ponderingsat80’s posterous

“Guess what I’ve just done!”  I shouted to my youngest son as I came through the door. "I bought a car!" 

 I was so excited - I was shaking.  In fact, I shook all the way home from the car dealership. My son, a law student at the time, had come with me  to look at cars, and when we had narrowed it down to a couple of makes and models and I was ready to buy one, he abandoned me and I ended  up having to to buy it alone!

 I had no idea what I was doing – how could I?  I had never done anything like this before.  I had a car of my own; one my husband bought for me when the lease on the car he was driving expired and we were given the option to buy.  This time, however, I was looking for a car to drive in the country – something safe to drive on ice and snow – perhaps a 4wheel drive? 

 What did I know about cars . . .  I sat in the office wheeling and dealing and shaking.  The salesman  must have has  been smiling behind his sheet of options and prices.  I remember well, there were two of them sitting across the desk from me rattling off numbers, offering accessories and so on, while I, naive and ignorant,  sat nodding my head yes and no.  After much discussion – discussion?! . . .   With spinning head and trembling hands, I signed the purchase form for them to place the order.

 “So, what kind did you buy? He asked.  "And when do you pick it up?”  “They'll  call me when it's ready;  in a week or two, I think.”

 I could not believe that I had bought a car!  . . .  When I finally got control of myself and found the courage to take another look at the purchase order, I  saw the model that I had bought and I relaxed - both my son and I   agreed  that I had made the right choice.  

 It arrived sooner than expected and I had to go pick it up, which was another, not only exciting, but terrifying day.  I drove through heavy traffic in a new car I had not driven before and I was sure I'd have an accident, put a dent in it or scratch it.     

 When I related  all of this to friends at a dinner party a few days later, several of the women admitted they'd  had a similar experience.  What was it in those days that made buying a car so frightening?  Why was it so daunting and overwhelming?  Many of us had had babies, surgeries, sick children, moves  . . . and far more taxing things to deal with.   We all agreed, however, that it had been a positive experience;  one that was stimulating and exciting and one that showed we had the ability to make sound decisions; it also taught us to be more assertive and in so doing develop self-confidence.   

 I have bought several cars since then but now, have come full circle - I am ‘sans’ car, by choice.  We recently became a one-car family when I ‘sold’ my car to my granddaughter.  I am proud of  this decision – not only  did this provide her with a much needed means of transportation, getting down to one car is better for the environment and it definitely makes it easier on the pocket book!

 Owning a car is necessary for people who live outside the city, in small towns where public transportation is not offered and in the country, when one lives far away from things.  My husband now uses public transportation to go to his office and I  try to limit myself to shopping or driving to the country only.  Two cars are no longer necessary and certainly no longer important.  It is shocking to see what man has done to the environemnt; we can only hope it is not too late to turn things around.  Climate change is real and I am ashamed to think we have contributed to global warming, or as the saying goes,  left our own carbon footprint.  I would be happy to buy an electric car should  the need arise.   At my age, however,  I feel I may be spared that ordeal.  Wait a minue, what am I saying?  It could be fun, it would be exciting and  I might find myself wheeling and dealing again!

(for Alessia)

 “We’ll stop by at 10 tomorrow morning, and we’ll stay for lunch.” They said.

 Thrilled at the thought of a visit from my granddaughters, I chased around the next morning trying to put something together to feed them.  Slighly panic stricken, I asked my husband to pick up muffins and seedless grapes to go with the vegetable soup I'd prepared; cheese, apples and bananas then completed the meal. That ought to do it. I thought.

 I had no sooner organized it when they were at the door. “No need to have fussed, Nana – I brought my own food.”  Said my well-put-together healthy looking granddaughter, as she opened her bag of goodies. Meanwhile, her sister, more casual and much more relaxed, looked on with a smile.“What you have prepared is fine” She added, with love, a look of pride and a tiny hint of arrogance in her voice.

And that was when the lesson began . . .

 She outlined the nutritional value of each item I had put on the table, then went on to enumerate the important ingredients in the concoction she had prepared, describing the vitamin content and benefits to our bodies and the importance of protein and calcium in our diet.  I was very impressed and listened with great interest; her stew looked like healthy fare indeed, and it was almost with a guilty feeling that I ate my soup and bit into a muffin.

