Reflections on A Passing Year

 "All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on." - Havelock Ellis

December 27 - the dying days of 2015.  At the end of last year, my hope was for a restoration to health, an improvement in my business fortunes and a reconnection to some loved ones who had retreated from my life.

My health is marginally better than it was at this time last year.  I'm still in physio every two weeks and I still haven't managed to get to an appointment without the need for a major realignment of my back.  Though I was assured last June by a leading specialist that I would be back in high heels in a matter of weeks, I am not.  The longer my back issues persist, the more I am becoming resigned to the idea that I will probably never again wear the hundreds of pairs of beautiful shoes that I have.  It is time to let go.

My hopes that Courtney would find a place for me in her life were also dashed.  She has been  brutally clear that she has no desire to see me again.  I was wrong to believe that she had come to care for me separate from her relationship with my son.  That she lived in my house for much of three years, that I fed her, clothed her, chauffeured her, edited her school papers and treated her like my very own daughter was ultimately meaningless.  She cares not at all about me, perhaps she never did. As painful as it is, it's time to let go.

Consistent with the adage "Be careful what you wish for", my business soared this year at a pace that has left me breathless.  Life as a consultant is usually feast or famine.  I've seen no famine this year.  I've had far more work than one person can reasonably manage.  I didn't want to turn down work no matter how much pressure it put me under to accept every assignment but I've come to realize that I can no longer keep up this pace.  I'm grateful for the luxury of being able to pick and choose my assignments.  As for the notion that I need to do it all - it's time to let go.

On January 4, Jacob will start his new job.  I am, of course, thrilled for him.  It is the opportunity he was been seeking since graduating eighteen months ago.  He has declared his intention to move out into his own place.  As much as I will miss him, it's time to let go.

Letting go has never been my strong suit.  I need to get a whole lot better at it.  When I write my year end blog next December, I hope I will be able to report that letting go made room for new possibilities, new experiences and new growth.

Happy New Year.

Shattered

"Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light." - Helen Keller

There is not a joint in my body that isn't aching but it is the sense of being emotionally shattered that I am most struggling with today.  All the Advil in the world can't fix that.

We made the long drive to Brantford for the funeral service of Gail's dad yesterday.  Gail delivered a beautiful and powerful eulogy at the service.  The tributes to her dad's legacy were abundant and lengthy.  As lovely as the service was, I was completely drained by the time we headed back to Toronto.  By rights, I should have gone to Montreal the day before to attend the funeral of Jon's uncle.  I just couldn't find the energy to make the ten hour return trip.  I sent flowers, prayers and love knowing it was not enough but this week it was the best that I could do.

I have more work than I can handle these days, for which I am most grateful.  But I've had to make some hard choices and face some hard truths.  At sixty years old, I don't have a lot of 60 hour work weeks in me.  As much as I hate to do it, I have to let some things go.  I will finish up with the private clients I have but barring an unusual circumstance, I won't be taking on new ones.  The work can be rewarding but it is rarely lucrative and it is most always draining.  I will continue my work with corporate clients who are demanding enough and focus my energy on my bread and butter clients.  I'll only be accepting new corporate clients if the work they need done is interesting or fun.  I'm happy to do training, mentoring and executive coaching.  I will do investigations, program building and H.R. strategy.  But my days of going into companies to do the messiest, ugliest, scariest terminations are done.  I'm retiring my hatchet.

 

There is much to do in these short weeks until Christmas.  I have yet to do any shopping.  Jacob has landed a new job beginning in January.  Unlike most businesses, the dress code in the department he will be working in is still quite formal.  So I will be concentrating most of my shopping on getting him a couple of new suits and sports jackets.  Other than that, I will focus my efforts on the kids in the family - not that there are many.  I will get the house decorated over the next couple of weeks.  I decided on a white feather theme this year to remind us that our guardian angels are always near.  Given the state of the world, we can use all the angels we can get.

Grief

 "I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.  That myth is more potent than history.  That dreams are more powerful than facts.  That hope always triumphs over experience.  That laughter is the only cure for grief.  And I believe that love is stronger than death." - Robert Fulghum

Perhaps it is the time of year that makes things feel worse.  Grief in a season of joy seems magnified.  On Monday, Gail's dad passed away after a long battle with heart disease.  He was ninety-four.  She is devastated.  Even when we know the loss of a loved one is coming, there is no way to steel oneself against the pain when it occurs.

