My Running Shoes Mock Me

My running shoes mock me.

It’s true.

They do.

They sit there all new and shiny,

an arrogant red and white.

They know it’s been awhile since I’ve owned a pair.  That it’s been a looong while since I needed (or wanted for that matter) cushioned and stable footwear.

The stupid car accident last year has made me a pansy ass when it’s come to athletics.

I’m afraid to fall.

I’m afraid to hurt.

I’m afraid of the demonic migraine that has the tendency to rear his hideous head whenever I attempt at moments of physical normalcy.

Granted I made it through a season of “walk and putt” with the ability, the last few games, to hit a few drives without cursing the pain the next morning.

But

I still haven’t mustered enough courage to strap on the cross-country skis this winter.

Which explains the purchase of the spankin’ new shoes.

The proverbial poop has hit the fan.  I’m feeling old and stiff and angry.

So

I’ve done something about it.

Gym membership for the month.  A workout buddy that has, over the years, proven the extent with which she can guilt and shame me into doing things (thank God for little sisters).

And the new K.Swiss Performance red/silver/white and magnet grey running shoes.

So mock me if you will, you cheeky jogging shoes, but I will use and abuse you.  I will flog you and stomp and kick and climb.

And soon your mocking will subside

and  you will be my footwear of choice.

Naked people Have No Influence

“Clothes make the man.  Naked people have little or no influence on society.”  ~Mark Twain

The other day my cousin Colleen asked if my mom still wore little carved rose earrings.  She said, “I’ll always remember your mom wearing those pretty little earrings.”  Funny what article of clothing or accessory we remember as helping define another person.  My mom did, in fact, wear those earrings almost every day.  They were delicate and simply elegant.

Just like my mom.

And I’ll always remember my dad as wearing his grey coveralls and his red cap.  He wore that cap for years and years.  I remember being VERY unsettled when he finally retired it for one of another colour.  I could easily spot the red cap somewhere in the middle of the big farmyard be it under a tractor or deep in the back of the old machine shed.

The red reliable cap was my father.

My grandmother wore a white gold wedding ring (wrapped in white first aid tape later on in her life.  She had lost weight and wrapping it in tape helped keep in on her finger) her silver watch and a violet kerchief around her head and tied under her chin to keep her hair in place on windy days.

Traditional and proper and always a lady.

I, myself, have always had a sweatshirt that I adopted as a piece of myself and wore it and wore it and wore it. The first one was a white “Ghost Buster” sweatshirt that actually glowed in the dark.  I loved that sweatshirt and would frequently close myself in a darkened bathroom just to see it glow fluorescent in the mirror.  The second one was a red shirt I found in the laundry room of the first apartment I rented at university.  No one claimed it for months so I adopted it as my own.  I wore it with skirts and shorts and jeans.  I loved it.  The third one, I still have today, is an extra-large Dallas Cowboy grey and navy blue piece.  The sleeves are unraveling and the Cowboy symbol has all but washed off but I wear it whenever I’m tired and grouchy and in need of comfort.  I don’t know what these sloppy sweatshirts say about me but I know that part of my personality can be defined as being one who is comfortable in schlepping around in big cozy articles of clothing instead of dressing to impress.

How about you?  Do you have a piece of clothing that helps define who you are?  A “go to” piece of comfort clothing or maybe a sentimental piece of jewelry?  Are you reminded of your grandfather when you see a pair of galoshes?  Or an old boyfriend when you smell Jovan Musk for Men? I wonder what it is about single articles we subconsciously choose that have the potential to become part of someone else’s memory of who we are.

Character Sketch #7

The little “bird” hops,

her pink poufy winter jacket unzipped, her Disney boots untied.

Ponytails askew.

Tentatively towards the table where we sit.

Eyeing the chocolate cookie that sits temptingly on the edge

seemingly unguarded (both the bird and the cookie)

A young woman’s voice calls,

“Marta!”

and in some foreign language (Polish?  Ukrainian?  Russian?)

calls the little bird back.

Seconds later I see a perky hopping

towards us again,

this time coming right up to the edge of the table, nose parallel to the baked good

in precarious proximity.