 A thousand years ago when my kids were little, Saturday mornings turned into a cooking frenzy:  I baked bread, pies and cakes; chocolate chip cookies were the domain of my daughter who baked and ate them  as they came out of the oven!  With impeccable timing, the boy next door would show up as I was pouring cake batter into the tins - just in time to lick the beaters and scrape the bowl! 

 It was indeed a busy day as I went from baking, to stirring soups, to preparing pot roasts, casseroles or meat loaves for the weekend; by Sunday night it had been completely eaten and there was nothing left!  This routine went on for years; my kids grew big and strong and I felt satisfied that I had done a good job.

 Until now. . . .

 We understand so much better today the importance of a healthy diet and exercise; my granddaughter’s demonstration and ideas were not lost on me but I have always said, and continue to say, let’s not go overboard, there should be moderation  in all things: In what you eat, in what you drink and how much you exercise.

 My granddaughter learned this lesson the hard way: wanting to lose weight, she starved herself, depriving her body of important nutrients, and exercised till she dropped.  She eventually went in search of books and information on the importance of good nutrition when, having collapsed, she found herself in front of her doctor suffering from malnutrition and anaemia. This is now her main topic of interest; she hopes to become a nutritionist in order to prevent others from making the same mistakes.

 Meanwhile I will no doubt continue to eat soup with perhaps too much salt and muffins with perhaps too much sugar but I am now more aware and will try my best to live up to my granddaughter’s lesson. Oh, and by the way, I did invite her to come by any time . . . while insisting she bring her own food of course.  

 At the beginning of creation my brother and I  would sit on the floor next to a large radio straining to hear the Lone Ranger, or The Green Hornet. My girlfriend and I would sometimes listen to Ma Perkins, a soap opera, in the afternoon. On Monday night, Lux Radio Theatre, presented radio adaptations of movies or plays, and I was allowed to listen if my homework was done. The war news was ever present on my parents’ minds so the radio was always tuned for the latest update.  My brother and I were too young to understand the importance of what was happening in Europe; much more fun for us were  the play by play descriptions of hockey, especially during the playoff season.  

 When I grew up and married, television came into being.   We bought our first black and white television in 1960, and I frequently watched the Late Night Show with Jack Parr, replaced later by Johnny Carson, while nursing a baby. For years we resisted buying a television seeing it as a bad influence on our children. Our kids, smarter than their parents, outwitted us, however, by slipping out to their friends’ house to watch the Saturday morning cartoons.  Those parents were ‘cool’ as the saying goes today.      

 In today’s affluent society, people have more than one colored television (black and white a thing of the past).  VCRs and DVDs now allow us to view the latest movies from our living rooms. Or record a program to be watched at a later date when it would be more convenient.  (Some of us have yet to learn how to program a VCR!) 

 Not long ago, I learned to use a computer, and at that time, wondered why I needed to do so?  I  quickly discovered how exciting it was to keep in touch  via emails with family and friends all over the world!  Surfing the net became, not only informative, but fun.  And I soon began to use my computer to do my banking.  Things changed rapidly:  I went from using  an old-fashioned typewriter, to  an electric one, and from that, to a Word Processor. 

 Computers are truly a blessing for seniors; we can keep informed, research a subject, or write a story!  Look at me - I’m blogging -- who would have thought! . . .  Best for me though is the ability to communicate, sometimes on a daily basis, with my children who live far away.

 We now have cell phones that offer security for when we are driving – especially good for me as I go between city and country; bank machines - no need to wait in line to see a teller anymore - although, I miss the personal contact.  New tchnology is very exciting and I am full of wonder.

Cell phones would have saved our sanity had they been around when my daughter was a teenager.  She would talk on the phone with her friends for hours!  No sooner would she walk through the door that the phone would ring and it would always be for her! To solve the problem, we  gave her a phone for Christmas.  Did that help?  No. When her friends called her line and received a busy signal, they continued to call ours!  One day, when the phone rang, my son in exasperation, picked it up and without asking who it was, yelled, "she's dead!"  Nearly causing my friend on the other end of the line to faint!  

My grandkids indulge me with a smile when I tell them my cell is for emergency use only -  they know God created cell phones for them - not to call, but to text message their friends all day long.  That might have been the solution to our problem when our daughter was growing up.  

