Feeling Good

Outer wear to wear out

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It was Thursday. A special Thursday – Valentine’s Day – February 14th. The couple had tickets to go and attend a live show in the heart of Toronto. Instead of having to deal with the outrageous afternoon homebound traffic, he and she had decided that taking the train would be the most convenient, and less stressful, way of commuting downtown. They stood in the front hallway of their domicile and were ready to don their winter coats and prepare themselves for the blast of the cold air that would hit as soon as the door opened. Indecisiveness hit. She was in a quandary as to which coat would be best for this trek.

Her big, white, shin length coat was warm and it had a hood, which would be ideal if the predicted rain was to arrive. However, it was also inconvenient in that it would take up a lot of space in the theatre where this coat would be placed beneath her to sit upon. She had a lovely red peacoat, but it didn’t keep her very warm and it was a 20 minute walk from the train station to the theatre. Looking good was important, for appearance sake, but staying healthy took priority. She did have a nice leather jacket, but there was no hood and odds of rain were quite high. Bringing an umbrella was additionally cumbersome, hence the idea of wearing something with a hood.

Then she saw it. Her latest wardrobe addition. She had bought it on sale at 50% off and it fit wonderfully. It was waist length, but incredibly warm, and it did have a hood. She grabbed the grey puffy coat, put her arms through the sleeves and zipped up the jacket; warm already.

“Ready?” she asked her husband.

“All set,” he replied, as he put on his spring jacket. He just never felt the cold the same way she did. Lucky bloke.

Off they went. They drove their car from their hometown city to the neighbouring city that housed the train station. They found a convenient parking spot and headed toward the front door of the station. After purchasing their tickets they headed underground to find the correct platform from whence their train would be departing.

As she walked on beside him, she suddenly felt like she had entered a parallel universe. Everything seemed the same as when they had first took the stone steps into the underground, but then it had also changed.

As she walked on toward the platform she noticed them all around her. Some were black, others were purple, and there were some bright red ones too. There were pure white ones, and some off white or more beige ones. Some were long while others were short. Some had belts. Some had hoods. Some had both belts and hoods. In the end they were all the same or related in some way. Man, woman, child…all of them in this underground pathway seemed to wearing one. Had she stumbled upon the land of the puffy coats?

The first time she had heard those two words “puffy coat” was while she was listening to the radio and there was an advertisement about these puffy things being on sale. In her mind’s eye she pictured something like the Michelin Man would wear. In truth, she was not that far off. When she saw a commercial for these garments on television it seemed that this was the inspiration for this new line of clothing.

“Ridiculous,” she thought. “Why would anyone want to be a live version of the cartoon tire guy?” Why indeed?

She considered herself a pragmatic and stylishly dressed woman. Since cold weather seemed to be around the majority of the 12 months, it was important to be dressed warmly, but it was also important that she looked smart and polished. She had at least 9 designated winter coats and another 3 mid-fall to pre-winter jackets. The winter coats were made of heavy polyester/wool mix and were quite heavy. They were warm, but quite cumbersome. The leather jackets were stylish, but leather did tend to take awhile to draw out the warmth that her body craved. Chattering teeth were not attractive on anyone. The faux fur jacket looked great, but the wind whistled right through it. Finding the perfect garb was a yearly adventure.

As years passed, the transition from heavy winter coats to the “Michelin Man” wannabe coats seemed to become the dominant style in every clothing store. One day, for a lark, she decided to try one of these pillow-like garments.

As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, her mind pondered how fickle fashion could be. These silly puffy coats seemed pragmatically useless for winter weather. Then her mind registered the immediate warmth that was contained inside this jacket as she zipped it up. How could that be? The wonderful fluffy garment was also light as air. She felt liberated from the usual constraints of the old wool winter coats. It was incredible!

She felt something scratching at her neck, so she unzipped the coat to see what it was. There was a paper tag from the manufacturer, but there was also a small bag, made of the same exterior polyester fabric, with a drawstring. She saw a picture on the paper tag that showed how to roll up the coat in such a way as to be able to pack it away into this small sack. What? You could roll up the entire parka to the size of a coffee thermos? How incredible! Oh wait…there was more writing on the back of the tag; washing instructions. What? It could be washed? No more dry cleaning after every winter. These puffy garments were brilliant!

