A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

A Rose by Any Other Name

Yesterday I lost someone very dear to me. My Aunt Rose or Tante Rosi as I called her, passed away. She was not only my Aunt, but also my Godmother and the senior member of our immediate family.

It is my intent to honour her memory by this account of the woman she was and the relationship I had with her.

 

 

Born in 1924, Rose was the oldest of 5 children of my paternal Grandparents. As an older sister, she provided guidance and support to her younger siblings. They always respected her opinion and often consulted with her when making important decisions.

 

 

During World War 2 she was taken by train to a forced labour camp in Russia. She was only 19. The next 5 years were spent struggling to survive the lack of food, shelter and hygiene. Blessed with a strong will and dogged determination, she was one of the lucky ones who made it back to Germany when the war ended. There she married the man she met while in Russia and had a daughter. They soon moved to Canada to start a new life.

Although short in stature, my Tante Rosi was a formidable woman in her prime. She was a perfectionist who strived for excellence in herself and others. She had a strong sense of right and wrong and anyone who dared to cross her was soon corrected. She didn’t do this in a mean spirited way, she was merely doing what was right.

One of the qualities we shared is a penchant for writing. My aunt was a prolific writer who sent correspondence all over the world. Her greatest joy was receiving a card or letter. Everyone who knew her knew this. We all made an extra effort to remember her birthday each year. One year I was in panic, thinking I had missed the deadline, when in fact, I was one month early. She just laughed. Counting all the cards from her friends and family was one of her shining moments.

She was also mindful of all our birthdays and made it a practice to send a card with a note and money to know that we were loved and remembered.

In cooking and baking, my aunt was one of the best. She was meticulous in her technique and was well known for her German tortes and Walnut Strudel. When baking, she always scraped every last bit of batter from the bowls, once telling me it was due to her years of starvation in Russia. She didn’t want to waste a single drop.

On one family visit, she and my dad were discussing the possibility of opening up a small Strudel café, serving German pastries and confections. He owned and operated a Cabinet Making Shop and offered the front part of his building as the site for the Strudel Place. She tried to imagine it but had some concerns. Using her sweet big sister voice, “But Nicky, what will the customers say when they hear the hammering from the other room?” Without skipping a beat, my dad said “Just tell them we’re opening the nuts”.

It was one of their finer moments.

Like me, my aunt was a big fan of movies, especially the Classics from the glory days of Hollywood. She liked nothing better than spending a few hours watching the stories unfold on the big screen.

She was also a snappy dresser and always had the finest shoes and purses money could buy. I remember seeing her dressed for church one day, looking as elegant and accessorized as those glamorous Hollywood stars .

One thing she didn’t like however, was anything that creeped or crawled. She had an aversion to bugs. She also disliked shrimp and lobster, probably because of all the legs. The only seafood she would eat was fish. She didn’t like pigs either and even refused to watch the movie Babe in spite of our coaxing. With her arms crossed and her eyes blazing, her mind was made up and no one could break that iron will. I can hear her still, “Who would want to watch a movie about a pig? Not me. Not now, not ever.”

I can’t even imagine how she would have reacted to “Charlotte’s Web,” with both a pig AND a spider!

One of my aunt’s lasting legacies to me and my descendents is the knowledge she passed on about our family history. Through the efforts of my cousin Christine’s gentle but persistent questioning, we managed to record as much as she could recall. It was no small feat, because she tended to ramble on with many stories and forgotten details. I am forever grateful to my cousin for her diligence.

And now, my Dear Tante Rosi has taken her place among the ancestors , as we all will one day. Even though the last years of her life were spent in relative seclusion in the safe haven of her home, she made a lasting impression on this world. I still can’t believe that she is really gone. Those who knew her will never forget her and I will honour her memory for as long as I live.

TANTE ROSI, REST IN PEACE

Closet Calamity

Closet Calamity

My daughter Allison came for a visit last weekend. We were long overdue for some quality mother-daughter time. After a few coffees and some girl talk, we decided to take a tour through my over-flowing closets.

I have been accumulating clothes and shoes , jewellery and purses for many years. Like most women, I have 3 complete wardrobes. There are my skinny clothes and my fat clothes. Then there are my transition outfits, for the times when I am either gaining or losing weight. 70% of the pieces just stay in the closet year after year. Some items still have the price tags. Then there are the favourites: a few select outfits that I wear over and over again. The challenge is to figure out why. What is it about those items that attract me? And why am I keeping all the rest?

After being called a “semi-hoarder” I knew a major purge was needed. Every closet in this 3+ bedroom house was full. Every hanger was in use. Every shelf was crammed with stuff. I wondered where it all came from and how it ended up here? Realizing that it all cost money at one time made me determined never to buy anything for the rest of my life. I have more than I will ever need or want. (I’m sounding more like my mother every day).

We started our downsizing project in the living room. We had 3 choices: keep, donate or trash. Every item was scrutinized. Allison was very patient with me as I gave some lame excuses for keeping things.

Our conversations went something like this: “Mom, why are you saving those boots from 1993?” “Umm…well, they still fit and the soles are in good shape and they have come back in style..”

And then, “Mom, what are you going to do with all those Star Trek trading cards?”. “Umm, I’m going to sell them at the Star Trek Convention in Las Vegas…” to which she replied “Really mom? You’re going to tote them on a plane and carry them around?” The idea didn’t sound too promising at that point.

And finally, “Mom, how many of these old sweaters have you worn in the last 5 years?” I remembered my super heated menopausal body and realized I haven’t worn a single one. Cotton blouses ruled, even in the middle of winter.

My voice trailed off as my arguments lost their conviction. We kept filling up the bags. Slowly, we got to my underwear drawer.

