I QUIT !

I have become a quitter. Yes, I admit it. I am a quitter. The beauty of it is that I am actually finally able to quit. I'm not doing anything that's required for my livelihood. I'm no longer supporting a family with my activities.

During this past week I sent a letter to the local newspaper. Part of it looked like this.

     I have appreciated the opportunity to write columns for your newspaper during the past year and a half.

     At this time,  I wish to suspend my writing to pursue other activities.  If possible, I might like to send a guest submission from time to time.

Interestingly enough, I received a response which included regrets and confirmation that I can send them anything at anytime. I received no offer of a pay increase. The good news...I'm able to cross this off my bucket list. I've been published.

My volunteer hospital job, has also fallen by the wayside. I've lost interest. I have not as yet officially quit, but I plan to do so. It occurred to me, that obligations, such as regular work shifts and column deadlines, do not fit into my current lifestyle. Substitute workers are hard for me to find each time I have company, go on a trip or want to do something else on certain days.

The last time I was at the shop, I jokingly suggested that I should come back in ten years when I have nothing else to do but stay home and volunteer. Sometimes, we are far too fixated on doing what we think we ought to do. Often we see things as obligations, when they should no longer fall into that category. In the process, we miss opportunities.

So now, I'm down to five desired or essential activities (in no particular order). Housework is not on the list, 

One, is ukelele group. It's undemanding. You show up or you don't. I like it. I need to practice more but it's fun, costs nothing and is pressure free. My tante gave me some money and told me to buy myself a gift. I now own a ukelele.

Number two is blog writing. I've severely neglected this of late and I actually enjoy it and am hoping to take more time to get back into it. This is today's. Tomorrow's is also almost done.  

Thirdly, it seems, that you get to a place in life where visits to various doctors, optometrists, physiotherapists and the like take over. Suddenly, appointments are your excursions, your outings, your social life. I believe I'm getting close. I don't like trying to schedule these around other things. Time to simplify.

Fourth is to spend time with whatever friends and family I chose to spend time with. We can do things, or do nothing. We can bake, dance, sing, act foolish, dine out, mall walk, or just hang around and reflect on our lives.

Fifth and final is working on achieving my bucket list...and my new (soon to be published) bucket list add ons. I've already missed one opportunity. (Honest Eds is gone, so no lining up for turkey). Wouldn't want that to happen again. I don't want regrets.

A friend recently said something like this to me. Getting old is like waiting on the edge of a cliff. You never know when that final push will happen and, the older you get, the closer it will likely be. You only have so much time left. You only have so many books left to read. You only have so many vacations left to go on. You only have so many meals left  to eat. How do you want to spend that little time? Do you want to go on doing what you're doing or do you want to change? Do you want to make that time worthwhile for yourself? The answer is clear.

A Howling, Super, Moon

I'm not sure when I developed such an appreciation and interest in the moon, the natural satellite of the earth. It probably happened sometime during the lunar landing years of my younger life. Maybe it was the many visits to planetariums and space museums. Perhaps it was the influence of the too often played Andy Williams' Moon River song. It could have been my years of teaching about space and lunar phases. Who knows?

On July 12th, tonight, we hope to be seeing a super moon. At that time, the moon, which travels in an elliptical orbit around the earth will be at its closest point and thus appear to be fourteen percent larger and a third brighter than normal.

I'm hoping that the skies will be clear that I might take advantage of a sighting. Odds are currently not in my favour, so I'm glad I took a good look last night...close enough. I did hear some howling, but I attribute that to our tiny mutt and the rest of the neighbourhood canines. I don't believe it was hubby, although I'll double check tonight.

To me, this week's super moon is a beginning. It's a great beginning to the upcoming busy weeks.

The last time I saw a super moon, it was on the shores of Lake Ontario and it was spectacular. It was on March 12, 2011.  See blog of that date "The Moon Was So Bright That....".

If it's not visible tonight, we'll all get another chance in August and September. Enjoy.

Four Days in Paris - Day One

Subtitled:  A Canadian on a German Bus in France

I've been back for almost two weeks. Where does the time go? Actually, truth be told, I wrote a newspaper column and about seven or eight tripadvisor reviews while thoughts were still fresh in my head. Usually, my brain is like the produce on the metal supermarket rolling racks...somewhat mushy, spotted and marked down for quick sale. If that makes no sense whatsoever, I've just proven my point.

