DEAR JIM,

Tomorrow we celebrate 50 years, 18,250 days of marriage.....and that's not counting Leap Year days. Wow! So much time has passed, so much for which to be thankful. I would have to write a novel the length of Proust’s in Search of Lost Time to include all of my thank you’s to you. How about I try just a few?

Not all has been perfect. 😉 I defy any couple in a lengthy marriage to say that tolerance and tenacity have never been required.  We have experienced moments of upset, tears, raised voices and strained silences, but those moments have been few and are far outweighed by the love, trust, partnership, and genuine liking with which we have been so very blessed. All humans change over time; no one is the same person today as they were five years ago. In my heart, I believe that the glue which has held us together is that we have continued to love the ever changing versions of you and me. 

Thank you for not chaining me to your agenda.  Not for a moment have I felt controlled. You have encouraged me to seek individual pursuits, to find my own successes, and to enjoy, in addition to our joint ones, my own friends. 

Thank you for selflessly encouraging my real estate career. How many times, when I was in sales, did we pass at our front door, you arriving home from your career and me, heading out to deal with clients. Never once did you complain about getting dinner for Chris and Matt or about the number of Sunday’s I abandoned the three of you for open houses. And then came the opportunity to purchase my own Royal LePage franchise. You didn’t blink at the financial risk, just said, Go for it sweetie! That you trusted me to make a go of it made my heart soar; I solemnly promised myself never to let down your faith in me. I often joke that there was a giant footprint on my bum as you urged me forward in my chosen career. How true!

Thank you for being an extraordinary and involved father and grandfather to Christopher and Matthew and now Morgan and Zachary. From day one, you have been engaged, affectionate and sensitive. Thank you for being the stronger disciplinarian. A soft touch, I could have easily allowed both of our boys to become monsters. 😲 That principal voice and look of yours were not to be ignored. 😂 I know that in their education both Christopher and Matthew always knew that you had their backs. That you are now close friends with both of our boys is a testament to your involvement. Most importantly in signing off with or saying hello/goodbye with Christopher, Matthew, Morgan and Zachary, I have never known you not to say, I love you. 

In sickness and in heath, state our marriage vows. Thankfully, my health issues have been few, but whenever there was a problem - kidney failure after Christopher was born, a broken hip and leg requiring surgery, anemic exhaustion and a serious bout of depression - you have been my constant never complaining champion and advocate. There is great peace in knowing that you have my back, too.

Thank you for being my travel companion and for tolerating my, Let’s go to..... My excitement level rises immediately when you smile knowingly and say, Book it Dano! Thank you for being our car driver in so many different countries often with unreadable signage, different driving rules, barely passable narrow roads and Mario Andretti-style locals. You have  blessed us with the ability to travel without being part of crowded tours or cruises, to set our own timetables, to take crazy, spur-of-the moment detours, and to see what we, and we alone, are interested in. Thank you for the precious gift of eye opening travel.

Thank you, Hon, for our 50 year journey of laughter, love, companionship, celebration, support, adventure and most importantly, family! So true is that movie line, You complete me. Let our journey continue.....

Happy 50th Anniversary. I love you!

HELP! SPINNING HEAD CURE NEEDED

Three weeks of driving in Scotland + three weeks listening to the BBC while in the car + three weeks of a constant Brexit barrage = two spinning heads. The dangerous impact of the Irish hard border issue, strong Scottish resistance to leaving the EU, the effects of a No Deal Brexit, the legality of a perogued Parliament, the possibility of a second referendum, reports of potential food and drug shortages, all with the EU clock ticking. My head is aching.

The impeachment of President Trump......finally!  This should be a foregone conclusion, I naively first thought. Hah! Republican information spins despite the stark evidence at hand, the constant flood of Trump’s vitriolic distractions and his barrage of nonsensical tweets have my head spinning. Will the American public hear the facts over White House and Republican noise? I worry. This isn’t just the U.S. we are talking about; this is our future world stability at stake. My head is aching.

And our own Canadian election. Personal attacks, in both speech and advertisements, instead of policy discussion plus massive misinformation on line. When there is platform discussion, who are we believe? Perhaps I wouldn’t be as sensitive to this had our Premier, Mr. Ford not promised one thing during the campaign and then enacted the exact opposite after he won majority power. Who is telling the truth? My head aches from spinning.

Emotions everywhere are running high. I am exhausted from railing at personal attacks and actually yelling at the radio and TV. After some calming self talk this morning, I think I have found the cure for my spinning head. Ignore the confusing chaos. Seek out and trust the facts. 

OFF THE BEATEN TOURIST PATH

So sorry about your weather!

Hope the sun comes out soon.

Too bad it’s so misty.

So ran the comments on my Hebridean Facebook postings. How do I begin to express that the weather Jim and I experienced was part of our adventure, part of the lure of these remote isles and something for which we were and went totally prepared? If we had been looking for a sunny, palm-treed locale, we would never have journeyed to the Outer Hebrides.

Images of the wild skies of ever-changing weather patterns sweeping in off the North Atlantic, fleeting light patterns reflected on the tweedy coloured moors and rocky mountain ranges, varying coastline views of endless white beaches and dramatic jagged rocky cliffs under constant siege from roiling angry seas enchanted us both. The power of the Hebridean elements is surprisingly seductive.

The beauty, unique character and fascinating history of the Outer Hebrideans who survive and thrive added to the pure magic of the isles. Neolithic sites, remnants of the Clearances, the discovery of the Lewis Chessmen, blackhouses, the click-clatter of looms creating beautiful Harris Tweed patterns, crofting, fishing, the cutting and burning of peat as fuel, the annual guga hunt, the never forgotten Iolaire tragedy, a relatively new gin distillation industry, and the flourishing Gaelic language kept us enthralled and wanting more.

