If enough time passes, you stop wanting them.....

I'm trying to remember exactly when it began. If I close my eyes and think back, white go-go boots come to mind. Or Barbie's friend Midge. She appears. Then I recall penny loafers and needing to have the shiniest of new pennies in the slots. Perhaps those red, white and blue rubber balls, or the extra long pink skipping rope that was long enough for double dutch. All these items blur together around the same time period. I was about 7 years old, give or take a few months. It was my induction to materialism. Things I thought I just had to have. Things I thought I could not live without or at the very least did not want to live without. Over time the wants became more substantial. More expensive. A new bike - a CCM with a carrier and a bell. I recall a twinge of disappointment that I got a girl's upright instead of a boy's bike with a banana seat and upright handle bars. Seems I was starting to get a little picky, or shall we call it more "selective". A few years later it was my own roller skates - no rentals for me! Of course, the buckskin jacket with fringes that would trail behind me in the breeze as I skated round and round inside that roller rink. That was de rigueur! At 15, the CCM had to go and a 10-speed Peugeot was in order. No - not some no name brand - the real deal, from France. It was twice the price, but just think of the prestige. "That girl has style," they would say. "She has taste. She knows about good quality." Even the adults around me were impressed. "Wow, fancy wheels," they'd say, eyebrows arching up. It fed me. Spurred me on. Two wheels were left behind to the land fill as years passed. Now I needed four. And not just any four. Sure, that was OK to begin with, when I could not afford to buy my own. Whatever car mom was driving at the time - well, I'd have to make do with that. For a short while she actually drove a car I considered cool - it was an old Morris Minor, grey with red leather interior - just different enough to stand out in a crowd - how I saw myself as well. It had a standard transmission and posed a bit of a challenge however, being new to driving at 16, but it still had some panache. My first car was flashy, a special edition red Le Mans with white leather interior. I bought it from my dad for $2000. I had to make monthly payments to him. In the end I decided to strap on a back pack and go see the world (well, Europe and the South Pacific and Western Canada, anyway) and I sold it back to him, or gave it back, the details are fuzzy now. Staying in the city I grew up in was no longer an option. I had bigger ambitions than that. I think I would have to call that trip and the following few years of travel my "break from materialism." Whatever money I earned doing jobs like working in a French vineyard, or as a hotel chambermaid, or a waitress, or a bartender, driving a pizza delivery truck, picking apples in a New Zealand orchard - all just a means to an end. Earn enough to pick up and go somewhere new. See more of the world. Carry my entire life around on my back. Leave a few boxes in a basement somewhere with the rest of my worldly possessions. So simple. So unencumbered. SO MUCH FUN!!!!! Yes, there were times when it was a little scary and times when I felt a little lonesome for home or any home, but I was free and rarely afraid and not hung up on designer labels, fancy cars, home ownership, interior design, or living in the right neighbourhood. What changed? Why did I choose this fork in the road on my life's journey? What made me need those go-go boots again? I'm at another fork now. It feels that way. All these things I thought so necessary in the last couple of decades suddenly hold less and less meaning. I am exposed to the "wanting" every day with my work. Perhaps it's like working in an ice cream parlour. Eventually you get sick of ice cream. I just get sick of the excess. The constant clamouring for more, for newer, for more original, for bigger, for better. And for what? To prove your worth? To get some recognition? Are you taking all that stuff with you? Most of it will end up in a land fill somewhere anyway. Nothing lasts. At least not the average stuff we seem to collect and accumulate. On my recent trip to London, my daughter and I joined the throngs at The Tower Museum to have a glimpse of the Crown Jewels. Such a bizarre concept I kept thinking. Little bits of shiny coloured stones and metals treated with such respect and admiration, as though they were animate objects. How the world holds these silly things in such high regard. What have they contributed to the world? Other than being pretty to behold? The fact that we place such value on them just seems so outrageous to me. Outdated really. If I were the last woman standing, stranded alone on a desert island, what good would they do me? I couldn't eat them. Couldn't trade them. Who would I wear them for? Nothing but a bunch of useless rocks. I suppose I could try to throw one at a fish swimming by, in an attempt to stop it and feed myself. You get my point. I am all for beauty. Don't get me wrong. I love looking at beautiful things. Art, design, nature, fashion, you name it. But do we have to OWN it? That is my challenge from here on out as I walk this next third of my path in my journey through this all too short life. Admire it. Enjoy it. Take a mental snapshot. Then walk away. It won't be easy. But I might get there.

In Case you're Wondering....

On sabbatical. For awhile. I'll be back. (she says with her best Arnie impersonation)

Ringo! Call Me!

