CHRISTMAS IS PAST
When I was young, I could hardly wait for Christmas. It was such an excitingl time in my life. Santa, toys, candies and fun. It was a belief in something bigger and better than myself. It was a belief in magic.
This year my 9 year old granddaughter did not want to visit Santa in the mall. Yet as she struggles with the truth of magic, she tries so hard to believe.
During a very slow time at work, i told the story about my granddaughter not wanting to sit with Santa. We all shared our stories about how we found out. I was not surprised that everyone knew exactly how they found out the truth. I was in grade one. It was a few weeks before christmas and my very good friend, Sharon, just blurted out that there is no santa and that it is only our parents who play santa. I was 6 years old. I can still visualize the exact moment when I was told. The coldness of the winter air. The heaviness of the woolen snowsuit. The grey sky. We were running down the street to get home into the warmth of our home.
This is what I remember the day I was told there was no Santa.
I was so devestated. How could it not be true?
We grow older and many other known truths are shattered and replaced with newer truths. We struggle to maintain a piece of its former truth, but somehow it doesn't always fit in to the new truth.
Our lives become a constant struggle of finding the truth without devestation.
I am sad that my granddaughter is no longer in her magical period of life. I am sad that my fridge will not likely have another santa picture with her sparkling eyes of a child in that magical time.
WKH
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
I Remember
I dropped a toonie into the plastic bucket and pulled out a poppy. A toonie! It seemed inadequate. I wear a poppy every year. And every year I remember.
Sunday was Remembrance day. There was a computer poll that day which asked ; “How important is wearing a poppy to you?” 97% of the respondents reported that it was very important. I have to ask where was every one's poppy?
A few weeks ago, I started “poppy watching”. I noticed that in the first few days of November, I saw the poppy in place on many of the seniors I came across. I take the C-Train to work everyday. On the train is mostly students heading off to U. of C. In my initial assessment, I was impressed by the number of students wearing the poppies. I say wearing loosely because I saw them on backpacks, hats, scarves, pockets, purses, and even on an i-pod. As the week wore on closer to Remembrance Day, I saw less poppies on my university train buddies. Lost or fallen. Not to be replaced. Maybe not even aware they no longer had the poppy. The poppy was lost !
I know that these kids are more aware of Remembrance day than the generation before. They are seeing the sacrifice that their brothers, freinds, and relatives are making in Canada's “non war” in Afghanistan. Even if they don't know them personally, they can't help but relate to the media's sound bytes on the death of the newest soldiers.
As I continued my poppy watching, I noticed that my generation (not too old, not too young) had a dismal showing in the poppy. I am not sure why my very informal survey showed this.
I know where mine was. I know why I wear my poppy on the left side over my heart. I do it to honor my father who fought in the second world war as an infantry man. My father did what countless others did at that time. They trudged off to war to defend our country.
This is the time of year that I think most about my dad. I think of him as a young invincible man of 21 years of age. Did he really know what lie ahead of him. I think not. Yet without question he and countless others went overseas. AND slowly their invincibility was pounded out of their every fibre of living as they watched their buddies and comrades shot to bits before their very eyes.
My father like so many other veterans never spoke about the war. I remember asking dad to tell me about his experiences. What I got was an erie quiet that shouted volumes. What I saw was the eyes of a man whose soul was tortured. The vacant cold and yet sad stare that only ice blue eyes could project. The children of veterans know this look. It is the look of the horror and the atrocities that have been pushed deep down into their gut. It is that war that they wage against themselves to put behind them every memory and every loss they ever experienced.
Now my dad is gone. I still remember his personal sacrifices for me, my family and our country. I remember his sad eyes. I remember his shattered youth taken from him. I remember seeing him cry for the first time in my life as he watched the Remembrance Day ceremony on TV. He cried for the friends he watched die before his very own eyes. He cried. I cried.
Every year in pubic school we had an assembly. We memorized and spoke this poem:
IN Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce hear amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
By Doctor Major John McCrae of the 1st Field Artillery Brigade. He wrote this poem on May 3, 1915 after the battle of Ypres, Belgium, the area generally called Flanders. It was there , during the Second Battle of Ypres, that some of the fiercest fighting of the first World War took place. Working from a dressing station on the banks of Yser Canal, dressing hundreds of wounded soldiers from wave after wave of relentless enemy attack, he observed how “we are weary in body and wearier in mind. The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare.”
In May 1915, on the day following the death of fellow soldier Lt. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, John McCrae wrote his now famous work, an expression of his anguish over the loss of his friend and reflection of his surroundings – wild Poppies growing amid simple wooden crosses marking makeshift graves, written in 20 minutes, captured and exact description of the sights and sounds of the area around him.
Lieutenant-Colenel John McCrae left Ypres with these memorable few lines scrawled on a scrap of paper. His words were a poem which started, “in Flanders Fields, the poppies blow...” Little did he know then that these 15 lines would become enshrined in the innermost thoughts and hearts of all soldiers who hear them. Through his words, the scarlet Poppy quickly became the symbol for soldiers who died in battle.
His poem speaks of Flanders fields, but the subject is universal- the fear of the dead that they will be forgotten, that their death will have been in vain.. Remembrance, as symbolized by the Poppy, is our eternal answer which belies that fear.
Sadly, Lieutenant-Colenel John McCrae died of pneumonia at Wimeriux, Franc on 28 January, 1918. He was 45 years old.
This history was supplied by the Royal Canadian Legion.
In Loving Memory of dad and all who fight our foes.
WKH
Sunday was Remembrance day. There was a computer poll that day which asked ; “How important is wearing a poppy to you?” 97% of the respondents reported that it was very important. I have to ask where was every one's poppy?
A few weeks ago, I started “poppy watching”. I noticed that in the first few days of November, I saw the poppy in place on many of the seniors I came across. I take the C-Train to work everyday. On the train is mostly students heading off to U. of C. In my initial assessment, I was impressed by the number of students wearing the poppies. I say wearing loosely because I saw them on backpacks, hats, scarves, pockets, purses, and even on an i-pod. As the week wore on closer to Remembrance Day, I saw less poppies on my university train buddies. Lost or fallen. Not to be replaced. Maybe not even aware they no longer had the poppy. The poppy was lost !
I know that these kids are more aware of Remembrance day than the generation before. They are seeing the sacrifice that their brothers, freinds, and relatives are making in Canada's “non war” in Afghanistan. Even if they don't know them personally, they can't help but relate to the media's sound bytes on the death of the newest soldiers.
As I continued my poppy watching, I noticed that my generation (not too old, not too young) had a dismal showing in the poppy. I am not sure why my very informal survey showed this.
I know where mine was. I know why I wear my poppy on the left side over my heart. I do it to honor my father who fought in the second world war as an infantry man. My father did what countless others did at that time. They trudged off to war to defend our country.
This is the time of year that I think most about my dad. I think of him as a young invincible man of 21 years of age. Did he really know what lie ahead of him. I think not. Yet without question he and countless others went overseas. AND slowly their invincibility was pounded out of their every fibre of living as they watched their buddies and comrades shot to bits before their very eyes.
My father like so many other veterans never spoke about the war. I remember asking dad to tell me about his experiences. What I got was an erie quiet that shouted volumes. What I saw was the eyes of a man whose soul was tortured. The vacant cold and yet sad stare that only ice blue eyes could project. The children of veterans know this look. It is the look of the horror and the atrocities that have been pushed deep down into their gut. It is that war that they wage against themselves to put behind them every memory and every loss they ever experienced.
Now my dad is gone. I still remember his personal sacrifices for me, my family and our country. I remember his sad eyes. I remember his shattered youth taken from him. I remember seeing him cry for the first time in my life as he watched the Remembrance Day ceremony on TV. He cried for the friends he watched die before his very own eyes. He cried. I cried.
Every year in pubic school we had an assembly. We memorized and spoke this poem:
IN Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce hear amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, saw dawn, felt sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up your quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.
By Doctor Major John McCrae of the 1st Field Artillery Brigade. He wrote this poem on May 3, 1915 after the battle of Ypres, Belgium, the area generally called Flanders. It was there , during the Second Battle of Ypres, that some of the fiercest fighting of the first World War took place. Working from a dressing station on the banks of Yser Canal, dressing hundreds of wounded soldiers from wave after wave of relentless enemy attack, he observed how “we are weary in body and wearier in mind. The general impression in my mind is of a nightmare.”
In May 1915, on the day following the death of fellow soldier Lt. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, John McCrae wrote his now famous work, an expression of his anguish over the loss of his friend and reflection of his surroundings – wild Poppies growing amid simple wooden crosses marking makeshift graves, written in 20 minutes, captured and exact description of the sights and sounds of the area around him.
Lieutenant-Colenel John McCrae left Ypres with these memorable few lines scrawled on a scrap of paper. His words were a poem which started, “in Flanders Fields, the poppies blow...” Little did he know then that these 15 lines would become enshrined in the innermost thoughts and hearts of all soldiers who hear them. Through his words, the scarlet Poppy quickly became the symbol for soldiers who died in battle.
His poem speaks of Flanders fields, but the subject is universal- the fear of the dead that they will be forgotten, that their death will have been in vain.. Remembrance, as symbolized by the Poppy, is our eternal answer which belies that fear.
Sadly, Lieutenant-Colenel John McCrae died of pneumonia at Wimeriux, Franc on 28 January, 1918. He was 45 years old.
This history was supplied by the Royal Canadian Legion.
In Loving Memory of dad and all who fight our foes.
WKH
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Happy Halloween
Last night Jill and I couldn't resist looking at photos of them as children in their Halloween costumes. There they were lined up at the back door franticly waiting to leave. Pictures, I always needed pictures. Bill's mom worked tirelessly on their costumes year after year. Every year they had a new one. They were clowns, bunnies, leopards, and even a chocolate chip cookie. Jackie thought that one up on her own and grandma put together a brilliant costume for her.
I remember many a Halloween with them. Bill stayed home and handed out candy. The three of us joined our neighbour and freind, Shirley, and their kids to canvass the neighborhood. Like their costumes the weather was never the same from year to year. I recall more bone chilling, cold and snowy nights than I did warm autumn ones in Regina. The most memorable one was when we had an arctic front fall down and leave snow up to my thigh on the streets. There was never any question in the children's mind that we were going out. We managed to do a half dozen neighbourhood houses and the kids wanted to quit. The kids gave it their best try, but winter won that one.
I recall the Halloween that both the girls broke out in Chicken pox a few hours before we were to go out. That was a very sad Halloween for the girls. As their freinds came to trick or treat, they could only watch. So many tears. However as word got out to family and freinds that they weren't able to go out, they were given candies from everywhere. They did better that year than they did on any other Halloween.
When I was young, I really “hated” Halloween. I know that I must have been the only kid in the sixties that did not want to go out and begged mom not to go out. There are so many reasons for that. The biggest one was that I was very shy and it took a real act of faith to go to a strangers door and ask for candy. Mom and dad sent my younger sister and I with our older brother who couldn't wait to ditch us down the street. It didn't help that we never had costumes. We went as cowgirls or as “Indians”. Mom cut a hole in a “gunny sack” and there I was in this shapless itchy brown bag. What is a gunny sack anyway? I remember every year I wished for one of those Halloween masks to wear. That was at least cool and I could hide my face. One year I did get my wish. To my dismay it was hot. It was impossible to see out to see where you were going. And the smell. To this day, I can still smell the mask.
The final reason for not liking the Halloween thing was that the candies were less than remarkable. More than half the candy was the hard toffee candy kisses. I disliked them. In my day, the candies were that, suckers, bubble gum, and other unwrapped terrible tasting candies. Rockets were my favorite. If word got out that someone was giving away apples, we would run to that location. Chocolate bars were unheard of, well at least in my neighbourhood. When we got home there would be the inevitable looking through our booty and the always fight inducing trading issues with my brothers and sister.
I was so happy when I was finally old enough to stay home.
A few years back my granddaughter was out on her first Halloween night in their new neighborhood. She was definitely pre-school age. It was a stormy and extremely cold wintry night. Bill and I had gone over to be there during this exciting time. Alanna and Chris were back in less than an hour. They were absolutely frozen. I asked Alanna all about her experience. She plunked herself down on the step of the stairs. She was still in her unicorn costume and plainly said to us; “it's just not worth it.”
That is my granddaughter!
WKH
Last night Jill and I couldn't resist looking at photos of them as children in their Halloween costumes. There they were lined up at the back door franticly waiting to leave. Pictures, I always needed pictures. Bill's mom worked tirelessly on their costumes year after year. Every year they had a new one. They were clowns, bunnies, leopards, and even a chocolate chip cookie. Jackie thought that one up on her own and grandma put together a brilliant costume for her.
I remember many a Halloween with them. Bill stayed home and handed out candy. The three of us joined our neighbour and freind, Shirley, and their kids to canvass the neighborhood. Like their costumes the weather was never the same from year to year. I recall more bone chilling, cold and snowy nights than I did warm autumn ones in Regina. The most memorable one was when we had an arctic front fall down and leave snow up to my thigh on the streets. There was never any question in the children's mind that we were going out. We managed to do a half dozen neighbourhood houses and the kids wanted to quit. The kids gave it their best try, but winter won that one.
I recall the Halloween that both the girls broke out in Chicken pox a few hours before we were to go out. That was a very sad Halloween for the girls. As their freinds came to trick or treat, they could only watch. So many tears. However as word got out to family and freinds that they weren't able to go out, they were given candies from everywhere. They did better that year than they did on any other Halloween.
When I was young, I really “hated” Halloween. I know that I must have been the only kid in the sixties that did not want to go out and begged mom not to go out. There are so many reasons for that. The biggest one was that I was very shy and it took a real act of faith to go to a strangers door and ask for candy. Mom and dad sent my younger sister and I with our older brother who couldn't wait to ditch us down the street. It didn't help that we never had costumes. We went as cowgirls or as “Indians”. Mom cut a hole in a “gunny sack” and there I was in this shapless itchy brown bag. What is a gunny sack anyway? I remember every year I wished for one of those Halloween masks to wear. That was at least cool and I could hide my face. One year I did get my wish. To my dismay it was hot. It was impossible to see out to see where you were going. And the smell. To this day, I can still smell the mask.
The final reason for not liking the Halloween thing was that the candies were less than remarkable. More than half the candy was the hard toffee candy kisses. I disliked them. In my day, the candies were that, suckers, bubble gum, and other unwrapped terrible tasting candies. Rockets were my favorite. If word got out that someone was giving away apples, we would run to that location. Chocolate bars were unheard of, well at least in my neighbourhood. When we got home there would be the inevitable looking through our booty and the always fight inducing trading issues with my brothers and sister.
I was so happy when I was finally old enough to stay home.
A few years back my granddaughter was out on her first Halloween night in their new neighborhood. She was definitely pre-school age. It was a stormy and extremely cold wintry night. Bill and I had gone over to be there during this exciting time. Alanna and Chris were back in less than an hour. They were absolutely frozen. I asked Alanna all about her experience. She plunked herself down on the step of the stairs. She was still in her unicorn costume and plainly said to us; “it's just not worth it.”
That is my granddaughter!
WKH
Saturday, October 13, 2007
WRITING IN THE WORKING WORLD
“Beware the barrenous of a busy life.”
by Socrates
My writing callus on my finger has softened, my journal pages are fewer and the days between the blogs are many more. I miss my journalling.
I forgot how much working full time takes out of a life. It is not just the 8 hours at work, but it is also the half hour commute on either side. It is the getting dressed up and made up in something other than jeans and a t-shirt. It is arriving 10 to 15 minutes early and leaving a few minutes late. It is doing all the necessary living things in the precious few evening hours after work. It is re prioritizing life to fit in the most important tasks before bedtime rolls around and that hour seems to sneak up on me all too easily.
Reading and writing have taken the brunt of my new priorities. However for almost three years I have been writing about my world. I have learned to look at the ordinary and see extraordinary things in them. My work world has given me so many new observations to a life I have not participated in for a time. The stories are roaming restlessly inside of me. I try to give them form and yet somehow the day passes without a word written. Silently I file them away until the time is right to write.
My words and stories will wait for me. Will You?
WKH
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Labour Day Classic Stew
Get out the cold f/x. The cold virus has been unleashed.
Over the years working in the doctor's office and the medi clinic before that, I noticed a trend emerge every fall. As precise as a German train schedule the parents called into the office for an appointment for their school age son or daughter because of their cold symptoms. It was always the third week of September.
The children went back to school usually after the Labour Day weekend. They gathered together after a two month long break away from each other. Rested, relaxed and in relative good health they filed into their new classrooms for their new year. They mingled and giggled and shared and hugged. All the while they were brewing up the newest batch of cold virus in the best petri dish ever known to exist, their classrooms.
One by one the children succumbed to their virus stew and ended up sick with a cold. Children don't usually like to share unless it is unwittingly. It was not long before their parents (and grandparents) became the recipients of their newest petri dish virus stew. In the clinics we began to see the parents around the Thanksgiving long weekend. The parents were not as resilient as their children. They were however dedicated to their work at the office. Nothing as simple as a cold would keep them home.
Off to work they went sneezing and coughing their germs around the office and laying down their germs on every thing they touched. The office petri dish brewed and bubbled until the parent's coworkers without children came down with the cold. We saw these patients in early November. Appropriately this would be the time the children would be back into the doctor with their third or so cold. As the community became sick, the immune suppressed became sicker. Nurses worked feverishly to combat the flu with the newest batch of the flu shot.
The medical office became hectic with the flu and cold patients. The patients came in sicker. The number of ill patients from all ages and backgrounds became overwhelming. The office cold and flu peaked just before the Christmas holiday. The patients came in looking for what I called “the magic wand” treatment. They wanted the doctor to make them better because it was Christmas. They couldn't possibly be sick because... The excuses ran the gamut. None the less we sent them home to recuperate from their illness with some TLC advise – rest.
Thus the Christmas vacation began. The children and many office workers went home for their two week break. They rested and mostly recuperated from the Labor Day Classic viral stew.
