Once upon a Shovel

My mind was wandering the other day as I shovelled snow from my driveway. As humans, we have a tendency to see patterns, make associations and attach meanings to otherwise meaningless occurrences. As I worked, I had an inspiration: Snow can be a metaphor for life.

 

Different types of snow are like the different challenges that present themselves in our lives. How we handle this snow is an indicator of our coping mechanisms and personality types.

The Inuit have different words for snow depending on the type. Snow is not just snow. It can be light and fluffy, wet and heavy, blowing and drifting, flaky and crystalline, dirty and yellow, made into Snowmen, and so on.

The light fluffy stuff that coats everything like powdered sugar can represent the sweet surprise that delights us when we least expect it. It’s the available parking spot at the front of the lot; the refund from the tax man; a phone call from an old friend; a double rainbow after a storm. It’s fragile, fleeting and fluffy. We need to appreciate it’s beauty and marvel at it’s perfection. We need to gaze upon the fading sparkles as the sun quickly melts it away. It serves as a reminder that “all we really have is the moment, and then it’s gone.”

 

The heavy wet snow is like a burden that weighs us down physically and spiritually. It’s moisture is like the sweat and tears we shed in frustration. It can be a death or divorce, the loss of a child, a chronic illness or financial problems. It’s heavy on our hearts and chills us to the bone. It’s difficult to overcome and we often need the help of others to rise above it.

Blowing and drifting snow represents our ever changing fortunes as life unfolds. There are highs and lows, ups and downs, prosperity and famine. The higher you ascend, the more precarious your position. We are always at the mercy of the winds of destiny. Nothing is forever and the peaks and valleys follow in quick succession. Like a roller coaster ride, we just need to hold on, scream a little and enjoy the trip.

Snowflakes are one of nature’s masterpieces. We are the only species on earth with the intellect to appreciate their crystalline structure. We marvel at their complexity and simplicity. Every one is unique. Every one is fragile. Every one is a miracle of creation- just like us.

And now we need to mention yellow snow. We all know why it is yellow and why we should never eat it! I think it represents the seven deadly sins:

gluttony, jealousy, hate, greed, sloth, pride and lust. Yup, make sure you stay away from yellow snow!

Snowmen (and Snowladies) are made by us. They represent our innate desire to build and create things. We have shaped our environment with the raw materials that nature provides. It is the end product of a vision. It is the concept come to fruition.

How we deal with snow is a reflection of our approach to life.

Some of us shovel in straight rows, step by step until complete. We live our lives like that too. We are neat, organized, methodical and analytical

Some pay someone else to do it. They may be physically unable to do it , too busy or trying to support the local economy.

Some people just ignore the white stuff and wait for it to melt. They are unmotivated, unimaginative and passive. They spend a lot of time in front of their TV watching mindless game shows.

Others, (myself included) run hither and thither (if thither is really a word), crisscrossing back and forth in a totally random pattern. We approach life in the same way. We take it as it comes, run around like mad and hope for the best. Most of the time it all turns out ok. We don’t overplan. We appear disorganized but always complete the task eventually.

And there you have it. My own version of Life and Snow and how they are the same.

                                      “LET IT SNOW; LET IT SNOW; LET IT SNOW”

Bread is the Stuff of Strife

Bread: The Stuff of Strife

Bread is called the Staff of Life, but to me, it’s the Stuff of Strife.

Cereal grains have been a staple in our diet for thousands of years. The simple recipe for bread was probably discovered by accident by someone hungry enough to eat it. Thus begins our saga.

It’s mostly flour, water, salt, a little oil, and yeast. First the yeastie beasties are gently nudged awake by warm water and a bit of sugar. They have a big party, consuming and reproducing and digesting. Co2 is a by product of all this revelry and the gas is trapped by the elastic gluten, a protein that is found in wheat flour. The gas bubbles cause the dough to rise When baked in a hot oven, the result is edible, and the party's over for the yeast.

