Making Peace With Depression

So many people I know are struggling with depression.

To me, depression is like the weather...good days, bad days, good seasons, bad seasons. Some people live where the weather is always bad. Some get away from it for mini vacations.

For what it's worth, this is my perspective on depression:

It's like a bad mother-in-law that you're stuck living with. You try to live together despite your dislike of her. Some are in constant conflict with their mother-in-laws and it takes their energy so they can't really enjoy much else. When they try to enjoy other things, they're still stuck with the hangover of the argument with mother-in-law early that day.

Some are lucky enough that their mother-in-law moves out, but how does one make peace with a mother-in-law from hell?

1. Stop struggling to think of ways to get her to move out. Don't give up on the idea, but don't let it fill your thoughts when other good thoughts and feelings can fill you instead.

2. Introduce her to the people close to you and people you trust. We fear that others won't like our mother-in-law either and will make excuses to avoid us. This is incorrect. No one hates you because you have a bad mother-in-law.

3. Make peace with her...even when she doesn't want to make peace with you. Acknowledge that you don't like each other but that you can also enjoy doing things in each other's presence...a nice cup of tea, a walk outside where you don't have to talk to each other

4. Don't share your bed with your mother-in-law. She wants to keep you there and will tell you things to make you feel so weary that you can't get out of bed. She hates alarm clocks, so put one beside your bed and turn it on. As long as you abide by the alarm, she won't come to bed with you. Warning: she does like the snooze button, so don't let temptation prevail.

5. Don't listen to your mother-in-law. She is mean. She will tell you terrible things about you to make you stay with her. You will believe some of her words, so you need to acknowledge some of them and make peace with those words.

5b Those words are much like mini-mother-in-laws. They are words like "worthless" or "useless". There's a trick here when dealing with these "minis". Do NOT challenge the mini words. For example, do not say "I'm not useless". Minis have a way of taking away the word "not" so you actually end up hearing yourself say "I am useless." Instead, say something without the work "not", like "I feel kinda useless at times but that's OK. Everyone feels useless at times." Then, to kill the mini, say something good about yourself, like "I'm an OK person and I'm OK with being OK"

6. Manifest your fairy-godmother. She is skilled at keeping your mother-in-law quiet and in a room away from you. Yes, mother-in-law finds ways to get out or speak up at times, but not as often. You can manifest your fairy-godmother when you do say and do things for yourself that you think your fairy-godmother will say or do. Speak kindly of yourself and others. Find beauty in your surroundings and every day things. A cup of coffee, the smell of a flower, the feel of soft clothes on your skin.

7. Find your inner warrior. Envision them as big, strong, and beautiful. Although you can't get rid of your mother-in-law, your warrior will help make sure your mother-in-law can't get rid of you.
Finally, if you read this and it made your mother-in-law a bit smaller, congratulations...you have joined the club of recovering owners of mother-in-laws.

I'm in that club too. My mother-in-law is currently gagged and sitting in the corner of the room staring at me. I just stuck my tongue out at her and will now go into the kitchen for a lovely cup of coffee.

Do As I Say, Not As I Used To Do

Often, I post on social media about things that I think can help improve the world.

...anti-plastic, anti-GMO, anti-fur, anti-pipeline...pro-ethical treatment for animals, pro-environment, ethical-this, ethical-that.

I realize I can seem hypocritical. After all, photos of me on social media show me wearing leather motorcycle gear, fur-trimmed ski gear, various plastic items, etc. I still eat meat (albeit, humane raised and organic)

I bought my ski jacket because it was on sale. It had fur trim on the hood. I wondered what kind of fur it was but not with any serious concern. It was on sale, after all.

A few years later I read about a boycott on Canada Goose coats because they use coyote fur for trim. Perhaps real fur is helpful added warmth if you are wearing the coat while racing your dog sled on the iditarod, but for your average city commuter, it was only a fashion accessory...and unnecessary. Given the number of Canada Goose coats sold, the number of coyotes killed is rather frightful.

...so I posted my anger, urging my friends to ask Canada Goose to use artificial fur trim instead of coyote fur, and boycott them until they stop using real fur.

Then I noticed the photo of myself in my ski jacket with the fur trim. After some reading, I realized it was, indeed, coyote fur.

Do I throw out the jacket? It won't bring back the coyote that died to make the trim. Luckily the fur trim could be zipped off for cleaning. I contemplated whether to leave it on to remind me the importance of advocating against fur. I left it on for one year and felt guilty every time I wore the jacket. Then I decided to remove it.

I still have my leather motorcycle jacket and chaps. I was a bit of a leather junkie for a few years and have a number of blazers and jackets and purses. I'm not getting rid of them all. I have plastic storage containers. Keeping them. Sheepskin slippers. Keeping them.

BUT...

I have my eyes open. I am a more informed consumer. As my fur/leather/plastic items wear out I will replace them with non-fur/leather/plastic items. I will continue to shout out for ethical ventures and against harmful ones. Clearly, my behavior is changing because someone voiced these things to me, so maybe my words will cause a change in someone else.

I still have the coyote trim from my coat in a drawer somewhere. I'm trying to decide what to do with it. I thought about doing some respectful ceremony. I thought about using it in some kind of anti-fur way (whatever that looks like). I might just keep it to keep my feeling of guilt alive enough to continue to advocate for change.

The Birth of a Scapegoat and the Role of Fearmongering

Today, I am reading about hatred. This hatred is pointed at "Immigrant/Refugee Muslim Terrorists".

Apparently, there are Immigrant/Refugee Muslim Terrorists who are ruining everything. They threaten our jobs, homes, family, lives...EVERYTHING.

They rape, bomb, torture, kill EVERYTHING. We are not safe with them around. Lions and tigers and bears, OH MY!

Seriously???

