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.

THERE’S NO TASTE LIKE HOME

Do people eat at home anymore? I wondered. Don’t get me wrong; I do enjoy cooking, but also absolutely love to eat out. Make that preferably dine out. Home cooked meals captured my front of mind awareness today as I drove through town noting yet another new fast food enterprise nearing its completion. Do we really need that?

Oh! Oh! I feel a rant coming on!

After analyses based primarily upon safety and the prevention/management of diabetes and heart disease, the AMA listed 2019’s top diets. Mediterranean, DASH, flextarian, Weight Watchers and MIND. Each of these eating lifestyles focuses on the use of minimally processed foods and the reduction of sugar and salt consumed.

Uxbridge is a town of 21,176. At my personal count (there are probably more) we have 5 food serving coffee shops, 7 pizza outlets and 12 fast food chains.....so far! All appear to be thriving. With a population of just over 21,000, how is that possible?

I understand that fast food is quick and easy, effortless, generally cheaper and offers instant hunger satisfaction. As an occasional taste treat, I have no issues, but as a lifestyle, fast food consumption can lead to diabetes, obesity, premature cardiac issues, anxiety and depression. Now I’m not just talking Uxbridge. According to health officials in both Canada and the U.S., the fast food diet has become a North American epidemic.

Perhaps because Jim and I grew up in homes where eating dinner together around the table was borderline sacrosanct, we have carried that practice forward. So much family communication took place during those intimate evening meals. No matter how crazy busy, the thought of replacing a home cooked meal with a quick run through a drive-through never occurred to me, probably because it never occurred to my mother. I love discovering new cooking methods and styles, shopping for fresh fruit and vegetables, learning from our local butchers and visiting seasonal farmers’ markets. Best of all, I am able to choose healthier ingredients and control portions.

I worry about any generation raised on a diet of fast food. What have they learned about nutrition? Will they ever be able to cook for themselves or their families? What will the impact on their future health be? What about the burden on our health care system? So many questions, certainly food for thought. All of which reminds me that it is time to prep our dinner. Rant over!

A CHRISTMAS STATE OF MIND

I hate it when Christmas is over, declared my friend, Laura. No magical twinkling lights, no Christmas carols, no baking aromas, I wondered. But when asked why, she responded quite strongly that all of the cheer and goodwill exhibited during the festive season immediately dissipates after Christmas. Grouchiness, grumpiness, anger, frowns and rudeness steal back into the daily norm. So emotional and passionate were Lauara’s words that her answer has resonated with me throughout the past few weeks.

Certainly the Christmas season enjoys a significant increase in random acts of kindness, helpful actions, friendly greetings, and copious smiles and laughter.

A rarity at any other time of the year, drivers are more likely to graciously make room for merging traffic. Letters and greetings to our overseas armed forces dramatically increase. I witnessed a shopper bring a hot cup of coffee to a Salvation Army rep manning an outside donation bell. A delightedly surprised friend related how the tab for their whole dinner table was picked up by a complete stranger. I should add.....their table of 10! How often have you heard of individuals paying not only for their coffee, but also for the next customer or customers in line? Retail staff readily admit that smiling thank you’s are more prevalent. Cheery greetings of  Merry Christmas or simply Have a good day are to be heard everywhere. The list of actions creating warm fuzzy feelings is endless.

Why then does the general mood of joy and cheer diminish, because Laura is correct, it ultimately does. I make the pathetic personal excuse that my decreased post-Christmas tolerance levels are a result of the dreaded grey-skies syndrome - short days, dull skies and cold! Grrrr! But truth be known, I just become lazy, not making the effort to the same degree. Shame on me!!

It is said that no kindness, however small, is wasted. Why can’t we carry the spirit of Christmas kindness throughout the year? Why can’t we personally decide that Christmas is not a date, but a state of mind. Why? And so, Laura, because you increased my awareness, my single 2019 resolution is to do something nice for someone everyday.

OLDER BUT NOT OLD......YET!

Have you ever looked back on a year and wondered where it went? The chilling cold of winter, the exciting promise of spring, the blissful freedom of summer, and the vibrant colours of autumn whiz by, then suddenly Christmas decorations appear in stores, your first startling realization that another year has almost slipped by. 

I find that happening with my age. The time markers - childhood, university, marriage, children, career, retirement - have all been there, merely ignored. Now I am startled to find myself in my seventies. When did that happen? Of course, the clues have been in front of me all along and increasingly so of late. I cannot deny these clues - the subtle aging changes evolving over time in my personality and in my body.

Raised in a home where solemn considerations of, What would the neighbours say? were the 11th Comandment, I find myself caring less and less what others think. I promise you, Who gives a s**t is extremely freeing! Once talented at biting my tongue and keeping opinions to myself, I am now increasingly prone to speaking my mind, more recently forcefully so. God bless family and friends who just mindlessly nod with frozen smiles at my ranting pronouncements. Thank you. When it becomes incomprehensible babble, I will be old and you have my permission to put me away.

Forget designer outfits, nylons and high heels. Did I really wear those? What happened to Dress For Success? Meh! Now I crave comfortable clothes - jeans, socks, loafers, t-shirts, leggings and sweatshirts. I do care about how I look, but no longer give a damn about the label. Oh, and makeup? I should be able to locate a tube of lipstick...I think! Don’t worry; I do still remember how to dress  for special occasions. When I graduate to elastic-waisted pants, then you may consider me old and you have my permission to put me away.

My body? I still chew with my own teeth. 👍 But no matter how active I remain, grey hairs are beginning to pepper my head, wrinkles invade my face, and the most critical parts of my body sag. Gravity is not just a good idea, it is the law. Without reading glasses, I may be able to read a STOP sign. My most frequent recent practice is walking into a room and forgetting why I am there. When I forget my name, then I will be old and you have permission to put me away.