Nowhere in our travels have we experienced warmer, more helpful welcomes or such a solid sense of caring community. Driving the narrow, single lane roads often blocked with “sheep jams” 😂 proved at times challenging, but the ever-present wave to say thank you at passing places always made us smile. A police officer,  diverting traffic because of an accident, recognized that we were visitors and thoughtfully took the time to show us on our map a shortcut route to our destination, saving us a lengthy loop back through Stornoway. The manager of the Gearrannan Blackhouses, when she heard that Jim and I were headed for the Butt of Lewis, took us aside and kindly warned us of the slippery grass at the cliff’s edge. The rock won’t give way, she warned, but the grass is slippery and you could slip over the edge in an instant. Needless to say, we heeded her advice. Such examples of thoughtfulness and caring were evident everywhere visited.

In an environment where most people know each other, Where are you from? was a constant question. Canada always elicited huge smiles and genuine interest. Despite their remote location, the majority of islanders we met were extremely well informed on national and world affairs.

We both confess that after the isolation and great sense of peace we enjoyed on Lewis and Harris, Jim and I found our return to a Scottish mainland of crowds, traffic, tourists, tourist busses and souvenir shop upon souvenir shop far more difficult than we had imagined. Culture shock perhaps. For the final few days of our trip, we merely went through the motions; missing the uniqueness of the isles’ experience, it was time to go home.

The Outer Hebrides, Life On The Edge, we discovered, can be quick to ensnare the heart. Jim appropriately uses the word magic. We will forever hold in our hearts the wild land, sea and sky, the vibrant history of which we knew so little before and most is all, the warmth of a unique, unforgettable and very special people.

Our lesson! It pays to get off that beaten tourist path.

HOW MUCH DO YOU TAKE BEFORE YOU SAY ENOUGH?

Sitting with a glass of wine, enjoying the warmth of our blackhouse cast iron fireplace and listening to the wind howl outside, my thoughts are tied up with events past and present which have impacted these precious Outer Hebrides and also Scotland. That’s my problem when I learn just enough of local history, it makes me too sensitive.

As with Ireland, Scotland and the Outer Hebrides suffered “The Clearances” at the hands of the English. Repugnantly, English land owners viewing high and mountainous pastures as more profitable if under sheep rather than people, evicted their tenants, condemning them to a life of extreme poverty or forced emigration to Australia or the Americas. 

In the amazing little Uig museum, I was moved by the following writing. I was born in Uig and I was upon two occasions deprived of my possessions.....we were deprived of the hill pasture which was given to the neighbouring tack and then our stock was taken from us. We were obliged to subsist as best we could on the crofts. Subsequently we were summoned out of our parish altogether and deprived of everything we possessed - cattle, sheep and everything else. The people asked the Chamberlain at the time what he was then going to do when there were no homes, and he pointed to the sea, and told us our home was there.

A witness to the Clearances wrote, .......were hounded away to Australia and America and I think I can hear the cry of the children to this day.

In World War I, of more than 6,500 men from Lewis, an Isle with a total population of less than 30,000 at that time, 1,151 were killed in action. Lewis’ list of dead in action was one of the highest proportions of any UK community. Tragically, it gets worse.  

On December 31, 1918, English War Office bureaucrats crowded 264 returning WWI Hebridean survivors onto a seconded pleasure yacht, the Iolaire, with rated capacity for 100 including crew, with lifesaving capacity for only 100, and with an understaffed crew commanded by a inebriated English captain. Imagine the excitement of these WWI vets to be returning home alive to the Outer Hebrides in time for New Year’s Day. At 2:00am in stormy weather, the Iolaire ran aground on infamous rocks, The Beasts of Holm, in the mouth of Stornoway Harbour. 201 men drowned in what remains Britain’s biggest peacetime disaster at sea since the loss of the Titanic. The loss devastated the Isle of Lewis and scarred a generation. The irony was that half the ratings on the Iolaire were local fisherman and could have told the captain or the helmsman, if asked, that they were on a dangerous incorrect course.

And now my undisciplined mind brings me to today. In a resoundingly high referendum turnout, Scotland voted 62% to remain in the European Union. The Scottish government has continued to air ads telling Europeans that they are open for business. Multiple businesses and the fishing industry have published pro-EU articles. Speak to a local and the majority wish to stay. Here we go again......a nation’s desires will likely be overrriden by English policy.

I know! I know! I am too simplistic and emotional in my thoughts. I’m siding with a nation I have learned over the years to respect and love. Sorry, but I just can’t stop asking, How much do you take before you say ‘enough’?

IF YOU DON’T LIKE SCOTTISH WEATHER.....

....wait thirty minutes and it is likely to change. If you thought Canadian weather was changeable, you truly need to visit the Outer Hebrides to experience weather that totally dominates life.....every day.....24/7.

WIND! Meteorologists will tell you that wind is the key feature of the Outer Hebrides’ climate. No kidding! At the very northern tip of the island chain, the Butt of Lewis, there is a gale on average every one in six days. Whether it is like a soft Caribbean trade wind or a bulling wind in its restless ferocity (Andrew Smith), the wind quite simply never stops blowing here. Peter Mays describes a Hebridean wind that blows sometimes with such force that it can blow waterfalls back up the mountain. Have to admit that we haven’t experienced that yet. 😲

Rather than being an irritant, I find myself drawn to Mother Nature’s might. To sit in front of an aromatic peat fire, scotch or wine in hand, listening to the swirling gusts howl outside is magical. To stand in awe as this Hebridean wind whips the North Atlantic’s water into massive foamy surges who meet their crashing end on the west coast cliffs, to watch what are usually rhythmic waves morph into raging violent haphazard mountains of water which crash into each other offshore, to feel the salty wind assault your face and to scream to be heard over the thunderous roar of giant waves pounding ashore, is to be totally exhilarated.

RAIN! Put on your rain gear and just go is a philosophy that Jim and I adopted on our first trip to Scotland. Given Scotland’s annual rainfall, one could waste a whole trip sitting inside waiting for fair weather. Some of our most enjoyable days have been rainy ones. Did I mention that the Outer Hebrides are wetter than the mainland?

