‘In my day’ (how old am I again?!), girls were shushed, crushed and instructed to be quiet, make nice, and for crying out loud don’t make waves.  (I pretty much failed the entire Be Quiet Series but that’s another story).  We were carefully shaped into people pleasers. Well, that’s all well & good if you are the ones being pleased.  Now that I’m older, slightly wiser, and battling hot flashes, my tolerance for those who take advantage of this phenomenon – or who lack basic manners – is wearing thinner all the time.  So is my filter.

A good example from the archives is a time I was returning an item to the grocery store.  I stood a respectful distance behind the lady being served at the customer counter, which was equipped with two till stations but only one employee.  One by one, some women lined up behind me.  As anyone would predict, we all waited patiently for our turn, occasionally sharing eye contact or making small talk.  Several minutes later, a man perhaps in his 40’s charged up past the 5 or 6 of us ladies as if we weren’t there (it felt like he metaphorically elbowed me in the face on his way by), demanding to be helped immediately. I don’t know why I snapped, but snap I did.  Believe me, this is not my proudest moment: “Hey BUSTER.  Didja happen to see this ENTIRE LINE UP of people here, all ahead of you?”  He looked back at me like I was an annoying fly buzzing around his beer can. This further inflamed me as you can imagine.  “Yes, YOU!  What, so WOMEN’S TIME ISN’T AS VALUABLE AS YOURS? Well you’re wrong.  BACK OF THE BUS BUDDY!”  I pointed to the spot he should have taken at the line’s end in case he had trouble understanding me.  “But I need a carton of cigarettes”, he whined.  “I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE GETTING A DEFIBRILLATOR!!! Back of the BUS!!!”  The other ladies swarmed around me in a nest of support, murmured similar comments and sent their collective evil eye his way.

In calmer moments, I am cognizant the world contains jerks, mannerless morons, people in bad moods.  And you can’t help running into them from time to time. What should I do next time?  Be more patient?  Express more kindness?  Balls to that.  Literally.  When I see it, I’m gonna call it.   Because bad behavior just gets my goat, and I don’t even have a goat.

When Bob passed away three years ago, I was ‘prepared’ to be sad and unsettled.  He was my father.  At first I was understandably distracted and somewhat robotic by all the doing involved in death; forms, notifications, arrangements, composing the obituary…  Until the moment at the funeral home when I stood alone beside his casket prior to cremation.  His death was no longer abstract.  There he was.

I believed grieving for him would be a process, a linear progression through stages with ups and downs along the way.  A destination of calm acceptance.  That over time, my heartache would palliate into a soft bed of memories that I could wake up when convenient.

Grief isn’t systematic.  It’s puzzling and sneaky.

It was sometimes predictable, though, like on his birthday or Christmas.  On those occasions, I could plan to be home alone for my private blubbering.  But more often, grief would attack with a sudden ferociousness from behind some benign facade. Like the Hallmark card display in the grocery store just a few days ago.  I became so overcome by an unforeseen sob of such intensity that a startled passerby reached out to catch me if I fell.  I was gripped by emotion so strong that I felt almost unable to breathe, my bones crumbling and unable to support me.  I felt like I could, at that moment, have been easily mopped up into the housekeeping bucket along with the spilled cola and broken pickle jar juice.  What set me off was the realization that I had been scanning the cards for one large-fonted enough for poor Bob to be able to read.  I hadn’t done that in a very long time.

I used to think episodes like this were proof I was weak or negligent in ‘doing my grief work’.  Or just plain crazy.  And maybe I am.  But I’ll bet they’re just Bob reaching down from the big fishing creek in the sky to give me a nugie.  He’s reminding me not to forget.

If you aren’t a ‘dog person’, just quit reading right now.          

4-year-old Bailey entered my life after rescue by ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation – a very worthy cause) 6 months after her owner left her in a kennel but never returned. As with most doggie empathizers, I wanted her to have a fresh new start beginning with changing her name.  Kaley sounded pretty close to the original and seemed softer like her disposition.  I often wondered if she worried her new owner was too dumb to even get her name straight!

She came equipped with a plain red collar, a gentle soul, a playful spirit, and an obvious history of male-induced abuse.  I couldn’t wait to care for and help an animal from such an unfortunate background.  I knew lots of love and patience would be required to help her with her problems, but I wasn’t prepared for how much she  would do for me.