How has it come to pass that anyone that's an immigrant (must be a muslim if you're an immigrant), or a muslim (any middle-eastern looking person falls in this category) must be a terrorist (a muslim who commits a petty crime is a terrorist) because the president said that he is making the country safe by keeping them out of 'your' country.

Fearmongering and scapegoating. What's the purpose? How does the average citizen become recruited as accomplices?

Let's look back into history. The Red Scare in the 50's created a feverish witch hunt for communists. Anyone Russian, Asian, or anyone you didn't like suddenly became evil communists that threatened to destroy your life. The Japanese internment in the 40's created a ridiculous fear agains all things Japanese (and Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, etc since they look like they could be Japanese)

We all reflect on these periods in history with disbelief and embarrassment. Nothing like that would happen today because...well, we're not stupid and close-minded like our ancestors. Right?

Currently, I stare in disbelief at 2 things.

First, I stare slack-jawed at a world leader who has planted an evil seed that 'immigrants' are criminals, rapists and terrorists, that 'Muslims' are terrorists (especially Muslims from Syria, Iran, Iraq, Somalia), and that 'real' citizens are at risk of being annihilated or taken over.

Secondly, I stare slack-jawed at the people that, blinded by their fierce patriotism, join in this ridiculous witch hunt.

Why would a world leader say these things if they aren't true, you ask? (I could find all sorts of statistics showing as many mass killings, gang rapes, and various evil-doings are perpetrated by non-muslim-immigrants. But you will ignore the evil-doings by white, rich, Christians and my statistics will fall on deaf ears)

Imagine if you are a world leader who basically promised peace and prosperity for it's citizens. The citizens want to believe the dream of a strong safe country where they will prosper and live happily ever after, so they will follow you to the ends of the earth if you can make this happen. (You can close your eyes and envision Hitler's Nazi vision if you need a reference)

"Good paying jobs for everyone! Nice homes and food on the table for everyone! Yay!! Paradise!"

OK...now it's time for the reality check.

How does banning Muslim or Mexican immigrants do this? Are they stealing your jobs? No. They are doing the jobs you won't do...the less-than-minimum wage part time crap jobs that you won't do. THE job you envision, YOUR job (the permanent full time with benefits one) isn't there because Big Corporations pay themselves and their stockholders instead. A Corporation gets money from investors. Investors have 1 goal when they invest: Make more money.

And then there's the banks. They don't exist so they can run around giving away money. They are there to make money.

So, why doesn't a world leader rally the citizens against big corporations and banks?

Half the world's wealth is held by 1% of the population. the top 10% of the population hold 85%. The bottom 90% of the population hold only 15%. So if you are running a country and need billions and billions to finance military ventures, national security, etc, who do you want to be your very best friend? Whose happiness gives a better payback for you?

Why create a scapegoat? Well, as a world leader you need to be able to keep the 90% of the population supporting the 20% so they can support you. Can you imagine the system collapse if the 90% revolted? What if they protested against the big corporations?! *cough* Dakota Access Pipeline.

So, a seed is planted to make us angry at people who collect measly welfare instead of embezzling CEOs or corrupt bankers. Don't mess with the money mojo. Let's target people who can't defend themselves...refugees, perhaps.

Now comes the twice-the-bang-for-your-buck scapegoat. The best target for a leader to choose as a scapegoat is one whose downfall also benefits the leader or the Big Money. Middle East oil competes with North American oil for business. Eliminate the competition. Have a war. Voila! Let's have a war against terror! Shouldn't we have a war on poverty in Africa, you ask? Um....no...they don't interfere with our business profits, and TERROR sounds so much more...terrifying!

So how did we let this world leader turn us against vulnerable people? How could our frothing hate be wrong when we feel it on such a visceral level?

FEAR. Plain and simple. Fear is a terribly uncomfortable and disempowering thing. Fearing the unknown is the most horrific and disempowering fear of all.

If I am bit by a german shepherd, I might fear german shepherds. If I'm bit by a dog but I don't know what kind of dog, I might fear all dogs. If I'm bit but I don't know what bit me, I will become a paranoid, quaking pile of fear.

This world leader is planting seeds to attach to your fears. When talking about fearful things, toss in the word 'Muslim" or "terrorist" or "immigrant", and those words become paired with the fear. I would rather be able to visibly recognize a threat (a brown man with a long beard carrying a backpack that's ticking) than not know where the real danger is coming from (the polite white christian-looking young man next door *cough* Paul Bernardo)

A mass killing by a white man is called a hate crime. If he's Muslim, it's terrorism. Gang rapes by Americans in America will not be part of this leader's speeches. A Gang rape in Sweden (Its not even known the religion or nationality of the rapists) will be part of the conversation about "keeping our country safe" because Sweden has an increase in crime and they take in refugees.
So in this story, CLEARLY Muslim immigrants are implied to be bad bad people. I can now add another word to the fear Immigrant Muslim Terrorist AND Rapist.
(We shall ignore the increase in violence in Chicago and Detroit...we are powerless against violence towards us from one of our own.) We CAN do something about the Muslim immigrants though...and the Mexicans. Don't forget the Mexicans.
After all, it worked so well with the Japanese internment camps, didn't it? (insert sarcasm here)
...and I won't even mention Auschwitz.

Happy New Year! Wait...haven't I done this before?

New Years Day.

We reflect on the past. We make resolutions for the year ahead. We wish our friends health, wealth, and happiness.

Last year was disappointing. Next year will be better...surely. I will make my year better by doing A, B and C. I will diet and exercise. I will budget better (but I will buy lottery tickets anyways. One can hope.)

Sound familiar?

I'm pretty sure January 1, 2018 will look just like January 1, 2017...which looks a lot like January 1, 2016.

How do we get out of this loop?
1. Gratitude.
2. Acceptance.
3. Love.

GRATITUDE: Gratitude towards the past is the sister to the hope we have for the future. Hope is for what we don't have. Gratitude is for what we DO have. Look at what you hope for, realize that you actually have it.

