BLOGG # STREAMING MY LIFE AWAY

I have not written a blog in a long time as I seem to have lost my sense of humour  and a humourless blog is a blot on the literary screen. Fortunately I have got my groove back. What I have been doing with my time instead is "streaming." Streaming is a new word and concept I have learned from my grandson. I have joined "Netflix" which offers me an unlimited access to T.V. programs. One chooses a TV series and then "streams" the episodes until one is bored or runs through them all. As I have only recently been initiated into the TV world, there are huge gaps in my knowledge of TV series and I can literally stream away for hours and not repeat an episode. In these past months I have cavorted with Dame Maggie Smith in a Yorkshire village and Dounton Abbey, I have attended akapella concerts in Wigmore Hall in Oxford-and quaffed beer with that reprobate Oxfordian detective Morse.  I also have enjoyed countless cups of coffee at Perks in Manhattan with "Friends."  Next on my wish list is  to  stream "Sex and the City" and stride -in my six inch Balanciaga heels-with Carrie Bradshaw down fifth avenue in Manhattan.  I had been introduced to Friends-an innocuous  bland sit com by my grandson while recuperating at my daughter's home. I had a lot of  time on my hands. To my amazement, this grandson ,immersed in such violent entertainment as Sombbie  or vampire movies or worse ,deadly combat computer games, was delighted with this light oldfashioned  sitcom-not only him-the New York times had an article about this popularity of Friends  throughout the TV world and teenagers are  rolling in laughter across the entire world-streaming this comparatively innocent series. I suppose it makes sense-to balance out the violence the young are exposed to-real or unreal-with a  cozy escape venue. Laughing at the capers of these twenty- something- characters beats listening to drones overhead or tuning in to American election coverage or the coverage of world news in all it's folly. I do realize I need to curb this new addiction and reach out to the real world but it is seductive.A big sign should be placed on the TV screen-Danger to health-to warn us about "streaming" that's why I am now humming the song-"I,m busy doing nothing  -streaming my whole life through -trying to find lot's of things not to do- -I'd like to be unhappy but I never do have the time"  Talk about "opium for the masses-" so-enjoy your streaming but watch out!!-it's dangerous.

Blogg # 113- BATTLE OF THE SEXES

I have been thinking about this subject which is rather amusing at my time of life. This is the fun we have in the "autumn of our life"-we have time on our hands to waste on irrelevant thoughts. "Battle of the sexes" is an odd expression that has been tossed around forever- Taming of the Shrew by Shakespeare is a classic example and a lot of  literature deals with this theme but what I really have been mulling about is whether the mores of sexual equality has changed since I was a young woman. For example, I was a newly married young woman when my sister-in-law -a very sophisticated woman much older than I ,who by the way, was dipping quite lively into the "battle of the sexes" scene of her time, said to me. "Think of sex as a combaloi" [the string of amber beads that Greek men and some women play with as they sip their coffee] "For a man-the  more women he collects in his life- the more valuable he becomes. For a woman- the more men the less valuable she becomes." Why this lovely sophisticated woman needed to tell me this at that time is a mystery as I was newly married and very much in love. Nonetheless it obviously affected me as I still remember it. Did I Believe it? Did I not ?  I don't know if I did. I know I did not spend much time thinking about it at the time. Now I am thinking about it and wondering if it is still valid. Sexual activity has changed and is light years away from when I was a young woman. The sexual revolution in the sixties and the pill changed all that-or did it-I wonder.  I have decided to use as a measurement of how changed we really have become on two four letter words. At the present time when a man has had great success with women and enjoyed a variety of  experience in the sexual arena we use the four letter  word hunk and  say "what a hunk!" and there is approval and appreciation. When a woman has the same experience we use the four letter "S" word. I am sorry to say, the reaction is not the same. No- eyebrows are raised with disapproval. Mind you there are some brave girls who defiantly own the "s" word and I approve but the word "defiantly" negates the brave action. The word "S" still resonates in a negative way- the word by the way is "slut " of course, and apparently does not fall trippingly off my tongue easily-obviously I have issues  with this word. So to briefly sum up the present sexual mores- -a man ought to be bad to be a hunk  and a woman ought to be good to not be a slut - we haven't come a long way after all baby. This is giving me a headache. I think I"ll pour myself a glass of my favourite red and watch some sopoforic T.V.

