ALL POINTS BULLETIN

Name: Mr. R.O. Bin (A.K.A. Red, Red Breast, Early Bird)

Wanted for Acts of: Cheeriness and chirping at dawn, crossing Canadian/U.S. Border without a passport, lawn trespassing, juicy worm theft.

Detailed Physical Description (Mr. R.O. Bin):  Toothless, red/brown jacket, reddish shirt with no tie, white chin, pointed yellow lips and throat. Is bipedal. 

Detailed Physical Description (Spousal Accomplice): To divert attention, attempts to dress in camouflage. I.e. dresses like a faded photograph of Mr. R.O. Bin.

Detailed Physical Description (Juvenile Accomplice): prefers speckled buff-brown shirts and pants. May exhibit bulging eyes at early age. In constant state of hunger.

What to do if found: Do not approach - flight risk. Report presence to James Audubon.

Reward: No financial reward is offered as I am cheep, cheep!  Enjoy if found - Mr. R.O. Bin is a highly reliable harbinger of spring. 

IT TAKES BALLS

Balls for the sand traps. Balls for the water hazards. Balls for the rough. Yup! To play golf at my level of expertise (choke), it takes balls.......a copious supply of balls! So prone am I to land in the water, that a dear friend once suggested I store flippers and mask in my golf bag. 

It wasn't until 2010 when Jim and I played "at" a golf game in Arizona that we decided we would like to persue the sport a bit more. The operational definition here for me is "a bit more". Lessons at the Golf Dome in Markham and coaching at Arizona's Rancho Mañana ensued.  

Wasn't it Phyllis Diller who once said, "The reason a pro tells you to keep your head down is so you can't see him laughing. I love to relate the tale of the Rancho Mañana golf pro, who after analyzing my drive said, Mrs. Lockett, even if we hadn't discussed it, I would know that you are a Canadian.

Chest puffing, head swelling, and eagerly anticipating the compliment, I sweetly said, Oh?

Yes, he smiled, because your drive is like a hockey slapshot.

So much for a career on the circuit......as if.

Viewing the sport on TV, golf appears deceptively simple. Ha! Not only is the game complicated, for me, my battle with that little white ball is a mind game, a matter of concentration. Strings of horrible shots are interspersed with rare shots of brilliance which occur only when I concentrate and mentally repeat my coach's words. I play my best when I relax and remind myself that it is only a silly game.

True golf devotees would be horrified, but what I enjoy most are golf cart moments of conversation and laughter with my husband, sister or good friends.  Whether it is the rolling hills of Uxbridge or breathtaking vistas of my favourite Rancho Mañana Golf Course, early morning tee offs or twilight rounds, being out in the fresh air is what it is all about.

And so I am in countdown, looking forward to my battle with that little white ball, time with my husband and dear friends, and Arizona's incomparable vistas. Don't worry! I have balls!

FLYING WITH TURKEYS

I once overheard an investment advisor joke, If you want to become a millionaire, invest $3,000,000 in an airline. Having owned and operated my own business, I totally appreciate the importance of curbing costs and keeping focus on the bottom line. I understand the new baggage fees, increased rows, and more narrow seating introduced by airlines, most particularly on North American routes. You want to fly inexpensively, ladies and gentlemen, then something has to give and I, for one, do not want it to be maintenance. I'm fine with these changes.........that is, until the turkeys board. No doubt about it, close proximity increases travelling turkey issues.

Recently returning from Tampa on WestJet, Jim and I booked Plus seating at the forward bulkhead.  Do not confuse these WestJet Plus seats with Air Canada Executive Class seats or pods.  Plus provides welcome extra leg room, but little added width.  Cosily ensconced in our seats, yours truly in the window seat and Jim in the centre, we happily watched passengers embark. Happily, that is, until an obese, at least 400-pounder plunked down in the seat beside Jim. Watching the immediate horror on his face, I made some lame excuse about sunshine making my iPad difficult to read, and changed seats with my darling, in-shock husband. Please know that this not so svelte writer also appreciates that we are not all alike and that my new, very, very close seat neighbour is likely a lovely person, but I still do not know whether to laugh or cry about what then transpired.  The armrest between myself and the new passenger was immediately raised, allowing some of the four hundred pounds to swell onto my seat. In an automatic defensive motion, my shoulders and upper body scrunched into the most narrow position I could physically take and remained so for the three hours journey, gate to gate.  I stored my coffee and water on Jim's tray; there was no way in heaven that I could possibly raise mine. I, of course, survived the short flight, but now ask myself why it was me who attempted to scrunch up while my happy seat pal blithely spread into neighbouring space, not in the least concerned about my discomfort. Hey buddy, want to pay for the 25% of MY seat that you so enjoyed?