SKIES!  So breathtakingly dramatic that Jim and I freely admit to never having experienced anything like them.....anywhere! Given the strong winds, Hebridean skies are ever changing. One minute the horizon is filled with roiling black clouds menacingly advancing like an enemy army. The resultant torrential rains then give way to typical Scottish drizzle which when it abates leaves behind rather bleak skies and landscape. Just wait a moment, though, and the dull sky will be broken by a single spotlight beam of sunshine and will, on many occasions, treat you to a jaw-dropping rainbow.

Jim and I have discovered  an Outer Hebrides rich in history and experiences, populated by welcoming, intelligent, charming residents and overflowing with magnificent vistas. What we didn’t count on was that the weather would be one of the experiences we enjoyed the most.

As John Rushkin wrote, There really is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.

THE REAL TWEEDY DEAL

Harris Tweed means a tweed which has been handwoven by the islanders at their homes in the Outer Hebrides, finished in the islands of Harris, Lewis.......and made from pure virgin wool dyed and spun in the Outer Hebrides. The Harris Tweed Act, 1993

Travelling back in time to the 18th and 19th centuries, we might easily have wondered what strange clicking monster lurked behind the walls of the local garages, homes, tin huts and sheds of the Outer Hebrides. Finding the courage to investigate further, we would have discovered a tradition which has been carried on for centuries - on hand operated looms, the weaving of wool from sheep native to the Outer Hebridean islands.

Little did those early weavers, who created their wool primarily for domestic use and who bartered any surpluses for rent or goods,  even begin to imagine that their artistic meticulous designs would jet set  them onto the international stage of fashion in Paris and Milan during the 1960’s and remain in great demand even today in Europe and now in Japan and Korea.

So great became the demand for legitimate Harris Tweed at that time that production levels reached an unbelievable 8 million yards a year. Astounding when one realizes that their home weaving practice never evolved into the largely mechanized system of the mainland; all Harris Tweed remained hand woven. As imitation began to rear its ugly head, the need to protect the tweed’s authenticity increased exponentially with its success. Thus in 1993, the British Parliament passed The Harris Tweed Act, officially defining what constitutes Harris Tweed and dictating that only true Harris Tweed may carry the Orb Trademark.

In my mind, Harris Tweed was made into men’s jackets. Little did I understand the sheer number of products created with this famous fabric. Until today that is! I have seen toys, lamps, earphones, and even running shoes, to name just a few. Wow!

So here’s the thing. If you feel the need of tweed, real Harris Tweed to be exact, the products are endless. Just be sure to look for that Orb Trademark. If it’s the real tweedy deal, it will bear the trademark. Remember, Harris Tweed is unique to the Isles and that is official! Happy shopping.

RIDICULOUSLY COO-TE

If they weren’t so large, I would bring one home. Teddy bear-huggable with their shaggy hairstyles, giant eyes peaking out from behind lengthy bangs, curvy horns and docile friendly nature, the Highland Cow aka Heilan Coo aka Bo Ghaidhealch (Scottish Gaelic) is an intrinsic part of Scottish culture and globally recognizable as such.

Be it the thistle, bagpipe, wee dram or kilt and tartan, I am sure everyone has their favourite symbol of Scotland. For me it will always be the Heilan Coo. It was love at first sight.

I still remember, during a stay on the Isle of Mull, when Jim and I stopped at fenced-off acreage to take photos of a herd of Highland Cattle. As one of these fearsome (?) horned cattle rushed towards us at the edge of the fence, in a comedy of errors, Jim and I literally tripped over each other attempting to save our lives and reach our car. It wasn’t until later that we learned Heilan Coo are gentle, highly intelligent and mild tempered. Upon hearing the supposed near-death tale, our Mull hosts, after they stopped laughing, explained that these adorable giants frequently approach people demanding their attention, especially if the cattle have experienced previous interactions with adoring tourists. Highland Cows are renowned for their friendly nature. Who knew? 

In fact, the only time they pose a danger is if a protective mother perceives a threat to her calves.

Oh and speaking of those adorable calves. I want one for home. What pet coo-uld be more perfect? Just look at this little face:

But don’t let the Heilan Coo’s adorable features fool you. They are the oldest registered breed of cattle in the world and are uniquely adapted to survive Scotland’s often harsh environment. Their thick woolly undercoats keep them toasty warm. Those charming long eyelashes and thick fringe protect their eyes from stinging hail, wind-driven rains and insects.

 Heightened senses and super vision help them see from behind what appears to be a blinding set of bangs. Horns are used to rake snow away to get at food; the Heilan Coo actually thrives on the poor grazing ground of Scotland.

I need to stop here! I know! You’ve had enough. I could go on ad nauseum about Queen Victoria’s soft spot for the breed, the many colours of Highland Cattle, the difference between male and female horns......you get the picture.

Just one more thing.......if you hear of a passenger arrested for attempting to smuggle a Heilan Coo calf on board an Air Canada flight, I’m sure you will figure out who that Canadian might be.

SO SO SORRY.....ADVANCE APOLOGIES

Well, ah, um, er......this is probably more of an advance explanation than a giant mea culpe, but I did get your attention. 😉

Our countdown is nearly over. A big destination on Jim’s bucket list is about to be checked off; he is deliriously excited. On Saturday, with rain gear, walking sticks, hiking boots and woollies packed, we fly out to Scotland. Excitement is beginning to percolate to the surface. Destination: The Outer Hebrides!

Apology #1

I hereby apologize for all photo postings and blogs that may appear for the next three weeks. Just ignore them if you wish. No insult taken! There may, though, be a verbal test upon our return. 😂

I write and post to keep our sons, Christopher and Matthew, and my sister, Jo-Anne, up-to-date. If I fail to do so, I am in serious do-do and that is the mannerly way of expressing the trouble that would ensue. I was originally set up on Facebook by our son, Christopher, so that I would stop sending those stupid postcards which generally arrived home well after Jim and I. Our son, Matthew, god bless him, is a worry wart when it comes to our travel. Our posts simply assure him that his Mom and Dad are still alive.