So, at the risk of making this sound like a boring travelog, here goes. Four of us, my cousin, his wife and her sister went on a wonderful trip to Paris. We left from a tour bus parking lot in Saarbrucken and while we waited for our bus, we were all pleased to locate one of those new fangled automated toilet facilities. I must confess that our novice efforts involved a lot of screaming, cursing, yelling, and wasted coin as we each took a turn. On the bright side, this now allows us to cross another item off our bucket list.















Our bus arrived...a double decker condo on wheels. We took our seats and after a short trip, arrived in Paris. I surmised that we were there because I recognized the language on the signage as similar to that on cans, cereal boxes and miscellaneous packaging back home.

The bus driver gave us a brief overview of the city as he drove. He spoke very quickly, in a German dialect which I found challenging. I understood about a third of what he said, which I expect was about one third more than the family from Kentucky managed to decipher. I did catch the all the important words like wasser, beer, and sekt, all of which were being offered on the bus for a very reasonable low cost. People appreciated this because to say that prices in France are high would be considered an understatement.

I was impressed with the fact that the driver could multitask by actually driving in Paris and talking at the same time. Traffic patterns were definitely unusual.  As much as it often looked like a giant parking lot, without traffic lights, painted lines, or apparent organization, the chaos moved with relative ease.

Before long, we arrived at the foot of the Eiffel tower....taaaadaaaaa! I made it! Then, a cruise tour down the Seine.

There were many school groups aboard who screamed every time we went under a bridge. It was impossible to hear the headset explanations of where we were so before long, I put my device aside and cheered along with the kids. This garnered me some strange looks. Must have been my accent.

Day one couldn't have ended more perfectly. We checked into Hotel Mercure (link to tripadvisor review below). Once we were cleaned up, we hopped back on the bus and were taken to dinner at a lovely typically French bistro. We were served a four course meal with unlimited wine, water or soft drinks and we enjoyed music, singalong and comedy from an accordianist and guitarist. There are photos and videos, but let's just say, what happens at the bistro, stays at the bistro!

***My review of Hotel Mercure with photos -

http://www.tripadvisor.ca/ShowUserReviews-g196563-d197378-r212702266-Mercure_Paris_La_Defense_5-Courbevoie_La_Defense_Hauts_de_Seine_Ile_de_France.html

Paris is Always a Good Idea

For awhile, I've had it stuck in my head that I want to see Paris. Of course, I'd also like to see Barcelona with the Gaudi cathedral, and Venice with its canals, and Rome with...well, everything art, history and culture. Paris though, has been near the top of my European sites list ever since I discovered that it's only three hours from most places where I would likely be in Germany.

I can't say that Harrison Ford didn't have something to do with it. Although I never saw the original "Sabrina", I loved the remake of the movie. As Sabrina says, "Paris is always a good idea". In fact, I have a friend who gave me a mug with that slogan written on it.  And so it began.

It's interesting how some things stick in your head to the point of obsession. Or perhaps, I had a little help from my environment. Suddenly, everywhere I went, everything I saw reminded me of Paris. From the eiffel tower trinket box in the dollar store, to the radio broadcast about champagne, the music "I love Paris" and the always delicious french macaron cookies at the bakery.

Then there are the naysayers who try to influence your thoughts. The folks who tell you that crime is rampant, you'll get mugged by gypsies and so on. Yes, it's a big city. Yes, there are pickpockets and gangs just as in any other big city. Obviously precautions must be taken. On the other hand, statistically, Paris is one of the safest metropolitan cities in Europe. So there!

When my cousin visited last October, I once again mentioned Paris. Or perhaps I whined a little. After all, isn't complaining part of growing old and grumpy? I told them that they're so fortunate to be able to hop on an inexpensive commuter flight and go to any major European city and back home on the same day. Or, they could take a train. His response was, "Next time you visit, we'll take you to Paris."

Who says grumbling doesn't work?

Although I thought it might eventually occur, I didn't believe it would happen this soon.  I am currently in Paris. From today, to Sunday, I am there.

My wonderful relatives booked a bus tour from Germany to Paris for three nights and since I was going to visit Germany, they took me to Paris. When I come back home, I hope to write about my adventures, give reviews, and have photos like this one, with one difference. There'll be me, standing prominently in front of the tower.

Cloaked in Guilt?

I'm not certain what prompted this memory. I'm not even sure where I am going with this blog. It may not have an ending. It's just a memory with some thoughts. Perhaps this is just another "life was simpler then" kind of a blog.