Here's an example:
"I hope to be happy."
What's happiness? (Umm...feeling good. What's 'good'? No stress? Feeling loved? No physical pain?)
How do you get it? (If I knew I would be happy. )
When have you been happy in the past? (At the cottage watching a sunset with friends or loved ones, eating and drinking)
What was it about those moments that made you happy? (I was relaxed and not worrying about work. Nature makes me feel good. Friends make me feel I have a place where I belong)
Can you duplicate any of that right now? If not immediately, within the next week or month? (Yes. If not at the cottage, I can go for a walk in the park. I can enjoy the sunshine here in my living room with my cat on my lap and drinking a nice cup of tea.)
There. You found happiness. Now recognize you can be happy to some degree whenever you want. Actively express gratitude for that. Say "I am happy and I am grateful for it."

ACCEPTANCE: It's important to note that I am talking about acceptance (positive) and NOT resignation (negative). It's important to accept ourselves. By no means do I suggest that we give up on bringing change to our lives, but it's important not to punish ourselves for not being the change RIGHT NOW.

Example:
I have an anxious constitution. I have a mild tremor. I am fearful much of the time. I carry the judgemental voices of others (including media) in my head telling me I should eat healthier, exercise more, increase my career skillset, get outside more and on social media less.
Can I will my anxiety away? No. I can use strategies to calm myself more, but my anxiety is as much an innate reflex as my gag reflex. Some people have strong reflexes, others have weak ones. It's who we are. Likewise, my tremor is less noticeable if I avoid certain foods etc, but I am generally stuck with it.
Judging myself for these traits would not only be futile, it would be destructive. Self-judgement blocks our ability to feel love...from ourselves or others.
I admit I could eat healthier and exercise etc., but I need to own my decision NOT to eat healthier or exercise in this moment. I will not allow others to define what I should or shouldn't do. If I want to do these things, I will not use guilt as a highly over-used motivator. I will look for a positive motivator.

LOVE: Love is a wonderful energy expression. It's one of the few energy sources that is both given and received. We actually feel love when we give love. The more we give, the more we feel. Self-love works the same.

Example: Take note of the facial expressions of people around you. Do this for a day. The next day, smile at people when you look at them...even strangers. You will see more smiles. Love works the same. Rather than looking for negativity in others, look for aspects worthy of love. Your love energy will follow. This is unconditional love, and in my opinion, the only true love. You will begin to see a change in the reactions from the people around you.
Pets are a perfect example of this. Every pet owner I know speaks of the unconditional love of pets. Self-love works the same as well. If we can focus on the positive aspects of ourselves, we start to express love and feel love from ourselves. This is called self-esteem. Practise this often.

This year I will start defining my hopes and wishes in more detail so I may see that I have these things already.
What is wealth? What is happiness? What is love? What is health?
I will find these things wherever I happen to look for them and I need not wait for them to come to me.
...or I might have pizza and coke and watch a movie instead.

Happy Birthday Thomas

I took Thomas to the vet last week and realized it has been 1 year since he chose us as his preferred staff. He is so much a part of the family and a fixture in the house that I can't remember what our household was like before him.

A year ago, he was a beat-up tom cat with no social skills whatsoever. He is now the sweetest, most gentle cat who we fight over every evening. We used to fight over the remote, but that plays second fiddle to snuggling beside Tom on the sofa while watching TV.

"Stop mauling the cat.....(pause).....it's my turn!"

What is it about this 20lb cat that is so irresistible to us? We just want to pick him up and hug him and cuddle every time we look at him. I have been able to answer this.

I speculate. Perhaps it's because he always looks sooooo content...like he's never lost the appreciation for food, a warm place to sleep, and love.

It took 6 months for him to learn what 'play' was after he watched my other cat. When he finally figured it out, he threw himself into the task with so much reckless abandon it was almost frightening and akin to watching a rottweiler play with a ball of string.

It took 9 months for him to meow. He howled to females, growled to males, and hissed to people. He started with an odd Mmm sound to us, and now he meows.

It's like he's started his life over again with all it's milestones, but never forgot how bad his other life had been. He still goes all wide-eyed and chirpy every night when he gets a little bowl of 'milkies'. Milk is still the manifestation of comfort for him.

He does everything like it's the first time. Everytime. Eat, sleep, play, meow, snuggle. Wow! Life is great!

Life through Tom's eyes is blissful. To watch Tom and watch life through Tom's eyes is to live the life of the contented cat. He has taught our household much.

And so, I invite the reader to keep your eyes open for your own Thomas. He or she might be a stray that needs rescuing, or a rescued cat in a shelter that needs a home. There are more than enough Toms to go around. I am reminded of this because on the anniversary of rescuing Tom from the streets, I took him to the vet for an infected bite from this year's homeless tomcat in the neighbourhood.

Can I interest anyone in a male grey persian?

Injecting Crap Into Your Face. WTF?

I was watching the Emmy Awards the other night. I noticed 2 things about all the celebrities: 1. Everyone looked very well-rested...and I mean funeral-home-embalmed well-rested 2. Everyone had identical foreheads.

Neither of these 2 phenomenon looked normal. Both made me feel very uncomfortable.

Is it contagious?

If I am in the vicinity of any of these rested individuals, will I contract this deforming disease?

I don't think I would look attractive if my forehead was covered by a wax plate. I don't think I would look attractive if I stuffed cotton under my upper lip. I don't think I'll look better when I'm dead and embalmed than I do when I'm alive and animated.

I never hear anyone speak favorably of someone who has done botox or collagen injections. I usually hear "OMG! What did they do to their face?" or "They don't even look like themselves anymore!"

Why do people do this?

When I'm 80, I want to look 80. I don't want to look like a 20-year-old with a dowager's hump and varicose veins. Grandmothers should look like grandmothers...not aliens. Don't confuse the children!

