Not on My Television

I don't watch a lot of television and I am therefore pretty picky about what I do watch.  It seems like people are constantly telling me about some new, fabulous show that I absolutely must watch!  Really! 

Because my channel selection is relatively small compared to many, a lot of shows are eliminated automatically, but every once in awhile, I will check out a new show that a friend recommends.  Based on the last couple of times that I did this, I have developed a new rule for watching a television show or movie:  If a woman gets raped in the first three minutes of it, I'm done.   And there will be no second chances.  Most recently, there was a much touted mini series on that covered a period of history I didn't really know much about so when my husband turned it on that first night I sat down to watch it with him. 

We didn't even get to three minutes before a woman was attacked by a soldier.  I got up and walked away. 

When I was explaining my new rule to an acquaintance who had asked me if I had watched that particular show, her reaction was that these things happen and it did no good to deny it or bury your head in the sand. 

I am well aware that "these things happen".  They happen every day.  They have happened since the beginning of recorded history.  That doesn't mean that I want to watch it re-enacted for my viewing pleasure in my living room!  

When the terrorist group Boko Haram stole hundreds of school girls in Nigeria in April of 2014, there was world wide outrage about it, as there should have been, but when is the last time you heard anything about it?  The most recent online article I could find was posted in May of 2015, over a year later and stated that none of the girls had been rescued and that it is suspected that they were sold to Boko Haram fighters as "wives" for what amounted to ten US dollars.  We all know what that means. 

More recently in the news it was reported that ISIS has taken the time out of their busy torture and beheading schedule to publish a pamphlet on what one can do with one's sex slaves, including prepubescent girls.  It was makes me physically nauseous to think about it, but I know "these things happen". 

I don't know what we can do about it, other than to keep talking about it and not let it be forgotten.

But I do know one thing for sure, I will not watch it on my television as entertainment while I eat popcorn.

Too much time on my hands....

Serendipity has always been one of my favourite concepts.  A happy accident.  But are there really such things as accidents or is there some grand plan for all of us and we are all merely chess pieces? 

Suppose you are sitting on a bus and you see a guy a few seats back.  He is really cute.  He's dressed nicely.  As you look at him, he looks up and yours eyes meet.   He smiles.  You smile back.  You convince yourself that he is what you need to make you happy and begin planning how you will make this happen. 

Is it fate?  Destiny?  Or are you writing your own story by taking control of things yourself?

Let's further suppose that you find yourself getting off at the same bus stop (fate?  coincidence?) and so you strike up a conversation with the guy.  You find out you have a lot in common and you agree to go out.   You are even more convinced that having him in your life will make you happy.  Maybe you even pray to whomever your God is and ask him/her to make it happen. 

You might say that you are definitely carving your own path because you have actively gone after what you wanted.  But did you really? How do you know that you are not really following some predestined path set out a millennium ago for you and really, there is no such thing as free will at all?

But let's say for the moment that there is free will.  You saw what you wanted and you pursued it and now you have it.  You are happy.  But maybe not as happy as you thought you'd be.  Maybe he's not quite as perfect as you'd originally thought (no one is) and now you are second guessing yourself.    Maybe you would be happier without him in your life? 

So you have free will, but you've totally messed up your life.  Is it worth it?   

Let's go back to that bus for a minute.  Suppose a couple of seats behind the "man of your dreams" sat another guy.  Maybe not quite as good looking or nicely dressed, but if you had only noticed him first, he really was the one person who could make you happy for the rest of your life.  What if he was your fate, but you circumvented it by taking your own path.  If we are by our nature tempted to want what is shiny and bright over what is right for us, who are we that our "fate" should be left in our own hands. 

What is the answer?  Do we just sit still and wait for things to happen to us?  By that logic, we might not have ever got on that bus in the first place.  I can't quite fathom a life where I just give up all control over what happens to me...while being fully aware that any sense of control I have could all be an illusion anyway.  I like to think I have free will, that I make my own way (and yes my own mistakes) but it's also kind of comforting to think that there is a plan underneath it all and that someone is picking up the pieces when I mess up.

Stephen Hawking once noted that even people who claim to believe wholeheartedly that all is predestined, still look before they cross the road!  








 

Tiny Fingers Wiggling

Privacy. Alone time. Time to just be who we are, in the moment. Of course, not everyone needs it. Some people do not know how to be alone, nor do they want to be. For others, it can be a necessary part of life, and often very elusive.


When you move in with someone, you have to expect that you will lose a certain amount of privacy, and I confess I had a hard time with that when I got married. My husband didn’t feel the same need for alone time so he had some difficulty understanding why I needed it. And of course, when you have kids, it all pretty much goes out the window anyway. It’s not like when I was a child and my bedroom was my sanctuary where I could listen to music, or read a book, and no one bothered me. When you are a wife and mother, someone always finds you!

