Yoga, Jogging and Exercise

I don’t know if my family and friends really believe me when I quote my various health practitioners’ surprising appraisal of my various body parts but this body of mine is kind of a miracle. Despite the decrepitude of 50 some odd years I get comments like this one from my new physiotherapist “your flexibility is remarkable, much better than mine” (she’s 27). My optometrist was impressed by the perfect symmetry of my eyes which he said he had never seen before, it is so rare. For years my G.P. was impressed with my perfect reflexes, my “text book perfect blood pressure” and the lowest cholesterol level he had ever seen. My manicurist said I had amazingly smooth feet. And yet, my body is falling apart. I have a pinched sciatica nerve that is not going away any time soon. I hobble out of the car or bus like a woman of 95 (and I’m being cruel to the 95 year old women out there). Despite all my down dogs and sun salutations I have not been able to keep age at bay.

I’ve read a lot of useful information about keeping my brain nimble. I do crossword puzzles (in pen), I Sudoku my little heart out at least once a day. I surround myself with friends of all age groups. I read, I write, I do arithmetic problems. I have even thought of taking up nuclear physics (my brother John raised his eyebrows at that one). Well, that might be a bit extreme but I have started reading more horticulture books. The point being, I have been concentrating on keeping Alzheimer’s a remote possibility and thus neglected a little thing called sciatica. I thought my nearly daily walks, my yoga (twice on weekends), the occasional dumbbell lift and my sit-ups would be adequate to keep this miracle body in shape. Imagine the shock of being told that I had osteoporosis. How much osteoporosis, I asked, is it just the beginning stages? “no, you have full blown osteoporosis.” Before I could actually reel from the shock I got the second blow. “You also have high blood pressure”. How could that be? I’ve always had text book perfect blood pressure. My nemesis flashed through my mind, of course, that’s the problem. Too much stress at work. The doctor wanted me to go on pills but I resisted valiantly. He gave me some papers to read which I did read, cautiously because medical jargon is not my thing. Not that I don’t understand it. I understand it all too well. I ventured to read the papers and then I made the fatal mistake of pulling out my own medical book and reading about high blood pressure. I took to my bed and called my mother.

“Mum, did you know blood pressure can kill you?”

“What did the doctor tell you?” my mother is ever practical.

“He said I should cut back on my salt intake and exercise, lose some weight.”

“What have you been eating lately?”

“Nothing much, just soup and sandwiches.”

“Check out your soup, it’s loaded with salt.”

Soup is killing me? I rose from my death bed to look at my soup cans. I was stunned by the amount of salt in prepared soups. I realized that I had been eating soup nearly every day during the winter months. So I cut out all prepared foods, including soups and three months later I had my blood pressure checked and I was back within normal range.

The moral of the story, when we are looking at the big picture the little things can creep up and can kill you!

Day in the Sun

When I was 18 I was 5 foot 6 and weighed about 115 lbs. I had a clear complexion and hair that went down to my waist. Even though I was tremendously near sighted and refused to wear my truly ugly glasses “in public” I was dimly aware that I got looks when I walked down the street. It’s nearly 40 years later and I'm all too aware that I do not get any looks of any kind anywhere. The truth is that women reach a certain age and unless they are Goldie Hawn they don’t receive a passing glance. True, most men are too busy either talking on their cell phones or texting on their blackberries to notice if an elephant was on the sidewalk, but for those few who forgot their gadget in the car we middle aged ladies are grey ghosts just obstructing their way to Starbucks.

I remember reading my first O magazine and being truly amazed at the advertising in a magazine owned by a woman who has had very public weight issues. The magazine was exactly like all the other magazines, displaying little slim figures, no doubt air brushed to show flawless skin, tiny waists and deep cleavage. What was this all about? The articles might talk about Living Our Best Life and educate us on our self image in countless different ways but the advertising was stereotypical. I did not understand it. I resented it. I was upset. Here was a woman who had the chance to do something different in her magazine and at least use one or two middle aged, generously proportioned women in her articles on clothes. It was not to be.

It’s been ten years and I still buy O faithfully and yes, occasionally there is a larger sized woman on display. But she’s the exception. Is this what we really want to see, month in month out? Do we want to have our noses rubbed into twenty something nubileness?

Fortunately for myself I have come up with a nice little phrase that absolves me of angst. I say to my friends and colleagues when they bemoan their lost figures “We had our day in the sun, let them have theirs.” It’s true, once upon a time I was a nubile little nymphet even though I had no clue there was such a thing. Now I am on the shady side of 50 and I say “Pass the chocolates, please.”

