PSYCHOart

Dear Friends,

PSYCHOart is not about ideas, but bunch of verbs that spin in your head like ripping, peeling, cutting, slashing, splashing, splattering, scratching — all very satisfying actions! 

PSYCHOart is not predictable, obedient or structured — it happens, just like life.   

PSYCHOart is My Heart, My Art, it’s open to interpretation, but not criticism or messages of concern. 

PSYCHOart need not be perfect or even aesthetically pleasing — only satisfying, taking the edge off.     

You should definitely try PSYCHOart at home, alone! 
All you need is loud music, a clean canvas, few lemons that life hands you periodically, a dash of creativity, newspaper and magazines, glue, paint, brushes, some words of choice that address your issues and speak to your sense of sarcasm. 

HAPPY PSYCOARTING!!!!

Tax Deductible

Dear Friends,

The other day, I received a letter from Grants International Inc. (the refund experts)! I was about to discard it, as I do any mail that I don’t recognize, but then I noticed that my full (official) name, and status as a senior were printed on the envelope. Huuum, I thought, a trusted agency has slipped!

“What dear?” My neighbour asked.

Shoot, I was talking to myself again, in public! 

Curiosity picked my interest. I opened the envelope. Health Impairment Refund was the topic of correspondence. A few fine gentlemen could make the government give me a tax refund if I have trouble bathing myself without falling, walking, or trouble breathing when I walk.

Well, none of the above applied to me (Thank God), but it made me think.

How about all seniors get a “mobility” refund, period! We all know by now that looking good and feeling good lead to physical, mental and emotional health. Now, if only the government could help with the financial well-being.  

So far, I’ve been a very low-maintenance customer for the government, but I don’t think I can continue doing this on my own for very long. Fellows, how about a tax break for me, I felt like writing them back. How about someone working for people like me, to make the following items income tax deductible. After all, I’ve spent a lot of my own hard-earned money so my country doesn’t have to. I believe I should be reimbursed for every penny that I spend on remaining healthy.  

-Red wine

-Dark chocolate

-Dancing shoes 

-Personal trainer

-Swimsuit

-Lululemon workout atire

-Nike walking shoes

-Psychologies, Oprah, InStyle magazines

-Self-help books, crossword puzzle booklets

-Luminosity membership on-Line
-Holiday under the sun, to warm up the old bones ad the bronchus 

-Movie, concert and theatre tickets 

-Restaurant tabs for girls-night-out (therapy)

-eye-candy accessories (also therapeutic) 

I, personally, should also be compensated for not driving, littering, smoking, binging, and not being a hypochondriac. But then, as we say in Farsi, Haven’t peed yet, my night is long. 

Love at your convenience

Dear Friends,

My definition of love is twisted, and that explains why I've lived most of my adult life alone.

I need a fellow who goes that extra mile (at least once), or commits one insane act for me, not at his convenience, but at my unreasonable request.

I invited my ex-husband to join me and our granddaughters for a sleepover, making it very clear that I "needed" him. He replied, " The flight is too expensive."

Now, we are talking about a man who has made a career out of woeing me, leaving all the women in my family "envious".

"Love at your convenience!" I erased his texts and continued to scrub my tiny apartment. 

I just wanted our last sleepover to be perfect. I wanted to take the girls to the pool, the discovery centre, the ice cream parlour. Somehow, I didn't see myself doing all that alone, in a pouring rain. I'm always anxious about their safety. And perhaps, I needed their grandfather for emotional support. He called a few times, concerned. He must've left ten messages. As if I had a free hand to pick up the phone! 

Girls know how to have fun! We did everything on the agenda, except swim in the pool, but playing in the bathtub was as much fun. 

I repaid my ex-husband by FaceTime and a few cute pictures, because that's just the kind of person I am, full of surprises! 

It's so hard to give to good times. Most of us save our money, energy or heroic acts for disasters. Had I asked my X to come to my deathbed, he would've taken the first flight out of Philly. 

What astonishes me is that after 42 years, I'm still hoping to be surprised!!!!! Duh Lili, duh!

Bon Appetit!

Dear Friends,

Got off the train. Took the bus to the foot of my street. Walked uphill and walked downhill. Dropped off my suitcase.

