Spring Fever

Dear Friends,

Spring has definitely taken control of Cobourg. Once again, the shimmering waters have become home to various flocks. Although there are no signs of bathers, campers or boaters yet, the smooth sand is as inviting as it was in the summer, as if it had never been buried under layers of snow and ice. Even the lawn and the hedges in front of my patio are green.

Did winter really happen? It must've, because I have the spring fever! My nomadic blood has already rushed into my head. I feel the need to make new plans, the kind that lead to another life. I don't know what that life looks like yet, but I'm allowing hope to germinate. 

I have to travel through the past one more time. I need to look for the bricks that have survived the betrayals and the hatred, and use them to build the future. Revisiting my memories that I had so diligently put on my blog three summers ago, is inevitable. Taking a memoir writing course, in the summer, at U of T is absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, I'm putting my habitual activities aside, including my blog, to read as many memoirs as I can. I have to learn how to make a bestseller out of my dirty laundry, and that of few others who have crossed my path!

Untill then, keep well, live well!

Me and My Mutter

Dear Friends,

Sometime ago, I discovered that I had become my mother. Although I’m sure the transformation had been gradual, the realization was shocking. It took me a while to get used to my new reality. Catching my reflections in the mirror, unsolicited advice I gave my children, unfamiliar practices turning into habits, like becoming skeptical, or criticizing young people for their choice of music and clothes.

Today, I realized that I’ve become my grandmother! 

Some of us follow in our ancestor’s footsteps willingly, and some of us live their drama mindlessly.  

My grandmother never went out unless she looked “right.” As she grew older, it took her longer and longer to achieve the look that she wanted the world to see. Eventually, in her eighties, ten years before she passed away, she stopped going out altogether. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother had aesthetic issues. In hot sizzling days of summer, she covered her arms because they were flabby. She played peek-a boo with her strands, covering one balding spot only to expose another. She spent hours drawing her eyebrows because she had shaved them when she was young and they had never grown back. I can still hear her voice, “Lili, pay attention, do they look even?”

“Of course, Mutter dear.” Sometimes I lied, just to get her out the door. 

Now, every morning, as I pencil in my faded tattooed eyebrows, powder my rapidly thinning hairline and adjust my strands from one side to the other, I feel guilty for having trivialized my grandmother’s concerns. As upsetting as it is, I end up making faces at myself in the mirror, laughing hysterically and calling her name.

When people say I look good, I think to myself, of course I look good (still). Do you know how much work has gone into covering up every flaw, and enhancing the very few assets I’ve left! 

More difficult than achieving the “ right” look, is hiding my obsession to look “ right” from my granddaughters. I really don’t want them to become “look” obsessed and miss out on living, because of their grandmother’s foolish aesthetic standards.

Only Just for One!

Dear Friends,

If I hear one more “Is’t just you? Just for one? Is’t only you?” I’ll stop eating out forever!
Every time I hear a hostess or a waiter ask me one of these stupid questions, I feel as if I’ve “failed” at becoming a “two.” 
“Yes, it’s just me.” Sometimes, I myself repeat after them, mindlessly. But, today, I decided to  educate the host of my favourite pub in Toronto, who, by the way, has always seen me alone.
“Don’t use ‘just,’ I told him. “I’m not just, I’m plenty!” He looked confused. “What shall I say?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “Anything but one, only or just! See, I have a laptop with me. It’s me and my blog. I have an iPhone too!”   
He didn’t reply. He thought I’d gone mad!

The same thing happened to me last weekend, in Cobourg. “Will you be dining alone, tonight?” 
“I’ve been dining alone for a while now.” I mocked host’s affected tone and followed him. “Would you prefer to sit at the bar?” 
 “No!” I answered curtly. Actually, I like sitting at the bar, but I felt that he was saving the small round tables for couples. As soon as I sat down, the waitress arrived to take away the extra place-setting. She looked disappointed. I ordered an expensive glass of wine, to reassure her that an “ alone” old lady could ring up a large bill too!
Eating alone is an oddity, especially at night, or in better establishments. I don’t blame people for not wanting to put themselves in an awkward situation. First, the host makes you feel inadequate, then the waitress. The empty chair across from you, whispering “Failure, failure...” doesn’t help either. 

If I were rich, I would open a restaurant called “ Only Just for One“ where either tables were set only for one, or the staff was trained to see the obvious.      

Garçon, un filet mignon, s’il vous plait!