Company Christmas Parties

It’s that time of year again when all the ladies in the office get excited about shopping for “the dress” for the company Christmas party. Oh joy, more rivalry, more gossip, more sitting in the corner wishing I were home in bed with a good book.

I’m sorry to sound like an old Grinch but I really loath company Christmas parties. Company Christmas parties are not designed for partner-less colleagues. They are designed for one of two things, for couples to sit around the table with the colleagues they work with year in and year out or they are for those who are grazing for a fling, preferably a one night stand. I’ve been to all kinds of company Christmas parties and never yet have I enjoyed one. My first one was when I was 19. I worked for an insurance company in Winnipeg. I was a telex operator and the youngest person in a company of really old people. Old being 40 at that time. I went with my best friend and we were bored silly. The music was from 1936 and I don’t think even the tango was invented yet. A week later we went to my best friend’s company party. She was a hair dresser and at least the crowd was somewhat younger . The excitement of the evening was who could get drunk faster. It wasn’t me. I was perfectly sober and perfectly bored as necking parties seemed to happen before my very eyes. That was another horrible evening .

Flash forward a few years and I am working in a law firm. Along comes the inevitable company Christmas party. I innocently decide I should go to this event because after all, lawyers are classy, right? Sweet lord, the hairdressers’ party was a debutante ball compared to the lawyers’ behavior. I had no idea people could consume so much liquor. Was that pot I smelled in the corner by the cloak room? Are these guys who are planning to be judges down the road smoking pot? I went home in a hurry and missed the truly scandalous behavior though I heard about it the following Monday. Oh yes, pattycakes going on behind the sofa. Behind the sofa? You may well ask. Suffice to say I didn’t go to any more lawyers’ Christmas parties. My parents wouldn’t let me! (and I was 25 at this point).

Flash forward a few more years and a few more wearisome parties and I am now working for a car dealership. The Macarena is now the hot dance of the season. What season? Company Christmas party season. I’m coerced into going. I take dance lessons. I win the contest. The boss’s wife insists I have to demonstrate my moves for the whole company. Yes, I admit it, I was table dancing. Humiliated? Yes. Drunk? No. Company Christmas parties and bosses wives don’t mix. Trust me on this one.

I had reached my low point.

Tonight is the latest company Christmas party. H’ors d’ouevres will be served hot and cold, bands playing on either end of the lovely hall, champagne flows as does the hot lava chocolate. Where am I? I am in bed with my Kindle. Bliss.

Bucket List - Part 2

I ended yesterday by mentioning Rose’s display of pictures on her bedside table and the remark may have seemed obscure. My sister and I had been watching Titanic for the second or third time and I told her that I had been thinking about that final scene where the camera scans her nightstand and we see that Rose has fulfilled Jack’s plea for her to live her life to the fullest. I said “I want that to be what you see at my funeral; figuratively if not the actual pictures”. I meant that it was important for me to live my life not as a lady in waiting but to get out there and do some real living. That was more than ten years ago and only now do I feel that I am paying attention to my own dream. I am finally becoming the leading lady in my own drama.

I believe many women put their full life on hold to accommodate their families whether it be their spouse, their children or other family members. And I just want to tell them, don’t. I am not saying anything profound, magical or new when I say this. I simply repeat what so many wise ones before me have said “life is here to be lived now, we only have one life to live so live it to the fullest”. Oh how many excuses I have made for myself as to why I couldn’t possibly do this or that right now and in justice to one and all, financial reasons is naturally a legitimate reason. I can come back to that more fully another day, but sufficient to say for now that of course I couldn’t go travelling to any place expensive when I had to pay my mortgage and there was barely enough money for that. But it’s been six years since the house was paid for and all debts cleared up and still I hesitated about going anywhere at all. Why? How long is a girl supposed to be frugal?

For the longest time I felt that I was living in a “holding position” because I felt my life wouldn’t really start until I got married, and then I would have kids and my “real life” would start. That never happened and it was a very long time before I accepted that it wasn’t going to happen. Ever. Wow. So then what? Then I just kept plugging away at my mortgage, taking care of day to day living, getting better and better jobs, nicer salary. Then what? Then . . . post menopause. Decrepitude. Retirement planning.

Retirement planning? Wait a minute, what happened to that middle space between my post university and pre-retirement? Something just isn’t right here – where did all that time go?