On a return flight from B.C., a little girl in the seat behind us entertained herself by kicking the back of Jim's seat. After showing about an hour of admirable self control, Jim finally turned and calmly asked the mother to restrain her child.

Unvelievably, ignoring Jim's discomfort, the woman defended her daughter, It's a long flight you know.

Oooooooo! Not what you want to say to a retired school principal, I thought and held my breath.

Yes, Ma'am, he glowered at her. For both of us.

Why, I ask myself, did the mother give no thought to the passenger in the forward seat?

My personal favourite flying turkey incident took place on a May flight into Newfoundland for iceberg season. The gentleman beside me coughed and sneezed continually, using neither his elbow, sleeve nor a handkerchief. The resultant spray was as strong as any shower. Had I known, I would have worn a hazmat suit on that journey. Ultimately the cold took me as a victim. Go figure!

Heavy perfume, overhead bin violations, seats reclined 100%, unpatrolled children, and, and ........ ain't flying with turkeys, grand? Not! 

Friend, Jackie, wrote about an unrelated problem in Newmarket, Pretend it is another blackout and bring that thoughtful, considerate, caring person you really are back to life again. Do you hear that, Turkeys? Take heed! With a little consideration for fellow travellers, travelling turkey incidents could be reduced to zero! Just sayin'.

Now where to, Hon?

GET OFF YOUR A**, DAF

I feel like a slug, I moaned to Jim in early January.

Even with my concerted effort to get to the pool five mornings a week, cold winter days frequently find me, post-swim, hunkered down with a good book or performing the most simple of household tasks. Is an hour at the pool enough? I ask myself. Of genuine concern is that this sedentary winter existence, like the bubonic plague, will infect the remainder of my year.

Don't lecture me! I am fully aware of the health issues caused by a sedentary lifestyle - high blood pressure, coronary heart disease, dementia......and on and on the list goes.  With the big 7- 0 looming, one mental image strikes fear into my very heart:

Inevitable? I sure as hell hope not.

An inspiration for me is friend, Graham, who walks every day. Rain, shine, frigid cold, or sweltering heat present no excuses for Graham. The universally recommended 10,000 steps per day are also not an issue; daily and lengthy walks are part of the fabric of his life.  Small wonder he is physically fit and looks twenty years younger than his actual age.  During dinner at Jane and Graham's home in January, he showed me his Fitbit device, describing its use. Bingo! Just what I need - a way to confirm my level of activity!

Ever vigilant, Jim spotted my excited interest and, bless his heart, gifted me with a Fitbit Flex. OMG, I am hooked. More than just an advanced pedometer, this little weightless wrist device tracks activities, kilometres walked, calories burned, sleep patterns and, should you elect to input what you eat, calorie intake. Perhaps I should have titled this blog, " Big Brother Is Watching".

Worries that I would simply feel guilty have been put to rest.  I am motivated to stay active, to hit my minimum of 10,000 steps per day. Be it at home or away, I now create excuses to use our household stairs or reasons to walk further. Like a child in kindergarten attempting to earn stars, I now push to have the five tiny lights flash their signal that I have reached my activity goals. In truth, what I am monitoring is peace of mind that I won't morph into a slug.

Oh, and now Jim also wears a Fitbit Flex. The daily challenge is on - who can take the most steps!

Well, enough of this blog, I have to get off my a** and move. Can't let that husband of mine log more steps!

WHO WOULD YOU BRING "INTO TODAY"?

The year is 2010. An emotional Vincent Van Gogh moves in wonder through an exhibit of his paintings in Paris' Musee d'Orsay, listening to the Museum's curator refer to him as one of the world's greatest artists. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty, he hears.

What? But Vincent Van Gogh died in 1890, you argue. Of course he did. I haven't gone completely dotty........not yet, anyways.The scene I describe is from a British TV episode in which the time travelling Dr. Who and Amy attempt to have a tortured, self doubting Vincent realize his legacy by bringing him into the future. Knowing my love of Van Gogh's work and my fascination with his life, our son, Christopher, emailed the YouTube clip to me. Shamelessly, I admit to loving it. I actually shed a tear. Pure fantasy, but oh, how wonderful. Would that we could bring figures from the past "into today" so that they might understand their impact on our world. What a concept. And then my imagination flew. Not a mental game of what historical figure would I like to meet, I asked myself instead, Who would you bring "into today" and where would you take them?