We would see the cycle repeat itself once again in the third week of January. Usually the cold and flu would hang on until the sunny days of spring.
This is not scientific, but it is what I noticed when I worked as a nurse in the office. Thus when I had my granddaughter over for a sleepover this weekend, it was really a ride down memory lane when she arrived with a cold.
It hasn't changed.
WKH
Over the years working in the doctor's office and the medi clinic before that, I noticed a trend emerge every fall. As precise as a German train schedule the parents called into the office for an appointment for their school age son or daughter because of their cold symptoms. It was always the third week of September.
The children went back to school usually after the Labour Day weekend. They gathered together after a two month long break away from each other. Rested, relaxed and in relative good health they filed into their new classrooms for their new year. They mingled and giggled and shared and hugged. All the while they were brewing up the newest batch of cold virus in the best petri dish ever known to exist, their classrooms.
One by one the children succumbed to their virus stew and ended up sick with a cold. Children don't usually like to share unless it is unwittingly. It was not long before their parents (and grandparents) became the recipients of their newest petri dish virus stew. In the clinics we began to see the parents around the Thanksgiving long weekend. The parents were not as resilient as their children. They were however dedicated to their work at the office. Nothing as simple as a cold would keep them home.
Off to work they went sneezing and coughing their germs around the office and laying down their germs on every thing they touched. The office petri dish brewed and bubbled until the parent's coworkers without children came down with the cold. We saw these patients in early November. Appropriately this would be the time the children would be back into the doctor with their third or so cold. As the community became sick, the immune suppressed became sicker. Nurses worked feverishly to combat the flu with the newest batch of the flu shot.
The medical office became hectic with the flu and cold patients. The patients came in sicker. The number of ill patients from all ages and backgrounds became overwhelming. The office cold and flu peaked just before the Christmas holiday. The patients came in looking for what I called “the magic wand” treatment. They wanted the doctor to make them better because it was Christmas. They couldn't possibly be sick because... The excuses ran the gamut. None the less we sent them home to recuperate from their illness with some TLC advise – rest.
Thus the Christmas vacation began. The children and many office workers went home for their two week break. They rested and mostly recuperated from the Labor Day Classic viral stew.
We would see the cycle repeat itself once again in the third week of January. Usually the cold and flu would hang on until the sunny days of spring.
This is not scientific, but it is what I noticed when I worked as a nurse in the office. Thus when I had my granddaughter over for a sleepover this weekend, it was really a ride down memory lane when she arrived with a cold.
It hasn't changed.
WKH
Monday, August 27, 2007
Unretirement
“Find a penny, pick it up.
And all the day, you'll have good luck.”
I was sitting in a room this morning waiting for my job interview to begin when I looked down and saw a shiny new penny lying on the floor at my feet. Immediately this child's ditty ran through my head. Sitting alone, I bent over to pick it up and set it on the coffee table. I thought if I put it in my pocket that bad luck might follow. I knew this was a good omen for me and as it turned out, I was hired on the spot before the interview ended.
For many months I have struggled with my retirement lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, it has been wonderful beyond my wildest dreams. Yet I seem to have great difficulty believing and saying that I am retired. So many questions! How come it has turned out this way for me? Dare I say privileged? Why have I made the decisions that I have? Why have I been unable to call this time I have been unemployed, retirement?
I picked up a book from the New and Noteworthy section of the library called What Color Is Your Parachute For Retirement Now For The Rest Of Your Life, by Richard N. Bolles and John E. Neilson.
In the first few pages of the book I read the following quotation which seemed to put into perspective so many things I have been struggling with.
“So whereas the traditional concept of retirement planning was primarily about money,
more realistic approach now also gives equal weight to health and happiness.” and
“Retirement planning is changing in another way too. Our parents and grandparents were
mostly focused on how to retire 'from something' – their job. For you, though,
retirement planning can focus on retiring TO something – your next stage of life.”
Basically, the book explains the life stages as follows; education as a time of self development and no freedom. Next we enter the life stage of work and productivity and still little freedom. The third stage of life is retirement with it's leisure and freedom. It is a journey towards freedom. Yes, that is it! The book suggests that we want to do more than survive retirement – we want to thrive in our retirement.
Nursing allowed me to gain some insight into these different stages of life. I loved having one on one conversations with my patients. Over time, I noticed a common theme throughout the senior citizens; REGRET. “If I had it to do over...”, “it wasn't suppose to be like this...”, “getting old is not for the faint of heart..”, and “I wish I would have done this ten years ago.”
One particular quiet patient sat on the edge of his bed as I dutifully advised him on healthy living lifestyles. After a moment he asked me if he could give me a piece of advise. Sure, I said, “Simply,don't wait to do those things you want for retirement. Do them now because you never know what retirement has in store for you. My retirement has been a great disappointment with my poor health, an ill wife, and no desire and energy to do those things I always wanted too.”
It was a pivotal moment in my life. My mom and dad both died at a relatively young age, 64 and 66 respectively. His advise rang a warning in me that I had always knew since my parents' early death.
Many new terms are out there for retirement; the new retirement, Re – firement, Re – wirement, rest of life, the second half of life, the third age, and maybe even unretirement. However you choose to label it, it can be a time of great health and happiness as I have found out.
To that end, I decided to work this temporary almost full time job to continue to enjoy those things that I have embraced as my next stage of life. I have not gone back to work as an R.N (much to the puzzlement of Bill and the person who hired me). I seem to have a need to change things up from time to time. I am going to work as a Clerk II in the mass immunization clinics. I will be the front line worker prior to the administration of the flu shot. Since I have been told that a change is a good as a rest, this should fulfill that part. I start next week and it finishes early December. Working three months a year is a dream come true. Yet again I am blessed in ways that I cannot explain.
“If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living.”
Joseph Campbell
WKH
And all the day, you'll have good luck.”
I was sitting in a room this morning waiting for my job interview to begin when I looked down and saw a shiny new penny lying on the floor at my feet. Immediately this child's ditty ran through my head. Sitting alone, I bent over to pick it up and set it on the coffee table. I thought if I put it in my pocket that bad luck might follow. I knew this was a good omen for me and as it turned out, I was hired on the spot before the interview ended.
For many months I have struggled with my retirement lifestyle. Don't get me wrong, it has been wonderful beyond my wildest dreams. Yet I seem to have great difficulty believing and saying that I am retired. So many questions! How come it has turned out this way for me? Dare I say privileged? Why have I made the decisions that I have? Why have I been unable to call this time I have been unemployed, retirement?
I picked up a book from the New and Noteworthy section of the library called What Color Is Your Parachute For Retirement Now For The Rest Of Your Life, by Richard N. Bolles and John E. Neilson.
In the first few pages of the book I read the following quotation which seemed to put into perspective so many things I have been struggling with.
“So whereas the traditional concept of retirement planning was primarily about money,
more realistic approach now also gives equal weight to health and happiness.” and
“Retirement planning is changing in another way too. Our parents and grandparents were
mostly focused on how to retire 'from something' – their job. For you, though,
retirement planning can focus on retiring TO something – your next stage of life.”
Basically, the book explains the life stages as follows; education as a time of self development and no freedom. Next we enter the life stage of work and productivity and still little freedom. The third stage of life is retirement with it's leisure and freedom. It is a journey towards freedom. Yes, that is it! The book suggests that we want to do more than survive retirement – we want to thrive in our retirement.
Nursing allowed me to gain some insight into these different stages of life. I loved having one on one conversations with my patients. Over time, I noticed a common theme throughout the senior citizens; REGRET. “If I had it to do over...”, “it wasn't suppose to be like this...”, “getting old is not for the faint of heart..”, and “I wish I would have done this ten years ago.”
One particular quiet patient sat on the edge of his bed as I dutifully advised him on healthy living lifestyles. After a moment he asked me if he could give me a piece of advise. Sure, I said, “Simply,don't wait to do those things you want for retirement. Do them now because you never know what retirement has in store for you. My retirement has been a great disappointment with my poor health, an ill wife, and no desire and energy to do those things I always wanted too.”
It was a pivotal moment in my life. My mom and dad both died at a relatively young age, 64 and 66 respectively. His advise rang a warning in me that I had always knew since my parents' early death.
Many new terms are out there for retirement; the new retirement, Re – firement, Re – wirement, rest of life, the second half of life, the third age, and maybe even unretirement. However you choose to label it, it can be a time of great health and happiness as I have found out.
To that end, I decided to work this temporary almost full time job to continue to enjoy those things that I have embraced as my next stage of life. I have not gone back to work as an R.N (much to the puzzlement of Bill and the person who hired me). I seem to have a need to change things up from time to time. I am going to work as a Clerk II in the mass immunization clinics. I will be the front line worker prior to the administration of the flu shot. Since I have been told that a change is a good as a rest, this should fulfill that part. I start next week and it finishes early December. Working three months a year is a dream come true. Yet again I am blessed in ways that I cannot explain.
“If you follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living.”
Joseph Campbell
WKH
Thursday, August 9, 2007
A Letter From Camp.
I found a computer. It is one mile from my campsite. It is free. The walk along the edge of the lake is awesome.
I am having a wonderful time.
I feel grubby.
I have finished one book.
I have done many sudoku and kakuro.
The nights are strikingly black.
The nights are deafeningly quiet.
The sun is hot. The water is warm.
The bears are close but have not entered the campground.
The eating is non stop.
The huckleberries are in season and is excellent on an ice cream sundae.
I could really enjoy this life style.
WKH
I am having a wonderful time.
I feel grubby.
I have finished one book.
I have done many sudoku and kakuro.
The nights are strikingly black.
The nights are deafeningly quiet.
The sun is hot. The water is warm.
The bears are close but have not entered the campground.
The eating is non stop.
The huckleberries are in season and is excellent on an ice cream sundae.
I could really enjoy this life style.
WKH
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
My Embarassing Problem of Vacations
I am once again leaving for a two week vacation.
Goodness this is getting embarrassing. :)
This time I have been invited to go camping with my sister, her husband and various extended family members. I believe there will be more than a dozen of us young and old at any given time. We are going to Priest Lake, Idaho.
They have been going to this lake for 29 years. I have gone once before with Jill and Jackie. That was about 19 years ago. As I remember it was a pretty cool holiday then. The girls got lots of lake swimming and tanning in.
I say camping, but really it is camping in a motorhome. I believe they have stove, fridge, fridge-freezer, microwave, oven, but no dishwasher. Well I guess that is why I am along.
My sister says it is a relaxing time where we will read and sleep on the beach. She says she usually polishes off a half dozen books. I’m all over that.
I will have to leave my laptop at home. I believe there is no wireless hotspot at this little piece of heaven. I have discovered that I am rather attached to my computer. It might even border on addiction. Thus this will be a good little timeout for me. However if I do find a computer at the little corner store, I probably will go on a time or two.
So for now, I will leave it behind and will concentrate on all those big questions without the help of the computer. For example:
Why do you have to wash out the inside of the dishwasher?
Why can you write on a pencil eraser with a pencil?
Why does a soap bar get grubby and dirty?
Why does a person who is retired and thus unemployed, have more holidays than ever before?
I will think of you all while I am on the beach examining the inside of my eyelids.
Don’t worry my sunscreen and bug spray is packed. I will practice safe sun.
WKH
Goodness this is getting embarrassing. :)
This time I have been invited to go camping with my sister, her husband and various extended family members. I believe there will be more than a dozen of us young and old at any given time. We are going to Priest Lake, Idaho.
They have been going to this lake for 29 years. I have gone once before with Jill and Jackie. That was about 19 years ago. As I remember it was a pretty cool holiday then. The girls got lots of lake swimming and tanning in.
I say camping, but really it is camping in a motorhome. I believe they have stove, fridge, fridge-freezer, microwave, oven, but no dishwasher. Well I guess that is why I am along.
My sister says it is a relaxing time where we will read and sleep on the beach. She says she usually polishes off a half dozen books. I’m all over that.
I will have to leave my laptop at home. I believe there is no wireless hotspot at this little piece of heaven. I have discovered that I am rather attached to my computer. It might even border on addiction. Thus this will be a good little timeout for me. However if I do find a computer at the little corner store, I probably will go on a time or two.
So for now, I will leave it behind and will concentrate on all those big questions without the help of the computer. For example:
Why do you have to wash out the inside of the dishwasher?
Why can you write on a pencil eraser with a pencil?
Why does a soap bar get grubby and dirty?
Why does a person who is retired and thus unemployed, have more holidays than ever before?
I will think of you all while I am on the beach examining the inside of my eyelids.
Don’t worry my sunscreen and bug spray is packed. I will practice safe sun.
WKH
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Sun Has Set On Another Weekend To End Breast Cancer
The Sun Has Set On Another Weekend To End Breast Cancer
I am sitting on my deck reflecting on the past 72 hours. The sun is melting into the horizon in beautiful shades of pink and orange. How appropriate it is to watch this beautiful sunset after a very emotional and challenging hot weekend for all the walkers, volunteers and crew who participated in the Calgary Weekend to End Breast Cancer Walk.
The sun has set on another successful walk. The news sound bytes have emphasized that 2036 walkers and an approximate 700 volunteers have raised 5.6 million for the Alberta Breast Cancer cause. And buried deep within these articles around the news making manly pink tutus, the glittering pink costumes, the hot pink bikers and the brilliantly decorated bras is an allusion that these participants may have raised awareness in the community.
This was my third year of participation for this event. On its inaugural event in Calgary in 2005, I blindly signed up to walk the 60 kilometers just for the challenge. I followed a grueling regime of practice walks and amazingly raised more than the two thousand dollars for breast cancer.
I was prepared. Or at least I thought I was! No one prepared me for the emotion that surreptiously ran through the weekend. The survivors’ stories and their spirited participation were inconceivable to me. Throughout the walk, I followed participants who lovingly and with forethought had the pictures of their loved ones pinned to their back. Some were living legacies but most were not. I wanted to know more about these loved ones because up to this point, I had not personally known anyone who was diagnosed with breast cancer. However as a nurse, I knew many patients in the office who courageously fought their cancer battle with hope and optimism.
At those low points along the route where one had to dig deep to put one foot in front of the other, morale appeared from the least likely spots. Neighborhoods along the route bedecked their homes in simple pink ribbon and pink balloons and left their sprinklers on to refresh the walkers. I thanked them for their awareness in our cause. Others made huge signs that they held up for us to read. They read “Walkers Rule” and “You Make a Difference.” They seemed to be aware. The children of the impromptu pink lemonade stands may not have been aware, but I walked that they may never fear the words, Breast Cancer. There were too many signs that wrote their poignant words; “I lost my mom to breast cancer. Thank you.” They were all too aware.
I was being thanked and all I was doing was walking.
The kilometers melted together as I came to a sudden realization that this was bigger than me and my ability to walk 60 kilometers. It was about the toll that breast cancer takes on those diagnosed with it. It was about the loved ones left behind to mourn their loss. It was about those one in nine people yet to be diagnosed by this dreadful disease. It was about the powerful stories yet to be told. I was aware and it humbled me.
I finished the walk and never felt the same after it. The emotional closing brought forth the tears that came not only from knowing that one can achieve goals they set their sights on, but those goals can metamorphize into something bigger if one opens their eyes and hearts..
The past two years, I have worked crew in the medical tent. I can empathize as the walkers hobble up to the medical tent and wait patiently for one of the “Blister Buster Crew” (as we are affectionately known) to come to their aide. I blindly work on their feet as I urge them to tell me their stories. The survivors talk to me about their choices of optimism and hope. The daughters and granddaughters who lost their mothers and grandmothers tell me about their empty lives without them. The husbands shed tears through their stories sharing with me the love they had for their brave wives and their final moments in their battle against breast cancer. I met Chad from Ontario who was participating in his 18th Weekend since its inception in Canada in 2003, because as he tells me “he just wants to make a difference.” I wanted to know why they did this and they told me.
I found it somewhat poetic that as I poked their blisters on the soles of their feet and bandaged them with care and loving attention that it is definitely easier to look after the soles of the feet than their blistered souls that breast cancer has left them with.
The sun’s pink hues have left the sky just as the rich tapestries of the pink participants of the Weekend have gone home to rest. The orange glow remains in the night sky in the dying moments of the sunset. Orange is the color of passion. It is passion that will bring the walkers, crew and volunteers back next summer to do this all over again.
It is a burning passion to defeat breast cancer.
WKH
I am sitting on my deck reflecting on the past 72 hours. The sun is melting into the horizon in beautiful shades of pink and orange. How appropriate it is to watch this beautiful sunset after a very emotional and challenging hot weekend for all the walkers, volunteers and crew who participated in the Calgary Weekend to End Breast Cancer Walk.
The sun has set on another successful walk. The news sound bytes have emphasized that 2036 walkers and an approximate 700 volunteers have raised 5.6 million for the Alberta Breast Cancer cause. And buried deep within these articles around the news making manly pink tutus, the glittering pink costumes, the hot pink bikers and the brilliantly decorated bras is an allusion that these participants may have raised awareness in the community.
This was my third year of participation for this event. On its inaugural event in Calgary in 2005, I blindly signed up to walk the 60 kilometers just for the challenge. I followed a grueling regime of practice walks and amazingly raised more than the two thousand dollars for breast cancer.
I was prepared. Or at least I thought I was! No one prepared me for the emotion that surreptiously ran through the weekend. The survivors’ stories and their spirited participation were inconceivable to me. Throughout the walk, I followed participants who lovingly and with forethought had the pictures of their loved ones pinned to their back. Some were living legacies but most were not. I wanted to know more about these loved ones because up to this point, I had not personally known anyone who was diagnosed with breast cancer. However as a nurse, I knew many patients in the office who courageously fought their cancer battle with hope and optimism.
