For the love of…seafood

Vacation. A time (and different place) when you remove yourself from the daily routines of life. A time to relax and maybe try new things. Wiseguy and I are in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic. There is no snow (me doing BIG celebration dance). We are baking our pale skin in the sun so we become a nice golden brown. We swim in the salty ocean. We do things that we don’t normally do at home. Our routine is pretty consistent. There are no big adventures or escapades for us. It’s sleep, eat, swim, eat, nap, eat. Yes there is much eating on this, our winter escape vacation. For me it’s even more exciting as the abundance of seafood has me in awe. I LOVE seafood.

I am unsure of when my tastebuds first discovered the delectable pleasure of digesting water creatures. My parents grew up in a village in Croatia. Sure it was a 15 minute drive to the sea, but they weren’t seafood lovers. My father is a true carnivore with a hefty sprinkling of vegetarian. If he MUST have floater food then he might crack open a can of anchovies (weird but true). I joyously recall the first time I ate crunchy fried smelts. Sure, some of you call this fish bait, but to me they are similar to French fries. Yummy! My mother was delightfully surprised to see that one of her four children shared her seaworthy palate.

The next Friday (official “eat fish” day at our house) there were these caramel-coloured rings sitting on the table. Sure there was also battered cod fish (for those with the blander taste buds in our family), but my mother’s eyes fixated on mine as she winked over at me to try this ring of fried goodness. As I slowly moved fork to mouth, my lips curled around the deep fried treat and my teeth crunched into this new culinary delight. My tastebuds sang with joy! What was this? My mama read my mind. With a twinkle in her eyes she said “calamari” aloud. One of my siblings said “yuck that’s squid!” Huh…squid. I didn’t care. I loaded up my plate with this exquisite new food discovery. So it began.

My seafood journey was and is a long and slow one. My dear husband prefers the boring cod. I got him to try shark once. He has been brave enough to take a bite of grilled salmon. Yes he tried. No good. “Rubber” rings of calamari are just as bad to him. Tuna stinks. Shrimp are the wrong colour and definitely a horrible texture. Clams are white blobs that slither down your throat. Lobster! Ah the Creme de la Creme of the seafood world…are unpalatable and indigestible to Wiseguy. As Jim Gaffigan prefers to call them: sea bugs. Crabs make my hubby crabby. Smell and flavour, or as my spouse prefers to refer to it as stench and slime, will never win over my main man.

So here we are abroad, surrounded by water, and my seafood dreams have come true. Every appetizer menu section is a dancing list of seafood. Main courses consist of former water dwellers. I am in seafood heaven! Lobster and shrimp and crab cakes… Oh my! I have devoured crab cakes 4 days in a row now. Their crunchy outside yields to a soft, velvety centre. Even when we arrived at the resort they had wee little appetizer scoops of ceviche in the lobby. Actually hubby and I walk through the lobby every afternoon at the same time so I can devour at least three helpings. Fresh seafood is incredible!

In some ways I feel a little sad for those who cannot experience what my tastebuds are experiencing. Oh sure they can shove shellfish in their gullet, but the joy is not there. I compare my seafood feasts to having a large rich morsel of decadent chocolate cake. Don’t understand? How about tearing into prime rib or rib eye steak…juicy and succulent. Still nothing? How about a cheesy and creamy big bite of lasagna? Well whatever makes your tongue sing hymns of food praises THAT is what bite after bite of seafood is like for me. It may sound strange and perhaps slightly obsessive, but after all it is for the love of…seafood. Bon appetit!

Young…at heart

As days roll by and weeks turn into years I do like to reminisce about bygone days. The tales used to begin with the obligatory “remember a few years ago”. Suddenly the recollections of 10 years ago have now become the musings of life 20 and even…dare I say it aloud… 30 years ago. Today I am NOT going to chat about old age, but rather my preference to stay young…at heart.

Wiseguy and I are enjoying a lovely vacation in a country with lots of sunshine and palm trees. We are at a resort where we kind of just hang out with each other and babble about mundane non-serious things. For dinner we made reservations at a Japanese restaurant. I wasn’t sure how my hubby would handle this change from the regular meat and potato of his dinnertime dreams, but he was up for a change…to please me. So sweet. Well that impromptu change led to quite an adventurous evening.