Suddenly she becomes aware of our presence, looks away from the tempting morsel and directs her bright blue eyes right at us.  Eyes darting between the cookie and up at us.  Tilting her head inquisitively.  Assessing the situation.

“Marta!”

And back she hops.

Then, sure enough, feeling brave because the intensity of our conversation has taken our immediate attention away from her,

hop,

hop,

hop, again.

This time close enough where one ponytail brushes my elbow.

“Can I give this to her?” we ask her mother.  “Can she eat this?”

The mother nods permission and

I sloooooowly edge the cookie towards her, offering it gently,

afraid she’ll fly away.

But,

no.

She eagerly takes the cookie in her little hand, and with wide eyes that smile in appreciation she

chomps and

chews and

devours the cookie…not delicate like little sparrows do, but rather like a little bear, ferocious and hungry.  All the while standing confidently in front of the hands that fed her.

“Marta, say thank-you”.  But not a sound comes from little mouth.  Only a small, smile wrapped in brown crumbs.

The glint of satisfaction and happiness in her eyes are thanks enough.

Repost: A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far Away

“Star Wars”, “The Empire Strikes Back”, and “Return of the Jedi” were on t.v. the other night.  Once I got over how dated the filming was I settled in and enjoyed the evening, not because I’m hugest “Star Wars” fanatic, but because I started remembering where I was in my life when I watched them for the first time.  The vividness of my childhood thoughts and feelings at the time came back in one prepubescent, insecure, “crushin’ on Han Solo” rush.

I was in elementary school when “Star Wars” was released.  All my friends were talking about it but I hadn’t seen it yet when the family went skiing in Jasper with family friends.  One evening, all pink cheeked  and bright-eyed from being out in the snow that day, my parents allowed my sisters and I to walk the couple of blocks from the hotel to the theater to watch the film.  I remember the darkened street.  The quietness of the traffic.  Getting momentarily frightened by the herd of deer in the middle of the sidewalk.  Having to dodge other wildlife that had found their way into the resort town after the setting of the sun.

I remember sitting in the theater, waiting in anticipation when finally the film started.  The music was epic, the running text narration at the beginning, then the loud noise of the space ship making me jump in my seat.  It was my first real appreciation for science fiction.  My favorite characters?  C-3PO and R2-D2 of course. I LOVED it.  And part of the reason I loved it was because my parents allowed my sisters and I with our friends to walk to the theater and to view the film independent of parental supervision.

“The Empire Strikes Back”.  Summer holidays of Jr. High.  The first time I went was with my sister.  I was totally devastated that Han Solo was frozen in “carbonite” at the end. Was Han going to survive the freezing process?   Were he and Princess Leia going to be together?  What was a “Jabba the Hutt” anyway?  It was all so HORRIBLY unresolved.  I was distraught enough afterwards  to get all itchy and unsettled inside…wanting to be alone. .. not minding sweeping out granaries alone because I wanted to mourn Han Solo’s potential demise in solitude.

I went a second time with my friend Kim, thinking that if I just watched the film again I would be able to get some answers. I would be able to surmise whether or not Han would return.  There was NO way I could wait the three years it took to make the next film.  IT WOULD BE THREE YEARS OF PURGATORY!

heavy *SIGH*…

Three years later, when I was in high school, “Return of the Jedi” arrived in the theaters. By then I was so wrapped up in the drama of my own reality I couldn’t escape to that wonderful level of enthrallment the first two movies provided.  I went with friends, that much I remember, and we probably went out for pizza and talked about boys afterwards. Sadly Han Solo took a back seat to perceived romances with clueless, “half-witted, scruffy-looking Nerf herder” high school boys.

The first Star Wars trilogy will always be close to my heart because of its capacity for “taking me back” to times when life was simple enough to actually devote my entire self to escaping… even for an hour or two.  There are other films that do the same: “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” (the orignal cartoon version), “The Sound of Music”, “Footloose” and “The Clash of the Titans” (there’s a new version coming out!!!) just to name a few.

What film is there in your life that conjures up more personal memories than plot recollection?  But more importantly, how often do you take the time to watch them in order to remind yourself of how simple life can be.