On Tuesday, we learned that Jon's uncle, Josee's brother, had also passed away.  Apparently he dropped his children off at school, returned home, laid on the couch and died.  No illness.  No warning.  He was fifty-three.  Devastation doesn't even begin to describe the grief of his family.

I was already feeling blue before the news of these deaths.  The state of the world seems bleak.  I've tried turning off the news and stopped giving the front page of the newspaper more than a perfunctory glance.  Nonetheless, I can't seem to escape from it.  The mass shooting in California last night hit me hard. I heard about it sitting in the dining room at my mom's nursing home.  I don't understand anything anymore.

Normally I would turn to prayer in these times of darkness.  But as the New York Daily News wrote in their headline this morning - God isn't fixing this.   I'm struggling to find hope and laughter.

My Prayer

Dear God,

In the wake of so much conflict and sadness in the world, I find myself slipping into a dark place.  Please help me to find my way back to the light.  Please help me not to judge those who are making me angry with their views, though they differ from my own.  Please help me to accept that we are all doing the best we can.  Please help me to do my best.

Everytime I hear another person say that we shouldn't allow the Syrian refugees to come into Canada, I want to cry.  I want to rail at them for what seems to be their heartlessness and mean-spiritedness.  In my heart of hearts, I know mostly they are just afraid.  Please God, help them not to be afraid. 

Please help us to embrace one another.  Help us to find the things that bind us as humans.  Help us to understand that it is not skin colour or religion or place of birth that separates us, but rather fear, greed and hatred. Remind us that you did not draw the lines around the countries on the map but created the world for all of us to share.  Help us to find our better instincts. 

Help us to accept what is inevitably coming our way and let it bring out the best in us, rather than the worst.  Help us to be helpers, to provide comfort and refuge to all your children who need it.  Help us to remember that we are all your children.

Please forgive us when we fail.  Help us to pick ourselves up each time we fall, learn from our mistakes and try again. 

Thank you for the many blessings you have bestowed upon me.  For being born in a safe and free country.  For access to education, employment, health care, potable water, shelter, transit and food.  Thank you for family and friends.  I will try to be worthy of these gifts.

Love
Jackie

Heartsick

 "If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men." - St. Francis of Assisi

 

The older I get, the less and less I seem to understand the world.  The events of last night in Paris are so far outside my sphere of understanding that I'm not even trying.  My visceral reaction to the news was to feel sick.  Sick to my stomach.  Sick to my core.

Before the Paris attacks, I tried hard to bury my horror over the attacks in Beirut. Our part of the world paid little attention to those terrorist attacks.  But another attack on Paris would get our attention. The loss of European lives would hit close to home.  I tried hard through a long wakeful night after the news came from Paris, to convince myself that Canadians wouldn't go where I feared they would go but it was only a few hours into the day when I saw my worst fears realized.  

Yesterday, the annual Fall Fair was held at my mom's nursing home.  As we have done for the last eleven years, my sisters and I ran the jewellery department at the fair. Other than at the fair, I seldom see the group of women who volunteer at the nursing home.  My mom doesn't attend the activities anymore.  They are a lovely group of women, most twenty years my senior.  One of the loveliest women, Anna, took a few moments out of our very hectic preparation time to chat with me and get caught up on the happenings of the last year.  In addition to her volunteer work at the nursing home, Anna has been working at her church on their project to sponsor six families of Syrian refugees.  They should arrive in Canada before the end of this year.  After the attacks in Paris on Friday night, Anna is having second thoughts. She's thinking that maybe we shouldn't let them in.  What if they are terrorists?  I felt the knot in my stomach growing.

Earlier this year I reconnected with an old friend.  When I posted on my Facebook page a few weeks ago that I have created a new line of jewellery that I am selling for Syrian refugee relief, she was one of the first people to message me with an order.  Today, she posted a petition on her Facebook page, imploring the Canadian government to ban the entry of Syrian refugees.  It felt like a gut punch.  

In less than six weeks, it will be Christmas.  We live in a huge and prosperous country.  Are we really prepared to tell these refugees that there is no room at the inn?  Are we prepared to let terrorists define who we are?  We are Canadians.  We have more than we need.  Let's build a longer table not a higher fence.

