Just to let you know I shall be away for about three weeks, so blog posts are on hold. See you when I get back.
The Old Biddy
Monday, March 15, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
LIVING ON IN STYLE: Benefit Number Two
I’m sure that at some time, or with great regularity, we have asked and do ask ourselves how long we have on this planet earth? Naturally, none of us can come up with any kind of answer unless we are in the unfortunate position of knowing, because of a medical condition.
Our second benefit in this series is to realize that if we lost weight we would no doubt add a greater number of years to our lives.
Of course, we don’t want the extra years if they are not quality years. But we can strive for quality as well as quantity. To accomplish this, we must again turn our minds to not only watching our diet, exercise, and movements, but also we must keep the brain as active as it can be. We wont get into a discussion as to the type of tricks our memory can play on us as we age – we all know about that. But we are not just concerned with memory, we are concerned with attitude and the activity of the mind.
If we keep an active mind we will maintain a positive rather than a negative attitude. A positive attitude will encourage us to do the things we should be doing to remain fit and healthy in preparation for the many years ahead. In my case, the positive mind set seems to have created a desire to train to become an Olympic athlete, but the old body is definitely not having anything to do with that idea. A negative attitude will not help us at all; we will then be much more inclined to take to the rocking chair and never leave it!
Guess what? If we are carrying around a lot of excess baggage on our bodies, then we are going to have problems unless we can encourage ourselves to try and moderate our current lifestyle and chuck some of those pounds. To encourage ourselves, it helps to have a healthy mind, so look for exercises for the brain on the internet, (and there are plenty of them), do crosswords several times a day and challenge ourselves with some new and interesting activity. After this the attitude will go up and the pounds will go down.
Positive attitude = weight loss = quality of life = additional years in our lives.
© Old Biddy Susan Lancaster
Keywords: Living on In Style, years to our lives, quality years, brain as active, memory, positive attitude, rocking chair, negative attitude, current lifestyle
Our second benefit in this series is to realize that if we lost weight we would no doubt add a greater number of years to our lives.
Of course, we don’t want the extra years if they are not quality years. But we can strive for quality as well as quantity. To accomplish this, we must again turn our minds to not only watching our diet, exercise, and movements, but also we must keep the brain as active as it can be. We wont get into a discussion as to the type of tricks our memory can play on us as we age – we all know about that. But we are not just concerned with memory, we are concerned with attitude and the activity of the mind.
If we keep an active mind we will maintain a positive rather than a negative attitude. A positive attitude will encourage us to do the things we should be doing to remain fit and healthy in preparation for the many years ahead. In my case, the positive mind set seems to have created a desire to train to become an Olympic athlete, but the old body is definitely not having anything to do with that idea. A negative attitude will not help us at all; we will then be much more inclined to take to the rocking chair and never leave it!
Guess what? If we are carrying around a lot of excess baggage on our bodies, then we are going to have problems unless we can encourage ourselves to try and moderate our current lifestyle and chuck some of those pounds. To encourage ourselves, it helps to have a healthy mind, so look for exercises for the brain on the internet, (and there are plenty of them), do crosswords several times a day and challenge ourselves with some new and interesting activity. After this the attitude will go up and the pounds will go down.
Positive attitude = weight loss = quality of life = additional years in our lives.
© Old Biddy Susan Lancaster
Keywords: Living on In Style, years to our lives, quality years, brain as active, memory, positive attitude, rocking chair, negative attitude, current lifestyle
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Public Enemy Number One
When I started this blog, I wanted to provide some amusement in these posts, but also I hoped to get a discussion going on the odious subject of weight loss, and how this kind of excess baggage will have an awful and insidious effect on our lives as we grow older. Too many of us, both men and women are overweight. My favourite people, the media, seem to focus their comments and support for people from teenagers to those in their 50s. They seem to have forgotten there are people over 60. For the media’s information, the needs of the 60+ are just as important in the matter of weight loss as those of the teens, 20s, 30s, 40, and 50s.
What about the huge and ever expanding group of 60+, which includes some of the baby boomers? People in this age group are battling overweight problems compounded by decreasing metabolic rate and increasing problems with mobility. Note that mobility doesn’t just encompass exercise, it is everything we do in the way of moving our bodies.
We were given arms and legs and this fantastic organ known as the brain to enable our internal and external body functions; but in order for them to operate we were meant to move, and move and move. Overweight does not kill outright, but it offers a spiralling downward plunge into the miserable world of disability from which, in our vintage years, we may not recover. We all accept that different diets work for different people and there is a myriad of movements (exercise) on offer, so we can choose the one most beneficial to us.
Whether you want to diet or just eat sensibly, just do it. Walking, gardening, housework, swimming – it doesn’t matter, just do it and with regularity. To prove my point, when I had a dog to walk, we walked every morning. Not a huff and puff race walk, but a slow, steady one. Now, there are no dogs and I’ve put on 10 lbs. Worse still, the mobility of one leg has ground to a stand still. Ignoring movement and exercise is so easy to do, but ignore it at your peril. I know there are many of you who may rightly argue that I could still have walked. Would you do it every day in the pouring rain? With a dog, you have no choice.
The next few blog posts will be about weight loss and the need for the 60+ to enjoy quality of life. After each post, I will list one of thirteen benefits I see as the result of losing even 5 lbs. and what it could mean for you.
Think about this first benefit: Weight loss will relieve the pressure on our skeletal system. Wouldn’t it be great to get those old bones working with greater ease?
All feed back or examples of your own situation is welcomed.
© Old Biddy Susan Lancaster
What about the huge and ever expanding group of 60+, which includes some of the baby boomers? People in this age group are battling overweight problems compounded by decreasing metabolic rate and increasing problems with mobility. Note that mobility doesn’t just encompass exercise, it is everything we do in the way of moving our bodies.
We were given arms and legs and this fantastic organ known as the brain to enable our internal and external body functions; but in order for them to operate we were meant to move, and move and move. Overweight does not kill outright, but it offers a spiralling downward plunge into the miserable world of disability from which, in our vintage years, we may not recover. We all accept that different diets work for different people and there is a myriad of movements (exercise) on offer, so we can choose the one most beneficial to us.
Whether you want to diet or just eat sensibly, just do it. Walking, gardening, housework, swimming – it doesn’t matter, just do it and with regularity. To prove my point, when I had a dog to walk, we walked every morning. Not a huff and puff race walk, but a slow, steady one. Now, there are no dogs and I’ve put on 10 lbs. Worse still, the mobility of one leg has ground to a stand still. Ignoring movement and exercise is so easy to do, but ignore it at your peril. I know there are many of you who may rightly argue that I could still have walked. Would you do it every day in the pouring rain? With a dog, you have no choice.
The next few blog posts will be about weight loss and the need for the 60+ to enjoy quality of life. After each post, I will list one of thirteen benefits I see as the result of losing even 5 lbs. and what it could mean for you.
Think about this first benefit: Weight loss will relieve the pressure on our skeletal system. Wouldn’t it be great to get those old bones working with greater ease?
All feed back or examples of your own situation is welcomed.