When I was attending elementary school a hundred years ago, we had cloakrooms. These were small areas for coats and other belongings. They were separate from the classroom, but attached behind the chalkboard where the teacher usually lurked. I believe there were doors or openings of some description at each end. Those were the days when boys had one side and girls the other.

Every now and again, something would disappear from the cloakroom...a toy, food, money. Fortunately, there was not the vast array of electronic devices back then. I'm not sure where teachers received their training, but it was severely lacking in almost every area of tact, acceptable discipline, and psychology. They did the best they could with what they knew.

The violated party was always believed, and when something presumably disappeared, the interrogation began.

Teacher:  Johnny had a $2 bill in his coat pocket and it's not there now. Has anyone seen it?

Students: (Staring innocently at one another, looking around the room and at the ceiling as if $2 might magically fall from the sky.)

Teacher:  If you took it bring it up here now, or put it on my desk before the end of the day and nothing further will happen. (Usually there was more lecturing about honesty being the best policy and a future life of crime and imprisonment if this money wasn't immediately returned)

As far as I know, nobody ever confessed. Sometimes, the whole class was kept after school because of the dishonesty of either the thief or the accuser. We had to think about what had happened and the consequences of "our" actions. Baffling. Punishing the innocent for the sins of the guilty. I feel a religious blog developing...perhaps another time.

What I remember and hated most about these events was not the incensed rant by the teacher. It wasn't the staying after school or sitting with our heads down for what seemed like an eternity. What I hated most was that I always felt horrible. Part of it was empathy for the person who suffered the loss. Part of it was the shock that someone in our class could do such a thing. And finally, some of it was fear. I remember sitting there unable to look up, as if I had done something wrong and no, it was never me. But I wondered. I was so afraid that the teacher, as he/she looked around the room would think it was me. What if they thought I was capable of such a heinous act of thievery? I imagine my face reddened a few times, giving my fear even more credibility.

A similar incident occurred one time in a secondary school class. The difference was that someone actually confessed. He hadn't done it. Everyone knew he hadn't, because the explanation for the lack of the missing item on his person was something like "I threw it away" or "I gave it to a guy in the hallway". The thing was, he was the class clown, someone who was always getting into trouble anyhow. He figured he had nothing to lose. The class was released on time at the end of the day and he was a hero.  Is that called, "taking one for the team"?

Odd though, it never occurred to me or bothered me that anyone other than the teacher might think me guilty. I guess peers were not a concern of mine. I was more worried about what the authority figure thought whereas the student who confessed, was just the opposite.

So what's my point? I don't think I have one. Perhaps things had more value at one time.  Maybe teachers had more time? Were they trying to instill some kind of moral values into us, or, as in my case, did they just create a lifetime of guilt in some. Nowadays, if you bring something to school and it disappears, so be it. You take your chances. Shouldn't have brought it in the first place. There's no time for the lectures,or the drama.

As I said....no ending. Just some thoughts.

Salmon, From Where Art Thou?

I really enjoy smoked salmon once in awhile. It's expensive, but sometimes worth the extra cost. So, recently, I tried to purchase Pacific or Alaskan wild smoked salmon. It's not as easy as one would think. It's even necessary to be careful of BC salmon now since they have developed fish farms along some areas of the coast....terrible. In fact, '60 Minutes'  recently had a special on farmed salmon off the BC coast...the environmental damage, the disease, the conditions, eating of feces, and so on.

There's also an excellent brochure by David Suzuki available on this site.

http://www.davidsuzuki.org/publications/resources/2010/think-twice-about-eating-farmed-salmon/?gclid=CLCUkciZ5r4CFedFMgod5nUAAw

I don't eat Atlantic salmon, nor do I eat salmon that originates in or passes through China. Seventy percent of the fish in China is farmed. One package I perused in the store boasted that it was Norwegian steelhead salmon. I turned it over and read that it came from China, then instantly deposited it back in the freezer.

Many years ago I participated in an eco-adventure camp for women on Vancouver Island. Not only did I see a seal birth, I mountain climbed, kayaked, went snorkelling, wandered through tide pools, studied sea beds and so much more. It amazes me to look back at old photos and remember some of those activities. I did that!

One thing that sticks with me is a lecture we had on the wild Pacific types of salmon. I haven't touched Atlantic salmon or any other farmed fish since...well, not deliberately anyhow. The lecturer was a university professor who was adamant about the hazards of fish farming and spoke specifically about salmon. Without going into great detail, I was adequately grossed out. He made his point. He taught us the five kinds of wild Pacific salmon species; chum, sockeye, coho, chinook and pink and gave us a mneumonic using our fingers to help remember them. Fun really.

