Fabulous February !

I've always been a "motif" kind of person. After my retirement and seeing an episode of "What Not to Wear", I eliminated much of the themed clothing from my wardrobe. Gone are the apple, pumpkin, and bunny shirts, the seasonal socks and most of the Christmas and Halloween earrings. My clothing is now more befitting an elderly retired person. Fortunately, I still have my tickle trunk full of costumes and my plastic bins containing specialized decor.   
                                              

My house often shows evidence of my former self. I love to decorate and celebrate. That's what life is all about isn't it? We celebrate. Sometimes, we celebrate our good fortune in waking up and living life another day. We celebrate our health and our history. Many of our most memorable celebrations take place with family and friends. What a joy it is to spend important and not so important occasions with special people.
 

February is one of the best, busiest months for celebrating. Not only is it the shortest month of the year, but it has holidays, events and festivities galore. February arrives as we are nearing the end of the long, cold, winter season. If you don't believe me, just ask the groundhog who thankfully predicted an early spring this year.

Not far behind Groundhog Day comes Chinese New Year, resplendent with dragons, loud drums and fireworks, parades and the colour red...my favourite. Welcome to the "Year of the Rabbit."

                                                                                                                                                                                           

Valentine's Day is a day of love. We see hearts, flowers and goodies everywhere and we like to share these with special people. It's a time to show extra kindness and give some added attention, particularly to those we care about most.

Many towns and cities have a "Winter Festival" in February. Some even include a polar bear dip for those brave souls who insist on plunging into the freezing water. Ice sculptures, skaters, horse drawn carriage rides and musical events abound.                              

                                                                                           

And now, we have added a relatively new celebration to the February repertoire, "Family Day". Since this coincides with the American "Presidents' Day", we were fortunate to have family members visiting from New York this year. We had a lovely time, as we walked, talked, made plans, saw sites, played games and of course, ate. This was the true definition of not just a family day, but family weekend.  What a lovely culmination to a wonderful winter month.  

John and Karen on the beach



Quest for Coffee

It's once again time for that annual national event called "Rrrrrroll up the Rim" at Tim Horton's. This marks the 25th anniversary of this particular contest and reminds me of a time when I too became a member of the Tim Horton's fan club.

I started drinking coffee at some point during my 50th year of life. Before that, I had no idea what would possess anyone to consume such a foul smelling and tasting brown mud. When I turned 50, as if by some evil spell, it became just a tad more difficult to wake up in the morning.  Moving as quickly as in the past became a challenge. In fact, I had no interest in rushing. My car pretty much started going the speed limit. If I annoyed the young nintendo game playing drivers behind me, so be it. I got there when I got there.

Someone at work suggested a boost of caffeine to help me face the day. I did not own a coffee pot, so I bought some instant coffee. For awhile, I gagged down one cup each morning and it seemed to do the trick. Occasionally a bottle of "Jolt" took its place. One day, a friend aked if we could meet at Tim Horton's after work. I had seen lineups at this donut shop and was always curious as to how every street corner in town could sustain such a facility. I agreed to go and selected an adulterated form of coffee beverage called "french vanilla capuccino". Since I've long been a vanilla addict, I quite enjoyed it.  From that point on, I was hooked. I too picked up the occasional coffee treat from Tim's.

There are those who claim there's an additive in Tim's coffee that has turned an entire nation into sheep. A ridiculous suggestion. I started to join the "drive through" generation..."baaaaaa".  I eventually substitued a lower calorie large, double milk, double sweetener, a lower calorie option for my french vanilla. I too began to pick up my Timmie's on my way to work, several mornings a week.

The following spring, I discovered that Tim's customers sometimes had the additional incentive of winning valuable prizes....cars, money, barbeques and the ever popular free coffee or donut. It was that time of year again. One year, when it got near mid April the cups started to run out.  Since I had not yet won a major prize, and since I'm a stubborn only child who at that time still had an overwhelming need to win, I became more determined than ever. I dedicated my days to locating any Tim's within a reasonable distance of home or work, seeking these magical containers. The most congested traffic areas naturally ran out of the cups quickly. As I was about to give up in disgust, I remembered a little known Tim's in the town where I worked. It took me an extra 20 minutes to get to my destination on that day, but it was worth it. As I drove through, I ordered my usual large, double milk, double sweetener. Oh no! I got the old brown cup. Then I spied it through the window! The most magnificent sight I had seen in days...roll up the rim cups in size extra large. My spirit soared. My head started spinning. After regaining my composure, I realized that there was only one option. I would not be dissuaded. I parked my vehicle.