© Old Biddy Susan Lancaster
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Truly Canadian Olympics
The outstanding Olympics, the fantastic Olympics, the Olympics that bonded and forged a new national identity in Canada; what a glorious two weeks we have enjoyed. Before the Games opened, I recall finishing my previous post with “…and hopefully to provide many gold medals for Canada”. Who could possibly have foreseen 14 gold medals, the most won by any country since the games started again in 1924.
It was totally unbelievable – everything, including me, a dyed in the wool anti-winter sports viewer who had never watched the Olympic Games and had no interest in them whatsoever, sitting in front of the television set watching all the action day after day. Not quite all; I refused to watch the final hockey game because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the tension and excitement. Did I think they would win? I did more than that, I believed.
I think it was the feeling of secret anticipation that something very special was going to happen with these Olympics. Even at home, the feeling of pride for the Olympic team was pervasive. We were a nation celebrating these games together, if not in Robson Square or Whistler, all of us glued to our TV sets. As the Games progressed, so we progressed from not just watching, but getting together, talking about and celebrating these events at home, over coffee breaks, at work, in the pubs, on the buses and at Robson Square and finally Yonge Street in Toronto and various places in the Maritimes and across the Prairies.
In the end we showed our heartfelt feelings of sorrow to the family of the young slider who was killed and to the people of Georgia; we had plenty of snow on Cypress – as John Furlong said, the score was the Blue Jackets 1, Cypress Bowl nil; we slammed our critics, particularly the British and Foreign Press, we overcame protesters by the sheer joy of our enthusiasm; trampled over all negative thoughts and we won. What a victory for Canada and the Olympics. Long may this unity last.
It was totally unbelievable – everything, including me, a dyed in the wool anti-winter sports viewer who had never watched the Olympic Games and had no interest in them whatsoever, sitting in front of the television set watching all the action day after day. Not quite all; I refused to watch the final hockey game because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the tension and excitement. Did I think they would win? I did more than that, I believed.
I think it was the feeling of secret anticipation that something very special was going to happen with these Olympics. Even at home, the feeling of pride for the Olympic team was pervasive. We were a nation celebrating these games together, if not in Robson Square or Whistler, all of us glued to our TV sets. As the Games progressed, so we progressed from not just watching, but getting together, talking about and celebrating these events at home, over coffee breaks, at work, in the pubs, on the buses and at Robson Square and finally Yonge Street in Toronto and various places in the Maritimes and across the Prairies.
In the end we showed our heartfelt feelings of sorrow to the family of the young slider who was killed and to the people of Georgia; we had plenty of snow on Cypress – as John Furlong said, the score was the Blue Jackets 1, Cypress Bowl nil; we slammed our critics, particularly the British and Foreign Press, we overcame protesters by the sheer joy of our enthusiasm; trampled over all negative thoughts and we won. What a victory for Canada and the Olympics. Long may this unity last.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Onions and Carrots Galore
I had the pleasure of talking recently with my step-son in the UK. He is quite a guy; a person able to make goals and stick to them in the face of adversity. But, back to today. Iain and his wife, Suzanne, recently moved into another house which requires a lot of TLC and a lot of money to get the TLC on the table. Suzanne is a great decorator and I know when the house is finished it will look superb.
They also acquired an acre of land with the house, with two dog runs dominating the landscape. The previous owner, I understand, was a dog breeder. With a mind to cut the cost of living, which is prohibitively high in England, Iain and Suzanne decided to turn one of the dog runs into a sort an allotment plot. In the middle of house renovations, and work, Iain makes the decision to rent a rotavator to transform the one dog run into a viable piece of land on which to grow veggies of all sorts, sizes and descriptions.
Iain, being Iain, had done all his ‘market garden’ research thoroughly before committing to this plan, including price comparisons with what was available in the supermarket, and the best growing facilities for the produce. In some cases, buckets will work! I was getting so enthused with his descriptions, I pictured myself running out to buy buckets to grow various vegetables!
Then came the crowning announcement. He had bought 3 packets of carrot and onion seed, hoping that it would be enough. When he looked closely, at the packets, he discovered that one packet of carrot seed would produce 3,500 carrots, and one packet of onion seed would produce 2,600 onions. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that he would refrain from purchasing any more carrot and onion seeds.
I could not restrain my laughter and suggested that perhaps he’d better set up a vegetable stall outside the house, which would contribute further to his increased economic status.
Finally, our phone call came to an end, and I immediately went to see my husband and suggested that we should resurrect the appropriate pots and frames to grow tomatoes and pepper on the deck. With an uncertain economic future, maybe we should be using common sense and producing fresh, organic vegetables for ourselves. It made sense and, after all, there is nothing like home-grown tomatoes.
The Old Biddy
.
They also acquired an acre of land with the house, with two dog runs dominating the landscape. The previous owner, I understand, was a dog breeder. With a mind to cut the cost of living, which is prohibitively high in England, Iain and Suzanne decided to turn one of the dog runs into a sort an allotment plot. In the middle of house renovations, and work, Iain makes the decision to rent a rotavator to transform the one dog run into a viable piece of land on which to grow veggies of all sorts, sizes and descriptions.
Iain, being Iain, had done all his ‘market garden’ research thoroughly before committing to this plan, including price comparisons with what was available in the supermarket, and the best growing facilities for the produce. In some cases, buckets will work! I was getting so enthused with his descriptions, I pictured myself running out to buy buckets to grow various vegetables!
Then came the crowning announcement. He had bought 3 packets of carrot and onion seed, hoping that it would be enough. When he looked closely, at the packets, he discovered that one packet of carrot seed would produce 3,500 carrots, and one packet of onion seed would produce 2,600 onions. He decided that discretion was the better part of valour and that he would refrain from purchasing any more carrot and onion seeds.
I could not restrain my laughter and suggested that perhaps he’d better set up a vegetable stall outside the house, which would contribute further to his increased economic status.
Finally, our phone call came to an end, and I immediately went to see my husband and suggested that we should resurrect the appropriate pots and frames to grow tomatoes and pepper on the deck. With an uncertain economic future, maybe we should be using common sense and producing fresh, organic vegetables for ourselves. It made sense and, after all, there is nothing like home-grown tomatoes.
The Old Biddy
.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Book Review: Malcolm Gladwell’s Books: The Tipping Point; Blink; Outliers and What the Dog Saw.
My daughter said to me the other day “Whenever anyone asks me who I would like to have lunch with if I could invite anyone at all, I always say Malcolm Gladwell”. I have to agree with her. He is a great pop sociology/psychology writer. I have read all four of his books and delighted in the inquisitiveness revealed in his narrative. His view of the world is one of asking ‘why?’ Many of us say “Isn’t that nice?” and he says “How did that happen?”
All of his books have one thing in common – the author’s ability to spin a yarn. His mind is obviously always asking questions and searching through his prodigious mental database of seemingly trivial information to find examples, connections and situations that lend themselves to illustrating the observations he comes up with. He says that there are underlying reasons for why things are the way they are, and that thinking outside the box, honing our skills of observation, and considering factors that at first may not seem relevant will give us a better understanding of the social world around us.