Yes, I'm self-conscious about my gradually sagging skin, but we're self-conscious about something or other at every age. Accept it!

In Support of Spaying/Neutering Pets

I would like to introduce you to Thomas Jr. (Likely the spawn of Thomas Sr. who I described in 'My lecture to cat owners' blog in May 2008)

I first met Thomas Jr. in January 2008. He was a beautiful ginger and white tabby with a glossy coat and incredible muscle tone. He looked healthy and had a flea collar on, so I knew he had an owner. He was not yet neutered.

He was a little bit more sure of himself and aggresive than other males because he was still young (perhaps a year), and so the surge of hormones in his fit and energetic body gave him confidence.

The next time I saw him (about a month later) his ear was chewed off, likely from a fight with another male. He seemed otherwise still healthy and still had the (now expired) flea collar. It was not my place to interfere.

Early spring, I'd see him on occasion...spraying on doors and howling for females. He began to look scruffy and dirty from spending his time outdoors.

I didn't see him all summer...likely he was out roaming and sowing his wild oats. Considering where he ended up (I'll get to that later) he probably didn't go home anymore. A male cat will forego food and shelter quite often for the scent of a female.

I saw him again in early autumn when outdoor food and shelter wasn't as comfortable. If it weren't for his chewed ear, I would have thought he was another cat. An old cat. He was hungry, injured, and guarded, and looked through me rather than at me. He looked hopeless. He was a ghost.

I spent the next number of months feeding him...outdoors a first, then indoors with the door open, then with the door closed for a minute before he freaked out. I couldn't touch him or take away food dishes without being scratched and hissed at. He sprayed my door with urine. He had fleas and ear mites and who-knows-what.

Over the months, and with a lot of patience, bug spray, bandaids, and antibiotic cream (for me). He let me touch him...for a second. Then he let me pet him...sometimes...if he was in the mood...on the head but not the back.

In late December, he actually stayed indoors for a few hours. Food and subzero temperatures are great training tools. Still untrusting, he sat facing the door with his eyes closed, and weaved because he was so exhausted but too frightened to lay down.

A few frigid nights convinced him to sleep in the basement overnight on a box way back under the stairs.

A month ago, I was finally able to get him to a vet to get neutered and vaccinated. (That's another long and funny story). As the hormones subside, he stays outside less and less, and hangs around the house. He's inside most of the time, but still in the basement at night while my other cat slowly warms to him.



He likes to sit by someones feet or at least where he can see us. He won't eat my other cat's food if I say 'no'. He won't go into rooms or on furniture if I say 'no'. If my other cats whines because she's scared of him, he'll leave the room to give her space. He lets all female cats eat the food first. He is the most gentle and obedient cat I've ever known.

Every day is a new milestone. On the weekend, he let me scratch his belly. Last night he let me pick him up. He purrs up a storm and looks so content and safe when he sleeps that my heart swells.

Some people think it's inhumane or unnatural to neuter cats. As a pet owner, it's your choice, but please remember Thomas when you make your decision.
An unneutered outdoor male cat has a life expectancy of 2 to 5 years. A neutered male cat can live 15 to 20 years. Which is more humane? Allowing your cat to live 'naturally' is fine if you also take responsibility for your choice. If your male impregnates a female, you are as responsible for the kittens as the female cat's owner. After all, it takes 2 to tango.

I hope you'll remember this story when you get your new, unsterilized pet. We all want our pets to have a good life. I hope Thomas' story can help you define what a good life for a pet is.

Do the marketing people think I'm that stupid?

I was grocery shopping today, and after seeing a rather unusual item, I decided to look at a number of things a bit closer.

The item that got me thinking was something called a "grapple". It's catch phrase was: "Looks like an apple, tastes like a grape." My response was: "If I want a grape, I'll eat a grape."

This biological mutation was created for bored people looking for something a bit different. My advice...put on a blindfold when you open the fridge and see if you can guess what you're eating.

Other marketing "tricks" I noticed were: granola bars in the diet section have no less calories or sugar than basic granola bars. There was biodegradeable glass cleaner for $4 a bottle. It was acetic acid. You and I know that as vinegar. Go buy a bottle of vinegar for 99 cents. The "less fat" potato chips actually had more fat in them than some other chips that didn't advetise low fat.

Next time you're tempted to buy something because of a marketing buzzword (diet, environmentally friendly, etc) check the label. Buyer beware.

Oversaturation

Enough is enough!

When I catch myself saying this about anything, I realize I've reached the point of oversaturation. Today is the day that Christmas has been over-commercialized to the max.

I went to a Home Sense store...today...October 8th...to find the staff setting up the displays of Christmas merchandise. One looked over at me with a vacant sense of futility, and we shared a laugh.

I have increasingly despised the marketing and commercialization of Christmas. The expectations, expense, guilt, exhaustion, competition that has become Christmas has taken us soooooo past the purpose of celebrating Christmas.

In previous years, I've tried to resist the commercialization and I've worked hard to embrace the spirit of the season. I've been reasonably successful in avoiding Christmas vomit. (My sister-in-law loves Christmas decorations with such a fervour, everyone says Christmas threw up at her house, hence the term Christmas vomit)

I've had fewer decorations in the past few years, and even avoided a Xmas tree last year. I assert that I need to avoid investing my energy in Christmas vomit so I can invest it genuinely in Christmas spirit.

Todays premature exposure to Christmas vomit has created a frustration within me. I am seriously contemplating selling my Christmas tree and all its decorations.

This oversaturation has caused me to look at my tree as a big pile of plastic and wire and wood and grimacing nutcrackers and rediculous fat bearded men. I never really have a place to put it, so it sits depressingly propped in the corner of my living room between a desk and a piano. If a pine tree could be a lounge singer in drag, it would look like this.