Besides enjoying the knife juggling, the food was hot and fresh and delicious! Sitting in a group with other resort folk, we had a blast conversing and joking with people from other countries. We laughed out loud and had, not only an incredible meal, but fantastic company. It didn’t matter that we were midlifers. We goofed around and had a jolly good time! That was an excellent evening. Actually it was an excellent start to the evening. Our unplanned outing was about to get even more unconventional.

We went walk about down to a hangout called the “Sports Bar”. I was itching to play pool. Rack ’em up! The balls were all chipped as they would hop out of the table once you sank a ball and would roll randomly somewhere across the room. It didn’t matter. It was all in the name of fun. After an hour of chasing after pool balls we decided it was time to end our pool tournament and let others have a go. It was at this time that our planned early evening to bed took a drastic and memorable turn.

Two young couples had taken our place at the pool table and were having a jolly good time competing for the win. Wiseguy and I cheered from the sidelines. As their game drew to a close they sauntered off to a table to continue the party. And then they invited us middle agers to join them! Wonderful! Absolutely fantastic turn of events! We joked and laughed until our bellies ached from convulsive laughter! Our cheeks needed massaging from the incessant liberating smiles. The hilarious tales told, some with visual effects, will be etched in our minds forever. We laughed. We drank. We ended up at the disco next door and danced away. We were of one mind…have fun!

I am sure we made the strangest looking group, but it didn’t matter what others saw or assumed about us. We, as a group, shared a wonderful liked mindedness. Life is meant to be enjoyed. Memories and friendships can enter your life at any time and any place. When you are lucky enough to stumble upon a random unplanned adventure go with your heart. Your common sense mind might rebel, but by properly ignoring it your life will become a more full and memorable one.

With age comes wisdom…and creaking joints. You can choose to let your mind age your joie de vivre, or you can listen closely to your inner child and stay young…at heart.

(Shout out to our new friends: Amy, Ellie, Charles, and Sam. “Stuart” and I wish you all the best!)

The Real Boo Boo Cure…

Recently I went to my local drug store to buy some health and wellness items.  Bandages, eye drops, headache medicine, burn ointment…you know, the stuff that seems to disappear all too soon in my house.  Me?  Accident prone?  No, I consider myself more of a survivalist.  As I wandered down the aisle I noticed all the kid friendly stuff.  Bandages with cartoon pictures.  Toothpaste in tubes with Disney princesses all over it.  That got me thinking about the tried and true methods of our parents and grandparents to heal our boo-boos and other hurts.  It also made me laugh at my fanciful methods.

My cabinet at home is full of items that will help unclog my intestinal tract and if that gets too expunged then there is the one that will help stop the migration south.  There are little pills for so-so headache days and there are the extra strength ones for those dismal air pressure headaches.  There is the liquid pink potion to help with stomach pains and the fruit flavoured tablets for heart burn and indigestion.  There are the tablets to be used in case one of us has an anaphylactic shock.  It hasn’t happened yet, but one never knows right?  Add to this menagerie the cold fighting liquids, the herbal remedies, and the muscle and joint ointments and you have a cabinet full of illness fighting goodies.  Thinking back to my childhood my parents did not have such a full cabinet.

My childhood home’s main bathroom was where the “medicine” was kept.  Here is an inventory of what was in that cabinet:

  • bandages (Elastoplast brand because my father said these were the only ones that adhered well enough).
  • the everything pill – Aspirin – both children (little pink pills) and adult (yucky, chalky white pills)
  • iodine – used on any scraped knees, elbows, or puncture wounds.  It was red and had a little eyedropper for application.  Once applied it burned and burned and then tinged your skin red.  If the wound refused to clot then (and ONLY then) you would be given a bandage.  (If you ever had an everlasting-Elastoplast bandage ripped off, you would never, ever want a bandage again).

That’s it.  Nothing else in the cabinet.  There were no special kiddie bandages.  Nothing with cartoon pictures at all.  How did our generation manage to survive without the special first aid items that are out there now?  I have put a new spin on first aid making me more of a Witch Doctor than your regular mommy-type doctor.

