I had a very quiet Christmas. It was by choice. Perhaps I was a little humbugged about it all. There was no reason for me to be like that, I just was. Sometimes that's just how it goes. So for my many friends out there, don't be offended by the absence of a card in the mail or in your in-box, by the non-call, or by the no show of me gracing the threshold of your doorway. I still think about you often. Okay, okay.....so maybe sometimes it's when I am wondering whether my gift from you may have been lost in the mail.
As out of season as I may have been, I certainly did my fair share of giving during this festive time. I know it is far better to give than receive, but I am beginning to wonder about the merits of that joyous expression. I had such a run of bad luck that maybe the spirit of Christmas was silently giving me a kick in the ass for not feeling the love of the season. Briefly, here are some of the things that have happened to me over the last few weeks:
- truck broken into, window smashed and backpack, with laptop and other items inside, taken
- stepped on my glasses and crushed them to bits
- furnace conked out during coldest day of the year
- hot water heater pipe busted but only minor flooding in garage
- leak in roof
I feel like I am forgetting a few, but it's giving me a headache to thing about it any more. You get the message. The giving part of all these calamities is in the cheques I have written. Merry Christmas to my plumber, mechanic, optometrist, handyman, and building contractor. To Father Christmas.....I get the message....LOUD and |CLEAR. What's your address? I'm putting your gift for 2014 in the mail immediately. Just one thing, will you take a cheque?
Thursday, January 09, 2014
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
My AM is Radio Free
Does it get any better than this? It's a few minutes past 6 a.m. (I love early mornings); most of the idiots of this part of the world are asleep or passed out (cops love this time of the night shift) ; I have a Tall Blond beside me that was complimentary because Starbucks didn't have a pot of it ready when I ordered; (personal note - I'm more partial to brunettes.); the music playing in the background is mellow enough that it still allows the brain to process somewhat and what's playing won't be found on the radio station that my kids make me listen to.
Don't get me wrong, I love Katie Perry's music and especially her look, but the station favoured by my kids tends to play the same few artists over and over and over. So many of them sound alike alike alike.... I drive Kendall and Avery nuts by usually guessing incorrectly as to who is singing whatever song is blasting out of the radio. Kendall is a One Direction freak, so I just love to push her buttons by purposely guessing wrong for any of their songs. I actually do know most of their songs. How could I not? Thanks to osmosis from radio waves, video feedback, posters covering every bit of Kendall's bedroom, and the highest pitched shriek known to man that comes from my 13 year old to signal that the radio station is about to play a 1D song (again).
I've managed to instil some civility in the kids. There was a time that as soon as they got into my vehicle, which ever one sat in the front, her little pointer finger would automatically shoot to the radio buttons and on would come 99.1 The Hits. No please, no thank you, nothing! It didn't even matter if I was listening to the Moonman, a frequent and colourful caller to AM talk radio, or singing a duet with my favourite artist, Neil Diamond, as one of his classics was being played by a radio station that knows real music. My kids were radio bullies. I really put the fix to them when I would turn off the radio all together whenever their fingers did the walking all over my listening pleasure. When left with the option of silence and maybe having to actually speak with their dad, the kids quickly learned to ask politely if it would be okay to change the station. Some tough old man I am. Well, not really. I have never said no, but at least it makes me feel more appreciated.
Perhaps I do get the last laugh on my two little darlings. The new (to me) truck that I bought recently has one feature that originally bugged me but there's no way I'll be getting it fixed now. Only one speaker works and it's the one furthest away from the driver. I'm half deaf in my right ear too. Touché kids and ha ha Lady Gaga!
I have time for a refill before I'm off to pick Avery up at the pool. She or her sister have early morning swimming practice four days a week. Starbucks opens at 5:30 so it works out perfectly for me. I can drop them off, come here to read or write or even just veg. The couch is comfy, the fireplace comforting and One Direction is no where to be found. Life isn't just good, it's "Grande".