I got out of the car, went inside and gleefully ordered "extra large, double...er...triple milk, double sweetener...to go". With my familiar. size large, brown, drive through cup in one cup holder and my brilliant red and yellow extra large in the other, I triumphantly drove to work. I also consumed more than my usual amount of caffeine that day. 

The famous cup

 I did never did roll up the rim of my final cup. I was worried that it would say "Try again" and I knew that I couldn't. Besides, as long as I didn't know, I hadn't lost.                                        
So now, it's "Rrrrrroll up the rim" season again. I haven't gone to Tim's much since my retirement. I think I'll have to do that one of these days, for old time's or maybe old Tim`s sake.  

Computers for Dummies or Photoshop for Pros?

I am taking a photoshop course at the local college. The instructor is a lovely young woman and professional photographer. Prior to registering for the course, I spoke to her and asked how basic the information would be. She gave the appropriate response. People would be at various stages and could work at their own level. Even if some were more advanced, it wouldn't matter. I accepted this and registered.

Classes began. Last week, we were asked to bring our cameras. As everyone removed their hubble telescopes from their suitcases, I was trying to come up with an excuse to keep from unearthing the small Nikon from my purse. After looking around the room and noting that there were in fact a few people whose equipment was also dimensionally challenged, I produced my camera. As the instructor talked about settings, speed, f-stops, blurry foregrounds and backgrounds, I admired my automatic settings...the little face for closeups, the mountain for far away, the moon and stars for night shots, the dog for photographing...hmm...dogs? It was all I needed.
 
At yesterday's session, "retouching faces", I began working at my own level. After getting some help to turn on the computer, I entered my name and password. In fairness, the lights were off, my vision is old and it was too dark to see any kind of unmarked "on" button on a black computer. As I tried to access the Photoshop programme, the instructor began to talk about blowouts, RCB and opacity. I listened while searching for the correct programme. I looked for a handout which might contain this basic information and finding none, I continued to experiment. Why couldn't this be easy like my computer at home which has a Photoshop desktop icon? No such luck here and no info in my piles of notes. Nonetheless, I found the programme after my third try. Then I wondered whether I should go to dictionary.com to decipher the instructor's aforementioned terminology. I thought it better to listen and take profuse notes.

I scribbled as fast as I could for almost an hour, while attempting to watch an overhead screen to keep up. On this large screen, a photo of older woman's face was magically transformed with healing brushes, clone brushes, layers, eyedroppers, saturation, highlights, erasers and more. Her teeth were lassoed and whitened, skin evened, eyes brightened and wrinkles removed. Wrinkle removal? I was  listening even more intently. We then were shown how to use a marquis tool to move heads from one location to another and were shown how to shift the shape. "Select head, control C, over, then control B, select, copy, paste, lower opacity, erase, bring opacity up, final erasing, flatten layer, then save as....." I know this is accurate. I have no idea how to do it but I wrote it all down. I looked around the room and saw several other people with glazed over eyes.

Finally, it was  time to work on our own. I found a photo of myself and enlarged my face. Yikes! Scary at best, particularly when I couldn't get the magnifier to stop! I turned off the programme and started again. This time, I succeeded in stopping at 200%. After an extensive search of my face, I finally found a wrinkle I could attempt to remove. I tried to locate the "clone brush". There is no such thing, so I used the stamp...not bad if you don't mind white circles all over your photo. Next, I wanted to remove a stray hair which was blowing in the wind. Suddenly, I found myself depositing checkerboards everywhere  and what were those black globs where my hair should have been? I panicked, tried to erase but created more dark desposits. I looked around to see if anyone was watching and turned off the programme only to restart for a third time. At least I was locating Photoshop more quickly now. At this point, the instructor showed up to view my progress. She looked at my computer and curiously searched "history" to see what I'd done. Then she showed me how to create a "layer". I asked about the clone brush and was told, " Oh, it's a stamp. I forgot. You're doing well. Even if that's all you learn, it's o.k."