I do not buy the special first aid bandages.  Also, my bandages are not to be applied to invisible or internal wounds.  Yes, they make a child feel better because now they have a memento of their boo-boo.  Everyone can parent the way they like, but I find this to be futile.  You give them one bandage and suddenly they’ll be returning asking for more until you have more of a mummy than a toddler.  I prefer the dramatic approach.


METHOD 1:  The wailing begins.   He/she is in unbelievable pain.  No doubt about it.  The tears are streaming in big fat drops and rolling down his/her cheeks.  Usual first aid is the Mommy Kiss:  Mommy kisses the boo boo and all is well.  My method:  “Come here sweetie,” I coo.  “Is it this leg?” I ask, pointing to the left leg.  “Shall we cut it off?”  Little boys LOVE that one!  Totally in for it!  They rest their leg on my thigh and I pretend sawing back and forth with the side of my hand.  The giggles erupt and all is well.  And no bandages were used.  Little girls usually give me the glare of death and skulk away.  Again, no crying and the irrefutable pain is suddenly forgotten.

METHOD 2:  The crying begins.  He/she is suffering like no other human being ever has.  “Oh my,” I say with hands on the sides of my face, staring in astonishment, “I guess you won’t be able to take the dogs for a walk with your broken leg.”  “I can walk the dogs!” comes the determined exclamation as child gets the leash and heads for the dogs.  Being able to do fun stuff will cure what ails them.

METHOD 3:   The sobbing begins.  He/she will not survive this wound.  If I have tried the sawbone solution or the distraction method and neither have worked, then I pull out the big gun.  The tried and true sure fire way to heal them.  Magic.  I put my magic wand on the injury and with some flair and dramatics I “heal” their injury.  They look at me shocked, stunned, and very silent.  They are also miraculously cured.

Now, some may say that I shouldn’t lie to children.  I don’t think it’s lying.  I tell them I will cure what ails them and I do.  That isn’t a fabrication.  It’s true.  They were there and watched me and they felt better.  WIN WIN if you ask me.

What makes my magic even more special is that MY wand is a Harry Potter wand.  I bring the special box out of hiding and have the child watch me slowly open it and reveal its contents.  The wand sits there, magically of course.  Also, no child is allowed to touch it because it is MY magic wand.  Eventually, when they are older, they can get a wand that magically selects them.  This way, no one fights over who gets to play with my wand and my wand will be safe for future use when fatal child injuries occur.


I am hoping that one day, when they are grown up, they will recall these fanciful things I used to do.  Maybe I’ll be the crazy Baba which is fine with me because it makes me unique and memorable.  Childhood goes by too quickly and I love letting them live in a world of magic and fantasy while they can.

Bandages or Harry Potter wand?  You now know the real boo boo cure.

Smoking…definitely life changing

I am a non-smoker…now.  I smoked for 17 years of my life.  I started smoking cigarettes when I was 20.  Yup a late bloomer.  I never tried, tested, nor tasted a cigarette before then.  I hung out with the smokers when I was in high school, but I never had a puff and never had the urge.  However, once at University I was having a hard time as I had never had to study before.  School used to be easy.  I was freaking out.  I needed a solution.  It ended up being lighting up and inhaling that dastardly smog from cigarettes.

I had heard that cigarettes gave you a buzz.  Too true!  After my first inhale of the wicked stick, I coughed, choked, gasped and then felt a weird wooziness in my head.  Mission accomplished.  I found my med to relieve my desire to vomit from stress.  So began, my seventeen years of smoking a variety of ciggies.  However, this is not about being a chain smoker or what brand of smokes I found best…it’s about the life changing experiences.

My sister was a smoker.  I used to visit her all the time after she got married and one day I told her about how stressed I was at University.  I didn’t know to study.  I had so many things to read and so many reports.  I couldn’t sleep at night.  I couldn’t eat (not a problem nowadays).  I had been consuming tablespoons of instant coffee to help me stay awake.  The abuse I was subjecting my body to was criminal.  I asked my sis what it felt like to smoke.  “When you first start you get this buzz,” she said.  She warned me not to start.  Once you start it’s hard to stop.  Well, I was at my wits end and needed something.  So, I “learned” how to smoke.  With much coughing and sputtering and that awful, horrible taste.  My mouth felt like I had licked an ashtray.  So disgusting!  And so began my years of smoking.