I have a dream. My first thought was to bring Martin Luther King "into today". How I would love to walk the streets of any American city today enjoying his expression as blacks and whites together, exit the subway, enter places of employment, and eat in cafes, all without National Guard presence to force such integration. Though definitely not a perfect world, no one can argue that American race relations have come a long way since King's African-American Civil Rights Movement and subsequent 1968 assassination. Nothing, though, would make me happier than to have Dr. King ushered into the Oval Office and to hear the introduction, Dr. King, please meet President Barack Obama. Did he dream that far, I wonder.

Wouldn't it be fun to fly with Orville and Wilbur Wright on a jet or let Alexander Graham Bell handle that little rectangular box of communication, the iPhone? I doubt they could ever have imagined the impact of their dreams on future generations. How incredible it would be to bring them "into today".

As an admitted sentimentalist and making no apologies, my first choice of who to bring "into today" would be my parents.  I would like to seat my Mother at our Christmas Dinner table, watch her realize that her traditions continue to be celebrated, hold my breath as her glance settles on the laughing, bubbling, blond-haired young sister and brother at the table, and then feel overwhelming joy as Matthew introduces his beloved Gramma to her great grandchildren. I would feel my hand in my Father's as we walk the corridors of learning. His older, slower pace I know would lighten just to be in this university milieu. Into the rear of a classroom we would deke, just as the lecture commences. I can picture my Father in rapt attention and then the tears welling in his eyes as I nod towards the Professor and whisper in my Father's ear, Dad, you are listening to our Christopher.  

Ah! imaginery musings, these may be, but what about yours? Suspend reality for a moment. Who would you bring "into today" and where would you take them?

MY FAVOURITE WINTER ACTIVITY

VORFREUDE: the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from future pleasures.

Sunshine. Icy cold. Glistening snow. Yup! Today is absolutely perfect. Anticipation bubbles up inside me; I am filled with vorfreude. The time is now ripe for my favourite winter activity.

Ice fishing? Snowshoeing? Sledding? Snowmobiling? You list the possibilities.

I shake my head. No.

Curling? you persist.

I'll leave that to my ten year old "Little Rocks" granddaughter.

Ahhh! Skiing, you finally pronounce. I can just picture you.

Thanks for the mental image, but no, I simply state. My osteoporosis diagnosis killed any downhill thrills. I'll leave skiing to the Crazy Canuck talents of my seven year old grandson. Although now that you mention it, I did see an invention that may work for me:

Then what? you mutter, frustrated with this tiresome guessing game.

My equipment and supplies sit ready. I am pumped. Let the rustle, squeak, scratch and tapping of my favourite winter activity commence. Yup! It is time for me to plan our annual trip. I look forward with eager anticipation all year to this, my favourite winter activity. Where will we go? has always been one of my favourite questions and until I click Confirm on the airline website, our destination could be anywhere. Possibilities abound. New experiences, new sites,new foods await.

I devour books on travel. I sit transfixed when viewing travel movies and TV. I listen intently to anyone and everyone's travel adventures. Get the picture? Quite simply, I love travelling, but frankly admit that the anticipation, dreaming and planning process place a close second in my heart. So let the maps and travel books rustle. Let my highlighters and pencils squeak and scratch. And let my computer keys tap with research and reservations.

Where will we go?

EACH AND EVERY BEAUTIFUL DAY

Ugh! I groused, staring out the window on this blustery, cold winter's day. Snow persisted in accumulating on our Uxbridge roads. Temperatures continued to plunge into the double digit negative range. Imagine! Double ugh! And to think I have to go out in it. Moan! Groan! All my winter whining could not take away from the fact that having food in one's home is a good thing.  And so, bundled up like Nanook of the North, I ventured forth. Did I mention that I am Canadian?

One minute into my drive, all negative muttering ceased. Haunting in its beautiful muted light, January's sun spilled through the snowy cloud cover ahead. Like a golden glowing spotlight, it spoke to me of the surrounding beauty in my life if only I would take the time to look. Immediately my thoughts turned to our dear friend whose current journey is not-car driven, but cancer-driven. For whom no choice of destination exists. For whom the experience of hundreds of such cold, chilly Canadian days would be joyously welcomed.

Snowflakes, fluffy and seemingly weightless, danced like dandelion seeds on the wind, ultimately clothing the barren limbs of trees. Lit by the diminished brightness of the sun, white fields and yards glistened.  Elgin Pond echoed with the excited sounds of snow being shovelled to make room for an outdoor shinny, hockey game. With each foot driven, my smile increased. What a truly glorious morning.

Why, I chastise myself, does it take the final journey of a dear friend to make me appreciate the beauty in each and every day? 

What day is it?

It's today, squeaked Piglet.

My favourite day, said Pooh.