Malcolm Gladwell, the son of an English father and Jamaican mother, grew up in Ontario and got his degree in history from the University of Toronto. He became a journalist, and in 1996 moved from the Washington Post to The New Yorker where he is now a staff writer. So far, we see nothing really unusual or notable there, including his being a transplanted Canadian. But, have a look at any of his four books and you will see an unusually active mind full of information that he has used to illustrate a number of insightful concepts.
The title of his first book ‘The Tipping Point: How Little Things Make a Big Difference’, says it all. Small things or incidents all by themselves may not seem of any importance, but when they appear in a particular context at a particular time, then the rest is history. One of the many examples in his book is the ride of Paul Revere and his success in mobilizing the population. Gladwell says that success was due to Revere’s knowledge of all the key people in the various towns. In essence he had a phone tree in his head and knew who to contact to get things done. He was also a man trusted by everyone so that when he brought news he had credibility.
The next book, ‘Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking’, tackles the idea of intuition. As Gladwell points out, it is the people who have perfected the art of ‘thin-slicing’, or filtering the significant clues from the myriad of variables flying at them, who display great intuition. He again used many examples to illustrate his point and one of them is the choice of Paul Van Riper, a Viet Nam War veteran, to lead the opposing team in a huge US military war-game. The premise was that an anti-American terrorist with support from four religious and ethnic groups was threatening to destabilize the Persian Gulf region. Gladwell goes on to relate the strategy of each side and the puzzling outcome. Of course, being Gladwell, he then explains what happened and what effect that had on US military war games.
His third book, ‘Outliers: the Story of Success’, reveals his analysis of why some people with potential became famous and wealthy and others do not. Examples here range from why many professional hockey players are born in January, why Bill Gates and Steve Jobs rose to software dominance, and what the Beatles and Mozart had in common. He points out that potential is important but so is time and place. You need all three in sync for that winning combination. Would the talents of Bill Gates been nurtured had he lived in the 1800’s, or in Patagonia? Probably not. I have always thought this and here Gladwell confirms it.
The most recent book ‘What the Dog Saw: and Other Adventures’, is another take on factors behind the ‘why’ of a trend, an idea, a hit. A simple observation – lots of types of mustard, but only one ketchup (Heinz) – leads to an analysis of the few contenders for ketchup supremacy compared with Heinz. It turns out that Heinz has that perfect combination of tastes for our mouths that the others just have never matched. An interesting little anecdote here is Gladwell’s lunch date with two professional tasters and their constant parsing of the flavours in each dish they order.
These books are easy to read, entertaining, and informative. There is probably a certain amount of cherry-picking of examples but they do illustrate points the author is trying to make very well. They leave you with a new insight into the 'why' of things and a sense that the back story is as interesting as, and maybe even more informative than the headlines in the news. What would he make of the Tiger Woods story? Now there is a case crying for study and analysis.
Biddy Gloria
All of his books have one thing in common – the author’s ability to spin a yarn. His mind is obviously always asking questions and searching through his prodigious mental database of seemingly trivial information to find examples, connections and situations that lend themselves to illustrating the observations he comes up with. He says that there are underlying reasons for why things are the way they are, and that thinking outside the box, honing our skills of observation, and considering factors that at first may not seem relevant will give us a better understanding of the social world around us.
Malcolm Gladwell, the son of an English father and Jamaican mother, grew up in Ontario and got his degree in history from the University of Toronto. He became a journalist, and in 1996 moved from the Washington Post to The New Yorker where he is now a staff writer. So far, we see nothing really unusual or notable there, including his being a transplanted Canadian. But, have a look at any of his four books and you will see an unusually active mind full of information that he has used to illustrate a number of insightful concepts.
The title of his first book ‘The Tipping Point: How Little Things Make a Big Difference’, says it all. Small things or incidents all by themselves may not seem of any importance, but when they appear in a particular context at a particular time, then the rest is history. One of the many examples in his book is the ride of Paul Revere and his success in mobilizing the population. Gladwell says that success was due to Revere’s knowledge of all the key people in the various towns. In essence he had a phone tree in his head and knew who to contact to get things done. He was also a man trusted by everyone so that when he brought news he had credibility.
The next book, ‘Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking’, tackles the idea of intuition. As Gladwell points out, it is the people who have perfected the art of ‘thin-slicing’, or filtering the significant clues from the myriad of variables flying at them, who display great intuition. He again used many examples to illustrate his point and one of them is the choice of Paul Van Riper, a Viet Nam War veteran, to lead the opposing team in a huge US military war-game. The premise was that an anti-American terrorist with support from four religious and ethnic groups was threatening to destabilize the Persian Gulf region. Gladwell goes on to relate the strategy of each side and the puzzling outcome. Of course, being Gladwell, he then explains what happened and what effect that had on US military war games.
His third book, ‘Outliers: the Story of Success’, reveals his analysis of why some people with potential became famous and wealthy and others do not. Examples here range from why many professional hockey players are born in January, why Bill Gates and Steve Jobs rose to software dominance, and what the Beatles and Mozart had in common. He points out that potential is important but so is time and place. You need all three in sync for that winning combination. Would the talents of Bill Gates been nurtured had he lived in the 1800’s, or in Patagonia? Probably not. I have always thought this and here Gladwell confirms it.
The most recent book ‘What the Dog Saw: and Other Adventures’, is another take on factors behind the ‘why’ of a trend, an idea, a hit. A simple observation – lots of types of mustard, but only one ketchup (Heinz) – leads to an analysis of the few contenders for ketchup supremacy compared with Heinz. It turns out that Heinz has that perfect combination of tastes for our mouths that the others just have never matched. An interesting little anecdote here is Gladwell’s lunch date with two professional tasters and their constant parsing of the flavours in each dish they order.
These books are easy to read, entertaining, and informative. There is probably a certain amount of cherry-picking of examples but they do illustrate points the author is trying to make very well. They leave you with a new insight into the 'why' of things and a sense that the back story is as interesting as, and maybe even more informative than the headlines in the news. What would he make of the Tiger Woods story? Now there is a case crying for study and analysis.
Biddy Gloria
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Golden Years – Oh Really?
Along the lines of the last post about my situation with my far-distant hip replacement; I thought I would jot down a few thoughts on another subject which dominates our minds as we find ourselves unable to do various things at home, in the garden and out in this wide world of ours – Seniors’ Homes or Residences.
It is not all a bed of roses.
I have a very good friend who is resident in a seniors’ home which offers assisted living. On my first visit to see her, I thought I was entering a country mansion. In fact the sooner I could sell my house and move in the better. Oh, it was wonderful; a coffee corner, a shop for things like milk, juice etc, an elegant dining room, plenty of lounge space in which to relax, large windows allowing the sun to light up the building, gardens and garden rooms. What more could I ask – and above all, no more cooking and no more trying to figure out what to cook.
My friend has a spacious apartment with a good view which I think she enjoys, but since I see her regularly, I am beginning to realize the mental cost of all these efficient services and attractive settings for her particularly.
My friend, who is semi-paralyzed, gets care to cover the various things she cannot do and this care amounts to approximately 1.5 hours per day. The care and services are reasonable, but the management and billing practices are totally unreasonable. Fortunately, my friend is still very much in charge of her life and is considerably younger than most of the residents. If she sees what she deems to be an irregularity she will go all out to rectify it, which she did quite recently. But, it was like pulling teeth because staff like to pass the buck, disclaim responsibility, don’t communicate among themselves and provide inadequate management. On top of this, at the back of my friend’s mind was that she might ultimately pay for this issue by alienating the people who look after her. A deterrent for a lesser mortal.