Don't get me wrong, I love Katie Perry's music and especially her look, but the station favoured by my kids tends to play the same few artists over and over and over. So many of them sound alike alike alike.... I drive Kendall and Avery nuts by usually guessing incorrectly as to who is singing whatever song is blasting out of the radio. Kendall is a One Direction freak, so I just love to push her buttons by purposely guessing wrong for any of their songs. I actually do know most of their songs. How could I not? Thanks to osmosis from radio waves, video feedback, posters covering every bit of Kendall's bedroom, and the highest pitched shriek known to man that comes from my 13 year old to signal that the radio station is about to play a 1D song (again).
I've managed to instil some civility in the kids. There was a time that as soon as they got into my vehicle, which ever one sat in the front, her little pointer finger would automatically shoot to the radio buttons and on would come 99.1 The Hits. No please, no thank you, nothing! It didn't even matter if I was listening to the Moonman, a frequent and colourful caller to AM talk radio, or singing a duet with my favourite artist, Neil Diamond, as one of his classics was being played by a radio station that knows real music. My kids were radio bullies. I really put the fix to them when I would turn off the radio all together whenever their fingers did the walking all over my listening pleasure. When left with the option of silence and maybe having to actually speak with their dad, the kids quickly learned to ask politely if it would be okay to change the station. Some tough old man I am. Well, not really. I have never said no, but at least it makes me feel more appreciated.
Perhaps I do get the last laugh on my two little darlings. The new (to me) truck that I bought recently has one feature that originally bugged me but there's no way I'll be getting it fixed now. Only one speaker works and it's the one furthest away from the driver. I'm half deaf in my right ear too. Touché kids and ha ha Lady Gaga!
I have time for a refill before I'm off to pick Avery up at the pool. She or her sister have early morning swimming practice four days a week. Starbucks opens at 5:30 so it works out perfectly for me. I can drop them off, come here to read or write or even just veg. The couch is comfy, the fireplace comforting and One Direction is no where to be found. Life isn't just good, it's "Grande".
Saturday, December 07, 2013
Back to the Spa
I did something to my back a few days ago. Sleeping has been a challenge because no horizontal position frees me from the pain. It's nothing serious though, I'll survive. Sleep is overrated anyway. I don't have the same type of dreams I did when I was a much younger man, which means there's less laundry to do. The ones I do have usually have me pitted against an unyielding foe or taking on an impossible task, but I always wake up before I know whether I turn out to be the hero or the goat.
Sick of hearing me moan and groan, Lynda was kind enough to give me the appointment she had made to visit a massage therapist this afternoon. Lynda was using a gift certificate that I had won at a recent charity event. The appointment was to be at an up scale spa, so it's not the kind of place that simple folk like me visit often.
It just so happens that I had been at this specific spa once before. On that occasion, I had gifted Lynda with a certificate that entitled her to a massage and hot tub for two. I crossed my fingers and was rewarded when she took me along to be the "two". The side by side massage was great; the hot tub for two was fantastic; but the best thing of all was that somebody else would be doing the laundry.
The only fly in the ointment on that spa visit was my experience with the robe. Perhaps such places don't cater to guys too much or maybe they don't care enough about guys because we're not traditionally the ones who spend any money at these fancy spa places. When we arrived, they whisked Lynda away and it seemed like she was set to be "Queen for the day" or at least the couple of hours that the gift certificate granted that wish. I, on the other hand, was merely told to go to the men's locker room, put on a robe, and to meet Lynda upstairs - nothing more, nothing less. I found the locker room after a few minutes of searching. It was empty, but there on the bench was a robe. It was the only one in sight so I got undressed and put it on, although, not before I had a great debate with myself about whether or not to keep on my "tightie-whities". I was having a massage so drawers could stay on. I was then having a hot tub rendezvous with the wife so drawers should come off. I wasn't sure of what spa etiquette says on the subject, so I let my man brain decide. No drawers it would be.