Like so many other traditional foods, white bread is now considered unhealthy. Apparently we need to limit our carbs to avoid the dreaded belly fat. Too late! The bread is out to get me. I dutifully switched to “whole grain” but only “gained rolls”.

Enter technology. I recently bought a bread maker so that I could control what goes into the food I am eating. At least that’s what the lady on the Shopping Channel said. You simply add a list of ingredients into the pan in the order stated in the recipe, close the lid and push start. In 3 hours, your house smells heavenly and a fresh loaf is ready to be enjoyed.

The other day I decided to whip up a quick loaf. When I got to flour, I realized that I only had 2 cups. The recipe calls for 3 cups. Going to the store was not an option. It was -27C and the car was covered with white stuff that was definitely not flour. My neighbours don’t bake. So, I decided to explore my cupboards. I found some oatmeal, some bran and some cream of wheat. I added some of each to make one cup and threw it into the bread maker. The mix looked soggy, so I threw in more yeast. I was beyond following any rules or recipes. Even on a good day, I always find it a constant struggle to follow directions exactly. The devil is in the details. Just look at Martha Stewart. (sorry Martha but you seriously need to relax a bit).

I was winging it, “wings as in angels, or birds in free flight”.

I closed the lid, hit start and left it alone. About 3 hours later, I smelled that familiar aroma. Divine yes, but not angelic. The loaf was only 5 cm. high, weighed almost as much as I do and quite chewy. I know this, because I was determined to eat it. Belly fat be damned. All that chewing exercise should count for something.

Then there was “The English Muffin Incident.” (whole wheat of course).

It’s no secret that I love a bargain. I sometimes buy baked goods at half price. I just put them in the freezer and take out small portions as needed. All those saved loonies and toonies add up. If I eat a lot of bread, I’ll be going on that world cruise before long. Of course the ship will lean to one side when I get on!! No matter.

On this particular day, I picked up whole wheat English Muffins. After I got home, I noticed that they charged me full price. It was only $1.50 but I was determined to stand up for my rights as a matter of principle. I drove back to the store and marched purposefully back to the courtesy counter armed with the receipt and bag of muffins. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. There was no one behind the counter and no little bell to ring for service.

In a store of 8 checkouts, there was only one opened. The cashier was making a valiant effort to handle all the customers. I waved the muffins to catch her eye.

“Where is the customer service?” I shouted.

“There is no customer service” she said. “No kidding!” I said.

I walked over to her and told her I was overcharged.

“You’ll have to get in line.” she said.

I looked at the long procession of fully loaded carts, the squirming toddlers, the tired mothers all looking at me with solemn faces and said “But I’ve already been waiting over there for 10 minutes.

She was adamant. No deals, no cuts.

“May I please speak to the manager?“ I said as sweetly as I could.

“There is no manager, just the acting manager” she said.

“Well then, may I speak to the acting manager?” my turn to be adamant now.

She paged Mr Acting Manager and returned to her cashier duties.

I waited another 10 minutes, the principle of the thing was losing it’s lustre.

She finally turned around and said, “I’m sorry Ma’m, he must be in a meeting”

I felt like saying that he is probably having a meeting in the Men’s room, but I kept my composure.

I had waited patiently, “acting calm” but had mixed feelings. I felt sorry for the poor cashier who was working very hard. I felt angry at the management for their lack of concern for their customers or employees. And most of all, I felt foolish for having wasted about 30 minutes for a $1.50 refund that never materialized.

So, I smiled weakly at the cashier, mumbled something about writing a letter of complaint to the management and slinked out the door, still holding that guilty bag of English Muffins. I could just feel my belly getting bigger with each step.

It’s not the bread that makes you fat. It’s the stress caused by bread! Bread is the Stuff of Strife.

Walmart Ecstasy

Walmart Ecstasy

I love Walmart. I know that it is not something to be proud of in these days of political correctness. We all know that we need to buy local and support our home town businesses. It’s better for the planet and better for the economy. But why can’t we do both? If the privileges of our society include Free Enterprise and Freedom of Choice we are entitled to exercise those rights as we wish.