Ring any bells? It’s a slippery slope after high school. It takes forever to become 18 and “adult” and no time at all to become a senior citizen. Trust me on this one, it happens faster than you can possibly believe! I echo Lauren Bacall in “The Mirror Has Two Faces”, I still feel young inside. I refuse, yet, to say “but I’m not.”

Bucket List - or Another Way To Look at Things

I hadn’t heard of “bucket list” until I watched the movie of that name and at first I thought “am I too young to have a bucket list?” but then I went a bit further in wondering “why should a person have a bucket list” because isn’t the meaning of life to actually live your life and enjoy as much as possible without having to contemplate it as part of the death march?

I have lived a good part of my life with the thought “as soon as I can afford it I’m going to . . . “ or “when I retire I’m going to do that” or “if only . . . “ and these are goals that most people probably have. There is always a future time when it is going to be better to take up mountain climbing, hiking over rougher terrain, travelling to Morocco or taking up charcoal sketching. However, a bit of reality sank into me this summer when I woke up one morning with excruciating pain in the back of my left knee. I searched my mind for whatever activity I could have done the previous day to render this sort of pain but came up blank. After hobbling around for about three weeks I finally broke down and went to my former chiropractor who introduced himself to me as his way of reproaching me for not visiting more faithfully. As an aside, let me tell you about the wonders of yoga, which I took up 6 years ago and eliminated my need of chiropractic treatment for my back. However, yoga was not doing anything for this nasty pain in my knee, which was now creeping up the side of my leg and starting to affect my spine. As George told me immediately on my describing the pain “pinched sciatica nerve” visions of the nasty old man in one of Georgette Heyer’s murder mysteries came to me. Dear Lord, was I an old woman who was now doomed to bending over, clutching my back and moaning ‘oh my sciatica’? God forbid!

After countless visits to chiro, acupuncturist, masseuses and physiotherapists a colleague asked me if I would like to go to New York City. I first said no because I already had a trip planned for Ecuador in the new year but that night as I moaned my way into bed I thought it over and realized that I wasn’t getting any younger and by golly, I better say yes when someone offered me an adventure even if it hadn’t been on the “original agenda”. I realized that if I wanted to do any of the travelling I had dreamed about when I was a teenager and young woman I better start it now because if I waited any longer I might not be able to do all of the site seeing that I feel is very much a part of travelling. It’s not all about sitting on the beach and soaking up the sun, it’s also about seeing the museums, the ruins, the rain forest, the Andes mountains and whatever else is in the chosen spot. So “sciatica nerve” be damned, I am not letting you cramp my style (literally as well as figuratively)!

The pictures I wanted lined up on my bedside table, like Rose in “Titanic” are well on their way to being a reality.

Baby Wins

"There is a god!" as my friend said. No question, Jennifer Grey was amazing throughout the season. I cannot believe she hasn't danced all these years since completing "Dirty Dancing". Just Wow! So glad she won!

This is strictly off the cuff - tension mounts as we sit through the final hour of DWTS - who will win? Will the tea party upset Jennifer Grey's perfect streak and crown Bristol?

Sniff, I'm so frustrated that my body won't do what I want it to do. I'm trying to sit without crossing my legs but my restless leg syndrome is just too much. Sniff.

But I'm going to show everyone that I have what it takes, I can stay awake until 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night to see this through.

I have my mojo back, after all, I've shown them that I can stay awake through my massages without falling asleep more than 4 times in one session.

Tension, tension, tension.

It’s a chilly -22C but I thought I should get my vitamin D the natural way so I tugged on my boots, leggings, and other paraphernalia required for Canadian walking in November. It wasn’t as hideous as I expected, due to No Wind! I let my mind run loose, as I always do on my solitary walks. This particular walk turned out to be of rather a violent nature. First I noticed cows on the horizon which led me to thoughts of loose bulls and wondering if I would be safe running behind a tree if he decided to ram it, or would other cows come to his aid and squish me from behind. Before I could come to a good conclusion I noticed horses over on the west side of the road which caused me to wonder if the guy who built the new house over by the golf course got more than the 12 acres advertised last year since this was the first time I had seen horses on that particular quarter section. Before I got further on that train of thought I noticed random splotches of hay on the road which led me to wonder if my good neighbor Larry was feeding his cows extra early in the season and that thought naturally led me to my bête noir and that led me to all the violence of law suits, death threats and other such nasty speculations.

