It wasn't exactly a trip to Vegas, but it was still an enjoyable evening to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary last summer.
Yes, somehow my wife has put up with me for a quarter of a century. How she does it is just as much a mystery to me as everyone else.
I have the easy part because I am married to her.
For the matrimonial milestone we did not want to have a big party with lots of people over because that translates to lots of work. It is our anniversary, we should have fun, not do dishes and cater to guests.
We wanted to go to Las Vegas and renew our vows with an Elvis impersonator because who better to proclaim our love to than the King himself.
But for various reasons, that did not happen so we went with plan B.
We ditched the kids and went out for dinner before catching a live theatre production, which was a very enjoyable evening and we had a lovely time.
I worked the day of our anniversary, but my beloved had the day off so she spent a good portion of her time digging up old pictures of us and putting them on Facebook for all our friends to see.
Among the congratulatory congratulations we received, I noticed a bit of a theme was developing.
Some people commented on how much hair I had back then. OK, I get it, I am going bald.
Fortunately, I am OK with that. There is not a lot I can do about it, so why stress out over it.
I have accepted there is less hair on my head – much less – than I used to have, but as things tend to do in the cosmos, it is all balancing out because I have hair growing in other places.
When the Missus and I first tied the knot, I had about three chest hairs. Now I look like I am walking around with a poodle taped to my nipples.
I was a little surprised at the growth of locks on my pecks, but it was not out of the realm of possibilities as many men have furry chests.
The part I can't figure out is why do I have hair growing out of my left shoulder area? Other than for a member of the primate family, shoulders are not a place follicles should be found nor are they needed, but for some reason there it is.
What's the point? It does not enhance my aesthetic appearance.
No woman in the history of humankind has ever looked at a man and swooned over the lovely locks flowing from his shoulder muscles.
The other thing people pointed out when looking at our decades-old wedding pictures was how much larger I am now compared to then.
I have put on a few pounds since then, but who hasn't gained weight as they get older?
Some people pointed this out in a kind way, making a harmless comment about how much I have changed over the years.
However a few of my 'good friends' from back in the day were less subtle in their assessment of the situation and took a more blunt approach with some good-natured ribbing – at my expense of course.
Even a friend's mom got in on the action with the simple statement, “You look just like you used to, except fatter.”
Gee thanks. This lady was not exactly svelte herself 25 years ago so I simply replied she hasn't changed a bit and left it at that.
In the past 25 years I have lost my hair and gained weight while raising three children and managing to not box up my mother in law and ship her to Uruguay.
I wonder what the next 25 will bring.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
Adventures in the vet's office
Murphy the Wonder Dog was excited as usual.
As soon as we touched his leash he began doing his happy dance in anticipation of the adventure we were about to embark on.
Usually, grabbing the tether means he is going for a walk around the neighbourhood, or better yet, a woodland excursion along our favourite hiking trail.
Today however, the voyage had a different destination: the veterinarian's office.
But Murph the Surph would not be going alone. Gilbert the Cat would be joining him.
Gil is the mellowest cat God has ever placed on this earth, and for that I am thankful.
Nothing fazes the feline that is entering his 12th year of life. However, even Mr. Mellow has his hang ups and he does not like car rides, so to take him anywhere we put him in a little animal carrier.
He walks right in like it is not big deal and is calm as can be. He is totally relaxed, until the van starts moving.
He does not freak out and go nuts like some cats do. Gilbert's version of 'spazzing out' is to let out a mournful wail every few seconds to express his displeasure with the situation.
Meanwhile Murphy is trying to figure out why we are bringing the cat along on one of our outback treks.
He sniffed the cage several times to confirm it was his cat that was making those odd noises.
Murphy remained excited after entering the vet's office and he looked around and sniffed everything he could in the waiting room. Gil stopped making the odd noises and simply looked out of his holding pen, waiting to see what happens next.
Even when the vet came out and led us into the examination room, Murphy was still pretty darn excited to be on an adventure.
The vet checked his ears – which he has had some problems with – she checked his weight, his joints and his stomach all with Murphy being thrilled at receiving so much personal attention from a total stranger (something he loves.)
Then it was time to take his temperature. Suddenly Murphy was not having such a good time. I have never seen that look on his face before, but it was a look of “WHAT THE....HEY. STOP IT. I'M NOT THAT KIND OF DOG.”
As all pet owners know, you can not take an animal's temperature orally, so another method must be used, one Murphy did not remember from his last visit to the vet.
Fortunately the medical procedure lasted only a few seconds and he was done. But Murphy remained skeptical of the whole examination process from that point on. He had his vaccination shots, which he was also not too thrilled about, and was declared in good health.
