On Rain Bonnets

I was out early doing errands this morning. Most people were either at work or away for the long weekend, I guess. And the kids were still asleep. So, it was me and a lot of old people.

Then it started to rain and out came the rain bonnets. On the way home, I was the only female on a bus full of people without a rain bonnet on.

Nobody had umbrellas or raincoats or even rain hats, but they all had rain bonnets. Not just plain clear ones, either. They seem to come with a fairly wide, if conservative, variety of designs on them.

Some had rain drops, predictably enough. Some had polka dots. Some had flowers. Some had stripes. Nothing too garish. All pastels on a clear background. All the tie-thingies were either white, red or black.

Rain bonnets confound me. Where do they get them? I’ve never seen them for sale anywhere – or maybe I just haven’t been looking hard enough. Do they come free with something only old women purchase?

How old do you have to be before you can pull one of these off without looking ironic?

Most of the women with rain bonnets had short, white hair. The rest had short orangey hair. Maybe it’s more hair-related than age-related?

And, what exactly is the purpose of the rain bonnet? It only keeps hair dry (if it’s short), maybe a bit of the neck and possibly some of the forehead if it’s pulled forward far enough.

Does every woman of a certain age carry a rain bonnet in her purse? Will I have to start carrying one eventually? What will happen if I don’t?

Sucks to be Marjorie

True story[1]: Marjorie worked for Company X for nearly 12 years. For all but the first few months of that time, she was part of the weekly, office lottery pool involving approximately 25 other staff.

Each week everyone would contribute $2. The group had never won anything beyond a few dollars which they agreed would be put back in the pot to buy extra tickets the following week.

One day Marjorie was offered a better job with Company Y and she decided to take it. Friday was her last day and there was a big farewell party for her complete with lots of hugging and tears. She pitched in her $2 for the lottery pool one last time for the following week’s draw. They didn’t win.

The week after that, however, Company X’s lottery pool group hit the jackpot and won enough money that everyone got close to a million dollars.

Marjorie was devastated. If only she’d contributed just one more week! She knew she had no legal right to any of the winnings, but hoped her friends and former co-workers would kick a little of the bounty her way just for having been a member for so long. It was especially galling that the person who had taken over her old job was among the winners and had only been with Company X for a few weeks. The group said no way was Marjorie entitled to any of the money. Bitterness ensued[2].

• A. Do you agree with the group’s decision?
• B. If not, what if, instead of a week later, they’d won a month later? Or three months later?
• C. What if you’re part of a lottery group like this and you’re on vacation one week and forget to kick in your $2 and they win?
• D. What if someone else kicks in $2 for you the week you’re away because you’ve forgotten? (without you asking them to) They win. Do you have any right to the winnings?  

---

 [1] NO! This is not about me.

[2] In fact, this single event seems to be defining her life to this day (5 years later). She has the idea that somehow her life was ruined that day. Sometimes she blames herself, sometimes she blames her ex-coworkers, sometimes she just blames the whole world (because it’s obviously against her). She has a great job, nice house, nice son, other friends and family who love her, everyone is healthy. She knows she should let it go, that she hasn’t actually lost anything, but she can’t help but go through life now with a big, black cloud hanging over her head.

5 New Crushes

Lucy van Oldenbarneveld, host of CBC News At Six in Ottawa.  Suddenly, I love CBC news (at 6:00), even though it takes most of the hour to say her name.

 

The Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World. The website is also hilarious good fun:
http://staythirstymyfriends.com/

 

Pamela Adlon, the voice of Bobby Hill on King of the Hill. Is there anything cuter than a woman in an undershirt who can sound like a 10-year-old Texas boy?

 

Tom Jones. An old crush, renewed. I recently watched an episode of Canadian Idol because he was on it — dude’s still got it; still shakin’ his thang.

 

While I was watching Canadian Idol, I found this guy: Theo Tams –whoa mamma! Seriously talented and as adorable as all-get-out.

On reaping and sowing & Maple Leaf Foods

The Maple Leaf Foods product contamination/recall issue of recent weeks is remarkable to me for two reasons.