There were 50 bras and 2 drawers full of pantyhose. “How many bras do you need and when was the last time you wore pantyhose?” My response was that the bras were on sale and the pantyhose are waiting for the revival of my social life which I assume will magically reappear when I retire and move to Edmonton.

Then suddenly I realized I had the answers to my previous questions. Sometimes we hold onto things because they remind us of a past experience. Sometimes we keep things because they hold the promise of a better future. Sometimes we just fill a need by filling our shelves.

By the time we wrapped up our mission, we had 7 large recycling bags and a half dozen boxes full of my former treasures. Even with all that stuff gone, my closets still look full. The only clue to the weekend purge is the occasional empty hanger.

The Goodwill people were very pleased with my donations. I’m so glad that my cast-offs will be put to use instead of sitting in a dark closet gathering dust. I feel lighter somehow, as if a load has been lifted and I made a promise to continue to “Reorganize, Prioritize and Downsize” and I encourage all of you to do the same.

　

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THE SNEEZE

Tiny Flying Insect

I wrote this poem more than 40 years ago. It’s been sitting in a box in the closet with many others; a collection of my youthful scribbling. In a turnabout from my usual format, I decided to share it with you today.

THE SNEEZE

A tiny flying insect speeds through the air

|And lands on the sleeping man’s nose.

He travels down to the very tip

To there the great wind blows.

The wind goes in and out of great caves;

He explores the reaches inside.

There’s a million tunnels and many more;

It’s a great place in which to hide.

But this wonder world is not meant for flies,

And the man is beginning to sneeze.

At first a twitch and then a snort,

Followed by a great big wheeze.

Short blasts of air rush into the caves,

The fly is swept off his feet.

And now the nose can hold no more,

The fly prepares for defeat.

It’s the end of the world for that little fly,

The walls of the cave start to shake.

He knows he can’t get out in time,

He’s caught in a great earthquake.

And then it comes: the winds rush

Out of the caves with astounding force.

Followed by a spray of water

From an unknown inward source.

The water droplets settle;

All is quiet once again.

The man continues his little nap

And dreams his dreams of great men.

Not knowing that a little fly

Lost his life in his nose.

Just because he had to sneeze

In the midst of a nice long doze.

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Gout Wars

RED TOES AND RED TOE JOINT

I suffer from gout. Sometimes I feel as if my body has declared war on me. The battle is being waged in my big toe joint, with pain and inflammation and loss of movement. It can strike suddenly, most often in the middle of the night.

The first time it happened, I didn’t know what it was. My right toe joint was red, swollen and the size of a ping pong ball. Walking was impossible. Shoes didn’t fit. It was very painful.

I soon found the cause of my suffering. Gout is a form of arthritis that is caused by an excess of uric acid in the blood. The uric acid forms crystals in the joints which in turn cause the pain and inflammation. I had my blood tested. My uric acid level was only slightly about the normal upper limit, but it was enough to initiate an attack.

The disease has been called the Rich Man’s disease because it used to be a common affliction of the upper classes, who freely indulged in alcohol and meat consumption. Some of the more famous sufferers included Alexander the Great, Charlemagne, Henry the VIII and Nostradamus and Ben Franklin. The poor could not afford this rich diet and thus were spared.

I’m not a man, I’m not rich, I don’t indulge in alcohol and yet this affliction has found me. Only one in 10 sufferers are female. I feel as if I won a lottery without ever buying a ticket. How could this happen? I guess every person with health issues asks themselves the same question. I went on a quest for knowledge. I wanted to minimize my risk factors and seek natural remedies.

I was initially treated with Colchicine and Indomethacin. The symptoms quickly abated but I was concerned about the toxic effect these drugs would have on my liver. Some of the side effects (ie: severe diarrhoea) were almost as unpleasant as the disease.

With research on the internet I discovered that many of the foods I was eating put me at greater risk for a gout attack. I used to eat a lot of soy products such as tofu because they were supposed to minimize menopausal symptoms. I was on a health kick and ate plenty of spinach and legumes. All these were acid forming foods that can cause an attack. Processed foods with sugar and wheat flour are also taboo. It gets to the point where every food is suspect and each time I have an attack, I try to figure out what I ate to have caused it. The other night I indulged in Hummus, one of my favourite snacks. The next day my toe joint was aching slightly, reminding me of my indiscretion. Chick peas, a legume are not gout friendly.

Thankfully, my symptoms are under control at present. I usually get one or two attacks per year. Since I can recognize the early signs, I take action immediately, to prevent a full blown attack. I drink a lot of water and start on the medication. Cherries are an excellent natural remedy. I buy the dark cherry juice concentrate at the health food store and mix it with water and ice. Celery juice is also good for gout, especially if it is made fresh with a juicer. Some people take a bit of baking soda or sea salt in water to alleviate their symptoms but the excess soda can cause other side effects. We are constantly reminded that our bodies are magnificent machines that must remain balanced to maintain good health. Everything plays a part and affects everything else.

Aging is full of surprises. I’m all for peace, but I have declared war on gout. I have modified my diet and adjusted my habits. I avoid the big offenders, especially alcohol and meat. I focus on eating fruits and vegetables, brown rice and quinoa. I still enjoy my daily coffee and indulge in chocolate but limit the quantities.

I used to love buying high heels and step out in style. Now all my shoes are “gout friendly”. The heels are lower and the straps crossover to avoid the troublesome joint. Comfort is more important than fashion. (I can’t believe I said that..) Actually, pain or rather, the lack of it is a great motivator. I remember when the saying “Your mother wears army boots” used to be a common insult. But now, it all makes sense. The poor woman probably suffered from gout.

Volvo Va Va Varoom

VOLVO VA VA VROOM

I’ve been driving for 40 years and have never owned a foreign car. I listened to my dad when he warned me that they are expensive to buy and even more difficult to maintain.