So, here she was, on this Valentine’s day, wearing her grey puffy coat (not her purple or blue one. Yes, she owns three now) in the underground, feeling nice and comfortable, stylish, and incredibly warm heading to the city centre to see a wonderful show with her Valentine’s Day sweetheart. Even downtown, the citizens wandering about were also comfy and cozy in their version of the overwhelmingly popular puffy coat. At the theatre, she rolled up her coat and used it as a nice lumbar support and sat happily throughout the show. As predicted, it did rain that night. She smiled as she donned the puffy hood onto her head. Comfort, style, warmth. What a wonderful trifecta of fashion.

Although she didn’t usually jump onto the fashion trend train, the puffy coat was one she was happy she had transitioned to. She was debating actually trying some of the others: lace up jeans, faux fur sandals, platform Crocs. Then again…maybe not. There is fashion, there is function, and sometimes (or oftentimes) fashion failures. For now she would stick with her puffy coat…the perfect outerwear to wear out.


It’s good to be…sleeping

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As a teenager I would sleep until mid afternoon. My mother would watch me saunter down the stairs, my hair in disarray, my eyes bloodshot. As my mother would look upon my disheveled form she would say, in a disgusted voice, “I hope you don’t TELL people you sleep this late.” It never made sense to me. Why would anyone care what time I slept until? Was I taking time away from their snooze-fest? Besides, I finally turned off my light and went to sleep around 4 in the morning. So, I was just trying to get my 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. What is wrong with sleeping?

After some intense analysis I realized that my Catholic mother had two problems with my tardy wakening. First, she definitely believed she had a lazy daughter, which was an absolute disability, a handicap so bad that she would never be able to marry me off. Yeah, it was the late 1980s early 1990s, but in her old-ways European life mentality, her goal was all about selling off…ahem…marrying off her daughter to a good family. The second thing was that “sloth” was (and is) one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Not only was her daughter the epitome of laziness, not only would my mom never be able to find me a mate, but when my life finally DID expire on this earth she knew that her beloved spawn would burn in hell forever which ultimately meant she was a bad mother. Everything in my life somehow directly affected her life. That, however, is a story for another day. Actually, it’s more like a novella, but I digress (as usual).

Lazy. I wasn’t lazy. I was tired. Staying up late when the house was nice and quiet was when I got most of my homework done. HA! HOMEWORK! Yeah right. The witching hour was when I would haul the land line phone into my closet and call my boyfriend and we would whisper chat. Or I’d meet my sister by the tv set in the family room at 1 a.m. so we could watch music videos. THAT was definitely banned. One tv in the WHOLE house and limited viewing time.  There were horrible things like “rock videos” and those were very bad because there was nudity (like bald people) and people dressed weird and screaming at you (like Twisted Sister, We’re Not Gonna Take It ) which was definitely devil’s work. Hmmm, come to think of it, most of the stuff that was FUN was devil’s work. All this banned stuff made sense (sort of), but sleep…being bad?

Now, back to my original tale of my teenage obsession with sleep.  The reason I liked sleeping so much was that I finally had my very own room which contained my very own double (nowadays called “full”) bed.  There were 4 of us children. We lived in a very large 4 bedroom home. Now here is how bed/bedroom assignments worked in our house.  Parental figures had one of the 4 bedrooms.  That left 3 bedrooms for 4 children. Initially my younger brother and I shared a room, but as we went from toddler to tween the whole boy/girl in same room was not an option. So, my parents put me and my sister together in a room.  It was great!  She is 5 years older than me.   At that time she was so excited that her little sister was sharing HER room and asking questions about HER teenage stuff.  And her little sister would not shut the hell up at night because wee sister came alive at bedtime.  Big sister decided that there needed to be some rules:  No more asking questions about her teenage girl stuff.  No talking at bedtime.  No tossing and turning in the squeaky bed.  No looking at older sister.  No using big sister’s stuff.  Little sis allowed in room ONLY at bedtime.  Oh, little sister must learn not to breathe cause that was annoying too.  After a few days of this sisterly love-fest, I got to vacate.  I went from pauper to princess and got my very own room.

(Sidenote:  My older brother…who is even older than my sister, had to share a room with baby brother…9 years younger.  I don’t think my big brother has ever forgiven me for having him displaced from his solitary haven.) 

Anyway, back to my original tale of the zombie teen in the kitchen.  I thought about the whole “lazy” thing and then thought about how the bible actually referred to this particular sin as “sloth”. Sloths were super cool. I had seen one once while watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. (That was the show we had to watch first in order to be allowed to watch the Magical World of Disney. It was a trade off: Learn, then laugh.) But this day was totally worth it cause sloths are incredibly amazing! They look like they are smiling ALL THE TIME! Like a big teddy bear. And they love hugging tree branches which means they love hugs and I love hugs so I was definitely the epitome of sloth-dom.