We talked quite a bit about this situation, and both of us felt that it was unfair to a number of residents who were not quite aware of what was going on and therefore are oblivious to any ‘improprieties’. They just go with the flow and pay their bills. Then there are the residents who would like to make a statement, but they are old, they are tired and they lack the will to put up a fight. Many small problems can and are settled but the larger problems can become drawn out sagas and that is when the resident looses heart. Sometimes there are relatives who are only too happy to step in and help, but many times there are not and the resident is on his or her own.
Then there are the subsidized residents who really don’t need to care. They are just happy to have a good roof over their head and plenty of comforts. They are totally unaware of what is going on with management or finance because they don’t have bills to pay at the end of the month.
I am perhaps painting a somewhat gloomy picture, but it is not all bad. Living in a seniors’ home does allow you to live out your life in relative peace without the worry and responsibility of house and home which can be bad enough at times for the elderly. However, for myself, I will stay in my own place for as long as I can possibly manage it – I think.
Before ending and as an aside; a friend of mine asked me the other day how I was going to get up and down the stairs in my house (and there are lots of stairs – all 14 of them) in my current condition of restricted movement. I replied that I will be taking up the luge!
It is not all a bed of roses.
I have a very good friend who is resident in a seniors’ home which offers assisted living. On my first visit to see her, I thought I was entering a country mansion. In fact the sooner I could sell my house and move in the better. Oh, it was wonderful; a coffee corner, a shop for things like milk, juice etc, an elegant dining room, plenty of lounge space in which to relax, large windows allowing the sun to light up the building, gardens and garden rooms. What more could I ask – and above all, no more cooking and no more trying to figure out what to cook.
My friend has a spacious apartment with a good view which I think she enjoys, but since I see her regularly, I am beginning to realize the mental cost of all these efficient services and attractive settings for her particularly.
My friend, who is semi-paralyzed, gets care to cover the various things she cannot do and this care amounts to approximately 1.5 hours per day. The care and services are reasonable, but the management and billing practices are totally unreasonable. Fortunately, my friend is still very much in charge of her life and is considerably younger than most of the residents. If she sees what she deems to be an irregularity she will go all out to rectify it, which she did quite recently. But, it was like pulling teeth because staff like to pass the buck, disclaim responsibility, don’t communicate among themselves and provide inadequate management. On top of this, at the back of my friend’s mind was that she might ultimately pay for this issue by alienating the people who look after her. A deterrent for a lesser mortal.
We talked quite a bit about this situation, and both of us felt that it was unfair to a number of residents who were not quite aware of what was going on and therefore are oblivious to any ‘improprieties’. They just go with the flow and pay their bills. Then there are the residents who would like to make a statement, but they are old, they are tired and they lack the will to put up a fight. Many small problems can and are settled but the larger problems can become drawn out sagas and that is when the resident looses heart. Sometimes there are relatives who are only too happy to step in and help, but many times there are not and the resident is on his or her own.
Then there are the subsidized residents who really don’t need to care. They are just happy to have a good roof over their head and plenty of comforts. They are totally unaware of what is going on with management or finance because they don’t have bills to pay at the end of the month.
I am perhaps painting a somewhat gloomy picture, but it is not all bad. Living in a seniors’ home does allow you to live out your life in relative peace without the worry and responsibility of house and home which can be bad enough at times for the elderly. However, for myself, I will stay in my own place for as long as I can possibly manage it – I think.
Before ending and as an aside; a friend of mine asked me the other day how I was going to get up and down the stairs in my house (and there are lots of stairs – all 14 of them) in my current condition of restricted movement. I replied that I will be taking up the luge!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The New Year’s Gift
I’ve been quite busy for the last month or so trying to organize elements of our planned trip to the UK. There seemed to be so many things to decide upon; the cost, the method of travel, suitable timing to that we can see everyone who is pretty much scattered at the moment, and also the holiday side of it which is to visit Scotland.
While turning all this over in my mind, I began to experience difficulties with my left leg giving me some discomfort. As the days went by there was more discomfort and discomfort then turned to pain. That was it. Obviously whatever it was it was not going to get better by itself so I had better get to see the doctor.
After the trip to the doctor’s office subsequent x-rays and a return to the office to get the results, I was told a hip replacement is necessary. I am sure I mouthed some not very pleasant language under my breath while all my expectations of seeing the family again fell off the cliff and travel plans are going to wait for at least another year. In fact, I thought to myself, it could well be two years.
Clutching a slip of paper written in chicken scrawl, I went to the referral office and presented the doctor’s request. Finally, after they contacted the surgeon I had named, the earliest appointment is August 8th – and this is just to see the specialist! After requesting a space on the cancellation list (fat chance), I left the office in a complete daze and went back to the car. Last year it was cataracts, this year it is a hip replacement (hopefully), but what about next year? Thank goodness my husband was driving home.
To day, two weeks later, I was back at the doctor’s office to run some ideas by him which would enable me to get to see someone before August, otherwise, I feel I’m going to be in a wheel chair before then. Unfortunately my hands are tied, because he is reluctant for me to go elsewhere to see someone he doesn’t know. Fair enough – although I had not intended doing that. Finally, we came up with a plan – and I will keep you posted, although not in full, gory detail.
I should not be complaining at all, except for the pain because so many people I know have had far worse to put up with, but at least they were able to see their specialist much sooner. Ah well, that’s life, I suppose.
While turning all this over in my mind, I began to experience difficulties with my left leg giving me some discomfort. As the days went by there was more discomfort and discomfort then turned to pain. That was it. Obviously whatever it was it was not going to get better by itself so I had better get to see the doctor.
After the trip to the doctor’s office subsequent x-rays and a return to the office to get the results, I was told a hip replacement is necessary. I am sure I mouthed some not very pleasant language under my breath while all my expectations of seeing the family again fell off the cliff and travel plans are going to wait for at least another year. In fact, I thought to myself, it could well be two years.
Clutching a slip of paper written in chicken scrawl, I went to the referral office and presented the doctor’s request. Finally, after they contacted the surgeon I had named, the earliest appointment is August 8th – and this is just to see the specialist! After requesting a space on the cancellation list (fat chance), I left the office in a complete daze and went back to the car. Last year it was cataracts, this year it is a hip replacement (hopefully), but what about next year? Thank goodness my husband was driving home.
To day, two weeks later, I was back at the doctor’s office to run some ideas by him which would enable me to get to see someone before August, otherwise, I feel I’m going to be in a wheel chair before then. Unfortunately my hands are tied, because he is reluctant for me to go elsewhere to see someone he doesn’t know. Fair enough – although I had not intended doing that. Finally, we came up with a plan – and I will keep you posted, although not in full, gory detail.