Ten Years of Profound Gratitude

"Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed.  Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude." - Denis Waitley

Ten years ago today, I spent a long, sleepless night praying for time.  In the early morning hours of November 9, I would head to Princess Margaret for surgery.  It was step one in my breast cancer journey.  I was scared, to be sure.  I didn't want the pain, but I've had enough experience with pain during my life to know I could handle it.  I didn't want the disfigurement but I have enough scars to know I would eventually stop seeing it.  What worried me most was that I might not wake up from surgery and that anguish is what filled my thoughts that night.  I asked God over and over, for the time to raise my son.  Jacob was only fourteen.

My prayers were answered.  Jacob is grown now and I have had ten years of joy watching him become an extraordinary man. I got exactly what I asked for.  A couple of nights ago, I found myself praying again.  I am profoundly grateful for the gift of these ten years but I want more time.  A lot more time.  I want to dance at Jacob's wedding.  I want to hold my grandchildren.  I want to revel in retirement.  I want to see Paris, Sydney and Tokyo.  I want to finish the book I've been working on in dribs and drabs for the past five years.  I want to grow old.

Every morning for these past ten years, I have awoken with gratitude.  Every morning I have started my day with whispered thanks for the time.  I am so lucky.  I am so thankful.  I am so blessed.

Justin

“A country can be great not in spite of its diversity, but because of its diversity. When people come together to create opportunities for one another, the dreams we hold in common will crowd out the fears that would divide us.” - Justin Trudeau

It is as if the country has had a collective case of amnesia and yesterday Canadians woke up and remembered who we are.  In a breathtaking wave of red, Justin Trudeau's Liberals ousted Stephen Harper's Conservatives. Gone are the days of the politics of hate and fear.  

For some of us, what has happened in our country these last years has been bewildering.  We are a nation of immigrants who shuttered our borders.  We are a mosaic of people, proud of our multiculturalism who became obsessed about what was on women's heads instead of what was in them.  We are a nation with a huge social conscience who cut services to our most marginalized people.  We are a nation of lakes and oceans, mountains and plains, trees and tundra, arguably the most beautiful land on Earth and we stopped protecting our environment.

Yesterday, the winds of change blew across our land and today we woke up to a kinder, gentler Canada.  The true north, strong and free.

Vertigo

"Vertigo is the conflict between the fear of falling and the desire to fall." - Salman Rushdie

I've been sidelined by vertigo for the past few days, unable to sit up long enough to take advantage of the dying days of summer.  The mornings and evenings are cool but the afternoons are delicious.  Perfect weather for sitting outside and working on the new jewellery project I have taken on.  Alas, I have fallen behind on my self-imposed schedule.  The best laid plans of mice and men...

For my sixtieth birthday, I had planned to treat myself to a pair of Christian Louboutin shoes. As I still wasn't able to wear heels by then, I postponed the purchase for a later time.  I decided the time was November when will be celebrating another personal milestone.  As predicted by my specialist, I am healing slowly, but surely and as I improve, my heel heights have been getting higher and higher.  One sleepless night a couple of weeks ago, after watching the late night news, I changed my mind.  I simply can't justify spending that kind of money on shoes when the bodies of babies are washing up on beaches after they've lost their lives fleeing their war torn homes in Syria.  So I've taken my shoe money and invested it in beads.  I'm making a new line of jewellery to sell for refugee relief.  I don't know how or where I'm going to sell it yet, but I will figure it out. 

I am taking special joy in making these pieces.  They are unlike the pieces I've made before.  No two pieces are the same.  I've been letting the beads speak to me and tell me what they want to become.  And yes, I know that sounds nutty. 

The view outside my bedroom window is changing.  This morning I noticed a kiss of scarlet on the maple tree.  Fall is such a glorious time in Canada.  I hope next year, I will have a chance to share the experience of the emergence of the autumn splendour with some new Syrian friends who will have found safety and warmth here.

Time to Step Up

"It was as if I never left the war."— Syrian refugee girl, describing Greek coastguards shooting at their refugee boat to Amnesty International 

The image of Alan Kurdi face down on a Turkish beach, haunts my dreams.  The deaths of this beautiful boy, his brother and mother have wounded me to my core.  How terrible must things have been for these people to pay smugglers to take them in a small boat from their war torn home in Syria to someplace else - anyplace else?  I don't want to imagine the terror, the horror, the heartbreak.  For the last few days, our media has been filled with news of refugees stuck in a train station in Hungary or worse of the bodies of refugees found crammed into abandoned trucks or washing up on distant shores.  Until Alan, we Canadians, somehow convinced ourselves it was a far away problem.