I tried to explain this thought process to my mother. The whole laziness = sloth = happy animal = GOD LOVES EVERYONE! That last one was always my go to response when my parents poo-pooed people. I used it if my parents didn’t like one of the neighbour kids, “but God loves everyone.”  Or I’d try this one:  Jesus even said to ‘love thy neighbour’.  I could almost hear their eyes rolling at me.  To be fair, I was trained in Commando Verbal Warfare by the best of the best: My Mother.  In the end, I was informed that God could love these people at their own houses and we could love people from afar and sloth and laziness were still bad.  I would still pat myself on the back for the good effort I had put forward.  I wouldn’t win the battle, but hoped to win the war.  Time passed.

As an adult in my partying 20s, I managed to get, maybe 3 to 4 hours of sleep a night. Not sure how I coped or functioned, but I managed to drive my car, do daily work assignments, and basically function like a normal human being. After aging and graduating into the upper echelons of adult society, thoughts of partying were put the wayside because the one thing I cherished most was once again, the nestling of my head into my down and feather pillow and watching my digital clock on weekends as it went from 6 am to 8 am to 9 am to double digits like 10 am and 11 am. Each time I checked the time I would smile, contentedly.  No guilt.  No thoughts of laziness.  I prefer to call it a luxury.  Get it while you can and enjoy it.  Snuggle yourself into your blankets and dream those happy dreams.  No need to get dressed.  No need to run around and think about errands.  It’s the best de-stresser. 

Tomorrow is Saturday.  I have no plans.  Full disclosure, I have one plan:  Sleep in and be happy.



Inhale…and…still trying

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My usual daily attitude is one of supreme happiness. I mark my visage with a gloriously toothy grin. I smile at one and all. There is always something around me that can make me feel content about life. I am your typical Pollyanna believing that every day can be the “Best Day Ever”! That WAS true until yesterday at about 2:42 pm when my cheery soul was kidnapped and replaced with a dark a demented life sucker.

What happened? I am the poster child for health. Got a cold? I’ll be your healer. Nothing ever affects me. Ever. Well, the day of “ever” has finally arrived and I have been royally knocked over onto my keister. Maybe I’m being overdramatic, but saying I’ll rather be dead is really a thought that has crossed my mind. Let me explain how my brain when from sunshine and lollipops to a machete-wielding psychopath.

TIMELINE:

Day 1: Slight sniffle. Nothing new there. It’s a transition from my nice warm home to the chilly outdoors. The air is cool and refreshing. It’s winter in Canada. I have my down-filled winter coat on. I am wearing my fur-lined hood. I have my thick winter gloves on and my faux-fur lined woolly boots. My body is sufficiently protected from the elements. I have preheated my car and I’m ready to roll. *sneeze.

Day 2: *sniffle, sniffle, sniffle, sneeze, sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. Ok, this is annoying. *blow nose. Ok, that’s 6 facial tissues used in as many seconds. This ain’t right. (Yeah, my brain forgets grammar when I’m not feeling 100%). Ok, it’s a cold. Drink lots of fluids. Amp up the Vitamin C. Pull out the echinacea pins. All defenses up! Time to get fighting! I am ready for battle!

Day 3: *cough, cough, sniffle, sniffle, sneeze, sneeze, blow nose. My eyes are going to fall out of my head. Really, it’s true! Blinking is actually painful. I never realized how often I blink in one day. My sinuses…my throat…my ears…my nose. I am very aware of my facial orifices. Everything hurts. My nose is raw and red from sneezing and blowing. My sinuses are chock full of something because they are the ones trying to push my eyeballs out of my head. The pain is incredible. Ouch. I blinked again. THAT HURTS! How is it possible that blinking hurts! I have had migraines, and that is painful, but this whole body soreness is … NO I’M NOT WHINING!

Day 4: *cough, cough, wheeze, wheeze, nose whistle, sneeze, blow nose. I think a bug landed on my arm. There is a bruise the size of a grapefruit there now. I never knew how much skin I had on my body. I put some hand cream on my crocodile-skin legs and arms. The chore itself made me wonder how I usually have the ability to lift my arms daily, as now they each weigh about 2000 lbs. How does my neck hold my head? It really is a a miracle. Breathing…something I definitely took for granted. I try to breathe through my mouth because my nose no longer wants to do that job. *Inhale…COUGH COUGH HACK HACK COUGH COUGH! Right! That’s why my nose needs to get back to doing the breathing thing ’cause my mouth doesn’t want to be the substitute. My next thought…I wonder if I can learn to breathe through my ears. It might be easier.