If what's all I learn? What have I learned today? I managed to find the computer "on" button, restart the programme several times and yes, there was that magnification of my face.

I noticed or perhaps imagined that the instructor avoided my seating area, spent a brief time with a few students who looked panic stricken, and then, finally settled herself in near the "smart kids". That was ok with me as I eventually started started frittering, fidgeting and fiddling. I studied the contents of my purse and consumed aTums I found near the bottom. I checked my phone, admired my new handbag organizer, clicked all my pens to make sure they would work and pulled out my notebook. While on the verge of tears, I jotted down a note "This is like trying to learn a foreign language. I have never felt so stupid and inept in my life....well, maybe I have."

I suddenly realized that I had in fact learned something today. It was something that I already knew, but had not thought about since my retirement as an educator. As a result of my current college experience, I remembered 'learning styles" and the importance of addressing these when teaching children or adults for that matter. I understood the frustration and sadness of those who have difficulty learning. I could see why they get distracted and fuss around. I sympathized with their reasons for giving up and not trying any further. I appreciated the all too frequent bathroom trips and  hurry to leave class at the end of the day. Children do not always have the tools, the knowledge, the means or the ability to deal with their own frustrations. Their learning deficiencies end up turning into a viscious cycle of failure when in fact, many of them are of higher than average intelligence. They are afraid to ask for help lest they appear "stupid".

As an adult, I don't have to sit back as my esteem crashes and burns. Next week, I will speak to the instructor.

 "Hi. May I speak to you for a moment please? As you have gathered, I don't understand much of what you're saying and doing. I'm afraid that I'm a lot like the rest of the human population who can only absorb between 3 and 10 minutes of technical information at a time. Would it be possible for you to slow down and not present all the new information at once. Or, could we possibly complete each step with you? For example, last week, it would have been helpful for me, if I had my computer on and the programme ready before you started to speak. Then perhaps, if I had my photo in front of me, I could have completed the editing steps along with you and tried to do what you were showing us. This would have helped me remember and understand the new information more readily......"

I'll try this grown up way of dealing with the problem before I am tempted to become a dropout.

But, But, But...It Was Free !

I am retired, have not as yet begun my volunteering job and have taken only one college class in photoshop thus far. Since I recently had some extra frittering time, I became interested in another new challenge. It has the potential of being as time consuming as a job. We'll see how long I last.

A few years ago, I read an article in a local paper about a couple who won 83 prizes in one month. The prizes were worth over two thousand dollars. Their winnings included items that did not interest me in the least, baseball caps, soccer tickets and free downloads. I did however, find the concept fascinating and somewhat compelling.  I couldn't see spending the time and effort to submit thousands of contest ballots a month as this couple had. I did see merit in the idea of getting things free or at least at a reduced cost and thought that this would be a valuable use of some of my time each day.

Besides clipping, collecting and ordering coupons in my eternal effort to save money, I have begun to enter contests and have registered for free samples on several websites. Each day, I check my email, facebook and assorted sites for the samples of the day. As yet, I haven't rejected much and have dutifully filled out the form for almost anything that became available. I have sent for over 30 samples and as of today, have received one, just one, only one.  

Yummy...two cookie packettes and a coupon for a free box.

Interestingly enough, when you register for many of the free samples, they give you a tracking number. Imagine that. As if you were actually so worried about the location of your sample of "scaly foot heel balm", that you'd track it's daily progress on your computer and excitedly watch as made its way across the country.

After a few weeks of waiting, one delicious sample, pictured above, arrived. Perhaps I should have jotted down those tracking numbers after all.

I have two basic rules when I order free samples. I don't order items such as "free books". I have read the fine print and discovered that you are automatically registered in a book club requiring written cancellation. Should you fail to do this you will receive the next copy of your monthly book for the low, low price of $5.99 plus a mere $397 shipping and handling. Secondly, I refuse to give out my accurate birthdate. I see no reason for a company to require this information in order to send me a sample of fake nails or a new truck bed liner. So in this age of identity theft, I lie. I think it's more than enough that they know some form of my name, my home address and my junk email address.