Repost: Even Princesses Get Bullied

A while back the Globe and Mail ran a story about  Japan’s Princess Aiko, granddaughter of the emperor, and the fact that she was being bullied by some boys in her school. To the point where the poor girl stayed home from school a few days because she had a “sore stomach”.  Now, I know there are copious amounts of literature that exists explaining the psychology of bully:  What to do if your child is the bully.  What to do if your child is being bullied.   Strategies to help a child through the difficult years exist on many a parents nightstand I’m sure.  And when we hear of an exceptionally brutal incident of bullying we share our opinions over the clichéd water cooler at work.  “It’s society’s fault”.  “No it’s the fault of the schools”.  “Ultimately its’ how children are raised..”

Whatever the case may be, bullying and it’s various forms have been around since the dawn of man.  Sadly it seems the only way some feel they can successfully to build themselves up by breaking someone else down.

When I was a kid I was chunky.  Sixth grade was the worst.  I was called “Chubby Chicken.”  I wanted to be skinny and athletic with a long swooshy ponytail.  Instead I was a little plump, I wore farmer rubber boots (you know the kind that are black with red heels and toes) and my mom would cut my hair short and curl it using a Toni home perm.  The tighter the curls the better because according to Mom “the perm would last longer that way.”  (The adult me would tell my 11 year old me to revel in my originality) The summer before grade seven I grew and slimmed out some.  But I still had “chimpmunk cheeks” and was reminded of this almost all the way through high school.

It’s tough being teased and feeling less than normal.  I’d never want to live through sixth grade again.  I don’t remember talking to my mom about it.  But I do remember punching my pillow in anger at night.

I’m sure this experience has contributed to the strengths I have now as an adult.  But I know that if I knew there was a princess in the world who shared a similar experience as I it would have made me feel a teensy bit better.

Some little girls may be comforted knowing they share an experience with little Princess Aiko .  You can be royalty, and you can still be bullied.  It doesn’t matter who you are, what you look like, how much money you have or how many friends you have.  You can even be a princess and still be made to feel small.  Which just proves that if anything you shouldn’t take bullying personally.  You’re not the one with the “issues”, it’s the scurvy knaves with nothing better to do than highlight their own insecurities and make themselves feel better by playing the palace fool.

Dreams to Chip Away the Ice and Indifference

“Beauty awakens the soul to act”.  Dante Alighieri

Where do you dream of going in the middle of January’s deep freeze?

The place that teleports you to an environs where warmth permeates more than just the epidermal surface of your being.

I have a couple.  Retreats, most of which I have yet to visit in actuality,

but

lets just say I have images bookmarked and I review them obsessively.

(But don’t tell anyone).

The Raffles Hotel in Singapore.  I see myself sitting by the pool sipping on the hotel’s iconic drink…

you guessed it, a Singapore sling.

Literary personalities frequented the hotel.  Noel Coward, Joseph Conrad, Rudyard Kipling, James Michener, Pablo Neruda.  I’d be reading the poetry of Kipling or Neruda while appreciating the Cherry Brandy in my cocktail.

My second retreat would be the Cinque Terre Residence in Riomaggiore Italy.

I’ve never been here either but my meanderings on travel sites have made me smitten.  I’m attracted to the “I can see everything but no one can find me” capacity of this little bed and breakfast.  Here I would sip on a full-bodied red wine and indulge my passion for Dante Alighieri.

Another place, and I have been here is the rooftop patio of the Hotel Vitale in San Francisco.  I’d visit the farmers market at the ferry building across the street then settle in on a decadently cushioned lounge chair and sit there all afternoon.  Here I’d read Amy Tan and be immersed in “Saving Fish From Drowning”.  Mystery.  Adventure.  Love.

Maybe that’s why I love to read as I do.  It’s impossible to physically escape whenever I want to for the day or for even the afternoon especially when the daylight hours are limited and I’m spending more time with my snowbrush and scraper.  Reading beautifully woven words that create images to match the photo’s posted on travel sites seem to “awaken my soul to act”…

or at least move over and away from the pouty restricted post it seems to take up residence in the middle of the winter and in the middle of the work year.

What beauty awakens your soul?  What imaginary flights of escape do you luxuriate in momentarily when life seems a big sloggy?

Repost: A Fear of Small Perspectives

“I must not fear.  Fear is the mind killer.  Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear.  I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.  Only I will remain.”  Frank Herbert, Dune.  “Litany Against Fear” (1965)

At times I fear enclosed spaces.

