Damn Sixties!

Dear Friends,
Ten years ago today, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, damn I look good for fifty! Perhaps it was grief of losing my father in the spring talking, or my deteriorating eyesight. But, I kept repeating Gloria Steinem's famous line to everyone who complimented me that year, "This is what 50 looks like!"

This morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, damn, my face looks like a raisin, brownish and shrivelled! I rushed to google Gloria Steinem's quotes. "Sixties are better!" She had claimed. Clearly, my reflection in the mirror was saying otherwise. None of the catchy phrases that I had so gullibly lined up for this decade of my life (the sexy sixties, the sultry sixties, the seductive sixties, the slutty sixties, the serene sixties) matched my face body or mood! 
I can understand gravity, wrinkles, pigmentation, but where did the eyebrows and eyelashes go? And who told the ears to grow? Scary Sixty! 

 

Crimes of Fashion!

Dear Friends,
Certainly, I can't afford most of what makes the pages of fashion magazines, nonetheless I buy them , to look at the colourful, glossy pictures, particularly in September issue of Vogue  and Instyle, to get ideas for my modest fall and winter wardrobe. However, this season's "warm and fuzzy," splattered across the pages (raccoon, coyote, mink, snake, rabbit, fox) has left me cold and flat. How can anyone justify killing so many animals? It's not bad enough that they kill them (surely they were not lying dead, on the roadside, waiting to be skinned), but they also have to paint them! 
Although I would have issues with faux-meat, I really don't understand what can possibly be wrong with faux-fur or faux-leather. And, as my friends can testify, I'm not even an animal lover. I can only imagine, how humane society feels about these crimes of fashion!
If animal fever is contagious, only god knows how many more have to be bred and sacrificed so some women, who don't even walk in the cold, can make a Fendi statement, at $3.500 a hood!  

Fragile Toes, Sharp Claws!

Dear Friends,
Nothing ruffles feathers of a small town folks more than an arrogant newcomer! The overzealous new kid in town, moi, have stepped on a few very fragile toes, at the art gallery.
"You may dust the shelves in the gift shop, but are not allowed to rearrange the merchandise!" I was accosted on the street, by one of the Mayflower descendants.
All I had done was distance mass produced "Made in China" items from local artists' objets d'art!
"The gift shop is ours, we merchandise, and need to know where things are." She added as she continued walking. I bet she lives behind one of these signs!

I didn't bother telling her that, not only the acting director had given me permission to do so, but she also had a few things to say about her and her buyer accomplice.
The animosity didn't end at the sidewalk. The volunteer position that I was offered in June, upon my visit with my students (I have witnesses), was given to someone else, fresh out of the woodwork.
"It was out of my hands," the acting director conveyed her regrets, "the board voted for Barb to be the Chair of Education and Outreach Committee."
Guess who sits on the board of directors and with whom Barb and Barb's mother hang out!
My first reaction was to withdraw altogether, from the Education and Outreach program, as well as the gift shop. The beauty of volunteering is in being able to walk away. But then, I decided to rein in my middle eastern temper and pride, and stick around to stick it to the board and its members!
Barb, a working itinerary teacher with some background in art, was patronizingly polite, full of ideas, chatty and definitely in control. She reminded me of my last French consultant who never sat through one of her ideas in a classroom.
The Chair of this small meeting this morning, was a gentleman who's supposedly in my corner, but he hadn't even looked at my proposal. I felt invisible, useless, and out of sorts for the rest of the day. However, I did my shift in the gift shop, with a smile on my face, and rearranged more than a few items, without dusting!

RIBFEST!

Dear Friends,
If you have cowboy genes or cowboy fantasies, you should've been in Victoria Park, Cobourg, this past weekend, for the annual RIBFEST, organized by Cobourg Rotary Club.
Two days of country music, cholesterol and smell of barbecue, one day of pouring rain!
Fundraising events are always for a noble cause, even if they entail charging people astronomical prices for heart-attack friendly food! Rightfully, some of the proceeds go to Northumberland Hospital!
A pair of boots short of a cowgirl, I went all three days. Day one, out of curiosity, day two to listen to my favourite local band, day three to eat! Victoria Park wasn't as populated as I expected it to be. The pre-fall temperatures and persisting rain, might have had something to do with it, or in my opinion, the prices. Gravitating towards comfy foods myself, especially under somber skies, I wanted to try everything, the rib, the pulled pork and the chicken leg. I wasn't going to pass up the deep-fried onion or potato either. Before I had a chance to complain about my gluttony, I was out fifty dollars! 
Corn on the cob $4.00
Meat Combo - $23.00
Buttermilk Biscuit $3.00
Blooming Onion - $10. 00
Butterfly Fries- $8.00
Beer - $10.00 
Of course, what I bought could've fed a family of four, well perhaps a family of four with small appetites. Although everyone present, including myself, could've done with less fat and more veggies, it was worth every ounce of incoming grease and outgoing penny! 