Setbacks

Dear Friends,
Yesterday, I took a test in Psychologies Magazine, (UK edition, March 2015), to find out how I deal with setbacks. According to my scores, when things go wrong, I feel it’s my fault. Well, it’s true. I do.  I spent the past week taking responsibility for the flood in my condo. Was I too happy? Not happy enough? Was my spirit tired, resentful? Had I caught someone’s evil eye? Did I break someone’s heart? Perhaps I shouldn’t have bought my New Year’s sweets from a new store! Were my Persian ancestors mad at me for making a portable Haft Seen? 
When my superstitions failed to settle on an explanation, my other beliefs stepped in. Everything happens for a reason, I reminded myself. But, where was the message that the flood had brought me? Did the water wash it away? 
Just an hour ago, as I was cleaning the repaired washing machine that had caused the disaster, I finally had my answer. The flood wasn’t a setback, a warning or a bad omen. It was squaring of accounts, literally! In my entire life in Canada, I’ve never had home insurance (I do now)! At an average of twenty dollars a month, I owe the universe over six thousand dollars! 
Suddenly, paying Shawn the contractor’s bill, didn’t seem like a punishment anymore!    

Sooner or later, we all pay our dues! Now, there is a priceless celestial message!

 

’Twas The Night Before Nowruz

Dear Friends,
Long, long time ago, I heard this anecdote from my uncle. I never really appreciated the gist of it, until tonight. 
One day, a young man, walking by the river, sees an old scruffy man dipping his dry, mouldy piece of bread in the muddy water, and thanking God. 
“You are so poor and unfortunate,” the young man says, “what are you thanking God for!” 
“Oh, I’m just testing his impudence!”
Tonight I’m that old, scruffy man!
’Twas the night before Nowruz! So much to look forward to! My granddaughters are having their first sleep-over in Cobourg! So much work had already been done; shopping, cooking, cleaning, ironing. Last but not least, laundry also needed to be done. Clean sheets for everyone! But, the washing machine decided to go crazy while I sat down to do my crossword puzzle. 
Two centimetres of water sitting in three rooms and two bathrooms! Over five thousand dollars in damages. No insurance! 
“Thank God,” I said to myself, after the workers left, leaving behind four huge fans, “thank god, it was only water and not fire!” 

Focus Statement

Dear Friends,
Some people have a knack for complicating their lives, I am one of them.
There was a time when I looked forward to writing my blog. An idea came to mind, I shared it with friends. Many read it, a few liked it, and one or two gave positive feedback. It was simple and enjoyable. But, obviously, it wasn’t enough, because I had to go and mess it all up by taking a writing course. Not only I haven’t learnt to write better, but I’ve lost the little flare that I had for writing.
For the past few weeks I’ve been struggling with retelling an incident that happened to me in Nashville. A drunken young woman, who needed to throw up, yelled at me on the street, “Hey old lady, you are in my way!” I thought my harsh response, “At least I can hold my liquor!” was worth exploring. After all, she had stated the obvious (in vino veritas). I am sixty, I have grey hair and a sagging jawline.

Finally my instructor and I agreed on a focus statement, “I hate being called old because I’m not old!” He warned me to remain centred and not confuse myself, or the reader.
Well, every sentence of every paragraph is to answer why I don’t like being called old, why I walk around looking old if I don’t like being called old, why I can’t accept being old. The more I try to answer these questions clearly, the more confused I become. At some point, I had four different versions running on my hard drive. Obviously getting old, looking old and not liking to be called old are complex matters, better left to the experts. 
This assignment has cost me time, sleep and most importantly, self-confidence. I can’t write anymore. I was going to enter a poetry contest, but then decided against it. I was going to share with you my recent adventures in Cobourg, but I can’t locate the focus statement, and without it I will be lost. 
Now I’m thinking, perhaps I should look into becoming an editor. I sure recognize bad writing when I see one!!!!!!!

Time

Dear Friends, 
The icy cold hands of winter are gently releasing Mother Nature into spring’s tepid embrace. Starting tomorrow, once again, we will be saving daylight. Every time we fall back or spring forward, I can’t help but think about our strange relationship with time. Although time is not money, we treat it as such; give it, take it, measure it, save it, spend it, waste it. We are so worried about time passing us by that we don’t realize we are the ones passing through time. While we are busy making time for this and that, time is busy making us. When we are high we think time flies, when we are down we think it crawls. As much as we would like to think we can kill time, it’s really time that is killing us. The truth of the matter is that there will always be plenty of time and money, just not for us. We don’t run out of time, time outruns us. With that thought in mind, take advantage of every moment, and live it up! 

You are not losing an hour, it’s all in your head!