First, that Maple Leaf was so proactive in immediately recalling all their products and shutting down the plant even though only two product lines were affected. Then they put COE and President Michael McCain front and centre with a brief, sympathetic message to everyone who’s become ill from the tainted products and especially to family members of those who died. The message was free from any attempts to shift blame or deny responsibility.

The man looks devastated. He admits failure (actually using the word). He puts a human face on the company when speaking of their 23,000 employees. He admits he will have to win back the public’s confidence and promises to do whatever it takes to earn that. He has told his shareholders that money will not be a consideration in solving this problem.

I think the $20 million or so this is going to cost the company will be money well spent. Maple Leafs’ public relations around this issue has been so brilliant it will be a PR textbook case study for years to come. It should also help them when the law suits come flooding in.

The second thing that’s noteworthy about this product contamination thing is that highlights how far removed we are from the food we eat. It’s taking forever to track down where all these tainted products have ended up because there are distributors of distributors of distributors. The products are not only neatly packaged under the Maple Leaf banner in grocery stores – they are also shipped out to restaurants, delicatessens, hospitals, nursing homes and other institutions in bulk.

Once, everything we ate had recently been growing or had roamed around in our backyards or in the backyards of our neighbours. Our food used to go from the backyard to the table and the only people who touched it were family or other people you knew in your community.

Now? How many hands has that bacon passed through, from pig to pan, before it ends up on your McBreakfast? Hundreds? Thousands? So much opportunity for contamination it’s a wonder this sort of thing doesn’t happen more often.

And for what? Convenience? Variety? Cost? Does all our food have to come ready-made so we don’t have to spend more than 3 minutes preparing it? Do we really need to eat strawberries in February?

And why do we begrudge spending money on food? After shelter this should be our most important expense. People boast about how they only spend a dollar on bread by driving to the big box store and getting it in bulk. In how many ways is that totally crazy?

Seven Ways to Excel in Prison

As a companion piece to Brad Brown’s recent guide Seven Ways to Become a Better Bank Robber, I thought I’d provide this short guide.

Even if you never rob a bank, there’s always a chance that some day you might inadvertently commit a crime and find yourself behind bars. It happens more often than you might think.

1. Stay positive! Yes, getting caught embezzling from the company, or having your “personal stash” discovered during a routine traffic violation, or accidentally killing your spouse during a heated argument will seem like the end of the world. But, on the bright side, you won’t have to go back to that stinkin’ office for a while and most of your other normal, every day problems are pretty much over, as well.

2. Surrender to the inevitable.  Give in gracefully. Fretting over the loss of your electronic toys, grooming aids or best outfits is a waste of time and energy. Move on quickly so you can start addressing all the new issues about to come your way.

3. Pretend you’re in a movie. Nothing in your past can prepare you fully for his totally new, unexpected lifestyle. But, everybody at some point in their life has dreamed of being a movie star. Well, here’s your chance to show off your star qualities. Act really creepy for your mug shot, make ugly faces, grimace – that way no one will ever recognize you.  This is also better for your “range cred” than the novice deer-in-the-headlights look most newbies sport on their first mugshots. Also when they handcuff you or explore your body cavities, pretend it’s Detective Goren or Serpico or Clarice Starling or one of Charlie’s Angels doing it. And pretend there’s a camera on you and it’s not real. And pretend you’re going to get paid millions for this gig.

4. Take advantage of everything prison has to offer. You finally have time to go to the gym every day!! Get that second degree you’ve always wanted to get! Learn a trade! Read every book you have on your list of must-reads! Watch all those movies you’ve wanted to see. Meditate! Sign up for re-hab, anger management and every other counseling available even if you don’t think you need it.

5. Eat whatever you want.  No more worrying about diets and watching what you eat. No more cooking, shopping or spending money in restaurants. No more morning conflict between the fat-free latte or the moccacino. Food is free and your options are: eat it or don’t eat it; coffee or no coffee.