It was now the cat's turn, and I am sure if Murphy could talk he would have warned Gil of the impending invasion of his personal space.
Like Murphy before him, Gilbert went through the check list before eventually having his temperature taken.
Gil was not a happy cat.
Remember that odd sound I was telling you about when he was in the cage? Well, it was even louder during the 'procedure.'
Once the vet was done, good ol' Gilbert sought some measure of revenge and promptly pooped all over the examination table.
Only a cat would come up with such a devious form of pay back. I have never seen a cat look smug before, but if they can project such an emotion, they would look like Gilbert did at that moment.
A de-worming pill and a vaccination shot closed Gilbert's time at the vet and he eagerly hopped back in his carrying pen, happy the ordeal was over.
Both Murphy and Gilbert are in good physical shape, but the psychological damage from the examination may haunt them both for a few days.
As soon as we touched his leash he began doing his happy dance in anticipation of the adventure we were about to embark on.
Usually, grabbing the tether means he is going for a walk around the neighbourhood, or better yet, a woodland excursion along our favourite hiking trail.
Today however, the voyage had a different destination: the veterinarian's office.
But Murph the Surph would not be going alone. Gilbert the Cat would be joining him.
Gil is the mellowest cat God has ever placed on this earth, and for that I am thankful.
Nothing fazes the feline that is entering his 12th year of life. However, even Mr. Mellow has his hang ups and he does not like car rides, so to take him anywhere we put him in a little animal carrier.
He walks right in like it is not big deal and is calm as can be. He is totally relaxed, until the van starts moving.
He does not freak out and go nuts like some cats do. Gilbert's version of 'spazzing out' is to let out a mournful wail every few seconds to express his displeasure with the situation.
Meanwhile Murphy is trying to figure out why we are bringing the cat along on one of our outback treks.
He sniffed the cage several times to confirm it was his cat that was making those odd noises.
Murphy remained excited after entering the vet's office and he looked around and sniffed everything he could in the waiting room. Gil stopped making the odd noises and simply looked out of his holding pen, waiting to see what happens next.
Even when the vet came out and led us into the examination room, Murphy was still pretty darn excited to be on an adventure.
The vet checked his ears – which he has had some problems with – she checked his weight, his joints and his stomach all with Murphy being thrilled at receiving so much personal attention from a total stranger (something he loves.)
Then it was time to take his temperature. Suddenly Murphy was not having such a good time. I have never seen that look on his face before, but it was a look of “WHAT THE....HEY. STOP IT. I'M NOT THAT KIND OF DOG.”
As all pet owners know, you can not take an animal's temperature orally, so another method must be used, one Murphy did not remember from his last visit to the vet.
Fortunately the medical procedure lasted only a few seconds and he was done. But Murphy remained skeptical of the whole examination process from that point on. He had his vaccination shots, which he was also not too thrilled about, and was declared in good health.
It was now the cat's turn, and I am sure if Murphy could talk he would have warned Gil of the impending invasion of his personal space.
Like Murphy before him, Gilbert went through the check list before eventually having his temperature taken.
Gil was not a happy cat.
Remember that odd sound I was telling you about when he was in the cage? Well, it was even louder during the 'procedure.'
Once the vet was done, good ol' Gilbert sought some measure of revenge and promptly pooped all over the examination table.
Only a cat would come up with such a devious form of pay back. I have never seen a cat look smug before, but if they can project such an emotion, they would look like Gilbert did at that moment.
A de-worming pill and a vaccination shot closed Gilbert's time at the vet and he eagerly hopped back in his carrying pen, happy the ordeal was over.
Both Murphy and Gilbert are in good physical shape, but the psychological damage from the examination may haunt them both for a few days.
Friday, January 3, 2014
Held captive in a room with no way out
I was trapped, with no avenue of escape.
I tried talking my way out of the predicament, but there would be no reasoning. Freedom was just a few steps away, but it might as well have been across a frozen chasm guarded by rottweilers with knives.
I quickly realized I had no control over the situation and was at the mercy of my captor.
So, how did I end up here?
It was a chain of events set in motion several years ago that would lead to me being held captive in a small room in a house deep in the woods.
It began when some good friends visited their relatives in the Caribbean. The vacation itself was uneventful, but the aftermath for the couple in their late 40s caught everyone off guard and led to me being a prisoner.
A couple months after returning from the sunny clime, our friend was not feeling well, but she initially dismissed it as any one of a number of minor causes.
The feeling persisted and days turned into weeks. She found herself in the doctor's office, thinking perhaps she had picked up some sort of exotic Caribbean bug or something.