I met Lynda in the waiting area. It was a room with several couches, where everyone waited to be summoned for their procedure. Lynda was already there, as were several other folks. As I sat down beside her, the robe rode up so that it barely covered half my thigh. It was a little airy, so I decided I better cross my legs. I whispered to Lynda that I was all natural under the robe. She laughed and asked if anyone helped me out at the check in after she was taken away, as this is something that they should have explained to me. When I told her I was left on my own she then asked how and where did I find the robe that I was wearing. I told her that was the easy part, as it was on the bench in the change room. Boy, was I surprised when she told me that I had just put on a dirty robe that someone else had worn and that the clean ones were in the cabinet. Oh well, the damage was done. Perhaps that guy made a better decision that I and kept his underwear on. Hopefully.
On today's visit, I had no major gaffs. The lady welcoming me to the spa actually told where the change room was located and where I would find the clean robes. Once again though, I was not told whether to leave on or take off my underwear. They should not take it for granted that guys coming to this spa will automatically know what to do. As a man of one previous spa experience, as well as the fact that I wasn't there with Lynda, I knew that the right thing to do would be to keep my drawers on. Not all guys coming to the spa will be as worldly as I and they may not be able to make such an informed decision as I did today. Also, by leaving on my underwear, the robe that I used was as good as when I found it. I didn't leave it on the bench like that unpolished goof from my previous visit. After my massage, I folded the robe nicely and put it back in the cabinet. That's one less thing the spa will need to launder.
Sick of hearing me moan and groan, Lynda was kind enough to give me the appointment she had made to visit a massage therapist this afternoon. Lynda was using a gift certificate that I had won at a recent charity event. The appointment was to be at an up scale spa, so it's not the kind of place that simple folk like me visit often.
It just so happens that I had been at this specific spa once before. On that occasion, I had gifted Lynda with a certificate that entitled her to a massage and hot tub for two. I crossed my fingers and was rewarded when she took me along to be the "two". The side by side massage was great; the hot tub for two was fantastic; but the best thing of all was that somebody else would be doing the laundry.
The only fly in the ointment on that spa visit was my experience with the robe. Perhaps such places don't cater to guys too much or maybe they don't care enough about guys because we're not traditionally the ones who spend any money at these fancy spa places. When we arrived, they whisked Lynda away and it seemed like she was set to be "Queen for the day" or at least the couple of hours that the gift certificate granted that wish. I, on the other hand, was merely told to go to the men's locker room, put on a robe, and to meet Lynda upstairs - nothing more, nothing less. I found the locker room after a few minutes of searching. It was empty, but there on the bench was a robe. It was the only one in sight so I got undressed and put it on, although, not before I had a great debate with myself about whether or not to keep on my "tightie-whities". I was having a massage so drawers could stay on. I was then having a hot tub rendezvous with the wife so drawers should come off. I wasn't sure of what spa etiquette says on the subject, so I let my man brain decide. No drawers it would be.
I met Lynda in the waiting area. It was a room with several couches, where everyone waited to be summoned for their procedure. Lynda was already there, as were several other folks. As I sat down beside her, the robe rode up so that it barely covered half my thigh. It was a little airy, so I decided I better cross my legs. I whispered to Lynda that I was all natural under the robe. She laughed and asked if anyone helped me out at the check in after she was taken away, as this is something that they should have explained to me. When I told her I was left on my own she then asked how and where did I find the robe that I was wearing. I told her that was the easy part, as it was on the bench in the change room. Boy, was I surprised when she told me that I had just put on a dirty robe that someone else had worn and that the clean ones were in the cabinet. Oh well, the damage was done. Perhaps that guy made a better decision that I and kept his underwear on. Hopefully.
On today's visit, I had no major gaffs. The lady welcoming me to the spa actually told where the change room was located and where I would find the clean robes. Once again though, I was not told whether to leave on or take off my underwear. They should not take it for granted that guys coming to this spa will automatically know what to do. As a man of one previous spa experience, as well as the fact that I wasn't there with Lynda, I knew that the right thing to do would be to keep my drawers on. Not all guys coming to the spa will be as worldly as I and they may not be able to make such an informed decision as I did today. Also, by leaving on my underwear, the robe that I used was as good as when I found it. I didn't leave it on the bench like that unpolished goof from my previous visit. After my massage, I folded the robe nicely and put it back in the cabinet. That's one less thing the spa will need to launder.
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