What I learned from Kaley:

Patience.  It’s OK to fall asleep waiting for something to happen.  As long as you’re near the door so you don’t miss out.

Enthusiasm is key.

Manners.  Don’t stare at people while they eat.  It makes them feel uncomfortable.  Also, staring at people doesn’t make them do what you want.

Never be afraid to show how you feel.  A wag is always welcome.  A well-placed growl can save a lot of grief.

Setting boundaries requires no explanation.  It just doesn’t.

There is wisdom in silence.  Who knew?

Never pass up an opportunity to pee.  OK, I already knew that one, but it’s a good reminder.

Worrying about the future just wastes energy.  Sleeping is a better choice.

Keep close to the ones you love, and protect them with your life.  That includes your pooch.

Ignore the frantic barking from the far side of the fence.  Their opinion is just not that important.

Yet for all of this, she demands only kindness and extra cheese. Whoops – gotta go…. time for TREATS and a walk!

Whoever penned the words “Lazy days of summer” was probably in a coma.  There is not one person I know whose calendar isn’t peanut-butter-AND-jam-packed busy with extra activities, busier than the busy they already are in the ides of March. Especially my friends who have kids.  Get-togethers must be booked weeks in advance.

I think it’s only natural to back off on activities in winter months.   Energy requirements to keep our body temperature above freezing causes everyone’s metabolism to scream for MORE FOOD and less caloric output, and the near-constant darkness tempts us to cocoon in our cozy home burrows. Not only that, but it’s too damn much work to put on the necessary extra layers of clothing, warm up the car, then brave the elements through dangerous road conditions to DO something.  I get it.  I’m sorry if that reminder of what it’s like in winter gave you the shivers – just wanted to put things in perspective.

But SUMMER?  What’s not to love?  Running about without shoes (despite the scolding from my pedicurist). Coffee out on the deck.  Cycling the bike paths. Droolingly delicious BBQ odours from across the fence.  Sunshine from the moment you open your eyes until you glance at your watch with the awesome realization that it’s 10 PM!   The drone of lawnmowers drowning out annoying motorcycle blasts. Outdoor patios.  The beauty of lightening, the power of thunderstorms.  Fresh berries and corn on the cob.  Getting dirty in the garden.  Feeling the sun on your skin while it bronzes.  Watching doggie antics at the off-leash park.  Driving with the windows down.  The refreshing delight of cold beer bubbles swimming down your esophagus. Flowers.  Seeing the people who live in your neighbourhood.  Warm tiles on the bathroom floor.  And for me, the pinnacle of my summer enjoyment is the incredible amazing delight I feel hiking our glorious mountains.  Aaaaaaaaah! 

I’m far more ramped-up in summer because there’s just so much to do and enjoy in only a few short months!  As I have described in previous blogs, I personify The Little Red Hen.  In summer there are the additional temptations of weeds to pick, lawns to mow, patios to visit, peaks to crest, margaritas to mix, people to see, places to explore, dogs to walk.  I just can’t keep still!  Lazy – my arse!

Although cold and snow will arrive soon enough, I am clear in my realization that it is necessary. I’ll need winter just to rest up.

We’ve all been there;  One moment perfectly calm and reasonable.  Then the next moment, completely pissed off and out of control.  How does this happen?  We’re not kids anymore (well except those people who still are kids).  With age has come patience, tolerance and control.  Hasn’t it?

One of the skills I have been practising of late has been the Art of Non Engagement. There were multiple moments in the (aforementioned in previous blogs) Dark Years where I desperately wanted to explain, tell off, and outright yell at people who I was convinced were so obviously wrong, stupid or ignorant.  The situations themselves were volatile enough without adding sizzling emotion to the mix.  There were times when I survived the moment purely by picturing myself striking the offender. Repeatedly.  And I am not a person prone to any kind of physical violence.  Except once when I was eight and punched my older sister in the nose and made it bleed. That hardly counts.

WAIT!  I guess there was another occasion, this time in my university years when a complete stranger tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention before ripping my shirt open at a Stampede dance.  I right-crossed him in the nose, too.  Delighted that it was broken, I stood mesmerized by the blood pouring forth giving him time to hit me back.  But I digress.