It has long been a tradition for Jim and I to stop daily around 4:30/5:00pm at a cafe or pub, indoor or out. Over a relaxed drink and some local nibblies, while Jim writes in his journal - a 50 year travel practice - I either post pictures or write a blog. Travel for me is like taking a drug, an elixir! So please excuse my lengthy, effusive photo descriptions. Simply chalk it up to my uber exuberance over what we have experienced that day. I am afflicted with MTG (Manic Travel Giddiness) which I have been told is untreatable.

Apology #2

Scotland!  Can you imagine a piece of the universe, more fit for princes and kings?” are words from one of my favourite Scottish songs. My answer is an emphatic No. Scotland, it’s people, food, scotch, traditions, music and scenery quite literally take your breath away.

Please, please don’t view my postings as any kind of travel advice. You do you! If you are planning a first trip, I might suggest any combination of Edinburgh (truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world), Sterling, Inverness, the Highlands, Loch Lomond, the Isles of Mull, Arran, Skye and Islay, Stonehaven, St. Andrews and the Orkneys. This year, with our Outer Hebrides destination, and although we fly in and out of Glasgow, the largest town visited with be Fort William, population a mere 10,000+. No cities are included; most destinations are remote. Life on the Edge is where we are headed. A new kind of Scottish experience for sure and certainly not to everyone’s taste.

Phew! That wasn’t so bad. My mea culpes are complete.

Air adhart gu Scotland.

NO FACE VALUE, PLEASE!

I remember an Economics Professor once likening the change in direction of a national economy to turning around a giant cruise ship. Unlike a small motor boat which can change direction almost immediately with a simple maneuver by the captain, a giant cruise ship, like an economy, requires careful planning and time to make the complete 180 degree turn.

The current good U.S. economy is the primary reason provided by most voters for their continued support of Mr. Drumpf and of course the President loves to take full credit. Go figure! But dig a little deeper, read a bit more and Mr. Drumpf’s claims and pronouncements don’t quite hold up.

The improving economy and economic  growth, according to the President, are the immediate result of his policies. Immediate? Don’t forget the analogy of the cruise ship. Remember, in 2008 President George Bush Jr. handed over an economy in tatters to President Obama. Approve of him or not, it was actually during Obama’s terms that the U.S. economy began to turn around. Mr. Drumpf recently took credit for an awesome GDP growth in 2018 of 4.2%. Best growth ever, he boasted. Mr. Drumpf, what about the years of economic growth and the record-breaking 5.1% GDP growth in 2014 under Obama. I guess those years don’t count?

Simply put, a country’s deficit, like a household budget, is based upon how much more money a federal government spends than receives. The 2015 deficit of 2.4% ballooned in 2018 to 4.0% and is on track to run even further amok in 2019. Economists have analyzed three reasons for the now out-of-control American deficit: increased military spending, mandatory spending and the biggest contributor, recent tax cuts. How ironic is it that the President’s voter base are the very citizens who do not benefit from his tax cuts? Do they even know?

And Mr. Drumpf sure has set things straight with China, right? Well actually, not really! The U.S. trade deficit with China has increased to 12.2% this year while, as a result of the current trade war, China has reduced the goods purchased from the U.S. by a whopping 30%. Exactly who, if anyone, is benefiting from your trade war, Mr. President?

Worst of all, but perhaps best for anyone who would like to see this dangerous President out of office in 2020, the current worldwide uncertainty and Drumpf-spawned trade wars are propelling us all to a global recession. Wonder if Mr. Drumpf will take credit for this too?

Dear American friends, please do not take at face value what any politician says. Please, please read more, attempt to understand what is actually happening, search for underlying truths. And we, as Canadians, should take note too!

LIKE GOING TO A 3-D MOVIE

Travelling without an understanding of local history is like going to a 3-D movie and refusing the glasses. Reading that one opening line in a book by Rick Steves has had a profound effect on Jim and I and how we have learned to travel. We endeavour, I admit not always successfully, to gain some insight into where our journey is taking us before we board that  jet. What we are visiting today is impacted by its history, art, architecture, food and culture.

The emotional impact of sites is certainly stronger with a pre-understanding of their history. From the enormity of the monument at Vimy Ridge, France to the isolated Dolomite mountain trenches of WWI in which more Italian soldiers died from exposure than battle injuries to the haunting Jewish Ghetto in Venice to the tiny Sealers’ Monument in Elliston, Newfoundland, Jim and I have found ourselves more than once reduced to tears.

And no more than with our upcoming trip to the Outer Hebrides has Rick Steves’ quote resonated with me. What was at first a means to pacify Jim who for eons has had these remote isles on his bucket list has become an I-cannot-wait-to-get-there journey for me. I had envisioned endless deserted beaches and isolated windswept cliffs. Beautiful, but after a few days.....yawn? For sure we will experience plenty of those, but it is the history of these far-flung isles and their life on the edge that has riveted Jim and I for the past months.

Books have passed between the two of us and endless discussions ensued.  Jim is currently reading When I Heard The Bell, The Loss of The Iolaire by John MacLeod and I, The Guga Hunters by Donald Murray.

 Maps have been dragged back out, routes have been altered and unique accommodation experiences (Gearrannan  Blackhouse Village, for example) have been reserved.

Who knew that when Jim first mentioned the Outer Hebrides an ordinary trip, in my mind, would be transformed into a highly anticipated adventure by simply ingesting a dose of history. 

RECIPE FOR AN EARLY MORNING WALKING GROUP

6:30am??? Are you kidding me? I whined.

I’m friends with the lunatic fringe, I groaned to myself.

I’m retired; I’ve been there, done that ‘early morning thing’, I complained.

My mind desperately searched for viable excuses.

Suggested by our inspirational Walk15 Instructor, Antonietta, ten of us dove into the five-day-a-week program. Gee, thanks Antonietta, I groused, but here I am in the fourth week of our Uxbridge Walkers group. Yup! I could conjure up no legit excuses.  😩 My alarm pings (yes, I am too old to be jarred awake😂 so ping it is) at 5:15am. Shocking as it is, I am on the track early, by 6:00am, and readily confess that I am loving this early morning thing. By 7:30am and before the summer heat becomes oppressive, 7k+ and over 10,000 steps have been registered on my FitBit. Okay, now bring on the rest of the day!