I should not be complaining at all, except for the pain because so many people I know have had far worse to put up with, but at least they were able to see their specialist much sooner. Ah well, that’s life, I suppose.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
St. Valentine’s Day
I was lying in bed this morning, struggling to remember what day it was – the date more than the day. Finally, after trying to focus on the subject it dawned on me - St. Valentine’s day. A kind of sad/happy day for me. On February 14th, 1876 my maternal grandfather was born on this day and he always received Valentine cards from his granddaughters. On February 14th, 2003, my dearest friend left this planet – my mother. I still miss her so much.
St. Valentine’s day is a time for romance – what romance, I wonder? I should take time to do a poll on how many elderly husbands give anything to their wives on Valentine’s Day. Speaking from experience, I suspect the answer would be not many compared to the younger generation who seem to shower affection on one another on this particular day. Therein is the truth of the matter, I think. When we were young adults we expected the man to use his initiative, and if he didn’t, then we were inclined to chastise him for forgetfulness or neglect! But if you think about it, why do we hold them in contempt now. After all, they are just following years of tradition. As the wounded wife, we could break with that tradition and shower them with flowers or chocolates even if there is no appreciation for such a gesture, except may be the odd grunt.
On an entirely different matter, I have to throw my two bits in about the Olympics so far. An unbelievable masterpiece presented itself for the opening ceremonies and I had to pinch myself to realize that I belong to this beautiful province of British Columbia in Canada. The opening ceremonies were magical and the only downside was the National Anthem. Nikki Yanofsky has a lovely voice, but her rendition of our anthem left me cold, as I suspect it did with many other people. It was such a patriotic moment and with 60,000 people there, they all needed to get in and sing, never mind listen to anyone crooning a national anthem.
It was so sad that the young Georgian athlete met with a fatal accident on the day of the opening ceremonies and my heart really does go out to his parents and family, together with admiration for the rest of the team who bravely marched in the opening ceremonies.
Our first gold medal is yet to come, but Jenn Heil walked away with Silver for Canada which was a massive achievement. In my book, the Olympics are the ultimate sporting challenge and if anyone can achieve a medal – it doesn’t matter whether it is gold, silver or bronze, they are at the top of their game and make us proud. Well done, Jenn and thank you.
This ‘I believe’ that Canadian athletes will inundate us with gold medals tends to make us forget that other athletes from all over the world are going for gold too – not just us, unfortunately!
The Old Biddy
St. Valentine’s day is a time for romance – what romance, I wonder? I should take time to do a poll on how many elderly husbands give anything to their wives on Valentine’s Day. Speaking from experience, I suspect the answer would be not many compared to the younger generation who seem to shower affection on one another on this particular day. Therein is the truth of the matter, I think. When we were young adults we expected the man to use his initiative, and if he didn’t, then we were inclined to chastise him for forgetfulness or neglect! But if you think about it, why do we hold them in contempt now. After all, they are just following years of tradition. As the wounded wife, we could break with that tradition and shower them with flowers or chocolates even if there is no appreciation for such a gesture, except may be the odd grunt.
On an entirely different matter, I have to throw my two bits in about the Olympics so far. An unbelievable masterpiece presented itself for the opening ceremonies and I had to pinch myself to realize that I belong to this beautiful province of British Columbia in Canada. The opening ceremonies were magical and the only downside was the National Anthem. Nikki Yanofsky has a lovely voice, but her rendition of our anthem left me cold, as I suspect it did with many other people. It was such a patriotic moment and with 60,000 people there, they all needed to get in and sing, never mind listen to anyone crooning a national anthem.
It was so sad that the young Georgian athlete met with a fatal accident on the day of the opening ceremonies and my heart really does go out to his parents and family, together with admiration for the rest of the team who bravely marched in the opening ceremonies.
Our first gold medal is yet to come, but Jenn Heil walked away with Silver for Canada which was a massive achievement. In my book, the Olympics are the ultimate sporting challenge and if anyone can achieve a medal – it doesn’t matter whether it is gold, silver or bronze, they are at the top of their game and make us proud. Well done, Jenn and thank you.
This ‘I believe’ that Canadian athletes will inundate us with gold medals tends to make us forget that other athletes from all over the world are going for gold too – not just us, unfortunately!
The Old Biddy
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Roo Olympics
I’ve been thinking about the Olympics – for what reason I don’t know because I am not a winter sports fan and therefore not particularly an Olympic Fan. Still, the ‘Boxing Roo” flag the Australians draped across their part of the Olympic Village, epitomizes the determined spirit that is alive as the Games are about to open. Living on Vancouver Island does not give us the sense of excitement that is perhaps prevalent in Vancouver. But sitting on the sidelines as a spectator does help to put these Olympic Games in perspective from a personal point of view.
I like the idea of the games because they are a once in a lifetime event for the host city to showcase itself to the rest of the world. Even though they require massive amounts of planning and money, I think they are worth it. There is a sense of national pride because the Canada and Vancouver are hosting the Olympics. There is a huge congregation of top athletes in one place for two weeks, not only competing for the highest honour, but also fostering camaraderie among the nations of the world.
The Olympic Games themselves are an historic event, having first been introduced to the world in the 8th Century BC where they took place in Olympia, Greece. They continued on until the 5th Century AD when, for some reason, they were abandoned. The Games were resurrected by Baron de Coubertin in 1894 when the first International Olympic Committee was founded and they have been growing ever since.
Apart from providing the host city and country with substantial economic benefits, there is the benefit of visitors coming from all over the world to see the games, and mingle with local residents, providing a potpourri of friendliness, entertainment, participation, excitement and, of course, a sense of global unity. Factored in is the historic journey of the Olympic Flame travelling from coast, to coast to coast. All Canadians have had a chance to be a part of this unique event and the nationalistic feeling it evoked.
What is the downside? Many people will sum up by saying it is a waste of time and money. Others will rebel and protest because they feel the amount of money necessary to host the Olympics, could be used for something much more worthwhile. The truth of the matter is that money has to be raised to cover the cost of the Olympics and would the same money be raised to cover the cost of deserving enterprises here at home?
In Vancouver there are also problems perhaps not encountered in other countries because of the geographical location of the city. Problems like traffic restrictions on many of the roads in and around the city. Before the games there was a general hue and cry about the lack of space to house visitors, but we now find there is still accommodation available in various parts of the city, and indeed at Whistler itself.
The media is naturally having a feeding frenzy on the subject of a possible ‘snowless’ Cypress Mountain and the deleterious effect they think it will have on the events taking place on Cypress. I suppose one could go on with a litany of woes which are always present at an event of this magnitude. But they will get us nowhere because the Games have come to Vancouver, whether we like it or not, there is snow on Cypress and they are about to open in a no doubt extraordinary fanfare and hopefully to provide many gold medals for Canada.
I like the idea of the games because they are a once in a lifetime event for the host city to showcase itself to the rest of the world. Even though they require massive amounts of planning and money, I think they are worth it. There is a sense of national pride because the Canada and Vancouver are hosting the Olympics. There is a huge congregation of top athletes in one place for two weeks, not only competing for the highest honour, but also fostering camaraderie among the nations of the world.
The Olympic Games themselves are an historic event, having first been introduced to the world in the 8th Century BC where they took place in Olympia, Greece. They continued on until the 5th Century AD when, for some reason, they were abandoned. The Games were resurrected by Baron de Coubertin in 1894 when the first International Olympic Committee was founded and they have been growing ever since.