Day 5:

Day 6: I don’t know what happened to day 5. With my Sherlock Holmes hat on, I survey my surroundings and try to deduce what happened. Here is what I see: Box of facial tissues…an empty box. Pile of “used” tissues. Bottle of water. Bottles of pills: Vitamin C, Vitamin B complex, echinacea, Advil. Small bottle of Eucalyptus essential oil, mug with camomile tea bag, jar of honey, spoon of honey stuck to nightstand. Shot glass? *sniff. Cognac. Well, looks like Day 5 was my Armageddon. I chose my weapons both herbal and man-made. Looks like my flu bug cocktail of choice knocked me out for the day. Unconsciousness was a much better way of dealing with this hideous illness. Good news…at home and not in hospital.

Day 7: One week of my life play “Torturing Pollyanna”. Wait…*sniff. I think my one nostril is working. *cough, cough. Ok, so if I inhale I cough. Breathing leads to venomous vipers ripping at my throat. Still trying to get my ears to do my breathing.

Day 8: Have I blinked yet today? I must have. No pain. *blink-blink. Woo hoo! I am on the mend! My nose…oh bless you…no, not from sneezing. Bless you for coming off strike and taking up your old job again. I love you, you snot-filled wonder. You are incredible. I touch my nose, gingerly. The poor thing is so sore. It’s scraped raw from all that horrible facial tissue. My arms aren’t as heavy anymore. They feel like they weigh their usual normal weight. What is that…off in the distance? Are we reaching the finish line toward salvation?

Day 15: It has been 3 weeks and I feel like a totally different person. I am reborn. I am so grateful for surviving that horrible illness. It wasn’t even the flu like I thought. I never had a fever. But let me tell you, I am beyond happy at being one of the healthy again. I love my nose, my throat, my lungs. I even love my ears (I do think at one point they did take in a few breaths for me…how else could I have survived?).

So, my Pollyanna-ism has grown exponentially larger. I am even more grateful and happy with everything I have in my life. My happy medicine that healed me. My body that worked hard to get me back to my usual happy self.

Salute! To my body…you are incredible!

You are beautiful…I love you

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I finally get it.  Oh, it took me several months to finally see what this particular group of people see daily when they look in a mirror and examine themselves.  The realization and comprehension took me by surprise, but I am so glad that I FINALLY GET IT!  Oh, I am talking about thin people looking at themselves and thinking they are fat.  WHAT?!

I reinvent my look every few years.  I am a confirmed shopaholic.  I LOVE buying clothes.  I love buying shoes.  I will venture into designer stores and I will frequent Goodwill.  I am not too choosy about where I buy, but I am choosy about what I buy.  I think my subconscious knows how much I enjoy cavorting in malls so once I have reached my allotted closets space (yes, I have commandeered more than one closet), my body suddenly transforms.  

Ok, it’s not sudden.  It’s more laboriously time consuming…like 6 months or a year, or two.  I will go from a svelte size 6 and balloon to a size 14. I have gone from being a weensy, boney size 4 to a plump and cuddly size 1X (I think that’s a nice way of saying size 18, I believe).  So, I have been all over the board with my body size (and all over the malls…lol).  

My most challenging mind game was learning to love my plus size body; all the bumps and lumps and squishiness of me.  And I did learn to love it… every big bit of it.  Even when my mother mocked and shamed me, I still loved the round cherub cheeks I had, and my breasts…OH WOW…full and quite glamorous.  Though I loved the Mrs. Claus version of me, my lungs were clambering for oxygen after walking up a flight of stairs.  So, it was time for me to start my journey to becoming a healthier me.  Not necessarily a non-fluffy me, but just a person who could walk and not get winded.  A person who could lift a toddler without her back going out.

I began with healthier eating.  Load up my plate with the colours of the rainbow…broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, strawberries, blueberries, eggplant, et. al.  You get the idea.  The bland whites and beiges were absent for a little while.  No bread.  No pasta.  No cookies.  No donuts.  I re-introduced those after I lost 40 lbs, but there were no longer any carb-fests that I had previously enjoyed.  Anyway, after shedding parts of me, I joined a gym.  (Technically, hubby Wiseguy signed us both up).  Well, after a couple of months of “healthy” eating AND three days a week at the gym (for an hour) I have a new-to-me amazing body!  I mean, my body is an incredible thing and it can do some amazing stuff!  

