May 02 2015
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Informative

I’m Sorry!

maple-leafAs a shallow person I’ve never been one to turn a blind eye to a cliche. Let’s face it. Trite sayings can be useful on all kinds of levels. Like when you’re walking down the hall at work and you inadvertently make eye contact with someone you tangentially know, and at the most inopportune time, perhaps when your mind is wrapped around whether to have soup or a sandwich for lunch, and the only thing you can come up with in the moment your paths cross is, “Hi, have a good day!” Well, that’s not so bad. I mean, who doesn’t want to “have a good day”? Certainly there’s nothing wrong with letting someone know you hope they do. And it’s miles ahead of trying to pull up something slightly more meaningful on the spur of the moment which, more than likely, will result in some sort of unintelligible garble spewing from your otherwise preoccupied mind, making neither you or them feel any better.  Isn’t it easier just to make someone smile and go away a tiny bit happier?

Or when someone at work comes into your office to tell you that the sky is pretty much falling and they simply don’t know what to do next and you try to come up with something, anything really that will make them feel slightly better and all that comes out is, “well keep calm and carry on.” You’re fully aware of the fact that the chances of that happening are about the same as finding a needle in a haystack but what are you supposed to say? Even if you are thinking there’s a pretty good chance that before too long your co-worker is going to be offered the opportunity to “be successful elsewhere” what good is it going to do either of you to say so? Think about it for a minute. Given the alternative, and the fact that just about anything else you say is likely to lead you into some very uncomfortable territory, perhaps the best advice for both parties at this juncture is to “stay calm”. But none of this explains why lately I’ve been thinking more about cliches than usual. Truth be told, I’ve actually been thinking about one cliche in particular, but if you can hold your horses for just another minute or two, I promise I’ll get to that.

So the other day I’m minding my own business while walking to work. More to the point, I was actually walking from the parking lot to work when I looked up and saw a bus and there, displayed across the top where the destination would normally be, was the following: “Sorry…not in service”. And that’s when it occurred to me. There’s been a lot of that sort of thing going on in Canada lately, and while I am painfully cognizant of our reputation for being apologetic, I don’t think it has ever been regaled quite as publicly as it has been over the last few months. And I know this because I watch TV and lately there seems to be a proliferation of advertising that exploits this apparent predisposition. In case you have missed it, let me fill you in.

There are the Americans who, for some unknown reason are being taught how to “pass” as Canadians. In order to do this it seems, one must bone up on their knowledge of beavers, have a love of VH sauce and, when push comes to shove, automatically declare you are “sorry” to someone who doesn’t allow you to share their food. Is this really all that it takes? And who says that Americans don’t like VH sauce?  Then there’s the “tire guy” who apologizes for changing the name of “all season” tires to “all weather” tires since, it would seem, that for many years we have been fooled into thinking that our winters and “theirs” are one in the same. Not only does he apologize for the name change, he also makes the ultimate apology and apologizes, on behalf of all Canadians I am to assume, for our propensity for apologizing. Come on people! What we should be sorry for is not having won a war that would have given us free and clear access to at least one southern clime.

But that’s not what the bus triggered for me. At the moment I realized that the bus was apologizing for being out of service, even though that’s not an entirely unreasonable state for a bus to be in, the first thing that popped into my mind, and I have to say I’m not sure why, was the well-worn and as we all know, terribly overused cliche “Love is never having to say you’re sorry”.  Heads up my northern friends. It seems this may not be the case for us Canadian folk.

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Apr 12 2015
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Informative

Rules are Made to be Broken

red nail polishI strongly dislike nail polish. It’s not the colours, or the smell or even the fact that using a toothpick to painstakingly paint little pictures of stars, flowers or hearts on 10 teeny, tiny canvases seems like a rather frivolous waste of time. Nope, it’s not any of those things. The reason I strongly dislike nail polish is because, strange as this may sound, I’m a little claustrophobic and when I put polish on my nails my fingers can’t breathe. That’s right. For some reason, which I suspect will forever remain unknown, nail polish does that to me. So I do what any reasonable and clear thinking human would do. I don’t wear any, ever. Which is why you will probably be surprised when I tell you that I am, right now, attempting to remove some glossy, red paint off of my thumb nail. All this because, if I can put it this way, curiosity appears to have killed the cat. But here’s why.

