Monthly Archives: December 2018

Yep, It’s Cold Outside

As a shallow person you might imagine that I have mastered the art of small talk. And you would be right. To some extent at least. Honestly,  there are many times when I really don’t want to talk to anyone about anything. But when I do I can usually figure out something small to talk about. Especially these days with “45” and all of his hijinx. Can’t get much smaller than that. But there are better things to talk about. Like pets. It’s pretty easy to make small talk about a pet, particularly when you happen to have one that’s 19 years old. There’s a lot to be said about growing old no matter who/what you are. Just ask my 103 year old Mother. She’ll tell you a thing or two about it. And not that I would ever try to equate the two, but both make pretty decent conversation starters. If, of course, it’s a  conversation you actually want to start. However if, unlike me, you don’t have longevity to fall back on, evidently you can always talk about the weather. Because, it seems, that’s what Canadians (and I’m guessing) Americans do. Although, I must admit, I have never really seen the point.

It’s not that I don’t care about the weather. Anyone who knows me well knows that this sleek “do” of mine requires a fair bit of tampering and has a significant dependence on blue skies and very low humidity. Even the slightest of mists will cause these strands to go awry and there’s nothing worse (to me at least) than making my way to some fancy, shmancy party only to discover that my carefully coiffed hair has transformed into something that I’m quite sure would have made a rather comfortable home for Joey, my dearly beloved but very long ago gone, pet budgie (may he rest in peace). Suffice to say, it is very unlikely you will find me out frolicking in the rain. But other than my hairstylist, who really cares about my first world weather problems? It just seems to me that, whether we like it or not, weather simply does not make for great conversation. As a matter of fact, I find the whole notion of our collective obsession with weather rather disconcerting. For a couple of, perhaps, unrelated reasons. Let me explain.

Who doesn’t spend oodles of time watching, listening and googling weather reports?. As a regular TV news fan I see people who have selflessly dedicated their lives to showing us all manner of weather patterns each and every night. There’s maps covered in solid, dotted and dashed lines, some curving, some straight, some just going around in what appear to be endless circles. And to what end? Why on earth do I want to know that it’s sunny and 80 degrees in Florida when I am sitting on my couch, shivering under my blankets? And, as much as I hate to cast a dark cloud on their predictions, we all know that many a time the weatherperson is simply wrong. I mean who hasn’t woken up to what was supposed to be a bright and sunny day only to find the rain pouring down and, as a result, no chance you’re gonna fulfill your promise to take your ten year old nephew to the go-kart track? Somehow the prospect of seeing “The Return of Mary Poppins” just doesn’t cut it with him. Although if I must say, it is a very delightful movie and something every parent should keep in their back pocket for a rainy day. But I digress. The thing is, how helpful is it to know what the weather will be tomorrow or seven days down the road anyway? I mean in most cases, who can change their plans? It’s not like I could say, “Oh darn! Wednesday’s going to be rainy. Guess I’ll just have to stay home from work so my hair won’t get frizzy.” Besides, in this part of the world we all know you can wait 15 minutes and the weather will change. Seems to me if you really want to know what the weather’s like it’s best just to open your door and step outside. Guaranteed you’ll be 100% accurate, for that moment at least. So why, may I ask, would anyone want to talk about something as unpredictable as weather?

Not only that but, in case you missed it (icymi) people seem to treat weather as a blood sport. And I can say that having recently spent 38 years in one of the northernmost cities in this country of ours. Just try talking to me or one of my compatriots about the weather. Because, when we say “yep, it’s cold outside”, believe me, we know from where we speak. Have you ever spent an entire month getting to and from work, school, grocery shopping, and just about everywhere else knee deep in snow with temps hovering around the -40c mark? Without factoring in the wind chill? Do you know what happens to your skin, nose, ears and just about every other part of your body in that kind of cold? Have you ever looked outside your window and thought that someone had forgotten to mention you had landed on the moon? You get the drift. When someone from this little Island of mine complains about a chill in the air ‘cause the temps have uncharacteristically fallen slightly below the freezing point you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll call, raise them 50 bucks and take the pot on this hand.  Seems to me there’s a lot of one-upmanship going on when it comes to weather and who knows what kind of trouble that can lead to? There’s a pretty good chance that amidst all of your chin wagging about the cold you’re going to run into a climate change denier and I, for one, don’t want to be around when the resulting mayhem ensues. Which is why it seems to me that it’s best to avoid the weather topic altogether.

So for this season of light, joy and happiness take my advice and do your best to talk about anything but the weather. If you’re at your wit’s end about what to say you can always revisit my blog. With a few notable exceptions I’ve pretty much provided you with 5 good years worth of topics. Think of it as my little holiday gift to you. You’re welcome.

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It’s that time of the year!