 Am I forgetting something?  Perhaps. Technology is forever changing, and keeping up with it is a challenge for older folk, but  life is about change and moving forward, and if we don’t at least make the effort to understand, we will grow old fast and soon find ourselves completely left behind! 

 She sits at the desk writing a card; the words will be hard to decipher as she is old now and her handwriting is shaky.   She reaches for the address book at the back of the drawer in the desk; it is old, the pages are worn, and several names have been scratched out.  So many people gone, she thinks. So much time has passed . . . my history and theirs is in this little book.  It has been with me all my life – well, almost. She has two such books; each of them filled with the names of people she has known over the years, in different cities and in different countries – people  with whom she has promised to keep in touch.   She does so religiously at every Christmas and whenever she remembers someone’s birthday.

 She thumbs through the pages in search of an address.  There are so many names, so many people – so many lives . . .  Yet, not for her are the pocket organizers so popular today; neither has she bothered to enter these names in the email contact list of her computer – many of whom she now sends emails to, as well.    She likes the idea of an address book – she likes the feel of it in her hands.  She thinks of it as old friend - one that has travelled with her and shared much of her life.     She also feels this way about newspapers – she prefers to read the news in the comfort of an armchair with a cup of coffee by her side rather than sit at the desk reading it off the internet.  She knows this is an old fashioned way of thinking, but so be it – this is who she is – this is what she enjoys.

 She sits turning the pages, pausing at each name to reminisce;  her mind switches back to the time they met and wonders how they are doing . . .   As she sits there, the afternoon light begins to fade and she is surprised to notice how dark it has become.  When did I turn on the light, she wonders?    She smiles – she knows she has been lost in the memories of things past.  She sighs, and feeling a little sad, she picks up the pen to finish the task she had begun.  

 Then, with the greatest of care, almost with reverence, she places her old friend,  the address book, back in the drawer.  

Angie was a dear friend.  It was she who had an encounter with a bear while weeding her garden;  well, not exactly an encounter, but a scare when she looked up and saw him standing behind her!

 She was widowed around the same time my friend and neighbour with the dog died.  When I called to offer my condolences, I asked if there was anything I could do for her?  “Yes,” she replied.  “Call me once in a while.”

 And that is when our friendship began:  I started calling her once a week and soon we were talking on the phone every day!   Even though she was surrounded by friends and family, she seemed to need me, and I needed her! We went on drives; went shopping and often had lunch with friends . . . It was a lovely time.

 The lovely time was not to last, however, Angie had a serious heart condition and was told she needed bi-pass surgery. Things did not go well, and after the operation Angie ended up in a coma.  I sat by her side every day for several weeks with her brother who came to be with her from California.  We had no idea how things would go, so it was a surprise and a  great relief to find her smiling and talking to her brother when I came to visit her one morning. She picked up quickly after that and was moved to a convalescent home.      

 She recovered amazingly well and every day began making plans:  She would sell the farm and move to a small house in town where she would be near her doctor and have easy access to stores and things.   “One must always have something to look forward to."  She would say, and with great enthusiasm, each year would make little improvements to her home.

 She loved to garden but because of her health had accepted she no longer could grow her own vegetables; a neighbour seeing her disappointment planted and tended it for her. In return she gave him cookies and cakes she had baked in the morning.     

 With only a grade 6 education she was smarter than a lot of people where business was concerned --- she could have majored in business had she gone to college.  At 16 she married a farmer and lived in the same house all her life.  It was interesting to hear her tell of growing up on a farm and going to school on horseback through the woods in all kinds of weather.  She described how glad they were when the electric lines were installed on the road and how exciting it was to pull the string and see the light shine from the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling!  Living was primitive in those days:  First came electricity which allowed for running water;  then came the telephone with the amazing party line that served four or more people, allowing gossip to be spread, if not accurately, then at least quickly, every day!         

 I loved Angie’s stories and I loved her sense of humour; we had a lot of fun together, but it often seemed we spent more time in Emergency at the hospital than anywhere else.  And when I wavered about selling my house to move to a condo where I would feel more secure, Angie gave me the gentle shove that encouraged me to do it.  "It's time she said." And I agreed.