Two weeks from today, I will be stepping on a jet and flying across the Atlantic with my darling daughter for a whirlwind tour of London during her March break. I whisked her off to Jamaica in December for what we had hoped would be a week of sun and fun. We only had two days of sun, a little bit of fun and spent most of the week sleeping or reading to the sound of pouring rain. So, not to be disappointed a second time in a row, I decided to go somewhere where it is almost guaranteed to rain and with my luck, the sun WILL shine. I know, I know, it's a sort of warped way of looking at it, but it just may work. My first trip to Merry Old England was in 1974. I was 16. The same age my sweet girl is now. It was even around the exact time of year - March break. I recall how thrilled I was that the weather was mild and there were even daffodils blooming. Not sure if it will be this way in two weeks, but I am hopeful. I have had good experiences on my travels to England. Let's hope this time is no exception. My dear friend Janet is from England. I saw her today, her lovely accent reminding me what I will be hearing shortly. Lately, I am surrounded by English accents in fact. I have a new client at work with one and she has shared some tips with me on what to do and see. I have a pretty good idea of what we should not miss, but I'm always open to suggestions. We have a lunch booked with Kate and Wills on day two - looking forward to that - can't wait to see "the" ring up close and personal. We have been debating and debating over what to wear, but decided that since they are young and casual, we would follow their lead and just wear jeans. They insisted. Who am I to argue? We plan to check out the church too. They apologized for not inviting us to the big event, but we're good with lunch and a peak inside the famous house of worship and besides, I couldn't have gotten time off work in April anyway, so just as well. It would have been nice though, especially since my good friend Elton John will be there, but we had drinks with him night before last while he and David were in town for the opening of Billy Elliot, so we would not have had much to talk about a month from now anyway, having just caught up with them here. It was such fun reminiscing with him. I reminded him that Benny and the Jets was number one on the charts when I made my first visit to London and he said "SHUT-UP Deb, you CANNOT be that old," and I was surely flattered by his outburst, but I guess I don't look too bad for an old broad if I do say so myself! I'm still waiting to hear back from Hugh Grant. He is soooo hard to get in touch with these days. I sent him a note weeks ago explaining how I had seen every one of his movies at least twice and I can't even recall HOW many times I have watched Love Actually, so I assumed that would have guaranteed a social engagement, but maybe he is just out of town or on location somewhere. If you're reading this Hugh - CALL ME! We're getting really booked up and I would hate to disappoint you. I have one availability for lunch and one left for dinner, so don't wait too long or you'll miss the boat! And maybe, if he's around, bring that kid with the funny hair cut that was in About a Boy with you, my daughter would be about the right age for him and then you and I could have an adult conversation and they could talk about teen stuff - sound good? I think they may have the same taste in music, just guessing there. The only other call backs I am waiting for now are from Sting, Bono and Ringo Starr. YES, Ringo Starr. I met him when I was there in 1974 and I want to show him the photos we took of him that day in front of the Apple Recording Studio. My God! He looks so much younger in them, but don't we all! And Ringo, don't feel bad about how rude you were to me and my pack of frenzied teen-aged friends that day - we were a little excited to see you and we couldn't get those flashcubes on our cameras changed any faster. I bet it took hours for the little flash marks in your eyes to go away. Sorry about that. This is the best shot of the bunch here above on this blog. What do you think? I don't think we will have time to get to Stonehenge even though my budding ancient historian really should see that wonder. I heard you're not allowed to sit on the stones and smoke anymore the way we did in 74, so it would not be as much fun now anyway all roped off and everything. (see proof in my sidebar!) And it was such a long drive there and back - if we had more time, maybe. Next time perhaps. I soooo wish Biba were still around - I just loved that department store in 74, but Harrods will have to do. I'm told Kensington Palace is a must see as they have some of Diana's old dresses on display. A bit morbid perhaps, but I will admit I am curious. Should be a fun trip all round, even if the Ritz can't take us for high tea - screw them, we'll go to the Dorchester. It's more authentically "English" anyway!

In like a lion...........

March. Spring is on the horizon. Daylight savings time starts this month. With any luck at all, I might find more time to write this blog. For a genuinely entertaining take on March, go and read my friend Cindy's blog. www.halifaxbroad@blogspot.com

I would love to be able to make March sound so good, but I'll let her version do that job. Nobody does it better.

I've got nothing. Not today anyway.