To make us accountable, Antonietta suggested that a daily photo be taken at 6:30am and be tagged to each walker on Facebook. Early and now accountable! Whaaaaaa! 😩 The upside of the photo is that many Facebook friends of Facebook friends have asked to join in. The more the merrier, is our group response. Our 10 walkers have now expanded to 18 and counting.......

The local Ux high school track was chosen, thus allowing everyone to walk at their own pace while being visible to one another. That visibility will be an issue as mornings begin to darken at summer’s end. So be it. I find our little band of walkers growing tighter by the day. The social benefits far outweigh the agony of that 5:15am ping. Mornings are filled with challenge, laughter, good cheer and encouragement. No more is the I’ll do it later part of my vocabulary. I am energized for the day ahead.

Interested, but Uxbridge is too far out in the boonies for you to join us? Then here is my recipe for a successful early morning walking group:

Set timer for 6:30am

1 dash of contagious inspired idea

1 whole organizer

20+ legs of walkers

1 stick of selfie

1 tbsp challenge of self

1 tsp each of goodwill, humour and smiles

1 cup blossoming friendships

Toss lightly. Garnish with encouragement and serve on 500-metre oval track

Stay healthy and enjoy!

ONCE YOU HIT A CERTAIN AGE.....

A dear friend of mine (thank you Laura)  recently posted this on Facebook:

After I stopped laughing at how much the posting hit home, I decided that although I would likely piss off many with MY list, what the hell, I’m blogging this anyways. None of the following “unimpressive s**t” is personally directed. I admit that it is perceived through my value system and thus suspect to many. However, these are the s**t that, as I age, no longer impress me.

Designer Labels. Don’t take this as evidence that I prefer cheap throw-away fashion. I do, however, look at designer labels and, valid or not, see a purchaser attempting to display status. Insecure? is what I really want to ask. Why else would you want to wear or carry someone’s logo, advertising them for free? Truth be known, most people are perfectly capable of recognizing quality clothing, belts, purses and shoes. Sorry, but designer labels leave me cold.

Wealthy Parents. Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn what your parents’ social register name was, where they lived, what lofty position they held or how much money they banked. Too many highly successful men and women in our world have come from families who had virtually nothing but instilled in their children the values of hard work, perseverance, overcoming obstacles and generosity of spirit and where there was a dearth of parental guidance, these men and women found within themselves the determination to build a better life. Now THAT is admirable. So what impresses me? What kind of human being YOU are, not your parents.....YOU!

Negative Nellyism. You know who I mean: in the winter they whine that it is too cold to enjoy life, and in the summer, too hot. It’s raining too much, we haven’t had enough rain, it’s too cloudy, it’s too sunny......and on and on and on. We all experience our negative moments. That is life! But, like the flu, chronic negativity is contagious. For self survival, I need to keep my distance. Life is too short to be dragged down mentally by doom, gloom, frowns and whining. Instead of grumbling that roses have thorns, why not celebrate that thorns have roses? Chronic negativity does not impress me. As I get older, I avoid it at all costs; I haven’t got enough time left in my journey to waste it listening to negative s**t.

The Best. During a wine tasting at Chateauneuf-du-Pape, I learned what constitutes “the best”. Asked whether the best wines are French wines, the chief vintner smiled and then, to our complete surprise, answered that whatever wine sits well on your palette is “the best”. He added that although he would like to announce that French wines are the world’s finest, nothing is “the best” unless you personally like it. If a plonk wine is your favourite, then it is “the best”. Whenever I am informed that they (whomever that amorphous they is) say that something is “the best” - olive oil, wine, restaurant, hotel, car, where to live or whatever, I am not impressed. If it turns your crank, then it is “the best” for you. Tell my why you love it instead. Hmmm? Well that is, unless we are talking about our country, and then, although the Danes and Norwegians might argue, I will agree that Canada is “the best”. ❤️🇨🇦😉

Upon rereading this, I asked Jim if my words were too strong. His answer? Sweetheart, having lived over 70 years gives you the right to define what in your mind is bulls**t. So be it.

Aside from my blogs, what doesn’t impress you as you age?

MY HEART IS FULL OF LOVE AND WONDER

Jim and I have just returned from Morgan’s Grade 8 graduation where we watched as she was awarded with both an academic excellence award and school spirit award and then felt our hearts burst with love as she took the podium as Valedictorian. Voted in by students and staff, she confidently looked out at her audience and smiled her smile, the mega-watt smile that instantly fills a room with sunshine. And in that split second before she spoke my mind and heart were flooded with memories.

That moment when I first cradled our precious newborn granddaughter, her infant head even then covered in blonde fuzz. Overwhelmed with emotion, I never wanted to let go.

The memory of a tiny toddler holding the hand of her Daddy, all 6’2” of him, on their cottage dock. Such a contrast in heights. So much growing ahead.

The adolescent creating, always busy creating - crayoning, gluing, cuttting, beading, painting. Any medium excited her. It is Morgan’s design which graces the cover of her 2018/2019 school year book.

Her excited reviews of the many live theatre presentations and Blue Jays games attended with her Mom. Contagious enthusiasm always bubbles to the surface.

The burgeoning athlete - swimming, skiing, skating, basketball, curling, baseball and kayaking. A new sport? Bring it on! One of my fondest memories took place during our son’s Iron Man Challenge. Watching her father’s pained expression during the final run portion, Morgan joined in beside Matt, pacing him for quite a distance and raising his spirits. Such a typical Morgan response!

Books, books and more books, watching her read, oblivious to the world around her, totally absorbed in the tale at hand.

The young teen cooking up a storm and then, bent over her Christmas cookie creations, adding inspired decorations in our aroma-filled, sticky-surfaced kitchen.

Oh Michelle and Matt, what a precious gift you have given Morgan in providing so many opportunities, the seeds of her self assurance and desire to embrace life.

........and then Morgan began to speak and my memories morphed into a respectful wonder at the calm, joyful young woman, our granddaughter, speaking from the podium.