At those low points along the route where one had to dig deep to put one foot in front of the other, morale appeared from the least likely spots. Neighborhoods along the route bedecked their homes in simple pink ribbon and pink balloons and left their sprinklers on to refresh the walkers. I thanked them for their awareness in our cause. Others made huge signs that they held up for us to read. They read “Walkers Rule” and “You Make a Difference.” They seemed to be aware. The children of the impromptu pink lemonade stands may not have been aware, but I walked that they may never fear the words, Breast Cancer. There were too many signs that wrote their poignant words; “I lost my mom to breast cancer. Thank you.” They were all too aware.
I was being thanked and all I was doing was walking.
The kilometers melted together as I came to a sudden realization that this was bigger than me and my ability to walk 60 kilometers. It was about the toll that breast cancer takes on those diagnosed with it. It was about the loved ones left behind to mourn their loss. It was about those one in nine people yet to be diagnosed by this dreadful disease. It was about the powerful stories yet to be told. I was aware and it humbled me.
I finished the walk and never felt the same after it. The emotional closing brought forth the tears that came not only from knowing that one can achieve goals they set their sights on, but those goals can metamorphize into something bigger if one opens their eyes and hearts..
The past two years, I have worked crew in the medical tent. I can empathize as the walkers hobble up to the medical tent and wait patiently for one of the “Blister Buster Crew” (as we are affectionately known) to come to their aide. I blindly work on their feet as I urge them to tell me their stories. The survivors talk to me about their choices of optimism and hope. The daughters and granddaughters who lost their mothers and grandmothers tell me about their empty lives without them. The husbands shed tears through their stories sharing with me the love they had for their brave wives and their final moments in their battle against breast cancer. I met Chad from Ontario who was participating in his 18th Weekend since its inception in Canada in 2003, because as he tells me “he just wants to make a difference.” I wanted to know why they did this and they told me.
I found it somewhat poetic that as I poked their blisters on the soles of their feet and bandaged them with care and loving attention that it is definitely easier to look after the soles of the feet than their blistered souls that breast cancer has left them with.
The sun’s pink hues have left the sky just as the rich tapestries of the pink participants of the Weekend have gone home to rest. The orange glow remains in the night sky in the dying moments of the sunset. Orange is the color of passion. It is passion that will bring the walkers, crew and volunteers back next summer to do this all over again.
It is a burning passion to defeat breast cancer.
WKH
Monday, July 23, 2007
Ice Cream
Ice cream.
I love it. I love its smooth creamy texture. I love its cool sensation against my lips and inside my mouth. I love the gentle vanilla flavor that is neither too sweet nor too bland. I love the way it complements all flavors that accompany it.
My love for it started when I was 7 or 8 years old. We lived in a young neighborhood. There were children at almost every home. It stands to reason that an astute business person would set up an ice cream business in our neighborhood.
There was a truck which I believe was called The Softie Ice Cream truck. Like clock work this white cube truck with its pavlovian music idled its way up our neighborhood serving up its cones to the lucky few. My sister and I would run home from school (which happened to be across the street from our home) and divide and conquer our mother for the ten cents it cost for the cone. Although he came around every day we did not get treats everyday.
Mr. Softie stopped coming to the neighborhood. However my addiction to ice cream never stopped. We now had to work on dad to drive us to the local Dairy Queen. The hot summer days in Saskatchewan made this an easy task to accomplish. Some assortment of my siblings, mom, dad, me and our 50 pound white Samoyed dog would hop into the car and head for the closest DQ.
As much as I liked ice cream, Chief, our dog loved it more. Dad or mom would go up to the outdoor window and order each of us a cone. Chief would be hopping from paw to paw waiting for his cone. One of us would hold it for him. I can still see him lick the soft ice cream all the way down to the bottom of the cone. When the last drop of ice cream was gone, he would eat the cone. It caused a stir outside of our car as people watched amazed that the dog would get his own cone.
Even now ice cream holds me in its trance. I have been known to sureptiosly drive through McDonalds for their ice cream cone that I have enjoyed before ever arriving home to the family. This spring, the Dairy Queen began an advertisement campaign on TV for its newest treat, the waffle cone sundae. It was marketed just for me and it worked as I knew I had to try it at least once this summer. And I did.
A few weeks ago on a very hot and sultry Sunday afternoon, while driving around in our air conditioned car to cool down, we approached a Dairy Queen. Bill knows my love for ice cream and every once in a while will stop without announcing his attention. Give me ice cream and my heart is yours. Without the need to ask, he bought us the waffle ice cream sundaes. We drove to the shadiest tree and shamelessly left our car running while we attacked our ice cream treats. Folks, it was heaven. It was poetic. It was indescribable.
Later in the week while I was shopping with my sister, her daughter and granddaughter, I asked them if they had tried the waffle sundaes. They hadn’t. We were waiting for an elevator to take us to the carport. The only other person was this elderly white haired woman. She wore wonderfully bright pressed clothes. Her matching white purse was clutched next to her body. She was staring at the numbers waiting for her elevator. In the meantime, I started to describe the chocolate, caramel, strawberry waffle sundae.
The bowl is made of a light freshly baked waffle which has the thinnest layer of a glistening chocolate coating. In the bowl they carefully add the soft mound of cool creamy white ice cream. They slowly pour the sweet caramel and strawberry sauce filling in the space between the ice cream and the bowl. They pour the thick chocolate hard sauce over the ice cream and for the sheer cheekiness of it; they add three dollops of whipped cream.
I explained with great flare to my sister and niece that it was love at first taste. It was a little piece of heaven sitting there just begging to be eaten with purpose and enjoyment. It sent me to another plane of existence. After the first few spoonfuls, I told Bill not to talk to me until I was done and when I finished, I was all his for whatever he wanted.
I explained that as each spoonful was a little taste of ecstasy. I felt that if I could have I would have been that cartoon character called Precious Pup who when he was given his treat would hug himself and moan in happiness as he floated skyward. I was reliving the waffle sundae as I explained it to them.
In the mean time the elevator came but was going down when we wanted up. The elderly lady got on and then quickly came off. She realized almost too late that it was not the direction she needed. When she got off the elevator she came over to me. “Excuse me, but I was wondering where you got this wonderful dessert?”
I felt this faint smile cross my face and told her, the Dairy Queen.
I will never know if this sweet lady ever bought this wonderful ice cream treat. I will never know if she felt the same about it as I did. I only felt that I had just played out the classic scene in the movie “When Harry Meets Sally”, when the lady at the next table to Harry and Sally said to the waitress that she would like to have what Sally was having.
Summer is too short; go out and enjoy ice cream.
WKH
I love it. I love its smooth creamy texture. I love its cool sensation against my lips and inside my mouth. I love the gentle vanilla flavor that is neither too sweet nor too bland. I love the way it complements all flavors that accompany it.
My love for it started when I was 7 or 8 years old. We lived in a young neighborhood. There were children at almost every home. It stands to reason that an astute business person would set up an ice cream business in our neighborhood.
There was a truck which I believe was called The Softie Ice Cream truck. Like clock work this white cube truck with its pavlovian music idled its way up our neighborhood serving up its cones to the lucky few. My sister and I would run home from school (which happened to be across the street from our home) and divide and conquer our mother for the ten cents it cost for the cone. Although he came around every day we did not get treats everyday.
Mr. Softie stopped coming to the neighborhood. However my addiction to ice cream never stopped. We now had to work on dad to drive us to the local Dairy Queen. The hot summer days in Saskatchewan made this an easy task to accomplish. Some assortment of my siblings, mom, dad, me and our 50 pound white Samoyed dog would hop into the car and head for the closest DQ.
As much as I liked ice cream, Chief, our dog loved it more. Dad or mom would go up to the outdoor window and order each of us a cone. Chief would be hopping from paw to paw waiting for his cone. One of us would hold it for him. I can still see him lick the soft ice cream all the way down to the bottom of the cone. When the last drop of ice cream was gone, he would eat the cone. It caused a stir outside of our car as people watched amazed that the dog would get his own cone.
Even now ice cream holds me in its trance. I have been known to sureptiosly drive through McDonalds for their ice cream cone that I have enjoyed before ever arriving home to the family. This spring, the Dairy Queen began an advertisement campaign on TV for its newest treat, the waffle cone sundae. It was marketed just for me and it worked as I knew I had to try it at least once this summer. And I did.
A few weeks ago on a very hot and sultry Sunday afternoon, while driving around in our air conditioned car to cool down, we approached a Dairy Queen. Bill knows my love for ice cream and every once in a while will stop without announcing his attention. Give me ice cream and my heart is yours. Without the need to ask, he bought us the waffle ice cream sundaes. We drove to the shadiest tree and shamelessly left our car running while we attacked our ice cream treats. Folks, it was heaven. It was poetic. It was indescribable.
Later in the week while I was shopping with my sister, her daughter and granddaughter, I asked them if they had tried the waffle sundaes. They hadn’t. We were waiting for an elevator to take us to the carport. The only other person was this elderly white haired woman. She wore wonderfully bright pressed clothes. Her matching white purse was clutched next to her body. She was staring at the numbers waiting for her elevator. In the meantime, I started to describe the chocolate, caramel, strawberry waffle sundae.
The bowl is made of a light freshly baked waffle which has the thinnest layer of a glistening chocolate coating. In the bowl they carefully add the soft mound of cool creamy white ice cream. They slowly pour the sweet caramel and strawberry sauce filling in the space between the ice cream and the bowl. They pour the thick chocolate hard sauce over the ice cream and for the sheer cheekiness of it; they add three dollops of whipped cream.
I explained with great flare to my sister and niece that it was love at first taste. It was a little piece of heaven sitting there just begging to be eaten with purpose and enjoyment. It sent me to another plane of existence. After the first few spoonfuls, I told Bill not to talk to me until I was done and when I finished, I was all his for whatever he wanted.
I explained that as each spoonful was a little taste of ecstasy. I felt that if I could have I would have been that cartoon character called Precious Pup who when he was given his treat would hug himself and moan in happiness as he floated skyward. I was reliving the waffle sundae as I explained it to them.
In the mean time the elevator came but was going down when we wanted up. The elderly lady got on and then quickly came off. She realized almost too late that it was not the direction she needed. When she got off the elevator she came over to me. “Excuse me, but I was wondering where you got this wonderful dessert?”
I felt this faint smile cross my face and told her, the Dairy Queen.
I will never know if this sweet lady ever bought this wonderful ice cream treat. I will never know if she felt the same about it as I did. I only felt that I had just played out the classic scene in the movie “When Harry Meets Sally”, when the lady at the next table to Harry and Sally said to the waitress that she would like to have what Sally was having.
Summer is too short; go out and enjoy ice cream.
WKH
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A Different Kind Of Parade.
Yee Haw
Or maybe it is Yahoo! I am never sure which one to use. That is not to say that I go around yelling the Calgary Stampede rallying cry very much; well maybe never. Folks it is Stampede and unlike most Calgarians, I have not found my “cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and denim” spirit.
The closest I come to this, is the Stampede parade. That is part of what living in my downtown condo calls a perk. Yes the parade marches down my street and turns south. If I miss it through the north window then I can catch it out my west window. It is an interesting viewpoint from the eleventh floor balcony. The horses and steers may look small, but they can still give off a real authentic smell of days long ago.
I was quite surprised when on the eve of the parade I saw people along the parade route chaining their lawn chairs to a tree claiming there front row shaded spots for the parade. I finally realized why people buy old lawn chairs at garage sales, so they can chain them to a tree downtown on the eve of the parade.
It was eleven pm. There was much activity on the sidewalks below our condo. I watched one couple as they looked for their spot on the parade route. First they sauntered up and down the street carrying their lawn chairs and inspecting every square inch of the available sidewalk. They found a tree across the street and set up the lawn chairs besides it. They sat down and I guess tried out the view. After a few moments I witnessed some kind of discussion and suddenly the woman got up and took her lawn chair across the street as the man just sat in his. He looked way too comfortable to move. She found another tree and set her chair up. I watched with amusement as the two of them stared at each other across the street in some kind of win or lose battle. He finally followed. This time they sat on either side of the tree; that poor tree. A few minutes passed while they sized up their view. Next thing I noticed was the woman taking her chair to the next tree over. Having lost that game once before, he followed without pause. Once again they sat in their lawn chairs on either side of the tree. They sat and they sat. I believe they visualized in their mind’s eye the parade as it passed by their prime spot. It must have passed inspection as the chain came out and the lawn chairs were tied to the tree.
This piece of real estate was there’s.
All along Tenth Street there were similar chairs tied together or chained to a tree. Some boldly labeled the chairs and others well it was just there’s. The land claim was a done deal simply by placing the lawn chair in situ. There was this little urchin inside of me that wanted to go down in the middle of the night and rearrange their chairs, but that would not have been neighbourly of me.
I watched the next morning as the people claimed there special spots and I wondered if there was this much order to claiming land when Alberta first came to be claimed. There were no fights, no finder’s keepers, and no hassles at all. It did not matter if they came much later than those who sat passively behind these empty chairs. I was looking for that gun fighting, rope twirling, steer wrestling attitude to show up. Alas, there was only an orderly, polite take over the land.
I must surmise then that Calgarians are not the country bumpkins that some folk may see us as. We are just another group of polite Canadians whose cowboys are not too tough to wear pink.
Happy Stampeding
WKH
Or maybe it is Yahoo! I am never sure which one to use. That is not to say that I go around yelling the Calgary Stampede rallying cry very much; well maybe never. Folks it is Stampede and unlike most Calgarians, I have not found my “cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and denim” spirit.
The closest I come to this, is the Stampede parade. That is part of what living in my downtown condo calls a perk. Yes the parade marches down my street and turns south. If I miss it through the north window then I can catch it out my west window. It is an interesting viewpoint from the eleventh floor balcony. The horses and steers may look small, but they can still give off a real authentic smell of days long ago.
I was quite surprised when on the eve of the parade I saw people along the parade route chaining their lawn chairs to a tree claiming there front row shaded spots for the parade. I finally realized why people buy old lawn chairs at garage sales, so they can chain them to a tree downtown on the eve of the parade.
It was eleven pm. There was much activity on the sidewalks below our condo. I watched one couple as they looked for their spot on the parade route. First they sauntered up and down the street carrying their lawn chairs and inspecting every square inch of the available sidewalk. They found a tree across the street and set up the lawn chairs besides it. They sat down and I guess tried out the view. After a few moments I witnessed some kind of discussion and suddenly the woman got up and took her lawn chair across the street as the man just sat in his. He looked way too comfortable to move. She found another tree and set her chair up. I watched with amusement as the two of them stared at each other across the street in some kind of win or lose battle. He finally followed. This time they sat on either side of the tree; that poor tree. A few minutes passed while they sized up their view. Next thing I noticed was the woman taking her chair to the next tree over. Having lost that game once before, he followed without pause. Once again they sat in their lawn chairs on either side of the tree. They sat and they sat. I believe they visualized in their mind’s eye the parade as it passed by their prime spot. It must have passed inspection as the chain came out and the lawn chairs were tied to the tree.
This piece of real estate was there’s.
All along Tenth Street there were similar chairs tied together or chained to a tree. Some boldly labeled the chairs and others well it was just there’s. The land claim was a done deal simply by placing the lawn chair in situ. There was this little urchin inside of me that wanted to go down in the middle of the night and rearrange their chairs, but that would not have been neighbourly of me.
I watched the next morning as the people claimed there special spots and I wondered if there was this much order to claiming land when Alberta first came to be claimed. There were no fights, no finder’s keepers, and no hassles at all. It did not matter if they came much later than those who sat passively behind these empty chairs. I was looking for that gun fighting, rope twirling, steer wrestling attitude to show up. Alas, there was only an orderly, polite take over the land.
I must surmise then that Calgarians are not the country bumpkins that some folk may see us as. We are just another group of polite Canadians whose cowboys are not too tough to wear pink.
Happy Stampeding
WKH
Saturday, July 7, 2007
London Pictures
Hey everyone, I finally posted some of our London pictures. Please enjoy.
Just link to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtle_lady/
wkh
Just link to:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/turtle_lady/
wkh
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Today
It is summer.
The sun is bathing me in a gentle warmness. My feet are bare. I am listening to my favorite Jan Arden album on my ipod.
The 11th floor balcony allows me to see summer played out before me. A raft load of adventurous souls are drifting down the river allowing the river to take them away. I am watching the in line skaters. The new skaters are wobbling back and forth like some kind of “hokey pokey” dance. Friends are walking the paths of the Bow River hand in hand. Cyclists and joggers are vying for the front of the line.
The grass is very green. The trees are leafed out. The summer flowers are showing there astounding colors.
My laptop is on my lap. Life is good.
Today I am not worried about eating.
Today I am not worried about having shelter.
Today I am not worried about health.
Today I have been richly blessed and for that I am eternally grateful.
WKH
The sun is bathing me in a gentle warmness. My feet are bare. I am listening to my favorite Jan Arden album on my ipod.
The 11th floor balcony allows me to see summer played out before me. A raft load of adventurous souls are drifting down the river allowing the river to take them away. I am watching the in line skaters. The new skaters are wobbling back and forth like some kind of “hokey pokey” dance. Friends are walking the paths of the Bow River hand in hand. Cyclists and joggers are vying for the front of the line.
The grass is very green. The trees are leafed out. The summer flowers are showing there astounding colors.
My laptop is on my lap. Life is good.
Today I am not worried about eating.
Today I am not worried about having shelter.
Today I am not worried about health.
Today I have been richly blessed and for that I am eternally grateful.
WKH
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Mind The Gap
June 18th, 2007
I believe they are speaking English. It is really hard to establish for sure if indeed they are. I thought to myself when we decided to come to London; well at least they speak English. There have been many times when we have all looked at each other to see if any of us understood what was just spoke to us. In my opinion, they speak way too fast. They speak as if they are talking with a mouthful of cotton baton. But mostly they mumble. Besides this, I am told they do speak “English”.
The colloquialisms are absolutely “brilliant”, actually “bloody brilliant”. I have been called “Madame”, “lovey”, and “my dear”. I am sure this was to take me away from my stroppy mood.