I’m cleaning. This is not your run of the mill “a little dust, a little vacuum” kind of clean. Right now the entire family is in the midst of a knockdown, drag-out fight against clutter. And we’re about 30 years too late. Do you have any idea how much junk four people can accumulate over 30 years? Well I do. And to put an end to this guessing game, let me just tell you, it’s a lot. But what has to be has to be so without further ado the time has come for us to rid ourselves of the treasures we have somehow managed to accumulate over these many years. Because, as you may have heard, we are moving. Soon. And we simply can’t take all of this stuff with us which I believe is a reasonable, and rather easy conclusion to have arrived at based on the fact that we have less space in the new place than we have now. Not a whole lot less. But less all the same and, to add some insult to the injury, that “less space” comes in the form of no basement. And we all know that the basement is such a handy place to put all the stuff that you don’t really need but hate to part with. Which I am afraid has caused some, but not all of the problem we now face.

The most difficult part of this whole exercise is figuring out what to take and what to leave behind. That’s figuratively not literally since the person who is replacing us in our home probably, and I say this with some confidence, would frown upon us doing so. Now if I was the kind of person who played by the rules I most likely wouldn’t be in this pickle. I mean I’m a big fan of reality TV and, at least for a while, there were any number of shows dealing with the organization of “stuff”. So I am no stranger to advice on how to manage this whole thing. I know about the “keep”, “donate” and “discard” bins. And I can’t count the number of times I have heard that, perhaps now overused and almost impossible to abide by rule, “one in, one out”.  Let’s face it. I don’t always buy something to replace something else. Sometimes I just buy something because I like it. And maybe, just maybe, I like all the other ones I have that are like “it” too. Sometimes I need an “extra” one of something. Like a spatula. Who doesn’t sometimes need an extra spatula? Or something in another colour. Maybe I bought a green T-shirt. That doesn’t mean I can throw out a blue one. Does it? I rest my case. One in, one out simply does not work.

I suppose that’s why I now find myself wading through a plethora of stuff, which wouldn’t be so bad if I could at least follow that “touch things only once” rule. But when you come upon things that you haven’t seen for a very long time, sometimes you get distracted. Which seems to be the case, even for a shallow person like me. Call it nostalgia or call it whatever you want, but sometimes you just have to stop and smell the roses. Like finding pictures of your kids when they were really, really small and spending a little time remembering the days before they could walk and talk and stay out all night at the bar. Or coming across a rock you brought back from a camping trip you took years ago because you liked its colour or shape, and thinking back to how much fun it was to sleep in a tent and cook hot dogs over an open fire which you had almost forgotten you ever did because they very rarely allow you to do that at the Hyatt. Or finding a little bottle of nail polish that you never even knew you had and deciding to try it on because you are curious to know if it still makes you feel claustrophobic. These are the times you discover that rules really were made to be broken. Unfortunately, what t has also made me discover is this cleaning thing is going to take me a lot longer than I thought.

Photo credit: Disco-Dan / Foter / CC BY
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Mar 29 2015
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Informative

I’m Back!

soldWell I’m certainly glad that’s over! No, not the shallow blog, although from my rather extended absence I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if that’s what you were thinking. As a matter of fact, the other day I received my annual “better pay up or there’s no dedicated URL for you” notice and so it was that I decided to pony up my 18 bucks for another year. Did I say 18? What with the loonie acting up as of late I believe it’s more like 24 this year. But that’s neither here nor there really and not something anyone but me needs to know, even if you do know now. But what many of you don’t know is that for the past couple of months I have been selling my house. Period. And I say “period” because essentially that’s all I’ve been able to focus on for longer than I care to think.

Now I’m pretty sure that there are many among you who have at sometime in the past sold a house. Perhaps even multiple times. And if you haven’t you probably know someone who has. I certainly do. Truth be told, I’d have to say that house selling is kind of in my blood. My Mother, (have I mentioned lately that she’s 99?) was a very successful realtor for over 25 years. And my Brother, well he’s bought, redeveloped and sold many a home in the “Big City”.  In fact, something you may not know about me until this very moment is that many years ago I dabbled at being a realtor myself and, had it not been for the fact that my two very young children at the time tugged at my heartstrings every time I had to leave the house in the middle of dinner, or on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, (apparently I wasn’t quite as shallow back then) that’s probably what I would be doing now. So, as you can see, I’ve been connected in some way or another to the sale of many, many homes. But none of them were my own. None of them had been lived in by me and my family for the past 30 years. And none of them ever caused me the stress and angst that this sale did. So while it’s not yet one of those “now you can sit back and laugh at it” experiences, I can honestly say that I learned something from it. I learned that, while it may be possible to be “shallow and sad” it is absolutely and unequivocally not possible to be “shallow and stressed”. Which is my rather lengthy explanation for why I have been absent from this blog for the past 2 months.