Eventually I came to the realization that the only place I could truly be alone was the bathroom! Bubble baths became my haven. I would sink into a warm bath, open up whatever book I was reading…it was bliss! However, even this didn’t always work. When they were young, my children took any closed door as a sign that there was something fun happening on the other side, if only they could get to it. As soon as they saw the closed bathroom door, they began knocking and calling my name and wondering why they couldn’t come in? I would suddenly see little tiny hands underneath the door, wiggling their fingers at me. “Can you see my hand Mommy?” If I explained that Mommy was in the tub and couldn’t open the door, they would just sit patiently on the other side of it and talk to me until I finally gave in and got out of the tub. If I suggested that their father would love to be spending time with them right then, it fell on deaf ears. Eventually, I just stopped closing the door.

As my kids grew, I regained my bathroom/bubble bath sanctuary….until I got a dog. If I close the bathroom door (or the bedroom door, or really any door) and Rascal is on the other side of it, he immediately wants in! I don’t think his reasoning is the same as my kid’s was. I don’t imagine he feels he might be missing out on something fun. I think he just fears that if I disappear on the other side of the door, I might not come back. What can I say, he has abandonment issues. If I go into the bedroom or bathroom and close the door, he will paw at it until it is opened. If I ignore him long enough, he will bark at the door. When I finally open it he will look at me as if to say, “Was that really so hard?” He doesn’t need any attention; he just wants to be close by and will lie on the floor until I’m ready to move somewhere else in the house. If I’m having a bubble bath he will lie on my bed so he can still see me, but far enough away in case I suddenly lose my mind and try to give him a bath too!

All in all, the system works pretty well and I can still be almost alone with a good book. The other night my daughter had taken Rascal out for a late walk so I was really and truly alone in my bubble bath reading my book. I even had a glass of wine sitting on the side of the tub! It was amazing. I was just taking my first sip of wine when the bedroom door flew open and seconds later my daughter and Rascal were both standing in the bathroom doorway.

I thought maybe if I ignored them, they would go away. It was a fleeting thought.

“Rascal has a tick by his nose!” Kate informed me. I looked up from my book.

“Come here Rascal. Come show Mommy!” she walked over to the tub, dog in tow. Rascal dutifully put his paws on the edge of the tub so I could get an up close and personal look at what was indeed a tick beside his nose.

“Alright, I’ll get out in a minute and deal with the tick” I said.

“Cool”.

The two of them walked back into my bedroom and sat on the bed, waiting. Sigh. The fingers might be bigger, but they’re still wiggling under the door!

The Royal We

If television is to be believed…and, I mean, come on..everything on television is true… then the concept of the “Royal We” was first used by Queen Victoria of England. Apparently she liked to say things such as “WE are not amused!” when referring to how she felt. This concept was later adopted by hospital nurses everywhere. Example: “And how are WE feeling today?” You see what I mean?

I’ve noticed recently that its usage seems to be on the rise. However, it seems to take two distinct forms. Case in point: A co-worker plopped herself down in the chair on the other side of my desk and said, “WE have a problem!”

“Okay, what is “our” problem?” I asked.

“All of these invoices got posted in the wrong period and messed everything up! Bob is freaking out! WE need to figure out how to fix it.”

“Hmmm…let me see if I understand this. YOU posted the invoices in the wrong period, and YOU need to find a way to fix them?” I questioned.

She replied, apparently oblivious to my emphatic pronoun: “Yes, exactly. How are WE going to fix this mess?”

This is what I refer to as the “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me” use of the Royal WE. This is most commonly employed by mid level employees and small children with younger siblings.

The other common usage I’ve noticed is the attempt made by someone to hijack credit that does not belong to them. For example, you are having friends over for dinner and decide to try a new, complicated dish. One of your guests compliments you and before you can say thank you, your husband pipes up and says “Oh, it’s nothing. WE thought it would be nice to try something different, so WE looked at a few recipes and WE decided to go with this one.”

Really? Were you even in the house when any of this happened? Because I’m pretty sure you were out golfing while I was slaving away in the kitchen coming up with this! That is when you want to smile sweetly and say something like, “Yes honey. Tell everyone how WE came up with this recipe!”, then watch him squirm. But that would be childish, and I would never resort to that!  : )

Dinner Conversation...May 27, 2013

“So..tomorrow is a big day!” Mel stated.


“Tuesday’s often are”, Nancy replied.

“You know what I mean. Tomorrow we will have been married for 25 years!” he answered with narrowed eyes.

“Really? I don’t think that can be right! That would make me really, really old” Nancy responded.

“No, it’s right. I did the math. I even used a calculator!” Mel affirmed.

“Well…..if you used a calculator….I don’t think I’m prepared to have been married for 25 years!”

Silence for a few seconds while this was contemplated.

“We should just keep this amongst ourselves!” Nancy finally decided.

“Won’t that put a crimp in the whole party thing we were going to have?” Mel questioned.

“Hmmm. Well…we can just tell people it’s our 15th Anniversary! I’m perfectly willing to accept being married for 15 years.”

Mel postulated, “You don’t think someone might question that? People are pretty smart…and our kids are in their 20s.”