She explained her symptoms to the doctor.
"Let's start with the basics so we can eliminate the simple stuff,” the doc said while filling out requisition forms for a variety of tests.
As she looked at the form, she noticed the box for a pregnancy test was checked.
They both had a chuckle over that, but the doctor said it was just a routine test and was no big deal.
Being in her late 40s, she found it amusing the doc would even consider such a test and quickly dismissed it.
After having the tests done she was once again in the doctor's office.
"OK, we can rule out a major ailment,” said the good doctor.
“That's a relief, but do you have any idea why I feel this way?” queried my friend.
“Yes I do, you're pregnant.”
It took a few minutes for the words to register. She knew what they all meant and had heard them before, but she could not figure out why her doctor was saying them to her now.
Her husband was equally stunned at first, and then overjoyed, especially when they learned they were having a little girl. They already had three sons and were over the moon at the amazing news.
Fast forward almost three years and we are visiting their home that is nestled in a postcard-like woodland setting.
The little girl is a bundle of energy you would expect from a two year old, and is so adorable she could melt the heart of Atilla the Hun.
For Christmas she received a fancy and frilly bed that she was eager to show off to everyone. She stood at the edge of the livingroom, waving for me to follow.
It was impossible to resist, and she chatted away in a language only she could understand as I followed her up the stairs.
After commenting on what a pretty princess bed she had, I sat down on the floor while she showed me her dollies. I then stacked several blocks, which she promptly knocked over with a giggle.
I stacked them again and she knocked them down again - more giggling. We had discovered a wonderful game, but after a while I suggested we go back downstairs.
She then ran to the door and shut it before handing me a couple more blocks.
I knew at that moment I was trapped by someone who barely came up to my knee.
This tiny little human was suddenly the alpha in the room and I did not have the heart to challenge her rule, so I stacked more blocks so she could knock them over. We would both giggle.
After a few minutes her dad came the rescue and I was free, although I must admit, captivity was quite enjoyable.
I tried talking my way out of the predicament, but there would be no reasoning. Freedom was just a few steps away, but it might as well have been across a frozen chasm guarded by rottweilers with knives.
I quickly realized I had no control over the situation and was at the mercy of my captor.
So, how did I end up here?
It was a chain of events set in motion several years ago that would lead to me being held captive in a small room in a house deep in the woods.
It began when some good friends visited their relatives in the Caribbean. The vacation itself was uneventful, but the aftermath for the couple in their late 40s caught everyone off guard and led to me being a prisoner.
A couple months after returning from the sunny clime, our friend was not feeling well, but she initially dismissed it as any one of a number of minor causes.
The feeling persisted and days turned into weeks. She found herself in the doctor's office, thinking perhaps she had picked up some sort of exotic Caribbean bug or something.
She explained her symptoms to the doctor.
"Let's start with the basics so we can eliminate the simple stuff,” the doc said while filling out requisition forms for a variety of tests.
As she looked at the form, she noticed the box for a pregnancy test was checked.
They both had a chuckle over that, but the doctor said it was just a routine test and was no big deal.
Being in her late 40s, she found it amusing the doc would even consider such a test and quickly dismissed it.
After having the tests done she was once again in the doctor's office.
"OK, we can rule out a major ailment,” said the good doctor.
“That's a relief, but do you have any idea why I feel this way?” queried my friend.
“Yes I do, you're pregnant.”
It took a few minutes for the words to register. She knew what they all meant and had heard them before, but she could not figure out why her doctor was saying them to her now.
Her husband was equally stunned at first, and then overjoyed, especially when they learned they were having a little girl. They already had three sons and were over the moon at the amazing news.
Fast forward almost three years and we are visiting their home that is nestled in a postcard-like woodland setting.
The little girl is a bundle of energy you would expect from a two year old, and is so adorable she could melt the heart of Atilla the Hun.
For Christmas she received a fancy and frilly bed that she was eager to show off to everyone. She stood at the edge of the livingroom, waving for me to follow.
It was impossible to resist, and she chatted away in a language only she could understand as I followed her up the stairs.
After commenting on what a pretty princess bed she had, I sat down on the floor while she showed me her dollies. I then stacked several blocks, which she promptly knocked over with a giggle.
I stacked them again and she knocked them down again - more giggling. We had discovered a wonderful game, but after a while I suggested we go back downstairs.
She then ran to the door and shut it before handing me a couple more blocks.
I knew at that moment I was trapped by someone who barely came up to my knee.
This tiny little human was suddenly the alpha in the room and I did not have the heart to challenge her rule, so I stacked more blocks so she could knock them over. We would both giggle.