As for coupons, there are many potential gathering grounds for these. I have determined that the ones available in grocery and drugstores are my favourite. They usually have the farthest in advance expiry dates. Newspaper inserts and websites that mail you coupons are also good. I learned that internet coupons that you print off yourself are sometimes a problem and are not taken at all locations. They are accepted at one of my favourite drugstore chains and despite the fact that it wasn't even seniors' day, I was able to amass these items with one of their coupons.

All this from just one coupon

So, I have randomly entered contests, requested coupons and sent for samples. I did not jot down my orders, but am fairly confident that any day my mailbox will be laden with enough cosmetics, perfume samples, paper products and food items to keep us clean, well fed and supplied with stocking stuffers and miscellaneous gifts for the next ten years.

I am now awaiting my contest prize of a trip to the West Indies, an Oscar party in L.A. with Elton John or if worst comes to worst, tickets to see the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Many of the free sample products appear to have something in common. They are definitely geared toward a target group....the females and the moms of the population. There have been some samples I needn't have ordered...but hey, the price was right. It was all free. As my mother used to say while knitting scarves from reclaimed socks and creating braided floor mats from shredded pantyhose, "You never know when you might need it some day." At least, that's the excuse hubby uses for all the hotel soaps and shampoos we've amassed.

Postal delivery usually comes around the same time each day. Since the neighbourhood is full of retirees, there is an afternoon trek to the super mailbox a block away.  Everyone eagerly anticipates their mail. Hubby takes advantage of the opportunity to socialize and walk the dog at this time. I wonder how he'll react the day that he opens the mailbox to find it overflowing with such treasures as a stress ball, hair dye, soaps, perfume, vitamins, stevia, baby food, wrinkle cream, GBG chewables, Dentyne gum, not to mention the feminine hygiene and incontinence products. I hope lots of neighbours are there to share that precious moment.

Vehicle Vexation and Hyundai Hindrance

Yesterday was a very weird day. Sometimes we have those don't we? Nothing occurred that was particularly bad, and nothing happened that was especially good, unless you are, as I am, at an age where you consider waking up in the morning to be momentous.

Since the weather of late has been horrid, and I've been more housebound than I would like, I recently made the rather unfortunate choice of cutting my own hair...with nail scissors. I could almost hear my whiny teacher voice shrieking, "Scissors are for cutting paper, nothing else!" But I was undaunted. Like the kindergarten student who experiments with a newly discovered tool, using it to chew off massive chunks of locks, I could not be deterred. The result wasn't terrible, if I chose never to leave the house again. On the other hand, it wasn't salon quality either. Not even close!

Yesterday morning I decided to do something to improve on my coiff. My primary criteria were cheap and local. I needed a place that would be a step above my own bathroom and nail scissors. So I located a fairly inexpensive, unisex hairdresser and parked our old van in a spot with the vehicle pointing almost directly at the front door of the salon. The shop was located in a small strip mall that also houses a pet store, a bulk food store, a pizza place and the like. After confessing to the stylist what had happened, she went to work without comment or judgement. She trimmed and evened out my hair as best she could and I headed back to the van. That's when I saw a delivery truck that had been abandoned directly behind me. I was trapped.

"Why couldn't he park in one of the empty spots on either side of me?" I wondered.

 Since the strip mall had limited entertainment value, and I did not require another haircut, I sat in the van and waited. I waited and waited until the driver finally returned, got into his vehicle and left. He did not offer an apology. In fact, there was no evidence of guilt or remorse on his face. I was disgusted and rushed home to inform hubby. He was so immersed in his work that he would occasionally nod and respond with "uhhuh" as I blathered on about the rudeness of this driver.

In the afternoon, I was going to use my Hyundai rather than the van to travel to another town for a doctor's appointment. Hubby had left the car in the neighbour's driveway (another long story) and as I looked, I saw a vehicle parked directly behind it. "Arghhhhh"....I came back in the house, and trotted into his office where my beloved spouse was hard at work once again. I pointed out the window. He looked baffled. I said, "Look in the neighbour's driveway."

He responded with, "So? Ask them to move."

I sheepishly went back and tapped softly on my neighbour's door. She answered. While staring at my feet and turning several shades of fushia, I requested that the car be moved so that I might back out.