I used to love my tree. Each year I bought a new decoration. I'd set up the tree ritualistically while my cat would climb into the middle and nest like a bird. Twinkling lights and rich gold beads and velvety ribbons.

*sigh*

I will work to maintain my holiday spirit, but I don't know if I can restore my affection for Christmas accoutrements. Is there a way I can enjoy the prettiness from a distance or am I destined to be covered in puke?

Can one survive a one-person boycott of a commercial Christmas? Will you join me?

My Lecture to Cat Owners

I'll start simply.

Please, please, PLEASE get your pet cat neutered or spayed. If you are breeding them, then keep them indoors!! For NO REASON should you let them outside when it's -20 degrees. PLEASE, if you let them outdooors, put a collar and ID on them.

I have the cutest little fellow sleeping contently on my lap. Normally this gives me warm fuzzy feelings, but it brings me anxiety because I am looking for a home for this fellow.

I've watched him (I've named him Salem) and his (I think) sister (my husband named her Smudgie...why men can't give pets good names, I don't know) as they grew from kittens last summer. They often came around the yard hunting birds that hung around. They were both playful, chipper, and affectionate...enjoying their summer youth.

Winter came and I saw them less. This is good since it means (I hoped) that they had a home. But I began to see Salem more frequently as the winter progressed. He was not neutered. When I put food out for him, he gobbled it up like he'd never seen it. Driven by the hormones of an unneutered male, he ignores the safety of a warm home and food to find any pussy he can get. Yes, I mean that word both ways.

He had no collar and no way to find if he had a home. But his repeated arrival at my doorstep in the dark cold nights of winter told me I had to do something. Off to the vet for vaccinations, deflea, deworm, and neutering. He gained 5 pounds in 3 weeks because he still doesn't trust that there's food for him whenever he wants.

By the way, I'd keep him except for my allergies and the fact that I already have a cat and she won't allow it (aka sleepless nights)

He's the sweetest thing ever and I'll find a loving home. No bad ending.

Except.

His (possible) sister came around last week. I hadn't seen her since December. She was skin and bones...and clearly nursing kittens. I fed her. There was little else I could do since I don't know where the kittens are and can't risk their lives. Again, no collar. She's still young that I could find a home for her too if I could get her to the vet, but there's no way to know when she's weined the kittens completely.

Flashback to 2 years ago with an unneutered male cat (Rocky since he had 6 fingers on each paw) that lived 2 years (killed by a racoon) and another fellow (Romeo since he howled for my female cat every morning under the window) a year ago that had a home but disappeared because his hormones drove him wild and wandering.

At least I got Salem before the streets got him.

It's cold comfort to me, since yesterday's snowstorm (1 foot of snow) brought 'Thomas' to my door. He's an unneutered male homeless fellow with battle scars all over. I've seen him around for more than a year, but he's too untrusting of people to let me get close enough to help.


Thomas sat outside my door covered in enough snow to look like a yeti. The tips of his ears and tail are bleeding from frostbite. For the first time, he came indoors to eat, but didn't trust me enough to allow me to close the door, but had that 'thank-you' look in his scarred eyes for the chance to shake off the snow and eat some food before heading out again.

Salem has a chance of a good home since I got to him early enough. Thomas has little chance. Perky little young cats that purr and paly and snuggle find homes. Mangy, scarred, earless old tomcats get left behind.

I'll do my best to find a safe haven for Thomas, but I'm not hopeful. All that I'm hopeful for is that someone will read this and it will make a difference for another cat out there. I can only hope and pray.

IKEA sadism

One would think that an outing to IKEA would be simple when one knew exactly what they wished to purchase. Guess again.

Last week, I realized that the people who designed the IKEA store have a sadistic sense of humour.

IKEA is laid out like a maze. And it is a brilliantly designed maze.

If you make the mistake of entering the showroom, you must negotiate the entire maze. You can be tricked into thinking that there are shortcuts (magical spots in the maze where if you look left or right, you see a number of doorways in perfect alignment with neon exit signs that beacon a way out). These shortcuts always appear at the exact moment when you have reached a point of futility. They give a glimmer of hope. With renewed vigour and confidence, you set your sights on the most distant exit sign and run. Alas, you reach the sign only to find a wall and an arrow painted on the floor pointing in the direction of more IKEA maze. *sigh*

You must survive the showroom maze at all costs. You must retain a glimmer of energy. Why? Because you don't really exit the showroom maze. The exit is actually the entrance to the marketplace maze. The marketplace maze has all the same exit sign tricks as the showroom maze but they're more difficult to find because of all the marketplace clutter.

Again, you must survive the marketplace maze at all costs. You must retain a glimmer of energy. Why? Because you don't really exit the marketplace maze. The exit is actually the entrance to the warehouse maze. The only difference here, is that you can retain a shopping buggy to wearily lean against for support. You can do this for about 30 seconds until you realize the buggy has a wonky wheel and you have to pull left with all your might to keep the buggy straight.

The warehouse maze is the cruelest maze of all. When you look for aisle 15, don't look between aisle 14 and aisle 16. Don't look across from aisle 14 or 16. You must look in the least logically place, that is, across from and down about 5 aisles. There. Somewhere in the middle of the dark and cavernous aisle you'll find the item you're looking for. This part is easy. Just look for the bin that is at least 6 inches above your head in a box that weights at least your own body weight.

This is the self-serve section of course. The muscles that you build tracking the buggy will come in handy here. Slide the box off the shelf on to the buggy. You'll know you have the box positioned correctly to slide onto the buggy when you feel the fabric of your coat being chafed away and you feel the warm moist sensation of blood dripping down your shoulder.

By this time, you're too tired to care about the long checkout line wait. You just join the other maze rats with corresponding blank stares until you swipe your credit card and you're off!