Before this “new” me, I couldn’t lift 2 lb weights without heaving and straining and now I can lift and hoist 40 lbs.  I can lift toddlers without breaking a sweat.  I can do squats like a champ…which means kidlets can be bounced on my lap and I no longer have to worry about getting a Charley Horse.  Amazing!  I am lookin’ goooooood!  I have rounded shoulders, thanks to my newly formed muscles.  My bat wings … non-existent!  My calves and thighs; toned and sinewy.  Look at me being a femme fatale version of Arnie (Arnold Schwarzenegger).  I’m feeling great and looking great!  Or am I?

I’ve been thinner now for about a year, but I started working out about 8 months ago.  Now when I look in the mirror I am finding faults with my body. My thighs only seem toned if I flex them.  The mushy flab around my belly is still wiggly and jiggly.  Where is the 6-pack I am supposed to have?  It’s obvious…I am fat.  Yup, that is what I see when I look in the mirror and see my reflection.  My butt (sorry, not into the big butt look for myself), but I just see cellulite and flab.  What happened?  I weigh 40 lbs less than I used to be so why do I feel and look fatter now?  Apparently, I am not alone with this bizarro way of thinking.

Phantom Fat.  It’s actually a thing. Basically, your mind still believes and subsequently sees the bigger you that you were.  So, after I lost weight I found I was still trying on large size clothes and would be surprised when they were too big.  Even now, I try on small clothes now and am surprised when they fit.  “Must be American version of small which is really like a real-size large,” is what my brain tells me.  

I am still surprised when people I haven’t seen in awhile tell me how great I look.  They ask me how I shed the pounds, which is easy to talk about.  What shocks me is how tiny they think I am.  I don’t see it.  I quickly change the topic because I feel like a fake and a liar.  

I will tell you that when I accepted the soft, pudgy me, I was happy and loving life.  Oh sure, I ate my feelings (food has always been my go-to comfort when life gets hectic).  Now, I worry when I have my latte and biscotti.  I worry when I skip a day going to the gym.  I worry about not fitting into the clothes I have purchased.  I worry about the food I eat thinking I’ll gain 50 lbs after one meal.  Who would’ve thought that losing weight and being healthy could become a mental hazard?  

I wasn’t going write about this, but I thought there might be someone out there having the same unrealistic thoughts and wondering if they were the only person having these crazy thoughts.  Well guess what?  There’s a bunch of us trying to overcome this weird way of dealing with something that is actually a great thing!   

So today I will stop judging myself and go back to my old mantra that I used when I was trying to love and accept my biggy, squishy me.  I will look at myself in that full length mirror and tell that wonderful person, “You are beautiful and I love you.”  


And Nobody Lost an Eye…

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Wiseguy and I are happy grandparents (who refuse to grow up).  We are lucky grandparents to five beautiful grandchildren.  None of them are into the double digit birthdays yet, so shopping for birthdays and Christmas can oftentimes be done in advance.  When I extricate myself from my humble home to go on a shopping spree, I will oftentimes pick up “future” gifts for the grandkids.  If I am in the midst of a clearance sale extravaganza I become quite a neanderthal; hunting and fishing for the best deals.  It was with grandchildren in mind that I purchased an interesting little toy that has left me with an indelible memory forever.

On this particular trek to the store, I ventured into the children’s area and found a toy on clearance called the Penguin Popper.  It looked kind of fun.  In my head I was already debating who would be the lucky recipient of this unique gift.  The eldest (a girl of 8 years) is more into the “tweening” phase of her life and is more likely to appreciate articles of clothing for her “American Girl” doll (or clothing for herself).  Then next in line would the 4 year olds; one boy, one girl.  Now, if I gave it to the boy, who is into wrestling and fake fighting, I  could see his excitement with the toy turning into devastation as one of the other kids would lose an eye.  How about the 4 year old girl?  Well, she does have great tomboy moments.  I could see her getting a kick out of it.  Then I thought, well her cousin (the 4 year old boy) would probably wish he had it (even though someone would lose and eye) and there would be sadness and loss of joy so I couldn’t bring myself to create that kind of drama in our lives.  So…no to both 4 year olds.  The last two were way too young for it.  A two year old and a one year old.  The toy’s packaging stated this as well:  Ages 4 +.  Hmmmm, what to do.  I expanded my search.

I thought about my niece’s kids.  Little dude of 8 months was waaaaay too young.  How about his big sister?  She would love something like this!  She is 3 1/2 years old.  Almost 4.  And she laughs hysterically when people get…injured.  Hmmm, like a mini ball in the eye from 20 paces would be hilarious.  My competent adult brain finally decided that this actually wasn’t such a great kid’s toy to introduce into our family.  I did the only plausible thing.