My New Heroes

Violet and Allen Large are my new heroes. Not only did they give away all of their lottery winnings to family and more than 65 charities, they don't regret it for a second. They did not spend a cent on themselves. When the day comes that I can feel even close to their level of contentment and peace, will be the day I can say my soul has evolved to its potential in this lifetime. They are a symbol of hope for us all, as individuals and as a collective. The world could stand to learn a thing or two from this elderly couple from Truro, Nova Scotia. Their selflessness and love are awe-inspiring. They "have each other, and that's all they need." In a world gone mad, they are two people to admire.

Best Original Adaptation goes to.....Solution 3

So, Sunday is Oscar night and for as long as I can remember, I have forced myself to stay up and watch it, boring as most of it is and way past my bedtime. (more so with each passing year!) However, this year there is a new twist in this household. My daughter is planning an "Oscar Party" for her friends and although she said I could come if I wanted, the truth is, she was just being polite. And who can blame her? I know I am a fairly "cool" parent, but no one wants mom hanging around for more than a few minutes with their friends. This will however, impact my viewing of the show as they will have confiscated the big TV in the family room. I could watch it at the kitchen counter on a stool, but 3-4 hours on that stool is not exactly my idea of a comfy spot to sit and diss the stars. I have never wanted a TV in my bedroom - bedrooms are for other pursuits in my mind, but just this once, I wish I did have a big wide screen in there this Sunday night. Of all years for this to happen - I have seen all but one of the Best Film picks - never got around to 27 Days - but I don't think it stands a chance of winning anyway, so no great loss. Hmmmm, I wonder if I can get a live feed on my daughter's laptop? I feel stupid not knowing if this is possible, but it could be the answer to my dilemma. Surely she can sit through the show without her faithful techie companion - the least she could do considering I have been banished. And come to think of it - why are none of my friends having an Oscar Party and if they are, why am I not invited? These are important questions to ponder on the occasion of such a monumental event. Maybe the day has come when I need to succumb to a TV in the bedroom - this will likely not be the last time, and certainly is not the first time I have been banished from the family room. A finished basement would have resolved this crisis for me, but that is a whole other can of worms I best not open here. Right now, I am thinking the red carpet show on the kitchen stool and the rest, if I can, on the laptop. The only problem with that plan is I will surely fall asleep in bed watching it on the laptop as I have enough trouble staying awake to watch it in its entirety while sitting up. I know - solution number 3. Record it and watch it in bits all week long. There is something to be said for no commercials, but it will be old news by then, so what would be the point? On the other hand, it would be great to just zip through the boring speeches, the commercials and anything else I found uninteresting. As a matter of fact, when I think of it, I could probably just watch the opening, select awards that interest me and by the time all is said and done, could wrap up the whole thing in under an hour I bet. Hmmm, I am liking solution 3. Can't believe I didn't think of it in the first place. Now I can still get my beauty sleep (much needed) and stay out of the way of a room full of hormonal teenagers AND save time. That's it then. The Oscar goes to......Solution 3. And please, don't anyone tell me who won - I want to find out for myself on Monday.

Chilling to the Winter's Bone

At about the half-way point of watching Winter's Bone, I paused the movie to take a bathroom break. After about an hour into this bleak, depressing world, my image in the bathroom mirror struck me as especially beautiful. I don't say this to sound conceited. I say this to illustrate the contrast between my own image and my own life compared to what I had been watching on the screen. I thought I had seen "ugly" in The Fighter.(the ghastly looking sisters are still haunting me!) But not just physical "ugly". The whole thing. Physical, spiritual, emotional. People whose lives you observe and wonder what reason they could possibly have to want to live. People without joy. People without hope. People barely surviving. Winter's Bone, one of this years Oscar contenders was one of the last movies I had not yet seen. I don't even remember it when it came out in the summer of 2010, so when my film buff daughter asked if I wanted to see it, I said, "sure, may as well see them all." Already available to view on ROD, it was an easy option as I did not feel like venturing out on a cold night. I thought I had gotten away without feeling cold, but this movie was not going to let me. The fact that it is filmed in winter in the Ozarks was an obvious image, but no warm blanket around my shoulders could protect me from the chilling images and story of this young woman's plight. We tend to forget how fortunate we are. As I get older I am more and more grateful and aware of my good fortune, but even so, I still need a slap upside the head from time to time to REALLY remind me. This movie is that slap. Director, Debra Granik's stark portrayal of poverty and depravity and addiction is so real it makes "our" privileged lives seem extreme in the opposite. It is the story of a 17 year old girl trapped in a life she did not ask for. Her mother is mentally ill, her drug-dealing father has run off and left them penniless and she is left to take care of two much younger siblings and their home that is being threatened to be taken over by the bank if her father is not found and brought to trial for his crimes, as he has skipped bail. Ree, brilliantly portrayed by Jennifer Lawrence, sets off to try to find her father, risking her life in a seedy world of back woods meth labs and gun-toting drugged out hillbillies, one of whom is her own uncle. She enters a dangerous world she understands but does not partake in, with the bravado and bravery of a mother who was trying to protect her children, even though the easy path for her would be to dessert them all. My daughter loves a good horror flick. She prides herself on being pretty immune to just about every special effect going - nothing gets to her. She is able to laugh most of it off and is super-critical of movies that do a poor job of all the blood and guts. At the end of this movie, even she, Miss Jaded, had to admit, Winter's Bone in its tragic realism, was truly horrific. Some images and characters stay in your head forever. This movie and this heroine will without even trying. And it's not a pretty picture.