I was involved more recently in a meeting which was guaranteed to be emotionally turbulent (why yes – a lawyer was involved).  In preparation, I pre-scripted and practiced my dialogue and demeanor so as to appear (therefore BE) in control, mature, not to mention RIGHT.  I said little if anything for the first half which had the unexpected benefit of lulling my opponent into believing I was too dumb to understand what crap had been presented. When my ‘turn’ arrived, I was clear, direct, professional, even polite despite the predictable verbal excrement hurled in my direction.  While my newly-found calm seemed to escalate my nemesis into a venom-spitting frenzy, her loss of control stimulated even more honey from my Sweetness Cortex in mild tones surprisingly devoid of expletives.  I surprised even myself.

Outwardly, I was as unfazed as a slumbering deaf dog.  Inwardly I seethed, suffering several broken blood vessels in one eye from skyrocketing blood pressure and who knows what else.  I fooled them!  But who paid the price?

I would say it was a win-win situation.  Despite my temporary minor injuries, I won that match & set.  Absolutely.  And I won again by realizing the power of silence.  Few people claim, “Geez, I wish I would have gone berserk and fought that jerk!”  Nope. But I’ll bet there are lots of folks who regret acting out.  Me? My Anti Anger Orbit Techniques are still a work in progress, but at least I hope I no longer present such a tempting target.

Have you ever wondered about the truth behind sayings like “They’ll get theirs, you’ll see”, “Karma’s a bitch”, and “What goes around, comes around”?  Who came up with these? And why? Is Karma for sure a female? Does she have her own publicist? And how does she feel, exactly, about being called a bitch all the time?

During a spate of awfulness in my life which I have come to refer to as The Dark Years, I heard these phrases repeatedly from well-meaning and supportive friends. They wanted me to believe that those who had wronged me would pay the price for their bad behavior – it was just a matter of time.

Sure, I had seen movies with fictional The Bad Guy Gets It In The End story lines, but I had no solid frame of reference by way of concrete believable examples from my own experiences, or of anyone in my circle of friends. With no anecdotal evidence, no proof of Karma’s photo or social security number….. how could others be so positive she existed, was competent, and wasn’t planning to retire before she could exact justice in my case? Where was the guarantee?

So I wasn’t exactly comforted by those same Karmic phrases when The Dark Years grew even darker. Instead of pinning my hopes on Karma’s brand of justice, I channelled my energies into attacking the ever-growing Hard Things I Gotta Do List, one exhausting item at a time.  I concentrated my efforts into things I felt I could control while maintaining my course on the High Road (which, by the way, I have found is a lot less crowded than its lower counterpart).

Fast forward now to my new location; smack-dab in the middle of what I call the Karma Parking Lot – which resembles an old drive-in. I’m metaphorically lounging with other like-minded individuals looking for information and entertainment.  I have an unobstructed view of the screen, (also known as The Present) where I see all or many of the mean-spirited Dark Years characters directing their nastiness, and jealous small-minded judgments onto each other in full view of the huge audience.  I see overacting, stunned comeuppance and more than a little drama. I don’t need the giant speaker attached to my lowered window because I don’t listen to them anymore. I can be amused and detached because their lives no longer touch mine. I can leave anytime I want but they are stuck playing their lame selves until they find new roles. The casting director?  It’s Karma.

Hello Eager Readers,

If you have been following this blog from the very beginning (uh… all the way back to early May!), you may have noticed that last weekend’s addition wasn’t forthcoming. Yipes, missing!  I hope no one sent out a rescue party, because the essence of the entry was here in my tiny brain the whole time.  The topic?  PROCRASTINATION.

Since my first post, I have become increasingly alert in scanning my surroundings for potential topics, interesting tidbits and unusual observations.  Just last week, I was informed by my hiking partner, Ron, that my one-liner quotient rises exponentially right before I need to publish.  I didn’t realize it was that obvious. Perhaps you will accept his observation as truth of my subconscious blogging work-in-progress!

I am a doer.  I create lists, lists and more lists.  Then I delight in striking off completed items using bold, firm strokes with a fat-ended pen.  Some days that list comprises a daunting catalogue.  Others, not so much even if padded with tiny to-do’s such as cleaning out Kitty’s box.  Occasionally I am thrilled to far exceed even my list’s expectations with  add-ons accomplished.

I also consider myself a hypo-manic overachiever.  Multitasking is my thing.  My successful 20 year career as an Emergency Room Nurse is good evidence of this.  In the ER,  the never-ending mountain of doctors’ orders competes with the multitudes of urgent, sometimes life-threatening patient needs in the midst of ever-changing priorities.