After a few minutes her dad came the rescue and I was free, although I must admit, captivity was quite enjoyable.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Ordering memories from the catalogue
Once again, Christmas day has come and gone.
And once again traditions took centre stage as people throughout the land re-enacted Yuletide festivities like they have for generations.
My grandparents were from ‘the old country,’ as my grandma always called it, so our tradition was to open presents on Christmas eve.
This had many advantages growing up. I could call my friends and tell them what I got several hours before they even went to bed. They had to wait until the morning to discover what wrapped wonders awaited them.
A tradition my family never did was the Santa thing and I would often dismantle my friend's belief in St. Nicholas for my own fun and amusement.
I suppose it was mean to crush their dreams that some fat guy would sneak into their homes once a year and deliver a bunch of presents, but I was a kid and kids do stuff like that.
I simply pointed out Santa must have ordered from the Sears catalogue because the stuff he provided was identical to the store-bought goods.
That catalogue was as much a Christmas tradition as eggnog and wrapping paper.
There was no Internet or online shopping back then, but there was the Sears Christmas Wish Book. What a great day it was when the glossy paged book of dreams was dropped off on the front stoop. It usually turned up in the fall, so all us youngsters would have plenty of time to leaf through the pages and make agonizing decisions as to what we wanted to ask ‘Santa’ to bring us.
I would spend hours looking at the pages of toys, that is when I could wrest the book from the evil clutches of my two sisters who wasted the book by looking at dolls and frilly things.
Without that worn out, tattered and much-loved book, we would have no idea what was out there to select from.
My own children used to look at the catalogue, but now they go online to find suggestions for their own Yuletide indulgences (which has become their Christmas gift-shopping tradition.)
That book was a big part of my youthful Christmas experience and one I remember fondly, but in life things change.
When I wed my lovely bride 25 years ago, Christmas changed from the evening of Dec. 24 to bright and early Dec. 25 as she wanted to hold a more traditional North American Christmas like she grew up with.
When we would spend Christmas with my parents, the old days would return and I would once again tear open packages on the Eve, but when it was just the wife and I and then when the kids started arriving, Christmas morning was where all the action was.
This was foreign to me and for a long time I did not really understand it. To me, it made much more sense to open your presents the night before, then the kids would be able to sleep that night and I would not have to get up at such a Grinch-like hour.
The morning Christmas event did create some traditions such as the annual interaction with my children when they came bounding in to our bedroom, full of the energy only the biggest day of the year could bring. As I would every Dec. 25 for many years, I would look at the clock and with all the sweetness and Christmas cheer I could muster, I would look at my young ones and say, “Go back to bed, it’s four in the morning.”
Eventually we established a rule Christmas was not to be celebrated a minute before 6 a.m., and since that agreement, the children have been bounding in to our room at precisely six and dragging us out of bed.
My family had a good Christmas this year, full of fun, happiness and love. Which really is the best part of Christmas, no matter how early you have to get up.
And once again traditions took centre stage as people throughout the land re-enacted Yuletide festivities like they have for generations.
My grandparents were from ‘the old country,’ as my grandma always called it, so our tradition was to open presents on Christmas eve.
This had many advantages growing up. I could call my friends and tell them what I got several hours before they even went to bed. They had to wait until the morning to discover what wrapped wonders awaited them.
A tradition my family never did was the Santa thing and I would often dismantle my friend's belief in St. Nicholas for my own fun and amusement.
I suppose it was mean to crush their dreams that some fat guy would sneak into their homes once a year and deliver a bunch of presents, but I was a kid and kids do stuff like that.
I simply pointed out Santa must have ordered from the Sears catalogue because the stuff he provided was identical to the store-bought goods.
That catalogue was as much a Christmas tradition as eggnog and wrapping paper.
There was no Internet or online shopping back then, but there was the Sears Christmas Wish Book. What a great day it was when the glossy paged book of dreams was dropped off on the front stoop. It usually turned up in the fall, so all us youngsters would have plenty of time to leaf through the pages and make agonizing decisions as to what we wanted to ask ‘Santa’ to bring us.
I would spend hours looking at the pages of toys, that is when I could wrest the book from the evil clutches of my two sisters who wasted the book by looking at dolls and frilly things.
Without that worn out, tattered and much-loved book, we would have no idea what was out there to select from.
My own children used to look at the catalogue, but now they go online to find suggestions for their own Yuletide indulgences (which has become their Christmas gift-shopping tradition.)
That book was a big part of my youthful Christmas experience and one I remember fondly, but in life things change.
When I wed my lovely bride 25 years ago, Christmas changed from the evening of Dec. 24 to bright and early Dec. 25 as she wanted to hold a more traditional North American Christmas like she grew up with.