Snow Day, Snow Day, Snow Day........Please!

Snow days. Remember those? If you grew up in any province besides B.C. you surely experienced at least one snow day in your lifetime. What better way to spend a snowy blowy winter day than laying around inside the house all morning in your pajamas watching daytime TV instead of going to school? By afternoon, your mother had had enough of seeing your lazy ass laying about, so she would say "Get your snow pants on and get outside and make a snowman or something." Reluctantly you would layer up and before you could step over the threshold, a momentary guilt would wash over her and she would wrap a woolly scarf around your neck, tight enough to constrict your breathing, but not enough to kill you, and pat your ass on the way out the door. Surveying the lay of the land as you stepped out into the deep pristine powder, your eyelashes thick with flakes in a nan0-second, you would go forth into the backyard and into a world of wonder and magic full of possibility. Snow fort? Snow man? Snow woman? Snow angel? Stopping to snap off a low hanging icicle, tasting it, drawing with it, dueling with it, using it as an appendage on your snow person - again - endless possibilities. The only sound, that of your thick snow pants rubbing as you walked about - only silence when you stopped, or the sound of your own breathing under your now wet woolly scarf. Wet with melting snow and your nasal drip, annoying but warm. For the first while, you remained fairly dry and warm beneath all your layers. Sixteen snow angels later, not so much. No matter how tucked in you thought you were, some snow always made its way into your boot tops, creating a red ring of cold skin where it stopped and packed in on the way down. Now the lining of your boots was starting to get a bit damp, but you didn't care. You carried on. "I know," you thought to yourself, "I will build an igloo just like the Eskimos do and I will sleep in it tonight with a small fire burning in the centre, just like they do." After about a gazillion attempts to create perfectly firm packed "snow bricks", that idea sort of fizzled, but at least you had given it a shot. By now, you had mostly flattened the entire yard, uncovered a bit of the dormant lawn when you rolled the body parts of the snow man you made and were in search of some virgin powder. Now you were starting to notice the damp and wet beginning to annoy you a bit, but not enough to head inside quite yet. Not before you ate a couple more icicles, threw a few more snowballs at various targets and could not stand to go without a tissue for another moment. By now your mother would probably feel sorry enough for you to let you in, so you headed in, stripped off all the wet clothing with the chunks of snow clinging to it here and there, your reddened cheeks, hands and ankles burning as you unthawed. If you had a good mom, you got hot chocolate, a snack and sat back and enjoyed the scent of your woolly mittens and hats steaming on the rad where they were placed to dry off, ready to face another day of a Canadian winter. I hope that at least some kids do this tomorrow - just like I did more than 40 years ago. My own daughter is praying for a snow day tomorrow. Hard to believe, but she has never actually had one. Sure, she has played in the snow, but never had an official snow day in all her years at school. If she does get one, I doubt she will be outside making snow angels at her age, but if she plays her cards right, she may get some hot chocolate in front of the fire and we could both stay inside and enjoy the beauty of the snow falling outside the window. What are the chances we will both get one? We're praying. Fingers crossed. C'mon "snowmegeddon"!

Three things brought Tears to my Eyes today!