No I didn’t return it!   Remember the adults who refuse to grow up?  Well, I was so excited about my decision to keep said toy that I couldn’t wait to see Wiseguy’s face light up when he saw our new play thing.  I could picture us popping that ball out of the penguin’s mouth and having the kidlets go chasing after it to see who would get it first.  Then they could ALL take turns playing with it and no one would lose an eye and no one could keep it because it belonged at the grandparent’s house.  WIN WIN!  Right?

When I gave hubby the rundown on how we were now the proud owners of a Penguin Popper, he rolled his eyes in helpless defeat.  Not sure, but I believe (assume) these were the thoughts running around in his brain:

  • Not more junk!
  • Another toy?
  • Someone is going to lose an eye!

The comment that actually emerged was, “Waldo is going to steal the ball, choke on it, and die.”  (Note:  Waldo is our 10 year old super cute and fluffy thief dog.)IMG_3861

Well, I didn’t see that comment coming.  So, me being me, I had to prove that THIS was the coolest toy ever and he would be the most fun grandfather in the history of grandfathers!  Wiseguy turned and started to walk away.  I had to prove my point so I grasped the Penguin Popper in both hands, holding it directly in front of me, and I squeeeeeeezed his stomach.  (I’m assuming it’s a “him” Popper because there is no pretty bow on his head.  If it was a girl Popper they would’ve put a pretty bow.  Also, the inventors probably figured that girls wouldn’t do fun (vicious) things like this, but boys would and so the Penguin is definitely a boy.  Ahhhh, classic stereotyping at its best.)

Here is what happened after the stomach squeeeeeeeeze:

  • Loud POP! sound
  • My eyes opened wide, in a bit of disbelief actually, when I saw the velocity of this little once-inch ball catapult away from me
  • Wiseguy turned to me when he heard the POP!
  • The ball hit him on the side of the head
  • “Are you kidding me?!” emanated in an exasperated tone from my husband’s general direction
  • I laughed…hysterically!

I was in stitches!  I couldn’t breathe.  Tears were streaming out of the corner’s of my eyes.  I doubled-over to hold my stomach.  I couldn’t believe it actually hit him!  Oh, I had read the box while I stood in line to purchase the product.  It contained the usual words of warning:  “Never aim at anyone”.  It also said it could shoot up to 20 feet away.  Yeah, best case scenario maybe, I thought.  And yet, here I was in utter shock as the ball had ejected far, far away and NAILED Wiseguy!  My next thought was quite simple:  I’m dead.

Wiseguy was at my side in two strides (he has long legs and can cover 20 feet in two steps).  He confiscated the Penguin Popper from my hands.  I pivoted and ran.  I ran for my life.  I heard POP! and I turned around.

(Sidenote:  Why is it that when you hear a noise you look toward the direction of the sound instead of running away from it?)

Like a slow-motion movie I saw the ball (mini ball?  ball-ette?) wing by my head.  Wiseguy had missed.  Wiseguy NEVER misses!  He is Super Sportsman extraordinaire!

I am unsure why this next thing happened, but I believe it was from the confusion of NOT being hit.  I doubled over laughing uncontrollably….again.

POP!  Woooooosh!

He missed me…AGAIN!  Saint’s preserve us, I was lucky (or unlucky?).  Wiseguy then unceremoniously deposited the Penguin on the kitchen counter and meandered away.

My next thought:  Best day ever!  So many good things happened to me in that short amount of time:

  • I got a fun new toy since Wiseguy didn’t want it.  Mine…all mine!
  • I actually beat Wiseguy at a (non)sport
  • I laughed and laughed and laughed – my core muscles got quite the workout and all my tension of the day washed away

IMG_5673I am so grateful that I found this toy.  I am grateful that I decided to keep it.  I am grateful that I got to play with this toy.  I am grateful for the once in a lifetime experience I had using it.  I am grateful that Wiseguy finds this story as amusing as I do and doesn’t mind that I have shared this.  I am grateful that he isn’t really considering payback.  Right?  Right????!!!

 

EPILOGUE:  

Waldo got the ball.

He is still alive.

As of yet, nobody has lost an eye.

Sunny with a chance of…wishes?

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Last month I walked out of the building I work at and thought it was snowing…in June!  Ok, snow in June might be likely in Nova Scotia, but definitely not something that happens in Ontario.  The weather was warm…way too warm for snow.  After my brain attempted to interpret what Mother Nature was up to now, I finally realized what was happening and couldn’t help but smile.