When we would spend Christmas with my parents, the old days would return and I would once again tear open packages on the Eve, but when it was just the wife and I and then when the kids started arriving, Christmas morning was where all the action was.
This was foreign to me and for a long time I did not really understand it. To me, it made much more sense to open your presents the night before, then the kids would be able to sleep that night and I would not have to get up at such a Grinch-like hour.
The morning Christmas event did create some traditions such as the annual interaction with my children when they came bounding in to our bedroom, full of the energy only the biggest day of the year could bring. As I would every Dec. 25 for many years, I would look at the clock and with all the sweetness and Christmas cheer I could muster, I would look at my young ones and say, “Go back to bed, it’s four in the morning.”
Eventually we established a rule Christmas was not to be celebrated a minute before 6 a.m., and since that agreement, the children have been bounding in to our room at precisely six and dragging us out of bed.
My family had a good Christmas this year, full of fun, happiness and love. Which really is the best part of Christmas, no matter how early you have to get up.
Friday, December 20, 2013
Time for some weird gift giving
It's Christmastime and that means people throughout the land will honour the age-old tradition of flocking to area stores where they become borderline psychotic as they search for the perfect gift.
Nothing says Merry Christmas like jostling people out of your way as you jockey for position at the ever-growing check out lines.
I am not sure what the must-have gift is this year, but remember the Tickle Me Elmo craze a few years ago where people were literally spending thousands of dollars on a toy a child will play with for two whole minutes?
One lady spent a whopping $8,000 on a stupid vibrating stuffed muppet.
Ho-ho-holy moly is that ridiculous.
Speaking of ridiculous, there is no shortage of unusual, strange and outright weird gifts you can get people. And with a couple days left until the fat man arrives, there is still time for some last-minute shopping.
Nothing says Merry Christmas like a walking corpse and with zombies being all the rage right now there is an abundance of undead gifts to give the fully living.
Zombie T-shirts are as common as a Senate expense scandal, but you can get creative for the little Yuletide ghoul in your home with the Zombie Magnetic Word Kit.
This is a small metal box containing a plethora of magnetized words that can be arranged in any order you want to spell out any sentence you desire. So what separates the zombie word kit from regular old magnetic word kits that have been around for years? Near as I can tell, the word zombie in the title. Other than that they look identical.
Or how about some zombie jerky. The tasty treat is hailed as teriyaki zombie flesh jerky. Um, OK, isn't that just regular jerky with green food dye all over it?
You know it is just a matter of time before Zombie Santa makes his debut.
While zombies are taking a big bite out of the holiday gift list, there are still plenty of options for those not fond of the living dead.
What Christmas tree would be complete without a Lucky Singing Christmas Pickle ornament? What makes it lucky I do not know and why it sings also remains a mystery.
But should you know someone who wants to combine their love of pickles, singing and Christmas you now have the perfect stocking stuffer.
Looking for something a little more elaborate? How about an $11,000 exercise cycle? The Cyclotte is a very odd looking stationary bike that is perfect for someone who simply cannot lose those last five pounds on a regular exercise bike.
That 50-inch plasma TV just not cutting it anymore? Well fear not, now there is the $1.5-million Ultimate Outdoor Entertainment System. The massive 201-inch TV retracts from the ground and comes with a built-in library of 300 movies and concerts, as well as Direct-TV. No word if you can get NetFlix on it.
Looking for something a little more practical? Then how about an acre of land on Mars. That's right, for just $29.99 you to can be the proud owner of a chunk of land on planet thousands of miles away.
At www.buymars.com, you can purchase a piece of the Red Planet to call your very own. Of course visiting it might be a little challenging and for all you know it could be Martian swamp land, but still I would venture a guess the recipient of the gift would never suspect what it is.
Of course, we cannot leave pets out of the giving frenzy. There are a wealth of gifts to give the critter in your life, ranging from clothes to toys to hats and more.
My personal favourite this year is the guinea pig Santa suit. It is a red fur-lined jacket with a little red hat to fit any size rodent.
How does that saying go? There's one born every minute...
Nothing says Merry Christmas like jostling people out of your way as you jockey for position at the ever-growing check out lines.
I am not sure what the must-have gift is this year, but remember the Tickle Me Elmo craze a few years ago where people were literally spending thousands of dollars on a toy a child will play with for two whole minutes?
One lady spent a whopping $8,000 on a stupid vibrating stuffed muppet.
Ho-ho-holy moly is that ridiculous.
Speaking of ridiculous, there is no shortage of unusual, strange and outright weird gifts you can get people. And with a couple days left until the fat man arrives, there is still time for some last-minute shopping.