Sure, I’ve felt a slight panic when I was in the mini submarine in West Edmonton Mall, And again when I was climbing the tomb like staircase to the top of Sacre Coeur in Paris.  But for the most part I can control times such as these with deep breathing and reminding me that there will be a way “out” in a few minutes.

And what’s weird is that sometimes I get this same feeling when I’m wearing my mouth/teeth splint.  Seriously.  It’s new.  I wore it for an hour a day when I first got it in order to get used to it.  I’m now supposed to be able to wear it throughout the night.  I haven’t made it through the night yet.  One night I went two hours then felt as though I was choking and spit it out.  Then last night I fell asleep with it in, woke up around 5 hours later and it was no longer in my mouth.  I searched the bed, the floor then realized that in my sleep I had placed it neatly in it’s plastic container on the chair beside my bed.

Also, I can’t do balaclavas. It’s the same thing.  I feel as though I’m suffocating.  I’d rather suffer wind burn then wear a balaclava for any length of time…or better yet, not go out in the elements at all.

I once had to undergo an MRI.  I told the technician that I may have to be medicated because I couldn’t see myself staying in the tube for any length of time.  She then gently reminded me that I was getting an MRI for my knee and that I’d only be inserted up to my waist.  But still, it was VERY confining and I had to distract myself by humming the music being from the headset they provided me.

But have you ever felt claustrophobic by the ideas being forced upon you?  Sitting in a room and having to listen to a speaker with an agenda you don’t agree with?  Someone expounding upon an ideology you have no emotional connection to and never will?  When you know the people you’re with are not open to dialogue but rather are intent upon making you believe, buy into or embrace, for that matter, the same stance as they?

And you don’t really care enough to argue or dissuade them because you know it will be a futile experience.  And you can’t get up and leave because social dictums say it would be rude or if you do the person doing the suffocating will use it as a “told you so”.

I fear those situations the most because honestly, they seem the most absurd of all.

Flippin’ Snow…and You Know What I Mean by “Flippin’!

“Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes”.

…and fly up my nose and freeze to my windshield and  pile up on top of my head within seconds melting into floodwaters as soon as they melt upon entering my vehicle.

It’s been snowing here.  No, it’s been dumping here.

Centimeters upon centimeters upon centimeters. 28.8 centimeters actually over the last eight days.

It’s charm has morphed to suffocation.  I think it probably feels suffocating because everyone is pretty limited with what they can do and where they can go.  It’s difficult to drive; it’s difficult to walk.  It’s even difficult to see out the window.

And there is no colour scheme to life. Not even the slightest gradations of “white”.

The sound of the plow at 4:00am usually sets my nerves on edge but this morning it was like the blue bird of happiness singing outside my window.  Unfortunately its snowed so much the road outside my window needs to be plowed once again.

But ‘tis the season I guess.  Not that it’s a HUGE surprise to get this amount of snow within a week. Those of us who have lived here for any significant amount of time have all been “here” before.

So, everyone is hoping for a “snow day” tomorrow, which is a day that resides only in the annals of folklore here in this neck of the woods.  Schools don’t ever shut down.  We teachers are expected to make the trek to work even if it means strapping on the snowshoes or firing up the snowmobile (which isn’t beyond the realm of possibility).  Most of us own all wheel drives for these types of occasions.  Usually it isn’t a problem to punch through four-foot snowdrifts or navigate across an unplowed parking lot, scraping the bottom of our vehicle on the height of the snow.  It will be an interesting and adventurous morning for most of us, even with the navigational know how and capability.

Except, people are having “issues” with windrows of snow.  For some reason people seem to think they can successful cross over a four-foot pile of snow and NOT get hung up on it.  Unless you drive a Hummer this is virtually impossible.  I’ve seen all shapes and sizes of vehicles straddling windrows, looking like little tinker toys haphazardly dropped and forgotten by some irresponsible giant child.

*Sigh*

The stupidity is really quite annoying.  Now wait.  I hear something!  Sure enough, another vehicle caught on top.  Now this one is spinning and spinning his wheels in a vain and pathetic attempt to free himself.  No, it is not cool or manly to be caught in such a stupid position, especially with what looks like a brand new Dodge Ram 1500 Sport complete with lift kit.