I arrived at the doctor's and parked my car between the appropriate lines in the lot. Something didn't feel right as I quickly selected my space, but alas, I was in a hurry and didn't give it another thought. Here's what I returned to discover.


BMW in front, Jeep behind. What's a Hyundai to do?

I was in a designated parking spot as were all the cars on either side of me. The Jeep behind wasn't there when I arrived, but was also appropriately parked between yellow lines. I was trapped yet again! After searching the medical centre, a fitness club, a flower shop and a travel agency and surveying the entire population of these buildings and offices, I determined that all I could do was wait. Once again, I waited and I waited, this time for almost an hour. The lot was meant for building tenants and customers and nobody laid claim to either the improperly parked BMW or the Jeep. The owner of the travel agency offered his sympathies and suggested calling the police.

It was at that moment that my problem solving skills finally kicked in. Who would drive a BMW and abandon it in the driveway of a parking lot? I dashed back up the stairs to the doctor's office and explained the problem to the receptionist, asking whether the doctor drives a BMW. She chuckled. Then she inquired why I hadn't asked sooner. The unamused expression on my face caused her to quickly grab her coat and request the doctor's keys. After trying for several minutes, she managed to make the BMW move.

Who would imagine that this could happen to me three times in one day? I rushed home thrilled that I had yet another story to tell hubby. "You'll never guess what happened to me...again. Remember this morning when I told you about the truck?" I said excitedly.

"Did she move it out of her driveway?" he asked.

Jeans, Where Art Thou ?

I once worked with a tall, slightly heavy set, older woman named Meryl. She was always extremely stylish and had remarkable pieces of chunky jewelry which she acquired at specialty shops to match specific items in her wardrobe. Her clothing usually consisted of loose longish skirts and flowy tops. Most pieces were quite colourful and Meryl always had a confident air of sophistication that almost made me envious. Her outfits became such a part of her identity that whenever one of my friends and I went shopping and viewed a similar styled ensemble, we would say "That's a Meryl".

I recently saw an episode of "Golden Girls" on what must have been the history channel or deja vu. It brought back memories of Meryl, her style, grace and elegance. I noticed that Bea Arthur wore similar articles. The skirt and top draped over her body were not only loose and comfortable looking, but probably multifunctional, great for work, dinners, movies, concerts and the like.

One thing about Meryl caused me some curiosity. She never wore bluejeans. Even when jeans were deemed appropriate and considered the obvious dress code for an event, she would simply respond when asked with "I don't wear jeans." This statement was direct and forceful and told us all we needed to know.

The rest of the staff was baffled because her physique was quite acceptable and she did occasionally appear in tailored pants and a jacket. Clearly, she had no aversion to wearing items other than dresses. Why wouldn't she opt for jeans like everyone else?

On occasion, I watch the t.v. programme  "What Not To Wear". They always find the perfect jean for their unsuspecting "victim". After all, there are so many styles and colours to choose from...skinny jeans, boot cut, high waist, low waist, flared leg, straight leg, pockets, no pockets, black, dark wash, acid wash and after all, who doesn't wear jeans? A blog entitled "Building a Basic Wardrobe" suggests that a good start for anyone beginning to create a practical wardrobe for themselves would be to purchase a dress, a skirt, a pair of jeans, blazer, shirt, pants and pumps. It sounded reasonable. Once you have those items, you were to add accessories to them by keeping in mind the original pieces.

It was then that I realized why this wouldn't totally work for me. I do not need the jeans. In fact, I no longer wear jeans and can't remember the last time I put on a pair. I don't feel right in them. There are those who find jeans comfortable and attractive. When I wear them, I find neither to be the case. I don't think they are particularly warm, flattering or age appropriate. I would rather wear my pj bottoms in public and clearly, many others agree with me. Having said that, jeans can have their uses. They were after all once considered prison garb are still durable as men's work pants. They look great on some youngish women with a blazer and tall boots. They are enjoyed by teens and apparently keep some of the male population warm from the knees to the ankles.

At some point, as I passed my half century of life, I stopped wearing jeans. It was not a conscious choice but rather I'd say a subconscious decision. I purged my closet and donated at least a dozen pairs to a shelter. Around that same time I discovered Lululemon yoga pants. They were a gift from my daughter. My closet now contains a number of these items in various colours and fabric weights. It's what I wear because they are so comfortable that I feel as though I'm wearing little or nothing. I'm not a Lululemon stock holder although when their quarterly earnings are announced, I always wish I were. Sometimes, I still wear dresses, blazers, nice pants and the like, just as Meryl did. I have a basic wardrobe, just no jeans.