Had every intention of going to the grocery store, but instead, ended up at William's Landing, my favourite terrace in Toronto! Japanese tuna salad and Italian Pinot Grigio! What can I say, it's summer and I'm living in the "now" which, according to experts, is only 3 seconds long! Then, it becomes the past, the guilty past, in my case.

I blame my pink, kitten-heel sandals! Shouldn't have taken off my bulky, ugly walking shoes!

Happy Anniversary!

Dear Friends, 

Another school year is almost over. I’m happy to say that I was involved enough to deserve a glass of Bubbly on Wednesday. Nothing is worse than going out with teacher friends and not feeling what they are celebrating. 

Last June, I was sure of all my choices, decisions and plans, and then, not so much anymore. 
If retirement means withdrawing from one’s occupation, downsizing or simplifying one’s life, I turned out to be a lousy retiree. When the opportunity came up to teach for a long period of time, I took it. When a conveniently located studio appeared on Toronto’s real estate market, I bought it. I divided myself between two towns, two homes and two social circles. I said, for a while, I’ll do whatever I want to, and I did. In the process, I complicated my life and compromised my bank account. A Year later, I’m still not sure what retirement meant to mean. 

Retirement is not freedom (as insurance companies want us to believe), obligations and limitations did find my carefree spirit. A few appeared on their own and some I created myself. Actually it was not me, ignorance, or boredom that guided me, but my wise subconscious. I needed that classroom in November, as much as it needed me. I needed to reinvest my capital before it turned into extra kilos, or fancy accessories. Retirement is not a to-do-list, a phase, a lifestyle or God’s waiting room to heaven or hell, either. It’s only a pension cheque.   

I’m not simple, neither has been my life, thus my retirement shouldn't be any different. I will be here or there, do this or that, feel comme çi or comme ça. Luckily, my employer allows me to sail into the sunset, gradually. 
Happy First Anniversary, Retirement!

Let It Go!

Dear Friends,

Everything I read, hear or see, including my granddaughters' favourite movie, soundtrack, costume, book, bag, notepad and pencil (Frozen), suggests to Let It Go!

As we get wiser, we innately learn not to sweat the little stuff, but I think that I've taken the concept a bit too far! 

In the process of letting go of the past grievances and the future worries, I've become an expert in living in the now which means I've limited memory, just like old hard-drives. I forget that I don't burn calories as fast as I used to. I hardly remember that I don't make as much money as I used to. My collection of clothes and activities indicate that I've also forgotten how old I am. 

All I have to say in my defence is that I'm a thorough person. My father, God bless his soul, used to say, "Either do it right, or don't do it at all!" 

Here is looking at you Papa, Happy 97th Birthday! 

What A Message!

Dear Friends,
I’m a woman, a teacher, and if people stop identifying me with terrorists, I’m also a Muslim. But, I’m  appalled at what has happened and might still take place next week.

The Islamic high school soccer team refused to play with another school’s co-ed soccer team, “ out of respect,” says their coach, Essa Abdool-Karim. 
Respect means different things to different people. In my culture, youngsters are expected to look down when they are being scolded. In other cultures, it’s considered rude not to look at the person who is lecturing you. I learnt to let my students make me uncomfortable by staring at me. 
We all try to co-exist peacefully in Canada, bending our rules a bit here, compromising our values a bit there. However, there is a limit to accommodation. A girl’s right to play any sport along her male playmates shouldn’t be negotiable, not in Canada, not in 2015, not in the name of “respect.” 
What’s next? Sitting at the back of the bus? Vacating the beach, or eating separately on the left side of the restaurant? 
The Islamic high school has the right to play by its rules, but not there and then. The authorities should’ve suspended, postponed the game. By not doing so, they sent out three infuriating messages; 1. Religion prevails Canadians civil rights, (to be honest with you, I’m not sure if there is anything written in Koran about boys playing soccer with girls). 
2. It’s commendable for women to “sacrifice” their rights and dreams to either keep the peace, or to let their “men” shine. 
3. It’s acceptable for men to have what they want, even if it involves denying women their human rights.   

No, girls, in this case, there is no heroism in taking one for the team! You didn’t win a game, you lost a war! Everyone present at this event, who stood by and let this injustice take place, back-pedalled us to the time when women’s rights played second fiddle to men’s privileges. You let down your mothers, grandmothers and great grandmothers. 

Don’t blame me for cringing, I’m a woman. I worked hard for my freedom and independence. Most importantly, I have two young granddaughters, giving up their rights, is not an option!