The bi-pass operation extended her life but it did not give her a stronger heart, and although it felt like much too soon, Angie was admitted to Intensive Care where she lingered for nearly a week before she died.  I had the honour of being with her an hour before she passed away – leaving her side only when the immediate family arrived.

 Angie had a deep spirituality and we discussed death and dying on many occasions. I think she left this world smiling the way she always lived and I have no doubt her Faith sustained her till the end.  It was a privilege to have known this sweet and lovely person and a joy to have had her as a friend.  

Then again, perhaps I’ve always been a little eccentric.  I talk to my plants.  I talk to my dog.  I talk to birds, squirrels – anything I meet in the woods.  Whoa, what do I mean I am becoming eccentric – I am eccentric!

 While visiting me one day a friend remarked, “do you realize how much you talk to your dog?”  I then began to pay attention to myself, and lo and behold, she’s right!  I talk to my dog all day long.  Of course the reason is the dog doesn’t talk back to me. She doesn’t care what I am saying and she doesn’t think me crazy.  Instead, she wags her tail and acts interested – especially if I’m holding a cookie in my hand!

 I used to talk to my cat Tara, and she talked to me every time she came in front outdoors, or when I came home. She talked a blue streak! If only I knew what she was saying . . . On the other hand we talk to people who have no idea what we are saying – half the time they aren’t listening!

 My daughter has a cockatoo that hates me! I can’t approach his cage without him screaming insults at me, and the one time she let him out when I was there, he bit me!  There’s one guy from whom I’ll keep my distance.

 Not all birds hate me though; I fed them when I lived in the country;  they waited and watched for me every day. Some even ate out of my hand!  Once on a walk I became aware of a bird chirping and flying from tree to tree – all along the road.  I suddenly realized it was talking to me!  Chirping, it followed me home from the farm. I was told there are little birds that love the attention and company of humans and I wondered why I had not noticed this before.     

 So yes, I am eccentric; I talk to animals and I talk to plants.   Plants supposedly respond to our voices and thrive on having us praise them.  And my dog is happy because I tell her all my troubles . . . it’s a good thing she doesn’t understand.  Well, perhaps she does but is respectful enough to pretend she doesn’t.

 Friends of mine talk to their cats, their dogs and their plants, just as I do; perhaps I am not so crazy after all.  Or perhaps because we have  a need to communicate with all living things we are labelled eccentric.  In which case it is natural and it really is okay to be eccentric.

(for Claude)

Came Minou and Minette.  They were the proud parents of 4 baby kittens born in my daughter’s bureau drawer.  “Come see, Mommy!  Minette has had her babies!”  My little girl cried out one morning, all excited.  “Come and see - they are so tiny!”

As suggested . . . before Wisty and Tara we had several dogs and lots of cats who were part of our household when the children were growing up.  

 We adopted Minette, a beautiful Russian blue cat.  She was tiny and delicate with gorgeous dark grey fur.  Minou was a regular grey and white guy that we decided could come along as we headed out of the SPCA.

 These tiny kittens quickly grew into mature cats and before we knew it Minette was pregnant.  This was not a surprise; in fact, we saw it as an opportunity to teach the children about life and babies.  So, when our little daughter announced the birth had taken place in her bureau drawer, everyone came running, and with great enthusiasm viewed the scene.  It was fascinating.  We pointed out how Minette had cleaned up after the birth; the kittens had been licked clean and in the drawer was not a speck of blood.

 We moved them to a basket in the basement without Minette objecting.  She was, in fact generous, about letting us pick up her babies.  There was one exception, however, Minou was not allowed near them!  If he dared approach the basket, she would hiss at him until he went away.  We made sure he had no access to the basement when we saw how Minette was protecting her kittens; we thought he might perhaps have tried to kill them.  The children invited their friends to see the kittens and this went on for several days until one day, they came up the stairs crying,  “they are not in the basket, mommy – the kittens are gone!”   

 We looked all over and finally found them in the closet under the stairs.  Not understanding why she’d moved them, we put them back in the basket. An hour later she had moved them again.  I was puzzled and at a loss to explain why she was doing this until my cleaning lady explained, “She is protecting their eyes.  She will leave them in the dark until their eyes open.  Leave them alone – that’s what she wants.”