I took a "sick" day today. Well, actually, I was not sick, and it was my day off, but I decided to treat it as a sick day. In other words, I stayed in all day, did not put on any make-up, did not really comb my hair other than to sweep it off my face into a tiny ponytail and I did get dressed, but just went from my pajamas to my Lululemon gear, thinking it might encourage me to do a work out (it didn't). I then proceeded to take a late morning nap, get up, eat lunch, read for a while, then took an afternoon nap and then got up, had a snack and turned on Oprah at 4. I have not had a day like this in ages. It was overdue. Oprah was in Australia, and apparently she forgot it was summer there as she was sporting this red taffeta dress that was all billowy and covered every inch of her ever-increasing girth. Don't get me wrong - I love Oprah - so I won't criticize her any further - I just thought the dress choice was odd. The show made me cry twice - once when she was interviewing Steve Irwin's family and his cuter than cute little boy welled up when he started telling the world that his dad was the best dad in the world and that made his mom cry and then I started blubbering and the camera panned all the teary eyes in the audience. Then some local couple who were dealing with cancer told their sad story and by the end of the segment Oprah gave them a quarter million dollars so they could spend some quality time together over the next year while he was fighting the disease and before he died although they left that last part unsaid. More tears. So, considering I had not watched the show in over a year, it reminded me that she still had the touch and she will be missed after this - her last season. I was cheered up considerably when Jon Bon Jovi showed up and sang a couple of songs and flashed his pearly whites at us - the guy has the most perfect teeth I have ever seen. My daughter commented that he was also THE best looking old rocker from back in my day, citing how bad some of the others have fared - like Mick Jagger and Steve Tyler. I had to agree although I do believe he is slightly younger than those two. Still, the hair, the bod, the skin, all still good for his age. So, in an effort to remain on the couch, after Oprah I watched Dr. Oz and sat and nodded and agreed as he told the world about the dangers of sugar. Toward the end of the show, he started to lose me when he stopped talking health and started talking about coupon cutting to save money at the drug store - so I changed the channel and tuned into the new Marilyn Dennis show. I had been looking forward to her new show - this was a chance to check it out - I was excited.....and quickly disappointed. Some dude talking about house plants? Hello - the 70's called and they want their Boston Fern back! Then, some woman talking about various versions of the Kindle that are now available. Marilyn, nodding and interjecting the odd comment - her bubbly persona from Cityline days no where to be seen. And what the hell happened to her face? She obviously took some time in between gigs to get some "work" done and I have to say - I don't think it went very well. Sorry, Mar, but you got robbed. Who did that to you? I want a name. Just in case I ever think about going under the knife - I won't go to him. The only thing that made the show tolerable was that I was eating some nice freshly made sushi while I was watching it - the occasional blast of tear-inducing wasabi keeping me awake and distracted from the tedium and boredom on the screen. As an old fan of her on Cityline, I will likely give the show another chance one day, but it has to get better than it was today or I won't give it a third chance. With 2 hours of TV under my belt along with some spicy tuna rolls, I decided it was time to move from the sofa to the computer, a total of about 6 steps, and here I sit, writing this blog, not really sure what I wanted to yap about, but lo and behold, I have just filled the screen with the fascinating events of my day and it's not over yet! I have a good 3-4 hours left to fill before bedtime - who knows what exciting things I may do with the rest of my "sick" day. I can tell you one thing, by tomorrow, I will be re-charged and ready to face the world again. I'll shower, put on some make-up, fix my hair, get dressed and actually go outside. Maybe.

I Won't be Defeated!!!

Sabotage! I look around the office everyday since mid-December and it's everywhere. Sabotage! None of us need it, but it seems we all want it. Every desk, the board room table, the kitchen table, no surface is vacant. They are all covered with it. White death. It's everywhere. I wish they would stop bringing it in. I am strong, but not impervious to it. I walk by this one desk several times a day - it holds one of my favourite things. Anything with coconut in it - particularly tempting. Christmas has come and gone and now they all want it out of their houses, so they bring it to work - let everyone else get fat they think - stop it! Why not just toss it in the trash? At least that way it won't end up on the thighs of all the women at work. It belongs in the trash anyway - for the amount of nutritional value in any of it. As I have said before - how can you call something a treat that in the end only makes you feel bad about yourself? SUGAR IS NOT A TREAT!!!!! Ask the millions of obese people around the world if they feel they have been "treated" by sugar? Sure - treated to diabetes, heart disease, joint pain, self-loathing, depresssion - you name it. Treat? I think not. I have looked my enemy in the eye and have decided it will not defeat me. It injured me a bit - added 5 lbs to my ass this holiday season, but that's it. It's over you mother-f cker. You are out of my life - you will not put me back in a one piece this summer - don't even think about it! This is one war you won't win. I have the bigger weapon. Three words - No, thank you.

