That's What A Friend Is...Part 1

I looked up the word "friend" on www.dictionary.com and came up with these top 3 definitions.

 1. a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard.

 

2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter: friends of the Boston Symphony.

  

3. a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile: Who goes there? Friend or foe?

 

Interesting isn't it? I would never, ever have offered any of those choices of words to describe my friends. They seem inadequate at best. To me, a friend is so much more.

 

I think it may even possible to have friends who serve different functions in our lives. There are those we can rely on in times of crisis, who put our perceived catastrophes into perspective;  those whose experiences, philosophies and tastes we can discuss, share or disagree about;  those who are honest with us no matter what and "lay the cards on the table" as the saying goes;  those who forgive our mistakes and stand by us; those we trust - the confidantes;  those who empathize, feel our pain;  those who celebrate our accomplishments without envy and without having to "one up" us;  those who remain steadfast throughout some or all of our lives;  those with whom we laugh and those with whom we cry. If we are very fortunate, we have might have a friend who encompasses all those qualities. For many of us, it's our spouse. For some of us, we may be lucky enough to have another friend who's that much of a "good buddy" as it were.

 

There are temporary friends which we outgrow for some reason or another. There are friends who move far away with whom we lose touch. In that case, the friendship was likely not important enough for either party to maintain. Sometimes, friendships are toxic and we move on.

 

I had an instructor once who asked, "Do we really have a lot of close friends, or are they just acquaintances?"

 

That was a thought provoking question. I gave it some consideration and assessed my situation. How many people did I feel were true friends? The list became quite small. Fingers on one hand small....quality won out over quantity.

There's a children's book by P.K. Hallinan which I always enjoyed.

Very simply, it says it all, "A friend, is a friend. That's what a friend is."

 

 

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

I can't tell you the exact moment it happened. It just did. It was like a switch flipped. I was suddenly looking at life from the other direction, from the latter years. I was no longer viewing the world, its wonders, it problems, its possibilities, its craziness, in the same way. Rather, I was seeing it from the perspective of a mature person with an arsenal of life and experiences behind her. I was looking through the eyes of a person who is closer to the end rather than the beginning of her existence.

Don't get me wrong. I don't have a sudden urge to sport the obligatory gray permed hair, stretch pants and flora or fauna motifed sweatshirts. I'm also not sitting around waiting until I die. I'm not even anywhere near the end of my bucket list (I recently went back and actually crossed off a few items). My imagination, my childlike curiosity and my sense of adventure still exist. It's just that I sometimes spend time looking back  At this point, there's more behind me than there is likely to be in front. When I do this, I dwell on that which I should have done differently. Sometimes, but not as frequently, I celebrate my achievements. This makes me sad.

Book Clubs

I know many people who have joined book clubs. I have one friend specifically who has belonged to various groups over the years. She has travelled far and wide to attend discussions about these readings. From time to time, I have asked her for a book list and I have enjoyed some of the offerings. I have thought about joining a similar group. On the one hand, it would force me to read things which are not in my usual repertoire. On the other hand, I'm not certain that I would then enjoy meeting with a group of people to discuss the books at length. That would remind me too much of high school English classes, where you hated all literature once it was analyzed ad infinitum.

Recently, I was considering joining my friend yet again. I looked over the book list. I read summaries of the selections. As a result, I sent her this letter. She suggested I turn it into a blog.

Guten Tag,

I hope your day is spectacularly lovely. I'm confessing now that I'm probably not enough of a scholar to attend a book club. I have a hassock full of pocket books, non fiction and novels (I love used book stores), which I plan to read this year. A few are non fiction and the fiction, sadly are of a "lighter" nature. I like mysteries, crime, historical, social issues, Amish romances...realistic stuff like that. Don't get me wrong, I have read some award winners and excellent pieces of literature since my Nancy Drew and Bobbsey Twins years. I'm not a total flake.

Soooooooooo, the jury's still out on the possibility of the book club. I looked up the titles and there's not much diversity there. They all have a common thread and similarly weird themes (futuristic/other world/doomsday) which I have trouble buying into. I can't read books if they're based on implausible presumptions. I have absolutely no imagination whatsoever. Also, I don't do fairies, fantasies, varmints or vampires. I think my interests lie somewhere on the spectrum between Harlequin and Herzog.

 I 'm tired now...was up until midnight reading a piece of crud...er...writing by Jude Devreaux. Sheesh, Perhaps I should join a book club and read more high brow stuff.

                                                                         Anyhow....love ya'...take care. Auf wiedersehen. H

I did not make it to the book club meeting. Now I kind of wish I had. I'm thinking it might be a fun social event and an opportunity to spend time with a friend. Oh well, back I go to my hassock. I shall try to put a dent in my collection now by reading the latest Robards mystery.