I admit to preferring opera and classical music. I admit to loving a comfortable chair, a cup of tea and great book. I admit to earlier bedtimes. I admit that I am no longer able to imbibe much alcohol. Instead of the huge dinner parties Jim and I used to throw, I admit to now preferring more personal dinners of four or six. I admit that organizing our family Christmas feast increasingly throws me into a tizzy. Thank heavens for my talented sous chefs, Chris and Matt. I admit to taking longer to perform tasks - gardening, cleaning.....whatever! Am I slowing down? A bit. When I completely stop, then and only then will I be old and you have my permission to put me away.

Here’s the thing! In my heart, I am not old. 

I do treasure life more. I understand how precious being alive is. No longer in a rush, I work at living in the moment. Moment? Forget your parties and clubs, just give me a glass of wine, the company of my husband and a sunset. That is not old. That is wisdom.

George Burns once said, You can’t help getting older, but you don’t have to get old. Wise man.

HEBRIDEAN HOPSCOTCH

One extremely painful lesson for me this year has been that there are no guarantees in life. So just do it! Add to that, a dear friend’s motto which I have adopted, Do what makes you happy, and you can understand why I listened carefully when my husband mentioned casually in a conversation on Thanksgiving Day that he would love to return to Scotland. Love in my books is way stronger than like.

Anyone who knows me gets that one of my greatest pleasures in life is researching and planning trips. Forget real estate; I should have been a travel agent. Books, maps, blogs, newspaper and magazine articles, and the internet are scoured for months before I even begin to work on an itinerary. Then the extraneous travel details, like playing with the parts of a giant puzzle, fall into place - air travel, ferries, trains, car rental, hotel or rental accommodations, what to see and do...and on and on and on. I love and learn so much from the process.

This year Jim and I had talked about renting an apartment in Rome, my favourite city, for a few weeks. You could spend a year in Rome and not scratch the surface. On our return flight from Italy, conversation turned to spending time next year in Sicily. That was all this inveterate planner needed. With the Godfather’s Theme playing in my brain, books were rapidly purchased and a giant map of Sicily, spread out on the dining room table. Then came Jim’s casual comment! Conversation over coffee the next morning went like this:

Me: You mentioned Scotland last night. I’m not ‘married’ to Sicily yet. Would you rather visit  Scotland next year?

Jim: I’d love to return to Scotland. Let me think about it.

Jim, after two seconds had elapsed and with a giant grin: Let’s go back to Scotland!

At this juncture I should mention that over the years Jim and I have travelled extensively in Scotland from the Orkney Islands to the Highlands, from the west coast islands of Mull, Islay and Skye to Edinburgh (in my mind, one of the most beautiful cities in the world). So many scotch distilleries have been visited that we could run tours. We have enjoyed The Fringe, numerous Highland Games and an Edinburgh Tattoo - their Millennial Tattoo, no less!

Already knowing the answer, I asked: So where?

Jim: The Outer Hebrides!

So be it. Sicily and Rome in 2020. Hebridean hopscotch in 2019 and for our 50th Anniversary. I’m very fine with that! The dining room table is now covered in a map of Western Scotland, the Outer Hebridean Islands have been circled, ferry schedules have been printed, books have been ordered and research on the internet has commenced.

Note to self: Better locate your wellies and keep that rain gear handy. 😅 Slainte!

THE LOSS OF A DEAR FRIEND

Maya Anjelou wrote, There’s a marked difference between acquaintances and friends. Most people don’t become friends. They can become deep and serious acquaintances, but in friendship you get to know the spirit of another person; and your values coincide.

David Switzer was that rare breed, a true friend, and today Jim and I are gutted by the loss of his brave battle with cancer last night.

What began as a Neil McNeil High School acquaintance for Jim and David was rekindled and then developed into a cherished friendship as we found ourselves members of the same yacht club and then in side by side boat slips. David served on the yacht club board when Jim was Commodore and you guessed it, Jim served on the board when David was Commodore.

We four have sailed both ends of Lake Ontario together, have spent joint time in Barbados and Arizona, have navigated the crazy canals of England on ungainly barges, have golfed together and have enjoyed countless meals, drinks and celebrations together on the yacht club deck and in each other’s homes; after recent house moves, we have made the drive between Cobourg and Uxbridge so many times that our cars could probably make the trip for us on autopilot. David and Jim helped sail a friend’s boat back from St. Martin. Their parmesan cheese tale from this journey is a classic. 😂  Accompanying each other to Neil McNeil reunions, they could often be heard discussing who should wear the boutonniere. 😳 Marion and I have joked for years that David and Jim could speak with each other 24/7 without a lapse if given the opportunity. So much laughter! So many memories!

Whenever renovations were being planned, David’s immediate response was always, Just let me know when. I am sure there were times when he wondered at the wisdom of his offer as he laid hardwood and tore out washrooms with Jim. As if that wasn’t enough, the two friends tirelessly worked together on the renovation of the yacht club kitchen, a massive undertaking.

David battled cancer for a year. No matter his fears, discomfort or fatigue levels, Jim and I were always greeted with a warm, welcoming smile. His private voiced concerns with Jim were always about Marion’s welfare, not about himself. His efforts for the past year were more about making the ultimate transition for Marion a trouble-free one than about himself. Quiet selflessness and dignified bravery defined David.

Someone once said that the hardest part of losing a friend isn’t having to say goodbye, but rather learning to live without them, always trying to fill the void and the emptiness that is left inside your heart when they go. David, the void is massive; a piece of our hearts is forever broken. I will find peace in imagining you hugging your mother and then you, Rollie, Brenton, Dick and Derek sailing the clouds of heaven.

 It is not goodbye forever, dear friend, it is till we meet again.