Meryl found her comfort clothing, she looked good in it and rarely strayed from it. She didn't care what people said or thought and much to the bafflement of the younger generation, she kept her responses to any queries simple. I now know how she felt. It's nice to be at an age where there's no need or desire to conform or explain.

So, in case anyone ever asks, "I'm Hilde and I don't wear jeans."

All That Canada Needs, Now !

I love this country as much as the next person. After all, what's not to love? We have freedom, we have opportunity, we have multiculturalism, we have health care, we have gorgeous and diverse scenery, we have hockey, we have the C.B.C., we have a warship, we have a Queen who provides us with endless entertainment and fashion tips and as if that isn't enough, we have the option of visiting Cuba and smoking their cigars should we wish to do so.

We also have seasons. The spring with its blooms and buds stirs in us the excitement of the coming season of heat and road repairs. Then comes summer, sometimes short and often so brutally hot and humid that it makes Arizona look like a desirable place to cool off. Hard to believe that we need air conditioned homes, cars, offices, stores and malls. Fall is nice if you like cold rain, raking leaves and the anticipation of the next season. Oh yes, then there's the winter.

It's the winter which makes it not only expensive to live in Canada, but causes many of us to be less healthy than we could be. We need winter tires, ice scrapers and snow brushes, extra heat and hydro, snow removal machines or at least a shovel, ice melter, plows, sand and salt, heavy clothing including at least one each of coats, hats, mitts, boots, scarves, snowpants, not to mention all the winter sports equipment, clothing and padding. Is it any wonder the ski-doo, the snowblower and hibernation were all invented by Canadians?

So, in the midst of all this, why has it been impossible for the government to see the need for a tropical island? For all the tourist dollars that go south every year, we could probably sustain such a place quite easily. Just think of the revenue, if we make certain that it has a theme park, a golf course and docking facilities. Families could go there instead of heading to Disney. Snowbirds could spend their months in Canada's own warm paradise instead of heading for Florida. Golfers could go there instead of to Myrtle Beach and finally, cruise ships could dock and help provide tourist dollars. Besides that, no high priced passports would be required by citizens.

At one time, there was talk of making the Turks and Caicos, with its temperature range of a low of 21C and a seasonal high of 29C, a part of Canada. After all, it's a British territory and many Canadians already vacation there. First mention of annexation was way back in 1917. The idea resurfaced in the 1980's, then again in the 90's when there was 90% public approval for the idea. So what happened? There were some constitutional issues, which led Nova Scotia to offer to take on Turks and Caicos as a part of their province. Once again, the idea was shelved and the popularity of a move in this direction declined during the most recent decade. All hope has not been lost, however. Rumour has it that in this year, 2011, the positions of Commissioner of Police and Deputy Commissioner of Police will be held by Canadians. This suggests that a good cleanup is needed before we might consider Turks and Caicos as an acceptable addition to Canada. Perhaps then?

Now, here's my best argument for acquiring these islands. The Queen is quite elderly now. From personal experience I have come to realize that the older we get, the more sensitive we are to a cold climate. When she tours her colonies, I'm pretty certain the Queen would be more affable to the idea of visiting a part of Canada if it were located in the Caribbean. I know I would.

Greetings Subjects. It is truly an honour to be in Canada's newest, warmest and southernmost province...Turks and Caicos.



Simple Wisdom or Stupid Stereotypes?