I Say, Then She Says, Then I Say...

My daughter is a brat. She has a twisted sense of humour. I'm not sure where she gets it. She's in Curacao and we have been texting and sending pictures using a free phone app. Ahhh the wonders of modern technology!

I recently sent her photo. Before I had a chance to write a caption, she returned the favour.

I sent a picture of the winter traffic on the 401. She sent a picture of the traffic outside her residence.

I told her we were at Winterlude and saw ice sculpures. She said she was at Kokomo Beach making sand castles.

 I sent her a picture of a nice place where we recently ate lunch. She sent one of where she and her friends are "forced" to eat.

I thought she'd be interested to know our temperatures. She just "knew" I'd want to see hers.

I baked cupcakes. She found a really cool mix.

Since then, I have received these photos taken from her dorm. I'm afraid the view from our house can't compete.

When I received this next picture, I made it official. I declared her the winner of the photo wars.

 

NorthumberlandNews Article: Is 28 the new 18 for kids these days?

Here's my article...not exactly as I wrote it, but it's here nonetheless.


NorthumberlandNews Article: Is 28 the new 18 for kids these days?

Salamander's for Valentine's

I don't know what inspires me to write a tripadvisor review. I've certainly been to my share of places that could be reviewed. Sometimes, I feel compelled. Sometimes I don't. This time, I did.

Hubby mentioned a restaurant in Kemptville which was on our way home from Ottawa. He'd been there before and it overlooked a river. He warned me that the food was not average but more along the specialty lines since they had a great chef. Fine with me. We searched for the restaurant and we found it.

I was so pleasantly surprised that this gem existed in a small town that I wrote a review about my Valentine's Day experience. It's not clever or funny. It just is what it was.

http://www.tripadvisor.ca/ShowUserReviews-g499268-d3267872-r152143191-Salamanders-Kemptville_Ontario.html#REVIEWS

I also posted the following photos. So if you're ever in Kemptville...check it out.

Awards

Second dining room (our side had booths)

Yummy and totally home made

My Valentine

It's Valentine's Day. To me, Valentine's Day has a lot in common with Thanksgiving. In this case, instead of being thankful for many things, friends, family, food, hearth and home, we are thankful and show our appreciation to one specific person. I'm thankful to have one specific person.

For the last five years, I have been very fortunate. I have a hubby who is kind, loving, useful, extremely intelligent as I've mentioned many times, handsome, a great cook, and above all thoughtful.

Since hubby had a meeting in Ottawa today, Valentine's Day, he invited me along. We packed our dachshund and our dungarees and headed to the nation's capital yesterday. It's Winterlude in Ottawa. After checking in to the hotel, we went downtown. As we neared the park that had displays and ice sculptures, we saw it! The dreaded sign that read, "No dogs allowed." We both stopped and looked at our lovely little canine friend.

Hubby then chivalrously announced that he would wait with the dog so that I might go and see everything. I felt guilty for about 30 seconds until I realized that he had been here many times and  this was my first Winterlude. I thanked him and promised to try to be quick....a promise I had no business making. Camera in hand, I headed out.

                                 
I saw many amazing things, however, best of all was what awaited me when I was done with my explorations.

                                                      Thank you. Happy Valentine's Day.

Car, Truck, Vroom, Vroom....

Through extensive research and observation of male pattern behaviour I have concluded that most men are born with some kind of a noise chromosome. I recall fondly that my son's first, very loud words were "car, truck, vroom, vroom". I also have memories of an empty kitchen cupboard, little hands and clanging pots and pans. The lids were especially appealing.

"Now I know why they have those little child proof cabinet clips!"  I often yelled, as the clanging reverberated and "the boy" worked on his burgeoning career as a percussionist.

I frequently observed little girls as they amused themselves quietly with lego, books, puzzles and crayons, while boys' activities, even with their pretend toys, needed to be accompanied by bang bangs, whirring or shrill siren sounds.

For some reason, I had the mistaken impression that noises were limited to boys and youngish men who drive monster trucks with massive tail pipes. I have learned differently. One of my friends used to yell at her adult brother when he didn't provide adequate warning prior to a window shattering sneeze. My dad, who often complained about other peoples' moderate sounds had some loud habits of his own.

Our current house is a small one. The bed's headboard is on the opposite wall of the kitchen. Hubby is usually awakened early by the demanding dachshund damsel. He takes her for a walk and returns to the kitchen. By this time, it's around 6-6:30 a.m. Any attempts by me to sleep much later are thwarted by a wall which I am convinced is made of paper.

I have mentioned the problem and hubby tries his best to be considerate. I appreciate the effort. However, he's a man and therefore has the aforementioned "chromosome". I have tried earplugs...no help. I thought I was clever when I came up with one sound reducing solution...some improvement.