Never Judge a Movie by the Trailers

If you have read the reviews for Blue Valentine, you will learn that the story examines the breakdown of a marriage. Nothing new here, but the raw performances by Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams give it an edge that is creating some Oscar buzz and getting the movie-going public to fork out their hard-earned cash to sit through their depressing story. I happen to love this type of film that puts a microscope inside a relationship and lets us play voyeur into the lives of some ill-fated couple. The clever devices used to tell the story are of less interest to me than the director's (Derek Cianfrance here) ability to make the story and the characters believable. I struggled a bit with this one. Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) appear from the first scenes in the obvious end stage of their marriage. The director takes us back eventually to the early days of their romance when they first met so we can see how they came together in the first place. What we miss out on here is the middle part of the marriage - the critical part where things start to fall apart and the stage where it may have been possible to still save what was left and rebuild. That is the part I would have added as a director. We all are familiar with the beginning and end of a relationship, not much to learn there. What would be of some benefit to the audience would be the portrayal of the pivotal time in between. That time that is often hard to pinpoint. The time that is crucial for rescue. The part that anyone who has been through a divorce can look back on and recognize in hindsight that is where they should have started counseling or gotten help or at the very least admitted to each other that they were in trouble. I found myself trying to figure it out in the movie. From my perspective, Cindy was unable to accept love from Dean because she grew up with a poor self-image in a home where her own parent's dysfunctional marriage was her only role model. Her father mistreated her mother, psychological abuse from what little we learned in this movie and Cindy did not seem to expect much more for herself. She pushed Gosling away despite his best efforts to romance her but that is not to say he was without his own flaws. His lack of ambition and growing attachment to beer for breakfast, did little to woo her, even though he was an attentive and much loved father to her daughter. He married her knowing she was pregnant with another man's baby. At the time, his heroic gesture was welcomed, but as the years passed, his commitment was apparently not enough to feed her soul. Dean was content to be nothing more than a faithful husband and devoted father - Cindy wanted more. But we never get to see where the tables turned. How far into the relationship did they get before she realized his gallant gesture would not be enough to sustain them? At the time he was Mr. Right. She changed and grew and before long, her white knight looked more like Larry the Loser. They never really got to know each other in the beginning. He was a true romantic, writing her a song, blabbing to his co-worker about his belief in "love at first sight". She was more pragmatic, more of a realist, even though in her vulnerable position she allowed herself to be charmed by his heartfelt gestures. Being a bit of a romantic myself (OK - more than a bit), I couldn't help but relate to Dean. However, he did seem to deteriorate fairly quickly. He was helpless to penetrate her cold and angry demeanor and their complete lack of communication skills was so frustrating to me as an audience member, I wanted to freeze frame and play mediator between them. I expected far more from this film and the trailers for it are very misleading. It is more of a tragedy than a love story and the only scene where I actually felt a bit of bittersweet emotion was the one from the trailer where he plays his ukulele and sings a little song for her while she self-consciously does a little tap dance for him in front of a shop window with an appropriately placed heart wreath. Sweet. As for the acting, no question, both Gosling and Williams were giving it their best shot, and nominations may result, but I don't think either of them will be going home with the golden statue this year. Not yet. Worth a look, but if you have a choice, go see The King's Speech or Black Swan or The Fighter, all three a better bet.