Well, I now know how grandmas are supposed to look and feel. Will I be ready? I am currently a step-grandma but am not sure that counts. When the time comes, however, I believe I will be prepared thanks to the marvels of  modern communication. Television and movies have taught me all I need to know about being a grandmother. I will be required to have gray or white, short, possibly permed hair, wear a flowered dress, support hose and stylish beige shoes with velcro closures. On rare occasions, I might even wear "slacks" and black laced footwear. There will be an apron firmly affixed to where my waist used to be. It will be removed when I am not busy baking cookies or tending to my plants. I will be somewhat feeble, unless I had the foresight to purchase the "Freedom 55" plan, in which case I will be living in the tropics, playing tennis in a skimpy white outfit while wearing my bladder control undergarments. My pill collection will include a suitcase full of drugs that have a few minor side effects. I will know this, because I will be reminded daily while doing what seniors do, watching the news. Some of these side effects can include headache, drowsiness, weakness in the joints, brittle bones, hearing loss, backpain, heart burn, diarrhea, constipation, vomiting, loss of appetite, increase in appetite, numbness in the extremities, loss of hair and teeth, and will not allow me to drink alcohol or use any heavy machinery. Apparently, vacuuming is out. Try to stop me from drinking! I notice these ads never say "Do not eat okra while taking this drug."

I trust that all the aforementioned information on being a grandma is accurate because, having been a member of the teaching profession, I have been amazed at how educators are often portrayed. Firstly, don't even bother to go into the profession unless you are an opinionated, shreiking, middle aged woman who wears glasses or if you are a nerdish man in a suit or lab coat...who wears glasses. The exception is the phys ed teacher who is always clothed in a tracksuit and whistle. That individual doesn't require glasses to make his/her charges do 50 pushups or run 20 laps for whatever their most recent offense. The classroom teachers of course are there to be tricked, taken advantage of or mocked. Often, they are made to look foolish and uninformed during a parent-teacher conference. Then there are the shows where a teacher single handedly turns a group of knife wielding truants into model citizens...very realistic.

I realize that there are many more stereotypes on t.v. It's just that these two areas have hit close to home. So why are these particular individuals portrayed in this manner? I'm not certain. Perhaps it's to make them readily identifiable to the public. For example, a hip youngish grandmother who attends Zumba classes, dances to the beat of the "Black Eyed Peas", rock climbs and plays Wii games might not be viewed as being as credible in the role. On the other hand, the image of a woman quilting, knitting or crocheting while sitting rocking, in a darkly curtained, doily covered living room, awaiting the visit of her family immediately screams  "GRANDMOTHER" !  As for the teachers, I suppose it's the same sort of thing. Although I must say that one more recent show portrays educators quite differently. Do we now see them as they really are...youngish, narrow minded, rude, obsessive, argumentative, petty dictators with social emotional issues and no regard for anyone's opinion but their own? I'm not sure which is worse, the writers' and advertisers' depiction of the grandmas, or their images of teachers.

Hilde's Handy Hints for Wasting a Weary Winter...

Wow, who knew it could be so much fun to clean and organize? I am so proud of my accomplishments that I could just scream. The weather has been horrid. I've been housebound for what feels like eons and yet, I have a sense of fulfillment which I can't begin to explain.

I don't dare share my efforts with my non retired career minded friends. They would remind me of how old and boring I've become. I remember when I was once one of them, enveloped in work. I'd come home after a long day, do the bare necessities...perhaps a load of laundry, eat some unidentifiable fridge leftovers, veg out in front of the tube and fall asleep exhausted. On good days, I'd make it upstairs to bed and sometimes there was even time to blow my nose or shave my legs. Next morning, begin again, same routine.

It was worse when the children were small because I also had to fit in their lessons, their school events,  remind them about homework, do a lot of nagging about their paper route, plus I had to cook. Apparently, good moms feed their kids.

Front hall closet even has hangers for guest coats.



Since I am unable to share my new found helpful hints with the aforementioned hard working friends I will illustrate these significant changes in my home and lifestyle on my blog. I am about half way done. It seems, that I can easily, efficiently and competently complete half of any job. If this snowy, freezing weather goes on much longer, I might be forced to get the whole house done. In fact, if my hubby dares stand still too long, he just might find himself with a label firmly affixed to his forehead detailing his contents.

Clothes colour co-ordinated albeit mostly black.



I even sorted and filed the coupons and recipes. No longer are there bits of random scribbled on papers and magazine clippings hidden in the back of cookbooks. Gone are the piles of outdated coupons that haven't been used because of their lack of order. Yes, these too, are labelled and filed.

Important hint - be sure to highlight expiry dates.

I expect that any eulogy about me will include this most important of all my newly acquired skills. It might sound something like this. "She was a ferocious filer, the master of bins, the siren of symmetry, and the queen of colour coding. When we think of her, we will always remember the cleanliness of her closets." 