6. Make new friends quickly. Try to choose people that look popular or have been in the joint for a long time or are big and menacing. Making friends in prison is a little like making friends in Kindergarten – you have to give them something to encourage friendship. Children will share their candy or offer to push another kid on the swings. In jail you might share your dessert or offer some small service to the person(s) you wish to befriend.

7. Things that make you an asshole on the outside will make you wildly popular inside. Bragging about how drunk you were when you were driving the car you stole to escape from the pigs; calling your former wife/husband your “old lady” or “old man”; smoking; bullying smaller, weaker people; using the f-word several times in each sentence; or shaving your friends while they’re sleeping.

Bon chance!!

The Wilde Boy

Portrait of Baron Joseph Vialetes de Mortarieu – J.A.D. Ingres

The boy gets on the bus, a yellowed Penguin Classic in his hand. I’m drawn to notice him first because of the book and then because of his face. He looks like something from another era - dark, tousled curls, an open smiling face — patrician, like a 19th century painting.

He sits down in the sideways seat in front of me. He’s maybe in his late teens, yet he has no electronic device of any sort plugged anywhere into his person. He has no visible piercings or tattoos. His shoes are tied, his shorts fit.

He opens the book, the faded Penguin, his dark eyes fix instantly on the page. 

I wonder what he’s reading with such enthusiasm.  It all seems so incongruous. I strain to read the tiny print in the header. It’s too small. I want to know what this boy is reading.

I tilt my head to the side and downward to try to get a glimpse of the front cover. I can’t.

I fetch my reading glass from my bag and pretend to read a scrap of paper I also find there and then surreptitiously look over to read the the page header of the boy’s book:  The Importance of Being Ernest.

I stare at the boy in wonder.

He smiles to himself as he reads; chuckles once or twice, quietly.

He turns the page. His face lights up and he actually slaps his knee and laughs out loud.  Not too loud. No one else has noticed.  He looks up, face beaming with joy. He looks around as if seeking someone with whom to share what he has just experienced.

“You’re really enjoying that.” I state, obviously, smiling back.

“Oh, ya! It’s great!” He says, eagerly, in a soft, well-modulated voice.  He goes on to try to explain why he’s enjoying it. He stumbles all over his words as too many thoughts tumble out. He’s not very clear and seems to want to tell me, in one breath,  the entire story and how and why it has engaged him.

We chat briefly about Oscar Wilde; his blithe flippancy; his dark cynicism. The boy is too excited to get into much of a discussion, though. He longs to get back to the book.

 ”Are you reading this for fun or for a class?” I have to know before he’s lost in the story again.

 ”Oh, fun!” he answers, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw a Penguin out in public.” I murmur, mostly to myself.  I watch him read until we get to his stop. He smiles and nods good-bye.

Kids these days.

The Backpack

The girl leaves the shop with a huge smile on her face, clutching a stiff new backpack, price tags flipping back and forth as she walks. The mother follows behind looking weary, but relieved.

They stop at a bench a few yards away from the shop and sit down. The girl shrugs off her old backpack and begins examining the new backpack in minute detail.

The mother begins removing items from the old backpack and hands them to the girl who sorts and organizes the accumulated debris of her recent life. Some she piles up on the bench next to her; some she stows away into the various pockets and compartments of the new backpack.

The mother gathers up the unwanted items and takes them to a nearby garbage bin. The girl tries to tear apart the plastic that holds the price tags on the new backpack. She settles for just ripping the tags off, leaving the plastic dangling to be dealt with later.

The mother picks up the old backpack and heads back to the garbage bin. The girl is up in a flash and snatches the backpack from her mother’s hand with a pained look.  The girl argues. The mother looks exasperated and points to the four large safety pins holding the right strap together. She demonstrates how easily her fingers slide through the ragged hole in a bottom corner of the backpack. She waves her hands impatiently over a zipper that no longer contains any zip.

The girl acknowledges defeat, but continues to plead for another solution. The mother takes a deep breath and thinks. The girl watches the mother’s face anxiously.

 The girl makes a tentative suggestion, pointing at the bench.