BLOGG # 113-HANDIDARTING AROUND VICTORIA

I thought I was finished with learning curves since breaking my ankle but I was wrong. In the past few weeks I have encountered a whole new adventure on the path of recovery- the experience of using the Handidart. I am living in Cordova Bay at this time which is at least a half hour drive from the physiotherapy clinic I am attending so have been using the handidart services. This service of transport for disabled clients includes transferring by wheelchair accessible buses from the client's house to the clinic and if necessary escorting them into the clinic.  This service  costs the client an astounding $2.50 each trip.  The drivers are caring  and above all enjoy their work and their passengers. They are also good and cheerful conversationalists which is a great boon to often confined and lonely clients.
 All this I found out is supported by the transport system which has a budget of five million dollars  annually. They do about 1200 trips a day, the number of clients is increasing continuously so the drivers are very busy indeed and the downside is long waiting times to get home again. So this is my newest source of entertainment and newest learning curve which I enjoy thoroughly- the only way to absorb life's learning curves. I will now describe my last ride to show you why I enjoy them. My driver was a young enthusiastic man in his thirties, a family man,who was very empathetic because he too had sustained a crippling injury and had worn a starbucks boot for months. He was talkative and knowledgeable  about the neighborhoods we passed through and I learned a lot of enticing things. For example he pointed out a house in which a murder had been committed a few years ago with all the details. I also got a capsuled story of his life. He came originally from Churchill Manitoba, where he spent six years being a polar bear tour guide. His descriptions of these beautiful fearful animals was very moving and at the end of the drive as he escorted me into the clinic he showed me his candid photos of these wonderful creatures, telling me about the polar bear's fur's translucence and how the  colour of it changes from grey to golden depending on the atmosphere. He said they are breathtaking and fierce,and dangerous and he had been chased  by them several times. He then wished me good luck with my therapy. My ride home was with a different driver. Unlike the drive to the clinic in which I was the only passenger, here there were several. The first passenger was an elegant woman wearing a lot of jewellery.She was driven to the Uplands golf course for an elegant  luncheon. We then picked up an elderly gentleman near the university and took him to "Silver Threads"a center for  seniors. After dropping him off we drove up  hills and down dales, wound round shady lanes and by a haunting oak grove to another area I have never seen  to pick up a person going to another clinic for treatment and so on until there were five of us along with our wheelchairs and walkers packed in the bus. The driver seemed to know all the passengers,cheerfully asking them about their day as he tucked them into their seats. I was the last one to be driven home so had time to have a conversation with him too. It was obvious that he loved his job and it was heartening to see this and it was interesting to learn about his life too. As you see I am having an  entertaining and totally surprising good time all of March. This is the fun of being alive-one never knows what good unexpected things we meet around the corner-and March is the month about meeting with the handidart experience-a truly unexpected one.