I have seen bashers, bangers and mash on breakfast menus. We have been offered orange squash and enjoyed it. I had to suss out the difference between chips and crisps. I love jacket potatoes. Goodness knows what baps are. I have enjoyed my sweets and biscuits with a cuppa. Pub grub is not bad especially with a pint of ale or cider. However, I could easily gain a stone if I was to continue to enjoy the starters, elevens and afters.
I’ve queued up for the loo more often than not and paid twenty pence for the public convenience. Paid or unpaid, it can be a dicey affair.
I have learned that their subway is called the tube. Also subway and underground are not interchangeable. Speaking of not interchangeable; if you ask the waiter for a napkin instead of a serviette, he would probably smile and send you off to the chemist.
I know bonnet and boot have little to do with fashion and more to do with a car. Petrol is dear at almost two quid per liter.
I have not needed Wellingtons or a Mac, although I have used my brolly, and like in Calgary if you don’t like the weather just wait a tick.
I get a little confused at the fact that I come into a store at street level and have to go up to find the first level. The confusion only comes when you are trying to find the way out on this level. Way out is the most important words you need to leave the tube.
Our bus operator was jolly enough to point out the store where the queen buys her knickers. I bet it wasn’t a cheap and nasty place.
I was thinking of knocking up (visit) Betty and John, but they are knackered after a day of seeing the full Monty. And no they did not see people completely starker’s, but from trying to see the whole shebang in one day.
Well since it is half nine, I should put a sock in it and maybe watch a little telly.
One more word for you: MIND THE GAP
WKH
I believe they are speaking English. It is really hard to establish for sure if indeed they are. I thought to myself when we decided to come to London; well at least they speak English. There have been many times when we have all looked at each other to see if any of us understood what was just spoke to us. In my opinion, they speak way too fast. They speak as if they are talking with a mouthful of cotton baton. But mostly they mumble. Besides this, I am told they do speak “English”.
The colloquialisms are absolutely “brilliant”, actually “bloody brilliant”. I have been called “Madame”, “lovey”, and “my dear”. I am sure this was to take me away from my stroppy mood.
I have seen bashers, bangers and mash on breakfast menus. We have been offered orange squash and enjoyed it. I had to suss out the difference between chips and crisps. I love jacket potatoes. Goodness knows what baps are. I have enjoyed my sweets and biscuits with a cuppa. Pub grub is not bad especially with a pint of ale or cider. However, I could easily gain a stone if I was to continue to enjoy the starters, elevens and afters.
I’ve queued up for the loo more often than not and paid twenty pence for the public convenience. Paid or unpaid, it can be a dicey affair.
I have learned that their subway is called the tube. Also subway and underground are not interchangeable. Speaking of not interchangeable; if you ask the waiter for a napkin instead of a serviette, he would probably smile and send you off to the chemist.
I know bonnet and boot have little to do with fashion and more to do with a car. Petrol is dear at almost two quid per liter.
I have not needed Wellingtons or a Mac, although I have used my brolly, and like in Calgary if you don’t like the weather just wait a tick.
I get a little confused at the fact that I come into a store at street level and have to go up to find the first level. The confusion only comes when you are trying to find the way out on this level. Way out is the most important words you need to leave the tube.
Our bus operator was jolly enough to point out the store where the queen buys her knickers. I bet it wasn’t a cheap and nasty place.
I was thinking of knocking up (visit) Betty and John, but they are knackered after a day of seeing the full Monty. And no they did not see people completely starker’s, but from trying to see the whole shebang in one day.
Well since it is half nine, I should put a sock in it and maybe watch a little telly.
One more word for you: MIND THE GAP
WKH
Saturday, June 16, 2007
London 3 off line blogs.
Dear one and all. We have finally connected to our hotel internet. However it will be only until our Sunday at noon. I hope to convince Bill that the 8 pounds for 24 hours is worth it for our evening and early morning times in the hotel. All is going well and here are a few blogs that I wrote off line during our week.
June 12, 2007
Here we are in London. History, culture, politics, and entertainment are just a few of the things one can expect from this city.
I stepped off the plane and felt the ages of the last two millennia all around me. Maybe it was just the jet lag.
In my opinion, there is nothing better than a castle, an abbey, or a tower that has architecture from a thousand or more years ago. I try to imagine building these magnificent things. I try to imagine how. How did they get there supplies? How did they get the blocks up one on top of the other? How could one imagine such a structure? How did they rally the people together to help? How long did it take to build it and did they see the fruits of their labor? Did they imagine that their building would still be standing this far into the future?
Then I wonder why I did not pay attention to my history classes? You know all that stuff about The Battle of Hastings, or the whole monarchy succession thing? I barely remember hearing about the Magna Carta. I still think that history is wasted on the youth. Our children are way too busy making there own history to be learning about the history of “dead people” in “faraway places”; and for that matter to understand its impact on them.
These are the things that I am thinking about in my first few days in London. The sights are treats for the eyes. I crane my neck to look up at things that were done so many years ago that the locals have long since forgotten about them. They probably see them, but really don’t see them if you know what I mean?
It is a pleasure to be able to read and make sense of all that is written around the buildings, statues and monuments.
WKH
June 14, 2007
Did someone say we were on vacation? I have said this before, and I will say it again, sightseeing is hard work. Today we planned to see Westminster Abbey and we did.
The pamphlet says, “Experience a thousand years of history.” Maybe it was a warning that I did not heed.
One thousand years! That is twenty times my life on this earth. Perhaps almost 20 generations of kings and important people. Actually that is a lot of dead people. And along with those dead people came their history and their life contribution to the history of London and perhaps in the bigger sense, the history of the world.
I understand there are 3000 tombs in this architectural wonder. Of those there are 29 kings and queens entombed here. There is a poet’s corner with some of the more famous names I vaguely recall from University English class. The tombs and memorials are endless. This meant I could not walk anywhere without stepping on someone’s tomb or memorial.
We rented one of those audio guide things. We paid our 4 or so pounds each and then set forth on our own personal tour. It is actually quite a good way to go through Westminster. You can go at your own pace and you don’t have to worry about not hearing the guide. You know meek old Wendy actually shushed several adult women. We were on the Thames cruise and these “tourists” were talking louder than the guide with a microphone. They were also using their cell phones. Oi! Halfway through the trip, I finally had enough and turned around with finger to lips and let a big shush out. That worked for about 5 minutes. What are you going to do?
Meanwhile back at Westminster it was quite quiet as you would expect from a tomb like building holding 3000 dead bodies. It is a beautiful church. I don’t know why we never seen it before.
Later that day we went to the National Gallery Museum. I cannot truly appreciate the dimensions to an art piece. I was over hearing a guide from a nearby guided tour group. He was speaking of its irony; it’s subtleties of light to allude to sarcasm. He found it a bit too sarcastic. After he went on to another painting with his group I looked at the picture. It was a picture of the virgin mother and Jesus. What part of my eyes and brain are not connected to it’s allusion of sarcasm?
I go to see the portraits made by famous painters. I people watch. I see the children with their pens and papers seeking their answers to their day trip questionnaire. That was probably me. I see the elderly group of women or men who gather tightly around the picture whispering to one another about the painting I suppose. Of course in my world of people watching, I imagine them sharing their favorite recipe for desert. I also watched a young man stand and stare at a Van Gogh sunflower for a very long time. I wanted to know what he was seeing. What was holding his attention? What was the detail that fired up his passion? I suppose I will never know. However I do know that there are many people who are smitten with this art form.
Our day was cultured. It was okay. Later that evening Bill and I went out to our local pub for a beer. I must say that I got a bigger kick out of the pub pictures hanging at our local pub.
We have so much more to do and see.
P.S.
I am the one feeling the lack of Internet. At 7pounds (15 dollars) per day we are choosy about going on line. The hotel has it on from noon to noon and we are gone most of the day and out after breakfast in the morning. That makes it kind of costly.
Talk again soon.
WKH
June 16Th
That is a guess.
We are slowing down. Betty is tiring easily from all the walking. Bill and I are not far behind. Bill is struggling with a cold or allergies. The heat beats us down and the humidity finishes us off. As you would expect the heat is the worst in the tube system. I really don’t understand how they travel in such “sultry” conditions.
The tube system is still the best way for any person in London to get anywhere. On our first two days in London we took a “hop on hop off” tour bus. It is one of those double Decker open to the sky chariots. I have to commend the drivers of our buses. Since we were last here in 2001, we have noticed the biggest difference in the traffic. This is in the city center even though there is a very prohibitive congestion tax just to enter the centre. It was 1030 am and the cars, buses, tour buses, taxis and yes the cars were bumper to bumper. Horn honking is the norm. Sirens are going constantly and goodness knows how they get through. At times I was more concerned if our bus was going to make it to the next stop at all.
The last time I was here, I think I wrote about the difference between the local Londoners and tourists is that the tourists wait for the walk light and the rest just go at will. They seem to make it across the road without incidence. I am still trying to figure out where to look for the traffic. It came to me how it is that little children always seem never where to look when crossing the street. We tell them to look both ways before crossing and usually they look the wrong way. I could never understand why they didn’t look automatically to the left and then to the right. Well now that I have to retrain the brain to look right then left, I understand it is not automatic when learning. I have no concept of driving on the left hand side of the road thus through learned processes, I look automatically left. This does not do much in London except maybe get you killed.
Betty and I went to see a Florence Nightingale museum. We both enjoyed it. I learned more about her and was impressed with her as a woman who was born 100 years too early. The changes she proposed were phenomenal given the time and that women were not emancipated yet. She was a brilliant women coming from an influentially wealthy family. Her father taught her Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, German, and English, math, all sciences and statistics. Ms Nightingale was a poet, painter, and kept exceptional records of her life and achievements. She became a nurse against her parents’ wishes as it was a job for the lowest of classes of women and not her. She went to Germany to learn medicine. Her biggest contributions were those she achieved in the Crimea War. She brought many improvements to the sick camps. She brought bandages, medicine, proper nutrition, cleanliness and many other things.
I have never read her story and plan to when I get home.
While we were in the museum the men went to check out a shopping mall at Canary Wharf. They tell us it would be just what we would love to shop through. We probably would but we have so many other things to see that this might just be really low on our list. Yes you heard that from Betty and me.
Today was Trooping of The Guard, the celebration of the Queen’s birthday. We decided to stay away from the masses. We walked in Hyde Park during a thunderstorm with torrential rain. It kind of dampened our spirit, but gave us a good rest for the second week in London.
WKH
June 12, 2007
Here we are in London. History, culture, politics, and entertainment are just a few of the things one can expect from this city.
I stepped off the plane and felt the ages of the last two millennia all around me. Maybe it was just the jet lag.
In my opinion, there is nothing better than a castle, an abbey, or a tower that has architecture from a thousand or more years ago. I try to imagine building these magnificent things. I try to imagine how. How did they get there supplies? How did they get the blocks up one on top of the other? How could one imagine such a structure? How did they rally the people together to help? How long did it take to build it and did they see the fruits of their labor? Did they imagine that their building would still be standing this far into the future?
Then I wonder why I did not pay attention to my history classes? You know all that stuff about The Battle of Hastings, or the whole monarchy succession thing? I barely remember hearing about the Magna Carta. I still think that history is wasted on the youth. Our children are way too busy making there own history to be learning about the history of “dead people” in “faraway places”; and for that matter to understand its impact on them.
These are the things that I am thinking about in my first few days in London. The sights are treats for the eyes. I crane my neck to look up at things that were done so many years ago that the locals have long since forgotten about them. They probably see them, but really don’t see them if you know what I mean?
It is a pleasure to be able to read and make sense of all that is written around the buildings, statues and monuments.
WKH
June 14, 2007
Did someone say we were on vacation? I have said this before, and I will say it again, sightseeing is hard work. Today we planned to see Westminster Abbey and we did.
The pamphlet says, “Experience a thousand years of history.” Maybe it was a warning that I did not heed.
One thousand years! That is twenty times my life on this earth. Perhaps almost 20 generations of kings and important people. Actually that is a lot of dead people. And along with those dead people came their history and their life contribution to the history of London and perhaps in the bigger sense, the history of the world.
I understand there are 3000 tombs in this architectural wonder. Of those there are 29 kings and queens entombed here. There is a poet’s corner with some of the more famous names I vaguely recall from University English class. The tombs and memorials are endless. This meant I could not walk anywhere without stepping on someone’s tomb or memorial.
We rented one of those audio guide things. We paid our 4 or so pounds each and then set forth on our own personal tour. It is actually quite a good way to go through Westminster. You can go at your own pace and you don’t have to worry about not hearing the guide. You know meek old Wendy actually shushed several adult women. We were on the Thames cruise and these “tourists” were talking louder than the guide with a microphone. They were also using their cell phones. Oi! Halfway through the trip, I finally had enough and turned around with finger to lips and let a big shush out. That worked for about 5 minutes. What are you going to do?
Meanwhile back at Westminster it was quite quiet as you would expect from a tomb like building holding 3000 dead bodies. It is a beautiful church. I don’t know why we never seen it before.
Later that day we went to the National Gallery Museum. I cannot truly appreciate the dimensions to an art piece. I was over hearing a guide from a nearby guided tour group. He was speaking of its irony; it’s subtleties of light to allude to sarcasm. He found it a bit too sarcastic. After he went on to another painting with his group I looked at the picture. It was a picture of the virgin mother and Jesus. What part of my eyes and brain are not connected to it’s allusion of sarcasm?
I go to see the portraits made by famous painters. I people watch. I see the children with their pens and papers seeking their answers to their day trip questionnaire. That was probably me. I see the elderly group of women or men who gather tightly around the picture whispering to one another about the painting I suppose. Of course in my world of people watching, I imagine them sharing their favorite recipe for desert. I also watched a young man stand and stare at a Van Gogh sunflower for a very long time. I wanted to know what he was seeing. What was holding his attention? What was the detail that fired up his passion? I suppose I will never know. However I do know that there are many people who are smitten with this art form.
Our day was cultured. It was okay. Later that evening Bill and I went out to our local pub for a beer. I must say that I got a bigger kick out of the pub pictures hanging at our local pub.
We have so much more to do and see.
P.S.
I am the one feeling the lack of Internet. At 7pounds (15 dollars) per day we are choosy about going on line. The hotel has it on from noon to noon and we are gone most of the day and out after breakfast in the morning. That makes it kind of costly.
Talk again soon.
WKH
June 16Th
That is a guess.
We are slowing down. Betty is tiring easily from all the walking. Bill and I are not far behind. Bill is struggling with a cold or allergies. The heat beats us down and the humidity finishes us off. As you would expect the heat is the worst in the tube system. I really don’t understand how they travel in such “sultry” conditions.
The tube system is still the best way for any person in London to get anywhere. On our first two days in London we took a “hop on hop off” tour bus. It is one of those double Decker open to the sky chariots. I have to commend the drivers of our buses. Since we were last here in 2001, we have noticed the biggest difference in the traffic. This is in the city center even though there is a very prohibitive congestion tax just to enter the centre. It was 1030 am and the cars, buses, tour buses, taxis and yes the cars were bumper to bumper. Horn honking is the norm. Sirens are going constantly and goodness knows how they get through. At times I was more concerned if our bus was going to make it to the next stop at all.
The last time I was here, I think I wrote about the difference between the local Londoners and tourists is that the tourists wait for the walk light and the rest just go at will. They seem to make it across the road without incidence. I am still trying to figure out where to look for the traffic. It came to me how it is that little children always seem never where to look when crossing the street. We tell them to look both ways before crossing and usually they look the wrong way. I could never understand why they didn’t look automatically to the left and then to the right. Well now that I have to retrain the brain to look right then left, I understand it is not automatic when learning. I have no concept of driving on the left hand side of the road thus through learned processes, I look automatically left. This does not do much in London except maybe get you killed.
Betty and I went to see a Florence Nightingale museum. We both enjoyed it. I learned more about her and was impressed with her as a woman who was born 100 years too early. The changes she proposed were phenomenal given the time and that women were not emancipated yet. She was a brilliant women coming from an influentially wealthy family. Her father taught her Latin, Greek, French, Spanish, German, and English, math, all sciences and statistics. Ms Nightingale was a poet, painter, and kept exceptional records of her life and achievements. She became a nurse against her parents’ wishes as it was a job for the lowest of classes of women and not her. She went to Germany to learn medicine. Her biggest contributions were those she achieved in the Crimea War. She brought many improvements to the sick camps. She brought bandages, medicine, proper nutrition, cleanliness and many other things.
I have never read her story and plan to when I get home.
While we were in the museum the men went to check out a shopping mall at Canary Wharf. They tell us it would be just what we would love to shop through. We probably would but we have so many other things to see that this might just be really low on our list. Yes you heard that from Betty and me.
Today was Trooping of The Guard, the celebration of the Queen’s birthday. We decided to stay away from the masses. We walked in Hyde Park during a thunderstorm with torrential rain. It kind of dampened our spirit, but gave us a good rest for the second week in London.
WKH
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Journey and Destination
“Travel is intensified living- maximum thrills per minute and one of the last great sources of legal adventure. Travel is freedom. Its recess and we need it.”
From Rick Steves’ Europe Through The Back Door.
As many of you know, Bill and I are going to London for our holidays. That is London, England. It has only been 6 weeks since I have returned from Japan. There are so many parts of that holiday that I am still digesting and dreaming about.
Typically Bill and I take vacation every year. I believe strongly that one has to go away to recharge, to revitalize, to regroup and to play. Vacation has always been about recess to us. It is that time of year when life just shifts gears and our norms are challenged.
In the past few years, Bill and I have been planning less for these holidays. At the risk of being politically incorrect, we love to travel like gypsies. Let the road take us to our next destination wherever that is. It has rarely been about the destination. It has been about the journey.