Here in the second largest country in the world, we haven't been able to find the space to take these refugees.  We haven't had the interest or the will. It is pathetic.  Our federal government committed last year to taking ten thousand Syrian refugees over the course of three years with priority given to those suffering religious persecution.  Ten thousand? Thats the best we can do?  Who cares what their religious backgrounds are?  Last I knew, bombs and guns and weapons don't discriminate.  They will kill you just as dead whether you are Muslim, Christian or Jew.  To date we've only taken 2,100 people.  Our rules are so rigid and our processes so onerous that the Alan Kurdi's of the world don't have a prayer of getting in.

We're in the middle of a too long, too vitriolic election campaign.  I noticed the Tories aren't commenting on Justin Trudeau's hair anymore. Thomas Mulcair and Justin Trudeau are both speaking up about a plan for helping the Syrian refugees.  Mr. Harper has kept pretty quiet.  It is time for Canadian voters to demand more of our leaders.  If we make this crisis an election issue, maybe we will see action.  But we cannot leave it all up to our government.  

I implore everyone to find a way you can help.  Big or small, every gesture will make a difference.  Financial contributions will help.  So will practical help to resettle refugees in Canada.  And if you can't do either, a letter to your Member of Parliament demanding we do better and a vote for those who will would make a very good start.

 

 

 

 

 

Such Problems

“Through money or power you cannot solve all problems.  The problem in the human heart must be solved first.”  - Dalai Lama

I'm going through another one of those periods in my life when I am reluctant to pick up a newspaper or watch the news on television.  The world seems to be soaking in murder, mayhem, terrorism, natural disasters and vitriolic politics.  Never mind the news.  I can't even stand the political commercials that will consume our airspace until the federal election in October. 

Because there is so little to watch on TV and I can't stand the news, I often turn to mindless watching while I colour or craft.  I can pretty much repeat the dialogue of every episode of Murdoch Mysteries by heart.  When I'm really strapped for something to watch, I turn on Say Yes to the Dress.  It is pap but it doesn't require any effort on my part. I was thinking last night about how totally ridiculous many of the brides are.  Last night, a twenty-something woman sobbed unconsolably when she couldn't get the dress she really wanted because the $8,400 price tag was too high for her $5,000 budget. Really?  Such a first world problem.  I don't know that I have the heart to watch anymore.  Surely there has to be some middle ground between mayhem and self-absorbtion.

I'm extremely busy with work these days which is good. I'm still trying to get to my mom's every day.  I've finished my colouring book and bought some new beads.  I'm not feeling much like heavy reading. While I certainly won't wish the summer away as it is my favourite time of the year, I will be happy when the fall viewing season starts.  Until after the federal election though, I will be looking for a way to watch it commercial free.

Still Celebrating

"The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate." -  Oprah Winfrey

Sixty years and eighteen days old and still celebrating.  My birthday bliss has gone on and on.  On the morning of my birthday, I woke with a heart filled with joy.  Sixty.  I made it.  I am truly blessed.

I spent the day in the most perfect way.  Time with Jacob, time with my mother and dinner with those I love most in the world.  I drank a lot of good champagne, was spoiled with beautiful gifts and delighted with the many birthday wishes that came my way from near and far.  I could not have asked for a better day.  And that was just the first of my big celebrations.

Last week, Cathy hosted a twilight tea for the special women in my life.  It was a wonderful evening.  Women came together from different parts of my life.  While they all had heard of one another, some of them had never met or only met once, at my fiftieth birthday.  The food was delicious, the bubbly was flowing and the weather was perfect.  I can think of few celebrations that have given me so much joy.  As I have aged, I've come to appreciate how much this circle of women has enriched my life.  My cousins came from Michigan, my high school friend, Miriam came from Windsor.  There were colleagues from all my old jobs and the moms of some of my kids.  Sara wore the nametag with the caption, Sara: Daughter of my heart. As has been often the case, having a summer birthday precluded some of my dearest friends from attending as they were away on vacation but I will catch up with them another time and will create an occasion when we can all get together again.

So far, I'm loving sixty.  I am convinced it only gets better from here.

Sixty

"There was a star danced, and under that was I born." -William Shakespeare

In a couple of hours I will officially turn sixty though in fact, I wasn't born until ll o'clock in the morning.  Unlike some of my friends, I'm not struggling with this milestone birthday.  I am truly, overwhelmingly grateful for it.  It is the birthday I feared I would not get when I got my cancer diagnosis shortly after my fiftieth.  But here I am, healthy, thriving and feeling blessed.