Back in the early 1970’s when I was choosing my first car I really wanted a little red MGB but settled for a white Vega with black racing stripes. That car took 4 of us on our first trip to Florida without our parents. It came fully loaded with an 8-track player and huge speakers. We drove along the I-75 South with Black Sabbath and Chicago playing as loud as it would go. I’m sure we suffered hearing loss from that trip. My next car was a gold coloured Mustang with a large V-8 engine and a thirsty gas tank. As time went on, I graduated to a red Dodge Caravan. That minivan transported scores of hockey players and little leaguers to countless games and tournaments as Michael Jackson’s music blared from the tape deck. The rest of the cars and trucks blurred into obscurity until I moved to Alberta. I came under the spell of the Ford Explorer and have owned 3 of them in quick succession. I really liked the 4 wheel drive and the roomy interior. But nothing lasts forever. Our needs and preferences change as we go though life and the cars we drive reflect that change.

So last Saturday, with some prompting and encouragement from my son- in- law Neil, and my daughter Allison, I bought my first European car. It’s a Volvo XC70. My dad’s advice was good 40 years ago, but we live in a different world today. If he were here, I’m sure he would agree.

We started our search at the BMW dealership. At first I was still fixated on the SUV idea, but soon realized that I don’t really need all that power and towing capacity. We made notes to keep track of the vehicles I liked and moved on to the Audi dealer. We also walked past a few Mini’s but they were quickly eliminated since I am a lot of things, but “mini” is not one of them! There was also a Range Rover, but I wasn’t planning any African Safaris in the near future and I could have renamed it “Out of my Price Range Rover”. So we moved on to the Volkswagens. I sat in a few models and salivated at the CC in the showroom. It was luxury itself and very posh, but not practical for our Alberta winters. I could imagine myself cruising around in Monte Carlo with that gorgeous vehicle. On the downside, there wasn’t very much room in the back seat, as my son in law was quick to point out. I crossed it off the “wish list” and stopped day dreaming.

We never checked out the Mercedes because time was running out, but made one more stop at the Volvo dealership. I didn’t know what to expect. My only experience with the brand was being driven in a friend’s car many years ago. It was a solid, no frills little tank. What made a lasting impression at that time was it’s seat belts. It was the first time I had ever put on a seat belt, since most cars didn’t even have them in those days. Safety was always the top priority with the Volvo company.

We walked into the showroom and were greeted by a sweet young lady who immediately started telling us about the wonders of this car. My eyes glazed over as she went on about torque this and turbo that, but I decided to take it for a test drive. From the moment I sat behind the wheel, I was struck by the comfort and simple elegance of this car. The dashboard was easy to understand and the quality was evident in every feature. We drove along the slippery winter streets without any problems. The all-wheel drive made a smooth transition when needed and the little lights on the side view mirrors warned me when another car was approaching in my blind spot. The gas mileage is very good too. We should all be mindful of our consumption in this world of dwindling fuel resources. Our children and grandchildren will thank us some day. It was an excellent road test! I decided to buy it.

My adrenaline was up and my cheeks were flushed, but I was determined to make a good deal. The salesperson indicated that they don’t usually deviate very much from the sticker price. She said that negotiations were not part of the process in this dealership. She said they didn’t enter into the little “walking back and forth dance” that happens in other dealerships.

I ignored her comments and calmly offered her approximately 10% less than the list price. She looked a bit uncomfortable and then sought out the sales manager. He came out with a sombre demeanour and also stated their “no negotiation” policy. He even said that their price was set as low as possible.

I nodded and asked politely if he could improve on that price to “sweeten the deal”. He coughed and walked away. When he came back, he had lowered the price by about 5%. “Sweeter” yes, but not sweet enough for this determined lady. I could see them fidget and exchange glances as I asked for more options.

They both walked back into the office for a minute. It was a test of wills. There was a lot of walking back and forth in this dealership even though they told me initially that they didn’t use that approach to pricing.

I really liked that car, but I was ready to walk if they refused my request. When they came back the new price was 10% lower and I was satisfied.

I’m entering into a different phase of my life with many new beginnings just around the corner and I’ll be turning those corners with my European car. If you happen to see a tall blonde middle aged woman getting out of a Volvo at the Ikea give her a wave. It just might be me.

　

Waking up the Ancestors

Kirchhoffer Family circa 1914

　

I have my Great Grandmother’s mouth. She died 14 years before I was born, but the genes live on. She is the matriarch in a family photo from 1914. The faces staring back at me look vaguely familiar although most of them died long ago. By the time I came along, the surviving members were senior citizens, well past their prime.

I’ve been gathering information about our family tree for many years. Being the first born gave me an advantage with the older relatives. I spent many happy hours visiting my grandparents and listening to their stories about the “Old Country”. We sat in the dining room, sipping homemade wine and eating my Grandmother’s cookies as the tales unfolded. I was very curious and loved to hear about their customs and traditions from Europe. They always used to say “someone should write this down”. Now, almost 50 years later, I have taken up the task.

I have always been interested in our family history. My great grandfather used to show me a wedding photo taken in 1912. He would point to each person, tell me their name and talk about their life. He told me that our ancestors migrated from south western Germany to Austria-Hungary over 300 years ago. They settled along the Danube River and lived peacefully, always keeping their traditional language, religion and customs. I now have proof of this fact. This became an Ethnic group known as "The Donauschwaben".Since embarking on this journey into the past, I traced one branch of the family tree to 1707. They were born in Freiburg in south-western Germany. I did a search on Google and was able to zoom in on the rooftops of this town. It was very emotional for me. I felt like Alex Haley when he found his ancestor, Kunte Kinte in the Roots saga.