The mother shrugs acquiescence.

The mother and the girl walk back to the bench. The girl zips up everything that is zippable on the old backpack, fluffs it up and arranges it as attractively as possible on the bench. The mother roots around in her purse and produces as Toonie which she tucks into a side pocket.

The mother and the girl walk away. The girl, now wearing her new backpack,  turns around once and gives the old backpack a sad little wave.

On the other side of the road an old man, dressed in layers of tattered clothing, heaves himself off the grass under a tree where he’s been resting.  He adjusts the plastic grocery bags he has swinging from his left shoulder, attached by a fraying yellow rope.

 The old man scuttles across the street, the sole of one shoe flapping with each step. Traffic dodges around him. The old man never takes his eyes off the abandoned backpack.  He comes close to grinning, but his face doesn’t remember how.

7 Reasons Why Men Don’t Oogle Older Women

As a spin-off to yesterday’s post that included a reference to the “invisible middle-aged woman,” I figured out reasons why we old broads disappear off the male radar screen. Interestingly, I don’t think it has much to do with the way we look.  Yes, we may not be as firm and perky as our younger sisters, but we’re certainly not so hideous that people need to avert their eyes. There are many, many very beautiful older women. So, there must be other reasons why men try to pretend we don’t exist.

1. They know older women are on to them. Older women have heard all their lines and lies and boasts and excuses. They know if they make eye contact with an older woman, they risk full exposure. So they ply their wily ways on younger women who believe them when they say, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone else,” or, “I’ve been celibate since my wife died.”
2. They think if they strut around with a young woman, it makes them look young and virile, too. Because two middle-aged people together look like grandparents, right?  But an older guy with a hot young thing looks like he’s still got it and/or has a lot of money.
3. Sex with a younger woman is easier because they have fewer expectations. They’re flattered when he says, “Uh, sorry, babe. It’s just that you’re so damn exciting, I couldn’t help myself.” And they think it’s really romantic when an hour later he’s still saying, “Let’s just hold each other tonight.”
4. Dating younger women consists of calling them whenever he feels like it and picking her up for a dinner in cheap restaurants, hitting a club now and then, or maybe a bit of browsing at the mall. Dating older women is really complicated. They have kids and dogs and homes of their own and important jobs that take a lot of time and energy. Dates with older women might involve having to cook for them, helping them in the garden, or joining her in her new rock-climbing hobby.
5. The boyfriend is the centre of a young woman’s universe. Men generally enjoy this position. Older women know they can live quite happily without the boyfriend. He’s only welcome as long as he adds something positive to the life she already has. This is a very precarious and uncomfortable position for a man to be in.
6. Dating younger women means the man gets to meet her friends, which means meeting more younger women. Dating older women means the man just meets a lot more older women.
7. Breaking up with a younger woman is easy. The man just makes up some story about being recalled to his Foreign Legion duties or having to go back to his ex-wife to take care of her because she’s dying or something. The young woman will cry a lot and then move on. With an older woman, chances are it will be the man who gets dumped first. But, if not, the man has to extricate himself from the relationship with care. The older woman has had many years to hone and practice her revenge skills.

Ottawa vs Montréal: A Day in the Life

We recently hopped over to Montréal for a short back-to-school shopping trip and I couldn’t help noticing again how different Montréal is to a lot of other Canadian cities. It’s a fun city to visit and spend a bit of time in. I’m not sure I could live there full-time, though. Even though Ottawa is less than 2 hours away, they’re very different cities. Though those of you who go back and forth a lot, probably have a better insight on this than I do, here are some of the differences that always strike me, the occasional visitor:

1. People in Montréal dress better; with more style, flair and imagination.
2. People in Montréal smoke a hell of a lot more. I inhaled more second-hand smoke there in a day than I have in Ottawa over the last year.
3. The food in Montréal is amazing. We barely had time for shopping between meals and snacks. So many great eateries. So many eatables.  So little time.
4. People in Montréal eat all day long. From 11:00 am until way into the night, the restaurants, bistros, and cafes are packed. In Ottawa they all close up for most of the afternoon and many of them shut down mid-evening.
5. Montréal people walk up and down escalators. They don’t just stand there sluggishly enjoying the ride. In fact, they seem more active in general. More people take stairs. People don’t gather in clumps waiting to go through the one door that someone has already opened when there are several other doors available for use if only you had the energy to walk over and open it. And, people walk really fast in Montréal.
6.  There aren’t as many obese people in Montréal. (Or maybe their stylish clothes help to disguise their figure flaws?).
7.  Men, in Montréal look at women with appreciation — all women, young or old.  It’s always disconcerting at first to be looked at and smiled at so intently – and to be flirted with by waiters and store clerks and even panhandlers. In Ottawa and every other Canadian city I’ve been in over the last 20 years, I’m pretty much invisible.
8. Traffic signs and lights are only suggestions in Montréal.
9. Ottawa is cleaner. Montréal seems kind of grubby in general. I don’t know what it is. Maybe because the buildings don’t look well maintained. Maybe because there’s lots of garbage around.  Maybe because the people are so dazzlingly good-looking that it makes the environment pale by comparison. I do know that all those sexy “laps dancing”, “nudes dancers”, and “pleasuring toys” shops don’t help the general ambience much.
10. Everybody in Montréal seems constantly to be involved in intense conversations involving a lot of arm-waving and hand-flapping. In Ottawa you can see people sitting together in restaurants or walking together down the street without talking at all.

My Quirk

Geewits recently bemoaned the fact that nothing on her body was symmetrical – that one foot was bigger than the other; that one hand was bigger than the other; that she was totally lopsided.

I’ve never met her, so I don’t know how noticeable this is – everyone is somewhat asymmetrical, after all. Most people, in fact have some sort of oddity with which they were born. Some people have really odd oddities. There are people born with little tails, or 3 nipples or 6 toes or webbed toes or 2 penises or no sense of smell. There are people who are double or triple jointed or who feel no pain or who have odd compulsions or obsessions like eating hair or nails or other non-food stuff.

People don’t always like to talk about their little quirks, but I knew a woman once who was tongue-tied. This just meant she couldn’t stick out her tongue; it was completely attached to the bottom of her mouth. It’s surprising how many difficulties this caused her.

I also knew a guy who had no cartilage in his nose. It looked okay, but he could push it right smack over to the side of his face. It was fun watching him blow his nose.

My quirk is only partially physiological. Since I first learned to make sounds, I’ve felt a compulsion to mimic other sounds – especially odd or repetitive sounds. Even as a toddler, my parents tell me I would mimic anyone or anything that sounded a bit out of the ordinary. And I guess I was pretty good at it because they used to haul me out in front of company and get me to do imitations of people they knew or people from TV.

I could do anything from Johnny Cash to my Sunday school teacher to a trumpet to the neighbour’s cat. Other times my parents would cringe in horror when I did it public, like repeating everything the doctor said mimicking his own pompous voice. And I got in trouble a lot at school for “making fun” of other kids or the teacher or Officer Fullerton who came to talk to us about the safety rules.

After a while, I figured out that doing this probably wasn’t cool and I learned to control it. But still, to this day, whenever I’d hear a new or unusual sound I still feel an urge to mimic it.

Sometimes, when I’m not paying attention I’ll do it without noticing I’m doing it.

Like, I might be shopping and the loudspeaker announced something in an especially grating voice, I’ll repeat the announcement in the same grating voice, quite loudly. My daughter smacks me and looks aghast and I stop.

I don’t know if this is an actual physiological quirk or just me being rude. Just repeting sounds (without necessarily the mimicry) is called echolalia, and is often part of a lot of other conditions and syndromes which I don’t have as far as I know.

It comes in handy, though, when learning foreign languages because I do really well with the accents. And, I suppose I could work it into a stand-up act if I ever decided to take that up as a career, but other than that it’s just sort of bad-mannered.

Let’s share quirks – mental or physical. And send photos.