This nationwide chain has been subject to a lot of negative press. There are some that complain about the low wages and the lack of Union representation. There is also the sad fact that many of the products coming from Asian countries are manufactured by workers that are subject to substandard conditions. We hear about sweat shops, underage employees, and lack of safety protocols. Many toys from China have been recalled due to inferior or unsafe materials. The most recent outbreak of bedbugs across North America has been blamed on the influx of textiles from parts of the world where the little fiends are endemic.

And then there are those e mails: “The People of Walmart”. The fashion faux-pas that have graced those hallowed aisles are legendary. I always scan the photos quickly, just to make sure that I am not one of those unfortunate bargain hunters caught unaware with my midriff bulge exposed.

In spite of this, the popularity of this Consumer’s Shangri-La has soared. When it comes down to the nitty gritty, price is the main incentive and we manage to set aside our guilty consciences long enough to load up the carts.

I love to wander around the store, going down every aisle scanning the shelves for little treasures. It’s like a scavenger hunt. Part of my subconscious reverts back to the hunter-gatherer mentality. Maybe that’s why women love to shop. (leave it to me to always mention the ancestors). But it was women who kept their families fed and clothed when the hunters failed to bring home the big game. Women gathered fruit and other sources of food. They used their foraging skills to bring home nature’s bargains.

Now the bargains are marked with yellow clearance signs and I am drawn to them like a moth to flame. The bliss of discovery! And on sale too!! Ecstasy!

There is another reason for their success. All the Walmarts have the same merchandise and are organized with the same floor plan. As we are all creatures of habit, we are drawn to the familiar. It’s one of the reasons McDonalds also became so successful . A Big Mac and Fries tastes exactly the same no matter where you are. (Of course there was that one McDonalds my daughter Allison and I visited in Singapore that did not serve beef hamburgers because it was against their religion but that is another story)

I can go to any Walmart and know immediately where the pet food is. Same goes for the shoes or the home furnishings or electronics. Just like our hunter-gatherer peoples knew every rock or tree or hill, we know how to find our goods. But also just like them, we never know what will be on sale or how much it will cost. The thrill of these details keeps up our interest and anticipation.

Most of the Walmarts have been renovated to include a food section and wider aisles. I preferred the smaller stores with crowded inventory. It makes for more of a challenge to rummage through the goods looking for that elusive prize. I also enjoy those bins with the movies marked 2 for $10. I marvel at their genius marketing. It automatically encourages the shopper to buy 2 movies instead of one. That is another reason for their success.

The return policy is also very accommodating. As long as you have the receipt, you can buy something at one Walmart and return it at another. I have done that more than once.

The only thing I dislike intensely is the Self-checkout. I always make a scene, hands in the air, alarms going off, people waiting in line behind me, clerks running to help and general chaos because I can’t seem to figure it out.

But, nobody and nothing is perfect, not even Walmart!

　

Remembering Woodstock

Remembering Woodstock

I recently had a moment of reckoning when I watched the original Woodstock Movie.

1969 was a big year.:

The US put a man on the moon ( although there are some that don’t believe it)

The New York Mets won the World Series (against all odds.)

And in a small town in Rural New York State, 500,000 people gathered for the biggest Rock Festival the world has ever known.

It was a big year for me too:

I graduated from High School;

I got my Driver’s License

And I started my first part time job as a cashier at N&D, a Windsor Owned and Operated Grocery Store.

As the famous festival Rocked and Rolled, I was checking out groceries and making $2.00 an hour. I remember we could buy 4 loaves of bread for $1, so you might say “that was a lot of bread”. Bread was also a slang term for money.

The movie chronicling the event came out the next year. It was 1970 and Windsor was thrilled to open their first mall, The Devonshire. We walked through the place with reverence, in total awe of the sights and sounds. Amidst the oohs and ahhs, we behaved like gullible tourists. We couldn’t believe that this was our mall in our town. Windsor had finally hit the big time.