So let me tell you about stress and angst because like buying and selling houses, it kind of runs in the family.  You see in my neck of the woods “worry” is, quite simply, what we do.  And where there’s “worry” there’s sure to be “stress” and “angst”. I can’t remember if I have mentioned this before, and if I can’t remember I’m pretty sure that none of you can, but in my house if there was a conclusion to be made you can bet your bottom dollar it wouldn’t be a good one. Kids home late? Might as well wait by the phone for the call from the police. Called home and no one answers the phone? Better send over an ambulance. Arrive late at your destination? Probably lying in a ditch somewhere not able to call for help since the battery in your cell phone unexpectedly went dead just moments before the accident. Well you get the picture. This is not your run of the mill state of affairs. This particular form of angst stays with you for a very long time. Simply put, it’s not something you wrap up and put away like a leftover piece of brisket. No, I’m afraid to say that this angst is deep and when it invades even a shallow person’s psyche it’s there for the duration.

And so it was that I spent the last couple of months devising scenarios that ended, in all cases, with me living in my house for the rest of my entire life because no one else, anywhere in the whole wide world would want to do so. Then, right smack dab in the middle of everything, and very much to my shock and surprise, the house sold. Believe it or not, it actually sold. To someone else. Finally, after a full two months of what I can only describe as anguish, I was able to take a deep breath. Which is why I am back. Who knows. Perhaps one day in the not too distant future, I’ll find myself writing about this whole experience in the blog. Yes, I’ll do that. Right after I stop worrying about what’s going to happen next.

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Jan 30 2015
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Informative

What I Want to Say

canada usI’ve been busy. Perhaps not in the conventional sense, or busy like many of you have been. But those walks on the beach each day take quite a long time, and then there’s coffee. Coffee is an event in and of itself. I mean who wants to hurry up and finish when there’s sun, surf and a nonfat, no foam latte all wrapped up in one? So that’s where I’ve been but, as you can plainly see, I’m here now and I have something I want to say.

I like Americans. Well probably not all Americans. I suppose if I had to pick one off hand who I particularly don’t like it would have to be, hands down, the Idaho State Trooper who saw fit to cite me for going a little faster than I should have been just moments before I would have been back in my own country and out of his hair. But then who likes all of anything really? Even in a box of chocolates there’s sure to be a dud. Besides, I spend a fair bit of time in the U S of A and overall, most of the people I meet are really lovely so I don’t have any complaints. Well maybe just one. It seems, and I say this with some trepidation as it’s based on a rather small sample, but nonetheless, it does seem that people here don’t know very much about Canada. Which is a little odd since we are, quite literally, attached at the hip.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not that Americans don’t know anything about my home and native land. As a matter of fact it seems to me that they are pretty good at identifying us, or at least those of us who quite unknowingly, and perhaps unwittingly, end at least one of our sentences within an entire conversation with “eh”. Who knew I did that, eh? But I must because, as soon as it happened my American friend popped the “so where are you from in Canada” question. Unfortunately, beyond that things get a little iffy. Especially when it comes to geography. I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that most people here are geographically challenged when it comes to the large landmass to their north. Which surprises me a bit because here’s the thing. I’ll be the first to admit that I am no geography genius but ask me where, let’s say, Arkansas is and I can give you a pretty reasonable answer. More south than north. More east than west. And I’ve never even been there. So at the risk of tooting my own horn I’m going to go right out on that proverbial limb and say that I can pretty much do the same for any of the remaining 49.

Which is why I was surprised, and perhaps a little dismayed, to discover that the same can not be said for my southern compatriots who, having asked me where I am from are, more often than not, stumped when I reply, “Edmonton, Alberta”. In an attempt to assuage the inevitable blank stare, I further clarify my answer with “Canada”. To which the most frequent response is “Oh, it’s cold there, isn’t it?” Because that seems to be the constant, the one thing they are sure to know about Canada. Now even as a shallow person I know this is neither the time or place for sarcasm. I simply know that I shouldn’t say what I want to say. At least not then. Not while I am the sole representative of my entire country. But here. Well this is my blog and I can say what I want to. So let me tell you how some of these conversations go and how they could/should have.