Size Matters

OK ladies - time for a reality check. I know I won't be popular with this blog, but sometimes the truth hurts. I popped into a high end women's clothing shop the other day to check out the after Christmas sales and I spotted THE most fabulous coat. There was only one left and even at half price it was still a small fortune. It was by "Save the Queen" designs and it was sooooo me! It had everything. Originality, varied textures, the perfect cut for my body, some bling attached on the lapel, a cool charm on the zip - the chances of me seeing something similar on someone else would be slim to none. It was black and grey and pink. It was love at first sight. It was attached to a mannequin so I had to ask the clerk to take it off it so I could try it on. It was a medium, and the last one, and I figured it might be a little big on me, but I could alter it if necessary. Besides, you don't want a winter coat to be too snug, in case you need to wear a bulky sweater underneath it. I was sure it would be fine. We stripped the headless plastic body and we made our way to the back of the shop so I could stand before the full length mirror and slip it on. "Hmmm," I thought as she helped from behind, it didn't slide on like I thought it would. I was wearing a zipped yoga jacket over my t-shirt - maybe that was creating a little bulk. I was about to tell her to wait a second while I unzipped and took off the extra layer I was wearing, but then I thought "Wait a sec," it does not matter. "Horrors!", it would not make a difference - the coat would clearly not fit me even if I did strip off. I could go right down to my bare skin and that coat would not wrap all the way around me. And then she informed me it was an Italian label - you need to go up a size or two with these she said. On one hand I was relieved it did not fit and look as fabulous as I thought it was going to, as I was not really in the mood to spend the money, but it was one of those things, that had it looked the way it did in my imagination from the moment I saw it, I would have slapped my credit card down in a nano-second and spent the next 30 minutes of my walk home justifying my extravagant purchase. The point of this story is we live in denial here in North America when it comes to sizing. I know a woman who is clearly a size 18 or 20 and goes around saying she is a size 10 or 12. "Yeah," I think to myself, "on what planet?" In Europe I am a large. In Canada I am a small. In some Asian countries, I am at least a medium and in some American chains, where they have really perfected the art of self-denial, I am an extra-small. Ladies! Let's be real here. I am not "extra-small". Even small is a stretch. Not that I don't love seeing an "S" on my clothing labels. I do. I just know that 25 or 30 years ago, that same "S" would have been a more realistic "M". I know this is true. But I don't mind the lie. None of us do. How else do you explain the existence of Size "0". Or better still "double bloody zero?" Clothing manufacturers figured this psychology out some time ago on this continent, but in Europe and Asia, where obesity is not rampant, sizing is still true. Sorry to burst the bubbles of all you 2's and 4's out there, but the truth is, you are merely a small or a 6. Yes, a 6! Ever since that infamous line in The Devil Wears Prada, "2 is the new 6", American clothing manufacturers saw the opportunity to sell more clothing. They started making their sizing more generous so women everywhere would feel better about themselves and spend more. And several Canadian designers are at it too. Last winter I tried on a Pink Tartan coat in a size 4 thinking there was no way it would fit and lo and behold - it was too damn big! Nice of Kimberly to try to make us all feel so tiny, but COME ON! We may be able to suspend reality somewhat, but sometimes it is just ridiculous. Same thing with Joe Fresh. That wonderful inexpensive grocery store wear that really takes it to a whole new level of bullshit. Remind me to show you my extra small T-shirts I bought there last summer. Of course there will always be women who try to squeeze into clothing that is way too small for them - that's not what I'm talking about. I am talking about getting your head out of the sand and accepting your true size. Unless you are anorexic, you are NOT a size zero. If you have any curves at all, you are at least a small or medium, or between a 4 and an 8. If your curves are starting to spill over into muffin top or your breasts are bursting out of your bra, you are a 10 or 12. If you have been noticing a double chin or none of your rings fit you any more, you are likely heading into the 14-16 zone. After that, you have to start shopping at plus size clothing stores and at that point, it's time to do some serious thinking about joining a gym and checking out the latest Weight Watchers program. I would love to think that one day I could fit into that Italian size small, but the truth is, if I lost that much weight, I would be grumpy all the time from starving myself and my breasts would practically disappear. Neither of those appeal to me. And besides, those European imports are expensive and wearing them in the correct size would make me feel fat - perhaps this denial thing is really the way to go. You're as young as you feel and you're as thin as your clothing label says you are! Tadah!

How old am I again???

Birthdays! These days I prefer to ignore them, but when I think of the alternative, I suppose I should be grateful to have stuck around for yet another year. I am at an age where I actually have to strain my brain sometimes to actually remember exactly how old I am - unless it is a big milestone year, I forget. I never feel my age, well rarely anyway - maybe if I am nursing a bit of tennis elbow or some other muscle strain from a poorly executed golf swing or the morning after if I have more than two glasses of wine the night before, but that's about it. Generally speaking, I actually feel physically better now than I have in years. About 2 years ago I decided to really start putting me first and that included making time for regular exercise, not just the regular tennis I was playing. It made a big difference to my energy level and my overall fitness and that goes a long way in making me feel younger. I especially like free weights. I like the increased metabolism I get as a result of working those puppies and I also like the muscle definition they give me. I used to hide my arms, now I don't think twice about baring them. At one stage, I tried pushing it beyond my capabilities and realized I just could not devote that kind of time to it, so I have settled for a level of fitness that suits me, makes me feel strong and energetic, but does not keep me from doing other things I love as well. Everyone asks me if I go to a gym. No. I do not. I have a treadmill at home. I have a mat and a big ball, a set of 5 and 10 lb dumbbells, a 15 lb weight, a 20 lb one and my Ipod. I work out in my family room to music that motivates me and I do it consistently - no magic there at all. I don't have to get in my car and drive to a gym, pay money to do it, and I don't have to wipe off some stranger's perspiration from the equipment. I find it saves me time. I dress as though I am heading to the gym and I change the music as it suits me - my current motivational tunes are by Katy Perry and Rhianna and I slow it down for the stretching with whatever brings the tempo down a few notches. I honestly don't think I could do it without music. It turns it into something more akin to dance for me and that is what spurs me on. I do some Pilate's, some yoga poses and some other exercises that I used to do back in the day of 'aerobics" classes that make me feel good. I do some ab work, some core strengthening things and 30 minutes on the treadmill - mostly fast walking uphill, interspersed with some light jogging. It takes an hour, a bit more if I have the time and feel like pushing it and I do it 4-5 times a week. I was doing it 6 days for a while, but that was hard to schedule, so now I am happy with a bit less. I play tennis less than I used to - once a week now - 2 hours of doubles, and in the summer I golf about once a week. I figure this is all doable well into my old age. In the spring, summer and fall I abandon the treadmill for the great outdoors and my walks are longer - at least an hour- sometimes 90 minutes with variable terrain. The treadmill is really just for inclement weather - which is most of the winter - I hate the cold. With the New Year only days away, I plan to step up my work-out a bit to rid myself of the 5 lbs that crept on over the month of December. That, and ridding my diet of that "white death" known as sugar. I allowed it back into my body over the holidays, but it has over-stayed it's welcome now and it's time to say adios to my worst enemy - good riddance too. Whoever decided to call it a "treat" needs to have their head examined. The only thing it ever "treated" me to was a wide ass, cavities as a kid, and hypoglycemia. Some treat. Frankly, working out this morning - THAT was my birthday treat to myself. And one that will pay off in dividends and a smaller waistline! Happy Birthday to me!