And, of course, everyone wanted to see the Woodstock Movie. It was the next best thing to being there. In retrospect it was better than being there. We could sit back, eat our popcorn and enjoy the music without dealing with the crowds or traffic or rain or lack of restrooms. Or maybe that’s just my mature brain’s opinion.

Actually attending the 3 days at Woodstock was probably the experience of a lifetime and the inconveniences were part of the charm. Some of my most memorable trips are the ones where everything went wrong and we had to live by our wits.

What I really can’t get over is that it’s been 41 years! It seems like a long time ago, but trust me, those years went by very quickly. Now, many of the Flower Power generation are pushing up Daisies ( if you know what I mean) and the rest of us are entering our senior years.

I was shocked to see Peter Frampton on Oprah recently. He used to be a hottie back in the day. He’s a full blown geezer now! Still a good looking geezer, but a geezer nevertheless!

I could imagine him playing his guitar in Florida between rounds at a Bingo Hall. Maalox still rocks!

Oprah also had David Cassidy on that show. He still looks pretty good, but I expect him to be selling Home Reverse Mortgages or those easy entry door bath tubs before long. He can be the next Ed McMahon!

The 60’s marked major changes in civil rights, social attitudes and morality, but nothing from this decade left a deeper imprint than the music. We moved and grooved to the enormous talent of such artists as Jimmie Hendrix, the Who, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, Santana, Joan Baez, Arlo Guthrie, Joe Cocker and many more. Sadly, many of them burned out before their time due to drug addictions and excessive lifestyle.

My all time favourite band is Crosby Stills and Nash, before Neil Young (who should change his name to “not so young” if you get my drift). Their lyrics and melodious harmonies epitomized the essence of that era. Woodstock was their debut. It was only the second time they had played in front of a live audience. And what an audience it was!

There is now a Museum at Bethel Woods to commemorate Woodstock and the 60’s and you could say that those of us who remember those days have become Museum pieces as well. Groovy man!

Snip Snip Snippets

Snip Snip Snippets

I cut my own hair yesterday. It wasn’t the first time. Since my hair has thinned considerably in the last few years, my penny-pinching personality does not see the need to spend a lot of money for someone to take a few snips. All of us have had a bad experience at the hair salon. Now, if I’m not happy with the result, I have no one to blame but myself. And it was free!

There are such a variety of current styles; chances are my amateur trims will fit right in. Have you seen the Traffic Girl on Global Edmonton? She probably paid a fortune for that scraggly hatchet job. I am so busy looking at her hair, I can’t remember anything about the traffic. I can do my worst and still look better than she does. Of course it helps to have a healthy dose of self-esteem. After all, it’s only hair.

If you are feeling adventurous do try this at home. The first thing you need to do is look in the mirror and decide that you like your face. Hair is optional. So, if you mess up the cut, your face can stand-alone. Think Yul Brynner. The man was a god!

It also helps if you are not a perfectionist and a bit of a risk taker. I qualify in both of those categories. If it doesn’t work out there is always “Plan B” and no, B is not for Bald, but rather Beautician.

We can all recall cutting our doll’s hair when we were kids. “Dream Girl Barbie” became “Punk Chick Babette”, Permanently! At least our hair will grow back.

I’ve always been adventurous with my hair. A few years ago I dyed it Nuclear Red. People stared; dogs growled; babies cried. Even I gasped every time I looked in the mirror, but I kept that red hair for two years. I was going for a Maureen O’Hara look but ended up like Lucille Ball on Mood Enhancers. I guess I was just going through a phase.

Now I’ve settled back into a soft and sweet Blonde, sort of a Marilyn Monroe meets Madonna with a touch of Mae West. (can you tell I am into old movies? Just wait for the blog on that!)

Eventually I’ll let it go au naturelle and show off the grey. But at this point, I’m not ready for the Steve Martin look- alike contest just yet.