BLOGG # 111--LOVE IS THE ANSWER

Yesterday I reread the bloggs I had written on Valentine's Days in the  past and I fear I came off sounding like a cynic about love. This is not true.The truth is that I have always believed without question in the importance of love. I have recently been thinking a lot about the subject of romantic love especially in the past few days. Perhaps this is because I am so far removed  from the commercial aspect of Valentine's Day- isolated as I am due to my fractured ankle,unable to stroll down the aisles of shops selling beautiful sentimental cards,chocolates boxes shaped as hearts and huge bouquets of red roses. I also am prevented from watching Romantic movies on television as everyone here loves action movies. Therefore I have been reading more about the subject of Romantic Love lately by famous writers  and it's influence on society and especially on the individual. The past few months I have been examining how I feel about this problematic subject and coming to various conclusions about it. For one thing I have discovered that I do not know as much as I thought I knew about this subject even though Jane Austin is my favourite author. Of course I am clear on the importance of universal love. It is necessary for our survival and right now it seems more important than ever and certainly it is being  shown now as the world works towards trying to solve the refugee problem. This is a very important aspect but what Valentine's day is really  about is romantic love. It  is very easy to be cynical in this day and age  about romantic love and one must work hard to prevent this cynicism. What I have found out is that romantic love does indeed exist. Also it is very durable in spite of popular songs describing broken hearts. Romantic love is so durable in that it has survived over the eons of history. It has been described in detail, in ecstasy and in despair  throughout history and the amazing thing is how accurate the descriptions are.  Shakespeare's sonnets are not far removed from Hank Williams's "western cowboy brokenhearted songs". Perhaps even the current "Rap" music -if one could possibly understand them, talks of everlasting love too. Ahhh and that is the crux of the matter-"Everlasting Love" That is where we misunderstand romantic love and that is our Achilles heel-We cannot hold onto love- love cannot be imprisoned-it cannot be controlled and the first thing we want to do when we fall in love is to try to hold on to it-as Leonard Cohen promises so poignantly "I will love you always." Does this mean love lasting forever isn't possible? Of course not! Love does last forever- we just can't hang on to it! Love is free-it has it's own agenda and we must humbly let it go. The paradox is "letting go" is what ensures love lasts forever but the question is how do you let go? Mind you this does not resemble most love songs. So here I am on Valentine's Day contemplating Romantic Love-nary a lover,valentine, red rose or chocolate in sight knowing yes,love exists, it is permanent though sometimes fickle, constant though not binding,trustworthy even when our hearts are broken-help-!! and it really makes the world go around. Yes! Love Matters-Love really is the answer.  And trust me--there is nothing like it
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LOGG # 110 OUR PARENTS WERE RIGHT AFTER ALL

I was reminded today of what my husband, a rebel in his own life, sadly said years ago when we were in a crises- "parents are always right after all"  As I advance in years I realize more and more an indigestible truth-he was right- parents are always right. I look back over my varied life and my many mistakes and find that many of their shibboleths that I tried to tear down in my youth were right after all. Many very old sayings were often repeated to me by my parents and teachers and they still resonate in my ears as I have a feeling they still do to the young of today. These are some examples of these shibboleths repeated to me in my perceptive youth that I remember trying very hard to ignore -"A penny saved is a penny earned" groan-"A stitch in time saves nine"-"a rolling stone gathers no moss"-who wants moss anyway? "early to bed early to rise" "the early bird gets the worm"???? who wants to eat worms? You can see I was a rebellious youth -and a lazy one. The ones I ignored most of all were the ones for healthy living-"always sleep at least eight hours at night;eat regular meals; breakfast is the most important meal of the day and -another groan-porridge is good for you." In my younger days I was a nurse who favoured odd hours to facilitate my lifestyle.  I was also an artist in my spare hours and as we all know artists lead irregular lives to be able to create so I ignored these words of wisdom too. I ,as you all know, have just  spent a fair amount of time in hospitals as a patient and hospitals are the epitome of good parenthood. Regular meals regular exercise and regular sleeping hours are written in stone but above all is the serving of porridge every morning. As with everything else I did in rehab I agreed to this custom too and every morning, like everyone else, ate my porridge-in my previous life a horrid substance and learned to like it.This is a bit scary as I don't want to completely capitulate to conventional wisdom. Nonetheless here I am on my own -nary a parent in sight- eating porridge every day. I hate to say this but I am feeling healthier and I think I am losing some ounces because of this-I am always optimistic. Am I suggesting that we should always listen to parents, that parents are always right? That the young especially should do so? No of course not! The proper way for them to live is to do just what I did-mostly ignore the wisdom of their parents, make many glorious mistakes, be humbled by them, learn from them thereby creating their own unique life. What the world does not need, especially now, is "cookie cutter" offspring.As the French ,bless their unique hearts say- "vive la differance" So dear readers ,capitulate sometimes, acknowledge the wisdom of your elders sometimes, but always remain true to your unique selves and above all never waste time on regretting past mistakes- they are your true teachers and now listen to your wise blogger  and always eat your porridge-- I can't believe I just said that!