Listen! I just heard reindeer hooves on the Roof!

For years after I knew Santa was not really Santa, I recall still wanting to believe. The image of Santa in my heart and in my mind was so intense and I loved him so much that denial was present for some time even though the rational part of my brain told me to grow up, I really did not want to. At some point, I got on with it as we all do, but every year, I still get a little warm and fuzzy when I see certain visual images of the fat old guy. I especially like those sort of retro images of him with the fat rosy cheeks and when my daughter was little, I always tried to wrap the "Santa" presents in Santa paper just to emphasize where they came from. Not Toys Are Us or The Bay or Mastermind - no my dear - those packages came all the way from the North Pole and that's how you could tell - Santa only uses paper with his face on it - his stamp so to speak. I am quite sure she never noticed this little attempt of mine to convince her he was real, but it was something I just had to do, likely to re-visit my own lost innocence as much as preserve the magic for her in some small way. Now that she is 16, she is long past believing in jolly old St. Nick, but part of me wishes she still did. So, last night, Christmas Eve, as the smell of dinner was wafting through the house, the fire was burning, the candles were lit, and we were listening to Charlie Brown's Christmas (a tradition on Christmas eve in this house) I decided to try to re-create some magic. My jaded teen was partaking in the evening somewhat (she was in the room at least) even though she was sitting with her laptop surfing god knows what non-Christmassy sites, while I was busy lighting enough candles to illuminate the entire neighbourhood, I slipped past her unseen to the front door and opened it, left it open for a few seconds, then closed it. Our alarm system makes an annoying chime every time the door opens, so she would have heard it. I then slipped back past her - ignored and unseen again and went into the kitchen. In a loud voice, I said to my husband, "Did you hear the front door just now?" He turns to me and says - "yes, I did". I then said "Were you out in the front porch?", loud enough for her to hear of course and he says, "no, I have been in here the whole time." "Well who came in the door then," I said to him, then to her - "Emma, were you out in the front porch? - did you hear the front door?" She was somewhat intrigued now, and looked up from her lifeline, I mean, computer, and said "NO - I wasn't." So now my acting skills really took over - I got all "well then what's going on? Who came in the door - this is creepy - Emma! come with me - lets go see - I don't want to go alone - so she actually gets off her ass, and we walk together over to the door, creeping sort of to see if someone is there - and all she sees is a Christmas stocking hanging on the closet door knob. It was not there before. "What's that?" I ask. She looks at it, rolls her eyes and says - "God, you guys are such jerks." I try to continue the facade and say "What are you talking about - I didn't put that there - it must have been Santa who came in." Another roll of the eyes, but this time a bit of a softer look on her face, a little smile and for just a nano-second, some of that old magic came back and she was 4 again. Now, it was Christmas, even if halfway through dinner she asked if she could put Elvis's greatest hits on the stereo instead of Charlie Brown - I had had my moment and it didn't matter what transpired after that. Merry Christmas everyone. Ho! Ho! Ho!

Dear Santa.....all I want is more Time!

Merry Christmas to all my readers. I hope I find the time to write more in 2011. I miss it and I miss your comments. Cheers! Decomama xo

Travel Inspiration - Coming Soon!

Some decent blog fodder coming soon - just back from Jamaica - will post something soon - tis the season! TIME!!! NEED MORE of IT!