A few years back we were invited to participate in one of those “presentations” given by a house boat vacation company. Being in a particularly playful mood we decided to attend and see what the fuss was all about. We listened to their high power presentation. We listened to the kudos by those who were already in the plan. After the presentation, the sales people were set loose on the group for a little one on one high pressure salesmanship. Bill and I listened again. We weren’t interested in house boating. The sales person then said it could be traded in for vacation homes around the world. We looked at each other and then simply asked; well what do you do when you get there? That salesperson left and got what we think was the head salesman or the “closer”. We asked him the same question. He smiled and said “oh you people are not destination people, but journey people.” He shook our hands and escorted us out quite quickly to collect our free gift. We had to leave before the other groups were infected by us. We loved it.
Thus a few weeks ago, we started to think about our holiday plans. We went to AMA and got travel books. We were thinking of traveling east to perhaps Chicago. As we looked at the miles between here and there, we began to feel overwhelmed by the car trip. Well I thought that maybe we could fly in and rent a car and that started the internet search for cheap flights. One thing led to another and before we knew it we were sitting in our travel agents office booking a flight and two week accommodation to London.
This will be Bill’s third time to London and my second. London is a city that one could live in all their life and really not know it or see it all.
We were so excited about it that we asked my sister and her husband to come along with us. Through the luck of “it was meant to be”, they are joining us and will be on the same flight and in the same hotel. We are anxious to show them London for their first time.
Next Saturday, we leave for a two week destination holiday. I realized that this is the first time that we have stayed our complete two weeks holidays in one hotel. We must be getting older, because we are both really looking forward to it.
I plan to blog from England. Stay tuned and enjoy.
And who knows where the next adventure may take me.
WKH
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
By Mark Twain.
From Rick Steves’ Europe Through The Back Door.
As many of you know, Bill and I are going to London for our holidays. That is London, England. It has only been 6 weeks since I have returned from Japan. There are so many parts of that holiday that I am still digesting and dreaming about.
Typically Bill and I take vacation every year. I believe strongly that one has to go away to recharge, to revitalize, to regroup and to play. Vacation has always been about recess to us. It is that time of year when life just shifts gears and our norms are challenged.
In the past few years, Bill and I have been planning less for these holidays. At the risk of being politically incorrect, we love to travel like gypsies. Let the road take us to our next destination wherever that is. It has rarely been about the destination. It has been about the journey.
A few years back we were invited to participate in one of those “presentations” given by a house boat vacation company. Being in a particularly playful mood we decided to attend and see what the fuss was all about. We listened to their high power presentation. We listened to the kudos by those who were already in the plan. After the presentation, the sales people were set loose on the group for a little one on one high pressure salesmanship. Bill and I listened again. We weren’t interested in house boating. The sales person then said it could be traded in for vacation homes around the world. We looked at each other and then simply asked; well what do you do when you get there? That salesperson left and got what we think was the head salesman or the “closer”. We asked him the same question. He smiled and said “oh you people are not destination people, but journey people.” He shook our hands and escorted us out quite quickly to collect our free gift. We had to leave before the other groups were infected by us. We loved it.
Thus a few weeks ago, we started to think about our holiday plans. We went to AMA and got travel books. We were thinking of traveling east to perhaps Chicago. As we looked at the miles between here and there, we began to feel overwhelmed by the car trip. Well I thought that maybe we could fly in and rent a car and that started the internet search for cheap flights. One thing led to another and before we knew it we were sitting in our travel agents office booking a flight and two week accommodation to London.
This will be Bill’s third time to London and my second. London is a city that one could live in all their life and really not know it or see it all.
We were so excited about it that we asked my sister and her husband to come along with us. Through the luck of “it was meant to be”, they are joining us and will be on the same flight and in the same hotel. We are anxious to show them London for their first time.
Next Saturday, we leave for a two week destination holiday. I realized that this is the first time that we have stayed our complete two weeks holidays in one hotel. We must be getting older, because we are both really looking forward to it.
I plan to blog from England. Stay tuned and enjoy.
And who knows where the next adventure may take me.
WKH
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”
By Mark Twain.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Horoscopes and Mondays
Monday, May 28
“You might find that your brain is hanging out in the slow lane today, dear Aries. Gradually it may even be creeping over to the breakdown lane. You might find that it is harder to make your quick, witty, rebuttals to the conversations at hand. Take your time and make sure you choose your words very carefully. Communicating with others might be a bit like pulling teeth.”
Sometimes I look at my horoscope for no other reason than to amuse myself. This one cracked me up. And never mind the fact that I feel it is true.
Why is it that some days you wake up all fired up and ready to take on the world? Then there are those other days where one seems to wonder what to do after getting up off the bed.
Today is one of those hanging out in the slow lane type of days. Every morning I wash my hair at the sink. My bed head is just too scary for most people. The routine is the same. I take my shampoo and conditioner out of the drawer next to the sink and place them on the right and left side of the sink in the order that I use them. Today they were on opposite sides. I don’t know why? I started with the cream rinse and then shampooed my hair. Half way through the shampoo, I realized that it was backwards. However I decided that maybe I have discovered a new method of hair washing and just let my hair be. Who knows, maybe we have been doing it wrong all along.
I have spent the rest of the day trying to stay out of the breakdown lane. I will let you know how that turns out for me.
WKH
“You might find that your brain is hanging out in the slow lane today, dear Aries. Gradually it may even be creeping over to the breakdown lane. You might find that it is harder to make your quick, witty, rebuttals to the conversations at hand. Take your time and make sure you choose your words very carefully. Communicating with others might be a bit like pulling teeth.”
Sometimes I look at my horoscope for no other reason than to amuse myself. This one cracked me up. And never mind the fact that I feel it is true.
Why is it that some days you wake up all fired up and ready to take on the world? Then there are those other days where one seems to wonder what to do after getting up off the bed.
Today is one of those hanging out in the slow lane type of days. Every morning I wash my hair at the sink. My bed head is just too scary for most people. The routine is the same. I take my shampoo and conditioner out of the drawer next to the sink and place them on the right and left side of the sink in the order that I use them. Today they were on opposite sides. I don’t know why? I started with the cream rinse and then shampooed my hair. Half way through the shampoo, I realized that it was backwards. However I decided that maybe I have discovered a new method of hair washing and just let my hair be. Who knows, maybe we have been doing it wrong all along.
I have spent the rest of the day trying to stay out of the breakdown lane. I will let you know how that turns out for me.
WKH
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
GRANDMA TELL ME A STORY
“Grandma, tell me a story.”
Stories rush to my head. I feel like a shaken two litre diet coke with the cap slowly being untwisted. The words, thoughts, and memories are all fighting to come out first.
“What would you like to hear, honey?”
“Tell me something about when you were little.”
Alanna has frequent weekend night sleepovers. We love to have her as much as she loves to come. Well at least for the time being. On one of these occasions, she forgot to bring a book for me to read to her at bedtime.
I have always read stories to my children. The difference now is that I don’t seem to be as tired or have as many things on my mind when I read the books. In fact I look forward to it as an exceptional quality time. So many things come up when you read.
I have this wonderful memory of Bill and Jill together in our comfy armchair. Jill is about 3 months old and is tucked in under Bill’s arm while Bill is reading to Jill. He is reading her his electrical engineering manual. I remember chastising him for reading her such a book. His response was that Jill did not care about which words were spoken to her, but that she was being spoken to.
I have since discovered something better than reading a story. That is telling a story that you have buried deep down inside you. A story that you have but have not thought to share with others. We all have stories. We all have history. We all have special events that we can retell in our own words. All it takes is a little quiet time, a little prodding, and a little deep searching; and some little ears that eagerly wait to hear your story.
Well Alanna when I was young, actually younger than you are…..
I use to go to bed at seven p.m. In fact I was told that I quite frequently fell asleep before I finished my supper. However, I awoke early in the morning like 6 a.m.
I would go to the kitchen and sit with dad as he got ready for work. He made coffee. He sometimes made porridge for him and me.
“Do you like porridge, grandma?”
Well yes I do. I love it with brown sugar and a little milk. Dad always got it ready for me and we would eat it together. We didn’t really say too much. My dad didn’t speak much. But he had the best smile.
I would say good-by to him as he left for work. It was a special time with just me and my dad.
“Just like it is with you and me now?”
“Yes Alanna exactly like that.”
I continue the story that I had set out to tell before we got slightly side tracked. This one particular morning, I awoke like all the other mornings at 6 a.m. I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. You know yawning and everything.
“I know grandma, I do that sometimes too.”
As I got to the living room, I saw him.
“Who did you see grandma?”
Well that was the problem. I saw something that I had never seen before in our house and it kind of scared me.
“You were scared, grandma?”
Yes Alanna we all get scared at times. This scared me so bad that I froze in the spot that I saw him and screamed really loud.
“What did you see grandma?”
Well, I saw the biggest, whitest, fur ball curled up under our coffee table. He had four legs, two ears, a tail and two huge eyes. I was sure that we had a polar bear in our living room.
“Did you really grandma?”
Well, not exactly, but I thought so. I awoke the whole family and the big animal under the coffee table.
You see while I was sleeping the night before, a stray white Samoyed dog found its way to our home. We took it in and fed it and gave it shelter.
“Who did it belong to grandma?”
Well that was the problem, we didn’t know. And as it turned out we never found out whose it was. You see Alanna, when I was young; the homes in our area rarely had fences around their home. And dogs and cats were allowed to travel around the neighborhood free. Often dogs and cats went missing.
“Did you keep him grandma?”
We did keep him Alanna and in fact we named him “Chief”. I loved him dearly and he never scared me anymore. In fact he made me feel safe and protected.
“When I have a dog, grandma, I will probably feel that safe just like you.”
I hope so Alanna, I really hope so.
Stories rush to my head. I feel like a shaken two litre diet coke with the cap slowly being untwisted. The words, thoughts, and memories are all fighting to come out first.
“What would you like to hear, honey?”
“Tell me something about when you were little.”
Alanna has frequent weekend night sleepovers. We love to have her as much as she loves to come. Well at least for the time being. On one of these occasions, she forgot to bring a book for me to read to her at bedtime.
I have always read stories to my children. The difference now is that I don’t seem to be as tired or have as many things on my mind when I read the books. In fact I look forward to it as an exceptional quality time. So many things come up when you read.
I have this wonderful memory of Bill and Jill together in our comfy armchair. Jill is about 3 months old and is tucked in under Bill’s arm while Bill is reading to Jill. He is reading her his electrical engineering manual. I remember chastising him for reading her such a book. His response was that Jill did not care about which words were spoken to her, but that she was being spoken to.
I have since discovered something better than reading a story. That is telling a story that you have buried deep down inside you. A story that you have but have not thought to share with others. We all have stories. We all have history. We all have special events that we can retell in our own words. All it takes is a little quiet time, a little prodding, and a little deep searching; and some little ears that eagerly wait to hear your story.
Well Alanna when I was young, actually younger than you are…..
I use to go to bed at seven p.m. In fact I was told that I quite frequently fell asleep before I finished my supper. However, I awoke early in the morning like 6 a.m.
I would go to the kitchen and sit with dad as he got ready for work. He made coffee. He sometimes made porridge for him and me.
“Do you like porridge, grandma?”
Well yes I do. I love it with brown sugar and a little milk. Dad always got it ready for me and we would eat it together. We didn’t really say too much. My dad didn’t speak much. But he had the best smile.
I would say good-by to him as he left for work. It was a special time with just me and my dad.
“Just like it is with you and me now?”
“Yes Alanna exactly like that.”
I continue the story that I had set out to tell before we got slightly side tracked. This one particular morning, I awoke like all the other mornings at 6 a.m. I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. You know yawning and everything.
“I know grandma, I do that sometimes too.”
As I got to the living room, I saw him.
“Who did you see grandma?”
Well that was the problem. I saw something that I had never seen before in our house and it kind of scared me.
“You were scared, grandma?”
Yes Alanna we all get scared at times. This scared me so bad that I froze in the spot that I saw him and screamed really loud.
“What did you see grandma?”
Well, I saw the biggest, whitest, fur ball curled up under our coffee table. He had four legs, two ears, a tail and two huge eyes. I was sure that we had a polar bear in our living room.
“Did you really grandma?”
Well, not exactly, but I thought so. I awoke the whole family and the big animal under the coffee table.
You see while I was sleeping the night before, a stray white Samoyed dog found its way to our home. We took it in and fed it and gave it shelter.
“Who did it belong to grandma?”
Well that was the problem, we didn’t know. And as it turned out we never found out whose it was. You see Alanna, when I was young; the homes in our area rarely had fences around their home. And dogs and cats were allowed to travel around the neighborhood free. Often dogs and cats went missing.
“Did you keep him grandma?”
We did keep him Alanna and in fact we named him “Chief”. I loved him dearly and he never scared me anymore. In fact he made me feel safe and protected.
“When I have a dog, grandma, I will probably feel that safe just like you.”
I hope so Alanna, I really hope so.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
COMMENTS PART TWO
AND NOW THEY ARE BACK!
APPARENTLY IF I DO A POST A SAVE IT TO DRAFT BEFORE I PUBLISH, IT DISABLES THE COMMENTS.
THE LESSON IS TO KEEP IT SHORT AND THEN I WON'T NEED TO SAVE TO DRAFT
OI VEY!
WKH
APPARENTLY IF I DO A POST A SAVE IT TO DRAFT BEFORE I PUBLISH, IT DISABLES THE COMMENTS.
THE LESSON IS TO KEEP IT SHORT AND THEN I WON'T NEED TO SAVE TO DRAFT
OI VEY!
WKH
Comments
I have noticed that I do not have a comments section. I really like comments but apparently I am not alone in this department with blogger. I am now working through all the help groups to figure out why my comment section is disabled. Yes I have checked all my settings. I think that is equivalent to asking if the broken appliance is plugged in. So hopefully this will be fixed so that I can enjoy any comments anyone might have
WKH
WKH
Monday, May 14, 2007
Wanderlust
WANDERLUST: "The irresistible and very strong urge to travel."
My Great Grandparents
As I look at and research my family history, I am in awe of the fact that I am only second generation family from Canada. I have been researching my maternal mother's family. The Krikau's.
My maternal great grandmother and great grandfather lived in Prussia in a town called Warrenburg. My grandma McLaughlin was born their as was four of her six siblings. The Krikau's can be traced back to Wolfenhausen, Vitrunkel county of Germany as far back as the early 1700's. This was the time of Catherine the Great. The times were poor. The peasants were treated badly. There was war. These conditions made the time ripe for recruitment of the Germans to Prussia. As I understand it, some of Catherine The Greats' incentives included free travel, freedom of religion, freedom to build churches and church schools. Temporary freedom from taxes and capital for developing a parcel of land in the Prussian Volga region.
According to my grandmother's nephew (John Krikau) who did all this research, not many of these incentives were realized. However the promise was enough for a few adventurous souls, including one of my great great great grandfathers, to move to their new home along the Volga valley.
As the early 1900's came forth, once again there was political, economic, and religious unrest in Prussia. My grandmother's parents must have felt this and took advantage of yet another offer to resettle in "the land of opportunity", America.
They had letters from a first cousin who was established in Canada as a farmer and would sponsor them.
I obviously have never been through war, or persecutions for my beliefs or for that matter I have never been hungry. On some cerebral level I understand this motivation. But many in Prussia were in the same pickle.
What was it that caused my great grandfather to make the journey? Given the times, I am only assuming that it would have been an unilateral decision. What made my great grandfather actually move his wife and 5 small children away from his family and all that he knew?
I like to surmise that along with these motivating factors, their was a huge proportion of an adventurer and dreamer in him. He must have been a sweet talker to convince my great grandmother to go along with him. Or their must have been great love for her not to stay behind while her husband went ahead and got things settled. I am always the romantic.
They arrived in Ellis Island in New York on October 17th 1911. They traveled by train to Rosthern Saskatchewan on the sponsorship of the first cousin. A few years later my great grandfather moved away from the farm to Winnipeg. There is an unsubstantiated story that great grandfather had saved the soul of a person on the ship ride from Prussia. This fellow was so appreciative that he paid for train transportation for him and his family to go to California. However my great grandfather did not realize that there was a 100 dollar head tax for each member of the family. He couldn't afford it and thus stayed in Winnipeg for a few years.
The family moved on to Illinois in 1924. One exception was my maternal grandmother. She stayed in Winnipeg and was married. As an aside this marriage has remained a big mystery in my genealogy research as she divorced him and remarried and no one talked about him.
So my grandma stayed behind because of love. I understand this. My mother was born in Winnipeg. My maternal grandmother and her first husband moved to Saskatoon. She lived her remaining days there.
My mom and dad met, married and lived in Saskatoon all their married life. I was born in Saskatoon along with my 6 siblings.
Bill and I met and married in Saskatoon. We spent one year of our married life in our home city of Saskatoon. I believe the romantic in me said I would follow him to the ends of the earth just to be with him. And thus began our journey following the money and opportunity trail.
We moved to Regina where Bill got his first engineering job out of university. Regina is where my two daughters were born. We moved to Edmonton and now we live in Calgary. I followed.
Bill and I always called these moves our response to the seven year itch. I thought we were the start of the wanderlust generation. But were we?
We were following the dream of something better and probably bigger. The Alberta advantage took us. The land of opportunity; economic improvement and no provincial tax.
The cycle carries on.
Last week Jackie called me. She was so excited and talking a mile a minute. She has decided to stay in Japan. This decision was not a big surprise to me. Mothers just know. After her contract with Jet is finished at the end of July, she is moving to Tokyo. She has one more year left on her Japan work visa and what a shame to waste it.
Jackie loves big cities and do they come any bigger than Tokyo? Her pragmatic side made her realize that she had greater earning potential in Tokyo than in Canada. Apparently, Tokyo has many opportunities for English speaking persons.
Jackie is already looking for accommodation and has some promising leads. I believe Jackie is motivated to stay for the economic side of her life. She is also pursuing the challenge of another foreign big city. She loves the challenge. She is also looking for a new community to find happiness and love.