Why do we hold that fascination for the past? For me, it’s a longing to understand the big picture and know where I fit in. I am very curious about the people who lived and loved and eventually led to me. Who were they? What kind of people were they? How did they make a living? How similar were they to me? How did they die? So many questions remain. With the help of my mom, Anne and my Aunt Rosi, I have been able to build a remarkable family tree. Their stories and personal memories have been a great foundation for my research.

The further we go back, the more relatives we have. Dr. Spencer Wells, the world renowned Geneticist has proven that we are all descended from a small group of Homo-Sapiens who lived in Africa and then migrated to the far corners of the world as one generation gave rise to the next. This story is written in our genes and we are just learning how to interpret it.

When we think of our ancestors we usually focus on one or two branches. We talk about this or that Great Grandfather or Grandmother. But there are so many more people who have contributed their DNA. We forget that each one of us has 8 great-grandparents and 16 great-great-grandparents. The number of relatives increases exponentially with each generation. I followed one branch of the family to my 7th-great-grandmother. I know her name, Angelique (she was French) but there were also 511 more ancestors from that generation who are still waiting to be discovered. We are all the endpoint of a tremendous gene pool until we pass it on to our descendants.

Many cultures throughout the world venerate their departed relatives. Small altars are set up and food offerings are made in a symbolic gesture to honour their memory. Before all the costumes and candy and revelry took over, Halloween used to be a time to remember the dead. All Souls Day was a time to visit the graveyard and spend some time in quiet reflection about our loved ones who passed away.

Now, we remember our past thru research and building family trees. Through the Ancestry program, I have connected with all sorts of distant cousins. Some remain aloof and politely detached while others have embraced this new media and share my enthusiasm for our roots. We all owe our existence to those who came before, lived their lives, and raised their young.

I come from sturdy stock. One of my great-grandmothers had 3 husbands and outlived them all. She raised 6 children to adulthood and ensured that all of them had a career.

Divorce was not an option, but dying was very popular. If you were unhappy in your marriage, you only had to wait a few years. One of you would probably die. Diseases such as Scarlet Fever and Tuberculosis were rampant. One set of Great-grandparents lost 2 daughters to the disease. Try to imagine burying one child only to return home from the funeral and discovering that another had died. Even the most trivial infections could prove fatal. They had a lot of children, but many did not live to adulthood.

There was no government pension, welfare or employment insurance. People had to be very resourceful to survive. Families were not as spread out as they are today and many generations lived and died in one small town. Moving or travelling was unheard of. Weddings, Funerals and Church Holidays filled their spiritual and social needs. They didn’t have the luxury of questioning their personal happiness. They were too busy surviving (or dying).

We are the survivors of the survivors. In countless circumstances, our existence was hanging by a thread. Change anything and we would never have been born. It makes one really appreciate this life we have been granted.

If time travel were possible, I would go back a thousand years to have a peek; and then 5000 or even 10000 years. It’s hard to imagine, but we had direct ancestors living that long ago. Since the Time Machine only existed in HG Wells’ classic novel, I need to be content with the research available today.

This project has taught me a great deal. I’ve learned persistence, determination, patience and appreciation. It is a voyage of self discovery and a quest for the truth. My descendants may or may not be interested, but I leave it to them and their children.

Nirvana Versus the Internet

It’s been almost 7 weeks since we wished each other a “Happy” New Year. We all made resolutions; we all spent too much money, and most of us are still waiting for the “Happy” part to take effect.

With a renewed vigour and a sense of purpose, we take steps to improve our health and prosperity. We love to wipe the slate clean and make a fresh start. Everywhere we turn, there are images and articles that tell us how to achieve our goals. Talk shows focus on fashion and self improvement. Decorating shows tell us how to renovate our homes. There is one series that helps people get out of debt and live within their means. Another popular show perpetuates the myth that true love can be found after a few dates and a few roses.

We assume that happiness will be ours if we just listen to all the advice and follow all the rules. Wrong! All that advice only serves to increase our anxiety and feelings of inadequacy. The media encourages us to be consumers and our entire economy is dependent on it. Imagine the enormous repercussions if we all just said “No”.

Eastern religions seem to have it right. Nirvana is that mystical state of mind where you are at one with the universe. You are completely content. According to the experts, you can enter that state of consciousness by simply turning your thoughts inward, clearing your mind and taking deep breaths. Once we focus on our breath, we get in touch with our inner selves and are drawn into that peaceful realm. We learn to relax. We let go of all the noise and nonsense our society inflicts upon us.

Everyone has heard the phrase “ignorance is bliss”. However, in this information age, ignorance and bliss are increasingly difficult to maintain. Google has all the answers. With a few clicks of the mouse we have instant access to a million or more topics. My Encyclopedia Britannica is nothing but a relic from the past. I still enjoy browsing through those treasured volumes but the facts are largely outdated. The maps are increasingly inaccurate as countries reinvent themselves and political borders change.

There is no greater confusion than the diet industry. I have more diet books than the local library. Each one promises results. There is the Low Fat, the Low Carb, the Low Glycemic, the Points Plus System, The Cave Man Diet, the Vegetarian and many others. How can a society so focused on weight loss be so overweight?

I have more exercise equipment than the local gym, but lack the motivation to use it consistently. I keep waiting for the mood to strike, somewhere between dinner and bedtime, but the lure of the Shopping Channel and the Showstopper gets in the way.

The monks who practice meditation are rarely overweight, in spite of their sedentary lifestyle. They don’t fret over their diet or lack of motivation. They don’t berate themselves for wearing last year’s robes. They have found peace and joy in the simplest things. I envy them to a point.