We are fortunate to live in an era when women do not need to conform to one standard. Short or long, dyed or natural, bald or wigged, anything goes. Our hair is a reflection of our personality and an expression of our self image.

After the emotional trauma of a death or divorce, many women make a drastic change in their hairstyle. It’s symbolizes both physical and psychological new beginnings. It’s like taking an Etcha-sketch and turning it upside down to shake. We shake off the old and embrace the new.

Changing our hair often reflects a change in our circumstance. When women gained the right to vote they shed the rigid Victorian restrictions: corsets were cast off and hair was cut.

A few generations later with the rise of Women’s Lib, bras were burned and hair was grown long and swung free. Remember these lyrics in the musical HAIR : “Give me down to there hair; shoulder length or longer”. It was the battle cry of our generation, a passive protest against the Establishment.

Devout women in India cut off their hair as an offering to the gods. The monks then gather the shorn locks and sell them to wigmakers all over the world. It’s a huge industry. The Gods may be impressed, the women express their devotion and the monks have a valuable source of revenue. Everybody wins.

Alas, neither the Gods nor the monks want my hair, but I plan to keep on cutting it myself, even if I look like the little Dutch Boy on the paint cans. Or maybe he looks like me!

A Mother's Love

A Mother’s Love

On this Remembrance Day 2010 I have a few thoughts to share.

The statistics are staggering:

The Boer war 1899-1902.…………………………….......7582 lives lost

WW1 1914-1918.……………………………................66,655 lives lost

WW2 1939-1945.……………………………................44,893 lives lost

Korea 1950-1953.……………………………................ 516 lives lost

Peace Keeping Missions……………………………….......121 lives lost

Afghanistan ongoing……………………………….............152 lives lost

As a Canadian, I mourn the loss of all these lives.

As a mother, I mourn the loss of all soldiers worldwide from every nation, from every war.

If it was up to mothers, war would not exist. For every soldier lost, there is a mother left behind to grieve. Try to imagine the immeasurable pain of losing a child grown to adulthood in the prime of life. To lose a child in a military conflict is a bittersweet cross to bear. As a mother you will never get over the grief, but as a patriot, you are comforted by their noble and ultimate sacrifice.

No matter how old, your child always remains a child in your eyes. It is because of a mother’s love for her offspring that we survived as a species. That protective instinct is like a surge of emotion that kicks in when our child is threatened. I have felt its power. We do everything we can to ensure the well being and survival of our offspring.

My Grandmother Theresia once flew into a rage when a neighbour insulted her son, my dad. Without going into further detail, let it be known that my Grandfather had to sort things out at the Police Station and my dad’s honour was summarily restored. Such is the fervor of the lioness, the mother bear, the she wolf protecting her young.

When our child faces difficulties and hardship, we suffer along with him (or her). When a child dies, a part of us dies as well.

We think of our modern society as civilized and yet war persists. People are getting killed every day in Political, Economic, Ethnic and Religious conflicts. Each life is filled with infinite potential and we lose much more than the loved one. Humanity loses the possibility of what might have been if that person had lived. It’s tragic and senseless and must end now.

If mothers ruled the world we’d settle our differences with milk and cookies, or pound cake and tea. We’d ask for a list of disagreements from all nations and then hold an annual “Mothers for Peace” conference. We’d discuss each issue and find a resolution, insisting on compromise and cooperation. Hell, we do that every day when raising a family. War is not an option!

Business accomplished, we’d open our wallets and take out the photos of our children and grandchildren and remember, this is why we came. Then we’d head off to the gift shop and buy Tee shirts or Fridge magnets that say: “What if they gave a War and no one came?”

There is nothing greater than a Mother’s Love. Love is the answer. Love is eternal. Love will set us free.

Calling St. Anthony

St Anthony of Padua is the patron saint of lost things. Although not a particularly religious woman, my grandmother Theresia always called upon his help when she couldn’t find something. And, apparently he never let her down.

It has been said that we all turn into our Mothers eventually. What they don’t tell you is that if you live long enough, you turn into your Grandmother. Yikes!