At the exit, the pedestrian crosswalk is not paved with asphalt. The IKEA designers have one last laugh with the teeth-jarring cobblestone. Brdrdrdrdrdrdrdr. And of course the weight of the box on the wonky cart makes the cart spin sideways. That's because the crosswalk also has to be sloped.

Package successfully stowed in the car, you think the worst is over and you can head home. Wrong. Urban planning is the IKEA designer's best weapon. One must exit IKEA left on a busy street with no traffic light. If you don't die of old age during the wait, you get to at least watch your hair grow as you turn left and immediately are stopped by a train at a railway crossing. It's always a long train.

Home at last, you eagerly open your package and count and catalogue all the bits and pieces to make sure you have all the bits and pieces before beginning assembly. If you don't do this, you will surely run out of bits and pieces and have to return to the dreaded IKEA.

Don't worry. It's not all that bad. At least you'll have enough cardboard to burn throughout a cold Swedish winter and entertain your cat for months.

If it's Tuesday it must be Naples

I recently took a trip to Italy...one of those whirlwind tours that leave you with difficulty remembering where you are, what day it is, what language you speak, and at times what your name is.

If you're considering doing a similar trip (or if you're not but you want to know what I learned) keep reading.

1. Everyone hates busloads of tourist...even the tourists on buses hate busloads of tourists. You can only delude yourself into believing you're not a tourist if you refer to other tourists as 'foreigners'. The delusion is always short lived and you always carry a twinge of shame and humiliation that you are one of the people that you actually scorn.

2. Italians are very patient and tolerant of non-Italian-speaking tourists. There are moments when you think someone is being rude or offensive, but when you think of how many tourists they have to endure, any behaviour that isn't assault or homicide is friendly behaviour.

3. The only North American drivers that could possibly survive the streets of Naples would be ambulance drivers. Lane divisions and red lights are discretionary rather than obligatory. Yes, those scooters are driving the wrong way. No, there's no need for a traffic light at that intersection because nobody uses them anyway.

4. Sheep going to slaughter likely do so with a feeling of resignation rather than fear. So do people. You want the group of us to go who-knows-where in the rain/cold/dangerous suburb? No problem...especially if you tell me they have wine or cappuccino.

5. Going to Italy for 2 weeks is not realisitic. See how this sounds:
You: Where did you go for your vacation?
Me: The States.
You: Where in the States?
Me: The States.
19 towns/cities/places-with-cathedrals in 14 days is not reasonable...not unless you drive faster and more reckless than a Neopolitan...which is not possible.

6. Nobody makes hot chocolate better than the Italians. N-O-B-O-D-Y!

7. Wild mushrooms and wild boar are better than their domestic counterparts...just a wild Lisa is better than domestic Lisa (or so my husband says)

8. One can get tired of eating pork and spinach, or ham and cheese sandwiches. On my first flight home, I was provided with a snack. A ham and cheese sandwich. I laughed. It was a maniacal if-I-see-one-more-ham-and-cheese-sandwich-I'll-snap kind of laugh. Conversely, on my final flight home, they announced the dinner menu while I was in the washroom. I heard 'bangers and mash'. I bet my gleeful cheer was heard outside the plane, 20,000 feet below.

9. Donald Trump has nothing on the people that decided to charge money for using the public toilets. Imagine Venice...1 Euro to use the toilet. 1 Euro x 6 people per 5 minutes equals 30 Euro per hour. Double that because of mens and ladies washrooms. Triple that because men take much less time than women. 90 Euro per hour x at least 20 washrooms (you know there's more) in Venice equals 1800 Euro per hour x 10 hours (I do math in round numbers) equals 18000 Euro per day x 365 days per year equals 6,570,000 Euro annual salary to the guy that flips the big flush switch each night that dumps all the sewage in the sea anyway. Do you still have to pay if you are a child, a pregnant woman, or you have 'connections' with Uncle Guido in Sicily? I'll ask my hairdresser and let you know.

10. Digital cameras are indispensible to help you remember things that you forgot due to jet lag, as well as for seeing things that you didn't notice at the time because you were too tired or didn't have time to notice.

...like the garbage can that I thought was ruins in Pompeii.

I wonder if any other 'ruins' are free public washrooms that the mafia forgot to take charge of.

11. I want to form my own republic. Pretty little San Marino is a pretty little republic. In San Marino, it's easier to buy guns and ninja throwing knives than it is to buy feminine hygiene products. Walking down the steep roads, I could ponder whether I wanted firearms or knives as my weapon of choice while I sipped on my Amaretto di Sarono. Oddly, it's safer that my front yard.

12. We are suckers for punishment because I want to go back again.

Toronto, Government, and My Thoughts

Three facts:
I'm not a politician.
I don't know everything.
I have lots of ideas.

Keep that in mind as I ramble about what the government is doing wrong and what they could do right.

The government tells us to conserve water. Then they tell us the solution to lead in the water pipes is to run the tap water for 5 minutes to get clean water. They don't tell us that they can't be bothered addressing how they're going to replace/update pipes. Then they tell us we should buy low volume toilets to conserve water. WTF?

My solution: Replace the pipes over a 10 year period, starting with areas that service children first and ending with government offices. Tell the politicians there is $10,000 that they must choose to spend on one of 2 projects; replacing lead pipes in a public school or redecorating/refurnishing their own office. They must announce their decision publicly with their rationale.

The government is dragging their feet with the Caledonia land claim issue. Their illusion: They don't want either side to be angry with them, so they won't make a decision. The reality: The lack of decision making is making both sides angry with them.

My solution: The government keeps the land but the use of the land and buildings is a partnership between First Nations and the government in programs or initiatives that serve the First Nations community (such as supportive living and programs for persons with substance use issues, schools and daycare that include First Nations languages and culture in the curriculum, etc)

The government is going to spend millions of dollars with a new program for waste reduction. They plan to reduce the amount of garbage we produce by spending our money on trash cans and then selling them back to us. WTF?