Globally the world is very small. The modern conveniences such as computers, messaging, phones, and affordable airfare allow for this. Jackie's generation listlessly travels to a new world for adventure and for the opportunity to improve economically.
My family has many generations of re establishing themselves in foreign and unknown places. Maybe the reason for moving away now are no different from those of 300 years ago.
Economic, opportunity, adventure, and maybe love.
WKH
My Great Grandparents
As I look at and research my family history, I am in awe of the fact that I am only second generation family from Canada. I have been researching my maternal mother's family. The Krikau's.
My maternal great grandmother and great grandfather lived in Prussia in a town called Warrenburg. My grandma McLaughlin was born their as was four of her six siblings. The Krikau's can be traced back to Wolfenhausen, Vitrunkel county of Germany as far back as the early 1700's. This was the time of Catherine the Great. The times were poor. The peasants were treated badly. There was war. These conditions made the time ripe for recruitment of the Germans to Prussia. As I understand it, some of Catherine The Greats' incentives included free travel, freedom of religion, freedom to build churches and church schools. Temporary freedom from taxes and capital for developing a parcel of land in the Prussian Volga region.
According to my grandmother's nephew (John Krikau) who did all this research, not many of these incentives were realized. However the promise was enough for a few adventurous souls, including one of my great great great grandfathers, to move to their new home along the Volga valley.
As the early 1900's came forth, once again there was political, economic, and religious unrest in Prussia. My grandmother's parents must have felt this and took advantage of yet another offer to resettle in "the land of opportunity", America.
They had letters from a first cousin who was established in Canada as a farmer and would sponsor them.
I obviously have never been through war, or persecutions for my beliefs or for that matter I have never been hungry. On some cerebral level I understand this motivation. But many in Prussia were in the same pickle.
What was it that caused my great grandfather to make the journey? Given the times, I am only assuming that it would have been an unilateral decision. What made my great grandfather actually move his wife and 5 small children away from his family and all that he knew?
I like to surmise that along with these motivating factors, their was a huge proportion of an adventurer and dreamer in him. He must have been a sweet talker to convince my great grandmother to go along with him. Or their must have been great love for her not to stay behind while her husband went ahead and got things settled. I am always the romantic.
They arrived in Ellis Island in New York on October 17th 1911. They traveled by train to Rosthern Saskatchewan on the sponsorship of the first cousin. A few years later my great grandfather moved away from the farm to Winnipeg. There is an unsubstantiated story that great grandfather had saved the soul of a person on the ship ride from Prussia. This fellow was so appreciative that he paid for train transportation for him and his family to go to California. However my great grandfather did not realize that there was a 100 dollar head tax for each member of the family. He couldn't afford it and thus stayed in Winnipeg for a few years.
The family moved on to Illinois in 1924. One exception was my maternal grandmother. She stayed in Winnipeg and was married. As an aside this marriage has remained a big mystery in my genealogy research as she divorced him and remarried and no one talked about him.
So my grandma stayed behind because of love. I understand this. My mother was born in Winnipeg. My maternal grandmother and her first husband moved to Saskatoon. She lived her remaining days there.
My mom and dad met, married and lived in Saskatoon all their married life. I was born in Saskatoon along with my 6 siblings.
Bill and I met and married in Saskatoon. We spent one year of our married life in our home city of Saskatoon. I believe the romantic in me said I would follow him to the ends of the earth just to be with him. And thus began our journey following the money and opportunity trail.
We moved to Regina where Bill got his first engineering job out of university. Regina is where my two daughters were born. We moved to Edmonton and now we live in Calgary. I followed.
Bill and I always called these moves our response to the seven year itch. I thought we were the start of the wanderlust generation. But were we?
We were following the dream of something better and probably bigger. The Alberta advantage took us. The land of opportunity; economic improvement and no provincial tax.
The cycle carries on.
Last week Jackie called me. She was so excited and talking a mile a minute. She has decided to stay in Japan. This decision was not a big surprise to me. Mothers just know. After her contract with Jet is finished at the end of July, she is moving to Tokyo. She has one more year left on her Japan work visa and what a shame to waste it.
Jackie loves big cities and do they come any bigger than Tokyo? Her pragmatic side made her realize that she had greater earning potential in Tokyo than in Canada. Apparently, Tokyo has many opportunities for English speaking persons.
Jackie is already looking for accommodation and has some promising leads. I believe Jackie is motivated to stay for the economic side of her life. She is also pursuing the challenge of another foreign big city. She loves the challenge. She is also looking for a new community to find happiness and love.
Globally the world is very small. The modern conveniences such as computers, messaging, phones, and affordable airfare allow for this. Jackie's generation listlessly travels to a new world for adventure and for the opportunity to improve economically.
My family has many generations of re establishing themselves in foreign and unknown places. Maybe the reason for moving away now are no different from those of 300 years ago.
Economic, opportunity, adventure, and maybe love.
WKH
Friday, May 4, 2007
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Anniversary
We were married 32 years ago today.
A marvelous bright blue sky dawned that day and the sun shone down upon us. Brides never want a rainy day. It had something to do with bad luck.
I was 21 years, 1 month, and 8 days old. Bill was 20 years, 6 months and 23 days old. We were just babies. I know for certain we didn't think so at the time. After all, I had a full time job nursing. I had money in the bank. And I was in love. Bill had just completed his 3rd year of engineering. And he was in love.
While in Japan, Jackie and I had a discussion about love. The only thing I knew for sure is that "you just Know" when you are in love with that special someone. How do you know, mom?
You never stop thinking about each other. You never want to be separated. It is that unexplainable feeling that nothing else matters as long as you are together.
Only three other times have I ever felt that way. The birth of Jill, Jackie and Alanna. There is a connection that takes you over and you let it take you.
It was this feeling that I walked toward on our wedding day. I was not thinking of where we would be 32 years later. It was only for that moment of letting our friends and family know we were meant to be together forever.
As the anniversaries added up, the time seemed to speed up. It has been a long time since we lived in a basement apartment with concrete block and wooden bookshelves. It has been a long time since Bill would come to pick me up from my evening shift and we would go out for pizza until 2 or 3 a.m.
We have enjoyed life in 4 cities, 1 apartment, 4 houses, and one condo. Location did not matter to our marriage. In fact it strengthened it as we learned to become independent of family.
We have accumulated our material things. It was great. More things did not make us happier. Together and at the same time we realized that life was more than what we owned. We downsized and simplified our life. In this simplified life we have found our lives becoming strengthened as a couple who can enjoy our time together.
We have two daughters, one son in law and our grand daughter. We have been blessed to watch their growth into adulthood and find their own lives. We have been so enriched by our granddaughter. We really should all be grandparents first. It is a much easier ride.
Bill and I do not have the magic answer to marriage. We have magic in our marriage. I live each day with a grateful heart. I have married my best friend for life. And that life so far has been truly magical and full of love.
WKH
A marvelous bright blue sky dawned that day and the sun shone down upon us. Brides never want a rainy day. It had something to do with bad luck.
I was 21 years, 1 month, and 8 days old. Bill was 20 years, 6 months and 23 days old. We were just babies. I know for certain we didn't think so at the time. After all, I had a full time job nursing. I had money in the bank. And I was in love. Bill had just completed his 3rd year of engineering. And he was in love.
While in Japan, Jackie and I had a discussion about love. The only thing I knew for sure is that "you just Know" when you are in love with that special someone. How do you know, mom?
You never stop thinking about each other. You never want to be separated. It is that unexplainable feeling that nothing else matters as long as you are together.
Only three other times have I ever felt that way. The birth of Jill, Jackie and Alanna. There is a connection that takes you over and you let it take you.
It was this feeling that I walked toward on our wedding day. I was not thinking of where we would be 32 years later. It was only for that moment of letting our friends and family know we were meant to be together forever.
As the anniversaries added up, the time seemed to speed up. It has been a long time since we lived in a basement apartment with concrete block and wooden bookshelves. It has been a long time since Bill would come to pick me up from my evening shift and we would go out for pizza until 2 or 3 a.m.
We have enjoyed life in 4 cities, 1 apartment, 4 houses, and one condo. Location did not matter to our marriage. In fact it strengthened it as we learned to become independent of family.
We have accumulated our material things. It was great. More things did not make us happier. Together and at the same time we realized that life was more than what we owned. We downsized and simplified our life. In this simplified life we have found our lives becoming strengthened as a couple who can enjoy our time together.
We have two daughters, one son in law and our grand daughter. We have been blessed to watch their growth into adulthood and find their own lives. We have been so enriched by our granddaughter. We really should all be grandparents first. It is a much easier ride.
Bill and I do not have the magic answer to marriage. We have magic in our marriage. I live each day with a grateful heart. I have married my best friend for life. And that life so far has been truly magical and full of love.
WKH
Saturday, April 28, 2007
My Timing
Jackie emailed me the other day to let me know that she had experienced an earthquake. It was centered off the Island of Shikoku and was according to the news reports a 5.2 on the Richter scale. She said it was over by the time she realized what it was.
My timing seems to be right. I am sure that it would have really freaked me out to be there during an earthquake. That would have been too much excitement to take in.
Besides missing the earthquake, I also show great timing, by leaving before her "creepy crawly buggy" season. A few days after she left, she found a very long centipede on the living room floor. She thinks it was the poisonous kind. (Shudder). The day or so after that she found a 3 inch long spider in the room behind where I slept. (Shake).
I am aware that the lush land of Japan cannot come without it's fair share of bugs and insects. I am just thankful that they showed up after I left.
I have finally looked at all my digital pictures of Japan and love the feeling and memories that they bring. I am just starting to work through Jackie's pictures. In the same manner I have been working on setting up some of my pictures o1n Flick r. So let me set you up with a link. I hope it works.
http://www.flickr.com//photos/turtle_lady/
My timing seems to be right. I am sure that it would have really freaked me out to be there during an earthquake. That would have been too much excitement to take in.
Besides missing the earthquake, I also show great timing, by leaving before her "creepy crawly buggy" season. A few days after she left, she found a very long centipede on the living room floor. She thinks it was the poisonous kind. (Shudder). The day or so after that she found a 3 inch long spider in the room behind where I slept. (Shake).
I am aware that the lush land of Japan cannot come without it's fair share of bugs and insects. I am just thankful that they showed up after I left.
I have finally looked at all my digital pictures of Japan and love the feeling and memories that they bring. I am just starting to work through Jackie's pictures. In the same manner I have been working on setting up some of my pictures o1n Flick r. So let me set you up with a link. I hope it works.
http://www.flickr.com//photos/turtle_lady/
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
A NASTY COLD + JET LAG = A BUMPY REENTRY
Here is a mathematical question for you.
My plane left Kansai Airport in Osaka on Saturday, April 21 at 1530. It was travelling approximately 600 miles per hour. The time difference between Japan and San Francisco is 15 hours. The flight was 9 hours and 37 minutes. I took some "daytime sniffing sneezing, stuffy head fever so you can get rest" cold medication upon take off from Kansai. I can take it every 4 hours. We were to arrive in San Francisco at 0830 hours. Half way through the flight we crossed the international dateline. An hour later I switched my clock to San Francisco time. When could I have my next cold medicine?
Answers:
A) Ask the stranger next to me to feel my forehead to see if I really did have a fever.
B) Work through the math and never really know the answer.
C) Take the medicine because my watch said it was Saturday April 21st and it was only about 5 a.m. and I hadn't taken the first dose yet.
Truly this did go through my fever addled mind on the plane. I took the medicine and went to sleep.
Jet lag is not any ones favorite thing to go through. I had purchased some homeopathic pills called "No Jetlag". I swear they really helped me adjust when I arrived in Japan. This has not been the case this time.
Jackie and I talked about jet lag and a friend of hers thought that ones soul needed time to catch up to your body when going through time zones. I think so. My soul is not into being here just yet.
I have the strangest feeling that I am still in Japan and yet I wake up to being in my own bed. I relate my day in Calgary as what they are doing in Japan at that time. You know the mental gymnastics of adding 16 hours to my time. I look around my condo and can't quite believe that I am home. Did I already go and come back?
I know I have. I have problems with letting go of all the fantastic experiences and people that I met. I feel I should be an ambassador for Japan's tourism bureau.
These new experiences are so exciting to me and yet I can see that there is this general zoning out when I launch into one of my tales from Japan.
Jackie, is this the reverse culture shock that you talked about?
I left Japan on Saturday, April 21 at 1530. Jackie was there to see me safely through to the security door. We hugged each other until my tears flowed. It was such a wonderful time together that neither of us wanted to let go of it.
I arrived in Calgary on Saturday April 21 at 1530 "ish". I left the secured area to the arms of Bill. Alanna was fighting for a close second big hug and the most awesome smile. Jill was able to hug the top half as Alanna hung on to the bottom half. Chris was in the background cheering us all on.
If one is to travel this way where one leaves and arrives at the same time, what better way can it be bookended than in the arms of those you love?
WKH
My plane left Kansai Airport in Osaka on Saturday, April 21 at 1530. It was travelling approximately 600 miles per hour. The time difference between Japan and San Francisco is 15 hours. The flight was 9 hours and 37 minutes. I took some "daytime sniffing sneezing, stuffy head fever so you can get rest" cold medication upon take off from Kansai. I can take it every 4 hours. We were to arrive in San Francisco at 0830 hours. Half way through the flight we crossed the international dateline. An hour later I switched my clock to San Francisco time. When could I have my next cold medicine?
Answers:
A) Ask the stranger next to me to feel my forehead to see if I really did have a fever.
B) Work through the math and never really know the answer.
C) Take the medicine because my watch said it was Saturday April 21st and it was only about 5 a.m. and I hadn't taken the first dose yet.
Truly this did go through my fever addled mind on the plane. I took the medicine and went to sleep.
Jet lag is not any ones favorite thing to go through. I had purchased some homeopathic pills called "No Jetlag". I swear they really helped me adjust when I arrived in Japan. This has not been the case this time.
Jackie and I talked about jet lag and a friend of hers thought that ones soul needed time to catch up to your body when going through time zones. I think so. My soul is not into being here just yet.
I have the strangest feeling that I am still in Japan and yet I wake up to being in my own bed. I relate my day in Calgary as what they are doing in Japan at that time. You know the mental gymnastics of adding 16 hours to my time. I look around my condo and can't quite believe that I am home. Did I already go and come back?
I know I have. I have problems with letting go of all the fantastic experiences and people that I met. I feel I should be an ambassador for Japan's tourism bureau.
These new experiences are so exciting to me and yet I can see that there is this general zoning out when I launch into one of my tales from Japan.
Jackie, is this the reverse culture shock that you talked about?
I left Japan on Saturday, April 21 at 1530. Jackie was there to see me safely through to the security door. We hugged each other until my tears flowed. It was such a wonderful time together that neither of us wanted to let go of it.
I arrived in Calgary on Saturday April 21 at 1530 "ish". I left the secured area to the arms of Bill. Alanna was fighting for a close second big hug and the most awesome smile. Jill was able to hug the top half as Alanna hung on to the bottom half. Chris was in the background cheering us all on.
If one is to travel this way where one leaves and arrives at the same time, what better way can it be bookended than in the arms of those you love?
WKH
Thursday, April 19, 2007
I'll Be Home in 48 Hours.
It is my last day in Onomichi. My bags are packed. Jackie and I will take the shinkansen at 5:30 pm tonight to Kobe. We are staying overnight and then taking the hotel shuttle to the airport tomorrow at noonish. I leave at 3:25 from Kansai airport in Osaka on Saturday and arrive in Calgary at 3 pm "ish" on Saturday.
The month in Japan flew by. It was so full of adventure, culture and fun. Jackie and I enjoyed our time together. I couldn't have asked for a better time. I felt that Jackie and I got to know each other even better, if that is possible. It was good mother / daughter bonding time.
I spent the morning walking around Onomichi. I can't believe how much I have come to know this city. I sat by the seaside in the blazing sun. Today was one of those blue sky, bright yellow sun days. I journalled by the sea and will miss it. I walked down there covered shopping mall. I met Jackie for lunch at the waffle house. I even treated myself to a waffle and blueberry ice cream waffle. They had awesome coffee. Jackie and I checked out the cat museum. This women has more than 1000 different representations of cats in this house like museum. It was pretty cool. I think I heard that she only had one live cat who was strutting around. Cats wth a paw raised are a symbol for good fortune, luck, health and whatever.
After Jackie returned to work, I walked the temple path for just a little way to see if I could see just a few more of the 25 temples that Onomichi has. I saw 3 more and then the heat and the steep stairs sent me home. It doesn't help that I caught a nasty cold a few days ago either. The person next to me on the plane is not going to be happy with my coughing and hacking.
I am now going to read until we leave. I will be home in 48 hours. I can't wait to see my Calgary family and freinds. And I don't want to say good bye to Jackie.
What is a mother to do?
The month in Japan flew by. It was so full of adventure, culture and fun. Jackie and I enjoyed our time together. I couldn't have asked for a better time. I felt that Jackie and I got to know each other even better, if that is possible. It was good mother / daughter bonding time.
I spent the morning walking around Onomichi. I can't believe how much I have come to know this city. I sat by the seaside in the blazing sun. Today was one of those blue sky, bright yellow sun days. I journalled by the sea and will miss it. I walked down there covered shopping mall. I met Jackie for lunch at the waffle house. I even treated myself to a waffle and blueberry ice cream waffle. They had awesome coffee. Jackie and I checked out the cat museum. This women has more than 1000 different representations of cats in this house like museum. It was pretty cool. I think I heard that she only had one live cat who was strutting around. Cats wth a paw raised are a symbol for good fortune, luck, health and whatever.
After Jackie returned to work, I walked the temple path for just a little way to see if I could see just a few more of the 25 temples that Onomichi has. I saw 3 more and then the heat and the steep stairs sent me home. It doesn't help that I caught a nasty cold a few days ago either. The person next to me on the plane is not going to be happy with my coughing and hacking.
I am now going to read until we leave. I will be home in 48 hours. I can't wait to see my Calgary family and freinds. And I don't want to say good bye to Jackie.