At this point in time you could still smoke in buildings.  I remember sitting by myself at a table in front of the library at the U.  I was reading, highlighting, and basically studying.  My nerves were calm and collected.  Thank goodness for smoking.  I met a really nice guy this way too.  He was selling packages of tickets to a comedy club.  I decided to be nice and buy them.  He came back three hours later.  We chatted it up and he asked me out.  What?  That was weird and random.  Why would anyone want to date loser me?  The reason I wondered was because he was tall and handsome and had broad shoulders (that was my achilles heel with guys).  Funny thing…he wasn’t a smoker.  Now, had I not been a smoker I would never have met this wonderful guy.  Had it not been for my parents eavesdropping on my phone conversations and telling him off with an abrupt, “don’t ever talk to my daughter again” who knows what might have been.

I had lost touch with my favourite childhood cousins.  Years later they ended up at the same hall and same dance that I was at.  I was sitting and smoking at my table when I heard, “Well look at Miss Goodie Two-Shoes.”  It was my cousins.  Well, they were smokers too…by golly what luck!  We spent the rest of the night catching up and clearing up the past transgressions and filling up the ashtrays on the table.  We went back to being great cousins/friends and would hook up many times during the week at coffee shops or study halls and sit around and smoke and study together.  And guess what?  We are still hanging out.  Yay to smoking!

I could tell you many wonderful stories of how I had met wonderful people thanks to fag addiction (OMG I seriously love that the British call cigarettes cool!).  All these people are kind, friendly, and generous.  My piece de resistance is actually that, thanks again to my puff addiction, I met Wiseguy.

I was working at this one company and one of the girls there asked me if I knew this guy.  You see, we are both Croatians and apparently if you are one then you know every single one on this planet.  I smirked and sarcastically said, “Oh sure…probably.”  So, I walked with her to go and check him on her behalf.  Who did I see standing there but the man who had grown up on the same street as my brother-in-law.  The man who’s child was ring boy at my sister’s wedding.  I actually DID know him!  We chatted, reminisced and then he had to go back to work.  Huh…life is funny sometimes.

He worked afternoons and I worked afternoons and when I went out for a ciggy break, he would join me.  This went on for weeks.  Catching up on each other’s life histories and what was going on in our lives now.  This went on for about 3 months.  I met his children.  We hung out.  We got along.  We got along so well in fact, that we moved in together after those three months.  We married the year after.  So here we are 21 years later.  Still together.

So, when people say that smoking can ruin your life, I wouldn’t really say that.  I would be more inclined to say that smoking can ruin your health or your voice or your looks and it especially ruins your taste buds.  In my experience though, I am not advocating smoking, but I would say:

    Smoking…definitely life changing.












I Forgot to Say Thank You…

Traffic is horrific. I have been sitting here in my car for over half an hour now, inching my way home.  I hate my job.  The kids drive me crazy.  The price of food is outrageous.   My bills are getting higher. My pay isn’t increasing.  Does this sound like your typical day? If you grew up with a morning devotional prayer, you would warble out your devotion and then search out that much needed cup of coffee.  Remember the old movies and tv shows where there were little kids saying, “…and bless mommy and daddy” etc.  Whatever happened to our gratefulness and thankfulness?

First, let me explain that I am not a practising Catholic. I GREW up in a staunch Catholic family upbringing, but as I got older I started looking at the world around me and doubting many things that are part of the Catholic faith.  I learned more about science and what is believable and what isn’t believable.

As a result of my faith and school knowledge clashing against one another, I decided that I would just agree to believe in God and Jesus, but not actually attend any services or say any prayers.  I would thank them every once in awhile, but otherwise I felt I controlled my own destiny.