 I was very impressed with her motherly instincts – how did Minette know to do this?  And I enjoyed pointing this out to my children.  Minou eventually lost interest and no doubt went on to look for other conquests

 We adopted Sydney the year we bought the country house.  I remember him as being the first dog we ever owned, but I may be mistaken.   He was a one year old medium sized mixed breed with a gentle disposition and he quickly bonded with the children.  We picked him up the day we drove to our new country home – having no idea how he would behave.

 Soon after settling into the house the kids found friends up and down the road, and while our son was play-fighting on the front lawn with his new friend, thinking he was being attacked, Sydney ran to his defence; he began tugging at the other boy’s pants and was  ready to bite if we had not called him off and stopped him.  He had been with us for only a day yet already he realized we were his family!        

 Unfortunately, he was not with us for long:  We had returned to the city and I wanted to take him for a walk; without thinking, I  left him waiting on the stoop while I went to get my jacket; when I  came back, I heard the screeching of tires, and to my horror realized Sydney had been hit by a car!  Unaware of the danger, he had tried to cross the street.  He died on the way to the animal hospital.  I was full of regrets: Why had I left him alone? Why had I not anticipated this might happen?  We were all heartbroken.  Sydney had been our pet for less than a month!

 It was shortly after this incident that we adopted Wisty, followed by Tara whose stories I have told.  Having pets teaches children about loyalty and love and it offers them the opportunity to show affection and develop a sense of responsibility.  This tradition started in my parent’s home and I carried into ours.  Our children now have their own families and each of them has a pet or two.  The tradition lives on!   

(for my children)

  Once upon a time there was a dog named Wisty and a cat whose name was Tara. They lived in a house with 8 people: A mommy, a daddy and six little children. Wisty was the first to join the family and he knew the drill so that when Tara, a country kitty arrived, he took it upon himself to become her protector.        

  Our family lived in a big house complete with dog and cat.  It was a busy and active household with kids in school, hockey, baseball, ballet lessons and all the usual growing up things that go on in a family.  Wisty, the third dog we’d adopted (the others did not work out) was a long-haired Australian shepherd. He quickly recognized his place in the pecking order and refused to respect our youngest son, although without any doubt, would have protected him with his life!

 Wisty was high strung and nervous and was a great watchdog. True to the big dog’s reputation – he loathed the mailman: He would lunge at the door and grab the letters as they came through the slot.  Our bills got paid with teeth marks in them!

 Each evening Wisty would wait at the top of the stairs until everyone was home.   Our daughter, nearly always the last one in, would bribe him with a cookie so that he would sleep in her room.

 In the country he guarded the house, as well.  No one would approach once they saw him, teeth bared and growling, through the window.   “We were terrified!”  Said a cousin who came by once when we were away. “Your dog looked so vicious.  Don’t worry about anyone breaking in when you’re not there.”

 Tara came to us from a farm up the road. She was a small black cat who took down rabbits bigger than herself!  In the morning we would find pieces she had left on the steps for us to share.  She hunted birds, rabbits and mice.  Our youngest son took a shine to her and in no time became her slave.  It was to his window that she meowed every night to be let in.  On more than one occasion she brought in, not one, but two mice in her mouth!  “Check her mouth before letting her in!”   We yelled to him.   

 When summer was over and we moved back to the city, life changed not only for the children, but for the animals, as well.  Wisty soon became Tara’s protector and guarded her territory.   Woe to any cat that would dare set food in our yard!  In the evening they would play together: Tara would approach a sleeping Wisty and start pulling on his tail; he would then jump up and chase her across the room.  This scene was repeated every evening, and it was great fun to watch.  

 Then  came another move and things became hectic:  Some of the children  would remain behind to attend university and had to be settled in an apartment;  we had a house to sell and a new one to buy; and our two boys coming with us, had to be registered at university and high school.

 Wisty became the first victim of this move: as mentioned in another entry, he was very upset when I left to help my husband at his office, and showed his frustration and anger by doing his business all over the house.  Scolding did nothing to make him stop, and every day we’d come home to find messes on the walls and carpets.  Because of the move there was no time to get professional help and the only answer – which I now regret – was to have him put down.

 Tara moved with us, but missed her friend Wisty who had protected her territory and when we left her alone for a period of 3 days, we made the mistake of leaving her outside where she could hunt, and her food and water on the porch for her to eat.  We realized our mistake as soon as we came back and found not only the food missing but Tara as well.  There had been a fight: Dishes were overturned and there was fur everywhere.  What had we done to this poor little cat?!