What is a mother to do?
Monday, April 16, 2007
Thoughts On Japan.
I have been asked many times what I think of Japan. My first answer is that it is more beautiful than I thought. For what ever reason, I thought of Japan as an endless flat land with wall to wall people. I cannot get over how wonderfully lush and green and mountainous Japan is. If I would have thought about it, of course it is mountainous, because it is volcanic land.
The fauna and flora is so variant. I did not expect to see Palm trees, large fern like plants and trees. There are pine trees along side of maple trees. Of course I have talked to death the beauty of the Cherry Blossom trees. Jackie has a blooming Magnolia tree in her front yard. It is all so wonderful.
Japan is clean. I mean squeaky clean. When I got off the plane and entered the airport, I couldn't believe how shiny the floors were. Yesterday, Jackie and I were on a train to Fukuyama. You could have seen your face in the polished shine of the train floor. I am not kidding.
As I mentioned before, they are into dividing their garbage into combustibles, etc. Leaving trash behind is never heard of. It is just not done.
Jackie was telling me about the school children. They have lunch. The pre-arranged list of children have to go down to get the soup pots and dishes and etc. They are also the ones that have to serve each child. Each child has the same thing and no one is allowed to not to finish their meal. Allergies are unheard of. After lunch, they then clean the school. There are no janitors. Each child has their turn at cleaning the desks, toilets etc. I understand how it would be in their best interest to keep things clean.
The Japanese toilets,as a matter of rule, do not have hot running water. Most sinks run cold water. They usually don't have soap or paper towels. Everyone has a small cloth, usually terry, in their purse or pocket and they dry their hands on them. These clothes seem to be another place of fashion expression. When you eat or have a coffee in a restaraunt, you are given either hot wet towels, or more likely individually wrapped desposable hand cleaners to use prior to eating.
I still have difficulty understanding why they wear masks. I am not sure if it is to protect us from their germs or is it to protect them from our germs. As a nurse, I know that masks are only 5% effective, but it must make them feel better. As an aside they can buy colorful face masks as well, but usually it is white.
Speaking of white, most of the drivers of bus or taxi wear white gloves. They also wear suits. It is very formal looking.
The Japanese people are always dressed very smartly. Usually business suits, both men and women. Women who are not in business wear, dress in very fashionable clothes with the best high heel shoes and matching purses. Even the children wear good clothes and if they wear jeans they are the designer jeans and lovely jackets and intricate blouses. The more mature women seem to wear dresses and skirts more often.
The school children wear uniforms. They girls wear black skirts, and white knee socks. The boys wear black suits. They are the same. Even their backpacks are the same. Their shoes are black. I wonder if dressing in a uniform all their formative life follows to their adult life as stylish dress wear.
Practically everyone has a cell phone. They are constantly in their hand. No one is speaking. They text message each other constantly. They rarely need to call someone and talk. I think that is an interesting concept that I can't wait to take hold in Canada. The cell phones here are technologically so far ahead. I had a hey day looking at all the cell phones that I will not be able to use back home. By the way the cell phones are always decked out in bling. Jackie says it is one way to express themselves.
The Japanese people are endlessly polite. It took me a long time to get use to everyone bowing. The cart lady on the train who brings refreshments will bow upon entering and leaving each car. It is a slight bow at the waist with the hands together in front of your body.
I have seen business men really bow and bow many times to each other. I wondered where the cut off is to bowing. Quite often as I walked the paths of Jackies home, I will run across some women and they always seem to bow which reflexively makes me bow back. I don't know it just happens.
The newscasters always bow at the beginning of each segment and as it goes to commercial. Respect is a huge here. Having said that I found it funny that entering a busy train, it is every person for themselves. No one gives up their seat. However they do cue up for the entrance to the train.
I like their language. It is almost musical in tone. It is most often soft, unless you are in a market where they are yelling for you to enter their store. The yelling is more musical and has pitches to it. When you enter a shop their is always, and I mean always someone their to greet you. I believe it is something equivelant to welcome to our store, or thank you for coming and sometimes a little bow. It makes you feel important.
When you pay for your goods, there seems to be this proceedure that I think I have figured out. They ring it up and then tell you the amount. You get your money and then put it in the tray. I think never directly into their hands. The change you get back is given to you in the paper money first. It is handed over to you with both of their hands like an presentation. I believe you are to recieve it with both hands. Then they hand you the change with both hands and again you accept it with both hands. They say arigota something something and give a head bow.
There are so many little details and traditions that I have enjoyed. I can only imagine the years of history behind them. It is a mystery to me, but it is not to the Japanese people.
The fauna and flora is so variant. I did not expect to see Palm trees, large fern like plants and trees. There are pine trees along side of maple trees. Of course I have talked to death the beauty of the Cherry Blossom trees. Jackie has a blooming Magnolia tree in her front yard. It is all so wonderful.
Japan is clean. I mean squeaky clean. When I got off the plane and entered the airport, I couldn't believe how shiny the floors were. Yesterday, Jackie and I were on a train to Fukuyama. You could have seen your face in the polished shine of the train floor. I am not kidding.
As I mentioned before, they are into dividing their garbage into combustibles, etc. Leaving trash behind is never heard of. It is just not done.
Jackie was telling me about the school children. They have lunch. The pre-arranged list of children have to go down to get the soup pots and dishes and etc. They are also the ones that have to serve each child. Each child has the same thing and no one is allowed to not to finish their meal. Allergies are unheard of. After lunch, they then clean the school. There are no janitors. Each child has their turn at cleaning the desks, toilets etc. I understand how it would be in their best interest to keep things clean.
The Japanese toilets,as a matter of rule, do not have hot running water. Most sinks run cold water. They usually don't have soap or paper towels. Everyone has a small cloth, usually terry, in their purse or pocket and they dry their hands on them. These clothes seem to be another place of fashion expression. When you eat or have a coffee in a restaraunt, you are given either hot wet towels, or more likely individually wrapped desposable hand cleaners to use prior to eating.
I still have difficulty understanding why they wear masks. I am not sure if it is to protect us from their germs or is it to protect them from our germs. As a nurse, I know that masks are only 5% effective, but it must make them feel better. As an aside they can buy colorful face masks as well, but usually it is white.
Speaking of white, most of the drivers of bus or taxi wear white gloves. They also wear suits. It is very formal looking.
The Japanese people are always dressed very smartly. Usually business suits, both men and women. Women who are not in business wear, dress in very fashionable clothes with the best high heel shoes and matching purses. Even the children wear good clothes and if they wear jeans they are the designer jeans and lovely jackets and intricate blouses. The more mature women seem to wear dresses and skirts more often.
The school children wear uniforms. They girls wear black skirts, and white knee socks. The boys wear black suits. They are the same. Even their backpacks are the same. Their shoes are black. I wonder if dressing in a uniform all their formative life follows to their adult life as stylish dress wear.
Practically everyone has a cell phone. They are constantly in their hand. No one is speaking. They text message each other constantly. They rarely need to call someone and talk. I think that is an interesting concept that I can't wait to take hold in Canada. The cell phones here are technologically so far ahead. I had a hey day looking at all the cell phones that I will not be able to use back home. By the way the cell phones are always decked out in bling. Jackie says it is one way to express themselves.
The Japanese people are endlessly polite. It took me a long time to get use to everyone bowing. The cart lady on the train who brings refreshments will bow upon entering and leaving each car. It is a slight bow at the waist with the hands together in front of your body.
I have seen business men really bow and bow many times to each other. I wondered where the cut off is to bowing. Quite often as I walked the paths of Jackies home, I will run across some women and they always seem to bow which reflexively makes me bow back. I don't know it just happens.
The newscasters always bow at the beginning of each segment and as it goes to commercial. Respect is a huge here. Having said that I found it funny that entering a busy train, it is every person for themselves. No one gives up their seat. However they do cue up for the entrance to the train.
I like their language. It is almost musical in tone. It is most often soft, unless you are in a market where they are yelling for you to enter their store. The yelling is more musical and has pitches to it. When you enter a shop their is always, and I mean always someone their to greet you. I believe it is something equivelant to welcome to our store, or thank you for coming and sometimes a little bow. It makes you feel important.
When you pay for your goods, there seems to be this proceedure that I think I have figured out. They ring it up and then tell you the amount. You get your money and then put it in the tray. I think never directly into their hands. The change you get back is given to you in the paper money first. It is handed over to you with both of their hands like an presentation. I believe you are to recieve it with both hands. Then they hand you the change with both hands and again you accept it with both hands. They say arigota something something and give a head bow.
There are so many little details and traditions that I have enjoyed. I can only imagine the years of history behind them. It is a mystery to me, but it is not to the Japanese people.
A Japanese Afternoon.
Where does my time go here?
I think I left off talking about going to Jackie's teacher, Yoko San, for the afternoon. Yoko has been just wonderful to me. She picked me up that afternoon. I forgot how nice it is to have a car to come and go as you please. Yoko is easy to talk to and at times not so easy to understand. She actually has remarkable English skills. This is really quite uncommon for Onomichi. I also believe that she is very curious about "foreigners". As she said to me that in as little as ten years ago, seeing white people in Onomichi was very rare. Now that teaching English has been mandated in all the grades, the English speaking students are coming to all the cities, towns and villages and teaching their children. Slowly the Japanese are becoming accustomed to seeing the foreigners in their towns.
I noticed though, the difference in number of foreigners in the bigger cities as compared to Onomichi. In Onomichi, I feel that I am definitely white and am often stared at. Well that is until I look at them. They quickly look away. It would be rude to stare.
Jackie told me that in one of her classrooms, she tried to help the children understand that if they went to another country that they would be foreigners. She said that they could not comprehend what she was talking about. They could never be foreigners!
It is these king of talks that Yoko and I have had. She was more than happy to entertain me for the afternoon while Jackie was at work.
Earlier in the week, she asked me what my favorite food was so far. I told her that Jackie and I had been to a restaurant where we had okonomiyaki. I thoroughly enjoyed it. She then said that Jackie and I should come over and she would show us how it is made. Wow that is quite the invitation and I was quite excited to participate. The plans evolved into a whole afternoon event.
She picked me up and we immediately went to her favorite grocery store. She had to buy all the ingredients. More over she wanted to show me all the foods that make up a Japanese grocery store. We spent over an hour in two grocery stores. She showed me all kinds of wild and wonderful vegtables and fruits and fish and rice and seaweed and powders and teas that I have never seen or at least never looked for in Calgary. Once we had all the ingredients we went back to her house and waited for her teacher.
I think in the previous blog, I said Yoko San was a teacher. She isn't. She is a student and it takes a lot of practice to learn how to dress someone in a kimono. The teacher came and the fun started. This women of whom I can't remember her name, has apparently held the country honor of being able to put on her own Kimono the fastest. After I was in one, I can't believe she is actually able to put it on herself.
There was much fussing about the colors of the kimonos and sashes and ties. There was several kimonos there which surprised me. I am told that the kimono usually costs approximately $1000. Cnd. and that is at its cheapest. Yoko San had several handed down to her from her mom and several she has aquired over the years.
Finally everything was decided while I stood wondering what to do. Off with the clothes. The Japanese have no body issues. The teacher helped me on with a top half slip which was tied in the back and a half slip. Then because I had bigger feet than them they found me a pair of stretchy split toe socks to put on. Okay, its starting to come together, I thought. Then the second layer of a lighter but fancy shorter Kimono. This is the first layer around the neck. There was much tying and sinching and knotting. However because it is behind you, I had no idea what was going on. Next the most beautiful silk Kimono was put on me. More belts and wrap around ties with plastic, cardboard inserted in the front to keep it flat I guess. The silk and brocade wrap around the waist was put on and cinched and more ties and rope belts. In the end I was kimoned and felt quite elegant. Uncomfortable, but elegant. Then Jackie arrived and I got to watch how they dressed her. It is unbelievably complicated. We both looked so elegant. Yes there was lots of pictures taken and when I figure out how to post them, I will.
The teacher left and then Yoko San had us to her tea ceremony. That is another thing all steeped in tradition.
We then undressed,although we didn't want to and went to the kitchen to make Okonomiyaki which is the Japanese equivelent to pizza. A pancake type batter is used to bind together the cabbage, noodles, meat vegetables, fish layers. It is usually cooked at the table and in a restaraunt you get to use the wooden spatula to eat it with.
I was also served Sake and another sake like drink. Jackie and Yoko couldn't join me as there is zero tolerance for drinking and driving.
It was the most wonderful afternoon. And something that I will remember for a very long time about my time in Japan.
I think I left off talking about going to Jackie's teacher, Yoko San, for the afternoon. Yoko has been just wonderful to me. She picked me up that afternoon. I forgot how nice it is to have a car to come and go as you please. Yoko is easy to talk to and at times not so easy to understand. She actually has remarkable English skills. This is really quite uncommon for Onomichi. I also believe that she is very curious about "foreigners". As she said to me that in as little as ten years ago, seeing white people in Onomichi was very rare. Now that teaching English has been mandated in all the grades, the English speaking students are coming to all the cities, towns and villages and teaching their children. Slowly the Japanese are becoming accustomed to seeing the foreigners in their towns.
I noticed though, the difference in number of foreigners in the bigger cities as compared to Onomichi. In Onomichi, I feel that I am definitely white and am often stared at. Well that is until I look at them. They quickly look away. It would be rude to stare.
Jackie told me that in one of her classrooms, she tried to help the children understand that if they went to another country that they would be foreigners. She said that they could not comprehend what she was talking about. They could never be foreigners!
It is these king of talks that Yoko and I have had. She was more than happy to entertain me for the afternoon while Jackie was at work.
Earlier in the week, she asked me what my favorite food was so far. I told her that Jackie and I had been to a restaurant where we had okonomiyaki. I thoroughly enjoyed it. She then said that Jackie and I should come over and she would show us how it is made. Wow that is quite the invitation and I was quite excited to participate. The plans evolved into a whole afternoon event.
She picked me up and we immediately went to her favorite grocery store. She had to buy all the ingredients. More over she wanted to show me all the foods that make up a Japanese grocery store. We spent over an hour in two grocery stores. She showed me all kinds of wild and wonderful vegtables and fruits and fish and rice and seaweed and powders and teas that I have never seen or at least never looked for in Calgary. Once we had all the ingredients we went back to her house and waited for her teacher.
I think in the previous blog, I said Yoko San was a teacher. She isn't. She is a student and it takes a lot of practice to learn how to dress someone in a kimono. The teacher came and the fun started. This women of whom I can't remember her name, has apparently held the country honor of being able to put on her own Kimono the fastest. After I was in one, I can't believe she is actually able to put it on herself.
There was much fussing about the colors of the kimonos and sashes and ties. There was several kimonos there which surprised me. I am told that the kimono usually costs approximately $1000. Cnd. and that is at its cheapest. Yoko San had several handed down to her from her mom and several she has aquired over the years.
Finally everything was decided while I stood wondering what to do. Off with the clothes. The Japanese have no body issues. The teacher helped me on with a top half slip which was tied in the back and a half slip. Then because I had bigger feet than them they found me a pair of stretchy split toe socks to put on. Okay, its starting to come together, I thought. Then the second layer of a lighter but fancy shorter Kimono. This is the first layer around the neck. There was much tying and sinching and knotting. However because it is behind you, I had no idea what was going on. Next the most beautiful silk Kimono was put on me. More belts and wrap around ties with plastic, cardboard inserted in the front to keep it flat I guess. The silk and brocade wrap around the waist was put on and cinched and more ties and rope belts. In the end I was kimoned and felt quite elegant. Uncomfortable, but elegant. Then Jackie arrived and I got to watch how they dressed her. It is unbelievably complicated. We both looked so elegant. Yes there was lots of pictures taken and when I figure out how to post them, I will.
The teacher left and then Yoko San had us to her tea ceremony. That is another thing all steeped in tradition.
We then undressed,although we didn't want to and went to the kitchen to make Okonomiyaki which is the Japanese equivelent to pizza. A pancake type batter is used to bind together the cabbage, noodles, meat vegetables, fish layers. It is usually cooked at the table and in a restaraunt you get to use the wooden spatula to eat it with.
I was also served Sake and another sake like drink. Jackie and Yoko couldn't join me as there is zero tolerance for drinking and driving.
It was the most wonderful afternoon. And something that I will remember for a very long time about my time in Japan.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Shrine, Shrine Every Where a Shrine
Wednesday morning and Jackie is off to work. This is my third day on "my own" and it has been great. Yesterday, Jackie's freind Yoko and her husband Morrie took me to to the island of Hirayama Ikuo. It is two islands kind of west of here. The city we visited was called Setoda.
The prime attraction is it's temple complex which my rough guide disliked. Kosan-Ji is the creation of a steel tube manufacturer who made his money apparently from the arm's trade. Kanemoto Kozo was a devoted son who used some of his funds to build his mother a holiday retreat in the city. When she died, the bereft Kanemoto decided to build a temple in her honour and bought the priesthood from Nishi-Hongan-ji temple in Kyoto. He took over the name of a minor temple Kosan-ji in Niigata. He quit his job and build the ever expanding temples which now which includes 10 halls, three towers, four gates, an underground cave, and an enormous statue of Kannon, The goddess of Mercy. They are all recreations of originals throughout Japan and although smaller it is said that no intricated detail is left out. My roughguide book says that since 1936 it has opened to millions of paying visitors. And since it is recognized as a temple all this income is tax free.
The intriguing spectacle was the Cave of a Thousand Buddhas and the valley of hell. The rock was brought from Mount Fuji and apparently formed into this cave with Buddhas enshrined into the rock, in statues and pictures. There is art on the wall showing the horrors of damnation and the raptures of heavenly host of Buddha. You emerge from the cave and are standing under the 15 meter tall statue of Kannon, the goddess of mercy.
From here you walk up The Hill of Hope which is a modern marble structure /shrine/ statues. It is hard to say what it is, but it is white and marble. It is a modern design and well gives a beautiful view of the inner harbour of Setoda.