To Morgan on your Grade 8 Graduation as Valedictorian:

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to great places.

You’re off and away.

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself

Anywhere you chose.

     - Dr. Seuss, “Oh The Places You’ll Go”

The world is there for you to grasp, sweetheart. You go girl!

JUST RIP IT UP??????

I have a feeling, actually I know, that this blog will be extremely unpopular with beer drinkers. So be it!

Thirty-six years in real estate meant thirty years of practising contract law and six years of teaching it. I practised and taught respect for contracts, the backbone of our real estate industry, more importantly, the backbone of business in Ontario.

Ensure that your client understands that the contract they have signed is binding. To breach it will lead to penalties,  I taught and was taught. To simplify it, only a breach or misrepresentation by the other party or mutual agreement can lead to the cancellation of a contract without penalty.

The PC-led legislature has just passed legislation to dissolve the Beer Store contract which runs until 2025. Not yet law, the legislation merely awaits royal assent.

I totally agree that this contract is flawed in that it allows the private foreign-owned Beer Store chain, worth $2.5 billion a year, the right to retail most of Ontario's beer. Almost a monopoly, but not legally one! The contract, negotiated in good faith, runs until 2025; the Beer Store owners have neither misrepresented their service nor breached their contract. To rip it (the contract) up could potentially lead to a protracted legal battle and significant damages. And we all know who will ultimately foot that costly bill.

The Ontario Chamber of Commerce called Ford's legislation short-sighted  and warned of negative consequences. The U.S. Chamber of Commerce called on Ontario to honour the contract as proof that existing business contracts in Ontario will be honoured. To not do so would deter investment. What was that election promise about Ontario Is Open For Business?

Let the Beer Store contract run until 2025 and then be done with it. I'm happy with that. What I vehemently disagree with is ripping up an existing legal contract and immediately allowing more access to alcohol because of an impulsive election promise. To do so sets a precedent and makes a mockery of contract law.

IT TAKES A VILLAGE.....To Keep Me Fit

Let's get one thing straight - I loathe gyms. Fancy-shmancy, basic, women's only, extreme fitness.....no matter the type, style, clientele, workout options.....I quite simply feel yuk, blah, grrr about any and all gyms. Please don't bother protesting; no matter how much YOU love it, I would hate your gym too.

My friend Ruth, a true fitness guru, extols the virtue of finding something you love. You'll stick to it, she says and she is right.

From childhood, I have been a water-baby, so it is no small wonder that after retiring and moving to Uxbridge, I gravitated to the pool. I love water - fresh, salt or chlorinated - let me in! Little did I know that Uxpool would prove to be a daily ritual and even more important, the source of so many friendships. What has helped maintain my daily pool habit? Hah! Miss a session and answer to questioning emails from Anna, Marion and Cathy. Trust me, on those frigid winter mornings when it is a struggle to even think of swimming, it is easier to hit the water than respond to those where-the-hell-were-you notes. Thank you Anna, Marion and Cathy for being my fitness conscience.

And then there is the group I have lovingly dubbed The Lunacy League. Invited by creator Barb and encouraged by Laura, I have joined nine other women in a weekly 5-day Fitbit challenge, The Workweek Hustle. Sounded like a snap to me. I could easily do 10,000 steps a day. Phffft! Yah, well 10,000 steps a day for five days a week would put me at the bottom of the heap. That is something else I loathe.....being at the bottom of a heap. To remain in the top two or three of these ladies, a daily average of 20,000+ steps is more the necessary reality. Susan-Jane, Mary and Louise are my fiercest competitors, constantly pushing the bar higher. Sigh, is it Saturday yet? I have now developed a 5km and 10km daily route. The 5km route is only used when I have appointments, restricted time or pole walking. The daily 10km route just gets me in the top 4. But oh, do I ever feel strong! I have always loved walking, fresh air and me time for my thoughts. Thank you to my beautiful Lunacy League Ladies, especially to Barb and Laura for getting me started and to Susan-Jane, Mary and Louise for pushing me ever harder.

I happened to mention to Sue, a friend at the pool, that I had noticed the existence of an Uxbridge Nordic Pole Walking Club. Before I could catch a breath, I'm in, Sue chimed. Now Thursday mornings are spent pole walking up and down the grassy treed hills of Elgin Park. Nordic pole walking provides a 46% stronger cardio workout than simple walking. After the first session my upper arms, shoulders and back could attest to the fact that it wasn't just my heart getting a workout. Aaaach! Thank you Sue!

As parents we always hope that our children will gravitate to positive friendship circles. We should wish that for our retirement, too. Friends.....physically active, mentally curious and generous in giving back to their community. It does take a village to inspire us as we age. Well me, at least.  No rest for the wicked, negative nellies would say. Personally, I believe that someone was watching out over me when we made the decision to move to Uxbridge.  Hillary Clinton said, It Takes A Village, and I thankfully have found one.

A NEW CAR FOR ME?

Seated in my car, a small sedan, I am reminded of the time years ago when Jim and I flew in a tiny six-seater prop from Union Island in the Grenadines to Barbados. Landing at Grantley Adams Airport, our pilot pulled into a gate alongside a British Airways 747, a jet whose gargantuan wheels were larger than the total size of our teeny commuter plane. Expressed as a ratio? Flea:Dog best describes it.

For as long as I can remember, I have owned an SUV so why, I have to ask myself, did I say to Jim a year ago when purchasing my new car, Don't buy an SUV. I just need something to buzz around Uxbridge. You have 'large'. I don't need 'large' too. What drug was I on that day? What was I thinking?

Uxbridge is horse and farm country. So what? Well, most of our population drive either an SUV or a honking oversized truck. If I fail to make a mental note of where my car is, I am unable to locate it in parking lots without engaging my embarrassingly squawky location alarm. Look at me everybody...I can't find my automobile. Sandwiched between vehicular giants, I could swear that my tiny Corolla is actually hiding from me.