My solution: Direct those millions towards replacing the lead water pipes. Restrict households to one trash bag/can per week with the option to buy tags from the city for additional bags/cans. The money from these tags goes directly into costs of waste disposal. Vancouver does this. Why not adopt a system that works rather than spending millions to create a new system, pilot it, review it and implement it. This is garbage...it's not rocket science.

Any questions?

For the Love of Shoes

Some women like shoes. Some women love shoes. Some women are addicted to shoes.

I never really understood the female fascination with shoes, and although I could appreciate a pretty shoe, it made no more impression on me than a pretty sweater or nice pair of jeans.

I hated heels with a passion. I am bow-legged and at the same time knock-knee so I walk like a cross-dresser when I wear heels. A 1 1/2 inch heel gathered dust in my closet, reserved for those times when I wore a *gasp* dress. Clogs were my heels.

Then...in the autumn of 2006...at the age of 44...my first pair of heels (or as a friend refers to them, 'crack') called out to me.

They did not say "I am comfortable." They did not say "You can wear me to _______ event." They did not say "I am inexpensive therefore worthy of being whimsical." They were three inches of toe-squishing, bunion growing crack.

"If leather is elegant, I am sex!" they said. I tried them on and surprisingly was able to walk in them. Unlike other heels, no pain shot up through my metatarsals.

So I bought them.

Then, one day, when I was trying on a *gasp* dress, the store clerk gave me some shoes to put on so I could see the dress how it 'should' look. ('Should' means 'without running shoes.')
They were silver and sparkly and four inches worth of metallic sex.

I bought the dress...and of course the shoes because the dress was NOTHING without those shoes!

I have since bought a classic-but-sexy-in-a-stealth-kind-of-way pair of 4" black leather pumps and a lovely toe-peeky-ankle-strappy pair of 4" black cherry patent leather platforms that would make a drag queen swoon.

I am typing this wearing the most un-sexy pair of Birkenstocks, and I still love my clogs and running shoes, but now I have at last triggered that gene that exists, even if dormant, in all females.

I am a late bloomer, but yes, I am, in my friend's words, addicted to crack.

Lot Stalkers

One can observe some interesting human behavior in parking lots...especially mall parking lots.

I usually park on the outskirts of a parking lot to minimize door scratches and various assaults on my vehicle. On my journey into the mall, I frequently observe some interesting parking lot behavior.

Numerous times, I have seen drivers circle the parking lot repeatedly or idle in the lot close to the mall doors. They do this to ensure they can lay claim to a parking spot close to the entrance of the mall as soon as the spot is vacated by it's current resident.

I can park my car on the outskirts and walk into the mall, and the 'Lot Stalker" will still be waiting. Idling. Scanning.

Why is there such an aversion to walking? The funny thing is this: once the lot stalker gets into the mall, they're going to be...walking. Alot.

What does parking space 1 get you that parking space 12 doesn't?

Perhaps I could understand this behavior if it was pouring rain or bitterly windy, but the lot stalkers aren't weather specific. Balmy, sunny days host as much lot stalking behavior as cold, rainy days.

I guess I shouldn't complain. My car escapes the lot unscathed because the lot stalkers avoid the outskirts. Also, I like to walk. It saves me the cost of a gym membership.

Celebrity

After a friend's recent experience in the celebrity world, I decided to transfer this blog from last September (Toronto Film Festival) here to my blog page.

Sept. 2006
This is the week of the film festival in Toronto so there are many opportunities to observe the behavior of celebrities and the public reaction to celebrities.

To begin with, I'm not a stargazer.

I don't ask for autographs. What does one do with an ink scribble on paper anyway? I don't take pictures. The photographers lights are bright enough to light an airport runway and are blinding to a passerby, so they must cause retinal damage to the celebrities. They don't need another flash from my camera. And what do I want a crappy picture of the back of someone's head for? Bragging rights? For what?

I went to see a film last night and arrived a half an hour early so I could at least get a decent seat. The line extended down the street, around the corner, down that street, around the next corner, and down a third street. The people at the front of the line by the red carpet must have been there for hours...in the rain.

Do take note that this line is for people that already have tickets, so we're all getting in.
So why does one arrive hours ahead to stand in the rain when one is guaranteed a seat? This has nothing to do with getting a good seat since these people were still there when I entered the theater. They were there to catch a glimpse of the celebrity (that night it was Viggo Mortensen) and hopefully get an autograph or say hi or something. (One grown woman yelled "Viggo, you look awesome!")

I don't get it.

Do people think that their lives are going to be changed by such a superficial encounter? A life-altering event would be the only thing that would entice me to wait hours for anything...or at least some situation where I would have a really really good time.

If anyone reading this has waited hours for this kind of encounter, I'd really love to hear from you.

Then there's the way some people think celebrities should be treated...

After the movie ended, the audience filed out and we all walked along the sidewalk in the rain to go our different ways to head home. At one point we were stopped by some bodyguardish guy who told us we would couldn't walk on the sidewalk...we'd have to walk around a limousine..into downtown traffic...in the rain...at night.

Apparently, the celebrities needed to walk a distance of 10 feet undisturbed from the private room where they were offered champagne to drink while they waited the brief moment before climbing into their limo.

I wasn't offered champagne to ease my walk to my car...which, by the way, wasn't parked in front. I had two blocks to walk. Champagne would have been nice. No hulking guy protected me from other people's elbows or umbrellas. Oh well.

After being directed into oncoming traffic by the Hulk, my husband grumbled. "...and if I get hit by a car I'll sue your sorry ass." He doesn't deal well with classism and unnecessary degredation. I consoled him by trying to find reason for this we're-more-important-than-you thinking.
...after a movie where characters were often called "Excellency", I said to my husband "I guess they called each other 'Excellency' so many times that they took it to heart."