Then it was time to turn around to face the wind on the homeward trek. I had to readjust my scarf to cover my face and of course that got me to thinking about some creep coming up behind me and taking the ends of the scarf and thus strangling me to death. This is not the first time I’ve had this particular thought. I have it every time I tie my scarf in the back and then look to my right where there are masses of carrigana lining the road. A good place for suspicious characters to lurk. And lurking people are bound to creep up on a lone woman to strangle her with loose flapping scarf ends. This line of thinking got me to about the half point on my way home and then unconnected stray thoughts started creeping in. Thoughts about phraseology, like “shady side of forty” (is that over 45 or is that from 41 to 49 and does that mean the sunny side of 50 is 49 or 51?) and what does “pleasantly plump” mean in relation to stout, fat, or flabby? All these secondary random thoughts put me in mind of Miss Marple, who can be a bit annoying sometimes when she rambles on about completely irrelevant stuff which doesn’t further the plot at all and one always wondered if poor Agatha was losing her writing genius. Now I realize she was going through the regular mid life crisis of losing one’s memory and sense of order in the brain.

And that’s what this whole note is about, middle age woolgathering which is extremely different from teenage woolgathering which somehow always had a point, that point being that one was the centre of the universe and everyone else was against her (everyone being her parents of course). Middle age woolgathering goes from something relatively normal and apropos of something in the immediate part of one’s life and by some circuitous route ends up with stabbing someone in the eye with an icepick. Who owns an icepick anyway?

Before I am hauled off in handcuffs for having fantasies about killing innocent bystanders, let me assure everyone that I am really a very gentle person. I really have no idea where these random violent thoughts come from – why would I think a cow would come out on the road to ram me into a tree? These particular thoughts occur to me every now and then as I walk but most of the time I really do have nice country ramble kind of thoughts about birds tweeting, clouds drifting by, bull rushes and pussywillows but there is no getting away from the fact that I did read Nancy Drew at a very tender age which makes me long for adventure, spelled “murder”.

Leave it to Beaver Childhood

Pondering parental love can be painful for some people. I count myself blessed because I had two loving parents who gave me an idyllic childhood and an incredible toolbox of life skills that has held me in good stead through 56 years of living.

One of the things that pop into my mind when I think about my childhood is that my mother was always at home when I came home for lunch or at the end of the day. The one time when she was not there I was in complete panic. I was 12 years old, and my youngest brother had fallen down the basement stairs and Mom had to rush him to the doctor’s office for stitches. Of course, I didn’t know that when I came home for lunch to find the house locked up and no one answering the door. I made my way over to Mrs. Alexander next door who fed me a sandwich and told me what had happened but despite the knowledge I still felt a sense of insecurity and shock. This sort of thing just didn’t happen to my family! Reflecting on it 20 years later when I heard about “latchkey kids” I wondered how these youngsters felt when coming home to an empty house, every single day! I couldn’t imagine that the same sense of abandonment would not be in their little souls. I still feel terribly sorry for children who don’t have a “stay at home” mom.

I can tease my mother today with stories about how she locked us out on some summer days, sending us out for the day with a bagged “picnic” lunch to get us out of her hair all day long. Once in a while that trick didn’t work, usually if our friends were gone away in the dog days of August. When that happened we would sometimes hang about the house and try to get in by asking for a drink of water. Well, my mother wasn’t fooled by that and she would say “drink from the hose”. When I tell that to my friends they are shocked that anyone would drink from a hose! It’s great when I want to lay a guilt trip on my Mom! I might be 56 years old but I can still play her like a violin!

My father enjoyed talking (a lot) which turned out to be a great training ground for his kids. Without realizing that we were being taught morals, principles and other life skills we would hang on every word from his lips. He had a wonderful sense of humour and as we matured we truly enjoyed his Steinbeckian stories. I clearly recall a particular evening when I sat with my father for an entire evening and he spoke about debt, bribery in the workplace, stock markets and the meaning of blue chip stock. I was 14 years old and to this day I depend on that talk for my financial planning. It was a lesson in ethics, trust and money management all rolled into one.

My parents were not physically demonstrative nor did they go around saying “I love you” to us 6 kids. But we felt the love in the home by the way my mother fed us, dressed us and wrestled us into bed at the unseemly hour of 7 p.m. We felt it at our Saturday and Sunday family lunches and suppers (every weekend) when conversation flowed and laughs were allowed. It was there on Saturday night when we all sat in front of the television to watch “Lost in Space” and “The Wild Wild West” while Mom doled out Licorice Allsorts and Smarties to us because everything had to be fair and square. It was there on the first day of school every September when we were dressed in our new clothes and shoes and stood for the standard `first day of school`picture. I really had a fabulous childhood!