I have even tried putting a pillow over my head but have been thus far unsuccessful in doing anything more than suffocating myself.

I've probably mentioned this before. My hubby is very smart. He really is super clever. As a result of my issues he has unravelled yet another one of life's many mysteries. I had never thought of this.

I have often wondered why McDonald's, Tim Horton's and similar establishments are always bulging with men, especially elderly men and usually in the mornings. They sit, they linger, they read the paper and don't appear to have a care in the world. They certainly are in no hurry to go anyplace. So why is my hubby such a genius?

Today, he said "Now I know why old men hang around coffee shops in the morning. It's to stay out of the house so their wives can sleep."

Pressure, Procrastination and Paper

I suppose I procrastinated writing this month's newspaper column because I received no positive reinforcement or feedback. In fact, my piece didn't even appear in the paper until this past Friday February 1st, so I didn't feel the need to rush and write another.

http://www.northumberlandnews.com/opinion/columns/article/1574836--technology-passwords-pins-usernames-and-when-did-i-get-so-old

Today is the first Monday of the month.I can't write about the Super Bowl or anything current because the publishing date is supposed to be the second Thursday of the month, or whenever. My next article is due. I have two half completed potential works which are not making me completely happy yet. The hours are running down and I'll have to make a decision. If I rework an old blog, I will have more time to complete my two rough desktop drafts. I suppose I will look through what I already have. In the meantime, I think I'll go to the gym.

Our Greatest Fears

According to the "Book of Lists" an adult's greatest fear is public speaking and public performance. Seems odd that during all my years as a teacher, I loved talking to groups of little kids, however, as soon as I was required to do a presentation for the parents, I stressed out. I did what I needed to do, but nonetheless, I hated it. I avoided speaking to adult groups whenever possible and I still do.

As a small child I enjoyed singing. I confidently performed at a Sunday School Christmas presentation at age 4. Mom coached me with the words and despite her accent and difficulties with some English phrases, I learned the whole hymn. "Away in the main chair, no crib for a bed, the little Lord's cheeses...the kettle are lowing...and stay by my cradle, until morning is night." Well, at least that's how I understood it as a preschooler.

Later, I was described as "shy" so often, that I decided I must be. My public performance was only shared from beneath the kitchen table. Apparently, visitors flocked to our house just to hear me sing...either that or to have some of my mom's homemade German chocolate tortes and cheesecakes. Sometimes, it took me an hour of sitting beneath the table, before I was brave enough to start...a lull in the adult conversation, a deep breath and I was off to the races. I was the performing monkey in the family who had the option of "being seen and not heard" when we had company. I opted instead for being "heard and not seen".  At least, I was always confident that the tabletop afforded me protection from any items that might be hurled my way if the singing was substandard.

In third grade, I was at a new school in a big city. This was scary enough, since I was still labelled "shy". One day the teacher announced "Show and Tell" tomorrow. I watched in horror as many of my classmates brought prized possessions and bragged about their assorted toys. This was one of the few times I appreciated having a surname near the end of the alphabet.
 

"Where's your show and tell?" asked the teacher when my turn came.

"I forgot", I lied, knowing that this would surely give me an E on my report.

"Well, bring it tomorrow."

When I got home, I confessed this to mom who promptly gave me a china vase with a gold rim and a castle etched on the front of it. I stared at it in horror. She packed it in my bag and I took it to school. Not even the shame of a potential "E" could get me to display this artifact in front of a group of third graders.

In senior public school, I was faced with a drama class. "Stand and tell everyone about your summer vacation" was the first task assigned by a handsome young teacher. Fortunately, before he got to me there was a student who had just transferred from a U.S. school. He and the teacher became so engrossed in talking about politics that I was thankful to Richard Nixon and John Kennedy for at least the rest of the week. After that, I have a vague recollection of doing an embarassing display of how to fold a paper hat and a mediocre speech on "Stars" in that same class. Then my family moved again.

 

I had my first taste of success in high school. My speech writing became more imaginative and my confidence ebbed. "From Bach to the Beatles" was such a hit that I, was one of the students selected to present my speech in front of the entire school. I was nervous. It went well enough.

The list of successes and disasters goes on. I was buoyed by an effort in Teachers' College. I did a presentation on "Children as Artists". The hippy like, long haired, long robed instructor dramatically placed his hand across his forehead, tossed his head backwards and announced in a shrill tone, "Now that, ladies and gentlemen...(insert lengthy gasp and some escaping spittle here), that is a teacher!"

And so my public speaking evolved, doing what I had to do. I can't really think of anything else in my early life that traumatized me as much. I tried. I improved. I learned. I gained confidence. I still hate it.

So, what's your greatest fear?