Working for Fun Not Profit

It's a new year. I have now fully retired. Since there's only so much shopping, reading, house cleaning, tv viewing, exercising, travelling, furniture moving and puttering I care to do, it's time to commit to something new. I shall fill the void with meaningful courses, hobbies and community service activities. I have studied the options.

My resources are limited, so unlike some who are able to open private schools in South Africa, reconstruct homes in Haiti, monitor elections in the Sudan or educate teachers in the Dominican Republic, my age and lifestyle have forced me to offer my services locally.

Volunteer work in schools and with children is out. I'm old now. My patience for noise and organized chaos, are diminishing. Besides, I have done that type of work for so long that I refuse to share my skills and talents for free. Seniors are more appealing and I've often been intrigued by the ads for "junior seniors helping senior seniors"...a definite possibility. I'll consider it.

I was at a meeting recently where a woman approached me and convinced me that I should help at a hospital auxiliary used clothing and gift shop. "Great idea", I said, thinking about the amount of "stuff" I could unload from home during each weekly shift. I picked up an application form, filled it out and went downtown to the police department to get the compulsory police check.

"Do you have a letter from the organization you're volunteering at?" I was asked.

 I cringed at the use of a preposition at the end of the sentence, gathered my wits and responded, "Uhhhh, no, but they want a police check with the application."

"Well, you'll need a letter from them before you can get the police check. It'll cost you $5.65, unless you prefer to get one without a letter in which case it costs $28."  She looked at me suspiciously as if I were some kind of alien and added "Do you even live in this town?"

"Errr....yes, I do." I responded surprised at the implied accusation. "Thanks. I expect I'll be back."

Off I went. I added a note to my volunteer application form, stating the aforementioned police check info and the necessity for a letter. I dropped it off at the hospital and haven't heard a word since. Apparently, the hospital already has 600 volunteers. That's what happens in a town where the average age is senior. Lots of volunteers.

"I think I'll try the library", I said to myself.

So I either uploaded or downloaded the volunteer form from their website, printed it off, filled it out in detail and headed to the library.

"The volunteer co-ordinator will call you today or tomorrow," I was told.

It's now a week later. I haven't heard a word.

While I was clipping out information on art classes, cake decorating and stained glass window design, I noticed a course calendar from a local college tucked into the middle of the newspaper. I looked through the booklet and noted an interesting course entitled "Photoshop...Picture Manipulation".

"That could be fun, or strenuous, or difficult, or confusing," I said to myself. "Oh well, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Thoughts of overwhelming amounts of technological data, complex instructions and other scary scenarios raced through my head. I brushed them away with a tiny little brain broom created by my imagination. "I'm patient. I'm smart. I'm capable...I'm, gulp...a little nervous."

So I trotted over to the college, took a deep breath and signed up. A six week course beginning at the end of the month. I hope I encounter lots of beginners. I hate going to a class full of keeners who already know it all and immediately try to impress the instructor by asking questions wayyy beyond the basic, "How do I turn on the computer?"

So, no volunteer opportunities as yet but I am registered for one course. If nothing else, that will give me something to blog about. "Photoshop for Phools" or "Manipulation for Morons"...hmmm...Those are definitely more fitting titles for a person with my level of technological skill.

 I'm back to focusing on the possibility of helping in a seniors' home. I saw a notice requesting people to come along on field trips and do seasonal decorating. Sounds right up my alley. Guess I'll give it a try. Perhaps the seniors are not overrun by volunteer seniors offering to help in the senior facility.

How tough can senior field trips be to supervise? Seniors are less likely to run off than four and five year olds, and if they do, I'm pretty confident I can catch them. Their speech is probably at least as clear and easy to understand as that of a kindergartener and they have about the same number of real teeth. I doubt that I'll have to insist they wear their coats, hats and mitts and hopefully, they won't be losing these items along the way. And best of all, I won't get into any trouble with parents for things real or imagined which may happen on the trip.

So these are my current ideas for community involvement. Along with my continued attempts at writing, streetwalking (I'm not done yet), photo organizing, decorating and painting, I will hopefully keep myself amused for awhile. Oh, and don't count out the belly dancing just yet. It's still on my "to do" list.