There are some great things about aging.  There is a certain wisdom that can only be gained by living enough years to acquire it.  It is not an intellectual process, but an experiential one.  There is a level of confidence that comes from developing a real comfort in one's own skin, even if the bones underneath it are aching a little.  There is freedom from the pressure of meeting a lot of extraneous expectations.  It doesn't matter anymore.  Been there, done that.  I've already proven I can be the successful executive and the mom who makes the best goodies for the bake sale and the perfect hostess and the snappiest dresser all at the same time.  But I'm sixty now and I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore.

This is my time.  My life.  My journey.  If I want to be the successful executive and the best hostess and the snappiest dresser, I will.  And if I choose not to, I won't.  I'm giving myself a get out of jail free card to be used whenever I feel I need it, as often as I wish to use it.

Here's to liberation from expectations.  Happy Birthday to me.

Colour Me Happy

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be." - Anon

I got home from work a few days ago to find a delightful surprise in my mailbox.  My dear friend Frank sent me a colouring book and a beautiful set of coloured pencils.  It is a beautiful book filled with pages of beautiful drawings and inspirational quotations.  I love to colour.

The popularity of adult colouring books is soaring.  Chapters has a whole line of them on sale right now.  A number of my friends have been posting pictures of their books on Facebook lately.  I've posted some pictures of my creations too.  There is something very calming about colouring.  Not only does it bring me back to childhood days, but it gives me a chance to unleash my inner artist.  I cannot draw or paint for beans but I love playing with colour.  There are no rules and no way to make a mistake.  

One of my favorite pieces was a drawing of some paint brushes drawn underneath the caption, "Some pursue happiness, others create it."  There are six brushes.  In honour of pride week, I coloured the tip of each brush in a colour of the rainbow and then coloured each word of the caption in a different colour.  This piece was my first attempt at shading and mixing colours.  It was a perfect opportunity to colour outside the lines and I loved it.

My 60th birthday might be right around the corner, but my inner child is having a blast.  Thank you Frank.  You know me so well.

The Count Down Begins

"Everyone is the age of their heart." ~Guatemalan Proverb

One month from today, I will be sixty.  Aging is a good thing when you consider the alternative.  Still, it is a bit shocking to be here already.  I visited my back specialist today.  There was good news and no news but at least there wasn't bad news.

The good news is that the multitude of tests I had, show no serious bone abnormalities.  No metastasized cancer.  No cracks or breaks.  There is some arthritis in my legs and especially in my feet.  Whatever.  I'll cope.  Though I had hoped to be further along in my healing process by now, the physiatrist tells me that my nerves will recover from last years problems at the rate of one millimeter per day.  She told me to do the math.  It has been ten months but I still have a long way to go.  At least I'm moving in the right direction.  

It is the time of year when I tend to become introspective.  I'm taking inventory of my life again and while it is a pretty good life, there is room for improvement and change.  It is time for me to pay more attention to my health.  To stop eating like there won't be sugar in the world next week.  To tackle my level of stress which has been growing exponentially with each day I watch my mother transition, and each new client with unreasonable demands.  I want to turn my attentions to other things - things that bring me joy, like making jewellery and penny tables and art projects.  It is time to give serious consideration to how I can monetize that work so I can do more of what I love and less of what eats at my soul.  I'm so tired of firing people for a living.  

The weather is growing warm and the days are longer.  I love this time of the year.  I intend to take a few days before July 2 to sit on the deck and contemplate.  I'm almost sixty.  I've earned a little rest.

Awake

"When the flower blooms, the bees come uninvited." - Ramakrishna

I was roused from my bed at 5:45 this morning by the buzzing of a bee that insisted on circling my head.  I don't know when or how the bee got into the house or where it is now but it's persistence served as a message to my spirit that it was time to get up, in spite of the early hour.  There is much to be done today.

I need to file my taxes and write a client report.  There is a picture frame resting in my den in need of a touch up and a penny table only a quarter of the way penny topped that needs to get finished.  The ravine is looking lush and green this morning. My heart smiled when I saw the finally unfurled leaves.  There is warmth in the morning air.

What will this day bring?  I guess I'll jump in with both feet and find out.