Next to this Shrine is a museum of art by the living Hirayam Ikuo. He is one of the most famous Japanese artists I was told. He was a junior high school student during the atom bomb on Hiroshima and his works tend to be dark. He uses ancient painting techniques and there for has to produce the huge wall canvasses quite quickly. The nice thing about an art museum is that it usually knows no language.
Yoko and Morrie then treated me to ice cream at famous Gelato place on the island. I had lemon and salty blue (whatever that was). It was great. The weather has been plus 18 or there abouts. It is just right for ice cream, but then for me any time is just right for ice cream.
It is a day later now. Jackie's internet connection is not very reliable. I went to Fukyama on my own yesterday in search of Starbuck's. God bless them as I could smell where they were from the station. I was almost in heaven by the time I stretched my Grande misto for one and one half hours.
Today, Yoko has invited me to her lovely home. She is going to teach me how to make a wonderful Japanese dish which Jackie and I had last week and i quite thoroughly enjoyed. I can't remember what it is called, but I am looking forward to it. More later on food.
Yoko is also a teacher of "dressing up people in Kimonos" and giving the tea ceremony. She has invited her teacher over and the two of them are going to dress me up in her kimono. Pictures will be taken. She keeps repeatedly saying she is much smaller than me, but it will work. Should I worry?
Jackie will come for supper. So I am off to be dressed this afternoon. Oi.
Well I am doing Jackie's laundry this morning and hear the washer is done. That means I should go and "hang up" the laundry. God that has brought back memories of mom hanging laundry in 40 below. Hanging laundry? Who knew i knew how to do it?
Love to all
WKH
The prime attraction is it's temple complex which my rough guide disliked. Kosan-Ji is the creation of a steel tube manufacturer who made his money apparently from the arm's trade. Kanemoto Kozo was a devoted son who used some of his funds to build his mother a holiday retreat in the city. When she died, the bereft Kanemoto decided to build a temple in her honour and bought the priesthood from Nishi-Hongan-ji temple in Kyoto. He took over the name of a minor temple Kosan-ji in Niigata. He quit his job and build the ever expanding temples which now which includes 10 halls, three towers, four gates, an underground cave, and an enormous statue of Kannon, The goddess of Mercy. They are all recreations of originals throughout Japan and although smaller it is said that no intricated detail is left out. My roughguide book says that since 1936 it has opened to millions of paying visitors. And since it is recognized as a temple all this income is tax free.
The intriguing spectacle was the Cave of a Thousand Buddhas and the valley of hell. The rock was brought from Mount Fuji and apparently formed into this cave with Buddhas enshrined into the rock, in statues and pictures. There is art on the wall showing the horrors of damnation and the raptures of heavenly host of Buddha. You emerge from the cave and are standing under the 15 meter tall statue of Kannon, the goddess of mercy.
From here you walk up The Hill of Hope which is a modern marble structure /shrine/ statues. It is hard to say what it is, but it is white and marble. It is a modern design and well gives a beautiful view of the inner harbour of Setoda.
Next to this Shrine is a museum of art by the living Hirayam Ikuo. He is one of the most famous Japanese artists I was told. He was a junior high school student during the atom bomb on Hiroshima and his works tend to be dark. He uses ancient painting techniques and there for has to produce the huge wall canvasses quite quickly. The nice thing about an art museum is that it usually knows no language.
Yoko and Morrie then treated me to ice cream at famous Gelato place on the island. I had lemon and salty blue (whatever that was). It was great. The weather has been plus 18 or there abouts. It is just right for ice cream, but then for me any time is just right for ice cream.
It is a day later now. Jackie's internet connection is not very reliable. I went to Fukyama on my own yesterday in search of Starbuck's. God bless them as I could smell where they were from the station. I was almost in heaven by the time I stretched my Grande misto for one and one half hours.
Today, Yoko has invited me to her lovely home. She is going to teach me how to make a wonderful Japanese dish which Jackie and I had last week and i quite thoroughly enjoyed. I can't remember what it is called, but I am looking forward to it. More later on food.
Yoko is also a teacher of "dressing up people in Kimonos" and giving the tea ceremony. She has invited her teacher over and the two of them are going to dress me up in her kimono. Pictures will be taken. She keeps repeatedly saying she is much smaller than me, but it will work. Should I worry?
Jackie will come for supper. So I am off to be dressed this afternoon. Oi.
Well I am doing Jackie's laundry this morning and hear the washer is done. That means I should go and "hang up" the laundry. God that has brought back memories of mom hanging laundry in 40 below. Hanging laundry? Who knew i knew how to do it?
Love to all
WKH
Monday, April 9, 2007
Japan And My Coffee
Jackie has just left for a Hanami party. I did not feel like going so here I sit at the computer.
Japan is not really a coffee country. You have to know where to look for the coffee shops. As I had mentioned there are Starbucks but they are usually in the bigger cities. I have not seen many people walk around with coffee. Coffee is offered at most restaraunts, but not all of them. A dedicated coffee shop is a rare find and a treat for me. As you know, I love my coffee and I love to journal with a coffee in a shop with ambience. Jackie has scoped out several great coffee shops for me in Onomichi where I feel comfortable ordering my coffee in English and have myself understood.
It is also very rare to see people walking around with coffee. Jackie tells me that having coffee is done when you are seated and relaxed and able to enjoy it to it's fullest. And I can understand that when it costs you approximately $4.80 for each cup.
However to order a coffee "to go" seems to put the staff in quite a tizzy. It is not without presidence. First, I have to explain how the Japanese retailers love to wrap up their customer's purchases. An example is from the other day when I went to the bakery shop and bought several different types of pastries. I was alone. First they wrap up each baked good individually and then put it in another bag and then carefully tape it closed. Another example is when I bought some postcards, pens, paper and envelopes. They took each group of items and packaged them together. Taped that bag closed. They put all the bags into a bigger bag and tape that closed. If it is raining they then put it in plastic and tape it closed so not to get wet. It can be a real challenge to take them out when you get home.
Okay, about the coffee to go and I think you know where I am going with this. They pour the coffee into the cups and carefully place their lids on. They then bring out a tray and place the coffees in there and then put it in a paper bag and tape it closed. My simple cup of coffee has become a bag. All this and I go outside and take out my coffee and get rid of the paper. At least I hope I get rid of the paper because garbage is not a simple thing in Japan. God knows I am still trying to get that right. There is flamable, non-flamable, bottles, plastic and tins and the list goes on. The first trick is actually finding the garbage receptacles as they do not have them frequently located. Jackie tells me everyone just takes it home and disposes of it there.
An alternative to a coffee in a restaraunt or at the coffee shop is found in their unique vending machines. When I first arrived in Japan, I was intrigued by the multiple vending machines that they have at least every block or more often. They are the coolest things. They sell every type of drink imaginable including beer and alcohol. During my first day or two here, I was complaining about my lack of caffeine. Jackie then stopped at the vending machines and bought me a coffee. I was absolutely blown away that right along side the cold drinks in the same vending machine they sell hot coffee, cafe au laits, and more. I was sure that I would not like vending machine coffee. It brought back memories of night shifts in the hospital and getting vending machine mud, called coffee. First of all the cans are so hot that it is difficult to hold them, but when you open them up they are at a comfortable drinking temperature. How do they do that? More importantly they are not that bad when you need a coffee.
What got me thinking of this tonight was that after supper Jackie was going out and didn't really want a coffee at home. I felt way too lazy to set up her esspresso pot on her gas hotplate just for myself. She convinced me to go for a walk to 7-Eleven so she could pay for her new computer that she is buying. Yes one can pay all their bills at the "combenni" store while buying their Sake and heavenly treats.(Jackie might explain that name to you.) Thus I went to buy my can of coffee for $1.20. I had a nice walk and got a warm coffee in a very hot tin.
As Jackie and I were heading back to her house, I began to count steps up to her place. She told me that she didn't want to know the count. The count went something like this. From street level to the overpass over the road and rail tracks, it is 34 steps up. We walk over the road and tracks and again that distance on flat pavement. Then you come to the first set of stairs which count 33 steps. Then walk approximately 15 paces and ascend the second set of 22 steps. The is the last of the stairs, but then you gradually ascend ramps that would equal the height of two, two story homes. Then walk up her dozen front steps to get to her front door. Once in the house I then ascended another 14 or so stairs that are steep or steeper than any Amsterdam stairs I have stepped on.
Thinking back on it, it probably would have been easier to make the coffee on the hotplate. However all kidding aside, the walk to Jackie's home is wonderful. We pass by one of many temples and shrines in Onomichi. I also step lively past the graveyard.(It creeps me out), but they are everywhere. The walk ways are sidewalk narrow and meander between houses at times just armlengths apart. It is history that I walk by every day while getting my coffee from the vending machines. It is beautiful trimmed trees and gardens. It is Cherry blossom trees. It is flowers. It is homes that are so paper thin that you can hear what is happening on the other side of the wall just a few inches away. It is hundred of years of eeking out every square inch of land for the people who live on it. It is nothing I have ever seen or experienced on my walks at home in Calgary. And I love it.
WKH
Japan is not really a coffee country. You have to know where to look for the coffee shops. As I had mentioned there are Starbucks but they are usually in the bigger cities. I have not seen many people walk around with coffee. Coffee is offered at most restaraunts, but not all of them. A dedicated coffee shop is a rare find and a treat for me. As you know, I love my coffee and I love to journal with a coffee in a shop with ambience. Jackie has scoped out several great coffee shops for me in Onomichi where I feel comfortable ordering my coffee in English and have myself understood.
It is also very rare to see people walking around with coffee. Jackie tells me that having coffee is done when you are seated and relaxed and able to enjoy it to it's fullest. And I can understand that when it costs you approximately $4.80 for each cup.
However to order a coffee "to go" seems to put the staff in quite a tizzy. It is not without presidence. First, I have to explain how the Japanese retailers love to wrap up their customer's purchases. An example is from the other day when I went to the bakery shop and bought several different types of pastries. I was alone. First they wrap up each baked good individually and then put it in another bag and then carefully tape it closed. Another example is when I bought some postcards, pens, paper and envelopes. They took each group of items and packaged them together. Taped that bag closed. They put all the bags into a bigger bag and tape that closed. If it is raining they then put it in plastic and tape it closed so not to get wet. It can be a real challenge to take them out when you get home.
Okay, about the coffee to go and I think you know where I am going with this. They pour the coffee into the cups and carefully place their lids on. They then bring out a tray and place the coffees in there and then put it in a paper bag and tape it closed. My simple cup of coffee has become a bag. All this and I go outside and take out my coffee and get rid of the paper. At least I hope I get rid of the paper because garbage is not a simple thing in Japan. God knows I am still trying to get that right. There is flamable, non-flamable, bottles, plastic and tins and the list goes on. The first trick is actually finding the garbage receptacles as they do not have them frequently located. Jackie tells me everyone just takes it home and disposes of it there.
An alternative to a coffee in a restaraunt or at the coffee shop is found in their unique vending machines. When I first arrived in Japan, I was intrigued by the multiple vending machines that they have at least every block or more often. They are the coolest things. They sell every type of drink imaginable including beer and alcohol. During my first day or two here, I was complaining about my lack of caffeine. Jackie then stopped at the vending machines and bought me a coffee. I was absolutely blown away that right along side the cold drinks in the same vending machine they sell hot coffee, cafe au laits, and more. I was sure that I would not like vending machine coffee. It brought back memories of night shifts in the hospital and getting vending machine mud, called coffee. First of all the cans are so hot that it is difficult to hold them, but when you open them up they are at a comfortable drinking temperature. How do they do that? More importantly they are not that bad when you need a coffee.
What got me thinking of this tonight was that after supper Jackie was going out and didn't really want a coffee at home. I felt way too lazy to set up her esspresso pot on her gas hotplate just for myself. She convinced me to go for a walk to 7-Eleven so she could pay for her new computer that she is buying. Yes one can pay all their bills at the "combenni" store while buying their Sake and heavenly treats.(Jackie might explain that name to you.) Thus I went to buy my can of coffee for $1.20. I had a nice walk and got a warm coffee in a very hot tin.
As Jackie and I were heading back to her house, I began to count steps up to her place. She told me that she didn't want to know the count. The count went something like this. From street level to the overpass over the road and rail tracks, it is 34 steps up. We walk over the road and tracks and again that distance on flat pavement. Then you come to the first set of stairs which count 33 steps. Then walk approximately 15 paces and ascend the second set of 22 steps. The is the last of the stairs, but then you gradually ascend ramps that would equal the height of two, two story homes. Then walk up her dozen front steps to get to her front door. Once in the house I then ascended another 14 or so stairs that are steep or steeper than any Amsterdam stairs I have stepped on.
Thinking back on it, it probably would have been easier to make the coffee on the hotplate. However all kidding aside, the walk to Jackie's home is wonderful. We pass by one of many temples and shrines in Onomichi. I also step lively past the graveyard.(It creeps me out), but they are everywhere. The walk ways are sidewalk narrow and meander between houses at times just armlengths apart. It is history that I walk by every day while getting my coffee from the vending machines. It is beautiful trimmed trees and gardens. It is Cherry blossom trees. It is flowers. It is homes that are so paper thin that you can hear what is happening on the other side of the wall just a few inches away. It is hundred of years of eeking out every square inch of land for the people who live on it. It is nothing I have ever seen or experienced on my walks at home in Calgary. And I love it.
WKH
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
The Sakura Have Bloomed
Onomichi is a beautiful city. I can see why Jackie loves it. Yesterday we met up with Jackie's freind and language teacher, Yoko. Yoko has live in Onomichi for most of her life. She is a wonderfully warm women who has gone to great lengths to help Jackie with plans and sights for us to visit while I am in Japan.
After lunch we took the ropeway (cable car) to the top of the mountain in Onomichi. We had picked a beautiful day. The Sakura were out in full bloom. The sight was breathtaking and I must admit that no picture will ever do it justice. The views from the observation deck allowed me to see all of Onomichi and some of the many islands in the Inland Sea. The atmosphere is almost festival like. Some families were picnicing under the cherry blossom trees. This is called Hanami and is often declared a national holiday when the blossoms are in full bloom.
Yoko was wonderful to have along. Her English is quite good. She was able to point out several things that we would not have known. The mountains of Onomichi have many temples and shrines. She took us to one of the older ones and shared information about it. We had a very interesting discussion on graves and how all are cremated in Japan. She found it interesting that we did not always cremate. She found it hard to believe that one grave could be for one person. The graves we saw were for families.
As we walked along under the trees there were many vendors selling there local delicacies. She stopped at one and decided to buy us a favorite treat of the Japanese people. It smelled quite good. She bought it and Jackie warned me that it was Ocupus wrapped in a batter and grilled. It is called Takoyaki. My book tells me that "they are battered balls of Octupus". Don't take it too literally please.
If I could have disappeared I would have. I think Yoko saw my fear. She asked me if I could eat Octupus. I smiled and said I never have, but I was willing to try it. We found a bench under the Sakura tree and ate these delicacies that Japanese people line up for as we would for Tim Horton's Donuts. I had to calm my mind and demand it not to take over my stomach. I tasted the first one. It was not as bad as I thought. The chewy part was not even as bad as I thought it would have been. I had three, served with special sauce and mayonaise. Yes I would have it again.
Yoko asked me what kind of fish I eat. I said being from the prairies, I rarely ate fish. I guess I can see why she thinks that would not be possible. Fish is a staple in Japan. I have a long way to go to love fish.
Tomorrow, Jackie, Brandon and I head on a road trip for four days. We will be on the island of Shikoku. Brandon is a fellow jet student and it is his car we are using for the trip. I will keep you posted. I think we are in more ryokans and enjoying onsens again.
Jackie helped me set up a site that I will put pictures on from time to time. Please check on it by clicking on the following link.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7645918@N07/
After lunch we took the ropeway (cable car) to the top of the mountain in Onomichi. We had picked a beautiful day. The Sakura were out in full bloom. The sight was breathtaking and I must admit that no picture will ever do it justice. The views from the observation deck allowed me to see all of Onomichi and some of the many islands in the Inland Sea. The atmosphere is almost festival like. Some families were picnicing under the cherry blossom trees. This is called Hanami and is often declared a national holiday when the blossoms are in full bloom.
Yoko was wonderful to have along. Her English is quite good. She was able to point out several things that we would not have known. The mountains of Onomichi have many temples and shrines. She took us to one of the older ones and shared information about it. We had a very interesting discussion on graves and how all are cremated in Japan. She found it interesting that we did not always cremate. She found it hard to believe that one grave could be for one person. The graves we saw were for families.
As we walked along under the trees there were many vendors selling there local delicacies. She stopped at one and decided to buy us a favorite treat of the Japanese people. It smelled quite good. She bought it and Jackie warned me that it was Ocupus wrapped in a batter and grilled. It is called Takoyaki. My book tells me that "they are battered balls of Octupus". Don't take it too literally please.
If I could have disappeared I would have. I think Yoko saw my fear. She asked me if I could eat Octupus. I smiled and said I never have, but I was willing to try it. We found a bench under the Sakura tree and ate these delicacies that Japanese people line up for as we would for Tim Horton's Donuts. I had to calm my mind and demand it not to take over my stomach. I tasted the first one. It was not as bad as I thought. The chewy part was not even as bad as I thought it would have been. I had three, served with special sauce and mayonaise. Yes I would have it again.
Yoko asked me what kind of fish I eat. I said being from the prairies, I rarely ate fish. I guess I can see why she thinks that would not be possible. Fish is a staple in Japan. I have a long way to go to love fish.
Tomorrow, Jackie, Brandon and I head on a road trip for four days. We will be on the island of Shikoku. Brandon is a fellow jet student and it is his car we are using for the trip. I will keep you posted. I think we are in more ryokans and enjoying onsens again.
Jackie helped me set up a site that I will put pictures on from time to time. Please check on it by clicking on the following link.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7645918@N07/
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