"Ooooh....there's a Tim Horton's. Let's grab a coffee." he said, distracted already.

All was forgotten.

Edit: Sept 14...Case in point: Apparently, there's a big fuss going on now because Sean Penn was smoking a cigarette during a press conference despite anti-smoking laws. The discussion is about whether he should be fined like 'regular folk'. $125. Do you think he would care?

Edit #2: A friend had bought a house in Yorkville (the neighbourhood where celebrities and celebrity hounds gather). My friend can't even find parking close to his home during the festival. Thank god we had advance reservations for dinner or that would have been out of the question as well.

Our walk to the restaurant took twice as long because of the people in clusters on the sidewalk either waiting in line outside of restaurants or just lingering out front hoping to catch a glimpse of a celebrity. One group of fashionably painted and frocked women looked sadly like a gaggle of whores. I don't believe that was the effect they were hoping for, but then again you never know.
Maybe it was my imagination, but inside the restaurant I felt like I was being sized up a few times by other patrons. Was it my stunning good looks? (cough, puke) Were they regular patrons or stargazers trying to figure out who I am.

I did get to sign an autograph, though. Too bad it was my VISA bill for dinner. Oh well.

February Blahs

I've been extremely unmotivated and lethargic lately. I don't even feel like writing this blog right now, but it's for that reason that I must persevere.

I have ample time on my hands and I could engage in a plethora of activities, but when I ask my body to engage, it replies with a lazy "mleh". Why don't we phone Mary? Mleh. Read a book? Mleh.

I could paint the ceiling. Yeah, right. I could do the laundry that's piling up. Er...nope. Bake some biscotti. Nu uh. Wax my eyebrows. Puh. Watch CSI. Sigh. Go out for dinner with friends. Crap, we made plans already so I'd be a putz to back out now.

I am so uninterested.

This lack of enthusiasm would be OK if I actually felt like doing nothing...you know the days where you enjoy wasting the day drinking coffee and picking lint off your sweater...but I'm bored. I'm disgustingly bored.

I began to worry about this blah feeling. It's not like me. Why do I feel this way?
Then I remembered.

It's February.

Mleh.

Maybe Happy New Year

Poop!

I decided I would improve on my attitude for 2007. I had an awesome last 2 days of 2006...skiing, yodelling with the ski resort owner and reminiscing about the good-old-days, drinking beer with all the tired ski buddies, dropping in on some wineries and vineyards to end the year, enjoying excellent wine and some stick-to-your-ribs pub fare, watch great movies, having sex in the shower..............and so on.

2007 arrives and I'm primed for a positive attitude. This year is going to be great. I feel it.

First day at work I'm smiling at everyone....streetcar driver, strangers, peers, the idiot I hate at work. The weather is awesome. I love my life. I'm going to make chicken korma and salad for dinner...la la la...
...open the mail...Revenue Canada audits me and decides they paid back too much money and tell me I have to pay $650 back and charge me interest (after I've spent any extra cash boxing day.)

Happy fucking New Year.

Empty wine bottle into glass so wine threatens to overflow. Grin-fuck the whole situation and pledge to fuck Revenue Canada with every tax shelter I can find this year. Besides...I'm going to win the lottery this year.

I can feel it. Can't you?

I Am A Technomoron

Background:
I had a really shitty day at work where I'm advocating for the client and the psychiatrist and manager are doing everything to cover their own ass'...to the point where they're being stupid enough to try that old 'keep the abuse in the family and shut up about it' crap. In the meantime, hubby is working with the satelite TV guys to install this technology so we can finally say 'Fuck You" to the cable guys.

Picture, if you will, Me...plastered on the biggest rum and coke imaginable in attempts of forgetting the earlier ambush from the powers that be. Picture my husband trying to put the new tv remote (wtf?) in my hand and instruct me how to use it.

TV on. TV off. volume. channel change. OK...brain is full...give no more info...brain full...will crash soon...shut the fuck up.

I find a few familiar channels and feel reassured in my extreme drunkeness that I will overcome and master this thing called 'satelite tv'.

The phone rings.

It's my father-in-law who lives in the flat below us. His wife has pressed some button and everything shut down and they don't know what to do.

Dilemna:
I'm piss-drunk. Hubby's doing step-aerobics at the gym. Early-dementia-had-a-gazillion-little-strokes-87-year-old-mother-in-law hits the button of doom on the satelite remote.

Solution:
Laugh so hard I piss my pants and barely spit out "I'll have Jamie call you when he's back from the gym."

This solution took immense reserve and control since, in my drunken, post-confrontation/abuse state I feel I have the patience of a rhinoceros, and I want to go 'fix' their problem myself.
I rally my fading sense of being humane and decide that Jamie can deal with his parents while I make a second killer rum & coke and forget the entire day happened.

After all, I can't seek Dr. Phil's advice because I can't find the fucking channel!!

Sadistic Stores

One of my pet peeves:
Grocery stores always rearrange their entire stock just when you have finally figured out where everything is.

Now, I could understand rearranging stock if it made things easier to find items or it made the aisles easier to negotiate with a buggy with a sticky wheel. I fully understand the concept of putting sugary junk food at the eye level of a toddler, light toilet paper on the top shelf and heavy laundry detergent on the bottom.

But what is the advantage of moving the pet food next to the baby supplies instead of it's previous location beside the paper towels? Will I buy more soup if it's next to the soft drinks rather than the cookies?

I imagine they think that I'll buy more because I had to slow down and look at every item carefully as I search for cat food. Guess again. I actually buy less because I can't find what I'm looking for, become frustrated, and leave to go to another store that hasn't changed rearranged their stock.

If they want to use the shock and awe approach to get me to buy more, why don't they just design all grocery stores like a maze. We would all get lost in the maze...trapped for hours with skilled marketing and hunger gnawing at our willpower.

After all, it works for IKEA.