Then one day, or evening rather, my life changed forever…

I had quit a very stressful job.  Before starting a new job, I decided to visit my father in Croatia.  I needed some time to decompress and he was happy for me to come visit him.  It took some time for us to get used to each other’s routines.  He was an early riser and I was craving sleep ins (having previously been waking at 4 am to go to work). I was a smoker (at that time).  He hated it.  I didn’t want to go anywhere and he was instructed by mother to take me places to see the tourist hot spots.  In the end, I was becoming more my normal happy yappy self again.

After two weeks, we were sitting down eating dinner and he asked me, “Why are you here?”  I thought that was a strange question.   “I quit my job and needed a vacation,” I replied.  “I thought I would see the house that you built,” I continued.  Again he asked, “Ok, but why are you really here?”  I didn’t know what he was alluding to.  Finally I said, “I have noticed that sometimes I feel like I need to do something, but don’t know why.  Eventually the reason is shown to me.”  It sounded so hokey and nutty, but he nodded his head and then went back to eating his dinner.

During my last week there, my dad ran excitedly into the house and said, “I found bees!” He grabbed the phone and called a neighbour.  A few minutes later, and with many thanks, my father hung up the phone and had a huge grin on his face.  “Get ready!”  he exclaimed.  “We are going to get some bees!”

I was HORRIFIED!  Shaking my head vehemently I said:  “NO WAY!”  He proceeded with his litany:  it was safe and bees in a swarm don’t sting and it will be fine and finally…you can just hold the flashlight.  So, this was how my life was going to end, I thought.

We drove the car through the village and parked at the bottom of a steep cliff.  My dad, carrying a mover’s blanket, and I, carrying the flashlight, started our ascent up the cliff, using the angled rock steps to get to the top.  I could see the swarm hanging off the tree. My dad left me to go back and get something from the car.  I waited.

The sky was so clear.  The stars were so bright, I felt I could almost touch them.  Then something made me say, “Please Jesus, I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but could you please just let me live.  I would really appreciate it.  Thank you.”  I took a deep breath and by then my dad had reappeared.  He motioned for me to get closer to the hive.  “Hold the flashlight,” he whispered.  Then he threw the blanket over the swarm and yelled, “RUN!”  Boy did I run!

I ran in the opposite direction of the tree and then I heard my dad yell, “NOT THAT WAY!” My legs kept moving and suddenly my right foot hit a rock and I fell chin first on the ground.  My glasses flew off.  My knees were scraped. My teeth ached from being knocked in the chin.  My palms smarted from the scratches of the forward sliding motion.  My dad came running over to see if I was ok.  The look in his eyes…was it remorse, hurt, fear, relief?  So many emotions all in one look.  I felt like an idiot for tripping.  I ached physically, but mentally I just felt bad for him.  He looked me in the eyes and said, “Thank God you fell.  If you hadn’t tripped you would be dead.”  My look back at him was clearly wide-eyed with an are-you-kidding-me-look.  Yes, had I not tripped on that rock, in another two feet I would have fallen over the edge of the cliff and  down to my death.

I haven’t told many people this story.  It was a life changing moment for me.  It made me realize that I don’t need to say a plethora of Our Fathers or Hail Mary.  I have my buddy Jesus and I know I have angels who watch over me.  How do I know?  I have done some pretty stupid things and lived.

So, I guess I’m still here to live and learn.  To share and to try and help other people find all the good that is in their lives.  Our society focuses so much on negativity that we have been trained to be sarcastic and demeaning.  We learn to talk about everything that is bad and regurgitate it to others.

It is time to take our happy lives back and look for all the good!  I propose a simple two-step process.  Yup, only two steps.

1.  When you are feeling overwhelmed and you think you can’t cope.  Take a deep breath in through your nose (about 6 seconds), then exhale through your mouth (about 6 seconds).  Do this 3 times and suddenly things don’t seem so overwhelming.  I didn’t believe it until I tried it.  It works.

2. Don’t be the one who forgot to say thank you.  Every morning and every evening, find a couple of things that were actually really good and made you feel happy:  Thanks for getting me safely home.  Thanks for my family.  Thanks for my pets.  Thanks for my home.  Thanks for my food.  Thanks for being there, even if I can’t see you.

3. If you feel like you have time for a 3rd step.  Appreciate it all.








Passion Is In Fashion!