Yep, it’s that time of the year again. The trees are adorned with colourful, twinkling lights, shoppers are scurrying to find the perfect gifts, children are dreaming of presents under the tree, bakers are baking, drummers are drumming, bells are ringing, and in the air there’s a feeling of Christmas. Which I am sure you know better than I because Christmas has never been on my radar. It’s simply not part of my life. So while I enjoy the sights, sounds and smells of the holiday season, I’ve really never taken part in most of the festivities that mark this special time of year.. But please don’t worry about me. I’ve got plenty to do. Because Hallmark, that purveyor of all things sweetness and light has, for 2018, released twenty-two, brand spanking new, Christmas movies. Which, of course, I watch. Now that may seem like a daunting task to you because this is a busy time of year and you might not have 44 hours of extra time to devote to this rather addictive (you’ve been warned) endeavor. But it’s not a busy time for me and because I have become somewhat of an expert on the aforementioned subject and have likely now peaked your interest, I thought I would take a moment to summarize the flicks for you. I know. You’re wondering how in the heck is the shallow gal going to do this? And why would she take on such an onerous task just to relieve her readers of their FOMO? Well contrary to what you might think it’s not really difficult at all  because, you see, Hallmark has really made one movie twenty-two times. Yes they have. So here, in a nutshell, is my recap if it (them).

The Woman: There’s always a woman. Usually a rather successful one who has pretty much dedicated her life to her work leaving little time for outside relationships (more on that later) or holidays. Somewhat incredibly, without exception and in a variety of ways which usually involve transportation and a snow storm, the woman finds herself spending Christmas in a very small but friendly town that has very big plans for Christmas. Sometimes it’s her hometown. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes she’s a princess. Most often she is not. 

The Man: Without too much ado the woman is going to meet a man. Could be a kindred soul stuck in a snow bound airport or the tow truck driver who happens upon her car stuck on a snowy road. Understandably perhaps, due to the stressful situations in which they meet, the initial contact doesn’t go all that well and once the dust settles they go their separate ways, although since there is only one way to go they inevitably end up in the same place. That small but very friendly town. He could be a prince. Most often he isn’t.

The Town: Often with names like “Christmas Creek” or “Evergreen” this is your proverbial small town with a main street that houses the “Mom and Pop” restaurant/coffee shop, independent general/hardware store, local antique emporium and country inn or lodge. More meeting place than commerce, each of these seems to be run for the sole purpose of providing the townsfolk with a venue to get together to discuss plans for the upcoming festivities  which include one, some or all of a) snowman building, b) gingerbread house building and c) cookie baking contests, a Christmas choral concert, a tree lighting extravaganza, and the not to be missed Christmas Eve extravaganza dance. Unless of course some scrooge has decided to cancel the whole thing due to heretofore unforeseen circumstances. But maybe that’s giving too much away.

The Kid: There’s always a kid. Once in a while it’s a niece or nephew but more often than not it’s either hers or his. Which brings me to something I neglected to mention. There has regretfully been a divorce (not too recent) or sadly a death (usually even less recent) which has left this child to be raised by a single but very devoted parent who wants to make this the best Christmas ever even if they find themselves stranded in a snowstorm in some small town in the middle of nowhere instead of on their way to Florida where they had planned to spend the holiday basking in the sun trying to forget all of the painful memories of Christmas’ past. Which really wouldn’t have been very Christmas-like at all. The kid is cute, smart and surprisingly adaptable.

The Ex: There will be an “ex”. If there’s a widow rest assured it won’t be his or hers. But everyone else is fair game. The “ex” will likely be a “big city” kind of guy/gal who will eventually show up but, unlike their soon to be “ex” partner (am I giving too much away?) won’t find the small town quite as enchanting as their mate has. The “ex” is usually a jerk.

The kiss (almost): As you can imagine there’s going to be romance. It won’t be easy but somewhere along the way the two main characters will realize that their serendipitous meeting was meant to be and while it took them the better part of the holiday to realize it (they were very busy getting ready for all of the celebrations and contests) they do actually like each other. A lot. Finally they decide to kiss. The problem is, just when the moment is right who should arrive but their (pick one) Mother, child, boss, best friend, ex, an errant snowball, or just some random passerby and the magic is gone. Just like that.

The misunderstanding: We all know that life is not one big bowl of cherries and somewhere along the line you are going to have to deal with the pits. Just when everything seems to be hunky dory and it looks like the population of this town is going to grow by one or maybe two, someone gets something wrong and the whole darn thing is called off. Airports open, tickets are booked back to the big city and with nary a turn of the head or even a pause to pick up the trophy for best gingerbread house, all bets are off and our hero(ine) heads home. It would seem that Hallmark has decided there is nothing more heart wrenching than some unrequited love. Fortunately we are close enough now to the two hour mark to know that it won’t take long to get this train back on its track.

The Kiss: Finally (again). Both of them are miserable after their decision to part. Well really only one decided. The other most often is left bewildered by the quick exit. Fortunately the departee recognizes the folly of the rash decision to leave and he/she quickly heads back to the small town (after all, the kid has already made a new bff), because they always knew it was where they were meant to be. No longer surprising to us, they declare their love for each other and have that kiss…uninterrupted. That’s it. Happily ever after. And all that’s left are the credits.

So there you have it. One story. Twenty-two movies. Now if only I could figure out how to make that formula work for this blog.

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