Remember the lovely fields of dandelions?  Those flamboyant yellow “weeds” that were covering all untended lawns?  Well, the transformation happened.  They went from the pretty yellow, bloomed flowers to the airborne plethora of wishes.  The sky was full of them.

 

I have a unique perspective on life.  I oftentimes see the world with a different lens than most others do.  I try to find the good in all around.  Sometimes it’s hard work as I need to really try and re-focus my thoughts.  We are taught and trained to think a certain way. It is through experience that we gain knowledge.  It is also how we learn to find our own uniqueness in this world of ours.  Just like the dandelions.

As children we are taught about the ugly duckling turning into a beautiful swan.  We are taught about creepy fuzzy caterpillars turning into beautiful butterflies.  So I say…why can’t the glorious bright yellow dandelion finally join the ranks of the transformed:  ugly to beautiful?  Then again, maybe they shouldn’t be part of that group.  In my opinion, they don’t really have an ugly phase.  We can learn a lot from the dandelion.

SELF-LOVE.  Dandelions don’t know they are “weeds” and are a scourge to be decimated.  They believe they are pretty and they stay nicely rooted and happily populate the world with other happy “flowers” of their kind.  So, be a dandelion.  Believe you are beautiful no matter what anyone else thinks.  Spread your happiness around.  Hang out with other happy people.

KEEP CHANGING.  The dandelion has the ability to reinvent itself.  It starts off nice and pretty and yellow.  It stays like that for quite a few days.  After it’s done sharing its sunny yellowness, the dandelion will dry up into a little round puff ball.  Not only that, but the puff ball is actually composed of seeds.  So, when that puff ball breaks apart, all the little seeds go parachuting to new areas and the circle of life begins again.  How absolutely fantastic is that?!  So, be a dandelion.  Don’t like what is happening in your life?  You can change it.  You have so many ideas about what you would like to do in your life and each idea is like a dandelion seed.  Plant those seeds and see what blooms.

HAVE FUN.  I like to believe that dandelions love when kids come and blow the dandelion seeds and chanting wishes as they do this.  There is something about watching that puffball fly through the air, riding the ribbon of wind that will carry it up to the final wish granter.  Be a dandelion.  Don’t take life too seriously and have some fun.  Do something silly.  Believe that wishes can come true.

YOU AFFECT THE FUTURE.  Dandelions…those wonderful yellow blossoms, become puffballs.  The original flower is gone, but from the seeds of that original flower become the beginnings of new flowers.  Be a dandelion.  Remember that you do affect future generations.  Everything you do on this earth will somehow affect this earthy world of ours.  You, though you do not feel very important, are magnanimous!  You are an incredible being and you do matter.  Your life is important and valuable and you do affect others.  It might be some small thing you do one day, but that seed will carry on and become the birth of another person, another idea, another thought.

After observing the whitened sky, I smiled.  It was a happy, contented, joyful smile.  Life is grand.  I know I’m a small piece in this puzzle of life, the size of a minute bug, but I know I’m vital in this world.  I also know that this world is an incredible place to be if we would just but take the time to look at our surroundings and appreciate all the incredible things that surround us.  Remember to look at the world with childlike wonder.  Remember what it was like when you saw these things for the first time.  Remember what it felt like when you used to make wishes on dandelion puff balls.  The magic lived in that “real” world then, and you can bring it back now.

So, all you green grass lovers and landscapers out there, I would like to invite you to join my world.  In my world, you can escape the minutia of the mundane plots of square manicured lawns.  You don’t need to pamper and water that greenery.  In my world, you can run through the bright yellow fields of dandelions.  And once they become seeded wonders, then race through that field again and watch the sky turn white as snow.  You can wish and wish and wish over and over again as you watch the puffs float freely and unencumbered toward the sky … a reminder that you should free yourself of unhappy thoughts and just let them float up far, far away from you.  When all you are left with are the happy thoughts, use those carefree, happy seeds to plant your new ideas and start growing this wonderful new life you are going to lead.

All I can say is…Be a Dandelion.

 

 

Best day ever!

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Woo hoo!  Another year of being alive!  Now THAT’S something to celebrate.  Oh there are those out there who poo-poo their birthday.  They focus on the years of their life that were “wasted”.  They aren’t living their dream life.  They aren’t in the relationship they want.  They aren’t in a job they love.  Me?  I focus on the fact that I’m alive and mostly well.  As a friend of mine said, “I’m on the right side of the grass”.  So darn tootin’ it’s a fantastically, radically, amazing day!  BEST DAY EVER!