What’s it like in your neck of the woods?  Snowy?  Rain?  Sunshine and Daffodils?

 

photo courtesy of my friend Maura

Repost: Trainspotting 101

“I do not think much of a man who is not wiser today than he was yesterday.”

Abraham Lincoln.

The frigid temperature today reminds me of a news story last year of a man who, for convenience sake, hopped a slow-moving train believing he was getting a free ride home.

Unfortunately he soon found the train gaining speed therefore making it impossible for him to jump off.

Unfortunately it was also -24C outside.

Fortunately he had his cell phone with him.  With the help of the RCMP and CN officials the train he was on was traced and he was found and rescued within the hour but not without suffering from a severe case of hyperthermia.

What I find noteworthy about this story is that it is only a few days later and this man is publicly acknowledging his foolishness and seems genuinely appreciative to those individuals who took the time and effort to save him.  He is also admitting to this being a life changing experience and is planning on turning his life around.

That’s good.  Lesson learned.  Never hop on a moving train especially in sub-zero weather. Not only because it can be harmful to your own well-being, but also because it’s a damn nuisance and cost to a lot of other people.

Now most of us have hopped on a “train” or two of our own over the course our lives, stupid mistakes that take an emotional and sometimes a financial toll not only on ourselves but on those who love us as well.  We usually chalk it up to experience and are humbled by the wisdom gained.

But,

what I don’t understand are those people who don’t learn and who consistently get on those “trains”. I think some get on because they crave the attention and the “need” to get rescued.  They either consciously or unconsciously create drama in their lives OR perceive everything life throws at them as a “drama”.   I also think that some people hop on those trains knowing they are emotionally/physically/financially inconveniencing others but do so anyway because they want what they want when they want it.  An attitude of “who cares what ripples it creates”.

But some of us take longer than others to learn.  When we don’t understand why our life seem to be more complicated or more difficult than it is for others, all we have to do is realize is that …

…sometimes it’s as simple as staying away from train yards.

I believe the true heroes in the world aren’t just the ones who do the rescuing but also the ones who learn from their mistakes.  They see the “train” for what it is and make a choice that not only is beneficial for themselves, but a choice that can also be perceived as being wisdom from which others can learn.

“The Long-Delayed But Always Expected”

“He is the long-delayed but always expected something that we live for.”

Tennessee Williams “The Glass Menagerie”

The above quote refers to the character “Jim” in The Glass Menagerie.  A man who at one time was the quintessential high school hero, the one “most likely to succeed.” But Jim hasn’t amounted to a whole lot. He hasn’t achieved any fame or fortune.  He is a mere cog in the wheel of everyday, middle class, 9-5 existence.

But Jim is holding out for his time to come.

He is making plans.  He is taking courses.  He is getting married.  He is not just going to sit,

inert,

waiting for that “something” to fall out of the sky and land on his lap.  He’s going out to find it.

The character Laura, on the other hand, has had her “something” fall on her lap.  It’s Jim.  Her high school crush taking space in her ethereal, fragile glass world.  Her long-delayed but never expected something has arrived.  But it’s not a perfect arrival.  It’s one filled with heartache and disappointment.

It is broken glass.

What is your “long-delayed but always expected” something?  Is it entrance to the perfect university program? Is it your ideal job?  Is it finding a soul mate?  Winning the medal?

How long have you been waiting?

How long are you willing to wait for it,

whatever “it” may be?

What are willing to do to increase your chances of getting it?

Or

has it already arrived and you’re not all that pleased with how it’s turned out.  Has it been one big disappointing, bubble bursting experience.  Do you find yourself searching and waiting for another “something”?

And what do you do while you wait?  Sit on your bum and twiddle your thumbs?  Stick your head out the window every five minutes to see if you can spy it coming down the street?  Or maybe you go out and about and search

and search

but to no avail.

I guess the thing to do is to, as they say, is to expect it when you least expect it.  Live each day appreciating what DOES exist.

The tangibles and touchables.

Filling each and every moment so there are no gaping crevasses of expectation.

So that when that “long delayed always expected something” is nothing

but a pleasant surprise