GM and now Chrysler/Fiat are closing sedan and van plants. A mere quarter of the North American car-buying population are opting for sedans. It is all about the SUV and the truck. I get it. Research indicates that SUV's are much safe than sedans. I admit to feeling more vulnerable when driving now. More drivers chance pulling directly out in front of me than ever happened with a more imposing automobile. From the standpoint of visibility, I miss being higher above the road. Hey, I'm nosey; I like to see what is going on. The view in my rear view mirror is frequently grill work and tires. Yikes! Anyone remember Steven Spielberg's creepy movie Duel?

To add to my frazzled nerves, Bloomington, Brock and Lakeridge Roads are heavily populated by massive gravel trucks. Viewing one of these monoliths sitting a paint layer away from my tail or barrelling around the Highway 47/48 roundabout in tandem with one of these giants is enough to cause my life to flash before my eyes.

So what to do? Truth be known, I love my little Corolla and don't want to give it up. In addition to extremely comfortable seating, it has all of the bells and whistles. Maneuvering and parking are a breeze. Fuel consumption is staggeringly efficient; I can go over six weeks without visiting the pumps. I just need something higher off the road and slightly more imposing. I think I have the solution to my problem. What do YOU think?

YOU ROCK MY WORLD

Jacinda Ardern, you rock my world. In the aftermath of the horrific Christchurch massacre, New Zealand has been led by you with dignity, compassion, resolve and immediate action. Mere thoughts and prayers simply do not cut it with you. I stand in awe of your leadership.

Deeming handshakes or the tossing of paper towels into a crowd as meaningless show, you instead donned a hajib, as a sign of respect for your Muslim community, and moved amongst families of the killed and wounded offering heartfelt condolences, emotional hugs, an empathetic ear to grief, and promises of resources and action.....promises which you immediately kept.

Your promise of the commitment of resources was instantly followed by the covering of all funeral costs plus financial assistance for families who lost their breadwinner. You stated that you were with the victims. No hollow political words for you, your actions proved it.

We in New Zealand will give him nothing. Not even his name. Your impassioned parliamentary speech made my heart soar as you taught the free world how terrorists should be treated. For such anarchists, their message is as important as their actions. Just note this terrorist's lengthy manifesto released minutes before the slaughter began. Make the message and the terrorist irrelevant, you told us. Speak the names of the lives who were lost rather than the name of the man who took them. Main stream media, please take note!

And taking advantage of a groundswell of support, you have announced an overhaul of New Zealand gun legislation, banning all military semi-automatic weapons, assault rifles and high capacity magazines. Meanwhile in North America, Canada still wrestles with this controversial issue while the U.S. dillusionally pretends that there is no issue.

Brian Mulroney recently worried, Where have all the leaders gone? Well, Mr. M., we found one. For me, true leadership has always been having the courage to do the right thing. Churchill, despite his massive failings, was a leader for his times. You, Jacinda Ardern, despite whatever frailties plague you, have proven at this time, in this moment, to be a true leader.

What our insane world desperately needs is more leaders of your calibre......leaders exhibiting compassion, strength, resolve and integrity.

TIME TO GO HOME ❤️🇧🇧

Perhaps it has been lying dormant just ready to bubble to the surface.....this desire of mine to return to my other home.

In 2013 when Jim and I last spent time in Barbados, we arrived at the sad conclusion that there was nothing left for us to explore or see, no reason to visit again. At only 21 miles long and a smile (14 miles) wide and after 36 visits, we had explored it all. My Mother’s ashes were spread at St. John’s Parish Church overlooking her favourite view 

and in the Caribbean Sea at her favourite beach. Our two boys, Christopher and Matthew, grew up spending their Spring Breaks, and even a few university breaks, on our island in the sun. Barbados became our second home. I vividly remember Matthew emerging from the airport on his second last visit, turning his face to the sun and yelling, I love this island. Bajans and tourists alike laughed and nodded their assent. Jim and I had enjoyed introducing our island to friends and glimpsing it through new eyes, but OMG, when we could no longer manage to get lost in Barbados’ insane maze of country roads, it was time to declare it done.

My innocent island was changing, too. Poor government decisions had and have left critical infrastructure in serious need of upgrading. Barbados was always an island of efficiency units, apartments and hotel rooms, providing great growth opportunities for local restauranteurs. Some of the Caribbean’s best dining establishments, serving every purse level, could be found on Barbados. The big stress of the day was where to go for dinner. Oh, how we enjoyed that stress. Insidiously over past years and I am sure the result of many a greased palm, five major all-inclusive resorts have opened on the island, stealing business from small local entrepreneurs and socking massive profits away off-shore. Don’t even get me going on the damage they have wrought. The bright massive windows at the airport were converted to opaque glass in an effort to prevent drug smugglers from signalling one another. So much for waving at arriving family and friends as they disembarked their planes. Aaach! Maybe time to move on, we thought.

But still our island in the sun beckons travellers. 

She may not be perfect, but she remains safe, friendly and welcoming. Bajan children are taught from the grade 2 level the value of tourism to their economy. Education is free and excellent. Literacy is one of the highest in the world. Health care is free. A large stable middle class forms the bulk of the population. Rent a car and travel the interior with no risk. Head out to restaurants at nighttime without worry. No necessity to remain in all-inclusive compounds for safety or because of government rulings.

One outstanding desire, though, has been niggling at Jim and I .... to introduce our grandchildren to part of their heritage. To see through their eyes the green cane fields, turquoise Caribbean waters, soft white beaches, hawksbill and leatherback turtles, 

coral reefs, flying fish, swaying coconut palms, grand plantation houses, calypso music ++++++. I am sure you are getting the picture.

That wish will come to fruition next March. Our whole immediate family - Jim and I, Christopher and Stephanie, Matthew and Michelle, Morgan and Zachary - will head to Barbados for a homecoming of sorts. When Air Canada lands on the tarmac at Grantley Adams International Airport in March 2020 and when Morgan and Zachary first step on Barbadian soil, they will be the 14th generation of my family to do so.

It may be a year away, but my heart is overflowing and my excitement keeps gurgling to the surface. Yes, it is time to go home.