Transitioning

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas

My mom is in transition.  After ten and a half years in a nursing home, it seems she is now close to the end of her days on this earthly plain.  She is slipping away in inches while we sit and watch, unable to do anything to ease the way.  It has been a couple of weeks since I've seen her eyes open.  Yet, she is still eating, still drinking almost as if it is a reflex.  Parts of her body are now covered in sores as if the tissues and skin holding her frail bones together are now just too tired to do the job and are protesting.  She can no longer sit for more than two of every twenty four hours.

It is a sad time for me and my sisters and we are all dealing with it in our own ways.  In truth, I mourned the loss of my mother long ago in the days when she first stopped knowing who I am.  I mourned for the loss of my best friend, biggest supporter and most reliable sounding board.  I mourned for the loss of Jacob's chance to know his only surviving grandparent.  I mourned for the ability of Alzheimer's to rob my mother of her brilliant mind and her abiding dignity.  And though I thought I would not, I find myself mourning anew.

I do not spend my days wishing for my mom's life to be extended or spared.  I want her to go when she wants to go.  I want her to be free, to be with her sisters and her mom and dad and with my dad.  Clearly, she already has a foot on the other side.  There will come a day in the not too distant future when she pulls the other foot over.  She has not gone gentle into that good night but I'm praying that she goes into it peacefully.

Miriam

"You don't have to have anything in common with people you've known since you were five.  With old friends, you've got your whole life in common." - Lyle Lovett

I was thirteen when we met.  It was my first year of high school and we met in drama class.  Miriam and I were both actresses, though she was better at it than I.  She reminded me last night that in those days, we looked alike - olive skinned with long dark hair, neither of us very tall and both wafer thin.  We were pretty girls.  We both acted in every major drama production through our high school years.  She was Lady Macbeth.  I was a witch.  Double, double toil and trouble.  I still remember my lines.  One year we shared the stage in a two-person, one-act play called Please No Flowers.  Miriam won the best actress award that year.  I didn't even get an honourable mention.  

In spite of our aspirations to both be leading ladies, there was no competition between us.  We were very close friends.  She spent a lot of time at my house.  I was never at hers.  I did not know her family.  Outside of school, we had very different home lives.  When high school ended, we went in different directions - I went off to university; Miriam got married.  By the time I graduated from university, Miriam was a few months from giving birth to her first child.  I moved away. We lost touch as people often do.  She had a tree planted in Israel to honour my dad when he passed away.  I was very moved.  I sent her a thank you note and then twenty years went by.  It happens.

One day a few years ago, I opened my mailbox to find a letter.  The return address was from a house a few blocks from my childhood home.  The last name on the envelope wasn't one that I knew but I knew without opening it that it was her.  Since our last contact she had divorced and remarried.  I am easy to find.  I kept my own name after I married.  It was a beautiful letter.  She wanted me to know that she still thought of me after all the intervening years.  She didn't leave a telephone number and her phone number is unlisted.  It took me all of about three minutes to find it anyway.  I called her.  We arranged to get together for dinner when she was next in Toronto.  Her children live here now.  

I was a little nervous about seeing her after all these years but of course I needn't have been.  We are a lot older.  We don't look alike anymore.  Our lives are different.  Our hearts are still the same.  Since that dinner, we've kept in touch.  Last year, Merv and I met Miriam and her husband Sheldon for dinner one night.  They are so well suited.  It made me very happy to see her so well partnered.  Last night they came to our place for dinner.  I made a simple supper.  Miriam keeps kosher so I made fish.  It was perfect for me.  I had time for visiting without being tethered to the kitchen. During the twenty minutes of kitchen time the meal demanded, we left the guys and chatted alone.  While the fish baked, I adjusted the size of the bracelet I made for her last year for her sixtieth birthday.  We were sixteen again.

In a few short months, I will be sixty.  As I age, I am growing increasingly nostalgic.  I find myself trying to draw back to my life all those important people who have somehow slipped away.  I'm so thankful Miriam took the time to find me.  It is a blessing to have her in my life, though truth be told, she was always in my heart.

Coffee Service

"Once you wake up and smell the coffee, it's hard to go back to sleep." - Fran Drescher

When I was a little girl, I found it difficult to get up for school in the morning.  My natural rhythm has always been for late mornings and late nights.  My dad used to bring coffee to me in bed each morning to entice me to get up.  That probably explains my coffee addiction. 

The only times I haven't fueled my morning with coffee were when I was pregnant and when I had chemo.  The smell of coffee sent me retching.  Jacob was only a few hours old when my craving returned and it was only a couple of weeks after chemo ended that my morning addiction kicked in once again. 