Today, my spouse came home with a surprise. It was a pound of smoked salmon. It says, imported from Norway". There's no sign of any other country's potential interference. There's also no indication that there was any acquaculture involved, even though Norway's fish are 33% farmed...a small concern. The label is impressive...

Our premium NORWEGIAN FJORD Smoked Steelhead Salmon delivers thin slices, smooth texture, and succulent smoked flavour—giving the world a deliciously authentic Scandinavian experience...a gift from the fjords.
NORWEGIAN FJORD is a Healthy Choice

• Source of Omega-3
• Excellent Source of Vitamin D
• Low in Saturated Fat
• Free of Trans Fat
• No Nitrates or Preservatives
• Kosher

Do fjords really produce wild salmon? Hmmm...I decided to email the company and ask my obvious questions. I hope the response comes back after I've eaten the fish. In the meantime, I'll try not to think about it too much.

*** Uh oh...I received an immediate response -

Dear Ms. Winter,

All our Steelhead Salmon products are produce from salmon farmed in Norway. The Norwegian Fjord 550g/500g packs are produced and packed in Norway.

So Glad to Be a Cuke !

I found it in the newspaper a few weeks ago. I couldn't believe my eyes. I immediately clipped it out and marked it on my calendar. First Thursday of every month. I wanted to go so badly. Tonight was the night. I asked hubby to come along. His response, "Noooooo way."

Although I almost backed out a few times for various reasons....time constraints, nobody to go with me, it wasn't on my bucket list, and so on, I pushed through my anguish. I knew that I would only have regrets if I didn't attend. So, I went. I was tired, I didn't feel much like driving downtown, a full 2 kilometres away, and yet, I went.

I climbed the stairs apprehensively. I peered around the corner, then ducked into the restroom. My hands were perspiring. I washed and dried them, took a deep breath and entered the space.  About twenty five people sat, eager to participate. They were prepared. They'd been here before. I was a newbie. I was lacking the essential requirements. On the other hand, the newspaper clipping claimed it didn't matter.

So, as of tonight, I am a member of the Cukes. I also have the option of participating with the Port Hope group should I decide to do so. I have had my initial introduction. I have become hooked. From the minute I lifted my fingers to participate, I knew this would become more than a monthly ritual. It would become an important part of the rest of my life in this town. It was fun. I could relate. The participants weren't all ninety years old but varied in age from fortyish up....up to ninety. I can't believe this has been going on in town for a year and I just found out.

I left two hours later, satisfied. I had done it. I had gone and I had learned. I made helpful new friends. Of course, I had only acquired some of the necessary equipment when I went home. It will be necessary to get the rest, a minor problem which I can easily rectify. After all, ukeleles aren't that expensive. Yes, I've decided to join the Cobourg ukelele ensemble. They played and sang old familiar songs for two hours. Oh, and if the Cobourg group is called, Cuke, of course our neighbours to the west in Port Hope are affectionately known as Puke, although their official name is NukeO.

Even Superman Wore Shorts

I've heard it all now. On CBC radio, they interviewed a student who complained about his London, Ontario high school. Why? They had an issue with him wearing a spandex/lycra body suit to school. Yes, it  covered his arms and legs and went up to his neck. That was not the problem. The contention was over the body parts which were clearly on display.

It made me think of my high school years and our dress code. It's not that I agree with this, however, "back in the day", girls were allowed to wear dress pants one day per week. The rest of the time it was necessary to freeze in dresses and skirts while boys were permitted the comfort of long pants. Boys didn't all get off that easily either. There were many reports of the principal hauling young men to the town barbershop when hair length was deemed unacceptable. There was no argument and no running off to the press to complain.

In this day and age, we are of course all grateful for our many rights and freedoms. Things have changed significantly in fifty years, many for the better. Just as my years in secondary school were in some ways extreme, I believe the pendulum may have swung too far in the opposite direction. Sixteen year olds should not have the right to wear offensive clothing to school and administrators should be able to do something about it. In this case, all they requested was that he at least wear shorts over the suit...a reasonable compromise.

Sadly, it's impossible to teach common sense. It has to come from home. Although the young man in London helps give credence to all arguments favouring school uniforms, I can do one better. My mom's simple wisdom always worked. "Don't go to school in anything you wouldn't wear to a job one day."

Can't much argue with that logic.

