can turn to a new page, like turning a new leaf - we can unfold potential and possibilities.

What in the World?

It seems we've come a long way in the last 50 years, but one has to wonder - In which direction are we going?   Backwards or forwards?

I try to stay immune to advertisements either while reading, or driving and listening to the radio and when watching TV. With reading it's easy - keep you eyes on the headlines you actually want to read and skip over any of the colourful, image-laden, logo-driven pages that fill large pockets of newspapers and magazines. Radio is quite simple too - stick with the stations that promote 45 minutes interruption free music usually does the trick, and then quick change as soon as the first advert surfaces.  TV has become the easiest of all with a PVR box that allows us to tape what we want and watch whatever, whenever we want sans the 6 minutes of tripe that looms every 10 to 15 minutes.

But I did catch one advert on radio the other day for "Heluva good" whatever - dips, etc- they obviously thought they were onto something because the word 'heluva' featured numerous occasions through the 30 second spot.....but who eats food with names like heluva good - I'm not kidding.

And while we're at it - what's a Slap Chop? - follow me to You Tube for an online demonstration -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUbWjIKxrrs

And then there's a ShamWooHoo - Don't all rush out now!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab5IwgcJRiE&feature=fvwrel

First of all, not sure what's happened to our language skills over the last 50 years - probably too much television and computers, and not enough actual reading and writing. More importantly, it seems to me that salesmanship has gone to the dogs, although I suspect that dogs most likely have more discernment.  Or is it that we have become immune to the sublteties of discriminating taste and that you can only grab our attention with the pure basics.

Whatever it is, I don't think it bodes well for the future.

C'est la vie

"Let them eat cake".

I have just finished reading a Letter to the Editor in the National Post today, written by one Simon Dermer, of Toronto.  I am not sure where to start: is it arrogance, ignorance, sarcasm, or superciliousness? Is he pompous, narcissistic, pretentious, or humorous?  Or is it just another example of the "me, me, me" world we live in?

First, to put it in context - there was a write-up about Bob Rae, our NDP turned Liberal MP, who apparently bumped one of the "peasants" (those of us who are shafted to fly economy class at Air Canada) by walking up to the gate at the last minute with his Super Elite card waving like a magic wand. 

Some people have been upset about this, but here is what Mr. Dermer opines: "Let Bob Rae eat his cake in peace".  "As administrator of the Air Canada Super Elite Members Group on LinkedIn, I am answering the call to provide some much needed context.  Far from marginalizing economy passengers, we Super Elites cross-subsidize them, for we are the airline's most valuable customers.  Moreover, we set the standard for service for we are also the most demanding.  Indeed our influence, refined expectations and impeccable taste drive the high standards to which all passengers have grown accustomed.  Though we can't take credit for the peanut ban, we do claim wins like little pickles in every lounge.  If Bob Rae is enjoying signature molten chocolate lava cake with vanilla bean ice cream en route, take solace in the fact that tax dollars are reducing the cost of your fare and improving your service experience.  So when you see us up front eating better food, don't begrudge.  A simple thanks will do."

Methinks Mr. Dermer is living in the brain fogged world of entitlement.  First off, most Super Elite flyers do so on the backs of their employers who are the actual buyers of tickets and who pay the exorbitant prices demanded of  Air Canada's Business class tickets.  They are not playing with their own money let alone with a full deck!

On domestic flights, there are probably no more than 12 entitled souls placing their posteriors gently on the leather seats of wide and deep lazy boys to stretch out their entitled legs and knees, while enjoying their tasty tidbits, invisible to the peasants who dare not even glimpse the sumptuous luxury.   Many of those 12 individuals are flying on points anyway so what gain for AC?  One has to ask who is really paying for the fuel and salaries of this "illustrious" airline?

In the meanwhile, the peasants in the back have been herded into long line-ups of between 45 minutes to an hour at check-in counters, to deposit our one bag allowance of 50 lbs (in suitcases weighing 10 to 12 lbs themselves) after diligently checking in on-line.  We shuffle along one foot at a time, while 2 or 3 trusty groundstaff do their best to slow down, hamper and hinder our progress - all they need is a cattle prod next.  (As an aside, if we have paid the exorbitant price to check two bags, why do some poor peasants scrabble on the floor transferring the 1 lb overweight contents from bag 1 to bag 2.  Can someone please explain how this is saving fuel, ....but maybe it's a union issue....and we dare not go there.)