Nothing says Merry Christmas like a walking corpse and with zombies being all the rage right now there is an abundance of undead gifts to give the fully living.
Zombie T-shirts are as common as a Senate expense scandal, but you can get creative for the little Yuletide ghoul in your home with the Zombie Magnetic Word Kit.
This is a small metal box containing a plethora of magnetized words that can be arranged in any order you want to spell out any sentence you desire. So what separates the zombie word kit from regular old magnetic word kits that have been around for years? Near as I can tell, the word zombie in the title. Other than that they look identical.
Or how about some zombie jerky. The tasty treat is hailed as teriyaki zombie flesh jerky. Um, OK, isn't that just regular jerky with green food dye all over it?
You know it is just a matter of time before Zombie Santa makes his debut.
While zombies are taking a big bite out of the holiday gift list, there are still plenty of options for those not fond of the living dead.
What Christmas tree would be complete without a Lucky Singing Christmas Pickle ornament? What makes it lucky I do not know and why it sings also remains a mystery.
But should you know someone who wants to combine their love of pickles, singing and Christmas you now have the perfect stocking stuffer.
Looking for something a little more elaborate? How about an $11,000 exercise cycle? The Cyclotte is a very odd looking stationary bike that is perfect for someone who simply cannot lose those last five pounds on a regular exercise bike.
That 50-inch plasma TV just not cutting it anymore? Well fear not, now there is the $1.5-million Ultimate Outdoor Entertainment System. The massive 201-inch TV retracts from the ground and comes with a built-in library of 300 movies and concerts, as well as Direct-TV. No word if you can get NetFlix on it.
Looking for something a little more practical? Then how about an acre of land on Mars. That's right, for just $29.99 you to can be the proud owner of a chunk of land on planet thousands of miles away.
At www.buymars.com, you can purchase a piece of the Red Planet to call your very own. Of course visiting it might be a little challenging and for all you know it could be Martian swamp land, but still I would venture a guess the recipient of the gift would never suspect what it is.
Of course, we cannot leave pets out of the giving frenzy. There are a wealth of gifts to give the critter in your life, ranging from clothes to toys to hats and more.
My personal favourite this year is the guinea pig Santa suit. It is a red fur-lined jacket with a little red hat to fit any size rodent.
How does that saying go? There's one born every minute...
Friday, December 13, 2013
'Tis the season for crowded malls and grumpy people
I used to be one of 'those' guys.
You know who I am talking about: the ones who leave their Christmas shopping to the last minute (typically they are of the male species.)
When I was young, foolish and generally not too bright, I would head out to the mall the evening of Dec. 23 to get gifts for my parents and siblings.
And seeing as we opened our presents the evening of Dec. 24, it really was the last minute.
The mall two days before Christmas is just slightly more crowded than a Japanese subway.
The spirit of Christmas can be tested when you are elbowing people out of the way while engaged in full-contact shopping.
For some, the descent into hum bug begins in the parking lot where it would be easier to find Jimmy Hoffa than a parking spot.
One year, I lucked out. While making my 132nd lap around the lot, I saw a car pulling out of a spot relatively close to the door. And by relatively close, I mean I would not have to bivouac overnight half-way to the mall entrance.
I pulled off to the side, put on my turn single and gleefully waited for this prime parking spot to become vacant.
I was the only car waiting, until another vehicle entered the lane from the opposite direction.
They could see I was ahead of them, and by the globally sanctioned rules of parking endorsed by the UN, NATO and Rotary International, that meant the spot was mine.
The lady driving the other car was in her early 40s, and had a couple of youngsters in the back seat.
With the white stuff gently falling and a parking lot covered in accumulated snow, the spirit of Christmas came upon me like a divine wind and I turned off my signal and raised my hand palm up and pointed toward the spot.
This is also an internationally recognized signal for 'Merry Christmas fellow shopper, please, take this prime parking spot and I shall search for another. You're welcome.'
The lady then looked at me, mouthed something about a duck and the word hassle before giving me the bird and taking the prime parking position.
I must admit, I was a little stunned by her Grinch-like response, but who knows what kind of a day she was having and after the initial shock wore off, I found the whole thing so ridiculous it was funny.
It took a few more laps around the lot to find a parking spot, but it was no big deal and my Christmas spirit was not hobbled in the least.
Humming my favourite Christmas carol as I ambled toward the distant front door, I ran through the mental list of what I wanted to get everyone.
Entering the mall was an assault on my senses. There were people everywhere, Christmas songs were playing over the sound system, kids were crying, people were scurrying too and fro and cash registers were dinging away.