Nancy…deep in thought for a moment.

“Okay, here’s the thing. Remember how we renewed our vows on our 10th Anniversary? We’ll just count from then”.

Mel thought about it. “I don’t think it works that way”.

Nancy replied, “No, it totally does. See….our first marriage wasn’t legal anyway, so we can count from the second one”.

"Huh? How do you figure that?”

“Well, remember how Father Mazzarolle was supposed to officiate at our wedding, and then on the night of the rehearsal he told us he couldn’t make it so he sent another priest? “

“I remember. So?”

“That priest…I can’t remember his name…didn’t speak English. Most of our wedding ceremony was in Polish or something. For all we know he could have been talking about Church Bingo the whole time. Plus…he kept calling me Anita! So…not legal! We’ve been married 15 years!”

Happy Anniversary Honey!

Paczkis and Goose Poop.

If you do not know that Paczkis are, they are Polish donuts. As donut’s go, they are possibly the best thing ever invented by God. I think it is the filling to donut ratio that makes them so good, but honestly, I don’t really care about the why…I just know that they are the best!

Every year around this time, my husband’s grocery store brings them in for one week. Why just one week? I have no idea, but I anticipate it like other people do Christmas or their vacation. When they are there, I buy a box of six raspberry filled and eat them over a couple of days and then I am good until the following year.

I was thinking the other day that it was about time for them to be in, so I asked my husband.

“Oh, they were in about three weeks ago”, he said nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter.

What?

Are you kidding me?

“How come you didn’t bring some home?” I asked as I my mind reeled from the shock of it all.

“Well, I thought we were both watching what we eat so……”.

“But…Paczkis don’t count”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt…bereft!

I thought about those damn donuts for the last three weeks. I couldn’t believe he did that to me. The other night he was wandering around in the kitchen looking for a snack when I snidely said, “You won’t find anything good. It’s not like we have Paczkis or anything. “

“Oh my God. Are you still on about that? Just go to the bakery on Facer St. They have them all the time!”

What? And you’re just telling me this now?

Saturday morning I woke my daughter up at 9am…almost the break of dawn as far as she was concerned.

“Come on, we have to go out!”

“Where?” she grumbled, trying to pull the covers back over her head.

“To get Paczkis”, I replied, yanking the covers back down.

“We will get them, and then take Rascal to the park and eat them as we walk”. It was brilliant!

Eventually she got moving and off we went. Rascal was just excited to be in the car. We bought four Paczkis. One each, and one to share, and even one for my husband, although he really didn’t deserve it. And we got a plain cookie for Rascal to share with the geese at the park.

When we got to the park, we walked down towards the pond, Rascal pulling like mad because he could see the geese in the distance. Kate and I ate our Paczkis. They were heavenly. By the time I finished mine, my fingers were numb with cold but I didn’t care.

Rascal was deliriously happy barking at anything that quaked or honked on the water. He got right down to the edge of the pond and was slipping and sliding all over the place in what I at first thought to be mud. No. As I got closer I realized it was a giant pile of goose poop! I yelled at him to get out, but even as I did I realized my mistake as he came bounding towards me….and jumped up with his paws all over the front of my wool coat.

Kate just about fell over laughing at me. I guess she felt vindicated for my making her get out of bed.

My coat stank! Rascal stank! I didn’t even want to get back in the car, but it was too far to walk home.

Needless to say, Rascal had a bath as soon as we got home, and I hung my coat in the garage until I could take it to the cleaners.

The moral of the story? There is no such thing as a free Paczki.

What's In A Name?

I've never understood parents letting their children call them by their first names.  I've known a few over the years, but I've always been of the opinion that it was a little disrespectful.  My kids have always called me Mom, or on occasion Mama.  When my son was little and I helped out with his hockey team, all the kids addressed me as "Joseph's Mom". 

I recently reconnected with one of my former high school teachers via social media.  We sent a couple of emails back and forth discussing what we'd been up to for the past.....gasp.... 30 years, and he finally wrote and said "You know, you don't have to call me Mr..... anymore.  It's John.  Just call me John".
I promptly wrote back and said "I don't think I can do that".  It was just much too weird to me to call my grade 12 history teacher "John".  Of course, I've been making the effort, but it has not come easily.  And I realize I still address most of my parent's friends as Mr. or Mrs. So and So.  That's just the way it is. 

My daughter recently decided she might want to switch her major to Marketing so in an effort to help her decide, I arranged for her to become an unpaid intern at my office, helping out the marketing team.   She's had part time jobs since she was 14 but she's never worked in an office before so naturally I coached her a little bit on dress code and basic protocols.   

On her first day I brought her a plant for her desk as she was settling in.  "Thanks, Mom".    I thought for a second and then replied, "I'm not 'Mom' here".   

"Okay, thanks Nancy" she said with a smirk as I was walking away. 

"That's Mrs. Raimondo to you" I answered.

As I continued walking away I heard the young man at the desk next to hers laugh and say to her, "Ha.  I get to call her Nancy!"