From the line-up at the check-in counter we make our way to the same long, slow line-up at security (heaven forbid, we don't blame AC for that one though).  Then it's the same long wait at the gate on hard seats (if you're lucky enough to get one).  Once the call for boarding has been made, the next hurdle is lining up with the throngs of other peasants pushing and sidling to get through the bottleneck at the front, then hopefully passing scrutiny from the unsmiling, suspicious person checking your boarding pass.  If you're lucky, you can then move on to the next line-up scrambling to get on board.  If you're not, you will regularly be pulled aside to be told that your seat has changed and given to a more deserving pax - you're now sitting in some middle seat at the back of the plane (ie, some Elite status person who is far more important than you needs your seat, even though you booked the seat and confirmed it weeks or months ago), or your seat has been given away because they are overbooked. And don't try reason with the automaton - they are really not interested in your needs.  Also don't try asking questions - firstly they won't be at the gate till the last minute in their efforts to avoid you, and secondly, they just don't care enough.

Finally you're on board - your mission is to get your on board luggage stowed - quite an Olympian accomplishment as size and weight and quantity regulations are all but ignored by flight attendants - so you can count yourself lucky if you have overhead space.  Then it's time to plop yourself down in your uncomfortable, dirty, tiny seat and hope that the a/c, light, and onboard entertainment actually works at your station.  Then you wait for the person ahead of you to jerk his seat back so that it is inches from your nose (I am still waiting for an injury for the person who sits with head forward - perhaps reading, or trying to reach for something on the floor - quite likely to produce a head injury!).
Another by the by: how does one assume the 'brace' position in peasant class - I guess it doesn't really matter - after all, we're just the peasants - plenty more where they came from.

Settle in for the flight - squish your spine and hips as far back as they will go, drag your knees up a little, and try to rest your head on the most uncomfortably positioned head rest for your journey of 45 minutes to Ottawa - thank God it's short you can almost hold your breath on that one, or God forbid, the 5, 4 or 3 hours to Vancouver, Calgary or Halifax, where the only way to get through it is to close yourself off in your imaginary cubicle, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray it ends soon, or delve into a book and pretend you're not really there.  Oh wait for it - here's the announcements ... what was that I heard?  "We are here for your safety and comfort".  What planet do you live on!!!!  My safety will not be up to you - if we crash I will most likely die along with all the others .... and my comfort???? you've got to be kidding me!

I will be lucky to be offered water, and if I haven't brought my little brown bag with my own little Subway sandwich on board, I will have to go hungry as I could not eat the overcooked pizza, or wet bread, wilted tomatoes, and brown lettuce sandwiches that AC pretends is real food.  And they're getting so hard to please - only visa so that they don't have to trouble themselves counting up the cash, figuring out the change and balancing the accounts.  They complete a cursory walk up and down the aisle once or twice and then it's behind the curtains in the galley (On a recent flight from Frankfurt to Toronto, I actually heard one attendant berate a father who came to collect his two-year old child who had the affrontery to toddle down the aisle to the galley during the 8 hour flight: "Take your child away, this is our time to relax".  Excuse me?!)

So much for service - perhaps Mr. Dermer should climb on over and hob nob with the peasants for awhile before he makes claims of service that we should be thankful for.   For me, it's more like shades of being a minion in the noble/royal kingdom of Marie Antoinette and Louis XIV - I have to watch out that I don't get swept out with the rest of the garbage, but then again - at least I've kept my head!

Click on this to check out the USA Passenger Bill of Rights - hoping Canada will follow suit.
http://www.budgettraveladventures.com/traveltips/travel-news/passenger-bill-of-rights-expanded-in-2011/

Spoken as an ex-flight attendant, ex-Super Elite member, and reluctant frequent flyer in AC's cattle truck at the back.

Perhaps you just have one too many peasants back there?