I like to live dangerously!  The thrill of zip-lining, or the rush of rock climbing.  Running a marathon.  Hiking through Europe.  Bike stunts.  Skateboarding tricks.  My goodness there are so many exhilarating moments!  Hot air balloon rides and white water rafting!  Honestly, the list is endless.  I am quite the daredevil and proud of it.  Hopefully, through my brave, adventurous life, you too will find that hidden childhood desire and live an inspiring and fulfilled life like I do.  Oh, by the way, I have never done any of these listed things, but I do find ways to live on the edge.

I ate bacon four times last week.  Yes, yes, I did and I’m not ashamed to brag about it.  Do you know what else?  I had a sunny side up fried egg to go with it.  There was also toast AND, oh yeah, it was buttered.  Booyah!  How do you like me now?  Uh huh.  I know.  I can almost palpably feel your envy at my exploits into endangerment.  Why am I being so foot loose and fancy free?

As a child I remember being unencumbered by my mortality.  I am sure you have seen kidlets jumping on a bed…up and down, and up and down, and…oops…BANG!  Too close to the edge.  Some bawling, either from actually bumping their head or just the shock of being misplaced.  Other than that they learn that they need to stay closer into the middle.  Lesson learned and more fun to be had.  How about the one year old that stands on the couch pulling at the blinds?  Yup, you know where this is going.  What makes them do such dumb things?

Are they dumb?  To us adults we can all become the Amazing Kreskin and foresee what shall happen (due to our own misfortunes and miscalculations), but to them it’s about exploring life.  That couch is their Mount Everest!  That bed is their trampoline!  Nowadays children have be monitored 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  There is no longer places for them to play alone.   They can’t even go play on the jungle gym at the park without adult supervision.  I actually feel sorry for them.  Sorry that they can’t have that freedom of adventure that we had as children.

I believe my days in the summer went something like this:  wake up and have breakfast.  Out of the house so that my mother could clean.  Meet with kids in the neighbourhood and play until someone’s mother called for them.  Lunchtime!  Rush home.  Eat lunch.  Run out the door again to play.  Someone would hear the holler of dinnertime and again…home to be fed and then out to play.  No adults were with us.  No teenagers were with us.  We got to goof off and do silly things like fall out of trees or go wandering around the forest and be amazed to see a dead rabbit.  (Two little bites in the neck.  We thought there were vampires nearby).  We would come home sweaty, dusty, or muddy… and exhausted.

As we became adults the “fun” goofy things were replaced by order and rules.  School had rules.  Jobs had rules.  Society had rules.  So many rules and so little place to have fun.  We are told, in many different ways, how we should think and what we should believe.  Commercials tell us what will make us happiest.  Buy their product and your life will be full of sunshine, roses, and unicorns.  Ahhhhh…how great our lives will be.

Weird thing is, and you might have noticed this, it seems that this is kind of where we become like children again.  We beg and pine for something and know that our lives will be incredible once we get it.  That “it” could be anything from something expensive like a car or something as simple as a hamburger.  Now, if you really think about it, that lasts for a bit and then suddenly, it’s not good enough.  There is something else you absolutely need in order to make your life the happiest thing ever!  In most cases, the feeling goes away quite quickly.  How can you change this?

Find your inner happiness.  Find your inner love.  Once you find that crazy happy place, the world around you will seem so much better.  It won’t matter what material things you have because the rest of the world will just seem so much more beautiful, colourful, alive.  Those “rose-coloured glasses” of your youth were removed by well-meaning adults, but it’s time for you to put those on again.  The world is a remarkable place, but we tend to look at what is missing in our lives and not what we already have.

Live with passion!  Live with a sense of excitement!  Find out what makes you happy and do it!  Who cares what other people think!  Those who live with a sense of adventure, spirit, and joy are the ones who are finding that gold nugget of excitement in their lives.  PASSION IS IN FASHION!

P.S.  Did I mention that egg was fried in the bacon fat?  Oh yeah…I’m living recklessly.


