You Guys - NOT!

Guess some things never change. Like the slang of the generic greeting by most customer service representatives of this generation.

Mum used to tell off a waitress, especially if she came over to us women and said, “What would you guys like?”

What’s wrong with “Hello people!”

Or hello there?

My typical response when it crosses my eardrums is, “I’m actually a woman, not a guy.”

How and why do you suppose this generation got so hung up on, “You guys?”

I’m stuck on that one.

Just sayin’…

Old School Says Who?

Maybe I am a little old fashioned. Although a lot of me has changed with the times.

Heck. I remember using a Telex machine before the now email. I can also recall the first use of the Fax machine, before email and PDFs hit the airwaves.

Yes, I even learned how to type on the manual hand cranker. With the raised keyboards. Granny style now I suppose.

Now I have a MacBook Pro that I carry around with me wherever I go.

Happened to mention to someone today that I’d only just traded in my old film camera equipment so I could get a new digital lens. I worked in newspaper when black and white film was developed in a darkroom. Before the age of digital.

Ironically, this young digital artist had done the exact opposite. I found that surprising and interesting.

Tonight I was bent on finding a video store. You know, the one you can walk around in and look at the covers of ALL of the DVDs currently in the swing. Check out this week's top ten rentals. For curiosity's sake.

As I throw my take on the counter at Rogers reflecting to the cashier that it took me a while to find the store, her reply made me sad.

“We’re one of only two left in Vancouver.”

Sure I download movies and TV shows (I don’t have cable) from iTunes, but it’s not the same.

For starters, I like fondling the covers of the DVD. And watching it on something other then my computer. 

When you rent a DVD you get more then the DVD. I look forward to hanging out and viewing the Special Features.

Nope, I don’t want to spend $25 on individual DVDs to build up a library.

Suppose maybe I am old school… in some ways.

Blue Collar, White Collar – Yellow Collar?

Had a conversation today, which brought about a bit of a gap.

We were speaking about the employment of a couple we know. Both happened to be in the blue collar sector.

That begged my question.

If you’re not a white collar, say office worker – nor a blue collar say labouror… then what are you?
Say you’re an artist. What collar colour does that make you?

Had a knee slapper the other day when my sink was plugged and I complained about it to my mother (aged 74), she replied by text with, “Ask the experts… Google.”

Of course tonight when I Googled white collar workers, I thought for fun maybe an artist would be a purple collar worker.

Not so.

Apparently a purple collar refers to someone who sells marijuana.

A red collar worker is someone in China.

Which left in my mind a yellow collar. 

Bingo!

Yes, yellow collars are for us creative types.

So you know.

Christmas and Holiday Traditions

Somehow we’d get to sleep. Excitement brewing. It was the night before Christmas.

Cookies and orange juice put out by the fireplace for Santa Claus. A note with coloured pencil crayons.

The best part of the morning was feeling the lump of my stocking at the end of the bed. Filled with little gifts neatly wrapped. Always an orange and jube jubes in the bottom.

The stocking was the start of Christmas day.

Only crumbs would be left on Santa’s plate.

Unraveling the memories of childhood. I think to today.

The time with family and friends. All together. The essence of last week and tomorrow forgotten. The mind in the sharing of the holiday.

Wrapped in love and joy, a dinner of turkey, gravy, winter vegetables and cheer.

I’ve made my own traditions.

The cranberry-orange chutney. The ginger-molasses cookies. Shaped in hearts. Sprinkled with love.

Even for my little nieces.

They get something straight from my heart.

Ma’s Open House on Christmas Eve lives on.

This year’s cross-generational guests presumed innocence.

What a delight to giggle and share all the yearnings for the year. Fantasizing the non-fictions for the future.

It was so pleasurable today to read an pal’s Facebook post. The skid of consumerism slowly being unfolded to a donation of choice to a developing country. Aid for water, food or education. Their choice.
His children are young teenagers.

Old traditions, new traditions.

We're certainly in charge of making are own holiday traditions.

Aren't we!

Going Back

There would have been cars out front. Not the horse and carriage era.

Was on my way to meet a couple cool ladies (Ahem Productions and Media Rising) this morning and what should appear before me but the very building that greeted my world.

So I said to myself. What was the world like then?

I admit to being a fan of what I am hearing now, may be a short-lived television series called Pan Am. Simply because, that era of art, dress, hair, and prominence so tickles my fancy – rather quite. Dare I admit, it’s set in the mid-60’s. Yes, around the time I was born.

Ironically as the lovely ladies and I chatter away the morning to the early afternoon hours, an interesting topic of discussion arises.

The future, passions and desires. Long-term goals.

Then the question.

What is it we so desired when we were eight years old?

So the theory goes - it’s likely the closest to the root of what your soul desires. Eternal character development has by then been set.

That got me thinking again.

Perhaps now is a good time to think about where you are and where you want to go, but by first going back.

To when you were eight.

Pretty sure I was on the see my name in bright lights - dancer and movie star kick at that time.

A Visit in the Hurt Locker

It gets easier I keep telling myself.

After 45 minutes, not even to 20km I’m cooking.

In the hurt locker. The aft end of the pain cave.

It’s definitely at the zero degree mark outside. Beautiful. No rain. I forgot the arm warmers, the toes are numb.

Another 45 minutes I keep telling myself. Get ‘er done.

Heart's pumping, I'm pushing. Legs are circling. Pedal stroke down. 

Knowing is believing. Sticking to the drill.

“The body will follow the mind…”

I stay the course. Yes, getting ‘er done.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Each day will get better.

Have to keep going.

I do and complete just under 1.5 hours on my road bike before 9:30 a.m. this morning.

Not completely out of the hurt locker yet…

But at least I’m on my way.

Training for the Enbridge Ride to Conquer Cancer Challenge Course (160km a day) June 16-17, 2012.

What My Bike Carried For Me

On the ferry!

I love my bikes. All of them.

I used to have three.

Now I’m down to two.

Bikes and boats. Well, that’s another story.

Today I took my roadie for a journey. As I’m away a week and now in gear to get some cross training and particularly some base time in (roadie squeak for easy riding…) I had to pack it all.

The road gear, the gym gear, the swim gear, the yoga gear, the running gear, the sleeping gear, the got to do the Christmas Cranberry Chutney gear, etc.

So with a backpack of computer gear (homework to do too!), thy purse, etc. I loaded her (the red bike) up.

We packed our way to the bus, then the Canada Line and another bus, then a ferry.

The dude at the ramp says to me, “You can ride to the end!”

Ha! I got a chuckle.

Too much stuff!!!

Buy hey; if I didn’t have the rattrap on the back it would have been a real schmozzle.

Looking forward to a roll in the morning.

The Enbridge Ride to Conquer Cancer training is on!

Dang Sink

It only took eight years.

Tried really hard not to.

Made every attempt not to.

Really.

It’s just. Well, the coffee.

Problem now is. Everything on a boat, when it comes to plumbing isn’t exactly normal.

Sizes are different. Complications arise.

At this point I’m stumped.

Was told to shove the garden hose at full blast down the hatch. Wait for the explosion and then all should be good.

That’d be a mess.

I opted for the soda and vinegar.

So far no luck.

I dread the thought of trying to take things apart.

As you can see below (that’s the engine down there)… it’s a little complex.

Any other great ideas?

Buying Time

Moments may mean drifting apart.

A soul might sing a different song.

Given the gap of a day, a week or a month.

We rumble on.

Not always thinking the same.

Maybe, wallowing away.

Not knowing.

Is it day or night?

When tomorrow comes.

What happened to yesterday?

We take what we have.

When it’s there.

What we’ve got.