Yup, sounds like Christmastime to me.
After a couple hours of jostling with the frenzied masses, I completed my list and was able to escape the chaotic confines of the shopping centre and return to my car – if only I could remember where I parked it.
I remembered where the good parking spot was (where Grumpy Gertrude's car still sat) but it took a while to find my own vehicle.
I found my car, went home, wrapped the gifts and vowed to never again wait until the last minute to do my shopping.
And I kept that vow – right up until the following Christmas where I once again found myself at the mall days before Dec. 25.
Eventually I wizened up and started doing my shopping earlier. This year, I completed my list a full two weeks before Christmas.
That's right gentlemen, I am done my Christmas shopping.
Joy to the world.
You know who I am talking about: the ones who leave their Christmas shopping to the last minute (typically they are of the male species.)
When I was young, foolish and generally not too bright, I would head out to the mall the evening of Dec. 23 to get gifts for my parents and siblings.
And seeing as we opened our presents the evening of Dec. 24, it really was the last minute.
The mall two days before Christmas is just slightly more crowded than a Japanese subway.
The spirit of Christmas can be tested when you are elbowing people out of the way while engaged in full-contact shopping.
For some, the descent into hum bug begins in the parking lot where it would be easier to find Jimmy Hoffa than a parking spot.
One year, I lucked out. While making my 132nd lap around the lot, I saw a car pulling out of a spot relatively close to the door. And by relatively close, I mean I would not have to bivouac overnight half-way to the mall entrance.
I pulled off to the side, put on my turn single and gleefully waited for this prime parking spot to become vacant.
I was the only car waiting, until another vehicle entered the lane from the opposite direction.
They could see I was ahead of them, and by the globally sanctioned rules of parking endorsed by the UN, NATO and Rotary International, that meant the spot was mine.
The lady driving the other car was in her early 40s, and had a couple of youngsters in the back seat.
With the white stuff gently falling and a parking lot covered in accumulated snow, the spirit of Christmas came upon me like a divine wind and I turned off my signal and raised my hand palm up and pointed toward the spot.
This is also an internationally recognized signal for 'Merry Christmas fellow shopper, please, take this prime parking spot and I shall search for another. You're welcome.'
The lady then looked at me, mouthed something about a duck and the word hassle before giving me the bird and taking the prime parking position.
I must admit, I was a little stunned by her Grinch-like response, but who knows what kind of a day she was having and after the initial shock wore off, I found the whole thing so ridiculous it was funny.
It took a few more laps around the lot to find a parking spot, but it was no big deal and my Christmas spirit was not hobbled in the least.
Humming my favourite Christmas carol as I ambled toward the distant front door, I ran through the mental list of what I wanted to get everyone.
Entering the mall was an assault on my senses. There were people everywhere, Christmas songs were playing over the sound system, kids were crying, people were scurrying too and fro and cash registers were dinging away.
Yup, sounds like Christmastime to me.
After a couple hours of jostling with the frenzied masses, I completed my list and was able to escape the chaotic confines of the shopping centre and return to my car – if only I could remember where I parked it.
I remembered where the good parking spot was (where Grumpy Gertrude's car still sat) but it took a while to find my own vehicle.
I found my car, went home, wrapped the gifts and vowed to never again wait until the last minute to do my shopping.
And I kept that vow – right up until the following Christmas where I once again found myself at the mall days before Dec. 25.
Eventually I wizened up and started doing my shopping earlier. This year, I completed my list a full two weeks before Christmas.
That's right gentlemen, I am done my Christmas shopping.
Joy to the world.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Ah, the joys of getting older
It is taking some getting used to, this aging stuff.
I am on the downside of my 40s and 50 is knocking on the door with a sledgehammer.
My knees protest everything from wet weather to walking up a flight of stairs.
My neck aches at the thought of a cold wind and I am starting to produce enough flatulence to power the space shuttle.
I can recall my grandparents generating enough gas to float the Hindenberg on a daily basis, and now it would seem I am well on my way to maintaining the family tradition of farting like a raging volcano.
I guess it is just another one of the thrilling aspects of piling on the years. Of course the alternative sucks, so I plan on operating my personal methane factory for as many years as possible.
When I was a young buck with lots of hair and no gut – those two have now reversed roles – there were many things I never thought about. Sure there are things a young mind dwells upon, but health, diet and abundant flatulence were not at the top of the list.
Back then, I was more worried about getting a speeding ticket or where we going to party that weekend and would a certain member of the female persuasion be at the party. Bills were dealt with on a 'need to' basis – as in I need to pay my rent or I will be living in a cardboard box, or worse, back with my parents.