However, I’ve come to realize that moderation in all things is the answer. It’s not practical for us to live our lives meditating on a mountain top in the lotus position. But we can find a few minutes for some quiet time every day. And we can take small steps to fitness by just being mindful of our daily activities and move more. We can make healthy choices to improve our diet.

I have discovered that happiness, that elusive state of well-being, is just a thought away. Make a solid decision to be happy and you will achieve it, regardless of your circumstances. Your own version of Nirvana is there within you, waiting to be discovered. It has always been there.

                                                                          Namaste!

Nerds R Us

NERD ALERT! YOURS TRULY HAVING A NERD MOMENT

I never thought of myself as a NERD until recently. It all started when our lab student Chelsea, lent me Season 1 and 2 of “The Big Bang Theory“, a TV series.

This show has just completed it’s third season. I can recall when it first aired. Seeing the title, I eagerly clicked on it, expecting a legitimate scientific documentary about the origins of our universe. (my favourite type of show). I was disappointed to see a Sit-Com format complete with canned laughter and quickly changed the channel. I didn’t give it a chance. Three years passed and now thanks to Chelsea, I am a newly converted fan of The Big Bang Theory. Apparently I am also a nerd. Actually, I’m middle aged nerd of the worst sort.

What does NERD stand for? I looked it up on Google and decided the best meaning is “National Establishment for Real Dorks”.

I can relate to many of the Big Bang Theory episodes, because from an early age, I shared the same interests and social blunders that the characters so brilliantly bring to life.

As a child I remember staying at my Grandparents’ house. There was a corner store a few blocks away with the usual sweet treats and soft drinks. There was also a display shelf of Comic books. My favourites were Superman, Batman, Flash, Wonderwoman and Atom. I wonder what happened to all those old comics? Nowadays they would fetch a good price on Ebay. As an adult, I began collecting SHI comics. The main character is a female Japanese warrior who practices Asian Martial Arts. Feminism and Globalization has even influenced the comic book industry.

I was introduced to Science Fiction on the Late Late Show. My cousin was staying over and we were supposed to be asleep, but being girls, we were too busy talking and giggling. All of a sudden we were startled by the eerie sounds coming from the living room. It was the Musical Score from the 1951 classic “The Day the Earth Stood Still”. We snuck out of bed and watched in fascination as the robot Gort came out of the spaceship. My dad was sprawled on the couch, fast asleep, unaware of our misdemeanor. I was hooked on Space and Science from that day on.

Then, in the mid-sixties, Star Trek made it’s debut. Every Friday night, my brother and I were glued to the TV for one hour. We loved to see Kirk and Spock and Bones exploring the Universe and meeting Alien life forms. Soon the Vulcan Mild Meld, the Vulcan Nerve Pinch and the Vulcan Death Grip became part of our everyday vernacular. Only true nerds know that The Vulcan Death Grip did not really exist. It was merely a ruse by Spock to trick the Romulans and fake the death of Captain Kirk, thereby saving his life. The very fact that Vulcans do not exist is a moot point.

I still enjoy the Star Trek reruns( including the Next Generation and Voyager Series) and plan to attend a convention someday. There is one every year in Las Vegas. I wonder which of my family members I can convince to accompany me. I won’t tell them that I plan to dress up as a female Klingon until it’s too late. (Thinking that my CD of Conversational Klingon will come in handy.)

Like Sheldon in the Big Bang Theory, I have a collection of Star Trek memorabilia. My favourite is a photo of Spock signed by Leonard Nimoy. I also have various trading cards and figures tucked away in the closet. How nerdy is that?

After Star Trek came Star Wars and all the other shows in the space fantasy genre. I sometimes tried to decide which I preferred: Star Trek or Star Wars. It’s like choosing between apples and oranges. They each have their own merit and should not be judged against each other. As long as it had a space theme, I liked it. I remember when my former husband insisted on going to see The Ghostbusters instead of The Last Starfighter. Ghosts are ok but the Stars win out every time in my book. No wonder he is now my X husband.

I’ve been fascinated by Astronomy from an early age. Carl Sagan and his “billions and billions of galaxies” sparked my imagination when his Cosmos series was aired in the 1980’s. Carl taught me the origin of the word “googol”. It was a term invented by the nine year old nephew of a mathematician to name a very large number: a 1 followed by 100 zeroes. Years later, Google has become a household word and one of the most successful search engines of all time. Yet, only the nerds among us realize the word’s beginnings.

I have always marvelled at the wonderful mystery of the universe and taught my children to be aware of it also. We often headed out to an open field, blankets and thermos in tow, to witness a meteor shower. I remembering showing them Halley’s Comet explaining how it only came back every 75 years.

On May 10, 1994 we witnessed an annular eclipse. The schools forced the students to stay indoors with the blinds drawn, but I chose to use this phenomenon as a teaching opportunity. We rigged up special viewing boxes and held them over our heads as we sat on the steps of our pool. If the neighbours previously questioned my insanity, they were now certain of it. I didn’t care. In true nerd-like fashion I explained what was happening but they remained unimpressed. Nevertheless, the event was an awesome experience. As the eclipse manifested, the sky darkened slightly and the birds became very agitated. We heard them twittering frantically in the treetops. As we looked down at the deck, we saw shadows formed into circular patterns like the rings left on a table by a dirty glass. We know that the earth is travelling through space but we rarely see such a vivid reminder of it. We all need to take the time to consider our spiritual and scientific place in the universe. It puts everything we do and dream of in perspective.

The characters on the Big Bang Theory all have careers in Science but also appreciate Science Fiction. Even though science is based on hard facts and proven theory, we all need to leap into the realm of possibility. Everything begins with a thought. If we dream it we can build it. It’s no small accident that today’s cell phones bear a striking resemblance to Captain Kirk’s communicator. The idea came from Gene Roddenberry’s imagination and became reality four decades later.