For my birthday last year, my sisters bought me a Nespresso Virtuoline machine and a milk steamer.  It is a wonderful luxury and the one single serve machine that I don't have to feel guilty about because the pods are aluminum, not plastic and are completely recycleable.  Until about a month ago, I started each morning with a delicious latte.  The excellence of the beverage also enticed Geraldine to drop over on many an afternoon.  So I was deeply upset when my machine stopped working about a month ago.  I went on-line to figure out what I needed to do to get my machine repaired.  It all seemed like such a pain.  Essentially, I could contact the Nespresso Cafe club which would arrange to pick up the machine and then return it sometime later when it was fixed.  As I have so often been housebound lately waiting for one repair service or another, I was reluctant to engage in this process.  I couldn't imagine being stuck in my house waiting for someone to pick up my machine.  Instead, I decided to take it to one of the few Nespresso Cafes in Toronto.  It is heavy and I haven't been up to carrying it with my sore back but not wanting to put it off any longer, today I hauled it to Yorkdale.  I waited in a long line only to be told they couldn't help me.  If I had the receipt, The Bay could take the machine back.  If not, I would have to call the Nespresso Cafe.  The machine was a gift.  I don't have the receipt.

Upon my return home, I braced myself for an argument.  I called the toll free number of the Nespresso Cafe to be greeted by an agent named Henry.  Henry suggested that we try to get my machine going again through a series of activities that he walked me through.  Unfortunately, no luck. "No worries", he said.  "We will have UPS deliver a loaner to you along with a carton that you can put your broken machine in and a prepaid shipping label.  When you are ready, send it to us.  Once we fix it, we will have it delivered to you by UPS.  Try your repaired or replaced machine out and when you are satisfied that all is right, send the loaner back to us.  Take your time.  No hurry." 

UPS will work with me to deliver the machine at a convenient time or I can pick it up from their depot. Start to finish, the whole repair process will take about two weeks.  I told Henry that I was a bit surprised that they had a loaner program. He explained that as I'm not the only client with a latte addiction, they feel obliged to provide loaners as they don't have a detox program.  I like this company.  Bell, Rogers and Enbridge could all take lessons.

Words With Strangers

 "If you're going to play at all, you're out to win.  Baseball, board games, playing Jeopardy.  I hate to lose." - Derek Jeter

I don't like to lose at the big things but it doesn't much matter to me if I lose at a game of cards or a board game.  And I don't play Words With Friends because I'm out to win.  I actually enjoy playing a lot more against someone who can give me some competition.  It isn't as much fun to play against a weak opponent.  For one thing, I don't learn much from those games.  When I'm playing against a strong opponent, I learn new words.  I like words so that is a big bonus for me.

Unfortunately, there is a big time shift with most of the friends I play with.  Four of my five friends live in England.  When I feel like playing a game late in the evening while I watch TV, they are asleep.  So when I get the late night yen for a game, I elect the Smart Match option and the game automatically finds me a stranger to play with.  Most of the time, it's fun.  I've played with people all over the U.S. and the odd time from the U.K.  There is a chat feature on our games and usually at some point when one or the other of us has made a good play or is struggling, we will start to chat.  The comments usually don't go much beyond congratuations for a nice play or a groan about having consistently bad letters.  Sometimes we will exchange first names and locations in the world.  At the holidays, we exchanged Christmas and New Year's greetings.  

Sometimes I play two or three games against the same player.  Unfortunately, we're rarely evenly matched.  I'm a pretty good player and I think it discourages some people to continue after two or three consecutive losses.  If I lose, I usually invite my opponent to play again.  About a week ago, I found myself playing in a Smart Match against an opponent in Florida named Bonnie.  We played a couple of games and engaged in some innocuous chat.  I learned that Bonnie was originally from Ohio and had retired to Florida to escape the harsh winter.  Bonnie isn't a terrific player but she could play a decent game.  I enjoyed playing with her.  I was a little taken back when she asked me if I was cheating.  She was having a bad game - it happens to all of us.  After all, much of success in the game is about being lucky in drawing good tiles.  She wasn't experiencing luck in the draw.  I was.  If there is a way to cheat at Words With Friends, I don't know what it is.  I assured Bonnie that I was not cheating.  The next time I played a high scoring word, she resigned the game.  