The RIB Masters! 

PHLO - my favourite local band!

Yet Another Epiphany!

Dear Friends,
As I checked my bank account, I realized that I needed to get on with Sears' application. So, I put on my walking shoes and headed towards the mall. With the premature autumn wind blowing in every direction, it didn't take me long to become cold and grumpy. So, I took out my iPhone and called a taxi, not to go to the mall, but return home. I sat on my patio with a cup of tea, played peek-a-boo with the boats moving in and out of the marina, and allowed my mind to take off without a compass. 
It must've been somewhere in the vicinity of Home-hardware store that I had my epiphany! 
I don't want to walk 35 minutes to get to the mall. I don't want to punch timecard at Sears, or anywhere else for that matter! I want to be a grasshopper, frolicking by the lake, without reproach! 

Mostly, I've lived a regimented life. I was responsible, followed instructions and worked hard. Slowly but surely, I saved, built, and finally brought myself to where I am now — sixty, retired, in Cobourg! True, I had my share of escapades, splurges and indulgences, but since my misbehaving or  consumption was always accompanied by guilt and self-punishment, it doesn't really count!

Of course, coming from a culture that invented the rainy day concept, and being brought up by a mother who saved her best nightgowns in case she had to go to the hospital, I'll be always a bit worried about when I'm seventy, eighty or even ninety (Inshallah), but for now, let the summer rule! 

I can already hear my mother's anxious voice "You need savings!"

Oh well, since I've chosen to sing now, I suppose, I'll be dancing all the way to a third-rate, government-subsidized nursing home, when and if the time comes!
As I think of Robin Williams, committing suicide, it becomes clear to me that having joie de vivre, is the utmost blessing. I might not have much wisdom or money, but I sure have joie de vivre, and I'm planning to nurture it all the way to bankruptcy! 

Magic Waves

Dear Friends, 
Coming from a small town, I can see now how, a big bad flavourful city can seem intriguing, full of potential and promises. However, as I return home, a few pounds heavier and more than a few hundred dollars lighter, I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I love everything Cobourg offers me in the summer; swimming outdoors, cycling, paddling (yes, I took up paddling), the sun, the sky, the lake, live music on patios, movies and concerts in the park. Even its thunderstorms have a certain 'Je ne sais quoi'.

But, as my memory hangs on tightly to images of my granddaughters blowing me goodbye kisses, I feel dissatisfaction rising to the occasion. 

 "Why can't I have it all"? I complain to the flock of ducks resting on the beach. My ingratitude offends them. They fly away, leaving me alone with my picnic. 
Luckily, rhythmic waves ending their journey at my feet, bring me peace of acceptance. Once a month is not as good as once a week, but it's much better than once a year, I hear the breeze whisper in my ear. And that's how one part of mind takes over the other, till the next time....

Two sides of the same coin!

Dear Friends,
Since I will not be in Cobourg this Sunday (going to Toronto for my granddaughter's fifth birthday), I thought I check out my favourite local joint's Wednesday night band.
I loved the lead guitarist's voice. It was deep, husky, a cross between Isaac Hayes and James Brown! Very unusual for a white man. During the first break, looking into his blue eyes, I complimented him on his voice, he gave me his CD, I bought him a beer. During the second break, while sipping on my fourth glass of bubbly, I listened to him telling me that I was beautiful. I said he had a sexy voice. He gave me his card, said that he finds me interesting, would like to see me again. 
I left before the third set was over, right after he publicly dedicated a song to me!
At nine-thirty, walking home on a deserted boardwalk (off balance, I might add), swinging in the air my steak dinner to-go, I had an epiphany; maturity and fear are two sides of the same damn coin! 

Only if...!

Dear Friends,
I've lost track of my days in Cobourg. As I find comfort in establishing new routines, once again, the days of the week are starting to make sense. Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons, volunteering at the gallery, Thursday, housekeeping, Saturdays, shopping at the farmers' market. Sundays, listening to live music at the local joint.
I love my work at the Art Gallery of Northumberland. At the moment, I volunteer in the gift shop. I fold and stuff newsletters in crisp white envelops, dust shelves, rearrange merchandise, sell a few items, greet patrons, answer calls, and my most favourite, shame visitors into making a donation. I wish I could do this a few days a week, and get paid for it, so I didn't have to look to Sears to support my vices (beautification, shopping, dining out, travel, art classes, personal trainer, cultural events). 
But, as Dr. Phil put it, ever so eloquently, you can't ride two horses with one ass, which I interpret as, you can't have everything!

On two feet maybe, if you are one of these, but not on one ass!