Chelsea is just starting her career in Lab Technology as I am nearing the end of mine. And yet, the Nerd quotient bridges the gap between us. Thanks to Chelsea, I am now a self-proclaimed Nerd and proud of it. As Spock would say: “Live Long and Prosper”

　

Doing the Technology Two-Step

Doing the Technology Two Step

Technology began when the first caveman (or woman) picked up a rock and used it as a tool. All of his friends and family soon followed his example. Rocks were “in” and life was good. Then, someone had a better idea. They improved the rock tool by attaching it to a stick. The handle was born and life was better. I wonder what the older members of the clan thought of this new invention. However, since the life expectancy in the Stone Age was 21, this question is redundant.

Fast forward 35,000 years and we find ourselves in the present day. Our brains haven’t changed, but our tools bear little resemblance to those first inventions. Someone is always finding a better way to do things. Technological advances are like a runaway train and I am barely catching up to the caboose.

If it was up to me, we would probably still be living in caves with our rocks. I have never been mechanically inclined. I know there are many others who feel the same. That does not make it easier. The only way to escape modern technology is to live on a remote island without electricity. Ever since our ancestors started using tools, the rest of us have had to do the “Technology Two Step“. We need to keep learning the Dance, or get lost in the shuffle. Then without warning, someone changes the music! By the time we reach our 50’s we’ve done a lot of dancing. Some of us have been around the block more than a few times. Our feet ache. Our brains are not as receptive to new ideas. We’re technologically challenged.

I see how eager my 16 month old grandson is to learn and understand. His brain is like a sponge. Mine is like a brick. He is not intimidated by buttons. He happily presses each one with reckless abandon. He has even pressed the speed dial on the phone and called his great grandmother on the other side of the country. No problem! On the other hand, I guard my TV remote like a precious jewel. If one of my cats walks on it and (heaven forbid) pushes the wrong button, my TV suddenly goes loud and snowy and I have no idea how to get it back. I call the technical support line in a total panic and can just imagine what they are thinking on the other end of the phone. The worst part is, they always record the conversation to improve quality customer service. They probably use me as an example of how to handle a difficult customer in their training sessions.

Work in the lab has it’s own challenges. In the last ten years, I have had to learn 3 new computer systems. Each time was more difficult than the last. I told my co-workers to just shoot me if we ever need to learn another system. Remembering the fuss I made the last time, I’m sure they will gladly comply with my request.

I recently visited a Future Shop in Edmonton. I felt mildly uncomfortable surrounded by all the new shiny gadgets. I didn’t know what some of them were for, and I didn’t want to ask. The industry is advancing so quickly, anything we buy will be obsolete before we take it out of the box. There is always a newer version waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting consumer. I wonder what happens to all that obsolete equipment. My desk top computer is only 6 years old, but in techno years, it’s more like 60. It certainly acts like a 60 year old, creaking and groaning and moving slower every day. The powers that be (all those 20 and 30 year olds) keep inventing new programs and applications that require upgrades.

Our generation used to say “Never trust anyone over 30”. Now we can amend that to “ Never trust anyone under 30”. The old adage “Necessity is the mother of invention” has been changed to “Invention is the mother of necessity”. If we seriously think about it, the latter is very true. Those of us born in the 1950’s and earlier remember the days before the internet and cell phones. We happily lived our lives in a much simpler time. We never felt disadvantaged or backward. Those modern inventions created a need where there was none before.

Last week I switched to a new Satellite TV provider to save money. The technician who came to the house looked about 12 years old. Have you ever noticed how everyone looks younger as we age? The corollary to this is that everyone looks heavier as we lose weight. Of course I haven’t noticed that lately. It’s all in our perspective and the New Year’s Resolution is still in the works.

Anyway, this 12 year old (he was probably 35 but still young enough to be my son) with a tool belt and sturdy shoes proceeded to install my new HD receiver. I reminded him that I was also getting a new PSP, no, P2P, no, PMS….umm. I stammered and looked up to the ceiling, concentrating intently as if the mysterious letters were written up there.

“You mean PVR?” he asked. “YES!” I said, relieved. Now we were finally getting somewhere. All I know is that I will be able to freeze the action on my TV if I get interrupted during Grey’s Anatomy. I found out later that I can also record shows and then watch them later. Well, maybe everyone else can do that, but it will be a while before I can figure it out. I asked the 12 year old if there was an instruction manual to explain this PVR thing. He looked at me as if I forgot the alphabet and needed a refresher on my ABC’s.

As he gave me a quick tour on the workings of PVR my mind went blank. All I could think of was “I’ll never remember this!”

He said to press the pause button to halt the action.

“Pause? Where does it say pause?” I heard myself say as I put on my reading glasses and peered at the 100+ buttons on the new remote.

He looked at me as if I had sprouted a dunce cap on my head.

“It’s here” he said, pointing to the two little vertical lines. It’s the universal symbol for “pause”.

“Universal symbol? What universe is that? Probably a universe where everyone is under 30 years of age.” I kept these thoughts to myself, but I did say “Why don’t they include manuals for things like that?”

He was very polite but I suspect he secretly decided I was unstable and needed to be tranquilized.

I don’t get along with new technology. My natural inclination is to ignore the contraption for as long as I can and then slowly make eye contact. I learn how to use it eventually, but only after my procrastination has become an embarrassment even to myself. I once bought a new video camera because it was apparently “easy to use” and also because it was red, my favourite color. That poor thing sat in the box under my bed for 3 weeks. I just wasn’t psychologically ready to tackle it. I finally learned how to use it, but it was a painful process and even now, I still need to consult the instruction booklet every time.

The PVR and I are still in the early stages of our relationship. We’re slowly getting acquainted. I’m certain that we will get along eventually, one step or maybe two steps at a time.