American #1: So where are you from?
Me: Canada. And in an effort to be more specific, “Alberta”.
American: Oh, is that like another country?
What I said: Alberta? Oh no, it’s a Province in Canada. A province is similar to your state.
What I wanted to say: Yes. We call it Oil Country. At least we did. And I’m sure we will again one day.

American #2: When talking about our house in Victoria on Vancouver Island asks “how did you ever find that Island?”
What I said: Oh. Vancouver Island is quite well known in Canada. In fact, Victoria is the capital of British Columbia.
What I wanted to say: Actually, we didn’t. It was founded by Juan de la Bodega y Quadra and George Vancouver in the 18th century. 

American #3: While chit chatting in a line at a very popular amusement park asks “where are you from?”
Me: Canada. Alberta to be specific.
American: Oh, Canada. What language do you speak?
What I said: English. Although French is also an official language.
What I should have said: The same one you and I have been conversing in for the last ten minutes!

American #4: Where are you from?
Me: Canada
American: It’s cold up there isn’t it?
What I said: Yes, yes it is.
What I wanted to say: Yes, yes it is.

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Jan 10 2015
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Informative

A Pyramid of Kindness

pyramidHello and welcome to 2015. As you are well aware, long ago I resolved never to make any New Year’s resolutions which is why I have once again this year, not resolved to write this blog more frequently. Hence the delay in getting back to you. Suffice to say, having recently escaped the bitter cold of my home town for unfortunately, a rather briefer than usual sojourn at the sea, my fingers have thawed sufficiently to begin again. And while what I want to tell you about might surprise you just a little bit, it solidifies my contention that being shallow doesn’t preclude being nice, or kind or really just about anything else “other” people profess to be. Except, perhaps, deep. I’m not sure one soul can be shallow and deep at the same time although I might have to do a little more thinking about that. In the meantime, here’s the thing.

I’m not sure how this all happened but sometime between Christmas and New Years I got myself involved in a Ponzi scheme, of sorts. I know! How, you ask, could someone with so much insight into the human condition find herself lock, stock and barrel in the midst of what anyone who knows anything, can only be a game of fools? Was it the result of too much turkey and merriment? Perhaps one too many rum balls? Could she have been blinded by all of those lights? Or did she just get caught up in the season of giving? Well, my friends, if I can be so bold as to call you that, it was none of those. Let me explain.

I’ll just take a moment here to refresh your memories. You’ll recall that not so long ago I extolled my appreciation for Facebook, a place where “everyone knows your name” even if they don’t really know you. To tell the truth, and that’s something I almost always do, I visit my Facebook page several times a day to see what my friends are doing, where they are travelling, who and what they like, what restaurant they are eating at, play or concert they are going to, who they might have just met and what they are doing with their new friends which, as I write this, is beginning to sound a tad creepy. But nonetheless, I do find out a lot stuff and once in a while, something that is even interesting. And so it was in Facebook, that one day, one of my friends posted this:

“This world needs as much kindness as it can get. I’m participating in this “Pay It Forward” initiative: The first five people who comment on this status with “I’m in” will receive a surprise from me at some point during the year–anything from a book, a ticket, something home-grown, homemade, a postcard, absolutely any surprise! There will be no warning and it will happen when the mood comes over me and I find something that I believe would suit you and make you happy. These five people must make the same offer on their Facebook status. Once my first five have commented “I’m in” I will forward this message to you privately, so that you can copy and paste it, and put it on your status, (don’t share it) so that we can form a web of connection of kindness. Let’s do more nice and loving things in 2015, without any reason other than to make each other. smile and show that we think of each other. Here’s to a more enjoyable, friendly, and love filled year!”

Well, there’s nothing I like more than a challenge so I jumped high onto this bandwagon and before you could say “Jack Robinson”, I was saying “I’m in!” and there I was, copying and pasting this very same message on my wall or newsfeed or whatever it is Facebook has all of us doing now. It wasn’t long, although it was longer than I thought it should have been, that five of my very own friends also proclaimed their commitment to this act of kindness and that’s when it occurred to me. I had just found myself right smack dab in the middle of a pyramid scheme. A pyramid of kindness. A pyramid that’s been turned on it’s end. Because in this one, I’m at the bottom since I’ll receive one act of kindness for the five that I dish out myself. You know, I’ve always professed to “give” but now I’m going to give and give and give and give and give. I’ll let you know what happens.

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