Apart from providing the host city and country with substantial economic benefits, there is the benefit of visitors coming from all over the world to see the games, and mingle with local residents, providing a potpourri of friendliness, entertainment, participation, excitement and, of course, a sense of global unity. Factored in is the historic journey of the Olympic Flame travelling from coast, to coast to coast. All Canadians have had a chance to be a part of this unique event and the nationalistic feeling it evoked.
What is the downside? Many people will sum up by saying it is a waste of time and money. Others will rebel and protest because they feel the amount of money necessary to host the Olympics, could be used for something much more worthwhile. The truth of the matter is that money has to be raised to cover the cost of the Olympics and would the same money be raised to cover the cost of deserving enterprises here at home?
In Vancouver there are also problems perhaps not encountered in other countries because of the geographical location of the city. Problems like traffic restrictions on many of the roads in and around the city. Before the games there was a general hue and cry about the lack of space to house visitors, but we now find there is still accommodation available in various parts of the city, and indeed at Whistler itself.
The media is naturally having a feeding frenzy on the subject of a possible ‘snowless’ Cypress Mountain and the deleterious effect they think it will have on the events taking place on Cypress. I suppose one could go on with a litany of woes which are always present at an event of this magnitude. But they will get us nowhere because the Games have come to Vancouver, whether we like it or not, there is snow on Cypress and they are about to open in a no doubt extraordinary fanfare and hopefully to provide many gold medals for Canada.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Book Review: Paths of Glory.
My paternal grandfather was a great outdoors man and although he never once climbed a mountain, he was all set to regale his granddaughter (me) with knowledge of the highest and most famous mountains throughout the world. This of course, included the climbers who scaled these peaks and his hero, George Leigh Mallory. For the uninitiated, George Mallory led two expeditions to climb Everest; one in 1922 and the other in 1924.
When Jeffrey Archer wrote his latest book ‘Paths of Glory’, it became a must read for me because Jeffrey Archer is a terrific story teller. Of course, I also knew about George Mallory and had an appetite to know more so that I would know exactly who my grandfather was lauding.
This is an excellent book and excellent subject matter. It is a true story written as fiction where ‘poetic’ license has been used to a point. However, all the facts are there and they alone are enough to produce a page turning story.
At that time, since Captain Scott’s demise at the South Pole, all eyes were looking for someone to execute the last remaining great feat, that of conquering Everest. Mallory certainly fitted the bill with his climbing abilities, second to none at that time. He was a handsome, charismatic man with a huge amount of drive and determination.
In fact Archer’s characterization of all men and women involved with this mindboggling project was so alive. I felt that I could join in the conversations they were having and feel the same way they were feeling at a time when history was in favour of the still strong British Empire. The story traces Mallory from his childhood, through his teenage years as he develops the art of climbing, through his service in the trenches during the first world war, his career as a school teacher and the ever nagging desire to climb the highest peak in the world – ‘because it is there’.
Mallory made two attempts to climb Everest and after the first experience and subsequent hooplah by the public, he really felt that he had had enough and that he would like to remain home with his wife and children. But, that was not to be since one of the second expedition planners visited Mallory’s wife, Ruth, and asked her to encourage George to go and take charge of the second expedition. This she did, although very much against her will. This book is not only an adventure story, it is also a beautiful old-fashioned love story.
Paths of Glory is also full of humour and I couldn’t help laughing out loud over the description of Mallory getting himself outfitted for the expedition. He went to the local clothing store with a list, and the store owner was busy making useful suggestions, while gathering together what Mallory thought he needed. When asked by the store owner if he would encounter snow, Mallory replied in the affirmative. So the store owner assured him that he would need an umbrella!
This is a stunning adventure of the human spirit, about men who were not deterred by climbing the highest peak in the world and overcoming all the inherent dangers it posed. In fact in some cases, they even made it sound as though they were off to an afternoon tea party, never mind Everest. After all, as Mallory said, “It’s because it’s there”.
When Jeffrey Archer wrote his latest book ‘Paths of Glory’, it became a must read for me because Jeffrey Archer is a terrific story teller. Of course, I also knew about George Mallory and had an appetite to know more so that I would know exactly who my grandfather was lauding.
This is an excellent book and excellent subject matter. It is a true story written as fiction where ‘poetic’ license has been used to a point. However, all the facts are there and they alone are enough to produce a page turning story.
At that time, since Captain Scott’s demise at the South Pole, all eyes were looking for someone to execute the last remaining great feat, that of conquering Everest. Mallory certainly fitted the bill with his climbing abilities, second to none at that time. He was a handsome, charismatic man with a huge amount of drive and determination.
In fact Archer’s characterization of all men and women involved with this mindboggling project was so alive. I felt that I could join in the conversations they were having and feel the same way they were feeling at a time when history was in favour of the still strong British Empire. The story traces Mallory from his childhood, through his teenage years as he develops the art of climbing, through his service in the trenches during the first world war, his career as a school teacher and the ever nagging desire to climb the highest peak in the world – ‘because it is there’.
Mallory made two attempts to climb Everest and after the first experience and subsequent hooplah by the public, he really felt that he had had enough and that he would like to remain home with his wife and children. But, that was not to be since one of the second expedition planners visited Mallory’s wife, Ruth, and asked her to encourage George to go and take charge of the second expedition. This she did, although very much against her will. This book is not only an adventure story, it is also a beautiful old-fashioned love story.
Paths of Glory is also full of humour and I couldn’t help laughing out loud over the description of Mallory getting himself outfitted for the expedition. He went to the local clothing store with a list, and the store owner was busy making useful suggestions, while gathering together what Mallory thought he needed. When asked by the store owner if he would encounter snow, Mallory replied in the affirmative. So the store owner assured him that he would need an umbrella!
This is a stunning adventure of the human spirit, about men who were not deterred by climbing the highest peak in the world and overcoming all the inherent dangers it posed. In fact in some cases, they even made it sound as though they were off to an afternoon tea party, never mind Everest. After all, as Mallory said, “It’s because it’s there”.
Monday, February 1, 2010
The Processed Turkey
Since the last post concerned food – albeit a yummy bread recipe, it has prompted me to tell you about my not so yummy experiences with the Christmas Turkey, because cooking it revealed something which was not known to me.
After collecting the 10lb bird from the store two days before Christmas, we kept it cool in the frig. After completing the necessary preparations before cooking we put it in the oven on Christmas day to cook according to the instructions on the plastic cover.
Removing it from the oven after the appropriate amount of cooking time, it seemed a little on the tough side and my husband felt that it needed another half hour. We gave it another half hour and it was still on the toughish side but we decided to eat it anyway.
I think this last Christmas was the first time I didn’t enjoy my turkey – it was tough, it certainly didn’t have the succulent turkey flavour, and we had no idea what the problem was.
Neither one of us wanted to have cold turkey the following day, so the next best thing was to boil it all up and make a soup. What a mistake! An awful smell pervaded the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was a smell I had experienced once before with some turkey legs cooked for the dog – for want of a better description, I detected a definite smell of stale bleach. Before I finished cooking the soup, the entire content was thrown out and that was the end of our turkey.