Last night Smart Match paired me with a chatty opponent.  With the first move he asked my gender.  With the second, my age.  I assured him I am old enough to be his mother.  Then he asked for my picture.  From a bit of sleuthing on his screen name, I soon realized he was playing from an Oklahoma prison.  I think he was looking for a fantasy.  I was just looking for a good game.  He didn't play any words longer than three letters.  I was uncomfortable and so I resigned the game.  My next opponent started complaining about half way through the game that he (or she) just wasn't getting decent letters and would probably delete the game from his play history.  I didn't even know you could do that or why you would want to.  I was playing well.  He was playing adequately but was significantly behind. By the time the letters bag was almost empty, he commented that as a birthday gift to him, I should resign the game.  By the rules of Words With Friends, if you resign a game during play, you automatically lose.  I played my next word and commented that I'm sure he would have better luck next time.  He replied by calling me a word that sent me to the Urban Dictionary for a translation.  It was disgusting.  He stopped playing but still hasn't resigned.  I guess he's trying to wait me out.  He'll be waiting forever.  I don't care about taking the loss but I do care about standing up to a bully - even one whose identity I will never know.  I looked for a mechanism in the game to report him to Words With Friends but I didn't find one.

Today I'm playing against a new opponent.  I don't know if it is a man or a woman or where in the world he or she is located.  I do know that we are pretty evenly matched.  He or she led for most of the game.  We are close to the end now and I've taken the lead.  In the end, it doesn't much matter to me.  I've learned some new words.  It's been fun. 

And Then...

David dropped my Blackberry off mid-morning.  As the battery was low, I plugged it in to recharge.  It froze.  I took out the battery.  Nothing.  I turned it on and off.  Nothing.  An hour later, my friend Maurice stopped by.  I used his phone to call Bell about our land line.  They won't get a technician here until late tomorrow. Maurice is a techie but despite his best efforts, he couldn't get my Blackberry unstuck.  After several attempts, he called Rogers.  The news wasn't good.  My device had been corrupted.  Maurice had to reinstall all the software.  I lost everything on my device - all my pictures, call history, contact list, BBMs and texts.  I had some of it, though not as much as I should have, backed up.  Jacob will have a lot of work to do to try to get me back in working order.  Good thing I paid those five years of tuition for him to get a degree in computer engineering. 

Repairs

"If you spend your whole life waiting for the storm, you'll never enjoy the sunshine." - Morris West 

Seems like every time I turn around these days, something breaks.  Last week, it was the furnace.  We were without heat for about thirty hours during a bitter cold snap.  Even with a couple of space heaters running, two sweaters, heavy socks and a scarf wound around my neck, I was freezing.  The house got so cold that my warm breath continually fogged up my glasses.  

The furnace repairman came early in the morning following an early evening call the day before.  I was happy because I had assumed fixing the furnace would be a short job and I would still be able to make it to the lunch meeting I had scheduled.  It turned out that the repair was simple but the part had to be ordered and once delivered, a new appointment to have it installed needed to be scheduled.  I didn't make it to my meeting.  The furnace was finally repaired after 5 P.M.  I waited all day, unable to leave until everyone had done their part.  Of course, no one would give me a time.  I didn't know if the part would even arrive that day or the next.

For my birthday last year, Cath and Nan bought me a Nespresso coffeemaker.  Each morning I enjoy a delicious latte.  It is a small pleasure that starts my day off on the right foot.  Monday it stopped working.  It is an expensive machine, a luxury I would never have indulged in for myself.  I will figure out whatever machinations I must go through to have it repaired.  But I'm disappointed.  The machine has been treated gently.  How could it possibly be broken already?

Yesterday I travelled to Owen Sound with my friend David for a client meeting.  It was a long day and a long drive.  Our meetings were good and I was glad we made the trip.  Coming home, we ran into heavy snow.  The drive was slow and my back was aching when we got home around 8 P.M.  A couple of hours later, I realized that I had left my phone in David's car.  I picked up the land line phone to call him only to learn we had no service in the house.  I have no idea why.  I used Jacob's phone to call Bell only to hear an automated message telling me that I could set up a service appointment in a window between 8 A.M. and noon this morning, but only if I could provide them with a phone number where the Bell repairman could reach me before he comes.  There is something crazy about the logic there.  My phone isn't working and I can't have it repaired unless the phone company can call me. 

David and I communicated through e-mail late last night.  He will drop my phone off this morning.  I'm still waiting so I can call Bell and start the waiting game again.