Nobody cares…

I’m getting closer to my 50’s.  Yes, I refer to actual my age.  Many women prefer to lie about their age.  I am happy to be alive and well (health-wise) and LOVE telling people how old I am.  Why?  I don’t see why I should be shy or ashamed.  My real life eye wrinkles prove that I am a happy person because they are proof that I smile a lot.  The blue veins in my legs are a showcase of days when I gained waaaaay too much weight.  My whole body presents a story of my life.  To be honest, my absolute favourite parts of my body are: 1) my super-huge toothy smile and  2) my kaka-brown cow-eyes.  Why do I bring these items up?

Growing up in an environment of European descent was not easy.  There were many ways that you could be deemed unacceptable in regular society.  For example, I was diagnosed as near-sighted when I was 8 years old.  I remember going for the eye test and hoping that I wouldn’t “fail” the test because my parents would be disappointed. In the end, it was determined that I needed glasses.  I was actually ecstatic and elated and super pumped!  I even recall my eyeglass case…it was orange and there was the fuzzy head of a teddy bear on it.  I felt special.  That lasted for two days until I returned to school.  I was the only “four-eyes” in my class.  Yes…I could finally read everything on the chalkboard at the front of the room, but I was also a “loser”.  This eyeglass thing didn’t get any easier in other public domains.

My visual impairment made friendships awkward too.  My mother told me that I should not wear my glasses in public.  Why?  Wearing glasses at my young age meant I was somehow disabled.  Silly?  Absolutely, but at the time I believed my mother because she was my parent and she knew best.  At least that is what I was led to believe.

We would go to church every Sunday.  I would take my glasses off before entering.  Going up for communion was about following others so being visually impaired was no big deal.  The problem I encountered was when people thought I was ignoring them.   They would wave to me and I could really only see blobs of colours.  I appeared to be looking right at them, and yet, I myself could not actually see them.

For those who were forward, they would ask me why I ignored them and I’d make up some excuse (not mentioning the glasses).  For those who did not inquire, I became known as a very high and mighty, self-absorbed snob.  I found this out from friends after the fact.  Why do I bring this up?

It seems that our daily lives are always being judged.  Nowadays, they might even be recorded.  You never know when someone will be holding a “smart phone” ready to video or photograph whatever you are doing.  It seems that people are more concerned about recording the next “viral” video instead of thinking about how this could affect a person’s life.  In the end, I wonder…who cares?

No one really cares.  No one really cares about your life or what you are living.   No one really cares if you are happy, sad, disgruntled, ecstatic, etc.  That was generalizing, but in truth, if you are super happy, most people don’t want to share your happy news.  Why?  Most people are focusing on hardships and don’t want to hear about how good your life is.  “Misery loves company” and most would rather share woes.  Our society deals with sarcasm and belittling others to make themselves feel better.  Does this sound like a harsh judgement?  Perhaps, but oftentimes it seems that people would rather rally around those with problems than with those who are having a fantastically great life.

Perhaps I am just noticing this more often than I used to.  It could also be that I have decided to find what is good in my life instead of focusing on what I am missing.  This shift in vision took me a good two years to finally accomplish.  Why?  It’s not as easy as you think.  Here are some examples:

You wake up in the morning and the first thing you think is:  “Crap I have to get up and go to work.”  I would wake up, take a deep breath (which I can happily do) and literally tell myself to think of something positive.  So, I would say, “Wow!  I am so happy to wake up and breathe and enjoy another day of life!”  Corny?  When you start it, it does feel weird, but the more you do it, the easier it gets.  How do you re-program your thinking to be positive instead of negative?  It’s a conscious effort of changing what you are thinking.

  • Awwwww, it’s raining again! – NEGATIVE
  • Yay!  The flowers will grow and bloom; my garden will grow! – POSITIVE

Challenge!  Write down your negative thoughts and then try to find the positive.

  • My car is a piece of junk…becomes…I am grateful to have a vehicle to drive.
  • I hate my job…becomes…I have a way to pay my bills and this is only a stepping stone to my new and better job.

You can do it!  You can find something good!  (If you get stuck…look at pictures of puppies and kittens, or any other baby animal.  You can’t be grumpy after that!)   While you are on this journey of discovery and appreciation don’t think about what others are saying about you or thinking about you because you know what?  Nobody cares!