MY GROWING LOVE OF WINTER

Would I like a winter break feeling warm sun on my back and white Bajan sand between my toes or sitting in awe of a mighty saguaro silhouetted against a vibrant Arizona sunset? You betcha. This is the woman who fled winter to Barbados for thirty-six years and to Arizona for another six.

Two years of winter surgeries for Jim and then Mr. Drumpf’s presidency have found Jim and I remaining in Canada for the snowy season. My husband refuses to travel to the U.S. during its current presidency (After how he has treated Canada, he is not getting a cent of my travel money); I both honour and appreciate Jim’s decision. It is our private protest. While working, our fly and flop vacations in Barbados were just what the doctor ordered, but post retirement, such breaks were not enough; we wanted to be more active and Arizona, in all her stunning beauty, offered us just that. I miss both Barbados and Arizona so much so that Barbados has actually just been booked by us for a family holiday next March. All of us - Jim and I, Christopher and Stephanie, Matt and Michelle, Morgan and Zachary - will journey home, partially for a break from winter but more to witness Morgan and Zachary first experience their heritage, our island in the sun.

One of my fellow swimmers explained to me during our first full winter in Canada that because her husband hates air travel, she made a conscious decision to appreciate winter. What great advice, Connie. And so I decided to follow suit. Funny thing, with a bit of effort at first, it actually works.

As unrelenting cold and endless snowfalls descended in February, I made an effort to find beauty in each day and then frequently posted photos on Facebook. To my utter astonishment, a large number of friends have thanked me for finding the positive in our weather. The consensus appears to be that when you take time to find its beauty, you can actually enjoy winter.

And I have become so, so weary of hearing daily complaints about our winter weather. I want to scream, Suck it up, Princess. You are Canadian. Perhaps it is because my perspective has changed since entering my seventies, but I appreciate each and every time I wake up. Cold, warm or hot, I intend to enjoy every moment of my life, not grouse about it.

My biggest eye-opening lesson came from my Italian-Canadian hairdresser, Tony, who first-hand knows the sunshine and warmth of Calabria. Who should hate winter more? During my appointment this past Saturday, we watched snow swirling outside the salon. It was impossible to see across the street. A huge grin broke out on Tony’s face and he asked, Would you rather be the citizen of any other country? NO, we chorused. This, he smiled, is what it means to be Canadian. Thank you, Tony. I’ll take it!

DEAR MR. DRUMPF,

I will build a great, great wall on our southern border. So stated your blatantly bravado campaign promise to your voting base, a promise involving mammoth expenditures which, according to the experts, will have little impact on illegal immigration. You have been shown by your own border agents how determined enterprising teams south of your border simply build elaborate tunnel systems under existing walls. A Texas sheriff, who voted for you, recently declared, To hell with the wall right now. With only four deputies and few border agents, this sheriff must patrol an extensive border area 24/7. He argues that money would be far more sensibly spent on people and technology. Your own security experts contradict your statements about a border emergency of massive proportions.

But you, The Great Negotiator, unable to negotiate funds from Congress for your wall folly, have now declared a trumped up (sorry, couldn’t resist) border national emergency, all the while an emergency of far greater proportions plagues the U.S.. A true national emergency which you choose to ignore........mass shootings.

Just look at this! Not two full months into 2019, and here are some mass shooting stats,

Jan 23: 5 killed in mass shooting in Sebring, Florida

Jan 24: 4 killed in mass shooting at State College, Pennsylvania

Jan 24: 4 killed in mass shooting in Rockmart, Georgia

Jan 26: 5 killed in mass shooting in Gonzales, Louisiana 

Feb 3 : 4 killed in mass shooting in Palm Springs, California

Feb 11: 5 killed in mass shooting in Livingston, Texas

Feb 15: 6 killed in mass shooting in Aurora, Illinois

Feb 16: 4 killed in mass shooting in Clinton, Mississippi

The statistics I have listed do not include mass shootings, of which there were many, many more, in which victims lived but were injured or in which only one victim died.

What civilized country allows such carnage to continue? What leader fails to address the issue? Ah, Mr. Drumpf, how can I be so naive as to even dream that mass shootings might be addressed by you........a President who on the anniversary of the Parkland massacre skirted the issue of mass shootings by referring to school violence (whaaaaat?), a President who is more concerned with his fragile ego and voting base than the good of his country, or by a President who is funded by the NRA.

Mr. Drumpf, for the good of your country....and the world....may 2020 see the end of your incompetence, divisiveness, racism, dishonesty and ego-centric leadership. 

TO WASH OR NOT TO WASH

(My Winter Conundrum)

Against my husband’s sage advice, I’ll take it in black, I bravely ordered when purchasing my new car last year. Jim warned that a black car is the most difficult to keep clean. Hrmph! I thought. What does he know? Aaaach, apparently more than I do. Every minuscule molecule of dirt from pollen to bird droppings glaringly taunt me...

...and  those are nothing compared to the gross designs created by winter slush and mud.

I know! I know! My car should be washed even more frequently in the winter to prevent potential damage from grit, grime and slush. But when, I ask.

On rare sunny cold glorious winter days, car wash lineups rival those I can imagine when trying to purchase tickets for a Maple Leafs Stanley Cup final home game. (Hey, I said imagine.) The older I get, the less patience I have for wasting time in long lines. Scratch sunny days!

And then there are those days of extreme cold, -20C or less. Perfect for a car wash because of dry or frozen roads, right? No slush, no mud, no spray. Well, chalk it up to the rampant paranoia of a minor claustrophobe, but I cannot erase visions of being trapped in my car by frozen door locks. Scratch extremely cold days!

Now I ask you, who wastes car wash money on mild winter days when immediately upon exiting the car wash, one is faced with muddy, slushy roads and filthy spray from passing trucks? Upon returning home on these days, my car is as grungy as it was when I left for the car wash. So much for lasting cleanliness.. Scratch mild winter days!

Oh, and scratch blizzard days, too!

So what should one do? To wash or not to wash? How many days until spring? Perhaps, I’ll take my chances and just wait.