So, now that you’re substantially jealous of my incredible feat…living another year by default…what did I do on my BEST DAY EVER?  Seeing as this was my very last year of my 40s and I am careening into the mid-century of my life, I wanted to make it super extra special.  What does a birthday girl do to make her day extraordinarily spectacular?

  1.  Book day off work
  2. Be away from home

Not being at work meant no deadlines hence no stress.  Not being at home meant no cleaning or “home” work which also equaled no stress.  I am sure you were thinking I went all adventurous and did some skydiving or went for a surreal trip in a hot air balloon.  Or maybe woo-hooing as I went white water rafting or maybe zip-lining.  Yes, many things on my “want to do” list.  I don’t have a bucket list.  Buckets get holes in them. (Dear Liza.)  Nope, I kept it simple.

MOST IMPORTANT RULE:  Declare it your BEST DAY EVER!

Then…

Sleep in.  Absolutely lovely seeing the sun shine in through the curtains and gently awaken you.  You rouse from sleep thinking you are tardy for work and then BAM!  Wicked cool realization that it’s your Birthday and you booked the day off.  SWEET!  I declared it my HAPPY BIRTH DAY!  All about ME day.  Time for some FUN day!

BEST DAY EVER!

My birthday started off with a pinched nerve in my back.  My eyes popped open after my extended sleep.  I lifted my head to get out of bed and … OUCH!  I flopped over onto my side like a wounded seal.  I attempted to slide off the bed and to land on my feet.  Every move and every breath seemed to make the pinch worse.  I had the “dropsies” too.  I grabbed my sun dress and it slipped out of my hands, crumpling to the floor.  Good news was I did lots of squats since I couldn’t bend.  (Silver linings folks.  I’m always looking for ’em).  I managed to get dressed and decided that pinched nerve or no pinched nerve I was heading out and about.

I dropped into the driver’s seat.  Yes, dropped my butt into the bucket seat whilst holding onto the Oh Shit handle.   It was a scorching, hot 29 degrees (celsius) and did I mention that the air conditioning in my car did not work?  I drove for over an hour, with my underwear melting and my thighs stuck to my leather seats.  On the bright side I was soooo happy my car windows could roll down and BONUS:  a sun roof that I could open.  I was cruising with my hair whipping around my face.  Booyah!  Good times!  For a little while at least.

There was an accident on the highway as well as road construction on my regular route so I had to divert to city driving.  Slower speeds and lots of stopping at red lights.  Stopping meant no air circulating through my windows.  On a positive note I definitely got my Vitamin D for the day.  There was absolutely no snow in the forecast.  I wasn’t at work.  Happy trifecta!

BEST DAY EVER!

Finally got to my destination and was cheerfully greeted by a pig-tailed little 3 year-old darlin’ who wished me a happy birthday!

BEST DAY EVER!

“How old are you?” she inquired.  I told her I was four.  I left out the “9” part of the “49-year’s old”.  What do numbers really mean anyway?  She smiled happily so that meant it was a good age.  We sat.  We chatted.  We hugged.  We cuddled.

BEST DAY EVER!

Then we trekked to a kitchen supply store (besides makeup, kitchen supplies are my other crack).  I bought an aebleskiver pan.  Say what?  Yeah, new to me too.  The pan was too unique and too cool and too totally cast-iron so it was destined to be mine.

Check out these babies…can’t wait to surprise the fam with these goodies!

BEST DAY EVER!

Had chicken wings AND sushi for lunch.  Best of both worlds.  And a yummy, sticky, fresh baked DOUGHNUT for dessert.  My tastebuds sang hallelujah.   (My thighs screamed in horror.  Meh…can’t please everyone right?)  Then it was time to trek on home.

Traffic…swimmingly good.  No accidents or road construction or anything to divert me from my usual path.  Made it home in great time (while sweating off the calories I had inhaled).  Just in time to go out for more food.  Succulent ribs with a side of super hot fries for my screaming thighs (haha..great rhyme!)  Birthday treat was a colossal brownie, fresh from the oven, with some vanilla ice cream teetering on the top and slowly melting.  Oh glory be to all my gluttony (OMG…another rhyme…and after all this time!  Ok, my thoughts are getting loose with the ghost of Dr. Seuss).

And so it ended.  Another birth day celebration.  A day all about ME.  A day where all I wanted was to spend lots of time being happy and relishing everything in my life.  A day where I was wished a happy day from all:  the kids, grandkids, hubby, siblings, cousins, relatives, friends…oh and even my parents with a phone call from Europe.  All of them wishing that I have a wonderful day.  And do you know what?  Their wish came true because I had the BEST DAY EVER!