So, what happened last week?

I was distracted by the creation of two presentations (or gigs, as I call them) I was to deliver at a conference in Medicine Hat.  I like writing and presenting but was seemingly unable to move forward with my blog OR the gigs despite their heightened status on my Weekly To Do List and looming deadlines. Concurrent projects shouldn’t have been so difficult for someone as driven as I usually am.

I can only conclude that my energetic creativity has suddenly become sluggish and unidirectional.  This time it was impossible for me to race through everything at once as has been my habit. Now that the presentations have been hilariously delivered and this blog is nearing publication, it’s clear I have unintentionally – and without my knowledge – evolved from the hare into the tortoise.  And just as unexpectedly, I’m pretty OK with that.  

Spring-eager Calgarians can blame (or thank) me for all the rain falling during this long weekend. Why? Because I’m having my house painted. (For once, the downpour doesn’t coincide with a Spruce Meadows event) It is a time of high excitement for me (yes, I DO need to get out more) to change the hateful hue I have suffered since 2007 (think urban camouflage meets caveman decorator). The previous owners/painters were obviously high or subject to frequent involuntary muscle spasm judging by the sloppiness of their endeavors. My dog could have done a better job, and she doesn’t have opposable thumbs.

My painters, Jose and Fernando, were doing a wonderful job repainting, but alas, there’s too much rain to finish off as yet. Completion would include reinstalling my eavestroughs. With images of the Calgary 2013 flooding still fresh in my mind, I’m worried about seepage into my or my neighbour’s basement as I watch or listen to the water pour through where the downspouts usually live. This was too worrying for me to sleep last night until I simply shut my bedroom window to block out the sound. La la la la! (And when my car makes a weird noise on the highway, YES! I do crank up the music! How did you know?)

I was luckily unscathed by the devastating 2013 floods. I had spent that evening hidden in my garage painting some newly acquired adirondack chairs a festive bright orange. Job completed, I had just settled into my comfy couch to watch a few minutes of late evening television before bed totally unaware of the havoc raging elsewhere. But before I could choose a channel, the doorbell unexpectedly rang. It was a gal pal and her bottle of Scotch, both needing some serious attention. By midnight, we’d theoretically solved all the problems in her world with no clue what Calgary’s reality had become.

In this era of the connectedness of social media and instantaneous news coverage, I somehow remained entirely unaware that Southern Alberta was mired in chaos and crisis until I woke the next morning, disbelieving and puzzled. And I felt horribly guilty for being intellectually absent from such a major catastrophe in my own town.

This weekend, I am displaying hyper vigilant tendencies to this most innocuous of downpours. I have compulsively checked, double-checked and rechecked multiple weather reports and precipitation predictor graphs searching for any possibility of a similar disaster. I’m sure I’m not alone. Satisfied that the rain is simply a gift to my garden and lawn, I am grateful for the wet ‘excuse’ to remain at my computer hoping that my creative writing abilities flow as well as my eavestroughs. And this time? You bet I’m tuned in.

It would appear that I survived my first blog publication not only intact, but rarin’ to write another. (And I thought that overspending at gardening centers was my greatest temptation.  Ok, well, that and pizza).

I’m not that savvy when it comes to current events generally speaking. But in Calgary and probably the rest of the province, if people aren’t talking excitedly about the Flames hockey team in the finals, they’re discussing the radical & somewhat unexpected total change in government since this week’s election. Or both.  I am absolutely no expert in Things Government, but I DO know that when it comes to religion and politics (and on a lesser scale, sports teams), interactions can become heated, overheated, downright steamy and occasionally vicious. So how can you talk about recent and important events without angering friends, losing your job or getting your face punched in at the bus stop?  Humour, that’s how.

Humour is one great way to engage others with ideas, opinions, news…. or just plain drabble in a palatable, non-threatening way. Using humour effectively is actually a skill, not simply letting some quip you think is funny fall out of your mouth that immediately rewards you with wild popularity, job promotions or perhaps your own sitcom. The good news?  Humour skills can be learned by most everyone.

In Alberta’s presently preheated political climate, now is probably not the right time for the comedic novice to engage in humour experimentation with anyone other than a slightly deaf spouse or close friend who doesn’t sign your paychecks.  For now, perhaps limit yourself to safer topics like global warming or how you can never find your car keys. And stick with me for tips on how to harness the power of humour for good, not evil.  Stay tuned for more!