"Seniors Are Special People"

A few weeks before Christmas, my friend and co-worker Paulette asked me to go on a day trip to see the “Singing Christmas Tree” in Edmonton. I decided to say yes, even though I had never heard of this event.

I looked it up on the Internet to see what it was all about. Apparently, it’s an annual Christmas Concert that includes singing, dancing and orchestra. There are approximately 200 performers, including the singers who stand on scaffolding surrounding a giant Christmas tree. It’s a Charity Event with the proceeds going to Santas Anonymous, an organization that provides toys to underprivileged children. They have been spreading the Holiday Spirit for 55 years.

It sounded like a worthy cause as well as a wonderful way to spend an afternoon. I didn’t realize that this day would be a turning point in my progression from middle age to the senior years.

On the day of the concert, we met at the Heritage Center parking lot. The mini bus was already warming up for the 2.5 hour drive to Edmonton. I glanced at the bus and did a double take. There, on the side of the bus, in large glaring letters was “Seniors are Special People.” Great. I was not only a Senior, I was Special too! And I was going to sit on that bus.

It was one of those moments we never forget. Like the time someone first called me “Ma’am” ( I was in my early 20’s at a gas station). Or the time I found my first grey hair (I was 27). And then, more recently, the time I learned I needed reading glasses( when my vision had always been perfect.). And now, I was going on the “Seniors are Special” Bus. Oh Joy!

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the bus with Paulette. 18 pairs of female eyes were on us, since we were the last to board. We noticed that there weren’t any double seats left.

I bravely asked if someone would be willing to give up their seat so Paulette and I could sit together. No one volunteered. Apparently “Seniors are Stubborn People“. I found a spot in the back row in the corner and settled in.

The women introduced themselves, since I was a newbie. I greeted Stella, Hilda, Doris, Marlene, Agnes and many more. All solid traditional names. Not a Tiffany, Brandy or Zoe in sight. They were curious about me and didn’t waste any time. “Are you married dear? Do you have any children? Do you work?” It was all done with genuine interest so I didn’t feel too awkward. They decided I was ok and accepted me into their group. They passed around bags of homemade cookies. Sometimes “Seniors are Sweet People”

There weren’t any cell phones or text messages in sight but we managed to amuse ourselves. Soon, we began to sing songs , play word games and draw pictures on the steamed up windows of the bus (no doubt from all that hot air). Which only proved that “Seniors are Spontaneous People”

The only man on board was our driver Bob. He was the husband of one of the women and at age 78, I was more than mildly concerned about his driving competence. Bob was wearing one of those multi-coloured sweaters Bill Cosby used to wear in the 1980’s and probably thought he was a fashionista.. I looked down at my red sweater with the cats embroidered on it and wondered if others thought the same thing about me. I promised myself to purge the relics from my closet and donate everything to charity. “Seniors sometimes wear Silly Things”

The woman who sat next to me confided all the details of her accident in 2002 and how her life was changed forever. I offered my genuine sympathies and support. Some “Seniors are Sad People”

The concert was 2 hours long with a 20 minute intermission. I was impressed with all the local talent and was amazed at the dedication of the volunteers. Everyone in the audience enjoyed the performance and showed their appreciation with the thunderous clapping afterwards. This was an excellent way to officially start the holiday season. The traditional christmas carols resonated long after we left the auditorium. I planned to make attending the “Singing Christmas Tree” a new family tradition. (my family does not know this yet). Sometimes “Seniors are Sneaky People”.

I thought the concert was the highlight of the day, but the real excitement came on our trip home. There was a conflict of opinion on the best route to take. Everyone has their preferred way of getting out of the city and everyone thinks that their way is the best. I sat in my back seat in the corner and watched the scene unfold.

Women were arguing in the aisles, arms waving. One stood next to the driver and gave directions. Another shouted “No, that’s not the way! Turn around!” Another could be heard shouting, “Let the driver decide”. “Just let the driver decide how he wants to go home” These "Seniors are Serious People"

We went a few kilometres down the road and then made a U-turn. Lucky for us, the driver, age 78 and nearly deaf had learned to tune out female voices. He had been doing that very same thing for the past 50 years of his marriage and it never failed. He plugged along quietly and drove on the dark and snowy country roads , slow and steady and sure. This “Senior was Smart.”

The conversations lulled and everyone nodded off for the remainder of the trip. I guess all the excitement tired them out and so: “Seniors are Sleepy People too”.

And me? I’m slowly getting used to this new designation, but for now I’ll refer to myself as “Senior-Lite”

Cruise "out of" Control

The Little Gringo and his Mama

My family and I just came back from a Christmas Cruise to the Mexican Riviera. The Ship was a floating city with 2600 passengers and approximately 1200 crew members. It was 288 meters long and weighed about 116,000 tons. The mantra of the Princess Cruise line is “Escape Completely” and that is exactly what we did.

We were at the Edmonton airport at 440am (groan) to catch the flight to Seattle. From there we boarded another plane to Los Angeles. My grandson Nicholas adjusted very well to flying. In fact, he became a perpetual motion machine, climbing from one of our laps to the next and fidgeting with everything in site. He learned how to raise and lower the window shades, how to unhook the tray and turn on the overhead lights. He did this 20 times in a row with a concentrated effort. His energy was boundless.

It was raining when we arrived, but nothing could dampen our spirits. We lined up with hundreds of other passengers and were entered into the ship’s passenger list. They ushered us along, processed our papers and took our picture. By the time we got to our cabins, it was past 4 pm, almost 12 hours since our departure. What we really needed was a nap, but we had barely opened our suitcases, when the alarm sounded for the Muster Station drill. We were marched down to the 7^th deck and were instructed on how to put on a life jacket and handle an emergency I thought of the Titanic and how many lives could have been saved if such a system had been in place.