 We felt just awful. Then, about three weeks later, my son came through the door holding a black furry object, ”look what I found, mom, ” he said.   I leapt from my chair and with relief grabbed Tara who was a sorry mess!  She was scrawny and dirty with dried mud and blood clinging to her fur.  The vet  checked her out and within a few days she was back to herself – almost.   From then on her hunting days were rare and she stayed close to the house.  How she must have missed Wisty! 

Once upon a time, a beautiful dog and cat lived together with a family.  The children grew up and moved away and the pets are no more, but those were happy days for Wisty and Tara and for the family who had the joy of their presence – if only for a little while.

Is there anything more annoying than waiting for the plumber?  They never arrive when expected - they can keep you waiting for hours.  “What time will he be here?” I asked.  “You should expect him between 8:30 and 9 o’clock.” 

 We hurried through our breakfast so that I could have the kitchen picked up before he got here.  Why do I feel such a need to have everything tidied up; breakfast dishes, beds made – everything neat and tidy.  For the plumber!

 Wait a minute.  What’s going on?  Why am I like that?  Why must everything be organized as though I were expecting a dinner guest?  I have always been this way; whether it is a plumber, an electrician or a handyman – I just cannot relax.  What do they care if my house is picked up?  Did they leave theirs neat and tidy?  Did they make their beds?

 I am not alone to feel this way:  I know of women who clean their house before the cleaning lady comes!  My daughter is embarrassed to have a cleaning company clean her house because she thinks it is too dirty!   Are we nuts or what?  Would we not let someone cut the grass because the grass is too long?  Or weed the garden because of the weeds!

 Something is off balance here.  I do not hesitate to get my hair cut (styled) when it gets long, although I must admit; I am a little embarrassed to walk in the salon with it all out of shape.  Why?  This is what stylists hope for – it’s what they do!

The plumber arrived two hours late and he is now well on his way to changing our hot water heater;  he had nothing to do in the kitchen or the bathroom or the other parts of the house, and I’m absolutely convinced he could not care less if the beds were made or not.  The next time I need a plumber – or whomever . . . 

Oh, why bother - I will behave as I always have: I’ll be up early, ready and waiting with everything neat as a pin; as always the plumber will keep me waiting, and when he arrives I will be happy to see him; but while waiting, I will continue to complain - Is there anything more annoying than waiting for the plumber? 

I walked through the mall this morning and suddenly realized the fashion world had jumped ahead and left me behind – or rather, had pushed me off the planet!   Everything I saw was meant for younger people.  Whatever is an old lady like me supposed to do?  . . .

 I’m exaggerating, of course, there are clothes for older women but one is hard pressed to find a salesperson to help sort them out.  Sizes, for instance are totally different to what they used to be – one has to try on a dozen pair of slacks or skirts or whatever before finding the proper fit – if indeed, one finds a proper fit.  Sweaters are either too tight or too bulky, and for me neither will do.  I must have disturbed a dozen neatly stacked sweaters in order to find what might be my size. Soon I became exhausted and left without buying a thing.  I will, of course, go back and give it another try – either that or hide and never leave the house!

 I have never been a good shopper: when I need a new outfit for a special event, I do not shop ahead and look for bargains; I buy what I need at the moment, and often discover a week later, that same item on sale!  I lack the patience to be a smart shopper: I usually buy the first outfit that seems reasonable and hurry out the store.  Some women are great shoppers: they find what they need, note the price and wait until the item goes on sale.  For some reason that seems to work for them, but not for me – if I don’t buy the item I need when I spot it, it will be gone the very next day!  Because I lack patience, I buy outfits that don’t blend and colors that don’t match anything in my closet. The worst part is, I end up paying far too much for everything.

 Maybe someday I’ll learn to shop.  Maybe someday I’ll like to shop, but I doubt it.  Today, my effort was a disaster.  I was frustrated and got overtired and came home feeling  my clothes are all out of fashion.  I could not find my size, could not find my color and none of the styles were right for me.  I am either too old or too small and  I was definitely too tired to look any further. At least not today.  The fashion world is moving so fast that I feel forgotten - it's like I'm being pushed off the planet!