Long-term planning was deciding what to wear to the party next weekend.
The stroke of midnight meant the good times were just starting. Now if I am up past midnight, I worry about having a stroke.
Being young meant you were indestructible, invincible and unstoppable. As I slide out of my middle-age years and into whatever the 50-year range is called, I see life through a much more realistic lens.
People say youth are the care-free days of our lives. I am realizing it was not so much care free as it was clueless.
You either didn't know the stuff you were doing was bad for you, or you didn't care because you knew you were indestructible and when you are indestructible you have no fear of destructing (if that is even a word.)
It would seem age has a way of washing away the haze of youthful exuberance and replacing it with wisdom and a much better understanding of what is going on around you.
Back in the day, I never worried about what I ate. When I was hungry, I ate whatever I wanted and as much as I wanted.
Bacon, fries, gravy, cheeseburgers all made a delicious snack.
I can remember going to adult recreational establishments until the wee hours of the morning. Then, with ears ringing and stomachs growling, we would head to an eatery where it would not be unheard of to decimate a pizza or that burger I was talking about, before going to bed at four in the morning.
My arteries hurt just thinking about it.
These days, the only thing I do at four in the morning is get up to go pee.
Greasy burgers and fries have been replaced by fresh greens and low-calorie dressing.
Cholesterol, triglycerides and other nasty words are now a back-of-the-mind distraction with every meal.
Long gone are the cheese-filled, fat-laden, late-night meals, replaced instead by a wholesome treat full of wonderful fibre and whole grains.
Food labels are read like the tablets handed to Moses, with no detail being over looked. Grams of fat, carbs and sodium are now the cardiac Axis of Evil and despite how delicious something tastes, that nasty little chart on the back of the package often outweighs the desire to ingest such a delectable delight.
With age comes wisdom, with wisdom came the realization I am not indestructible.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
I am on the downside of my 40s and 50 is knocking on the door with a sledgehammer.
My knees protest everything from wet weather to walking up a flight of stairs.
My neck aches at the thought of a cold wind and I am starting to produce enough flatulence to power the space shuttle.
I can recall my grandparents generating enough gas to float the Hindenberg on a daily basis, and now it would seem I am well on my way to maintaining the family tradition of farting like a raging volcano.
I guess it is just another one of the thrilling aspects of piling on the years. Of course the alternative sucks, so I plan on operating my personal methane factory for as many years as possible.
When I was a young buck with lots of hair and no gut – those two have now reversed roles – there were many things I never thought about. Sure there are things a young mind dwells upon, but health, diet and abundant flatulence were not at the top of the list.
Back then, I was more worried about getting a speeding ticket or where we going to party that weekend and would a certain member of the female persuasion be at the party. Bills were dealt with on a 'need to' basis – as in I need to pay my rent or I will be living in a cardboard box, or worse, back with my parents.
Long-term planning was deciding what to wear to the party next weekend.
The stroke of midnight meant the good times were just starting. Now if I am up past midnight, I worry about having a stroke.
Being young meant you were indestructible, invincible and unstoppable. As I slide out of my middle-age years and into whatever the 50-year range is called, I see life through a much more realistic lens.
People say youth are the care-free days of our lives. I am realizing it was not so much care free as it was clueless.
You either didn't know the stuff you were doing was bad for you, or you didn't care because you knew you were indestructible and when you are indestructible you have no fear of destructing (if that is even a word.)
It would seem age has a way of washing away the haze of youthful exuberance and replacing it with wisdom and a much better understanding of what is going on around you.
Back in the day, I never worried about what I ate. When I was hungry, I ate whatever I wanted and as much as I wanted.
Bacon, fries, gravy, cheeseburgers all made a delicious snack.
I can remember going to adult recreational establishments until the wee hours of the morning. Then, with ears ringing and stomachs growling, we would head to an eatery where it would not be unheard of to decimate a pizza or that burger I was talking about, before going to bed at four in the morning.
My arteries hurt just thinking about it.
These days, the only thing I do at four in the morning is get up to go pee.
Greasy burgers and fries have been replaced by fresh greens and low-calorie dressing.
Cholesterol, triglycerides and other nasty words are now a back-of-the-mind distraction with every meal.
Long gone are the cheese-filled, fat-laden, late-night meals, replaced instead by a wholesome treat full of wonderful fibre and whole grains.
Food labels are read like the tablets handed to Moses, with no detail being over looked. Grams of fat, carbs and sodium are now the cardiac Axis of Evil and despite how delicious something tastes, that nasty little chart on the back of the package often outweighs the desire to ingest such a delectable delight.
With age comes wisdom, with wisdom came the realization I am not indestructible.
Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
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