ODE TO ABERDEEN # 2 AND A NICELY TURNED ANKLE

I am happy to report I have been promoted to 100% weight bearing -my broken ankle is mending beautifully and resembles the ankle it once was and I am grateful. The loss of the ability to use my ankle due to  breakage was devastating but what hurt as much was the appearance  of my new ankle. I have always been pleased with my ankles-having what was called in Mid Victorian Era "a finely turned ankle" and I am  sorry to confess that I was shamelessly mourning this loss. My ankle was grotesquely swollen , the foot badly formed,the shin and calf bruised in many colours and the skin scaly. My nicely turned ankle was no more.The Victorians knew what they were about when they emphasized the ankles- There was nothing more provocative than watching an elegant lady descending from a carriage,lifting her skirts a few inches and exposing a finely turned ankle.This turned heads.Indeed exposure of ankles and legs was so powerful that it started the practice of covering chair legs in material and the covering of -horror-piano legs. Every era has a different idea of what is sexually provocative. We all know what the emphasis was in the 1950's and the less said about that the better. The sixties was all about  mini skirts and the "leg men" were in heaven watching those long limbed British girls on Barnaby street in London. The emphasis in the eighties was on long luxurious hair being provocatively flung about  and of course the midriff and belly button were worshiped in the nineties   but the Victorians had all these eras beat and the best part is that a finely turned ankle remains a finely turned  ankle even with the passing of years-so now you know why I mourned the loss of my fine ankle and was so pleased to see it finely turned again.This blogg is not about ankles really-this was just to draw you in. The real reason is my promise to write my Ode to Aberdeen #2- not an ode but a prose of praise. The praise is for the clients or residents of Aberdeen.The whole time I was there I was awed at the resilience and  spirit of the human being. The average age of the residents was about eighty five-ranging from sixties to a fine lady at a hundred and one. Most were in their late eighties-usually active before disaster struck. The main conversation at table was about the homes they left and, because of the nearness of Christmas-of Christmas past and wishes to get home in time for Christmas present. One could see the knowledge in their eyes that they may not make it but none the less a brave front was put on and cheerfulness presided-very much as if we were indeed on a cruise. It was impressive to see the way everyone helped each other to overcome their disabilities-assisting at mealtime or helping to push the wheelchairs of the more challenged. There was always the possibility that one would not improve and would land up as a permanent resident. In the first week, a resident in a wheelchair asked me what had happened and after telling her I asked the same question-she said  "I broke my hip. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and I just wanted to go for a walk  with my walker and fell and broke my hip. That night in the hospital I fell out of bed and also broke my shoulder. That is why I am here". I was shocked and asked her how long ago this had happened and my blood ran cold when she said "Two years ago-" then as she wheeled away-she said  wistfully"It was such a beautiful day and all I wanted to do was go for a little walk." This then was the unspoken fear and was the impetus for all of us to improve. Every day most turned up for physio and exercises in spite of tiredness or pain or just old age and the bantering and good spirits belied the fact of suffering or doubt and even pride as we fumbled and  tried to follow the physiotherapist. The other thing that impressed me was the over stimulation we were bombarded with-the bright lights , the noise -never being alone-we were in four bed rooms-and the constant interaction with others. Yet I rarely witnessed confrontation  and bad temper.Good humour and politeness was common. The most heartening was the lack of envy as some of us moved ahead to walkers and more independence. The fortunate ones were always greeted with encouraging applause and smiles and not envy.  When I realized I would be home before Christmas I tried to downplay this news but of course there were few secrets at Aberdeen and it was heartwarming to hear the well wishes from everyone as I left. The last thing I want to talk about was my respect for Blackie. Blackie was a scruffy black cat that lived at the rear entrance  of Aberdeen in a three story wooden house complete with heater, steps leading to the next two floors and penthouse. The whole place was festooned with Christmas lights and nativity scene on the balcony.As I exited I was greeted by the sight of my son-in-law standing on a rickety upturned bucket and stringing more lights. Blackie's owner -in wheelchair -told me he had spent over seventy dollars on decorations.Blackie distainfully paced before his house =not impressed.Everyone in the Aberdeen tried to find a way to meet Blackie who with his master has been living there for years.