I am not a superstitious person, but I decided to call upon our favourite Saint whenever I lost something. I was telling myself “what have I got to lose?” and then “but I already lost it” and “what a loser I am” or “have I lost my mind and just don’t know it yet?”

After all this internal dialogue, I just concentrated on a simple thought, “Dear St Anthony, please help me find the ………amen”. “please,please please help me find it ” and then “thank you”.

It’s amazing and magical and wondrous, because in almost every circumstance, the missing object is found. It usually works within a few minutes and never fails to amaze me. The power of focused energy is phenomenal.

On one such occasion, I was visiting my sister in London and my mom and I were ready to drive back to Windsor. Imagine us ready and packed and standing by the door, but missing the car keys. We looked everywhere, turned our pockets inside out, emptied our purses and searched the entire house for 30 minutes. We even called a locksmith to open the car trunk to see if the keys were in there. No luck. All of a sudden, in a flash of inspiration, I remembered St Anthony. I closed my eyes and said a short but desperate prayer. Then, as if I was led by some unseen force, I walked into the laundry room and found the keys laying on top of the laundry basket. Voila! Problem solved.

I was missing two rings and searched high and low and in between. I called friends and family to check their homes. It was time to ask a higher power. I sent out my request and then let it be. I stopped looking and knew that they would be found when they were meant to be found. It took a week.

Sometimes, just to keep me from getting over confident, things really do stay lost. I misplaced my favourite pair of glasses and no amount of praying has brought them back.

Two cats have gone missing in the last 4 years and I suspect my waistline is gone for good.

Ah well. That’s life!

And just in care you’re listening…“St Anthony….you rock!!!..…at least most of the time.”

　

　

Password Purgatory

The new and exciting world of the Internet has  opened up limitless opportunities for us. We can send instant messages to distant corners of the planet, look up long dead ancestors , order tickets, look up our bank statement and even find a mate! It has changed how we do business and how we interact as a society.

Those of us born before 1970 can still remember when none of this was  possible. We used to write letters and send them by snail mail. Telephones had a rotary dial and long distance was something reserved for bad news such as when someone died. It all sounds backward and difficult in this modern age. However, it was far simpler and less stressful than today. Why? Because we didn't need a user ID, PIN or Password to get through our day.

I have an ongoing war with passwords and trying to remember them all. Every login requires a name and code. I have many old passwords floating around in my head,  and the list is getting bigger. Every program we use at work needs a separate password and they need to meet certain criteria : 8 letters, some numbers, some capitals etc.Then for added security, they need to be changed every 3 months. Sometimes I feel as if we are protecting our national secrets and the world will end if there is a breach.

Getting older makes some of us forgetful. We can remember our teachers from 45 years ago, but we don't know what we had for dinner last night. With all these passwords and login ID's and PIN's it is getting more and more difficult to get the job done. I've broken the cardinal rule and written some of them down, but then I forget where I put the list, or they are out of date, with the frequent changes.

I had a bright idea the other day, I  switched  to E Post for my bills. I thought I was saving the planet with less paper waste etc. I was so proud of myself! But my euphoria was short lived.

The  problem is, I forgot my login and Password. So now I am getting bills I can't review because my password is in purgatory somewhere, waiting to be saved. I tried calling the help desk, but when he asked me the security question, it was my full name. I told him."but that's not a quesion! How can I answer a security question that is not a question??" He replied that this is what I put in the line as the security question and he could not give me any more information for security reasons.. Arrrgh! Short version of a long story, I made a mistake when filling out the online application and now I was locked out of the system because I could not answer the security question. I should have just kept up the snail mail and left E Post to the youngsters. I eventually figured out how to get back into the E Post, but it was a big hassle and a waste of time.

I want the Internet people to figure out a simple way for us to maintain security without all the word juggling. Maybe it's time for a Retinal scanner like they used on those Spy Movies. In the meantime,  my  forgotten passwords remain in Purgatory and their numbers  are increasing every day.