A few days later I was in the store that supplied us with the turkey, and I felt, after some cogitation, that I had to mention the turkey and I did. The meat manager was most sympathetic and glad that I reported it. He would get in touch with the suppliers.
A week later the suppliers were in touch with us, and admitted to my husband that just before they are finally packaged, the birds are bleached and rinsed and occasionally one slips through the rinsing stage. In our case, the bird that missed the rinsing stage was our turkey!
We were reimbursed by the company concerned but to me it was one more nail in the coffin of processed food. Yuk!
After collecting the 10lb bird from the store two days before Christmas, we kept it cool in the frig. After completing the necessary preparations before cooking we put it in the oven on Christmas day to cook according to the instructions on the plastic cover.
Removing it from the oven after the appropriate amount of cooking time, it seemed a little on the tough side and my husband felt that it needed another half hour. We gave it another half hour and it was still on the toughish side but we decided to eat it anyway.
I think this last Christmas was the first time I didn’t enjoy my turkey – it was tough, it certainly didn’t have the succulent turkey flavour, and we had no idea what the problem was.
Neither one of us wanted to have cold turkey the following day, so the next best thing was to boil it all up and make a soup. What a mistake! An awful smell pervaded the kitchen and I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was a smell I had experienced once before with some turkey legs cooked for the dog – for want of a better description, I detected a definite smell of stale bleach. Before I finished cooking the soup, the entire content was thrown out and that was the end of our turkey.
A few days later I was in the store that supplied us with the turkey, and I felt, after some cogitation, that I had to mention the turkey and I did. The meat manager was most sympathetic and glad that I reported it. He would get in touch with the suppliers.
A week later the suppliers were in touch with us, and admitted to my husband that just before they are finally packaged, the birds are bleached and rinsed and occasionally one slips through the rinsing stage. In our case, the bird that missed the rinsing stage was our turkey!
We were reimbursed by the company concerned but to me it was one more nail in the coffin of processed food. Yuk!
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Yummy Banana Yeast Bread
Gloria usually posts book reviews, but this time she has a surprise for us and it sounds delicious - I will be making it.
Winter is the best time to be baking bread. I love the aromas that come from the oven and fill the house with the promise of great eating to come. Of course, before that can happen, I need to find a recipe, get inspired and actually go through all the steps necessary to get that loaf into the oven.
The first step is to comb the recipe books for just the right bread. Anything needing a starter is out at the moment as the cupboard is bare on that front. Likewise anything with olives or exotic cheeses or unusual flours or oils will not be considered. Do I want a flat bread, a peasant bread, rolls, baguettes, a braid, or a nice pan loaf? Oh the decisions that must be made sometimes can stop a good intention right in its tracks.
Once the hurdle of making a choice is over and the ingredients and equipment are assembled, the process begins. Measure, mix, let rise, punch down, shape, rise again, bake and voila! There it is in all its glory. I stand holding this wonderful piece of work with a big smile on my face. Dinner will just be an accompaniment to this centerpiece.
My latest endeavour was a banana yeast bread. The day I made this we had Chicken Korma, steamed cauliflower, squash, rice and green beans to keep it company. Great meal and the bread was delicious. It turned out just a bit crusty, nicely rounded and deep brown in colour. Inside there was that distinctive yeast-produced airiness to the texture but still some moistness from the bananas. Very yummy later on as toast with honey.
For any of you who want to try it…
2 ½ c. whole wheat flour
1 c. white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp dry skim-milk powder
1 tbsp sunflower seeds
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp cracked wheat
2 tsp instant dry yeast
Mix all this together in a large mixing bowl. I have a Kitchenaid stand mixer with a dough hook.
Combine in a 2-cup measuring cup
2 mashed ripe bananas
2 tsp liquid honey
Enough water to bring the measure to 1 ½ cups
Pour this into the dry mixture and mix very well. Knead for 7 to 10 minutes. If it seems too dry or too wet (bananas vary in their moisture content) then add water or flour, depending, a tablespoon at a time until the dough is easy to knead. It is better for it to be slightly sticky than for it to be really dry.
Let rise covered until double – about 1- 1 ½ hours. Punch down and shape into two balls. Shaping two balls instead of one encourages rising. Place in a greased loaf pan, cover and rise another hour until doubled.
Bake in hot 425 F for 25 – 30 minutes. If the top gets too brown for your liking, cover loosely with foil.
Bring out the butter and enjoy.
Biddy Gloria
Winter is the best time to be baking bread. I love the aromas that come from the oven and fill the house with the promise of great eating to come. Of course, before that can happen, I need to find a recipe, get inspired and actually go through all the steps necessary to get that loaf into the oven.
The first step is to comb the recipe books for just the right bread. Anything needing a starter is out at the moment as the cupboard is bare on that front. Likewise anything with olives or exotic cheeses or unusual flours or oils will not be considered. Do I want a flat bread, a peasant bread, rolls, baguettes, a braid, or a nice pan loaf? Oh the decisions that must be made sometimes can stop a good intention right in its tracks.
Once the hurdle of making a choice is over and the ingredients and equipment are assembled, the process begins. Measure, mix, let rise, punch down, shape, rise again, bake and voila! There it is in all its glory. I stand holding this wonderful piece of work with a big smile on my face. Dinner will just be an accompaniment to this centerpiece.
My latest endeavour was a banana yeast bread. The day I made this we had Chicken Korma, steamed cauliflower, squash, rice and green beans to keep it company. Great meal and the bread was delicious. It turned out just a bit crusty, nicely rounded and deep brown in colour. Inside there was that distinctive yeast-produced airiness to the texture but still some moistness from the bananas. Very yummy later on as toast with honey.
For any of you who want to try it…
2 ½ c. whole wheat flour
1 c. white flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp dry skim-milk powder
1 tbsp sunflower seeds
1 tbsp sesame seeds
1 tbsp cracked wheat
2 tsp instant dry yeast
Mix all this together in a large mixing bowl. I have a Kitchenaid stand mixer with a dough hook.
Combine in a 2-cup measuring cup
2 mashed ripe bananas
2 tsp liquid honey
Enough water to bring the measure to 1 ½ cups
Pour this into the dry mixture and mix very well. Knead for 7 to 10 minutes. If it seems too dry or too wet (bananas vary in their moisture content) then add water or flour, depending, a tablespoon at a time until the dough is easy to knead. It is better for it to be slightly sticky than for it to be really dry.
Let rise covered until double – about 1- 1 ½ hours. Punch down and shape into two balls. Shaping two balls instead of one encourages rising. Place in a greased loaf pan, cover and rise another hour until doubled.
Bake in hot 425 F for 25 – 30 minutes. If the top gets too brown for your liking, cover loosely with foil.
Bring out the butter and enjoy.
Biddy Gloria
Monday, January 25, 2010
Vancouver and All That: The Lost Car
I stayed with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Vera, while in Vancouver, and discovered that Vera had very little in the way of books to read. Apparently her books were left in the Philippines because transporting them by air was a no-go due to weight. So, I promised Vera that I would buy her some new books when I went out on Monday.