Paint Nite...in the Day

Subtitled : When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade

My friend had a birthday and it's always a challenge to come up with a new and original experience. This one was neither, but since we hadn't participated before, I booked a paint nite (www.paintnite.com) for noon on a Saturday. The hours which I keep are daylight hours and this was the best choice. We were both interested in attempting this painting entitled, "Fireflies". I had to venture into the big city, an hour and a half drive downtown. As always, the parkway and some other major routes were closed...maintenance, races, protests and the like.

We arrived at the venue early as suggested and had an overpriced lunch while we waited, waited, waited. Then we discovered an email sent half an hour earlier saying our event was cancelled. We were unimpressed, as were dozens of other people. We left and headed for Kensington Market. What fun! Not only did I finally get to see the Rick Mercer rant alleyways but it was comic book day!                                  

Squid seems to be a recurring theme in my life.

Colourful shops to say the least.

Rant time!

I believe I have the same outfit...without the little army that is.

Super...er....bearded....er...well, I recognize two of the three characters anyhow.

 

There was art all around, including this colourful likeness of the city's infamous mayor. As one of my friends pointed out, they've left room in the bricks to add a crack pipe.

A fascinator fit for a royal visit....at Halloween that is.

We had a terrific day and even the marijuana march which held up traffic even more, didn't deter us from coming back for our rescheduled paint nite the following week. I picked my friend up and we grabbed some less expensive lunch, this time at an awesome pizza joint. I don't normally like pizza, but yum. Double yum.

We entered the Office Pub and found our room. The easels were set up and our aprons were ready.

While we waited, we practiced our still life photography skills with a pint. We called this piece of art "Beer in hand in front of easel."

The instructor demonstrated the steps for us to create our own "Fireflies" painting.

After we left, we continued our adventures with a trip a trip to the famous Maple Leaf Gardens Loblaws store.

It was a fun and worthwhile experience. As we strolled through the store, admiring the giant cheeses, the massive meat displays, the floral displays, and the bakery, we were serenaded by musicians.

Our interest in macaron making was re-ignited when we spotted this cabinet in the bakery, complete with $2.49 per cookie price tag.

This will definitely be the year of the macaron. We shall succeed and there will be a final chapter to all the macaron making disasters.

A Tree Grows in the Tropics

There's been a huge resurgence of concern in North America about the spreading of the giant hogweed plant. It's an invasive species which originated in Europe and Asia and has been around since the 1940's. To me, it looks much like Queen Anne's lace. The difference is that the giant hogweed, as the name suggests, has huge spiky leaves and, the plant is much greater in size. It is also a health hazard since the sap can cause blisters, lesions and swelling on the skin particularly when exposed to sunlight. It sounds awful, but I've heard of something worse.

In the Caribbean there's a species of tree that is so highly toxic, it can kill you. Before it does so however, it will cause you to erupt in burning blisters all over your skin. You might lose your voice and you could go blind. This tree is called the manchineel tree, nicknamed the manzanilla (little apple).

As I bent over these apples to take the photo, the tour guide yelled at me
to keep away. He feared I was attempting to touch them.

The tree is prolific in many of the islands because it's been left to grow for shade. In some countries, there are warning signs. In others, there are red X's on the tree trunk. In some, for example Bonaire, there's nothing to indicate an issue. You have to know.

Some islands have more sophisticated signs, but this hand painted
one makes the point in several languages.

We were told that should we ever be on a beach and see a tree with nobody lying in its shade, not to go near it. In fact, this same tree, is so toxic that when wet, it will drip, stain and discolour the ground or burn the paint off a vehicle parked beneath it. In other words, if it does that to the ground or to a car, don't use it as refuge during a rainstorm. Often, the trees are found on beaches and near water. The apples have even sometimes been called beach apples.

On desert islands, the manchineel trees are supposedly left for shade. On the other hand, disposal is challenging. Attempting to burn the trees will spew toxic smoke into the air that can cause blindness and breathing issues. Natives once used the sap from the trees to poison the tips of their arrows. Google has some interesting sites with further details which even suggest that explorer Ponce de Leon died from exposure to this tree's toxins.

As for the giant hogweed, I suppose we'll just have to steer clear and wait to see if anything is done about it. It is currently not listed among the world's top ten most poisonous plants. The manchineel tree is.

Take a look to see if you recognize any of the other nine. Copy and paste if necessary.

http://adventure.howstuffworks.com/top-5-poisonous-plants1.htm#page=1