Blogg # 108-SILVER LININGS AND ODE TO ABERDEEN

Today is finally cloudy and warmer.  I see from my window the frost has disappeared off the wood pile-a nostalgic reminder of my youth on the farm-and there is no blinding sun or blazing white Mt. Baker anymore but there is a silver lining where the  grey sea and  the mountains meet that is beautiful and there are soft lowering grey clouds in the sky. The weather has changed. Festivities are over, people are back at work and I am finally alone-so I can see how well I manage on my own. I made my own breakfast-oatmeal and a piece of dry toast-I am trying to not gain weight and even warmed up left over coffee. I have noticed I feel more vulnerable than before the accident so am being very careful. I also am thinking about the future- how I will change my own living quarters to make it less cluttered when I go home and wondering in trepidation how I will manage there. The vulnerability also extends to feeling I am being  a nuisance here -cluttering up their space with wheelchair and walkers--and also missing contact and conversation with other people. It is interesting that though I love my family and we talk about many things,I cannot forget my role as "Mother or Grandmother" with all that implies,so I am always in that persona. I miss talking to Etta and the other inmates in the rehab-funnily enough -makes it clear that a good place for our sunset years may be in our own place or with other adults and friends .hmmmnnn.  To stop thinking on these negative lines, I started reading Umberto Eco's "The Island of the day before"- it is about a man shipwrecked in the 17th century-it is very fantastical with frightening and strange things which I usually can enjoy but in my vulnerable state I don't think it is wise to continue reading it now. I will choose something lighter and more grounded-maybe a murder mystery. Feeling vulnerable is not a  good way to start the new year. I had better stop  and do my exercises and some drawing-maybe draw the woodpile. As you can see, dear readers, I have progressed well in my rehabilitation and am no longer in the Aberdeen but instead am with my family in their  wheel chair accessible  home and am lucky and happy to be here but surprisingly keep looking back fondly to Aberdeen- hence the "ODE to Aberdeen." Of course I am not a poet-and know it well but will praise it in prose. First one will be to the staff-a very dedicated one-ranging from skilled physiotherapists to nurses, care workers, kitchen and cleaning staff.  They were always cheerful, ready to help us with our needs and we were often needy. I observed them in action for two months and did not hear one impatient word or action in spite of the fact that we often were impatient. These healthy young persons were especially kind in the mornings as they woke us, helped with washing and dressing ourselves,helped us select which clothes we wanted to wear and making sure our hair is attractively combed. One male care worker even used to slip us a wake up coffee while we were washing-he won our hearts. He also looked especially good in the shorts that the male nurses wear. The physiotherapists were skilled and very innovative in solving the real problems we gave them with our various injuries and our other  various disabilities,and the nurses and care workers showed great skill as they handled the various equipment that helped mobilize us. It was always touching to see one of them in the evening cradling one of the oldest permanent residents and gently coaxing her with a few spoonfuls of yogurt for her evening snack. Best of all though was their honest encouragement as we improved-to see their faces light up,giving us thumb up signs as they pass us in the hall as we make our first tentative  steps. The day a resident reaches the desired goal of going home the air is festive as various members of the staff come to wish good luck often with hugs. Also there is a tinge of sadness as  farewells are exchanged for this is the end of an  intense time with much closeness and intimacy.