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Monday afternoon found me in the children’s book department in Chapters, Metrotown.I had a wonderful time, but unfortunately my legs were causing me problems because of all the packing and cleaning over the weekend, so I had to keep resting. Sitting down was what I was going to do anyway, because I had arranged to meet second son and ex-husband in Metrotown and they were never on time. We were going to younger son’s condominium for negotiations on the purchase of the property.
Of course, they were late and late and very late, so I decided that the best thing for me was to return to downtown Vancouver as it was getting a little late for a meeting. Off I went to get the car, but upon arrival at the parking place there was no car. Around the mall entrance area I walked a couple of times, getting more panic stricken because in the trunk of the car was a fair amount of cash which I was to give someone downtown. Finally, on legs which would hardly carry me I made my way to the mall administration office to enquire whether any cars had been towed. No, they had not and it was suggested I see security right away.
Following their directions to the security office I couldn’t find it (typical), and almost in tears, I made my way back to Chapters to sit for a while. Suddenly, manna from heaven – a security guy appeared walking out of Chapters and I immediately flagged him down. Unfortunately, he didn’t represent the branch of security I wanted, but he did kindly offer to have a rep from traffic security come to me, so I wouldn’t have to walk.
The traffic security rep arrived five minutes later, seemingly quite enthused about assisting a doddery old woman who had lost her car. He told me how, quite often, people lost their car in the parkade, because they couldn’t remember where they had parked it. I vehemently denied that this was the my case. I was always attentive as to where I parked my car in parking lots and parkades, so there was very little possibility of me having forgotten where I had put the car.
At his request, I gave him all the details, took his duly offered arm, and rode the escalator down to the next floor. We went through the same procedures as I had done when I came to look for the car, and nothing was to be found. Finally, as we walked back into the building again, he turned and asked me if I had checked the lower floor!
Ding dong! Acute embarrassment swept over me because I hadn’t even thought about the lower floor. However, the embarrassment was tempered by the excitement of possibly finding the car and the money. Down to the next level we went to find the car. As we came out of the building doorway and turned in the direction of the parking spot, there gleamed a touch of bright red front car body belonging to my rented car. I could have jumped for joy.
The security rep couldn’t have been nicer in the face of the chagrin felt by yours truly. When we arrived back at Chapters, he even offered to go and find my son who was hopefully looking for me just outside the main entrance of Chapters. When they arrived back, I knew by the look on Michael’s face that it would be a while before I lived down that experience. I had hoped it would be over and done with that day. Fat chance!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Vancouver and All That….. The Skytrain
My next adventure in Vancouver, following the shock of the parkade rates, was an incident the following evening.
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
I had been working non-stop packing and cleaning at the condominium and decided to call it a day at about 10:00p.m. Son number one called me from downtown and offered to come and collect me from Burnaby in the car. I assured him there was no problem and he could pick me up at Burrard station downtown from the Skytrain.
Off I went with friend Bob who drove me to the Metro station and I boarded the Skytrain after just a few minutes wait. Settling myself down in the middle coach, to the rear, I took out some reading material (don’t even remember what it was).
At the following station a couple of men boarded the train. One was tallish, a little on the chubby side with a round face and totally out of it – drunk as a lord. The other was much quieter but seemed prepared to follow up on any remarks that came non-stop from the drunken one.
When they stepped onto the train, the first thing the drunken lord shouted was “Well, there’s grandma and how’s grandma this evening? I nearly died, but I am not sure whether it was because of fear or outrage. Outrage that apparently I looked my age – how dare they! Hadn’t I been told dozens of times that I didn’t look my age? The lesser drunken lord made his way to behind my seat and sat down to peer over my shoulder to see what I was reading, while there was a stream of unending grandma remarks coming from the drunken lord who had parked himself, thank goodness, by the door. There were no abusive remarks uttered, but I slowly started to get quite concerned because I was not sure where it all would end.
I sat rigidly staring at my book, not giving them the satisfaction of even recognizing the grandma tirade and I could see the three young girls in front of me showing a bit of concern.
Having received no joy in getting any reaction from me, the two men suddenly disappeared down to the other end of the car, and started on another subject. I relaxed a little, but not for long, because they soon came back and started on about grandma again. All of a sudden, one of the young girls sitting opposite to our drunken lord let him have it.
“For f…….. sake why don’t you just shut up?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Leave her alone”. (Grandma, that is).
Just as she was about to hurl further rage in his direction and I think, if necessary, get up and hit him, we drew up at a station, the doors opened and there was a couple of Skytrain policemen. Never was I or anyone else in that car so thankful as they yanked the drunken lord out of the car onto the station platform.
The young girls in front of me immediately turned to make sure that I was OK, and I assured them with a forced smile that I was a tough old bird and would survive. They were not to know that I had a very heavy handbag at the ready at all times, and would have lashed out with all my strength if the drunken lord and his mate had approached me physically.
We concluded that, unbeknown to us, someone at the other end of the car must have called for help and there was definitely a communal sigh of relief when the closing doors shut out our intruder.
What a journey. Obviously I had been living in the past and had expected the journey to be calm and uneventful. Fat chance!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Vancouver and All That………..
It’s a New Year – 2010. However, it is a disastrous New Year for all people living in Haiti, and our thoughts and prayers must go out to these people facing a seemingly non-existent future, based on a very poor foundation of a past.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
Welcome back to my Blog, to which I have returned with a multitude of New Year resolutions, knowing full well that practically none of them are going anywhere. That sounds like a bit of positive thinking, doesn’t it?
Thought I would write a few short blogs during the next couple of weeks about some very recent, unplanned and unwanted experiences on a trip to Vancouver. My mission to that fair city was to provide some help (mainly cleaning) for ex husband who was moving out of his condo, and to see my lovely granddaughter.
Instead of going on the ferry as a foot passenger, this time the mode of transportation was via rented car because I had to take some household items to my son and daughter in law, who had just moved into an apartment after arriving back from a sojourn in the Far East. They had not a stick of furniture or anything else for that matter, so the cry went out to family members and I volunteered to do my thing.
For me, driving in Vancouver is a bit of a nightmare, but I managed quite well until I arrived on the corner of West Georgia Street and Burrard. Here I had to find a parking place in order to meet an old friend for lunch, who I hadn’t seen for about four years. I must have been out of my tree if I even vaguely thought (which indeed I did), that there would be a parking space waiting for me to install my car. Fat chance! After doing the grand tour of the vicinity for about half an hour I was resigned to going into a parkade.
My friend and I had a wonderful lunch and a great catch up session, both of us ruing the difficulties of living at opposite ends of this vast country of ours. After about two and a half hours, she went her way and I went mine, back to collect the car. Not having a clue about the cost, I had my ten dollar bill ready to hand to the attendant, but was informed that the cost was $21.00! I had to ask him for a second time because I simply didn’t believe what he said; I had a heck of a time composing and reminding myself that the parking attendant had nothing to do with setting the sky-high rates in the parkade. After taking time to retrieve the additional payment from my bag, I reluctantly handed over the money.
With the stress caused by this exorbitant bill, it took me a while to set the car on a straight course to my son’s apartment which was not that far away, thank goodness.
Ah, well, more next time on this trip.
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