Then the cruise officially began. What followed was seven days and nights of continuous revelry, feasting, drinking, self indulgences and entertainment. There was something for everyone, from Bingo to Art Auctions; Ceramics at Sea to Line Dancing; Interdenominational Church Services to Casinos ; Movies to Live Stage Shows. I was familiar with the floor plan, since it was identical to the ship on my last cruise. Even the lounges and decks had the same name. This was reassuring, since I tend to get disoriented very easily. Turn me around once in a mall and I won’t find the exit.

The food was never ending. We were like Tolkien’s Hobbits, indulging in first breakfast, second breakfast, mid-morning snack, lunch, afternoon tea, early supper and finally a formal dinner at one of the 5 star restaurants. Every night I promised myself never to eat again and every morning, all bets were off! Our waistlines expanded exponentially and we thanked God for Spandex and stretch leggings.

We were curious about how all this glorious food was prepared, so we attended a demonstration by the head Chef. His passion for cooking and fine cuisine was clearly evident as he made a few entrees and desserts for his appreciative audience. Then we had a tour of the well stocked galley. It was stainless steel from wall to wall and very well organized.

We followed the route of the of the original Love Boat Show and almost expected Captain Stubing and his cohorts to appear at any moment, but the only stars we saw were the ones in the night sky.

The passenger list included people of every age group. Families, couples and singles mingled effortlessly, congregating at the Buffet and swimming pools on the Lido Deck. The atmosphere was casual and friendly and everyone seemed to be having a great time.

The crew and support staff made us feel very welcome and did everything they could to ensure our comfort and well being. Nicholas was fussed over and given special treats such as chocolates and cookies. He always had a small box of cereal to nibble on and left a trail of Fruit Loops all over the ship. He soon learned how to charm the other passengers with that “come hither” look. He was at his best in the elevators, making eye contact with the ladies and they always responded with smiles and attention.

We participated in some shore excursions. Christmas Day was spent on a Pirate Ship in Puerto Vallarta. The pirates entertained us with sword fights and encouraged our participation in singing and dancing. Dolphins swam alongside the boat and we even saw a few whales. Then we were piled into smaller boats and taken to a remote island with a private beach. I imagined myself as a castaway or a captive as I stumbled and struggled in and out of the crafts. Three Mexicans dressed as pirates held on to me and I kept hearing “I’ve got you Mama!”. Somehow I landed on the beach, a little embarrassed at my undignified descent. I sat at the water’s edge and let the waves push me along. Later I found sand in the most unmentionable places.

Nicky was afraid of the crashing waves, but we found a quiet lagoon where he played in the sand. We found tiny hermit crabs at the water’s edge. Life is everywhere if you know where to look. I had planned to do a bit of snorkelling on the reef, but this activity was cancelled due to the recent bloom of jelly fish. Their populations have increased worldwide, partly due to the rising ocean temperatures. Another stark reminder of the changes happening to our planet.

Our next day was in Mazatlan. The boys went Deep Sea Fishing and we girls decided to shop till we dropped. For a $10 cab fare we were taken to the prime tourist area of town. I practiced my bargaining techniques and was able to purchase quite a few trinkets for under $80. My daughter was in full bargaining mode, as she set her jaw, pursed her lips in a disinterested pout and scanned the shelves. When she made a selection, she invariably offered less than 50% of the list price and then started to leave the store. The negotiations continued until an agreeable price was achieved. It was the “Classic Kostelnik Manoeuvre“. My dad would be so proud! Dannielle was hesitant at first, but soon gained confidence as she watched us. By the end of the day she was a full fledged bartering diva, quibbling over pesos like a seasoned veteran.

The last shore excursion was at Cabo San Lucas on the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula. We took a bus tour through the desert landscape. The guide explained the history of the area and some of the ongoing efforts to preserve this fragile ecosystem. We visited Todos Santos and ate lunch at the original Hotel California, immortalized by the Eagle’s song of the same name. We ate Tamales steamed in corn husks, a tortilla, salsa, refried beans and guacamole. All this was washed down with Corona beer and a lime twist. I ignored the possibility of a gout flare-up and eased my thirst with that refreshing brew. We should not live in fear of what might happen. The time to live and enjoy is now! Savour every moment as I savoured that beer.

Back on the “Mother ship” I must confess we played a few rounds of bingo. I usually avoid the 3 B’s ( Bingo, Bowling and Bars), but my defences tumbled by the lure of easy money and available drinks. Thank God they don’t have bowling! (they have practically everything else). I might have gone for the trifecta! Everyone kept reminding us that we’ll never see these people again and to let our inhibitions fly. What they forgot to mention is that we’ll probably end up in embarrassing poses on Facebook for all the world to see. As we prepared to leave on the last day, I saw myself on the big screen in the theatre, dancing in the conga line with a silly grin on my face. That day on the pirate ship had come back to haunt me. Next, I had visions of myself in an “Old Girls Gone Wild” video, or even worse, “Grammie Goes Gaga over Ganga”. Heaven help us.

It may sound glamorous to work on a cruise ship but quite the opposite is true. The staff work very long hours and sometimes spend months at sea, away from their loved ones. Realizing this, I made a promise to myself to be more appreciative of my own job. We can all find things to complain about, but it is much better to cultivate an attitude of gratefulness.

The last day was spent preparing to disembark and enjoying those precious rays of the warm tropical sun. Our seven day cruise was in it’s final stages.

The temperature was -27C when we arrived home, a brutal reintroduction to our Alberta winter. I took a deep breath and reminded myself to be grateful.

And now I am back at work, settling into my old routine and dreaming of my next adventure…..Costa Rica anyone?